#how effective is prep

[prezs]

this is still the funniest way to start a romance in a video game possibly ever

[unnonexistence]

everything happens so much

[uchiha-gaeshi]

Does anyone else automatically size themselves up with people their age and look for ways that you’re inferior to them? Just me? Ok….

[orcelito]

Worst thing about having taken business classes is that I see people complain about bullshit companies are pulling and a part of my brain goes "Oh, that's an effective tactic for cost reduction" or something around those lines. And then the part of my brain that is Not a wannabe businessman is just like "Bro."

[midshipmank]

just sent an email to a parent that was literally just me diplomatically telling them to fuck off

this semester, i’ve just started telling students & parents how long it will take me to do things

“when will you grade our tests” whenever i find 4 hours “when will you grade the homework” whenever i have 3 hours “when will you be done with the notebooks” well, since i’ve already graded half, whenever i find another 3 hours to do the other half, but i also have to make lesson materials for 7th grade’s monday lesson, which will also take 3 hours

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

i lobve. dnd. I ran a 7 hour session yesterday for my favourite rpers and they all loved it >:} one guy sent the big boss to eeby deeby

[live365days]

[viperify]

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⋆˖𐙚 Perfect Little Doll.

Short Summary: Tom Riddle is quite laid-back when it comes to you—but under the effect of a Lust Potion, he just takes what he wants—however he wants.

Warnings: 18+ only! consensual non consent. somno, sex under the effect of a lust potion, rough sex, choking, unprotected p in v, sex with little to no prep, creampie

A/N: I got the highest grade possible for my thesis, you get filthy smut! Win-win.

wordcount: 1,2k

“No, stay— stay like this.”

It’s the first thing you hear when you stir awake in the middle of the night. You try to move—but something, or rather someone, is making sure you have no choice but to stay trapped beneath them.

“Please, no—“ panic rises in your chest as you struggle under their weight—but it’s no use.

“Shh. It’s me. Be good and stay still.”

This time, you recognize the voice, and you exhale a shuddering breath, relaxing just slightly.

It’s Tom.

Lying on your front, you don’t get to meet his expression, hell, you don’t even get to fucking ask what he’s doing—

Because you already feel him pressing against your entrance, tip hot and flushed, leaking with need—and with a single, measured thrust, he pushes inside. Deep.

“Fuck—“ you shriek at the sudden, stinging stretch. “Tom, that hurts!”

As you reach behind you, trying to push him away, give you time to adjust, he instantly pins your wrists to your back.

“I know— fuck, I know.” He grumbles, yet shows no intent to stop. Instead, he pulls out, pushing back inside immediately—drawing another sharp gasp from you. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

You don’t know exactly what’s gotten into him. Yes, you both agreed upon this, that he could use you when you were asleep—and that you could tell him to stop whenever you actually wanted to—but never had he been this eager.

“Tom, please—“ you try again, whimpering at the burning, unrelenting stretch. His hand finds its way into your hair, lifting your head slightly just to push you into the pillow beneath you—muffling your whines.

His hips rock forward once more, testing, trying how much you can take.

“You will be quiet and take it, alright? Be a good girl for me?” He mumbles, voice coming out raspy, laced with need. He withdraws then, only halfway this time—

Just to snap his hips forward again, tip harshly ramming against your sensitive cervix—a feeling that has you biting your lips so hard, you taste blood.

“God, Tom!” You yelp, hips involuntarily bucking against his in an attempt to free yourself—but it only results in him slipping deeper, drawing a low groan from the brunette.

Slowly, he starts rolling his hips against yours, still buried deep, brows furrowed, breathing heavily through his slightly parted lips at just how tight you feel around him.

Finally, his hand leaves your hair, allowing you to inhale a deep breath—lungs burning from the lack of oxygen as you do. Just a mere second later, it’s wrapped around your neck instead, pushing you down once more.

He’s got you exactly how he likes you—one leg angled to your side, his body trapping yours between him and the bed, fingers pressing into your pulse point, enough to make you feel light-headed. Hips flush with yours, ass pressed against his pelvis—it makes his head spin. He needs to have you, take you—now.

“Slipped me this potion— told me it was for sobering up— fuck, sweetheart, you’re tight.” He groans, a deep, low sound somewhere from the back of his throat, feeling him twitch inside you.

It all comes crashing down onto you. Why he is like this.

They made him drink a Lust Potion.

Judging by the fact that he didn’t even second-guess before downing it—must mean he’s had a decent amount of drinks as well.

All of that, combined with the effects of the potion—turned him into this.

You don’t get to think about the situation for much longer and what you could do to ease the effects—the slow drag of his cock against your walls as he starts thrusting into you efficiently short-circuiting your brain.

He doesn’t ease you into it. After one or two thrusts, he picks up his pace, hips snapping against yours as though it’s the last time he gets to have you.

Tom usually isn’t the most vocal. Yes, he enjoys it—loves it, even—when he can pin you down and fuck you into the mattress until you are begging for him to let you come. But, just like outside of your sacred four walls, he likes to keep his composure—even during the most intimate acts.

In short: he hates losing control.

But now—he’s moaning, whimpering even at how sensitive he is—at how good and warm you feel, wrapped tightly around him.

It’s making your brain fuzzy. Everything about it. How you are slowly loosening up for him, allowing him to increase his pace, how your own arousal makes it even easier for him to thrust deep.

“Taking me so well, sweetheart.” Tom praises, breathless, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the otherwise quiet bedroom. “Like this pussy was fucking made for me, fitting me like a damn glove—“

And at this point you are praying you would survive this.

His thrusts grow rougher, punishing almost, brushing against your cervix with every single snap of his hips. His hand wraps around your throat, cutting off your airflow once more as he feels himself getting close.

“Fuck, darling— going to let me fill you up, hm? Make you nice and full of me?” He grits out, staying pressed flush against you for a second, making you feel all of him—every vein, every ridge—every. single. inch.

You nod as best as you can, clenching down tight around him.

“Please Tom, please fill me up— need it, fuck—“

He groans at that, cursing under his breath.

“Good girl. Such a perfect little doll, all nice and pliant for me—“

It’s not long until his pace falters, hips stuttering against your own—and he groans lowly as he starts spilling deep inside of you, coating your walls with his warm release.

He collapses on top of you—breathing heavily against your neck, chest heaving—and although your mind is still hazy with your own pleasure, your thoughts drift back to what happened before he returned to your home.

Knowing them, you guess it’s Rosier and Mulciber who did it. Probably thought it was hilarious, too.

You aren’t sure if you should feel bad for the fact that you don’t know what Tom would come up with as punishment.

Because hell—they are not the ones who have to put up with him like this.

Meanwhile, Tom is still buried deep, keeping his release right where it belongs—but then, when his breathing returns to normal, he gives you the slightest roll of his hips—

“Said it would take three hours to wear off—“

And you already feel him growing hard again.

Fuck, you are screwed.

“Tom, please—“

He shushes you with a kiss on top of your head.

“No. Stay— need you— need you again.” He rasps, back to thrusting into you, fucking his cum even deeper as he’s back chasing his next climax. And you? You are right there with him, on the precipice of your own orgasm.

Merlin fucking help you.

If he won’t kill them for this, you might just do it yourself.

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[keeps-ache]

i may be be wanting in physical prowess. but with the weight of 50000 wips i can defeat anyone who dares challenge me!!

[madamechrissy]

Pour it Up

Pairings: Stripclub Owner Sukuna x Stripper F!reader

Summary:- You are a single mother, your baby daddy is not just worthless, he also is actively trying to sabotoge you, so you go out on your own and raise your kid by yourself. Struggling your ass off, a friend of a friend named Toji decides to offer you a hell of a deal, a few hours a night at a strip club to make BANK. While there, you meet the other owner, Sukuna, and the moment he sees you? You annoy him how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, pushing him to insanity. He knows he must have you- no matter whose ass he needs to beat.

Warnings:- reader is a mom, lowkey/highkey Yandere Sukuna behavior, lots of drug use, drug dealing Sukuna (the club lowkey a front lol) hints of Mafia ties, EXPLICIT sexual content, blow jobs, cunnilingus, fingering, masturbation, teasing and eventually violence, some former trauma of reader. This part- Oral (M recieving) cum swallowing, dirty talk, drug use and masturbation- WC-6k

Based on Stripclub Owner Sukuna - IDK how many parts this will be, thinking six? That mobster art in the banner is by Sketch B on X- CHECK it- LINK

Playlist -Masterlist - Part Two>>>

Part One

“There you go, baby.” Toji murmurs to one of the pretty strippers, who is sitting right on his lap as he laps up salt off her breasts with his tongue, before taking the tequila shot she holds between them and downing it.

“Mr. Sukuna, are you ready?” Another dancer asks him, sitting on his lap, he proceeds to the same thing, licking her skin, moaning as he does, the tequila burning down his throat as he gulps, feeling it burn a trail down, he hisses at it, smacking the stripper’s ass when Toji lights up a blunt.

“Got a new girl comin’ in, Sukuna.” Toji mutters, inhaling and exhaling the puff of smoke, Sukuna takes the thick blunt and inhales the smoke into his lungs, feeling the effects of the alcohol and weed mingling as he watches the cloud of smoke release from his lips.

“Our best girl just left, I hope she’s good.” He hands the blunt back to Toji, who leans forward just a bit, blowing his smoke right into one of the girl’s mouths, she coughs and Toji snorts in laughter.

“She’s gonna make bank, plus she’s a friend of a friend, m’tryna help her out some.”

Sukuna bursts out in laughter then, throwing his head back. “You’re tryna help her out? With what, your dick?”

Toji scowls, lips set in a firm line. “Think I don’t help out friends, shithead?”

“Shithead?” Sukuna stands now, fists clenched. “The fuck you say, Zenin?”

“Ya heard me.” He grins as he stands too, the girls ooh and ahh at the two huge men clenching their fists.

“Wanna get some more scars on that mug of yours?”

“Ya act like you’re getting a hit in-”

“Is that the new girl!?” One of the strippers whispers, but loud enough for Toji to turn and grin.

“Lemme get her prepped.” Sukuna rolls his ruby eyes, ‘prepped’ sure, but he can’t help but be intrigued when Toji is so eager to go to her. He shrugs, however, he has a business meeting to get going with Gojo in about an hour, he has many, many profitable businesses that the government surely doesn’t know about.

Sukuna runs many, many things, up to and including running coke, and Gojo is a big player in that, the strip club although profitable is a bit of a cover for it, the girls all make extra bank to sell packs of it with each lap dance. And Sukuna and Toji, although they sometimes like to just beat each other up for fun, are actually decent partners at it.

“Candy, get the good shit for the meeting, hmm?” He says to her then, she nods eagerly, bending down to kiss Sukuna on the cheek.

“Of course Mr. Sukuna!” She runs off, in nothing but a thong, her ass jiggling nicely. Sukuna has to admit, life is pretty good for him.

Something feels empty, but nothing women, coke, weed and liquor can’t fill, along with beating up assholes here and there. No need for bouncers with Sukuna and Toji, though they had security but it was more for themselves, and rivaling members that loved to come try to fuck with their game or get a piece of it, but they were realizing something.

Sukuna is the King of this city.

He thinks he has this all figured out too, he has anything and everything he wants, filthy rich in fact now, and people fear him, or want to be with him, and that’s what he’s worked towards. As Candy gets back with the finest cocaine, he takes a line right off her inner thigh as she holds one up for him, her platform heel propped on his knee.

He chuckles as it hits him, and he can feel her heat, Candy is his favorite, but then he pauses, blinking as if he’s having some stupid insane vision when he sees the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Something about the girl in the silver bikini makes him crave her like a drug, like anything he can fucking imagine, to the point his mouth drops open and he shoves Candy aside.

Just who is this girl?

Sukuna needs her, and needs her now.

He needs you.

You’re standing there, as Toji has you by an arm, shivering just a bit in your silver outfit, one he had borrowed from one of the girls so you could dance tonight. The lighting is low and seductive in the club, the music reverberating off the walls, a kaleidoscope of crimson, emerald and sapphire that bounces off the dark, polished wood of the floor.

There are rooms with red velvet drapes, and a mix of modern furniture and items that look vintage, including the red sofa with one of the just… largest men you have ever seen? Toji was already a huge guy, this man, his long lanky thighs, his broad shoulders, he takes over the entire room, and when he stands, staring at you with ruby eyes, it’s intimidating.

Toji you’ve known for some time, but even he couldn’t really compare to this man, towering over everyone in the room, shocking pink hair and tattoos all across his neck, a fancy three piece business suit but no tie, just an unbuttoned black dress shirt. You notice lipstick mouth prints down his neck, notice girls all over him before he literally shoves them out of the way to just stare.

You panic then, you are a mom, you have a couple stretch marks and maybe wider hips than before when you danced, but you think the outfit is flattering enough!? Toji told you you didn’t even need to cover up, his dark green eyes had devoured your body hungrily with a ‘ya look fuckin’ fine, doll’ so you at that point felt okay stepping out in this.

But the way this man - Toji said his name is Sukuna - is staring you’re unsure if he hates you on sight or something is just bothering him!? You stand there, nervously, knowing he’s an owner too, and wanting to make a good impression. “Hello… Mr. Sukuna, right?” You tell him your name softly, and he steps a little closer, your head falls back to look up at him.

“She’s the new girl?” He asks Toji, his voice deep and husky.

“Mmhmm, she’s a little rusty at dancing but she’ll catch on quick, won’t ya doll?” Toji slings an arm around your shoulder.

“Yes, I can pick it back up, I promise.” You say eagerly, Sukuna’s ruby eyes narrow, you inhale the scent of cannabis mixing with… a cologne or scent Sukuna has, so woodsy and musky it damn near lures you in, then Sukuna steps impossibly closer, eyes slowly draping down your body.

“I’ll see what you can do.” He smirks at you, trying to feign ease, as if he doesn’t wanna drag you in his office and fuck you right on that desk then and there, you look down shyly when he brushes your hair back, watching how the lights hit your pretty face. “Gonna show me?”

“Y-yes, of course. Can I just… practice a little?”

“Mmhmm.” He says, stepping back now casually, sitting on the couch, legs spread wide, you can see how the material of his slacks stretches over his thick, muscled thighs. He looks at you under his lashes, taking a glass of whiskey and sipping on it.

“It’s um… nice to meet you.” You say softly, as he struggles not to openly stare, hiding the swirling storm inside his gut, as he eyes your body, your every curve, how your tits sway, how you turn, how you move.

Sukuna says nothing, and Toji’s rough palm touches your waist. “You’ll do good, just go watch a couple of the girls for a few.”

“Thank you, Toji.” You say with a smile, and then Toji watches the pure thirst written all over Sukuna’s face, chuckling.

“You got the hots for her, huh?” Sukuna scowls at Toji as he sits back down, eyeing one of the bags of coke and taking a little bit of it up his nose, sighing.

“Who is she?” Sukuna asks gruffly, eyes the sway of your hips and how your body moves when you slowly circle the pole with the girls.

“She’s a family friend, got a kid and shit. Single mom, thought I’d bring her here, she’ll make plenty.” Sukuna hums to himself, eyes narrowing.

You’re a mother?

Your eyes catch him across the room, lowering shyly. “She seems too… shy and shit? Ya sure she’s stripper material, maybe a bartender?”

“She will make way more dancing, and she’s danced in the past. Can’t take you eyes off her, huh?”

“Shut it.” But he can’t take them off you, and as clientele start coming, he’s fucking furious that they’re even able to see you.

“She’s not an easy fuck, Sukuna, so don’t anticipate it.” Sukuna smirks, leaning his head on his hand as Toji sips on his drink, a girl dancing on him.

Sukuna doesn’t even take the next dancer who wants to be on him, too busy watching you, knees on the polished marble floor, garters on your thighs already full of bills, your pretty little smile, eyes that are just… hiding something. There’s something about you that’s making him insane, and he’s said five words to you, so enthralled he barely notices when Gojo comes in.

Wearing sunglasses in a dark strip club he grins at Sukuna now, before looking in his direction, whistling. “Oh mommy.”

“Jesus.” Sukuna rolls his eyes as Satoru eyes you.

“Shit, she’s new huh?”

“Mmm.” Sukuna glares as Satoru takes off his glasses, eyeing you up and down slowly, too slowly.

“Can I just… go to the stage first?”

“Sit the fuck down, Satoru.” Satoru snorts as he looks at Sukuna and Toji, who is snorting in laughter himself.

“Possessive of the new girl, hmm?” Satoru sits between Toji and Sukuna now, as Candy starts cutting three lines for them.

