#I spent unnecessarily long on this

[definitely-not-a-wasp]

The Flock's D&D Classes

(Not what they would play— what they would be played AS. Inspired by that one post along the lines of "Maximum Ride reads similarly to a chaotic D&D game, and the series is much more enjoyable when you imagine it like that". Also, idgaf if the multiclasses don't have good composition. This is for vibes, not for playability.)

Max- Fighter (Champion 5)/Warlock (Great Old One 3): Max begins the series as a cut-and-dry fighter, serving as an offense-heavy tank through power, precision, and practice. Definitely strength-based. The warlock comes in later with The Voice, serving as a unknowable patron that occasionally gives her disturbing visions, one-time powers, and tries to drive her insane throughout the series. Has significantly less levels in warlock than fighter because she keeps trying to get restraining orders on her patron.

Fang- Rogue (Mastermind 7)/Sorcerer (Shadow Magic 1): Rogue is the only acceptable class for me to put Fang in. Stealthy and dexterity-based, able to blend perfectly into shadow, but with the charisma of the mastermind subclass to sway people to his ideas and have a decent eye for trustworthiness. His magic is limited, probably only 1 level that was triggered by his first death, but gives him a further buff to their stealth and lends them strength of the grave, which is helpful, considering that he's died two times and probably qualifies as a glass canon.

Iggy- Artificer (Artillerist 8): Cut and dry, Iggy is an intelligence-based class with a knack for pyrotechnics and area of effect damage, depending on heavier fighters to give him time to set his traps. Outside of combat, he continues being good at tinkering and utility-based skills, including cooking and repairs. Also, I like the thought of his growing perception skills not being an innate ability, but because he keeps experimenting with things (himself being the primary test subject) when Max isn't paying attention. He starts being able to taste colors and makes a note "chemical concoction #37 worked, good 2 know".

Nudge- Monk (Way of the Cobalt Soul 6): Don't come for me about using a CR homebrew class when it fits Nudge so well. While she's a martial class and a fighter at heart, being a monk of the cobalt soul allows her to use touch-based information gathering, like she starts being able to do in NYC, and the proficiency boosts explain her ability to sort through electronic information as effectively as she does.

Gasman- Artificer (Alchemist 4) Bard 2: Gazzy is also an artificer, following in Iggy's steps and able to replicate many of the bombs he makes, but also veers more into chemical warfare as time goes on. His bard skills come in through his mimickry, which he uses for both deception and stealth.

Angel: Sorcerer (Aberrant Mind 2)/Wizard (Enchantment 4): While Angel begins as an aberrant mind sorcerer, which lends itself towards her psychic abilities, she's also sunk a lot of time into honing her abilities to enchant and sway people to her will, even to their own detriment. Unfortunately, she is the ultimate glass canon, because she is not able to handle physical damage and will fold like cheap paper.

Bonus

Ari- Barbarian (Path of the Berserker 6): Ari is entirely fueled by his anger and fights to his own detriment throughout the series. RIP you tragic lil' dogboy.

Total- Angel's animal companion who is actually a man stuck in permanent polymorph.

Conclusion: This party has no healers and only one tank. Godspeed to them and all the shit they get into.

Bonus bonus (AKA: I accept that the LTNW renditions of the flock are fundamentally different characters, and therefore have different D&D classes. These are them.)

Maximum Ride- Barbarian (Path of the Ancestral Guardian 8): Every time Max deals substantial damage in LTNW, it is out of anger, like when Ari called Fang a slur or when Jeb called her his daughter. She is someone who is very angry all the time, and is also someone harboring a lot of grief. Ancestral Guardian Barbarians are tanks designed with protection in mind, and are fueled by their dead family members, showing how Max fights in the forefront specifically to take blows for more vulnerable people, and also fights with Gene and Emergency in mind, because they are the reminders that she is not invincible.

Fang Xue- Rogue (Phantom 8): Fang is STILL a rogue, fighting through dexterity instead of strength and relying on evasion/maneuverability instead of weathering blows. However, they don't put stakes in charisma like their canon counterpart, and therefore don't fit into the mastermind subclass. At this point, they are functionally dead, and their actions are deriving from someone who doesn't believe they have anything left to lose other than their family— therefore, they behave more like a phantom rogue. DEFINITELY qualifies as a glass canon.

Igneous- Paladin (Oath of Vengeance 5)/Artificer (Artillerist 3): Yeah, he's still an artillerist, focusing on traps and bombs, but the bombs are more of a means to an end. Iggy's actions are done out of loyalty and devotion to his family, and he is willing to do anything to ensure that their enemies won't be able to hurt them, regardless of the consequences. His oath is his dedication to the people he loves, and the willingness to leave behind his own morality on their behalf.

