#writing ✍️

[ali-manar5]

Please donate here 👇✏️📚👨‍👩‍👧‍👦🫂🫶

My daughter Haneen is a high school student and needs a calculator and study supplies (stationery) to support her educational journey. Additionally, she requires private tutoring, which costs $200 per month to improve her academic performance. These needs are essential to help her succeed in her studies.

@a-shade-of-blue @razzberrydazz @ot3 @mar64ds @dev-tawfik @iriyaices @irhabiya @ipsen @tamamita @90-ghost @bilal-salah0 @kyra45-helping-others @soon-palestine @sar-soor @noble-kale @virovac @ankle-beez @nyenyel @g00ngala @gryficowa @acepumpkinpatrick @autisticmudkip @magic-can @mysharona1987 @mauesartetc @nevert-the-guy @determinate-negation @dev-tawfik @chokulit @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @pcktknife @papabay @gazavetters @paper-mario-wiki @akajustmerry @era @palestinegenocide @northgazaupdates2 @ashwantsafreepalestine @vakarian-shepard @flower-tea-fairies @dlxxv-vetted-donations @xxx-sparkydemon-xxx @aria @intersectionalpraxis @commissions4aid-international @turtletoria @littlegermanboy @autismwithoutpremium

[jazzandpizazz]

[bhaal-battle-beer-bard]

Look what I got my fellow poetry connoisseurs and bards! 🪶✒️✨️

That screams for some vintage aesthetic rework!✍️

("Or will you finish your thousands of WIPs or write the new ideas from last night?" Will you shut up??!!! 😆 )

[dedi-ashour]

‏"كلّ مُتبع لِهَوَاه؛ متأخِّرٌ عن مُبتغاه"

[xtruss]

What Life Is Like When Your Brain Can't Recognize Faces

The common neurological disorder affects roughly 2 percent of the population. Author Sadie Dingfelder shares her perspective navigating the world with it.

— By Sadie Dingfelder | August 6, 2024

An illustration adds an abstract look on top of a photo of author Sadie Dingfelder. Illustration By Matthieu Bourel, Photo By Oxana Ware

Fifteen pairs of eyes stared into the gloaming. An hour passed before someone spied the faintest wisp of smoke on the horizon. The wisp drew closer, becoming something larger, winged, and muscular: sandhill cranes the color of storm clouds, save for their smart red caps. They swirled around our bird blind, a converted shipping container set into the riverbank to hide us from the cranes, and dropped out of the sky in groups of two or three or five, landing gently in the Platte River in central Nebraska.

“It looks like one big mass of birds,” explained our guide from a conservation group called the Crane Trust. “But they actually stay in family groups for their entire migration.”

“How do they keep track of their mates?” I asked.

“They look alike to us, but I bet they look different to each other,” replied a woman in a green coat. I turned away from the birds to study her face. She had wide-set eyes, a ski jump nose, and short gray hair. Was she the same woman I was chatting with on the van ride here, the one who showed me pictures of her dogs?

She was flanked by two similar looking women, and all three were traveling with their own mates—men who were, to me, interchangeably outdoorsy, middle-age, and white. After the cranes melted into the inky darkness, we humans filed silently out of the blind and trekked across a muddy field, our careful footfalls drowned out by a choir of chirping frogs.

Back in the dining hall, we sat speechless, some of us near tears at the beauty we’d seen. As we began to put our collective wonderment into words, I noticed many of my fellow “craniacs” (our term for crane enthusiasts) were calling me by name. It wasn’t strange by any means. After all, we’d spent the past six hours together, chatting over drinks, getting settled in our cabins, and then packing ourselves tightly into vans. But, hard as I tried, I couldn’t draw forth any of their faces or names.

To my eye, humans are nearly as interchangeable as cranes, and I only recently discovered why. I have a neurological disorder known as prosopagnosia, or face blindness. Some people end up with this condition through brain injury, but most cases are genetic in origin—and this version, known as developmental prosopagnosia, affects 2 to 2.5 percent of the population. It touches nearly every aspect of our lives, from dating to networking to making friends, and yet it goes largely undiagnosed. This is because, like most people, folks with face blindness assume that everyone else sees the world the same way as we do. We don’t realize that other people perceive faces as distinctive and highly memorable. A case in point: Bill Choisser, who coined the term “face blind” in the late ’90s, once asked his partner, “Why do TV shows have so many close-ups of actors’ faces? How are we supposed to tell them apart if we can’t see their clothes?”

As a kid, all I knew was that I couldn’t seem to make any friends. I’d hit it off with someone one day and then treat them like a stranger the next. I later found out that my classmates, quite reasonably, thought that I was aloof, or weirdly hot and cold. To fend off loneliness, I would read constantly, usually series like The Baby-Sitters Club or Sleepover Friends. I dreamed of having not just one pal but many. I yearned for the safety of a flock.

In college I abruptly switched strategies—from treating everyone like a stranger to treating everyone like a friend. Walking to class, I’d stop and chat with anyone who so much as glanced my way. It was, I thought, a major improvement. So it went for another 20 years. I knew everyone without really knowing anyone, save a handful of best friends and a boyfriend, all of whom tended to be visually distinctive, or at least very loud. It never occurred to me that this might be a strange way to live.

Not long after I turned 39, I began writing down funny stories from my life, pushing to meet a personal deadline to write a book by 40. Since I was working at the Washington Post at the time, I sent drafts to friends who also happened to be award-winning journalists. They had questions: Why are you always lost? Why do you regularly have no idea who you are talking to? Why is your life shot through with so much ambiguity and confusion?

Other people might have consulted a neurologist, but as a science writer, my first instinct was to sign up for studies. One, run by researchers at Harvard, involved brain scans followed by nearly 30 hours of intensive face-recognition training. My scores in the program improved, but whatever skills I learned during the exercises did not translate to real life. Somehow, I figured out a work-around for tests that were all but impossible given my unusual brain—and this is how I (and most face-blind people) get through life. We figure it out. We adapt.

This is also true for the sandhill cranes. When humans replaced wetlands with farmlands, the birds adapted their diet to include crops like corn. The sandhills, however, are uncompromising in at least one regard: They need wide, shallow waterways to roost in—and that’s why, during much of the year, Crane Trust staff mow down saplings and prevent shrubbery from rooting along the riverbanks. As a result of this adaptability and assistance, sandhill crane populations have been steadily increasing every year.

While I don’t require much accommodation these days, except for the occasional name tag, I do worry about all the lonely face-blind kids out there—as well as people who have other neurological differences. What could we as a society do to make the world more hospitable to the largely unacknowledged diversity of human brains and minds? Where should we be clearing riverbanks?

It was late when we got back to our cabins, but I was still curious about the cranes. I skimmed a few papers before going to bed, and I discovered that cranes probably do look alike, even to each other. But their calls are distinctive. Each bird has its own signature sound, and their voices can carry for miles. This is how cranes keep track of their family members throughout their migration—not with their eyes but their ears.

I should have known. While the cranes looked the same to me, I noticed one particular bird that stretched its neck long and made a sound like an angry clarinet. “It looks like he doesn’t like where his family has roosted,” my friend in the green jacket observed. It was impossible to know, but I suspected she was right. The world is a cacophony of consciousnesses, all so different from your own. But sometimes, if you’re quiet, perceptive, and lucky, you can hear another singular voice piping through the din. I drifted to sleep that night feeling a deep kinship with the cranes, comforted by the knowledge that while my vision may sometimes fail me, my curiosity never will.

[aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna]

For I will never know

What is a hug?

Or what is a forehead kiss?

Unfortunate little me,

For I will never know

What does it mean

To be cherished?

Or to be expressive?

Unfortunate little me

For I will never know

What does parental love mean?

Or heck, what is even love?

Unfortunate young me

For I will never know

What does it mean

To be free like a bird?

