#of flesh and steal au

[sugarand-everythingnice]

Heya! Glad you liked the song! Sometimes songs can be a really good source of inspiration, haha) I have another music recommendation — "Rise" and "Gods" by League of Legends. These ones are cool too!

Got me an idea of Wheeljack vs Predaking fight. Like Jackie fighting him in his hybrid form or full beast mode if he ever goes through full transformation. I imagined that his beast mode like Night Fury being really fast and shooting plasma at the enemies.

And damn... When I think about Miko and Bulkhead I wonder how would they both feel when they see Wheeljack's mutilated body. How would they react? How would they feel about it, especially Bulk? Would they be scared of him? And what would Jackie think when he sees their fear of him?

Feel free to tell me I'm wrong in some things, I'm just sharing my ideas with you 😉 Who knows, maybe it will help you to get your own ideas for your AU)

P.S.: tried to send this ask before but network error decided otherwise, haha)

Hey!

Sorry for the late answer (life ya know)

But I'll definitely be giving those songs a listen >:)

I won't lie, I'm gonna be .... what's the word.

Channeling? Ya know when like someone expresses their emotions through a character by fanart or fanfic? I don't remember, lol

But yeah imma be channeling alot of anger and rage into BeastJack >:]

1, because yeah

2, because yeah! It makes sense! Who wouldn't be upset at being painfully experimented on and coming out not recognizing yourself because you've been so disfigured

That's one of my main focuses with this story, to be honest. Channeling that rage that Wheeljack should have had the liberty to express more freely. Not only because of everything he's gone through pre-experiment, but because of what he'll inevitably go through and have to face afterward.

He'll have to face the fact that he no longer looks or acts like himself before. That his friends are more than likely going to be afraid of him (maybe not Miko, I think she'd find his new form sick as hell).

It's going to be a lot. I don't doubt that at least one of the bots is going to shoot at him upon first sight. It can trigger a pretty nasty fight or flight response.

And it'll more than likely leave Wheeljack as a rogue. The only people I see going after him would be Miko and Bulkhead (Bulkhead after some convincing by Miko because of that belief of his that "Jackie always comes back").

It leaves room to explore the idea that these bots are so out of tune with emotions because of so many years living and surviving a war that has ultimately led to them pushing their feelings aside for the sake of the battle.

(P.S. I got all of your asks lol, I admire your determination ♡♡)

[churchydraws]

Since Red uses an old prototype Daycare Attendant model as their body, they actually have both Nighttime and Daytime functions, they just prefer the Nighttime mode. But their sun rays will come out if they’re startled or if they’re trying to look more intimidating, like how a cat puffs out its fur.

Lunar and Lilac find this out when they both rush up behind Red to tell them about something and startles them so much the rays shoot out.

[dadsbongos]

virgins can have kinks too!

