#she does not want to be a dom. she does not want to be a dom.

[svtswhorehouse]

HIS BEST GIRL

pairings: bad boy!mingyu x good girl!reader genre: mdni, smut warnings: smoking, blowjob gone wrong ????, mentions of mingyu having a monster cock (IT’S A JOKE), oral (m), mingyu trying to orally cock train reader, reader overestimating her abilities, inexperienced reader, mentions of gagging, a few coughing fits, the reader cries, experienced mingyu, MINOR subspace, reader just wants to be called a good girl, she's kinda a brat ngl, some fluff idk how to describe it, mentions of mingyu being a mean dom, he doesn’t cum y’all sorry word count: 3.8k side note: reader is close childhood friends with ALL of seventeen and i will be writing other members with this particular oc as well. so much lore pls feel free to ask questions !! planning on making this a series, so enjoy :)

𐙚 previous + next 𐙚

Big, big, big.

You let out a whimper, doe eyes rolling up to look at the man peering down at you. Your lips were wrapped firmly around his cock, struggling as he inched himself further and further into your mouth. 

So big.

He was so damn big.

From arms to chest, it came as no surprise that Kim Mingyu was a man that worked hard for his body. He tended to coup himself up at the gym, spending hours upon hours lifting weights to gain the muscle he had acquired over the years. As expected, his cock was larger than most, if not, the biggest you have ever seen and the biggest you could have ever possibly imagined. Despite hearing the constant gossip amongst the girls on campus, you have finally gotten a chance to see for yourself and needless to say the monster cock rumors were true.

You have not a clue how you managed to find yourself in this position. In fact, you actually had no clue how you’ve been managing to find yourself in a lot of positions lately. After your escapade with Jeonghan a few days before, it left you excited, eager, and ready for more. You had always been one for learning new things and that intimate experience with him had opened up a whole new world for you – one in which you have never ventured in before. 

You squeezed your eyes shut as you did your best to take what Mingyu was giving you. He was only less than half way in and there was still so much more to go. It was impossible. You were sure of it. 

It would never fit. 

Mingyu however, despite your idling thoughts, loved a good challenge. He knew you could take it. Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but he was sure that with just a little bit more practice, he could train you to take his cock with ease. 

“Relax.” He said monotonously. His eyes were focused on where his length disappeared into your mouth, a groan forcing to escape from his lips. “You’re fine.” He reassured you as he stilled his hips while you gathered yourself. “Just breathe.”

Listening to him, you took slow breaths through your nose while you adjusted to the foreign feeling of something in your mouth. If it wasn’t his length that killed you, it would most definitely be his girth. It had only been a few minutes and your jaw was beginning to ache already. 

It was painfully obvious that you have never done this before and it was embarrassing to say the least. You were sure that other girls in which he has been with managed to take him easily without any complaint, so much more different from you and your lack of experience. For some reason you had the sudden need to show him that you could be just like those girls, maybe even better.

Making a decision that you were in fact not ready for, you rested a hand on Mingyu’s thigh and attempted to slide your mouth further down his cock. However, you definitely seemed to overestimate your abilities as you slightly gagged when it went a little too far and caused you to let out a muffled cough. 

Furrowing his eyebrows, Mingyu made a sound of disapproval as he watched you. He fisted at your ponytail, using your hair as leverage to gently pull you up and off of him. 

A whine escaped from your lips as soon as his tip slipped out. In such little time you had found yourself used to the feeling of something occupying your mouth and now that it was gone you didn’t enjoy the loss. You tried to dive back on him, but you were met with resistance instead. Mingyu’s hand snaked it’s way to your face as he lent forward on the couch to be somewhat eye level with you. 

“What did I tell you?” He asked with a stern voice. His fingers gripped at your jaw to keep you in place, making sure you didn’t shy away from the angry look he was sending your way. 

Your eyes were quick to fill with tears, not liking both his tone and the sudden confrontation. You were never the type of person who was fond of getting reprimanded – not when you were younger and not now as well. You tried to avert your attention to elsewhere, but Mingyu tsked in dissatisfaction. 

“Nuh-uh. Look at me.”

You typically tended to listen very well in any circumstance so needless to say it came as a surprise that you were acting a little out of the ordinary today. Your behavior was almost beginning to get somewhat bratty and Mingyu could only hope that it wouldn’t continue.

“What did I say?” He asked again. “Before we started this. What did we agree on?”

You bit your lip, suddenly nervous. “To take it slow.” You answered softly, your voice fading out as you spoke the words. 

“Mhm.” He nodded. “So why are we rushing things huh? I told you it’s not going to happen in one day, didn’t I?”

You shrugged, vaguely remembering that it took some time convincing Mingyu to allow you to suck him off. It was your first time doing this, let alone the second time doing something sexual altogether and he knew that. He made it very clear that if this was going to happen, it was going to go his way. However, seems like you had the wrong idea in mind for “his way” because according from what you’ve heard about Mingyu around campus, he never goes easy. It was always endless gossip about fast and hard. Rough and messy. Mean and humiliating.

This was nothing like what you originally imagined it to be like, but quite frankly maybe that was exactly what you needed. Maybe Mingyu knew your limits better than you knew your own. 

“M’ sorry.” You muttered as you looked down to fiddle with the ring on your finger.

Mingyu took a few seconds to respond, examining you instead. You didn’t take much of a liking to the way his eyes felt on your figure, causing you to shift around. He eventually opted to nod in response as he let go of your face.

For a second you thought he was done. That you blew your chances in learning how to give a blowjob and that was it – but instead he grabbed a cigarette from his pack, sparking it up and taking a long drag. Blowing the smoke up into the air, he leant back on the couch with his legs spread wide open. His cock stood tall in all it’s glory, hard and coated from your saliva. “Let’s try this again.” 

You perked up immediately at the statement, sitting on your knees between his legs. The carpet dug into your skin, but you didn’t take any notice to the scratchy feeling, instead giving the man before you your undivided attention. He was indulging you and better yet, corrupting you. 

With a hand resting on the back of your head and burning cigarette in the other, Mingyu led you back to his cock. He let his tip rest at your lips, swearing under his breath as he struggled hard not to slam right into your mouth from the sight of your innocent doe eyes peering up at him. 

Never in all of the years he had known you, did Mingyu think you two would ever be in this position. He was a menace in the bedroom, a hard dom and on certain occasions a brat tamer. He normally went for the girls who he could throw around. The ones who would get on their knees for him with just the snap of his fingers alone and the ones who wouldn’t care if he didn’t hold back in which he never planned to do in the first place. 

But this was different – this was you.

He wanted to move slower because although you didn’t know much about the joys of sex and pleasure, he did, and he also knew that you weren’t the type of person who could be easily thrusted into it. You were far too sheltered, far too nice, and far too pure.

“Gyu….” You whined, teetering on the edge of slight impatience. He was taking too long and you were beginning to get shy under his gaze.

The hint of desperation in your tone quickly snapped Mingyu out of his daydream and he jumped back into action soon after. “Open.” He ordered, to which you obeyed.

Your lips parted, mouth awaiting to be stuffed yet again. You almost looked like a puppy eager for it’s treat and Mingyu struggled to bite his tongue to hold back the degradation wanting to escape. 

If it was anyone else – oh if it was anyone other than you, he would have made them cry. He would’ve made them beg, and he would’ve made them show him how much they wanted it. It was quite shocking what affect you had on him. Only you had the ability to make Kim Mingyu go soft. 

“Good girl.” He praised, noticing that you followed his instructions well. 

You found it rather difficult to contain a moan, your thighs pressing together as the words floated straight to your head. Mingyu raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh as he took notice of the way you enjoyed being praised, just like he assumed you would.

The boys were always hard to read – all thirteen of them mostly silent and kept to themselves for almost the entirety of your life in which you’ve known them. However, for them, you were an open book. One in which they have read every single page to about a million times. 

“Stick out your tongue.” He instructed. 

Almost immediately, it darted out of your mouth causing dirty thoughts to flood the boy’s mind. You looked as if you belonged on the thumbnail of a porn video and for a second he seriously considered snapping a photo to keep for his eyes only. 

Groaning, he shook his head. “You’re killing me Y/N.” With a now clear mind, Mingyu slapped the tip of his cock against your tongue. Your eyes narrowed in on it, the want and need to have it deep inside your mouth as opposed to him just teasing you. 

But you were good and good girls don’t complain. 

After what seemed like a lifetime, Mingyu finally slid himself into your mouth. He only allowed a good two inches in at first, slowly working his way up to what you managed to take before. The ache in your jaw began to make a comeback and you almost wished you were a hippo, for the first time in your life envying their ability to unhinge their own jaws.

You can take it. You can take it. You can take it.

Mingyu gently inched himself into your mouth little by little until he was eventually over the halfway mark. Yet again you took steady breaths through your nose to help calm yourself down as your eyes began to water. Pushing away the urge to cough you instead clutched the man’s knee, using it as your personal stress ball. The fogginess that was beginning to cloud your mind was progressively getting more difficult to ignore and you struggled to gather yourself as your thoughts drifted and you found it harder to think. 

Mingyu steadied himself and locked his gaze on your face. He knew that look all too well – the one in which the lights were on, but no one’s home. He’s become quite accustomed to it, having seen it multiple times before with close to every rendezvous he’s had. This was the part in which he was supposed to humiliate and degrade. It was almost routine at this point. However, with one glance at the tears forming in your waterline, you just so happened to tug at his heartstrings. 

“You good baby?” He asked, pulling a bit of himself out of your mouth to make it somewhat easier for you. 

Barely registering his words, you paused for a beat to collect yourself before letting out a sound of assurance. Despite this however, Mingyu would seem to differ as the tears that were once threatening to fall surely enough went cascading down your face with just the blink of your eyes. 

“You sure?” He asked again, refusing to move. The time he spent making you wait was driving you crazier by the minute and it didn’t help that he kept your ponytail wrapped around his hand to prevent you from moving. 

You made a sound of approval yet again to give him the green light, this time being much more insistent with a little nod of your head. 

You didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want to stop. 

With a sigh, Mingyu bit his lip hesitating. Fortunately for you though, with him being distracted by his own thoughts, he made the mistake of loosening his grip on your hair by the slightest. You were quick to jump at the opportunity that suddenly arose, seemingly not having learned your lesson before – the one that invisibly states “it takes time to take a dick this god damn big.”

Instead of slowly pacing yourself further down his cock, in alternative you forced yourself much too quickly to slide in two more inches. Although a miniscule number to what most people might think, especially the already experienced – you could feel the tip of his cock drag against the back of your throat, the feeling hitting you like a hurricane. Your tears made an appearance once again, except now moving much more quickly and frequently down your cheeks as you tried your hardest not to gag. Your breathing picked up to assist with your struggle, swallowing around Mingyu’s cock when you realized you couldn’t inhale or exhale through your mouth. You reached a hand out, squeezing the man’s thigh a lot harder than you had before. The back of your throat felt raw and for a second you thought you might have possibly dislocated your jaw. 

Mingyu was quick to throw his cigarette down on the ashtray, leaning forward as soon as he processed your actions. You felt his hand thread through your hair, using it to get a grip and pull you off his cock. When the tip finally slipped out of your mouth, you instantly broke out into a coughing fit, no longer being able to contain it. Amongst your struggle however, to Mingyu’s surprise, you still seemed to be so persistent as your hand reached out to grip at the base of him despite needing a break. 

The man clenched his jaw, leaning in close to your face. “I’m gonna kill you.” He muttered, keeping a hand on you to provide a sense of space between you and his cock that for some unknown reason you seemed so eager to get back to. 

This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. He gave you an inch and you took a mile.

“I can –,” You coughed, “I can take it.”

Mingyu scoffed at your words, running his eyes over you to take in your state. You were a little bit short of a mess. Your eyes were glazed over, tears running down your face, and voice hoarse. You definitely could not take it. At least, not right now. 

“Y/N…” He started, trailing off when you rested your chin on his thigh while looking up at him. You were visibly deflating with each second that passed and Mingyu didn’t like that he was the reason for it. He knew you, and he also knew that you were trying your absolute best to be good for him. “Sure you can sweetheart.” He continued, striving to reassure you as he tucked himself back into his sweatpants. “But maybe some other time, okay?” 

You were not very happy with his answer and the whine of defiance that escaped your mouth let him know that. “Please Gyu, please.” You begged. “I’m fine, I promise.” Your pleas fell on deaf ears as he ignored you, already knowing that you were going to try and get him to change his mind, but it was already set and the decision was final. 

Scowling at the lack of his attention, before you could think, your hand came down on his leg rather hard, the smack ringing throughout the room.

“Hey.” Mingyu warned, tilting his head with his eyes set on yours sternly. “Quit it.” He said firmly, speaking through his teeth. 

Your own eyes held his fierce ones, eventually backing down with a huff when you came to the conclusion that you weren’t going to win. Suddenly refusing to look at him, you abruptly got up from your spot between his legs. He watched you carefully, stare following you as you got seated on the couch farthest away from him in annoyance. 

“Y/n…” He spoke your name, attempting to get your attention. You turned your head further to the side, ignoring him and not giving in. “Y/n.” He said much more strongly, however you still refused to to look in his direction. He let his gaze linger on you for a bit longer before chuckling to himself. “Brat.” He muttered under his breath, going to grab another cigarette to let off some steam. 

Silence filled the room, you mostly keeping quiet because you were angry and him because he knew you were just being stubborn. Mingyu could not deal with that right now – at least, not in the way he normally would if it had been any other girl in your position. 

You glanced over at him from time to time, looking away quickly whenever his eyes found yours. Your body was starting to get a little sluggish and for some odd reason your brain was fuzzy, but instead of making him aware of that, you kept it to yourself. The last thing you wanted to seem was weak. Mingyu however, is a lot smarter than that, especially in this category. He clocked the minor subspace you were slipping into as soon as it made an appearance, already knowing that there was a high chance in which you would fall into it knowing the person that you are. 

Most virgins do anyways.

You nibbled on your bottom lip, propping your arm up on a cushion to lean against it. The only thing you craved at the moment was warmth and comfort. You would have went running to Seungcheol and Jeonghan like you typically did, the oldest two always being able to fill that void – however instead you stayed glued to your spot on the couch. 

You wanted Mingyu at the moment and only Mingyu.  

Your eyes seemed to do the speaking for you, not realizing that you were staring at him with a sad and defeated expression. Mingyu scanned you up and down, finding it hard to resist your infamous puppy dog eyes as unintentional as they were. Sighing, he beckoned you over with the nod of his head. “C’mere.” 

You wavered, only jumping into action when he raised an eyebrow at your hesitance. Crawling forward on the couch, you perched yourself right beside him and curled up into his side. His arm wrapped around your body, the size of him compared to you being able to provide you with a sense of comfortability. 

Silence filled the air once again as soon as you were in his arms and the only sound that could be heard was him taking an occasional drag of his cigarette. You had gotten acquainted to the smell over the years, the scent of it no longer bothering you. Watching the smoke linger in the air with each puff he took, a question lingered on the tip of your tongue. 

“Can I try?” You asked, voice hopeful.

It took him by surprise to say the least. Never once have you shown any interest in the bad habits that himself and the boys picked up throughout the years they got older. Hell no, was the answer he was looking for in particular, but deciding you didn’t exactly need that blunt of a reply at the moment, he found something much nicer to deny your request. “Let’s move one step at a time hm?” 

You nodded, understanding that he had already indulged in one thing new that you wanted to try today and now you were asking for too much. “Okay.” 

With the conversation you two were having come to an end, Mingyu was finally able to have a moment of peace. He was a man that loved to party and loved playing music at full blast, however he also enjoyed the moments in which he could just let all the thoughts in his brain drift away. 

It seemed to be different for you however because while his thoughts were relaxing, yours were spurring. You kept on taking small glances at his face, wanting to speak up, but also not bringing yourself to disturb his peace. 

The ring on your finger went round and round in circles as you couldn’t stop fiddling and with each move of your hand it was driving Mingyu out of his comfortable state. Finally, after you had accidentally hit his stomach one too many times, he couldn’t bite his tongue any longer. “Spit it out Y/n.” 

You snapped your head up at him, not have expected him to speak. “Uhm….” You hesitated asking the question. 

Another question. Mingyu hated questions.

 “Was I –,” You stuttered, “Was I good?” Your voice was small and fragile. For a split second Mingyu thought you were going to breakdown into tears due to your own self doubt. He took in your composure, knowing exactly what your question entailed – you wanted to hear one thing in specific, the one thing you’ve been so intent on trying to be throughout this entire situation. 

“Mhm.” He hummed, bringing his hand up to your head to pet at your hair. His fingers laced through your locks, gently scratching at your scalp. “You were such a good girl for me.” 

A rush of giddiness coursed through you, but you were quick to push it down as your worrisome thoughts still stayed. “Really?” Your voice cracking this time as you asked again. 

Shaking his head in approval, Mingyu kept playing with your hair as he tried to ease your worries away. After some time, he stopped to kiss your temple. “The best.”

You resisted the urge to giggle, pushing your face into his neck as you suddenly went shy from his words. That was the only thing you needed from him for today and it left you feeling much more than content. 

Oh how you loved being praised and oh how you loved being called a good girl, especially by Mingyu – and that’s exactly what you planned on continuing to be, his best girl.

[jfkisonthemoon]

yjh is not the dom of yhk and this makes some people so uncomfortable that they let the fragment win and start mischaracterizing like its a fucking sport

[sphvm]

older sisters best friend g!p Daniela x fem reader???

Readers older sister and dani have a sleepover at reader house and dani just can't stop taking her eyes off of reader and she finally makes a move when she steps in reader room in order to check up on her.

One word: backshots

Reader(who's much shorter compared to dani) and dani have a 2 year age gap

Please and Thank you<333

make a move ��� daniela avanzini

daniela avanzini x fem!reader

tags: dom!dani, g!p dani, lil bit of praise

masterlist

MEN AND MINORS DNI

the house was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old wooden floors. the air was thick with the scent of lavender and vanilla, remnants of the candles your sister had lit earlier. dani, your sister's best friend, was sprawled out on the couch, her long legs draped over the armrest, her eyes never straying far from you. you could feel the weight of her gaze, a simmering tension that made your skin tingle.

dani was two years older than you, and she was much taller, with a lean, athletic build that spoke of hours spent dancing. her blonde hair cascaded down her back in curls, and her eyes were a piercing hazel, always seeming to see right through you. you, on the other hand, were much shorter, barely reaching her shoulder, and your frame was slender, almost delicate in comparison.

you’ve always had a bit of a crush on dani. you’ve never acted on your feelings, of course, dani is your sister's friend, and you've always been the responsible one in the family.

but tonight, as you're all gathered at your house for a sleepover, you can't help but notice the way dani keeps looking at you. she’s lounging on the couch, her long legs stretched out in front of her, and she keeps glancing over at you with a little smile on her face.

"i’m going to run to the grocery store to get some more snacks," your sister says, grabbing her keys. "you two be good."

as soon as she's gone, dani turns to you. "hey, can i come up to your room for a sec?" she asks.

you nod, feeling your heart start to race. you lead her up to your bedroom and close the door behind you. dani looks around, her eyes taking in your posters, your books, your bed.

without another word, she pushes the door closed behind her and leaned against it, her eyes never leaving yours.

"dani..." you began, but she cut you off with a shake of her head.

"shh," she whispered, her voice low and husky. "don’t say anything."

she pushed off the door and took a step towards you, her movements slow and deliberate. you could feel the heat radiating off her body, the air between you thick with anticipation. she reached out, her fingers brushing against your cheek, her touch light and teasing.

"you’re so beautiful," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "so perfect."

you shivered at her words, your breath catching in your throat. she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, "i know you want me too."

you nodded, unable to form words, your body trembling with need. whe chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. she pulled back slightly, her eyes raking over your body, taking in every detail.

"good," she said, her voice filled with satisfaction. as she presses her body against yours, you can feel the heat radiating off of her. your hands explore her curves, gripping her hips and pulling her closer. dani’s lips are soft and inviting as they press against yours, immediately moving, and you can't help but let out a low moan as she deepens the kiss.

"i’ve wanted to do this all night," dani says, breaking the kiss for a moment. her voice is husky and full of desire.

"mmf—me too," you reply, your own voice barely above a whisper.

your hands continue to roam dani’s body, and she does the same to you. you can feel her fingers tracing the outline of your breasts over your shirt, and you can't help but arch your back, pressing yourself into her touch. "you’re so fucking hot," dani murmurs, her lips finding yours once again.

as she continues to kiss you, your hands make their way under each other's clothes. you can feel the warmth of dani’s fingertips against your back as she caresses your skin.

she grips your hips and pushes you back, forcing you to stumble onto your bed with her following shortly after. as she climbed on top of you, she reached down, her fingers deftly unbuttoning your jeans. you gasped as she slid them down your legs, your underwear following soon after.

"on your back," she commanded, her voice firm and authoritative.

you obeyed, your heart pounding in your chest as you turned and propped your ass up. she moved behind you, you could hear her belt being taken off and her pants rustling as her hands gripped your hips as she positioned herself. you could feel the head of her cock pressing against you, the heat of it searing through your skin.

"ready?" she asked, her voice low and rough.

you nodded, your breath hitching in your throat as she pushed inside you, her cock filling you. inch by inch, you let out quiet whimpers, her fingers digging crescents into your hips. as she bottomed out, she let a soft groan out. “tell me when i can—mmf—move.”

after a second or two of adjusting, you looked back and gave her a nod. as her hips began to move, you felt a wave of pleasure wash over you. her cock slid in and out of you, the friction building with each thrust. you cried out, your body trembling with pleasure as she fucked you.

"fuck, you feel so good," dani whimpered, her voice husky with desire. ”so goddamn—tight!” she leaned forward, her lips brushing against your ear as the sounds of you hips clapping together grew louder.

you could feel her body pressed against yours, her skin slick with sweat. her hands gripped your hips, her fingers digging into your flesh as she thrust into you. “oh dani—oh my god—“

as she fucked you harder, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to coming. dani reached around and began to play with your clit, rubbing and pinching which sent you over the edge. you cried out, your body shaking with pleasure as you came.

dani fucked you through your orgasm, her pace increasing as she neared her own orgasm. finally, her head came down on your shoulder as she let out a loud moan, her body shuddering as she came. she collapsed on top of you, the two of you panting and sweating in the aftermath.

[l0v-ly-c4t]

Movie Night - Daisuke x fem!reader

Summary: You and Daisuke have a scary movie night, but it turns out he's too scared to sleep alone + after care

Pairing: smut and fluff

T/w: smut, mentions of Anya, protected sex, full consensual sex, loss of virginity, whinny soft dom Daisuke

Wc: 3,3K

A/n: This is an AU where the shitty compan- I mean, Pony Express doesn't exist, so our boy Daisuki is on college living his best life as the lover I know he is.

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━━ ❝ It has been some time since you started crushing on Daisuke. You met him when you first arrived at this school. Being the new student is taught, and he knew it, that's why he made so much effort just so you could have friends and feel welcome. After that you guys became best friends.

Obviously, you always thought he was handsome, and kind, and funny, but something about him kept bringing you closer, leaving you in the situation you're right now: friend zone.

The worst part is that, no matter how much you try to show him that you like him, he's just too danm naive to get a hint! Urgh, this feeling is consuming you from the inside.

Little did you know that he thought of you in the exact same way you did of him. Well, not exactly "exact same way." He had his own little way.

It took him a while to realize his feelings. At first, he just thought of you as his prettiest friend. He would stare at you and be lost in your looks without knowing why. He would always try and be useful for you, being it by carrying something for you or paying you something to eat at the cafeteria. He wanted to be around you all the time, he would get bored and blue without you.

It is actually impressive how he didn't realize his feelings until very recently, when he saw you talking very closely with another boy. How to describe his feelings? It wasn't jealousy, it was more a sense of loss. He finally realized that being friends didn't mean that you would always be by his side. For that, he needed to be more than friends. THAT'S when he realized his feelings.

But then, he panicked. "What does it mean??? Do I... l-like her?" Silly little thoughts like this were frequently on his mind. Oh, if only he knew that you thought of him too...

You and Daisuke were chilling on your sofa, waiting for the other friend of yours, Anya, to show up. You had decided to make a little movie section in your house since you and Daisuke haven't been able to talk much with Anya. She's just really focused on getting her degree.

You were both on your phones. Daisuke is playing some silly mobile game, and you are just scrolling down your tumblr timeline, looking for something fun to pass the time. It was already 8 pm, and Anya hasn't given any news yet.

"Dude, she must be really busy. She didn't even send a message or something!" Daisuke says, his lips almost pouting like a disappointed kid. "Don't worry, she has a lot of work to do, we can hang out another time." You confort him.

"Yeah..." he answers. "Is just that I was so excited, I was like 'Let's watch a movie, yay, bom bom clap!!!' But now I'm just 'yeah, movies'" He emotes.

"What?"

He sights. "Nothing. Do you still want to watch a movie? Just the two of us?" He asks.

"Yes, it'll be fun! Let's watch something scary!" You give the idea. Daisuke instantly smiled at your words, thrilled to watch a super super horror movie with you.

You let him choose a movie, and after a while, deciding which one, you finally settled on a psychological horror movie. You sat by his side on the couch, eventually laying your head on his shoulders.

Daisuke didn't even notice, but he would probably have blushed if he wasn't so absorbed in the screen. If you didn't know him, you would say he was scared.

After about 2 hours later, the movie ended, and Daisuke was just too pale. "Daisuke U good? Are you scared?"

"Me? Scared? Pfff, c'mom y/n!!! I'm the thoughtest guy you know!" He said, playing it off. "U sure? I don't want you coming at my room at midnight"

"Don't worry, you'll get your well-deserved beauty sleep, and I won't bother you," he said. "Whatever you say gorgeous" you played.

You guys watched some other movies, one scarier than the previous one. I mean, scaring for him. You were just cool, but Daisuke was biting his nails and playing with his fingers the whole time. You didn't pay much attention at the beginning, but as time passed, you could literally see his nervousness.

Worried for your friend psychological state, you decide that you should both take a bath and go to sleep, even though Daisuke kept swearing he wasn't dirty enough for a bath and that he could sleep that way just fine.

Both of you cleaned up you decide is time to sleep, the clock already hitting 2am. "S-so, am I going to sleep here? In the couch? A-alone?" He asks.

