Oct 23, 2025
I’m sorry he was so funny in this movie, he was here in his fifteen minute screen time to protect his sister, cry, and serve cunt.
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I’m sorry he was so funny in this movie, he was here in his fifteen minute screen time to protect his sister, cry, and serve cunt.
if robin had survived they would have fought tooth and nail for that white boy never underestimate the instinct for rivalry between brothers
₊˚ ☎︎ :: WEED AND WINTER.
finney blake x fem!reader
... IN WHICH finney gets high and sneaks into the girls' dormitories after ernesto starts flirting with gwen.
[ !! ] content contains: smut. explicit language. sex without protection. oral sex. making out. vaginal fingering. use of marijuana.
wc: 1860
request: 🚫
not proofread
When Finney arrived at Camp Alpine Lake, he didn't expect much. He thought they'd stay for the storm, give Dad a phone call, and get the hell home as quick as possible.
He couldn't have been more wrong.
Instead of returning to his comfy bed at home, or listening to 70s rock in the car ride back to Denver, he had to swallow down nausea as Ernesto Arellano made a shitty attempt to fuck his little sister.
"I think..." Finn's stomach sank. "You're beautiful." He heard Gwen's sheets rustle as the pair moved closer to one another before the quiet smacking of lips filled the room.
"Jesus Christ," Finn murmured, standing, snagging his bag of bud on the way out.
The nip of the cold was way kinder than Ernesto's husky tone. The snow beneath his feet would provide a cradle much warmer than the mere thought of his little sister moaning, writhing beneath-
God. Fucking ew.
-
Finn stood outside, completely stagnant other than the movement of his hand to his mouth as he puffed on his joint, for around fifteen minutes. He felt a decent high settle in and sighed, dropping the weed into the snow. He didn't bother to stomp it out.
His hands shoved deep into his pockets, the tips of his fingers pinking in the cold. Snow crunched under his boot as he walked, clear prints being left in their wake. His breath was visible, only slightly less opaque than the marijuana he was exhaling earlier.
He pushed into the dorms, not caring to check the sign on the front.
To his surprise, (Y/N) was awake.
(Y/N). His best friend. She had only volunteered to come on this trip to save him from third-wheeling. Or, at least, that's what she claimed. He knew it was a bluff.
She came because she didn't want him to be alone. Because she's the only constant in his life, and she knows it.
Part of him loathes her for caring so much. The other part wants to pull her into a tight embrace and squeeze so hard she melts into his flesh.
"This is the girls' dorms," She says, her tone teasing, a reflection of the faux "know-it-all" front she puts on to piss him off.
"I know," Finney says. Then, returning her attitude, "I didn't even check the sign and I still know."
"How?"
"Because I didn't lock eyes with Ernesto having relations with my baby sister." You could practically hear the eye roll in Finn's voice. His out of pocketness elicited a gasp, which turned into a laugh, from (Y/N).
"Wait, what? They're fucking?" She inquired through giggles.
"Better not be." Finn replied. "But yeah, probably."
She barks out a laugh again before flopping down onto her bed. "Fuck.. how much were you in there for?"
"Shitty flirting. They started kissing and I left." Finney took the bottom bunk beside hers, undressing as he went. He laid on his side, letting his coat start a pile beside the bed, along with his jeans, leaving him in a The Clash hoodie and boxers.
"Ew," (Y/N) mused. "Cover up, whore."
Finney chuckled, turning to lay on his back. "Says you."
She gasped, feigning hurt. "I'll have you know, I'm a virgin."
Finney couldn't stop the laughter that came bellowing out of his chest. "Fuckin' virgin. You're so lame."
Despite the mock-offense she tried to play off, she laughed with him. She always does.
"So I can't be a slut, and I can't be a virgin. I think you just hate me." She declares.
Finn's laughter dies out, and the two are left in a somber silence. Even in their laugh-attack, in their lightest of moments, there are some things Finney can't bring himself to joke about.
"I don't hate you." He sounded tender, gentle. A tone (Y/N) doesn't hear often, especially not from Finney Blake.
"I know."
"Good."
A pregnant pause. Silence filled the room, the kind of comfortable lack of noise that allowed the A.C. to sing praises while the two got lost in their own thoughts, basking in the presence of the other in a sort of perfect synchrony.
"I'm cold." (Y/N) announced. She tugged her blankets firmly over her goosebump-riddled body.
"Okay?" Finney said indifferently. As she began to pout, "I'm fucking with you. Scoot over." And she did.
Finney's body curled around hers as she offered him her blanket, sharing his warmth with hers in a way they'd done many times before. The soft, steady beat of his heartbeat lulled her into a state of comfortability. She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, and he grinned.
Finney's right hand found home on her hip, just below the cusp of her waist. His fingers sprawled, his ring and pinky reaching underneath her shirt to caress her bare flesh. His left tangled into her hair, his thumb rocking back and forth to caress her scalp. She hummed at the action. As if through muscle memory, Finn planted a firm, sweet kiss to the crown of her head, and she giggled lazily.
"You're sweet tonight." She whispered, voice thick with sleep yet lively with affection. Finney's heart swelled.
"Anything for you, baby." The words slid from his lips as if they were destined to, as if the way he spoke to her was appropriate to maintain a mere friendship. Despite the inconvenient whirring of his heart, and hers, she melted further into him. Finney's smile widened.
It dropped as soon as she hooked her leg over his hip, tugging his crotch into hers with a surprising intensity.
"(Y/N)?" He whispered, seemingly in protest. Though his body made no attempt to back off.
"Jus' wanna be close."
"Well, you're.. you're close. Really close."
"Too close?"
No answer.
So, she tugged him closer.
Finney couldn't hold back the breathy groan that left his throat. He almost let out another as (Y/N) giggled into his neck. "You're hard."
"Yeah, and whose fault is that?" Finney grumbled. She rocked her heat against his tent, and he sighed. "Fuck..."
He met her rhythm, the sound of a muffled whine reaching his ear from his collarbone. He took a fistful of her hair and turned her face to look at his, humping his needy hard-on against her mound. It was only now that he became painfully aware of the clothes she had on.
His lips found hers as his hands sank to her rear, giving both cheeks a firm squeeze. She squealed quietly into his mouth, causing the corners of his lips to quirk upwards. She slid her tongue across his mouth and he caught it with his bottom lip.
