#but i must be STRONG *shakes fist*

[darby-rowe]

ᯓ today, I feel like pleasing you.

KINKTOBER 1ST. DAD'S BEST FRIEND!LOGAN HOWLETT X BUB!READER.

18+ | nsfw | mdni wc. 1.2k+ cw/tags. FAUXCEST, age gap (r is 21+), brief cunnilingus & blowjob, first time, p in v, usage of the phrase "little girl", unprotected sex, creampie, not proofread notes. happy kinktober 1st you freaks! here's the smutty installment in the dbf!logan x bub universe. sorry if you don't like it. title is taken from Today by Jefferson Airplane.

The first kiss was troublesome.

Locked away in the far corner of your queen-sized bed, his hands gently guiding itself up your leg, then it happened.

There was so much alcohol in his breath you swore you yourself must have gotten drunk off the way he breathed life into you. Yet the supposed life that found itself nesting in your lungs was something you’ve never felt before.

Taboo. Horribly, horribly wrong.

The kiss made your stomach feel queasy every time it entered your mind after the fact, however it made you feel like you were walking on air as well. Your dirty little secret, safely carried in the arms of you and Logan Howlett.

Your father would drop dead.

Things progressed after the kiss. He became more bold, touching you in more forbidden places that no man has ever touched before. It was all so new. Exciting. There was a rush that clouded your brain every time the older man gave you attention.

“Let your uncle take care of you,” he’d whisper to you.

Every single time.

Oh, it was dirty. So fucking dirty how the tone of his voice had you knowing he meant it. Your “uncle”. His “niece”. His pretty, young, smart, and bright niece who was so fucking ripe and ready to be eaten. The noises he made as his tongue swirled your already swollen clit, locking your fingers into his thick hair, wanting to grind against his hot tongue but ultimately being locked down by his strong arms.

Your hand slapped itself across your mouth each time you had to make a noise, desperately muffling the sounds of dirty dancing happening in your own bed. Your other hand kept jumping from fisting the sheets to fisting Logan’s hair to squeezing your own breast. In this state of being stimulated far beyond your own comprehension, you just didn’t know how to handle your body.

“Fuck,” you squeaked, feeling his nails unintentionally dig into your flesh, your thighs shaking as you grow closer and closer to making a mess of his beard.

It wasn’t planned, the sob that left your mouth when Logan pulled away just as you were about to see god.

“Why did you—”

“Legs up, bub,” Logan cut you off, making you gasp as he threw your legs back, completely spread open to him and any curious being who could walk in at any moment. You instinctually go to close your legs and cover your face, but he’s just so strong. So determined to watch as he takes you for the first time ever.

“Look at me, pretty girl,” he whispered, taking your hands off your face. You laid bare to him, like you had never laid bare to anyone before. Vulnerable and wet just for him.

The look on his face as he scanned you up and down in the position you were basically forced into will never leave your mind.

“Gonna make you feel good, ‘kay, bub?”

You just nodded, mind racing with how many possible roads this could go down. Everything felt like a blur as Logan unzipped his jeans, fishing out his rock-hard cock and began to stroke it in front of you. He was leaking at the tip, balls so full and swollen you could only imagine how long ago it was since he last jerked off.

He asked if you wanted a taste, and it took you a moment to consider. You’ve only ever fellated fake cocks in silicone form, and even so they were tiny in comparison to the monster hiding in Logan’s pants.

You nodded again, opening your mouth as he slipped in his cock inside past your lips. He fucking groaned upon first contact with your tongue, being careful to not shove his whole cock down your throat.

But you could tell that he really, really wanted to.

You felt your jaw begin to ache while keeping it open for his size. If you closed your eyes, you could concentrate on the subtle throb of his shaft, and the way your saliva accumulated around him. You were slicking him up just for you — to make the process easier.

He pulled out of your mouth right when you were beginning to memorize his taste, and it slightly disappointed you as you were enjoying your oral fixation being satiated. Your lips, parted slightly and drenched in your own spit, and Logan’s cock making its way to your swollen, soaked pussy.

He made sure to warn you just before sliding himself in. You couldn’t lie, it was a stretch, and it was an odd feeling to situate yourself in. You wanted to say that it hurt but that was untrue.

Just odd. Foreign. But not painful at all.

In fact, Logan was even surprised when you told him you were okay. Before you knew it, he was effortlessly sliding his dick in and out of you until it turned into him pounding into your pussy, arms wrapped around you as he held you close.

You had reason to believe this is when Logan fell apart.

You bit down hard on your bottom lip, keeping in all the lewd and pornographic noises that wanted to escape you, but some whimpers and small moans escaped.

“‘S good, bub?” Logan grunted in your ear, eliciting a shaky yes from you, digging your nails into his back and wrapped your legs around his waist. Your eyes screwed shut, concentrating on that familiar throb you felt in your mouth just moments ago.

If someone came up to you and asked you how it felt to get fucked like this, you wouldn’t know how to answer. It was just good. Fucking great, even. You wanted to sob, cry, wail out to Logan how good he was making you feel.

“Oh my little girl. My fucking little girl,”

He was like an animal in your ear: grunting and growling as he pounded you with little regard. He was getting louder, nastier. Treating you like a pocket pussy he had a forbidden affair with.

However, the way his arms locked around you as he buried his face in your neck made you feel a type of intimacy you had never felt before. Something so primal yet affectionate, making dirty noises in your ear as he fucked you. Taking your sweet virginity that he so desperately chased after for months.

“Tell me how good uncle Logan is fucking you,” he panted into your neck.

It was hard to form words. Your mouth opened and tiny choked sobs managed to crawl out of your throat, but no words.

“You gotta tell me, baby,” he panted again. But this time, there was a tinge of desperation edging his plea, like he could fucking tear up at any moment. Begging. “Tell me how good your uncle is fucking his little girl,”

Your virgin pussy throbbed, clenching around his cock.

“‘S good, uncle Logan. Fuck me. Fuck me, please…”

It took you by surprise how fast Logan emptied himself inside you, feeling his seed pump deep, knowing his balls were pulsating as they shot out cum. That knowledge was enough to make you cream around his dick, biting down on his shoulder to keep yourself quiet.

The moments after were uncomfortably quiet, with him still holding you with his cock softening inside you.

Your breath steadies. Your mind clears. And your body cools.

Your dad would murder Logan if he found out about this.

[nebulaafterdark]

The Succession (Part 2)

Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest, Queen Y/N is forced to rule alongside Prince Regent Aemond, in an attempt to keep her children safe and eventually seat her mother, Rhaenyra, on the throne. While attending her husband, on what appears to be his deathbed, she begins to unravel the dark truth of his near passing.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Part 1

Y/N wakes to a knock at the door. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she sits upright. Aegon is still there, unmoving beside her. “Come.”

“Good morrow, your grace.” Her lady in waiting, Chérie, bows her head upon entry; a powder blue gown draped over one arm. “You must break your fast.”

“What ungodly hour is it?” The Queen grumbles, stretching both arms above her head.

“Nearly midday, my Queen.”

Y/N nods, taking her hand. “I need a favor of you.”

“A bath?” Chérie smirks.

Y/N stares down at herself, nightgown stained with blood and gods know what else. She huffs a laugh, “that as well.”

“I will ready the tub.”

“Chérie?”

“Are you seeking comfort, your grace?” She has lost her grandmother and her husband’s good health, “I could tend you.”

“No.” Y/N stares down at her hands.

“Forgive me for assuming.” She takes a step back, “I only want to help.”

Y/N moves forward, closing the space between them. “It was kind of you, Chérie. I appreciate your devotion, more than you know. There is something different I need of you.”

“Name it.”

“You know things…I must know them.”

“What is it you need know?” Chérie wonders.

“The truth of what happened at Rook’s Rest. I do not pretend to understand Aegon’s motivations. Gods willing, I may be able to ask him one day. But for now, I need know what befell him. Cole dances around it, the Hightowers will never be truthful with me.”

“Is there anything you do know? A talking point that might be of use as I consult the servants?” Chérie wonders.

Y/N leans in. “Helaena and Aemond stood at the foot of his bed last night. She asked if it was worth the price. Aemond denied any knowledge of what she meant. Still, Helaena does not speak to cause upset, she speaks when she has something to say. If he’s done this…the whole of our line may be in danger.”

Chérie sighs, “somedays I am glad to’ve been born a commoner.”

“For that I do not fault you.” Y/N forces a smile.

Chérie steals a glance at the king. “Will he live?”

“We’ve no way of knowing. I pray to the gods for his recovery, but it is a long road. He will never be as he was, so long as he lives, it matters naught to me.”

————————————————————————

“There’s been word from King’s Landing.”

Rhaenyra’s head snaps up.

“Aegon has fallen, the stranger looms over his head. With Vhagar weakened in the attack, now is the time to act.”

“And what of my daughter?” The Queen ticks a finger against the table. “Has she been spotted since Aegon’s coronation?”

“We believe the princess lives, your grace. But upon second hand testimony, smallfolk in the streets, we cannot say for certain.”

“What was she doing?” Rhaenyra wonders, “my girl, when they saw her in the streets?”

The lords look to each other, “she marched beside the carriage with Aegon’s body.”

“That is proof enough. I must send word to her, she cannot think we have turned our backs on her. With Aegon gone, she may very well be Aemond’s next attempt.” Rhaenyra is sick over it.

“You must trust, as we have, that Aegon will care for her.”

“He cannot care for her, upon his deathbed. Should he pass, we leave her to whom? Aemond and Alicent? She will be put to the sword.” Rhaenyra shakes her head.

“Meleys was our largest dragon, your grace.” Ser Alfred reminds her.

“Which is why I must go.”

“You cannot, my Queen. You are the crown.”

“I will go.” Jacaerys fists the hilt of his sword.

“No,” Rhaenyra scoffs. “It is out of the question. You will be taken or slain.”

“Would you rather my sister or me?” Jace squares his shoulders. “Those are your choices.”

————————————————————————-

Y/N forces her meal down, spending the evening in her children’s rooms.

“Mama,” Visera calls to her, “I’ve made something for father.”

“I helped!” Dahlia chimes in. “Laenor wanted to, but he rubbed his hands all over it. The painting was nearly ruined.”

“Say it isn’t so, my loves.” Y/N lifts her eldest son onto her hip. “Shall I kiss his head off?”

“Yes.”

“Do it.”

Y/N smiles, peppering Laenor’s sweet face with kisses as he squeals, thrashing wildly in her hold.

Dahlia and Visera giggle, entertained for the moment.

“And you, my prince, best have learned your lesson.” Y/N says, releasing her son onto the floor.

He scampers away, still screeching with glee.

“Mother?” Dahlia tugs at her mother’s skirts.

“Yes, my darling?”

“When will we see father?”

Y/N sighs, “come, sit with me.” She pats the cushions on either side of her.

Her daughters look to each other, then join her on the settee.

“Do you remember what Papa told you about sickness? How it is a war we wage alone, within our bodies?”

“Is he ill?”

“Not exactly,” Y/N explains, “nevertheless, his body is at war now. Battling to repair itself from great wounds, some we cannot see. Every hour, he is fighting his way back to us. But he must remain abed for now, in a state of sleep.”

“May we watch him sleep?” Visera wonders.

“I fear you might be saddened by it.”

“Why, Mama?”

“He looks a bit different, on the outside. But on the inside he is the same.” Y/N says, fighting for composure, “we mustn’t touch him, lest we cause more pain. And it is hard to keep our distance, when all we truly want is to wrap him in an embrace.”

“Mayhaps when we see him, we might hold each other instead.”

Y/N looks to her eldest daughter. “On the morrow, after his bandages are changed, I will bring you. And if it is too much for you, there is no shame in saying so. We love him dearly and he knows it.”

“That is what matters, I think.” Visera says, “if I were waging war, I would want to know someone loved me.”

————————————————————————

Y/N sneaks down to the kitchens for a bit of cake, heading to Aegon’s apartments to eat it. The doors open onto Aemond, leaning over Aegon’s body.

“What are you doing?” She has no weapon, if she’s to kill him now, it will be with her bare hands or a serving spoon.

Aemond turns to her, with sly smile. “My brother was asking for you. He woke in pain, I was merely supplying him with milk of the poppy.”

Y/N forces her mouth to turn upward, “very kind of you, I thank you for looking in on him.”

Aemond nods, setting the empty cup on the bedside table. “Of course.”

“When he asked for me, what did he say?” She wonders, lying her plate of cake beside it.

“Only your name.”

Y/N nods.

“You have been a good and faithful wife to him. Aegon is blessed to have you.”

“Aemond,” Y/N breathes, “might I ask you something?”

His eye flickers about her, “of course, sweet niece.”