"Why? Are you scared?" You tease him, resulting in him making an angry face to prove it to you that he wasn't scared. "What? Naah, I'm, like, totally fine." He says. Oh, how he regretted that later that night.

You were almost falling asleep when you heard a light knock on your room door. You got up and checked just to see Daisuke, with the puppiest eyes you had even seen on a man, standing in front of your door eith a pillow under his arm. "Daisuke," you called. "What are you doing?

"You were right, I'm scared. Can we sit and talk just so I can fall asleep?" Daisuke said, silently begging for you to let him in already. You invite him to sit on your bed, and you both stay there for a while, just chilling. You were almost falling asleep again when he started a conversation.

"So.." he said. "Are u seeing someone?"

"Why are you asking this so randomly?"

"I-i don't know, I'm just trying to break the ice ans start a conversation" he eyes you. Even though the only light comes from the moon past your windows, you can notice the little blush forming on his cheeks and top of his ears. You also blush at the sight.

"Sooo, are you seeing someone or not?" He asked again "no I'm not. What about you?" You look back at him. "No"

At that moment, being right there on your bed sitting and talking in the middle of the night. That was so good to Daisuke. He didn't know why, but just to know that you weren't seeing anyone got him full of happiness, his sleepless far gone now.

You eye him, his lips hard pressed together. This feeling is new to him. He doesn't know how to describe it. He just wants to kiss you, hug you, and be close to you. So close that your bodies become one. In a fearless act, he leans closer to you, his eyes asking for permission as your lips grow closer and closer.

When your lips touch is like heaven to him. You were coight off guard, but you followed his actions without thinking twice. The kiss is slow and passionate, and the chemistry is just right. In a slow move, he drags his hands along your arms and place them behind your neck, pulling you even closer. He couldn't believe in his own actions. He was actually kissing you!

While one of his hands is still behind your neck, caressing the hair and pulling you more and more to him, his other hand travels to your tight. He's so scared he moves in slow motion. What if you feel uncomfortable? What if you pull away from him? He's so scared, but he needs to touch you, or he'll drive himself crazy.

Your body grew hotter as you felt the warmth of his hand gently caressing your tight. A low sound scales his lips when you pull the kiss apart, leaving him with a red face and pouty lips. "Is this real?" You asked. Daisuke didn't reply, he was too embarrassed of himself to do so. It all happened so fast he didn't have the time to think straight about his actions.

The kiss was something you wished for a long time, and now that it was actually happening, you needed time to cope. To be honest, you have always imagined you and Daisuke together. You have always wished for him, craving for him silently. You wouldn't let this chance go to waste.

He stares at you with doe eyes, melting your heart. He looks so cute and so sexy at the same time that you actually feel dirty for having this kind of thought about him. Not knowing how to proceed, you both just stare at each other. For a moment, it feels like time has paused. For a moment, everything is about him and you, sitting on your bed with clumsy feelings and red lips.

"H-hey, so.. c-can we do more? Like... I want to kiss you more." Daisuke breaks the silence. You look at him, but it feels like you're looking straight to heaven. All you want to do is kiss him more. Not just that, you want him in a way you never wanted anyone before.

"S-soo... are you going to accept or... it's okay if you don't wanna, really!! A-actually, I don't even know why I'm asking, haha!" He fake laughs. His face became more redish and fluttered. He was about to pull completely away from you when you throw yourself on top of him.

You kiss him again, this time in a more needy and desperate way. You caught him off guard, but it didn't take long for him to respond to your kiss. Very gently you start to move, now sitting on his lap, never breaking the kiss as you do it.

He's overwhelmed. He can't say he never thought of you on his lap, but to actually have you there is a totally different level. He can feel himself getting harder as you get closer to him, pressing your body onto his.

Your hands go around his neck, hugging him while you press yourself on his chest. His arms hug you from your waist, caressing your back and sending you chills. He slowly lowers his hands until he reaches your butt, gently grabring it.

"Ahh, so hot" he says between kisses, making you shiver and readjust yourself on top of his laps. You start to grind on his lap, moving in a painfully slow rhythm. With his hands still on your butt you trail your kisses dawn his jawline.

He's lost in the feeling of your mouth in his neck, and just the thought of you leaving hickeys on him makes him even harder down there. How lucky was him for having a girl like you on top of him? He didn't know. He just knew he was lucky as hell.

"I-i need to tell you something.." Daisuke says. You make a signal for him to continue talking but never leaving his neck, your mouth glued to him like you need him to survive. "I'm- ah, I never... uhm, I-m a v-virgin" he finally says.

You stop the kisses, and he panics for a moment. You move back to look at him, his lips red and glimpse from the earlier kiss. You take your hand and put on his left cheek, caressing a little to bring comfort to him. "I-i'm a virgin too. Hehe" you say.

"So, like, do you want to stop here?"

"No- I mean... we c-could make it work. O-only if you want to, or course!!" You say, now being the shy one. Everything is new to you both, the feelings, the sensations, the craving, the desires: everything.

After a while, just admiring you, Daisuke comes back to kissing, not lasting long and going straight to your neck. Now, it was his turn to leave marks on you. The little noises tha scape your mouth almost making him cum right there.

The make-out is way out of control now, both of you kissing and praising each other as the clothes disappear one by one. At one point, you were only in your bra and panties sitting in front of him.

With his hand, he reaches to your arm, slowly making his way to your back. Your faces so close to each other you could count the moles in his face. "Can I take your bra off?" He asks. You nod, and he proceeds to do so.

He helps you take it out and throws it where the other clothes were thrown previously. He trails kisses down your bodies, starting from your neck and going all the way down to your clavicle. He worships you like you're the last drop of water in a desert, kissing and leaving hickeys everywhere he passes.

When he finally reaches for your boobs he can't help but stare. "Ahh, you're just so pretty~ I want you all for me," he says, looking at you.

In a bold movement, you push him down, forcing him to lay on his back while you crawl on him until you reach his lap again. For a moment, you stop what you are doing. "Wait, what about protection?"

"There in my pants, in the wallet, there is one we can use." he says. You get up quickly and gind the condom exactly where he said it was. "Do you always have this thing with you all the time? Why?" You ask coming back to him. You sit at the same position you were before.

"For moments like this." he answers, making you blush and smile a little. He smiles, too.

You look down at him, the volume in his boxes being extremely visible. "This looks painfull" you say as you help him take his boxes, leaving him full naked under you. "Oh, it is, c-can you help me?" He asks, his voice clearly more desperate than before.

You take of your last piece of clothing and open the condom. Stroking him a little before, you put it on his dick. "A-ah, that's... so tight.." he hisses. "I think you underestimated you size baby"

He blushes. "Hey, don't you think it would be less painfully if I was the one on top?" He asks

"Well, maybe... I'm not actually sure."

"Let's try then." He gets you on his arms and switches the position, now being on top. This view of you makes him feel like on cloud nine. The prettiest girl he'd ever seen all open and needy for him? Danm, he could cum just by the view of you like this.

Not being able to watch any longer, he positions himself and moves forward, his dick filling you inch by inch. The pain makes itself present, but it's not something you can't handle.

"Ah- ahh, you're so tight... shit" Daisuke says as he finally puts everything in. "Oh yes, ahh~ you're so hot, so tight, hmmm.. so fucking good"

He lay his body down, letting his weigh on top of you. You can hear his little moans in your ears as you try to get used to his length. "Danm Dai, I didn't know you were s-so big"

"S-stop it, if you talk like this I might already cum." He smiles. "A-ah, I can't believe I'm finally in you"

"I-i think.. you can move now.." You say, the pain now transformed into pleasure, making you crave for more and more of him.

He starts to push into you, the feeling consuming your senses. The extase is just too much. You actually feel like you could come right there already. "O-oh my god, ahh~"

"D-do you like it? Am I, ahh- am I doing g-good?" He asks. His voice filled with luxury, whispering right at your ear. "Y-yes, yes"

He slowly picks his pace, savoring and discovering your body. He wants to know every place you're sensible at, every move that makes you moan louder, he wants to kiss every corner of your body and make you feel so special that your would come just for him. Gosh, that's his greatest wish.

You were getting overstimulated, your clímax approaching so fast your moans started to go silent. Then, he suddenly stops. You look at him with a sad eye, a moan of protest leaving your mouth as you roll your eyes at the back of your skull.

"W-why'd you stop?"

"C-can we switch positions? Uhm, there's this one position I've always wanted to try.." he asks, his lips pouty like a little kid and his dick twitching inside you like a rock. You were in so much pleasure that you would accept anything this man asked you, so you instantly agreed.

He guides you how he wants, and you end up on all fours, with your chest glued on the bed and your ass up like a cat. He stands behind you, his eyes betraying him as he worships you. "Shit, you're so hot, you know that? Perfect, just perfect, ahh"

He positioned himself again, not sparing time for you to get used to him, going as fast as he can the moment he's inside you. He's crazy. So lost in the souce he can't make a proper sentence, he just yaps nonsense and moans desperately, seeking his hight just as he seeks your pleasure.

Your moans are like music to his ears. The more you moan, the more he knows he's good for you. "Aahhh, I don't think I'll- hmm, last any, uh longer" he moans.

He's now totally on top of you, his chest glues to your back while he leaves kisses, hickeys, and bites at your neck, making your pleasure ten times bigger. He's pushing as fast as he can, trying to make you feel as special as him.

"Ah, I-I'm gonna, ahh!" He screams. His movements become more erratic as he reaches his high. The condom becoming even more tight in his cock, now full of his liquids. You can feel his cock throb inside you, the feeling pushing you over the edge, making you both come at the same time.

The movements stop, and you just stay there trying to catch your breaths. After a while, he comes out of you and removes his condom. He lays down at your bed on his back, right by your side. You lay on your tummy and you look at each other.

"Did I do well? Was I good enough?" He asks.

"You were perfect, Dai" you reply. His eyes light, and he finally relaxes. You go closer and kiss his forehead, then his cheeks, then his nose, then you finally leave a peck at his lips. He looks at you with heart on his eyes. He's confident he's the happiest man in the world.

"So, are you seeing someone?" He asks. "Yes," you reply, "you."

After taking a bath, you both finally lay down to rest from your tiring movie night. He's hugging you from behind, leaving sugary kisses on your neck where the bruises start to appear. "Sorry I marked you, I went a little wild, hehe"

You turn to face him. "It's okay, Dai," you smile. He looks at you and throws a sad smile. You know him too danm well to recognize when something is off with him, and since he's just naturally honest, it's usually not hard to find out what it is that is bothering him.

"What happened?"

"Can I ask you a serious question?"

"Sure, go on," you reply.

"What's your favorite Pokémon?"

"Are you serious??" You ask. The sound of his laugher travellings straight to your heart.

"No, seriously now. Do you... happen to like me? Or something?" He plays with his fingers while looking down, just occasionally looking up to see your reaction. You don't even need to think before you answer him. "Yes, I do." You say.

When he was about to say something, you heard a ringtone, someone was calling you.

"It's Anya!"

"God, FINALLY!"

You accept the call. "Girl, you could have sent a message!" You sight. "It's okay, we understand. What I did all night? Ah, you know, casual things... cupcakes." Daisuke smiles by your side. "Okay, rest well, se ya!" You hang the call.

"Is my new nickname 'cupcake'?" He plays.

"Shut up."

F/n: Sorry if it looked like I was babying him, I just had this thought of him being a really sweet young guy. Also, sorry if it looked rushed, I am DEFINATLY NOT a professional, both in writing and in English. (Please tell me if I made a spelling mistake)

[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

[thesassypadawan]

Make Them Blue (Clay x FemReader) *Blurb*

Summary: It’s No Nut November and, as per tradition, Clay stubbornly takes part like he always does…every year.  However, unlike the past times, you’re not nearly as supportive.  Going out and buying something so spicy, so tantalizing.  That you’re sure he won’t be able to resist or deny his little slut what she wants.      

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s sooo much of the smut.  Thigh fluffing, fun from behind (giddy up), dom whiskey neat, slight teasing/edging, and…  his thick, long dick.

Notes: Happy No Nut November all you, lovelies! 🤍💙

- “Desk…now…”

- With the snap of his fingers, you scamper…bend forward, over it.  Body shivering, nipples pebbling from the cool sensation of the polished surface.  From the anticipation and thrill of observing in the mirror’s reflection as Clay discards his suit jacket and vest on a nearby chair.

- “Oh, sweetheart,” he chuckles, tsks gently.  Rolling up his sleeves, shrugging out of his spenders.  “Couldn’t stand to behave a minute longer…”  Smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth, while he approaches from behind.  “…could you?”

- Big hands glide, ascend your thick legs.  Palming and rubbing your squishy globes through the silky fabric.  Causing sparks and tingles of pleasure to erupt, run rampant.  Sweet, tiny coo falling from your parted lips.  “Mew…sorry.  I just really needed it.”

- “Needed…what?”  He echoes; voice dropping lower, growing more gravelly.  Blue eyes locking with yours, hint of something dark flickering behind them. rounding it out.  “My attention…”

- Nimble fingers fiddle, play with the delicate hem; push, bunch the white teddie up over your full hips.  Revealing your garter belt, matching sheer panties.  Lightly calloused tips linger on, trace the curve of your cheeks for a moment.  Snaps the flimsy waistband, nudges them to the side.  “My touch…”

- Metal clinks, tinkle softly.  Your gaze focused intently on the sight of him unbuckling his belt, unzipping his trousers.  The dark spot soaking, forming on the front of his boxers…along with the prominent bulge that strains them.  “Or maybe…”

- Freeing his painfully hard, leaking length.  Pumping it lazily, spreading and covering it in a milky layer of his pre.  He smears the excess, wiping his hand clean on your plush thighs.  “My cock…”

- “Everything,” you whimper.  Hips canting back into his; seeking out relief for your ache, burning desire.  Moist, warm core brushing at his fat head.  String of tacky slick connecting the two.  “Please…I need everything.”

- Leaning forward, Clay presses his still clothed chest against your exposed skin.  Using his weight to pin, hold you down.  One hand grips your hip firmly, for good measure.  “Since you asked so nicely…”

- The other ventures lower, seeking out and finding your sensitive bud.  Circling, tugging on it a bit harshly.  While he teases, prods your entrance; occasionally slipping past the tight rim, but just the tip.  “I'll give you it all…”

- Stream of desperate, small mewls and squeaks bubble up from your throat.  The heat pooling inside your stomach so intense, overwhelming.  “But…”  That you weakly attempt to impale yourself on him, only to have him jerk away.  A solid smack landing on your backside, curves bouncing and jiggling from the recoil.  “By my terms…”

- Repositioning, grinding against your thighs.  He ruts slowly, covering the supple flesh with his pearly essence.  Continuing to toy with your clit when he suddenly flicks his hips.  Sinking between your pillows, just below your trembling cunt.  Groaning, growling in your ear.  “Because you're the one making me lose the bet…”

- Without remorse, he begins to thrust at a brutal pace.  Smug, almost proud look on Clay’s handsome face as he watches how he pleases himself.  How he uses your body to get off, to chase after his own blissful high.  “All because you’re nothing more than a spoiled…”

- Nails scrape and scratched at the desk; sending papers, various items crashing to the floor.  You wriggle, whine beneath him.  Begging, pleading for him to pound your pussy; that it’s been too long since you’ve felt him stretch, ruin you.  Come on and all over his dick.  Instead he nibs, bites your neck in warning; continues to rub your skin raw.  “Bratty…”

- Slamming roughly on last time; sending you lurching forward, scraping across the wood.  Fingers dig into your waist, pinch your nub hard.  As Clay paints the inside of your thighs creamy white.  Staining your panties, garters, lacey thigh-highs.  Soiling them along with your own juices.  “Little Slut…”

- A few stray fat drops trickle, drip down.  On to the floor, onto to his phone.  The screen lighting up.  Showing a picture of you sent earlier, wearing the same skimpy lingerie set to the background.  “My little slut…”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @anakinstwinklebunny, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @beresfordsgirl, @kenmaiica, @sythethecarrot, @xx-ttamaraa, @everydaydreamer, @rafeswifeyy2, @laoif, @xhunnybeeex, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @fredswrite

@littlelamy, @khoatic-with-no-energy, @raiwpenl, @malinadbbdh, @strokingforyou26, @xspacexwitchx, @em-21, @hearts4sammonroe, @shouldbetakencareof2, @loxbbg, @supersoldatbarnesstuff, @thesilentreaderrrrr, @theoriginalsinner28, @dumb-slut-things, @indigoblues1207, @ald6518, @julxstrawberry, @wh0sl0ttie, @tojis-missing-arm, @xoxo-hayden-fangurl-xoxo, @theladykassia, @doblasftcisco, @morguexmvp, @f4iryjinsworld, @nyxiesstuff, @heymamasblog, @justsomeimbicel, @prettywhenicry-777, @femme-is-typing, @maddis0n4, @ttdrake, @melmurkun, @brattyyybbg, @zara13ts, @bigaoibhe2024, @neocitywhore, @ter-luer, @ladyanaschmidt, @sarahflores07,  @death934, @dovepevensie, @adorebambie, @pookiswookis, @icecoldhearts, @elliemariscal, @allievalll, @moonlxght-tyler, @1-racha, @tosterwwannie, @inejghafawifesblog, @carlgrimeswifeofficial, @hellemo666, @pitas-star, @sapphirefrog-blog, @carlgrimeseyepatch, @melonmochi, @coldcupcakedinosaur, @juli007, @skyguy8108, @frogtowne, @jennasco, @nothinspecial1000

[sinful-lanterns]

SMAU but it's Zero and Moore fighting over you fr

Even if I can see Zero fit the sugar baby position a little m(o)ore, my mind is fixated on the fact that she would be a total brat and just steal you all for herself when she gets the chance 🤭 and, since theres clearly a, let's call it "rivarly tension" between her and Moore making the latter her sugar mommy makes it even funnier and interesting

The sugar baby who rebels and goes against her role just to show the sm that she can make you feel even better, smirking while she fucks you senseless on her cock 😩💜

Moore is the type to make you put inside a vibrator and keep it while she teases you for minutes, watching you squirm on her lap and smile, going up and down with the speed. After who knows how many orgasms you are almost in tears, the sight and pleas just make her even more excited for some reason, it's almost as if she likes to watch you struggle to not pass out on her lap 👀 Moore likes to praise you for that, and before you notice that her glasses are missing she's already changing position to finger you (if you feel desperate brave enough she might let you keep the small vibrator inside while she does so🤭) something about her "switching" from soft to dommy all of sudden is what makes you excited the most.

(her art in the event and interrogation altered my brain chemistry, you can literally make her soft but also a little sadistic when she removes her glasses djndskmd her double personality kills me/pos)

Zero has surely some competition to beat, but that won't stop her from stealing you mid sex sometimes, just to end up fucking you with Moore in combo~

-🧶 anon who loves them both

CW: Sextape, threesome, transfem! Zero

AXVHAIKSKKSDN OH HOW BADLY I WANT TO BE DOMMED BY THESE TWO 😩

Zero seems like the type to snatch you up when Moore’s not looking and send her a sex tape of her banging the hell out of you. Moore would just be in her office late at night, curious as to why she got a text from Zero…only to receive a five minute long video of Zero fucking you doggystyle in front of the camera.

The camera footage and audio quality is kind of shitty tbh, but Moore can most definitely make out the sounds of your moans as you cry out Zero’s name. Your pretty, lewd expressions so vivid in front of the camera while Zero smirks down at the screen and rams her small dick repeatedly, almost mocking Moore as she goes “say hi to Mommy Moore, baby. Give her quite the show, yeah? Make her regret working overtime instead of coming over…”

And ofc, Moore is seething in quiet jealousy, before packing up her bags and clocking out for the night, rushing towards the SMC where she knows Zero is hogging you all to herself. It won’t be long before the door to your private room is swung open, with your blessed Mommy Moore standing there to satiate you herself.

You whine when Zero’s dick suddenly slips out of you, as she is gently (yet forcibly) pulled from your needy cunt by Moore, but not before being replaced by her fingers instead! Both women are bickering at each other (mostly Zero who is salty that she was pulled out before she could cum) but Moore hushes her and continues massaging your greedy cunt on her fingers, telling Zero if that she wants to get off, she could justice your mouth instead.

Ough…to get fucked by Zero and Moore seems like such a dream 🩷

[yoonmetogether]

Hook, Line & Stinker

A Min Yoongi one-shot pairing: workaholic!dom!yoongi x needy!brat!fem reader feat. hoseok genre: est. relationship, pwp rating: M for mature and explicit content. No one under 18 should interact summary: you love your boyfriend, but it really sucks when he holes himself up in his studio for days at a time, leaving you at home alone. when you visit him to make sure he's still alive and well, you have no intention of dragging him away from his work. but is there anything wrong with a little distraction in the form of lingerie? warnings: jealousy, angst, (blonde snapback) yoongi is moody, reader feels neglected and pushes his buttons, arguments, there's no infidelity but reader pretends she takes an offer on a date w/ hobi and yoongi worries bc of insecurities and then brings up his ex, under the desk bj, exhibitionism kink, unprotected sex (if he doesn't wrap it, don't let him tap it!), rough make-up sex, oral (m. and f. receiving), spanking, spitting, light choking, multiple orgasms, i think this is pretty filthy, reader gets upset but yoongi takes care of her, they kiss & make-up & talk about boundaries, they love each other, fluff ending, this is my first time posting something like this so please let me know if i missed any tags!!! wc: 10.8k 🤪 also shoutout to my beta reader @yoonglesyeobo who gave me feedback in bullet-points for this, honestly the best!!!

You punch in the code to Yoongi’s studio (which just so happens to be your birthday), slightly irked that you have to come all this way because your boyfriend wants to continue to be a workaholic after you’ve lectured him countless times about the importance of taking a break. So you arrive with food and a cute lil outfit you think will help distract him.

Upon entering, you see he is deeply entranced by his screen and you can hear the echoes of music blasting through his headphones. You quietly maneuver inside and set the bag of takeout on the coffee table before tiptoeing up behind his chair and slowly reaching up to his shoulders. You roughly grab them and laugh at the way he jumps and tears off his headphones.

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaims as he turns to see who just scared the shit out of him. 

“Deng! Guess again,” you say with a grin, leaning down to kiss him on the head. When you go to poke his nose, he bats your hand away and mumbles.

“You could’ve given me a heart attack.”

“Well, that’s one way to get you out of the studio. Give you a ride home in an ambulance. I never thought of that,” you sneer playfully, giggling when he glares at you. You slide back to the food on the table. 

“Come eat, Min PD.” 

“I’m almost done,” he grumbles and turns to face his desk. You roll your eyes. 

“No, sir. You need to eat or you’re gonna make yourself sick, and guess who has to take care of you,” you scold as you tug on the back of his chair to twist him around and he looks up at you with a whine. You would never want him to get sick, but if he does, you'd love to baby him, and not just because you'd find it amusing how he'd act like he didn't like it as he has many times before. You've learned over the course of your relationship that he can take care of himself when he's sick, but now that you live together, he's been known to ham up his symptoms so you'll dote on him hand and foot. And he does just the same for you, even goes out of his way sometimes. One time he called off work for an entire week when you got the flu and wouldn't hear any of your arguments that you were fine alone.

“I will! I just need a couple minutes.” 

You click your tongue. “A couple minutes to you is like eight hours. I swear, you go through a time warp every time you come in here. You know it's been three days since I last saw you? Let’s go.”

You grab onto his arm and tug him, but he goes slack in his chair and makes protesting noises as you drag him towards the coffee table, laughing when he stretches his other arm at his desk like he’s being pulled away from a long-lost friend. 

“You are such a drama queen,” you sigh as you let go of his arm.

“I was almost done,” he pouts, crossing his arms. You roll your eyes as you take out the food you brought.

“Sure, sure. Just eat real quick and you can finish in 'a couple minutes,’” you say sarcastically with air quotes, and he scowls, nonetheless leans forward to reluctantly grab the box of food you hand him. 

You walk around the edge of the table and stop in front of him. You smile as he begins to eat his noodles, so you grab his chin.

“Good boy,” you quip, and lean down to press a kiss to the corner of his lips, catching him off guard. 

He coughs a bit as he processes what you said and watches you with wide eyes as you sit down in his lap. You laugh at his expression as you open your container of food and grab a pair of chopsticks. You both sit in silence and eat, glancing at him every now and as he chews with his head down, a line drawn between his brows that looks like he’s trying to figure out something. 

“How’s your food?” you ask before taking a sip from your bottle of water.

“Good,” he grumbles without looking at you. “Thanks.” 

You shift to get more comfortable in his lap and he starts to chew faster.

After he nudges you off his lap and helps you clean up, he turns around to scoot his chair back to his desk.

“Thanks for coming by and all, but I think you should leave."

You scoff, mildly hurt. “Why?”

“Because I know what you’re trying to do.”

You realize what he means and the brat in you makes an appearance, so you throw your hair haughtily over your shoulder and slyly walk up to his chair, sliding a hand down his arm.

“And what is that exactly?”

“You’re trying to distract me, but it’s not working,” he says through curled lips, staring at his screen.

“No?” you smirk. You squat and fold your elbows on the arms of his chair, propping your chin up on your wrist. “How am I being distracting? All I did was bring you food.” 

He turns his head to glare at you, but his Adam's apple bobs when he looks down at your position, how your legs are spread to reveal the meat of your thighs, then at how you smile at him in a pseudo-innocent way. 

“Exhibit A, B and C,” he says, gesturing to your legs, tits, and face.

You grin. “What? I’m just looking at you.” Your voice however drips in seduction. 

He shakes his head and looks back at his screen, trying to stay strong. 

“Precisely.”

Your tongue pokes into your cheek in amusement and a devilish lightbulb flashes in your mind. 

“How is me looking at you so distracting?” you ask, settling on your knees before gliding a hand over his leg. “Wouldn’t it be something more like this?” 

His mouth pulls into a thin line as he struggles to keep his eyes focused up. You slowly push at his leg to move him towards you so you can rise in between his knees, smiling at the way he refuses to look at you. You begin to slide your hands up his thigh, licking your lips as you head for his crotch, but he catches your wrist.

“Don’t,” he commands, now looking down at you with a serious expression.

