#i told anny from the start | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theragethatisdesire · 1 year ago

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scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,�� he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.”

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin.

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it.

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch.

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

#aot x reader #eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren x you #eren yaeger x you #eren yeager smut #aot fanfiction #eren jaeger fic #eren jaeger fanfiction

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writers-potion · 9 months ago

Text

Writing Strong Opening Lines

This is the kind of information your first line should provide:

the name of the character (the speicifcity creates and illusion of reality from the get-go)

Notify that something bad is about to happen.

Provide a feeling of motion (it doesn’t neccessarily have to be the character moving)

Talk about a (small) disturbance to the character’s everyday life.

Types of Novel Openings

Action (in medias res)

Jump into the story with no delay - have something interesting happening.

“They threw me off the hay truck about noon."

2. Dialogue

Show conflict between the characters speaking.

“Isn’t it true you ahve a motive to lie?” / “Excuse me?”

3. Raw Emotion

Make readers sympathize with the MC, who is experiencing a strong, universal emotion (like sadness, anger, etc.).

“I do not look. I don’t ask where. I don’t because Annie’s mother died seven months ago. I stand motionless in the line, looking just like everyone else except for the hot tears that have begun to sting my eyes.”

4. Look-back Hook

Suggest that there is a not-to-be-missed story that’s about to be told

“The terror, which would not end for another twenty-eight years — if it ever did end — beganm, so far as I can tell, with a boat made from a sheet of newsppaer gloating down a gutter swollen with rain”

5. Attitude

When using first-person narration, show some attitude and unique voice.

“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.”

6. Prologues - entice the reader to move to chapter 1

Action Prologue: Start off with some big scene, often involving death

Framing a story - give the reader the view of a character about to look back and tell the story.

The teaser - present a scene at the beginning that will happen later on in the book

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee! ☕

Reference: <Write Great Fiction: Plot and Structure (techniques and exercises for craftin a plot that grips readers from start to finish)> by James Scott Bell

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bhstoriesblog · 5 months ago

Text

"Disgusting!" Ann scoffed at the computer screen. Her boyfriend had left tabs of porn open when he left. All of them lewdly exaggerated figures unlike her own. A pang of insecurity hit her. Closing them one by one she found each to be even more lewd than the last.

The final tab was a swirling pink video. She meant to close it but her hand moved instead to make it full screen. Her eyes locked on it as heat rose in her body. Seconds seemed like hours as she stared at the screen, nipples aching, hips digging into her jeans, lips tingling. She instinctively unbuttoned her pants and jammed her hand into her crotch as she fell to her knees sending her swollen tits bouncing, eyes never leaving the screen. She needed to cum and she needed to bounce as the video drilled into her mind and her fat tits pushed out the small cups of her bra.

*** 3 Hours Later ***

The front door opened as Ann's boyfriend came in.

"Hey I'm back babe," he said almost as a question.

Out of the bedroom bounced the bimbo of his dreams.

"O M G baby Annie totally needs some dick!"

"I take it you saw the video," he said with a smirk.

"Oh it was like, the bestest video evar. It made me feel so bouncy and my titties are sooo huge." From her fat lips, bloated tits, and thick ass she looked designed to be used for pleasure. The tight dress only amplified it with the sheen of wetness leaking between her legs, likely from playing with herself for hours, she looked and smelled desperate for a fuck.

Her boyfriend started to unbuckle his belt and before he could finish she was already on her knees moaning with his dick in her mouth, bobbing and bouncing to let the heaving weight of her chest slam him into the back of her throat. From now on she would be bouncing on or for dick because as the pink video told her.

A Bouncy Bimbo is a Happy Bimbo

#caption #bimboification #ass expansion #breast expansion #iq loss #bibi bugatti

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lecsainz · 11 months ago

Note

May I request a Luke Castellan x reader who happens to be Annabeth’s older sister? They like each other, but they pretend they don’t. Thank you!

˒ ⌕ I THINK YOU’LL LIKE

parings: luke castellan x chase!reader

summary: that one where you're annabeth's older sister, and you and luke like each other but don't admit it.

an: YAY, I'M SO EXCITED FOR TODAY'S EPISODE! I think I might have lost my way in the writing 🤦🏼‍♀️. and if there are any grammar mistakes, forgive me 🙃

( last work || go to main masterlist )

You had woken up early that morning, expecting it to be like any other—getting up, getting ready, and heading to the arena to train the younger campers. You enjoyed the routine, especially passing by Hermes' cabin to catch a glimpse of Luke interacting so amiably with his half-siblings, causing your heart to skip a beat.

Determined to head to the training area, you were interrupted by a younger camper who needed help tying the laces of their worn-out sneakers.

"I thought you had this down, Claire," you said to the daughter of Hermes while expertly looping the shoelaces.

"I couldn't figure out what you did at the end," she murmured, glancing around as if expecting someone.

You eyed the younger girl suspiciously and proceeded to show her how to tie the knot. "Well, you just need to—"

"Hey, Y/N." Luke cut in as he jogged towards you.

Standing up, you turned to face Luke and saw him handing out sweets to Claire.

"I can't believe you just did that," you accused, pointing a finger at him.

"I didn't set anything up." He raised his hands, laughing as if surrendering. "I like your braid." Luke approached, tucking away a loose strand of your hair. "Suits you."

Feeling your cheeks warm, you stepped back from the brunette and crossed your arms.

"What do you want, Luke?" You asked curiously, starting to walk as you noticed some kids from your cabin heading in the direction you were supposed to be going.

Luke matched your pace. "Can't a dear friend want to see you?" He asked, and you felt one of your hands brushing against his as you walked side by side. "Actually, I-I..." He was interrupted by Annabeth calling out to you.

You both stopped, and Luke stepped back, scratching his neck as if embarrassed.

"Luke! Y/N!" You watched your sister come towards you. "Come on, Y/N, I've got a new tactic I want you to try with the bow," Annabeth said excitedly, pulling you towards the arena.

"Go on, then!" Luke waved to you. "Mind not hitting any campers with your bow, Y/N/N." He teased.

"You're an idiot, Castellan," you teased back, running off with Annabeth while hearing Luke's laughter.

The journey to the arena was short, but Annabeth wouldn't stop discussing the idea she had for the next capture the flag.

"He likes you," Annabeth halted before the arena entrance and stared at you.

You stopped and laughed at her. "He doesn't."

"He does," she insisted. "And you like him too." She slung her arm around your shoulder, amused because you and Luke were obvious to everyone at camp except yourselves.

"He's just a friend, Annie," you said as you both entered the arena.

The morning passed swiftly, not because you dwelled on what Annabeth had told you earlier or because Luke wanted to talk to you earlier. Soon enough, you found yourself alone in the arena, searching for your broken bow and arrows, supposed to be where you always left them but nowhere to be found today. Determined to fix it, you murmured, "I'm sure I left it here," while scanning through various other campers' bows.

"You left it here," Luke appeared behind you.

"Gods!" You startled, placing a hand on your chest and turned to him, annoyed.

"I didn't know I was that ugly to startle you," Luke said, leaning against a table nearby.

"You're not ugly, Luke," you mumbled softly, looking at him. "Wait what do you have behind you?" You asked, approaching him.

"Nothing," he murmured, turning so you couldn't see what he was hiding.

"Let me see, Luke," you stepped closer, trying to grab whatever he was holding.

Luke stepped back, and you stepped forward, causing both of you to collide and end up almost face to face, except for the height difference.

"I really want to kiss you right now," Luke spoke softly, and you wondered if you heard that correctly.

Summoning courage, you looked at him and locked eyes with his mouth. Luke released what he was holding, brushing a hand on your waist, pulling you closer. He looked at you, waiting for some sign of confirmation, and you stood on tiptoes and kissed him. Luke's hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in. Time seemed to stop as your lips met in a gentle yet fervent kiss, a mix of warmth and electricity passing between you.

When you pulled away, a gentle smile graced Luke's lips, and you were sure you were blushing. You rested your head on his chest, and he placed a kiss on your head. "I have something for you," Luke suddenly spoke and moved away to where he had hidden something. "That's why I wanted to talk to you earlier, but Annie showed up, and..."

"So, you used Claire to delay me?!" You accused, laughing, then stopped when you realized what he was holding.

"Don't blame me; I wanted to surprise you." Luke explained, and you couldn't help but find it endearing that he sought help to surprise you. "I saw it broken yesterday." He extended your bow towards you. "I tried fixing it myself, but I don't have the skills of a Hephaestus kid," he chuckled nervously. "I think you’ll like."

You took your bow from him, amazed at Luke's gesture. "It's perfect, Luke," you ran your hand over the drawings - more like scribbles - that weren't there before. "I love it." Surprising him, you hugged him, and Luke let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Thank you, truly."

Luke hugged you back, his arms enfolding you with a mixture of surprise and contentment. "Anytime, Y/N." he murmured, his voice soft.

You pulled away, holding the repaired bow with a newfound appreciation. "I can't believe you did this," you said, a smile lighting up your face. "You're more talented than you think, Luke."

He scratched the back of his head, a bashful grin spreading across his features. "Well, I had some inspiration." Luke's eyes met yours, holding a warmth that sent a rush of comfort through you.

"Thank you, Luke," you repeated, feeling genuinely grateful. "I owe you one."

He chuckled softly. "How about you owe me a rematch at capture the flag?"

You laughed, nodding in agreement. "You're on, Castellan."

#percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo tv show #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan oneshot #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan fanfic #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson x you

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caffeinewitchcraft · 6 months ago

Text

The Hero and Hope (part 3/5)

(part 1) (part 2)

Summary: You've been adopted before. That's why you know better than to hope for another chance, especially a second chance with the Bahrs

-----

It’s not that you don’t want to be adopted. You just know that you’re not going to be. You’re the oldest in the orphanage, barely three years away from aging out. People don’t adopt kids your age, especially not obstinate, mean ones like you.

Besides, you’re a Hero. As soon as you master your power, you’ll be compelled to leave and fight evil anyway. That’s why it doesn’t matter if the Bahrs want you or not. You’re not somebody that’s supposed to have a family.

You barely remember the first time you were adopted. That was back when the Director of the orphanage was mean and biting. You have a vague memory of gold exchanging hands and leaving in the middle of the night. Your new parents barely looked at you and didn’t call you by your name at all.

You don’t remember a lot of that time. You were five and it was a struggle to go from living with a dozen kids to no one at all. Your new family gave you your own room in their small house and told you not to get underfoot.

The first time you ran away from their house, you didn’t get far. The baker in town brought you back to them and warned them about how kids your age are always slipping out when not paid enough attention.

“If you do it again,” the person who paid for you said, “you’re going straight back to the orphanage.”

And you do.

--------.

The day of the picnic, every kid wakes up early without being told.

You watch as Hera fusses over all the younger ones, straightening new shirts and brushing dust off knees. Josiah is reading one of the newest books Mrs. Bahr – Marie – brought, biting the skin on the side of his thumb. You snag Hera as she races to find Annie some ribbon for her hair.

“Hold up, let me brush your hair first,” you say.

Hera frantically pats the braids she slept in. “I forgot about my hair!” She turns large, watery eyes on you. “Islaaaa!”

You snort and help her unwind each braid. She decides to leave it down, charmed by the waves the braids left in her hair. Your hands don’t shake as you work even though your heart is racing. Today is the day of the picnic.

Today might be the day the Bahrs pick one of you to adopt. The younger kids don’t know that, the information carefully hidden from them, but Hera knows. Director Sarah knows. You know.

It’s been a long time since you felt this sort of anxiety. The second time you were adopted was just before the Winter and it wasn’t bad at first. The couple who adopted you ran an inn in town. It was exciting to have your own room and your new mother wanted you to call her Mom right away. Six-years-old and you were so excited just to be able to call someone your parent. This time you were going to listen. You weren’t going to run away or complain if their house felt too big and too lonely. This time you were going to get it right.

You didn’t think about what they wanted from you in exchange.

It wasn’t until the second week when they found out you weren’t really much use for anything that things started getting bad.

You breathe in through your nose and proclaim Hera’s hair finished. She thanks you and races off to find Annie, determined to put the ribbon she picked in the younger girl’s hair.

The Bahrs aren’t like the innkeepers. Whoever they adopt won’t be expected to know how to read or do math or how to take care of horses. If they are required to then Marie and Ivan will teach them first. Both have spent enough time at the orphanage for you to believe that. Isn’t it Marie who’s teaching all of you your letters? Wasn’t it Ivan who taught you how to better put up a fence?

Whoever they choose will be fine, you think. It’s both a relief and a sting. Whoever they choose will be fine. It’s just probably not going to be you. Not when Annie is so sweet and social and Hera is so strong and kind. Not when Josiah works so hard to soak up everything they have to teach him.

“Is everyone ready?” Director Sarah asks. She’s standing by the door. Her clothes are nicer than usual too, a dress made of a light blue fabric you’ve never seen before. Her hair is carefully combed back into an updo and fastened with a tie Hera made for her last winter. She runs a critical eye over all of you. “You all look very nice. Josiah, tie your shoes, please. Annie, leave the slate in your room, what you do if you lost it? Honestly…”

You let Director Sarah fuss over the kids, slipping out the door ahead of everyone. You don’t own a dress, but the button-down shirt is new and starched. Director Sarah helped you embroider bluebells on the collar and sleeves, and you think it turned out well.

You may not be getting adopted today, but you’re excited to see the Bahr family’s estate. The sun is warm overhead, the sky an endless blue. The summer is mild this year, perfect for a party. Isn’t that what Mr. Bahr – Ivan – told you to think of it as? A party. No strings attached.

A wagon comes up the lane. The Bahr family’s home is too far for the younger kids to walk to, past the town and closer to the Lord’s manor. They said they’d send a wagon for all of you, but something still clenches in your chest when you actually see it. Wagons are an expense the orphanage can’t justify, but, apparently, the Bahrs can.

The driver smiles kindly when he pulls up next to you. “Everyone ready to go?”

Before you can answer, the kids are pouring out the front door, chattering excitedly. You help Director Sarah lift the smaller ones into the seats near the front. The wagon is open topped, so Director Sarah can look over everyone sternly, twisting around in her spot next to the driver.

“No playing during the ride,” she instructs. “Mr. Dallen is very kindly driving us so you must listen to him, alright?”

Mr. Dallen also turns around. “I don’t have too many rules,” he says. He pretends to think, scratching his thick beard. He grins “Don’t fall out!”

He’s joking, but that’s why you’re stationed at the back of the wagon. From your seat, you’ll be able to stop any roughhousing before “falling out” becomes a real danger. Already you’re eyeing the way Josiah is fidgeting. He’s incredibly calm when he’s reading, but otherwise he’s like a tornado. There’s a reason he’s the one that fell into the well in the first place. Hera sits primly next to him, her hands folded in her lap. You can tell she’s watching him from the corner of her eye. There’s a reason she’s the one who pulled Josiah out of the well.

Mr. Dallen directs the horses away from the orphanage, through the orchard, and along the road cutting through the fields. When you’re going to the forest to hunt, you take the narrower path that winds through the orchard and more directly into the tree line. The wagon is forced to stay on the wider road where the horses won’t sink into any mud and the wagon wheels won’t catch on rocks or dense foliage.

After the fields is the town. The kids wave to every Villager and Blacksmith they see. “Good day!” “Morning!” “We’re going to a picnic!” Hera pulls Annie back from the edge of the wagon before she tips over onto the street.

You slouch in your seat, wishing you were wearing a hat. While the first family who adopted you left town ages ago to live in the Capital, the innkeepers are still around. You don’t look as you pass their business and try not to listen to Josiah carefully sounding out the name of their inn.

When you open your eyes, Director Sarah is looking at you. You okay? She mouths. She wasn’t at the orphanage for your first adoption, but she was there for the innkeepers. You feign going to sleep. Just tired. She pretends to believe you and turns back to continue chatting with Mr. Dallen.

The kids are excited to go through the forest. Many of them are too young to even go into town with Director Sarah, a privilege you earn at ten years old, and they point to every bird, deer and mushroom they see amongst the trees. You let the sound of nature and the kids’ chatter lull you into a sort of meditation. The estate is only thirty minutes away now that you’re out of town.

You’re nearly dropping off to sleep when Director Sarah’s voice changes in pitch. Your sensitive hearing can pick up a thread of concern in her voice. What makes Director Sarah concerned, makes you concerned.

“—demons in the woods,” Sarah is saying very quietly. She glances out of her peripherals towards the back to make sure no kids are listening. If she notices how you’re only pretending to sleep, she doesn’t show any sign of it. “Shouldn’t we ask the kids to be quiet?”

“The Lord’s Knights have been patrolling,” Mr. Dallen says equally quietly. You can see him scan the trees for a moment before he smiles reassuringly at Director Sarah. “We’ll be okay so long as we stick to the road.”

“Alright.”