Or heck, to be free at all?

Unfortunate young me

For I will never know

What does it feel like

To not be fucking hurt?

Both mentally and physically?

Unfortunate older me

For I will never know

What does it mean

To be loved and respected?

If not, then to even be

Fucking looked at

Or to not be

Depressed and anxious

Because,

Unfortunately,

For older me

For i will never know

[lacunalunatic]

Here, have a short story!

Totally not me compensating for a comic lol.

╔══•●•══╗

Somewhere in the city, a small impish creature sat in a booth, the glass door slid over to muffle the conversation in privacy. In front and behind, other callers had their private conversations as well at the public telephone room, one of many dotted all over. He tapped his cigar against the small table in front of him, gray ashes dusting and littering the surface without a care. Through the earpiece, he could hear the telltale sounds of a typewriter clacking, and eventually a small ding!

“…recorded.”

A small pause.

“Maurice…it wasn’t difficult again, was it-“

“Ay! That was only a couple of times, and I still blew em’ down. I’m fine,” Maurice interrupted sharply.

“…weellll, I heard from down the grapevine, a bit of news I don’t think you’ll like,” the voice came hesitantly on the other end.

“What? What is it?”

A sharp hiss-in of air on the other line. “You’re…getting a new partner, congratulations, hooray!”

“WHAT?!”

The furious scream was just loud enough to make the attendant at the counter of the room turn with confusion to look at his booth, staring at him in suspicious concern. Maurice hissed at them, flicking a split-tongue that made them jolt and hurry through a door behind them, likely just for employees. Maurice turned his attention back to his call.

“Brie, I don’t need no goddamn partner, tell them to stuff it!”

“Mo, you know I can’t actually do that! Besides, I think this is actually a good thing! Jobs will be easier and quicker for you!”

“You say that like I’m an old-timer-Feh! I don’t want to have to drag some wet-behind-the-ears pup!”

“Oh hush, it’ll be fine. They want you to meet them at drop location 4H tomorrow at noon,” Brie continued on. Maurice grumbled, clawing at his face in exasperation.

“One last thing.”

“What?”

“Please stay safe. I love ya.”

Maurice sighed. “Love ya too, sis.”

The demon gingerly crammed the mouthpiece back into the booth, deflating with a long heave. He looked out the booth window to see that the same attendant was back out, whispering to the ear of a manager and pointing at him.

“Alright, alright you fuckin’ mugs, I’m going!” Maurice yelled, waving them off as he stormed out. Sheesh, is there nowhere where he would get a damn break?

———

Drop location 4H was an old alleyway in Lancaster, the west section of the city. In there, Maurice waited in the shadows and occasionally watched common folks walk in the street nearby.

“C’mon, c’mon, you’re fucking late already-“ he mumbled, looking at a watch that just struck noon.

In almost comedic timing, a fiery red symbol etched itself on the brick wall opposite to him, flames screeching and hissing. Once complete, the bricks within the circle fell away, opening a dark tunnel in which a tall figure stepped out, jaw set square.

“Uh…” Maurice began, slowly looking up. “You the guy?”

Said ‘guy’ looked down, his black shades reflecting Maurice’s face back at him. Suddenly, a crooked smile erupted, a hand held out.

“Well, it’s finally nice to meet you! You’re Maurice, right?”

“Well, yeah-“

“Splendid! You’re a lil’ shorter than I reckoned you to be!” The other said, vigorously shaking Maurice’s hand and quite literally, Maurice himself.

“Ey, the Hell you mean by that-?!”

“Oh, cool yourself old man! The name’s Florence, and I believe we got a hit today, don’t we?”

Maurice grumbled, yanking his hand out. “Just one today. C’mon, you lug, and follow me. Better not fuck it up-“ Maurice whispered that last part to himself, clearly irritated by this…jolly sack of bones.

“Oh, have no worries, Mo-“

“‘Mo’?!”

“-this will be a clean and easy one, yep. Very, quick,” Florence finished ominously, reaching inside his suit jacket. From there, Maurice could see the familiar shining glint of a revolver. Perhaps…this newbie knew what he was doing.

If he even was a newbie at all.

[goldenmagnolias]

Mist.

WRITERS

If you see this, spoil your WIP's biggest plot twist using ONLY ONE WORD

Here's mine!

Dying

[myladysapphire]

Solace

As the daughter of Alicent Hightower you had been fed stories of your older sister and her children, so when you are bethrothed to Jacaerys you arent too sure as to what to expect, and go into your courtship expecting the worse, only to find out you couldn't have been more wrong.

word count: 5,908

CW: MDI 18+, smut, fluff. p in v, fingering, loss of virginity, oral (f reciving), incest not beta read!

Jacaerys Veleryon x Fem!reader

a/n - no war au

Masterlist

She had been betrothed to Prince Jacearys since they were both children, before most noble children even knew the expectation of one day getting married off and yet since the day of said betrothal, they had not spent a single moment together. Nor had you exchanged a single letter nor a single thought of the other, at least she had not. 

In all honesty she had simply lived as if he and their impending marriage did not exist, so when he returned for his brother's hearing and for their courtship to officially begin, they were at a complete loss of where to begin, they knew of no common interests, and there family’s had been pitted against each other their entire lives.  Seeing as they had never been close in their youth, nor present much time together, seeing as she had kept to herself or Heleana, and Jacearys having spent most of his time with his brother and hers.

She had always preferred solitude, preferred to keep to her books, painting, and her beloved dragon Gaelithox. Gaelithox perhaps the only being she would spend day after day with willingly. 

she had hoped he would be similar. Though from what she could remember, he always seemed to find himself surrounded by others, not once does she remember seeing him alone. Perhaps if she had then she would have gotten to know him. But for her crowds were her worst fear, talking to more than one person or anyone was really. But Jacearys was always the centre of attention, with his good looks and charisma, it seemed he never begged for attention, it just always simply found him. She hoped marrying him would not force her to become the same.

How they expected her to one day be queen confused her. With Jacearys as the future king she would have all these responsibilities and have to do everything she hated. Her mother had made sure to tell her that, to start to show her what would be expected of her.

For all she knew it was a scare tactic from her mother, y/n knew her mother hated them, she would call them bastards and would whisper in her ear more and more rumours about her eldest sister and her eldest son. 

So, when he arrived all she could do was watch him. Scared to start a conversation, and too nervous to make any moves towards him. So she stood from the sidelines as he found himself surrounded by the keeps inhabitants. 

As she watched him at dinner, following lucerys victory of being declared the future lord of the tides, she very much doubted he would like solitude as much as she did. The few moments where he found himself not in conversation, he almost seemed nervous. She feared he would never understand her fear of crowds, or her hate for balls and feasts. Nor understand what her mother referred to as her quirks. He was loud and charismatic, all traits she lacked. He was drawn to crowds and seemed to thrive at the events she hated. But he seemed to suffer in the moments she loved the moments alone, the quiet moments.

She had been forced to sit away from her usual seat and sit nearer to the centre, a place where all eyes were on her. She sat opposite her eldest sister, Rhaenyra, with Jacearys on one side, and Aegon on the other. 

Aegon had been making crude jokes all evening, whispering and taunting her. Though she had become extremely talented at ignoring him, it was starting to bug her, and all she wished was to retire to bed. 

Luckily, he seemed to be the only one interested in her, until Rhaenyra decided to start a conversation with her. She had never really known her eldest sister, having always been stopped by her mother. She remembered when her and Rhaenyra would have bi-weekly garden tea, until her mother found out and banned her from even going near Rhaenrya chambers.

Over the years her mother had told her only the worst about Rhaenyra, and forced her own hatred or mayhap envy of her onto y/n. And yet she only ever seemed to be kind to her when they did interact. 

“Sister?” y/n heard her call out.