Undeterred, you push your bottom lip out in the brattiest pout, and the severe clench in his jaw shows how hard he's fighting to keep his guard up. 

“You’re just so stressed, and I want to help you… relax.” 

He closes his eyes and swallows, and you just know he's trying to keep his imagination away from thoughts not suited for work.

“I appreciate that, baby, but I’m almost done here and when I am, I’m all yours, okay?” He lets go of your wrist to smooth out your pout with his thumb. 

You believe him, but still, you want to bother him after he hasn't paid attention to you in a few days.

“Fine,” you sigh and start to stand up. “Well, I guess I can’t ask you for your advice on what I bought. If I want to return it, today is my last day, so it’s now or never.” 

You only take one step away when his hand grabs your wrist. You smile. Hook, line, and stinker. 

You look back in faux confusion. He licks his lips and swallows, hesitant yet desperate to find out what you’re talking about.

“What do you need my advice on?”

Without hesitation, your hands fly to the hem of your shirt. “Oh, just this.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath as you tear off your shirt to reveal a lavender corset bra. The lace is embroidered with delicate floral designs to reveal the lower half of your breast, just barely covering your nipples, and parts of your ribcage below. His throat goes dry. 

“It has a matching thong too. Wanna see?” Your question is rhetorical because you give him no time to breathe as you unbutton your shorts. You bend over to shimmy them down your legs, making a show of wiggling so your breasts move side to side. 

You kick your shorts to the side and stand straight, carding your hair out of your face before placing your hands on your hips and standing confidently in front of him. 

“So, what do you think?” you ask, cocking your head to the side as his wide eyes go up and down your form. 

“It’s pretty,” he swallows, biting his lip to ignore the twitch in his boxers. 

“Oh, see how it looks from behind.” You twirl around and adjust the clips of the corset then the hem of your thong, sticking your ass out in the process. “Isn’t it cute?” Yoongi is screwed. 

You look at him from over your shoulder. “Do you like it?” 

He nods, barely hearing you as his eyes train on the way the string of the thong disappears between your cheeks. You smirk when his tongue pokes out just over his teeth.

“The lace is really soft too. Here, feel,” you say, spinning back around and walking up to him, rubbing your fingers over the lace below your breast. 

He swallows, wanting so bad to reach out and touch, but knowing if he does, it’s over for him, he’ll lose. But shit, you look good as fuck, and he can’t help but give in. 

You grin as he reaches his hand out to feel the lace and he hums in approval.

“It’s nice,” he says, voice deep and starting to give away his desire.

“It’s even better here,” you say, gripping his wrist to plant his hand on your breast and he purrs as he lets his fingers squeeze your flesh. 

You let him massage for a second or two and judging by his face he looks closer to giving into your distraction, but you'll wait.

“Okay, since you like it, I won’t return it,” you say, dropping his hand and turning to grab your shorts off the ground. “Thanks! I’ll let you get back to work.” 

You bend over again to pick up your shirt, your ass right in his line of sight and he can’t deny the rock-hard bulge in his jeans. 

“I’ll see you when you get home,” you say as you walk over to the table but his low voice rumbles through the sound-proof studio.

“Get your ass back here,” his words shoot straight to your core, the string of your thong growing wet. 

“I thought you said you have to work,” you say innocently. 

“Right now,” he growls, and you move towards him like a magnet. 

Once again next to his chair, he slides his fingers underneath the lavender straps stretching over your hips to cup your exposed ass. Your skin flares hot when he squeezes.

“I don’t want to distract you.”

His dark eyes filled with lust shoot up to you and flicker with anger.

“It’s a little fuckin’ late for that, doll,” he grits. “You made a problem and now you’re going to fix it.” He moves his other hand to palm his bulge. Your eyes widen at the motion, and you cross your legs because, shit, you want to sit on that so bad.

“And then you’re going to leave and let me finish what you interrupted and wait for me to come home.” 

“Yeah? Then what?”

His lips curl in what could be a growl, and he smacks your ass, pushing you to stand between his legs. 

“Then I’m going to punish you for getting me hard at work.”

You moan as his hand moves to your front and feels over the lace material that covers your pussy. You shudder when his fingers slip between your thighs, battling with the string of your thong to rake over your clit and slit, groaning at how wet you already are. 

“Fuck, you really get this turned on just from teasing me?”

You whimper in response as he drags his finger over your bud before removing his hand. 

“We need to do something about that,” he says, sticking his fingers in his mouth to suck your arousal from them. Your legs shake involuntarily. “You can’t keep pissing me off so you can get your way.”

You breathe out a moan as he pops his wet fingers into view and licks over them slowly with his tongue flicking in the v-shape while looking right at you before dropping them to his lap. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you imagine him doing that right on your clit.

“I keep saying, you make it too easy.” 

He bares his teeth before gripping your sides and pulling you down to his lap, pushing your hips to roll on his groin.

“Or maybe you just need to have the brat fucked out of you,” he growls into your ear before biting the skin below it. Before you can do anything, he pushes at your waist and tells you to get on your knees on the ground, raking his hair back in frustration. 

You hesitate as you stare at his crotch, wanting to reach for it but remembering all the times he's tied you up for touching him without permission.

“Get to work,” he says, letting his wrists dangle casually from the arms of the chair, bracelets clacking.

You greedily sit up on your knees as your fingers dig around under his sweater for his belt. You quiver at the sound of his buckle coming loose and bite your lip when you see the bulge straining in his underwear after you undo his jeans. Just as you begin to reach into his boxers, someone knocks at his door.

You both react in panic.

“Hyung, can I come in? I need to show you something,” the sound of Hoseok’s voice echoes from the other side of the door.

“Shit!” he breathes, pushing your hands away from his belt and rolling in his chair over to where you left your clothes on the floor. However, you have no intention of moving.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He asks exasperatedly in a hushed tone when he finds you sliding back under his desk on your hands and knees.

“Yah, Yoongi hyung!”

Yoongi’s head whips between you and the door, blood pressure spiking. You put your hand out for the clothes he’s holding.

“It’s too late, I’ll just hide under here. He won’t see me.”

Yoongi’s jaw moves in annoyance, but he has no time to argue with you. So, he scoots his chair all the way under his desk to shield you with his widespread legs, throwing your clothes in your face. It works because you can barely see out beyond his lap, thanks to his wide and thick thighs, but this is no good news for Yoongi because another evil and salacious idea forms in your mind.

“It’s unlocked!” Yoongi calls and braces himself, praying that Hoseok cannot see under his desk.

As the door opens, Yoongi quickly busies himself at his computer, pretending that he doesn’t have his half-naked girlfriend underneath his desk and face level with his crotch. 

“Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to ask your advice on something.”

Yoongi’s brow ticks. Why is everyone asking for his advice today? 

“It’s fine, Hob-a, what’s up?” He asks, trying to play it cool. 

But as Hoseok stands next to him at his desk, he feels hands slide onto his lap and he grips the edge of the table, hoping that you're only just teasing him. But that hope doesn’t last very long.

Hoseok wants to know what he thinks about one of his tracks, that there’s something off about it but he can’t figure out what. Hoseok hands Yoongi his flash drive and he plugs it into his PC, and as he clicks around for the file your fingers inch towards his unopened jeans.

As Hoseok points at the screen about different parts of the track he’s concerned about, Yoongi grinds his teeth, urging himself to stay focused even when you begin to palm at his clothed dick. He thinks about kicking you, but all thoughts get cut off when you reach in through the hole in his boxers and pull his cock out. Fuck, he's needy for you, even in the most unorthodox way. He jerks when your hand wraps around his length, the other diving back in to squeeze his balls but he plays it off like he’s adjusting in his seat, masking his moan with a cough. He slides forward in the chair so you can have easier access.

Shit. How can something so wrong feel so motherfucking good?

“You okay?” Hoseok asks, giving him a wary side glance as Yoongi clicks around the screen.

The older, sweating man nods stiffly and clears his throat. 

“Yeah. It’s just been a long day. Do you wanna run it through?”

Hoseok leans over for the mouse and Yoongi takes the chance to let his expression crack while you run your tongue up the thick, pulsing vein on the underside of his dick, hand circling around his base.

Yoongi’s eyebrows pinch in fierce concentration on Hoseok’s track once he hits play but all of a sudden, your lips wrap around his tip, and you suck him into hollowed cheeks, devastatingly slow so as to not make noise even though the music would surely cover it. Stifling a groan, he straightens his back and presses his ribcage against his desk when you swirl your tongue around him. He’s going to fucking get you later. 

Hoseok hits the spacebar and pauses the music. As it stops, you halt your movements. “See, there. Something doesn’t sound right.” 

Yoongi’s brows furrow as he tries to center his attention even though your hand is massaging his balls.

“I think I missed it, sorry.” 

Hoseok sighs but moves the mouse to rewind back a few beats. He points at the tracker on the screen to tell Yoongi which part to pay most attention to and he nods.

As the music resumes your mouth returns to his length, and you slowly move down until his tip hits the back of your throat and he holds his breath at the pleasure, moan catching in his chest. He's so goddamn pissed that you’re doing this to him, but it feels so good at the same time. He tries his best to resist the urge to let the pleasure consume him, so he knocks off his snapback to pull his fingers through his hair and begs his brain to focus on the music. 

“Right here, hyung,” Hoseok murmurs next to him and Yoongi nods, listening closely even though your hot tongue licks from his base to the tip. 

Then he hears it, some strange offbeat in the background and he taps the spacebar, sighing through his nose when the silence makes you retreat.

They go over it for a while until Yoongi finally figures out what’s going on since the blood returns to his brain once you stopped touching him (although that doesn’t mean he isn’t still hard, and his dick isn’t twitching in your face and making you salivate and want to touch yourself). 

“Ah, okay, I see what you mean,” Hoseok says when Yoongi explains that there’s an extra beat embedded that’s easy to miss. “Thanks.” He claps him on the shoulder.

“Is that all you need?” Yoongi asks just to be polite but prays Hobi makes a quick exit. 

He nods as he saves the file before ejecting it and Yoongi pulls out the flash drive and hands it to him. 

“How long have you been here?” 

“Uh, a while, but I’m almost done.” Yoongi hopes Hoseok doesn’t see the way his eyes squeeze shut when you begin to move your thumb over his leaking tip.

“Good. You deserve a break! You’ve been working so hard.”

“Thanks, Hob-a. You too.” 

“How’s your girlfriend?”

Yoongi internally groans, now of all times Hoseok wants to make small talk. 

“She’s fine,” he says in a tight voice, only because you have lightly dragged your fingers up his length.

“Uh-oh. Troubles in paradise?” 

Yoongi’s eyes widen in confusion and your hand stills. “No? What makes you say that?”

“Oh, just saying, because usually when anyone asks you about her, you gush for like twenty minutes.”

Yoongi’s face and neck flushes a dark red and you have to press a hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet. 

“Do not,” he grumbles, although in denial. 

Hoseok snorts. “Fat lie, hyung. You always jump at the chance to talk about her, you don’t realize that? It’s cute! Well, in a sickening kind of way, but still.” 

Yoongi glares at him as he feels your head fall onto his knee, trying to keep yourself from laughing.

“Shut up,” he grumbles.

“Why? Are you embarrassed?” Hoseok teases in a baby voice, bending down to pinch at Yoongi’s cheeks. “Cute Yoonie loves his girlfriend so much that he wants to talk about her all the time.”

“Fuck off, Hoseok,” Yoongi mumbles, swatting at Hoseok’s fingers and pushing him away as he turns back to his computer, and thankfully you’ve cut him a fucking break under his desk.

Hoseok snickers and grabs his laptop. “You better go home and see her, go on a date. But if you’re too busy, I’d be more than happy to take her out for you!”

“Yah, Jung Hoseok!” Yoongi bubbles with fury and Hoseok just cackles and scurries to the exit. 

“Bye!” Hoseok grins mischievously, wiggling his fingers in the air before closing the door behind him. 

A few seconds after the lock clicks shut, you burst out into laughter, and Yoongi flushes a hot, steaming red all the way up to his ears. 

Yoongi pushes away from the desk and ducks his head down to look at you as you begin to crawl out on all fours. He scowls when you giggle once you make eye contact with him.

“I don’t see what’s funny. You’re in big trouble, you know,” he says, stuffing himself back in his underwear.

You stifle a laugh as you stand up. “You mad?”

“Clearly!”

You cock your eyebrow when he darts a hand out in frustration. “At what, the fact that I sucked your dick under your desk or that I found out how much you love to talk about me?”

Yoongi narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. “Both.” 

You smirk. “Aww, come on, Yoonie~” you tease, mimicking Hoseok as you go to sit on your boyfriend’s lap. 

“Go away,” He tries to fight you off but you trap him by grinding down on his hips and shoving your tits in his face. 

You hum as you press an open-mouth kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You sure?” 

Your hand slides down to his clothed dick, still solid under your palm. “Don't you want me to take care of your ‘problem’?” 

He swallows moan as you grope him. But he feels embarrassed and upset that you went down on him when Hoseok was there. Deep down he thinks it was hot, but he knows Hoseok has always had a crush on you and he doesn’t like the idea of him seeing you like that, especially with the kinds of comments he sometimes makes implying that he can treat you better.

“Yeah, when I get home,” he sighs and you deflate. “I’m almost done.”

“Seriously, are you mad?” 

“No, babe. I just want to finish up now so that I can be done for the weekend. That’s what you want, right?”

You grimace, wondering what he means by that. “Fine,” you acquiesce, hopping off of his lap so he can roll back up to his desk. 

You slide on your clothes and gather your things, biting your tongue to keep from saying anything smart, but you can’t help feeling that his words don't sit right in your chest. As you walk to the door and slip on your shoes, you glance over to see him hunched over his desk, not even bothering to look back as you leave.

“You know, maybe I’ll go find Hoseok and take him up on his offer. Since it seems he has the time for me,” you sneer after you open the door, stepping out and slamming it shut behind you. 

Yoongi jerks his head and swivels around but you've already disappeared. Oooh, that pisses him off. He knows you only said it to do just that but that sits right along his insecurities and he wants to lose it. But he really is almost done with work so if he hunkers down now, he can finish and go home and tell you off.

90 minutes later he receives a notification, a text from you with an attached image. You’re lying in bed on your stomach in your corset bra, holding up your head as you pout into the camera with your cleavage on full display. 

my brat: Hoseok was busy :/

Yoongi drops his phone on the table, and it clatters, free hands rubbing frustration down his face. He knows what you’re doing, and he should have the willpower to ignore it but- FUCK are you good at getting what you want. You like pissing him off so that he'll be rough with you. And although he enjoys the dynamic, finds it fun, this is just one of those times that he really doesn’t like how you piss him off. He hates the idea of you alluding to the fact that you asked another man to fuck you. He knows you indeed haven’t, that you’re just messing with him, but he’s getting in his head with his self-doubt. He angrily decides that the track is good enough for now, that he can meet with Namjoon tomorrow or something to tweak it. He has to get home to make sure no one else has touched you but him.

You are in Big. Fucking. Trouble.

When Yoongi walks through the door, you’re in the kitchen getting something to drink, wearing one of his flannel shirts over your lingerie. When he appears you smile and greet him, but falter when he ignores you and quickly shuffles by to the bedroom. You watch him pass you and your smile slips at the stone look on his face. You know you pissed him off but did you make him upset? You never want to hurt his feelings, you just want to get his attention. You set your drink on the counter and pad after him. 

When you walk into the room and lean against the door frame, his back is to you as he strips off his sweater to reveal his dark gray t-shirt and silver chain.

“Did you finish?” you ask, twiddling your fingers over one of the buttons of his flannel. 

“No,” he says, keeping his back to you. You frown.

“Oh. How come?” 

“Because my bratty girlfriend can’t be fucking patient," he grits, swiping off his snapback.

You cross your arms, not appreciating his tone. “I left, didn't I?”

His shoulders shake in a sardonic laugh, fingers combing through his hat-hair. “Yeah, only after telling me you were going to look for Hoseok.”

“Yeah well, maybe if you paid more attention to me, I wouldn’t feel the need to do that,” you sneer before pushing off of the door frame to speed-walk into the living room. 

You only make it halfway down the hall before a hand grabs your wrist. You’re met with Yoongi’s looming figure exuding anger as he glares down at you and you match his energy immediately.

“And you think the way to get my attention is by making me jealous?”

“Well, it seems to be the only thing that’s working! Isn’t that why you came home before you got done with work? Because you think I asked Hoseok to fuck me? Not because you-“ 

“Did you?” he interrupts and your jaw moves in irritation.

“What do you think?” you bark. He blinks down at the floor. There it is again- that insecurity. He backs you into the wall as he tries to control his anxiety.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles honestly and that pisses you off. He really thinks you would stoop that low?

“Really? What, you think I wanted to suck you off while he was there hoping he’d catch us? Ask to join? Have me suck his dick too?” 

Rage floods through him at the thought and his hold around your wrist tightens. 

“Would you?” 

Your mouth drops open. “Wow. Screw you." You pry his hand off and angrily walk back into the bedroom, wanting to put on more clothes now that you’re upset. As he follows, you make a petty point by taking off his flannel and exchanging it for your own clothes, pulling on your own t-shirt and sweats. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says when he stands in the doorway.

"No? You don’t think that I’d jump at the chance to suck another man’s dick if the opportunity presented itself?” 

“No, of course not,” he shakes his head, feeling guilty when you say nothing else so he continues, wanting you to understand where he's coming from.

“I just… You know he likes you.” 

You spin around, flabbergasted. “Fucking so?”

He closes his eyes, feeling embarrassed that he’s about to bring this up. He has no reason to be worried that you like Hoseok but… he still struggles deep down that he doesn’t deserve you and that you’d be better off with someone else. Maybe someone like Hoseok. 

“Why don’t you go ask him whether or not I took him up on his offer?” you snap. Then you stride across the floor and stand toe to toe with him. 

“Or how bout you find out for yourself,” you provoke. 

He looks down at you with your chin tilted up at his and a heartbeat passes before his hands fly to your face and he presses his lips to yours. You respond immediately by scraping your fingers over his ribs, hooking over his spine as he licks into your mouth, teeth clashing together desperately. 

He begins to walk you backward towards the bed and when you hit the edge of the mattress, he tears your shirt off and lifts you by the waist to settle you down and kiss you hungrily as he climbs on top of you, chain laying on your throat. His hands move down to your sweats and he stands straight to rip them down your legs and onto the floor, looking down at your body decorated with pretty lingerie and he intrusively thinks about Hoseok seeing you like this and jealousy fires through him again. 

He falls to his knees and loops his fingers under the straps of your thong to roughly pull them off, licking his lips at the sight of your bare pussy, glistening with the return of your arousal. He adds to it with his spit and promptly attaches his lips to your clit, growling when you cry out and arch your back in response. He wraps his arms underneath your thighs to hold you in place as he slathers your pussy with his spit and teeth and tongue. 

His eyes close as you let out whimpers and whines of his name while your hands grip his hair, every sound making his dick twitch in his jeans. He sucks and slurps all over your cunt, making it messy between your thighs and on his chin, anything to make you keep wailing his name. He flicks his tongue over your clit and between your folds just like he demonstrated on his fingers back in the studio, and he has to flex his biceps around your thighs when you thrash. He can tell you’re close by the way your legs quiver beside his head and he slides your clit between his teeth before pressing his lips around it and sucking in a fast, relentless rhythm. 

“Yoongi, gonna come!” you cry and a dark chuckle rumbles through his chest at the thought that no one else can get you to your peak as quickly as he can. He mercilessly continues sucking your clit until your legs violently shake and press against his head and you come with shrieks of his name. His tongue dives to your hole as it pulses and he licks your essence into his mouth and groans while he swallows, grinning victoriously as you continue to shake through throes of pleasure. 

He slows his movements as you spiral down, loving the way you twitch at every touch of his mouth. He presses a final kiss to your clit before he moves his arms from under your thighs so he can hover over you while you catch your breath. He places his knee between your legs and leans down to kiss you so you can taste yourself, chain swinging over your heaving breasts. You moan as you dart your tongue against his and loop your arms around his neck to pull him down. Then he slides his lips down your jaw into the crook of your shoulder and speaks gruffly into your ear.

“You think he could make you come like that?”

You immediately shake your head, heat filling your gut at his dark tone. He bites your neck then rolls his tongue over the spot to soothe the sting. 

“You need to say that out loud.”

You draw in a sharp breath. “No! No he couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what?” he snaps.

“He couldn’t make me come. Not like you do.” 

Pride shoots down his spine and he sits up to straddle your hips, turning you over onto your stomach so he can grab handfuls of your ass. 

“You think he could fuck you like I do? Huh?” he experimentally rolls his clothed bulge over the swell of your ass.

“No,” you whimper with a desperate shake of your head.

“No?” he challenges. “You don’t think so?” He drags his hips against you slowly, hissing at the friction. 

You continue to agree and he hums, still taking his time to drag this out. He just wants to hear it as much as possible but your smart mouth fucks you over.

“If you’re not convinced then we can go find out,” you say, voice muffled by the sheets but he hears you and snarls. 

He leans down to grip a handful of your hair to turn your ear to his mouth.

“Why don’t you do that and I’ll go re-acquaint myself with Mina.”

A vicious green monster tears through your chest and you turn over to face him as your head fills with intrusive thoughts of the hands and body of his ex you once envied all over him while he enjoys it. 

He chuckles mockingly at your expression. “Don’t like that, huh?” 

You say nothing but look at him angrily as you picture him with her, hating it with a passion. 

“Do you, baby?” he coos sarcastically, trailing the backs of his fingers down your cheek. “Don’t like the idea of my hands and my mouth being on someone else?” 

He leans down to emphasize his point by kneading and kissing at your skin that he can reach and your chest heaves in response. 

He rolls his hips. “Or my dick fucking another girl's pussy?”

You see red and your hands fly up to grab his chain and tug his face parallel with yours so he grunts, a dark grin spreading on his face. 

“No, I don’t fucking like it,” you seethe.

“Now you know how I feel,” he says mockingly. You scowl, fucking annoyed, and let go of his jewelry.

“You brought this on yourself. I never talked to Hoseok. He was the one who said he would take me out if you didn’t.” 

“Yeah, you wouldn’t have heard that if you hadn't been hiding under my desk sucking me off.” 

“Oh, right and you were trying real hard to get me to stop,” you snap, pushing at his chest.

His jaw ticks, realizing you have a point. He leans up and sits back on his heels.

“Or just admit that you didn’t want me to,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbows. His eyes flicker to you darkly.

“That you liked it,” you taunt, moving to sit up on your knees so that you're level with him.

“That maybe if he did catch us he’d be jealous of your long, fat dick.” He shivers as your words send shocks to his core and his ego.

“And how good my throat is for fucking.” 

His gulps at the imagery as your fingers trace under his shirt.

“And how he’d never get to find out for himself,” you say earnestly, looking directly into his eyes. 

Then your hand slowly travels down to his groin.

“But if you want to go find Mina and see if she makes you feel as good as I do,” you mock as you grab his bulge and squeeze under his balls, making him hiss and involuntarily buck against you.

“Then be my fucking guest.” Your teeth grind as you let go of him to move off of the bed but you’re quickly stopped with a hand squeezing your elbow.

“Lay down,” he demands, warm breath fanning over your cheek. 

“Make me." He huffs before moving his hand to your throat and pressing lightly on either side, making your resolve slip. 

“Keep it up, brat.” The very brat in you comes back for an encore as you grab his wrist. 

“Or what? Gonna go call up Mina? You think she’d even want you anymore?” 

His eyes flash menacingly at the venom in your voice and you squeak when he bends down to pick you up, arms supporting your back and under your ass to carry you over to your shared desk.

“It doesn’t matter whether she would or not. Because I don’t want her,” he says simply as he sets you down, knocking the notebooks and tchotchkes out of the way, paying no mind as they clatter onto the floor.

“No? Then who do you want?” You know it’s a stupid question but you’re fucking triggered and you want to hear him say it. He tilts his head as he undoes the buckle on his belt.

“I’m looking right at her, sweetheart.” You falter, but you’re not about to let up that easy.

"Just - Fuck you for bringing her up." Gently pushing your legs apart, he gives you a remorseful smile.

“I’m sorry. I only wanted to get back at you but I took it too far.”

“Get back at me for what?” you ask, glossing over his apology and you’re almost able to ignore his fingers massaging the inside of your thighs. 

He cocks his brow. “For that selfie you sent and your text implying that you asked Hoseok to fuck you but he was too busy?” 

“You started it,” you scoff and cross your arms, chest heaving as his hands move slowly to the part of you that’s aching for him.

“Did I? You were the one who came into my studio and shoved your tits and ass in my face wearing this pretty lingerie all because I haven’t been paying you enough attention.” 

“Try ‘any’ attention.” He hums and looks down to watch his thumb brush over your clit, smirking when you gasp and grab his forearm.

“Baby, it’s only been a few days. Are you that needy for me?” 

You huff but don't try to deny it, eyes rolling to the ceiling when he slides two fingers between your wet folds, lifting up your knee to hold it on his hips so he has a better view and access.

“Thought so.” You shut your eyes so his smug face won’t piss you off.

“Well, remember I tried to leave but you told me to ‘get my ass back here right now,’” you recount, leaning back with a hand on the desk.

You bite your tongue when his fingers sink inside to slowly work you open.

“Yeah, well you’re sexy as hell in this lingerie and I’m a weak bastard for you, so sue me,” he grumbles, staring at your pussy as his hand picks up the pace.

“I’m only sexy in lingerie?” 

He sighs. “Sweetheart, did you miss the part where I said I’m a weak fucking man for you?”

You hum nonchalantly, his words filling your heart up with butterflies but the brat in you is refusing to leave the stage so you ignore him.

He shakes his head and grips your thigh to get you to look at him, making sure you’re paying attention.

“Just shut that smart mouth of yours, baby girl. And let me show you I mean what I say.” 

He lifts one of your arms to hook around his shoulder and you reluctantly acquiesce, letting him situate you in a way that’s comfortable before he pushes down his jeans to free his dick from its confines. Jerking his shaft, he tilts down in concentration to inspect your puffy cunt.

When he thinks it could use more lube, he holds his hand next to your mouth. 

“Spit.” Letting go of your stubbornness, you obey, only because you enjoy the way he doesn’t mind your saliva dropping in his palm.

