#LIKE THERE’S NO WAY HE WOULD EVER DEFEND HIM | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harrywavycurly · 1 day ago

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Loving a Killer: Tuesdays are for Dancing

Masterlist: Here

Pairing: Killer!Harry x wife!reader

Tag List: @umadirectioner

CW: Language, mentions of ways to harm someone, mentions of weapons, mentions of drugs (it’s a pain medication that Harry doesn’t know about), threats, and as always Harry and Mitch kill people for a living in this series.

A/N: I had to come up with a way to introduce y’all to Niall and this just seemed to fit? It’s dramatic but in a fun-ish way or at least in a fun way for this series.

Summary: Mitch gets a call while him and Harry are at work and it leads so some dramatic events that let us get introduced to your nosey cubical mate that is the one and only Niall Horan✨

“I say we use the zip ties on his ankles.” Harry suggests as he places a hand on his hip while running his free one through his hair as he stands in front of a fold out table littered with different objects he packed with him for this evening’s job. “Makes it easier to move him to the trunk if his ankles are tied together and the zip ties haven’t let us down before unlike the-”

“I get it okay? Rope only works in the movies but how was I supposed to know that?” Mitch says in an attempt to defend his choice of wanting to use rope on a man’s hands and feet a few jobs ago, but it ended up being a massive issue because the rope kept coming undone as they moved the body from the living room to the car and then to the woods to be disposed of.

“It could’ve worked if you knew how to properly tie a knot.” Harry states as he reaches for the bundle of zip ties while Mitch just rolls his eyes as he walks over to the man lying on his back in the middle of the basement.

“Let me guess-” Harry turns to look over his shoulder as Mitch bends down and grabs the knife from next to the man’s wrist, placing it in his open duffle bag near the table. “You know how to tie a perfect knot?” He questions making Harry just shrug as he looks back at the table so he can count out four zip ties, deciding it’s best to do the wrists as well just to be safe.

“I mean I’ve been known to be able to tie a decent knot or at least one someone can’t wiggle their way out of.” Mitch doesn’t miss the slight suggestive tone to Harry’s voice as he talks or the small smirk that tugs at his lips when he turns to hand him two zip ties so he can get started on tying the man’s wrists together while Harry works on his ankles.

“Really? She’s into being-” Before Harry can even shoot him a warning glare to watch what comes out of his mouth next, Mitch’s brows are pinching together as he moves the zip ties to one hand so he can reach into his back pocket of his jeans for his phone. “Uh hello?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he begins to zip tie the man’s ankles while keeping a watchful eye on his bestfriend who in all the years he’s been working with him can count on three fingers the times he’s ever answered the phone while on a job.

“Yes-yeah he’s with me.” Mitch gives Harry a quick glance making Harry get an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. “What? Uh-uhm okay yeah yeah we will uh-yeah be right there uh huh-bye.” Harry is already done with the man’s ankles and standing up by the time Mitch is hanging up and sliding his phone back into his jeans.

“What happened?” Mitch runs a hand over his face with his free hand before he looks at Harry who is packing his backpack up, preparing to leave the moment Mitch explains what the phone call was about because he can just tell whatever it was about isn’t good.

“That was Niall-”

“Niall? As in my wife’s coworker Niall?”

“Uh yeah so apparently she goes to-”

“To dance lessons on Tuesdays? Yeah because that’s the night we work late and she doesn’t like to be home alone at night that much. Now what the fuck happened? Why did he call you?”

“Well if you would just let me talk I would happily tell you.” Harry sends Mitch a glare as he shoves the last of his stuff into his backpack but Mitch just ignores him as he quickly finishes zip tying the man’s wrists together.

“Niall went with her tonight because he was bored and I guess something happened and he thinks her toe is broken? But she’s okay and-and Harry dude where are you going? I drove us here you asshole!” Mitch shouts as he scrambles to get to his feet and grab his duffle bag before Harry is at the top of the stairs that lead to the kitchen of the man’s house.

The thing is Mitch knows Harry well enough to know he will absolutely leave him here if he doesn’t make it to the car fast enough so Mitch skips every other step and barley makes it into the passenger seat before Harry is putting the car into reserve and heading towards where he already knows you’re at. Harry doesn’t bother looking at how fast he’s going or how quickly the lights change from yellow to red as he runs through them. The only thing running through his mind is getting to you as fast as he can because until his eyes land on you and he sees for himself just how badly you’re hurt or hopefully how not hurt you really are, he can’t focus on much else.

“Traffic laws are still in effect by the way and I’m pretty sure you’ve already broken three of them.” Mitch reminds his friend who he knows is just in a panicked and probably slightly angry state of mind over the fact you got hurt and he wasn’t there to stop it from happening or make you feel better the moment it happened.

“Yeah well coming from someone who just stabbed a man not even two hours ago I think traffic laws are the least of our worries.” Harry argues with a casual tone that makes Mitch just let out a chuckle as he shakes his head.

“You just always have to be right don’t you?” This gets a small smile out of Harry as he briefly looks over at Mitch with a shrug.

“So…Niall has your number?” Mitch lets out a sigh and rolls his eyes making Harry grin because he can see the tiniest hint of a smile wanting to form on his face, he knew the two of them hit it off when they met a few weeks ago at the festival but he hadn’t heard much else about it because well Mitch isn’t one to share details about his personal life unless Harry really pushes for them.

Mitch knows Harry is only asking about Niall as a way to distract himself so his mind won’t wonder off to the darkest corners and start imagining the worst possible scenarios the two of them could be headed towards even though the only injury either of them know you might have is a broken toe. So Mitch decides that he’ll be nice, he will let Harry in on some bits of information regarding the Irish brunette man he was forced to meet at an event he only agreed to go to because of the promise of cookies and the chance to indulge in carving into something for fun and not for work, Mitch has always enjoyed a good pumpkin carving contest. But he also isn’t going to give this information up easily, so he thinks of something Harry can do for him in exchange for it.

“I’ll tell you about it if you actually stop at the next red light.” Mitch offers causing Harry to let out a huff as he reluctantly lets off the gas just a bit, his way of silently agreeing to the terms his bestfriend gave him making Mitch loosen the death like grip he has on the passenger side door handle.

