✯

You had quite honestly forgotten about the brewing competition that Slughorn introduced a few years ago. You hadn't participated up until fourth year, when you understood that this could earn you something advantageous in the future. Although, it seemed he had only introduced such a challenge to prove to his fellow professors that he had competent, skilled students who could brew a decent potion most of the time. Despite what you assumed and claimed about his slight insecurity, he allowed any student to take part in it, whether it was a failing seventh year desperate to repair their grade or a second year who wasn't quite sure what Dittany did if added to a potion.

The prize usually consisted of a small vial of some potion such as Felix Felicis or a Girding Potion, and possibly a slightly larger vial of Blemish Blitzer for acne-prone fourth years.

None of these prizes necessarily came in handy for you, you hadn't used potions very much. The one that you had won in fifth year earned you a Pepperup Potion that now sits in the bottom of your chest collecting dust.

You'd beaten your competitor by a sliver of perfection, as Slughorn claimed. He had chosen your Veritaserum over Tom Riddle's notorious Invigoration Draught that he had practically perfected over the last few years.

His conclusion—as he put it—was that your brew appeared prettier, despite being an ugly, bitter yellow versus the unwavering, glassy look of his potion.

While you often considered your predicament as friendly competition, you began improving your brewing skills in second year, spending more time in the Potions room that you would've liked to admit. You studied ingredients and combinations for hours, hunching yourself over thick books lost to the library.

It wasn't your whole aim, but you were attempting to prove to professors that Riddle was in-fact not a childhood prodigy, but instead a highly accelerated learner. Anyone—if attempting hard enough—could be just as superb as he was.

You'd practically go to war with Riddle in everything you attempted if it meant that you could claim the title as victor. You were playing a one-sided game, though, he wasn't visibly bothered by your name above his. Deep down it had to irritate him just for a fleeting moment.

"I think..." You began, then trailed off. You were unsure of what you were going to do, as you had brewed all of your better potions earlier in the year, it would be incredibly difficult to impress Slughorn with a potion you previously concocted to perfection. But, you wanted to do something fun, something with a practical use that most people couldn't brew very easily.

"I'll do Amortentia," you established, eyeing a piece of a chocolate chip cookie that sat on your plate before taking a bite of it.

"Really? Can't find your soulmate yet?" your friend snickered, continuing to cram fork-fulls of pot pie into her mouth.

"Oh, please! I think we both have trouble with that," you laughed, finishing your bite of cookie before fitting another piece into your mouth.

"What does it smell like?" she inquired, looking at you with a smug smile at the corners of her lips as she tapped her fork on her plate.

"You tell me," you giggled, setting your cookie down and resting your hands beneath your chest, leaning against the edge of the table.

"I think it smells like...old books, like an evergreen forest, I guess? Maybe mint, and parchment."

"Merlin, you have that by memory," you laughed, feeling an odd bubble rising in your chest.

The last time you had smelled Amortentia, which had been sometime around fifth year after a horrific spill in the Great Hall, it had smelled like the same thing.

It was definitely peculiar that—out of everyone in Hogwarts—it was the same. It's possible that it could've changed in two years, perhaps Amortentia would be good for you to make, for research purposes, of course.

You knew exactly who it reminded you of—but now was not the time to admit that to yourself.

An awkward silence washed over the table and you cleared your throat as if it would help.

"I mean, I don't really know who it is, but I think it smells nice," your friend continued, shrugging, now spooning chocolate pudding into her mouth.

You nodded, looking off into the distance at the Slytherin table as you thought.

It wouldn't be the end of the world to have him in your Amortentia, since it truly only reflected what you desired. It didn't tell you your soulmate, though it would bother you just a teensy tiny bit.

You sighed, picking up your canvas bag from the bench beside you, adjusting your skirt over your thighs.

"I'm going to head up by Slughorn to confirm my potion, I'll see you tomorrow," you smiled, giving a small wave to your friend. She returned a mildly confused raise of her eyebrow, but waved anyway, and you turned on your heel and walked out of the large doors of the Great Hall.

The deadline was approaching quickly and you hadn't realized how little time you had. Procrastinating was not a typical trait of yours, normally completing everything in advance to be sure that it was well done.

Slughorn was often in his office until around ten, doing Merlin knows what. He was usually grading papers when you walked in, but usually you only came in right after dinner for a question on homework or about a specific potion ingredient.

You made your way down to the dungeons, passing at least two couples that were far too young to be snogging on the weathered benches at this time of night.

Sneaking off to snog had never interested you, though you were mildly envious of the genuine couples that weren't wholly devoted to grades like yourself.

You raised your arm and knocked lightly on the heavy wood, cracking the door open slightly before entering.

Slughorn sat at his desk under a dimly lit lamp that illuminated his face in an awful yellow glow, scribbling something on parchment in front of him.

"Hello, Professor!" you chirped from the doorway, walking in to stand in front of his desk as you put on your best smile and cheerful attitude.

You honestly treated him like a fragile grandfather, never dissipating from the excessive grins and obnoxious laughter that made him like you.

His casual smile grew on his face as he looked up over his reading glasses, recognizing your face in the low light.

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "Good to see you, I was just speaking to Tom about the potion competition! I assume that's what you're here for?"

Only now did you realize that Riddle stood at the back counter cutting an ingredient, likely for his potion. His shoulders moved with perfect precision, fingers deftly lifting and dropping as he moved each piece across the cutting board.

Though you could not see his face, you took in his stature, careful not to observe long enough to raise suspicion.

His less prominent features were still visible in the low light of the lantern beside him. His dark hair fell in perfect waves over his head, the back perfectly cut and gelled. He lacked a green hemmed robe, but his shoulders were covered by a gray sweater vest and white button up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, collar slightly bent out of shape. His gray slacks fell to his ankles, black dress shoes obviously freshly shined.

He was so incomparable to where he started seven years ago, a muggle-born learning his way in a magical world. In dilapidated shoes with ripped dress pants that barely reached the top of his ankles, his robes were faded and the seams broke every time he moved.

He had grown into an admittedly handsome man, an incredibly intelligent one at that.

"Hello," he said simply, his back still turned.

"Oh! Well, yes," you replied, turning away in silence from the boy across the room. You didn't respond to his greeting, but you mentally berated yourself for taking time to recognize his appearance.

He was simply a distraction in your competition.

Slughorn nodded happily as he pulled a sheet of parchment from under a pile of lost Potions books. It contained the list of names that were planning to participate in the contest, including their year.

A table of student names and competition potions were laid out in thin columns, and what seemed like a prediction of each student's performance was rated one out of five stars next to their name.

You noticed a girl in fifth year had four stars written next to her name, while a third year boy had half of a star next to his.

As Slughorn filled out your name on the paper, you watched as he scribbled four and a half stars next to your name.

The hastily drawn five stars next to Riddle's name caught your eye.

You had figured it would turn out that way. In Slughorn's eyes, Riddle was always one above you and a thousand above everyone else. His favorite student by far, though you followed in a close, heel-stepping second.

From what you could read upside down, a few students you knew decently well had picked easier potions such as a Wiggenweld potion or the Draught of Peace, but Tom had picked something you should have expected, but wished he hadn't.

Amortentia.

A considerably impressive potion as a last hurrah of his participation, you would declare this as your final competition with him, an end to the game you created for yourself.

Your friend would tell you to write a love letter and get over it, your obsession was far too strong. As she believed.

You cursed under your breath, earning a quizzical look from Slughorn as he questioned what you could possibly be throwing a minimal tantrum over right in front of him.

"Sorry!" you laughed lightly, swatting your hand as if it was nothing to worry about.

Slughorn laughed along with you, oblivious as he was, and took a quill from a cup of all different sorts of feathers, dipping it into the ink beside the cup.

"What potion do you plan on doing?" he asked, his hand hovering over your name slot.

Realistically, you could switch your potion right now and drop it, prove your own worth when finally not compared to him. The desire inside of you for first place burned brighter than your genuine reasoning, though.

Damn it.

You tapped your chin for a moment as if you were contemplating. "I was thinking about doing Amortentia."

You heard something drop at the table in the back where Tom was chopping ingredients.

"Are you alright, Tom?" Slughorn's head shot up to the noise, concern flashing over his face before he sloppily wrote 'Amortentia' next to your name.

You followed suit, twisting your head toward the sound.

He turned around, face neutral and without strain. Eyes alert and lips pursed, he spoke.

"I am alright," he said, lips quirking with a small grin. His declaration was loud and punctual, he was unfazed by your decision.

His lackluster reaction made your blood boil, a determining factor that you had to outshine him.

"I must get going now," you stated, clearing your throat and uncomfortably clutching your bag to your side. "It's getting a bit late."

"See you tomorrow!" Slughorn smiled, waving you off as you said goodbye.

Swiftly walking back to your dormitory, you listened to the clack of your heels echo off the walls, a repetitive and monotonous sound that wouldn't interrupt your thoughts. It fueled them.

Tom Riddle was complex—that you were well aware of—he had enough sides to feed a starving family.

Part of you wondered why success was detrimental to him, why first place determined life or death.

Nothing more than the tightening of his jaw showed his issue with struggle, an unrelenting process that left him exhausted, surely. He was a flawless being with everything to lose, yet a cacophonous creation of frailty.

You knew his ego existed, if anything, it was a visible being. He thrived off of it, fed his innate appetite for success, yet underneath it all, he was a simple muggle-born boy attempting to build a name for himself.

He was a diary hidden at the bottom of a chest fastened by combination locks, but opened as easily as the spine on a well-loved book.

His inconsistent personality drew you in against your will, heightened your need to be better than him. It all connected together in an abysmal medley fed by the nature of academic success that wouldn't let up until one of you forfeited.

He was charming, a handsome boy with a sharp smile, a friendly and poised demeanor about him that welcomed conversation. A force to be reckoned with and a scholarly mouth difficult to work with, he was everything and nothing all at once.

You loathed him and his whole being for making you feel inferior, but he never felt troubled by your presence.

You were a mere fly in his house, a bug he could squash with his finger. You buzzed in his ear until he swatted you to the floor, swept you into the trash and forgot about you.

He was unfazed and prideful, hard to decipher and a swell liar.

You sighed to yourself, shoving open the door to your common room, pushing past straggling students as you made your way to the girl's dormitory.

You opened the door to your room, revealing two of your four roommates awake and painting their nails on one of their beds, the other two nowhere to be seen.

"Hey!" one exclaimed, waving at you with her pinky and ring finger, the others occupied by the black cap of the nail polish.

You gave her an exhausted smile, the girl next to her concentrated on painting her ring finger, tongue poking out of the side of her mouth.

You dropped your bag onto your bed, deflating next to it. You kicked off your shoes and removed your stockings, then stood up to shrug your robe off and toss it over your bed post.

You fell into your bed, rolling to your side and propping your head up on your fist.

"Did you find a potion yet?" Your roommate asked, turning around to dangle her freshly purple painted toes off the side of the bed.

"I told Slughorn I was going to do Amortentia," you responded.

Your roommates were well aware of your excessive conflict with Riddle, but they quite often told you to let it rest or write a love letter, whichever came first.

"Oooh! I definitely want a sniff of that once you're done," she giggled. "What's Tom doing?"

You groaned, looking up into the bed frame above you before looking down to face her again.

"He is also doing Amortentia."

A gasp came from the girl still doing her nails as she whipped her head to face you.

"I know! I went to go tell Slughorn, and he was there. He has this sheet where he wrote everyone's potions down, and Tom must've told him earlier," you exclaimed, huffing in exhaustion. "I didn't even plan on doing the same thing!"

Your giggly roommate laughed—sort of a bark—before speaking. "You'll probably do better anyways, don't worry too much about it."

You smiled at her, the girl beside her nodding in agreement before turning back to her nails.

"It's just frustrating," you whined, thinking back to the earlier moment of what your friend had told you about the scent of her Amortentia.

She wasn't in the same house as you, so what did it matter if you told them about it?

"I was talking to this girl earlier at dinner, you know, the tall, blonde one?" you paused, allowing your roommates to put the pieces together before they both whispered a small 'ohh, her' and nodded.

You continued to tell them about what she had told you, the scent and how you had smelled the same thing the last time you'd encountered Amortentia.

Your roommate paused for a moment and twiddled her thumbs in her lap, nodding her head side to side. "It doesn't necessarily mean that it's the same person," she reasoned, "just very similar."

She leaned back onto her hands, taking a deep breath. "It really only suggests your type, but it's pretty specific," she paused. "So... if I'm being entirely realistic with you, it's probably the same person."

You nodded, biting your lip as you thought.

It shouldn't have mattered to you, yet it did. The thought of it would sit in your conscience and nag at you, yanking at the thinning strings of your sanity until it snapped them.

It won't be him, you pleaded with yourself.

Your involuntary desires clouded your mind and disappointed you—an admittance of your weakness that you tried so desperately to omit.

You stood up abruptly, startling your roommates as you stormed toward the door—you should've settled in for the night.

"Where are you—" One began, the slam of the door cutting off her brief interjection.

You walked briskly out of the dormitory, racing down the stairs and barging into the cool, dark corridor outside of your common room.

It was obviously late—you weren't sure how long you had been gossiping for—but the bodiless hallway proved that you likely shouldn't be out, a Prefect had free reign on you if you were caught.

Deciding you needed more time to think, you began a short journey through the corridors that led you to a random portion of the castle you didn't often travel.

You began to slow, the quick pace of your footsteps distracting you instead of aiding your thoughts. More cautious of your loud breathing and heavy footsteps echoing off the thick walls and high ceilings, you took a moment to lean against the stone and take a breath.

Why did you come out here?

You looked to the side to admire a painting when graceful footsteps sounded down the hall from around the corner.

You cursed under your breath, looking around with panic to find a janitor's closet, a dip in the wall, anything.

You hastily tiptoed down the hallway, flattening yourself against the stone adjacent to a glass case full of plaques and ancient looking Quidditch items.

Holding your breath, you listened to the footsteps approach the nearby intersection of the halls. If they turned right, you could avoid a detention—or they could turn toward you—and you hoped to Godric himself that they wouldn't reach you.

The footsteps were paused for what seemed like ages, the dank air filled with the sound of your shallow breathing and a lantern somewhere in the castle.

Not shortly after you caught your breath, the soft scuffling of dress shoes started down the hallway.

You should have known it would go this way.

Through the glass, you could see a glimpse of meddled deep brown hair. The blur of hundreds of fingerprints made it difficult to see, though you could make out a harsh jawline and a sharp nose.

You wished it was just an eerie lookalike that coincidentally had the same idea as you—but that was wishful thinking.

You resisted the urge to let out an obnoxious groan just to spite him, but it would most likely end in you getting some sort of write-up and tarnish your good reputation with your professors.

"We are going to Hogsmeade tomorrow," the voice echoed, an unwavering, concise sentence.

His forceful voice was shocking in the quiet hallway. You could feel his irritation grow as you didn't respond, the equivalent to the eerie silence of a child before they throw a tantrum.

"I suggest you go to bed," he reprimanded, the velvet of his voice overtaken by the vaguely reminiscent sound of nails on a chalkboard when he commanded you.

"You're not one to order me around," you snapped quietly, crossing your arms over your chest as you stepped out from behind the case.

You craned your neck gently to meet his eyes, though unable to fight the urge to take in his appearance, a quick glance skirting across his body before you stared back up.

You noticed the way his hair had fallen more onto his forehead, espresso colored curls resting just above his eyebrows. He had shed the woolen vest, leaving him in the somewhat see-through fabric of his untucked button-up, though not observable enough to be scandalous. He had fastened a button that was previously neglected, the connection of his collarbones and sternum jutting slightly out of the opening. His slacks were tight around his hips, black leather belt centered—whether or not it held his trousers up—they fell perfectly to his shoes, following the curve of his muscled thighs. His Head Boy pin glistened in the moonlight from the end of the hallway, a reminder of his status above you.

His impeccable manner had disappeared into the dead air, along with your self-control.

