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wife-of-all-dilfs · 3 months

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what friends do | f. odair

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

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

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

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

word count: 11.7k

Mid-Autumn was closely approaching District Four.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mind if I sit?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

Finnick Odair.

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

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

That was what everyone made him out to be.

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

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

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

"I'm Finnick, by the way."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**********

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

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

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

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

Finnick was very much a gentleman.

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

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

But there was more to it than innocent adoration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Look at thi—"

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

Damn that stupid seashell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I think..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed.

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

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

"Something on your mind?" Finnick asked suddenly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sounds pretty convenient, came an abrupt thought.

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

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

"Thinking about anyone in particular?"

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

How did he keep doing that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who could've guessed."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Better?" he asked.

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

"Anytime."

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

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

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

How could he?

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

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

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

"Stop moving."

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

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

His hold on you became stiff. Completely frozen.

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

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

"Fuck," he breathed out.

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

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

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

"...Oh," you whispered.

"Yeah," Finnick said. "Oh."

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

As per usual, panic wreaked havoc in your mind.

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

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

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

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

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

Finnick was silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A wave of chills ran down your entire body.

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

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

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

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

Finnick murmured your name.

"Yes?" you managed to whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," you sighed almost immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes,"you practically whined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The moan you let out was positively filthy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded fervently.

"Say please first."

"Finn," you whined in frustration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is what did it for you.

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

"Taking it so well."

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

"Such a good girl."

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

"You okay?" Finnick asked softly.

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

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

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

You pushed yourself from his lap and pivoted to face him

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

"Hi," you whispered.

He smiled. "Hey, stranger."

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

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

Finnick tilted his head slightly. "Shy thing."

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

"Feeling better?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then came the explosion.

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

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

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

You stayed like this for a few seconds.

"So big," you gasped against his lips.

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

"Never."

This was so not what friends did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come inside you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were gone.

"Oh fuck!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a new moon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For an entire hour?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you too."

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

...roll credits

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solaireverie · 2 months

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aa23 | put it into speed drive

summary: [ lawyer!alex albon x f!driver!reader — social media au ] alex is contracted to help you get out of trouble after you land in hot water

faceclaim: florence pugh

warnings: language, dirty jokes

author’s note: hello party people!! so happy to bring you the first installment of in their shoes, my series with @lorarri about driver!reader. chaotic reader is the love of my life frfr

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yourusername eat pasta drive fasta 🏎🍝

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user mother is mothering 😩

user i live for y/n's photodumps

user everyone say thank you y/n for feeding us!!

redbullracing let her cook 😌

user the way y/n looks at the camera in slide 2 🫣

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redbullracing Oracle Red Bull Racing is aware of the charges being brought against driver Y/N L/N. Oracle Red Bull Racing respects all official decisions and will be assisting Y/N in any legal proceedings. We ask for privacy and discretion during this period of time.

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y/nupdates y/n left the monaco police station this morning accompanied by her lawyer, alex albon. alex is also a family friend and was contracted by red bull to help y/n with any legal issues that may arise. y/n and alex left on motorcycle shortly after she was released. when asked about recent events, y/n stated that she isn't worried and that she's in good hands (implied to be alex's)

pictured above: y/n this morning, a photo captured by passerby of alex on his bike waiting for y/n, and a picture of alex found on his firm's website

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user y/n's slaying everywhere 😍 even getting arrested isn't stopping her from serving with every outfit

↪ user omg fr i love her jacket and boots

↪ user we should have a y/n style account ngl

user damn her lawyer's hotttt 😳

↪ user yeah exactly!!! so glad someone else sees my ✨ vision ✨

user lol i can already see this dude getting a migraine within the first two hours of dealing with y/n

↪ user she's a menace and while i love her for that i pity her lawyer 😂

↪ user our thoughts and prayers for mr albon 🕯🕯🕯

628,192 likes

effwontea ok so who was going to tell me that y/n's lawyer is hot, cute, AND good with animals - admin g 👾

what crimes do i need to commit to hire alex to defend me 😳 - admin t 💃

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user idk if anyone's noticed but he's actually in a few of her older vlogs 👀 guess they've been friends for a while

↪ user and she hasn't showed us him until now???

↪ user i went back to watch the videos with alex in them and omg they're so cute togetherrrrrr

↪ user ikr!!! did you see that part where she drives them around monaco and he's literally scared for his life but also staring at y/n with heart eyes 😍

↪ user guess this isn't the first time that y/n has terrorized alex with her driving skills then 😂

user is it just me or are they really freaking adorable together

↪ user omg fr!! he balances out her chaos and she makes him laugh so much ❤️ my heart can't take this

liked by landonorris, alex_albon, georgerussell63 and 28,492,123 others

tagged: alex_albon

yourusername everyone say thank you to alex_albon's savior complex 😌 love u 🫶

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user did she just... hard launch???

↪ user i think???????

↪ user knowing y/n she kept him a secret just for the chaos 😂

georgerussell63 about time, mate!

↪ landonorris thanks a lot for making me lose my bet with george 🙄

↪ alex_albon what were you two even betting on?

↪ yourusername when i would get arrested and you'd have to defend me in court 😜 btw georgerussell63 i expect dinner from whatever lando needs to give you

alex_albon love you too (even if you exhaust me sometimes 🙃)

↪ yourusername don't lie, you like it 😘

user so now on top of dealing with y/n in court he has to deal with her every day 😭 thoughts and prayers dude

↪ yourusername i promised to behave in public if he lets me misbehave in private 😉

↪ alex_albon you call that behaving???

↪ landonorris ewww get a room

↪ yourusername get a win 🤷‍♀️

↪ georgerussell63 MIC. DROP.

↪ landonorris alex_albon can i hire you to sue y/n and george for emotional damage

↪ alex_albon i'm afraid that you're on your own 😔 i have no intention of stepping into a courtroom with y/n ever again

↪ yourusername guess who's sleeping on the couch tonight!

↪ alex_albon lando because he insists that we've adopted him?

↪ yourusername correct ✅

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

series masterlist | masterlist | lola's masterlist

taglist: @scenesofobx @vellicora @boiohboii @julesbabey @flannelforthetoads

#solwriting #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x you #f1 social media au #f1 imagine #f1 smau #alex albon #alex albon x reader #alex albon x you #alex albon imagine #alex albon fanfic

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helluvapoison · 3 months

Text

Make Me Weak

˚✧₊⁎ The Vees ⁎⁺˳✧༚

warnings: violence

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Everything you are she should abhor– and would if it was anyone else— so she doesn’t pretend to understand how you weave into her life so easily. That time is instead spent wondering how the fuck she’s survived both her hellish lives without you

• Velvette always felt she was owed the praise and compliments she got. Receiving them from you was an entirely different type of high to ride. Your candied tone and sickeningly sweet words clung to her like smoke and had her itching for more

• You massage her hands so she has no choice but to surrender her phone, only then does she realize how cramped they’ve become. You sit in her workshop during Hell Week, sending a mellowing wave that relaxes her chaos in the form of a simple thumbs up. You make up for not being on the receiving end of her camera by setting up aesthetic dates for her to capture instead

• Velvette captures your chin, “You put up with a lotta my shit, Dollface. I’m not great at sharing credit, but I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“But I didn’t do anything?”

“You’re my muse, baby. Gimme the word and I can have you on a billboard tonight. Fuck Joanne, the raggetty bitch, I’ll bump her and have you up there for all of Hell to see!”

Your smile falters to a grimace, your eyes telling her what she already knows. Vel doesn’t get why you hate the limelight. This conversation always ends one way and if she hears you say one bad thing about yourself, she’ll tear out her hair. With a sigh, she tucks you back under her arm and kisses the crown of your head

“Fine. I didn’t wanna share you anyways.”

Your light laugh makes her smile again

˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Val does everything in his power not to allow you to witness one of his volatile moments. He has a very specific image of you in his mind and to a looser extent, you do too. You’re not prim or naive that you don’t know what he does, but his violent tendencies are something else to behold. You’re too sweet, too pure to completely join his world

• It’s never bothered him before, seeing that look on someone’s face. The one where their eyes go wide in horror because they know exactly what comes next but there’s no telling what would happen if the pedestal Val put you on crumbled because you saw him grabbing a whore by the neck and using them as an ashtray

• Truly, no indulgence he’s ever sampled has come close to taking the edge off him like one of your hugs. Softer than angel wings and more intoxicating than any elixir, you’re euphoria trapped in a sinner’s body

• “I almost feel bad for keeping you to myself,” Val purrs in your ear. He’s been laying underneath you for six minutes and already the shittiness of the day evaporated, “I could bottle and sell you. Make everyone in Hell as happy as I am.”

A nervous, bitter laugh escapes you

“You wouldn’t make much money, Val.”

“I would make millions, corazón” He argues seriously, though he has no intention of sharing you

˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• The irony is lost on him; someone as soft as you could bring him, an Overlord, to succumb. Below the surface, he’s more insecure than he lets on. He’s perfected the mask of a charming show host, developed it so well that it bleeds into his personality. So much so, that you make him glitch when he gets an inkling of self doubt. Your gentleness makes him weak and it terrifies him, fills him with the urge to push you away but your arms are so inviting that he lets himself be cradled by them. How could he do anything but?

• Rare are the days where he actually feels tired but those are the days he seeks out your affections. To him, you’re safe. You won’t judge him, you don’t pry for details, you’d never tell him to suck it up

• Vox lets himself sink into the couch beside you, tapping your thigh with a claw to invite you to come closer. You never fail to accept and deliver exactly what he needs. It’s bizarre how you know what he needs when he doesn’t himself. Turning to straddle him, you rest your head on his chest and hug him impossibly closer

• “You’re tense today,” You comment quietly, giving him a comforting squeeze.

“Come with me to set for once, you’ll find out why.”

Nuzzling into his chest as if trying to find his nonexistent heartbeat, you replied, “Nah. Sounds like too much of a hassle.”

“Exactly why I need you there.”

“Promise not to bring me on air like you’re always threatening to?”

A dry cackle escapes as he keeps his gaze towards the ceiling. Vox has this fanatical plan that you two could be the power couple of Hell, outranking Lucifer and Lilith (and lasting twice as long) if you would just sit at the same desk as him, deliver news and playful banter that would knock 666 News down a couple thousand pegs. You were worried someone wouldn’t want to see your face, you’d make his ratings plummet, you’d ruin everything he worked so hard to build. He hates when you spiral like that.

“No.” Vox mumbles honestly.

He’d prove you wrong like he’s done everyone else, one way or another

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #vox headcanons #vox x reader #vox imagine #velvette imagine #velvette headanons #velvette x reader #valentino x reader #valentino imagine #valentino headcanon #help i’m actually falling for val

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stevie-petey · 14 days

Text

episode one: suzie, do you copy?

Steve sighs. “Those kids are manipulating your power over me to get what they want.” “You call it manipulation, I call it bonding.” Another sigh escapes Steve. “You’re going to be the death of me.” “And yet you stay.” You tease. “And yet I stay.”

Summary: you help nancy sneak through jonathans window, the party uses you for your "in" with steve, and you sorta become the reason dustin almost blinds lucas. meanwhile, steve tries, and fails, to make you his girlfriend (this will happen all summer), but have no fear ! dustin intercepts a russian code and makes everything even harder for everyone. what a sweet brother <3

Rating: general, swearing

Warnings: allusions to violence, swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n

Words: 9.6k

Before you swing in: shes here !!! season 3 of come home <333 im so excited for yall to read what i have planned, and thank you so much for being so patient as i planned the season out and started the chapters :) season 3 is pure chaos and i hope yall love what ive created, im proud of the changes i made <3333 we get some more insight into bug this season, which i also hope yall love !

June 27th, 1985.

A summer breeze gently creeps into Jonathan’s room, bringing the scent of dandelions and your childhood with it. It’s early evening and Jonathan hums to himself quietly, laying in his bed as he lazily skims through a comic he stole from you last week. You’re next to him as you carefully cut pieces of construction paper to glue onto the posterboard. Dustin comes home from camp in a few days and you want his welcome home banner to be perfect.

In the other room you hear the floorboards creak, followed by the sound of Joyce and Will laughing at whatever movie they’ve put on in the living room. Hearing their laughs makes you smile; it’s been so long since you’ve heard them laugh.

The tune that Jonathan hums now becomes a familiar one, and absent mindedly you begin to hum along with him. The cool summer night’s air encases the two of you, as if it senses that you want to freeze this moment forever. You’re in the Byers home, pressed against Jonathan’s side as you hum together an old song from when you were both fourteen and thought you had the world all figured out,

It’s nice, having this moment all to yourself with him. Moments alone with him have become few and far between, and it saddens you to think about.

There’s a new mall in town, Starcourt, and within a few months of it opening, Bookstrordinary has slowly been edging out of business. The entire town of Hawkins quickly fell in love with the mall, but with this love came the abandonment of downtown Hawkins.

Mrs. Waters can barely afford to have you work more than a few hours a day, so you’ve been spending your days visiting Nancy and Jonathan at their internship at the Hawkins Post or hanging at Scoops Ahoy to see Steve and Robin. While your friends have been lovely, you can’t swallow down the fear that you’ll lose your job by the end of summer.

As if somehow reading your thoughts, Jonathan puts down his comic and pokes your cheek. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask if you and Nance thought of anything else to try and save Bookstrordinary.”

You glue down a letter and try to distract yourself with the miniscule task. Nancy has been brainstorming a million ideas to try and help Mrs. Water, and while you appreciate her effort, it’s no use. Swallowing down even more dread, you shake your head at Jonathan. “No, nothing. Nancy offered to help organize a book drive to get more customers, but…”

“It wouldn’t be enough.” Jonathan finishes for you.

“Not nearly enough,” you sigh, desperately wanting to change the topic now. “But besides me possibly losing my job soon, how has yours been at the Hawkins Post?”

Now it’s Jonathan’s turn to sigh. “It’s… okay? I guess. I–I mean, definitely not what I expected it to be. The hours suck and the men are awful, but…” he shifts uncomfortably and looks away from you, embarrassed. “A job is a job.”

You rub his arm, understanding what he means. The Byers have always struggled with money, but ever since Will went missing two years ago and Jonathan lost his last job at the Hawk movie theater, it’s only gotten worse. They’ve tried hiding it, but last week you sneakily paid for Will’s ice cream at Scoops Ahoy while no one else was looking.

“I get it, bee.” You reassure him, hating that he even feels embarrassed in the first place.

Jonathan smiles and leans into your touch, appreciative of the fact that you know his family well enough by now to understand all he’s too ashamed to say. The two of you sit quietly for a few moments before he tries to lighten the mood with something else. “You excited for your birthday, bug?”

“Ugh,” you shake your head in disgust, which Jonathan laughs at. He knows you’ve never really liked your birthday. “Don’t remind me.”

“It’s in a few days, so you gotta suck it up.” Jonathan flicks your forehead and you swat your hand at him. “Besides, I bet $5 that Steve has some grand proposal planned for your birthday this year. He’s spent the entire summer drooling over you.”

His words make you blush furiously. “He has not–”

“He definitely has,” Jonathan tries to flick you again but you dodge, giggling. “I’m surprised he hasn’t publicly declared your love for you yet. I think there’s a betting pool going around the party.”

You gasp. “You’re lying!”

“Nope. Lucas and Max both lost last week, they bet mid June. Now it’s only me, Nancy, Will, and Dustin in the running.”

“What about Mike and El?”

“Mike didn’t want to encourage you dating Steve and the party agreed it felt unfair to have El gamble seeing as how she’s, ya know, still getting used to being in society.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. The idea is so bizarre and lovely, knowing how invested everyone is in your alleged love life, and it makes the worry you’ve been feeling fade away. “Can I join the pool? If I actually lose my job, I’ll need the money.”

Jonathan scoffs at you. “That goes against every gambling rule–”

“Please? I could be poor soon!”