“What do you think was his undoing?” She motions to Aegon, “if you had to say?”

“Vanity…pride.”

“It would be suited,” Y/N forces the awful words past her lips, “for someone to take that from him.”

“You should not say such things, my Queen. The thought alone is truly depraved.”

“Of course, forgive me.”

“What befell my brother is nothing short of a tragedy.” Aemond purrs, “you must keep your wits about you.”

“Were they locked in battle?” Y/N asks, “when my grandmother gave Meleys the order?”

Aemond purses his lips, “when dragons fly to war, it is men who burn. Aegon is not the first, he will not be the last. You should be grateful he returned to you.”

“I have lost a brother to war.” Y/N says, as if he needs reminding. “I know its cruelty.”

“A shame, indeed.” Aemond hums.

“I hope it was worth the price.”

“Y/N.” Alicent calls, “Aemond, what are you doing here?”

The prince looks to his mother, “I was merely checking in on our king.”

“You are kind to do so,” Alicent swallows, “as his wife is now here, you are relieved of said duty. Unless you wish the three of us to hold vigil.”

“Perhaps another time, mother.” Aemond nods, “I’ve more pressing matters to attend.” He brushes past them, closing the door to Aegon’s bedchamber behind him.

“What were you thinking?” Alicent demands, in a hushed whisper. “My son pleads for your life and you stand here tempting the very man who-”

“The very man who what?” Y/N dares her to say it. “Killed my brother? Or are you referring to some other atrocity I am not privy to?”

“Your children are in danger, my grandchildren, let me help you.” Alicent reaches for her.

Y/N bats her hand away, “don’t you touch me! My children are in danger because of you.”

“You know what Aemond is.” Kinslayer. Alicent swallows, hard. “My only concern is keeping you safe. What is to stop him from taking out the whole of Aegon’s line to make room for his own? The smallfolk riot in the streets, demanding we open the gates. Even they wish to flee, it is all going to ruin. They need to see you.”

“They will see me as you parade my body through the streets after my murder, not a moment before. I will not betray my mother or her claim.”

“I am not asking you to stand against Rhaenyra, I am asking you to stand for my son. Before it is too late. You owe him this. You forced him onto that saddle as much as I forced him upon the throne.”

“I?” Y/N snaps, “I am the one you blame for this? You think I would have my husband reduced to ash over a fucking chair?”

Alicent presses her lips together, “all Aegon has done is in your name. He rose and he fell for you alone.”

“I wanted this to be peaceful, you know. I truly did and my mother did, then again and again I was taken for a fool.”

“Aegon loves you. He went to meet Rhaenys for you, in hopes of creating new terms with your mother. Mayhaps others have used you, like a pawn to carry out their own agenda, but not Aegon. He never plotted, he never wavered, even in his condition, you are the agenda.”

“And I love him for it, but please know I did not ask him to meet with her. I would have gone myself rather than risk his life. That is why I have not fled, or stole away with my children to Dragonstone. Aegon is equally important to me.”

“You must ready yourself then, in the color of our house.”

“No,” Y/N narrows her eyes, “this is for my husband, who hangs precariously in the balance of life and death. I will attend this procession in the color of mourning, not Hightower green.”

————————————————————————

In the absence of Daemon, Rhaenyra turns to Mysaria for counsel. “You know the ins and outs of King’s Landing better than any. I need an in.”

“Criston Cole made a mistake, parading a dragon’s head through the streets, like a prize of war. The people see an ill omen.” Mysaria tells her.

“Yes, as do I.”

“They are afraid, bread is scarce. The king has fallen, they whisper to each other that when Viserys lived there was peace.” They question the succession.

“But will whispers tear down stone? Break shields?” Save my daughter?

“Do not underestimate them, to the discontented, rumors are feed.” Mysaria continues. “What you cannot do, let others to do for you. There is more than one way to fight a war.”

Part 3

Series Taglist: @oh-you-mean-me @barnes70stark @lovelyteenagebeard @niyahnotnia @narwhal-swimmingintheocean

[casdeans-pie]

Dean's ribs are aching.

He presses a hand against his skin, feeling the solid bones under his palm, and tries to imagine the ornate carvings running across them - remembers what the x-ray looked like. But his mind keeps getting stuck on the feeling of Cas's hand, strong and sturdy, in the center of his chest, and the pleasant burn that'd taken his breath away when he'd pressed into him.

A sensation that had been perfectly balanced on the knife-edge of pain and pleasure.

Dean lets out a shaky breath and tugs the scratchy motel sheets closer as he turns over, unable to stop being so aware of it all. A particularly loud snore from the bed next to him tells him that Sam isn't having the same problem.

It only takes another few minutes of Dean gritting his teeth and willing himself to go to sleep before he gives up with an angry sigh.

When he exits the room quietly, hoping to get some air and clear his head, he nearly walks straight into Castiel himself. "Jesus, Cas!" Dean yelps, then catches his volume, glances at the room behind him, and adds in a hissed whisper, "What are you doing here?"

Cas, for once, looks startled and a little guilty. "Hello, Dean," he says, voice rumbling quietly, "my apologies, I didn't expect anyone to leave the room until the morning."

"Yeah, that doesn't really answer my question, buddy. You were kind of loitering."

Cas shifts his weight a little in a nervous gesture that amuses Dean because it looks almost human. "I've been informed that watching over you while you sleep from your bedside is" - he squints his eyes - "creepy."

Dean can't help the huff of a laugh that escapes him. "'Cause it is."

Cas frowns. "And I can no longer sense either of you due to your sigils, so..."

(Dean presses his hand to his chest, echoes of the pleasure-pain running through his ribs.)

Cas's eyes flick down at the movement, but snap back up before Dean can put a name to the expression that passes over Cas's face. "So I have been watching over you... both of you... from outside your room instead. While I still know your current location," he adds sadly.

"Keeping tabs on us like this is still creepy Cas," Dean says, but there's no heat in it. In fact, he's surprised to realise that he really doesn't mind the idea of Cas watching over him- them.

"I can no longer sense you," Cas repeats, more upset this time.

A blue neon sign for the motel shines from above them, casting a moody blue light over Cas - catching the tips of his messy hair, and lighting up his eyes so that they're almost glowing. He's lit up in a way that reminds Dean of the Angel he really is, and it makes his ribs ache.

Dean grips the shirt over his chest in a tight fist.

Again Cas's gaze flicks down.

"What do they say?" Dean says so quietly it's nearly just a breath.

Cas must understand what Dean means, even though what he said makes no sense, because he replies, "It means you are to be kept away from all the eyes of the Angels, and none have permission to know of your location or gaze upon you." Cas reaches a hand up, suspends it in the air, and then lets it fall back to his side.

Dean feels a pulse race through his bones as he impulsively reaches for Cas's hand and places it on his chest, covering it with his own and pressing it down firmly. Warmth that feels like protection and safety rushes out from where their hands press together.

"I give you my permission," Dean says quietly, into this moment they've created, under the unnatural blue light of the motel sign, and the silent night around them.

Cas's eyes are wide and Dean feels his hand shaking. "You..." he visibly swallows and licks his lips. "You shouldn't say things like that to an Angel, Dean."

"Yeah? Well, too late. I mean it Cas. You've got my permission. And I know that means jack to symbols literally carved onto my bones, but it means you physically checking in with me if you want to know where we are - use your cellphone - and if I text you our motel room, and you're not, y’know, doing rebel Angel stuff, you can be our lookout." Dean feels silly all of a sudden and drops Cas's hand, stuffing his own into the pockets of the sweatpants he shoved on before he left the room. "And if I can't sleep, maybe we can talk outside again like tonight. Or whatever."

After a beat of pure silence the light on Cas's face from the sign seems to intensify and Dean can suddenly hear it buzzing.

The handprint on his shoulder pulses in time with the beat of his heart and the ache in his ribs.

"I would like that," Cas rumbles, a gentle smile on his lips.

Dean clears his throat and absentmindedly rubs his chest again. "Okay. Well. Good talk. I should- I should go back to bed- lots of big days coming up- world to save- goodnight, Cas." Dean doesn't want to call what he's doing running away, but he certainly does a good impression of it when he turns around and ducks back into the room.

A soft, "Goodnight, Dean," follows him inside before the door clicks shut behind him.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Revenge, a Dish Served Colder than Snow || Young!Coriolanus Snow x Reader

GIF by @kvtnisseverdeen and divider by @firefly-graphics

A/n: I'd just like to say that this is not book or movie accurate whatsoever. Finnick is not even alive yet when Coriolanus was in his early 20s. I just really wanted to include him in this because he's hot and I love him. Also, lets just imagine he has been gone long enough that the next hunger games was about to happen.

Warnings: choking, swearing if there are others lmk

Wc:

P.t 1 P.t 2

Coriolanus Snow Masterlist

Previous

“Go fuck yourself Coriolanus,” You sneer at him as you turn around but was stopped when his hand takes a hold of your arm. “The fuck did you just say to me?” He scrunches his eyebrows, fury in his blue eyes. You shake off his grip, staring at him square on. “I said, to go fuck yourself. Or, if you find her, go fuck Lucy Gray!” You rage, spinning around and walking out of the bathroom.

Coryo stands there in utter disbelief at what had just happened moments earlier. The image of you causing a scene infront of everybody and that tribute from district 4, his hands roaming around your body shamelessly. He felt pure rage coursing through his veins as he slams his fist against the wall.

~

Coriolanus watched with curious eyes once he saw you enter the room. He hadn't seen you for a couple weeks after that day he came back and moaned out Lucy Gray's name while fucking you. Even under that masquerade mask, Snow could tell it was you.

His eyebrow quirks up when he notices a man by your side. "Who is that?" He points to the mysterious man beside you as Livia looks over to where he was pointing. A chuckle leaves her lips, "Jealous, snow?" She swirls the alcohol in her flute before taking a sip.

"That right there beside your dear y/n is none other than Finnick Odair," Livia wets her lips. "A tribute. From district 4," She continues as Coriolanus' eyes follow the two of you, Finnick's hand resting far too low on your back for his liking.

"What is a fucking tribute doing with her then?" He scoffs, leaning forward on his seat. "Has your time as peacekeeper in district 12 forgotten how much power Y/n has?" She looks at him as if he was an idiot. "She just vouched for him, convinced her daddy to let him stay with her." Liv shrugs.

Coriolanus lets out a scoff, "Are you jealous of a district boy? He is pretty handsome don't you think. A strong competitor for sure," She says before standing up and leaving Snow in his thoughts. A few minutes later, he gets up from where he was sitting and manoeuvres his body across the crowd of elitist members and other wealthy people of Panem.

"What are you doing here with him?" Snow pops a grape into his mouth as you pause your actions and look to him by your side. Of course he was going to be here. "And why do you care? Coriolanus?" You chastise, "Do not. Call me that," He mutters at you, a stern expression on his face as you smirk.

"Well, if you must know. I took a liking to the tribute and let's just say, gotten quite comfortable with each other," A smile makes it to your lips as you could see Snow visibly annoyed. "He's a fucking tribute-" "Oh isn't that rich coming from you, Snow?" You let out a laugh as you face him. "That's exactly what I thought when I questioned your intentions with Lucy-" "Y/n, don't" "And there you were. Moaning her fucking name while inside me!"

You harshly say as a couple people around pause to look at you both. Coriolanus could tell you had drunk a bit more than you could handle. "Y/n, let's talk somewhere else," He takes your hands, ready to pull you away. You yank his grip off of you.

"No! I'm not done!" Snow runs a hand down his face at your loud outburst. "I never knew that you could stoop so fucking low you know. First it was cheating so that your precious tribute would win, and then you go chase her in her district and-" You couldn't finish your sentence as Coriolanus lurches towards him, hand gripping the base of your neck as your look at him in horror.

He squeezes it enough to make you shut up and gasp slightly for air. The people around you gasp at what had just happened. "Shut the fuck up. Shut your mouth before I do something I will regret," He spat, his hand squeezing as he shakes you."Get off of her!" Finnick shouts, pulling Snow away from you as you hold onto him, your hand touching your neck.

You then push Finnick away before doing something that further fueled the fire inside Coriolanus. You bowed. Just like her. Exactly like how Lucy Gray bowed at the reaping ceremony. A few stifled laughs could be heard throughout the room as Coriolanus looks horrified. He gulps, loosening his tie as you smirk at him

Coriolanus quickly leaves the room, breathing heavily as he runs his hands through his hair. He didn’t know what took over him. But he saw red the second you mentioned Lucy Gray. He swore he never intended to harm you. But he couldn’t help it.

