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ahqkas · 3 months

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♯ STARMAN ; remus lupin

PAIRING! young!remus lupin x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! during a snowy holiday at the potter residence, remus finds himself caught between the matchmaking ideas of his two best friends and his growing feelings for you

WARNINGS AND TAGS! fluff, idiots to lovers, kissing, james & sirius play the matchmakers, cursing + lmk

WORDS COUNT! 3k

NOTES! i posted this back on my old blog in 2022 / 2023 so if you’ve read this before no u didn’t❕ peter is absent in this ff , he’s spending the christmas with his own family

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

JAMES POTTER AND SIRIUS BLACK.

Good lads, great company, and even better matchmakers. Who wouldn't want to spend time with them? The two boys were always full of energy, their laughter infectious, and jokes just rolled from their tongues as naturally as breathing. You could be certain that boredom was a foreign concept in their presence.

That's what everyone thought.

Remus Lupin, however, isn't everyone.

To Remus, James and Sirius were more than just pranksters and school celebrities. They were his closest friends, brothers in all but blood, and the kids behind some of the most outlandish escapades Hogwarts had ever seen. Remus saw behind the facade of their shared humor and carefree attitudes. He understood the deeper layers of their cores — the loyalty that bound them together, the masked fears and insecurities, and the stupidity and courage that defined their actions.

James Potter, with his tousled hair and round glasses, had a heart as big as the Quidditch pitch. Sirius Black, with his roguish good looks and devil-may-care attitude, possessed a sharp intellect that clashed perfectly with his rebellious nature.

Yes, to the outside observers, James and Sirius appeared to be the life of the party (which they were) but to Remus, they were the definition of family.

Even though they certainly knew how to fuck things up.

ONE

"Just listen to us, Moony! This one will work out, me and James planned it for . . . one week, is it? Just trust us!"

Sirius Black's voice was brimming with enthusiasm, his gray eyes twinkling with the unspoken promise of yet another grand scheme. As these words left his mouth, Remus felt a surge of frustration well up inside him. His hands itched to do something else than the dishes — but he resisted the urge to punch the oldest Black brother. The sheer absurdity of the situation was almost laughable. This wasn't the first time his best friends came up with a plan to help him with one of his many problems. Some of their previous attempts had actually worked out quite well. But there were also unsolved problems that Remus had learned to live with, issues he simply couldn't — or wouldn't — allow them to meddle with. Like this one.

"Exactly, mate! We're not doing this just for fun, you know. We're doing it just for you, because as you can see, we know you don't have the courage to tell [Name] how you feel. And we wouldn't be suggesting this if we didn't think it had a real chance of working."

Remus nearly dropped the plate he was washing onto James' head. Did they really have to put their noses into his personal matters? It wasn't that he lacked the courage — he told himself that repeatedly — but the timing just wasn't right. And he had came over to James' house to enjoy the Christmas holiday in peace, not to snog off his best friend's face.

But once an idea comes into a marauder's head, it won't leave until it's out for the world to see.

Just Remus' luck.

The warm, soapy water cascaded over his hands as he resumed scrubbing the plate, trying to focus on the boring task before him rather than the frustration rushing through his system. Sirius's words carried in the air again.

"It was originally planned for Evans, but she wouldn't be as cool with it as [Name]. You know how they both are! Evans would try to hex James' ugly face first, then mine. And [Name]? Well, it seems like you just have to find out, mate."

You just have to find out, my arse.

"Look, why can't you just keep this thing as it was first planned? I'm sure Lily would appreciate the opportunity to snog James' stupid face," Remus said, his voice tinged with the frustration he felt. James made a noice that sounded suspiciously like a gasp and opened his mouth to protest, but Remus ignored him and kept going. "Okay, maybe not for the next ten years, but one day she surely would."

“For the record, my face is unbelievably handsome, thank you!”

The oldest Black brother crossed his arms across his chest, the rag he used to clean the dishes dangling from his hand and making a puddle of water beside him. James glared daggers at it. "You see, even if you politely declined our offer to bring some spice into your already boring life, we can't take no for an answer. We spent our free time searching up a single spell in the library. A bloody library, Moony! So, no. If you and [Name] don't kiss by the end of the Christmas, this prank will be considered unsuccessful, which is something the Marauders don't do."

Sirius' eyes held the same look of determination they had when Peter confidently told the rest of the group that he, Sirius Black, was going to win the snogging bet they made in their fourth year. Remus hadn't liked that gaze then, and he certainly didn't like it now, because he knew what it meant. Peter had won that bet. Which just means . . .

Remus saw his short life flash before his own eyes. This was not going to end up in the way he would like to. A bad, no wait, a horrible idea. But before he could do something to save himself from the coming catastrophe, the whole point of the prank entered the kitchen with a lopsided smile on your face. The boy always thought you were pretty. A pair of eyes that seemed to brighten up whenever your favourite topic is being talked about. A warm smile that makes Remus feel the comfort you gave to him. He wouldn't need to drink Veritaserum to admit that he fancied you.

"I just finished unpacking my stuff, so if you want to do something together . . ." you trailed off, looking into their eyes with an inviting gaze. Remus awkwardly moved his gaze away, heart pumping against rib cage.

James, being the little shit he is, nudged Sirius with a knowing smirk and nodded his head in the direction of his room. "Well, it looks like our job is finished here, doesn't it, Padfoot? We should help Moony here to unpack his trunk. Come on."

Before the werewolf could do anything to stop his two best mates, James grabbed Sirius by the crook of his elbow and ran into his room, leaving the pair of obvious friends alone in the Potters' kitchen.

You looked around, a little surprised by the sudden reaction of James and Sirius. Remus stood next to the sink, drying his hands on a rag. "That was new."

"Yeah, it was."

You leaned over the table, a playful glint was dancing in your eyes. "So, they left to unpack your trunk, huh? I wouldn't let them do it if I were in your place, because I know how much of a messy person James Potter can be. Sirius does look like one too. I've seen your dorm," you let out a laugh that Remus quickly joined.

"You're not wrong. Last time they helped me unpack, I couldn't find half my things for a week. They think it's hilarious to hide my socks in the most ridiculous places."

A playful twinkle sparkled in your eyes at the sudden memory. "Well, at least you know where to find them when something goes missing. I once found a pair of James' socks in the Astronomy Tower. Still haven't figured out how they got there."

"You know," the boy started, but his dark eyes caught the green and white blur above your head, and his breath hitched in the back of his throat. They really had the guts to do it! A spring of mistletoe hung precariously above you, clearly placed by James and Sirius.

Thinking quickly, Remus took your palm in his and met your gaze again. "You could help me unpack my things, so I know where they are and all that stuff you need to know about unpacking."

With a nod, you let him took the lead. "Okay, Remus. I'll save you from them."

Remus was going to kill these two.

TWO

The weather seemed to understand the friend group's wishes for snow, much to their excitement, prompting them all go out and mess around in the white blanket of cold snow. They couldn't charm snowballs yet, and the ice on the lake next to the Potter residence was a bit thin for their liking, but it was fun either way. Laughter and shouts of excitement filled the crisp air as they chased each other, fell into snowdrifts, and made the most of the wintry day.

When they returned home, it was already dark outside, and four mugs of hot chocolate were waiting for them, accompanied by Mrs Potter's cheerful face. The warmth and aroma of the sweet liquid welcomed them inside, melting away the chill from the frost.

James and Sirius, their energy finally exhausted, soon trudged off to bed after they finished their cups, leaving Remus and you to linger a bit longer. The house was quiet now, the only sounds the gentle cracking of fire and the occasional creak of the old wooden floors.

If only it could be like this every day, Remus thought to himself as he sat on the couch beside the fireplace. The flames radiated warmth, and with the mug in his hands, everything felt nice again. No stressing over studying, no thoughts for the upcoming war. He was in his own bubble, praying it wouldn't break at any given moment.

In his lap lay an opened annotated copy of a book you had given him as a Christmas present in your fourth year. He had read the book many times, and each time he found something new that caught his interest. It was like a never-ending story he never planned to finish.

"Hey, Remus."

The sudden sound of your voice and the feeling of your frame settling next to him, a knee brushing against his tight, made him shut the book with unnecessary force. The boy could feel your eyes on the side of his face so, he turned to meet your gaze, brown meeting [eye colour].

Remus had really pretty eyes. The rich brown seemed to melt in the warm room like the sweetest chocolate you had ever put on your tongue, with hazel sparks dancing in them. His eyes held something you couldn't quite put your finger on — a mystery, just like his person. But there was one thing you knew for sure: you would find comfort in them no matter the situation.

As you looked closer, you noticed faint freckles dusting his cheeks. Had they always been there? The gentle smattering of the constellation added to the roughness around his scars, making him appear even more breathtakingly beautiful. You found yourself mesmerized by the little details of his face, each one telling a story of its own.

Remus decided to talk first. "What are you doing here? Not that I mind, I'm just wondering. It's pretty late, you know," after those words left his mouth, Remus felt like a total fool. Merlin, talking with you was getting more difficult since he realized he liked you more than a friend should.

But when he saw your lips curving into a smile, he knew he hadn't messed up. "Can't sleep. It's hard to do so when you have to sleep on a different bed."

"Yeah, I can understand."

Once the comfortable silence fell upon the two of you, Remus wanted to stay like this as long as possible. Life with you in it, even after Hogwarts, would be like a dream come true. You could adopt a cat or a dog together. Remus had always wanted a pet . . . The thought of a future with you filled him with a warm, hopeful feeling.

Suddenly, you were standing on your feet in front of Remus, the book no longer in his lap. Instead, you were holding it open, reading the first words he had written on the front pages. He could feel his neck and ears start to warm up, and he was sure it wasn't from the unfinished hot chocolate.

"Nice book you got here. Must have been a nice present, don't you think?" You were teasing him, he knew it from the glint in your eyes, and you seemed to be enjoying it, too. So, he played along.

"Oh, I don't know, would you be surprised if your friends bought you a book when they see you every morning reading them?"

"This one must be your favourite, as the front is starting to lose its colour."

At the further mention of the book, Remus forgot about the teasing at took it from your hands. "You should read it, [Name], it's a really . . . ," he trailed off again, like he did yesterday, and it started to confuse you more and more. His eyes were looking at something above your head, too. Was the moving photo of little James framed behind you that interesting?

When you started to turn and look, Remus quickly turned you to face the direction of the kitchen and pushed the half filled mug with warm liquid into your palms. "I want more of that. Could you help me make it? Thanks, [Name]."

Remus was ready to push James and Sirius onto the thin ice tomorrow.

THREE

Remus didn't like packing. First, he needed to pack at least a day or two before leaving so he could sleep without overthinking, but he did overthink it anyway. Did I pack everything? I think I had more stuff when I got here . . . He usually spends half of the train ride worrying about things like this; the rest was joking around with his friends and saying goodbye for the summer. And second, he didn't like leaving. The places he went to — whether it was Hogwarts or the Potters' — had a special place in the depths of his heart. The only comforting thought in his head about it all was that he would come back.

With a sigh, he started to pick up his jumpers from the Gryffindor-themed rug James had in his room. They had spent their first Christmas together when they were twelve, and the boys slept in separated bedrooms to Mrs Potter's wishes. She wanted them to have their own privacy (they shared a dorm at school, after all), but as time went on and she realised her boys wanted to be together, the witch let them do as they wanted. You got your own room as this was your first holiday here.

As much as Remus thought about the task being annoying and gloomy, it was kind of relaxing to his mind into something else. James and Sirius hadn't tried anything on you two in the last few days, which worried the werewolf a bit. What were they planning? It wasn't like them, giving up on something they were so determined about.

At a knock on the door, Remus put his just-finished folded socks into his trunk and went to open the it. It couldn't be James and Sirius, and the adult Potters had gone for a walk into the village, which just leaves . . . you.

Oh.

Remus opened the door and revealed, in fact, your glowing face. His eyes took a look at you, and he found himself thinking how pretty you looked.

Your nose and cheeks looked like they were freezing, but it somehow made your face glow. Your beanie covered half of your forehead, and there was a huge spot of unmelted snow on it, probably thrown at you by one of the Marauders. But your eyes still caught his attention first. They showed your real emotions, and you were happy right now, which made Remus feel happy too.

Your smiled reached the corners of your eyes. Remus liked your smile. "Hi! Knew I would find you here. As you can probably see, we are having a snowball fight and I was wondering if you wanted to join me? James is being a git . . .”

Remus couldn't help but chuckle at your enthusiastic invitation. The idea of being outside with you, engaging in a playful snowball fight against his brothers, sounded far more appealing than packing his things. He also knew that if James was being a git, he'd have to intervene to keep the playing field fair.

He listened to you, he really did, but his attention was drawn by the green plant, dangling from the doorframe above your heads. However, this time you followed his gaze and saw what he was always searching for.

"Oh."

Before he could regret what he was about to do, his hands found your cheeks, and his eyes focused on yours, not bothered by the cold that started to reach his palms. "Can I kiss you?"

Your eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The heartfelt laughter of James and Sirius outside faded into the background, leaving only the two of you in that small, shared moment. A soft smile played on your lips as you voiced your inner desires.

"Yes, Remus, you can."

You placed your hands on the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape, and gently pulled him towards you. Your slightly cold lips met his warm ones, and the contrast sent shivers through both of you. The sensation was intoxicating, a rush of emotions and sensations that made your heart race. The warmth from his mouth spread through you, melting away any lingering cold from outside.

Remus's hands slid from your cheeks to cradle the back of your head, his fingers doing the same thing as yours, threading through your hair. You could feel the slightest tremble in them, a sign that he was just as affected by the kiss as you were.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against each other, and you took a moment to catch your breath. Your eyelids fluttered open, and the look you shared was one of pure emotion. His brown eyes, now darker with desire and something deeper, gazed into yours with a mix of awe and admiration.

It felt like a core memory of your new found relationship was forming, one that will be forever treasured and reminded with nothing but adoration.

Remus was glad about the whole mistletoe prank but the boys will not hear a word from him about it. They were right, the Marauders won't let a prank go unfinished.

730 notes · View notes

vanteguccir · 6 months

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── ୨୧ !　𝗟𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗛𝗔𝗭𝗘

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N drowns amidst so much criticism and negative comments from the media regarding her relationship, but Matt is right by her side to bring her back to the surface and surround her in a lavender haze.

WARNING: Mentions of hate, slightly angst.

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: This fic was written for the Challenge for the writers 2024 made by @annamcdonalds67

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Staring at the ceiling with you

Oh, you don't ever say too much

Y/N lay down next to Matt on the double bed that decorated the room. The soft gloom emanated from the corner lamp, painting the scene with orange tones. Their intertwined fingers on the mattress formed a comforting bond, a silent affirmation of each other's presence there. Together, they observed the ceiling as if they were tracing constellations on the white paint in their minds.

The silence that surrounded them was serene, and their synchronized breathing seemed to compose a soft song. Matt knew that sometimes words were unnecessary. There was no need to try to force empty conversations when each other's presence was enough.

Y/N's thoughts, however, were a whirlwind. The sudden exposure that accompanied her relationship with Matt - which they just had revealed to the public some months before - had left her overwhelmed, despite her boyfriend's advance warnings about what followed him with his career. As someone who preferred a low-key life, being dragged into the spotlight of fame was suddenly a big experience.

While her body was physically in the room, her mind felt the weight of these thoughts slowly crushing her. It was an internal battle to maintain sanity amid the media storm that surrounded them.

And you don't really read into

My melancholia

Matt, on his side, noticed the melancholy in Y/N's eyes and the way her brow was constantly frowning, but he respected her silence. He understood the pressure she faced; the crazed fans who used her words against herself and criticized every second of the videos she made a little appearance or was only mentioned, and his heart burned to be able to help her more, but he knew that trying to interpret her thoughts could only increase her distress, his own mind bringing him the mere memory of the episode from some night's before.

To the soft sound of popcorn crackling in the kitchen next door, Y/N anxiously waited for Matt on the made bed, wrapped in the comfort of the fluffy comforter. Her phone rested in her hands, and she slid her fingers across the screen to access her Instagram feed. A notification caught her attention, a tag on a photo posted by the boy.

With an anticipated smile, Y/N opened the post and found herself among the images of a photo dump posted a few hours ago. Her heart filled with warmth when she saw the picture of them together, the girl didn't know how to explain what she felt when she saw him post so openly about them, having gone through difficult situations in this regard in her previous relationship.

However, her smile faded when she swiped down and was met with an avalanche of comments. Thousands of cruel words and cutting criticisms flooded the massive list. Comments that questioned who she thought she was, insinuations that she wasn't good enough, and that Matt deserved someone better. Every word was a blow to her heart, a confirmation of all the fears and insecurities she had kept hidden inside.

Feeling crushed by the virtual pressure, a wave of anguish enveloped her. Tears began to blur her vision as she struggled to contain her overflowing emotions, not wanting to appear vulnerable in the situation, much less worry Matt.

Her head filled with questions, how could she compete with the unrealistic expectations of those who observed her life through a screen?

Minutes passed in a second for her, the sound of the door opening again echoed softly, Matt's figure entering the room following it, the tempting smell of popcorn floating in the air and a childish smile decorating his face. His smile fell instantly when he saw Y/N holding the phone tightly with one of her hands, tears rolling down her face while her other hand pressed her mouth, forcing away the sobs.

"Hey, hey, babe, what happened?" Matt ran over to her, his tone full of worry, leaving the bucket of popcorn on the bedside table and kneeling next to her on the bed.

Y/N sobs as she tries to explain, showing him the cruel comments that filled her entire screen, the device shaking slightly as a result of her trembling fingers.

Matt felt his heart break when he saw the suffering on Y/N's face and the ridiculous words in front of him. Him mind was divided between helping her or posting something obscene, full of insults, and totally guided from his emotional side.

The boy sighs, closing his eyes and wishing to take the bad things away from his girl before sitting properly next to her, wrapping her in his arms affectionately and bringing her head to his chest, sealing her hair line for long seconds.

"I'm so sorry, petal. I didn't know this was going to happen. I should have thought before posting..." He murmured, gently stroking her back as Y/N clings to him for comfort. "I'll figure it out, I promise."

I been under scrutiny (yeah, oh, yeah)

You handle it beautifully (yeah, oh, yeah)

All this shit is new to me (yeah, oh, yeah)

With that, it was known that Y/N was constantly under the relentless eyes of the fandom and obsessed fanpages, her every move being dissected and analyzed minutely by the voracious eyes of anonymous people. But that was the price to pay for dating a public figure.

While facing this incessant storm of unsolicited attention, she couldn't help but admire how Matt, despite his issues with anxiety and certain unnecessary comments left by people who called themselves fans, handled the problems of notoriety with admirable patience and calm.

He seemed so comfortable on camera alongside his brothers, so skilled at ignoring invasive situations that Y/N often found herself questioning how he did it. However, for her, this was all unfamiliar and intimidating territory, too new.

Although she passionately wanted to quickly adapt to this new lifestyle, as she had no plans to leave Matt, she also found herself racing toward an uncertain direction, trying to keep her sanity and identity intact amid the media chaos that surrounded her.

The couch enveloped them in a comfortable embrace as Y/N and Matt enjoyed the peace of the silent living room, the soft sound of a Disney movie echoing in the background. Matt's arms around Y/N were a sanctuary of calm, warming her body and bringing her a comfort that made her feel like she could sleep any moment. It was one of those rare moments when they could simply exist t the interference of the fast-paced world around them.

Matt, with a sigh of contentment, reached for his phone, curious to see how the car video they had posted a few minutes ago was doing, eager to see what the fans thought of the themes brought up.

Quickly, he opened the YouTube app and scrolled through the comments. Among a flood of compliments and kind words, however, some less favorable comments caught his attention. Some criticized the way he was quieter than usual, while others questioned why he was even part of the videos, as he had nothing to add.

Matt rolled his eyes in a dismissive gesture as he turned the screen of his phone towards Y/N, allowing her to read the comments that filled the space.

"Look at that." Matt said, exasperated. "These people have nothing better to do than criticize anything and everything. Immature teenagers who love to point out only negative things." He muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

Locking the screen of his phone with a brusque gesture, he left it aside on the couch, refusing to let the negative comments ruin his moment of peace. The boy turned to Y/N again, his smile returning as if nothing had happened and wrapping his arms around her once more.

"Sorry about that, pretty girl." The brunette asked softly against her skin, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder. "Sometimes people just need to spread negativity to feel better about themselves. But let's not let that get to us, hm?" He lifted his head from where it was, smiling small at his girl before pressing small seals on the exposed skin of her shoulders and neck, eliciting loud laughter from the girl.

[...] All they keep asking me (all they keep asking me)

Is if I'm gonna be your bride

The only kind of girl they see (the only kind of girl they see)

Is a one-night or a wife

Post after post from the significant number of fans who adored them together claimed that they were "endgame", as they had been in a relationship for over a year and seemed to be going strong.

But the comments that followed were always like a punch to the gut for Y/N. Some argued that she was Matt's future bride, while others insinuated that she was just a "gold digger", there to take advantage of his fame and money, like a one night stand, before eventually leaving him.

Y/N's feelings fluctuated between anger and sadness. How dare they question her true feelings for Matt? How could they judge their relationship based on unfounded assumptions and speculation? They were only 20 years old, marriage was out of the question at that moment, and they both knew that this kind of thing is something planned and thought out together, never done for the emotion of the moment or to meet the needs of others.

A feeling of helplessness invaded her when she read those things, accompanied by a hint of doubt. Y/N felt deep pain due to the lack of trust and support from Matt's own fans. She had tried so hard to be a positive presence in his life, to love and support him unconditionally, and to make the people who meant the most to him and who brought him to the top really like her.

And now, she was faced with the cruelty of strangers who were ready to judge her without even truly knowing her.

I find it dizzying (yeah, oh, yeah)

They're bringing up my history (yeah, oh, yeah)

But you weren't even listening (yeah, oh, yeah)

Y/N felt constantly dizzy with everything that was happening around her. It was as if she was in the eye of a media hurricane, where waves of curiosity and intrusion were endlessly engulfing her. Even with her social networks private, she found herself inundated by a flood of fanatical fans, eager to discover even the smallest detail of her life.