“Shut the fuck up.” Sukuna grumbles, some guy is sliding his fingers up your thigh, and you’re tensing, brows together. “Hey, no touching the girls, fuck face.”

“He’s down bad, huh?” Gojo mumbles, as Sukuna is standing, gripping the guy by his collar.

“Since the moment he saw her.” Toji looks at Sukuna’s line, then at Satoru. “Shit let’s split his line too.”

Satoru and Toji are busy snorting Sukuna’s coke as he proceeds to fling the man out of the club, and you’re staring wide eyed at him, the grown man looking like a little boy compared to him, dangling in the damn air. You nervously clean the pole, before stepping down, coming over to Sukuna then and touching his arm, he jerks, looking at you like you burned him.

“I’m sorry…” You murmur, easing your hand down, nervously fiddling with your fingers in front of you. “Thank you.”

“What!?” He demands, leaning low, hands in the pockets of his slacks.

“For that. Thank you, it wasn’t… I told him to back off. But I appreciate it, you are looking out for me.” You touch his chest now, it feels so natural to touch him, feeling his heart beat thumping against an apparently insanely strong chest, looking up at him under your long lashes that you put on for the night.

“I…” He can’t think of what to say then, you’re so sweet it should make him sick, but now he’s just feeling more want, more need. “You can dance for me tomorrow, then, show me what you got.” He manages gruffly.

“I absolutely will.” You say with a shy smile.

A shy stripper?

Who the fuck are you?

“I don’t have any other outfits yet, but I’m going to get some soon. Is it okay if I just wear this tomorrow?”

“Pshh, I’ll have some ordered.” You blink in surprise.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s nothing.” He pokes around on his phone for a few, eyeing your body up and down, lip turning up at the corner. “I bet I get your exact size.”

“What- how?”

“I’m an expert at tit size. Body size. Women.” You feel your cheeks heat up as he studies you, one of his dark brows raising, it has slits and this barbell in it that just make him more fucking attractive, doing erratic things to your mind.

“Well you can take it out of my-”

“Keep your money.” His gruff words and dismissive wave of his hand gives off the vibes that it’s nothing to him, but it’s a sweet gesture even if he’s acting as if it’s not one. “Come in early and dance for me, would ya. I wanna make sure Toji picked a good replacement.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You saying Sir makes him immediately think of painting that pretty ass with his big handprints, then drizzling his cum all over it, so lewd his cock throbs with need. What the fuck is wrong with him, he sees naked women constantly, why are you already irritating him like this. He glares, confusing the shit out of you.

“Tch.” Is all he says, then he walks away. You blink in confusion, shaking your head before looking at the time, realizing you have to leave if you wanna relieve the babysitter tonight.

Rushing into the locker room to change back into normal clothes, you’re shivering as you catch Sukuna outside, about to step inside a limo, when he looks at your surely silly clothing. You’re just in jeans and a hoodie as the chill of the air is out, even as he’s in a car full of girls in pretty dresses, surely you look silly to him you think as you wave goodbye.

But Sukuna is instead thinking of how someone could make a black hoodie look so delectable, picturing fucking you in just that. He ignores the girls in the car as he, Gojo and Toji head out to the club, for more negotiations. He ignores anyone and everything, instead you’re wrecking his mind.

How annoying.

*****

You are exhausted the next morning, as you spent the day with your little three year old, but you’re so blessed because just one night at the club and your fridge was full. Despite his father being rich, he did nothing to help you all out, and not just that he got you fired from your last job, by refusing to pick him up just once, and your boss had enough of you always being late or leaving early.

Your family tried to help out but you were pretty stubborn and wanted to take care of her yourself, also they weren’t dripping in money, quite the opposite in fact, they were struggling and also lived pretty far. You’d been so dumb, you think now, running off with him like that, so blinded by everything that he was saying to you, everything he was making you believe.

You were an idiot.

And not only was he a piece of shit in many aspects, he was dangerous, very dangerous, running with the mafia, things you learned quickly when men showed up at your home with guns. After a furious fight, you’d forgiven him (also like an idiot) but what you couldn’t forgive was also the constant cheating, the making you feel like it was your fault he had to.

After the third time of finding him with someone, you finally packed and left, taking all you had which was barely a thing with your baby boy. He’d threatened you over and over to come back, but you absolutely could not do so. The pain of being with him was too much, especially as he became darker and darker, as he downed you more and more.

Your mind keeps whirling to Sukuna, for some reason the very way he looked at you did shit you haven’t felt in years. You felt excited and nervous, as you even tip your sitter that evening, getting your little boy settled, brushing back his soft hair. “You don’t have to give me this much, babe.”

“Please, you’re a lifesaver!”

“He literally sleeps and I watch Netflix.” She says, and you sigh.

“I know but really, I should be making way more to pay you.” She smiles softly, shaking her head.

“Go on now.”

You’re hastily running inside the locker room, pouring out some makeup from your bag when Sukuna strolls in, tilting his head as he sees you. “Shit, I’m sorry I know I look…”

You look fucking beautiful, bare faced, but Sukuna’s words get caught in his throat. Instead he smirks, opening a locker and handing you a combination. “Got you a few things.”

“Oh thank you so much!” You peer then, at the slinky material, the glitter and mesh outfits, blushing at how much they reveal. “These are so pretty.”

“Just had one of the girls order some shit.” He brushes it off, as you look up at him like that, driving him insane with need for you, you’re in some hoodie and a messy bun again and he doesn’t think that he could find you more attractive, thinking of lifting your hoodie up and sliding inside you.

His thoughts make his head spin, which makes him scowl at you now, why do you have to do this to him? You blink a bit, frowning. “Something wrong?”

“Tch, no, just… get ready. You’re late as fuck you know.”

“I know, Toji said-”

“He givin’ you a hard time, Ma?” Toji saunters in now, and Sukuna glares over at him.

“No, not at all, he bought me outfits actually.” You say softly, holding one up, some little plaid strap of a skirt and a plaid tie. “Ooh this is so hot.”

“Buying girls outfits, Sukuna?” Toji asks curiously, Sukuna rolls his ruby red eyes, shaking his head.

“She didn’t have shit, you should’ve thought to, idiot.”

“Wanna take this out-”

“Hey, hey… I’ll totally pay you back, Mr. Sukuna.”

“No.” Is all he says, as you’re yanking off your hoodie and then your shirt, and you’re just… bare to him, but not just him, to Toji, who he wants to smack for even looking at you. You try on the little outfit, all giddy and giggling, the way your pretty tits look almost take him out. “I have… shit to do.”

Toji snorts, and you look on curiously at him, as you now take off your jeans and hook the little skirt on. “I can’t tell if he likes me or hates me.” You mumble, earning Toji’s laugh.

“Oh he likes ya alright, alright doll, go get ready, it’s about to get real busy in here.”

“Got it.”

Soon you’ve got your wig on, a pink silky one, and glitter dusted all over your skin, you’re getting ready to do a set, nervously spinning around the pole, your muscles are not what they used to be, so you can feel the pull, can see where the floor will be bruising your knees. You’re bending over as men throw bills at you, but you keep catching them, those glinting red eyes of his.

His eyes make you feel like he’s touching you, with those big tattooed hands, you try to shake it off but when he watches you it truly is like he’s touching you. As you meet his eye and rest a hand on the pole, moving your hips in a figure eight motion, you see him through that cloud of smoke, over his glass of whiskey, watching.

After your set is done you come to him, knowing it’s time to show him your dance moves - which you’re not sure are any good anymore. Sukuna tilts his head, and spins a seat on a smaller stage off to the right, eyes raking over your body hungrily. “Time for the show, hmm?”

“Y-yes.” You’re shaking damn near, so close to this man, he just does things to you by existing that you can’t really explain, and now you’re on your knees before him right on that stage, as he hungrily drinks you in. He’s puffing on a blunt, holding it up, but you shake your head. “No thanks.”

“A shy stripper who doesn’t even smoke, huh?” You swear he can see your blush even in the dark room, with the neon lights bouncing off your glittery skin.

“I mean I have before.” You move your hips now, rolling them, turning around and arching up your ass, knowing he can likely see the wet spot in your panties as you do, caused by his very presence.

Sukuna exhales, leaning closer, smoke blowing right against you almost, you feel the warmth and have to bite back a cry, as you shake your ass for him, and he’s thinking of railing you right there. Fuck he wouldn’t even give a shit if anyone saw, actually, as he watches you look back at him, smiling just a bit, so shy and sweet.

“A shy ass stripper, how’s that gonna work though?” He asks, and you’re slinking onto your tummy, he sees it then, the wet spot forming, making him want to rip those panties off and fully see that pretty pussy, so hungry it’s sucking your panties right against your lips.

“Is there no appeal in shy strippers, Mr. Sukuna?” You tease, turning back around, spreading your thighs, pulling at the damp material as he damn near crushes the blunt with his fingers.

“Hmm. So what made you come here?” He asks, voice gruff when you sit back up, breasts right in his face only covered with thin white gauze, he can literally see your nipples tighten as he smokes the blunt again, blowing the smoke up and over you both, cock straining against his boxers.

“To make money?” He smirks when you sigh and take the blunt, inhaling it and coughing all cute, your eyes watering.

“Took a pussy ass hit.”

“I tried!” You glare now, fuck you’re cute.

“Yeah, yeah. Heard Toji say you got a kid.” You pause now, eyes locked on his, heart racing in your chest.

“Is it a problem I do?” You whisper, and he grows serious, shaking his head now, making you exhale in relief.

“Lots of the girls do. The dad not around?”

You laugh without humor. “He sure the fuck isn’t, but he somehow still is, if that makes any sense.”

“Messy?”

“Mhm. This way I get to see him all day and make money, I couldn’t afford full time childcare, my friend is helping for a few hours at night.”

“Ah. Get up there for me.” He murmurs, and you stand, spinning in a slow circle, he notices stares of other men even though you’re off to the side, temporarily thinking you’re just with him instead. “Fuck…”

“Is it okay? I’m rusty and a little out of shape right now.” You say, as you slide back down, coming to your hands and knees, Sukuna takes in every pretty inch of you that’s on display, including a couple stretch marks along your skin that just make you sexier. When you see that you pull up the skirt a bit, nervous. “Shit, sorry…”

“For what? They’re sexy as fuck.” You are blushing furiously, overheated as his thumb brushes over one, the first contact you’ve damn near had with him, shooting desire straight through you.

“You’re being nice to me.”

“I’m not nice.” He says with a bark of a laugh, and then eyes some of his business partners coming in. “These men will pay good, why don’t you just dance for them?”

“Won’t the other girls get upset?” You ask, and he shrugs a broad shoulder.

“Really don’t fucking care, I run this shit.” He puts the blunt out into an ashtray, leaving you with goosebumps, as a strip club owner makes you feel sexier than you ever did with your ex, making your mind race.

Just who was he?

*****

The next week goes by, and every time you’re on a shift, Sukuna is there, he’s always got eyes on you, until it becomes damn near an obsession. If anyone even comes near you the wrong way he’s kicking them out, he puts you in every perfect time to make bank, he’s constantly watching you dance, looking at every pretty outfit he’s buying you.

Soon, Sukuna can’t help but start stroking his cock after your dances, locked in his office, picturing pressing the tip between those plump lips of your pussy, dying to fully see it. He’s got a big hand wrapped around his veiny length at least twice during your shift, and instead of fucking Candy or any of his regulars, he starts ignoring them all, because he needs you.

Sukuna goes so far as to take your panties, you must be curious where three pairs have gone, but he can’t help it, he loves to put them against his face, to stroke his cock with them, until he’s busting a nut all on your panties. He’s irritated, infuriated at this change of events you’ve brought, and he’s short and terse with you, but he still looks out for you even so.

It’s why you can’t help but run to his office, when you see him, your ex is right in the club, and you know he’ll recognize you. Terrified, you're quickly striding into Sukuna’s big fancy office, only to pause at the sight of his huge cock in his hand, gulping as you shut the door, looking away.

“I’m so, so sorry… I…” You turn around, you can’t help but watch the pearls of white precum pumping out of his reddened tip, his tattooed hand pausing his movements, frozen as he eyes you. “It’s my ex, I didn’t want him to see me, shouldn’t have just…”

“Want me to beat him the fuck up? Kick him out?” Sukuna asks then, huffing as he strokes his cock up and down while you step closer, the sight so erotic, as you’re even closer you see it, a little piercing on the underside of his cock, tempting you so badly to take it in your mouth.

“You would do that?” You whisper, leaning over him now, while he twists his fist from the base to the tip, so casual, as if this is a normal conversation, while you wonder if you could even take that much dick.

Shit you’d try.

“Just say the fucking word, I’ll end him for you.” You shake your head now.

“No, you’re already so good to me, Mr. Sukuna.” Your voice is soft like a caress as you eye him, watching his cock jerk in response.

He laughs harshly. “Am I?”

“Why don’t I be good to you?” Sukuna’s brain short circuits when you gently take his hand, sucking the precum off his fingers, wearing nothing but a mini skirt and fucking tassels, he moans at the sight of your cheeks hollowing as you taste him.

“Fuck…” He has been with plenty of women, no one has ever left him speechless like this, just with that little movement. He takes those fingers then, slipping up your inner thigh and shoving your thong to the side, sinking them in, you gasp out, a sexy little whine from your throat destroying him. “Gonna be good to me, huh?” He asks huskily, as he curls his fingers.

You’re gushing down them, nodding and taking his enormous cock in one hand, bracing yourself with the other, barely able to cover a bit of him, stroking him with your soft hand instead, he moans, eyes laser focused on your pretty face. Your pupils are so enlarged he can barely see your pretty eye color, your lips parted when he presses that spongy spot in your gummy little walls.

“Wanna suck me brat, hmm?” You nod now, and he’s trying to keep it together, but when he’s sucking you off his fingers, his cock twitches, oozing more cum when you’re on your knees, looking at him under your lashes.

He yanks your wig off then, letting your hair loose, gripping and pulling while you swirl your tongue along his tip. Sukuna’s never felt like he’s going to bust from a lick, but here you are, ruining him, a mix of him wanting to beat the shit out of anyone who has ever touched you, and wanting to fuck your pretty throat, and your pretty pussy, until you’re drooling.

“Want me to fuck your little throat?” You nod, unable to speak or think, you don’t just do this, but you’re aching, cunt throbbing around nothing as You take as much as you can, breathing through your nose while Sukuna fucks up into your throat over and over, choking and gagging on him, pussy drooling past your panties. “Oh my f-fuck… right there.”

“Mmm.” Is all you can manage, when his big hand is entangled in the nape of your neck, bobbing your head up and down his cock, feeling your tongue swirl around his tip, as he pictures fucking into that pussy he tastes on his fingers again. Picturing burying his face inside you.

What are you doing to him?

He’s losing it further as you suck him as deep as you can, tears in your pretty eyes, so eager, he’s sucking in a breath at feeling just a hint of your teeth hit him, just a nipple on the tip as you take a breath of your own, licking at his piercing. “Look at you, doing such a good job, aren’t you? Slutty lil fuckin brat.”

You really should not like hearing it, but you’re wetter now, so wet you reach down to find your clit, moaning around his length, close to cumming just from how he’s ruining the back of your throat. It burns and stretches as you’re sucking him deeper and deeper, his thrusts hard, fucking your mouth now.

“That’s it, want me to fuck this pretty face, huh? That all those goddamn looks you give me- fuck… y-you… oh my… shit, slow down…” You’re sucking harder though, even when he pulls on your hair, even when he yanks your hand off your clit, sucking your little fingers. “Wanna fucking wreck you, ruin you, god…”

You’re sucking him harder, feeling the piercing roll on your tongue as he sucks you off your fingers, until he’s gasping, and you swear you hear this huge man with a good nine inches whine. Yes, that’s the sound that comes out of those vermillion lips as he shoves your head down, until you’ve got him all the way in the back of your throat, busting inside it.

You’re choking on salty but somehow sweet cum, drinking it all down as you exhale through your nose, mascara leaking down your cheeks as you take him all, and Sukuna literally can’t even see for a minute. He’s crying out like a little bitch all because you’re somehow psychotically good at sucking him!?

“Fuck… you brat… didn’t wanna bust-fuck!” He’s groaning now, yanking you off finally, and looking at those mascara trails on your pretty cheeks, at your fucked out expression and swollen lips.

“Didn’t think I’d swallow before I got a kiss.” You whisper, voice hoarse, and he yanks you up now, having you straddle his lap, cock still hard, just a little softer, but Sukuna on soft was still huge. You look right at him, your breaths coming in little pants as he studies you, moaning softly, brushing a thumb over your lip.

