#drink wet cement

[nostalgia-eh52]

1981 Paul Newman sitting down in his "Drink Wet Cement" shirt

[jfkkenndy]

need the world to know how much it means to me when james wilson wears his cozy clothes

[lovertm]

button pins from GoodLuxeVintage

[nearlydark]

Almost done with this book ❤️

[ravnloft]

When Amma lays a certain way, bends her neck at a certain angle, she can feel the half-healed bite wound on her neck stretch painfully. She lays that way now. Her gray fingers trace that tender spot, sore and scabbed– press down on it gingerly. Maybe it would be good to let him bite her again. Maybe it would make him even stronger. Maybe he could protect her.

He’s useful, to her. She’s trying to be useful to him, too.

[meezer]

eating chicken noodle soup. quite amazing

[cutup4ngels]

im so fucking horny i feel like i could bend steel and punch a hole through plexiglass

[ddejavvu]

Mean!Logan who fucks you dumb to the point all you know is how good he feels instead of Scott Summers 🤭🤭🤭

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

send me mean!logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. mean!logan, dumbification, dacryphilia, don't like, don't read.

"What's his name?" Logan asks thoughtfully, lips pursed as he waits for your response. You're quite unable to give him one at the moment- at least a coherent one, while his hips piston forward and back, driving his thick cock into you.

"Go on, tell me." Logan prods, bumping his nose into your temple. He's going at an impressive pace, grunting with each hefty thrust, "Do you even remember it?"

A cry escapes your lips as Logan pushes you over the edge, unceremoniously, mercilessly, and you claw at his biceps as you're thrust into your climax. Your brain shorts out with white hot pleasure, something like pain but sweeter searing in your belly as you unconsciously curl your hips up to meet Logan's cock easier. There's no point- he can't possibly go deeper - but your body moves instinctively. He feels so good that you need more.

"Cyclops ring a bell?" He asks, but your ears ring too loud for his voice to get through. Either that or your brain muffles it like wet cement is drowning your thoughts, and the only name etched into the thick sludge is Logan, Logan, Logan.

"Dickhead, maybe? Laser-brain, Goggles, One-Eye..." Logan lists his most frequently used nicknames for the mutant he'd caught cornering you in the kitchen, but all you can do is muffle your moans into the sweat-soaked fabric of Logan's wifebeater.

"Who did this to you?" He feigns concern, like he's interrogating you after a beatdown, his nose now trailing over the apple of your cheek as his lips ghost your own.

"I-aah! Logan," You whimper, now oversensitive to penetration.

"Yeah? Who?"

"Logan," You breathe, eyes bleary with tears as you breathe him in- the sight of his face, hard-set and firm. His smell- sweat and musk and sex all rolled into one. His touch, the constant pressure between your legs as he keeps his dick buried in your cunt, no longer moving his hips. His eyes- they're staring at you, drinking in the repeated moans of his name that come pouring from your mouth like blood from a wound.

"Smart girl." He says, and you're so out of your mind that you don't read the cruel sarcasm in it- the way he's teasing you as Scott's name has fled your near-vacant brain.

"Who else? Got another man in there?" Logan taps the side of your head, where your spinning brain works overtime, "No? What about in here?"

He places a hand on your pelvis, pressing down gently so that you feel the imprint of his dick inside of you clearer, harsher, more intense.

"Anyone else in here?" He asks, keeping steady pressure on your cunt until you squirm in penance, begging for mercy from his teasing.

"That's right. Keep it that way." He snarls, letting up on your pelvis and using the hand to cup your cheek, relishing in the way you thoughtlessly lean into it, so trusting, so devoted, "Mine's the only name you need to be sayin', sweetheart. Say his again and I'll make you wash your mouth out with my fuckin' dick 'till it's all you can taste for a week."

[ninetimesbluedemo]

marlon brando once said of paul newman "he was just as bisexual as I was."

Propaganda

Paul Newman (Paris Blues, A New Kind of Love)—those blue eyes! that cleft chin, that jawline! plus his company makes that really good organic salad dressing!!!!!

Christopher Plummer (The Sound of Music)—you can't tell me your sexual awakening was NOT this man staring julie andrews down in a dark garden somewhere in 1940s austria

This is round 2 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man.

[fqntasies]

Just a taste, baby - Feyd Rautha x Reader

summary: You and Feyd-Rautha have been connected through dreams since childhood; a complex inner-working of the Bene Gesserit mothers to join your bloodlines. It binds the two of you in a pull you can't escape (nor do you want to). Feyd is absolutely feral for you.

words: 1,258

disclaimer: characters may be out of character, specifically feyd, considering his desperate softness here. just a forewarning.

You were trapped, breaths coming out of shallow pants as you felt the scratch of the cement structure beneath your palms. He had you against the wall in a hidden alcove; along one of the lengthy corridors of the palace in Giedi Prime. Your mouths were just breaths apart. In fact the Harkonnen before you seemed intent on matching your breaths, mingling them. Tasting your tiny pants as his own. It made your eyes heavy, made you want to tilt your head back and close your eyes, give him access to the expanse of your neck.

"sweetness." He rasped, unable to control himself. The Na-Baron wrapped an arm about your waist, a vice arching you against him as he lowered a wanting mouth to your neck, licking and sucking where the two met. You mewled at the wet heat, felt him growl desperately at the taste.

The two of you hadn't even kissed yet - but the wait; the dreams - you both knew each other to the soul.

---- flashback ----------

The sands of Arakis and Geidi Prime alike carried mysteries of prophesies of the lisan-al-gaib. But midst such tales, the Bene-Geserit mothers also had worked to connect bloodlines through dreams. The Na-Baron and the princess of Arrakis had been bound by such since birth. A well-planned move to align feuds and place power into wanting hands in preparation of war. A web of politcal conspiracy only they controlled. Their plans could not be foiled.

But Feyd couldn't care less about such witchcraft; and neither, if one were honest, could you. The two of you had known of this binding since a young age. And when you had met as children too - the connection had been strong.

"Their line is bright" The reverend mother's voice had burned into your mind, even at 10 years old.

You remembered her cloaked form; a black shadow against the haze of the horizon, a tower above you as she turned from your parents. Her voice had been void of emotion, except for a smugness you didn't understand. But when you turned to glance at the older boy before you (such a uniquely beautiful boy; broad shoulders and smooth skin, black attire across a lithe form), his eyes shone with an intensity that surprised her. Dark, watching, intrigued. He intimidated you. He made you curious.

At 15 years of age, the Na-Baron hadn't spoken in their meeting; but he had felt more than he had imagined. The girl...she had made him feel things. It confused and awakened him to something he had never known. His uncle had never spoken of such a pull. A need.

When the ship had arrived to his homeworld, and the strange foreigners parted like a sea, Feyd-Rautha found himself straightening to his full height; head lowered as he studied them beneath an angled gaze. Garbs of strange colors - hair he had never seen before in elegant styles. He would be Harkonnen predator. He would be a warrior. Strike fear in these alien people, show the Baron he was not swayed so easily by something new.

But then-

Swathed in layers of white, a girl stepped forward; dainty and gracious above all else; practically floating across the landing platform. Yet her eyes betrayed her; darting to capture the landscape, thrown off perhaps by the infrared of Giedi Prime's black sun above them.

She was drinking in the strange newness before her, and then they found him. Feyd felt his chest tighten. Fists clenched. Heat brimmed under the chestplate of his armor.

She looked like some newborn animal, caught in his gaze. But they both felt it. The familiarity. The warm hum between them. It made you want to slip from the safety of your parents and stand beside him, as though his shadow was more protection than the whole parade your own family brought with them. You wondered if he'd felt the same.

Three nights later, you had dreamed of him. A bit older, hand in his as he raised it to his lips. His eyes had never left yours. As a young girl it made you blush. Now...

--------------------------------

You made a breathy sound as his tongue lathed the mark he had made, moving with a lazy carelessness across your pulse, hungry above all else, uncaring for decorum. He wanted to devour you entirely. He wanted you to see you helpless and delirious against him, just as you were now. As you were in all his dreams.

He knew you'd had them all too. His eyes on you at their wedding. His tongue against yours, moans and tastes and hunger. You watching from the arena as he slaughtered man after man, coated and heaving. He felt like a beast.

"Feyd-" His name barely formed, like a prayer from your lips.

His eyes nearly lolled in his head at the way you sounded, and he dragged his wanting mouth up to meet yours. Wet and wanting. Feyd's free hand shifted to engulf your slender neck, moving your head against his mouth to deepen the kiss, taste all of you. Consume.

The Na-Baron was all muscle and prowess, a looming figure that practically dwarfed you. The spanse of his shoulders alone were sinful, and deep down you loved how it felt to be completely in his grasp. Guiding you in your movements.

Feyd's tongue sought yours as much as he could, controlling and demanding - but you were a needy little thing too, weren't you? In the haze of passion you were pressing into him - leaning just as much towards his heat as he was pushing you both together. You sucked his plush bottom lip into your mouth - unable to help yourself. After all, why was he made so beautiful, if not to kiss? He was quick to follow, biting your own with a growl that made your knees practically give, and following with his greedy tongue.

"You're going to be my wife." the words are a promise, his eyes glittering under the low light; shadows flashign with the coming storm. You part your mouth as though to taste him again, a helpless 'please' slipping past as you arch in his grasp.

Feyd practically took you then and there. Enter the nearest room... make all his dreams a reality. His patience was nearly worn thin. Years of waiting, of hunger. And now it was here. You were in his reach, that tempting little waist; those hips. It made him absolutely insane.

He wets his lips, gaze feverish.

"tomorrow. tomorrow sweetness, hmm? Can wait that long?" He intends to tease you, but he knows he speaks to himself, his jaw locking as he adjusts his arms to press you against him.

You're so fucking soft. It makes him groan. Of all the things he's known in his life, softness was not one of them, save for the flashes of you in his dreams. He craved you like a creature starved. Thoughts of you made him fight better. Made him kill easier.

There's a rumble suddenly of a drone; Harkonnen orders breaking the silence in distorted code. The words don't make sense to your ears. Not yet anyway. You hope to make progress in the language, but it was a challenge; more than others. The variety of tones were a feat for any foreigner to take on; but this was to be your home. A lady of harkonnen would learn her husband's native tongue.

You know he has to leave.

[angelisverba]

praise

in which y/n notices something isn't quite right with her professor, and harry loves chasing this little bunny

word count: 5.5k

pairing: vamp!h and y/n (but really it's more like professor!h with a side of vampire)

warnings: this fic contains graphic depictions of sex and blood.

author's note: happy late halloween!

When y/n was little, her mother always told her to stay inside on Halloween.

She never got to go trick-o-treating like the other kids because of this, not until she was old enough to pay for her own costume, but by that time it was too late because trick-o-treating turned into bar hopping and candy turned into drinks. She took part in these activities for as long as it took for her to figure out that she didn't like alcohol or big crowds or dressing up.

Also by that time, many of the holidays took place around the time that she was stressing about papers and exams and midterms and other deadlines a college students faces around the end of the semester. She was a dedicated, busy little bee with few friends that knew her enough to know that when she's focused, theres no getting her to come out for anything, so they didn't even extend invites.

Which is why she finds herself inside, at the library, on Halloween night. She has a little ear worm of Linus writing his letter to the great pumpkin running around in her brain, but that's as far as her spooky spirit goes. The rest of it is consumed in her paper about sublime notions of nature in the latest gothic novel assigned by her literature professor, Mr. Styles.

Had it been any other teacher, she wouldn't have lingered so much on grammar, word choice, or reading her paper over and over again so that her ideas were clear and concise, but... but there was something about him. She can't really but her finger on it, but a big part of it is fear. Intimidation. He's so... commanding in the way that he carries himself. Almost menancing, his figure carrying the threat of punishment.

He walked into the lecture hall everyday dressed like a model from a vintage academia magazine. Tweed bottoms. Button up shirts. Loafers. Sleek black shoes. A pristine silver watch on his wrist. A golden chain that twinkled on his neck and disappeared into the collars of his shirts like a shooting star. Slicked back chocolate brown hair from which a single curl sometimes escaped and swayed on his forehead like the hooked tail of a monkey. Tailored pants that accentuated the litheness of his hips perfectly so, making her wonder if he had them altered to fit him exactly. A badge on a simple, black attachment pinned on his hip spelled his name underneath a coyly smirking ID picture of his face; Harry Styles. 

So y/n had a little crush.

A silly little bundle of love-misted roses perched in her heart with a ribbon and a name tag that had her English professor’s name on it. 

She tried to tell herself that it was a school girl’s crush (it literally was), but it was hard to keep her daydreams cemented underneath the rounded realm of reality when her heart kept reading into every single little interaction she had with him, knowing that all her fantasies would only ever exist in her dreams because he was an employee. He was older than her. He would never be interested in a girl, a student, like her. His serious disposition did nothing to quell her. 

In fact, it almost egged her on. The perfectionist in her wanted to be perfect for him, so be praised by him for her hard work. She wanted so badly to be his teacher's pet that it reflected in her work ethic. Every paper she turned in was better than her last, she paid rapt attention in class, took the most intricate care in her notes. She always looked her best on the days she had his class- black ballet flats with black skirts, frilly socks, cardigans and collared blouses- ever the neat student. She's every professor's wet dream, she knows this.

Yet, the approval and validation that she craved. No, needed. The validation she needed from him was never given to her, no matter how hard she worked. The notes on her paper were always asking for more, she could do better, she could be more clear, she wasn't quite*getting it. And he always left a note that she should see him in his office hours.

But she couldn't.

Y/n was sure that she would spontaneously combust is she was in an enclosed one-on-one space with him. Which was funny because many of the female students fought for that time with him. One time she heard a few girls in her class say that they tried to call him by his first name and he told them that "it was Professor Styles or Sir to them". Just listening to it second hand was enough to have her squirming. The though it, to have his striking green eyes on only her, his gravely, accented voice directed at her. It was an intoxicating though.

She could imagine it.

He would sit on the other side of his desk in that suave way of his, ankle crossed at his knee, one hand resting on the arm of his chair while the other props his chin up as his finger taps against his sharp cheekbone. He would watch her with an unwavering, predatory gaze, like he's waiting for her to make a mistake to step in and correct her. Y/n would sit in the seat across from him, her hands under her thighs to keep from fidgeting, her lips wet with her spit from how much she'd chew on them, her eyes unfocused and struggling to keep contact with him. The silence in the room would probably be filled with her 'umm's and 'like'. She'd be so nervous, and he would see right through her, and all her hard work would be diminished to nothing.

And then she would probably cry and Professor Styles doesn't really look like the type to console his students, so y/n would just embarrass herself.

So she settles for putting her all into her work, tweaking what he's made notes on from previous papers, and hoping that it's enough, that one of these days she'll she exclamation points at the end of praise instead of at the end of 'explain this'.

With a weepy, overwhelmed sigh, y/n rubbed her fists into her eyes and ran words over and over again in her head. She was the last one in the library, the light from the lamp at her desk was the only source of illumination in her little study corner. This late into the semester the school didn't close libraries, opting to not get in the way of students and their work. It was nearing midnight, and she was getting tired, but this paper was due in two days and she wanted at least one to edit it.

A little delirious from lack of sleep and anger from how difficult this was all turning out to be, y/n blinked back tears. She was a little cold and she was hungry. But she was not going to leave until this paper was finished.

She would however close her eyes, just for a little while. Y/n put her head down on the desk, telling herself that she would only rest her eyes for a few minutes, that she was not going to fall asleep.

But like every college student that snoozes their alarm twenty million times because they're just going to rest their eyes for a few more minutes, she falls asleep.

She startles awake in the dark at the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

When she jerks upright, Professor Styles is sitting across from her, reading her paper.

***

Harry is so fucking hungry, and he's looking for a snack. Maybe even a meal if he can get away with it.

He hasn't fed in nearly a month, and normally even two weeks is pushing it. But it was the month of October, and as the holidays neared and the parties increased, so did security and people's guard. It was extra hard to find a bite now, not the kind he liked.

Sweet, pure, and innocent. Untainted flavor.

A few days ago he managed to snag a few blood bags from the campus' blood drive center, but it wasn't enough. He craved the puncture, the warmth of a body in his arms, the fresh throb of a pulse underneath his tongue. He wanted the erotic writhing of struggle and submission against his body. Many of his kind didn't share their fondness for this part, but he loved taking care of them afterwards. Making sure they were okay, steady. Sated in the same ways he was. Being a vampire came with the ability of glamour, a bit of mind influencing, so that he was able to make the situation a little more favorable on his end.

He had decided to go for a stroll, having been caught up late in his office grading papers, when he caught a hint of something sweet and familiar in the night air.

It reminded him of one his students, y/n.

She always sat in the middle of the third row with perfect posture, listened to his lectures as if he was God. Her eyes would get mooney, and if he listened hard enough (which to him wasn't really that hard because he was a vampire, he had super human hearing) he could hear her heart beat faster in the seconds that his eyes held contact with her as he talked, delicate and quick like the wings of a hummingbird. Everything she turned in was perfect. She was smart but not pretentious in her way of writing, and something about the way she wrote reminded him about the tender inside of a wrist. Her wrist.