His pent up emotions from the past couple of weeks needing diffusing. And you were pretty darn good at pushing specific buttons within him. Coriolanus caught glimpse of your figure entering the bathroom, he follows you whilst looking around, making sure no one was around.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, tears brimming your eyes as you study your neck, already bruising from his iron like grip. You were horrified, shocked, and most of all hurt, by Coriolanus. He never once touched you with such violence and he always reassured you that he would never hurt you and here you were. Crying in the bathroom stalls.

Even after the events that occurred when he came back, you couldn’t stop thinking about Coryo. You just couldn’t help yourself. He was your first everything. You lean your hands on the counter as you drop your head, tears cascading down your cheeks.

Coriolanus immediately heard your cries the minute he’s close to the bathroom door. He pauses. Leans his ear against the door and lets out sigh before entering. His entrance caught you by surprise as you stumble back upon seeing his tall figure.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you.” He says, sadness and guilt laced in his tone as he looks at you in sympathy, his eyes flickering your neck where he caused damage. You refused to meet his eyes as you turn your head to the side.

“But you should know better than to publicly humiliate me infront of everyone-“ A loud scoff emits your lips as you turn to him. “Go fuck yourself Coriolanus,” You sneer at him as you turn around but was stopped when his hand takes a hold of your arm. “The fuck did you just say to me?” He scrunches his eyebrows, fury in his blue eyes. You shake off his grip, staring at him square on. “I said, to go fuck yourself. Or, if you find her, go fuck Lucy Gray!” You rage, spinning around and walking out of the bathroom.

Coryo stands there in utter disbelief at what had just happened moments earlier. The image of you causing a scene infront of everybody and that tribute from district 4, his hands roaming around your body shamelessly. He felt pure rage coursing through his veins as he slams his fist against the wall.

Before you walk through the door, you stop and turn to face him. His expression angry, his hands were bawled up into fists, the wall beside him had a whole where he punctured it with his hand. “Don’t ever try talking to me again, Coriolanus. I mean it. Or I’ll do something you’ll regret.” You conclude before turning back around and walking away.

Coriolanus Snow knew without a doubt that you were capable of so many things that would hurt him, and his reputation. And he did not need further damage. So he listened. Regret seeped into him every single day as he left you alone. He would always watch you from afar though, he loved you, there was no denying.

What occurred that day with Lucy Gray was a mistake, a mistake he wished he could take back more than anything.

Taglist: @valenftcrush @ghostlycrystobalove @esquivelbianca @duds31 @threeinchminimum @shadowsepiphany @novacaneformybrain @crazylokonugget @unclecrunkle @darkqweenn @marihoneywk @beckinator7 @stelleduarte @1950schick @celineandtulips

[tb3ih]

midnight snack ⨳ nanami kento

[ HUSBAND!kento takes care of both his girls ] fluff + smut!

the clock has just changed to read 3:29 am when nanami kento hears the slight creaking of his bedroom door swing open oh-so-carefully. the light padding of tiny feet come gently before they stop just at his bedside, tiny hands feeling for the comforter which he had pulled over his body.

"otōsan?" her voice is just above a whisper as her hand finds nanami's face, to which the man shifts just a little to look his little girl. eyes the same hue as yours, her long, blonde hair is a little mussed from sleep but she looks unharmed.

nanami sighs quietly, arm moving the covers slightly to allow her to crawl in, but she simply shakes her head, little hands moving to grab his hand and tug him a little as if to beckon him from the bed. "tummy hurts," she pouts.

careful not to wake your sleeping figure from the other side of the bed, he stands from the bed slowly. arms outstretched for his daughter, nanami catches her in his arms and hoists her onto his hip before exiting the bedroom soundlessly.

"alright, princess," nanami sighs, tired eyes adjusting to the light warm light of the kitchen before he sets her down on the counter. "are you hungry?"

the little girl nods her head, eyes watching as he moves to the pantry to make her something quick. nanami returns with a household favorite, biscoff cookies, and a jar of nutella. "choccy!"

nanami brings a finger to his lips, smiling a little at her enthusiasm before telling her she has to keep quiet so as not to wake anyone up. "this has to be a secret between you and daddy," he explains in a low voice, "no one can know i let you have these."

his daughter nods with a grin, pinkie finger coming to link with his just as another voice joins the room.

"let her have what?" nanami's eyes find yours at the entrance of the kitchen from the hallway, your arms crossed and your body leaning against the frame. "what's the secret, kento?"

your eyes are almost taunting when you walk over to stand by his side, the tips of your fingers grazing the bare skin of his back so lightly nanami has to assure himself he felt it. you bring your hand to tuck a stray lock behind your daughter's ear, her giggle ringing out softly as you poke her cheek. "bubba, didn't we talk about waking daddy up for snacks?"

your daughter pouts a little, muttering a small sorry as she lowers her head a little, looking up at you through blonde lashes. you sigh, "three more cookies and then off to bed with you."

"yay!" she cheers, pumping her little fist up in the air, earning a low chuckle from your husband beside you and an exasperated but amused sigh from you. "thank you!"

you watch with your husband as she finishes, hopping off the counter with a little 'oomph' coming back to hug you two good night, offering a little smooch of gratitude before nanami walks back with her hand in his to her bedroom.

you've just put the food away are wiping the counter down of crumbs when your husband re-enters the kitchen. "i'm sorry i woke you, sweetheart," he apologizes, arms wrapping around your waist as you dry the counter with a towel. "i tried not to."

letting go of the towel, you turn and offer him a smile, your hands holding his face as you bring your lips to his temple. you pause, lips lingering for just a moment. "don't apologize," you start, "you must be exhausted, kento."

he simply nods, sinking into you the moment you let a hand tangle in his hair and your other travel the strong lines of his back. "i just..." nanami breathes deeply and you feel as though the weight of his body lessens just slightly. "i hope you might be able to forgive me for my work schedule..."

you pull away to look at him, brows furrowed as your eyes search his. the lines under his eyes are deep and you can see how the overtime has pulled at the lines of his smile. "no, don't even say that," you say, "we'll always be here, no matter the time of the day. you just make sure you come home to us, okay?"

he presses a soft kiss to your lips, almost as if to seal the promise. "okay."

[n]sfw under the cut!

warning(s) — oral & fingering (f!receiving), use of 'sweetheart', absolute brainrot.

there is a moment of silence before he speaks up once more. "since we're out here for a midnight snack, you wouldn't mind being mine?"

"kento—!" you can't finish your sentence because his lips are on yours, strong hands holding your hips as he places you on the counter swiftly but carefully, the warmth of his torso pressing against you as he leans into you. "kento, please—"

"shh," your hands come to hold his face against yours, fingers pressed against the strong lines of his jaw when you feel his tongue swipe your bottom lip. "let's not wake our little girl, hm?"

a whimper escapes you when your bottom lips gets caught between his teeth, the small moment of pain leaving a burning in your veins. nanami runs his hands up your seated thighs, the tips of his fingers teasing at the waistband of your sleeping garments. he lingers there, a small smile forming at your lips when you look him in the eyes. "may i?"

you nod slowly, never letting your eyes leave his as his fingers hook into the waistband of your pajama bottoms. his pace is achingly slow, tugging the silk material down your legs and folding it before letting it sit on the counter beside you. nanami's fingertips are gentle as they trace up your thighs and stop to hold your hips in place, his lips moving from yours to kiss down your throat.

he is a murmuring mess of 'you are so beautiful' and curses as he trails down your chest. you allow him to to guide you into a laying position, your back relaxing against the countertop as he makes his way down your chest. your husband takes a moment to press a chaste kiss on your lower abdomen, his eyes relishing the way your stomach caves in with shaky breaths.

hooking a finger in the band of your underwear, nanami teases the skin just beneath the material, leaving you to squirm a little where you lay. "please," you whimper, your fingers finding his hair and instinctively tangling in the blonde locks.

"hm?" his voice is a low and gravelly against the soft of your skin, every consonant of his resonating through your nerves at the moment. "if you're asking something of me, sweetheart, i'll need you to use your words."

his thumbs rubs slowly, achingly against your clit through the cloth of your undergarment, waves of heat spilling from between your thighs and washing over the rest of your body. "p-please just... make me feel good."

"with pleasure," nanami replies lowly, not a second later tugging any remaining material away from you, discarding it on the folded pile near you. his large hands are warm when you feel them against the back of your thighs, and they're gentler still as they push until your thighs are comfortably pressed against your stomach.

his lips start at your clit, offering a ghost of a kiss before you feel his tongue swirl around it and leave your needy body shuddering. though you can't see his face, you know your husband well enough to know it's taking everything in him from devouring you right then and there.

warm breath against your sex leaving you craving more, you nearly gasp at the feeling of his warm muscle dipping between your folds. he is cautious and exploratory at first, making sure you're fully relaxed before delving in all the way, the flexing of his tongue against your walls has your spine arching unintentionally off the wood of the counter.

you hear him groan into you as you involuntarily clench, his tongue continuing to work skillfully to leave your core completely undone. it's the combination of the occasional grazing of his nose against your sensitive bud and the grip of his hands on the back of your thighs when you squirm under him. "i'll never get enough of you," nanami mumbles, one of his hands coming to press into your soaked entrance. "i'm only using my lips and already you're a mess."

rather than tantalizing, his voice is observant, softer around the edges to reassure you that he would be gentle. nanami lets his finger sink into you, eyes lighting in satisfaction as he watches the way you sigh when he starts to finger you. he adds a second finger, his mouth attentive to your clit in a way that has you mewling, fingers pulling harder at his hair. your husband quickens his pace, adding a second finger and curling them, causing waves of ecstasy to wash through your nerves.

you whine his name, voice shaking as you feel the knot in your stomach untying, pleasure blinding your vision. "w-wait! i can't--"

"of course you can, sweetheart," nanami soothes, pulling you closer to his face from where you scooted up to in a feeble attempt to escape him. "you just do what you do best, and i'll take care of the rest."

and finish with a silenced cry, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you feel the tension in your lower abdomen snap. your thighs close around your husband's head, though he doesn't stop his movements, sinking his face deeper into you and curling his fingers in a deliciously deliberate pace.

you are a panting mess when nanami finally comes to stand over you, amusement tugging at the corner of his slick-covered lips. one of his hands is massaging your hip to ease the spasming of your frame and the other he brings to his face. you watch as he cleans your mess from his fingers, a sigh escaping from his lips at the sight of you on the counter.

leaning down, he lets his lips fall to the crevice where your shoulder meets your neck, his incisors suddenly latching on and leaving you to gasp at the sudden sting of pain. "kento, she's sleeping!" your voice is an urgent whisper, though you know it's ineffective when he lets up to look you in the eye.

in his eyes burns the emotion of a man starved, and you're starting to wonder whether you'll even make it to the morning. it isn't until he pulls your legs to rest on his shoulders that you know for sure you're a goner.

kissing the inside of your leg, he confesses, "i never wanted just a snack, sweetheart."

© tb3ih mmxxiv all rights reserved.

[shotmrmiller]

Needs Must III

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

WC: 2.2k

TW: frottage into outercourse, unprotected p in v, squirting, creampie. explicit smut.

18+ MDNI

“Hey, John—” and choke back a yelp when you realize that the person standing in front of you isn’t Johnny, but the one man you haven’t seen in months.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Despite your shock, a sound of disgust escapes your lips involuntarily, causing him to chuckle. Ghost walks past you, brushing his bicep with your shoulder, and heads to the living room to take off his leather jacket, placing it on the backrest of your couch— and the gloves follow. You stood behind him, arms crossed, curling your socked toes nervously into the soft fibers of your carpet. 

He leisurely rolls up the silky satin dress shirt sleeves, exposing the intricate tattoos adorning his forearms. Without turning around, he softly says, “C’mere, pet.” His deep baritone voice pulls at your heartstrings because it’s been so long, you missed him more than you’d like to admit. With a deep breath, you attempt to steady your racing heart, your gaze fixed on the ground, and slowly approach him.

“Oh?” and he tips your chin up with his finger, demanding your attention, noticing his amused smile. “Johnny fuck you into submission, er somethin’?” Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you’re unsure if it’s out of embarrassment or anger.

“Don’t look surprised. He’s my best friend.” Spluttering, you heatedly ask, “And what? Y’all just gossip like old hens over ‘work’?” finger quoting the last word. With a cheeky grin, he casually shrugs his shoulders. “Somethin’ like tha’. If you worried, he gave you a glowin’ review,” the grin turns into a slight sneer, “bastard.” 