“Good girl,” he mumbles. You watch impatiently as he tilts his head back while spreading your spit over his tip, making you clench around nothing when his knuckles brush your folds. You whine his name again when you feel his head rub up and down your wet slit before he taps it a few times.

“Beg.”

Your hand slaps his back, matching your huff in frustration and his lip curls. 

“Minus the fucking attitude.”

“It’s been three days.”

“What?” he snaps.

You lift your head with a glare. “I said it’s been three fucking days, why should I beg?” 

He slides his hard, lubed up length in between your folds to show you what you’re stalling. 

“Shouldn’t that be all the more reason to?” he growls as he smacks the side of your ass. 

“I'm not the one who didn't come home. So shouldn’t it be you doing the begging?” 

He stills.

“Maybe,” he says softly, massaging your skin that he knows is stinging from his hand. Your chest squeezes at the sad tone in his voice even though you’re pissed off.

“But you remember what I said about punishing you for getting me hard at work?” 

Your eyes squeeze shut, lips pursing as you nod.

“This is part of it. You’d better fucking beg.” 

He sighs and shakes his head, digging his fingers into your waist when you take a second too long to respond.

“I’m not going to tell you again.” He steps back, threatening to walk away. In a panic, you hook your heels behind him to keep him from going any further.

“Fuck, fine! Yoongi, please. Please fuck me!”

With a dark chuckle, he closes the distance between you again, arm circling around your waist, licking and marking under your jaw. Wrapping your arms around his neck as he holds up your thigh, you moan when he teases your entrance with his throbbing tip.

“I’ll always give you what you want when you’re a good girl for me.”

And just like that, the brat in you is gone. At least for now. He groans when you kiss him with ferocity and allows you to take the reins a bit. You moan and fist his hair in both hands, whining when his hand trails to your core to make sure you’re still ready, and he’s confirmed when he easily slips in three of his fingers, making you gasp into his mouth.

“You want it?” he growls against your swollen lips as he removes his hand covered with your essence to use it as lube on his dick. You nod frantically. 

“Words.”

“Yes!” you wheeze.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?”

“Yes!” You exclaim louder.

“Then turn around.”

He helps you settle on your feet and twirls you around with both hands on your hips, biting behind your ear while he lines himself up behind you.

“You know I love you, right?” You nod, leaning into his teeth and wiggling your hips to entice him but his firm hand on your ass keeps you in place. “But right now I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.” 

A spark floods through you at the way he curls a hand around your throat and simultaneously rubs his head up to your aching clit. You’re screwed, but you are so, so ready. 

“Please!”

Without giving you a second to breathe, he spears into you, forcing you forward with your hands flattened on the desk. You yelp out when he begins ramming into you at an angle so deep your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He slaps your ass, harshly enough to sting, and grunts when you clench around him, continuing to make the room swell with lewd sounds of your wet pussy squelching with every smack of his hips. It feels feral, the force of his thrusts causing the desk to thump against the wall, but the rhythmic sound is drowned out by your mindless moans.

He fucks you like he hates you, like he doesn’t care how the wooden edge is digging into your waist, or the way he’s slapping your ass until your skin is raw, slamming his hips against yours so it’s certain you’re going to have trouble walking. If you didn’t like it so much, you’d be telling yourself not to piss him off ever again.

A hand on your spine pushes you down onto the desk, breasts and face squishing on the lacquered wood, and you moan when he pulls your cheeks a part and you can just picture the way he’s watching himself pound you, tongue poked out in fascination, head moving from side to side to see all the different angles.

“Nah.” He mutters to himself and you glance over your shoulder to see him shaking his head as your body moves up and down. “No one else can fuck you like this. Right?” He grits, fingers digging into your ass as he takes a long stroke of emphasis.

“Mhmm!”

He hums to himself in satisfaction, letting out an amused chuckle before he starts fucking you so hard and so fast and so goddamn good that you don’t realize you’re coming until it hits you, and your finger nails dig into the desk for dear life, leaving scratch marks. As you clench around him he lets out a string of curses that would make even a sailor blush, rubbing his hands up and down your back, fingertips kneading your ass as you shake and come apart.

You’re still trembling when he finally slows his thrusts to a moderate pace and his hands on your skin are moving more gently now that you’re coming down.

“Baby, talk to me. You good?” It takes you a second to register that he’s been talking to you for a few seconds. He just fucked you into euphoria, you’re drooling on the desk because of it, so you need a goddamn minute.

You whine in dissatisfaction when he pulls out of you, only for him to reach over to brush sweaty hair out of your face, and you blink open tear-filled eyes to him peering down at you with concern knitted into his brows.

“You good?” he repeats, continuing to brush your hair back and smoothe his hand down your spine.

You nod. “Mhmm. ‘M a good girl.” His eyebrows lift in relief when you say something that’s somewhat coherent.

“That you are.” You swoon. That’s all you ever want to hear him say, even though more often than not your behavior speaks otherwise. At least he’s shown you that he loves to deal with it.

“I’m gonna bring you over to the bed. Can you make it?” Pushing your hands against the desk, you try to put some weight on your feet and know without even trying that you won’t. It feels like he was on the brink of splitting you in half.

“Only if you carry me.” You can feel his smile on the side of your face as he rubs your shoulders before gently pulling back on them, holding you against his chest once you straighten. He presses light but necessary kisses to your neck and cheek before turning you to the side so he can swoop you up in his arms like you’re his bride. You hope one day you will be.

You could almost cry at the tender way he puts you down on the mattress, his face dewy and red from exertion, and adjusts the pillows beneath you, fluffing them how you like it. How he can so easily slip from being your insane freak in the sheets who hates you to your sweet, doting boyfriend is beyond you but it’s one of the many things you love so much about him. “Too much?” Your heart swells again at his loving tone as he coasts his hand down your torso, inspecting the indentations left on your waist from the desk to make sure they’re ones that won’t bruise.

You shake your head. “I can still remember my own name.”

“Dang, so I could do better,” he smirks.

Blowing a raspberry, you playfully smack the side of his head and he only chuckles and leans down to kiss you. Just as he brushes your lips, you push at his clothed shoulder, suddenly very much bothered by the fact that he is not completely naked yet.

“Shirt,” you mumble, tugging at his collar. “What about it?” “Off.”

He cocks a brow, mouth pulling up into a smirk. “Are you telling me what to do?”

“Yes. Problem?”

He hisses an amused sound, sits up on his knees and blinks down at you, lightly batting your hands away when you reach for the hem of his now unapproved fabric.

“We just went through all that, but you still want to have a fucking attitude?”

You withdraw your hands, rest them on your tummy as you look up at him sheepishly. He looks at you patiently, waiting for a response, but you don’t have one, so you instead raise your hands to the side in a shrug because what can you say? The smirk on his face grows until it turns into a laugh, and he kicks his head back. Fuck, you love his laugh. His shoulders start to shake, gummy grin on full display as he looks down at you through his stringy bangs, and you fall just that much more in love.

“It’s like that, huh?” He muses, coasting his hands up and down your thighs.

“It’s fun to piss you off,” you justify, holding your arms up in invitation and he pauses for a split second before lowering into your embrace.

“Yeah, and I know you have a blast doing it, much to my expense,” he mutters, letting you pepper his jaw with kisses. You giggle as you get over to his mouth and he opens up to swallow down your sounds.

As you makeout, his hips start to rock over yours under the covers, heavy cock desperate to fill you again so you trail your hands down to his ass, digging your go ahead into his skin. Keeping a hand next to your head and his tongue over yours, he reaches down to guide himself back in, humming when you moan in satisfaction. He lifts his head with a curse when you suck him in with ease, baring your neck to him that he nips before straightening his arm to plank above you. He stares down at you with lust-blown eyes as he takes your leg from under the sheets to rest on his shoulder. You bite your lip and grapple for his neck as he fucks into you slowly, hips rolling with deft, meaningful strokes. For a few moments he fucks you like that, reveling in your moans and whimpers, especially when he ducks his head to suck your tits into his mouth.

“Missed you, Yoon,” you whisper suddenly, blissed out and slack-jawed. He pauses his thrusts to put your leg back in place before dropping down to grab your hands and curl them under his, tongue licking roughly over the top of your mouth. Your chest heaves, breathing him in while he sucks on your lips and tongue. 

“Missed you too, doll." His hips resume to a slow rhythm, and you let out a soft cry at the sensation of him filling you up to the brim despite never leaving.

You struggle to kiss him back as you get lost in the clouds again now that he’s rocking into you at a slower pace, pressing deeply into you so you can feel every inch of each other with every stroke.

“So fucking good for me,” he grumbles into your mouth, building rhythm as he brings himself to peak.

“Wanna be,” you slur. 

“Hm?” His tongue pokes out as he focuses on rolling his hips against a tight, cushioned spot that kisses his tip and draws his orgasm closer.

“Wanna be so good for you. Always.” He grins, pride swelling his chest at your promise.

“Not for Hoseok?” Because he has to make sure.

“No,” you whimper, yanking at his chain to bring him down in a messy kiss. “Just you.”

He kisses you with a relieved smile, bites at your neck a few times, and slaps your hip.

“Then get up and ride me. I shouldn’t be doing all this fucking work,” he commands and slips out before pulling you up by the elbows. He crawls around you to sit against the headboard while you turn to face him and prop yourself up on shaking knees.

Noticing this, he pauses and holds you still. “Can you?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, confirming it with a sloppy kiss.

Grinning, he pulls you forward until you hover over his lap and fists his dick to hold himself in place while his other hand pushes you down by your hip. You grip his shoulders and whine as you sink onto him, waiting until you’re fully breached to start circling your hips. As you lean in to lick between his teeth, you rake your fingers down his chest, lightly scratching over his nipples and smiling when he moans. 

“Shit,” he curses against you as you press your thumbs against his buds and he gets you back by attacking your neck with bites and bruises that you’ll have for days. You begin rolling in his lap and hold onto his shoulders for leverage, gasping when he wraps his arm across your waist to pull you closer so your breasts are right in his face and he attaches his mouth to one, leaning back on his hand to hold himself up.

He releases your tit with a pop and tilts his head to watch in content as your knees move to prop yourself up so you can bounce on his dick, appreciating his hand on your ass supporting and guiding you.

“Fuck, doll. Yeah, just like that,” He moans and breaks from your lips to throw his head back as his balls tighten, and you take your turn to make marks on his neck.

“Nngh, gonna come,” he groans deep in his gut, Adam’s apple bobbing and eyes squeezing shut as you continue to rock against him and it throws him over the edge. He pushes at your hips to force you off of him until you fall back once more on the mattress as he pulls out with a gasp. He growls and grunts as thick ropes of hot cum shoot out over your stomach and tits and you moan at the feeling and the sounds he makes. 

“Goddamn,” he wheezes, jerking his dick through the final pulses of his orgasm and he grips your thigh to keep himself grounded. When his dick stops twitching, he falls back over to kiss you roughly.

“Close,” you tell him against his lips and he curses.

“Fuck, okay.” Anticipating being overstimulated but wanting nothing more than to satisfy you, he sits on his heels, pulls your hips onto his thighs and waits for your nod for him to plunge back in.

He wastes no time rutting into the very spot that he knows will guarantee you to come fast and hard. He has to bite his bottom lip to keep from whining at the overstimulation. But it proves fruitless when you pulse your orgasm around his dick, squeezing him so tight, that he starts to come again, encouraged by your endless moans of his name. He manages to keep his release at bay until he feels your wave wash back and yanks himself out at the last second so that he doesn’t give into temptation and come inside you. That level is on the horizon, but neither of you are quite ready for that. He knows just how addictive that will be and it’s too much of a risk.

So he opts to come on your stomach and chest for a second time, not bothering to jerk himself through it and just lets his cock bob on your center as he returns to his place above you. You open your mouth to welcome him before he even lands his fists beside your head.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he breathes over you, ducking his head into your neck so he can hear you whisper the same.

Dick softening on your lower stomach, he kisses you until his biceps strain under his weight.

“You feeling okay?” He asks, sitting back on his heels and smiling warmly (proudly) at your fucked out expression.

He presses his hands on your hips, heart racing when you won’t stop staring at him and he has to look away to prevent a rise in blood pressure, instead staring at all of his cum spread over you.

He looks back up when he catches your hand reaching for him and he grabs it, wrapping his fingers around your knuckles and bringing it to his lips to kiss your palm, eyes never leaving yours.

“What?” He asks as you pout. He kisses the inside of your wrist and you sigh, let his lips linger there and your heart stops for a moment at his tenderness.

With a smile and one more kiss on the back of your hand, he gets up and grabs a pair of sweatpants on the way to the bathroom, running a washcloth under warm water and wringing it out lightly before bringing it back to you to clean up his mess.

A moment later, he watches you with wide eyes as you slide out of bed and head to the bathroom without a word, albeit with a noticeable wobble. He sighs when the door shuts, getting the feeling that fucking the shit out of each other just now did nothing to solve your problems. While he waits for you to come back out, he strips the bed of soiled sheets to take out to the washer in the hallway closet. Just as he starts the cycle, you emerge from the bathroom, arms crossed over your breasts as you scurry into the bedroom to dress into his hoodie and a pair of his hoochie daddy shorts. You keep your head down while you walk past him for the kitchen, but he catches you with an arm pressed into your abdomen.

“Hey,” he murmurs above your head. “Whatever you’re thinking, you can tell me.”

You nod against his bicep, slipping your hand down to his fingers and tangling them together to lead him into the kitchen. He doesn’t take his hands off of you while you maneuver around to retrieve glasses of water for you both, but you end up just sharing yours. Neither of you say anything for a moment after you refresh yourselves. Then, his knuckles under your chin bring your face level with his, away from staring into the void behind his shoulder.

“The sex was good in there, but it didn’t resolve anything,” he reminds you softly. “We should talk it out before you get too far into your head.”

Fuck. He knows you so well. With a sigh and a blurry waterline, you lean against him, head resting on his shoulder so he doesn’t see.

“I just really missed you,” you start in a small voice. On your temple, he frowns. “And I know it’s kind of pathetic because we live together and you were only gone for three days but I just wish you would make up your mind about coming home or not. It’s just frustrating when you say you’ll be done in a couple hours but it turns out to be five. Or I wait up for you just for you to tell me you’re staying overnight. I know how important your work is, especially when you have a deadline, and I never want to take you away from it, but sometimes it feels like when I tell you to take a break, you act as if I’m asking you to stop altogether. I’m just trying to make sure you eat and rest properly so you don’t burn yourself out and get sick.” Your voice chokes the more you admit, and he lets your words hang in the air before rubbing his hand across the back of your shoulders. Resting his head on yours, he takes a deep breath.

“I love how supportive you are of my job and how much you worry about me, but I’m sorry I make you feel neglected. That’s never my intention.” You hum in acknowledgement and he squeezes the back of your neck.

“I mean, I’m not trying to dig myself out of the hole here, but a lot of the time when I come to a dead end with a project and feel like giving up, I think about you and how the faster I get done, the faster I can come home and devote all of my time to you.” You can’t hold back a sniffle. He frowns and gently pulls you by your shoulder and waist to press your fronts together. You wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest, along with your tears.

“I’m so sorry I made you upset, baby,” he whispers, his own voice choked up. “I just get stuck sometimes and it’s hard for me to give it a rest. Thank you for loving me so well that you knew when I needed you to come drag me out. And three days is way too long to not he home. I’m sorry I made you feel like it wasn’t.” You swallow a sob and hold him tighter.

“Well, I’m sorry I made you think I wanted Hoseok to fuck me.”

His nostrils flare with a small laugh. “I know you were just trying to piss me off. But I don’t know if I want us to make each other jealous by doing that anymore, y’know?”

You nod in quick understanding and he purrs gratefully, lifts a hand to gently tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Because I guess sometimes I just worry that you could do better.”

Your limbs freeze as his words sink in and spreads your blood thin. Placing your hands on his hips, you lean away to look right at him, eyebrows furrowing at his pained smile.

“That has to be the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever said.” Chewing the inside of his cheek, he suppresses a laugh.

“I’m serious.” You reach up to cup his jaw. “Don’t tell yourself that. I love you. You’re it for me, Yoongi.”

Starlight fills his eyes as he gazes down into your soul. He hugs you tightly, and whispers those same three words back, all of the weight he’s ever carried lifting off of his shoulders now that you’ve solidified that you’re his forever.

“I’m gonna do better to not spend so much time at the studio,” he promises, fingertips massaging the back of your head.

“Maybe just limit your overnighters to once a week.” He smiles, leans in to kiss you, hearts feeling warm and full. “I can work with that. And next time you want to blow me at work, try not to do it when one of my colleagues is in there.”

“Fine,” you sigh in exaggeration. “But at least admit that you liked it.”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“Why not?” you challenge playfully. “It was a one time thing, so the least you can do is-” He cuts you off with a kiss that wipes your brain clear of any thoughts.

“You were saying?” he mumbles against your lips with a knowing smirk.

“Fuck if I know,” you breathe and he chuckles.

Leaning back in, he kisses you slowly, thoughtfully for a few moments, then breaks away with eyes hazed with love and boops your nose.

“Why don’t we go shower and get dressed so I can take you out on a date, hm? We’ll go wherever you’d like.”

A bright and wide smile on your face, you tangle both of your hands together and lean up to kiss him. He melts into you and your heart glows as radiant as the rising sun. You break, and your cheeks burn when you notice how his have turned a noticeable shade of pink.

“Let’s both decide on a place. But maybe tomorrow or the day after when I can walk a little better.” He grins and kisses your forehead, softly pats your ass.

“Sounds good to me.”

.

.

.

Thanks for reading! i've had this sitting in my drafts for a while and finally got the courage to post it so I hope you enjoyed! lmk what you think if you want! Also im the queen of run-on sentences so i apologize for that! And some of it might seem kind of rushed, but i was really trying to keep it under 10k.

xxx - claret

p.s. check out my yoongi mafia series not in the cards if you haven't already! thanks again!!

[weltraum-vaquero]

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

[PART 1]｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3] ｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ [PART 4] (coming soon)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Summary: You’re a bright phD student who won’t shy away from a challenge. Getting the most notorious professor at the University of Piltover to hire you as his assistant is one of them.

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SEXUAL CONTENT

Tags: Modern AU, NSFW, DILF professor Viktor, trans Viktor, old man boobs and pussy!!!, reader being a desperate mutt when it comes to Viktor, sub Viktor AND dom Viktor, oral sex (Viktor receiving), handjob (reader receiving), sniffing & scent kink, nipple play, they are transgender and so so desperate for each other your honor

Word count: 15k

Notice: This chapter is written with a transmasculine reader in mind.

Notes: Seeing all of you guys fall in love with this fic and our beloved DILF professor has inspired me to extend his story a little more! So stay tuned for that, and enjoy the smut... for now. ;] Words used for Vik & reader's genitals include: cock, cunt, clit, pussy and similar variations.

The bustle behind the door almost has you hesitating to knock — and after about five seconds of the thuds and clanks intensifying, you go for your phone to double check the given information. Until you hear Viktor’s familiar cadence dampened by the wood, and the lock turns with a clack.

“Hello.” 

The rest has done him well.

He’s a man reborn, a good ten years younger, leaning on just his cane, eyes sharp and glittery with excitement, smiling like the cat that got the cream — or is about to. 

His hair is fluffy, wispy, most likely just washed, and as is his face, freshly shaven. His sweater hangs off his frame to just the middle of his thighs, looser than what he normally wears — which comes with the lovely perk of revealing more of his collarbone. Everything about him is more vibrant, bathed in a warm yellow light and radiant skin and shallower eye bags.

You do your absolute damndest not to let your eyes linger.

“Hi.”

“Come in quick.” His voice sounds conspiratorial, like he’s about to let you in on a special little joke. “I don’t want her getting ideas about escaping — she hasn’t in a while, but, you never know.”

The scent of warm apples and vanilla smothers you the moment you step foot past his doorway, and it’s not the only thing smothering you. At your shins, something orange, fuzzy and warm smooths against you, a bushy tail wrapping around your calf almost all the way up to the inside of your knee, pink nose sniffing curiously.

The her who’s not meant to be getting any ideas, you’d presume.

A pair of green eyes stare up at you from between your ankles, triangular ears perked attentively. She’s fluffy, so much so her tail could count as a duster and the fuzz in her ears competes with the length of her whiskers. 

Viktor has a cat.

“This is Persichka,” he says, sounding prouder than a father on the graduation day of his favorite child.

Of course he’d have an entire picture folder dedicated to her. 

There’s something well-loved about her, like an old plush toy — the stiffness of her movements and the gangliness of her limbs betrays her old age, but everything else speaks against it. Shiny coat, curious gaze. She lingers around you until her pink, spotted nose has had its fill of your unfamiliar scent, then she returns to Viktor, and the rumbling purrs in her chest turn on as if on command, key turned in the ignition.

You test her name in your voice, and though she does turn her spotted little nose towards you in acknowledgment, you come to understand there are few things that could pry her away from Viktor, with how adoringly she’s practically stuck to him.

“She’s very pretty,” you say.

”The prettiest,” Viktor corrects. He watches her bump her head against his shin and purr as if in agreement — she’s so rumbly it’s almost concerning. Viktor points you to the dark blue couch in his living room. “Make yourself at home. I’ll join you in a moment.”

With that, he leaves, presumably for the kitchen, with Persichka following closely behind.

His apartment is far from impressive — at least in size. Though you can’t exactly go exploring the place, based on what you’ve seen of the living room and the hallway, you can make a half-decent estimate of the overall size. 

Certainly big enough to avoid feeling cramped, but nothing beyond that. At its root, Viktor’s living space is humble, cozy, and jam-packed with details.

The rug in his living room, though sturdy and freshly vacuumed with how it has fluffed up just a hint, is decorated with traditional motifs in dull, aged colours. His walls are lined with bookshelves, dark wood, most of them on science, a good chunk on arcanism. 

Except…

A good three shelves’ worth in the furthest corner of the room catch your eye. Their shiny, paperback covers glisten with warm pinks, yellows, purples and oranges, spelling out titles in frilly, pretty fonts.

Romance books. A whole lot of them. 

You tilt one out just enough to glance at the cover — and surely enough, there is a shirtless man on the cover, seemingly in heartaching agony. His Love Of Thorns is the title. 

A little lower, on some dustier shelf that doesn’t seem to get as much traffic as his other books, is a picture frame. A family in black and white — a tall, mid-thirties aged man with sunken, somber eyes and a mustache, along with a woman with Viktor’s cheekbones, chin and gentle eyes, sitting with a little girl. The kid is looking into the camera with a sombreness that’s fraying at the edges with a suppressed smile, and she has pigtails, reaching all the way down to the middle of her chest.

You’re about to reach for the photo to check the back for more information.

“Ahem.” Viktor stands in the doorway with a tray of two plates, steaming with heat. At your embarrassment of being caught red-handed, he can’t help but smirk a little, before he raises the tray meaningully. “I made us sharlotka — it’s my babulya’s recipe. I hope you’ll like it.” He sets the tray on the worn coffee table right in front of his couch.

There’s something catlike about how he moves to take up space on his own couch opposed to how he holds himself in public. It’s surprisingly intimate to see him lounging as he awaits your company — dejected and warm. His left side faces the backrest, left leg folded and tucked so that his ankle fits just under the inside of his right knee. His right foot is planted firmly on the floor. 

It’s a lovely change of pace to see him so distended, so informal, in spite of his still formal clothes. You want to believe he’d dressed up for you — the thought of Viktor in slacks at home is otherwise haunting. 

He leans back onto the armrest with his plate neatly held in front of himself, and while he shaves off a piece off for himself, he closely observes you sit down and reach for your own plate. 

The slice is decadently filled with thin apple slices near the bottom. It positively wafts with cinnamon and vanilla, it splits on your teaspoon surprisingly easily for how spongy it is.

The taste hits your tongue tenfold with the first bite — you should have let it cool more, but alas — autumnal flavors swirling together in a delightful mix that has your head spinning. It makes your soul turn into something wet and sappy to realize Viktor made this for you. Peeled the apples, mixed the dough, sprinkled in cinnamon. For you.

“What do you think?” The way he cocks a brow and leans further back against the armrest tells you he already knows the answer. But you want to see him preen under a compliment regardless — it’s a rare and good look on him.

“It’s really good,” you say. “I think I burnt my tongue.”

At that, he huffs out a laugh, tilting his head to watch you — small chest puffing out just a fraction, smile going from playful to proud.

“Take it slow.” His voice falls just short of a purr. So much so you find yourself losing it trying to figure out if there is an implication behind it, or if you’re just wishing one into existence. “There is more, should you want it.”

How could you be blamed for thinking about anything except for seconds when he tells you that?

You know better than to let yourself be deluded, you know better. He knows better. 

This is nothing. This is fine.

“Now,” Viktor does not give you the time to let his words swim in your head; he braces his hand on the couch cushions just shy of your thigh as he leans down to pull his laptop out from under the coffee table. At the ruckus, Persichka walks into the room. “On to what I was hoping to talk to you about. I know you were, eh, wrestling with the detailing of movements of the hexion components in their areals, but, I think I might have some suggestions regarding the specifics.”

You watch him put om his glasses, unfold the laptop and set it on the table, fans whirring within its mechanism, sounding like they’re struggling quite a bit with some dust buildup. With Persichka around, you don’t doubt they are.

She climbs onto a chair that, now that you’ve seen her do it, looks deliberately placed near the windowsill specifically to create an upwards path for her. From the chair, she hops onto the sill, where she claims a dark red pillow like a throne. After an obligatory spine-curling, yawning stretch, she curls up on it while she turns her attention to the barren tree branches outside Viktor’s window.

He sets his cake on the table, and places his laptop on himself, deft fingers moving across the keyboard. You take a shameful delight in the circling of his index on the mouse pad. The way it hyperextends just so at the last knuckle when he presses, the way he strokes, upward, over and over, as he scrolls down a document. The way he stops, presses a button with his thumb, strokes with his middle finger — oh, that hand. 

You wonder how those knobby finger joints would feel, crowding your clit into submission and pleasure, or popping into— 

“I did the math with oscillations in mind, and though I suppose it mostly fits, it still felt kind of, eh, what is the word for it, shoehorned.” Viktor tilts the laptop screen for you to see.

