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uhohdad · 11 days ago

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THE GIRL WHO CONQUERED THE MOUNTAIN

KÖNIG X READER

You & König have been chosen as unwilling participants in a twenty-four tribute 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 III

First Part Of This Chapter Here

Dallian is the very definition of sleazy. A man with a perfect build and a waft of gelled dark hair, draped in gold jewelry. He’s the kind of guy that’s attractive, and knows it, to the point it’s entirely repulsive. A cloud of arrogance surrounds him and threatens to make you gag.

“Bit annoying I had to buy both of you,” He laughs, “But I won’t be the one paying for it.”

Dallian’s eyes dart to Konig, rubbing his smug grin in Konig’s face.

Now this was what you expected from someone forcing you into being intimate with them.

Dallian passes a glass of wine to you as he settles on the couch next to you.

“I can show you how it’s done,” He says to Konig with a mocking nod of his head, “Teach you how to really please a woman.”

He snickers at the way Konig’s fists clench, how his shoulders tense, how those icy, killer eyes narrow.

How powerful Dallian must feel.

You almost want to laugh at him, for being foolish enough to believe he’s got the upper hand, when you and Konig have been entirely transparent thus far about being an unstoppable team.

And he has the gall to think he’s special. The exception. The one who gets to flash a few coins to humble the biggest, strongest victor in the worst way possible.

You can hardly bite back your excitement.

Your blood is racing through your veins, your heart hammering against your ribcage and its quick beat in your ears.

“What do you say, doll?”

Dallian’s hand reaches out to meld to your hips.

“Want me to show you how an experienced man does it?”

You put on your best flirtatious voice, leaning into his repulsive touch against every instinct to pull away.

“Maybe,” You say with a coy shrug, “But I am a bit shy.”

Dallian shakes his head and scoffs.

“Didn’t get that impression from you.”

“Fan of my work?”

“Very much so,” He purrs, tapering into a low hum.

“I guess it was just my way of saying I like a man who takes control.”

“Now that’s the impression I got from you.”

Dallion laughs, and looks to Konig in the expectation that he’d find it funny too.

He does not.

“Better make yourself comfortable,” He says to Konig, “Might be a bit longer than what you’re used to.”

He winks at Konig, surely a dig at his quick finish in the arena.

You beckon him with a curled finger, a bite in your lip that you’re not sure is genuine or not, because you’re literally shaking with anticipation for the big finish.

Dallian gives a low, sultry laugh that sloshes your lunch as he closes the distance between you.

You have to try really hard not to look over his shoulder and at Konig, sneaking along the border of the room to keep out of Dallian’s peripheral.

His footsteps are silent. It’s impressive, his ability to move without making a disturbance, especially considering his size. You’re reminded of the boy from One, who had no clue Konig was tailing him in that fall forest until he was already trapped in a chokehold.

You purposely expose your neck to keep Dallian from going for your lips, and he follows your whim, burying his head into your neck to leave burning kisses.

You only have to endure three wet, scalding, hum-laced kisses before Konig is towering over you both.

It’s quick.

Konig reaches down, and in one smooth motion, grabs Dallian by the side of his neck and smashes his head on the drink table with a breathtaking thud.

Dallian crashes to the ground, his arms catching on the table and the couch on his descent, falling into the gap between them like a rag doll.

Konig laughs dangerously as he places his feet on either side of Dallian’s body. He lowers himself to a straddle and mercilessly swings his fists down.

You close your eyes to avoid watching Konig do the dirty work. The impacts of his punches are still unpleasant, the images of Titan’s bloody skull shoved down your throat with each hit he lands.

So you open your eyes, and you watch. You watch Konig’s back twist and lurch forward with each of his swings, the pinch and unpinch of his shoulder blades, the twitch of his victim’s legs. Splatters of blood flick along the sofa and coffee table, his fists becoming bloodier with each wind up of his arm.

Trembling fingers tighten around your drink, and you take tiny sips of wine as you observe.

When Konig’s finished, long after Dallian was done for, he lingers on his knees over top of his fresh kill, his eyes closed and his head thrown back.

Konig doesn’t face you even when he stands. From behind, you can see his ribcage expand with each of his huffed breaths, bursts of shaky laughter spilling from his lips, bruised and split knuckles at his sides and dripping with blood.

He whips around with little warning, those dangerous eyes locking onto you. You start and stammer as he reaches those deadly arms in your direction, grabs two fistfuls of your lingerie, and yanks you into a fervorous kiss.

His laughs almost constitute giggles. He’s giddy, smiling into the kisses and bumping his teeth against your lips.

When he pulls away, those eyes are darkened something vicious. He’s looking at you like he wants to ravage you, ruin you, worship you.

It’s equal parts nerve-wracking and thrilling, and you wear a nervous smile to match.

He plops down on the couch, and pulls you into his lap by your waist, forcing you to meet him in a messy, slobbering kiss while you rearrange your limbs to straddle him. His tongue invades your mouth with such intensity, you’d think he’s trying to lick the back of your throat.

He pants through flushed, spit-glistened lips, smearing blood over your stockings as he creeps up your thighs. His eyes wander just as much as his hands, devouring you, all of you.

“I love you,” He breathes.

“I love you, too.”

Your hands trace up his firm core and chest.

“So good for me,” You whisper, “Did such a good job.”

Konig’s brows crease and those dangerous eyes soften in confusion.

“You worked so hard for me.”

One of your hands glides over his firm chest, the other sliding up the groove of his shoulder and his neck. You smooth all the way up to his jaw and stroke his cheeks with your thumbs. His bloody hand rests over yours, almost like it had the mind to pull your touch away, but decided against it.

“So good at protecting me, aren’t you? I think someone who works this hard deserves to be rewarded, yeah?”

You can see the battle in his eyes, does he want to ravish you? Or be ravished by you?

He gives in with a whine and a needy grind of his hips.

“Use your words,” You tease.

“Ja,” He blurts with a frantic nod of his head, “Please.”

A hum of approval crosses your lips as you leisurely undo the buttons on his shirt, brushing your knuckles along his chest.

His hands find your hips with a hold tight enough to leave an ache under his fingertips. He pushes you further into him, and leaves you no choice but to rock back and forth on the bulge in his pants.

You take your time, and find yourself enjoying making him wait. He’s so pretty like this, murmuring pleas and desperately seeking relief from the ache between his legs as you admire every newly revealed inch of his core.

Once the last button has been undone, dainty fingers slide his shirt off his shoulders, bunching the sleeves down to the crook of his elbows and exposing his biceps.

“So pretty,” You whisper.

You lean in to give him a faint kiss, just barely pressing your lips to his, holding his stare and stroking his scratchy cheek underneath your thumb once you pull away. His mouth is open as if to say something, but he’s frozen underneath you, only the quick dart of his glossy eyes as he studies your face.

You duck your head, dragging the tip of your nose along the underside of his jaw to leave light kisses on his neck. The shallow breaths in your ear are intoxicating, tightening the knot of want in your lower core only relieved with each grind he forces you to make against him.

Konig gives you a sad, hurt little look when you wordlessly wriggle from his grip and slide back on his legs. You make up for it, though, your palm melding to the front of his pants, groping him through the fabric of his slacks.

His bottom lip catches between his teeth, mindlessly rutting into you while you eye him with a playful smile.

“You need me to take care of you, Konig? Like you do for me?”

“Please,” He whispers with a nod, “Need you.”

Half his irises disappear behind his fluttering eyelids with every grind into your palm. The whine that leaves him when you remove your hands is hard not to revel in.

“S’okay,” You coo as you undo his slacks, “I’m going to take care of you.”

You slink between the gap of his pants and his underwear, massaging him through the slippery fabric. He lets out a sigh, his head falling back on the cushions.

