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thisismostdefinitelynotablog · 2 years

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Undeniable - Finn Wolfhard x Reader

Hello! I'm so sorry I've been so inactive lol. School & work & shit :,)

Anyway, I've gotten a lot of requests for a Finn x artist reader so here is my attempt at that! (Please keep requests coming, I promise I do read them!! You guys have great ideas!!)

Also the art for the picture on this one is mine! I don't really talk about many of my interests on here other than music, but I do genuinely love drawing so this one shot was sort of very self indulgent haha

Thank you for reading!! Gender neutral as always! <3

Masterlist

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The Velvet Underground was playing from the stereo in the kitchen. White Light/White Heat. You insisted on only playing their early records because you always said that they had gone downhill since Lou Reed left. Finn was obliged to agree. Finn Wolfhard. He was one of your closest friends, staying for a while in your cramped little apartment so he didn't have to commute to the recording studio to work on his next album. You lived within walking distance to the studio, so offering him your couch was a no-brainer.

Your apartment wasn't the only thing you shared. You had so much in common. Music tastes, your favorite weird hole-in-the-wall restaurants and vintage stores, an affinity for obscure literature.

And art. Though you expressed your love for art in different ways. He was a performer, an actor and a musician. You were a visual artist. You drew, and you painted. He was in the spotlight, you were in the background. And that was the way you liked it.

Or, perhaps, that was what you told yourself. As much as you loved being his friend, a shoulder to cry on, a couch to sleep on, you wished that he would notice you the way that you noticed him. You wished he would love you the way you did him. Maybe you didn't want to be in the spotlight, but you wanted to be in his.

Lou Reed's voice faded out and the next track began to play. It was a beautiful clear night, or it would have been if you had noticed anything around you. But you had tunnel vision when you were drawing. You sat at your tiny dining table, knees to your chest, sketchbook against the tops of your thighs. The only thing you did notice was Finn, your reference of choice for tonight's drawing (and a few others in the past, though he could never know that). You looked up at him every now and again as he fried some eggs on your stovetop just across from where you were. "Breakfast for dinner?" you said. "Mealtimes are social constructs." he said.

The conversation had faded into silence again, after that, and so did the room. The last song stopped playing, and the only sounds that filled the kitchen now were the soft scratching of a ballpoint pen and the sizzle of scrambled eggs.

"I think it's my turn to pick the record now."

"I believe so." You smiled, not looking up from your sketchbook.

Your drawing was done, you decided, so you closed your sketchbook and looked up as Finn turned off the stove and stepped over to the little stack of records you kept as a centerpiece on your table. You really had meant to organize them and put them on your bookshelf, but never got around to it. He flicked through the records.

"What were you drawing?"

"A portrait. I think it came out okay."

"Can I—"

"No." You laughed as he shook his head in feigned disappointment. There was a pause, a comfortable silence, as you looked at each other. One of those fleeting moments when the air seemed to sparkle with possibility. And then it passed. You set your sketchbook down on the edge of the table and picked at your cuticles.

"Oh, I love this album!" He picked up a record. You didn't see the cover, but you couldn't mistake the song that began to play for any other. "I Wanna Be Adored" by The Stone Roses. How very fitting.

That familiar baseline moved through the kitchen as the guitar riff sang through your ears. He was looking at you again, reaching out a hand and smiling. Now it was your turn to shake your head, but you put out both your hands anyway. Scrambled eggs long forgotten, Finn pulled you up and said "Dance with me!"

And how could you possibly refuse?

Neither of you could actually dance, but you didn't care. It was a bit of a tradition at this point, poorly dancing to some record in the kitchen. You moved your linked hands up and down to the beat of the song, spinning and laughing every time Finn sang along, dragging out the syllables of every word like he was singing in some elaborate Elizabethan cursive.

He used your clasped hands to pull you into his chest, moving your hands to his shoulders and his down to your waist. You swayed back and forth to "She Bangs the Drums" as though it were a slow dance. It was not a slow dance.

You made a point of telling him this, leaning into his ear. You could hear your smile in the way you whispered, and it was only when he whispered back a joyous "I could not care less" that you really realized your proximity in that moment. He smelt like your shampoo, and a hint of his cologne. It was subtle, though. A soft underlying cedar, and something that was just Finn. You felt his hands on your waist, gentle but firm as he spun you around. You felt his chin on the top of your head and his sweater on your cheek as you laid your head on his chest.

And there was another moment. A moment where the air was sparkly and the music faded into the background and all of your senses were consumed by Finn. A moment where it was undeniable how far gone you really were for him.

And then you bumped into something and you were back in your kitchen. You felt his hands shift on your waist as he pulled you back into reality. His grip was firmer, now, as he pulled you away from the edge of the table. You heard something clatter to the ground and you couldn't help but laugh at the concern in his voice when he asked if you were okay. You had barely bumped into your dining table, and here he was, desperately making sure you were entirely unharmed.

His hands remained on your waist, but he took a step back so he could see you. His eyes scanned all over your face, starting at your hairline, moving down the bridge of your nose, the curve of your cupid's bow, until they landed back on your eyes. Your eyes searched his face for a moment and then you gingerly removed your hands from his shoulders and looked down at the sleeves of your sweater, giggling and saying something along the lines of "I'm good. I think your place is better for our dancing, though."

"Maybe..." He seemed to trail off, a stark contrast from the eye contact he had been making before. His eyes focused on a spot on the floor, and you studied his facial expression for a second before following his gaze to see what he was looking at. But it was too late. His hands left your waist in favor of picking your sketchbook off of the floor.

Your sketchbook. That you had just knocked off the table. Your sketchbook, which had ever so conveniently fallen in a way that exposed the portrait of Finn you had been working on.

Shit.

You were scrambling to get your sketchbook from his hands, but he held them out of your reach, holding his portrait above his head, leaning back and staring at it with an expression on his face you couldn't quite pinpoint.

The Stone Roses were long forgotten, the music fading into the background as white noise filled you ears.

"I'm so sorry! You probably think I'm so creepy right now." You jumped up, reaching for the book.

"I just, you were there and I wanted to draw someone and you have a really nice face and can you please give that back—" You were still swatting at his hands, nervously babbling and laughing as he began to flip through the pages.

"This is beautiful." He finally spoke. His voice was soft, and he didn't need to look back at you for you to recognize the expression on his face. Admiration. Love.

Love?

"What?"

"I mean, these are actually amazing. You're really talented, Y/N."

He lowered his arms, laying the book open on the table, sitting down to properly look at his portrait. You stood, frozen. Somehow, he had just said the words you had always wished he (or anyone) would say. But that's the thing about wishes, isn't it? They aren't really meant to come true.

But this one did. After shaking your head and willing yourself back into reality, you sat in the chair next to him and folded your hands in your lap.

"Thank you." Your voice came out quieter than you wanted it to. "And I really am sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I love being your... muse?" That garnered a small breathless laugh out of you, and he finally tore his gaze away from the page to make eye contact. He laid the side of his head on his hand. "You made me way hotter than I am, by the way."

"What? No. I think I depicted the accurate amount of hotness." You leaned over to look at the drawing, scooting your chair even closer to his.

"So you think I'm hot?"

"How very presumptuous of you."

"Uh-huh."

You reached over, closing the book and mimicking his head-on-hand posture.

And there was another moment. Your chairs were so close together that your legs were touching. You felt electricity everywhere your skin made contact. You could hear every breath he took, every exhale. You could smell him and you could watch his brown irises as they toured around your facial features, lingering on your lips for just a second too long.

And you felt heat rise to your face. And a buzzing in your fingertips. And you felt some courage rise to your chest as you filled the silence with your voice.

"I...really like you." You said.

"Yeah, I like you too." The corners of his eyes crinkled up into a soft smile.