You lean in to look over his calculations, and, with some horror, realize you have to brace a hand on the backrest right beside his head to hover over him while you’re looking at the laptop.

Viktor is right under you, practically begging to be laid on top of, to use the heft of your weight to push him into the creaky cushions, to rub yourself against the space between his legs, wide open for you to take. 

He’s applied a light fragrance today — maybe even just deodorant. He smells of nothing in particular, beyond fresh and that pleasant, powdery clean musk of freshly showered skin.

You haven’t gotten through a quarter of what he’d shown you before he tilts his laptop back towards himself.

“But then, I thought, why oscillations?”

“O-oh?”

Your voice comes out strained. Which you are — especially in terms of paying attention to him.

“Oh, you must be uncomfortable,” he luckily concludes, and unfolds his left leg, sitting up straight on his couch, before he sets the laptop on the table between the two of you instead. “Better?”

You nod.

He has to hunch forward to see the screen properly, and it makes you sting with shame that he’s chosen to give up some of his comfort for what he interpreted as your discomfort. Considering what had just been running through your head, you don’t deserve a fraction of—

“Now, look here…” Viktor taps the top of your thigh to get your attention, but does not dignify you with a glance — he’s laser focused on the task at hand. And it’s for the best, with how it sets you alight in the least metaphorical way. You lean in, obedient to a fault, shoulders touching in front of the blue light screen. “I redid the calculations but with rotation in mind this time around, and…”

You look over the math diagonally, your eyes chasing the end result, rather than the equations, and, “Oh, it fits like a glove.”

Viktor beams at you. “It does.”

“Can I have—“ Your noses almost touch when you turn to him. It makes the both of you pause, faltering, swallowing, retreating, before you find it within yourself to continue. “Can I have a piece of paper?”

“Of course.”

You know better. 

Viktor plucks his cane off the ground, and awkwardly shuffles to a nearby cabinet, where he retrieves a stack of them, as well as a pen.

You take one, and set off to write on the nearest surface that’s ample for it, which happens to be your thigh.

“I want to see how the numbers you got would act in Holloran’s equation,” you explain. “If you’re right about the rotation, they should track, shouldn’t they?”

Viktor nods. “Good thinking. They should.”

His body tilts to you as you start scribbling away, watching your hand from just above your shoulder. His bated breath comes lukewarm on the side of your neck, just a tickle, and when the numbers don’t line up, you hear him swallow.

Long neck craned over you, chin just above the slope of your shoulder, Viktor sets his hand on the top of your thigh — a safe spot, a normal spot for a friend to be laying their hands on you. 

But not for Viktor. Not to you.

The heat of his hand on your leg is making your stomach sink, pulse rushing in your ears, head spinning, the numbers a distant dream. On instinct alone, you want to spread, for him. To lay yourself down at his hands, at his mercy, at…

Fuck.

Your thoughts absolutely refuse to cooperate when his pinky rubs focused circles into the material of your jeans.

“God. What did I miss…” Your lip starts to ache with how you bite down on it, looking over the numbers again, searching, trying—

“Here.” 

His middle and index finger brush down, down, then in. To where you’re sensitive, to where you’re soft, to where it hurts for him. He’s pointing you to an embarrassingly obvious mistake — at the very bottom of the page, just a fucking hand’s width away where you start to drip.

This close, you can’t hide a shiver from him. 

It crawls up from the bottom of your spine to just below your skull, it expands into something warm but stifling in your chest, like a pillow that’s too soft, a tea too hot, somewhere on the pleasurable, delightful edge of horrific and painful.

“Oh. Sorry.” Hit with the realization, Viktor retreats. Hands gone, heat amiss, breath distant. You need him back. You need more. You need him. Viktor looks terrified — of himself, for you. He swallows something else that laid just on the tip of his tongue, you can hear his thoughts blundering and racing before he does the only thing he can: repeat himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

You need to splash some water in your face before you do something stupid. Something irreparable. 

“S’okay,” you rasp. “It’s okay. No worries. I just— uh, can I use your bathroom? I… headache.”

Viktor generously provides you the space you so desperately don’t want, and points you to the bathroom.

“Just down the hallway,” he says. “And there should be something for your headache in the cabinet above the bathtub.”

“Thank you.”

Dazed and confused, you stumble your way out of his living room, and somehow end up in his bathroom.

Dark blue tiles line the walls and the floor. You shut the door with your back, letting it steady you. It’s strangling and somehow actually genuinely bordering on a panic attack, how your throat wrings itself shut and your heart hammers and your lungs go tight. The sink is in the midst of your tunnel vision, and against all odds, you do somehow reach it, turning the faucet on so hard it creaks.

The cold water does you some good. You splash it onto your face, dab your own cold hands down the sides of your neck, facing yourself in the still-foggy mirror as you force yourself to breathe. Slow. Steady.

The shower curtain is stuck to the inside of the bathtub, the air has just the smallest hint of humidity and soap to it still. The mental image of him, sprawled out in the bathtub, letting the warm water soak his weary joints in preparation for you makes you tingly and nauseous all at once.

Your skin still burns where his hand was. Rubbed. Touched.

He’s your boss. And by now, your mentor. You can’t just… would he even want to… 

It’s wrong. It’s so wrong.

You splash water in your face again. 

He’d done it by accident. He must have. 

Viktor wouldn’t want you. Because he knows better than that — knows better than to put his job in potential danger for the sake of lust or perhaps even romance. Knows better than to put you at risk too, and you suspect he certainly has learned his lesson about workplace romance after Talis. 

Plus — what have you done to deserve the attention, the affection, of one of the greatest men in your scientific field? 

Naive, to think just showing him a shiny new theory and offering some insignificant helping hands in his work would, no, could land you anything more than, at the very best, his friendship. 

He doesn’t want you.

This was just an accident on his part, and a mistake on yours. A mistake for even wanting to believe there could be more he’d want from you, than… than just your assistance. 

You don’t even know what there is that could fix the gnarly twisting and turning in your gut right now, the guilt, but you figure a look at the medicine cabinet can’t hurt.

You find the translucent door, grasping the small handle between your thumb and forefinger to open it.

A box of Advil is at the very forefront of his impressively stocked cabinet. Just behind it, is something labeled Targin. In smaller writing, it states just below: oxycodone hydrochloride and naloxone hydrochloride. 

A shelf above is a small glass vial.

Testosterone Enanthate. 

Everything in your mind goes quiet.

You’d been right.

The name change, the sticker, the little girl in the picture.

And it makes you shut the cabinet with shaking hands, trembling with the realization you’d dug up something so very personal on account of snooping. It wasn’t your business to know; it still isn’t.

But somewhere suppressed, under the putrid shame, you still can’t help but swell with joy. The joy of finding, of recognizing, of belonging. 

You don’t even realize you’re staggering out the door of his bathroom, your breath moving undoubtedly lighter, your chest a little less heavy, in spite of the new layer of shame.

Viktor’s waiting for you on the couch — and something about how you look paints his face with another layer of concern, brows furrowing as he moves to stand in front of you.

“Again,” he begins. “I am… so sorry. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you assure. You can’t look him in the eye. “I just, I needed a second.”

“I didn’t realize…” he trails off mid sentence, plucking at his brain for the right words, frowning when they slip from him. For the first time since you’ve known him, Viktor shrinks, shoulders slouching, cradling his forehead. “It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable. I want you to know that.”

“You didn’t.” He doesn’t know half of it. That all those moments he’d deemed uncomfortable has been gasoline on the fire of your wanting.

He chuckles awkwardly, and repeats a familiar line: “I thought we had gotten past the point where you felt the need to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

Viktor shakes his head, unmoved by your words. “I was unprofessional. That is the truth.”

“So was I.”

“You weren’t—”

“I thought we had gotten past the point where you felt the need to lie to me, Viktor.”

That shuts him up — for the first time since you’ve known him, you get to be the one to knock the breath out of him with just your words, to make him falter.

It’s terrifying. It sets you alight.

Your words sink into him like a rock down a well, hitting the walls on the way down, reverberating with something deep and heavy when they reach the bottom — Viktor understands.

“I, eh…” He blinks at the floor, gathering what he can of what you’ve so terribly scattered of him. With a roll of his shoulders, he finally looks at you — eyes dark and wide and hesitant — and he swallows thickly. Swallows his fear. Looks at your lips. Licks his own just so, a subconscious tick rather than deliberate — but all the more alluring because of it. “If I do that, I fear I may be… more unprofessional than ever before.”

“Unprofessional how?”

“I think you know exactly how.”

He lowers his gaze to the ground. Hit with the weight of what he’d just confessed, Viktor’s shoulders sink, all of his frame caves in on itself more than it already is, and you have to say something.

“Fuck. Can I kiss you?”

He inhales slowly, shakily. Finally looks at you. 

“Please.”

You reel him in, you lay both hands on the hollows of his cheeks, sculpted for you to grasp, sculpted to fit into the curves of your palms, made for you. 

Like a final breath before diving, you take him in like it may be the last time — all the lines of his skin, the molten gold of his eyes, burning for you.

And you kiss him.

He’s so tense. Rigid all the way up to his neck, all hard lines where you press into him, lips meeting yours in a stiff, terrified brush. He tries to mold to you, but somehow always ends up a step behind; a tactless, nervous dance. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps under his breath, his words reaching your lips before they reach your ears, noses nudging. “I… it’s been… I need a moment…”

“It’s alright,” you whisper it into the plush of his lips. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Actually, I…” He inhales as if bracing himself for contact, settles his hands on your shoulders to steady himself. Pulls away just a painful hint — just enough to have you understand that what he wants to tell you is important. “There is one thing you should know, before we go any further.” He says it with little fanfare, without a doubt or fear, but like it’s something holy. And it is. “I’m trans.”

The confirmation, though obvious, reverberates in your head like a prayer in a tall, empty church.

“I know,” you say. And after a moment’s hesitation, you add: “Me too.”

The smile that graces him is divine — moreso than any of the ones you’ve had the pleasure of witnessing so far. 

Viktor kisses you so hard your mutual collision clacks in your skull. He kisses you so hard your nose hurts, he kisses you so hard breathing becomes optional — and a stupid option at that.

But then you lick his crooked teeth, he melts for you, reborn into something softer. He suckles on you, on the tip of your tongue, come here, before he licks it in welcoming, before he lets you taste him wholly.

There we go.

He’s so slick. Like he’d been hungry for your mouth, he tastes heady and potent like apples and cinnamon and makes your neurons fizzle with all the deftness of smooth rum. 

You let it swirl in your pleasure-numb mind, let the room spin with just the vehemence of how well he kisses you, undulating tongue, eager lips, curious hand, sliding down your back.

When you pull back for a breath, he follows you with desperation before he catches himself.

Viktor’s breath comes out in quick bursts, his hair falls in front of his eyes wildly, he licks his own lips as if to eat what remains of you. 

“You don’t know how long…” he begins, voice hoarse and lips cherry red slick and eyes lidded, staring at your lips, then climbing up your features gently, lovingly, until they settle into your own gaze, adoring, knowing, undressing, “I’ve waited to do that.”

“Not as long as I have.” You cup his face and he leans into it with all the indulgence of a sleepy cat. “God, from the moment I first walked into your office…”

That makes him laugh — something airy and quiet, almost like a whisper. His eyes crack open and his smile turns smug.

“Oh?” Viktor’s grin presses against your lips, canines and incisors slick and sharp. “Is that why you wanted the job?”

Two can play that game.

“Is that why you gave me the job?”

“Mmmh…” Viktor pulls back as if to appreciate you, runs his hand down the length of your back, stopping at your hip, squeezing appreciatively. You shiver — against him, this time, and it’s tenfold more satisfying than to shiver an arm’s length away. “It was on my list of reasons. You have… many qualities.”

You can’t bear not having him any closer for any longer.

“Hm.” You nudge your nose under his jaw at his flattery. “Likewise.”

Viktor tenses at the touch, the front of his throat bobbing nervously, tilting his head towards you, rather than away to grant you access. A peck on the sharp edge of his jaw almost knocks him off kilter.

You set your hands on his hips to steady him. That makes him jump, too.

“What do you need?” You ask.

“You.” Viktor chuckles at his own boldness, before he leans back, trusting the grip you have on him. And you’re not about to let him down. “But unfortunately a seat, as well.”

You consider being raunchy — but you decide the time for that is not ripe just yet.

“We can definitely do that,” you offer up instead, steadying him on just one side while you let go of the side where he needs to use his cane. The couch isn’t far — but it feels like it, with how badly you want to kiss him again.

You’re on him the second he’s down.

And he parts his legs for you as willingly as you’d hoped and dreamed, he lets you bury your face in his neck and lay him back down the length of the couch. Viktor molds to you willingly, slots himself into the shape of your body, wraps his arms around you as though he wants to cocoon you. 

“Touch me,” he whispers, and who are you to deny him? You brush your hand up his sweater, marveling at how his ribs slide like polished piano keys under your fingertips, how his ribcage arches for you in spite of the tired creaks of his spine. Viktor presses himself into your hands like he’s hungry for touch — and you come to understand with how he moans for it, that he is. 

Your hands come to a brusque, sudden halt at his chest.

There’s a subtle swell to it — but soft and lax. You give an experimental squeeze, stoking your thumb along the curve of his tits, soft and droopy with age. You know you’re handling tender, sensitive flesh. And you treat it accordingly, carefully, even moreso when he gasps.

“You don’t have to…” The front of Viktor’s throat jumps under your lips. 

There’s a much more important answer you need to get.

“Would you like me to?”

He squirms for just a beat, like your sentence alone shook him to his core, before he breathes:

“God, yes.”

He lays back limp and pretty, like caught prey into the mouth of a hound dog, lets you bite at his neck with nothing but a low moan. Your thumbs press down the middle of his breastbone, hammering pulse beating back against your fingertips, before you envelop his chest in your palms. His tits barely take up the space offered up by the hollow of your hands, sit in them dainty and perfect. 

His nipples harden into the heft of your palms, perk up only further as you knead him like a cat. 

You have to taste them. 

“M-mhm…” Viktor’s thighs twitch around your hips as you softly tug on his tits and pinch the skin of his neck between your teeth, but he doesn’t protest against the pain for not even a moment. His knees do, just barely, popping as he crosses his ankles under the curve of your ass. 

As much as you like them there, as much as his neck is such a willing canvas for your mouth, you need to go lower. You want to paint the entirety of his expanse in kisses, in bites, in touch. You want to know the different parts of him by the scent of his skin, you want to know his body through the brush of your palms alone, you want his unique bouquet to grace your palate.

You let go of his chest to brace yourself with one palm, and lift the hem of his sweater with the other.

His heart hammers at your lips, through the shell of his breastbone.

“Can I—“

Viktor moans in agreement before you can finish. “Yes,” he cries, “I want your mouth. I want it… everywhere.”

He brushes his hand through your hair to guide you where he wants you — which is coincidentally exactly where you want to go. Where his skin goes a light pink like the inside of a strawberry, where he’s soft, where he’s sensitive.

You prime his nipple with a swipe of your tongue, marveling at how it glistens like candied fruit, before you suck him into your mouth. The peak of his nipple sits between your lips like a cherry, swollen and soft all at once. His spine bows with the first suckle, he pets your hair like you’re a good, obedient little thing. You would not dream of being anything else.

Something in his hip joints pops, first one, then the other — and then, his clothed cunt is rubbing into your stomach. You can’t fathom the thought of letting him go untended to, the thought of him having to do a thing below you other than take pleasure and sob with it, and you aren’t about to change your mind now.

You brush one hand between his legs, cupping the swell of his mound in your palm. Seconds later, Viktor’s index and thumb wrap around your wrist, and you fear you may have gone too far, too fast.

“Sorry,” you begin, “I should have asked—“

“Shush.”

He undoes his pants with his other hand. And guides you within.

You simply let him slide your hand down the flat front of his boxers, guiding you down, down, until the soft meat of his pussy sits in your cupped palm like water in a thirsty man’s hands. 

“Ah…”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, at the same time as he exhales with relief at being touched where he hurts for it.

His cunt is markedly warmer through just his boxers, but not nearly as slick as you are — barely at all, actually. Are you moving too fast for him? Isn’t he enjoying this enough? What else there is that you could do—

“Are you going to start moving?” He teases. “Or does simply holding someone’s cunt usually get you the desired outcome?”

“Smartass,” you mumble into his chest. “I was just… is there more I could… do for you? To enjoy yourself? You’re… I mean, you’re not…”

He giggles a little at how you stumble.

“Wet? It takes me a while — and often doesn’t happen at all,” Viktor admits. “You are doing wonderful. Don’t worry about a thing, and just…“ he lifts his hips into your hand, “keep touching me.”

“Okay,” you mutter.  “I just… I wanna take care of you.”

You brush your thumb up between where the lips of his cunt dip into a slit, brush up, up, until you find the bulge of his clit. His breath catches.

”O-oh… You— mh,” He pulls you closer, cheek to his chest, and bows his head to kiss your forehead. “You are. You are.”

His cunt molds around your fingers even through the fabric of his boxers, his little cock pulses in between your fingers like it has a mind of its own. You can feel him swelling. 

It’s featherlight, how you touch him at first, just barely stroking his cunt with the palm side of your fingers, before he leans into it more bodily, before he stops settling for receiving pleasure and starts taking it. You can’t have that — not yet, at least. You press against his cunt a hint harder, rub the seam of his boxers against the head of his cock, and, yeah, that does it.

Viktor mewls for you, a pitchy little catlike sound, when you lick his nipples back into your mouth — first the left, just three little suckles, then the right, tender sucking turning into open-mouthed devouring. He pulls you into his chest with all the force of a man spoiled rotten. His cock pulses in your hand with every stroke, the cotton of his boxers warm and clinging to him just enough to tantalizingly give away the rough size of him as he hardens. His worn body soaks up and softens with the pleasure you give him, Viktor clings to you like you’re the only thing.

You feel watched. 

And you are — more than just watched, actually.

“Mrp!” 

Next thing you know, there’s fluff worming itself between you and Viktor, wet little nose pushing at your face, pushing you away.

What—?

“Persichka!” Viktor chastises. You sit back on your knees to watch the scene unfold — the way she possessively nuzzles her head under his sharp chin and looks at you from just the corner of her vision to let you know it will always be her first and you second. As if to drive her point home, she purrs with a ribcage rattling rumble.

Viktor pushes himself back up against the armrest to sit, and scoops her up into his arms, before he shifts to the side of the couch to set her down on the floor gently. As he sits up straight, his sweater slides down the length of his torso — unfortunately covering him up wholly.

“Sorry,” he tells you. “She likes to be… paid attention to. Let me just…”

He absently pets between her ears while he takes his phone and opens youtube. And he doesn’t have to search far at all — his recommended page is filled with birdwatching videos for cats. 

As Viktor shifts his focus to picking out a video for her, you seize the moment for some appreciation. The world seems to have gone quiet and still only for you to watch the swoop of his hair down the sides of his forehead, the gentle shadows the setting sun throws not over just the hollows of his cheeks, but the deep lines in his skin — the ones near his mouth and eyes especially, because they’re borne of what he does best: smiling. His grey hair goes platinum white in the sunlight, something about his brown-yellow eyes turns liquid honey gold, his normally pale lips now raw and puffy because of you, and something about his form, in all its humanity, becomes bigger than itself. 

You marvel at him the way you’d marvel at a landscape — enamored with every detail of the grand vista, enamored with the traits that come with the autumn of his life.

He smiles a wry, sheepish smile.

“That will keep her busy. She hates being alone, but, like this, it will take her over an hour to notice.” 

At the first sound of birdsong, she’s already rushing to the TV, watching with perked ears and a twitching tail. 

You can’t help but smrik. Viktor catches it — catches you, staring, and can’t help one of his own, before he asks, voice bouncy with a suppressed little laugh. “What?”

“Nothing.” You shift a little closer, until you’re seamed to his side, and press a kiss to the corner of his lip. His smile grows, stretches towards your mouth like a plant towards sunlight. “You’re just… very pretty.”

At that, he actually grins — and laughs an amused little giggle so wonderful it sounds like the sweet song of a well-tuned violin. 

“Pretty?” He sets his hand at the base of your neck, just to the side, and slides it up gently, until it sits under your jaw just right. His thumb nudges at the tip of your chin in loving, tender circles.

“Yeah.” You swallow your fear of saying something stupid before you lean into the cradle of his palm, and bask in how well you fit in it. “Do you mind it? Being called that.”

He shakes his head.

“It’s just been… a while since I have been. But I like it — I like it very much.” With a soft exhale that washes down your lips, he tilts his head to kiss you proper. Slick tongue painting your lips with his spit like you’re a blank canvas, before he catches the swell of your lip in a suckle turned bite that makes your nerves light up. “However,” he shares your breath as he gasps it, “I am more than just pretty.”

“Oh, really?”

When Viktor talks again, he purrs so lovely it makes you shiver with how his voice rumbles. “I could show you.”

He doesn’t have to ask.

“I’d love that.”

“Accompany me to my bedroom?”

You’re on your feet before his voice lilts with flirtations questioning at the end of his sentence. It makes him laugh.

“Come on, then.”

The walk to his bedroom is torturous — long and painful even though you keep a hand glued to the small of his back, where his frame narrows before it tapers off into his hips. He guides you to a shut door down the hallway of his apartment. It opens with a creak, like the drumroll before a curtain rise.

His bedroom smells so much like him it’s driving you crazy.

A big, lavish rug is in the middle of the room, and various kinds of clothes hang over multiple available surfaces — a cardigan on the back of his desk chair, a big, brown arm chair in the corner is covered in multiple sweaters and a white shirt, and there is a vest laid out neatly on his bed. He folds it up fast, messy, and slots it away in some drawer, before he turns to you.

“I must admit I was not expecting.. company in my bedroom.” It’s endearing to see this more sheepish, tender side of him.

You crowd him further into his room, and he waltzes with it, even as you set your hands on the already open waist of his slacks.

“A bit of a mess is the last thing I could care about when I have you right in front of me,” you assure.

“I should hope so,” Viktor replies. “Or else we’ll have sex in a few hours at best. Tomorrow, if you’d prefer the rug vacuumed and the floors freshly mopped—“ His calves bump the edge of the bed, and he gives a soft little sigh of surprise.

The flaps of his open slacks serve as perfect handles for you to tug him closer and hold him still, dipping your head to trace the front of his throat, right up the very middle, with the tip of your tongue, until you reach that soft, vulnerable spot right under his chin.

“I’d prefer you on that bed.” You whisper into the space where a killing bite could very well be laid — into the soft lax skin just under his extended jaw.

His chuckle comes out something between a dark and a dreamy sigh — dripping with desire. Viktor fists your shirt, and draws you closer, never a step behind.

”You’ll have me,” he purrs. “You’ll have me everywhere you want. In any way—” his breath catches as something inhibiting in your brain flips, and you do bite, his windpipe between your jaws. When he speaks, his throat vibrates against your teeth, his voice reverberates in the depths of your skull. “Hah. Mh, God. I-in any way you’d want.”

You let go, and he practically sags with it.

“Then lay down, Viktor.” A kiss to where air wheezes into his lungs, a promise at gentleness. “I wanna take care of you.”

He drops his cane and shucks off his pants for you. Holds on to you as you steady him on his way down, expects you with open arms, open thighs.

You don’t want to join him just yet.

Instead, you kneel, just the way you’d fantasized for so long now, thick carpet under worshipping knees. 

Watching more and more of his skin come into view as you slide his sweater up his body is as magical as watching a majestic sunrise. Viktor leans into it, raises his arms once you get high enough, and slips out of it once it’s over his head.

Just like that, he’s all yours to marvel at.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” His ribcage expands under your palms with a delighted breath, sharp angles of his bones pushing gently at soft, alabaster skin. As sculpted as his face is, his body is anything but — angular from afar, yes, but giving and pliant under just the right touches, in just the right places. There is just a hint of tummy, of padding on his hips, that must have come with age, with comfort, spilling above his boxers. His tits sit pretty and near-flat on his chest — they could easily slip past even watchful eyes under thick enough clothing, and they had, because you’d never noticed them. But familiar scars at the side of his chest, closer to his armpits, tell you that must have not always been the case. Viktor leans back as if to let you take him in properly, in all his finely aged glory, like a rare wine. 

And you need to know his flavor, now, or it feels like you might start biting at anything, everything, like a rabid fucking dog. Like your brain’s on fire with desire and your neurons can’t fire off under the influence of anything but want, want, want.

You lean in to nuzzle the middle of his chest, tracing down the dip of his sternum with the tip of your nose to learn his scent — his real scent, the way his skin smells, unmodified, natural, true. Intoxicating. Musky. Human. Animalic.

You open your mouth for a taste, and by some miracle (or was it a subconscious intention?) you end up at his nipples again. Melting into him, wrapping both arms around his waist and drowning in his heat, his legs, around you, pulling you into the lulling scent of him like a pillow does to the exhausted. 

His nipple fits so well in your mouth.

Letting it happen — letting your head spin with the smell of him lodged deep into what feels like the front of your brain, letting the lovechild of desire and contentment take you — comes as easily as falling asleep. Your thoughts melt away with the first suckle at his tit, and they melt further still as you continue. 

Viktor envelops you, an embrace of pure comfort, resting his face on the top of your head and inhaling your scent while you work his chest with loving lips. At first, you have the brainpower to be tactful. To trace and flick your tongue at the pink peaks, to mold your lips to the soft, fragile skin. It doesn’t last long — especially not when Viktor sings your praises. 

“So good,” he praises you with a hushed whine, “oh, so good for me. How I’ve missed—”

His voice gets stuck somewhere in his throat when you glance up at him curiously, halted in your pursuit of pleasure in favor of knowledge.

“Missed what, Viktor?”

He pauses, uncertain.

“Someone touching me,” he confesses. He cups his hand over his left breast. Squeezes. Some of the flesh and skin spills tantalizingly between his thin fingers. “Especially here.”

“I can’t believe it,” and it’s true — you can’t. How could anyone resist the soft, senescent allure of his chest, the soft skin, the puffy pink nipples, pliant proof of what he once was, of the fact that he’s aged, lived, seen. “I meant it,” you kiss over the knuckles of his hand laid on his chest, “when I told you you’re gorgeous. You are, Viktor; everywhere. But I am very partial to your chest.”