“No, it’s not going to happen–”

“But–”

A knock on the window cuts you off. The two of you look up at the sound and find Nancy standing outside, waving and smiling. You hurry over to let her in, happy as always to see her. She’s been spending more and more nights at Jonathan’s, always sneaking in through the window.

It’s disgusting, and you couldn’t be happier for them.

Jonathan helps the girl climb through the window and greets her with a kiss to the forehead. “Hey, Nance.”

She smiles up at him with a shine in her eyes, and you know it’s time to leave. It’s getting late, anyways. You start to gather your banner supplies as you greet Nancy yourself. “Welcome back, Wheeler.”

“Hello to you too, Henderson.”

You wink at the girl and quickly ruffle Jonathan’s hair. “I’m going home, bee. My mom wants me to help prep Dustin’s room and I wanna have his banner done by tomorrow.”

“Bike home safe, please.” He says with a stern finger pointed at you.

Rolling your eyes, you give a mocking salute to Nancy and Jonathan. “Use protection, kids. I’m too young to be an aunt.”

Nancy gasps while Jonathan practically trips over his own two feet at your words, and you laugh. You leave them alone to compose themselves, closing the door to Jonathan shouting, “That wasn’t funny!”

You’re still giggling to yourself when you walk into the living room and see Joyce and Will sprawled on the couch. Their movie has just finished, the credits are rolling as you stand next to the TV and wave goodbye to them.

“You leaving so soon?” Joyce asks, surprised to even see you leave Jonathan’s room in the first place.

“Yeah, gotta finish up Dustin’s welcome home banner,” you hold up your supplies. Then, through the house’s thin walls, you all hear Nancy’s soft giggle. At the sound, you lean in close to Joyce and Will and dramatically whisper, “Plus, between the three of us, company came, so…”

Will’s eyes widen. “Yuck!”

Joyce chuckles, remembering how in love she was at Jonathan’s age back then. “Would I be a bad parent if I told Nancy she could just use the front door?”

“I don’t think so, but it’s fun watching them think they’re getting away with it.” You steal a piece of candy from the bowl Will had been eating out of, and he holds it up higher so that you can grab more. “Thanks, little bee.”

“You think it’s fun teasing Nancy and Jonathan now, Y/N, but when you’re the one sneaking in through a boy’s window one day…” Joyce shrugs, a twinkle in her eye. “You’ll understand.”

Will looks up at you with his own evil glint in his eyes, and before you can stop him, he turns to his mom and says, “I wonder how high Steve Harrington’s window is.”

You pretend to attack Will and he giggles as he flees his seat and runs to the other side of the living room. “Will Byers I will spit in your cookies–”

Joyce covers her mouth and gasps. “Y/N, are you hiding a boyfriend from me?”

Quickly you stop chasing after Will, terrified of the idea of the woman thinking you’d hide anything from her. “What? No! I’m not dating Steve–”

“Yet!” Will exclaims from across the room, but his retaliation is followed by a shriek as you chase after the kid again.

“If you keep this up, I’m telling Steve to stop letting y’all sneak into the movies!” You threaten as you chase the boy around the room.

Joyce watches in amusement, she’s never been able to take her eyes off of you when you’re with her boys. Will dodges a grab and you stumble, giving him just enough time to hide behind his mom’s armchair.

He pokes his head out at your threat, his eyes now uncertain. “You wouldn’t really tell Steve that, right?”

Catching your breath, you collapse onto the couch and shake your head at him. “No, little bee. I wouldn’t.”

You’d never do that to Will. He’s been so keen on spending as much time as possible with the party this summer, spending each and every moment planning DnD campaigns and biking all over Hawkins to spend mere seconds together. Will has spent all summer trying as hard as possible to be a kid again because so much of his childhood was stolen by Upside Down.

Will slowly gets up from behind the armchair and sits next to you, relieved. “Okay, good. We wanna see a movie tomorrow night and I already promised everyone you’d get Steve to let us in. That would’ve sucked.”

You and Joyce laugh at the boy’s response, and it feels so good to have this moment with the two of them. You allow it to wash over you for a second, the Byers home has always had such a comforting effect on you, before getting up and gathering your things once more. “I really should go, though. My mom is waiting.”

Joyce and Will say goodbye and tell you to be safe on your way home, and it warms something within you. As you bike down their driveway home, you inhale the summer night’s air and wonder, days before you turn seventeen, how much longer you have left of just this: being a little kid going home after a long day.

–

When you get home, Tews greets you with an angry meow.

The cat had been a Christmas gift for your mom from you and Dustin, seeing as how you accidentally killed Mews. Your mom had cried seeing the little kitten, and had cried even harder when your brother suggested the stupid name “Tews.”

But it stuck, and now Tews glares at you as you take your time feeding her.

In Dustin’s room you can hear your mom rustling around, frantically cleaning the place as if it currently isn’t the cleanest it’s ever been since the kid has been gone all month. After you feed Tews, you make your way over to your brother’s room to help with cleaning.

A few hours later, you’re laying in bed, exhausted from your long day. Dustin’s banner sits on your desk, right next to the phone that resides in the corner. Yawning, you glance at the clock, but when you see the time, you smile.

The phone rings.

“Right on time, honey.”

“Aren’t I always, angel?” Steve’s voice soothes your aching bones, his words like honey, the very thing you’ve come to associate with him.

Phone calls have become more and more common between you and Steve. You’re not sure when this tradition formed, but when you aren’t at Scoops and he isn’t at your house infiltrating your family, you’re on the phone with one another.

Hearing Steve’s voice puts you at ease, and it wasn’t long before you started calling each other before bed every night.

“How was your day?” You ask him, spinning the phone’s cable around your finger as you lay in bed.

Steve lets out a dramatic groan. “I swear, after you left today, Robin intentionally amped up her taunts. It’s like you’re her buffer or something. The second you leave,” you hear him snap his fingers, “she turns against me!”

“Robin would never do that.” Your voice is monotone as you say this, which only makes Steve groan dramatically once more. Robin would most definitely do that; you both know this.

“You two are the worst together.”

“Yeah, well,” you pull your blankets up to your chin and readjust into a comfier position. Your eyes feel heavy and Steve’s voice settles over your body. “Prepare for more pain tomorrow night. Will and the party have grand plans to sneak into yet another movie.”

Steve sighs. “Those kids are manipulating your power over me to get what they want.”

“You call it manipulation, I call it bonding.”

Another sigh escapes Steve. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“And yet you stay.” You tease.

“And yet I stay.”

You bite back a smile; you can almost perfectly envision Steve laying in his own bed, phone pressed to his ear with his hair messy and eyes half lidded as he talks to you. You wish, more than anything, that you could be there with him right now; instead, you fall asleep to the sound of Steve’s voice, slightly raspy from his own exhaustion.

–

The next day you wake up to an empty house. Your mom has been spending her summer at Hawkin’s pool, like all the moms in town now do, to admire Billy at his new job.

It grosses you out to no end, and when your mom comes home some days swearing that Billy winked at her, you have to swallow down the phantom pain of his fingers wrapping around your windpipe.

By the time you get to work, Downtown Hawkins, as always, is a ghost town.

It’s been this way ever since Starcourt opened, and as you park your bike and lock it up, you can’t help but be unnerved by how quiet everything is. It was only a few years ago that you had to scream at a crowd of onlookers when Jonathan and Joyce had had that fight when they had found Will’s body in the quarry.

Now, walking slowly towards the front doors of Bookstrordinary, all you hear is silence in the once lively area. There are posters scattered throughout the old town, but they’re worn from the sunlight and torn from the weather. It’s a depressing sight.

Mrs. Waters greets you kindly when you walk in. “Hello, dear.”

“Hi, Mrs. Waters.” You give her a quick peck on the cheek as you quickly swipe your card to clock in. The bookstore is empty. “Any new shipments today?”

The old woman shakes her head forelonly. “Afraid not. We still haven’t sold last month’s shipment.”

You duck your head down and curse. This is the second shipment you weren’t able to sell. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Waters.”

“Oh, don’t be!” She walks over to you, her wrist shakes as she uses her cane. She has aged so much these last few years. “I’ve owned this store for thirty years, dear. I’m just happy that I can give you and Alex a job before you kids go off to college. Besides, it’s given me something to do these last few years without my husband…”

The woman’s eyes glaze over, something that has started to happen more and more now, and you grab her arm gently and give her a little shake. “Hey, Mrs. Waters. You still with me?”

She blinks, looks around in a confused daze, before breaking into her old smile once more. “Of course I am! Now, sort some books while I ward off those debt collectors with this cane.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, you can’t help but laugh at Mrs. Waters as she waves her cane around madly and gives you a wink. She hobbles back to her office and leaves you alone with the books and the ghost of Downtown Hawkins.

Only two customers come in during your four hour shift, and by midday Mrs. Waters releases you so that she can give Alex a few hours of work as well. She’s trying her best to keep you both hired for as long as she can, so she splits your hours. What she doesn’t know is that Alex now has a job at Hawkins’ pool and only comes into work because he just can’t bear to quit, and neither can you.

You bike to the mall, sad and needing a pick me up. Jonathan’s teasing from last night echoes in your head. How could you possibly think about your birthday when your boss is slowly losing both her mind and her business?

At the mall, your feet unconsciously take you to Scoops as they always do. This has become your favorite part of your dreary days: going to Scoops after work. The smell of ice cream greets you as you walk into the shop.

Robin sees you first and waves excitedly from the register. “Y/N!”

“It’s me!” You run up to the counter and lean over it to squeeze the girl into a tight hug.

There’s a loud crash from the backroom and just as you’ve pulled away from Robin, Steve bursts through the doors and leaps over the counter to join in on the hug. “Thank God you’re here, Robin was about to make me clean the tables.”

You giggle while Robin scoffs, pulling away. “It’s your turn, dingus.”

Steve, still hugging you from behind, hums. He begins to rock you back and forth in his arms, which only makes you giggle more, while he pretends to think about what the girl has said. “Nope, don’t remember it being my turn.”

Robin gives you a pleading look to back her up, and you reluctantly slide your arms over Steve’s and release his grip. He groans in complaint at the loss of your touch, and you roll your eyes at him as you turn around to now face him. “C’mon, let’s go wipe the tables so dear Robin can man the register in peace.”

Steve groans even louder now as Robin cheers, and you snatch the rag from his pocket and begin to wipe down the tables. He follows eventually, moaning and groaning as he cleans next to you, and you hit your hip against his. “Hey, at least you’re getting paid for this.”

“I give you free ice cream!” He argues, pieces of his hair falling out of his adorably dorky sailor’s hat that he has to wear for this job. It’s incredibly endearing, and as he hunches over to scrub at a particularly dirty table, his thighs strain against his probably too short shorts and you can’t help but stare at them. As you admire this spectacular show, Steve catches you and flicks your nose. “Quit ogling me and get back to your free labor, angel.”

“I wasn’t ogling, I was simply admiring.”

Robin gags from behind the register. “I can hear you guys, you know!”

You and Steve both stick your tongues out at her before going back to work.

The hours pass by quickly after that. The midday rush of tweens and teens alike infiltrate Scoops, so Steve helps Robin fling ice cream while you get comfortable in your designated booth in the corner. You’ve hidden a supply of comics underneath one of the booth’s cushions and you spend your time catching up on the latest Spider-Man arc.

You’re so engrossed in what you’re reading that you don’t notice a body slide into the booth next to you until the person speaks.

“Spider-Man, huh? Heard he’s a pretty cool guy.”

Startled by the stranger’s voice, you almost drop your comic in alarm. When you see that it’s just Jason Carver sitting next to you, you place a hand to your chest and inhale quickly, trying to settle your rapid heartbeat. “Christ, you scared me.”

“Sorry!” He genuinely looks apologetic, so you wearily set down your comic and straighten up.

You’ve never spoken to Jason before, even though you’ve been in the same classes ever since eighth grade. He’s always ran with the popular crowd, being a jock and all, and you’ve always ran with Jonathan. However, despite being on the basketball team, Jason has never been mean to either of you, so you figure it’s safe to offer him your attention.

“Can I ask why you’re here?” You cock your head at him, feeling your hair fall over your shoulders.

Jason smiles at you, in a sort of cute and charming way. “Stopped by to get my little sister some ice cream,” he points to a little girl next to him, who waves at you, and you wave back. “Then I saw you sitting here all alone reading one of my favorite comics, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to say hi to such a pretty girl.”

You blush at his bold words. You’ve never received such attention from anyone before, at least not anyone normal thanks to Billy, and you’re not really sure why Jason seems to be paying attention to you now. He’s had years to do this.

Jason sees your sudden shyness and chuckles. He stands up and offers you his hand. “Why don’t I buy you some ice cream, maybe you could help me show my sister around the mall–” Steve’s shoulder collides roughly into the teen’s, causing him to stumble into his sister’s ice cream cone and get chocolate ice cream all over the front of his pants. Jason looks up at Steve and balls his fists in anger. “What the fuck, Harrington?”

You quickly cover the little girl’s ears, though she giggles.

Steve shrugs as he looks at Jason. “Sorry, man. Didn’t see you there.” Then, he turns to you, and offers his own hand. “Anyways, I think it’s time for your daily free ice cream, angel.”

Jason’s eyes narrow as you accept Steve’s hand and spare him an apologetic glance. Before you leave, you dig some cash out of your overalls and hand them to him. “For your sister’s new ice cream cone.”

He sighs and accepts the money. Jason knows that Steve is still holding your hand as he stands behind you, but he has nothing else to lose at this point. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “I didn’t stand a chance, did I?”

Steve twirls you with your interlocked hands, causing you to giggle, and guides you to the ice cream counter. As he leaves, shouts behind him, “Not at all, buddy!”

You know you should feel bad, but Steve twirls you again and all you can do is giggle breathlessly as Jason Carver walks out of Scoops with his sister in tow.

–

Later that night the mall is busier than ever, and as you’re gossiping with Robin about Steve ruining Jason’s pants, you’re interrupted by Mike’s grubby little hand repeatedly hitting the bell.

Seems it’s time for their movie.

You flick the kid’s head, which Lucas, Max, and Will snicker at. “Enough!”

“Ow, Y/N!”

“Thanks,” Robin sends you an appreciative smile before she calls towards the backroom, “Dingus, your children are here!”

Within seconds, Steve opens the sliding windows and sighs when he sees Mike and the party. “Again? Seriously?”

“I warned you.” You say, shrugging at his annoyance. “Let the kids have some fun.”

Mike rings the bell again. “Do what Y/N says.”

Steve sighs in defeat and motions for the kids to follow him behind the counter. “Fine, but only because I’m nice, not because Y/N said so.”

“Right.” Everyone says, not at all believing him, which Steve chooses to ignore.

You all follow him through the back entrance of the mall. Checking to make sure the coast is clear, Steve waves the kids inside. “I swear, if anybody hears about this–”

“We’re dead.” The kids all respond, voices monotone with annoyance after hearing this threat a million times.

However, before they all leave, Will gently tugs at your hand to get your attention. “Are you coming with?”

You want to say yes, but then you catch Steve’s eyes and he silently pleads with you to stay, and you know you can’t tell him no. Squeezing Will’s hand, you shake your head. “Sorry, little bee. I promise I will next time, though.”

Mike scoffs in disgust, disappointed in you. Your relationship with Steve has always confused him, and you’ve only gotten closer to the teen since Dustin left for camp. He pities what the boy will think when he comes back to his sister all lovey-dovey with an idiot like Steve Harrington.

Once the kids leave, you go back into Scoops with Steve and settle into your booth once more. Grabbing your comic, you flip to where you left off before looking up at the teen and saying, “you have me for another hour. I can’t be out late tonight, Dustin comes home tomorrow and I promised Mike I’d be up at like seven to let everyone in.”

Steve salutes you and hops back behind his counter to help Robin with some customers. You smile at his antics and go back to reading. A few minutes pass, Spider-Man has just kissed MJ, before the lights above you start to flicker and then go out completely.

Everyone in the mall gasps and murmurs in a slight panic as they’re thrown into darkness. The hair on your arms stands up; you no longer trust lights that flicker. Robin catches your eye and gives you an odd look when she sees the fear on your face.