You apply generous pressure as your hands slowly glide up him and sneak into the waistband of his underwear. His hips buck like he’s already fucking you, desperate for release.

“Brauche dich,” He whines.

“Sh, sh,” You soothe, “I got you.”

You gnaw on your lip when you free him from his waistband, swollen and enraged in your hands. You loosely wrap your fingers around the base of him, and watch with a pinch in your brow as you let him slide through your grip, caressing up his shaft.

A low, addicting moan falls from his flushed lips, encouraging enough to quicken your pace, eager to keep him making those noises that You slide your loose fist up and down his length, running your thumb along the ridge of his tip with each ascend.

Konig’s legs fidget underneath you, bouncing you with his twitches.

“Sch- f- “

Unintelligible mutters and pleas flow freely from him. You watch carefully, the tensing and untensing of his muscles, his lovesick eyes, the clench of his jaw.

“Does that feel good?”

“Hh- Ja!”

He can hardly respond, nodding and carelessly fucking himself into your hand.

When he meets your stare with those pretty drunken eyes and his flushed, parted lips, it steals your breath. It awakens something in you, a drop in your stomach and a craving to completely undo him at your touch. You grip him firmly at the base, quickly jerking him until your hand and his cock are just a blur.

“Sch-”

He tenses beneath you, his fingers digging into your sides and a string of choked moans leaving him. You keep your hands around him even when you awkwardly sling your legs over his thighs until you’re between them. The plush, shaggy carpet is kind to your knees as you lower yourself between Konig’s legs, the soles of your victim’s shoes inches from your calf.

Konig sobers, his eyes snapping open to stare down at you with a worried crease in his brow.

Your pumps idle as you size him up. Maybe you haven’t thought this through well enough, because he’s much more intimidating from down here. You’re not sure you’ll be able to fit him in your mouth without doing damage with your teeth, but it doesn’t deter you from trying.

Konig hesitantly shifts to sit on the edge of the couch to make it easier for you, and you hold his stare until you can’t, burying yourself in his lap to lick a careful stripe from base to tip.

Konig shivers, and his breath cuts off abruptly.

You lap at his tip, short and sweet licks, breaking your pace to occasionally flick your tongue side to side along the ridge.

You use his huffs to coach you through it, doubling down on the pace and the movements that keep his breaths hitched and laced with gravelly moans.

Your lips seal around his tip, tongue swirling in circles around him.

The noises coming from him are making your eyes roll, a thrilling drop in your lower abdomen that flourishes with a flood of arousal in your panties.

You set him on the flat of your tongue, and while unhinging your jaw as wide as it goes, swallow an extra inch or two. He’s so big it’s almost painful to prop your mouth open like this, and you can’t help but feel it’d be easier if he was standing up.

Konig sucks in a sharp breath when you start to bob your head on his tip, his fingers digging into your shoulders as you wet his cock with your inexperienced tongue.

He can’t seem to sit still, his hips twitching beneath you, a symphony of groans and huffs and strained breaths heading fanning the enticing heat in your lower abdomen.

You’re making a mess on him, slobbering, drool dripping down the length of his massive cock, and you can tell he’s struggling to hold himself back from fucking your mouth without restraint.

There’s no way you’ll be able to fit all of him in your mouth, and you’re definitely bumping your teeth along him unintentionally, but he’s not complaining.

“Hh- so pretty-”

You’re surprised at how much this is turning you on. Without even being touched, wet just from listening to him being pleasured. He looks even bigger from down here, sprawled out on the couch while his cock twitches in your mouth. It feels right, you being on your knees like this for him, serving him and unraveling him at the same time. It’s sloppy, amateur work all around, but Konig doesn’t seem to mind, in fact he looks almost betrayed when you give into your sore jaw, but he has no problem forgiving you when you scramble to take off your underwear.

You do an awkward little hop on one foot, almost tripping when you kick them to the side in a rush to straddle him. You meet him in a rough kiss, wasting no time to line him up to your soaked cunt, sinking his spit-coated tip into you.

You both let out a strained moan as you work him into you with gentle bounces.

Once each descent you try to swallow a little more of him, using his strong, tense shoulders for support as you wince and struggle to take a cock that you’re no match for.

“Bitte - Du fühlst dich so gut.”

“S’okay,” You say, “I have you.”

“Bitte - ”

He loses control of his hips with a groan, aching to cram more of himself into you.

“I’m sorry, bitte-”

“S’okay.”

You plant a kiss on his forehead after he corrects himself, the salt of his sweat lingering on your lips. He buries his face into your chest with a needy whine, muffled by your lingerie.

“You want to taste them? Hm?”

His nose scrapes against your sternum when he nods. He gives you space, and watches you with hazy eyes and parted, flushed lips as you strip off your top, freeing your chest with an alluring bounce.

His tongue is on at them at once, quick, wide strokes over the entirety of your nipple. You clench around him at the sensation, writhing at his slick tongue. He’s losing himself to the taste of your chest, struggling to hold back his thrusts as he seals his lips around your nipple with an eager suck.

Intoxicated, he hungrily nurses on you, his nose buried in your plush chest and his brows creased in frustration that he can’t seem to get enough. His tongue furiously flicks at the bud of your nipple, and you can feel his impatient cock twitching inside of you at every squeaky moan and sharp gasp that leaves you.

“You fill me up so well, Konig,” You grit, “Only you could ever please me.”

He whines around your nipple.

“You want to fuck me, Konig?”

He pops off your nipple to catch his breath, nodding desperately.

“Please, please.”

You lean in and kiss his cheek, dropping your voice to just a whisper.

“I’m yours.”

His eyes flutter shut, a moan on his lips and his hips immediately snapping into you with such speed and intensity it throws you off balance and pulls a strangled cry from your lips.

With his firm hold on your hips he keeps you still and hovers you just above his cock so he can thrust up into you.

Your hands shoot out for support, clinging to him as he holds you in the air and desperately fucks you.

He takes you with him when his shoulder blades dig into the back of the couch, keeping your chest in his face so he can latch on to your nipple. Lapping and sucking while he holds you with a firm grip on your underarms, lifting his hips from the couch to mercilessly pound into you.

He pops off your nipple when he can’t hold back his sinful moans.

“Ich liebe dich,” He mutters into your chest, bouncing and brushing along his face with each of his eager thrusts, “Bitte- bitte.”

“Hh- so good, Konig.”

Your praises border on incoherent, your eyes clenched shut at the overwhelming pleasure his desperate pumps into you bring. His unbridled thrusts are inescapable, his bloody, firm grip on your arms unyielding.

The moans he draws from you waver with each thrust. As the flash heat intensifies beneath your stomach, you can’t hold yourself up anymore, falling forward and burying your head into the crook of his shoulder, as useless as a rag doll in his brute hold. His hands find the back of your thighs, needy whimpers and stuttered breaths right in your ear.

Konig’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, his teeth clench, and his muscles tighten.

“Ich- Ich k-kann icht - !”

Konig’s cry tapers into a choppy moan, his hips bucking uncontrollably beneath you as he stuffs you with his finish.

“I’m sorry-” He huffs, “I’m sorry, bitte-”

“It’s okay,” You soothe, “My good boy.”

You plant a kiss on his glistening forehead, keeping him inside you as you take in his rosen cheeks, his heaving chest. You’re careful when you pull off him, slinging your leg over his lap to rest your knees into the side of his thigh. You gently replace his stained underwear, and give him space to cool off and catch his breath, but your fingers do slink through his sweaty hair to scratch your nails over his scalp.

“Did so good for me, Konig.”

He whines again, and all but throws himself at you, burying himself in your neck. His cheek rests on the front of your shoulder, heavy breaths rolling over your collarbones.

You wrap your arms around him, and rest your chin on his head as your fingers work the back of his hair.