While you gazed awkwardly into his eyes, you watched the muscles in his jaw twitch out of your peripheral. A piece of you pleaded with him not to oblige to his orders for once, to let you off the hook just this time.

"I suggest you go to bed," he repeated. You could see the way his teeth grit when he spoke, an odd flash in his eyes had turned them darker—a hint of something you could not quite decipher.

"Must you command me?" you retorted, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Now is not the time to argue," he began, clasping his hands around his back, "your failure to comply will be reported to the Headmaster if you do not return to your dormitory."

A suck-up, you thought harshly, no less than a few words and he's already threatened to report you.

You bit your tongue and turned on your heel, shooting him one last glare as his eyes softened, a knowing smirk growing on his lips.

~ ✯ ~

Not long after your hallway encounter, the competition day had arrived on a cold, snowy day.

You were two weeks into January now, the holiday had passed with so much as a visit to Hogsmeade and cheap chocolates from your acquaintances, but the weeks had passed without words from your rival, a time you were ashamed to admit had bothered you.

You hadn't spoken with Riddle since that night. Despite the harsh manner of your exchange, his glances had remained mostly neutral with the exception of a few sneers when your hand brushed his reaching for a mixing spoon.

As much as you disliked it, you reveled in the darkness of his gazes, critical eyes narrowing into a gaze like a fishing hook that reeled you deep into his trance.

They were equivalent to how a snake views its prey, his pupils seeming to shrink the longer he looked at you. They tore holes into your chest, deep brown irises gazing at you with both pity and dissent. They distracted you, consumed you for a fleeting moment as you attempted to ward off the pink flush you felt rushing through your cheeks, and then he let go.

You needed to focus on your potion, though something was in your mind peeling back the layers of your attention span. You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, and then looking back to the table and into your cauldron.

The concoction was a pearlescent blue, not quite the ideal swirling white you were aiming for.

You reached to the other side of your mixing station, measuring roughly six heads worth of peppermint powder.

The recipe called for six complete bulbs, but you had learned that powder had been more reliable compared to the estimated weight of full bulbs or pieces of ingredients.

Stirring slowly, you watched as the liquid faded to white, the shimmer of the pearl dust billowing with the movement of your mixing spoon.

You let it simmer slowly for a few minutes before putting out the flame underneath your cauldron and wafting a small amount of it into your nose, inhaling the chalky scent of old books, used parchment, and spearmint.

It felt as though a spurt of electricity had hit you, shivering as it reached your fingertips and the tips of your toes.

Part of your heart dislodged in your chest. It smelled so sweet, strongly of your deepest desire, but the overwhelming sensation didn't overcome your realizations.

You turned your head to him, an inconspicuous attempt. His head was angled into his cauldron, pieces of chocolatey hair falling over his forehead as his fingers deftly dropped six uncrushed heads of peppermint into the abyss of his cauldron.

You tore your gaze away from the sight before you could take in his focused appearance.

You picked up a vial from the end of your desk, grabbing a ladle and slowly funneling the cooled potion into the glass. The liquid shimmered with a white glow, scent pungent before you corked it.

You began to tidy your station for a few minutes before Slughorn's voice rang out from in front of you.

"Everyone is finished, yes?" He asked, clasping his hands in front of him as he looked around the dim room.

You were entirely aware that you and Riddle were the center of attention for Slughorn—a couple older students knew that as well—but you couldn't help the embarrassment creeping into your mind for being so dedicated to a one-sided rivalry you had created for yourself.

Victory was your desire—especially against Riddle—though sometimes your obsession seemed overkill.

Slughorn didn't bother to give an introduction, stalking to the back of the room with a clipboard clasped in his small hands.

The aggressive strike of his quill could be heard throughout the room as you watched him make his rounds, a concentrated expression written on his face as he observed the vials, ingredients, and cauldrons at each station.

As he crept closer to you, his judgements became lengthier and the assault on his parchment died down.

You glanced to Riddle.

No eye contact was made, though you could see that his eyes were stoic and unwavering, the light from the lanterns in the room seemed to reflect off of him like repellent as he gazed toward Slughorn. His back was straight, shoulders held high, a powerful stance that diminished your confidence ever-so-slightly.

You looked back to your station as Slughorn turned the corner, soft eyes peering into your vial. He popped the cork and sniffed it harshly, nodding to himself as he scribbled a note on his parchment. He scanned your table for the labeled vials of your ingredients and utensils, leaning his balding head over the cauldron to observe the leftover potion.

He lifted his head and smiled at you—a toothy grin, rather—and walked off toward Riddle's station.

Your gaze followed him, watching from your peripheral as Riddle's posture straightened, jaw turning up as he watched Slughorn carefully.

His judgement wasn't very long compared to yours, his inspections shorter as if he had anticipated him to make minimal mistakes, if any at all.

Slughorn leaned on his desk to write something, then raised his head and cleared his throat.

"I have our winners," he paused, taking a pair of reading glasses off of his head and placing them on the bridge of his nose.

Your heart was practically running a marathon, hot blood pumping through your veins. It didn't take long for him to decide.

You hoped to Godric that you had outdone him once again, perhaps by the color or stronger scent. All that mattered to you was victory.

This could finally be your moment to one-up him, show him that you truly could be at his level without the favoritism of professors.

The suspense was painful, but it was quickly ended as Slughorn began to speak.

"In first, Tom Riddle with Amortentia."

Your heart dropped to your toes, devastation and bile quickly rising in your throat. You inhaled roughly, turning to Riddle.

As much as you resented it, a beautiful grin had taken over his face. His teeth showed through his lips, cheeks taut with pride and hands gently clasped in front of him.

You gathered your things along with everyone else as Slughorn announced the rest of the winners.

You should've known it would turn out this way. He always won by a miraculous sliver that you were never able to achieve.

Perhaps he was a prodigy, perhaps he was procured with perfection in mind. He was an unbeatable force with an aptitude for intelligence led by unwavering confidence and determination.

Whether you liked it or not, Tom Riddle would always beat you. He would always prove himself victorious with an unfaltering place above you when it mattered most.

You had earned second and a girl by the name of Margaret Greengrass had taken third with her Felix Felicis.

You left the classroom, canvas bag slung over your shoulder.

~ ✯ ~

Placing a battered book in your bag, you lifted your things off the chest at the end of your bed and exited the common room, heading towards the library.

You weren't exactly upset, rather thoroughly disappointed in yourself.

His victory was purely another example under his belt for his academic excellence, you knew that. It had nothing to do with you or your one-sided rivalry, it was simply a game you had made up in your head.

It bothered you more than it should've, practically the last opportunity to prove yourself had before graduation had been squandered by a mere ingredient difference.

You pushed open the heavy doors to the library, wood creaking on its hinges as it fell closed behind you.

The large room was still except for the flickering flames of candles and dimly lit lanterns, the only noise echoing throughout the room was the quiet flicking of pages and, briefly, an owl outside of the large windows on the second floor.

You wondered who could possibly be out at this time with no supervision.

You wandered through the shelves looking for the proper denomination, intending to find a book by a rather intelligent author that you enjoyed learning about in your free time.

You began to walk through the section of tables hidden behind the thick walls of shelves, fingers tracing along the spines of dusty books that surely hadn't been touched in centuries.

"Hello," a voice rang out as you passed an opening in the shelves.

You startled, gripping the strap of your bag as you backpedalled to the small section.

You turned to the table, taking in the shadowy figure in front of you.

"Hello, Riddle," you responded, bowing your head slightly at the dark-haired boy.

"What are you looking for?" He inquired pristinely, cocking his head gently to the side.

"Just a book on potions, that's all," you said simply, attempting to push the slight discomfort of his casual attitude away.

"Reading up for next time?" He teased, a small grin growing on his face.

"No, just something I'm interested in," you spat back, growing more irritated by the second.

"I can help you," he offered, "I'm not doing anything intriguing, after all," he gestured to the sprawled pages on the table illuminated by the white candle on the corner of the table, clearly enhanced by some sort of silly spell.

"I figured someone as stale as you would enjoy assignments like these," you jabbed back, leaning forward and pinching a sheet between your fingers.

"The effects of bone meal on essential potions," you read aloud, placing the parchment back on the table. "Very amusing."

He appeared unphased, though his politeness read as greed to you, coming off in waves of spite rather than a genuine offering. You were sick of his arrogance—intentional or not—especially when his attempts were practically effortless.

"You would have half a mind to leave me alone," you continued, venom lacing your words.

"I am only trying to help you," he retorted simply, "what book are you looking for?"

Almost as if it pained him to do, his jaw tightened slightly in the low light. You scanned the rest of his face, proud yet still cautious that you had dug under his skin ever so slightly. His stern eyes appeared black, the dim flickering of the candle beginning to lose its charm.

"I won't say it again, Tom," you paused, your heart suddenly racing aggressively against your chest. "I do not want your help."

From an outsider's perspective, referring to him by his first name versus his last name meant nothing, but you hadn't referred to him as Tom since second year.

Your eyes met his, a bewildered sense of frailty written on your face. His eyes were dark in the low light, appearance still performing yet the illusion was actively ripping at the seams.

Three buttons laid open against his chest, tie loose and robe discarded over the back of the chair adjacent to him. Sleeves pulled up to his elbows, his hands rested softly against the worn wood.

Silence hung in the air between you, your mild breakdown extremely uncalled for and sore like a bruise on your confidence.

"How long will you refuse this?" He asked, pushing himself off of the chair and stalking towards you, cool and collected in contrast to the loaded question he had asked you.

"What?"

You looked at him, jaw slack as you craned your neck towards him, meeting his eyes with a hesitant glare as his bore into you as if you were transparent.

This was something new, something unwritten and untold. Unable to decipher the emotion swirling in his eyes, you realized then that you hadn't considered that perhaps Tom Riddle was playing, too.

Your breaths mixed in the air, the sweet smell of spearmint hitting your nose as he lingered.

"I'm unsure of what you mean, Riddle," you replied, voice too loud and far too uneasy for your proximity.

"Do you give up?"

"There is nothing to give up on," you spat breathlessly, mouth open slightly as if you couldn't get enough air through your nose.

A man of few words, yes, a clash of grace and greed. A man capable of strong desire and determination, stopping at nothing to achieve the greatness he craved.

Somehow, you hadn't noticed that the aggressively perceptive boy might've realized somewhere along the way that you had made up a game for yourself, entertaining himself with the easy victories and achievements, fueling himself with the sick accomplishment of your repetitive losses.

Something loomed between you, a devastating realization that could send you into a state of insanity, yet you craved the unknown of the boy in front of you.

He smelled strongly of mint and dusty books, a scent you had tried to disregard since you became aware of it. The sight of him in front of you was overwhelming, a presence so powerful against you that you weren't sure if you could preserve yourself much longer.

"You are not in control, Tom," you murmured, voice much weaker than intended under the pressure of your interaction.

"Neither are you."

Of course you weren't.

You desperately wanted to be, to have reign over your emotions that you fought to keep away in order to focus on something other than him. He was a mere motivation for you, a light to lead you to your full potential, but you couldn't deny that he was the most alluring thing you had ever encountered.

You searched his eyes as if they held the secret to your irate behavior, but you found nothing except for his unreadable, barricaded mind.

His hand reached out in the darkness, nestling cold fingertips softly against your cheek.

The temperature was shocking, though he spoke silent words as they gently danced down your face and caressed the small curve of your neck.

Letting out a pained and hesitant huff, you pushed your lips against his with such intensity that you weren't sure you'd stay standing, hand reaching out to his shirt in a desperation you were ashamed to have.

His body caught you with ease, one hand tightening ever-so-slightly around your neck and the other resting itself lightly on the high of your hip.

As if his kiss had rid your troubles, you melted into his touch like gallium. You could feel your conscience fighting against your desires, screaming in the back of your mind that this is exactly what he wanted, for you to cave under his pressure and allow his triumph.

Admittedly, you had forgotten all about the game as the warmth of his lips clouded your mind and cradled your malleable body between the pads of his fingers, the hardness of his chest anchoring you to him.

His hand left your throat, dragging down your hips and to your waist as he pushed you gently against the bookcase behind you, fingers sliding underneath the thin fabric of your button-up.

He muttered something unintelligible as he slid his hands across the expanse of your stomach and to your small, lacy bra, beginning to gently knead your breasts through the cups as his lips trailed to your jawline.

You wanted to speak, protest his actions despite the fiendish craving for his touch ravaging your body, though the only thing that you'd managed to form was a gentle moan into the quiet air.

His lips kissed harsher and hungrier as they descended lower, teeth tugging at the sensitive skin on your neck as if he meant to leave his mark for others to see.

Your breath was shaky, processing the excellent feelings overtaking your body as you closed your eyes and allowed your head to fall back against the books with a quiet, relieved sigh.

His hands returned to the front of your shirt, deftly undoing the buttons and kissing along the exposed skin as he undid each one. Goosebumps quickly flooded your skin in response to the delightful mix of cold air and the warmth of his mouth.

"Tom," you pleaded, unsure whether or not it was in protest or desire.

He hummed in response, and you could feel the grin on his face against your skin as he came back up and bit gently at the base of your neck.

You whimpered softly, hands gripping onto his shoulders and migrating around his neck as you pulled him closer.

"T-Tom, I don't want your help—" you stammered, eyes fluttering in the darkness. You should've stopped it, but the pleasure shrouded your reasoning as you looked up to the intricate ceiling, a quiet moan escaping your lips and betraying your objection against him.

"This isn't about help anymore, darling," he cooed quietly against your skin, calm and collected as the words rolled off of his tongue, as if it wasn't the nicest thing he'd called you in seven years.

The name stung in your chest like a paper cut, cutting the surface just deep enough to allow the feeling to flow.

You began to succumb under his touch, knees beginning to give out as you allowed him to touch you in ways you'd only dreamt of—specifically the ones you'd woke up in a cold sweat after.

You placed your chin heavily against the top of his head, his fingers unclasping your bra and allowing it to fall from your shoulders.

Your hand traveled down from his neck, feeling the stringy muscles of his body as you trailed along, landing on the thick leather of his belt.

If you were going to lose this game, you'd lose it in furious pleasure with the person you loathed the most.

You began to undo his belt with one hand, allowing him to continue his mouth's rampage down your body. He grunted as you brushed against the harsh bulge in his pants, his restraint faltering as much as yours was.

Your hand stuttered as his tongue swirled around your nipple, fingers kneading the soft tissue, a surprised high-pitched whine forcing itself out of you at the heat of his mouth.

It was almost like he knew exactly what you were thinking without a signal, uncovering your desires as you thought of them.

You keened forward, the hand around his neck migrating to the thick roots of his hair and tugging harshly as his teeth chastely bit at the supple flesh of your chest.

Just as you'd thought of it, his mouth found yours once more as he began to tug your skirt upwards onto the high bones of your hips. Dragging down at a painfully slow pace, his thin fingers met the heat of your core and brushed gently across the wet fabric of your panties.

"How are you—" you began, gasping as he pressed into your clit through the thin lace.

"Hmm?" he murmured against you, kissing against your jaw and back up to your lips.

Embarrassingly enough, words felt too difficult to form and push out as his mouth tore you apart. You'd managed strictly his name at this point, as if it was the only thing you'd remembered. It felt like he was prying you open with gentle gestures and feather-light touch, something you'd never felt before.

You hadn't experienced much, but when you did, it was half-assed and hardly fun for you. But this was different, fueled by a disgusting desire you had tried to bury for years.

He pulled your panties aside slowly, the coldness of his fingers sending shivers down your spine as he invited himself between your folds, your hands now shaking and struggling to finish undoing his belt.

He pressed into your clit with pressure pleasant enough to make you drool, his pointer finger pressing at the entrance of your dripping cunt.

You quickly became a mumbling, babbling mess of whimpers and moans at his touch, no longer afraid of who might find out about the sinful truth that festered under the surface of your skin.