Nudge Angelou- Bard (College of Eloquence 7): Sure, Nudge is capable of combat, but where she really shines is in her charisma, swaying people to her side and serving as support during fights, as can be seen in her interactions with strangers and the way she can argue with her siblings and make her point. She's the face of the operation fair and square, and is beginning to realize how important that role is. Hopefully she'll get better at deception.

Gazzy- Rogue (Arcane Trickster 5)/Artificer 1: While Gazzy can certainly help with the bombs and traps Iggy sets and is thrilled to learn more, he's much more hesitant to apply them. He's more skilled and comfortable in trickery and manipulation, using his mimickry to disorient and impersonate, hoping to avoid combat all together or serve as a distraction from a safe distance while the rest of his siblings wreak carnage.

Angel- Sorcerer (Aberrant Mind 5): Where the Angel of canon had a lot of intention and practice in honing her skills, which gave her the wizard multi class, this version of Angel has very little control over her psychic powers, and has a lot more issues of her mind leaking into others in more unexpected and unpleasant ways. She is ALSO a glass canon and can easily be taken down with physical damage or her own seizures.

Bonus:

Ari- Barbarian (Path of the Beserker 4)/Ranger (Hunter 4): Ari is still fueled by rage and fights to his own detriment, he's just also comes with tracking buffs and more longterm planning abilities.

Michael Rivers- Rogue (Inquisitive ???)/Artificer (Maverick ???): While this doesn't fit perfectly because Mike isn't involved in combat, Inquisitive rogues excell at uncovering information whether people want them to or not, and Maverick Artificers are adept in a lot of different skillsets. While he's a purely utility character rather than combat-oriented, he's a helpful person to have around.

Conclusion: They STILL don't have a healer, but at least they have two tanks instead of one.

[terranceholdsapencil]

I sometimes think its weird that everyone must have a 'favourite doctor'. I get the appeal, but how its so wide spread baffles me.

Theyre all one person, in the end, with each regeneration being all that came before and more, and a little different due to the experiences they had and the people theyve met, just how I am different from when I was 15 years old, but still the same.

I have a favourite doctor for conveniency reasons, mostly, 12- but even then, whats a 'favourite doctor'. My favourite performance? My favourite to have a fun time with? My favourite to make me aspire to be better? My favourite to laugh, my favourite to cry for? Theyre all different. I love 12 as much as I love 1 or 2 or 3 or 4. Maybe I have incarnations I dont feel as strongly for, but thats usually out of unfamiliarity with all they went through and by such an inability to truly grasp who the doctor was when they wore that face (e.g. my only experience with 8 being the tv movie) or because they amplify parts of the doctor Im less fond of (e.g. six being a little mean).

But in the end, theyre all of it anyway? All of the Doctor is mean, whether its the first doctor or the sixth or the tenth, all doctors are kind, whether its the second or fourth or 12th or 14th, all of the doctor has experienced grief, all of them is strong willed, brave, afraid.

I like the idea of having a 'favourite'. To me its a little like your favourite actors role, I love david tennants hamlet more than I like his alec hardy, but I still love his acting, period.

But this obsession of needing a favourite doctor, of needing to love one part of this beautiful, incredible character more than others, often it feels unfair to who they are. This grand person being reduced to a few years of their endlessly long life. To a single face.

Maybe that's what feels so real about thoschei. Companions tend to get attached to a face. To this one part. To the master the current doctor's body is secondary.

"Doesn't matter which face he was wearing, they're all the Doctor to me."

And they are, in fact, all the Doctor.

[head---ache]

little sage i drew in class:]

[bi-butches-and-bi-femmes]

Hello! This is a positivity blog for bisexual butches and bisexual femmes! My goal is to make bisexual butches and femmes feel loved and less lonely 🩷💜💙

[auduux]

After Blakk saves Will from getting crushed by a mammoth mecha that was barreling towards him at 100mph:

Will: I think you have unresolved anger issues, and jesus fucking christ you're strong.

Blakk: I think you have unresolved avoidant personality disorder.

[imnotsora]

whoaaa mind drawing!!?