You keep a closer eye on the surrounding forest.

“There! There it is!”

Annie’s shout drags you attention from a (suspiciously) shadowed gully. The woods have thinned enough that hedges of the Bahrs’ estate can be seen. You’ve only been out this far once, a long, long time ago. You’ve never been past this point.

You’re just as surprised as the rest of the kids when the hedges give way to a castle.

That’s not a manor. You’ve never seen either, but you’re sure of this. Manors are supposed to look like the orphanage or any of the buildings in town, just larger. The Bahrs’ home has towers. The front doors are three times the height of a regular one and you can see that the handles and knockers are made of copper. The stone isn’t white like the castles in picture books, but it’s clean and neatly cut.

“Wow,” Hera breathes.

You agree.

Mr. Dallen directs the horses right up the main driveway, cheerfully explaining that the roses are the flower of the estate, aren’t they beautiful? Even Hera can only manage a faint noise of agreement, eyes wide on the house.

“The party’s around back,” Mr. Dallen says cheerfully. He clicks his tongue and the horses stop just short of the front doors. “I’ll take you there.”

Around back. You expect him to lead you around the side of the castle, past rows of rose bushes and the fountains that are tucked between the hedges. Instead, Mr. Dallen opens the front doors without knocking and directs everyone to follow him.

You’ve never seen anywhere so grand. The kids follow Mr. Dallen in hushed awe, gaping at the marble staircase that bisects the foyer. There are two chandeliers to either side of the grand staircase that each send a spray of rainbow light across the walls. Is the manor a little bare? The walls empty of portraits and artwork? You eye a pair of crossed axes hanging just beyond the shadow of the staircase.

“They’re ordering portraits from the Capital,” Mr. Dallen says, gesturing carelessly to the space where a portrait of the homeowners might hang. Then under his breath, “Unless they hang more swords there instead.”

“Excuse me?” Hera asks.

“Nothing,” Mr. Dallen says cheerfully. He guides them past the staircase and a row of doors to the back of the house. The large doors at the back of the house are already open. Mr. Dallen cups a hand over his mouth and calls, “Ho ho, look here! Look who’s arrived!”

“Surprise!” Ivan shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. He’s standing on the stone patio just outside the house, but he’s not the only one. Mrs. Bahr is next to him, her hands clasped in front of her, beaming. Behind her is a dozen other adults. “It’s a party!”

“Welcome,” Mrs. Bahr says warmly. She’s dressed elegantly in a long, red tunic that’s embroidered with the Lord’s crest. The Lord is here as well, his golden hair and eyes unmistakable even amongst the crowd. “Welcome to our home.”

You’re already at the back of the group, but you hang back further as the younger kids cautiously step out into the sun. Your eyes flick from face to face. You recognize a few of the people. There’s the Baker from town and her wife, there’s the Merchant that comes through every third week, there’s the Villager that donates zucchini—

And there are the innkeepers who, once upon a time, told you to call them your parents. They’re older than you remember, light hair gone silver in the sun, but it’s them. They’re right by the Lord, eagerly waiting near him for the opportunity to talk.

It’s very clear what this is. You watch the kids stream out onto the patio to greet Ivan and Marie. The other adults study the kids like zoo animals, eyes flicking to their clean party outfits to their happy faces. This isn’t a party for the kids. It’s a party for them. They’re showing off to each other. Look at how great they are! They’re helping out the poor orphan kids! You’re very familiar with these sort of events from back when the other Director was in charge. You just didn’t think you’d ever have to be near one again.

You take a step back and are stopped by Director Sarah.

“It’s okay, Isla,” Director Sarah murmurs. You didn’t even notice her falling back to your side. Her hand is gentle on your elbow. “It’s not what you think.”

Not what you think? You watch the Villager who runs the general store ask Josiah about the book he’s reading. The Bahrs are proudly introducing Annie and Hera to the Lord. There is something different about it, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. All you can see is the way the adults are watching the kids. You breathe in through your nose like Ivan taught you. In. Out. “What is it?”

“Fixing my mistake,” Director Sarah says.

That gets your attention. Your eyes dart from the happy scene in front of you to Sarah and back again. With the white umbrellas over the food tables, the streamers strung between garden trellises, and the kids dressed in their best, it looks like a painting. In contract, Sarah’s lips are pursed and the shadows of the house make her appear more tired than she is.

“There’s a parlor,” Mr. Dallen says. You jump when he speaks and he grimaces apologetically. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “If you need to talk.”

Marie is looking over the heads of the kids to where you’re standing, a frown on her face. She mouths your name, concern in her eyes. Your jaw clenches when the Merchant steps in front of her, hiding you from view.

“Yeah,” you say. “Let’s talk.” You spin on your heel.

Sarah follows you silently. You feel wrong-footed and caged by the entire situation. This was supposed to be a picnic, wasn’t it? No strings attached? Your dress shirt is tight around your neck and you flick open the top button.

“I should have told you,” Sarah says as soon as the door closes. There are two couches in the room adjacent to a large window that overlooks the party. Neither of you sits down. Sarah folds her hands in front of her skirts. “I apologize.”

“What are they doing here?” you ask. You gesture to the window. “The Lord, I understand. He’s the Lord. But the Baker? The Merchant?” You bark a laugh. “They’re not here to adopt anyone.”

“Maybe not,” Sarah says evenly, “but they’re good connections to have.”

“Connections?” You scoff. You remember watching the empty road through that winter nearly seven years ago. “What good are their connections?”

“Annie loves baking,” Sarah says. She doesn’t flinch in the face of your anger. She watches you calmly and doesn’t so much as shift her weight when you start to pace. “The Baker is a good connection for her to have, even if she doesn’t want to adopt. Many of the shopkeepers in town are open to taking on apprentices.”

You falter. You didn’t think about that. Your eyes drift towards the window. You can hear Hera laughing and Josiah complaining good naturedly. You’re nearly 15, just a few years away from aging out. You can’t say you’ve never thought about the future before. “They said they’d be willing to do that?”

“Who knows what the future holds?” Sarah sighs and goes to take a seat on the sofa. She makes a sound low in her throat when she sits. “That wagon ride was not good for my back.”

“I don’t trust them,” you say. You stop pacing to sit opposite her. From this point in the room, you can see the party on the patio. They can also see you. Ivan doesn’t turn away from the dessert table, but you can sense his attention on you. You swallow. “We don’t need anything from them.”

“I agree,” Sarah says.

You blink. “What?”

Sarah laughs. It’s not her usual laugh that she shows the kids, gentle and fond and warm. It’s cold and a little sharp. You’ve only heard it once before when the snow finally melted, chasing the snow spirits away, and the town came to see what had become of the orphanage.

“You and I are a lot alike,” Sarah says. Her eyes drift somewhere distant. “Like you, I remember that Winter. I remember waiting for any sort of response to our pleas. I remember hearing nothing back. The helplessness I felt as our stores dwindled…” Her voice cracks. She shakes herself, swallowing hard. “Well. I don’t need to tell you what their lack of aid cost us.”

It takes you two tries to speak. Director Sarah feels the same way as you. “So why?”

“Why did I agree to the party?”

“Yes.”

“Because I need to forgive, not forget, if I want to fix my mistake,” Sarah says. Her lips thin. “I’m not perfect. Since I’ve been Director of the orphanage, there hasn’t been a single new hire. There have been no volunteers or extracurricular programs for the kids. I’ve kept us hidden.”

“You’ve kept us protected,” you say. Things under Director Sarah have always been better than what they were before. The kids are happier and brighter, and the pantry is always full. No one disappears in the middle of the night or dies under her watch. “We know you have.”

“I’ve tried,” Sarah says. She opens her hands, palms facing the ceiling. “I rebuilt the orphanage to be independent. I thought that if we were completely self-sustaining, we’d be alright. But in doing so I’ve hurt the children. The orphanage is not supposed to be forever. They need connections with people, with the town, for when they grow up.”

“That—” You don’t know what you’re going to say. You fall silent, your anger fizzling out in your chest. She’s right. As much as you want everyone to stay together, you know that can’t happen. What Sarah is saying isn’t wrong, but… “Today is supposed to be for the kids. Not for them to feel better about themselves helping the orphans.”

“The kids are having fun,” Sarah says. There’s a peal of laughter from outside as if to underscore her words. She smiles as she stands. “Kids includes you too, you know. Let me worry about the adults.”

You stand too. You know the conversation is coming to a close and that, soon, you’ll be expected to go out there with Sarah. “Um…”

“Yes?”

You nearly don’t say it. But the way Sarah is waiting for you to speak is so patient that you muster up the courage. “The innkeepers are here. They aren’t…?”

Again, you’re not sure what you’re about to say. There’s a sick fear in your stomach that they’re here to tell the Bahrs all about how awful you were when you with them. Maybe they’re looking for another kid to demand too much of. Maybe they’re here because, in the end, you didn’t mean anything to them and what happened between you and them doesn’t make a difference--

Even if you don’t know what you’re going to say, Sarah must. Her smile darkens. “I’ll take care of the adults,” she repeats. She smooths her hand over your hair when you follow her to the door. “Why don’t you stay in here for a moment? I’ll just have a word with the innkeepers.”

You wait in the parlor while Sarah joins the party. You twist your hands together to keep from picking at the embroidery on your sleeves. You almost want to stop Sarah from talking to the innkeepers. It was so long ago, before the Winter, it shouldn’t matter anymore. You’re being ridiculous to be so worried about them when there are bigger things going on. You—

Hera throws open the door to the parlor. Her braids are a little frizzy already and there’s a flush high on her cheeks. “Isla! We’re playing team tag and you’re the only one fast enough to catch Marie. Come on!”

You don’t have the option to say no. Hera yanks you by the sleeve out onto the patio. The guests are much more dispersed now, pockets of adults around this table or that. They’re not studying the kids now. They’re just watching them as they run to and fro across the lawn, bemused smiles on their faces.

Ivan cheers when he sees you. Like Hera, his face is bright red. “Isla!” he pants. “You’re on my team!”

Marie sprints past, her skirts hiked up to her knee. She runs as if she’s in full armor, strides long and shoulders square. You wonder if she notices no one is chasing her anymore. “It won’t be enough!” she cries.

Josiah is laying on the grass. He chucks his fist in the air. “Go, Marie! Go!” He gasps for breath. “We’re unstoppable.”

“You’re out,” Annie tells him crossly. She’s also laying flat on her back, but seems to be faring better in the breathing department. “You’ve stopped.”

“Shut it—”

You scan the crowd. You don’t see the innkeepers anywhere, not even near where the Lord is sitting. You look over your shoulder back towards the house just in time to see Director Sarah disappearing around the corner. She’s talking to someone just ahead of her. Is she escorting the innkeepers out?

“Isla?” Hera slips her hand in yours. Her eyes are knowing. “You okay?”

You clear your throat, aware of all the eyes on you. You tuck some hair that’s escaped her braid behind her ear. “Just trying to decide which team I should join.”

Ivan cries out in dismay. “Isla, please!”

Grinning, you join the game.

-----

(part 1) (part 2)

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to read the conclusion of Isla's tale before next week, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)!

Up this week is a continuation of my Cinderella Retelling, Cinderella Doesn't Believe in Fairytales

#my writing #The Hero and Hope #second person

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 4 months ago

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Chapter 2: What A Great Freakin’ Way To Start The Day

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you’re around him the more you hate him, but you can’t help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy,

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

The morning begins the same way it always does, with your neighbor Mike blasting "I Will Always Love You" in his apartment at exactly 8 am just as he had each day since you met two years ago. It was the only constant in your life, but at least you didn't have to use an alarm clock anymore. The sound of Mike belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs was enough to wake everyone in the whole building, including the people on the eighth floor, five stories above him.

But because Mike bought the super’s probably illegally made cologne and because the super was dating Mike’s mother, something that made you regret supe hearing very much, it never stopped despite the numerous complaints.

Then again it was Annie's favorite thing about sleeping over, she liked to scream the lyrics back at the wall and jump on your bed like a crazy banshee. Honestly you hoped that it would stop after Ben had pretended to be your boyfriend, that Mike would finally figure it out and give up.

Guess not.

You sit up in your bed, stretching your hands over your head while humming the chorus under your breath, but you were more of an ABBA fan. If Mike had decided to serenade you with "Take A Chance On Me" or even Aretha Franklin's "You're All I Need to Get By," you might have looked at him differently.

The memory of the dream of his mullet smothering you in your sleep momentarily passes over your mind, causing a shudder to travel down your spine. Or maybe not.

Your bedroom was similar to your living room, covered in plants. Trailing jasmine and bougainvillea blanketed the wall behind your bed in deep red and white, budding lavender, lilac, and honeysuckle sat in pots along the top of your dresser, and a blush colored rose bush, that never went out of bloom, stood proudly in the corner. The only difference was that there were two large piles of books almost as tall as your ceiling, some old some new, braced beside the rose bush like Roman columns. You kept trying to remember to buy a bookshelf, but each time you thought about going to pick one up, Butcher usually called and asked you to help out. Both piles were covered almost completely in pothos and more hung from the brick walls above your only window, that opened the floor length pale yellow curtains with a flick of your hand.

An annoyed purring sound greets your ears as the honeyed light from the now open window wisps over your covers. Bean, your cat, stalks up from the end of the bed, his yellowed eyes narrowed with annoyance at being woken up so early while his charcoal gray coat turns lighter in the brilliant sunlight. Last night he had been in your bedroom when you got home, which meant that he hadn't been around Ben when he came in.

A good thing, because Bean hated just about everyone except Butcher, which you thought was weird. But whenever Butcher dropped by to talk to you Bean always came over to look for rubs, while hissing at anyone who tried to interrupt them. Hughie was actually afraid of Bean, and because Bean was a cat he immediately picked up on this and purposely would jump on the couch next to Annie so Hughie couldn't sit there, Bean also followed after Hughie to the bathroom and waited outside the door to swipe at his ankles whenever he would come out.

But you didn't love him any less.

He puts his paw on your thigh lightly extending his claws to get your attention.

"Oh are you talking to me now?" You smile, rubbing him behind the ears. "I thought you were angry because I woke you up?"

He purrs and pushes his chunky gray head against your hand, but startles when the song switches to "My Heart Will Go On" which causes Mike's mother to join in to his karaoke session.

I'd move if my apartment wasn't so damn cheap.

"Maybe they should take the show on the road. Huh buddy?"

Bean purrs his response while pushing his head further into your hand.

His mom wasn't that bad of a singer, in fact, you thought that you remembered eavesdropping on a conversation between her and the super when she talked about a career as a cabaret singer a while ago.

"Come on, let's see if Gramps killed any of my plants." You smile down at your cat. "If he did I'm going to turn him into a tree."

Bean purrs in agreement.

You get out of bed, adjusting your shirt back down over your shorts before walking to the door with Bean following behind you. You step out into the cool hallway, with more enthusiasm than usual as you try to escape the butchering of the Titanic's soundtrack and collide into something warm and wet.

It takes you exactly seven seconds to realize that the warm, wet, thing that your face is currently stuck to, is in-fact Ben's chest, his shirtless chest. Why he's standing in the hallway outside your door, soaking wet and wearing a towel you have no idea. All you know is that your face is physically laying against the warm flesh of his pectoral muscles.

"Why are you NAKED?" You scream as you peel yourself off of him and turn your gaze away. Your face felt so warm that it was like you'd been standing in front of a volcano for too long and you were sure that you had blushed to the roots of your hair.

You'd only seen him without his shirt on once, when the door to his bedroom was cracked at the apartment he shared with the rest of the group. But it was from the back and you had been walking by to go to the bathroom, and you hadn't looked…

Well, you may have stopped for a second to admire the powerful muscles on his muscular back and maybe thought about waiting for him to turn around so you could see if the front was as good as the back… but you hadn't.

And he certainly hadn't been soaking wet then, and it made you hate him more now, because no one should look as good as he does soaking wet. You personally knew that you looked like a drowned poodle whenever you stepped out of the shower, but him? Soldier Boy looks like he just finished filming a shampoo commercial.

You could see it in your head, him standing under a crystal blue waterfall with the water splashing against weathered rocks before running through his soft brown hair, curving around his broad shoulders, down his toned stomach straight down to his-

NO. Not gonna go there. You could feel your skin heating in embarrassment, almost as if you thought he could read your mind.

"I'm not naked doll, I mean I could be if you wanted me to." He smirks as he hears your heartbeat begin to pick up and reaches for the end of his towel. The towel that was almost too small to wrap around his waist and left very little to the imagination.

"NO!" You shout holding up a hand to stop him, but again brush the front of his chest.

Fuck, you could zest a lemon on those abs.

"Are you sure?" Ben smiles wider, taking a step forward. He's so close that you can smell your grapefruit mint shampoo on him and feel the humidity and warmth of his body as he stands there. For some reason the fact that he used your shampoo, and smelled like your soap, made you feel warm and tingly. It was almost hypnotic. You hated how much you liked it. "Because you're turning that cute little red color you always do whenever I'm around, and your heartbeat is kinda fast."