He laughs at that — something tiny and fragile and disbelieving, but a laugh no less.

”Then, please,” he cradles your head closer to his tits. “Don’t stop touching me.”

Your tongue brushes his nipple like it were cotton candy, as though it would melt from the warmth, the spit. It’s only with a small suckle that you guide it back into your mouth, and you stay gentle with his tits — simply making out with wherever your lips reach — until he has half the mind to stop arching into you and demand more with a tug at your hair.

The temptation to tease, to make him beg for it, is not a small one. But you figure there will be better things to have him pleading for — right now, you want to indulge in the taste of him just as luch as he wants to indulge in having you mouthing at his breasts.

It’s intrinsically infuriating, that you can’t have both of them at once. It’s a difficult, terrible game, to decide which one of the puffy, pretty things goes into your mouth, and which one you twirl and tug between your fingers. It’s clearly difficult for Viktor, too, he arches his chest into your mouth every time you switch from one engorged, pink nipple to the other.

It’s a tempting reminder that there is more to him yet to indulge in when his hips start brushing against you. And it’s a confirmation he wants it when his legs spread for you in pleading invitation on the next brush of your tongue to the pink of his nipple.

You kiss his tits goodbye — for now, at least — before you work your way further down with the same reverence of hellos and goodbyes to every new inch of skin. To the hairs on his stomach, to the the way they grow coarser under his navel, to the waistband of his boxers. To the fabric nestled between his thighs, where you nose like a dog at the scent, the pliant meat of his pubic mound, and you whimper for it. For him.

“Lay back,” you gasp. “Please.”

Viktor doesn’t hesitate. Not even for just a moment.

He extends backwards onto the bed with all the grace of a ballet dancer, all long limbs and an elongated, arched spine that crackles with the tension of his hedonistic stretch.

And with the new angle, his hips tilt, and you’re granted what you’d been aching for. The plush of his cunt presses to your lips, chubby cock nudging at your cupid’s bow in a kiss broken by cotton. 

He smells so fucking good. It makes your head all woozy, like you’re starved enough to be dizzy for it. Your brain goes numb with just the musky, salty waft of his cunt, you open your mouth like you could devour him then and there, underwear be damned. And who could blame you for stifling a moan into the meat of his cunt when you have the first, stifled but heavenly taste of him? Who could blame you for licking and kissing at him through the fabric like you could sand it off with just your tongue and get where you want to be through desperation alone, who could blame you for hinging your jaw open wide so you can have as much of his pussy in your mouth as your limited, wretched anatomy allows?

“Please,” you suckle at the outline of his cock and care so very fucking little for the mouthful of lint you’ve gathered by now, because somewhere among the synthetic fibre that crowds your tongue, is Viktor, and nothing else matters. 

“Easy,” Viktor coos at you, thumbing at your cheek, “I’ll— ah. You have me.” He fists his waistband with his other hand, starts pulling at it. “Let me give you what you want.”

“What I need,” you correct, nuzzling at the by now soaked fabric. He must not realize how dead serious you are, because it makes him giggle.

“Come here,” he demands, and you do, you always do, you always will. You stumble up his body to his mouth drunkenly, and almost growl with frustration at being caught, being denied, just a breath’s width away from him, chin in his hand. Viktor’s thumb is on your lips, presses into them like your mouth’s a ripe plum. “Open.”

It pops into your mouth, and you’re about to start suckling, until he presses at your bottom teeth, forcing your jaw open. A moment later, his thumb swipes down the thick of your tongue, gathering the lint in your mouth with a tut.

“So desperate… couldn’t even wait for my underwear to come off, could you? Made such a mess of yourself…” he half-chastises, half-coos, like he’s talking to an animal that can’t understand its predicament, before his finger is gone and you hear him wipe it on the sheets. You don’t know why it makes you shiver, why it makes you tuck your face into his neck in blissed out, stupid shame. But Viktor pets the back of your neck like he gets it, even when you whimper and bite at him. “There we are.”

You feel his hand move, his hips shift, and though the logical, smart thing would be to help him get rid of his boxers, all you can really do is watch as his underwear slides off his hips first, then peels off his damp cunt — damp with your drool.

“Fuck, Viktor,” you whine, dropping your forehead to his shoulder because just the mere sight of his pussy, dusty pink and thick, chubby little cock, twitching for you, overwhelms you. “Can… I wanna… fuck. Oh, fuck. Jesus Christ.” 

He giggles softly against the shell of your ear.

“What’s wrong?” 

It could qualify as a rhetorical question. He knows that damn fucking well.

 “Your cunt’s so pretty it, it… makes me… stupid.”

He kisses you. Short and sweet on the lips, licking at the space between as if to sample the way desperation tastes in your mouth.

“Then I am quite worried for one of the brightest minds in our field.”

Smug fuckin’ bastard—

“O-oh,” you gasp lewdly enough that it would sound, to anyone else, like you’re the one getting touched. Like you’re wounded. But all he’s done is envelop your hand in his, and cup it over where his sex is swollen and aching for you. 

You can’t move — you can’t think.

Viktor grins like the cat that got the cream, while he tilts his hips into your palm generously, languidly, as encouragement. You savor the texture, skin downy with body hair, lips so soft and engorged they’re jiggly. His cock, the cock you’d dreamed about, humped your hand about, agonized for even thinking about — sits against the heel of your palm.

It’s better than a dream. It’s better than any fantasy — to have him. In your palm. Scorching hot and hard and twitching, he’s in your hand— 

“Breathe,” Viktor reminds. He squirms below you with the novelty of being touched, and the shiver that rolls down his back ends with a hard, stomach-clenching twitch of his little cock. When he speaks again, his voice leaves him breathily, shakily. “What… did you want to do, hm?”

“Anything,” you blurt, which is a far cry from the concise answer he deserves. “Anything you want me to.”

“Anything? Is that so?”

“Yes. Please.”

Viktor’s guiding hand presses into your own, and starts guiding it over his damp folds in languid circles. His hips follow, in tune with the rhythm he sets like a slow, tender dance. You can feel his foreskin dragging on your palm, the tip of his cock in the groove of your hand, grinding in, out, slowly, the way it pulses with pleasure.

“I could show you how I like it,” he lilts, dragging the tip of his canine over the shell of your ear before he licks. “Hands, mouth, whatever you’ll let me have.”

“My mouth,” you blurt, “or hands. I don’t care, either, both, all that’s left after that too. Show me.”

He laughs at your enthusiasm — not with mockery, but with amused, tender delight.

“God, you are just…” His hand comes up to pet the hair at the back of your head like you’re an obedient dog. You wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Just what?” 

His grin is naked with vulnerability, with exhilirated desire.

“Everything.” He says it like it’s meant to be taken lightly, but the way he looks at you — ready to eat, to pounce, to kiss — tells you otherwise. “I’ll show you,” he breathes. “Let me.”

You’d be crazy not to.

Callused skin slides down the back of your neck, until the meat of your shoulder rests under his hand. Viktor barely has to give the faintest push before you’re following the impulse to descend. 

You’d like to linger at his chest again — his nipples are puffy and swollen from your sucking, warm under the tip of your nose. A flinch shakes him just from that faint contact. But you have other places to be, to taste, to love.

His stomach caves at the first kiss you lay below where his ribs end, at first going against, then, once you pass the dip of his navel, with the grain of his hair. It grows thicker under your nose and lips, fuller, until, until.

Until his cock bumps against the fullness of your bottom lip. Until you can smell him, his cunt’s unique fragrance enveloping your brain like dizzying smoke. Like a drug.

“Open,” Viktor says again, but it’s less of a demand this time. You do, parting your mouth with a wet, slick sound. You can already feel your tongue swimming in your own spit. 

His hips tilt, just barely enough to slot his cock between your lips, and your brain cushions it into a soft, sloppy kiss like it’s a reflex, like you were meant to spend your days with your mouth between his legs, worshipping at his glossy pussy.

He tastes so good. Rare-steak-soft as it splits on your tongue, tangy with the sweet, slowly dripping evidence of how badly he wants you, cock twitching in your mouth like it’s pressing on your tongue for more. 

And how can you be blamed, for wanting to cannibalize him then and there, to see just how much of the soft, tender meat of his cunt fits in your starving mouth? How he’d sob with it, live prey devoured, fluttering butterfly pinned to cork—

“A-ah, hah, s-slow, slow,” he gasps, knees drawing up to his chest and close to your head, like he’s trying to hide his pussy from your overwhelming affection. “Go… gently on me. It’s been some time since I’ve had anyone.” Viktor’s voice fades in the closest color of shame you’ve yet seen on him. 

It hits you somewhere tender that you’re the first one he’s doing this with in a while. 

“Sorry,” you kiss his cunt better like it’s a dripping scrape wound. “Sorry. You… fuck, you’re so… and I’ve wanted to… for so long.”

“Mm. I know. Me too,” Viktor pets your hair. Slowly, his legs fall apart, and even more eagerly so when you stroke them into it. “It’s alright.”

You listen. Though everything about his cunt, from jiggling softness to little cock hanging above your lips like a dark red cherry off a low branch, to ripe peach fuzzy soft lips, compels you to act otherwise; you want to be good. For him.

You lick his cunt gently at first, barely lapping at it like you’re trying to drink him, before it turns into something more languid, more bold — like a cat grooming its beloved. You leave his sex soaked with your spit, you leave him dripping, you leave him loved.

“Yes,” he whispers, grinding his cock along the width of your tongue, ”that’s, ah, better.” Gentle fingertips at your forehead, swiping at the dewy pearls of sweat before they come to rest around your hollowed cheeks. “Handsome, sweet boy… you have no idea how often, how much, I’ve pictured you like this.”

Viktor laughs a little, more from his chest than his belly, though it tenses a little with his laugh just the same. 

His cunt jerks, hole clenching around nothing, please don’t stop, as you retreat from between his legs just enough to talk to him. 

“You did?” 

He smiles as though it pleases him more than his mouth on you to hear you ask.

“When I used my wheelchair the previous week,” he begins. “I… the truth is, it wasn’t my leg acting up. I’d pulled a muscle in my thigh the night before. And I’m…” he chuckles,” well, I’m sure you can imagine how.”

You’ve done nothing but imagine. And even now, your mind flashes with the most salacious images — him on his back, arching off the mattress, him tucking his hand between his legs and against the mattress, grinding into it, him pulling and jerking at his swollen clit desperately—

No. No, you need to know.

“I can.” You lean your cheek into the plush of his thigh, and kiss at the top of his mound, where his stomach meets his cunt. “But I’ve done enough imagining until now — especially of you. Tell me?”

Viktor tilts his head back, covering his eyes with the crook of his elbow, and gives something between a laugh and a hum. His grin’s so boyish it’s making your synapses fizzle out, fizzle quiet. Long neck, sharp teeth, sharp tongue, and he’s yours, all yours. 

His cock flutters a little right below your chin, like the mere recalling of the memory is… affecting him.

“I, eh… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About you between my thighs, pulling on my hair, after… the incident with the goggles. When I got home, I…” His voice trails off, he buries his face further into the crook of his elbow.

You kiss his cock in encouragement — his entire pelvis jolts against your lips with delighted surprise. But you’ve learned the art of negotiating with Viktor by now — give him a little. Never enough.

“You what, Viktor?” Your breath washes cold down his damp clit.

He hesitates — but can’t resist you for long. It boosts your ego something fierce.

“I… I humped my hand, then… a pillow. At a certain point, I got… too desperate, too greedy, too sloppy, I…” He laughs — at himself, at the nature of his confession.

You walk your fingers up his sides as though your hands are climbing his ribs like a ladder, and once you settle on his chest and knead, it finally, finally coaxes him out of hiding.

You wish you could tell him he won’t have to worry about a too-soft pillow and rough fabric ever again — not when he has your mouth, your hands, you, all for himself. All at his disposal.

Viktor’s throat bobs, he swallows with an audible, parched click, as you lower yourself back between his legs, back where you belong, and you whisper: “I’ll take care of you, from now on.”

Viktor’s lukewarm fingers intertwine with yours, lacing hands before he squeezes as if to say I trust you and me too.

It comes naturally to return it, it comes even more naturally to smile as he grins at it, and nothing, nothing comes more naturally than savoring the way his smile melts and turns into a lax, open mouthed expression of pleasure.

You nudge into his cunt the same way animals nudge into each-other for warmth and comfort, you lick a fat, greedy stripe through the by now dripping slit, all the way to under his clit.

“Inside,” Viktor mutters. “I’d like you to fuck me. With, with your tongue.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. His lips part willingly under your fingers prying at them, and his pink, slick hole awaits with a desperate little clench.

“Slow,” Viktor reminds.

“Okay. Anything you need,” you coo. “I’ve got you.”

And you lick him where he’s wettest.

He arches with the slow, slick intrusion of your tongue. You can see why it’d hurt him to rush, with how tight his rim grips the very tip, especially without something to smoothen the glide. But your prodding tongue, spit drenched and molding to the clenching walls of his cunt, is what he needs. It feels vital to linger at the entrance; not just because his folds hug your tongue into a loose, messy kiss, but because you want it to be good for him. You suckle, you lick, you kiss, until you feel his cunt clenching to draw you in, rather than resisting. 

And that, as Viktor seems to drown under the onslaught of pleasure, is when you push in.

Once you make it past the tight ring of muscles, and hinge your jaw open to enable more length to push into him, Viktor starts gripping your hand, fisting the sheets. One of his legs even kicks out like he’s struggling against the pleasure. You cup his thigh, and guide it to sit pretty, sit comfortably, on your shoulder.

You’ve got him.

He tastes amazing. The faint aroma oozing from his cunt now delights your tastebuds tenfold, intoxicating in a deliberately slow, overwhelming way, like dark wine. Making your brain feel like a small bathroom after a hot shower, all foggy and humid and dumb and slippery.

“F-feels good,” he grits out, tummy tight with tension even though you attempt to stroke it into loosening. The rest of your hand lingers on his abdomen, but you let it slide further down, gently, until just your thumb can reach his clit, which sits neglected and twitching, against the tip of your nose. 

Leaning both your head and your jaw into it, you lick into him, devouring, claiming.

And you work him fuckin’ good. You grab his gaunt, little pelvis with both hands, and you take care of him, you make sure he doesn’t have to do the damndest thing, you just rock him onto your tongue, crush his clit with your nose. You fuck him with your tongue in the most proper sense of the word. If it weren’t a soft, slick little thing, you’d be plowing his willing hole by now.

“A-a-hng…” Viktor gasps in time with the thrusts of your tongue. “S-such… a good mouth. Oh.”

You can’t help the words that come to mind, and you wish you could somehow continue pleasuring him with your mouth and talk at the same time, but alas, you have to leave the job to your fingers. It feels like less of a crime when his cock slots so prettily between your index and your middle finger, dragging on the webbing with each stroke.

“Luckily for you, I take very kindly to flattery.”

He catches the little reference; it’s obvious in how he licks his parched lips, then grins.

“Quiet down and put it back to use, then.”

God, you’ve missed that sting, that mischievous playfulness in his tone. It makes you drip and clench around nothing desperately.

You’re not about to disobey.

“Fingers,” he decides when you prod at his hole with your tongue. “I can take your fingers. I want, ah, I want you to suck m-my cock.”

“So demanding, professor.”

It makes him falter; being called that. You’re not sure in what way it affects him, not with how he chokes on a breath and holds it. 

And it positively escapes him with a throaty, decadent moan that seems to rattle the very walls of the room the second you latch on to his clit. 

The soft, slick warmth of him soothes, stretching from the curve of your cupid’s bow to the tip of your chin, and his cock fits between your lips just so, practically made for it. You can’t help but close your eyes to indulge as though you’re savoring a delicacy, sucking on him until his tip pops from the foreskin. His clit lays on your tongue with the heft of a small berry, or the very tip of a small finger.

And it jumps. With the overwhelming pleasure of being known, prodded at, licked.

He’s so hard it must be painful. 

His cunt puts up little resistance once your index is past the entrance, and even less of it when you massage at his inner walls. They squeeze you, gripping just the width of one finger so tight it feels as though his pussy wants to swallow your fingers in the pursuit of pleasure.

“W-wait,” he warbles from above you. You cock your head to watch him, long thin and milky white arm stretching to the drawer of his night stand. There, he retrieves a small, transparent plastic bottle, and holds it out to you. “Use it.”

Gladly.

You pull your finger out just enough to make sure his cunt still barely kisses the tip, before you drip a generous amount onto your finger.

With it, you practically glide into him. 

“More.” Viktor twines his arms above his head like the branches of a barren tree, arches his ribs with the sensation. His pussy convusles around the length of your finger, begging the same plea as him, but in a different tongue. “More, I can take it.”

“I know you can,” you assure, and on the next pullout, join your index and middle finger together. 

His cunt gulps them eagerly, with a greedy shudder of it in its entirety: from cherry red, neglected clit, fat lips, to the depth of his hole. All of it gushes as it contracts around you, as if to thank you. 

“O-oh, perfect,” he gasps, in time with the thrusts of your hand. Your palm meets his chubby, jiggly lips with sticky little plap-plap-plaps. “Ta— hh, taking… care of me so well.”

“Yeah, you needed it, didn’t you?” You coo. “Needed someone to remind you of what it feels like, to be touched, kissed, sucked. Pleasured. I know, oh, I know.”

Viktor nods frantically, his brows knit like he means it solemnly. The way he receives pleasure so desperately, so willingly, makes you wonder.

“How long?” You ask, taken with both curiosity and jealousy. “Since someone’s taken care of you like this?”

He swallows, and peeks at you from beneath thick, wet lashes — god, he’s tearing up with pleasure. Then, he flinches with it, when you descend back down to his ruddy little cock with a pitiful kiss.

“I— don’t know,” he mutters. “I don’t know.”

“You know so much.” You flick his tip with your tongue, and he, brilliant, sharp-tongued, mean Viktor, the Viktor, squeaks. “Sweet, bright Viktor. I’m sure you know this, too. Think.”

“Mm—!” He shakes his head when you deliberately kiss above his clit, when you shove your fingers into his willing cunt so thoroughly it feels less like fucking him and more like stabbing him. Stabbing him in a wound that lights up hedonistically. His cunt takes it, delights in it — a wound that’s never meant to close. “A-ah, nn, fuck.”

He arches his pelvis to your mouth, a plea you ignore.

“Tell me.”

“N-no one. Never. N-no one’s ever—!” He hisses when you flick his cock in reward. “Ah, are… are you satisfied?”

You wonder how much of it is just him playing into it for your sake, and how much of it is the truth. But when you lap up his cock into your wet mouth the way you would the tip of a half-melted popsicle on a hot day, you understand that he hadn’t lied — not one bit.

Viktor crumbles, curling in on himself like a defenseless young animal, thighs around your neck, fingers in your hair, torn between throwing himself into the pleasure or escaping it, and he sobs.

“Yeah,” you grind the word into his cock like a pestle into a mortar, letting it reverberate into his flesh. When you pull away, string stretching between his aching cock and your bottom lip, Viktor looks like he might go insane. Eyes glazed, dazed, crazed, staring you down like he’s starving, like you’re just a vision in a dream. “Very.”

“Then ss-stop teasing me,” he grits out. “Please.”

You can’t deny a man who asks so pretty. You don’t have the heart to.

You dip back into his dewy folds with a lick so small and gentle it could pass for a kitten’s, before you sink into him proper. Nestling your face between his legs and licking at him while you rock your fingers back and forth. Steady, gentle, comforting, you know he’s going to find release in the familiar.

If you could, you’d start kneading him and purring like a satisfied, delighted cat. Something about his taste, his smell, has gone from frenzying to comforting, you feel as though you’d like to bury yourself in the depths of his warm cunt and stay there.

It goes on for what feels like both hours and seconds all at once; you get lost in the slick, smooth texture on his tongue like the inside of a plum, the savory taste of him.

“I can take more,” Viktor rasps, “I want it, mmh, rougher.”

“Rougher how?” You’re surprised at the sound of your own voice, all raspy and desperate. 

“Like the first time you got your mouth on me. I want to feel… devoured.”

“I’ve got you.”

You sink deeper into him, until you can wind the entire length of your arm around his pelvis, trapping him.

“Oh,” he gasps at just the prospect of being pinned.

And he screams at being ravaged.

His legs kick out as though he’s in pain when you hinge your jaw so wide you could swallow his pussy whole, but the way he arches into your tongue, the way he puts both hands on the back of your head and shoves until you end up with your teeth in the meat above his clit tells you he’s getting exactly what he wants.

You cushion the sting of your teeth with your lip, but maim him no less as you suck everything your mouth had engulfed, including his hard, hot cock.

Viktor’s nails scratch at your scalp while he’s being well and truly eaten, while you speed the gentle, boat-like rocking of your fingers to an unforgiving pistoning. 

And he takes it all so well. His pelvis sits dead-prey-still in your embrace, his cunt swallows the brutal length of your fingers as though it was made for it. Made to mold to you.

His cock bounces on your tongue with a twitch that runs up his spine and spreads through his body with bone-snapping tension.

Viktor’s fingers leave your hair, but they find your hands, perched atop his hips, and he fists them with all the unbridled feral fury of a wild animal caught.

“Close,” he grits out through the spaces between his teeth, far beyond unclenching them (or his cunt, for that matter) to speak. Something in his eyes is both dewy with vulnerability and clouded with vicious want. “M’ s-so, nnh, close.”

You wish you could have a better view of his face — you’re denied it when his chin tilts up towards the ceiling in a silent prayer, the calm before the storm. You picture it in your mind’s eye, the pinch of his brows, the bobbing in his throat, his lips parted in expectation of an oncoming moan.

Come on, you goad as you double your efforts, and you rub his clit with the thick of your tongue, curling your fingers to work the front of his walls, the spot that lies somewhere on the back of his bellybutton. He’s so slick it clings to your chin, fat cunt so hot it drives you insane like a ravenous hound with still warm flesh between its jaws.

You cannibalize his sex with how you push into him, how you suck on his cock as though it could reward you with anything other than spasms against your tongue. His hole flutters around your fingers before it squeezes so hard you fear for your circulation. Viktor curls up like he can’t, he tucks his chin into his chest and holds a breath, crushes your hand, and whines vulnerable and high like it hurts.

“A-ah, I’m—!”

Viktor’s body crackles like lightning. All the tension in him snaps with the grace, the vehemence, of natural phenomena, like something inevitable. His cunt gushes, and you know his twitching cock, were it capable, would be painting your willing tongue in white streaks by now. He cries something in a warbled, pained voice, and you grip him through the sobs that wreck him. His moans are hard to hear when they’re so terribly muffled by the meat of his thighs pressing to your ears, you’re stuck hearing your own breath, the sounds of your mouth as you nurse on his clit through his orgasm.

And then he starts melting on your tongue like hard candy. A slow, deliberate process, you delight in the convulsing of his cunt, the way his cock jumps against your lips with the overstimulation.

“Shh,” you whisper it more to his clenching pussy than to him, though he writhes like a bug turned wrong side up with the brush of fresh, cold air. “So good, Viktor. I’d like to keep going for a little while, is that alright?”

He sighs, overwhelmed and soaked with tears. But, a wet sniffle later, he nods.

You figure you won’t deprive him early — you keep your fingers inside him as you return to his red, sensitive clit with a gentle kiss. One that has him crying and flinching; away, legs clenching together. And you can’t have that.

Regretfully, you pull out to wrap your other arm around his pelvis as well, to immobilize him properly. The hand that’s holding his rubs at his knuckles gently, and the other one, still slick, comes to rest atop his pubic mound.

You tug at the place where his lips split and his cock emerges to slide his clit from the protection of its foreskin, for you to lap and suckle at. 

He sobs and cries like a baby bird removed from the safety of its nest, and though the muscles of his thighs tremble and clench with the effort, he never shuts them.

It’s endearing, how soft he is in the wake of his orgasm, how soaked, all over. His sweaty skin glistens like dewy leaves in the morning sun, and where the sweat hasn’t reached him, his tears do the job. His sobs sync to the hollowing of your cheeks — with every soft suckle, he exhales on a moan, and inhales quivering and wet during the brief reprieve.

You lap at his cunt the way you drag the edge of a teaspoon over the remnants of dessert on a plate, hungry for any crumb. Though it doesn’t come easily to him, Viktor is so willing. He fights every flinch of his protesting body, just for you to have what you want. He sits through your soft little laps at his raw, weeping cunt; dutifully at first, then eventually melts into the ebbing pleasure-pain once his body begins to recover.

From a clenched fist, his hand in your hair turns to petting, like an obedient animal with a job well done.

“Enough. Come here,” he rasps after another minute, raw voice oiled with the laxness of relaxing vocal chords.

Everything about him is soft — you notice it on your way up. He lays on the mattress limply, so much so that even his bones look pliant, and once you’ve reached your destination, he barely manages to crack his eyes open to look at you.

As small as the space between his lids is, as powdery pink as the skin is near his lashes from crying, you’d have to be blind to miss how they overflow with adoration.

He slides both his hands to the cusp of your jaw. His smile is dreamy.

“Kiss me,” he whispers.

It’s just a grazing of the lips, a mingling of breath, as if the mere notion of him had become unfamiliar over the course of however long you’d spent between his legs.

Before Viktor licks into your mouth with a delirious little hum.

You let him sample his own taste to his heart’s content, holding your breath for him when he smooths his tongue to yours.

When he pulls away, if’s clinging to his lips in a shiny, transparent string. 

“Look at what you made of me,” he says, and though you know it’s a rhetorical statement, you comply. “I’m… ruined.”

His chest rises and falls so thoroughly his ribs poke through, he’s glistening with sweat or cum or even both all over, and… and he smells so good. You can feel it in the crook of his neck, natural scent macerated in the nooks and crannies of his body, all potent and delirious.

His thumbs rub below your cheekbones on both sides, and you feel like a cat being caressed.

“You look amazing,” you say.

“I feel amazing.” He kisses your forehead, and pauses. Drinks in the moment, nuzzling against the top of your head, and simply basks in it like a cat in sunlight.

You follow his lead.

Outside, a lonely street lamp flickers not too far away into the cold, early December night. Inside, against Viktor’s chest, in his arms, everything falls together like puzzle pieces. All is right in the world — all is right within. Every single shameful thought about him that you’d had sheds its bitter aftertaste and leaves your tongue laden sweet and heady like liquorous wine. 

