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tonycries · 5 months ago

Text

Girl, I Do This Often

Synopsis. How does he cope with a séx ban? He doesn’t.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, rough séx, unprotected, stuff with pantíes, gaggíng, bréeding, Nanami is a bit mean, overstím, finger suckíng, really desperate boys, light smackíng (Nanami), bondagé + víbrators (Geto), swearing.

Word count. 5.2k

A/N. Guess what, ya girl just turned 19 yippeeeee.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 4 days

On the first day, Toji’s more amused than anything.

A sex ban? With him? Ridiculous, he predicted a full 24 hours before you come crawling back, just begging to be split-apart on his cock. And he tells you so, too - a little over five times as he kisses your pouty lips, muttering a smug, “You’ll be eating your words soon enough, doll.”

By the third day, he’s beginning to think that okay, maybe you were serious about the ban after all. How cute - real cute.

He’s left to do nothing but complain pathetically on the phone to a very reluctant Shiu. Who doesn’t have much to say other than cut off Toji’s ramblings about “not having your pretty pussy all day” to groan, “Shut the fuck up and beg for her forgiveness. I’m hanging up.”

Toji can only scoff at the thought. Beg for forgiveness? Him? Toji Fushiguro never begs, he never-

That was until the fourth day.

With you - bent over the kitchen counter in his t-shirt - and nothing but his t-shirt.

“Please, pretty.” Toji drags his lips down your neck, just loving the way your traitorous hips are grinding back into his. “Said m’sorry, right? Don’t ya miss this?”

And you can only look behind your shoulder at the big arms around your waist, muscled thighs pressed up against yours. Angling your head just right to catch the way his hands snake down to your squirming hips to help you draw slow little circles against the rock-hard erection straining against his pants.

So close. So big.

Big enough that you’re almost thinking of throwing this sec ban out of the window altogether - almost.

But that little smirk of Toji’s is infuriating enough that you’re gasping out a breathless little, “I-I’m still mad at you, y’know? You never let me-” The words die in your throat as Toji pulls his pants down just enough for his aching cock to spring free. So angry and painfully hard, leaking hot precum all over your thighs.

“No no no- hah. Keep talking.” he grits out, breath hot against your ear. Hips pushing and pulling. “Please- keep talking.”

And fuck you didn’t know what was harder - trying to find your voice, or ripping your eyes away from Toji’s cock long enough that you could.

“B-because you-” you choke out, watching the way he takes his massive cock in his hands. Staring to pump so slow - so lazy - no rhythm or reason other than getting off so filthily to the sound of your voice. “You never let me take-” He wraps your smaller hands around his dick, so hot and heavy in your palms. “-charge.”

“F-fuck-” Toji lets out a low hiss, head thrown back as you thumb teasingly under his sensitive slit, trying to fuck something delicious out. “Yer killin’ me doll. Killing me.” Whether from your words or from the way you’re sliding him so lewdly between your puffy folds, you didn’t know.

And Toji didn’t either. Hell, he doesn’t even seem to be breathing as he shifts his toned hips so familiarly. Head filled with only you and your heavenly cunt and you.

“Toji-” you mewl. “Need you so bad.”

If he was any lesser man, Toji would’ve just bullied himself into your dripping cunt already, fucked you into the counter until there was nothing about any sex ban in your pretty lil’ mind. Instead, he’s panting out an absolutely wrecked, “Please. Then take all the charge you want, pretty.” Fat head lining up with your sloppy hole. “Next time.”

And oh has it really been that long?

Because Toji’s just barely pushing into your plushy walls, and he already feels like he could cum right then and there. The stretch too sinful. Your walls too tight. So cute how you’re already mumbling his name so deliriously.

“Awww,” he coos, watching awe-struck at the way you flatten your hands on the counter, fucking yourself back into him in short, shallow little grinds. “The s-sex ban was for ah- nothing, huh?”

You’re pulling him impossibly closer by the hair, catching his lips in such a searing kiss. Drinking in Toji’s guttural grunt as you bite down on his lower lip, “Are ya gonna sh-shut up n’ fuck me or do I need ngh- another sex ban?”

“No, ma’am.” he grins, kissing back so mockingly soft. And you know he’s making fun of you with the way he’s twitching so wildly inside your pussy. Veins dragging against all the right spots as he reels his hips back, back, back - only to slam his cock fully inside. “Guess you’re the one mm- in charge right now, huh?”

Over and over again. Fucking you exactly the way he’s wanted these past four days - and then some.

Hitting your cervix - but it feels like your fucking lungs. Heavy balls smacking against your ass, so hard that he’s sure it’ll leave some obscene marks for him to point out next time. One hand around your throat, the other keeping your slutty, trembling hips in place while you’re torn between running away and bucking back for more more more-

“Right here.”

It’s all you can do to whirl your head around, eyes glassy and unfocused, whining a broken, “Wh-what?”

“Right…” Trailing down, featherlight, right where he knew he was wrecking your insides. “Here. S’where I belong.” Pressing hard. “N’ m’gonna make sure you don’t forget it.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 1 week

A week. One week of being patient with your silly idea to “spice things up”. One week of pretending like he wasn’t excusing himself during important meetings to have his cock in his hands - thinking of nothing but you and that sinful little dress you had on today.

One week was all it took for Nanami to have a bad day at work. And you could tell when he did.

By the way that front door slammed, unfamiliarly harsh footsteps sounding against the hardwood floors. And all it takes is one look at you laid out so prettily on the couch and Nanami’s mouth drops into a soft oh!

One hand immediately loosening his tie, the other snaking down to his belt. Ashen, tense, - and you have half the mind to wonder whether he’s even breathing.

Not even looking at you as he mutters a low, “Panties off. Spread those legs.”

That was a few hours ago.

Before you knew it, your husband had you splayed out like such a slut for him on the couch - too starved to even think about making it to the bed. Legs on his sculpted shoulders, panties in tatters on the floor because you were taking too fucking long. Cock so angry and sensitive as he bullies into your snug cunt, stuffing you full of his cum.

Again. And again and again like he wanted to fuck any and every thought of that stupid sex ban out of your delirious mind.

“K-Kento- what-” he pulls you into a bruising kiss. Just a sloppy clash of teeth and spit and hands everywhere. “You’re ngh- different.”

At this, Nanami has the audacity to laugh - laugh. Hips snapping impossibly deeper, “Yeah? N’ who’s fault is hah- that? Who’s fault is it th-that we ended hngh- up like-” Pushing your knees all the way up to your tits, groaning at the mess of cum and slick pooling beneath you. “-this?”

Cock just ramming into you, prominent veins nudging against your gummy walls so agonizingly. The couch creaking in protest as he uses your pretty lil’ cunt exactly the way he’s been fantasizing this past week.

And when all you can do is let out delirious little moans in response, Nanami raises his hand up, up, up. Coming down on your ass, hard.

Smack!

“Didn’t you know we’d end up here?”

Oh the words hit you harder than that large palm-print stinging your ass. Tight pussy clenching and trying to milk the fucking soul out of him as you sob, “I- I didn’t-” Smack! You’re jolting at the impact, hips bucking wildly as you gasp, “-I did! Wanted this so bad, Kento. I did I did-”

And yeah, Nanami knew that. He knew you’d pulled this little “sex ban” stunt to make him break - to have him fuck you like the slut you are. But hearing the words from your pretty mouth had his balls squeezing so painfully.

“Knew it.” he manages to grit out. “Knew you were such a slut, my love.” Words strained with each harsh thrust, “N’ as my slut, y-you can ngh- take one more, right?” You keen at how soft his tone was, like he was whispering sweet little nothings to you instead of promises to absolutely break you. Fingers trailing down to draw lewd patterns on your throbbing clit, “Right?”

And as if to prove you could, he’s squeezing his swollen cock harder into your plushy walls. Faster. Unforgiving. Fat, leaking tip hitting all those sweet spots he’s mapped out, in time with his abuse on your clit.

“Didn’t hah- have to lock myself in my office for nothing, right?” Pulling your trembling hips flush against his toned ones, “Have to get by with j-just a pretty picture this week for nothing?” Hips out of control now. Bruising. Almost painful with the stretch and the sheer pressure of being so full. “S’all for this, right?”

Smack!

“Oh God, Kento- Fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

“Yeah? Feels good?” he nips at your lower lip, “Good enough to fuck- take another one?”

You were sure if he came once more then it might just be the death of you.

You’re not even lucid enough to realize what reaction you’re giving him - all you know is that it isn’t good enough for Nanami.

Because he lets out a tut, hand dancing across your stomach to where he knew he was absolutely making a mess of you inside.

“Fine.” And something about the way he says it makes your heart stop, already knowing that it didn’t bode well for you or your poor cunt. “Guess I hafta ngh- help you.” Sure enough, Nanami wastes no time before pushing down on your abdomen.

The both of you watch - awe-struck and speechless - as your overfilled pussy gushes all around him.

And shit neither of you can even begin to think of what a bitch it’ll be to clean out this couch later on. Too caught up in the way you’re soaking Nanami’s merciless cock in that sinful mix of cum and slick. Thick, and hot, drooling down the side of your puffy folds.

“See? Enough space, no?”

You raise your eyes, teary and hazy with lust, up to meet Nanami’s darkened ones and oh-

You weren’t going to make it out alive.

Especially not when he leans down, whispering so raggedly in your ear, “Now I get to give ya another week’s worth more, right?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 9 days

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt-

You didn’t know how it ended up this way. How that stupid bet about who’d be the needier one made Geto the one with the sex ban.

How he had you tied across from him so prettily on the bed, a bullet vibrator stuffed up your dripping cunt, unable to do anything but whine and watch as he spreads his bare, muscled thighs.

Tip flushed your favorite shade of pink, matching those panties wrapped around his throbbing cock. So angry and leaking all over his fist as one hand slides up, up, up. The other, fiddling with that tiny metal remote.

“You’re drooling, gorgeous. So desperate, huh?”

You know you aren’t - but you can’t help the way your face burns at your boyfriend’s low chuckle. Thighs squeezing together at the heavenly sight before you. “N-no fair, Sugu.” you whine. “I want to-”

Intensity setting 2.

But whatever words get stuck in your throat as Geto draws harsh, quick little circles on the intensity setting, smirking at the way you’re so wrecked already.

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt-

“I-I want to-” he mocks your pathetic little whines, acting for all the life of him that they didn’t make his dick twitch so wildly in his hands. “My poor baby. S’not nice, right?” And if you were embarrassed before then it was absolutely nothing in comparison to when Geto knits his brows in mock concern, eyes locked on yours. Hand still moving down his cock, “But isn’t this what you wanted? With the sex ban? Isn’t this-” Hips bucking up to show off how sloppily he’s fucking his fist - and your panties along with it, “-what you were asking for?”

“No.” you’re tugging at the ties at your wrist, “I wanted…”

Intensity setting 3.

But oh it’s like Geto was well and fully intent on leaving you speechless - and succeeding at it too.

Because he immediately brings up your panties - flimsy and just so soaked - up to his face, breathing in so filthily. And as if he couldn’t help himself - as if he didn’t want to help himself - the remote falls out of Geto’s hand, “accidentally” locked on the highest setting, first wrapping around his cock to make a mess of himself.

“F-fuck-” he cracks one eye open, balls squeezing so painfully at the way you were almost in tears trying to get some semblance of friction. “Heh, looks like I’m winning the bet.”

You scoff, but it comes out so pathetically like a whine. “You’re a cheater, I’d have w-won this bet otherwise.”

Ah, how Geto loved your smart mouth - though, he probably loved it even more when you’re fucked dumb. But, right now, bet at the forefront of his mind, the next best thing he could do is shove those sinful panties into your mouth.

Hand flying up and down his cock faster and faster as you choke like such a slut on it. Greedily eyeing the way your lip wobbles, big fat tears welling up in your eyes, cunt all glistening and quivering as Geto blindly reaches behind to grab ahold of that remote again.

Intensity setting 4.

“And you’re too cute.” he drops his head, breath ghosting your lips. “So if you ask me nicely I might just-” Thumb playing around with the intensity, pressing down, hard. As if it would translate to your needy cunt, “-give you my cock, gorgeous.”

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt-

It’s all you can do to keen as his fingers get faster on the remote, other hand getting so sloppy on his painfully hard cock. Matching that sinful little ah! ah! ah! leaving your swollen lips. Sinful - and stubborn, still refusing to say those words that you knew Geto wanted to hear so badly.

“Awww, still not giving up?” At your delirious little headshake, “Then how about this?”

Intensity setting 5.

And shit it makes you arch off the bed entirely. It makes you let out a strangled yelp of, “Oh- fuck. Fuck fuck fuck Sugu, m’gonna-” It makes you cum.

“Tha’s it.” Geto can’t help but let go of his aching cock to draw rough, messy little circles on your clit. Grinning at the way you’re so pretty when you cum untouched - all for him. Over and over and- He reaches over to catch your lips with his, tongue dancing with yours, around your soaked panties.

So filthy and dizzying that he almost forgets about that bet - almost. Because you’re murmuring something so incoherent into his lips.

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt-

God, doesn’t matter who wins next time - he needs to fucking do this again.

“What’s that?” he leans in tauntingly, pulling the fabric out of your mouth, finger still running circles around the intensity. Absolutely addicted to the way you’re twitching and whining at the aftershocks of your orgasm, “M’sorry, gorgeous, this vibrator is too loud. Speak up f’me, hm?”

“P-please fuck me, Sugu.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 21 hours

If Choso had it his way, then you’d both still be at home and he’d be balls-deep inside your sloppy pussy - fucking you over and over into the mattress until the neighbours file another noise complaint.

But, alas, Jin Itadori was sure to hire a hitman - or worse, Sukuna - on him if he missed another family dinner. Which is how it ended up with you, sat so prettily across the table from him, watching through his long lashes at the way that red dress hugged you so sinfully.

So right, in a way that made Choso almost jealous. So irresistibly, in a way that had Sukuna looking over a few too many times and-

Choso’s chair almost hits the floor with how fast he stands.

Fuck it.

“Sh-shit, Choso I-”

“Keep ah- that dress up, baby. Unless ya wanna get it d-dirty.” he’s panting into your open mouth, tongue so hotly toying with yours as he gives you another harsh thrust. “Though, I don’t ngh- mind.”

And he was telling the truth, too. Choso was in no way gentle with the way he had you sat on the bathroom counter, flimsy dress bunched up at your hips. Strong arms spreading your legs so shamefully while he bullied his cock into you with reckless abandon.

Over and over and-

“Cho!” you yelp, as he hits that one spot so expertly. Flashing you a fucked-out grin as how you’re scrambling to cover your mouth. “Th-they’ll hear.”

“So?”

And it’s all you can do to stop your jaw from falling slack once more - both in disbelief and at the way he’s fucking you so mean. So desperately like he hasn’t in months - years, even. Just unfocused, sloppy movements to milk his cock on your snug cunt.

“I don’t mind hah- that either.” Hand dipping underneath your soaked panties - just lazily pulled to the side - to roll your swollen clit between two fingers. “W-what I do mind is my oh- fuck girl holdin’ out on me and wearing that fucking dress on the s-same day.”

Oh you knew you were pushing the limits of your sex ban by wearing his favorite dress, that it would drive him absolutely wild. You just didn’t know it would be this easy.

“But you promised.” you’re letting out such broken little whines, muffled through your fingers, ones that go straight to Choso’s achingly hard cock. “You hngh- promised we wouldn’t at your family’s…”

The only response you get is Choso rolling his hips deeper into yours, so bruising in a way you knew would make you feel so guilty even when all the marks are covered up. Leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck in time with the way he alternates between hitting your poor, abused cervix and that one spot.

Gasping out a ragged, “I know- I know I know fuck- Hah- I know.” Words strained - like he was losing a bit of his sanity with each thrust. And needed you to be the same. “But shit, baby. Do you know how p-pretty you look right now? Hngh- how fuckable?”

“Y-you’re so fuckin’ dirty.” you mewl, as if you were any better. As if your gummy walls weren’t sucking the fuckin soul out of Choso right now. “Should’ve made the ngh- sex ban even long-”

He bites down at the soft crook of your neck, growling out a little, “Don’t even joke about that.”

And if Choso expected a response, then he didn’t act that way.

Hips just erratic against yours, fingers even worse. Not even moving in circles anymore, just messy, sloppy patterns to-

No.

You gasp at the realization, the deft movements of Choso’s fingers, and it just makes you all the more fucked-out underneath him. Scrambling to grab at the counter - Choso’s hair - his shoulders - just anything and everything to stop yourself from alerting the entire household to what you two were up to. Letting him fuck you like his favorite sextoy, fingers so so messy and spelling out a relentless little C-H-O-S-O-C-H-O-S-

And then you’re cumming and cumming so hard that it almost hurts. Stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your eyes. Choso’s massive cock fucking any and every thought of the dinner just downstairs out of your mind.

“F-fuck fuck fuck- ngh- we’re never coming back here for dinner again.”

And it’s all you can do to drag your nails down his broad back, leaving deep red marks that make his balls squeeze so painfully.

It makes him throw his head back, gasping out your name so loud. It makes him pull your hips so bruisingly against his.

It makes him cum, spilling thick, hot ropes of cum into your pussy. So messy with the way it’s too much to bear, dribbling down your swollen folds, forming a lewd little pool below you. And Choso doesn’t give a fuck - doesn’t care if he leaves marks that everyone will see. Or if that slutty dress of yours has a suspicious little damp patch as he swiftly pulls out to snap your panties back in place.

Whispering lowly against your lips, “K-keep it in till we leave, hm?”

“Cho-”

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“The fuck? You brats fall in or something?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 2 days

The great Ryomen Sukuna has always been terrifying - but never before has he been this ruthless. So utterly savage. Destroying every single curse he comes across in the blink of an eye - friend or foe, big or small.

Why? All because he hasn’t been able to fuck your pretty lil’ cunt in two days. Which, in his opinion, are two days too long. All because of some stupid little experiment about wanting to see how long it would take to see the king of curses crack.

And when those trembling curses heard about this ah- sex ban through the grapevine, well, they wrote it off as another baseless rumor. Ha, Ryomen Sukuna cracking? Never.

“Please…brat.” he bites down on your earlobe, further pushing up your expensive robes - ones he’d bought just to get on your good side - to sink his cock deeper inside your heavenly cunt. “There I said it. Now jus’ a bit more-”

And maybe you’re a mastermind - maybe you’re an idiot. Because you’re digging your heels into the mattress, pushing off ever-so-slightly from his aching hard cock. So thick and angry as it slips out of your sloppy hole.

You bat your lashes so deceivingly innocently up at a pissed off Sukuna, “I didn’t like your tone.” Crossing your legs to cover that view he was so fixated on, “Either you beg n’ start all over again or-”

“Fine.” he grits out the word, like it physically hurt to. Though, nothing for what falls from his lips next, “Please.”

“Louder.”

“Please.”

There you had it. And you can’t help but smirk, “Well, I liked that one-”

Nothing more is said - in Sukuna’s eyes, nothing more has to be said. Because he’s got his favorite lil’ human all needy and spread so shamefully in front of him, what more could he want? Sukuna grabs your ankles, pulling you to him like a ragdoll. Wasting no time before he’s splitting you apart on his rock-hard cock.

“Ya don’t hah- know how many curses I killed these past two days.” he kisses your ankles so softly. “How many I wanted to kill.”

And God, if you didn’t know any better you’d say it’s like he wanted to kill you with the way Sukuna barely even gives you time to adjust. Stuffing you full of his cock, so hot and thumping against your gummy walls in a maddening little bump! bump! bump!

Letting out a strangled moan of, “There you go.” Brows scrunching together, looking wrecked already as he rocks his hips into yours - fast. Hard. hands coming up underneath your ass to arch you deeper into him, “Squeezin’ me so- tight. Heh, almost ”

“Oh hngh- ‘Kuna!” you moan, eyes snapping down to the way your cunt was taking him up so good. Puffy folds bulging around his massive cock, looking like they were sucking the fucking soul out of Sukuna as his massive cock disappears in and out in and out in and- “S’too- much-”

“Shut up.” he drops his head, one hand so bruising all over your body - groping your ass, your tits, playing with your throbbing clit. “Ya wanted hah- me to talk, right? And I say-” The other, squeezing your cheeks together into a pathetic lil’ pout, “Open up.”

It’s so embarrassing the way you can’t do anything but let your mouth fall open so sluttily, tongue lolling out just in time to catch the stream of saliva as Sukuna spits once. Twice.

So filthy with the way he lets it splatter against the corner of your mouth - on purpose.

“Wanted the king to beg, huh?” Each word is punctuated by such a harsh thrust, twitching balls stinging against your ass. “Well you got it. H-how does it feel, huh?”

And you couldn’t speak up even if you wanted to. Sukuna’s hand too tight around your face, cock too merciless. Slamming his hips down faster and faster as he runs his mouth, like he was taking revenge for the last two days. Again. And again. And again and again-

Grinning at your delirious little gurgles, “Heh, what? Can’t talk?”

And as if to prove his point, Sukuna loops two big arms around your waist, falling back on his knees with you sat like such a slut on his cock. Fingers lacing above your head to sink you impossibly deeper and deeper-

“Oh my god- K-” Your breath hitches as he fucks up into you so easily. Feeling more and more like some plaything with each ripple of his muscles underneath your legs. So hard you were sure it would leave marks - both confirming and condemning those rumors you knew have been flying around. His balls on your ass, thighs underneath yours, nails dragging lightly down your skin.

Resting on your waist, holding your quivering hips still as he grunts, “Now shut up. M’gonna get my fill of the last two days.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - 4 hours

To the great Gojo Satoru, this droning, 4-hour meeting with the elders was a nightmare. To you, it was exactly where you wanted him

It wasn’t often that the strongest was tense - jittery, even, like he was about to jump out of his seat at any given moment. But, really, it was almost impossible not to, considering that stern talking-to you’d given him about “no sneaking out during meetings.” Especially when you’re sat across from him looking so beautifully unbothered.

Your smile too pretty, your uniform unbuttoned just enough that it gave him such a heavenly view when you bent over just so.

Oh, how Gojo wishes he could just-

And that was when he felt it.

That slow, slight touch up his inner thigh - so fleeting and light that he almost thinks he’s imagining it. But, no, Gojo could never mistake any touch from you.

It sends his entire skin burning to catch your eye ever-so-briefly from across the table. A tiny smirk gracing those pretty lips as your heel inches up, up, up-

“Gojo, do you have anything to comment on the recent increase in curse sightings?”

He stifles a groan underneath one palm, the other snaking under the table just in time to catch your ankle before you can carefully slip away. “I think…” he manages to grit out, heady gaze flitting over to yours, “-that is a question my lovely wife and I must discuss first.”

Oh?

And then, your back is hitting a plush mattress before you know it - long before the realization hits you that this bastard just fucking teleported the two of you to your bedroom.

“T-Toru-” you sputter out, whatever reprimand getting stuck in your throat at how desperate Gojo was acting. Your uniform buttons hitting the floor as he rips open your shirt, hands bunching up your skirt, only having enough patience to just pull aside your soaked panties, rolling your pretty clit between two fingers. Needy. “The meeting-”

“The meeting isn’t here now, right?”

Words so hoarse it takes you a moment to recognize it as your husband’s. You were only beginning to wonder just what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into when Gojo tugs down his pants just enough that his rock-hard cock springs free.

And oh then it makes sense. Because Gojo was so hard that it looked painful - so so red, and angry. Soaked in enough precum that it made a damp little patch on his trousers, heavy balls twitching at the mere sound of your voice.

“D-didn’t I say no sneaking out this time, Toru?” You buck into his touch, despite your words, eyes locked on the way Gojo stops toying with your clit to pool your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips.

“You did.” Raising his long, glossy fingers to those pretty pink lips, “But this is teleporting, not sneaking out, sweetheart.”

Gojo’s like a man possessed as he pops your slick-covered fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the sinful taste.

Gasping out a wet, “Fuck the ban. Can’t go without ya. Can’t-” One hand sliding his fat tip between your swollen folds, up and down up and down - spreading them apart, just barely dipping into your sloppy entrance. “-can’t live without this pretty cunt.”

And then it’s like something snaps - Gojo’s patience, his sanity, the last of his restraint as he sinks his throbbing cock into your plushy walls.

Pushing past that first, tight ring of muscle, and at the first feeling of your gummy walls milking his cock, he pants out a strained, “Fuck- oh fuck fuck fuck, yer the stuff of dreams, my girl. This cunt- ngh-” Pushing your legs further apart, fingers back on your clit “-would’ve fucked this cunt right in ah- front of those old toads. But, you’re lucky I’m a jealous man.”

“Oh- oh my god, s’too- too- big!”

God, you needed to spread your legs more - as if they weren’t being folded apart so easily by a delirious Gojo - maybe breathe, try to relax because Gojo was so big. And so unforgiving.

Feeling like he was pushing all the way into your lungs as he thrusts in quick, shallow little thrusts to bully himself inside your snug cunt. Jagged - like he was fighting with some absolutely, depraved, feral part of himself.

You can feel the way your hips are torn between pushing away and grinding back down for more more more- And Gojo can, too.

“No-” he hisses. Brows scrunching in frustration, hips becoming more and more sloppy - frenzied. “No no no no no- hold on, sweetheart. Need this, need this so bad.”

Going faster.

Deeper.

You sob, ankles locking around his slutty waist. “B-but Toru-” You make a feeble last attempt at regaining your sanity. Your entire body jolting as Gojo presses so hard on your clit. “-we should ngh- hurry up. W-we’ll be late to the meeting-”

But does it really matter? Gojo doesn’t think so, not when he finally bottoms out in one, rough thrust. Groaning as his sensitive balls smack your ass.

Your cunt so slutty and tight - sucking him up so good despite your cute lil’ pleas about something stupid like “responsibilities”.

So he really can’t help the way he wastes no time before reeling his hips back - all the way till his weeping tip is just kissing your sloppy hole. Before fucking into you completely - rough. Unrestrained. The same way he imagined taking you on that meeting room table. Over and over and-

“Not yet.” he grins against your lips, “We’re not done discussing the recent increase in curse sightings.”

A/N. Gojo’s came out toooo long I don’t even like this man fr (loud incorrect buzzer).

Plagiarism not authorized.

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hauntingblue · 10 months ago

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Franky wiping señor pink's tears so they don't see it... so manly so honorable

#TIENDA ❤️ DEL ❤️ BEBÉ #when he met russian and when he lost her it was raining.... the drama #franky down but victorious.... hell yes #am i mad that the only story where a woman fights ends up.being about how she doesnt need to fight? yeah #does it make sense? yeah #episode 716 #trueno bastardo lmao #omg ROBIIIIIN #what a woman.... queen of everything #episode 717 #robin protecting rebecca so she can meet her father is so full circle for her actually...... this is big....#sai saved baby 5 (again) omg #zoro trying to make plans ajfhakje #that comment i found about zoro eating and intelligence fruit would be too much power for him #come on zoro you can do it!!! think!!!!#spikey catapult time i guess.....#talking tag #watching one piece #episode 718

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mrsstarkey1 · 13 days ago

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getting rafe hooked on dress to impress

my fav thing i’ve ever written i can’t even lie

word count: 1.2k

obx masterlist

you yawned loudly and abnoxiously as you walked into rafe’s bedroom. you kicked your shoes off, grabbing one of rafe’s t-shirts from his drawer, changing out of your uncomfortable clothes. “didn’t think you were coming back, it’s late as fuck.” rafe said, looking at you oddly as he sat up on the bed against the headboard.

“longest fucking day of my life. need to unwind.”

rafe smirked, reaching his whole body over the bed to grab your forearm. "like the sound of that," he mumbles.

you let yourself move toward him, but you groan, “not like that.” rafe momentarily pouts, but doesn’t let go of your arm. in fact, he pulls you closer onto the bed with him urging you to cuddle up into him.

he snakes his arm around you, soft fingers tracing circles into your side. "wanna talk about it?"

you yawn and shake your head, "nah, can we just watch a movie or something?"

rafe nods, grabbing the TV remote from the nightstand. "you don't wanna watch some chick-flick do you?" he asks, grimacing already.

you sigh dramatically, “i guess not. fast and furious?”

rafe obligies, satisfied with your suggestion. you get comfortable on the bed, your head rested on rafe's shoulder and your phone rested on his chest as you scroll through tiktok.

about 20 minutes later, you see a video about the new halloween update on dress to impress and gasp before you can stop yourself. rafe jumps slightly, eyes wide. “jesus christ, what’s wrong?”

"sorry, nothing," you grin apologetically, "can I borrow your laptop though?"

he looks at you like you've lost your mind, but he still grabs his macbook from the nightstand, handing it over to you. you sit up excitedly, leaning up against the headboard.

you open the laptop and sign into your roblox account, side eyeing rafe as he gives you an odd look. "the fuck are you doing?"

"playing a game," you respond innocently.

he raises his eyebrows, "roblox? wheezie used to play that shit.. when she was 8," he says, judging you hardcore.

you glare at him, "you don't understand," you sigh. "just watch me play, it's genuinely fun."

he watches you click on dress to impress, making a disgusted face. "yeah I can't defend you on this one," he says and you shove his shoulder.

"well have you ever played dress to impress?" you ask him.

"obviously not," he says, his sassy side on full display.

"well don't judge then. just watch and i'll let you play a round when i'm done," you say with a smile, patting his cheek softly.

"hell nah," he says, directing his attention back to the movie.

you shake your head, giving up on getting him to play. you start a round, looking around at all the new pieces they added. the theme is holiday for your first round, so of course you do halloween.

you notice rafe's eyes on the computer screen as his curiosity clearly starts to creep back in despite himself. he watches as you piece together combination of a witch hat, spiderweb dress, and dark boots.

“what even is this shit?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly intrigued.

you grin, not taking your eyes off the screen since you only have a minute left. “you compete with other people to make the best outfit based on a theme. you'd be pretty good at it, you've got great style," you say, trying to persuade him.

he gives you a look, shaking his head, "sounds dumb as fuck," he says, and you just laugh. he's silent for a moment before turning slightly to have a better view of the screen, "so what you just like... dress them up and shit?"

you nod, watching the time run out. "yes, then everyone votes on each outfit and the top 3 get on the podium. see," you point to the screen, "the voting's starting now."

an outfit that's completely off theme struts down the runway and you grimace, "see like that one's ugly as fuck so i give it a 1. oooh look, this ones mine," you say with a proud smile. "doesn't she look great?"

rafe shrugs, "i guess."

you ended up getting third place, losing to two terrible outfits. you curse under your breath, before turning to him. “you wanna try a round?” you smile, looking up at him.

rafe scoffs, glancing back at the movie, but curiosity gets the better of him. “alright, fine, hand it over.” he takes the laptop.

"okay the theme is beach day," you tell him.

he hums in response, looking around at the clothes aimlessly. "rafe, you gotta pick something that actually matches,” you say, stifling a laugh as he pairs a yellow bikini top with neon green shorts.

"shh, I have a vision," he says, dismissing your words. "wait why the fuck doesn't she have a face?"