“Yes princess?” she responded, stuttering from being addressed. 

“Are you quite alright, you look quite pale?” her face was concerned, as did Jaceaerys when he turned from his seat to face ger at his mother’s words.

“i-“ you looked down starting to pull at the skin on your fingers, “i do not find i fit in well in such gatherings, it's just stress” she spoke, voice shaking as y/n looked down and bringing her fingers to her mouth biting the skin around them.

“Would you like me to escort you back to your chambers?” She heard Jacearys ask in concern. 

At this her mother’s attention was captured, as she snapped her head around, ending her conversation with her grandsire, in doing so capturing the whole tables attention “what’s wrong dearests?”

“i- i would like to retire mother?” y/n almost begged, desperate for the offered reprieve.

“of course Aem-“her mother began, before being interrupted, clearly offering Aemond to escort her to her chambers. 

“I shall escort her,” Jacearys interrupted, standing from his seat and offering his hand that

she took it nervously.  These were the most words either had spoken for each other, at least that she could remember. 

Walking down the halls of the keep, she found herself in a comfortable silence.  Though Jacearys seemed to find it rather uncomfortable as he began to ramble on about gods knows what.

“so i told Luke -“

She hummed, responding to a question she probably heard minutes ago, she hated to admit it but she was seriously struggling to follow whatever he was talking about. The topic of which changed near every second. 

He stopped walking suddenly, causing her to be pulled back as their arms were still interlinked. He seemed to finally realise he was talking nonsense and had lost her completely “I’m sorry, I’ve been rambling on and you can’t even follow a word of what i was saying i-“ 

“oh no i- i, well yes, but I believe you are just nervous… as am il” y/n spoke softly. 

He nodded, “your right, i- i have been trying to think of anything i know about you, any shared memories and yet i can not find a single thing” he shook his head, seemingly ashamed.

“oh well… we never really talked until today, i always much preferred my own company to that of others”

“oh i- really?” he sounded confused as if spending time by himself was beyond him.

“i always found i was always more myself when with others, in fact i find myself nervous when I am alone '' he spoke, slowly making sure not to ramble on once more.

“I suppose I have never found such solace with another person as to feel myself with another person” you looked down, she too seemed so polar to one another and feared her solitude would always be interrupted once she married him. 

“I understand that, Luke is the same way” he looked at her then, “i hope that i can be the person you find solace in, one day..” he took her hands, stoking them softly, it was always a hard thing for her, touch. Always avoiding it, and only taking hugs to shaking someone’s hand when she knew social construct dictated she should. And yet with him it was fine it seemed nice almost, something she could get used to, even find solace in.

“I would like that”  she nodded, and he gave her a sweet smile, relief almost washing over his face. He took her arm once more and led her back to her chambers, this time instead of rambling, he simply asked her questions about herself, and for once she happily answered them.

The next day she was awoken to the sound of rapped knocks on her door. Though she normally slept in, it was still rather early for such a thing. Opening the door she saw Jacaerys standing with a bouquet of flowers, more specifically peonies, a flower that you would often find embroidered on several of her dresses. 

“Prince-“

”Jace” he interrupted “ please call me Jace, we are to be a married soon it is only right” 

“Jace” she said slowly, getting used to the informality she lacked with even her own family , “what are you doing here so early?” 

“Early?” he laughed, as if if the idea that nine in the morning could ever be considered early,  “i suppose it could be”

”Why are you here?” She asked, almost irritated.

“Sorry,” he spoke, reaching his arm out to present her with the peonies'' i simply came to ask if we may break our fast, with the hope you had yet to eat and yet it seems i woke you,” he shook his head “i apologise, i am used to waking up early for training. I should have thought you may have preferred to sleep in” he looked down nervously.

Sniffing the flowers, she moved into her room, leaving the door agar as an invitation for Jace to come in. ”I would like that” she nodded, “Though this is still rather early for me, so i shall need to call my maids to help me dress and prepare our breakfast”

”early?” He again asked, “what time do you normally wake?”

”Mostly before noon, but not before 10,” you looked up with a small smile, “i find i can sleep the days away if allowed, it is one of the few things i can never seem to get enough off”

He laughed, the nerves leaving him slightly. “I find i am always awake by eight, at the latest, sadly i do not possess the same skill to sleep in, a skill i am much jealous of.” He smiled, “ i shall have the guards fetch your maids and order breakfast, and perhaps tomorrow we may share lunch instead” 

“I would like that,” she nodded.

Their fast was spent with the exchange of shy smiles and timid questions asked, as time went on  they grew more comfortable and found their rhythm, and she found the tiredness she felt from talking to others never came. 

The next moon was perfect, each day she would wake, dress, then Jace would meet her and she broke her fast and he took his second meal. Then they would walk the gardens. After a few days, she confessed how typically she would ride Gaelithox the second she awoke, and soon they found they were going for dragon rides every morning. Vermax and Gaelithox enjoying each other's company. Every second was filled with chatter, and those few that were not, neither felt any awkwardness, just contentment, solace.

They seemed to spend almost every second of every day with each other and yet she not once found it tiring, or wished for a reprieve, she simply wished for more.

There were even days where she wished for no talking and Jace was more than happy to spend the whole day in silence, simply enjoying each other's company, as they went about their own tasks.

She felt as if she was learning everything there was to know about him, through his stories she felt as if she knew his brothers, his family, like she had grown up with them , and not just watching them. She learnt his quirks and he learnt hers. And every day they seemed to learn something new. 

But today was the first day she would spend without him since his arrival, with her father , the king, asking for Jace to accompany the small council meetings from now on. 

So she had planned to spend the day alone, resuming her old daily routine even on the days where Jace was not in her company. 

That was until her mother decided to skip the small council meeting and spend the day with her.

”Do not ever trust them, dearest” her mother tutted, brushing through her hair. “They only wish for you and he to grow close so when the time comes you are on their side-“

She had tried to tune her out, but the instant comments answered messing with her head. She felt as if she was falling in love with Jace and yet they way her mother spoke of him, it was as if he was worse than Aegon, a fact she knew was not true.

“mother!” she finally  snapped , shaking her head she pulled away from her mother, “i do not care! Jace shall be my husband and as you have reminded me since the day I first bleed, that my duty is to my husband and his family before my own.” she then whispered to herself “a fact you do not follow yourself” continuing she said “ so why now when it is the son of the woman you despise, am I to do the opposite?” It was so out of character for her and yet years and years of hearing the words bastard and betrayal and whispers of war, she was finished. 

She fully pulled away from her mother and stood up, straightening her dress, “this past moon i have felt more seen and known by Jace than anyone my whole life. My whole life I have detested company, and chatter, and have at any and all attempts avoided events. and now i find the one person i do not detest, and would falsely attend any event he wishes me to, someone i enjoy spending time with, my future husband! You wish to ruin it for me! Do you not want me to be happy?” She nearly yelled, her face turning from the sweet, shy and docile face it had always been had turned angry “you clearly do not wish for Heleana to have happiness, as clear with her marriage to Aegon at three and ten!” She was steaming, years of biting her younger so as to not gain attention, or do more talking that’s necessary, bitterness flowed through her.

”dearest i-“ her mother started, moving towards and reaching for her to pull her in a hug, only to be met by an instant rejection.

”I simply wish for whatever war you are making up in your head to end, so you can finally allow me the happiness I deserve!” And with that she walked about, only to be met with Jace and Rhaenyra's face as she walked out. 

Jace chased after her, leaving his mother left to deal with Alicent.

”y/n” he called out, “y/n stop!”

“No, I can't,” she said as she continued down the halls, though she did slow down, allowing Jace a chance to catch up with her. “if i stop walking I’ll march right back in there and apologies!” she proclaimed.

“I'm sure you won't, you did the right thing '' Jace spoke, still trying to catch up with her.