“Ya want a kiss? So fuckin’ sappy, huh?” He demands, and you smile just a bit, leaning closer, your lips a breath away.

“You so badass you don’t kiss girls, Sukuna?” It’s the first time you’ve just called him that, and the way he can almost taste his cum on your lips ends him, but he sure won’t show it, instead he’s gripping your tits, watching your face scrunch up in pleasure, smirking up at you.

“Wanna kiss me so bad? Want me to fuckin’ fill you?” He whispers, and you whimper then. “Pathetic.”

“Please.” Is all you whisper, and he’s kissing you then, when he kisses you he thinks he likes it as much as busting in your damn mouth, if that’s even possible, his tongue drippy and messy as it wars with yours. He’s drinking your cries, pulling your body so close against his.

“Shit…” He mumbles, he’s never felt anything like this, yeah he kisses because it’s kind of hot to, but you do something, something in his tummy clenching right along with yours, you feel it, that energy, as your puffy cunt presses on his again hard cock, and he’s biting your lower lip so rough.

“Sukuna…” You whisper, whining out, forgetting your ex completely, forgetting anything right now, and he looks at you under sooty pink lashes, making your pussy throb in need.

Sukuna kisses you hungrier now, his hands all over you, rough and hot and brutal, when suddenly the door opens, and Toji whistles. “Damn, okay… I got no chance, huh?”

“Toji get the fuck out.” Sukuna grumbles, but you panic then, remembering who you are. You have a kid and you’re just… on your knees sucking this man’s dick, about to fucking ride him.

It’s one thing to dance, but how are you losing yourself so quickly in him? It was like every problem faded, but it’s stupid, so stupid.

“I should go, I’m sorry…” You’re running out then, and soon you’re getting ready to leave for the night, when Sukuna corners you against the wall, the wind blowing through your hair as he bars you on either side with big muscled arms. “Sukuna…”

“You just ran, the fuck?” He grabs your chin, making your eyes meet his. “Come over tonight.”

You gasp then. “But… you got off.”

“And you didn’t, what kinda man are you taking me for, hmm?” His words make that ache return, as he’s got a thigh between yours, hissing. “She wants to cum, doesn’t she?” You nod weakly.

“I’m… I don’t do this.”

“And I don’t ask to do this.” He doesn’t beg either, but he’d beg for you, god he would. “Come let me take care of you.”

“I can’t…”

“Stop thinking and-”

“No, I can’t, I have my kid.” He pauses then, falling back just a bit, despite having this obsession with you, he still does not know enough yet, about your life, about you. He finds himself enamored as his lips part, and he studies you, the light from the moon glowing and casting a million diamonds off your still glittery skin.

God you’re so beautiful.

“When are you free?” He asks, and you sigh.

“Maybe tomorrow night? I’d have to pay my-”

“I’ll pay whatever extra.” He cuts you off. “Just… make sure you have a night.”

“Okay…” You never spend much time without your kid, it makes you just a little nervous, but something about him is luring you in, drawing you closer. “I mean he’s asleep anyway at night so I should be able to have the sitter stay.”

“He? A son?” He murmurs, and you nod, smiling a bit as he now is walking you to your car, the way you light up is so pretty, as he eyes your shitty ass car. God he can’t wait to take care of you, he thinks, have you dripping in money.

“Yes, a son. He’s my everything, it’s why I’m here.”

Sukuna wants to be something to you. He sighs then, seatbelting you in, a gesture caring and sweet, Sukuna is an enigma you realize, as he cups your face, eyeing your lips, and you wonder wildly if he will kiss you, but he just hovers. “I’ll see you tomorrow, hmm?”

“Yes. Goodnight, Sukuna.” You whisper, as he shuts your door, watching you drive away.

You will be his, there’s no choice really.

Okay I know this isn't like my other storieesss but it's been killing me and I need to get it out. Hope it's not too crazy lol? Sukuna is gonna be even more Yan as we go lol

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Buy me a glass of wine🍷 - Gen Masterlist - ©All works by Madamechrissy you may not reproduce

[thydungeongal]

GMing doesn't have to be a chore and can in fact be extremely fun and rewarding but there are certain learned behaviors and attitudes that make things harder on the GM. Here are just a few tips on how to make the job easier on the GM which also may have the side effect of making the game more fun for everyone:

Everyone should make an effort to learn the rules. The rules are not there to make the game unfun and they are not a necessary evil, they are there to help carry the game so the group doesn't have to do all the work. And everyone taking part in learning the rules means the GM doesn't always have to be the one to remember how a rule works.

To that end, drop the "GM is the final word on the rules" attitude. This places the GM on a pedestal and can actually run counter to the idea of players learning the rules. If the GM has carte blanche to run over the rules it disincentivices players learning the rules because they can't actually rely on the text, and now you're right back to the GM having to carry the whole game. It is entirely okay for players to remind the GM how the rules should work and the group should agree on a method for dealing with rules disputes, and spot rulings should not rely on the GM making a unilateral decision but should rely on some kind of consensus.

Communicate your desires to the group and be willing to compromise; respect each other's prep. You may want a game that focuses on a long-form narrative but the GM wants to run an episodic series of largely unrelated singleton adventures. The GM is the one who is bringing the game, so ultimately be willing to compromise on your vision of the game and respect their prep. Ultimately, if the GM does not want to run the exact type of game you want and you can't see yourself having fun in the type of game they want to run, you will be doing everyone a favor by recusing yourself from the game.

Related to the above, communicating your desires should be an ongoing process. End each session by talking about what you want to do next and where you think the game should go. This will also make it easier for the GM to prep ahead.

This relates to learning the rules: pick a game that actually supports the type of game you want to run. Trust me, whatever time you think you will save by sticking to a game you already know you will make back by not having to fight the rules all the time and actually letting the rules take an active part in carrying the game.

You can literally just use prewritten adventures. Not every campaign or adventure needs to be custom-tailored for your specific group. Using prewritten adventures means that someone's already done a lot of the prep for you.

And finally, don't prep any more than you need to: there is this persistent myth that GMs need to have the entire campaign and world planned from the word go to begin with. While there is nothing wrong with expansive worldbuilding as such, you don't need to prep anything beyond what is strictly necessary. If you're running a wide open sandbox you can get by with a rough sketch of the world and only write things in as they become relevant. If you're running a megadungeon your players don't have to know that you've only prepared the first level for the first session, as long as you have a cohesive broad strokes plan that is perfectly fine. If you're running an episodic campaign, well, you don't need to have anything beyond the next episode prepped at a time, but of course having a rough plan can help.

Of course a lot of this is very opinionated and game specific: some games actively resist authoritative GM prep and want to involve each player equally in setting up the situation, and that's actually great, and in those types of games you should remember that the game is explicitly telling everyone to be involved in the prep. And once again, listen to what the rules have to say: they're there to tell you what the game wants you to do.

[winterst4n]

Sit still!

Pairing: Nurse!Reader x Grumpy!Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Very, very light swearing. Just pure fluff!!

Word count: 1.3k

Summary: After stupidly jumping out of a craft on a mission, ending up with many broken ribs. Bucky is placed under your care unwillingly and he makes the week hell for you. But when the week ends he starts to regret everything.

A/N: This is pretty short and maybe i’ll come back to it another time and try something new but so far i like how this turned out. If you like this, i’d really appreciate it if you could share or leave comment!

“Will you just sit still?!” You grumble at Bucky for what feels like the millionth time today.

“Well stop poking me and maybe I will.” He practically hissed at you. You swear that when Fury assigned you to take care of him he was plotting your early death– or at least Bucky's death.

“If you sit still I'll give you a cookie…” you try to bribe, but of course this just earned you a very hard and angry glare from Bucky.

Due to Bucky’s recklessness on a recent mission, he is now under your care until he can breathe without whining and groaning about his ribs, which he broke several of. He thought the easiest and quickest way to land by a mission base was to jump out of the craft without a parachute– stupid!

You were the nice nurse. The nurse everyone on the team liked to be cared for the most when they had an injury, except a certain fossil. He was grumpy and rude to you for no reason, always making an effort to ruin your day with some stupid comment every time he saw you. But this week had been hell!

So here he was pouting and glaring at you in the plush armchair in your office that practically cowers under his large frame. “I need to check the progress of your ribs and I can't do that without touching you. So please…just sit still.” You sigh, your patience being stretched very, very thin.

Bucky notices your stress and annoyance with him and he does feel some sort of pity but he can’t shake this unfamiliar feeling you give him everytime he feels your hands on his body or your gaze on him. “...Fine.” He mumbles grudgingly.

You move your hands back into place against his chest, gently feeling where the broken ribs are located. Due to the serum, he had enhanced healing abilities but it never failed to amaze you how fast they fixed up his and Steve’s body.

“They’re healing just fine.” you say as you pull your hands away and move to sit by your desk. “I still don’t recommend doing any strenuous activities just yet but, you’ll live.”

Bucky just rolls his eyes like usual and keeps his unwavering scowl on his face– it annoys you and somehow hurts you to see just how unwilling he is to accept any help. That was the way HYDRA treated him though, you knew that. Hell, everyone knew that.

“James…” you start softly with a quiet sigh. “It’s just me and you in here…i need to know if you’re in pain so i can fix it.”

Silence– as expected.

He sighs and looks down at his boots, his feet shuffling slightly as he thinks about your words. Soft brown locks fall over his eyes and shields you from looking into his broken and guilty eyes. “I’m fine” a hoarse voice says so quietly.

Hesitating for a moment, you look over his body language and think about his tone. “Okay…” you respond simply, knowing not to push him.

Within the silence, Bucky stands up and storms out of your office– he almost let it all out. How did you have this effect on him? You were so easy and sweet, the complete opposite of him, he couldn’t let you in and see what HYDRA did to him. You weren’t allowed to see how everytime you checked his vitals, he felt like he was back in HYDRA’s claws, back to being prepped to be shocked again. No, he had to keep you away from that.

The week passes and ends, you were no longer assigned to take care of Bucky anymore and he’s back to missions and training– avoiding you. Part of you is happy that he’s not around you everyday by force, no longer having to endure his glares and rudeness but another part of you felt shitty.

That week felt like showing Bucky for the first time that it was okay to be cared for, to be looked after with no ulterior motive except for the benefit of his health. You wish he had that reminder everyday instead of throwing himself into missions, being reckless with himself because he didn’t think his body was worth protecting. This feeling was stronger than the happiness over his departure from your care– a lot stronger.

It seems you weren’t the only one thinking about that week. After some reflecting and thinking (a.k.a, talking to Steve), he realised why he felt so strongly when you touched him and why he wanted to open up to you. Yes, he was angry at the reason why at first. Angry at himself for being so foolish and falling for the team nurse, “She’s supposed to be caring!” he repeated like a mantra. Angry at himself for feeling like it was okay to let you in, to want you to care about him, to know why he struggled.

But Steve explained to him that you weren’t as weak or as fragile as he kept insisting you were– scolding him slightly for the way he dismissed you. Bucky realised that he should probably explain some things to you– or at least apologise, you were only doing your job and he took it out on you.

That night he wrote a letter to you, the words were genuine and words he knew he would mess up if he tried to say them to his face–

“Hey, I'm sorry. I know that’s pretty generic but it’s the truth. I’m still figuring this shit out so don’t take it too personally, it’s just really hard for me. I know you were only doing your job and I'm so sorry that I made it difficult. I wish I could take it back and just be open with you. I know you would’ve treated me the way i needed if i asked, you’re sweet like that. You’re good at your job and I'm pretty sure my ribs feel even better than they did before I jumped out of that plane. Anyways, i hope you’re free tomorrow night so maybe we can grab a drink, I’ll even buy you one of those fruity cocktails if you’re into that,

James Buchanan Barnes.”

Sealing the letter, and addressing it to you on the front, he walked through the compound and eventually found your office and slid the note under the door for you to find in the morning.

But on this night in particular, you decided to stay late to finish some work, maybe by luck or fate the note arrives while you’re already there. You read through the letter and smiled softly, touched that Bucky would let you in like this, you knew it was rare considering he really only spoke to Sam and Steve.

Pocketing the note, you quickly walk down the hall to head to Bucky’s room to give him an answer. Your feet carry you as quickly as they can without running, trying to catch up to Bucky as soon as possible.

You arrive at his door and knock three times in a very desperate motion before the door swings open. There he is. In his sleepy and shocked state. He’s surprised to see you here so soon but he’s slightly anxious for your response– he’s practically anticipating for you to throw the letter back at him and insult him.

To his surprise, you don’t. “I don’t need a fruity cocktail, I'd prefer a coffee…tomorrow morning, in my office?” you say softly as you bite your lip back gently in anticipation.

Bucky’s eyes seem locked in place on your face, his lips parted from surprise until they slowly break into the tiniest smile that lights up his face in your eyes, a smile that gives you a glimpse into the charming soldier before HYDRA.

“Coffee it is then, Doll” he says in a low tone before gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, wanting to fully see your face in all its beauty. Wanting to see the face of the person he was about to let into his life and hopefully never let go of.

[obaewankenobis]

close to you; finnick odair

pairing: finnick odair x reader (afab, rare/no use of y/n, female pronouns are used)

word count: 14.5k (sorry)

warnings: the usual hunger games warnings (violence, child murder, prostitution, etc). also smut (fingering, p in v, oral (m receiving)) mdni -- pretty pls!

summary: you're both victors — him from four, you from eight — assigned to mentor tributes from district nine who lack a mentor. you hate him because he played the role so well, accepting the gifts and glory of the capitol with a wide smile and charming words. unbeknown to you, the feeling is not mutual.

a/n: crashing out because of sunrise on the reaping so i wrote this.

DAY TWO — THE OPENING CEREMONY

It had been too soon since you'd last seen him, six months ago at your victory celebration in the Capitol. The circumstances were vastly different now, but the routine remained the same.

Physically, you were feeling your very best: strong and healthy, plucked and scrubbed and painted to perfection. But your prettiness, and all the work your prep team had done to your face and body paled in comparison to the unattainable beauty of him.

He, of course, was Finnick Odair, the person next to you subtly coughing and dragging you from your own mind and into the real world. You chose to ignore the cough, knowing who it was from and that he was doing it on purpose.

“I know you can hear me,” the voice said in an almost sing-song voice. No response, you wouldn't give him that. “You’re standing right next to me.” Again, silence. “I know you’re just ignoring me now, I’m not stupid.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” it slips out before you realize you’re supposed to be ignoring him, which only infuriates you further. Defeated, you turn to face the person with a voice so irritating you were about to commit a crime.

“Ha! Knew that would work,” Finnick smiled, showing off perfect rows of pearly white teeth. He was so perfect it was infuriating. You noticed, with an ounce of satisfaction, that his canines were razor sharp, sharper than most, and his front teeth stuck out from his lips ever so slightly when he smiled. It felt nice to know even the great Finnick Odair had flaws. Even if they only added to his charm, it made him imperfect, human.

“Whatever, Odair,” you rolled your eyes, trying to brush off the fact that he knew just how to get under your skin. It worked every time.

“Whatever, Odair,” he mimicked, raising his voice several octaves in a poor attempt to imitate you.

You were going to kill him, you were sure of it. Grab that stupid statue next to you of a soldier with a sword, and fashion it into a weapon of your own.

“Easy there, sweetheart. I can see you plotting already… so just remember, we’re supposed to be working together on this,” Finnick let out a chuckle as your eyes flashed in frustration, not because of what he said, but because he was right. You two were stuck with each other, whether you liked it or not.

“You two!” A high pitched, accented voice snapped, which you instantly recognized as Phaedra Day, the District 9 escort. “Please, come meet the tributes before the parade!”

Immediately you dislike her. Aside from her obvious disregard for her tributes’ wellbeing — that’s obvious from the way she shoves the two children forward — she’s the pinnacle of Capitol excess, and it shows everywhere. All the cosmetic surgery she’s had over the years gives her face an overly full effect, like a stuffed turkey.

She’s got this awful orange hair, not like the lovely ginger color you’ve seen, no, this is as bright as the flames of a house fire.

Her makeup, you think, is the worst of all. It’s hard to pull off orange eyeshadow, orange blush, and orange lipstick, and Phaedra is definitely not the exception. You suppose it’s meant to compliment her hair, but it just looks clownish.

Finnick greets her with a kiss on each cheek, and comes away with two orange splotches on both his own. You decide then you’ll hang back and let them do the talking.