He kneaded her ass, sliding his hands into her pants and groaning as he grabbed a handful of bare flesh. She was in a thong, and he had never felt so turned on in his life.
"Jesus, baby.." He huffed against her mouth, rolling atop of her as she was pushed onto her back.
His hands tugged at the waistband of her sweats. "Need these off..." He mumbled, more to himself than to her. She bit her lip and tried to ignore the tingling of her clit as he tossed the fabric of her pants aside. Finn was quick to press a hot, slobbery kiss to her tummy, then lower, leaving a fat purple hickey on her abdomen before peeling back her thong. She sucked in a harsh breath as he kissed her, licking her moisture off of his lips with a gruff moan.
He looked up at her with soft, lustful eyes. "Can I?" Finney didn't even get to finish his sentence before she nodded frivolously, opening her legs further to him.
He practically lunged into her, fingertips digging into her thighs as he licked a long, savory stripe between her folds. A sweet moan from her pierced the air, and Finn thrust his cock into the mattress, groaning into her clit. He swirled his tongue around it, screwing his eyes shut. One of his arms unraveled itself from her lap, instead curling under his chest as two fingers aligned themselves at her leaking entrance. She mewled as they pushed into her hole, his tongue still insistent on her clit. He suckled on it, his fingers curling deliciously, hitting a spongey sweet spot within her. She arched into his touch, and he thrust into the mattress once more.
"I-I'm gonna... fuck, Finn!" Tears beaded in the corners of her eyes, and Finney felt pride swell within him. He pulled his mouth away from her, "Cum." A simple demand, sounding more like reassurance with the way he spoke it to her. She nodded, and he pulled his fingers out of her, moving them to please her nub. He plunged his tongue as deep inside of her as it could go as she flew over the edge.
She gushed into his mouth, and his eyes rolled into the back of his skull. He worked her through her first orgasm, using her slick as a means of lubricant as he devoured the last of her cum.
She panted as he positioned himself, tugging down his boxers and tossing them over his shoulder. He leaned over her and kissed her deeply. Her arms flew around his shoulders, and he wasted no time in lining his leaking tip with her entrance. She whimpered.
"Ready?" He asked gently, cradling her face in his hands. She nodded.
He worked his hands down her supple flesh, finally meeting her hips. He held her steady before thrusting in, the groan from his lips harmonizing with the gasp that left hers. He kissed her again, sloppy and desperate, halting his movements as he slid all the way inside of her.
Finney and (Y/N) paused their coupling to hold one another. Her arms curled around his neck, and his around her waist. He pressed hot kisses to her neck, and felt her walls clench every once and a while.
When her grip loosened, he took initiative to move.
His first few thrusts were deep, fully pulling his cock out before pushing all the way back in. She winced with every one.
But as he got quicker, and as she adjusted, her face contorted into one of bliss.
Finney was rough, fucking her intensely, the sound of skin slapping echoing throughout the small dormitory. Her moans accompanied it, creating a symphony of eroticism: music to Finn's ears.
His thrusts got quicker, harder, as he neared his orgasm. He began to moan, head tilted back, small whimpers leaving his lips as he sat up. He held onto her hips tightly.
As (Y/N) came again, a sweet cry of Finney's name came with it.
Her finish sent Finney's over the edge. As he pulled out to spill on her stomach, he gazed upon her.
Instead of his best friend, he saw someone completely different. Someone tender, loving; someone beautiful, unlike anything he'd ever seen before.
Her tired eyes met his, and he bent down to give her a kiss.
₊˚ ☎︎
omg i love your writing! im obsessed, would u write some enemies to lovers for finney blake? also if your comfortable with some smut <3
Congratulations, You’re a Cautionary Tale
a/n: sorry I vanished for a week, I haven't been doing the best lately but I am starting to do better so more work will be out soon. As always thank you and enjoy reading!
warnings: p in v sex (wrap before you tap), use of female anatomy
words: 5951
The whole mess had started with a stop sign.
A stupid, old, sun bleached stop sign close to the edge of town.
You had the right of way, or at least you thought you did.
Finney Blake felt otherwise.
Picking himself off the cracked road, he approached your car window, eyes blazing, dust sticking to his palms, backpack hanging off one shoulder like it had barely survived the impact.
You rolled the window down halfway, heart pounding.
Finney planted his hands on the edge of your window, leaning down like he was trying to stare straight through you.
“You didn’t see the stop sign?” he snapped, breathless, cheeks flushed from more than just the fall.
You swallowed hard. “It’s barely a sign anymore. And you walked out like you had a death wish.”
A small cut on his cheek was starting to bead with blood, catching on the dust. He looked maddeningly alive, annoyed, even embarrassed, stubborn as hell either way.
“This road isn’t a racetrack,” he muttered, wiping his palms on his jeans. “You could’ve actually hit me.” Then, quieter, “Harder.”
You crossed your arms over the steering wheel, trying to appear unfazed even though adrenaline still blurred your thoughts. “You’re the one who darted out like a stray cat. Next time look both ways before you—”
“Before I what?” he challenged, leaning in closer. The window was only halfway down but it suddenly felt like he was in your space, stealing the air.
Your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't from nerves, or any form of soft feeling, it was from pure, simmering anger. You hated the way you could hear the music blaring from his headphones, hated how close he leaned like he had any right to crowd you. Most of all you hated how you could feel the heat of his breath on your cheek, clinging to your skin like something you wanted to wipe off immediately.
His backpack finally slid off his shoulder, hitting the road with a soft thud. He didn’t even look back at it.
“You drive like you own the place,” he said.
“And you freeze like a deer in headlights.”
His mouth twitched. Not a smile but the ghost of one, the shadow of something he was trying very hard to smother. The thin line between anger and fascination shrinking by the second.
He straightened, finally peeling himself away from your window like he had to force the distance. You didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered a second too long, like he wasn’t done being pissed at you, or maybe like he wanted you to say something else he could bite back at.
“You should watch where you’re going,” he said, brushing dust off his jeans. “Next time you might not get so lucky.”
You let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’m lucky? You’re the one who walked into a moving car. Congratulations, you’re a cautionary tale in the making.”