"you gotta go to the makeup and hair room, over there," you point at the screen.

he scrolls through the makeup options, finally decided on one. "mhm, she bad ain't she?" you chuckle, knowing rafe is secretly loving this.

time runs out just as he adds the coconut drink, and you see him watching the screen eagerly, waiting for the voting to end. one girl dressed in long pants and a jacket walks out and he looks over at you, disgusted, "this bitch didn't even look at the theme." all you can do is laugh and nod your head in agreement.

when rafe places second, he smirks, looking way too pleased with himself. "ha," he says, "i did better than you."

you roll your eyes. "yeah you're done playing," you say, snatching the laptop back.

the next night, you texted rafe that you were gonna come over after your morning shift and you didn't get a response, which was odd. you let yourself into his house with the key he'd given you. "rafe?" you called out, walking into the living room. "you here?" no response.

you furrowed your eyebrows, walking up the stairs. maybe he was just in his room, you thought, taking a nap or something. you creak open his bedroom door, met with the scene of him sitting on his bed, looking intently at his laptop.

his eyes shoot up to look at you and he slams his laptop closed, guilty look in his eye. you raise your eyebrows, "what were you doing?" you question him, walking toward the bed.

he rubs the back of his neck with his hand, shaking his head. "nothin.'"

your eyes narrow, "were you watching porn?" you joke, sitting down next to him.

he sighs, "worse.." he trails off. he mentally debates for a minute, before pulling his laptop back into his lap, opening it slowly to reveal dress to impress on full display.

your hand shoots to cover your mouth, laugh escaping your lips anyway. all he does is glare at you, "this is your fucking fault."

you lean into him with a laugh, "I know I know, sorry. don't be embarrassed, rafe." you press a kiss to his lips.

as you kiss him, you can’t help but laugh again, glancing at his screen. "okay wait that's actually a cute outfit. you're getting good," you nudge him, "fashionista," you add quietly with a chuckle.

he looks at you straight-faced, "I'm only playing this dumbass game because you dragged me into it. i was just bored so,” he gestures to the screen.

“sure, rafe, whatever you say,” you tease, cuddling up beside him. "feel free to keep playing, don't stop at my expense."

he scoffs, but gives in and restarts the game.

you wrap your arm around his middle and watch as he puts together outfit after outfit, the grin rarely leaving your face.

you just love your little fashionista.

----

requests are OPEN 💌

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sushiyuzu · 27 days ago

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cute yapper

warning: fluff + comfort — soft!sylus admiring you while you yap. like, a lot 🗣🤍

a/n: tysm for the cute request, dear anon! i apologize if it’s short for you but i hope you like it as much as i do <3

anon’s request / link: click here

you’re talking, and, well, it’s a lot.

words just keep coming out, one after another, and you can’t help it. you’re talking about everything—how your day went, a cute cat you saw on the way here, some new recipe you want to try, or that funny story from when you were little. it all feels so exciting to you, like you just have to tell someone.

and, of course, that someone is sylus.

he’s sitting there with his usual calm, cool look, his red eyes watching you. he doesn’t say much, just a soft nod here and there, maybe a small smile if you’re lucky.

it’s hard to tell sometimes if he’s really listening or if he’s just being polite. he’s so quiet, and it makes you wonder if you’re being too much, if he’s just letting you talk because he doesn’t want to be rude.

you pause for a moment, glancing at him. he’s looking at you, but his face doesn’t give much away. that only makes you more nervous. “...and, well, maybe i’m just boring you,” you mumble, voice getting softer as you look down at your hands. “sorry, i guess i’ve just been talking too much...”

you stop talking completely, a little embarrassed now. your fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt, and the silence between you feels heavy, like maybe he’s relieved you finally stopped.

then, after a moment, he moves closer, and you can feel his warmth next to you. his voice is low, soft, and it catches you off guard. “why did you stop?”

you look up, eyes wide, surprised by the question. “oh... um, i just thought maybe you weren’t really listening. i didn’t want to bother you.”

he lets out a small chuckle, like he finds something you said a little funny but in a nice way. “i was listening,” he says, his tone serious but also gentle. “i was listening to every word.”

you can’t help but blink in surprise. “really? but... i thought...”

he reaches over, his fingers brushing a strand of hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. his touch is soft, and you can feel a warmth spreading across your cheeks. “yes, really,” he murmurs. “i think it’s cute. you’re just so... so pretty when you talk. your face lights up, and your eyes sparkle. i could listen to you talk all day.”

he says it so calmly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, but his gaze is warm and deep, like he means every word. you feel your heart start to race, a mix of joy and shyness making you fidget in your seat.

“so... you really don’t mind? you actually like it?” you ask, just to be sure, your voice coming out a little softer than before.

he nods, and his hand moves to rest on yours, his thumb gently tracing small circles on the back of your hand. “of course i like it. i love it, actually. you’re so full of life when you talk about the things you care about. it’s... beautiful.”

oh, the man that you are.

his words make your cheeks feel even warmer, and you feel a shy smile tugging at your lips. you take a deep breath, feeling a rush of happiness that’s hard to put into words. “thank you, sylus,” you whisper, your heart feeling full.

and then, before you know it, you’re talking again. your words are coming out even faster, even happier than before. you tell him all the little details, even the silliest ones that you used to hold back. it’s like a flood of everything you’ve wanted to share, and for the first time, you don’t worry about holding back.

sylus just watches you, his eyes soft and his expression calm, but there’s a gentle smile on his lips, and he’s nodding along, letting you know he’s right there with you. every now and then, he’ll lean closer, his hand still warm on yours, or he’ll give a soft chuckle when you say something funny. it’s like he’s completely focused on you, and only you.

then, as you keep talking, he leans forward even more, so close that you can feel his breath on your shoulder. before you can even process it, he presses a gentle peck there, playful but soft, then followed by a slow, open-mouth warm kiss. the sensation sends a small shiver through you, and you pause, surprised.

you feel his arms slide around you, holding you close as he murmurs, “don’t stop, okay? keep talking. i love hearing your voice.”

you nod, feeling a mix of excitement and comfort as you settle into his hold. you keep talking, feeling safe, warm, and wanted. for the first time, you don’t feel like you’re too much, or that your words are a burden. instead, you feel like every word matters, like every story you share with him is special, and he’s there to hear it all.

and you absolutely love him for that.

always.

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eternity-death · 10 months ago

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Penacony Reactions to you spanking them

No TW’s I think. Just sillies being silly. Established relationship with Reader in all these hc’s.

—————

Hanabi

Head snaps 180° at you and you scream.

She’s traumatized you and now you will never do it again.

This doesn’t stop her from getting you back, though. And she’ll do it in public to make it worse. It’s not a one-and-done deal either, it becomes a regular thing.

You’ve just sentenced yourself to a life of sore-booty and humiliation. Was it really worth it?

Black Swan

Stares at you.

Her expression is a little hard to read and the longer she looks at you the more you feel implored to apologize.

She’s not mad though, she’s actually rather amused. And she’s getting even more entertainment by watching you squirm.

Eventually she gives and just chuckles. If you’ll allow her, then she’ll give you a nice tap on the butt too.

Sampo

He does that one goofy (Mickey mouse) scream.

Very animated reaction. Jumps 10 feet off the ground and covers his behind. He looks back at you like a kicked puppy but you know it’s all fake.

Sniffles and says smthn like, “How could you do this to your best bud, Sampo?”

Gets you back when you least expect it. Like you actually scream bloody murder because your guard is down and you can’t hear him sneak up on you bc he’s light on his feet. It doesn’t matter if you’re in public either. Be very afraid.

Aventurine

“Woah! Getting a little frisky, eh?”

If you’ve got something separating you two like a chair or a counter, he will chase you around it to reach you. Spanks you back, harder, with zero hesitation.

He starts tapping your butt as a regular thing afterwards. Almost like a greeting.

“Hey babe.” Then a light slap. When he feels extra mischievous he’ll grab it.

Acheron

You are unable to slap her booty because she catches your hand before it makes contact.

Just kind of looks at you and goes, “What are you doing.”

You explain to her that spanking is a sort of gesture between close companions. She doesn’t quite get it but decides to just go with it.

Later on, when she greets you, she strikes her hand down on your behind so hard that your teeth clatter. She asks if she did it right with such a hopeful tone, that you can’t find it in yourself to tell her that shattering someone’s pelvis is not part of the gesture. (When she does find out that she’s hurt you she apologizes deeply and coddles you)

Dr. Ratio

Lets out a high pitched yelp.

Gives you the most scandalized look and defensively rubs his tush.

“Did you really just do what I think you did?”

Strategizes a way to get you back. He has a blackboard with physics equations for the perfect angle and fall of his hand, pinned papers and calendars with your schedule and his, etc. He’s terrible at hiding his intentions too. When the time comes for his revenge you already anticipate it. What you didn’t anticipate was how strong he was. You guess those biceps aren’t just for show.

Firefly

Why would you ever? What kind of monster are you?

She yelps and just stares at you; hands covering her behind, face flushed, and her mouth agape.

Apologize.

Sam

You have a death wish.

Another one who catches your hand before you can spank. He just puts your hand back in your lap and goes, “No.”

He actually just doesn’t want you to hurt yourself. His… butt… isn’t very soft, you see.

If you want him to, he’ll lightly tap yours back.

March 7nth

Gasps and launches herself at you with full intention of getting you back.

It turns into a chase, where you run in circles around the gazebo until she gets too tired and gives up.

You laugh about it but later forget. Little do you know, March has been scheming ever since.

“AHA!” You feel a harsh slap against your behind and yelp. The vendor you were talking to looks at you and your girlfriend as if you’ve both grown an extra head. She laughs victoriously, “See? I told you payback was coming!”

Robin

“Oh!!!” Gasps and covers herself. She’s a little freaked out at first but once she see’s it’s you she giggles.

You don’t really expect her to spank you back but she does. With the same amount of force that you used.

It kinda escalates into a competition where you two see who can land the most spanks in one day. Just don’t do it in front of her brother.

You’re losing btw.

Sunday

Do NOT spank him in public. He will be very crossed with you. Not funny did not laugh.

You may proceed with the spank if you are in private though.

He actually squeaks when you do. Then once the initial shock wears off he laughs, incredibly amused by you. Doesn’t say it but he plans on returning the favor.

When he does get you back you don’t expect it. You’re probably cooking or marking off the calendar when he passes you and goes, “Good morning, my love.” And then he slaps your butt. Moderate strength, enough to make you yelp but not enough to sting.

#hsr x reader #sunday x reader #honkai star rail x reader #Sampo x reader #Hanabi x reader #sparkle x reader #black swan x reader #Robin x reader #dr. ratio x reader #veritas ratio x reader #Acheron x reader #firefly x reader #Sam x reader #march 7nth x reader #if you’re like ‘hey I’ve seen smthn similar to this before for genshin’ that was probably me on my other acc #aventurine x reader

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 10 months ago

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what friends do | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you were a simple town girl. finnick odair was the crown jewel of panem. both of you needed an escape and found it at a secluded beach just outside district four. these were three ingredients that created a year-long friendship. but were friends supposed to have… impure thoughts about one another? you weren’t so sure.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: smut, wayyy too much detail, dirty thoughts, friends-to-lovers, mild angst, mostly readers pov, pre-rebellion, HEAVY dirty talk, fingering, unprotected p in v (big no no), multiple orgasms, so much pining, creampie, cock-warming

notes: i’m so sorry this took me so long. life has been up my ass lately and, as y’all know, i’m a slow writer. but thank you sm to everyone who patiently stuck around, i love y’all <3 this was supposed to be a short smut fic but um, apparently not. anyway, this has taken long enough to come out so imma stop rambling. ENJOY <3

word count: 11.7k

Mid-Autumn was closely approaching District Four.

Harvest in the fishing industry was at its peak and the docks were chock-full with boats bringing in their plentiful catches. The town centre was a bustling scene, crowded with people selling produce and trading for food to bring home to their family's kitchen table.

Last year's autumn harvest was the same picture—overflow, hustle, commotion; chaos like this was something you never came to enjoy. So, it was also around this time last year that you had decided to set off in search of the perfect location away from the rest of society. A place where you could be at peace, where you could forget the disastrous world you lived in.

District Four was home to many popular beaches, but the one you discovered was uninhabited, isolated, found after an hour-or-so-long trek through overgrown dirt pathways and a thicket of sea-grape and palm trees. A true paradise away from society. Or so you had thought in the first few weeks.

You weren't too sure when he had started showing up or how he had even discovered the beach.

However, one evening, as you were seated in the sand watching the sunset on the darkening horizon, you noticed a dark figure diving and surfacing in the flat, glimmering water. Their movements were so poised and fluid like the ocean was something they had conquered. You guessed it to be a dolphin or shark because there was no way a human being could move so gracefully.

But then the figure started wading to shore, and the next thing you knew, they were standing on two legs and exiting the water. You knew then that you had guessed wrong. The sun behind him obscured the bronze of his hair and the swirling lukewarm sea that pooled around his pupils. All you could see was the outline of his tall broad figure as he hiked through the sand toward you.

Fear had told you to bolt from the approaching stranger. You were in the middle of nowhere—it was the perfect place to be murdered or kidnapped. But something else, some deep and tangible instinct, also told you to stay.

"Didn't realise I had a captive audience," thestranger spoke, droplets of gleaming water sliding off his body and into the sand as he stood a few feet away.

Taken by surprise, you fumbled over your words trying to form a sentence in response. "I wasn't—I didn't—"

"Easy, honey," he chuckled. The sound was so warm and pleasant that it almost alleviated the slight chill in the air. "Just pulling your leg."

Your mouth formed a small circle. "Right," you said, gaze locked on the golden sand in embarrassment. "I, uh, didn't think anyone else knew about this place."

To be honest, you were pretty sure it was a restricted area. Probably the reason it was so isolated. If a Capitol official found you, the consequences would most likely involve your tongue, a scalpel, and a hell of a lot of pain. All for a wanting a little peace and quiet.

"Neither did I," the man said. "I only come every now and then. Need an escape from the constant buzz back home. Time for myself, you know?"

"Yeah." You smiled, feeling the stranger's words resonate in your soul. "Yeah, I do know."

You thought you saw the corners of his lips curve into a smile, but the shadows on his face were so prominent that you couldn't tell.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked.

Well... if he were going to murder you, he would have done it already. So, you nodded. Sometimes you questioned your survival instincts. Or lack thereof.

He didn't leave much space as he sat beside you. Only an inch or two, meaning you could feel the humidity of body heat and salt water emit from his skin. Even sitting down, he was still quite tall compared to you, but that wasn't what caused your heart to drop into your stomach.

The setting sun, which no longer disguised his face with shadows, now illuminated his entire figure and revealed his identity. His hair was a mess of wet wavy strands, the colour alight like a pale fire beneath the sun's orange radiance. His skin was sun-kissed, no doubt from days he had spent perfecting his swimming abilities. And those dimples... wow.

He was gorgeous. A man sculpted by the gods of beauty, just like everyone in Panem had depicted him to be. Even his sea-green eyes were as striking as everyone said.

Finnick Odair.

The man who was crowned victor of the sixty-fifth Hunger Games at fourteen. Who trapped multiple tributes at once in a net and killed them one by one with his famed trident. A killer.

The man whose reputation in the Capitol was known nationwide. A proud womanizer.

That was what everyone made him out to be.

Only, in the brief interaction you shared with him, he seemed like quite the opposite. He radiated effortless charm and warmth, but not in the arrogant way the media had portrayed him. Then again, did the media ever accurately portray the truth of anything?

It was then that you determined it didn't really matter who people said he was or what he had done. He was a human being—just like you. He deserved a chance.

His pink lips stretched into a knee-weakening smile; you were grateful that you were sitting down.

"I'm Finnick, by the way."

The both of you knew he didn't need to introduce himself. The whole of Panem knew his name and face. Though the fact that he humbly did so anyway made you like him the tiniest bit more.

You returned his smile with one of your own and introduced yourself.

Time passed and the sun had set; the moon had risen, but you both remained sitting side-by-side in the sand. Conversation flowed so naturally between the two of you that it was difficult for you to remember that stopping and getting some air into your lungs was an important factor in keeping a conversation going... as well as keeping you alive.

You told him about yourself as he did himself—some things that were meant to remain secrets, some things that seemed too strange to tell anyone else.

At some point, he had offered to walk you back to your house. The trek was over an hour long but neither of you seemed to care. The time flew by.

When you were standing at your front door and he was gazing up at you from the bottom of the steps, you both promised to meet again the next day. And you did.

As you did the day after that... and the day after that... and the day after that...

**********

As soon as the nights carried that familiar chill and the town congested with markets and fervent buyers, you knew mid-autumn had made its return. This meant most of your evenings were spent at a certain secret beach with a certain District Four victor.

Having already finished his pre-sunset swim, Finnick was sitting beside you, fingers weaving dried palm leaves into the mat beneath you. A couple of weeks after you had first met, he had shown up one day holding it all rolled up in hand.

"Made this for you to sit on," he had said with a proud smile. "Took nearly all night and earned me a few good finger cramps, but I think it was worth it."

Pinpointing the exact moment your attraction to him first formed was tricky. However, that gesture was one your mind returned to often. That little palm-leaf mat, the time and effort he put into making it, was scored on your heart.

Finnick was very much a gentleman.

He would always offer you a hand when standing up and whenever you walked back through the overgrown seaside forest. Sometimes he picked fruits for you such as sea grapes and mangos or would climb one of the palms and knock down a few coconuts. One thing he always, always did wasmake sure you got home safe; he never let you out of his sight until you were safe inside your front door.

All those gestures, big and small, added up. Soon enough, Finnick Odair had infiltrated your heart and consumed all your thoughts. You saw his sea-green eyes staring back at you whenever you gazed out at the ocean by your house. Felt the ghost of his hands on yours whenever you picked a grape from the kitchen fruit bowl. Heard his voice calling out your name in your most vivid of dreams.

But there was more to it than innocent adoration.

The guilt came when your gaze started lingering on his body a little too long whenever he left the water at the beach. Shimmering droplets would glide down his beautifully tanned skin; his arm muscles would flex as his fingers raked back his dripping wet hair. It wasn't yourfault he was the walking definition of perfection.

Unholy was the closest word to describe the filthy thoughts that had perverted your imagination. What started as endearing daydreams soon became fantasies that had you seeking relief between your thighs late at night. Your thoughts went wild whenever he dropped you off at your house. It took everything in you not to invite him inside and ask him to fuck you senseless against the front door.

All you had to do was ask. You knew he would say yes.

A year is a long time to know someone. A long time for feelings to grow. It also serves as a lot of time for things to happen between two people—things that linger in your mind even months after they have happened.

Like the times he would walk by you and teasingly whisper something provocative in your ear, then disappear for an hour of swimming, leaving you all hot and flustered in the sand. Neither of you would acknowledge it when he returned. Or when conversations took such a flirtatious turn, the tension only dissipated when houses were separating you at the end of the night.

But that's just what friends do, right? They tease and banter?

Maybe.

However, not all things could be chalked up to being just friends.

Another thing about Finnick's eyes was that they were transparent. You saw how helplessly they clung to you the days you stripped to your underwear and joined him in the water. He had this sort of reaction that turned his eyes into a dark violent sea, like you were some divine temptation planted to test the strength of his resolve.

Sometimes he could resist. Other days it was obvious he couldn't help but reach out and touch.

He would try to be subtle about it. Hands holding yours a little longer than necessary when he helped you stand up. Sitting too closely beside you so that your arms and legs would graze against each other. Brushing off pieces of seaweed that would stick to the dip of your waist and then constantly using the same excuse just to feel the heat of your soft skin.

There was one interaction, though, that you fell asleep to the thought of every night. It was a moment when things almost went too far; an interaction friends definitely did not share.

You could remember it clear a day. Hell, you could still feel it clear as day.

It was a hot summer evening. Both you and Finnick were at the beach and swimming in the water since being in the muggy coastal heat for more than five minutes was parallel to roasting in a thousand-degree sauna.

You were about twenty meters offshore, bobbing beside Finnick as he dived to collect various seashells. That boy could hold his breath for an unbelievable amount of time which meant sometimes you spent minutes alone on the surface, waiting, listening to the calm waves lap eerily around you.

This is exactly how people die in shark movies, said an unwarranted voice in your mind.

As usual, a minute went by. Nothing to worry about. Then a minute turned into two and you were starting to become a little concerned. And then it was two and a half minutes and you were now panicking.

"Finnick?!" you called out, hoping he could somehow hear you from the dark depths.

Three minutes had totalled, and you were pretty certain he had drowned. Just to add to the utter dread coursing through your veins, something slimy brushed against your foot. Most likely a piece of seaweed, but you didn't make that connection at the time.

That very same moment, Finnick burst through the water's surface, only mildly breathless and pinching a small iridescent shell between his fingers.

"Look at thi—"

Before the words could leave his mouth, he found himself enveloped in your distraught embrace. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, crying tears of relief.

Damn that stupid seashell.

He automatically secured you in his arms, concern palpable in his voice as he asked, "Are you okay?"

You pulled away, an indistinguishable combination of tears and saltwater rolling down your cheeks. Though it was hard to miss the look of distress found in your furrowed brows and trembling lips.

"Don't ever do that to me again!" you exclaimed, gripping his arms to emphasise your urgency. "You hear me?! Ever!"

Finnick's head tilted slightly, surprised by your emotional reaction. He hadn't realised he meant so much to you. The surprise faded into remorse, softening his features.

"I won't. I won't, I promise," he said sincerely. His eyes flickered over the worry lines etched on your forehead. He unconsciously brushed his thumb over the lines, hoping to draw out the anxiety with his touch, and then tucked away a strand of hair. "I'm sorry I scared you."

You took in a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to compose yourself. A mess of emotions stirred inside you—worry, embarrassment, irritation. You were partially frustrated with Finnick for making you fear for his life. Mostly annoyed with yourself for showing such vulnerability in front of him.

"God, you're an idiot sometimes," you sighed, shaking your head.

He smirked. "Didn't think you cared so much about me."

"No, you just don't think, Finn."

He glanced off into the distance for a moment with furrowed brows. "Well, that's definitely not true," he countered, meeting your gaze again with a half-smirk. "I think about a lot of things, actually."

"Oh? Like what?" you asked, slightly annoyed. "Do tell me what the great Finnick Odair thinks about instead of his own safety."

Slowly, the smirk faded from his lips. Something new tinged the atmosphere and suddenly everything around you seemed hotter than it previously was. Not an uncomfortable or sweltering heat, but one that held an intensity that sparked the air with electricity.

You suddenly became very aware that Finnick was still holding you in his arms. You recognised the confined proximity between you and him and realised that, before this moment, your bodies had never been so close.

Your legs were curled around his hips, pelvis pressed firmly against his. The position of his hands, which were keeping you afloat, was bordering on inappropriate but would only be deemed as such if you cared. Which you didn't. You liked it—having his hands on you.

One thing you couldn't ignore was the flickering of his gaze. How his eyes kept dropping to your lips. How they blatantly revealed a long-awaited confession that words just couldn't capture. Still, you wanted to hear him say it. You wanted to hear the purr in his voice as he told you.

Then he was leaning in. You weren't sure whether it was on purpose or if the pure magnetism of the tension between you was drawing him closer. Regardless, you started to lean in closer too, eyes drooping as you focused on his mouth.

And before the short distance between your lips and his became immeasurable, you whispered, "Tell me, Finn."

The hands keeping you afloat trailed up and down your back restlessly as Finnick forced a tense exhale through his nose. He seemed to be wrestling with thoughts. You waited in anticipation, and right when it seemed like he was going to make a move—

"I think..."

—you were interrupted. By no less than a pod of dolphins as they leapt from the water, causing you and Finnick to jolt from each other's embrace.

The rest of that evening was not worth mentioning. Not because you had forgotten what happened, but because the sheer awkwardness between you and Finnick afterwards was so torturous that you wanted to keep the memory squashed in the recesses of your mind. Neither of you acknowledged what happened. Finnick still walked you home, but it was done so in agonising silence.

Surprisingly, you both returned to the beach the next day. You hadn't expected him to be his usual upbeat self, but he was. So, in turn, you too acted like the previous day was erased from history. But your friendship with him was never the same.

Flirty conversations no longer felt like a joke; they now had a deeper meaning. Fleeting touches caused full-body goosebumps that didn't happen before. There was so much unresolved tension, and it was painfully thick. Inescapable.

So, as Finnick sat beside you present-day, weaving dried palm leaves into the mat beneath your bodies, you couldn't help but notice the transparency of your body language and his. The gap between you both was comparable to the size of a pearl and even though neither of you acknowledged it, you kept catching each other stealing quick glances every half-minute or so.

When you were sure he wasn't looking, you found your gaze drawn to his fingers. They were sturdy, yet nimble; curling and manoeuvring in ways that had your face feeling hotter than the heat of any sunburn or warm summer's day. This heat was beneath your skin. Spreading through your limbs in little tendrils and wrapping around your nerves. A dip in the salty sea wouldn't cool you down nor would a gulp of cold fresh water.

As you stared at his hands, you knew only the source of the sensation could offer reprieve. But that wouldn't happen, so there you burned.

The fact that he was shirtless and that his hair was a gorgeous mess of damp bronze curls helped not one bit with taming the consuming desire inside you. God, you were a mess yourself.

You sighed.

The sun, glowing intensely with a divine orange, was beginning its descent on the horizon. Your feet were buried beneath the soft sand, trying to retain some warmth as a slight breeze blew against your exposed skin.

Wearing a short sundress probably wasn't the most practical idea. Embarrassing as it was to admit, practicality wasn't what was going through your mind when you decided to wear it... Someone—Something else was.

"Something on your mind?" Finnick asked suddenly.

Your heart fumbled in your chest, terrified that he had somehow heard your thoughts. "Sorry?"

"You sighed," he said, turning his head to look at you. "Or am I just getting so old that I'm already starting to hear things?"

With relief of his lack of mind-reading abilities, you laughed softly. "You're definitely getting a bit old, Finn," you teased. "Any nursing homes you've been considering?"

"I heard retirement by the sea has its perks," he quipped, subtle dimples present as he returned to his weaving. "Although, I will need someone to make sure I don't fall asleep while swimming and get carried out by the tide. What d'you say, sweetheart? Up for becoming my personal lifeguard?"

Absolutely. "Depends. Will you force me to wear one of those awful flowery swimming caps with a matching tankini?"

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "I'm thinking more like those little red bodysuits. You know, the ones that zip open down the front?"

You reprimanded him by pushing his shoulder, wearing a betraying smile. "Very charming."

"I just think red's your colour, that's all," he laughed.

Your stomach fluttered. You knew he was teasing you; teasing was basically the foundation of your... friendship. Deep down, you knew there was also some truth behind his words. A truth that was as electrifying as it was upsetting—how long were you both going to keep up with this whole 'friends' charade? Could you handle it if the answer was forever?

Best not to think about it. For your sanity's sake.

Finnick finally settled into a comfortable position with his forearms locked around his bent knees, apparently having decided to continue his mat-weaving another time. He had been extending it bit by bit ever since he first made it for you. At this point, you were sure he was attempting to cover the entire beach. For now, it was only big enough for two people to lie down on.

Sounds pretty convenient, came an abrupt thought.

And then you fell down yet another rabbit hole of depraved daydreams... A pair of hands interlocking your own above your head. Hot lips pressing kisses to your neck. Tongue gliding up the sensitive skin of your jugular. Your fingers tugging at bronze curls between your thighs.

You were sick. Diseased with immorality. Finnick was your friend. If not your best friend. You're not supposed to fantasise about fucking your best friend.

"Thinking about anyone in particular?"

You almost choked on your saliva. "W—What?"

How did he keep doing that?

Finnick seemed to find joy in your perplexity. It was written all over his face. God, those fucking dimples. "You've been completely still for nearly five minutes and your legs are covered in goosebumps," he pointed out. "Hence the question: who are you thinking about?"

As you looked down, you found that your skin was in fact riddled with goosebumps. It didn't occur to you then that the only reason he could have noticed was if he was staring at your legs in the first place. It also didn't occur to you that Finnick obviously had the very same debauched thoughts running through his own mind.

Why did you have to wear such a revealing dress? He already struggled enough with resisting you at the best of times.

If you had been paying attention, a simple glance in his direction would have revealed how his ears were pink and his pupils were dilated. More importantly, you would have seen his legs constantly shifting to ease the discomfort tenting his pants. Fortunately, he had mastered the art of winding himself down in a short amount of time.

Unfortunately for you, that ability was not within your skill set.

You scoffed. "In case you haven't noticed, Finnick—it's autumn," you said, a quick snappy lilt in your tone. "I know you've got some weird internal space heater built into you, but normal people tend to have a reaction to the cold."

Well, it's a good thing you didn't sound defensive...

Finnick raised an eyebrow at you, displaying a puzzled half-smirk that spoke a thousand words.

You lowered your head in embarrassment, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry," you murmured. "I just, uh, don't really like the cold."

"Who could've guessed."

Despite serving as an excuse, it wasn't entirely untrue. You really did dislike the cold. And it was now that you seriously regretted your choice of sparse attire. The breeze kept blowing up the dress's skirt, threatening to expose your dignity to the world. Or more accurately, to Finnick. Thankfully, you had decided to wear a pair of delicate lace underwear that morning instead of old granny panties.

Nevertheless, now that it was on your mind, you couldn't think about anything but the cold gusts of wind blowing against you. Chills ran over your skin and you were shaking like a leaf.

Finnick, being the gentleman that he was, scanned the surrounding area for anything he could use to keep you warm. He would've given you his shirt had it not been crumpled in a ball of wet sand on the ground.

There was nothing else of use. Nothing except a single apprehensive idea sitting in the forefront of his mind. It was all he had. He bit the inside of his cheek as he contemplated the potentially disastrous idea.

Then, after taking a silent deep breath, he finally said, "Come here then." Your eyes snapped to his. You must've looked like you had seen a ghost because his brows knitted together in confusion. "What?" he breathed out a chuckle. "I'd prefer not having to carry you home as a block of ice."

You thought about it for a moment. Was it really such a good idea after the thoughts that were just swarming in your mind? Another gust of wind blew by and you instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself.

"I won't bite, sweetheart. Not unless you want me to," he added.

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, shut up."

With that, you slid across the mat, positioning your body, which was still facing the sunset, in front of his legs. There was a moment of hesitation. Anxiety. But before you could reconsider, Finnick wrapped a strong arm around your middle and pulled you back against his chest, situating your body between his legs.

The exhale that left your lips was instantaneous and you couldn't help but shudder at the warmth of his skin. "God," you sighed, overwhelmed by the sudden change in temperature. "How are you so warm all the time?"

"Oh, you know. Weird internal space heater."

You laughed softly, then felt Finnick's chest vibrate against your back as he joined you. His bare arms wound tighter around you, motivated by the affectionate atmosphere. Your body seemed to melt into the cocoon of warmth he provided, and a soft smile graced your lips.

"Better?" he asked.

You nodded, responding with a whisper, "Thank you."

"Anytime."

You could hear the smile in his voice and how intently he was trying to hide it. You wished you could have seen it. To see the sense of peace you shared. However, feeling it in the way he held you was enough.

Instead of blood, your heart now seemed to be pumping out rather odd alternatives—waves of sea-green salted ocean, iridescent seashells, smiles paired with heart-stopping dimples. How could he? How could Finnick condemn you to loving him like this? So unwaveringly; so without a hope of ever being able to return to life without him in it.

He made a mess of you. A ruin. And even with wholesome affection running through your veins, you still couldn't ignore the hazy images conjuring in your mind from the way his body was pressed firmly behind you.

How could he?

The sun had just touched the horizon, granting the sky a few more minutes of light, meaning it was almost time to head home—an upsetting reality. You weren't sure how much time had passed before your body started to ache from lack of movement.

You wiggled your toes which were buzzing like television static. The feeling started moving up your legs and you knew if you didn't stretch, you would later embarrass yourself trying to stand on dead legs. So that is what you did. You started moving.

First, you stretched out the muscles in your legs and then moved onto straightening your back against Finnick's chest, feeling the faint pops of your spine offer you relief. And then you started readjusting your position and wriggling your hips to fit more comfortably between Finnick's toned thighs. That was your first mistake.

"Stop moving."

You were taken aback by the rigid inflection in his tone. "What?" you asked, ignoring his warning and continuing your restless movements.

"Stop. Moving," Finnick repeated, sounding more strained.

His hold on you became stiff. Completely frozen.

You were confused. Everything was perfect a moment ago, and all you were doing was stretching—why was he being so weird and snappy?

In response, you exhaled sharply. "I'm just trying to get comf—"

"Fuck," he breathed out.

Your eyes widened and it was safe to say your stomach had flipped inside out.

That was the moment you finally realised your second mistake. The rigidness in his voice wasn't him being snappy with you at all. Not even close. He was just trying to prevent the pleasure he felt below from reaching his vocal cords.