4.1 k words / summary - multi-chap posts of me experimenting with smut writing

warnings - piv, unprotected sex + creampies, virgin shiggy, college au, porn with minimal plot, partially clothed sex, BRIEF suicide joke, fem reader, 18+ mndi

~~~

If Tomura could go back and change any one thing in his life, it'd probably be how you two met.

Touya is messy enough to live with, now Tomura was forced to account for all the dirt-clodded shoes and unwashed hands of strangers coming into contact with his possessions. Those first hinting throbs of a headache were beginning to tease at Tomura’s pterion, and unfortunately his only access to water was blocked off by a thick weld of moist, musty athletes. Not that they intimidated Tomura, of course, they were just… an optional pain that he’d rather avoid. All their clunky terminology went over his head, and in his experience the people that Touya invites to his parties are not the inclusive type. What Tomura did understand was that they were perfectly posted up against their kitchen sink so as to be as inconvenient as possible; intending to verbally batter whatever unfortunate girl tried snagging from the fridge.

To be fair to them, though, tap water was Tomura’s backup plan. His initial objective was to sneakily steal a plastic bottle before returning to his room. All those were gone, which is sooo funny to Tomura because he’s certain that he just bought a forty pack yesterday.

Yet if Tomura were to point that out, Touya would just shift blame back onto his recluse roommate for knowingly leaving out water when he was inviting people over. So he doesn’t bother finding the stupid punk.

Similarly, he doesn’t so much as attempt either bathroom sink for water. One being annoyingly split off between the kitchen and Tomura’s room, and the other in Touya’s room. Touya’s room was a self imposed no-no for Tomura during their day-to-day, so he can’t fathom a reason to enter during the degenerate’s party. Judging by occasional thumps and ever shifting shadows beneath the gap, Tomura assumes the shared bath is in no better shape.

Right as he sets to retreat, his eyes zoom across their open floor plan -- all the way into the living room, honing in on two girls. One familiar from their shared mythology class, and the other entirely foreign. Himiko Toga is curled around the shoulders of the second girl, twirling strands of mystery girl’s hair with her long fingers.

Himiko greedily consumes all things cute, she chews them up and keeps them between her teeth to amalgamate with the next adorable target her sights set on. By the end of her life, she’ll probably puke up a cat-eared ball of pink glitter tied up with bows and proudly proclaim it to be her life’s work.

Currently, he’s watching Himiko chow down on someone that he, surprisingly, also finds cute. It's distracting.

Himiko lowers her hands until both arms are wrapped around your waist, nails burrowing into the material of your shirt. Her cheek presses against your shoulder, loose strands of blonde hair tickling up your neck.

Your neck strangely captured Tomura, then. Thick with your pulse and tissue, he wants to feel it pillow under his teeth. His lips are rough and chapped and suddenly all he can think about is how they’d feel scarring up the soft flesh of your jugular.

Himiko must be thinking that too because he watches as she turns cheek and digs her nose into the juncture of your neck.

Oh.

Tomura blinks himself free of the stupor and shakes out his hands, then wiping them dry against his pants. He didn’t think Himiko could actually hold down a relationship.

“Whatcha starin’ at, boss?”

Voice so raggedy and low, almost a staticky purr at Tomura’s back, he can instantaneously pick out who it is.

“Did you know Himiko had a girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Touya steps forward, eyes narrowed out into the crowd, “Where? I can’t see shit.”

“I told you to just get contacts, moron,” Tomura grumbles, then pointing as inconspicuous as he can (not very at all) towards their mutual friend still slithered around the unknown girl.

“Kid, that’s not her girlfriend.”

Tomura looks up at Touya, glaring through tangled, powder blue bangs, “You’re joking, right? I’m not stupid.”

“Seriously, it’s not,” Touya snickers, “Why? You interested?” when Tomura can only silently seethe up at the man, Touya grins: a sight more disturbing than reassuring, his teeth are too big and prominent, the bags under his eyes crinkle up weirdly, and it reeks of selfish glee. Touya jams out his index and middle fingers, waggling the index first, “Which one? Blondie?” then his middle, “Or new girl?”

“I don’t want to talk about this with you,” Tomura knocks down the man’s hand with a disgruntled scoff, “You’re mental.”

“We’ve been friends awhile now, no?” Touya stubbornly returns to pointing, “I’ve never seen you get worked up over a girl, it’s funny. So, which one?”

“It’s funny?”

“I’ll set you up.”

Admitting to the fact he’s got a beating heart and libido is so embarrassing, which leads to Tomura halfheartedly muttering, “If I had a thing for Himiko, I wouldn’t have told you first.”

“You’re cute,” Touya quips, reaching up to pinch Tomura’s cheek between black-painted nails -- pointedly ignoring the annoyed huff and swat resulting. He steps around Tomura to venture through the jungle of his guests, “I’m on it.”

Touya is one of the best, and worst, people that Tomura has ever met. Touya is bothersome and rude and sometimes downright narcissistic, but also headstrong. Touya decided the day his dad bought him this house that he wanted to room with the dork from his freshman year geography lecture. Touya decided that Tomura and him were best friends when Tomura helped him pass their aforementioned geography class. Touya decided last year that the pair should bleach their hair together for a laugh. Touya decided just now to be Tomura’s wingman.

His singlemindedness pairs almost lethally well with his sense of loyalty. It almost made Touya seem… admirable.

Tomura internally gags over the thought, quickly refocusing on real life where Touya is leading Himiko (who is leading her mystery friend via deathgrip on your hand) back towards the kitchen.

Himiko giggles upon seeing Tomura, “You thought we were dating?”

Nevermind. Touya is just as insufferable as he was three years ago badgering Tomura for his lecture notes.

“Be nice. You’re so touchy, I’m sure everyone thought we’re together,” mystery girl squeezes Himiko’s hand, then smiling over at Tomura, “But I’m totally single.”

Oh.

Touya’s the most direct, masterminded person Tomura’s ever met.

All that masterminding goes to utter waste if Tomura can’t wake up and relearn social cues, though. Touya jabs an elbow into Tomura’s gaunt side, ribs aching from the blow.

“Okay,” Tomura nods dumbly, swallowing the unease trapped in his throat and once again drying his hands against his sweatpants.

“If you couldn’t tell,” Touya yanks Himiko into his side and out of your hold, “So is he.”

Himiko whines and reaches out as Touya drags her off, the pair slinking somewhere deep into the crowd of thrashing, bumbling bodies.

“You don’t look much like the party type,” you hum, maybe a little unhelpfully. Tried and true method of flirting, however, is being just a tad mean. A less fluffy version of the tragic come here often? line is sure to crack this man’s icy exterior.

“My roommate,” Tomura flings a thumb over in the direction Himiko was hauled off, “He’s the delinquent, I just share the space,” suddenly the insides of his sweatpants are too hot, and so is the flimsy white shirt on his chest, “I just wanted water.”

Sweltering air beats from the center of his chest down to his ankles, even tickling up his neck. The longer you stare at him, the hotter his body feels. Scorching up his face too, burning away layers of dried, ungroomed skin to reveal every muscle twinge. Tomura wants to both comb his hair back and hide behind the strands (most of all, though, he wishes he’d bothered brushing it whatsoever before making his venture). Being so trapped between either option makes his brain short circuit until he’s, rather bashfully, tucking hair behind his ear like some blushing ingenue.

Thankfully you don’t appear troubled by the sight, instead grinning wider and even laughing at his admission (Tomura likes your smile: lips giving prominence to flattering teeth, balls of your cheeks plumping, and lashes fluttering. Definitely more lovely than Touya’s). You fold your arms, “Poor thing. You probably don’t wanna be stuck out here, huh?”

Insecurity visibly crawls along the downward twitch of your lips, your brows furrowing. Tomura stares at you, committing each divot and angle of your body to memory. By the time he’s finished, he realizes you’re waiting for him to respond.

“Yeah…” he mutters lamely, scratching at the crackled film of skin over his chelidon, then smoothing a thumb into the depression as his heart hammers up his throat -- pressing a disarray of words against his palate. They linger by his uvula, gagging him into stunned silence, until he can finally choke out an uneven, “Do you wanna go back to my room?”

As soon as the question was in the air, buzzing unattended between your faces, Tomura wanted to claw out his eyeballs. Maybe rip out his tongue, too. Such gore would surely erase any memories of his implying he thought he had a chance with you. That was far preferable to the disgust about to cross your face.

Except, that disgust never comes.

Alternatively, you nod, “Sounds fun!”

Tomura kept his area tidy enough. A stack of bowls, two cups, three empty Dr. Pepper cans, and a single Maruchan ramen cup on his desk. A lump of clothes he’s procrastinated washing carefully lines the edge of his bed. But that was all, really.

He wanted his room to be livable, and if he felt so childish as to be proud of it then he liked the sight of his uncluttered carpet. How easily he could make the trek from bed to computer to door (and, of course, the desultory detours to his bookcase or closet) without tripping on trash or abundantly strewn clothes. If he felt further inclined to childishness, Tomura even congratulated himself on maintaining a room cleaner than Touya’s.

Even despite the stacked bowls and cups on his desk and emptied soda bottles cluttering his desk legs.

None of that is sufficient anymore. He’s inspecting your face like it’ll burst open with an alien race for any sign of judgment. Cautiously, Tomura kicks a tangle of loose shirts under his bed while you’re distracted ogling his decorated shelves.

“You like Omori?” your question startles him from kicking a pair of boxers under his bed.

“Huh?”

You’re pointing at a lineup of four acrylic stands -- not the complete set, Tomura only burdened his wallet with purchasing the main party over including Basil and Mari -- on the top shelf of his bookcase, “Omori, right? I didn’t think you’d like that type of game.”

“Do I not look like I would?” he doesn’t know why that inference hurts his feelings. Shamefully, he cards his fingers through his knotted hair, slotting more locks behind his ear, “I played it a long time ago. Now I’m too busy for anything else story-driven, so I’m mostly on League. Or Overwatch if I feel like killing myself.”

“You don’t look like you like suffering, I guess is what I meant,” you draw your bottom lip up between your teeth (he hopes it doesn’t sting, he wants to kiss it better if it does), “But knowing you play Overwatch…”

“I try to avoid it,” Tomura prays his self-grooming is subtle, or at least lowkey enough for you to not notice as you continue browsing his various knick knacks and figures, “You game?”

“Eh, RPGs usually. I don’t like working with others when I play, it makes me nervous to screw up.”

“That’s cute,” he doesn’t mean to say it aloud, honestly. Two measly words small enough to slip through his pursed lips. Two words big enough to ruin his night.

“Think so?” but you’re… smiling again.

“I guess,” Tomura’s eyes shift quickly over to his pillows. Are they soft enough? Should he flip them over? What the hell is fluffing, and does it actually do anything?

“Are you usually this shy? Or am I special?”

Not often does Tomura feel truly helpless, but your incessant teasing pairs lethally with your fluttering lashes and painted lips. He wishes he were more accustomed to conversing with strangers, especially pretty strangers that were interested in him. Part of him wants to believe that if you’re attracted to him now, you’ll be stubborn enough to stick out whatever cluelessness he bumbles out -- but he doesn’t. He simply cannot bring himself to buy that.

“You’re making me nervous, like I’m about to puke.”

“Flattering,” you join Tomura on his bed, soft knee nudging his, “I hope you don’t. It’d kinda ruin the mood.”

He’s terribly unable to keep the casanova impersonation up, though, “What mood?”

You throw your head back and laugh. Hearty and full and so mortifying for him, worse are your next words, “You know why people go into private rooms at parties, right?”

“Uhh…”

“You do. I do, too. That’s why I came back here, you know? If you only wanna talk, that’s fine -- you’re fun to just talk to! But I came back here ‘cuz I want to have sex with you, if you want to, too.”

Tomura can feel that dreaded heartbeat climbing up his chest and into his gullet again.

“You’re forward…”

You shrug, “I know what I want.”

Tomura claws at his sweatpants, chest aching and fingers numb from how your eyes are zeroed on him. He nods slowly, racketing another giggle from your chest -- you lean closer, your hand brushes his.

“Yeah?” you coax a hand around Tomura’s far shoulder, swiveling him to face you.

A rattle and hum from his ceiling fan gurgles the sound of his reply, you hate it.

From the shape of his lips, you can make out his agreement. With no specific intent and only a general sense of lust to guide him, Tomura leans into your touch. Snatching his hands, you shuffle his palms under your shirt, sifting the flesh up your warm belly until they’re cupping your tits. He squeezes blindly, teetering closer along his mattress. Finally, you strip off your top -- then greedily going for Tomura’s as well. He contently allows it, even lifting his arms to grant the removal.

“You’re so pretty,” Tomura noses at your neck, hot puffs of air warming your skin, “Can’t believe you’re actually here.”

His hands are soft from a lax life, if slightly clammy with nerves, and they feel nice squeezing around your hips. Tomura dips his pelvis downward, keeping your thighs scooped snug around him -- bonus for the momentary relief of pressure against his aching groin. His fingers bow beneath the waistband of your skirt until your own are tethering his in place.

“Can I leave the skirt on?” your thighs tighten around Tomura’s slim waist, you tilt your head so your soft lips press against his cheek, “Its kinda hot. To me.”

Tomura rolls his shoulders, whole body shuddering at the request. He nods with clenched eyes, digging his nails into your skin -- he likes your idea more than he can put into words (granted, his tongue may as well be superglued to his teeth right now).

“I can do that,” he manages to scrape out, drawing his fingers down the bunched material of your skirt and up your thighs, “Can I take these off?”

“Please,” you cant your hips up for Tomura to yank off your panties, he bundles them in one hand and stows the other where the material once laid. You swear you hear him whimper at the contact.

His fingers dance up your slit, gentle massaging that intensifies upon introduction of his thumb on your clit. Tomura drops your underwear off the side of his bed and uses the freed palm to work off his sweatpants, but just before he can snap the drawstring -- he stops completely.

“Wait,” he pants, “Hang on. Don’t move.”

Tomura runs out like he’s caught fire, slamming his bedroom door shut behind him and leaving you splayed on his mattress.

He returns with a fist curled around something, and determination written in the lines of his face. Replacing himself between your thighs, Tomura hides the contents in his hand under the pillow beneath you. Before you can shoot any questions, he’s lifting your skirt and lowering his chest to the bed.

As if he can sense the curiosity burning away your mood, Tomura hurriedly buries his face in your cunt.

One gasp is stuttered short by another, Tomura flicks his tongue inside you with a groan. Pulling back only to spit on your clit, the liquid bubbling down your slit until it catches on his prodding fingertips -- your thighs jolt around his shoulders at the act. Middle finger worming into you with ease, Tomura’s burdened by the vestige of Touya’s hand on his shoulder and husks into his ear.

Yeah, condoms are in the top drawer. You need advice?

He’d been uneasy initially, nodding uncertainly, but Tomura’s grateful now.

Just as he’d been instructed, Tomura curls his middle finger and screws the pad up until- your knee knocks into his skull and he keens at the rough treatment.

“S-sorry,” you stammer out, chest arching up.

Bypassing your apology, Tomura flattens his tongue on your clit and slithers a second finger inside you. Surely by tomorrow, his arm will be sore with the work he’s pushing through, but he’s equally sure it’s worth it as you clamp around him and seize.

Strumming your gspot in time with your clit, Tomura loses himself in the thought of how your snatch would feel around his cock -- grinding against the marshmallow mattress below to relieve the pressure. Your only relief is how he greedily sucks your clit; he lets you grab his hair with both hands and roughly tug him to and fro. He lets you fuck his face, eats it up in earnest.

Prying your thighs back from his ears, Tomura shoves his sweatpants down and reaches under your head. Pulling back a foil square that crinkles with each nervous shake of his hand. Tomura’s plain black boxers soon crash to the floor as well.

“Hey,” your voice pipes up meekly, a little slurred after your orgasm. Drowsy eyes half-lidded and even sweeter on him, “Can you, uh…”

Tomura’s burning hot, flushed and vaguely sticky; bangs slickened against his face with sweat and cum. His breathlessness axiomatic of how little composure he could maintain, “What?”

“Don’t…” a shyness that now seems bizarre overtakes you, your fingers curl into his palm and unfurl the condom from his grasp, “You shouldn’t… I wanna feel you.”

He blinks down at you vapidly. So stupidly blank he's immediately ashamed of himself for blanching at your plea.

“You want it too, right?” you reach up and paw at Tomura's shoulders, “You wanna fuck me raw?”

“Uh-huh,” again dumb.

Tomura spares that response no reconsideration, instead preoccupied by holding your thighs open to nudge his cock into you. His tip bobs at your clit in the first few jerks, but his thinly construed patience is rewarded on the third attempt. You tug on his hair as Tomura humps into your sex.

He whines upon feeling that first squeeze and suck of entering your cunt, his pelvis itching up against your clit with every thrust. Blunt nails carve into the fat of your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer -- Tomura’s cock carves deep into your gut, hot and heavy. Chapped lips sear up the length of your neck, his chest squashing against yours, he teeths at the lump of your pulse and lathes the thumping point with his tongue. Budding his knees right beneath your ass, Tomura burdens the tops of his thighs against yours. Then wrapping your waist with both arms, continuing to suck your soft skin between his teeth.

Tomura gasps as the warmth of your hands finds his back, rolling lower and lower until you’re actively pushing him closer. He likes this -- loves it, even. He’s horrified to know he could’ve been having sex his entire college career and simply didn’t.

He’s further horrified that perhaps he’ll never have sex again when you leave (but mostly, he’s finding that he just doesn’t want you to leave).

“Be my girlfriend,” delirious, he’s babbling into your ear, whining and shuttering and smothering your body with his, “Be my girlfriend…! Wanna fuck you every day-- need you every day. So fucking warm and soft, all perfect for my cock,” Tomura pulls up from your neck to kiss the thin stretch of skin over your collarbones and treading to your breasts, “Like you’re made for taking it.”

What you want is to have the mental cognition to respond to him kindly, but what you have is a mushy brain and a flourishing climax scorching through your body. Grey matter melting into the bowl of your skull as Tomura kisses and pants into your tits.

“Tomu’-!” is all you can manage to squeal, nails digging jagged red lines down the man’s back.

“You cumming?” he reaches between your bodies to incise the pads of his fingers across your sodden clit.

A final push into your sensitive body, the attention spiking your head back into his pillow. Faintly, through the rush of dopamine pumping through your extremities to where your hanging mouth is expelling wanton wails of Tomu’! and yes, God! and cumming!, you can hear Tomura. You can hear him chuckling low and deep with ecstasy, “So pretty when you cum. Squeezing me so tight, too. You like me that much?”

He whines unexpectedly, wrenching both hands to your hips and branding the imprint of his calloused palms there.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he grits his teeth, scratchy throat puking up pulpy, disjointed moans of your name and fuck, fuck fucks, “I’m gonna cum,” he latches onto your tit, muffling his pathetic mewls as your legs lock him in your cunt (trembly and weak as they may be), “Cumming, cumming- ! Fuck!”

Stilling above you, Tomura chokes out soft breaths and murmurs of appreciation as he cums. Sincerely thanking you as his spend paints your insides. Collapsing on you once his balls are empty. Tomura barely has the wherewithal to roll onto his side in order to avoid overheating you under him.

A rattle and hum from his ceiling fan regains your attention, but this time it doesn’t seem too bad. You can’t find yourself to be very annoyed, even when the music pumping from outside vibrates Tomura’s bedroom door. Above those sounds, the one you appreciate most is the soft pelting of Tomura’s breath against your neck; damp with a mixture of sweat and his saliva, and sore from his incessant teething.

“Did you mean it?” you’re probably being mean, asking such a layered question so immediately after his release.

“About?” his voice is raggedy, sharp to a bladepoint -- if you couldn’t see the dazed, awestruck film over his lidded eyes, you’d mistake him as trying to be rude.

“Me being your girlfriend. Did you actually mean that? Or did your dick have the braincell?”

“Oh,” Tomura pushes onto his elbows, arms shaking, his hair drops over his face and this time you’re the one to brush it behind his ear. Despite cumming in you minutes ago, he blushes at the gesture and looks at your bruising neck rather than your eyes, “I guess. I don’t have a car, so I can’t drive you around for dates.”

“I can take the bus, you know,” you laugh at how Tomura’s face suddenly sours at your words.

“As if I’d let my girlfriend take the bus by herself. Do you know how many freaks go on that thing?”

“‘Cuz you’d know.”

“Yeah, I’m one of them,” the giddiness rising in his chest over your giggling at his jab quickly overtakes his face, cheeks burning with a proud smile. Tomura hides his face in your neck, “I guess it’s up to you.”

“It's up to me if you were serious or not?”

Quietly, he hums, then rasps out something you could construe as a joke if you didn’t care so much about how he felt, “I only open to begging in the sheets. Being desperate to date the first girl I fuck is so pathetic.”

Which is so insane to you because you met this man only a few hours ago.

A broiling affection that builds between the slats of your ribs, bricking off your lungs and heart just to cook them up hot and gooey and primed for the man on your chest. At least Tomura’s burgeoning crush could be reasoned away with the fact he’s a recent ex-virgin (not like you, with visitors running rarer than Tanzanite).

Still fluttery and alight with the wash of your orgasm, you give your heart the braincell and nod sluggishly, “Yeah. I want you to be serious.”

Decidedly, you spare no mind how you two barely know each other.

[shegetsburned]

❝ the duke’s proposal ❞ w. satoru gojo 𝜗𝜚.

BRIDGERTON AU⌇

• — dearest gentle readers. the time has come for us to place our bets for the upcoming social season! marriage-minded mamas must consider the oldest of the gojo’s family thrilled to conquer hearts with his wits and undeniable charm. having officially announced his wish to find a bride, we certainly hope to see the young rake, on the dance floor, turn the tides and find a wife after much seasons of avoiding his duty. may the best lady win! • — a/n. i know @grumpchua asked for this and i believe it will feed some of y’all, so here’s the food <3