His fingers left your clit entirely, pressing two slowly into your sopping heat tantalizingly slow. The stretch quickly dissipated into delicious pressure against your walls, your body craving the unfamiliar sensation of something other than your own hands.

"Tom," you pleaded breathlessly, tugging at the nape of his neck. Your hand dropped from his belt entirely, the clasp now undone and hanging open, loose.

"You like how my fingers split you open, pretty girl?" he taunted, voice low and eyes practically slits. Dark and clouded with lust, his eyes followed your body up and down, pausing to watch his fingers disappear into your pretty cunt.

You nodded feverishly, head tipping back into the spines of old books with a small thud.

His fingers worked you open with unfaltering expertise, pushing deeper with each thrust until they disappeared inside of you, pressing into the sweet, mushy spot that worked a whine from you each time he touched it.

"Tell me what you want," he demanded, his free hand reaching up to grab hold of the sensitive skin of your neck and forcing your eyes onto his.

Sharp and narrowed, they bored into your face. His jaw clenched with restraint, his calm demeanor quickly ripping at the seams as you watched him come undone in front of you.

The restriction on your neck and the quickening pace of his fingers left little room for you to think clearly, your vision beginning to turn black at the edges as the coil in your abdomen grew tighter.

"Tom, I'm—" you choked out, your hand reaching up to clench on top of his.

You hadn't felt something this impeccable in your life, the delicious desperation between the both of you grew the tension in your stomach and made you even more eager to feel your release on his fingers.

His pace quickened without a word, pressing harder against your sweet spot as the coil snapped.

Your vision went white, the grip on your neck disappearing as you folded into his body, your face pressing against the thick muscle of his shoulder.

His fingers left your cunt with an obscene noise before he placed them in his mouth and licked them clean, a pleased hum leaving his lips.

"So sweet..." he whispered into your ear, tenderly pushing you back against the bookcases and away from his body once more as he scanned over the wrecked image of you.

You struggled to catch your breath, face turned up at him with a weak smile and flickering eyelids.

His hands traveled down to his trousers, pushing the silver buckle out of the way as he unbuttoned them, the black waistband of his underwear peeking through the top.

He reached down, pulling his cock free from the tight restraint of his uniform.

You couldn't help the slight drop of your jaw as you took in the sight. He was long and thick, the leaking pink tip still vibrant in the minimal light. You hadn't expected him to have such a desirable and appetizing look, though you'd figured he wouldn't walk around with confidence like that if he couldn't own up to it.

He pumped himself once or twice before he grabbed your forearm, pulling you back against his chest and flipping you around, pushing the fronts of your thighs into the table as he bent you over.

The tip pressed lightly into your already ruined cunt, teasing you with the idea of pain and pleasure as he ran his hands up and down the sides of your body, taking in the vision that he'd surely remember the next time he thought of you.

"Tell me you want it," he insisted with a brief slap against your ass, squeezing the soft flesh in his fist as he rubbed away the sting.

"Please," you whimpered against the wood, the mixture of his hands and the weight against your core simply too much.

"Good girl," he muttered before rutting into you with unbridled need.

You practically sucked him in with a scream, the excessive slick was enough lubricant to allow him inside, though not enough to weaken the pain of the stretch.

His fingers dug into your hips as his pace grew faster, the occasional tug of your hair or grope of your ass adding layers of pleasure that you were unaware you'd enjoy.

You were a mess of moans, head resting limply against the table as he pounded into you with the least amount of restraint you'd ever seen in him.

"More, please," you begged, hand reaching back onto his tight grip on your hips to ground yourself.

His pace rapidly became more sloppy as he pushed in and out of you, the sounds of his grunting, your pleasured babbling, and sticky skin slapping against each other was enough to lock the memory of his cock ruining you into your mind forever.

You felt the coil tightening once more, the tip bouncing into your sweet spot every time he pushed himself impossibly deeper, and your eyes closed as they rolled back into your head.

A puddle of drool was surely underneath you by now, your legs going stiff as you came undone and pulsed around him.

He groaned at the tightening of your cunt, aggressive pace becoming inconsistent and needier as he grabbed hold of your hips with a grip that would surely leave marks in the morning.

"Fuck," he groaned, pushing into you one last time with insurmountable force as he came undone inside of you, the sticky ropes of release filling you to the brim.

He pulled out of you with a wet pop, pulling your skirt back down over your thighs as he pulled you up, your back against his chest.

Your breaths mingled in the air as you both processed what you'd just done, bodies sweaty and sticky with sex as you pressed yourself against him.

You definitely weren't thinking clearly, the airiness of your head still present and clouded with enjoyment.

You turned your chin up to him, snaking your hand across the back of his throat and pulling him down for a soft, appreciative kiss.

"What did you just do to me?" you whispered against his mouth, legs still shaking underneath you.

He pulled away slowly with a cheeky grin, fingers brushing against your neck.

"Let me help you now, yeah?" he teased, looking down at you.

His hair was messy from your tugging, lips swollen and coated in a thin layer of saliva. His cheeks were a plushy pink, flushed by heat, and eyes hid a thankful, soft glance beneath pleasured clouds, the lust still evident in his blown pupils.

"Let me help you first, Riddle," you murmured, following his gaze down as you dropped to your knees.

Your cheeks flushed a bright pink, taking in his whole presence as butterflies swarmed in your stomach. You hadn't seen him like this in a while, the unbuttoned shirt, no robes, parted lips. It was rare to see him like this, not because it wasn't often you two had gotten somewhat frisky every now and then, but since wherever you had decided to go in the entirety of the castle was crowded at every time of the day with enormous amounts of first and second years.

You were proud of how attractive Sebastian was, and you knew exactly how it felt to have crushes on older boys when you were a little kid.

"We'll see you up there," Ominis said, snapping you back down to reality as he turned to the sound of your voice, a small smile creeping on his lips. You cleared your throat and chirped a small 'mm-hm!' before jumping up from your plush seat on the couch and making your way to the hall that lead to the dormitories.

You heard a small chatter begin between the two, catching 'that about?', and 'weird', before a collective loud laughter, forming a rather handsome sound.

After the obnoxiously long decline of stairs, stairs, and more stairs, with a tad of more stairs and now concrete walls, you managed your way into the seventh year boy's room.

The room smelled like a mixture of several different colognes, with a hint of fresh linen and lemon, as well as a pinch of gross socks coming from the opposite side of the room from Sebastian and Ominis.

You realized quickly that you were the only person in the room.

Apparently it was common for them to be out at ungodly hours of the night.

The room was lined with five double beds, four posts surrounding each frame, lined with deep green curtains that were tied to the posts by silver rope. They could be undone for privacy, but it seemed that they hadn't been touched since the beginning of the year. Intricate designs formed along the bottom and the posts of snakes, swirls and other organic designs, coming together as a Hogwarts crest in the middle of the bed frame.

The windows had now gotten smaller since you had gone farther down underwater from the common room. They still emit a deep glow, though a bit darker than before, and instead cast a bluish gray hue across the floor and walls, a low chandelier hung in the middle of the room, candles unlit.

You decided to search the trunk next to Sebastian's bed. You had to push through multiple pairs of the same socks and underwear before you could find something of your liking, treating yourself to a rather large navy blue jumper of his. He only wore it on particularly chilly Hogsmeade trips or cold weekends around the castle.

You set it down on his bed, stripping out of your uniform and slipping on a pair of shorts you had left in his trunk, along with the jumper before climbing into his bed.

You snuggled into his covers, pulling the thick comforter up to your neck and turning to your side. The soft mattress engulfed you in a hug, cradling you as you closed your eyes, invited to a deep sleep.

It felt like you hadn't even slept for a minute when you heard the descent of your boyfriend and his loyal friend toward the dormitory, the concrete steps sounding loud echoes down the hall.

"She's probably asleep," you heard Sebastian say, the door to the room creaking open as the two walked in.

You were too snuggled into the bed to want to perk your head up and see Sebastian once more, but just the smell of him coming near you was enough to make your stomach flutter.

"Then don't wake her," Ominis scoffed. "Your footsteps are loud enough to wake a troll."

"Oh, stop it, would you?" Sebastian shot back, placing a heavy hand on the bed. You felt the mattress dip in the front as he sat on the end, your leg slipping a little underneath the covers.

"I'm not the one who's getting yelled at if she wakes up," Ominis said, the clunk of his chest closing signifying he was now changing into pyjamas.

Sebastian didn't bother to respond, closing his trunk and setting his own pyjamas on the bed. He changed quickly before sliding into the bed with you, his weight dipping the mattress toward the middle.

Of course he knew you'd be in his bed, you loved snuggling with him after a long night.

He pulled himself close, his chest meeting your back, adjusting the comforter around your neck to over your shoulder before sliding his arms around you. One strong arm glided around your waist, his hand placing itself gently between the warmth of your thighs. The other arm slid below your body and under your arm, wrapping protectively around your chest.

"Hi, pretty girl," he whispered in your ear, earning a small chirp from you as you adjusted yourself against his chest, his knee bending into the back of your leg.

Butterflies were exploding in your stomach, goosebumps forming all over as he touched you.

"You feeling okay, love?" he murmured, head curling into your neck. You lifted your head a little, leaving room for him to move in closer. His hair tickled your ear as his lips met your skin briefly, the kiss short and sweet.

"Mm-hmmm," you hummed, snuggling as far as you could go back into his body, the warmth and softness comforting. His hair smelled pleasant, a mix of cedar and green apple, the shirt he was wearing covered in a musky cologne.

His smell always drove you crazy.

"Is Ominis in here?" you mumbled, dipping your head down and turning your face slightly into the feathery pillow, his arms tightening around you to prevent you from moving away from him.

"Of course he is," he whispered back, pressing another gentle kiss to your neck. You could feel the heat of his face and the small smirk that grew on his lips. His protective, muscular arms were so comforting, the smell of his body irresistible. You relaxed into him, not noticing you were so tense.

For a moment, the only noise was the combination of Sebastian and you breathing. You could barely hear Ominis' breathing, even and calm as he was probably already asleep.

He could fall asleep in seconds if he really tried.

You were very aware of the butterflies and goose bumps Sebastian was giving you, but he often didn't have such an affect on you. You remembered his look earlier; the soft lips, unbuttoned shirt, messy hair. You wanted to turn around to him, see his beautiful face, but the strict grip he had on your body kept you in place.

You decided that there was only one way that he would let you even wriggle in his grip.

You gently rocked your hips backwards, meeting his.

You heard a small exhale escape his lips into your ear, spawning swarms of butterflies in your stomach.

You did it once more, satisfied from the first noise, but this time, the exhale had turned into a muffled grunt, his face curled into your neck and nose pressing into your jawline.

"Hold on, love," he whispered, somewhat breathless. You could feel the already growing bulge in his pants, your body throbbing, eager for his touch.

You decided to pause for a moment, but this stirred Sebastian. He took a moment and adjusted his body, rustling of sheets becoming loud in the silent room. The hand between your thighs had come alive from the warmth between them, gently pushing open your legs as one fell on top of his, the other still resting on the bed. Now lying flatter on his side, he was able to lean against the pillow beneath him, head above you.

You turned your head to look at him, the grip around your body loosened as his hand took a new resting position on the leg that met his, his fingers slowly crawling from your knee to the inside of your thigh.

The painfully slow movements of his large, skillful fingers left you wanting to cry for him, your body now afloat with seriously overwhelming butterflies and growing arousal in the pit of your stomach.

You finally looked at him, your eyes meeting the faint face of your boyfriend. In the dark light, he still had the same look he had in the common room. The pink lips, now wet with saliva, squinted eyes and even messier hair.

"You look so pretty," he whispered, his hand sliding to the inside of your thigh, mere centimeters away from your nearly dripping folds. His lips moved magically as he talked, the glint of spit coating his lips and mesmerizing eyes keeping a tight hold on yours.

Your cheeks were growing hot incredibly fast, colonies of butterflies fluttering around inside you as the heat between your legs grew incredibly larger, the obnoxious yet pathetic urge growing to take his hand and put it where you wanted it.

The look you gave him must've plead enough for him, as he leaned down and kissed you gently on the forehead.

You exhaled quietly, wanting to feel the kisses on your lips, his glimmering ones so tempting. His fingers were painfully close to the still growing heat in your shorts, and you were sure he could feel it as his fingers moved slow toward it.

Sebastian closed his eyes slowly, ducking his head down. He couldn't get full access to your neck with the way you were laying. Immediately, the arm underneath you moved swiftly, grabbing your jaw roughly and forcing it upwards, his thick fingers sprawling over your mouth as you whimpered quietly in surprise.

You hadn't seen this side of him in forever, his movements were surely going to cause a full explosion of butterflies into the dimly moonlit room.

His teeth, lips, and tongue were now skillfully working away at your neck, small bites and deep exhales engraving themselves into your skin, every breath and touch of his lips sending more electrifying heat down to your core.

At the same time, his fingers met your pleading heat over your shorts. He must've decided that through your shorts, he wouldn't have much of a reaction. His thick fingers crept up your silky briefs, pushing past the hem and back down to your core. Painfully slow. You heard a faint exhale of pride at the overwhelming warmth he had felt, and an evil smirk crept onto his face, the only telltale by the way his lips curved into his next kiss.

He began to rub his fingers across your sensitive clit, your hips bucking into his hand at the first circle he made. The tight grip on your jaw and hip didn't let you go far, small, filthy whines leaving your throat through his fingers as he drew circles through your thin panties.

His head trailed up from your neck for a second, hair tickling the tip of your ear as he spoke gently, his voice a low whisper.

"You sound so pretty, whining for me like a good girl."

A small sound of happiness escaped your throat, as much as you could muster, because if you spoke, Ominis—though dead asleep—would definitely hear what Sebastian was doing to you.

His words blossomed pleasant heat in the pit of your stomach, hips bucking shamelessly into his hand as his fingers continued to work your clit.

Moving so slow with everything he did, head ducking back down to nibble on your neck, horribly slow fingers that circled your clit—oh, so well—but too slow to let the heat blossom, tight hold on your jaw that muffled the pretty sounds that forced their way through your throat.

It was too much, too slow, and too good all at the same time.

Tears began to form in the corner of your eyes, your hips bucking against his hand for more as you whined lowly, begging for Sebastian to help you, to move faster in his mastered movements. You needed his touch, you needed the surreal escape of the orgasm he could bring you to.

"Aw," he whispered, lips painfully close to your ear. "Are you desperate, pretty girl?" His fingers stopped altogether, a frustrated whine pushing past your stifled lips.

"Gonna cry for me?" he teased, his lips directly against your ear now, pride and arrogance creeping past his sweetly soft charisma. Surely the fact that you were entranced in his touch.

You viciously shook your head no, fighting the hand on your jaw as tears began to fill your eyes, threatening to fall on his large hand at any moment.

"C'mon, cry for me, sweetheart," he said, a small moan escaping into your ear. Pleasure immediately shot down to your core, the sound of his arousal delightful. "You know where crying gets you, love."

Your vision was now entirely blurry, not that there was much to see in the room anyways. Butterflies and arousal exploding to a point of pain mixed with the intense feel of his fingers stilled on your clit was too much to bear, tears beginning to fall out of frustration. Your body was practically begging for him to work you toward the orgasm that you craved from him.

"Please, Seb," you whined quietly—still louder than intended—starting to not care how loud you were. You needed him to make you feel good, you needed him to touch you. "Please."

Pathetic whimpers fell out of your mouth like expletives when you stubbed your toe, begging and pleading for Sebastian to touch you, tears flooding out of your eyes and dripping onto his warm hands.

"You're such a good girl," he murmured, hot breath against your ear as he started his fingers once again, drawing smaller, faster circles around your clit.

"Make some noise for me, come on, baby."

"Ominis—" you barely murmured, too caught up in pleasure to fully annunciate your words and thoughts.

"Are you worried that he's hearing your pretty little whines?" Sebastian whispered, deep voice teasing in your ear.

You didn't nod, but you also didn't shake your head. You just threw it back into his chest, stifling a whimper into his hand.