“i have bite my tongue my whole life, never expressing my thoughts or opinions, and today i did!” she spoke, as she realised she was walking towards Jace’s chambers. She didn’t even think of where she was going, having stormed out of her own rooms, it seemed that in this past month his room had become a comfort to her.

Finally catching up in time to open the door to his rooms. “y/n you don’t have to explain, you didn’t do anything, you just spoke up for yourself and…for me” y/n swear she saw him blush.

“i know it was hard for you, that talking and expressing yourself is something your struggle with…but you stood up for yourself it’s nothing you have to feel bad about it’s something you should be proud of” he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips “and in all honestly  i was rather impressed”

“you where?” she blushed, stepping one closer. 

he nodded, “ you know me and my mother were coming to your chambers to discuss the wedding” he said wrapping his arm around her waist. a movement and touch she had now grown to love. “ We are to be married in a fortnight” his face moved closer to her.

“We are?” she questioned, her breathing getting heavier. 

he nodded, there faces so close they were sharing their breaths “yes, soon you will be my wife, and i your husband and your mothers silly little rants will have no sway any longer” 

she gasped, he leant forward and finally kissed her, it was soft and sweet, leaving them both a blushing mess. 

The next two weeks moved slowly, filled with wedding planning. 

Her relationship with her mother was strained, finding most of the planning to be with her eldest sister Rhaenrya and even Heleana more so than her own mother. And the few times she was there she simply sent a glare in their direction and took at every laugh and smile.

She found that she rather enjoyed her sister's company, the two having a few similar interests. Rhaenyra seemed kind and cared for her children a great deal and as a result she did with her too. 

She knew her mother cared, but watching her mother interact with Rhaenyra highlighted that most of her mothers objections were actually ones of jealousy. She was Jealous of Rhaenyra and more so of Daemon, as he received more glares the more he and Rhaenrya showed affection to one another. So much jealousy that she swear she saw some longing in her gaze whenever she stared at Rhaenrya.

The day before her wedding she finally found herself alone with her mother though from the way her mother barged into her room she knew the conversation the pair were about to have would not be a pleasant one.

“sit down dearest” she spoke as she herself got comfortable.  Doing as her mother bid, she sat beside her. Her mother quickly took her hand in hers, tight enough that even if she were to recoil it would not break her free. 

“When I had this. Conversation with your sister, she already knew some of what was to come, with her Marrying Aegon, and will he loved to taunt her with the gory details for moons before their wedding” Alicent took a deep breath. “On the morrow you will be wed, and with that shall come some expectations” 

she nodded, not quite sure what her mother meant. “not only will you be taking on some of my duties but there is also the expectation of an heir…” she looked at her then, expecting her to interrupt in some way. She stayed quiet, she knew she would have to have children but how the act itself was done was peculiar to her.

Her mother shifted uncomfortably, “once you are wed the marriage must be consummated” she awkwardly grabbed at her hands, “it will be uncomfortable but some pleasure can be found in the act” she sent her mother peculiar look, causing her mother to cough uncomfortably and once again move to explain “your husband will…insert himself in you, and spill his seed, allowing a babe to be made, though it can take some time so i shall prey you are lucky and conceive soon…”

she looked down quietly “mother “she spoke slowly, “Aegon is my brother, though he and i aren’t close i have…walked in on him numerous times, time enough to know what sex is” 

Her mother was shocked, looking down and shaking her head, “your brother has no shame-“

“mother, i also have a septa who taught me” she laughed, Heleana only did not know because she was young mother, i am aware, in fact me and-“ she cut herself off not wanting her mother to become more shocked at hearing how her and Jace have already talked of the wedding night.

They were both inexperienced, though Jace had been taken to brothels by Daemon he had never actually done anything, wanting to save himself for his wife. A fact she was most happy about. 

She loved Jace, she realised. He was everything she did not expect, though he was chatty and loud, he was also kind and sweet, a perfect gentleman. She and him had more in common than not, they both loved to read though Jace found little time to do so, so was more than happy to listen to her ramble on and on about the last book she read. She had shown him how to paint and draw, a skill he, though terrible at, found rather enjoyable, especially when he got the flicking paint at her. She herself had even found she loved a few of his hobbies or well if you can call sword fighting a hobby. 

she remembered the morning, it was still early in their courtship, the first week in.  She and Jace had yet to sleep and yet they could see dawn breaking through the windows in his room. They had spent the whole day and night talking, getting to know each other. “it’s dawn already?” Jace sighed as he moved from his spot on the sofa. she sighed from the movement, missing his warmth. 

“it’s seems so” she hummed 

“it’ll be time for training soon.” he spoke, not necessarily to her. 

“Do you train alone?” 

“Here I do, On Dragonstone Daemon is typically dragging me and Luke out of bed the second the sun begins to rise but here he has no desire to train” he looked at her, “why don’t you join me?” he asked.

“i have never even touched a sword” she exclaimed, as if the idea was a mad one.

He grinned “exactly, it’ll be most entertaining!”

she laughed, “fine, but you must promise to show me your high Valyrian!” y/n declared, he had been complaining how bad his Valyrian was but refused to show her, despite her being fluent and offering to teach him.

He sighed, then a big grin filled his face “very well, let us teach one another, i teach you in swordsmanship and you teach me high Valyrian” 

she laughed “very well! though i make no promises to these swordplay lessons!”

They met again in the training yard, both in training clothes. She had borrowed hers from Jace and she was sure he was trying to sabotage her. His clothes hung from her in an almost comical way, he himself had laughed as she nearly tripped netting the training yard.

“you look beautiful” he said though his eyes were full of mirth as he took in the way his clothes hung from her.

“Perhaps you could have given me some of Luke's clothes instead” she sighed, a frown forming her face as she hung her arm up to show just how big his sleeves were compared to her arms.

“Next time we shall!” he declared, stopping his laughter to then pass her a wooden sword “for now it’s fine.” 

The sword was heavier than she was expecting, as shown by how she nearly dropped it.

“do you do any exercise?” he asked, seeing her near miss with the sword.

she scoffed “no, do i look like someone who does?” she asked bewildered.

he laughed “no i suppose not, and knowing you it doesn't surprise me that you do not” he took the sword off her “perhaps we should start with some exercise”

“what?” she asked, she hated doing anything that could be remotely referred to as exercise. 

“Don’t worry, just some light exercise, to build stamina”  he looked at her then, something passing through his eyes. something she had yet to see. 

He had made her run ten laps, stretch in more easily than she knew possible, And then finally let her hold the sword. “You know I was hoping you wouldn’t take this so seriously” she sighed, hitting the dummy repeatedly. Jace corrects her technique with each hit. “really?”

“Of course not, when you said it I had hoped we would just be jesting around” she sighed dramatically, before moving to place the sword down on the rack. “I think that this ‘lesson’ is over.” she started to walk away only for Jace to grab her arm.

“Wait!” he said, pulling her back to him gently. “Are you really not enjoying yourself?” he asked with a sad smile on his face. 

y/n sighed, before a small smile graced her face “no, but perhaps hearing you speak some high Valyrian may make it more joyous.” she spoke, though she was enjoying herself a little, though it would definitely not be a hobby she would be taking up, though watching him practice his swordsmanship, that is a hobby she will be taking up.

“I- really?” he asked, his face unsure, “nyk-e don’t ȳdragon ziree sȳr”

She laughed, his accent and pronunciation were all over the place, perhaps she was better at swordsmanship after one lesson that he was at high Valyrian after years of lessons, “it’s gaoman daor ȳdragon ziry sȳrī”

I do not speak it well

“See what I mean!” he exclaimed, as she continued to laugh.

“oh Jace, gaomagon daor worry nyke sure kesā jiōragon sȳrkta isse daor jēda” she taunted. 

do not worry I’m sure you will get better in no time

“I have no idea what you just said '' he sighed, shaking his head, “but at least i can hold a sword properly” he taunted back to her.