Ghost gives you a once-over, sweeping his eyes from your feet to your head, and holds your gaze for a second, then murmurs, “Come.” With a gentle yet commanding hold on your wrist, he pulls you towards the bedroom, and you’re reminded of the times he pinned both of your hands onto the bed with his large one— sending a very familiar ache between your legs. He sits you on the edge of the bed, toes his shoes off, and starts to undo the buttons on his shirt, exposing the strong muscles of his chest and his soft, slightly round stomach. He doesn’t even bother removing it fully, instead, he reaches for the waistband of your shorts. You extend your leg out, firmly pressing your dainty foot on his sternum, keeping him in place.

He stills, and you speak before he gets a chance to. “What’re you doing here, Ghost?” His heavy, dark gaze is unwavering, entrancing. “‘M here f’you. You didn’t honestly think tha’ I’d let you keep callin’ Johnny instead o’me?” He encircles your delicate ankle with his long fingers and pushes your leg to the side— the other hand taking the hem of your skirt, dragging it up until it bunches around your waist, and slots himself between your spread thighs. Lips brush against your cheek before moving up to your ear. “What is it? He treat you better than me?” His warm breath sends a shiver down your spine. Instead of waiting for a reply, he catches your earlobe with his teeth, nibbling on it. Your hands promptly fist the sides of his open shirt, mewling at the pinch of his bite. “Hm?” he questions as he grinds his clothed erection against your center. 

You’re lightheaded from the sound of his voice, the heat of his body seeping into your skin, the smell of his cologne— a woody aromatic fragrance, all of it so fucking intoxicating. He delivers a sharp, stinging slap to the side of your thigh, demanding your attention, and it sends a jolt straight to your dripping cunt— making it contract around nothing. “He fuck you better than I have?” You give him a vigorous shake of your head, and a needy moan spills from your mouth as he gives your core a particularly hard thrust, the hard metal of the zipper rubbing against your clit. You begin to grind your hips down onto him and move one hand from his now very crinkled shirt, to hold on to the hairs at the nape of his neck.

“You boutta come all over my trousers, baby?” 

And then his hands are on your waist, firmly keeping you in place. You whine loudly, you were so close— 

“Then why did you stop seeing me?” Your head is so heavily clouded with arousal, drunk off of him that the answers tumble out unwittingly— mind solely focused on getting the friction back where you need it most.

“I wanted you all f’me,” slurring your words, “Guess the hand y’always used to choke me with kept the blood from flowing t’my head—” your rambling is cut off by his mouth slanting over yours, tongues entangling. He swallows all of the salacious noises you let slip, drinks them in, makes them his— makes you his. When he pulls away, you find yourself gasping for air. With a raspy voice, you mumble, “I thought you—” and he silences you with another hungry kiss.

“I only kiss what’s mine.” He hooks his thumbs into the band of your knickers and pulls them off, throwing them somewhere behind his shoulder. He swiftly undoes his trousers and steps out of them along with his boxer shorts. “Let’s play a game of Simon says, pet.” He maneuvered your hands to grab under your thighs, keeping them spread for him. Leaning forward, he leans on one arm, using the other to press the head of his cock on your puffy lips, holding it in place with his thumb. He slowly thrusts up, making sure you feel every ridge and vein against your swollen clit, “And I say, you come f’me, just” thrust “like” thrust “this.” 

You push your hips down when he pulls back, up when he drags his thick cock up, delicious friction on your bundle of nerves. Every roll of his hips gets you closer to your climax, your pussy dripping slick down to your perineum. Your thighs start to tremble in your sweaty hands, body tense. “Oh my god. Ohmy—”  

He shifts his weight from his arm to lean on his elbow, heavy body flush against yours, pressing you into the bed—  fisting your hair and pulling it taut, tilting your face up to his. 

“It’s either my name or none at all.” He punctuates the syllables with his thrusts. “Si - mon.” 

Releasing your thighs, you dig your nails into the sides of his waist, grip tightening at your impending orgasm. Simon grunts a low, gravelly sound. “There they are. My kitten’s sharp claws,” one more thrust, then again, he moans, “Come f’me, baby.” And you tip over the edge. Anything he might’ve said after is completely muted either by the ringing in your ears or the wail that clawed out of your throat. Collapsing, you twitch and shake in Simon’s arms, taking in ragged breaths. 

“You with me?” giving him a weak nod. Slowly, he pulls away, and there’s clear, stringy liquid dripping from his tip connecting to the hood of your pussy. He moves you to lie in the middle of the bed gently, body completely limp, plain dead weight, then walks to your nightstand. “What’s with all the lambskin condoms?” 

A soft, relaxed sigh slips out of you. “Johnny’s allergic to latex, I had no idea. Had to go without one the first time.” Simon lets out a drawn-out hum, then drops the protection back into the drawer. He shrugs off his damp satin shirt, then gets on the bed, crawling over you— covering your body easily with his, and prods his bare cock at your entrance.

“But you’re mine now, aren’t you? Gonna let me take what’s mine?” Swallowing thickly, you look at him, and his eyes are dark, glittering— gaze intense. Maybe you took too long to answer because he starts to slowly push the tip in, and hisses, “You’re mine, only mine. Got it?” and your tight, rippling walls stretch around his invasion. Your breathy moan is cut off when he bottoms out, flared head firmly pressing into your cervix. He’s at a dead end, and he grinds down, almost like he’s trying to push it past that, feeling a deep pinch at the entrance of your womb. The pressure is punishing, incessant, you swear you can feel him in your throat. “Nod if you understand,” he snarls.

You do as he says, no commands, nodding with messy, jerky movements. “Good girl.” He relents, pulling back to sit on his haunches to press one leg into your bed and hook the other over his shoulder. Wordlessly, he sets a fast pace, but his thrusts are shallow, in a staccato rhythm—  and fuck him, because he knows precisely where to hit. Ruthless prodding against your sweet spot, over and over again. It feels like jabs to the underside of your bladder, and every tap makes that feeling sharper, acute. Oh no. Nono— 

You know exactly what’s going to happen. Your eyes glisten with tears, cascading down your cheeks, as the overwhelming sensation takes hold, and with every thrust, it only becomes more concentrated.

“Awh, my poor pet. Feels tha’ good, does it? Look at you, cryin’.” You can't find it in you to be even the slightest bit humiliated because you’re about to lose the last of your sanity, he’s about to break you. You can’t even control the shrill moans Simon all but punches out of you. 

“Oh, I’d recognize tha’ cross-eyed look anywhere.” He chuckles, “C’mon then. Make a mess f’me.” His thrusts are unyielding in his pursuit of what he’s about to make you do.  “Squirt f’me, pretty.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your body locks tight, and this time you scream. Liquid warmth floods in between your legs, drenching yourself, your bed, Simon— but you don’t care. There isn’t a single thought in that empty head of yours. 

Simon was languidly thrusting, fucking you through the aftershocks until a wavering breath escapes your lips, mirroring the shaky tremors that are currently rippling through your body. As he leans in, his lips softly caress your face, wiping away any stray tears that remain, and the spit that drooled out of your mouth. “You did so well f’me.” Your eyes widen at the feel of his solid, heavy cock still at full mast inside of you. 

He changes position, this time hooking the other leg over his shoulder, then gives you one soft thrust and you distinctly hiss, oversensitized. Simon presses your knees into you with his body weight, pinning you down fully, with no escape, and loops his arms underneath your torso to grab onto your shoulders— and starts snapping his hips viciously. A merciless pace, each slap of his hips against your ass making your pussy squelch obscenely, and there’s nothing you can do other than take his assault. It is unbelievable, how just seconds before were squirming away from him because of how tender you were, and here you are, about to fall over another mind-numbing edge.

“If you want me to come, then squeeze that tight cunt and wrench it out of me.” He pounded into you harder, the headboard of your bed furiously smacking against the wall that you know there’ll be cracks on it. Crying out, he continuously hits the deepest part of your pussy, and you come undone. Vision darkening, you’re slammed with wave after wave of pleasure, your walls squeezing him so tight, you’re strangling his cock and he makes a choked sound. 

“Oh-of, f-fu-” he lets out a low, drawn-out moan that lasts all four last thrusts— before his hips stutter, and finally still, spurting thick, sticky white ropes of cum into you.

—

The room was echoing with both of your heavy inhales, desperate to fill your lungs with air. It was humid, smelt of sex and body sweat. Simon grunts as he turns to his side, getting off of you, and the sharp gasp of air you intake is comical.

“Am I tha’ heavy, love?” 

You look like you’re tittering on the edge of consciousness, but snort and answer him. “Yes. Obviously. The only thing small about you is your humility.” He gives a belly laugh and leans in to give you one last sweet, tender kiss. 

“Go to sleep, love. I’ll take you out for breakfast tomorrow, maybe meet some of my friends.” 

“You mean Kyle and John? They’re very nice.” He falters because what? But you were already softly snoring. 

Stretching his arm across the nightstand, he swiftly retrieves his phone and a mischievous grin spreads across his face upon seeing a text from Johnny from hours ago.

Ya really answered her text on my phone pretending to be me. Pussywhipped.

You really told her you’re allergic to latex, when you use latex gloves to cook. 

Oof. Fair. 

And you’re gonna explain to me why she knows Gaz n Price.

Jus’ sharin the love, Simon. 

Sucking his teeth, he puts his phone underneath the pillow, and loops an arm around your waist, pulling you to him. With a tender kiss on your sweaty forehead, he drifts off into a peaceful sleep.

A/N: ngl i was fighting for my life? shit had me aroused. oof. im def writing price and kyle into this because 141 til i die. maybe a könig? unsure.

@rookiesbookies KYLE COMIN NEXT

[messylustt]

hi! could you do an enemies to lovers type thing with miguel and have y/n come to him injured in some way and you do the whole

“i had nowhere else to go” and

“who did this to you?”

thanks so much! kisses!!

enemies to lovers is superior. as plain as that.

sorta fluff going to your enemy miguel

your fist clenched around the door, your other hand gingerly holding your thigh. you had tried to wrap part of your shirt around the wound, but the blood still easily seeped through. and as you knocked, regret seemed to swarm your mind. maybe this was a bad idea. why were you here of all places? but then the door is opening, and your fluttering eyes meet the chest of miguel. you look up, catching his expression.

at first he displays annoyance upon seeing you. followed by confusion at your state and overall presence at his door. and then finally one close to concern when he notices your wound, the blood, and your shaking body. “i didn’t know where else to go…i…” your chest is heaving as you try to focus the pain, shutting your eyes. that’s when miguel reacts, grabbing your stumbling body, his brows still furrowed as he pulls you inside, his hands are hesitant at first, but soon his hold becomes more prominent, as your body nearly slips to the floor.

he catches your waist, trying to hold you steady, as your mind drifts in and out of consciousness. “y/n?” usually you hear malice in his tone but all you catch is genuine concern. you must have lost a lot of blood… miguel’s chest is beginning to heave as he feels just how limp your body has gotten. a worried feeling is blossoming inside him, spreading like a virus. because why was he worried? he doesn’t like you. but as you now rely completely on miguel, seeming comfortable enough to let him move you towards the couch, miguel feels a sense of…protectiveness? that can’t be right.

you’ve never let him this close before. which has him beyond concerned. you aren’t in your right mind otherwise you’d push him away. because now he has laid your body back against the couch, moving to the floor — kneeling in front of you. he doesn’t think as he grabs your leg resting it over his shoulder so that he had access to your bleeding thigh. he widens your legs to give him room and ignores the sight of you sweating above him. grabbing the near by first aid kit, he pauses. your pants were in the way.

and he knows you’ll protest, but you’re bleeding to a possible death, so miguel is quick to unbutton your pants, pulling the zipper down. you quickly glance down grabbing his hand, as you shake your head. “what are you — ”

“don’t move.” is all miguel says, pushing you back against the couch as he brings your thigh closer, his other hand forcing your leg to stay spread for him. then he’s removing your pants, situating your legs how he needs.

“this is a little forward.” you mutter quietly. “i wouldn’t be caught dead in this position again with you.” miguel remarks. “then why are you in it in the first place?” you ask, breathless. miguel’s jaw clenches. “if you died I wouldn’t have anyone to bully.”

“ah, so you admit you bully me?” you reply, as miguel dabs at your deep, gouged out cut, making you wince, and try to close your legs. but miguel is strong widening them even further.

“that’s a bit far.” you comment resting your head back. “what is?” miguel asks, a strange sense of panic filling him at just the amount of blood that is coming out of you and in prospect of how much you’ve clearly lost already. you were fading, and in response to that his grip on your bare — free from injury — thigh grows a little tighter, his claws unintentionally digging in. but the slight pain actually helps you as it redirects some of it from your cut. “my legs. they don’t have to be that wide.” you say, moving to close them again.

but miguel doesn’t budge. “i could spread them wider if you want.” he moves to do so, but you quickly shake your head. “alright, alright.” you rush out. miguel has now placed a large bandage around your leg, feeling some sense of relief at stopping the blood flow — having stitched some of your skin, while he distracted you with his claws. you gulp, looking at your tended to wound.