Niall is a ball of nerves as he looks at the door of the bar waiting for it to burst open and to see your husband walk through it, he chews on his bottom lip as he looks down at his phone and sees it’s been five minutes since he’s called Mitch so he knows that’s probably way too soon for Harry to arrive considering both of them were at work when he called. He wouldn’t feel so nervous if the last few times he saw Harry he was just a little more friendly because the thing Niall doesn’t understand is how someone who works with computers and is a certified tech nerd can be so terrifying but that’s exactly what Harry is to Niall, terrifying. He knows the moment Mitch and Harry walk through the door he is going to be getting some hard glares and probably a nasty comment or two so he’s just trying to prepare himself the best he can.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t a good color I just said it’s unusual that’s all.” Niall’s head shoots up at the sound of Mitch’s voice as his eyes land on the door just in time to see Mitch walk through it with Harry following close behind him.

Now Niall has seen Harry before, he’s met him three or four times in casual settings and once at an office party but he’s never seen him look quite like this. The sleeves of his all black button up are rolled up to his elbows letting him get an eyeful of the tattoos that decorate his forearms and hands, it’s tucked into well fitting black trousers that are held up with a thin black belt while his hair is pushed back and his usual glasses are gone making Niall assume he has contacts in. It’s as if his attire just adds another layer of his already intimidating personality making Niall swallow down his nerves as Harry’s eyes finally land on him.

“Where is she?” Niall feels his eyes go wide at how harsh and deep Harry’s voice is as he walks towards where he’s standing near the end of the bar. He opens his mouth to say something but it’s as if all of a sudden Niall doesn’t knows how to form actual words so he just kind of stands there opening and closing his mouth for a moment making Harry’s jaw clench as his eyes narrow in one of the harshest glares Niall has ever been on the receiving end of.

“She’s in my office.” Harry’s glare softens as he looks away from Niall and towards Jeff who is standing behind the bar cleaning some glasses.

“Thanks.” Harry calls over his shoulder as he rushes past Niall and towards the back office of the bar and that’s when Niall lets out a deep sigh as he turns to rest his hands on the top of the bar finally feeling like he can somewhat breathe now that Harry is out of the room.

“Don’t take it personally he’s like that with everyone.” Mitch explains as he comes up to stand next to Niall so he can place a reassuring hand on his back.

“Is he always so-so intense?” Mitch just shrugs as Niall turns his head to look at him with a raised brow. “Nice to see you again by the way. This isn’t exactly how I imagined it going but I’ll take what I can get.” Niall jokes or at least tries to as an attempt to lighten the mood and he thinks it’s worked when he hears a soft chuckle come from Mitch’s mouth.

“Harry just really loves his wife that’s all.” Mitch explains as he looks around Niall and signals Jeff who just gives him a nod and a smile before turning around to start making Mitch’s usual drink. Niall just rolls his eyes as he turns his body so he’s now facing Mitch with his elbow on the bar and his hands clasped together in front of him.

“Oh come on the man looked like he wanted to kill-”

“What the fuck did you give her?” Harry’s voice is loud and full of anger that’s directed towards the man standing in front of Mitch as he comes barreling out of Jeff’s office. Niall doesn’t have time to do anything before Harry has a fistful of his shirt and is shoving his back into the bar with one hand while his other hand slams down onto the top of the bar allowing him to lean over Niall as he speaks. “You have five seconds to tell me why my wife is in that office acting loopy and dazed out of her fucking mind.” Mitch doesn’t even flinch at how harsh Harry’s tone is as his grip on Niall’s shirt tightens, Mitch just places a hand on Harry’s shoulder which he instantly shrugs off making Mitch roll his eyes.

“Harry you’ve got to-”

“Tell me to calm down and I swear I’ll break his nose right now.” Harry threatens as he quickly turns to give Mitch a look that makes the long haired man let out a sigh as he runs a hand through his hair. “You now have three seconds.” He states as his attention goes back to Niall who is trying his hardest not to freak out at the fact he just heard Harry casually mention breaking his nose.

“She uhm said she-she was in pain so I gave her something to make her feel better that’s all.” Niall explains the best he can with how he’s bent over the bar.

“You don’t know me very well Niall but you should know that I hate to repeat myself.” Niall closes his eyes after Harry’s statement half expecting to feel a blow to his face giving him the broken nose he heard him mention just a moment before. “So just know I’m only going to ask you one more time.” Niall slowly opens his eyes as Harry’s grip on his shirt loosens but only slightly. “What did you give her?” Mitch looks at Niall over Harry’s shoulder and raises an eyebrow at him and that’s when Niall realizes he might’ve made a mistake.

“I gave her a pain pill I had saved over from my knee surgery that I just keep around for emergencies.” Harry quirks a brow at Niall’s admission as his eyes momentarily glance down to his knees and Mitch knows he’s storing that information for later just incase he needs to use it against the man he still has in his harsh grip. “I just wanted her to feel better I’m sorry.” He blurts out making Harry let out a scoff as he gives Niall a shove as he releases his hold on his shirt.

“Oh well she’s feeling wonderful Niall so wonderful she can’t tell even me what actually hurts or what happened.” Harry says with a dark chuckle as he runs a hand through his hair while he turns to take a step away from Niall. “All she knows is that she feels nice and floaty.” He says as he glares at Niall over his shoulder, Niall stands up and fixes his shirt with a sigh as he glances towards the office door he knows you’re currently behind.

“I’m sorry-” Niall’s apology is cut off by Harry just ignoring him as he heads back towards the office, Mitch just gives Niall a sympathetic look as he follows behind.

“I know he seems like a massive jackass and for the most part he is but maybe if you go back there,” Jeff’s voice causes Niall to spin around and face the bar as he places a shot of whiskey down in front of him, Niall follows Jeff’s head tilt in the direction of his office. “You’ll see him in a different light.” He finishes explaining as Niall reaches down for the shot glass.

“I’d rather not get my ass kicked but thanks.” Niall answers before downing the shot and handing the empty glass to Jeff who just laughs.

“He won’t even notice you’re in the room.”

“Trust me he’ll notice. He fucking hates me man. I practically drugged his wife.”

“If you’re in the same room as her then no. He won’t.” With that Jeff turns and heads towards the opposite end of the bar leaving Niall standing there with no other option really than to just suck it up and honestly he doesn’t want to seem like a horrible friend so he needs to at least go check and see how you’re doing.

Mitch turns to look at the door when he sees it open and he gives Niall a small smile as he leans against the doorframe a few feet from where Mitch is leaning against the wall closest to the door. Harry doesn’t pay him any attention as he kneels down in front of the small couch in Jeff’s office, right in front of where your left foot is propped up on a pillow.