“Hey! It's my first lesson, have you been learning high Valyrian for how long?” she questioned, a gleam in her eyes.

“hāre jēdri” he replied, a smile as he realised he had pronounced it correctly

Three years

She hummed, beginning to circle him, “hāre jēdri? funny seeing hae heleanas riñar ȳdragon sȳrkta eglie valyrain than ao se issi balrey hāre pōntāla”

three years? Funny seeing as Heleanas children speak better high Valyrian than you and they are balrey three themselves

“I- well, stop taunting me!” he protested.

“Only if we can stop this, will I have reached my yearly exercise limit.. For the year!” she joked, dramatically falling, conveniently into his arms. 

“Fine, fine!” he said, “but you can not mention to anyone about my high Valyrian.” he brought her back to her feet.

“Oh please who would i tell? se lo nyke gōntan, skorkydoso would ao sesīr gīmigon?” she laughed, starting to walk away, only to have Jace chase her back all the way back to her chambers.

and if i did, how would you even know?

It was safe to say she never participated in his training again, but on the odd days she was awake when he went, she found she did in fact enjoy watching him.

It took a few attempts before they found a hobby they both loved equally. Painting. She had been painting for as long as she can remember, Jace however had taken it up about two weeks ago, but seemed to love it as much as she.

“Let's paint each other!” Jace declared, as he saw the paints y/n left out. 

She hesitated, “have you ever painted before?”

“No, but how hard could it be?” She laughed at that, but said nothing.

They sat opposite each other, their art facing only themselves. They gave themselves an hour before they would show each other what they had painted. 

Jace went first. He seemed so proud of himself. To give him credit it was fairly good, though it looked nothing like her. 

“It's good!” she exclaimed, “i like it” she reached forward to grab it “i shall have it framed” she hummed. Jace smiled widely at that.

“Show me yours!” he asked, or more declared as he turned the canvas around himself. 

His face was shocked, mouth wide, “i- wow” he was at a loss of words. “This is incredible!” he exclaimed, his face one of awe, “and you said mine was good!, you were lying!”

She laughed, “no-no it is, i promise” i grabbed his art then, comparing the two, before throwing his on the floor, “oh please, mine is rubbish, yours is wow! I think it shall become my official portrait!” he exclaimed standing up and walking to the doors with it. 

“woah ! where are you going?” she asked standing up to follow him.

“Too show everyone” he stated as if it was the obvious answer.

He showed it to everyone he saw, a blushing y/n on his tail.

“Mother.” she spoke, back once more in the present, “i trust him, more than anyone and anything” at that her mother relaxed, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, she saw a real smile gracing her mothers face.

The day of the wedding came, she had expected nerves and jitters, and yet all she felt was contentment. She knew she was lucky, most brides barely knew their husband before they wed them, and she knew Jace and he knew her. She knew his quirks, his hobbies, and he knew hers. They were polar opposites, and yet they fit so perfectly together. She was excited for this day, and as was he.

The dress she wore was her mothers dress. A white dress with sleeves coming down to her elbow before dropping down to the length of her dress showing a deep red. On her shoulder sat two dragons, dragons she had changed to represent Vermax and Gaelithox. The dragons were joined together and connected in an intricate pattern on her bodice. She wore no jewellery, only a small head piece, woven into the braids on her hair.

“You look beautiful” her mother declared. “Are you ready?”

y/n nodded, taking one final look at herself in the mirror, one last time before leaving her room.

The wedding was a blur, it went by so fast and before she knew it, Jace and her were declaring their love and sealing it with a kiss. They exchanged giddy smiles as they left the 

sept, their hands never wavering from their grip. The night celebrations went by quickly. The only time they never once left each others sides. It was the first event y/n ever truly enjoyed, they had danced four times that night, feasted to their heart's content, and enjoyed the first few hours of being newlyweds. 

Then it was time for the bedding. She had never been more grateful than when Jace shouted at the men attempting to drag her away, and he himself picking her up and taking her to their now shared chambers. 

“I am sorry for that.” he spoke, taking her hand in his, “I had made it clear we would not have a bedding, but -”

“Aegon had other plans' ' she interrupted, “do not worry, it's just who he is' ' she laughed.

For the first time in weeks the silence between them was awkward. Both knowing what was to come, but not how to start.

After a few moments Jace finally moved forward, he reached for her slowly, one had wrapping around her waist, the other reaching up to caress her face. They both looked at each other shyly, before Jace moved in closer, his lips capturing hers. It was soft and slow.

His lips still joined with hers they moved further into the room, his hand moving from her waist to her back, reaching and slowly unlacing the binds of her bodice.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked, breaking away from her lips.

She nodded, “yes.”  As she slowly reached to pull of her dress, leaving her in just her chemise.

Jace groaned his pants tightening, he reached forward once again capturing her lips in his.

 They slowly moved towards the bed, her hands reaching towards his clothes, slowly taking them off and leaving him in his small clothes.

There lips breaking apart, they both took each other in, before finally lying on the bed. Jace continued to kiss her slowly moving from her lips to her neck, his hands reaching down to her should and moving the straps of her chemise down, revealing her breasts.

“gods” he groaned, “you’re so beautiful” he said as he moved down to kiss her breasts. Slowly moving down her body, removing her chemise as he did, leaving her bare beneath him.

He was level with her heat, he had heard of kissing there and the thought of tasting her in such a way made a groan escape him. “Can I?” he begged, unsure of what he meant y/n nodded.

Jace dived in, giving a cautious lick through her folds, he groaned at the taste and quickly went back licking and tasting like a starved man. She herself was moaning in pleasure, her hands clutching the back of his neck, tightening when he finally found her bud.

Releasing the reaction form touching the small bud of nerves, he made sure to focus his efforts on it, sucking it into his mouth, and bringing his fingers up to her entrance, beginning to circle her juices and slowly tease his way into her.

Tensing at the feeling of the intrusion, she gripped further onto him, and started to move away. With his spare hand he gripped onto her and pulled her back to him. His finger now pully in he instead started to focus his intentions of pumping them in and out of her. Causing her to start moaning once again in pleasure, even more so when his second and third finger entered her. Soon she was reaching her peak.

He slowly backed away from her, pulling down his small clothes to revel his hard, thick long length.

“gods” they both groaned at the sight of the others naked body. He slowly crawled back onto the bed, his body covering hers. He once again took her lips with his, in a passionate and heated kiss, his legs slowly parted hers as he positioned himself at her entrance.

“Are you sure?” he once again asked, caressing her face.

She nodded, covering the hand on her face with her own and reaching forward to kiss him again, “yes” she consented.

He nodded, kissing her once more as he slowly entered her.

She groaned at the stretch, feeling at slight sting as he slowly entered her. Her face contorted in quick discomfort, but quickly faded as he settled himself fully inside her, allowing her time to adjust.

“gods, you feel amazing” he groaned, moving his head to her neck. “can I move?” he groaned, near begged.

“yes” she said, and he wasted no time, slowly pumping in and out of her. Slowly the discomfort faded and all she could find was pure pleasure.

Moving in and out of her, Jace was moaning, kissing her neck with each thrust, he had never felt such pleasure as he did in this moment.

Slowly picking up the pace, he soon found that sweet spot inside her, that turned her into a moaning mess. Wrapping her arms around his neck she was soon grinding her hips against his, chasing her peak, and he was soon reaching one of his own, spilling his seed inside of her.

Slowly pulling from her, her moved to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her towards him, he kissed her slowly and whispered, “I love you”. In that moment she felt what could only be described as solace.

