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octaneink · 2 days ago

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Let me in

Will Lenney x Reader

Summary: The Reader has had a horrible day, hell a horrible week, they push away Will, and say things that they don't mean. Warnings: Workplace harassment, blood/injury, emotional distress, heated arguments, harsh words. Notes: Based on this ask! Sorry this took so long 🔫 anon! I was crying while writing this 😅

Rain blurred the outline of the building across the street, visible through the small window above your kitchen sink. You’d walked in ten minutes ago, shoes kicked off in the entryway, work blouse still damp from the storm you’d sprinted through. The kitchen smelt faintly of yesterday’s dinner and lemon detergent—a familiar, neutral scent you’d sought out instinctively, dumping your bag on the side of the sofa and then walking over to the sink.

You jammed the rubber plug into the sink drain with more force than necessary, twisting it until the suction made your palm ache. The tap squealed as you cranked it to full heat, steam billowing up in a cloud that fogged the window above the counter. A stream of dish soap splattered into the rising water, its sharp lemon scent clashing with the damp wool smell of your sleeves.

You didn’t wait for the sink to fill.

Hands plunged into the scalding suds first, fingers splayed, before the water even covered the stacked plates. The heat hit your skin like a welt—then the soap found the scrape.

It was a small injury, just a ragged line across your left knuckle. You’d barely noticed it at the station. But now, the chemicals seared into the broken skin, a white-hot lance that made your breath hitch. The plate slipped from your grip, clattering against the sink’s stainless steel.

Clack.

The shove came from behind—a sharp, sudden weight slamming into your shoulder blade. You staggered forward, the phone slipping from your grip as your arm swung out instinctively for balance. The momentum sent it skidding across the station floor, vanishing beneath a forest of shuffling shoes. You lunged, knees hitting concrete, fingers clawing for the cracked screen. A briefcase swung low over your head. “Move it,” someone barked, the edge grazing your ear as you ducked.

You grabbed the phone and shoved upright, your palm stinging from the pavement. The crowd surged around you, a blur of suits and raincoats. And there she was—your coworker—already three strides past the turnstile. She glanced back, shoulder angled toward the exit, her smirk sharp under the station’s flickering lights. Of course. Ever since you’d filed the HR report about her “jokes” that weren’t jokes, the printer “malfunctions” that deleted your files, and the coffee cup that mysteriously spilt on your presentation notes, it had all escalated—in petty, deniable ways. More eyes rolled in meetings when you spoke. More documents “lost” from shared drives. And now this: a shove disguised as a commuter’s jostle, her face a mask of plausible innocence if challenged.

She lingered just long enough for your eyes to lock, her smirk deepening. Then she melted into the crowd, her earring glinting once—a tiny silver middle finger. Your throat tightened. HR had warned you about “lack of evidence”. Your phone’s cracked screen bit into your palm, sticky with blood from your split knuckle. The crowd swallowed her, but her laugh seemed to hang in the air, tinny and bright, like the chime of her desk notification alerts that always seemed to drown out your voice.

Now, your hand hung frozen in the sink, suds dripping. A thread of blood unspooled from your knuckle, dissolving in the water. The dish soap’s lemon smell turned cloying, indistinguishable from the station’s sour mix of wet asphalt and pretzel cart grease.

You shut your eyes. The plate lay submerged, forgotten. The water cooled around your wrists, but the scrape kept burning, a live wire threading straight back to the fluorescent glare of the station, the fractured screen, her laugh carried off by the arriving train’s roar.

The flat door clicked open. You didn’t turn, but the draft from the hallway prickled the damp fabric clinging to your arms. Will’s keys jangled into the ceramic bowl by the door, followed by the crinkle of a takeout bag. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft, as if testing the air. “Got the dumplings. Extra chilli oil, like you—”

You plunged your hands back into the water, scrubbing the plate’s edge, where a fleck of dried egg clung stubbornly. The scrape on your knuckle burnt, but you pressed harder, the sponge’s abrasive side scraping your skin raw. The plate hit the dish rack, droplets scattering across the counter.

Will hovered near the kitchen island. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him unbox the containers, steam rising from the dumplings. His reflection wavered in the fogged window—hesitant, shoulders tense. “You okay?”

“Fine,” you said, reaching for the next plate. The water had cooled to lukewarm, but your hands stayed red, trembling faintly as you scrubbed.

He didn’t push. Instead, he leaned against the counter, chopsticks tapping the edge of a container. “They’re going to get cold,” he tried, nodding at the food.

You didn’t answer. The sponge moved mechanically—scrub, rinse, clatter onto the rack. Another plate. Another fork. The rhythm anchored you, even as your mind flickered back to the station: her smirk, the blood on your phone, the HR rep’s tired sigh. Without concrete proof.

Will’s sigh was quiet, almost lost beneath the rush of the tap. He nudged a dumpling with his chopsticks, the chilli oil pooling like liquid rust. You felt his gaze linger on your hands, on the angry red line across your knuckle, but he said nothing.

The last fork clinked onto the rack. You stared at the empty sink, water swirling down the drain, taking the blood and suds with it. Will’s reflection still waited in the window, blurred and patient, as the rain hissed against the glass.

You felt his gaze linger on your hands, on the angry red line across your knuckle. His reflection in the window shifted—a blur of tousled hair and furrowed brows—as he hovered closer.

The last fork clinked onto the dish rack. You stared at the empty sink, water swirling down the drain, taking the blood and suds with it. The scrape on your knuckle throbbed.

“‘Fine,’” he repeated, your own word sharpened by air quotes. His voice frayed, cracking like old leather. “You’re clearly not fine. Let me hel—”

“Stop.” You didn’t turn around, gripping the edge of the sink. “Just stop.”

“Stop what? Asking?” His chair scraped back as he stood. “You’ve been a ghost for days. You won’t eat, you won’t sleep—hell, you’re bleeding—”

“It’s a scratch.”

“Bullshit. Look at me.”

You didn’t. The dish towel in your hands twisted, wringing out phantom water.

“Is this about work again?” He stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the counter. “Did something else happen?”

“No.”

“Then why are you scrubbing the sink raw at midnight? Why’s your hand bleeding?”

Your shoulders stiffened. “I scraped it.”

“On what? A cheese grater?” His laugh frayed at the edges. “You’ve been distracted all week. You won’t even look at me—”

The towel snapped against the counter as you whipped around. “What do you want from me, Will? A play-by-play of how she’s winning? How every time I think I’ve got proof, it’s ‘not enough’? Or maybe you want to hear how I let her shove me today because I’m too fucking tired to fight back?”

He blinked, recoiling. “Let her—? Jesus, that’s not what I—”

“You think I don’t see your face when I vent? That look—like I’m some chore. ‘Here we go again, the broken record.’” Your voice pitched higher, mocking. “I don’t want to be like this. But you don’t get to cherry-pick when to care.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not fair, I do care. I’ve stayed up every night this week listening, bringing you food, trying—but you’re not here. You’re just shutting me out.”

“Oh, sorry my misery isn’t entertaining enough for you.” You slammed a hand on the counter, the plate rattling in the rack. “Maybe I should’ve faked a smile, huh? Pretended everything’s fine so you don’t have to feel awkward?”

He stared at you, silent for a beat too long. Then his face did something awful—a flicker of raw hurt, his eyes bright with something too close to tears—before he swallowed it down. His voice steadied, but the cracks showed. “I’m going to walk away now. Because I recognise you’re upset and lashing out.” A pause, his gaze dropping to the bloody knuckle you’d tried to hide. “I’ll leave before you say something you don’t mean—something I won’t forget.”

You opened your mouth, a sharp inhale cutting through the silence—'Wait'—but the word died in your throat. He was already turning, shoulders hunched, one hand absently rubbing at his sternum like he could massage the ache out.

“Will—”

He paused at the hallway, his profile haloed by the dim kitchen light. For a heartbeat, you saw it: the way his jaw trembled before he clenched it, the sheen in his eyes he’d blame on exhaustion later. But he didn’t look back.

The bedroom door clicked shut.

You stood there, the cold edge of the counter digging into your hip, your knuckle throbbing in time with your pulse. The dumplings sat untouched—mostly. Will’s chopsticks lay askew on the counter, one dumpling missing from the container. A single bite taken, chilli oil smeared on the corner of the box like a half-hearted attempt to share the meal.

You stared at the lone dumpling he’d left behind, its pleated edge torn raggedly, steam long gone. He’d always eaten slowly, savouring each bite, but tonight he’d barely chewed before the fight erupted. You could picture it—him forcing a swallow, chopsticks hovering over the container as he debated offering you one last olive branch before you shut him down.

Your throat tightened. Even in the middle of this, he’d tried. Always tried. And you’d—

A faint smear of chilli oil glistened on the counter where his sleeve had brushed it. You pressed your palm over the stain, as if you could absorb the ghost of his presence there, but the heat had already faded. The bedroom door loomed at the edge of your vision, shut fast.

Your stomach sank. You’d made sure he wouldn’t try again tonight.

You slid to the floor, knees drawn to your chest. The flat hummed with silence, broken only by rain tapping the window. Back. Off. The words ricocheted in your skull, each repetition punctuated by the memory of Will’s face—the way his smile had died mid-sentence when he’d walked in, the takeout bag still dangling from his hand.

He’d remembered.

A muffled clink came from the bedroom—a drawer closing, perhaps, or a belt buckle dropped onto the dresser. Your throat tightened. He’d left the dumplings here. Uneaten.

The bedroom light flicked off. Shadows swallowed the hallway, inch by inch, until the flat felt hollowed out. Somewhere in that void, he was lying awake. You knew the exact sound of his breath when he fought sleep—the soft, uneven hitch, the way he’d turn his face into the pillow to muffle it. You’d memorised it once, tracing his ribs in the dark, counting each exhale like a prayer. Now, the silence between you was a living thing, gnawing at the walls.

You weren’t just losing the fight with her. And him. You were becoming her—all jagged edges and calculated cruelty. Letting her venom rot the one thing you’d sworn to protect.

The shadows stretched longer.

You didn’t move.

An hour later, you knocked, the sound feather-light. Too quiet. Your bruised knuckle stung as you rapped again, the pain sharpening your focus. “Will?” Your voice wavered. “Can I—” Breathe. “—come in?”

Silence.

You pressed your forehead to the door frame, the wood cool against your flushed skin. The memory of his flinch earlier—your words causing it—flashed behind your eyelids. When you nudged the door open, the hinge groaned like a reproach.

He lay on his side, facing the wall, the blanket pulled taut over his shoulders. The lamp on his nightstand cast a dim halo, illuminating the rigid line of his spine beneath his thin cotton shirt. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, fingers digging into his biceps as if physically restraining himself.

You hovered in the doorway, the chill from the kitchen seeping into your socks. Your reflection ghosted in the dresser mirror—hair tangled, eyes swollen, sleeves still damp from dishwater. Pathetic. A stranger.

“I didn’t mean it,” you whispered.

“Which part?” His voice was gravelly, stripped bare. “The ‘broken record’ bit? Or telling me to back off like I’m some stranger?”

You flinched. The words had tasted rancid even as you’d spat them, but hearing them echoed back—worse. You perched on the edge of the mattress, the springs groaning. His scent enveloped you—laundry detergent, faint citrus, and the metallic tang of rain still trapped in his shirt fibres.