“Baby can you tell me if this hurts?” Niall feels his mouth slightly drop open at the tone of Harry’s voice, it’s soft and gentle, not a trace of the anger Niall heard earlier and the way he’s looking at you is as if he thinks even too harsh of a glance could break you.

“Sweetheart.” Harry’s face breaks out into a playful smile as he looks over at you and sees your eyes are closed but he knows by the way you’re breathing that you’re not asleep, just acting like you are.

“You sound like my husband.” Mitch chuckles as you let out a sigh while still keeping your eyes closed while Harry just playfully rolls his eyes at you as he gently reaches over and puts his hand on top of your foot. “But you can’t actually be him because it’s Tuesday and Tuesdays are for dancing.” Harry just nods with a smile still on his face as he puts a little bit of pressure on your foot while looking at your face for any signs of discomfort.

“Oh is he not allowed to come to these dancing Tuesdays?” Harry asks as he moves his hand further down your foot, still applying pressure and seeing if you show any signs of pain. When you give him a small pout he immediately removes his hand from your foot and rests it on your ankle. “Did that hurt baby?” Harry questions with a furrowed brow as you slowly open your eyes.

“He works late Tuesdays and comes home when I’m asleep.” You mumble sadly making Harry return your pout as he stands up and places a hand on the back of the couch so he can lean down and place a kiss to your forehead. “You wanna know a secret?” Harry just lets out a soft chuckle as he nods his head while you try to sit up onto your elbows. “Sometimes I’m not asleep and I just act like I am.” You whisper making Harry smile at the little giggle you let out when you fall back onto the couch after telling him your secret.

“That’s so sneaky of you love.” He teases making you smile as you reach up and place a hand on his cheek. “I’m sure your husband hates Tuesdays and coming home so late he has to eat dinner all alone and can’t even get a goodnight kiss.” He explains as he places a kiss to the inside of your wrist before you pull your hand away from his face.

“You always get a goodnight kiss.” You argue making Harry laugh as he leans down to place a quick kiss to your lips in an attempt to get rid of your fake pout.

“Do I? Are you sure?” He asks as he pulls away making you roll your eyes and let out a huff as you cross your arms over your chest.

“Yes I’m sure because you wake me up and beg me for one because you’ll have bad dreams if you don’t get it.” Harry just nods as he quickly leans down and kisses your cheeks before standing up and turning to grab your purse and shoes off the floor.

“That’s right sweetheart your goodnight kisses keep the bad dreams away so if I have to beg for them then so be it.” You smile as you watch him gather your things into your purse and toss the bag over his shoulder before he turns back around so he facing you.

“Hi.” You mumble as you look up at him causing a dimpled grin to take over his face as he looks down at you.

“Hi baby.” He says as he holds out his hands for you to take to help you sit up. “Ready to go home?” You just nod your head and before you can even ask him for your shoes you feel one of his arms under your knees and another under your arms scooping you into his arms. Niall moves out of the way before Harry has to tell him to allowing room for the two of them to exit the office and when you see Niall you give him a big smile and a wave.

“Bye Niall! See you tomorrow!” Niall just laughs and waves back at you while Harry ignores the interaction as he heads for the door to the bar with the keys to your car in his hand.

Harry knows he’s going to have to smooth things over with Niall at some point but not tonight, not when he’s still not even sure what exactly happened or what exactly on your foot hurts. As much as he hates to say it, he can admit he understands why Niall did what he did because he saw his friend in pain and wanted to help so he did what he thought would make you feel better. He just hopes that Niall will keep his moment of anger between the two of them because he just made you a promise about threatening people and he knows you’ll be beyond upset with him if you find out he threatened your cubical mate. But he will find a time to worry about that later because right now all he wants to worry about is getting you home and then figuring out which movie you want to watch in bed while he makes you dinner and gets you situated before he has to unfortunately return to the man in the basement to finish his job for the evening but he decides that can at least wait until you’ve gone to sleep.

With Harry gone Mitch takes a moment and looks over at Niall who he can tell is struggling with understanding how that man was the same man who had him bent over a bar as he casually threatened to break his nose not even five minutes ago. It’s something everyone who meets Harry goes through because they all come to learn that there’s two sides to Harry and only one person gets the side that involves gentle touches and soft voices and that person is you. But Mitch knows that since Niall is your coworker he gets told stories about the softer side of Harry and even though the past few times he’s been around him while Harry hasn’t been the friendliest he wasn’t ever blatantly an asshole, so meeting the rougher side of him full force tonight was probably a bit much.

“It’s weird right?” Mitch asks breaking Niall out of his trance as he stares at the door you and Harry just went through. “Seeing him like that with her?”

“Is he a Gemini or something?” Niall asks with a more than serious expression on his face as he looks from the door to Mitch who just laughs and shakes his head as he reaches over and puts a hand on Niall’s shoulder. “Like with the two people in one body kinda thing?” He adds with a quirked brow making Mitch just give his shoulder a little squeeze.

“Nope he’s an Aquarius.”

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pandapetals · 1 day ago

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…i have an idea that im unsure on whether or not i can write it myself & i’m OBSESSED with how well you always characterize logan so hear me out

i’m always thinking about the boxing scene in origins, so perhaps some boxer!logan where he’s teaching his girlfriend self defense in the gym after hours? you can make it as steamy or fluffy as you want!

i’ve just been dying to submit a request because i’m a fan of your work <3

AHH, thank you so much. I love your account so much! I have been wanting to write about Boxer Logan for some time so this request is literally perfect.

boxer!logan howlett x fem!reader - fluff, fighting, teasing, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, soft logan, established relationship

"Alright, sweetheart," Logan said, his voice a low rumble that echoed off the empty gym walls. He stood in front of you, hands casually raised. The white tank top he wore clung to his chest, damp with sweat, and the sheen of it caught in the flickering overhead lights. He rolled his shoulders, muscles flexing in a way that seemed entirely unfair. "You gotta learn how to defend yourself."

You fiddled with the straps of the red gloves he’d given you, tugging at them. "I know, Logan," you said, arching a brow, "but do we really need to do this? I mean, c’mon—what’s the point? I don’t want to hurt you."

He laughed, the sound warm and deep. "Hurt me? Darlin’, you couldn’t hurt me if you tried." He tilted his head at you. "But you’re welcome to give it a shot."

You narrowed your eyes, torn between amusement and the urge to wipe that smug look off his face. He looked too at ease, standing there with his hands up and that teasing smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Alright, fine," you huffed, stepping forward. "But don’t come crying to me if I accidentally break that pretty nose of yours."