"No. I don't." You grit your teeth together. "Why are you standing outside of my door naked?"

"Maybe I was waiting for you to come out." His hand presses against the doorway next to your head. "You know, I already took a shower, but if you wanted I'd be happy to get back in with you."

"No thanks. I don't need a shower and I wouldn't shower with you if it was the last shower on earth and I hadn't bathed in forty years." You purse your lips. "Oh right, that happened to you."

Ben frowns at your mention of his time in Russia. You didn't often tease him about being trapped in a lab, you knew that it was a sore spot for him. Plus you'd seen the footage of exactly what those doctors did to him and it was enough to make you want to book a one way ticket to Russia and personally show them what happened when a tree got shoved up your ass.

You open your mouth to apologize.

"I was going to ask if you have any other clothes here. Mine are still wet from last night." He raises an eyebrow, but the humor is gone from his eyes.

"Oh. Um. I can take a look." You turn and walk into your bedroom, trying not to feel awkward about bringing up the lab.

He was a jerk, but he didn't deserve a reminder of how shitty the last forty years have been.

Truthfully, you weren't sure if you had anything that would fit him. Ben was a lot bigger than you, taller and broader. You usually did wear things that were a little big for you, but you didn't think that Ben would fit in any of them.

Maybe I have something from when my brother was here last time.

Darren often dropped by when he was in the city visiting his friends or had a new "business" venture. The ones that never seemed to last and the friends that always seemed happy to spend the moan you "loaned" him for his "best idea yet" as he always phrased it. But he hadn't been by in at least a year.

"It's really green in here too." You hear Ben say under his breath.

You didn't think that he was going to follow you into your room, you thought he was going to stay in the hallway, but no, he had followed you. And he made the room feel even smaller than it was with his broad shoulders and over six foot stature.

The sunlight from the window glinted off his still wet chest and it made your throat uncomfortably tight. For the love of chocolate pudding, WHY does he look so good all the time?

"You can wait in the hall-"

"Wanted to see your bedroom." He smirks. "Though I think that you wanted to show it to me last night-"

You ignore him and turn back to your chest of drawers while Mike and his mother switch to "What Makes You Beautiful" by One Direction. You wince as they begin.

"Do they always do that?" Ben asks.

"Yep. Since I moved in." You sigh, shuffling through your t-shirts.

"He's really got it bad Sweetheart. Maybe you should throw him a bone. Kinda seems like the poor guy needs to get some ass-"

"If it's any of your business- which it's not- I do not like him that way."

"Well they're a little loud." You feel Ben take a step closer to you. "But I bet you and I could give them a run for their money. We are in your bedroom after all, might as well make the most of it."

"I didn't know that you liked Karaoke. I'll keep that in mind for you 105th birthday party."

"What? No I meant-"

Bean purrs loudly from his position on your bed and you wait for the telltale sound of Ben shooing him away when Bean tries to puncture Ben's impenetrable skin with his claws, but it doesn't come.

You glance over your shoulder. Are you kidding me?

Bean is sitting on your white plush comforter, rubbing up against Ben's hand, purring while Ben scratches him behind the ears.

Traitor.

"Didn't know you had a cat." Ben says continuing to stroke his hand down Bean's spine, who stands up and turns so Ben can have a better angle.

"I didn't peg you for a cat person. Kinda ruins the whole all-American Man image you have going on."

He shrugs. "I like dogs more, but I don't hate cats. Usually they don't like me very much."

"I wonder why that is." You grumble watching Bean lean into Ben's hand again. "His name is Bean."

"Bean? Why?"

"Because when I got him I was trying to grow green beans in the linen closet and he would sit outside the door and screech until I gave him a green bean to play with."

"You were trying to grow green beans in the linen closet?"

"Yeah. Seemed like a good idea, but they like the bathroom more-" You finally find the oversized Led Zeppelin shirt your brother left the last time he crashed at your apartment and a pair of jeans. "A lot of my plants like the bathroom more actually."

"I was going to ask you why the bathroom floor and wall was squishy."

"It's moss. It thrives in humid environments." You hold out the clothes for him.

"Uh-huh." He frowns at the clothes for a minute. "So you're saying you wouldn't want a guy to serenade you like that?" Ben nods his head towards your bedroom wall, just as Mike and his mother begin to belt out the chorus. "Thought girls liked sappy shit."

"I'm not a fan of One Direction."

"Right. You like ABBA more." Ben turns towards your door to go back to the bathroom to change.

Shock momentarily spikes in your chest. "How did you know that?"

He freezes as if you caught him doing something bad, turning slightly towards you. "Um- well, you hum their songs a lot."

"When?" You cross your arms over your chest.

"Whenever you're on stake outs. Sometimes when you're reading those files or waiting for Annie at the apartment." He shrugs. “When you were walking last night you were humming ‘Fernando.’"

He noticed that?

"How long exactly were you following me?"

"Long enough." He raises an eyebrow. "Are you trying to keep me talking because you want me to change in here? Because I would be more than happy to drop this towel and show you what a real man looks like Sweetheart."

"Don't flatter yourself Gramps. If you drop that towel the only thing that'll happen is Bean will think you brought him a green bean to play with." You roll your eyes. "Now get out of my room. I have to change."

Ben begins to say something, but the vines hanging above the door push him out into the hall and shut the door behind him.

That felt good.

After you put on a white t-shirt, your favorite pair of jean overalls and your dark green converse, you make your way out into the living room. Ben is there, lounging on your couch like he owns it. He’s wearing the jeans and t-shirt you gave him, but you can't help but notice how the clothes are just a little too small for him. The way his muscles pull at the t-shirt, the way the jeans hug his thighs and butt-

He's getting way too comfortable here. You think to yourself to avoid the thought of how good he looks on your couch. How it almost feels natural that he's sitting here in your living room, inhabiting your space.

"So what's for breakfast doll face?" He leans his head back to gaze at you with a mischievous smile that makes a warm tingle travel down the length of your spine.

"Well, I'm going to have oatmeal and you're going to have whatever you want I guess?"

His eyes darken. "Whatever I want?"

"Calm down Gramps I meant that there's cereal in the cabinet." You roll your eyes to avoid thinking about the kiss last night and then thinking about how it felt for your body to be pressed against his in the hallway when you ran into him. Which inevitably leads back to the waterfall fantasy and-

No. No. Not going to do that. Not with him. He's just good at getting women into bed, he doesn't care about you. You think about how he remembered that you liked ABBA. That doesn't mean anything. He doesn't see me as anything more than a conquest and he probably remembered that because he's changing tactics and trying not to act like a creep.

“You’re not going to pour me a bowl?” His smirk pulls down in an attractive pout.

“I think it’s simple enough for your little brain to do.” You don’t turn around from the kitchen cabinets, grabbing a raspberry from the refrigerator and popping it in your mouth. For some reason you noticed that whatever you grew tasted better than anything you bought at the grocery store. You hoped that it didn’t mean that your powers supercharged whatever you grew and that it was actually radioactive or something.

Because that’s exactly what I need, to turn bright green.

“There’s nothing little about me doll.”

“Can’t you ever have a conversation with someone without it revolving around sex?” You grumble banging around in your cabinets to find your instant oatmeal.

It was a valid point and you were tired of getting whiplash every time Ben acted caring and then flipping back to horny manchild.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ben laughs. He stands from the couch and makes his way into your kitchen.

It was hard not to notice how small each room in your apartment looked with him in it. His head was only a foot below the ceiling, not to mention the kitchen was only composed of six cabinets, a small sink, a microwave shoved into a corner, a stove top, and a refrigerator that only came up to Ben’s shoulders. Your bathroom was worse, sometimes the shower was small even for you and you didn’t know how Ben fit in there.

He probably had to duck down to stand under the shower head.

And then as you thought that, the image of Ben standing under a waterfall comes creeping back, making the strawberry plant on top of the fridge, the raspberry vines, and the blackberry vines covering your refridgerator burst into bloom.

Thankfully Ben didn’t notice, because he was rooting through the white top cabinet in the corner for one of the cereal boxes.

I’d never hear the end of it if he saw that happen.

You glare at the plants in question, eyes shifting to a deep green as the flowers develop into fresh fruit to cover your slip.

Ben pulls out a box of Lucky Charms, but frowns at Lucky on the front cover, who is throwing a handful of marshmallow charms into the air around him.

Guess he's not a fan.

“If I’d known you were going to sleep on my couch I would have gotten Bran flakes and prunes for you.” You smirk as you pour water over the oats in the bowl before placing it in the microwave to cook. “I know people your age need that kind of thing sometimes. Gets the bowel moving.”

“Make fun of my age all you want.” Ben steps around you to grab the almost empty bottle of milk from your refrigerator. “One day you’ll be happy to find out just how experienced I am.”

“Keep dreaming.”

His dark eyes meet yours. “You’re all I dream about baby.”

You can feel his breath on the side of your neck from how close he is to you, the kitchen seems smaller than it ever has, and he leans forward, sensing your hesitation. One of his hands goes on the kitchen counter to your right, the other places the milk down and then braces on the counter to your left caging you against him.

“Do any of your lines actually work?” You say, throat tight.

“You’d be surprised.” He smirks wider, green eyes sliding up and down your body.

The air in the kitchen electrifies, something passing through the air between the two of you that makes you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest. His eyes are softer green now, reminding you of the color of fresh leaves on an oak tree in spring, bright, strong, and full of life. His body is pressed gently against yours, the strong muscles of his abdomen laying on your hips, muscular arms making sure that you don't walk away.

You try not to think again about how good he looks in your apartment, how calm and relaxed he seems when he’s away from Butcher and not wearing his uniform.

Standing here in your apartment, he looked normal, human. Sometimes it was hard to remember that you were, when you could do what you did, when you saw him get hit with a car and shove it away with one hand.

He was still ridiculously attractive, the kind of attractive that you’d read in romance novels and in classic Roman literature, the kind of beautiful that people wrote poetry about, the kind of ruggedly handsome that made smart girls stupid.

You were really feeling that last one. Because you were desperately trying to hold on to your dream of being with someone that understood every part of you, but Ben was making it hard.

It wasn’t that the idea of sleeping with him was terrible. It wasn’t. It was far from terrible it was the idea of having sex without feelings that you didn’t like. You didn’t want to sleep with him because you knew that he only saw you as something to be possessed not as an equal or someone he cared about. Soldier Boy only cared about himself, that was apparent.

He’s only interested in you because you haven’t given in. You think to yourself. It's all about the thrill of the chase, nothing else. I'm worth more than that. I'm worth more than one night.

“In fact, I think it’s working on you doll.” Ben leans down towards you so close you can feel his words in the air between your faces, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for you to say no.

That made you pause. Ben didn’t seem to be the type of man who was patient. You’d walked in on him making out with numerous women on the couch back at the apartment he shared with the rest of the team, saw how he took control, saw how he didn’t seem to wait for them to say no or really say anything at all. Not to mention one time when you walked into the shared apartment and could hear Ben with one of his "dates" in his bedroom. Nothing about that seemed patient at all.

But this Ben standing in your kitchen was different. He was almost smiling, dark hair still damp from the shower curling on his forehead, the t-shirt damp around the collar, jeans a dark blue, and the smell of your shampoo fills your senses again all over again. It made you wish for this person all the time. The one that you could see yourself falling in love with, not the racist, sexist, and inappropriate jerk that seemed to dominate his persona at all other parts of the day.

Funny, the only time you’d ever seen Ben like this, was when the two of you were alone- well sometimes- other times he annoyed you without end and made you want to jump out a window.

But why? Why only around me?

The feeling in your chest grows. It jumps from synapse to synapse, pulses along your skin, buzzes in your blood, tangles through your hair, and radiates through the air like a sound wave. Your eyes drift down to his lips remembering exactly what it was like to kiss him last night. How he seemed to consume you whole, how everything else fell away, how Ben curled himself around you, how he-

Your cell phone rings, breaking through the moment, and making you remember exactly why you didn’t want to give in to Ben and remember the kind of person he was.

You push him away and pull your cellphone out of your pocket. Butcher's photo and name appear on the screen.

Shit.

"Hey Butch, what's up?" You look away from Ben, forcing yourself to calm your racing heart.

Ben perks up at the mention of Butcher’s name.

“Do you have any idea where Soldier Boy is?”

“Soldier Boy?”

“Seems like our blunt smoking man out of time has vanished. Been trying to text him all bloody morning.”

At least he doesn’t know that Ben is here. That’s good. I’d never hear the end of it if-

Ben snatches the phone from your hand and holds it up to his ear. “What the fuck do you want?”

The softness was gone, his eyes had hardened again, and the spell was broken. Ben was no longer relaxed, his shoulders were tensed and guarded, jaw set.

It didn’t take a genius to know that Ben didn’t like Butcher. Sometimes you wondered why Ben decided to stay.

Probably because the alternative was being frozen like Han Solo next to his son.

When Ben had knocked Homelander out, you hadn’t believed it, and despite Ben’s arguing Butcher wanted to keep Homelander a supe, and just put him on ice. You had no idea why, especially since Butcher had been gunning for him forever, but had the sneakiest suspicion that it was because of Ryan.

But you didn't blame Butcher for that, watching your father get killed in front of you seemed traumatic, not to mention Ryan was still reeling from watching his mother die.

You turn back to your microwave to pull out your bowl of oatmeal with a groan.

Now Butcher’s going to mock me endlessly about going home with Soldier Boy. We didn’t do anything! Well…

Your mind flits back to the searing kiss you shared and to five seconds ago when whatever the hell just happened.

“You want me to meet you in fucking Jersey?” Ben laughs.

You choose not to eavesdrop on the conversation, instead you busy yourself with sprinkling brown sugar onto your breakfast and plucking a few more raspberries from the vines.

“Fine.” Ben almost growls before holding out the phone to you. “He wants to talk to you.”

Of course he does. Maybe I can pretend to lose the signal with a piece of paper or a candy wrapper.

“Hello-“

“You crazy wanker.” Butcher chuckles into the phone. “Guess your night was a little more exciting than mine eh? Oi Hughie, you owe me a tener!” He shouts to Hughie who you can guess is sitting nearby.

“What? He’s with y/n! No way!” You hear Hughie shout back, muffled but there.

Damn it he’s gonna tell Annie. She's going to start sending me pictures of babies photoshopped in supe suits.

“You guys were betting that he was here?!” You shout making eye contact with Ben who only smirks before he busies himself with getting a bowl for his cereal.

“He left about two minutes after you did. Said some bullshit about a smoke break.” Butcher is smiling and you know it. “How was he? Was he as good as all the girls say?" Butcher coos on the other side of the line.

“Nothing happened-“

“Sure it didn’t Cherie!” You hear Frenchie crow. “Hopefully you got to relieve some of that tension no?”

“I hate all of you.” You grumble, and before Butcher can say anything else you hang up the phone and glare at Ben. “This is your fault.”

“What do you mean sweetheart?”

“You just had to follow me home!”

“You shouldn’t have been walking out there alone.”

“I do it all the time!”

“Not anymore.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not going to let you walk around alone in the middle of the night.”

"Like hell. I don't need a babysitter!"

"I think you do-"

"No I don't. In fact why are you still here? Why haven't you left?" You shout, snatching your bowl of oatmeal before moving to the wobbly kitchen table that you smooshed up against a window that looks out onto your fire escape.

"Because I tend to like morning sex. It's a great way to start the day. Thought you'd be interested." Ben winks as he sits across from you, barely fitting in the wooden chair.

Your phone buzzes where it sits on the table beside your bowl. When you flip it over, you see the text from Annie.

Annie: YOU SLEPT WITH SOLDIER BOY?!!!!

You: I'm not going to dignify that with a response.

Annie: That's a yes. TELL ME EVERYTHING!!!

You sigh and shovel a spoonful of oatmeal into your mouth, eyes drifting up to the top of your phone screen focusing on the time.

"SHIT! I'm late for work!" You shout before shoving as much oatmeal as you can into your mouth.

"Work?" Ben looks up from his bowl of cereal confused as you begin to run around the room.

The half-eaten bowl of oatmeal falls into the sink with a resounding crash, Bean's cat food lands haphazardly in his bright green food dish, and you practically run to your tote bag that hangs on a peg by your front door.

"I told you. I work at a plant shop." You glance back at your barren coffee maker mournfully. The thought of trying to get through the day without coffee seemed impossible, not to mention you didn’t have time to grab one on the way to work from your favorite shop just around the corner.

"I thought you were joking."

"No. Some of us have to work for a living." You run your fingers through your hair quickly pulling it back in a loose ponytail.

"You should leave your hair down." Ben says from the table watching you.

"What?"

"It's prettier when it's down."

"I don't have time for your misogynistic comments. Come on let's go."

"What?"