“Scared of the dark, Y/N?” She teases, not understanding what you really fear: what lies below Hawkins.

“That’s weird,” Steve mumbles to himself as he goes over to the light switch. He starts to flip the switch repeatedly, and you roll your eyes at him. He’s an idiot sometimes.

“That isn’t gonna work, dingus.” Robin says, looking over at you once more as if to silently ask, why are you attracted to him?

You shake your head at her as Steve continues to flip the switch, now only quickening his movements. He stares Robin down as if to challenge her. “Oh, really?”

Nothing happens, because contrary to what Steve may believe, he can’t fix what is likely (and what you hope) is simply a blackout from the summer heat. He flicks the lightswitch a few more times before the generators kick back on and Scoops Ahoy is once again lit up.

Steve raises his eyebrows at Robin and smirks at her, pleased. “See? Let there be light.”

You drop your head to the table, now also questioning why you’re attracted to the guy.

However, when it’s time to head home and Steve walks with you to your bike outside, he kisses your cheek and wishes you a good night; you know that this is the reason you’ve fallen for him: his kindness. With his kiss lingering on your cheek, you bike home.

–

When Steve gets back from saying goodbye to you, he’s met with a nosey Robin.

She stands against the counter with her arms crossed. There aren’t any more customers in the shop, they closed about ten minutes ago, and Steve was really looking forward to driving home and taking off his stupid uniform.

Robin, however, clearly has other plans.

“What did I do now?” He asks her, not daring to take any step closer.

“Why haven’t you asked Y/N out yet?” Steve’s eyes widen at the question and Robin knows she’s got him cornered. “I’ve spent hours with you guys, and it’s driving me insane that you haven’t manned up!”

“‘Manned up’?” Steve sputters out, completely offended.

Robin throws her arms out in front of her. “Yes! I mean, it’s so obvious that you’re in love with her and that she’s in love with you. Just… Just get it over with!”

Blushing, Steve slumps against the wall and closes his eyes. As much as it pains him to admit it, he knows that Robin is right. “It’s… complicated.”

“Well, go on.” The girl now hops on the counter and sits on it. “Explain it to me, then.”

“Y/N used to be in love with…” Steve stops, unsure if you’d want him to be telling Robin this. “Someone.”

She rolls her eyes. “Everyone knows she was in love with that Byers kid.”

“Right.” He clears his throat, uncomfortable with the reminder that at one point, everyone in Hawkins truly believed you were destined for Jonathan. “Well as I’m sure you know… He got with Nancy, who–uh, I had been with.”

“Okay, so what?”

“I–” Steve isn’t sure what Robin doesn’t understand. “I needed… time?”

Robin frowns. “After Nancy dumped you?”

“Technically I dumped her–”

“What does this have to do with Y/N?” Robin presses.

Steve groans and rubs at his eyes. He’s tired and wants to go home to call you and go to bed with your soft voice in his head. “Y/N understood that the breakup with Nancy hurt, and–well. She told me she’d wait for me. I guess. While I figured my shit out.”

Robin thinks this over for a minute. “Okay, I think I can understand that, but–wait, when did this all happen again?”

“... December.” He closes his eyes, bracing himself for the girl’s inevitable anger.

“Harrington!”

There it is.

“I know, okay?” Steve tugs at his hair in frustration. “I’m over Nancy, I’ve been over her since at least April, but… But what–what if Y/N has lost interest in me now? What if–maybe I made her wait too long, or–or what if she thinks she’s just Nancy’s replacement?”

Steve is rambling now, months of his anxious and insecure thoughts now spilling out. “I mean, it’d kill me if–if I ever made her feel second to anyone! She’s… She’s incredible and–God, I don’t even know why she likes me and I’ve spent this entire summer trying to–I don’t know… Figure out how to confess my feelings to her in a way that matters, ya know? Like, a grand proposal to show her that I’m crazy about her.”

Robin is silent for several minutes after Steve’s frantic spiel, he’s panting by the time he’s done. Then, finally, she says, “Dude… You’re way overthinking this.”

Steve winces. “I mean, her birthday is in a few days. I can… I can ask her to be my girlfriend then. That’s romantic, right?”

“You’re hopeless.”

–

“Dusty comes home today!” Your mom’s shrill voice wakes you up as she prances around the house getting ready. You roll over in bed and stretch, tired but excited to see your brother again after a month of being apart.

You get out of bed and press a kiss to your mother’s cheek before telling her to drive safe. Glancing at the clock, you see that you have just enough time to shower before the party arrives. The entire thing had been Mike’s plan and you were more than happy to help arrange everything.

After you’ve gotten ready, you hear three swift knocks on your front door and you answer it. “Right on time, Wheeler.”

Mike salutes you as he and the others walk in. El gives you a hug and Max high fives you as the boys start setting up the robots. The six of you get started on the plan: place all the robots in Dustin’s room, all hidden in various corners, and then use El’s powers to control them and guide him to the living room so that you all can surprise him.

It’s a brilliant plan, one only a Wheeler could think of.

It takes you, Lucas, Mike, and Will to successfully hang up Dustin’s banner that took you all week to make. There’s cursing, yelling, a few trips, and multiple snickers from El and Max while the four of you struggle to hang the thing, but eventually you manage to secure the banner into place in the living room.

Just as you’ve finished hanging it up, you hear your mom’s car pull into the driveway and you quickly shove the kids into a closet. “Quick! That’s my mom’s car, hide!”

Lucas yelps and Max punches his shoulder to shut him up, but thankfully you manage to close the closet door just in time before Dustin walks in. You hide behind the couch, quiet so as not to be seen by him, and carefully listen for his footsteps to retreat down the hall and into his room.

Once he’s gone, you scramble towards the closet and open the door. “Okay, he’s in his room, time for step two.”

“Did we all really have to hide in the closet?” Will asks, rubbing at his shoulder that had been shoved into a hanger.

“Yes, now shush and hide behind the wall so he doesn’t see you.” You order, and the kids all listen. Once you’re all pressed against the wall, you nod at El. “Ready?”

“Ready.” She responds, closing her eyes. Static fills the air and you hear one of the robots turn on in Dustin’s room. Then the other one turns on, then the monkey, and soon all the toys have been activated by El’s powers.

Mike pokes his head around the corner. “Okay, now start leading the robots here.”

Blood slowly begins to drip from El’s nose and you feel bad that she’s doing this, but the kids all look excited, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little giddy yourself. The noise from the robots grows louder as El draws them out from the room and towards you guys.

You hear Dustin’s uncertain voice following behind them. “It’s just a dream… You’re dreaming.”

Then Mike whispers to El, “Now!”

The robots all die in the center of your living room and slowly everyone starts to creep out from behind the wall. Lucas is holding his own poster he made and you hand everyone party noisemakers. Dustin is investigating the robots and doesn’t hear you stalk up behind him. Max silently counts to three, and on her signal, you all blow your party noisemakers and surprise him.

Dustin screams and immediately holds up his Farrah Fawcett spray, blinding Lucas as he continuously sprays it. The poor boy screams as well and the rest of the kids back away, out of the line of fire. However, as soon as your momentary shock wears off, you manage to snatch the hairspray out of your brother’s hand and save Lucas.

“Why is Farrah Fawcett your weapon of choice?” You exclaim, shoving a still screaming Lucas towards your kitchen so that you flush the spray out of his eyes. Max joins, rubbing soothing circles into the boy’s back.

“Why would you scare me like that after the hell we went through this year?” Dustin shouts back at you, clutching at his chest.

Dustin’s words make you stop for a moment and think. Huh. He has a point. “Yeah, we should’ve thought about that, honestly.”

“A little help here?” Lucas brings the attention back to him and you apologize, helping him once more to flush his eyes out. As you and Max tend to him, Dustin tells the others to follow him to his room so he can show them what he built at camp.

Max splashes some more water in Lucas’ eyes. “Better?”

The boy stands up and wipes his face, though he’s careful not to touch his eyes. “Still stings.”

“I feel like I should call someone…” You mumble, Your first aid knowledge doesn’t include Farrah Fawcett in the eyes.

Lucas blinks a few times and looks around. He leans in closer to Max’s face and for a moment you’re scared he’ll kiss her, but instead he chooses to be an idiot. “Is that a new zit?”

You wince and Max’s eyes widen in disbelief. She looks at you and you both seem to come to the same agreement: grabbing the back of Lucas’ neck, the two of you shove his face back into the water. “What is wrong with you?”

Lucas screams again and you leave Max to deal with him, laughing to yourself as you go see whatever creation your brother has brought home. You love Lucas, you do, but you have no idea how Max puts up with his boyish antics.

Inside Dustin’s room, you find him and the others hunched over a collection of wires and metal pieces. You walk in and join them.

“I would like you to meet Cerebro.” Dustin presents his creation, but you honestly have no idea what it’s supposed to be.

You squint at it. “It’s… Pretty?”

“What exactly are we looking at here?” Mike asks, unimpressed.

“An unassembled, one-of-a-kind, battery powered radio tower!” Dustin explains with a proud smile on his face.

A beat of silence passes before Will carefully asks, “So… It’s a ham radio?”

Dustin’s excitement only grows. “The Cadillac of radios.”

“Still not understanding, buddy.” You now voice, usually always lost when it comes to the more AV stuff the party likes.

“This baby carries a crystal-clear connection over vast differences.” Your brother clarifies for you, and you nod along. “I’m talking North Pole to South. I can talk to my girlfriend whenever and wherever I choose.”

You, Mike, El, and Will all look at each other in shock at the word that has just left Dustin’s mouth. “Girlfriend?”

Your brother nods, looking all smug, and you immediately berate him with a million questions. “What’s her name, where is she from, how long have you been dating. Tell me everything, now!”

“Relax, dear sister. Her name is Suzie, and I’ll explain in a second. We can even talk to her if you guys help me set Cerebro up on Weathertop hill.”

You’re the first to start grabbing all the supplies, giddy and eager to hear more about your baby brother’s girlfriend. It’s almost too good to be true. Mike, Will, and El follow along and soon you’re all holding materials for Cerebro as you follow Dustin out of the house.

As you all leave, Mike starts asking questions again. “Wait, so her name is Suzie?”

Dustin nods. “Suzie, with a ‘z’. She’s from Utah.”

“People from Utah actually exist?” You ask, which the others laugh at.

“Girls go to science camp?” Will asks.

You give him a stern look. “Anyone can go to science camp, Will.”

“What Y/N said,” Dustin continues explaining his girlfriend. “And Suzie does, she’s a genius.”

“Is she cute?” Mike can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Think Phoebe Cates, only better.”

You re-adjust one of the poles for Cerebro in your arms. “Can we focus on her being smart instead? I think she sounds lovely.”

From the kitchen, Max sees the four of you open the front door as she helps Lucas with his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“We’re going to talk to Dustin’s girlfriend.” Will informs them.

Lucas whips his head up from the sink as he and Max exclaim, “Girlfriend?”

“I know, right?” You say, motioning them to follow.

–

“Alrighty, one scoop of chocolate. That’s a buck twenty-five.” Steve hands the ice cream cone to the girl he’s currently serving. She’s pretty enough, and when he notices her Purdue shirt, he can’t help but say something about it. “Ooh, Purdue! Fancy.”

The girl smiles and hands Steve her change. “Yeah, I’m excited.”

“Yeah, you know… I–I considered it. Purdue.” He types the code into the register and places the change inside. “But then I was like, you know what? I really think I need some real life experience, you know, before I hit college. See what it’s like.”

The girl and the friend she’s with exchange weird glances, and Steve knows he’s rambling like an idiot. “Uh, what I mean is… You’re girls, right? How would the two of you like to be asked out by a guy?”

“I’m sorry?” Purdue girl asks, looking at her friend, creeped out.

The cash register begins to beep at him and Steve hits it a few times to shut it up. “Sorry, uh… Anyways, say you’ve seen this guy every day for like, months, and feelings are shared, you know, as they are. Then time passes and the guy never makes the move because he’s, well, he’s an idiot–”

“Yeah, totally.” Purdue girl interrupts him and her friend giggles.

“Exactly, so… This was, like, so fun. This little chat. Anyways, what do you think? How would you want the guy to ask you out?” Steve puts on his most charming smile, hoping that the girls will say that maybe he isn’t crazy for waiting so long to ask you out. As he hands them their change, he drops part of it. “Oh, sorry about that. Uh…”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t wanna be asked out.” Purdue girl says as her friend snorts.

“Sure, but I mean, it’s complicated, you know? And–”

Purdue girl interrupts him once more. “No, I’m sorry, but it sounds like you missed your chance and you’re like, really weird.”

“But the guy isn’t me!” Steve shouts as the two girls leave, only embarrassing himself even more. He sighs, closes his eyes, and wonders how he got here.

“And another one bites the dust.” Robin announces from behind him. He turns around and watches as she marks another tally underneath the you suck column of her whiteboard. Next to it is the column you rule, which currently has zero marks. “You are oh-for-six, Popeye.”

Steve crosses his arms. “Yeah, I can count.”

“You know that means you suck and that Y/N isn’t the problem here, you are, right?”

“Yup, I can read, too.” Steve swallows down his annoyance, he knows he’s only done this to himself.

“Since when?”

“It’s this stupid hat,” Steve complains, as if this is the only appropriate answer. “I’m telling you, it’s making everyone think I’m some pathetic guy who can’t ask a girl out.”

Robin leans against the window. “Yeah, company policy is the reason that you’re an idiot for not asking out Y/N.” She thinks for a moment and tries to offer the teen some advice. “Ya know, it’s a crazy idea, but have you considered telling the truth?”

“What? That I’m hopelessly in love with her? Sure, I’m such a catch who couldn’t even get into Tech and whose douchebag dad is trying to teach a lesson, now making three bucks an hour with no future.” Steve laughs at himself. “A catch who, by the way, could’ve been hers back in December had he not been a complete moron? What a great truth.”

Robin frowns, now feeling bad for making him feel this way. While she doesn’t understand everything, she gets that Steve has had a difficult few months. Taking pity on him, she points out some girls approaching and tries to lighten his mood. “Hey, twelve o’clock! Maybe they’ll see your side of things.”

Steve turns around and sees the girls as well. “Shit, okay. Okay, I can do this! I’m going in.” He quickly snatches the sailor hat from his head and tosses it to Robin. “Screw company policy, I’m getting advice about Y/N one way or another.”

For a second, Robin has hope for him, but then he opens his Scoops Ahoy greeting way too loud and then immediately starts to ramble about you, and she sighs in defeat and marks another tally underneath the you suck column.

–

Hiking up a giant, grassy hill in ninety degree heat while hauling heavy equipment for a giant radio that your brother built to talk to his alleged long distance girlfriend definitely wasn’t what you had in mind today. In fact, you mourn the fact that you aren’t working today.

You’re only here to hear about Dustin’s girlfriend, honestly.

“Aren’t we high enough?” Lucas pants, voicing what everyone else is thinking.

Dustin shakes his head. “Cerebro works best at a hundred meters.”

“You know, I’m pretty sure people in Utah have telephones.” Max quips.

You wipe sweat from your brow and cringe, you feel disgusting. “Max, you’ve always been so wise.”

“Suzie’s Mormon.” Says Dustin, and you almost trip over a rock.

“You’re dating a Mormon?”

Lucas talks over you. “Oh, shit. She doesn’t have electricity?”

“Oh, that’s the Amish.” Max corrects him, and you get flashbacks to when you had to correct Steve about Nazis and Germans.

Will frowns at you. “What are Mormons?”

“Scary people–”

Dustin interrupts you. “Super religious white people. They have electricity and cars and stuff, but… Since I’m not Mormon, her parents would never approve.”

“Please don’t become Mormon,” you beg, dripping even more sweat. “I need someone sane in our family.”

“I won’t,” Dustin reassures you, though he has a far off look in his eyes. “But it’s all a bit Shakespearean, don’t you think?”

“Shakespearean?” Max laughs and you also can’t help but giggle.

