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always-just-red · 16 hours

Note

Hii! I've seen some Pregnancy scenario with LaD's men, but I have this HC-- personally for Sylus. That when fem!reader got pregnant, he didn't really understand how the Pregnancy hormones work, until he experienced one and he got confused how he should act or react because it's feels like he's walking on landime, one wrong move/word, she'd throwing tantrum or being sulky at him

I've heard from my Friend who got pregnant before, when she craving something and her Husband showing any form that he can't fulfill what she's craves, she felt her heart broken, and she'd sulk and acted as if he just cheated on her. The problem is, she always craved something that didn't even exist at that moment😂, she's craving certain type of Mango while it's not even that Mango season, so nobody selling it. He literally being desperate to negotiate with her cravings

So... Can I request a scenario smiliar like that? It doesn't have to be mango, or any foods. Just... how Pregnancy hormones or Cravings could make Sylus got frustated lol

Aaaaa anon this is adorable, thank you! We love making Sylus suffer in cute and harmless ways. He's always asking for trouble, so let's give him some! 😌💅

Something Sweet

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus knows how to get what he wants. Getting what you want might be a little more tricky...

Genre: fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: female!reader, IMPLIED pregnant!reader (pregnancy not actually mentioned or described- just hormones being hormones ✌), established relationship, canon pet names, a lil bit of roleplay because Sylus refuses to leave his Mystic Adventure era

| Word count: 2.1k | Masterlist |

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Sy, d’you know what I’m craving right now?”

“Always, sweetie.” Sylus doesn’t look up from his book. “Not now, though. I’m tired.”

Morning sunlight streams through the gaps in your living room curtains, casting pale yellow shapes over the floor. A shard of it has been inching over the sofa towards Sylus, the sharp edge now grazing the side of his face. He shifts, ever so slightly, away from its touch. His eyes are open but heavy.

“No,” you scold, leaning forwards to swat at him with your book. “That’s not what I meant, you narcissist.”

He chuckles with his usual low timbre— his gaze still not lifting— and the sound is deeper for how close he is to sleep. He wants to give in to it, you can tell. When he turns a page, the movement is languid, soft. You’re losing him.

“Sy,” you say again, then with more of a whine: “Sylus.”

His eyes flutter closed as he draws in a deep breath. His hand raises, his fingers stretching to pull his reading glasses from his face. They’re set down on the arm of the chair beside him, along with the book, and he turns to you with a smile. “What are you craving, sweetie?”

You rest your book on your stomach. Your legs are stretched out over Sylus’s lap, and his hand finds one of your feet, massaging an ache from it as you begin your speech. “Do you remember that café we used to go to? The one we found when it started raining in the park that day? We didn’t think it was open, but then the owner knocked on the window and said we could—”

“Yeah?” His hand moves to your other foot.

“Well, they make these—”

“Macarons.”

“You remember?”

His smile widens like he remembers vividly. “Kitten, how could I forget? I’m still jealous of that sweet little treat. You’ve never made that face for me, and believe me—” he wiggles one of your toes— “I’ve tried.”

That had been one of the only times you’d truly caught him off-guard, back when your feelings for one another were unnamed and uncharted. The rain had been drumming against the café window, and you’d heaved Sylus’s damp coat from your shoulders— giggled at the raised eyebrow and the sarcastic ‘…thanks’ he’d given in turn. One hot drink later, you were lifting a pastel pink macaron to your lips, taking a delicate bite and failing to stifle a tiny, almost euphoric moan.

You remember realising yourself: blushing profusely and expecting some remark, some ridicule, but none ever came. Sylus’s eyes were wide, dark, fixed upon your still parted mouth.

After a few of the longest seconds of your life, he’d dragged the plate with the rest of the macarons away from you and muttered something about how you had better not do that again.

“They’re still the sweetest things I’ve ever tasted,” you tease now, just as you’d wrestled him for that plate back then, set on eating every last macaron.

He makes a hmph as he idly runs a finger over the part of your foot he knows is ticklish. His expression is distinctly grumpy, but it falters as you laugh and try to writhe away from him.

You’re quickly out of breath. “Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

He glances up at you and you smile sweetly, head tilting. “Please?”

His coat on a rainy day. The entire plate of macarons in the end; he’s never been very good at denying you anything. For the first time since you’d stirred him from his book, however, he appears genuinely regretful. “You’re forgetting something, sweetie,” he murmurs gently. “Why did we stop going to that café, hmm?”

You shrug.

“It closed, kitten,” he sighs. “Months ago.”

“What?”

Not only did you already know that— you actually visited the café on its final day. The owner was telling you stories: he was moving somewhere warmer, closer to family, and he needed all the funds he could get. Sylus had snuck an obscene amount of money into the man’s tip jar whilst you acted as a distraction. You both had fond memories of that place; it was nice to make one more.

It's all coming back to you and you’re struck by a wave of nostalgia. You want to go back there. You can’t go back there. It doesn’t exist anymore, and you’ll never taste sweetness like that again.

Your mouth has gone dry.

“Sweetie?” Sylus prompts, because he notices you’re far away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice wobbles, “I just really wanted… I mean, I really needed one of those—”

“… Macarons?” he finishes for you.

You burst into tears, and one day, you’ll tally this as another time you took the man by surprise. His face drops instantly— lost, for a moment— before he slides your legs from his lap, allowing him to lean closer. “No, no, no,” he coos, “don’t cry, kitten, please. I didn’t mean to… well, I didn’t realise…”

He doesn’t know what to say, and he always knows what to say. He set you off with a single word and now he’s stuttering like sentences are all possible landmines. He tries his luck again, putting a foot forward: “Listen to me. I’ll go to the store. Would that be alright? Or perhaps there’s another café that could—”

You explode: sobbing even more viscerally. Your whole body shakes with it.

Sylus has frozen. He watches on helplessly as you cry, blabbering about the macarons you can’t have and the café you can’t return to. Across the room, even Mephisto has hunched down on his perch, though he issues a few, spirited squawks, maybe in solidarity with your breakdown, or maybe in protest of it.

It’s like a catalyst. You cry more: burying your face in your hands because what the hell is wrong with you? It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, so why do you feel sick? And then there’s Sylus— your Sylus, devoted and adoring— and here you are, punishing him for something beyond his control.

You look up from your hands, desperate to apologise, but he’s gone. More shards of sunlight paint his empty seat and catch all that’s left of him: a few crow feathers, glistening like onyx. Mephisto is gone too, and the room is quiet, save for you snivelling and feeling sorry for yourself.

“Sylus?” you call out into the empty morning.

It isn’t his fault, not really. You wouldn’t want to be around you, either.

…

Something brushes over your cheek, and your tired eyes open.

The sun has ebbed back behind the curtains and the ceiling light has taken its place, casting artificial highlights over everything in reach: the coffee table, the closed-up flowers at its centre and a mug of tea that’s gone cold. Sylus is in front of you too, backlit and soft like a daydream, and he—

He left you.

“Sy?” you whisper warily, because the context is coming back to you slowly, piece by piece.

“Hey,” he coaxes, voice as honeyed as whatever’s turned the air sweet.

You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes and relishing the warmth of his hand on your face. Then you slap his shoulder. “Hey, really? That’s all you’ve got— hey?”

He’s kneeling for you— on the floor, beside the couch— so you can meet his eyes. He settles his chin thoughtfully on the edge of the seat, his nose almost touching yours. “What would you prefer, sweetie?” His lips are close to yours too. “Good evening, my beloved? Greetings, my queen?”

“How about sorry?” you snap, because he isn’t cute and he isn’t charming.

He pouts. “Why sorry?”

“Because you left, Sylus!” You sit up straighter, and your phone tumbles out of your lap. Its screen is still lit-up from a few hours ago, showcasing a very one-sided conversation and a rant you never actually sent, because it’s still in the text box.

You vaguely recall writing it, so you try to snatch the phone from Sylus’s hand as he plucks it from the floor. He’s more alert than you. More co-ordinated. He keeps it out of your grasp as he reads the unsent message, an eyebrow raising.

It was a lot of things— colourful, creative— not entirely tasteful. “My, my, your highness,” he tuts, “so this is the treatment your valiant knight receives for undertaking your quest?”

“You’re not valiant,” you rebuke, and you manage to wrestle your phone from him. “You’re—”

“A heartless prick,” he finishes casually, quoting your message with a chuckle. He takes your free hand and kisses the back of it, refusing to let you pull away. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“You can have your heart back.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with it, sweetie. With me, too. Now—” he sits back on his knees— “would you please ask me about my quest?”

The analogy is lost on you. You sit fully up, looking down at him. “What quest, oh valiant knight?”

His lips form a smirk; he just loves when you play along. “Close your eyes.”

You do— whether you’re queen or not. You hear him shifting aside, and then there’s a snap of his fingers. The air changes, warping like thick, liquid smoke, and you know he’s using his Evol. “Open,” he commands.

And there on the coffee table, freshly teleported, is a plate of macarons the colour of cherry blossoms. As if anticipating the comparison, Sylus pulls a handful of pink petals from his pocket and blows them up into the air so they can spiral down on the scene. He watches them. Then you. “Ta-da,” he proclaims, his tone dry but full of humour.

You’re prone to hyperbole nowadays, but this is without a doubt the best thing you have ever seen.

“Sylus,” you gasp in disbelief, “how did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says; the story isn’t for today, and he’s very, very tired. A few weeks from now he’ll tell you about how he tracked down the contact information of the owner of the old café. How he spent an hour on the phone bargaining for a certain macaron recipe, and several more hours in the kitchen, trying to get them perfect. “Now, they might not be exactly the same, sweetie. But I did try to—”

You surge forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s so impulsive— so reckless— that you almost tumble down from the couch, but he catches you, steadies you, and your hand is gripping the soft of his hair as he kisses you back. Slowly, his mouth not leaving yours, he lifts you back into your seat.

“Easy, sweetie.” His voice is low as he pulls away, and though he turns his face from you, you can make out the blush on his cheeks. He settles back into his kneeling position on the floor. “I have one more surprise for you. Do try to control yourself.”

He retrieves a small, complete flower from his pocket, albeit one a little dreary from its journey. Sylus smiles triumphantly as he holds it out to you, and he was right; you do want to throw yourself at him. Instead, you take the flower and lean forwards, tucking it behind his ear before he can protest. He’d tilted closer to help you, and he sits back with an exasperated tsk when you’re done.

“It suits you,” you grin.

He yawns. “Everything does.”

You don’t want to get into trouble, so you shimmy to the very edge of your seat and carefully— showing tremendous restraint— reach out to take his face in your hands. “You’re amazing, Sy. Thank you for doing all of this for me, but…”

“But…?”

“I missed you. I like macarons, yeah,” you smile, “but I’d much rather have you.”

This time, he can’t hide his face and the way it goes pink, like the blossom behind his ear. His cheeks are warm beneath your palms. “You couldn’t have said that before I spent the whole day—”

His voice is strangled as you keel towards him— slow and deliberate— to thread your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He tenses for a moment, then wraps his arms around you too: holding you tightly, keeping you from falling any further. You can feel his hand stroking your back and he hums as you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Such a lovely moment, kitten,” he muses, your head on his shoulder. “I do hope it’s sincere, and not— say— an excuse for someone to get her paws on the macarons behind me.”

There’s another moment of quiet.