“All of it”, you said. “I’m sorry.”

He shifted, finally turning. Shadows pooled under his eyes, deeper than you’d realised. “You scared me,” he said quietly. “Not because you snapped. Because I could see you vanishing. Like you were building a wall brick by brick, and I couldn’t—” His throat bobbed. “I couldn’t find the ladder.”

Your fingers brushed his wrist, tentative. He didn’t pull away.

“I kept waiting for you to stop trying,” you admitted, the confession clawing up your throat. “To finally… see me. The messy, angry parts. And walk away.” It was still silent.

“I hate that I did this,” you said, louder now, your voice splintering. “That I turned into her. That I hurt you to make the other pain smaller.”

Your hand hovered over his shoulder, close enough to feel the heat of him, but not daring to touch. The scar on your knuckle throbbed, a fresh bead of blood welling where you’d picked at it.

You stared at the frayed edge of the blanket, your voice raw. “I kept waiting for you to stop trying. To look at me—really look—and see how broken I’ve become. The anger, the paranoia, the way I flinch at Teams notifications. I thought you’d finally realise I’m not worth the fight and walk away.”

His shoulders tensed, the fabric of his shirt pulling taut.

“But you didn’t.” The words tore free, jagged. “You stayed. And now I have to,” Your throat closed. Deserve it. Be better. Fix what I’ve cracked.

Silence thickened.

You pressed your palm to your sternum, as if you could claw the shame out. “And I kept pushing you because—” A tear slid down your nose, splattering onto the blanket. “Because if you saw how deep this rot goes, you’d leave. And I’d deserve that, too.”

His exhale shuddered, uneven. “Try me.”

You hesitated. The admission lodged in your throat, sharp as glass.

His hand found yours, calloused fingers skimming the split skin of your knuckle—a wound you’d reopened earlier, digging at it like a punishment. “Tell me,” he murmured, thumb brushing your pulse point.

The dam cracked. “It’s her. This job. Every day, she—” You choked, your free hand clenching the blanket. "She whittles me down. A comment in meetings. A ‘lost’ file. A laugh when I walk by. And I let her. Because if I react, HR says I’m ‘too emotional’. If I stay quiet, I’m ‘not a team player’. It’s a game she can’t lose, and I” you exhale, “I’m letting her turn me into this.” You gestured wildly at yourself, your reflection in the dresser mirror, a stranger with hollowed eyes and a bloodied fist.

He shifted, turning fully toward you. “Then quit.”

You stiffened. “You think I haven’t tried? I’ve applied to twelve jobs this month. Twelve. And every rejection email feels like proof she’s right, that I’m—”

“No.” His voice sharpened, cutting through yours. “You’re not letting her do anything. You’re surviving. That’s not weakness.”

Your breath hitched.

“But this?” He lifted your injured hand, the blood smeared across your knuckle glinting in the lamplight. “Punishing yourself? Pushing me out? That’s letting her win.”

The truth of it lanced through you. You sagged forward, forehead dropping to his shoulder. His arms encircled you, anchoring you as sobs ripped loose—ugly, gasping things that shook your ribs.

“I’m sorry,” you choked into his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” His palm cradled the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “But you don’t get to decide what I can handle. Let me in.” He folded himself around you—all steady hands and murmured shhhs and pressed his lips to your temple. The shirt soaked through, but he didn’t seem to care.

When the storm passed, he nudged you upright. “C’mon. Let’s fix the part where you didn’t eat.”

In the kitchen, he reheated the dumplings, steam curling into the air as chilli oil liquefied back into its glossy crimson. You ate shoulder-to-shoulder at the counter, the silence now a balm.

“Next time”, he said, swiping a stray sesame seed from your lip, “say, ‘Will, I’m breaking.’ I’ll shut up and just be here.”

“Even if I’m mean?”

“Especially then.” His thumb brushed your cheekbone, lingering. “Mean’s just scared with its teeth out.”

The bedroom light stayed off. You fell asleep tangled in his arms, his heartbeat a metronome beneath your ear, the rain softening to a whisper.

#willne x reader #will lenney x reader #willne oneshot #will lenney #🔫 anon's request

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olivegardenendlesbreadsticks · 1 year ago

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New York City Bby!!!!

Opinion on public transit

I think fare evasion is a moral right

#literally just watched a guy jump the turnstile today #then he opened the emergency exit for everyone else #complete stranger #allowing us the moral right

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the-lunar-system · 8 months ago

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Ranking MBTA lines by how good I, one random wheelchair user, think their accessiblity is

0/5 - The Green line. I cannot use the green line because of the giant step up. It infuriates me whenever I'm on the street or in a car and I see the green line go by with their stupid fucking "wheelchair accessible" sticker.

3/5 - The Orange line. There was nothing particularly wrong with the train itself but transferring between the Orange line and the Red line is a nightmare situation if you can't climb stairs and I've already decided I like the Red line better.

4/5 - The Red line. The Red line is nice and accessible and has plenty of room for a wheelchair. Looses points because of the Orange line transfer and one time I tried to leave Central and got stuck outside the turnstiles on an exit with no elevator and had to pay two bucks to go back into the station and leave through the actual accessible entrance.

5/5 - The Blue line. The blue line fucks hard I've never had any problems with the Blue line. The transfer to/from the Orange line was simple and easy and some of the elevators are actual full sized elevators and not dinky little things.

10/10 - The busses. I had to switch from ranking out of five to ranking out of ten to get across how good the busses are. I love you busses. I love you ramps onto the bus. I love you space for multiple wheelchair users on one bus. Mwah.

?/? - The commuter rail. I haven't taken this since I started using a wheelchair IDK.

#mbta #boston #massachusetts #accessibility

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tripodturnstile · 2 years ago

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waist height turnstile door from RS Security Co., Ltd(www.szrssecurity.com) Suitable for all kinds of public places that need organized passage of pedestrians, such as picturesque areas, exhibition halls, cinemas, docks, train stations, bus stations and other locations that need ticket verification; locations that need authorized entry such as factory presence, canteen consumption, golf courses, regular monthly card leisure centers, etc; anti-static control areas of electronic factories, units that need stringent security measures such as face acknowledgment and fingerprint recognition. RS Security Co., Ltd generally produces, develops and sells gain access to control products, such as waist height gates gate, subway flap turnstile gate, dc brushless swing turnstile gate, translation gates barrier, drop arm turnstile gate, complete body gates barrier, half high turnstile gate, speedlane turnstile gate and other channel turnstile gate items, and boom barrier, recognition video camera, hydraulic bollards, road blockers three arms turnstiles gate Integrated electronic tickets, gain access to control and attendance, club consumption/catering, anti-static, finger print, palm print, face acknowledgment, iris acknowledgment Integrated application of other series of products; full stainless steel frame structure, servo motor, separately established and produced motion; one-way/two-way gates door/ swipe to launch the lever button and the upper lever is optional, with Counting function can realize RS485 direct interaction with the computer; three arms turnstile door triggers and instructions and alarm triggers; automatic fall of the pole when power is off and manual fall The pole is optional, and it gets the switch signal to open gates gate; it can be geared up with a card reading control part, and numerous units can be linked to the network; it can be equipped with magnetic card and proximity card mix approaches; it can be purchased according to various functional requirements. Do. A totally rainproof box made from alloy aluminum or stainless steel, compared to the train flap turnstile gate dc brushless swing turnstile Door and other pedestrian passage devices, tripod turnstiles door are more cost-effective. It has an individualized setup interface (such as card reader, sign light installation, and so on) to make sure that the system integrator's control turnstile barrier devices is easy and hassle-free to install. The motion of the three-stick turnstile gate maker has actually an immediately adjusted hydraulic shock absorber. When using the three-stick turnstile door operation, the noise is very little and quiet. Impact, gates door bar instantly slows down back to center. The surface area of the movement is plated with yellow dichromate. Can be programmed with turnstiles door maker control, a couple of direction control (set by user). The base is fixed with expansion bolts.

#pedestrian tripod turnstiles #access control turnstile gate #half height gate #point of sale turnstile #turnstile exit #antique turnstiles for sale #qr code turnstiles

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szrssecurityswingturnstile · 2 years ago

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#swing turnstiles #coin operated turnstile #safe entry turnstile #turnstile exit #whats a turnstile #tripod turnstile mechanism #speedlane swing

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wlntrsldler · 1 year ago

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heartless | luke castellan

MDNI!!!!!!

fuckboy! luke (kinda) but also kind of loser!luke a little bit. enemies to lovers (more of sexual tension really); not canon, no betrayal, and pokes fun of aphrodite girls but yk i love them, this is just for the plot. ares!reader x luke castellan.

i. never need a bitch, i'm what a bitch need, tryna find the one that can fix me; i've been dodging death in the six-speed.

there were many things about being a half-blood that luke hated. having a deadbeat father ranks highly on the list, obviously, and the lack of exposure to the real world was up there, too. he ran away from camp once during the year when there weren’t many kids around. it was right after his eighteenth birthday when he thought that his life would magically change for the better now that he beat the odds (sue him for being hopeful), but when the clock hit midnight and he was still stuck on his cramped, cot in the corner of the hermes cabin, he decided enough was enough.

he did his final cabin checks and left camp after, wandering aimlessly until he found the train station to take him straight to the city. he hopped over the turnstile and squeezed himself into the crowded subway car. the first thing that struck luke was how different each group of people was from each other. in one corner, there were businessmen in itchy suits, trying to check out the group of girls across from them, clearly dressed for a night out. luke scoffed at them, smirking to himself when one of the men flushed in embarrassment at the fact that luke caught him.

what a fucking loser, luke thought.

there was a girl around luke’s age, sneaking glances at him. she was pretty; blonde, pouty-lipped, and definitely interested. at this point, luke hadn’t been experienced. other than the aphrodite girls flirting with him and the occasional hazed and rushed makeout sessions during the campfires, luke hadn’t done anything with anyone. but if he can make the daughters of the goddess of love blush, surely it couldn’t be that difficult to make a mortal fall under his charm too.

he was right.

he shot her one of his signature smirks, feeling a sense of pride bloom in his chest when she had to grab onto the pole in front of her to keep steady. luke adjusted the navy sweater he had on, tugging on the collar a bit to show off a little skin. his silver necklace sat nicely on his neck and he watched subway girl’s eyes rake over his body. luke bit his bottom lip, motioning for the girl to take the empty seat beside him. her eyes widened, but she did what she was told.

unfortunately, reality caught up with him quickly when a hellhound found him as he was exiting the subway car with the pretty girl (jessie? jane? janet? he doesn’t remember.) around his arm. luke castellan was a lot of things, but a killer wasn’t one of them, so he made some stupid excuse to the girl about why he had to leave just so he could keep her safe. (it killed him to do it. he’s a teenage boy. he has needs.) the girl walked away, upset, huffing to her friends about how he wasted her time and got her hopes up. luke just rolled his eyes and dislodged his small knife from his pocket sitting beside his half-smoked cigarette box, ready to take on the hellhound.

