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wife-of-all-dilfs · 1 year ago

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what friends do | f. odair

masterlist

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

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

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

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

word count: 11.7k

Mid-Autumn was closely approaching District Four.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mind if I sit?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

Finnick Odair.

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

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

That was what everyone made him out to be.

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

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

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

"I'm Finnick, by the way."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**********

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

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

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

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

Finnick was very much a gentleman.

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

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

But there was more to it than innocent adoration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Look at thi—"

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

Damn that stupid seashell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I think..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed.

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

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

"Something on your mind?" Finnick asked suddenly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sounds pretty convenient, came an abrupt thought.

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

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

"Thinking about anyone in particular?"

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

How did he keep doing that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who could've guessed."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Better?" he asked.

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

"Anytime."

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

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

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

How could he?

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

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

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

"Stop moving."

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

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

His hold on you became stiff. Completely frozen.

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

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

"Fuck," he breathed out.

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

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

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

"...Oh," you whispered.

"Yeah," Finnick said. "Oh."

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

As per usual, panic wreaked havoc in your mind.

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

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

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

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

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

Finnick was silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A wave of chills ran down your entire body.

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

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

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

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

Finnick murmured your name.

"Yes?" you managed to whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," you sighed almost immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes,"you practically whined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The moan you let out was positively filthy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded fervently.

"Say please first."

"Finn," you whined in frustration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is what did it for you.

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

"Taking it so well."

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

"Such a good girl."

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

"You okay?" Finnick asked softly.

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

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

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

You pushed yourself from his lap and pivoted to face him

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

"Hi," you whispered.

He smiled. "Hey, stranger."

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

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

Finnick tilted his head slightly. "Shy thing."

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

"Feeling better?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then came the explosion.

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

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

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

You stayed like this for a few seconds.

"So big," you gasped against his lips.

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

"Never."

This was so not what friends did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come inside you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were gone.

"Oh fuck!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a new moon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For an entire hour?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you too."

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

...roll credits

6K notes · View notes

xoxolaw · 12 days ago

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hello! I was wondering if you could pls write a fluffy/angst fanfic about sieun and reader, where they are childhood friends, but she notices that after he moved to a different school he’s getting into fights and distancing himself from her, because he doesn’t want to involve her in all the danger he’s involved with, she feels really hurt but secretly they both like each other and have done so for a long time and maybe they confess? idk 🥹✋🏼 sorry if this is too much to ask for

+ 𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗦, 𝗔𝗟𝗪𝗔𝗬𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗦

in which she confronts her reserved friend Si-eun about his distance, leading to a heartfelt confession of their mutual love.

+ 𝗬𝗘𝗢𝗡 𝗦𝗜-𝗘𝗨𝗡 𝗫 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

angst to fluff

The autumn leaves swirled in the breeze, painting the sidewalk in shades of gold as Y/N walked toward Si-eun’s apartment. Her bright red sneakers scuffed against the pavement, a stark contrast to the muted tones of the evening.

She was a burst of energy, always had been—loud, impulsive, with a laugh that could fill a room and a tendency to act before thinking.

Si-eun, her childhood friend, was her polar opposite: quiet, calculating, his sharp mind always three steps ahead. Yet somehow, they’d clicked, ever since they were six, when he’d silently slid his crayons across the table after hers snapped in half. Now, at seventeen, that bond felt like it was fraying, and Y/N’s heart ached with the weight of it.

Si-eun had changed since transferring to Eunjang High. The boy who used to spend hours with her, reading while she rambled about her day, was slipping away. He barely answered her texts, dodged her calls, and when she did see him, there were bruises on his knuckles, shadows under his eyes.

She wasn’t stupid—she knew he was fighting, tangled in some mess he wouldn’t share. It stung, the way he was shutting her out, like she was too fragile to handle it.

Worse, it hurt because she’d loved him for years, her loud, chaotic heart quietly devoted to the boy who never let anyone in. She’d never said it, too afraid of breaking what they had. But today, she was done waiting.

✮⋆˙

She buzzed the intercom at his building, her fingers tapping impatiently against her thigh. “Si-eun, it’s me. Let me up.”

A long pause. “I’m busy,” came his clipped reply, voice low through the static.

She rolled her eyes, her temper flaring. “Busy, my ass. Open the door, or I’ll shout your name until the neighbors complain.”

Another pause, then the door buzzed open. She grinned, triumphant, but her stomach twisted with nerves as she walked in.

Si-eun stood in his sparse living room, arms crossed, his hair messy and a faint bruise marring his cheek. His hoodie hung loose on his slight frame, but his sharp eyes betrayed the storm inside him. He looked at her, then away, avoiding her gaze like it burned.

“What do you want?” he asked, his tone flat, guarded.

She dropped her bag with a thud, her hands on her hips. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe an explanation? You’ve been ghosting me for months, Si-eun. No calls, no texts, nothing. And don’t think I haven’t noticed the bruises. You’re fighting again, aren’t you?” Her voice was loud, unfiltered, filling the small room. “We’ve been friends forever, and now you’re acting like I don’t exist. What the hell did I do?”

Si-eun’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the floor. He didn’t answer, his silence a wall she couldn’t climb.

“Don’t just stand there!” her voice cracked, her usual bravado faltering. “You’re getting hurt, you’re shutting me out, and I don’t even know why. Do you think I’m too weak to handle it? Or do you just not care anymore?”

His head snapped up, eyes flashing with something raw and unguarded. “It’s not about you,” he said, voice low but sharp. He took a step forward, then stopped himself, hands clenching. “Just stay out of it, Y/N. Please.”

“Stay out of it?” She laughed, sharp and bitter, her emotions spilling over. “You’re my best friend, Si-eun! You’re falling apart, and you expect me to just watch? I’m not some bystander in your life. I—” She bit her lip, her cheeks flushing. She hadn’t meant to say it, but the words were clawing their way out. “I care about you. More than you know.”

Si-eun went still, his sharp mind clearly racing to process her words. He was always like this—analyzing, overthinking, locking his feelings behind that cold exterior. But she was the opposite, her heart always on her sleeve, and she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I’m not letting you push me away,” she said, stepping closer, her voice softer but no less fierce. “You’re out there fighting, getting hurt, and you won’t even tell me why. But I’m not giving up on you. I’ve loved you since we were kids, Si-eun. And I’m not going anywhere, no matter how bad it gets.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. Si-eun’s eyes widened, his carefully constructed mask cracking. For once, the boy who always had an answer was speechless, his breath uneven. “You... what?” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her face burned, but she didn’t back down, her boldness carrying her forward. “I love you, you idiot. Always have. And I know you’re trying to protect me or whatever, but I don’t need protecting. I need you.”

His expression crumbled, the weight of his secrets and fears spilling out. He turned away, raking a hand through his hair, his voice hoarse. “You don’t get it, Y/N. The people I’m up against—they’re dangerous. If they know you’re close to me, they’ll hurt you to get to me. I can’t—” He swallowed hard, his shoulders trembling. “I can’t lose you.”

Her heart ached at the pain in his voice, but her stubbornness held firm. She reached out, grabbing his sleeve, forcing him to face her. “Then don’t lose me,” she said, her voice fierce but trembling. “Let me in, Si-eun. I’d rather face the danger with you than lose you like this.”

He stared at her, his sharp eyes searching hers, and for the first time, she saw the boy she’d always known—the one who cared too much, who hid his heart to keep others safe. Slowly, he stepped closer, his hands hesitating before pulling her into a tight embrace.

His face buried in her hair, and his voice was a broken whisper. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I... I love you too. I’ve been scared to admit it.”

Her breath caught, tears prickling her eyes as she wrapped her arms around him, her usual chaos softening into something warm and steady. “You’re such a dumbass,” she mumbled into his hoodie, a shaky laugh escaping her. “You could’ve just said it.”

Si-eun let out a quiet huff, almost a laugh, his grip tightening. “I’m not good at this,” he admitted, pulling back just enough to look at her. His eyes were soft, unguarded, a rare glimpse of the boy beneath the armor. “But I’ll try. For you.”

She grinned, her usual brightness breaking through as she reached up to ruffle his hair, earning a faint scowl. “Good. Because I’m not letting you off the hook.” She paused, then stood on her tiptoes, pressing a quick, impulsive kiss to his lips. It was brief, clumsy, but it made her heart race.

Si-eun froze, his face flushing a rare pink, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned down, his forehead resting against hers, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “You’re impossible,” he murmured.

“And you’re stuck with me,” she shot back, her grin wide and unapologetic.