.nsfw.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who you’ve known ever since your debut and has been a inconvenience in your life for quite a while. like a tick biting into your flesh, only bringing trouble and worry for yourself. truth is, the duke loved pestering you about failed courting attempts or clumsy men coming to steal your hand, only to fall with them into a life of misery and depths. you undoubtedly did not attract the smartest and wealthiest of them all and satoru took advantage of this unwanted success.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who’s audacious. far from being a gentleman. the cockiest of all rakes. you did not only despise the man, you thought he was without honour, unromantic and arrogant. lord satoru was, in fact, everything you thought he was, but loved to show you personally every single one of his flaws.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, despite your best efforts, thought no better but to follow you around at every ball and "unexpectedly" bump into you at the market or when you walked out of the modiste. lord gojo was high in the instep, purposely shoving his strength of character and title in unfortunate suitors’ faces every time they deemed to approach you. needless to say, he took pleasure in crushing your chances of ever securing a proposal.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who has never really shown any interest in you, before. he would rather amuse himself by courting pretty debutantes only to leave them hanging and being chased by the impatient mamas of the ton. that was until his status caught up to him and forced the man to consider a serious marriage proposal. unfortunately for you, an idea blossomed into the young rake’s mind when he realized his need to find a bride was more urgent than he hoped to be.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, one evening, during a tranquil promenade, abruptly stops and steals you from your mama, offering his hand for you to finish your walk beside him. he obviously had a plan and it involved the lady that despised him the most in this entire ton: you— and who would be better than you to not catch feelings and be able to execute his plan perfectly?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who proposes an alliance. knowing you only attract the worst suitors possible, he assures you that more eligible men will throw themselves at your feet when they see the famous duke gojo court you. he swears it’ll only be temporary until he can find a suitable bride of his own without hundreds of ladies begging for his attention when you’re wrapped around his arm. you’ll be found desirable and he’ll have the peace he desires. what could possibly go wrong?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, for the first days, tries harder than any other years you’ve known him. the first day, your carriage’s waiting downstairs to meet him in the parc. he’s holding your umbrella above your head the whole time and acting like quite the gentleman, for once. he laughs with you, readjusts your hair and takes care of every single one of your needs. this masquerade goes on for two weeks where, each day, he surprises you with gorgeous flowers, kind gestures and words you would’ve never thought to hear. until one night, it’s an invite to his mansion that’s waiting for you, which you accept thinking it’ll just be another public appearance with him by your side. oh, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who welcomes you in his home, one gentle hand resting against the back of your corset to escort you to the ballroom where people were gathered and seemed to be enjoying their evening. everything would’ve seemed in order if not for the many men eyeing you from across the room. it seemed odd now, considering you hadn’t had this kind of attention for weeks, but it also seemed like satoru’s plan had worked and you couldn’t be more satisfied.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who listens to you converse with one of the gentlemen who had introduced himself to you. he seemed kind, polite, educated and of high status, which couldn’t have been more perfect if it hadn’t been for the duke terminating the conversation with a harsh remark and by guiding you to the dance floor without even writing his name on the card around your wrist. he had lost his temper in a matter of seconds and you were more than surprised by his lack of manners.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who tries to convince you to play along but you know this is entirely about something else. his grip around your waist and hand has never been so tight. he’s pulling you closer until his breath tickles your face and his words are whispers when he reminds you that your deal isn’t over and you’ll have to wait until you are allowed to let yourself be courted by other men. you try to respond but he spins you around gracefully. his fingers trail your column when he catches you and before you know it, you’re dancing with him and no one else is in the room.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose deep gaze startles you. he hasn’t left your eyes and does not plan to until he gets a proper response from you. satoru’s piercing blue eyes linger on your lips with a cocky smirk and you don’t know why your heart is beating so fast. he had never shown this facet of his before and it made your chest flutter. would he have preferred your attention was entirely on him, this evening, and not on the handsome suitor that had caught yours? no. you hated him. he was tricking you to make it seem real.. right?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose tension is enough to fill the room with curious whispers surrounding your odd pair. you two made it seem like you had shared more than simple dinners and promises. in front of everyone, you looked used to being so intimate with satoru, but you were trembling in your shoes when he leaned forward, grazing his lips against your ear to try and make you understand that he wouldn’t allow any suitors to approach you just yet.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who pulls you away from the crowd, stealing you away to his bedchamber in front of indiscreet pairs of eyes. he seems more impatient than ever when his instinct takes over and, god, your innocence has an unexpected hold on him. you question satoru with incomprehension in your eyes until he finally closes the door to answer you.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who skillfully shows you everything you’ve been missing and every little sinful activity he’s been partaking in with innocent debutantes such as yourself. only this time, he means it. his hands touch every sensitive spot, his lips cover yours and trail down to your exposed chest. his fingers slipped under your dress, letting him discover your body with your help as you take him in, whining at his insensitive touch.

you’ll never know, that night, if duke satoru gojo meant to lose his mind over you in front of everyone else for his scheme and personal gain or if it had been purely accidental and you had just mesmerized the rake in a matter of weeks to the point where he couldn’t think about anything else but to have you in his bed for the rest of his life.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[angelcake10023]

Curious MK 💛 and the Man In The Red Scarf 🧣

This au is everything to me… be ready for me to not shut up about it.

If you want a little explanation on the au look under the cut

The au pretty much follows the beats of the movie with some twists to fit the world of LMK a bit better

Tang works at his College’s museum, doing tours on a lot of historical exhibits which heavily align with his special interests (lots of JTTW like stuff)

Pigsy is the local school teacher that takes his class to the museum every week- to learn obviously. Not cause he has a big crush on this pathetic museum nerd.

Anyway the museum is loosing interest and funding you know the gist, Tang somehow agrees to go on an expedition to flower fruit mountain to maybe find something worth putting on display. Probably something related to Sun Wukong

Tang is out of his element, but also this is his hyperfixation and he can tooootally find something of note surely. However what he doesn’t know is that a few certain spider henchmen in disguise have made their way onto his expedition crew and are hoping to find something powerful to bring back to their queen.

Once they get there they do a lot of fruitless searching, set up camp for the day, and an exhausted Tang is quickly ambushed by a newly awakened baby Monkey MK. He’s very curious about the bright color of Tang’s scarf and steals it when Tang takes it off to eat.

Tang has never seen or heard of this type of monkey on the mountain before, thinking he resembles Sun Wukong but thinking it ridiculous to think more of it. They play for a bit, Tang playfully wagering for his scarf back.

Anyway the expedition continues and they’re still unable to find anything and have to leave empty handed, (except for two pieces of a little monkey shaped rock.)

Mk ends up with Tang’s scarf as he’s leaving, deciding to secretly follow them back. Wholesome shenanigans ensue just like in the movie. Tang struggles being a dad to this monkey who’s attached himself to him, while also learning he might not really be normal monkey. Add in some Monkey power shenanigans hehe. Also some spider henchmen repeatedly trying and failing to capture Mk (comedically managing to also go unnoticed every time)

Of course in the climax, Tang is pretty worn down. He’s homeless, jobless, and a disappointment. He doesn’t think he can handle taking care of MK, and that’s when Sun Wukong shows up. He’s been keeping an eye on them and knows MK has mystic powers that are probably too much for a human to handle- so he’s willing to take him off Tang’s hands.

Tang reluctantly agrees, much to MK’s confusion and sadness. Trying to reach and grab onto him repeatedly as Tang holds back tears and begs Wukong to take him. Wukong does and Mk, who’s been struggling with any speech up to this point finally manages a soft and scratchy “no” just as Wukong’s cloud zips away with them both.

Tang immediately regrets it, his regret fueled after he talks with Pigsy. He made a mistake and he needs his kid back.

Unfortunately, The Spider Queen and co managed to ambush Wukong similar to the show and capture baby MK. Cue Tang, Pigsy, and Sandy teaming up to rescue the monkeys

Rescue ensues, Tang and Mk reunite wholesomely, Wukong is impressed by Tangs determination to save the kid despite his mortality. Wukong gives him some cool treasure junk that they can take back to the museum

The day is saved, Tang and MK are a family, and Tang finally got Pigsy’s flirting through his dense head lmaooooo

Dad Tang and Baby MK are so special to me… thank you for reading haha. Itll probably be fleshed out more in the future as well

[introverted-monkey-noises]

backkk with the greatest showman x lego monkie kid au thingy !! thank you to @lozfanchick for fleshing stuff out for me, really cleared my mind ehhebfh they wrote a full on analysis (much deeper than my puny brain could ever do) on how the au could work plotwise, sO DEFINITELY CHECK THAT OUT

i remembered that i left out macaque in my last drawing sO HERE HE IS IN ALL HIS GLORY MWAH, little rich pressured guy paired up with the other guy who has nothing and they slowly fall in loveeernende wahsgahha (these monkies make me sob)

honestly all of these are just screenshot redraws of scenes from the movie so i can’t say i own the whole thing!! i DO own the drAWING THO SO DONT STEAL. i’m watching 👀

i’ll probably be developing more on this au so thank you guys for again reading this crude rant of mine 🖍️

[risuola]

ENTRY #7 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // You touched my hand and suddenly I couldn’t breathe anymore.

contents: arranged marriage!au, emotional confusion at its finest — wc. 509

a/n: are we going to leave the fluffy territory? i don't know, i enjoy writing those little pieces about confused fools in love (??), don't at me ♡

series masterlist

Blabbering.

A hazy echo of Jujutsu elders played somewhere in the background — monthly gathering of all high-grade sorcerers — and Satoru’s mind was somewhere else. Seated on a hard chair, a setting akin to a school lecture that usually would have reminded him about his old days, he struggled to keep his composure. The lack of snarky remarks and constant scoffs and sarcasm brought attention of few of his colleagues, but there was nothing in this world that could shift his attention away from you.

You were next to him, seemingly absentminded as you kept your eyes in front of you, studying languidly the characters hiding behind the matted glass. You were observing them, the surroundings and he was observing you, thanking his own cursed fate that the sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose were just as black as the middle of the night, not allowing anyone to see through them. He thought it was funny, ironic even, that what always was a way to establish his dominance — a glimpse of his blue orbs being enough to remind everyone that he is the strongest — now was just an excuse to steal glances of you with the corner of his eye.

Every time he took a breath in, your scent filled in his lungs. It made him dizzy. His hand rested on top of your thigh, a tip of his finger just barely touching your naked skin, while the rest of his palm met the fabric of your shorts, but it was that sliver of flesh that was driving him insane. He couldn’t help but focus solely on the gentle way you moved. He was your stress-toy and you were his distraction.

Seemingly paying him no mind, you kept playing with his fingers. Your dainty ones brushing up and down his long digits, ghosting over his knuckles and pressing on the pads of his palm — a tickling touch across the sensitive skin of the inner part of his wrist and then, you were following the veins on top of his hand.

He felt lightheaded.

The tips of your nails were scraping against his pale flesh ever so slightly, leaving a faint trace of goosebumps behind and teasing him from time to time. Your touch was soft and tender, sending sparks of intimacy right through Satoru’s core. His heart was racing inside his chest and he wondered if you could feel it every time your fingers brush over the pulse at the base of his hand.

You were taking your time. Slowly, lazily following the lines and curves of him, exploring the valleys and ups. Satoru felt a tingle of a shiver that run down his spine. Every single of your gestures was playful, innocent, sensual.

Tantalizing.

He was on fire.

The heat was burning him inside out. He fought with everything he’s got to not grip your thigh, to not squeeze the plushiness of it, to not just touch you more.

Gojo was on the edge, he couldn’t take it anymore.

But he didn’t want it to end.

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @just-pure-trash @mo0sin

[fangirltothefullest]

More Nutcracker AU!

Cast and explanations under the cut

Patton is our human (Clara's role) who was sent to the land of the Toys by Logan for the sake of breaking the princes' curses while they are trapped there.

Logan (not pictured, Drosselmeyer's role) was a member of the princes' court and fled to find someone who could help them. He transports himself and Patton to the land of Toys and is himself also a toy, cursed with the rest of their people once he returns.

Janus (not pictured) is the King of the Faeries, and the one who cursed the twins in order to punish the twins' father for stealing their magic sugarplum and causing the collapse of their whole world, leaving only Janus and Virgil to make it out of the magical carnage. He is angry and bitter. He regrets his decision but is too far lost to the bitterness and isolation of losing everything to reverse the spell. Perhaps a kind human can change his mind.

Roman was cursed to become leader of the dolls, turning him into the Nutcracker Prince, and he (like Remus) is puppeteered by Janus's curse so that when the twins see each other, they can't help but fight one another. Roman wants to stop fighting- he is exhausted and he's afraid if he fights too much he could kill Remus. The more he fights Remus, the more he is turned into an inanimate doll. Logan has a lot of trouble bringing him back to consciousness after a battle and it's getting harder and harder to do so.

Remus was cursed to become the Rat King, and unlike Roman he is flesh and blood and LOVES being King of the rats. He would stay this way if it weren't for fear that their fighting will get himself killed. Unlike Roman he is more and more flesh and blood rat by the day, and finds his mind wanders to less important things like food and digging through trash. He suspects the day his mind slips to his animal thoughts while fighting will be the day Roman kills him, and the day Roman becomes a fully non-sentient doll.

Virgil is the Sugarplum Faerie General to King Janus's court, and also his son. He has been acting as a go between secretly for the princes, but he cannot disobey his king according to faerie court law. The only interference he can manage is telling both sides the others' movements. He wants to help Patton break the spell.

[pinknipszz]

POUND TOWN!

modern au, 18+, mdni pls

“sukuna,” you click your tongue, arms crossed over your chest as you stare at the tall, pink-haired man standing at your doorstep. he doesn’t look that different since you last saw him, wearing the same loose wife-beater tank top and grey sweatpants. your nose scrunches up when you catch a whiff of him, as if he can’t decide between cheap cologne, weed, or gym sweat. “what are you doing here?”

“got bored,” he deadpans, tilting his head slightly to catch a glimpse of your apartment through the gap, half-expecting a thing or two to look different. you only sigh and shake your head. sukuna has a strange habit of popping up out of nowhere, knocking on your door, stealing some food, and fooling around for a bit before disappearing for months. when you think sukuna is gone for good, he comes back. like a stray cat. 

you probably shouldn’t be taking in a stray so easily, especially one with claws, but how were you supposed to know that a simple conversation starter like “you smell like blue razz ice” would plant the seed of a beautiful friendship with the hottest plug in the city? it's a little unconventional but neither of you care. what irks you, though, is his shitty timing. “you can’t be here right now,” you say. “i’m busy with something.”

but instead of apologizing for disturbing your peace like any normal person, sukuna plants a foot against the door and pushes open with full-force. you yelp and jump back quickly before it slams against your face, but the drywall isn’t so lucky. you think you hear a loud crack. “what the hell is your–!” before you could finish, the bastard shoves past you and waltzes in like he owns the place. what a fucking bitch!

you lock the door, grumbling. seems like he hasn’t changed much in personality either. when you follow his trail and catch him digging through your fridge, you can’t bite back the sarcasm. “are you that much of a lousy deadbeat to go through girls’ apartments for food?” sukuna turns to flip you off before resuming his venture.

“i know you have more than fucking vegetables in here,” he scoffs, “where is the— gotcha.”

he pulls out your familiar container for leftovers. you don’t even remember what you cooked. it could’ve been weeks old, but sukuna clearly doesn’t have half the mind to care as he rips off the lid and eats with his free hand. “eugh. you’re disgusting,” rolling your eyes, you leave the kitchen and make your way towards the couch to continue your show. you doubt you’ll even enjoy yourself with him around, but whatever.

you won’t let that guy get to your head. just pretend he isn’t there. it's not that serious. the knots in your shoulders loosen when you lean back against the couch and reach for the remote to adjust the volume until sukuna’s shuffling is reduced to nothing but background noise. and it works for the most part. you don’t know how much time passes, maybe an hour or two, until you almost forget he's even there.

a heavy weight precariously plops beside you. cheap cologne, weed, gym sweat. they overwhelm your senses entirely. “breaking bad? is this some kind of joke? thought you said you were busy,” sukuna throws an arm over your shoulder and pulls you close. he doesn’t budge when you try to shove him away, so you resort to pinching his side instead, earning a sharp yelp from the young man. “obviously i am. and don’t get so full of yourself. you don’t even cook.”

he mutters a few words under his breath, probably something vile and venomous, but you couldn’t care less and revert your attention back to the tv. you've waited this long for the show's season finale, and you'll be damned if you let this bastard distract you. but sukuna thinks more with his dick than his brain, evident in the way that the hand on your shoulder slides down and finds your waist, rubbing small circles and squeezes tight on the meat of your flesh.

the episode continues, but you don’t even know what’s happening anymore. when you decide that it's futile to watch without any knowledge of what happened prior, you sigh inwardly and glance to your side. sukuna isn't even looking at the tv.scrolling through his phone, he looks bored and uninterested, as if there's a million other things he could be doing right now. but he’s here with you, holding you close, which is entirely unbecoming for a man like him.

your heart twinges. no, you scold yourself, not for him. anyone but him. sukuna is a stray cat that takes and takes and takes. a storm that wreaks havoc, leaves chaos and destruction in his wake before disappearing like mist. there’s always an underlying motive with him, one that forces you to pick apart his words and play detective for a mystery not worth divulging. 

“relax,” he tuts. but you can’t. not when his hand travels lower down your side, poking and prodding, teasing the waistband of your shorts. and when his fingertips finally melt into unmarred flesh, heat pools deep in your stomach. “sukuna,” comes his only warning. the man of the hour merely flashes a shit-eating grin before he grabs your jaw and presses his mouth to yours.

you taste the earth on his tongue. it’s sweet and smokey and slightly bitter. with a hint of fruit and leftovers from your fridge. strong arms wrap around you properly, holding you close, so close that his heart beats against your own. you kiss him back eagerly. sukuna’s hands move with intent, relearning parts of your body that were forgotten throughout your time apart. when he bites your lips raw, you whimper.

“i know baby, i know,” he hushes in between wet kisses. he pushes until your back hits the cushions underneath. sukuna climbs over and grabs your thighs with two strong hands, cock twitching in his pants at how your flesh spills between his fingers. he positions them over his shoulders and leans down for another a searing kiss. you’re smothered like this, rendered useless under the weight of him and your knees against the sides of your head, pushed far beyond a mating press.

you moan in his mouth when he grinds against you. “i know how much you miss me, miss my cock,” sukuna snarls out, jaw clenching with impatience as he tears through your shorts. the cold air slams against your cunt like a sledgehammer. the ceiling spins overhead. “i’m here, i’ll take care of you.” it’s a salacious promise that he seals with a tender kiss against your temple. you’re writhing, slurring his name as you blink blearily through the blood rushing to your head. he makes a show of pulling himself out of his pants.

sukuna runs a thumb over your folds before smearing the lewd concoction of slick and precum with the tip of his cock. the sight of your sopping hole is obscene, no doubt about it, but that hardly matters now. “put it in already,” you whine with tears collecting in your lashes, the position too taxing for your body. and for once, sukuna listens. he leans forward, groaning as he feeds inch after inch of his hard length into your aching hole. there’s a ring of pink stretched taut around him when he pulls back just slightly. you dig your painted nails in his bicep, squealing.

no matter how many times he’s fucked you, with three fingers or more, cock or toys, it always feels like the first time. “s–slow down–” comes a mewl from underneath him when he pushes in too eagerly. sukuna's eyes flit down to take in the sight of you, flushed out and gorgeous, and decides to tease your pitiful sensitivity. a loud moan is ripped from your throat when he pinches your clit. you try to squirm away.

“oh come on. quit pretending you don’t like it when i do that,” sukuna snickers, readjusting his grip on your plush waist before plunging in. hard. you wail at the motion, eyes fluttering close as the lines of your body arch up to meet him. when you’re like this, soft and pliant, sukuna pounds into you easily, molding your walls into the shape of his cock until your wet heat is nothing but a furnace for him to melt into. 

and then you feel his lips against your jaw, dry and chapped and dragging harshly. the rhythm he sets is nothing short of violent. your moans and his, ladened with the sounds of skin-on-skin, blend together in a filthy cacophony that you can hardly register over the thick scent of sex that leaves your head spinning. in between mindless thrusts, a pink tongue darts out to sample the sheen of sweat on your skin. you drool deliriously at the sensation.

then sukuna pulls back to watch you, your legs remaining in their rightful place over his shoulders. a hand travels down to where you are connected and collects your slick between two fingers. he smears it all over, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb against your clit before spreading your folds apart. “look at her,” he coos, grinning wickedly as he watches your greedy cunt swallow each sizable inch with each poignant snap of his hips. “what a delicious looking thing.”

“sukuna,” your lips fall open at the praise so invitingly that it’d be a crime not to take the opportunity. it’s a clash of teeth when he finally kisses you. sloppy and hungry and urgent, like a man who’s been starved for years. he drinks your moans and savors them, brushing against your tongue and gliding over the roof of your mouth, hips never ceasing their violent rhythm. when you realize the strange intimacy in this position, you feel the familiar, guttural sensation just beneath our gut.

and sukuna feels it too, the way your walls tighten around him. growling with newfound fervor, he leaves a string of spit when he pulls away to angle your hips and hammer against your cervix, eager to finish with you. screams echo across your apartment. he pants quietly, eyes ablaze and lips swollen from your incessant teeth. your body shivers and twitches from carnal ecstasy, addicted to the thick intrusion that nudges the deep bundle of nerves within you. a spot that only sukuna can reach.

the thought does something to you, because your body decides then to tense up against him, clamping hard around his perimeter and soaking his cock in squirt. although his hips stutter, sukuna doesn't relent and fucks through your tight walls. you cry out and hold him close, digging deep scores down the broad expanse of his back before sukuna finally empties himself with one last thrust. a full-body shudder racks through your body. the sensation tears a second orgasm from your twitching cunt.

through the ringing in your ears, you heave a sigh of content. your companion chuckles and collapses on top of you without bothering to pull out. “i’m coming back next week. got kicked out of my old place,” he suddenly mumbles in the crook of your neck, barely audible. you register his words through post-coital bliss. when you don't respond, he turns his head, but you're already looking at him. studying the expression on his face.

"fine," you concede. "but you better get a real job."

(masterlist) | (a/n: tell ur man to wash his pp before sex. idk if this gets a p.2)

[sniigura-archive]

Bad idea, right?

Adam x fem!reader

Summary: You weren’t really known for your good decision making skills.

Part 2

CW/TW: first attempt at smut, Adam is his own warning, unsafe sex, semi public, college au!!!, dubious consent if you squint, oral both reciving, p in v