“you couldn’t wait ‘til i at least got to second base?” luke cringed, partly at himself for talking to the hellhound like it could talk back to him. “had to show up right now, huh, buddy?”

he received a growl in return.

the fight wasn’t too terrible, but after the hellhound whimpered, walking away in defeat, luke was too tired to continue his exploration of the real world. he hopped on the train back to camp, clutching the scratch the hellhound left on him. his (only nice piece of clothing) navy sweater was ruined. the thread was falling apart where the hellhound dug its claws in and it was stained with his blood. he would’ve fought better and avoided the injury if his balls weren’t fucking blue.

luke closed his eyes, breathing heavily. even though it was only for a few minutes, the idea of being a regular teenager, flirting with girls, going to clubs, drinking cheap tequila from a plastic bottle, was something luke yearned for. he only got to experience a fraction of it. he wanted to experience it more, preferably without testing death each time.

the older kids heard of luke’s adventure when they saw the counselor walking into the apollo cabin the following morning to get his wounds treated. he made a note to never tell chris anything again because the boy couldn’t keep his mouth shut if he tried. by lunch, the entire camp, including chiron and mr. d, heard about luke’s unplanned visit to the city and his interaction with one of hades’ guards.

“luke.”

he turned around, eyebrows furrowed, then raised in surprise. in front of him were three aphrodite girls, pouting at him. he crossed his arms across his chest, smirking, “what’s up, gorgeous?”

“heard you went looking for some fun last night.”

“are we not good enough for you, luke?”

“why would you go looking for better when you have the best right here in camp?”

luke wanted to laugh. the aphrodite girls were always so bold with their words, but when it came down to the wire, they would never want to disappoint their mom by being with the golden boy-turned-teenage dirtbag. he respected it, though. their allegiance to their mom was admirable. if aphrodite was his godly parent and she gave him the power to always be attractive, he didn’t think he’d do anything to piss her off either.

“why do you think i came back?” luke flirted, running a hand through his curls, “realized there was nobody like you.”

the three girls blushed and giggled, even if none of them knew who his comment was actually directed toward. they waved goodbye to him, and he watched them walk away, admiring the view.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

luke couldn’t stop his lips from quirking upwards at the sound of your voice, “what now, y/n?”

you and luke had been at each other’s throats since you first got to camp half-blood. you, as the daughter of ares, one of his favorites coming only second to clarisse, pushed luke’s buttons like no other. you walked into camp and immediately saw through his boy-next-door facade and saw him for who he truly was. usually, luke would hate you for it, but now, it was hard for him not to think about shutting you up in other ways. less friendly ways, but if he had his ways, just as harsh.

the rivalry began when you were fourteen. the title of best swordsman bounced between the two of you over the years. luke currently has the title, but it was only because he cheated; he swears he’s just better, but there’s no universe where you’d actually admit luke castellan was better than you at something. the five seconds between you being chosen to be head counselor for the ares cabin and him being chosen as the head counselor for the hermes cabin were the best five seconds of your life. it was the only time you held a higher position than him.

luke quite enjoyed your little banter (when you weren’t around to ruin his game). it only got better when he had his huge growth spurt and you could no longer reach things when he held it up over his head. when you didn’t talk and run your mouth (usually cursing at him or cursing him), luke thought you might even be cute. he loved making you turn red, even if it was out of pure anger over his antics, but his favorite is when he gets you tongue-tied because his dirty, teenage brain makes him say something before he thinks.

“there’s no way that actually worked on them.”

“take a look for yourself,” luke motioned to the group of girls who were now whispering and shooting heart eyes at him. “it always works.”

“oh, get your head out your ass, castellan,” you spat.

“spitting is not going to get you the reaction you might think,” luke smirked, eyeing you up and down. your eyes widened and you looked away from him to hide the redness of your cheeks. like that. luke licked his lips, “might actually have the opposite effect on me.”

“you’re disgusting.”

luke let out a full belly laugh as you walked away from him. sure, there were some pretty shitty things about camp half-blood, but there were some pretty great things there too, and messing with you is on the top of his list.

ii. hundred models gettin' faded in the compound, tryna love me but they never get a pulse down.

“do you guys always fight like this?”

you and luke peeled your eyes away from each other at the sound of percy’s voice. the poor boy was looking between his two mentors, torn because he had no idea who to listen to. you sighed, walking over to him.

you placed a hand on his shoulder, “sorry, percy. luke is just… forget it, let’s just try it one more time, yeah?”

“luke is just what?” luke asked, an eyebrow raised in a challenge. “finish your sentence, y/n. c’mon.”

“the words i’d like to use wouldn’t be appropriate for a twelve-year-old to hear.”

“‘m from new york, i probably heard it already,” percy shrugged, pausing. “come to think of it, i probably used it before.”

luke let out a chuckle, patting percy on the back. “my man.”

“can you not encourage cussing, head counselor?”

“fine, i guess you’re just gonna have to tell me what you were going to say later. in private.”

“castellan,” you smacked his chest. hard. you were furious with luke, but you couldn’t help but flush at his suggestive words, “don’t start.”

percy frowned, “i don’t get it.”

luke took mercy on you and wrapped an arm around the boy. he led percy away, promising to continue working on his sword skills later after capture the flag. before they disappeared from your view, luke made sure to turn around to shoot you a wink. you flipped him off in return.

it wasn’t always like this between you and luke. once upon a time, your banters were innocent, like kids fighting over the last piece of candy in the jar. luke literally used to pull your hair when he was behind you in the line for food and you used to stick your foot out to trip him when he was playing tag with his siblings.

but then, he returned from his quest. at first, you felt bad for him. he came back unable to complete it, and he was permanently scarred from it. it must’ve been difficult to have that constant reminder. after a few months, though, when his scar was almost fully healed, the whispers about how attractive luke castellan was started. luke closed himself off after his quest and spent his time doing extra training. you could lie and say that all the extra workouts didn’t do wonders for him, but nobody would believe you anyway.

in short, luke castellan got hot. he was no longer the pesky little boy you bantered with. he got taller, broader, and dirtier. you weren’t dumb, you knew the innuendos that he would throw at you. you were in the same sex ed class as he was in. (side note: mr. d teaching teenagers about sex ed was your own personal version of hell. tartarus be damned.) somehow, luke turned into a teenage heartthrob at camp and all of a sudden, all the girls were throwing themselves at him. it made you sick, but what made you more sick, was that you understood why.

ever since luke’s confidence skyrocketed and he leaned into his bad boy persona, there was a different charge in your banter; as if instead of trying to push your buttons, now, he was trying to get you under him. from blowing his cigarette smoke directly into your direction to all his dirty comments, luke castellan was acting like he wanted you. and surprisingly, you didn’t stop him.

“can y’all just fuck already?” you spun around to find clarisse leaning against a tree, her spear mounted on the floor. she had a teasing smile on her lips, “maybe once you hate-fuck, you guys will get it out your systems.”

“ew, castellan?” you sneered. your nose scrunched up in disgust, though your stomach churned at the thought of it. “never in a million years.”

“dude, the sexual tension between you guys is insane,” she shrugged, walking over to you. “come on, sis, you can’t pretend like you don’t feel it.”

“i feel a lot of things for luke castellan, but wanting to fuck him is not one of them.”

you’re a liar. you knew that. clarisse knew that. but you’re thankful that your sister didn’t call you out on your bullshit.

she laughed, “whatever you say. now, ready to train me?”

you spun your sword around expertly, “always.”

this week’s game of capture the flag was eventful. you lost, much to your dismay, but the results of the game were overshadowed by poseidon claiming percy as his kid. the subject of forbidden kids were a touchy subject, for obvious reasons, but you knew that it was especially hard for luke. you didn’t know thalia well, but with how often annabeth talked about her, you felt like you knew her.

luke never talked about thalia, though. you figured it was because it was too painful for him to think about. he knew her longer than annabeth did and his memories of her were much more vivid than the young girl’s. with percy being poseidon’s kid, you knew that it was bound to bring up some unwanted memories for the hermes counselor. but what shocked you was seeing luke sitting with his siblings at the campfire instead of being surrounded by fawning girls like he usually was. whenever his team won, he would bask in the glory of the win, shotgunning smoke into the mouth of whoever was closest to him before disappearing for a bit only to come back with marks all over his neck.

but tonight, he was sitting next to chris, a beer can in his hand, staring directly at you. the red cup in your hand filled with mysterious liquor was cold to the touch. clarisse was trying to hide the smile on her face as she watched you and luke lock eyes. she mumbled a fake excuse, running away to leave you alone while she tried to find silena. luke chugged the rest of his beer before crushing the can in his hand and walking over to you.

you stood your ground, feet planted on the floor, with your arms folded across your chest. “no celebration tonight castellan?”

“not unless you want to celebrate with me,” he replied.

“shut the fuck up,” you sighed.

luke watched as your arms pushed your tits up your chest. he couldn’t stop himself from biting his lip, watching your chest rise and fall as you took your breaths. he was almost tempted to burn his toast tomorrow morning just to thank the gods that you decided to wear a low-cut shirt tonight. your camp necklace was resting on top of your tits and he wanted to reach over and count the beads on your necklace. four, just one less than he has.

“i love that you’re a sore loser,” he said, pulling out the cigarette that was tucked behind his ear. “makes it so easy to mess with you.”

“‘m not a sore loser,” you argued, absentmindedly pulling out the lighter in your pocket.

he was surprised by your actions. he knew you smoked, but you’d never smoked with him before. he pulled out a cigarette for you which you gladly took. you lit yours first then leaned over for him to light his own. luke shook his head, bringing up his index finger for you to come closer. he lit his cigarette with the burning end of yours, humming in appreciation when the nicotine hit his senses.

“you are,” he blew out the smoke, “but it’s adorable.”

“flirting with me isn’t gonna get you very far, castellan. you should know this by now.”

“what, you want me to be mean to you?” luke said it teasingly, but then he saw your shoulders freeze for a millisecond. he chuckled, darkly, voice dropping an octave when he spoke again. “holy shit, you’re into that.”

“none of your fucking business,” you shook your head, thankful that you had at least one substance already in your system to keep you from turning red.

“it’s hot, y/n, own it,” he shrugged his shoulders, turning a bit to face the rest of the campers. all of the younger kids were off in their own world. they knew better than to hang out with the older kids at these things. he had a cocky smile on his face when he turned to you again, “i can be mean, if you want, y’know. just say the word.”

you downed the drink, needing some sort of liquid courage if you were going to keep this conversation going. clarisse and silena were watching you and luke a few feet away and you can tell by their faces that they weren’t going to come save you from the conversation even if you begged them to. “that kind defeats the purpose, no?”

“what do you mean?”

you wiped the drop of liquor away from the corner of your lips, “having to ask you to be mean. you should just be mean without me asking.”

luke’s eyes darkened. sure, he flirted with you, but you never kept up with him before. you usually tell him to fuck off and walk away, leaving him with a head full of images of your red, embarrassed face, to keep him occupied at night. “noted.”

you shoved the empty cup into his chest, taking a puff out of your cigarette before walking away, “no need to take notes, castellan. i know you’re all talk anyway.”

iii. 'cause i'm heartless and i'm back to my ways 'cause i'm heartless.

luke was pissed. you can tell by the way his shoulders were tense. you just disarmed him during practice, the tip of your sword resting comfortably under his jaw. the title was yours again.

“say you surrender,” you taunted, pushing the sword just a little deeper on his skin, but not enough to cause any damage, “say you surrender and i’ll let you leave with some dignity.”