[kleinstar]

(drunk)eidenvoice: look at my my new bestie!!!! so cute and innocent

[blackboard-monitor]

me when mighty nein reunion live show

[fingertipsmp3]

Fuck it I’m catatonically bored and I can’t justify starting to make dinner at fucking 3:52PM so I’m going to rate every Stephen King book I’ve read out of 5 stars. If the readmore doesn’t work I can only apologise

Carrie: genuinely iconic although I do think the concept is better than the execution. 3.5

‘Salem’s Lot: immaculate, literally got me into horror, I will always have a soft spot for it. 5

The Shining: iconic. Better than the movie. Argue with the wall. 5

The Stand: really really ridiculously long but I swear to you EVERY PAGE is necessary. 5, would give higher if I could

The Dead Zone: I read this when I was like 19 and I can’t remember much other than that I liked it but it made me sad. 4, marked down because of the scene with the dog

Firestarter: looooved this. 5

Pet Sematary: the first time I read this (when I was 17) it scared me so much it kept me up all night and the second time I read it (when I was 27) it gave me night terrors. 4, marked down because it is lowkey stupid I have to admit

Cycle of the Werewolf: I’m sorry but it is kind of boring. Great illustrations though. 2

It: THE scariest book I have read, haunts me in my dreams, put me through every emotion known to humankind. Sad and gross. 5

Misery: damn near a perfect thriller novel tbh. 4.5

Dolores Claiborne: I remember liking the stream of consciousness style but also thinking “Jesus Christ can we get to the point please”. 3

Insomnia: the first third of this book is fucking wonderful. The second two thirds are a hot mess and should’ve been edited significantly more. 3

The Green Mile: the story is so so good I feel like it came to SK through divine wisdom or something but I am SO sorry, I prefer the movie. I just think it made the dialogue so much more compelling and the changes made were an improvement. Still, 5

11/22/63: one of my favourite pieces of time travel media ever, I think about this book constantly. 5 (6 if I could)

Doctor Sleep: unpopular opinion but I genuinely like it I’m fucking sorry. Like it’s definitely not good but if you don’t look at it as a Shining sequel and you’re entertained by villains with stupid names it’s fun. 3.5

Mr Mercedes: fun and tense, although why SK had to write Jerome Like That I will never understand. 3.5

Finders Keepers: honestly I found this to be just okay. 2.5

End of Watch: a pretty good end to the trilogy tbh although I nearly cried at the epilogue for my own reasons. 4

Sleeping Beauties: another unpopular opinion but I liked parts of this, but I wish SK would learn how to write women… honestly I just wish this book had been written by a woman or someone who understands women. 2.5

The Outsider: if this had been edited significantly fucking better to keep SK from yapping on and on it would’ve been an absolutely brilliant supernatural thriller, but it is in fact 200 pages longer than it needs to be. 2

The Institute: SK should stop writing about women and instead write about kids. 4

Fairy Tale: maybe this was good or maybe I am just a sucker for ‘boy and his dog’ type stories. 4.5

Different Seasons: Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption & The Body are easy 5 stars, Apt Pupil is like a 3.5 because the constant gratuitous violence is just not for me, The Breathing Method was boring and a 2 at best

Four Past Midnight: honestly I liked all of these novellas. The Langoliers was my favourite and I was kind of sad to find out that’s not a popular opinion. 4 overall

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: stupidly good. Like it’s hard to list my favourite stories because there are too many of them. The Ten O’Clock People, The House on Maple Street and Popsy would have to be my top 3. 5 overall

Full Dark, No Stars: messy but good. 1922 is my favourite overall. 4

The Bazaar of Bad Dreams: think I gave this 4 stars on storygraph but honestly it probably deserves more like 3. Top 3 were Ur, Obits & Bad Little Kid but I also have a soft spot for Drunken Fireworks

If It Bleeds: ughhhhhh I’m sorry but I was epically bored reading most of this. The Life of Chuck was good once it came together and Mr Harrigan’s Phone had a decent payoff, but the title novella had basically the same problems and plot as The Outsider, and Rat just felt pointless to me. 2

[alluraaaa]

wait no matt’s not a furry his girlfriend is a robot my bad

[isnt-it-too-dreamy]

this mindset that comparing other genocides to the holocaust is so immoral and wrong and offensive is so nonsensical. comparing in this case is not about evaluating what was/is "worse", downplaying the severity of it, or erasing the unique contexts and characteristics that EVERY historical event obviously comes with, or anything like that, it's about identifying what genocide looks like and how it happens so that we can act to stop it if we see it. the "exceptionality" thinking when it comes to the holocaust has not helped anyone. in fact it prevents solidarity to others suffering a similar fate.

[humanmorph]

tagged by @ticksan a while back i just had this sitting in my drafts. unfinished. well im done

spell your url with song titles and then tag as many people as there are letters in your url (i am NOT doing that my url is too long.)