“it’s strange wanting to say…thank you.” you mutter out, though your eyes still flutter, as your head slightly lolls to the side. miguel is quick, widening your legs further to grab your chin, and support your neck. he’s breathing hard watching your eyes shut. he squeezes your cheeks. “you can’t sleep. not right now.”

“is now really the right time to not want me sleeping on your couch?” you ask, meeting his gaze tiredly. his hands were basically cupping your face, his face rather close. “what happened?” he asks. “you know, i actually kind of came here because i thought you would at least let me die by a cushion.” you partially joke. “y/n.” miguel is stern.

though you two may not ‘like’ each other. miguel had never once wanted you to die. he hadn’t realised just how prominent you had become in his life. and the thought of you not being in it to remark on his terrible temper or throw your best insults at him, makes his chest actually ache. “what happened?” he repeats, but you continue. “i knew you’d give me room to die—“

“stop saying you’re gonna die.” miguel interrupts harshly. “stop.” you watch as his expression darkens. “you’re not gonna die…” he whispered out so quietly. your hand lazily reaches out, your mind a fraction fuzzy from the blood loss, as you almost feel drunk. miguel’s heart stops, as your hand just traces his face, your brows furrowing as your fingertip glides down his nose. you looked so concentrated.

“why aren’t you letting me…” you mutter. maybe your subconscious had brought you here, because it had thought that miguel would let you die peacefully. you hadn’t really expected him to react so quick and help you. “letting you what?” he mutters, shivers running down his spine at your barely there caresses. and then your hand is moving away. “die.”

miguel’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding at the thought. “did you really think i’d let you die, y/n?” he raises higher on his knees, now forcing you to look up at him. “who did that? what happened?” and you finally answer, giving a name. oh god that name was one miguel kept, ready to bring out when he saw the poor poor man. a walking dead man now. you had been stuck. wrong place, wrong time.

“you’re probably wondering exactly why i came here.” you say moving to get out of miguel’s personal space, but he doesn’t let you, pulling you back to him by your waist making your breathing hitch. “come here. whatever the situation…come here.” he mutters, lips so close to yours. he’s breathing hard, matching your mismatched rise and fall of your chest. “you hear me?”

“but — ”

“do. you. hear. me?” miguel slowly asks. and you nod, making miguel’s eyes dart. and then you’re leaning forward, making miguel gulp. but your head just falls on his shoulder and partially against his chest. and as he wraps his arms around your body, prepared to move you somewhere you can actually rest, you whisper almost absentmindedly. “thank you…miguel…thank you.” you sound faraway, sleepy.

miguel’s hold tightens around you, wrapping your legs around his waist as he stands, your body now limp as he feels your controlled sleeping breathes against his neck. his hand slightly slips into your hair, keeping you close, as he whispers back, you obviously not catching anything. “it’s never gonna happen…you’re never gonna go, y/n…no…you’re staying here…”

[uhohdad]

THE GIRL WHO CONQUERED THE MOUNTAIN

KONIG X READER [HUNGER GAMES AU]

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

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

CHAPTER ONE | PREV | CHAPTER NAVIGATION

➤ THE VICTOR II

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

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

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

You don’t let go - you can’t let go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have nothing!”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re all I have.”

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

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

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

For a moment your voice is as soft as his.

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

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

He doesn’t have anything to say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes meet yours again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you don’t think you’re brave.”

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

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

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

You still feel small, but in a good way?

Dainty.

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

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

Neither of you know what you’re doing.

It shows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You give him a few closed-mouth kisses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ich-” He looks away, “When you-“

Your brow quirks at his hesitance.

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

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

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

You can feel him on your waist.

It’s strange, how boys work.

How suddenly there is something where normally there is nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really like kissing you, too.”

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

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

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

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

“C’mere.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” You whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rougher, please.”

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

Another breathy, high-pitched gasp leaves you.

“Konig - It feels so good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s all your fault.”

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

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

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

Your eyes lock, clouded with drowsy arousal.

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

Slurred but unmistakable.

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He asks for permission with a look.

“Yes,” You whisper, “Please.”

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

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

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

“Okay?” You ask with a quiet voice.

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

“It’s okay.”

“Okay,” he says with a swallow.

“Can I see you?”

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

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

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

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

“No, no, it’s nice. Sorry, I’m just-”

You cut yourself off with another nervous laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feels s’good,” he slurs.

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

“Bitte,” he whimpers, “Hhn-”

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

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

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

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

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

Your brow lifts in confusion.

His gaze briefly averts, still fighting off twitches.

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

“Oh,” You say.

“I’m sorry.”

A flattered and pleased grin crosses your face.

“No, it’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just be gentle,” you say.

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

You suck in a breath, squirming at his touch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Konig?” You whine, “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should I stop?” He asks.

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

He nods slow.

“More?” He asks with soft eyes.

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

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

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

“Sorry,” You mutter with closed eyes.

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

You nod, resting an arm over your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you huff, light and warm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No -

Arrogance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Faster,” you choke out, “Meaner.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your face twists, absentmindedly grinding down on his finger.

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing to say, little one?”

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

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

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

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

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

You know he heard you.

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

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

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

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

“That’s a good girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re no match for me anyway.”

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

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

Even if he was your opponent the entire time.

Even after you thought he was trying to kill you.

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

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

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

It’s a threat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes narrow at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lip juts to the side in a cocky smirk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you look cuter getting fucked.”

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

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

“You want more, little one?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you feel it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” he says reassuringly.

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

“Too big for such a little girl?”

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

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

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

You let out an annoyed grunt, and he scoffs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Konig.”

“My good girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up and fuck me.”

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

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

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

“So - guh, so warm.”

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

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

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

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

“Ach, f-”

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

Your turn.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck me.”

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

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

“S’okay?” He slurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t.”

His forehead presses to yours, your chests flush together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

“I love you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I meant it,” He says.

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods eagerly with a raise of his brows.

You give a shrug and a single nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You taste so good.”

You give a soft laugh, “Thank you.”

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

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

“That felt really good,” you whisper.

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

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

He hums again, giving your thigh a squeeze.

“I love you,” He mumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lips pull to the side.

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

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

He hums in agreement.

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

“We could let them decide,” You offer.

“The gamemakers?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brow raises.

“No?”

“The twenty-three,” he reminds you.

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

You let out a hefty exhale.

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

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

“Neither can love, apparently.”

“Ja,” He agrees through heavy breath.

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

He laughs as you nudge his shoulder.

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

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

“You know what it was for.”

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

For killing.

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

Isn’t the same true for you?

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

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

You sigh again.

“Stalemate,” You say, almost wistfully.

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

“Konig?”

“Yes?”

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

“Do you really love me?”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

He swallows, his eyes darting around.

He gives a slow, solemn nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He lets out a long, slow breath.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

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

He gives you a sad smile that quickly fades.

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

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

Sunset, you want to die at sunset.

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

You clear your throat as you watch his brows lower.

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

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

He nods quickly, staring at you expectantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sun is halfway set.

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

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

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

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

“No, no. It’s okay. Rest.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twisted into a question, he calls your name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Konig - No!”

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

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

“No!”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you idiot!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s yours.”

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

“It was always for you, mein seiger.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One final look that’s sure.

Once final look that’s found.

And it hits you.

You know how you can save him.

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

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

The last one alive.

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

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

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

You can only hope that your heart stops beating first.

We’ll see who wakes up tomorrow, Konig.

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

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

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

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

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

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

NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER NAVIGATION

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

[beansprean]

somebody please go play mario party with derek and answer all his questions

My Familiar’s Ghost Masterpost Masterpost 2

See the latest pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Waist up of vampire Guillermo with his hands held out palm-up, eyes closed in concentration. With an unsure expression, he stutters out, 'I, Guillermo de-uh, Guillermo the Great, am calling out in the ether...' Behind him, Nandor pumps two encouraging fists and demands, 'More vibrato!' 2. Close up on Nandor, eyes closed and shaking a decisive fist, as he continues: 'You must call out across your mind, find connections, and reach out to them with a strong hand-' From offscreen, an excited voice interrupts, 'Yo, Guillermo!' 3. Shoulders up of Guillermo in the foreground with a pleased if awkward smile as an ether bubble containing Derek appears above his palms. Derek is wearing a mesh shirt and holding switch controllers in each hand. In the background, Nandor whips around with a shocked and definitely not jealous expression when he sees who Guillermo reached out to. Guillermo greets, 'Hey, Derek.' Derek grins and replies, 'It's good to see you in one piece, dude! Nice glasses.' Guillermo: 'Thanks.' Derek: 'I've been texting you, but-' Guillermo: 'I had to get a new number. But you can just call me through the ether, I guess.' 4. Waist up of Guillermo and Nandor; Nandor steps up into frame, expression schooled into aloofness, and flaps his arm through Derek's bubble, cutting off his 'the what?' response and breaking the connection. Guillermo jerks back in surprise, Nandor's hand cutting very close to his face and ruffling his carefully curled hair. Nandor says dismissively, 'Okay, bye-bye Dick, talk to you later!' 5. Repeat. Nandor looks toward Guillermo, flapping hand now smoothing down the hair he had disturbed, and says, 'Very good job, Guillermo, you have mastered the ether, etcetera.' Guillermo freezes at the touch, squeezing his hands together over his stomach and pressing his lips together tightly, face flushed. Green trickles of los goosebumps appear around him, but are overtaken by a pink glow and a little red heart. /end ID

[norikuna]

touch me there! gojo satoru. minors dni.

prologue. who knew that the strongest man to walk the earth, the closest thing humanity had to a god, was this weak just from your touch?

warnings. handjób, óverstimulation (m. receiving) and gojo being a slút for you

mp3. touch, touch, touch. thought about you way too much! — touch, katseye (2024)

a/n. made my own gifs for this one! i actually really enjoyed that 😭 today i learnt the difference between a web-dl file and a remux file. gifmakers are so strong...

you know that gojo's power is an indomitable force, and with a snap of his fingers, mountains would crumble, the seas could part, and the skies themselves would darken in his wake. no mortal, no force of the heavens above, no...nothing can touch him or shake his resolve. or at least that's what people say when they whisper about him. when other sorcerers point and wonder what it must be like to be the most unshakeable man on the planet.

well you've had your hand around his pale berry-pink cock for an hour, and you can say with full clarity of mind that there is one thing that can undo the divine power that is satoru gojo.

his thick shaft is slick with pre-cum, and the skin is smooth yet taut, supple and throbbing. his head has fallen back in exhaustion, frustrated from your teasing just as he gets so close to his release. hates how you draw your hand back suddenly leaving him high and dry, and aching furiously

but its just not enough for you yet, and he sees something soo godly within you right now. how is it that you've just undone him so easily, had him squirming and shaking like a whore?

he thinks its your nails that have him so delirious, for they reach for the underside of his cock and gently grasp his heavy balls, so painful that they ache, running the light tips of your fingers over the folded skin

"baby - please, no more. i don't think i can - can," and he's twitching under your touch. and yet despite his words you see the flush of amusement still dancing on his face, red brushing over his cheeks and leaving a rosy dawn behind on his gorgeous face

"ohh, satoru, so messy today aren'tcha?" and he bucks his hips up at the way you just purr out his name, a staccato tempo of him fucking himself up into your clenched fist, absolutely leaking a thin, milky fluid that leaves the both of you dizzy

its intoxicating for you too, starting at the base of his cock right where light curls of pale hair tickle at your knuckles. then you slowly drag your hand up, until your thumb comes to rest on the fat mushroom tip, a glowy-red as you lovingly run the digit back and forth, drinking in at how gojo is practically whining, chest heaving and littered with the marks and bruises left from your adoring teeth

but the killing blow, the one that leaves him feeling like he's been cleaved in half (too soon?) is when you dip your hands to the moist sheen between your legs, the slick gloss that has gathered from you, coating your fingers liberally. and how you use that same hand, still covered in your arousal to pump him more furiously

in the end, he's got tears pricking his eyes when he reaches his climax, beading in the corners of his brilliant blue gaze, weepy and leaking. and you're left to marvel at how thick, white seed shoots out and plasters all over your hand, over your torso as you had been leaning over him and before you can blink, he's beaming up at you, muttering about sensitivity but still positioning your hips right above his freshly milked cock for round two, no, three? four?

[nebulaafterdark]

Dragonseeds (Pt. 1)

Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon(Cole)!Reader

Summary: If any man can claim a dragon, what good is the blood of Old Valyria?