The world outside was still a mess—bullies, fights, and dangers Si-eun couldn’t escape. But in that moment, with her warmth against him and her unwavering spirit breaking through his walls, Si-eun felt like they could face it together. Her chaos balanced his calm, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.

+ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 + 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

I hope you enjoyed thissss!!!! Alsooo I made a new format for the post hehe ^_^

+ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

@yeon103 @hikaerys @mizxuqii @jihooneyluv @l5byrinth @inom17 @sunnyophelia @dna-black-and-blue @cayrelyra @maxinehufflepuffprincess @intoanothermind @mariii-0001 @eijizwrld @mishh2728 @coffee-ii

#fanfic #weak hero class two #weak hero x reader #yeon sieun x reader #yeon sieun #sieun x reader #whc1 #whc2 #whc1 x reader

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limerlove · 4 months ago

Text

III. CHARMED IS THE SNAKE

❝ ABBY!ANDERSON SERIES ❞

pairing. camgirl!abby x bestfriend!reader

warnings. eighteen+, nsfw content: camgirl!abby, switch!abby, lowkey dom!reader towards the end, dry humping, high!sex, nerdy abby being an absolute cutie.

...AND THEY WERE ROOMATES, she’s always been just abby to you. best friends and thick as thieves. sweet as can be, breathing shy naivety with each one she takes — a walking angel on earth. a gentle reminder of what’s good but looks can be so convincing….can’t they?

rayray rambles. to be honest, i didn’t know if i was ever gonna find enough motive to continue this series but thanks to @cheyisagirlkisser sevika post. we press on. sorry y’all had to wait four months but here you go ♡

wc. 5k+

The stainless steel bleachers bite into your skin, the thin material of your trousers can feel it in the cool autumn breeze. The screaming chants of the student section is piercing to the eardrum but Abby likes it. She says it’s the reminder of fall season springing in full. The change of foliage, the cooler weather attempting to kiss layered skin. Abby has always basked in this time of year.

Pumpkin spice lattes she could drink by the gallon, the subtle decorating when autumn hits. Deep and light browns, an orange hue your eyes could stomach, corny little pieces of suburban art she’s collected over the years, a soft edge to make your shared apartment feel more like home.

As corny as it is, and the hell you would give her each year she spent late hours of the night decorating, you never once complained about it. You took stride in how cozier it felt. Abby’s warmth has a tendency to send you into a frenzy, a punch to your gut and a token of her love sewn amorously in your heart.

With some popcorn from the concession stand, the paper bag of popcorn in her lap as she takes the space between your legs, letting hers hang to the next riser below her.

Thankfully, for Abby’s case, the seats are good enough for a decent view. You keep catching yourself watching her as she watches the game. The game didn’t really seem all that interesting to you but every time Abby’s eyes lit up when the stadium roared, the band playing the university song, she looked up at you to see if you saw it.

Gently, you’d offer her a small smile.

It’s how you noticed the subtle shiver of her body, her bare arms in particular, the jacket she opted out of because she was convinced she wouldn’t be cold.

Liar.

“You’re cold. Aren’t you?”

“No….”

“I’ll be right back.” Abby has a tight grip on your hand, a silent plea for you not to leave.

“I promise no more than five minutes.”

You kiss her hand sweetly before making the walk to your vehicle, thoughts of the past few weeks raging within you.

Things with Francesca have been easy, fun, you didn’t have to be consumed by Abby. Francesca didn’t care if you moaned another woman’s name. Apparently if she came, she can handle the infatuation you have with the nerdy blonde plaguing your dreams.

Nightmares?

The more your try to decipher the more you feel Abby swarming in your gut.

At times, when the frustration builds, she tries to make cheap shots at Abby but the minute you nip it in the bud Francesca leaves it alone. She doesn’t mention Abby, or how you moan her name every five minutes. Tragically, it doesn’t stop Francessca from letting her mind wander.

How deep in it are you that you’re unable to moan the name of the women you’re sleeping with? Do you think of Abby the entire time? What the fuck is she even doing with you? Do you see blue instead of hazel when you’re with her?

All logical thoughts vacate her mind when she sings praises on your tongue, exploring every inch of her cunt, savoring every last drop she has to offer before flipping Francesca on her stomach and sending her into another dimension.

After countless times, it always ends the same, you washing up before you’re leaving without another word spoken. You’re still kind to her, you talk to her when Abby isn’t around but when she is, it’s like Francesca doesn’t exist.

It’s a catastrophic dig to her ego.

She’s fucking Francesca Fernandez.

Francesca is the one to fantasize about, the one to lust after, the one you think about with a buzzing vibrator tucked between your thighs in the middle of the night. She’s always the one, yet she’s fighting for an ounce of your attention when you’re not in her bed. Desperately, she wants what she can’t have, it just so happens to be you. There’s nothing she craves more than you, and she wants you to want her in every possible way.

It’s just your luck really, running into her as you removed yourself from Abby, locking your car with Abby’s jacket in your grip. Of course she would be right behind you.

“Well, isn’t this a coincidence?” With a sly grin, she places a hand on your chest, toying with the buttons on your collared shirt. With each second passing, her lidded-gaze and siren hazels give you a reason to stay in the moment with her.

“Francesca.”

“Hm, you should sound happier to see me.” She teases, faking a pout as she plays with your belt before gently removing her hands from you, but not without her manicured fingernail scraping a sliver of exposed skin along the way.

“Can we not do this right now?” You bite.

“Oh.” Francesca chuckles bitterly. “You’re with her right now, aren’t you?”

“With my friend, yes.”

Friend.

The platonic term tastes bitter in your mouth and sounds just as awful to Francesca. For different reasons entirely.

Contentment for one and steaming hot jealousy for the other. You could be having the best sex of your life and you would still think of her.

The budding feelings get bigger the more you shove them down, she looks up at you through her blonde eyelashes, the soft pout permanently on her lips as she looks at you with a gentle wonder in her gaze and you find yourself falling off the edge of a cliff.

It’s not lost on you how you wait on Abby hand and foot, doing anything she wants, whenever she wants. The complete disregard of anyone else’s needs except hers. It terrifies you to no end how easy it is for you. At a drop of hat, you would drop anyone if it pleases her. You see it. Francesca sees it. The only person who doesn’t is Abby.

“Really? Hm, crazy for me to think otherwise when you’re moaning her name every time I make you come.” Francesca snaps but there’s still a smirk on her stunning face.

“Fran—”

“What baby?” She smiles as you release a frustrated groan. Francesca leans in and leaves a kiss on your cheek. “Don’t worry. I won’t ruin your night with her. Just come by and see me tomorrow. We both know you’ll be there anyway and it’ll make us even.”

Just like that, she’s gone as she joins her friends who were waiting for her by the front gate. You thank god she’s leaving you alone, rejoining Abby in the stands. Her body shivers as she sees you, internally sighing as she sees her jacket in your grip.

“Had a feeling you were gonna need it.” You help her get into it as she thanks you quietly, a crimson blush on her cheeks. Abby knows your endearing gesture has made her blush but you blame it on the cold.

That’s it.

She sits next to the empty space next to you, cuddling into your side, wrapping your arm around her as you keep Abby close to you. She makes a stupid joke, making you laugh in the process, looking at you with stars in her eyes. Giving her a gentle kiss at her temple. Intently, you listen to her ramble on about the game. She’s as beautiful as the sunset, perfectly saturated as her blue eyes shine in the orange hue of the fading sun — that’s how you see her.

The depth of her beauty puts aphrodite’s to shame.

Time moves by quickly while you’re with her, it always seems to, and tonight you wish you could just put a pause and stay in the moment. Trying to recite every detail to memory. Every single one you desperately need ingrained in your mind. The loose strand coming out of her braid, or the way she intertwined her fingers with yours as she squeezes your hand tightly, the budding nerves as the other team scores again, closing in on your college state team. It’s then you realize how done for you are.

You need it all to stop, achingly so.

The rapid heartbeat in your chest, crying for something, you’re not sure on how to deserve someone like Abby. Even if she did harbor what you felt for her, there’s no guarantee it would work.

It’s easier to suffer in silence so you do.

The game comes into an end as Abby holds onto you as you navigate through the crowd. Opening the passenger side as Abby settles into the vehicle. A few moments later, you’re waiting for the heat to warm up, as you remove your thick coat, dispensing the wool to the backseat.

“Have you eaten today?”

Abby chews at her nails, ignoring you. It’s midterms and she hates eating when she’s stressed. The churning in the pit of her stomach is already there. No need to aggravate it any further.