“I love you,” He mumbles.

You give him a gentle kiss on the crown of his sweaty hair.

“I love you, too.”

“It doesn’t feel real,” He breathes.

“What doesn’t?”

You try to get a look at his face, but he stays hidden in your neck. His stubble sands against your shoulder and his voice is just a low hum against your skin.

“That I have you. That you’re mine.”

“Mm. I’m yours.”

“Are we - are you my girlfriend?”

The laugh that leaves you comes from deep within and echoes throughout the suite. Konig’s head whips up, horrified eyes meeting yours.

“No, no - Konig, I just thought it was, y’know, implied.”

“Ach,” He looks to the side, and his brow quirks, “So - you are - ?”

“Yes,” You laugh, “I’m your girlfriend.”

He gives a relieved laugh through a dopey grin, and plants a messy, wet kiss on your lips, holding your stare with those sparkling pretty blue eyes after he pulls away.

“I have to say, though,” You grumble, “Girlfriend seems like too light of a term after all that.”

He looks away, quiet for a moment, stroking over the ribbon knotted around his wrist his thumb.

“Do you want to get married?”

“What?” You ask with a sharp recoil.

“Ach, I don’t know- I thought-”

“Did you just propose to me?”

“Was? No - Maybe. I don’t know. You said-”

Konig cuts off his blurted, disaster of a sentence with a huff, and picks it up with a meek tone.

“I want - I want you to pick. The term.”

His eyes dart to the side, and his lips pull back in a wince. His thumbs circle themselves as fast as his thoughts race.

“I’ve just been using, ‘The Love of My Life,’” You throw away with a shrug, “But yeah, I’ll marry you.”

He blinks twice, his brow creased.

“The love - Marry-” He shakes his head, “Warten! I have to- this isn’t-”

His eyes dart around the room, and his lips pull back when he lands on Dallian’s corpse. He grabs you by the hands and prompts you to stand, urgently tugging you along while you stumble over the shag carpet. He shimmies his button down off the rest of the way, holds it open, and guides it up your arms.

His eyes dart around again as you button up his shirt, and he loses track of his thoughts. He gets stuck for a moment, before he kicks back into gear and finds the button that opens the balcony door and pulls you outside.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“I want you to have a pretty view.”

When he sees your arms crossed over your chest, he turns on the heater, and stands in front of you again. His bloody hands wrap around your biceps and smooth down your arms, clasping both of your hands in his.

He brings the back of your hand to his lips, and leaves a soft, lingering kiss.

“I have always dreamt of this,” He says, “And now that I have you, I never want to let you go.”

He releases one of your hands and lowers himself to one knee, brute fingers trying their best to be gentle as he undoes the ribbon on his wrist.

“It’s not much,” He says, draping the ribbon delicately over both of his blood-crusted palms and extending it to you, “But it means a lot to me.”

You go to speak, but the words get caught in your throat, and the tears well in your eyeline without permission.

“Will you marry me?”

There’s a plea in his eyes and a sheepish smile on his face. You’re so overwhelmed, you can’t even say yes, so you just nod, a sob escaping you when you throw yourself at him.

He catches you in those strong arms, letting you cry into his shoulder, his hands rubbing up and down your stuttering back.

“Oh, mein sieger,” He whispers, “Whatever comes next, we’ll do it together.”

When you finally pull away to wipe away your tears, he holds his hand out to ask for yours. He loosely wraps the ribbon around your wrist and knots it into a careful bow.

“Don’t forget to kiss the bride,” You whisper with a sniff.

He breaks out in a wide smile, and kisses you so fast you smush your noses together.

A nasally laugh breaks the kiss, and you nuzzle into the hand that cups your jaw and the thumb that strokes your cheek.

“Wait,” You say, reaching out to touch his chest with a sudden urgency, “I have to find one for you.”

“Hm?”

“A token,” You say, “For our marriage, or whatever. Wait here.”

You rise to your feet and make a dash into the suite, tearing apart Dallian’s things to search for a gift as quick as you can, eager to spend every last minute you have with Konig at your side.

Lying on a dresser, you find a bracelet. A string of red, spherical beads, tied together with a long sliding knot to adjust the size of the loop. Two of the beads hang off either end of the bracelet, a few extra inches of slack on each.

It reminds you of a handful of stemless cherries strung together with a tight coil of twine. And while it was the first contender you laid eyes on in a race for an impromptu token of an unofficial marriage, and maybe such a thing should be picked more deliberately, you can’t help but feel like it’s the perfect gift.

You practically jog back to the balcony, where Konig waits by the door.

“What about this one?”

He takes the bracelet in his hands, and inspects it in his open palm.

“I love it,” He says.

You share a smile, and he gives you his hand when you wordlessly gesture for it, placing the bracelet on his wrist and tugging the ends to secure it.

He studies your token, giving the beads hanging off the ends a shake.

Those pretty blue eyes find you again, a cozy smile on his face as he leans down to meet you in a kiss. When he pulls away, his thumb makes light side to side strokes over the height of your cheek, and he studies your face like it’s the first time he’s ever seen it.

“I love you,” He whispers.

“I love you, too,” You whisper back.

His hands follow the dip of your neck before slowing on your shoulders. You pull each other into an embrace, the lull of his heart beat against your ear.

“Suppose we ought to honeymoon?” You ask, meeting his face.

“Mm,” He hums.

His lips fold in, his eyes dart away, and his brows pinch as he thinks over something.

You flinch when he snatches up your hands and leans in, a sudden inspired intensity in his eyes and tone.

“Let’s run.”

“What?” You ask through a nervous laugh.

”Let’s run,” He repeats with a flare of his eyes and a shake of your hands.

You unintentionally adopt his urgent tone as your eyes flit between the smile bunching his cheeks and the determined glint in his eyes.

“Run? Run where?”

“Anywhere, everywhere. Du und ich. I will protect you, take care of you, meine braut.”

A nervous laughs bubbles from you.

“But- how do we-“

Konig’s hold on your hands tighten.

“We go, and we don’t look back. You were right.”

“They w- they won’t find us?” You ask.

Konig’s eyes narrow and his lips warp into a mischevious grin.

“What’s the matter?” He says, “Afraid they’ll send you to your death?”

You look down at your shoes, lacking defense.

And you nod.

And he nods too.

He gives your hands one last shake and a quick kiss, and you fumble to find your stride as he drags you back into the suite.

“We have to pack.”

And with little thought, you do. You fill two packs with food and clothes and toiletries, and share a long kiss as you prepare to embark on your escape.

“Together,” He says.

“Together,” You whisper back.

You don’t open the door to Dallian’s suite three inches before you slam it shut at the flashes of brilliant white uniforms.

“Peacekeepers, peacekeepers,” You mutter frantically, futilely trying to shove Konig back into the suite.

Konig’s brows knit, he abandons his pack, and sweeps you away from the door with his arm.

“No, no, what are you doing?!” You squeak with a tug, but trying to hold him back is and always has been a useless effort.

Konig opens the door, and you have no choice but to standby as he steps out into the hall.

You take a step backwards, your fingers shooting up to press to your bottom lip.

You flinch at the sounds of altercation, and just before you get your hands on the edge of the door, Konig lets out a strained cry before crashing into the door and ripping it from your fingers. He hits the ground hard, his shoulder taking the brunt of his fall. “Konig! Konig?! Oh sh-”

His body twitches and shakes at your feet, but a grating, intense buzzing steals your attention, snapping your head in the direction of the peacekeepers. Sparks of electrical blue light emit from the end of a baton aimed square at your chest, its terrifying zaps blinding and deafening you.

Your palms shoot up in surrender as you stumble backwards and trip over your tribute pedestal. You land in a pure white coat of snow, scrambling away from threat as it kicks Konig back into Dallian’s suite.