"Pretty?" He raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

"You would," you muttered under your breath.

Logan spread his feet into a fighting stance, nodding toward you. "C’mon, then. First lesson—don’t telegraph. You gotta keep me guessing." He raised a hand to gesture toward your shoulder. "See, you’re tense here. Makes it obvious what you’re about to do. Relax."

"Relax? That’s easy for you to say," you shot back, shaking out your arms. "You don’t have to punch you."

"Exactly," he said with a wink. "Now focus. Don’t think. Just swing."

Taking a deep breath, you stepped in and threw a jab toward his chest—not too hard, but enough to show you meant business. Logan dodged it effortlessly, leaning to the side as though it were a breeze that brushed past him. He gave you an almost pitying look, clicking his tongue.

"Sloppy," he teased, circling you like a predator playing with its prey. "That all you got, sweetheart? I thought you said you didn’t wanna hurt me."

You glared at him, your cheeks heating. "Oh, I will hurt you, Logan," you shot back, a spark of determination lighting in your chest. "Just wait."

He chuckled, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. "That’s more like it. Now stop aiming for where I am—aim for where I’m gonna be."

You gritted your teeth, eyes narrowing as you watched him move. He was testing you, but there was something about the glint in his eye—like he was enjoying this, not just the sparring, but you. You tried to read him, to guess his next step, and when he shifted ever so slightly, you swung again, this time aiming lower.

To your surprise, he stepped right into it, catching your gloved hand in his palm with a sharp smack. His grip was firm but careful, and he grinned down at you, clearly pleased. "Not bad," he said, his voice softening. "You’re getting there."

You groaned, tugging your hand back. "You let me get that one."

"Maybe," he said with a shrug, the cocky edge returning. "But you still gotta work on your follow-through. What if I wasn’t nice enough to stop it, huh?"

"Nice? You’re about as nice as a brick wall," you muttered, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding—not from exertion, but from the way he was looking at you.

Logan’s grin softened into something almost fond. "You’ve got more fight in you than you think," he said, reaching out to gently adjust your stance. His hands lingered on your shoulders for just a second before he stepped back. "Now, one more time. And this time, I want you to mean it."

You nodded, steeling yourself. He was still smirking, but there was something else there too—a flicker of pride, maybe, or just the satisfaction of seeing you rise to the challenge. Whatever it was, you weren’t about to let him down.

You shifted your weight, fixing your gaze on his chest as if it were a target. Then, without warning, you lunged forward, throwing your whole body into the punch. He moved to dodge, but this time you were ready—you adjusted mid-swing, your fist just grazing his ribs. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him blink, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

"Well, look at that," Logan said, stepping back and rubbing his side with exaggerated drama. "You almost got me."

"Almost?" you said, crossing your arms. "Pretty sure I felt that connect."

"Sure, sure," he said, smirking as he leaned closer, his voice dropping. "Next time, maybe try a little harder. You might even make me flinch."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Whatever, let’s just go again.” You stepped back, shaking out your hands like a boxer psyching themselves up.

Logan smirked, circling you slowly, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and challenge. His confidence was infuriating—like he was untouchable, always one step ahead. But as he moved, you caught his focus was on your gloves, like he thought that was all you had to work with.

Big mistake.

You let your shoulders drop, exhaling slowly as if you were done. "Alright, you win," you said, feigning defeat. "You’re too good, Logan. I give up."

He tilted his head, one brow quirking in suspicion, but the grin never left his face. "Oh, c’mon now, don’t quit on me, sweetheart. Where’s that fire I saw a minute ago?"

"It’s gone," you sighed dramatically, letting your gloves hang at your sides. Then, as he paused in his pacing, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you in two quick strides. Logan’s smirk faltered slightly, his eyes narrowing as if he sensed something coming.

Instead of throwing a punch, you leaned in and kissed him.

For a split second, Logan froze. His lips were warm and slightly parted, caught completely off guard by the sudden move. You felt his breath hitch against your mouth, and then—just as he started to kiss you back—you shifted your weight and swept your foot behind his ankle, knocking him clean off balance.

“Whoa—!” Logan grunted as he hit the mat with a thud, his broad shoulders absorbing most of the impact. He blinked up at you in shock, sprawled out flat on his back.

You straightened, grinning down at him as you tugged your gloves off one by one and tossed them aside. “Gotcha,” you said, hands on your hips.

He stared up at you, and you couldn’t tell if he was more surprised or impressed. Then, a slow, lazy smile spread across his face, and he let out a low chuckle that made your stomach flip. "Well, I’ll be damned. That was sneaky."

You crouched down beside him, trying to look innocent. “What’s the matter, big guy? Can’t handle a little creative thinking?”

“Creative thinking, huh?” Logan propped himself up on his elbows, his grin turning wolfish. “I don’t think that counts when you cheat.”

You gasped, feigning offense. “Cheat? Cheat? I think you’re just mad I finally got the drop on you.”

“Oh, is that what you think?” he drawled, his tone playful but laced with a hint of a challenge. Before you could blink, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, yanking you forward. You let out a startled laugh as you tumbled down onto the mat, landing half on top of him.

“Logan!” you protested, trying to pull back, but his arms wrapped around your waist holding you in place. He was grinning up at you now, his eyes bright with amusement that made your breath catch.

“You’re gettin’ cocky, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “But I gotta admit, that was a hell of a move.”

You smirked, leaning in just enough to meet his gaze head-on. “Guess you’re not as quick as you thought you were, huh?”

“Careful,” he murmured, his fingers brushing along your side. “You keep talkin’ like that, and I might have to teach you another lesson.”

“Oh yeah?” you shot back, your voice dropping to match his. “And what’s that?”

Instead of answering, Logan pulled you down the rest of the way and kissed you, slow and deliberate. His lips were warm and firm, and he kissed like he fought—with total confidence and just a hint of something wild beneath the surface. The world narrowed to just the two of you: the heat of his body against yours, the rough scrape of his stubble, the way his hand slid up your back like he didn’t want to let you go.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his voice was a low, satisfied rumble. “Lesson one,” he said, his smirk returning. “Never let your guard down.”

#logan howlett #wolverine #x men logan #x men wolverine #logan howlett x you #logan x reader #james logan howlett #marvel #hugh jackman #fluff #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett origins #origins logan howlett #x men movies #x men origins wolverine #boxer logan howlett #boxer logan #x men

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 1 day ago

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The Fallout | Sebastian Sallow x OC #21

this entire chapter is angst and hurt with pretty much no comfort bc sebastian sallow is an idiot.