The triplets' YouTube videos, in which she participated, were constant targets of investigation by fans. Every word, every gesture captured by the camera, was analyzed. And the boys' posts, where she occasionally appeared, were scoured thoroughly for any hint of her personal life.

The simple act of even appearing on a TikTok for a brief second was enough to trigger a new wave of speculation and conspiracy theories from fans. Y/N felt like she was looking over her shoulder every moment.

This growing fear began to affect her willingness to participate in the brothers' videos and appear on their social media. She retreated into the shadows, avoiding the curious eyes that surrounded her.

Meanwhile, Matt scrolled through his social media feed, the cruel and mean comments about Y/N flashed on his phone screen at every moment. "She only wants to hurt him", "She's only with him for the money", "She will run away at the first opportunity". The words penetrated like sharp knives, but he faced them with a calm expression.

He could feel the anger pulsing through his veins. The injustice of these accusations made him want to scream. But he forced himself to remain calm, to take a deep breath and remember what really mattered.

Matt knew Y/N better than he knew himself. He knew she wasn't a gold digger, that she wasn't with him out of interest or for any petty reason. He knew that she genuinely loved him, that they shared the same dreams and fears, joys, and sadness.

So he ignored the negative comments, the people who hid behind anonymous profiles to spread venom and hate. Sometimes, he even had the small pleasure of responding to these accusations with an ironic comment or a joke, knowing that, deep down, none of it mattered.

Because he trusted Y/N. He loved her more than anything in the world, and nothing could shake that unshakable trust he had in her.

[...] Talk your talk and go viral (oh, oh, oh)

I just need this love spiral (oh, oh, oh)

Get it off your chest (woah, woah, woah, woah)

Get it off my desk (get it off my desk)

Talk your talk and go viral (oh, oh, oh)

I just need this love spiral (oh, oh, oh)

Get it off your chest

Get it off my desk

But on the other side, the moments of exhaustion seemed to multiply for Y/N, like a lingering shadow that followed her with every step. Increasingly, she found herself sinking into a sea of cruel comments and venomous speculation from the media and fans.

Until a specific moment, where she finally understood that with Matt, she found the strength to fight it gradually. His arms wrapped around her with comforting warmth. His words of encouragement were like a balm to her soul. He supported her in every way possible, constantly reminding her of how much she was loved and valued and that nothing they said mattered.

Y/N slowly learned to filter the noise of the outside world, to block out the negative voices that tried to invade her mind. She no longer allowed the mean comments to get to her, choosing to ignore, block or mute them, allowing them to get everything they wanted off their chest and go viral using her name, and not giving a damn about it.

It was a gradual process, a journey of self-discovery and self-transformation. Y/N still had her moments of weakness, her doubts and fears, like in that moment. But with Matt by her side, she was able to cover her ears and eyes to them.

I feel the lavender haze creeping up on me

Surreal

I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say

No deal

The 1950s shit they want from me

I just wanna stay in that lavender haze

And despite all the bad things, being alone at that moment with Matt in their own haven was comforting. A lavender haze enveloped Y/N gently, like a warm lilac hug amidst the darkness of uncertainty, protecting her from external judgments.

In the comfort of their room, with Matt's presence beside her, she felt as if she could close her eyes and simply let herself be carried away by the constant flow of love she felt for the boy.

Despite the whirlwind of thoughts that danced in her mind along with vague memories of all the futile posts from pages that gossip about artists, demanding surreal things from her as if they had just come out of a time machine to the past, there, in that moment, she allowed herself to sink into the depths of this good feeling.

Matt's presence by her side was like a protective shield, pushing away all her fears and insecurities. His eyes, full of tenderness and understanding, met hers from time to time, conveying a silent message that he was there, ready to face any challenge alongside her. And there was nothing in the world that made him want to leave there.

With one smooth movement, Matt turned briefly to reach for the lavender air freshener that rested on the nightstand next to the bed. He activates the device with a delicate touch, releasing a fragrant mist that fills the room with the sweet scent of the flower. The soft, comforting scent envelops Y/N like a hug, calming her agitated mind and bringing an almost instantaneous feeling of serenity.

The mattress moved with Matt's movements, and he slowly turned around, now lying on his side and facing Y/N. His eyes met hers lovingly, and a smile played on his lips as he moved closer until their bodies were mere inches away.

"You still with me, sweetheart?" His voice was as soft as the cotton beneath their bodies, echoing off the walls that were surrounded by silence for long minutes.

"Uhm." Y/N murmured back, imitating him and turning so that she was lying on her side, facing him, the fog in her mind slowly dissipating.

With soft and delicate movements, Matt wrapped the girl in his arms, bringing her closer to his body, laying her head on his chest, the steady beat of his heart calming hers almost automatically.

"They don't matter, you know?"

Y/N felt a comforting warmth spread throughout her entire being upon hearing the brief and almost insignificant words, but that meant the world to her. She snuggled even closer to Matt, feeling his arms tighten around her waist where they held, allowing herself to sink into them like a safe haven from the storms of the outside world.

Matt lowered his head and gently kissed the top of his girl's head, breathing in the soft scent of lavender shampoo that emanated from her strands. Every touch was filled with love and devotion, a silent promise that he was there.

And so, cradled by the soft haze of love that surrounded them, Y/N and Matt surrendered to the present moment, the girl leaving behind all the worries and fears that haunted her, her heart begging to stay there forever.

I just wanna stay in that lavender haze

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @sturniolho @ksskianshd @ccolleenn @sturniolo-lover1317 @soimightlikeoldmen69 @hrtyjy @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @thebottledwatersupplier @bellasfavbisexual @soso-scarlettolivia @maryx2xx @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @lvrsturn @iammattswife

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

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wlntrsldler · 6 months

Text

poisoned mercury | end up here

a/n: i'm going FERALLLLLLL over this chapter. enjoy poisoned mercury's debut album hehe.

iv. end up here by 5sos

series masterlist | previous | next

“your band name doesn’t even make any sense,” you argued, eyes narrowing at the boy in front of you.

luke crashed your secret spot, again, and refused to let you smoke in silence until you gave him a detailed explanation of how your day went. he knew you didn’t smoke every day, only on days that were particularly hard. he noticed that your bad days always had something to do with your dad, but it didn’t feel like the right moment to bring that up.

anyway, you got fed up with his badgering and that stupid smirk on his face because he knew you were about to crack, and decided that if he was going to act like a toddler, you would too. hence, why you were now bringing up his band name.

luke took offense to that because he thought the band name was cool. he was the one to suggest it. he crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to let his hurt show on his face, “what do you mean? poisoned mercury is a sick name.”

“mercury is already poisonous. your band name is like redundant or some shit.”

“then why did so many people in history ingest it?” luke asked, recalling the one thing he remembered from his high school history class before he dropped out. he took a drag from his cigarette, turning his body a bit so the wind didn’t blow the smoke directly in your face.

“they fucking died, castellan,” you replied, deadpan.

“oh,” he blinked, staring off, “i didn’t know that.”

you rolled your eyes, a habit that you’ve picked up whenever you were with him and sat back down on the bench. luke joined you, silent as he thought about what you just said. he really needed to stop zoning out during lessons, but since he was already out of high school, he guessed it didn’t matter anymore.

as much as you hate to admit it, luke castellan was growing on you. sure, he got on your nerves like nobody else– the boy just doesn’t quit– but, he wasn’t half as bad as you originally thought. not that you’d ever tell him that though.

when you got back to the cabin last week after helping with concert prep, the cabin was spotless. there were no empty red bull cans in sight, the table tops were free of crumbs, floor vacuumed and mopped, and there was even a candle burning on the counter. you approached your bedroom door to find a post-it on the handle. luke’s messy writing was smudged around the corners, but you could still make out what it said.

“five star,

i snitched on the boys and my mom will have a stern talk with them about their cleanliness. can’t promise that people will stop talking about me, but i can promise you won’t have to live in the dojo casa house mojo or whatever it was.

ps i’m using the spot tomorrow, just thought i should let you know. maybe we can set up a calendar for reservations.

luke :)”

the cabin hasn’t been as messy since. whatever may castellan told the boys worked like a charm. there was still the occasional trash, but nothing crazy. it smelled better in the cabin too, still like a boy, but it smelled like expensive cologne more than anything. cedarwood and pine.

and thankfully, the luke castellan hype train was starting to run out of steam, with many people finally realizing that he was also just a human being and the surprising revelation that luke castellan was not entertaining anyone during his time at camp helped with it as well. you still heard whispers about him here and there, but you were glad the topic of conversation was beginning to switch to something else.

you and luke walked to the gym and back home every morning together. he and the boys sat with you and clarisse during meals. they tagged along for music lessons and spoke to the kids, which they really appreciated. they helped the older campers with writing music, luke particularly. you’d been around a few musicians in your life and many of them only kissed ass when your dad was around, but poisoned mercury was different. they were passionate about their music. that was clear.

after a conversation with clarisse, where she managed to convince you that not all musicians are like your ex, you began to let loose a little bit. you hung out with the boys more, partly as an excuse so clarisse could hang out with chris without causing too much suspicion, and found that you actually enjoyed their company. and luke castellan? well, he wasn’t half bad. that doesn’t mean he got off easy though.

you took a hit of your vape, facing him, “are you done interrogating me?”

“for now, yeah,” he smiled as you shook your head. “are you coming to the concert tonight?”

“well, i did help organize it.”

“a simple yes would’ve sufficed, five star,” luke teased, relighting his cigarette. it was burning unevenly and luke was never one to waste his cigarettes. “you gonna watch us play?”

“don’t have a choice. dad wants me there the whole time.”

“you can act a little excited,” luke ran a hand through his curls, “we are pretty good, you know.”

“i know,” you hummed. the sun was beginning to set and there was a slight breeze in the air. goosebumps formed on your skin, the t-shirt and denim shorts you wore didn’t offer much comfort. you shivered, “i have listened to your music.”

“are you cold?”

your teeth chattered, but you shook your head, “i’m fine.”

luke took off his hoodie, tossing it in your direction, “take it.”

“no,” you tossed it back to him, “told you i’m good.”

always so stubborn, luke thought.

“if you catch a cold, that’s not on me,” he placed the hoodie on the bench between the two of you. “which songs have you listened to?”

“kilby girl, of course. it played on the radio so much when you guys first dropped it,” you said, remembering the days where you and your hometown friends would blast it in the car. it reminded you of high school, reckless decisions, life-long memories, and the thrill of knowing you were going to be playing the sport you’d worked so hard to excel in at a d1 level in the fall. you looked at him, sincerity in your eyes, “i really like family line. it might be my favorite.”

luke’s eyebrows shot up. not many people talked about family line. it was probably their least streamed song. they never performed the song on tour because it was difficult for luke to sing it. it was a personal song to him. it was inspired by his relationship with his father, or lack thereof.

when poisoned mercury first got signed to olympus records, luke sent a message to his dad on facebook. luke hadn’t tried to contact him since he was ten, not since his father returned his letter to him unopened, no response but a “return to sender” stamp plastered over the envelope. but after the small congratulatory party his mom set up for the band after they signed, luke felt like a little kid again, a kid who wanted to share the great news with his dad, so he found his dad on facebook, made an account, and sent him a message.

he didn’t get a reply, which was expected, but it felt good for a second to pretend that he had a father to tell his good news to. luke thought he didn’t care about whether or not his dad was proud of him, but when his message went from “sent” to “read” a few days later, he was brought back to those moments in his life when he cried and wondered why he wasn’t enough to make his dad stay. he wrote family line in one sitting, on his bed in his bedroom in connecticut, looking at the little league medals on his wall that seemed to mock him.

he originally didn’t want it on the album because he felt like it didn’t fit the vibe of the rest of the songs and that it was too real, too vulnerable for a debut album, but then he played it for his mom and she loved it. she cried when she first heard it and luke knew that even if people didn’t like the song, he was going to put it out for his mom.

“huh,” he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, “wasn’t expecting that one. thought you’d be more of a crash my car type of girl.”

“i like that too,” you shrugged, “but family line. that song. i don’t think i have the words to describe it.”

“thanks, five star,” luke looked down at his feet, taking a puff from his dying cigarette. “that’s my mom’s favorite, too.”

“did you write it?”

luke nodded, looking to face you. there was a new expression on your face, one that you’d never used with him before. it was a mix of disbelief and awe. he tried not to get offended that you didn’t think he could write something like family line, but he couldn’t blame you. he didn’t really portray the type of person who would be able to be that raw and vulnerable on a song. “me and trav write the lyrics for our songs, mostly. chris and connor help too, but the bulk of the lyrics are me.”

“you need to stop doing that.”

he cocked his head to the side, crushing the cigarette butt on the hardware of the bench, “doing what?”

“surprising me,” you shook your head, “i don’t like it.”

“i don’t know what to tell you,” he chuckled, leaning back on the bench. he looked out into the lake, watching the sun disappear behind the mountains, “i have layers. you just gotta give me a chance.”

“how do you do it?” you sat criss cross on the bench, leaning against the arm rest. “how do you write like that?”

you’d always been curious about music, even if you weren’t good at it. your dad was never one to answer your questions, especially because you were interested in lyrics more than anything, and that wasn’t his forte.

luke mimicked your actions, “i dunno. personal experience, i guess?”

you frowned, thinking about the lyrics of family line. luke never talked about his dad, but spoke highly of his mom. was family line based on his own life? if it was, his dad was an asshole.

you relented to the cold, grabbing the hoodie that he left in between the two of you. you ignored the triumphant smile on his face when you draped the sweater over your bare legs, shielding them from the wind chills.

he continued, “sometimes things happen to me that get me worked up and i have to write a song about it. sometimes, it’s based on my imagination. it depends.”

you wanted to ask him about his dad, but you didn’t know if he considered you guys friends yet. it’s not like you made it easy for him anyway. you could deal with the banters and annoyance, but you didn’t want to push him to talk about something he wasn’t ready to. you could be a dick, but you weren’t cruel.

you changed the subject, “okay, let’s play a game.”

“21 questions?” luke bit his bottom lip, trying not to laugh. he waggled his eyebrows, dodging your arm that reached out to smack him.

“you’re gross,” you gagged, knowing the implications of the game, “no, i’m gonna ask about the songs on your album and you tell me if it’s real life or from your imagination.”

“alright, go for it five star,” he beamed, propping his elbows on his crossed knees. he loved talking about music with anyone. he could go on and on for hours.

“18.”

“real,” luke snorted, remembering the first time travis pitched the idea for the song to the band, “but not my experience. it was trav. he met this girl at one of our gigs in new york, right after we got signed, and he was obsessed. she was a freshman at nyu and she kept telling him he was too young for her, even though she was just less than a year older. trav was hooked.”

you could picture it. it was definitely something travis would do. “okay, another one of my favorites. only angel?”

“not real,” luke shook his head, a slight blush creeping up on his face. “if you tell anyone, five star, i will vehemently deny it, but i had a crush on jade west from victorious and i wrote it about her.”

there was something about jade west that made luke like a love-sick puppy. ignoring the fact that she was hot, her attitude was something that luke was attracted to. she had a tough exterior and acted like she didn’t care about people, but she had her moments where she was soft and kind to the people she cared about the most. luke liked that. the idea that someone could be sensitive but only to the people they deemed worthy.

he’d spent so much of his life trying to be worthy, in whatever way the stage of his life defined it, and he craved it– a pat on the back, an approval, a confirmation that he was worthy of it.

you threw your head back laughing, surprised by his ridiculous confession. the sound of your laughter rang across the woods, making luke smile. your voice echoed throughout the trees and he his senses were surrounded by you. it hit luke like a truck.

he sucked in a breath, taking out his phone. he jolted from his seat for more than one reason. “shit, five star. we gotta go.”

you took out your phone too, checking the time. your eyes widened as you got up from your seat. you threw his hoodie over to him, “fuck, we’re late.”

the two of you raced out of the woods, arriving to the concert venue with flushed faces and rapid breaths. you could feel clarisse’s knowing eyes on you as you got ready for the concert. you tried your best to ignore it. you were going to deal with that later.

–

“and for the final event, i know you guys are looking forward to this one,” your dad laughed into the mic. the sun was long gone and there were disco lights illuminating the stage. a smoke machine was on either corner, making it difficult to see the bottom half of the stage. you and clarisse stood in the front row, listening to the deafening cheers of the campers. “ladies and gents, welcome poisoned mercury!”

the screams got louder which you didn’t even know was possible. travis entered the stage first, sticking his tongue out as he expertly twirled his drumsticks around his fingers. connor came in next, smiling and waving at the crowd as he plugged his guitar into the amp. chris walked in with his bass strapped around his neck, eyes immediately finding clarisse and sending her a shy smile. you nudged her teasingly, enjoying the way she blushed under the lights.

then luke castellan walked in. he ditched his hoodie and t-shirt and walked in with a white tank top on, messing with the curls on his head. he tugged on the silver necklace around his neck as his eyes scanned the crowd. he threw a wink to the group of the older girls in the back, turning to travis to let out a laugh at their reaction. the lights on the boys were blinding and a thin layer of sweat already began to form on their skin despite the bite to the air.

luke took center stage, picking up his guitar. he leaned over directly in front of you, fingers pretending to mess with the wires connecting his guitar to the speakers, “hey, five star.”

he straightened his back before you could reply. clarisse’s eyes darted between you and the boy, now nudging you like you did to her earlier. you rolled your eyes, smiling at the rest of the boys as luke began talking on the mic.

“what’s up, camp half blood?” luke screamed into the mic. the crowd roared. “we’re poisoned mercury and we are so happy to be with you guys here this summer. before we close out this awesome concert, i wanna introduce our lovely band.”

“on drums, we have the one and only, travis stoll!” luke turned around to applaud travis as he did a little drum solo, head banging as he hit the drums. he turned to connor, “on lead guitar, we have the amazing connor stoll!”

connor strummed his guitar, leaning over on the left side to soak in the applause of the crowd. the girls beside you swooned as he unleashed one of his award-winning smiles.

luke faced chris, “and on bass, we have my very best friend in the entire world, my 4lifer, chris rodriguez!” clarisse cheered loudly for chris as he played a tune on his bass, mouthing, “love you, brother,” to luke as he played. the crowd quited for a second as luke addressed them again, “and my name is luke castellan. we’re poisoned mercury!”

you turned around to look at the crowd. the size of the crowd tripled when the boys got on stage. everyone had a smile on their face, excited to hear them play.

“the song we’ll be singing for you guys today is from our debut album,” luke adjusted his mic on the stand. he got closer to it, lips touching the metal, “this is only angel.”

you couldn’t help but let out a laugh at their song choice. this was not the song they were supposed to sing. they’d been rehearsing kilby girl for the past week. luke saw your reaction, laughing along with you.

the instrumentals began and you nearly missed the beat drop because of the cheers from the crowd. as the song progressed, the boys were one with the music. you watched luke sing, working the crowd like a pro. his skin glistened under the spotlight, beads of sweat tricking down the side of his face. he approached chris when the chorus started, dragging his mic stand with him. he swung his guitar around so it rested on his back as he sang the lyrics. his curls were sticking to his forehead, eyebrows raised in glee as he performed.

you couldn’t take your eyes off the lead singer, not even when the rest of the band had their own solos in the song. your eyes were glued on luke; how his adam’s apple was on full display as he threw his head back, getting lost in the music, how his arms flexed as he wrapped the mic cord around his fist, how his thin tank top stuck to his body and how it raised when he lifted his arm up to bring the mic closer to his lips. you saw the outline of his abdomen and his v-line.

but what really got you was his face. he looked at peace on stage, a wide smile on his face, full lips pink and glossy as he licked them in between verses. he looked incredible up there, like that was where he belonged. he was born to be on stage like this.

“fuck,” you mumbled, applauding at the end of their song. luke’s eyes found yours as he sang the last bit of the song, smiling at you. you hoped clarisse couldn’t hear you talk to yourself. you looked down at your feet, tugging nervously on the collar of your shirt, “i get it now.”

#frances writes #poisoned mercury #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke pjo #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson

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espressiimartinii · 3 months

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vii. god forbid a woman have hobbies

part 7

summary: new year? new me! it does take y/n l/n a little bit of time to get used to the rb15, and favouritism does really sprint in the red bull racing family.

pairing: none - it's all platonic 💅

warnings: apart from rewriting actual events so they fit better, there may be a sprinkle of typical motorsport ✨sexism✨

tag list is back open! turns out i still don't understand the tagging system, so i will be tagging in comments.... sorry? i will be capping tags at about 25

author's note: and if i said i got sick, what then... shout out to the regular flu, you're a real one for that.