“this doesn’t count,” he replied, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “i was distracted.”

and he was. you took your shirt off, leaving you in a sports bra, at around the third sparring session. the sun was beating down harshly on the both of you and the lack of a breeze in the air didn’t help. your chest was glistening with sweat and you were breathing heavily. luke took his eyes away from your moves for a second to look at your figure and you took advantage of it.

“no excuses, castellan,” you lifted his face up with your sword, “surrender.”

“fine,” he relented. he got up from his knees when you removed the sword from his jaw, “i surrender.”

“good.” you twirled your sword in your hand, walking away from him to grab a sip of water. your back was turned and luke couldn’t help but let his eyes trail down the curve of your spine. your muscles were defined, no doubt due to the hours of sparring you just did, and your hair cascaded perfectly down when you pulled it out of the ponytail you had it in. he wanted to wrap it around his fist and pull it.

“fuck,” he groaned, trying to push down his hardening cock in his cargo pants. the action didn’t do anything to help. it was no use.

“what was that?” you tossed the bottle of water on the ground as you turned to face him. your eyes widened as you took in the image in front of you. luke was staring at you, lips slightly parted, hair in disarray as if he just ran his hand through it, and his pants were tight around his dick. “luke…”

fuck it, he thought.

“shut up.”

luke marched over to you, grabbing your face with a force that knocked you off balance. it was disorienting feeling his lips hungrily over yours because it felt so damn good. his hands migrated from your face down to your ass, gripping it and massaging the flesh so he could push you closer to him. you could feel his hard cock poking against your skin and you moaned at the feeling. luke wanted to bottle the sound so he could listen to it whenever he wanted to.

he pushed you against a tree, grinding his aching hips against yours. he could feel your wetness growing against his pants. he pulled away from your lips, turning your face to the side to give himself access to your neck. he licked a stripe up your jugular, mixing his saliva with the sweat on your skin. he started his attack on your neck, nipping, sucking, licking, everywhere he could. you couldn’t help but whimper at his actions.

against your better judgment, you pulled him away by threading your fingers through his curls. his eyes were closed, mouth agape when he knocked his forehead against yours. you tugged on the hair by the nape of his neck, “you’re not fucking me, luke.”

“fuck, okay,” he breathed out. he was horny, but he respected your wishes.

“not today,” you placed a chaste kiss on his lips before pulling away. his lips followed yours, but you tutted, “but you can watch me if you let me watch you.”

“yes,” his eyes snapped open, moving away from you to give you space.

“come here,” you walked away from him, motioning him to come to the patch of grass secluded from the training area. he followed you, hissing as he tried to adjust himself in his pants. you lay on the grass, propping yourself up on your elbows. your hand slowly trailed down to your pants before you dipped your finger inside your underwear. your back arched as you felt how wet you were from the earlier interaction with luke.

luke sat at your feet, undoing his pants. he pulled out his cock; red, dripping, and angry. he felt his confidence rise when you moaned at the sight of it. his veiny hand was wrapped at the base of his cock, slowly pumping. his voice was broken as he spoke, “let me see you.”

for a moment, you were vulnerable, hesitating to expose everything to him. but luke’s face showed nothing but desire and you melted under his gaze. you shimmied out of your pants, tossing them somewhere near, before opening your legs for him to see you. your fingers pulled apart your folds, showing him your slick-covered pussy.

“prettiest fucking pussy in the world,” he groaned, watching as you circled your clit. “fucking perfect, y/n.”

his words spurred you on. you dipped two fingers inside, mewling at the stretch. luke flicked the tip of his dick, moaning at how your fingers disappeared as you pumped them inside you. he can hear your wetness loud and clear and he wanted nothing more than to slurp it up with his tongue, but he can be patient. this can be enough for now.

his hand moved faster on his dick, the muscles on his arm tensing with each stroke. he watched as you threw your head back in pleasure, admiring the marks he left on your skin. a feeling of possessiveness bloomed in his chest knowing that he marked you.

“want a taste?”

luke nodded, crawling over to your outstretched fingers while still pumping his cock. his lips hollowed to suck off your juices from your fingers, eyes closing at the sweet taste. his tongue danced between your fingers, licking them clean. you watched in awe as he hungrily sucked off your fingers. there were beads of sweat trickling down the edge of his face, his curls were sticky on his forehead, and there was a look of pure bliss on his features.

“so sweet,” he whispered, letting your fingers go with a pop. “fuck, y/n.”

“luke,” you panted, continuing to get yourself off. “i’m close.”

“give it to me,” he said. his voice was nearly gone. “need it.”

there was something about luke castellan begging you to cum for him that made your head spin. you came, hard, all over your fingers while he watched you come undone. the image of you cumming, the whisper of his name leaving your lips, was going to be burned into his memory forever.

“i’m coming,” luke groaned, the veins in his neck popping out as he gritted his teeth. “open up.”

you moved closer to him, leaning down with your tongue out for him. he pumped his cock until white spurts covered your pink, patient tongue. he wanted to take a picture of you right now for later. eyes closed, makeup on your face ruined, hickeys on your neck on full display while his cum coated your tongue. you were a wet dream come to life.

luke gripped blades of grass with his other hand, trying to steady himself as he watched you swallow his load. when you opened your eyes, you opened your mouth to show him you didn’t waste a drop, and luke couldn’t do anything else but kiss you to show his appreciation.

you had avoided luke after your training session. you didn’t know what got into you doing that with him, but one thing was for sure, the tension didn’t disappear after it. it just got worse.

everywhere you went, you felt his eyes following your every move. he would stare at you, eyes narrowed, during classes or during meals. but he never did anything.

until he lost at capture the flag. you skipped the celebration, opting to stay alone in the ares cabin to avoid running into luke. the whole situation left you with so many questions that you were afraid to get the answer to. you fucked yourself in front of luke. and you liked it. there hasn’t been a day since when you didn’t think about his cock and how it would feel inside of you. it was getting pitiful how often you got off thinking about him. his sounds, his face when he came, his taste. everything.

you were getting ready for bed when you heard the door of the ares cabin slam open. you turned your head, eyes widening, when you saw luke walking towards you, kicking the door shut. he didn’t break eye contact with you as he reached the foot of your bed.

he licked his lips, “you’re avoiding me.”

“i’m not,” you lied, tugging your blanket up to cover yourself. “was just too tired to celebrate.”

“bullshit,” he ripped the blanket away from your body, “you want mean, right? i can give you mean.”

you pushed your thighs together, making him smirk.

luke got on your bed, his knees on either side of you. he pushed his head into the crook of your neck, leaving rough kisses on your skin. your hands flew up to his hair, pulling softly, “my pretty girl won’t betray me.”

it took you a minute to realize that he wasn’t talking about you. his fingers rubbed on your clit over your pajama shorts, making you arch into him. you whimpered, “luke, please.”

“nuh uh,” he pulled away from your neck, “you don’t get to say please, anymore. you’re gonna take my dick until i’m done.”

luke connected your lips. his lips were relentless against yours, tongue forcing its way into your mouth. he groaned at the feeling of your hand reaching down to palm him. he grinded his hips into your hand, lips sloppily crashing against yours. luke put all his weight on one arm, using the other one to lightly wrap his fingers around your throat. he did an experimental squeeze, growing harder when you moaned in pleasure at the pressure.

clothes were flying off both of your bodies after that. your pants drowned out the faint hum of the campers away at the campfire. luke pulled away from your lips, marking your neck again. the hickeys he left you were already fading and he hated not seeing the remnants of his time with you on your skin. he trailed the hickeys down your body, spending extra time on your plush thighs. he pried your legs open, sighing in content when your pussy welcomed his thick fingers.

he pressed his tongue against your folds, closing his eyes at the sounds of pleasure that left your lips. his lips wrapped around your bud, sucking, until you were lifting your hips up. he placed an arm across your stomach, pressing down on you to keep you still. from where you were lying, you could only see his eyes. his eyes were boring into yours, watching your reaction to learn what you liked. when his tongue darted inside of you, touching that spongy part, your face contorted in unparalleled pressure and luke knew that he needed to keep hitting that spot.

you were a mess under him. you’ve never came before unless it was your own doing, but you were dangerously close to the edge with how luke was eating your pussy. he was determined to have your wetness coat his tongue. he’d been dreaming of tasting you since you last let him. he’d been craving it.

when your thighs pressed against the side of his head, he knew it was coming. he used his thumb to draw figure eights on your clit. you came with a cry, his name repeating off your lips like a mantra, like a prayer.

luke pulled away from your pussy, wiping the wetness on his chin away with his forearm. he pumped his cock in his hand a few times, hissing at the pain of it being forgotten.

“luke,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. you clung onto him like a lifeline. “give me a second.”

he took in your state. all fucked out just from his tongue. his jaw ticked, “been givin’ you space for days, don’t think you deserve any more.”

“fuck!” you cried as his dick entered you. luke had to shut his eyes to keep himself from cumming. your pussy was so tight and so wet and so greedy for his cock. he pushed all the way in, stopping for a moment to catch his breath.

“perfect fucking pussy, like i said,” luke’s voice was hoarse as he thrusted into you. his hand grabbed one of your tits, flicking the hardened bud with his fingers. he continued to snap his hips into you as he leaned down to your ear, “been thinking about fucking you dumb with my cock.”

“been-ah- thinking about it too,” you admitted, cheeks growing red at his words. you were clawing at his back, no doubt leaving marks, “been touching myself thinking about you.”

“looks like you’re the one who’s all talk, y/n,” he was going faster now, reveling in the sounds that your connected bodies were making with each push of his cock. reminders of your first orgasm were all over his base. “made me watch you fuck your perfect pussy, then-fuck- avoiding me.”

“didn’t think you were serious with your words.”

luke pulled out of you completely. you got a good look at him for the first time. his nostrils were flared, chest heaving as he pumped his cock in his hand. he made a noise, “seems like i’m not doing my job right.”

you reached out for him, pussy tightening around nothing, “huh?”

“you’re still being smart,” luke grabbed your hips then and turned you around. you arched your back for him, giving him a view of your ass. he rubbed his hands over the flesh, slapping it. he pushed your head down on your pillow, wrapping your messy hair around his fist. he leaned over to whisper in your ear, “told you, i wanted to fuck you dumb on my cock.”

he thrusted into you with fervor, skin slapping as he took you from behind. luke watched as your ass bounced sinfully against him as he pushed his cock deeper into you. with this angle, he can can push into you more easily. he was on his knees, holding your hips flush against his body. the sounds you were making as his cock found your pussy were delicious.

you were incoherent then, mumbling into your pillow, begging for him to keep going. luke wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon. when your second orgasm of the night came crashing down, you screamed luke’s name loudly.

he came inside you, ropes of milky cum coating your gummy walls. he collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily as he moved your hair away to place kisses on your back.

when you both got dressed, luke left a lingering kiss on your raw lips. he left one last hickey on the side of your jaw, “training. tomorrow. don’t be late.”

#frances writes #frances song fics #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan smut #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #i need water

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runningfrom2am · 1 year ago

Text

cold nights // part twenty

summary: you showed him colours he knows he can't see with anyone else.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 6.1k (YIKES)

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: guyssss guys guys guys omg :,) also s2 only has two parts left!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

The air is brisk as it surrounds you in the night, chilling you down to the bone, but with a book in your lap and a blanket draped over your shoulders, you don't mind the cold. Not one bit.