That night, they did not sleep a wink, nor would they in the moons that followed. Their marriage was a harmonious one, one of love and joy. And when the king finally passed, and Rhaenrya was queen, there was no division of factions of house Targaryen, she liked to think that their marriage has helped branch the units, and make them once more a family.

Even more so when nine moons after their wedding she birthed their first child.

Taglist

@aleemendoza2425-blog @apollonshootafar @zillahvathek @flrboyd @targaryenmoony @theanxietyqueen17 @leavesmealobe @dark-night-sky-99

to be added to taglist

[yeetmyboi]

Picture this: 🌾☀️

Retired!Simon who takes up to running a ranch in order to keep himself busy as retirement isn’t all cracked up as it should be. Especially with someone who always needs to have a goal at the end of the day.

You move into the dilapidated cabin that skirts the edge of his property. But as you’re moving in late at night, you accidentally hit a post to his fence. You figure you’ll tell the neighbor in the morning rather than the middle of the night and head to bed.

Little do you know, your ��accident’ causes some of his animals to escape and he’s up before dawn trying to round them up. By the time he’s done, the sun is up and he’s fuming.

Simon storms ups to your door, pounding at it till you answer. His intent to scold you is stalled by the sight when you do, rendering him speechless for a moment. You open the door, dressed in a skimpy silk robe with damp hair and glistening skin, looking every bit like a city slicker who moved to the countryside on a whim.

Simon struggles to keep his eyes up and not on the bit of skin showing underneath your robe. He can feel himself getting hard at just the thought. God, it’s been years since he’s seen a gorgeous soft bird like you…

Meanwhile, you hold an annoyed pout that pushes out your plump lips as you look up at him. As he stays silent, your arms cross over your chest and you arch an eyebrow. “Well?”

You were all for owning up to your fault but when Simon storms over like that, you’re not too keen on fessing up just yet. So you claim to know nothing about it. Shrugging it off and threatening to call the cops if he doesn’t leave.

Simon just laughs at your fiery demeanor and even admires your quick wit. He agrees to leave, for now. Just so he can snag the footage of you hitting said fence post and watch you flounder.

Oh, don’t worry love, he’ll forgive you. Long as you help him fix the fence and any other ‘problems’ you’ve caused.

banner by the lovely @/cafekitsune ᡣ𐭩

[genshinarchives]

Cyno, Al-Haitham, Kaveh, Tighnari / gender-neutral reader.

Synopsis: Cyno's, Kaveh's and Tighnari's reactions to Al-Haitham introducing you as his partner.

Cyno looked at Al-Haitham, then at you as if he was making a detailed analysis of your characters inside his head. While he normally wouldn't butt into other people's love affairs, he couldn't help but internally question your choice of partner.

Of all the people you could have dated in Sumeru, you chose the Scribe? Al-Haitham has zero dating experience, is a chronic bookworm and probably a sociopath deep inside. Cyno was positive that he wouldn't hesitate to abandon you for a measly book about communicating with cats if it ever came to that.

Nu-uh. Al-Haitham doesn't deserve someone like you.

"I think you should break up with him, (y/n)," he bluntly said as he shuffled the deck of cards.

"Cyno, I'm right here."

Kaveh was flabbergasted. Gobsmacked. Stupefied. Bamboozled.

If The Scream existed in Teyvat, that's what Kaveh looked like at the moment.

Since when was Al-Haitham dating you? He doesn't even look like the type to be romantically interested in someone!

Dropping his glass of wine, the architect staggered over to you and clamped his hands down on your shoulders with a disturbed look, beads of cold sweat rolling down his forehead.

There has to be a logical reason behind you, the sweetest angel in Teyvat, dating his sociopathic roommate.

"Are you being threatened?" he asked, puzzling you, "Or... do you have Stockholm Syndrome?" His mind was a whirlpool of unlikely hypotheses, and you swear you could see the spirals in his eyes. "If you need help, you can always come to me."

"Oi."

Tighnari laughed at the news and patted your shoulder as he congratulated the two of you. He knew that Al-Haitham had been secretly crushing on you for the past six months, and was glad that the Scribe actually took his advice after the latter sent him countless letters asking for tips on courting you, including letters detailing how he screwed up pathetically on some attempts.

What is he, a love counsellor?

Tighnari let out a muted sigh, shaking his head at Cyno and Kaveh badmouthing Al-Haitham to you right in front of the man himself, who looked less than pleased by his friends' behaviour.

Although he's happy to see you and Al-Haitham together...

His smile suddenly became strained.

He definitely thought that you could do better than this.

Taglist: @coco-goat-milk / @m3gitsune / @melkxsh / @irethepotato / @frostines-blog / @xphantasmagoriax / @crunchy-princeles / @nanamisflowerfield / @dulcetamore / @beowlet-spam / @sinnyrants / @chuusposts / @austrae / @chocogi / @angelkazusstuff / @flowwerpot / @mintydump / @kiraisastay / @niktwazny303 /

[peachysunrize]

Tryst ⥃ Aemond Targaryen

Summary: Aemond walks in on his newly wedded wife changing, surely she is not as temperate as her father when she catches him eyeing her, is she?

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, kind of enemies to lovers, VELARYON READER!!, reader has silver hair, virging!reader, fingering, reader is angry lol, breeding, lots of scratching and biting, porn no plot! English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 2.7k+

A/n: I missed my pwp era so here is a short rough smut with our prince Aemond! Missed being unhinged, so here is a fiery reader who is just as crazy as Aemond🤭 Reblogs & comments are always appreciated!💕

Marrying Daemon’s oldest daughter was not something Aemond could ever imagine, especially since it was his uncle’s idea to offer your hand in marriage; perhaps you were too much of a rebel to be kept on Dragonstone.

He remembers how much you glared at him the day he and his family came to that old wet castle to visit you and your family, and to settle for an agreement so the qualms between the families would vanish — or at least try to make amends somehow.

What he did not expect was for you to be utterly disgusted and angry at him, to the point when he had to show others you were officially courting, you did not even spare him a glance.

He despises you just as much if not more.

But he does not know why he is walking towards your chambers after the supper which you left in a really angry manner, leaving everyone stunned but him. 

It is late as he walks through the dimly lit hallways of the Red Keep, an hour or two before the dead of the night, and his intentions are not clear enough to see why he is taking routes to where your chambers are. If only he knew why, he would try to avoid it at all costs.

He walks with his hands held behind him, chin up with his good eye scanning every tapestry on the wall, every knight who moves past him, in hopes of finding an answer for his intentions.

Your chambers are not much far from his, it would be too scandalous for husband and wife to be sleeping in different rooms, especially since your marriage happens to be the talk of every gathering and whispers of the court — not to anyone’s surprise, Daemon’s oldest daughter and Aemond Targaryen are a match of flames, burning each other until there is nothing but ashes — but you do not care if you are the subject of laughter among these lowly lords and ladies.

Aemond sighs, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves, trying to keep himself grounded as he walks towards the hallway that ends with a door to your room. He narrows his eye when he finds your knights nowhere to be seen, assuming you must have dismissed them yourself.

He reaches to knock on your door, taking in a deep breath to calm himself down before he rests his hand on the door, watching it slowly crack open. Why would you leave your door unguarded and open? Were you waiting for someone? Were you waiting for him?

With a curious look, he slowly pushes the door open, not wishing to startle you even though he could care less if you jump and scream out of fear, but he gives you this one privilege at least. He winces when the door makes a cracking sound, but he relaxes when he does not hear a sound of displeasure or concern coming from inside — in fact, the low humming catches him by surprise, making his ears perk at the sweet sound of melody filling your room.

When he has the door open enough to peek inside the room, he is taken aback by seeing you slowly disrobing, dropping layer after layer of your clothing on the ground, revealing your bare back to him. 

His lips part in shock, sighing as he takes the newly exposed skin in, watching you drop your clothes on the ground, walking around your nightshift to grab your hairbrush.