He wants you, too.

“And I meant what I said, you know.” His voice rumbles against your ear, his breastbone vibrates with it. “That I haven’t felt like this… in a long time.” Viktor half sighs, half laughs at his confession. 

Still dazed from his orgasm, he reels you up, more hungrily this time. He pushes into your mouth like he wants to drink you up, shifting against the mattress so he can lean into the kiss, into you.

In the process, his thigh presses up between your legs, and you can’t help the spark that runs up your spine and explodes into something warm and thick like honey in your brainstem. You can’t help clenching around his thigh and grinding into it — like the dog you still are.

“O-oh, fuck… s-sorry. Sorry.”

He tuts, like your need, untended to, just won’t do.

“Oh, sweet thing,” he coos, palming between your legs. Even just that, the barest hint of a touch, is enough to have you falling apart, hiding your face in his neck, as you moan for it. He kneads you, over the shamefully glossy layer of your underwear. “I‘ve neglected you, haven’t I?”

“You haven’t.” Your voice is uncharacteristically meek, but it only makes Viktor clutch you tighter. “I don’t mind. I could die happily after… all that just happened.”

It earns a lovely little smirk from him.

“Well, I couldn’t. Not just yet. Lay back for me.” He leans in close, practically purring, “I’ll give you what you need. I’ll make it good for you.”

You practically crash into the mattress like a bird shot down from flight, and turn to lay on your back under Viktor’s guiding hand on your waist. The sheets rustle with how he slowly shuffles closer, twining his leg — his right leg, with the one of yours that’s closest to him, and uses it to pry you open. The rest of him settles against your side.

His fingertips slide down your stomach, under the waist of your underwear, and he nuzzles his nose into yours like two enamored cats. “May I?”

How could you object to finally having his hand exactly where you’ve wanted — ached — for it?

“Please, Viktor.”

You build up an inhale in the depths of your lungs, and have it positively punched out of you when his hand slides lower, slides home.

At last.

“Oh…” You sigh, arching into his palm like he’s feeding you.

“The mess you’ve made,” he whispers, parting your soaked underwear from the outline of your cunt. It clings to you as he does, and most likely clings to his knuckles as his warm, rough palm cups you where it hurts. 

“F-fuck… sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Never be sorry — not for this.”

His fingers dip to where you’re leaking like a broken faucet, smearing himself in the slick, before he slides back up to your needy clit.

It’s so good to be touched you can’t help but fist his gaunt shoulder and gasp. But you sit still for him, letting the pleasure happen to you, drinking it up like you’re parched for it.

He’s not a hands-on scientist for nothing — with all the practiced finesse of a clockmaker, Viktor takes your cock between his thumb and his index, and tugs. Away at first, as though he were trying to draw the pleasure out of you, before his fingers descend to where your clit emerges from your cunt, and your foreskin slides back with the movement. It leaves you terrifyingly open, vulnerable.

The next stroke of his fingers over your bared clit has you reeling.

“Viktor,” you cry, pawing up his back to the back of his neck, where his scruff starts, where your hand finds purchase. He pinches your cock just so, and, “o-oh, god.”

His nose nudges at your chin, before he licks, all the way from your jaw to the corner of your mouth, as though he were a cat grooming you. To catch him in the kiss he so clearly wants, you tilt your head for him, you welcome him with a desperate whine. He swallows it like it’s sustenance, swallows everything that comes after that too, once he twists your cock between his fingers gently, on just the right edge between pleasure and pain, and it shuts the lights in your brain clean off—

He can’t swallow your next moan.

So he simply lets them pour from your lungs as he rolls your tender, neglected little cock between two talented, loving fingers, so much so it sets you entire stomach alight.

“H-how did, aah, fuck—“ You can’t muster a coherent sentence with his hand on your cock, with how he makes your entire body sing as he plucks at just one string of your whole being, playing you like a familiar instrument. But, softened by how you writhe for him, Viktor grants reprieve, switching to softly jerking your convulsing clit at just the root. You can feel yourself pulsing in his hand, you can feel every ridge of his thumbprint gliding up, down, up, down, fuck.

“How are y-you… so… so good at this?”

“Practice.” He grins. “And fine-tuned motor skills most certainly contribute.”

He dips in to kiss you again, ravenous, and twirls your cock again in that delightful, delirious way that shoots straight up your spine. 

“My god,” he pauses as if to admire you, talk to you like a sweet pet, while he continues to work you. “Do you know how hard it was, staying professional all this time? Keeping my wits about myself, teaching my lectures properly when you were there watching me like some— some hungry hawk…“

“Vikt—“

He shushes your desperate cry, watching with a smug little smile the way you fall apart on his fingers. It feels as though your clit is an unstable hex gem, spinning in an accelerator, crackling and sparking with every stroke of his daft, precise fingers. He touches your cock like it’s long and thick, puts his wrist into how he jerks you off proper. It’s less gentle, and more like he wants to milk the orgasm out of your twitching, hot cock, like he’s demanding it.

And, much like your mind, your body bends to his will just as eagerly.

His next downward stroke sets your nerves alight.

“I’m…” your cunt squeezes around nothing, gushing, leaking, but your cock jumps into his hold desperately. 

“I know,” Viktor assures. “I know. So quick and desperate, aren’t you?”

“Can’t… ’m s-sorry…”

“Oh, don’t worry, I want you to,” he whispers it into your cheek like it’s a secret. Grinds his nose into your face like an enamored cat before he kisses you with all the tenderness and innocence of someone who isn’t tugging your clit into an embarrassingly fast orgasm. “It makes me… dizzy, to know you are so eager for me that you fall apart under nothing but a few twists of my fingers… So easy…”

The last word reverberates in your mind, the way his tone toes the edge of derogation. 

“Come on,” he goads, and pinches your clit between his index and thumb. Instead of jerking it the way he did before, he simply rubs it between his fingers like it’s a coin, pocket change, nothing significant — but the way he watches you like you’re the climax of a good movie says otherwise. His thumbprint catches on your hood, pulling it back just the right amount to reveal all of you that’s sensitive, prey to him. 

It walks the knife edge of too painful, how he squeezes your wet clit it to the very root, before he gives one last, synapse-wrecking tug, and—

You scream draws all the air from your lungs, akin to drowning, and so do the rest of your senses, as you cum into his hand. He stops assaulting your clit, simply cradling the swell of your needy, sloppy cunt as he lets you ride out your orgasm, as he matches the erratic thrusts of your hips.

You let yourself succumb to it, let the death-like vehemence of it take you, and go ragdoll soft while being tended to lovingly. You put yourself in his hands because you trust them, because they treat you so well.

When you open your eyes again, he watches you with all the unadulterated wonder of a scientist.

All-consuming.

“So wonderful,” he tells you, kissing your cheek, “coming apart for me so willingly. Better than anything I’d imagined.”

He pets your pussy even as you come down from the high, sweaty and breathing and alive as though reborn. It makes you clench your thighs around his hand, how every touch burns now.

“Viktor,” you gasp with a loose tongue and looser lips, as though you’ve just awoken and your muscles don’t want to quite listen to you yet. 

“I’m right here,” he coos it like you’re scared, and though you’re not, the affirmation runs down your spine with goosebumps in its wake. He kisses your forehead with a tenderness unmatched. “I have you. I have you.”

You cling to him like none of those things are true, despite better judgment, and he preens under it.

He has you. And you have him.

The both of you sit with the blissful realization, listening to your breaths, to the clock on his wall, to the sound of his lips when he kisses down your face, before he tucks your head under his chin.

You could stay like this forever. Letting your legs slowly fall back apart as he plays with your pussy with much the same motivation you’d eaten him out well past his orgasm — to indulge himself, rather than you, to laze and revel in the afterglow.

Time slows in its course honey thick — you don’t know how much time passes until he speaks.

“I never thought…” Viktor sighs when his voice goes wobbly. “That I could have you. Like this — I still can’t quite believe it.”

You kiss under his chin.

“You knew I wanted you.” 

“Not all of it comes down to want,” he argues, and circles his thumb over the chub of your outer lips, fiddling with your cunt as he thinks rather than touching it with intent. You still raise your hips into it, and are glad to find it makes him smile, before he returns to his thoughts. “Many people want me, even at this age. Rest assured that I feel plenty of hungry gazes my way. Students, colleagues, strangers. But all of — most of them know better. I most certainly thought I knew better than to…”

He trails off.

“Fuck your assistant?”

Viktor chuckles.

“Don’t put it so crudely. I hope that you’re aware you’ve become far more than that. Even before… we did this.” He slides his hand from between your legs and holds it in front of you, marveling at the way your slick webs between his fingers.

Before he raises it to his mouth and tongues at it like it’s a delicacy.

He sucks his index into his mouth, he licks at the split between his forefinger and his middle finger as though they were cunt lips, parting.

And as he slides them from, then back into his mouth, he watches you like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna get horny again,” you warn.

With all the practiced grace of an expensive whore, Viktor pops them from his mouth .

“All according to plan.”

He has you wrapped around his little finger — and he’s terribly aware.

You’re terribly alright with that. 

You burrow yourself into the space between his face and his pillow like a bunny, chuckling, and slinging an arm over his slender waist. Drowned in his scent, soaking up his warmth, you could die happily like this.

“Mrow?”

It comes muffled from behind the wood of his bedroom door. 

Viktor begins to shift the moment he hears the little cry, and you remember to stop him when you see him reaching for his cane.

“I’ve got it,” you say. “What do you want me to do?”

“Let her in, if it’s alright with you.” He smiles. “Judging by her tone, she wants to cuddle.”

The door barely has to crack open before Persichka tucks her whiskers back against her cheeks and noses into the space offered to squeeze into the room. She bumps your shins in greeting, but she doesn’t linger — not once she spots Viktor in the bed.

With a well-placed hop, she lands almost all of her body on the mattress. Viktor cups a hand over her butt to aid her in her climb.

“Moya printsessa…” he utters to her with a smile. You can’t help but linger at the door and watch the scene unfold, rather than join.

She puts her paw on Viktor’s hip, but she’s swiftly scooped up in his arms before she can get to make the climb herself. You suspect, based on the little grimace he pulls, that it has everything to do with how cats’ paws tend to become a lethal weapon the moment they put their weight onto someone.

There’s something intimate about Viktor, naked, blanket barely covering his hips, holding Persichka close like a baby as she nuzzles under his chin and begins to purr. He closes his eyes to savor it just like she does, and for a moment, they look to be spiritually related. Intrinsically aligned.

Viktor’s sigh ends with a contented little hum, before he slides his eyes open just enough to peek at you. 

His thumb rubs idle circles into her fuzz. They’re both aglow in the low, blue light of the winter evening outside. Somewhere distant, it starts to rain.

“Come here,” he purrs.

You’re glad you did. You’re glad you’re going to.

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Sacrifices/BTR Book 2: a Jhea Fanfic

Chapter 14: for till college’..

The car slowly rolled up the driveway, the familiar house in sight. As the engine cut off, the tension in the vehicle felt thick. Jey was the first one to step out, followed by Rhea, Jeremiah, and the still-brooding Jeyce. The moment the door opened, Jeyce wasted no time darting toward the house, clearly eager to escape the current situation.

“Wait, little man,” Jey called out, his voice firm.

Jeyce halted mid-step, not even bothering to turn around at first. With a groan, he spun on his heel to face his father, the annoyance radiating from his expression once more.

“Cell phone,” Jey ordered.

Jeyce’s eyes widened in defiance. “No, Dad!” he protested, folding his arms over his chest.

Jey’s posture shifted, his tone steely. “You headbutted a kid. Cell phone. Now.”

Jeyce’s face flushed with frustration. “No!” he shouted again, his voice rising. The small rebellion in him clearly wasn’t finished yet.

Jey stepped closer, his voice lowering. “The more you say no, the longer you’re without it.”

A beat of silence passed, and Jeyce’s defiance crumbled. With a loud exhale, he reached into his pocket, pulling out the cell phone with exaggerated slowness, before tossing it into his dad’s hands. “Till when?” he muttered under his breath.

“You are grounded… for till college,” Jey replied, his voice stern but unwavering.

Jeyce froze, his eyes wide with shock. He repeated the words back to his dad in disbelief. “For till college!?”

Jey’s gaze didn’t waver as he matched his youngest son’s energy. “For till college!”

Jeyce let out an exasperated sound, turning on his heel and storming up the stairs. The door to his room slammed behind him, echoing through the house, signaling the end of the conversation—at least for now.

Inside the living room, Liv and Dom were lounging on the couch, but at the commotion, both of them had sat up, giving each other a puzzled look before their attention shifted to Jey and Rhea.

“Wait, he headbutted a kid?” Liv asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rhea sighed heavily, the frustration still fresh on her face. “I am not happy… but,” she paused, looking toward Jey for a moment, “I mean…” Her words trailed off, as if she was trying to find the right balance. “It’s better than hitting someone with a lunch box, right?”

Dom chuckled lightly, his grin mischievous. “At least he’s creative. We might as well get him signed to work with us.”

Jey rolled his eyes, running a hand over his face. “I love you all, but you guys are not helping.”

Rhea shot a look at Dom, who quickly fell silent, though the smirk never fully left his face. Jey flopped onto the couch, rubbing his temples as the weight of everything seemed to sink in.

“I just don’t get it. I mean, we’ve taught him better than this,” Jey muttered, his tone frustrated but tinged with exhaustion. “Why is it so hard for him to understand that sometimes you have to walk away?”

Liv and Dom exchanged a glance, then Liv shrugged slightly. “He’s a kid, Jey. They don’t always think before they act.”

Rhea sat beside him, her hand finding his. “It’s tough. But we’ll get through this. Jeyce will learn. He just has to understand the consequences, that’s all.”

Jey nodded, though his frustration wasn’t entirely gone. He leaned back against the couch, eyes staring off into the distance. “I just… I just don’t want him to make the same mistakes I did. I want better for him.”

Rhea squeezed his hand. “You’ve been a good dad, Jey. And he knows that. He’s just going through his own growing pains. Just like we did.”

Jey finally exhaled, looking down at their intertwined hands. “Yeah. You’re right. I just… don’t want him to think this is okay.” Jey turned off Jeyce’s phone and he shoved the phone into his pocket.

“Usually the act of being grounded does help.. it helped me.” Dom said.

“It didn’t help me..” Liv added.

“AGAIN. NOT HELPING!”

—

Jeyce sat back in his chair, a mix of irritation and curiosity swirling inside him. He had locked his door with an almost dramatic force, needing his space after everything that had gone down. He opened his laptop, tapping into the iMessage app, and quickly typed a message to Demi, trying to distract himself from the recent events.

Dad took away my phone, what a loser.

He hit send and waited, his fingers tapping nervously on the keyboard as he looked at the screen. Moments later, the reply came through.

You can’t go to the dance?

No, Jeyce quickly typed, frustration evident in the short message. I’m sorry, I had everything planned.

It’s okay, Demi responded, almost immediately. I heard what Bart said to you.

Jeyce frowned, leaning forward as he typed, Was he being truthful?

He waited anxiously for her reply, staring at the screen. The little typing bubbles popped up, then stopped, leaving him hanging in the tension of an unanswered question. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he stared at the blinking cursor.

Demi, you there?

The typing bubbles appeared again, and this time, the response came quickly. Yeah.

So what happened? Have you dated that jerk?

Jeyce hit send, his heart racing as he waited for her to respond. He knew Demi could be secretive, and a part of him didn’t know if he really wanted to hear the answer. But he had to know.

Demi’s response was slower this time, and when it came, it stung. Yeah…

Jeyce frowned, not fully understanding. You dated an older guy?

Demi’s reply was more guarded, He’s in our grade, he just failed it so he is taking it again..

Jeyce’s eyebrows furrowed. So what does he mean by you being handsy?

The message was almost instantly followed by the three little dots indicating that Demi was typing, but after a few seconds, they disappeared. He stared at the screen, willing her to answer, but nothing came.

Demi?

His fingers tapped again. What happened?

The response was short and final. Ttyl..

Jeyce stared at the screen, his chest tight. The conversation had shifted in a direction he wasn’t prepared for, and now he was left with more questions than answers. He hated being kept in the dark, especially by Demi, someone he thought he could always talk to about everything.

He let out a frustrated sigh, slamming the laptop shut. What was going on? Why wasn’t she telling him the full story?

Feeling some type of curiosity, Jeyce trudged his way down the hallway, his mind racing after Demi’s abrupt exit from their conversation. Frustrated, he knocked on his older brother Jaciyah’s door.

“Come in,” Jaciyah called out, not looking up from his laptop.

Jeyce pushed the door open and flopped onto the bed. “I’ve got drama.”

Jaciyah smirked and finally glanced over. “Dude, you’re 12. What kind of drama could you possibly have?”

Jeyce sat up, his expression serious. “What does it mean when someone says a girl was being handsy with them?”

Jaciyah raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. “Hands—wait, what? Why are you asking about that?”

Jeyce fidgeted. “Just tell me. What does it mean?”

Jaciyah shut his laptop and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “It usually means… they were doing stuff. Like adult stuff. Stuff you shouldn’t even be thinking about until you’re older. Like, way older.”

Jeyce’s eyes widened. “Oh man.”

Jaciyah leaned forward. “Okay, spill it. Why are you asking? Did someone say something about you and Demi?”

Jeyce shook his head quickly. “No, no! It’s not about us. Some jerk at school said Demi was handsy with him. I got mad, and we fought.”

Jaciyah’s expression darkened. “That’s why you’re grounded? Because of some punk spreading rumors?”

“Yeah,” Jeyce admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But Demi wouldn’t tell me if it was true. She just said she didn’t want to talk about it.”

Jaciyah sighed, standing up and pacing the room. “Look, Jeyce. People talk a lot of crap, especially about girls. Half the time, it’s just to look cool in front of their friends. You can’t go around fighting everyone who says something stupid.”

“But what if he’s not lying?” Jeyce asked, his voice quiet. “What if something happened, and Demi’s upset?”

Jaciyah sat down next to him. “Then that’s her business, little man. If she wants to talk, she will. You’ve got to respect her space.”

Jeyce frowned. “I just don’t like people talking about her like that.”

Jaciyah nodded. “I get it. But fighting won’t fix it. The best thing you can do is be there for her. Let her know she’s safe with you.”

Jeyce sighed, leaning back on the bed. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Jaciyah grinned, giving Jeyce a playful shove. “Of course, I’m right. Now, stop worrying so much. You’re too young for this kind of stress.”

Jeyce laughed a little. “Thanks, Jaciyah.”

“Anytime,” Jaciyah said, pulling his little brother into a quick hug. “Now get out of here. I’ve got homework before I go to my shift.”

Jeyce stood up and left, feeling a little more at ease but still determined to be there for Demi, no matter what.

—

Later that night, Jey and Rhea laid side by side on one side of the couch, enjoying a rare moment of peace while Dom and Liv were lounging on the other side. The movie Twister played in the background, but Jey’s attention was elsewhere, his hand resting casually on Rhea’s. They were just getting comfortable when Jeyce, unbeknownst to anyone inside the house, was making his way out of his bedroom window.

With an impressive amount of stealth, Jeyce managed to dodge the security cameras and slip past Jeremiah and Jesse, who were patrolling the perimeter of the house. His heart was racing, but his determination to talk to Demi pushed him forward. He had to know what was really going on with her and the whole situation at school. Once he reached the familiar street post, he took a deep breath and walked toward Demi’s house.

He crept around the side of her house, noting that her light was on in the upstairs window. Perfect. He picked up a pebble from the ground and threw it at her window.

“Jeyce!” Demi’s voice hissed, startled but still quiet enough not to attract attention. She opened the window slightly, poking her head out. “What are you doing here?”

Jeyce shot her a look. “You’ve been ignoring my messages.”

Demi rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed. “Hurry up and get inside before my dad sees you!” She quickly shut the window, glancing down to make sure her dad hadn’t heard anything.

Jeyce looked over at the downstairs windows and saw Demi’s dad watching TV in the living room. He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the nearest branch and, with surprising agility, climbed the tree to her window. He pulled himself inside, breathing a little heavy from the effort.

Once inside, Jeyce turned to face Demi. “Why would you date that jerk?” he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and frustration. “You could do so much better.”

Demi exhaled dramatically, collapsing onto her bed. “Fine, fine,” she muttered. “You really want to know? We only dated for like a month. It wasn’t that serious. It’s just a stupid thing.”

Jeyce frowned. “My brother said people make up stuff about others when they’re trying to get underneath your skin. Demi, what did he mean by being ‘handsy’?”

Demi’s expression soured, her arms crossed over her chest. “Jeyce, me and him? All we ever did was make out. We didn’t go any further than that. I’m only 13! And I just turned 13!”

Jeyce’s eyes widened in surprise. “So, nothing serious?”

“Nothing serious,” Demi confirmed, though there was a slight edge to her voice. “People exaggerate things all the time. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Jeyce nodded slowly, absorbing her words. “Okay. I just… I didn’t want you to get hurt, you know? You’re important to me.”

Demi softened at his words, giving him a small smile. “I know, Jeyce. I appreciate it. But I’ve got this. Don’t worry about me.”

Jeyce let out a long sigh, feeling some of the weight lift off his shoulders. “Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure.”

Demi gave him a teasing look. “You know, you’re a little overprotective for someone who’s barely in middle school.”

“Hey, I’ve got a reputation to uphold,” Jeyce smirked.

Demi rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the grin creeping onto her face. “Alright, alright. Now, can you get out of here before my dad decides to check on me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jeyce agreed, turning toward the window. “I’m going. Thanks for the talk boo.”

“I’ll message you later.” Demi said softly, watching him prepare to climb out. Jeyce stopped and he turned to look at Demi. “What—“ She started to say but Jeyce gave her a kiss, surpassing his peck that he first gave her on the lips. He pulled back and said, “I went on YouTube before I came here..” Demi blushed. “Like I said.. I’ll message you later.”

—

Meanwhile, after the movie, Jey and Rhea were sitting around the living room with Dom and Liv. The mood was easygoing and relaxed, with everyone sipping on their drinks. Rhea, as usual, stuck to her Sprite while the others enjoyed their beverages. Barry, Bella, and the cat Storm were lounging lazily on the rug, their soft breathing adding to the calm atmosphere. Kendrick Lamar’s Money Trees played softly in the background, adding a smooth vibe to the evening.

Rhea glanced at the group and asked, “So, when do you guys leave?”

Liv, who had been enjoying the evening, smiled and said, “We have a flight booked for Sunday. I can’t wait to get back in the ring. I feel so energized. Honestly, being here with you guys—especially with everything that went down—it ended on such a good note.”

Dominik added with a grin, “Yeah, I didn’t know Stamford could be so quiet and crazy at the same time.”

Jey chuckled, glancing at Rhea. “Well, you guys are always welcome to stay. Next time, we’ll be more than happy to pick you up from the airport.”

Liv’s eyes lit up, and she nudged Dom. “We actually got you something, Rhea.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow, curious. “Hmm? What’s this?”

“Dom, baby, go get it!” Liv said excitedly, her smile growing as she watched him.

Dominik shot her a playful look before getting up and heading upstairs. A moment later, he returned with a gift bag in his hand. Rhea’s curiosity piqued as she reached out to take it.

“What is it?” she asked, her fingers brushing against the soft material of the bag.

She pulled out the gift and froze when she saw what it was. It was a black picture frame, a photo of Rhea and Luna, nestled inside. Rhea’s fingers trembled as she traced the edges of the frame, her eyes locking on the image. On one side of the frame, there was a heartfelt quote about crossing the rainbow bridge, something that Rhea had never truly been able to process when Luna had passed.

She felt a lump form in her throat. Her breath caught in her chest as the tears began to fall, unbidden. The quote hit her harder than she expected. “Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.”

Jey immediately reached over, his hand settling gently on her shoulder. “Hey…” His voice was soft but steady, giving her the space to let her emotions out without pushing too much.

Rhea sniffled, her hand clutching the frame. “I… I didn’t expect this. Thank you, guys. I didn’t realize how much I still… feel it.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, her tears flowing freely now.

Liv and Dom exchanged a quiet look, but they didn’t say anything. They knew this was a moment for Rhea, and they had given her something that meant more than words could express.

Jey pulled her closer, rubbing her back soothingly. “Babe..” he whispered. “I know it’s hard.”

Rhea nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s just… Luna was my baby. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her… I still miss her so much.” Her voice was raw, but she tried to smile through the tears as she looked at Dom and Liv. “You guys… really didn’t have to, but I’m so glad you did.”

Dominik gave her a reassuring smile. “You’re family, Rhea. We’ve got your back.”

The room fell into a brief silence, everyone respecting the weight of the moment. Even Barry and Bella, who had been lazily sprawled out on the rug, seemed to sense the change in atmosphere, their eyes shifting toward Rhea as if in silent solidarity.

After a few moments, Rhea took a shaky breath, turning the frame in her hands. “I’m okay,” she said softly. “Really, I am. It’s just… it’s been a rough time, but… I’m thankful for you guys. For this. For everything.”

Jey smiled at her, his thumb brushing away the stray tear that had fallen down her cheek. “You don’t have to be okay all the time, Rhea. We’ve got you.”

—

“Ohh… fuck. Just… I just… fuck Jey…”

Jey lifted his head between Rhea’s legs, “Babe keep quiet.. we have company..” Rhea pushed Jey’s head back down and said, “No talking..” Rhea’s hand ran through his hair and held a grip as her fiancé explored her with his mouth, the other free hand gripping the silk blue sheets. Then it happened… a faint noise. Jey, lifting his head once more as he heard the same noise again. “What’s that?” he muttered, his voice low.

Rhea sighed, clearly unimpressed with more interruptions during their intimate time. “That’s your window of opportunity closing,” she said, teasing him with a smirk.

Jey chuckled but then sat up straighter, his expression shifting to seriousness. “Nah, babe, for real. I heard a thud.”

Rhea waved him off. “Probably just the dogs or the wind. But if you’re that worried, go check.”

Reluctantly, Jey got up and wiped his mouth, pulling on his basketball shorts and a t-shirt. He opened the bedroom door and stepped into the dimly lit hallway. The house was quiet, save for the faint sound of the TV downstairs. As he walked further down the hall, he froze when he heard a muffled sound coming from Jaciyah’s room.