“Konig! Konig!”

You race to his side after the door slams shut, your knees disrupting petals in the dirt and your hands helplessly flailing just above him.

“Konig? Konig?! Oh, oh f-!”

He groans and rolls over, collapsing onto his back. You trembling hands find his heaving chest while you examine his face.

“Konig! Are you okay?!”

His tear-welled eyes open and he finds you, pushing heavy breaths through grit teeth.

Suddenly there’s a knife in his stomach and his blood is oozing down his sides and coating the ginkgo petals in brilliant crimson.

“Schwein,” He grits, pulling his hands up to his chest.

“Why did you do that?!” You squeak.

You don’t get your answer. Your palms desperately search for reminders that life still resides within him. The reassurance lies just beneath your fingers, firm chest convulsing as he struggles for wheezing breath. His eyes pinch shut as he fights the spasm of his muscles.

“Stop, stop struggling, relax, just - just relax.”

It’s obvious you don’t trust yourself, but he follows your orders anyway, coaxing his shoulder blades to the floor, the rest of him following. You kneel at his head and carefully guide his head into your lap for cushion. Your hands smooth over his shoulders, his chest, his collarbones, his neck, his rough jaw.

“You’re okay,” You say, “You’re okay.”

His eyes flutter shut, and he nuzzles into your touch as he recoups.

“That was really stupid,” You whisper softly.

“Mm,” He agrees.

He rests on your thighs long after his muscles stop twitching from whatever the peacekeepers did to him. You run your fingers through his hair, half to soothe him and half to soothe yourself.

“I love you,” He whispers.

“I love you too,” You say.

“I’m sorry,” He says.

“Don’t be.”

You both sit like this for a while, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath, watching his peaceful face rest in your lap. Occasionally he’ll flutter his lashes and look up to you, just to remind himself that you’re there. He smiles everytime, a warm, dopey grin before those pretty blue eyes close again.

“Sometimes,” He says, “I am afraid I’ll wake up.”

You tilt your head with a furrow of your brow.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m afraid I’ll wake up, and it’ll all have just been a dream. And I won’t have you anymore.”

You give a soft hum as you think on it.

“Tell you what,” You say with a pat of his cheek, “If it is a dream, meet me back in Nine.”

“What if you don’t like me?” He asks.

“Impossible.”

“What should I say?”

“Hmm. You should say - ‘Hey, I think you’re really cute and funny and smart and the most perfect girl ever - I was wondering if you wanted to fool around in front of the entire country, kill ourselves, get married, and maybe incite a rebellion with me?’”

Konig laughs, that hearty laugh that floods your chest with a feeling so wonderful you can’t help but bask in its warmth.

“Will do,” He says.

You sigh, and your face steadily falls.

“Do you think they’re rebelling?”

Konig sighs, and shrugs, as if it hardly matters now.

“Yeah,” You say.

But you do wonder if your speech was enough to boil District Eight’s unrest into something truly catastrophic. Has a full scale rebellion broke out in Eight? Are the people being executed, bombed as you sit here, joking and laughing with the love of your life?

There’s another pause, until Konig speaks.

“Want to snoop?”

“Obviously,” You say.

You squint, and add, “I kinda want to wreck the place, too.”

“I think we could work that in,” He says with a grin, “I was jealous I didn’t get to participate in the last one.”

“Why don’t you have the honors, then.”

“We have to start with the statue,” He says, those mischievous blue eyes staring up at you.

‘The statue’ is a fifteen-foot tall crystal statue in Dallian’s suite that depicts a giant, naked woman in an incredibly explicit pose with breasts that seem to defy the very nature of gravity itself. It sits between two grand, curved staircases that lead to the upper half of Dallian’s penthouse.

“Obviously,” You laugh, “I’d actually be very impressed if you pulled it off.”

“Mm. Watch me.”

And so you do.

You settle yourself on one of the marble staircases, and watch through the gaps of the intricately designed handrails as Konig sizes up the statue.

“Easy with the ogling there, Stud.”

“I’m not ogling,” He says, “I’m thinking.”

“Mhm,” You tease, “Thinking about what?”

“Thinking about how I’m going to destroy this giant woman.”

Your snort turns to a cackle that echoes throughout the massive foyer.

“Ach, no. That came out wrong,” He says with a wince.

“Think of it as, hm, freeing her,” You offer.

Konig loosely gestures in your direction, “Yes, that.”

He tries to tie bed sheets together to wrap around her from the top of the stairs in an attempt to knock her over, but his efforts ultimately prove futile. At some point - you start to feel for this poor woman, on display for some sleaze day in and day out, and now on the chopping block just for existing in the presence of two unruly kids.

So instead, Konig helps you craft a very baggy and ill-fitting dress for her out of the bed sheets.

After, you rifle through the suite, snooping and smashing things as you please.

As Konig inspects Dallian’s book collection, you play with the buttons on Dallian’s drink table. Pressing them just for the satisfaction of seeing what happens. One of them makes the table glow at the edges with a soft light, another makes it play music.

At the press of another button, a small part of the table opens and reveals a hidden compartment.

Inside lies a small crystal tray, and on it rests a silver cube, a matching circular dish, and two cigarettes. Ground up dried leaves wrapped in a thin see-through paper with a sturdy filter on the end.

You pick up one of the cigarettes, give it a pinch, and watch as the razor-thin paper flexes at your fingertips.

“Found some smokes,” You call.

“Oh?”

“You ever had a cigarette before?” You ask.

“No. You?”

“Nope. You wanna?”

“Mm.”

He doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but you forge on.

Might as well. You’re not long for this world, anyway. What harm could it do?

You set the cigarette down and fiddle with the little silver cube, trying to figure out what it is.

“He only has erotica,” Konig calls, “And none of it is tasteful.”

“Oh, yeah? Do you read a lot of erotica?”

“Ich- No. I don’t know.”

“You are a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Was auch immer,” He huffs.

You flinch when Konig tosses a book carelessly over his shoulder and it hits the ground with a boom. Your hand tightens around the little metal cube in your brace, and it shifts in your palm.

It’s split in the middle. They’re still stuck together, but the top half slides back, making two rectangular boxes.

The cube clicks when you push the top half as far as it will go. A flame appears in the center and nearly burns the fingerprints from your thumb. You snap it shut, extinguishing the flame, but in your panic you end up fumbling the little cube and nearly toss it from your hand.

“I’ve never seen one with pictures before.”

It takes a moment for you to register Konig’s mumbled words.

“Pictures?” You ask half-heartedly.

You push the top half of the cube back until the flame erupts, watching carefully where you place your fingers. With your other hand you grab the cigarette, and guide the tip of it to the flame.

“Ja,” He mumbles absently.

The pinched paper that seals the cigarette shut catches, at first a small flame, but the razor thin paper catches quickly, and soon the entire tip of the cigarette erupts in a flame big enough to incite panic.

You desperately blow on it to put out the flame that quickly eats up the paper. It extinguishes, and you uselessly wave away the smoke that rises in the flame’s wake. You are left with what you can only assume is a lit cigarette.

“Hah!” You get.

Look at you, figuring out how to light a cigarette all by yourself.

Smells awful. Pungent and musky.

The bright orange ring makes a slow creep up the cigarette, a steady stream of smoke warbling up towards the ceiling.

“Was riecht hier so?”

You put the filter to your lips, brows scrunched and face already braced in a hesitant pinch.

“Wait, wait!”

Konig drops a book and rushes to you, but he’s far too late, you’ve already taken an inhale. Your chest tightens beyond comfort and your throat and lungs erupt in a trail of flames.