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offseason shenanigans

rbr_y/nl/n my focken PIZZA 😭😭 also, i could not post the picture were alexi looks STUNNING!! 😍 tagged: alexirexi; surves

f1brainrot ma'am.... the trolley?? you could be injured??? why??? ↳ rbr_y/nl/n it's fun, hope that helps👍

redbullracing ✔️ this does not look things that are on the approved list of activities... ↳ rbr_y/nl/n okay? close your eyes then? 🧐

alexirexi I LOOK HAWT 🥵 ↳ surves why are you gripping the back of my head like that tho... ↳ rbr_y/nl/n did you want to smash your face against a PUBLIC toilet rim? ↳ surves thank you for holding my head up alexi, i didnt doubt u for a second ↳ alexirexi anything for u bby gorl 😜

danielricciardo Are you taking applications for new members? ↳ rbr_y/nl/n I hate to break this to you.... but you're not eligible to become a member 😔 ↳ danielricciardo But you said I could join. ↳ rbr_y/nl/n Positions aren't open to ex-red bull drivers, that's like hanging out with an ex ↳ maxverstappen What about current drivers? ↳ danielricciardo There is no way that my best friends are deciding to hang out with me. ↳ rbr_y/nl/n membership approved for max, but i guess he can bring a plus one..... 🙄 ↳ maxverstappen I will bring you, Daniel, do not worry. ↳ danielricciardo YEE HAW 🤠

pierregasly vraiment, sans ton frère? ↳ rbr_y/nl/n oui 🥖 ↳ pierregasly 😡

womeninf1 she's besties with danny ric and max verstappen?? it's only been literally 1 month since she got to red bull... ↳ stany/n i just know that max was outdone.... maxplaining? nah, y/n is a certified yapper ↳ y/n4wdc was that even a question?? what i wouldn't give to interrogate christian horner and find out who his favourite adopted child is ↳ maxstans it's max for sure ↳ f1brainrot is it?? did you see danny ricc's christmas insta post where he revealed that only y/n l/n got a horner family christmas invite?? ↳ maxstans THE FAMILY CHRISTMAS!?!? ↳ stany/n max also revealing in a press interview before christmas that christian would NOT shut up about how proud he is of y/n ↳ womeninf1 you forgot to include the fact that max was just maxplaining how monumental it is that y/n is in f1 and how he admires her work ethic ↳ maxstans oh, so you're telling me.... max and y/n are siblings now ↳ pierregasly No. Not true. ↳ f1brainrot PIERRE GASLY? ↳ pierregasly Max is not the brother, I am.

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we release the christmas photos

rbr_y/nl/n y/n!! release the evidence!! release the pictures!! well here is evidence that i got to spend christmas AND new years with THE geri halliwell and her husband (whoever that is?) tagged: gerihalliwellhorner; alexirexi; surves

gerihalliwellhorner It was our pleasure to have you staying with us for Christmas and New Years. Let's do brunch when you race in Silverstone and maybe we'll be able to escape Christian's racing lectures for a little bit. ↳ rbr_y/nl/n Yes!! I will clear my calendar, anything for you!! ↳ redbullracing RED ALERT RED ALERT RED ALERT THE BOSS IS LOOKING A LITTLE BIT MIFFED INNIT

danielricciardo I've been with the team for 5 years and I haven't been invited? Ever? Am I witnessing favouritism? ↳ rbr_y/nl/n you don't even work here anymore!!! ↳ danielricciardo You never truly leave the Red Bull Family, once a red bull racer, always a red bull racer. ↳ rbr_y/nl/n Well, boss has a favourite and it's me. ↳ maxverstappen That sounds incorrect, I literally exist. ↳ redbullracing The boss would like to relay that he has no favourites and he would never choose one. ↳ maxverstappen I will literally put the car into the wall if he does not choose me. ↳ rbr_y/nl/n contracts agreed to under duress are not legally binding!

pierregasly So this is why you declined the invite to spend Christmas with us.... I see... ↳ rbr_y/nl/n pierre... I am so sorry.... I will spend Christmas with you this year... ↳ pierregasly Maman will be very disappointed in you if you do not turn up.

stany/nl/n I think she just got adopted... well, at least we can call her a nepo baby. ↳ f1brainrot This is the only nepo baby I will support. ↳ rbr_y/nl/n I'M ADOPTED?!?! ↳ mamal/n No, honey, we found you on the side of the road. ↳ f1brainrot NOT Y/N'S ACTUAL MOTHER SAYING THIS ↳ womeninf1 what's a better bit, y/n continuously being censored by the red bull PR team or the dubious beginnings of y/n's life - like who are her parents if she was found on the ground? ↳ redbullthegoat is that even a legitimate question? Her father is literally 2012 Sebastian Vettel. ↳ stany/nl/n i think that means she is a child of a teen mum. ↳ womeninf1 yeah, that kinda checks out tho...

alexirexi THANK U GERI FOR HAVING US OVER AS WELL!! ↳ surves Thank you so much for having us, it was a BLAST. Sorry for climbing on top of the fridge... ↳ gerihalliwellhorner It was a pleasure to have the both of you over as well!

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the australian grand prix weekend starts and we are off to an okay start

note: trying a new format for the instagram post comments, cause the indenting was not working el em ay oh

taglist (cause i'm kinda stupid and forgot to include it in the original comment tagging spree): @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy;

#f1 social media au #f1 smau #formula 1 #reader insert #fanfic #x reader #driver!reader #f1!reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #gfwhh!fic

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thefallennightmare · 6 months

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Braids-Noah Sebastian

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings: just pure fluff.

Summary: Reader braiding Noah's hair during movie marathon.

Authors Note: @concreteemo I told you I would 😏. This little drabble was inspired by this post. Enjoy!

Permanent Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @klutzy-kay24 @cookiesupplier @bngurngheart @thatchickwiththecamera

The television played softly in the background as Noah laid his head on my chest, me running my fingers through his long hair. It was a relaxing Saturday afternoon spent doing exactly this. It was a rare weekend where neither of us was busy with work so we decided the best way to celebrate was lounging in bed in our underwear and having a Lord of the Rings movie marathon.

Noah’s weight added warmth and comfort as I ran my fingers through his hair. The length was now down to the middle of his back, the longest it had ever been, and I smirked at the idea that crossed my mind.

“Love?” My voice broke through the silence.

“Hm?” He kissed the exposed skin of my stomach from underneath my large shirt.

“Can I braid your hair?”

Noah rose from the bed to rest his chin on his palm, almond eyes shining bright, and he gave me a warm smile.

“Sure, angel.”

Repositioning ourselves so I was kneeling behind him while Noah sat in front of me, I kissed his bare shoulder. Silence fell between us again when I went to work on sectioning his hair into two parts, fingers dancing one over the other as I braided the left section. His hand reached behind him to graze over my exposed thigh, sending goosebumps all over my body.

We’d been together for years and Noah still managed to light my body on fire with every touch.

“Po-ta-toes,” both of us said in unison with Sam from the movie.

Once the left side was done, I slinked up to Noah’s right side, mimicking my actions from before. But the skin of his neck looked delicious so I peppered kisses all along the side of it, following the design of his tattoo. He shivered under my touch and my pussy clenched when I heard a soft moan fall from his lips.

“What would you do if I cut my hair and you couldn’t braid it?”

Noah asked with a chuckle after I mused to myself how jealous I was of his hair.

“I’d literally perish,” I admitted, not an ounce of playfulness in my voice.

With a smile, I nodded at the two perfect braids then grabbed my phone from the nightstand next to the bed.

“Smile,” I beamed.

Instead of smiling, Noah did his best to pout duck lips and I snapped a few pictures. Placing my phone back in its previous spot, I sat behind him, hugging him from behind, and kissed the fresh outline of the large tattoo on his bare back. He was so excited to show me that tattoo last night when he came home from his appointment. It was the largest piece he had but even with just the outline, I knew it would eventually be one of his most beautifully done ones.

“I love you,” I proclaimed into the skin of his neck.

Noah linked our left hands together, our matching rings glinted from the light from the television and pressed a kiss to the inside of my palm.

“I love you more, angel.”

#tina talks #noah sebastian #bad omens #noah sebastian reader #noah sebastian drabbles #bad omens cult #noah sebastian x reader

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kat-thepoet · 1 month

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Veins of Violet

Logan Howlett X Fem!Reader

Part 6: Gem bracelet

A/N: Hi all! Hope you guys are enjoying the story! Make sure to comment to be added to my tag list if you want to get notified when I post. Enjoy! 💜🩵

Previous Chapters ☞ HERE ☜

5.6k words

Wade had talked to his boss about what the guy running one of the drug warehouses had said. They assured him they'd keep us in the loop with any updates, but days had passed, and we hadn't heard anything. It was frustrating, but we knew this kind of waiting game was part of the deal. So, we went on with our lives, trying not to let the uncertainty hang over us.

I was still working at the flower shop with Laura, who had been under the weather lately. Wade and Logan had been going on missions without me since I had to cover some of Laura's shifts this week. I didn't mind, though—I enjoyed the quiet of the shop and the routine of arranging flowers, even if it meant missing out on the action. Logan and I had settled into a routine of our own. We made it a habit to have dinner together every evening, a small but comforting ritual that kept us connected despite our different schedules. Logan was always gone early in the morning, and I usually didn't come home until late afternoon after my shift. But no matter how busy the day had been, we always made time for dinner.

As I chopped vegetables for tonight's meal, my mind wandered to my upcoming birthday. It felt strange to think about, like crossing some invisible line into a new chapter of my life. I wasn't sure how I felt about it—excited, nervous, maybe a bit of both.

Logan had been acting a little different lately, too—more attentive, more present. It felt as if we were becoming friends. The thought of it made me smile as I continued preparing dinner, the scent of garlic and herbs filling the kitchen.

In a few days, I'll be thirty. It felt like a milestone, and despite everything that had happened, I was looking forward to it. Maybe it was because, for the first time in a long while, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be—working a job I enjoyed, living with people I cared about, and sharing dinners with someone who had become more important to me than I ever expected.

Logan stepped out of the shower, steam trailing behind him as he walked into the hallway, a towel slung low around his waist. His hair was damp, the droplets catching the light as they clung to the ends, and his muscles rippled subtly with each movement.

I glanced up from the stove as he entered the kitchen, offering him a small smile. "Dinner's almost ready," I said, my voice casual, but I couldn't help but let my eyes linger on him for a moment longer than usual.

Logan nodded, his expression softening as he approached the counter. "Smells good," he murmured, his deep voice carrying a note of appreciation.

I turned back to the stove, giving the pasta one last stir before switching off the burner. "I hope you're hungry," I said, reaching for a pair of plates.

"Always," Logan replied, and though his tone was light, there was something in his eyes that made my heart skip a beat. He walked back to his room and came out with a black shirt and pajama pants that I bought for him at the store when I went shopping with Vanessa.

As I plated the food, the comfortable silence between us was almost tangible. We'd grown used to these quiet moments—the kind where no words were needed; just the simple act of being together was enough. But tonight, there was something else—a subtle undercurrent that made the air feel charged, like we were both waiting for something, though neither of us knew exactly what.

I handed Logan his plate, and our fingers brushed briefly, sending a small jolt of electricity through me.

"Here you go," I said, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest.

"Thanks bub," Logan said, taking the plate from me, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. His gaze met mine, and for a second, it felt like the world around us had quieted, leaving just the two of us in this small, shared space. But then the moment passed, and Logan turned to take his seat at the table, leaving me to follow. As I sat down across from him, I couldn't help but wonder what exactly was brewing beneath the surface.

After we finished eating, Logan got up to wash the dishes, which had become part of our routine—he'd clean up whenever I cooked. I appreciated it more than he probably knew; it was one of those small gestures that made our arrangement feel less like just two people sharing a space and more like... something else. As he stood at the sink, his broad shoulders flexing slightly under his t-shirt, I decided to set up a movie for us to watch. I'd been slowly introducing Logan to pop culture, with Wade chipping in occasionally, and tonight felt like the perfect time to share one of my favorites from childhood: It, the 1990s version. It was one of those films that had both terrified and fascinated me as a kid, and I was curious to see how Logan would react to it. I popped in the DVD, the familiar logo flickering on the screen, and adjusted the pillows on the couch, making it as cozy as possible. Logan finished up in the kitchen and joined me, drying his hands on a towel before tossing it aside.

"What's this one about?" he asked, eyeing the screen as he settled in next to me, the warmth of his presence immediately noticeable.

"It's a horror film," I replied, a small smile playing on my lips. "About a creepy clown named Pennywise. It scared the hell out of me when I was younger, but it's a classic. Thought it'd be a good one to show you since you missed out on all the pop culture stuff."

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "A clown, huh? Can't say I've ever found them particularly scary."

I chuckled, leaning back into the couch. "Yeah, well, let's see if this one changes your mind."

As the movie played, the familiar eerie music filling the room, I found myself occasionally glancing over at Logan to see his reaction. It was subtle, just a quick look here and there, but I was curious if he was enjoying it or if he found the whole thing ridiculous. Logan sat with his usual stoic expression, his eyes focused on the screen. He didn't flinch during the jump scares, and I couldn't quite tell if he was genuinely interested or just being polite. But every now and then, I noticed the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth or the way his fingers drummed lightly against his leg during tense moments. It was clear he was engaged, even if he wasn't showing it in the typical way. I smiled to myself, finding a quiet comfort in the fact that we could share this moment. It wasn't just about introducing him to a part of my childhood; it was about seeing how our worlds could blend together, even in something as simple as watching a movie.

As the long three-hour movie hit the two-hour mark, the room's atmosphere had settled into a cozy lull. The tension of the film's earlier scenes had passed, leaving behind a quieter, more introspective part of the story. My eyelids began to feel heavy, the day's exhaustion finally catching up with me. Without realizing it, I leaned against Logan, my head finding a comfortable spot on his shoulder. The warmth from his body, combined with the steady rise and fall of his breathing, was soothing. It was a stark contrast to the eerie ambiance of the movie playing on the screen. My consciousness drifted, the lines between the film and reality blurring as I succumbed to sleep.

Logan, feeling the sudden weight against his shoulder, glanced down at Violet. His expression softened as he noticed she had fallen asleep. He stayed perfectly still, not wanting to disturb her, though the unexpected closeness caught him off guard. There was something protective in the way he sat there, allowing her to rest against him, his usual guarded demeanor giving way to a rare moment of tenderness. As the movie continued to play, Logan kept his eyes on the screen, but his attention was divided. He was acutely aware of the soft rhythm of her breathing, the way her hair brushed against his arm, and the undeniable warmth of the moment that had quietly formed between them.

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A few days had passed since that movie night with Logan, and now, it was my birthday—the big thirty. I woke up late, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, promising a beautiful day ahead. There was a quiet excitement in the air, a feeling that today would be special. As I stretched and reached for my phone, I saw that it was already noon. Two notifications caught my eye, both simple but sweet reminders that people were thinking of me today. The first was from Vanessa, a bright "Happy Birthday!" with a string of emojis. The second was from Wade, in typical Wade fashion, a slightly more chaotic but equally heartfelt birthday message. I smiled to myself, feeling a warmth in my chest. Wade and Logan were out on a mission, so I had the apartment all to myself. It was unusual for me to wake up so late, but today, it felt right to indulge in a slow morning. I had the whole day ahead of me, and the possibilities felt endless. As I got out of bed and made my way to the kitchen, I couldn't help but wonder what the day would bring. There was something about birthdays that made everything seem a little brighter, a little more magical.

I put on my music and blasted it in my room while I sipped on my homemade iced coffee. The familiar beats filled the space, setting a vibrant tone for the day. As I got ready, I couldn't help but reflect on how much had changed over the past year. Life had taken unexpected turns, some challenging and others surprisingly wonderful.

Logan's presence in my life was one of those surprises. He had entered my world in a way I hadn't anticipated, and now, looking back, I realized how much I appreciated having him around. He wasn't the type to openly admit it, but I knew we had become close. There was a comfort in our routine, in the way we shared meals and moments of quiet together.

I decided to take my time getting dressed, choosing something that made me feel good—comfortable yet pretty. I slipped into a soft blue pastel mini dress that hugged my curves in all the right places, making me feel confident and effortlessly chic. The color complemented my skin tone, and the fit was just right, accentuating my figure without being too over the top. I let my hair fall naturally, the soft waves framing my face in a way that felt relaxed and authentic. For makeup, I kept it light and fresh, just a touch of mascara to bring out my eyes and a hint of blush to give my cheeks a natural glow. I finished it off with a swipe of lip gloss, nothing too bold, just enough to make me feel put together. It was my day, and I wanted to feel at ease—comfortable in my skin, enjoying the simple pleasures of the moment.

Vanessa had planned a girls' day out since she had the day off today, and we agreed that 2 o'clock would be the perfect time to meet up. To start my birthday right, I made myself a special breakfast—two pancakes topped with whipped cream and sprinkles. It was a tradition my grandparents had started, making this exact breakfast for me every year on my birthday. It's a tradition I will never break, no matter what.

As I sat at the kitchen table, the sweet scent of pancakes filling the room, memories of my grandparents flooded my mind. They had always made my birthdays special, and even though they were gone, their love and warmth still lingered in these small, cherished moments. Tears welled up in my eyes, the ache of missing them sharper on days like this. But I quickly took a deep breath, reminding myself that today was supposed to be a fun day, not one filled with sorrow. Wiping away the tears, I focused on the joy they would have wanted me to feel, determined to make the most of this day and honor their memory by celebrating the way they always had—with love, laughter, and a little bit of sweetness.

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It was finally 2 o'clock when I heard a knock on my door. I was in the middle of washing my dishes, so I used my powers to unlock the door, yelling, "Come in!"

Vanessa walked in with a big smile on her face, her energy contagious as she practically ran over to me, wrapping me in a tight hug.

"Happy birthday, Vi!" she exclaimed, squeezing me like she hadn't seen me in years, even though it had only been a few days.

I laughed, returning the hug just as tightly. "Thanks, Nessa. You're in a good mood!"

"Of course I am! It's your big day, and we're going to make it amazing!" she said, finally pulling back but keeping her hands on my shoulders, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I've got the whole day planned, and trust me, you're going to love it."

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I couldn't help but smile back at her. "Alright, alright. I'm ready for whatever you've got in store."

"Good," she said, giving me one last squeeze before letting go. "Now, let's get going. The day's not going to celebrate itself!"

I grabbed my purse, and with one last glance at my cozy apartment, we headed out the door, ready to take on whatever adventures Vanessa had planned for my special day.

As we walked in the hallway, Vanessa kept the conversation lively, talking about all the fun things we were going to do. We laughed and joked as we walked, the day already feeling special with just the two of us together.

But as we were heading down the street, Vanessa suddenly stopped and snapped her fingers.

"Oh shoot, I forgot my bag at my place. We need to swing by and grab it real quick."

I smiled, shaking my head. "No problem. You and that bag, I swear."

She laughed, looping her arm through mine as we changed direction toward her apartment. "Hey, a girl's got to be prepared, right?"

It didn't take long to reach her place, and as we approached the door, Vanessa seemed a little more excited than usual. She fumbled with her keys, her hands practically shaking with anticipation, which I found a bit odd but didn't think much of Finally, she swung the door open, and I stepped inside, expecting the usual cozy vibe of her place. But instead, I was greeted by the sight of streamers, balloons, and a huge "Happy Birthday, Violet!" banner hanging across the living room.

"Surprise!" a chorus of voices shouted, startling me as a crowd of our friends, including Wade and even Logan, who I thought was on a mission, popped out from behind furniture and decorations.

I stood there, completely stunned, my mouth hanging open in shock. "Oh my God," I whispered, taking in the scene. "You guys..."

Vanessa beamed, her eyes shining with happiness as she grabbed my hand. "Happy Birthday, Vi! We couldn't let you celebrate this big day without throwing you a party!"

Wade was the first to rush over, pulling me into a dramatic bear hug. "You're growing up so fast, sugar plum," he said in a mockingly sentimental tone, his voice dripping with exaggerated emotion. He even pretended to wipe away a tear, adding to the theatrics.

I couldn't help but laugh, playfully shoving him away. "Oh, shut up, Wade," I said, rolling my eyes but smiling at his antics. "You're impossible."

Wade grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "But you love me anyway, don't you, birthday girl?" he teased, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as we both looked around at the party in full swing.

I laughed, still in disbelief. "I honestly had no idea... This is amazing!" Logan stepped forward, a small, almost shy smile on his face. "Happy Birthday, Violet," he said, his voice gruff but sincere.I felt a warmth spread through me at his words, a smile tugging at my lips as I met his gaze. "Thank you, Logan," I replied softly, appreciating the genuine sentiment behind his simple words.There was a brief moment of silence, and in that pause, I could feel the connection between us, something unspoken but understood. It was a small, quiet moment in the midst of the party, but it meant the world to me. Vanessa squeezed my hand, pulling me back into the moment. "Come on, let's get this party started! We've got food, drinks, and plenty of surprises left."

As the music kicked in and everyone started to mingle, I found myself smiling from ear to ear. This was more than I could have ever asked for—a day surrounded by the people I cared about, feeling loved and appreciated. It was the perfect start to a new chapter in my life.

After hours of drinking and laughter, I felt the fatigue creeping in, and I quietly slipped away from the crowd, finding solace on the couch. The noise from the back of the apartment seemed distant as I sank into the cushions, taking a moment to breathe.

Not long after, Logan appeared, walking over to me with his usual calm demeanor. He sat down next to me—not too close, but close enough that I could catch the faint scent of beer on his breath as he leaned in slightly.

"I didn't want to give you this in front of everyone else," he began, his voice low and a bit hesitant. "But I got this bracelet for you. I thought you might like it... I don't know, if you don't like it, it's okay."

He held out a small box, his expression a mix of uncertainty and hope. I could tell he wasn't used to giving gifts, especially something as personal as this, and it made the gesture all the more meaningful.

I took the box from him, feeling the weight of the moment as I opened it. Inside was a delicate bracelet, simple yet beautiful, with a small charm that caught the light just right. It was understated, something that could be worn every day, and I could tell he had put thought into choosing it.

"It's perfect," I said softly, my fingers brushing over the charm as I looked up at him. "Thank you, Logan. I love it."

Relief washed over his face, and he gave a small nod, his gaze softening. "I'm glad," he replied, his voice carrying that familiar gruffness, but with a warmth that made my heart flutter.

I smiled, feeling a surge of affection for this man who had become such an important part of my life. "It means a lot that you thought of me."

Logan didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. We sat there in comfortable silence for a while, the party noise fading into the background, both of us content to share this quiet, intimate moment.

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It was around nine o'clock when the party started winding down, and people began to filter out. Vanessa, still full of energy, suggested we should all head to the club just a short walk from here to keep the celebration going. Everyone agreed enthusiastically, and the idea of dancing and letting loose sounded perfect after the night we'd had. But as I glanced down at the pastel blue dress I was wearing, I realized it wasn't exactly club material.

"I'm going to head back to my apartment to change first," I said, and Vanessa nodded with understanding.

"Good idea," she said with a grin. "You've got that black mini dress I got you for Christmas, right? It's perfect for tonight."

"Exactly what I was thinking," I replied with a smile.