You're reading the same page over and over again- Romeo and Juliet. Act two, scene two. Your monologue. You flip the page, and that's all there is.

'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.'

You whisper this, smiling softly to yourself. The grass tickles the undersides of your arms and when you look up, you see the stars. Thousands and thousands of them- more than you could count if you were given a pen and paper and a month to try. It's beautiful.

You lay back into the wild grass, letting it consume you. You can smell it as the long blades brush across your cheeks.

"Y/N?" You freeze at the sound of your name, not that you are really moving. You just hold tight onto the air in your lungs, as if exhaling it could light a beacon to you. Your heartbeat was thrumming in your chest- you were afraid.

"Y/N?" The voice comes again. Coriolanus. He shouldn't be here, he doesn't know where you go at night when you need to end your unfortunate days. Why is he here?

You don't move, eyes wide open as you stare at the sky. Maybe he'll go away, maybe he'll ignore the lantern still burning close enough that you could read under its flame. As if.

"Y/N, you have to go." Now you can hear the grass rustling with every slow step he takes, and he's trying to be quiet. Whispering, as if there was anyone here for miles.

"Go, hide. It's not safe for you out here."

You sit up quickly, scrambling onto your feet. He's close enough now that he's certainly seen you. You get no chance to say anything before you realize you weren't in the field you thought you were. Grass covers the ground of the Capitol arena, and alongside the long green leaves, Coryo's scarf is draping down your side, brushing your legs.

"Coryo?" You say, but you're not looking at him. The compact weighs heavily in the pocket of your dress as you spin around, taking in the dark space. Your lantern flickers out.

"Y/N." He says again, and your eyes snap back to him. His hair is short, buzzed almost down to his scalp like the last time you saw him. "Hide. Now."

"But, I-"

It was too late, and quickened footsteps alerted you to someone else coming.

"Come on, come on!" Coryo grabs you by the wrist quickly, pulling you with him toward the exit glowing red in the night as you abandon your book and blanket.

His hand shifts to hold yours, attempting to force you ahead of himself. You want to look back, but he won't let you. The exit feels miles away. You can't take leave- you don't know why you're running with him. You'll be killed. You'll be killed either way.

You fall through the turnstiles, the mocking automatic voice from the speakers going ignored as you hit the ground. You don't know what you fell onto, you look and there's nothing there, but blood begins to pour from three linear wounds in your leg and a gash on your upper arm.

"Are you okay? Hey, are you okay?" Coryo is in your face now, kneeling in front of you and trying to get you up.

You can't speak, looking past him at the faceless shadow following you. Pushing yourself back against the wall, they glide through the gate and Coryo turns quickly, hands raised. "Wait! Don't! He shouts, but has to duck as they swing something at them.

"Y/N- Run!" He yells at you, but you can't move. You curl up against the wall, burying your face in your knees.

You hear the sharp swing of metal in the air. Once, twice, and you're waiting for an impact that doesn't come until you hear Coryo cry out in pain instead.

You feel the grind of cement next to you as something is lifted from the ground.

"I don't want to hurt you!"

Another swing.

And then a cracking noise, and the turnstile again.

"Enjoy the show!"

You look up then, watching just as the shadow hits the ground across the gate.

"Coryo?" You push yourself up using the wall. He doesn't look back at you, but you can see his shoulders rise and fall with his breaths as he stares at the shadow now sprawled out across the ground.

He swings the club again, the cement block disappearing into the grass with a hard thud.

You don't run.

"Coryo, let's go. Please... let's just go." Your voice comes out small, but he still hears you.

He turns, and you aren't afraid. "Y/N-" He drops the weapon and you take an involuntary step back. You look into his eyes, cleared of the blonde curls he recently buzzed off.

Sky blue. Angry. No- baby blue. Worried.

He's afraid.

"Y/N, wait." He pleads with you, hands clear as he takes a step closer. This time, you let him. "Please don't walk away again."

"What did you say?" You ask, brow furrowed at the familiar statement as you take another step back.

"Please, don't run from me."

When you wake, you feel different. You feel your blood pumping quick through your veins as you stare at the ceiling, the sun peaking in through the curtains like usual, but you feel more sick than scared.

It's a welcome change.

Crawling out of bed, you pull a dress on over your pyjama shorts, deciding that would likely be fine since you didn't plan on leaving the house today. Maybe to go out to the meadow, but with sleep still blurring your vision you weren't ready to make any big decisions like that yet.

You felt guilty about ruining the lake day for everyone. It wasn't a bad panic attack, they did have to jump into action the way they did and try to rush you home, but they had. You can't be upset at them, Lennox and Lucy Gray only wanted to protect you.

You wish Maude Ivory hadn't seen you cry.

The hike back is all you can think about while you make your morning tea.

You watched as Sejanus grabbed Coryo by the arm, pulling him back up and into the cabin and shutting the door behind them.

No one bothered to get you dressed again, the priority just being to get you home. Lucy Gray had helped you get your shoes back on, and Lennox practically lifted you to your feet. You were still shaking, but the tears had lessened and you could breathe again.

"Tam Amber, will you go ask the boys if they remember the way back?" Lucy Gray whispered to her cousin and he nodded, running off the dock.

"You're safe. It's just us here." She reminded you as you watched him hurry away.

"But... But Coryo-" You stammered, suddenly shivering.

"I know, I know, Hun." She wrapped the blanket back around your shoulders. "He's gone. You're okay."

"No, no I-"

You heard Tam Ambers footfalls returning, just as hastily as he had gone. "They remember." He nodded to your friend.

"Okay, will you tell them to wait twenty minutes before following us?" She told him and he nodded again, disappearing once more.

"Lucy Gray, it's, it's okay. I don't think they need to wait." You tried to explain, and she had to lean in to listen to you.

"I know, it's okay." Clearly, she didn't know what you were trying to say. "I promise you they can handle themselves, you don't worry about it." But you weren't worried about them. You wanted them to come.

"E-Every one can master a grief but he that has it." You huff through shaky breaths, frustration at their lack of understanding building in your tone. Why couldn't they see that he was helping you?

Lennox and Lucy Gray look at each other on either side of you, but say nothing.

You looked back at the cabin over your shoulder as your brother and best friend guided you away, the rest of the Covey in tow.

You hadn't seen either of the Capitol boys since.

Coryo walks into Sejanus's room, expecting him to still be sleeping. It's early, the sun just peaking over the mountains, but he's not there. He was out late the night before, so maybe he hadn't come home. He did mention something about possibly staying with Lucy Gray after her show.

They would only be in town for another couple of weeks, he was getting down to the wire of time he had to earn your trust back. He was fucking it up royally, and he wasn't even sure he could go home without any conclusions. He just needed to talk to you, if it was him who was hurting you, and you said the best thing he could do was leave and never look back, he would do it in a heartbeat. He'd never recover, but he'd be willing to do anything to know you were happy. Or at least getting there.

But you hadn't said that. Remembering your conversation at the lake, he didn't feel like all hope was lost. Even if Lucy Gray and Lennox wouldn't let him anywhere near you. He couldn't give up yet.

This is why, in all honesty, he is lucky that Sejanus didn't make it home last night.

He saw his friend writing in a notebook the other day, so he opened the bedside drawer to try and find it. He'll just leave a note saying he's going for a walk, and Sejanus likely won't suspect he's going to go try and talk to you and come stop him. If he even wakes up from his hangover with enough time to find the note and then catch him.

When Coryo opens the drawer, that's not what he finds. Well, it is, and he pulls the pad of paper and pencil out, but his eyes catch on something else. Cash. And lots of it.

He looks over his shoulder at the door before picking it up and picking through it. It must have been in the tens of thousands. Why would Sejanus bring so much money to District Twelve of all places? He wishes he could understand rich kids.

He sits on the bed and opens the notebook, pausing again when he sees some scribbled notes.

'Hob, 10 pm, 08/17

Broken fence, storage shed. 4 am, 08/18

Lennox ?'

Brow furrowed in confusion, Coryo turns the page. Nothing else. No other context clues as to what on earth this could mean. It was meeting places and times. He looks around again as if he could find answers in the walls of the small bedroom.

Nothing.

He quickly shoves the notepad back into the drawer and leaves. Maybe he didn't need to leave a note after all.

Coryo had to move quickly. Collecting yet another peace offering, some kind of treat, and then make it to your house before Sejanus or Lucy Gray can intercept. He does it, but there was still the biggest obstacle yet- your brother. He prays as he knocks that Lennox doesn't open the door.

When there's a knock on the door, you leap from your bench on the back porch, quietly slipping back in the door. You were home alone, only for a few hours while your mom handled some business in town and Lennox went to hang out with some friends. Your mother didn't want to let you, she wanted you to come, but you insisted. You were an adult, you could be home alone for a few hours.

Who on earth would knock on the door right in that window of time?

Sneaking into your parents' bedroom, you peek out of the curtains to try and look at the front door.

No. This is ridiculous.

You force yourself to straighten up, smoothing the front of your dress and taking a deep breath. You're home. You're safe. No one at the door is here to hurt you.

You pace up to the front door just as another quick three knocks ring out. Deep breath. You twist and pull the handle.

"Y/N." Coryo grins, relief washing over him like a wave that only lasts a moment. "Here, these are for you." He holds out a small bouquet of flowers before you get the chance to slam the door in his face.

You can't help the smile that pulls at your lips when you look down at the hand he extends to you.

Butterflies. The very same ones you felt the first time he gifted you a flower.

"Coryo, you don't have to bring me flowers every time you see me." You giggle, and he smiles. The relief is back.

"Well, I'd like to. You deserve nothing less."

You look up through your lashes at him, slightly shaking your head. Your smile doesn't slip as you examine his features, checking his eyes. As blue and clear as the lake you swam in last week. "Would you like to come in?" You offer, unsure of yourself up until the point the words leave your mouth.

"I would love to." Coryo smiles so wide you feel as though your own heart could burst. You're doubting yourself for ever being afraid of him, but as he passes you into the threshold of your home, you remember why. Deep breath.

"You came at a good time." You joke, closing the door behind him and stepping into the kitchen as it's laid out next to the front door.

"Oh?"

"Well, Lennox isn't here to push you down the front steps." You giggle. Maybe you shouldn't be telling him you're home alone. Your heart stops for a beat.

And then he laughs, and everything is okay again as you pull a vase down from atop the fridge, placing it in the sink to rinse off. "That is true." He agrees.

"But, I'll warn you, Tybs is here somewhere. He's always watching." You look at him over your shoulder as you place the flowers down and run the tap into the ceramic vase.

"Noted." Coryo chuckles, looking around his feet to see if the cat had come to say hello.

He watches you as you turn back around to focus on your task. Watching you wash dishes was a privilege he never even considered that he wanted, but now that he had it, he was more certain than ever that he could never let you go.

It was so good to see you have some peace.

"I brought some things for a picnic, I was hoping you could take me to the meadow you told me about. I'd really like to see it." He asks as you dry off the outside of the vase, proceeding to fill it with water.

"I was going to head out there myself, actually. That sounds perfect." He watches your hair move as you nod, popping the flowers into the vase and turning to show him. The smile on your face makes his heart melt. He didn't know that feeling was real.