The golden door knob of the bathroom door dug uncomfortably into your lower back, and outside of the room music was playing loudly. And even though the bathroom was neatly stocked and you usually take your time to snoop around and steal stuff from frat parties, right now all you could focus on was Adam’s hand in the back of your neck, forcefully frenching you while he pinned you against the door.

The kiss was disgustingly wet, teeth clanking together and his tongue shoved down your throat. And it was still the best make out session you ever had with anyone.

And the best part of it all? His tongue piercing. Hottest thing you have ever experienced.

When your lips disconnected you were connected by a string of saliva. But it seemed like Adam hated the mere thought of not touching you in anyway. The hand on your neck quickly moved towards your hips, together with his other one. Shit. His hands are huge. Fuck that, he was big in general. He had to bend his neck and back at an awkward angle to be able to kiss you.

Golden eyes starred right into your own eyes. His pupils were blown wide and his lips were pink and wet, his face in general was slightly flushed. You wish you could keep your composure like that. Your whole body felt hot, and you probably also looked that part. The way Adam smirked at you confirmed your fear. Before you could throw some sort of remark at him, he started kissing and biting your neck.

You couldn’t suppress the surprised gasp leaving your mouth and the shaky call of Adam’s name. Adam’s right hand weaselled his way under your shirt groping your tits, while his left hand went towards your ass, making itself at home in the back of your jeans pocket.

Your own hands grasped at Adam’s hair. Fingers digging into the surprisingly silky thick strands. Adam groaned at the seemingly present feeling. His left hand gave your ass a generous squeeze before he removed it and moved it towards unbuttoning your jeans.

“Adam-" you shakily called out, but you were interrupted by your own moan from Adam biting extra hard at your shoulder. Adam rolled his own hips into your own, or well, more like into your stomach because what the fuck why is he so tall and so big and has such broad shoulders and Jesus even his bulge is big can you really take that??

Collecting all your strength and will power, you pushed at Adam’s shoulders to give yourself some sort of space. Even though that push was weak as fuck, Adam followed your wish and gave you some space. A little. His hips were still flush with your own but at least he straightened his back a little and you guys weren’t breathing in the same air anymore. Your hand was still grasping at Adam’s shoulder, into his black shirt. Because you truly didn’t want him to leave. He raised his pierced brow in question at you.

“Dude, we won’t have sex in a bathroom. At a party.” You told him straight up. Your dignity couldn’t take it. And also if someone found out you were fucking your ex boyfriends most hated band member, at the nasty frat party he was throwing, in his bathroom, you would kill yourself from sheer embarrassment.

Adam rolled his eyes at you, as if you just told him the stupidest thing he has ever heard. His hands were on your hips now, massaging soothing circles into the plush flesh. You didn’t notice it, like 2 minutes ago, but thanks to Adam’s skilled fingers your pants were shimmed down a good bit, fully exposing your panties. Great. Since you didn’t plan to hook up with anyone today, you just had to wear your baby pink panties with the ugliest bow sewn into the front.

“Mmm, babe, who gives a fuck? People fuck at parties alllll the time, just.. relax, baby.” His thumb was now playing with the hem of your underwear.

Shaking your head at him, you tried to collect your 1 whole brain cell to remind you how bad of a decision this was. Using one hand to pull up your pants, you wanted to use to other hand, which was still holding unto Adam to push him away once and for all, but he was quicker than you. Damn you, guitarists players. He easily grasped both your wrists into his one hand and used the other one to pull you flush against him.

“Jesus! Alright, alright, we don’t have to fuck. We can do other fun stuff though.”

Before you could ask him what the fuck he’s talking about, he kissed you again. Probably to shut you up. He’s one to talk, you don’t think Adam has ever shut up, in his life.

Still keeping his tongue inside your mouth, and his hand on your body, he herded you away from the door. Which you didn’t even notice because all you could think and sense was him, till he sat you down at the edge of the bathtub. Your bare ass meet the cold porcelain, because Adam was already pulling both your jeans and underwear off. He was kneeling down in-front of you, a nice sight you had to admit.

Adam was currently grumbling to himself, because to properly take off your clothes he had to also take off your shoes and all he wanted was to get his dick wet and now he’s on his knees undressing you while his dick aches. Thankfully it didn’t take long for him to slip you out of your shoes, and in his slight frustration he simply threw them over his head, not caring where they landed.

“Fucking hell, you really know how to make a guy work for it, huh? Spread your legs, slut.” Adam placed his hands on your knees, his eyes were flickering between your hidden core and your eyes.

“What? No more ‘Babe’ and ‘Baby’. Sooo rude of you.” You teased him with a grin on your face. Actually you were nervous, no one ever went down on you. But, well, it’s not like you go around sleeping with everyone. You only ever slept with your ex and that experience was so horrid that you considered celibacy. Shit, if Adam wasn’t such a charming asshole you would have tried to shake him off like 3 make out sessions ago. But no, he had to spin your head around and made your insides into molten lava. Fuck.

“You really want to test my fucking patience? Dumb bitch…” He took matter into his own hands and gripped at your thighs to pull them apart. Even though his words implied something else, he was still gentle.

You quickly shut your legs again, your knees knocking together painfully at the force you used. Adam seemed to be even more aggravated.

“Wait!..Uh..I..Didn’t shave..?” You carefully spoke the words out loud. God help you. What did you even want. Do you want to leave?..No. You just need to get over yourself. Easier said than done.

“Babe, does it look like I give a shit?” Adam raised a pierced eyebrow at you. He gently rubbed your knees, looking into your eyes. And then he started laughing in realisation.

“What a fucking limb dick! You’re joking! Fucking useless excuse of a man. Next you’re going to tell me you’re a virgin.” Ah shit, he figured it out. Your body ran even hotter at Adam’s mocking of your ex. AH.

Adam’s face seemed to turn giddy, “Are you?”

You shook your head at his question.

“Eh, whatever. It’s better this way. Virgins they get sooo fucking clingy, it ain’t cute . But don’t worry, babe, it doesn’t matter how many guys you have fucked since I’m going to be last one.”

Before you could question him, he used your moment of confusion to settle properly between your thighs and he licked a broad strip up your pussy.

A moan escaped your lips, while one hand tangled into Adam’s hair and the other one covered the lower half of your face. Biting at your lip, you tried to remind yourself to breathe.

The delicious contrast between his hot tongue and cold piercing made you feel dizzy. You need him, genuinely.

Adam’s thick fingers found your entrance easily. He gently eased one finger in, which wasn’t hard since fuck you were wet from simply being near him.

His tongue drew pattern into your clit while his finger gently pushed in and out of you. Wait..Was he fucking spelling his name into your clit???

Your eyes where closed while you tried to focus on relaxing.

Adam’s free hand snacked up your torso and he pulled your shirt down, exposing your bra. With skill he was able to free your one (1) boob from the bra, and he pinched your nipple. Hard. At the same time his lips left your cunt and he also bit the inside of your thigh.

“Ouch! What the hell! Can’t you bite and pinch in a sexy way?” You asked him while starring into his golden eyes.

“Eyes on the price, baby, or I might just leave you high and dry.” He smirked at you, and when his lips returned to your desired place, he made sure to hold uncomfortable eye contact with you. Asshole.

Even though you were embarrassed to hell and back, you kept your own eyes trained on his. Fuck, he was good at this. You really were missing out till now. Keeping your moans and whimpers of Adams name at bay was near impossible.

He slowly entered another thick finger, stretching you out deliciously. And with a come hither movement of his fingers, he hit places which you didn’t even know existed.

“Fuck, Adam, please don’t stop pleasepleasepleaseplease-“ You couldn’t keep your composure anymore. What kind of witchcraft is he using that he can make you fall apart like that.

Adam stuffed you full with a third finger, sucking at you clit and carefully nipping it with his teeth. It wasn’t a big surprise, with the constant stimulation, that you came all over Adam’s face. Your thighs squished Adam’s head and your eyes were squeezed shut, while your fingers were tugging at Adam’s head. If you wanted to tug him away or towards you, you weren’t too sure.

Carefully removing his lips from your overly sensitive private parts, Adam whipped his face with the back of his hand while chuckling. Sucking his own fingers dry while starring into your soul, you tried to catch your breath.

“Aww, was that my baby’s first orgasm?” He mockingly cooed you. Adam got up from his kneeling position and rubbed his knees.

“Shut up.” You simply told him. Yeah, very creative of you.

Adam grabbed your cheeks into his hand and squeezed them together, “You ready to suck the best dick you will ever get?” He asked you while grabbing his hard dick through his cargo pants.

You turned your head slightly, trying to bite the thumb near your mouth. Adam took the opportunity to graze his thumb over your canine while you bit down on his thumb. You made sure not to actually hurt him. He smiled down at you and moved his thumb to massage your tongue.

You couldn’t help but to wrap your lips around his thumb and to suck it and stroke your tongue against the underside of it.

“Fuckkk babe, giving me a taste of how heavenly it will be? Jesus, I hope for you, you have a weak gag reflex.” He unbuckled his heavy, studded belt and unbuttoned his jeans to pull them down, together with his boxers. They had guitar prints on them. Cute.

Right. You really bit of more than you could chew. His huge fucking hands should have been your first warning.

So yeah, his dick was big. Huge, even. So what. You could handle that. Maybe you should have written your testament before coming to the party. Oh my god, how embarrassing will be this? Cause of death: Choked on a huge dick.

Of fucking course he had an prince albert piercing. The sluttiest piercing known to man. The golden, curved rod really suit him tho.

“Bitch, I swear to fuck, if you say that you don’t give blowjobs I’m going to-“ Adam slightly threatened you.

Rolling your eyes at his rambling, you wrapped your fingers around his cock and carefully licked his tip. You tried not to think too much about the fact that your fingers could barley wrap themselves around him. Adam’s hands immediately tangled themselves up in your hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail to keep the hair out of your face.

You tried to get as much spit on Adam’s member as you could, the more the better.

“Ah, fuck yeah, I love when bitches slobber all over my dick.” Adam smirked down at you.

Your lips were already wrapped around his tip, your tongue playing with the piercing. Even though you avoided it till now, you looked up at Adam to glare at him.

Obviously Adam didn’t take your glare serious, urging you with a hand at the back of your head to take in more of him. Rolling your eyes at his nonsense you obliged him, trying to relax your throat and to take more into your mouth. You really had to focus on breathing through your mouth.

Adam booped your nose, making you look up at him, “Shit, babe, you’re so goddamn pretty.” He mumbled.

His dick is down your throat AND that’s what’s making you blush. Ugh. You’re weak.

“Cmon, keep looking at me with those slutty eyes. Don’t you want to make daddy feel good?” Part of you cringed at his words, the other part got even more turned on. This was something you needed to addresses within yourself at 3 am when you’re questioning all of your life decisions.

In your try to get him even deeper down your throat, he hit the back of it, causing you to choke. Ugh. Adam groaned at the feeling. He trailed a finger across your throat, “Chillax, sweetie.”

His hips rolled forward, testing the limits of your gag reflex, “..But don’t worry, baby, we can train that gag reflex of yours away. It’s hot anyways when whores gag on my huge dick.”

Can he just shut up? You’re already sucking his dick, he doesn’t need to talk about other girls.

Even though you had your lips wrapped around your teeth to keep from hurting him, because of his words you slightly grazed the underside of his cock with your teeth.

Adam yanked you off his dick by your hair, glaring at you, “Watch it, whore.”

You couldn’t help the whine which escaped your throat at the lack of contact. But also your fucking jaw hurt already.

“That’s what I fucking thought. How about you beg for me to shove my dick down your throat, huh? Acting all ungrateful and shit..”

You pressed your lips tightly together. Could you get over your pride by begging for dick? Adam’s dick at that? The most obnoxious guy on campus?

Before this you have never really interacted with Adam, you only ever saw him in passing, thanks to your ex. The rumours floating around didn’t help you with truly ever interacting with him. But one thing you always were sure of with Adam, he had a starring problem. His golden eyes seemed to be constantly trained on your figure. So it didn’t really surprise you that he wanted you to keep your eyes on him.

“Adam, please…” You whimpered out. He has bewitched you body mind and pussy because what the fuck.

“Please what, slut?” His thumb was rubbing at your cheek gently.

Fucking hell, even though you just came your pussy was aching. And it was not like you didn’t sit right in front of the solution to your problems.

Making sure to look Adam in his half lidded when you gave your impression of puppy eyes or doe eyes or whatever stupid eyes could get him to fill you up.

“Adam, please I need you to fuck my..pussy. Please?” You asked him. Ah. You hate begging and dirty talk, most humbling experience in your life.

Adam seemed rather pleased at your words, till you got to the part where you asked him to fuck your pussy, at the prospect of that he turned down right giddy. Grasping under your arms, he pulled you up. A surprised little gasp left your lips, as you hang in the air for a second. Great, he’s strong. Why are you surprised? You knew that.

“Oh, baby, I can give it to you however you want. Against the wall? On the floor? Want to ride me till your little legs give out? I can fuck you in front of those idiots who think they deserve to simply look at you.” Adam grinned down at you.

All you could do was gap at him like a fish out of water. Your brain is fried. Adam could tell by the smirk adoring his face, because of course he could, “But apparently I already finger fucked that little brain of yours out off your head. Need me to make the big decisions, huh?”

You simply shook your head at him. Adam bend down to kiss you, tongue first obviously. You wrapped your arms around his neck. His hands were on your bare ass, squeezing and groping. With his body he herd you towards the sink. With great displeasure he ended the kiss, he gently turned you around, bending you over the sink carefully. When you looked up, you made direct eye contact with your mirror image. Ew. You looked messy af.

Letting your eyes wander even more up, you looked at Adam who stood behind you. His own eyes were focused on your ass. Or maybe your pussy. It was hard to tell. When he looked into the mirror he grinned at you. His hand softly ran over your back and butt, making you relax your muscles.

“Alright baby, you just gotta chillax for me. ‘Tis might be a stretch…” Adam slowly rubbed the tip of his dick against your clit and entrance while watching intensely your face through the mirror.

“Adam..Cmon don’t tease me.” You whined out.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, babe.”

And with that he slowly entered his thick tip into your tight cunt. His hands were on your hip, softly massaging them.

A stretch summoned it up pretty well, but it felt delicious. Thank Adam for his prep, otherwise you would have died. And you would have truly pulled through on that celibacy promise.

Moaning shamelessly, you bit your finger in an attempt to quiet down. Fuck fuck fuck, who knew Adam could hit all those spots.

“Fuuuck, you’re really sucking me in. Vice fucking grip, you really don’t want to let me go, huh?” A breathy laugh left his pink lips. His tongue wet his lips and then he bit down on it.

With every rock of his hips he entered more and more into you. Shit, he seems endless. Adam’s lips grazed across the back of your neck and shoulder blades. His stumbles scratched your skin deliciously. Sloppy kisses were placed on your shoulders.

“ Shit, if you keep squeezing me like that I won’t last long.” Adam mumbled into your skin. It seemed like those words weren’t meant for your ears.

You rested your heated cheek against the cool sink, so you could also successfully avoid looking at yourself being fucked into oblivion.

“Adam..” An especially well placed roll of his hips broke your sentence of in a moan, “You ever..Fuck! Ever thought about having a smaller dick..ha. Splitting me in two, Jesus.”

Adam raised his hand and spanked your ass, then he made sure to whisper directly into your ear, “Aww, my poor baby, gonna tap out? My dick too big to fit into that tight pussy? Shit, baby, I’m going to ruin you for anyone else. I will fuck you loose.”

Before you could tell him that, that is in fact not how that works, he started to pistol his hips into your own.

Grasping at the edges of the sink, you gasped and moaned at the amazing feeling. You get sex addicts now.

Adam mumbled something’s to himself, through your own haze of pleasure you only grasped a few words.

Grasping one hand under your chest, Adam hoisted you up so that your upper body was bend up. Your back against his chest. His own face was right besides yours, turning your face towards his. Your lips crashed into each other. With his one hand he fondeled and pinched your nipple of your still freed tit.

You stopped the kiss to gasp for air, while Adam seemed to have the time of his life, “Watcha think babe, think we should get these here pierced?” To emphasise he his words, he gave an extra hard tug to your nipple. All you could muster up was a pathetic whine.

How he can talk so much while you’re basically brain dead was beyond you.

Adam snaked the other hand down your body, gently rubbing circles into your clit.

You would like to personally thank other woman Adam has ever slept with who made him into this sex god. Because my god, does he have magic fingers. And a magic tongue. And a magic dick. He’s also a great kisser. And is handsome. And rich. His style is also decent. Now, all you need is to fix up his personality, and he would be perfect.

“You close, baby?” Adam groaned into your ear.

Nodding your head furiously, a hit of clarity washed over your brain, “Wait- Adam..Do..Ah! Don’t come inside, ‘m not on birth control.”

This seemed to straight up turn Adam even more on.

“Don’t talk dirty to me, slut. Want me to knock you up? Make you all round ‘n shit?” His one hand moved from your boob to your stomach, grabbing the plushy flesh.

You tried to shake your head, but shit his words turned you on so much. You're realising more about yourself during a one night stand than during your therapy sessions. What does that say about you?

“Shit, the way you’re squeezing me just screams yes.” Adam went to apply more pressure on your clit, causing you to sob due the overwhelming pleasure.

And just like that you came around his dick, you felt yourself squeeze him dry. It didn’t take long for Adam to come after you. You felt his hot cum fill you up.

Adam left soft kisses across your neck and shoulder soothing rubbing his hands all over your body. You focused yourself on breathing in and out while steadying your breath.

Carefully Adam slipped out of your abused hole, but he kept his arms wrapped around your stomach. You leaned your back against Adam’s broad chest, your legs felt weak as hell.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, it made you realise how bad you actually looked. You can’t step outside like that. Obviously your whole body was flushed. The neck line of your shirt was pulled down your boobs, showing off your bra while only one tit was actually out. Most of your skin was covered in hickies and bite marks while your hair looked like a birds nest. You’re wearing 0 pants and Adam’s cum was slowly dripping down your thights. Great, now you have to go and buy plan b.

Properly fixing your bra and shirt, to at least make you feel somewhat better, you tried ti smooth out your hair next.

“What’s your opinion on that?” Adam’s chin was resting on your shoulder while he was watching intensely.

“..What? Getting knocked up?? Horrible.” You frowned at him.

“Would be hot. Nah, getting you pierced up, babe.” Adam’s grin pisses you off lowkey. Note to yourself: never trust Adam with birth control.

You scoffed at him, “Isn’t the healing process annoying?”

“Nah, it ain’t that bad.”

“How would you even know?”

Taking a half step back, an arm still wrapped around you though, he pulled up his black shirt. Showing off his own golden nipple piercings. Ok, thats sexy.

Averting your own eyes, you looked around the bathroom to look for your panties and pants. Ah, they’re still by the bathtub.

Adam was once again close to you, now he was smoothing down your hair.

You have listened to your friends bitch and moan about situation ships who they can’t get enough off. And you had to admit, you didn’t fucking get it. But now, with Adam’s lips against your hair line? Yeah. You’re whipped now.

Useless fuck boys.

Adam scratched at his stubbly chin, “I gotta piss, slut. Want to hold it while I do?”

“No.” What the fuck.

“Your loss, bitch.” He shrugged at you.

Shaking of his arms, you waddled around to put on your pants. You tried to avoid looking at Adam real hard. When you were fully dressed, you stole a glance at Adam. Yup, he was standing at the toilet. Fucker.

Looking around, you found your shoes near the door. Walking over, you stumbled around to put them properly on.

Putting your ear against the door, you tried to listen for any foot steps or chatting. Sadly the sound of Adam and the music outside made it really hard. Should you really go through the door? What else could you do?

And there was a knock now on the door, making you jump up.

“Occupied!” Adam yelled out.

“Dude, this bath has been occupied for over 30 minutes now! Get the fuck out!” Ah shit, that’s the voice of your ex. Now you’re really going to die.

Covering your mouth with your hand, you looked helplessly towards Adam, who was now zipping up his pants.

He walked over and was about to unlock the door, when you slapped away his hand.

You mouthed “What the fuck!” At him. Adam simply rolled his eyes at you and then raised his eyebrow at you. Yeah. What were you going to do?

Wait…This bathroom was at ground level. Looking around, you spotted the window behind the bathtub. Quickly walking over, you opened up the window and looked outside. Ok, no one is there. And you can easily climb out.

Swinging your leg over, you carefully slided down towards the ground.

You heard a “What the hell.” From Adam, before the sound of the door unlocking ringed out.

“Jesus dude, it smells like fucking sex in here. Don’t tell me..” Before you could fully listen in on the conversation you decided to fuck off.

Pulling out your phone, you looked up a 24 hour pharmacy near you. It wasn’t that far away from your apartment. With a sigh you started to walk towards your destination. You pointedly ignored all the texts from your friends. You really needed to collect your thoughts now.

Standing still on the side walk, you realised that Adam neither flushed the toilet nor washed his hands. That’s who you let it hit?? Why can’t you be attracted to normal guys, but no you’re into the trashiest of the trash.

The light of a car flashed you in the face, and the car stopped besides you.

“You still want plan b?” Adam called out through the open window.

Starting a mental battle and immediately losing it, you got into the passenger seat.

Adam’s eyes traveled over your figure before he put the car into drive and started driving towards the pharmacy. It was a quick drive and before you could unbuckle your seat belt Adam already got out and walked in.

While Adam was away you took the time to look around. Those were pretty leather seats and this car looked down right expensive. It smelled like his cologne in here.

Adam was one of the many nepo babies at your college. Your ex was also one of them. Even though they dressed in an alternative style, these guys never had to truly struggle, never experienced hunger. Part of you was envious of that.

Adam got back into the driver seat, slamming his door shut. He carelessly threw the pill package into your lap with a cold water bottle.

“..Thanks.” Ripping apart the package, you placed the pill under your tongue while putting the bottle to your lips and then you swallowed it down.

Once you stopped drinking, you wiped away the water with the back of your hand.

Adam took your cheeks into his hand, squeezing it. You furrowed your brows at him in question.

…Ah.

Opening up your mouth, your lifted your tongue up and moved it around to show him you really did swallow the pill. Maybe he should just not cum inside you, problem solved.

“Shit babe, next time I gotta cum down your little throat.”

Next time, huh.

[moonriseoverkyoto]

Ghosts in the family

Synopsis - aka all the times The Riley siblings have talked about eachother, and all the times Soap should’ve connected the dots but didn’t see the constellation.

cw/tags - MDNI 18+ making out, grinding, no piv or smut guys sorry, swearing, mentions of female anatomy, military inaccuracies, fanon versions of cod characters, threats, mild violence, mentions of guns, innuendos, etc. you’re dealing with grown men in the military that is your warning