“Don’t be silly, Sy,” you retort, but your mouth is full, your cheeks are stuffed, and not a single word of it is intelligible.

#🖋rach is actually writing #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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lesbikaiser · 2 days

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Thoughts about size kink!nagi first time with u but he doesn't know that hes huge >_<

alright how did you get access to my wip's AND my thoughts... literally ive been thinking about it for so long and got a lot of drafts

this is kinda short and rushed because i plan to write something more detailed but really wanted to answer your ask so! look forward to it i guesssss

nagi is a virgin, you can't change my mind. size kink? what's that? he doesn't know shit about sex except for the basics, so he doesn't really understand your reaction when you first see his dick. is it big? oh yeah he has heard his friends talking about dick sizes but he never was the one to pay it any mind, neither was he the one to actually measure his, so he's just been living with that massive thing without even knowing.

when you tell him it's not gonna fit, he doesn't really gets it. what do you mean? he has to thrust his dick inside you, that's how things are meant to go, right? so why are you squirming away from him? why does he need to go slow?

he really doesn't understand a single thing. when he bottoms out there are literal tears in your eyes as you tell him to wait, you're taking deep breaths and look already overwhelmed even though he hasn't fucked you yet, your cunt so tight around him it might make him cum already. and when he does start moving, pelvis snapping against yours slowly and his cock reaching so deep inside you that his tip is literally kissing your cervix, you are wiggling your hips out of his grip and crawling up on the bed to get closer to the headboard, really seeming to be pulling away from him and it just doesn't make sense. you were the one who asked for it, so why are you trying to run?

obviously, his huge hands don't let you move any further, your pussy feels so good and he really wants to fuck you now, it's not a hassle anymore as when he first thought about it. so there he is, grabbing your waist tightly as he drags his dick in and out of you, you're a babbling mess and he can't make out what you're saying, you look like you aren't even there, lips parted letting the loudest moans come out and eyes rolled back, not a single thought in your mind other than nagi's dick ripping you apart.

oh, what's that bulge on your stomach...?

#he's such a silly i love him #nagi smut #nagi seishiro smut #blue lock smut #bllk smut #ㅤ𔘓 – my works...!

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chaos-in-deepspace · 2 days

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LADS Zayne: Full Body Inspection | NSFW

This was based off his birthday event guys. In the car? Like...excuse me? Sir?

Unedited drabble!

Pairings: Zayne x Reader Warnings: Public Shenanigans, In a car, hand jobs, Bottom Zayne Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Zayne

Your hands glided along Zayne's body, watching as his breath hitched when they went over his chest, "And might I ask where I earned this distrust?" Zayne said, a small smirk playing on his lips. It was wiped off for a moment as you squeezed his chest, making his gasp.

He knew damn well the exact reason you were needing to do this. Your hands were on his stomach for a second, feeling his abs, then trailing to his hips hips; you were feeling him up there, squeezing the skin there and he shifted a little in the driver's seat of the car. You two hadn't even made it out of the hospital parking lot when your hands were all over him.

"Because you're a workaholic," you reminded him coolly. You checked his pockets, finding nothing in there, and slowly you moved down. Your hands on his thick thighs, feeling how the muscles seemed to flex underneath your grip. His legs parted slightly, a subtle shift that was enough for you to notice something between his legs. Of course your cute boy would be getting all riled up from something like this. He was always so responsive to your touch, it was nice and always did the job in riling you up as well.

"If you're so insistent on doing a full body search, it's only fair I check you as well," he said, his voice coming out a little breathier than normal. You smirked at his words, glancing up at him.

"And what could I be hiding, hm?" you said, tilting your head. You then acted surprise as your hands went to the front of his pants, cupping his straining erection, "Oh look, it appears you were hiding something from me," you said, "I think I need to take a closer look,"

Your entire body was already on the center console of the car, and you had no intention on bending over it. That didn't mean you couldn't still make a mess out of the man, unzipping his pants with ease. His cock springing free as soon as you pulled his underwear out of the way.

"W-wait, not here," Zayne said, going to grab your wrist before you could wrap your hand around his length. You gave him a curious look, clearly not amused by this.

"And why not?" you asked, wanting him to give you a proper explination. He was the one getting hard from you doing a search on him. You could see Zayne glance out of the windows of his car. Even though he had tinted windows, if someone looked hard enough they'd be able to see what was going on. Any of his coworkers could walk by and see you making a mess out of the Chief Surgeon. "It's fine, this should be fast. Clearly you haven't been able to jack off with your wrist hurting, and I know I've been a bit busy with work alongside you. This will be fast," you teased.

Zayne groaned as he let go of your wrist and allowed you to wrap it around his cock. It was already so wet, leaking precum and he groaned the moment you pressed a thumb against it. You chuckled, loving his reaction as you worked your hand on him. Zayne leaned forward, hunching over to block himself from view, his head pressed against the steering wheel.

His hazel eyes locking onto you, but they were already getting hazy with lust. His eyes hooded and face flush so pretty, and it was all for you. You couldn't help but moan alongside him, feeling yourself getting hot between the legs. Your hand began working faster, the sound now echoing in his car.

Small gasps and moans were pulled from Zayne as he looked down at his lap for a moment, seeing how your hand easily fucked his cock. His dick twitched at the sight, and then when they went back to you he could see the effect he was having on you. He knew the moment you were home, you'd be all over him again.

He let out a groan then, the thought alone had suddenly sent him over the edge. His cock spurting cum all over his pants as you worked him through it. He was shaking as he looked back with wide eyes. You brought your hand to your face, licking his release and speaking, "Drive, baby boy," who was he to deny you?

#loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace #Zayne Love and Deepspace #Lnds #Lnds Zayne #lnds x reader #x reader #reader insert #zayne x reader #l&ds #l&ds zayne #l&ds zayne x reader #lads x reader #lads zayne #lads zayne x reader #rabid rabbit hours

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rosenclaws · 7 hours

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Logan Howlett x gn!reader who’s not a mutant, but has a very high precognitive sense (in which they can sense when a ball might hit someone and catch it without looking / or anything similar to the matter heh)

warnings: gn!reader, the reader is crazy flirty with logan, some drunk assholes being dicks, it gets a little suggestive idk how I keep doing this.

a/n: Okay i can’t lie i was struggling a little bit coming up with an idea but i did my best. Shout out to @huffle-punk for helping me ily bitch

Logan was no stranger to seedy bars. In fact he might call them his home away from home. He just needed an out. A place that actually served alcohol for once. The mansion was nice and all but sometimes the man needed a drink. So he hopped on his motorcycle and rode for a while until he stumbled upon some hole in the wall.

He scoped out the bar as soon as he walked in. Taking note of everyone who was there. It was mostly dead. Some loud assholes by the darts and a few people sitting in the booths but that's about it. He was naturally alert. His kind weren’t always welcome in places like these.

“What can I get for you?" The bartender nods towards him as he sits on one of the bar stools. Logan takes out a 20 and hands it to the guy.

"You got Molson Ex?" The guy nods and cracks one open for him.

"Whiskey sour please." A voice next to him says.

He glances over to see you standing at the bar. Now that peeks his interest. You look too good to be here in a place like this. You catch his glance and smirk.

"Never seen you here before." You take the seat next to him. He was a stranger for sure but a very good looking one. Logan cocks an eyebrow before taking another sip of his beer.

"Not a talker huh handsome?"

"You always this forward with strangers?" Logan asks, slightly amused by your flirting.

"Only when they're hot. You should be flattered."

The bartender comes back with your drink and before you can pay Logan gestures to put it on his tab. You take a sip of your drink and set it down close to his beer. Logan turns his body towards you, letting you see just how built this man was. You bite your lip as you shamelessly look him up and down.

"You got somewhere to be?" Logan asks a playful smirk on his lips.

"Nope."

You don't know how much time has passed since you started talking to Logan. He was one of those mysterious brooding guys, not even a last name as you flirt up a storm. That's okay, you don't need to know his last name. The space between you two got smaller and smaller as the night went on. Moving away from the barstools to the back of the room. More hidden, more private. His hands have found their way to your back. Holding you close as he leans in close.

"Logan..." You hum as you trail your hand up his chest. Gently grabbing onto his shirt. You roll your eyes as the group of guys by the darts start to get rowdier. The more alcohol they have in them the more obnoxious they get.

"We should get out of here." He hums, he registers your words but he doesn't move. Instead leaning closer, his lips ghosting your jaw as he gently nips below your ear.

You body tenses as your hand shoots out before you can even think, catching the dart that was heading directly for Logan's neck. Logan looks at you in slight confusion. How you managed to react so quickly.

"Hey assholes!" You slip out from Logan's arms and march over to them.

"Watch where you're fucking throwing these things." You throw the dart on the table.

"Or what?" One them gets up, he's not as intimidating as he thinks but he's clearly drunk. You roll your eyes and turn to leave. A hand grabs your wrist harshly and pulls you back. In a flash Logan is by your side. Practically ripping the guys hand off you and pushing him into the table.

"Don't fucking touch 'em bub." Logan growls.

Your eyes widen as you see metal peek out from his knuckles. He's a mutant. The drunk guys scramble away from him. You tug on Logan's arm. Noticing stares from the rest of the people, fear in their eyes. "Come on," He sheathes his claws and looks around. Wordlessly he storms out of the bar with you hot on his heels. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a cigar, letting out a small groan as he lights it.

"You alright?" Logan asks, noticing that you've followed him out.

"Yeah I'm okay. Are you?" He takes another puff of his cigar and nods.

"Those are some crazy reflexes."

"Yeah, I don't know I've just always had them but I'm not a..." You trail off as you become unsure if you should say anything.

"A mutant?" He finishes for you. He laughs, shaking his head as he gets on his motorcycle.

"Wait Logan! I, I like you and I'm sorry those assholes ruined our night but I don't want it to end." You place your hand on top of his.

It's been flirty, fun, casual up until now but there's a clear attraction that you can't ignore, you don't want to ignore it.

"You sure you can handle a mutant?" Your hand jerks away as his claws come out. Oh that's how he wants to play it.

"I can handle some kitty claws Logan," You tease, running your fingers along his claws.

"The real question is, can you handle me?"

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x you

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awkward-walking-potato · 3 days

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I do hope you’re still doing Wolverine requests!

if so, mayhaps I request a Logan x mutant!gn!reader where the reader is much older than Logan (and has more experience of history than he does), and Logan likes to ask questions (asking if they’re comfortable with it at first since he doesn’t want to bring up some unpleasant memories) about things that happened before he was even alive? I’d like that, but if not then that’s alright!

Echoes of Time

The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the cabin’s cozy interior. Logan leaned back in his chair, a glass of whiskey resting on his knee, his eyes flicking between the flames and you, sitting across from him. The quiet moments between missions, when it was just the two of you, always seemed to settle something deep in his chest.

You sat comfortably, your gaze distant but serene, as though you were caught somewhere between the present and the distant past. And Logan knew that, in some ways, you were. After all, you had been alive for far longer than him. Decades, maybe even centuries — your experiences far surpassed his, both in length and in breadth.

It was something that had always fascinated him. Even with his extensive, albeit fragmented, memories of the past century, Logan felt like a child when it came to the sheer scope of your experience. Yet, despite your age and wisdom, you had always been patient with him, never treating him as though he were lacking in some way.

Tonight, though, something stirred in Logan’s mind. He took a slow sip of his whiskey, glancing at you once more before speaking up, his voice soft, almost tentative.