We all decided to meet back at the club once I was ready. As I made my way to my apartment, I felt a wave of excitement wash over me. It had been a while since I'd had a night out like this, and I was looking forward to letting loose. Once I got home, I quickly changed into the black mini dress. It was sleek and fitted, hugging my curves in all the right places. The fabric shimmered slightly under the light, and as I looked at myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but feel a surge of confidence. This was definitely more fitting for a night out. With a final touch-up to my makeup and a spritz of perfume, I grabbed my purse and headed out the door, ready to rejoin the others and make this birthday one to remember.

As I made my way back to Vanessa's apartment, i could feel the excitement bubbling up again. The night was young, and the promise of dancing and fun with my friends had my spirits lifted. When I walked into Vanessa's place, everyone was already gathered, ready to head out.

Wade immediately greeted me with his usual flair. "Well, well, if it isn't the belle of the ball! That dress—now that's what I call club material," he said with an exaggerated wink, making everyone laugh. I smiled, giving a playful twirl. "Thanks, Wade. Nessa picked it out."

Wade grinned, clearly pleased. "Nessa's got good taste, no doubt about that. You're gonna be the center of attention tonight, Vi!"

As the group started to chat and gather their things, Logan's gaze never left Violet. He stood a little apart from the others, his eyes following her every move. The way the dress hugged her figure, the way her hair fell just right—it all captivated him in a way he couldn't quite explain. There was something about seeing her so confident and radiant that made it impossible for him to look away. But, as usual, Violet was blissfully unaware of the attention she was receiving from Logan. She was caught up in the excitement of the evening, laughing with Vanessa and Wade, and completely oblivious to the way Logan's gaze lingered on her, filled with an intensity that only he understood. Vanessa, on the other hand, wasn't oblivious at all. She noticed the way Logan's eyes stayed fixed on Violet, the way his expression softened when he looked at her. A knowing smile tugged at Vanessa's lips as she exchanged a quick glance with Wade, who raised an eyebrow in response. There was definitely something more between those two, even if Violet didn't see it yet. With everyone ready to go, they headed out into the night, Logan walking close to Violet, as if unconsciously drawn to her. She, still completely unaware of the effect she was having on him, continued to chat with Vanessa, her laughter echoing down the hallway as they made their way to the club, ready to dance the night away.

Vanessa led the way, confidently striding up to the bouncer at the front of the long line. With a quick exchange of smiles and a nod, he unhooked the velvet rope, letting us bypass the waiting crowd. We walked in, greeted by the thumping bass of the music and the flashing lights that turned the club into a vibrant blur of color and sound. The energy inside was electric. The dance floor was packed with people moving to the beat, their bodies swaying in sync with the rhythm. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, perfume, and the faint tang of alcohol. It was the perfect atmosphere for a night of celebration. Vanessa and Wade immediately headed for the bar, eager to get the night started with a round of drinks. I followed, feeling the infectious energy of the place start to seep into my veins. Logan stayed close by, his presence grounding me amidst the chaos of the club.

As we reached the bar, Vanessa turned to me with a grin. "What's your poison tonight, birthday girl?"

I laughed, feeling the excitement bubble up inside me. "Surprise me," I said, trusting her to pick something good.

Wade leaned in, his voice barely audible over the music. "Something strong for the lady—she deserves it."

Vanessa nodded at the bartender, who quickly mixed up a colorful concoction and slid it over to me. I took a sip, the sweet yet potent flavors dancing on my tongue.

"Perfect," I said, raising my glass to them.

"To Violet's big night out!" Wade declared, lifting his drink high.

We all clinked glasses, the sound of the toast lost in the booming music but the sentiment clear. After a few more sips, Vanessa grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the dance floor, eager to get moving.

"Come on, Vi! Let's show them how it's done!" she shouted over the music, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

I couldn't help but laugh as Vanessa dragged me into the sea of dancers, the music pulsing through my body. "Rock Your Body" by Justin Timberlake blasted through the speakers, the infectious rhythm driving everyone on the dance floor into a frenzy. The lights flickered and flashed, casting everything in a surreal, almost dreamlike glow. It felt like we were in another world, one where nothing mattered except the beat of the music and the joy of the moment.

As we danced, I caught a glimpse of Logan watching from the edge of the dance floor, his eyes locked on me. Even in the dim light, I could see the intensity in his gaze, a mix of emotions swirling just beneath the surface. But I was too wrapped up in the moment, too caught up in the euphoria of the night to dwell on it.

Tonight was about fun, about letting go and enjoying myself, and I was determined to make the most of it.

After dancing to five songs straight, my energy began to wane, and I decided it was time for a break. The heat from the dance floor clung to my skin, and I could feel the light sheen of sweat forming on my forehead. I made my way through the dance floor leaving Wade and Vanessa in the crowd, dodging groups of dancers and squeezing past clusters of people. Finally, I spotted Logan sitting at the bar, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he nursed a drink. I walked over to him, feeling the cool air by the bar providing a much-needed respite from the intensity of the dance floor. As I approached, Logan looked up, his eyes meeting mine. There was something in his gaze—something deeper, more intense than I was used to seeing.

"Taking a break?" he asked, his voice low, almost a rumble.

"Yeah," I replied, sliding onto the stool next to him. "Five songs in a row is my limit, I think. I needed to cool off."

He nodded, his eyes flicking over me for a moment, lingering just a bit longer than usual. "You looked like you were having fun out there."

"I was," I said with a smile. "It's been a while since I've let loose like that."

Logan took a sip of his drink, his gaze still fixed on me. There was a pause, a brief moment of silence between us that felt charged, like there was something unspoken lingering in the air.

"You want something to drink?" he finally asked, breaking the tension.

"Sure, I'll have a soda," I replied, still catching my breath.

Logan signaled the bartender, ordering my drink before turning back to me. As I waited, I couldn't help but notice how he seemed more relaxed here, away from the noise and chaos of the dance floor. But there was also that intensity in his eyes, the same one I'd seen earlier. It made me wonder what was going on behind that stoic exterior of his.

Logan and I had been talking for a while, the conversation flowing naturally between us despite the noise of the club. The energy in the room was electric, with the bass vibrating through the floor and the lights casting everyone in a kaleidoscope of colors. We shared a few laughs, occasionally letting the silence settle comfortably between us, a silence that felt more like understanding than anything else. But then, as if on cue, a guy appeared next to me. He slid in smoothly, cutting through the crowd with a kind of effortless confidence that immediately drew attention. He was tall, well-built, and his smile held that practiced charm that suggested he was no stranger to approaching women in places like this.

"Hey there," he said, leaning in close so I could hear him over the pounding music. His voice was smooth, almost too smooth, and it carried that easygoing assurance that made it clear he was used to getting what he wanted. "You look like you're having a good time. Mind if I join you?"

His eyes met mine, his gaze lingering just a bit too long as if to make sure he had my attention. I couldn't help but smile back, caught off guard but not entirely opposed to the idea. After all, it was my birthday, and a little harmless flirting wasn't going to hurt anyone.

"Sure," I replied, my voice light, matching his tone. "Why not?"

Logan's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly beside me, but I was too focused on the conversation with this new guy to notice. The stranger took it as a sign to move in closer, resting his arm casually on the back of my chair, his body angled toward me in a way that clearly marked his interest.

"What's your name?" he asked, his smile never wavering.

"Violet," I replied, still smiling. "And yours?"

"Mark," he said, offering his hand for a shake. His grip was firm, his touch lingering just a bit longer than necessary. "So, Violet, what brings you out here tonight? Celebrating something special?"

"Actually, yeah. It's my birthday," I said, feeling a bit of pride in the declaration.

"Birthday girl, huh?" Mark's smile widened, and he leaned in even closer. "Well, happy birthday, Violet. How about I buy you a drink to celebrate?"

I glanced at Logan, who was watching the exchange with an expression I couldn't quite read. His eyes were darker than usual, a storm brewing behind them, but he said nothing. It was as if he was trying to keep his composure, but the tension in his body was palpable.

"I'm good, thanks," I replied to Mark, still smiling but feeling a strange undercurrent of tension between Logan and me.

Mark, undeterred, simply shrugged. "Suit yourself. But let me know if you change your mind."He stayed close, continuing the small talk, his eyes never leaving mine. I could feel the weight of Logan's gaze on me, heavy and intense, but I brushed it off, assuming he was just being his usual stoic self.

As the conversation with Mark carried on, I noticed Logan's hand clench around his glass, his knuckles turning white. He was holding back, clearly, but from what? The realization that something deeper was going on hit me, but before I could say anything, Mark reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers grazing my skin.

Logan set his drink down with a thud, the sound barely audible over the music but enough to catch my attention. "We need to talk," he said, his voice tight, almost a growl, as he stared at me with an intensity that made my breath catch.

Startled by the sudden change in his tone, I blinked at him, momentarily confused. "Now?"

"Yeah," Logan said, his eyes flicking to Mark for a brief moment before settling back on me. "Now."I hesitated, unsure of what had caused this sudden shift in his mood. But something in Logan's gaze told me this wasn't something to brush off. I turned back to Mark, giving him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I have to go."

Mark looked between us, clearly sensing the tension but not entirely understanding it. "No worries. Maybe I'll catch you later?"

I nodded, though I knew there wouldn't be a later. I turned to Logan, whose eyes hadn't left me, and allowed him to lead me away from the bar, leaving the flashing lights and pounding music behind as we found a quieter corner of the club. The entire time, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change, something that had been building for a long time.

Logan finally stopped, turning to face me, his expression a mix of frustration and something else I couldn't quite place. "What's going on?" I asked, still confused by the sudden shift in his mood.

He took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart race. For a moment, he seemed like he was about to say something, but then, as if he couldn't find the right words, he just shook his head.

"Forget it," Logan muttered, his voice rough, like he was fighting to keep something buried deep inside. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me standing there, stunned and alone.

I watched him disappear into the crowd, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind racing with confusion and frustration. What had just happened? Why had he pulled me aside if he wasn't going to say anything?

The music continued to throb around me, but I felt disconnected from it, from the entire scene. Logan had left me standing there with a million questions and no answers, and all I could do was watch as he vanished into the throng of people, leaving me wondering what the Fuck had just happened.

Part 7: I feel like i'm drowning

#deadpool and wolverine #fanfic #hugh jackman #logan howlett x reader #deadpool #logan howlett #wolverine #tumblr fyp #x men #marvel #wade wilson

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leclerc-s · 6 months

Text

snow angel - track five

series masterlist // previous // next

MAY 2023

yuki tsunoda what's the saying?

lily muni he we ride at dawn!! yuki tsunoda yes, thank you, lily. WE RIDE AT DAWN FUCKERS!!

max verstappen i for one did not know norizz cheated on her with one of her friends.

pierre gasly WHO WAS IT RHEA?

rhea reynolds not important. mick schumacher her childhood best friend. rhea reynolds MICK?!

mick schumacher the people deserve to know the truth!

alex albon that is so much worse than just a friend.

esteban ocon i hope you destroy him with your new album.

mick schumacher oh it's bad.

lance stroll on a scale of multi-21 to abu dhabi 2021. how bad is it?

rhea reynolds probably abu dhabi 2021.

george russell a woman scorned is a man's worst nightmare. good for you.

daniel ricciardo that shit was awfully british of you russell george! george russell I AM BRITISH!

pierre gasly kika says she can't wait to hear you tear this man apart.

max verstappen she's coming for his weave. is that the saying?

rhea reynolds eh, it's an old one but it works.

logan sargeant THEY GOT #FUCKLANDONOWINS TRENDING ON TWITTER!

charles leclerc i hope this resurfaces when rhea releases new music.

lily muni he by the way, where's our sneak peak??

mick schumacher i'm afraid you guys aren't ready for the album. it's so sad.

charles leclerc A WIN FOR THE SAD BITCHES (ME!)

rheareynolds posted new stories

"i bet you couldn't believe. when you realized i'm harder to forget than i was to leave"

he looks like he's hard at work but he's watching deadpool

liked by taylorswift, gina_schumacher, vancityreynolds and others

rheareynolds to the person i can irrevocably be myself with, i love you. i'm sorry this is how the world found out.

tagged: mickschumacher

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📍mickschumacher ich liebe dich

↳ rheayreynolds ich liebe dich auch

user1 oh my god they're so cute.

user2 what the fuck- they're so adorable.

oscarpiastri oh thank god. i don't think i could handle another rumor that we were dating. i have a girlfriend.

↳ rheareynolds you'd be lucky to date me!

↳ oscarpiastri sure, we'll go with lucky

lancestroll and this is the part where everyone thanks me and lily because we're the reason those two are even together.

↳ user3 thank you for your service lance and lily

user4 it's literally black cat gf and golden retriever bf

arthur_leclerc oh good. i don't think i could handle keeping this a secret any longer.

↳ olliebearman because bigmouth leclerc is the reason i found out and i don't even know rhea!

vancityreynolds gross get this shit off my feed

↳ rheareynolds and to think just yesterday you were asking me "when can i see mick again?"

↳ vancityreynolds i have to deal with your pda in person what makes you think i want to see it on my instagram feed?

↳ mickschumacher that's a very valid answer.

↳ rheareynolds kiss ass

↳ mickschumacher it's why blake likes me more than you

↳ rheareynolds TAKE IT BACK SCHUMACHER! I'M BLAKE'S FAVORITE!

user5 blake 🤝 mick 🤝 handing the reynolds craziness

maxverstappen1 orange just stormed out of the motorhome. he's heading for aston martin, nevermind he's coming for me.

↳ maxverstappen1 he's shouting for me to come outside. i will not.

↳ rheareynolds coward

↳ maxverstappen1 and you just couldn't wait until after miami?

charles_leclerc congrats but also could someone like, tell orange to stop causing a scene? this is very embarrassing.

↳ georgerussell63 he has found his way to the mercedes motorhome. we are in danger.

liked by vancityreynolds, estebanocon, blakelively and others

mickschumacher the prettiest girl ever.

tagged: rheareynolds

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📍rheareynolds hey, i love you!

↳ mickschumacher hey, i love you too!

user6 this, this couple means everything to me.

lilymhe STOP! THIS IS SO FUCKING CUTE!

francesca.cgomes aww mick, this is so adorable!

user7 i want someone to look at me the way rhea looks at mick

↳ user8 she genuinely looks so in love with him

pierregasly he's making the rest of us look bad.

↳ mickshumacher i have to humble all of you somehow.

↳ alex_albon NOT LIKE THIS SCHUMACHER!

user9 aww guys regina george found her forever.

vancityreynolds don't fuck this up schumacher. i know how to use a katana.

↳ mickschumacher that's not as threatening as you think it is. i saw you scream over a spider. but i wasn't planning on it.

user10 the picture of her with the tums is so funny. why did she even have them in the first place?

↳ user11 because she's rhea and she does random shit like this all the time.

blakelively so that's where ryan's tums went...

↳ rheareynolds it was an emergency blake! esteban needed them!

↳ estebanocon liar! you stole them for 'funsies'

user12 i never remember blake and ryan liking one of lando's posts about rhea.

↳ user13 or commenting, they must have known he was going to fuck up eventually.

↳ user12 or they just didn't like him for rhea.

JUNE 2023

liked by yukitsunoda0511, lilymhe, francesca.cgomes and others

rheareynolds snow angel THE ALBUM OUT 08/18 snow angel THE SINGLE OUT 06/09

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pierregasly 69? really

↳ rheareynolds i’m a comedian gasly.

user1 it’s literally the 8th! the single is out tomorrow!!

lilymhe his peace ends now

↳ rheareynolds babe he hasn’t known peace since bahrain 2022. you’ve made it your goal.

↳ lilymhe i would be a horrible best friend if i didn’t fulfill my duty

danielricciardo album of the year i fear

maxverstappen1 his peace is over. i will be playing this everyday until the end of the season

↳ user2 trust max to terrorize no wins with this album. we thank you for your service.

↳ maxverstappen1 glad to be of service 🫡

user3 oh i just know this album is going to hurt

yukitsunoda0511 will i find myself crying to this album?

↳ rheareynolds perhaps?

mickschumacher you killed it!

↳ rheareynolds i literally love you.

francesca.cgomes i fear she ate with this

oscarpiastri this post has reached the target. i repeat target has been reached.

↳ rheareynolds good. thank you for your service mr.pastry!

↳ user4 i love this duo so much

alex albon WAS YOUR GOAL TO BREAK OUR HEARTS??

logan sargeant I AM A PUDDLE OF TEARS ON THE FLOOR!!

charles leclerc i was so right in claiming snow angel.

yuki tsunoda DUDE I GET TO SCREAM THIS SONG IN CANADA! LET'S FUCKING GO!!

lily muni he she went to the taylor swift school of heartbreaking track 5's because WHAT THE FUCK??

mick schumacher i warned you guys.

oscar piastri can't wait to play this song right next to his drivers room.

max verstappen CAN I FIGHT HIM?? LET ME FIGHT HIM??

george russell YOU ARE NOT WEAK! HE'S WEAK!

daniel ricciardo FUCK MEN! FUCK LANDO NORRIS!

george russell YOU ARE SO WORTHY! HE ISN'T!

lily muni he RHEA, BABY, WE LOVE YOU!

rhea reynolds aww, i'm glad you guys liked the song.

max verstappen what's stopping me from crashing into him in canada??

yuki tsunoda what's stopping me from biting his ankles?? pierre gasly what's stopping me from running him over with my car??

lance stroll there are tears in my eyes rhea. this isn't funny

esteban ocon i can confirm there are tears in his eyes. but they are also in mine.

charles leclerc i haven't been able to stop crying since i first heard it. arthur is worried.

mick schumacher it'll be even worse when you hear the album. i cried the first time.

mick schumacher and the second, and the third mick schumacher IT'S A SAD ALBUM!

max verstappen i will fight him. we are defending rhea's honor.

rhea reynolds no, max, it's okay. i'm over it, i promise.

lily muni he it's okay, i can fight him.

yuki tsunoda and me. he will never see me coming. rhea reynolds NO! NO FIGHTING! logan sargeant what about crashing into him?? rhea reynolds NO! oscar piastri slowly torturing him with the song?? rhea reynolds umm, i'll let you people do that one thing.

daniel ricciardo A WIN FOR US! A LOSS FOR NOBITCHES!

alex albon operation make norizz miserable starts now.

taglist: @emilyval @ihateyougunthersteiner @lesliiieeeee @firetruckstuckley @33-81 @landonorizzz @yoremins @nikfigueiredo @badassturtle13 @cataf1 @silentreader128 @taylorsatl @alessioayla @greeneyesandsunshine @wisteriafence @mrscharlesleclerc @sesamepancakes @localwhoore @vettelsebastianvettel @Pinksstrawberry @yourbane @bborra @aandreea2005 @nichmeddar @asparklysoul @landossainz @scarletwidow3000 @cha-hot @ssararuffoni @cherry-piee @vroomvroommuppett @shineforever19 @kissesandmartinis @luckyladycreator2 @blushmimi @namgification @moonyzsworld @casperlikej @reader-22s-blog

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¡leclerc-s speaks! am i making lando too big of an asshole? oh who cares, it's a fanfiction.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

#leclerc-s #snow angel series #f1 instagram au #f1 x oc #f1 oc #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 #formula one #f1 fic #formula 1 fic #f1 x female oc #lando norris x female oc #mick schumacher x female oc

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novaursa · 1 month

Text

The Price of Fire (2)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Paring: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Previous chapter: 1

- Next chapter: 3

- Note: For more of my works such as this, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (All flags are up for this one, Aerys is warning just by himself)

- Word count: 7 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy

The sun is beginning its slow descent, casting the gardens of the Red Keep in hues of deep gold and amber. The gentle breeze carries the scent of blooming roses, a rare sweetness in a place often filled with tension and whispers. You walk quietly beside Ser Arthur, your protector once more after a week of uneasy distance and formalities. His presence, as always, is reassuring—a steadfast anchor in the churning sea that is the court.

Arthur’s eyes are ever watchful, but he takes comfort in these moments with you, even if they are draped in silence. His hand rests casually on the hilt of Dawn, though there is a readiness in the way he carries himself, as if anticipating a shadow from around every corner. But today, it is not shadows that emerge from the hedges, but a figure of gold and red.

Ser Jaime Lannister strides toward you, his golden armor catching the fading sunlight in brilliant flashes. His confident smirk is in place, the usual gleam of mischief dancing in his green eyes. He slows his approach as he reaches you, offering a courteous nod to both you and Arthur, though his smile is more of a challenge when it lands on the latter.

“Ser Arthur,” Jaime greets smoothly, a touch of amusement in his tone. “It’s good to see you back at your post. You seem particularly diligent today.” His eyes flick to you briefly, as though implying something without needing to say it outright.

Arthur remains composed, offering a polite nod. “Ser Jaime. It’s important to maintain vigilance in these times, as you well know.”

Jaime’s grin widens, the air of casual arrogance that he’s so known for slipping into his tone. “Indeed. Especially when guarding someone as valuable as our dear princess.” He glances at you again, his expression unreadable. “My sister, Cersei, will be arriving in King’s Landing soon. She’s eager to reacquaint herself with the court. I imagine the city will be even more lively with her around.”

There’s something veiled in his words, a subtle probing as if gauging Arthur’s reaction. Jaime’s relationship with his sister is no secret, nor is the reputation that Cersei Lannister brings with her—a sharp mind wrapped in beauty, one capable of weaving webs as intricate as any spider’s. Arthur’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightens slightly, but his expression remains controlled.

“I’m sure the court will be most… entertained by her presence,” Arthur replies, choosing his words carefully. He knows better than to be drawn into Jaime’s games, especially with you so close by.

Jaime chuckles, a low, amused sound, as if satisfied with the exchange. “Let’s hope for entertainment, then.” He offers you a more genuine, almost charming smile before turning back to Arthur. “Take care, Ser Arthur. It seems you have a most important charge to attend to.” With a mock bow, Jaime takes his leave, strolling away with the swagger of someone who knows the weight of his own importance.