H - Happy Alone (Saint Seneca)

U - Ultra C (AHUB)

M - Mighty Sword (The Frames)

A - Alien Blues (Vundabar)

N - No Surprises (Radiohead)

M - Meadow (Amos Roddy)

O - Our Flaws In A Vacuum or The Promise We Made To Each Other (Jack de Quidt)

R - Rain (Kota Hoshino, Ayako Minami)

P - Paralyzed (ROAR)

H - Hand Ball (The Mountain Goats)

[anoteofcalcium]

Camellia is carrying me my Demon playthrough 😔

(Alt. Title: Camellia and her gross Little Freak)

[lace-chocolate]

🫠

[youve-always-had-me-cas]

[eleven deleted draft vents later] dae asexuality kinda fuckin weird

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

bad idea, right? | f. odair

masterlist

summary: after receiving a late-night call from your ex-boyfriend, finnick odair, you can’t help but agree to meet with him. what happens when you mix a sound-proof train car and an ex you haven’t seen in months?

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: rough-ish smut, a teensy bit of angry sex, swearing, unprotected sex (zon’t zo that), kinda ooc finnick, choking,

notes: based on 'bad idea, right?' by olivia rodrigo. i lost the person who sent the request so sorry this took so long to come out!! i don’t know if i like how this is written, but smut is smut so… enjoy :)

word count: 4.6k

Neon beams of light pulsed in time with the heavy bass blasting throughout your unnecessarily large home in the Victor’s Village. District Two. Masonry. Big houses.

Two shots of tequila and some other very unnatural concoctions were soaking deep into your brain. Everything was swaying—the room, the people, even you. Your small group of friends danced by your side, keeping together to avoid the creeps that might have entered your home. Although, to you, entertaining a stranger that night did not sound like such a terrible idea.

You felt lonely. Undeniably and pathetically lonely. The alcohol only enhanced your emotions and libido, leading you to search the room for anyone who interested you enough to take them upstairs. But there was no one, because in reality there was only one person you really wanted, and he was no longer yours. He hadn’t been for months.

Replacements had come and gone, but they never stuck. None of them made you feel the way he did.

“Excuse me!” an exasperated voice yelled. “Would you please get out of my way?!”

To your right, your housekeeper, bless her poor deafened soul, was pushing through a crowd of intoxicated partygoers and heading straight for you.

“Claudia!” you shouted over the music, tugging down your short black slip dress out of respect for her modesty.

The elderly woman stopped in front of you, her disapproval of the vibrant scene clear as day. You always paid her double in exchange for putting up with the chaos whenever you threw a house party, which was almost every weekend.

She hovered close to your ear. “There is someone on the phone for you!”

“Did you get a name?!”

After she shook her head, you escorted her through the thick crowd of dancers, into a quieter room and thanked her before beelining for the landline.

With a heavy sigh, you brought the corded phone to your ear and said, “Whoever this is, you better make it quick. I’m not nearly as intoxicated as I need to be and in dire need of another shot.”

Over the scratchy static, you could hear a quiet chuckle—a sound you had spent months trying to forget, along with the person attached to it. How many drinks did you have again? The alcohol must have messed with your mind because this could not be real.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” the caller said, his voice low and amused.

Everything you had longed to forget came rushing to the surface at an overwhelming pace. Wisps of hair the colour of a dying fire. Eyes resembling the sea. Arms that once acted as a life jacket. A dangerous mouth that had explored every inch of your body.

No. It couldn’t be—

“Finnick.”

********

Stupid. This was so fucking stupid. You were attempting to sneak out of your own party. A good old Irish Goodbye in your own house. With luck, you would make it out the front door without being caught by your friends, or worse, Claudia. Now that would be scary.

Water flushed through your system, a weak attempt you made at sobering yourself up because meeting up with your ex while drunk was a recipe for disaster. Then again, so was meeting up with your ex in the first place. Nothing will happen, you thought to yourself, we are just going to talk.

A thought even more unbelievable than thinking you would be able to be able to escape the watchful eyes of your friends.

Your high-heeled foot had just crossed the front door when someone called your name. “Damn,” you muttered, turning back around.

Valeria, your closest yet heavily intoxicated friend strutted over to you, her feet wobbling every few steps. “You sneaky little minx,” she slurred. “Someone said they saw you on the phone. It was him, wasn’t it? He asked you to go see him.”

“Just as friends. No, not even. As acquaintances.”

“Oh, my sweet, sweet silly friend.” She grabbed you by the shoulders. “We both know you aren’t that foolish.”

You looked away because you knew damn well that she was right.

“Look, I get it,” she continued. “Your hot, he’s hot.” You smiled. “You both have a history. I just want to make sure you know all the outcomes of what you're about to do. I’ll be here for you if things do get messy but expect a well-versed speech of me saying ‘I told you so’ afterwards.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Val,” you laughed, prying her hands off your shoulders. “I really do appreciate your concern, but I promise all we’re going to do is talk.”