Pairing - Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Afab!Riley!Reader, John Price x Riley!Reader (Platonic)

Author's note - Soap is about 26, Reader is 24, Tommy is the name of Simon’s canon younger brother who later scares him with masks and anyways, just beware of that background. Pt.2 of this au, just this just shits and giggles background for later bc I dont know how to flesh out that cliffhanger I left in my Drabble, see you at the bottom! - Moon

Requests are open!

© moonriseoverkyoto 2023. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

1. Simon knew that Johnny’s intention wasn’t to piss him off, but yet he still managed to feel a migraine pool behind his eyes. All day, every mission just asking question after question. Simon wondered if this is what it was like to have a stable home. All he had was you from day one his baby sister. His lips jerk upward before he cuts off the muscle reflex of what we know as a smile. He’d rather keel over and die than let Johnny see his eyes krinkle.

“I have a sister.” He grumbles. Everyone in the truck goes silent. Johnny’s jokes stop, Gaz smirks to himself, even Price manages to watch through the rearview mirror.

“Really? And you waited so long to tell me. Oh my god what’s the like. Oh is she pretty- wait don’t answer that, that’s weird if you agree…” Simon sighs to himself as he tunes out Johnny again. Oh he wishes holiday would come faster.

2. Holiday was tough. Even worse was being stuck alone over holiday break because your only family was stuck in an operation. Especially since you just got the news after putting up Christmas decoration.

“Really Simon? I got football on the telly, your presents are all wrapped” you whined. Simon grinned under his balaclava, oh how he wished he could be there to receive your annual gag gift.

“I know I know I know, assignment came late and everyone else has families to go home to so I just suggested myself-“ he tried to calm you down knowing this would only add gasoline.

“Dammit Si, I’m your family too! Im gonna give you a new buzz cut when you get home at the rate you’re going with all these sudden plans.” Your voice cracked at his name, you know he didn’t mean to break your heart. But Simon couldn’t bare to see Johnny, Price, or Gaz not go home to their big happy families.

“Yeah I know. Im yer brother. No getting out of that one.” He said. “Why don’t you stay with Price again this year. You know he loves you around”

“Because he is the only friend of yours that I’ve met-“

“Yeah you’ll meet the guys someday. promise.”

“Maybe for this holiday present?”

“Maybe.“

“yeah yeah yeah. I love you Si”

“Love you too, and I hope that second date of yours goes well this Friday” oh if only he knew how well that date went with your mysterious Scottish man.

3. “I thought you said you don’t kiss on the second date” Johnny grinned into your lips. Your hands all in his hair.

“Only if they don’t show promise” you remarked back. You could feel his bulge grinding through your pants in the back of this telephone booth. A soft groan leaving his lips as Johnny responded

“Oh so I show promise.” You could practically hear the grin as his lips trailed down your jaw and neck, the slight friction of his scruff following as he moved aside your dogtags.

“Yeah promise that if you don’t hush up, you won’t be getting anything” you quipped back as equally as smug

“Thought you were gonna call that brother of yers” he slurred back as he smelled your perfume. The man practically drooling as your nails trailed down his neck scratching. If he had a tail it’d be whipping the air. A whimper passing through the air as his bulge caught the right part of your fabric rubbing your clit in a delightful direction

“he can wait, I have something else to call for now” you said as you opened the door of the telephone booth and whistled (or yelled if you can’t) as loud as you could do to call a taxi. Johnny had a light in his eye that he never thought would spark until he met you.

Soon you would find out later that Simon actually COULD wait and he did, 12 whole hours he stayed up staring at your apartment door to be let in - fresh on holiday too. Maybe being motormouth’d by Johnny into the window of a hummer didn’t sound so bad now

4. Simon kept a photo of you and him in his pocket everywhere that you went. I mean everywhere. No matter the place. And a lighter too incase he was captured by enemies so as to not compromise his location. But it was a photo from a holiday in France. You were both pillow fighting in the bed. Messy hair, toothless grins, back when Mummy was alive and Daddy hadn’t shown his true colors. Tommy took that picture,. Simon holds it to remind him what he’s fighting for.

“Oh is that yer little sister, she’s missin a few teeth there” Johnny grins looking over the sniper’s shoulder.

“You’re about to miss some bones if you ask about my sister again” Simon growls. fuck. Johnny is the last person he needs around his sister. It’s not like Johnny was a womanizer - he was the opposite. Johnny was perfection. He was from a happy home, a stable home, a place where you wouldn’t have to remember what happened at that old house. It scared Simon to death imagining you forgetting about him. Then he’d really be alone.

“She must’ve gotten the good genes.” Gaz pipes into the coms, what an instigator.

“Wonder what she looks like in jeans” Soap hummed as he cleaned out his gun.

Ghost hummed to himself as he secretly folded up the photo and put it right back in the pocket over his heart. Maybe you could wait another year before meeting them.

Authors note - I made a part 2, this is unedited. Im so tired. I will flesh more of this out before I take another break I promise!! Xoxo - Moon

[cordeliawhohung]

not canon pet!au drabble/one shot.

simon needs to fix johnny's new toy

cw: overall theme of non-con, drugging, medical horror, at home do it yourself iud insertion, dark fic, dead dove do not eat, i'm being so fucking for real when i say simon literally inserts an iud into you himself

You hate to admit it, but Simon’s a good cook. 

Everything he puts on your plate for every meal is fresh and cooked from scratch. Each night when he comes home from work, he’s always got a fresh cut of meat — turkey, chicken, beef — and the vegetables are newly bought, if not recently picked from his garden. The spicy aroma fills the house, calling both you and Johnny to the table before he even speaks, and each bite is as mouth watering as the last. 

It is, perhaps, the only thing he knows how to do with love and care. You catch him cooking every now and then, and stick around to watch for a short moment as he carefully dices potatoes and slices meat. His touch is more tender than the flesh of the animals he butchers for a living, but you are quickly reminded how sharp his claws are the moment you’re seated at the table. 

He won’t stop staring. Dark, endless eyes watch every single movement of yours meticulously, as if he’s waiting to pounce on prey. Instead of glancing at him, you try to distract yourself with Johnny’s chatter. He always seems to have something to say; something to share. It’s odd, for a man who’s trapped inside of the house all day, same as you, he seems to never run out of conversation topics. Yet his words become slurred. Or… no, is it your hearing? You’re underwater with clogged ears and heavy weights keeping your head under, muffling the world around you. Pressure builds on top of your chest, and instead of trying to listen to Johnny, you put all your effort towards breathing. 

When your fork clatters on top of your plate, the clink echoes endlessly. It’s only then that you’re able to look at Simon — to come face to face with the monster who’s lured you once again. 

“Bonnie?” Johnny asks, concern soaking your new name on his tongue. 

Even if you could answer, you know better than to bother with an explanation. This feeling — this terrible, drowning sensation — is something you’re familiar with. You faced this very same demon your last night at work; the night Simon kidnapped you. 

“Johnny,” Simon interrupts. He stands from his seat, food half eaten on the table. “Help me get your bitch to the bedroom.” 

Nothing connects after that. Not the stale scent of blood that fills your nose, nor the floating feeling that lifts you up from the table and drags you elsewhere. You are not in your body. Not when you’re laid down on the bed. Not when your clothes are tugged off, leaving you bare to the brightness of the room. Something sears your eyes. Something bright and yellow, trained on you — blinding you. A specimen, ready to be torn apart. A toy, ready to be fixed. 

You want to sleep. Sleep through the terrible rocking of your body and the twisting sensation that pulses inside of you. Something’s slipping inside of your cunt. It doesn’t hurt, and it doesn’t feel good, but you can’t make sense of it. You try to mumble something out — a plea to stop, that you can’t get pregnant — please, Johnny, you know what Simon said would happen to me if you got me pregnant —  but it hardly forms on your lips before you’re choking on it. 

Pain blossoms in a place you’ve never felt before. It’s deep, and cruel; unrelenting as it throbs and shoots throughout your pelvis. It steals what little breath you’re able to suck into your lungs, and tears prick the corner of your eyes as something pinches and radiates outwards. Whatever this is, it’s taking something from you. It’s taking, and taking, and it won’t stop. 

Your hips buck upwards in retaliation, trying to free yourself from the pain, but it only gets worse. Something tears through you, and you cry out an animalistic wail. Your hands reach for your lower stomach where you paw at your skin as if you can rub away a pain as deep and evil as this. Like you’d claw through your own organs to get it to stop. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny, I told you to keep her still,” Simon barks. 

Someone presses on your hips, forcing your body back on the bed, but that doesn’t stop the way your chest shudders as you hyperventilate. Warm breath fans across your face as heavy lips press gentle kisses over your cheeks. Salty tears stream out of your eyes and down the side of your head, pooling along the shell of your ear and soaking the comforter below you. A firm chest presses against yours, pinning you, forcing you to stay still as the pain continues, this time with fervor. 

“Hey, hey, Bonnie, it’ll be fine. S’all gonna be okay. Just need ya to hold still for Simon. Please, don’t make this difficult. C’mon Bonnie, you don’t have to cry,” Johnny babbles at you. Each sentence is broken with a kiss, like he can smother away your discontent with whatever his interpretation of love is. “It’ll be fine, just- just stop moving. Don’t… don’t make me, Bonnie, I don’t wanna fight you. Stop it, please Bonnie. You’ll be fine. It’ll stop soon, just stop it.” 

But it doesn’t. It continues. Skin ripping. Flesh peeling. Is this how the animals feel at Simon’s work? Torn apart. Ripped to shreds. Are you handled with the same care he uses when slaughtering creatures who don’t know any better? Is it easier for them than it is for you? Is this the same kindness he shows everything else? 

Johnny is a liar. It’s not fine. It hurts. And hurts. And hurts. And then it aches. 

Whatever Simon’s done to you, it’s finished, and it’s left you with a hole burning through your pelvis. You’ve never been so empty, so void of something like you are now. Johnny’s praises taste bitter as he kisses your lips now, warm hands wandering along your stomach. You’re certain he thinks it’s comforting. Loving, even. But it’s the opposite. It’s the painful reminder that while Simon takes, and takes, and takes, Johnny will always fill you whole with something stale and rotten. 

“There,” Simon huffs. Normally, the sound of his boots stomping on the wood floors of the house makes your heart race, but you’re just glad he’s finished torturing you. “One week. You hear me, mutt?” He yanks on Johnny’s collar, forcing his face away from yours. “One week, and you can play with her all ya like.” 

Johnny responds, but you don’t care to make sense of it. All you can do is lay there, flat on your back with your eyes closed, and pray. You’ve never been one for praying. God has never helped you before, and he certainly isn’t going to help you now, but you can at least curse the son of a bitch out while the blood spills out of you and stains the supple flesh of your thighs. 

i wrote this in one go after work forgive any mistakes <3

[naffeclipse]

These Blessed Waters

Familiar!Eclipse x Witch!Y/N (SFW)

The villagers’ outrage and scorn scald your very flesh. They demand your death. The cliffside is barren of any gallows or burning stakes. You tremble in the sheer, misty cold of All Hallows’ Eve, stealing a glance downwards at the churning indigo waves and the black-blue sky brewing with a seastorm. White crests chop upon the sandy shore and crash against the rocks directly below the cliff’s edge the preacher and constable set you upon. In the distance, thunder rumbles.

Word Count: ~11,100 Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Death, and Suggestive Themes

A/N: It still counts as MerMay if it's in June, right? Oh well, I always carry the spirit of the month in my heart, and I will inflict all my AUs with it. This is a threat <3 I wanted to do a little twist on my Halloween fic, so while we're getting more familiars/demons, there are a few differences between this and DT&T. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Please be warned that there will be spoilers for Double Toil and Trouble within this. Content warnings are tagged!

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

Cat café AU headcanons - TF141/König*Reader

You own a cat café, TF141 and König are your cats, and they can shift into human form.

Here are hcs about what they will do at your café in the morning and at your home when it's night.

You only have one double bed, so they need to take turn to sleep with you in human form, others need to sleep in cat form if they want to sleep on the bed too.

cat café AU 2 cat reader hcs

Price

1. at the café

• the chill type

• likes to sit in the highest place of the room, observing anything happens down there

• knows everything happening in the café, and comes down from the highest spot if some incidents happen

• everyday morning, he will stay in human form and drink the tea you make for him, enjoy the quiet morning and watch you prepare in the kitchenette, and shift back to cat form before opening hours

2. at home

• will help you cook dinner

• if he stays in cat form, he doesn’t have a regular sleeping spot, sometimes he sleeps on you, sometimes he sleeps in the cat bed, or he doesn’t sleep and sleeps in the morning

• if it’s the day he can sleep with you in human form, he will take the opportunity to touch you as much as he can, always stick a hand on your body or palms at your flesh

Soap

1. at the café

• the energetic type

• runs around in the café, keeps meowing at every customer, meows a lot and loudly

• will steal customers’ food ( or keep looking at them until they give up) so you need to scold him

2. at home

• the first one to yell and meow about food, keeps scratching at your bedroom door until you open it

• when he stays in cat form, he likes to sleep at your crotch because it's warm there

• when he is in human form, requires a lot of kisses, please expect a lot of licking and biting during them

• if it’s the day he can sleep with you in human form, his sleeping habit is VERY BAD and will suffocate you under his weight

• you need to tell him to wear clothes if you don’t want to see him walking around the house naked, he’s just not used to wearing clothes

Gaz

1. at the café

• the hospitable type

• the only one who can sit still for a long time and allow customers to put clothes and apparel on him

• every time you come out of the kitchenette to hand food and drink to customers, he will walk to your side and rub his body on your leg

• he has the most pictures on your café’s Instagram because he is able to sit and let you take thousands of pictures and won’t run away like Soap or hate cameras like Ghost and König

• if you’re busy today, he will go to the back room, shift to human form, and come out to help you (but he might declare to others that he is your bf)

2. at home

• shifts to human form the second he steps into the flat, the couch is his second favorite place (first is your bedroom), watches TV shows with you

• if it’s the day he can sleep with you in human form, he will ask for goodnight kisses before falling asleep quickly

• if he stays in cat form, he sleeps anywhere as long as he can snuggle his body with yours

Ghost

1. at the café

• the “Don’t touch me” type

• death stare at any customer who tries to touch him, hiding at higher or darker places and scrutinizing them

• if he’s in a good mood, he might walk around the café, it's the only chance for customers to see his full figure

• if someone is a regular of your café and they are quiet/tender type, he might allow them to pet him

• do not try to dress him in clothes if you don’t want to die

2. at home

• brood on your chair/pillow/laptop etc, death stare at you if you try to tell him to get down

• you can see him stays with Soap sometimes

• if he jumps to a higher place and accidentally breaks a glass, he will let you pet him as an apology

• if he’s in cat form, sleeps in the cat bed beside your bed because your bed is too crowded, sleeps with his head facing inside the cat bed, but unaware of his ass sticking out of the bed (he forgets he’s a large cat too)

• if it’s the day he can sleep with you in human form, he definitely big spoons you and refuses to leave bed in the morning

König

1. at the café

• the shy but overall friendly type

• prefers to stay inside the kitchenette with you, or hide inside cat beds

• if customers slowly approach him, show him that they are harmless, maybe even show him some snacks, he will poke his head around the bed and eats

• the biggest cat of all, very huge and furry, like a walking cloud, so everyone likes to pet him (if they get trusted and have a chance)

2. at home

• purrs VERY LOUD, like a motor, you can feel him rumble when you are lying on your bed and he’s sitting on your chest

• if he stays in cat form, he likes to sleep near your head, tucks his head at the crook of your neck

• if it’s the day he can sleep with you in human form, time to enjoy his warm body and stay close against yours, but he’s a little excited so you need to coo him into sleep

• steals your clothes or slippers or other things to make into a pile as a bed, and sleeps in there too

[uhohdad]

THE GIRL WHO CONQUERED THE MOUNTAIN

KONIG X READER [HUNGER GAMES AU]

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

18+, NSFW, 144k WORD COUNT, AO3, Virgin!Konig, Outcast!Konig, 18yo!Konig, GentleGiant!Konig, Mentor!JohnPrice, Fem!Reader, Blood & Injury, Graphic Violence, Death, PTSD, Alcohol Use, Slow Burn, 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 AFTERMATH I

Something is wrong.

This sentence swarms your brain at each resurface into consciousness.

It’s a feeling that drops on your chest and steals the breath from you before you can even pinpoint where you are, where you’ve been, what’s going on.

But you know that something is wrong.

Even through the haze, there is a pool of dread lapping up the sides of your guts, a blaring alarm behind the static.

You don’t know where you are, but you know that you are not supposed to be here.

You have no idea how much time has passed, drifting in and out of a dazed, miserable, confused state. Faceless figures poking and prodding and blinding white from all directions, assaulted with the feeling of extreme unease that consumes your entire being.

At one breech into consciousness, there’s a knock on the door, and your sprung eyes shoot to the rattling door knob. For a moment you are still, shallow breaths and darting, wide eyes as the figure steps into focus.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Price says, a worried softness to both his features and tone.

It takes all of three blinks of your eyes for it all to come flooding back to you.

“You son of a-“

At once you’re on your knees, weak legs and gelatinous limbs springing yourself in the direction of his body, tearing needles and tubes from your flesh as you swing at him before he’s even in the range of your hands.

“It should have been me! It should have been me!”

Your shrieks froth as you close distance, pounding on his chest while he holds you back by your biceps. Your legs can hardly hold up under your weight, so he’s both holding you back and keeping you from collapsing on the ground in a heap.

“I told you you should’a restrained her,” Price says flatly.

“Give it to him! It’s his!” You yell, voice ripped to shreds, animalistic cries tearing from your throat and weak fists flailing.

“She seemed docile!” A nurse calls frantically.

“Well, she’s not.”

You feel a sharp prick just above Price’s grip on you, and you are out before you can even turn your head.

The next time you wake, your body tries to spring to attention, moved to action by an unknown desire, but you are held down by thick, white restraints on your wrists and ankles.

Something is wrong.

When you come to, when you remember, you thrash violently against the bed you’re restrained to, grunting and foaming to the empty hospital room.

There’s a knock, and they don’t wait for a response before they open the door.

You’re met with Price again, dawning uncharacteristically gentle features.

Immediately you are screaming at him, futilely attempting to swing at him from across the room while tied to a bed.

“How could you?! How could you?! It was supposed to be him! It was supposed to be him!”

“Easy now, Pluck, easy now.”

“Kill me!”

The voice that leaves you is not your own. It is the voice of a rabid creature, shredding the back of your raw throat.

“It’s his!”

“Stop, stop,” He says, approaching with careful steps, displaying his palms.

“I don’t want it! I don’t want it! It’s his!”

Your teeth are clenched, spitting at him, every pitiful muscle fighting against the bed.

You gasp his name as if it’s your first breath of air after nearly drowning.

“Konig!”

“It’s going to be okay,” he says in a soothing tone.

“Konig! Save him! Kill me!”

“Easy.”

“Fuck you!” You spit through clenched teeth, “Kill me!”

“Easy,” He shushes, “It’s alright. You did it, Pluck. You did it.”

“No!” You object, “I didn’t!”

He nods at you, “You did.”

“I didn’t! It’s not mine!”

“Easy.”

You still, heavy breaths through grit teeth as you stare him down like a dog snarling on its taut leash.

“It’s all going to be okay.”

He puts the back of his hand to your forehead, and he pulls away once you snap your teeth in the direction of his fingers.

“You feeling alright?”

“No,” You sneer, voice low and frozen before it flips to white hot without warning or transition.

“I’ll kill you! Do you understand?! I’ll do it with my own two hands! I’ll rip that bucket hat off your head! I’ll fucking kill you!”

He laughs at you, actually laughs at you, and you begin to thrash under the restraints again, frothing obscenities and threats.

“Plucky,” he says, dropping his voice and tilting his head forward. He says the words slowly, carefully, “You did it.”

“I don’t need this! Just let me die! It’s his! It’s his!”

Price sighs, and leaves you be.

You succumb to unconsciousness shortly after.

Something is wrong.

Something is wrong.

Something is wrong.

You don't know how long it’s been when Price returns, trapped in a miserable limbo as you fade in and out, hardly registering the sterile white prison you’re in.

“You ready to talk?” He asks.

“Yes,” You hiss, forcing your body to be still, forcing your breaths to be even, but there’s nothing to do about the way your teeth grit through the affirmation.

His brow raises condescendingly, sturdy arms crossing over his chest when he tilts his head down, as if he’s speaking to an unruly child after a tantrum.

“Are you going to be calm?”

“Yes,” You say.

Hardened blue eyes study you with a drawn-out, doubtful look. He’s trying to decide whether or not he believes you, and it’s clear by the sigh he makes that he doesn’t. And yet, he still steps closer and carefully undoes your restraints.

You wait, motionlessly until you are free.

There’s a short pause before you bring yourself to a stand, feet sinking into the hospital mattress.

Price puts out his hand to help you down, but instead of taking his offer, you spring at him, flinging your entire body into the square of his chest.

It’s your new signature move.

Thanks, One.

Your weak legs scramble to lock around his waist, fists swinging wildly.

“Motherfucker! You motherfucker!”

“Plucky- Fuck!”

Price’s sturdy arms shoot up to peel you off from your upper half, but the grip of your legs around his core stays surprisingly firm.

Price is stumbling around on his feet as he tries to rip you off him and block your weak blows, both of you sent wobbling as you knock over medical instruments with harsh clatters and tings of metal. You kept your word on ripping the bucket hat off his head.

“How could you?! How could you?!” You grunt, ripping at his hair as you swing with your other hand, controlling the direction of his stumbles with flings of your body weight in his arms.

“That’s it-“ He says with frustrated authority, his hands coming up to grab you by your middle. He pushes you away from him, folding your core, but your legs and arms extend, clawing and kicking at him, scratching anything your fingernails can reach. He might as well be fighting off an octopus, clinging to him with your suckers for dear death.

Price’s grunts, his joints popping when he lowers himself. He shows you the crown of his head before you’re thrust into the air with a bounce. He nestles you snug over his shoulder, one hand locked around the back of your flailing knees to keep you in place. Your gut digs into his shoulder as your fists pound on his back, feet kicking viciously.

“Oh you son of a bitch, you son of a bitch, let me down!” You froth, following it up with a windstorm of obscenities, a hailstorm of fists on his back, and fiery demands for freedom.

“I’m not gonna be gentle with you like Romeo,” Price says gruffly.

“Good!” You spit, “Kill me you son of a bitch! Fight me! Fight me!” Your words punctuate with particularly hard pounds against his back.

As your legs attempt to rise high enough to kick him in the gut, he lets out a laugh, your entire body shaking with the lift of his shoulders.

“It’s not funny!”

“It kind of is.”

Ignoring your kicking and screaming, Price keeps you firmly over his shoulder, carrying your flailing body out of the hospital room and down the hall.