But Harry was mean, and he liked to tease, and he could tell that y/n was waiting. She was sitting on a precipice, hanging on to his very word, her body strung taught and stressed. She was waiting on him. He was going to make her wait until he did as he asked. He wanted one on one time with her, and until then, he wouldn't give her what she wanted.

Whether she realized it or not, she was teasing him, too. In ways that y/n probably wasn't even aware of. The way she bit her lips so they were bright with her blood right underneath the surface, the promise of her heat with every exaggerated sigh she let out as she walked out of his lecture hall. Her clothes, god they killed him.

She wore these black kitten heels once, and they drove him crazy.

Now, he knows his place as Professor, and he didn't just get this job to fuck around. He enjoyed teaching and knowing secretly that he knew first had about the things he was talking about. He loved seeing how his life was absorbed by the younger faces (not that he looked old, he would forever appear to be 23). He respected others, their will, their purpose, and only went as far as his moral compass would let him to take care of his needs.

But he was a man, and he could be brought to his knees by a pretty thing like y/n.

Harry remembers that day, how his trousers were uncomfortable and he had to spend the whole time behind his podium. How he needed to slyly inch a calculating hand to the ever-growing uncomfortable center of his groin and tug the snug fabric away from their vacuum-sealed hold on his hips. It was maddening for him, but uncomfortable for her (he thinks). She never wore them again, and he suspects they may have hurt her delicate feet if the way she kept shifting was anything to go by. 

Not that he noticed.

Harry most definitely did not notice that the tip of her toes kept tittering tenderly up and around in slow, hypnotizing circles, meant to relieve pent up tension. He most definitely did not notice that the way her frilly white socks kept sliding down the slope of her ankle with every movement. Or the tantalizing trekk of her delicate fingers against the curve of her thigh, behind her knee, and a little further where the pads of her lucky fingers dug into the soft, aching- he assumed- flesh of her calves. He didn’t fucking hold his breath and become stiller than a statue to try and to hear the sweet, breathy sighs of relief that left her parted lips. No, he did not. That would be a violation of the contract he signed upon assuming his position. It would be betraying the trust of the snarky, reluctant, port-belly head of academics that judged his ambiguous resume with reluctance.

Of course he didn’t. And he wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed that he never saw them again. 

This student of his had captured his attention this semester, almost distracting him. Her smell, from what he knows the few times he caught a whiff of it amongst all the others, was sweet, yet not overwhelmingly so. It was mellowed out and warm, and the closest thing he could compare it to from the food he had as a human, was apple pie. She was warm, sweet, honeyed, with the zest of cinnamon.

He wanted to taste her so fucking badly.

Harry doesn't know if it's because he's so hungry that he's smelling her now.

Trailing after the scent with his nose leading the way like a drooling dog, he wonders- no, he knows that he won't be able to fight the urge to taste her if it's really her he finds at the end of the line.

It gets stronger in the library, but from the looks of it, it's dark and empty. From the looks of it, but Harry knows better. He can hear better and smells better, and he knows she's in here. The swift intake of her breath rings in the silence, his ears picking up on the only human sound in the buildings. The near-silent whines that sit at the base of her throat and die before they exit through her nose.

Her hearbeat.

Calm. Steady. Alive.

It sounds like a drum, low and pounding and it thrills him.

He wants to hear it beat faster and faster, like a bunny when it's being chased. He wants to hear the even paced breaths become rapid and disorganized with heightened emotion.

He can smell her, too, the delightful aroma making his fangs itch and his loins ache. Walking further into the library, the stacks of books growing dense with sharp corners and cozy study nooks, he can trace the direct path she took to her spot- the table in the corner with the lamp still on. She has her head resting on her arms, hair haphazardly strewn across the wooden table and some papers, a pencil between her fingers still.

She probably set her head down after saying she was only gong to rest her eyes. She's probably been here for a really long time, he can hear her stomach growling. Shaking his head in disbelief, he pulls the chair back with a motion that's sure to wake her up at the same time that he pinches the paper with two fingers and begins to read.

Waking with a little gasp, y/n straightened. He could pinpoint the exact moment she became fully cognizant of what was happening because her heartbeat picked up in a way that concerned him, and she became utterly still. From the corner of his eye (Harry was reading her paper, a really good paper, and hadn't looked at her. Not even once) he could see her mouth open and close a few times, words escaping her. Y/n rolled the pencil between hands that had begin to perspire and began to chew on her bottom lip.

Internally, Harry groaned. He needed to get her to stop doing that because he was imagining things that no person is his position of power needed to be imagining and his cock was fattening against his thigh. He was hungry in more ways than one for her. A part of him wanted to mark her up like he was a dog and she was his chew toy, licking and sucking and biting on the sweetest parts of her to suckle on her blood; everywhere. The other wanted to do all of those things, and not just for her blood.

He had to get her to speak.

The paper that he held in his hands was probably the best that he was going to get from her class, or maybe all of them put together. The ideas were fresh with just the perfect amount of information from his lectured tossed in for a response to the prompt on the book they were currently discussing. But he had to keep playing his game with her, he had to see her fold like a ragdoll. He wasn't going to tell her what he truly thought about it, how it was so good, how she was such a good student, how she made him so proud. How she was a good girl.

Instead he put the paper down in front of her, crossed his arms and spread his legs in the chair to give his swollen dick some room and said, "you should go home. Have a meal. Go to sleep.”

At this her shoulders sagged, and it was like watching dominoes fall against each other to release different triggers, Her lips crumpled, her chin wobbled, and her eyes blinked away a sea of crystalline tears.

Y/n stared at him, a wet look that punched his gut at the same time that it made his gums salivate and his hips itch to thrust up against the desk like a thing in heat. He looked back at her, his head tipping slowly to the side to track her gaze as it dropped. Like a predatory, he observed her with the kind of stillness that promised a charge of action. That promised death in the maw of a killer.

Her mouth did that thing where it opened and closed again, sounds that came before actual words coming out of her, but never intelligible sentences. Her heart was racing, but her lungs were doing a weird thing. Like they weren't getting enough oxygen.

"Why don't you take a deep breath , hmm? And we can talk about what's going on here," he got up from his chair and stood at the side of his desk, arms crossed and feet spread shoulder width apart, formidable. If she looked closely enough, she would be able to see a thick bulge at his crotch.

But she didn't have a reason to look. He wasn't adjusting himself. He didn't even look like it bothered him.

In fact, he looked almost... mad.

Y/n looked at him straight in the eyes, and her's went doe-like, everything in her stilling like the fawn-like creature in the way of an oncoming vehicle.

Everything, including her breathing.

He wasn't going to have her passed out before all the fun began. Needing to get a grip on her, he took a few heavy steps foward, and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, the other hand tucking into his pocket to actually adjust himself this time because it was starting to get uncomfortable.

Tilting her face up and closer to him, he bent forward so that their noses were barely touching. Her warm breath huffed against his nose, and he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head.

"Breathe, y/n. You can do it," peering down at her with his jack slightly slack and his eyes at half mast, he imitated inhaling deeply, and she mimicked his motions. Her lungs expanded, and her heart slowed slightly. "That's it, darling. Again."

She gulped and her hands squeezed the fabric of the plaid tennis skirt she was wearing, bringing the hem up slightly so the thinner skin on the inside of her thighs gleamed at Harry.

Then he smelled it, and this time he didn't fight the shiver that ran through him. She was wetHis eyes closed, and a groan rolled deep in his chest. His body tensed and relaxed at the same time, like a transformation.

And when he opened his eyes, he was a different version of himself.

One that didn't give a fuck that he was a professor and she was his student.

This version only had one goal in mind: to consume her in every way he could until y/n went limp in his arms.

"Now what's the matter, little bunny?"

***

Y/n didn't know what was happening, only that something had... changed.

She might have been a quivering mess for him, but she felt the shift in him. The edge to him. The gleam in his eye. She had seen his body shiver at the same time she felt her pussy clench at his words. That's it, darling. Again. Little bunny.

He was encouraging her, not far off from what she wanted to hear from him. It stroked her muddled brain and made her feel fuzzy all over. Some of what he was saying was very inappropriate. But she could care less.

“W-what?” she mumbled, confused. She blinked so that a few tears ran down her face, and she couldn't even feel embarrassed about it.

“Y’heard me loud and clear, darling. Don’t make me repeat myself," her professor tutted.

"i'm sorry, sir. It's just that... I need to work on my paper." And she mumbled something afterwards. Low enough that he wouldn't have been able hear if he was a human. But he wasn't. That didn't mean he couldn't play with her.

"Speak up, y/n. Good girls don't mumble." His tongue was like a lashing, a reprimand, and she felt the scolding everywhere.

"It needs to be better for you, sir." Gulping, she rubbed her thighs together and shuffled in her seat. Y/n was finally one-on-one with him, and she thought she knew what it would feel like.

She was wrong.

Everything was sensitive. Hot. Cold. She was twitchy and there was this squirrley, jumpy feeling inside her. She wanted to run away like a little mouse, but she also wanted to be warmed in his hands. By his words. She wanted to hear the praise come from him so that she could stop feeling so desperate.

Y/n got like this sometimes. Whiny. Insatiable. But no one ever knew how to handle her, when to realize that she was finally full. So she was always... hungry. Like something inside her needed to be stuffed. Abused a little, maybe. She wanted to be handled and then petted. Fucked and kissed and then held. She wanted to be good.

And being like this with him, in a position that made it seem like that was possible, y/n thrummed.

Humming in realization, he stroked his knuckles down the side of her face in a caress, "and what makes you think it isn't already good?"

She leaned into his touch without realizing it, nuzzling into his hand. All she had to do now was purr. Y/n shut her eyes before speaking, "Y-you... you never-"

"Open your eyes and look at me when you're speaking, bunny." Again, the stern, scolding tone. This time it made her flinch and whimper. Her hips rocked in the chair, and he tracked the movement like a leopard in the trees ready to pounce. Y/n knew that he saw, and her face bloomed with heat.

In a breathy, chocked string of words, "you never leave nice notes on my papers, sir. All the others do, but there never any on mine and I just thought... that I n-needed to work harder to be b-better."

She shuffled again in her seat, and her professor's eyes pinched. His had trailed down to her throat, and he squeezed to hold her still.

“Stop squirming, y/n. You want to be better? Stop fucking squirming," and he released her with a small pulse at the base of her neck. He could feel his teeth bulging under his upper lip, the thrum of her life under his fingers enticing him further. Every bit of reason was escaping him. He was going to lose control. Decades of practice, of edging on months of hunger, were nothing to her allure.

He stepped back at the same time that he realized they weren't close enough.

"Stand up," he told her. He watched as she pushed the chair back and stood on wobbly knees, her gaze still searching for recognition that he had heard what she had said, that he had read between the lines and realized what she needed. "Sit on the edge of the table, facing me so we can speak properly."

When she was seated and her hands began to fiddle in her lap, he stepped close enough that her knees were almost touching his hips. And she couldn't miss it this time. The thick length of him, hard against his hip.

"S-sir?" she prompted meekly.

"You want me to leave nice notes on your papers, y/n?" He asked, settling his hands on either side of her and haunching over her so they were nose-to-nose. She could smell him, strong masculine scents of vintage leather and tobacco and bergamot.

Nodding eagerly like a dog, "mhm. Yes, sir."

"Then why didn't you come see me like I asked on every single one of those papers? You didn't listen to me, so why should I reward you?" He mouthed the words against her skin, trailing them down her jaw to her throat where he teased the skin with the tip of his nose.

The area around her neck felt scorching hot, his lips trailing searingly against her. She couldn't hide how desperate she was anymore. She arched, her body was taught, fighting the urge to wriggle because she couldn't decide if she wanted to get away from him or have more of him, and she needed to be good. He had told her to stop squirming.

"I'm sorry, Professor."

Y/n closed her eyes and tentatively braced herself against him. Trembling hands settled on his arms, thick with deceptive muscle. She could feel the strength hiding beneath the surface, tense like a snake preparing to strike. A strong hand settled at her waist, clamping like iron, and another on cupped her jaw tenderly. It was a dichotomy of treatment. Rough and tender at the same time.

"You were a bad girl, y/n."

Then she felt it, a sharp sting where her throat met her shoulder, where Harry was biting her, and licking her, and suckling at her all at the same time. A mixture of a squeal and a moan jumped out of her, and she dug her fingers into his arms, frozen. Whatever he was doing to her hurt. But it hurt in a good way. A way that made her ache with that need to be filled.

She cried out, "I'm sorry, sir." A wet apology that bared how anguished she was.

His hot tongue flattened against her, and she she vibrated in the place where he left his heavy pant, "are you going to be good for me, bunny?"

"Yes, sir. I wanna be good, please," her head was bobbing in that earnest way again, but with his head in the crook of her neck he could only feel the movement against his hair.

He suckled a little more at bite that was already beginning to close, kissing it tenderly, "gonna be my good little bunny?"

Y/n was huffing, not even bothering to hide that she was horny, “please, p-please- I need-”

“Tell me exactly what you need. C'mon, you can do it,” he coaxed her. The hand at her hip molded the flesh there, pulling her closer to him so she was sitting just at the edge, and her knees were pressed into his dick with the lightest pressure. He bucked against her, a slow roll of his groin against her delicate bare knee.

“I need to cum, sir. I need-” 

“Don’t-” he pinched her hip roughing, his thick eyebrows furowing in disapproval, “forget your manners, little bunny. Rude darlings don’t get to cum.”

"Please let me cum, Professor," she repeated, eyes glossy but no longer with tears. This was something else. Something needy. Y/n could feel her slick juices seeping through her panties and making the insides of her thighs sticker. The triangle of cloth was sticking to her, and the tight feeling of it against her clit made her want to scream. It was just barely pushing, a teasing sensation that was driving her crazy.

She wanted him to touch her. To rub her swollen clit until she drenched hand in her cum, and then to- to-

"I'm not sure I should, y/n. You didn't listen to me. Didn't come to my office. Instead I had to come find you here. What about me, hmm? What if I need something from you?" Harry leaned back, letting his hands run down so they rested on her knees and his fingers could play with the hem of her skirt.

"Whatever you need, sir. Please." Y/n was beginning to sound a little broken. Her hips struggled to stay planted on the desk and her knuckled turned white from how hard she gripped the edge of the wood. She would much rather touch him, but he was too far away and she didn't want to upset him. She stared at him, silently pleading for his hands to creep up and shove into her panties, to play with her hole.

"Right now I need to eat you, little bunny. Are you going to let me?" He tilted his head at her again, calculating. Waiting, observing.

"Yes!" Y/n shrieked, her thighs trembling.

"Spead these pretty thighs, darling. Let me have a taste," he crooned down at her as she opened up, her skirting riding so he could see her panties, how wet they were, nearly transparent with her arousal. With a deft finger, he pulled the gusset of her panties to the side and dropped to his knees.

Y/n whined at the look on his face. Mouth parted, eyes half-lidded and downturned. He looked hungry. Desperate.

Without warning he leaned forward and covered her with his mouth, his tongue licking her and then dipping into her pussy to collect what had pooled at her opening, his teeth lighting tapping against her clit. He thrusted his tongue into her once, twice, three times, and that was all it took. A gush of wetness coated his tongue, and her tremors pulsed against his lips.

He leaned back and slapped her cunt with an angry growl, and then shoved two fingers into her, fucking her roughly so his fingers got wet with her, "seriously, y/n? Did I give you permission to cum?"

"N-no, sir," as she sat hunched over his kneeling form still twitching, Harry shoved his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean of her, and then stood up, not even bothering to lay her panties right before yanking her to stand.

"Get up. We're going to walk to my rooms. Your'e doing to do so quietly, and when we get there, you're going to take your punishment like a good girl, do you understand me?" With a single finger pointed at her, y/n understand she was in for it. Her hands flew to pick up her things, showing her papers into her bag and looping it on her shoulder so she was ready to go.

"I understand, Professor"

He took the bag off her shoulder and laid a hand on her lower back, keeping her at his side as he led her out of the library and into the night, "that's better. Come this way. The night is still young, bunny, and we're both in for a treat."

*****

happy halloweenie!! hoped u liked this heehee. missed mr. vamp. lmk ur thoughts!!!

[p0orbaby]

If your still doing blurbs, could I request something with Leah x Reader, Leah being drunk, like smashed, could literally be anything.

-

It starts with “just a couple of drinks” at some fancy bar Leah swears up and down she won’t enjoy. She’s not even supposed to be drinking—training starts Monday—but someone ordered tequila shots, and Leah has the willpower of a toddler in a sweet shop.

By the time you show up to collect her, she’s perched on a stool, gesturing wildly about something to Katie, who’s cackling like a banshee. Leah spots you instantly.