"Don't be shy, I'm sure he wouldn't mind," he pushed, practically begging without showing a weakness for the need to hear you.

A pant of pleasure and excitement at his words sounded in your stomach. The idea of Ominis listening to Sebastian make you a mess was weirdly erotic, beginning to imagine the tall blonde companion of Sebastian's listening to you sob for Sebastian before you stopped yourself.

You finally gave into Sebastian's coaxing, moans and pleads and whines fell slightly muffled to his hand. The more you'd helplessly buck your hips into his large hand, you'd coax soft, low, delighted groans out of him.

You were getting close, begging for him to let you finish, barely caring how loud you were getting.

The only thing that mattered was how good he made you feel.

When the heat began to build in the pit of your stomach, you stopped bucking your hips for friction, your hand coming up and grabbing at the wrist of the hand that covered your mouth. Your pathetic, high pitched moans forcing their way out, yet entirely muffled by his unmoving, large hand.

Suddenly, his fingers began to move at a snail's pace.

You whined in frustration, your hips bucking once again into his hand.

"Shh, pretty girl," he whispered. His head was leaving small love bites on the front of your neck, his hair brushing against your lips and chest. "You don't want to wake Ominis, do you?"

"Please, Sebastian, I need it," you sighed, leaning your head back into the soft pillow, the swarms of butterflies beginning to flutter around in your stomach once more, replacing the heat of your lessening orgasm.

"Need what, little dove?"

You didn't respond, too focused on trying to will yourself to an orgasm with the unbelievably slow movements of his fingers.

"What do you need?" he asked once more, the tone in his voice slightly more demanding, but never to be any less than soft with you. His fingers near stuttered to a stop as he lifted his head.

You'd seen him now for the first time since he forced your legs open, and Merlin did he look good.

His hair was an even bigger mess than before, dark curls falling over his forehead and in front of his eyes. Pale moonlight cast over his face, illuminating his sharp features and saliva slicked lips. His eyes had a fucked-out, lust filled look as he watched you squirming for pleasure underneath him, deep brown eyes searching your face in a frantic calm of dominance over you.

He whispered something under his breath that you didn't catch, but didn't bother to clarify as his fingers dawned once more, quickly pulling you into the heat of the orgasm you had been chasing.

Soft concentration grew on his face as you watched his features through heavy lidded eyes, bucking your hips into his hand once more as you reached the edge, one last circle pushing you over the cliff of your orgasm.

White hot heat shot through your body, your back arching into his arms from the satisfaction his fingers finally gifted you. Whines and whimpers slipped through your lips as you pressed your jaw deep into Sebastian's hand to muffle the great unholy sounds leaving your body, the butterflies reappearing to replace the ecstasy of the feeling bringing you back to the moment. Sebastian's eyes cast dark, lustful looks down to you as you reached your hand up once more, gently removing the heavy weight over your lips onto your sternum.

"Feel good, love?" Sebastian cooed, an amused smile creeping on his face as he leaned down to kiss you, moving his head from the angle it was at, half of his body weight landing on your side.

You nodded, leaning into his kiss and wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to keep him on top of you.

Letting go of him would be a tragedy, you wanted to keep this moment forever.

"You know, you sound so pretty when you come for me," he whispered, a trickle of pride slipping through his praising tone as he straddled your hips, hovering above you to not crush you as the covers slipped off of his wide back.

You giggled softly, admiring his stupid pretty face so close to yours, landing a small kiss on his lips once more. Kissing him was addictive, you loved feeling his plump lips press against yours.

His full arms created a cage around you, resting on his elbows as he looked down at you. The lustful look in his eyes hadn't left, the idea of him still wanting to do more to you despite your slightly shaking body was somehow ideal yet entirely outrageous, considering you were still stuck on the relief of his experienced fingers from the first time.

"Stop eye-fucking me," he mumbled, a small smile growing on his face as one arm moved from the enclosure around you, sliding down your waist to your shorts.

"Seb," you giggled quietly, "I would never."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," he chuckled, fingers messing with the combined hem of your shorts and his sweater. He paused, tilting his head and looking at you.

"Is this mine?" he asked, tugging on the sweater.

You giggled again, pushing his hand away playfully as you tried to lift your legs up, banging into his hefty thigh and putting it back down.

"No wonder you smell good," he joked, dipping his head into your neck. He licked your neck slightly before nibbling on the tense spot, lifting your head for more access, and both hands sliding down your body to your legs.

He began to tug on your shorts, your silk panties coming along with them. Not bothering to separate the two before he slid off your briefs, you were left completely naked in front of him, teeth nibbling at your neck on what felt like thousands of different places. He knew that they had both come off, and a smirk brushed against your neck.

You were sure you'd have countless bruises in the morning, covering the entire span of your neck from his addiction to kissing and marking you. Though it wouldn't be the first time, it was quite embarrassing to have to explain to most of his friends if they cornered you.

He gently moved your legs from between his, spreading them slowly. Placing his warm hands on your inner thighs, he pushed them toward the bed to keep them in place.

You weren't expecting a second round, and most definitely didn't expect him to do such risky things with other people that may come in soon, but he knew better than you, and honestly you wouldn't care too much since his roommates knew he could pull.

His hair was ticklish against all parts it grazed, his hands moving off of your thighs and a thick torso replacing them, your body now held down with the weight of Sebastian himself. He glided icy fingertips across expanses of your skin, slipping under his sweater that covered you like a blanket.

His tongue massaged your neck once more before he lifted himself up, watching you intently. He paused for a moment before swiftly pulling his shirt over his head, revealing toned outlines of his body before he pulled down the front of his pants.

He wore black boxers that you often saw peeking out from his pants, and he preferred to wear them because they 'concealed better', which you both knew wasn't true. His v-line became more prominent as you watched him slide the waistband of his pyjamas farther down, thumb teasing on the elastic of his boxers.

He knew acting like this had you entranced, watching like a hawk as a knowing grin grew on his face.

Your body was practically soaring with butterflies watching him undress. It was like your own little show, seeing his beautiful body be revealed from the disgraceful amount of layers you were forced to wear everyday.

Here you were, laying spread eagle on your boyfriend's school-assigned bed when someone could walk in at any minute, watching him undress for you like a strip-tease show. The reality of it all was quite funny, but in the moment, it was absolutely mesmerizing to know his confidence.

When Sebastian had enough of teasing you, he finally slipped his elastic off, staring directly at you.

His dick sprung against his stomach, the pink tip and noticeable veins still distinguishable in the moonlight. It was decently long, but the girth of it was the better factor, it usually stretched you out a decent amount despite how aroused you were.

He pumped himself a few times, the tip crying precum as he leaned over toward you again. He encased you once more in a prison of his arms, kissing you lightly.

You didn't have to speak a word before his arm wrapped underneath your neck, hand covering your mouth as he pushed inside of you. You gasped—an obviously good choice to cover your mouth—feeling as his dick stretched every inch of you. You hadn't quite become accustomed to his size, the feeling of your walls stretching pricking your eyes with tears.

"You take me so good," he drawled, his head hanging as he exhaled roughly, about halfway inside of you. "Fuck."

Your body was full of the mix of arousal and butterflies for the millionth time that night, Sebastian's heavy breathing in your ear adding the cherry on top. He pushed himself all the way in, earning a soft exhale from you and a sigh of happiness from himself.

He allowed you to adjust to his size, before he snapped his hips into you for the first time.

Burning of arousal and unspeakable feelings swirling in your stomach at the first thrust was almost enough to work you to the edge already.

His hands roamed around your stomach underneath his jumper as he began a steady rock of his hips into you, careful as to not make a slapping noise every time he collided with your hips. His head was hung in front of you, the back of his head in your face as he concentrated on your love-bit neck, sometimes diving for another kiss as he maintained his pace.

Small whimpers slipped from your throat as he trailed light fingers across your body, the nip of his teeth at your neck mixing with the now falling tears beginning to overwhelm you.

It was odd how he knew so well to work you just the way you liked it, his touch familiar yet unfamiliar enough to still cause the pleads he loved so well, his fingers that worked you till you cried just for him.

The combination of everything you were feeling and the slow paced thrusts of your boyfriend was almost like a dream, your head was almost floating with pleasure, your brain starting to focus on only him.

"How's my pretty little girl feeling, hm?" Sebastian cooed, large fingers spreading over your stomach. You sucked in a breath at the touch, weakly moaning into the palm of his hand. His hand came up to your unoccupied cheek, stroking it with his thumb.

He smiled when he noticed the wet streaks on your face, watching as a growing dazed look in your eyes appeared. You were smiling dumbly, full of ecstasy, the entire world seemingly only of him. His touches were amplified to you, every one sending some sort of shock to your body and adding to the pool of heat gathering in your stomach.

"You're so dazed, baby," he whispered, head lifting to reveal a large grin, his hips picking up pace more. You whined into his hand once more, eyes rolling back as tears fell from your eyes more, the overwhelming sensation of everything he was doing to you coming together. "Yeah? Does that feel good, princess?"

You were a complete and total mess, expletives falling out of your mouth left and right as you whined and whimpered for him, quiet sobs escaping your throat as pleasure flooded your body, the world only focused on Sebastian.

"You're so fucking pretty," he groaned, repeatedly hitting a spot that felt just right, pushing you to the brink of your orgasm. His hips were practically snapping now, controlled thrusts as to not make a loud noise to wake Ominis, but hard enough to get you crying and moaning.

"Look at you, fuck," he praised. "You look so perfect under me, taking me like a good girl."

The feelings he was awakening inside you with praise and the snap of his hips as he fucked you just right were unfathomable, turning into both pleasure and pain. You were right there, watching him through watery and unfocused eyes as he pounded into you, deep moans and grunts falling from his lips every time he pushed back into you.

"C'mon, darling," he whispered, thumb caressing your cheek once more. "You can do it."

Everything mixed with absolutely everything else was enough, the way he pounded into you, his fingers and his touch, the tickling of his hair as his head hung, the moans escaping Sebastian's throat, everything. He had pushed you over the edge, your back arching and a strangled, sobby moan leaving your throat as you came, walls clenching harshly around his cock as his hips stuttered to a stop inside of you.

You grabbed for his head, wrapping your arms around his neck as you tugged him down to your chest, practically hugging his face into it.

Once you had lowered your back from the aggressive arch, he lifted his head from your chest and fell to the side of you.

"God, I love you," he murmured, pulling you into his broad chest and stroking your hair.

"What about you?" you asked when you had finally come down from your high, the sound of heavy breathing filling the room.

"About me?" he asked.

"You didn't—ya know. Did you?" you replied, somehow too nervous to say the word when he had just fucked the senses out of you.

"Don't worry about that, love," he said, placing his head on your shoulder.

"Fine then, I love you too," you shot back, wrapping your arms around him to the best of your ability.

Something in the back of your mind told you that at least someone had heard, but since no applause came, you decided to close your eyes as Sebastian lifted the covers over the both of you strapped into each other's arms, snuggling deep into your body for the rest of the night.

"I don't have to explain my questionable actions to you," he said, following you very closely as you walked to the back of the library to your table you had always claimed if you managed to get Sebastian to study with you, but it was also yours and Ominis' table when he would ask you to study herbology or transfiguration with him.

"I would assume you do," you smiled as you spoke, setting your bag on the well-loved wooden table at the back of the library, right on top of a small heart very clearly engraved with the initials of S and another letter that had been taken over by aggressive scribbling. You could only assume they broke up.

"Ever wonder who those belong to?" you asked, moving your bag slightly over to reveal the heart so Sebastian could see it. He looked closely at it, before pursing his lips and shrugging his shoulders.

"Could be us," he stated, throwing his bag onto the table and throwing himself onto a chair opposite you. "Minus the break up scribble."

"Oh, please, Sebastian," you scoffed, pulling out your ink well and feather pen and placing a piece of parchment in front of you. "If it bothers you enough, carve our initials into this table."

"If you say so," he chirped, pulling out a dull feather and beginning to dig it into the table.

"I didn't mean actually—" you began, before he shushed you and continued his aggressive digging into the grooves of the table.

You sighed, a happy sigh, a sort of sigh of relief as you realized he would do that in a heartbeat, flaunt you in a heartbeat, show that you're his and his to keep in a heartbeat. You watched as the loose curls of his brown locks flowed back and forth with his rough arm movements, the dull feather tip actually beginning to dig valleys into the table, a lopsided heart appearing under his veiny hands. His arms were appeared rather large, even under his robes.

You felt like you had been staring too long, admiring the way his hair moved with him, falling out of the perfect, messy stature it had always appeared in. The only time you'd see him this way is after he'd wake up, fluffing his hair and messing it around—with muscular arms, beautiful hands—to appear with volume after he'd slept with his face buried in your chest all night.

Your momma's boy.

You'd remember those nights forever, the little chirps he made in his sleep, or the times he'd exhale deeply and grunt, wrapping his big arms tighter around you as he fell into a deeper sleep. Your fingers would be wrapped in his hair, your ring finger and pinky soothingly rubbing soft up and down motions on his neck, yet barely covering the expanse of the skin.

"What are you admiring me for?" he looked up at you, his eyebrow quirked up in a questioning manner, the quill in his hand paused in motion on the completed heart now engraved in the table.

"I'm not," you snorted, looking back down at your plain parchment and scribbling 'Herbology, Chap. 34' in the heading. "Why would I admire you?"

"You've admired other things, especially when you're..," he trailed off, a smirk curling on his lips. You watched his head lean down once more, this bounce of his hair giving it away as he leaned forward to rub the now even duller point of the quill into the table.

"I'm what?" you shot your head up, leaning over the fresh ink on your parchment.

"Nothing," he looked up at you, your eyes meeting his beautiful chocolaty ones, the smirk still prominent on his face.

It was hard to stare at him without your cheeks turning a red tint. He was utterly gorgeous, his square jaw set with a smile, his plush pink lips that always curved in the right ways when he'd kiss you or whisper to you with his hand cupped around your face. As much as you denied it the first time you'd met, as much as you denied it every time that you admired him with those puppy dog eyes that he always said you had, he was gorgeous. You were rather lucky to have him. His cocky, arrogant, egotistical self that loved you oh so well. His admirable ways and sometimes completely outrageous behavior made up Sebastian Sallow, the boy you had come to love in fifth year against all possible odds. The handsome true smile that he carried set in stone, the soft and careful yet big and muscular arms that he would use to hold you in the darkest of nights, his long legs pulling you close in the dead of night when nobody else would. The long, gentle fingers that caressed your body in the darkest of times when you had been hurting with the burden of anything and everything.

The boy who loved you more than you could love yourself.

"You're bad at hiding your blush, I think I've told you that before."

You scoffed, taking your eyes away from him and beginning to write down your herbology notes from the book.

You two sat in silence as you wrote at least a half a page of notes, writing about the Venomous Tentacula that you would be using in your next class. It was good to sit with him, his presence and the sound of the feather pen digging into the table was enough to give you the motivation to want to continue writing your notes, even when the cramp in your hand would take over after hours and hours of taking notes the last week.

When you'd finished the page, you set it aside and pulled the attention of Sebastian, he'd noticed you completed those notes in such a short time, when he had been carving your initials into a table while you were being productive.

You began on a second page, ignoring his gaping mouth at your swiftness.

You once again sat in silence for a while, and eventually Sebastian had finished his engraving. You looked at it for a few moments before smiling at him and calling him cute, earning a scoff from him and a look of disgust at your terrible compliment. You were close to finishing your second page, and you'd finished two pages of notes in about an hour, including the small bickering between you and Sebastian.

The evening was approaching, the large windows in the library beginning to coat the room in the dark afternoon sunset, mixes of purple and blues overtaking young and old faces inside. Lamps began to light with students sitting themselves in new places, or students who had been in the room for hours that had finally turned on their lamps because they could no longer see where they were writing.

Instead of taking notes, Sebastian had begun to fiddle with the edges of your parchment, his head rested on one arm with the other outstretched to the side of your parchment.