He blinked, jaw tightening, and for a moment he looked like he might actually argue, really argue with his hands moving, voice raised, the whole thing. But then something flickered behind his eyes. Restraint? Annoyance? Recognition that you weren’t going to roll over and apologize?
He bent down to grab his backpack again, but the strap snagged on a piece of gravel, forcing him to tug it free. It was petty, but the sight made your irritation twist into something hotter, sharper.
“Just—” he started, exhaling hard through his nose. “Look, I don’t need you ruining my morning more than you already have.”
“Trust me,” you said, “if I wanted to ruin your morning, you’d know.”
His eyes snapped to yours again, fast and irritated, and maybe a little impressed. You refused to flinch.
A car passed behind you, its wind sweeping dust between you both. He took a half-step back, giving you space at last, though the air between you still crackled like you were mid-argument.
“I’m gonna be late,” he muttered. “Which is great. Fantastic. Thanks for that.”
“Go, then,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “Before you walk into another vehicle.”
He hesitated. Just for a heartbeat. Like there was something else he wanted to fire back with, another jab, another spark but he couldn’t settle on which one would sting most.
Finally, he shook his head, scoffing under his breath. “This isn’t over.”
“Didn’t think it was.”
He turned to pick up his backpack, wincing slightly as he slung it over his shoulder and then walked away without another word, leaving you gripping the steering wheel far harder than you’d ever admit.
-
The halls always felt they were one bad day away from collapsing, buzzing lights, peeling paint, lockers that jammed no matter how gentle you were. The kind of place no one bothered to fix because this town didn’t fix anything.
You shut your locker with a dull clack, hoping the morning accident would disappear with it.
“Hey.”
You didn’t even need to turn around to know it was him.
‘What, are you stalking me now? That’s low, even for you.’”
Finney Blake stood a few feet away, his shoulders tense beneath his jacket. The gauze on his cheek had started to curl up at one corner. He looked like someone who hadn’t slept in a week, which given what this town had already put him through wouldn’t surprise you.
“You really just drove off.” His voice was low, even, but edged.
You exhaled, jaw tight. “You were walking away. What was I supposed to do, sit there and watch you glare at me?”
He laughed once, sharp. “You almost hit me.”
“And you stepped into the street without looking.”
“I did look.”
“Not well enough.”
A few students nearby pretended they weren’t listening. That was the thing about small towns: everyone wanted the drama but nobody wanted to be seen wanting it.
Finney’s eyes flicked over your face, the irritation in his face growing, eyes assessing yours.
“You don’t even care,” he said, low, tight, like he was trying not to explode.
“I care enough to know you’re just as reckless as I am,” you snapped, eyes narrowing.
He stepped closer. Not threatening, just intense. That quiet, coiled energy people whispered about when they talked about the Grabber and what Finney survived. The kind that made you hyperaware of every breath between you.
“You think I’m just looking for something to blame?” Finney said.
“I think,” you answered, “you’re pissed about something else and I’m the easiest target.”
The muscle in his jaw jumped. “You were behind the wheel, barreling through a street like a maniac, and somehow it’s my fault you have bad reflexes?”
“Bad reflexes?!” you shot back. “You were walking straight into traffic like you owned the damn road! What, am I supposed to swerve for you every time you decide to play daredevil?”
“Play daredevil?!” He laughed, harsh and bitter. “Do you even understand what could have happened? One second, I’m standing there and the next—boom! Your car is history, and so am I! And you’re standing there like it’s no big deal!”
“Oh, don’t give me that look like I’m the bad guy here,” you snapped, rolling your eyes. “You walked out into traffic, Blake. Get over yourself.”
Finney’s jaw twitched. “You think this is funny?
“Funny?” you echoed, stepping slightly closer, teeth gritted. “I think it’s pathetic how you can’t handle someone calling you out on your own stupidity.”
He leaned back, one shoulder against the lockers, gaze sharp. “Pathetic? That’s rich coming from the driver who nearly ran me over.”
“Yeah, well, lucky for you I didn’t.”
“Lucky?” He hissed, nostrils flaring. “Lucky? You call almost killing me lucky? That’s the kind of selfish, reckless—”
“Oh, spare me the lecture!” you interrupted, voice sharp. “You’re one to talk! You strut around like you’re untouchable, like the world owes you something because you took down a serial killer! Newsflash, that doesn’t make you invincible!”
He froze for a moment, jaw twitching, eyes dark, and then leaned forward, voice low and dangerous. “You almost hit me! And now you’re standing here acting like you’re the victim? You’re insane.”
“Better insane than dead!” you yelled. “Because that’s exactly where you would’ve ended up if I wasn’t paying attention!”
The hall fell silent for a few tense seconds. Everyone had stopped moving, pretending not to watch, but clearly they were. Both of you were breathing hard, voices hoarse, faces flushed with anger.
Finally, the principal's sharp, commanding voice cut through the tension.
“My office, both of you. Now.”
Finney’s jaw clenched. He shot you a glare full of fury, challenge, and something unreadable, before stalking off toward the office.
You followed behind, shoulders tense, chest pounding, fists still tight. The adrenaline in your veins didn’t leave. The morning wasn’t over. And neither was this.
-
You’d tried to forget about Finney Blake.
Really, you had.
Two weeks ago, you’d both sat in the principal’s office like a pair of feral cats forced into the same cage. The principal read you the riot act, lecturing about “civility” and “school unity” while Finney rolled his eyes so hard you thought he might sprain something.
Then came detention.
One long, miserable hour in a stiff plastic chair, the two of you separated by one pathetic, wobbly desk that definitely didn’t count as safe distance. The room had been too quiet except for the scratch of pencils and Finney’s occasional irritated breath, the kind he let out like he needed you to hear it.
You remembered how he refused to look at you, and how you refused to look first.
By the end of it, the anger was hot, loud, and stupid. Like trying to argue with a storm.
But the second you walked out of that dingy study hall?
It fizzled.
Just like that.
Not solved. Not forgiven.
Just not worth the weight anymore.
Still, forgetting him was impossible, because somehow, no matter where you went after that Finney Blake was everywhere.
Not on purpose, you knew that but it didn’t matter. Your eyes still caught him in the crowd as if they were wired to.
Passing him in the hallway between classes.
Seeing him in the parking lot after school, his backpack slung over one shoulder as he was always crossing at the exact wrong moment.