18+ ONLY MDNI

Y/N Velaryon has loved Aegon since she was small; fascinated by the Prince, three years her senior. Like a shadow, from corridor to corridor, and one day, like a switch, they flip.

Aegon begins seeking her out, searching the castle high and low for his betrothed. Training fiercely by the sword, with the understanding that only a knight could properly defend her. A sworn sword will only go so far, they could not love her the way he does.

“I love you too much, you have ruined me.”

He often tells her, to which the princess smiles.

“As dearly as I love you.”

When they are forced to wed immediately after the incident at Driftmark, neither the prince nor princess are eager to produce heirs.

They fight often, loud, passionate disagreements. He raises his hand to her once, in a fit of rage. Using every bit of self restraint to cup her cheek instead, a bit too forcefully. With blunt nails digging into her delicate skin as she watches him with wide eyes. “I meant to strike you.” That is what one does when the person they love refuses to listen, is it not?

“You did not.”

“I wanted to,” he admits. “I could not.”

The princess offers a sad smile, turning her face into his palm. “That is what matters.”

They do not lie together for some four years, until the growing protests become too loud to ignore.

“The smallfolk believe that a strong line of succession is the work of a strong marriage. My claim is already in question, we will need a strong line.” Y/N whispers against his lips.

Aegon loves his wife, but detests the notion that she is to be bred like cattle to uphold their duty to the crown. He hates being a prince, he hates being a Targaryen.

That is why he so loves Y/N’s hair, each dark, rebellious wave. How it screams ‘I do not belong to you.’

He hacks off his silver tresses at the first sob of his wife on the birthing bed. Never allowing it to grow past his chin again.

The future Queen and King consort are blessed with twin daughters, followed by three sweet sons, the youngest two inherit their mother’s dark locks. Pleasing Aegon to no end.

“I want a daughter who favors you.” Aegon admits.

“Then we must try again.” Y/N grins.

Aegon fists a hand in her dark locks as they make love, as though it will grant his wish.

They are expecting a sixth child before King Viserys’ death. Before Aegon takes the throne to guard it. Before Y/N crowns him, in the dragon pit, at Ser Criston’s order.

“Listen to me now, these next days are critical. Decide now whether you wish to live or die, if you want your children to live.”

“My children are in danger?” Y/N whispers.

“Your children have been in danger.” Ser Criston sneers.

“Why are you helping me?”

“You know why.” Cole grits out. Blood of my blood.

“Surely it would be easier for you if I were gone.”

“I do not wish you dead.” The man tells her. “Crown Aegon, the people must see you to do it. Surrender it peacefully and they will fall in line.”

“And my mother?”

Cole squares his shoulders, “we save who we can save.”

————————————————————————

Only two days later tragedy strikes, pressing on the delicate ties that hold the greens together. Severing them with the news of Vhagar’s betrayal.

“I did not mean to kill Lucerys.” Aemond admits, in the presence of his mother, grandsire and brother alone.

“What did you mean to do?” Aegon slams his fist against the table.

“Have a bit of fun.”

“Fun?” Aegon scoffs, “is it entertaining to you that I must now break this news to my wife in her condition?”

“Aegon,” Alicent sighs, “mayhaps you might wait until-”

“I will not lie to her, mother.” Aegon says, “better she hear it from me.”

“The grand maester should ready a draft, something to calm her.” Otto suggests.

“No.” Aegon shakes his head.

“Think of the babe.”

“I do think of the babe!” Aegon shouts, “I think of the babe and I think of my wife. My poor, sweet, wife who is never considered by another soul, save for me.”

Alicent swallows hard.

“This world can be cruel.” Otto admits, “you must keep your wits about you, your grace.”

Aegon scoffs, storming out of the room to find his wife, standing but a foot from the doorway. “How much did you hear?”

“Very little, I was headed to look in on the children. I heard you shouting.” She admits, “it stopped me.”

“Come, my heart.” Aegon murmurs, wrapping her in his arms. “There is something I must tell you.”

Y/N nods, against his chest. It must be something awful, she can feel it in her bones.

“I need you to do your best to keep calm. Our child needs you calm, yes?”

Again she nods.

“There’s been a terrible accident,” he begins swaying her. “Lucerys and Aemond had a run in at Storm’s End.”

“No,” she clutches him a bit tighter.

“Vhagar…is accustomed to war. I do not-“ he breaks off. “Aemond insists it was an accident.”

“My brother is dead?”

“I am so terribly sorry.” Aegon murmurs, pressing his cheek to hers, in a desperate attempt to absorb even an ounce of her pain. “I am so sorry.”

“I cannot breathe.” The thought of sweet Lucerys dying frightened and alone is inconceivable.

“You must.”

“I should have been there, to fly for my mother’s claim.”

“You are with child.” He reminds her.

“I am always with child, it makes little difference.” She heaves in a bitter breath.

“You could not have changed it.”

“I might have tried!” She pulls herself away from him. “I need a moment alone.”

“My heart, you should not be alone.”

“Please,” she insists.

Aegon spends the evening drowning himself in cups, choking down the urge to murder his brother.

————————————————————————

Y/N and Aegon make the decision to leave with their children under the cover of nightfall.

Ser Criston catches them of course, he always seems to. Only this time he makes no move to stop them.

“I swore an oath to protect you.” Cole insists. “For too long I have stood idle, allowing Rhaenyra to guide you. To mold you into the heir she so desperately needed.” He looks to Y/N, “I offered her a quiet life on the hillside, selling oranges.”

Y/N blinks at him.

“She wanted no part in that,” Cole smiles. “I suppose Ser Harwin Break Bones was more agreeable.”

Y/N stares back at him with familiar eyes…his eyes. “Are you not ashamed of me?”

“I did not turn away from you because I was ashamed. I have never been ashamed of you. I wished only to make it easier on you, so that you would not bear the shame.” Cole tells her. “Now you decide for yourself…the life you want. Return to your mother on Dragonstone, or fly away across the narrow sea.”

Part 2

Aegon taglist: @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @niyahnotnia

[street-smarts00]

Overwhelmed

Spencer Reid x Autistic!Reader

Summary: Reader gets sensory overload while on a case. Spencer knows how it feels and exactly how to help them.

WC: 1.3k

Based on request

Tags: autistic!reader, gender neutral reader but I only mention pronouns like once. Sensory overload, fluff

A/N: I hope you guys like the fic! I'm familiar with sensory issues cause I have ADHD but I am allistic so I tried my best.

While you were at work it became second nature to mask. Biting back the urge to repeat others when your echolalia was on the tip of your tongue. Bottling up your emotions when they started to feel too strong.

Not stimming at work was found to be the biggest challenge. You tried to find little outlets like tapping your fingertips or playing with your jewelry. But if you didn’t have to mask, you'd probably end up swaying in your seat, clicking pens, or shaking out your hands from nerves or excitement.

Today, you were away on a case with the team. You've been busy since practically the crack of dawn and were both physically and mentally exhausted.

Some of the members of your team were following leads while you and Spencer were going through letters and gifts delivered to the victims before their deaths.

You were reading a letter from the unsub while the loud voices from the precinct seeped into the office your team had settled in. The words on the page in front of you were starting to bleed together. You must have read the same sentence at least 5 times; and yet, you had retained none of the information.

The noise only seemed to get louder and more defined. You could hear at least 4 different voices, the incessant clicking of keyboards, the coffee machine, and a constant buzzing of the electricity from the lights overhead.

And on top of the overwhelming noise, the lights in the room only seemed to get brighter. You kept squinting or rubbing your eyes every minute or so. But nothing could help the words on the page from floating away.

“You okay?”

Your focus was pulled back to reality from the voice across the table. You looked up and met Spencer’s gaze.

“Fine,” you said plainly trying to hide the fact that your head felt like it was going to explode.

“Are you sure? You’ve been staring at that letter for five minutes.”

“I said I’m fine,” you quickly replied a bit harsher than before. You didn’t mean to, you would never snap at him.

You put down the paper and ran your hand over your jeans. Desperate to distract yourself from your other senses.

Your eyes get lost in the pile of paper in front you so you don’t notice Spencer getting up and walking across the room. You don’t notice until the cacophony of the station dulls. It now sounds muffled, almost completely gone.

As you continue tracing your hand against your jeans you hear a soft noise come from behind you. You turn around to see Spencer closing the blinds of the window that leads to the bullpen. He then turns off some of the overhead lights, turning the room dim.

With your mind still fuzzy, you couldn’t comprehend what he was doing but you were grateful for it. The dimmed lights and sound with the added privacy of the blinds helped you start to relax. Yet you still clung to the rough texture of the denim of your jeans.

Spencer then pulled up a chair to sit in front of you and face you.

“Hey,” he held up his hand in front of you. “Put your hand out like this”.

You copied him with the hand that wasn’t running up and down your thigh. Your eyes wouldn’t meet his, you glanced between your lap and his hand.

“Take a deep breath and slowly close your fist while you inhale. Then hold your breath for four seconds while you make a fist. Like this.”

Spencer slowly inhaled as he closed his hand. You copied him with a small shake in your breath. He then quietly counted to four for you to hold your breath.

“Now release your hand as you exhale,” he guided. You copied his actions and watched his hand and you exhaled.

The both of you continued the breathing exercise for a moment. Finally, your head seemed to stop spinning; but there was still a lingering discomfort you couldn’t quite place.

You didn’t seem to notice your hand on your thigh had resumed its search for touch in the denim. Spencer did. He saw you using the sensation of your jeans as a way to self-regulate.

“Y/N, do I have your permission to touch you?” He asked softly.

You nodded your head as no words could escape your throat.

Spencer shuffled his chair closer to you and reached for the hand you still held in the air. He lowered your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. He placed his other hand on his knee, open, waiting for you to reach out when you felt comfortable.

Almost immediately, the hand that had previously resided on your jeans now reached for his. He gave both your hands a gentle squeeze before rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. The corners of his lips turned up into a smile as he watched the last bit of overwhelm leave your body. He could practically see the weight being lifted off your shoulders.

You brought your gaze up to meet his. His eyes were so kind but also filled with worry. His pupils dilated from the low light in the room, at least that's what you figured.

“How’d you …”

You knew it was a dumb question. He was a profiler and a damn good one. But your brain still questioned how he knew exactly what you needed.

“Sensory overload occurs when your senses are taking in more information than your brain can process. When your brain becomes overstimulated from the input it translates to feelings of anxiety or extreme discomfort,” he explained. He was a bit worried about continuing as most people would brush off or ignore his long explanations.

Instead, he was met with your attention, waiting for him to continue. He then realized he never exactly answered your question.

“You kept rubbing your eyes, reading the same passage over and over again, zoning out, fidgeting, running your hands down your jeans, and … you kinda snapped at me.” His voice lowered towards the end of his statement.

Your eyes widened and eyebrows raised, “I’m so sorry,” you worriedly apologize.

“It’s okay,” he reassured softly as he gave your hands another gentle squeeze. “I know you were overwhelmed and probably felt out of control.”

A small smile spread on your face. “Thank you.”

He unconsciously matched your smile. “It’s no problem.”

“No really. You have no idea how much this helped,” you confessed.

He looked down and licked his lips while considering his response. “I get overstimulated from time to time. It happens a lot when the lights are too bright. I know it’s a stressful thing to experience, especially here at work.”

His eyes rose to meet yours. Your eyes always shined with kindness and warmth. He hoped he could provide that warmth and comfort for you.

“I want you to know I’ll always be here for you when you need it.”

Your eyes wrinkled from the smile on your face. Spencer couldn’t help but mirror your expression.

After a moment of silence, you realized you still had your hands in his. His eyes followed yours to your hands and his face became flushed. Your cheeks soon turned a shade of red as you both pulled your hands apart from each other.

You cleared your throat before speaking, “Thanks again.”

“You- you’re welcome,” he stuttered as he made his way back to his seat.

It took a moment to return to your work. Not because of the chaos outside the office or the overhead lights. Instead, your mind kept wandering to Spencer���s kind gesture and your hands in his.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the table, it seemed Spencer’s reading speed was decreasing. His eyes wouldn’t stop from wandering to the person across from him.

[wandaspup]

Sinners

Summary: In a small town, you try living up to your mother’s expectations while encountering Wanda Maximoff, a mysterious woman and a childhood friend of your mothers. It leaves you questioning her intentions and your beliefs. 

Parings: Wanda x Fem R

Warnings: Fictional mother is an asshole

Author notes: Things to consider before reading: You are 19 years old while Wanda is 36. I'm not familiar with the bible so please do not take this seriously. It's only fiction.