Dustin doesn’t let your teasing deter him from reminiscing, though. “Yeah, like Romeo and Juliet.”

“They both die, Dustin.” It’s important to you that he knows this.

“But they were also star crossed lovers.”

“Who killed themselves.”

Below, Mike shouts to the rest of you, “Hey, guys!”

You all turn and you frown when you see just how far he and El are, both of them empty handed and dry as a daisy in the summer heat. When Mike sees that he has all of your attention, he taps at his watch. “This is fun and all, but, uh…”

“I have to go home.” El announces, her arm intertwined through Mike’s.

Dustin points towards the top of the hill no less than a few yards away. “We’re almost there.”

“Sorry, man. Curfew.” Mike shrugs, he isn’t really sorry and you all know it. He then grabs El’s hand and they descend down the hill, giggling and enamored with one another.

With a gleeful laugh, El says goodbye. “Good luck!”

Dustin looks down at his watch. “Curfew at four?”

You’re startled by the time, having assumed it was at least closer to six. Hopper may be an overprotective grump of a man, but not even he is crazy enough to enact a curfew for El at four in the afternoon. “That… Doesn’t sound real.”

“They’re lying.” Lucas explains, frustrated.

“It’s been like this all summer.” Will says bitterly, something that you take note of.

Max nudges you with her shoulder. “I think it’s romantic.”

“It’s gross!” Will voices again.

You bite your lip. “I don’t know, it’s your guys’ last summer before high school and…”

“It’s bullshit.” Dustin finishes for you, hurt in his voice. “I just got home.”

You flick him. “Language! But… I agree.”

Dustin watches with annoyance as Mike and El walk down the hill hand in hand. While he’s incredibly hurt that they’ve ditched him after being gone for a month, he remembers what Steve has taught him. People can suck, but there’s nothing he can do about it. “Well, their loss, right? Onwards and upwards, Suzie awaits!”

Max and Lucas groan at the idea of continuing the hike while you admire your brother’s perseverance. You’re proud of him for not letting Mike and El ruin his plans with the others. He’s excited to be home, and you’re more than happy to go along with whatever schemes he has planned.

You’re about to follow the others up the hill when you realize that Will hasn’t joined. You turn around and see that he has his hand around the back of his neck as he stands there, frozen. Then, he turns and faces Hawkins, stumbling back a bit as he does so, and you watch with a frown on your face.

“Hey, little bee, are you okay?” You gently place a hand on his shoulder, which seems to break him of whatever spell he’d been under.

“I’m fine,” he lies, and you don’t at all believe him. Will looks uneasy, as if he’s just seen a ghost. A part of you begins to worry, but you don’t push him. For all you know, it could be about Mike and his growing distance from the others.

“Well, c’mon, then.” You grab Will’s hand and together you ascend the rest of the hill.

At the top, Dustin drops his bag and sighs. “Made it!”

“Yeah, only took five hours,” Max pants out, stumbling the final few steps up the hill.

You collapse onto the ground and fight to catch your breath. “I run almost every morning. I think I lost a lung back there.”

“Why couldn’t we just play DnD?” Will collapses next to you.

Lucas grabs the flask of water, and as you struggle to get air into your lungs, you watch as he chugs the remaining water without a care in the world. Max watches as well, annoyed, and once again you pity Lucas. He’s such a boy.

Building the radio takes longer than expected. After your short five minute break, Dusin puts you all to work. There’s a million pieces to the thing and your fingers ache from screwing bolts into slots and extending poles. The sun has begun to set when you finally push the giant radio into an upright position. It’s easily fifteen feet high, and it’s an impressive sight that you can’t deny.

“Not bad, Dustin.” You admit, walking around Cerebro in awe.

“Ready to meet my love?” He asks everyone, and you all sit down next to him and eagerly await. Dustin switches the radio on. “Suzie, this is Dustin. Do you copy? Over.”

No one answers. All you hear is radio feedback.

Dustin scratches his nose nervously. “One sec. She’s probably… She’s still there.” Again, no one answers, and he ducks his head down in embarrassment. “Suzie… This is Dustin, do you copy? Over.”

More radio static follows in the absence of Suzie’s response.

You wince, despite trying to appear supportive. You can’t help it, this is embarrassing for your brother. While you don’t doubt that he has a girlfriend, you admit that this doesn’t look good for him. A long distance girlfriend who is hot and smart and magically needs a radio to communicate with? Unlikely.

“I’m sure she’s there,” Dustin tries to explain to you guys, now even more embarrassed. “It’s dinner time, and she’s busy…”

“Yeah, sure.” Lucas tries to be supportive and play along, which you appreciate him immensely for. Max nods as well, but Will just stands there silent.

“Maybe try again?” You encourage, trying to be nice.

Dustin nods and tries once more to contact Suzie, and it goes on like this for a while. He radios, no one answers, and eventually you and everyone else lay down in the grass as you wait for nothing.

Almost an hour passes and the crickets begin to chirp as the sun goes down and the moon comes up. Dustin is still trying to reach Suzie, but Max finally has enough. “Dustin, come on! She’s not there.”

“She’s there, alright? She’ll pick up.”

“Dustin…” You sigh, unsure how to tell him that you also want to leave. You had plans with Steve tonight, he invited you over to watch a movie and you should’ve left ten minutes ago.

Will lifts his head up from the grass. “Maybe Cerebro doesn’t work.”

“Or maybe Suzie doesn’t exist.” Lucas argues.

Dustin gasps. “She exists!”

“She’s a genius and she’s hotter than Phoebe Cates? No girl is that perfect.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose at Lucas’ words and wait for Max’s inevitable offense. He truly, deeply, is such a boy. As predicted, Max sits up and looks down at him with annoyance. “Is that so?”

Lucas shuffles up in panic, now realizing too late what he’s said. “I mean–you’re perfect! I mean, like, perfect–in your own way, in your own, uh, special way!”

“Lucas,” you hit his shoulder. “Stop talking, dude.”

Max laughs, pleased with herself. “Relax, I was teasing. I’m obviously perfect and Dustin is obviously lying.”

“Okay, no,” you now sit up. “He isn’t lying, it’s just a very unfortunate circumstance.”

Max doesn’t listen and instead offers Lucas her hand to help him up so that they can leave. “Come on, Don Juan.”

“Where are you going?” Dustin follows, not understanding yet what’s happening.

“Home,” Max huffs, before remembering that you’re there, too. “Bye, Y/N!”

“Bye,” you wave at them weakly, knowing that this will only upset your brother further as she and Lucas slowly head home.

Dustin stands next to you now. “Well, guess it’s just us and Byers, Y/N,”

Will now stands up and awkwardly avoids your brother’s gaze. “Um… It’s late. Sorry. Maybe tomorrow we can play DnD, or something fun, like we used to?”

Dustin clenches his jaw. You know he’s close to tears, and it breaks your heart to watch. You stand up and rest your arm around him as he responds to Will. “Yeah, sure.”

“Welcome home,” Will says sadly before he starts to walk down the hill as well.

You anxiously watch as he leaves. “Be careful, please!”

“I will!” He reassures you, knowing that you’re still terrified of losing him again.

As you watch Will, Dustin whispers to himself, “Yeah, welcome home.”

His words break your heart even more. Forgetting about your anxiety over Will, you wrap both arms around your brother and hug him. He had been so excited earlier to be home and see all his friends after a month of being away. You understand that the kids are all growing up, but you had always hoped that they’d grow together, not apart.

“You still have all of July and August,” you try to comfort Dustin, desperately hoping that you aren’t lying to both him and yourself. “I’m sure they’ll come around.”

Suddenly the radio attached to Cerebro switches on and Dustin pushes you off of him so that he can get to the radio in time. He stumbles over his feet and trips, and you watch with amusement and curiosity.

He manages to finally untangle himself from the radio and answers. “Suzie, Suzie, is that you?”

You sit down next to Dustin and lean in close to the radio, excited to finally meet your brother’s girlfriend. Instead, you hear what sounds like a foreign language. It’s distinct, slightly muffled, but you know what it is. “Is that…”

“Russian.” Dustin whispers.

Everything changes, then.

–

You force Dustin to go home immediately. He wants to stay, see if he can find any more hidden messages, but you refuse. He’s elated, talking a mile a minute as you bike home, theorizing every possible answer as to why you heard Russian in Hawkins, Indiana.

“Dustin!” You yell at him, terrified that someone could be listening. “Not here, okay?”

He deflates, but pedals home alongside you.

You’re terrified as you bike home, a million thoughts are running through your head. You don’t at all like what any of this could mean; you’ve had enough sketchy government facilities and secret government agencies to last you a fucking lifetime.

When you get home, you order Dustin to go to bed.

“But Y/N, we’ve got to tell someone about this–”

“Tomorrow, okay? Just, please, Dustin.” You’re exhausted and confused and overwhelmed.

Your brother senses that you’re at your limit and reluctantly backs down. “Fine, but can we at least tell Steve tomorrow?”

Hearing Steve’s name puts something at ease within you. Tomorrow, you’ll go to Scoops with Dustin and ask Steve what he thinks about all of this. Comforted by the fact that you now have a plan forming, you begin to calm down. “I promise we’ll tell him tomorrow, okay?”

Dustin nods and heads to his room, wishing you a good night. When you hear his door click shut, you slowly head to your own room. You’re terrified, and there’s only one thing you want to do to lessen the fear that scratches at your throat. After crawling into bed, you call Steve.

He answers immediately. “Y/N? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” you breathe out, his voice like an exhale of a summer’s day. “I… I’m sorry I missed our movie night.”

Steve laughs softly. “Angel, I’m just happy you’re okay. I was getting worried there.”

You close your eyes. “It’s been a weird day.”

“Did something happen?” Steve senses that there’s something you aren’t telling him, which worries him.

“Dustin… He may have found something, but I just–I don’t want to talk about it just yet. I… I don’t want to jinx it,” you squeeze your eyes tight and will away the fear you feel. “I–I’m just, I’m so exhausted, you know?”

“Y/N, are you in danger–”

“No,” you dispel any fear that Steve may feel. “I promise I’m okay, I just really need to hear your voice right now, okay? Can you just talk to me, please?”

“Of course I can.” Steve agrees without any questions asked, and you love how he trusts you enough to do this.

Exhaling the remaining fear, you allow the warmth from Steve to hold you through the night. “Thank you, honey.”

“Anytime, angel. You know that.”

And you do.

Steve begins telling you a story from today, how he dropped an ice cream cone on a toddler and enraged the mom, and you fall asleep that night to the sound of his voice over the phone.

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist, just let me know :)

⌑ taglist: @siriuslysmoking @sheisjoeschateau @thytorturedpoet @innercreationflower @juhdoche @frostandflamesfanfic @goosy-goose @quinnsadilla @munsons-queen @stefansring @rice-elephant @bex22109 @bitchkeery @bex22109 @officerrrfriendly @kazunish @idkitsem @emilieluckwood @ryoujoking @criesinlies @tagakalat @dcnerd98 @sucker-4-angst @kitdjarin1 @onecojg @innazra @areiofhope @spaghetittied @cultish-corner @g8sstuff @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @hsllfirescoops @l0ve-0f-my-life @newyorkangelbaby @aliceespector @chervbs @poppet055 @bookkeeperlove @bellenotthebeast @swiftieblyth @ladyobscurus @moon-flowerss @estaticheart @dreamingofts18 @lanxsee @thecapricunt1616 @aheadfullofsteverogers @marvel-and-music @angie2274 @thescoopstroopers @xuimhao @rh1nestonecowg1rl @shelby-ren @carinacassiopeiae @eddiemunson-86-baby @ribbetzetoad @harryssideboobz

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #fluff #angst #nya #m's writing

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disasterofastory · 7 months

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A shocking night (Brahms Heelshire x Reader)

A shocking night // Brahms Heelshire Masterlist Brahms Heelshire x Reader Kinktober 2023 - 2/14 Warnings: shower smut, a bit dub-c, dead bodies

Summary: You meet Brahms, the living one, for the first time.

It's so quiet you can hear the rapid beating of your heart as it tries to break free from the hold of your ribcage. Your chest heaves as you pant and gulp for air. Your lungs burn. You can feel the wild rhythm of your pulse at the tip of your fingers. It makes your limbs numb and frozen. It makes you stop from running and escaping this hellhole.

The entrance door of the mansion seems far away. Too far away.

Your eyes are on the man. He is the only one still alive. The other three lie on the ground, bloody and motionless. They chose the wrong house to break into. Your attention falls on them for a second before snapping back at the one who stares at you from behind his mask. The white but dirty porcelain is familiar. Too familiar.

"Brahms?" Your voice is high and panicked. At first, you think he doesn't even understand your question. He tilts his head to the side before nodding. His posture is still tense and ready to jump at any second if you dare to move even an inch. His broad chest moves up and down as he pants. The white shirt he wears is dirty and bloody, too. Everything is.

How is it possible? You heard about the history of the family who hired you. Malcolm told you about their son who died in the fire that still marks the outside of the house. That's why you were so accepting to take care of a toy. You had no idea what secret they hid among the tall walls of the mansion.

"Y/N?" Your heart stops beating for a second when a high, childlike voice pulls you out of your thoughts. Your eyes focus back on the man in front of you. "Yes?" You ask back, gasping. "Are you going to leave?" He asks. It's a dangerous question. You hear the silent warning underneath his words. "No, Brahms," you force yourself to speak. "I won't leave you." He nods. Even through the mask, you can see the satisfaction that your reply brings to him. "Did they hurt you?"

Did they hurt you? You have to think about his question. You don't remember. Everything happened so fast. In one second, you were asleep, and the next, you woke up at the sharp sound of breaking glass. You went to see what it was, and before you knew it, chaos ensued. Brahms broke through a mirror and killed everyone. Well, expect you.

He steps closer, and your back presses against the wall as you try to keep your distance from him. His hand lands on your shoulder, sliding over the curve until he reaches your neck. His touch is surprisingly gentle.

Oh, now you remember. One of the men grabbed your neck when they noticed you. Your head is still dizzy because of it. And because of everything else. "I'm fine," you tell him. "Please, Brahms." Tears gather in your eyes as you stand still in his hold. "Please, don't hurt me." The man frowns behind the mask as he moves his gaze from your neck to your face. Your face is wet from crying. Your eyes shine with tears and panic. He shakes his head. "If you are good to me, I will be good to you." His words do nothing to calm you down, and his thin voice makes you want to cry harder. How is it even possible? The boy, the man in front of you, should be dead. Taking a deep breath, you reach for his hand still on your neck. His fingers curl around your fingers instantly. "We have to do something with… them," you tell him, glancing at the lifeless bodies behind Brahms.

You are not even sure what you should do. Call the police? You are sure Brahms wouldn't let you, and you would end up in prison without a question. Nobody would believe you. But maybe being behind bars would be better than staying here.

"I will take care of them," Brahms says. His voice is normal now, and you are surprised at how good it sounds. "What will you do with them?" You ask him. "I will take care of them," he repeats his previous words, and you get the hint. "Okay," you nod. "Take care of them, Brahms." At your instruction, the man's posture straightens. He almost seems happy that you told him what to do. "I will go and make some tea, okay?" You ask him. He is not happy about letting you go out of his sight, but the promise of warm tea after he is done makes him relent.

You know this is your chance to escape, but you can't make yourself do it. You are too afraid. And too tired. You sit at the kitchen island for what it feels like forever. You hear Brahms moving around in the other room, and you can see his dark form outside, but the greenery of the garden hides what he is doing. Well, you have a guess, anyway.

"Are you done?" You ask him when he appears under the door of the kitchen. He is even more dirty than he was. His boots are almost black because of the mud outside.

You have to clean up everything tomorrow. You stop at the thought. What? There is no way you will stay and play nanny after this madness.