Summary: Sebastian, wracked with guilt after betraying Evangeline’s trust, seeks her out to apologize, navigating through Ominis’s pointed rebuke and his own self-loathing. He finds Evangeline by the Black Lake, and though their conversation is raw and painful, they begin to bridge the gap between them, with Sebastian vowing to change (again).

Words: 7,782

Tags: Angst, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Unspoken Feelings, Angst AGAIN, Emotional Fallout, Happy(?) Ending, Miscommunication, Drama, Sebastian Sallow Is An Idiot, Ominis Gaunt Being VERY Done™

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

Read on AO3

The Great Hall was alive with the low hum of chatter, punctuated by bursts of laughter from distant tables. To most, it was the familiar chaos of breakfast before enjoying the weekend. To Ominis, it was a minefield.

His wand rested lightly against the table, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm on its polished surface. His sharp ears picked up the undercurrent of conversation, threads of gossip weaving their way through the hall. He didn’t need sight to know who the subject was—Evangeline, whose name was on far too many tongues this week, and Sebastian, the ever-present chaos at the heart of Ominis’s life.

“…stood up for him like he’s some kind of hero,” someone hissed from the Ravenclaw table behind him, their voice dripping with scorn. “And then he’s caught snogging some fifth-year? Couldn’t even wait for her to wake up. Poor thing.”

Another voice chimed in, softer but no less cutting. “I heard she passed out by the fire and a moment later, he was off with the next Gryffindor. Honestly, it’s embarrassing.”

Ominis gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening. He carefully kept his expression neutral, though his fingers curled into a fist under the table. These weren’t just idle comments; they were knives, sharp and intentional, aimed at two of the people he cared about most.

Evangeline had always been bold, unflinching in her loyalty to those she called friends, and Ominis hadn’t been surprised when she confronted Lysander to defend Sebastian's honor—Evangeline’s fierce devotion was as much a part of her as her Quidditch skills or her sharp tongue. What had surprised him was how quickly Sebastian had thrown it all away.

Around him, the murmurs shifted, growing louder, like a fire spreading unchecked.

“Did you see how close she was sitting to him before it all went down? Makes you wonder how long he was waiting for her to pass out so he could leave,” someone at the Hufflepuff table said, their voice tinged with curiosity.

Ominis clenched his wand tighter, the cool wood grounding him as his anger simmered. He couldn’t tell what enraged him more—the audacity of the rumors or the fact that Sebastian’s actions made them so easy to believe.

"You'll break your wand if you're not careful," Imelda’s voice was surprisingly warm and low enough not to draw attention. She plopped herself down beside him with the casual confidence only she could pull off.

Ominis loosened his grip and let out a long, steadying breath. “I should hex everyone to make these rumors stop.”

Imelda snorted. “You and I both know the only thing that would stop these rumors is a new scandal. Give it a week—someone else will do something idiotic, and Sterling and Sallow will be yesterday’s gossip.”

Ominis doubted that. The combination of Evangeline’s bold declaration of loyalty in front of the whole school and Sebastian’s reckless behavior had painted an irresistible target on both their backs. The spectacle was too good, the drama too ripe, for people to let it go easily.

Imelda leaned in slightly, her voice dropping. “For what it’s worth, the rest of us are doing our best to stop the spread of this garbage. Poppy practically hexed a Hufflepuff who was being too loud about it yesterday, and Natty shut down a pack of Ravenclaws in Charms.” She shrugged. “We’ve got her back.”

It was true. Their group—Natty, Poppy, Garreth, and the others—had done their best to redirect conversations and shut down the crueler remarks when they came up. But there were limits to what even a tightly-knit group of sixth years could do. Hogwarts wasn’t exactly known for its restraint when it came to gossip.

Ominis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just—” He cut himself off, unsure how to finish the thought.

Imelda didn’t wait for him to try. “You’re worried about them,” she said simply, as if the thought wasn’t worth debating. “Look, Sterling’s tough. And Sebastian… well, he’s an idiot, but he’s not helpless.”

“An idiot is putting it lightly,” Ominis muttered. “This has hurt both of them. Evangeline’s been humiliated, and Sebastian—” He paused, shaking his head. “He knows he’s responsible, even if he hasn't admitted it.”

“It’s just…” Imelda hesitated, which caught Ominis off guard. She rarely hesitated. “I hate seeing her like this. She’s always been so… sure of herself, you know? I don’t like watching people like her get knocked down because of someone else’s stupidity.”

Imelda’s words hung in the air, heavier than Ominis expected. She rarely let her concern for others show, but when she did, it carried a weight that was impossible to ignore. He let the silence stretch between them for a moment, his mind turning over her observations.

"She’s been avoiding everyone," Ominis finally said, his voice quiet. "Burying herself in books. She’s retreating."

Imelda sighed, her usual bravado replaced by a rare softness. "And what about Sallow? Is he retreating too, or just digging himself into a deeper hole?"

Ominis let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, he’s digging, all right. Acting like none of this bothers him, flashing that irritating smirk at everyone who dares bring it up to his face. Still choosing to be seen with the same girl he snogged that night. But I know him too well to believe it. It’s a mask." His tone darkened. "The worst part is that he hasn’t even apologized to her. Not properly."

Imelda shook her head, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like bloody idiot.

"He’s lucky Sterling hasn’t hexed him," she said. "If it were me, I’d have turned him into a flobberworm by now."

Ominis couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'm sure she's thought about it. But Evangeline isn’t like you, Imelda. She doesn’t lash out when she’s hurt—she pulls away."

"And you’re caught in the middle," Imelda observed, her tone resigned. "As always."

"As always," Ominis echoed, his voice laced with weariness.

Imelda tilted her head, studying Ominis’s face with an expression he couldn’t see but could feel. “So, what’s the plan then, Gaunt? You’ve always got one.”

Ominis frowned, his fingers still idly tapping against his wand. His plan? As if he could snap his fingers and undo the damage Sebastian had caused—not just to Evangeline’s reputation, but to the fragile balance of their trio. “I don’t know if there’s a plan for this,” he admitted. “Evangeline needs space, but if we leave her alone too long, it’ll only get worse. And Sebastian…” He trailed off, the weight of Sebastian’s stubbornness settling like a stone in his chest. “Sebastian needs a proper kick to the head.”

Imelda laughed, though it was short and dry. “If you’re volunteering, I’ll hold your wand while you do it.”