Warnings will be added as I update more chapters! ♥️ Happy reading

Part 2

The handles are warm as you push the double doors open of the church, their hinges creaking softly in response to the intrusion. As the door swung apart, it revealed the dimly lit interior bathed in sunlight whistling through the skylight. Thousands of dust particles scattered around the beams, casting a glow. On either side of the church, the stained-glass windows painted with vivid patterns, painted their shadows on the polished floor. 

As you lingered behind your parents, hands clasped together at your front. The four walls of the church momentarily silenced the bustling streets before more people entered, quiet murmurs spreading across the churchgoers. People passed by to take their seats, some offered greetings to your parents, while others remarked on how you have grown into a fine young lady. Your family was well known for the small church gatherings they hosted, always extending their hospitality to the community. However, you could not shake the feeling your parents’ ego was involved, driven by their desires to keep their status. Your mother seemed intent on being the best, regardless of the situation, while your father followed her lead. 

Lost in your head, you hadn’t noticed the priest approaching your parents until he stood before them, a gentle smile on his lips. “Good morning, everyone,” he greeted, his voice warm and inviting. “I trust you all found yourselves well?”

“Certainly, Father Steve. It’s always a pleasure,” your mother affirmed with a nod, her hand briefly resting on the priest’s arm. Beside her, your father offered a gentle squeeze of 

Father Steve’s hand.

His eyes landed on you, a wide grin reaching his face as he moved between your parents. Your feet shuffled beneath you, a slight bow to your head as he addressed you directly. 

“My child, you are growing quite fast,” he remarked warmly. “I’m sure your mother and father must be so proud of you.”

You nodded, a faint uncertainty lingering in your response. “I hope so,” you murmured softly. Your gaze flicked over to them, your mother’s stern facade causing a tightness in your stomach. Before the tension could linger further, the priest politely excused himself to begin the ceremony. You followed your parents towards the front row, Father Steve took his place at the altar.

Your mother, focused on the moment, spared no mind at you, her hushed reminder to keep your posture straight and your head forward as you took your seat beside her. 

The urge to roll your eyes was strong, but you fought against it, instead clenching your fists tightly against your thighs and felt your jaw tense and your teeth grind together in frustration. A flicker of movement draws your attention. A woman sitting on the right far end at the fourth row lingering on the edge of your sight, compelling you to get a glance.

Father Steve gently echoes through the church, drawing your focus back to the front with swift precision. “As we gather here today, let us remember the grace and mercy of our Lord, who is our eternal Savior. With his love God watches over us, guiding and protecting us. We strive to lead by good deeds by following his teachings and commandments, we can trust him for his protection.”

“But let’s not forget we are human, mistakes are bound to happen. God will not judge for our mistakes and in his eyes there is always the opportunity for redemption. Through prayers we can seek forgiveness for our sins."

The final sigh of amen hangs in the air, marking the end of the prayer. You can sense your mother stares before she gets up along with the rest from the row. Your thoughts briefly drift to the encounter with the mysterious woman before refocusing. You got up and followed behind your parents, still you couldn’t keep your eyes forward as you searched for the woman. 

Approaching the altar, the chalice tipped gently down as you savored the taste of bitterness on your tongue. You move for the next person, your head down fixed at the worn out tiles. 

A sudden collision made you come back to reality. “I am so sorry.”

“No harm done, honey,” she chuckled softly, so husky yet smooth. “I’m Wanda.” She happily says and extends her hands for a greeting. 

You gave your name and took her offer, your hands met in a firm grasp. Wanda was undeniable beauty, her cheekbones formed natural crowns on her face. The strange sensation from earlier startled within, however you pushed them aside and ignored it. 

“Well I should be getting back to my parents.”

“Of course don’t let me keep you.” 

Everything about her kept you wondering who she was. Her face was so recognizable, you pushed yourself to remember where you had last seen her. 

With everyone getting their share, you navigated past the rows where your parents were engrossed in conversation near the doors. Your mother’s words echoed at the tip of your ears, reminding you how impolite It is to interrupt. So you lingered on the side, fidgeting with your hands as your gaze remained fixed on Wanda. You didn’t know how long you stood there before your mother called out your name, finally getting your attention on the third call. 

“You’ve been out of it all day, pull yourself together now.” 

“Yes, mother, I’m sorry,” you gritted out, feeling anger settle in you. 

You squinted as you emerged out of the doors, stuffing your hands in your pockets as you jogged down the three steps. Families and friends crowded outside while you watched, your parents, well your mother couldn’t help but throw her sentimental joy at people's faces. With a sigh, you kicked a small pebble across the ground. 

Just then, they’ve come to join you where you stood, thankful to be leaving. But as you all started towards the car, the small shriek of your mother’s voice halted both you and your father. You looked up seeing Wanda heading towards you, her presence alone twisting your insides. 

Surprised, your mother’s eyes widened as fixed on the red head. “Wanda?" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Shaking off the feeling, you reassured yourself that you were just being paranoid about Wanda. There’s no way you could forget a face like hers. It’d be ridiculous not to remember meeting a woman with such elegance. Wanda appeared as a flawless Barbie doll, ravishing with politeness and beauty. Her demeanor seemed almost too perfect to be real. 

Wanda chuckled, her arm draping over your mother’s shoulder with a sharp but soft expression. “Surprised to see me?” She teased.

“You never told me when you were coming.”

With a casual shrug, she stepped back, her gaze briefly landing on you and your father before focusing elsewhere. You tapped your feet, swaying one of them back and forth by your heels. Something about her still didn't settle right with you. It seemed she knew your mother well, what a consequence. You observed your father and can tell he knew her as well. 

“Well, you know me. I always enjoy making an entrance. Arrived yesterday morning and managed to snag a room at that quaint little motel. Your town is absolutely lovely.”

Your father greeted Wanda with a firm handshake before turning to you. "This is our daughter," he said, his hand gently patting your shoulder, urging you forward as though you were still a small child. 

Wanda waved her hand, dismissing the encounter. “Oh, we already met in the church.” She gave you a little pat on your arm, leaving her hand there for a little second longer.

She winked and you felt goosebumps scatter through your body as you stood confused why this woman who you never met before besides a brief encounter was making you feel this way. 

“How about you coming over for dinner tomorrow? We’d love to have you.” 

Wanda nodded and clasped her hands together, a smile broke out on her lips. “I’ll be there.”

[aurorawritestoescape]

THE PARTY || Lucien De Leon x f!reader || 580 words

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, NON CON, unspecified age gap, unprotected piv.

Hugs and kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta reading😘

****

Your red lipstick is smeared all over his palm, but you’re not screaming anymore. Not with the way his thick cock slides in and out of your treacherously wet pussy.

“Yeah - yeah - yeah…” Lucien rasps into your ear with every thrust, “ya like it? Good girl.”

His strong fingers are digging into your left thigh leaving marks and pain in their wake as he’s holding your leg against his hip, opening you up for him to fuck. His fist bunches up the skirt of your red dress, the color of the flower he plucked off a bush for you just a few minutes ago. You thought he was sweet, not expecting him to turn into this monster, eyes boring into yours, gaze dark, carnal, hungry, as he’s ruthlessly using your pussy for his pleasure.

You should scream, must scream but can’t. Lucien’s pounding into you by the wall in a dark corner of the garden, and all you can do is whimper and take it like a good girl. Like he told you to.

You’re not sure anyone will hear you anyway, his violent act is concealed by the loud music of the party.

“Prancing around…tits almost out…swaying your sexy ass…been asking for it all night, little slut,”he’s growling in your ear as he slightly lifts your body against the wall, plunging his cock even deeper inside your channel. You cry out and start moaning clutching his silky shirt as his fat tip abuses your cervix with sharp strokes.

“Made me so hard…Fuck, you’re tight, baby.”

“Stop…,” you mewl helplessly but even you don’t believe yourself. Your mind has shut down some time ago, making you concentrate on the pleasure coursing through your body and relieving your psyche from the horror of his lewd act. At least for now.

Lucien laughs at your plea, the hoarse sound interrupted by his breathy moan as his cock finally erupts and he shoots his cum deep inside your burning core.

He pumps you full of his warm seed still rolling his hips as your pussy squelches around his pulsating length.

Finally he stills, pulls his cock out and lowers you down. Your shaky legs give up and you would surely fall if not for his strong arms catching you and holding you up.

He chuckles through the heavy panting,

“Fucked you good, huh?”

You try to stumble away from him but he pushes you back against the wall, pinning you to the cold hard surface yet again.

“Did you come? Don’t think so,” he says lifting up your skirt for the second time this night and you start sobbing.

“Shh, don’t cry…my girls always come.”

In a second his fingers are rubbing your hardened clit using his cum dripping out of your hole as lube and soon you unravel under his touch, shaking, moaning, hating him and your body for succumbing to his ministrations so easily.

Finally satisfied he slides his big hands up your sides and wraps them around your neck, thumbs gently rubbing your jaw. Cold blown eyes locked with yours, he gives your throat a light squeeze and makes your heart freeze with terror when he growls,

“One word about this and I’ll tell your dad his little girl seduced his best friend. I still have your nudes as proof.”

He gently kisses you, taste of champagne and cigarettes on his lips, and then whispers against the corner of your mouth before leaving,

“Happy Birthday, baby.”

*****

Thank you for reading💖

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated🌸

MASTERLIST

General tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @missannwinchester @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre

[cntloup]

You wake up in an unfamiliar room angst, kidnapping, thoughts of miscarriage, mention of torture, blood

Simon bumps into you, a troubled woman whose boyfriend kicked her out after he found out she's pregnant

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

You wake up to the buzzing of a semi-broken light and a thick damp oily smell filling the rusty old room. 

You wince as you slowly move your neck, gradually gaining consciousness, feeling your ears ringing and a sharp stabbing pain in your head. 

You struggle to open your eyes, even in the dim light of the small room, your vision slightly blurry from what seems to be sweat, tears and blood from a hard blow to your head. 

You groan in pain and slightly jolt in your seat as you notice you’re tied up in an unfamiliar room.

Vague disturbing images prance around your mind as your eyes land on the various tools on a small table beside you and you shake your head to get rid of them but to no avail.

Then they slowly come together like the pieces of a puzzle and you remember. You remember all of it. The agonizing torture. And several blows to your belly. Oh god! 

You dip your head to check your swollen belly, only to see the pool of blood beneath you.

You feel a surge of panic rising from deep within you and start to feel light-headed, from the loss of blood, or the thought of losing your child, you honestly don't know.

And you don't know how many days have passed. Are they even looking for you? Will he save you?

There are whispers outside the room, some foreign language, Russian probably by the sound of it and you can barely make out any words, but there's one word you fully understand... 'Ghost'.

At the base, there's a thick tension in the atmosphere. After Simon found the blood and no sign of you in the house, they started working on finding the possible kidnappers.

Simon is pacing the halls as they try to track down your captors and he's absolutely livid at whoever dared lift a finger on you, anxiety bubbling up inside him, gnawing at him to the point of being utterly unbearable.

You lower your head and shut your eyes again, acting as if you’re still unconscious after you hear footsteps approaching and the clicking of keys. 

They put a sack over your head and carry you to the car and drive to an unknown secluded area so a doctor can see you as you struggle to keep yourself from sobbing and thrashing around to free yourself.

Simon makes his way to Price's office with heavy footsteps and slams his fist on his desk, snarling furiously "We both know who it is. If you don't order the raid now, I swear-" "We must act fast. Laswell called with the location of the warehouse they're headed to." Price cuts him off.

They place you on a bed while your eyes are covered and you don’t notice much else as a wet rag covers your nose and mouth.

There's only the faint sound of gunshots in the distance and muffled shouts and punches. And you can sense the ground quaking by what seems like the pounding of footsteps and you feel the rag being removed followed by a loud thud and a pair of strong arms lifting you as you drift unconscious.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Forbidden - Part 6

In which Maxie shows you just how much he missed you.

Warnings: smuttttttttty ;) minors DNI pls. Swearing. umm...that's it? idk, I'm terrible with warnings, let me know if I'm forgetting something. Quick note: Almost there love bugs! I think we'll have one more after this and then maybe an epilogue. I almost don't want this one to enddddddd wah. Pairing: Max Verstappen x LeClercSister!reader Word Count: 3k words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Master List

“I have something for you.” Max rasps the moment you’re in his arms again behind the closed door of his hotel room. 

Nerves have his hands shaking as they fist handfuls of your black cotton t-shirt. The entire ride up to the 10th floor of the hotel, he had been having an internal battle with himself. He couldn’t believe you were here, slotted back into his life after weeks apart and he didn’t want to do something to scare you off again but…

“You do?” You give him a puzzled look. What on earth could he possibly have for you, he didn’t know you were coming. 