When Brahms nods, you push the other mug his way, and he sits down in front of you. "How will you-?" Before you can finish your question, he pulls on the mask, and you get a glimpse of his thick beard and lips. "Oh." For long seconds, none of you say anything. Brahms just stares at you while sipping from his cup, and you look back at him with several unanswered questions. "Brahms," you break the silence after a while, clearing your throat. You are still afraid to say the wrong thing and anger him. As it seems, he has a sure place for dead bodies. He says nothing but watches you, waiting. "You were here the… whole time?" He nods. "And the… doll? It is just a toy, isn't it?" He nods again. The thought of him watching you without your knowledge sends unease down your spine. He was there the whole time, and you did know nothing about it. "Your parents," you continue. The words roll down your tongue slowly and carefully. "They wanted to protect you." You heard about him killing a little girl. Brahms nods, putting down the mug onto the wooden surface. It's empty. You have not enough courage to ask him why he did what he did. "You…" Your throat tightens. "You killed those men so easily." He reminded you of a feral beast, taking down those men easily and quickly. Even when they begged, Brahms didn't have mercy in his heart to throw them out and let them run away. "They hurt you," he says. His gaze falls on your neck, watching the dark bruise already forming on your soft skin. It makes him angry. "You came out to protect me?" He looks into your eyes again as he nods. "Will you hurt me?" He thinks for a long, horrible second and shakes his head. The dark curls on the top of his head frame the porcelain mask on his face. "The mask," you continue. "You can take it off." His muscles tense, and he shakes his head again. "Okay," you nod, looking at the clock on the wall. "It's late Brahms. You should take a shower and go to sleep." "No," he replies, and his voice is childlike and high again. You frown at his answer. "Do you want to go to sleep like this?" You ask him. He is dirty and bloody and sweaty. He shakes his head. "Then go and shower. You will sleep better." "No." "Brahms," you sigh. "It's late, and I'm tired. Please, just do as I say." After watching over the doll for weeks, you fall into your caretaker role automatically. "Will you be there?" "While you shower?" He nods. "If you want me there." You have to force your face not to grimace. "Will you bathe me?" 'No' is your first reaction, but you keep it yourself. He is so calm now. You don't want to do anything that can disturb it. "If you want to." He nods again, standing up. "Then go and get some clothes and meet me in your room, okay?" You can see he wants to argue for a second but decides against it at the end. He must be tired, too.

While you wait for Brahms in his room, your eyes are glued to the doll in the middle of the bed. He stares back at you. The dim lights reflect in his glass eyes. You are almost angry at it. There were moments during your time here when you foolishly thought taking care of a toy wasn't the biggest waste of your time.

A thought gets stuck in your head, and you frown. Your eyes are still on the doll when you hear the real Brahms's arrival. "Brahms," you say his name. He stops, watching your back until you turn to look at him. He holds his clean clothes against his chest. "Your parent. They won't come back." Your question sounds like a statement, but the man nods anyway.

You need several deep breaths to calm yourself. Upsetting Brahms won't lead you anywhere good.

"Come," you break the silence after a while. Your voice is surprisingly steady. "The sooner you get cleaned, the sooner we can go to sleep."

In the small space of the bathroom, Brahms seems even bigger. He towers over you easily, watching you put his clean clothes on the toilet through his mask. His heart is wild in his chest. He imagined you this close to him so many times before. Of course, he acted on his desires several times, but now you are awake. You know about him. And you will stay. "Take off your clothes, Brahms," you tell him, trying to look everywhere else but him as he slowly does as you say. "You don't like me?" His voice is a mix of his real and childlike pitch. You gulp. "Of course, I like you, Brahms." "Then why don't you look at me?" He is confused. You don't like how he looks like? Maybe you would prefer Malcolm instead of him? The thought angers him. That man is weak and incapable of protecting you. You force yourself to look at him. "I just thought you would feel uncomfortable," you lie. Oh. The man calms down within a second. How nice of you. "Now go," you tell him, pointing at the already running water. For a moment, you think he will obey again, but at the last second, he grabs your wrist, trying to pull you with himself. "Brahms!" You gasp. "What are you doing?" "You are dirty, too." "I will take a shower after you go to sleep." "No." "Brahms!" You don't stand a chance against his strength. The sleeve of your shirt is already wet. "Get in with me!" The anger is clear and powerful in his voice. Blood freezes in your veins at his sudden aggression. "Okay! Okay!" You gasp, afraid. With a quick step, you are under the water, too, letting your clothes get soaked and stick to your body.

Being so close to him, you don't have any other option but to stare at his bare upper body. His skin is several shades darker, with dried blood and dirt on it. His chest is covered in dark hair that barely hides his hard muscles. How can he be so fit while living inside the walls?

"No," he breaks the silence when you reach out for the sponge. "I don't want that." After his last outburst, you decide to let it go. Pouring some soap in your palm, you smear it all over his chest. Your lungs burn for air as you stare into nothing, trying not to think about what you are doing right now. You can feel his muscles quiver and move under your touch. "Am I a good boy?" Brahms asks, making you look up at him in surprise. "Yes," you reply. "You are a good boy." "I protected you." "You did, Brahms." "And good boys get rewards, right?" You gulp. "I guess you are right." "Then take off your clothes." Fuck. "I will take off my clothes if you wash your hair. I can't reach it." The man thinks about it for a second, then nods. By the time you reach for your shirt, he is already washing his hair.

Brahms's heart thuds in his chest as he watches you get rid of your clothes. Soon, you are bare and soft in front of him. Your hair is soaked, and small drops of water run over your skin, caressing the parts he wants to touch, too. His large palms almost burn with need, and his fingers twitch with need. "Am I still a good boy?" He asks, staring down at you. He doesn't even try to hide the fact that he is mesmerized by your breasts. Your nipples are hard peaks almost grazing his chest. "Yes." Your reply is barely louder than a whisper. "Then I can wash you too." It's more of a statement. "Brahms, I don't think it-" Your words end in a startled gasp as he tugs you closer without your permission. His hands are large on your back. His erection is pressed between your bodies. The friction makes him grunt. He caresses your skin, starting on your back and slowly but surely slipping to your front. His thumb flicks over your nipples, playing and teasing them. "Brahms!" You want to sound stern, but your voice trembles at the pleasurable feeling that goes straight between your legs. When he tugs on one of your nipples, your back arches on its own. He knows your body better than you think, and his little secret pulls a naughty smirk on his lips. "Y/N," he says your name, almost whining. "You said I am a good boy." "You are," you tell him. "But you shouldn't-" Your moan is loud and clear in the small room. His long fingers slip between your legs even when you try to close your thighs. "Let me get my reward," he says, on the edge of demanding. "I am a good boy, Y/N. I protected you from those men." "You did," you cry out, feeling him on your most intimate part. His fingertips graze over your slit, opening you up to caress you some more. He isn't sure what he is doing, but it doesn't stop your body from reacting. You feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. His breathing is heavy next to your ear, and his hips rock against your stomach. He grinds his cock to your skin for some friction and whines every now and again. "Teach me, Y/N," he says. "Tell me what to do to be your good boy." If he is a good boy, you won't leave him. You won't even try it. "M-my clit," you tell him, reaching down for his hand to lead him to the small buddle of nerves. "Rub it, Brahms. Here!" He does as you say, watching your face to see what feels good and what isn't. The man draws small circles on your clit while his fingers get soaked in your juices. He can feel the familiar pull on his balls as he continues to grind against your body. Your soft stomach feels like heaven on his aching cock. Your hands snap up to his shoulders, grabbing onto the man to keep your balance. Your legs shake, and your thighs open for his curious fingers. He feels proud when he notices it. "Call me a good boy," he pants demandingly. "Tell me I'm your good boy, and you won't leave me." His fingers on you move faster, rubbing and teasing. "You are my good boy, Brahms," you tell him, gasping and moaning. Hot coil burns in your stomach as you feel your orgasm approaching. "So good!"

You almost fall against the tiles when Brahms squats down in front of you. Your nails scratch over the wall to find your balance. For long seconds, you forget how to breathe as you stare down at the man's curly, wet locks in front of you. You can feel the cold of his mask on your thigh as he pushes it out of the way. "Brahms!" Hearing his name falling out of your lips in a shocked cry makes his cock jerk and leak even more pre-cum.

The scent of your arousal is thick and heavy in his nostrils. Saliva gathers in his mouth as he takes several deep breaths to burn your smell in his memory. When one of your hands finds his hair in a strong pull, he doesn't waste any more time. He leans closer and closes his lips around the small bud he teased a few minutes ago. The vibration of his moan strikes over your body. Your taste floods his mouth, and he can't help but crave more. He devours your pussy like his life depends on it. His tongue flicks over your clit, and his cheeks hollow when he starts to suck on it. "Fuck!" You scream, letting your head fall backward. "Brahms!" Your hips grind down on his face with fastened pace as you chase your release. His muffled whines and moans echo in the small bathroom, mixing with your cries until both of you reach your highs and fall over the edge. His cum lands on the ground until the still running water washes it down the drain while your pussy gets cleaned by his tongue. Your muscles twitch and jerk under every swipe on your sensitive center. "Good boy, Brahms," you gasp for air. "You are my good boy."

#brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire imagine #brahms heelshire smut #the boy x reader #the boy imagine #kinktober 2023 #slasher fucker

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cameronspecial · 3 months

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Let Us Cheer You Up, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.5K

Summary: Y/N is feeling a little down because of her period and the boys can only think of one way to cheer her up.

A/N: This is inspired by this post.

Masterlist

Sometimes her period has Y/N feeling a little more emotional than normal. She knows it is a cliche, but why should she feel ashamed by the overrunning of her hormones? The poor frat brothers of Alpha Epsilon Pi don’t exactly know what to do with the new crying Y/N that is always around the house. They truly like having her around. The house is cleaner because Rafe picks up after them so she doesn’t get grossed out. They actually have real food to eat because Y/N doesn’t love eating takeout all the time and Rafe wants to provide her with more nutritious meals. And she always gives the best life advice. So it’s safe to say that they are all upset at the habitually of her teary eyes. Rafe was surprised when the boys came to her with an idea on what may make her feel better and he was quick to jump in on the idea. They spent the afternoon practicing while she was away at class.

Rafe hears Y/N return and she plops down on the couch immediately to watch TV. She turns it on to see it is playing the dog commercial that always brings her to tears. He finds her with globs of water pooling at the corner of her eyes and takes her into his hold. “Come on, let us cheer you up, Angel,” he whispers into her ear. She lets him lead her into the sitting room across from the living room to find the boys all standing with their backs to her. “Dance the Night Away” by Dua Lipa starts playing and Rafe is quick to join them in the lineup. As the music plays on, the boys start dancing the dance from Barbie. Y/N’s sobs can’t help but turn into giggles at the recreation in front of her.

Rafe is obviously trying to lead the group through the group, except it is very clear that none of them has any dancing skills or the ability to keep a beat. Topper is ahead of everyone else. Kelce is always looking at everyone else to try to figure out what he is supposed to be doing. And Dylan is just doing the cha-cha slide. Nonetheless, she loves that they are doing this to make her feel better and she feels an immense love for them. Sure, some of the rumours about these boys are true, but this shows that they can care about a female and try to change for her. She believes that they can all become a gentleman in the future and this is proof. The music comes to an end and she claps with glassy eyes, which Rafe notices. He frowns, thinking their plan didn’t work and rushes to her side. “Oh, no. We just made you cry more, Angel. I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, pulling her into a hug. She shakes her head against his chest., “I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m crying because I’m happy. This is so amazing guys. Thank you. I love you all.” The boys all shout back their love for her and squeeze her into a group hug. This leaves Rafe to tighten his hold against her to protect her from the chaos of his brothers. His mouth finds the shell of her ear, “But you love me the most, right?” She giggles and looks up at him. “Yes, I love you the most.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @victory-in-the-llama @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover

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scuderiahoney · 4 months

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Someone Sane

Max Verstappen x reader // Strawberry Wine Pt II

Strawberry Wine Series // Masterlist

Part Two to Always Walk Me Home (would recommend reading AWMH first)

Summary: You and Max have a shared love for strawberry wine. The rest of your friends think you’ve got bad taste. Or: @vetteltea read Always Walk Me Home and asked for more about the strawberry wine, and then I ran with it. So this is also a bit of a prequel, really 🍓

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication

You walk through the front door of the apartment, shucking off your coat and slipping off your shoes. Max Verstappen’s apartment is a shoes off household. You’ve learned that in the two and a half months you’ve known him. You can hear your friends in the kitchen, laughing loudly about something. One of Max’s cats- Jimmy or Sassy, you can’t tell them apart- is sitting in the hall, watching you curiously.

You’re the last one to arrive. You’d had to work late, had told them to get started without you. You bend to pat the cat on the head on your way past. Everyone is gathered in the kitchen, standing around the island. Someone yells your name enthusiastically when you walk in. Your friend Louise, the one who’d introduced you to this friend group, shoves a wine glass in front of you. It’s not full, just a half glass of something pink.

“Try it,” she says.

Her eyes are wide. Everyone is staring at you. This feels like some sort of initiation. You smell the cup- you’d have assumed it was a rosé, but there’s a hint of something else there. Trusting your friends to not have spiked it with something, you take a cautious sip. Strawberries. It’s strawberry wine. Sweet and sugary. Next to you, Louise laughs. You furrow your brows and stare at her.

“What?” You ask.

“The wine,” she says through a giggle. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”

You take another sip. She raises her brows.

“No?” You say, before you down the rest of the glass. “No, that’s good. I love strawberries.”

Her jaw drops open. The rest of the group erupts into chaos. Someone calls you batshit insane. You look around in bewilderment.

“Thank god,” Max says, taking your glass from your hand. “Someone sane is finally here.”

He’s holding the bottle of wine in his hand. You don’t know Max very well- he’d been a friend of a friend up until a few months ago, when Louise invited you to a party and then kept inviting you to events. You’re… friendly. He intimidates you a bit. He’s smiling at you now, though, as he pours you a full glass of the wine.

“They all think it’s awful,” he says, shaking his head in disappointment. “I was going to drink the whole thing by myself. It would’ve been sad.”

You blink and laugh, taking the glass back from him. “Cheers, then, I guess?”

He picks his glass up from the counter and clinks it against yours.

…..

“Does anyone want wine?” You call out from your kitchen into the living room.

It’s a quiet night. Not everyone was able to make it, so you’re at your apartment. There’s a football match playing on the TV that nobody’s really paying attention to. There’s a few people playing some sort of game of cards that you didn’t even try to understand. Everyone else is just sitting around and chatting.

“What kind?” Louise calls back.

You open the fridge and laugh. “Never mind.”

“S’that fucking strawberry shit, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” you say in a singsongy tone.

You turn around, reaching for your corkscrew. At the very least, it means you won’t have to share with everyone. Just-

Max calls out. “Bring me a glass? And maybe just bring the bottle in here?”

Someone is making fun of him for it, you can hear it from the other room. You do as he said, though. You hand him the glass, having already poured the wine into it. Then you turn to head back to your original seat. Max reaches up with his free hand and tugs on your wrist.

He pats the open spot on the couch next to him. “Sit here? So we can share the wine.”

Your face grows hot, but you nod and come around to sit next to him. He’s potentially the only one watching the football match- you think his favorite team is one of the ones playing. You feel a bit out of alignment for a moment. You’re in your own apartment, on your own couch, but something about him asking you to sit next to him has thrown you off kilter. You take a breath and try to relax. He doesn’t mean anything by it. You’re overthinking it.

You settle back into the couch by your second glass. By Max’s second, he throws his arm over the back of the sofa, his fingers just barely brushing your neck in the process. It’s nothing, but it makes you shiver anyways.

…..

Max is out of the country on your birthday. He’s in Spain for the Grand Prix. He’ll be back soon after, though, and then the next race is in Monaco. You’re already buzzing with excitement, chatting with your friends about outfits and plans and events throughout the weekend.

The night of your birthday your friends take you out to dinner. It’s a Monday night, so it won’t be anything too crazy, but it’s nice to know they’re thinking about you. You have good food, better wine, and then Louise invites everyone back to her apartment to hang out for the rest of the night. You’re in her kitchen when you hear the front door open. It strikes you as odd- you’d all walked here together. Though you suppose someone could be leaving, or popping out to get some air. You’re reaching into the fridge when someone clears their throat. You turn over your shoulder and find Max.