But it was too late. It wouldn't have mattered if he managed to keep quiet because you could feel it now. The achingly hard length that was pressed against your backside, reaching all the way up to your tailbone.

"...Oh," you whispered.

"Yeah," Finnick said. "Oh."

Now it was your turn to freeze. Fear consumed you, similar to what you imagined having to remain motionless in front of tyrannosaurus rex to prevent from being eaten alive was like. Thanks to the damning wind, strands of your hair blew behind your shoulders, undoubtedly tickling the exposed skin of Finnick's chest. Even that minuscule movement had your heart threatening to explode with anxiety.

As per usual, panic wreaked havoc in your mind.

What do I do? Do I get up? How will we come back from this? Does he—

Finnick cleared his throat. "Uh, you still alive in there?" he chuckled nervously.

You felt minor relief enter your bloodstream upon hearing the normality in his voice. At least one of you was composed enough to act normally. Well, as normal as one could act after becoming hard due to their best friend sitting in their lap.

"Is it—" You swallowed the nerves rattling your voice "—is it because there's a girl sitting on your lap, or is it because it's me?"

That was the million-dollar question. Was his reaction simply biological? A natural response to stimulation? Or was it deeper than that? More personal.

Finnick was silent.

The rapid thumping in your chest moved to your ears, like a drumroll leading up to some grand reveal. You felt dizzy; both filled with dreadful anticipation and exhilaration. Your senses were so heightened, fuelled by an inane bout of adrenaline. You swore you could almost hear the gears turning in Finnick's mind, smell the smoke as they rotated over and over, trying to make sense of your question and form a suitable response.

Religion never played a factor in your life, but, oh, how you were zealously praying his answer would be the one you spent all your nights fantasising about. But still, he was silent.

And right when you believed he wasn't going to respond at all, his lips finally uttered that single life-changing word. "You."

Fireworks seemed to light up every nerve in your body. You.

You weren't sure what to make of your thoughts at first. The overwhelming abundance of emotion caused by a singular word was difficult to fathom. Only one sentiment stood out from the rest—and that was the fact that Finnick felt the same as you did for him.

It was no longer a speculation. It was a fact. A truth. An undeniable reality. You had both verbal and physicalproof, literally digging into your backside.

Finnick slowly, very slowly, unwound an arm from your torso, and you held your breath. His hand slid across your waist and then plastered itself over your hipbone, careful not to apply too much pressure to make you feel uncomfortable. When you felt the slight movement of his thumb gliding across your clothed skin, you exhaled the burning air in your lungs with a shaky sigh.

"Do you want me to get up?" you asked softly while staring at the sunset, although you were focused on anything but.

"Not a chance." And then he unwound the other arm, now cupping both sides of your hips with two large hands. The heat from his palm sank into your skin, sinking deeper layer by layer until it reached the rapid flow of your bloodstream. "Do you want to get up?"

You felt a pulsing sensation between your thighs that had your parted lips inhaling slow deep breaths, and you knew the only logical answer was no. So, you shook your head.

Finnick reached up to skilfully tuck a lock of hair behind your ear before placing his hand back on your hip. He then leaned down beside your ear, voice a hot, velvety whisper, "What next then, sweetheart?"

A wave of chills ran down your entire body.

What next? Another question for the ages. You had dreamt of this moment a million times over. You had pictured the unholiest, most vivid of scenarios, and yet here you were, mind blank as an empty void.

Then it hit you. Rather than acting from a pre-planned script, wouldn't it be better to just let your body act on what it naturally desired? On instinct? You took in a deep, stabilising breath and gave yourself into moment.

You slowly began turning your head to the side until, for the first time since he pulled you into his arms, your eyes flickered up and found Finnick's. His lips quirked with the ghost of a smile at the exchange, but he held it back. His jaw clenched and unclenched, muscles ticking with tension.

He was looking at you in a way you had never seen before. Or perhaps, you were just never close enough to notice, and he had always looked at you this way. There was a blazing intensity in his eyes, dark and penetrative, a bridge between yearning and total reverence. It was so enticing that you could feel your hands itching to undress yourself in front of him.

Finnick murmured your name.

"Yes?" you managed to whisper.

"Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this?"

Those words—he had stolen them from the tip of your tongue.

You couldn't find the strength to muster any profound response. So instead, you found your head tilting back and the crook of your elbow winding up and around the nape of his neck. You didn't need to guide him down; he came willingly.

His lips caught yours in a soft, warm exchange. Singular yet prolonged. Then there was a brief pause of disconnection, a calm before the storm. And with Finnick, when it rained, it poured. Suddenly, a hand was cupping the area where your jaw and neck connected, and his lips were on yours again.

There was so much more heat in this kiss. A depth that kept growing with each connection of your lips. You could hear the fervour in the breathless exhales that exited his nose, the quiet groans that slipped into your mouth. Though the same could be said for you.

You couldn't subdue the moans and meek whimpers that leaked out. Especially when his tongue slipped into your mouth and took control over your own. At this point, you couldn't even be called putty in his arms; you were pure liquid, totally and completely submissive in his embrace.

It was impossible to tell who was throbbing beneath you anymore. All you were sure of was that the pretty lace panties you had put on that morning were now soaked. Though even if he never touched you, you wouldn't have cared. Having his lips on yours, his tongue on yours, was enough. And if he kept at it long enough, you were sure it would even be enough to get you off. That's how much power Finnick had over you.

Apparently, he felt the same too. Because when you leaned further back into him and your ass pushed against the length of his erection, his fist scrunched the fabric of your dress by your hip and his lips left yours to let out a shuddering breath.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he huffed, half chuckling.

Technically, it was a suppressed moan. Either way, you swear you almost came then and there.

With one last gentle kiss, you opened your eyes, pulling away to replenish your lungs with air. Finnick's eyes were already locked on yours in a drunken haze from the taste of your lips. Your arm unwound from his neck, grazing down his broad shoulders and bicep. During so, your eyes caught on the tiny bumps and raised hair scattered across his arm.

"You've got goosebumps," you smiled, trailing your fingertips across his skin.

His gaze moved to follow your hand, wearing a boyish grin. "Would you believe me if I said I was cold?"

Your throat buzzed with a suppressed giggle. Seeing the way his body reacted to yours was incredibly motivating. Someone telling you they lusted after you could easily be spoken with deception. But having visual confirmation, witnessing a reaction that couldn't possibly be forced, was a whole different story. Finnick's body craved you.

Given that incentive, the slight trepidation still holding you back now disappeared into the back of your mind. Your fingers curled around his wrist, dragging the hand beneath your jaw down to your neck, and then down to your chest. It didn't take him too long to figure out your intentions. He overtook your influence and autonomously moved his hand to cup your breast.

You were essentially caged in his embrace. Exactly how you wanted it.

You stared ahead with relaxed eyes, watching as the sun slipped into the dark water. Night had officially blanketed District Four and, now being shielded by darkness, the stars were your only witness. Strangely enough, you felt a new sense of shamelessness.

So as Finnick kneaded your breast in his warm hand and pinched the sensitive peak of your nipple between his thumb and forefinger through the lace of your bra, you allowed a soft moan to escape your lips.

It was almost as if you could actually feel the smirk growing across Finnick's lips behind you. One thing you actually could feel was the twitch of his achingly hard cock beneath you.

"You like that?" he asked, definitely smirking.

"Yes," you sighed almost immediately.

If only he knew how truly euphoric you felt. If only he knew how many times you had imagined being in this exact situation. Having him touching you like this. The guilt of imagining him in such a way used to eat you up. But now that you were past the guilt, there was no shame connected to the thought of Finnick eating you up.

Fuck, he would look so perfect between your thighs—bronze curls all messed up from your pulling and tugging; sea green eyes squeezed shut as he dedicated his attention to dragging you down to the pits of hell with his tongue.

Your head fell back against his collarbone. He took this as a signal to move your hair aside and start planting hot kisses onto the curve of your shoulder. Then he trailed further across, brushing his lips across your skin until he reached the side of your neck and started sucking gently, though enough to leave behind pretty little red marks of possession.

"What about this?" he murmured against the delicate skin.

The faint taste of sea-salted air sat in the back of your throat as your breaths deepened. You felt his tongue glide partially up the length of your carotid artery, and your entire nervous system seemed to short-circuit.

"Yes,"you practically whined.

He must have found this amusing because you could feel the vibrations of his chuckle against your neck. But he wasn't finished yet. Hell, the finish line was a lifetime away regarding the things he planned on doing to you. They probably couldn't all be done in one night though, unfortunately.

You had completely forgotten about the hand still splayed on your hip. Why would you pay it any attention when it was sitting idle? Only it wasn't simply resting on your hip anymore. No. Now it was moving. Moving down.

His lips were still on your neck and he was still cupping your breast, but all you could focus on was the carnal descent of his hand. He found the hem of your dress, fingers toying with the flimsy material as one did when deciding whether or not to go through with something potentially consequential. Ultimately, he began to drag the fabric up your thighs, knuckles grazing over your soft skin until the skirt of your dress was ruched around your hips.

You sucked in a sharp breath. The vulnerability of suddenly being exposed in such a manner hit you like a tonne of bricks. This was really happening. Finnick, the Capitol's darling, District Four's golden boy, and more significant;y, your best friend, was touching you. He was kissing you. He was seeing and feeling parts of your body you had never let him see or feel before.

Naturally, this unfurling web of thoughts produced a surge of insecurity.

But, when his hand curled around your inner thigh and spread a wildfire of warmth across your skin, every thought that was previously passing through your mind disintegrated and was replaced with unadulterated yearning.

Finnick's mouth finally detached from your neck to hover beside your ear. "And this?"

He lightly kneaded your thigh to emphasise his question, dangerously close to the place that undoubtedly crossed the boundary between friend and lover.

You were speechless. The desire running through your veins was paralysing. All you could do was look, see, feel, and hope to god you didn't pass out from the shallowness of your breathing.

"Come on, sweetheart," he roused in that low, seductive purr. "Don't go quiet on me now. Use your words."

And how could you ever disobey a voice like that? It took every ounce of strength and concentration you had in you, but eventually, you managed to find your voice.

"I—" You cut yourself off with a gasp as his thumb purposefully wandered up to the edge of your underwear. Asshole. "I lie awake every night imagining us like this, Finn. You don't need permission to touch me. You've already had it for months."

Suddenly, a gentle finger was turning your chin, compelling you to meet Finnick's gaze. His eyes lacked the intensity from before and were now brimming with awe, brows knitted as if he was asking for confirmation if what you had said was truthful. And it was, painfully so.

To answer his wordless question, you leaned forward and connected your lips with his. He responded with ardency, and not long after, you could feel his hand wander up to the waistband of your panties.

He wasted not a second before dipping his hand beneath the lace material and finding that sensitive spot that had been begging for his attention.

Your lips separated from his to let out a breathy moan. "Finnick."

He simply smiled, two fingers rubbing circles around your clit. He pressed gentle coaxing kisses to your lips, and you really did try to respond, but you were never one for multitasking. Especially when the man you had fallen in love with was touching you so.

His other hand wandered across your torso, holding your waist, grazing over your stomach, tracing the length of your sternum. All very loving adorations compared to what his other hand was doing.

"I think I'm going to hell because of you," he murmured, millimetres away from your lips. Such a disconcerting thing for someone to admit, but all you could manage was a hum in response. "Every time I see you, I can feel myself getting closer and closer. You derange my thoughts, sweetheart. You corrupt them.

How am I supposed to be around you if I want to fuck you every time you say my name? And what makes it so much more impossible is that you don't even mean to make me feel this way; you just do. God, you're maddening. So sweet and maddening," he cooed, fingers picking up in pace which caused you to melt back into his chest and let out a pretty little moan. "Drives me crazy."

"And to think," you managed, "I thought you had your hands between my legs because you hated me."

Your hips were rolling lightly along with the rhythm of his fingers.

At the very same time Finnick's thighs tensed around your hips from the friction against his cock, he abruptly plunged two fingers inside you. Punishment.

The moan you let out was positively filthy.

"Such an attitude you have," he said. "Anyone would think you're completely innocent in a dress like this. But I know better than that." His fingers slid in and out, curling every time the base of his fingers bottomed out inside of you. "I know exactly why you wore it. Just like I know exactly why you wore those lace panties you pretend that I can't see whenever you bend over."

Heat crept up into your cheeks from hearing his words. You wanted to provoke him by saying 'And look where it got me'but who knew how his fingers would respond to your attitude.

"You can't do that to a man," he continued. "It's criminal."

"It's only fair, Finn," you breathed out, struggling to keep your voice level. "You ruined me."

A deep moan rumbled in his chest, though it never escaped. He couldn't break that easily. He needed to remain in control. This moment, to him, seemed like an eternity forthcoming. He needed to make the most of this moment with you, needed to show you what it was like to receive earth-shattering pleasure so that you only ever wanted to receive it from him. No one else.

Despite his obvious attempts at keeping himself in check, you could still feel his thick impatient cock twitch beneath your ass. Even through the layers of clothing between you, you could tell that he was incredibly big. So much so that it worried you a little. Only, when his fingers curled again, you forgot all about it.

The pads of his fingertips buried into your inner walls with every curl. The heel of his palm struck your clit with every thrust of his fingers and you could feel your stomach start tightening. Fuck, he was amazing at this.

It had been so long since someone had touched you like this. Well, someone that was actually good at it. Just a few minutes and Finnick was already about to make you come.

"Feels so good, so—ah—good!" you moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

He reached a free hand up to your breast, lightly pinching your nipple between his fingers until you let out a gasp. At least one of you was good at multitasking.

"You gonna come?" he asked, not that he even needed an answer. He could feel the way your walls were contracting around his fingers, feel the sticky warmth of your slick leaking onto his knuckles.

You nodded fervently.

"Say please first."

"Finn," you whined in frustration.

You could hear him chuckle self-satisfyingly behind you. "Come on, baby. Sweet girls are supposed to have manners, aren't they?"

His low, husky voice almost threw you over the edge. Oh, how you would love to listen to the sound of him talking you through your orgasm. That is if he ever even let you get to that point.

Never had you ever thought you would be pleading with a man for anything, yet here you were. Though, Finnick Odair could hardly be called a man. He was so much more than that; he was bordering on divinity. And you weren't going to miss the chance of being unravelled at the hands of a divine being.

"Please, Finnick," you begged, your body literally buzzing with desperation. "Please make me come."

He pressed a kiss below your earlobe. "Since you asked so nicely."

His fingers picked up in pace. They weren't even plunging in and out anymore but were rather curling, over and over again in that electrifying spot inside you. He went hard and fast, working to bring you to your high as quickly as possible. Your moans were so unrestrained, so breathless and shallow that you started to feel the world spin around you.

Your hand flew back to hold onto his arm, nails digging into the hard muscles of his bicep. Your hips were writhing in Finnick's lap and you could hear him groan out a string of curses. He held you down by the hip to try and keep you still, then moved across to the bottom of your abdomen where he pressed down.

That is what did it for you.

You cried out as tightness spread down your stomach and pure ecstasy took control. Finnick murmured words of praise and reassurance as you rode through your high, though a lot of it didn't register in your mind. You heard only a few bits and pieces which were enough to prolong the feeling that was overwhelming your entire body.

"Taking it so well."

"That's it, sweetheart. That's it."

"Such a good girl."

As the waves of pleasure slowly began to subside, you returned to reality. The heat that had been building up inside you started melting away, leaving you in a state of relaxation. Your fingers, which previously clung onto Finnick's arm, now grazed absentmindedly across his skin. It felt like you had been sucked into a dream—a little hazy and surreal, but incredibly tranquil.

"You okay?" Finnick asked softly.

You hadn't even noticed that his fingers had left your body. He had pulled down the hem of your dress— not that your dignity really needed saving anymore—and was holding your melted figure in his arms.

"Mm," you hummed contently, eyes fixed on the view in front of you. "Warmed up."

If only you were able to see his face, his smile. Those dimples. A powerful longing to be able to see every expression known to man morph his facial features washed over you. It was a little ridiculous how attracted to him you were. Nonetheless, you indulged the desire.

You pushed yourself from his lap and pivoted to face him

You were straddling his lap before any ounce of hesitation could hold you back. Finnick circled his arms around your waist, pulling you closer into his chest. He was smiling. He was smiling and it was even more beautiful than any sunset you had ever witnessed. You concluded that you had definitely made the right choice in deciding to face him.

"Hi," you whispered.

He smiled. "Hey, stranger."

He brushed back a few pieces of hair from your face, observing the blown size of your pupils and the sultry colour of your lips. He did that—he could not get over the fact that he did that to you. Finally.

You shrunk away from his gaze, a timid smile on your lips.

Finnick tilted his head slightly. "Shy thing."

You buried your face into the side of his neck, groaning quietly in embarrassment. You could hear the perfect sound of him laughing above you. He stroked the length of your spine, somehow managing to ease the nerves from your body with a simple touch. You left a quick kiss on the warm skin of his neck and rose back up to meet his gaze.

"Feeling better?"

"Much," you replied, sheepishly. Your eyes flickered across Finnick's, hesitated, and then gestured downwards. "But... you're not." His head tilted as though he were confused as to what you were suggesting, so you leaned in closer until your lips ghosted over his. "Still need to take care of you."

A breath of warm air fanned across your face as he chuckled. He shook his head. "It's alright. I can hold off for another time."

And although the prospect of doing this again another time was downright exhilarating, you couldn't ignore the palpable heat still lingering in your lower stomach, throbbing between your thighs. You could only imagine how he must have been feeling—cock throbbing with a need for relief, though ready to deny himself the same amount of pleasure he just gave you.

You suddenly curled a hand around the back of his neck and brought him into a slow kiss. To show him he was allowed to indulge himself. That you wanted him to. You ground your hips down on his lap and felt his lips falter against yours.

You pulled back and echoed your previous words, "It's only fair, Finn."

Time seemed to pause for a moment. Your breath and his mixed with one another in a sort of hot whirlwind of anticipation. Your bodies were still. Finnick's eyes were half-lidded staring at your mouth.

Then came the explosion.

His hands were hastily tugging your sundress over your head; his lips were on yours as he reached down between your bodies to unbutton his pants. It felt like a race against time. Like if you didn't do this now, the chance would never come by again. Hell, his pants hadn't even made it off his legs before he was holding himself in his hand and you were rising to your knees, positioning yourself directly above his length.

Your lips never left his, strenuous as it was, meaning the only gauge you got of how big he was wasn't from seeing it, but from feeling it as you pulled your panties aside, guided his cock to your entrance with one hand, and felt the entire veiny length of him fill you completely as you lowered yourself onto him.

A quiet, synchronised gasp left both your lips as you enveloped him completely in wet velvety warmth. His pelvis was connected with yours and his cock was pressed right up against your cervix. So incredibly deep, you could almost feel him in your stomach.

You stayed like this for a few seconds.

"So big," you gasped against his lips.

His hands were on your back, dragging up and down. "Want to stop?"

"Never."

This was so not what friends did.

He trailed kisses from your mouth, to your jaw, and down to your neck. You were grinding sinuously back and forth, Finnick's hands now on your hips as a guide, feeling his tip bury into the sensitive walls inside you. Your head fell back with a gratified moan as he nipped your neck unforgivingly, only to soothe the spots he marked with the glide of his tongue.

At that moment, the past and future were of no significance. The idea that doing this might ruin your relationship with him afterwards didn't concern you. You didn't bother recollecting a time when you and Finnick were merely friends, nor did you ponder how you even managed to reach this point.

All you could focus on was how fucking perfect his cock felt inside of you.

The cold, which was previously a nuisance, now served as a stimulant to your nipples which were only covered by the thin unpadded material of your lace bra. They were bouncing with every movement you made, the hard peaks rubbing against Finnick's chest and creating a triangle of pleasure between them and the depravity that was happening further below.

He was so hungry in the way he kissed you. His lips were soft, but they moved with heat and determination. His tongue was supple as it pushed against yours, moving masterfully in a way you could only compare to how he swam in the ocean. A conqueror—able to bring you into submission with ease.

You pushed yourself upwards, the muscles in your thighs slightly burning as you did so, and felt his cock glide through you. He inhaled harshly through his nose when his tip almost left your wet heat, and then groaned into your mouth when your hips sunk back down, engulfing him once again.

"Shit," he almost whined as your walls clenched around him. "I fuckinglove you."

You pulled away to look him in the eyes. It was incredibly difficult for you to contemplate his words—his confession—when he was, what, eight or so inches deep inside you?

He didn't look like he regretted saying it. He was simply staring at you with raised brows pinched together in pleasure, awaiting your response as you continued your sequence of rising and sinking to fill yourself up with his cock.

"You love me?" you asked in a laboured breath. He only nodded in response. You sank fully down onto his lap, discontinuing your movements, willing him to prove his so-declared devotion. "Then show me."

He was breathing heavily and watching you through strands of sea-salted hair messily splayed across his forehead. He was so beautiful it actually kind of hurt to look at him. His eyes fell to your mouth during this brief amnesty, a decision prominent in his mind. Then he was rushing forward, crushing his lips to yours and forcing your body to lay back on the mat beneath you.

Finnick somehow managed to remain inside you as he switched your positions—him now above you as your legs were wrapped around his waist. His body pinned you down with a comfortable weight, skin warm and flush against yours.

He was overpowering and dominating, and his thrusts were laced with a sense of appropriation like he was making you his. The slow grinds of his hips were hard yet measured and so breathtakingly deep, and the gentle upwards curve of his cock made sure his tip was prodding against that swollen pleasure-inducing spot every single time.

His kisses were sensual and slow; his tongue slipping languidly into your mouth, swirling and massaging your tongue like it was made of pure silk.

You had told him what to do—now he was showing you. Finnick Odair wasn't fucking you. He was making love to you.

Your hands were on his back, fingertips leaving red marks on the curves of his shoulder blades. You moved up to his hair, scratching your nails softly into his scalp, which earned you a soft moan in your mouth. Even you could feel yourself pulsing around his cock. Everything he did, every sound and action he made, had your body yielding to him.

His hand pulled you up into him by the waist, arching your back off the palm-leaf mat so that he was thrusting more profoundly into that blissful spot inside you. He never sped up his pace. He didn't need to. He was savouring the moment as much as he could, memorising each warm ripple of your walls his cock glided over inside you, every intoxicating moan your soft lips released, the pressure of your warm supple thighs hugging his waist.

He was committing every aspect of you to memory. Inside and out.

Having that knowledge only made the moment so much more pleasurable. Knowing that he wasn't just thinking about you with his cock, but was thinking about you with his heart too.

That feeling started creeping up inside you—the blissful burn of heat pooling in your lower stomach. It made your walls flutter around him. Made you whine and moan uncontrollably into his mouth until you couldn't focus on kissing him anymore and had to pull away.

Your head fell back onto the mat, hair strewn out around you. The sounds coming out of you were pure sin. Desperate, greedy sin.

Finnick chuckled adoringly above you. "Too fucked out, sweetheart?"

He couldn't exactly talk. The second you clenched around him again, he groaned out a curse and you—the parts of your mind that were still relatively comprehensible—were sure you could feel the warmth of pre-cum ooze inside you.

"Finnick," you mewled, and he caressed the baby hairs framing your face. "Feels so good. Should—should've done this sooner."

Through your half-lidded eyes, you watched as he nodded and then descended to your forehead, pressing his lips tenderly against your skin. I know, the gesture said. You felt a rush of affection flood through your body, ultimately accelerating the build-up happening inside you.

You could feel yourself teetering so impossibly close to the brink of your orgasm. The tightness inside you was so hot and overwhelming; it was a struggle for you to keep your eyes from fluttering shut and rolling back, though you willed yourself to keep them open. You had to.

Watching Finnick's face contort with pleasure as he's thrown into his own high from feeling your walls contract around him would probably be the highlight of your entire life.

"So beautiful," he cooed as he thrusted into you. "My sweet girl's gonna come, isn't she? Can feel it."

The words flew out of your mouth. "Come inside me."

"Come inside you?"

You were pretty sure he was mocking you from the devilish curve of his lips and furrow of his brows. But your lust-drunk brain didn't really care.

"Please. Wanna feel you—" Your chest heaved with each breath "—everywhere."

Finnick was so obviously trying to keep himself from giving in before you. But you could see how delirious his eyes were as they stared down at you and you heard how every low, gratified—frustratingly sexy—sound he made betrayed him. He was so close.

"Anything for you, sweetheart," he said, finally.

He managed to unhook your hands from around his back and guided them upwards, holding your wrists together above your head with one hand before he brought his other back to your waist. It was oddly romantic how he held you, given that he was fucking you like life after that night wasn't guaranteed.

And then, without warning, he was pounding into you, bottoming out completely with each thrust.

It was almost animalistic now—how you were both unable to control yourselves anymore. You were writhing beneath him, impulsively fighting against the grip he had on your wrists. And Finnick, well, he was fucking you so hard, you weren't sure if walking home that night would be a possibility.

He was a disaster of pleasured vocals, deep moans, and heavy breaths. You thanked the absolute heavens he was because it was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard in your entire life.

When your own moans started to rise in pitch, you knew you were done for. You felt so full. Stretched out to the max. Blinded by the heat that was drowning you. But your eyes managed to remain clear and locked on Finnick's the entire time, just as his were on yours.

With a fleeting glance downward, he once again placed a large hand over your abdomen and pushed down, and your back arched off the ground.

You were gone.

"Oh fuck!"

The heat, white and fiery, had consumed you. Your thighs tensed uncontrollably around Finnick, your body shaking beneath him as your insides pulsed all the way down to your stuffed entrance. White, sticky sweetness covered Finnick's cock as he continued to thrust into you, the wet sounds overpowering the waves cresting on the sands. It felt like fucking heaven.

He let out a moan, broken and breathless, and released the grip he had on your hands. In that short moment, you instantly gripped onto him, feeling his body shudder beneath your hands as his throbbing cock spurted out ropes of warmth deep inside you, the essence of both of you mixing inside your body, making you one.

You pulled him down and crushed your lips to his with a sudden intense urge to be as close to him as you could, if it were even possible to be any closer to him at that point. It felt a little spiritual, the way you practically wanted to merge your body with his. That's what having sex with someone you truly loved was like, you supposed.

The kiss was sloppy and messy, but it never lacked heat or affection. Lacking heat was impossible between you and Finnick.

A lot of time passed before either of you even contemplated pulling away from one another. Finnick was inside you for what must have been a good half hour after you had both finished. It felt close. Deeply intimate. He held you in his arms, his hands mapping out various parts of your body with unhurried measure as you lay beneath him, lazily yet affectionately making out with warm, reddened lips.

There were quiet giggles and heated words whispered between you that would have prompted another session had either of you been graced with the energy.

But it was late. The remnants of the sun had long since disappeared beneath the horizon, dimming the sky to a deep dark blue, the world's only source of illumination being the stars casting their sparkling light on the rippling water.

It was a new moon.

Eventually, you ended up laying over his chest, legs strewn across his as you both faced the ocean. Your head rose and fell with each breath Finnick took and it felt unreal.

You were momentarily worried your infatuation with him had grown too out of hand and you had imagined the whole day, or perhaps, the entire time you had known him. That it was all a figment of your vivid imagination.

Then, his warm hand slid into your own, which was draped across his stomach, and you knew that this, the newfound relationship between you and Finnick, was undeniably and rapturously real.

He slowly lifted them together above your bodies, palms flat against one another. There was a notable size difference between them—his palm was large and calloused with long fingers that squared off at the tips, meanwhile, your own fist could probably fit into his palm.

Your fingers danced delicately together as you both watched from below. He traced the length of your fingers with his fingertips; followed the etches in your palm, and turned your hand to explore the protrusions of your knuckles. There was a certain gentle curiosity in his touch, similar to that of someone who was discovering the act of human connection for the first time.

"I don't know if I can walk home," you whispered.

Finnick lowered your interlocked hands to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles before placing them back on his stomach. "I'll carry you."

"For an entire hour?"

"I'll manage," he said, "I've got muscles."

You scoffed quietly to yourself, smiling. "Ok, big strong man."

"Says the girl who needs to be carried home."

"Well, you are kind of the one to blame for that."

You tilted your head to glance up at him and found exactly what you were expecting to see. He was wearing a proud grin, all apple cheeks and crinkled eyes. It was something you had come to adore, even though sometimes it was out of arrogance.

Your head turned to rest back on his chest. You watched as his thumb caressed slow circles over your knuckle.

"What you said before," you began, "is it true? Do you really... love me?"

The heart beating beneath your ear genuinely sounded like it skipped a beat. You imagined that was a good sign, though your nerves were still a little frayed. What if he had only said it because of the heat of the moment?

A beat went by. "I've been trying to tell you ever since I first wove the mat for you," he confessed, his voice quiet yet holding the weight of the history that made up your friendship.

There it was—the truth laid bare. Despite hearing the words, it didn't really change anything. You suspected deep down you knew the entire time; you were just too self-doubting to accept it. To accept that Finnick Odair, the crown jewel of Panem, had fallen in love with you, an ordinary girl from District Four who just so happened to meet him at a secret beach.

Although, there was a sensation you remember upon first meeting him. That instinct that had told you to stay instead of running away, as any logical human being would do upon being approached by a stranger in the middle of nowhere. That instinct, despite sounding utterly ridiculous, caused you to believe that perhaps it was fate.

Maybe you were destined to meet. Maybe it didn't matter that he was a nationwide celebrity, nor you a simple town girl. Maybe your souls were entwined from the start and, one way or another, you would have met anyway.

Maybe.

"That's a long time," you said.

He laughed. "Yeah, well, I thought you would've gotten the hint by now."

And you couldn't help but join him. You thought you were the one who was deranged out of their mind. Here Finnick was telling you he had spent an entire year trying to confess his love without you even realising.

"I'm sorry it took me so long."

"It's alright," he said, earnestly. "I'd say it worked out pretty well. I mean, look where your obliviousness got us."

You smiled. Your legs were tangled with Finnick's; his arm was holding you tightly against his bare upper body, and his fingers were lovingly tracing over yours. Yeah, you were pretty grateful for your obliviousness sometimes. A new pair of underwear might have been something to consider, though.

A silence settled between you, comfortable, peaceful. Being in Finnick's embrace almost made you forget entirely about the reality of your existence—the Games, the dominion over Panem, the chaotic environment back home. It was the reason you had set off last year in search of a place away from society.

You had now found that the escape you were looking for wasn't a place or a hidden paradise, but a person. It was Finnick.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

The trees and palm leaves danced in the light breeze. Waves lapped on the shore.

You angled your head back to look at Finnick and felt him pull you closer. His expression was a picture of relaxation and contentment. His eyes gazed down at you, glimmering with the reflection of scattered stars in the night sky, just like the sea in front of you.

He seemed to already know what you were going to say. Always the mind reader.

"Say it, sweetheart." The corners of his lips twitched expectantly.

Sweetheart. Oh, how could you have ever felt for him in any other way?

"I love you too."

His face broke into one of the happiest smiles you had ever seen.

...roll credits

4K notes · View notes

bangtanintotheroom · 7 months ago

Text

Make Me Water (M)

Can you blow my mind?

Set off my whole body

If I give you my time

Can you snatch my soul from me?

🔊 water - tyla; make me - britney spears, g-eazy; the look - ali gatie, kehlani; meeting in my bedroom - silk; tonight - dxvn., daniel di angelo; slidin' - kai and more... 🔊

• Pairing: Seonghwa x (F)Reader

• Genre: Non-Idol!AU, Friends to Lovers, Smut, Fluff

• Rating: 18+

• Words: 14.4k

• Summary: The most unexpected topic comes up during a drinking session with your friends, leading to one of them making a rather bold claim. You declare that they’re full of shit and unintentionally make them determined to prove you wrong.