When you met his hand on the corner, you paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the growing veins showing through his fair skin. You nudged his hand out of the way to finish your word—requires—to end off your sentence before moving to the next part.

Sebastian nudged your hand back a little too hard, messing up the s and splattering your well of ink all over your parchment.

"Merlin!" you gasped, pushing your chair out of the way, trying to avoid getting ink all over your robes.

Sebastian shot off his arm, quickly picking up the well and standing up out of his chair to grab for his wand.

"Scourgify," he said, the ink disappearing off the table, but leaving your ruined stack of notes.

You sighed, standing up from your chair and looking at your ink soaked notes.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian murmured, turning to look at you, but looking back when you didn't look at him.

You weren't angry with him, but you were a little upset that your notes were ruined. You stood for a moment, acknowledging the sad tone in his apology at turning to look at him.

He looked guilty, he often did when he had done something that he didn't mean to do. His lips were downturned a bit, head hanging low. When he messed up, it hit him hard. You didn't mean to make him upset or even remotely hurt his feelings.

"It's okay, Seb," you replied, a small sad smile appearing on your lips as you turned to him, grabbing on to his arm and looking up at him. You stepped closer to him, bumping your chest into his abdomen. "I can redo my notes, but I'm not going to make it a big deal, can't redo this with you."

The look of guilt disappeared off his face slowly, a knowing smirk replacing it as a soothing, large hand made it's way to your back. He looked down at you with such admiration darkened with a want to touch you and hold you.

"Did you just get all sentimental on me?" he asked, tilting his head to the side and smiling down at you.

"Maybe I did," you said, trying to suppress the giggle hiding in your throat as he looked down at you.

He rolled his eyes, that playful look he always grew behind it, grabbing your wrist and book bags before slinging them over his shoulder.

"I can't believe you got all soft with me," he scoffed, starting the climb toward the Room of Requirement. "You're gross."

"Oh, puh-lease," you drawled, smacking him in the shoulder as you began to climb the exhausting stairs of Hogwarts. "You're soft sometimes too."

"Am not."

"You are."

"Shut up, pretty girl."

You shut your mouth, not to listen to him, but to keep yourself from pulling a rather embarrassing scream. He didn't call you names like that often, but when he did, it was like your world was at peace. The sometimes rough and degrading words he would spit at you, or the sweet and admirable praises that would roll off his tongue like they were your name. It was enjoyable to hear, no matter insulting or lovey.

It only took a little while to reach the Room, being half dragged and half dragging him as you climbed outrageous amounts of stairs.

As the door appeared, you pushed through it to reveal a lovely, completely made up room of your dreams. You had always stayed in a sort of room like this, a large, cozy canopy bed in the middle of the warm ambiance that shimmered in the dark. A large window stood just above the bed, revealing the view and lighting outside the castle, dark moonlight coated between a pale gray sky. Silky curtains hung around the thick, fluffy bed, a beautiful chandelier overhead that casted a yellow glow over the room.

Sebastian sat down on the edge of the bed, dragging you with him and pulling you between his legs to rest your thighs against his. He held on to your thighs, just below your butt, and took a moment before he tugged the sleeves of your robes to pull them off. You kicked off your shoes, climbing in next to him as he laid back. His hair scattered around his head, the strands of curls circling his head in a sea of cocoa.

He murmured something, the light in the room disappearing and leaving the cast of the window in the room to give you light.

"C'mere," he whispered, his hands curled around your hips, pulling you close to him as he murmured unintelligibly. His eyes were already half closed in the early night, beautiful features illuminated in the soft glow of the room. His arms wrapped around your body, pulling your chest close to his face as he buried himself in the warmth of you. Hair fell all over your shirt, coating you in the scent of his shampoo as he dug himself impossibly closer into your body.

This was just how you'd remembered earlier. The coziness and comfort of his body that pulled you in. The curves of his body fit yours like a puzzle piece.

You wrapped a soothing arm around him, the grip of his muscular arms growing even stronger and tighter as he kept you in place. Your hands snuck gently up his back, pushing themselves in his hair as his vice grip softened with the motion, his legs tangling with yours.

"Is your tie bothering you, baby?" you whispered, your fingers massaging small circles into his scalp as he breathed slowly into the fabric of your shirt.

"No," he murmured back, the sound of his voice muffled and changed as he spoke directly into your body.

You smiled as him though he couldn't see it, your other hand reaching to wrap around his side. He looked majestic, hair fluffed up and messy from snuggling into you, he was like a rather large baby, his long legs and thick arms constricting around you like seatbelts.

His breathing began to even out, and you whispered a small 'I love you' into his hair, before placing a light kiss on the top of his head and laying your head against the bed.

You sighed happily, looking toward him and nodding your head.

A large smile spread on his face, and he proceeded to set down the blanket on a small clear area of the living room.

"Turn around!" you yelled, giggling at his startled reaction.

"I'm turning, I'm turning!" he said, spinning on his heel and making a dramatic cover of his eyes with his hands.

You began to take off your shirt, throwing it off to the side before you moved your hands to your back.

"You act like I've never seen you naked before," Peeta said, scoffing as his shoulders slouched, the click of your bra coming undone breaking the silence as you tried to come up with a smartass comment.

"Well, we're not doing that now, are we?" you asked, getting on your knees and laying down, your now bare back hitting the cool air and turning your head to face him.

He turned around, sitting down to your right and pulling his nearly falling apart cardboard box of paint toward himself.

"We need to get you another box," you said, your eyes meeting his big, blue doe eyes.

"I know," he nodded, pulling out a thicker paintbrush with an incredibly long wooden handle and setting it next to his leg, pulling out a plastic palette piled at least two inches high of old paint.

"Two things," you began, utter confusion coming out of your mouth as you gave him a weird look. He hummed, looking up from squeezing his paint onto the palette. "One, who the hell needs a paintbrush that long, and two, why haven't you cleaned off your palette?"

He paused, pondering the question before coming up with some snarky comment.

"I personally don't know why the paintbrush is so long, but I do know why I haven't cleaned it off," he squeezed a small portion of a brown onto his palette over a pile of greens, blues, and purples. "It's too much work."

You scoffed, turning your head back and placing your chin on your hands folded in front of you.

The first stroke of paint startled you.

"That's cold!" you squealed, your shoulders arching back as he began to paint a large stripe above your hips.

He set a hand gently above your butt, the waist of your shorts pulled down so he had room to paint.

The stroking of the paintbrush was easing, it had a slight peace and relaxation to it when you had eventually gotten used to the coldness of the paint.

It was quieter now, Peeta focused on his painting and you laying in the sun as his hands working skillfully over you, like a true canvas. He would occasionally pause to get more paint or to wash off his brush, the short sound of sloshing of water and sometimes the sound of his palette scraping on the floor from moving, to which he would groan at and take his hand off of you.

You watched shadows on the wall dance, affected by the beautiful trees and leaves fluttering in the wind outside as he painted along your back, eventually reaching toward your shoulders.

He paused, setting his paintbrush down and moving his hand carefully to your side as to not smudge the paint. He took your hair into his hands, gently pushing it over your shoulder, making sure he had every strand, and letting it go so it fell at your cheek.

You hummed a thank you, and he exhaled softly in response, picking up his paintbrush once again and painting over your upper back.

You felt him going in different directions and organic ways, but you still had no idea what he was painting. His paintings always consisted of something he remembered from the Games, or another form of memory, but they also consisted of nature and beautiful sceneries he had observed.

The few times he had painted on you before, he refused to tell you until you could see it for yourself.

"I'm almost done," he said after awhile of no talking. You could hear the smile and proudness in his voice as he said those three words.

"I'm excited," you said back, not being able to help smiling yourself.

A little bit later, he lifted his paintbrush off of you, the sloshing of water and the sound of the wood hitting the floor. The sun was almost entirely set now, the sky a dusky orange, purple, and blue.

"I'm done!" he said, standing up and groaning as he stretched his limbs.

You stood up carefully, trying not to disturb your hair and covered your chest with your hands. He took hold on your arm and lead you down the hallway to your shared bedroom so you could see in the floor length mirror, covering your eyes as he turned your back to the it.

"Ready?"

"Of course," you smiled.

He uncovered your eyes, and your head immediately turned around to look into the mirror.

Your jaw dropped in awe, a small 'wow' escaping your throat as you admired it.

He had painted a bouquet of sunflowers. The yellows of the perfectly shaped petals contrasted each other, the colors flitting in and out between one another surrounded by beautiful lookalikes. Dark green leaves sprouted from outside the flowers, perfectly crafted and painted with the curves and veins of each little detail. The center of the flowers were stunning, dotted black and brown seeds engulfed in a sea of beautiful oranges, yellows, and browns. The grass and stems below them connected, entangled by one another and painted into an ocean of green grass.

You almost wanted to cry at it's beauty.

"That's so beautiful, Peeta," you breathed, exhaling and laughing in disbelief and amazement.

"I'm glad you like it, you look gorgeous with it," he smiled, his eyes creasing in the corners as he admired your expression.

You moved to hug him, careful not to smudge the painting, your arms wrapped around his neck and his hands met your lower waist.

"I love you," you murmured into his shirt. "Thank you for this masterpiece."

"I love you more than you could ever know," he whispered back, placing a light kiss on the top of your head.

He was tall, overly handsome. His athletic body and muscular build, beautiful bronze hair. Cocky half smile and perfect teeth.

And those sea-green eyes.

The arms that had wrapped around your body, the hands you had known too well, always taking hold of your body and wrapped around your throat. The heavy weight that had covered you so many times, keeping you asleep in the darkest of nights.

Despite the loud music, your brain couldn't focus on anything that wasn't his beautiful being.

Though you had such a bad falling out with him, you hated to act like he was nothing to you. Treated you like a princess, made you feel like the only girl in the world, yet he had to fuck around with other girls because you were "unofficial".

It wasn't fair.

You watched him from afar, the other girls you had no reason to fight off, the others that made him smile the same way that you once had.

He was meant to be yours, you were meant to be his.

You watched as he wrapped his arm around another victor, his fingers curling tightly around her waist. You watched as he pulled her to his side as she grinned, looking up at his stupid pretty face, the same way you used to.

You felt your blood begin to boil, watching her face light up looking at him, watching him look at her with the adoration he always showed you, beautiful locks falling around his face.

You watched as he leaned close, placing his forehead on hers and whispering something to her as she pulled away giggling.

Scoffing to yourself, sick of watching the two lovebirds from across the room, you slammed your glass down and strutted hastily across the room toward your target.

Your hand climbed up the back of his dark blue button up, your fingers trailing around his neck as you felt the goosebumps on his skin rise.

He knew it was you.

The victor wrapped on his body had turned to look behind him, a look of disgust rising on her face as you made your way around to the front of his neck.

A small smirk grew on your face as you grabbed his tie, tugging on it gently to get him to follow you as you looked into his eyes, an innocent softness in them.

He glared into your eyes as he stood still for a moment to contemplate if he should follow you, the glint in his eyes full of recognition.

As you knew all too well, the arm around the victor dropped as he gave in to follow you to the bedroom upstairs.

You dropped his tie as you turned to walk up the stairs, the music slowly dying as you made it farther up.

"What gave you the sudden urge to talk to me again?" Finnick said from behind you, his voice containing a small edge.

You reached the top of the stairs, quickly dragging him into the bedroom as you shut the door quickly, blocking out most of the music.

"Can't stand to see you with other girls," you said, fixing your skirt as you looked at him.

He was now sitting on the end of the bed, his hands clasped together between his legs, looking at you. It was too dark in the room to see his expression, the glow of the moon casting into the room.

"Yeah?" he said, scoffing a laugh and shaking his head. "You're pathetic."

"I'm pathetic?" you shot back, scoffing back at him. "You're the one who couldn't keep your hands on one woman."

"Oh, please, don't act like we were exclusive," he laughed, pushing himself up off the bed and stepping softly toward you.

"You are pathetic," you whispered as he reached you, looking straight up as his shoulders reached your head.

The ice in your voice caused his eyebrows to raise, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as an annoyed, cocky smile showed on his lips as he clearly restrained from saying something.

His stare was becoming cold, the glint in his eyes slowly disappearing. The atmosphere in the room was heating up quickly as he stared deeper into you, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours with deep aggravation and a hint of something you hadn't seen in a long time.

"You can act like I did everything wrong," he began, his voice a low whisper as he leaned down to murmur in your ear, his hands reaching your waist and sliding up to your shoulders, gently pushing you into the wall. "You can act, it won't affect me. I'm the best you ever had, no matter how much you deny it," his hands pushed your shoulders harder to the wall, causing you to break eye contact to close your eyes as you whimpered in pain. "You will always be mine," he paused.

"I will always be yours."

You opened your eyes once more, looking up at him towering over you, that glint in his eyes growing with something you knew so well, familiarity, lust, and love.

Your face was growing hot, watching his eyes as they began to harden, his lips parting and a heavy breath slowly releasing.

He knew the look in your eyes, he knew the expression on your face. He knew the small tremble in your shoulders.

He knew you.

"How you feeling, love?" he asked, his hand crawling up your jaw, two fingers lightly pressing your head up to show your full face in the low moonlight of the room.

He lifted his head with yours, looking down at you, his eyebrows raised in success as he watched your puppy dog eyes grow wide.

Of course he knew that asking you anything when you were under his grip would send you spiraling, he knew that you'd be begging for him to touch you in a matter of seconds with the way he knew to work you.

The hand on your jaw drifted down your body to place on your stomach.

"Butterflies, darling?" he asked, his smirk growing impossibly wider as your body twitched under his fingers, so familiar, but it had been so long since he touched you like this.

"Stop proving yourself," you pushed out, weak, your throat catching on gasps that threatened to appear as you spoke.

"Oh, baby, you used to beg me to touch you."

You hated that he was right, and you especially hated that he was making you feel so vulnerable.

"Kiss me already," you whined, grabbing his wrist that laid flat on your tummy.

His smile turned to an sinister grin as he leaned down slowly to match his lips with yours.

He knew the right ways to kiss you, and he knew the correct techniques that you absolutely loved. He had gotten so good at pleasing you the best way you could ever ask for that he knew your small wants and quirks, the way you'd chirp quietly when he'd softly drag your lip between his teeth, the way your body would tense up if he kissed you with the same hunger you showed. He knew that if he held your body close and kissed down your jaw with his hand wrapped around your neck that you would plead for him.

His lips were so soft against yours, the weight of his body pressing against yours comforting and familiar.

"God, the things I'd do to you," he whispered against your lips, sending your heart rate through the roof as he lightly stroked your tummy with the tips of his fingers.

"What's stopping you?" you forced out between kisses, his hands now carelessly roaming your body as he kissed you with increasing hunger.

"These stupid things," he smiled against your lips as he pulled your pink lace panties away from your hip and letting them slap back on to you.

"Oh, please," you said, grabbing his neck and pushing him off of your lips to speak, a disappointed frown appearing on his face at the gesture. "You've taken these off plenty of times, don't act dumb now."

He smiled, a toothy grin with unholy intent behind it, his fingers sliding slowly up your thighs beneath your dress to take hold of the lace, earning a pit of arousal pooling in your stomach.

You were so close to just grabbing his wrists and ripping them off for him, his subtle and light touches too much for you to bear with no relief, but he finally slid them off your hips, knowing just when to stop pulling for them to fall off.

The stupid little things.

His hands immediately went to your waist once more, pushing you back against the wall with ease as he kissed you again, his lips more aggressive than before.

"I want to touch you so bad," he whispered, tugging at the bottom of your lip with his teeth as he pulled away from you.

You had enough of the whiny teasing, finally grabbing for his wrists and dragging them over your still covered body, basically pleading for him to touch you.

"Slow down, darling," he smirked, his fingers working carefully toward your shoulders and pulling off the thin straps, pushing your dress down over the hills of your breasts and moving his hands to your ass to drop it all the way to the floor.