“Well,” Phaedra nudged the two tributes forward. “They're your mentors, they're not going to bite. Introduce yourselves!”

“Hi.” The girl couldn't be older than twelve, with sandy brown hair, bright green eyes, and a smattering of freckles that made her look even younger.

“Eulalia!” Phaedra clicks her tongue in disapproval. “You can’t have expected them to remember you from the reaping, and that is not a proper introduction! What did we practice?”

The girl — Eulalia — straightens her back immediately, the curious, childhood look in her eye fading into something somber. “I’m Eulalia Overfell, I’m twelve years old, and I’m from District 9.”

“Nice to meet you,” you force a bright smile on your face, hoping this girl can't see the sadness in your eyes. You're rooting for her already, she’s your tribute, but you know realistically her chances are so very slim. You introduce yourself and look expectantly at Finnick, who seems like he's busy cozying up to Phaedra instead of paying attention to who actually matters: your tributes.

“Finnick Odair,” he rolls his eyes in a dismissive gesture, as if waving away the pointed glare you'd been shooting in his direction. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

You give him another look that you hope can only be described as shooting daggers.

Then he surprises you — sticks out his hand and greets Eulalia like a proper adult, giving her his undivided attention. “It’s nice to meet you, Eulalia.”

It’s so unlike the eye roll and bored tone he used with you; he’s done a complete switch in a matter of seconds.

“Miller,” Phaedra gives him a pointed nudge, reminding you there’s another tribute. “Go on.”

The boy wears a brooding expression, brown eyes dark with distrust and hate, refusing to open his mouth.

Phaedra sighs, like she’s been dealing with this all day and expecting no less. “This is Miller Keene, he's fourteen. He has yet to learn his manners, so don't mind him.”

She shoos him away like a fly buzzing around her head, and focuses all her attention on the two of you. Or maybe just Finnick, by the way she's batting her lashes and twirling a strand of her hair. “You know, I’m just so glad that I have you two for this year! Old Mazie was absolutely dreadful company! I mean, she could barely hold a conversation. Always muttering to herself in the corner…” Phaedra sniffed in displeasure, then turned back to Finnick. “I look forward to working with you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he flashes her a smile that's borderline seductive. You're about to object that this whole thing feels inappropriate when Phaedra is gone, rambling about finding the District 9 stylists and how they're never going to be on time at this rate.

You feel gross and uneasy in her presence for a number of reasons, however harmless she might appear. One, because of the way she was looking at Finnick, like she’d devour him in an instant. Two, because Finnick didn't even look bothered by the attention, no, he seemed to relish it. Three, because you knew of Mazie, of her story: she’d been driven mad during her games almost fifty years ago from a cumulation of starvation, dehydration, and witnessing multiple deaths right in front of her. Phaedra never had to worry about something every parent’s worst fear in the Districts. She had no idea how heartbreaking it must be, to lose your child once in the Reaping and then twice upon returning home.

Her comment also makes you wonder why Finnick was chosen for the task of mentoring tributes that were not his own. I mean, it made sense they’d give the tributes to you; you had no experience and the Capitol likely didn't care. But Finnick? The Finnick Odair, Capitol Darling? Wouldn't he be of better use mentoring his own tributes?

You zone out a bit, curious to be on this side of the parade — it was only last year you were preening in a chariot just like your tributes were now.

Unfortunately, your tributes didn't stand out in any particular way. You’d been chatting up a storm with as many people you could find, but none seemed interested in taking such a huge risk on two tributes who were not likely to make it past the bloodbath. Finnick had spent all his time with Mags, the aging District 4 mentor, and the Capitol citizens with her, instead of being by your side.

Right now you’re watching him as he talks with what you think is one of his many admirers, though you doubt he’s doing it in favor of Miller or Eulalia. No, her hand is squeezing his bicep and she’s laughing a little too hard for the conversation to be about sponsorship.

You feel a tug on your arm and tear your gaze away from Finnick and down, to find Eulalia slipping her hand into yours. You murmur a quick hello, unsure as to why she’s requesting your attention, when she whispers, “Is he your boyfriend?”

“What— oh, definitely not—” You splutter, your cheeks burning. “No, what would make you think that!”

She shrugs, “I dunno. You just keep staring at him. When my sister had a boyfriend, all she did was stare at him.”

“I—” How could you explain to a child that you were essentially slut shaming him in your head for not doing his actual job?

“Everyone stares at me, Eulalia. She just recognizes perfection when she sees it.” Finnick’s somehow snuck up behind the two of you and overheard everything, which is mortifying. He’s grinning at you, placing his hands on Eulalia’s shoulders while she giggles.

“Finnick’s a little self obsessed, don't mind him,” you say as you tug Eulalia back to your side, intent on leading her and Miller back to the tribute penthouse before he can bother you two any more.

When the two tributes are fast asleep, you whirl around to face Finnick, who has the sense to look a little bit worried at the anger etched into your features, though he still retains the easygoing air about him. His body leaned against the doorframe of his room — coincidentally across from yours — with his arms crossed in front of him. His eyes surveyed you with an air of caution, waiting for whatever storm that's been brewing in your brain.

“This is not something I’m doing alone! They were eating me alive out there, and you were gone!”

“Relax,” he sighs, dropping his arms so they now rest at his sides. “I’ve done this before, y’know. I know what I’m doing.”

“It didn't look like you were doing anything, honestly!”

Your heart is racing now, palms sweaty as the weight of responsibility comes crashing down on you all at once. His nonchalance bothers you even more. You wish he'd show a sliver of actual human emotion, not this cocky, flirty personality that leaves no room for anything else.

But it’s his, “grab a drink, honey, and calm down”, is what really sets you off.

“Look, if you want to do… whatever it is you do with all your Capitol friends—lovers—whatever, do it on your own time! Not when we’re supposed to be securing sponsors!” You whisper-shout, careful not to wake either Eulalia or Miller.

His mild expression melts into something unreadable. You think a hint of anger flashes across his face for a split second, but it’s gone before you can confirm if it’s real or just a figment of your imagination. You’re leaning towards the latter, because you’ve never seen Finnick angry before.

“You have no idea how lucky you are, do you?” He scoffs without bothering to give you a second glance as he retreats into his room.

“You better be here tomorrow at breakfast to help them before training!” You call after him, but he doesn't respond, just slams the door shut behind him.

It felt good to get a reaction from Finnick, but now, in the silence that followed, you couldn't help but feel a bit bad. Confused, but also guilty — your last comment had certainly struck a nerve. But what did he mean by lucky?

Lucky to be in charge of training two children who were bound for death? Lucky for your grandmother to die while you were in the arena, leaving nobody left in your life to care for you? Lucky for your friends to have all but abandoned you once you'd returned, off put by how much you'd changed?

If anything, he was the lucky one. He had Mags, who cared for and loved him like her own son. He was adored by everyone in the Capitol, and had a string of lovers that trailed behind him, ensuring he would never be lonely.

It was time to face it — maybe your anger towards him was misplaced and rooted in something else entirely. You were jealous of how he was surrounded by people admiring and loving him. It was something you yearned for so deep inside your chest it hurt.

DAY THREE — TRAINING

You were up before the first light, dedicated to making today better than the disaster known as yesterday. You were busying yourself before the rest of your ensemble awoke, pressing powders and creams into your skin, tickling your lips with a painted brush, and penciling in details that would make you seem up to date on Capitol trends without appearing too gaudy.

Soon you begin to hear the stirrings of everyone else in the apartment — Phaedra’s loud, obnoxious voice rang much louder than the quiet chatter of Miller and Eulalia as she directed them towards the dining room.

By the time you sat down for breakfast, almost everyone was there: both tributes, their prep teams and stylists, and Phaedra. The only one absent was Finnick, whose empty seat was directly across from you.

“I know you must be nervous,” you began, noticing how neither tribute had touched their food. “I want you guys to go to as many stations as you can, okay? Not just the weaponry — the survival stations really came in handy for me last year.”

Eulalia poked at her scrambled eggs with a fork, face pale and filled with concern, not disinterest. “Everyone’s a lot bigger than me.”

You weren't sure what to say to that, because it had never been an issue for you. You’d been eighteen upon your Reaping, and there were only two mouths to feed in your home: yours, and your grandmother’s. She’d owned a tailor shop, and while the two of you were never wealthy, you never battled real starvation. Compared to the tributes you had faced, you were fully grown and only slightly malnourished, like all district children were.

A scrape of the chair legs against the floor alerted you to the fact that Finnick had arrived and was taking his seat, saying, “Size can only go so far. You’re small, but you're quick. Use that to your advantage.”

Of course he would know something about that; he'd won his games at just 14, the youngest ever victor in the history of Panem.

“What about weapons?” You look towards Miller, surprised that he’s saying anything at all.

“Well… there will be stations that can teach you, find one that comes easier than the rest and—”

“You’d probably be pretty good with a scythe or pitchfork,” Finnick interrupts you like you weren’t even there. “I’m assuming, at least, since you're from District 9. Grain and all.”

Miller nods, sinking back in his chair as if to muse over what Finnick has said.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, shooting a pointed look at Finnick. “You shouldn't count on unusual weapons being in the arena, and tributes are rarely gifted their weapons of choice, even if they’re exceptionally talented.” That last part was a dig at Finnick, and you study him from the corner of your eye, hoping he’s just as annoyed as he makes you. You know it's petty and childish, but you're still upset about last night.

Of course, he doesn't give you the satisfaction. “The gamemakers want a good show more than anything. If you see something in the training center that you think you’d be good at, practice and use it later for your private session with them.”

“Don’t show off your skills in front of everyone,” you interjected. “You don't need to become a target.”

He finally turned to you, his voice laced with displeasure. “Well, they're already targets, sweetheart. They're going to be in an arena full of kids trying to kill them.” He turned back to Miller and Eulalia, who were both staring with wide eyes that shifted back and forth between the two of you. “Listen, the more practice the better. Focus on the weapons, it’ll give you the best chance.”

“Well, I was just telling them to go to all the stations, actually. Most tributes die from natural causes.” You’re trying not to grit your teeth for the children’s sake, but he’s making it exceptionally difficult by going against everything you’re saying.

“Okay, that’s fine and all, but I don’t think—”

“Well, I think they should be heading down now to the training center! Don't want to miss a moment of such valuable time!” Phaedra interrupts Finnick before it can turn into a full scale argument between the two of you, shooing Miller and Eulalia out the door before either of you can protest.

“What's your problem?” You ask Finnick once the room is empty.

“My problem?” His voice is brimming with disbelief. “You’re the one who's had a problem with me since the beginning!”

“I’m so sorry,” you almost let out a laugh at how ridiculous he was being. How could he not realize it? That he was a traitor to the Districts, and you weren't obligated to like him. “Is this the first time someone's ever disliked you? I mean, I know you're probably used to being pampered by all your Capitol buddies…”

“There you go again,” the muscles in his jaw suddenly have his mouth sealed shut with tension. “You make all these assumptions about me, and you haven't even bothered to ask if any of them are true. Do you know what I—” He cut himself off, glancing around the room like he's looking for someone. Or like he's being watched. “Nevermind.”

His fork clatters against his plate as he pushes his chair back abruptly, before heading off to his room.

Well, he was right about that. You did have your assumptions, but they were all based on everything you'd seen the past couple of years on live television.

Dinner is perhaps more awkward than breakfast, mainly because Finnick and Phaedra don't bother showing up, so it's just you, your tributes, and their stylists.

Making conversation is painstakingly difficult, mainly because neither of them seem to have much to offer to the questions you ask them past a nod or a short “yes” or “no”. Not that you blame them — no, that would be entirely unfair.

You’d spent the day alone in the Capitol, chatting up various people who'd sponsored you or were known to be particularly generous in past games. But it seemed like no one was willing to take a risk on a small twelve year old who looked no older than ten, and a brooding boy who wouldn't offer so much as a grunt to anyone.

“You'll have tomorrow and the following day in the training center,” you started. “But the last day is when they start to do the private sessions, so tomorrow’s your best bet to lock down any skills you've been working on.”

Eulalia nods. “The trainer at that foraging station said I was really nifty with plants,” she offers, but in a way that you suspect is meant to try to cheer you up more than anything.

“That's great, Eulalia!” You beam at her, because you remember the worst part of the Games — keeling over as sharp stabs of hunger plagued your body, while your throat turned as dry as sandpaper.

She asks to be excused the same time Miller stomps off to his room, leaving you alone in the living area of the penthouse.

I need a drink, you sighed softly to yourself, finding a near empty bottle of wine from dinner and pouring some into the same glass you’d used.

You turn the television on, flicking through the channels of awful reality shows, Panem news updates, and of course, recaps of previous Hunger Games in preparation for the 70th.

You’ve seen this one before— it's the one where the arena was a snowy forest, the freezing temperatures killing off nearly all the tributes in the first few days. You’re so engrossed in the recap you almost don't hear the door opening.

You do hear Phaedra’s loud laughs echoing down the hall from the entryway, and turn back to see her stumbling through the door. Finnick is right beside her, offering you a tight smile as he guides Phaedra, who has to be drunk, with one hand, and holds her heels in the other.

Not my problem, not my problem, not my problem, you repeat the mantra in your head, hoping your attention will go back to the TV in front of you.

You weren't drunk (you decided you’d want to be shot the day two glasses of wine inebriated you), but you were a little tipsy. Just a little. Enough for your filter, but not your inhibitions, to be gone.

The now empty wine bottle sat pitifully on the coffee table next to your equally empty glass, as if begging to be refilled. Since it’d been almost empty when you'd scavenged it, you weren't too far gone. Not far gone enough.

You happen upon the kitchen in search of another bottle as Finnick re enters it, not sure whether or not to make polite conversation or ignore him.

He makes the decision for both of you, “How’d they do today?”

“Alright,” you shrugged, biting back a jab about him not helping you during dinner. An awkward pause follows before you realize you're meant to give him something back, so you add, “Eulalia’s got a knack for foraging.”

“That's good,” Finnick’s clearly in his own world and paying little attention to you, searching the fridge for something to eat instead of asking for an Avox to do it.

He’s so lost in thought, saying absolutely nothing to annoy you, that you realize, for the first time, how young he is. You’d always associated him with being much older, since he had so many years of experience on you.

But his features were just so quintessentially… boyish. There were no lines on his face like there were so many other tributes, save for the small indents where his dimples popped out when he smiled. He was tall and lanky — not awkward with his long limbs, but like he still had time to grow into broader shoulders. His face, although perfectly chiseled and sculpted to perfection, had a fullness to his cheeks that could only be thinned out with age. The only thing that felt fully grown about him was the deep frown etched into his face at the moment, like he was worrying about something a nineteen year old wasn't meant to.

“I thought we already talked about your staring problem,” his voice is low and smooth, bringing you out of the trance you'd been in.

“I was just… observing,” you say, embarrassed at being caught in the act. You were just curious to know more about him, and whenever you spoke you seemed to stray further and further from that objective.

“Uh huh…” He squints his eyes at you, like he's studying you as well, to figure out what's going on in your head.

“Try to show up on time tomorrow.” It felt foreign to have a conversation with Finnick without it resorting to an argument, so of course you had to ruin the moment. “They’ve only got a day left before the private sessions, and I think… I think they could use your experience. And I think Miller likes you, for whatever that's worth.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “An insult and a compliment in the same sentence, all wrapped up in a bow just for me,” his teeth were beginning to poke from his lips, transforming his face into a full on smile. “You’re spoiling me.”

There was another beat of silence before you say goodnight and rush back to your room, hoping tomorrow will be better — it seems like that's become a daily wish before you fall asleep. One day it'll get better.

DAY FIVE — PRIVATE SESSIONS

Everyone was fast asleep in their rooms, the house silent save for the low murmur of the television as you watched an interview recap from previous years, a notepad in hand. You were trying to decide if it was a good or bad thing that neither of your tributes had nothing to make them stand out. With mediocre training scores, your job was turning more into an impossible task than ever.

The elevator door dings open, and you know it can only be Finnick, since he'd yet again left right after dinner.

“Why are you still up?” you ask as he passes by, though this time he doesn't bother slowing down and heading straight for his room.

“Just… preparing for tomorrow, I guess.” You notice his lips are inflamed and smudged with a lavender shade of sparkly lipstick, glitter trailing down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his shirt. His eyes are just as puffy as his lips, red rimmed and glassy, but all that pales when you see the long, rather deep scratch on his chin. It’s still bleeding slightly and trickling down the same path carved by the glittery lipstick, disappearing beneath his shirt and leaving a slight stain against the white.