He hauls you to a sterile sitting room where he drops you onto a plain couch, pinning you in place by your biceps and planting his feet firmly on the floor between your legs. Your fists still swing at him, arms flying and legs curling up on the couch to kick.

Price catches one of your ankles, his core creasing to evade your kicks as you sink into the crevice of the couch, your legs taking the center stage, feet flying in his direction.

“Kid, stop it.”

Price doubles over to keep you from kicking his stomach until he manages to catch your other ankle.

Your grunts become twice as frothed as you try to free yourself from him, shoulder blades digging into the bench of the couch and your lower back hovering parallel to the floor.

“You old fuck, you old fuck! Fight me!”

Price chuckles, but it’s cut short with a harsh grunt when the sole of your foot jams into his gut.

He lets out a sputtered breath while you flail, jerking your upper half forward to throw more swings and scratches without even bothering to think about where they’ll land.

“Alright, you’re done. You’re done.”

Price closes in, swallowing your blows so he can grab you by your underarms. With another grunt he hauls you off the couch and onto the floor.

He forces you onto your side, pinning your forearms to your chest with one hand and restraining your lower half with a sturdy arm slung just under your stomach. His knees are dug into your back to keep you from rolling over, so you just end up thrashing and kicking your legs across smooth tile.

“Kid,” He says from behind you, “Listen to me.”

His forearms tense to keep you in place as you flop around and throw limbs wildly.

“I’m proud of you.”

You still at his words, chest heaving and breaths cutting through a momentarily silent room.

The whine that starts in the back of your throat is pitched high enough to shatter glass, and by the time it explodes from your mouth it’s a full wail.

It’s like Price had just ripped open your chest and squeezed your heart as hard as he could, because everything behind your sternum tightens beyond comfort. Your sobs are loud and powerful enough to choke on, your entire body shaking in his hold. The tears flow at once and mercilessly, droplets replacing themselves before they can even crest the height of your cheek.

“He’s gone! He’s gone!”

Your wails are truly haunting, deep from within and not even bothered to be stifled, riding out your sobs and elongating each syllable. Your entire body is shaking in Price’s hold, back twitching against his knees.

“Sh, sh, sh,” Price’s voice has gone more than soft, “It’s okay, Pluck.”

“No!” The objection catches in your throat, heaved through hysterical breaths.

Even your gasps for air are choppy, nasally and cut short by the stutter of your lungs. Your face is entirely pinched and distorted, streaked with heavy tears, your hair stuck to the generous flow of snot leaking from your nose.

Price gives you a squeeze, the closest equivalent to a hug he can manage in this position.

“He’s gone!”

“Pluck, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that? Can you listen?”

“Just let me die!”

There’s a beat before he picks up a gruff, annoyed mumble.

“I don’t care for quitters much.”

You suck in a breath, your shoulders tensing. You crane your head to meet his squint eyes, to show him how much you fucking hate him right now.

His brows raise, the wrinkles in his forehead deepening, “There you go, can you listen?”

“Can you?!” You shoot back.

“I just need you to hold it together for a couple days, yeah?” He squeezes your arms, “And then we’ll be back home and you’ll be free to cry your heart’s content.”

The mention of home has your jaw clenching, thrashing against his restraint once again.

“I don’t want to go home!”

“Will you just trust me, kid?”

You slow again, taking a moment to consider his words. The last time he asked you to trust him, he didn’t let you down. He kept you alive in that arena without you even knowing about it, and in the moment you were too angry to see he was just trying to help you.

But you don’t want to be helped. You want him to help Konig, you want him to let you die.

“He’s gone,” You huff.

“It’s okay, Pluck.”

“How can you say that?! He’s dead!”

“Because it is okay.”

“Just because you deal with being a victor doesn’t mean I have to!”

He gives a quick chuckle, “I don’t think you have much of a say, kid.”

“Oh yeah?” You ask, and you can tell by Price’s defeated sigh that he already knows he made a mistake.

Your eyes narrow toward the wall, your voice tightening.

“Watch me.”

“You’re not going to kill yourself.”

A growl leaves you before your useless thrashing starts up again.

“I did it once you old fuck, I’ll do it again!”

“Sh, sh,” He hushes, urgently tightening his grip on you.

“I’ll do it again and again and again! I will not stop until you save him!”

“Okay, okay! Fine!” He says, a desperate attempt to placate you. His voice goes low and confidential, “You can kill yourself. Just wait ‘til we get home, okay? I can’t have you sent to the white room.”

You still with heavy breaths, ribs digging into the tile. There’s a long, drawn-out silence, only filled with the sound of your occasional sniffing.

“Did you do everything you could?” You grit.

“Of course I did.”

The harshness in your voice is sharp and serrated.

“Then why isn’t he here?”

“You don’t think I tried to save him?” Price cuts back.

Ouch.

It’s what you wanted.

It’s what you always wanted. It’s still what you want.

Regardless, knowing that given the very real choice of having to pick between saving your life or Konig’s - Price chose Konig?

I mean, you get it.

But ouch.

Price sighs heavy, his voice resetting to a softer volume.

“I did everything I could. Not just for him. For both of you. And I’m sorry, kid. I am. But I am powerless. It wasn’t up to me but you gotta know I did everything I could.”

You let out a long exhale through your nose, shoulders and chest deflating against tile.

“I know,” You whisper, “I’m sorry.”

There’s another silence, only the sounds of your chests rising and falling as he holds your back steady against his knees.

“You didn’t send me anything,” you say, nasally and stiff.

He didn’t expect that one.

His muscles tense, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“What did you want, kid?”

You huff, shoulders slumping as low as they go. Your voice is somehow more vulnerable now than it was as you wailed uncontrollably.

“I don’t know. Just-“

You sigh.

“Anything. Something to make me feel better. Something to remind me you were there.”

You finish on a whisper that just barely carries.

“Something to show you actually cared about me.”

You’re deathly still, the air in this room suddenly a thousand pounds. Your lips pull to the side, eyes nearly closed as you stare at the tile.

“Pluck,” he breathes, “Of course I care.”

“It didn’t feel like it.”

He sighs, and it catches in the back of his throat midway.

He gives you one pat on the forearm, “I didn’t think you needed it.”

“Obviously I didn’t need it. It just- It would have been nice. To know you did actually believe in me.”

“I did.”

You huff. He sighs.

“You didn’t think I could do it, did you?”

“No, I did,” He says, “I was the one who told you could do it.”

“That’s what you’re supposed to say to the kid about to die.”

“I’m a lot of things. A liar isn’t one of them.”

You chew on his words, and after a pause he breaks the silence, his voice gentle.

“I’m sorry, kid,” He gives you a pat, “I just knew you were a tough broad.”

You huff a breath through your stuffed nose, “Well, I’m not.”

“Yeah you are,” he says with another pat.

There’s another pause, and his soft voice picks up a reminiscent tone.

“You should have seen me in there, Pluck. I told you I was going to be there with you every step of the way, and I know you didn’t feel it, but-”

He cuts himself off with an amused huff.

“You should ask Ruby. When you threw sand in that boys’ eyes I got so excited I kissed her square on the lips. She still can’t look me in the eye.”

You don’t face him, you don’t speak, but the corner of your lip perks up as minimal as one can.

“Oh - the snare?” He lefts out a puff of air, “Brilliant. I don’t think I would have thought of it myself.”

You stare at the floor, body still.

“And, uh-” He clears his throat, and his voice is quiet when he speaks, “And I thought it was really commendable what you did for Eight.”

You swallow, the muscles in your throat sore and demanding attention.

“You should be thankful I redirected everything to him. Romeo wasn’t quite as resourceful as you.”

“Redirected?”

“Yeah.”

Your puffy eyes meet his.

“I had sponsors?” You ask almost childishly.

“Course you did,” He gives you another pat, “Whole country loves ya, kid.”

You blink, trying to figure out from his expression if he’s telling the truth.

He shows a palm, already defensive to your skepticism, “Don’t have to believe me. You’ll see.”

You let your head rest on the tile again, mulling over this new information.

“They love him, too,” Price says quietly from behind you.

You tense in his hold, the salty taste of your tears flooding your tongue when your lips fold in.

“I know,” You whisper.

There’s a pause.

“You two make a heart of gold and balls of steel, y’know that?”

He managed to pull a nasally scoff from you, and he gives you back an arm so you can wipe your face.

Your faint grin fades and your eyes lull, staring off into tile.

“I don’t deserve this win,” You whisper.

“You’re not gonna believe it, kid, but you more than deserved this win. You’ll see.”

“He’s gone, Price.”

“We’re not going to think about that right now. Okay? Heed it off.”

“Fuck you,” You grit before wiping snot from your nose with your arm.

“Atta girl.”

He sighs and gives you another pat, “Here’s the deal. Victor’s Interview. It’s gonna suck more than the games themselves, but you gotta do it.”

“I won’t. It’s his.”

“You gotta.”

You don’t want to push forward without him. You didn’t want to play the Capitol’s game in the first place, and you extra don’t want to do it without him at your side.

It’s sudden - the sob that makes your entire body twitch around it. The tears flow generously, droplets sliding quickly down your face and splattering on the floor. You can’t stop the sniveling - the way your lungs can’t seem to exhale or inhale a full breath.

Price lets you cry, rubbing your bicep until you wear yourself out. Once settled from pure emotional exhaustion, your breathing long since evened out, he speaks.

“You hungry?”

“No.”

“You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re gonna eat,” he says sternly, and you give in to the tune of silence, too tired to argue for once.

Price stands with a stiff grunt, leaving you curled up on the tile to wave down a Capitol attendant.

He insists you move to the couch, and you don’t make it easy on him, practically forcing him to drag you to the couch where you curl up on the end of the sofa, resting your head on its arm, staring blankly at the wall.

You wish he was here.

Price coaxes a few bites into you, but you can hardly taste it. He lets you get away with barely making a dent to your plate.

You wish you were dead too.

Price sighs and leans back on the sofa, stretching out his arms on either side of the couch.

“Can I have a drink?” You ask.

“Yeah, kid. What do you want?”

“Whiskey.”

“No.”

You give a mixture of a grunt and a whine into the sofa’s arm.

“You need to be on your game for the interview.”

“I’m nowhere near the game,” You mumble.

“Well, I don’t need you any farther away.”

You grunt again.

He sighs, “There will be plenty to drink after.”

The sofa’s fabric scratches in your ear with a weak nod.

The silence stretches out for hours. There’s nothing either of you could say that would make any of it better.

When it’s time, Price escorts you to Mauve to get you ready for the interview. As soon as she sees you, her brows pinch and her arms fling out to her sides. She immediately pulls you into a hug that you don’t return because, well, it’s Mauve, and you’re stunned that she’s displaying any form of physical or even emotional connection.

“You did it. You did it.”

Yeah, you sure did.

You’re such a fuckup that you couldn’t even lose when you tried. Stumbled and tripped the entire way to victory, all while fighting as hard as you could to die.

You don’t say anything, don’t pull away from her embrace, don’t push back on her affirmations. You let her squeeze you, and find your shoulders relaxing into her hold with little thought.

When she pulls away, she keeps her hands clasped around yours and actually gives you a kiss on the forehead, ignoring the way your brows furrow in confusion.

She has tears in her eyes.

“I’m going to make you look so beautiful,” she whispers before letting out a squeak, letting go of your hand to wipe her tears.

You just give a shaky nod and a weak, unsure smile.

She all but runs to the dress you’re to wear for the interview, ripping the cover off it in pure giddiness, beaming at you with a million dollar smile as she drapes it over his arms and shows it off.

You hate the dress.

The dress instills instinctual, immediate panic.

The dress rubs salt in an open wound that hasn’t even had the least of time to heal.

The dress makes you sick to your fucking stomach.

It’s elegant. A brilliant yellow dress that cuts in at the waist under a plain, ribbed bust. Oversized, slightly curved petals with faint grains overlap each other to fill in a large, ridiculously puffy skirt.

Ginkgo petals.

A dress made of fucking ginkgo petals.

The petals that coated the chill dirt your body shivered against during freezing fall nights.

The petals attached to branches that tore up your skin as you sprinted through the woods, running for your life as the corpse of Eleven blinded you.

The petals that were steadily soaked with deep crimson as you watched him die.

Your mouth has gone dry, fists clenching at your sides while your eyes dart around the dress.

You have to close your eyes to stop the crash of your feet on the unforgiving dirt, to keep the branches from tearing into your flesh, to keep him from dying right before your eyes.

Mauve’s face falls.

“You don’t like it?” She asks.

As tears crest your eyeline you push past Price and jog through the forest, no, the hallway - far away from those sickening petals.

You’re not sure where you’re going, but you do find a suitable corner to curl up against, shoving your face into your knees with a sob. You can hear Price’s raised voice echoing from down the halls, but you’re too far away to make out his words, too deafened by the sound of a broken neck.

When he finds you, he sits on the floor next to you with a grunt.

“She’s going to try and put something else together for you last minute. Said she wasn’t thinking,” He huffs, “I’ll say.”

You give a low groan into your knees, and nothing else.

“Sorry, kid. I was too busy trying to take care of you both. I thought she could handle it. That’s my fault.”

You tuck your feet a little closer to yourself.

Price sighs and lets you wallow, wordlessly seated next to you. He doesn’t get up even when it’s clear his back is starting to bother him. He only leaves when he goes to check on Mauve, and returns once she’s ready for you. He extends his hand to help you up, and you take his offer, because your legs have felt wobbly ever since you died.

“Look,” Price says, “I have to go take care of some stuff for the show. Mauve’s going escort you down to stage, but I’ll come see you before you go on, okay?”

You give a faint nod, your gaze fixated on the floor.

“I have something for you,” He says, “A good luck charm.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you in the form of making eye contact. You’re greeted with a faint smile as he digs into his pocket. He gestures for you to hold out your hand, and you hesitantly oblige him before he drops Konig’s token into your palm.

The sight of the golden locket brings tears to your eyes and a lump in your throat. Your lips fold in, and you can’t find the words, so you just throw yourself into his embrace in thanks and let the tears flow.

He holds you in his sturdy arms, rubbing the spot between your collarbones. When he pulls away, he keeps his hands on your biceps.

“One last thing,” He says carefully, “They don’t know it’s you.”

Your brows scrunch, tugging on your dehydration headache.

“They don’t know it’s me?”

“Photo finish. They wanted to drum up suspense.”

You shake your head, your stomach abruptly dropping, “What do you mean?”

You understood what he said, but your panic begs that you simply misheard him.

“No, no,” He insists, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“They’re going to hate me,” You say with a croaked whine.

“They’ll be happy to see you. I promise,” He squeezes your biceps, “Can you do me a favor, Pluck? Can you be good?”

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, and you nod.

“Atta girl.”

Price escorts you to Mauve, who’s whispering frantically with a woman upon your arrival. They stop when they see you, and the woman’s eyes widen before she scurries past you and out of the room.

Once back in Mauve’s hands, you don’t have much to say. You’re so tired, you just let her do what she has to without complaint. She seems a little mopey, guilty even.

Her apology rides a breath while she applies your eyeshadow.

“Sorry, babe.”

“S’okay,” You mutter back.

After a moment you add, “It was pretty.”

Objectively, it was a pretty dress, aside from the yellow so bright it hurt your eyes, but you didn’t really mean the compliment.

To you, the dress was the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen.

But regardless of her ignorance, Mauve is trying. And you really don’t have it in you to be nasty right now.

You’re tired.

The replacement dress is pretty, reserved even for the Capitol standard. A pale pink that comes to your mid-calf. The sweetheart bust is snug on your ribcage and lined with a soft thin strip of white lace. Useless, gently bunched sleeves draped loosely around the middle of your bicep. The skirt starts at your waist, only a slight puff from the modest amount of wide pleats.

Aside from the lace, the dress is entirely plain. She keeps your hairstyle simple. No jewels or flowers pasted to your skin, just a generous layer of glitter on your shoulders that matches the highlights on the height of your cheeks.

In terms of comfort, it’s her best work yet.

You find it in yourself to thank her, and she gives a small smile with a shaky nod in the mirror. Her shoulders straighten a bit, and you can tell the weight on her shoulders has lightened.

Mauve lets you hold her arm to keep steady as you wobble in your matching pale pink heels. She wordlessly leads you to black, dim room beneath the stage. It reeks of sawdust and paint, assaulting your nose with its demanding fumes, and is entirely empty except for a metal platform much similar to the platform that deposited you into the area. The sight of it draws sweat from your pores and has your heart trying to leap from your chest. You have to pinch your eyes shut and turn away from it on shaky legs.

Mauve lets out a sigh, but it’s not like her usual, disinterested sighs. It’s heavy and catches in her throat before clumsily leaving an open mouth smile. She pulls you into another hug, wrapping her arms around your useless dress sleeves and squeezing you tight. You don’t return the embrace, staring blankly over her shoulder.

When she pulls away, her hands linger on your biceps, and you catch the sparkling reflections of your glitter that transferred to her shirt.

She goes to cup your face but pulls away at the last minute, most likely not wanting to smear your makeup, and rests her hands on your shoulders instead.

“You’re going to do great,” she says through a bright white smile.

The door to the space beneath the stage opens, and you don’t have to turn your head to know it’s Price.

“Sorry, sorry I’m late,” He says with a slight jog.

He’s dressed to the nines in his black suit and tie, the most put together you’ve ever seen him. Mauve and Price meet eyes with an exchange of an awkward, tightly pinched smile.

“I better be off,” Mauve mutters. She looks to you one last time, her forced smile blooming into something genuine, and she lets out another one of those new sighs.

“I’ll see you at the party,” She says.

Fuck.

The party.

Price catches your train of thought almost immediately, either he caught the slight widening of your eyes or he’s just that intuitive.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it, kid,” He assures with a firm squeeze on your shoulder, “One thing at a time.”

You just give a slow, barely registrable shake of your head as the door shuts behind Mauve.

The last thing you need right now is a fucking party. Full of rich Capitol shmucks celebrating the death of twenty-three tributes so that you could live.

Celebrating the gory, brutal deaths that will haunt you for the rest of your unearned life.

Celebrating the piece of you that died in that arena, the irreversible change of a girl that once was.

Konig’s dead, but hey! At least there’s cake!

Price’s lips fold in, and he lets out a sigh, looking to the floor between you before those sad blue eyes find you again.

“You’ll be alright. It’s just a little while, and then it’s over.”

You can hear the audience from beneath the stage, as loud and boisterous as ever, Price has to raise his voice to be heard.

You don’t bother to raise your voice for him. It’s not even spoken in his direction, it’s spoken to the empty room beneath the stage, spoken to yourself.

“It’ll never be over.”

Price swallows, his shoes shuffle, and he gives a solemn nod.

“It’ll get easier,” He says, a slight break in his words.

You don’t bother calling him on his lie, don’t bother responding or even meeting his gaze.

He looks over his shoulder and sighs. He pulls away the arm slung over your shoulders, and sidesteps to stand in front of you.

He’s less worried about ruining your makeup, cupping your face and tilting your head to guide you into meeting him with your hollow eyes.

“It’s going to be okay,” He says with a raise of a brow, tilting his chin down.

It’s spoken so confidently - there’s a small piece of you that almost believes him. You have to fight the tears welling in your eyes, the sting in the back of your throat.

“I gotta go,” He says, his hands slipping from your face and finding your shoulders, “I’ll meet you after. Be good, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for your acknowledgement, already heading for the door.

A heavy, long exhale leaves your nose.

You have to wait quite awhile for them to actually announce you. Leaving the audience in suspense as they have your team come on stage to accept their praises - the crowd exploding into thunderous applause to welcome each face.

You are not nervous.

You’re not angry.

You’re not even sad.

You’re numb.

You can’t feel anything, eyes in a constant state of shock, fixated on the wall as you digest the truth.

You are alive.

Konig is dead.

You failed to save him.

And you are the victor of the Hunger Games.

You repeat these facts, over and over in your head, but you can’t seem to grasp the weight behind them. The voice is so far away, and the words have lost all meaning.

From beneath the stage, you can hear him, Caesar Flickerman warming up the crowd after clearing the stage.

“Folks, we’ve been waiting for this moment with bated breath. This year’s Hunger Games was unlike any other we’ve ever seen. Never in the history of the games have we had a photo finish, and never have we not known the victor upon completion.”

The crowd has gone silent, hanging on to his every enthusiastic word with bated breath.

“Without further ado, it is my honor to bestow upon you - the victor of this year’s - Hunger! Games!”

The crowd goes absolutely wild at Caesar’s announcement, but your face remains stone cold as your platform carries you up to stage.

When you crest to open air, you are blinded by white hot lights.

The suffocating wave of feelings return like a punch in the gut as you rise onto stage, swallowing you whole with one bite.

Panic, that is what you feel.

Pure, unbridled fear.

Not because of the Capitol audience, but because as your eyes dart around, they struggle to adjust to a hot desert sun reflecting off the pure white coat of snow at your feet. Your heart is hammering in your chest, you can feel your pulse throughout your entire body. Your eyes pinch shut, trying to fight off the shake in your fingers.

The crowd draws in a collective gasp, surely displeased that it was you, because everyone knows it’s a win you don’t deserve.

Heavy breaths leave you as you try and ground yourself, staring out into the crowd to remind yourself where you are.

You are not in the arena.

You are on stage in front of the entire country.

The crowd is silent.

Thousands of people in this theatre, and you could hear a pin drop. As your eyes adjust to the harsh stage lights, you are met with every individual dawning blown stares and gaped lips.

Your fists clench at your sides with a thick exhale.

This is your life now.

Living the life of a victory you did not earn, every person in Panem disappointed that it is you alive and not the rightful tribute.

So you do what you always do when the lingering fear and inadequacy and rage begins to smother you without Konig at your side to placate you.

You roll your eyes and step off your platform, posture disrespectfully slack. Your arms fling out to the side as you lean out to the crowd.

“Oh!”

You scoff.

“Oh! What are we? Are we disappointed?!” You exclaim with a flare of your eyes, an over-exaggerated dip in your voice. You’re shouting at the crowd, a curved patronization torn through your words, hands flinging at your sides to emphasize your enunciations.

You press your fingers to your sternum so hard your knuckles bend backwards.

“How do you think I feel?!”

Your voice has shed its condescension, still engulfed in rage - but there’s a strain that reveals the true emotion.

“I tried!”

Your arm flings in front of you again, your index finger jamming at the floor.

“I tried to save him and I couldn’t!”

You pause, your eyes darting around the bright rainbow sea of Capitol attire to catch a few stares of the audience.

Your arms throw out again.

“So fucking live with it! Because I have to! I have to live with it!”

The crowd is silent as you throw your nationwide tantrum. Tears of unbridled humiliation and frustration well in your eyes. You let out a grunt, fists clenching at your sides once again. The threat of a growl pulls on your lips when you pinch off your vision.

You take a deep breath, and meet the audience again.

“So! You still want me to dance?! Or should I just go home?!”