The coughing is violent and uncontrollable, each one stutters your entire body. There’s no possible way to hold them back, you have no choice but to hack with an open mouth, tongue curled - you can practically feel the blood vessels popping in your face.

“Oh - oh, that burns-”

Your wheezed complaints ends with another loud and violent coughing fit.

“Are you okay?!” Konig asks, grabbing the cigarette from your hand and putting it out on the table, “Why did you do that?!”

You turn your head to keep from coughing in his face.

“Water,” You choke.

Konig scrambles to your aid, racing off to get you a glass. You can hardly get the water down your scorched throat, your teeth knock against the glass with each convulse of your chest.

“Why would anyone do this to themselves?!” You cry between coughs.

“Are you okay?!”

“It burns.”

The water only helps a little, gulping it down to the bottom of the glass.

“I’ll get more!”

You get down three entire glasses of water before you can inhale and exhale without choking.

“Guh,” You croak, “That hurt.”

“Are you- Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Dizzy.”

“Dizzy? D- Does it hurt?”

“Just my throat,” You say, “And my chest.”

“Lie down,” He says with a firm guiding hand, “Do you think it’s poisonous?”

You follow his whim, lying back on the thick, plush carpet.

“Maybe,” You say.

You smile and add, “Probably. Probably not.”

“What do I do?” He asks.

“Dunno,” You say with a shrug.

You give a weak pat on the carpet next to you.

“Lay with me.”

“Lay with you?”

“Lay with me.”

“Äh,” He hesitates, “Okay.”

He lies flat next to you, and accepts your hand when you rest it on his. He engulfs you with his hold, intertwining his fingers with yours, and lets your locked hands rest on the floor between you.

Your body is so warm and toasty, it’s like you’ve been wrapped in a soft, fuzzy blanket.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” You say, “But my mouth feels weird.”

“Your mouth?” He says, propping himself up on his elbows, “It hurts?”

“No, I can just- feel it. Too much.”

Your explorative dry tongue runs along the bottom of your teeth.

“You want more water?”

You hum affirmative, and gulp away, but it does little to quench your never-ending thirst.

You let the carpet swallow you once more, and get lost in the chandelier that illuminates the room, fascinated by the shimmering light passing through the crystal droplets.

You raise your arms up to the ceiling and open your palms. Your fingers spread and close, and you watch mesmerized as the light shining off the crystals disappear and reappear between the gaps of your fingers.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know. It just feels right.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes!” You proclaim through a laugh, “I’m okay.”

“I wish you would have let me try it first,” He says.

“What?”

“To - To test it,” He says, “Just in case.”

Your hands drop to your stomach.

“In case what?”

“In case it’s poisonous.”

You hush him gently, blindly swatting the table to retrieve the smushed, crumpled cigarette, “You can still test it now.”

“Was?” He says as he sits up, “You said it hurts?”

You shake your head, “So worth it.”

He looks to the side, considering it.

“What’s it like?”

“It’s like- ah, hmm. Warm. And I feel so light. Like I’m floating, but also wobbling? I don’t know. I’m not - it’s hard to do words right now.”

“‘Hard to do words?’” He laughs.

You give him a lazy swat.

“Yes,” You say with a giggle, “Don’t laugh at me.”

“You look really cute for having been poisoned,” He says with a squint of his eyes, “Sleepy.”

You hold the cigarette in his direction and give it a lazy wave in the air.

“Your turn,” You say, “Unless you’re afraid.”

“Puh,” He spits, snatching the cigarette from your hand, “Fine.”

You thread your fingers together over your waist with a hum and let your eyelids flutter shut.

“Water,” You remind him.

“Water,” He repeats.

He disappears into the kitchen with the little silver cube and the cigarette, and after a bout of silence you hear his distant hacks and coughs, some swears you can’t quite make out.

Your foot rocks side to side on your ankle, but otherwise you’re still aside from the occasional drink. Your mouth is perpetually dry, a thirst you can’t seem to quench.

Once he’s done with his fit, Konig returns to the living room with a pitcher of water for you to share, and lays down on the carpet next to you.

“Oh mein Gott.”

“Mhm.”

“Oh, mein Gott.”

“Mhm.”

“It’s odd,” He says, “I feel like I’m moving really fast? But I’m not.”

“What?” You laugh.

“I’m not moving,” He says, “But I’m going so fast.”

“Not so easy to do words now, is it?”

“Puh,” He dismisses.

You giggle, as your hands make wide strokes over the deep, plush hairs of the carpet.

“This carpet feels amazing,” You say, “I kinda want to live in it?”

You laugh after hearing how silly the words sound once spoken out loud.

Konig pinches a space of air smaller than an inch between his thumb and his forefinger.

“Would you shrink down teeny tiny?” He asks.

“Mhm. Just promise not to step on me.”

“Never,” He says, “I’d keep you nice and safe in my pocket.”

And while there is no pocket there, he still gives his pec a pat.

“Would you feed me crumbs?”

He gives that inaudible laugh that bounces his shoulders, and squeezes your sweaty hand.

“Only the finest.”

He turns his head to look at you with a wide grin on his face, but his face falls when he meets your stare.

“Your eyes are red,” He says, suddenly alarmed.

“Yours too,” You say, “Do yours hurt?”

“They’re kinda dry,” He says, “But not really.”

“Mine too. S’Probably fine.”

He studies you for a minute before he eases himself down on the carpet once again.

Your heart is beating unusually fast in your chest, and while it’s probably cause for concern, you decide not to share this side effect with Konig.

Best not to worry him.

“Oh,” You draw, “You know what else would feel amazing right now?”

“A snack?” He asks.

“I was going to say a shower, but I like yours better.”

When you try to stand, you find you have to manually move your limbs, it’s no longer second nature. You’re so aware of your body, which is weird, because you’ve been nothing but distant from your body since the games. But now, every nerve seems hyper aware, and every movement requires more thought than usual.

There is no kitchen.

Only a grand dining table and a wall of sleek appliances. You have to work together, but with trial and error, you figure out the right combination of buttons and screen-poking to have food appear hot and ready to eat right before your eyes.

You both stuff your faces with extravagant foods. The highlights are a dish of candied sweet potatoes, a creamy, rich cake with a blackberry glaze, and perfectly ripened green grapes, each one its own sweet, refreshing burst on your dry tongue.

“Everything tastes so good,” You groan, “I’m so full but I just want to keep - tasting.”

Konig hum is muffled through a far-too-big mouthful of sweet potatoes.

Once you’re both stuffed and looking a bit green, your shower idea makes a reappearance. The place is so big you have to wander around the suite for quite a while to find it, and a few times you forget what you were even doing. Lost to never-ending halls and countless doors, getting distracted by poking around in someone else’s life.

The shower is on the second floor, apparently, and you make a point to wave hello to the giant dressed woman on your way to the shower.

As Konig strips, you get lost in his form. Admiring him, watching his muscles work beneath his skin as he undoes his pants.

He’s impossible. And yet, here he stands. Towering over you with his perfect form, made of nothing but power and strength.

“You’re so… big.”

You regret your words almost instantly, but Konig doesn’t seem to mind.

He grins, and gives a mischievous hum.

“The perfect size to protect a troublesome girl like you.”

He tests the temperature of the water, his eyes darting away and his smile fading as he thinks on something.

“I think that is why I was made so big,” He says, “I always asked why. But now I know. It’s for you.”

“Psh.”

“I’m sure of it,” He insists.

“Was it written in the stars?” You tease.

“Yes. I was made for you, and you were made for me. I was made to protect you. It’s my purpose.”

It doesn’t sound like he’s joking anymore. The way he’s saying it now, serious and determined and not at all playful - it’s like he actually believes it.

It’s not the first time he’s said something like this, but the last time was in the midst of intimacy in the form of filthy nothings. This time, it’s spoken in the same way he did when he snatched up your arms and asked you to run away with him - there’s a true, eccentric passion behind his words that you may have found troublesome if your execution wasn’t right around the corner.