Once Jaime is out of sight, the tension lifts, leaving just you and Arthur alone again, the soft rustle of leaves the only sound between you. You can sense the subtle shift in Arthur’s demeanor, the guarded mask he often wears cracking just slightly now that it’s only the two of you.

You glance up at him, something playful yet deliberate in your gaze. “The court is growing busier by the day, it seems,” you remark, your tone carefully measured. “It makes it more difficult to find… moments of peace.”

Arthur’s eyes flick to you, and though his expression remains serious, you can see the faint spark of understanding in his gaze. He’s learned to decipher your carefully chosen words, to pick out the meaning beneath them. There’s a brief pause, the tension between you both a taut string ready to snap.

“Moments of peace are indeed rare in this place,” he replies, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “But not impossible, if one knows where to look.”

You take a small step closer, the distance between you shrinking until it’s barely appropriate. “And if one knew where to look, they might find themselves in the company of someone they trust.” The words are bold, but they hang in the air with an unspoken invitation.

Arthur’s breath hitches almost imperceptibly. He’s already tasted what it’s like to break free of the chains that bind him, and the thought of indulging once more, of stealing another moment away from prying eyes, is almost too tempting to resist. He knows it’s a dangerous game—one that could unravel everything he’s built—but the way you look at him now, with that mix of hope and daring, pulls at him with a force he’s powerless to deny.

“There’s a place,” he says quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “Hidden away, where no one goes at this hour. We won’t be missed for a short time.”

You nod, your heart racing with anticipation as you give him the smallest of smiles—a shared understanding that words are no longer needed. The decision is made, the line crossed again. This time, there is no hesitation, no fear of consequence, just the promise of something both of you have craved.

Without another word, Arthur takes a quick glance around to ensure the path is clear before gently taking your hand, guiding you away from the main walkways and deeper into the maze of hedges and winding paths. The sounds of the bustling castle fade into the background, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the soft crunch of gravel beneath your feet. He leads you through a narrow passageway, past thick vines that have grown wild and unchecked, to a secluded alcove hidden from view by tall hedges.

The space is small, intimate, with ivy creeping up the stone walls and the golden glow of the setting sun casting long shadows. Arthur turns to you, his eyes searching yours, and in that moment, the world outside ceases to matter. There’s no court, no king, no duty—just the two of you and the undeniable pull that draws you together.

You step closer, your hand still in his, feeling the warmth of his skin through the cool metal of his gauntlet. There’s a tension in the air, thick with anticipation and the shared understanding that this stolen moment is yours alone. Your heart pounds in your chest as you reach up to cup his cheek, your touch familiar yet electrifying in its boldness. His breath catches, and you can see in his eyes that he’s already lost, just as you are.

“Lead me,” you whisper, the words barely audible.

Arthur’s eyes darken with the weight of his desire and the knowledge of what is to come. His hand tightens around yours, and he draws you closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers back, “Follow me.”

And with that, he leads you deeper into the shadows, where neither duty nor watchful eyes can find you.

In the hidden alcove, where the shadows cloak you from the world, all pretense shatters. There’s no need for words, no need to maintain the roles you’ve been forced to play. The air is thick with the tension of what’s about to happen, and you both know there’s no going back once the dam breaks. Arthur’s gaze is burning now, the weight of his desire unmistakable as he takes in the sight of you, as if he’s memorizing every detail for the dark days when this memory is all he’ll have to hold onto.

Without hesitation, his hands find your waist, pulling you close, pressing you against the stone wall behind you. The cool surface contrasts with the heat radiating between you, a shiver rippling through your body as he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “I can’t hold back this time,” he murmurs, the strain in his voice betraying just how much he’s been fighting this need. “Tell me you want this—tell me I’m not alone in this madness.”

“Arthur,” you breathe, your voice trembling with anticipation and longing. You reach up, your fingers curling into his hair as you tug him closer, your lips brushing against his with a teasing whisper. “I want you. I need you—now, more than ever.”

The last thread of restraint snaps. Arthur’s mouth crashes against yours, the kiss fierce and consuming, all the careful control gone, replaced by raw hunger. His hands are quick, practiced as they strip away the barriers between you, fingers deftly unlacing your bodice just enough to expose the bare skin he craves. You tug at his cloak, his surcoat, your movements frantic and filled with the same urgency, until only the bare essentials remain.

Arthur’s breathing is ragged as he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he presses you firmly against the wall. The feel of him so close, the tension of what’s about to happen, sends a shudder of anticipation down your spine. There’s no gentleness this time, no patience—only need.

He positions himself, his grip on your hips firm as he looks into your eyes, as if searching for any hint of hesitation. But all he finds is the same burning desire reflected back at him. With a low, almost desperate groan, he thrusts into you, his body claiming yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

The sensation is overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and urgency as he fills you completely, pushing deep with the kind of desperation that only comes from holding back for far too long. You gasp, the sound escaping your lips before you can stifle it, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you cling to him, your own need mirroring his. “Arthur—”

He swallows your cry with another searing kiss, his pace relentless from the start. There’s no time for slow exploration, no room for gentle caresses. This is pure, unrestrained passion—a fierce joining of bodies and souls that’s been denied for too long. The world fades away, leaving only the feeling of his body against yours, the friction, the heat, the way he moves inside you with an urgency that borders on desperation.

Your nails rake down his back, urging him on, needing more—needing all of him. His name slips from your lips in breathless moans as he sets a rhythm that’s fast, demanding, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through you that make it impossible to think of anything but him. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, your voice ragged as you cling to him, your head tipping back against the stone. “Please—don’t stop.”

“Never,” he growls, his voice thick with emotion, his lips brushing against your neck as he continues, faster, deeper, driven by the same hunger that gnaws at you both. His hands roam over your body, possessive, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you, to etch the memory of this moment into his very soul. Each thrust, each moan, each gasp builds toward something explosive, a crescendo that’s as fierce as it is inevitable.

The rhythm between you is wild, the push and pull of your bodies synchronized in a dance that feels both frenzied and natural. You can feel him trembling, holding onto the last vestiges of control, and it only spurs you on, your body tightening around him as you move together, chasing the edge of oblivion.

“Arthur—” you gasp, your breath hitching as the pleasure coils tighter, threatening to snap. His response is a broken groan, his face buried against your shoulder as his pace becomes erratic, the urgency of his thrusts matched by the rising heat in your core.

When the wave finally crashes over you, it’s blinding—pure electricity surging through every nerve as you cry out, your fingers clutching at him desperately. The pleasure rips through you, leaving you shaking, clinging to him as your body pulses with the aftershocks. Arthur follows a heartbeat later, his grip tightening, his own release tearing a raw sound from his throat as he buries himself deep within you, the last of his restraint shattering completely.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your mingled breathing, the quiet aftermath of your shared passion filling the hidden alcove. He holds you close, neither of you moving, both of you caught in the hazy bliss of the moment. It’s fierce and tender all at once, the intensity of your connection still humming between you, a silent promise that this is far from the last time.

After what feels like an eternity, Arthur gently lowers you back to your feet, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath. “We shouldn’t keep doing this,” he murmurs, though there’s no conviction in his voice, only the lingering echo of desire.

You smile faintly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Perhaps we shouldn’t… but neither of us wants to stop.”

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, the conflict clear, but so is the quiet resolve that underpins everything he does. “No matter what happens, I’ll protect you.”

“And I’ll keep finding ways to be alone with you,” you reply, your voice soft yet determined.

The sun dips below the horizon, casting the world in deep blues and purples as night falls. But in this hidden place, time seems to stop, leaving just the two of you in a moment that feels like it could stretch on forever.

But as much as you both wish it could, you know you can’t linger. There are duties, responsibilities, and prying eyes to return to. Yet, as you both carefully straighten your clothing and prepare to return to the world outside, there’s a new understanding between you—an unspoken agreement that this secret will remain yours, a stolen joy in a world filled with shadows.

Arthur takes your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles before leading you back through the winding paths and into the light of the Red Keep once more. The world waits for you beyond the garden, but what you’ve shared here will remain—a fierce, unbreakable bond forged in the most hidden places of your hearts.

As you and Arthur make your way back through the darkening gardens, the world outside begins to bleed back into focus. The warmth and intimacy of the hidden alcove fades into the cool, looming shadows of the Red Keep. You adjust your clothing, smoothing out any creases, while Arthur ensures his cloak falls back into its pristine folds, the white fabric swaying as he walks beside you with his usual measured grace. Despite the shared intimacy of moments before, the tension in both of you remains, a lingering awareness of how close you are to dangerous exposure.

The winding path narrows as you approach one of the side entrances of the Keep, the high stone walls casting long, slanting shadows in the dim evening light. You can feel Arthur’s unease beside you, a tightness in his movements that betrays his ever-watchful vigilance. It’s a precaution both of you know too well is necessary—secrecy is the only armor you have in this deadly court.

But as you near the final turn leading back toward the keep’s more public corridors, a figure steps into view from the shadows, his sudden presence nearly making you stumble. Ser Arthur’s hand instinctively moves to the hilt of Dawn to draw it, but he freezes when he recognizes the figure—Varys, the Spider, dressed in his flowing robes, his hands tucked into his wide sleeves, his expression calm and unreadable.

“Ser Arthur, Princess Y/N,” Varys says with a smooth, almost musical tone, inclining his head in what appears to be a respectful gesture. “Out for a stroll in the gardens, I see? How charming—especially on such a fine evening.”

You tense, every muscle in your body going rigid as you exchange a brief, worried glance with Arthur. The Spider’s presence here could be pure coincidence, but in King’s Landing, nothing Varys does is by accident. His sudden appearance makes your skin crawl—this is a man who has eyes everywhere, and if he’s found you here, it means he’s already pieced together more than either of you are comfortable with.

“Lord Varys,” Arthur replies, his voice steady but with an unmistakable edge. “What brings you here at this hour?”

“Oh, merely doing what I do best—keeping an ear to the ground, listening to the whispers carried on the wind.” Varys’ eyes flick between the two of you, sharp as a razor despite the practiced softness of his smile. “It is fascinating what one hears when one knows where to listen.”

You can feel Arthur’s tension spike, but he remains calm. “And what whispers have you heard, my lord?”

Varys sighs softly, his expression almost sympathetic. “The sort that would concern those with deep ties to the crown.” He glances at you, his tone dropping to something almost confidential. “Prince Rhaegar has been seeking you, my princess. He was rather distressed when he discovered you were not in your chambers. He fears for your safety—and his concern has not gone unnoticed by certain watchful eyes.”

Your heart skips a beat, the weight of Varys’ words pressing down on you. Rhaegar is looking for you? The thought of your brother’s concern twisting into suspicion is a chilling one. Arthur’s grip tightens subtly, his knuckles whitening beneath his gloves. “We were just returning,” Arthur says, careful to maintain an even tone. “The princess needed some air after spending so many hours confined indoors.”

“Of course,” Varys replies smoothly, his eyes narrowing just slightly in what could almost be mistaken for amusement. “It would do no one good for the princess to be stifled, especially in such turbulent times.” His gaze sharpens then, a flicker of genuine warning in his tone. “However, I would advise you both to be more cautious. The prince’s concern could draw attention to places where discretion is required.”

You swallow, your pulse quickening as you process the implication. Varys is warning you—not out of kindness, but likely because he sees value in whatever game you and Arthur are playing. If Rhaegar’s alarm becomes too pronounced, questions will be asked, and in this court, those questions rarely remain benign.

“What are you suggesting, Lord Varys?” you ask, your voice steady despite the unease swirling inside you.

The Spider’s smile widens, but there’s no warmth in it—only calculation. “Simply that the prince must be reassured. It would be best if you returned swiftly, and perhaps even spoke of a walk or a visit to the sept. Anything that could calm his concerns. After all, it would be a shame if more eyes than necessary began watching where they shouldn’t.”

The subtle threat isn’t lost on either of you. Varys is giving you both a chance to cover your tracks—but make no mistake, he’ll be watching, waiting to see if you falter. The game he plays is one of survival, and your slip could become a weapon in his hands if you aren’t careful.

Arthur gives a curt nod, the tension between his brows deepening. “We will heed your advice, my lord.”

Varys inclines his head once more, his voice a soothing purr. “I’m sure you will, Ser Arthur. And remember, I am always a friend to those who understand the value of discretion.” With that, he turns and glides back into the shadows, vanishing as swiftly as he appeared, leaving only a lingering unease in his wake.

The silence stretches between you and Arthur for a moment, thick with unspoken worry. He finally turns to you, his expression troubled. “We need to return immediately. If Rhaegar’s been looking for you, it’s best we don’t give him—or anyone else—reason to believe there’s more to this than an innocent walk.”

You nod, your heart still racing. “I’ll tell him I felt restless and decided to walk the gardens for some air, but I got lost in my thoughts. He knows I do that sometimes.”

“Good,” Arthur agrees, though his eyes are still scanning the shadows, wary of unseen eyes. “But be careful. We can’t afford to draw any more attention.”

You reach out and squeeze his arm, a gesture of reassurance, though both of you know the precariousness of your situation. “We’ll be careful,” you say softly, but there’s an underlying resolve in your voice. You both have too much at stake now to let anything ruin it.

Arthur nods, then gestures for you to lead the way, allowing you to move ahead with him close behind, his posture rigid, his eyes alert. As you approach the entrance to the main corridor of the Keep, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the performance ahead. It’s just another game within the court’s endless dance of secrets and lies, but now, more than ever, you have something to protect.

As you make your way back to your chambers, you can’t help but cast one last glance over your shoulder. The shadows seem to shift, but there’s no sign of Varys. Still, you know he’s watching—always watching.

With Arthur close by, you square your shoulders, preparing to face whatever awaits inside the Keep.

You and Arthur make your way through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, the tension between you both thick enough to cut with a knife. The stone walls seem to press in closer as you approach the royal wing, where the shadow of the Iron Throne looms over every decision made within these halls. The evening light has faded into the deep blues and purples of twilight, and the flickering torchlight casts long, ominous shadows.

When you reach the familiar archway that leads to the Great Hall, you spot Rhaegar standing at the end of the corridor, his tall frame bathed in the glow of torchlight. His silver hair gleams, and though his posture is calm, you can see the subtle tension in his shoulders. He’s been waiting—and not patiently.

The sight of him sends a wave of anxiety rushing through you. You’ve always been close with Rhaegar, but you know better than to underestimate his perceptiveness. His violet eyes are sharper than most give him credit for, and when it comes to matters involving those he loves, he leaves little room for doubt or evasion.

As you draw nearer, you see his eyes fix on Arthur, then briefly flick to you. There’s no accusation in his gaze, but there’s something more—a quiet demand for answers. It’s a look that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Brother,” you greet softly, slipping into the formal politeness that the court requires. “I didn’t realize you were looking for me.”

Rhaegar’s expression softens slightly as he turns to you. “You were not in your chambers. I grew concerned.” His voice is even, but there’s an edge to it that reveals the depth of his worry. “You know how unpredictable these halls can be after dark.”

You nod, lowering your eyes slightly in an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry, Rhaegar. I was restless and decided to walk in the gardens. I lost track of time.”

There’s a pause as Rhaegar studies you carefully, as if searching for any sign of deceit. For a brief, nerve-wracking moment, you’re certain he can see right through the thin veil of your excuse. But then his gaze shifts from you to Arthur, and something in his expression changes—hardened resolve mixed with guarded suspicion. The two men lock eyes, and the unspoken tension crackles between them.

“Ser Arthur,” Rhaegar says, his tone polite but firm, “I would speak with you privately.”

The words hang in the air like a command more than a request. Arthur’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but he gives a short, respectful nod. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

Rhaegar turns back to you, his expression softening just enough to reassure you. “Sister, return to your chambers. I’ll be with you shortly to discuss matters concerning Father’s plans.”

You dip your head in acknowledgment, though there’s a knot of worry tightening in your chest. “Of course, Rhaegar.”

Before you turn to leave, you allow your eyes to meet Arthur’s briefly—just a flicker of a glance, a silent exchange of concern and understanding. But it’s enough to ground you.

As you walk away, you can feel Rhaegar’s eyes on your back until you disappear around the corner. Once you’re out of sight, you let out a shaky breath. The game you’re playing has grown more dangerous, and Rhaegar’s suspicion is a formidable obstacle. But you trust Arthur, and you trust your brother’s love for you, even if it’s clouded by the weight of his duties.

In the shadowed corridor, Rhaegar turns back to Arthur, waiting until your footsteps fade into the distance. The prince’s gaze hardens, a rare steel in his violet eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest. The silence stretches between them, heavy and deliberate, before Rhaegar finally speaks.

“Arthur,” he begins, his voice low and measured, “you’ve served me and my family with unwavering loyalty for years. I trust you as much as I trust anyone in this world.”

Arthur remains still, his expression as unreadable as always. “I live to serve, Your Grace.”

“I know.” Rhaegar’s eyes narrow slightly, a calculating gleam in them. “But there are rumors swirling through the court—whispers of things that could be dangerous if left unchecked. I need to know that those closest to me have nothing to hide.”

The implication is clear, and Arthur’s heart hammers in his chest, though his face betrays none of the turmoil beneath. He meets Rhaegar’s gaze directly, refusing to flinch under the weight of the prince’s scrutiny. “I am your sworn sword, Rhaegar. My only concern is your safety—and that of your sister.”

Rhaegar’s jaw tightens, his expression softening slightly, though the edge remains. “You’ve always been protective of her. I appreciate that, Arthur. But I must ask… do you think it’s wise to allow her to wander the gardens alone at night?”

Arthur’s eyes flicker, a momentary crack in his stoic demeanor, but he quickly regains his composure. “She needed a moment of peace. The court is suffocating at times, even for one as strong as the princess.”

Rhaegar’s gaze remains fixed on Arthur, his silence drawing out the tension until it’s nearly unbearable. But then, he lets out a long sigh, his posture relaxing just slightly. “I don’t blame her for seeking solitude. This castle is a prison in many ways.” He pauses, then adds, more quietly, “I only hope that solitude is the only thing she seeks.”

Arthur feels the weight of those words, the veiled question that hovers beneath them, but he holds his ground. “She seeks what any of us do, Your Grace—a moment free from the chains of duty.”

Rhaegar studies him for a long moment, as if trying to pierce through the carefully maintained armor that Arthur wears. But finally, the prince nods, his expression softening. “Very well. I’ll take your word for it, Arthur. But know this—if there is anything, anything that might put her in harm’s way, I expect you to tell me. I will not tolerate secrets when it comes to my sister’s safety.”

Arthur bows his head respectfully. “You have my word, Rhaegar.”

The prince’s expression remains tense, but he finally lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Good. That’s all I needed to hear.”

Rhaegar turns away, signaling that the conversation is over. He begins walking down the corridor, leaving Arthur standing alone in the shadowed hall. As the prince’s footsteps fade into the distance, Arthur releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

For a moment, the silence is deafening. The game has grown more perilous, and Arthur knows that Rhaegar’s suspicions are not easily dismissed. But as he stands there, the memory of your touch, your whispered words, linger in his mind like a soft caress.

The flickering candlelight dances across the walls of your chambers as you wait for Rhaegar, your nerves strung tight as a bowstring. The warmth of the room, usually a comfort, now feels stifling as the weight of anticipation presses down on you. You’ve spent the last few minutes pacing the length of the room, your thoughts a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty. The tension between you and Rhaegar has been growing, and you know that tonight’s conversation could be the tipping point.

Your eyes flick toward the door every few seconds, your heart thudding in your chest each time you hear footsteps in the corridor beyond. You force yourself to remain calm, to banish the worry gnawing at your insides. Whatever Father’s plans are, you have to be prepared to face them—and, more importantly, to navigate them in a way that keeps you and Arthur safe.

Finally, the door creaks open, and Rhaegar steps inside, closing it quietly behind him. His expression is grave, the shadows beneath his eyes darker than usual, a sign of the many burdens weighing on him. He crosses the room in a few long strides, his silver hair catching the light as he moves with his usual grace. But tonight, there’s a heaviness in his demeanor that puts you on edge.

“Brother,” you greet softly, trying to keep your tone neutral, though the worry beneath it is unmistakable.

Rhaegar meets your gaze, and for a moment, his face softens—a glimpse of the brother you’ve always known, the one who would play you songs on his harp to calm your restless heart. But that warmth is quickly overshadowed by the tension in his eyes.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice tinged with concern. “We need to talk.”

You nod, moving to sit by the small table where the candle burns, casting an intimate glow over the room. Rhaegar follows, taking the chair opposite you. He doesn’t waste time on pleasantries, diving straight into the matter at hand.

“Father’s madness is growing worse,” he begins, his voice low, as if even the walls have ears. “His paranoia is reaching dangerous levels, and his fixation on you… it’s become increasingly unsettling.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words. You’ve known for a while now that your father’s attention toward you has shifted, becoming less about family and more about control, about keeping you as a tool for his own twisted ambitions. “What is he planning?” you ask, keeping your voice steady despite the anxiety tightening your chest.

Rhaegar hesitates, as if weighing how much he should reveal, but then he leans forward, his gaze locking with yours. “He’s been speaking of a marriage arrangement for you. He wants to use you as a way to solidify alliances and strengthen the Targaryen bloodline. But the options he’s considering… they’re not chosen with your happiness in mind.”

You clench your fists beneath the table, dread curling in your stomach. You knew this day would come—knew that your father would one day try to use you as a pawn in his game—but hearing it confirmed by Rhaegar makes it feel all too real. “Who?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

“There are whispers of Lord Qarlton Chelsted and even worse—rumors that he’s considering someone from the Crownlands, a man known for his cruelty and ambition. Father believes that binding you to such a figure would keep you loyal and under control, a way to ensure your compliance.”

The room spins slightly, your breath catching in your throat. You can feel the walls closing in, the chains tightening around you. This isn’t just about a forced marriage—it’s about trapping you, cutting off any hope of freedom, of love.