"Like, romantically." You half-whispered, just enough for the two of you to hear. A quiet intimacy settled over the room. A quiet filled with words you had said that nobody but Finn would ever hear.

And his eyes trailed back up to meet yours. And the corners of his eyes crinkled up as a smile spread across his face. And there was that look. And that expression. Admiration. Love.

"I like you romantically too." He said. There was a confidence to his soft-spoken voice, like the word "romantically" was a parenthetical. An aside, just for you.

And his gaze flicked to your lips once more. And yours to his. And there was a silence, and then an inhale, and then Finn whispered an almost inaudible "Fuck it" as he used his free hand to cup your jaw and plant a kiss on your lips.

And he pulled away for a moment, scanning your face for any sign of rejection. And he could've looked at you forever and not found it, because there wasn't. There was only love in your eyes. That and the overwhelming desire to kiss him again. So you did.

And his lips were chapped because you had forgotten to chastise him about using the chapstick you had bought him earlier that week. It was a nice one from Burt's Bees, you said, and so he made a point of texting you a photo of himself using it every time he did. And he thought it was annoying, and funny, but for you it was all the reason to love him more. And his hand on your jaw was rough and callused from playing his guitar for hours a day, giving you "free concerts" and playing your favorite Velvet Underground songs whenever you asked. Or didn't ask. And only the ones from their early records because you always said that they had gone downhill since Lou Reed left.

Your hands fiddled with the curls on the back of his neck and you kissed him a little harder. His other hand cupped the back of your head, tilting it just so. You felt euphoric. Like you were floating. And you wished you could have seen yourself right now and painted this moment. Relived it a million times. The air was sparkly and covered in a wash of some rose gold watercolor.

When you finally had to pull back and take a breath, you laughed and rested your head on his shoulder, still messing with the hair on the back of his neck. His hands glided to the back of your head and he took a breath as though he was about to speak. And then he cut that breath short and let out a sharp whisper for only you to hear. And when you told people the story of your first kiss, you always pretended like it was something romantic. Another "I love you," perhaps. But no, this was Finn.

No, he had whispered "Oh shit, my eggs."

And you wouldn't have had it any other way.

#finn wolfhard imagine #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard x y/n #fluff #oneshot #x reader #one shot #reader insert #stranger things x reader #stranger things #stranger things cast #st cast

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thisismostdefinitelynotablog · 2 years

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From Time to Time - Finn Wolfhard x Reader (Part 3)

Final part!! I hope you enjoy!! Please let me know if you like this format, I'm not entirely sure how to feel about it yet!

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

A frame story is when a story begins at the end, moves into a flashback to tell how the characters came to be where they are, and then joins back up where the story began. It was your third favorite literary device. It was the device used in the music video where you had first met Finn Wolfhard, and it was how your life felt right now, as you sat at the bus stop on this summer night, tracing your fingers over your lips.

The day had begun as most of your days usually did, on the set of a music video that you were an extra for. You used the word "begun" very loosely. It was a night shoot. Finn had offered you the job, because the video was for one of his own songs and he needed extras. And, though he wouldn't admit to it out loud, because he wanted to see you again.

The set was some outdoor concert, and you were placed front row. Throughout the day, you just danced and cheered when you were prompted to, gazing up at Finn and his band as they played along to the track blasting from the speakers on set. Whenever you made eye contact with him, he'd smile, and you'd smile back, and sometimes he messed up a take by miming the wrong chord, but it didn't matter to either of you. You felt like the only two people on earth.

Catering brought dinner for the cast and crew just as they wrapped for the day, and Finn found you just as you had picked up your food. It was some sort of sandwich, you weren't entirely sure what was inside.

"There you are!" He waved at you, and ushered you closer. "I found a place for us to eat if you wanna sit together."

And you agreed, maybe a little too eagerly, and he took your free hand and brought you back to the concert set, offering you one of the folding chairs that was behind the main camera. It was one of those "director chairs," and you sat in it, scooting as close to him as you could.

It was a cold night, and he seemed to notice you shivering as you unwrapped your sandwich. He was wearing a navy blue windbreaker over his black T-shirt, and without hesitation, he shrugged off the jacket and slung it over your shoulders.

"Oh, you don't have to—"

"Eat your sandwich." His quip was obviously sarcastic, and he punctuated it with a stupid sarcastic look.

You laughed, and took a bite. It was a very mediocre sandwich.

But this moment was far from mediocre. Over the silhouettes of the camera equipment, you could see so many stars. The moon was almost full tonight, and it seemed to glow just as bright as the lights that illuminated the set. A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you ate. It was always comfortable with Finn. You rarely saw each other in person, but you would often sit on the phone with him and talk about everything and nothing. Stranger Things, the state of the world, the book you were reading. Everything. It was like you had known each other your whole lives.

You felt his arm make its way over your shoulders as you crumpled up the paper that had once held your now finished sandwich.

"I'm cold." He said, without turning to look at you.

"Well, yeah, you gave me your jacket. Here, you can—"

"No, no, you can give it back to me after I walk you to your car." He finally looked at you, and you saw that he was smiling. "If you want me to."

"That would be lovely. I took the bus though, the stop is kind of far, I don't know if you want to walk all the way there..." You trailed off. While you were speaking, his arm had left your shoulders, and he stood in front of your chair with his hand out, waiting to hold yours.

You took it as you stepped down, breathing out a laugh. "Thank you."

"I should be the one thanking you." You walked past the crew and other extras who were sat on benches as they ate. Finn waved to a few of them as he continued speaking, "I mean, thanks for giving me a chance."

"What, after you spilled beer on me?"

"Are you ever gonna let me live that one down?"

"Probably not. I mean, you saw the shirt they gave me."

"Oh, you're right. My bad. That thing shouldn't even be considered a shirt. Way too many pockets." His face wrinkled in dramatic disgust and you laughed.

"Thanks for giving me a chance, too." You said. "I'm glad you spilled beer on me."

"You're welcome. Anytime."

There was a bit of a lull in your conversation. You swung your joined hands back and forth in between you. The bus stop was in sight now, a single lamppost, a sign, and a bench. Finn's face was slowly becoming more and more golden as he approached the light, and he looked—

"—really pretty."

"Sorry?" He looked down at you. Shit. You'd said that out loud.

"Oh. Um." You kept walking, but your hands stilled their movement. You felt heat rush to your face. "You're..."

"Really pretty?" He breathed, looking down at you. You were at the bus stop now, the two of you stood directly under the lamppost, hands still linked, facing each other. You were stood close. Really close.

You were still wearing his jacket, but you didn't fell cold in the slightest. Embarrassment was like a space heater. You stared down at your shoes.

Your voice was quiet when you spoke again. "Yeah." He squeezed your hand.

"Hey. Look at me." His hand made it's way under your chin, tilting your head upwards to meet his eyes. His gaze was soft, and so was his voice. "I think you're really pretty, too."

You smiled at that. "Even though I'm just an extra?"

His hand moved from your chin to your forehead, brushing a few stray hairs out of your face. "You're not just an extra. I mean, you're probably one of the best people I've ever met. I..." He focused on a spot just above your head as he trailed off.

"I really like you, Y/N."

"I really like you, too." At your words, his eyes met yours again. "I've liked you since I bumped into you when we were on set."

"The first time or the second time?"

You giggled, bringing your joined hands to your chest, subsequently bringing the two of you even closer. You felt his breath on your forehead as he whispered, "Can I kiss you?"

And all it took was a whispered "yes" before you felt his lips on yours. They were soft and pliant and he let go of your hand in favor of holding your waist, bringing you impossibly closer. Both of your palms moved from being against his chest to over his shoulders, behind his neck, as he deepened the kiss. He tasted like a slightly less mediocre sandwich, but he could've tasted like anything and the moment would have been so far from mediocre.