“Alright, but if things go south, call me. Immediately!” she called a little too loudly as you took subtle steps away from the front door and onto the street. “Have fun with your innocent little ‘talk’!”

“Thanks, mum!”

You waved goodbye as you walked down the street, body buzzing with exhilaration and apprehension. Finnick had told you his train stopped in the district’s station for the night. He and his new victor were travelling throughout Panem for the Victory Tour and were currently in District Two. You didn’t know much about his tribute, only that they were a she. The thought of Finnick spending all his time with another girl had that green-eyed monster inside you writhing.

Enough to make you agree to meet with him after midnight while moderately drunk and slightly horny. What a fantastic plan.

District Two’s train station was a short distance from the Victor’s Village, but it was long enough to cause you to remove your heels. You finally reached the train, barefoot and with the wind softly blowing your hair. Finnick had specified a particular door to knock on so as not to alert the peacekeepers residing within the train. So, you knocked. And then you waited.

Your heart was pounding; your hands were trembling. Not long after, a dark figure appeared behind the door’s tinted window. With a click, the door opened and revealed a shirtless smirking Finnick Odair.

Oh, fuck me.

He was even more gorgeous than the last time you saw him. His crossed arms bulged with thick muscles as he leaned against the doorframe, gaze shamelessly roaming over your scarcely dressed appearance before settling on your face. The amusement in his expression was ever-present and ever-growing.

“Finnick,” you greeted.

“Y/N.”

He extended his hand, inviting you inside the train and hesitantly, you accepted. Sparks of electricity travelled up your arm, starting from where his and your hand connected. Some things never changed.

Empty silence welcomed your presence as you entered the train car. Patterned silver vases of white roses were placed atop every available surface. Meticulously crafted chandeliers lit up the room with a golden haze. To your left was an arrangement of black leather couches surrounding a small silver table; further down the car was a rectangular mahogany dining table decorated with fruit and unlit candles.

Somehow a single train car was more luxurious than your entire house.

“Is every one asleep?” you asked, running your fingertips along the pure gold that lined the couches.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes following your movements. “Every room on this train is sound-proof, so...”

You nodded, unsure of how else to reply. Conversations usually ran smoothly between you and Finnick. They were effortless. But that was when you were together. Four months must have passed now since you last spoke.

“Are you and what’s-his-name still together?” he asked.

“No,” you said bluntly. “I broke up with him last month.”

“My sincerest condolences.” His sympathetic tone was as transparent as glass. Sarcasm always was his favourite pastime. “Guess he just couldn’t satisfy your needs.”

Turning around to face him, you leaned against the couch’s arm, jaw clenched and eyes glowering with agitation. “Is there any specific reason why you called me here?”

He raised a glass of rich amber liquid to his lips. “Can’t two old friends just reconnect?”

“Old friends,” you scoffed. “That’s what you call it. From what I remember, the last time we saw each other, we were having goodbye sex in your bed. And in the kitchen and the lounge and on the balcony.”

Something sincere overshadowed his teasing nature, revealing itself in the tension in his facial muscles and the glassy haze that clouded his eyes. Reminiscence. “It didn’t have to be goodbye,” he spoke softly whilst holding your gaze.

You blinked. There was a short pause and only the quiet hum of the lights sounded in the room. You were the one to end the relationship, not the other way around much to your friends’ disbelief. Over and over, you had been asked the same question: why on earth would you break up with Finnick Odair?

Well, behind closed doors, he was incredible. He was loving, affectionate, and thoughtful. He would collect seashells for you that he found on the beach whenever he went fishing, leave hand-written poetry and heartfelt love letters whenever he left for the Capitol, and mother of fucking Christ was the sex just downright extraordinary.

But as previously stated, it was all behind closed doors.

Finnick never wanted to be seen together in public and on the off chance you were, he would practically neglect your existence. Only your most trusted friends and Finnick’s family knew about your relationship. No one else. Eventually, the secretiveness created a deep void inside you that not even the sweetest love letters and seashells could fill. You couldn’t remain with someone who seemed ashamed to be with you in public.

So, with a heavy heart, you said goodbye.

In fear of becoming too emotional, you disregarded his weighted words and crossed your arms. “So,” you began, “how’s the Tour been so far? You must be pretty ecstatic one of your tributes actually won.”

He bounced back fairly quickly. “I suppose it’s always nice to watch someone you trained live for a change,” he said, placing his drink on a nearby table. “Plus, she’s got a lot of charisma. A natural with the speeches and interviews, so I don’t need to do too much coaching.”

And there it was again—that green-eyed monster. “Charisma, huh?” You just couldn’t help yourself. “Is she pretty too?”