• Warnings/themes: drinking, swearing, explicit sexual content, discussion about inappropriate topics, Seonghwa and his bedroom eyes 😶, Y/N is in for the ride of her life, bickering, making out, body worship, teasing, edging, praise, fingering, squirting (it’s gon be real wet up in here 🗣️💦), dirty talk, oral (f. and m. receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, multiple positions, unprotected sex (dooon’t do this), aftercare

• Notes: She's heeeeere~ I feel like I've been through the wringer working on this one, so I hope it was worth the wait! Thank you to @wooahaeproductions for beta'ing! 💖

“Alright, alright, it’s my turn now!”

Wooyoung’s exclamation made you and a couple of others look around with apprehension; nothing good came from his drunken mouth ninety percent of the time. But you humored him nonetheless by encouraging, “Go on, Woo.”

You and your group of friends had gathered at your place for the weekly hang out that involved food, drinks and conversations that could either start debates or leave everyone on the floor dying of laughter. Tonight was no exception as empty bottles of soju and beer laid across the coffee table, along with plates that once housed food that everyone brought.

Now that stomachs were full and inhibitions were lessened, in came the inappropriate discussions.

Wooyoung straightened his posture, looking like the Cheshire cat as he crowed, “What’s something you’ve always wanted to try in bed that you haven’t yet?”

Reactions varied. Some immediately looked up as they searched for an answer while others took a sudden interest in their drinking glasses. You were of the former as you scanned your brain, only for Mingi to step up to the plate first.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to have sex while driving.”

Sakura quipped over her glass with, “Like road head or full on sex?”

“Road head, I guess. Not trying to wreck my car.”

Jongho couldn’t help but scoff, “Like you would have less of a chance of crashing from that.”

Mingi waved the younger man off, clearly not wanting his fantasy to be ruined.

“Whatever. Ningning, you go now.”

“Huh?! Why me?”

“Because you’re sitting next to me, we’re going around in a circle.”

Ningning didn’t seem too pleased with his reasoning, elbowing him sharply before gathering her thoughts.

“Uh…I guess—” Her pretty face scrunched up. “—I wouldn’t mind getting tied up.”

Everyone lit up with curiosity, but it was overshadowed from Jongho nearly choking on his beer all of a sudden. Seonghwa was quick to lean over and pat his back to help out.

“Easy there.”

“I’m—” A cough. “—fine, hyung, thanks.”

Wooyoung leaned forward, eyes scrunched as he stared down Ningning.

“Eh? Bondage? Our little Ningning is into that?”

“Okay, one, don’t call me little or I’ll throw something at you. Two, I haven’t tried it yet.”

“But you want to one day.”

Knives might as well have gone into Wooyoung with the way she glared him down.

“Isn’t that the point of this game? Dumbass.”

You were quick to jump in with, “Ning, I think we need to keep you away from the soju, even though Woo deserves every word you’re hurling at him.”

“Hey!”

Ningning huffed, crossing her arms before leaning back against the couch. “Whatever. Jongho, are you alright? Sorry if I scared you.”

Jongho was under control now, although his cheeks had a slight flush to them.

“Y-Yes, Ningning…you didn’t scare me, just took me off-guard.”

She giggled, doing a complete one-eighty from her interaction with Wooyoung.

“Did I? I’ll try not to do it again, ‘kay?”

Whatever Jongho was about to reply with dwindled into a sheepish chuckle when her hand patted his.

“O-Okay.”

“Anyways—” The attention was back on Wooyoung again, thanks to his obnoxious call. “—since you’re back in action, it’s your turn now.”

“Huh?! Oh…”

The way the poor kid deflated had you about to pipe up to defend him, only for Seonghwa to beat you to it.

“Wooyoung, take it down a notch, will you?”

The offender placed a hand on his chest as if he was falsely accused of a crime. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was around a bunch of wet blankets. Look, if he wants to skip, fine. Don’t need him choking to death.”

Just as Seonghwa was about to scold again, Jongho waved a hand to ease the tension.

“Hyung, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure? Don’t let him pressure you.”

The younger man gave his elder a toothy grin in reassurance.

“Yes.”

“You heard him, mom, let him answer!”

Seonghwa sighed in defeat, shaking his head as he got comfortable in his spot next to you again. You leaned in to whisper, “There’s no winning against Woo when he’s drunk, I thought you knew that by now.”

Your friend chuckled lowly, bumping your thigh with his hand.

“Thank you for the reminder. Say it a little earlier next time, yes?”

A giggle escaped, from both his quip and the light touch.

“Yes, Hwa.”

Remembering that Jongho was about to answer now, you tuned out of your brief conversation with the man beside you and back to the group.

“I always…”

Hesitation spread over Jongho’s face as he trailed off; whatever he wanted to say must have been too much for his introverted self to admit. But Wooyoung was quick to encourage him by saying, “Come on, Jongho, spit it out! This is a no judgment zone.”

The younger man gave his friend a look of gratitude before taking a deep breath. “Okay, okay. Um…I’ve always been curious about…”

With his teeth coming on full display and his full cheeks reddening further, he unloaded.

“Squirting?”

Between Mingi spitting out his beer, Wooyoung screeching in surprise at the mess that landed on him, Sakura and Ningning gasping and your jaw dropping, the room went in an uproar.

“Yah, you got beer on me!”

“Serves you right for starting this in the first place.”

“Huh?! Jongho, are you for real?”

“Yes! What’s wrong, i-is it too much?”

Sakura waved her hands in placation, continuing, “No, it’s not! I’m just surprised to hear that from you, of all people.”

He was quick to straighten up, eyes narrowing in defense. “What is that supposed to mean?!”

“You seem so…clean-cut?”

“Yeah, not like someone who wants their mattress turned into a water bed.”

Jongho snapped at Mingi’s confusion with, “I’m not talking about a whole geyser, that’s fake! Just a little bit, you know?”

The tall man still looked unconvinced, full lips pursed.

“Okay, but, is it even possible?”

“Yeah, I heard it’s not easy to do—” Wooyoung had the nerve to wiggle his fingers in the air. “—gotta have the magic touch.”

Of course, the troublemaker himself glanced at you, Sakura and Ningning before questioning, “Unless either of you lovely ladies have experience in that area?”

Ningning shook her head swiftly. “Never.”

Sakura lifted her chin. “Nope.”

Which left you to end the interrogation with, “No, and it won’t ever happen.”

Wooyoung backed off, humming in curiosity. Just when it seemed that he was going to move on to the next victim, a voice next to you spoke.

“I’ve seen it happen before.”

Every eye in the room landed on Seonghwa, looking as casual as ever despite his controversial statement.

“Eh? What do you mean?”

He looked at Jongho casually while lifting his glass to his lips. “I’ve made someone squirt before.”

Sheer chaos erupted all at once. While everyone else talked over each other, you gawked at your friend. You did not expect something like that to come out of Seonghwa, of all people.

Seonghwa, who kept a close eye on your group during every outing.

Seonghwa, who stayed up until 3 AM playing Animal Crossing.

Prim, proper and pretty Seonghwa, who just admitted to causing an obscene act in the bedroom.

“How?!”

“Patience and knowing what they like. You also have to make sure they’re comfortable or you won’t get anywhere.”

It was ironic to see how fixated Wooyoung was on the topic, seeing as he was the one who started this game out of sheer debauchery, inquiring, “Was it planned? Or did it just happen out of nowhere?”

“It was unexpected but intriguing. We were just doing the usual and I could feel something different. Before I realized it, there was a huge mess.”

You could have sworn you heard a hint of smugness in his tone.

“Damn…from fingering or fucking?”

A tilt of his lips.

“Both.”

Wooyoung sat back, looking more than impressed at his friend’s prowess. But you weren’t on board like the others were. Squirting always seemed like something that was exaggerated by people who didn’t have much to brag about in the bedroom. Therefore, you couldn’t help but interrupt the questioning.

“You sure they didn’t pee on you?”

Seonghwa turned his head, looking unimpressed with your snark. “I’m pretty sure.”

Your brow lifted.

“It only happened that one time?”

“Yes.”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“Maybe you just got lucky.”

The ‘oooh’ echoing from your friends only amplified the taken aback expression on Seonghwa’s face.

“I think she’s calling you bad in bed, Hwa.”

“No, I’m not! I’m just skeptical, is all. Anyways—” You shot a placating smile to everyone. “—why don’t we move on to the next victim?”

Wooyoung cackled, “Now you’re speaking my language, Y/N! Sakura, you better answer with something to upstage hyung!”

“Wooyoung-ah, don’t put so much pressure on me!”

Following her whine, the group focused their full attention on the young woman, especially you as you pushed the previous topic to the back of your head. But while you were laser-focused on every single person who went next, you were unaware of the constant glances Seonghwa would shoot at the side of your head, something brewing deep in his dark eyes.

After the tumultuous discussions finally dimmed, you retreated into the kitchen to begin washing the pile of dishes from dinner. Despite the multiple offers of help, you turned them down. You could use some peace and quiet for a moment.

The dull thrum of conversation in the background was all the noise you needed as you began working on whatever was in the sink. But then you felt someone coming up to stand to your right once you got two plates in.

You didn’t even need to look up to know who was butting in.

“Do you not know the meaning of relax?”

Seonghwa hummed playfully, reaching for one of the soaped-up dishes in your sink. “No, not really.”

A huff left as you allowed him to help. No point wasting energy in saying no.

You scrubbed each one as well as you could before passing them off to your friend to rinse. Even though you knew he should have been kicking back in the living room with the others, his assistance was appreciated. You greatly underestimated how hard dried tteokbokki sauce was to get off.

“So what are they talking about now? How to recreate positions from porn?”

Seonghwa chuckled at your quip. “No, they’re laser-focused on the game.”

“Good. I still can’t believe we even had that conversation earlier.”

“You know how Wooyoung and the others get when they drink.” A pause came before he spoke lowly, “They didn’t make you feel uncomfortable, did they?”

The way concern painted his tone made you look up, seeing his face expressing the same emotion. Leave it to him to always look out for you.

“Not at all. I was taken off-guard—” You gave a reassuring smile. “—but it definitely livened up the night.”

He smiled with relief, taking another bowl from you to rinse off and dry.

“Although I have to admit, you caught me by surprise.”

“What, because of what I said?”

You hummed as you put your muscles into scrubbing a stubborn stain, “Mhm. Doesn’t seem like your kind of thing.”

Seonghwa huffed playfully, “Well, you never expressed any interest in my intimate life, so I didn’t have a reason to inform you.”

His remark made your eyes roll.

“I mean that it doesn’t seem like something your prim and proper self would be into.”

“You say that like sex isn’t meant to be the opposite of that.”

You shrugged. “I stand by what I said. Besides, you probably just got lucky with whoever she was.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Seonghwa turning his head to lift a defined brow. “What makes you say that?”

Wanting to emphasize your opinion, you paused your hands to give your friend a matter-of-fact expression.

“Because a lot of women can’t squirt. I don’t care what ‘experts’ say, it’s damn near impossible.”

To your surprise, he frowned. “Y/N, do you really think I’m lying?”

“Not lying, just taking an inch and making a mile out of it—” You went back to giving the dirty dishes attention. “—maybe if I saw it in person, it’d be a different story.”

After that, it was silent, save for the faint cheers of your friends in the living room. You figured that was the end of that conversation.

“Why bother telling you when I could just show you?”

Your fingers seemed to lose their grip on the plate, clattering into the sink loudly.

What? He did not just say that.

You turned to gawk at Seonghwa before stuttering, “H-Huh?”

He was nonplussed as he met your eyes, repeating, “I could just prove you wrong. Actions speak louder than words, no?”

Was he fucking serious? Seonghwa offering to show you how he could make you squirt?

“Hwa, you…you’re joking, right?”

“I’m not.”

Judging by the look on his face, he really wasn’t.

Feeling a heat begin to creep up the back of your neck, you tore your gaze away to grab the plate, picking it up and checking to see if it suffered any damage from your slip-up.

“Come on, be for real right now. I can’t do that.”

“You can’t let me touch you or you can’t squirt?”

You almost threw the abused dish back down as your head whipped up to fix him a flustered glare.

“Both! One, we’re friends. Two, I’ve never squirted and I never will.”

Seonghwa gave you an equally stern look, firing back, “We’re both single and it would just be between the two of us. And have you ever even tried?”

“N-No, but—”

“So how would you know?”

You pursed your lips, feeling a wave of frustration mixed with defeat overcoming you. It wasn’t fun to admit, but he had a point.

He could probably tell by the look on your face that you knew this, yet he didn’t gloat or prod you further. Seonghwa just kept watching and waiting for your next defense to come out. But it didn’t come for a while as your mind raced with thoughts, coming up with one that took you for a spin.

Would it really be so bad to say yes?

If you had to be honest, a part of you always entertained escaping the friend zone with Seonghwa. Yes, he was an incredibly good-looking man, but that could only get you so far. It was his personality that made your mind wander, as well.

There was always something so incredibly attractive about someone who looked out for you and your best interests. It wasn’t just with you, but with others as well. The amount of times he had jumped in to assist (especially with Jongho and Wooyoung) with getting them out of messes was too frequent.

But this was your friend. And friends and sex mixed together could either end up turning into something beautiful or an absolute disaster.

“Seonghwa.”

“Hm?”

You peered up at him with confusion. “Why me?”

For a moment, your friend said nothing while keeping his stare on you. But then the gentlest of smiles stretched his lips before he explained, “Why not?”

Flabbergasted. Flustered. Any word to match your current feeling was necessary.

His reason was as simple as that?

“Hwa, the TV is acting up again, can you help us?”

Sakura’s sudden shout made the two of you jump, Seonghwa turning his head to call out, “Give me a second!”

You couldn’t help but freeze when his dark eyes landed on you again, steady as if you two didn’t have an inappropriate conversation just now.

“No pressure, Y/N. Excuse me.”

And then he left you alone in the kitchen, reeling and staring at the spot he was previously in.

What the hell?

Desperate to distract yourself from what occurred, you turned to face the sink again. Cleaning up was considerably slower this time, thanks to your hands trembling. When you dropped the same butter knife for the third time, you swore under your breath and placed your palms on the edge of the counter, holding on tight. It was to try and get your nerves under control, but alas, you ended up pondering Seonghwa's offer in the meantime.

You sighed heavily, hanging your head for a moment as you reminded yourself to grab a shot before heading back to the others.

The rest of the night went smoothly with spikes of excitement, courtesy of Jongho and Ningning’s impromptu duet and Mingi’s long-winded explanation of how ants were the most useless bugs in existence. You tried your damnedest to focus on them and give your own input, but it was difficult thanks to the source of your troubles sitting right next to you.

You tried to play it cool, even though you kept stealing glances at Seonghwa, acting as nonplussed as ever. It didn’t help at all when he decided to perch his head on your lap, humming as he looked ready to fall asleep at any moment.

Bastard.

Mercy was granted when everyone decided to head out later on. You saw them out with hugs and promises to make plans for next week’s hangout, save for Seonghwa who decided to stay behind to help with the last bit of cleaning. You cursed his consideration, still feeling too shaken to be able to stay alone in the same room as him. As long as you avoided his eyes, you were okay.

When he finally decided to leave, you felt an odd mix of relief and disappointment. His offer hadn’t been brought up again since earlier, leaving you to wonder if he was fully serious or just taking the piss out of you.

“Are you alright?”

You broke out of your thoughts, seeing Seonghwa observing you with concern.

“Yeah, Hwa…I think I’m just ready for bed, that's all.”

“You do look tired. Let me get out of your hair, then.”

And so you walked him to your front door, the feeling still lingering inside your chest. You tried your best to stifle it as you unlocked the door, giving your friend a smile.

“Thanks for the help, Hwa.”

He gave you one of his gorgeous, toothy grins, making your gut flip in protest. “Of course, Y/N.”

And like always, he reached his arms out, waiting until you stepped into them to receive a tight hug.

A hug that made you a little giddy at times yet hit ten times harder tonight.

“Have a good night.”

Why did he have to whisper it like that? And so close to your head?

“You too. Get home safe.”

Reluctantly, you let him go, watching as he stepped over the threshold. But as soon as both feet passed, that ball of tension inside crawled up and out of your mouth.

“Seonghwa.”

You almost didn’t recognize your voice, trying not to mull over it too much as said man turned to look at you. Hesitation wracked you before you were able to muster a necessary question.

“Are you free this weekend?”

“I am. Why?”

Would you regret what you were about to do? Or would you be unlocking the door to something new and exciting?

There was no point in analyzing further as you gathered up every last one of your nerves to look him in the eye.

“I have a challenge for you.”

You were a fool. A horny, little fool who let her pussy take over her mind.

As badly as you wanted to blame Seonghwa for even putting this crazy idea into your head, it was absurd to try. You were the one who accepted his offer and you were the one currently driving over to his place to see if he could put his money where his mouth was.

Just the curious thoughts you had about what he might do had you gripping the steering wheel tighter.

They came to a halt when you parked and began making your way up to his apartment, trying not to look too jumpy to the doorman who always greeted you. You were no stranger to visiting, but a silly part of you became paranoid that he’d see right through and decipher the naughty reason that you were really here. But your facade remained steady until you made your way off the elevator and headed straight for one of the doors in the hallway.

You took in a deep breath, soothing your nerves a mite before ringing the doorbell. Whatever composure you mustered dwindled when Seonghwa answered a few seconds later, looking effortlessly gorgeous as ever. Yes, even in a plain white tee and gray sweats.

Damn. You probably looked basic as fuck with your simple cami and leggings on.

“Y/N.”

The pleasant smile he gave reflected on your own face as you brought a mildly shaky hand up to give a short wave.

“I made it.”

“I can see that. Come in.”

As soon as he stepped aside, you entered, sliding your shoes off as he shut the door.

“Busy day today?”

You shrugged as you pushed your footwear to the side of the welcome mat. “Busy enough. I took it easy, honestly.”

“Saving your energy for tonight?”

The tips of your ears heated up at the ever so subtle upturn of his lips. Leave it to him to be direct.

“Maybe.”

Seonghwa chuckled as you looked anywhere but at him, leaning his shoulder against the door and folding his arms across his chest. “No need to be so awkward, Y/N.”

You groaned and looked up at the ceiling before griping, “Hwa, I just came over to your apartment to see if you could get me to squirt. How can I not be awkward?”

Your friend’s humorous smile grew into a reassuring one as he returned to his full height, reaching one of his hands out to hold yours.

“You shouldn’t feel awkward because it’s just between the two of us and we’re going to have a good time.”

The touch and reassurance from him eased your nerves a little, but…

“But what if I don’t end up doing it?”

Seonghwa’s expression became a bit serious now.

“Then we’ll figure it out, if we hit that wall. Either way, no pressure—” His thumb rubbed the back of your hand. “—I just want you to enjoy yourself.”

Your heart couldn’t help but warm. Despite the fact that he brought this up in the first place, he gave you the choice to tap out whenever you wanted. But there was a bud growing inside you now. A bud that was determined to at least attempt to see his claim through.

“Thank you, Seonghwa. I, um, hope I don’t disappoint you.”

He grinned lightly, giving your palm a careful squeeze.

“I’m sure you won’t. Do you need anything right now?”

Considering that you did all your grooming and usual sex prep at home, you were ready to get straight to business.

“No, I’m good.”

Seonghwa nodded at your answer, letting go of your hand. “Alright. Just head to my room and get comfortable, I have to grab a few things first.”

Although you raised your eyebrow at whatever ‘a few things’ was, you let it slide and turned to walk towards his bedroom. Out of all the times you had been in there, heading past the door had you overcome with a different emotion this time. Well, three.

You were nervous, cautious and excited at the same time. Maybe there was a name for that somewhere out there, but you deemed it unimportant at the moment as you sat on the foot of his bed.

His room was familiar, so you couldn’t distract yourself by looking around. For now, you clasped your hands and twiddled your thumbs, watching them with mild interest. The sound of Seonghwa finally entering brought your attention away from your appendages, only for your brows to nearly raise into your hairline with the things your friend had bundled in his arms.

Two water bottles.

A bath towel.

A portable speaker.

“You’re really turning this into a whole experience, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I want to make sure you’re as relaxed as possible.”

Something clicked and you made a noise of realization. “Is that why you asked me to send you a bedroom playlist over?”

“Mhm.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly and shake your head.

“Seonghwa…it almost feels like you’re trying to seduce me.”

He giggled at the accusation, setting the stuff down on the bed before grinning mischievously.

“Is it working?”

In all honesty, it wouldn’t have taken much on his end to seduce you, but there was no way in hell you were going to say that out loud.

“I’ll give you an A for effort.”

“Hmph, good enough.”

With that, Seonghwa grabbed the speaker to start setting it up with his phone.

“Oh, I forgot to mention—” He paused and turned his head to look at you. “—you might want to use the bathroom before we start.”

His suggestion made your face scrunch in confusion. “I don’t really have to go, though…”

“Even if you don’t, it’ll give you peace of mind. Just so you know that you don’t have to go during. Trust me.”

Well, you weren’t going to keep fighting the supposed squirting expert, so you shrugged and stood up to head to the bathroom. After doing the little bit of business you had and cleaning up, you returned to Seonghwa’s room, only to be greeted by a few different things.

Familiar music entered your ears and your eyes noticed the large bath towel spread out in the middle of his bed, the dark terrycloth contrasting with the light blue comforter. Seonghwa had his back turned to you, too occupied in fussing with something at his nightstand to notice your appearance. You cleared your throat after a few seconds, capturing his attention as he looked over his shoulder.

“All done?”

You gave a nod as you walked up to him.

“Are you all put together now?”

He chuckled a little, returning your nod. “As much as I can be, yes.”

Despite his answer, there was a bout of silence between the two of you afterward. It seemed that neither of you didn’t know how to continue. Thankfully, he stepped up to the plate.

“Should we sit?”

His motioning to the foot of the bed forced you to swallow the sudden jump of nerves, moving forward to sit down, the other following suit. Your eyes remained on the carpet, tapping your bare feet on it as you came to terms with what was about to happen. It was a miracle that you could hear the music over the hammering of your heartbeat.

“You look nervous.”

You brought your eyes up to see Seonghwa giving you a sympathetic smile. It only made you clear your throat and look away with timidity.

“Can you blame me? This is an…unexpected development in our relationship.”

A quiet hum. “It definitely is.”

Both of you stayed silent, breaking when you heard him whisper, “I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.”

You whipped your head back around, blinking at his change in tone.

“I was expecting you to curse me out completely for even bringing something like this up.”

You assumed that you were the only one internally freaking out about this, but it was clear by the way Seonghwa kept tapping his bouncing leg that he was struggling to adjust too. Endeared and relieved by his behavior, you carefully bumped your leg into his.

“Well, you seemed so sincere in your offer and knowing you, you wouldn’t risk it if you knew I was gonna flip, right?”

Your mild teasing paired with encouragement made his demeanor brighten, teeth flashing.

“Right.”

Both of you giggled, feeling a little more at ease now. It led to Seonghwa taking your hand in his now, the touch comforting as he gazed into your eyes with a seriousness.

“There’s still a chance for you to back out, Y/N. It’s your call.”

Seonghwa’s body language was pretty clear in what answer he really wanted to hear. The way he continuously brushed his thumb over your knuckles and looked deep into your eyes let you know how much he was looking forward to this experience.

And yet he still gave you full control over it.

A grateful smile couldn’t help but stretch over your lips as you completely made up your mind. Your palm turned over to still his wandering thumb, scooting closer until your knee touched his own.

Leaning in, you whispered into his ear, “Show me what you can do.”

As soon as you pulled back, you could see the shift in Seonghwa’s expression, one that was new to you but brought a thrill down your spine. With a firm nod, he brought up his free hand to hold your jaw with caution. His head came in, tilting before you closed your eyes. A second later, you felt his lips claiming yours for a kiss.

A kiss that was everything you thought of and everything you never anticipated.

You always expected him to be an expert at this. Which was probably dumb of you to assume, considering you never got anything more than a hug out of your friend, but what was the harm in wishful thinking? At least he proved you right with the way he let passion slowly drip into it and kept his hands touching you.

Your body slowly crept up in temperature as the minutes went by. By now, you were giving back as much as you could in the kiss, one of your own hands holding onto his t-shirt. The urge to venture underneath kept striking, yet you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself without asking. You reluctantly pulled your lips off of Seonghwa’s, only enough to whisper, “Can I take your shirt off, Hwa?”

He was quick to give a nod of approval, sitting back before taking your hand and moving it to brush against the hem. Before you could lose your nerve, you took hold with both hands, waiting for your friend to lift his arms and sliding the fabric up carefully. You tossed it to the floor as soon as it was off, breath catching at what was in front of you now.

This wasn’t the first time you had seen Seonghwa shirtless, but the current circumstances made the sight more tantalizing than usual. Although you had noticed the light definition of his lean torso prior to today, knowing that you were about to have free reign made the urge to touch him even stronger. With a burst of want, your fingers began exploring his warm skin, watching and listening as he reacted to your touch.

The barely audible hums and sighs falling from his lips were eventually silenced when he leaned in for another kiss, the intensity turned up a notch this time. Feeling your friend groan into your mouth whenever you brushed a sensitive spot was a privilege you never thought you would get.

And one you didn’t want to give up any time soon.

But then Seonghwa was pulling away, making you nearly choke on the whine you had to hold back. Your disappointment was swiftly alleviated when you saw his hands go for the bottom of your shirt now. His brow raised as he questioned softly, “May I?”

Your response was an encouraging nod. Repeating his motions from earlier as the roles were reversed, you tried to ignore the anxious, little voice in your head as your clothing came off and ended up on the bedroom floor. It was also a result of spending nearly an hour deciding on what underwear to don, which in the grand scheme of things, was stupid. But you wanted to at least leave him with a good impression.

Which may be what you’re getting, judging by the smallest tilt of his mouth as he looked you over.

“What?”

“Would I sound arrogant if I asked if this was for me?”

Your nerves eased as you giggled and gave his leg a light kick.

“You would…but I’d let it slide.”

“Would you?”

“Mhm—” The attention made you push your chest out a bit. “—figured I’d wear my good stuff for a special occasion.”

Seonghwa chuckled lowly, glancing at the motion before returning to your face. “Well, I feel very grateful right now.”

His words solidified that you made an excellent choice today.

While you were mentally patting yourself on the back, he began leaning in again, only for his lips to land on your jawline. The sensation brought a pleasant shiver down your spine, increasing when he started moving lower. Brushing over your pulse point made it come stronger this time.

You tipped your head back to give your friend more room to work with, getting lost in the sensations. The feelings gave way to a gentle warmth that crept up on you the longer Seonghwa kept kissing, spiking into a small fire every time he hit a sensitive spot or threw a bit of teeth into the mix. When the heat needed an escape, you’d let out gentle noises to let him know how he was making you feel. He’d show his gratitude with a hum on your skin or the softest of chuckles.

“You know—” A scrape along your jugular. “—I always thought you were gorgeous.”

Whoa. The sudden words made you fall out of your haze a bit as you stammered, “R-Really?”

“Mhm—“ Another kiss on your neck. “—so pretty.”

An unmistakable heat built up in your cheeks, taking his compliment to heart. To have someone that looked like Seonghwa saying that would have your ego riding a high for the next few days.

But for now, you’d focus on the way his lips started carefully trailing down to the swells of your breasts, occasionally brushing against the lace hiding the rest of them. You couldn’t help but watch the top of his head, ebony bangs swaying and tickling your sensitive skin as he continued with his kisses. Soon enough, the desire for more came.

“Hwa.”

The soft call made him stop and bring his head up to give you his attention. With a slight push of your chest, you encouraged, “Take it off.”

Seonghwa gave your bra a quick glance before returning his gaze to give a nod, sitting up to reach around your torso. You felt his hand fumble for a moment until the band around your ribs loosened. He went for your straps now, sliding the garment down delicately, eyes fixated on your skin as it was exposed.

The way he was staring had you feeling a mix of self-consciousness and assurance. Having one of your close friends seeing you in such a state was nerve-wracking, but the budding heat in his expression let you know that he liked what he saw. And if you were unsure about that, he was quick to remedy it by leaning down to pull a nipple into his mouth.

A small hiss left your lips at the sensation, head tipping back as Seonghwa began carefully sucking. Just when you were really enjoying it, he pulled off to ask, “Did you like that?”

It took a second to gain your voice before answering, “I did.”

Your friend’s mouth quirked at your affirmation, pleased to find something else that made you tick. He dove back in, returning his attention to the stiff bud with more pressure. A few sighs escaped as your eyes fluttered closed to enjoy it further. How quickly Seonghwa caught on to your body was mind-boggling. Whenever you were about to ask for more, he’d bring a hand up to tweak and play with the neglected side.

He continued to play with your breasts a little longer, leaving no inch untouched before he pulled off. The loss of the touch had your fingers tightening on the comforter, only easing up when he spoke, “We should get more comfortable.”

With a motion of his hand towards the head of the bed, you turned and crawled up to rest your head on the pillows. Seonghwa was quick to follow, watching as he ended up on top of you. He stopped when he was level with your chest, planting a few kisses before slowly trailing them down your torso. That and the little nips he’d throw in between made you melt into the comforter.

You couldn’t help but want to watch him in action at one point. Your stare must have been heavy as he eventually caught you.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just…I’m surprised at how thorough you’re being.”

He let out an amused huff before sitting up between your legs.

“The buildup is part of it, Y/N. It’s not just about how you feel here—” He pointed between your hips before tapping your forehead. “—it’s about what’s going on up here too.”

Wow. Never did you imagine hearing that out of anyone you were about to be intimate with. His thought process relaxed you further, giving him a nod to show that you understood.

Seonghwa looked pleased with your reaction, leaning in to give you a short but sweet kiss. He pulled back to direct his eyes on your panties before peering back up to raise a thick brow.

“Should we take these off?”

The suggestion forced your bottom lip under your teeth in anticipation, lifting your hips to let him know that you were completely on board. He took a hold of the waistband and pulled down carefully until your underwear came off your legs and ended up on the floor. The new exposure had you keeping them as close together as possible (which wasn’t much, thanks to Seonghwa sitting in between). Your friend didn’t give you the chance to feel more shy, his hands laying next to your knees to gradually slide up and towards your inner thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

With a light push, he spread your legs further apart, revealing more of your most intimate area. Your stomach flipped at the way his eyes seemed to drink you in, feeling a thumb come up to brush the apex of your thigh.

“Pretty.”

His murmur made you want to grab a pillow and hide your face from the sudden heat washing over it. But Seonghwa interrupted your modesty by hooking his hands underneath your knees to push them back all of a sudden.

“Hwa!”

“Hold these for me.”

You couldn’t tell if it was a command or a suggestion; either way, you were quick to hold the back of your knees and keep yourself spread open. All you could do was lay there and wiggle your toes as you tried not to overthink on how exposed you were to Seonghwa now.

“Y/N.”

You peered up at him, only to be greeted with a question that you never expected to leave his mouth.

“Do you like being eaten out?”

A tremble slipped through your fingers while the grip on your legs tightened. You nodded slowly while whispering, “I do.”

Seonghwa pulled in his bottom lip before biting, focusing his gaze between your legs again.

“May I?”

God yes. Which was short for ‘god yes, eat me the fuck out like you haven’t had a meal in days’, but your nerves dwindled it down to a mini smile paired with a slow nod. It seemed to be more than enough for your friend as he grinned lightly before carefully slinking down until his face hovered in front of your dripping folds.

A conflict of emotions occurred at the view. A thrill went through you at the thought of having Seonghwa put his mouth on you, yet you were also incredibly vulnerable to him now. Did you taste alright? Did you clean up enough and—

“Oh—”

Whatever worries you were going to stew on were interrupted, thanks to the tongue delicately running up your slit. The motion had your body stiffening at first, gaping down at the head between your thighs. For a moment, your brain couldn’t comprehend that it was Seonghwa who did that, but it was quick to realize when he went and did it again, making a light sound come out.

Your friend peered up at you through his bangs, deep brown eyes watching you like a hawk.

“Too much or more?”

“It…felt nice. Just, um, build it up?”

Why did you say that as if you didn’t know how you liked to be eaten out? Now Seonghwa cocked his head, looking a little cautious.