"Can I ask you something, darlin'?"

You blinked, your gaze snapping back to the present as you looked at him. "Of course, Logan. What’s on your mind?"

He hesitated for a moment, not wanting to tread on sensitive ground, but his curiosity was strong. "I was just wonderin'... if you're comfortable with it, could you tell me about… y’know, things from before? Stuff that happened long before I was around."

Your expression softened, and you could see the careful way he chose his words. Logan had always been considerate about your past, understanding that someone with your history might have painful memories. But at the same time, he couldn’t help his fascination with the things you had seen, the world you had lived through before he was even born.

"I don't want to bring up anything unpleasant," he added quickly, his gruff voice tinged with concern. "But if you're alright with it, I just... I like hearin’ your stories. Helps me understand things better. Understand you better."

You smiled, a warmth spreading in your chest at his sincerity. "You don’t have to worry, Logan. I don’t mind talking about the past. Some parts of it were hard, sure, but others… others were beautiful."

Logan nodded, setting his glass down on the table beside him as he leaned forward, his full attention on you. "What was it like, back then? The world, before all this madness with wars, and mutants, and everything?"

You paused, gathering your thoughts as you sifted through centuries of memories. "It wasn’t always easy. The world was harsher in some ways, and simpler in others. People were the same, though — always struggling, always dreaming. I saw empires rise and fall, entire civilizations come and go."

Logan’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. "Did you ever get caught up in all that? The wars and the politics?"

You chuckled softly. "It was hard not to, sometimes. But I tried to keep my distance when I could. I learned early on that being a part of human conflicts rarely ended well for someone like me."

Logan grunted in understanding, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, I get that."

There was a pause, the firelight flickering across the room as Logan studied you, the weight of your words sinking in. He was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Did you ever meet anyone… famous? You know, like historical figures?"

You smiled at the question, your mind drifting back to encounters long past. "A few. Some of them weren’t as impressive as the history books make them out to be. But there were a handful who were truly remarkable — people who made you believe in change, even when it seemed impossible."

Logan nodded thoughtfully, processing everything you said. His hand absentmindedly scratched the back of his neck as he continued. "I imagine you saw a lot of good people come and go. That must’ve been tough."

You exhaled softly, the sadness of those memories weighing on your chest. "It was. Losing people is never easy, no matter how much time passes. But I try to hold onto the good memories, the ones that make it all worth it."

Logan’s eyes softened as he watched you, sensing the deep emotions you carried. He reached out, taking your hand in his, the roughness of his touch gentle, grounding. "You’re a tough one, you know that?"

You smiled, giving his hand a squeeze. "I’ve had to be."

Logan studied your face for a moment, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. "Must’ve been lonely, though. Goin’ through all that on your own."

"It was," you admitted softly. "But it’s different now."

Logan’s gaze held yours, a silent understanding passing between you. He knew what you meant — that in this moment, with him, you weren’t alone. And the weight of the past, while still present, didn’t feel quite as heavy anymore.

He let out a slow breath, leaning closer. "I’m glad you’re here with me now. I’ve seen a lot, too, but not like you. It’s... comforting, y’know? Knowing I’m not the only one with a messed-up past."

You chuckled lightly, appreciating the way he could make even the darkest subjects feel lighter. "We’ve both got our scars, Logan."

He smirked at that, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Yeah, but I like yours better."

You rolled your eyes at his playful tone, but your heart warmed at the affection behind it. Despite all his rough edges, Logan had a way of making you feel seen, valued, even with all your history.

Logan shifted in his chair, his voice turning more serious again. "You think about the future much? Or does the past keep you too busy?"

You thought for a moment before answering. "I used to dwell on the past more, but lately… I’ve been thinking about the future. There’s still so much to see, so much to experience. And it’s easier to look ahead when you have someone to share it with."

Logan’s lips quirked into a soft smile, his thumb still tracing patterns on your hand. "Glad I could be that someone."

The fire crackled quietly between you, the warmth of it wrapping around the two of you as you sat in comfortable silence. Logan, despite his hardened exterior and often gruff demeanor, had a deep respect for you — for the life you had lived, and the strength it took to carry all those memories with you.

He broke the silence one last time, his voice quieter now, as if the weight of the question had only just dawned on him. "Do you ever regret it? Livin’ that long, seeing everything?"

You looked at him, his question hanging in the air for a moment. Then, with a soft smile, you shook your head. "Not anymore. Not since I met you."

Logan’s smile widened slightly, his eyes softening in a way they rarely did. He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his rough hands cradling the sides of your face. "Good," he whispered. "’Cause I ain’t lettin’ you go."

And in that moment, as you leaned into his touch, the weight of centuries seemed a little lighter. The past would always be there, but with Logan by your side, the future seemed brighter than it had in a long time.

#marvel imagine #x men imagine #wolverine imagine #wolverine x reader #deadpool imagine #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #wolverine one shot #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine

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throneofsapphics · 3 days

Text

let our bodies talk

Rowan x Reader x Ruhn

summary: Rowan and Ruhn help you deal with your guilt around sex, and take your virginity

warnings: virgin!reader, raw p in v (wrap it up everyone), religious guilt/shame, light hair pulling

word count: 3426

a/n: based on this request!

“Do you want us?” Ruhn finally asked, running a hand through his hair, the other toying with his lip ring. He pointedly ignored the silver-haired male staring at him like he wanted to chop him into bits and either sell them at the Meat Market or feed them to the creatures at the bottom of the Istros.

Rowan had more patience and experience with immortality than he did. If you wanted him to wait another hundred years, he would, gladly, but he wanted to know what page you were on and he was ... well, he was used to having rather forward partners, he supposed.

It started with him as an emissary to your world, and ended with this relationship he never could have expected, but would never change for a thing. You were everything he’d ever wanted and more.

Your mouth parted, skin flushed, and eyes widened slightly. One of his favorite looks on you. “Of course,” the words came out quickly. Adorable. Everything about you was adorable. Cthona, he really was obsessed with you. “We’re together, aren't we?” You gained back a little bit of that attitude he loved. His mouth curved into a smirk.

“Yes, love, we are.”

“Ruhn is asking if you want to have sex with us,” Rowan grunted from behind you. You whirled around, not having seen him apparently. He shot you a slightly apologetic look. You were the only one who got those kinds of looks out of him, and it made Ruhn respect you even more. The male would bend over backwards for you.

“I m- I mean yes, I do, I just ...” you trailed off uncharacteristically.

Ruhn leaned forward in his chair, forearms bracing his thighs, Rowan rounded the couch to sit next to you, leaving a careful foot or so between the two of you. This conversation didn’t need touch, not right now at least. Ruhn stayed in his seat. Just talking about this, the idea of it, was making all sorts of unproductive changes to his blood flow.

You sighed, glancing between the two of them. You wouldn’t get out of this conversation right now, at least not without them getting an acceptable answer. How do you even begin to explain your relationship with sex? When it's so complicated you barely feel like you understand it yourself?

“Just listen to me, please,” you half pleaded, half ordered. They glanced at each other before turning to you and nodding. “I grew up with a lot of ... shame surrounding sex,” you could tell Ruhn was ready to interrupt and say fuck that, but Rowan fixed him with a look and although the male glared back he kept his mouth shut. Another time you might have laughed. “So as much as I fucking crave both of you, those thoughts are still trained into me. That its dirty, bad, against the gods wishes.”

Rowan pressed his lips together at the last one, you knew it was ridiculous too - some of the gods were notoriously horny, after all.

“So I'm a little ... behind because I avoided everything for so long.”

“Are you a virgin?” Rowan asked, tone carefully neutral. If they cared either way ... well, then they wouldn’t be the males for you.

“Yes,” you lifted your chin just a tad higher, trying to imbue yourself with some sort of confidence.

“That’s not a problem for me,” Ruhn said, almost soothingly.

“It shouldn’t be,” Rowan sent a warning look your way at the snip in your tone, and you glared right back at him. He held both hands up placatingly, almost in a ‘not policing you, I'm just trying to keep the peace,’ way.

Ruhn caught your gaze, and you both burst into laughter, eyes lighting with mirth. Rowan snorted. Basically a roaring laugh coming from him.

“Come here,” the unintentional dominance in Rowan’s voice bent your knees before you could think better of it. Not that you wanted to, not really. He patted the area next to him, giving you the option to close the distance. You did.

You felt more than heard Ruhn move, as the couch dipped on your other side. You liked it here, pressed between them, your legs lining up from thigh to hip, just a few layers between your skin and theirs. The desire to remove the layers was there, but that old guilt crept in and tainted it. Your hand brushed the back of your neck, head tilting down, eyes trained on the floor.

Ruhn caught your hand, bringing it down to rest on his thigh. You flexed your fingers, exploring the feel of the corded muscle beneath those jeans. His leg tensed, keeping hand settling over yours, keeping you still.

“However long it takes,” he kissed the exposed side of your neck, “I'll teach you to not be ashamed of what your body wants.”

“Of what you want,” Rowan added, running his thumb over your knee, his hand cupping your leg.

“I want both of you,” you said the words quickly, as if they might never come out if you didn’t say them as fast as possible.

“You’ll need to be a bit more specific than that,” Rowan’s eyes trailed you from head to toe, taking in every inch of your body. A hunger that you either hadn’t seen or noticed before flared. Tightness coiled in your stomach, you could arouse those kinds of feelings in them. You found you liked that power.

“Relax, Rowan,” Ruhn drawled. The other male tensed. You smiled. “I think we can ask some questions, can’t we?”

A muscle in Rowan’s jaw flexed, but he gave a short nod.

Sometimes you wondered if you were the glue bonding them together, but they had a bond of their own outside of the one the three of you shared. Not sexual, but almost ... you couldn’t quite find a term to describe it. Maybe you’d invent one later. For now, they were capturing all of your attention. Questions. You knew what kind of questions they’d ask, but it didn’t leave you feeling any more prepared for it.

“Has anyone touched this beautiful body before?” Ruhn breathed against your neck, his hand running down your thigh indolently.

“You,” you said, a touch of something like defiance in your tone. One of them pinched your thighs lightly. Rowan.

“It doesn’t work if you don’t answer our questions, love,” he said.

“Not very well,” you sighed, throwing your head back to look up at the ceiling. Why did this have to feel so ...

“These conversations aren’t meant to be smooth,” Ruhn reminded you. It gave you a bit of much-needed courage and you gave yourself a reminder. You loved these males, trusted them, and knew they’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you or make you feel upset. In fact, they’d usually do their best to make sure the opposite happened.

“Did you like anything about their touch?” Rowan’s large hand covered part of your thigh, tips of his fingers digging in light enough to add a pleasurable pressure but avoid that edge of pain. Regardless, each of their touches felt like fire in your current wound up state and you doubted anything could douse it right now.

“When it was over,” you said, honestly, and drew a laugh from each of them.

“I promise you won’t want this to end,” Ruhn said. Tilting your head, blue eyes peered intently at you, full of heat and passion and desire. “I think we can figure out how to ask these questions without speaking,” he brushed the top of your thigh, playing with your hemline, “hm?”

You arched towards him, hands reached out to grasp at his arms, tugging him closer, closer, closer, however you could get any contact with him. Something about his tone and words awoke a new desperation in you. The time for talking, for thinking, was over.