Finnick tilted his head, visibly surprised by your blatant jealousy. “She just turned sixteen,” he stated with a small smirk tugging at his lips. Well, no one told you that bit of information. Awkward. “Careful, Y/N. You sounded a little jealous there.”

You pushed off the chair, heading back toward the door you entered through. Maybe this was a bad idea. “Alright, I’m leaving now.”

Just as you turned the handle, a set of rushed footsteps thudded behind you. The door opened a mere crack, sending in a cold draft that caused your body to shudder.

“Wait, just—” A swift hand came over your shoulder and pushed the door shut, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips. You could feel Finnick towering over you, the warmth of his skin spreading onto your cold back and his breaths fanning down against the bareness of your shoulder. He was so close. “I just needed to see you before I leave tomorrow morning.”

Slowly, you turned around, coming face-to-face with the man you shouldn’t have loved. His burning gaze was a stark contrast to the icy metal door your back was pressed against. Tension pulsated in the small space between you and him. The intense attraction that had first brought you two together came rushing forth; trying to fight such a magnetic force was impossible. You needed connection—touch.

This night would not end with just a simple innocent chat, you knew that now.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. “You needed to see me?” you asked. “Finnick, if you want me to stay, don’t beat around the bush. Tell me what you really want.”

Silence. He continued staring at you and you could see a scheme forming behind his mesmerising green eyes. Then the scheme was unfolding. He leaned down to your level, to your lips, his half-lidded eyes never leaving your mouth as he just barely allowed his lips to brush yours. On instinct, you tilted your head upwards.

“I want you,” he whispered.

You didn’t waste a second to respond. “Then take me.”

He was quicker than a bullet train. Finnick’s lips caught your own and were burning with fiery desire, evident in his haste to wrap you up in his arms and practically merge your body with his. Flames licked just beneath your skin, setting your nerves alight with passion and lust. You burned together in an inferno fuelled by each other’s touch.

Logically, this was wrong. Finnick was your ex-boyfriend and for good reason. But as your hands clung to every inch of him that they possibly could, as his tongue and yours danced fluidly with one another, and as your body buzzed with pure adrenaline, you were willing to abandon all your morals in exchange for five more minutes in his embrace.

A moan travelled from your mouth to his own as you felt him bite your lower lip. You could already feel that familiar throbbing sensation between your thighs and the wetness that exposed how much you craved him. You knew he felt the same. His sweatpants left little to the imagination.

Your hand slipped between your connected bodies, travelling down Finnick’s firm stomach, gliding over his small trail of hair and finally into his pants. Your fingers curled around his cock which already leaked with precum. He was just as desperate as you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound sending tingles down your spine.

You left his lips to press a wet kiss to his neck. “I wonder how many times you pretended your hand was my own,” you purred, leaving another kiss on his clavicle. “How many times you tried to recreate the warmth you only feel when you're inside me.”

His mouth hung open, letting out quiet uneven breaths as you stroked his length, your pace so quick that he already felt an overwhelming urge to release into your soft unrelenting hand. The sound of your voice, so sexy and lustful, combined with your swift pressured movements had his stomach tensing and contracting with a devastating build-up of pleasure.

“Too many times,” he admitted in a strained voice.

You sucked on the warm pulsing skin of his neck, this time receiving a groan that buzzed on your lips. His hands grabbed at your hips for support, roughly kneading the softness and satin in his large palms.

“This dress—fuck!” his voice broke as another hand slipped into his pants, cupping his balls as the other twisted with each stroke of his cock. “Sweetheart,” he chuckled breathlessly. “You look like a fucking siren.”

Your soft lips pecked at his toned chest before pulling away and looking up at him through your lashes. Euphoric delirium was prominent in his eyes. “You should’ve seen everyone staring at my party,” you said. “I wish you saw how badly the men wanted to fuck me right there on the dancefloor; how they undressed me with their eyes. Maybe then you would understand the mistake you made by never showing me off.”

Aggravation blazed in his aroused eyes which only made you so much hornier. Before you could pump another stroke, Finnick had ripped your hands from his pants and spun you around, pinning your body against the wall with his own, his hard cock pushing against the plush of your ass.

“I do understand,” he growled into your ear.

He abruptly started sucking hard kisses onto the side of your neck which had you gasping for air and tilting your head to allow him further access. One of his hands cupped your breast, massaging it with rough fingers and pinching your peaked nipples between his fingertips. His other hand travelled around your hip, wandering beneath your revealing dress and slipping into your lace panties.

You cried out when two fingers plunged into your soaking hole without warning.