Rhaegar reaches out, his hand covering yours on the table. “I won’t let that happen, Y/N. You’re my sister, and I refuse to let Father destroy your life the way he’s destroyed Mother’s.”

His words are a comfort, but they do little to ease the fear gnawing at your insides. You force yourself to focus, to think clearly despite the rising panic. “What can we do? Father’s grip on the realm is still strong, and his word is law.”

Rhaegar’s jaw clenches, his eyes darkening with determination. “There are ways to maneuver, to stall him. I can push for an alternative match, something that would satisfy Father’s desires while giving us time to find a more permanent solution. But that’s only a temporary fix. In the end, we need to be prepared for anything.”

You know what he’s not saying—that if it comes to it, he’s willing to defy your father outright. But you also know how dangerous that would be, both for him and for you. Aerys’ wrath is unpredictable, and his paranoia would see betrayal in even the smallest act of defiance.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “I trust you, Rhaegar. But if Father becomes too insistent, if there’s no way out… I won’t let him dictate my fate. I’ll find a way, even if it means—”

“Don’t say it,” Rhaegar interrupts sharply, his voice laced with fear. “Don’t even think about doing something drastic. I’ll find a way to protect you, I swear it.”

There’s a silence that stretches between you, heavy with the weight of all the unspoken fears and desperate hopes. You’ve always trusted Rhaegar, always relied on his strength and wisdom, but this time, you’re acutely aware of how limited even his power is. The game your father plays is one of madness, and the rules change with every passing day.

Finally, Rhaegar lets out a long breath, his expression softening as he looks at you. “For now, keep your head down. Don’t give Father any reason to turn his attention toward you more than he already has. And stay close to those you trust.”

You nod, understanding the subtext of his words. Stay close to Arthur. He’s the one constant in this storm, the one person who knows how to navigate the dangers as well as you do.

“I will, Rhaegar. Thank you.”

He stands, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, a rare gesture of affection. “We’ll get through this, Y/N. I promise.”

As he leaves your chambers, closing the door softly behind him, you’re left alone with the flickering candle and the oppressive weight of the future hanging over you. Your father’s plans are a looming threat, one that could shatter everything you’ve dared to dream of. But as fear gnaws at the edges of your thoughts, a spark of defiance ignites within you.

You won’t be a pawn in your father’s twisted game. Not if you can help it.

Whatever it takes, you’ll find a way to forge your own path, even if it means embracing the shadows and secrecy that the Red Keep is built upon.

The air in the small council chamber carries the scent of old parchment and the faint tang of wine. Flickering torches cast long, wavering shadows across the polished stone floor, making the room feel more like a den of conspirators than the heart of the Seven Kingdoms’ governance. King Aerys II sits at the head of the table, his gaunt figure draped in heavy robes of black and red. His violet eyes, wild and gleaming, flit around the room with erratic focus, a dangerous gleam in their depths.

The members of the small council are seated around the table—Lord Tywin Lannister, cool and calculating; Varys, the ever-watchful Spider; Grand Maester Pycelle, feigning wisdom with every stroke of his beard; and a few other lords who are all too aware of the precariousness of their positions in this court.

Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Barristan Selmy, and Ser Jaime Lannister stand at attention behind the king, the white cloaks of the Kingsguard pristine and still. Arthur’s face is a mask of calm, but beneath that surface lies a coiled tension, ready to spring. He’s been dreading this meeting, knowing that your name has come up more frequently in recent weeks, and that it’s only a matter of time before the King’s attention turns back to you.

Aerys’s fingers drum on the armrest of his chair, the sharp clicks echoing in the silent chamber. “So,” he hisses, his voice grating like the rasp of steel against stone. “The matter of my daughter remains unresolved.”

The words hang in the air like a noose tightening around the room. Tywin’s eyes narrow just slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. “Your Grace,” Tywin begins smoothly, “it is a delicate issue. The princess is, after all, of vital importance to the future of House Targaryen.”

Aerys’ lips curl into a twisted smile. “Indeed. She is my blood, my treasure—my weapon. But you all seem to think you know better what to do with her.” His voice rises, laced with the biting edge of madness. “Perhaps I should remind you that she is mine to command, just like the rest of you.”

Varys inclines his head, his hands folded serenely within his wide sleeves. “No one doubts Your Grace’s wisdom,” he says with a silken tone, “but it is precisely because of your unmatched foresight that we must tread carefully. A hasty decision regarding the princess’s future could cause unrest—or worse, embolden those who would seek to weaken your rule.”

Tywin’s amusement is barely contained. “Wise words, Lord Varys. The girl’s value is undeniable, but placing her in the wrong hands could be a disaster.”

The King’s eyes flash with irritation at their cautious diplomacy. “Disaster?” he sneers. “There is no disaster that I cannot crush. If her marriage does not suit my needs, I will simply take her back—and if an agreement cannot be reached, then perhaps…” He trails off, a sickening smile creeping onto his face. “Perhaps I’ll take her as a second wife myself. Who better to keep our blood pure than I?”

The chamber falls deathly silent. Even the ever-controlled Varys stiffens, though he quickly schools his features into his usual calm mask. Tywin’s green and golden eyes flick toward the king, his expression unreadable, though the faintest hint of distaste lingers in the curl of his lip.

Rhaegar, who has been sitting quietly, suddenly straightens, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Father, that is unacceptable.”

Aerys’s eyes snap toward his son, the glimmer of paranoia igniting as he fixes his gaze on Rhaegar. “Unacceptable?” he hisses. “You dare question my judgment?”

Rhaegar doesn’t back down, his expression firm but calm, the prince everyone in the realm knows—a man of honor and composure. “You’re right to value her so highly, Father. She is of Targaryen blood, and that blood should remain within our family. If a match must be made, it should be one that strengthens our House.” His eyes flick briefly to Varys, as if anticipating the Spider’s next move, but then return to his father with renewed determination. “I propose that she marry me.”

The words slam into the room with the force of a thunderclap. Even Tywin, who rarely shows surprise, raises an eyebrow. Jaime’s grin broadens, barely concealing his amusement at the chaos brewing before him. Ser Barristan’s gaze shifts subtly to Arthur, who remains statuesque, though inside he feels as though his world is unraveling.

Aerys blinks, processing his son’s words, before he lets out a bark of laughter—sharp, mocking, and tinged with the edge of madness. “Marry her? You would take your sister as your wife?” He leans forward, eyes gleaming with twisted delight. “Oh, you have a dragon in you after all, despite your meekness. But why now, Rhaegar? Why show such sudden interest in your sister’s fate?”

Rhaegar meets his father’s gaze without flinching. “She is of our House, our blood. If she must be wed, it should be to someone who understands what it means to be Targaryen, who will protect her as fiercely as she deserves.” His voice remains level, but there’s an underlying edge of protectiveness that Arthur recognizes all too well. Rhaegar is trying to shield you from the king’s madness, to keep you close and safe where others cannot reach you.

Aerys’s smile grows more predatory. “Or perhaps you simply want her for yourself, just like I do. What’s to stop me from taking what is mine, even from you?”

The tension in the room is unbearable, the silent war between father and son playing out before everyone’s eyes. Ser Barristan’s grip tightens slightly on the hilt of his sword, his gaze flicking to Arthur, who remains deadly still, his face a mask of stone. Inside, however, Arthur’s mind is racing. This is a dangerous gambit, and while Rhaegar’s intentions are clear, they are fraught with risk. Marrying you to Rhaegar may protect you from your father’s more sinister designs, but it also ties your fate to the bitter struggle between father and son—one that could end in blood.

Jaime leans slightly toward Arthur, his voice a low murmur that only Arthur can hear. “You should see your face, Dayne. It’s almost as pale as your cloak.”

Arthur doesn’t respond, refusing to give Jaime the satisfaction. The Lannister knight’s amusement is clear, but this is more than just a twisted game of court intrigue to Arthur—this is about you, about everything he’s tried to protect. He swallows down the bitterness rising in his throat, his eyes fixed on the confrontation before him.

Varys clears his throat delicately, cutting into the tension with his usual oily charm. “Your Grace, Prince Rhaegar raises an interesting point. A marriage between the princess and the prince would indeed strengthen the bloodline and quell any potential unrest among those who wish to see the Targaryen dynasty remain undiluted.”

Tywin’s lip curls, the displeasure clear even as he speaks with measured calm. “It would also prevent certain… alliances from being forged, alliances that might have been useful in securing the loyalty of key houses.”

Aerys’s eyes narrow as he looks between Rhaegar and his councilors. “You all speak as if my daughter is some tool for your ambitions. She is mine to command, mine to use as I see fit!” He glares at Rhaegar, the madness twisting his features into something almost monstrous. “But perhaps… perhaps you’re right, my son. Perhaps a marriage between you and your sister would serve our House well. Or perhaps it would merely give you more power to defy me.”

Rhaegar’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t back down. “I have only ever served our House, Father. I would do whatever is necessary to keep it strong.”

The tension simmers as the King contemplates, his mind twisting through the layers of paranoia, desire, and control. Ser Barristan’s eyes remain fixed on Arthur, a silent warning in his gaze: Be ready. Jaime stifles a laugh, his amusement at the situation barely contained, while Arthur forces himself to stay still, his every instinct screaming to protect you from the madness unraveling before him.

Finally, Aerys leans back in his chair, a sickening grin splitting his face. “We shall see,” he says softly, the menace in his voice unmistakable. “For now, I will consider it. But make no mistake, Rhaegar—your sister’s fate is still mine to decide.”

With that, the King’s attention shifts back to the matters of state, as if the terrifying exchange was nothing more than a passing amusement. The council members slowly return to their discussions, but the tension lingers like a dark cloud, heavy and threatening.

Arthur remains at his post, his mind racing even as he forces his body to remain still. The implications of what just transpired are profound. Rhaegar’s bold move may have temporarily deflected Aerys’s darker intentions, but it’s clear the King won’t let go of his hold on you so easily. And for you, the danger remains ever-present—caught between the ambitions of men who see you as both a prize and a threat.

The torches lining the dim corridors of the Red Keep sputter and hiss as the three Kingsguard knights escort King Aerys back to his chambers. In the air was a thick and oppressive weight pressing down on each step. Aerys mumbles to himself, his hands twitching restlessly as his eyes dart around, catching at shadows that seem to dance in his mind rather than the walls. His sudden bursts of shrill laughter echo off the stone, sending a shiver down even seasoned knights’ spines.

Ser Arthur Dayne walks on the king’s right, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of Dawn. Ser Jaime Lannister takes the left, his golden curls almost glowing in the low light, while Ser Barristan Selmy brings up the rear, his every movement measured and deliberate. They all remain silent as they guide the Mad King through the winding passageways, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

When they reach the king’s chambers, Aerys spins abruptly, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he looks at each of his Kingsguard in turn. “They’re all plotting,” he hisses, his voice like brittle glass. “Even my own blood—plotting, scheming to take what is mine.” His gaze lingers on Arthur for a moment, and for an instant, Arthur feels the full weight of the king’s madness bearing down on him. But just as quickly, Aerys waves them away with a dismissive gesture, his mind already wandering to some new paranoid fantasy.

The door closes behind the king with a heavy thud, and silence falls in the corridor. For a brief moment, the three knights stand in quiet, letting the oppressive atmosphere of the encounter bleed away.

It’s Jaime who breaks the silence first, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Well, that was quite the show. I almost feel sorry for the princess, being fought over like a bone between two mad dogs.” His tone is laced with mockery, his green eyes gleaming with amusement as he shifts his attention to Arthur. “Tell me, Dayne, how does it feel to be caught in the middle of all this? Your precious princess, at the mercy of whichever dragon has the sharpest claws.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens, his grip on his sword hilt turning his knuckles white. Jaime’s words cut deep, slicing through the control Arthur has struggled to maintain. He knows Jaime delights in poking at people’s weaknesses, but tonight, with the stakes so high and the emotions so raw, it’s too much.

“Watch your tongue, Lannister,” Arthur snaps, his voice low and edged with a dangerous growl. “This isn’t a game, and if you ever speak of her like that again, you’ll regret it.”

Jaime’s grin only widens, unbothered by the venom in Arthur’s voice. “Oh, touched a nerve, have I? The Sword of the Morning has a soft spot after all. I thought you of all people would know better than to get too attached.” His tone is teasing, but there’s a glint of something darker behind his eyes—a challenge, daring Arthur to lose his composure.

Before Arthur can respond, Barristan steps between them, his stern gaze locking onto both knights. “Enough,” he says firmly, his voice brooking no argument. “We’re not here to bicker like children. Our duty is to protect the crown, whether we like it or not. This is not the time for petty squabbles.”

Arthur clenches his jaw, forcing himself to take a breath and step back. He knows Barristan is right—letting Jaime’s provocations get under his skin is exactly what he shouldn’t be doing. But the thought of you, of what you’re being put through, makes it hard to swallow the anger simmering in his chest. “You’re right, Ser Barristan,” he says, his tone clipped as he fights to regain his calm.

Jaime shrugs, still smirking but letting the matter drop for now. “Of course, Ser Barristan. Far be it from me to cause trouble.” His voice drips with sarcasm, but there’s an edge of curiosity in his gaze as he looks at Arthur, as if he’s trying to puzzle out just how deep Arthur’s feelings truly run.

Barristan turns to Arthur, his expression softening slightly. “You should return to your post, Arthur. The princess may need your protection more than ever now.”

Arthur gives a curt nod. “Thank you, Ser Barristan.” Without another glance at Jaime, he turns and strides down the corridor, each step carrying the weight of his thoughts. His mind races as he makes his way back toward your chambers. He can’t let the situation slip any further out of control—he can’t let Rhaegar’s plan or the king’s madness put you at greater risk.

When he reaches your chambers, he takes his position by the door, the familiar comfort of his duty settling over him like a cloak. But tonight, it feels different—more charged, more urgent. He’s never been more aware of just how precarious your situation is, nor of the delicate balance he must maintain between protecting you and keeping his feelings hidden from the vultures circling in the court.

Inside the room, he hears the faint rustle of fabric, the soft sound of your breathing as you move about. The mere knowledge that you’re there, close but out of reach, is both a comfort and a torment. But it’s a torment he would endure a thousand times over if it means keeping you safe from the darkness closing in.

As he stands guard, his thoughts return to the bickering with Jaime, the tension with Rhaegar, and the king’s twisted plans. He vows silently to himself that no matter what happens, he will protect you—even if it means facing the consequences of a broken oath, even if it means losing everything.

In the flickering torchlight, Arthur’s resolve hardens into something unbreakable. He may be just one knight in a web of lies and power struggles, but for you, he would stand against the world.

#asoiaf x reader #asoiaf #arthur dayne x y/n #arthur dayne x reader #arthur dayne #game of thrones

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glossdebut · 24 days

Text

Take a Bite Ch. 1

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: social drinking, mechanical bull-related injuries lol

✧ WORDCOUNT: 2.7k so far

✧ STATUS: ongoing

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi! i'm aqua and this is my first ever fic so please be nice!! i will be crossposting this work and all future works on my ao3 of the same name. i'm figuring out how this works as i go, so please be patient with me. tags are subject to change with every update. i won't have a posting schedule for this one, but i have the first few chapters pre-written, so expect an update sometime next week!

Chapter 1: Lay Your Cards Down, Down, Down, Down

Although this is the furthest thing from your scene, you can’t help but think to yourself that you should invest in some cowboy boots. You could make them work, you’re sure of it.

Even if you know you would never pull the trigger on purchasing any, too far out of the comfort zone of your normal style, the thought is the only thing keeping you sane—that, and the sound of Cowboy Carter blasting through the speakers of the bar, a welcome reprieve from the drawling, boring country anthems you’d been suffering through for the past hour or so.

You pride yourself on seeing the merit in all genres of music, you do. You were always the type of person who puffed up her chest when you told people ‘I listen to everything,’ uncaring of how pretentious it may sound. You mean it. It’s an asset in your line of work, and as far as you’re concerned, a little bit of pretentiousness is a small price to pay for the, quite frankly, baller route your fledgling career is heading in.

But a Western bar? Not the kind of place you’d spend a precious Friday night willingly. Another hazard of the job.

After months of skillfully avoiding the weekly Friday nights out with the other rookie reporters at the magazine, you’d run out of excuses not to join them. If four years studying communications taught you anything, it was that connections are everything in the journalism business. Even more so where the music industry is concerned.

So here you are, at your fourth stop of your night of bar hopping with your extroverted and extremely drunk coworkers, nursing warm beer and observing from the least populated corner you managed to scout upon entry. All things considered, you had been a good sport at the three previous stops. You just draw the line at square dancing with the people you work with. College may have beaten your fear of impromptu phone calls and talking to strangers out of you, but your social battery can only take so much.

Your phone battery, too, you think bitterly as you stare down at the low battery warning on your screen. Okay, so you’ll finish your shitty beer (because you’re not quite successful enough yet to afford wasting alcohol that you’re paying for) and then use your phone’s remaining juice to catch an Uber home. No biggie.

You’re in the middle of turning off your phone with full intent to work out the kinks of your exit strategy when you realize, with irritation, that your chosen corner is about to be invaded.

Your eyes land on a pair of black Dunks ( in a Western bar? your mind supplies, as if you have any room to judge in your Docs) and travel up, past torn black jeans and a black shirt, and just when you’re sensing a theme with this guy, your eyes reach a head of (regrettably, very nice) black hair and a pair of the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen. Anish Kapoor would wail at the sight of these eyes, you think.

As if sensing your apprehension, your corner-thief raises his free hand (the other clutching a plastic cup of his own) palm out, as if to say ‘I come in peace’ and stops in his tracks.

“I can find another spot,” corner-thief says, the low rumbling of his voice barely audible above Texas Hold ‘Em. “I’m just waiting for one of my friends to get bored or injured so I can leave.”

“Injured,” you repeat, despite your better judgment to take him up on his offer and let him be on his way. But your phone is dead and you’re a little bit drunk, bored, and even for an unwanted partner in social evasion, this guy is nicer to look at than the frat guys playing beer pong you’ve been observing for the better part of an hour.

Corner-thief grins a stupidly charming gummy smile, leaning just the slightest bit closer to be heard better but still keeping a respectful distance. As if he’s still wary that you’ll lunge at him if he encroaches on your space any further. Good man.

“There’s a mechanical bull upstairs,” he says, using his index finger on the hand holding his cup to point at the ceiling above you both.

Of course there is. With your luck, you’ll also have to peel someone off of the floor later after going head-to-head with the bull.

“Not your thing?” you guess, glancing pointedly at his Jordans, and he shakes his head, huffing through his nose in what you can only guess is a laugh.

“No, I wouldn’t say so.”

He pauses, shifting from foot to foot for a moment before speaking again. “So, will you share your wall? I can look around again but this place is more packed than I would’ve pegged it for.”

You nod and he smiles again thankfully, taking the spot on the wall next to you. That should be it. Two strangers who don’t want to be here standing in companiable silence next to each other while they wait for their friends–or coworkers, in your case–to put them out of their misery and let them go home.

But… You consider your options, your phone taking its dying breath in your pocket, and you sigh, turning to him.

“Y/N,” you say, holding out your hand for him to shake.

He takes it with his free hand, giving you an amused look. “Yoongi.”

“What’s that look for?”

He laughs again, a little bit more this time, and your heart does a stupid, funny thing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been greeted by a pretty girl in a bar with a handshake,” he says, causing you to flush and pull your hand away as if it’d been burned, your shoulders tensing as you take a sip of your beer.

A western bar certainly isn’t your scene, but admittedly, neither are bars or clubs in general. You got all of that out of your system in college where everyone was awkward as fuck or too drunk to care that you were, and ever since you got your degree you have lived and breathed your work. Your social skills were never quite up to par, but you didn’t realize you were this fucking embarrassing.

“I came out with coworkers right after we got off, so I think I’m still kind of in work mode,” you lie, and as if sensing that you feel slightly made fun of, Yoongi shakes his head.

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, swear,” he says, tilting his head at you. Dark eyes considering you. “Honestly, I’m thankful you’re putting up with me at all. I don’t think I’d be so kind if the roles were reversed. I know firsthand how hard it is to find a spot to breathe in places like this.”

You feel your shoulder muscles relax just the slightest bit. “I thought about sending you away, but I couldn’t help it. My heart aches when I see an introvert in need of a hiding spot,” you attempt to joke.

“At least I’m out with friends,” he says sympathetically. “I’ve done the coworker thing before. It’s a drag.”

“It’s weird ,” you correct. “I mean, I sit in meetings with these people. I avoid answering their emails all day. Why is it considered rude to not want to see them piss drunk?”

Yoongi hums in agreement, nodding his head. “What do you do, anyway?”

“I work for Look Here Magazine,” you reply, straightening up a bit in pride when Yoongi’s eyes flash with recognition, his body turning so his shoulder is against the wall now. You turn as well, facing him. “I write for the music section.”

“No shit? I’ve probably read your stuff, then,” Yoongi says, grinning.

He’s cute. Hot. You can’t help but notice, no matter how hard you’re trying not to. The way that he seems to carry himself in particular, you think, might end up driving you crazy if you’re exposed to it for too long. Maybe you’ve been living under a rock, but you’ve never met a fellow wallflower that still exuded such confidence. He wears it insanely well.

“Look Here covers a lot of big artists,” you hear him continue. “I’m a little surprised you’re hugging the wall, honestly. This place is nothing compared to music industry parties.”

“Ah, I only started a few months ago,” you admit, looking down into your cup. “Not a lot of bylines yet. I haven’t made it into a room with an artist that big yet.”

“But you want to,” Yoongi guesses, and you nod, looking up to meet his eyes. He looks impressed, impressed by you , and that… does something to you. Huh. “Shit, that’s… That’s really cool.”

“Thanks,” you say. You can feel your cheeks heating up again, and you’re suddenly very eager to turn the attention away from yourself. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Ah,” Yoongi says, fixing his eyes to his cup just as you had a moment ago. “I’m a music producer, actually.”

You perk up at that. So that’s why he reads Look Here, why he seemed so interested when you told him what you do.