“Miller’s Diner it is then.”

“But—”

“Have you eaten, sweet girl?”

Abby tries not to blush but it’s nearly impossible. She wants to be fond of the name but you throw it around so carelessly, Abby wonders if it means anything at all or if you call everyone sweet little pet names that fly off your tongue before they can be caught. Not that it matters much anyways. There’s a tickling need, nestled in where she needs you most, wishing for it to be the truth.

“Fine but I don’t have to be happy about it.”

—

Vintage and heavily inspired by the holy decade of the 80s, the blue neon sign at the front is the clear indication where it pulls its origin from. The seasoned staff practically knows the two of you, regulars of Miller’s Diner. Angela, the waitress who is typically your server, came right up to you, asking if y’all would be having your regular order before she disappeared to the back of the kitchen for a few moments.

Abby notices the smallest of things, the details, it’s always been in her nature.

From the moment she was born, well at least to her it seemed to be that way, she likes things to be a certain way. A pattern to follow and shape her life. Small stepstones to guide her into the life she wants, even who she wants to be, every single minute attribute accounted for.

She enjoys folding her clothes a certain way in her drawer, the clothes in her closet color coordinated without one straying from the pattern, and even her bed made to perfection every morning. The simple things, her day to day tasks, always kept in order to make everything else blend seamlessly.

But on the other hand, she never could have accounted for you.

Desperately, she tries to latch onto control, but it slinks away from her fingertips, making a mockery of her lack of restraint but you’re the only one who sees, the only one who pays attention — the only soul on this godforsaken planet who gives a damn about her. It’s hard not to fall for your sparkling eyes as you talk about your newest passion, giggling when you're oh so expressive with your hands, trying to get your point across. Abby tries not to stare at them for too long, but the pretty rings accentuating them makes them look even more inviting.

“Are you even listening?”

“Umm…uh…yes?” Abby stutters but it comes out more as a question.

All you can do is laugh and she joins you — her giggle showing glimmers of sonic sunshine.

Biting your lip as you wet your lips, fidgeting with the ring on your thumb as you twist the piece of sterling silver with the other. This is how you always want to see her, bubbly, light, care free without prying eyes trying to judge her. When she comes crying, sniffling quietly when someone who she thought was her friend was only trying to get to you. The familiar sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach creating a home.

In fear, she nearly rips the foundation out.

Abby thinks about it more often than she’d like to admit. How it must feel to be the object of everyone's affection. With her thick sweaters, her glasses, her boring, lifeless blonde hair she never finds herself on the receiving end. Besides one bad hook up, one she’s too drunk to remember, no one lingers on her stupidly round face and freckled cheeks. There isn’t much to look at when you see her.

It’s idiotic to think you’d ever go for someone like her, not when you have Francesca. Perfectly feminine with a body everyone dreams of, locks of chocolate so shiny it rivals the richest of silks. Not to mention she carries herself with a confidence Abby deeply envies. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where you’ve spending your free time. Especially since she saw you at the party together, sucking each other’s faces off.

Abby wants to ask about her but she fears it’s her overstepping, so she stays silent as she digs into the french toast and poached eggs Angela brought.

“Is it good?”

“Yeah, just like always.”

With a beautiful smile directed towards her, Abby’s heart almost can’t take it, before you’re digging back into your omelet.

The two of you eat in silence, finishing your meal as you pay for the meal, taking small sips of your coffee. It’s a comfortable silence until you look at her through hooded eyes, like you’re dying to ask something, it’s bleeding out of you like an open wound. Abby knows you.

You’re being careful, quiet, even more so — apprehensive.

It’s been like this for weeks, dancing around her and Abby has not a clue why. The game has changed and she doesn’t have a clue how to get herself back in.

“I’ve been seeing Francesca.”

The admittal isn’t what Abby expects. She knows something has been weighing on you, but she doesn’t see the tension in your shoulder flee, in fact, it seems like it only gets worse. Abby watches as you crane your neck to the side, almost as if you’re dancing around what you really wanna say, as if you’re not sure you should say it.

“Is there a problem with that?” Abby questions.

“Not necessarily.”

The blonde feels like she’s being watched, carefully gauging her reaction to being with someone else. As if she’s supposed to feel anything but happiness for her friend. Even if she let her jealousy show at the party, Abby won’t make the same mistake twice. She’s happy for you, no matter what, Abby will always be happy for you.

She doesn’t have a choice.

“Well, I hope there isn’t. Everyone needs someone. I’m happy you found someone.”

Either she’s a really good liar or you’ve been reading into it too much.

“Yeah, right.” You curtly nod, arms crossed over your chest as you watch Abby squirm under your gaze.

It’s not anything new but you can practically smell her nerves, radiating off her like the pheromones you want to eat. It’s not her fault you can’t stop think about her mesmerizing pussy, the way her hips moved in sync with the rest of her body, how she fucks herself like that day was her last, the shivers no doubtedly crawling up her spine as she came on the dildo beneath her.

Nearly a month later and you thought of it everyday.

You think of her every day.

Fuck, you really don’t want to.

Sweet and lovable, Abby Anderson, the cute adorable nerd you met who nearly cried when you accidentally knocked her glasses over and managed to step on the lense at the same time. You insisted on paying for it, but all you had your freshman year of college was twenty bucks to your name before your next paycheck deposits into your bank account so you promised a lunch instead.

Even though Abby could barely see you, no one has ever shown her kindness, not like that. When you hung out for the second time, watching movies in Abby’s dorm room, she could see you clearly and fuck were you everything and more. Since then, the two of you have been inseparable. Your girlfriends came and went over the years, but Abby remains here with you.

Two semesters away from your entire life changing, and possibly not having Abby in it. She’s the only sense of stability you’ve had during the past three years. Truly, you don’t understand how anyone hasn’t snatched her up, now more than ever, you’re scared someone will.

Abby clearly gives no fucks on who you’re fucking.

Even with how attached she’s been lately, maybe that’s all this is, a slightly co-dependent friendship. It’s pitiful how you want her to be jealous. You basically baited her into giving you a fit of rage, perhaps a deadly gaze of unrelenting rage caught like a hurricane about to come hurling towards the shore but she took the golden route.

Abby’s truly as good as you thought she was, filming herself getting off aside, this is still the same girl who cries from watching wrestling when a wrestler gives an emotional promo. She’s dorky, a soft spirit you’re sure not a single soul deserves.

Especially you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m good.”

“No, you’re not. You have the same scowl on your face you had when you found out Roxy cheated on you with Blayke.”

You laugh bitterly at the memory before saying, “Well, Blayke is a fucking cunt. That’s why.”

“See, you’re upset about something. It’s easier if you just tell me so I can help you.”

You feel cornered, trapped under the weight of her gaze, those fucking haunting blue eyes looking at you as if they don’t see you clearly but they do. She could tell you what you’re feeling before you’re even sure yourself. The downfall of being around someone for so long…you sometimes know them better than themselves.

With a regretful heart, you wish you said nothing. When Abby clings onto you, it’s clear as day but when you need self-assurance you like to manipulate the conversation until you get it. Abby isn’t letting that happen. A matter of fact, she’s quite insistent on it.

“I can’t really talk about this.”

Yeah, let me just tell you that I keep moaning your name when Francesca makes me cum.

“It’s okay. You can tell me when you’re ready.”

Abby doesn’t push as you finish your coffee. The drive back home is silent but you hear her nervously tapping the screen of her phone. The dress she wore tonight was different.

Usually, she doesn’t dress so feminine but every once in a while she does and it drives you further into insanity. The stupid short dress rides up more, her toned thighs look delicious enough to bite into. You want to bite her, paint her thighs in possession, it doesn’t help when she rubs them together.

Fuck, it really doesn’t.

You fear her sole purpose is to torture you as she crosses her toned legs, as you halt at a red light, looking down for only a moment and you see a sliver of pink lace. Part of you can’t help but think she’s doing this on purpose.

She has to be, right?

Every part of her consumes you, the harder you try to let go you feel her make home in the corners of her mind, feasting on your flesh as if every inch of your skin is hers to claim.

Your free hand makes a makeshift fist as you attempt to stop yourself from touching her warm skin. It's delicious, divine, trapped in the abyss of your mind, putting the park in drive, running to the other side and helping her out of your truck. Abby grabs your hand, as she tumbles too quickly, losing her footing as her frame crashes into yours.

“Oh—”

To stop herself from falling, she places a hand on your chest, palm laying flat on your chest. Your heartbeat picks up from her touch but she’s quick to move away, walking to the main lobby as she leaves you in the dust.