Ruhn caught your hands. You frowned. He switched them to one of his and used the other to tilt your chin up. “If you want this to stop at any time, just say the word. Or tap a few times if you can’t speak.”

“We won’t be angry or upset,” Rowan added.

“If you were, I'd kick your asses. Before leaving them,” you grumbled.

Ruhn held his hands up. “I’m terrified,” he deadpanned.

The pause gave space for ugly emotions to rear and infiltrate, invading your headspace.

You heard the words of the priests and priestesses from your childhood, of your mother and father wondering what the hell you were doing before damning and cursing you. Doubt had no place in this room, but it found its way inside anyway.

“I don’t think she wants this,” you heard Ruhn say, and your head snapped up.

Ruhn hoped his gamble paid off and Rowan played along, that they could draw out your competitive side.

Green eyes narrowed, but he said, “I’m afraid you may be right.” Rowan Whitethorn wasn’t afraid of a damn thing, but that wasn’t the point.

“Yes I do,” you spluttered indignantly. That was the point.

“Show us,” Rowan challenged you.

“I don’t know how,” your voice dropped to a furious whisper, and he wondered if you might call everything off.

“Ask for help,” Rowan countered.

“I thought we would do this without speaking,” Ruhn interjected.

In unison, both you and Rowan replied, “that’s what you said,” and he bit back a grin.

“One question then,” Rowan continued, “do you want us to fuck you tonight?”

“Yes,” there was no hesitation, in fact eagerness in your tone. Bringing out your competitive side did work, and he noted that for later.

“We’ll be gentle,” Rowan told you.

You huffed. Ruhn titled his head, Rowan raised a brow at you.

“I want you, not some watered down version of you - both of you.”

“As you wish, my love,” Rowan murmured.

“Your funeral,” Ruhn joked.

“But I have one rule,” he sat up a little straighter at your words.

“What is that?”

“No magic,” you glanced between both males. “I just want you. Both of you.”

“Very well,” Rowan acquiesced, not sounding too put out. “Come here,” he patted his thighs. After checking for Ruhn’s agreement to your ‘rule,’ you did.

This part, this first step, you knew how to do. You’d kissed both of them before. Straddling him, you balanced yourself on the middle of his thighs. His fingers trailed up and down your sides, front, back, everywhere he could reach, brushing sensitive areas over your clothing. Brushing too lightly for how drastically your body seemed to react. Or maybe that was the point, less is more.

‘Let go, stop thinking,’ you reminded and reprimanded yourself.

It took you a minute or two to realize Rowan was waiting for something. For you to initiate.

Leaning forward, you brushed your lips against his, mimicking the featherlight touches he was leaving on your body. Rowan wasn’t having it, and gripped the back of your head, winding his fingers through your hair before bringing you together.

He stood, mouth still on yours, and you tightened your legs around his waist, locking your ankles, he wrapped one arm around your lower back, and snapped at Ruhn with his spare hand.

The other male, understandably, snarled in return and you broke away from Rowan to hide your giggles into his shoulder.

It broke the tension, and after a few strides from Rowan you were bouncing back on your bed, thrown there by him. Catching yourself against the headboard, it was your turn to glare.

“That’s what you get for laughing,” Ruhn shrugged out of his shirt, and fuck your mouth watered. “My eyes are up here,” he teased you.

“I thought we weren’t talking,” you snapped back.

Not Ruhn, you could see all of him, but you felt another hand on the back of your neck. Rowan. Lips brushed against your ear, “I should just bend you over our bed and fuck you, but I think we can make it a little more enjoyable than that.”

That sounded very enjoyable to you, and maybe scared you just a tad but not in an unpleasant way. Involuntarily, your thighs clenched. Ruhn’s chuckle told you he noticed. Heat seared your cheeks, the back of your neck, your chest.

Half-naked, he climbed on the bed after you. Rowan stood next to the footboard, seemingly content to watch just for the moment.

They seemed too coordinated and organized, in your opinion, and alarm bells flared in your mind and you scrambled with your hands to sit up.

“Are you speaking to him?” You couldn’t fight the hint of accusation in your tone as you asked Ruhn.

“We’re making this enjoyable,” he pushed down lightly on your shoulders, “let us.”

“Let go, love,” Rowan encouraged.

You pursed your lips together in a frown, but nodded. You could let go, for tonight. Letting your hands slide out, your back hit the soft duvet cover again, the fabric silky against your skin. Relax. You were entirely capable of letting go.

Ruhn’s lips hit your shoulder first, a soft and gentle kiss, before trailing down over your chest. The longer he went on, the firmer, you wouldn’t exactly call it rough, he got. Each touch grew more intense, his hands on your ribcage, pushing you down into the mattress as his lip ring flicked over your nipple. Teeth lightly grabbing the now swollen peak, tugging it up, drawing a gasp, before releasing. Testing how each part of your body reacted to different pressures and sensations. Learning you.

He was good at this, you realized, with a hint of jealousy you quickly tamped down. Here and now, you reminded yourself. Focus. Capable.

Lost in his touch, you didn’t notice the other male sliding in behind you until you were rising, your back pressed against his chest. Ruhn made a noise of discontent, like a kid with his candy taken away from him.

“Ruhn’s going to fuck you first,” Rowan murmured in your ear, stroking down the side of your arm. “And when he’s done, I'll get to fuck that pretty little pussy, how does that sound?”

“Great,” you barely managed to say.

Then he was gone, out from behind you, and you were lowered onto the duvet again, head propped up on a pillow, Ruhn’s head between your - fuck. You lost all train of thought, all capability of thought as his tongue flicked your clit. Your voice left you as his lip ring, that beautiful thing, slid across your clit, a finger slipping inside and curling, putting just the right amount of pressure - and throwing you over the edge.

Ruhn slowly worked you through your orgasm, adding another finger and twisting. You winced slightly at the stretching sensation. He stopped.

“Just a little,” you panted, “uncomfortable. Keep going.” At the uncertain look on his face you added a, “please,” and that did the trick.

He kept watching you intently, looking for every little change that might tell him something is wrong. But ... you didn’t feel the need to put on a performance. Instead, you found you liked the intensity he looked at you with. It made you feel wanted and desired in ways you never had before. It was bringing you to new highs. With another scream, your body melted into the mattress, legs falling limply to your sides.

“I think she’s ready,” you heard Rowan. You nodded your agreement. Just a taste and you’d grown greedy, wanting more, more, more. All they would give you, all you could take.

A belt clicked, clothes rustled, and you sat up on your elbows, impressed that even with the slight shake in your arms you could still hold yourself up. Maybe it was sheer determination to see Ruhn getting undressed that did it. It was certainly worth it.

Licking your lips subconsciously at the sight of him, you realized he was pretty everywhere, including his cock. Near the same color as his skin, but with a glistening pink tip and a bulging vein running down the side, you wanted him in you. Now.

“Get over here,” you breathed.

“Bossy,” he said, raising his brows, but didn’t fucking move.

Pressing your lips together, you saw a few avenues in front of you, and picked the one you figured would light a fire under him the best.

“I guess I have to do it myself,” you sighed and let one arm slide out, snaking its way towards your center.

It didn’t make it, not as Ruhn was there, catching your hand. “Not this time, princess.”

His hand splayed against the backs of your thighs, pressing them up and to the sides as he knelt between your legs.

“Breathe,” he ordered, and you’re glad you listened as he first pushed past your walls. Sharp pain hit your abdomen, catching your breath in your throat.

An icy wind found its way down your throat, and you decided you’d thank Rowan, mentally, now and yell, verbally, at him later.

“How are you feeling?”

“Keep going,” you hissed through clenched teeth. You might’ve had a lot of ... conflicting feelings surrounding sex, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t educated yourself. All the bodice rippers told you that the pleasure would kick in soon, that before you knew it you’d be overwhelmed by the “feel good” hormones. Gods you hoped they were real.

He moved, but slowly. Lifting your hips to switch the angle, you gasped as he hit somewhere deep inside of you. That felt good.

“That’s the spot, then,” he murmured, more to himself.

“Fuck you feel good,” you moaned, nails clawing at his shoulders, searching for some kind of grip or anything to hold on to. He chuckled and lowered himself just enough you could grab them, before his hands spread against your sides, gripping you firmly.

“Remember what you said earlier,” he paused inside of you. You wanted to scream at him. Instead you were left looking at his dumbly, eyes blinking. “About not wanting a watered down version of us. You’re still sure?”

“Yes I’m sure, just fuck me or I'll-”

You didn’t get a chance to finish your words as he moved again, tilting your hips to that perfect angle before driving into you, over and over again.

Not quite rough, but certainly not gentle, whatever he was doing was absolutely perfect, and as his fingers found your clit, you had your third - or was it fourth? - orgasm of the night.

You actually whined as he pulled out, his eyes still open and fixed on you. He hadn’t finished. A pout started forming.

As if he read the words in your eyes, he said, “someone else has been waiting for their turn, I’m sharing you tonight princess,” and jerked his head to the side. You followed the motion, and Rowan stood there, looking at you with pure hunger in his eyes.

You swallowed. Louder than you intended to. Ruhn moved off you.

“On your knees,” Rowan said roughly, but didn’t give you a chance before he gripped your hips and flipped you. Squeaking, your hands scrambled and slid before you landed on your elbows. His hand twisted around your hair, not pulling but gripping and tilting your head to look at him. “I still want to see your face, but it’ll be easier for you this way.”

Easier? Just then, you realized you hadn’t gotten a good look at him, but based on how Ruhn went first you could put together a few things.

“Alright,” you breathed.

There was no hesitation from either side as Rowan slid in you, your body both welcoming and protesting him, your hips and thighs already beginning to ache, but you wanted more. A greedy little monster had begun to bloom in you.

Both of them just felt right, in different ways, and you -

“Eyes on me,” Rowan snapped. Your eyes flew to him, and his mouth indented at one corner in the way the stoic smile. “I said I wanted to see your face, love.”

His hands gripped your hips.

“See your pretty little face as you take my cock so well.”

The words drew a moan from you, sending pleasure from the tips of your fingers to the bottom of your toes, making you push yourself back on him. Green stared at you, unrelenting as each slow, hard thrust nearly bounced you off him

“Look how perfectly you’ve opened up for me,” he sounded almost teasing, “just like you were made for me.”

Maybe you were, made for both of them as they were for you.

taglists:

general: @rowaelinsdaughter @bookishbroadwaybish @nestaismommy @erencvlt @book-obsessed124 @callsigns-haze

throne of glass: @I-am-a-lost-girl16

crescent city: @I-am-a-lost-girl16

let me know if you'd like to hop on the tag list!

#ruhn danaan x reader #rowan whitethorn x reader #ruhn danaan x y/n #rowan whitethorn x y/n #throne of glass fic #crescent city fic #throne of glass smut #crescent city smut

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wisedelusionalmarshmallow · 2 days

Text

@rosekillermicrofic, September 7th - Morning, T, Word Count - 562

CW: unconsensual drug use

Evan had never felt more relieved than the moment that he sat his bookbag down by his bed tonight. Finally, he was in his dorm. All he wants to do right now is fall asleep and not wake up until Sunday afternoon.

He looks across the room, and his best friend is lying on his stomach on his bed. Evan makes his way over, stepping over some discarded clothing that he can only guess is from today.