“Hi, birthday girl,” he says, voice soft and scratchy. He holds up a bag. “Brought you a present.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, because you swear his plane didn’t land until 8:00, and it’s only 8:30. You sort of want to hug him, but he’s not a very touchy person, and you’re not sure you know him well enough yet. You cross the kitchen anyway.

“What are you doing here?” You ask. “You were in Spain.”

He laughs. “It’s not that long of a flight.”

“Yeah, but…” you blink up at him. “You had a busy weekend. I didn’t expect you to come over.”

He tilts his head at you. “It’s your birthday.”

He says it like that’s enough explanation. To him, maybe it is. He may not be a touchy person, but he is the type to show up for his friends. You’ve seen examples of it everywhere- he’s the first to respond in a group chat, the first to show up to every party. It’s a side of him that you don’t think the rest of the world gets to see very often. You’re honored to somehow be a part of it.

He holds the gift bag out to you. “I don’t think I’m going to stay long,” he admits, scrubbing at his scruff with his free hand. “I’m exhausted. But I wanted to at least stop by.”

You take the bag. “You didn’t have to get me anything, you know.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to.”

Inside the bag you find a soft, light scarf, similar to the one Louise wore the last time you saw Max. You’d complimented it, asked where she got it- she’d answered a boutique in Spain. You gasp, running the fabric through your fingers. It’s cream colored, and you wrap it around your neck happily. Then you realize the bag still feels heavy. You reach inside again and your fingers wrap around the neck of a wine bottle. You know what it’s going to be before you even pull it out.

You hold the bottle to your chest and smile up at him. “My favorite.”

He’s smiling a bright smile, has been since you took the bag from him. It makes his cheeks squish and his eyes crinkle. The look he’s giving you is warm and soft. Your heart thuds wildly in your chest. It’s just him being friendly. That’s enough, really, isn’t it? Max picks his friends carefully. The fact that he’s here, that he made such an effort to be here with you for your birthday, is enough.

You uncork the bottle and pour two glasses- one for you and one for him.

It’s not until the next morning that you notice the embroidery on the end of the scarf- a tiny pink strawberry, hidden in the corner.

…..

Your apartment is packed to the brim with people. Your friends are here, your friend’s friends are here, people’s siblings and cousins. What started as a small Grand Prix afterparty has turned into a bit of an overwhelming event. The guest of honor isn’t even here, and likely won’t be. He may have showed, had told you he was planning on it, but then he went and won the race, and now you’re sure he’s busy. You’re sure Red Bull has roped him into some sort of sponsored event.

You’d texted him to tell him congratulations, but so far he hasn’t answered. You can’t say you blame him. You’d seen the celebrations at the podium ceremony- there’s no way he’s had a moment alone.

You and your friends had opted to go back to your apartment since it was closest. However, with this many friends all in town to watch him race, your home has become a bit of a landing pad. You can barely make it through your own kitchen without stepping on somebody’s toes. You’re running dangerously low on alcohol, though you wonder if that may be a good thing. Maybe it’s time to move this party to a club or a restaurant or anywhere other than your tiny apartment.

You squeeze your way through to the front hallway, trying to find anywhere that has any sort of space. You can see from here that your balcony is nearly dangerously packed with people. You reach into the hall cupboard, where you know you keep a couple bottles of wine-

The front door swings open. You groan at the idea of another person in your apartment, resting your head on the edge of a shelf in the cupboard. You don’t even bother looking to see who it is, because everyone you know is already here.

“Holy shit,” you hear. “I didn’t know you could fit this many people in here.”

You peer around the cupboard door. Max is standing there, a wide grin on his face. He smells like champagne and Red Bull. Someone makes their way through the hallway, and he steps back to stay hidden behind the open door.

“We figured you were out with the team,” you say, eyes wide.

“I’m going,” he says, jerking his head towards the hallway. “I came to get you guys. Who are all of these people?”

“Friends of friends, people’s families, I don’t know,” you say, still peering around the door at him. “I think someone’s grandma is here. We’re almost out of alcohol. I’m grabbing wine.”

You pull the bottle from the cupboard and hold it up to him. He grins impossibly wider at the label. Strawberry wine.

“Nobody else will drink that,” he says. “You’re going to have a mutiny on your hands.”

“Yeah, well, I got it as a gift for you, to celebrate the race, but now I’m thinking about chugging it and then locking myself in the bedroom.”

Max raises his brows. You stare back at him. Then it hits you. You step around the cupboard door and without thinking, you throw your arms around him.

“Congrats, by the way. On the race.”

You remember mid hug that this is Max, and that Max doesn’t really like hugs. Before you can pull away, though, he’s wrapping his arms around you. He squeezes you tight to his chest for a moment. You feel him rest his chin on top of your head.

“Thank you,” he says, quietly. “I’m glad you were there to see it. And thank you for the wine.”

You know he’s talking generally, about your friend group. But for a moment, you let yourself think he’s talking just about you.

“I have a better plan,” he says, keeping you held against his chest. “You and I take that bottle. We sneak it into the club with us.”

“And all the people in my apartment?” You ask, flinching as you hear something that sounds an awful lot like broken glass.

He sighs. “We bring them with us. It’s better than them destroying your place.”

“Even the grandma?”

“Grandmas love nightclubs.”

You laugh into his chest. “You should go. If someone sees you they’ll go crazy.”

He pulls away and grabs your shoulders. “We should go. We’ll call Louise on the way, tell her where to meet us.”

Really, who are you to say no? He’s Max Verstappen, he’s just won the Monaco Grand Prix. So you slip on a pair of shoes and follow him out the front door before anyone can catch sight of him. Then you’re walking down the streets of Monaco, side by side with him. He takes the bottle of wine from your hands and stops at a crowd of people partying in someone’s front lawn.

“Has anyone got a corkscrew?” He calls out. Someone throws one to him. He opens the bottle, then calls, “and maybe a couple cups?”

Two plastic cups are handed through the crowd to him. They ask him to sign the corkscrew. He hands it back afterwards and shoves the cork in his pocket. Then he pours two glasses and hands one to you. Strawberry wine on a sidewalk in Monaco, in step with the man who won the Grand Prix. You’ve never had a stranger or better day.

He calls Louise when the club is in sight. “Yeah, just down the road. Uh-huh. No, bring everyone.” You hear Louise say something. “Well I don’t know, does the grandma want to come to the party?” He asks, quirking a brow at you. “Then bring her. Okay. See you soon, then. Oh- no, wait, Louise- she’s with me.” He reaches out and squeezes your upper arm lightly. The touch sends sparks shivering up your spine. “Yeah. Long story. Just meet us there, yeah?”

…..

It’s nearly Christmas, and you’re stressed. That might be an understatement, actually. The holidays are always stressful, plus a project at work that’s gone haywire, leaving you picking up the pieces. You wouldn’t even be at the party, too exhausted and so tired of people, if it wasn’t your last chance to see most of your friends before the holidays kick off. You’re leaving to spend time with your family soon. It’s one of the few things you’re looking forward to.

You wander through the party feeling a bit like a zombie. It’s Max’s apartment, with more people in attendance than your usual group. You bounce from friend to friend, always clinging to someone’s side, trying to avoid talking to anyone you don’t know, or anyone at all, really. You’re just socially exhausted.

Max finds you in the kitchen. He sweeps you under his arm into a quick side hug, and you force a smile when you look up at him. He sees right through it, frowning down at you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, poking your cheek lightly.

You try harder to make the smile genuine. “Nothing! Why?”

He stares at you, tilts his head. “You’re lying.”

You shrug. “M’just tired.”

You can tell he doesn’t believe you. But someone asks him a question, and the friend you’ve glued yourself to is leaving the room, so you follow. You don’t see Max for a while. In fact, it’s been a suspiciously long amount of time. Somebody else has noticed and brings it up, asking where he’s gone off to.

“Oh, he ran to the store, I think. Didn’t say why.”

Someone suggests a drinking game. You make a break for the balcony. Jimmy is standing in front of the door, staring up at you.

“Jim,” you mutter, bending to pet him. “I know you’re gonna make a run for it the second I open the door.”

He meows at you, like he understands. You try to usher him towards Max’s bedroom, but he stays put. You sigh in frustration. In the living room, the noise kicks up another notch. When Max steps into the hallway, there are tears in your eyes.

“Did he scratch you?” Max asks.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and squeeze your eyes shut. “No. M’fine.”

Max clicks his tongue at you. You sigh, again. There’s a shuffling noise, and then you hear the sliding door open. Cool air hits your face. Max’s hands land on your shoulders and he leads you outside. You’re in socks, and the concrete is cold on your feet. You open your eyes and sit down on the patio couch. Max closes the door behind him and sits down next to you. It’s then that you notice the bottle of wine in his hand. Strawberry wine. You’d checked the fridge earlier- that bottle wasn’t there. So either he’s been hiding it, or… he ran to the store. Didn’t say why. Your throat feels tight.

He hands you the bottle carefully. He’s already opened it, but he neglected to bring any glasses. You shrug and tip the bottle to your lips. Sweet, sugary, room temperature wine washes over your tongue and you sigh.

“What’s going on?” He asks, gesturing for the bottle. He waits patiently as he takes a sip, too.

You huff and rub your cheeks with your empty hands. “Nothing, Max. I’m fine. There’s a whole party inside, I’m sure they’d love to play drinking games with you, so-“

“But I’m here with you,” he says patiently, voice soft. Your heart is cracking wide open in your chest. “Because I want to be. So tell me what’s going on.”

There’s so much to tell him that you don’t know where to start. It’s your family, it’s the traveling you’re about to do. It’s work, so stressful you wish you could just quit. It’s this awful feeling you can’t shake that maybe none of your friends really want you here. It’s Max, and the way your heart skips a beat when he looks at you. The way your stomach fills with butterflies when he touches you. The way he could have any girl in the whole world, and you’re just his friend. You curl your knees close to your chest and wrap your arms around them.

“I’m just stressed,” you admit, figuring that’s the easiest answer. “Work, and the holidays, and… just , everything. You know?”

He nods, passes the bottle of wine back to you. You take another drink. You study the label of it to try and keep yourself from crying in front of him. That would be embarrassing. That would scare him off. You rest your chin on your knee. Then you feel it.

Max’s arm, draping over your shoulders. The weight of him is heavy and steady and warm. He’s going to throw you into a tailspin with just that one motion. Then- like he doesn’t know how much he’s already affecting you- he presses his hand to your shoulder and pulls you against his side. Fuck. You’re not going to cry in front of him. You won’t do it. But Max doesn’t do hugs and cuddling, he’s not a touchy person, and yet he’s wrapping himself around you to hold you close.

You rest your head against his shoulder and take another drink of wine. He takes the bottle back and does the same. His hand sweeps up and down your upper back in a soothing motion, over and over again.

You’re not going to cry. You won’t. You close your eyes instead. You feel Max’s cheek against the top of your head. You won’t cry.

“Maybe after the holidays we should all go somewhere warm and relaxing,” he says. You let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “I think we could all use a bit of a break, no?”

You nod against his chest. He squeezes your shoulder. If you keep your eyes squeezed shut, he won’t see the tears. You can’t cry in front of him. So you sit, blind to the world around you, your head pressed to his chest.

Later, you blink your eyes open to the sound of voices, feeling disoriented. Someone is saying something to Max, saying your name. And Max, his voice rumbling beneath your chest-

“-walk her home, or she can stay here,” he says. “I’ve got her, mate.”

The sliding door closes. You realize you’d fallen asleep. Your face heats up, unsure of if you should pretend you’re not awake or if you should pull away immediately. You’re still trying to decide when Max’s hand starts brushing up and down your back again. Your eyes slip closed. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath. No wonder you fell asleep.

Max shifts, squeezing your shoulder. “Schatje, time to wake up,” he whispers, close to your ear.

You sigh and pull away, sitting up to look at him. He keeps an arm wrapped around your shoulders. You rub your eyes, trying to clear the sleep from them. You’re too exhausted to find it in yourself to be embarrassed about falling asleep on him. Besides, he could’ve woken you up if he wanted to. He’s being a good friend.

“It’s late,” he says. You swear you’re imagining it when his hand comes up and his fingers brush against your cheek. “Do you want to sleep in the guest room?”

You nod.

In the morning, when you drag yourself out of bed, Max is gone. There’s a note on the counter. He had early morning training, and then a padel game. Didn’t want to wake you. Next to the note, there’s a bowl of strawberries. Sassy winds herself around your ankles. You smile and try to slow the beating of your heart.

…..

Max is standing in your empty apartment one night, the last of your friends to leave. You’re wandering through the living room, picking up cups and trying to pretend he isn’t watching you. When you try to walk by him and head for the kitchen, he grabs your hip.

You stop and stare. His eyes are boring into yours, wide and blue and soft. There’s a smile on his lips. You haven’t asked him yet why he’s still here, mostly because you don’t really want him to go. His hand is burning a hole in the fabric of your shirt where he’s holding onto you. You think if you look down, you’ll find flames licking up your side. But you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

His other hand sneaks up, and his fingers brush against the side of your face. It reminds you of the moment on his balcony, weeks ago now. You’re caught between wanting to let your eyes slip closed and never wanting to break his gaze.

You realize moments later he’s looking for some sort of confirmation from you. He’s waiting, though you’re not sure exactly what he’s looking for. In an act of blind, foolish courage, you take a step towards him and wind one of your arms around the back of his neck. Max sighs. You twist your fingers into the hair on the nape of his neck.

Max is your friend. This could ruin everything. If this goes badly…

You take another step closer. You can hear his soft breaths. His fingers brush against your cheek- you swear you feel him tremble, just slightly, just enough for you to know. He wants this, but he’s scared, too. His heart is beating just as fast. His mind is racing just as fast.

When he kisses you, his lips taste like strawberry wine.

…..

Max is holding your hand on the sidewalk. He’s walking you home from a club you’d been at with your friends. You love him, but you haven’t told him yet. You’ve only just realized it that night, seeing yourself laugh in the bathroom mirror and then seeing the smile on his face when he looked at you.

Next to you, though you don’t know it, Max is having the exact same realization.

…..

“Can you grab my watch?” Max calls out from the kitchen. “In the bedside table, top drawer?”

You’re trying to resist the urge to tell him to find it himself. You’re horribly late to a dinner, this stupidly fancy dinner that has you second guessing every piece of clothing you put on. Max was no help, telling you that everything you tried on was perfect and beautiful and would look even better on his floor. You love him, but today, he’s driving you insane.

You stomp over to the bedside table and open the drawer. The box with his watch is sitting there, nestled in with other odds and ends. You pick up the box and almost close the drawer without even noticing. But something makes you pause and stare.

In the drawer there’s a little plastic tray, and it’s full of wine corks. You recognize the logo. Max is calling your name in the other room, something about hurrying up, but suddenly you don’t care about the stupid dinner. You’re thinking of that sidewalk stroll you took so long ago, the corkscrew he borrowed, the way he put the cork in his pocket. You’d thought it was to throw it away later.

He calls your name again, from the doorway. You reach into the drawer without turning around, running your fingers over the corks. He makes a noise and walks across the room to you, wraps his arms around your waist and tucks his chin over your shoulder.

“Did you save the all corks?” You ask, voice breathy.

Max nods, presses his lips to your bare shoulder. “All except the very first one. By the time I… when I went to grab it, it was gone.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. You turn around and press yourself into his arms and laugh. He’s staring down at you in bewilderment. He’s been driving you crazy all afternoon, he must think you’ve finally snapped.

“The first cork is in my jewelry box,” you tell him, and a laugh bubbles up between his lips, too. “I took it off the counter. I didn’t know why, at the time. Just felt like I should.”

You’re late to the dinner. Max makes an excuse. Nobody believes it, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

…..