Right.

Once you’re in the elevator side by side, her vanilla scent makes you light-headed with an unbending lust. The more she ignores you, the more you want her — the more you think of that night. It stays on the forefront of your mind, anytime you look at her, it’s there. Tormenting you as you hope for something out of reach, unattainable.

Fuck, it kills you.

Abby is your friend. Abby is your best friend. Abby is a friend.

You try to convince yourself you didn’t say you were seeing Francesca for a specific reaction. Maybe you have become just as toxic as the person you’re sleeping with. Why are you trying to wreak havoc on the best relationship you have? The most sustainable relationship within your grip, and with just one idiotic sentence, you’ve shattered it to bits.

Abby fishes for the key, dispensing it in the woven bowl on the entry table. It’s late in the evening as she whispers goodnight so soft you almost miss it. The unspoken distance still remains, making the two of you drift further apart. She’s as sweet as honey but if you have her in the way you’re dying to, you won’t ever be able to take it back.

You’re not sure you would be able to live with yourself if she changed herself for you. Everything about her is why you’re fighting yourself so much — you would ruin her. At least you don’t have to think about it for the night, you take a shower hoping it will clear your mind, but it doesn’t really. You see flashes of blonde hair with darkened roots, the cheek on her scar she hates so much but you love.

Sometimes, like tonight, you wish you could just fuck her and it would all be done. Abby could be out of your system, just one night of depravity, bending her to your will, making her cunt weep for you as she gushes around your fingers. A whimpering and moaning mess — maybe that’s all you need. Just one stupid, inescapable night.

But is that really what you want?

Just one night?

A fog settles over your mind and it's welcome. Ridding yourself of the impossible weight of your affection for Abby, you aren’t crumbling over the fact you can’t have her or that you want her so terribly bad sometimes you think about whimpering right in front of her. Or the times Francesca has wanted to come over, right now you might say yes, just so Abby could hear what you really moan out when you sleep with her.

Why can’t she just end your suffering?

“Can I join you?”

There she is. As if she could sense your crumbling wall, she’s come down to rip it to shreds. Truthfully, if she wanted to, it really wouldn’t take much, especially tonight. You’re crying for her basically, your legs spread as you sit on the couch on the terrace. Of course, she’s just wearing a baby blue silk robe, you wonder if there’s anything underneath the treasured silk or if she’s as bare as that night.

You nod as she moves towards you but Abby doesn’t do what you’re exactly expecting. Freshly showered, hair slightly damp as it smells of lilies and vanilla, her strong and sculpted thighs land on top of you as she straddles you into the soft gray cushions. Long, golden strands cascade forward as they frame your face with a delicate touch.

You're frozen, partially with fear but now you know she isn’t wearing anything else. More importantly, you feel her damp cunt on your thigh, your fucking thigh.

Shit.

What the fuck.

“What are you doing?” You take another hit of your blunt, not sure why you’re even asking her. This is what you wanted, right? All your dreams, those twisted fantasies you couldn’t escape from, not even if you tried. All of them could become true as she throws herself at you.

Not really what you had in mind but you’re too weak to push her off. Even if your mind was telling you it was the right thing, your heart is incapable of listening to anything else. Not a damn thing but this woman before you. All you see is her, a muse you can’t escape. Summers at your family's beach house, one you promised to take her too once summer is traded in for spring next year.

“Finding a seat. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No. I don’t.”

You rest your hands on her soft hips, the pad of your thumb tracing circles into the silk, Abby feels your touch practically burn her skin. Tonight, she decides she enjoys the feeling.

Maybe you had it all wrong.

Abby is jealous. Even if a deeper part of you knows this isn’t a good idea, you’re not good enough for her, you never will be.

And there’s Francesca to deal with.

Worries of Fran get snuffed out when Abby’s straddling your hips in nothing but a silk robe concealing her beautiful curves and refined muscles. As the ache in your stomach builds, you want to pull at the tie, you want to see all of her.

Fuck, you are so screwed.

“You don’t know what to do with yourself, do you?” Abby softly grinds her hips into you, repositioning herself so her pelvis is touching yours, making you whimper out before you can even stop yourself.

“U-Uh, um—” You try to stammer off, you try to say something but she just keeps moving her hips, the friction of her pussy ghosting over your clothed one has you thinking this is just a dream again. One you’ll awake from at any moment. You have to.

This can’t be real.

This isn’t really happening.

“You wanna see me again, don’t you? I can make you feel good again but only if you let me.”

Again? Again? What the fuck does she mean again?

“Abs,” You pause as she places the palm of her hand at the base of your throat, keeping you firmly in her hold. This is who you saw on the fateful night, pink and fluttering cunt taking what she could around her cunt. It’s everything you wanted that night, this.

Albeit, you wanted to be the one choking her, fucking her, tasting her, but this you would take but still you wanted to know how she felt. Without your filthy mouth tainting what she wants.

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific.”

“The night you made a mess in your boxers watching me fuck myself. Is that specific enough for you?”

Shit.

“You saw me?”

“Through my window, watched you the whole time. How’d you like the show?”

“I—” But you can’t speak, biting on your tongue, as you try to collect your thoughts.

“Well, I guess we both know how much you came to like it.” Abby grins as she applies more pressure, her forehead falls against yours, her hand remaining on your throat keeping you in place.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I thought you were in pain, I figured you were just groaning in pain and I just, um, I dunno—”

The control is slipping from you, easier than you would like it to, but if one thing is clear — Abby is a vixen — and it’s painfully obvious. How you never noticed before and she’s been right under your nose the entire time.

Innocent Abby, the nerdy girl no one looks twice at and right now? She’s making you look.

Not that you weren’t already. You’re only upset with yourself for not seeing it sooner. She’s enjoying each moment, watching you squirm as you’ve made her countless times. At one point, Abby believed it to be your favorite pastime. For once, she’s going to enjoy this.

Anxiously, you lick your lips, focusing on hers as she leans in closer, so close you feel her minty breath ghosting over your lips. Haunting your every breath, her presence intertwined with your existence, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to remove it.

“Yeah baby, is that right? Wanted to save me and be my knight in shining armor?” She whispers, her honey-dew voice glides over you and you're throbbing for her. Dazed, you find yourself reeking of desperation.

“S-Something like t-t-that, yeah.” Stuttering like a hormonal teenager, you finally managed to get a complete sentence out. Abby grinds her hips again, a soft rhythm being delivered, and with hopeless wishes you try to stop yourself from moaning.

“Take another hit, yeah?” But her voice is stern, giving you no room to disobey her.

Your hips buck at Abby giving you orders. But you do as you're told and so does your reluctance against telling her to take a minute. An increasingly impressionable challenge as she applies more pressure against you. Her hips move just like that night, but Abby seems persistent on making you feel good.

“Tell me what you remember from that night.” Another order. Another second away from coming in your boxers, again.

“I remember,” You bite your lip, compressing another moan as she picks up the pace, “Shit, ummm, I remember you fucking yourself. How pretty your ass looked, the moans you made, your blonde hair I wanted to pull.” You audibly sigh, your self-restraint meeting it’s bitter end as you take another hit, snuffing out the lit bud in the ashtray.

Your half-lidded eyes look up at her; entirely in a new light and she’s not giving you much of a choice. As much as you want to pull away, you can’t. This is what your wet dreams are made of. The quiet evenings where you think about what it would be like if Abby was sleeping on the empty side of your bed. Is she a silent sleeper or does she snore? Is she someone who likes to sleep in silence or with an ambient tune soothing her into a slumber?

Some of the many things you think of. Without even realizing it, she has infiltrated every area of your life with absolute ease.

For the first time, you can’t see behind those beautiful blue eyes, you don’t know what she’s feeling and you feel locked out. On the outside trying to peer in and she’s keeping you at bay. This Abby is unlike her, a difference in the variant she gives you as you stumble even more. Even the way she came out here tonight, making you work for it, teasing a secret she obviously has been keeping close to her chest. Did she not trust you or was she simply just embarrassed?

“I guess it’s only fair to give you a full view this time.” Abby continues to ride you as she guides your hands to pull at the loose knot, and the second you undo the silk, is when the moan you have been so desperate to conceal spills out.

Between a moan and a groan, eyes almost permanently roll back into your skull as you try to form words but none come out. Too focused on how Abby’s making you feel her, the way she’s grinding on you, the feeling you’ve been craving in each bone of your body.

“Abby—” Her name comes out as a righteous breath, the world being restored with the way she touches you. “I’m not….I don’t deserve this.”