Maybe for Konig it is easier to digest the lifelong ostracization and the games and the aftermath if he frames it as a means to get to you. Quite the hoops he had to jump through, but maybe it’s worth it, for him, if it assigns the taunting and the games and the aftermath a purpose. Making it easier for him to compartmentalize what you’ve both been forced into by thinking of it as fate or an obstacle or some predetermined grand plan.

And maybe you believe it too?

At least, you’re having trouble discrediting the statement in this moment. You know it’s not logical. Maybe it’s the cigarette, but after everything that has happened - this industrial-strength bond you have formed in the presence of hellish life and gruesome death, the unquestionable dependence on one another, the twenty-two tributes who sacrificed their lives, the relationship special enough to become the exceptions to the games themselves - how are you supposed to attribute all of it to simple chance? How are you supposed to believe it’s not fate that you two were chosen together, that you made it to the end together - that you are anything but destined for each other?

It’s much neater to think of it that way, rather than it being for nothing aside for riches, hollow fame, and a sparkly crown.

In reality, you must know it was for nothing. The games are simply the cruelty of man. Inflicted pointlessly by those who decided they were better than the rest. There is no reason for the games other than to intimidate the districts. A punishment for the rebellion and a reminder of just how pointless it would be to try and fight against the Capitol’s iron grip. You know that you and Konig are victims. The circumstances turned what should have been simple young love into a bond where you are so toxically dependent on each other you are willing to overlook just about anything.

If every second didn’t bring you closer to your imminent death, you might worry. Because even if his statement wasn’t a delusion - that is a lot of pressure to put on one girl’s shoulders. To be the reason that justifies all of it. Relentless torment and games and kills and suicides and twenty-two dead tributes. His statement implies lack of freewill, a lack of reason, and an unhealthy possessiveness that’s equal parts disconcerting and thrilling - all wrapped up in one statement.

The pedestal you stand on keeps rising and rising, and you are afraid that you will not survive the inevitable fall.

But again, execution is right around the corner. And what is the point of worrying about how healthy your relationship with Konig is when your expiration date is near? Why would you worry about breaking your leg jumping from a waterfall when you have what could be as little as minutes left?

So for now, you will be his prize.

And you will accept him as yours.

“Yes,” You say, “My big strong protector.”

He gives you a wide smile - and for a moment his eyes flare in a way only thickens that unease swirling in your guts. It fades quickly - but the effect of that glint in his eye lingers with you.

It wasn’t quite right. Unstable, hungry.

You swallow, and offer a weak smile with a nod.

He reaches out to rest his hand on your jaw with a gentle caress.

“I love you,” He says, “Meine braut.”

You reach up and rest your hand on his wrist.

“I love you too, Konig.”

You soak for what feels like hours. The hot water feels amazing on your skin, euphoric, even, and you find you’re having a hard time parting this steamy heaven.

The thought of wearing any of Dallian’s clothes disgusts you more than bloody lingerie, but after you’ve found the will to leave the shower, Konig graciously offers you his button down once more. As you roll the sleeves up to keep them from dangling over your hands, Konig’s nose crinkles and his shoulders pull up.

“So small,” He says, “So cute.”

You roll your eyes and huff, but your smile is telling.

“Oh, whatever.”

He lingers his stare on your for a few moments before he steps over to you and gently places his hands on your shoulders. Looking you over with a pleased grin and those shimmering blue eyes that make the warmth in your chest radiate at full heat once more.

His hand slides up your face to rest on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. He meets your eyes again, and his grin turns roguish.

“I want to try something,” He says.

“Oh?”

He snatches you up by your sides and picks you up like you are weightless, ignoring your gasp. He sits down on the bed, and for a moment you’re flailing over his lap before he lays back, his firm grip leaving little choice on straddling his face.

“Konig!” You squeak.

The only warning you get is a warm breath between your thighs before the flat of his tongue slowly but thoroughly swipes the entire length of your slit.

He groans at your taste, and his hands tighten around your thighs to combat your squirms.

“Hh- ah!”

You’re still sensitive from the finish he gave you earlier, even the faintest of touches would have you twitching, and Konig is by no means shy when it comes to eating you out. Once he’s gotten a taste, his tongue dives into you, licking short, furious stripes along your slit.

Sly, bloodshot eyes stare up at you from between your spread thighs as his avid tongue works at you. He raises a brow, and you can tell by the way the height of his cheek bunches that he’s reveling in your pleasure, the shock and embarrassment of his brazenness.

“Dir schmeckt so gut.”

He pulls away just long enough to breathe his praise before he’s back to dragging the flat of his tongue along you.

The cigarette has made your body so receptive to touch, you can feel every little movement he makes with his tongue. Slick and warm between your thighs, flicking back and forth over your clit.

You nearly topple over, palms searching for support on the mattress, but his hands snatch up your underarms to keep you propped up while he works at you.

Your head falls forward in defeat, your thighs squeezing the sides of his head. Sloppy and fervorous, slobbering over you, licking at you like he’s cleaning the plate of his first meal in days. He closes his drowsy eyes, and you can feel his satisfied hum between your thighs.

“F-“

You cut yourself off with a wavered moan.

With his hold on you he begins to rock you, forcing you to grind on his face. He lets out a moan into your cunt when your hand threads through his hair and tightens for leverage.

Your brow creases, and after a moment you give a hesitant tug on his hair. His grip on you tightens, his eyes flutter, and he lets out another moan, this one needy and whined.

His tongue quickens, and his hips begin to grind into nothingness behind you.

You hesitantly push the fistful of his hair into the mattress, forcing his head to tilt back and his jaw to jut further into you.

You take over grinding your face down into him, keeping the grip on his hair taut and sinking your other hand into the mattress to keep you steady.

His moans and whines are unrestrained now, unabashed and muffled by your drooling cunt. His cheeks are flushed and the eyes peeking out between your thighs drowsy and crossed.

You get lost in the continuous pleasure his smooth and relentless tongue gifts you, straightening out your core and leaning back, the sound of your unrestrained moans filling the bedroom. Your hand smushes the covers next to his hips, never giving up the grinds on his face.

His fingertips indent the plush flesh of your thighs, keeping you spread while he grunts into you.

“F- Ko-”

Ripples of warmth flow throughout your body, blood rushes to your cheeks and pools in your lower abdomen as his slick tongue circles your finish. When he pushes you over the edge, you don’t see stars, but the whole galaxy as his eager tongue coaxes wave after wave of pleasure. The cigarette seems to intensify the finish, because all you can manage is holding on for dear life as the euphoria tears through you.

It may just be the longest finish you’ve ever had. It never seems to taper out, just as unrelenting as Konig’s tongue. It doesn’t flourish, it peeters out gracefully and without overstimulation. Konig’s whining and moaning into your cunt, and it takes you too long to realize you’re yanking on his hair with everything you have.

You do have to pry Konig’s hands from your thighs to get off his face. You all but collapse on the bed, clit pulsing and legs twitching.

“Fuck,” You breathe.

Konig wipes away the puddle you left on his face with the back of his arm and crawls up the sheets. He rests his head on your chest and a light hand on your stomach. The mess between your thighs cools uncomfortably in the air, but Konig anticipates your need, stripping a case off a pillow and offering it to you.

You give Konig a kiss on the crown of his head as he settles back onto your chest.

“Thank you,” You breathe.

“Ich würde jederzei.”

Your nails scratch at his scalp while he holds you tight at the waist. Occasionally you’ll give a teasing tug on his hair and revel in the sharp inhales he makes, the way he buries his burning face further into your chest.

“I love you,” He mumbles.

“I love you too,” You say.