“Baaabe!” she slurs, nearly toppling off the stool in her enthusiasm.

Katie snorts. “She’s all yours”

You sigh, already sensing this is going to be a long night. “Leah, what did we say about tequila?”

“That it’s the devil’s drink,” she says solemnly, like she’s reciting scripture. Then she grins. “But I tamed the devil!”

She has not tamed the devil. She’s lost a very public battle with it.

You take her arm, but she’s too busy rummaging in her pocket. “Wait, wait, I got something for you”

“Oh, God”

She produces a crumpled napkin with what looks like someone’s phone number scribbled on it. “This guy tried to chat me up,” she says proudly. “I told him I had a girlfriend who could bench-press him”

“Romantic,” you deadpan, shoving the napkin back in her pocket.

Leah grins. “You’re welcome”

The walk home is even worse. She insists on stopping every five minutes to either a) pet a dog, b) tell a stranger they have “great vibes,” or c) try to climb something.

“Babe, get down,” you hiss as she attempts to scale a lamppost.

“I’m reclaiming my childhood!”

“You’re going to reclaim a concussion”

Eventually, you manage to bundle her into a taxi, where she spends the entire ride insisting the driver “looks just like Pep Guardiola” and trying to play footsie with you despite the fact that you’re sitting next to each other.

When you finally get her home, she collapses onto the sofa dramatically. “I’m starving,” she announces.

“You’ve had chips and a kebab,” you point out.

“I could eat again”

You leave her to wrestle with her hunger demons while you grab a glass of water and some paracetamol. When you return, she’s lying flat on the carpet like a starfish, mumbling about how the ceiling is “so big.”

“Alright, lightweight,” you say, kneeling beside her. “Time for bed”

“Can’t move,” she moans. “Floor’s my home now”

You roll your eyes but eventually manage to coax her into the bedroom. She flops onto the mattress with all the grace of a bag of wet cement, immediately trying to pull you down with her.

“Leah, you smell like a distillery”

“But I love you,” she says, her voice muffled by your shirt.

You can’t help but laugh. “I love you too, but you’re sleeping on your side. I am not cleaning up after you if you puke”

She grumbles something unintelligible but lets you tuck her in. By the time you turn off the light, she’s already snoring softly, one arm flung over your waist.

[uhohdad]

THE GIRL WHO CONQUERED THE MOUNTAIN

KÖNIG X READER

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

WARNINGS: 18+, NSFW, 183k WORD COUNT, AO3, Protective!König, Virgin!König, Loner!König, 18yo!König, Possessive!König, TouchStarved!König, GentleGiant!König, To You Anyway, König Pines Hard, Fem!Reader, Mentor!JohnPrice, Slow Burn, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Blood & Injury, Graphic Violence, Death, PTSD, Suicidal Ideations, Alcohol Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Dom!König, A Lil’ Sub!König Too, Dirty Talk, Size Kink, Nipple Play, Blow Jobs, Fingering, Slight Exhibitionism, Consensual Degradation, Praise Kink, Gentle Sex, Rough Sex, First Time, …And A Second, Perhaps A Third & Forth

CHAPTER ONE | PREV | CHAPTER NAVIGATION

➤ THE GAMECHANGER II

First Part Of This Chapter Here

You can’t move, can’t open your eyes. You don’t want to know what’s going on one couch cushion over.

You cannot handle another memory of brutality.

It’s happening inches from you, close enough you can feel the breeze of flailing limbs on your face, disturbing tufts of your hair. But your couch cushion might as well be your own private island, immune to the sound of Ellaine’s haunting screams and the repeated puncture of flesh and the air so thick with the smell of metal you can taste the tang on your tongue.

The past is your friend in this moment, a collage of gory distractions to keep you from adding another to the collection.

Ellaine - Ellaine is making it difficult.

Her shrieks are starting to break through, shattering, continuous, she hardly seems to pause for breath.

Pharus’ thigh isn’t helping. It knocks into yours as he struggles for the life that steadily escapes him.

Ellaine’s heels take off in a sloppy, uneven run, and Konig leaves you alone with weird and awkward once more, present to listen to him take his wet, gurgling, final breaths.

Ellaine is muffled in an instant. There’s the sound of a quick, mild altercation, and then Konig’s heavy footsteps return.

You don’t open your eyes even when he stills. You don’t want to know, you don’t want to. The blackness behind your eyelids is a better alternative to any of this.

You wait, and you pretend.

You wait until the nothingness lulls you into a false sense of security, and you pretend that you aren’t where you are, that Konig hasn’t done what you know he’s done, and there was never anything before or after this inky blackness.

Eventually you do find the courage to pry open your tear-blurred eyes.

Konig stands a few feet from the other side of the drink table, illuminated by the soft flickering glow of a hundred fake candles. Ellaine is snug to his front, airborne with an arm around the crease of her core. You’re reminded of the boy from eleven, flailing as he was lifted into the air by his ribcage moments before his death. Konig has silenced her with a palm flush over her puffy lips, her stifled screams have turned to stifled pleas.

You take a deep breath before you carefully turn your head to the right.

A swollen face, a limp body, and a pair of silver medical scissors lodged through Pharus’ repeatedly punctured throat. A steady stream of blood gushes from his wounds, his button down and tie stained with a growing patch of brilliant red.

Konig’s voice isn’t grit, nervous, or frantic. It’s spoken clearly and evenly.

“What do I do with her?”

After a beat, you carefully tilt your head up, and finally meet Konig’s eyes.

His face is entirely unreadable. Stone cold. The only thing of note is the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

He’s offering her to you.

Laying her fate in your palms, the judge and jury to his executioner.

You’re frozen in your spot, as if making any action will cement your fate, as if moving will make it real. If you just sit here, maybe, just maybe, the problem will go away.

It does not.

For minutes you sit on their couch, watching as Ellaine thrashes in Konig’s unyielding hold. Her hysterical tears collect on the side of his index finger and the blood stain on Pharus’ suit grows in your peripheral.

You’re processing.

Konig’s kill, the life that sits in your palms, the catastrophic consequence that is to come - but your brain won’t let you. You keep trying to cram the information in, in hopes to conjure up a plan, an opinion, or at the very least a thought, but you can’t seem to make sense of what has happened.

Konig waits patiently, letting Ellaine scratch up his forearms with her golden fingernails, until you give up trying to think your way out of the impossible.

You clear your throat, fix your hair, and rearrange your skirt. You sigh, and give yourself an encouraging nod before you meet Ellaine’s tear-welled eyes and pick up your croaked voice.

“Well, Ellaine, - I - I guess you ought to be extra good.”

Your lips warp, your shoulders pull up, and an awkward laugh leaves your lips. It’s almost like you’re trying to wave away tension at an uncomfortable dinner party with a joke you’re not confident in - but Ellaine does not find this as disarming as you intended.

Her exaggerated tinsel eyelashes pinch shut, and her muffled screams reach a peak before petering off in a fit of sobs.

You lock eyes with Konig, holding his intimidating stare for a few moments longer. You look to Ellaine, and then back to him, and when you speak, your voice is hesitant but challenging.

“Tie her up.”

Konig nods, and when he searches for something to restrain her with, you have no moral qualm reaching over Pharus’ fresh corpse, fussing and ripping the blood-soaked tie from his collar.

Ellaine’s pleads and sobs are at full volume once Konig releases her mouth to take the tie from you. He lingers for a moment on handoff, exchanging Pharus’ blood with a graze of your fingers.

You haven’t been able to let go of him since you lost him - but this - it’s like it’s the first time you’ve ever touched him.

A spark starts at your fingertips and shoots up your arms until your chest is blooming with that cozy, dizzying warmth.

Konig’s eyes are twinkling and his mouth is stretched into a cozy grin. He takes the bloody tie as carefully as he took your ribbon, even with a woman scratching and screaming desperately in his arms.

It’s too far gone now.

There is no amount of good behavior that will breathe life back into the fresh corpse of the Capitol elite on the couch next to you.

Every worry, every fear, every problem that became pressing the moment they called your name on reaping day has melted away and been replaced with a rush of intoxicating freedom and power. That same feeling you had at the oasis in the arena - because it is easy to not worry today when there is no tomorrow.

Ever since the games you have been living in purgatory. Half awake, half asleep, and a million miles away from the nearest living soul.

But now -

Now you are awake.

Knowing that you and Konig both took a turn you could never turn back from, and clearly don’t regret in the slightest, is exhilarating.

This is entirely uncharted territory. Exploring the boundaries that lie beyond the boundaries you never imagined you’d cross.

Together.

Konig studies your face for a few more seconds before he lets Ellaine fall from his arms and to the floor.

You shift on the couch to put some distance between yourself and weird and awkward, snatch an untouched wine glass, and take careful sips as you watch Konig restrain Ellaine with her husband’s blood-soaked tie.

So rough.

You’re afraid he might just break something on Ellaine, the way he’s jerking her limbs and yanking her back into his reach when she tries to crawl away.

You’ve gotten so used to him being your refuge - you almost forgot how dangerous he truly is.

Those arms, big and so unfathomably strong, could crush your bones to dust with less effort than it takes for him to tie his shoes.

You can feel it when you’re in his arms. The potential of his strength. Dulled down for your comfort, but still very much present. Dormant, but waiting.

It’s thrilling.

Watching him use his full strength, easily overpowering another one of your threats, especially while dressed like that. Half of his chest exposed and glistening, his forearms tensing as he tightly binds her wrists and ankles, the occasional grunt of frustration aimed at her for not being the ideal hostage.

Oh, and how she begs and pleads and cries and whines.

Poor thing.

“Gag her.”

Konig moves to follow your command the moment it finishes leaving your lips.

He doesn’t bother looking around. His fists curl into the fabric of his shirt and with one stiff tug, he sends buttons flying in all directions. One of them bounces off the drink table with a plink. He slips the shirt from his arms, rolls it up, and creases Ellaine’s cheeks with the taut, bunched fabric nestled between her puffy lips. He plants a dress shoe in the center of her spine to keep her muzzle tight until it’s tied off on the back of her head with a few harsh jerks.

He then waits for his next instruction.

Your faithful, dedicated servant.

Standing tall and proud with those pretty blue eyes locked onto you and that glistening chest rising and falling. Ignoring the bound and squirming woman at his feet until he knows exactly what he’s to do with her. Putting you in full control of his strength.

The thought is entirely intrusive.

Snap her neck.

Snap her neck like you did the boy from eleven.

Snap her neck and remind me one more time that your love for me knows no bounds.

You hold Konig’s stare. Dangerous and safe, icy and warm, unhinged and devoted.

You don’t want to think about Ellaine or her fate, resting in your sweaty little palms.

All you really want to do right now is explore this new, intoxicating feeling with the love of your life.

So you put a pin in it.

You beckon Konig to your presence, and he’s with you at once, sidestepping the glass table to snatch you up by the back of your thighs with a bounce, resting you around his bare waist and holding you tight in those strong, deadly arms.

You meet in a rough, passionate kiss, exchanging hums and messy tongues. Your hands are all over him, smoothing over his tight, warm shoulders and chest, devouring any part of him in reach.

Konig squeezes the crease of your thigh, and gives an approving hum at the sharp gasp that leaves you. He uses his rough hold to grind you against his slacks.

“Konig!”

Your stare briefly darts over his shoulder to remind him of the pathetic one-woman audience behind him. His eyes narrow, and a sly smile spreads on his face.

“Tell me you don’t want it.”

He savors your stunned expression, the breath he stole and the pretty wide eyes that flit around his face.

At your compliant silence, the corner of his lip twitches up, and he pulls you back into a sloppy kiss. Bloody nails tighten into the back of his shoulders with each brush he makes across the front of your skimpy panties.

Konig’s hands thread through the back of your hair as he carries you down the hall and away from the uninterrupted grating song of muffled sobs and pleas. You don’t break the kiss the entire journey to Ellaine and Pharus’ bedroom, held together by overeager tongues and wandering hands. He closes the door behind you both by forcing you against it. He holds you here for a moment, three shameless, drawn-out ruts into you, before he hauls you to the bed and places you on the rose petal covered blankets. He straddles one of your legs and climbs up the bed until he’s looming overtop you. You can feel him - already straining against the give in his slacks and seeking relief with your thigh.

“You’re all mine,” He grits.

He dips his head to kiss your neck, and rolls hungry, needy grunts along your skin while his assured hand trails up your stockings and sneaks underneath your skirt. He cups the entirety of your cunt over your panties, his large hand swallowing you whole and his possessive touch robbing you of breath. A warm, demanding presence between your thighs.

“Alle meine.”

He breathes his jagged words between the slobbering kisses and sucks on your neck. His brute fingers sink further into your slit, nestling your panties between your lips and pressing his fingertips into the inviting stain of arousal.

“Mein Gott - So fucking wet.”

His tightly pressed fingers massage wide circles and turn your breaths hitched.

“All for me,” He reminds you, “You want my fingers? You want to feel me inside you? Hm?”

“Yes!”

Konig doesn’t bother taking the time to pull off your panties. He tears them with a grunt and lets the meager scraps fall to either side of your hips. The side of his finger glides up and down your slit, his knuckles grazing against your twitching thighs.

He scoffs, and his eyes meet yours. A smug grin grows on his face as he drags his teasing finger through your arousal.

“You’re dripping, you need me this bad?”

You nod with a truly pathetic whine, but it’s still not enough. He swirls the pad of his finger around your entrance and ignores the way your hips mindlessly search for pleasure.

“Tell me how bad you need me.”

His prods at your ego scorches your cheeks, and you can’t seem to look anywhere but the floor as you coax the words out.

“I need you,” You whine, “I- I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything else.”

He scoffs as his finger pushes into you.

“I know,” He says. His eyes narrow, and his brows pinch, “Where would you be without me, little one? Hm?”

He doesn’t get much of an answer, only sputtered breaths and squeaky gasps.

“You were made for me and I was made for you.”

The pad of his thumb presses to your clit and rocks back and forth, working your dripping cunt.

“There is no other way.”

He’s pushing you this time, giving you just a little more than you can handle. Keeping your breaths choked and your body squirming.

“You want me to stop? You have to say it.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip to bite back the desperate noises on your tongue, and your legs are trembling from his slow but strict plunges to his knuckle.

He gives a pleased hum, baring his teeth when the corner of his lip lifts in a grin. His half-lidded eyes trail down to your chest, watching you heave on your uneven breaths.

Without breaking his pace, his free hand rests on your hips and smooths up your side. He trails up the curve of your torso, bunching your shirt at his hand.

He stops on the cup of your lingerie. His large, hardened hand palms your breast, roughly kneading and following your squirms.

“Take off your shirt.”

Your shaking fingers can hardly obey, fumbling for your hem and peeling it off, revealing the lingerie and Konig’s groping hand beneath.

Gluttonous eyes scour you from head to heels, devouring your body in your skimpy outfit.

Suddenly you don’t mind it as much.

He meets your stare again, and something shifts in him. His brow creases, his eyes soften, and his pace slows.

“Dressed up all for me?” He breathes.

This one is not so much cocky as it is a genuine question. A reassurance.

“All for you,” You whisper.

A breathy, relieved laugh spills from him. He ducks his head, and presses a kiss to your neck while his fingers continue to thrust into you. The kiss starts gently, just a brush of his lips against your skin, and steadily deepens until his tongue is licking wide strokes over your shoulders. His teeth graze over your flesh, a sharp contrast to his slick, soft tongue.

“You want another?” He whispers against your skin after a long, wet stripe, “Hm? You want me to fill you?”

He kisses your neck as you nod, breathy, squeaky moans on your lips.

“Say it.”

“Konig- I need you, I need more, please-“

He scoffs, lubing up a second finger with your arousal and lining it up with your cunt.

He’s a bit more patient with his second finger, pushing in with gentle movements while he sucks on the sensitive skin of your neck.

Every rut he makes against you draws a huffy, warm breath from him.

“I can’t wait to feel you.”

He’s fucking you at teasing pace - slow, seamless glides in and out of your slick cunt while his thumb rolls up and down your clit with each gentle pump of his finger.

You can only offer a whimper in response, your back arching off the bed to lean into his touch, jutting your hips out to keep his fingers hitting that spot that floods your lower abdomen with an intoxicating warmth. He sits up, flitting his stare between your face and his fingers as he carefully builds up speed.

“Look at you. So wet. You’ll soak my cock with this dripping cunt.”

You’re hypnotized by his touch, by his fingers, his filthy, growled words. Putty in those powerful, killer hands.

When you close your eyes and your head throws back in defeat, Konig puts his hand just under your jaw with a strict grip, warping the flesh of your cheeks beneath his fingers.

“Look at me. I want to see you while I fuck you.”

You obediently meet his crinkled eyes, his gratified smile.

“Do my fingers feel good?”

You can only nod weakly in his hand, a stuttered breath tapering into a squeaky moan.

Konig’s eyes flit around your face as he grinds against your thigh.

“You want me? Hm? You want me inside you?”