“Anything I’ve heard?” you ask, leaning in like he’s about to tell you a secret. Networking never stops.

He watches as you lean, his mouth turning up at the corners in a smirk. “Probably.”

You wait for more, but it doesn’t come. Shithead. So much for that.

“You’ve gotta give me more than that,” you say, and god, you can hear the pout in your own voice. Are you that drunk? Flirting for a lead in a story?

“I don’t,” Yoongi says simply, his smirk in full force now. Mean and annoying and hot. He hasn’t leaned away from you yet. “I want to know more about you, actually. Journalism is hard work. I’m surprised you have time to go out like this.”

“Like I said, I was forced.”

“Still. Spending time with your friends or family or partner or whatever must take priority when it comes to your free time.”

Why is he so interested? You scrunch your nose, trying to figure out what he could be fishing for here. You don’t make it a habit to divulge the details of your sad excuse for a personal life to strangers, but the alcohol has loosened your lips. Maybe you need to talk about it. It’s not like you’ll ever see him again, anyway.

“My family is back home. My best friend is this insanely talented playwright. She’s constantly traveling. I see her when she can get some time to fly out.” You take a quick sip of your drink, ignoring the pang in your chest. Sometimes it sneaks up on you, how lonely you are. “Other than her, it’s just me, really. The dating thing… Nobody really seems to get how demanding my job can be, and it always ends in hurt feelings.”

There’s a long pause, and you’re worried you’ve shared too much. You’re enjoying talking to Yoongi. You know it doesn’t matter, that you’ll likely never see him again, but it would really, really suck if his permanent mental image of you ends up being ‘lonely weird drunk girl,’ even if that’s what you are. You force yourself to look up at him. The look in his eyes makes your heart flip stupidly again.

“I get that,” he says, and his voice is soft, barely audible over the music filling the space. You’re reading his lips more than anything, honestly, and you don’t let yourself look at them for too long. He may be pretty—unbearably so, you’re realizing—but he’s a stranger. A mean, annoying, hot, pretty stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Every guy says he gets it. This needs to stay what it is, you think. Momentary companionship between introverts who would rather die than square dance.

You don’t get much time to agonize over it. Whatever is going on between you and Yoongi is intercepted quickly by his phone buzzing in his pocket and his responding grimace when he pulls it out to check it.

“Namjoon fell off of the mechanical bull,” he says, like he’s completely unsurprised by that news. He downs the rest of his drink and pockets his phone again, pushing off of the wall. “I’ve gotta deal with that.”

You nod, pulling what you hope is a sympathetic face. “Good luck.”

His bottom lip catches between his teeth, and you hold your breath. He looks like he wants to say something, torn between rushing upstairs to save his friend and staying, just for a moment.

You think you know what he wants to say, think foolishly that maybe he wants to ask for your number, and you honestly don’t know if you’d give it to him if he did. You’re so used to saying no.

He runs his fingers through his hair, opens his mouth to speak, and then he looks down like his phone is buzzing again. When he looks back up, it seems like he’s thought better of it.

“Thanks for sharing your wall,” he settles on, smiling congenially. You smile back, and then he’s heading towards the stairs.

Good, you think. You know better. If he really gets it, he does too.

★ ★ ★

You’re dragged out to one more bar before you finally make it home, your interaction with Yoongi having knocked you off-kilter enough to agree to a few more drinks.

It does wonders for your social status at work, you’re sure, but by the time you’re dropped off you’re dizzy-drunk, fighting to stay upright in the elevator of your apartment building.

You’re fumbling and failing at getting your key into the lock of your front door, tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration, when a voice calling your name a few feet to your right almost makes you jump out of your skin.

You yell, clutching your chest, and when you turn to face the owner of the voice that almost made you lose the contents of your stomach on your doormat, you’re greeted by none other than corner-thief-mean-annoying-hot-pretty Yoongi himself, leaning against the door to the apartment two doors down.

“What the fuck,” you blurt out dumbly, and he laughs. At you! How dare he stand there, lean there, all hot and annoying and in your apartment building for some fucking reason and laugh at you.

“I was going to ask if you needed help,” he says, and oh, fuck. You were safe from just how deep his voice was under the thrum of the music at the bar, but in the quiet of your apartment building this late, you can hear it just fine. Feel it, even. Feel it in places you do not want to humor right now. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you do.”

It’s obvious that Yoongi is faring much better than you are, although his night clearly didn’t end after the mechanical bull incident. Faster than you can react, he’s right in front of you, gently taking your key from your hands and turning it in the lock, like it’s easy.

“Gonna make it in okay?” he asks, looking down at you. You force your brain to make words.

“I’ll be okay,” you assure him, your tongue heavy in your mouth. “Are you stalking me?”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I think we’re neighbors.”

“Oh.” Oh. Okay. That’s fine. Just because he’s your neighbor doesn’t mean you have to do something stupid, like see him ever again.

“Give me your number,” he says softly. Oh.

You blink at him, and he grins. Gummy smile. You feel like you’re going to vomit all over his Jordans.

“In case you ever can’t use your keys again,” he clarifies. “I told you, those music industry parties are killer.”

And really, you’re powerless to resist. You give him your number, using all of your remaining brain power to remember the order of the digits. Seemingly satisfied, Yoongi pockets his phone and steps back, heading back to his front door.

“Goodnight, neighbor,” he says, unlocking his door with ease. “Sleep on your side.”

You swallow thickly and nod, slipping inside your own apartment as quickly as you can manage.

Once you’re in, you sink onto the floor, your back pressed against the door behind you. Your cat, perched on your coffee pot, stares at you in your drunk, flustered state, unimpressed. Offended, even, judging by the way she licks her paw.

You’re so fucked.

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goldenseresinretriever · 8 days

Text

False Confidence: Chapter 13

Pairing: Javy “Coyote” Machado x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: The Athletic named Javy Machado the fifth sluttiest player in the NHL last year. He’s a known playboy who leaves every game with a different girl. As far as he’s concerned he’s living the dream, playing his dream job with the dream lifestyle. Unfortunately his friends and bosses don’t agree. At 33, they think it’s time for him to settle down. You’re a kindergarten teacher at an esteemed private school. You don't expect much when you finally accept your colleague’s invitation to attend her husband’s hockey game but when you accidentally get separated in the post-game rush, you find yourself in a compromising situation with the last person you’d ever expected to meet. When his PR rep suggests a mutually beneficial agreement, your hands are tied. How long will you have to keep up the act? And how long will you be able to?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, angst, fluff, fake relationship, suggestive language, anxiety, school system inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: I’m back!!! Thank you to everyone who waited so patiently for this update! It’s been a long time coming and I’m glad to be settled to the point where I can start writing again!

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Not many things in your life have been as hard as having to leave Seattle the morning after Valentine’s Day. You and Javy had stayed up all night, walking around the Seattle center after the Space Needle, and eventually heading back to his hotel room. Despite your initial nerves, the two of you had sat on his couch and simply talked until Josie knocked on the door to let you know it was time to go. You’d felt the physical heartache as you forced yourself to walk through his door and you know it must have been showing on your face because Javy simply grabbed his jacket and tagged along in the Uber to the airport, keeping an arm around you without another word. Despite that extra half hour together you still held him tight as the Uber lingered for Reuben and Javy at the deserted drop-off area.

While you’re extremely thankful to Josie for the Valentine’s Day surprise, it’s made the rest of your week unbearable, and you could barely do anything but watch the clock, waiting for Friday. Things have gotten even harder now that you know that Javy’s back in town. He’s just on the other side of town and you can barely hold yourself back. You still have a day of work and Javy’s probably exhausted from the road trip. You tell yourself that he’s at home, asleep, and you shouldn’t bother him, that you shouldn’t be so desperate, and yet you’re aching to text him and ask if he wants to grab dinner because you’re not sure you can wait until your plans tomorrow to see him.

You’ve resorted to turning your phone off and banishing it to the bottom of your deepest desk drawer and throwing yourself into your teaching to try and keep your mind off him. It was working, for the most part at least, but now that your students have been dropped off in the cafeteria for lunch and you’re faced with your empty classroom, your thoughts run wild in the space. Josie’s not even here to keep you company. She took the kids off-campus for lunch to meet up with Reuben. You have no idea how Josie’s done this for ten years, and you’re even more impressed with how adaptable the Fitch kids are. You’ve always known it must be hard, not having their dad around so much, but now that you’re right there alongside them in the trenches, you feel their pain acutely.

You drum your fingers on your desk as you debate releasing your phone from its prison if only just to distract yourself from the silence in the room contrasting with the loudness of your mind. Your fingers itch for the distraction, and you’re so in your own head that you almost miss the knock on your door. Head whipping up from where you were scrutinizing the wood grain of your desk, your heart leaps into your throat as you meet the pair of dark brown eyes peering through the window into your classroom. Your body moves before your brain, tripping over your own feet and your chair as you scramble towards the door as it swings open. Your legs give up their struggle with the chair and you go tumbling into Javy’s arms as he runs over to catch you and you let out a screech of surprise.

“Hi,” you breathe out on an exhale as you stare up at him where you’re crumpled awkwardly as he holds you up.

“Hi,” he says fondly as he smiles down at you and you bask in the warmth of his expression as he helps you find your footing.

“What are you doing here?” You can’t keep the wonder out of your voice as you’re tempted to reach out and touch his face to make sure he’s really here. He chuckles as he leans down and bumps your foreheads together.

“I missed you,” he says like it’s nothing but it sends your heart racing and you swear he can feel it pounding through your skin.

“I missed you too,” you feel your cheeks heat at the admission, at speaking the words that have been echoing in your head all week and you’re heart stops as his face brightens into a boyish smile at your words. You can’t stop yourself from kissing the smile off his face and he leans into your touch, reciprocating in kind. Kissing Javy feels like making up for lost time, it fills you up in a way that feels like bottling up sunshine, reenergizing you like you run on the solar energy that comes from simply being in his presence.

When you break apart, you can’t tear yourself far, hovering close to him and he seems to feel the same way until he pauses like something’s just occurred to him and he turns behind him and you follow him with your eyes as he scoops up a brown paper bag that’s fallen onto the floor and comes back over to you. “I brought lunch,” he explains and you’re glowing all over again as he leads you over to your desk and hands you the sandwiches he got from a place near his apartment. The food tastes spectacular but you’re pretty sure that has more to do with the company than the food itself.

Javy asks about your week and you ask him about his. You’ve had at least some idea of what he's been up to since you spent Thursday evening at the Fitch’s to watch the Colorado game together. He leans into you conspiratorially when you ask how Denver was and you try to ignore the way the proximity makes your heart skip. “I think Bradley almost proposed,” he whispers and your eyes widen in surprise. You don’t know Bradley as well as you know Zam, now that you’ve been welcomed into a group chat with the other girls since your art show, but you know from Zam that she and Bradley are particularly close.

“Didn’t they just get together a few months ago?!” You squawk indignantly and Javy laughs as he nods.

“They even broke up for a bit in December, but that’s Bradley.” Javy shrugs.

“Wait how do you know? Did he tell you?” You ask and Javy barks out a laugh.

“Bradley’s a locked vault, Meep, and only Zam has that key. But according to her, next time they go out for pizza in Denver, the team has to come because a certain someone has no self-control.” He shrugs nonchalantly but you can see conspiratorial mirth dancing in his eyes and you can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of you. The two of you sink into a comfortable silence as you eat, content just to be in each other’s presence after the time apart before Javy breaks it.

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask,” you arch an eyebrow silently as you chew, “do you think you’d be able to come to our away game in Dallas next month? It’s on a Saturday so you’d be back in time for school on Monday, and I’d take care of the tickets, but it could be fun.”

“I’d have to look at the exact date, but I should be free, yeah.” You say, smiling shyly at the fact that he’s inviting you to an away game. Somehow it feels different than going to a home game. “Of course, I’d love to come,” your heart thuds at the ease that those four letters fall off your tongue. The relief on his face is apparent and you’re confused by how it contrasts the excitement dancing in his eyes. Your head cocks in suspicion but where you’d normally bury the feeling and wallow as your anxiety sows the seeds of distrust, you feel the urge to confront Javy. Maybe it’s because he’s always been painfully honest with you. No matter how well he seems to think he is at hiding his secrets and emotions, he wears his heart on his sleeve. Maybe you can learn to do the same. “There’s more, what aren’t you telling me?” His eyes widen in surprise and you feel your heart thunder in your ears at his confirmation that he’s hiding something. It makes your stomach turn sour even as your brain screams for you to hear him out before you pull away, retreating into the hermit-crab shell in your mind.

“I…” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s not that I’m hiding it, I just…” he shakes his head. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you, especially when you’re still at work, and I didn’t want you thinking that I was making assumptions or moving things too fast.” He’s still walking around the truth, treading carefully as he tries to slow you down and grab your metaphorical hand before you can run for the hills.

“And?” You hate how small your voice sounds. You’re supposed to be getting better. Javy’s brought you out of your shelf over the past month along with all your new friends, but it seems old habits die hard. You see something you can’t read pass through his eyes at the tone of your voice.

“My mom wants to meet you,” he says with a resigned sigh, and your brow furrows in confusion. You’d expected a lot of things, but not this. “Well my sisters too, but my mom specifically. I told her about you, about us,” you watch his hand twitch like he’s holding back from reaching for yours. “And she said she wants to meet you. The whole family usually comes up to Dallas for our away games there and she asked me to bring you.” He pauses before adding, “If you want to obviously, she didn’t ask me to kidnap you or anything.” The last addition makes a small laugh bubble up in your throat and you let it slip out to watch Javy’s shoulders relax at the sound.

You nod after a pause. “Sure, Javy, I’d love to meet your family,” your heart squeezes gently as you watch the nerves holding Javy stiff release him from their grip and you wonder if that’s what you always look like to him. “Thanks for telling me,” you murmur, a mirror of what you tell your students when you successfully get them to open up. He nods, but you can tell something’s still bothering him so you reach over and take his hand in yours, rubbing reassuring circles on the back of his hand.

“I didn’t mean to lie to you, I mean it.” You give him a gentle smile but he’s not looking at you, instead, his eyes are focused on your joined hands. You reach your other hand to guide his chin up to look at you, trying not to get distracted by the feel of his smooth, warm skin under your fingertips.

“It’s okay, Javy. I mean it. I didn’t like you trying to keep it from me, but I understand why you did, and you apologized and I accept that apology. You’re okay. We’re okay.” You reassure him and you watch his deep brown eyes search yours before the uneasiness slowly creeps out of them. His fingers close around yours in his lap and he turns his head to brush his lips against your fingers still on his chin.

“Thank you,” His voice is soft like he’s still a little unsure, but then he shakes his head like he’s fighting to keep words inside his mouth. “Are we still on for tomorrow, Meep?” You can’t stop the way your face blossoms into a smile at the mention of tomorrow and you nod enthusiastically.

“Are you going to tell me what you have planned?” You ask, trying to hide how desperate you’re becoming. Javy’s promised that he has top-secret plans for your belated Valentine’s Day plans but he’s been annoyingly vague about them since he asked you to save the day for him.

“And ruin the surprise?” He raises a cocky eyebrow that makes you scowl. He brushes another kiss to your fingers. “Not a chance.” You pout at him and he looks like he’s fighting a grin. “So impatient,” he mocks and you roll your eyes, removing your hand from his chin with a scoff that lacks any real strength. Your attention is caught by the beginnings of movement outside the classroom and your heart aches subtly at the realization that he’ll have to leave in a moment and you’ll have to return to your work like he didn’t just blow through the door and lift your mood exponentially. Once again you feel the urge to ask him if he has dinner plans but your anxiety holds you back from possibly overstepping. He’s already taken time out of his precious day off to come and bring you lunch, you don’t want it to feel like you’re smothering him. Javy’s eyes dart to the window in your door, clocking the motion outside as well and you’re convinced that you see his shoulders slump slightly, but it’s likely your own delusion. “Guess I should get out of your hair,” he says, before coming back to look at you. Normally, you’d feel uncomfortable, being the subject of a person’s undivided attention but you don’t with Javy. His eyes rove over you like he’s recommitting your features to memory and you feel your cheeks heat as you take advantage of his distractedness to do the same. You can see the exhaustion from the past week lingering under his eyes and your heart aches slightly at the idea of how exhausted he must be as guilt twists your stomach. He should be home, asleep, or at the very least getting some rest.

“Get some rest, Javy,” you implore softly and he smiles gently in response.

“Don’t you worry about me, Meep, you just have a good day.” Your brows pinch together indignantly.

“I mean it, Javy.” Your voice is sharper, your teacher voice slipping through.

Javy chuckles. “Yes, Ms. Roadie,” he sing-songs, imitating your students and you roll your eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Your brow relaxes and you nod.

“I’ll be there,” you assure him before adding, “That is as long as you tell me where we’re going.” You give him a pointed look.

He gives you a mysterious smile, “All good things to those who wait, Meep.” You’re about to protest again but the sounds outside your classroom rise in volume and you know your time together is almost up. Anxiety at the idea of Javy leaving knaws at your stomach and before you can stop yourself, you’ve reached out, arms wrapping around Javy in a tight hug. His body starts with surprise under you but he reciprocates before you can draw away and second-guess your decision. “I’m tired of waiting,” you know you sound petulant as you grumble the words into his chest, but his chuckle in your ear reassures you that he knows your words go deeper than your plans tomorrow and he feels the same.

“I’m tired of waiting, too, Meep.” He reassures you and you heave out a sigh, relishing the feeling of being in his arms for a moment longer.

***

Your knee bounces particularly hard and slams into the steering wheel as you drum your fingers on it, waiting for the light to turn green. You’ve spent the last week brainstorming ideas of what Javy’s grand plans for today would entail but instead, he surprised you by texting you last night to meet him at the arena, which seems odd since he has the day off, but you didn’t question it, knowing he probably has something in mind. He told you to dress warm but the anxiety gnawing at your gut has your brain convinced that the sleeves of your sweater are itchy. You scratch your arm for what seems like the hundredth time as you gaze at Hard Deck Arena looming ahead of you as the light finally turns green.

As expected, the private parking garage is almost empty but you spot Javy’s Land Rover and you park next to it. A quick peer inside the neighboring car confirms that Javy’s not there. You’ve been to the arena a few times now but you still can’t shake the feeling that you’re intruding as you step out of the car, wiping your sweaty palms off on your jeans before you make your way to the door and swiping the guest pass Zam hooked you up with a few weeks back.

The hallways are eerily quiet with the day off and the normally raucous atmosphere of the players and staff being absent. You pause, halfway down a dimly lit hallway, fishing your phone out of your pocket before you call Javy. You don’t hear a phone ring in your vicinity and you can’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. Did he stand you up? Even worse, are the lights about to come on and reveal a hidden camera? Is this all a prank? A familiar sense of unease twists your stomach and your heartbeat is so loud in your ears that you miss the click of the line picking up.

“Meep, are you here?” Javy’s voice in your ear makes you jump and you spin around like you’re expecting him to appear behind you.

“Javy?” You question the shadows around you. He chuckles in your ear.

“Hold on, Meep, I’m coming to get you. Hang tight.” His voice stops but the line doesn’t cut, a quiet reminder that you’re not alone except for the sounds of his muffled footsteps on the other side of the line as you do your best to ignore the dimly lit hallway around you as you await his arrival.

Contrary to his explicit instructions to you, Javy’s wearing a fitted t-shirt, arms bare and glowing under the dim LEDs as he jogs down the hallway towards you, grinning boyishly. He takes you by surprise when he doesn’t stop, barreling into you and sweeping you into his arms as you let out a squeal of surprise, arms instinctively reaching for his neck to hold on tight as your feet leave the ground. “Hi,” his voice is breathless with giddiness as he greets you, dark eyes boring into your own, mouth spread in a wide grin as he holds your body against his, the heat radiating off him a comfortable aura that you’re shamelessly drawn to.

“Hi,” you breathe back as the air comes back into your lungs and you gaze at him, lips slightly parted in surprise. Your mind goes back to yesterday and you nervously let the words on your tongue escape, heart fluttering at the vulnerable honestly. “I missed you.” His face is like the sun as he beams at you, surely a mirror of yours yesterday when he let the same admission slip. He rubs his nose against yours affectionately, the warmth rolling off his skin in waves meeting the shy heat of yours.

“I missed you too, Meep.” Your body relaxes instantly, reassured the moment he reciprocates. He puts you down then, but even once your feet are safe on the ground again, he keeps you caged in his arms, pressed tightly against him. He doesn’t seem keen on inviting space between your bodies and you’re hard-pressed to argue.

“So,” your curiosity bubbles to the surface from where it’s been percolating all week. “What are we doing here?” You ask, and you watch boyish mirth dance in Javy’s eyes as his lips quirk into a ghost of a smirk.

“So impatient,” he teases, leaning down to peck your cheek as your skin tightens beneath his lips as you scowl at him, no anger behind the twist of your lips. He chuckles as he pecks your pouted lips, effectively sending your brain into a tizzy. It’s still getting used to all this casual attention after years spent lacking it. “Alright then, my little roadrunner, let’s go,” your body instantly bemoans the loss of contact he pulls away but he makes up for it, sliding his hand unto yours and lacing your fingers together like he too can’t bear to not be touching.

He leads you down the dimly lit hallway with a familiarity you envy. Your feet almost stumble as you reach a slight incline and then you catch sight of light at the top. When you emerge into the arena, the contrast of the blindingly bright LEDs compared to the dimness your eyes have adjusted to makes you blink rapidly, struggling to adjust quickly to get your bearings. The cooler air confirms your suspicion until your eyes adjust to the blinding sight of the lights bouncing off the white of the ice rink. Javy waits patiently next to you as your eyes adjust and your frown of discomfort shifts into one of confusion. He clocks the difference and leads you through a clear door into the bench area. You’ve seen it through the glass before but you’ve never been in here. It seems laughably small considering that it’s meant to house several dozen men in bulky gear. You make your way to the boards that you’ve watched the boys swing over effortlessly, eyes widening as you see where it falls in comparison to your body, realizing exactly how much upper body strength it must take. You’re not sure you could do it, let alone piled under the extra pounds of hockey gear. You shake your head in disbelief before turning to where Javy’s watching you, seated on the bench.