“You don’t sound very confident about that, Y/N. Don’t be afraid to tell me what you like.”

Right. Right. This was Seonghwa, not some person who was doing this out of obligation for the end goal. How would he know how to please you if you didn’t communicate?

Taking a deep breath, you informed him, “That was fine. Just…switch between that and my clit.”

He nodded, looking more satisfied with your answer.

“Okay. Just tell me if I need to do anything different, yes?”

Your mouth curled at his consideration. “Yes, Hwa.”

Seonghwa gave your inner thigh a gentle peck before going back to what he was doing. Now you could enjoy the feeling fully, less hesitant than before. By the third lick, a moan began building up at the base of your throat, releasing when you felt the lightest of pressures on your clit.

“Mnh—”

“Is that good?”

Your legs spread further. “You can do it a little harder.”

He wasted no time in following your suggestion, circling the bud with more strength to make your back arch slightly and your nails dig into your skin.

“Yeah, just like that—”

Seonghwa continued, egged on by your words. He seemed to develop a strategy when it came to pleasuring you, leaving your eyes to flutter shut as you enjoyed the bliss.

The only time your fog was interrupted was when you heard his voice husking from below, “Knew you’d always taste so good.”

A shiver wracked your body from the mixture of praise and the light flick he gave your clit. You sat back and enjoyed the feeling of your friend’s mouth as he worked you over. When you felt something prodding your entrance, your eyes flew open, head lifting to see Seonghwa meeting you with apprehension on his beautiful face. Only when you looked closer did you see that the tip of his index finger was what pressed against you.

“Can I put it in?”

Your nod was all he needed before sliding inside, your teeth clenching at the welcome spreading. He began thrusting slowly, lighting a different kind of spark inside at the added friction. You tipped your head back again, sighing pleasantly in enjoyment.

“You sound so fucking wet—”

You squeezed involuntarily around his digit, finding that he wasn’t exaggerating. Listening close, you could hear a light squelching, your ears burning from the noise.

Seonghwa continued moving against your walls, stimulating you to the point where you instructed him to add another finger in. With a bite of his lip, he obliged, carefully adding a second one that made you moan even louder than before. How you managed to still keep a hold of your legs was impressive in its own right. But you nearly let go when you felt a brush against your G-spot.

“Ah—”

“Y/N?”

You were swift in alleviating his concern with a, “Right there, Hwa—”

He was clued into what he did, starting to rub and press in that area with more pressure. To give you something else to make your head spin, you felt him start to lap and swirl around your clit again. The two sensations intertwined seamlessly, leading to a familiar knot to start forming in your gut.

Shit. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine Seonghwa, your close friend, would make you about to come.

But just when you were about to allow the moment to take over, he removed his tongue and stilled his fingers, making your head throw back in frustration as you groaned.

“Damn—”

Seonghwa was quick to placate you, “I’m sorry, Y/N, but it’s necessary.”

You brought your head up to shoot a large pout to let him know you didn’t see eye to eye. He gave you a chuckle in return, his free hand coming up to give your tense stomach a pat.

“Believe me, I’d love nothing more than to watch you come, but I made a promise.”

His admission, followed by the peck on the back of your thigh, made your toes curl in anticipation of what he had planned. You took some time to collect yourself, trying to ignore the pang that came from denying yourself an orgasm. Once you were ready, you let Seonghwa know.

It was like a rinse and repeat cycle, the way he kept edging you, only to stop when sweet bliss was about to arrive. Thankfully, after the third time of this, he sat up in front of you.

“I think you’re ready now.”

Mouth popping open in intrigue, you inquired, “So what should I do?”

“Just go along with it until you feel like you’re going to come. It’s going to feel like you have to pee also, but don’t fight it. Just push, okay?”

Hm. Simple enough.

“Okay.”

Seonghwa smiled at your compliance, giving your thigh a gentle rub before continuing to move the hand that made your pussy its new home. It might as well have, with the way it effortlessly slid and stroked all the spots that made you quiver. A sneaky part of your brain mused on why you never thought about getting intimate with your friend sooner.

But then you were struck with a feeling that sent an unexpected shock throughout your entire system.

What was that?

And then it happened again, only to come with an unwelcome weight below your belly button.

Fuck. Was this what he was talking about?

The longer he kept going, the more that pressure became overwhelming. It was a battle to fight with your brain to let it know that you weren’t going to have an accident. But once you got it to settle down, the feeling was so close.

You had to tell him. But your first attempt at speaking was useless, mouth parting only to let out yet another moan. With the most of your strength, you strained your vocal cords to choke out, “Seonghwa—!”

“Push.”

The desire to make the intense pressure go away was only stoked by his deep command, making something in you snap. With a strained cry, your hands flew down to tug at the sheets as bolts of lightning raced up and down your body. You faintly notice the tension in your lower belly dissipating a mite as you shook underneath Seonghwa. Remembering his instructions, you push your lower muscles as much as possible, feeling a sudden heat wash down your thighs.

You wanted to look and see if anything was happening down there, but the pleasure was overwhelming, forcing you to ride it out until your senses started to return. After what felt like eons, your body calmed down a little, although your hips would occasionally jerk.

Only when Seonghwa spoke did you become aware of your surroundings again.

“You did it.”

Those three words, teeming with pride, brought your heavy head up from the pillow. You looked up to see a pleased grin on his handsome face.

“D-Did I?”

His smile only grew wider, motioning you to take a peek between your legs. There was a delay from your brain to your body, but you managed to prop yourself up on your elbows. When you caught a glimpse, your mouth couldn’t help but pop open in shock.

The sight of your friend’s fingers stuffed in your pussy was already something to behold, but the extra details surrounding it only made it better. His hand glistened in the dim light of the room, along with your inner thighs. You had to look a little harder to notice the small wet spot on the towel, though.

“I did it…”

A swell of satisfaction built up in your chest as you gazed up at Seonghwa with amazement.

“I told you you could.”

Gratification and a hint of cockiness graced his tone, making a breathless giggle escape you.

“Wow…”

Your friend hummed pleasantly, his free hand coming up to give your hip a gentle rub.

“Did it feel good?”

Good? Good?

“It felt fucking amazing.”

Seonghwa laughed at your impassioned response. “Wonderful. I wasn’t going to take anything less.”

You matched his laugh, flopping back down onto the bed as you continued to get your bearings. As the shocks slowly wore off, your brain began racing. The feeling you had experienced just now was intense yet addicting. It seemed that your body wanted more of what your friend gave you, not helped by the fact that he still had his digits inside.

Feeling a little more prepared this time, you brought your head up.

“Seonghwa.”

He lifted a brow at your call, followed by a wiggle of your hips.

“I want to do it again.”

His face relaxed into one of understanding immediately. He waited for you to get comfortable before starting to move his fingers at a steady pace. It took less time for the heat to start building back up, making your mouth part to let consistent moans out again. The sensation built up faster than before, assisted by the suggestive words Seonghwa would throw in in between. When that urge hit again, you didn’t hesitate to speak.

“H-Hwa, I’m gonna—“

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened at your warning, clearly ready to bring you to that high point again. But rather than let you lay back like before, his other hand shot up behind your neck, cupping it with a firm grip. You were lost about his intentions until he lifted, enough to have you looking down and getting an eyeful of his fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt.

Just the sight alone pushed you even closer to the edge.

“Watch yourself make a mess, Y/N.”

And your friend’s harsh words tossed you over that cliff in no time.

You moaned loudly, making sure to keep your eyes peeled despite the urge to close them again. You’re able to push a little harder this time, getting a clear view of the small stream coming out between your legs.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby—”

Your head was unable to throw back at the pleasure coursing through your body, thanks to Seonghwa’s hold. The control he had on you was unexpected yet thrilling. You somehow managed to watch his face now, your gut flipping at the way he fixated on what was happening below. His thick brows were knitted and his lips pursed in concentration while he continued to drive his fingers back and forth.

But then he glanced up at your face, directing that heat onto you with little shame.

“Good girl. Let it all out.”

Thank God he decided to let your neck go then, because his praise made whatever control you had on yourself disappear, causing you to splay out on the bed. All you could do was lay back and let him continue to work you over and over again.

At one point, you could feel his fingers slip out and cover you, rubbing back and forth to make your mess spread out. Had this been earlier, you would have been embarrassed at the way it was getting everywhere, but the fog of the strong orgasms erased your worries. Only when one of your hands flew down to grab his wrist did Seonghwa stop, leaving you to deal with the aftershocks.

Holy fuck, your thighs could not stop shaking. And you could feel every muscle below your waist twitching.

Once a sense of relief washed over you, your fingers unwrapped from Seonghwa before your arms laid next to your head. You panted harshly as you tried to get your bearings and calm your lower half (you came this close to kicking your friend in the leg). His warm hand came up and rested on your hip, rubbing with care as he soothed you with words.

“That’s it, Y/N. You did well.”

You lulled into a sense of security, eyes lidding until your lashes brushed against each other. The temptation to drift off into sleep was incredibly strong right—

“Here.”

But then one of the water bottles appeared in front of your face, making you realize how thirsty you were all of a sudden. You gave Seonghwa a raspy ‘thank you’ before taking it, sitting up and wasting no time in drinking.

“Trust me, you’ll need it if you want to keep going.”

You chuckled around your bottle, bringing it down once you were halfway finished.

“I appreciate it, the last thing I want is dehydration.”

Your friend grinned in humor, taking a moment before questioning, “How are you feeling right now?”

An answer didn’t come right away because there were too many. But for now—

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Seonghwa laughed, the hand still on your thigh giving a gentle squeeze. “I created a monster, didn’t I?”

“Hey, you’re the one who offered to show me. If anything, you have to take responsibility.”

“Don’t worry, I will…once you’re back in order.”

You batted pathetically at his quip, only to rest your hand on your stomach as you continued to relax. The typical post-orgasm bliss crept up, although you ignored the desire to take a nap. Especially once you noticed the state your friend was left in.

The dim light gave you a clear view of how he strained against the fabric of his sweats, washing you over with a sense of pride.

“That seems like a problem.”

Seonghwa followed your stare, only to chuckle modestly and scratch the back of his neck.

“I’ll be fine.”

Your brow furrowed at his avoidance. “You sure?”

He was quick to shoot you a grin.

“Positive. This isn’t about me, remember?”

Oh Seonghwa. Sweet, considerate Seonghwa whose actions carried over to the bedroom as well. He probably thought you were only offering out of accountability, not knowing that it was far from that. You wanted to make him feel something tonight.

“I know, but—” You propped yourself up on your elbows. “—are you not interested?”

A wary glance. “…in?”

Time to let it out.

“In me…touching you.”

As you predicted, your friend was caught off-guard, surprise on his gorgeous face. He looked away a couple of times before he could finally meet your eyes. You nearly missed him whispering lowly, “I wouldn’t say that.”

A giddiness overtook at his answer. It gave you the nerve to say something you never imagined would leave the comfort of your mind.

“Would it be bad if I admit I want to suck you off?”

The way Seonghwa jolted visibly and hitched his breath at your blunt remark was a clear enough response.

“Y/N…”

“What? It gets me going. Besides, I want to at least give you something for making me feel so good.”

You weren’t given a verbal answer for a while, Seonghwa poking his tongue in his cheek while looking at you with contemplation.

“Are you sure?”

His question was met with a cheeky smile and a nod from you. They eased his expression into something more agreeable.

“Okay. Where do you want me?”

You sat up and scooted over, moving the towel’s wet portion before pointing at your previous spot.

“Lay down.”

Seonghwa was quick to follow your order, head resting on the pillows as he watched you reach for the last bits of fabric that was holding him back from being bare. Your fingers curled under the elastic of his pants and underwear and with a glance up and a lift of his narrow hips, you began sliding the waistbands down to reveal the effects of what had been going on.

Just the sight of his flushed and stiff cock had you letting out a low yet audible ‘fuck’, ripping his clothing off his long legs before taking your spot between them. Leaning your head in towards him, you were halted when one of his hands landed and gave the back of your neck a gentle grasp. Your eyes darted up to see him shake his head.

“Sit over here.”

Seonghwa patted the space to the left of his torso, prompting you to crawl back over him to follow his instructions. You kept your legs folded underneath your body, only to feel his hand cup your ass before lifting so you were on your knees now. As if he could hear your questioning thoughts, he muttered, “I want to keep touching you.”

All it took was his fingertips brushing your inner thighs before you leaned back down to get to work. Because of the angle, you had to wrap your fingers around him in order to reach with your mouth. Channeling all of the late night thoughts you’ve had about Seonghwa, you slipped your tongue out to run along his cock, soaking in the low groan heard from above. Turning your head, you peered at him.

“Good?”

Seonghwa blew out a short breath as he nodded, grunting, “Yes…keep going.”

Feeling more confident thanks to that, you did as he wished, making sure not to miss an inch of him. Up and down strokes turned into swirls and flicks, especially whenever you were near his tip (the sound he made from being in that area had you squirming). As soon as you heard your friend quietly begging for more, you parted your lips and began sinking down, the hand still gripping your ass digging in with a fierceness that made you jump.

“Shit, Y/N.”

But you didn’t let that deter you, stopping just when he was about to hit the back of your mouth before beginning to bob. You earned more of those beautiful noises from Seonghwa, along with fingers seeking out your soaked core, stroking and rubbing to have you vibrating around his dick with moans.

“You’re so fucking good with your mouth, baby—“

All of a sudden, you found your hands unable to stay still. Your right one slid onto his stomach, feeling the way his abdominals would tense and loosen constantly. The left one went down to his thighs, carefully running your nails along the muscled expanse. At one point, you got daring and crept up to graze his balls, earning a sudden thrust that made you gag for a second.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry.”

Seonghwa’s apology was swift yet gruff, the pleasure you were giving him obscuring any gentleness behind it. You didn’t mind, shooting him a glance and a thumbs up to signal that you were okay. As soon as you felt his hips relax and a careful pat on your bottom, you continued. His reactions to both your hands and mouth working him up were less sudden yet consistent, groans and hisses more audible than the soft music playing in the background.

When you started to feel him twitch more often and hear his breathing become erratic, you had to ask yourself where you were going to go with this. He accomplished his main goal already (multiple times), so it was only natural to finish him off before going your separate ways.

…right?

Honestly, you didn’t want to stop here.

It was incredibly dangerous to admit it, but you’ve already come this far with Seonghwa. What was the harm in taking this to the highest level? That is, if he was on the same page as you…

Carefully pulling off of him, you felt a pang of guilt at the low whine he gave from the loss of your mouth.

“Hwa.”

You could see his throat bob for a moment before he brought his head up, bangs clinging to his forehead as he looked down at you with nothing but heat.

“Y-Yes?”

Sitting up, you wiped the spit off your chin as you worked up the nerve to air out your want.

“Would you mind if…uh…”

Seonghwa tilted his head as he waited for you to continue.

“If?”

A deep breath. “If we…kept going.”

He processed your implication for a bit, his dark brown eyes widening when it clicked. His mouth parted into an ‘o’ as he forced himself to sit up.

“Y/N…we don’t have to go all the way. We can stop here.”

You couldn’t help but deflate a little at his answer, wondering if he wasn’t as interested in taking this further as you were.

“O-Oh. Do you not want to…?”

Your disappointment was prevalent in your voice, causing Seonghwa’s hands to wave in appeasement.

“No no no, that’s not it at all! I just don’t want you to feel obligated.”

Obligated? Obligated?

“Seonghwa.”

Your friend straightened up at your impassive call of his name.

“There’s no obligation if I really want to sit on your dick, now is there?”

His mouth dropped, opening and closing before he admitted sheepishly, “No…there isn’t.”

A smile graced your lips as you patted his leg.

“All I need to know is if we’re on the same page.”

Seonghwa sobered up at your remark, chewing on his lower lip as he seemed to debate his answer. His eyes went to the hand on his thigh for what felt like a while. Finally, he looked back up at your face, meeting your gaze with a conviction that wasn’t there before.

“We are.”

To say your heart did a somersault would be an understatement.

“So…you want to keep going?”

He nodded firmly. “I do.”

You couldn’t help but want to egg him on, to make sure this was something he completely wanted.

“How bad?”

What you got was Seonghwa adopting an expression that you were becoming familiar with today as he took a hold of your chin, pulling you close to his face before husking, “How bad? I don’t want you to leave this bed until I have you squirting and screaming on my cock, that’s how bad.”

Fuck. This was what you got for poking the bear. Now you were rendered speechless and even more needy than before. Your reaction brought a devious smirk to his lips.

“Does that answer your question?”

You were only capable of nodding and leaning in to say, “It sure does.”

It was unclear who started it first, but the two of you ended up in a passionate kiss, hands roaming each other’s bodies in the meantime. Only when you were desperate for air did it break, Seonghwa giving your waist a squeeze before getting up to stand next to the bed.

“Lay down, Y/N.”

You quickly followed directions, spreading the towel back out to be safe and laying on your back like earlier. He grabbed one of the pillows next to your head and motioned you to lift your hips, placing it underneath to have them at a slight angle. You welcomed the extra cushion, watching as he turned and went into his nightstand to search for what you assumed were his condoms. But he didn’t produce them right away, frowning slightly when he continued to rummage around in confusion.

You appreciated his caution, but…

“We don’t have to use that.”

Seonghwa paused, giving you a dumbfounded look.

“What…? Y/N.”

The skepticism in his tone forced you to meet his wary stare with a serious one.

“Really, Seonghwa, it’s fine. I’m clean and on the pill.”

“You are? Well…I’m safe too, I haven’t been with anyone for a while now.”

That was all you needed. Reaching out, you gave his hand a careful tug.

“Then get back in this bed so you can fuck me.”

Your direct words made him swear under his breath before climbing on and over you, slotting himself between your legs as you spread them. You brought your hands up to rest on his lower back, wanting to be as close as possible. Seonghwa reached down to take a hold of his cock and line himself up with your opening. When you felt him run his tip along your sensitive skin, you hissed and bucked your hips.

“Please…”

Biting his lip, he started entering. Your immediate reaction to the intrusion was hitched breathing and a slight dig of your nails. You must have had the dumbest look on your face right now, but Seonghwa had an equally dense expression as he slid into you. Only when he was mostly sheathed did you attempt to regain composure.

“You okay?”

Seonghwa’s raspy voice gave a small boost to your ego as it was clear he was struggling to acclimate to the sensation as well.

“Peachy. You?”

He laughed shortly at your strained pep. “Just try not to move for a bit, okay?”

You let out a giggle, bringing a finger up to tap his nose.

“Yes sir.”

After the light twitch you felt him give inside, you both laid still to adjust. Something about laying in Seonghwa’s bed together with nothing but the sounds of sensual music and your breathing combined made an odd warmth build in your chest. The lips that came down to plant tiny kisses all over your jaw and neck didn’t help stifle that feeling.

Soon enough, you were ready to move on.

“You good, Hwa?”

Your friend brought his head up, looking less apprehensive than before, a heat in his dark eyes.

“Yes. You?”

A nod was all that was needed.

“How do you want it?”

Honestly? At this point, you didn’t have a preference. You just wanted to experience more of your friend’s magic touch.

With your knees pressing closer to him, you breathed, “However you like.”

Seonghwa reacted to your offer with another twitch and a clench of his jaw. Giving you a look as if to say ‘you asked for it’, he balanced himself on his elbows before pulling his hips back, quickly replacing himself with a sharp exhale. The act had you making a sound of your own as well, only becoming louder when he sunk in again.

“Seonghwa—”

His dark eyes flickered up to yours.

“Good?”

“Y-Yeah.”

Lips quirking, he continued, building up a rhythm that started sending waves of gratification throughout your body. You were glad he kept the tempo moderate, testing what made you moan and tighten your legs around him. The pillow sitting underneath you did wonders as well, allowing him to reach areas that would’ve been more difficult without it. The way he cants his hips up has you searching for breath as he was getting closer and closer to stroking against that sweet spot, having you crying out all of a sudden when he finally pressed into it.

“Fuck—”

A throaty hum sounded above you before Seonghwa responded, “You like that, baby?”

Would you ever get used to him calling you that? Probably not, as an unmistakable tremble ran through you.

“Yes, Hwa…keep doing that.”

Seonghwa was quick to honor your wish, pumping in a way that had an unmistakably lewd sound echoing from between your hips. Fuck, when’s the last time you got this wet? You didn’t have any opportunity to think further as you began to hear heavy whispers all of a sudden.

“You’re even more gorgeous like this.”

“God, Y/N— Feel so fucking good!”

“You take me so well—”

Your head was spinning with all of the stimulation and you needed an outlet for the ball of energy building up inside you, so you grabbed onto the back of his neck to tug him down into a fiery kiss. Tongues were quick to seek each other out and tangle as Seonghwa kept fucking you thoroughly. Before you could realize, the same pressure from when he was fingering you made a comeback, slowly increasing until it was becoming too much.

You tried to pull away to warn your friend, only for him to keep capturing your mouth with his. The need coming from him was adorable, but you had to let him know. When you managed to part without him diving in immediately, you swiftly muttered ‘gonna come’, hoping he heard. But when the feeling hit your breaking point and your nails scraped his skin, he still wouldn’t let up.

Just as your orgasm was about to take you over, you frantically placed one of your hands between your sweat-soaked stomachs. A push to his lower abdomen forced Seonghwa to pull out, making you spray your come all over his cock with a sharp cry. The quivers immediately take over afterward, your eyes squeezing shut as you do your best to calm your muscles down, missing the way the man above you gaped down with shock.

He had gotten so caught up in you that the sudden withdrawal caught him off-guard. Everything started sinking in the longer he stared.

You just squirted on him.

Something about watching drops of your come roll off his cock makes him go a little crazy. He’s quick to grasp himself and slide back into you, his thrusts returning with a hint of urgency. Having him stimulating your still pulsating walls pulled sharp cries from your agape mouth, fingers digging into his back muscles.

“S-Seonghwa, shit—”

“Look at you—“ A nip to your bottom lip. “—said you couldn’t do it and now you’re just gushing everywhere.”

Oh…well, he did have a point. But you simply huffed and wrapped your legs tighter around his slender waist.

“More. Go harder.”

A guttural curse left Seonghwa, who quickly did as you asked, resulting in you gripping onto his shoulders now and becoming more vocal.

“Yes yes, fuck me just like that—“

He shook his head at your encouragement, rasping, “Who would have imagined that my lovely friend would have such a filthy mouth?”

You couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly. “It happens when I get fucked well.”

And fucked well, indeed. Seonghwa kept up the pace that was making your body sing, taking the opportunity every once in a while to seize your lips into a searing kiss. You appreciated the continued thoroughness from him, meeting him with the same energy by occasionally rolling your hips up or keening your praise. The words out of your agape mouth were only halted when you felt his hand slip between your bodies to give your throbbing bud a calculated swipe or two.

“Hwa—“

Something about the way you say his name makes his hand pull away all of a sudden. But your whine of withdrawal was interrupted when you felt the Earth spinning, finding yourself perched on his lap now. The change of position had you blinking owlishly.

That and the fact that the towel he had spread out had gotten awkwardly tangled between your legs.

“Hwa, the—”

Yet he was quick to remedy it by snatching the terrycloth and tossing it to the side.

“Fuck it, that’s what the laundromat is for.”

Your hand came up to cover the giggle that wanted to escape, humored by Seonghwa’s sudden one-eighty concerning his bedding. Although your giddiness died down swiftly once you got a good look at his appearance.

You know for a fact that your brain, even at its most creative point, would never have been able to conjure a sight as breathtaking as this.

Seonghwa flushed in multiple areas, sun-kissed skin glistening in the lamp light with sweat and chest heaving as he looked up at you like a man starved. All because of you.

This was an achievement that you’d be proud of for a long time.

“Feeling good?”

There was a slight delay to his response as he blinked.

“I…of course.”

You delivered a satisfied grin.

“Good. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

The man underneath you merely laughed and shook his head, seeing your statement as silly.

“Saying yes to me was more than enough, sweetheart.”

As if he couldn’t leave you even more sheepish, he took one of your hands and planted his lips on the back of it. The intimate touch cooled down your burst of confidence, melting into modesty now. You only loosened your hand to reach up and brush back the inky strands plastered to his forehead.

“It’s my pleasure. Seeing you like this is something that I never thought I needed.”

Seonghwa’s mouth dropped in awe at your admission and you swore you saw his cheeks become redder.

“Y/N…”

Before you could lose your stride, you leaned down, hovering above his face as you whispered, “Tell me how I can keep it up.”

What you got next was a firm grip on your hips and a low growl.

“Ride me.”

And so you do.

You hold onto the headboard and Seonghwa’s shoulder before giving him the ride of his life. You experiment with different angles, planting your feet and leaning forward at one point or using your knees to swivel your hips quickly. Whatever would make the man underneath curse or dig his fingers into your damp skin.

“So fucking good, Y/N—“

Sinking down on his cock continuously wasn’t enough after a certain point. Between the sounds of your skin clapping against his, you croaked out, “Touch me, please— Oh fuck—“

Seonghwa wasted no time in fulfilling your wish, hands roaming everywhere on your body. From cupping your bouncing breasts to pinching your stiff nipples to grabbing your ass, he made sure to be as thorough as possible. Only when he decided to start circling your clit did your rhythm falter, your upper half bowing forward.

“Oh my— Fuck, Seonghwa!”

The gravelly chuckle he let out should have been illegal. “Like that, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes— Don’t stop.”

And so he continued stimulating you to the point that your head was starting to spin from pleasure overload. Before you realized it, you were starting to squeeze him often, the beginnings of yet another orgasm about to wash over you. You were too occupied in making all sorts of noises with your mouth to give your friend a heads up, though he didn’t seem to need it as he called you out all of a sudden.

“You keep getting tight on me—” Seonghwa’s free hand reached around to give your bottom a smack that caught you by surprise. “—go on, Y/N. Make a mess on my cock.”

Was it what he said or the spank that triggered you? There was no point in stewing over it as either one was responsible for pushing you over the edge, a whine coming out as your body stilled and shook above him.

“There you go…that’s my girl.”

Somehow you were able to hear his praise, making your stomach flip even harder than it already was. When your tremors died down, you rested your forehead on his afterward, hoping he didn’t mind being used for support. The gentle rubbing on your hips that came eased your worries. Once you got your bearings, you couldn’t help but let your eyes trail down, not at all surprised to see the mess you left on his lower stomach.

You laughed airily, “I’m just ruining your sheets.”

Seonghwa merely hummed with a lack of offense, giving you a light pat.

“It’s worth it.”

He leaned up to steal another kiss from you, gentler compared to the most recent ones. But during the lip lock, you could feel weariness take over, making you blow out a breath after breaking the contact.

“Fuck, I’m exhausted all of a sudden.”

Your friend frowned at your words, reaching up and brushing some hair out of your face. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Mhm. Just give me a minute or two.”

Your body was quick to betray you, a yawn coming out immediately after. It didn’t help that Seonghwa laughed.

“I don’t know, Y/N, you look like you’re ready for bed.”

“Ugh, I’m not! Besides, you haven't come yet, I can’t leave you hanging like that.”

Seonghwa was quick to raise a brow, looking a little more strict now.

“So? Really, if you can’t take anymore, we can stop. I’ll just take care of myself.”

You appreciated his concern, but you just weren’t having it. This was going to end with a bang. The only way to make him understand was to hold his handsome face between your hands and give him a relentless stare.

“Seonghwa, I can keep going, I promise. I’m doing this all because I want to and this is no exception. As long as you don’t mind doing most of the work for me?“

As much as he fussed over you at times, you had to alleviate his concern so he wouldn’t worry his head off completely. Now was one of those instances and the longer you kept eye contact, the more he seemed to become at ease.

“Okay.”

The sweet smile you gave him erased whatever lingered, his lips curling softly. He leaned up to give you a peck, sitting up and wrapping his arms around your waist. With a heads up, he maneuvered you onto your back, making sure to keep himself housed inside. To your surprise, Seonghwa didn’t begin moving immediately. Thinking he needed some encouragement, you linked your legs around his hips and gave a light tug.

A sharp inhale was all you received before he returned to thrusting again.

It became clear to you a short while in that he held off due to being closer than you realized. His breathing was more uneven and his kisses became borderline desperate, only making your stomach flip in delight at seeing this man in such a state.

“Y/N, I’m—”

Seonghwa’s sudden rasp caught you off-guard, noticing how his brows knitted together and he struggled to keep himself composed. To see that he was the one getting beaten with pleasure now had you wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine.

With a deceptively curious expression, you ran your nails up and down his sweat-soaked back before leaning into his ear to whisper, “Gonna come for me, Hwa?”

A thrill ran down your spine at the shudder you felt him give as he nodded quickly. Out of nowhere, a sinful idea came into your head. What you were about to say was so out of pocket, even for your usual bedroom talk, but Seonghwa just seemed to bring the worst out of you today.

And so you licked your lips and decided to husk, “Come inside me.”

You could hear your friend let out an audible gasp, hips stuttering in complete bewilderment. You were concerned that you had taken it too far, as you didn’t hear him respond for a moment. But then his forehead landed on yours and he locked his blazing irises with your own, looking borderline feral. His thrusts also took their speed up a notch, making you whine at the increase in friction.

“I’m going to fill this pussy up, make it even wetter—”

His growl made you tremble for a second, but you remained steady otherwise.

“Like you’ve always wanted to do?”

Your question made Seonghwa stare at you for a bit, broken by a throaty chuckle as he leaned in to brush his lips against the shell of your ear.

“You have no fucking idea, Y/N—“

With a nip to the skin, there were no more words exchanged as your bodies continued working together in tandem. You had to admit; there was a part of you that didn’t want this to end. You could honestly stay in this room and this bed with Seonghwa a little longer.

Just the two of you, indulging in each other.

But your unrealistic wish was broken when you felt him stiffen suddenly, letting out a heated groan as you felt him shake above you. The strong twitching of his cock against your walls was quickly followed by a warmth that coated them. Feeling him spill inside gave you the mildest of orgasms, manifesting in the most minuscule of tremors in your lower body. You couldn’t help but let your own come out a bit at the sensation, biting your lip at the way Seonghwa groaned from the feeling.

Once he finally calmed down, he carefully slid out to roll off of you and onto his back, leaving the littlest of spaces between your bodies. Your eyes remained on him as he caught his breath, looking over his disheveled appearance with wonder.

His lightly tanned skin reddened and shining with exertion. Eyelids shut. Chest rising and falling quickly. And yet, he still looked as stunning as ever.

Not fair.

But you smiled anyways, realizing another privilege was checked off your list; seeing Park Seonghwa looking fucked out as all hell.

“All better now that you proved me wrong?”

He gave a weak laugh.

“Much better.”

Even exhaustion couldn’t dim down his sass.

You gave his side a playful swat in return, receiving a snicker. The laugh died down, leaving a comfortable silence paired with a song that you often had on repeat. You were going to give Seonghwa some room to recover, but the more you mulled over it, the more you wanted to have some type of contact with him again.

So you rolled onto your side and scooted closer, letting your leg brush against his faintly. The touch made his eyes open, head turning slowly to gaze at you. He watched you for a moment, only for a pleasant smile to come across his lips.

“Hello.”

You couldn’t hold back your grin.

“Hi.”

Seonghwa kept his eyes on yours, only to bite his lip after a bit, looking less sure than earlier.

“Thanks for…entertaining me.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his sudden shyness. Where was the demon from before?

“My pleasure. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind doing this again with you.”

Your confession pulled rapid-fire blinking from your friend, his cheeks turning scarlet now.

“R-Really?”

“Mhm. Though you might want to get a mattress protector or something next time.”

Your suggestion eased his awe, laughing as he responded, “I will keep that in mind. Or we could try it at your place next?”

“And mess up my good sheets? No way!”

One of his brows raised. “And you think my sheets aren’t good?”

“I didn’t say that— Ugh.”

You went to give his chest a light swat, only to find its impact weaker than expected, thanks to the sudden wave of fatigue. The halfhearted attempt only made him giggle with mischief.