"Too bad his skull's too thick for it to work,” Ominis replied, lips twitching into a faint smirk before fading again. "He knows he’s ruined things; he just doesn’t know how to fix them.”

Imelda leaned back, crossing her arms. “So, no plan?”

“Not yet,” Ominis admitted, though his mind was turning. He wasn’t sure what the right course of action was, but he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving things as they were.

“I’ll think of something." He said at length, "Someone has to.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Imelda said, standing and grabbing her plate. “And when you do get around to kicking some sense into him, make sure Sterling’s around to watch. She deserves the entertainment.”

Ominis leaned back in his seat as Imelda departed, his mind whirring. Someone had to step in. Sebastian was clearly incapable of making the first move, and Evangeline… she was too hurt to reach out herself. And if nothing changed soon, the damage might become permanent.

He pushed his plate away, no longer hungry, and rose to his feet. Raising his wand to guide him, he made his way out of the Great Hall, the chatter behind him fading into a dull roar.

The library was quieter than the Great Hall, but it carried its own brand of tension. The soft rustling of pages and the occasional scrape of a chair created an uneasy symphony, one that suited Ominis’s mood. He navigated the familiar aisles, his wand guiding him toward the far corner where he hoped Evangeline would be hiding.

She’d been skipping meals and even classes all week, avoiding crowds and slinking away before anyone could corner her. Ominis had been patient, waiting for her to resurface on her own, but her absence was stretching into worry. The Evangeline he knew—bold enough to face down trolls and outfly Imelda in Quidditch—didn’t hide. It wasn’t like her to disappear—not like this.

Ominis stopped when he reached the corner table and tilted his head, listening for the familiar scratch of a quill or the rustle of parchment. Relief swept through him when he caught the faint, rhythmic sound of writing.

“Still avoiding everyone?” he asked as he approached, his tone carefully casual.

Evangeline paused mid-stroke but didn’t look up. “I’m studying,” she replied, her voice clipped. The quill resumed its steady movements, but there was tension in her tone, a defensive edge that Ominis didn’t miss.

“Studying, hiding,” he said, pulling out the chair across from her and settling into it. “They’re not mutually exclusive.”

She let out a sigh, setting her quill down and leaning back in her chair. “What do you want, Ominis?”

He rested his wand lightly on the table, folding his hands in front of him. “To make sure you’re alive. I've been worried.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the books stacked around her. “Now, if you don’t mind—”

“Evangeline,” he interrupted gently, his tone firm but calm. “You can’t keep doing this. Hiding won’t make the rumors go away.”

Her hazel eyes snapped up to meet his, sharp and tired. “What else am I supposed to do, Ominis? Walk into the Great Hall and pretend I don’t hear them? Pretend they’re not calling me an idiot?” Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, and she looked away, her fingers curling into fists on the table.

“They’re cruel, Evangeline,” Ominis said softly. “But they don’t define you.”

“They don’t have to,” she replied bitterly. “I’ve already defined myself—for the whole school. The foolish Gryffindor who stood by her so-called friend who turned Quidditch into boxing, only to find out he doesn’t care. At all.”

“That’s not true,” Ominis said, leaning forward. “Sebastian cares. He cares so much that he’s too afraid to face you and apologize."

She let out a hollow laugh, her expression hardening. “If that’s your attempt at defending him, don’t bother. Actions speak louder than words, Ominis, and his actions have been loud and clear.”

Ominis sighed, rubbing his temple. “I’m not defending what he did. And believe me, he knows he’s made a mess of things. But he’s too much of an idiot to figure out how to fix it.”

“Then that’s his problem,” she said sharply, standing up and gathering her books. “Not mine.”

“Evangeline—”

She paused, her shoulders tense but not turning back to him. “I appreciate you checking on me, Ominis. Really, I do. But I can’t… I can’t do this right now.”

He didn’t stop her as she walked away, her footsteps quick and purposeful. Instead, he sat back in his chair, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the wood.

Ominis pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to push the building tension out of his skull. He’d thought that after last year, they could weather anything. But now he wasn’t so sure.

This wasn’t about dark magic or ancient artifacts. It wasn’t about the kind of betrayal you could blame on desperation or fear. This was about trust. And Sebastian had shattered it, not with curses or lies, but with something so mundane it almost felt worse.

Last year, Ominis found himself thinking, when Sebastian did the unthinkable, Evangeline had stood by him.

Ominis could recall the horror of that night with a clarity that made his stomach churn. The dark chamber, the oppressive weight if the the air, and the sickening, searing sounds of the Cruciatus Curse as it tore through her. She hadn’t hesitated to let Sebastian cast that unforgivable curse on her, because she’d believed in him. She’d trusted him enough to endure that kind of agony, certain that he wouldn’t lead her astray.

And later, when Sebastian’s own desperation and grief had driven him to kill Solomon in front of her, she still hadn’t left his side. She’d looked at Sebastian and seen a boy crushed under the weight of his own choices, not a monster, not a murderer. She’d forgiven him.

And now?

Now, after all of that, this—the fallout of one drunken party and Sebastian’s idiocy—felt like an impossible hurdle. And Ominis hated it. Hated the absurdity of it. Hated that something so comparatively trivial could cause this much damage between them.

But then, should he be surprised?

For the past two years, Evie had been the one who stood in Sebastian’s corner no matter what. She’d fought his battles, taken his side, even when Ominis had turned away in anger or disgust. How many more times could she be expected to put herself in the line of fire for him? How many more times could she pick up the pieces of his mess, only to have him treat her loyalty as something he was entitled to, rather than a gift?

Ominis knew Sebastian was a master at self-destruction, but this was different. This wasn’t just about Sebastian’s inability to apologize—it was about Evangeline’s breaking point. And Sebastian had betrayed her. Not in some dramatic, high-stakes moment like the ones they’d faced last year, but in a way that was somehow more personal. More intimate. He hadn’t protected her—not from the rumors, not from humiliation, and certainly not from himself.

Ominis sighed, pushing himself to his feet.

He couldn't allow this to tear their friendship apart. He couldn't let the two people he cared for most drift further away, not when he knew how much they meant to each other—even if they were too stubborn to admit it right now. Evangeline and Sebastian were tangled together in ways they probably didn’t even understand themselves, and Ominis had spent enough time caught in their orbit to know he had to intervene.

Ominis took a steadying breath, his resolve hardening. If there was one thing he was good at, it was cutting through Sebastian’s excuses. He wasn’t sure what he’d say yet, but he knew it wouldn’t be gentle. Sebastian had burned through every ounce of patience Ominis had left. If cruel honesty was what it took to finally get through to him, then so be it.