“This is amazing,” he grins at your words.

“Just wait until we get out there, Meep.” He says, grin widening as your stomach drops and the puzzle pieces start falling into place.

“Out. There?” You squeak even as your brain has already descended into chaos as you glance from Javy’s smiling face to the white ice stretching out ahead of you. Anxiety rises up and claws up your throat as you realize exactly what Javy has planned. “Oh,” the word is a soft exhale and it must betray your fear because Javy reaches for your hands, pulling you closer and turning you to face him. “I can’t skate.” The words flood past your lips, splattering into the floor between you, laced with nerves and fear and you watch Javy’s eyes soften. He rubs circles into the flesh of your hands where they’ve started to tremble in his hold.

“I know, Meep,” he says and it doesn’t reassure you. “Nat told me, so I figured maybe I could teach you.” Your eyes widen in surprise as you slowly put things together. You look away from his gentle gaze back to the rink, the bright expanse daunting as it glows back at you. You swallow, fear sticking in your throat. Javy lets go of one of your hands, reaching to turn your chin back towards him, cupping your cheek, and sweeping his thumb across your trembling skin. “It’s okay,” he soothes gently. “I won’t let you fall.” The words are like hot water, thawing the ice of the nerves encasing your heart. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You believe him.

His smile turns rueful as he squeezes the hand still holding yours. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, though.” Your heart squeezes painfully. “We can get out of here, forget it ever happened. We’ll go get some dinner and then we can eat at my place.” He keeps up the gentle strokes of fingers against your skin. Your nerves are still present, deep in your stomach, licking painfully at your gut but your heart glows at Javy’s words. “Don't worry about it, either. This day is for you. If you’re not comfortable, it’s not worth it.” The aching of your heart is overwhelming, drowning out the twisting of your stomach and you shake your head.

“No, I want to.” Your voice doesn’t sound convincing so you clear your throat, squeezing his hand in yours. “I’ll be okay. I want to try at least.” He smiles, soft, as he scans your face, looking for any signs that your words aren’t genuine. When he’s convinced you aren’t doing this for him, he tugs your hand, gently, standing and switching places, carefully guiding you to sit on the bench as he stands in front of you.

“Sit tight,” he says and you nod as he steps over the bench to fuss with something behind you. While you wait, you nervously bring your gaze back to the ice rink. It looks cold and unforgiving. A thought pops into your mind as you wait for Javy.

“Javy, I don’t have skates,” the words die on your lips as he steps back in front of you, and your eyes fall on the box he’s holding in his hands. It’s clumsily wrapped in pink patterned paper with a bow awkwardly perched on top and he hands you it, an embarrassed smile on his face.

“Sorry, it’s not the neatest job. I probably should have just gone with a bag, but I’d already committed to the paper, and I figured since it was just a box it couldn’t be that hard.” Your eyes soften as he blubbers in front of you and you take his hand in yours, squeezing gently.

“I love it.” You reassure him and you watch the nerves seep out of his body, shoulders slumping in relief. You let go of his hand so you can unwrap the box on your lap, being careful not to tear the paper too much. You know you’re going to want to keep it. Maybe you’ll try your hand at a mixed-media piece and you can find a way to incorporate it. Adding some of his work into yours. The box inside is nondescript and you open it, breath catching in surprise as you unfold the tissue paper inside to reveal its contents.

The blades of the skates sparkle under the bright lights and you reach a curious finger out to run along the surface. The skates are simple but beautiful. As you reach to pull one out to examine it better, the paper falls away and your heart clenches as a simple detail catches your eye. Along the ankle portion of the skate is a custom patch depicting the Looney Tunes Roadrunner. A surprised laugh bubbles up your throat as you run a revenant finger along the patch. When you lift the skate, you see a matching patch of Wile E. Coyote on the other skate. Your lips quirk into a smile as you look up at Javy where he’s watching you.

“They’re perfect,” you assure him and his smile widens. “I love them, thank you Javy,” you reach for him awkwardly, trying not to drop the box on your lap and he closes the gap so you can give him a hug. When he pulls away, he drops to one knee in front of you, easing the skate box off your lap and placing it on the floor by your feet he holds out a hand, and you flush as you offer him your leg, feeling silly as you watch him carefully remove your shoe and guides the skate onto your socked foot, lacing up the skate, glancing up to make sure he hasn’t pulled it too tight.

When he finishes, he takes a seat next to you, lacing his skates up with a practiced speed. Then he stands, and you gawk, looking down to see how he’s standing balanced on the blades, your nerves quickly resurfacing at the idea of having to do the same. He clocks your expression and gives you a gentle smile as he steps over to you, holding out his hands. “I told you, Meep. I won’t let you fall.” You swallow, hard, before placing your trembling fingers in his. Javy’s brow furrows and he bends down, rummaging through the box at your feet, before he produces a pair of gloves and guides them into your shaking hands. Then he laces your fingers together again. “Ready?” You nod and he squeezes your linked hands and pulls, gently helping you ease off the bench. You’re surprised when balancing isn’t as hard as you expected.

Javy carefully leads you across the rubber flooring to the small door in the boards, slipping through and holding it open with his hip and you stare at the ice. “Whenever you’re ready, take your time,” Javy says comfortingly, waiting patiently for you. You swallow before raising a trembling leg and placing your skate on the ice. You feel the blade slide through the ice and gasp. Javy’s hand tightens on yours and you look up from the ice to meet his eyes. “I’ve got you,” he reassures you and you squeeze his other hand and carefully step your other foot onto the ice. Your footing is much less sure now, and your legs tremble like a baby deer as your wide eyes go from the ice to Javy’s. “There you go, look at you, Meep. You’re doing it.” His pride is a little premature, you know that, but your chest still swells under his praise. “You ready to move?” You swallow, throat feeling dry, but you manage to nod anyway. He carefully pushes off, still holding tightly to your hand and he skates backward, effortlessly, slowly pulling you after him.

“Javy!” The surprise of how easily he moves and the strange feeling of gliding behind him forces the cry out of your mouth. Your weight feels unbalanced and your feet not having a proper grip on the ground is disorienting.

Javy slows to a stop, pulling you in so you’re close to him. Your hands grip his forearms tightly. “Easy, Meep, I’ve got you. Okay so to balance you’re going to want to bring your center of gravity lower, kind of reach for your knees. I’m going to let you go and-”

“NO!” You shout, fear gripping your heart at the idea of having to let go of Javy.

“Hey, hey,” Javy placates gently as your wild eyes find his. He’s calm and you force yourself to focus on him, to even your breathing. “Even if I let go, I’m right here, okay? I won’t let you fall. The moment you need me, I’ll be right here.” You swallow, hard. You’re scared which you know is ridiculous. The worst thing that can happen to you is that you fall and Javy’s reassured you that he’ll catch you if you do. You need to trust him. You do trust him. Despite the racing of your heart, you nod weakly.

“Okay,” you hate how small your voice sounds. “Okay, I can try.” Javy beams down at you.

“That’s my girl,” he praises and you feel your entire body go hot. His words echo in your ears with your heartbeat and you feel stronger. “Okay, I’m going to let go, okay? Just reach for your knees, you won’t fall.” Your heart thunders as Javy’s fingers slip from yours and you feel yourself start to wobble. “Reach for your knees,” Javy’s voice breaks through your panic and you feel your center of gravity shift as you alter your stance, the wobbling evening out. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“I did it!” You cry, grinning giddily up at Javy and he grins back.

“You did it!” He reassures you and then skates back a few feet, holding his hand out. “Now try to move. See if you can come over to me. Just remember, it’s not like walking. Think about how you used to skid around in your socks as a kid.” You decide against pointing out that you still do that now. “You’re going to move with your knees and push.” He skates over to you slowly and your brows furrow in concentration as you watch his motions, committing them to memory so you can try and replicate them. “Here,” he skates over to stand beside you, “just copy me, and if you start to slip, I’ll grab you.” You watch his leg and follow with your own. Your attention is glued to his legs and replicating his movements. “There you go, you’re doing it!” Javy’s cheers snap your attention from his legs and you realize how far across the rink you’ve moved. Your eyes widen and you forget to move your feet. Unfortunately, unlike on the floor, when you stop moving your feet, you don’t stop moving and you continue to glide forward. You squawk in surprise as you realize you have no idea how to stop.

“Javy! Javy, I don’t know how to stop!” You shout and Javy’s quick to skate in front of you.

“Okay, easy now,” Javy says as your panic rises. “You’re going to bring the tips of your skates in, like the point of an arrow, and keep your weight in the center.” You fight the doubts warring in your mind and try to trust Javy’s instructions, moving your feet slowly, and to your surprise, you slow to a stop right in front of Javy. You gape at your skates attached to feet that don’t feel like yours before looking at Javy who’s wearing a proud grin. “Attagirl! You did it!” He cheers, wrapping you in his arms and you sink into his before realizing that’s probably a bad idea as your combined weights are unbalanced. Javy shifts his weight almost instinctively, keeping the two of you from bowling over. “What did I say, I won’t let you fall, pretty girl.” You feel your cheeks heat as you relish being in his arms. “You did so well, Meep, I’m proud of you.” His pride warms you from head to toe and makes you feel confident. “You all skated out, or do you want to try some more?” He’s giving you an out and your new-found confidence has you shaking your head.

“I think I want to try some more,” you see pride and joy sparkle in his eyes and he helps you rearrange your weight so you can stand on your own again.

“Well then, let’s see what you’ve got, Roadrunner,” he grins at you. “You think this Coyote can catch you?” You know he could without breaking a sweat but you play along.

“We’ll just have to see,” you tease as you carefully start moving across the ice again and Javy follows right behind, sticking close.

***

An hour later, you’re exhausted and your legs are trembling from that rather than nerves as you and Javy sit side by side on the bench, unlacing your skates and trading them for your shoes. Strands of your hair stick to your forehead that’s somehow managed to get a little sweaty despite the chilly air.

“So, did you have fun?” Javy asks as he scoops up his skates, offering you his free hand to help you back to your feet. You nod, a giddy grin still on your face. You weren’t anywhere close to his level of skill but by the end, you were a lot more confident moving across the ice. And Javy had kept his promise, you hadn’t fallen once.

“Thanks for this, Javy, really. I loved it.” He pulls you into his side, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“It was perfect,” he agrees before he pulls away so he can see your face as he asks, “What do you say to doing this again next weekend, maybe with some more company?” You cock your head, confused before he explains. “Next weekend is Family Day, where all the guys bring their girls and their families to the rink. We all just hang out and skate. There’s a potluck after and it’s just a team bonding event. I’ve been meaning to ask you to come but I knew you didn’t know how to skate and I didn’t want you to have to feel pressured to learn in front of a bunch of strangers. So I planned this, and I’d say you’re more than good enough to come if that’s something you want to do.”

Your heart pounds even as it aches at Javy’s concern for your comfort. You nod without a second thought. “I’d love to come, Javy.” You squeeze his hand in yours. “And thanks for looking out for me, I really appreciate it.” He smiles, the relief on his face is like watching the sun come out from behind the clouds and you smile back. “I can’t wait.” You assure him, snuggling against his side and he wraps you in his arms.

“Me neither,” he says and you can’t help but feel that despite the nerves and jitters, today has been perfect. You’re glad you didn’t let your nerves and anxiety ruin this perfect day, and you’re even more thankful to Javy for making you feel safe enough to have this much fun. You wouldn’t have been able to do it without him.

A/N: And with that, the Valentine’s Day festivities come to an end! But there’s plenty more to look forward to on the horizon! Which are you most excited for?

#san diego dogfighters au #san diego dogfighters #san diego dogfighters hockey au #false confidence // goldenseresinretriever #fc // goldenseresinretriever #javy coyote machado x you #javy machado x you #javy coyote machado x reader #javy machado x reader #javy coyote machado #javy machado #coyote x you #coyote x reader #top gun maverick #top gun maverick hockey au #tgm #top gun #no use of y/n

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theorphicangel · 6 months

Text

𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Tags: enemies to lovers, college au, smut, 18+, slow burn,

synopsis: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single, brooding man in possession of a good future in genetics, must be in want of a girlfriend.

Or at least a fake one to get his family off his back.

(college au & fake dating trope ft my favourite grumpy man who doesn't fall first but ends up falling harder. ouch.)

taglist: @oharasfilipinawife @palesatan @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @amelialysm @crimin4llyins4ne @strawberryjuice9 @beezusvreeland @faretheeoscar @lunablackcosplay @t4naiis @peachey-pie @mcmiracles @hardlystrictlystarwars @migueloharastruelove @fruityfucker @kingtwhiddleston

series

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Chapter 5: Crime and Punishment

Miguel would be lying if he said that he’s been able to sleep well lately.

He’s been lucky to get any sleep at all.

He’s managed to fit into the college lifestyle pretty decently. He’s set up a routine that he follows religiously: Wake up, work out, coffee, read up on pre-lecture notes, lectures, eat, work shift, lab work, eat, study, read up on his post-lecture notes, sleep and repeat.

That's all he can do here. Ever since he’s arrived onto campus he’s been successful in maintaining a bubble away from…all of that shit going on at home. It’s been a pretty useful distraction.

But…something that he can’t consciously admit to himself, is that being in a bubble means leaving everything that’s going on at home on a backburner.

Miguel stares up at his ceiling from his bed, his hands behind his head, resting on his pillow. If he stares for long enough then he can just about match up patterns from the wall paint and if he stares for even longer than that, then they start to slowly move. He’s been awake for a few hours now, only managing to make it to around 3am before waking up or rather jolting awake. But he’s used to early mornings. Always was.

Unexpectedly, his phone begins to vibrate on his bedside table. He frowns, his alarm isn’t due to go off for five more minutes. Leaning onto his side, he peers over at whomever is calling him at this hour. His screen brightens up with the caller ID.

‘Gabriel is calling….’

Miguel stares at the phone for what seems like forever until it stops ringing.

A minute later, just when he thought he was in the clear, text messages began to come through. One right after the other.

Gabriel: (sent 6:56am)

- I know you’re awake mig’

- Look, if you’re not going to answer, fair enough, but you’re going have to face it and communicate with us one day.

(sent 6:57am)

- Just talk to mamá por favor. If not now then it’ll be worse at thanksgiving.

- Trust me.

Miguel places the phone down after reading the messages from his home screen. He chews on his bottom lip, a mix of emotions beginning to grow in his gut. He’s not sure what they are exactly but they seem to make up the familiar combination of anxiety, guilt and fear. He curses to himself under his breath, rubbing his hands across his face.

‘Por dios, you’re so pathetic. Tonto, what are you doing?’ [fool]

He can’t help but reflect on his avoidant behavior, he knows what he’s doing but he just can’t seem to muster up the courage to face his problems. He knows that going to college is essentially him avoiding his problems and he knows that he’s in the wrong for leaving his brother to try and pick up the pieces despite Miguel supposing to be the older sibling.

Falling back into his avoidant behavior Miguel pushes his thoughts away with a sigh and forcefully drags his limbs out of bed.

He’s about to head to the bathroom to brush his teeth when another text comes through from Gabriel.

And this one is impossible to ignore.

Gabriel: (sent 6:01am)

- ‘Also…why is your car for sale on Craigslist?’

- ‘For 69 bucks?’

Miguel: (sent 6:01am)

-What?’

“Girl, are you okay?”

MJ’s voice snaps you back out from reality and you stumble over your words in giving a reply.

“What? Oh, uh– yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

It was an obvious lie, but MJ doesn’t get paid enough to deep dive into your problems and judging by your body language you’d rather she not say anything at all anyways.

Telling your mother – or rather — lying to your mother that you had a boyfriend has to be one of the stupidest things that you have ever done. And trust me, you have done many stupid things.

But where the fuck were you going to get a boyfriend? And most importantly, who?

Lyla had suggested Peter at first and you had too but that was before you realized that he had an ever-growing crush on MJ. And like I said, you don’t get paid enough to care but you’re pretty sure that she likes him back. Now more than ever, you’ve been noticing them together, often third wheel to their awkward but cute interactions together. He’s nervous and chatty but she’s a good listener and you figure that they balance each other out.

Now only if you could find someone like that. Someone that your mom would believe that you’re dating. Maybe you should ask Peter if he has any friends who are available. Maybe you could–

Your thoughts are disrupted by the sound of MJ calling your name. You glance over to the counter to where she’s serving a customer and by the looks of it…it’s a very well-known customer.

“Someone wants to see you.”

As she tells you so, you can’t help but notice her tone indicating a tone of flirtation between you and this particular customer but once you see the look on his face, you know that it will never get to that point.

Miguel is the one standing by the counter and a chill runs down your spine when you meet his eyes. He’s staring at you, unblinking, with his jaw forcibly clenched.

Shit, you think, he definitely knows by now.

“Uh, sure.” You say, putting down the towel that you were currently wringing with your hands. As you make your way around the counter you try your best not to look nervous as you approach him.

“Outside.” He murmurs, his tone and face grave.

You follow him without a single word, a hole of anxiety opening up in the pit of your stomach.

The two of you make it outside, the bitter October air nipping at your bare arms. Wrong day to wear a short sleeved shirt, you think to yourself, attempting to distract your mind from the tension of the conversation that you’re about to have. You can feel your cheeks begin to go cold and you cross your arms in a failed attempt to maintain your warmth.

“What the fuck is this?” Miguel shows you his phone screen.

You could tell he was seething, despite him seeming to maintain his calm externally. His phone screen is open on a website browser illustrating an advert for a car and you recognise that it’s his car.

It was your advert.

You squint your eyes, pretending like you’ve never seen it before. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Don’t keep up the bullshit. I know it was you. Who else would do this shit to me for revenge?”

You shug, attempting to seem nonchalant. “Maybe you have a lot of enemies out there Miguel, especially with the way that you treat people.”

Miguel frowns, a crease appearing between his brows. He opens his mouth to speak yet you manage to beat him to it.

“How’d you even know that was me? It’s not nice to throw accusations around y’know?”

Miguel snorts. “And you know what else is not fucking nice? Selling other people’s cars!”

At the sound of his raised voice, you look around to see if there was anyone approaching. It was early morning, the morning lecture coffee rush awaited you in just fifteen minutes. By then you had to get rid of Miguel.

You were infuriating him by the second, it was beginning to grow clear that your innocent trick was not working. That deep pit of anxiety in your stomach began to grow larger and larger, your palms getting sweaty in the process.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have done it if you were a little nicer to people and if you hadn’t posted that review.”

“Oh, so it was you?”

Shit.

Miguel continues on. “It’s illegal to sell other people’s property without permission, you know that right?”

“Of course I do.” you lied. You stammer for a few seconds, searching for an excuse. “You nearly made me lose my job for fuck’s sake.”

“You didn’t lose it.”

“Nearly!”

“But you’re still here aren’t you?”

You groan aloud, not believing the words that are coming out of his mouth. “You’re acting like such a jerk!”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

You cross your arms. “You don’t even have proof that it was me. That’s not my email account.”

He clicks his tongue. “Quit the lying, it doesn’t look good on you. Plus, Peter told me you were looking for my car.”

Remember earlier when you said that lying to your mother about having a boyfriend was the stupidest thing that you had done? Yeah, well scratch that.

“You could get criminally charged for this, do you realize that? Attempted theft or whatnot. And then not only would you lose your job but it’d get you suspended from the university too.”

Your face falls. “I wasn’t actually going to sell it–”

“But it seems like you didn’t think about that did you?” His tone was venomous, sharp enough to cause physical pain to you.. You can’t help but feel as if he was getting some sort of pleasure out of this, out of threatening you. “Not so smart are you? I’m almost glad that I caught you, if Peter didn’t tell me–”

“If you’re going to go to the cops then I’ll take full blame.” You interrupt. “Peter had nothing to do with this.”

Miguel raises a brow. “I didn’t think you’d take full responsibility.”

“Yeah, well I don’t like to do bad things to innocent people.” you spat.

“Innocent?” He repeats. “Wow, tienes sentido del humor.” [ ‘you’re quite the comedian’ / you have a sense of humor’]

You bite down on your lip. “I'll take it down but you promise not to drag Peter into this?”

Miguel nods. “You have till the end of the day to take it down.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“You won’t call the cops on me?”

He shrugs. “I can’t promise that I won’t and–” Miguel points a finger at you to stop your interruption. “There’s nothing that you can say that would change my mind if I do.”

Your shoulders defleat. Great. You’ve just somehow managed to make your life a living hell all for the satisfaction of revenge.

“Oh.” He turns around to face you. “And for your information, I deleted the review ages ago.”

It takes a few seconds for his words to sink in.

Oh great.

“You fucking–”

“What? Bastard? Jerk? Go ahead, call me all of the names you want, nena. Don’t you think that you’ve done enough damage for once?”

Ouch. You’re not even sure how to respond to his last comment.

You remain silent as you stand on the curb watching Miguel leave, your fists are curled up by your sides. Your nails dig into your palms until it hurts, trying to distract your mind from the full tsunami of anxiety that paralyzes your body.

What the fuck do you do now?

You don’t think that your life could get any worse than this. Not by a mile. In less than 48 hours you’ve managed to be not only a liar but a criminal.

As you step into the cafe there might as well be a visible gray cloud over your head. MJ knows not to ask any questions as you return back to your station. She gives you a longing look, wordlessly asking if you were okay. Ignoring it, you keep your head down, trying to bite back your tears until the end of the shift.

‘Keep it in until the end of your shift.’ you told yourself. ‘Keep it all in.’

You: still nil*

Miguel: 2

*[point redacted due to illegal activity]

leave a comment to lmk if you would like to join the taglist!

#angel writes #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara atsv #atsv miguel #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel spiderman #miguel 2099 #miguel o'hara #under no circumstances fic #miguel x you #miguel o’hara #miguel x reader fluff

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