You stood there, kissing, for what you wished was ages, until he had to go back to set.

He insisted on you keeping his jacket, even though you kept trying to give it back, and now here you sat on the bench of the bus stop, tracing your fingers over your lips, dreaming of the kiss and his promise of a call.

#x you fluff #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard imagine #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard x y/n #fluff #oneshot #x reader #one shot #reader insert

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thisismostdefinitelynotablog · 2 years

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From Time to Time - Finn Wolfhard x Reader (Part 2)

Here is part two!! This has some more Finn in it but still not that much—I promise part three has more!! Please let me know if you like the multiple parts format and more slow(ish) burn!

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Your second favorite literary device was coincidence. The way things just seemed to happen by chance for no apparent reason. For example, when you lived in California, you secured a job as an extra on the set of a music video with Finn Wolfhard. And now, years later, you live in Georgia. Atlanta, Georgia. And you had just gotten a confirmation email that you were going to be working as an extra on the set of Stranger Things 4. With Finn Wolfhard.

It was funny, the way life turned out sometimes. But you had no expectations of actually seeing Finn. From your experience, extras seldom interacted with the main cast. Especially because this was such a large production. It was the biggest thing you had ever been a part of (even though the "part" you played was minuscule). And, even if you did see Finn, you didn't even entertain the thought of him remembering you from years ago.

After being run through hair, makeup and wardrobe, you were sat at a table in the Hawkins High cafeteria. It was almost surreal, sitting here, at this table. You had always loved the electricity of film sets, the crew and other extras buzzing with anticipation. And being on the set of a show that you had just recently fallen in love with was even more electric.

Your table was right next to what you assumed to be the table that the main cast would be sitting at. You weren't informed as to what this scene was for, just given vague directions by the crew, so you made up your own ideas for what would happen in your head.

None of the scenarios you came up involved Finn Wolfhard sitting at the table right across from you. But here he was. And, coincidentally, he was sat in a way where he was facing you. And you were facing him. You averted your gaze, staring down at your hands, which were resting by the prop lunch tray in front of you.

You casually chatted with the other people at your table and read parts of your book in between takes, trying to maintain any ounce of professionalism and not stare at Finn as they filmed whatever scene they were filming that day.

You were almost done with your book when they called a wrap on the day. Soon enough you were back in your regular clothes, packing up your things to go home. You had ten or so pages left, so you read as you walked through the school's hallways, making your way to the exit.

As you turned the page, you were met with a hard...chest? You stumbled backwards and quickly looked up from your book to see who you had just bumped into.

Yeah. It was Finn Wolfhard. Coincidence was a bitch. Definitely moving lower on your favorite literary devices list.

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going. Are you okay?" Your tone was frantic, apologetic, as you looked into his eyes. He looked so similar to the last time you saw him. Maybe because it was such a similar scenario (minus the fact that this time you were the one apologizing, and there was no beer), maybe it was because he still had the same deep brown eyes and curly hair. Maybe it was because he was still in costume, starring in some big production that you were an extra in. There were so many parallels, and déjà vu hit you like a truck.

"I'm okay." He paused, and then he squinted a bit as he looked at you a moment longer. "Sorry if this sounds weird, but I'm getting so much déjà vu right now. Have we met before?"

"Yeah! I was an extra on a music video for..."

"Spentime Palace? Senora?"

"Yes! That! And you—"

"Spilled beer on you! Oh my god, I'm still sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it. If it makes you feel better, I think we're even now."

He laughed at that. And your heart felt as if it was glowing. That was the best way to describe it.

"Are you leaving? I can walk you out."

"Yeah. That'd be nice."

And he walked beside you, through the cast's main parking lot, because he insisted on walking you all the way to your car. You talked for a bit about how funny it was that you had met again, after all these years, and he finally learned your name, and the conversation felt like you were old friends and not like you were just people who had bumped into each other (literally) twice.

By the time you had reached your car, you had exchanged numbers with the promise of catching up some more. It almost felt as if you had never left the set. The air was still electric. It was like you were in a movie of your own, as a main character and not a side.

#finn wolfhard imagine #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard x y/n #fluff #oneshot #x reader #one shot #reader insert

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thisismostdefinitelynotablog · 2 years

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From Time to Time - Finn Wolfhard x Reader (Part 1)

Hi!! I've gotten some requests for an actor/actress reader, this is sort of inspired by some of those, except I thought I would write about a reader who's an extra because I haven't seen that be done before!! I also wanted to try my hand at writing more of a slow burn/series so this is that. This part doesn't have a whole lot of Finn in it so I do apologize but it's important!! exposition!!

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Your favorite literary device was indisputably the internal allusion. In literature, an internal allusion is when a piece of writing refers to something that has happened earlier in the text. Internal allusions are usually used to give the piece a sense of continuity, a feeling of well-roundedness, and/or completion.

Your friends always thought it was a little strange to have a favorite literary device. But you couldn't help it. Having read so many books in your life, you were bound to recognize their devices and consistencies.

Consistent. That was the way your life was. Outside of books, anyway.

You often put it this way—if your life was a novel, it wouldn't make for a very interesting one. You were a fairly average teenager, going to school when you had to and staying home when you could. The only thing in your life, you thought, that would make for a good story was the work you did as an extra from time to time.

It started a few summers ago, when you were looking for a part time job. You thought it would look good on college applications to have some work experience, and having a little extra cash wouldn't hurt.

Since then you had been in the background of a few music videos for local bands and even briefly in a TV pilot. To be fair, you were only in each of the previously mentioned for about a second or two, at most a minute, but it didn't bother you in the slightest. You didn't care for stardom or money, and you especially didn't care for recognition. No, your favorite part of it all was simply being there.

There was a certain electricity on set. Everyone there had a purpose, and so much work went into creating even the simplest of scenes. The bright lights, the heavy cameras, and the stressed-out directors all felt more magic to you than the final product. And you got to be there, watching it all unfold. Like you were inside of one of those novels on your shelf, watching the story play out live.

Today, you were an extra for a music video for some band you hadn't heard of. You were in a backyard, positioned by a vine-covered fence, red solo cup in hand, offhandedly chatting with another extra who was about your age. It was just before sunset, and you watched as the crew set up their box lights and cameras just off of the set. You were stood right by a table full of props for the extras. It was littered with empty cups and beer bottles that glittered in the fairy lights strung up around the yard.

The sun was probably setting about now, and you were chatting with your new extra friend about who knows what when you felt a lukewarm liquid splash on the back of your neck and subsequently run all the way down your back (and shirt).

You spun around, very confused, your back very wet, and were met with the apologetic faces of some of the crew, and what looked to be one of the stars of the video. A boy about your age sporting a tan chin strap sunhat and a blue collared jacket. Which, you thought, was a questionable combination, given that it was A) nighttime and B) summer. But you didn't pay it any mind because he was also probably one of if not the most beautiful people you'd ever met. He had dreamy brown eyes and dark curly hair. Freckles littered his pale nose and cheeks, and he was—

"—so sorry. Oh my god, are you okay? Do you need a new shirt? I'm really sorry, we were told to pour the beers out because we can't have alcohol on set and I wasn't looking where I was pouring and...and are you okay?" His voice was, for lack of a better word, frantic. He stumbled over his words and his expression was of the utmost concern. It was almost comical, how considerate he seemed to be.

"Yeah. I'm okay." You smiled at him, and he smiled back, visibly relieved. God, he was so pretty. "If you have an extra shirt, though, I'll take it."

And they did have an extra shirt for you to take. It was mildly hideous, a strange shade of denim blue with just a few too many pockets down the front. But you appreciated it anyway, and they let you keep it after the shoot, which would have surprised you, but then you thought better of it and realized that they were probably aching to get rid of it.