"How do they look?" You ask, quickly adjusting some.

"Lovely." Coryo grins and your lips pull together, looking back down at the bouquet in your hands.

"Thank you, by the way. I realize I didn't say thank you." You say, carrying the vase out to the living room and he follows while you place it on the coffee table.

"You don't have to." He shakes his head. "To be honest, I didn't even expect you to accept them."

"Oh, would you like them back?" You ask, worried.

That's not what he meant, you were just too sweet. "No, I picked them for you."

"Would you tell me if you did want them back?" You ask, wiping your hands off from stray water on the front of your dress.

"Probably not." He admits with a smile that matches yours, shaking his head. "I suppose you'll just have to trust me."

"Here we are!" You grin, flipping out the quilt you brought from your room for the two of you to sit on.

Coryo looks around. It's a big open field, with trees and hills in the distance. He did imagine it would be beautiful at night like you said, but he never thought that during the day it would be as much of a sight. After years and years of coming to this exact spot, the grass is shorter here. Already conditioned to not grow where this family could come and sit during the days and nights of your childhood- you had built the perfect little spot to lay down a sheet.

You're already sitting down cross-legged on the hand-sewn material when he looks at you again. "Thoughts?" You ask, tipping your head up at him. "You look like you're thinkin'."

"Yeah, yeah. It's beautiful. This isn't what I pictured."

"No?" You ask as he sits down next to you, adjusting on the blanket and placing his bag on the corner.

"No. Nothing like this." He answers. "It's much bigger."

You giggle, looking around. "So you understand what I was missing, then."

"Yeah." He breathes the word out with a slight nod, but he's still staring at you even as he pulls everything out of his bag. Some cookies, and the book.

"So," You start with a smile, and he looks up at you. You look down at the book, your train of thought completely leaving you when you see it. "You brought it..." You mumble, reaching out to touch the cover.

He lifts it to hand it to you, but you quickly pull your hand away as if the book could bite. You look between him and the leather-bound book in his hand, cheeks flushing. "I-I don't, I'm sorry. I don't know why..." You laugh awkwardly, looking instead out to the woods that surround you.

Your trauma had consistently manifested in the strangest of ways. That book had done nothing to hurt you, you knew that, but it did remind you of the nights and days you spent reading it before the games when Coryo was locked away in the hospital. The memory almost makes you sick.

"Don't be." Coryo shakes his head at you. "I get it." He puts it down on the other side of himself, just out of your view. "I just... I know you usually read out here. So I wanted to bring a book too. It's the only one I have here."

You smile nervously and nod. "I'm glad you like it." You look over your shoulder when you hear a soft 'meow' from within the grass. "Someone followed us."

You let out a soft gasp, smiling as your cat emerges from the tall blades next to you. They were only about knee height to you, but they completely swallowed his small form. "Tybs!" You grin, opening your arms to him and he crawls straight into your lap. "Good King of Cats, there you are." You scoop him up, kissing him on his fluffy head.

"Y/N," Coryo says, drawing your attention again. You hum, face still pressed into Tybalt's fur as you hug him. "I... I was hoping we could talk about some things, if you feel safe enough. I know with just me it's scary but there's some things I really need to tell you before I have to leave and no one will let me talk to you, so now feels like my only chance."

"Okay." You nod, lowering Tybs down onto your lap again, holding him close. "But... I just, I don't want you to have to deal with me if I... I don't know, panic. I can't promise you I won't, and it's embarrassing."

"That's okay." He assures you, scanning your face closely even as you avoid his eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you, so if you can't talk about it it's totally okay. I can try my best to say what I need to say without scaring you."

"No, no I... There's stuff I have to say to you too." You confess to him. "I just, it is so frustrating to not be able to talk about anything without feeling like... I can't communicate what I need to say. Or like I'm dying."

Coryo nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I'll be as patient as you need me to be." He promises. "I can't imagine what that's like for you." He adds, almost whispering. You have always expressed yourself so eloquently through words, and in a way, the games, he has taken that from you.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and nod, focussing on petting your cat. You can feel the vibrations of his purring against your body, and that helps already.

"It's hard." You admit quietly. "I still sometimes feel like no one wants to listen to me when I can talk about what happened. It's always the same thing." You shake your head, letting out a slight laugh. "Do you know how many times I've heard 'You're safe now'? Or 'you're home now. It's okay'? Because it's a lot. And I know that. I know they're just trying to help, but... It's more complicated than that."

"There's no guidebook on living with this stuff." Coryo agrees. "That's what your father told me."

"He's right." You mumble. "No one knows what to do, Twelve has never had a Victor before. I'm lucky number one, and it feels like nobody sees me as human anymore. Not even Lucy Gray. Not even my family."

"I do."

You smile sadly at him. "Coryo, I..." You sigh, shaking your head and grounding yourself in feeling Tybalt rub his head against your palm, begging to be pet. "Is this real?"

He furrows his brow slightly with confusion.

"I mean, I don't-" You sigh. "I feel like I am being so daft but Sejanus says he thought you actually cared about me but that was back in the Capitol so I just need you to be honest with me."

"Y/N..." He shakes his head at you, fully in disbelief. "I have never lied to you. I don't think I could even if I wanted to."

"No, not- not like that." You sigh, shaking your head. "I mean, the way you acted. The things you did- I feel like I don't know who you really are."

"You know me. Better than anyone." He assures you, voice soft with sincerity. He doesn't want to be offended, but he'd still like to understand.

"You said... you said you wanted to start over." You say after a moment, looking into his eyes and loosening your grip on your cat as he adjusts the way he's laying over your bare legs. "So... can we?"

Coryo smiles, giving you a quick nod. "My name is Coriolanus Snow." He starts, and he can see how closely you're watching him, a small smile growing on your lips. That's not exactly what you meant, and he knew it. "But you can call me Coryo. That's what my friends call me."

How could he miss the apples of your cheeks turning slightly pink under the sun?

"I was born and raised in the Capitol, and I'm an orphan. My mother died in childbirth, and my sister didn't make it. My father died here, in Twelve. I live with my cousin, Tigris, and our Grandma'am, and my whole life I have been starving." He admits, swallowing as he monitors your reaction closely. Sadness. Empathy. "One time, during the war, I even ate a jar of paste just to stop the pain in my stomach." He smiles as he says it, it's meant to be funny- to try and keep you with him as he speaks.

He raises an eyebrow at you as you can't help but giggle. "I'm sorry, that must have been awful."

"It was certainly... pasty." He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. "But then, the moment I first laid eyes on you and was told you would be my tribute, I knew that everything was going to change."

You think back to the reaping, and how he must have watched. One of many memories that haunted you now doesn't seem all that scary, knowing he was with you even then.

"I was angry, I knew Highbottom was trying to sabotage me- to give me no chance at winning the prize but I didn't know that the universe was just bringing me to you."

"Coriolanus." You grin, tilting your head at him. "It's a pleasure to meet you again."

"Did you know that I was named after a play?" He asks, a teasing smile pulling at his lips knowing that the only reason he knew that was because of you.

"Oh? What's it about?" You humour him, and he chuckles shaking his head at you.

"Well, it's a long story, really, but it's about a man in ancient Rome who gets put in a position of power, and makes some pretty big mistakes." He quotes as much of what he can remember you telling him. "Then the people of the city hated him, and he was cast out because he betrayed people who trusted him."

You don't say anything, hanging on every word of his interpretation.

"And sometimes I feel like it's a fitting name." He continues, voice lowering with seriousness now. "But I don't think I am like him, because I regretted my mistakes the moment I made them. And I think that if he was more like me, and had someone who made him want to be a good man, his story wouldn't have ended too tragically."

You feel the telltale burn of tears brimming your eyes, and Coryo watches you closely. Your breathing is steady, the ghost of a smile still on your lips.

"Are you okay?" He asks quietly, reaching up to push your hair from where a piece is beginning to fall into your eyes. He's careful not to move too quickly, or even to touch your skin.

You nod, briefly drawing your lip in between your teeth while you think. "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

Coryo smiles, almost in disbelief. "You forgive me, then?"

"I'm a Victor." You state, although your whisper sucks almost all the confidence out of your voice as you focus on Tybalt purring against your lap. "If I expect forgiveness in return I need to give it, don't I?"

"You don't need forgiveness from anyone." He insists, smile fading. "You didn't do a single thing wrong."

"I think I did." You admit, lip beginning to wobble as you try and remember, looking down at your cat and stroking his back almost obsessively. "I should have gone back for Wovey, I should have stayed with Jessup, and... and I think I killed those boys, Coryo. I haven't told a soul and it's been killing me."

When you look back up at the boy next to you, his heart breaks. You hadn't done anything wrong; you even tried your best to be a pacifist when thrown into the Hunger Games, of all things, and still, you found things to blame yourself for. "Do you remember what I told you?" He asks, very slowly and carefully reaching out to swipe away a tear from your cheek. "That we all do things we aren't proud of to survive. That doesn't make you a wicked person."

"Is it true?" You ask, resisting your gut and it wanting you to lean into his touch. "That... that I killed them?"

"No." He answers. "I did. I gave you the compact."

"But I used it."

"You had no choice." He reminds you. "That was my fault, and I'll take the blame for it but I won't lie and tell you that I regret it."

You take a sharp breath in. His eyes. Look at his eyes.

"I did it to save you, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. I couldn't live with myself if I let you die. You saved my life first, and you could have ran but you didn't." He wouldn't let you beat yourself up about something that was his fault. "You could have saved yourself, but you gave up that chance for me. I couldn't let you die. It would be such a waste for the world to lose a girl like you."

"Coryo... That's not right." You say, shaking your head. The way your face fell made him nervous. "You can't tell me you did it for me. That is not as noble as you feel like it is."

He felt stupid for telling you that, despite its truth. You wouldn't like it, he knew that. "I know, but I don't want to keep anything from you. I have to tell you why I did the things I did, I have to get you to trust me again. I'd speak every thought I'll ever have if that's what it takes."

You take a shaky breath. "What about when you killed Bobbin?" It took you a moment to even get the words to leave your mouth- and he waited all the while. Powder blue. Patient.

"I... okay." Coryo nods to himself. "I was scared, I didn't want to do it. Sejanus was injured, I remember realizing he couldn't walk. I tried to talk to the boy, but he wouldn't listen..." He trails off, not daring to break eye contact with you. "I felt... desperate. I was panicking, and then... powerful. That's the only way I can describe it. That I wasn't helpless anymore, the way I always had been."

His words are terrifying to you, but you can't look away as you tuck Tybalt closer to your chest. He's stopped purring, but he's breathing against you, craning into your touch. It's actively keeping you grounded through your fear.

"Then I looked at you," Coryo continues. "And I thought that I should have let him kill me instead, because maybe that would have hurt you less."

You swallow the anxiety sitting heavy and thick in the back of your throat. If it was you, you would have thought 'Yes. I should die before taking the life of another,' but since it was Coryo, your gut reaction was telling you to say no; to reassure him that he was only protecting himself and it was scary but he had done the right thing. The realization that he outweighed your own morals and the fact that as much as you wanted to say that, you weren't sure you would stick to it yourself now was a sick combination of things to grapple with all at once.

"Stop, please." You say quietly, feeling your heartbeat picking up just behind your ears. You don't even notice when you had looked away, but your eyes are shut tight.