Walking into study hall, he was leaning back in his chair, tapping a pencil against his desk like he owned the oxygen.
And worst of all?
Every time your brain decided to wander, it wandered straight to him. Not fondly, not fondly whatsoever, but intensely, in the way irritation turns into an obsession because it won’t leave you alone.
You got over the actual anger fast. But the heat of it didn’t go away.
Not when Finney still shot you looks like you were the biggest headache in his life.
Not when he muttered something every time you crossed paths, too low for teachers to hear but just loud enough for you:
“Watch it.”
“Still the worst driver in town.”
“Try using your eyes next time.”
And you? You didn’t crumble.
Didn’t blush.
Didn’t soften.
You met every one of his comments with fire.
“Move faster, then.”
“Try minding your business next time.”
“At least I know how to walk like a normal person.”
It was getting worse, too. The sharp, buzzing energy between you both, like every hallway, was too small to contain it.
-
It finally snapped in the most stupid place possible.
Your house, on the front lawn.
The late afternoon sun filled the sky with a warm haze, as the cold air bit at your finger tips the second you stepped out of the car. You were hauling your backpack from the car when you heard footsteps pounding up the street. Fast. Intentional.
You turned.
Finney Blake was storming straight toward you.
You stared. “Are you serious right now?”
He didn’t stop until he was right in front of you, chest rising and falling like he’d run here in pure anger.
“You’ve gotta quit looking at me.” That was how he opened. No greeting. No explanation. Just pure accusation. “It’s like you’re everywhere I turn.”
You blinked, caught between laughter and outrage. “Me? You’re the one who keeps glaring like I committed a felony.”
“You did—”
“It was TWO WEEKS AGO!” you snapped, slamming your car door so hard Finney actually flinched. “And you’re still acting like I tried to murder you.”
He pointed at you. “Because you don’t take anything seriously!”
“Oh, I take plenty seriously,” you shot back, stepping closer. “Starting with how annoying you are.”
Finney scoffed. “Yeah? Then stop staring at me like you’re waiting for round two.”
Your hands fisted at your sides.
“I stare,” you said sharply, “because you walk around like the whole town should move out of your way.”
That hit. You saw it, the brief raw flicker of something behind his eyes before he masked it.
He shook his head. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“And you don’t know anything about me,” you countered, voice rising. “Except for a stupid accident you keep milking for attention.”
His eyes snapped to yours, furious. “You think I want attention from you?”
You barked a laugh, sharp and loud. “No, Blake. I think you just want something to yell at.”
He stepped closer, dangerously close, voice dropping low. “You yell right back.”
“Because you START IT.”
“You don’t walk away.”
“Neither do you!”
You were inches apart, chests rising, shadows long across the grass.
Finney’s jaw clenched, tendons tight. “You make me—”
“What?” you challenged. “Finish it.”
His voice was a crack of lightning.
“…you make me furious.”
Your chin lifted.
You didn’t say a single word.
The silence hit Finney harder than anything you could have said.
His steps slowed. He turned back toward you fully this time, breath catching just barely, as if he hadn’t expected you to stand there like that, unbothered, unshaken, refusing to give him even a syllable.
Your posture daring him to blink first, chin high, eyes steady.
You didn’t back up.
Neither did he.
The air hummed, charged, electric. The kind of tension that didn’t feel like anger anymore but something hotter, heavier, something neither of you would dare name.
Not yet.
For a moment he just stared, jaw tight, something sharp and electric cutting across his expression. He stepped forward again, not enough to close the space, just enough to show he wasn’t done.
“You’re really not gonna say anything?” he asked, voice low. It wasn’t mocking. It was controlled, like your silence had unnerved him more than your words ever did.
You didn’t move, not even daring to drop your gaze, denying him the satisfaction he so desperately craved.
Finney exhaled once through his nose, his eyes dragged over your face, slow, searching, frustrated.
“Fine,” he murmured. “Don’t talk.”
He stepped closer by half a foot, close enough that the cold air between you warmed just slightly.
His voice dropped. “You don’t have to say anything for me to know exactly what you’re thinking.”
Your chin stayed high.
His eyes quickly flickered down at your mouth, then back to your eyes, you would’ve missed it if you weren’t watching him as closely as he was watching you.
Finney swallowed, throat tense.
“You drive me insane,” he muttered.
Another breath between you.
Sharp. Hot. Cold.
Everything at once.
But you still said nothing. Worse, your expression said you didn’t give a single damn.
Your expression stayed flat, unimpressed, almost bored. A tiny raise of your brow, the faintest shift of your mouth.
It hit him like a slap.
Finney blinked once, slowly and disbelieving because somehow your silence wasn’t the worst part.
It was the look.
That effortless, infuriating look that said his anger, his proximity, his sharp words meant absolutely nothing to you.
You didn’t flinch, didn’t soften. Didn’t even look annoyed. Just done.
Finney’s breath stuttered, the tension changed shape, twisting tight and hot in his chest. Frustration poured through him as if a fuse were burning down inside him.
He stepped closer, not even meaning to, his voice low and unsteady with irritation.
“Don’t—” he muttered, eyes locked on yours. “Don’t look at me like that.”
You tilted your head one degree, still silent. Still that maddening, untouched expression.
Finney exhaled sharply, running his tongue across his teeth like he was seconds from swearing. “You’re unbelievable,” he said, voice tight. “You know that?”
Your expression didn’t budge.
That tiny, composed, utterly unbothered face pushed him right to the edge.
He shook his head hard, backing up before he did something stupid, before he stepped too close, before he said something he couldn’t take back.
“Keep doing that,” he warned under his breath. “See what happens.”
He turned away.
But the way his hands curled hard at his sides, yeah you’d gotten under his skin.
Deep.
-
The classroom was empty except for you, the fading hum of the old overhead lights, and the stack of scientific encyclopedias you were supposed to alphabetize for volunteer hours.
The science hall was mostly quiet, the kind that always felt too big, too echoey. It always was during lunch.
You were halfway through the stack when footsteps pounded down the hall. Fast and unsteady, familiar.
You didn’t even look up at first. Not until the door slammed shut hard enough to rattle the windows.
Finney Blake shoved his shoulder against the door, breath tearing in and out like he’d sprinted the whole length of the school. His hair was a mess, knuckles scraped, one cheek flushed too red, borderline bruised.