“Forget it, I’m too fucked out to argue with you, Hwa.”

Seonghwa laughed quietly, reaching out to pull you close and rest your head on his chest, making your heart skip.

“Then why don’t we just take it easy for a moment before cleaning up, hm?”

His offer was so tempting, although maybe you should get up right away. But the idea became enticing the longer you laid on him, melting into his warm touch.

Fuck it.

“Fine, but don’t let me fall asleep, okay?”

Not that you were completely against it.

Seonghwa hummed in understanding, the vibration felt against your cheek. Your eyelids lowered halfway, your body falling into a state of relaxation. Between the music, his steadying heartbeat and the breathing that slowly evened out, you could already guess that staying awake would have been impossible.

Before you could possibly doze off, you processed everything that had occurred since you stepped foot in this apartment today. Seonghwa had shown you a side that you never dreamed of seeing, only thought about while you were in the comfort of your own private space. And they were thoughts that you convinced yourself would never come true.

But here you were, naked in the same bed that you often sat on and watched your friend play Animal Crossing (paired with comments from you on how Tom Nook was the biggest crook).

The biggest thing that stuck with you was how Seonghwa seemed to want you just as much, shown in the way he took care of every one of your needs. His patience with figuring out what made you tick and making sure you were consistently comfortable was more than you expected. Should you have anticipated any less from him, though?

A pleasant ball of warmth started forming in your chest while the tiniest of smiles graced your lips.

No, you shouldn’t have.

©bangtanintotheroom, 2024. Crossposted to AO3. Do not repost to other sites or copy without permission.

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uhohdad · 4 months ago

Text

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, 183k 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 II

At the mention of District Eight, your mouth turns to cotton. Your wide eyes dart around the floor of the glittery stage, heels turning inward.

You don’t want to do this.

You give up and pinch your eyes shut, a slight shake of your head, trying to take yourself somewhere you’re not, even going so far as to redirect your focus to remembering the lyrics to an old tune you sing in your thoughts.

Konig senses something’s up and gently guides you into the crook of his arm and his chest, giving your shoulder a squeeze. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and you respond by raising your hand to rest in the space between his firm stomach and chest.

You can’t block out their words, the commentary from the people of District Eight. Your heart doesn’t want to hear it but your ears can’t help but listen and your eyes have to peek open.

The recap of the interview clearly cut out a majority of their words, and starts with the conflict between the boy from eight and Willow. The interviewee tries to begin, but she abandons her first few attempts to recount the story.

“Uh-” The interviewee’s eyes dart to the side, “Yeah, they uh- there was-“

She clears her throat, “Willow, uh-“

She trails off, staring off into the distance with a pause before she continues.

“He had this girlfriend, right? And they were - I mean, they were the perfect pair. You could tell, uh, you could tell he really loved her, you know? And the same goes for her.”

The interviewee pauses, and she has to look away.

“I was actually- I remember being jealous of them, wishing I had what they had. Love like that.”

You can hear her scraping gravel under her shoe.

“And I guess, I guess his girl wasn’t crazy about the uhm, The Capitol, and she uh- well, I think she broke a few laws, or something. Real rebellious type.”

She looks to her shoes, nodding slowly.

“And uh,” She clears her throat again before meeting eyes with the person behind the camera, “Willow blabbed about it. And his girlfriend got taken away.”

The interviewee nods slow, her sad, squint eyes staring off at the cameraman.

“They cut out his girl’s tongue, and now she- she serves The Capitol.”

She shakes her head, “He snapped. Just, a different person entirely.”

There’s a pause, and your eyes pinch shut, squeezing Konig as hard as your arms will allow. His hand slides down your back, tracing soothing circles with his fingertips between your shoulder blades.

“Please, no! It was an accident!”

The desperation in her voice is unmistakable. You find the screen, and there she is.

Willow.

As pretty as her name - rich bronze skin and golden brown eyes. Full, curly hair that seems to have a mind of its own and reminds you of the elegant draped tresses of the tree for which she was named.

The boy from eight has her on the ground, towering over her with his blade raised. Her upper half is propped up by her elbows, her feet kicking away from him.

“You knew what you were doing!” He yells, in that same booming, terrifying voice he used on you.

His blade lowers as his fists tense at his sides, “She served us! You hear me? She served us in our suite!”

A hand comes up to his head, and he grabs a fistful of his own hair with white knuckles. There’s tears springing in his eyes, and that daunting shout cracks.

“I couldn’t even talk to her!”

Your brows are pinched as you watch, shallow breaths through parted lips.

The tears crest Eight’s eyeline, and his hands drop limply to his sides.

His voice lowers to a broken whisper, a whiny strain in his words. It makes your brows pinch - you’ve never heard him speak in a way that wasn’t harsh and booming, never seen his eyes swelled with any emotion other than anger.

“I couldn’t even talk to her.”

Willow shakes her head, her words choppy through her stuttered breaths and hiccups.

“I know- I know! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please, I didn’t- I never wanted this to happen, I didn’t mean for it to happen! Please-“

His voice shoots back up when he interrupts her, his shouted words ripping his throat to shreds.

“She’s gone, Willow! I lost her!”

He pinches his eyes for a moment, sending more tears down his cheeks, his chin lowering with a tilt of his head.

A snarl creases his face, brows tight when he finds Willow again. He jams his blade at her, his voice just a growl in her direction.

“And there is nothing you can say to change that.”

Willow just stares up at him with wide eyes, her entire body trembling. Her mouth is gaped to speak, but she knows she doesn’t have a defense.

“I am nothing without her.”

He steps closer to her, his boots planted on either side of her ribs. Just as he did with you, he grabs her by the front of her jacket and pulls her from the dirt, inches from his face.

“I am suffering! She is suffering! Everyday!”

He gives her that look, the same gut-churning look he had on reaping day when he threw himself on stage to volunteer.

“Now it’s your turn to suffer.”

The shot lingers on their faces for a few more moments, Willow’s golden brown eyes darting around his gut-churning rage, her breath caught in her throat.

They don’t show it.

You are so thankful they don’t show it.

They cut to you, walking through the forest. You have to close your eyes again, burying your face in Konig’s chest.

Your stomach boils and your heart constricts beyond comfort at each of her moaned wails. You’re clawing at Konig’s suit, a handful of the fabric shaking between your tensed fist.

Konig’s free hand comes up to swallow yours, a gentle reassurance from hardened hands.

Each of her maimed breaths violate you. The stage lights are searing your skin, sweat building up on your scalp and under your dress. The layer forming under your thick makeup is suffocating, aching for the touch of fresh air instead of the roasted stage air you breathe now.

Your eyes are screwed shut, but you can still see her, her exposed, bloody muscle rising and falling with her chest. The whitish yellow pockets of fat, the bones of her fingers, her blood-pooled eye sockets.

There’s a nauseating heat simmering just under your skin, and your breaths turn almost as guttural as hers.

Against every instinct, you have to rip away from Konig, not at all gracefully stumbling in your heels offstage.

“Oh, uh- technical difficulties, folks. Bear with us,” Caesar says cheekily, the audience’s collective chuckle laugh following.

You weren’t aiming for him, but Price catches you once offstage, sturdy arms pulling you into an embrace.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, kid,” He whispers softly, “It’s alright.”

Your palms find his chest with a firm shove, freeing yourself from his hold. You swivel on your feet simultaneously, doubling over to vomit all over the floor, your bile splattering over Price’s shoes.

He doesn’t seem to mind, standing at your side and pulling your hair back from the line of fire as you heave in rhythmic convulses, struggling to work up what little is in your stomach.

“It’s alright,” Price soothes, holding your hair with one hand and rubbing your trembling back with the other, “It’s alright. Get it all out.”

You feel a second hand on your back, and you already know it’s Konig, standing tall on your other side.

A stage hand rolls over an industrial size trash can, and you grip the rim with white knuckles as you gag into it.

When you’re done spitting out the bitter, offensive taste, Konig has a cloth waiting for you to wipe your face. Exhausted breaths leave you, droplets of sweat trailing down your back and tears streaming over your cheeks.

Your arm stretches over the rim of the trash can as you lean over it, pinching your eyes shut to try to quell the nausea. Konig offers you a bottle of water, and shaking hands reach to take it gratefully.

They wait for you to collect yourself, someone gets you a toothbrush to clean out your mouth - apparently this kind of thing happens enough to warrant keeping toothbrushes on hand, - your prep team touches up your makeup, and Konig holds you wordlessly in his strong arms while you breathe him in, his silken tie brushing against your cheek.

When you’re ready, your fingers wrap around Konig’s bicep, his arm bent at the elbow to keep you steady as he escorts you back on stage, putting himself between you and the crowd to block you from the audience.

The crowd explodes at your return, a standing ovation that echoes with whistles and claps.

“Welcome back, welcome back!” Caesar chimes, dipping each syllable with flare.

The crowd keeps the applause going long after you’re sat, and once settled, Caesar segues back into the show.

You don’t watch, hiding your face in Konig’s chest as he holds you tight, gently stroking your back.

The feed resumes, and you hear your squeak through the speakers, your stumble and trip into the dirt. Your dash through the woods, your dry heaves towards the dirt.

Your desperate plea.

Luring Eight into the fall forest, almost killing him but bailing at the last second. Weakly running for Willow as you cry out to her in the tune of a desperate sorry, spoken exactly like her pleas to the boy who knew no bounds to his spite. Piercing a dart through her exposed muscle, her final three breaths, your sobbing as her cannon fires.

Konig’s grip on you loosens as he watches your mercy kill, his soothing rubs ceasing. He starts back up again when the footage pauses, but you can’t bring yourself to leave Konig’s chest.

The crowd erupts in a truly enthusiastic applause, shouting adorations in your direction as Konig squeezes you tight.

“Wow,” Caesar shouts over the crowd, “That was something!”

The audience ignores his attempt to settle them, showering you with praise for what must be a full minute while Konig rubs your back.

“That was really something,” Caesar says, “Wow, I have to say, that was really admirable.”

You say nothing, trying to block out Caesar and his stupid commentary.

“I must ask, have your feelings about your actions changed after learning of their history?”

Your brows pinch as your head lifts from Konig’s chest to find Caesar, your arms snug around Konig’s core.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Knowing what you know now, would you have still lended her a hand?”

The end of Caesar’s question perks up so innocently, as if he didn’t just ask the most insane question in the world.

Your face twists, “Of course I would have - what kind of question is that?”

You glare at him, voice taught and sharp.

“You think that I think that there’s anything in the world that justifies that?”

You shake your head.

“No, you’re out of your mind. I wouldn’t even wish that fate on someone sick enough to ask a question like that in the first place.”

Konig gives you a squeeze and a little shake to show you he’s on your side, sitting tall with his chest puffed out. The audience is on your side too, apparently, clapping along in approval.

Caesar breaks character for a moment as he flits his gaze between you and Konig, the latter surely dawning a just as loathsome stare. You hold Caesar’s eyes in challenge until he looks away.

You understand the boy from eight’s anger. If someone got Konig taken away to serve the Capitol, surely you’d be just as furious and hellbent on vengeance.

But Eight’s anger was misdirected.

While Willow blabbed, his anger was provoked by the Capitol, not by Willow.

The Capitol is the one who took his girlfriend away, cut out her tongue, and forced her to dote on her boyfriend, unable to speak with him - surely a calculated move to instigate more tension between the District Eight tributes. Willow was just the one who let it slip, intentional or not.

As fucked up as it sounds, though, you get it.

You get where Eight is coming from. There was no way for him to seek vengeance against a government that has the entire country under its strict thumb, so he took out his anger on the next best thing.

Nowhere near to the same extreme - but you’ve been in a similar position countless times before.

That day in District Nine was one of those days. A bad day riling you up, looking for a victim to boil over on. You’re not even sure if you stood up for Konig because it was the right thing to do, or because you were just looking for an outlet for anger you couldn’t direct elsewhere without severe consequence.

Deep down you know the answer, but you’re too cowardly to share it with anyone, especially Konig. He has you on a pedestal. He thinks of you as a true, selfless angel that protected him for no other reason than to do the right thing.

You really don’t want to ruin his perception of you.

But you know who you are.

“Well, more exciting things to come,” Caesar weakly chimes, looking to the floor as he clears his throat.

An arm comes up to gesture to the large screen.

“You bravely risked your life to end this girl’s suffering, my dear, and we have the footage to prove it.”

The replay resumes - cutting to a shot of the three remaining careers gliding over the snow as they make way towards the cornucopia.

“In and out,” Sapphire says to the group, “I don’t want to leave the woods for too long.”

“Not like she can leave,” Titan mumbles.

“If she got her hands on some supplies, she could.”

“Where would Funny Girl find supplies? We got ‘em all.”

“Gotten them off someone else.”

Titan scoffs, “You think Funny Girl’s killing?”

“She’s made it this far. Who knows.”

Titan laughs, “Funny Girl can’t fight. She’s just playing shy.”

“Lover Boy’s got his backpack,” Sapphire says, “If he found her, those two could go anywhere.”

“Well if he found her, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Sapphire just sighs, rolling her eyes. She doesn’t look good. Her face is puffy, bags under her eyes. You know a girl who’s too exhausted to argue when you see it. Clearly Titan’s attempt to get her to rest was unsuccessful.

“I’m sorry!”

The careers immediately perk up at your distant cry.

Titan’s mouth curls into a sickening grin, flashing his razor sharp canines, a giddy laugh threatening to spill from his lips.

Even in Sapphire’s exhaustion, her lips stretch in a smile, those brilliant blue eyes flickering with a spark of gut-churning determination.

“I’m sorry!”

Even from the distance, the desperation in your voice is unmistakable.

The career pack is in a full sprint to the direction of your broken, cried apology, hollering in celebration that their arduous hunt is coming to a conclusion.

As they burst through the trees, the shot cuts to you, running on weak ankles to the spring quadrant.

“There she is!”

Konig shoots forward in his chair, taking your arms with him and forcing you to leave his chest. His brows tighten as he plants his elbow on his knee, the pads of his fingers reaching up to gnaw on his nails.

Eight breaks into the clearing, making a beeline for the careers.

“What did you do?!” Eight shouts at them, barreling right for them with his blade raised. It’s clear now he thinks the careers killed Willow, not you.

The three prime their weapons and when Eight catches up, he’s already swinging.

“Titan - get the brat!” Sapphire shouts, her tone leaving no room for argument as she blocks one of Eight’s swings.

It’s as if Titan was a dog growling on the end of Sapphire’s taut leash, itching to be released so he can maul his target - and Sapphire just unclasped his collar. There is no transition between his stand to a full sprint, both his pace and his strides at least three times as quick as yours.

Konig’s fingers are digging into his knees hard enough to turn his knuckles white, on the edge of his seat and glued to the screen, not so much as blinking.

Titan catches up, powerful hold wrapping around your waist and slamming you into the sand hard enough to steal your breath.

Konig flinches in his seat, his lips parting and pulling to the side to reveal grit teeth. As he watches Titan toy with you, pinning you to the ground and reveling in the power he holds, Konig’s fists are clenched so tight they’re shaking. Resting a gentle hand on his forearm does nothing to placate him - he’s locked on the screen.

“Why don’t you yell for him?”

“Fuck you!”

Really not your best comeback, but to be fair to you, you were running on steam and also thought you were about to die.

When Titan’s hand shoots out to choke you, Konig springs up from his seat and rips away from your hold on him.

He can’t watch anymore, turning to face the couch, his face pinched and a hand threading his hair with a tight grip.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” You whisper, reaching out to grab the rigid hand at his side.

“No,” He grits through strained breath.

He can’t look at you, the sounds of your desperate chokes for air blaring from the speakers and suffocating him second hand.

“It is, it’s okay,” You say with sloped brows, “I’m fine. I’m okay, it’s okay. He’s dead.”

It’s almost funny, Konig is so concerned with your fight with Titan - when it pales in comparison to the rest of your arena experiences.

Even the cold of the freezing nights in the forest were worse than this.

A gory bloodbath, the snap of a neck, a first hand lesson on the anatomy of the human muscular system, blinding and skewering Sapphire, Konig beating Titan to death with his own two hands - these are the moments that truly haunt you.

You give Konig’s trembling hand a squeeze. He doesn’t speak, he just shakes his head.

“Call for him!”

On screen you’re gasping for air, Titan forcing his demands through his clenched teeth.

The feed pauses, the crowd silent as Caesar starts.

“Konig, it’s clear this is upsetting for you to watch, mind sharing your thoughts?”

Konig’s eyes crease when he closes them, his free fist tight at his side. He doesn’t turn around, his shoulders raised.

“Hey, Caesar,” he grits.

Konig takes a breath.

“Shut the fuck up.”

You jump to your feet as the crowd erupts, both your arms shooting up in the air and taking one of Konig’s hands with you.

“Yes! Yes!”

You practically order the crowd to shower him in praise, waving your hands to beckon them to keep it up. You let go of Konig’s hand to grab his tensed arm and give him an excited, proud shake. He rolls his eyes, a half grin blooming on his face as he turns pliant to your jostling.

“Right,” Caesar says, clearing his throat and looking down.

They resume the feed, and you give Konig’s suit a tug, beckoning him to sit with you.

“Watch this part,” You whisper.

He finally looks to you, giving a swallow as he follows your wish.

“Call for him or I’ll make you!”

On screen - your spit-stained face pinches, and you send two fistfuls of sand directly into Titan’s face.

The audience explodes at your escape maneuver, and Konig hums at Titan’s cries of pain, giving that soft inaudible laugh that raises his shoulders. He looks to you, eyes crinkled with a pressed grin. He grabs a shoulder and rests his other hand on the crook of your neck, leaning down to press a long, messy kiss on your lips.

You hum into him, the crowd still cheering when he pulls you into him with an arm slung over your shoulder, squeezing your bicep.

“Wow, wow, wow!” Caesar says after the audience has settled, “Escaping the hands of such a powerful career - I think you managed to surprise every citizen of Panem!”

The audience gives a hearty applause in approval. Caesar leans in, voice suddenly serious.

“And I think we were all very, very touched to see you risk your life to keep Konig out of danger.”

Your brows crease as you turn to the audience, clapping in approval.

It takes you a moment to realize that Panem thinks you refrained from calling Konig’s name for his benefit, to keep him safe from Titan, which isn’t true at all.

You just didn’t want to submit to Titan’s demands, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of fulfilling his plan, didn’t want to give him whatever scrap of dignity you had left. It was a move of spite against Titan, not of care for Konig.

Guilt.

You have to look down at your lap as you try to swallow it - because saving Konig from Titan was not a thought that even crossed your mind.

You couldn’t even think of Konig when you knew Titan wanted to kill him. Konig, the boy who killed Titan with his two hands for even daring to lay a hand on you.

Konig squeezes you tight and plants a kiss on your forehead, the audience cooing at his adoration for you.

Guilt.

When your unearned praise dies down, Caesar continues.

“It’s truly beautiful what you two have.”

You don’t care, Caesar.

You don’t care what anyone in the Capitol thinks of you and Konig. You wish your relationship wasn’t able to be perceived at all, actually - not out of shame, but because you hate how everyone in Panem has their grubby little hands all over your romance, something so personal and intimate and fresh to you.

The people of Panem have had more time to process your new relationship than you have.

The feed shows you collapsing into the grass, cutting to the part where District Eight sent you the bread, eventually showing you picking up the ribbon, tying it around your wrist.

“I have to ask, my dear,” Caesar says, “You’ve mentioned that the ribbon means a lot to you, can you share with us the significance of this ribbon?”

To be honest, you really don’t have a reason for why you kept the ribbon, or why it means so much to you. You just know it does.

You know it’s symbolic, but for what?

Is it a reminder of Willow, the girl you feel an immense connection to, even though you just assigned her name to her less than an hour ago and never shared a word with?

Is it the unification of two districts forced to be pit against each other?

Is it because it is a token of the district who went against all the standards to thank a girl who treated their tribute with human decency - the opposite of what the games are about?

Why does this ribbon mean so much to you?

You really don’t know. But you do know you can’t be snarky here - this moment is important, and you need to get this right.

Your mouth has gone dry again, and you look to your lap.

“I- uh-“

You clear your throat, and Konig gives you a squeeze.

“It just does,” You say, not harshly, but genuinely.

You turn your head to find a camera and speak into it. You’re talking to District Eight now, not the audience, not to Caesar.

“I don’t know why it means so much to me, but I know that I am grateful for the gifts. I am grateful that you helped me put an end to her suffering.”

Your voice cracks.

“And I am sorry for your loss.”

The audience gives a soft applause, and you have to look down at your lap again.

“Wow,” Caesar says, his voice gentle, “Beautifully spoken.”

He’s so full of shit, it actually makes you scoff.

You know your words aren’t striking the proper emotion, because you haven’t even had the opportunity to digest them yourself. To assign words to the attachment you have to your ribbon, to your feelings about Willow, Eight, his girlfriend, about his unwavering dedication and her brutal end and a district who thanked you for making a life-threatening sacrifice.

“Enough about you, my dear, let’s take a look at what Konig was up to in the meantime.”

Eight’s cannon woke him up with a start, a cloud of sand wafting up with him as he shoots to a sit. A hand comes up to his hood, and he lets out a long sigh.

Just by looking at his eyes through his hood, you can tell it’s all catching up with him. The restless nights, his aching body, the instinctual fear.

The jump the sun makes when the feed cuts suggests he laid unmoving in the sand for hours. Price caves once again, sending him food and water.

When he finally gets to his feet, he makes slow, unsteady steps through the desert. To see him so weakened makes your heart throb in your chest, because it reminds you of the last time you saw him stumble, the last time you saw him drained of life.

You swallow, looking down to your fidgeting fingers, smoothing along the pleats of your dress.

It’s your turn to wish you could have been there for him. You get it now, how hard it is knowing the one you love struggled and you were useless to help.

Konig’s eyes are drowsy, his steps sluggish, even with One’s shoe attachments.

Next to you on the couch, all of Panem watching him in this state, Konig’s head is hung, looking to his shoes in shame, the pads of fingers swirling together.

You nuzzle your head into his shoulder and give him a squeeze.

I’m here now.

The effects of the spiky plants in the desert, cacti as Caesar calls them, were severely downplayed by Konig.

Konig trips over his own boot and falls forward, weak hands shooting out to brace himself, his palm catching a handful of needles. He winces, a strangled grunt leaving him as he rips his hand back to his chest.

He rolls over in the sand, propping himself up on his backpack to inspect his palm. Tiny beads of blood smear between his skin and the perforated temperature suit.

He lets out a grunt of defeat and throws his arm to the sand. His breaths are heaved, his chest struggling to work in breaths, eyes pinching shut behind his hood.

When he brings his hand to his face again, it’s swollen and as black as the ooze that dripped from the ginkgo petals and swallowed you whole during your hallucinations. The color soaks into his veins and up his forearm in inky streaks.

He lets out a strained whine, his other hand trembling as he goes in to touch the source of the wound. The gentlest touch has him wailing out in pain, his cries tighten your chest and wring your heart out.

He lies on the desert sand, his infection getting worse by the second. It spreads up his bicep, swallowing his entire arm until he can’t even move it. He’s crying, but the tears that spill from his eyes are not normal tears. Whatever is dripping from his eyes is bleaching his hood, streaks of color pulling up on the black fabric.

The infection creeps up his shoulders, his collarbones, sucking what little strength he has left from him.

He’s given up.

You can see it, in his eyes. He knows he’s about to die.

“Just tell her I love her,” He whispers to the arid desert air, his voice hoarse and barely loud enough to carry, “Just make sure she knows I love her.”

A shaky finger comes up to swipe away the tears threatening to spill from your eyeline, but you are powerless against the squeak that leaves the back of your throat.

You can practically hear Price’s eye roll from the mentor’s suite, and before the infection can spread to his other arm, a parachute comes down from the sky and lands inches from him.

He’s so weak he can hardly get the canister open. Grunting and hitting it against the sand in frustration. His shaking fingers pop it open to reveal a small syringe filled with a clear liquid, a tiny needle at the end.

Konig lets out another grunt as he jams the needle into his dead bicep, and shortly after succumbs to either exhaustion or the pain, maybe both, and passes out propped up on his backpack.

“That looked pretty painful,” Caesar says, “How do you feel after overcoming such adversity?”

Konig shrugs his shoulders at him, a slight shake in his head and lips bunched in annoyance.

Caesar directs the question to you, and you can’t bite your tongue.

“How do I feel after watching Konig nearly die from a cacti?”

“Cactus.”

You pause, narrowing your eyes at Caesar and offering an obnoxious suck of your teeth.

“Cact-you,” You say.

You and Caesar stay locked on each other for a moment before you shrug.

“Feels great, Caesar.”

The audience seems to find your annoyance and sarcasm amusing.

“Well, the fun doesn’t stop there,” Caesar says, “Looks like you woke up to some trouble too.”

Konig’s eyes roll, and the feed resumes.

You had not encountered any mutts in the arena, but Konig was not as lucky.

He wakes long after the sun has gone down to find himself surrounded.

Genetically modified scorpions, ten to twenty of them, the size of large dogs and equipped with bulbous tails that taper into razor sharp hooks. Exoskeletons designed to be nearly impenetrable, serrated claws itching to tear apart flesh.

Konig’s mumbling curses under his breath, springing to weak legs, stumbling through the sand. The scorpions hiss at him, curling their wicked tails, as if beckoning him to come closer.

Konig’s head is ducked, body low as he swivels on his feet, the handle of Eleven’s scythe in a tight grip at his side.

His mind has drawn a blank - he’s panicking.

They close in on him, their spider-like legs dancing over the sand as they hiss at him, snapping their claws and curling their tails.

His darting eyes stop on the cactus, and he’s got it.

There’s no hesitation, his arm winds back entirely, using all of his strength to cut clean through the base. Ten feet of poisonous spikes comes crashing down, a flood of pulpy water pouring at Konig’s feet. It lands on one of the scorpions, giving him a break in the circle of mutts to make his escape.

When one of the scorpions cries out, both you and Konig freeze, shoulders tensed on the couch.

It’s your voice.

Your haunting wails recorded during your nightmares, crying out Konig’s name.

On screen, Konig whips his head around, stumbling on the sand as he looks in the direction of your cry. He trips, his hands springing up to brace himself before he hits the ground.

The nearest scorpion closes in on him, and shortly after Konig’s back on his feet and working up to a sprint, the mutt’s serrated claws snap at and tear through the flesh of his calf. Your brows slope at Konig’s cry of pain, your hand coming up to your racing heart.

He’s limping through the desert now, blood gushing down the back of his leg and splattering on the grains of sand.

The scorpions are following him, not struggling to keep up now that he’s injured.

All of them, crying out in your voice, crying out his name, scared and pleading, desperate and helpless. Both on screen and now, Konig’s hands shoot up to his ears to block out the overlapping wails.

He’s curled up next to you on the couch as you rub your palm over his button down and tie.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m fine, it was just a nightmare. It was just a nightmare.”

“No,” He objects through a grit, his eyes pinching shut.

“Don’t listen to it, just listen to me. I’m fine, it was just a nightmare. I’m okay, I’m right here.”

He throws himself into your arms, wrapping around you and squeezing hard enough to steal your breath, his stubble scraping against you as he buries his face into your neck.

You rub his back, looking over his head to watch the screen over his shoulder.

He straggles through the desert, his leg threatening to give out under the pain of each stride, but he doesn’t stop. He’s scrambling to get away from your cries.

This is when he finds the oasis. The scorpions stop at what appears to be an invisible circle of safety looping the ring of trees. Konig doesn’t look back until he’s in the middle of the pool of water, until the waterfall drowns out the scorpion’s cries. He’s heaving and struggling to stay afloat with his injury and the weight of his soaked backpack. He rips off his hood, pulling in deep breaths of air as he flails.

Once the scorpions lose interest, he swims to where his toes can touch, taking a moment to catch his breath.

He lets out a cry, loud and unrestrained - not from pain, no, this is a cry of pure frustration, the cry of a boy pushed to his limit. He shakes his head, his hair sending water droplets flinging in all directions, fists splashing in the water as he tries to work out the emotions suffocating him.

Konig is still in your arms and avoiding the screen, sunk in on himself, a hand coming up to cover his red face.

You’re not judging him. You get it. In fact, you just threw a nationwide temper tantrum in front of all of Panem. Basically challenged the whole country with a one-girl rebellion because you thought he was dead.

Oh, shit.

He thought you were dead.

Neither of you watched the faces of the fallen, you because you didn’t want to see Willow’s face and him because he’d passed out after the cactus. Surely he thought those screams were recorded not during a nightmare, but during your brutal end. A brutal end where you screamed and cried and pleaded for Konig’s help, and he failed to save you.

When enough time has passed and he deems it safe, Konig drags himself to shore and lies defeated in the wet sand, deep, brilliant red oozing generously from his calf. Tears stream down his puffy, pale face, his breaths choppy and his chest stuttering.

The sight is enough to bring tears in your eyes, your lower lip pulling between your teeth.

You squeeze Konig tight, the hand you rest on his back raising to scratch his scalp and simultaneously shield him from the world.

On screen, Konig digs into One’s soaked backpack, and retrieves the canister of medicine to tend to his wound.

The feed pauses, and you give Caesar a look that would have made a king’s knees buckle.

‘Try it, Caesar. If you even dare utter a word in his direction, I will grab you by your ponytail and beat your ass in front of all of Panem.’

He receives the message loud and clear, and speaks into the audience while you scratch Konig’s hair, cooing reassurance into his ear in between soft kisses on his head.

Caesar rambles on about Konig’s escape maneuver, praising the design of the scorpions, going on about how your screams were just such a heart wrenching thing for Konig to endure.

When the feed resumes, Konig’s wound is tended to, his face no longer pained, but hollow. He just lies face up in the sand, bags under his eyes and gaze fixed to the night sky. Numb, motionless.

Tired.

Tears stream down his temples, and he has no motivation to wipe them away. He gets no rest the night before the finale.

Just lies in the sand, unmoving.

Price caves and sends him more food, hoping that he’ll eat without the arduous task of fishing or scavenging, but he doesn’t eat.

The feed cuts, skipping to when he finally finds the will to move.

You know it well.

The rage, he’s using his anger to push through, to survive. It shows in every movement he makes, too forceful and aggressive. Yanking and slamming and grunting through grit teeth at everything he comes in contact with. It’s a stark contrast to his usually reserved demeanor.

Weirdly, it’s working for you.

Which does make you feel bad, since he’s clearly in distress, both on screen and now, but you can’t help it. Those seething hormones that don’t know their place.

The feed pauses, and Caesar makes his stupid little commentary.

“Now, this next part here, we really get to see some action from Konig.”

The feed resumes, having cut to morning. Konig has left the oasis, heading back to the heart of the arena with forceful steps.

“Please don’t watch,” Konig mutters into your neck, his words just a low vibration against your skin.

Your brows pinch and your lips part, pausing your soothing rubs.

“Okay,” You whisper. You rest your cheek on his head and close your eyes, starting up the back rubs again. He squeezes you a little tighter, nestling into you, his shaky breaths tickling the skin of your neck.

You have to watch.

Your eyes instinctually open at the sound of Konig in conflict, and once they’re on screen you can’t bring yourself to rip them away.

The boy from Four, one of the particularly bigger volunteer tributes, holds out his arms, inviting Konig to a confrontation. He eggs him on with some taunts, and Konig doesn’t so much break his pace.

You already know the ending, not just because Konig is sitting right next to you, a victor, but because the boy from four is decked head to toe in the gear Konig wore at the finale.

It does not deter Konig. He doesn’t evade. In fact, he seems almost eager to fight, picking up into a run.

Konig rams his shoulder square into his front, entirely ignoring the knife that slashes into his bicep. Four is knocked back into the sand, the impact stealing the breath from him.

With each hit Konig lands to Four’s face, Titan’s caved-in head pulses in front of your eyes.