“Know what I wish?” he asked, fingers curling in and out of you at such a rapid pace that the wet noises could be heard throughout the entire room. Blissful tears threatened to spill down your face. “I wish those guys could see how you looked right now with my fingers fucking you.” The hand on your breast moved to your throat, applying enough pressure on your carotid to make your head pound with dizziness. “I wish they knew you only enjoy being fucked by me.”

Your walls squeezed around his fingers, pulling him even further inside. Your untouched breasts were squashed against the train door and the fabric of your dress rubbed against your sensitive nipples. Finnick’s cock twitched against you and his hand was constricting the blood flow to your head. Yeah. Nobody else could make you feel better than this.

Finnick plunged his fingers inside again with a hard thrust which forced a broken moan from your lips. “Isn’t that right?”

The heel of his palm dug into your clit and your entire body was overcome with pins and needles; your knees buckled and hit the metal door. That would definitely bruise. You hoped it would—you wanted a reminder of this night.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Finnick, only you. Only you.”

“That’s right.”

Your moans started to rise in pitch, signalling the orgasm which was rapidly closing in. But right before you could come, Finnick’s fingers slipped out of you and out of your now-drenched panties. Your orgasm began to fade due to the lack of friction until it disappeared completely, leaving you feeling frustrated and neglected.

Turning back around with a flushed face, you witnessed Finnick sucking your juices off his fingers with a pop. His grin was conniving, self-satisfied with his actions which proved how desperately you wanted him to fuck you. That smug bastard. You would give anything to wipe the amusement off his beautiful fucking face.

And, well, you did.

“Fuck you!” you exclaimed, shoving him backwards.

“Fuck me?” He raised an eyebrow, smirk twitching at his lips. “I already know you want to.”

With a frustrated cry, you shoved him again, but this time he caught you in his arms and fervidly crushed his lips to yours. You squirmed and writhed and resisted but eventually melted into his embrace when you remembered you wanted this. You wanted this so badly.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as both your bodies continuously curved into one another, neither of you being able to remain still for more than a few seconds. The taste of brandy and you were on Finnick’s tongue as it swirled around your mouth; the flavours, which were polar opposites, sweet and savoury, mixed together to create something utterly carnal.

With the knowledge that this was probably a one-time thing, your kisses became bruising and frantic. Finnick alternated between kissing your lips, your neck, your jaw, and any place he could possibly reach. You hung onto every sound he made, every hot breath he took.

The two of you stumbled around the train car, lips never leaving one another, hands grabbing at every inch of flesh they could reach. You bumped into walls and multiple glass ornaments and laughed together when Finnick just barely caught one before it shattered on the floor.

Eventually, you ended up down the opposite end of the train car. Your back hit something hard and you gasped in surprise. The dining table. Finnick gave a quick glance at the table before pressing another kiss to your lips, this time a little more tenderly.

“Turn around,” he said, and you did.

You immediately felt him press himself against your behind. You stared ahead, chest heaving and swollen lips tingling, waiting for any more commands. His hand walked around your thigh, over the mound of your pussy, and then grazed up your stomach. He left a trail of warm tingles between your breasts before continuing upward to move your hair from your shoulder where he placed another warm gentle kiss.

Finally, he splayed his hand flat between your shoulder blades and pushed, bending you over the table until your torso lay flat on the cold wooden surface. Finnick hiked your dress up to your hips and crouched down, caressing your outer thighs before sliding your panties down to your ankles.

The air hit your bare skin and you exhaled a shaky breath as you anticipated his next movements. As he rose to his feet, he trailed kisses up your leg, ending with a soft bite to your ass which earned him a small giggle.

You could hear him tug down his sweatpants which hit the floor with a muffled thud. Your breaths continued to shake with nerves, coming out in soft pants. Finnick held onto your hip with one hand and held himself in the other. No words were spoken. Both of you wanted this—needed this.

Next thing you knew, your panting breaths had stopped altogether. Finnick’s cock had slid between your folds, filling you up in one single movement, and you both released a relieved moan in sync. Your hands pressed against the tabletop as your body began to rock with his thrusts. You weren’t going to make love or whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears. No. This was pure unadulterated fucking.

Finnick started off fast; neither of you had the patience for a slow build-up. You didn’t even bother caring about the fact that he wasn’t wearing a condom. His hand had lowered to your mid back and the other gripped your hip as your warmth swallowed him over and over.

“Oh god,” you gasped.

The sensations that overtook your body were eagerly welcomed. You had tried to replicate the sex Finnick gave with other men after your relationship ended, but none seemed to compare even the slightest. You weren’t sure how a single human being could provide the sensations of nirvana, how one could master the skills of bringing another person to such an incredible high, but Finnick could. He always could.