You stared. He froze when he saw you.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, voice rough like gravel.
“Volunteer hours,” you said flatly. “What’s your excuse?”
Finney huffed through his nose, scanning the hallway once before letting the door click shut behind him. He didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. His state said enough.
You crossed your arms. “You look like you ran through a blender.”
He shot you a look. “Thanks. Really helpful.”
“I didn’t say it to help.”
Finney dragged a hand through his hair, pacing a tight line in front of the blackboard. His fists kept clenching like he couldn’t stop replaying whatever happened.
You watched him silently, waiting. But he just paced.
Paced and breathed hard and looked like he wanted to punch the wall if he wasn’t already halfway there.
“Who’d you hit?”
Finney barked a humorless laugh. “Does it matter?”
“Yeah, Blake. It does.” You leveled your gaze at him. “Because you only look like this when someone gets under your skin.”
He stopped pacing. His eyes locked on yours, sharp and exhausted. “That’s funny,” he muttered. “Thought you were the only one who could do that.”
Your jaw tightened. “Don’t start.”
“Why not?” He stepped closer, pulled by something he didn’t want to admit. “You’re already looking at me like you know exactly what happened.”
“I’m looking at you,” you said, “because you’re bleeding on the floor I have to clean.”
“We’re in a classroom.”
“Volunteering, remember?.”
Finney exhaled sharply, turning away but only for a second. His shoulders were rigid, anger coiled tight beneath his skin.
You spoke again, quieter this time. “Did you start it?”
His head snapped back toward you. “Do I ever start anything?”
You raised an eyebrow.
“…okay,” he sighed, correcting himself. “Fine. Sometimes.”
He leaned against a desk, finally still, though his hands were still shaking with leftover adrenaline.
The silence pressed thick between you. Not comfortable, not gentle, just heavy.
He stared at the floor, jaw clenching once, twice, before he said it. “He said something he shouldn’t’ve.”
You didn’t look away. “About you?”
“No,” Finney said. The word landed sharp as broken glass. “About someone else.”
He didn’t elaborate. You didn’t push.
But you understood the shape of the anger in his voice.
Finney swallowed, throat tight. “And before you say anything, I know. I know I shouldn’t’ve hit him.”
You shrugged. “Did it help?”
His eyes lifted to yours, surprise filling them.
“It didn’t fix anything,” he muttered. “But it shut him up.”
You nodded once. “Then I’m not saying anything.”
Finney blinked. You could see it, the confusion, irritation, and reluctant relief twisting together.
“That’s new,” he muttered.
“What is?”
“You not lecturing me.”
You shot him a sharp look, contrasted by the small smile you shot him. “Don’t get used to it.”
He let out a breath that wasn’t a laugh but close to one. The tension slowly trickled back into the room, like a thick fog that made it hard to breathe.
“You really gonna just stand there and pretend everything’s normal?” he asked.
“It’s never normal with you.”
His jaw tightened, but he stepped closer anyway, just a few feet, enough that the air between you thickened.
“Why are you even here?” he asked.
You bristled. “Why do you care?”
Finney hesitated, “I don’t,” he said too quickly. “I just—”
He stopped, rubbing the nape of neck before giving up on his sentence.
You watched him silently, your expression unreadable.
Finney exhaled hard, dropping into the desk chair nearest him. The fight, the sprint, the argument, it all collapsed into the space between you.
Finally, he muttered, “If anyone asks, I wasn’t here.”
“You’re literally bleeding on the floor,” you said.
“Yeah,” he snapped tiredly, “but you’re good at acting like nothing affects you, right?”
You rolled your eyes, gathering another stack of notebooks.
“Sit still. You’re getting blood on the desks.”
Finney stared at you for a long moment, frustrated, baffled, heated in that way he never said out loud.
“…You drive me insane,” he said under his breath.
You didn’t look up. “Right back at you.”
-
You were already in the principal’s office when Finney was dragged in by the sleeve.
He looked worse than last week. His hair wild, collar stretched, knuckles red and split like he’d been swinging without thinking. Again.
You, on the other hand, were perfectly intact, unless you counted the stubborn set of your jaw.
Finney froze when he saw you sitting there in the plastic chair outside the office.
“You again?” he muttered.
You crossed your arms. “Trust me, I’m not thrilled about it either.”
He blinked, taking in your presence like it didn’t make sense.
“What’d you do?”
You lifted your chin defiantly. “Nothing.”
Finney lifted an eyebrow. You cracked instantly.
“Okay, maybe I said something.”
“To who?”
You winced. “Mr. Armstrong.”
Finney stared at you. “You called the science teacher a—?”
“I didn’t call him anything!” you snapped. Then, lower, “I just implied his lesson plans had the structural integrity of soggy cardboard.”
Finney’s eyes widened. “Oh my god.”
“It was accurate.”
“It was a terrible idea.”
“Well, getting in another fight wasn’t exactly genius either.”
He scowled. “He deserved it.”
You sighed. “They always do. Doesn’t make it smart.”
“You shouldn’t talk.”
“And yet, here we are. Both of us. Sitting outside the office like we’re in a cheap ‘after-school special.’”
Finney tried not to smile. He failed.
The principal’s door swung open. Both of you straightened.
“Since you two seem to enjoy disrupting the school day—”
“We don’t,” you and Finney said at the same time.
“—you’ll work off your detention by helping in the library for the next two weeks. Together.”
Finney groaned. You groaned louder.
“Seriously?” you blurted. “Can’t you separate us? He’s a menace.”
Finney shot you an offended look. “I’m a menace? You told Armstrong his degree must’ve come free with the cereal box!”
You scoffed. “And you threw a kid into a trash can.”
“He swung first!”
“So did Armstrong!”
Finney stared at you. “Wait, what?”
The principal pinched the bridge of her nose. “Enough. Both of you. Library. Now.”
And that was that.
-
The library smelled like dust, carpet cleaner, and despair. Perfect.
Finney slumped into a chair beside you as the librarian explained your job: organizing the supply closet.
When she finally left, Finney muttered, “You seriously mouthed off to Armstrong?”
You shrugged. “He said my project lacked ‘focus.’ It didn’t.”
“That’s why you insulted him?”