Some time later, there will be a moment. It won’t matter where you are, or what you’re doing. It will be you and Max, and you will look at him and the whole world will melt away. And the strangest thought will pop into your head.

Our friends are going to send us strawberry wine when we get engaged, you’ll think. And they will bring it to the wedding.

He’ll turn to you, like he’s heard your thoughts. He’ll smile, cheeks pink as the strawberry wine. At that same moment, he’ll be wondering if strawberry shortcake is an acceptable wedding dessert. Every time you taste strawberries, you’ll think back to the kitchen in his apartment. The wine you were supposed to hate. And Max, a smile on his face, glad to not be alone.

Someone sane is finally here, he’d said.

And then everything had changed.

Read part 3, Empty Space

p.s.: am I way too invested in this pairing? Probably. Have I already decided what their wedding song would be? Definitely.

p.s. again: ironically, it turns out both @vetteltea and I hate strawberry wine 🍓

Taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fic #formula 1 fluff #formula 1 x reader #f1 fic #formula 1 fic #am I way too invested in this pairing? maybe #have I already figured out what their wedding song would be? definitely #honeywrites #mv33 #AWMH #strawberry wine verse

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tornado1992 · 4 months

Text

Sonic is acting strange.

From the moment he entered the cave at the top of the mountain and going on even after Shadow finished the battle, he was more energetic, talking faster than usual, to his friends’s eyes happier than they had ever seen him before. But deep inside his mind and heart, he felt more melancholic than anything.

Rouge said something about to going visit Shadow, wherever he’d gone, though it’s not probable that Shadow would gift her a powerful gem of inter dimensional proportions, it’s still a possibility. He finds himself comfortable with the idea of either of them guarding it, after all, Shadow would never let it bring chaos to their lives again, and now he knows Rouge it’s a better leader than he could ever be, they both would make the right call.

Sparring with Knuckles was as much of a way to get the stress out of his system as it is a reminder that the guardian isn’t a glory driven danger prone sailor, nor a extremely paranoid jungle survivor, and definitely not a soldier willing to hit an 8 year old if it means saving the world, no, he’s just Knucks. Ready to put him back in his tracks every time he goes off, same old Knucklehead.

Asking Amy to help him bake a cake to celebrate their victory on the mountain took her by surprise, not expecting Sonic to have the consideration or patience to think about and prepare that kind of gift just so their friends would enjoy it together. But what really shook her to the core was how many times he thanked her through the making, in his mind just one of those “thank you” was for the cake, the rest of them were for everything else.

Tails knows Sonic is acting strange.

it wasn’t just the sudden consideration on his words and actions, but also the eagerness to just spend time with them, an insane amount of time in which he paid attention to everyone and everything, he looked to the sea as if it was more of a new racetrack than an obstacle to his speed, he turned his sight to the sky as if he’d forgotten it was blue, and gazed to the palm trees as if he’d never seen one before. But most of it all, between his friends and the rest of the world, Sonic was looking at him.

It wasn’t the normal look he’d give him everyday, being the only one Sonic hadn’t been alone with since the mountain battle was weird enough, they would usually race and joke together after every battle, but not this time; Sonic was actively keeping him at arms length while never getting his eyes off of him, It didn’t matter who was Sonic talking to or what was he doing, if Tails was around, he was looking at him.

Every time he was smiling he would look back to see if he was smiling too, when one of his friends tried to approach him Sonic would instantly get in their way without any more reason than to talk to them, if there was a sudden movement or loud noise Sonic would turn to him as if to expect him to be gone, the calmness in his body being noticeable every time he found him.

It felt wrong, it felt distant, it felt as if he was a problem. He hasn’t felt like this in years.

Hours and hours later when their friends finally got too tired of watching Sonic’s odd behavior they all went their own way for the night, with Rouge just disappearing in the dark, Knuckles claiming he had places to be, and Amy saying the day had drained her and she needed sleep, Sonic and Tails were finally alone.

The walk to Tails’ lab was quick, but quiet. The silence prevailed all the way before they entered the house and closed the door, then it wasn’t quiet anymore.

With the way Sonic practically launched himself over Tails knocking the air out of him as he hugged the kit tightly, both falling to the floor as Sonic held him against his chest with one hand while the other one placed itself securing the fox’s head just below Sonic’s chin. Tails was quiet, way too shocked with the sudden affection after a whole day of being so close while feeling so far away. But Sonic’s sobs and whimpers weren’t quiet at all.

They were loud and broken, not forming any comprehensible words as hiccups broke in every time it seemed like he was actually trying to say something, as if he held back from crying for hours, It felt guilty, sorrowful, and desperate.

Tails found himself breaking his silence and asking repeatedly “what’s wrong?!” as he reciprocated the hug just for Sonic to tighten his arms around him, breaking into fully crying this time, with a sea of tears falling from the speedster’s eyes to the genius’ head, not letting him go even for a second, not loosening his grip after what felt like hours of holding his little brother, who held him back just as tightly.

Even if the tears stopped, their embrace didn’t, with the morning warmth closer than midnight’s coldness the blue hedgehog found himself surrounding the sleepy fox as he fought sleep’s calling to stay with his big brother.

“I love you” was muttered to the boy’s ears as he was claimed by the land of dreams, in which he could fly all day with the shining star he called his brother.

Tails wasn’t sure if that whisper was part of his dream. Sonic knew it wasn’t

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boiohboii · 4 months

Text

The people's sweethearts

Ch II

(Verstappen!reader x tom holland x zendaya)

Soulmate au

YN Verstappen had been through hell, by her own father, for something she didn't even ask for. She grew up learning that she should hate what was given to her, after all it was the reason her father was always angry with her. So what should she do when the one thing she learned to hate is the one thing that brings her love, safe and comfort that not even her older brother can compare.

WARNING: not proof read, Jos Verstappen (worsned like 10 times for this fic) poly relationship, derogatory terms by father, abusive father. If I missed anything else please let me know

Masterlist

ch.I

Faceclaim: kiki hertz

Tom prided himself in never exposing his soulmark, he let a lot of things out that shouldn't be and his soulmark not being one of those is such an achievement. Mostly because from a very young age, when he started acting, his mother would make sure he covered it up with makeup so that no one, not even those behind the scenes would see it.

"So, you're invited to watch cars drive in circles?"

Meeting Zendaya had been a dream, they both felt the need to be closer to each other whenever possible even before they discovered their identical soulmarks. Both of them working and hanging around each other made it so much difficult to conceal their newfound relationship and eventually the whole world knew that both of them were soulmates, and not just that, everyone was now aware that Tom Holland and Zendaya Coleman were fated to have a third lover, a third soul with them to keep them sane from all the chaos their lives bring in the form of fans and crazy paparazzi.

"How can you say that?" Tom looked back at his girlfriend as he poured himself some tea "you literally met Lewis Hamilton not that long ago!"

Tom was painfully aware of the fact that Zendaya isn't that interested in either of the sports he enjoys: formula 1 and golf.

"Oh yeah, at a fashion show," Zendaya recalls as she moves over to hug tom from behind, resting her chin on his head. "He was nice."

"Do you think we'll meet our darling soon?" Zendaya asked, making Tom leave his drink to hold her hand in reassurance.

"I think so," turning around he let go of one of zendaya's hands to let his palm rest on her cheek "I know that I met you when I kept thinking about my soulmate, so I have a feeling that we'll meet darling soon."

The couple had taken to calling their third soulmate Darling, a nickname that they both agreed to reserve for their missing soul.

"Yeah, I feel so too."

Liked by maxverstappen1, F1wags&faves, verstappentruther and 683,519 others

Kellypiquet: a weekend with her was truly missed.

maxverstappen1: ♥️♥️

username: God, yn verstappen is so pretty

username: I wanna be her soulmate so bad

username: LOOK AT HER CHEEKS! I WANNA BITE THEM!

With his work schedule Tom wasn't able to attend much f1 races, but when he could he did, and most of them were the infamous English track, Silverstone.

But here in Monaco, the races were something else, Tom can feel how the people in this country were raised watching these cars from their homes, cheering for their favorite driver and the preparations for the race throughout the entire country are just mind blowing (he promised himself that he would bring Zendaya here for a vacation, this place is amazing).

"Is something wrong?" The voice of Christian Horner stopped Tom dead in his tracks, the team principle of the red bull formula 1 team making him feel like a little child caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

"Oh, um, yeah, yes-" clearing his throat Tom couldn't help still looking around, wanting to see the reason of the all too familiar tugging his heart "just looking around, the race is very different from Silverstone, the atmosphere is just so..."

And there it was, the reason his heart is pulling, the person he hoped he would meet as soon as he felt their presence in this specific garage, his darling; their darling.

"Well, Monaco is the heart of motorsport, especially formula 1, you can't live here without being a fan really."

Christian wasn't an idiot, he had eyes and his observational skills were too good. It wouldn't be the first time he witnessed a celebrity looking at yn verstappen, the girl hooking everyone in with her innocent face and charming smile. It would, however, be the first time he saw someone loose their breath over her and he knew what that meant, he knew that expression; he had went through it when he met his wife, he saw it on Max when he met Kelly and now he is going to see it on yn.

He thought he met an angel when he saw Zendaya, he thought that the feeling he would get when meeting their darling wouldn't be as strong, as intense, but seeing her there, standing next to Adrian Newey with a notebook and a pen in her hands, discussing something that seemed so important, made him unaware of anything else. She was all he could see, hear and feel. She was who they had been missing, and god did she make him want to scream at the top of his lungs.

He felt his chest swell up with emotions as he quickly reached for his phone, calling the one person he knew would calm him down.

"Hey baby, how's the race going?"

"Z, she's here," Tom rushed out as he maneuvered between the never ending sea of people to a quite place- well as quite as it can get in Monaco during a formula 1 race.

"What? Who's here?"

"Darling! She's here!"

"Darling is a she?"

Gathering her thoughts Zendaya left the lounge area of her hotel suite, dismissing the makeup artists and stylists with a smile and wave of her hand before entering the bedroom within the suite.

"Okay, okay, calm down baby," Zendaya spoke as she ran her hand through her hair "how about you go talk to her, yeah?"

"I can't, oh my god, what if she doesn't even feel the same pull- it's a stupid way to describe it but you know that's how I felt when I met you and it's the same but so much worse cause you're not here with me and I can't do this-"

"Honey, calm down, it's okay, let's take it step by step, did you check her wrist?" Being met with silence worried the tall girl, she knew how it might come off to him when she was basically asking him to check actual evidence and not take his feelings too seriously "I know your feelings, I get that, I felt the same with you, but it's better to be safe than sorry."

"Yeah, yeah," shuffling was heard before Tom apologies for, what zendaya assumed, pumping into someone "no, yeah, you're right, stay with me on the line, I'm going to try and see. She's wearing a sleeveless dress so that will make it easier."

Even though she didn't want to spoil it for herself, she wanted to get 100% of the awe and the fondness for herself, Zendaya couldn't help but ask "what does she look like?"

"So beautiful, Z" the way Tom spoke, the breathlessness and amazement in his voice made her want to cry, she wanted to be there, she wanted to be with him when they first saw her, that's how they always envisioned it.

"Okay, so I checked, and oh my god it's there, it's the same Z, what am I supposed to do, oh my god"

"Here's what you're going to do, you're going to tell her right now!"

"There are like 100 people around, how am I supposed to do that!"

"I don't know tom, tell her you wanna speak to her or something, make it up!"

"I can't do this, I can't, I am freaking out!"

"Oh my god, you're an actor, pretend it's a scene"

"Will you be able to pretend?"

"Well no, but I'm not the one that can see her, am I!"

"Okay, okay, deep breaths, I am going to tell her with you on the phone, alright?" Tom said as he started moving towards the blonde, his confidence building up with his taller soulmate cheering him on through the phone

"Holy shit" and there goes the little confidence he had

"What? Tom! Answer me! Is she dating someone, I swear to god if she is-"

"No, no, she's not," looking back at his soulmate "at least I don't think she is. God, there's no way I am telling her shit now."

"Why not?"

"Her brother can literally run me over with his small rocketship of a car! I am not doing anything when he is literally two centimetres away from her!"

What Tom failed to realise was how Christian Horner had joined the pair of siblings, telling Max and Yn of his earlier observations, which made all three of them look at the young brit in sync.

"Um, Z, I think we won't have to worry about me telling her."

{taglist: @celesteblack08 @minkyungseokie @woozarts @keii134 @celesteblack08 @sainzluvrr @fangirl125reader}

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nolongerapileofashprobably · 8 months

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Just like how botw had small details telling us the probable ‘canonical’ route Link took (aka Zora, Rito, Goron, and then Gerudo), totk has something similar. I’m sure all players noticed that the newspapers will feature one region that is meant to direct Link to go aid the people there. First is Rito, next is Goron, third is Zora, and last is Gerudo. BUT! They also added something else.

Zelda’s role in the story. Namely, her interactions with Tulin, Yunobo, King Dorephan, and Riju. Annnnnnddd Link’s reactions to her!

Tulin’s interaction with her is one meant to confuse players: Zelda was in the past, but Tulin saw her? So she’s here in the present and we’re chasing after her. Sounds a lot like Skyward Sword, okay (which was released on the switch last year, so anyone who didn’t play it back in 2012 had another chance to). It confuses Link, but spurs him to become a journalist ? Cool, I’m here for it. I did journalism for 4 years, I’m sure Link can do it too!

Then, for Yunobo, he actively speaks to Zelda, we see her figure, and Link will actively gasp whenever we see her. He has a genuine reaction to her presence, because he’s surprised, but then we see pink gloom glow in the mask that Zelda have Yunobo and it makes him freak out land turn against Link. That’s when we start to put together that maybe Zelda is being controlled? Or she’s NOT Zelda, just as Yunobo begins to theorize but can’t quite wrap his head around it.

Next, we have King Dorephan who is actually attacked by Zelda and is injured to the point that he decides to hide from his people as to not create more chaos in this time. He chooses to give Zelda the benefit of the doubt here— he could have easily had his people turn against Hyrule and all Hylians because of Zelda’s actions. But he doesn’t! Because it simply doesn’t make sense. And by the end of the quest, Sidon comes to the conclusion that the Zelda in the past and the Zelda in the present are NOT the same.

And we see that thought truly stick with Link in a cutscene in Gerudo. After defending Kara Kara Bazaar, Zelda appears and Riju calls out for her. There is no gasp from Link like with Yunobo’s story, instead he watches Zelda with a slightly narrowed gaze and does not stop watching where she was last seen until Riju directly addresses him. They actively show the players that Link is suspicious, but he is still so very dedicated.

And it happens again, in the center of the light triangle. Zelda appears and Link begins to walk toward her, but there is no intake of breath, no shock at seeing her… instead he slowly walks until Riju calls out for him.

After Link finishes each phenomenon, going to Lookout Landing gives the players a clue in how Link is reacting. Specifically, if you speak to Buliara before going to see Purah, she says something along the lines of “Purah is up on the top deck, but don’t miss a wrung in your haste to get up there.”

Link is expected to rush. Because everyone is muttering about a figure that MIGHT be Zelda. At the castle. Right. Then. And. There.

Link GASPS when he first looks into the scope— Purah doesn’t even say it’s Zelda, not before Link sees for himself. It’s seeing her, clear as day, and even if Link KNOWS it’s not her… there’s still that seed of doubt that lives in his mind. And then at the castle, Link does twist and turn whenever he hears Zelda. He rushes after her every. Single. Time. She disappears. Despite that he knows it isn’t her, he can’t give up. He can’t. It’s quite literally not in his DNA. He sees it through; he needs to make sure it isn’t her. And it’s all a trap, one he walks right into, because he just HAS to see that it isn’t her.

And if you want to say “but Ash… this is just a recap of the storyline in the present.. not small details” let us just remember that Link’s driving motivation in this game is to find Zelda and bring her home. So many people just ignore these little moments or miss them completely.

And I’ll be damned if I don’t talk about link’s gasps or his twists and turns or his micro expressions that tell us so much about how he is feeling.