Konig pulls away from your embrace to look up at you, his brows sloped, a glint of betrayal in those worried eyes. Your lips part to give him an apology for watching, but you can get the words out. Between flashes of Titan steadily turned to pulp, choking the breath from you beyond the grave, it takes you right back to the last time Konig looked at you in betrayal, pale and almost entirely drained of life.

The nausea is bubbling up again, and you have to pinch your eyes shut. You blindly nudge into him, burying your face in his shoulder while you try to block everything out.

You don’t watch, but you know Four didn’t die. His cannon doesn’t go off, only knocked unconscious and injured at Konig’s hand.

When you find the screen again, Konig’s wearing Four’s gear back at the oasis, his bicep fully healed. He’s propped up against a tree, his knees pulled to his chest, head in his hands, staring blankly at the sand.

The feed pauses, and Caesar starts up.

“I have to know, Konig, what were you feeling in this moment?”

Konig loosens the embrace and finds Caesar. He shrugs, and says nothing.

“Well then. Let’s take a break from the intense stuff, and let’s see what our lovely lady was doing in the meantime.”

You roll your eyes, and the audience gushes over your crown of petals, your tiny snow-family.

Konig seems to find it endearing, too. He relaxes a bit in your hold, a soft hum vibrating your skin as you scratch his hair.

“Now,” Caesar says, “Before we get into a truly spectacular finale, I’d like to bring someone on stage for a chat.”

As you and Konig sit straight, the crowd whispers to themselves as they try and guess who it is.

“The man who pulled off the impossible, the mastermind behind it all, Mentor - John - Price!”

The crowd explodes into applause, and you turn your head to watch Price walk out on stage, waving a hand loosely at the crowd.

You’re incredibly relieved to see him, actually. It’s clear that you and Konig are entirely lost on this couch, and Price’s experience and his ever-sturdy nature will surely be a crutch for you both. You’re hoping he’ll take the spotlight off of you and Konig for a while.

Before Price sits, he leans down and simultaneously ruffles both you and Konig’s hair with a chuckle.

“How’s my poker face?” He asks with a laugh.

You and Konig sputter, rolling your eyes at him, but you can’t help the half-grin that peeks through.

Price takes a seat on the sofa next to you, giving you a hearty pat on the back before he slings his arms over either side of the back of the couch.

“Wow, wow, wow!” Caesar exclaims, “What an honor it is to have you with us today. You truly pulled off the strategy of the century!”

Price gives a single nod, a raise of his brows that hardens the lines on his forehead.

“Tell us, how did you come up with such a plan?”

Price scratches his temple and gives a light grunt before he gestures to Konig.

“Boy liked the girl. Practically did the work for me.”

The audience laughs as Konig’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck.

Caesar crosses his legs and leans in, “And at what point did you realize Konig was in love with her?”

Price snorts, a small sly smile on his face.

“Took me about an hour.”

The audience laughs as Konig turns pink at your side. Your cheeks flush with heat as well, once again embarrassed it took you so long to notice the obvious.

You were under a lot of pressure, okay?

“For those of us who don’t know, I’d like to take the opportunity to revisit your victory.”

Price just grunts, and you and Konig look to each other with furrowed brows.

The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind - what Price’s games looked like. How he pulled off a feat that no one from District Nine but you and Konig have been able to recreate since.

Judging by the look on Konig’s face, this is the first time he’s considered it too.

Instantly you’re aching to know.

They start with the reaping of the girl tribute from District Nine, a girl named Summer. She’s average in stature, a headful of wavy, miskept hair frames her face.

For a moment, she is stunned, jaw tight and a slight sway in her feet. Round, deep brown eyes are fully blown, staring straight ahead.

She blinks twice, and her face relaxes, a scoff from lips that pull into a devilish smile. Her eyes roll as she elbows her way through the crowd, striding up to stage before the peacekeepers can even get their hands on her.

Summer hauls herself up on stage and rips the microphone from the escort’s hands. Her arm extends, swatting away the escort’s attempts to take back the microphone by alternating planting her palm into her face and chest. Their mild altercation broadcasts over the speakers - grunts, hissed demands, and almost comical shrieks of mic feedback.

Eventually the escort gives up with a grunt of annoyance.

Summer’s laugh echoes throughout the speakers, and she takes a few slow, bouncing strides across the stage, her back sloped in an irreverent lean, strolling leisurely in front of the crowd. She throws her free arm into the air and lets out a sharp ‘Wooo!’

“I just want to say, I mean - what an honor it is to be the tribute of District Nine.”

Her sarcasm slips from her tongue like it’s her native language, her body slack and dipping a shoulder towards the crowd.

“Truly!” She laughs again, spinning on light feet, projecting faux verve, “It is such an honor to sacrifice the wonderful life the Capitol has graciously offered me so far.”

The escort approaches and tries to swipe for the microphone again, but Summer’s shin catches across the escort’s ankles mid-stride, causing her to trip and crash to the ground with a ridiculously dramatic cry.

The crowd actually laughs at this, which is jarring, because no one ever laughs at a reaping.

Summer ignores the escort's aggravated chirping as she continues with a wide smile.

“A life of harvesting grain on an empty stomach, I mean, I really am giving up something special, aren’t I folks?”

Summer laughs again, but it’s interrupted by a shout in the crowd.

“I volunteer!”

Summer’s face falls at once, her jaw tightening. Her lighthearted, sarcastic tone sheds the moment she hears the voice.

“No!” She objects, shaking her head and pointing into the crowd, “No he doesn’t!”

The camera finds the source of the disruption, shoving his way through the crowd with familiar sturdy arms.

Price volunteered.

Your brows furrow, your head turning to find Price on the couch next to you.

He doesn’t look at you. He keeps his eyes on the screen, but you know he can feel your stare. His jaw cocks, his lips fold in, and he gives a nearly indistinguishable nod.

“Johnny!” Summer grits, her tone that of a parent pushed to her limit as they scold a misbehaving child, “Get back in the crowd, you fucking moron!”

Price trips over himself as he makes his way to her. He tries to crawl up the middle of the stage, but Summer sticks her foot out, pressing the sole of her shoe to his chest to keep him from pulling himself up.

“Stop it! Get back!” She grunts, but his sturdy arms pull themselves up to stage regardless of her shoves and objections.

Summer drops the microphone, the entire audience jumping at the ear-piercing thud that echoes through the speakers. She puts her hands on his shoulders, and for a moment the two wrestle as she froths at him.

“Take it back! Take it back!”

The peacekeepers intervene and rip the two apart, dragging them back with tight grips on the crook of their elbows.

Price isn’t fighting the peacekeeper’s hold, but Summer’s kicking her feet, thrashing ruthlessly against the restraint. Her words are slathered with fury, loud enough for the back of the crowd to hear even without the microphone.

“You fucking idiot, Johnny! What did you do?! What did you do?! You killed yourself, Johnny! You killed yourself!”

Price is panting, chest heaving as his bright blue eyes soak in her rage.

When the escort finally restores order, she has the two shake hands. Summer doesn’t take her glare off Price the entire time. She practically smacks his hand, squeezing him with a deathly grip, a twist in her lips as she grumbles under her breath. Price just swallows, staring at her with sad eyes as he lets her assault his hand.

You hate to admit it, the thought itself making your stomach turn, but Price was kind of good-looking at your age.

While his blue eyes are still hooded, they’re not narrowed into his constant squint. Distressed in this moment, but overall his eyes are brighter, wider, full of life. His face isn’t harshened with fine lines, and instead of the intense facial hair he wears now, he only has faint stubble along his jaw. Price is strong as you know him, but his younger self seems to be entirely fit, a young man primed with youth and strengthened from a life of fieldwork.

The year Price competed in the games, the arena was truly foreign, you don’t recognize a single plant or tree that makes up the lush jungle. The trees fork in odd places, their leaves awkwardly fanned. A few are reminiscent of the trees you saw at the oasis, puffs of leaves only at the very top of their branches, but even that comparison is a stretch. Some of the flora carry leaves bigger than your entire body. Plants that you’d describe as large ferns swallow the jungle floor, camouflaging only a few feet into the tree line. Massive bones scatter the jungle, bones much larger than any animal you’ve ever seen. In many places the jungle drops off into truly stunning valleys teeming with huge, thick-stemmed flowers. Rivers carve out the land, sidewinding through the valleys.

A Jurassic landscape, they call it.

Price and Summer are locked onto each other the entirety of the countdown. When the gong sounds, they don’t hesitate to dart for each other, each of them working up to a full sprint the moment their boots leave the pedestals. They link hands at the center of the brutal bloodbath, blind to the gory altercations surrounding them. As soon as their hands are locked they make a run for the jungle, quickly disappearing into thick foliage.

They skip a lot of the games, and show the particularly exciting moments Price and Summer went through.

For the circumstances, the tone between them is light, smiling and joking as they dredge through the jungle. They’re playing a game to see who can catch the insides of a jungle nut in their mouth from the highest toss straight up in the air.

Price, leading the way, gets stuck mid-stride, as if his boot had been glued to the jungle floor. He looks down, and immediately his palms shoot out to shove Summer back in the dirt.

“What-”

Summer’s eyes widen when she sees the pit of thick sand swallowing Price’s boots.

Price panics, jerking his legs to free himself, but it’s only making it worse. The more he thrashes, the quicker the pool of sand climbs up his legs. Summer curses, kicking to her feet and stepping to the edge of the pit.

“Stop!” She yells, her fingers a blur as she shakes her palms at him, “Stop moving, Johnny! Grab my hand!”

He stills as he looks at her, heavy breaths leaving parted lips and wide eyes pooled with fear. His knuckles turn white the moment he latches to her wrists.

Summer grunts through clenched, bared teeth and leans back, every muscle shaking as her entire body weight pulls on his arms. The heels of her boots dig into the jungle floor, but Price doesn’t budge.

“Ow, ow!” He yells, “Gonna break my arms!”

“Oh, is that a worse alternative to dying?!” Summer spits.

“Save now, fight later!” He grunts.

“Just- stay still!” She says, eyes frantically darting around.

She locks onto one of the trees, a nearly matured sapling with a long, skinny, branchless trunk that stretches well above Summer’s head.

“Got it, I fucking got it, Johnny!” She shouts with excited revelation, giving herself a running start before she jumps up to grab the trunk as high as she can. Her legs fold around the tree, climbing hand over hand to shimmy herself up. When the sapling begins to curl, she jerks her body weight in the direction of Price, unwrapping her legs and dangling off the trunk until the tip of her toes touch the ground.

“Grab it!” Summer hisses, a grunt caught in the back of her throat as she holds down the spring-loaded tree.

Price, now submerged to his diaphragm, scrambles for the sapling, his arms getting lost in the sprouts of leaves at the very top of the odd tree.

“Got it!”

“Hang on tight!” She hisses before releasing the tree, falling backwards into the dirt.

The tree springs up a few feet in the absence of her weight and yanks Price from the sand to his mid-thigh. Summer’s already on her feet, scrambling to the edge of the pit to wrap her arms around Price’s core, yanking to help work him free as he climbs up the sapling with shaking arms.

Once the sand spits out the tops of his boots, he pops free, the tree slingshotting back into place and almost taking him with it. He’s dragged into Summer, both of them crashing to the ground with a thud.

Summer’s eyes pinch shut and she lets out a drawn-out, low groan under his weight.

Price heaves a breathless, relieved laugh, planting his palms in the dirt to prop himself up, smiling down at Summer.

“So,” Price says in between heavy breaths, “Want to finish that fight?”

Summer gives an amused hum behind a grin, her eyelids fluttering. She snatches him by the collar of his shirt with two fingers and pulls him in until his face is inches from hers. A sly grin spreads thick on her face, voice low and as smooth as silk.

“Kiss first, fight later.”

“Deal.”

When Summer closes the gap and plants a long kiss on his lips, you have to look down at your lap, swallowing around the lump in your throat.

Because you already know how this one ends.

The feed cuts to a shot of Summer and Price at the border of the jungle, a rock ledge next to a fifty-foot cliff overlooking a truly gorgeous valley. They’re both inspecting bushes of fruit, none of which you recognize.

“I don’t know, if I had to place my bets, I’m going with this weird one,” Summer says as she pats a fruit the size of her head, its skin a deep purple and knotted with bumps.

“Really?” Price asks, tucking his walking stick into his armpit, “Betting your life on the weird one?”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Summer digs with a teasing, but slightly pointed tongue.

Price huffs, lacking defense.

He inspects a curved, green fruit the size of his hand, running his thumb along its grains.

“I like this one,” He says, “Got a good feel to it.”

Summer narrows her eyes at him, that sly grin making a reappearance.

“I’ll test yours if you test mine,” She goads.

Price lets out a huff, “Alright, fine. Loser dies.”

“Deal.”

They switch fruits, and dig in.

“Oh, that’s it,” Summer says with a groan, “Good pick, Johnny.”

Price speaks through a mouthful, juice dripping down his chin and staining his chin maroon.

“Can’t say, I’m hungry enough to think dirt tastes good.”

He takes another bite, sucking out the fruit’s insides.

“Johnny,” Summer says carefully.

“No, no, it’s good,” He reassures her, one of his palms blindly gesturing in her direction.

“Johnny,” Summer repeats, her voice low with a slight waver stitched in.

“Yeah?”

Price licks his fingers, and turns to Summer when he doesn’t get an answer.

“Oh, f-!” Price springs to his feet, stumbling backwards with a flail.

“Sh, sh, sh!” Summer hushes with a soft wince, “Just be calm - Don’t freak out.”

A massive snake with a head the size of a loaf of bread, a body as thick as a tree trunk, has crept from a tree above the fruit bushes. Its scales slide around the back of Summer’s neck, slithering leisurely down her shoulder and her front.

“What do I do?!” Price whispers frantically.

“Relax,” The word rides one of Summer’s exhales as she closes her eyes.

You’re not sure if she’s talking to herself or Price.

“Just let me think,” She says quietly.

The python moves slow, snaking around her core like a sash, wrinkling the fabric of her shirt as it curiously explores her.

Summer’s face pinches - she’s trying to come up with a plan but her focus is split between steadying the rise and fall of her chest and keeping herself from panicking.

“So cold,” Summer whispers under her breath as she suppresses a shiver, “Feels so fucking weird.”

Price takes a few slow steps forward, arms puffed out at his sides and his back hunched over.

“Johnny,” Summer warns.

Price lowers himself to a squat, picking up the purple fruit with careful hands.

“Johnny,” Summer tries again with a draw, but with concern to angering the snake coiling around her, her voice isn’t as forceful as she would have liked it to be.

His brows furrow, and a hand comes up with a wave of annoyance.

“I got it, Trouble.”

Price gets his boots in front of her crossed legs, leaning down and carefully extending the fruit in the direction of the snake’s face.

“What are you doing?” Summer grits.

Price ignores her, cooing to the snake.

“Oh, what’s this?” He says softly, animated and affectionate, the way one would speak to a beloved pet.

The snake’s tongue flicks out, it’s head perking up from Summer’s thigh.

“Yeah, buddy, check this out,” Price coos, “You don’t want her, you want this thing.”

“Run, Johnny,” Summer hisses through clenched teeth.

“Smells good, don’t it?” Price says to the snake, ignoring Summer’s demands.

The snake’s tongue flicks from its mouth furiously, hunting down the fresh, pungent scent of the purple fruit, juice still dripping from the taken bite.

The snake double back on itself, peeling back from Summer’s stomach, and Price gives a drawn out, low, “Yeah-heh-heah.”

Price takes careful steps, shifting to Summer’s side, delicately guiding the snake to unwrap from her core.

Price chuckles, “That’s it.”

When the snake is only draped over her shoulders, Price grits to Summer.

“Run, Trouble, Run!”

With a grunt, Summer shoves the snake from her shoulders to get away from its slimy scales.

The snake did not like this maneuver one bit.

With a deafening hiss, another fifteen feet of tail whips from the jungle, the end coiling around Summer’s ankle in less than a second, pulling her foot out from under her. Summer slams face first into the ground, busting her chin open on the rock ledge.

At the same time, the snake’s jaw unhinges, its lips peeling open well below where the corner of its mouth should be, parting down the sides of its body to reveal an opening large enough to effortlessly swallow a full grown man whole with one bite. Its razor sharp fangs start at a size you’d expect at the front of its mouth, and increase in size down its unfurled body until they’re as big as Price’s forearm.

Price screams as he stares into the snake’s gaped innards displayed in clear threat while Summer desperately claws at plants on the jungle floor. Her shirt bunching up her torso as she’s dragged on her front by the snake’s tail. Price flings himself back when the snake’s uncanny mouth closes with a snap like a whip in his direction. Summer flips over on her front, folding her core to peel the tail from her ankle, but she’s no match for its deadly grip.

As Price moves away, Summer is effortlessly lifted from the ground, flailing her limbs once airborne. The snake fully unfurls its mouth towards the sky, its tail curling to hover Summer over its gaped throat. She screams and kicks suspended in the air, dangling helplessly as she stares into the snake’s mouth.

“Hey!” Price yells from off screen.

The purple fruit smacks the snake’s neck with an almost comedic wet slap.

The snake’s mouth snaps shut beneath Summer, its head whipping to the side, venomous eyes locking onto Price. Summer is slammed against the rock ledge, expelling all of the air from her lungs with a guttural wheeze as the snake slithers with unnatural speed towards Price. A choppy groan leaves Summer, dragged across the rock ledge in the snake’s wake as Price trembles, taking uneasy steps backward as he points his meager walking stick in the direction of the snake.

The snake’s already unfurled its terrifying mouth again, priming to swallow him with a gut-churning hiss, but it does not deter Price from launching himself into the snake’s mouth, jamming the thick branch vertically between the bottom and the roof of its mouth.

The snake lets out a cry as it tries to snap its jaw around Price, but instead pierces the walking stick through the roof of its mouth.

The snake wails, ripping away from Price and releasing Summer as it desperately shakes its head to rid the wedge propping its jaw open. Price boots fumble along the rock as he makes a run for Summer, moaning in pain on the ground.

Price skids to a stop before leaning over and pulling her up with sturdy arms and a grunt. Her wobbly legs come to a stand while Price slings her arms over his shoulders, half-dragging her as they stumble through the jungle.

When the two finally give out, Summer collapses to her knees and Price doubles over, his hands on his thighs and spitting his exhaustion into the dirt.

As they catch their heaving breaths, Price lets out a huff.

“Betting on the weird one worked for ya, did it?”

Summer puts two shaky palms to the jungle floor and lowers herself onto her side with a wince.

“You tell me,” She says after a long breath, resting her cheek on her bicep, smearing her arm with the blood of her split chin.

Price laughs again, lying down next to her.

A tightly pressed smile blooms on Summer’s face. Her eyes close, cheeks bunching with a glow that can be seen even under the blood and dirt. Her voice is soft when she speaks to the jungle floor.

“You’re the biggest idiot I know.”

Price hums.

“Well, I can’t help that.”

He touches the pad of his finger to the tip of her nose, a cheeky, goofy grin on his face.

“You’re the one who picked the biggest idiot you know.”

She scoffs, loosely swatting at him, but her hand lingers on his chest, her fingers toying with the slack fabric on the front of his shirt.

“Tell me about it,” She says with a wistful sigh.

You carefully turn your head to get a discreet glimpse of Price on the couch next to you. His elbows are propped up on his knees, leaning forward in his spot. His eyes are relaxed, lost in the rerun. Wearing the outline of a smile that matches Summer’s and the side of his index finger absentmindedly stroking his beard.

Your heart is heavy in your chest and your throat has gone sore and dry, you have to look away from him.

Because you know how this one ends.

When the footage cuts, they show Price and Summer setting up camp in a dilapidated skull the size of a modest room, a snug but cozy fit for two. Whatever animal it came from must have been massive, and had a powerful, flesh-eating jaw. The entrance to their hideout, the mouth of the once creature, is lined with rows of teeth, each tooth the length of Summer’s palm. The skull has been partially overtaken by time and foliage, dirt filthying the yellowish white bone, moss and vines climbing up the holes along the roof of the skull.

Inside the mouth, Summer’s resting on her back on a hand-gathered bed of moss, her elbows bent to cradle her head in her palms. Price is curled up at her side, a sturdy arm slung over her waist, nestled into her shoulder. He snores lightly into her neck as she keeps watch, staring through a hole in the roof of their skull, watching the stars through the leaves of the nearby trees.

Something shakes the jungle, every last tree and leaf on the foliage disturbed as the world rumbles for just a second.

“What’s’it?” Price slurs as he opens his eyes, a deep inhale of morning as he lifts his head to find Summer’s worried face.

It happens again, something shakes the ground beneath them, the both of them jostled for a brief stint.

“The fuck is that?” Summer whispers to him, her brows pinched.

“Don’ know, jus’ woke up,” He mumbles with a slur, voice low with annoyance and sleep.

They flinch and cling to each other when it happens again, their heads swiveling as they try to piece together what’s happening.

“Earthquake?” Summer asks.

Something gives a deafening, screeching roar, booming in the distant forest, ripping a gasp from both of them. Their fingernails are digging into each other, huddled in a ball of tense limbs as they wait for threat.

The thuds turn rhythmic, the entire jungle vibrating with tremendous force.

A shallow breath leaves Price when a tribute screams in the distance.

Both of their mouths are parted, locked onto each other before they peer out of the skull, unable to see beyond the foliage.

The speed increases, the spaced out jostles quickly becoming one continuous rumble. It’s getting closer, intensifying with each beat.

“What do we do?!” Price shouts.

Summer just shakes her head, face slack with fear. The rumbling stops, and the tribute screams pick up in its absence.

The truly harrowing, bone-chilling roar cuts through the jungle again, both Summer and Price jumping from their skin, arms tensing around each other.

A cannon fires.

For minutes the jungle settles, but the two don’t dare break away from each other, holding each other close.

They both flinch when the thuds start up again, one after another, the entire jungle quaking. It’s getting closer, the two have to lower themselves on their hands and knees to keep from being tossed around.

It is a truly terrifying beast, the ultimate predator.

The beast is well over the size of a building, with flesh like a lizard’s. Two powerful, bird-like legs support a body that must be four stories wide, its feet lined with killer claws. A thick neck supports a head the size of a car and two useless arms hang from its front. Half of its body is just a massive tail balancing out the weight of its huge head, thick near its body and thinning out to a point twenty feet away.

When the beast gives a powerful roar, its screeched breath rustles nearby leaves, displaying its powerful jaws far and wide.

Summer blinks, and her gaze flits to the row of teeth at the entrance of their hideout, and she’s coming to the haunting realization that her and Price would be a snug, but cozy fit inside the mouth of the beast. It cross the jungle what must be only fifty yards from Price and Summer, their entire world becoming a nauseating blur.

The two flinch when the extreme force causes the jaws of their hideout to snap shut, trapping them in the skull.

The two watch through the nostril openings until the beast is long lost to the jungle.

“Okay,” Summer draws out a long sigh, closing her eyes, “Hated that.”

“Not a holiday for me, either.”

“Let’s make a deal,” Summer’s fist jams a thumb in the direction of the beast, “We stay far away from that thing.”

“No?” Price asks with a tilt of his head and a raised brow, “I was thinking we put a collar on ‘em and keep ‘em as a pet.”

Summer snorts.

“Fine, but I’m not going to get stuck taking care of it. You have to clean up after it.”

Price’s eyes crinkle when he smiles at her.

“Deal.”

When the feed cuts again, it’s clear a good chunk of time has passed. The hideout is camouflaged, they’ve rigged the skull’s jaw open with a pulley, and the two managed to get their hands on some modest supplies - some rope and knives.

Price and Summer are digging into a nice bounty of fruit and the meat of a jungle creature, cooked over some now extinguished embers. They’re eating in a comfortable silence, resting their backs against the skull with their legs stretched out. It’s clear they’re both exhausted.

Heavy eyelids shoot open when voices in the jungle near.

“I can smell it, it was definitely over here.”

“Well, it’s not anymore. They’re long gone.”

Two careers, slicing their weapons through vines and overgrown plants, hunting for the smoke from Summer and Price’s campfire.

“Lower district rats prol’ly too stupid to clear out.”

Summer’s face twists, a snarl tugging on her lips. Price shakes his head at her, his eyes wide and lips folded in.

“We can look around for a little.”

“Or we can look until we get to spill some rat blood.”

With pointed brows and a growl threatening to leave her, Summer makes a ring with her index finger and her thumb. She goes to place it in her mouth, but Price snatches her wrist and slaps a hand over her mouth, prompting Summer to muffle objections into his palm.

Summer starts swinging at him as she tries to shake away her muzzle, but Price positions himself behind her, pressing her back to his chest and keeping her secure between his legs as she trashes in his hold until the careers move on.

When Price loosens his grip, she shoves him away.

“What is wrong with you?” He hisses, “Are you nuts?”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?! How can you just sit by after hearing their bullshit all week?”

“Because I’m not trying to get myself killed!”

“Well then you shouldn’t have volunteered, should ya’ve, Johnny?!”

He doesn’t have anything to say to that one.

The pain wells in his eyes for just a moment before he huffs, pinching his brows and looking away.

Summer grumbles under her breath before crawling out of the skull, getting much needed space from him.

The feed cuts, and it appears as if the two have resolved the fight, or at least have repaired things enough to tolerate being next to each other. They walk silently through the jungle, both of their steps sluggish, but are stopped in their tracks as the world gets brighter. It takes only a few seconds for the entire arena to be engulfed in a blinding white light.

The sound of the impact blares over the speakers loud enough you feel the vibration in your ribcage. It makes you jump. A flinch and a sharp draw of breath that drives Konig to tighten his hold on you.

The ground shakes beneath Price and Summer, tenfold more intense than the beast’s footsteps. It knocks them both to the ground instantly, and they have to scramble to narrowly miss getting crushed by weakened trees, uprooted and crashing to the ground.

A cloud of white dust barrels like a wave in their direction, and even though Price wasted no time to grab Summer’s arm and make a run from it, they are swallowed by a thick cloud of smoke, coughing and hacking as they stumble blindly through the jungle.

Half of the arena has been entirely destroyed, now only a burning, fiery wasteland ringing an enormous crater, a meteor wedged deep into the earth at the center. What remains of the arena is so foggy with debris they can’t see a foot in front of their faces.

The impact killed a handful of tributes instantly, including half the career pack, and wiped out all of the beasts that roamed the land.

The feed cuts again, and your stomach twists when Price licks his lips and looks to the floor.

You know what that means.

You follow his gaze for a moment, trying to swallow the lump forming in your throat.

The meteor strike has driven what remains of the tributes together, the pool slimmed. The dust has mostly cleared the arena, now only a slight fog weaving through the foliage.

Where the jungle breaks into the cornucopia, Price and Summer lock eyes with what remains of the career pack.

Summer’s fists clench at her sides and Price’s hand immediately shoots to Summer’s shoulder.

The careers don’t even lunge for them.

They stand in front of the cornucopia, arms crossed over their chests and smug grins on their faces.

Price gives Summer a tug, guiding her to turn and run, but her feet stay planted firmly on the dirt.

“Trouble,” Price hisses, “Let’s go.”

“C’mon rat!” One of the careers calls from across the field, his arms uncrossing and held out at his sides, inviting them to a fight.

Summer’s knuckles have gone white around the handle of her blade, shallow breaths leave her parted lips. She’s caught in a trance as she stares down the careers.

“Summer! Let’s go!” He says sternly, giving a harsh tug on her arm and taking a step to backtrack into the forest.

“You all talk?!” One of the careers calls, “Put your bread where your mouth is, Rat!”

Summer jaw clenches before she rips from Price’s grip, breaking into a sprint towards the careers.

“Summer, no!”

Price runs after her, but stops in his tracks when Summer’s ankle snags against something.

It happens so fast.

A nearly invisible tripwire hidden within the fern-like plants sends an axe into the side of her stomach in an instant. For a moment she is paralyzed, only a slight sway on her feet before she turns to face Price.

It takes a moment for Price to understand what just happened, in stunned disbelief as his hands find his head.

“No!” Price cries when his thoughts catch up, “No, no!”

His boots take off, slamming against the dirt and tearing through the ferns as he runs for her.

“Summer! Summer!”

A heavy wall of tears rims his eyeline, a shake in his hands as he locks on to her wide eyes. Summer collapses face first into the foliage, and when Price catches up he forcefully flips her onto her front.

Summer groans as Price’s panicked eyes dart over the wound, muttering to himself while the blood oozes generously around the blade of the axe.

“You’re going to be okay!” He says, but he convinces absolutely no one, then and now.

“‘S make a deal, okay?” Summer grits, her words chopped with each twitch of her body, “You win this thing-”

Summer coughs, blood splattering on her lips and chin.

“And I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”

He nods, tears slipping down his face.

Price’s voice is just a choked breath.

“Deal.”

She closes her eyes and hums.

“Love you, Johnny.”

“Love you, Summertime.”

“Go,” She says hoarsely, “Make sure you didn’t do it for nuthin’.”

Price nods, his brows pinching. He looks up to the careers, both of them making the dash across the clearing to finish Price off.

He looks back to Summer, his face falling and swelled with worry.

Her eyes roll ever so slightly, her words wet and gurgled through her blood.

“Go, idiot.”

Price nods with a swallow and rises to his feet, breaking into a run further into the jungle as soon as he musters up the courage to take his eyes off her. He doesn’t look back, his boots slamming against the jungle floor with each step, the leaves of the flora wavering in his wake.

Tears streak his face, his lips parted to push out sharp breaths, but otherwise his face is expressionless, stone-cold. He only breaks for a moment when the cannon fires, a wince that creases his eyes, but his boots don’t slow.

The careers are closing in on him, and you find your nails are digging into Konig’s thigh, threatening to tear a chunk of fabric from his dress pants.

Price must have run miles without slowing before he sidesteps the familiar pool of quicksand and returns to his previous trajectory. One of the careers gets sucked right into his trap, his body is thrown when his boot gets caught in the pit, planting his palms right into the quicksand.

By time the other career catches up, the sand has swallowed the boy to his wrists and ankles. He’s tugging futilely against its hold on him, only burying himself further into the sand’s clutches. The other career ignores him entirely, doesn’t even look in the direction of the desperate pleas for help.

When Price finds his and Summer’s hideout, he makes a beeline for it.

Both your teeth and fists are clenched, resisting the urge to scold Price for cornering himself by crawling into the skull.

Price turns on his feet, hunched over to fit as he steps to the back of the hideout, his knife primed above his head.

“Let’s go, Rat!” The career calls before lowering himself to follow Price into the hideout.

Price swings his knife, but not at the career, no.

As the career is halfway into the mouth of the skull, Price slices clean through the rope of the pulley. The skull’s powerful jaw clamps shut with tremendous force, massive teeth piercing through the career’s torso with a snap, pinning him in the mouth of the once beast.

The career sputters his breath, eyes blown and blood shooting from his mouth at once. His hands instinctively press the back of the beast’s teeth to pointlessly try to work himself free.

Price carefully nears as the boy struggles, keeping eye contact with him. Price’s face is eerily even as he squats down in the bed of moss soaking up the blood that drains down the massive, bone white teeth.

He raises his knife to his own forearm, and slices clean through his skin without so much as wincing.

Price inspects the wound with furrowed brows for a moment before he slowly extends his forearm to the boy, droplets of Price’s blood streaking from the cut and down his arm.

“You see that?” He says, his voice low and dangerous.

Price huffs.

“Looks like you bleed the same colors as the rats.”

The boy can’t respond, too busy choking on his blood, but what life remains in his eyes sparks with rage, his brows creasing ever so slightly as he glares at Price.

Price’s eyes narrow into a deep squint.

“You tell Summer who sent you.”

Price’s knife pierces through the career’s windpipe without warning.

You flinch in your seat, eyes pinching shut to rid the sight of Sapphire being skewered at your hand, your nails nearly drawing blood from the flesh of your knee as you try to shake the reverb of the staff in your grip and silence the sound of her choking on her own blood.

“Wow,” Caesar starts, “Let’s give John a hand, huh?”