You nod against Konig’s forceful hand.

He doesn’t need much convincing. His soaked fingers leave your cunt and he releases your face, smearing your arousal along his waistband in his scramble to undo his slacks. His fingers are impatient to his own detriment, he struggles to pop the button and fumbles long enough for his teeth to clench in frustration.

He kicks his pants to the side and not-so-gracefully strips off his underwear. Firm hands leave little choice on spreading your thighs as he settles between them, and as soon as he’s towering over you, he guides himself to your soaked cunt and slides the tip of his cock down your slit.

You both let out a whine, and you can hear it - the obscene sound of him lubing himself up with your arousal.

Konig presses one of his hands to the mattress next to your head, and lowers himself to press his lips to yours. He keeps his face inches from yours when he pulls away, captivating you with intense eyes.

“Are you ready for me?”

He sounds dangerous. His husky purr offers you one last chance to back out before you take on more than you can handle. It’s exhilarating, tightening the knots of excitement he’s making of your insides.

He swirls his tip around your entrance and applies a bit of pressure, giving you just a taste of what he has in store for you.

You offer a shaky nod, and he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before he sinks his soaked tip into you.

“So eine enge muschi.”

Konig’s head falls forward as he mumbles gruff praises, or degradations, you’re not sure.

Your nails claw at the tensed forearms locking you in at either of your sides. Trapped by massive arms and perfect physique. Pinned under such a powerful being, his form consumes you while he fucks your entrance with his tip.

“You’re going to take it all this time. I don’t care how long it takes. You will feel all of me.”

An insatiable, ravenous grin stretches on his features at the look of worry you give him.

He lapping at your walls with a pace that keeps you squirming and whining beneath him. Not quite uncomfortable, but intentionally provoking, giving you just a little more than you can handle. Reminding you that you’re out of your depth, making sure you know that you are at his mercy. Keeping your nails clawing at him and the strained moans flowing freely. Taking pleasure knowing all you can focus on is how he’s splitting you open and stretching you out.

“Das gefällt dir? Ja? You like that?”

Your affirmations are wavered, you can hardly finish a word once it’s started, each one ending on a raspy breath.

“No one can fill you up like I can,” He grits, “This cunt is all mine.”

He pauses when you wince and your head throws back on the mattress.

“Mm, too big for you?”

You respond with a whiny sigh, which he must find amusing, because he laughs.

Konig lowers himself, pressing his front flush to yours, the tip of his nose brushing along your cheek as he leaves you kisses. His hands graze over your stomach and sink between your legs, tightly pressed fingers massaging over your clit.

“Braves mädchen - working hard to take me.”

His praises are just warm breaths against your skin, and he groans when you clench around him.

“You ready for more of me? Hm?”

You nod, and Konig resumes gently working you open with a hypnotic roll of his hips and a rusty sigh. His arm flexes as he rises, getting a better look at the pathetic, squirming thing beneath him on the mattress. Taking pride in the way you unravel before you’ve even managed to swallow all of him, full and drooling after just a few fingers and half of a throbbing cock.

“Weak little girl.”

Konig’s head tilts down, his eyes narrow, and he snarls.

“You need me.”

Konig eases more of himself into you, his eyes lull behind his eyelids and his bottom lip snags between his teeth. His shoulders pull up, and he shudders.

“So warm und eng um mich herum.”

A cry leaves your lips, legs trembling and head thrown back in defeat. Konig gives you a few much-earned breaks to let you adjust to his size. As he waits, he leans down and buries his face into your neck, back to nibbling at the sensitive skin. Entertaining himself by licking and slobbering and sucking more marks to the surface while his tightly pressed fingers trace wide circles over your clit.

The breaths he takes between showers of his affection are huffed. He occasionally forgets he’s supposed to be patient with you, such a delicate little thing, his hips rutting into you momentarily before he corrects himself. You can feel him pulsing inside of you when he stills.

He pulls away from your neck, meeting your stare with half-lidded, drunken eyes.

He studies you for a moment, and his voice turns soft and wispy.

“I love you,” He says.

“I love you, too.”

You give his shaking biceps a squeeze and smooth your hands up his shoulders. You cup his jaw, drawing him closer to meet you in a tender kiss.

He presses his forehead to yours when he breaks the kiss with panting breaths.

“You feel so good,” He whispers.

You lace your fingers together around the back of his neck.

“You too,” You whisper back.

He smiles down at you, crinkled eyes sparkling and a weak laugh of disbelief on his lips.

He narrows his eyes at you again, his smile turning into something smug.

“You want more, little one? You want to feel more of me?”

You nod with a nervous, choppy sigh. It’s more than a tight fit, you cling to his shoulders for support as you focus on taking him. You can feel his muscles working beneath your fingertips as he eases himself in and out of you.

“So ein guter schwanzwärmer.”

You stutter through a moan, and even though you’re obviously struggling to take him, you’re still grinding down on him without thought.

“Sehr gut-”

He shivers overtop you, panting breaths and his head hung. His bulging muscles are shaking, struggling to restrain himself from pounding into you.

You can’t think about much else other than him, filling you to the brim and teasing that spot that makes your thighs twitch. As he nears bottoming out, the condensation pours from his tongue, huffed and strained.

“Going to take all of it, ja?”

You let out a whine, your fingers trembling and pathetic moans leaving you without permission.

Both of your strangled breaths stop as the base of him presses to your front.

“How does it feel?” He huffs, “To feel all of me?”

You can’t even respond, intoxicated off the feeling of him stuffed deep inside of you.

“Does it feel good to be full?”

The pressure between your legs is splitting, painful - but in a good way. You don’t dare ask him to stop, aching to keep yourself full. You nod up at him, meeting his stare with drowsy eyes.

“You look so pretty on my cock.”

He sinks his hand between your thighs, his fingers making wide circles over your clit once more.

“Es ist meins,” He breathes, “It’s for me.”

He lets out a choked groan when you tighten around him. He can’t hold himself back from grinding into you.

“So eng.”

His eyes roll, huffy pants on his lips. His thumb hones in on your clit and gives it gentle scrubs.

“Konig?” You whine with a grind, “Need you.”

His cock twitches inside of you, and he’s happy to oblige.

He gently slides out about an inch before slowly pushing back in. The circles tracing around your clit waver, a broken groan on his lips.

When you don’t ask him to stop, he does it again, coaxing himself in and out of you, fighting every instinct in his body to fuck what little sense remains from you.

Konig’s eyes pinch, a breathy moan leaving him.

“Too - sch- too weak to handle me? Too much for you, little one?”

Konig’s dirty talk is wavering, strained and slurred and interrupted by heavy pants.

His flushed lips are perpetually parted, face rosen. He can’t resist quickening his pace, entirely submit to your warm, dripping cunt.

“Es tut mir leid - Bitte - ”

His rhythm quickly melts into one of desperation.

“Konig!”

“Tell me - tell me to stop.”

And while your cunt is aching and sore with him buried deep inside of you and his thrusts transitioning into pounds, you don’t dare tell him to stop.

He’s rocking your entire body, your chest bouncing in response to his quickened thrusts. The sound of your slicked cunt lubing his cock intertwines with the claps of his thighs against yours in an obscene chorus.

The moans leaving you are choked and squeaky, but when you try to cover your mouth, he grabs your wrists and pins them to the mattress.

“No,” He grits, “I want to hear you.”

You let out a cry, twisting and writhing your core under his hold.

“Konig - Konig please!”

You’re not even sure what you’re begging for, all you know if you don’t ever want him to stop.

Each of his brute pumps into you is a burst of pleasure, and as he quickens his pace, it melts into one continuous euphoria. Everything is aligning, it’s like he’s helping you fulfill your destined role on this earth. This feeling - it’s why you were born, it’s your purpose.

To be fucked by him.

Used and filled with his thick cock, to let him spread you open and lose himself to your warmth at his whim. A sore cunt is your price to pay, your burden to bear for not being worthy of handling a being so powerful.

You’ve come entirely undone at his hand, drooling and mindless while he forces your body further up the bed with each of his reckless pumps into you.

His grunts are ravening, gravelly and low.

“Genau so… Du willst mehr, nicht wahr?”

He lets go of your wrists, his hands finding your chest instead. He slinks into your lingerie, roughly kneading your chest beneath greedy fingers.

With little warning warning, Konig pulls out and flips you over with enough force you have to steady yourself with your palms and a gasp. You’re already babbling incoherent pleas at his absence, but before you can even move your weak, shaking limbs to lift yourself, he’s smearing your arousal between your thighs and searching for your dripping cunt with his eager cock.

As soon as he’s sinking into you, he leans down and presses his glistening chest to your back. His palms slide down your arms until he’s engulfing your hands, lacing his fingers with yours to pin your locked hands to the mattress.

You let out a cry when he bottoms out, his hips rutting against you and a low, sinful grunt in your ear as he works his cock against the walls of your tight cunt. His grip on you tightens, and he gives three gentle thrusts before he’s back to snapping his hips into you, returning to his reckless rhythm.

“F- ha- Konig!”

“Gut,” He breathes, “So good for me.”

Each plunge forces you further into the mattress, cheek smushed and fingers clawing at the blankets beneath his hold.

It’s all you can focus on, the overwhelming sensation, not a thought that runs through your mind as you take him, all of him. Lost to the addictive heat in your lower abdomen and the splitting ache between your legs.

Your vision is just a blur, and you can feel the vibration of his grunts on your back, the heat of his moans on your cheek.

“S’big!”

“Take it, mein seiger.”

He kisses the side of your face before he presses his cheek to yours, scratching you with his prickly stubble with each thrust.

“Nimm meinen schwanz.”

Konig breathes a low groan.

“Feel good?” He asks through clenched teeth.

It’s more of a taunt than a genuine question, because the answer already lies in the shake in your legs, the squeaky moans coerced with each powerful thrust of his cock into your wet cunt.

“You like it rough? Hm?”

He’s without restraint, plowing more of his needy cock into you before you can recover from the previous thrust of his hips.

“Naughty girl.”

Each moan that leaves you is filtered through the speed of Konig’s merciless slams, stuttered and choppy with each bottom out.

“Konig, F- Konig!”

“That’s it, mein sieger. Who does your cunt belong to?”

“You- you!”

“It’s mine,” He grits, “I earned it.”

He releases you, and his arm snakes around the crease under your stomach to yank you to your hands and knees, tightening his grasp on your sides to keep you from squirming away from his greedy cock. In this position, he’s somehow able to stuff even more of himself into you, and each thrust forces an embarrassing, repetitive squeak.

“Pretty noises, little one,” He grits.

He plants a kiss to the top of your head without breaking his pace, his hand reaching down to knead the plush flesh of your ass.

“Taking this cock so well, aren’t you?”

The only thing you can offer is a wavering moan, thoughtless and surrendered to the brute cock stretching you out and abusing your cunt.

“Schau dich an. Can’t even talk.”

His forearm wraps around your collarbones and he gives you another tug, lifting your hands from the mattress and arching your back into his chest. A possessive hand wraps around your front, groping your breast under rough, avid palms.

“Mine.”

A sharp breath is sucked through your teeth as cruel fingers tighten around your nipple. You nod frantically, offering desperate, unintelligible praises.

It’s not good enough, though, because his fingers only squeeze harder while he holds you in place by his tensed forearm.

“Yours!” You get through a cry.

He releases you with a pleased hum, intemperate fingers gliding down your soft stomach until his palm melds to your front. The tips of his fingers swirl into your lips, spreading you open to rest on your clit. He doesn’t even have to move them, each of his cruel thrusts forces you across his thick fingers.

All you can do is take it, overwhelmed by his ruthless cock and his possessive hold on your cunt, passive to his powerful thrusts. You couldn’t fight it off if you wanted to, every limb weak and trembling.

Konig suddenly lets go of your cunt and gives you a guiding nudge back onto the mattress. You can’t hold yourself up on your useless arms, let alone catch yourself, so you end up with your face buried in the covers while the hands on your hips keep you right where he wants you, on display.

He changes his pace, he begins to give you one powerful thrust and waits for you to finish bouncing back before he gives you another. He’s using his full strength, not at all holding back.

He’s fucking you like he’s mad at you.

It’s like he’s trying to prove a point. Just the pace itself feels mocking. Degrading, even. So rough and brute on each plunge before he slowly pulls himself out of you, only to force himself back in with everything he has. After his hips collide with the soft flesh of your ass, he lingers on the bottom out, a slow grind against your drooling walls. Again and again, forcing a gasping moan with each merciless pound. Bullying your poor cunt, filling you to the brim with little warning other than the rhythmic beats he makes with your flesh, like he’s training you to be prepared to take all of him at a moment’s notice.

“A filthy little girl,” He spits, “Listen to you.”

And you have no choice, his ruthless cock burying inside you and forcing the moans to spill from your lips whether you like it or not. His fingers dig into your skin to keep you from being shoved across the mattress at his strength.

“You are mine.”

Konig changes his pace again, he keeps the same force of his thrusts, but he picks up speed, giving little time to recover from each ram of his ravenous, throbbing cock.

“I’m going to fill you up, now, ja?”

You can’t even respond, limp in his hold, the world a blur and half your irises hidden behind drunken eyelids.

Konig gives you three brutal, sloppy thrusts, a sinful grunt on his lips and your hips crying under his tight grip. He holds his final thrust, snug against you as his finish marks his claim deep inside you. His body writhes, his moans stuttered and choked as he milks himself with a few lazy, wavered pumps. You can feel him pulsing against your walls, the grip around your wrists tight and shaking.

You can’t move, can’t even think, riding out your high as he catches his heaving breaths overtop you. Both his body and his cock twitch in the aftershocks of his finish.

He stays inside of you as he carefully rests your pliant arms back on the mattress, hunching over to press the first of many soft kisses on your shoulders.

His question is hesitant - small and ashamed.

“Are you okay?”

You nod into the blankets, and after a polite pause, he peppers more gentle kisses along your shoulders.

“That felt really good,” You mumble.

Konig laughs and brushes your miskempt hair from your face, getting a better look at your blissed-out grin and after-sex glow. He nuzzles his way to your cheek to leave a kiss.

“Did so well for me,” He whispers, “Mein sieger.”

Konig sits up, his hands smoothing down the curve of your back, slowly pulling out of you with a few overstimulated tremors.

He collapses on the covers next to you with a heavy sigh and a hand lost to his hair.

You still can’t seem to bring yourself to move, humming contently into the mattress. A light knuckle traces along the dip of your back as you soak in thoughtless bliss.

“I love you,” You mumble.

He scoffs, and while you’re still face down on the mattress with your eyes closed, you can tell he’s smiling, too.

“I love you too.”

Konig rises from the bed, and disappears into the master bathroom. He returns moments later with a damp washcloth and prompts you to roll over so he can clean up the puddle of arousal and finish between your thighs.

It’s weird, but even though he was inside of you moments ago, you feel embarrassed at being exposed like this to him, letting him tenderly swipe the cool cloth over you.

He tosses the washcloth carelessly to the ground before crawling back into the bed with you. He lies face up, and lifts his arm above his head to invite you into his side. You happily accept his offer, resting your head on his chest and slinging your arm over his waist. He’s warm to the touch, silken and inviting, cozy and safe.

You hum behind a content smile as he plucks rose petals from your hair, and when you speak, your words come out like a tune.

“We are so fucked.”

Konig snorts, and his chest bounces your head on the following laugh.

“Why are you laughing?” You ask through a giggle, “It’s not funny.”

“I don’t know,” He says, “Why are you?”

You both devolve into a fit of contagious laughter. Everytime you think you’re winding down, a snort kicks off another round of stuttering bodies and wheezing, squeaky giggles. It goes on for far too long, until your stomach hurts and there are tears in your eyes.

“Maybe no one will notice,” He says after a long-winded sigh.

“No dice.”

You both fall into a lull, lost in the sensation of fingertips playing with locks of your hair or tracing lazy patterns over your back.

“Are you hungry?” He asks.

“I could eat.”

“Want to see what they have?”

You go to sit up, but Konig stops you.

“Ach. Äh, hold on.”

“Right,” You say, “Forgot about her.”

You rub out your knuckles in a moment of consideration, and find you don’t feel like thinking about Ellaine right now.

“Lock her in the bathroom,” You say with a dismissive wave of your hand, “I’ll figure it out later.”

“I’ll take care of it,” He says.

He puts his pants on, and goes to work.

You’re thankful he’s willing to do the dirty work. You don’t want to see Pharus or Ellaine right now.

He leaves the door cracked so you can hear him, to reassure you he is still present. His footsteps, the occasional shut of a door.

No screaming.

You pick at your painted fingers until he returns. When he steps back into the room, he lingers by the door, his eyes darting to the side and his bloody fingers wriggling at his sides.

“Want to shower?” He asks.

You nod.

He looks to the side again, and his hand reaches over his chest to rub the crease of his elbow, smearing blood on himself.

“Together?” He asks.

Your eyes follow his, and you nod again.