"Okay, okay. I'll stop." Coryo quickly promises. "But I need you to look at me, okay? Can you do that?"

When you don't immediately respond, he takes the calculated risk of rubbing your back. It didn't scare you last time, it almost seemed to help for the brief moment you were able to look at him.

"I'm sorry." You say quickly, voice cracking.

"Don't be." He says softly, feeling how quickly you're breathing with the hand he has so delicately placed on your back.

It almost makes him cry, too, not knowing what to do to help. It was his fault, again, and this time there was no Lucy Gray or Lennox to come running. He looks around anyway as you cling to the cat in your lap. Tybalt. Quickly, he looks down to the book at his side.

"Oh sweet Juliet," He says, no better ideas surfacing on how to help you. He would make a fool out of himself if he must, but he had to try. "Thy beauty has made me effeminate, and in my temper softened... valor's steel." He tries to remember, and prays that he remembered it correctly.

Under his hand he feels you shake, and he tries to catch your eyes again. It takes him a moment to realize that you weren't crying harder- he hadn't made it all worse again. You were laughing.

He grins, chuckling slightly. "There she is, hey, hey... Look at me."

You turn your head, your smile already mostly gone by the time your eyes reach his.

"I don't remember it, can you refresh me?" He asks, trying to give you an adequate distraction.

"That... that scene? Uh-" Your mind is short-circuiting, running a million miles a minute to try and remember more details. What came before, what came after?

"Anything. Any part you want."

"Okay. Okay..." You nod, trying as best you can to take a deep breath. "Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-browed night. Give me my Romeo, and, when I shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night..."

Just like at your interview, Coryo watches your anxiety begin to melt away as you recite every line. Something about it was so calming to you. It forced you to focus on something other than the tightness in your chest and the tremor of your hands.

"Atta girl..." Coryo nods, proud as he keeps rubbing your back. "Are you feeling a little better? Do you want some water?"

"I- I can get it." You nod quickly, reaching for the bag and digging for your water bottle, careful to not disturb the cat on your lap.

"I'm sorry." He says, withdrawing his hand so you can drink in peace. "I hate that the games have done this to you..."

You seal up the bottle again, wiping your lips on your wrist and shaking your head. "No one can come out of that unchanged, but... let's talk about something else, please."

"I just... I hope you know how much I truly care for you. That's real. That will always be real." Coryo promises, allowing you to put the bottle down before taking your hand.

His hands are slightly cold against the one of yours he is holding, and you attribute that to your no doubt increased blood pressure. There's nothing but pure, undiluted honesty in his eyes.

"I read your note." He continues, wanting to explain but you look away quickly, letting out a slight laugh. He's never seen your face so red.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said the things I did. It was foolish and I was feeling so confident knowing that that day very well may have been my last and-"

"It wasn't foolish." Coryo smiles slightly, moving so he can look in your eyes again. "It was sweet, and all this time I have been dying to tell you that I love you. I do." The confession has his heart pounding as if he were the one who is still coming down from a panic attack.

For the first time maybe in your whole life, you were speechless. It didn't feel like all the love stories you had read in books that made your heart flip the way it just had- it was more. It was your story, and no quote felt quite fitting to describe your own feelings. They were all yours.

"Is that... is that okay? I don't want to scare you but-" Coryo doesn't even get the chance to finish before your lips are against his.

You are kissing him. You're real, you're alive, and he is finally getting that second kiss that he never thought he would have. You were still his.

Your cat had long abandoned his post on your lap by the time Coryo processed this and moved his hands up to grasp your cheeks. He's as gentle as he possibly can be, he knows he's being somewhat irrational to imagine you just vanishing from his hold like you had consistently done in his dreams. This wasn't that; your lips against his, your unbelievably soft skin under his hands.

"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest." You mumble against his lips, having finally found something close enough to express it.

This was real, you were there, and Coriolanus would never let you walk away again.

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ash5monster01 · 1 year ago

Text

Turnstiles

Chapter Four - I’ve Loved These Days 🎶

Pairing: Steve Harrington x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, language, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of death, abandonment issues, slight sadness.

Summary: You and Steve get your first place together and even if it isn’t glamorous, it’s good enough for the both of you as you leave the old days behind.

word count: 2.6k

Three ←→ Five

Masterlist

Summer 1988

We hide our hearts from harder times

There were so many boxes. It seemed to be a never ending pile from the back of the moving truck, one neither of you could really afford but needed. Even with Dustin and Robin helping carry each new box in, it seemed every time you returned to the truck there was just as many if not more. You couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped your lips as you looked at the very daunting pile that you knew would take you more than likely a month to finally put all in place.

“Don’t tell me we’re giving up already” that familiar sultry voice whispered in your ear, arms snaking around your waist from behind.

“Not giving up, just trying to gain the courage” you tell him, a small smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. You knew as much as Steve would try to help he would also play with everything he unpacked before actually putting it away, making the process much longer than it needed to be.

“It’s not that bad” Steve said with a soft shake of his head, small tufts of hair falling loose from the action.

“Yes it is, you packed every trophy you have ever earned in your entire life” you tell him, pointing to the large box labeled ‘Steve’s Achievements’.

“Hey I earned those, I can’t just throw them out” Steve pouts as you break out of his arms, doing your best attempt at climbing up into the truck to grab another box.

“I know handsome, I just have to tease” you say leaning down and he’s happy to bring his pouty lips to yours and leave a quick kiss. As much as you teased, you had felt bad. When Steve announced to his parents you were officially getting a place together they decided to put the house up for sale since they were never there anyways. As much as Steve didn’t have a great childhood it was still the only home he had ever known. You knew it took a toll on him and forced him to pack every single one of his belongings instead of the necessities.

“Hey dingus, why are we the only ones carrying shit?” Robin called out as she stepped out the doors of the small apartment, spotting you juggling a new box while Steve lingered at the back of the truck.

“I need my rest Robin, if Rosy’s shit wasn’t so heavy” he called back and you shot him a quick glare which made him laugh softly.

“You’re an idiot” Robin mumbled as you handed her the box in your arms and picked up a new one.

“What the hell Steve! Why are the girls the only one’s carrying your shit?” Dustin called out, exiting the home as well and you and Robin quickly erupt in giggles as Steve groans out.

“I don’t have a box in my arms for two seconds and I get harassed. What the hell is this?” Steve says mostly to himself, jumping up into the truck much easier than you did and you watch as he goes for one of the small boxes.

“Uh-uh mister. You’re bringing that one in” you say, nodding your head to the trophy box and Steve rolls his eyes before doing what he was told.

“God you’re so whipped” Robin snorts before starting back for the apartment ready to unload the boxes as fast as she can.

“I’m not whipped!” he called out quickly in defense but Dustin just laughed and grabbed a box for himself.

“It’s okay Stevie, you’re allowed to be whipped. I definitely am for you” you tell him sweetly and he grins, the oddly large trophy box now in his arms.

“I love you” he hums out, leaning and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before hopping out of the truck. Your heart flutters due to the sentiment, never getting tired of the words he finally spoke a year and a half ago. Well actually wrote but ever since then he told you every chance he got and you loved it every time.

It had been over three years since you met Steve Harrington and you were pretty sure you’d never get tired of him. He came to you when you needed him most and you did the same for him. Since that day you hadn’t spent a day apart and making this decision, deciding to live together, after years of working and saving money, you had no regrets at all. This was it, he was your soulmate and this was only the beginning of a lifetime of years ahead. Small apartment or not, he was yours and that alone was a breath of relief.

“Need an invitation?” Robin called to you from the small house and you just chuckled before grabbing your things and making your way to the house. A house that would probably hold you and Steve for another few years, be your shelter from the storm, and despite its empty walls and bare floors, you couldn’t wait to make it a home.

It’s dusk by the time all the boxes are unloaded into your home and Robin and Dustin are long gone. Just looking at the mess you know you’re too tired to face it until tomorrow, so you make do with what you have. You make quick work of making a bed of the mattress on the floor, saving the frame building for tomorrow. When it looks decent enough to sleep on you make your way out of your room to find Steve. Much to your surprise he’s in the living room, boxes now cleared off the coffee table, and take out from the local diner on the table.

“I made dinner” he grins at you, sitting on the ground as he pours you a glass of wine in a mug. You giggle at the thought of it being the only thing he could find and join him on the floor.

“What’s this for?” you curiously ask, taking the mug from his hand and smiling at the food and candle he had set up.

“This is to taking our time. The last few years have felt like a race to the finish line and we finally made it” he says, recalling all the long hours and savings account expenses. Had it not been for the alternator going in Steve’s BMW you would’ve been here much sooner but at least you were here.

“Cheers to that” you say, clinking the mug against his own before taking a sip. Steve just smiles and looks to the simple plate of food. He loved that you both could live your lives so nonchalant, spend your nights living a luxurious lifestyle even if it’s just a small apartment.

“The money comes, the money goes, but we finally made it baby” he tells you and you quickly kiss him before grabbing the wrapped burger that your stomach grumbles for. Not realizing how hungry you were after a whole day of moving.

His words wash a sense of comfort over you. Knowing now you could spend your days a bit more relaxed, eat dinner in silk robes and light lamps for atmosphere. Even if the apartment was a passing phase in the start of the rest of your life you were both going long. Hanging hopes on chandeliers while gaining weight and sleeping in late. You had loved those days before living together but it was time to change your ways and love these new days. The days meant for just the two of you before something more comes along, something bigger.

“Did your parents say when they’re selling the house?” you ask around a bite of your burger, trying to get a better read on him and how he feels.

“By the end of the month, Dad says if I need anything to get it by then” he mutters, heart clenching over the fact. He hated that empty house, despised it, but these last few years it wasn’t really empty.

“I’m sorry honey” you tell him, wiping your face with a napkin and he shrugs.

“It’s okay, I was meant to move out sometime. Just wish it was still somewhat mine, you know? They were never there so much it sorta always felt like it did. Then when I started spending time with the kids and you there, I guess I just always imagined I’d stay there, raise my kids, teach em how to swim in the pool and how to ride their bike in the driveway. Make it more of a home then it ever was to me” Steve explains, eyes cast over the table and lost in a memory that hadn’t happened yet. Your heart instantly softens to the boy, hand reaching out to settle in his own just like you did when you first met.

“I’m sorry Stevie, but just think about how we can make those memories in our own home. A home we’ll grow old in and our kids can visit whenever and bring their kids with them” you tell him and Steve can’t help the small grin that cracks along his face at the sentiment.

“Is this you saying it’s you and I forever Rosy?” he inquires, devious eyes glimmering into your own and you laugh, cheeks flushing red.

“Well I’d say moving in together kinda deals the deal” you tell him and Steve grins before reaching over to grab your waist. Much to your surprise he lifts you effortlessly over and into his lap where his face nuzzles into your neck.

“Then it’s you and me forever, I promise” he tells you, warm breath tickling your skin. Now you both could indulge in things refined and hide your hearts from the harder times.

This marked the start of drowning your doubts in dry champagne and dreaming of your future. A future that if you dreamed hard enough could include real pearls, foreign cars, caviar and cabernet wine. Yet the real riches was a future with each other, a future that included kids and endless memories to be shared. You didn’t really care if you only ever lived in this apartment, the boy curled up next to you was the real dream.