“None of us ever get what we deserve.” Abby sings like an angel witnessing an eclipse. Delicately she drops her head in the crook in your neck, dazed in the bliss of you, heavenly notions of bills fall on your ears. “But I’ll give you everything you want, baby.”

Strong hips moving at an erratic pace, Abby’s moans only get louder when you wrap an arm wrapped around her waist as she pushes closer to the edge and you’re right there with her.

Never do you want to be rid of her.

“Are you close, angel?” Abby nods, a soft whimper of agreement.

“Use your words pretty girl.”

“Yes, I’m close.” Fuck. She obeys too.

“Is this all you’ve been wanting? Pent up in that room, having to take care of yourself, whining in hopes I would hear you again. It’s all just a little too much. You need a release, pretty girl?”

“Yeah, I do.” Abby heavily breathes out, sighing as your free hand travels between the two of you, stroking soft circles on her puffy clit. Kissing softly around her neck until sharp canines mark the territory as your own. If Abby would let you, there wouldn’t be an inch of her skin left untouched.

“I bet you do. Mhm, then c’mon pretty girl, show me what so many pay for.”

more of my rambles. sorry to leave you hangingndndndnsnsn. um. yeah. this may have read different than my current work. i wrote it five months ago. so. if y’all still want me to keep this going….lmk. next chapter, if y’all want it, will be more camgirl!abby things. finally getting to the heart (or cum) of why i started it in the first place ♡

#(ᝰ.ᐟ) tlou works.#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fluff #abby x reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson tlou2

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justevelynnnn · 16 days ago

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eyes.

Summary: you just broke up with mark because he was never around and grown distant, but now you felt like you were losing your mind even more.

Warnings: {angst}, reader is going through post break up heartbreak.

A/N: just a little something short and sweet (not really it’s angsty) & yes ik his eyes r blue in the comics😭 in the show they’re brown, okay!

You hated him.

How he just…..left. All the fucking time. How sometimes he wouldn’t even tell you where he was or where he’d be going. He was just gone.

He’d leave you on read or delivered for days, show up with some shitty grocery store flowers & dick to apologize. You hated him. He used to be so much better, so much sweeter. Before…all this, he was always by your side.

Now, he was never around. In fact, he was always by that girl Eve.

You didn’t think you’d miss him so much given he was rarely around anymore in the first place. You missed his smile, how’d he make you laugh until your sides hurt, how he rambled on and on about Seance dog and how those comics were just so good…

Those silly memes he’d send you. Now they just hurt your heart when you looked at you guys old texts.

How he’d hug you with those strong arms, his gentle but confident voice, how he always cut his sandwiches in triangles because it “was better that way”, but worst of all…

….you missed his eyes.

His big, soft brown eyes.

How when the sun hit them just right, they looked golden brown or how when you stared long enough it almost felt like home. You could stare into his eyes forever. Until the end of time.

Now you can’t stand the color.

Anything brown reminded you of him.

Like, your favorite tree. He kissed you for the first time under it. Initials carved into the tough bark.

Your cup of coffee, too.

The sweet, syrup on your pancakes.

The dead leaves on the ground from autumn. Hell, most days in autumn.

Those chocolate bars you used to love that he’d always buy you.

Then it wasn’t even the color. It was your pillows because of how soft and comforting they were. It was the warm water rolling off your back in the showers because how it relaxed you, just like how his eyes would make you feel. Comforted.

That Greek statue you saw because of how strong he looked while simultaneously having a serene look on his face; just like his eyes. Mark was strong, especially now, but he was also deep down a softie. Strong on the outside, soft on the inside. Strong walls on the outside of a house but once you were inside, once you got to know him, it, no- you felt at home.

You saw a soft brown fur coat in the store today. You almost exploded. It was the same exact color. The exact fucking color.

You couldn’t escape. He was all over the media now, all over billboards and posters. People never stopped talking about Invincible.

The pictures on your phone that you couldn’t delete yet haunted you. Each picture of him staring into the camera stared into your soul and shook your core. Those bright brown eyes grabbed that soul, grabbed your heart and bit into it, tore it to shreds, and left it to rot only to remind you of the emotional neglect you suffered. Your stomach twisted every time he was on your tv, or on your social media feed. Even when you couldn’t see his eyes behind the googles, oh you knew those eyes were still there exactly the same.

You hated how he looked at her now. Like she was his world. You used to be his world. What did you even do? Maybe if you sucked it up, you’d be able to look into his eyes once more.

But you didn’t suck it up. You should’ve ignored the advice to break things off with him. Now it was hell on earth and no superhero seemed to want to save you from it all…

Warm chocolate chip cookies were ruined now too. Soft ones. The ones his mom used to make especially.

The teddy bear he bought you for Valentine’s Day. Curly brown fur now collecting dust in your closet.

A sunset once. It was a beautiful one, the sky filled with pinks and oranges. Just like the one when he flew you in the air to look at it without buildings being in the way. But, it was stunning just like his eyes. You didn’t want to look away.

Half the shit you saw in that bakery last week.

The soft, warm but powerful flickering of a candle you lit.

Looking at anything now was some sort of self harm. You never felt so lost and confused.

Everything reminded you of him. Everything. Everything.

That’s why you hated him a little more now, even if you probably didn’t mean it.

But you hated nothing more than his eyes now.

Those heavenly eyes.

#invincible fanfic #invincible #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #invincible mark grayson #invincible angst #mark grayson angst

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danikamariewrites · 10 months ago

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Straddle Me (smut)

Eris x reader

Notes: another installment of my favorite lil series I write for Eris 🥰 I realized the other day I really written any smut for Eris besides this stuff, then I felt bad lmao. I feel like I’m neglecting my sweet baby boy

Warnings: dry humping (I hate saying that), allusions to oral

Finally, Eris thinks, stretching his long body against the soft blankets. Alone at last. He closes his eyes, folding his arms behind his head.

It had been a very long day. Beron had required more attention from Eris than usual all afternoon. Sending him on errands all over the Forest House that brought him to advisor after advisor. Then he had his generals to meet with to go over recruitment.

It was exhausting.

And on top of all of that he hadn’t even seen you today!

You had woken up before Eris this morning to spend time with his mother. As the wedding draws closer you’ve begun shadowing Lady Autumn, learning what her duties are as the High Lord’s wife.

Eris couldn’t wait for you to return. For you to be safely in his arms.

The want for you to come back was short lived. Your hurried, excited footsteps padded across the carpet in the sitting room. Flinging the door open to the bedroom, a huge smile on your face, you let out a joyous squeal and launch yourself on the bed.

“Eris! I missed you!” You say giddily, pecking kisses to his freckled cheeks. He cradles you to his chest pressing a long kiss to your forehead, inhaling your scent. “I missed you too, little fox. Tell me about your day.” His tone was gentle and full of genuine curiosity.

To Eris’s dismay you untangle yourself from his embrace. Sitting up, you straddle his stomach, your bare things caging his clothed torso as your dress pools around the two of you. You hold onto his hands, absentmindedly playing with his fingers as you ramble about what his mother showed you.

Looking down you notice his pupils blown wide as they stare at where your legs are placed. You giggle, knowing Eris’s thoughts are wandering to something dirty that he’s itching to show you.

You wanted it too. Ever since you started reading smutty romance books things have gotten heated between you and your mate. You craved his touch every moment you could get it.

Your eyes grow wide, sparkling with mischief as an idea blossoms in your mind. Your new goal: make Eris feel as needy as you have.

The thought has a wet spot growing rapidly in your panties. You pulled his hands to your chest, cradling them and loving the heat radiating from them. “Tell me about your day, my love.”

On command, Eris starts to list everything he did today. If you wanted to hear about it he would tell you every godsdamn detail you wanted. Hell, Eris would tell you the color of the rocks stuck in his shoe if you demanded it.

As your mate's deep melodic voice fills your ears you slowly slide down his body, resting over his crotch. You begin to lightly grind your hips back and forth. Teasing your mate at an agonizing pace.

Eris tried to ignore the feeling of you rubbing against his cock. He tripped over his words as he tried to focus on you, not your movements. He could feel the blood rushing to his cock as it pressed against his pants.

He so badly wants to pin you to the mattress and tease you until your legs are shaking, begging Eris to let you come.

You pick up the pace of your hips. Eris bites down on his lips to keep from moaning loud enough for the Forest House to hear him. “Little fox… You’re going to be the death of me if you keep this up.”

The giggle that leaves your lips almost sends him over the edge. Gods, he’s going to come in his pants like a teenager.