The audience complies, but it’s muffled by the sound of your own shallow breaths in your ears. Behind the cover of your eyelids, your irises dart furiously.

So much new information you’re learning about your fellow victors today, and not at all the proper space to digest it.

Your nausea is making a reappearance and your heels scrape across the stage in a futile attempt to expel the heat bubbling from your pores.

“It must be really special to you, that after all this time, you managed to pull off getting these two star-crossed lovers out together.”

Price gives a curt nod.

“That’s right,” He says evenly.

Your hand crosses over your bicep, and your lower lips catches between your teeth. That sickening guilt is coiling in your intestines again, the heavy weight that’s impossible to ignore.

What makes you worthy of getting out of the arena, when Summer couldn’t?

Why do you and Konig get to have each other at your sides - when Price didn’t get the same?

You don’t feel deserving of it.

Not just in comparison to Price - but even in relation to your games.

Why do you get to sit here on this stage, alive and unharmed, while there are twenty-two other tributes - many of them much more deserving of the victor title - who’ve long since been packed up in wooden boxes and shipped back to their districts?

Because you are alive today, someone else is dead.

And it’s only worse that a selfish little brat like you got gifted something that an honorable man like Price couldn’t have.

Guilt.

“Tell us,” Caesar says to you and Konig, “Have you seen this footage before?”

You swallow hard enough you can feel it tug on your ears. You can’t bring yourself to speak, or even open your eyes, so you just shake your head.

“And how do you feel after seeing John’s win for the first time?”

You shake your head again, and when you speak, your words are choked and barely audible.

“Not good.”

Price gives you a squeeze on the shoulder before rubbing it out. You think he’s trying to tell you it’s okay, that you shouldn’t feel bad, but it does nothing to relieve the sickening guilt swelling in your gut and swallowing you whole.

Caesar receives little cooperation from Konig.

“Well, John, I have to say, your tributes weren’t the only ones stirring excitement in the arena.”

Price scoffs, a smile tugging on his lips.

”We have some never-before seen footage I can’t wait to share with you all! Let’s take a look, shall we?”

The mentor’s suite is just a sterile white, curved room, lined with screens and chairs. One large screen shows the audience’s perspective, and each mentor’s seat has multiple screens to keep an eye on their own tributes at all times.

You’d think Price bet the farm on you and Konig.

Price is consistently the loudest of all the mentors. It’s easy to see from one look that everyone else is annoyed with him.

Ruby isn’t nearly as loud, but she’s just as obnoxious, looking over Price’s shoulder and squealing every word.

Oh, how you have missed that shrill Capitol accent.

They only show the particularly interesting moments.

When you escaped the snare, Price threw his chair across the room, making everyone in the room flinch.

“That’s my fucking girl!”

“Well, she has always been stubborn!” Ruby chimes.

It actually makes you blow an amused huff of air out of your nose, a grin creeping on your lips.

And of course, they show Price pulling Ruby into an excited kiss when you escaped Titan. She turns bright red and grunts when he lets go of her, smoothing out her shirt.

”Well, I never!”

The audience loves it, a hearty applause for Price’s antics.

Caesar asks Price a few more questions, but you do your best to tune them out, taking your opportunity to shut off your brain for a minute as you bury yourself into Konig’s chest.

When Caesar prompts Price off the stage, he practically strongholds you into standing with him, Konig in turn following.

He pulls you in for a hug and digs his nails into your back hard enough you hiss into his ear. He doesn’t let you wriggle away, holding you for a few more sharp seconds before he finally lets you free, ignoring your face pinched in defense.

His jaw clenches, and the message his eyes are drilling into you is clear.

Be. Good.

The look, the first implementation of physical correction - it’s enough to dry out your mouth and clench your muscles. An ominous feeling pools from your center and infects your limbs, ultimately putting a shake in your fingers and a wobble in your knees.

There it is, that feeling again. The unpinnable, chest-wrenching, breath-stealing feeling.

Something is wrong.

How badly did you fuck up? What specifically was he correcting?

Konig doesn’t get the same treatment. Price plasters his crowd-worthy grin on his face and pulls Konig into a short side-hug, giving him two gentle but firm pats on the back before he struts off, waving at the crowd.

With stitched brows you follow him with your gaze as Price walks off stage, carefully taking your seat once he’s out of sight. Your fingers fidget at your side as you try to heed off the urge to throw up all over the glittery stage.

Caesar hypes up the crowd for the finale before digging into the highlights.

You’re not looking forward to this part.

The oasis does not grant Konig refuge from the dust storm, a light breeze turning to a gusting wind that turns to a full on twister of sand.

They cut to the boy from four, still lying on the sand exactly where Konig left him, skin fried from the desert sun.

Konig paralyzed him.

And judging by the way Konig’s eyes widen and his lips part, he had no idea. He looks to his hands, horrified.

The dust storm steadily suffocates Four, his weak cries more muffled with each passing second before his cannon fires.

Konig’s horrified expression lingers the entirety of the arena being destroyed.

You give him a squeeze that he doesn’t return, motionless when you rest your cheek on his shoulder.

They feature the boy from six and the boy from seven, the boys who ran into the snow quadrant at the bloodbath. They took refuge in the center of the snow quadrant, in the large, complex system of caves. They were out hunting for food before the avalanche chased them out of the woods and swallowed them whole.

Even though you only knew of them as ‘The boys who ran into the snow quadrant’ - there’s some level of unpinnable familiarity there that makes your heart sink. Maybe because you witnessed their death happen in person, or maybe because you got too close of a look at them at the bloodbath, or maybe it was that moment where the boy from seven was smiling in his chariot with his district companion. You don’t know. This interview is so exhausting, and has left you with more than enough emotional homework you care to handle, and you’re still not finished yet.

You still have to relive Sapphire’s death, you still have to watch Konig beat Titan into a bloody pulp, and you still have to see Konig die.

What you wouldn’t give for a breather.

For five minutes with Konig in private.

You just want to be done, done with this interview, done with The Capitol, done with the Hunger Games.

But you won’t ever be, will you? Every year they’ll drag you and Konig back with Price, forced to mentor a pair of kids destined to die, and you won’t be able to keep your distance. Every year they will break your heart, and every year they’ll broadcast your romance far and wide, both in recaps and in new footage.

They start with Sapphire.

As soon as her cry blares over the speakers, your eyes are screwed shut.

Konig’s nearly squeezing the life from you, surely watching Sapphire close in as you bleed generously from your hedge-inflicted wounds.

“He killed him! He killed him!”

Konig’s grip on you loosens as soon as he realizes it.

Realizes that you took the brunt of her vengeance against him for killing her district companion. A boy she surely trained with for years, preparing for this moment.

You give his arm a squeeze. Konig doesn’t know it, but that same vengeance is what saved you.

The exhaustion from mourning her companion made Sapphire’s spear toss sloppy, her hatred for Konig left her defenses wide open, and her spite drove her own spear square into her abdomen.

How many times does a boy have to save a girl’s life before she gets the fucking picture?

Konig is so skilled at protecting you - he managed to pull it off without even being by your side - all while you fought with everything you had to die.

It feels as if these games have revolved around you and Konig since the beginning. Tethered together by a rope that stretched across the arena, ensnaring any tributes that neared in its indestructible, suffocating web.

You can’t help but wonder - if you had never been, if you were never a soul on this earth, what would the outcome have been?

Who would have had a fair chance if you and Konig had not been unintentional allies, if it weren’t for you two being an unstoppable force that pulled tributes under without even trying?

How many deaths fall back on you, simply for breathing, for existing?

Konig’s grip has turned crushing since Sapphire whipped her spear in your direction, and it almost grounds you as you’re suffocated by the replay of her froths.

The squelch of Sapphire’s eye and her haunting wail makes you gag, bile sloshing up the back of your throat and bringing tears to your eyes.

Konig’s clutch on you is so tight he’s shaking. As you and Sapphire attack simultaneously, he sucks in a sharp breath, flinching in his seat. He almost takes your hand with him to find his head, but corrects himself and rests your intertwined hands where your thighs meld together.

Your eyes are closed, but you can see her - on her knees, ripping out her own eye, the tear of her shredded optic nerve. You can feel it - the spear jamming into your stomach, the weight of Sapphire’s body scraping the spear against your flayed hands, the ground jostling you about as her limp body bounces lifelessly on the ground.

“What a moment, what a moment!” Caesar chimes once the footage pauses, a chorus of claps echoing throughout the theatre.

“Wow, I have to say, it’s not every games we get to see a tribute drive another to end their own life,” Caesar’s lips pull to the side, and he speaks in a lowered, cheeky tone, “And I hate to spoil it for you folks, but that won’t be the last time it happens.”

As the audience laughs, your face pinches, crushing Konig’s hand in yours. Your lips part to run your mouth - but you stop yourself, forcing out a deep breath.

Be. Good.

So instead your lips press into a tightly pursed smile, your neck jerking to the side.

Konig finds you, those icy blue eyes just as annoyed as yours.

He lifts your locked hands with a gentle shake and a squeeze.

“And here I thought I was being original,” He mutters with a slight roll of his eyes.

For a moment your brows tighten, and then you scoff, finding yourself actually smiling during this grueling, painful interview.

“Eh,” You shrug, “She may have gotten there first, but you perfected it.”

His chest puffs out with an amused huff, his fingers raising to rub out his temple. He shakes his head and looks at you, and you share a weak, but genuine smile.

It doesn’t last long.

Konig’s next.

Really, you should have connected the dots considering you saw the two dead tributes at the other end of the maze, but it hadn’t crossed your mind to think of the fights that were taking place as you fought Sapphire.

His assigned opponent is the girl from two, Sage as Sapphire called her.

Sage wastes no time once the ground settles, in a run straight for him. Konig’s not fazed by her speed. He roughly tosses his pack to the side, and stands tall with Four’s blade primed.

There’s little to see of his expression under his hood, but his eyes are fearless, slightly narrowed as he waits for her approach.

Sage wields a sword of her own, and once Konig is in motion, it’s impossible to look away. The footage isn’t altered, but it feels as if time has slowed for them. You catch every movement, the way Konig’s leg dips and his arm straightens behind him, winding up to deflect her hit with the perfect clinks of metal on metal. They way her feet shuffle in perfect positioning, alternating between offensive and defensive maneuvers.

It’s violent, aggressive, - but also graceful.

Their fight is a mesmerizing dance. They meet in the middle like it has been rehearsed, perfect timing of the commanding clashes to form a grated song of their swords embracing.

Sage’s face is pinched in determination and focus, grunts behind her grit teeth with each swing.

They exchange no words.

It’s a transaction, professional. The two are there to complete their task and nothing more.

Their swords clash between their chests and hold there, hands trembling as they push against the other. Their eyes are locked and crinkled in focus.

Konig closes in and gives a forceful shove, sending her tumbling back onto the grass.

When she’s on her elbows, her legs bending in a scramble, the very end of Konig’s blade finds her neck, resting an inch under her chin. He looms over her in all his glory, blocking out the sun and casting his shadow over her.

Sage stills at once, her lips twitching as she looks up at him. It’s not quite anger in her eyes, more frustration at herself. Bested even with her training.

She doesn’t beg. She holds his taut stare, and waits. Accepting her defeat in good sportsmanship.

Konig’s sword lingers for a few moments before it slowly retreats, pulling away from her neck.

Sage breaks the stare to follow Konig’s sword until it’s back at his side.

“Up, Girl.”

Her chest heaves with her shallow breaths, irises shifting back and forth as she flits between both of his unreadable eyes.

There’s a pause, lingering their stares on each other before she comes to a slow stand.

Konig takes a few steps back, his sword relaxed at his side. For a moment she eyes him in unease, but he waits patiently. She fixes her shirt, tugging down the hem that bunched up when she fell, and tilts her head to the side to pop a joint in her neck. A long exhale leaves her, she rolls her shoulders, and repositions her feet.

Her face pinches in determination, and they begin round two.

They’re not holding back. Sage is back in the game, catching every swing. She almost gets him, twisting her wrist with a jerk of her arm to leave his core undefended, but he saves it with a quick deflect by putting the sword vertically just in front of his middle. She would have cut him when she forced her sword further into his, but the supplies in his vest spares him from being nicked with his own sword.

Sage retreats her blade and risks opening herself up while Konig’s busy winding regaining his grip on his swords. She returns with all her might, a grunt that borders on a shout leaving her. Konig blocks her from the inside and pushes outwards, and for a moment she loses balance, stumbling at Konig’s side. His upper half quickly leans back as he swivels to keep face to face with her, a few steps back to keep his distance.

He flinches when she cries out. Sage learns the hard way about the hedge’s blades, slicing deep gashes on the undersides of her forearms and through the meat of her palms.

Konig’s eyes widen as he tries to figure out what just happened, taking a few uneasy steps back as she collects herself.

Sage shakes out her arm, flicking blood in all directions. She winces, but it does little to stop her from wrapping her palms around the handle of her sword and finishing their fight.

They sidestep each other for a moment, swords at the ready.

Sage advances quickly and with little warning, frustration laced into her flurry of offensive strikes. Her blade is just a blur, each collision announced with the clash of steel and a splatter of her blood. Konig follows her lead, blocking each strike, both of them slipping right back into their perfected routine. She’s clearly got the upper hand when it comes to skill, her sword techniques much more advanced. But Konig’s holding his ground even with his base level understanding.

Sapphire’s cannon fires, and the girl from two loses her rhythm when she flinches and whips her head to the side.

That’s all Konig needs. He gives a forceful shove to the blades, knocking her off balance. He has no problem dismounting her sword. She’s back on the ground again, unarmed and dwarfed under Konig’s full stature.

She doesn’t scramble for her sword or to a stand, calmly propping up on her elbows and watching as Konig leisurely returns the sword to her neck.

They lock eyes again, her chest rising and falling with her heavy breaths as they stare at each other.

Sage licks her lips and nods.

“Do me a favor,” She says through shallow breath.

She looks to the blade, and then back to him.

“Make sure that loon doesn’t win.”

Konig pauses, his eyes relaxing.

“Okay,” He says.

She gives him a faint nod, and Konig takes a long, deep breath, closing his eyes on the exhale. With one motion he pierces the sword into her neck until it imbeds through the ground beneath her.

As the audience claps for Konig, your eyes are pinched shut, trying to free your hands of Sapphire’s spear.

When you do look to him, your brows pinched and gnawing on your lower lip, he doesn’t meet your stare. His eyes point low and to the side, a solemn look weighing down his pale features.

“Wow,” Caesar starts as the audience settles, “Konig, I have to say, that was a truly thrilling fight.”

You have to agree with Caesar on that one. Your heart is beating so fast you can feel it in your ribcage, and you wouldn’t be surprised if your lips have turned blue from holding your breath.

“I have to ask, what were your motivations in granting Sage a second chance?”

You’d like to know the answer to that one, too.

Konig is silent and still, sunken eyes taking their time to find Caesar. He swallows hard enough you can see it, and he gives an unsteady, slow shrug. This one’s different, it’s not disrespectful. Defeated and sluggish, you can tell he genuinely cannot find the words.

They’re used to careers sitting on this couch, wearing proud with each replay of their kills, cheering along with the crowd.

If The Capitol wanted meaningful commentary from you both, they should have given you more time to think on everything, because right now it is so painful. You feel like you’ve been sliced from chest to core, your guts spilling all over the glittery stage, and Caesar might as well be squishing your intestines under his dress shoes with every question he asks.

Caesar sees he’s not going to get the answers the country is desperate for, and moves on.

Titan’s turn.

His fight is much less fair.

He’s up against a male tribute who’s clearly out of his depth, unarmed and no match for Titan.

If you had to guess, his strategy for the games was the same as yours. To evade until he had no choice, and he’s realizing that this is his reckoning.

A prey trapped with its predator, the instinctual fear of an animal taking control as he tries to put as much space between him and Titan as possible.

Titan’s maniacal cackle as he watches the boy tremble and flee sends a shiver down your spine. He stands so casually, laughing at him as if the boy wasn’t rightfully treating Titan like the killer he is.

It’s a jarring contrast, they’re not even playing the same game.

For Titan, it’s like a game of tag. Toying with the boy as he chases him around their pen, teasing calls in a sing-song tune, smiling and laughing all the while. He purposely slows up a few times to drag the fun out a little longer.

It’s so unnerving, an unsettling twist in your lower core that begs for attention.

Titan.

If you never see those teeth again, if you never hear that laugh again - it’ll be too soon.

It’s clear that both you and Konig have checked out. Shut down on yourselves, staring blankly at the stage and trying your hardest not to retain any of it. Your limp body leans into him, lulling your head on his bicep.

He gives you a weak squeeze on your locked, sweaty hands, but is otherwise motionless at your side.

The Capitol forcing you to falsely grieve his death has worn yourself down emotionally before you even stepped onto this stage, and every highlight chips away at what little of you remains.

You find your mind wandering to that night before the games. Longing for a soft bed and Konig’s chest as a pillow, leeching his cozy warmth, his heartbeat a lullaby to ease you into a much needed break from consciousness.

Your eyes are still closed when Titan finishes the excruciatingly drawn-out hunt, but you can hear it.

Titan chose to break his neck.

Every muscle in you and Konig’s bodies have clenched with such speed and intensity it’s painful. You lurch forward involuntarily, folding your core in preparation to keep from throwing up over yourself.

Titan’s cackle is the accompanying song to the vivid image of Eleven’s limp bounce off the platform, his lifeless eyes a searing, white hot flash behind your eyelids.

You shake your head to try and rid the visual, taking deep breaths in a futile effort to settle your boiling stomach.

You can’t take much more of this. The only thing keeping you on this couch is Price’s fingernails sinking into your back.

It was a warning.

A warning without explanation of consequence or instruction on how to proceed. A blaring alarm, not sure if you’re dealing with a tornado or a wildfire, unsure if you’re meant to hunker down or evacuate.

All you have to work with is - Be. Good.

You barely manage to stay on the couch, squirming and shaking into Konig’s side.

Once Caesar is done analyzing the footage of Titan and his victim, the rest of the hedge walls descend, and it’s on to the three-way standoff.

You have to open your eyes to watch, because other than Konig’s hand nearly crushing the bones in your hand to dust - the glittery stage, Caesar Flickerman, and this godforsaken audience is the only thing reminding you that you’re not in the arena.

The wide aerial shot they use makes the six of you look like insects as Titan and Konig close in.

They pause on you, coated and dripping in blood, brows pinched and eyes pointed, Sapphire’s colorful spear trained at Konig’s chest.

The image makes your face warp, knotting your insides with shame and guilt. You look like a heartless killer, aiming your spear at the boy who loves you so much he sacrificed himself for you.

“Konig, I have to say, it must have been tough watching a friend, your crush, displaying such apparent distrust.”

Caesar’s words are like a knife to the chest. Slicing deep and exposing your heart to the entire country.

And you would know.

Konig swallows, his eyes flitting to his fidgeting dress shoes. He gives a grave nod that twists the knife sticking out of your chest.

“My dear,” Caesar says, “What was going on in your head at this moment?”

It takes you a few moments to coax the words from your dry, raw throat.

“I-”

You take a deep breath, smoothing out your dress skirt. You sound like a child when you speak.

“Nothing. Nothing was going through my head. I was just scared.”

Caesar nods.

“Scared of a friend?”

He might as well have taken the knife from your heart and plunged it right back in.

You swallow, your words consisting of only breath.

“Yeah.”

“And why’s that?”

For fucks sake, Caesar.

Be. Good.

“Because it was the end,” You croak, the audience hanging onto every word.

“I think we understand dear,” Caesar says, “Afterall, you’re not a mind reader.”

You give a shaky nod, and Caesar finally gives it a rest.

Titan’s taunts blaring over the speakers are unable to be ignored.

Titan.

That sardonic laugh, that mocking voice, those killer teeth.

It’s somehow worse the second time.

Your skewered heart is racing, your entire body pulsing in rhythm and blurring your vision with each beat.

At your side, Konig’s jaw is clicking as he grinds his teeth, his hand shaking in your hold.

Sapphire’s ribs snapping under Titan’s boot fold your body in a cringe, Eleven’s lifeless eyes stealing your breath.

When Titan’s gotten his hands on you, Konig lets go of your hand and slings his arms around your waist instead, possessively tugging you flush against him, quick and just forceful enough to pull a gasp from you. As Konig gives your hand a break to squeeze your side instead, your stare follows your touch as you rub out the ache in your palm.

You can feel the vibration of Titan’s chest against your back, his breath in your ear, his massive arm snaked around your neck.

Next to you, Konig’s leg is bouncing furiously, a hand lost in his hair in a useless attempt to placate his rage.

You give his leg a gentle squeeze, trying to get him to look at you, to remind him that you’re right here, that it’s okay. He doesn’t meet your gaze, staring daggers at Titan through the screen as he coos and purrs and growls and yells and taunts.

Every insufferable moment of this standoff is a grating ringing in your ears. Listening to yourself yell at Konig in a demand to kill you is making you feel dumb, Titan’s voice rips a shudder from you with every sentence, and Konig’s rage is a burning heat on your skin.

The worst is yet to come, of course. The encore of Konig beating Titan to a bloody pulp.

Konig’s arm turns to lead over your shoulders, working against each flinch you make. He’s entirely still at your side as you shake in his hold, pinching your eyes shut but not at all able to rid the visual of Titan's smashed face and the waterfall of blood behind him, his lifeless body collapsing to the grass and razor sharp blades shredding his flesh.

As you beg and plead with Konig for your life, you’re both deathly still on the couch, only the rise and fall of your chest to heave breaths towards your lap.

You can’t bring yourself to sit up or to open your eyes. The sound of your own voice, pleading for your life with the boy who killed himself for you, it’s making you sink in on yourself.

To your relief, they skip your breakdown. You find it strange they also skip Konig tending to your wounds and his detail of that day in District Nine.

They do show a few bits of conversation from your picnic, but most of it is cut. They leave out the trip to the oasis entirely.

At first, it’s a relief. The more they skip the quicker this interview is over with, and to be honest, you weren’t crazy about the idea of all of Panem watching you and Konig having careless fun in your underwear. You’re especially thankful that Konig won’t be finding out about the lingering stares anytime soon.

There’s something about it that’s not sitting right with you, though. Yours and Konig’s romance was the star of this year’s games, and it seems odd they’re cutting out the particularly lighthearted, but intimate moments.

The audience does get a chance to gush over Konig carrying you through the desert, and laugh over you asking Konig about having a crush back home, but again, they skip most of yours and Konig’s conversations.

And there it is again. The dread that sloshes around your core, lapping up your insides, a dark cloud drifting into your thoughts but entirely unidentifiable.

Something is wrong.

Konig rests his cheek on the crowd of your head, his finger tracing gentle swirls into your sides instead of squeezing. You find yourself melting into him, your finger absentmindedly stroking his silken tie as you let your eyes flutter shut.

“You’ve really never had a boyfriend?”

You’ve seen this one already.

Might as well try and sneak in a break, here in his chest.

Konig’s hand finds your hair, running his fingers through your Capitol-Standard silken locks, sending electric tingles up your scalp. He manages to draw a soft, content hum from you.

It’s like the eye of the storm, a moment of calm before you’re thrown right back into the hurricane.

Caesar leaves you both alone. He doesn’t need to ask you how you feel, or what was going through your mind, because the versions of you and Konig on screen are doing the work for you.

Caesar does occasionally stop the footage to make commentary that would normally make your teeth drive straight through the flesh of your tongue, but you truly can't find it in you to care. The only thing you care about in this moment is the billow of Konig’s ribcage with each breath, the feeling of his chest from beneath his suit, the soothing fingers sliding through your hair.

“I have to say, it’s the first time we’ve ever seen two tributes fight to the death quite like this!”

And yeah, you’d prefer if all of Panem wasn’t watching you be so raw and vulnerable, but you can’t bring yourself to even be embarrassed about your fits and fight.

Aside from the obscenities and insults thrown at Konig, you stand by everything you said, everything you did, and you’d do it again if you have to.

The kissing doesn’t even faze you.

You’d do it again and again and again.

They obviously skip your intimacy.

You expected at the very least some teasing from Caesar, innocuous jokes and cheeky, knowing stares until you and Konig’s cheeks turn warm, but they don’t even mention it.

And unusually, they skip your preparations for death. You do remember making the faintest slight against the Capitol, but they skip all of it. Your plea to die, the exchange of the ribbon, the final hug.

Come on. That’s the height of television to these people. The drama and the tragedy.

You and Konig put on a show. In more ways than one, and it’s hard to stomach why The Capitol didn’t include any of it in the highlights.

And while you’re relieved you don’t have to relive such a painful, bittersweet moment - you know that there is a reason it was not included.

A reason The Capitol did not like.

And it’s starting to sink in that maybe you don’t have the upper hand anymore.

Because with Konig at your side - they finally have the leverage they need. It is no longer you as the sacrificial lamb. If The Capitol is upset with you, they will not use your tongue against you.

They will use his.

Konig’s chest does little to quell this thought.

The sound of a blade slicing flesh, screams and desperate pleas, weak reassurances also does little to help.

And of course, the audience cheers for your double suicide. It doesn’t even surprise you.

What does surprise you, though, is the footage of you in your hospital room.

Immediately your head rips from Konig’s chest, your face falling, scrambling to comb over everything you said in your fits to figure out what could possibly be exposed to all of Panem in moments you thought were private.

They show you attacking Price in the hospital room, which the crowd finds funny, but you scratch behind your ear, not sure how to feel about it. It is kind of funny, considering Konig was alive the entire time, but you find being forced to believe he was dead, the grief that otherwise was not necessary, not so funny.

And they show Konig. Restrained to his hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling, his temples red and raw from the never-ending stream of tears trailing down the side of his face to contribute to the growing stain on his pillow.

He refused to do anything.

Wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t listen to the nurses, wouldn’t even speak to Price.

Just stares at the ceiling, unmoving.

When you try to meet his stare, he refuses, his eyes fixated on his lap, sitting low on the couch.

You rest your head back on his chest, your arms creeping around his waist and squeezing tight.

I’m here now.

After a pause, the arm around your waist gives a gentle squeeze back.

You tune out Caesar’s closing commentary, trying to focus on breathing Konig in, the feeling of his firm chest billowing against your ear. His hand creeps behind you, fingertips tracing over the back of your dress in soothing, abstract patterns.

The crowd gives another roaring round of applause before the anthem plays, and out steps The President.

The sight of him, stepping onto the stage with his stark black suit and precise smile, floods you with a wave of dread from head to toe. You don’t even have the sense to hide the intimidation pulling at your features as you and Konig rise from the couch, your sweaty hands interlocking once again.

Behind him stands a Capitol attendant, carrying your crowns onto stage.

Konig actually has to bend at the knee to keep The President from standing on his tiptoes.

The President gives a soft, calculated laugh.

“Thank you, boy.”

With delicate hands he places a thick and ornate golden crown onto Konig’s head before he steps to you.

Inches from you, he wears a perfect smile as he places your crown on your head. His eyes are cruel and piercing, he doesn’t so much as blink. His icy stare lingers long after he’s dawned you with the dainty golden crown.

You swallow once when he finally turns away, looking to your heels, crushing Konig’s hand with your own.

The standing ovation, bowing, and waving goes on for far too long. You’re starting to think Caesar is dragging it out on purpose just to torture you when you finally get the cue to leave the stage.

You don’t even get a moment to take a breath before the prep teams and stylists swallow you both whole, showering you with praise and squeals overlapping each other, you can’t make out a single thing any one of them are saying.

Their group moves in a pack, forcing you and Konig to shuffle forward, locked at the hands to keep the other from getting lost.

Mauve manages to push her way through, grabbing your free hand.

“Just wait until you see the dress for the party!”

“What do you mean?” You ask, looking down at your dress, “I can’t just wear this?”

“Of course not, babe! It’s a ball.”

No much-needed elaboration is received.

Mauve and the woman you saw whispering frantically with her before the interview try to seperate you both to get you ready.

“No!”

As you object, Konig tugs you closer to his side, the hardened hand engulfing yours doubling its grip.

The group goes silent, all of them looking to you.

Mauve and the woman share an uneasy stare and nod.

“Yeah, babe,” Mauve says with a waver in her unusually high-pitched voice, her hand raising to twirl the charm in her necklace between her fingers, “We can- yeah, we can get you both ready together.”

You give a shaky nod, your other arm reaching across your front to grab his tense bicep.

They take you to your fitting room, and you both are once again transformed.

So sparkly.

Tonight’s color is champagne. A weird mixture of a golden beige and rose. Shimmering rays of gold reflect from the glittery dress with the slightest movements. It almost hurts your eyes.

Another sweetheart bust that comes in at your waist, and you already know the way the hem of your dress drags against the ground is going to be annoying. Two straps only as thick as twine reach over each of your shoulder blades to criss-cross in the middle of your back.

And you find your inner biceps will once again be tortured by the rough texture of the glitter.

Konig’s suit is a matching color, but no glitter. The elegant paisley patterns and the lapels of his suit are the slightest bit reflective, the designs appearing to change color depending on how the light hits him.

“You look beautiful,” Konig says.

His voice is soft, his eyebrows the slightest bit pinched.

“You too,” You whisper.

Unsure eyes linger on each other, a sad smile on both of your faces as the prep team gushes over your compliments.

You don’t want to talk about what happened, but it feels wrong to talk about anything else. Every word feels like it is overheard by twenty-two dead tributes, like every sentence must justify a double suicide.

The air between you is more than heavy, awkward even.

Because how do you look at each other and not immediately think of the nightmare you both just woke up from?

The click of her heels announces her presence before that unmistakable voice does.

“Oh! There’s my tributes!”

Ruby pulls you both into a hug at the same time, smushing yours and Konig’s arms together.

“Oh, you did it! You did it!” She squeals, actually jumping up and down in your group hug, her brilliant white smile flashing far and wide, “I am just so proud of you!”

She doesn’t even let either of you get a word in, which usually is annoying, but at the moment a huge relief. Not just because you’re incredibly relieved to see her, but you’re really not up for talking right now. You feel like a lifeless husk, your insides shriveled up and flaked away to dust.

She reaches out to scoop up yours and Konig’s free hands, the three of you now linked in a triangle of hand holding.

“Not one, but two of my tributes! My stars! Oh, I’m sorry dears, I’m sorry I didn’t come see you before. I just wouldn’t have been able to keep the secret! They wouldn’t let us tell you, I’d have had my tongue cut out!”

Ruby rambles on, gushing and singing praises at you and Konig, both of you hardly having the energy to listen to the words being thrown at you.

“Oh,” You say quietly, interrupting her mid-sentence what must be twenty minutes into a monologue, “I forgot.”

You fish into the bust of your dress and retrieve her token, staring at the small trinket in your palm before extending it to her.

“Thanks for letting me borrow it,” You whisper.

Ruby’s lips fold in, a soft hand resting on her collarbones.

Tears brim in her eyeline as she gently closes your fingers over the token and clasps her hands around yours.

“It’s yours, dear. It’s yours.”

Her words prick the back of your throat, mouth suddenly dry as you try to choke back tears. You go to thank her, but you can’t find your voice. Instead you give her a deep nod, finishing out on an involuntary, choked sob.

“Oh, dear,” She pulls you into her arms, and while you don’t return the embrace, you do bury your cheek into her shoulder, squeezing Konig’s token at your side.

“Thank you,” You whisper, the tears escaping down your cheeks, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she says, stroking your upper back, “Of course.”

She gives you a gentle swat on your forearm.

“And don’t you cry young lady! Your makeup hasn’t even had time to dry!’

You let out a nasally laugh, giving a sniff.

”You got it, Ruby,” You mumble.

You give a long sigh as your smile fades, closing your eyes on the exhale. You’re exhausted, mentally and physically. It’s weighing you down, eyelids heavy and each movement slowed.

How badly you want to take a break, to turn off your brain and fall asleep on Konig’s chest in the privacy of your own room, to have even a moment to process the nightmare you just went through.

But now is not the time for respite, privacy, or reflection

Now is the time for a party.

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