But you never got rid of it. It was one of the only mementos of being on a set that you had, and you even took it with you years later, when you moved from California to Atlanta, Georgia. You never wore it, of course, but you had it. And you had fond memories of it. Because even though you had lukewarm beer spilled down your back, you had lukewarm beer spilled down your back by Finn Wolfhard (whose name you only learned after the video had released).

He had never learned your name. But that was the life of a background character like yourself. You didn't care for recognition. Right?

#finn wolfhard imagine #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard x y/n #fluff #oneshot #x reader #one shot #reader insert

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thisismostdefinitelynotablog · 2 years

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heyoo, i was wondering if you could do some finn as a boyfriend? :-) need some comfort right now and your work is incredible! currently reliving my finn phase through these

Thank you for your request!!! I love writing boyfriend things, here are some scenes that i thought would be cute! I kind of stuck two short imagines into one post, they're both one-off type things, hopefully you like them!! Gender neutral as always :)

Masterlist

As you stood up, you picked up the bouquet of flowers that rested on the passenger seat of your car. It was made up of orange and coral roses, wrapped in twine and brown paper, and you held it preciously, with both hands, as you made your way to the front of the recording studio. The sky was overcast, and the air smelled the way it always did when it was going to rain, but you paid it no mind as you stood by the front of the building, your thoughts solely focused on Finn.

Only a few moments passed before you saw him open the door. His hair looked as though he had ran his hands through it a few too many times, to keep it out of his face as he recorded whatever he had to record that day. You guessed it was guitar parts, given the instrument on his back. Or vocals, given the hoarseness of his voice as he smiled at you and said hello.

"Someone buy you flowers?" He looked down at your hands, and then back up at you, smiling at you when he saw that you were smiling at him.

You held the bouquet out for him, still holding it in both hands.

"Uh, I actually bought them. They're for you. Hopefully they're okay, I think these symbolize joy, or something? I just thought they were pretty, I don't know—"

"Oh, no, I love them." His voice was softer now, sincere. He took the flowers from you as though they were the world's most fragile thing, and gazed at them, and then at you, as though the most beautiful things on this earth were in his hands and by his side. (And if you had asked him, in that moment or in any other, he would have, indisputably, said that they were.) "Thank you so much."

He held them in his left hand when he kissed you.

His right hand cradled your cheek, and both of your hands made their way to the back of his neck as your eyes fluttered shut. His lips were ever so slightly chapped from working for so long. But it didn't matter. Nothing else really mattered when you were kissing Finn. You tuned out the smell of the air before it rained in exchange for the scent of his cologne, and the sounds of passing cars for the breaths you exchanged.

And you could have spent forever on that sidewalk, but it was in that moment you felt a drop of water on the top of your head. And then another. And another. And the air no longer smelled like before rain, but during rain, because it was. Raining. And you both had to break the kiss to break into laughter as you grabbed Finn's free hand.

And you pulled him behind you as you ran down the sidewalk to where your car was. People passed you on the sidewalk, probably giving you both pointed looks, but you couldn't care less as you laughed along with Finn, your clothes and hair becoming increasingly more soaked by the rain, which was really picking up now.

When people say they felt as though they were walking on air, you realized, this is what they meant. You felt like you were flying above the concrete on that rainy afternoon, with Finn's hand in yours. It was like you two were the only people who had ever existed.

It was heavily raining by the time you made it into your car, and even though the two of you were soaked, you were laughing so much you couldn't feel cold.

And when you got home and Finn put the flowers in a vase, you couldn't help but notice how they were in perfect condition. Not a scratch, not a petal out of place. And that was how you felt, too. Like you were exactly the way you were meant to be.

---

It was well past midnight, but, in Finn's words, it was "never too late for pizza". And so here you were, standing in the kitchen, waiting for the oven to preheat so you could reheat a frozen pizza.

You had just put it in the oven when some old love song started playing, and Finn dramatically entered the kitchen, a stupid smile on his face. You smiled too, recognizing this one as the record he had just bought today. Some greatest hits album, you couldn't remember the band.

"Dance with me!" Finn said, with way too much energy for someone who was, like you, running on a maximum four hours of sleep. Maybe he was delirious. Or maybe you were, because you didn't hesitate to agree, holding out your hand for him to take.

It didn't seem to occur to you that neither of you really knew how to dance, but it didn't really matter. He held your waist and hand like you were waltzing (the song playing was definitely not a waltz), and you rested your head on his chest, half-holding his hand, half-hugging him, as you swayed back and forth to the music.

He hummed along to the song, which you had given up trying to recognize. You stayed like that for a while, swaying back and forth in the warm overhead lights of the kitchen. Maybe you were delirious, but you were absolutely in love.

#finn wolfhard imagine #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard x y/n #fluff #oneshot #x reader #one shot #reader insert #request

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thisismostdefinitelynotablog · 2 years

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Masterlist!

All of my oneshots and requests in one place :)

My requests are open! Send me things!

Finn Wolfhard

For The Record - Finn Wolfhard x Reader - In which you, a slightly over-enthusiastic employee of a small record store, meet a cute stranger who just so happens to like the same things you do.

Anything and Everything - Finn Wolfhard x Reader - In which you reunite with your childhood best friend after what felt like forever, and realize that maybe friends isn't all you want to be.

From Time to Time - Finn Wolfhard x Reader (Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3) - In which you, a literary nerd and self proclaimed "background character" keep bumping into Finn Wolfhard while working as an extra, time and time again.

Undeniable - Finn Wolfhard x Reader - In which you, an artist, spend a night in with your old friend Finn Wolfhard, drawing and dancing and realizing that maybe you're both more than old friends.

Requests!

The one where you ask to borrow one of Finn's shirts before he leaves to work on a movie

The one where Finn is your boyfriend! Just some cute scenarios :)

#masterlist #oneshot #fluff #x reader #reader insert #finn wolfhard imagine #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x y/n #stranger things x reader

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thisismostdefinitelynotablog · 2 years

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love ur finn work! there’s such a lack of it on tumblr it’s a shame :/

Ahh this is so painfully true!!!! If anyone has any fic recs please send them to me I am truly deprived :,)

#please send me stuff #finn wolfhard

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thisismostdefinitelynotablog · 2 years

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um sorry so hi, i read that you take requests so i was wondering if you could do a finn wolfhard x gender neutral reader , where they ask finn if they could leave them a couple of his shirts ( because they smell like him and they are gonna miss they beloved boyfriend ) the night before he leaves for acting in a movie or show ?

thank you anyway :)

Hi!! Thank you for this idea, it's so cute!! Hopefully this does it justice, and cheers to being my first request :)))

Masterlist

Your relationship with Finn was an unusual one. You knew from the beginning that it would be; you knew that he'd be in and out of your life, physically, and that was okay. It was just the way it was. It wasn't really something that you let get to you.

That's what you told yourself every time he left to film something. He was sharing his art with the world, and you supported him every step of the way.

But it was on late nights like these, when he was actually here with you, physically, that you really and truly came to terms with the fact that there was nobody else in this world you'd rather have by your side forever. You came to terms with the fact that you didn't want him to leave your side tomorrow. And you came to terms with the fact that you knew he would.

You rolled over to your side. Finn's arm had hung lazily over your waist, but your tossing and turning had long since shrugged it off. It was those small, lazy touches that you knew you'd miss the most. His arm slug over your back when you were on the phone, his hand in your back pocket when you were walking somewhere together, his chin on your shoulder as you cooked dinner for the two of you. You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. Your apartment was full of memories. Small, intimate memories only the two of you would ever share. You knew this night would be a memory too. Finn soundly sleeping next to you, facing you. Everything in the world seemed to stand still. It was tranquil, and you had every reason to sleep tonight, but you couldn't. Not with knowing you'd have to drive him to the airport and say goodbye again in a number of hours.