Once he reaches Barty’s bed, he sees that he’s lying there with his face buried in his pillows, his uniform shirt unbuttoned all the way down. When Evan looks closer, he can tell Barty’s not sleeping, but he’s not moving that much either. He hesitantly brings a hand forward to shake Barty’s shoulder slightly, and that seems to scare the other boy. Barty practically jumps out of his skin and looks to Evan, his eyes red and pupils dilated.

Evan holds back his laugh. "You, uh, okay there?”

His friend sits up on his bed, rubbing his head. “I was—you know how I’m taking like... next level charms?”

God, he is so far gone right now. Evan continues to stifle his laughter and schools his face to something neutral. He nods in response to Barty’s explanation...? If he gets there.

"Well, it's with Gryffindor, right? So… um, what’s his name? Flitwick! Um, he partnered me with the one that Reg has a crush on.”

“Potter?”

“Him. And when we met up at the library to work, he gave—no no, his friend gave me a cookie. Really good cookie. Like, not warm, but it still was—like chewy, but not raw. Like…just a really good cookie.”

“It was an edible?” Evan guesses, seeing Barty’s current state.

“Fuck yeah, man, my head hurts so bad right now.” Barty shoves his face into his pillows again. The first chuckle falls from Evan’s lips, “Trying to get some sleep? Or just trying to block out noise?”

“Sleep would be nice, but I’m not getting anywhere.”

“Is there any way I can help? Or are you on your own for this one?”

He looks up from the pillows again and surveys Evan’s face. “I feel like a weighted blanket would help... or it might just make everything worse. Like, I might feel more grounded, or I might feel like my soul’s trying to escape the cotton prison I’ve trapped it in.”

The high paranoia is setting in, lovely. “This might sound odd, but what if I stayed here with you?” Barry furrows his brows after hearing Evan’s suggestion. So he tries to clarify, “Like, it would keep you grounded because it’s another person, but it wouldn’t feel like your 'soul’s being trapped' because there wouldn’t be anything on top of you, just beside you.”

“Cuddling?” Barty asks, a nearly pitiful expression on his face.

Evan nods. “You might actually make it to the morning that way.”

After another moment of contemplation, Barty nods. Evan sheds his robe, sweater, and school pants, leaving him in his boxers and his tank top when he slides in behind Barty.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t feel weird. Evan’s never been a physical contact kind of person, but he doesn’t feel awkward at all. But then Barty’s paranoia sets in again, and he turns to face Evan. “No homo, right?”

He huffs out a laugh. “No homo Bee.”

#rosekiller #evan rosier #barty crouch jr #microfic #september 2024 #evan rosier x barty crouch jr #james potter #the slytherin skittles #morning #marauders

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olsenmyolsen · 3 days

Note

Hey!!! So im finally gonna send a request from that prompt list lol.

May i please request. absentmindedly playing with their hair at all times

I dont mind either elizabeth or wanda, but can I ask that yn has a buzz cut on her sides back back of her head. And as she just had it redone yn makes a comment about her feeling like a sheared sheep lol

Just got my hair redone and I always say that after touching the back. I just wish I had someone who would stroke my hair also;_; id melt if wanda/elizabeth did.

If that's not too much trouble ;_; please and thank you

A Sheared Sheep

maroon master list . dark master list . request marvel master list . short n’ sweet master list

No Powers AU - (Female Reader X Wanda Maximoff)

Summary: You got a haircut without telling your girlfriend, Wanda Maximoff.

Word Count: 1.3K

Content: Girlfriend Wanda Maximoff, Meet-Cute, Baking, Haircuts, Fluff

You had met Wanda Maximoff only a few months prior. It was a classic meet-cute moment.

A lapse in thinking had led your iced latte to go from your hand to her shirt. An exchange of apologies, small talk, quick glances, some light flirting, and a dinner to make up for it all led to the two of you dating.

It's been bliss and wonderful. You two have only grown stronger and more comfortable. Sharing details about your lives and what you want for the future.

Wanda was very upfront in talking about kids, and she said she didn't care how it happened but that this was something she wanted. That made you feel better when you pointed out through some laughter that you didn't have the parts to help her in the department.

Wanda shook her head and hugged you tightly before running her fingers through your long hair.

An action that always made you smile.

And yeah, sure, talking about kids a few months into a relationship might seem forward, but within the last year, Wanda had recently called it off with her fiancé. Plus, she was older than you. Not significantly, but enough to where you needed another hand to count the years separating you two.

Anyways, like I was saying.

What you and Wanda have is clearly special. And you know she loves you for you. Not a whole lot could change that as of right now.

Well, that's what you keep telling yourself as you close your eyes in the hairdresser's chair. "We really don't have to do it Y/n." Your favorite hairdresser and good friend Natasha pointed out for the hundredth time.

You see, every once in a while, once your hair grows past the point of driving you crazy, you usually just buzz it. Well, at least most of it. Normally, Natasha styles it or just trims one side. Today, the two of you were talking about buzzing the sides and back of your head, but then Wanda popped into your mind and stopped everything.

No, she didn't telepathically communicate with you. As cool as that sounds.

No, the thought of her popped into your mind.

She has only ever known you with your long hair. Would she even like you if you didn't look like... like you?

You shook your head and told yourself that, of course, she would still like you. Hell, she loves you!

Thus, the thought cycle repeats.

"Y/n, why don't you just tell her you want to get it done?" Natasha asks as she watches you look over yourself in the mirror. "Because I want it to be a surprise." You answer back with conviction. "Okay, so then why aren't we doing it?" Natasha asks another question, making you close your mouth.

You sigh.

And after a few moments, you tell Natasha to start cutting.

As your hair fell to the tile floor, your stomach began doing flips and tangling itself up, waiting to be in front of Wanda.

"Wanda?" You called out into her condo as you closed the front door behind you. "I'm in the kitchen!" Wanda yelled. You smiled at her voice and kicked off your shoes by the front door before making your way through her space.

It was just as soft and cozy as she was.

The smell of cinnamon and apple pie filled your nose as you walked closer and closer to her green-tiled kitchen. That backsplash was the first thing she did to make this place her own.

You loved the color.

"Smells amazing!" You said as you appeared around the corner of the kitchen as Wanda pulled out a second pie and set it on a stand to cool.

Wanda briefly glanced your way with a big smile. "Thank you!" She turned back and turned off the oven as she started moving around to put some dirty dishes into the sink. "I made two pies. One for us and the other for Agatha. I think she and Ralph are having some trouble, so I thought I would bake her a pie, too." You leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen with a warm smile, watching as your girlfriend.

She really was beautiful inside and out.

"It took me forever to find the specific brand of apples I wanted. You know, I didn't want it to be too sweet or sour, and then-" Wanda shook her head after wiping her counter down. She let go of the rag and chuckled. "Sorry." She glanced towards you again.

Still not noticing the WestView Witches baseball cap you're wearing to cover up your haircut.

"I'm rambling." Wanda brushes her apron and quickly unties it before fast walking to you with a spring in her step. She quickly kisses your lips and pulls away as she hangs up the apron. "How was your day?!" She looks towards you, and then that's when you see her notice in her eyes. Her mouth goes from a smile to a shocked look. She takes a step back and looks over your face before she reaches out and gently takes your chin, moving your face from side to side. "Y/n- I- when-" She can't form a sentence as she lifts her hand to the baseball cap. "Can I?" She asks after a beat.

You nod, afraid saying anything will spook her.

Slowly, Wanda grabs the end of the cap and lifts it off your head. You hear her breath hitch as she looks over your very short hair. Her fingers slowly run through your hair before she brings them down along the backside of your skull, where the buzz is prominent, making you shiver slightly at the contact of her nails brushing you.

Wanda notices as her eyes move to meet yours. "Does that hurt?" She asks carefully. You laugh through your nose and shake your head. "It feels good. Really great, actually." You say in the same tone as her. Wanda nods, glad that she isn't hurting you.

She brings her hand back up and runs through it again with more pressure. "How does that feel?" Wanda asks.

"Good. Touching the back is the best part." You say before making a joke. "I feel like sheared sheep." Wanda can't help but smile and laugh quietly before she removes her hand and brings it down to yours. Holding you. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise." You say, looking to Wanda, who looks to you, waiting for more. "It's just something I've always done. Do you hate it?" You then question, and just as quick as you ask, Wanda shakes her head, giving you an answer. "I don't hate it. I just wish I would've known." She squeezes your hand.

You nod.

After a few seconds, Wanda grips your hand. "How about while we let the pies cool, we can go sit and relax," Wanda says, making you nod and following her to the living room, sitting next to her on the couch in your usual spots.

Wanda flips through some channels before coming across a marathon of her favorite sitcom.

The two of you relax and cuddle into one another. Letting the surprise of your haircut fall into the back of everyone's mind.

After an episode of the show, you feel Wanda's hand move from scratching your back to up your neck and through the back of your head, stroking your buzz. You smile and let out a satisfied sigh that makes Wanda look over at you with her own smile. "I like it." She states making you feel warm and happy with your choice.

You turn to her. "I'm glad." Wanda leans into you and kisses you as her fingers scratch your head. "My little sheep." She jokes as you two part, making you roll your eyes. Playfully.

All in all, that joke wasn't as bad as when you brought Agatha her pie, and she turned to Wanda and said: "So how many Y/n's do you have to count in your sleep to you fall asleep?"

dividers by @/benkeibear

67 notes · View notes

uhohdad · 10 hours

Text

THE GIRL WHO CONQUERED THE MOUNTAIN

KÖNIG X READER [HUNGER GAMES AU]

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

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

CHAPTER ONE | PREV | CHAPTER NAVIGATION

➤ THE WARNING II

First Part of This Chapter Here

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

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

“You’re kidding, right?”

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

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

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

“It’s not up to me,” Price says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, ew. You love Price?

Gross.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow, your eyes darting to the side.

“Do you trust me?” He adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re still trying to figure out why.

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

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

… To keep you from planning a rebellion?

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

Price rolls his eyes and waves his hand.

“Now get to bed.”

“No.”

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

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

“Yes, it is.”

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

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

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

“That what you want?”

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

“Alright,” Price says.

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

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

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

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

You’re truly torn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Out of it.

In your head.

“Konig?”

“Ja?”

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

Your lips twist, brows pinching.

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

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

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

You do your best.

“I’m… not okay.”

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

“Me neither.”

“Okay.”

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

“I love you,” He mumbles.

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

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

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

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

“No, no!”

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

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

“No, no, no, please! Please!”

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

“Stop! Stop it!”

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

“No, stop, please!”

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

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

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

“Konig! Konig!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S’okay, s’okay.”

“I should have died in that arena!”

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

“No, no,” Price coos.

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

“I can’t do it anymore!”

“Hey,” He says, “You made it so far.”

Your sniff is muffled by his shirt.

“This is the worst part.”

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

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

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

Your voice is just a low whine, barely audible.

“Please don’t make me sleep alone.”

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

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

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

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

You give another nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Atta girl,” He says.

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

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

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

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

Just in case.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not too late to go to bed.

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

“Hey, kid.”

“Hey.”

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

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

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

You sound like a child, too.

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

He can’t seem to look at you.

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

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

You don’t have it in you to push.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you quit looking at me like that?”

Your fingers curl tighter around your glass.

“I just- I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Yeah, but-“

You cut yourself off, looking down at the carpet.

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

Liar.

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

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

Price shrugs, “Was a long time ago.”