"I'm not going to leave you here in my apartment alone. You don't have a key."

"You could give me yours-"

"HA. No that's not going to happen. Come on." You tug on his muscular arm, trying to get him up out of the chair, but he barely moves.

“You know you could call out of work and we could spend the day in bed.” He smiles, eyes tracing your figure. “I mean you look good baby, but I think you'd look even better naked. Plus, Butcher and the rest of those fuckers already think we slept together so we might as well-“

“Not a chance Gramps. Either get up out of the chair and leave through the door or leave through the window. It’s your choice and I have no qualms with throwing you down to the street. But please don't make me do that because I can't afford a new window."

Ben rolls his eyes, but finally gets up to follow you. He actually tries to open the door for you, but you place your hand on his chest.

“Nah uh uh. Bowl in the sink. I’m not going to clean up after you.”

Ben sighs and mumbles something under his breath that’s lost in Mike’s inhuman screech of “Love on Top.”

Yeah. What a great fucking way to start the day.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series let me know :)

(Photos for series picture found on Pinterest)

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murdrdocs · 2 years ago

Text

saber tooth | f. odair

description. just two days out from the Games, your mentor and best friend, finnick odair, comes to your room late at night in a mutual fit of insomnia to fulfill your (potentially) dying wish

includes. SMUT 16+, fem!reader, oral f!receiving, fingering, loss of virginity sans p in v, canon-complicit angst, mentions of finnick’s trafficking, best friends to lovers, reader’s a tribute, finnick’s her mentor, extremely brief misunderstandings, soft dom finnick, pleasure dom finnick, brief mention of drug use (one line), finnick and annie were never together but he mentored her, he rlly cares abt r :((, giggly sex (sometimes), throw away line abt lack of body hair but i rlly like body hair

a/n: whaddup whaddup! this started as a blurb but it um ,,, clearly expanded. there’s no p in v simply bc im so tired rn however i would like to continue this in the future if my mind would allow it :) also the title has nothing to do with the fic i was just listening to easily by chuck inglish

word count: 4k+

part 2

A week of anticipation, festivities, and celebration for the Capitol, was a week of anxiety, tears muffled into pillows, and wishing to be somewhere else for you.

The week leading up to the 72nd Hunger Games.

The Reaping, Opening Ceremony, and the three days of training that followed were mostly a blur. Your body picked up on the techniques you would need to survive, and with the help of Finnick, you’d managed to commit them to memory. You remembered the way you’d been trained to sit and talk and the jokes you should slip into conversation with Caesar tomorrow night.

All of their training was working, and Finnick had told you that you had a high chance of making it out of that area. A high chance. Nothing was guaranteed at this point in your life. Which is why you needed to do a few final things.

The door to your bedroom slides open. You lift your head from the pillow and squint. There’s a little light coming from the hallway, and it backlit the figure. But even without it, you would know who was coming to see you. The only person who’d been coming to see you since the arrival at the Tribute Center.

“Hey, Finn,” you mumble, resting your head back against the pillow that’s always cool.

Finnick takes a few steps into your room, stopping to flick a switch that only turns on the lamps beside your bed, and the two ambient ones in the corners.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice is raspy, as if he’s tired, but not to the point of already greeting sleep. It’s a little later than it should be, you were recommended to have gone to sleep two hours ago but you couldn’t. There was too much going on in your head, too many unsaid words and undone actions. You couldn’t sleep with your consciousness this awake.

Finnick voices the matter. “You can’t sleep, can you?”

You shake your head, deciding to sit up a little, your bare lower half still secure underneath the thick comforter. Your room was always cold, and the silk sheets mirrored the temperature. Physically, you were the most comfortable you’d ever been, wearing the softest cotton undergarments, and a silk button up nightshirt, your toes warm beneath fuzzy socks. But the weight on your mind was the complete opposite.

With the way Finnick looks at your face, he can tell just how exhausted you are.

“Want something to help with that?” He asks as he sits at the edge of the bed, close but entirely too far from you. “A drink? Pills? The Capitol has it all, you know.” The way he says it is the opposite of marveling, the words laced with annoyance and frustration. His tone prompts a small smile from you.

“‘M okay. I trust my body to do what it’s supposed to.” Finnick’s head is turned down, but you see the way the corner of his lip curls up.

He lifts his head to fully smile at you, one of sympathy and pity and sadness. His hand reaches out and his palm rests over the outline of your shin. Far too many layers are between the bare skin on both of you, but you don’t say so. You just give Finnick an equally sad smile, expressing your dismay for your situation, and you begin to pick at your nails in your lap.

“What’re you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Finnick shakes his head. “No such luck for me either.” He shrugs as if he’s used to it and you remember that he’s been in this position too. Just a few years ago, a young boy, your best friend, was sitting in this bed, with similar thoughts weighing on his mind. And now his best friend was in that position.

You push the sheets back, exposing the beginnings of the skin on your thigh, and you pat the space beside you. “C’mon,” you encourage, not ceasing your patting until Finnick scoffs and slides his slippers off, crawling up to slip under the covers with you.

The bed is larger than you’d ever seen, something your escort called a ‘bed fit for a king’, but Finnick chooses to sit right beside you, the heat of his body warming yours.

“We could watch something. What plays on the television in the Capitol?” Finnick’s sitting so close to you that you can feel him shrug. Whenever you reach over to the bedside table, pulling the drawer open to grab the remote, you come back to sit even closer to him, where your arms are pressed flush against each other.

“Mostly shows about the lives of celebrities here.”

You gasp, turning to face him. “Is that rumor about you appearing on some reality show true?” Finnick’s ears redden and that’s enough confirmation that you need. Your head throws back with a hearty laugh, and you click on the TV with hopes of finding an episode.

Finnick sits quietly beside you as you click through the channels, reading the titles and watching maybe a second or two of content before you decide to try the next thing. When you’ve gone through most channels, you land on the one that will play the Games.

He says your name, as a warning perhaps, but you click it anyway, seeing that they’re talking about you.

“Now the odds of this one making it out are pretty high. She’s pretty, smart, and trained by the Finnick Odair,” a clip of you and Finnick appears, one that must’ve been taken backstage during the Opening Ceremony. He’s standing close to you, crouched down just enough to meet your eye level. You’re obviously nervous, and he’s obviously attempting to soothe those nerves, cracking jokes with a hand held to your heart, both of yours over it. “The Capitol’s Prince.” The announcer pronounces those words clearly, enunciated, making sure every late night viewer understands Finnick’s alternate title.

Clips of Finnick throughout the years show and you grow silent, watching how he commands a room better than you ever could.

“If she were to make it out, I’m sure she could become the Capitol’s Princess, right?” The announcer smiles just as the remote is snatched from your hands and the TV is clicked off, ridding the bedroom of the colorful hues and leaving you and Finnick with the yellow light from your lamps.

“Why did you–?” Finnick’s interrupting. He’s thrown the remote to the side of him and he’s turned to face you.

“I want you to make it out of the Games, I really do.” You nod, watching the way his chest rises and falls with breaths that fill the hesitant silence. “But, I don’t want what happened to me to happen to you.”

“What do you mean? You don’t want me to be loved and adored by the Capitol?” You say it a tad bit sarcastically, but your tone dulls down when you notice how serious his face is.

He shakes his head. “No, I really don't.” You scoff, beginning to get upset over the idea that a night that was turning peaceful, began to turn on its head. “Because everything comes with a price here,” he says your name, making sure you’re listening. “The ‘love’ the Capitol has for me is ingenuine, they love me like I’m an object. Not a person with thoughts and feelings.”

“Finnick, I don’t think I understand.” But you do, you really do.

He tells you as much, that same sad smile from earlier on his lips.

Before you can speak, he does. “Look, I came in here to ask you what you want.”

Your eyebrows furrow.

“Before the Tributes I mentor get sent off, I like to fulfill their wish. In case they don’t…”

“In case they don’t make it back.” He nods. “So a dying wish?” Another nod.

“So, what d’you want?”

You know what you want. You’ve wanted it since you were a teenager, watching Finnick, the most loved victor, leave for the Capitol and come back weeks later. Since you watched him train Annie Cresta and everyone, including yourself, believed there to have been something between them. Since he walked into your room just 20 minutes ago.

“What I want, I don’t think I can ask you for.” You speak low, your voice a whisper. Your head rests on the headboard behind you, turned to face Finnicks.

He shakes his head gently. “I have connections. I can guarantee almost anything.”

“No, Finn.” You don’t think you can ask him for this. Especially with what he’s essentially just told you. It would be selfish, it would be insincere, it would ruin the friendship you have between you two.

“I can’t.”

His head’s already facing yours, and he brings one of his hands up to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing the skin.

“Yes, you can.”

“No, Finn, I can’t.” Your eyes sting, as does your nose, and you know there’s no use in pretending the tears aren’t there. He’s seen them, he’s acknowledged them by swiping his thumb under your eye, catching the first drop.

“I would do anything for you. Just say the word.”

You search his eyes, his face, the tip of his ears, his Adam’s Apple. You’re looking for his tell. But it’s not there. It’s just Finnick. Your Finnick. And he wants the best for you.

You’re the most vulnerable you’ve ever been at this moment; sitting in a bed in the Tribute Center, just two days out from the Hunger Games, a period of uncertainty that is life or death; your best friend, and unrequited crush, as your mentor, having to hold your pieces together at least until the end of this.

There’s no point in hiding anything. You know you need to lay it all out. So you do.

“Even take my virginity?”

The air is still. Stiff. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t breathe. His thumb halts. He doesn’t blink.

You sit there, watching him, holding in the sob that threatens to wrack across your body.

“Forget it. I’m sor–”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

There’s a moment where you don’t act. A moment where disbelief trickles down your body like the tears from your eyes do on your face.

“Finn…”

“I would do anything for you. I have wanted you since we were young, but I thought…”

“Doesn’t matter what you thought then. Not anymore. We go from here now.”

And there is the nagging possibility that all of this could be because of your potential fate. Maybe he’s humoring you, or letting you in on that final step of human intimacy before your life ends. You prefer not to think about it. Especially whenever Finnick’s moving closer to you and you can feel his breath on your lips.

Your lips are almost touching, the tanned skin of his face is right in front of you, the same goes for the pink of his lips. He’s almost there, then he says, “Are you sure?”

“‘M sure.” And Finnick is kissing you. Finnick Odair is finally kissing you.

He kisses you softly, sweetly, with precision and a gentle nature. As if he’s afraid that he’ll do something wrong and hurt you.

You kiss him back in a similar fashion, just with added timidness that Finnick doesn’t possess.

Your hands raise slowly, in choppy motions that are both due to your uncertainty, and the distraction of finally having the man of your dreams kiss you like you’re made of porcelain. But you manage to get your hands to Finnicks torso, palms pressed flat against his thin shirt so that you can feel the abs along his torso.

You’ve felt them before, in time of play fighting, or whenever he would have you replicate his breathing or form. But touching along his torso in this circumstance is different. Now, your touch ignites a fire within you. It makes Finnick grip the back of your neck and pull you closer with one hand, the other sliding the covers away and hooking his hand at the back of your thigh, pulling your left leg over your right.

Your hands slide down to the hem of his shirt, slowly starting to slide it up until he gets the hint and pulls away just enough for you to slide the shirt between you two, up and over his head. Then he’s back on you.

When you sigh blissfully into his mouth, he starts to kiss you like he’s desperate to have you close. Like he wants to engulf your entire being until you’re intertwined.

The best you can do is physically move closer to him, letting the hand on the back of your thigh guide you to straddling his lap.

It’s then that Finnick pulls away from you. Your hands trail up to cup his cheeks, moving back to play with the golden blonde locks that seemed to never be out of place.

He stares up at you, sea-green eyes pulling you even further into a state of enchantment. Whenever he tilts his head, eyes stuck on you, and kisses into your palm, you melt. His hand lifts to gently circle around your wrist, nimble fingers rubbing little circles into the skin.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Finnick speaks. “I need you to remember that even if I’m doing the work, you set the pace. You tell me what you like and don’t like. You tell me when to go and when to stop. Okay?”

“Okay.”

And then you’re back at it. His hands circle around to your lower back, pushing into the curvature to bring your chest closer to him. He uses the position to his advantage, dipping his head to kiss at the exposed bits of your skin; your neck, collarbone, the starts of your cleavage. He quickly becomes frustrated with the lack of skin, and you bite back a smile as you gently nudge his head back and begin to undo the buttons.

He watches you in a trance-like state with a look that seems akin to awe. You can’t help but tease him just a bit, shifting in your position atop his crotch and slowing your work on the buttons.

Finnick groans and his hands leave your lower back to push your own hands away, deciding to undo your buttons himself, grumbling something under his breath about you being a tease.

When you giggle above him, Finnick has you pushed onto your back in what seems like the blink of an eye. Really, it did happen quick, but your eyes were already closed from giggling so hard, so reopening them to Finnick above you, your shirt opened and your barely confined tits in Finnick’s eyeline, is disorienting.

“Jesus, look at you,” Finnick mumbles. And he is. His eyes are hungirly skirting over your figure, taking it all in. From your eyes, to the bra that you wear, all the way to the cotton panties that hug your hips.

His gaze stops at your lower half for a while, watching your stomach rise and fall with your breaths and the way there’s definitely a little wet patch on your panties.

“What am I gonna do with you?” He mumbles under his breath. The question is rhetorical, and meant only for him. But, in a fit of nerves, you answer anyway, needing to do something other than lay there.

“I don’t know, Finn, there’s a lot that you can do. You can go down on me, give me your fingers, your cock.”

His eyes lift to yours, shock evident within them. “Did you just say the word ‘cock’?” He laughs between the words, that perfectly pearly white smile greeting you.

“Yeah,” you say, laughing through the syllables too.

Finnick shakes his head with that smile still present.

He swears under his breath but then his fingers are playing with the hem of your panties and you’re back under, focused on what he could possibly plan to do next. He hums, eyes on you, eyebrows raised.

It takes you a second to realize what his intentions were, but you do soon enough. “Keep going. Please.”

The tips of his fingers reach below the band of your panties. He begins to pull them down, just until your hip bones and the start of your mound becomes visible. At first, you disgraced the Capitols groomers' work of ridding your entire body of hair, but you can’t help but feel a little grateful that they did. You knew that Finnick wouldn’t care either way.

You lift your hips, letting Finnick pull your panties over the curve of your ass. When they sit at the halfway point of your thighs, he lowers his head and presses his lips to the area right above the waistband. And he continues to do so, sliding your underwear down and kissing through the journey.

The last kiss he gives you is on the arch of your foot, right before he guides the garment over the remaining part of your body, throwing them off to the side of the bed.

Finnick sits back on his heels then, just looking at you, looking at your legs which are just almost crossed at the knee, your ankles together and one knee raised slightly above the other. You’re shielding the most vulnerable part of you, hiding it almost. But when his green eyes meet your center, briefly meeting your eyes, you slowly part your legs, allowing him to see you in all of your glory.

Finnick sucks in a sharp breath of air, his chest rising with it. He doesn’t let it out until your legs are completely opened and bent at the knee, inviting him in. You sit halfway up on your elbows, watching him, waiting for him.

It’s not long until he makes a move, just a few tense moments and then Finnick’s kicked into action.

His calloused hands on your knees, sliding around to the back of your thighs as he lays on his stomach, directly facing your cunt.

When he speaks, you can feel his breath on you. “I wanna taste you, sweetheart. Just for a bit. Is that alright?”

His eyes are visible over your mound, but they’re not focused on you just this once. They’re focused on your cunt, scanning it, taking it all in almost as if he’s committing this moment to his very strong memory.

You’re a little starstruck, reckoning with the notion that Finnick wants to give you head. Therefore, you sit there in stunned silence, attempting to find the words to deliver your over enthusiastic agreement. But Finnick takes your silence negatively.

“You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to, honey. Just wanna make you feel good. That’s what I’m here for.” And there are those eyes again. They’re pleading, but also making you feel comfortable, reminding you that you’re in charge.

You smile gently, nodding. “Yes.”

And the first lick has your head spinning. His tongue is warm, and wet, and he licks a long stripe from your leaking entrance to your clit. It’s slow, and methodical. He licks your juices up, but they’re coming back tenfold by the time he’s pressed a kiss to your clit.

A surprised moan pushes up your throat. The feeling has your hips pushing into his face on their own accord, your elbows slipping out from under you and your head throwing back onto the mattress.

Finnick disconnects from you for just a second to let out a pleased groan, but the absence is too much for you already. You’re wiggling your hips, searching for him.

Finnick laughs and the sound has heat rising through you. “‘M still here. Not leaving this pussy anytime soon.”

He lives up to his promise immediately. His mouth’s back on you, licking and sucking on your most sensitive parts.

It’s now that you remember how experienced Finnick is. How knowledgeable he is about the general spots of someone’s body. And he’s able to apply that knowledge to your body, with the help of your zealous responses.