As quietly as you could, you shuffled out of the sheets (which smelled like Finn, now—bergamot, cedar, and a hint of citrus.) and stood, taking care to not wake him up. You avoided the creaky floorboards by the door as you walked into the kitchen to make yourself some tea. As if tea could quiet your racing mind.

Quiet. The world was quiet. Your studio apartment was painted in shades of black and blue in the night, only illuminated by the streetlights that shone through the windows. Just as you reached to flick on the light in the kitchen, you heard footsteps behind you and a half-asleep Finn whispering your name.

If you weren't fully awake earlier, you certainly were now. You turned around to face your boyfriend, who looked criminally good with his bedhead and half-lidded eyes once you turned on the light.

"You scared me." You spoke, your voice small, mustering up as much of a laugh as you could after you saw a sleepy grin spread across Finn's face.

"Sorry. What are you doing? It's like... it's the middle of the night." He made a gesture with his wrist like he was checking his watch (which he wasn't wearing), and feigned disappointment with a sarcastic shake of his head and another half-asleep smile.

"I couldn't sleep. Do you want some tea?"

"Sure. Do you wanna talk about it?"

You nodded. Finn could read you so easily. It wasn't often you couldn't sleep, and even less often did you wake him up without first insisting that he go back to bed. Because this time you didn't want him to go back to bed. You wanted to spend every last moment with him before his flight. And he did too.

Both of you were more awake once you had made two mugs of tea and set them down on your coffee table, wrapping yourselves in one of your many throw blankets. You were even more awake once you felt his arm snake around your waist, and you were fully awake when you leaned into him and stated the obvious.

"I'm going to miss you so much when you're gone."

He rested his head on top of yours, and there was a pause, before he said "I'll call you every night, I promise. You can't get rid of me that easily."

"What a shame." You giggled as he lifted his head off of yours to look at you, giving you a look of exaggerated surprise.

"Can't believe you."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

His head came back down to rest atop yours, and you felt him smile.

"You smell good," you mumbled into his shoulder. Maybe you hadn't meant to mumble, but your voice was ever so slightly muffled. Maybe you had meant to. Maybe it was just a note to yourself. To not forget his scent while he was away from you. To not forget any moment from this night, this memory.

You felt him smile again, and then he laughed breathily into you and said "I'll miss you too."

There was a comfortable silence between the both of you for a few minutes as you took it all in.

The two of you, only illuminated by the light in the kitchen. Bergamot. His faint breathing just over your forehead. Cedar. His fingertips tracing circles on your waist. And a hint of citrus. Your forgotten mugs of tea on the coffee table. You tried to commit it all to memory.

"Do you think I can borrow some of your shirts when you go?" Maybe it was a weird question to ask, but it was the first thing you could think to say. Really, you just wanted him to speak again. And he did.

"Depends." He didn't move from where he was, and you felt the vibrations of his voice as he spoke over you. "Which ones?"

"Maybe the li—"

"Nope." You felt him move, finally, his head to look down at you. He was smiling that smile he always had when he looked at you. It was knowing, but it was fond. And he knew. He knew exactly what shirt you were talking about, because you had always tried to steal it before. It was a light blue button-up. Slightly oversized. It was cute, it went with so many things, and even if it suited Finn a little better than it did you, you liked it because it smelled like him. And because it had become somewhat of an inside joke of yours, how protective he was over it now he knew you liked it. "Anything but that."

"But it's my favorite."

He hummed, and held you a little closer before acquiescing.

"Well, if it's your favorite..."

"Are you serious?" Now it was your turn to look at him and smile.

"Yeah, okay. Just don't, like, burn it."

"Ah, there go my weekend plans."

---

"Ow! Shit."

"Are you okay?" You could hear Finn stifle his laugh, even over FaceTime.

"Yeah, I just dropped my phone on my face." Finn fully laughed at that one, and you rolled your eyes.

You picked your phone back up, and held it directly above your face again as you laid on the couch you had just shared with Finn three nights ago.

"Wait. Is that my shirt?" He smiled that Finn-Wolfhard-signature-all-knowing-smile. It was his shirt. The light blue one. Slightly oversized, and it smelled like bergamot and cedar and a hint of citrus.

"Maybe..." You dragged out the two syllables of the word and returned his expression as you rolled over to your side, attempting to prop your phone up on the coffee table.

"I should let you borrow that one more. Looks better on you than on me."

You stopped fiddling with the camera when you heard him speak. It was so casual, the way he said it. He was always that way with compliments. They were so simple, so easy, but they always got you so flustered. Your phone flopped out of your hands, face down on the ground.

And you heard him laugh, and you couldn't help but laugh too, and in that moment you came to realize that no matter how unusual your relationship was with Finn, that was just the way it was. And it was perfect.

#finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard imagine #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard x y/n #oneshot #one shot #fluff #x you #x you fluff #x reader #reader insert #request

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thisismostdefinitelynotablog · 2 years

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Hi friends!! I don’t really know how all of this works yet but now that my posts show up in tags, feel free to send me requests and stuff!! I am in desperate need of ideas.

I think for now I'll just be writing for Finn Wolfhard, but I'm not opposed to writing for other Stranger Things characters/cast members in the future!

I won't write any smut (sorry folks), or anything involving any form of bigotry or discrimination (pretty basic dni terms apply here, too).

Please send me cute fluffy things!! Much appreciated!! Thank you!

Oh! And here's my masterlist :)

#requests open #request #send me things please and thank you

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thisismostdefinitelynotablog · 2 years

Text

Anything and Everything - Finn Wolfhard x Reader

Another Finn Wolfhard one shot! This one is more of a childhood best friends to lovers type story, I hope you like it! Thank you so much for the love on my last post, it means a whole lot. Gender neutral as always. Thanks!

Masterlist

Your mind was gray, like someone had turned the TV to a dead channel. That's how you'd had felt a lot, recently. Static and stationary and reminiscent of something that used to be bright and moving, but someone had long since changed the channel.

You usually came up here, on summer nights, to sit on the roof. Sometimes you brought your paints, used the sunset as a reference image, and the roof's shingles as small canvases. Today the sky was a gradient of violet to baby pink to pale yellow. Small clouds dotted the sky, and you documented them with a flat brush. You used to come up here with Finn all the time when you were younger, and you would rather crudely paint whatever you felt like painting. Sometimes it was self portraits, or each other, or scenes you had made up to make up stories for.

Finn Wolfhard, your best friend since birth. Well, former best friend. Maybe. It was hard to discern where you stood with him now that he had left home to pursue acting. When he first left, it was bittersweet, but you kept in touch. You'd call and text nearly every second of every day, sometimes emailing him while you were on a school computer, and couldn't wait to tell him whatever was so important.

Your messages were always reciprocated. Always. And you'd send letters, and he would find a way to send them back, even when he was in the middle of nowhere shooting some movie or TV show or interview. But people change. They always do. And Finn was kinetic, always moving from one thing to the next. You watched from your small childhood bedroom how he grew his career; you watched interviews and red carpets and every project he was a part of. You always supported him, and he always knew that, even when his texts went from being daily to weekly, and weekly to monthly, and you knew in your heart that this was how it was going to go.

You knew from the moment he got his first role that he was going to be big. You knew he was talented, of course, and you wanted him to share that with the world. But you didn't anticipate how much it would hurt to see him drift away from you.

"You're up here again? Don't you ever worry you're gonna fall off or something?"

You whipped your head around to see your older sister poking the upper half of her torso out of your open bedroom window.

"I'm not gonna fall off, Maia."