You use Ellaine and Pharus’ master bathroom, and it takes far too long for you both to put your heads together and figure out how to work the excessive buttons and knobs, but eventually you manage a heavy stream with a survivable temperature. You both finish stripping down, and step into the countless water jets spraying from every direction.

You don’t even have to say it, there’s an unspoken agreement between you to clean each other. He leans down so that you can reach his hair to wash it out, massaging the soap over his scalp until it foams at your fingertips. Konig’s eyes close, humming contently at your touch.

As he rinses off the suds, you get started on his body, lapping up the sides of his neck and rubbing wide circles down the curve of his shoulders. Your trail to bulging biceps and forearms, washing blood off as you go. You linger on his firm chest and torso longer than you need to as you lather him up.

“Thank you,” He says.

“Mhm.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You ask.

“For - For ruining it.”

Your brows pinch, and your voice softens.

“You didn’t ruin it,” you say, “You saved me.”

He follows your whim when you gesture for him to turn around, and there’s a long pause as you work suds over his back.

“I’m different,” He says softly.

“It’s okay. Me too.”

“No, not like that.” He turns to face you even though you aren’t finished with his back, and he sighs, “I keep hurting people.”

“Me too.”

“No,” He says, “Physically hurting people. And I-”

Konig swallows, and looks down at his open palms. He takes a deep breath before he finishes, his hands turning to fists and dropping at his sides.

“I like it.”

His eyes finally meet yours, a crease in his brow and his weight shifting from leg to leg with a weak sway as he waits for you to respond to his confession.

“Okay,” You say.

He looks to the side, and reaches up to rub out the back of his neck.

“Okay,” He says.

The heavy stream of water on porcelain soothes the following calm silence before he breaks it again.

“I keep having nightmares,” He blurts, “Where I hurt you.”

You wince, shoulders braced and face warped, and you have to refrain from saying ‘Me too.’

“I’m afraid I will,” He says, “I don’t want to, but I’m- I’m not - “

“It’s okay,” You cut, forcing your shoulders back into position, “You won’t.”

There’s a pause before he whispers, his words almost lost to the water raining down on you both.

“You’re afraid of me.”

You tense again, and you’re honestly not even sure if the next statement is a lie or not, but you’re not eager to give it much thought.

“No, I’m not.”

“In the dreams,” He clarifies.

“Oh.”

You let out a heavy breath.

“I’ve been having nightmares too,” You say.

You’re hoping it helps him to know you’re going through the same thing, but you can’t help but feel like it wasn’t the right thing to say. Like you’re just minimizing his pain or redirecting the focus to you when he’s obviously trying to lean on you in this moment.

“Do you dream of me?” He asks carefully.

You swallow, your eyes flitting around the tile through the blanket of steam clouding the shower.

“Sometimes.”

“Bad dreams?”

“All of my dreams are bad.”

“But-”

You turn and snatch up his forearms with insistent but gentle hands.

“Konig, it doesn’t matter. They’re just - they’re just dreams. We- that was fucked up, and our brains are just trying to make sense of it, and it - it all just blurs together. I don’t know. All I know is that after the nightmares I wake up and I love you more than I did yesterday. I need you more than I did yesterday.”

Konig can’t bring himself to speak. He just swallows and nods, those soft puppy dog eyes staring at you as the water rushes over his skin.

When he finds his voice, it’s soft.

“I love you,” He says.

“I love you too,” You whisper.

You give his arms a squeeze before you let go of him.

Your stares linger on each other for a moment. You’re usually pretty good at reading his eyes, but this one eludes you. Somewhere between worry and awe.

As Konig washes out your hair, you fall victim to the tingling sensation on your scalp. You close your eyes and tilt your head back for him until it’s time to rinse.

His hands are gentle as they smooth bubbles over your body. You feel tiny - watching his big hands swallow whatever part of you lies beneath his touch.

“You’re beautiful,” He says.

“Oh yeah?”

“Ja.”

You bite back your smile.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

Those pretty blue eyes flit down to your shoulder as he delicately massages bubbles over your skin. He lingers here, and it takes you a moment to realize his thumb is running side to side over the spot that you clipped against the hedge maze.

You look down, and with furrowed brows, you breathe your discovery in a tone that suggests you left something important behind.

“My scars are gone.”

“Mine too,” He says as he begins to work down the rest of your arm, “Even the ones from home. You didn’t notice?”

You look down to the arm Sapphire split open with her knife, and find there’s no evidence of your altercation.

“No.”

You stick your leg up to inspect your calves and find spotless skin, no evidence of the cuts the peacekeepers made when they forced you into the shards of your tantrum. You haven’t really been paying much attention to your body, it’s felt so far away from your thoughts ever since the games.

“I don’t like that they do things to you while you’re sleeping,” He says as he lathers up your sides.

Your lips pull to the side.

“Yeah, I guess I never thought about it.”

“Don’t now,” He says.

“Okay,” You say.

And so you don’t.

Konig takes extra care in sudsing your chest, massaging your breasts beneath kind fingers.

“Just being thorough,” He says with a responsible nod.

“Of course.”

After you’re both clean and dry, you help yourself to one of Ellaine’s shirts, Konig replaces his pants, and you make your way to the kitchen. You position yourself behind Konig, almost like you’re hiding from whatever waits for you at the end of this hall, your steps light and your fists tight at your sides.

You’re surprised to see little evidence of Pharus’ death and your hostage.

Pharus’ body has been removed from the sitting room, presumably in the hall bathroom with Ellaine. You can’t make out a sob, a whine, or even a snivel as you pass the closed door.

You squeeze Konig’s hand when you notice the blanket he threw over the blood stain on their couch cushion, surely for your benefit, and Konig squeezes back.

It feels weird to be rummaging in someone else’s fridge, especially since the owners are being held captive in their own home, one of them a still-warm corpse, but you get over it fairly quickly.

It’s your final meal, after all.

You both spread just about everything in their kitchen on their fancy dining table, your feast illuminated by a chandelier that rain shimmering crystal droplets from its golden branches.

While the table is about the biggest dining table you’ve ever seen, you and Konig pull your chairs as close together as you can, sipping on wine and picking apart your feast.

“Should we run away?” You ask.

He shrugs as he tears off a hunk of meat from the wing of a cooked bird, answering through a mouthful.

“If you want. Where would we go?”

“I- I don’t know. Maybe we could-“

You trail off, not really knowing where you were going with the sentence when you started it. Everyone in Panem knows your faces, you wouldn’t make it two blocks, let alone escape the city.

“All these people - they look crazy. So what if we just made ourselves blend in? Dress up and hide in plain sight. Or -”

Your eyes find Konig. How do you disguise a boy this big? In the arena you clocked him from yards away even when he was covered head to toe in gear.

Your eyes flit away as you think on it some more.

“Price?” You ask, high pitched and already doubtful.

Konig shrugs again.

“Yeah,” You sigh.

Not even Price could save you from this one. You didn’t really want to drag him into this, anyway.

You push away your plate, leaning back in your chair with another weighty sigh.

“Let’s come back to it.”

Konig gives a hum that suggests that he knows that you both know you’re absolutely fucked.

There’s an awkward pause, where you tap your nails on the tabletop and you suck on your teeth.

“Wanna snoop?”

Konig hums again, this one a mixture of amused and curious, and a smile tugs at his lips. He wipes his face off with a cloth and tosses it on the table.

“I’d love nothing more.”

You’re hardly gentle about anything as you shuffle through drawers and rifle through cabinets. Making a mess of the place more than you are looking for something, really.

Ellaine and Pharus’ suite is your new temporary oasis, a once-arena to make a playground of - because you know come morning you’ll be dead.

“Found a remote,” You say, holding it over your shoulder and giving it a wave.

“For what?”

“Dunno.”

You turn, fingers fumbling over the sleek, smooth screen of the remote.

It seems to be in control of everything. Their fireplace, the lights, the television, the automatic curtains. One of the buttons turns on a water fixture that you didn’t even realize was there. A waterfall cascades from the ceiling and pours into a small pool that reveals itself from retractable tiles in the floor.

You near the stream and stick your fingers into the flow, watching as the water parts, creating gaps in the seamless, perfect wall of water.

When you’ve had your fix, you shake your wet hand, flinging droplets in all directions before you return to the remote.

Another press of a glossy button and a camouflaged glass door slides open with a zip, leading to their balcony outside.

You approach the window of their suite and peek out into the open air. Their balcony is bigger than the one at the tribute tower, and much higher up.

If you had pants on, maybe you’d ask to sit in the crisp nighttime air, but the harsh wind on your bare legs already draws goosebumps to your skin and makes you shiver.

Wait, though.

You step out onto the balcony, and find the switch for the heater. Almost instantly, a blast of air drapes you in a cozy warmth and protects you from the high winds.

Thanks, Ruby.

You don’t need to coax Konig outside, he’s at your heels without request. You intertwine your hands and snuggle up to each other on one of the many patio couches, wearing warm smiles and exchanging plenty of kisses. It feels eerily empty, there’s enough furniture on this balcony to host a party. And while it’s barren with just the two of you - you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Konig breaks the silence first.

“It’s too bad,” He says weakly.

“What is?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

“It would have been nice.”

And you sigh, because you know what he means.

The sun is setting over the desert, and your time together is limited. You will never get to have your happily ever after, and what little time you have had together is tainted by games and suicides and prostitution and twenty-two dead tributes.

“Yeah,” You say, “It would have been.”

Your heart aches for domesticity with him. Living in victor’s village back home, so rich neither of you would have to break your backs in the fields again, and still have enough to go around for the starving people in Nine.

Waking up next to him, cooking meals with him, grieving together in the privacy of your home. Cuddling each other to sleep every night and being intimate without all of Panem watching.

Oh, and you would have had a shower.

You’re not crazy about a lot of the displays of extravagance the Capitol has to offer, but now that you’ve had a taste of a steamy, warm shower, you’re not eager to let it go.

Konig doesn't look up from his lap.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers.

“No,” You say, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s my-”

“No,” You cut, “We did this together.”

Maybe it is for the best, anyway.

Maybe joining the twenty-two is a better fate than being haunted by them.

It still would have been nice.

You wonder what Konig would be like in your little hypothetical life of domesticity, and you come to the realization that you really don’t know what he does in his leisure.

“What did you do on Sundays back home?” You ask.

Konig shrugs.

“Chores.”

“Well, yeah, but - for fun.”

He shrugs again.

“Y’know,” You start, “I just realized that I really don’t know that much about you. I mean, I know enough. But-”

Your eyes flick to him.

“Who are you?”

“Not much to know,” He says with a shrug.

“Oh, come on.”

“Ich weiß nicht. I ruined my life and it’s been the same ever since.”

“Ruined your life?”

You look at him expectantly.

His eyes dart between either of yours, his irises slightly flicking side to side before he looks away.

“S’okay,” You say, “You don’t have to say.”

You look back to the sky, your foot rocking back and forth on its heel.

“You don’t know?” He asks quietly.

“Don’t know what?”

His face warps, and you frown.

“What’s up?” You say.

He just shakes his head.

You don’t push.

“Do you want to play a game?” You ask.

“That depends,” He says with a hum, “What do you have in mind?”

“It’s called Love Hate.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s ’cause I just made it up,” You say with a grin.

“And how do you play?” He asks.

“You tell me things that you love and things that you hate, and I’ll win the game because then I’ll know things about you.”

He hums in consideration as he half-heartedly inspects a lock of your hair.

“Okay,” He says, “I love you.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because I already know that.”

“Hmm. I love…”

He trails off as he thinks on your prompt.

“I keep trying to fill in the blank, but you are the only thing that comes to mind.”

“Stop it.”

He kisses the height of your cheek, and raises his brow.

“Make me,” He prods.

“Them’s fightin’ words.”

“You don’t remember the last time?” He says, “How did it turn out for you?”

“Oh!”

You lunge at him, and you’re not really sure what your plan is, but you find yourself in his lap and your arms wrapped around his waist in effort to force him onto his side.

It’s as laughable as you think, and he confirms it with that hearty laugh that makes your chest bloom with a fuzzy warmth.

He’s immovable, and once he has a hold on your forearms, you’re done for.

A firm but gentle grasp, just enough to keep you from yanking free while you squeal and giggle and squirm on his lap.

He gives a tug on your arms until you’re face to face. His eyes narrow and a riling smirk grows on his face.

“I love you.”

He closes the gap between you with a wet, slobbering kiss, and pulls away with a smack before he lets go of your arms.

“Looks like I win.”

“That’s not fair,” You whine.

“Mm.”

He feigns his innocence with a shrug as he rests his hands on your hips.

“All is fair in Love and Hate.”

You scoff.

“I hate that.”

After a pause, your brows furrow and your smile fades.

“Do you not like talking about yourself?” You ask.

He shrugs.

“That’s too bad,” You say with a defeated, dramatic sigh, “I guess you’ll be hot and mysterious forever.”

“Hm. If I’m less mysterious, does that mean I will be less hot?”

“I guess we’ll never know.”

He looks away, and takes a breath.

“I love reading,” He says.

“Yeah?”

“Ja.”

“What’s your favorite?”

He looks away, and gives something of a reserved laugh as he thinks on it.

“What?” You ask, nudging him with a grin.

“I really liked the love stories,” He says.

“Yeah?” You ask.

You find your grin growing into a full blown smile.

“Yes,” He says with a nod, “It’s stupid, but-”

He trails off, his eyes staring off at the clouds.

“What?” You ask with a laugh.

His lips fold in as he bites back a grin, dimpling his rosy cheeks.

“Äh, I - I always used to picture the girl as you.”

“Yeah?” You ask through a laugh.

He bites his lip, and nods.

“Ja.”

“That is stupid.”

While your words are harsh, your smile could not be wider. It’s obvious you don’t mean it.

“Do you want to see if they have any books?” You ask, “You could read to me?”

“If you want,” You add.

Konig leaves a featherlight kiss on your forehead.

“Yes.”

You both head back into the suite, and poke around for a bookshelf. This suite is so massive, you wouldn’t be surprised if it had its own library.

One of the walls in an office is lined with shelves, bursting with books and golden nicknacks. There’s so many books, you don’t think you’d be able to read them all in just one lifetime even if you tried.

You hop up on a desk, crossing your legs at the ankle with a gentle sway, and watch as Konig browses their book collection. Ogling his form from behind, really, mesmerized by the hypnotic push and pull of his back muscles with his movements. His fingers run over the spines, occasionally pulling a book from its place to thumb through it.

He must have found one he liked, stepping over to hand it off to you, silently waiting for your approval. He doesn’t have to wait long. You agree without even skimming it over, handing it back to him before you both make the maze-like journey back to the balcony.

You nestle between Konig’s legs, pressing your back flush to his front and resting your head on his chest. His bare arms wrap around you, hovering the book just over your lap. He reads to you like this, the deep vibration of his words on your back and his raspy voice painting a story in your head.

A love story.

And even though it’s stupid, you picture the boy as Konig.

So cozy, so warm, wrapped up in those safe, deadly arms. You rest your eyes, and let yourself melt into his hold.

Even with a hostage and a corpse waiting for you inside, and the price to pay for this rebellion just around the corner, it’s the most relaxed you’ve been since that last day in the arena. A pleased smile on your face and your thoughts replaced with the story he reads to you. Losing yourselves to another world, a world without games and kills and forced intimacy and impending execution.

At the end of the first chapter, Konig takes a break to shower you with kisses from behind. He starts with the top of your head and trails down your neck, quickening the pauses between kisses until you have no choice but to giggle and squeal, his rapid kisses and scratchy stubble too stimulating to handle.

At your pleads and insistence that it tickles, he hums in consideration through the furious kisses in rapid succession on your neck. Holding you tight in those strong arms as you try to squirm away while the book flops around in your lap.

When you’re really out of breath, he relieves you with one final, slobbering, noisy kiss before turning the page and starting a new chapter.

You settle back into his chest with a huff, and get lost in his voice, his story, the vibration of his words on your back.

He even does voices for the different characters, and after every chapter, attacks you with his kisses from behind until you’re out of breath from laughing and squeaking.

Somewhere around chapter seven, your mind starts to wander away from the book.

It’s not intentional, but Ellaine creeps into your thoughts. The sight of her restrained and gagged and trapped in a bathroom with her dead husband clear in your mind.

Oh, Ellaine.

Ellaine, Ellaine, Ellaine.

Whether or not she lives or dies, it will not change the consequence that is to come.

Your fate is sealed, you have nothing to lose.

Do you want to drag her down with you?

You do not want to think of her. You don’t want to decide her fate. You are desperate to free yourself of her so that you can go back to enjoying yourself with the love of your life.

… It’s funny, though.

Maybe you should feel bad about taking a life, about traumatizing a woman by slaughtering her husband in front of her, restraining her and forcing her to be held hostage with his fresh corpse while she knows her fate is to be decided by two unwell district kids -

But you don’t.