Eris holds your hips in a vice grip that you fight through. You lean down, pressing your breasts into his chest. “Let me make you feel good, my mate.” You whispered in his ear.

Your mate was always taking charge in making you feel good. For once you wanted to rile him up. Make him feel good.

His hands slip from your hips to rest on your thighs, allowing you to continue. Resting your hands flat on his chest you quicken your pace. Biting your lip you let out a small moan. The feeling of Eris’s hard cock pressing against your soaked panties, rubbing against your clit has your back arching. Definitely better than your fingers.

You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that you and Eris get this worked up over each other. And you haven’t even taken your clothes off.

Dragging your nails down his chest, Eris tenses and groans. His grip turns bruising on your hips helping you move faster. You lean down to whisper in his ear again. “Come, Eris. Let go baby, you know you want to.”

Eris pushes his face into your neck, his moans muffled as his thighs and cock twitch under you.

“Fuck,” he groans, holding you tight to his body. You smile pleased with yourself. Running your fingers through his hair you say soft ‘I love you’s to help him calm down.

Propping yourself up you bat your lashes at him innocently. Eris looks down at you breathless, “You are going to be the death of me, little fox.” You giggle and slither down his body. His eyes go wide as you reach to undo the ties of his pants. Eris knows he should feel embarrassed by the stain on his pants, but he can’t help but get turned on by your hungry gaze.

“What are you doing, little fox?” You send him a smirk and tug at the fabric restricting him. “Getting you cleaned up.”

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almostmylove · 4 months ago

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Shatter me with your love. part 3

warning: neglect?

synopsis: a night through out Gotham without worries

“ what the hell are you doing kid?” That's the first thing you hear from cat woman that was now towering over your shaking, sobbing body.

Your silent weeps quickly turn into something that could have been considered ugly hiccups as you look up at her, dumbfounded. You don’t respond to her question but only stare for what feels like a eternity, you almost swear you could hear your tears dripping down onto the ground like a rainy night .

your eyes blink, pushing the dangling tear that snaps you out of your trance, remembering her question that you had forgotten because of shock and you scramble to answer .

“ well i just -, im not-i was just-” you stumble over your words as you try to speak, only managing to further fumbling over your quivering lips.

You would of never thought that one of Gotham’s well known and prettiest( in your opinion ) criminal would out of nowhere start talking to you so it caught you off guard. You had never spoken to her before or really know a lot about her, only hearing about her thru looking in newspapers and small comments from your father.

Over your incoherent rambling on what had happened you stopped upon hearing an annoyed sign from cat woman, making you hyper aware of everything. it was hard to believe one of your favorite villains was standing in front of you, paying attention to you( at least more then your father did)

Your tears dripped onto the dirty city floor, cat women’s gaze on you, how your hands clenched on your side or how you were slightly shivering from the autumn weather and your face felt like rubber unable to change your face from panic and suffering, your face feeling a bit too hot as if you were a cartoon character about to burst from anger, how runny your nose had been and how alone and desperate for love you felt.

The only thing to keep you warm was a small black scarf around your neck That was wrapped a bit too tightly for your comfort but you didn't to move

You were weak, unlike your brothers. You had always known that, from the time that your mother got thrown into a mental hospital to. well .now.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a latex gloves hand waving in your face , it was cat womans. She had offered her hand up to and you were not about to refuse now.

“Get up , don’t keep me waiting kid. ” she said her voice a hint of annoyance but her face seemed more say than annoyed . You take her hand and it feels awful warm despite it being covered by a latex glove. Not in a bad way tho but the kind that feels that would give warm hugs.

You never knew why she wore all latex because to you it would be very uncomfortable and inconvenient but at the same time you couldn’t really judge because your adopted dad was a middle aged billionaire that dresses up every night to fight crime in Gotham and never fully stops them because of “morals”.

Standing up makes something more apparent to you. she is a lot taller than you thought, you were up to her waist at the most.

“ thank you” you tell her shyly, you didn't why you were thanking her but you just wanted to. You stood tall , looking around around, trying to ignore the awkward silence consuming you both . “ there is nothing to thank me for , i did nothing” You could feel cat woman trying to analyze your face till something clicked in her mind. “ hey” she calls out to you, making your eyes shift to hers “ you're one of Bruce Wayne's kids no?” She question with curiosity. Her statement made you pause, freezing in place. you weren't ready for anyone to pay attention to you, let alone recognize you,

Even tho you knew it was dangerous engage with a villain but you responded either way( she looks nice enough).

“ yes ma’am that's me”

“ im gonna ask you again and give me you're going to give me straight answer, ok? “ she commands , her voice authoritative yet concerned

“ im not sure myself , i guess i was being dramatic” you chuckled to yourself , hoping she wouldn't pry and make you confess your dramatic reaction to being pushed out the way.

She signed dramatically putting her hand on her forehead as is she was getting a headache. “ fine if you don’t want to tell you dont have to. Just stop sobbing like a baby, its annoying.” She exclaimed.

Her eyes wondered around you before kneeling down to get on your level. “ i see your feeling a bit down , why don’t and you and i take a stroll around Gotham, what do you say” said says , her voice a calm and soothing tone. You didn't know why but you let your guard only respond in a reluctant hum. “ well i dont think my fathe-” you were interrupted by catwoman's voice “ listen kid, if he really cared wouldn’t he be with you”

The silenced that follow after wards was very loud but you knew she was correct. You had been out and away from the gala for over 20 minutes and no sign of them. None of them .

So in that moment you accept. No one else had comfort or even checked up on you like that in years, no even alfred. That night she took you all over gotham. From quickly (and nicely) robbing an icecream stands and eating it on a roof top to going to going to one of gothams only beaches that luckly wasn’t literally with trash. She even gave you a toy of your favorite character that you had talked about . You didn't have the heart to tell her that you had bought your own toy of the same kind. Through the night you got to know quickly a lot about her like how she was a mob boss once or that her sister was driven insane. You too shared personal stuff which took a invisible weight off your shoulders and you started to feel like you too started to bond. She offered to take you back home herself but you refused in fear of the off chance that she would try to rob the manner or that the cameras surrounding the manner ( installed by Bruce) would see you guys. You had her drop you off a few blocks away and you watch as she hopped from building to building like a sly cat tho you knew that she had followed You the whole way home, keeping you from getting robbed on that Gotham night. You never really knew why on that night she helped you out and you never got a chance to ask her after that. Once Bruce and your brothers came back from the gala they asked where you had gone and you told them a cheap answer on how you got tired and decided to walk home. You knew that Bruce didn’t fully believe you- , if he did then he wouldn’t be greatest detective in Gotham- maybe even the world, after that none of the payed any futher

It has been years since that night and your relationship with your “family” has gotten worse.

Part 4

#damien wayne #batfam x reader #dc fanfic #bruce wayne x reader #jason todd #damien wayne x reader #batman x reader #dc fandom #jason todd x reader #dc comics #neglect #neglected reader #batfam x neglected reader #batfam x neglected batsis #dick grayson x reader #tim drake x reader #dick grayson #dc universe

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farfromstrange · 14 days ago

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Chapter One: Heaven’s Half Hour

Silver Spoons and Butterknives.

[Previous Chapter | Silver Spoons & Butterknives Masterlist]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x President’s Daughter!Reader

Chapter Summary: On his way to work, Matt bumps into a ghost from his past that turns his world upside down.

Chapter Specific Warnings: DDBA Spoilers!, (past) major character death, Angst, allusions to politics, allusions to past heartbreak, Matt is going through it

WC: 3.8k

A/N: Hi! If you haven’t read the author's note for this series, here is a quick summary: this story takes place both in DDBA Season 1 present and College!Matt past. The majority of the following chapters (not including this one) are basically a very lengthy flashback. After that, I will jump back into DDBA canon. The only twist to this reader insert is the fact that I will be using a fixed last name; everything else will be left as neutral as possible so you can immerse yourself in it. Also, I felt like the whole college timeline in Daredevil was a bit confusing, so I did a whole Reddit deep dive and decided that for this series, Matt and Foggy already met in undergrad and then moved on to law school together. Seems like there are conflicting opinions on it, but it was never explicitly stated, and some of the years mentioned in the show don't make a lot of sense to me, so for the sake of the plot, I'm establishing my own timeline. Also, our girl Kirsten makes a little guest appearance here and there. Anything else? Oh yeah, have fun!

Read Me On AO3!

A breeze far too cold for September wafts through the streets of New York City. Then again, every day for the past year has been colder than the last.