Your eyes flare before narrowing, your voice suddenly icy and threatening.

“Because I’ll fucking dance, alright?!”

Oh you’ll dance.

You will dismantle the Capitol with your bare hands if you have to.

You will burn this nation to the ground.

And you will dance on the embers and ashes.

And what will they take from you? Your tongue? What leverage is a tongue against a girl who is beyond committed to death? A girl who has long been committed to sacrificing her body and soul - without care for the ramifications to those around you.

“So who wants to fucking see it? Huh?!”

You’re staring out to the crowd, brows pinched as you challenge an entire nation to a fist fight.

If they wanted a nice, agreeable victor -

They saved the wrong fucking one.

Offstage and to your left, you can hear Price’s laugh. It’s the only sound echoing around the quiet theater.

You nearly snap your neck as you whip your head to find Price, shooting him a deadly look. He doesn’t see it, his eyes closed and head thrown back, hands on his stomach.

His hearty laugh is a spark. It ignites the room, a contagion that spreads until the entire theatre is ablaze in a chorus of grating laughter.

Your entire body is scorched with embarrassment and anger.

You grit your teeth at him, a light growl following.

How can he stand by and laugh at you at a time like this? He should know more than anyone what these games do to you.

“You want a rematch, Old Man?!”

He shows his palms, but it doesn’t stifle his laughter.

“Behind ya, Juliet!” Price calls.

You face the silent crowd before turning to look at Caesar so he can close out the show already, but you don’t find him.

Your entire body stills at once, not even the flick of an iris or the rise and fall of your chest. Your breath has been stolen from you, lips parted but not a word nor even a single puff of air escapes them. Your entire body has gone cold, the color drained from your face in an instant.

The only movement that suggests life is still within you is the waver of tears rising in your eyeline.

It’s him.

The boy who had been your friend after all, nearing seven feet tall and an intimidating frame to match.

The boy who loved you so much he would rather die than live without you.

The boy you have loved all along without even noticing - because it was as easy to love him as it was to breathe.

It’s him.

Illuminated by the spotlight shined straight on him, as striking as ever in his matching pale pink suit, those familiar, unsure blue eyes trained right on you.

The world has come to a standstill.

Both of you are frozen in shock on opposite ends of the stage, looking to each other like ghosts that might disappear if you look away, if you so much as blink. Hallucinations as you descend rapidly into madness. An oasis in a desert - too good to be true.

As soon as the tears crest your eyeline, you’re in a full sprint to him across the stage. Konig snaps out of his frozen state and shuffles a few quick steps forward, his shoes squeaking across the glittery stage before he throws out his arms and bends at his knees to meet you.

You fumble at the last minute, tripping over your heels and literally send yourself tumbling into your arms - but he’s got you.

He catches you by the waist, those strong arms wrapping tightly around you as he lifts your feet from the ground and twirls you in a full circle, the beautiful sound of his laugh in your ears. Your lips press to his in a sloppy embrace, tears mixing and smushing between your cheeks.

The crowd breaks into a thunderous applause, but you can’t hear them, the only sound you hear is Konig’s relieved laughs stitched into his fervorous kisses.

The relief is overwhelming - a wave of euphoria that sweeps over you from head to toe, bunching your tear-stained cheeks as your lips stretch into a painfully wide smile you couldn’t hide if you tried. It’s like you’re waking up from a nightmare, relief flooding your entire body and a white hot ball of euphoric warmth in your core. You’re high - high off the feeling of being in his arms once again, high off his scent, high off his kisses.

“Mein sieger, I thought you were- I thought I lost you, I thought I lost you,” He whispers into your lips, his breathy words interrupted by his kisses.

You laugh, light and warm, “I’m not. I’m not. I’m here.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you.”

Each breath he takes presses his chest further into you, so full of life. He’s laughing, teeth showing, but it doesn’t stop the kisses. His strong arms are locked around you so tight you’re worried he might just break something.

You hope he never lets go.

“You’re alive,” He says, his hand cupping this side of your face and making wide strokes over your hair. He heaves a sigh of relief, “You’re alive.”

Your hand wraps around the forearm that strokes you as you nuzzle into his touch, “I am, I’m here. I’m here.”

The tears of relief are flowing freely from both of you as you cling - no, claw at each other. Your fingers are trembling, nails dug into him and wrinkling his suit.

He presses his forehead to yours and lets out a laugh, closing his eyes.

“I love you. I-”

He cuts himself off to laugh again.

“I love you too,” You whisper through a hiccup, more tears sliding down your cheeks.

He presses his lips to yours again, his stubble sanding against your cheeks in a sloppy kiss.

“You’re okay, you’re okay.”

He utters this over and over when he pulls away for breath, a relieved reassurance, reminding himself that the impossible is reality. It’s welcome, because you’re having trouble believing it yourself.

You hold each other for what must be ten full minutes, Konig crushing you in his arms while you exchange sloppy kisses.

“Okay! Okay!” Caesar finally chimes in, “Don’t want a repeat of the show you gave us in the arena.”

You ignore Caesar’s cheeky attempt to move on with the show, and when Caesar nears closer, you blindly stick out your palm to push him away with a suggestive nudge, refusing to break the kiss or the embrace.

It draws a hearty reaction from both Caesar and the audience, but you don’t care.

You don’t care about anything but Konig, anything but the glimmer in his eyes, anything but the hold of his strong hands around yours, anything but the rise and fall of his shoulders as he gives an inaudible laugh around a pleased smile.

“Alright now, don’t make us separate you two,” Caesar says with a chuckle.

This threat, while only a joke, is enough to get you to break away and wrap yourself around Konig’s arm like a vice, not daring to let go in fear he will be ripped away from you once again. Neither of you look away, heads turned to stare into each other’s eyes, thankful they are teeming with life and not as you saw them last.

Both of your arms are clasped around Konig’s with a grip strong enough to choke the life from a man. He returns the favor, his hand turned outward at his side, a fistful of your dress balled up in his hand and keeping you close.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Caesar’s tone bobs up and down, dramatically stretching out every word, “May I present - two tributes who would rather die than live without the other - The victors of this year’s - Hunger! Games!”

The crowd erupts, and you and Konig take your opportunity to share another kiss, his stubble scraping against you as you hum against each other.

You don’t let go of your hold on Konig’s arm even when Caesar ushers you both to a plush velvet loveseat and begins the show.

“Wow, wow, wow! What an honor to have you both sitting before us today!” Caesar starts as he settles into his chair, slinging one of his legs over the other and fixing his suit jacket, “I’m sure you both must be more than relieved.”

You both still have not taken your eyes off each other. They’re crinkled from the big smiles you can’t seem to wipe from your faces, the muscles in your cheeks already sore.

“I have to say this year’s games were more than unique,” Caesar’s hand comes up with a slight jazzy wave, “We’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Now,” He continues, “We have a lot to get through tonight, not one, but two victor’s highlights! So let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”

Caesar gestures to the enormous screen behind you that’s being broadcasted to the entirety of Panem. They give a short feature on the arena, which the audience is eating up. Apparently - in the middle of each quadrant was a special feature, each containing a helpful resource for the tributes. The fall quadrant had the field of vegetables that sustained you during the games. The desert held the oasis, both a water source and ‘peace of mind.’

You roll your eyes at that one.

The center of the hedge maze held defenses, armory and gear. And the snow quadrant hid a massive cave system, shelter for the tributes.

When the arena tour is over, they dive into the bloodbath. As soon as the circle of tributes appear on screen, all but two of you now dead, Konig’s and your’s hold on each other tightens.

The high of your reunion has been entirely smothered, wilted into a cruel dread that sinks your heart to your stomach. Under your makeup, your face has drained its color, mouth gone bone dry. Your intestines are twisted into knots, what little content in your stomach doing somersaults.

On screen, you’re hugging yourself, breaths turned to steam as you shiver in the snow quadrant. Konig’s swaying nervously on his platform, arms slightly puffed out at his sides, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The feed pauses on a split screen of you and Konig staring at each other just before the gong sounds.

Caesar jabs his index finger at the screen, “There! This moment here - I think this moment of connection holds much significance,” Caesar looks to the crowd, “Wouldn’t you say?”

The crowd gives a murmur of approval, and Caesar continues.

“You both are going to be very sick of this question by time I’m through with you - but I must know, what was going on in your minds at this moment?”

You give another swallow, trying to work saliva into your dry mouth. Konig and you raise a brow at each other.

Caesar sees you both struggling and steps in to help out. He gestures to you before saying, “Why don’t you start us off? Ladies first, and all.”

Caesar gives a cheeky raise of his brow, and the audience gives a far too generous laugh.

You give a shaky nod with a purely nervous laugh, looking to the floor. Konig’s hand gives you a squeeze. Both of your palms are already soaked with sweat, but you don’t dare pull away.

“Uhm, well, I- I guess we were just sharing the fear.”

Konig’s brows are furrowed, and he gives an uneasy nod in agreement.

The feed resumes and the gong sounds.

Both on screen and now, you are frozen. Your lungs have stopped taking in air and both sets of your eyes are wide with fear.

The tributes are scattering in all directions, but you and Konig are the last ones to step off your platform. You’re watching the bloodbath, but his eyes are trained on you. Waiting for you to run to safety, his hands on his head and muttering frantically at you under his breath.

Run, he’s saying, Run!

Caesar gives a detail into the bloodbath deaths, and you have to look at your shoes and pinch your eyes shut as the boy from one runs a sword through a male tribute’s neck, who as it turns out, is the boy from three. As the girl from four wrestles Ten to the ground and forces her to stab herself repeatedly. As One skewers tributes with the same spear that killed her. All you can focus on is trying not to throw up all over your heels.

You finally open your eyes when Konig’s bloodbath experience is featured. You’re not sure if it’s morbid curiosity or if you long to share his pain with him, but you find yourself unable to look away.

As he steps off his platform, he’s got his eyes locked on you, but gets sidetracked by the girl from two. By far the fastest runner, she reached the cornucopia before anyone else, and started whipping knives in Konig’s direction as soon as she got her hands on them.

Your heart is pounding against your chest. It’s like you’re watching it live instead of a replay, it’s like he’s actually in danger, as if you don’t already know the ending, as if he’s not sitting right next to you on this couch unscathed.

The girl from two’s face distorts in determination with each blade she misses. You find yourself flinching and sucking in air through clenched teeth with each harsh grunt and whip of her arm. She runs out of knives before she can land a hit, retreating to the cornucopia for more weapons.

You give a deep, relieved breath as Konig is left alone. He resumes his sprint to you, but slows when he sees the boy from Eleven, sprinting in your direction.

You can’t watch, head turning away from the crowd in a cringe. It doesn’t prevent you from seeing Eleven’s neck snapping, his lifeless eyes flashing behind your eyes as the crack of his bones plays far and wide over the speakers. Tears are welling in your eyes, throat aching. Your hand is squeezing Konig’s in a deathly grip, lip caught between your teeth while you beg the tears away.

You do not want to cry in front of all of Panem.

Again.

Konig leans into you, and if you had to guess, he has his eyes closed too. The side of his head rests on the crown of yours.

The crowd cheers at Eleven’s death, and your face twists in displeasure at once, your eyes snapping open and your head whipping from Konig’s shoulder to face the crowd.

How they can cheer for the death of a child -

It’s -

You don’t even have words, they’ve sufficiently left you speechless. Your teeth clench, face igniting with a searing burn. Your tears have turned to those of pure rage.

The haunting of Eleven has eaten you alive from the inside out. It wears you to nothing but an empty husk. His lifeless eyes are etched into your eyelids, the bounce of his corpse steals your breath, his snapping bones deafen you - and it still pales in comparison to his fate.

And they are cheering.

Celebrating yours and Konig’s nightmare, celebrating the death of a child who did not deserve it.

You can’t hold it in, you’re squeezing Konig’s hand with a deadly grip, the fingernails on your other hand digging into the meat of your palms. You can’t be bothered to stifle your hatred of them, your hatred of The Capitol.

“He’s dead!” You shout, “You’re cheering, and he’s dead!”

The life has been sucked from the theatre in an instant, the air constricting around every last member of the audience.

Caesar swallows, and nods at his lap before looking up to you.

“Yes, it’s uh, I’m sure it’s hard to watch.”

Konig’s free arm slings over his puffed out chest. He sits tall, staring daggers at Caesar, those intimidating half-lidded eyes boring into him.

Caesar clears his throat and moves on, going over more bloodbath deaths. He doesn’t ask you many questions as he lets you both collect yourselves.

He brings you back into the discussion once they feature Konig tailing you to the fall forest.

“Now, Konig, we see you following in her footsteps. What were your motivations here?”

Konig swallows, his dress shoes fidgeting against the stage and head ducking and a free hand coming up to stroke his jaw.

“Well, äh, I guess I just want to - to make sure she was safe.”

Caesar tilts his head, his ponytail swaying behind him, “Was your intention to ally with her?”

“Äh, yes,” Konig looks to you and gives your hand a squeeze, “If you’d have me.”

This draws an ‘Awhhh’ from the crowd, and your eyes roll, but you don’t fight it when Konig plants a kiss on the side of your forehead, only encouraging the audience’s gushing.

Konig had lost you to the forest almost immediately, veering down closer to the middle of the quadrant instead of along the snow border. It doesn’t take long until there’s significant distance between you both as the forest expands.

They skip most of the running, but they do feature a conversation between the careers that happens shortly after the bloodbath, which is unfortunate, because the last thing you need right now is to see Titan and the girl from one.

Sapphire, you’d forgotten her name was Sapphire. With her eyes that suited her name and sparkle like the tip of her bloodthirsty spear.

Apparently, once the bloodbath festivities were done and the careers had successfully claimed the cornucopia supplies, their first priority was hunting you down.

“Both of them went that way,” The boy from one says, “Brat ran from him, think they’re going solo.”

“Perfect,” Sapphire says, her cheeks dimpled with a perfect, killer smile that sends a shutter down your spine.

“He’ll be looking for her, we’ll have to beat him to it.”

“It’s too bad Funny Girl didn’t want to ‘ally’ with us.”

Titan punctuates his statement with that cackling laugh that has you pinching your eyes shut.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sapphire shrugs before twirling her spear in her hands, palms coated in the blood of her kills, “We’ll find her.”

“Dibs on making her scream,” Titan says with a sickening smile, those carnivorous canines ready to sink into fresh meat, his hands rubbing together in giddy anticipation.

You swallow at the threats, wide eyes darting around the display. Konig’s fingernails are digging into you, his forearm tensed and shaking.

“Fine, but I want a turn,” The boy from one says, “Brat could be taught more than one lesson.”

“Don’t worry,” Sapphire purrs, “We’ll have plenty of time for play. Got the rope?”

“Yup,” The girl from two says, giving the neat bundle of rope a gentle toss before catching it.

“Perfect. We’ll find her before sunrise. She’s got no supplies, she can’t leave that forest without coming straight to us. We’ll bring her back on a leash.”

The four laugh, Titan’s cackle dominating the nauseating chorus.

The careers were planning not only to make you yell for Konig - they were planning on holding you hostage as leverage against him. Judging by the way Konig is cutting off all the circulation in your hand, it would have worked, too.

Your heart is pounding against your chest as quick as a rabbit’s, a heavy weight in your core you can’t seem to untether yourself from.

Caesar looks to you once the footage has paused unfortunately on Titan’s laughing face, deadly canines displayed far and wide.

“How do you feel knowing the careers were targeting you from the very beginning?”

You give Caesar a look that suggests he just asked the world’s dumbest question.

“Not good?”

The crowd gives a hearty laugh at this, catching you off guard.

“Konig?” Caesar asks.

He nods slow, his jaw tensed and teeth clenched.

“Not good,” He mumbles through his grit.

“I bet,” Caesar says with lighthearted flare, trying to wave away the tension being projected from you both, “Moving on.”

When they cut back to you and Konig, you’re under your maple, buried into the fall forest, camouflaged in your sawed-off branches.

Caesar starts, pointing at the large screen, “I think we all were holding our breaths at this moment.”

On that first night - the rustling you heard and the large boot that flashed through the ginkgo petals in your camouflage - it was Konig. You two were mere feet away from each other and had no clue.

He would periodically hiss your name in a hushed voice, but you hadn’t been in earshot when he passed you.

You scratch behind your ear, looking to the floor.

Ashamed.

They go over the death that happened at the same time - the girl from seven, the girl who was smiling with the boy in her chariot - gutted by a career they stumbled upon in the forest while hunting you down.

There’s a dull ache that pangs in your chest, you can’t help but feel partially responsible. Maybe if you had died at the bloodbath like you should have, the careers wouldn’t have found her while hunting you down.

She probably would have died anyway.

You tell yourself this, but you’re having a hard time convincing the voice in your head.

Not only were the careers hunting you down, but Konig searched for you all night.

You look to him with sloped brows and a lopsided frown. He told you he looked for you ‘at the beginning,’ but you assumed he had called it quits early.

His lips pull to the side as he looks away from you, but he does give your hand a squeeze.

After a pause, you squeeze back. You hope it conveys your apology, for making it so difficult on him.

The screen splits in two, both you and Konig on screen as they show the first night’s faces of the fallen.

As the girl from ten had flashed in the sky, both of you had smiled, breathy relieved sighs into the night to know the other was still alive.

You and Konig share another squeeze, cheeks flood with warmth.

“I must know - what were you both feeling in this moment?” Caesar asks with a tilt of his head.

There’s another awkward pause, and Caesar prompts you to go first. Your free hand comes up to support your unsteady words.

“Well, I guess I was - I was just relieved he was still alive.”

You look at Konig with an unsure crease in your brow, and he nods.

“Now, I think some of us here in the Capitol may be a bit confused. It’s clear you two have cared about each other from the start. What stopped you from having an alliance?”

He stunned you on that one. Eyes wide and lips stammering, you trip ungracefully through your words.

“I, uh, well-“

You swallow, and Konig gives your wet hand another squeeze.

“I guess - it just would have been too hard. Just - I didn’t want to get any more attached to him than I already was, y’know? Because I knew -“

You clear your throat, looking down as the audience waits, hanging on to your every word.

Why didn’t you ally with him again?

You didn’t trust him. You didn’t want to rely on him. You didn’t want to make it to the end together, because what a heart wrenching ending that would have been.

Paranoid and stubborn and a bleeding heart.

It all seems so stupid in hindsight.

You lose your train of thought, and look to Caesar, pleading for his help.

“I think we understand, dear. Only one of you could leave, after all.”

Caesar gives a cheeky look to the audience, who laughs, because clearly, you proved them wrong.

You don’t laugh along, looking down to your lap instead. Your free hand is fidgeting to release a sudden spark of some negative feeling you can’t quite pinpoint. Your heart is heavy, and there’s a simmering heat rising in your core.

It’s rubbing you the wrong way, the way The Capitol is treating it like it’s all some big joke. As if you and Konig weren’t permanently altered by a horrific experience, as if you both making it out of the arena was a cheeky little loophole in a sports game, and not the result of you both committing suicide.

“Yes,” You snap, whipping your head up, “Very funny.”

You’re glaring at Caesar, a pointed stare paired with thick sarcasm.

“Very,” Konig adds, wearing those intimidating half-lidded eyes, his head tilted down as he glares at Caesar.

This throws both the crowd and Caesar off guard.

Caesar swallows, even stammering through the beginning of his sentence as he flits his gaze between you both until he slips back into his stage act and moves on.

As you rose the next morning of the games, Konig had finally succumbed to his exhaustion, having spent the entire night looking for you.

It was the boy from eight who set the snare. He set many, actually, most likely hoping to catch his district companion.

“Now, I don’t know if you remember,” Caesar starts, a loose hand pointing in your direction, “But during your interview, I asked you if you thought your wit would translate well in the arena - and I think in this next moment here we really see your wit shine.”

You’re just a blur on screen. Your voice is helpless and desperate, snatched by your ankles and sent launched in the air. The crowd draws a collective gasp, as if they haven’t already seen this one before.

When the theatre echoes with your desperate cry of Konig’s name, he lurches forward in his seat at once, priming himself to run to your rescue. As if you weren’t sitting next to him unharmed, as if you were in trouble at this very moment and needed his help.

He’s clutch on your hand turns crushing, his brows furrowed and lips parted while he watches you thrash while suspended upside down on screen.

You have to close your eyes. You hate watching yourself be bested, hate that everyone in Panem is watching you struggle.

When you open them again, you’ve stopped fighting the rope, you can see your gears turning as you struggle to think through your clear panic.

Konig’s on the edge of his seat, leaning forward, eyes glued to the screen. Not so much as blinking.

As soon as revelation projects on your features on screen, your fingers fumble for your belt.

“Breathe,” You whisper to Konig with a squeeze of his hand, and he lets go of his held breath with a shaky nod, but he can’t pull himself away from the screen.

You watch yourself fumble for your shoes, climb up your belt, and eventually free yourself with a crash to the ground.

Everyone in the room winces at impact, and Konig hand is giving yours a second-hand shake, his arms tight and trembling.

The screen pauses after you give your weak thumbs up, which the audience seems to enjoy, and Caesar starts.

“That was really something. I have to say, your determination is certainly admirable.”

The crowd gives a hearty round of applause, whistles and cheers filling the theatre.

It makes you raise a brow, that such a humiliating and stupid moment is worthy of such overwhelming praise. You don’t even have the sense to hide your confusion.

When the crowd finally lulls, Caesar looks to Konig, who has relaxed in his seat, his back flush to the couch once more. His brows are still pinched, and he’s gnawing on his bottom lip.

“How do you feel seeing her perform such a daring escape?”

Konig’s free hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, and there’s a tense pause.

“I’m not surprised,” His voice is low, almost pained, “But, äh-”

His body turns to yours, swelled blue eyes flitting around your face. He’s not talking to Caesar or the audience anymore, he’s talking to you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

You shake your head, “It’s okay- It wasn’t-“

Your words cut off with a squeak and you can’t seem to pick them back up, so you just throw yourself at him instead. He lets go of your hand to swallow you in an embrace, squeezing you tight.

Those big strong arms wrapped around you, his scent, the rise and fall of his chest against yours. You feel so safe, so protected here in his chest. You want to stay here forever.

Of course the crowd has to react. Eating up your romance like it’s just another one of their fancy dishes and not something you both had to kill and die to earn.

You wish the crowd wasn’t here. You wish your reunion wasn’t being broadcasted to all of Panem. You wish you could have an intimate moment with Konig in private for once.