You’re moaning, your back arching, your hands gripping the sheets. Your knees bend more, your legs spread more, it’s all more and more and more. You want more from Finnick. You need more.

You’re communicating that fact when you finally have enough courage to fist a hand into Finnick’s hair, and it’s like he’s rewarding you when he slyly begins to probe a finger at your tight entrance.

You’re clenched, far from relaxed, but with a deep breath, you’re loose enough for him to slide in to the first knuckle, then the second, then all the way, his single digit comfortable within your walls.

Finnick fucks you with his finger, aiding the penetration with his pretty pink lips around your pink nub. He sucks, the pressure making your head spin, your consciousness in the clouds to the point where you don’t notice another of Finnick’s deft fingers teasing your entrance.

“Another?” he asks, voice barely able to be heard due to his proximity to your cunt.

“Uh-huh,” is all the affirmation you can give.

It’s a little tight and uncomfortable at first, but once his digits are evened out and curling in you, and his tongue is lapping up your juices like it’s water, you’re riding so high in a blissed out state that discomfort is the last thing on your mind.

Your approaching orgasm becomes known to you quicker than you can anticipate. It’s like all of a sudden there’s tension in your lower abdomen, begging for your attention, begging to be released.

“Finnick, Finn,” he hums, not stopping any of his ministrations. “‘M so close. Almost there.”

You hadn’t thought it to be possible but Finnick gives you more. His fingers fuck you faster and harder, his cheeks hollow as he alternates between sucking along your nerves and stroking his tongue is the areas that you’re most sensitive.

It feels so fucking good, a pleasure you’d never experienced in your life. You couldn’t imagine being in this position with anyone other than your best friend, someone you trusted with your entire being. It’s as if he knows your body better than you do, because sooner than you would’ve liked, your back is arching and your legs are lifting off the bed and your nails are digging into Finnick’s scalp, all signs that your orgasm is right there and you cum with a loud cry that melts into breathy moans.

Finnick pulls his fingers out of your cunt but his mouth stays on you, placing gentle kisses and kitten licks along the slicked area. When your legs have lowered and your breath has evened out, he pulls his head away from you, a wince leaving his lips.

“Darling,” he starts, receiving an affirmative hum in response. “You’re pulling my hair out.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.” Your hand lets go of his hair, your body burning with embarrassment. But Finnick’s bright laugh and content smile soothes you.

“‘S okay,” he mumbles as he leans up and presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. Your lips mold to his like they were created for each other, and the kiss is slow, methodical, loving.

You whine when he pulls away, but his hands have already hooked under your thighs and he’s pulling you with him as he starts to sit back.

You end up in the position you started in, sitting on Finnick’s lap, your hands on his shoulders.

Under you, you can feel his bulge confined in his pants. You shift a little over it, your throat beating with your heart rate due to the anticipation.

Finnick’s eyes close softly and his head throws back. Your hand rises to push back the bangs of his hair which lay on his forehead, in favor of resting your skin against his.

“Sweetheart,” he groans. “We …. We can’t.”

Your heart drops.

“Huh?”

“I wanna feel you, sweetheart, I swear.” His eyes open to stare at yours and you notice the sincerity in them. It doesn’t do much to lift your spirits, though. “But we can’t. Not yet.”

Your eyebrows furrow, waiting for further explanation. It comes from him quickly.

“I need you in your right mind in the Games. You need to be focused, and only thinking about survival. Nothing else.”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

He chuckles. “Maybe. But we have to play it safe.” A beat. “You trust me, right?”

And you do. Wholeheartedly.

#finnicksworld!#celeste writes thg #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair smut #the hunger games smut #finnick odair x you #finnick odair #the hunger games

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mrs-kmikaelson · 1 year ago

Text

Our Song and Dance³

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end. Warnings: long, exploitation of minors, mentions of forced prostitution, suicidal thoughts, implied torture, violence, complicated relationships, complex mental health issues, and i involve finnick more in everything Words: 8.1K

Masterlist | Part 4

a/n: switching it up, so this part is from finnick's pov. it's basically mockingjay one, then i'll do one more part for mockingjay 2. ly guys!

Finnick Odair was not sure that love existed. Or, at least he wasn’t. He could barely remember what his parents looked like, let alone if they loved each other. But he had Mags; she proved to him that love existed because he loved her. It was the falling in love that he was unsure about.

And then he met Annie Cresta and it was like he suddenly understood. Yes, this was what the poets were talking about. This was love.

But they couldn’t be together.

He was being sold off all the time, taking countless visits to the Capitol. He couldn’t endanger her like that, let her get involved in the fucked up world he lived in. So he didn’t. He loved her from afar, knowing they’d never really be together.

He thought it’d end there, but then one night, he saw you. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was all his own will, but he walked up to you. He’d seen you at these events before, back home, and on TV, but standing there so close to you, it was like it was just hitting him how beautiful you were.

You were a victor, too. But he realized just how alike you were when he watched as you left a hotel room, in the same state as him. After that, it was you who took a chance on him until he almost looked forward to coming to the Capitol, just to see you.

You weren’t Annie. You didn’t remind him of what poets had written. No, he couldn’t describe you or what you meant to him in just words. What he grew to feel for you over time wasn’t akin to anything he’d ever read. This was so much more than that.

He loved Annie, he always would, but being with you made him realize what it was like to be in love.

But he never told you this, never said any of it out loud out of fear that he’d lose you.

Now he lost you, anyway.

The doors to his hospital room opened. He knew it was Katniss, but he didn’t say anything, staring right at the ground in front of him.

If he looked hard enough, he could see your face.

“Finnick.”

He looked up from his feet, but still didn’t look at her. He already knew what she looked like, and it wasn’t much better than him.

She was mad at him. She’d barely spoken to him since they got to 13, but he knew that she couldn’t have been much more mad at him than he already was at himself.

His voice was quiet when he spoke. “I wanted to go back for them—for Peeta, and Johanna, and Y/N… but I- I couldn’t move.” He twiddled his fingers with the rope in his hands, wishing it was your hand he was holding, but he wasn’t. You weren’t there. He left you.

He finally looked up at Katniss. She looked both emotionless and so emotional at the same time, lifeless but alive. “I- I love her, y’know?” He looked back down at the knot he was tying, sniffling involuntarily.

He was trying to keep it together, but without you, that was like trying to fix a broken glass without any glue.

You were the glue that held him together.

And now the Capitol had you.

The words left his lips without much thought. “I wish she was dead.” He chose to stare at a spot on the ground instead of looking at Katniss’ reaction. His chest tightened. “I wish they were all dead and we were, too.”

If they had died, then at least they wouldn’t have been going through this, having to live but feeling so dead, anyway.

Katniss was silent until he eventually heard her leave the room.

There were words she didn’t say that still floated around the room, agreement that she didn’t voice. She was just as broken as him, holding on for dear life. He hoped that she’d keep holding on.

He had to have hope. He had to have hope that he’d see you again, that this wasn’t all for nothing, that they could build a better world that you could both live in. He needed to hope.

That hope was the only thing that kept him holding on, too.

He was in the cafeteria, sitting next to Katniss and Annie when it happened. The fanfare started playing, Caesar Flickerman’s face coming to the screen. He scoffed, tuning out and looking back down at the food on his plate, swishing it around. Recently, it had been hard for him to work up an appetite.

He looked back up when Katniss grabbed his hand, hers trembling. He soon realized why.

It was Peeta, on the Capitol TV.

Katniss got up, walking to the TV and standing right in front of it, shocked. He would’ve gotten up and followed her, tried to console her, but it was as if he was paralyzed.

Peeta was on the TV.

And you were nowhere in sight.

He heard the conversation that had everyone on the edge of their seat through muffled ears. Peeta didn’t look exactly like himself, but he still looked like the golden boy Panem fell in love with. It was so obvious that the Capitol was using him, playing him like a puppet, but what confused him was that they were using him and not the much more powerful weapon they had in their arsenal.

You were the Princess of Panem. Plutarch and Coin knew that; that’s why they wanted you. Katniss could light a fire, but if they also had you, then together you could cause an explosion. If the Capitol wanted to sway public opinion, why wouldn’t they just use you, someone who the people trusted and adored?

Suddenly, his stomach fell.

If they weren’t using you, then it was because you weren’t in a condition to be shown to the public.

He felt a hand on his, turning his head to see it was Annie, looking at him with a sympathetic expression. As if she could hear his thoughts, the smallest of sad smiles grew on her lips. “It’s gonna be okay, Finnick,” she whispered. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

How the tables had turned. Now it was her assuring him.

In that moment, he understood Annie like never before.

Because he wasn’t so sure she was right.

After Peeta’s interview, Finnick didn’t leave his room much. He’d lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling, pretending that you were there with him. He could withstand the silence if he had you by his side.

But now, the silence was deafening.

Sometimes, he didn’t hear a thing. Other times, your voice would fill the gaps, memories of you flashing before his eyes like a movie. Sometimes, they weren’t memories at all. Sometimes, he imagined a different life for you where you were both happy, in love.

And, sometimes, he imagined what they could’ve been doing to you in the Capitol.

Whenever these awake-nightmares got too vivid, he’d find Katniss and sit with her, knowing she must have been going through the same thing. It was what you would’ve done, what you did with him and Johanna.

You wouldn’t have wanted them to suffer alone.

The next time he was around everyone else, it was per Coin’s request. She announced to them all that Katniss agreed to be The Mockingjay and that, in return, she’d look for an opportunity to extract you, the victors that had been taken.

Katniss moved next to him. “Finnick, I made the deal for Y/N, too.”

It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Hope—this was hope.

“Good,” he said. For the first time since he left the arena, he smiled. “That’s good, Katniss.” A small chuckle left him.

Maybe he’d get a chance to make those dreams of his a reality.

With a newfound ardour, Finnick threw himself back into the ring instead of avoiding the fight like he had been, sitting in on meetings and doing whatever he could to make this work. He would see you again; he’d make sure of it.

He went with the propo team to 8, watching as the Girl on Fire did exactly what they’d all been waiting for her to do. He wasn’t the only one that was hopeful—so were people in the districts, the people in 13.

They played her propo at the next assembly. The crowd cheered, but as he stood with The Mockingjay herself on the sidelines, she didn’t look so cheerful. Finnick understood this, he understood it well, but he couldn’t afford to think like that with your life hanging in the balance.

She shouldn’t have to either, he thought.

He leaned closer to her, quizzing, “You don’t like hearing a fight song at a funeral, huh?” She looked up at him almost in the same way she did when he made that joke in the arena. At the memory of your response, a small smile arose on his face. “The more people on our side, the closer we are to Peeta and Y/N,” he reminded her.

She nodded, muttering, “Yeah,” and then turning back to the crowd. She didn’t look so convinced, but he left it there, knowing she was coping with this in her own way.

If Katniss loved Peeta even half as much as he loved you, then he’d let her do whatever she felt comfortable with.

But at the end of the day, it was love that kept them both going.

The next time Peeta was on TV, it was a wake up call for everyone. He didn’t look so refined anymore, so clean. There were bags under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept or eaten in days.

If this was what Peeta looked like and they still had him on TV, then what about you?

A bile rose in his throat. He ran to the nearest trash can and threw up whatever they served that morning for breakfast, your face flashing underneath his eyelids. You weren’t smiling like in the dreams he had, but screaming.

He knew you weren’t dead, that the Capitol wouldn’t kill you, but when he pictured your face, you didn’t look so alive.

Oh, he wished he could’ve made you smile more. But in the world you lived in, sometimes it was too hard to even do that.

That’s why we’re doing this, he reminded himself. We’re trying to build a better world. But there were no words that Coin could say to shake the guilt he felt, guilt for leaving you, guilt for being the reason this happened to you. There was no band-aid he could put over this wound, no pills that could kill this pain.

But he had to push through it, and he couldn’t do that by sitting in his room by himself; every time he closed his eyes, he saw you. So he went to Katniss’ room, finding her in a position so similar to his own.

That was the man she loved on TV, even if she hadn’t come to terms with her feelings. She must have been just as guilty as him, if not more so. Finnick could remember a time when he rejected his feelings for you, too, scared of caring for somebody, scared of this happening.

He went through the Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell, being sold when he was only sixteen, but falling in love with you was the scariest thing he’d ever experienced.

If that’s how Katniss felt, then he didn’t want her to be alone, not when she reminded him so much of you.

So he sat next to her in silence, letting all of the words he wanted to say hang in the air, hoping that she heard them. They sat there wordlessly until Gale came in, telling them it was time to go, that they were going to 12.

It was only when he was about to leave that he finally spoke, deciding that these were words he had to make sure that she heard, words that he needed to hear, too.

“We’re gonna get them back, Katniss.”

She looked at him, forming somewhat of a smile and nodding. After staring at her for a few seconds, he left the room, going to get ready.

She didn’t know it, but the entire hovercraft ride on the way to 12, he repeated those same exact words to himself over and over again.

We’re gonna get them back.

While nothing could really ease Finnick’s worries, seeing the people fight back certainly helped. The revolution was picking up traction. The videos they shot in 12 had moved people so much that they were willing to put themselves at risk, just out of hope for a better Panem.

If they could do that, then he could, too.

He wondered if you knew about any of this, if you were even aware of what was happening or if the Capitol was just keeping you in the dark. Did you know? Did you hear Katniss sing?

Did it remind you of him the same way it reminded him of you?

He had so many questions, and so little answers.

Rebels in district 5 bombed a hydroelectric dam, cutting power in the Capitol. Not long after, Peeta Mellark was back on TV, talking about it. He no longer even looked like himself. He didn’t look like a victor, but like someone who had lost.

But Finnick supposed that was what a victor was.

Beetee managed to get through the Capitol’s firewall, cutting Peeta off with Katniss’ propo. They watched as tears filled his eyes on screen.

That was the first time he looked like himself.

Are you, are you comin’ to the tree?

He faltered. “Katniss?”

Finnick watched as Katniss got closer to the screen, shaking her head. She saw it, too. She saw the man that went into that arena with them.

But then, like a victor would, his mask went back up so quickly.

“The attack on the dam was a callous and inhuman act of destruction-”

Where a dead man called out for his love to flee.

Peeta inhaled shakily, his lips so slightly quivering. “Think about it,” he said. “How will this end? What will be left?” Finnick walked closer to the screen, like he was caught in a trance. Peeta’s previously calm façade had broken and was replaced with someone who looked stricken by panic. “No one can survive this. No one is safe now. Not here in the Capitol.” He shook his head. “Not in any of the districts.”

He stopped, looking right into the camera as if he was staring into Katniss’ eyes. He may not have known it, but he was.

“They’re coming, Katniss. They’re gonna kill everyone.” They heard quick footsteps behind the camera as Peeta rushed to get his words out. “And in district 13 you’ll be dead by morning-”

Then the camera cut out.

Finnick didn’t know what to say, glancing over at Katniss to see her cupping her mouth in shock.

Haymitch was much more calm. With Katniss spinning out, he had to be. “He’s warning us. That was a warning.” Behind him, Boggs said something in agreement.

Katniss looked to have gotten over her shock, frantically turning and fretting, “We have to get him out before they kill him.” She was ignored.

What about you? he wondered. Where did this leave you? But right now, what they needed to worry about was where it left them.

Otherwise, you wouldn’t have anything to come home to.

“It’s time for an air raid drill.” Seconds after Coin spoke, an alarm went off. Everyone that’d been fixed to their spot in the room was up, like they’d been preparing for this for a lifetime, and from what he heard, they had been.

Katniss went running, searching for her sister while he went looking for Annie and Mags, grabbing them and descending down the stairwell as soon as he saw them. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, his mind blank, just as it was in the arena.

If he let his thoughts take control, then he’d lose it, and he couldn’t do that right now. He couldn’t slip up right now with what was at stake.

It was your life on the line.

He couldn’t lose you.

But a part of him knew that, the second you were in Snow’s hands, the you that he knew was lost forever.

Down in the bunker, Finnick sat on the bottom bunk with Mags off resting by herself while Annie had fallen asleep at the top. Sometimes, with her episodes, it was easy to forget that she was a victor, too, that she had danced the same dance you had. But she was, and she was dancing like never before.

He could tell that she had been trying hard to keep it together, but with all of the panic and the noise, it was hard. She fell asleep easily.

Although the bunker was pretty quiet, his thoughts were still so loud. The last time he saw you played out in his head. He could still taste your lips on his, still feel your soft skin, still see your beautiful eyes.

I’ll see you at midnight?

Yeah, I’ll see you at midnight.

But he didn’t. He never saw you again. He would’ve never let you go if he’d known then what’d happen. He would’ve held you longer, kissed you longer. He would’ve told you he loved you.

If he’d known this’d happen, he would’ve told you long before The Games. The truth was, he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he fell in love with you. It had always been Annie for him, and you were just there.

But that was exactly it. You were there. You were always there.