#I’m so exhausted someone please yell at me to sleep #I can’t wait to find Mineru #for a totk replay is truly good for the soul #loz tears of the kingdom spoilers #loz totk spoilers #loz totk #totk spoilers #totk zelda #totk link #totk sages #totk zelink #zelink #botw zelink #the legend of zelda

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lurkingshan · 7 months

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I am absolutely obsessed with Nick’s farewell speech to Boston and the emotions it provoked in him.

We see Boston immediately react to this statement, because we know being with Nick also made Boston happy. He never smiled and genuinely had fun as much as when he was spending time with Nick.

And when Nick starts complimenting his talent, he looks at him with a mix of hope and suspicion. The question is clear on his face—are you just gassing me up because you want my forgiveness, or do you mean that? Because as we know, others don’t really see Boston this way.

Here Boston turns away because he knows this isn’t true (though I don’t think Nick is lying, he just tends to see the best in people). Boston’s friends don’t get him or the moral code he lives by (because make no mistake y’all, he clearly has one, it’s just different from theirs) and mostly keep him around so they can enjoy the chaos he brings and feel superior to him.

But then Nick pulls him back, tells him he doesn’t need to change and he loves him for who he is. Nick is probably the only person who’s ever told Boston he doesn’t need him to change. Everyone else, including his friends and family, are constantly telling him he’s a bad person. Boston so badly wants to believe this is true. Who else loves him for who he is? No one.

And when Nick ends by saying he won’t show up in front of him anymore, we see Boston’s expression drop into one of quiet devastation. He is still angry with Nick (for good reason) but he isn’t ready for this to be over.

And he is so shaken by this moment that he actually walks away from his hookup and heads out to the main floor to stare at Nick with perhaps the most vulnerable expression we have ever seen on his face. Our resident chaotic shit stirrer has caught feelings.

#only friends the series #bostonnick #thai bl #shan shouts into the void

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queenshelby · 5 months

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Forbidden Desire (Part 18)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest, Smut

Please comment and engage xx 😘

Birmingham - Three Weeks Later

It was around 8 o'clock when you arrived at Arrow House, wearing a floor-length black dress that showed off your curvaceous physique and accentuated your statuesque presence. The dress highlighted your luscious cleavage and revealed tantalising flashes of your smooth legs whenever you walked.

Accompanied by your new partner Robert, you were rather late as your baby-boy did not want to go to sleep without you rocking him in your arms. Leaving him with your maid, who had travelled with you from Boston, made you nervous but Robert reminded you that an event like the one tonight was not one to be shared with minors.

As such, when finally arriving at Arrow House, you already found the estate buzzing with activity - people talking excitedly about the impending nuptials of Tommy and Lizzie.

The grand old house seemed even more majestic now than you had remembered. There was music playing in the background, creating a romantic atmosphere for the forthcoming wedding ceremony which was something that made you feel conflicted.

Out of all women in England, it was Lizzie who your uncle Tommy had chosen to marry and, whilst you knew why he had decided to tie the knot with this woman, you wished that he did not.

With a hint of disgust on your mind, you glanced at your reflection in a nearby mirror, adjusting your hair slightly before heading towards the festivities.

Robert held your hand lightly, leading you across the marvelously decorated ballroom where guests sat sipping champagne and enjoying live jazz music played by a talented band onstage. Your heart ached for Tommy, wondering if this marriage would truly bring happiness to him after everything you two had experienced together. In truth, a small piece of you yearned for him, craving the chance to explore those undeniable connections between you.

But then, the other part of you felt nothing but hatred for the fact that he never wrote to you in the past twelve months.

Hadn't he ever missed you? Did you mean less to him than the woman he was about to marry? These questions circled endlessly in your mind, driving you mad while making you question whether keeping your memories alive was worth the pain.

Although you had written twice to him, without a response, you knew that Tommy was unaware of the fact that you had his child and so was everyone else. Everyone but Ada.

You also had not seen anyone but Ada until now and whilst your father had written letters of nothing to you twice a month, it was Linda who caused him to be estranged, adding even more complexities to your strained family ties.

Seeing him standing there now with his brother Tommy, in the distance, sent waves of mixed emotion through you and, usurpingly, on seeing you enter, the room went silent.

Tommy's gaze locked onto yours, a mixture of surprise and curiosity warring across his features.

Lizzie, on the other hand, appeared irritated by your arrival. Her brow furrowed in annoyance as she realized that another potential threat stood among the crowd.

All eyes turned towards you as you approached the center of the room, radiating confidence in your sleek, high-slung black dress that hugged your curves perfectly. With each step taken, a sense of unease seemed to permeate the space, and the only sound heard was the heavy beat of your footsteps against the polished wooden floor.

Even amidst the chaos, you couldn't help but notice the way Tommy's gaze followed you relentlessly, like a predator studying its prey.

His hungry eyes bore into yours, sending shivers down your spine. The unspoken desire that flowed between you was palpable, nearly tangible. Lizzie's jealousy could be read clearly in her scowl directed your way, causing you to smile subtly to yourself as she noticed your acknowledgment.

Reaching Tommy's side, you greeted him coolly with a nod and a forced smile, determined not to let him see how affected you were by his magnetic pull even after twelve months of silence from him.

Glancing over at Lizzie, you offered her a polite yet detached nod as well, trying to maintain a neutral demeanor amidst the storm brewing within you before approaching her and her husband to be more closely.

"Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials," you stated calmly, feigning indifference as you spoke. Lizzie's expression remained frosty, refusing to return your gesture. "Thank you," she responded coldly, turning away from you as quickly as possible while Tommy assessed your companion.

"Who is this?" Tommy asked, casting a skeptic glance toward you. His tone betrayed the uncertainty he harbored regarding your unexpected presence at his home, which was something he clearly knew nothing about.

"This is Robert. My partner," you introduced calmly, hiding any trace of lingering attraction towards Tommy behind a veneer of composure. Giving Lizzie a wary once-over, you continued, "He is a doctor, in Boston. We met at a charity event there," you then continued before allowing your father, Arthur, to give you a hug.

"A doctor, eh?" Arthur interjected, smiling politely, before introducing himself as Arthur Shelby, your father, to him.

In turn, Robert shook hands firmly with him, seeming eager to impress him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shelby," he said, to which Arthur smiled approvingly, feeling impressed by the young man's enthusiasm while you, in turn, felt impressed by your father's attitude towards your newfound love. With his third child on the way, he had clearly softened a bit.

Meanwhile, your attention shifted back to Tommy, whose focus returned to you. The intensity of his gaze sent chills down your spine, stirring feelings buried deep inside you.

"It must be serious if you bring him here, to fucking Birmingham, eh?" Tommy retorted sharply, eyeing both you and Robert suspiciously. His sarcastic words stung, triggering hurt and confusion.

"For a matter of fact, it is. Robert asked me to marry him," you informed them casually, looking steadily at both Tommy and Lizzie, attempting to conceal the swell of anxiety building within you.

An awkward silence filled the air momentarily as your statement reverberated throughout the room. Tommy's face flushed red frustration.

"Is that true?" he snapped at Robert, challenging his credibility. "You proposed to her?" Tommy wanted to know, causing Robert to nod nervously.

"Yes, Mr, uhm, Shelby..." Robert began to say without a formal introduction, to which you informed him that his name was Tommy and that he was your uncle.

"That explains things," Robert commented before silently acknowledging the fact that there were some incredible physical similarities between your son and your uncle Tommy.

"Well, congratulations to you both!" Tommy exclaimed, raising his glass to salute you before taking a generous gulp of whiskey. However, you could tell that he was still struggling to process the news, his emotions bubbling beneath the surface. This wasn't what he expected or wanted, especially considering the tension simmering between you and Lizzie since you set foot into the hall. The last thing he needed right now was more drama, particularly involving someone connected to his beloved niece whom he secretly desired.

"Thank you, Uncle," you replied coldly as the tension grew thick around you and, luckily for you, it was at this point, that you were whisked away by your aunt Polly.

As you turned your back towards Tommy, his piercing eyes seemed to burn into you, leaving no doubt that he saw you differently compared to others present. The sight triggered powerful sensations within you that you struggled to control, prompting you to take a deep breath before joining Polly.

Walking beside you, Polly patted your arm comfortingly, noticing the slight tremble in your voice. As you stepped out into the hallway, she leaned closer, whispering softly in your ear, "it was me who sent the invitation."

The shock registered instantly upon your face, leaving you speechless for a brief moment. "Why?" you eventually managed to ask, confused by her decision, seeing that it was her who suggested you go to Boston in the first place.

"Because Thomas has been making bad choices since you left," Polly confided earnestly, her eyes gleaming with concern. She took a steadying breath, continuing quietly, "There is such darkness in him these days and it worries me."

Your throat tightened with a mix of sympathy and anger and you wondered how much your absence affected him.

"Polly, you made him send me away and I started a new life, in Boston, with Robert now. I am happy," you lied before continuing on. "So, I am not here to fix Tommy for you," your lips formed a thin line, showing disapproval for Polly's attempt to change your fate.

"No, sweetheart. You won't need to. The existence of your son will do that," Polly explained gravely, pointing out that you having had a child with Tommy would naturally draw him back to reason.

"You know about my son?" you demanded, surprised that Polly was aware of your baby's existence. It didn't escape your notice that she might have known all along, choosing to remain quiet about it, perhaps wanting to spare you further heartache during those early months when you hadn't heard anything from Tommy either.

Her eyes flashed with sorrow, and she gave a gentle nod.

"I knew that you were pregnant before you left Birmingham. It was one of the reasons I wanted you gone. But please don't think ill of me. I did what I thought best for everyone involved," Polly explained, her voice laced with regret. You listened carefully, trying to reconcile everything she told you tonight and how it tied together. Your head reeling with so many revelations and emotions flooding your system, your stomach clenched painfully.

"All you and Thomas ever thought about were these goddamn elections. This is why he is marrying Lizzie, isn't it? Because she had his daughter, and it would look bad for him if it was to be found out that he fathered a child with a career prostitute," you murmured aloud with anger and frustration.

"Yes. It was the plan all along until you came into the picture," she admitted sadly, confirming your suspicions. "Then he fell for you, and I should have let him, no matter the consequences," her voice cracked slightly, expressing regret over the mistakes they had made.

"He shot three men last night, without remorse, because of some feud with the Chinese. And, the illegal business activities are continuing after, just fourteen months ago, he was certain that, within the year, Shelby Company Limited would thrive from its legitimate business activities alone," Polly then went on to explain without giving you much context but the information was alarming enough to make you worry about what you were walking into.

"Like I said, I am not here to fix Tommy for you. You have to do that on your own," you insisted stubbornly, standing your ground against your aunt's manipulative plans. You weren't going to become part of another game you played second fiddle to the family's ambitions. That time had passed.

"Well then I can only hope that you continue to stay safe wherever you are because, clearly, you have no idea what Tommy is sending through to Boston next. It's not just fucking booze anymore," Polly muttered under her breath, her eyes searching yours with unspoken messages.

"What do you mean?" you questioned cautiously, wondering where exactly the situation was heading. Your curiosity piqued, your fingers drummed impatiently against your side. "Is it snow?" you then asked, but she shook her head.

She paused briefly, deliberating whether or not to divulge sensitive information to you. But then, finally, she decided to trust you implicitly, understanding your resolve to live independently of the crime syndicate.

"It's opium, Love, and you need to watch your back," Polly revealed solemnly, grabbing your hand urgently.

A mixture of horror and disbelief spread across your features.

"Opium? What does Tommy want with opium?" You couldn't hide your fear and uncertainty about the implications. Opium trade brought immense danger to anyone associated with it, not just legally, but also socially.

"Perhaps you should ask him yourself," Polly advised, although her tone indicated reluctance, likely knowing full well the outcome.

Feeling increasingly uneasy, you continued to walk alongside Polly, listening intently as she spoke candidly about your uncle's recent descent into what she called the "darkness" and how he was becoming even more dangerous than before. The thought terrified you, imagining Tommy turning against his very own kin, including himself. Yet, you also understood that people like Tommy couldn't simply cease being who they were born to be.

They were products of their environments, trapped within their pasts, bound by chains woven from their ancestors' decisions. And yet, amidst the chaos and violence surrounding him, there was always something undeniably appealing about Tommy's brutish charm, a magnetism that drew you irresistibly toward him, awakening a hunger you didn't fully comprehend.

When you looked at Tommy, your eyes locked onto his deep blue gaze, a reflection of the storm brewing inside him and, later in the evening, with Robert mingling in the crowd, you decided to confront him.

Without hesitation, you sauntered towards him, the confidence you possessed radiating off every step you took.

His attention immediately shifted to you, the intensity of his gaze burning hotter than before, sparking memories of countless steamy encounters shared. Despite his determination to ignore you, the connection between you two was undeniable as you spoke.

"A word, please," you requested casually, your voice deceptively calm as his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"If you want to discuss your wedding plans, Love, then I suggest you do this with Ada, not me, eh?" Tommy responded dismissively, attempting to brush you aside while focusing on assessing your partner Robert whom he clearly disapproved of.

"I want to talk about business matters," you clarified steadfastly, determined to confront him directly.

"My office then," Tommy agreed, leading you through the crowded ballroom filled with guests and servants, none of whom noticed you leaving together.

Once outside, however, the tension escalated palpably, causing both of you to exchange guarded glances. You felt an invisible force drawing you closer to him, a magnetic pull emanating from his raw masculinity which erupted completely as soon as you reached his chambers.

For a short moment, his eyes lingered on your form silently, absorbing every curve, every feature – your mouth, your neck, your hands… The room seemed to spin around you as he caressed your cheekbone gently, trailing downwards towards your shoulder.

Suddenly then, Tommy’s lips pressed firmly against yours, his tongue sweeping boldly into your mouth, catching you by surprise.

Much to Tommy's surprise, however, you pushed him away forcefully and slapped him hard across the face.

"How fucking dare you!" you seethed, struggling to maintain composure, unable to believe his audacity.

Stunned, he stepped backward, holding his reddened cheek as if uncertain how to react.

"Twelve months it has been, Tommy! You pushed me away. I tried to call you. I have sent you two letters and I got nothing in return until Polly sent me this fucking invitation, to your fucking wedding!" Your voice trembled with rage, tears threatening to spill over as you expressed your disappointment. Your sudden explosion caught him entirely off-guard, revealing a vulnerability hidden beneath his swaggering facade.

Tommy stood silent for a few moments, unsure how to proceed or apologise for his behavior. His eyes darted nervously around the room, avoiding direct contact with yours, betraying his guilt.

Finally, he cleared his throat, taking a deep breath before speaking. "Look, we both knew that this couldn't work. You are my fucking niece and I needed to distance myself from you," Tommy said and his voice held a hint of desperation, seeking forgiveness.

"Yes, and you did that, quite well if I may add. And now, I am with Robert and he is a good a man," you pointed out, raising your brow slightly, challenging him to argue otherwise.

"A good man, eh?" Tommy chuckled dryly, his eyes piercing straight through you, exposing the truth behind his words. "Is that really what you want, Love? A good fucking man?" he wanted to know and you bit your lip in annoyance.

"Well, yes, a good man is better than a man who will put me and my son into danger," you retorted defiantly, crossing your arms resolutely in anger.

"Your what?" Tommy asked, shocked and confused about you mentioning a child, before carrying on. "I can't believe that, within a few months of you moving to fucking Boston, you let this fucking yank knock you up," Tommy spat angrily, thinking that it was Robert who had fathered your son.

"Oh my god, Thomas..." you sighed heavily. "Robert isn't the father. I was already pregnant when I moved to Boston." There was a pause in your statement as you collected your thoughts, trying to discern how best to break this news to Tommy.

"But listen," you began slowly, feeling the weight of the secret growing heavier within you. "I didn't know at the time. I wanted to terminate, but it was too late. I was too far gone," you carried on and, as those words left your lips, you watched carefully for any change in expression on Tommy's face.

"Fucking hell," he growled, rubbing his temples, evidently lost in thought.

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