“Meine braut,” He hums.

“What are you saying down there?”

“My bride,” He says with a warm, glowing smile that won’t seem to go away.

“Mm.”

“What’s that other thing you call me. Si-?“

“Mein sieger?”

“Yes, that.”

He hesitates before he gets his sheepish translation out.

“My victor.”

“Sneaky boy.”

He watches his own forefinger trace light circles on your thigh.

“Sorry,” He says.

“Were your parents not from here?” You ask.

Konig is quiet long enough for you to wonder if you shouldn’t have asked.

“Äh, no, my grandparents,” He says, “They were just supposed to be here for a visit, but got stuck here when the äh-”

“Yeah,” You say.

That tricky rebellion.

“What were they doing here?” You ask carefully, twirling a lock of his hair around your finger.

You don’t want to say the wrong thing. Gently coaxing him open with the hopes he doesn’t close you out.

“Where they were from - you can only grow crops in certain places? Too rocky. And the wildfires only made it worse. My Opa was trying to set up a trade to get grain for steel before they closed the ports and fenced Nine.”

“I can’t imagine that,” You say, “To know you can never go home again.”

Well. Maybe you can.

“I can,” He says with a huff and an eye roll, “It’s all they talked about.”

“That must have been really hard.”

Konig shrugs.

You let the silence ride out, hoping he’ll reveal more, but he stays quiet.

“What should I call you?” You say after enough time has passed.

“Hm?”

“Like, I don’t know. A stupid little nickname. Or something.”

He thinks on it for a moment.

“You don’t want to pick it?” He asks.

“All the ones I can think of don’t feel right. Like, fit?”

He hums.

“Bärchen?” He offers.

“Oh, wow. B- Biya-“

He laughs.

“Bärchen.”

He has to repeat it a few times for you to get the ‘sch’ sound right.

“What does that mean?”

He squeezes your thigh, and hums.

“Little bear. It’s a common nickname for a boyfriend.”

His eyes dart to the side.

“Or husband,” He adds.

“Little?” You ask doubtfully.

He laughs, “Okay, okay.”

“Knuddelbär?”

“What does that one mean?”

“Äh, cuddle bear? It sounds stupider when you translate it. It’s ‘cause I’m so big and strong and lovable.”

He gives a little flex of his bicep with a matter-of-fact nod of his head.

“Alright,” You get through a laugh, “I like that.”

“Or Hübscher?”

“What’s that one mean?”

“Handsome,” He lifts his head from your chest to wiggle his eyebrows at you, “Fitting, no?”

You give him a light swat.

“Stop that, Hübscher.”

He laughs at your shaky pronunciation.

“Easy,” You say, “‘S’a learning curve.”

“What am I supposed to stop?” He asks.

“Being - cute.”

“You think I’m cute?”

“Ja, Knuddelbär.”

He laughs again, and cozies his cheek into your chest. His eyes close, but his fingers still trace circles along your skin, the cool beads of his bracelet brushing along you.

“I love you,” He mutters.

“I love you, too,” You whisper.

“How long do you think we have?” You ask after a lull.

He gives a weighty sigh, staring off, and shrugs.

Neither of you have much to add on the subject of your imminent executions.

Nothing to do about it now.

“Hey, uh, before we, uhm-” You let out a nervous laugh, and your stare finds the ceiling, “You can say no, if you want, I just- I’ve always wanted to-”

Konig looks up at you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet those piercing blue eyes.

“What?” He goads.

“Okay,” You say, “Okay. Do you - you know the rugby boys back home?”

Konig pauses before he hums in both affirmation and hesitance.

“Well, you know how like, to show off, sometimes, they’d uh - hah-”

Konig’s brow tents, and his head picks off your chest to watch you as you succumb to fluster.

“They’d…” Konig encourages.

“It’s so dumb,” You groan, rubbing out your scorching face, “But they’d uh, sometimes they’d, uhm, put their girlfriends on their backs, and - and do push-ups? To show off how strong they are, or whatever?”

“You like the rugby boys?”

“No- no,” You blurt, “I didn’t - I don’t. I just- well y’know, I just liked that part. I always imagined once I had a boyfriend, maybe we could do that. Make me feel all teeny tiny and show off how big and strong he is.”

You wince at Konig’s low laugh, eyes narrowing into a teasing squint and his grin growing into something devious.

“Is that - is that so bad?” You ask cautiously.

“I think we can arrange that.”

“You don’t have too,” You mumble, “If you don’t want to.”

He slowly rises on the bed until he’s looming over you, keeping his hands planted on either side of your waist. His jaw tilts down and he squints at you.

“I will show you,” He warns, “How strong I am.”

You suck in a breath, more warmth rising to your cheeks and a nervous laugh bubbling from you.

He rolls his shoulders once he’s stood and offers his hand to help you off the bed.

He keeps eye contact with you as he lowers himself to his knees. You can tell he’s enjoying this, wordlessly teasing you with a smug grin and a prideful twitch in his brow. It’s not helping how silly you feel about the request, but it only encourages the enticing flutter of your stomach.

He assumes position, and you can’t stop giggling as you climb onto him, carefully settling on his upper back and crossing your legs.

“Ready, little one?”

“Heh, yeah.”

Your teeth dig into your lower lip, holding onto his shoulders for balance as he lowers and raises himself without so much as a grunt of resistance.

There’s no holding back your pure glee, laughing and squealing as Konig effortlessly raises you up and down.

“Okay, okay,” You squeak, “I think you've proven your point.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, “I could do this all night.”

“It’s official,” You say with a pat on his shoulder, “You’re the biggest strongest husband I have ever had.”

He hums in consideration with a few more push-ups before he stills and waits for you to dismount.

“So,” He draws as he rises to a stand, “Am I better than the rugby boys?”

“Oh, no,” You say through a laugh, “You’re not jealous, are you?”

“No,” He forces a nonchalant shrug as his eyes dart away, “Just, making sure.”

“Of course you’re better,” You say, “You always were.”

His eyes dart to the side, cheeks bunching as he bites back a smile.

“I know,” He says with a tone that undermines his attempt to play it casual.

“C’mere, Knuddelbär.”

You pull him back to the bed with you, and he follows your whim.

He lays on his front between your legs, his cheek nestled into your stomach and the light pressure of his threaded hands resting over your ribcage.

“I love you,” He says softly.

“I love you, too,” You whisper.

You stay cuddled up like this, wearing him like a blanket on your lower half and playing with his hair. Precious time has slipped through the gaps of your fingers just as easily as the locks of his hair, and when the doorbell rings, you are entirely unprepared.

Your nerves return at full force, a pile of bricks crashing on your chest, making it impossible to breathe. The effect of the cigarette only intensifies the sudden shake in your fingers and the alarm blaring at full volume.

Konig comforts you to the door, and when he notices the way your wobbly legs fail you, he carries you to the door.

Braced for the worst, to be handcuffed and executed and marched to your deaths.

But once again, nothing happens.

You find that a good chunk of your nerves dissipates once back in the tribute tower. The intimidating peacekeepers leave you in Price’s hands, and the relieved sigh you make could convince anyone that you held your breath the entire trip back to the suite.

Price sends you both to get changed and cleaned up, and on your return, he does another check to make sure neither of you are in pain. You and Konig are both eager to get back to the balcony to be alone again, but Price stops you before you can scurry off.

“Can we have a chat?”

You don’t have the sense to stifle your wince.

Price and his chats never end well for you. Just the request has your chest tight and your blood pumping in your ears once more.

He knows.

He must know.

You glance at Konig, who offers nothing more than a shrug before you hesitantly take a seat at the dining table.

Price sighs, rubs out his face, and sits back in his chair.

“Look, I know you kids are having a hard time, and I - I - ”

He groans.