Maybe he started falling for you after the first time you slept together. Maybe it was after your fifth time mentoring together. Maybe it was after the time he had a nightmare and you let him hold you. Maybe it was after you smiled, and really smiled, for the first time since you decided to start pretending to be a couple. He couldn’t be sure, but somewhere along the way, you became so much more to him than just Y/N Y/L/N, Princess of Panem and victor of the 67th Hunger Games.

You became the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

He just wished he could’ve told you that.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when someone walked up to him. “Hey.” He looked up, seeing Katniss. She looked beat, her voice quiet. “Can I sit?”

He nodded, moving over so she could sit next to him. She had her family down here, that’s why he hadn’t gone over to her, but he understood why she was coming to him. After going through what they went through, it was easier to be around people who went through the same thing, who were going through the same thing.

Like she was reading his mind, she asked, “Are you thinking about her?”

There wasn’t any need for further explanation. Truthfully, he answered, “Yeah,” looking down at the ground. Every moment he had that wasn’t dedicated to this revolution was spent thinking about you.

After a second, she spoke up again. “Snow’s using her to punish you. He’s taunting us with them.” She scoffed a little. “I didn’t understand that until just now watching that stupid cat.”

She was right. This wasn’t just about propaganda. This was about Snow’s little puppets misbehaving.

So now he was showing them that, even in 13, he still owned them. He still owned Finnick. He still owned Katniss. He still owned Johanna. He still owned Peeta. And he still owned you.

He was using you against him because he knew how much you meant to him, the same way he knew how much Peeta meant to Katniss, even if she didn’t see that herself.

Finnick sighed, debating on whether or not he should say what he was thinking or keep it to himself before deciding that he had held enough in, that holding his thoughts in had never done him any good. So he turned to Katniss and started, “I- Y/N and I, we hadn’t met until after she won her Games. We weren’t really friends, at first, but rumours start fast in the Capitol, especially when ‘royalty’ is involved.” He humourlessly chuckled. “People were saying that we were dating, and so she- she thought the best thing for us to do was to let them believe it, let them have their love story. The alternative, two people coping together- that was a lot darker than what the Capitol could handle.”

She tilted her head, furrowing her brows. He watched as she put it all together. “Wait, are you saying that…”

He nodded. “Yes. It was fake. Our love story was just that: a story.” Surprise was painted all over her face.

“But… you told me that you love her.”

A ghost of a smile came to his face. “I do. I love her. It wasn’t like that at first, but over time, I fell for her, Katniss.” He saw a look pass over her face: understanding. What he was describing wasn’t just you and him; it was her and Peeta. “Y/N and I, we learned how to play the game. If anyone could spot a fake relationship, it was us. After your first Games, we thought your whole romance was an act. We expected you to continue that strategy. But it wasn’t until Peeta’s heart stopped and he nearly died that… I knew I’d misjudged you. You love him.”

Katniss looked away, like what he was saying was something she’d never even considered. It was so clear to everyone that she loved him, everyone but herself.

“I’m not saying in what way,” he added, understanding her feelings so well because he’d right where she was. “Maybe you don’t even know yourself. But anyone paying attention can see it.” He maintained his stare, even as she looked away.

With the life they lived, you didn’t want to give yourself to love, to admit that to yourself, to allow yourself to be vulnerable. But you could only hide a love so strong for so long.

She swallowed, gaze still aimed at the floor. “How do you live with it?”

You’re asking the wrong person, he thought, but that wasn’t an acceptable answer. That wasn’t the answer she was looking for. Right now, Katniss was lost; he needed to point her in the right direction.

Even if he still had trouble doing that for himself.

He paused for a moment, searching for the right words to say. “I drag myself outta nightmares and there’s no relief in waking up,” he confessed. “But I- sometimes, when I’m awake, I let myself dream about her.” Finally, she looked over to him. “I dream that, one day, when this is all over, we’re living in a better world, happy.” The corners of his lips quirked up at the thought. “It’s hope, Katniss. That’s how I live with it.”

Katniss eyes were dull, red, tired, but even in the darkness of the bunker, he was able to see a tiny spark light up in her eyes.

Hope.

They’d fallen asleep in the bunker along with everyone else until Finnick woke up to Boggs shaking him, telling him that they had to go. Coin wanted Katniss to get in front of the camera, tell Panem that they were still standing after the attack.

But, as soon as they stepped outside, he watched her fall apart.

Roses.

A rose?

They’re a Capitol favourite.

You hated roses. Looking at them himself, he couldn’t even blame Katniss. He felt sick, too.

She couldn’t do it. She was almost hysterical, so of course Boggs let her go. They couldn’t put her on TV when she was like this. But they also didn’t have time to wait.

With Katniss gone, Haymitch and Boggs pulled him aside to a briefing room, getting started on a new plan.

“Okay, what are we doing?”

They gave each other a look, much like the look Plutarch and Haymitch traded right after the Quell, like they knew something he didn’t, like they were getting ready for him to explode.

“Finnick, the dam that went down in district 5 cut power in most of the Capitol,” Haymitch started. “Their defences are down—Beetee’s gonna be able to get in now.”

His brows furrowed. He already knew that.

Sensing his confusion, Boggs cut in, “We’ve gotten word that the victors are in the Tribute Centre.”

Suddenly, it was like his heart stopped.

You were coming home.

He echoed his thoughts. “You’re going to get them?”

“Yes, I’ll be leading the mission-”

“Well, I’m coming.” Again, they both shared a look, like they were expecting him to say that, and why wouldn’t they? You were his girlfriend; of course, he wanted to be there to save you.

“Finnick-”

He cut Boggs off a second time, repeating himself, “I am coming with you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

He scoffed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Finnick-”

“If you’re going to get Y/N, then I’m coming with you-”

“You are too valuable to this revolution for them to let you go,” Haymitch said, but Finnick really couldn’t give a damn about whatever reason they threw at him. You were all he could think about.

“I’m not just gonna sit here and do nothing while they’re being rescued,” he retaliated. For over a month, sitting around and doing nothing was practically all he’d been doing, fantasizing about you, unknowing of when he’d see you again or if he’d ever see you again, trying to imagine what you could’ve been going through.

He couldn’t just stand by while you were in a live or die situation.

If you died- no, he cut his thoughts off, refusing to finish the sentence.

You couldn’t die.

Haymitch sighed, glancing away before looking back at him. His eyes were always hard, but at that moment, Finnick saw flashes of sympathy. “You won’t be doing nothing.”

His eyes slightly narrowed. “What do you mean?”

The two shared another look before he told him, “Katniss can’t record right now. But you can.”

Another scoff left his lips, an incredulous look on his face as his voice was laced with sarcasm. “You want me to film a propo while you save Y/N?”

Haymitch didn’t respond right away, just staring at him like he was trying to properly articulate his words. The way he was looking at him unnerved him, like whatever he was gonna say could shatter him into a million pieces.

“Not a propo, Finnick,” he finally said, hesitation evident in his tone. “It’s a lot more than that.”

And, as Haymitch explained to him what they wanted him to do, Finnick learned just how much more that was.

Finnick Odair. That was a name synonymous with royalty, luxury, desire. Before he even met you, that was the name he’d built for himself—or, rather, the name that was thrusted into his arms.

A sex symbol.

When you won your Games, he could remember listening to the Capitol chatter. Stunning, refined, intelligent: a princess. You both already had so much in common, both from the same district, both so young when you won, but suddenly, as he watched you leave that hotel room that night in the Capitol, he realized that you had much more in common than he thought.

You were one and the same.

Those nights you spent together in the Capitol, out in the cold, you were silent. And then, even as you spoke to big Capitol fishes and gave speeches, you were still silent then, too, never speaking out about the injustices you’d been faced with.

Now, Finnick stood outside in the darkness, cold, but this time, you weren’t next to him. You weren’t next to him, and that was because Snow took you.

So he wasn’t going to stay silent anymore.

You deserved better than that.

He glanced around, almost as if he was trying to tell if his surroundings were real, if he was really doing this.

He looked back when Cressida called his name, a careful look on her face. “Yeah,” he said, conveying he was okay without saying it, even if he really wasn’t.

She didn’t look very convinced, but she still responded, “Okay.” She paused. “Take your time. Just remember to keep talking and don’t stop.”

He lightly nodded, looking up in front of him, seeing his breath in the air. For a moment, he was silent, but that moment didn’t last long.

He had been silent for far too long already.

“This is Finnick Odair. Winner of the 65th Hunger Games,” he introduced himself, even though he knew that anyone watching must have recognized him right away. “And I’m coming to you from district 13, alive and well. We’ve survived an assault from the Capitol,” he recited. “But I’m not here to give you recent news.”

What he was going to tell them was much more than news about this rebellion. What he would reveal was about a war that’d started long before this rebellion ever did.

“I come with something much more valuable.”

I haven’t dealt in anything as common as money in years.

Well, then how do people pay for the pleasure of your company?

“The truth. The truth about being a victor, about being royalty.” Bitterness seeped through his tone. “Not the myths about a life of luxury. Not the lie about glory for your homeland.” He looked straight at the camera. “You can survive the arena. But the moment you leave, you’re a slave.”

We will never be free, Y/N.

He took in a breath before he spoke his next words, knowing that they held power stronger than a weapon. He may as well have been pointing the gun at his own head. But if he had to get burned to burn down the Capitol, then he would do it. He would do it a thousand times over.

And so would you.

“President Snow used to sell me. Or my body, at least. I wasn’t the only one.” Your face flashed in his mind. “If a victor is considered desirable, the President gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them. If you refuse, he kills someone you love.” Johanna.

It’s not fair. He killed her family. She said no, and he killed her family.

I know. It’s not fair, I know.

It was never fair. No riches or glory could ever be enough to compensate for that.

“To make themselves feel better, my patrons would make presents of money or jewelry. But I found a much more valuable form of payment.” The corners of his lips upturned slightly to form a small, humourless smile. “Secrets.”

The secrets he knew had the power to rip apart the Capitol’s so called “peace” at the seams. For him, for Katniss, for Johanna, for Peeta, for Annie, for you—this peace had fallen apart ages ago.

Katniss was forced to become the voice of thousands when she could barely do that for herself. Johanna turned to rage. Peeta turned to charm. Annie lost her mind. And you… what about you?

It was about time that this peace was destroyed. It was about time that people understood exactly what victors really lost. And that Panem’s monsters weren’t hiding under the bed.

They were sitting on thrones.

“See, I know all the depravity, the deceit, and the cruelty of the Capitol’s pampered elite. But the biggest secrets are about our good President, Coriolanus Snow.” The biggest monster of them all. “Such a young man when he rose to power. Such a clever one to keep it. How, you may ask, did he do it?” He paused, looking right at the camera as if he was looking right into Snow’s eyes.

He hoped he was watching.

He hoped he was watching as they burned the Capitol to the ground.

“One word.” He lit the match. “Poison.” And then he dropped it.

“He stopped every mutiny before it even started. There are so many mysterious deaths to adversaries. Even to allies who were threats.” He could remember being at one of those dinners, watching a man fall onto his plate, his life over so quickly.

Once you were on the playing board, it didn’t matter how powerful you were. To Snow, you were all just pawns that he could knock off the board easily.

Not anymore.

“Snow would drink from the same cup to deflect suspicion. But… antidotes don’t always work, which is why he wears roses that reek of perfume. Help cover the scent of blood from sores in his mouth that will never heal.”

When Finnick learned this, he could remember the feeling he had, the satisfaction in knowing that a man who had spilled so much blood was bleeding himself. It was karmic.

How ironic was that?

“But he can’t hide the scent of who he really is,” he continued, remembering Cressida’s words. Don’t stop. “He kills without mercy. He rules with deception and fear. His weapon of choice is the only thing suited to such a man. Poison.” He scoffed.

“The perfect weapon for a snake.”

Moments after Finnick’s last words, they were off the air. Cressida’s hand went to her ear, a dark look passing over her face. The Capitol air defence system’s coming back online, she said, and she didn’t get to say much else before he went running inside.

Much like every other day he’d spent in 13, your face came to his mind, but this time was different. This time, they went in to save you.

What if they couldn’t?

No, they had to bring you back- they had to.

He ran and ran until he got to ops, seeing Katniss crying in Haymitch’s arms. As soon as she saw him, she latched onto him and he reciprocated her hug tightly. He had to hold on. He had to.

He wouldn’t survive the fall if he let go.

He knows, he knows they’re in the Tribute Centre, she cried, and then for the second time that day, his heart stopped. He knew. Snow knew about the rescue mission.

His ears rang, eyes going blurry. And then things got a little blurry after that, too. Eventually, he ended up back in his room by himself. He didn’t know how he got there, but he did. All he could hear was your voices in his head.

No, you are coming home-

Finni-

We are both coming come. We are both coming home, Y/N, I swear.

He was supposed to protect you. He promised. He promised you that you would both make it home. But now where were you? You weren’t with him.

You never came home.

At one point, Annie came in, trying to be of some consolation, but she ended up leaving, unable to get through to him. He couldn’t hear her over your conversations that replayed in his head on a loop.

I told you. I’m not letting you die.

A tear raced down his cheek. He knew that you were maybe still alive, that you still had a chance, but that didn’t matter. It was never supposed to get to this point. He was never supposed to let it get to this point, a point where you could be dead.

He was supposed to bring you home.

Yeah, I’ll see you at midnight.

The doors suddenly slid open and Katniss walked in, breaking him out of his spell. He wiped the tears that’d fallen, clearing his throat. “Is there any news?”

Solemnly, she shook her head. “No.” He sighed as she sat down next to him, a big exhale leaving her lips, too. Both of them had passed the point of exhaustion, but it wasn’t like they could rest. Finnick wasn’t sure that he could sleep if he tried.

With this song playing so loudly, how could he?

Katniss was dancing the same dance as him, fighting the same battles. The man she loved was out there, too. She must have been just as scared as him.

They sat in silence for a while until she broke it, her voice raspy and just above a whisper. “Finnick?”

He turned to see her looking down at the ground. “Yeah?”

“I-” she stammered. It was only when she looked up at him that he saw the look in her eyes and knew why she was so nervous.

He shook his head. “It’s fine-”

She scoffed. “No, it’s not- it’s not fine-”

“Katniss-”

She cut him off. “I’m sorry.” Her words made him swallow. He knew she was going to speak them, but for some reason, hearing them was so different, surreal. She exhaled again, maintaining eye contact. “I am sorry.”

Finnick looked away. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate her apology, but he felt uncomfortable, looking into her eyes and just seeing the pure sorrow, pity. No, Katniss hadn’t been through exactly what he had, but at that moment, looking into her eyes was like looking into a mirror.

He couldn’t handle that right now, not when he stood at the top of the tallest mountain in the world and had such a long way to fall, everything to lose.

He nodded, accepting her apology without words. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know, she didn’t know him back then. She hadn’t been a victor long enough to know yet. If anything, he was glad that she didn’t get to know their world, that she wasn’t sucked up by the same darkness that took you and him.

He was glad that her and Peeta got time in the sun, even if it was only for a little while.

“Y/N…” At the sound of your name, he turned back to her, seeing her brows furrow, eyes glazed over. “When I met her, she said something to me.” Realization flashed across her face as she looked up. “Was- was she-”

He cut her off, “Yeah. Yeah, she was.” When he blinked, he saw you walking out of that hotel room, the look on your face. He’d never forget the way you looked at him that night.

May the odds be ever in your favour, darling.

“There were more,” he admitted. “Any victor that the Capitol found desirable was taken. Annie only couldn’t because of her madness. Johanna-” a humourless chuckle left his lips. “Johanna refused, and her entire family paid the price.” He look back to Katniss to see that her mouth had fallen open, a look of horror on her face. “You and Peeta were spared because you were together. Hell, that’s the reason Y/N and I got together, to escape all this. And now look where we are.”

With you on the verge of dying and Finnick on the verge of losing everything.

You. You were his everything.

And you didn’t even know it.

“I never told her, Katniss.” He was breathless, like the wind had been knocked out of him. He’d realized this before, knew that he made a mistake, but now it was like he was realizing that he may never get the chance to correct it. “I- I never told her I loved her.”

I’m your girlfriend now?

Oh, come on, Y/N. You can’t be serious right now.

I am so serious right now.

You had no idea. You had no idea that you were the reason he kept living, that you were the reason he kept going, even when it hurt so badly. He’d walk through Hell if he could get to Heaven and be with you.

But what if you never knew that?

What if you died without knowing how he felt about you?

Katniss grabbed onto his hand. He looked to see tears welling in her eyes. “You will,” she whispered. “Hope, Finnick. You need to have hope.”

“Hope,” he echoed. Just like how he saw your face, he was able to see a future just as easily. It was so clear. That better world that Coin went on about, the better world that they were fighting for… it was just within their grasp. He nodded, managing to form somewhat of a smile. “Hope.”