“Another toast” you say, reaching for your mug and handing Steve his own. He follows right along, the bright red liquid sloshing up the side. This was something you wanted to say before the old versions of yourself end and the new ones begin.

“A toast to how it’s been and to all the new things we get to love. Including each other” you say and Steve happily clinks the mug against your own as you both tip back the sweet wine since Steve hated dry.

“I’ve loved these days and I’ll love the new ones too” Steve mutters into your neck and you smile and settle against him, finally relishing in the fact you were both sat in your shared living room. A space you and Steve could share while you got big wig jobs and engaged. A space designed for the both of you to grow as a couple who was meant to last forever.

“You think we’ll get tired of each other?” you voice your worries, knowing now that you shared such close quarters you were bound to find flaws within one another.

“Maybe but I’ll always love you more, and isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?” he asks, voice a soft hum into the late night of the barren home. You had a lot of work ahead of you but at this very moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“I guess so” you smile, a softness twisting in your gut at how in love you are with this man beside you.

“Wait! I have an idea!” Steve suddenly says, sliding you delicately off his lap and to the ground. He’s up in a second, eyeing the labels of each of the boxes in search of something you’re not sure of. You watch with curiosity, waiting to see what the boy could possibly be up to now.

“Ah-ha!” he lets out once he finds what his looking for, large hands pulling back the folded cardboard pieces and digging inside. It’s when the familiar flash of silver is revealed you realize he’s in search of his boombox.

Finding the outlet Steve makes work of prepping the stereo for some mood music. It’s no surprise when the familiar flash of a Billy Joel album is pulled from the bottom of the box. He grumbled only slightly when he realized he needs to rewind the tape, smashing the button with an annoyed scowl. Yet when the tape finally spins back to the beginning, a grin covers his lips instead, as a familiar song starts to fill the room. Say Goodbye to Hollywood, the classic beginning of Billy’s 1976 album Turnstiles. A true testament to his talent, and one of Steve’s favorites.

“Dance with me?” he asks, hand held down to you on the ground and you don’t even hesitate to clasp your own with his, allowing him to lift you up and into his arms before spinning you around the room.

“Tell me something good?” you ask him, heart thumping softly against his own as you both sway around the living room, the barren walls soon to hold a lifetime of memories.

“The first time I heard this song I was spending the night at my Grandparents. I was nine and we were all in the kitchen making cookies. I remember my Grandma smelling like fresh flowers and the way my Grandpas laugh made you feel safe. Turnstiles had just come out, Billy’s latest album and Grandpa knew I hadn’t heard it yet. So he played the vinyl while I frosted cookies and this song began to play. Now every time I hear it I’m back in that kitchen just happy to have two people who really loved me” Steve says, a soft sadness cast over his eyes and you can’t stop yourself from pulling him close and leaving a soft kiss on his lips.

“I really would’ve liked to meet them” you whisper, hand curling at the back of his neck and fingers grazing the small tufts of hair there. He smiles and gives a soft squeeze to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

“They would’ve loved you. My Grandpa would point out how smart you are, tease me about it too. Ask how I got a girl like you to date a doofus like me. And my Grandma, she would bake you pies and insist on sewing all your clothes when they got old and worn. Talk about how much she wished she had a granddaughter” Steve says like he knows and it’s because he does. They were the two people in his life who always made him feel safe and he knew them better than anyone. It sucked they weren’t here but knowing how much they would’ve loved you is comfort enough.

“I see them in you. In the way you take care of the kids and in the way you love me” you say and the look he gives you is different than any look you have ever received. Your heart accelerates just at the sight and before you can even process it the boy is kissing you like his life depends on it.

“I’m going to love these days too” he suddenly says, pulling back from the kiss a little breathless. A small laugh escapes your lips as he hugs you close.

“Yeah, well I count on having many of them”

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inkolnito · 2 days ago

Text

Paddock Confidential - Chapter 16: The Camera's Eye

Pairing:

Oliver "Ollie" Bearman x Lira Räikkönen (Original Female Character )

Minor background pairings reflecting the real-life F1 grid (e.g., Charles Leclerc/Alexandra Saint Mleux)

Summary:

Rising F1 star Ollie Bearman navigates the intense pressure of his rookie season with Haas, juggling demanding team expectations and his close ties to Ferrari under the watchful eye of Fred Vasseur. His biggest challenge lies off-track: guarding his relationship with the enigmatic and fiercely private Lira, whose surprising motorsport knowledge and aversion to the spotlight hint at a complex past connected to one of the sport's icons. As Ollie fights for his future, their secret world threatens to unravel amidst paddock gossip, rivalries, and the ever-present Drive to Survive cameras. When exposure becomes inevitable, they must confront the consequences and find a way to navigate the relentless glare of the F1 world together.

Warnings and Notes:

Warnings: Depictions of anxiety, stress related to high-pressure environments (F1), mentions of past trauma (related to privacy/media intrusion), media scrutiny/harassment, potential minor F1-typical language.

Notes:

This is a work of fiction using real people (F1 drivers, personnel) as characters; their portrayals, actions, and relationships are fictionalized for the story.

Thousands of miles away, in a darkened editing suite in London, the atmosphere was fueled by lukewarm coffee and the looming deadline for the next season's Drive to Survive trailer. Editors hunched over monitors, sifting through hundreds of hours of footage – dramatic overtakes, tense pit wall exchanges, emotional driver interviews, candid paddock moments.

"Okay, need something strong for the rookie montage," muttered Liam, the lead editor for the Haas/Midfield storyline, scrubbing through footage from Monaco qualifying. "Bearman looked gutted after that Q2 exit. Need his reaction shot."

Sarah, a junior editor working alongside him, was meticulously logging B-roll footage from the Paddock Club entrance. "Got some decent stuff here," she commented, pausing the playback. "General atmosphere, guests arriving, security checks... Oh, hang on." She rewound slightly, then played it again in slow motion. "Look at this."

On her screen, frozen in time, was a close-up shot of the woman known only as Ollie Bearman's 'friend', Lira Virtanen, fumbling slightly with her pass holder at the turnstile. For a fraction of a second, as the top card slipped, another name was clearly visible beneath it.

"Whoa, enhance that," Liam instructed, leaning closer.

Sarah expertly zoomed in, sharpening the image. The letters resolved: RÄIKKÖNEN, LIRA M.

Silence fell in the editing bay, broken only by the low hum of the equipment.

"No," Liam breathed, staring at the screen. "No way. Räikkönen?"

"Like, Kimi Räikkönen?" Sarah asked, her eyes wide.

"Has to be," Liam said, already typing furiously on another keyboard, pulling up search results for Kimi Räikkönen's family. Images appeared – Kimi, Minttu, their children Robin and Rianna... and occasionally, rarer photos featuring an older daughter, often partially obscured or in the background, bearing a striking resemblance to the woman on their screen. "Lira Maria Räikkönen," Liam read aloud from an old society page snippet mentioning Kimi's family. "Middle initial M. It fits."

"But... she's using 'Virtanen' on her pass?" Sarah questioned. "Why the alias?"

"Privacy, maybe? Kimi hated the media circus around his family," Liam mused, his editor's brain already seeing the narrative potential. "And Bearman... he's Ferrari junior, right? This is huge." He looked at Sarah, a predatory glint in his eyes mirroring Giorgio Bellini's. "Remember that blind item doing the rounds beginning of the break? About the rookie, the champion connection"

Sarah nodded slowly. "This is it, isn't it? This is the confirmation."

"This," Liam declared, hitting save on the enhanced frame grab, "is gold. Absolute gold." He imagined the sequence – the whispers, the mystery, Ollie's protectiveness, maybe even Vasseur's knowing looks… culminating in this freeze-frame reveal. "Forget the rookie montage, this could be the hook for the whole season trailer!"

He quickly cut together a rough sequence: shots of Ollie looking stressed, Lira moving discreetly through the paddock, maybe the Imola moment Bellini hinted at if they had usable footage, culminating in the slow-motion zoom on the pass, the name revealed with a dramatic musical sting.

"Send this to Ben," Liam instructed Sarah, referring to the series producer. "Mark it urgent. Potential trailer lead."

The camera's eye, unnoticed in the chaos of Monaco, had captured the secret.

And now, in the sterile quiet of an editing suite weeks later, the fuse was well and truly lit, ready to detonate Lira and Ollie's carefully constructed world.

. . .

The satellite internet connection at the Finnish cabin remained stubbornly slow, buffering frequently as Ollie tried to catch up on emails and team communications the evening before they were due to begin their journey back towards Spa and the resumption of the F1 season. The enforced digital detox had been both a blessing and a curse – allowing them precious headspace but also leaving them feeling disconnected, vulnerable to news breaking without their immediate knowledge. The blind item hadn't resurfaced in any significant way during their isolation, offering a fragile sense of hope that perhaps the rumour had died down, dismissed as baseless gossip.

Lira was in the small kitchen area, humming softly as she stirred a pot of simple pasta sauce, the aroma of garlic and herbs filling the rustic cabin. The scene felt worlds away from the high-octane glamour and pressure of Formula 1. Ollie closed his laptop, the anxiety momentarily receding, replaced by a sense of quiet contentment. He walked over to the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Lira’s waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder, inhaling the comforting scent of her hair mixed with oregano.

"Smells amazing," he murmured.

She leaned back against him, pausing her stirring. "Just pasta. Nothing fancy."

"Feels fancy after weeks of campfire food and protein bars," he chuckled. He tightened his grip slightly. "I'm going to miss this."

"Me too," she admitted softly, her voice barely a whisper. "The quiet."

They stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, finding solace in the simple closeness, the shared rhythm of breathing. The anxieties – Fred’s warning, the blind item, the looming return to the paddock – felt distant, held at bay by the protective walls of the cabin and the vast wilderness outside.

They ate dinner at the small wooden table, talking about everything and nothing – Ollie’s training progress, Lira’s latest sketches, the logistics of their trip back, the challenge of Spa’s infamous Eau Rouge corner. They laughed at a shared memory from earlier in the break, debated the merits of different types of Finnish sauna, planned a final early morning swim in the lake before leaving. It was normal. Comfortable. Underscored by a deep, unspoken affection and the shared experience of their hidden life.

As they washed the dishes together later, shoulder to shoulder at the small sink, looking out the window at the moon rising over the dark, silent lake, Ollie felt a profound sense of peace, a stark contrast to the turmoil of the preceding weeks. He glanced at Lira, her expression serene in the soft lamplight, and felt a surge of love and protectiveness so fierce it almost hurt.

They were blissfully unaware that hundreds of miles away, in digital editing suites and marketing departments, the final touches were being put on a short, explosive video package. A trailer, designed to ignite excitement and speculation for the upcoming F1 races and the new season of Drive to Survive, was being uploaded, scheduled to drop worldwide in mere hours. A trailer featuring dramatic on-track action, tense pit-wall exchanges, and one, carefully chosen, freeze-framed close-up of a lanyard revealing a name that would shatter their fragile peace and change everything. The camera's eye had seen, and soon, the whole world would too.

The quiet was about to end.

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#oliver bearman #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #ollie bearman x reader #f1 fanfic #ollie bearman x oc #f1 x oc #oliver bearman x oc #formula 1 #ob87 #Paddock Confidential

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