“She seemed, uhm-”

Your eyes dart to the side.

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

Price grins at his drink.

“I do too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If I'm being honest?”

He scoffs.

“Some part of me craved it.”

He sucks on his teeth, and nods before continuing.

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

You wonder if he forgot you were even here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hums.

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

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

Price chuckles.

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

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

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

‘And if I win?’

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

Price snorts.

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

He lazily throws up two fingers, and nods.

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

‘Deal.’

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

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

He hums.

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

His eyes flick down, and he smiles.

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

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

“You remind me of her.”

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

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

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

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

He clears his throat, but his words end there.

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

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

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

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

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

“P’ Some’ in m’drin’?”

Price gives a long, heavy sigh.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart.”

————————

You most certainly do not sleep tight.

You sleep in the hedge maze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There he is, in all his glory.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, please no, Konig, no!”

“Was ist los?! Was ist los?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He takes a baby step forward, his question hesitant.

“Can I lay with you?” He asks.

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

“I think Price drugged me,” You mumble.

“They gave me something too,” He says.

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

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

Konig scoffs, an amused hum following.

“Yes, it is the worst.”

Your smile quickly fades.

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

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

The silence that follows his exhale speaks volumes.

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

“It’ll get easier.”

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

“You were right,” You say.

“Hm?”

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

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

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

You give a soft laugh, and rub his chest.

“I missed you too.”

You sigh.

“I want to go home.”

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

“I know,” He says, “Soon.”

He rests his cheek on your head.

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

You roll your eyes with a huff.

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

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

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

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

Your question is asked through a cozy grin.

“You know we’re fucked, right?”

“I had my suspicions.”

“What are we going to do?”

Konig kisses the crown of your head again.

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

Your lips rub together as you think on it.

“Suicide pact?”

Konig’s chest lifts your head when he scoffs.

He kisses your head again.

“I would miss you too much,” He says.

“What the hell happened?!”

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

Busted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? No!”

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

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

“Bullshit, pervert!”

“Alright!”

He grunts and lowers his voice to a grit.

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

He shrugs with a smug squint.

“So I drugged you.”

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

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

You could cut him so fucking deep right now.

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

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

But you swallow it.

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

“You old fuck.”

“I’m not even that -“

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

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

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

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

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

Price must know this on some level too.

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

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

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

“I know about District Eight.”

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

“So you know how serious this is.”

“District Eight?” Konig asks.

His question goes ignored.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I thought.”

Price snaps his fingers.

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

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

You and Konig share a look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” You gurgle.

You spit your mouthful into the sink.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

All of it.

He sighs at the following silence.

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

“I don’t think you’re stupid.”

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

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

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

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

He looks to you again.

He’s giving you another chance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is going to be like pulling teeth.

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

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

Twelve is an okay start, you think.

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

Eleven will not be as bearable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soon, Ruby,” You mumble.

Liar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all bullshit, and everyone knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Why?”

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

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

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

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

“The bench,” Price corrects gruffly.

He shoots an annoyed glance at you and Konig.

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

The ungrateful brat from District Nine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Konig gives your locked hands a squeeze.

“Ignore him,” He grits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your eyes can’t help it.

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

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

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

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

You stand where she could have.

Breathing and alive and not at all grateful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

District Eleven.

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

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

Their son is gone.

And it is your fault.

Best to keep your mouth shut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t do this.”

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

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

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

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

Trying not to cry.

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

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

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

It’s on him, really.

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

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

About poison darts and bread and tresses of curly hair.

Ribbons and unrest and girls with big fat mouths.

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

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

Surely Price would be okay with just a thank you.

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I should say something.”

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

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

“But you didn’t even-“

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

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

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

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

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

And that is where you stay.

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

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

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

District Eight is genuinely happy to see you.

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

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

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

Every eye in the crowd is trained on you.

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

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

The ungrateful brat from District Nine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, wait! Really quick, I just-“

You take a deep breath.

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

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

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

And something happens.

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

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

Thousands of them.

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

It is not a fashion statement.

It is a symbol of rebellion.

And you are their martyr.

——————————————-

“What did I say?! What did I say?!”

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

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

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

“What did I do wrong?!”

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

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

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

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

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

“When it concerns her, it concerns me.”

“What should concern you - “

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

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

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

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

Konig crosses his arms over his chest.

“No, she’s not. And you know it.”

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

“Tell it to The President.”

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

Konig is the first to speak.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” You stammer, “Thanks.”

Konig hums low.

“What did I do?”

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

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

“But I fucked us.”

Konig takes a deep breath.

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

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

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

You don’t get into it with him.

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

And that is where you stay.

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

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things-arent-what-they-seem66 · 3 days

Note

Hiya! It's me! I've been sending you so many asks that I wouldn't be surprised if you gave me a restraining order!

I made an account so I can actually participate in some of your rp things- if that's okay with you of course.

I sent you the ideas for the succubus, deadpool x wolverine and bimbo!au's, I sent others but I'd need to go through my memory, which would take all night.

Anyway- I have a new au idea for you! I think you'll like this. It's basically a gothic vampire!au.

I'm going to attach screen shots because I've already written it out and for some reason Tumblr doesn't let you copy and paste (it's already 1am where I am and I don't want to have to write this out all again, so I'm really sorry if this'll be annoying for you 😭).

Continuation--

Adam: it's rude to stare, you know. How did a kid get in here?

Lucifer jumped at his voice: I-I'm not a kid!- I'm 30 years old!

Adam: really dude? What are you? 5"3?... you didn't get the long straw when it came to genes, huh? See what I did there?

Lucifer sighs as the man chuckles to himself.

Lucifer: uh... that's... not important- a-are you the owner?

Adam stares at Lucifer for a few seconds before taking a sip from his glass. Lucifer watches his every move, he feels like prey- are those fangs??

Adam: I guess you can say that.. my names Adam. Even though I think the asshole who broke into my house should introduce themselves first- but I'm in a good mood today!

Adam stands and pulls a chair infront of him.

Adam: Here man, have a seat, might as well make yourself comfortable.

The way Adam smiled and watched his every move made Luicfer shiver. He walked as calmy as he could to the chair infront of Adam. He sits, eyes never leaving Adams deep red ones.

Lucifer: I'm Lucifer- and I apologize for the breaking and entering. It's uh, not the best first impression.

Adam: wait- Lucifer? Like the Devil? That's sick. And I'm not one for first impressions, but you've certainly made an entrance, buddy.

Lucifer: Yeah, like the Devil, blame my father for that one-

Adam: I ain't judging man! I think it's cool, everyone has such boring names these days, it's nice to be surprised, nothing surprises me much anymore.

Adam runs his clawed hand through his hair, eyes never leaving Lucifers face. He notices as his eyes travel down to his chest, where his shirt has opened a bit more. Adam smirks, leaning forward, giving Lucifer a better view.

Adam: I would offer you a drink, but I think you want something else~

----

That's all I have! I hope this seems interesting to you 😭

Feel free to continue it, I'll try and participate to! It would be my first time doing these rp type things, so I'm sorry if I'm a bit all over the place lol

Okay- bye!

Ahhh!! Thank you for all your amazing ideas friendo! This too is amazing 🤩

And yes of course you can participate in the rp blogs! What account is it?

Lucifer felt a little called out, this man was so good looking he felt like he was trapped in a trance.

Lucifer: I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-

Adam: Pfft it's fine, I get it. I know I'm hot shit and I don't mind you looking. In fact.

Adam leaned in closer until his hot breath ghosted over Lucifer's face.

Adam: I wouldn't mind you doing more than just looking.

He grinned at the way the blonde man's face turned bright red at the implication. Humans were always so easy to work up. And man this one was easy on the eyes as well.

It's been a while since Adam had a visitor. Even longer since he had a rendezvous.

#adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #ask

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scorpioriesling · 15 hours

Text

Invisible String - Part 3

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Eris x reader

Warning(s): angst ofc, comfort. Please be advised; future parts might not be suitable for all audiences. Proceed with caution.

Summary: You'd taken the nanny position for the royal family over a year ago, not expecting what would come of it or how close you'd grow to the child you cared for. Things became tough for Eris when his wife left him and his daughter, and he found it increasingly harder to raise Riley himself. He soon realizes, you've provided a lot more than the typical job description duties for his daughter... and maybe for him, too.

SR’s Note: I added in the advisory so that younger / uncomfortable readers won't begin the series without knowing or expecting potential risks in content to come. For those who enjoy or look forward to content as such -- get excited! Nonetheless, I hope readers will enjoy this series that came to me in a dream one night. (; Much love to all.

Tags: @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @talesofadragon @rcarbo1 @mandziaaa @lilah-asteria @a-frog-with-a-laptop @kitsunetori @dannul @velarisdusk @lamarmotta @paintedbyshadows @i-know-i-can (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

You'd practically torn apart every drawer in your dresser and tossed out every hanger in your closet at this point. All those clothes you'd put away were for nothing; your room was a disaster. Yet, you could not find anything suitable enough for an outing with the Autumn heir and his daughter.

"The PINK one," the four year old chimed in for the hundredth time.

Her commentary was not necessarily helping, either.

"Riley, I'm not sure that the pink is my favorite," you say, and she scootches to the edge of your bed, hopping off and trotting over to your closet. She watches as you furiously flip through the remaining hangers, and her fist closes around a fistfull of marigold fabric.

"This!" She says, tugging on a rather simple milkmaid-style dress you hadn't worn in years, honestly. It was cute, it at least had some floral detailing on it.

You sighed, looking down at the beaming child. You'd done her hair first; half up, half down with a biiiig bow, just as she'd requested. A bow to match her fluffy gown and pretty flats, of course. She truly was the definition of Princess.

"I suppose-"

"Yay!" She twirled, her dress billowing out around her. She wafted toward the corner as you slid the dress on, adjusting it to fit before stepping out in front of the large mirror to inspect it in full. You'd barely laid your eyes on the full outfit before Riley bounded over to you, her mouth wide as she gasped.

"You look so pretty!" She said, wrapping her arms around your knee as her eyes met yours in the mirror. You smiled at her, leaning down to give her a hug.

"Thank you Riles! You look very pretty today too." You complimented, and she giggled, her fingers drifting through the ends of your curled hair. You decided on a few minimal jewelry pieces and flats, pushing your accessory drawer closed when a thin, marigold ribbon fell out. Riley noticed it, racing over and picing it up for you.

"We match?" She asked, extending the hair accessory to you on an outstretched hand. You took it from her; all you could do was agree, tying half your hair back and fastening it in a bow at the back.

"We better go find your dad," you suggest, straightening the last few imperfections of your dress before Riley's attention is caught at the doorway.

"Oh my -- Riley, you look wonderful!" Eris' voice compliments from your doorway, and she bounds over to him, getting caught in his arms in an instant. He kisses her cheek, both of them looking to you after a moment's pause. "You both do," he adds, quieter this time. You turn slightly, blushing at the compliment as you retrieve your purse from your bed and walk towards them.

"As do you, Vanserra." You brush past him with a wink, heading down the hallway with all the confidence in the world today it seemed. Riley's footsteps bounded behind you, the three of you on your merry way.

✧･ﾟ: *

You'd ridden to the Town Square on horseback; Riley with her dad, of course. When you'd gotten to the main district, he'd gotten off with Riley first, helping you next like a true gentleman. His hand lingered for a moment around your waist, the heat of his touch enough to send a thrill down your spine.