Your instinct want you to jump up from the couch and ask what's wrong, any disdain you have towards Finnick melting away for just a brief moment. You're not even sure why, but maybe it's because this is the first night in several days he's left after dinner and not returned until late.

“Are you okay?” It slips out before you can suppress the humanity in you entirely. It had to be the blood that was making you ask.

He doesn't respond, save for a short nod, and slams the door behind him. You're left feeling disgruntled at what you saw. Who’d hurt him?

You went back to your interviews, but your mind remained distracted by what you’d seen. You’re trying desperately to return to the state of engrossment you’d been at before you were interrupted, but it was no use. With a sigh you shut the television off, rubbing your eyes that were growing heavy with sleep. You’d just passed the door of your room when you heard a loud clatter of something against something ceramic, followed by a quiet fuck.

“Finnick?” You called softly, uncertain.

“It's fine, I’m fine,” came the hurried response, though it was accompanied by a hiss of pain.

You decided, against your better judgement, that you were going to investigate what all the commotion was about. As quietly as you could, you opened the door to his room and tiptoed towards the adjoined bathroom, where the soft glow of a light under the door crack gave away his location.

“Finnick? Are you okay? I— I’m coming in.” You wait for any sign of protest, but upon hearing none, take a deep breath and open the door.

“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, leaning towards the mirror in front of the sink. “I’m fine.” The countertop was scattered with clutter, colognes and lotions and other knick knacks. There seemed to be an array of things that’d fallen into the sink as well, which explained the clatter you’d heard earlier.

“Holy fuck that looks horrible!” You blurt out, then instantly wish you hadn't said anything. The small scar was now oozing more blood than before, dripping down his face and neck. He hadn't bothered to wash off any of the glitter either, so now he just looked… well, horrible. As horrible as someone with Finnick’s face could look, which still rivaled you on your best day.

“Thanks,” he said dryly, not even turning to look at you, still obsessing over the wound on his chin. “You can go now.”

“You’re doing it all wrong,” you blurted out as he wiped at his chin with a cotton pad, which only further irritated it. “Here,” you made your way towards him, grabbing a gauze from the first aid kit he'd opened and carefully turning his head to face you, pressing the gauze gently into to the wound.

He didn't say thank you, but he wasn't protesting, either. Just watched you from the mirror out of the corner of his eye.

“How’d you get this? It looks…” nasty, “...bad.”

The smile that appears on his face is rueful. “Capitol trends have gotten a little wacky lately,” he begins, and then hesitates. “Some people have cat claws instead of fingernails nowadays.”

Oh. So it was one of his lovers? It certainly didn't look like he was okay with it, but what could he have done to warrant such a reaction?

You threw the gauze in the trash, craning your neck to get a closer look at the wound, before reapplying more. “That… that sucks.”

You want to ask him how exactly he acquired this, but something tells you he won't be forthcoming in his answer.

“Yeah,” he huffs, “It does.”

“You’re probably going to need stitches,” you squinted at the cut. It was precariously deep; you wondered why he wasn't more vocal about the pain he must be in. “You can probably go to one of the hospitals in the Capitol—”

“No,” he says abruptly. “Absolutely not, I don't… I don't need that right now.” He pauses, “Can you do it?”

“Oh, I don't think I’m—”

“I’ve seen you stitch before. Saved your own life with it,” he says softly, and you're suddenly embarrassed and flattered at the same time. He remembered your games? Where you’d stitched 17 and a half stitches into your own stomach, passing out before the 18th had been completed, just as the trumpets began blaring.

“But this is your face, this is like…” you splutter, hands beginning to tremble, “... a national treasure! I don't want to fuck it up, they’ll have my head for sure.”

“You just keep showering me in compliments.” A real, genuine laugh passed from his lips, and you're surprised at how different it sounds from the one he gives when Phaedra makes an awful joke, or when a Capitol woman lays her hands on him. This one is sweet, melodic almost.

“Just… are you sure?” You tug at your lower lip, drawing blood by how hard you bite.

He nods, so you lead him to sit on the toilet, and stand in front of him to get a closer view. The circumstances are much better than they were in your arena, but it's still far from ideal. You, a wannabe seamstress with minimal experience, should not be working on a face famous for his exceptional looks. This could all go so wrong, and you didn't even like him as a person, which made it worse, because if you didn't like him, then why were you so nervous to fuck it up?

You get to work soon after, trying desperately to calm the shaking of your hands.

You wet a washcloth under the sink and bring it to the wound, patting it carefully. Gently, you move the washcloth down to his neck, wiping away the glitter that stained his bronze skin. He didn't object, just sucked in a sharp breath as you tugged the collar down, revealing an angry but fading purple bruise and wiping the cloth over that, too.

The silence is so, so loud. Yo turn to grab an antiseptic, the quiet hisses of pain making you pause before he urges you to continue swiping it across his chin. One hand gently cleans while the other rests on his cheek, allowing you to move and angle his face to best suit your needs for the task.

Aside from that, there's nothing, not even an insult or two thrown either way.

Like when he'd been in the kitchen he's zoned out, allowing you to take a closer look at him.

His eyes, glazed over and off into some far off place, were a perfect representation of the ocean; mostly green with a light blue mixing together to form a beautiful seafoam that people always claimed to get lost in. He had that youthful look about him, the frown he wore had melted away into an almost relaxed expression, which was odd considering the situation he was in.

You continued to work in silence, taking an extra long time to clean the wound to avoid the stitching for as long as possible.

He let out a hiss of pain as the needle pierced his bronze skin for the first time, to which you immediately jumped back and said, "I'm sorry! I can stop, just tell me when you need a break. Please."

He shakes his head ever so slightly, in silent approval for you to continue. "It's fine. Just do it."

Your fingers steadied after the first stitch, like a natural instinct summoned all your grandmother's teachings and flooded them through you.

It was over quickly, but you forced him to remain still, busying yourself with preparing a dressing so you didn't have to acknowledge the way his eyes followed your every move.

"Just hold still," you said quietly, pressing the cream to his chin and leaning in ever so slightly to make sure every inch of your stitches were slathered in ointment.

When you step back to take a look at your handiwork, you feel like somehow you're overstaying your welcome.

You didn't like how the bathroom had grown hot and stuffy, didn't like how his eyes had gone from glazing over to staring intently at you and never leaving.

You didn't like how his hands, which had been resting motionless on his lap, had started to fidget with the loose fabric of his pants, occasionally brushing against your legs, which were pressed up between his — as you worked on his chin, of course.

And you especially didn't like how whenever his fingers accidentally brushed against the skin of your legs, you felt like jumping out of your skin.

"Change it tomorrow," you instructed, clearing your throat. He nodded, watching you leave.

DAY SEVEN — THE INTERVIEWS

Today had been no better than the last one, or the one before that. The only thing was different was that you and Finnick had gone an (almost) two full days without getting into any squabbles, which was a big improvement. Even Phaedra commented something about civility at dinner.

He’d also made an effort to help Miller and Eulalia prep for the interviews; he was so loveable in the Capitol it only made sense for him to take the reins on this one.

You’d tried to help when you could, adding in tidbits of information that you thought could be useful. Phaedra even chimed in once in a while, whenever she would wander back to the penthouse in between her very full day of… whatever she did. Certainly nothing useful.

Now, night was just beginning to fall, and only you and Eulalia were sitting on the couch watching the interviews. Miller hadn't even bothered to stay past mealtime, and Phaedra and Finnick were off doing who knows what.

Both tributes had remained entirely unremarkable, and while that was not to their advantage, it wasn't to their disadvantage either. They were brushed off as tributes certain to die in the bloodbath, nothing more, and as much as that angered you, you understood why people thought that way.

“You should go to bed, Eulalia. You have an early morning tomorrow,” you said once the interviews had concluded. You felt that alluding to the fact that she was headed towards her death was a better thing to do than outright say it.

Eulalia nodded her head, though she didn't make any moves to leave. “I’m scared to go to bed,” she admitted after a long moment. “I… I think I’ll have nightmares.”

“I know,” you purse your lips, remembering how you felt the night before your own games. “But you need sleep, you'll regret it tomorrow if you don't even try.”

With a resigned nod she stands up, making her way slowly into her room.

Then, it's silent on the District 9 floor, empty in the living spaces save for yourself.

You’re halfway through a much needed massage of your temples when you hear the door creak open and assume it’s an Avox, until you open your eyes and see Eulalia running out of her room with a terrorized expression frozen on her face.

“Eulalia!” You jump up from the couch and run to her, “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I had a nightmare,” she whispered, eyes as wide as saucers.

“About tomorrow?” You asked, a hand on her shoulder and trying to coax an answer out of her.

She nodded, her bottom lip wobbling for a moment before she immediately burst into tears. “I miss my mom,” she let out with a sniffle, her little body shaking from the sobs that began wracking her body.

You could almost hear your heart smashing on the ground in a million little pieces. You were there in an instant, on your knees to be at eye level with her as you held out your arms. She didn’t hesitate, burying her face in your shoulder and continuing to sob, which only broke your heart further.

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” you said in what you hoped was a soothing voice, trying hard not to let a tremor seep in. “It’ll be okay.” Now you’re just lying to her, an evil voice in the back of your head snaps.

She clung to you like a lifeline, her small hands wrinkling the silk of your dress but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

“It was so scary,” she hiccuped, “I didn't even make it past the bloodbath.”

You pried her hands from your clothes so your own could find her face, thumbs gently gliding over her tear stained cheeks. “You are so brave, remember that, okay? And remember what Finnick and I have been teaching you, and you’ll be okay.”

Her sobs turn into small hiccups as she listens to your words, trying to make the rational part of her brain take over. But she's so young, and she's feeling so much, it's only a moment before the tears explode once more, and she's inconsolable.

You wish there was something you could do, but all that comes to mind is helping her back to bed, a proper routine despite it being in the middle of the night.

The door open and Finnick walks in, stopping short at the sight of you two curled on the floor of the living room. His eyes widen when you mouth the word nightmare, Eulalia’s face still buried in your shoulder.

“Hey, look!” You said as brightly and spinning Eulalia around to look at Finnick. “Why don't we both put you to bed?”

Eulalia nods, still sniffling, and says, very meekly, “Okay. Finnick’s strong.” She says it like he'll protect her from her own mind. Then she straightens up. “Can we please stay out here? I hate my room, it's so dark and scary and—”

“Of course,” Finnick spoke up. “You know, the night before my games, Mags made a pillow fort for us in the living room.” He begins to drag pillows from your room, his room, and Eulalia’s room while you tend to her.

You take time to brush her hair before your fingers twist the long locks into two loose braids. Her sobs have quieted down again, her eyes closing on themselves as sleep began to lull her.

The two of you crawl under the couch, which Finnick has done up with pillows and blankets to make a true fort that eases Eulalia’s fears just a bit. Not enough to coax a smile, but enough to quiet her sobs and hiccups.

“Please don't leave,” Eulalia begs, looking slightly embarrassed, but it's clear she's too tired and worn down to fight the embarrassment completely.

“Of course.” You tuck the blanket under her chin, trying not to let the rising bile in your stomach spill from your lips. She was just a baby, with little tear stained cheeks and deep circles under her eyes. Too young to be weighed down with the possibility of imminent death the next morning.

You lay down next to her, still in your finery from the interview day, but you don't even let that bother you anymore.

You’re so focused on Eulalia you don't even notice Finnick’s been by both your sides the entire time, settling down a little ways away from the both of you, with Eulalia in the middle.

She’s fast asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow, even snoring softly as she cocoons herself into your side.

When you wake, the sun is streaming through the cracks in the blinds. Eulalia’s gone, the only trace of her being the dried tear stains on your dress and the mess of blankets and pillows around you.

Your heart is heavy as you go through the motions of getting ready, allowing your prep team to do what they pleased. You’d be in the Capitol all day starting in an hour, watching the games.

DAY EIGHT — THE HUNGER GAMES

The night dragged on without an end to what had been a torturous day, which had passed at a snail’s pace that had only added to its misery.

Despite everything, all your blood, sweat, and tears, Miller didn't make it out of the Cornucopia. Not like you'd thought there would be a different outcome; he'd made it clear he didn't want to give anyone a show, he just wanted to die. He'd been slaughtered by a Career not even thirty seconds into the Games. Eulalia had surprised you, her face not projected onto the sky next to Miller’s, grabbing a pack by her feet and racing for the mountains.

That didn't mean you weren't miserable and drowning your sorrows in a bottle.

“I need another glass,” you decided out loud to no one but yourself, mustering up the balance to rise from the couch and head over to the kitchen and make the drink happen.

“Easy there, sweetheart. I don't think being hungover is a good look for sponsors. Especially since you seem to know best,” a small chuckle sounded behind you, scaring the ever loving shit out of you and causing you to drop your wine glass on the floor.

“Shit— What the fuck, Finnick?” You almost shouted, before realizing you had two sleeping children down the hall. “I thought you'd be out all night again!” You lowered your voice to a hiss as you crouched down to pick up the larger shards, not knowing if there was an Avox around at this time of night.

Finnick had been leaning casually against the doorframe until he heard the glass shatter, and was by you in an instant. “My plans ended early,” he offered little more than that.

You let out a sudden cry of pain as a shard sliced your palm open. The blood, dark and red and warm, immediately sent you into a panic.

Your heart quickened, a strangled cry barely managing its way past your lips as you were thrust back into the arena like you always were. Other people’s blood you could handle just fine, but the sight of your own caused your vision to become slightly blurry, from dizziness or tears you weren't quite sure.

Then, a palm on your shoulder. Grounding you, bringing you back to the present. You’d cut your hand on a broken wine glass, you hadn't just murdered a child. You were in the penthouse as a victor, not as a tribute. Blinking back tears you looked up at Finnick, whose hand was still on your shoulder, and stood up abruptly. You hated the look of pity in his eyes, it made you sick. You didn't need pity from someone who was contributing to the very system that made you like this.

You were about to open your mouth, lash out at him to distract from the pain of your hand, when an Avox melted from the shadow and hurried to clean up the mess you’d made.

“We should fix that up,” Finnick suggested gently, cautiously — like you were a wounded animal — his hand trailing down to the small of your back and gently guiding you to a bathroom. Normally you’d be brushing him away, because in what world would you accept help from him.

But you didn't have the strength to argue. Not when it was the night before. Not when Miller was dead and and Eulalia would soon follow. You simply nodded and let him lead you to the bathroom in his room, your head on autopilot as you stood leaning against the cool marble of the countertop.

You remembered being here a couple nights ago; things had remained the same except now your positions were reversed.

“Didn't think I was that sneaky,” Finnick joked as he looked around for first aid supplies, trying to fill the awkward silence.

“Don't give yourself so much credit, Odair,” you rolled your eyes, the quip making you feel slightly more normal. This was what you did. Show him you hated him through petty jabs and dirty looks. The past few days had been too pleasant for either of it to last.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, holding your wrist and gently examining the cut to make sure there were no glass splinters. “Then what was so interesting you didn't hear me open the door?”

“My brain. Duh,” you huffed, hoping he couldn't smell the alcohol on your breath.

“Your brain, or the wine?” Finnick’s eyes, that beautiful green flecked with blue that you pretended not to notice, were lit up with laughter.

“Maybe a little bit of— ow!” You yelped, trying to pull your hand away from whatever was making it sting so bad.

“Oh relax, don't be a baby,” Finnick kept a tight grip on your wrist so he could work, gently cleaning the wound with an antiseptic. “I know you've handled much worse.”

“I was so much nicer to you… This shit still hurts,” you grumbled under your breath, trying not to think about the last part of his comment. Yeah. You’d faced much, much worse. But perhaps the softness of the Capitol had grown on you, and you were becoming less and less accustomed to hardship. “Oh my god!” You exclaimed in horror. “I’m turning into you!”

This gave him pause. He had discarded the alcohol wipe and was reaching for a cream when he stopped. “I’m assuming that's not a compliment, coming from you… so tell me, what does that mean?”

You laughed, then hiccuped. “I’m getting soft! I’m letting all this nice stuff in the Capitol blind me from every horrible thing I’ve ever experienced at their hands.”

You’d meant it as more of a lighthearted jab than anything, but he’d gone completely still as he looked at you. His eyes seemed to darken, erasing any traces of blue or warmth, leaving an unreadable expression behind. Your eyes trailed down to his jaw, which was now clenched.

“Is that really what you think of me?” He asked softly. So softly, you thought you’d imagined it. It was then you noticed how close his face had gotten, forcing your neck to crane up and meet his gaze as he towered over you, your back pressed against the sink counter.