When the cherry blossom trees began to bloom in early March, their scent burned like acid on his tongue. He always loved how they offered a stark contrast to the green grass in Central Park, and even though Matt couldn’t see them, he loved listening to him ramble on about their unparalleled beauty as if he couldn’t imagine anything better.

When he walked the cemetery again after a year had passed in a mere sixty seconds, the autumn rain froze into daggers, cut him open, and left a bottomless, bleeding pit where his heart once was.

The pain and guilt have made a forever home in him. He let them eat away until all that was left was a pile of rotten flesh, and now the beauty he’d come to appreciate means nothing anymore.

Time and time again, Matt finds himself standing on that godforsaken rooftop in Hell’s Kitchen, in his daydreams and his nightmares. Because Foggy Nelson died, and there is no world or universe in which he can live without him. He haunts him.

The wind brushes through his hair and seeps through the thin fabric of his new coat as he taps his cane along the sidewalk. He can taste the scent of cheap coffee from the café a few blocks down the street, and somewhere, someone is selling expired hot dogs to passersby.

The city sounds much like a broken record to him now. Cars honk, people argue, and the morning news play on repeat in brownstones all over the city, one device always a millisecond behind the other, and it never fucking stops. Everyone is screaming, laughing, or crying, but never louder than the fading heartbeat replaying in his mind.

The prayer card in his left-hand pocket weighs like a ton of bricks. Matt sometimes touches it just to make sure it’s still there. He puts it there in the morning, takes it out in the evening, and rests it on his nightstand when he sleeps. And when he wakes up in a cold sweat, his throat sore from the screams of anguish that have become second nature to him, he feels for it until his fingers find the Braille they put there just for him.

He hasn’t moved on. How could he? Moving on would mean he’d have to acknowledge the truth, and then he would have to feel everything all over again.

He still remembers how the blood felt on his hands, his knuckles cracked, and his suit drenched with it. He still remembers how the air felt so much colder, and what it sounded like when Ben’s body hit the pavement. The night was eerily quiet then. Though it wasn’t the blood or the rage or the tears mixing with the copper on his tongue that he focused on, he focused on the one thing that was there until it wasn’t. He followed the sound of Foggy’s heartbeat until it was gone, and then he screamed.

If Matt acknowledged that—if he allowed himself to let the agony out of the cage he stuffed it in—it would surely kill him. Karen left, Foggy is dead, and Matt doesn’t know what’s left for him to fight for.

There is only so much suffering a person can take before they lose themself.

The wind ebbs and picks up speed again. He breathes in, just for a moment, to taste the weight of the oxygen, but as the air fills his lungs, the gentle cocktail of jasmine, roses, and peonies with a hint of something entirely unique suddenly wraps a noose around his neck. The scent is so unique that no two people have ever smelled the same, and his senses start to burn with the familiarity of it all.

The first time he smelled it was his first year of law school. A soft breeze carried it across the lecture hall, incomparable sweetness clinging to salty skin and caressing his nose, and he got addicted before he knew what it meant or who it belonged to, even.

Sixteen years.

It’s been sixteen fucking years.

Matt’s dress shoes scrape over the asphalt underneath his feet as he comes to a sudden halt in the middle of the crowded sidewalk, knuckles turning white around the handle of his cane. He must be hallucinating, he thinks. His mind must be conjuring up old, bittersweet memories to bury the new ones, but then he hears it.

Your voice used to remind him of the softest silk. He would always compare it to the first rays of sunshine in spring as they whisked the cold away, painfully so sometimes.

He never thought he would hear it again, neither the sound of your voice nor your heartbeat. The one that sped up whenever he made you laugh. The one he once fell asleep to like a lullaby, and the one that started racing almost as fast as his own whenever he touched you. But for every good thing he had with you, his heart shattered into a million more pieces when he lost you.

The world around him disappears in the fog, and his senses zero in on you. You are approaching the limousine parked on the side of the street, smiling as you bid your thanks to the man holding the door open for you. Your head turns left, just to let the wind brush the hair out of your face, but when you see him, your heart stutters.

Disbelief settles into the frown creasing your forehead. “Matthew?” you say oh-so-softly.

He tilts his head in your direction. Matthew. The sound of his name from your lips cuts his skin like fiberglass.

Matt whispers your name in turn, trying to convince himself that you’re real—or perhaps he is trying not to. Maybe he’s trying to convince himself that you are nothing but a fragment of his broken imagination. It would be kinder, he thinks, if you weren’t real.

That is, until you whisper again, “Yeah, it’s me.”

He doesn’t remember how many times he would lie awake at night, praying to hear you say, It’s me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. But he knows God wasn’t listening. Even in his wildest dreams, you always end up leaving, and his happy endings turn into a nightmare.

You’re too real, and that hurts more than when you were gone.

“Hi,” you breathe. You even put on a smile for him.

“Hi,” Matt’s voice cracks. He’s not sure if you heard it. “What’re you–”

“Oh, I’m just–” You point everywhere and nowhere. “I’m just passing through.”

“Oh.”

“On my way to DC.”

“Right,” he says.

Of course, you are.

The nostalgia makes you weak in the knees. He has wrinkles now, a beard, and he is wearing a coat made out of the finest cashmere that, some time ago, he wouldn’t even have thought about buying. His once rectangular glasses have been replaced by round, dark-rimmed, and red ones. They are different, but they suit him.

You’ve always thought this shape would suit him so much better.

The Matt Murdock standing before you carries himself with such grace, it’s almost hard to believe he was ever shy or awkward to begin with. And yet, staring at your reflection in his glasses, you can almost see his unfocused brown-and-green eyes looking right through you. Those eyes, that voice, that laugh—you would recognize them anywhere.

His eyes, once open windows to his soul, were only for you to see through. You could have stared into them forever. But there is a wall where those windows used to be, and he is so much colder now.

You clear your throat before asking, “How are you?”

Matt stutters. “I, uh, I’m good,” he says. But good has never looked worse.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I just… I wasn’t expecting to run into you. That’s all.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to run into you either. Especially not here.”

He exhales a scoff. “Why? Because I’m still in New York?”

You shake your head. “Because you’re not in Hell’s Kitchen,” you say, and the scars on his heart start bleeding again.

Foggy.

Karen.

Daredevil.

A year ago, his life fell apart like an elaborate house of cards. All the good he had made for himself out of all the bad he had been through turned to ashes that night, and the rain washed it down the drain.

Hell’s Kitchen is not what it used to be. It serves as a reminder of a life that ended in a bloodbath, of having his heart ripped out of his chest over and over again. The city reminds him of his father, of Karen, and Elektra, and the happiness he lost. It reminds him of losing the one person who held him through it all—of losing Foggy. And it reminds him of you.

Matt left it all behind in the hopes that a new life would somehow take the pain away, but running away has never solved much of anything.

New York feels tainted, yet when Karen decided to leave for San Francisco, he could not bear to do the same. No matter how hard he tries, he can never fully let go of the city that raised him, and so he moved away, but never too far.

Matt taps his cane against the ground once. “Senator, huh?” he asks, though he is still as awful at deflection as he is a liar.

He overheard the news on his neighbor’s radio a few months ago when he was drinking a glass of whisky on the rooftop of his apartment.

At first, he tried telling himself that it wasn’t you they were talking about. When that didn’t work, he returned to pretending that not being able to touch you meant that you were gone, and you were never coming back. You were dead to him because that thought has been kinder to him than the truth. But you were never really gone, were you?

Your fingers brush over the delicate enamel pin on your jacket, the same way they once ran through his hair. “Yeah,” you say. “It’s been a hell of a year.”

Matt forces a smile, tipping his cane toward you. “Well, congratulations.”

Again, your heart flutters. “Thank you.”

“Yeah.” He shifts from one foot to the other. “I mean, I know it’s always been your dream. To make a difference. So, it’s nice you got what you wanted.” But Matt can’t quite swallow the bitterness in his statement.

You’re quiet for a moment, retreating into your shell as you try to find the right thing to say. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, at last. It’s a loaded two-word sentence, yet not nearly good enough for the sorrow that hangs in the air between you.

“For what?” he asks.

“Foggy.”

It hits him like a bullet straight to the heart.

Your voice quivers, then cracks. “I, uh, heard about what happened to him.”

The anger in his veins burns red, hot, traveling through his bloodstream like an unrelenting parasite, and it stings like a thousand paper cuts soaked in alcohol.

“I am so sorry. He was one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, and he didn’t… He didn’t deserve what happened to him.” Your throat tightens. “I know how much he meant to you,” you say. “I know how much you loved him. If I could–”

“No!” His self-control shatters. “You don’t get to do that,” he snaps. “You don’t get to tell me you’re sorry. It’s been a year.”

He doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t need to. It has that quiet edge to it that makes every word shake just slightly, yet feel like a thousand deadly papercuts.

“If you actually cared about him, about me, you would have called or texted, or–” He swallows. “You would have been here when it mattered.”

“I paid my respects to his family,” you try to defend yourself, but Matt only chuckles—bitter, broken.

“Right, and what did you tell them?” he asks. “That you went to college together? That you were his friend? Did you also happen to tell them that you left sixteen years ago and haven’t talked to him since, or did you leave that out?”

“Matt–”

He cuts you off, “He was my best friend. Mine! And I won’t get to see him again. So, you don’t get to tell me you’re sorry when you spent the past sixteen years pretending we were already dead!”

He rips your heart out and shreds it. And the worst part is, he’s right.

You want nothing more than to reach out, to touch him, but your hands fall weakly at your sides because you can’t. He’s too far away, and it’s killing you.

“You’re right,” you whisper, yielding. “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Matt shakes his head. “Don’t be.”

“Can we just… Can we talk? Just for a minute, please?”

It takes everything in him to ignore how utterly broken you sound, the desperation in your voice even more familiar than the sound itself. You don’t try to hide it, and he doesn’t want to care, but it tugs at his heartstrings anyway. You’ve always had that kind of effect on him. Right now, though, he loathes it.

Matt lowers his head, sighing at the ground beneath his feet. He can feel you staring, and it hurts.

“You know, I should go,” he says. “I’m already late for work, and this isn’t… This isn’t a good idea.”

You catch him by the arm when he tries to brush past. It’s a reflex, pulling him in, but the moment you touch him, he recoils.

“Please,” you beg, and if the asphalt weren’t so cold, you would have fallen to your knees. “If you’d just give me a chance to explain–”

“It’s been sixteen years. You made your choice. I moved on. Foggy moved on, and now he’s dead. None of that has anything to do with you,” he says, “so just… drop it!”

Every word from his mouth whips you across the face and tears into your flesh like harsh leather.

He pulls away. “Good luck in DC, Senator.”

And you watch in horror as he slips through your fingers again, his words so cold and brutal that you no longer recognize him as the man you fell in love with all those years ago.

Far too much time has passed for your excuses to mean anything now. You can explain, but you can’t fix this. You know that as much as he does, maybe even more, but it hurts just the same.

Matt can still hear the clear thumping of your heart long after he has walked away. In this mirror dimension he’s trapped in, it is all that exists to him. He tunes it out, but there it is again. You are everywhere, even when you’re not.

You stand in the same spot for a little while longer, teeth digging into your bottom lip to stop yourself from crying. He can smell the faintest hint of copper in the air, but then you plaster the cracks in your façade and pull yourself back together. Just like that, as if nothing ever happened.

You could be falling apart at the seams, but you would never let it show. Because that isn’t what you do.

As you’re climbing into the car, one of the men asks, “Who was that, ma’am?”

You don’t miss a beat. “He’s no one,” you answer.

The motor roars to life. Matt tilts his head. Thud, thud, thud, your heartbeat fades, further and further away until it is gone entirely. The iron fist around his heart releases its hold, and he can finally breathe again. Though when he inhales, your scent still lingers.

You’ve dug your teeth into him. One hit of you and suddenly, the world, his world, is back to revolving around you.

Every time he closes his eyes, he finds himself back in the old halls of Columbia University. He was twenty-three then, not a dollar to his name, a devoted Catholic who had faith in the future and the system because he believed in the greater good. Until you walked into his life, and every branch creating paths for his future rotted from the inside out.

Matt walks the entire way to Murdock & McDuffie on autopilot. His cane bumps against the door, and for a moment, he struggles to find the handle. Kirsten is already standing by the fancy espresso machine she insisted on getting, her heart beating steadily as she pours herself another latte, and he takes the window of opportunity to charge toward his office.

She calls out before he can get even halfway there, “Matt?”

He stiffens.

“You alright?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says, “just need a minute. Excuse me.”

He’s burning up inside, sweat soaking through his dress shirt underneath his suit jacket and cashmere coat, but his skin remains cold to the touch. The memories he had long locked away in a vault inside his mind start to break free from their shackles, and the glass that stores his emotions threatens to overflow.

The smell of espresso reminds of the cheap coffee he and Foggy once pretended was the best damn thing they’d ever tasted because they could not afford much more. There was no expensive O’Melveny whisky or homemade dinners on the table (except for Thanksgiving and Christmas with the Nelsons), and hardly any privacy to go around in their tiny student apartment, but they were happy.

You were a spoiled boarding school brat who’d never had to count a dollar in her life. Of course, you didn’t choose to be born with a silver spoon in your mouth; God knows Matt didn’t choose to be the son of a boxer who got paid to lose, either, but you both took what you were given and made the best of it.

When he met you, he saw right through you. He never thought he would; to him, people like you had all been the same for the longest time. You were the first to prove him wrong. He grew up as far from privilege as you grew up from living hand to mouth, and he couldn’t have cared less for it.

That silver spoon in your mouth had always been so painfully empty to the point that all you could swallow was resentment. It was one of the reasons why Matt fell in love with you, because you didn’t believe you deserved to be loved, and he’d suffered enough loss to believe the same. You were both products of the love you hadn’t received, and that made you as human as one could be.

He was your home the same way you were his, but the last time he got to hold you, you left him a broken mess that Foggy had to put back together because, unlike everyone else, he never dared to walk out on him.

Until he died, and Matt had to learn the hard way what it was like to be alone again.

The empty mug on his desk, left from the night before, goes flying off his desk and shatters against the floor of the office. Cold coffee splatters all over the glass wall; it smells so much tangier now.

Matt swallows a yell, almost as deafening in the back of his throat as the crash itself. Then, for a moment, quiet settles in.

Kirsten bursts into the room not long after. “What the f–” She glances at the mess, then back at him.

He straightens his tie, or maybe he’s loosening it.

“What the hell happened?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” he says.

She closes the door behind her. “Bullshit! C’mon, sit down. I’ve gotta clean this up before you cut yourself.”

She guides him to a chair before fetching a handful of paper towels from the first drawer of his desk. He opens his mouth to object, but nothing comes out.

It isn’t until the floor, the wall, and his pants are clean, and Kirsten has the shards safely stuffed into the trash, that she asks again, “Mind telling me now what’s going on with you?”

“It’s nothing,” Matt insists.

“Matt.”

“I’m fine. Just had a rough day, that’s all.”

“It’s 9 am,” she tells him. “The day hasn’t even started.”

“I know, I–” He sighs. “I just lost it, I’m sorry.”

“Apologize to the poor mug.”

That finally elicits a chuckle from him.

Kirsten takes another tentative step forward. “It’s okay to miss him, you know?” she says.

Again, he sighs. “I know.”

“If you want to go home for the day, I can–”

“Nah.” Matt waves her off with a forced smile that neither of them believes. “I’m good,” he says.

She doesn’t buy it, not one second of it, but she knows it is futile to keep pressing him for answers when he doesn’t want to give them. So, she simply pats his shoulder. “Alright, well, whenever you’re ready, I’ll be in the conference room. We’ve got a new client coming in,” she says. “Take all the time you need. Preferably not more than an hour, though.”

He snorts, running a hand over his beard. “Alright. Thanks.”

The door opens and closes with her leaving, and in his newfound solitude, he is left wondering again; wondering why you left, wondering why Foggy had to die, wondering what his life would have been like if you’d stayed, and wondering why, after all these years, Matt had to run into you now.

He reaches into his left-hand pocket. The prayer card is slightly crinkled, but the Braille underneath his fingers is clear as day.

In Loving Memory of Franklin Nelson.

He hates that this is all he has left.

From across the room, he can almost hear him say, “You’re an idiot.”

A sad chuckle rumbles through him. “Yeah,” Matt murmurs, “I know.”

It’s not fair that after all this time, even after all that has happened, there is not a bone in his body capable of hating you. God knows he tried.

Matt misses the way it feels to be with you, to smell and to touch you. And he yearns for you. He has no choice but to remember—remember what life was like when he was yours, and you were his, and that was all he’d thought he would ever need.

But that was sixteen years ago.

Like all good things in life, it was never going to last. You were a disaster waiting to happen, the calm and the storm, and he let it happen.

Tag List: @murdockchronicles

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil: born again #college!matt #ddba!matt #charlie cox

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