Aemond is lost; seeing his wife mildly nude for the first time since he said his vows was something he did not really think about. Every thought he has had about you was always filled with anger, rage, and hatred, but deep inside, he could feel his feelings bubbling with anticipation for something far beyond whatever he had already experienced.

And now, seeing you brush your silver locks with grace makes his chest tighten, but your bare back has his mind turn cloudy and sinful, leaving him breathless as he feels his leather pants tighten.

Subconsciously, he pushes the door open a bit more forcefully than he intended to, making a loud crying sound. He freezes, his eye widening when you scream and turn around, throwing the brush at his face, but he dodges in time, watching in horror as the brush flies to the hallway.

“What is your fucking business here?” You yell at him, reaching for one of your jewelry boxes, holding it up to threaten him with another attack, “Speak, now!”

“I…I—fucking gods, woman!”

He says it with gritted teeth, moving his head quickly when you throw the box at him, hitting the door as he closes it so none of your belongings get lost.

“Were you watching me?” You ask, laughing in disbelief as you walk quickly to grab the nearest book on your desk, throwing at him again, “I reckoned your brother was the pervert one, but it appears it runs in the family!”

“Stop this madness!” He yells back, shielding his face with his arms as the book comes close to hit him in the cheek, “I was not watching, do not think yourself so appealing—“

“You do not find your wife appealing?” You point the candle holder you grab in the blink of an eye towards Aemond, narrowing your eyes at him as you take a step closer, “You come into my room, watching me peel off my clothes until I am naked just to say you do not find me appealing?”

“I did not say that, wife—“ he holds his hands up, slowly backing away from you, his back hitting the wall with a soft ‘thud’ before he resumes talking, “I was merely disagreeing about how I am of a sick mind, I am not, I wished to talk to you—“

“Nonsense!” You step closer, holding the sharp candle holder in his direction, “You said it, I heard it with my own ears! I despise you for being here, for being my husband, for trying to break me while it is you who does not wish to warm my bed.”

“Drop that thing, wife,” he sighs, gently trying to reach and grab it from you but you take a step back suddenly, glaring at him, “Don’t force me to come here and take it from you.”

“I would like to see you try, husband,” Venom drips from your words while you stare daggers at him, your grip tightening around the candle holder “Get out of my room!”

“You are my wife, I will do as I please,” his tone matches yours as he stares back at you, his eye darkening at the sight of your chest visible underneath your thin nightshift, “If I wish to stay here, I will—“

“Get. Out!” 

Before you are given the chance to throw what you are holding at him, Aemond grabs you by your wrist, pulling you closer as he switches your positions and pushes you against the wall; one knee between your legs and both of his hands pinning your wrists to the wall with one next to your head and the other above it.

“Why must you be so difficult?” He whispers, his nostrils flaring as he glares down at you, his fingers tightening around your wrists until you whimper and drop the candle holder, chest heaving as you look up at him.

“I am a reflection of how you treat me,” you spit the words out, craning your neck to lean closer to him, your nose brushing against his, “I despise you for the air you breathe, for the wine you drink—“

“And you do believe that I don’t seeth every time I am reminded that you are my wife?” He pushes his nose against yours forcefully, keeping your head locked against his and the wall with his forehead on yours, his hot breath mingling with your quick panting, “I wish to tear through everything that reminds me of you and your father—“

“Then do, coward,” you cut him off, your eyes falling down to his pink lips, wiggling against his hold, trying to free yourself, “Make me hate you more than I already do.”

And he does; his lips meet yours in a searing kiss, knocking the breath out of your lungs as he lets go of one of your wrists to pull you in closer by your waist, his nails digging into your flesh.

Your hand goes to his soft silky hair, pulling on the hair tie roughly as you kiss him back, threading your fingers through his locks, tugging at the root of his hair while he bites down your lips, freeing your other wrist too.

Aemond’s hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his tongue pushing past your lips so he can taste you thoroughly. He bucks his knee to your clothed core, encouraging you to go ahead and take your fill, rock your hatred into oblivion.

You whine as you slowly grind down on him, your lips falling apart as you break the kiss to gasp for air, your hand tugging at his hair while your other hand goes to his doublet, undoing it quickly while your hips pick up the pace.

“Go on, wife,” he whispers, hand letting go of your jaw before he reaches down to rub your heat over your underwear, letting out a shaky sigh when he finds a wet spot on the fabric, “So much for hating me, your cunt is betraying you.”

“Fuck you—“

“Fuck me indeed,” he pushes your underwear aside, swiping his fingers through your wet folds, enjoying the broken whine you let out.

He leans down, prepping kisses and bites along your neck, sinking his teeth a bit too hard when you push his doublet down and dig your nails in his pecks. Aemond’s thumb circles your pearl, making you tremble under his touch as he makes your essence drip on your inner thighs.

You throw your head back when he gently prods your entrance with one finger, easing the digit inside your warm walls with ease because of your wetness. He hums against your collarbone, enjoying how slowly you are losing yourself in the feeling of being wrapped in his arms — although the scratches you are leaving on his chest through his undershirt are the opposite of what he thinks.

He adds another finger, scissoring you open as he pumps his finger in and out of you, going in knuckles deep while he curves his digits, enjoying how your face twists with pleasure and a fit of anger that fuels because of how it is him who is giving you this pleasure.

“I need more,” you whine, one hand coming down to rest against his wrist, keeping his hand there as he thrusts his fingers faster, the lewd sound of squelching echoing in the room.

“I will give you more,” he goes faster when he notices how your eyes drop shut and your legs start to shake around his hand, your walls gripping his fingers for dear life, “I will make you fall in love with me.”

“Impossible,” you gasp, toes curling as you shake and peak around his fingers, throwing your head back against the wall while you gush and release all over his hand, “You are unlovable.”

“As I said before…” he whispers before he pulls his fingers out, wiping your wetness on your nightshift before he grabs the side of the fabric and tears it in half, leaving your body bare to his eye, “Your body betrays you, wife.”

You look at him in shock, covering your breasts with your arms, but Aemond has none of it; he slaps your arms away, taking off his undershirt, revealing his smooth chest before he grabs you by the nape and pulls you in for another kiss.

Your lips crash into each other, your hands tugging and pulling on the other’s hair while Aemond leads you to the bed, nearly tripping over the pile of clothes. 

He drops you on the bed, quickly crawling on top of you to meet you halfway for another passionate kiss, his hips pressing against the side of your hip before you spread your legs for him, pulling him even closer.

You reach between your bodies to palm the growing tent in his pants, squeezing and relishing in the sound he makes in your mouth before you urge him to push his pants and breeches down enough to free his cock.

You loathe how pretty he is, how pretty his cock is. You despise him for being the definition of Targaryen beauty, but now, the man you hate the most, the man who you have the spiteful pleasure of calling your husband, is about to take you for the first time.

He knows, of course he knows, because the queen would never choose anything less than a noble lady for her precious son; so he goes gently after he strokes his length a few times, pumping it to full hardness. He guides the red weeping head of his dick to your entrance, pushing in slowly, his hands going to your hips as he sits up on his knees so he can watch as he breaches past your muscles, the tip of his cock disappearing inside you.

You writhe beneath him, fisting the bed sheets as you nod and wait for him to go all the way in, pushing you to your limits as the stretch begins to be a bit painful, but he brings your hands to his chest, urging you to scratch him as hard as you wish when you feel any discomfort.

Aemond thrusts himself inside you completely, groaning at the tight feeling of your cunt gripping him like a vice, holding onto him until he has carved the shape of his cock within your walls.

He drops forward, holding himself up by his hands on each side of your face before he starts hammering himself inside you, making you gasp and moan incoherent words underneath him — the princeling in him only lasted for a few minutes, and now, he is just the Aemond who finds you annoying and miserable, fucking you as you are; the wife he hates, the woman he craves.