"Good, because you have a date tomorrow!" She sang the last few syllables, rather poorly, and then swiftly ducked her body back into your room with a stupid grin on her face.

"What? Again?"

It was hard to believe that Maia was your sister. She was impulsive and clumsy and lovely and absolutely your opposite. But she was your sister. And she could read you like a book.

Ever since Finn left, she watched as you watched him drift away. She insisted you were in love and then promptly had your heart broken, and the best cure was to find another guy and move on. So, she had been sporadically setting you up on blind dates for the past few months or so. With every kind of guy imaginable. Tall, short, older, younger. Honestly, it weirded you out, but you usually humored her because you knew that one day she would move somewhere far away, too, and you would crave some more memories with her, the way you did with Finn.

---

"Don't knock it until you try it!"

"Trust me, I've tried it. It's gross."

"Strawberry is the best flavor of milkshake. Hands down, period, no questions asked."

"I'm sorry, but you're completely, devastatingly wrong."

"Nope. I'm always right, Finn."

"Sure."

It was another hazy Saturday night in July, and you were at Andy's diner with Finn. That's how you usually spent your hazy summer nights. Throwing fries at each other, bickering like an old married couple. You stayed there until closing every time, and got dirty looks from the staff whenever you walked in. Because they knew you wouldn't want to leave each other's sides until you absolutely had to.

You rode your bikes there and back, and sometimes, if you were lucky, your parents would let you sleep over at his place or him at yours. It was perfect, and it was every summer until he got his first big break in Stranger Things, and he was swept out from under you.

And you stayed in touch. But it wasn't the same, going to that diner on the corner alone.

---

You quickly gathered up your paints and brushes and slipped inside your bedroom window, setting the art supplies down on your desk and sitting on your bed next to Maia, who was sprawled out on your duvet like a starfish.

"I'm sorry, but I, like, really don't want to go on another da—"

"This is the last one. I promise. But you really, really have to go. You'll see why. Tomorrow, at six, at Andy's."

"Really? Andy's?"

"You'll see why. But please tell me you'll go. I won't set you up on another blind date again, I swear." She propped herself up on an elbow to face you, and held out her pinkie.

Reluctantly, you shook it.

---

And that's how you found yourself here, spending your Saturday night biking to Andy's diner, on the corner. You looped your broken lock around your old bicycle and swung the door of the diner open.

It was one of those classic, American-looking diners, with a checkered floor and neon lights and red pleather stools and booths running through it. Instinctually, you sat down in the booth you used to always share with Finn. It was near the back, but it was by the window that had the best view of the sunset. You rested your head in the palm of your hand, absently checking the time on your phone (it was 6:02 PM), and scrolling through Instagram. It was 6:11 PM when the door was swung open again, and time seemed to slow down as you set your phone on the polyurethane tabletop, and moved your right hand from under your chin to rest in your lap.

Time seemed to slow down as Finn Wolfhard looked around, first to the left, then to the right, and he spotted you. You. He was looking at you. And he smiled. And he made his way over to you and sat down across from you and everything was in slow motion until he spoke.

"I'm so fucking sorry."

It had been years since you had seen him, but sitting here, at your favorite spot in your favorite diner, across from him, it felt like no time had passed at all.

That's what it felt like. But he looked different. His hair was a bit shorter. Still curly, still dark. His eyes were the same but his jawline was sharper. And his freckles were still in the same place as they were five and a half years ago. And his voice was deeper. But you couldn't act like you hadn't watched his evolution from a TV screen, because you had. And you couldn't act like this wasn't absolutely crazy. That he was sitting here in front of you, because it was.

"You're here." It took a moment for you to form any sort of coherent sentence.

"Yeah." His voice was soft. That hadn't changed. It was a tone he always seemed to use around you. When he did interviews, he seemed like a different person, almost. All press-trained and polished. But with you, he was just Finn. He was always just Finn. Even over the phone, even miles away. Even when you hadn't reached out in a little over two weeks.

"And I'm so sorry. I wanted to see you earlier. I wanted to surprise you. So I texted Maia to set up like a surprise, or something, but I kept having reshoots and stuff kept getting pushed back and I'm so sorry. I haven't texted you. I've been meaning to. I mean, I think about you all the time. Not in a weird way. I just...

"I miss you, Y/N. I really do. All the time. I hope you realize that."

And in that moment, you really did realize that. He was mixing up his words as he spoke, running his mouth at a mile a minute. It was like he had rehearsed a speech and then thrown it all out the window the moment he saw you. And you were even worse, as you tried to catch up. It was a messy, fast-paced conversation. You kept accidentally interrupting each other, but by the time you had ordered your food and finished it, you got your groove back. There were no awkward pauses, and you got to catch up on everything you missed.

He told you stories from set. He told you about things he wanted to say to you, jokes he never told. He told you about how often he'd rant about you to his cast mates, so much so that it had become an inside joke between them.

And you told him about the world back home. You told him about your old neighbors, and the people at school who he hadn't seen in years. You told him about graduation, and your acceptance into college, and your art and the book you were reading.

You talked for ages about anything. And everything. Every stupid inside joke you two had rolled off of your tongues, like no time had passed at all. And you argued over your milkshake flavors like an old married couple. And you threw fries at each other until your waitress came over and told you the diner was closing. And you were the last ones out the door, still laughing and talking.

---

You often found yourself up on the rooftop with Finn, watching the sunset and talking about nothing in particular. And it was one of those nights.

“If we're both not married by 40, we should marry each other.”

“Why?”

“Tax purposes.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“Nah, I’ve just heard my parents say it a lot. Kinda works as an explanation for anything, really.”

You laughed and reached through your window to grab some paper and a pink glitter gel pen, drafting up some marriage pact.

"You're already considering divorce, Y/N? Wow."

"I'll have to if you don't let me have my strawberry milkshakes."

"I still don't know why you like those. They don't even taste like strawberries."

"They totally do. Okay, sign here."

And he did. In pink glitter gel pen. And you kept that stupid contract in the top drawer of your desk. Because maybe you liked the idea of a promise that you'd be together forever.

---

"Fuck."

"What happened?"

"Someone stole my bike."

Finn turned to look at where you stood, by an empty bike rack that most definitely was not supposed to be empty.

"Were you still using that broken lock?"

"Maybe. But it's not that broken."

He sighed and then laughed. And then you laughed even though you had no way home, and it was almost 9.

"Come on then, I'll drive you home."

And he did. And he remembered the way to your house because of course he did. And on that car ride home you realized two things. One being that you didn't want this night to end once he dropped you off, and two being that your sister was right.

You were in love with him.

---

Your first realization, luckily, was rectified once he said he didn't want this night to be over either, and agreed to come upstairs with you. That's how you found yourself sitting back on the roof, only this time next to Finn. Like how it used to be.

"You painted these?" He looked at the various sunsets on the shingles of the roof. It was interesting, the way you could see your progression as an artist through each row of tiles. The ones at the top were the ones you made with Finn. Silly, messy portraits and things that you couldn't quite discern anymore but had fond memories of making. As you trailed your eyes downwards, there were more and more sunsets, each one more detailed and realistic than the last. He traced his fingers over the clouds in yesterday's sky and smiled as you said yes, yes you painted these, 'cause nobody else ever comes up here.

"Do you remember all the stupid stuff we did here?" He said. You were both laying down now, side by side, looking up at the sky. The conversation was calmer, and there was a comfortable silence before you said "Of course."

"I would still marry you."

"Oh my god, Finn. What, are you in love with me or something?" When you turned your head to look at him, he was already facing you. You grinned, and he opened his mouth to speak before closing it again and shaking his head.

You both turned back to look at the sky. There were so many stars in the sky tonight.

"Yeah, you know, I might be."