He stood there, attempting to hide the awe on his face as he took you in, your planned matching set of pink lace adding a false sense of innocence around you, the light rose illuminating your body.

He hadn't seen this in a while, and boy was it making him excited. You now saw the strain of his pants below, your body growing hot from the tension of his eyes as he scanned you.

"How come I never saw this one before?" he asked politely, a small yet deep hum ending his sentence as he stared at your nipples growing hard from the cold and the see-through lace.

"It's new," you smiled, watching the restraint on his face as he continued to take it all in.

He exhaled for a moment, staring at your body while he decided to do something, fingers sliding back to your waist and tightening around you.

The cold was beginning to hit you, beginning to shiver as he reached for your hips, lifting you up with ease and throwing you over his shoulder.

Just as he used to, it showed you where this was going to go.

It was going down a very, very good path for you.

He laid you on the bed with some force, his fists going to the hem of his shirt to pull it swiftly off his head and toss it to the side.

You stared at his toned stomach, the way his muscles moved as he breathed heavier, the deep rivets of his abs prominent in the low light.

He leaned down to kiss you, his lips meeting your jaw before your lips, his fingers slipping swiftly down into your panties.

He earned a gasp, his cold fingers reaching the warm stickiness between your legs as he stroked skillfully over your clit, forming a pool of pleasure and heat inside your stomach.

Your lips were preoccupied with his, your eyes closed at all times no matter if he leaned to nip at your jaw or neck, or tugged on your lip. Two fingers slid into you with ease, the warm welcome and slick he had caused giving him a free entry.

"So ready for me, you're such a good girl," he said against your lips, a deep exhale leaving him as rocked the two fingers inside of you, hitting a spot you hadn't known existed before him.

You giggled for a second before a moan interrupted both the light kiss and your giggle, the heat growing in your stomach once more as he continuously hit the right spot. He was overwhelmingly good, quickly building up an orgasm as he plunged his fingers in and out of your cunt.

"Wait," you pleaded, quickly losing your breath as an orgasm approached fast, your tummy full of tingles and butterflies and the incoming explosion of an orgasm as he pumped in and out of you.

"Going to finish too soon?" he asked, a sarcastic voice of pity overtaking his usual deep and mesmerizing one, continuing the push of his fingers as he watched your face contort in trying to prevent your own orgasm, you couldn't finish this quick, you couldn't get to the real fun if you did.

You nodded your head aggressively, your eyes screwed shut again as you pleaded with small whimpers and quiet yelps, your hands flying to his wrists to push his fingers out of you.

You were on the brink, your body so overwhelmed and needy for him yet so intensely wanting more.

"You're such a pretty little slut," he murmured, his voice back to normal as he forced you over the edge, his fingers slowing to a stop as you contorted, your hands grasping around his wrist and your body exploding with pleasure, breathing heavy and working yourself through with small moans and gasps.

Your legs were clamped shut, the feeling of your orgasm overwhelming and so relieving to have again.

Finnick's hands reached to your legs, placing them on your knees and giving you a questioning yet knowing look.

"What makes you think we're done, you pretty little whore?" he whispered, leaning down, forcing your legs back open against your struggle and leaning between them to kiss you, your legs squeezing around his waist. You felt the smirk on his lips against yours, his hands moving down to your panties once again as he kept your lips occupied.

Your stomach was building again already, the names he was calling you and the way he manhandled you was driving you insane.

"I didn't–" you began, sputtering, overwhelmed at the feelings before Finnick stopped kissing you and lifted his head slightly to look you in the eye, his beautiful eyes capturing you.

"Shh, darling," he said, a hand moving to your cheek and stroking his thumb down your lip, watching the whiny and needy expressions on your face as his grin grew wider. "You can take it like a good girl."

He pulled your panties off so swiftly you didn't even know if they still existed, the cold air now completely available to your wet cunt.

He took a moment to admire you bottomless in front of him before beginning to strip himself.

"Eyes on me, pretty girl," he said, waiting for you to look down at his stomach and still growing bulge. Once he knew you were watching, his hands moved to his pants.

He began with his belt, the metal clinking as he undid the clasp and dragged it out of the loops slowly, the leather smearing against his pants. Undoing his button, he pulled away the fabric, leaving a pair of black boxers.

He came over to you, looking you in the eye. After a moment of silence and shared looks of lust, you began to beg.

"Please," you whined, grabbing for his arm. "I can't wait anymore, please, Finnick."

His jaw tightened, his hands moving swiftly behind your knees, he grabbed them to force your legs apart once more before pushing into you with ease.

You hadn't forgotten how good he was, you remembered the length hitting all the right spots with no effort, but especially the familiar stretch of your walls sending electrifying feelings and heat to your stomach quickly.

Deep grumbles and moans left his mouth as he took in the moment, his cock moving in and out of you for the first time since you'd 'split'.

Your body was racking with moans, yelps, whimpers, anything that would set him off and relay how good it felt to have him inside of you again.

"You're so–" you breathed, a moan taking over your sentence as he pushed deeper inside you.

"I'm what, love?" he asked, picking up pace as he thrusted into you.

Instead of answering, whimpers pushed out of your throat, your head throwing back into the soft bed.

"Tell me, slut," he demanded, his voice low as he reached for your neck, finger squeezing around it to block most of your airway.

"Good!" you squeaked out, the burn of your throat from low oxygen and the arousal in your stomach building increasingly higher was the best thing you had ever felt.

"Good girl," he murmured, giving you a light tap on the cheek as he removed his hand from your neck,

Your body was once again close to an orgasm, the feeling of his cock against your ribbed insides enough to send anyone spiraling. The sweaty and hot atmosphere of the room was making you even more needy, and the fact you had finally gotten Finnick back made you want to rub it in everyone's faces.

"I feel you, baby," he said, his thrusts becoming slightly sloppy as he tried to hide his growing pleasure.

The feeling was becoming too overwhelming, and you wanted to finish so badly, the pain and pleasure mixing in a weird, frighteningly good concoction as your body shook with it.

"Come on, cum for me," he pushed, his thrusts staying consistent now as he worked for you, pleaded. His skillful way of speaking to you as if you could only be his, the way a hint of neediness pushed through the thick barrier of lust in his throat.

Even more powerful than the first, your orgasm sent you over the edge, electrified jerks of your body and a fulfilling heat rushed over you, butterflies and tingles exploding through your entire body.

"That's my pretty girl," he said, an evil grin growing on his face as he continued, thrusts pounding into you again and again his head throwing back as he felt your walls contract around him.

Your body began to burn, the way his thrusts still rung throughout your body and the exhaust of his movements, your body was jerking to get away from him as he held on to your hips and shoulders tightly, his hands roaming frantically where he could keep you in one spot.

Whimpers of 'please' rang through every thrust, a tear beginning to run down your cheek as you almost worked yourself to another orgasm, the burn now less pleasurable and more pain as you struggled through your second at the same time before he slowed to a stop, jagged thrusts hitting into you.

You were breathing incredibly heavy, whines racking your body as you relaxed from what he had just done, closing your legs and putting your hands over your face as you tried to slow your breathing.

Finnick collapsed beside you, his pants now zipped by the small zzzrrp you heard beforehand, pulling your shivering body into his strong arms.

"God, I've missed you," he mumbled, his arms tightening around your back as you pulled your hands away from your face, looking at him.

He was pink, his cheeks a darker red as he breathed above your head to not blow it into your face, his eyes still glistening in the moonlight, but with different emotions now.

Recognition, love, happiness.

"I've missed this," your whispered back, your head burying into his chest as he gave a weak laugh.

"Stop being all sappy and be mine again," his voice was quiet, it sounded as if he had started to cry, but you knew he hadn't. That wasn't him.

"As long as you promise to be mine," you said into his chest, your arm barely wrapping around half of his back.

He paused for a moment, and you assumed that he was thinking of ways to make you blush.

"Any day, my love, any day."

You chirped as you snuggled in, a small gesture of 'I love you', a happy hum of his following soon after he gave you a small kiss on the top of your head.

He pulled you in impossibly closer, the smell of him and his warmth holding you close as you began to doze off, finally safe in his arms again, him belonging to you, you belonging to him, and once again belonging to each other.

You were meant to be.

"That's not fair! You can't kick!" he yelled back, smacking you repeatedly with the pillow, sending small feathers flying out of the pillow.

"You always did when you were a kid!" you shrieked back, finally landing a kick on his forearm.

"Ow!" he yelled, dropping the pillow and jumping onto the bed with you, taking your pillow and trying to smother your face with it, his full body weight on top of you while he struggled against your arms to push it onto your face.

"Ew! Mom, look at them! They're wrestling on the bed!" your little sister yelled from outside the door, Peeta stopped dead in his tracks and looked at you, his jaw dropped, your expression mirroring the exact same.

"Kids! I will not be a grandmother to two sixteen year olds!" your mom yelled from the kitchen, coming down the hallway with a basket of freshly dried laundry.

"Mom, we're pillow fighting, like we did as kids!" you said, frowning as she walked into the doorway.

Peeta was still on top of you, pillow half pushed onto your face, and your mother gave you a look of 'really'.

You nudged Peeta off of you, getting off of your bed to go talk to your mom.

"Just because we're teenagers now doesn't mean we're going to do anything, mom," you said. "Let us hang out."

Your mother sighed, a smile creeping up on her lips as she switched the hip the laundry basket sat on, looking at you.

"Behave."

You shut your door the second she turned away, jumping onto Peeta and tackling him with the pillow that he tried to smother you with. You fought hard, his arms a lot stronger than they used to be, his body a lot bigger and much taller. In good ways, of course. They made him look older, more attractive.

Wait, why were you talking about your best friend like that?

The yelling and laughing stopped as you paused again, staring at Peeta like a deer in headlights.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, his eyebrows knitting together in concern as you went quiet.

"Yeah, I just need to use the bathroom," you lied, immediately hopping off of him and rushing down the hall to the bathroom.

You slammed and locked the door, turning your back and sliding down against the wall.

You began to think about him, the way his muscles moved when he fought you, the way his arms strained against your body weight when you'd try to shove him over as you did as kids, how tall he had gotten. You thought about his broader shoulders, his longer hair, his defined jaw, and his beautiful blue eyes. His eyes had stayed the same, but carried so much maturity. The boy who carried so much of your childhood had changed, he was much more attractive and unspeakably amazing to look at. You thought again, over how attractive he had become. You thought once more about his arms, the thick biceps he had developed, able to throw you over his shoulder when you'd try to run from him in the square.

Your best friend had grown up.

You wondered if he thought about you like this, but you knew he couldn't. You were falling in love with your best friend, something that couldn't happen. Friends since forever, never more than that. He was only that cute blonde boy you met one day in the square with your family when you were six, the baker's boy, the goody-two-shoes who made bread for your mother's dishes.

You knew your friendship was all fun and games, there had never been any more than platonic love in your relationship, a shared love for one another that was unspeakable. Like a brother.

Now, it was different.

You were looking at him like a partner, like someone you'd see in your future, more than just a friend.

You felt love.

Not just the family love you felt to people like your mother and father, or your sister, real love.

You were in love with Peeta Mellark.

Your childhood best friend, your favorite cookie maker, your brother from another mother, your chalk buddy. Yours.

You sat on the floor for almost another twenty minutes, contemplating on whether or not you should just tell him, tell him how you're thinking, tell him what you're feeling. Tell him that you love him.

You figured he was growing concerned anyways, so you took a deep breath before unlocking the bathroom door once more.

You walked down the hallway quietly, peeking your head into your room and seeing Peeta still laying on your bed in his sweatshirt and jeans, playing with a feather that had flown out of a pillow.

"Peeta?" you murmured, his head snapping up immediately to you in severe concern.

He hopped off your bed immediately, coming up to you swiftly and grabbing your hand.

Your body erupted in butterflies, your face raising a rosy tint.

"Are you okay?" he asked, covering your hand totally with his.

"I'm okay," you said quietly, looking down to hide the blush on your cheeks. "Can I talk to you?" you croaked out.

"Of course, what–"

You shushed him, still holding his hand and leading him to come sit on the bed once more.

He sat down next to you, layers of concern still growing on his face as you sat down, scooting far enough on the bed to cross your legs underneath you. You sat quietly for a few moments, looking down at your lap as you figured out a way to say it.

"I need to tell you something. I don't want to ruin our friendship," you whispered quietly, now realizing that what you believe is out, and your throat began to burn at the thought of losing him because of your stupid love for him.

You began to play with his fingers in your lap, too afraid to let go. Peeta moved to sit the same way as you did, his body turned toward you.

"You can tell me anything," he said, placing his other hand on your knee.

You took a deep inhale and a quiet exhale, sitting quietly for another few moments.

"I like you," you paused. "And not just the like you like a friend, like– like like you, like– love you,"

You didn't dare to look up to him, too afraid to see the expression on his face, whether it was fear or hurt or disgust. All were terrible. He was dead silent, and tears began to well in your eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it–" you began, until his hand moved swiftly from your knee to your lips, pushing your chin to look at him.

"I love you too," he whispered, his beautiful blue eyes searching yours for happiness, for an emotion of something for reassurance.

"You do?" you asked, your jaw falling open slightly in surprise.

"Of course I do, I've always liked you. I've liked you since the day I saw you in the square, little six year old me. I've liked you since I watched you learn how to draw a flower with the silly pink chalk your dad would give you. Since you learned how to ride a bike, since we had our first dinner together. I've liked you since the day I taught you how to make bread, and how to frost a cookie. I've liked you since you met my mother and made fun of me all night for my taste in food choices, I've liked you since the first night we watched the stars together."

Your jaw dropped more in awe, staring at him as tears coated with happiness filled your eyes.

"I've loved you since the day I laid eyes on you."

The tears finally fell, and you threw yourself against Peeta, sobs of happiness racking your body as his arms flung around you, squeezing you tight against him like he wouldn't let anyone take you from him.

"Don't cry, you'll make me feel bad," he laughed, you could hear the cracks of tears in his voice.

"You shouldn't cry!" you said, pulling out of his embrace and looking up at him, a tear slowly falling down his cheek. You took your hand, shaking a little, and wiped the salty water off of his face.

You couldn't help but give him a small peck on the lips.

"Woah," he said. "That is so different from when I kissed you on accident when we were eight."

You laughed, truly laughed, your hand still holding his face from wiping his tears.

"I know."

The night outside finally grew dark, though it wasn't entirely late, it was late enough to go to sleep.

"Would you...stay with me tonight?" you whispered, fiddling with his hand. "Maybe...cuddle?"

"You don't have to ask twice," he smiled.

Your face lit up, pulling him by the shoulder and slamming down into your bed, snuggling up close to his body, engulfed by his arm and tight against his chest. He held you close, the sound of his still racing heartbeat making you giggle quietly. You pushed your leg on top of his, wrapping your arms around his neck and snuggling into the warmth once more.

"Can I say it just one more time?" he asked, squeezing you playfully.

"Not if I do first," you giggled.

"I love you," he said, wrapping his other arm around your back to hold you closer.

"I love you too, Peeta."

He was yours.

A cup in your hand and surrounded by teenage girls dying to know what a kisser he was at their young age, you felt superior to consider him yours.

"He's definitely a good kisser, right?" one girl would chirp, pleading to be heard over the boom of loud speakers.

"What about a tongue kisser? Does he like that?" another would pry.

"My boyfriend loves to do that stuff," the third would drawl, fanning herself in exclamation.

"Oh, honey, I don't think you know the next thing about tongue kissing yet," you'd say, giving a breathy laugh. "You'll get there."

You walked past multiple groups of people, some who wouldn't acknowledge you, but others who waved politely and said hello.

Your target was Finnick, and as you walked up to him, you set a light hand on his shoulder and trailed your fingers around his black collared shirt.

It was your favorite way to get his attention.

He turned to you almost immediately, a glint of light in his eyes appeared and a playful grin grew on his face as he trailed you walking around to his side, signature smile glowing.

He admired your matching sparkly black dress, taking in the sight before speaking.