He needed that, now more than ever. If he ever wanted to make it to that better world, to live in it with you, then he had to have hope—hope for the both of you.

Katniss didn’t say much after that; neither did he. Both of them were reflecting on their own, still trying to process all the turmoil that the day had caused. He spent his time thinking of you, imagining that better world.

In a better world, you and Finnick would’ve never been sold. You would’ve met, and he would’ve gotten the chance to fall in love with you the right way. He wouldn’t have been so scared to tell you. You would’ve given back to the community, not taken kids to their deaths.

You would’ve been so happy together.

But that wasn’t the world you lived in.

In the world you lived in, you and Finnick were sold at ages far too young. First, you sold your souls by winning The Games, and then your bodies were sold to people who had no business touching you.

In the world you lived in, you were only brought together because of tragedy. You only dated to try and save yourselves from a much greater evil, not because you loved each other.

In the world you lived in, Finnick fell in love with you. But he couldn’t tell you that, not when his biggest fear became losing you.

But in the world you lived in, he lost you, anyway.

So he had to have hope that a better world was possible- he had to. Not having that was another blow he wasn’t sure he could take.

When imagining your better world turned into reminiscing over all that’d happened to you both, he cut his thoughts off. He couldn’t let himself stop and break down now, not when he was so close to the finish line, so close to you.

So he pulled rope from his pocket, tying the same knots over and over again, a habit he’d picked up at a young age. Focusing on the knots was able to take his mind off everything, allowing white noise to play instead of this song.

He didn’t want to hear it without you.

He did this until he lost track of time. It was only when the doors slid open again that he was broken out of his trance. Katniss perked up right away. It was Haymitch behind the door, looking as enthusiastic as Finnick had ever seen him. “They’re back.”

She gasped, getting up and running right away, but it was as if Finnick was cemented to his spot. They’re back.

You were back.

Just like that, he was shaken out of his shock, standing and quickly catching up with them.

They ran until they were in the medical area. As soon as they got there, he saw Johanna, ripping an IV out of her arm. Her hair was gone, shaven off, bruises all over her pale, pale face.

“Johanna,” Katniss muttered, but Finnick’s attention was elsewhere, eyes darting around the room, searching for you, heart racing.

And then he saw you.

His eyes went wide. “Y/N!” Without waiting another second, he ran to you. After over a month, here you were, right in front of him.

But it wasn’t so simple.

You flinched as his hands went to touch you, making him retract them right away. Your eyes didn’t look in his direction once.

Like you were scared of him.

At the thought, his heart clenched. It was only then that he noticed you were shaking, even as you were covered in blankets.

Your body was littered with cuts and bruises. You were pale, too, so clearly malnourished and sleep deprived. But it was your eyes that really got him. Your beautiful eyes no longer looked so lively. They looked empty.

You looked like a ghost.

“Y/N?” His voice cracked simultaneously with his heart. Why weren’t you looking at him? “Y/N-”

He was cut off. “Mr. Odair.” He turned to see a doctor standing on the other side of your bed, a hesitant look on her face and a look in her eyes that made a shiver go up spine. “Could I speak to you for a moment?”

He glanced back to you, seeing that you still weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was fixed on a spot on your bed. You hadn’t looked up once, even as the doctor spoke. Confused, he nodded, letting the woman pull him to the side, out of earshot from you.

But even as the doctor started speaking, he couldn’t get your eyes out of his mind.

That look in your eye was somehow worse than any of his nightmares combined.

“Mr. Odair, Ms. Y/L/N’s condition is… it’s quite complex,” she cautioned. He furrowed his brows, his worry increasing.

“What do you mean- is she okay-”

“No, I meant- physically, I’m not seeing much to be worried about. Of course, she could be better- much better, but this is what we were expecting.” She paused, glancing at you. “Mentally- I’m not even sure where to begin.”

He glanced back at you, too, to see that you were still staring at that same spot on your bed. He let the doctor’s words register in his brain. You weren’t okay.

“We’ve informed psych, but for now, you’re just gonna need to give her time.” Time.

He let out a breath, feeling his eyes getting wet as what she was saying really soaked in. “You’re telling me to leave.” Just as he got you back.

“Mr. Odair-”

“You’re telling me to leave.”

“Finnick.” She cut him off with a strong call of his name. “Your girlfriend’s mental state right now is unstable. She’s in shock; she’s not herself right now. It is going to take some time to get her out of this state, and it’s going to be hard for you to see her in it. In the meantime, the best thing you can do for her is take some time to collect your thoughts.”

She was telling him to go off and think. Did she know that’s all he’d been doing for hours, thinking and throwing himself into the worst possible scenarios, only to realize that one of them had become a reality?

But he didn’t tell her this, instead looking back at you. You were lifeless. When he looked back at the doctor, there was a pleading expression on her face. He didn’t want to leave you, but she made it sound like the best possible thing to do for you. So he did.

But the truth was, he just couldn’t bear to watch you when you were like that.

You were the love of his life. It was like his heart started beating again when he saw you there, alive, but then it dulled once he really looked at you.

You didn’t look like the girl he fell in love with, the girl that went into that arena, or the girl he said goodbye to. It only took a month, and now you looked like a completely different person, like you had seen things no man had ever seen.

In his haze, Finnick made it back to his room, but he didn’t make it to the bed, collapsing onto the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest as his mind spun.

You were alive. He thought that, when he finally saw you again, all of his worries would be erased, that everything would be okay again, that the world would go back to being in colour instead of this black and white that he’d been stuck in with Katniss.

But nothing seemed more colourful.

Nothing seemed better.

You were here. You were back, Y/N Y/L/N, the same woman he loved, the same woman he’d dreamt about for weeks. You were alive.

But, oh, he should’ve known it couldn’t have been that easy.

Your heart was beating, your eyes were open, and you were there… but that didn’t mean you were alive.

I told you. I’m not letting you die.

Little did Finnick know, you were already dead.

Taglist: @avoxrising @mxacegrey @littleshadow17 @lovelyteenagebeard @nasyanastya @catastrxblues @zodiyack @zulpix-blog @mushroomelephant @muggies @lantsovheiress @hobiebrowns-wife @notplutos @faeriepigeons

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slaybestieslay946 · 9 months ago

Note

Oh me gosh can you please do a Luke Castellan x reader fic where he’s just so head over heels for her but she’s so clueless and everyone keeps trying to get her to notice but she won’t and like they’re bests friends🤗🤗

tysm for ur request! if you don't mind I tweaked it a bit so its annabeth and percy trying to set up Luke and reader! hope you enjoy!

KISS THE GIRL

word count: 2000

pairing: Luke Castellan x poseidon!reader

warnings: none!

a/n: Even though this is a daughter of poseidon fic, its not part of my future au! for Luke.

MASTERLIST

Percy and Annabeth were standing at the edge of the amphitheatre, talking about something mindless when they spotted you and Luke walking towards the entrance, seeming deeping engaged in conversation.

Annabeth watched as you laughed at something Luke said and a light blush tinged his cheeks, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Could he get any more obvious?

“Oi, Perce,” She whispered, “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” She asked, nudging him to look in the direction of the pair of you.

“Yeah, I see my sister with Luke, what about it-” It appeared the realisation finally struck him, “Oh my god, are they-?”

“I don’t know. He’s definitely into her, I know that.” Annabeth mused, inspecting the pair as they grabbed two wooden swords and began sparring together, laughing as they repeatedly dodged and side-stepped the other.

“He told you that?” Percy asked, his eyes practically bulging out of his head.

“Well, no. But it’s pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

Annabeth then gasped in realisation, startling Percy slightly before he realised it was just another one of her epiphanies.

“We should get them together!”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Isn’t that something you leave up to Aphrodite kids?” Percy asked hesitantly.

“Battle strategy and romantic strategy aren’t all that different.” She shrugged, before dragging him off to draw up new ‘romantic’ battle plans with her.

STAGE 1: CONFRONT LUKE

Annabeth’s strategy wasn’t all that complicated, and she was pretty certain the most difficult part would be getting Luke to admit his feelings. But, as it turns out, he cracked pretty quickly.

“Alright, you got me.” He sighed, holding his hands up in surrender, “I do like her, but can you blame me? I mean, she’s so smart, and beautiful, and kind, and-”

“That’s enough lover boy. Cool it.” Percy said, cutting him off with a groan. As much as he had given Annabeth his blessing to go along with this crazy plan, he still didn’t want to hear Luke gushing about how hot his sister is.

“Sorry man.” Luke chuckled awkwardly, before the pair of boys turned back to Annabeth to lead the conversation.

“So, now that you’ve admitted it, we need to start brainstorming how we’re gonna get you guys together.” She said, clapping her hands together and producing a roll of paper, with a long list of ideas that she promptly began to read out.

The list ranged from pretty normal things like ‘take her out on a picnic’ to insane stuff like ‘bring her a monster's head as a gift’. Luke wasn’t so sure you would be a fan of that one, but he had to admit all the other items were pretty good ideas.

“So what do you suggest, Annie? Work our way down the list?” Luke asked, and his little sister nodded, before outlining which ones she thought would be best.

“We should start small, you don’t wanna freak her out,” She consulted the list again, thinking to herself, “Ah, here we go, ‘Give her a compliment’.”

“Ok, I think I can do that.” Luke grinned, his head immediately flooded with things that he loved about you.

“Just don’t make it weird, or I’ll revoke my blessing.” Percy grumbled, his arms crossed as Luke laughed sheepishly again.

“Will do.”

STAGE 2: START SMALL

The next week mostly consisted of Annabeth and Percy spying on you and Luke at any possible moment.

The first of his tasks, to give you a compliment seemed to go well. The pair of preteens watched on from their spot behind a tree as the pair of you separated to go to dinner, and Luke complimented your hair. You blushed slightly, and smiled widely, before rushing off to your own table in the dining pavilion.

Luke quickly whipped around to look at Percy and Annabeth who gave him enthusiastic thumbs ups.

His next task was to give you a small gift, and he decided that it should take the form of the matching charm bracelets he made with the younger kids. Annabeth and Percy sat with him as he deliberated over specific colours and shapes of bead, until they were nearly sick of his equivocation.

But, as much as watching him make it was downright annoying, Percy had to admit the way you both wore your charm bracelets everyday afterwards was pretty cute.

The final task of the week was to bring you flowers, and that whole day Luke could be seen wading through fields of wildflowers looking for the perfect ones to add to his bouquet. This was then snuck onto your nightstand later that night by Percy, who over the course of the week had become very invested in your blossoming relationship, a fact he would deny to the ends of the earth.

STAGE 3: ESCALATE

“Alright Luke, time to bring out the big guns.” Annabeth announced, before clearing her throat and reading the list of tasks for the week.

‘Sit at her table during dinner’

‘At least one compliment a day’

‘One instance of arm-around-the-waist contact’

This was the point at which the Hermes boy began to get slightly nervous. The other stuff before could be pretty easily written off as friendly, but sitting at someone's table at dinner? Only couples did that.

“Are you sure that’s not moving too fast, I mean-”

“Luke Castellan, don’t be so damn pathetic! Grow some balls, before someone else steals your girl!” Annabeth exclaimed, whacking him over the head with the list.

He nodded, “Yes Ma’am.”

From then on, he was pretty much unwavering in his determination. He sat at your table every mealtime, slinging an arm around your shoulder, or your waist. Anytime you came up with a capture the flag strategy, he’d praise you intelligence, anytime he saw you, he greeted you with a ‘Morning beautiful’ or a ‘Hey sweetheart’.

Annabeth and Percy were shocked with his sudden progress, but pretty impressed with the way it was going. At this point, the pair of you were practically dating.

The only minor setback came in the form of your complete and utter cluelessness.

Percy had decided to test the waters with you, and gently float the idea of you getting together with Luke.

“You’ve been spending loads of time with Luke at the moment.” He remarked casually as you both walked back to cabin 3.

“You’ve just noticed I spend time with my best friend? Well done kid.” You laughed, ruffling his curly blonde hair.

“That’s not what I meant.” He rolled his eyes, ducking out of your grasp.

“Then what did you mean?” You asked, hands on your hips, a confused expression on your face.

“I meant like, you guys being ‘involved’.” He shrugged, trying to make it sound as nonchalant as possible while looking out for your every reaction. He was unreasonably invested at this point, but oh well.

“What?!” You exclaimed, your voice suddenly going higher pitched, “Nah, no chance! Luke would never.”

Percy had to stop his jaw from dropping to the floor. It would’ve made sense if you denied having feelings for him, but to be so oblivious of how whipped that boy was for you? He thought you were smart.

“Yeah, sure. I guess so.” He shrugged once again, before swiftly changing the subject.

STAGE 4: KISS THE GIRL!!

“Guys, we have a problem.” Percy said, bursting in on Luke and Annabeth’s conversation the next morning.

“What?” The pair asked in sync, concerned expressions on their faces.

“Y/N is an idiot.”

“Woah, don’t say that about her-” Luke began, desperate to defend your honour, but was cut off by Annabeth’s harsh glare.

“What do you mean, Perce?” She asked, her tone level.

“Luke, man, she has no clue you like her. Like she is convinced it’s impossible.” Percy explained, and Annabeth’s expression also grew confused.

“Gods, she really is dumb.” She sighed, ignoring Luke’s chiding at insulting you, “We’re gonna have to really turn it up a notch. Luke, it’s time to really bring out the big guns.”

For the next few days, Luke, Annabeth and Percy spent most of their time rushing around preparing for Annabeth’s so-called ‘masterstroke’.

And then, after much hard work from the trio, it was ready, and Luke was whisking you away from the campfire to the surprise he had prepared for you.

“Luke, where are we going?!” You laughed as he dragged you along by the wrist, a piece of cloth tied around your head to block your vision.

“You’ll see.” He chuckled, gently directing you around a tree root as he led you deeper into the forest.

“I swear, if you’re kidnapping me I am not going to be happy.” You teased that infectious smile he loved so much covering your face.

“No, no kidnapping tonight.”

You continued to joke around together as he led you towards his destination, until eventually you came to a halt, and he was untying the cloth around your face.

You gasped in delight as you saw you were by the pier, and in front of you was a picnic blanket set up with all of your favourite food and drink.

Immediately you grabbed him by the arm and led him to the blanket, thanking him all the way and gushing about how sweet and amazing he was. Meanwhile, Luke was trying not to pass out from the barrage of affection you were giving him.

The pair of you quickly tucked into the meal, laughing and joking. But all the while, Luke was preparing his confession, and trying not to let his palms get too sweaty.

Eventually, he decided it was time, and he made his move.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You looked up at him with shining eyes, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

“I’m in-” His love confession was cut off by the sudden boom of fireworks above you both, and he silently cursed himself for forgetting to organise a signal with Annabeth to start them. She really did have bad timing sometimes.

“Oh my gods! Fireworks!” You exclaimed, nudging Luke to take a closer look, pointing out which ones were your favourites, and clearly any speculation about what Luke was going to say had escaped your mind.

Eventually the display was over, and you turned to him yet again, gushing about how lucky they were that fireworks were out tonight. He couldn’t help but wonder how someone usually so smart could be so clueless?

“I organised the fireworks, Y/N.” He said, softly, placing his calloused hand over yours.

“What, really?!” You blinked owlishly at him for a moment before furrowing your brows and asking, “Wait, how come?”

Luke couldn’t contain his chuckle.

“Isn’t it obvious by now? I’m in love with you. I’ve been trying to hint at it for weeks, but clearly I wasn’t being obvious enough.”

“What? Why?” You stammered, shock coating your face entirely.

“Why am I in love with you?” He asked as if it was a stupid question, which to him it was, because he could list a million things that he loved about you.

“Because you’re beautiful, and smart, and kind, and generous, and every time I see you I can’t help but smile because you're my best friend and I love you more than anything.” He rambled, wiping his slightly clammy palms on his cargos.

“Now I’d really appreciate it if you’d put me out of my misery and reject me.” He said sheepishly, itching the back of his neck.

But, of course, the rejection never came. Instead you were rushing forwards to hold his face in your hands and kiss him, slowly and deeply.

And, about ten metres away, Annabeth and Percy could be seen high-fiving behind a tree, before skipping back to the campfire in glee.

#luke castellan x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan #fluff #x reader #pjo #writing #fanfic #ask #clueless #reader is so silly #trace amounts of percabeth #percabeth crumbs

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i-love-oldermen · 5 months ago

Text

|Now you know my name| pt.1

A/n: I know it’s been a while but Ive recently started watching the boys and fell on my knees for this man. Literally on my knees for him, I love him so much.

Summary: After having a long mission all you wanted was a shower along with a sneaky link but What happens when you take a steamy shower pic and send it to the wrong person?