He holds you tight for what must be minutes before Caesar ushers the show along. When you pull away, your sides are still flush together, as close as you can get without sitting in his lap, his arm slung over your shoulder so you can nuzzle into his side.

The feed resumes, starting with you lying on the ground, robbed of breath and paralyzed on the forest floor. When they show the boy from eight approaching, Konig’s hand stiffens on your shoulder. He can’t seem to sit still, shifting his feet and bouncing his leg as he watches the interaction unfold.

Willow.

That was her name, the name the boy from eight yelled into your face while you were paralyzed on the forest floor.

Willow.

What a pretty name, for a girl who had met such an ugly death.

While every one of Konig’s muscles are tight and tensed, yours seem to have turned to gelatin.

You’re trying to remember what she looked like, if you saw her in the training center, but you tried so hard not to look at the other tributes under both Price’s instruction and your instinctual fear. The only moments that come to mind are the interview and the opening ceremony. You remember her sounding scared during her interview, her voice - you can remember her shaking, terrified voice if you concentrate really hard, but you didn’t get a good look at her face during the interview. Maybe you did? You were too worried about your own interview. You try to remember what she looked like while they were on their chariot, even just what her hair looked like from the back, but all you can remember is their outfits. The colorful, busy outfits made entirely of weaved -

Ribbons.

Your free hand shoots to your wrist.

There’s a brief moment of panic, where you have to stifle the urge to pat yourself top to bottom to find your ribbon, before you remember you gave it to Konig.

Your eyes find his wrist, and there it is.

Your ribbon, tied into a bracelet. It’s knotted into a bow - you can tell he tried his best to make it neat, but it was clearly tied by someone working with only one brute hand and their teeth.

The sight of him wearing Willow’s bracelet, wearing your parting token to him, rips the tears from your waterline before you have the forethought to fight them. The droplets are replacing themselves before they can even breach your jaw, streaming down your cheeks, but otherwise your face remains emotionless. Maybe dumbfounded, but even that’s a stretch.

You don’t even feel bothered to hide them, you’re just staring blankly at your -

Willow’s -

His ribbon.

Your thoughts have ceased, you’re locked onto that scrap of fabric through your tear-blurred vision, the world falling on deaf ears.

A few moments pass, and Konig gives you a nudge to snap you out of it. He’s looking at you with sloped brows, a glint of worry in his eyes and his free hand reaching over his lap to hold your other shoulder.

“I’m okay, no- I’m okay,” You say as you wipe your tears. You’re saying it just to Konig, but all of Panem is present to hear it.

You’re both facing each other now, and while your words are truthful, he doesn’t seem to believe you, those worried eyes skipping around your tear-streaked face.

You use the inside of your wrist to wipe away your tears while Konig’s hands slide off your shoulders to your biceps, taking you in.

“I’m okay,” You say to him with a nod and a light tone, “Really.”

He gives you a shaky nod, a warm, clammy hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he says, his harsh voice spread so delicately.

Well, fuck.

Now you do feel horrible, because Konig thinks you’re crying over the memory of your interaction with the boy from eight, over a terrifying, vulnerable moment that he was not there to save you from - and not because Konig has kept what might actually be the most sentimental thing you’ve ever owned exactly where he said he would.

Safe.

Caesar gives a soft tilt of his head, and dawns a soothing tone, “It’s clear this brought up some feelings for you. Would you mind opening up to us?”

Yeah, Caesar, actually, you would mind.

Because you don’t want the audience to own every single little detail of your life, everything that holds significance to you. You don’t want them to know why you cry, and you don’t want them to know what makes you feel what you feel, and you definitely don’t want everyone to know you’re crying over a scrap of fucking textile that means the world to you. And it’s not like you can spin some lie about how you were just oh so terrified in that moment because it’s going to make the love of your life -

Oh, shit.

Konig is the love of your life.

What you wouldn’t give to untangle all of these new emotions and revelations in private, but no.

You’re owned now.

Your thoughts, your feelings, your love, your entire life is now property of The Capitol.

They cannot have your ribbon as well.

You straighten out your back in Konig’s hold, set your shoulders back, take a deep breath, and give Caesar a curt nod.

“I would.”

Polite but reserved.

“Ahh,” Caesar's eyes dart around awkwardly before he gives a scoff through a smile, “Okay, then.”

He tugs on his collar and pulls his lips back in a way that suggests he’s saying, ‘Yeesh,’ to the crowd.

Konig and you linger on each other, though. Speaking to him in stares, a language you two were fluent in. His brows are still creased in worry, his lip the slightest bit bunched.

You just give him a faint nod and a slow blink, to show him you’re sure you’re okay.

What you wouldn’t give to be along with him right now. To tell him how thankful you are he kept your token.

He still doesn’t fully believe you, but he takes your eyes for it, gnawing on his lower lip as he looks back to the screen.

They skipped most of your hobbling journey to the snow district, and before they cut back to you, they feature another death. The boy from ten, another career kill, the pack still combing the fall forest in search of you.

They show you getting gassed, your hysterical cackles echoing throughout the auditorium. Konig’s brows are tight, eyes darting around the screen as he watches you fumble through the forest while your muscles writhe and twist. You crash to the ground, paralyzed by the laughing gas. You weren’t out as long as you thought you were, just into the evening. They don’t show most of your fit, as it mostly consists of you seizing and cackling on the dirt while you hallucinate.

The feed switches back to Konig, who’s risen from slumber, and gets started for the day. He hasn’t done anything to survive. Hasn’t eaten, hasn’t drank, hasn’t fashioned tools.

He just looks for you.

Price caves around this point and sends him food and water.

When the camera leaves Konig, they cut to the careers. Your pulse doubles at the mere sight of them.

“You think she left Fall?” The boy from one asks the group as they step through the forest. Just three of them, the girl from two stayed behind to watch camp.

“There’s no way,” Sapphire says confidently, “She couldn’t have left without freezing or shriveling up. We’d have seen her if she left.”

“We’ve been looking for her for two days,” One says with a roll of his eyes, giving a tug to the straps of his backpack.

“Please,” Titan says with a sickening smile, rubbing his hands together, “The hunt is the best part.”

Titan laughs, not bothering to keep his voice down as they dredge through the forest.

You’d long since stopped laughing from the gas, but it’s at this point you spring up from the dirt, Konig’s name desperately shouted into the forest.

Konig jumps forward on the couch again, ready to run to your rescue, his hold on you bordering on constricting as he watches the careers close in on you while you smash through the forest. He lets out a heavy exhale through his nose when the careers leave you be and continue their hunt further into the forest.

“Close call,” Caesar says with a cheeky grin and a raise of his brows.

Both yours and Konig’s faces pinch, looking at Caesar in disgust. How he is making lighthearted jokes about the torture they put you both through is despicable.

They skip the rest of your uneventful evening, and it’s Konig’s turn to stir up some excitement for once.

The careers had fanned out deeper in the forest to cover more ground. They follow the boy from one as he stretches through the forest, calling for you.

He’s clearly fed up with the hunt, his shouts laced with frustration, as if that wouldn’t have driven you further away from him.

“C’mon, brat, I know you’re here! You can’t hide from us!”

One huffs.

“If you come out now, I might not drag out the torture as long, Nine!”

They cut to Konig, who perks up in the forest at the sound of One’s yelling.

Konig trails carefully over the petal-littered ground, light steps as he nears the calls, fists tight at his sides.

“Nine!” One grits, “The longer I have to wait, the worse it’ll be for you!”

Konig’s boots are silent as he sneaks up behind One, who flinches when Konig’s arm snakes around his neck from behind, folding him backwards until he has no choice but to follow Konig’s unyielding grip.

Your heart is in your throat, forcing deep breaths that threaten to get stuck in your lungs on each billow.

“When you say Nine-“

Konig gives him a shake, tucking him further in the crook of his bicep and forearm with a squeeze that interrupts One’s breath.

“Do you mean me? Or her?”

It’s spoken like he already knew the answer, growled and hissed. He’s wearing those eyes, the one’s you’ve only ever seen when he was beating Titan to death, darkened and devoid of feeling.

“Sapphire!” One chokes out, prying at Konig’s arm and thrashing side to side, but he’s clearly outmatched in strength.

When Sapphire shouts back, her voice is frantic as she closes in, ripping through the trees and tearing ginkgo petals from their branches.

“Who’s the dog now?” Konig grits into his ear.

He threads his fingers into One’s hair and with one harsh jerk, smashes his head against a tree trunk.

You flinch in Konig’s hold, shoulders tensing and eyes squeezing shut.

The speakers assault you with two more skull-bashing thunks before the sound of a limp body hits the ground.

Your breaths are heavy, there’s a weight on your chest that’s making it hard to pull air into your lungs. You can’t open your eyes, trying to rid the dizziness warping your vision by forcing thick, wheezing breaths through parted lips.

Sapphire’s scream is ear-piercing, and all you can see is her bloody eye socket, the the rip of her optic nerve.

When you open your eyes to rid the memory, Sapphire’s whipping her spear at Konig with a haunting cry. The spear would have struck straight through his middle if a tree wasn’t in the way, swallowing the tip in its trunk. He wears One’s backpack, running deeper into the forest.

Sapphire drops to her knees, tears already spilling down her cheeks. Her hands hover over One’s still chest, just as yours did when Konig was bleeding out before your eyes.

The sight makes your brows pinch, a bloodthirsty career acting so emotional, so uncharacteristically human. The ache in your throat is impossible to ignore when you try and swallow the feelings threatening to suffocate you.

Konig’s entirely still at your side, the arm slung over your shoulders motionless and heavy. He can’t look at you, face twisted and wide eyes fixated on his dress shoes. The fingertips of his free hand are rubbing together furiously.

Your stomach is churning, you feel like you’re about to throw up. Your indirect death toll is ticking higher with each of these godforsaken highlights.

Seven, Ten, One.

You’re not even sure how to feel about it, can’t even begin to dig into your feelings about Konig���s kills, because you’ve got your hands full digesting your own.

The feed pauses on Sapphire’s hysterical tears, which is unfortunate, because it’s impossible not to think of the tears that streamed down her face as she fought you, as she impaled herself on her own spear. It’s like you’re right back in that prison of a hedge maze.

There’s a nauseous, bubbling heat simmering just under your skin, your thoughts are swarming like insects. This dress is so hot and sweat is pooling in every nook of your body. Konig’s arm feels like it’s burning you, but you don’t dare pull away from him, because the thought of leaving his side, of putting even the tiniest bit of space between you two, makes you twice as sick to your stomach.

Your breaths are audible, saliva pooling in your mouth as you desperately fight to keep the contents of your stomach where they should be.

“Konig-” Caesar starts, but you don’t even let him. You’re not going to let him force Konig to relieve this memory, a memory that you can’t even swallow watching for the first time from a third person perspective.

“Hey, Caesar,” You blurt, eyes snapping open to find him with a snap of your head.

Caesar’s brow quirks and his head tilts, his ponytail bouncing behind him.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The audience erupts into laughter, and you head whips towards them. Your eyes dart around, brows knitted together, because that is certainly not the reaction you were expecting.

This place is so foreign to you. Here, what’s up is down and what’s down is up.

You feel like you’re being laughed at, left out of a joke, but the joke is one you made.

Konig gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze and a quick kiss on the side of your head.

“Well!” Caesar chimes, “Anything Plucky wants,”

Your face warps, your arms crossing over your chest.

That’s Price’s nickname for you when you’re being a pain in his ass.

No one else’s.

Certainly not someone who’s so wrapped around the Capitol’s finger he can’t see what these games do to you.

“Don’t call me that,” You mutter.

Caesar doesn’t even acknowledge this, forging on.

The game has entirely changed for Konig after his encounter with One. That backpack is chock-full of career grade supplies. Food, weapons, medicine. The entire arena is at his fingertips, and he’s officially unmatched in deadliness.

He’s digging through his new supplies when the anthem plays.

The screen splits again, and they show both you and Konig simultaneously sighing in relief when you realize the other is alive. Konig closes his eyes, muttering reassurances to himself.

You fall asleep shortly after.

And of course, they have to show you crying out Konig’s name in your sleep, pleading and terrified and desperate.

You can’t help but look away, finding your lap and wishing away the embarrassment flushing your skin. You don’t look at him, but you can feel every one of his muscles tensed at your side. He pulls you closer, the arm slung around you tightening.

Konig and your’s sleep schedule had been out of sync for the majority of the games. During the night, he scoured the fall forest in search of you, and during the day, he used One’s temperature suit to sleep in the desert.

In terms of strategy, sleeping in the brutal heat of the desert is a smart move on his part. He’s right, no one would be able to get to him without proper gear to withstand the searing sun. He cuts holes in an extra shirt he found in One’s pack to keep the sun and sand off him while he sleeps.

While undisturbed, his quality of sleep seems to measure up to yours. He doesn’t wake up as much as you did, but he tosses and turns in the sand, mumbling in his sleep, your name uttered to the hot desert air.

Once Konig’s face is sufficiently twisted and flushed from having all of Panem watch him have nightmares, you give him a squeeze, lulling your head on him, and ignore the audience’s cooing.

When they cut away, they don’t cut to you. They skip your uneventful day, spent eating squash under a tree and wandering back to the cornucopia, and instead feature some other tribute’s activities.

Early in the morning, Titan and Sapphire stumble upon the girl from four - the girl you saw at the bloodbath forcing Ten to stab herself.

Sapphire lets out a huff as she skewers the tip of her spear through Four’s heart before she even wakes.

You pinch your eyes shut, burying your face into Konig’s chest. She’s the one using the spear, but the sound of the blade slicing through flesh has Sapphire being skewered at your hand behind your eyelids.

Konig’s palm comes up to hold the side of your head, wide, soothing strokes over your hair.

“When I find that brat I’m going to-“

Sapphire’s too frustrated to even finish her sentence, cutting herself off to let out an unarticulated grunt as she rips her spear from Four.

“Easy, Blondie,” Titan says, “Just gotta be patient.”

“He killed him!” She objects, punctuating her statement by flicking Four’s entrails from the tip of her spear, splattering it on fallen ginkgo petals.

“These things happen,” Titan coos as he slings a bulging arm over Sapphire’s shoulders.

He leans in close, a sickening grin plastered on his face and his eyelashes fluttering in her direction. He takes on that low and sultry voice that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Just means you’re one tribute closer to the crown, Blondie.”

Titan throws his head back in a cackle, and Sapphire growls, giving him a firm shove to his ribs, sending him stumbling backwards in the dirt.

“Don’t be that way,” He tutts once steady on his feet, “It was going to happen eventually.”

Sapphire’s bloody spear head is at his throat at once, a bit of Four’s blood splattering on his face. Titan doesn’t seem to notice or care. He raises his palms in mock surrender, that arrogant smile spread thick.

“What?” He draws, cheeks dimpling with a tilt of his head, feigning innocence on his button-pushing.

“Don’t talk about him anymore,” She grits, eyes narrowed dangerously at him.

Titan scoffs, “You brought it up.”

Sapphire holds her ground for a few more seconds before she lowers her spear, and the two continue through the trees, Sapphire’s fist clenched at her side.

If you’re being honest, it’s kind of unfortunate that Sapphire and you were adversaries. If it weren’t for the circumstances - the strategy to hold you hostage and torture you as a means to get to Konig, her being a career and from an elite district, and of course, you ultimately being responsible for ending her life - you could see yourself being friends with her.

She’s not hard on the eyes, either.

“If we don’t find her soon, someone else is going to. It’s a miracle she even made it this far.”

“We’ll get her,” Titan assures her, a dangerous smile blooming on his face, “Funny Girl can’t run forever.”

“I’m more worried he’ll find her first,” She mumbles.

Titan scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“If she’s this good at running from us, I’m sure she’ll have no problem running from that himbo.”

“Until she doesn’t want to run from him anymore.”

“Oh, come on, do we even need the brat? She’s just,” Titan’s fingers rub together as he searches for the right word.

“Insurance,” Titan shrugs, “He’s outnumbered.”

“You didn’t see him,” Sapphire snaps, stopping in her tracks to whip her head at him.

A cruel smirk grows behind a lick of his lips, his eyes dawning a riling squint.

“Thought I wasn’t supposed to talk about it.”

“Alright,” Sapphire cuts, jamming her spear in his direction, “You’re switching with Sage.”

“Oh, Blondie, don’t be that way!” Titan says through a laugh, “We’re just having fun.”

“Well, now you can have fun watching the supplies.”

“Peh, they’re well hidden. None of ‘em could survive out there. We’ll do better with three, anyway.”

Sapphire is silent, but her displeasure is palpable.

“Alright, fine. But you’re coming too, Blondie. I think baby needs some sleep,” He narrows his eyes at her, “Cranky.”

“I will kill you.”

Titan scoffs, and the feed pauses on his face.

The audience chuckles at Sapphire’s threat, and Caesar smiles before starting up again, meeting your eyes.

“Any thoughts from you, my dear?”

You cross your arms under your chest and shake your head.

“Nope.”

“Konig?”

“Nope,” he grits, his jaw tight and teeth grinding.

Caesar just nods.

“Now, before we continue with the show, we have some interviews I’m very eager to share with you both, as well as some much needed context for our next thrilling highlight.”

Caesar looks to you both, “We spoke with some folks from District Eight - let’s go ahead and play that footage.”

NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER NAVIGATION

Dividers @saradika-graphics

Konig Photo Credit

[lovelybotblog]

— suguru geto x reader, college au, slight smut.

academic rival!geto who constantly gets a headache from the fact that you're not only a painfully know-it-all, but you're also a beloved campus sweatheart, and also a hotshot.

academic rival!geto whose eye twitch when he sees your name written on the book loan tracker in almost every book he has taken out from the library.

academic rival!geto who knows that if you two share a class, it will be a battle of who answers the most questions from the professors.

academic rival!geto who sits behind you so he doesn't see your face and yet every time he adjusts in his seat or he speaks up to ask a question, you turn around and stare at him with a piercing glare and furrowed eyebrows since the past one and a half year.

academic rival!geto with whom you often have obnoxious duels of intelligent and subtly offhand comments in front of the entire lecture hall.

academic rival!geto who rarely sees you without your groupies (friends of your sorority) surrounding you.

academic rival!geto who pretends not to notice the way your friends just happens to have something to do the moment a frat boy comes up to you ludicrously cocky, flexing his biceps with a cringy pick up line to ask for your socials.

nerd/academic rival!geto who knows you are way too smart to agree to the man’s offer, -wait, no way- why you’re laughing and slowly blinking and twisting your hair?!

academic rival!geto who doesn't care what you do but always stays long enough to eavesdrop when he hears someone mention your name.

academic rival!geto who gets dragged by his high school friend satoru to the party his fraternity is hosting.

academic rival!geto who is plopped on the living room couch of the fraternity, playing with the plastic cup of beer resting on his chest when his attention is stolen by the glorious way you make your entrance to the place, a shiny, golden aura around you.

academic rival!geto who tries not to look too much in your direction while you're talking to the monkey-man who asked for your number in the hallway a few days ago and wonders if your bar it that low.

academic rival!geto who gets nauseous from the way you dance close to the guy, his hands running along the sides of your body and his front hip stuck to your bum.

academic rival!geto who now can't take his eyes off your silhouette coiled around the boy's neck while you kiss him fervently, suddenly a tick in the back of his head begins to annoy him.

academic rival!geto who feels an immense heat grow and his soul leave his body when your gaze catches him staring at you.

academic rival!geto who throat’s go dry as you throw a mocking smirk his way with your chin resting on the frat boy's shoulders.

academic rival!geto with whom next monday of the party you get paired with to do the final presentation of the semester.

academic rival!geto who you invite to your sorority to do the work.

academic rival!geto whose calculator distant gloomy demeanor disappears when finds himself alone with you in your room and turns into a fidgety, easily blushed bag of flesh.

academic rival!geto who gets teased by you with double meaning sentences about the happenings in the party.

academic rival!geto who can’t get focused into the writing in his computer after he put on his reading glasses and your eyes got stick in him.

academic rival!geto who gives in to your bombardment of questions and explains that he doesn't wear his glasses in class because he doesn't like the way it makes his eyes smaller.

academic rival!geto who gets flushed when you steal his glasses and put them on you, asking him if you look nice, and he denies so you get closer to him and tell him to be honest, and he says yes just so you don’t get close again.

academic rival!geto who kinda starts liking his glasses when you smile pleased and put his glasses on him again, slightly brushing your soft fingers to his cheekbones and hair when you do it, telling him it looks good on him too.

academic rival!geto who after a couple of work sessions realizes how much stuff you have to put up with and carry because people think highly of your pretty, popular, intelligent self. Not forgetting how busy you must be for being the leader of your sorority and cheerleader for the university rugby team.

academic rival!geto who finally accepts his friends invitation to go to the rugby game where -oh surprise- you are cheering.

academic rival!geto who’s the one that catches your eye from the massive crowd while you are up in the air doing a torch motion.

academic rival!geto whose gaze constantly drifts from the field to the bench on the sides where you rest after you finish your set.

academic rival!geto who at the last meeting for the project invites you to his bedroom.

academic rival!geto who invites you to his bedroom to practice your presentation for the project.

academic rival!geto who tries not to think that you stood him up because of the rain when it was already more than forty minutes after the agreed time.

academic rival!geto who gets surprised by your soaking figure at his door.

academic rival!geto who lends you a t-shirt and sweatpants while he puts your clothes in the dryer.

academic rival!geto who feels like a creep when his eyes linger on your exposed collarbone because of how big his shirt suits you or the way your hips get exposed when you raise your arms to stretch.

academic rival!geto with whom you obviously succeed with the work and receive an exceptional grade.

academic rival!geto whom you invite to go get a coffee at the local cafe on campus to celebrate.

academic rival!geto who has you pinned into the cafe bathroom wall while making out with you.

academic rival!geto who finally went down and filled you with two of his fingers with his right hand while his left covered your mouth because you couldn't keep quiet.

academic rival!geto who you hear chuckle as your nails dug into his shoulders while his head is buried between your legs tasting you, hungry and messy.

academic rival!geto who you watch redo his bun after messing it up when you pulled him by his hair to bring him back into your mouth.

academic rival!geto who leaves the bathroom after you, smirking and strolling all-mighty as if he had just won a war when almost a month ago he was sat next to you on the verge of falling off the edge of the bed because his hands sweat if he got closer to you.