The rise and fall of your chest grows faster, and you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, fingers leaving red angry marks all over his shoulder blades and back while you lock your legs around his slim waist, keeping him caged against you.

There are no words exchanged, there is no need to when both of you are moaning and groaning at the feeling, biting each other until there are visible signs of your tryst for the court to see on the next morrow.

He feels your walls clenching around his girth, bringing both his and your high closer. One of his hands reaches down, circling your nub so you fall over the edge of bliss, euphoria rushing through your body.

He follows closely, hammering his cock deep inside you until he buries himself into you and paints your walls with his seed, his eye wide open as he stares down at you, lips parted and pupil blown.

He pulls out of you after his body stops shaking, dropping down on the bed next to you as he tries to catch his breath, his arm lying limp on top of your body.

You feel his cum dribbling out of you, alerting you of what you have done. Suddenly, a wave of hatred crashes into your head, and you turn your head to look at his peaceful face before you start shoving him down your bed.

“Get out, arsehol!” You pull the covers on you, keeping them secure against your chest as you try to shove him down on the floor, “Get out of my room!”

“Easy, woman,” he throws his hands up in defeat, fixing his pants before he grabs his undershirt and puts it on, “I do not intend to stay here longer than needed.”

“I hate you,” you say, pushing him out of the door with force, frowning when he laughs into your face but you do not wait for him to reply before you slam the door shut.

But you hear him from the other side of the door.

“Mutual feelings, wife.”

[choccy-milky]

from my new oneshot, 'the vexing village of vellmore' ✨ ao3 / wattpad ((it's about seb & clora visiting a cursed village and trying to figure out how to break the curse, and since it ended up being 50k words i decided to split it into 2 chapters and the next part will be out soon!🙏 also, while it does have spoilers for the raven and the snake, it's a standalone story and can be read blind💖))

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

what friends do | f. odair

masterlist

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

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

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

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

word count: 11.7k

Mid-Autumn was closely approaching District Four.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mind if I sit?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

Finnick Odair.

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

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

That was what everyone made him out to be.

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

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

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

"I'm Finnick, by the way."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**********

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

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

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

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

Finnick was very much a gentleman.

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

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

But there was more to it than innocent adoration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Look at thi—"

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

Damn that stupid seashell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I think..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed.

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

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

"Something on your mind?" Finnick asked suddenly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sounds pretty convenient, came an abrupt thought.

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

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

"Thinking about anyone in particular?"

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

How did he keep doing that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who could've guessed."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Better?" he asked.

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

"Anytime."

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

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

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

How could he?

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

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

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

"Stop moving."

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

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

His hold on you became stiff. Completely frozen.

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

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

"Fuck," he breathed out.

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

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

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

"...Oh," you whispered.

"Yeah," Finnick said. "Oh."

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

As per usual, panic wreaked havoc in your mind.

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

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

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

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

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

Finnick was silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A wave of chills ran down your entire body.

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

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

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

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

Finnick murmured your name.

"Yes?" you managed to whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," you sighed almost immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes,"you practically whined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The moan you let out was positively filthy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded fervently.

"Say please first."

"Finn," you whined in frustration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is what did it for you.

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

"Taking it so well."

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

"Such a good girl."

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

"You okay?" Finnick asked softly.

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

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

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

You pushed yourself from his lap and pivoted to face him

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

"Hi," you whispered.

He smiled. "Hey, stranger."

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

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

Finnick tilted his head slightly. "Shy thing."

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

"Feeling better?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then came the explosion.

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

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

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

You stayed like this for a few seconds.

"So big," you gasped against his lips.

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

"Never."

This was so not what friends did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come inside you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were gone.

"Oh fuck!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a new moon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For an entire hour?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you too."

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

...roll credits

[diremoone]

it’s just a scratch! (it isn’t) | sylus.

a/n:: apparently receiving a head injury leaves plot bunnies behind too lol [ sylus fluff ;; tis mildly selfship coded ;; i whipped this drabble up in about an hour haha ]

Sylus watches you pause as you lift the mug to the cabinet. Your brows furrow and proceed to slowly spin the mug around curiously.

“Sylus?” You halfway turn to him to look from your peripheral.

He glances up and replies, “Yes?”

“What am I doing?”

“Unloading your dishwasher, I believe.”

A pause, then a small, “Oh,” escapes your lips. Then you put the mug up and close the dishwasher. He’d finish it for you later.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asks, eyes glancing up at you from the book in his hands.

“About the same… Uhm…” You space out, staring at the TV for a good ten seconds before coming back to reality. “Maybe more dumb than usual.”

Sylus chuckles. “You’re not dumb. You just sustained a head injury.”

“Which has made me feel dumber,” you point out.

“Which is why I’m here,” he adds.

“To tell me I’m dumb?”

He scoffs in disbelief and closes his book as he remarks, “To make sure you don’t smack your head into anything else while you’re recovering and on leave, sweetheart.”

You feel the fluster creep to your shoulders and your cheeks at the nickname, ducking your head down bashfully.

Sweetie, when he’s teasing. Sweetheart, when he’s being soft and caring. You often hear more of the latter nowadays.

“It’s just for a few days. My symptoms should clear up come the day I go back for a checkup,” you grumble. “And it wasn’t even that bad. My elbow took the brunt of it.”

“I’m aware of all that. And until then, I’ll be sticking around to make sure you’re okay, kitten.”

But the cute moment ends when you cuss profusely, hands flying to your head in the spot where you’d gotten hit. Sharp pains crawl down from the spot, nearly debilitating and making you hunch over.

You faintly register something hitting the couch, followed by large hands guiding you by your shoulder and waist to sit down.

Sylus doesn’t like the way your body rocks in his hold, head bobbing up and down while your eyes are screwed shut from the pain, hissing when it flares. He takes his hand and gently cradles the back of your head, pulling you to his shoulder to find rest. If you had been standing, he’s sure he would’ve had to catch you before you hit the ground.

Thirty seconds in total pass before the pain in your head finally dies down. You still feel a tingle, but don’t mention it.

You inhale, then speak softly, “It passed.”

It takes a few seconds for Sylus to reply. “That was the worst one yet.”

“That you’ve seen,” you try and joke. But the grumble of dissatisfaction tells you he’s anything but amused. In fact, you might’ve just put him in a worse mood.

“I guess that means I’ll be staying over for quite some time, even after your next doctor’s visit.”

You lift your head from his shoulder and stare pointedly. “Sylus, no.”

“What? You don’t like my company?”

“It’s just not necessary for you to stay and watch me. I’m a big girl,” you argue.

“A big girl with a head injury,” he “corrects” you with a grin. “And don’t worry about your little friends. I’ll disappear for awhile when they decide to come over.”

You sigh in defeat. “You’re making my head hurt.”

“Then stop arguing, kitten.” And then Sylus’s voice drops an octave, expression changing from cheeky to concerned. “Let me take care of you. Your head meeting that table after that giant Wanderer tossed you wasn’t pretty to watch, you know.”

This time, you finally hear him, and he sees it.

You know where this is coming from. You know this comes from whatever past you two had together that you can’t remember (but apparently Sylus does) for the life of you. His concern for you is always genuine, you know this. Underneath every layer of teasing and cheekiness, you know Sylus means it when he says he wants to take care of you. And you can only imagine what you must’ve looked like getting tossed like a ragdoll by that Wanderer you’d fought.

You sure as hell know what your head feels like.

“Alright, you win.” You shift yourself onto his lap, getting cozy and laying your head back on his shoulder and closing your eyes. “Just make sure to jet when my friends come over. The last thing I need is a tremendous headache about how the leader of Onychinus is in my living room tending to me.”

He chuckles, then presses a long, sweet kiss to the top of your head. “Deal.”