“I mean… yeah, sort of,” You shrugged. “People adore you here. I mean, look at all the gifts! All your friends and girlfr—”

“I hate the gifts. And they’re not my friends. Or my girlfriends,” he cut you off sharply. “You don't know… just… nevermind.”

His grip on your wrist tightened as he applied the cream, his movements slow and his eyes glued to your hand as to avoid eye contact.

“I— I don't know,” you admitted, watching his nimble fingers work expertly to wrap your hand. He exhaled sharply but didn't respond, pretending to be absorbed in his work.

“All done.” He dropped your hand and took a step back. Already you felt his body heat disappear from you, but it wasn't a warm welcome. You just felt cold. And mean.

“Wait, Finnick,” you grasped onto his wrist with your good hand, stopping him in his tracks and forcing him to look back at you. “Explain it to me.”

You wanted to know what he meant, and perhaps you felt a little bit guilty for the genuine hurt you'd seen in his eyes. One of the many assumptions you'd made about Finnick Odair was that he was immune to feeling anything but cool and charming.

He looks around for an escape, nostrils flaring and his palms closing and then flexing. Those famous sea-green eyes get that faraway look you've seen only a couple times.

Selfishly, you take time to notice the features you hadn't absorbed before. You observed veins of his forearms that ran up and disappeared behind his sleeves, where the muscle of his biceps were barely concealed through the thin material of his shirt. You even took notice of how his bronze hair seemed to match his skin, the pearly white of his teeth making his sun drenched tan even more striking.

“I won't judge you,” you say quietly, stupidly, because that's pretty much all you’ve done.

He seems to see the irony in your statement too because he laughs, coldly. “I’d tell you if I believed you even a little bit— but all you’ve done is judge me for things out of my control.”

“You're right,” you inhaled sharply, though it pained you to admit you were wrong to his face.

There's a long pause before he speaks again.

“President Snow sells me— my body. To the Capitol citizens. Those gifts… they’re pity gifts from people who buy me. I don't love any of them.”

Out of all the things you thought could come out of his mouth, that arrangement of words was something you could never even imagine.

“Oh.” Think of something better to say, you fucking idiot! You began cursing yourself for such a bland response, but nothing could compete with the overwhelming guilt that was rising in your chest.

Every awful, horrible, vile thought you'd ever had about Finnick Odair was based on the assumption he liked the Capitol’s attention, relished in it. But they were— they…

He took your lack of response as a dismissal. “Yeah, told you. Your hand’s fine now, so I think you can go now.”

“No, wait, I’m sorry!” You hurried to correct your response. “I didn't mean— I just didn't know he did that.”

It suddenly occurred to you that he might be listening in on your very conversation. Finnick sees your realization and shakes his head. “We’re fine in this room.”

“Oh.” Now you can't stop thinking about every awful, horrible thing you'd ever thought about Finnick, every malicious word you’d spat at him was now resurfacing as a bitter bile in the back of your throat. “Oh my god, Finnick, I had no idea, I’m so sorry—”

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I don't need your pity. There's nothing I can do to change it, he’ll… he’ll hurt Mags if I try to say no. I just wanted you to know so you’d stop looking at me like that.”

Suddenly his words make sense. Lucky. Because in a way, you had no one left you cared about, no one Snow could hold over your head. You were lucky, so lucky in that sense, you didn't even know it was a possibility.

“I know you don't want pity, but I really am sorry. Not just for your situation but— for every awful thing I’ve ever said to you. I would've never said any of those things if I knew.” How do you begin to bring up why you felt the way you did? That you were so incredibly jealous he could lead a life full of luxury and companionship?

“Thanks,” he shrugged. “You didn't know. How could you? Everyone you loved was already dead by the time Snow got his hands on you. You’re lucky for that. Once Mags goes…” Then I’ll be free, is what you're certain he wants to say.

There's a lapse in the conversation and you just stare at him, talking him whole in a completely different light. You don't even care that he's staring right back at you, when normally you'd be embarrassed with his undivided attention.

“Well thank you. For fixing up my hand.” You raised your bandaged hand up and saw a slight smile cross his face.

“Just returning the favor,” he responded simply. “Can you let go of my hand now, or are you planning on hanging around all night? Not that I mind—” You dropped his hand like it was a burning coal, much to his amusement.

“Can we… start over? Please?” You asked, feeling like a little kid on the school playground again. “As friends?”

“And here I thought we were friends all along…” He sighed dramatically.

“Forget it! I take it back!” You rolled your eyes and shuffled your feet in an attempt to bypass his large frame blocking the doorway, when his hand slid down to your waist.

“I was being serious! We’ve always been friends, since the day we met. You just didn't know it yet. You had to go through a mean streak.” His eyes bear into yours and suddenly the fingers splayed across your waist feel like burning embers against your skin. His eyes, that always remind you of the ocean, feel like they're setting you aflame with the intensity of his gaze.

“Alright, now you're just being dramatic,” you huffed after a moment, sidestepping him and heading towards the kitchen. You can feel his eyes on you as you walk, trying to focus on the ground in front of you and not the way your heart was beating so rapidly, like it was determined to leap out of your chest and run back towards the bathroom. Towards him. Your mind traced back to that drink you’d been in search of when Finnick scared you.

Every trace of your mess was gone, from the broken glass to the drips of blood that had threatened to stain the carpet. You rummaged around the cupboards for another bottle of wine, sighing in frustration when your search came up empty.

“It’s on the top shelf,” Finnick appeared out nowhere again, causing you to jump.

“You have got to stop doing that!” You whipped around. “Didn't you learn from literally ten minutes ago?”

He put his hands up in self defense, though a ghost of a grin outlined his features. “I’ll try to remember. For next time.”

“Can you grab it for me?” You asked, surprising even yourself as you looked back at him standing in the hallway.

With a nod, Finnick crossed the space between the two of you into the kitchen. Instead of asking you to move, you felt a feather light touch at your hip as his hand ghosted over your dress. You could now feel the heat of his body radiating on to your back, could feel the light, warm breaths he took as he stood for a moment before reaching above you. With a gentle firmness, he scooted you over so he could strain to reach the last of the wine bottles.

You sucked in a breath as you felt his chest against your back, sturdy and warm, and resisted the urge to lean into him. You were so tired of being strong for your tributes. You wanted someone to protect you, tell you everything would be okay.

But you didn't have that. Not anymore. Ever since your grandmother had died you’d been all alone — alone on your Reaping Day, alone on your victory, alone now.

“Red or white?” You felt Finnick’s lips almost brush against your ear, snapping you out of your morose thoughts and sending a shiver down your spine.

“Uh— I— you choose.”

The heat was gone just as quick as it had arrived, and the rest happened in a blur. Before you know it you were one, two more glasses into the newly opened bottle, your cheeks flushed from laughing and your body hot from the alcohol.

Ugh, how did you even hate him? He was so funny. And pretty. Especially his eyes. Had you mentioned how pretty his eyes were?

“I think I’ve heard it from everyone but you, to be honest,” Finnick chuckled.

“Oh— did I really say that out loud?” You hiccuped, now entirely sure you would fully overheat.

“Yeah,” he grabbed the glass from your hand and placed it on the coffee table in front of you. “Not to ruin your fun, but you should probably stop now. It’s… a big day tomorrow. You need to be ready. For Eulalia.”

“Right.” Suddenly the lighthearted atmosphere turned somber, like all the joy in the world had been sucked from the room. Your head was still heavy and dizzy, but you no longer felt as if your lips were so loose.

The two of you take your drinks to the couch, where you see a glimpse of Finnick’s real personality. He's still charming and confident, but not in a cocky way. He's surprisingly sweet, and somehow remembers everything about you. No seriously, everything. Things you hadn’t even mentioned directly to him or anyone around you, but from your interview and the interviews from your former friends once you’d reached the final eight.

In turn, you tried to learn more about Finnick, the real Finnick, and not the persona he put on. You learned his mother and father had died when he was young, just like you, and that he'd trained in the Career Academy in 4 as a poor substitute for finding a family. He found it in Mags, who’d been the closest thing he had to a mother, friend, mentor, and grandmother all in one.

“Does it get easier?” You asked after a particularly morbid joke about the Hunger Games.

Finnick shakes his head. “Not really. You just get more used to it,” he hesitates before continuing. “It's like grief. You just think about it less often, but it's always there. And when you remember…” his voice catches in his throat. “It hurts just as badly as when it first happened.”

“Well that fucking sucks,” you sigh, downing the last bit of your wine, earning a laugh from Finnick.

You chat a bit more about things that don't even matter, but there's something that continues bothering you as you talk.

“I really had no idea,” you blurt out, repeating yourself for what seemed like the millionth time that night. You’d apologize a billion more before you felt even an ounce less guilty.

“I know,” he says simply, and that's what you like about talking with him. He doesn't brush it off, say everything you said is okay, but he doesn't blame you either. He just accepts it as is.

“How'd you get so… okay about all of this?” You asked him.

He ponders for a moment, like he’s never really thought about it himself. “I’m just desensitized, I think. I care about Mags, and as long as she's safe… I can deal with the rest of it.”

“And if something happens?” You can't help but ask.

He shudders slightly. “I don't think you’d recognize the person you become.”

“Evil? Insane?” You half joked.

But he's not smiling anymore, and the glazed over look in his eye has returned. “No. More like damaged beyond repair.”

Oh. Well isn't that a morbid thought. Another question suddenly pops into your mind. “Why are you telling me all of this? I said all those things… I hated you up until like… four days ago.”

The smiles returned, though this one is unlike any one you’ve ever seen before. It's genuine and sweet but it's so, so sad. “I’m lonely, I guess.”

That hits you right in the gut because you’re lonely, too. So lonely.

So the two of you decide, at least for the night, to seek company in one another's loneliness.

DAY NINE — THE HUNGER GAMES, CONT.

Your mentoring had been cut short early into the second day. Eulalia, who'd done everything right, had been killed by a pack of bat mutts, who'd descended upon her while she sought shelter in a shallow cove in the mountains. With their huge wings and even bigger talons they'd dragged her off deeper into the cave system, though not before you’d witnessed them ripping out chunks of her flesh.

It was so bloody and gruesome you’d run off in the middle of a conversation and thrown up your breakfast.

That's why you were in the bathroom stall, leaning against the cool ceramic of the toilet and not caring how disgusting it was. You felt sick, so sick to your very core, wishing that Eulalia’s nightmare had been her reality instead of whatever had just unfolded before your screen.

All you want to do is go back home — not back to the tribute apartments, not your house in the Victor’s Village, but home. The little, shoebox apartment above your grandmother’s tailor shop in 8. It was tiny but it was cozy, perfect for the two of you and always smelling like the home you were now longing for.

But that's not an option. The most you could get away with was showering and retiring for a few hours, returning after lunch. You wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your shirt and force yourself to stand, wobbling a bit on your heels.

When you walk out the door you’re greeted by Phaedra, who’s got a sour expression on her face.

“Oh— there you are. Can you believe this! Day two and I’m already done for the rest of the Games! Why didn't you train them better! Oh, I bet Finnick probably distracted you— not that I can blame you, but you could've been a little less selfish!” You realize now that she's drunk, but that doesn't stop the anger boiling in your stomach at her comments.

She's probably one of the Capitol citizens buying him for her own pleasure. Your lip curls in disgust but you have the decorum and common sense not to make a scene.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” is all you end up saying. This just causes Phaedra to scoff and push past you.

Today is the worse day of your life. So much worse than your Reaping Day, than your victory tour, than anything. Because this time, it's your fault.

When you walk back to the apartment, it reminds you more of a graveyard than anything.

Finnick seems to think the same; you're not sure when he came back but he's sitting on the couch with his face in his hands.

There's nothing you want to say to him. Nothing you can say, really, but he says something that forces you to listen anyways. “It's better this way.”

“How,” you gasp in disbelief he could say something so horrid.

“The alternative would've been worse for her.” And suddenly it dawns on you what he's thinking, he says it at the same time the thought comes to your mind. “She would've turned out like me.”

“She was only twelve, they wouldn't have—”

“I was fourteen,” he cuts you off, though not harshly. If anything he seems pained. “They said they waited until I was sixteen, but they lied. For their own consciences.”

Yeah, now the conversation’s over. You make your way to your bathroom, trying as hard as you can to compose yourself, make yourself feel just the slightest bit human.

It doesn't work; you spend the rest of the day feeling like a zombie, laying on the plush mattress of your bed and not moving. The goosefeather pillows are so comfortable it has the opposite effect you desire, only reminding you more that you’re in the Capitol.

You only know it's become nighttime when Finnick comes in because the sun of midday and sunset have both passed, fading into a deep twilight that remains. All you want to do is sleep, wash away this horrid day with a good night’s rest, but you can't. You remain paralyzed on your bed, studying the intricate carvings of your ceiling, counting how many little birds there were in a row.

“Glad to see you're alive,” Finnick’s voice is grounding and familiar, but also a reminder of what has happened the past two days. Of who you’ve lost and how you lost them.

“Barely,” you groan without lifting your head to look at him, a numbness overtaking your body as you're brought back to reality.

“I told you it'll get easier,” he said, “the first ones are always the hardest.”

The bed dips and you can feel Finnick’s body heat radiating off of him, but you don't move, don’t. even turn your head to look at him.

“I know,” you sigh, defeated. “It just kills me that I can't do anything about this.”

There's a long moment before he responds, “I know. I hate feeling powerless, too.”

It's nice to lay with him, have him articulate every emotion you're feeling without even having to tell him anything at all. It's comforting.

You’re not sure how much time passes before you hear Finnick rustling around, and ignore it until he's tugging on your wrist. “I have an idea.”

You hope he's going to whisk you away somewhere so incredibly far from here, but your journey stops at the pillow fort you’d created two days ago. It feels like a memory frozen in time, too painful to look at but too painful to move.

You’re not even sure why you’re doing this, subjecting yourself to feeling your grief so strongly. When the two of you are comfortably settled into the fort, it's as if you're thrust back in time. It feels weird, but not unwelcome. You’re lying flat on your back like you were earlier, beginning to count each thread in the plush blanket.

“I don't even know why I feel like this! I barely knew them — I spoke like, four words to Miller!”

“Because you're human,” he responds almost immediately, rolling over and propping his head up with his hand. “It would be weird if you didn't feel so bad.”

You suppose he's right. Not mourning them at all would make you no better than the Capitol citizens betting on and cheering for tributes.

You’re burning alive. You pound on the door to the oven, begging and screaming to be let out, until your vocal cords are fried. You try to move, but it's such a tight fit you can't help but squirm uncomfortably, feeling restrained.

Let me out, let me out, let me out! You scream into oblivion, but no one hears you. It's just you, the oven, and a pile of burning embers that crackle and pop as they get hotter.

Stop moving, the oven groans, starting to shake you.

Then let me out, you struggle harder against the straightjacket that binds you.

Go back to bed, the oven grumbles again.

Wait — the oven?

You wake with a gasp with sweat dotting your forehead, desperate to inhale gulps of cool air.

What a weird dream, you think sleepily, the stuffiness around you making you feel as if you’re melting.

You remember, then, that you’re sleeping in a pillow fort, which has to be trapping all your body heat within the confines of the blankets and pillows. All you want to do is fling the blanket off you and strip yourself of the pajamas that stick to your skin like wet paper. And move away from this stupid heated pillow. Who even has heated pillows?

With a groan, you move to throw the blanket off you and sit up, only to find your arms trapped against your body. Now you’re a little more awake, blinking the sleep from your eyes as they adjust to the darkness.

“Has anyone ever told you about your sleep habits?” A very familiar, very human voice rumbles against your ear. “Because they suck. You move around so much.”

Oh.

You were not confined to a straight jacket. No, those were arms you had examined carefully when he wasn't looking, studied the smoothness of the tan skin, the muscles rippling underneath when he flexed to tighten his grip around your waist.

His arms circling your waist, tugging you closer.

His voice, causing vibrations in the chest that was currently pressed against your back, repeating the voice of the oven in your dreams.

“Wh— what are you doing,” you whispered, relieved your voice was working but hating how unsure you sounded.

“Dunno… kinda just woke up like this,” he yawned, not moving. “Think this means I’m irresistible even in my sleep.”

It's nice, but weird. His voice is heavy with sleep, making it sound deeper and rougher than it normally is. That, combined with the way his arms, corded with muscle, don't leave your waist, and the firmness of his chest… it makes your heart beat at an astronomical pace, your breath quickens, your knees weak.

“You’re trembling.” He's propped up on his elbow again, his fingers drawing small circles up and down your arms in a motion that's meant to be soothing, but it just makes you want to squirm.