You sat up, and looked down at him. A moment passed before he sat up too, to look at you.

Your voice was barely a whisper when you spoke again.

"In love with me?"

"I mean, yeah. I'm sorry, I don't wanna like put that on you. You're just great. But forget about it, I'm so sorry, Y/N. I know we like just saw each other again, and—"

"Don't apologize. I love you too." And even though your voice was soft, it wasn't hesitant. You were absolutely sure that you loved him in that moment, and in all the moments before that; you loved him too.

"Can I kiss you?"

You nodded, maybe a little too eagerly. And then his hand was in yours, and he was closer, and his other hand found its way to your face, tilting your chin up ever so slightly to look at him. Your eyes fluttered shut and you felt his lips on yours.

And the kiss was a gradient of violet to baby pink to pale yellow. It was the beauty of yesterday's sunset, and the laughter of all of tomorrow's memories.

His hand made it's way from your chin to the back of your neck, thumb gently grazing your jaw. You gingerly placed both of your hands over his shoulders, toying with his soft, dark curls.

The kiss was gentle, and he was gentle and loving and he kissed you like you were made of porcelain. Like if he held you too hard you would shatter. But you wouldn't. You had never felt more whole.

#finn wolfhard imagine #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x reader #stranger things x reader #finn wolfhard x y/n #x reader #x you fluff #friends to lovers #imagine #one shot #fluff #oneshot #x you

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thisismostdefinitelynotablog · 2 years

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For the Record - Finn Wolfhard x Reader

HI!! This is my first thing on Tumblr ever. I've never written anything (I usually just lurk haha) but there is a severe lack of wholesome Finn Wolfhard content on here... so this is my contribution. I hope it's okay!! I tried to keep this all gender neutral, hopefully it is. :)

Masterlist

It was a day like any other. You woke up in your one bedroom in Vancouver, got ready, and walked to the small record store where you worked. It was overcast, but the sun peeking through the clouds told you it wasn't going to rain yet. This April morning in particular felt like "After Hours" by The Velvet Underground. Your footsteps were like the song's simple baseline on the pavement, and Moe Tucker's soft voice was the wind in the trees.

The bell on the door chimed as you swung it open, inhaling the scent of old vinyl records and the incense that your coworker Nico always burned. She was sweet, despite what people assumed from her bleach blonde buzz cut, heavy makeup, and two full sleeves of tattoos. She was the kind of 20-something person you'd expect to work in a store like this, she was spunky and confident and whenever it was her turn to man the store's music she always played some 80's post-punk rock. You weren't as self-assured as her, still figuring yourself out in your second year of college, but one thing you knew was that you loved music. This job was perfect for you, and even if you weren't as cool or confident as Nico, you sure knew your way around this store, which is why you were often left restocking the shelves while she stood at the register.

You gave her a small hello and a wave as you walked past the counter at the front of the store and to the back, wheeling out the cart full of boxes of records and CDs that needed organizing. It was a slow day, which was expected, since majority of your business didn't happen at 10 AM on Tuesdays, and your customers were usually rowdy teenagers trying to look cool for Instagram who came in on the weekends, or old men who came in the evenings, looking through the classic rock section. You were shuffling through the "M" section when the bell over the door rang. As you turned to look at who had just walked in, you couldn't help but stare. This was no rowdy teenager or old man. He looked to be about your age, with deep brown eyes and dark curly hair that poked out from under a beanie. He wore a brown corduroy jacket and black pants and beat up Vans and you didn't think you had ever seen anyone look so good at 10 AM on a Tuesday. You quickly looked back down, picking up some old Modest Mouse record, and tried to pretend like you hadn't been checking out this oddly attractive guy that was... walking towards you. He was walking towards you. Holy shit.

"Hey." God. Of course his voice was beautiful too. You looked up at him, and seeing him here in front of you made your heart palpitate. He had freckles across his nose and you wanted to count all of them. He had the most gorgeous cheekbones and a sharp jawline that moved as he talked and he was talking and you had absolutely no idea what he had said after he'd greeted you. Shit.

"I'm so sorry, I totally missed what you just said." You bit the inside of your cheek and placed another record on the shelf. God, one cute boy talks to me once and I can't even hold it together.

"Oh no worries." He let out a small breathy laugh, and reached up to scratch at the back of his neck. "I was just wondering if you guys carried, like, movie soundtracks."

"We probably do! As long as it's not too niche, if you know the genre or composer or something I can try to find it for you." You gave him a smile as you turned to him fully.

He smiled back, and of course it was perfect. His whole face seemed to light up, and his eyes sparkled, and his grin was toothy and ever so slightly crooked in a way that made you feel like you were floating. He said the name of some movie you'd never actually watched, but you thought you remembered seeing the name while you were restocking yesterday, and you led him over to it's corresponding shelf, near the back of the store. It was your favorite corner because you had gotten to help decorate it a bit, adding fairy lights and putting some of your personal favorite albums on display. There was also a small red leather sofa, and you'd sit and read there when days were slow.

"You guys actually have everything here." He said softly as he took the record from your hands, and gazed over at a display you set up a little over a week ago. "Thank you."

"Yeah of course. It's my job, after all."

He smiled and shook his head, turning to look at the shelf that you'd dubbed your "Dad Rock Display", complete with Don't Tell a Soul by The Replacements, some Eric Clapton, and a little Hendrix for good measure. He picked up The Replacements record and flipped it around to read the track list.

"Oh, that's one of my favorites. I really like this one track, "Portland," it's on the extended version." You moved to stand next to him, and fidgeted with your thumbs as he made eye contact and tilted his head to the side, a small smile still playing on his lips.

"Yeah, they're pretty cool. I've only listened to stuff off of Tim, I think."

"That one is good too! If you don't have it on vinyl yet I could find it for you."

The next hour or so flew by as you chatted with the stranger about music you liked and movies you hadn't seen ("No way you haven't seen The Goonies! That's borderline criminal!"). You led him around the store, showing him your favorite records and telling him stories about musicians ("Did you know John Lennon claimed to have seen a UFO back in the '70s?"). It was nice to finally have someone who liked the same music you did, and he genuinely seemed interested in everything you said, making your heart skip a beat every time he made eye contact and nodded, or smiled and laughed at the stupid jokes you made. By the time he checked out and waved goodbye, you still felt like you were floating.

"Dude." You turned to look at Nico, who was looking at you with wide eyes and a massive, shit-eating grin. "Do you even know who that was?"

"What are you talking about?" You replied, leaning against the counter she was stood behind.

She hunched over on her elbows and blinked. "Finn Wolfhard! Stranger Things! It! Huge actor guy! You're telling me you had no idea?"

You whipped your head around to look at her. "What? No. I had no idea. I swear! Wow. What are the odds?"

"I don't know, I thought you knew because you kept following him around and flirting. I half expected you to ask for his autograph, the way you were staring."

"I wasn't flirting! Or staring! He's just..." You trailed off.

"What? Cute? Man, you should've given him your number or something." She clapped her hand on your shoulder. "Does he even know your name?"

You mentally facepalmed. He didn't know your name. You just happened to talk for an hour with a super attractive guy who had great taste in music and who was also apparently a world-renowned actor, and you hadn't given him your name.

"Maybe he'll come back someday. I dunno."

"Maybe."

---

And someday did come. Eventually. It had been about two weeks of you replaying that Tuesday in your mind. Today was a Monday morning, and as expected, the store was empty. Nico was out today, so you sat behind the counter, half reading the book you'd brought to work and half daydreaming.

It was a fairly typical weekday, and as you got up to switch the song playing in the store, you noticed a crowd outside. When you turned off the music, you heard yelling too. As you began to walk out from behind the register to get a better look at what was going on, the bell on the door rang as it flung open.