Stop it. You chastized yourself. You still work for him, you know.

Riley gasped, pointing toward the center of the streets, the crowds and vendors bustling with business this afternoon. "Daddy, look!" She squealed, pointing and hopping from foot to foot in anticipation. His hand held hers, beginning the trek through the busy streets. You accompanied her other side, sure to keep close to her just in case.

"Look! Daddy!" She shrieked in delight, and Eris scratched the back of his head, failing to recognize which vendor Riley was pointing out. You looked ahead, trying to decipher what might have her so intrigued. That’s when you saw it.

You leaned over, gently tapping his shoulder. He looked to you, and you placed your fingers atop your head, pointing down at Riley and then ahead. He looked forward, the realization dawning on him then.

“Oh! I see, the lady with the crowns?” He asked. Riley shrieked, jumping up and down as your trio continued on, making way toward the craft table. Eris looked to you, silently mouthing a thank you. You only nodded once, giving him a small smile in return.

Riley let go of her father’s hand, leaping toward the table full of play pretend crowns when she was close enough to see it fully. She oogled over them all — finding it hard to choose just one.

“Good morning, folks!” The older woman behind the table greeted, and you bowed your head in polite greeting as well.

“Hi, I like all these,” Riley said, and the lady chuckled.

“Well, aren’t you a little cutie,” she cooed, and Riley nodded.

“Actually, I’m a Princess.” The lady smiled at her, and Riley inspected a pink bedazzled one more closely.

“Oh, I bet you are, aren’t you!” She said. She seemed to only just now notice Eris, her eyes widening in pleasant surprise.

“Why, if it isn’t the High Lord's son himself! Oh, goodness,” She said, curtsying hastily. Eris smiled politely.

“No worries, ma’am. Good morning to you too. Lovely day today, isn’t it?” He said, and her eyes lit up.

“It isn’t isn’t it? Gosh, what a beautiful day-“

“Daddy, I want this one!” Riley thrust a golden crown with red gems glued to it into the air, and Eris stepped forward.

“Alright dear, alright.” He chuckled, fishing out a few coppers from his pocket. “How much for this one?” He asked. The old woman waved a hand, shaking her head.

“Nonsense; it’d be my honor to give one of my crafts to the Autumn Princess.” Riley beamed, putting her new crown on her head in delight.

“That’s very kind of you, but I insist.” He dropped a few coins, definitely more than the piece cost — and the lady gave him a gracious smile.

“Thank you!” Riley said, and the woman nodded to her.

“You’re teaching that one well, Eris!” She said, and Eris waved as you all made your way to the next table.

✧･ﾟ: *

You’d only made it by about five more tables when the face painting station came into view. Of course, that was next on the agenda, and of course, it had the longest line of children. Nonetheless; Riley patiently waited her turn, standing calmly between a few other rowdy kids while you and Eris watched from the fountain a few feet away.

“That’s all you, you know.” He said, your sidelong glances meeting for only a moment. “Her, manners, I mean. How well behaved she is. Her patience,” he explains. You clasp your hands together, his shoulder resting against the stone so close to the side of your face. You were grateful, anyway; he shielded the midday sun from your view.

“She doesn’t get that from you?”

He lets out a sharp laugh, looking at you incredulously. “Oh, absolutely not. Me, as a child… Gods, I wish there was a way I could repay my mother for how reckless I was.” He shook his head, and you bit your lip to hold back your giggle.

“You seem like you’ve got this-“ he gestures his hand in a circle, motioning to Riley who looks over and mistakes it as a wave. She waves, and both of you wave back at her, that little smile so contagious.

“It just seems like you’ve got this whole thing figured out already. Like, you’ve always got an answer for everything.” He scratches his chin, and your mouth tilts in a side smile at his words.

“Eris, truly, I don’t though. I mean, I don’t even have kids myself...yet.” You say, and he lets out a long breath. Your mind races, thinking of everything you know you shouldn’t in that moment.

“You want them someday, though?” He asks. Your expression must say something, because he quickly fumbles his words. “I’m sorry, that’s, um. That’s really personal, I didn’t mean. That.”

You look down at the pavement, more than the afternoon sun warming the skin on your cheeks. “Well,” you say, your eyes daring a glance at him only to realize his face is rather flushed as well. “Riley won’t need a nanny forever, right?”

Eris runs a hand through his hair, readjusting his position against the wall of the fountain. “No, no. I suppose she won’t.”

“Look! She’s almost done,” You say, watching as the artist cleans her brush in the water one last time. Eris tries to peer around people and get a look at what design she got, and you curl your fingers around the rather large muscle of his upper arm.

“Wait! Don’t look — what do you think she got?” You ask, and Eris’ gaze wavers between where your fingers hold tight to him and your eyes trained on his.

“I…. uh… I don’t know,” he says, failing to come up with a good guess. “Probably the pony; little girls love ponies, right?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I bet you one copper that she comes back with a bunny painted on her cheek.” You guess, and he shrugs.

“Alright, suit yourself. One copper it is, then.” Riley scooted back in her chair, bounding over to you with a wide smile on her face. Eris watched as your smile grew with every step his daughter took toward you two, a fluffy, pink bunny painted right on her cheek.

✧･ﾟ: *

Riley started getting a bit fussy after the late lunch the three of you had shared, indicating it was indeed her naptime. She refused to be carried by her father through the busy streets, preferring to walk between you two hand-in-hand instead.

"Swing me!" She shouted, skipping along as she gripped your fingers in hers. Eris looked to you and sighed, but you only shrugged.

"Alright dear, but only a few times, we're nearly to the horses-"

"Okay, Daddy, okay!" She said, rearing back and preparing to be swung off her feet.

"One, two, three!" Eris counted, lifting her in time with you off her little feet, sending her flying into the air a few inches as she squealed in delight. When her feet hit the ground once more, she laughed with joy, asking again and again for the same thing.

You watched as the little girl fell asleep soundly against her father's chest, drifting off with the rocking atop the horse as you'd made the trek home. It made you happy to see Eris getting to do these little things, even if it was just carrying his daughter inside and lying her down for her nap. You'd taken to the kitchen, noticing the darkening sky and decided to prep for the evening meal as you'd be cooking for one extra this evening.

"I didn't realize how much went into what you do."

You didn't need to look to know he'd come into the kitchen, his voice only a few feet away. You continued to pull out the various pots and pans needed, closing the cabinets with care to not wake Riley.

"I'm not sure what you mean," you say, walking toward the fridge in search of the vegetables. Eris stalks over to the island, leaning against it as he watches you pull things out.

"I just meant. Well, I don't get to spend as much time with her as I'd like." He says, and you stand, shutting the refrigerator door behind you. You walk over and stand beside him, laying out the veggies on the countertop before you.

"I see," You say. He was talking about his daughter, you knew that. A soft rumbling sounds from outside, and you glance behind you. The sky outside the window has indeed darkened; you hoped the thunder would only enhance her slumber, not stir her from it.

You bent over, reaching in the cabinet for a cutting board and placing it on the island. Eris went quiet next to you, and you risked a glance at him. Your face fell when you noticed his downcast eyes, so full of light and love just hours ago now replaced with something darker.

"What's... what has you so upset-"

"I'm the only parent she has left," he says harshly, his hands bracing the edge of the marble. "I barely know a thing about my own kid, and I don't get to see her often because of my damned job, my position in this court that I'd give up in an instant if I knew she'd be safe-" he stops, the last word broken by a crack in his voice. His knuckles had gone white against the counter, and your eyes had widened at his outburst.

You reached out a timid hand in comfort, but pulled back as the image of last time flashed through your mind. The way he freaked out when you put your hand on his arm, just trying to be there for him...

You weren't sure what he wanted from you.

"Eris... I don't know what to say." You couldn't think of what to do, shaking your head slowly as your hands hung limply at your sides. "I'm... I'm really sorry, about today, if I stepped on your toes by going with you guys, I know how important your time is with her, I just-"

His head turns, looking to you in that moment. You hadn't realized how close you stood to one another, his intense gaze feeling like fire as he scanned your face. You couldn't read him -- his eyes watered, and he looked... frustrated? Confused? What was it?

"Look, I'm sorry, I'll just leave you alone-"

"Please don't," he whispered, his eyes falling to your hands as a tear ran down his cheek. "Please. Don't leave."

Your heart throbbed, pins prickling the backs of your own eyes. In that moment, you reached both of your hands out, not caring the repercussions of your actions as you slid your arms around Eris' ribs, pulling him into you and holding tight. He breathed deep, his torso shuddering as you fought back your own tears while running your fingers up and down his back. His hands gripped your waist, his strong arms enveloping you as he allowed himself to finally relax against your touch, finally accepting a bit of the comfort you so desperately had been trying to offer him.

"Eris," you said quietly, the rainfall the only other sound in the room over the quiet sounds of your combined breaths. "You have to understand that you are a good father." His fingers flex around your waist, holding you tighter as he takes in your words.

"Riley talks about you all day long," you continue. "She waits everyday for you to come home, and I really think you don't give yourself enough credit for all of the things you do for her each and every day." You say.

"She knows your work is... not, well. Normal," you say, and he nods against your shoulder. "I think everyone knows that you do a lot, and you've been through so much," you chuckle humorlessly, pressing your cheek against his chest. "The main thing we care about, honestly, is that you come home safe every night."

He pulls back slowly, his hand sliding from your waist to brush a piece of hair from your forehead. You hadn't realized it'd stuck to your cheek -- a stream of wet from the corner of your eye was proof of that. His fingers remained lightly cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing across your skin as he continued to hold you against him.

"You truly are a Queen." Eris says, his soft smile drawing a little chuckle from you. "Beautiful inside and out."

Your cheeks are ablaze from his words, your breathing unsteady as his fingers pull you closer, his lips mere inches from yours. You can see every caramel hue in his irises, every light freckle dusting the bridge of his nose when-

A sharp crack sounds behind you, the room illuminating with the bolt of lightning that flashes across the sky. You flinch, embarassed as the moment passes and you're left in darkness again. You realize you'd clung tighter to Eris, and he'd done the same; both of you releasing your hold on the other at the same time.

He clears his throat, running a hand through his hair as he lets out a short laugh. "Uh, well," he chuckles, gesturing to the spread of forgotten vegetables on the countertop before you. "This is another thing I am not proficient at." He shrugs, and you nod, wiping your palms on the skirt of your dress.

"Oh! Right, um, well. I'd be happy to show you, if you'd like. I thought for dinner tonight, we'd do traditional autumn stew?"

✧･ﾟ: *

The rest of that night was nice... for the most part.

Dinner was nice. The three of you enjoying it together was nice. Riley insisted on having movie night afterwards, so Eris set up the projector and the three of you snuggled together in the living area under a mound of blankets and pillows to watch Moana... which was nice. You'd even fallen asleep there, and to wake up using Eris' arm as a pillow... well, you'd be lying if you said that wasn't nice, too.

What was not so nice, was the morning after.

You'd woken up first, enoying the sight around you in the dim light but eventually you made your way to the kitchen for some tea. The first light of morning hadn't risen yet, which meant you had some time before Riley would wake up to prepare a meal for her... and her father, too. You were pondering what to make when footsteps behind you had you whirling around in the dark, squinting to make out the figure before you.