His brows furrowed in suspicion. Quietly, he opened the door, and his eyes widened in disbelief. There, tangled under the covers, was Jaciyah—and the same girl who had picked him up for church not too long ago.

Jey’s jaw tightened in fury. “Jaciyah,” he said, his voice low and controlled, though the anger was clear. “Get dressed. And you, ma’am,” he said, pointing at the girl, “get out of my house now.”

The girl scrambled out of the bed, quickly gathering her belongings, her face flushed with embarrassment. She muttered a hasty apology and bolted out of the room without looking back.

Once she was gone, Jey turned his full attention to Jaciyah. “I’ve got enough on my plate dealing with Jeyce right now, but you?” Jey’s voice rose slightly. “I expected more from you, Jaciyah! What the hell were you thinking?”

Before Jaciyah could respond, Rhea appeared at the doorway, her arms crossed. “Who was that girl?” she asked, her tone sharp.

Jey shot her a look. “Babe, go back to the room.”

Rhea, however, wasn’t going anywhere. Her eyes darted from the bed to Jaciyah, who was sitting there shirtless, looking guilty as ever. She shook her head in disappointment. “Oh, Jaciyah. Not cool.”

Jey sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. “We’ll talk about this in the morning,” he said firmly, giving Jaciyah one last glare before leaving the room.

As they walked back to their bedroom, Rhea muttered, “You’ve got your hands full with the boys.”

Jey groaned, shutting the door behind them. “Tell me about it. I’m about to lose my damn mind.”

—

February 14th, 2025 7:16AM

The next morning, Dom and Liv were outside with Jesse making their usual morning run. They chatted easily, but Jey’s mind was elsewhere as he stood in Jaciyah’s room, arms crossed, staring at his son, who wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Look, Jaciyah,” Jey began, his voice firm but not yelling. “I get it. You’re almost 18. You’re doing online school, you’ve got a job, and I’m proud of you for that. I even let you use my car to get to work. But sneaking someone into my house? That’s crossing a line.”

Jaciyah finally looked up, his face tight with defiance and a little guilt. “She’s almost my girlfriend,” he mumbled.

“Almost?” Jey repeated incredulously. “What the hell does almost mean?”

Jaciyah shifted uncomfortably. “I met her that day I took Jeyce to the listening party. We just clicked. She’s been coming down from New Haven every weekend since, and I’ve been hanging out with her after my shifts at Pizza Hut.”

Jey sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Have you two…” He let the question hang, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

Jaciyah shook his head quickly. “No, we haven’t. But we were going to.”

Jey closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. “Son, listen to me. You don’t have to rush into that kind of thing. Trust me, once you go down that road, everything changes.”

Jaciyah’s eyes narrowed. “You’re one to talk.”

Jey chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, I know. I was stupid when I was your age, and I made a lot of mistakes. The point is, you don’t have to make the same ones.”

Jaciyah didn’t respond, his face a mix of teenage rebellion and reluctant understanding.

Jey let out another sigh, this time softer. “Look, I can’t exactly ground you. You’re too old for that now. But if you ever pull this stunt again, I’m telling your mom. No hesitation.”

Jaciyah finally nodded, albeit begrudgingly. “Got it.”

“Good.” Jey glanced toward the hallway. “I’m heading out to take Rhea shopping for the baby registry. I’ve already told Jeremiah to keep an eye on things, so he’s in the house right now. Don’t try anything.”

Jaciyah gave a faint smirk. “Got it, Dad.”

Jey patted him on the shoulder and headed for the door. “See you later, son.”

—

Rhea grabbed another onesie and tossed it into the cart, the tiny fabric landing on top of an already overflowing pile of baby clothes.

Jey sighed dramatically, leaning on the cart. “Babe… how about something practical? Like, I don’t know… a car seat? Diapers?”

Rhea rolled her eyes and smirked. “I want the baby to have lots of clothes. They need to look cute, Jey.”

“I get that, but the baby also needs to sit in something. You know, like when we’re driving home from the hospital?” Jey said, raising an eyebrow.

Before he could say anything more, Rhea’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, babe, look!” She practically squealed, pointing toward a sleek, all-black rocking chair displayed in the corner of the store.

Jey followed her gaze, and his shoulders slumped. “Babe… that thing’s $200.”

Rhea clasped her hands together and turned to him, eyes wide with excitement. “But it’s black! It matches my vibe.”

Jey looked at her, unimpressed. “Our car seat.”

Rhea groaned dramatically, throwing her head back. “Come on, Jey! We need this chair. Imagine rocking the baby to sleep in that. It’s perfect!” She placed her hands on the chair’s armrests and gave it a little shake. “See? Sturdy.”

Jey sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll get it, but if we do, you have to take $200 worth of stuff out of the cart. Non-negotiable.”

Rhea gasped, clutching her chest like he’d just insulted her. “You’re cruel!” She peered into the cart, muttering to herself. “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll take out these socks—they’re on sale for $2.99.”

Jey smirked, shaking his head. “Great. That still leaves $197.01 to go.”

Rhea groaned and started pulling random items out of the cart. “Fine. These onesies? Gone. These cute little booties? Ugh, gone. But I’m keeping the baby blanket,” she said firmly, holding it close to her chest.

Jey leaned over, inspecting the cart. “Good start. But we’re still over.”

Rhea glared at him playfully. “You’re ruining my fun, Jey.”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “You’re the one who wanted the $200 chair. You’ll thank me when we’re driving home safely with a car seat instead of holding the baby in your arms.”

Rhea pouted. “I guess you have a point. But next time, I’m bringing Trinity. She won’t guilt me into being responsible.”

Jey laughed. “Good luck with that. You know Jon’s gonna back me up.”

Rhea sighed, reluctantly pulling out a couple more items. “Fine. But I’m buying those booties online later. You won’t stop me.”

Jey smirked. “I wouldn’t dream of it, babe.”

-

With their purchases loaded into the back of Jey’s Mercedes, they climbed into the front seats. Jey adjusted the rearview mirror and glanced at Rhea. “So… you thinking about getting a new car anytime soon?”

Rhea buckled her seatbelt and leaned back. “I’ve got the money in my account for the Jeep… but I haven’t found one I like yet.”

Jey raised an eyebrow. “You want a Jeep again, babe? Or are you thinking of switching it up?”

Rhea tapped her chin, considering. “I don’t know. I’m leaning toward something more family-friendly. Something that can fit all the kids, plus Jon, Trinity, and their little crew.”

Jey nodded thoughtfully. “I saw a nice Tahoe online the other day. Spacious, plenty of room for everyone.”

Rhea tilted her head, intrigued. “You’ve been car shopping without me?”

Jey chuckled. “Not exactly. I’ve just been thinking about trading in the Mercedes. Maybe getting something more practical, too.”

Rhea turned to him, her hand resting on his arm. “But I love the Mercedes. It’s perfect for us.”

Jey smiled at her, his eyes softening. “I love it, too. But I want something better, something that can handle long trips with the kids.”

Rhea thought for a moment before her face lit up. “How about this? I’ll get something family-friendly, and we keep the Mercedes for date nights. Best of both worlds.”

Jey grinned, taking her hand as he started the car. “Deal babe.”

As they drove, Rhea laced her fingers with his. “Speaking of date nights… where are you taking me tonight?”

Jey’s lips curled into a mysterious smile. “It’s a surprise. But we need to be ready by six.”

Rhea’s excitement bubbled over. “A surprise? Now I’m really curious!”

Jey laughed, giving her hand a squeeze. “You’ll love it, trust me.”

Rhea leaned back in her seat, a satisfied smile on her face. “I can’t wait.”

—

Dominik’s phone buzzed, and he glanced down to see a text from Jey. Sure thing, I’ll make sure Jeremiah opens the door for you two if you guys get home before us. He smirked and pocketed his phone, turning to Liv, who was lounging on the bed in Jey and Rhea’s guest room, scrolling through her phone.

“Got any plans tonight?” he asked, his tone casual.

Liv barely looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Nope. Because my boyfriend doesn’t know how to plan anything.”

Dom laughed, leaning against the doorway. “Ouch. That’s harsh.”

Liv smirked, her eyes finally meeting his. “Am I wrong?”

Dom shrugged, walking over to her. “Actually… Jey and Rhea are heading out tonight, and let’s just say your boyfriend does know how to plan when it counts.”

Liv’s curiosity piqued as she sat up, her legs crossed. “Oh? And what exactly do you have planned, Mr. Mysterio?”

Dom leaned down, placing his hands on either side of her on the bed. “Let’s just say this Valentine’s Day is gonna be one to remember.”

Liv giggled as Dom leaned closer, their noses touching. He gave her a gentle Eskimo kiss, causing her to burst into a soft laugh. “You’re so cheesy,” she teased.

“And you love it,” Dom said with a grin, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

Liv sighed, resting her forehead against his. “Fine, you get points for effort. But this better be good, Mysterio.”

Dom smirked, standing up straight. “Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.”

Liv watched him with a playful glint in her eyes. “You’ve got me curious now.”

Dom winked as he backed toward the door. “Good. Now, get ready, because we’ve got plans, Miss Morgan.”

Liv chuckled, grabbing a pillow and playfully tossing it at him. “I’ll be ready. Don’t mess this up, Dom.”

He caught the pillow with ease, flashing her a confident smile. “Never.”

—

Jeyce sat at his desk, the soft hum of his laptop filling the otherwise quiet room as he typed out a message to Demi. His fingers hovered over the keys, carefully crafting his words.

“I wish I could go with you to the dance.”

After a moment, Demi’s reply popped up on the screen. “It’s fine. But hey, why don’t you come over again? My dad has a date, and Daya is sneaking into your house to see your brother again.”

Jeyce couldn’t help but chuckle. “I heard everything last night! My dad was so PO’ed.”

Demi’s response came quickly. “I know! Both of them won’t learn their lesson… but for real, sneak out and we’ll have our own Sweetheart Dance!”

Jeyce grinned, excitement rising. “Of course! Rhea and my dad are going out, and so are Liv and Dom. Plus, it was way too easy to sneak past my uncles.”

“Perfect! Wear what you were going to wear, and I’ll do the same!” Demi replied with a wink emoji.

Jeyce smiled, closing his laptop and quickly making his way to his room to grab the clothes he had planned for the dance. He was pumped to finally have the chance to hang out with Demi alone.

Meanwhile, Jaciyah was texting Daya, his phone vibrating softly against his bed as he typed, “You still coming over tonight?”

A moment passed before Daya’s reply lit up the screen. “Not if your dad is there!”

Jaciyah snickered. “Lol, he and Rhea are going out.”

Daya’s message came a few seconds later. “Okay, then.”

Jaciyah, feeling a bit bolder now, sent a follow-up text. “Maybe we go a little further?”

Daya’s reply was playful. “Lol, maybe we stop at our safe spot.”

Jaciyah smiled, his thoughts drifting to the possibilities. “Worth a shot.”

[hollow-toy]

wanna come over and put a gun to my head? sorry, typo, i meant do you wanna come over and put a gun to my head? i mean a gun to my head? shit sorry idk what's wrong with my phone. i'm trying to ask if you wanna come over and put a gun to my head? i mean

[madmaxified]

rio vidal is the bottom and sadly this is not talked about enough

[camzverse]

vanessa shelly is sooo sp6. u dont even know. its insane

[slitheringghost]

Hermione As Teacher And Connections To Lily

An interesting narrative thread is how often Hermione's magic and teaching influences other characters' and how often it goes unrecognized, and particularly how it parallels a lot of Lily's own magic saving Harry from Voldemort. (Read on Ao3)

1. Triwizard Tournament

Summoning Charm

he did so badly at Summoning Charms in Professor Flitwick’s class that he was given extra homework — the only person to get any, apart from Neville. “It’s really not that difficult, Harry,” Hermione tried to reassure him [...] — she had been making objects zoom across the room to her all lesson, as though she were some sort of weird magnet [...] “You just weren’t concentrating properly —” (Ch 18, GoF)

Harry still hadn’t mastered Summoning Charms, he seemed to have developed something of a block about them, and Hermione insisted that learning the theory would help. They consequently spent a lot of time poring over books during their lunchtimes (Ch 19, GoF)

“Hermione, I need to learn how to do a Summoning Charm properly by tomorrow afternoon.” And so they practiced. They didn’t have lunch, but headed for a free classroom [...] At two o’clock in the morning, Harry stood near the fireplace, surrounded by heaps of objects [...] Only in the last hour had Harry really got the hang of the Summoning Charm. “That’s better, Harry, that’s loads better,” Hermione said, looking exhausted but very pleased. (Ch 20, GoF)

Flitwick then spends most of a lesson "talking to Harry about the perfect Summoning Charm Harry had used during the First Task".

1.2 Shield Charm

(Full analysis of the Shield Charm and how it's textually linked to Lily is in my meta When Lily Cast Her Life As A Shield)

He was still having trouble with the Shield Charm, though. This was supposed to cast a temporary, invisible wall around himself that deflected minor curses [...] “You’re still doing really well, though,” Hermione said encouragingly, looking down her list and crossing off those spells they had already learned. “Some of these are bound to come in handy.” [...] Come on, Harry,” she added briskly [...] “let’s try that Shield Charm again.” (Ch 31, GoF)

Which Harry then teaches the DA:

He was improving so fast it was quite unnerving and when Harry taught them the Shield Charm, [...] only Hermione mastered the charm faster than Neville. (Ch 25, OoTP)

Then, what Fred and George say makes the real money in the joke shop:

“We’ve just developed this more serious line,” said Fred. “Funny how it happened...” “You wouldn’t believe how many people, even people who work at the Ministry, can’t do a decent Shield Charm,” said George. “’Course, they didn’t have you teaching them, Harry.” “That’s right... Well, we thought Shield Hats were a bit of a laugh, you know, challenge your mate to jinx you while wearing it and watch his face when the jinx just bounces off. But the Ministry bought five hundred for all its support staff! And we’re still getting massive orders!” “So we’ve expanded into a range of Shield Cloaks, Shield Gloves...” “...I mean, they wouldn’t help much against the Unforgivable Curses, but for minor to moderate hexes or jinxes...” (Ch 6, HBP) Although Snape did not know it, Harry had taught at least half the class (everyone who had been a member of the D.A.) how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. None of them had ever cast the charm without speaking, however. A reasonable amount of cheating ensued [...] Typically, ten minutes into the lesson Hermione managed to repel Neville’s muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word (Ch 9, HBP)

I love that Harry is then the one to teach Hermione the Patronus Charm - which Remus tells Harry is "a kind of anti-dementor - a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the dementor".

1.3 Four-Point Spell

and the Four-Point Spell, a useful discovery of Hermione’s that would make his wand point due north, therefore enabling him to check whether he was going in the right direction within the maze. (Ch 31, GoF)

“Point Me,” he whispered to his wand, holding it flat in his palm. The wand spun around once and pointed toward his right, into solid hedge. (Ch 31, GoF)

It's reasonable to extrapolate that the spell is Hermione's invention, given that it's the only spell with an English incantation, and inventions are referred to as "discoveries" several times - Remus wrt the Wolfsbane Potion in PoA, Dumbledore's work ("the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood", "does Skeeter deny the brilliance that led to Dumbledore’s many magical discoveries?"), Harry has to "memorize the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions" and mentions books titled "Important Modern Magical Discoveries and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry", Fred says they "spent six months developing" the Ton-Tongue Toffees, etc.

Hermione inventing this is particularly compelling given that it's similar to what Harry's wand does in DH (related to Lily's spellwork deflecting the Killing Curse), and Harry's conflict with her after she breaks his wand.

[...] his wand acted of its own accord. He felt it drag his hand around like some great magnet, saw a spurt of golden fire through his half-closed eyelids, heard a crack and a scream of fury. (Ch 4, DH) He knew exactly what Hermione would say if he expressed any of this: The wand is only as good as the wizard. But she was wrong, his case was different. She had not felt the wand spin like the needle of a compass and shoot golden flames at his enemy. (Ch 18, DH)

Also notable is Hermione solving Snape's Potions riddle, and Harry echoing this with solving the Sphinx riddle during the Third Task (Harry thinking “it was Hermione who was good at this sort of thing, not him” and then “amazed at his own brilliance” when he solves it).

2. Other examples

2.1 Impervius Charm

“I’ve got no chance with these on,” Harry said exasperatedly, waving his glasses. At that very moment, Hermione appeared at his shoulder; she was holding her cloak over her head and was, inexplicably, beaming. “I’ve had an idea, Harry! Give me your glasses, quick!” He handed them to her, and as the team watched in amazement, Hermione tapped them with her wand and said, “Impervius!” “There!” she said [...] “They’ll repel water!” Wood looked as though he could have kissed her. “Brilliant!” he called hoarsely after her [...] Hermione’s spell had done the trick. (Ch 9, PoA) "Harry, didn’t you do something to your glasses to stop the rain fogging them up when we played Hufflepuff in that storm?” “Hermione did it,” said Harry. He pulled out his wand, tapped his glasses and said, “Impervius!” “I think we all ought to try that,” said Angelina. “[...] all together, come on — Impervius!" (Ch 18, OoTP)

Additionally, when Padfoot comes to watch during that PoA match and dementors swarm the field, making Harry hear Lily's murder for the first time, Harry falls from his broom, his Nimbus crashes into the Whomping Willow, others say they thought he was dead and "Lucky the ground was so soft" - of course, it wasn't luck, it was Dumbledore; Hermione then repeats these actions in DH - during the waterfall in the Thief's Downfall (evokes the drowning feeling from dementors; and Hermione additionally uses the Shield Charm there) and immediately after they escape LV in Godric’s Hollow and Harry finally gets the full memory of Lily's death (Hermione’s eyes being emphasized):

“Dumbledore was really angry,” Hermione said in a quaking voice. “I’ve never seen him like that before. He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wand at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. They left the stadium right away [...]" “Then he magicked you onto a stretcher,” said Ron. “And walked up to school with you floating on it. Everyone thought you were...” (Ch 9, PoA) “Yes,” said Hermione. “I had to use a Hover Charm to get you into your bunk, I couldn't lift you [...]" There were purple shadows under her brown eyes and he noticed a small sponge in her hand: She had been wiping his face. (Ch 17, DH) Water filled Harry’s eyes and mouth: He could not see or breathe: [...] Harry heard the cart smash into pieces against the passage wall, heard Hermione shriek something, and felt himself glide back toward the ground as though weightless, landing painlessly on the rocky passage floor. “C-Cushioning Charm,” Hermione spluttered (Ch 26, DH)

2.2 Murtlap Essence

During that PoA practice, Fred and George were debating using Fever Fudge to get out of flying:

“— but you get these massive pus-filled boils too,” said George, “and we haven’t worked out how to get rid of them yet.” “I can’t see any boils,” said Ron, staring at the twins. “No, well, you wouldn’t,” said Fred darkly, “they’re not in a place we generally display to the public —” “— but they make sitting on a broom a right pain in the —” (Ch 18, OoTP)

The knowledge Hermione uses to heal the I must not tell lies scar on Harry's hand helps the twins finish the Snackboxes:

“Here,” she said anxiously, pushing a small bowl of yellow liquid toward him, “soak your hand in that, it’s a solution of strained and pickled murtlap tentacles, it should help.” Harry placed his bleeding, aching hand into the bowl and experienced a wonderful feeling of relief. (Ch 15, OoTP) When Harry next saw Lee, the back of his hand was bleeding rather badly. Harry recommended essence of murtlap. (Ch 25, OoTP) Hermione cast him a stern look. “You’ve got exams coming!” “Told you already, we’re not fussed about N.E.W.T.s,” said Fred. “The Snackboxes are ready to roll, we found out how to get rid of those boils, just a couple of drops of murtlap essence sorts them, Lee put us onto it...” (Ch 26, OoTP)

2.3 Magical Eavesdropping Methods

Harry frankly marveled at the fact that Hermione could research magical methods of eavesdropping as well as everything else they had to do. (Ch 28, GoF)

People have theorized that Hermione’s research while she was taking revenge against Rita Skeeter may have aided Fred and George develop the Extendable Ears, esp. since she was staying at 12GP that summer.

2.4 DA Galleons

Hermione's inspired by Voldemort's magic to invent the DA's communication method; Draco then gets the idea from that to carry out his Death Eater mission, enchanting his own coins to secretly communicate with Rosmerta, and also gets the idea to poison the mead from Hermione, having "heard her talking in the library about Filch not recognizing potions".

“You know what these remind me of?” “No, what’s that?” “The Death Eaters’ scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they’ve got to join him.” “Well... yes,” said Hermione quietly. “That is where I got the idea... but you’ll notice I decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members’ skin...” “Yeah... I prefer your way,” said Harry, grinning, as he slipped his Galleon into his pocket. (Ch 19, OoTP)

Notably, Lily's blood magic - unlike Hermione's and very like Voldemort's - does burn Voldemort's skin.

Similarly significant is Hermione's invention of the SNEAK curse - where the DA members all sign the binding contract in the Hog's Head, the same establishment where Trelawney gave the prophecy, and the binding contract incorporated in Lily's magic. Hermione enchants ~28 coins for the whole DA and creates the curse within the span of ~a month.

2.5 O.W.L. exam

Three rows to his right and four seats ahead, Hermione was already scribbling… He lowered his eyes to the first question: a) Give the incantation, and b) describe the wand movement required to make objects fly... Harry had a fleeting memory of a club soaring high into the air and landing loudly on the thick skull of a troll... Smiling slightly, he bent over the paper and began to write

On the whole Harry thought it went rather well; his Levitation Charm was certainly much better than Malfoy’s had been, though he wished he had not mixed up the incantations for Color-Change and Growth Charms (Ch 31, OoTP) the exam to which Harry was looking forward least and which he was sure would be the one that would be the downfall of his ambitions to become an Auror. Sure enough, he found the written exam difficult, though he thought he might have got full marks on the question about Polyjuice Potion: He could describe its effects extremely accurately, having taken it illegally in his second year. (Ch 31, OoTP)

Hermione is linked to Harry's Charms and Potions exams, the subjects most directly tied to Lily. Important to note that Professor Marchbanks praises Dumbledore for having “done things with a wand I’d never seen before” during his Charms and Transfiguration N.E.W.T.s - which Hermione didn't get to take 'cause of the war; and Harry and Neville are acknowledged as doing better in Potions without Snape's presence - clearly true of Hermione's potential too as her best accomplishment was brewing a N.E.W.T. level potion second year, outside Snape's supervision (which took a month, and then she spent 2 months in the hospital due to petrification/Polyjuice turning her into a cat).

2.6 Body Bind Curse

Harry turned to Hermione. “Do something,” he said desperately. [...] “Neville,” she said, “I’m really, really sorry about this.” “Petrificus Totalus!” she cried [...] Neville’s arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board. [...] “What’ve you done to him?” Harry whispered. “It’s the full Body-Bind,” said Hermione miserably. (PS)

Interestingly, Harry instinctively copies what he saw of Sirius in SWM during the DoM sequence, using the full Body Bind for the first time (at least, that we see on screen). Hermione compliments Harry on it, calling back to her being the first one to show him first year - and her being cursed right after echoes the description of Sirius falling through the veil: "the second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest", his eyes widening in shock and the "look of mingled fear and surprise".

Sirius said, “Petrificus Totalus!” and Snape keeled over again at once, rigid as a board. “LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily. (Ch 28, OoTP) “Petrificus Totalus!” shouted Harry, as the second Death Eater raised his wand [...] “Well done, Ha —” But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand from which flew a streak of what looked like purple flame. It passed right across Hermione’s chest; she gave a tiny “oh!” as though of surprise and then crumpled onto the floor (Ch 35, OoTP) Harry seized his chance: “PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!” The spell hit Dolohov before he could block it, and he toppled forward across his comrade, both of them rigid as boards and unable to move an inch. (Ch 35, OoTP) Springing up, Harry yelled, “Petrificus Totalus!” Once again, Dolohov’s arms and legs snapped together and he keeled over backward, landing with a crash on his back. “Nice one!” shouted Sirius, forcing Harry’s head down [...] (Ch 35, OoTP)

2.7 Unbreakable Charm

Not something Hermione specifically taught, but also interesting is Hermione mirroring Barty Crouch Jr. during his Unforgivables lesson (and saying Harry gave her the idea when he mentioned "bugging").

Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it. (Ch 14, GoF)

“Oh not electronic bugs [...] Rita Skeeter [...] is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn —” Hermione pulled a small sealed glass jar out of her bag. “— into a beetle.” [...] Inside were a few twigs and leaves and one large, fat beetle [...] Hermione took the glass jar back from Ron and smiled at the beetle, which buzzed angrily against the glass. [...] “I’ve put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can’t transform. And I’ve told her she’s to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can’t break the habit of writing horrible lies about people.” (Ch 37, GoF)

Hermione imprisoning Rita Skeeter in a jar vaguely references Lily and Harry's actions in 1981 leading to an "imprisoned" LV in Albania; this also happens a few chapters after Priori Incantatem, and Harry and LV under the web of light evokes insects trapped underneath glass:

The golden thread connecting Harry and Voldemort splintered; though the wands remained connected, a thousand more beams arced high over Harry and Voldemort, crisscrossing all around them, until they were enclosed in a golden, dome-shaped web, a cage of light, beyond which the Death Eaters circled like jackals, their cries strangely muffled now... “Do nothing!” Voldemort shrieked to the Death Eaters, and Harry saw his red eyes wide with astonishment at what was happening, saw him fighting to break the thread of light [...] and the golden thread remained unbroken. “Do nothing unless I command you!” (Ch 34, GoF)

Then the phoenix song comes from "every thread of the light-spun web vibrating around Harry and Voldemort", and a voice saying Don't break the connection (elaborated here).

3.0 Blasting Curse

All this comes full circle in the Godric's Hollow graveyard in DH (a deeper analysis also for another post), where Hermione mirrors what Harry did because of Lily as a baby (and also Harry's actions at the start of DH while flying during the Battle of the Seven Potters): blows up the house (“Confringo") and enrages Voldemort as she and Harry fly out the window - fly from death - together.

[dawnleaf37]

swap au phighting regretevator except we don’t swap them with each other normally and we literally just drop spud in phighting and see what happens

[laesas]

Pathetic!Kimhan truthers rise up 💕