And there he was. Finn Wolfhard, giving you a weak smile as he gently closed the door.

"Hi." He said, a little out of breath.

"Hi?" You said, standing directly in front of him now, your eyes squinted a bit as you craned your neck to look at the crowds outside.

"Paparazzi. I'm so sorry, they can't legally follow me in here, though. I think."

"You know, when you came in here the other day I had no idea you were, like, famous. That's so cool."

"Yeah, it's... cool. Sometimes." He gestured towards the paparazzi with a defeated look on his face.

"Sometimes." You agreed. "Do you want to sit down or something? You can listen to some music if you want, I was just about to put some on if you have any recommendations." You gave him a small, closed-mouth smile as you gestured to your favorite spot in the back with the red couch and the fairy lights. Over the past few weeks, you'd changed all the displays around the store, and your "Dad Rock Display" had become more of a "Finn Rock Display," filled with records you thought he might enjoy. Some Beatles, some Bowie, and a Small Faces record you hoped he'd think was good.

"Thank you so much. Hey, I never got your name. I'm Finn."

"I know," you grinned. "I'm Y/N."

"It's nice to meet you again, Y/N. Sorry I didn't come back sooner. Being this amazing and talented proves to be pretty damn time-consuming." He paused, recoiling at his previous sentence. "I hope you know I'm joking."

"Yeah, sure." you smiled and looked down. "And it's all good. You're welcome here any time."

He was glad you weren't looking up at him when heat rose to his face. He fidgeted for a moment, and then said, "I have to wait them out for like a solid half hour at least, or they're for sure gonna mob me walking out of here."

"Okay, that's fine. It'll be nice to have company, nobody really comes in at this time."

And thats where you left your conversation. You put on a playlist that was full of recommendations he had given you the last time you saw him, and he sat on the couch in the back, reading something on his phone. When "Portland" by The Replacements came on, you were sure you saw him smile over the top of your book.

A half hour went by, and just like he said, the crowd outside was pretty much gone. He seemed to notice this too, and got up to stand by the counter.

"Thank you so much, Y/N. Really. I hope this isn't too forward or anything, but I was wondering if we could see each other outside of your work?" He looked down at his hands, tracing patterns on the countertop.

You felt your face heat up again. "Yes! Of course!" Woah, tone it down. He's not asking you to marry him. You looked at him. "Do you maybe want my number?"

So he left, but not without a smile and a nod and making you a contact in his phone.

After your shift was over, you spent the afternoon in bed, scrolling through who knows what on your phone. Then, you heard a familliar little ping! Looking at the top of your screen, you smiled as you saw that it was a text from Finn.

I was thinking we could go to the drive in this Saturday? theyre playing the goonies at 7 if youre free :)

You smiled as another text came through:

I'll bring snacks. And I'll pick you up

You texted back that yes you were free and that sounds lovely and soon enough you found yourself in the laying back of Finn Wolfhard's white BMW, half watching the iconic 80s film and half watching Finn watching the iconic 80s film. It was perfect. He did bring snacks, but those were long gone by the time the movie was over, and he began to sit up.

"See, I told you. It was great."

"For the record, I never doubted you." You sat up too as he got out of the trunk, offering you his hand to help you down.

"For the record, you totally did."

You smiled and shook your head as you hopped down, unable to come up with some witty joke or reply once you felt his hand in yours, his grip firm as he steadied you. Once your feet hit the ground, you landed inches in front of him, suddenly gazing directly into his chocolate brown eyes, while he found himself gazing into yours. Neither of you said a word, and the world seemed to fall silent as the only things you could hear were your breathing and your heartbeat, which was steadily increasing.

It was a beautiful night and a beautiful moment, and the sun had set as the movie played, leaving only the stars and the smell of petrichor in it's wake.

Like all moments do, though, it passed. He cleared his throat and let go of your hand in favor of shutting the trunk of his car, walking you to the passenger seat, opening the door and shutting it for you when you were seated. You whispered a small thank you, but you were too flustered to trust yourself with properly speaking, and if you could read minds, you would know that Finn was too. The drive back was mostly silent, except for the soft instrumentals of the CD he had brought for the ride.

A question hung in the air of the night: Would you two have kissed? If he hadn't pulled away, if you had lingered there for a moment longer, would you have leaned forward just a few inches and closed the gap? You knew in your heart that the answer was yes, and so did he.

In fact, Finn was just looking for the right moment, but when he looked over at you to see you gazing out of the window of his car, he realized that he had just had it (and then promptly ruined it). He let out a breath and watched you walk through the door of your building after saying goodbye. You turned and waved before closing it, backlit by the orange overhead lights of the lobby, and he was relieved that he was parked by the sidewalk, a ways away from you, because in that moment you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen, and he was absolutely bright red in the face as he waved goodbye.

---

Other than your almost-kiss, which was constantly replaying in your mind, it was the perfect date. You gushed about it to Nico the following Monday, with your head in the palms of your hands, elbows resting on the counter of the record store.

"He was such a gentleman! He even opened the door for me, and we almost kissed after the movie, and..."

"Sounds like a great guy. You almost kissed?" She gave you a pointed look. "Why didn't you? Did he say something? Do something?"

"No, he didn't. I think I made it awkward or something. Maybe I looked a little desperate? I haven't really been on a proper date since... ever?"

"Nah, I've seen the way he looks at you. You'll have to try again on the second date or something..." She trailed off, looking behind you.

"What do you mean looks at me? I don't know if he'd even want to kiss me on the second date. What if there isn't even a second date?"

"I would absolutely want to kiss you on the second date." A new voice chimed in. A new voice that didn't sound so new at all. It actually sounded exactly like...

You turned around, eyes bulging out of your head, and you were face-to-face with the man of the hour. You didn't hear the bell on the door ring, but there he was.

"Finn!"

"Y/N!" He mimicked your surprised tone and gave you a toothy grin.

"I'll leave you two alone for now," Nico said, slinking through the back door behind the register with a knowing look on her face.

"How much of that did you hear?" You were sure he could hear your heartbeat now; it felt like it was going to fall out of your ribcage.

He tilted his head to the side and smiled. "Just the last part." He paused, looking down at your lips and then back to your eyes. "I actually really wanted to kiss you on Saturday, for the record. Just didn't have the balls."

"I..." You tried to recollect your thoughts, and make your voice come out less like a whisper and slightly more normal. "Yeah I didn't either. I mean I did. Want to kiss you. I didn't..."

"Yeah." He took a step closer to you, and leaned against the counter in the same way you were, linking your fingers together on top of the glass surface. "So," his voice was softer now, "is it okay if I do it now? Or would you rather wait for the second date? If you want to."

Your breath hitched as he grew closer. "I want to."

"Yeah? Okay." He drew back.

"Kiss you, I mean. Now." Your voice was soft now, too.

He squeezed your hand, and you squeezed back. His other hand came up to cup your jaw, and yours moved to the back of his neck, toying with his soft curls.

When your lips finally met, it felt like heaven. It was gentle and loving and his lips were pliant and soft against yours. He tasted like mint toothpaste and cherry cola and you would've thought it would be a gross combination but when it was Finn it was perfect. He was perfect.

He was the chorus in Lou Reed's "Love Makes You Feel." He was the instrumental at the end of "Layla" by Derek & The Dominoes, when the piano built and built to a crescendo and it sounded like love. And he was "Something" by The Beatles. And he was everything all at once. Every love song and every Hendrix guitar solo, every quiet morning in the record store. He was a cozy afternoon inside with a warm cup of tea and an old record playing and he was the vanilla candle you burnt when it rained.

When you finally pulled away your breath was heavy, and his was too. But you didn't move your hands from their place on the counter as you looked into his eyes and counted his freckles.

#finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard x y/n #finn wolfhard imagine

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