The detail that bothers you the most, the tricky little hang up that keeps you from feeling guilty - is that when Ellaine was begging and pleading for her life, screaming at the top of her lungs - no one came to her rescue.

If it had been you, if it had been Konig - it would not have mattered what was done to you, how much you screamed and cried for help -

It would not have come.

And then you find yourself thinking of Price.

Days after his games, forced into the bedroom against his will so soon after losing the love of his life, unable to defend himself in the face of grave consequence.

And you find yourself thinking of all the victors that have come before you. And of the twenty-two tributes who have sacrificed themselves so you could live, who very well would have been subjected to the same.

Willow and Sapphire and Eleven and Sage and The District Twelve tributes with their hollow stares -

Even Titan wouldn’t deserve this.

You keep trying to put yourself in Ellaine and Pharus’ shoes, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t.

You can empathize with the ignorant Capitol citizens somewhat. Because if it had been you, born in the Capitol instead of an outer district, living a prosperous life from the start, maybe you would be just as ignorant.

But you just know, deep down in your core, even if you were elite, you would have never purchased a person with the intent to have them pleasure you against their will. You would soon end another life at your own hand than do such a horrendous thing to another person. The is no level of ignorance that could possibly justify this.

Before the chapter ends, before Konig takes his kiss break, you interrupt him mid-sentence.

“Kill her.”

You ride the expand and deflate of Konig’s chest with one deep breath.

“I already did.”

You peel yourself from his front, core twisting to face him.

“You did?”

He doesn’t look worried, or scared of your reaction. His expression is even.

He nods.

“Okay,” You say.

“Okay,” He says.

He finishes out the chapter, and showers you in kisses until you’re laughing and squealing and rid of your thoughts of Ellaine.

When the end of three far-too-short hours nears, it feels as if the sun is setting over the desert quadrant.

Neither of you acknowledge the bittersweet air.

After the ninth kissing session, you sigh and lull your head dramatically on his shoulder.

“I should probably put pants on,” You groan.

“If you must.”

“I feel like I should. A girl should wear pants if she’s going to be executed.”

“Ja?”

“Ja.”

He gives that inaudible, amused laugh, the one that bounces his shoulders.

“Wanna poke around their closets?” You ask.

He gives you a kiss on the top of your head.

“Yes.”

There’s enough clothes in Ellaine and Pharus’ closet, you’re sure you could wear one outfit a day for the rest of your life and never run out of something new to wear.

Usually wearing the lavish Capitol outfits repulse you, but you find you’re actually having fun rummaging through Ellaine’s closet. Maybe because it’s in your control now. You get to pick what crazy, outlandish outfit you get to wear instead of being forced into some uncomfortable get-up against your will.

“Oh hoh hoh,” You drum up, “What about this one?”

You program the screen that controls their automatic closet. The outfit you selected whips out, a truly ridiculous thing.

You think it’s technically a bathrobe, but it’s so grand you feel it could be the dress of a princess.

A silken pink wrap with a matching belt to be tied around your waist. Adjustable, just what you need while playing dress up in someone else’s closet. The hem would drape onto the floor, but not too much, just enough to create an alluring drag behind you. Both the sleeves and the hem are lined with a soft, bushy pink fur.

Dramatic, but above all, comfortable.

Konig offers little commentary, just watches as you slip the silly thing on and secure the ribbon around your waist. You give the long, loose sleeves a shake, arms entirely swallowed by shiny silk and dancing tufts of pink fur.

You move to a mirror to get a better look at yourself in your puffy outfit.

“Can you believe these people wear this stuff? And actually - mean it?”

You twist your body in the mirror and move your arms, watching as the furry edges slink with your movements like big fuzzy caterpillars. You try to imagine Ellaine wearing such a thing around her house while she -

What do Capitol citizens even do in their freetime?

Surely not chores.

Would Ellaine wear this just to nurse a glass of wine and read a book?

These people are so strange.

When you don’t get a response, you turn to Konig with a mockery of the Capitol accent primed on your tongue, but your face falls when you see his expression.

His brows are raised and his lips are the slightest bit parted. He catches your eyes and flits his stare away, but his cheeks are almost as pink as the fur.

“Oh?” You ask, looking down at your silly outfit with a laugh, “Yeah?”

He clears his throat and shrugs.

“You just - it suits you, is all.”

“Alright. I think I’ll keep it, then. It’d be quite the execution outfit, don’t you think?”

Konig smiles.

“Now we have to find one for you,” You say.

“Ja?”

“Ja,” You say, “Unless you want to be executed shirtless.”

“Hmm.”

Konig steps over to the giant mirror and takes in his form. Giving baby flexes and staring at himself like he’s actually considering it.

“I just might.”

You wrap your silken, fuzzy sleeves around him from behind, a cheeky grin peeking around his ribcage, catching his stare in the mirror as your hands glide up and down his torso.

“I wouldn’t mind,” You say.

His eyelids lower.

“Mm. I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

You give his waist a squeeze, smushing the apple of your cheek against his side.

It was supposed to be the end of your backwards little embrace, but you find yourself lingering. Drawn into his scent and melting into the heat radiating off his muscles.

You close your eyes and take a deep, satisfied breath.

Without breaking the embrace, Konig shuffles in place to face you, and you let him, loosening your hold until you can clamp your arms back around him. His hands find your shoulders with a reassuring squeeze before smoothing down your back to hold you tight in return.

A feeling you’ve felt only a handful of times returns - stepping through the fall forest, funneled into a barbed hedge maze, an exchange of a ribbon as the sun sets over the desert.

That ominous finality.

It feels like it will be the last time you will ever hold him, and it makes your throat ache and your eyes swell with tears.

So you don’t let go.

You hold him, a tight and warm embrace, breathing in his scent. It feels as if everything, all of it - paranoia and mistrust and tokens and young love - games and kills and deaths and double suicides - has led up to this moment.

It’s long overdue, but this is where your story ends.

You don’t let go of him until the doorbell chimes its song throughout the suite. You jump, face already contorted in a wince as your wide eyes dart around Konig’s face in a silent plea for help. His hands find your shoulders, and he gives you another squeeze.

He shrugs, and it seems he will be executed shirtless.

Konig cups your trembling jaw in his hands, bends down, and presses a long, tender kiss on your lips. Gentle enough to nearly convince you that you’re made of glass.

He pulls away slowly, and intently studies your face with a ghost of a smile.

His thumb brushes along the height of your cheek before he pulls away, and you know that it’s time.

Konig keeps you behind him as you make way to the foyer. He creeps open the door, and the peacekeepers are quick to surround you as you step from the crime scene and into the hallway. You prime yourself to be handcuffed, picking up your arms to display your wrists in surrender.

And nothing happens.

Without really giving it much thought, you just assumed as soon as the time was up, they’d somehow know you killed Ellaine and Pharus. As if the peacekeepers would bother to stick around and check on them, to make sure you both lived up to expectation.

But they don’t.

They just escort you from the suite and march you down to the armored car.

You had not accounted for this.

In your head, your fate was cemented. You knew where you would be killed, when, and at whose hand.

This delay has flooded your oasis with uncertainty.

It’s coming, you know that. The President will absolutely be checking in with them for a full report, and have someone check on them after radio silence.

But when?

The countdown is ticking, and you no longer know when it will expire. You almost wish the peacekeepers would have put the bullet in your head as soon as time was up, because you know waiting for the other shoe to drop is going to be incredibly agonizing.

While you look more than guilty, fists clenched and sweating from every pore, your saving grace is that everyone thinks you just endured an evening of being forced into intimacy for the first time. Surely anyone would think that’s the reason you’re acting strange.

Konig, on the other hand, looks unfazed. Standing tall with his bare shoulders back, his eyes half-lidded with indifference. His hold on you is still tight, though.

Only the echo of commanding boots and almost comical slaps of slippers fill the silence as you’re both escorted back to the suite. You didn’t want to be executed in heels, you decided, but Ellaine’s feet must have been huge. Your feet have to cling to the slippers to keep them from falling off while her ridiculous bathrobe drags behind you.

Price is waiting for you on your return, buried in papers spread over the dining table. He sighs loud enough you can hear it from the elevators, and without looking up, he waves a dismissive hand to relieve the peacekeepers.

“You two - Go change and get cleaned up. C’mere when you’re done.”

You follow his order without pushback, abandoning Ellaine’s robe for something just as comfortable, but nowhere near as fancy, and replace the underwear Konig destroyed in the throes of passion.

Ruby practically runs over to you both on your return.

“Oh, my victors! I missed you!”

She gives you a kiss on the cheek, and has to beckon Konig to lean down so she can do the same to him.

“Your very first dinner party! How did it go?!”

“Ruby!” Price barks from across the room, “Let them breathe.”

Ruby clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes at you both.

“Nevermind him. He has been in such a mood,” She waves a limp hand in your direction, “You’d think having not only the first victor of his career, but the second as well - he’d find time to unsour that attitude.”

You just give her an uneasy nod. Price ignores her jab and pointed glare, and instead makes a sharp, one-note whistle to beckon you both.

Price doesn’t acknowledge you right away. He’s focused on his paper with tense shoulders as you stand at attention before him, the scratch of ink dragging across the page the only sound filling this stale room.

It feels like you’re in trouble.

He must know.

Somehow, somehow he figured out what you’ve done, and he’s about to lose it on you both.

You glance at Konig, who meets your stare from the corner of his eyes. His brow perks and a sly, knowing smile tugs on the corner of his lips.

“Are you hurt?” Price finally asks without looking up.

“Huh?”

“Are you hurt?” He repeats, “Did they hurt you?”

“Oh,” You say, “No.”

“Romeo?”

“No.”

When Price looks up he gives you a quick scan, and his face hardens when he locks onto your neck.

Your hand springs up to touch the spot he’s scorching with his stare.

Blood? Is there blood there?

The jig is up, caught, busted.

He knows.

Price’s bruised eye twitches and he turns his head to snap in Ruby’s direction.

“Take her down to medical. Get those fucking marks off‘er neck.”

Oh.

Konig’s strawberry kisses.

“Its so late, John, at least let her-“

You flinch when Price slams his fist on the table, stationery hopping on the tabletop and clattering on their descent.

“Just do it!” He shouts.

Ruby flinches, her hand springing up to her collarbones. She stammers for a moment before swallowing whatever words she had in mind, clears her throat, and looks to you.

“Come on, dear.”

Ruby coaxes you down the stairs with a gentle wave, her hand resting on your shoulder to guide you along.

You shoot a look back to Price, who’s staring at the table with a hand covering his jaw. You wonder if you should just tell him they were marks Konig left behind, but your instincts don’t let you. You deem it to be too incriminating. Like if he knew Konig was the one leaving strawberry kisses on your skin instead of Capitol buyers, he would somehow jump to the conclusion that you committed a double homicide.

You can’t figure out how he would make the connection, but you go with your gut regardless of the potential to relieve his distress. It seems too risky.

Price is rather intuitive.

Konig accompanies you down to medical, obviously, and strangely, Ruby correctly assumes that Konig is the one who left the marks. There’s no one in the halls, but she still leans in and speaks low as you walk to avoid embarrassing you.

“Y’know, it’s not very proper for a young lady to be parading around with love marks on her skin.”

She looks over you to tilt her head at Konig.

“Maybe more discreet next time?”

If you hadn’t just killed two people, maybe you’d find it annoying that Ruby’s so worried about your modesty. How much modesty is left to preserve when you and Konig have not only been intimate in front of all of Panem, but just hours ago you were two murders away from being victims of forced prostitution?

In medical, some foul smelling concoction is smeared on your neck, and you’re both sent to bed almost as soon as you’ve returned to the suite.

Konig isn’t as upset at having to sleep in separate rooms tonight. At his door, he pulls you into his front and slings his arm around the back of your waist. He tips your upper half backwards, leans down, and presses his lips to yours. This one’s neat - precise and firm and unable to be ignored.

He keeps you pinned to his chest in his suggestive hold and studies you with crinkled eyes and a pleased grin.

“See you tomorrow, mein sieger.”

You swallow and give a faint nod.

“I hope so,” You whisper back.

Getting to sleep is no easy feat. You keep waiting for the peacekeepers to barge into your bedroom and have you drug away to be executed in front of the whole country for your crimes.

But they don’t come, and the arms of rest eventually become too tempting to resist.

You sleep in your quarters.

Willow and Sapphire sit at the foot of your bed, their knees folded and their legs just to the sides of them. You’re feet from them, but it looks and sounds like you’re underwater. The words they’re speaking aren’t making sense, but their faces are relaxed and they wear smiles. Occasionally one of them will burst into a fit of laughter.

You feel so at ease, so peaceful. You find yourself entranced by Willow’s nimble fingers as she braids Sapphire’s hair.

All three of you flinch at the bang, and whip your heads around to catch the door splintering into a thousand shards. The warmth in your chest ices over as Konig’s menacing form steps through the rubble.

You try to look back to Willow and Sapphire for help, but Willow’s been flayed and Sapphire’s only got an empty, bloody socket for an eye.

Willow’s skinless body lets out a haunting, guttural moan, smearing blood on the covers as she crawls over to you. You try to run from outstretched hands made of only bone, but Sapphire snatches you by your bicep. She and Willow lock you in place so they can let Konig run his sword straight through your neck.

Breakfast is a lot.

It becomes obvious very quickly that Ruby doesn’t know what’s going on. Not just about the murders, but about the prostitution in general. She keeps asking about how the dinner party went.

Did you have good table manners? Were you polite to the sponsors? Did you thank them for the gifts?

Price gets stiffer with each question she asks. You give polite, reserved answers when it’s clear Konig’s not interested in responding.

You try to keep your responses to a two-word maximum, terrified you might let your secret slip. The entire meal you are worried Price can somehow read your thoughts. Like your misdeeds are written on your skin in bold capital letters.

Thankfully he doesn’t look up from his plate. He’s busy picking at his meal with his fingers, hardly taking bites. Separating something from his food and tossing it roughly around his plate.

Konig doesn’t seem worried. While you can’t sit still or untense your muscles, he’s entirely relaxed next to you. His legs spread and his thigh pressed to yours, slouched in his chair to Ruby’s dismay.

You start when his free hand finds your knee.

He smooths up your thigh, delicate fingers tracing along the inseam of your pants. His touch is stirring, curious fingers exploring the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

Konig plays it casual, his face bored, keeping his attention on his plate.

Your first urge is to swat him away -

But you don’t.

Instead you sneak panicked glances at Ruby and Price to make sure they’re oblivious to Konig’s wandering hands.

You shoot Konig a look, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. You do catch his lip twitch up in a barely-noticeable pleased grin, one you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it.

You don’t have the forethought to suppress the sharp breath you suck in when he squeezes.

When his fingers relieve their possessive hold on you, Konig continues to trace circles on your inner thighs.

His movements don’t waver, he continues to eat his breakfast as if he’s not feeling you up in front of an audience.

He runs out of leg, his hand sliding further down the valley of your inner thighs. His pinky lifts from the crease of your leg to graze over your front.

Your fork shakes in your hand, your lips parted to release shallow breaths. He’s just barely touching you, but his faint touch has a powerful rousing effect. A burning heat scorches your cheeks, and you can feel that familiar, thrilling wave of heat rushing to your lower abdomen.

Your fidgeting legs and twitching hips push into his touch with little thought.

You’re having trouble hiding the shake in your fingers and the look of horror on your face, but you still don’t swat him away.

“You have another dinner party tonight,” Price says gruffly.

Konig’s hand pulls away from your thighs the same time your head whips up.

“What? Tonight?”

Will you even make it that long?

At any moment, peacekeepers will barge in and take you both prisoner.

“Yeah. A sole sponsor,” He grunts, still inspecting his plate, clearly displeased with his flawless meal.

“Wha- Are we both going?”

“Mhm.”

You shoot a nervous glance to Konig, but he’s still eating his breakfast, unaffected by this news.

“Okay.”

You say it’s okay, but your voice is pitched so high it’s nowhere near believable.

“This is just marvelous,” Ruby beams, “I’m so proud of you two! How far you’ve come! And you know, these are very powerful connections to have! Who knows what kind of-”

“Ruby,” Price warns with a draw.

“Oh, what is it?” She says with an eye roll.

“Leave them alone.”

Ruby smacks her lips and shakes her head at you both with a wordless complaint.

“No, no, it’s… great,” You say, “I just - I just wish I would have known sooner. To prepare? How many more…dinner parties?”

“One day at a time,” Price sighs.

You’re starting to come to the conclusion that the reason the Capitol has been working so hard to keep you and Konig supervised at all times is to keep you from planning something disastrous.

Say, for instance, a murder in the tune of rebellion.

But Konig doesn’t need to take you somewhere private, and he doesn’t have to use his words.

In fact, he doesn’t even have to turn to face you.

His chin tilts up, and the curve of his fork rides down his bottom lip on a draw. He looks to you from the corner of his sly eyes, an eyebrow perks, and a smile grows around the prongs of his fork.