“I insulted his curriculum.”
Finney stared at you, incredulous, then laughed under his breath, shaking his head.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You’re bleeding on the linoleum,” you shot back.
He glanced at his knuckles with a wince. “It’s fine.”
“It never is with you.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
The supply closet was tiny, a single bulb, shelves crammed with forgotten textbooks, and barely enough room for the two of you to stand shoulder to shoulder.
Which was exactly your problem.
“Move,” you said, bumping his elbow.
“You move.”
“You’re blocking the shelf.”
“You’re blocking the oxygen.”
You huffed. “I’m starting to think the principal hates us.”
“Us?” Finney echoed. “Since when are we an ‘us’?”
You glared at him. “Since we got punished like a pair of wayward toddlers.”
Finney let out an annoyed noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh.
Then he grabbed a stack of dusty binders off the top shelf too fast, he let out a small groan at the sting in his knuckles and nearly dropped them.
You caught his wrist without thinking.
Finney went still. Completely.
“Careful,” you said quietly. “You’re gonna tear them open again.”
His eyes flicked to yours, confused, guarded, softened just a little.
“Why do you care?” he asked, voice low.
You swallowed. “Because if you bleed on the books, the librarian might actually kill you.”
He gave you a crooked, disbelieving smile. But he didn’t pull his wrist away.
For a moment, the closet felt too warm, too small, too charged.
You dropped his hand first. “Come on. We’ve got a punishment to finish.”
Finney blew out a slow breath, nodded, and grabbed another binder, slower this time.
But his shoulder brushed yours, intentional or not, and he didn’t move away.
Neither did you.
-
Library duty ended with the librarian sighing dramatically and waving both of you away like smoke she couldn’t get rid of fast enough.
You stepped out into the hallway, stretching your arms over your head. “If I see another dust covered binder, I’m committing a crime.”
Finney snorted. “You were the one who almost knocked over an entire shelf.”
“That shelf attacked me.”
“It was a shelf.”
“You weren’t there,” you said defensively. “It had bad energy.”
Finney shook his head, fighting a smile. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You keep saying that,” you replied, “like it’s an insult.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, nudging your arm with his elbow as you walked. “It’s not. Mostly.”
You bumped him back. “You’re bleeding again.”
“What? Where?” He held his hands out, checking his knuckles.
“Not your hands,” you said. “Your ego.”
Finney rolled his eyes so hard his head almost turned with them. “Hilarious.”
You reached the stairwell door and pushed it open. Finney followed, the door clicking shut behind him. The space was quiet, warm from the late afternoon sun coming through the little window. You leaned against the railing, looking down at the empty steps.
“So,” you said casually, “on a scale of one to ten, how much do you regret getting punished with me?”
Finney didn’t even pretend to think. “Three.”
“Three?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “You complain a lot, but you make the boring parts less… boring.”
You blinked. “…Was that a compliment?”
“No,” he said immediately. Too fast. Then, quieter: “Maybe.”
You froze mid-step, staring at him. “Oh my god,” you said, hand to your chest. “Finney Blake just said something nice.”
“I’ll take it back,” he warned instantly.
“Nope. Too late. It’s out there. It’s public record.”
He rolled his eyes but you saw it, that small, traitorous smile he was trying to hide. You walked side by side down the hallway, your arms brushing now and then. He didn’t move away. You didn’t either. When you reached the back stairwell door, Finney hesitated. Just for a second.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Thanks… y’know. For not making today suck.”
You felt your face warm, and because feelings were terrifying, you blurted the first defense you had, “Don’t get used to it.”
Finney blinked.
Then slowly he smiled. Not cocky, not smug, just warm.
“You don’t mean that,” he said softly.
You rolled your eyes, turning away before he could see your cheeks go pink. “Whatever. Just don’t.”
He laughed under his breath, following you toward the exit.
But as you pushed the door open, you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back at him, just a little, just long enough for him to catch the soft look you didn’t hide fast enough.
He stared at you for a second, cheeks a little pink. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to say something stupid.”
“Oh,” you said, “I’m definitely about to say something stupid.”
Finney groaned. “Please don’t—”
“Finney Blake,” you declared, “you have officially survived two hours of shared punishment without punching anyone. I’m proud of you.”
He covered his face with his hands. “Oh my god.”
“You’re welcome.”
He dragged his hands down his face, trying—and failing—to hide a smile. “You drive me crazy.”
“That’s the goal.”
He leaned in, closing the distance between you and kissed you, as if it were as easy as breathing.
No dramatic pause. No heavy moments.
Just a quick, warm, slightly awkward kiss that tasted like laughter he didn’t get to finish. You blinked at him, surprised but not really.
“Was that your reward for behaving?” you asked, eyes widening in mock realization.
“What? No!” Finney blurted, ears turning red. “I just— You— I thought—”
You swallowed, fought the smile trying to break through.
“Mm. Like I said. Don’t get used to it.”
Even though you’d said, don’t get used to it, you were already, absolutely, definitely letting him.
-
You were hyper aware that this contradicted every thought you’ve had over the last month, but when you feel Finney nipping and kissing your neck with his hand over your racing pulse, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
Small gasps escape past your lips as your fingers grip tighter at his hair, pulling him close as he ruts into you. Finney buried face deeper into your neck as he continued his merciless pace of his cock not so gently grazing your cervix.
“F-Finney…” you cry out as his hands roam your body, one of them landed on your sensitive nub, circling it teasingly.
“You drive me insane,” he murmured against your skin.
“Shut up,” you gasped.
He smirked against your skin, thrusting deep into you with one hard thrust.
Your hips bucked off the seat with a sharp cry.
“Yeah,” he breathed, watching your face. “That’s what I thought.”
His thumb circled your clit with ruthless precision, not gentle, not patient, just messy, desperate pressure that made your vision blur.
“Finney — fuck — harder—”
Pulling out, he lined himself up, dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, slow at first, then with a teasing pressure that made your breath stutter.
“Finney—”
He thrust into you in one brutal, perfect snap of his hips.
Your back arched so sharply your shoulders left the seat.
“Holy shit,” he groaned, burying himself to the hilt. “So fucking tight—fuck—”
He pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, the car rocking with every thrust. You were a mess beneath him, hands straining upward, thighs trembling around his hips.