“Maybe I’ve said and done some things I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have yelled at you both. It’s uh- it’s a hard time of year for me, you know? But it’s not fair for me to take that out on you. And just know I only want what’s best for you both, and I-I’m always here. If you need me.”

You blink, and it takes you far too long to respond.

“Uh,” You scoff, “It’s all good.”

An uncomfortable giggle slips out.

“Water in the fields, or whatever,” You add.

“Ja,” Konig adds.

Price’s brow scrunches, and he makes eye contact with you for the first time in days. He studies you both wordlessly.

You must have said the wrong thing.

What was the right thing to say?

Should you have told him to go fuck himself?

Is that something you would say?

Probably.

Why can’t you remember how you normally talk?

Your expression has mellowed with your train of thought. You briefly get distracted by the hypnotic roll of Konig’s thumbs on his loosely intertwined hands. When you find Price, he’s still staring at you, and you lock up again.

“Are you two alright?” He asks.

There’s a pause, and Konig snorts.

And somehow you just know the one-word joke he made in his mind. You can even hear it as clear as day, in his voice.

‘Very.’

His telepathic joke wasn’t even that funny, but you are powerless to the snort and the following fit of laughter that leaves you.

Price knocks his fist twice on the table and clicks his tongue.

“Okay - what-”

You can’t stop, and your stomach hurts. You and Konig curl into each other, leaning on each other for support as you gasp and snort. Tears are rolling down your eyes.

“Are you two high?”

High.

That is the perfect word to describe what is happening to you. At the top of an unsteady pole far up in the clouds, wobbling back and forth in the sky, unstable but elevated.

Yes, you are high.

“No,” You squeak.

Konig fails his role of alibi, leaning forward on the table to uselessly hide his laughter. His entire body jitters as he buries his face into his forearm.

You can’t hold it back, trying to keep your laughs from escaping your puffed cheeks, but failing spectacularly.

Price’s hands unfurl.

“Okay. Wow, alright. Did they make you do this?”

You and Konig share a look, trying to figure out what the right answer is. It’s clear you’re both relying on the other at this moment, and neither of you scrounge up a response.

Price releases a breath, staring down at the table with raised brows as he thinks on it.

You’ve pinned Price. Stumped the man who always has an answer. You can see him buffering, trying to decide how he should feel about it, and he’s drawn a blank.

“Can I?” You ask with a limp hand gesture - permission to interject his thoughts without waiting for his blessing - “If you want my opinion, I think we maybe, ah, maybe we earned it, yeah?”

Konig nods in agreement, his posture suddenly intact and his hands clasped politely in front of him. His lips fold in, and you can tell he’s trying to hold back another round of laughter.

When you meet Price’s face again, you do a double take, his forehead scrunched and his mouth parted as he stares down at the table. The gears are turning now.

You can tell he got a whiff that something’s up. Something that’s not the cigarette.

It occurs to you in this moment that you and Konig have not been acting like two people who were not only forced into that arena - but forced to be intimate against your will as recently as a couple hours ago. In hindsight, you and Konig probably should have pretended to be more traumatized.

But what fun is that on your last -

No -

It’s not how you’ve been acting.

Price’s squint eyes aren’t staring at the table, they’re locked onto the hand you gestured at him with, now resting flat in front of you. More specifically, the ribbon on your wrist, returned to its original owner and its fabric still splattered with rust-colored stains.

It’s too late to hide it from him, but you still pull your hand into your lap and uselessly try to shield your ribbon from the world.

You can see the progression of his thoughts, they’re written all over his hardened features. Time slows, and all you can do is watch with blown eyes and frozen breaths as Price comes to the conclusion you’d prayed he’d never cast light on.

A gallon of fuel is dumped on the embers of his suspicion when his stare flits to Konig’s fresh, bloody and bruised knuckles, but he won’t let himself believe it - not yet.

And then he finds your stare, bloodshot eyes open as far as they go, a nervous swallow rippling your throat, guilt oozing from every pore and distorting the air around you.

Price’s head tilts to the other side without breaking his boring stare. His brow raises, his eye twitches, and the flames of his suspicion erupt at full strength with a flare of his nostrils.

Every word is brought to a sharp, deadly point, an icy warning before he releases the full heat of his wrath.

“What did you do?”

Busted.

You don’t get a chance to answer, and he doesn’t get a chance to burn you with a scolding.

The elevator dings, and before your head whips around, you already know the sight waiting for you.

Peacekeepers, a band of them, barreling straight for you. You instinctively leap up from your chair, already holding your arms out in a brace. Konig grabs you by the arm and yanks you behind him, priming himself for a fight.

“Stop!” Price yells, “What’s going on?!”

“Price! Price!” You gasp as the uniforms close in, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“What did you do?!” He shouts.

He, once again, doesn’t get his answer, because a small but mighty needle drags you from consciousness in seconds, and you’re out before you’ve even hit the ground.

You sleep in the spring quadrant.

The sun is warm and inviting on your skin, and the plush grass soothing as you stroke the soft blades between the gaps of your fingers.

“Did you think you could get away with it?”

“What?” You ask through a laugh.

Konig raises to a sit on his jacket.

“Did you think you could get away with it?”

Your smile is falling, brows tight as you prop yourself up on your own jacket with your elbows.

“Away with what?”

When you meet his eyes, you suck in a breath. They’re not his eyes, they’re Eleven’s, clouded over with death and plastered on Konig’s intimidating form.

Konig’s hands shoot out, but his fingers are made of bone and his arms are only bloody, exposed muscle. The deafening sound of your bones snapping at his brute, flayed hands is the last thing you hear.

You wake with a hiss, limbs flailing as you find a sit.

Your lips stay parted as your sensitive, squint eyes dart around, your pulse beating throughout your body, breaths tight and wheezed.

There is no transition between unconsciousness and wake.

The dread is instantaneous. Your stomach drops, sweat oozes from every pore, and your heart hammers against your ribcage.

You spring to a stand much faster than your wobbly legs can handle, stumbling forward, breathy, desperate, and useless prayers on your lips. Your voice goes from quiet pleas to a shout so loud and powerful it tears your throat raw.

“No!”

Your head whips around, trying to find an exit, but you’re trapped, of course you’re trapped.

Your feet are stumbling through a field of perfect, plush grass, and you are surrounded by a large square pen of all too familiar and deadly hedge walls.

“No! No, no, no, no!”

As soon as you see him, weakly rising from his sprawled out position on the grass, your wobbly legs work up to a sprint.

“Konig! Konig!”

His head whips around, worried eyes locking onto you. He shouts your name and stumbles over himself as he works up to a run.

Your face takes the full brunt of the impact. You hear an unnerving, cringe-worthy crunch as the rest of your body slams against something solid and unforgiving, stopping you in your tracks. Stunned by a bright white light that explodes from the center of your vision outwards, the sharp pain echoes throughout your face in powerful, intense waves. Your hand shoots up to your nose, screaming under the touch of your hand and the instinctual pinch of your face.

Your grunts are pushed through grit teeth, eyes screwed shut and doubling over as you succumb to the pain.

Konig shouts your name, catching himself on an invisible force field that separates you, and he’s banging on it with the sides of his fists at once.

“Are you okay?!” He shouts, “What’s going on?!”

Your hand cups in the air just under your chin to catch the trickle of blood dripping from your nose as you meet his stare.

Horror pools in the eyes behind his menacing hood, because your expression says it all.

It confirms his suspicion, just before the announcer broadcasts over the speakers and seals your fate.

“Ladies and gentlemen - welcome to the first ever - Hunger Games Tiebreaker!”

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! <3 Thank you for all your lovely comments so far - they mean the world to me! They make my day and I always reread them on days I lose momentum (•̀ᴗ-)✧

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