Every fiber of your being is vibrating, all the emotions of the past week finally catching up with you in this very moment.

You’re not sure when the energy shifted, but it's gone from something warm and compassionate to something far more serious.

He loosens his grip enough for you to roll over onto your back, the breath catching in your throat at the intensity in his gaze. Yet again you’re reminded of the ocean, letting those sea green eyes with flecks of blue swallow you whole.

When you speak, your voice is shaking like the rest of your body, your words muffled with unspilled tears. “I’m so tired of being lonely, Finnick.”

“Then don't be.” Without hesitation, his lips dip down to meet yours, and it feels like you've jumped head first into a frozen lake, then dipped into molten lava the way you're both shivering and on fire at the exact same time.

They're warm and soft and they feel like the home you've been craving, and it’s crazy you could ever think otherwise. His hand reached up to cup your face and glide a thumb over your cheekbone, the rest of his fingers tangling their way into the hairs at the nape of your neck.

As he pulls you impossibly closer, the kiss deepens and you can finally taste him. It’s so new it just makes you hungrier, like you’ve been starving your whole life until now.

It makes you feel alive again.

You whine as he separates from you, then quickly change your tune as his mouth reattaches further down. The sensation of his cool teeth scraping against the delicate skin of your neck, followed by the warmth of his tongue elicits a moan which he quickly swallows with another kiss.

You want him more than anything you’ve wanted in your entire life, you're sure of it.

Still connected, your hands trail down the exquisite planes of his chest to the ridges of his abs, marveling at the hard muscle and how they flex instinctively with each touch.

He's just as touchy, mesmerized by the softness of your skin as his hand slips under your shirt and inches its way up to the underside of your breath, stopping immediately when you let out a soft gasp.

He whispers your name, coaxing the two of you apart just long enough for him to look at you. Really look at you — not just as an enemy, or a fellow mentor, or even a friend. He stares at you like you're the only other person on the planet, the only one that ever mattered.

The intensity of these emotions startle you and you instinctively draw back, because how can you feel so strongly for someone you’ve known for so little time?

“Are you okay?” He asks immediately, his hands leaving your body and leaving you not only cold, but wanting more.

You nod earnestly, “I just got overwhelmed for a second— I’m good. You don't have to coddle me.”

He shakes his head. “I'm not coddling— I’m just making sure this is something you want to do.”

You remember then, the conversation you’d had with him about Eulalia’s death.

And I was fourteen when it started, but they lied about that too.

Suddenly you feel ill— no, selfish. Your hand immediately retracts from its place by his torso. “I’m so sorry, I should've asked— I didn't even think—”

He cuts you off with a kiss, a sweet and gentle thing that eddies all worries from your mind. You doubt he's ever kissed anyone with such tenderness before, especially since he's said his only encounters have been with Capitol citizens. “It's okay,” is all he says.

This time it's you who surges forward and closes the gap, desperate to make up for the lost seconds you'd spent talking.

If you were going slowly and sweetly before, pulled back by hesitation, it's all gone now. Finnick’s fingers unfurl from the back of your neck and trail down to your hips, pulling them flush to his own. You felt his desire for you then and there, evident through the thin material of his pajama pants, and suppressed a shudder.

He continues grasping at your hips until he finally rolls flat on his back with you on top of him, head bumping against the blanket roof of the pillow fort.

One slow rock of your body against his and you know it's all over. “Please—” you beg, your earlier conversation still on your mind though you were desperate not to let it ruin the mood. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

His fingers gripped your hips even tighter, staring at you like you were ethereal. “I don't think I’d ever ask you to do that,” he admits, which only makes you blush harder, on top of the heat you were originally feeling. You kiss him again, desperate for the feel of his lips on your own.

Your hips rolled more forcefully this time, earning a moan from Finnick’s lips that barely escaped past your own. He broke the kiss for a moment, only to tug impatiently at the thin shirt that did little to cover your hardened nipples, which had grown sensitive to the slightest touch. Once the shirt was off and he was in full view of your newly bared skin, he reattached your lips immediately, then broke the kiss yet again to stare. He shifted you easily so that he was more in a sitting position with you on his lap, his back pressed against the bottom of the sofa behind you.

You felt slightly embarrassed at this and the way his sea green eyes roamed your skin, devouring every inch that he came into contact with.

It seemed like he was completely in tune with your mind, always knowing what you were thinking without you saying anything. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered, swallowing hard before bringing his hands up to your chest. They were large, warm and a welcome contact against your breasts, which were aching for something. You arched your back towards him, desperate for more, more, more, and let out a sigh of pleasure as he kneaded them between his hands before bringing his mouth to your chest.

He trailed open mouthed kisses around the swells of your breasts, teasing you as his tongue before taking one nipple into his mouth.

You don't think you can wait honestly. You're certain you’re a wet mess beneath the silk of your pajama shorts, so desperate to feel him you want to skip everything else.

Finnick seems to be keen on taking his time though. When his hands leave your breasts and trail down to the waistband of your shorts, you stop him, shaking your head ever so slightly.

“No,” you remove his hands and urge him to lie flat on his back, wetting your lips in anticipation. “I want to say sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?” he looks at you through half lidded eyes. When you plant a kiss on his collarbone and suck a hickey onto the hard planes of his chest, his eyes immediately widen as he lets out a groan. You can feel his heartbeat increase rapidly as your kisses descend downward, taking your time to kiss every freckle, every scar, everything imperfect that makes him so much more real.

One hand tangles itself in your hair when you reach his waistband and palm him over his pants, while the other fists the blanket next to him as he tries to regulate his breathing.

He can't help it though, as his hips buck involuntarily at your touch. You know it's just his body’s reaction but it makes you feel desired; something you haven't felt in a long, long time.

Your fingers hook into the waistband of his pajama pants and boxers, a little nervous at the sight that awaits you. It's long and thick and already glistening with precum, twitching as you wrap a hand around his cock and truly feel him for the first time.

“You don't—” his eyes flutter shut, like doing anything but moaning requires great effort “—have to apologize for anything.”

“Finnick,” you laugh a little. “I want to.”

He seems to like this answer, his head falling back on the pillow behind him as you flatten your tongue and run it along the underside of his cock.

He’s so obviously into you there’s no time for any insecurities to cross your mind. It's given you a new state of confidence as you take the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around and lapping up the bead of precum that had gathered. Finnick’s hip twitch, like he's fighting the urge to thrust up into your mouth.

You don't want him to hold back, not even in the slightest. You want to see him completely unraveled at your touch, which is why you squeeze his hip and look up at him through your lashes.

“Fuck,” he gets out through gritted teeth, the hand in your hair tightening its hold as you begin to move, bobbing your head in a steady rhythm, determined to take him deeper with each one.

“You're so— I—” he can't even muster a full sentence as you moan around him, sending vibrations down. It's addictive, having so much power over him while also wanting so desperately to please him.

His hand that's in your hair pulls you back from his cock.

You begin a protest, “I wasn't done—”

“I need to feel you,” he chokes out, fingers still locked in your hair as he brings your head towards him. Your lips crash together in a perfectly synchronized move as he sits up, flipping you over so that your back is now the one pressed against the blanketed floor.

Despite his eyes being so wild with desire, Finnick is so, so gentle as he connects your lips together once again, this kiss being so much more searing than any of the ones you've had before.

He wants you, so bad he thinks he might die if he doesn't get you. But when he looks down at you, eyes wide and wanting, he knows there's no need to rush, because he has you. All of you.

His hands fumble with your shorts before he pulls them down your hips, tossing them to the side before returning his full attention to you. His hands tease you as they pry your legs apart, trailing slowly up your legs and rubbing small circles along your inner thigh.

“Stop— teasing—” you squirm, desperate for something, anything he could give you.

“Patience is a virtue, you know,” he grins, his hands sneaking up further and further until they've just barely brushed your clit, but it's enough to have you whining again.

“Finni—” he cuts his name off with a kiss, this one just as sweet as the rest of them. At the same time, he connects fully to your clit, rubbing slow, tantalizing circles that have your hips bucking for more.

He takes this as an invitation to sink one long finger into you, enjoying how your back arched as you chased his touch. After more slow, easygoing pumping he added another finger.

“That's it,” he coos, his eyes never leaving yours.

You realize at this point neither of you have been very chatty — but that's probably because you prefer to have your lips connected, not spilling out ramblings.

“Please, Finnick— I can't wait any longer, I—” You let out a moan as he adds a third finger, and you can feel the familiar tingling sensation begin to take over.

“You can do it,” he coaxes, “Just a second."

You try, you really do— but when he curls his fingers inside you and presses his thumb to your clit the coil unravels and you're gripping his shoulders, crying out his name as your fingers rake through the soft bronze waves of his hair and tug on them ever so slightly.

You inhale and exhale quickly, trying to regain your composure. He's looking at you with a self satisfied smile, but you're not satiated. You want him, all of him, and you tell him so.

This time he obliges.

He leans in and kisses you once more, tongue sliding past your lips, and you can feel his cock pressed against you. He's hesitating again, half wanting to make sure you're okay, half trying to reassure himself it's not a dream. It's real, he's about to be inside you, and you're practically begging for it.

In an act of finality you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer until in one thrust, he's done it.

It stings, and you gasp, only because it's been a while and his size takes some getting used to. His fingers grip your thighs as gently as he can muster, his lips never leaving yours.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Finnick groans, burying his face in your neck and peppering kisses along your collarbone.

His pace is slow and steady at first. As it becomes more comfortable, his pace becomes more relentless, his hips snapping against yours as he fucked you with deep, powerful strokes that leave you breathless, sending scratches down his back and marring his otherwise perfect skin.

His thrusts increase in both force and in pace as you feel every inch of him filling you.

You're overwhelmed with pleasure, unable to say anything and resorting to just squeezing his shoulders and digging your nails into them.

His lips find yours for the millionth time, and it's then you can feel that all too familiar pressure building.

“That's it, sweetheart,” he panted between kisses. “You’re so perfect — squeezing my cock so good.”

You can't muster a response as the overwhelming pleasure of your second orgasm overtakes you, not even noticing Finnick continuing his pace to chase his own release.

You feel him as he collapses on top of you, pressing a soft kiss to your neck before he rolls off you. You're empty and cold for a moment before his arms wrap around you. Their weight is a welcome presence. It makes you feel protected. Safe.

He falls asleep before you do, and in the pale morning light, not only is Finnick’s face relaxed, it's truly weightless. His arms don't move from your torso, even in sleep. His eyebrows occasionally twitch in response to whatever dream he's having, but overall he looks so peaceful. So much younger, too, without the frown or seductive smile he normally wore.

It's then that you decide you’re no longer as lonely as you thought, because you need to study him for the rest of your life.

You’ve never been inside the President’s Mansion. It’s even more intimidating than the grounds that surround it. The walls are tall and imposing, making the rooms feel empty and chilled and making you feel tiny and insignificant.

They’re decorated with wood paneling, hand carved with so many details it makes you dizzy trying to look at them all. Plush rugs just as ornate as the walls cover the dark wood of the floors, making your steps — and anyone else’s — near silent.

“Your home is beautiful,” you breathe out to the man in front of you. He doesn’t look that intimidating, but you are on the verge of screaming in terror if he doesn’t say something soon.

“Thank you, my dear. It’s a shame you haven’t gotten the chance to visit before now.” President Snow motions for you to take a seat in front of his desk instead of continuing to stand there awkwardly.

You fumble your way into the chair, and you hope he can’t hear your heart threatening to leap out of your chest and explode all over his beautiful carved oak desk.

“Have I done something wrong? Like— am I in trouble?” You force out the question that’s been eating you alive.

He smiles, the corners of his mouth pushing into his puffy cheeks. “How did you find mentoring with Finnick Odair to be?”

The way his smile doesn’t reach his eyes terrifies you, but not more than the fact that he hasn’t answered your question. The way his eyes, beady and cold, are staring at you expectantly suggests he knows everything that happened in the tribute apartment. Everything.

“Oh— it… it was fine.” Your nails are now digging into your palms, probably strong enough to draw blood.

“I’ve heard you and Finnick Odair have come to a newfound… friendship.”

Your blood runs cold, confirming every anxious thought you’ve had since stepping foot into this place. “We…”

He raises a hand to stop you, like he’s not interested in any excuses. “I’m sure he told you how he helps the Capitol,” he began, and you feel sick. Help was a poor excuse of a word to describe what Snow did to Finnick. “And I’m sure you know why you haven’t been asked to help as well.”

Because everyone who loves me is six feet under, you think. All except— no. He wouldn't.

“Well I’m telling you, that changes now. If you have any reservations about this, I encourage you to think of your new friend.”

There’s no way he would harm Finnick to keep you in line, he’s so much more valuable than you are. Surely he’s bluffing, and you want to say that, when he continues.

“If you’re willing to risk his life to see if I’m bluffing, there’s nothing stopping you. I would just encourage you to think hard.”

Panic is rising in your chest, threatening to force sobs out your throat as you nod. “Can I go now?”

He nods, and you try not to sprint out of his office.

Finnick, on the other hand, doesn’t need a meeting with President Snow to be reminded his newfound fondness for you has its consequences.

Once Mags had passed, he was supposed to be free. Now, he’s only extended his sentence to life.

[nanaslutt]

so i just read like… ALL your gojo stuff.

now imagine… gojo not being able to hold back and wanting to breed you after you both try those aphrodisiac chocolates… ahem…

i am absolutely terrified of getting pregnant yet have the words most insufferable breeding kink, we exist

Contains: fem reader, aphrodisiacs, masturbation, no prep, spanking, rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, SOOO much dirty talk, praise, so much cum.., whiped!gojo, established relationship

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

Gojo was talking soooo much shit when you sent him a link to some aphrodisiac chocolates you saw online. He would not stop dismissing that they didn’t actually work; saying none of that shit that advertised any kind of enhancement in sexual arousal ever did.

So of course you had to order the chocolates and really test it for yourselves, making a challenge out of it.

If the chocolates truly had an effect, gojo would do whatever you wanted, and if they didn’t? vice versa. Gojo was game, of course; because he didn’t think anything would happen.

“Bleh- they taste like shit too,” Satoru grimaced, chasing the horrible flavor with a strawberry soda.

“That’s probably because there’s something in them satoru…like the aphrodisiac…,” you shook you head, swallowing the bitter chocolate.

“Orrrr; crazy thought; it’s just some cheap chocolate marketed as aphrodisiacs to make a ton of money off of people like us.” he drawled, throwing his hands up in the air and waving them around when he spoke.

“I really thought you out of all people would find this kind of thing fun satoru.” you said, trying to push his buttons a bit.

“We’ll of course, chocolate and sex? I’m all over that,” he said making you laugh, “but me and suguru tried something like this for fun back in our student days, it was some kind of pill though,” his face twisted in discomfort as he spoke, “just ended up making us super sick tho, yaga got pissed, heh” he laughed, remembering the memory.

“Knowing you two it was probably some cheap boner pill you got in a sketchy bag at the convenience store.. so that might explain it.” you snorted,

He rubbed his big hand over the back of his neck, “yeah, there was like 5 other pills in the bag with it now that I think about it..” he said quietly, making you hunch over in a laugh.

The two of you went about your evening like normal, watching some comedy movie that was on and cuddling together on the sofa. When it ended you went off to change into something more comfortable as you started off to finished the laundry.

You haven’t felt anything extremely out of the ordinary yet; remembering that the package said it might take long for women to feel the affects; but gojo on the other hand was feeling mildly uncomfortable.

His face and neck were feeling warm, throughout the entire movie his big hand was placed on your upper thigh, like always. What was unusual though, was how his skin tingled when he placed it on yours, palms sweating more than usual; he just chalked it up to all the junk he had been eating throughout the day, probably upsetting his body.

When you moved back into the kitchen and started on the dishes the two of you had created in the sink, Gojo couldn’t help but hyper focus on the fat off your ass peeking out of your night shorts.

The way you moved your hips as some r&b music played quietly from the tv. He watched your muscles and tendons move together when you twisted your body around, watching your ankles cross; one behind the other; getting comfortable from where you stood.

Satoru was feeling hot all over now, a large hand coming down to grope himself over his pants when you bent over to put the dishes into the washer, poking out your clothed mound towards him, the fabric of your shorts squeezing your curves just right.

His jaw dropped slightly, breathing heavier as he got off on watching you do such a mundane task like the dishes.

You inserted the pod into the dishwasher, completely oblivious to satoru’s shenanigans as you stood up straight. You noticed when washing your hands that you were starting to feel a warmth washing over your body, and a sort of warm coil tightening in your tummy.