"I missed your face, pretty girl," he said, just loud enough to hear over the blare of music, taking your jaw into his rough hand and grazing your lips with his thumb. His hand was swift to trail around your neck and down your back to pull you to his side.

Loud cheers from a group of people sounded from behind you at the gesture, as you two were the life of the party. He smiled at the acknowledgement, your giggle lighting up his face. He leaned down to kiss you on the forehead softly, fingers squeezing at your side.

Besides fighting off girls, he was talking to other mentors and victors of District 4, popular among the other Careers who had fought alike to the death. It was common to have them over at your house in Victor's Village to have small gatherings and dinners.

"I'll say day after day, lucky woman," a female victor said to you, winking at you and nodding her head toward Finnick.

"Oh, please. I'm sure you could get him any day, having won the Hunger Games and all," you joked back, ignoring the playful glare down from Finnick and the bite of his fingers digging into your side to pull you closer.

Her name was Rose, and she was a bit of an older lady, probably in her late 30's, early 40's. She supposedly won the Games when she was 16, pretty much the average age to win, but she was pretty, blonde, tall, and looked surprisingly young. Though, you suppose, the Capitol helps out with that a bit.

Rose and another male victor laughed with you as Finnick rolled his eyes and sputtered about how he wishes he could strangle you sometimes, and that you drive him insane most days.

"Man," Finnick lowered his voice to talk in the small circle of four other people as they leaned in to hear him, "I'd enjoy some sugar cubes and sparkling juice in the comfort of my own home right now."

The victors in the circle laughed nodding in agreement. You watched a male victor put his hands into his pockets, his posture slouching back in his dress shirt and pants. Another victor took a sip of his drink, while Rose looked toward Finnick.

"You should share some sugar cubes with your lovely girlfriend," she joked, "I'm sure she'd love them."

Finnick turned to you, nodding.

"I know it's my party, but I'm sneaking out of here," he laughed, "nobody will notice anyways with you guys around."

Finnick winked at Rose and another victor that was paying attention, sliding his hand into yours and pulling you away from the party, pushing through a small gate to lead you toward Victor's Village.

He was practically dragging you through roads.

"Slow down!" you laughed, "we don't have to fly out of the party!"

He stopped dead in his tracks, halfway down a lit street toward his house. Not expecting him to stop so abruptly, you slammed into him.

"Not that slow!" you said, playfully punching his arm as you giggled out the pain in your cheek that you felt.

"Oh, you're fine," he said, grabbing your jaw, and kissing you on the forehead once again.

You loved when he kissed you anywhere, but you loved forehead kisses and steamy make-out sessions. Finnick made you feel like the only girl in the world, the only one he lusted and loved for.

He pulled you the rest of the way to his house, pulling his keys out of his dress pants pocket to unlock the door.

He pushed open the door, flipping on the light switch and leading you directly to his cozy living room, the simple chandelier casting a warm beige glow over the room.

You fell face first into the denim colored velvet couch, rubbing your hands into the soft fabric and releasing a heavy exhale in relief. You felt the couch dip beside your legs, and the zipper on the back of your dress loosened, slowly being undone.

"Can I take your shoes off for you, love?" he asked, his hand now rested on your back at the bottom of your zipper.

You kicked your feet up onto his lap, and exhaled once again, getting comfy as he helped you undress. He had no problem undoing your heel buckles and pulling them off, dropping them onto the ground.

You heard Finnick take a long inhale, running the hand that rested on your back along your spine and onto the back of your neck. He leaned down, laying halfway on the side of the couch.

Gently tucking his face into your neck, he gave you a few pecks on the empty spaces his hand didn't cover.

"Finnick," you exhaled into the couch, lifting a hand to place on his thick bicep. He paused his kisses, listening to your quiet breathing get faster.

"Something wrong, my love?" he asked, murmuring into your neck. Licking a spot on your neck and biting it softly, he pushed a gasp out of your throat.

"Didn't think so."

You squeezed his arm once more, tingles and swirling heat building in your stomach as he kissed you more, leaving small bruises along your neck the more he bit.

"Can we try something new tonight?" he asked quietly, face still buried into your neck and hand wrapped around the back of your neck, controlling where your head moved if you even tried to move it.

He had as much as fingered you before, and you two often made out. You had never experienced full sex with him, but you were eager to if he offered.

"I'd have no problem with that," you said, your stomach now a whirling tornado of heat and butterflies the more he spoke. Your throat was constricting from both his hand and the anticipation, nervous to try something so new with him.

He erected himself once again, sitting up straight on the couch and dragging his hands around your hips. Squeezing your waist, he pulled at your hips to have you sit up for him.

You picked yourself up, adjusting yourself to face him.

Your cheeks were hot from laying face down, but also because of the way he admired you, his eyes darting around your body as he took in your image with a sharp inhale.

"Come here, pretty girl," he cooed, undoing the belt that held up his dress pants, watching your expression like a hawk as you stared in awe at his seemingly perfect and precise movements.

Your cheeks began to burn bright red as you watched him pull the belt from the belt loops and undo the button around his waist, your stomach swirling aggressively with heat and arousal as he watched you.

He left the button open, pushing the fabric to the side and revealing a set of black boxers and readjusting his hips to sit away from the couch cushion, manspreading, as he grabbed for your hips to pull you on top of him.

You scooted toward him, allowing him to grab you by the hips and pull you on top of his lap, immediately pressing his lips to yours.

This would be the only time you were taller than him, and the way his warm, plump lips guided and pushed against yours erupted a volcano of butterflies. Your thighs were bare against his legs, the soft fabric of his pants warm and inviting.

Your dress was loose against your back, the thin straps beginning to fall down your shoulders ever so slightly, the hem of the dress riding up your legs the more you kissed him, his hands tightly gripped onto your hips.

Finnick was focused on making you feel the best he could, trailing his lips down your jaw and throat, kissing dangerously low on your collarbone and chest.

When he pulled away, you met his eyes, looking down at him for the first time in your life. They were darkened with lust and desire, his mouth curling up on the sides as he watched the redness of your face deepen, your eyes darkening with the same lust, plagued with need.

He looked down, a small breathy laugh falling out of his lips. He moved his face toward your chest, his hands slowly moving up your hips to place his hands over your breasts.

He kissed around your breasts, sometimes licking a small spot before biting it until he dropped his hands onto your hips again.

Moving his face up your neck to rest his lips against your ear, he whispered.

"You ready, love?"

You exhaled quietly, nodding as he adjusted his pants once again, pulling down his boxers.

It sort of sprung up against his stomach, a perfect length with girth, a few prominent small veins running up to a glistening dark pink head.

Your face was the color of a ripe tomato, watching as he stroked himself once or twice, grabbing your hips and looking up to you once again.

You lifted yourself up, preparing for him to sit you himself.

As he adjusted to sit you on him, the entrance of his dick for the first time sent electrifying butterflies through your body, a light moan pushing past your lips as he sat you all the way down with ease, your thighs once again meeting his dress pants.

He grabbed for your ass, squeezing gently as he began to rock you back and forth, hitting the perfect spot to send butterflies and heat coursing through your body.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned, throwing his head back, gripping your ass tighter as he forced himself to move your hips at the same pace.

Small moans and whimpers released from your throat every time he rocked you, your arms wrapping around his neck and pulling his head into your chest as you gripped the back of his shirt.

He began to move you faster, his fingers digging into your ass to leave a definite mark on you the next morning.

"You feel so good," he praised, his moans breathy and deep, heat building quickly in your stomach as he moved your hips faster.

He shook your arms loose a bit to kiss your neck once again, biting harsher than before, licking the spots when you'd gasp. You'd push your head down to kiss him, moans and whimpers threatening to break the kiss when he'd thrust just right, the friction between your thighs and his pants growing hot. Your straps had fallen down your shoulders now, your breasts barely covered by a strip of fabric with Finnick's face buried by your neck.

The fact he was fully clothed while you were practically falling naked in front of him was oddly arousing, the idea of him watching you strip from his thrusts made your face hot. The darkened light of the living room and the occasional creak of the old couch left the room in a steamy sensation, the rest of the house black with empty light while nothing mattered to Finnick, just you feeling good.

This was the best thing he'd ever treated you to, his perfect dick sliding in and out of you with no effort, the kisses and nips he'd leave at your neck to mark you as his. The muffled sound of skin slapping as pants met bare thigh, the jingle of the metal buckle that laid to the side.

"Come on, I know you're close, baby."

You felt the rush of an upcoming orgasm as he plead for you, his hands grew impossibly tighter on you, practically slamming you onto his cock as your body erupted in butterflies.

"Cum for me, pretty girl."

White hot heat burst through your body, loud moans and cusses falling from your lips as he worked you through your orgasm, the butterflies and searing pleasure overtaking your body as you collapsed against his chest, your head falling to his shoulder.

Deep moans erupted from his mouth as he worked himself through his own orgasm moments later, slowing you to a halt, his hands leaving your ass to caress your body.

"You're such a good girl," he cooed once again, kissing your neck and pulling you up from his body to look at him.

His smile was soft and genuine, your body exhausted from the best thing you'd ever felt.

"Let's get you cleaned up, darling," he whispered, pulling you off of his lap to place you down against a pillow off to the side.

He stood up, buttoning his pants once again and leaving the room for a few minutes.

You'd heard various lights switch on and off, listening to the softness of his footsteps around the house.

Finnick came back with a pair of plaid pajama pants and an old tee of his, a wet towel, and a small box of cookies and water from the pantry.

Helping you up, he wiped you down with the towel, helping you take off your dress and replace it with the pajamas and tee. He sat you back down against the cushion, turning around to grab the cookies.

"The best for last," he smiled, leaning down to kiss you softly as he set the cookies and water on the table in front of you, turning on the tv to a show you'd never seen before, the volume barely up.

As you took a cookie, he laid down next to you and placed your head on his lap, relaxing as you combed your fingers through his hair, the sound of the tv and the quietness of his breath soon lulling you to sleep.

Looking at him tonight brought a different feeling to your chest and stomach, an odd, tingly feeling you hadn't very much felt before around him. Watching him talk, watching his lips move as he responded to Haymitch, the nod of approvals he would give.

"But anyways, you two better get going," Haymitch said as you tuned in to the conversation once again, standing up from the old couch you all sat on. It was getting later in the night, and you were thankful for him to say that, as it was almost one in the morning.

Peeta stood up as well, taking your hand to help you up from sinking into the couch.

"Alright, good to see you," Haymitch said, giving Peeta a small hug, and clapping him on the back, like a brother would do.

Haymitch turned to you, and reached out for a hug. You wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a short hug before pulling away from him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, probably," you said, smiling, subtly reminding Haymitch of your lunch plans tomorrow.

"Of course you will, sweetheart," he gave you a small clap on the back, weaker than Peeta's, but still a loving tap. A small lopsided smile appeared on his face and he turned away.

"You ready to go?" Peeta asked, looking down at you.

His eyes were trained on you, reminding you of what you felt just seconds ago about the tingling of your stomach and the tightness in your chest.

"Yeah," you smiled, trying to hide the fact you could feel the blush creeping up your face as you looked past him toward the coat rack near the door.

He grabbed your hand once again, grabbing your coat and slinging it over your shoulders, not bothering to have you put it on when you're a mere twenty feet away from his house.

You waved goodbye to any people who were paying attention at the slowly dying party, and walked out the door, hand in hand with Peeta.

"You enjoy the juice?" he asked as you reached the sidewalk, playfully giving you a little shove to the shoulder to knock you off balance a bit.

"You know I did," you replied, recovering your feet and taking his muscular arm in both of your hands. The crisp, cool air of the night nipped at your cheeks, and the leftover snow from the recent fall crunched beneath your feet.

It was a short walk, and by now you were at the door of Peeta's house. He took the keys out of his pocket to unlock his front door. The light over the door was still on, coating the walkway you stood on in a dim, yellow light.

"You looked beautiful tonight," he said as he unlocked the door, pushing in the door with more force than intended.

"Thank you, you looked rather handsome yourself," you replied, hearing a small chuckle escape his throat at your comment.

Without bothering to turn on the lights, he walked through the living room to reach his bedroom, and you ran inside before him to kick off your shoes and jump on his bed.

The softness of the mattress engulfed your body, and you rolled into the knitted quilt on top of his bed.

Tonight felt like a cuddling night, but something about the air felt different.

"Save some room for me," he said, having just taken off his shoes.

The feeling you had earlier watching him rose in your body again as he set his knee on the edge of the bed, climbing over to your side and collapsing next to you with a hand on your hip.

You turned to your side, throwing a side of the quilt on top of him.

"There's plenty of room for you," you said, looking down past his jaw. You saw the same outfit as before, but now his belt was slightly looser, his shirt half untucked. You tried your best to avoid looking toward his jeans, but you didn't have to force yourself anyways.

"Eyes are up here, darling," Peeta's hand reached out gently to your jaw, lifting your face to look at him.

Your face heating up immediately, you made eye contact with him. A small grin was growing on his face, a cheeky smirk you'd seen so often. He kissed you with the same pecks he always did when you were cuddling, but even after you'd kissed him hundreds of times the same way, you couldn't shake the feeling that something felt different tonight.

Doing your best to ignore the prying thought, you snuggled up to his warm body, basically steam rolling him to get on top of him. You laid on top of him, one of his hands loosely around your waist and the other lightly stroking your back. Your arms hooked under his.

After a while of laying in silence listening to each other breathe, you started to close your eyes, letting comfort and sleep take you over. Just as you began to feel the entire pull of sleep, you felt him sharply exhale. He dug his face into the crook of your neck at the same time his hand grabbed tightly onto your hip.

"You've never had sex, have you?" he murmured lowly.

The question startled you, increasing your heartbeat and waking you from any slumber that started to take you over. You turned your face into his neck as well, too embarrassed to lift your head and face him when you felt the heat radiating off your cheeks.

Is this what felt different? Did the air feel different because Peeta wanted to have sex with you?

"Absolutely," you say, the uneasiness in your voice a dead giveaway that you most definitely have not.

He knew you, he knew you hadn't. In fact, he knew that he was the only boy you had ever dated, the only boy who you'd ever kissed.

"Oh, really?" he says, his hands sliding from where they rested to lightly graze over the back of your thighs and your ass, one hand giving a light squeeze to your thigh.

A barely audible but obviously desperate exhale escaped your lips, your head dropping down completely to his shoulder.

He had never touched you like this before. Butterflies were exploding in your stomach, your chest and throat growing tighter as he continued to move his hand over the hills of your body.

"I thought so, baby," he whispered. "It's okay."

He didn't stop moving his hand, but his head dropped back down to the bed, an exhale leaving his own lips.

"Would you let me be your first time?" he said breathily, his hand moving up to rub over your back once again.

You felt like you couldn't say anything, your throat feeling so closed with his hands touching you in ways you'd never felt before, the feeling of his rough hands stroking across your body was enough to send you spiraling.

He noticed your silence, moving his hands to sit up. You refused to let go of your tight hold on his body, trying to catch your breath from the unnecessarily overwhelming feeling blossoming in your stomach.

"C'mon, baby. Talk to me," he whispered.

"Please, Peeta," your voice came out strangled. It didn't sound like your own, plagued by the tightness of your throat and the desperate want for him to touch you like he was before.

It took him a moment to register what you said.

"That's my girl."

His hands reached up to your arms, gently prying them away from his body in order to get you off of him.

He laid you gently on the bed, and you felt like a total mess. You knew you shouldn't be so obsessed with the way he was making you feel, but it felt so right to be touched by him, to be held in the erotic ways you didn't know he wanted.

He was on top of you, his arms out straight and his legs on the outside of yours blocked a cage around your body. You were in for it now.

At first though, he only kissed you.

The low light of the room added to the needy ambiance of the room. Kissing felt more erotic, less controlled, the way his lips moved familiarly but yet so foreign at the same time, the soft dominancy from him that you'd never felt before threatening to take you over. The way he would stop to take a short breath before continuing to kiss you, sometimes biting your lip as he pulled away. When you felt one of his hands creep up your hips onto your breasts, it was an explosion of feelings you hadn't had before.