Max nods, releasing you for the first time since he took you into his arms in the lobby. “I got it weeks ago…I’ve been carrying it with me ever since…” He pauses, gaze darting away for just a moment, “that day, just in case you came back to me when I wasn’t expecting it. I wanted to be prepared.” He rubs at the back of his neck, eyes dropping from yours to the floor. Your insides melt at his sudden tender shyness. 

You smile over at Max, who’s begun digging in his navy and yellow Red Bull Racing backpack. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Maxie.” 

He nods, a soft sound of satisfaction playing on his lips when he finds what he’s bene looking for. “I know.” He says, turning around to face you. 

Your stomach drops to your toes when you see the baby blue bag dangling from his finger tips. “Maxie.” His name is a warning, your heart thumping against your rib cage. 

“It’s not a ring, schatje.” He says on a chuckle, taking a baby blue box tied with a white satin ribbon out of the bag when you make no moves to take it out of his hands. “Not yet anyway.” 

There goes your stomach back down to your toes again. 

When you’ve composed yourself, you reach out to take the box from Max. “I was going to give it to you the day Charles found out about us but obviously that never happened. It’s just something small, to remind you of me when we can’t be together.” 

Trembling fingers tug at the ribbon as your eyes dart up to Max’s anxious face and then back down to the box. Nestled in the box is a delicate gold chain with 2 pendants on it: a block M and a block V, both with 3 tiny diamonds inlaid on the edge of each letter. “Max.” You whisper, tears pricking at the back of your eyes once again. 

Max’s hands wring together in front of you, his face still anxious despite the smile spreading across your face. You look up at him, chest squeezing tightly. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. Thank you.” 

“You like it?” 

“I love it.” You coo, lifting the chain up out of the box before holding it out to him. “Will you put it on me?” 

Spinning, you capture your hair up in one hand while waiting patiently for Max to get his shaking hands under control. The cool chain sends a shiver skittering down your spine, a small sigh escaping your lips at the feeling of Max’s strong fingers brushing against your skin. 

When the necklace is secured, you turn back around to wrap your arms around his neck, lips dusting first over his jaw before working your way up to his lips. Those lips you’ve missed so much the last few weeks. You couldn’t believe how stupid you had been to push him away when he so obviously wanted to be there for you, wanted to support you. Regret has your cheeks heating, shame budding in your stomach. 

Max must sense the shift in your mood because he pulls away before looking down at you, brows knit together. “What’s wrong, schatje?” 

You shake your head, unable to get the words out. 

“Please tell me.” He begs. 

“I just…” A cry lodges in your throat and your unable to speak around it for a moment. 

Max leads you over to the love seat on the other side of the room, needing to solve this sudden problem before anything else. He sits first before pulling you into his lap, cradling you against his chest. His lips find his favorite place on you, that spot in the crook of your neck where your perfume lingers for hours. “Talk to me, baby.” 

“I’m sorry I pushed you away. I shouldn’t have. You wanted to help, you did nothing but help and I still threw you out.” For what feels like the millionth time that day, tears slip down your cheeks in a steady stream but Max’s lips are there to kiss them away. 

“No, sweet girl. No apologies.” His voice is soft, soothing. “You were doing what you thought you needed to do at the time, I could never fault you for that. I’m just glad you came back to me.” 

“I love you, Maxie.” You murmur, face buried in his hair as he continues to nibble at your neck. 

Max has never heard sweeter words, not even when Christian told him he had won the championship for the first time. “I love you too, liefje.” He pulls away from your neck then, causing you to whimper a bit in protest, but he needed to see your face for what he was about to say next. “I was planning on asking you to be my girlfriend that night too, which I kind of fucked up but I hope that’s still on the table for us. I want to go public. No more secrets, no more lies. I want you next to me in the paddock, in my garage during races, wearing my colors and my number. All in, everything. I need that with you.” 

There’s a look of unbridled desire on Max’s face, like he’s been waiting for this very moment for months now and he’s finally worked up the courage to put words to his feelings. Your hands come up to frame his face, delicate fingers scratching his scruffy face gently. “Bien sur, mon amor.” Of course, my love. “I’ve been yours since the first time we kissed.” 

Max covers your lips in a kiss then, fingers digging into your hips in a desperate attempt to bring you closer to him. He’d gone too long without being able to touch you and he wants to make up for all the time lost. With one swift movement, Max lifts you up out of his lap and carries you across the room to his bed. The way he sets you down on the crisp white hotel duvet has your heart squeezing. 

“I missed you so much, liefje.” Max’s voice drops an octave, husky and full of need. “Let me show you how much.” 

“Sil vous plait.” Please You breathe.

Shaking hands slip up underneath the hem of your cream linen dress, the rough pads of his fingers drawing out a moan from your lips as they skim over the creamy soft skin of your thighs. They find their home underneath the layer of lace that is already halfway ruined from the slick mess that’s been gathering there since Max got you alone. 

“God, you are exquisite.” He murmurs as he brings his lips to cover yours in a searing kiss that is all tender promises and whispered apologies. 

His fingers swipe past your clit, not quite giving you the pressure and friction you crave, but just enough to make you needy. There’s plenty of time for that though and Max wants to make sure this is as drawn out as possible. He has so much to say with his mouth and hands to you tonight and he wants everything to inch by in a slow, heated drip of steady pleasure. 

Needing to be closer to him and wanting out of the suddenly restricting fabric, you sit up momentarily, unbuttoning the dress as quickly as humanly possible. Max helps, starting at the bottom of the dress and you instantly miss his touch on you. Neither of you are willing to break the kiss, so it’s a little fumbled and a lot messy as you attempt to get yourself out of the clothes you flew here in. 

“Need to see you wearing nothing but my necklace.” He pants.

While you’re busy unbuttoning the dress, Max reaches behind his back to pull his team polo off. You hum in appreciation, reaching out to drag your slender fingers over the bumps and ridges of his stomach. A thrill shoots though you when he shivers at your touch, heated gaze pinning you to the bed.

Slowly guiding you down onto your back, Max drapes himself over your body, fitting his thigh between your legs. Your skin heats as you run your hands through his hair, guiding his mouth down the column of your neck. His mouth stalls, taking his time to nip and suck at the fragile skin there. Max barely resists the urge to suck a love bite onto your neck, knowing that you would murder him if he did that before tomorrow’s race. There will be time for that, he reminds himself. There will be time for him to mark you as his own in places that others will see. For now, he’ll settle for marking you in places that are only for him. 

He drags a heated, wet line with his tongue from your neck, stopping once again to lap against your collar bone and the hollow of your throat. His mouth sucks at the racing pulse point there, a thrill shooting straight to his already hard cock at how fast your heart is beating because of him. 

“Max.” You whine, grinding your hips up into his muscled thigh that sits slotted between your legs, desperate for friction and relief from the pounding pulse between your legs. “God I missed your hands on me. Your touch. Everything.” You probably should be embarrassed with how needy and breathless your plea comes out, but shame has been left at the door for tonight. All you need are Max’s hands on you and his cock in you, and you swear you’d be content for the rest of your entire existence. 

Max grips at the flesh of your hips, desperate to get any sort of purchase on your body. His mouth continues it’s perusal of your now slick skin and when he covers one already achingly hard nipple, you can’t help the cry that leaves your lips. His tongue flicks over the pebbled bit of flesh before nipping at it with the very tips of his teeth. Your hips snap up off the bed, bumping his hips with your own at the feeling that boarders somewhere between earth shattering pleasure and mind numbing pain. 

Fingers get lost in his hair as Max moves to pay attention to the other nipple, equally as hard and needy for his tongue. The sounds of near purring that rumble at the back of your throat send Max into orbit as he rocks his painfully hard cock into the soft mattress beneath him. “Taste so good.” He slurs against your body, hands raking up your legs once again finding themselves buried in your dripping pussy. 

It’s too much. Much too much. The overstimulation of his mouth and hands all over you has you puddled in a whimpering, sodden mess under this man that is supposed to be all wrong for you. 

“I love you like this.” His voice is husky, dragging itself across your skin like the fingers that are currently buried deep inside you. “All messy and needy, all for me. Only for me.” A possessive streak shoots through Max, suddenly needing you to know that this is only for him. You’re his. You will always be his. He nearly lost you once and he’ll never run the risk of losing you ever again. 

“Only for you.” You confirm, hips grinding deep against the thick fingers that are coaxing you to what you can only predict will be a syrupy sweet release. “Only for you from now on. God, Max your touch…so good.” The ability to form coherent sentences seems to have escaped you. 

Your head thrashes to the side, the vulnerability of being so open for him in so many ways is overwhelming. Being so intensely seen by this man above you is almost too much to take. 

“Are you going to come for me, schatje? Come on my fingers, pretty girl. Show me how much you missed me and how much I possess you.” 

The sound of Max’s voice is enough to send you over the edge, that familiar lick of fire building itself up at the base of your spine. You feel it start and so does Max, that familiar sign of your hands grasping for anything they can reach, this time it’s his back. He’ll gladly be marked up with red welts and scratches if it means he gets you beneath him like this every fucking night for the rest of his life. Your climax rips through you, stealing your breath for a quick moment before you come, Max’s name tumbling from your lips over and over like a reverent prayer. 

“That’s it, love. So good, you’re so good for me. Such a pretty girl giving me exactly what I want. God, how did I get so fucking lucky? Why did I wait so long?” 

Max talks you through the rest of your orgasm, shockwaves of pleasure lancing through you for so long you start to lose track of time. It could be 5 minutes or 5 hours, but eventually, you’re back down to earth, feeling so languid and soft you don’t think you could move even if your life depended on it. 

“Max.” You breath, pulling at his shoulders to get his head level with yours so you can get your mouth on him again. You lick into his mouth, teeth bumping against him in a desperate messy kiss that promises everything under the stars. 

“What do you need, schatje? Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” 

“I need you inside me. I need to be stuffed full of you so I never forget what you feel like ever again.” 

Before you’re able to even take another breath, Max’s jeans and boxers have joined the heap of clothing on the floor and the head of his dick, red and angry and dripping for you already, is notched against your waiting pussy. When he sinks into you, filling you up so deliciously, it feels like your first night together all over again. You’re overwhelmed by the size of him, the feel of him deep inside you, filling you up beyond words. 

For several moments, neither of you move. Max holds himself steady above you writhing form, already buried in you to the hilt, refusing to move until he knows you’re okay. A series of quick nods tells him you’re fine and slowly, so very slowly you almost can’t feel it, Max begins to move. It’s slow at first, as he tries to draw out the pleasure from your body like he’s playing a stringed instrument. Long, silky movements from his achingly hard cock seem to war with each other, the contrast between the rhythm and his dick send delightful shimmers of energy up and down your skin. 

Max can barely catch his breath, not fully understanding how you can be so soft and warm and breathtakingly tight all at the same time. The feeling of being buried in you might just be the best thing he’s ever experienced. He could probably spend the rest of his life worshipping your body like this and it still wouldn’t be enough to satisfy his craving of your body. He gazes down at you, the look of reverence on his face has tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, as he continues to push in and out of you. One moment he’s nearly fully out of your slick wetness and the next, he’s plunging back in, taking fully from you what he knows is his now. 

“Come inside me Max. Fill me up, please.” Your desperate words are enough to have Max’s hips snapping harshly against your body over and over. His tight hold of control he usually has over his body slowly breaking underneath your spell. 

“My pretty girl needs me to fill her, huh? Need the cum leaking out of you, down that pretty thigh of yours, to remind you who you belong to?” 

All you can do is nod, your entire consciousness consumed with him, the way he feels, the smell of his cologne that lingers on his skin that mixes with his sweat, creating a dizzyingly pleasurable mix of something you’ll never forget. 

Max feels that familiar painful warning sign deep in his stomach. He’s not going to last much longer and by the sounds you’re making beneath him, he knows you’re already there. His mouth latches to yours, stealing the cry from your lips and swallowing it whole. The vice grip those velvet walls snare him in when you come sends him hurtling towards his own release. Max isn’t usually very loud, he loves to talk you through it yes, but when it comes to his own pleasure? He’s quite reserved. But he can’t help the animalistic groan that starts deep in his gut rumbles out of him as he spills into you, white hot streams shooting deep inside you. 

Max collapses on top of you and you relish the feeling of something like a giant weighted blanked settling over your frame. Utterly spent, Max isn’t even able to form a coherent sentence for several moments, instead choosing to focus on the wild racing of your heart beneath his body. 

“Told you I missed you.” Max says, breath tickling the shell of your ear, eliciting a giggle from your swollen lips. 

You rake your hands through his hair for what feels like the fiftieth time that night, tugging gently as you comb through the blond locks. “I missed you too, mon coeur.” 

That’s what Max was too. Your entire heart. 

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