Warnings: Language, homel@nder (such a cunt)

Smut will happen in pt.2 I promise

Word count: 1.5k

Some of the basics you just joined the boys and have became close with Frenchie, Kimiko, M.M, Hughie, and even Annie. For some strange odd reason Butcher never seemed to be interested in you or even care to remember your name. You’ve tried being nice and understanding towards him but he either ignored you or walked off. That’s when you decided you weren’t going to pay attention to him anymore and for 3 whole weeks you haven’t.

You couldn’t think of Butcher at this exact moment though, the only thing you thought about was finishing a stupid mission to get some intel and get out quick. You sat with Frenchie and Kimiko in the van right behind Butcher who was driving. Everyone was busy talking who was doing what, when Hughie turned to you.

“You remember what your job is right y/n” he seemed nervous but serious.

To be totally honest today wasn’t the best day for you and you weren’t having it he told you your job over and over today least to say you were tired of it. Sure you were the youngest but you weren’t dumb.

Sarcastically you say “ You know what Hughie after the million times you told me, I don’t fucking remember”

The van got silent for a moment. Hughie was in shock along with M.M and Frenchie.

“Oí whats the matter with you” Butcher roughly says while looking in the mirror to look at you.

“Can you just drive” Rolling your eyes you avoid the gazes from everyone else by looking out the window. You see as Butcher he goes to say something but you just put on headphones and ignore him.

————————————————————————

After an agonizing car ride, the van comes to a full stop. You took off your headphones and climbed out of the van, Frenchie holding the door gave you an apologetic look. You pull down your pencil skirt fixing your blazer as well.

“You okay, mon amour” he put a hand on your face.

“Yeah Frenchie don’t worry about it” you gave him a comforting smile and turned to close the door.

The job today was to get into vought and plant a bug in Stan Edgar’s office. The seven haven’t seen your face around enough to remember it so you were the one going to sneak in.

Frenchie was hooking you up to a mic and camera so if you were to need back up you could get it within minutes. “Okay you should be able to get in and out with little obstacles” Hughie reassured you. M.M handed you the bug which you put in your phone case as Hughie did.

“Okay I think I’m ready to go” you were confident you were going to be able to do this.

“Aye don’t screw it up”

You turn to Butcher. He has a dumb smirk on his face that you want to punch off his face but you keep your composure while you put in your ear piece before walking away.

You pulled out your phone while walking in the building typing a message.

‘You’re such a cunt William , fuck you’

While walking through security and getting a pat down, you see Annie walk by she gives you a smile and a head tilt on which way to go. You are escorted by security up to the elevator. You had a cover as being an important investor to vought but you wanted to meet the man himself. Stan Edgar. Feeling your phone vibrate in your hand you look at it to see a message from Butcher. Without unlocking your phone to see the message you show it to the tiny camera connected to your shirt.

You hear through your earpiece, it’s Frenchie telling you to ignore the English man so you do putting your phone down to your side.

When you hear the elevator ding you are met with none other then Homelander. He has a disgusted look on his face as he looks at you. You start walking out of the elevator when he speaks.

“Have we met before”

You don’t know what to say almost to stun to speak so you just smile “No I don’t think so, maybe at a charity event”

You give a smile to reassure him. He looks you up and down seeing his expression change you change the topic. “Hey would you happen to know where Mr.Edgars office is?”

“Oh sweetheart you’re on the wrong floor” you cringe at the ‘sweetheart’ part feeling your skin crawl.

“Here I’ll take you” he states not making it seem like a question at all.

In your earpiece you hear Butcher -don’t fucking get in the elevator- he sounds furious so you take out your earpiece and take out earrings to cover it up and shoving it into your purse. Now your team can only see and hear you.

Homelander steps into the elevator holding the door for you, giving you an overwhelming smile “so are you coming or not”

You smile back to him before stepping inside the elevator. “Thank you so much for showing me”

He holds the smug smile on his face “No problem sweetheart” you cringe at the name again as your smile dies down. It becomes awkwardly silent as the building floors ding, you hear your phone starting to blow up. Homelander turns to you “You can answer that if you need to” you give him a head nod “oh it’s nothing important” he starts to speak as the doors open.

You take a step out quick not wanting to be with him a minute longer, leaving homelander in the elevator by himself. Thanking him you hurry to Stan Edgar’s office, he’s not in his office according to starlight. Quickly you pop in putting the bug under his office desk. You rush out of the office to be greeted yet again by the bitch in red white and blue.

“He wasn’t in there was he” he’s staring into your soul, taking a step closer to you.

“Oh no he’s not, my assistant was texting me that he rescheduled last minute” you smile to him hoping it would make your lie seem more believable.

“You’re a lying bitch” the supe threatens backing you into a corner with a freighting grin on his face.

“Excuse me”

“I do know you, you’re one of Huggies little friends aren’t you”

You try to shove him but he doesn’t move “I don’t know what you’re talking about” He pins your arms down.

“You’re lying, I can tell” His eyes start to glow red, when starlight comes into view.

She rushes to your side as she yells for him to let you go. He lets go “Oh hey starlight” he tries to play it off.

“Miss why don’t you come with me” She puts an arm around your shoulder, leading you back to the elevator. When inside the elevator and the doors close she turns to you with a worried look on her face.

“Did you really take out your earpiece”

“Yeah but Annie-“ you try to justify for yourself but she cuts you off.

“Y/n that was really risky, if it weren’t for Hughie who knows that homelander would have done”

“Okay im sorry” you didn’t mean it you still finished what you were suppose to and nothing that bad happened. You open your phone to see you have 10 messages all from Butcher.

Ignore the dumb cunt.

Don’t get in that fucking elevator.

You’re stuck with homelander how is that not in your fucking brain.

Y/n get out.

NOW.

Bloody hell stop being a cunt.

You’re going to get killed.

GET OUT!

He’ll KILL YOU!

Get the bloody hell away from him.

You have a shocked look on your face turning your phone to Annie. She has a puzzled look before grabbing your phone and looking at the messages. She’s shocked too. She covered your camera mouthing how she’s so shocked and didn’t know Butcher was this upset, totally agreeing with her as you are still in shock.

As the elevator doors open you separate now at the main floor, you step out of the elevator giving her a small wave. Walking towards the front door, you see a person you recognize pretending to read a newspaper. As you meet his eyes Butcher drops the paper and starts walking over to you. You stop walking standing in place in shock. He grabs you by your wrist before practically dragging you outside the building. M.m pulls up with the van before Butcher shoves you inside following you in climbing in the backseat. M.m drives away and that’s when Billy starts yelling.

“What the bloody hell were you thinking” he yelled.

“I think I planted the fucking bug” you yelled back at him getting into his face.

“You almost died y/n”

The van got quiet. Butcher had never said your name ever. To stunned to speak but still boiling with anger. You try to turn away putting on your headphones.

He pulls them off “I think the fuck not”

“Oh so now you want to act like you care like you’re my daddy”

You continued on “You treat me like shit just to care now, fuck you butcher”

Hughie tries to intervene “Guys come on-“

You turn to him “Hughie thanks for the back up but I swear to fucking god-“ you feel a hand go across your face. You hold your face.

You hear Frenchie in the back of the van “oh shit”

You turn to Butcher “Did you just fucking slap me”

#the boys #kimiko the boys #frenchie #hughie campbell #mothers milk #m.m.#william butcher #billy butcher #y/n #starlight the boys #the boys imagine #butcher the boys #billy butcher x reader #homelander #billy butcher imagine

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luvacookie · 9 months ago

Text

ur such a smart girl.

armin helps one of his best friends with her physics lectures.

❥ warnings : mildly nerdy ! armin, shitty physics terminology, not proof read, oral (f & m receiving), face fucking, slight degrading, praise, softdom ! armin, sub ! reader, blk fem coded.

❥ cookie for ur thoughts ? : i needed to write smthing for minnie, it woulda been so criminal if i didn't omg

“armin, are you coming?”

he shook his head, eyes not leaving his computer screen. “can’t. promised y/n i’d help her with her studying.”

eren groaned, staring at his bestfriend. “arminnn. can’t you cancel? you’re always with that sophomore.”

“dude, i promised. i’m not going.”

eren sighed. he left his room, closing the door behind him. armin closed his computer screen, rubbing his tired eyes.

his phone began buzzing beside him and he picked it up, smiling at the contact photo of you and him.

“arminnnn! are you still coming over?”

“of course i am princess, in about fifteen minutes. why? are you okay?” he responded, his eyes still closed.

“yes yes, i just wanted to know if you would be down for pizza after? my treat.”

he smiled. “sure, anything you want.”

you grinned, kicking your feet on your bed. “mkayyy, see you soon.”

you hung up, dropping your phone besides you.

“you’re so in love it’s sickening,” annie commented from her desk, picking at her chipped nail polish.

you scoffed. “i am not in love. armin is my best friend is all.”

she rolled her eyes, picking up her bag. “whatever you say. i’m going to reiner’s now, don’t fuck on my bed.”

you ignored her, scrolling through your phone. once you heard the door click shut you jumped out of bed, picking out an outfit.

you settled on some checkered pyjama bottoms and a pink lacy crop top, just in time for armin to knock on your front door.

“hiii,” you greeted him, pulling him in for a hug.

he hugged you back tightly, his arms wrapping around your waist. “you okay?”

you nodded enthusiastically, letting him go and dragging him into your dorm.

“make yourself comfy, i’m gonna go grab my stuff,” you told him, leaving him to re-familiarise himself with your accommodation.

he wandered aimlessly, picking up little trinkets he hadn't noticed before that you and annie had placed around the living room. he had been taking a photo of baby you and your family when you walked back in the room, books in arm.

"mkay, i'm ready, where do you wanna start?" you asked, making yourself comfy at your small dining room table.

he sat beside you, flipping through your pretty physics notes. "how about here?" he pointed to the notes you made last lecture.

you nodded enthusiastically, pulling out your laptop. you typed in your password and armin's heart could have burst at seeing you and him on your home screen.

"i remember this day," he said, smiling at the photo of the two of you.

you pulled your screen towards you, hiding it from him. “aha, yeah…”

armin watched you shuffle in your seat, typing in your needed web page before turning the screen the right way.

you settled, flipping to a clean page in your notebook. “mkay, so i don’t get these points…”

hours passed as you tried to force physics into your head, desperate to drag your average up.

armin watched as you became became frustrated, sighing and pouting how you do when your annoyed.

“ ‘min i just can’t remember, i don’t wanna waste your time. accept that i’m just bad,” you sighed, burying your head on the countless flash cards on your desk.

“i don’t think your bad, in fact i think you’re quite smart, just distracted,” he hummed, tapping his fingers on the desk.

“no. i’m just bad,” you giggled sadly, rubbing your eyes.

“do you trust me?” he asked, disregarding your statement.

“yeah, of course,” you responded instantly. you did trust him, with your life practically.

he stood up from the table, grabbing you by the hand.

“where are we going?” you asked, letting him lead you to wherever.

he pushed your bedroom door open, locking it behind you. your heart jumped slightly in your throat, wondering what it was that armin had in mind.

"still trust me?" he asked, his eyes trailing over your body.

you nodded meekly, moving back to sit on your soft bed covers.

"i'm gonna help you focus, my way," he mumbled, stalking towards you.

a slight shiver erupted over your body, the way his blue eyes stared at you did criminal things to your state of mind.

"what is your way?"

he sank down in front of you, settling on his knees. your heart was seriously on the verge of spitting itself up, the view of armin on his knees in front of you felt religious.

his hands played with the waist band of your pyjamas, tugging them down agonizingly slow, leaving you in your plain white thong.

his hands rested on your knees gently, slowly prying them apart, which you let happen with no resistance, something that pleased him.

he slowly kissed his way up your plush thighs, nipping every so often, making you release little whimpers. music to his ears.

just as he reached the damp spot on your panties he looked up at you, his eyes inspecting your face. you whined, squeezing your thighs together lightly to get him to keep going.

"what's the equation to hooke's law?" he asked innocently, scraping his blunt nails up and down your inner thigh.

you blinked, confused. he hummed and placed a light kiss to your clit through your panties, making you whine out for him.

"tell me then."

you fumbled over your words, you knew the answer to this but it was hard to think of much when a god-sent angel was on the verge of making you cum.

"s-spring constant times the stretch," you whined, reaching your hand out to comb through his hair.

he placed a kiss on your thigh and then your clit, moving his hands to your ass to pull you in closer. he moved his hands to your panties, pulling them down to leave your pussy bare for him.

you whined at the feeling of his breath tickling you, a contrast to your normally cold room. he rubbed slow circles on your clit, making you moan lowly.

"equation for resistance," he mumbled, looking at your face.

"f-fuck armin i-" you whined out.

he pulled away from you, making you pout and breathe heavily.

"don't give me that face princess. the more you get right the quicker you get to cum," he mocks, tracing light shapes on your inner thigh.

you sighed, annoyed. "i don't know armin! please! i promise i'll be a good girl for you—"

he shook his head, giving you a small smirk. "goddamn it. i can't say no to you when you beg like that."

he doesn't give you a chance to respond as he continues his assault on your clit, switching between sucking and licking. he enters his middle finger gently, fucking you with it softly, the contradiction making your brain hurt.

you lie down on the bed, the stimulation throwing you off guard. "fuck min- i'm gonna-"

he shushes you, his mouth unwavering, the vibrations making the coil in your belly unwind faster. he moves his finger inside you quicker, feeling you squeeze him tighter.

"mm- shit- cumming-!" you moan, the pleasure washing over you.

that didn't stop armin from devouring you, he wasn't done with you just yet.

he only began to let up when your thighs threatened to crush his head, not that he would have complained if they did. he left small, wet kisses as he trailed along back to your mouth, kissing you feverishly.

you could taste yourself on his tongue, enjoying the freak nature that armin was displaying with you. he pulled away from you slowly, a clear string of spit following him as he studied you with low eyes.

“gonna be a good girl f’me ? like you promised baby ?” he asked, reaching for your hand. he carefully moved you to the floor, placing you on your knees in front of him.

you nodded eagerly, willing to go to the edge of the earth for this man to give you another orgasm. “i will, min.”

he smirked at you, moving your hand towards the tent that had grown in his sweats. you started working as if you were on autopilot, palming him roughly and drawing out low groans from the back of his throat.

“can i pull these down please ?” you said, breaking armin’s momentary bliss.

“of course you can baby,” he responded, watching your perfectly polished acrylic nails break past the waist band of his sweats and boxers in one go.

you pulled them down slowly, letting his dick snap up and slap against the lower part of his stomach. you had been staring for too long as armin tapped your pink lips with his tip.

“open up baby,” he mumbled, watching your jaw widen to fit him in comfortably.

you let the saliva build in your mouth before you started bobbing up and down slowly, swirling your tongue over the tip. armin let out low whimpers, grabbing your hair and turning it into a makeshift ponytail.

you began to pick up the pace, balancing by placing one of your hands his thighs and using the other to rub the length that couldn’t fit inside your mouth.

“fuuuuck baby girl… just like that, use that tongue of yours hm,” he encouraged, lightly pushing your head further down his length.

the intrusion of his dick grazed the back of your throat, making it constrict and you gag and causing him to let out a particularly loud moan. spit began pooling out of your mouth and travelling down him and your face. you eventually tapped out, coming up for the air your lungs were lacking.

you inhaled deeply, your head resting on his thigh. “couldn’t breathe—”

armin pet your head softly, “did such a good job baby girl. can you finish it for me ?”

your breathing became less erratic so you nodded, desperate to do well for him. you took his length in your hand and moved up and down, squeezing as you reached the tip.

more strings of whimpers and moans escaped armin’s lips, his hand having a strong grip on the side of your hair as a way to relieve the pressure building up inside of him.

you kitten licked the tip and placed light kisses on it, causing his dick to twitch. when your breathing finally relaxed, you allowed his length to hit the back of your throat, causing armin to loose his mind.

he grabbed the back of your head and began abusing your mouth, using you however he liked.

“such a pretty fucking mouth huh? shame it belongs to such a slut, letting me fuck your face like this?” his voice came out hoarse, his hips beginning to stutter and slow.

you moaned at the roughness of his movements, the vibration and constriction being his final straw. without warning, his cum shot down your throat, forcing you to swallow it all.

“s-shit— are you okay baby ?” his normally soft demeanour returned, pulling his cock out your mouth and pulling you off the floor.

you nodded and opened your mouth to show armin that is cum was gone.

“swallowed all of it!” your voice came out rougher than usual.

he kissed your mouth gently, stroking the back of your head as he did.

“well done baby, i’m so proud of you,” he mumbled, pulling you in for a hug.

you welcomed his embrace, sinking into his body.

“get you all cleaned up then order that pizza ? we can be done with physics for today,” he said into the top of your head, the sound reverberating through your body.

“yes please,” you responded softly.

armin chuckled at you in a teasing manner. he was stuck with you for a very long time.

#💌: alexies letters.#aot #aot x reader #aot smut #black y/n #x reader #armin aot #armin x reader #smut #connie x reader #black y/n x reader

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