There is a moment of hesitancy - but you eventually agree with a faint nod and a harsh swallow. He thanks you with a squeeze on your thigh, and his bouncing leg knocks against yours under the table for the rest of the meal.

The silver lining of Price harboring the burden of thinking you really were forced into intimacy last night is that he can hardly say no to you. So when you and Konig ask to sit on the balcony after breakfast, Price lets you, with the one request that you keep the glass door open.

You don’t have the heart to break it to him that his attempts to keep you and Konig from planning something rebellious are useless, so you indulge him.

You and Konig cozy up on the balcony, nestling yourself between his legs and leaning back on his chest, just like you did when he read to you. His strong arms wrap around you as you ease yourself into his hold and let him plant soft kisses anywhere he can reach.

You lay like this for a while, trying to keep your focus from straying anywhere but the fresh air, the buzz of the city below, Konig’s generous kisses.

“Mein sieger,” He breathes into the crook of your neck, "Es tut mir leid-”

He kisses your shoulder, his wide, assertive hands gliding down your ribcage, your stomach, your hips.

“You got me so worked up yesterday,” He whispers, “I never made you finish.”

His hands wrap around the apex of your thighs, kneading the supple flesh beneath his fingers.

“Verzeihen Sie mir.”

His strong, rugged hands slide up your hips until he can hook under your waistband, slinking his fingers into your pants with a slow, teasing descent.

“I’ll make it up to you now? Ja?”

“Ko-”

“Shh.”

His hush, right in your ear, thickens your breaths and sends a shiver down your spine.

He flicks his head in the direction of the balcony door.

“Don’t want anyone to hear, mein seiger.”

Your thighs spread for his wandering hands, his warm, assured palms running over your bare thighs. You watch the outline of his hands through the fabric of your pants as they seek out the front of your underwear. Your breath catches at his firm, presuming hold over the entirety of you. He plants a kiss on your cheek as he massages wide circles over your panties, and keeps his face pressed to yours when he whispers his filthy nothings.

“I’m going to make you cum on my fingers. You can keep quiet, can’t you?”

“Here?” You squeak.

His free hand slinks out of your pants to run over your chest, kneading you through your shirt and brushing over your nipple with his thumb.

“Here,” He hisses.

He sneaks into your panties, gliding up and down your slit, spreading you open and lubing his fingers on the flood of arousal waiting for him. A low laugh leaves him as he plays in your slick mess.

“Did I get you wet earlier, little one?”

His question, whispered and cocky and rhetorical, hitches your breath and sends a heat of arousal straight to your lower core.

“Did you like it when I touched you with everyone watching?”

You flinch when he squeezes your chest, not painfully, but firm enough to make you suck in a breath sharper than a knife through your teeth. Your wide eyes dart to the open balcony door, dreading the moment someone walks out and catches you in the act.

“Mein unartiges Mädchen.”

Konig leaves another kiss on your cheek, as his fingers trace around your clit.

“It’s okay,” He whispers, “I will give you what you need.”

The fingers lost to your panties are teasing, light strums over your clit, an eerie contrast to the sudden drop of his next words. A warning, a reminder, a threat, and a promise - a low, dangerous growl against your cheek.

“I am what you need.”

You nod through sputtered breath, and while there is a chill frosting your spine, a desperate want to please him while at his mercy regardless of the truth - you know his statement is true.

You do need him.

You and Konig are intertwined, so tangled together at this point you might as well be one entity. Your love, your misdeeds, your victories, your deaths, your kills, your lust, your fears, your feelings.

Your very lives depend on each other.

You need him.

You’ve known it since the beginning, as much as you fought and refused and denied.

He fulfills his promise, his threat, keeping the heel of his palm flush against your front as he sinks his middle finger into you.

He huffs in approval from behind you, warm breath rolling along your flesh.

Your eyes flit to the open glass door - at any moment someone could come strutting out onto this balcony to see one of Konig’s hands stuffed down your pants, the other manhandling you like you’re his doll, and your need for him.

And maybe you should bat him away and tell him to stop to save you a level of an embarrassment you know you won’t be able to handle -

But you don’t.

“Hn-!”

“Quiet, mein sieger.”

The hand palming your breast moves to your jaw, two of his fingers brushing over your bottom lip. Obediently you open for him, letting him coax his fingers into your mouth and press them to your tongue.

You can feel him against you, aching against the slack in his lounge pants, making steady grinds against your lower back while he quickens the thrust of his fingers.

You have to resist the urge not to bite down on him as you suck on his fingers and choke down your strangled whines.

“Good girl,” He purrs, “Does it feel good?”

You give a muffled affirmation around the drool-soaked fingers in your mouth.

“Is this tight cunt still sore from taking your fucking yesterday?”

He punctuates his filthy question with a teasing swirl inside you, working you open before he begins to roughly plunge back into you.

His lips press against the dip of your shoulder and your neck. A gentle, disarming kiss before he nibbles at your skin and provokes a squeaky gasp.

“Sei doch still,” He hushes.

The flat of his tongue runs along his bite, his spit soothing the dull ache and his stubble prickly against your skin.

“Es ist okay,” He breathes, “Ich werde mich um dich kümmern.”

Konig’s finger is unrelenting, fucking into you as fast as he can without making too much noise while his massive arms bulge around you to keep you locked in place.

“Ich werde dich beschützen.”

Your carve indents into his fingers with your teeth, biting back the noises aching to leave you.

“Weil du gehörst mir.”

His voice drops to a growl, snarling against your skin.

“Für immer.”

When he sees you’re struggling to choke back your moans and whines, he allows you a break. His fingers come to a slow stop before he carefully pulls from your cunt, dragging through your arousal and up to your clit.

He keeps his cheek smushed to yours, his stubble grinding along your jaw as he rubs circles in your slick. His fingers slide from your imouth to sneak up your shirt, smearing your cool spit over your breast.

“Do you feel me?” He whispers with a drawn-out grind, “Do you feel how excited you got me, unartiges Mädchen?”

He gives you a firm tug until you’re sitting on his lap, a squeak escaping you as his tightly pressed fingers flick side to side over your clit at full speed.

“You have to be quiet,” He says, “You can handle that, can’t you?”

You can hear your own arousal as he quickly scrubs back and forth with a light hand. Maybe more accurately flicking side to side over your entire cunt, not at all precise, but effective. There’s no way he’d be able to go off course with the way his hand works all of you.

“S’too much,” You choke.

Your nails claw into his thighs, pressing yourself further into him to get away from the overwhelming, bordering on painful pleasure.

“You want me to stop? Hm?”

He scoffs when you shake your head. The arm slung over your front tenses, and your back involuntarily arches off his chest as you fight the cries and moans that sit on your tongue.

Konig’s fingers are ruthless, following your squirms and furiously swiping over your clit. Overstimulating you, daring you to make noises you have to fight with everything you have to hold back.

Your writhes against him turns his breaths huffed and only encourages the fingers seeking to ruin you.

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, eyes pinched shut and swallowing squeaks to keep them from breaching your lips. Konig’s limbs are inescapable, blocking you in and navigating your wriggling with ease. The guiding pressure of his forearm on your middle to keep you against his chest or a firm leg hooked around yours to prevent you from closing your thighs.

Your trembling hands claw at his legs, and when you let out the start of cry he knows you won’t be able to hold back, he clamps his hand over your mouth, silencing your wail and forcing your head against his shoulder with his warm, stern palm.

“Sch, sch, sch.”

The pleasure building between your legs is so intense you’re unintentionally fighting it off.

“You’re going to cum from just my fingers? Hm?”

Your squeaks and cries are muffled by the hand that swallows the lower half of your face.

He knows very well you can’t respond to his taunts. Even without the clammy hand silencing you, you wouldn’t be able to form a coherent sentence because of his other hand.

You’re confident the sound of your own slick and his brute fingers can be heard all over the Capitol, and you’re sure at any given moment a figure will appear at the balcony door and catch you in the act.

Your fears do little to stop the return of that white hot star building in your lower core - flickering and expanding at Konig’s hand. Your entire body trembles in his hold, the struggle against your own pleasure weakening with every passing moment.

Your hands find his thighs, scratching at the cotton of his lounge pants as you brush against a grand finish.

It is intense.

Shockwaves of euphoria shoot from your core in all directions of your body. It’s for the best that Konig’s hand is muting you, because the cry that tries to escape you would have echoed through the streets below. Konig’s muscles tighten around you to keep you pressed against the strain in his paints as you stiffen and convulse in his hold.

Konig doesn’t let up through your intense finish, his fingers still swiping over your pulsing clit unforgivingly and manipulating your pleasure into something twisted. Trapped in his arms as you twitch and moan into his hand.

You tap on his thigh twice, and he takes the hint, coming to a graceful stop before he carefully slides his hand from your pants. He releases the bottom half of your face, freeing your huffs to catch your breath. His arms wrap around your stomach and tighten to keep you steady while he grinds on your backside.

“So gut,” He strains, “Mein gutes Mädchen.”

Your limp body is pliant to his hold, doing nothing more than pushing out heavy breaths. You melt into his whim, letting him keep you still with firm hands on your hips while he rubs against you through his sweatpants.

“I thought about you all night,” He whispers in your ear, “So pretty on my cock yesterday.”

His grinds quickly turn desperate.

“You feel so good. Ich kann nicht anders.”

His pants are nothing short of erotic, heavy in your ear and cut short with each rut against you. Snatched up in his hold and letting him slobber over your neck while you bask in the bliss he wrought.

His fingers tighten into your hips, and he has to stifle his groan with your shoulder.

“Ich bin dein,” He breathes, “Ich- Ich werde Euch dienen.”

Konig sputters through clenched teeth behind you, his hips spasming and his arms constricting around your ribcage so tight he’s making it hard to breathe.

He untenses after a few seconds, still except for the chest that presses into your back with each of his huffy, gravelly breaths. His hold loosens and he slumps his upper half on you, burying his burning face into your neck with a whine.

You rub the top of his thigh and turn your head, his hair tickling your nose as you plant a kiss on the side of his head.

“Did you make a mess?” You tease.

He whines again, squeezes you around your middle, and nods shamefully against your neck.

His apology is so quiet it’s barely audible.

“I’m sorry.”

“Awh. S’okay. You’re still my good boy.”

“I love you,” He whispers breathlessly, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You trace soothing circles on his thigh while you lean on each other, cooling off and enjoying that relaxing feeling that comes after finish.

Once his breathing has evened and his face drains its flush, you both wander back into the suite, avoiding making eye contact with anyone.

You return to the balcony with clean underwear. Konig lays back, and you follow suit, worming your way into the crevice between the cushions and his side.

You rest your head on his shoulder and a palm on his chest, riding the billow of his ribcage. You melt into each other like this, bodies conforming to one another as you bask in the day.

“I thought about your little game,” He says after a bout of silence, “About what I love and what I hate.”

He gives a proud smile, and adds, “Just for you.”

“Oh?” You say with a curious perk of your brow, “What do you love?”

“I love you,” He says.

A finger comes up to poke your nose, and before you can object to his unsatisfactory answer, he delivers what you were promised.

“And the stars. And bird song and jam.”

“Jam?” You ask with a smile.

“Elderberry, preferably,” He says, “But strawberry will do.”

He smiles, and plants a kiss on your forehead.

“And what do you hate?” You ask.

“I hate,” He draws, “That I’ve never had a pair of shoes that fit until I came here. I hate that this world has put you in danger. And I have never, ever hated someone more than that boy from District Two.”

Konig’s hands tighten into fists.

“It scares me,” He says, “How much I hate him.”

You just nod, and ignore the return of that uneasy feeling needling at you.

“So,” He starts, a fist untensing to delicately brush a strand of hair behind your ear, “Am I less hot now that I’m less mysterious?”

“Hmm. Let me see.”

You squint one eye and reach up to cup his face. He lets you guide him, tilting his jaw side to side while you hum and hah throughout your mock evaluation.

“It’s as I suspected,” You confirm with a sensible nod, “Still hot.”

“Gott sei Dank.”

You and Konig cuddle on the balcony, dozing on and off for the rest of the morning, catching up on the rest you missed out on last night. Plenty of kisses and sweet nothings are exchanged on breaches in wake.

Occasionally either Ruby or Price will pop their heads out to check on you and make sure you’re not up to no good.

But of course, you are.

Lunch is uneventful, and before you know it, you’re shipped back to the prep team to get ready for round two.

Tonight’s color is a deep red, a color that immediately reminds you of blood - so much so you get a whiff of a coppery tang. While your gruesome crimson is softened with more lace and frills, Konig’s silky button down is a solid deep red and offers little to distract from the bloodshed.

And this time, when you and Konig meet eyes in the dressing room, you share a smile.

Faint but unmistakable.

NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER NAVIGATION

[hauntedhokage]

𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣

Xavier/F!Reader (not MC)

word count: 1.8k

warnings: dead dove do not eat, Xavier is a predator and a freak (the way I like him), yan!Xavier, trespassing, noncon, m & f receiving oral, somnophilia, noncon filming/photos, drugging, intoxication, unprotected sex, breeding, literally READ THE WARNINGS

note: this was written in the google doc on mobile at 1am when I couldn’t sleep so…yeah. enjoy

[ao3] [ko-fi]

Xavier had to protect you. 

He’d gradually lost control of his infatuation with you, his neighbor across the hall. Your cute smile and trusting nature pushed him across that borderline into true obsession that he couldn’t keep at bay any longer. He told himself it’s just to look out for you, as a researcher you’re able to defend yourself but just barely since aptitude tests are much more spread out for your section of the Association than his. Someone had to.

He abuses the key he had to your apartment, something given to him once so he could look after your cat while you were at a convention and he’d taken it upon himself to make a copy so he could continue to look out for you better. The key sees use every night, the Deepspace Hunter keeping himself in so he can watch over you in your bedroom and help himself to some of your clothes - he slept better when he was surrounded by your scent and needed to rotate out the clothes he was borrowing. 

As time goes on he gets bolder, taking your wrist in his hand and using it to palm at his cock through his pants and eventually using it to get himself off. Your face looked beautiful decorated with his spend, and he always took a picture to save to a private album to be used later when he wanted to get off but couldn’t get to you. 

A few days later he’s coaxing your mouth open, treating himself to the mouth he fantasized about and losing himself in the sight of your pretty lips wrapped around his cock. That night he returned the favor; crawling into your bed and settling between your spread legs, pulling your panties to the side and indulging in your taste for the first time. You were so sweet, got wet for him so quickly that he could’ve made love to you that night but he held off in fear that your little moans and whines were indicators  that you were waking up. The following morning he’s proud of himself when he overhears you telling your best friend about how vivid your dream had been. 

“It felt so real,” you’d commented, stirring at your coffee as you lean against the counter in the office kitchen. “A hoping for another one.”

“If it’s a side effect of your sleeping pills then you might.” She responded, pointing her own stirring stick at you. “You look so well rested, I hope it does happen again.”

That had cemented that he was helping you, doing you a favor even if you didn’t realize it was him doing it. A labor of love, something that one day he knew he’d be able to provide when you were awake and begging for him to make you cum over and over again. But that would come in due time - you’d already invited him to get drinks with you and your coworkers this weekend. 

And when he’s sitting in the bar with you, he’s having a great time. You were gorgeous when you let loose and enjoyed the company of your friends outside of work - even if he hated the way Andrew was looking at you. A silly crush that wouldn’t see anything come to fruition, but Xavier still finds himself frustrated that another man was looking at you like that. But as you continue to drink what he’d brought you, he relaxes more with the comfort of being that you’d need to be escorted home soon and that was when he could consummate his relationship with you. 

“I think I need to go to bed,” you comment tweet minutes later, leaning into Xavier in an effort to keep your balance. “I’m losing my tolerance”

“That means you need to come out with us more!” One of the women tease, and Xavier laughs as you giggle while waving off the suggestion. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she gets home.” He assures, smile in his face as boss arm finds itself sound your waist. 

“Yep.” Your drunken chirp is cute, he can’t help but smile down at you as you drape his arm around your shoulders. “Xavi lives by me.”

Your colleagues don’t argue, bidding you both a good night and wishing him luck with getting the little drunk home. The additives he’d given you had truly done their job, you were just lucid enough and able to carry a conversation at this point that it didn’t look suspicious at all for him to be sliding into the back seat of the can next to you. His hand settles on your thigh, and you giggle as your hand covers his to keep it there - an invitation for sure, something that he’d wait to capitalize on to make sure the driver didn’t get to see how pretty you were when you kissed. 

You let him help you to your bedroom, dropping onto your bed as he went to your bathroom for a moment. He comes back without a shirt on, something that confuses you but you don’t vocalize it. It’s when his fingers start to unbutton your blouse that you try to push him away, but you’re so weak compared to him and he only chuckles at your pathetic attempt to stop him.

“I’m going to make you feel so good, don’t worry.” 

He’s kissing you now, his hands sliding around to your back to unclasp your bra so he can touch more of you. You don’t kiss back, but your mouth opens and you sit there in shock as he licks into your mouth. “Taste so sweet, I love how you taste. I love everything about you.”