It was only at this point that you realised how badly your body had been in withdrawal from his touch. The feeling of him inside you was like a drug. Addicting. Definitely not healthy.

You had tried fingering yourself to replicate his cock, but it was a pathetic attempt. Finnick could hit a deep spot inside you that no one else could like it was some secret forbidden location that only he held the key to. He made your body feel full. Stuffed. Complete. In a way that made you feel like you were going to burst into an explosion of white heavenly light.

Your nails scratched at the wood as he continued to pound into you, cock gliding against the ripples of your inner walls. There wasn’t a single inch of space left inside you. He fit like your pussy was where he belonged.

“Always feel so fucking good,” he muttered between thrusts.

His pleasure was always vocal, voiced with heavy breaths, grunts, and groans. Sometimes he even whimpered, especially when you edged him. He didn’t mind you being more dominant at times, but right now was not one of those moments. Being bent over and fucked into a table was not in any way, shape, or form you being dominant. This was Finnick being in control and it felt incredible.

“Finnick,” you said. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop!”

In response he grabbed your other hip and pulled you back into him, burying himself even deeper inside you with each thrust which had you crying out his name again. He hunched over your body, hips still pounding behind you, and sucked harsh kisses on your shoulder. He left behind red and deep purple marks on your shoulder, moving to your neck, and then grazed your earlobe with his teeth.

He returned a hand to your throat, forcing the both of you into a standing position. His fingers squeezed, reducing the blood flow into your brain which enhanced the explosion building up inside you.

“Harder!” you cried.

Both his cock and his hand increased their vigour. Stars were sparkling in your vision. You were almost completely sober now, yet you felt entirely drunk. Drunk on Finnick. He reached his free hand between your legs and your body fell back into his, only remaining upright from his support.

His fingers rubbed side-to-side on your clit, so hard and fast that his hand almost blurred in motion. Your moans rose an octave as your stomach began to tighten. A fire burned within your muscles, so pleasurably excruciating that you thought they would liquefy inside you. Your pussy clenched around Finnick’s cock, walls fluttering with each of his pounding thrusts.

“Come, sweetheart,” he purred into your ear. You could hear how much he struggled to contain his moans as he talked. “Come on, I know you're close. I can feel you.”

You nodded mindlessly and curled your arm backwards around his neck, in need of something to cling to. As the feeling inside your stomach intensified, your eyes squeezed shut and your hold around his neck tightened until you were almost choking him. With every ounce of strength that he had inside him, Finnick increased his pace until he fit multiple mind-destroying thrusts into each second that passed.

He was almost animalistic with his pounding and unrestrained groans of pleasure. And you were so close, so, so close to falling over the edge. His hand was constricted around your throat; the other assaulted your clit, and his cock was mercilessly hitting that swollen spot inside you. Any second and—

“I’m go—I’m gonna come!”

A potent cocktail of pleasure, ecstasy, and release washed through your body, unravelling the tension inside your stomach and exiting through your stuffed hole. Your juices coated Finnick’s cock with warmth as you repeated his name over and over.

You could feel him twitching inside you, spilling himself onto your clenching walls whilst bending you over to senselessly fuck you into the table. His moans were so loud, so fucking attractive, but may God have mercy on both of you if the room wasn’t actually soundproof.

Neither of you could stop. You came an immeasurable number of times; your hands left marks on Finnick’s body as he did on yours, and every surface in the room had been tainted with your sin. You clung onto one another, desperately prolonging your night together that would most likely be the last. Ever.

*********

“Don’t leave again.”

Your fingers stilled as you strapped on your high heels. You glanced up at Finnick—who now had his sweatpants back on—from the gold-lined leather chair you sat in.

“Finnick…” you sighed.

“Please,” he said. Crouching down in front of you, he gently took your hand into his own. His face, which previously reflected nothing but pleasure, now looked at you with pained desperation. “I’ll explain everything to you. Why I was always in the Capitol. Why it was too dangerous for us to be seen together in public. All of it.”

The mention of danger took you aback. You had thought he never wanted to be seen together because he was embarrassed, not because it was… dangerous. Brows furrowed together, your eyes flickered between his, searching for any hint of deception, anything that might reveal malicious intentions. But when had Finnick ever been malicious towards you? Never. All you found in his eyes was sincerity.

“I can’t lose you again,” he whispered, lowering his head.

After a few seconds of contemplation, you realised there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to walk out on him again. Life would mean nothing without Finnick beside you.

Your fingers sat under his chin, lifting his head to meet your gaze. The two of you exchanged a look of vulnerability, signifying an era of newfound understanding and reconnection.

You whispered in response. “You’ve got me, Finn.” 

tags: @tayrae515