The lightbulb went off in your head when you realized it was probably the work of the chocolates. You quickly shut off the water, towel is hand as you whipped your head behind you to tell gojo what was happening to you; and to inform him that you were going to win this challenge.

Your motions were stopped short as you bumped straight into gojos chest, “Oh! Didn’t realize you were-“ Your words getting cut off when gojo grabbed the bottom of your face, bringing your lips to his, and kissing you hungrily.

Gojo used his other had to slide his arm around your body, pressing you hard into him, letting you feel his erection against your tummy.

He pushed his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your words that tried to excape, “Sa-mm- Satoru-“ you got out between kisses. Gojo shoved his knee between your legs, putting delicious pressure on your cunt as he kissed you like it was his last day on earth.

You had to grip his hair and pull his face off of you to speak, this didn’t really phase him as he targeted your neck instead, biting and sucking on the skin there, “Fuck- s-satoru slow down-“ you moaned when he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot.

“Cant, need you-“ he spoke in between his rushed love bites on your neck, moving his big hands to hold your hips as he made you rock your cunt back and forth along this thigh.

Your head was spinning a mild a minute, still trying to wrap your head around the current situation. You expected this to happen; being on the side of ‘pro aphrodisiacs and all; you just didn’t expect it to happen so soon, and for it to have such a strong effect on someone like Satoru.

“S-shit- those chocolates have you m-more worked up than me,” you tried to laugh, voice cut short by a moan when his knee nudged your clit at a particularly mouthwatering angle.

“Need to be inside you,” he ignored you, groaning against your pulse point, hot breath tickling your neck when he spoke.

Gojo was breathing so heavily, his cock feeling like it was about to rip a hole in his pants at how hard he was. “Take em off, now-“ he whimpered, referring to your bottoms as he started pulling them down your legs, panties following suit.

You helped him, gripping his hair and keeping his lips pressed against your neck while you kicked off your shorts off from around your ankles . His hands dropped down to remove his own sweats, too impatient to fully take them off as he pulled them down just enough for his cock to spring out, jerking himself off with one hand rapidly between you; hand holding your hip with his other.

“Let me put it in, please, need to be inside you now-“ he groaned, finally pulling back from your neck; and he looked absolutely wrecked.

This whole situation was giving you whiplash, but you felt bad for him. Satoru’s hands were shaking, face flushed completely crimson, and he was sweating and panting like he just ran a marathon.

He continued stroking his cock, eyes flirting between your pussy and your pretty lips while he waited for them to move, voicing your consent.

His cock was dripping so much pre it looked like he already came. Hard cock still dripping steadily onto his hand and fingers, making his strokes emit loud ‘plp’ sounds into the air.

“Yes, please, give it to me toru,” you spoke, making him let out a moan of satisfaction. You wrapped your arms around his neck when he lifted you suddenly, burring your hands in his hair and face in his neck as he slid his dick into you with zero prep, all at once.

You were greatful the aphrodisiac was in affect, making you so much wetter than normal, and in turn, making the stretch a whole less painful then it would’ve been without it.

You whined at how his massive clock split you in half effortlessly, “Sorry baby- m’ sorry-“ he apologized with a groan against your bruised neck; whatever consciousness he still had left being aware that that might’ve hurt you.

“Shit it’s o-okay toru, just give it to me- fuck-“ You tipped your head back, jaw dropping and releasing a loud whine, giving him more access to mark up your neck while he fucked into you like a mad man; legs dangling over his arms as he held you in his strong grasp, hoisting you up and down on his cock like you weighed nothing to him.

“Holy fuckkk” he whined, vibrations going through your skin, “Need to fill you up, need to fuck you full of my cum s-shit-“ Gojo was working himself up with his words, already on the brink of his orgasm only a couple thrusts in.

He was truly using you like a cocksleve as he fucked into you at an inhumane pace, heavy balls slapping against your ass, strings of your combined wetness connecting to your ass each time he thrusted inside.

He sucked harder against your skin as he felt his first high rapidly approach him. His eyes repeatedly rolling back in his skull at the rhythmic pulsing of your pussy around him.

“Shitshitshit- gonna c-cum, need you to take it all f’me” his deep voice reverberated through you, all you could do is cry and moan our strings of his name and “yesyesyes” while he fucked his first load of the night into you.

“T-take it f-fucking take it yessss” Gojo felt like he was on cloud nine, he had never felt anything like this before. Of course he loved cumming inside you when you had sex but this was different. Every neuron in his brain was telling him to fuck load after load into you; to get you pregnant.

Gojo didn’t actually want kids right now, and you were on the pill so the possibility of him actually knocking you up was low- but not if his aphrodisiac brain had anything to say about it; he would make sure to fucking try.

Ignoring the overstimulation he felt as he humped his cum into you with heavy thrusts, quickly picking up his speed again when he finished spurting the warm ropes of cum into you, making you squeal at his quick recovery.

“Pussy feels so fucking good, so fucking wet sh-itttt” he groaned, dick twitching and abs clenching as he fucked himself through the aftershocks of his orgasm, sending him straight twords another one.

“T-toru o-oh my god-“ you wimpered, body flopping around limply at the intense pleasure. His cock was drilling straight into your sweet spot and making you dizzy. You tried not to pass out as he manhandled your body, gripping you roughly and marking up your skin everywhere his insatiable lips could reach.

“Gonna knock you up baby- g-gunna give you my babies- get you fucking pregnant, yeah? you want that?” you cut off his filthy mouth by using the grip you had on his head to press his mouth against yours.

“Yesyesyes, give me your babies toru- gonna make you a daddy-“ he groaned into your mouth at your mutual need for him to fill you up.

Gojo felt drunk hearing the nickname bounce around inside his head. Gojo never thought he had a daddy kink, but in this scenario? The nickname had him feeling like he was about to come again already.

By this point, the aphrodisiac was affecting you just as much as it was him, everywhere his body touched yours felt like your skin was on fire. You tried not to lose your sanity as he was pushing your towards your first orgasm without so much as even grazing your clit.

He set you down on the ground and in one swift movement spun you around so you were facing the counter. Satoru used his massive had to grab hold of his cock, slipping it back into your drenched walls.

You both groaned in unison at the sensation. Gojo gave you both a couple seconds to relish in the feeling, pressing his balls hard against your ass before he picked up his same ruthless pace as before.

“Good fucking girl- gonna look so fucking pretty with ur belly all round with my baby shiiit” he groaned when he felt your cunt clench around him at the idea.

He brought his massive palm down feeling your cunt squeeze him, leaving a heavy spank against your ass and gripping the fat between his fingers.

“Pussy tryna fuckin’ milk me down here” he laughed, biting his lip when he watched your hand come down to rub your clit in quick circles, “Yeaahhh fucking touch your pussy for me baby, make urself cum all over my dick while i fill you up.” he instructed, clenching his jaw.

“Shit- g-give it to me daddy- cum inside me-” you mindlessly babbled, there you go again with that fucking nickname that had his balls tightening.

You feet the coil wind itself up quicker than normal at your enhanced sexual arousal from the chocolate and the now added stimulation of touching your neglected clit.

“Come with me baby, gotta feel you cum around me- please” he begged, leaving another loud slap against your ass before pulling you back on his dick roughly by your hips.

“S -shit it’s coming it’s coming i’m- fuckfuck- ngghhh” your warned, voice cutting out as you started to come around his girth while he fucked you through it.

“yeeeeeess baby- fuuuuck- milk my fucking cock fuck-“ he watched intently as your little hole clenched around him, his first load spurting out around his cock with the pressure of your orgasm, making the white ring around the base of his dick get even messier.

“I’m coming again baby- take it for me- need you to take it all, gotta make sure it t-takes” he whined, getting you pregnant still on the forfront of his brain.

Your legs would’ve collapsed on the floor if he wasn’t holding up a majority of your weight by your hips. Your nails slid against the marble as his cock rammed against your cervix, making you dizzy, broken moans getting forced out of your mouth at the feeling of getting repeatedly impaled on his cock.

You tried to gain a little bit of brainpower back to help gojo through his orgasm just like he did for you, “y-e-sss toru’ cum inside me please- i’ll take it all- be a good girl for you-“ your voice squeaked out, words getting louder at the end with how rough his thrusts were,

He leaned over your back, pressing his sweaty chest onto you while he wrapped you in a tight bear hug, not ceasing his ruthless hips, “Need you t-to kiss me baby- go-nna be instense” he whimpered against your shoulder, waiting for you to turn your head twords him to give him access to your mouth.

When you did he wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours. The two of you swallowed each others moans as his pitch got higher and higher; his tight grip was sure to leave dark bruises on your body as he held onto you for dear life at his impending orgasm.

When the coil finally snapped, he shook violently against you, hips stilling against your ass, pressing his hips as deep as he could into you while hot ropes of cum filled you up even more than his last load, making more cum spill out around him at how full you already were.

His breath was hitching into your mouth, lips doing their best to kiss you back as his jaw kept falling open as the waves of his high washed over him.

He whined and dropped his head against your shoulder when he started to come down. Gojo panted heavily against your skin, twitching in the aftershocks of his high.

“D-don’t move please” he requested, fucking his softening cock into you a couple more times to make sure his cum was as deep inside you as it could go.

“Fuck toru- feel so full right now..” you wined into the marble, wincing in overstimulation at his final few weak thrusts.

After a couple seconds he finally pulled out his cock, gulping hard as he watched his cum start to dribble out of you; making you whine at the slightly uncomfortable feeling.

He used a couple fingers to spread your pussy lips; admiring his work for a second before he used to fingers to scoop his cum back up, stuffing his thick digits back inside of you, “Gotta get that plug of yours to keep it all in,” he said, biting his lip at how soft you felt around his fingers.

“Or you could let me cockwarm you,” you giggled, turning your head back to look at him while he looked enthralled with your cunt.

“God I love you, smartest fucking girl I know.” he praised.

You fell into a fit of giggles when he scooped you up in his arms, peppering kisses onto your face while he headed twords your shared bedroom.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist while he walked, keeping them snug even when he dropped the two of you on the mattress together. Gojo’s large frame laying on top of you as he reached his hand down between you to slide his semi-hard cock back into your oversensitive walls, making you hiss at the feeling, “Sorry baby- almost in,” he promised, kissing your cheeks while he fully bottomed out.

He rolled his eyes at how warm and soft you felt around his dick, sucking soft hickeys into the crook of your neck while you pet his damp hair.

“I’ll clean you up in a second my love, promise, you just feel too good right now.” he let out a short laugh against you.

“‘S okay toru, makes me feel good too.” you tipped your head forward and pressed kisses onto the top of his scalp.

“We gotta be careful with those chocolates,” he laughed, “Might acctually knock you up one day if we keep eatin those,”

“That doesn’t sound half bad,” you confessed, squeezing your legs harder around his hips.

“Dangerous words to say right now pretty girl,” he warned, smirking into your skin,

“Oh right, guess you won the bet,” he remembered, “Whacha want ur big strong boyfriend to do for you?” he asked teasingly,

“Cum inside me again, right now,” you requested after a beat, emphasizing your need by squeezing your pussy walls around him, making him inhale a sharp breath between his teeth.

“Fuck… you serious?” he smirked, lifting his head to look at you.

“Don’t keep me waiting, give me my prize toru,” you pouted your bottom lip at him, making his brain short circuit as he felt his cock twitch back to life.

You ended up taking a plan B the next morning… just in case…

[clara-a7]

On Set | Nicholas Alexander Chavez

Pairing: Nicholas Alexander Chavez x Reader

Requested? No~ (I accept requests!)

Word Count: 969

A/N: Sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language, not my best writing...~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was a special day for you, visiting your boyfriend on set for the first time. You’d heard all about his role, the long hours, and the excitement of filming, but now you were seeing it up close. The energy in the room was electric as the crew prepped for the scene, and you couldn’t wait to watch him step into character, bringing his hard work to life.

After you sign in at the security desk, a production assistant leads you to the soundstage where they’re filming. The place is buzzing with activity, people rushing around with equipment, makeup artists adding final touches, and the director deep in conversation with the actors. And then, you see Nicholas, standing by his trailer, going over his lines.

He smiles the moment he spots you, striding over with his usual easy confidence. “Hey, you made it,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his hand resting on your waist just a moment longer than necessary.

“You sure you’re warm enough?” you tease, your voice playful despite the quickening beat of your heart at the sight of him wearing only a boxer.

“Not at all,” he laughs softly, though there’s a mischievous spark in his eyes. “But you might be the one shivering once you see this next scene.”

Your eyebrow lifts, curiosity piqued. “Oh? What kind of scene?”

Before he can answer, a voice calls out, “Nicholas, we’re ready for you!” The director is motioning him to the set. Nicholas gives you one last grin before heading toward the scene. You follow, curiosity piqued.

The decor is designed to resemble a luxurious bathroom from the 80s, with a little steam in the air, giving the illusion of warmth. Nicholas steps into the shower, already in character. You can’t help but stare as he begins to act the scene.

The water splashes over his skin, droplets clinging to his toned muscles, his abs glistening as he runs his hands through his wet hair. He reaches for a towel, wrapping it loosely around his waist. The camera pans up, but your eyes can’t help but follow the way the towel clings to his hips, barely covering him. His every movement is slow, sensual, deliberate. You feel a flutter in your stomach as you watch, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the fake steam filling the set.

The scene ends, and the director calls for a break. Nicholas walks over to you, still dripping wet, his towel slung dangerously low. He’s smirking now, knowing full well the effect he’s having on you.

“Enjoy the view?” he asks, his voice low and teasing.

You swallow, trying to play it cool. “No…. I didn't.”

He chuckles, stepping closer until you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. “I saw the way you were looking at me,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “You’re not so good at hiding it.”

Before you can respond, his hand slips to your waist, pulling you into a corner just out of view from the team. His lips brush your ear. “Do you know how hard it is to focus on work when I know you’re watching?”

Your breath hitches, the air between you electric. He’s still so close, the scent of soap and skin filling your senses. You can feel the tension growing, a mix of excitement and desire swirling inside you.

“You’re not supposed to be thinking about me,” you whisper, but the way your voice wavers betrays your thoughts.

“I can’t help it,” he says, pressing a soft kiss just below your jaw. “Especially when I know how much you like watching me.”

His hand slides down your back, pulling you against him, the wet towel barely separating your bodies. You bite your lip, trying to suppress the rush of heat that pulses through you. You should stop, remind him you’re on set, but the way his body feels against yours makes your thoughts blur.

“Nicholas,” you start, but he cuts you off with a slow, teasing kiss. His lips are soft but insistent, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you closer. His towel slips a little lower, exposing more of his skin, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

Your body reacts instinctively, pressing against him. He groans quietly, the sound vibrating in his chest as your hand trails down his slick, wet torso. Your fingers graze the edge of the towel, tugging at it just slightly as his lips claim yours in a deeper kiss, more demanding this time. His hands slide lower, gripping your hips as his mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“Nicholas, we’re on set,” you murmur breathlessly, but you don’t pull away. Instead, your hands find their way to his waist, fingers trailing along the damp towel.

“I know,” he replies, his lips brushing against your ear. “That’s what makes it so exciting, isn’t it?”

Before you can respond, his hand slips lower, gripping your thigh and pulling you closer. His lips capture yours again, more urgent now, and you can feel the heat of his skin, the firm press of his body against yours. Your pulse quickens, your body aching for more, but the sound of footsteps approaching makes you freeze.

Just as things begin to heat up, you hear a voice call out, “Nicholas, we’re back in ten!”

You both pull away quickly, hearts pounding, the thrill of almost getting caught making you both laugh breathlessly. Nicholas smirks, running a hand through his wet hair.

“We’ll finish this later,” he promises, winking as he walks back to set, leaving you flushed and breathless.

You watch him go, a grin tugging at your lips.

Visiting him on set definitely has its perks.

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!Pictures is not mine. Found on Tumblr. Full credit to the owner! 

[cinnamoncianna]

In:

Piano

Morning walks at 5 am

Minimalist but effective skincare

Diverse diet of books

Exercise but like actually

Meal prep (I need to learn how to cook basically)

Green tea

Book club

Volunteering clubs

Older friends!!

Focusing on friends who actually want to be there for me

Putting myself out there — more leadership roles, more situations that build character even if I suck at first

Medium long hair

Experimenting more w eyeliner

Experimenting more w fashion

Keeping promises to myself

Being more consistent w friends & family who make me feel safe

No phone until noon

Taking photos

Fresh/no makeup but experimental looks every now and then