His hand moves to your skirt pulling at the zipper on the side and breaking the one sided kiss to push your skirt down. His fingers trace your slit through your panties, leaving you mortified as how wet you were despite the way he was forcing himself on you. 

“I won’t even need to prep you, I should slide right in.”

“Xavier, no.”

“You going to love it, you were asking for it last night but I wanted you awake for this.”

He might’ve said too much, not that it truly mattered. As time went on the drug’s effects would settle in and you would be truly pliant to him much like you were when you slept and dreamt of him giving you orgasm after orgasm. 

He gets you on your back with your head in your pillows, quickly getting out of his jeans and briefs to meet his cock spring free. It’s long and intimidating, your eyes are glued to it as his hand leisurely strikes it while he gets onto the bed between your legs. Your panties are left on, the fabric pushed to the side as his tip aligns itself with your dripping entrance. 

The stretch is immediate, your eyes closing at the discomfort coupled with the embarrassment at how lewd your juices sounded as he rocked his hips into yours you work hoods length into you. You don’t know how you’re so wet, you don’t think you want to know, all you know is that you mind was unwilling but your body was screaming for Xavier to thanks you right now and it wasn’t fair. 

“Waited so long to get inside you,” he breathes, those blue irises dark with his madness as he bottoms out in your tight pussy. “So tight, waiting for me to mold you to me. Waited so patiently for me to make you mine.”

“Xavier please,” you whimper, your hand weakly coming up to rest on his chest. You felt like you were moving in slow motion and it was horrifying. “Stop please. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“I want you to tell everyone we’re together. You’re mine, always have been.”

Your body feels too heavy to fight him, your arm staying where he’d redirected it to rest on his shoulder as he pulls your legs up to his chest in a mating press. 

“Xav-“

“Shhh.” His thumb presses to your lips, pushing past them and into your mouth to silence you and any dissent you may want to voice. Your pussy was already starting to clench around his cock, abd he was eager to feel you cum around him instead of his fingers. “You’re about to cum for me already, you’re so good to me.”

You whine around his thumb, teeth pressing into the digit as you tight around him some more. You were so petty, sounded so sweet when you came while sleeping, awake you were downright gorgeous as you started into Bo’s eyes with tears welling up in yours. You felt so good you had to cry, he knew that he had to be your soulmate because of that. 

“Gonna give you a baby,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder as you lay limp beneath him. “Gonna tie you to me forever, like you should be. Make you mine, you want that.”

You shake your head, too weak to do anything else as your body begins to betray you once more. He was just so deep, so big, stretching you in all the right ways and stroking every spot inside you and he knew your body was responding the way he wanted it to. You’re too tired to panic, too weak to fight, all you can do is take what he was determined to give you and you hate it. 

“Gonna fill you all night, and tomorrow we’ll tell everyone that we’re together and Andrew can stop looking at you like that. You want to be mine, you wouldn’t let me do this if you didn’t.”

You want to argue, but your mouth is dry and the words won’t come. The pace of his thrusts increase, his hands gripping the pillows on either side of your head and his teeth grit. He was close, and you have no idea what to do because you can’t stop him from finishing inside you.

“Fuck, I’m cumming.” The warning isn’t soon enough, for as soon as the words leave him you’re hit with the feeling of his throbbing cock unloading with the intent of heading directly to your womb. He keeps himself inside you, wanting to make sure not a drop of his cum left you, preparing your drowsy face in kisses as he praises you for how well you took him and how beautiful you’d look pregnant with his baby.

You fall asleep shortly after he rolls into his back, pulling you with him so you’d rest on his chest with his cock still being warned by your full cunt, with his knuckles gently dressing along your spine as he hums a lullaby that lulled you to sleep. 

You wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning, it’d be too easy for him to get you to believe that you were two drunk neighbors who made a drunken decision but he’d love to take you out for breakfast. You might be sore, and he’d apologize profusely for hurting you, but you’d comply because he knew you wanted him just as much as he’d wanted you. 

[hotxcheeto]

Hey, horny anon here lol ! I hope you’re doing well !

May I request a vi x female reader smut where they’re both so horny that they almost start having sexe in a public place and finished it somewhere more private with vi being a dom ?

Thank you soooo much for your amazing writing !!

━ 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Vi x Fem!Reader

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, public sex, v fingering ( r! receiving ), kissing, biting, light descriptions of c*m, make out sesh, mentions of discomfort, dom!vi, sub!reader

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - wowzers this took me forever, ty sm!! ily!!

REBLOG MY WORK! I WORK HARD & IT'S APPRECIATED!!

"They're watching..."

You whispered against her lips, bouquet halfway falling on the ground, hanging by a threat in your grasp as she kissed you over and over. Her lips running down then up, sucking and biting bits of your neck wherever she desired.

"Let 'em." She muttered, peaking from the corner of her eye at the boys that had been staring you down earlier that day. Their faces in slight shock and even disappointment. Trying not to look while their faces turned red from frustration and their eyes rolled.

They'd been watching you pick out the flowers from the stand while Vi handed the vendor the money. Such an awful assumption that she'd been just a friend, truly, because Violet was far from a mere everyday acquaintance you'd meet up with.

"But-" She cut you off by kissing you, smirking against your mouth when you let out a gasp, reciprocating almost immediatley. Her hands were on your hips while one of yours was placed firmly on her chest, the other trying to keep the petals from scraping the cement.

She tasted like alcohol, the same drink she'd bought earlier in the day when you stopped at your bartending job to grab your forgotten jacket from the day prior. It was a new menu item, a fruity kind you wanted her to try.

You were very glad for it now.

"Feels good..." You whispered, chasing her lips when she pulled back a bit. "Yeah?" She hummed, hand dancing down to the button on your jeans. "Not here." You looked at her, suddenly very worried and very much filled with a plea for privacy.

"Relax, cupcake, I wasn't gonna." She pulled you forward by your waistband, nodding to the alleyway just a little ways down. "But I will once they aren't fucking looking."

You hesitated when the offer arose, looking at the alley before the thump, thump, thump of your arousal made you give in. Looking at her with a pouty lip and a look that screamed you were ready to be taken care of.

"Really fast okay?" You asked, watching her nod her head and grab at the back of your neck. "No promises, pretty girl." "Vi..."

You dragged her name as she pulled you behind a tower of boxes, blocking your view of the road, and the view of you from the former.

"What about my flowers?" You huffed, feeling her take them from your hand before you even got to turn around. The bouquet nicely sat on top of a box, and by the time you were looking back at her, your button was undone and your zipper was between her fingers.

"Violet-" Your head lolled up, catching her lips as your jeans shimmied down your thighs exposing your pretty panties to her. And only her.

"Look at that..." She nipped your jaw, pressing her forehead against her own while looking down at your lower half. "So pretty, sugar."

Vi met your eyes, hand slipping in and over your cunt, the tips of her fingers brushing your wetness as your small breaths fanned her face.

"Can I?" You nodded your head, grip wrapping around her wrist as a finger just barely brushed over your clit making you whine. You wanted more, not caring who could walk into the one way alley, only caring that she still wasn't moving how you wanted her to.

"Please Vi..." You whispered, her digits soon circling around your clit slowly. Kisses running down your neck while she inched closer and closer to your hole.

"I need to hear you say it." She spoke quietly, looking down at where her hand disappeared into your pants. "I wanna hear what you want, Y/n." Rarely did your actual name pass her lips, opting for more sensual options, usually.

"I want your fingers inside me-" The sentence barely got to pass your lips when she entered you, mouth falling agape and grip tightening on her arm. "Oh-"

The sounds of chatting were muffled, the dudes from earlier forgotten. You felt the way her fingers ran against your walls again and again while the rest of your hand sloppily bumped your clit here and there.

You subconsciously spread your legs, her other arm keeping you balanced against the brick wall. Though, all you could focus on was the way she reached deep inside, her fingers long but thick. Two was enough...

..but then came a third.

"I- I can't-" She ignored you though, only silently nodding her head, her nose bumping your own as she softly whispered sweet things to you. Things you could barely hear over your quiet cries, trying your hardest to be quiet even though you knew the people walking by were far too loud and too uncaring to hear or investigate the sounds.

"Feels good... oh-" Your head dug into the cement bricks, ignoring the discomfort and instead digging your nails into her pale skin. "Faster, please Vi.." Vi nodded again, kissing the spot between your eyebrows while moving her hand in out at a pace that caused a light wet sound to meet your ears.

You felt so nasty, all exposed without a care, humping into her hand wanting nothing but release. And they way her hand just kept nudging your little bundle of nerves brought you closer and closer. You couldn't look her in the eye, looking everywhere but at her.

Your favorite, was watching her hand.

Her other hand gripped your other leg, taking you off guard. You nearly yelled at the deeper angle, clenching your teeth and crying out to her, finally seeing the way her pupils grew at the sight of your trapped nature. You had nowhere to go, only taking what she was giving you without even a complaint.

"M'gonna-" "I know, cupcake."

You let it happen, you wanted it. Moaning and bucking towards her fingers. Clawing at her, begging for her to keep going, then to stop. You felt it everywhere, you felt her everywhere as you came. Legs giving out beneath you,

but she wasn't going to let you fall.

"Think they're still there?" Vi asked, your mind hazy and as heavy as fluff. You could barely hear her let alone process what she was saying with her digits still deep inside your cunt. Cum leaking from your hole and onto her flesh, that's what you were thinking about.

"I dunno..." You muttered, earning yourself a kiss on the cheek, and then another and another. You giggled, her hand coming out from your pants and moving to her mouth to suck them clean.

"That's gross..." She smirked at your words, shrugging her shoulders while reaching for the discarded bouquet. "Cleaner than that wall you're still leaning on."

She neglected to tell you how good you actually tasted while licking her lips.

[minminyoonjii]

Forever clawing at the cement walls that surround me for needing to call Felix mommy

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

💜Rules and Guidelines

🕯Summary: There's nothing a good old-fashioned BJ can't fix, especially when you're stressed.

🌹CW

Fem Dom! Reader|Heel Grinding|Oral Sex|Blow Job|Oral Fixation|Messy Head|Edging|Praise Kink|Wet & Messy|Voyeurism|Mommy Kink|Pervert! Jisung|Aftercare

You sighed, rubbing your sore neck, "Baby?" you questioned, closing the front door behind you. Felix peeked his head out of his room, "You're home early," he pointed out, walking towards you. "Yeah. Is that a problem?" you teased, leaning forward. Felix chuckled, placing a peck on your lips, "Nope, not a problem at all. I was planning to bake something later if you want to join," he prompted, biting his bottom lip.

"I'd love to," you said, pulling him in for a hug. "Maybe we could catch a movie or two after," you suggest, squeezing him close. Felix giggled against your chest, "Sounds great," he said, looking up at you. "Call me down when you want to start baking, sunshine. I need to wash up," you groaned, rolling your shoulders. Felix smiled, "Sure can do, I'll set an alarm," he said, making a beeline towards his gaming room. 

You stripped off your clothes, setting the water just right before getting in. The feeling of water coaxing your skin instantly made you relax and soon thoughts began to pour. Some pure and some filthy, you imagined how the rest of your day would play out. Baking and then cuddles sound absolutely perfect but an itch deep within your brain thought of less wholesome things. You shook your head, blaming the heat of the water for your dirty ideas.

The thoughts spiraled from sucking Felix off before the timer rang or pinning him against the kitchen counter while he's stirring the baking batter. "Fuck," you whispered, pinching your cheeks. You sighed, getting out of the shower, "I need a drink," you mumbled to yourself, tying a towel around your body. You walked towards the kitchen, searching for anything cold in the fridge to subdue your thirst. 

A loud thud came from Felix's room, "What is the healer doing, we're getting crit here," he groaned, tossing his headphones in frustration. You knocked on the door, making him flinch, "Are you alright, baby?" you asked, opening the door. Felix nodded, "Yeah, just shitty teammates," he grumbled, crossing his arms. You cooed, placing a kiss on his forehead, "You'll get them next round," you encouraged. Felix's cheeks burned, noticing that you were only in your towel.

You furrowed your eyebrows at his silence, "Ah," you chuckled, seeing his agape jaw. Felix closed his mouth when you tilted his chin up. His eyes waver under your stare. The shower thoughts from earlier came forward again but this time you weren't going to stop them. You got on your knees, cleavage perfectly plump for him to stare at, "Do you want this baby?" you whispered, seeing Felix quickly close his game tabs.

He nodded, "Please, Mommy looks so pretty," he whined, gripping his seat. You cooed, "Can you do something for mommy before that?" you asked, hand grazing over his obvious bulge. "Yes, yes. Anything mommy wants," Felix said, eager to please you. "Good boy. Now turn on your recording system and plug in your mic, sunshine. Mommy wants you to hear yourself fall apart," you purred, pulling down the zip of his pants.

Felix moaned at the idea and did what you said, "Mommy," he keened, bucking his hips against your palm. You hummed, rubbing your throbbing clothed cock. Precum leaking through the tip. "Hah, Hhgh," Felix mewled, back arching to feel more. You chuckled, pressing your thumb between his clothed slit, drenching his boxers in slick. Felix sobbed, "Mama, mommy. No mo-more, teasing," he whimpered, aching to feel your mouth or hand around his cock.

You cooed, "Aww, but you're so pretty, sunshine. Look at the pretty mess you made," you said, showing him your slick-covered hand. Felix whined, pulling your wrist towards his mouth and taking a lick. You chuckled out a moan, "Mommy's dirty little prince, aren't you," you praised, tugging his boxers down to his calves, letting his cock slap against his plush tummy. "Mommy's prince," Felix mewled, tossing his head back when you finally stroked his cock.

"Moan for mommy, sunshine," you purred, pumping his cock within your palm. Twisting your wrist at his throbbing cockhead. Precum leaked all over his thighs. "Ah, hah, hah, ah," Felix panted, lips wobbling from pleasure. You gulped at the sight of your lover falling apart, "Fuck it," you grumbled, tapping his cockhead against your tongue. Felix squealed, staring down at you with half-lidded eyes, "Too much, it's too much," he babbled, overstimulated by your stimulating tongue working his slit apart.

You moaned, wrapping your lips around his cockhead just to hear him cry from the pleasure. Felix sobbed, thighs trembling at the waves of arousal buzzing through his body, "Need to cum, Mama," he cried, his cock throbbing on your tongue. You hummed, sending more stimulating vibrations. Felix sucked on his bottom lips, abs tensing from the appending orgasm. You smirked around his cock, waiting for the moment his body arched and you pulled off.

Felix sobbed, tears spilling down his cheeks at the denial, "Mo-mommy!" he sniffled, his cock hard and aching. You shifted your body, heel placed directly on your bare clit, "Aww, I know pretty baby. Mommy knows," you cooed, licking a stripe up Felix's shaft. He keened, gripping the seat hard. You blew on his warm cockhead, smiling at the way he shivered, "Just relax, yeah?" you whispered, flattening your tongue to take his cock to the hilt.

"Shit, shit. Feel so good," Felix slurred, eyes rolling to the back at the warmth engulfing his cock. You bobbed your head at a relentless pace, his cock head making a filthy 'pop' sound every time he slid perfectly down your throat. Felix thrashed in his seat, his body quivering from the immense pleasure. You ground your hips, chasing your own orgasm as you swallowed around Felix's cock. "Cum-cumming," he wailed, digging his nails into the seat.

You sucked, gulping down every last drop. Felix mewled, his body convulsing as your mouth held a tight suction around his cock. You moaned, eyes rolling back as you came, soaking your feet with slickness. Felix's body twitched, cumming again from the overstimulation. You pulled off his cock, laying your head on his thigh. Felix lay spent, "Kiss," he rasped, jutting his bottom lip. You chuckled, wobbly standing up to kiss him.

Felix melted into your warmth, "Thank you, Mommy," he whispered, nuzzling your chest. You cooed, patting his hair, "Anytime, sunshine," you said, kissing his forehead. "You forgot to mute our call," Jisung said, jolting Felix from his daze. You shifted his messy tabs and pulled up Discord, only to see a flustered Jisung on the other end, "Didn't Chan teach you privacy, Ji?" you smirked, eyeing his oddly placed lotion on the desk.

Jisung whined, "How is it my fault your boyfriend is dumb," he grumbled, crossing his arms. "Hey, I'm not dumb," Felix retorted, glaring at the screen. You rolled your eyes, "You should've stopped listening the moment you heard him moan, Ji," you teased, turning on the camera. Jisung gulped at the sight, the both of you disheveled with post-clarity evident on your faces "Sounded hot," he mumbled, looking away. You smirked, "What was that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ugh, you both sounded hot now fuck off," Jisung rambled, ending the call. You looked at Felix and instantly burst into laughter, "Do you still want to bake?" you asked, wiping a stray tear. Felix nodded, "Yeah, just let me wash up and we can start," he said, pulling you in for another kiss.