Your gasp almost breaking the kiss, you felt him grin against your lips as his hand slipped under your shirt to run it over your torso.

His touch was so gentle, so polite, allowing you to feel the entire moment of what he was doing to you. Again though, it was so different from ways he had touched you before. So new and arousing.

His kisses began to trail down your cheek to your jaw, down your neck, and back up to your lips. He kissed you all over the neck, anywhere he could.

You felt so many butterflies and tingles in your stomach, and a warm heat between your thighs growing as he touched you more, lips and hands working in unison to sweetly prepare you.

His hand now moving down to pull the waistband of your pants ever so slightly down, pausing his kisses. He took the moment to move a knee between your legs, giving them a little nudge to open.

His eyes met yours, darkened with arousal and excitement. His lips were swollen and slick with saliva, his cheeks a light rosy tint.

"You ready?" he murmured, watching your face closely.

Though you were so nervous, you were eager.

You wanted this to happen, the more he touched you and the more he caressed your body allowed to the heat between your legs to grow, the unfamiliar tingles and butterflies in your stomach fluttered with anticipation. He was all you ever dreamt of, and the way his eyes bored into yours with lust and hungriness, you were as ready as you'd ever be.

"Yes," you forced out, the constriction of your throat still very prominent.

You watched as the grin on his face grew to a sinister smile, his eyes squinting with pride. He removed your pants with such swiftness you'd barely noticed, and he took the time to admire your bottomless body. Nothing he hadn't seen before, but something he got to see in a totally different manner.

He exhaled sharply, pushing a rough hand into your panties, a finger sliding through slick folds.

He wasn't near being inside you, but the first few circles around your clit felt like heaven, your mouth opening in shock and a strangled gasp forcing its way through. A white heat began to grow in your stomach quickly, and you pushed your head into the softness of the bed.

"Attagirl," he whispered, praise quickly falling out of his mouth as he watched you squirm underneath his fingers.

A slick finger suddenly pushed through you, sending more waves of pleasure to your core. His fingers worked magic on your clit while he pushed his finger in and out of you.

"Yeah, baby?"

Heat, heat, and more heat grew, the pleasure becoming almost overwhelming under your boyfriend's control, the praises coming out of his stupidly pretty face driving your body insane.

Gasps sweetened with whimpers and small moans fell out of your mouth like a sailor's cusses, your eyes screwed shut as Peeta worked your body perfectly. In no time, he pushed in a second finger, earning a loud gasp and a grab to his forearm, his legs tightening around your leg to keep you from wiggling away.

"You feelin' good, love?" he whispered. You could hear the curl of his evil smile, absolutely delighted to be making you feel the way you were. You desperately nodded your head, your grip on his arm growing tighter as the heat in your stomach grew, an overwhelming feeling threatening to fall.

He felt your walls beginning to tighten, and pulled his fingers out.

"Why?" you whined, the feeling in your stomach immediately dripping down to the small heat you had before. You grabbed for his hand, wanting him to make you feel amazing again, but he pulled it away from you.

"No, sweetheart, I want you to experience more than just my hand."

You watched as he undid the rest of his belt from before, your jaw falling open slightly in shock as he unbuttoned his jeans, undoing the zipper as well. His black boxers showed through the small opening in his pants now, and you could see what he was hiding beneath them.

"You okay?" he asked, aware of your jaw now basically on the floor. You nodded at his question, snapping your jaw shut once again.

Your face was hot, your body was shaking a little. You were so ready in anticipation of how he was going to make you feel. You didn't dare look at him, because you knew that you were basically going to finish at just the sight.

"You're sure you're ready?" he said, a hand holding steady on your hip and the other you could only assume holding his cock.

You nodded, your hands going to the quilt for a hold on something, your body beginning to tense.

"Good girl."

You felt him push into you.

A loud gasp pushed from your throat, your body jerking in surprise. He definitely filled you out, your eyes rolling back and heat beginning to grow again.

"What's wrong?" he said, the concerned tone in his voice loud, keeping still inside you.

"No, no, keep going," you whined, your eyes screwing shut.

He began to move slowly, only pushing in a few inches every time, preparing you for the full.

The friction felt so good, quiet moans falling out of your mouth as he pushed more and more inside of you, growing faster with each movement of his hips.

He pushed all the way into you, hitting a spot that sent white heat coursing through your body, electrifying, your vision blanked.

He dragged his cock out once again, pushing all the way inside of you once more.

The tingly heat grew quickly in your stomach as he found a medium pace, cock sliding easily in and out of your cunt with his hands gripping tightly on your hips.

"You look so pretty underneath me," he praised, so close to pushing you over the edge.

Uncontrolled moans forced themselves out of your throat, the heat building up so close to a release. His hips became sloppier and uncontrolled, his pace increasing as he worked to finish.

With one harsh thrust, your vision went white and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. A loud cry left your mouth as you came, your legs tightening around his hips.

He finished quickly after you, his thrusts extremely sloppy.

Pulling out of you, he collapsed next to you and pulled you into his arms, his body warm. You were both breathing heavily, his muscular arms engulfing you in a blanket of comfort,

"I love you so much," he murmured, tucking his head down, his forehead rested on top of your head.

"I love you," you whispered, "thank you."

He didn't say anything, kissing the top of your head and tightening his arms around your body.

"Thank you, pretty girl."

Peeta wore his white tee proudly as you watched him finally lay the blanket flat, admiring him from afar.

He was a work of art himself with his perfectly ironed shirts and brown khakis, toned muscles, and blonde hair glimmering in the orange light.

He turned to you as you approached the quilt on the ground, picnic basket in hand. His face grew soft, the handsome, genuine smile you had barely seen since he was hijacked grew on his lips.

"You look...beautiful," he murmured, taking in the soft pink sundress dotted with white daisies that you wore for the first time since you bought it.

He reached for your hand, taking it into his. You sat the basket down in front of you as he guided you to take a seat, following along with you.

You once again took the moment to admire the sky and him, and how lucky you were to finally have peace in the place you call home.

Peeta began to unravel the bread and berries and place them on the napkins you brought with, sneaking two raspberries into his mouth when he thought you weren't looking.

"Save some for me!" you laughed, swatting playfully at his hand as he grinned cheekily, a drop of raspberry juice dribbling onto his lip.

"It was only two!" he says, taking a raspberry and handing it to you.

You popped it into your mouth happily, enjoying the explosion of sweetness and slight bitterness it carried.

He took a piece of bread off the loaf, not caring to cut it.

"Gosh, I wonder who made this bread, it's so amazing! So fluffy and still warm!" He gloated, exaggerating the enjoyment on his face.

"Oh, please," you gave him an even more exaggerated look of annoyance, because you both knew very well that he made the bread, and it was damn good no matter what.

He gave you a knowing smirk, giving you a light peck on the cheek.

"You still have bread in your mouth! Don't get chewed up bread on my cheek!" You shrieked, yet another tease for him.

"You've had a lot worse on your face," he deadpanned, struggling to hide his smirk.

"Not the time," you giggled, a rosy tint rising on your cheeks.

You watched as the clouds moved ever so slightly in the sky with the light breeze, sometimes watching the color shift from dusky purple to gray, or gray to purple.

Peeta took note of your interest in the sky, taking the time to look up and watch the birds flitting by in small groups.

"Beautiful skyline, is it not?" he broke the silence, taking a plump strawberry into his mouth and ripping off the stem.

"It's not a skyline, Peeta. It's just a sky," you replied, a hint of teasing in your tone, knowing he would bite back playfully with another joke.

"Listen, same thing. There's a skyline somewhere out there, just very minimal where we are."

"Yeah right, maybe in the Capitol," you snorted, tearing off a piece of loaf and taking a bite, savoring the softness of it.

"You make it really hard to be nice sometimes," he joked, turning his head to look at you.

You admired his beautiful blue eyes when he looked at you. The way they had so much love and desire behind them, the questions they raised in the depth. You admired his blonde hair, the way it fell perfectly around his face. Most of all, you admired him.

Everything about Peeta was perfect in your eyes, his slightly lopsided smile, the way his cheeks reddened when you would say you loved him. His stocky build, his broad shoulders that he threw you over multiple times. His arms, his nose, his lips, his jaw, his everything.

"I appreciate that," you bit back playfully, the smile on your face was bigger than ever.

You looked down to the fruit basket, only one strawberry and four raspberries were left.

Peeta ate the rest.

"You can't even save two strawberries for me?" you complained, taking the last strawberry into your mouth and ripping off the stem the same way you learned from Peeta.

"You were too busy indulging in my lovely bread," he said.

You two sat in silence for a while, watching the sky and listening to the chirping of birds.

It was nice to sit with him in silence sometimes, appreciating the time you've spent together and the trials you went through with him. Through the tough and the breaking points, you two came out alive.

You had finished your bread, and scooted over on the quilt to sit closer to him.

Without saying a word, his arm wrapped around your torso, pulling you to his side, and you allowed your head to drop to his shoulder, snuggling close to his body.

You sat like this for a while, listening to the world around you move while you sat in eternal happiness, where nothing could hurt you in Peeta's arms.

You were home, both physically, and mentally.

Peeta was your home, your rock, your everything. Life wouldn't go on without him.

You felt his head turn down to yours, resting his chin on top of your head. He kissed the top of your head lightly, his arm tightening around you.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you," you replied, grabbing hold of him to watch the sky go by.

"They're pretty happy to watch us die in two days," you state bluntly, crossing your arms and staring in the same way Peeta stared out the window, feeling the fire of hatred grow larger inside you.

You felt his gaze switch to you, and you turned your head to meet his darkly outlined face, the bright white lights outside showing off his barely visible features.

"Of course," he chuckled a light laugh, shaking his head and hanging it between his knees. "Isn't that what we are? Just part of the fun?"

You walked lightly over to the side of his bed, sitting gently on the edge and sinking into the heavy mattress, the rich comfort prying to take over your sleep deprived body.

"Come closer," he says quietly, his head now tilted toward you and arm reaching around your shoulder to pull you closer.

You allow his arm to pull you closer, taking a deep breath as his fingers dig into your side.

"It's not just for the cameras," he whispers quietly, his eyes searching your face for some sort of agreement. "I don't want to be part of this stupid game anymore."

His eyes have become sad in the dark room, the weak light of his eyes you saw moments before has come and gone and you now sit next to the boy from District 12 that will soon become a victim to a cruel game.

"Peeta, I won't let you die, come on now," you say, lifting your hand to caress his warm cheek.

You feel the hurt in your heart, watching the boy in front of you crumble in your hands.

You realize then that losing him would be like losing yourself, though you wish you didn't feel that way. He sees you as prey, but someone that could save his life in the arena.

Nothing more.

A weak smile raises on his lips, the corners of his mouth turned just right.

"Your soul is beautiful," his eyes are now boring into yours, a sudden change of mood has constricted your throat and the noise of the Capitol has gotten louder in your ears, your heartbeat beginning to race.

"Peeta," you say, exasperated, the shock of the moment rising a small smile on your face.

"I won't let you leave me."

As he finishes his sentence, he snakes a rough hand around your waist and pulls you tight to his side.

You're almost on his lap.

You feel the sudden butterflies in your stomach, his gaze is darker, no sign of sadness he had seconds before. You feel the sadness as being a lie, something to get you closer to him, and it suddenly makes you cautious of the way you're feeling.

But, the way he's looking at you brings you into the moment, taking away the critical thoughts and survival instincts screaming at you to pull away. His eyes staring into yours feels like glue, it feels like nothing matters in this world but him, his touch, and the look of total hunger and want written across his face.

Your face is beet red, you know it. You could be the next sun with the heat radiating off your face, the eye contact driving you crazy.

You feel the urge to kiss him, to press your lips so hard against his that you can't let go, to hold your body against his muscular one.

The silence of the room, the Capitol screaming with life outside and the steamy ambiance of the room became overwhelming, the grin on his mouth growing to a sinister smirk.

The nightgown covering your body felt like nothing but a light piece of fabric holding you from him, too vulnerable.

But it feels so right.

It feels so good.

He lifts a light hand to your face and strokes your lip with his thumb, pulling it down and bringing his face to yours, his lips planting so softly on yours.

Though so light, it sends an electrifying shiver through your body, your hands desperately reaching for his shirt to pull yourself on top of his lap.

His leg slides so smoothly under you, sitting you perfectly perched on his lap as he drags away from the light kiss.

He knows what he's done to you.

"I would've kissed you like this sooner if I knew it would've put you in such a good mood, Haymitch would be delighted if you were like this all the time."

His signature smile appears, his perfectly white teeth showing through his lips, a small uplift on one side of his mouth.

"Peeta Mellark," you say, his smile raising one to your face. "You will be the death of me."

"Not literally," he says quietly.

His gaze turns down to your chest, studying the nightgown, then back up to your face.

His large hands slap on to your thighs, making a large clap in the otherwise quiet room, and you damn near strangle him.

You don't even think about the sting on your legs, and the possible handprints on your legs that might appear tomorrow morning. You don't think Haymitch or Effie would be pleased that their tributes are about to eye fuck each other two nights before the games.

You grab for his shirt, feeling the muscle right under it ever so slightly.

You bring your face down to kiss him, and he kisses you with such intensity that your face grows impossibly hotter.

Your body is burning, the feel of his lips so amazing against yours that you almost believe you're dreaming.

The passion of the kiss burns bright in your stomach, and Peeta finally pulls away from you when you're struggling to catch a breath.

The way he stares you down with his eyes darkened, watching over you like a hawk and seeing how you react to his lips and touch shows you a side you've never seen of him.

You can feel his fingers gently probing your thighs, and you watch as he licks a small string of saliva off his lips with his tongue.

He lifts a hand from your body, bringing it to your chin and pulling you closer.

You can't help but let his hand take control of you, and he brings you so close to his face that you can see the wetness of his lips in the dark room.

He kisses you with the lightest touch yet again, to the point where if your eyes were closed, you would barely be able to tell he was so close.

He lays back slowly, the hand on your chin strategically moving down to your hip and dragging all the way around your ribcage to your back, pushing you on top of him.

The spark that his skillful fingers send throughout your body is indescribable.

He presses hard against your lips, taking almost all of the control as you feel your body explode with feelings of lust, love, want, and desperation.

Just as your hand starts to grab at his hip for anything like what he's doing to you, he pulls away from your lips.

His lips are plumper than before, and in the small light of the city outside you can see the light red tint on his cheeks.

Both of his arms go around to the small of your back, resting gently above your hips.

His breathing is heavier now, gaze still boring into yours.

"You suck at kissing," he says, a light chuckle escaping his lips.

"Then teach me," you say, trying to hide the fact you're out of breath.

At this, he places a yet another light kiss on your lips, and you fall to his side and curl into his arms, bringing your knee up to rest on his legs.

You rest your hand on his chest, still catching your breath from the kisses, and start to feel the sleepiness catch up with you.

As your eyes are closing, you finally hear him speak.

"Maybe another night, sweetheart."

୨୧ ---------- ୨୧

As you sit down for breakfast, Haymitch staggers out of his room, and you're unsure if it's from alcohol or no sleep, but you'd rather it be drinking, otherwise he would've heard the time of your life last night.

Peeta was sitting next to you, indulging in bread with butter, he's not phased by what he did to you.

But you definitely remember it, as you fell asleep on his chest and woke up the morning after, sort of forgetting you'd just fallen asleep in Peeta's room, but in the comfort of his muscular arms.

Haymitch sits down with a large skid of the chair, pushing it slightly backwards.

"Time of your life there, sweetheart?" Haymitch says, the smile on his lips growing wide immediately.

You feel your face heat up like it did last night, turning your head to Peeta.

His eyes were on you, the same sinister, cheeky smirk he had written on his face the night before.

"Of course."

The smart-ass reply from Peeta was all Haymitch needed to sit down and enjoy his luscious breakfast.