He let out a low, dark laugh, leaning over you until his chest pressed to yours, pinning you against the backseat.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured against your jaw, “you’re not in any position to tell me what to do.”
His hand slid up your throat, not squeezing, just holding, claiming, tilting your chin so you had to meet his eyes. His thumb brushed your pulse, feeling it race under his touch.
“You feel that?” he whispered. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” you managed, though your voice cracked on the last syllable.
He smirked, wicked and unbearably tender at the same time.
“You’re anything but fine.”
His forehead dropped to yours, breath hot, lips brushing your mouth without kissing you yet, punishing you with restraint.
“You’re wild under me,” he growled softly. “And you hate that you like it.”
Your fingers curled into his shoulders, dragging him closer, your nails digging in hard enough to pull a sharp breath from him.
“That’s it,” he murmured, voice tightening. “Take what you want.”
You surged up to kiss him, messy, hungry, the kind of kiss that tasted like losing control. He met you with all the same frantic need, swallowing every sound you made.
His grip on your wrists tightened above your head, his hips thrusting into you relentlessly, the movement deep and dizzying even if nothing explicit was spoken. The whole car rocked in a slow, brutal rhythm.
Your gasp broke against his mouth.
Finney’s lips ghosted along your cheek, your ear, his voice low and rough:
“That mouth of yours,” he said, “I swear—one look and I lose every sane thought I’ve ever had.”
Your breath hitched hard. His free hand slid down your side, gripping your hip, anchoring you.
“Say something smart now,” he taunted, voice thick with need. “Go on. Try.”
You couldn’t. All you managed was a desperate, breathless sound that wasn’t even a word.
He smiled like he’d won something important.
“Yeah,” he whispered, kiss landing hot and possessive on your throat. “That’s what I thought.”
His lips trailed lower, slower, as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down.
“And you’re mine right now,” he murmured against your skin, “even if you never admit it.”
Your back arched helplessly.
“Finney—”
He caught your jaw again, bringing your mouth to his in a bruising kiss.
“I’ve got you,” he breathed. “Just feel it.”
Your nails clawed helplessly at the leather. “I can’t— fuck—Finney, I’m gonna—””
“That’s it,” he groaned, pace relentless. “So fucking tight for me.”
You dragged his mouth to yours, biting his lip.
Your orgasm hit hard — blinding, body shaking, the kind that tore a cry from your throat as you clenched around him.
Finney cursed hard, losing rhythm, grabbing your hips with both hands now as he thrust through your climax, chasing his own. Spilling against your stomach with a choked moan, Finney dropped his forehead to yours, his body trembling above you.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Just panting, sweaty, legs tangled together in your back seat. Finney was still wearing his annoyingly satisfied grin when he finally spoke again.
“So…” he drawled, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Are we gonna talk about—”
“We are not talking about anything,” you cut in sharply.
He blinked once. Twice. Then his smile pulled wider, slow and wicked, nodding as if he solved an ancient riddle.
“Right,” he said softly. “Of course we’re not.”
He let a beat pass. Another.
“So do you still hate me or what?”
Your answer was instant. Automatic. Sharp as a blade. “Yes.”
“Ouch.”
Your eyes narrowed at his smile. “If you’re so hurt, why are you smiling?”
“Because,” he said, voice dipping just a little, “you don’t hate me half as much as you want to.”
Your pulse stuttered. You had no comeback ready. And he absolutely noticed.
Finney raised both brows, victorious.
“Still hate me?” he asked again, softer this time. “Really?”
“Yes,” you insisted, but it came out thin. Weak. Almost… breathy.
His smirk turned knowing.
“Mmm. If you say so.”
You looked away, jaw tight, heat crawling up your neck.
“I do.”
“Okay.”
“Finney—”
“Still okay.”
You glared at him. He beamed.
And somehow, the word hate had never felt messier… or more dangerous.
”Same time tomorrow?” F. Blake
In which… one thing leads to another after helping the meanest guy at school through an anxiety attack.
wc: 1.7k
based off this request!
contents/warnings: making out, cursing, smoking, slight angst, use of she/her pronouns, use of Y/N.
The school bell echoed throughout her 3rd-period classroom, signaling that class was now over, and it was lunchtime for the students. But for Y/N, that bell signaled ‘go out behind the school building and smoke’ time.
On the way to her destination, she saw two things, two dudes making out in the empty science classroom, which she saw as she walked by the window, and Finn Blake crouched down beside the dumpster, breathing like he just ran a marathon with his hands raking through his hair.
Finn disliked her, so she had no choice but to pretend the feeling was mutual. The truth is, Y/N thought he was like, the coolest person ever, but being ‘friends’ with Amy Yamada meant her and Finn would never cross paths. She walked toward him, her first bad decision of the day. Cleared her throat, and then asked him;
“Are you alright?” Dumbass. Of course he's not.
At the lack of response, Y/N crouched down beside Finn and gave him the water bottle she had in her backpack. “I’m fine.” he said sharply through labored breaths. “Finn, no you’re not, let me help you.” She put her hand on his shoulder, she wasn’t sure what nurturing spirit possessed her, but this was an out-of-body experience.
Y/N wanted to burst into tears about how scared he looked at nothing in particular. She tried again to give him her water, and again he refused. She had experience with this and wanted to help, but knew he wasn’t going to accept shit from her.
“When this would happen to me, my mom used to give me these exercises. To help focus on something else, y’know?” She moved her hand to his back, rubbing circles to help calm him down. Finn nodded, still breathing heavily and trembling, but less than when she’d found him. “Okay, so the first one I do, it’s called the 5-4-3-2-1 method.” Finn side-eyed her. “I know, I know, sounds stupid. But it works, I promise.”
“So first you name 5 things you can see.” she said, awaiting his answer. “Uhh,” he looked around, thinking. “You.” he paused, “The dumpster, that banana peel over there,” He paused again and looked around.
Which allowed her to look at him, like really look at him. ‘Jesus, he’s hotter than I remembered.’ to which she internally reprimanded herself, but she was right, from the fluffy brown hair, to the slope of his nose and the hard look in his eyes, to the beauty mark on his cheek.
And before she knew it, he was looking back at her. “So… What do I do next...?” he said, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “Oh- um…” Y/N fumbled her words, feeling heat rush up the back of her neck. “Now, you name four things that you can touch.” Her brain winced at how unintentionally sexual that came out.