"Don't worry -- it's just me," Eris whispered, and you rubbed your eyes, taking him in more clearly. He was already fully dressed, not in his usual attire or how he would dress when spending time at home, either. He was in his armor, the various straps and ties secured across his chest and arms making your eyes widen and forcing you to wake up quickly.

"Where are you going?" You asked, and he stepped closer, his voice a hushed whisper.

"I recieved word that I would be needed this week for correspondence in a few of the other courts," he says, and your heart lurches. "I am hoping to be back sooner, but-"

"Wait. You're leaving for an entire week?" You squeak, and he nods gravely. You shudder, but you feel his fingers wrap around yours as he brings your hand to his lips.

"I promise, I will try to be back sooner." He says, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand. You shake your head, your mind racing with a million dark thoughts you wished you weren't having this early in the morning.

"What about Riley?"

He sighs, dropping your hand and scratching his chin. "Last time I had to leave like this, you remember she didn't handle the goodbye well-"

"So you think leaving without saying anything is better?" You ask, your frown evident. His head drops between his shoulders, and his hands lightly hold onto your shoulders.

"Y/N, you know it kills me to leave like this," he says, his eyes pleading in the dim morning light. "I can't go through that again with her." He says, and you sigh. It was horrendous last time, her wailing and sobbing as he left for his mission lasted days when she was told what wsa happening. You still felt the guilt in your gut by not telling her what was going on though.

Your fingers found his, your gaze firmly holding his. "I'm telling her today after you've gone. She at least deserves to understand what's happening." He nods, pulling you in quickly to his chest. Your heart skips a beat, the anticipation, fear, and something else all mixed together like the bubbling water of the Cauldron inside of you.

"One week. I'll see you then," he says against your hair, releasing you as he quietly makes his way to and out of the front door.

✧･ﾟ: *

That whole week was Hell.

Riley asked at least once a day when her father would come home, and you felt worse and worse when you couldn't give her a straight answer as you weren't entirely sure yourself as to when he'd return. Honestly, it made you sick not knowing exactly what was going on either, and having to put on a brave face every morning was beginning to weigh on you more than you liked to admit. You truly wished you didn't care so much -- but the tethers around your heart pulled everytime you imagined the worst, thinking of what could be happening to Eris-

"Y/N is sad." Riley stands near the end of the kitchen counter, her limp beagle dangling from her fingers. Her tired eyes were swollen and red, and you lift your head from your hands on the counter at the sound of her voice. You glance toward the clock. 9 pm.

"Riley, honey, I put you in bed an hour ago-"

"But Y/N is sad too." She walks softly toward you, the braid you'd done in her hair now slightly mussed from the tossing and turning she'd likely done in her bed before she'd woken up. She approaches, wrapping her arms around your thigh and pressing her cheek to your exposed skin. Tears threaten the corners of your eyes, all of the emotions hitting you in full today. It was the seventh day Eris hadn't come back, and you were both feeling the weight of his absence it seemed.

You bend down, kneeling before her to engulf her in your arms in a proper hug. She shakes lightly against you, and you can't help the single tear that slips free, dripping onto her soft hair. Her fingers grip onto your silky pajamas, clutching you tightly.

"I miss daddy so much," she mumbles into your shoulder. Your hand runs over her little back, trying to provide her comfort while keeping your own tears at bay.

You take a shaky breath, your voice broken as more quiet tears fall down your cheeks. "I know sweetheart. I miss him too."

✧･ﾟ: *

Riley ended up drifting off in your lap, and you'd opted to carry her to your room. The distance from the kitchen was shorter, and in an effort to not stir her again, you laid her in your plush blankets, tucking her in and watching as she snuggled into the warm blankets with contentment. You left the lamp on in case she woke up, but closed the door this time; Gods forbid you had another emotional breakdown and woke her once more.

You retreated to the living room, reaching for a few blankets in the dark room when the creak of the side door sent a chill down your spine.

Were you hearing things?

You froze in place, every drop of blood in your body turning to ice when you heard it swing shut.

Definitely not hearing things. Someone was in the house.

Your head spun, cheeks ablaze and palms clamming up all at once. This hadn't happened before, or yet, anyway. Eris had touched on this issue when you first started working here, but what had he said about intruders? You couldn't remember.

The pit forming in your stomach grew as your mind raced, trying to think of any escape, any plan, any action to get Riley out of here before you both met your end. Gods, what had he said when you were hired, anyway? Something about his swords, in his room, maybe? Those were all the way down the hall -- you'd never make it in time.

You took a silent step toward the foyer, then another. The intruder would be in the kitchen soon, and you wouldn't waste any precious seconds you had to save Riley. You had to move, now.

Passing the small entryway table, you contemplated the vase atop it for a moment. Honestly, it would only wake Riley and alert the intruder of her presence. Maybe he would just take you and leave, if you could be quiet enough. You had a better shot defending yourself with your fists anyway -- the glass decoration would simply shatter anyway.

You rounded the corner, sucking in a breath as you heard a low moan coming from the kitchen. Your heartbeat faltered, an invisible pull like a magnet drawing you closer. You squinted in the dark, trying to make out any shapes or forms through the dim lighting.

Another low groan, only this time you recognized it. Your clenched fist loosened, and you took a few quick steps toward the small faelight to flick it on, revealing the horrific scene before you.

"Eris?"

✧･ﾟ: *

You worked quickly, trotting around the master washroom with supplies as your mind seemed to fog over. You felt as though this was a silent film, and you were a puppet; nothing was real, you couldn't hear, or think, or register what was going on before you-

"Y/N, please-"

"I'm working on it," you say absentmindedly, your fingers shaking as you begin soaking the rag clutched in your hand with cleaning solution. Eris' eyes widen, and he stares at you silently.

Only when the rag is practically dripping do you look up at him, barely able to look him in the eye before muttering, "this is going to hurt like Hell." He nods, and you quickly press the rag into his abdomen, his muscles immediately tensing around the area. He sucks in a sharp breath, the following few are ragged as he white-knucke grips the counter behind him.

"Gods, Y/N-"

"Hold still." You command, your tone lacking warmth as you move to press against the long gash, attempting to stop the blood free flowing from it. He groans again but you keep going, readjustign the cloth until you've wiped most of the blood away and the wound is clean for the most part.

You retreat to the medicine cabinet, grabbing a jar of salve and some large bandage wrap from it before standing before Eris once more. You gather some of the cool jelly on your fingers, making to apply it but Eris' hand grips your shoulder in an instant, and you break from whatever panic mode you were in and look up at him.

"Wait," he whispres, pain lacing his voice as his brows knit atop his forehead. You blink, realizing that in your momentary panic-ridden attempt to help him, you were not providing what he may have needed most and not gotten much of this past week.

Your eyes dropped, and your fingers lightly wrapped around his, your thumb running over his long digits. "I'm almost done, I promise," You say, with a lot more compassion this time. His eyes meet yours, and you fight against the stinging behind yours as you move toward him, your fingers brushing over the marred skin. His fingers tighten on your shoulder, a pained gasp coming out of him again.

"Shh, it's alright," you say quietly, working as quick as you can. "Almost done, I promise," You cap the salve, tearing open the bandage wrap before aligning it over his wound. His forhead finds your shoulder, his head resting on it as the muscles around his knife wound continue to retract at your touch. You lightly wind your arms around him, securing the wrap around his midsection and completely covering up his injury. It's then that you feel the warmth of his hands on you; his hands that had been holding onto you this whole time, but now had he relaxed a little, his heat had begun to return.

You stepped an inch closer, the familiar lump in your throat from earlier returning as every word you ached to say raced through your mind. Your arms found their way around his neck, and he squeezed you tighter when he felt you holding him. You threaded one hand through his hair, softly running your fingers through it while the other traced up and down lightly across his exposed back.

"You really scared me," you whispered. A small drop of water landed on his shoulder, but you didn't care. You'd allowed yourself to be vulnerable earlier in front of Riley, and it is healthy to show that you can't be happy all of the time, and that's okay; maybe Eris needed to see that too.

He nodded against your shoulder, his head turning as his nose brushed the dip of your neck. His fingers rested on your lower back, holding firm as the two of you sat in comfortable silence, a million unsaid thoughts unshared between the two of you.

"I'm sorry." He said quietly after a few minutes, his lips brushing against your skin with the action. Your body tingled, it itched, you burned inside, just wishing things could be different. You pulled back an inch, moving to look up at him through your wet lashes. He shook his head slowly at you, his thumb brushing over the tear trails down your cheeks.

"Please don't cry," he says. You chuckle, sniffling a little before unwrapping your arms from him. His hands catch yours, keeping you close to him before you can go to far.

"I hate leaving for so long." He said, his eyes dropping as he thought about how and what to say. "I don't like to be away like that."

You swallowed thickly, nodding with the effort. "Riley missed you. A lot. She asked about you every day..." you trailed off, looking to the side. He nodded, his hand letting go of yours and moving to cup your cheek, guiding you to look up at him again.

"I miss Riley, always," he said. "But, I also miss you."

Your heart seized, your chest caving at his words. You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out. How, in this worls, would you be able to say everything you wanted to, in just this moment?

You couldn't. You knew you wouldn't be able to. Not in just one moment like this. In the dim lighting of his master bath, just the two of you alone in the quiet -- he looked devastating, a few strands of his short hair brushing against his forehead as he gazed down at you. His gaze, his eyes, burning into yours with desire; you only hoped you coveyed every ounce of love you had in your body with a stare like that alone.

So, you did what felt right.

You pressed up onto the balls of your feet, his left hand on your hip balancing you as your lips finally met his. Every nerve ending in your body was ablaze, the feeling of those pillow soft lips on yours sending your mind into a state of bliss. His hand threaded through your hair, the other snaking around your lower back to press you closer against him.

You pulled back, just for a moment to make sure this was what he wanted as well. You barely had time to blink before his hands pulled you back in, his lips moving against yours with even more desire, more passion, the need only growing.

Your hands rested on his chest, fingertips pressing in slightly when he skated his tongue across your bottom lip. You allowed him in, surprising him when you swiped your tongue across his, the desire to explore every inch of his mouth one you'd been ashamed you'd had for months -- until now. He groaned, his grip on your waist tightening before his hand slid a bit lower, tracing the curve of your ass under his palm.

When you finally pulled back, gazing up at him with a small smile, you felt the heat between the two of you becoming rather warm in the small room. Whether it was eminating from him or it was how hot you felt inside, you couldn't be sure.

"You should... we should... it's late," you fumbled, chewing on your lower lip nervously. He nodded, loosening his grip on you a little but continued to pin you with his intense gaze.

"We should sleep," he agreed. You nodded, turning toward the door and making to leave but his fingers threaded lightly through yours. Your cheeks heated, and you looked to him as he smirked over your reaction.

"I..." you looked to his torso once more, and gasped. "Oh! I'm sorry, uh. Yeah, um. I can, help you. Get to bed, if that's. What. You, need." You stumbled out, and he chuckled lowly. You laughed nervously, and he pulled you against him once more. You squeaked at the feeling of his fingers gripping your hips, his lips pressing a small kiss just beneath your ear before his words sent a chill down your spine, despite the room's warm temperature.

"Maybe, you should just stay in here with me tonight."

Your backbone straightened at his suggestion, and he huffed a laugh once more. Your eyes met his, and a small smile played on your lips as you answered back.

"My bed is taken for the night, anyway. What's the harm?"

✧･ﾟ: *

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