The Undercroft was quiet when Ominis arrived, the stone walls damp with the faint chill that always lingered in the hidden room. His footsteps echoed softly as he stepped inside, his wand guiding him toward the center where he knew Sebastian would be. Because when things got overwhelming—and they always did with Sebastian—he retreated to the Undercroft. It was his sanctuary.

But not today. Today, it would be his reckoning.

Sure enough, Sebastian was there, pacing in agitated circles. Ominis could hear the scuff of his boots against the floor, could feel the restless energy radiating off of him even without seeing it. He stopped mid-step when the wall closed behind Ominis, and for a moment, the silence stretched between them.

“You’re late,” Sebastian said eventually, his voice carrying a familiar edge of bravado. But it was thinner than usual, and Ominis could tell he was barely holding it together.

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time, haven’t you?” Ominis replied, his voice calm but laced with steel.

Sebastian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “If you’re just going to yell at me, save it. I’ve heard enough of it from Imelda, from Poppy—hell, even Garreth had a go at me.”

Ominis took a step forward, “And did any of them get through to you?”

Sebastian didn’t answer right away, his silence telling. Finally, he muttered, “I already know I messed up, Ominis.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Ominis snapped, his frustration breaking through. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Any idea how much you’ve hurt her?”

Sebastian flinched, but Ominis pressed on, his tone sharp. “Evangeline has stood by you through everything—through curses, through murder, protecting you from Azkaban. She’s defended you, fought for you when you didn’t deserve it. And now, because of one drunken night and your inability to think past your own damn nose, you’ve humiliated her in front of the entire school.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Sebastian said quietly, his voice strained.

Ominis barked out a bitter laugh. “Of course you didn’t. You never mean to. But that doesn’t change what happened. While she was passed out, Sebastian—passed out—you went and snogged some fifth-year by the fire. Do you even realize how that looks? How that makes her feel?”

“I wasn’t thinking!” Sebastian exploded, his voice rising. “I—Merlin, Ominis, I didn’t plan for any of this to happen! It just… it just did.”

Ominis took another step forward, his voice cutting like steel. “And instead of fixing it, you’ve spent the last week pretending it doesn’t bother you. Flashing that stupid grin, parading around with the same girl you snogged that night—”

“I’m not parading—”

“Don’t,” Ominis snapped, his tone icy. “Don’t even try to justify it. You’ve made a mess of things, Sebastian. A mess that Evangeline is paying for. And what have you done to fix it? Hm?”

Sebastian exhaled a shuddering breath, his pacing resuming as though the movement could somehow release the weight of Ominis��s words. The silence between them grew heavy again, stretching like a taut wire that threatened to snap.

“Why?” Ominis finally asked, his voice low but unyielding. “Why did you do it, Sebastian?”

Sebastian froze mid-step, his back to Ominis. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands as if the answer could be wrung out of his skull. “I don’t know,” he muttered.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Sebastian turned sharply, his frustration bubbling over. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Ominis! I was drunk! She was drunk! It just—” He stopped, his fists clenching at his sides. “It just happened.”

Ominis shook his head, unimpressed. "I’ve known you long enough to know that everything you do has a reason—even if it’s a selfish one. So tell me why. Why did you do it?"

Sebastian’s jaw worked as he looked away, his gaze fixed on some point on the floor. Ominis could hear the rapid, uneven rhythm of his breathing, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his frame.

“What were you thinking?!” Ominis pressed, his tone sharp.

Sebastian barked out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You really want to know, Ominis? Fine. I was thinking about myself,” he said, "About what I wanted, about—” He hesitated, his voice faltering. “About what I couldn’t have.”

Ominis clenched his jaw, his knuckles whitening around his wand. He knew where this was going, but hearing Sebastian lay it out piece by piece was like watching a slow-motion train wreck.

Sebastian let out a bitter sigh, slumping against one of the stone pillars. “She was… Merlin, Evie was so drunk. But she was happy to see me. She smiled at me like, like maybe she—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening before he forced the words out. “Like maybe she might feel the same way. Like maybe we could actually have a chance.”

“But then she passed out. And I—I should have stayed with her. I know that." He laughed again , the sound hollow and self-loathing. "But all I could think about was what it felt like when she looked at me, when she leaned into me like she didn’t want to let go. And how much I wanted her. How much I couldn’t have her. Because she'll never love me back, Ominis. And I don't deserve her anyway.”

He pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead, his words tumbling out in a rush now. “And then I saw someone else, and for one stupid, selfish second, it was easier. Easier to let myself pretend my feelings for Evie didn’t matter, to forget how much I wanted someone I couldn't have and never will. So, yes. I kissed her. I didn’t think about what it looked like, or what it meant, or how much worse it would make everything. I just… did it.” His voice cracked and he turned away, his shoulders trembling with the weight of his confession.

“And now you've ruined everything,” Ominis muttered, his voice low but razor-sharp.

Sebastian flinched, his head dropping. “I know, Ominis. You don’t have to keep saying it.”

“Oh, I do,” Ominis shot back, stepping closer, his tone gaining an edge. “Because apparently, it takes the whole damn school yelling at you before anything gets through that thick skull of yours."

Sebastian turned back to him, his expression anguished. “Do you really think you need to say all this? That I don’t already hate myself?”

“Hate yourself all you like," Ominis said coldly. "But hating yourself doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t undo what you did, and it sure as hell doesn’t make up for the fact that you left her lying there while you went off to satisfy your ego.”

Sebastian swallowed hard, his head falling against the pillar again with a dull thud. “How could I leave her there, Ominis? I didn’t even think about what might happen to her. What if she’d gotten sick? What if someone else found her before Natty? What the hell is wrong with me?”

“Do you want me to list it all out for you, Sebastian?” Ominis’s voice was sharp and unrelenting, each word like a lash. “Do you want me to spell out exactly what’s wrong with you? Because I will. I’ll tell you that you’re selfish. That you’re reckless. That you’ve let your feelings for Evangeline warp you into someone so consumed by his own desires that you don't even think about the destruction your decisions leave in their wake.”

Sebastian flinched, but Ominis didn’t stop. He stepped closer, his voice deadly calm. “I’ll tell you that you’ve taken the strongest person I know—the one who never wavered, who stood by you when no one else would—and you’ve turned her into someone who hides. You’ve made her doubt herself. Doubt her worth. And why? Because of your selfishness. Because of your inability to think beyond your own wants.”