“Okay…” he responded, then poked Y/N’s cheek, “You. Again.” which elicited a chuckle out of her. “Uh, the pavement, the dumpster, and my jeans, I guess.” he looked over at her, and Y/N could’ve sworn she saw a ghost of a smile crossing his face.
She knew that Finn was doing fine now, and the thought of him going along with this because he maybe actually enjoyed Y/N’s company made her heart swell. A few minutes passed of them just sitting there, Y/N still rubbing calming circles on his back, Finn spoke.
“Question. How do you know all that stuff? About how to calm yourself down and whatnot.” he suddenly asked.
“Well, you remember Bruce Yamada, right? One of the grabber's last ‘victims’ I guess?” he nodded. “Yea, didn’t know you knew him.” he responded quietly. “He was my best friend in the world, we did everything together.” she paused, thinking of all the memories they had. “And I always had anxiety and weird dreams and imagination shit, and that all multiplied by, like, a thousand when they found out he was dead.” Y/N blinked back tears as she pictured the day her mom told her they had found Bruce. Not in the way they wanted to.
“i’m really sorry.” Finn finally said, his hand on her shoulder. “You’re the last person that should be sorry, they wouldn’t have ever found him if not for you and your sister.” she smiled, and if she weren’t paying attention, Y/N wouldn’t have seen Finn’s eyes flicker to her lips for a split second.
Her cheeks warmed up, quickly looking away. “And I'm really sorry that Amy Yamada is a bitch to your sister. I don’t like hanging out with her, but I guess I feel responsible for her in a way.” She looked back at him, a small smile on her face, and now it was her turn to glance at his lips. Which he noticed, he definitely noticed, and the smirk that crossed his face was like something out of a cheesy rom-com, making her pause for a minute.
“Y’know if I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually want to be around me.” Y/N quipped, pulling your pack of cigarettes out of her backpack and taking one from the carton. “You smoke?” Finn asked “Mhm.” She said as she lit her cigarette, “Do you have a problem with it?” exhaling the smoke as she asked.
“No, you just seem kinda… prissy I guess.” “Prissy? Seriously?!” she laughed in shock “If I’m prissy then you’re just a delinquent, how about that?” he laughed at her words. “Okay, okay,” he put his hands up in mock surrender, “not prissy, just- I don’t know, ‘girly’ I guess?”
“Finn, that’s even worse.” she giggled, which was music to his ears. “You want one?” Y/N asked, extending her cigarette to him, which he took. As he exhaled the smoke, she couldn’t stop looking at him, thinking about how gorgeous this boy was. ‘fuuuck shut up shut up shut up!!!!’ her brain was telling itself, and she sighed to dispel her thoughts.
She went ahead and lit another cigarette, letting him have the one she previously used. “You come out here often?” “When everyone around me’s acting like a whiny bitch, yeah.” Y/N said, sharper than she meant to. “Some friend group you have.” She only chuckled bitterly in response.
“What do you do for fun, anyway? Not so sound rude but, y’know…” Y/N asked, “Smoke weed and fight assholes. It’s a very eventful life I have, Y/N” he said sarcastically, but she could only focus on the way he said her name, not very fast or slow, just soft, like the word belonged in his mouth.
She stared at him through the sides of her eyes, head still facing onward so she didn’t exhale smoke in his face. ‘He would probably find that hot though- shut the fuck up!!’ her brain fought with itself, which made her want to turn around and bash her head into the brick wall she sat by.
Finn did the same, giving her that look that only a guy as good-looking as him could give, which made her turn her gaze back ahead of her at supersonic speed. Finn chuckled, low and quiet, and her stomach did somersaults at the sound. “You get flustered easily, y’know?” “Shut up.” she shot back, though her words had no real bite.
“You’re just proving my point, Y/N.” he said, leaning closer to her, and she could feel his breath on her ear, which she quickly composed herself, Y/N knew he knew what he was doing, and she also knew that two could play that game.
Y/N turned her head to look at him, so close that the tips of their noses almost touched as she looked at him through her eyelashes, smirking slightly, trying to pretend her heart wasn’t hammering in her chest at the proximity.
She wasn’t sure who leaned in first, but before Y/N knew it their lips had connected, The kiss was soft at first but then turned hungry, years of unspoken tension breaking loose, Finn’s hand on the base of Y/Ns neck and hers tangled in his soft brown hair.
Finn leaned forward closer, deepening the kiss which made her have to put her hands on his chest to stabilize herself “You almost knocked me over, dumbass.” she whispered against his lips, then she pulled away briefly and stood up, pulling him to stand with her and continuing their little ‘moment’.
Y/N wrapped her legs around Finn’s waist as he pinned her back to the wall of the school building, she had kissed boys (and girls on occasion) before, but none of them felt like this, real. Noses bumping, heavy breathing, hands trailing wherever they can. And Y/N didn’t need to be drunk out of her mind to conclude that Finn Blake was the hottest guy she’s ever seen.
Finn angled his neck down, peppering kisses along her jaw and neck as his hands stayed steady on her thighs to hold her up. “Don’t give me a hickey, jackass, we still have half a school day left.” She snickered. “Just give me a minute, it’s fine.” He mumbled against her neck as Y/N tangled her hands in his hair, trying to pretend that every kiss he placed on her neck didn’t leave a trail of fire beneath her skin. “Finn, I’m serious, lunch is almost over.”
The brunette boy sighed while she unwrapped her legs from his torso, her converse hitting the ground with a soft thud. The two teens pulled away from eachother, lips swollen and breathing heavy, but they wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Same time tomorrow?” The boy asked jokingly, stealing another kiss from her lips. “That’s depressing if you need to schedule a makeout, prettyboy.” She quipped back as she wiped her lipgloss off Finn’s lips with her thumb. “Is that a yes or no?” He replied quizzically, “it’s a yes, dumbass. See you later.” Y/N said with a crooked grin, picking her backpack up off the pavement and starting her walk back to the front of the school building.
A/n: Sorry this took me so long yall writing kissing scenes is hard😓
for the anon that wanted more finney art
he looks different every time i draw him so im trying to figure out what i like making him look like 🤔
more Robin survives yaoi #yay
@2tonedwolf