Sebastian’s shoulders sagged, his mouth opening as if to respond, but no words came. Ominis’s voice grew colder, his tone cutting like ice.

“You humiliated her, Sebastian. In ways no one else ever could. Not the Slytherins who taunt her about her heritage. Not the gossiping fools who envy her. You. Because she trusted you. She trusted you more than anyone else in this world, and you threw that trust away—for what? A fleeting, meaningless moment of distraction?”

Sebastian’s fists clenched, his knuckles white. “I didn’t—” he started, his voice hoarse.

“Didn’t what?” Ominis interrupted, stepping closer until he was looming over Sebastian, “Didn’t think? Didn’t mean it? Those excuses won’t fix what you’ve done. You can’t undo this with hollow words or promises you’ll never keep.”

Sebastian’s breath hitched, his head hanging low as Ominis continued, his tone softening slightly but still firm. “You're broken. You’ve been breaking ever since Anne left, ever since Solomon died, ever since you let yourself believe you don’t deserve better. And maybe you’re right. Maybe you don’t. You sure as hell don't deserve Evangeline. But she deserves better than the coward you’re being right now.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with the weight of Ominis’s words. For once, Sebastian had no quick retort, no deflections or bravado to hide behind. He stood there, raw and exposed, the reality of his actions settling over him like a suffocating fog.

Ominis stepped back, his expression unreadable. “If you want to fix this, then stop wallowing and do something about it. Not for you—for her. She’s not going to wait for you forever, Sebastian."

Sebastian looked up at him then, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t know how,” he whispered. “I don’t know where to start, Ominis.”

Ominis stared at Sebastian for a long moment. His sharp features softened only slightly, though the anger still simmered beneath the surface.

“You start,” Ominis said, his voice low and deliberate, “By telling her the truth. And then you listen, Sebastian. You listen to what she has to say, and you take it. Whatever she throws at you, you take it, because you deserve it.”

Sebastian flinched at the finality in Ominis’s tone, the weight of his words sinking deeper into the pit of his stomach. His eyes fell to the floor, his shoulders sagging under the crushing realization of just how badly he’d screwed up. “What if she doesn't forgive me?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“I think,” Ominis said, his voice softer now but no less firm, “that Evangeline Sterling has already given you more chances than anyone else ever would. And if you don’t stop wasting them, then yes, Sebastian. She’ll stop listening. She’ll stop caring. And she'll stop forgiving. But you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, the motion heavy with resignation. “I’ll... I'll talk to her,” he said finally, his voice hollow.

Ominis didn’t respond right away. He studied Sebastian for a moment longer, as though weighing his words. Then he gave a short, curt nod. “Good. And Sebastian?”

Sebastian looked up at him, his expression hollow and weary. “Yeah?”

“If she forgives you, don’t make her regret giving you another chance.” Ominis’s voice was like iron, unyielding. “Because if you hurt her again, I won’t forgive you either.”

Sebastian’s throat tightened, the weight of Ominis’s warning settling over him like a second layer of guilt. He didn’t reply, and Ominis didn’t wait for him to. With a swish of his wand, the Undercroft’s entrance opened, and Ominis stepped through without another word, leaving Sebastian alone with his thoughts.

Sebastian woke to the damp chill of the Undercroft, the rough stone beneath him pressing uncomfortably into his back. His neck ached from the awkward angle at which he’d slumped against one of the pillars, and his robes were crumpled, wrinkled from what could hardly be called sleep. For a moment, he stared up at the ceiling, his mind foggy and disoriented, the weight in his chest a stubborn, familiar ache.

How had he ended up here?

It hit him all at once: Ominis. His words. The cold fury in his voice, the brutal precision of every accusation. The memory surged back like a slap, leaving no room for denial, no way to escape the truth Ominis had hammered into him.

You humiliated her, Sebastian. In ways no one else ever could. Because she trusted you.

Sebastian groaned, dragging a hand over his face. The coarse fabric of his sleeve scratched against his skin, grounding him against the dull throb of his guilt. He knew he deserved it. Deserved worse, even. But that didn’t make it any easier to breathe.

Sebastian sat up slowly, his body stiff and sluggish. The cool air of the Undercroft wrapped around him, biting through his crumpled robes, but he barely felt it. All he could feel was the memory of Evangeline’s absence—her quiet absence in the hallways, the way her laughter had disappeared from their group, leaving behind a hollow silence he couldn’t fill.

You threw that trust away.

Sebastian pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, as if he could physically push the memories back, stop them from replaying over and over. But they wouldn’t stop, because Ominis had been right. His words weren’t just true—they were inescapable.

Because she trusted you.

The thought alone was enough to drive him to his feet, his legs trembling slightly from the hours he’d spent curled on the ground. He staggered upright, leaning briefly against the pillar for support as his knees protested. His movements were stiff, his body as uncooperative, but he couldn’t stay here.

He had to find her. He had to try to fix this.

The Great Hall buzzed with its usual morning energy as Sebastian stepped inside, scanning the Gryffindor table for any sign of her. His stomach clenched when he saw that her usual spot—wedged between Natty and Cressida—was empty. His heart sank further when he caught sight of the guarded expressions on their faces as he approached.

“Where’s Evangeline?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep and the lingering tension in his chest.

Natty exchanged a glance with Cressida before answering. “We don’t know,” she said carefully.

Sebastian frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Cressida said softly, “that she hasn’t been around much. We didn't see her this morning in the common room, nor in our dorm. She’s barely there. She wakes up before us, goes to bed late, and hardly says a word.”

Her words landed like a blow to his gut. “She hasn’t said where she’s been?”

Natty shook her head, her expression turning to one of quiet reproach. “Sebastian, she’s avoiding people for a reason.”

He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. He wanted to press them for more, but the look in Natty’s eyes was enough to stop him. She knew what had happened—of course she did, she's the one who found Evie laying there alone—and there was no hiding from the judgment in her eyes.

“Thanks,” he muttered before turning on his heel and stalking out of the hall.

The hours that followed were a frustrating blur of dead ends as Sebastian scoured every corner of the castle he could think of.

He wandered through the library first, weaving between the shelves and peering into the tucked-away corners where she liked to study. His footsteps echoed in the quiet space, but no matter how far he searched, there was no sign of her. Madam Scribner glared at him over her spectacles when his whispered inquiries became too loud, and he left before her irritation could boil over into words.

The Quidditch pitch was his next stop, but it, too, was empty, save for a pair of second-years casually tossing a Quaffle back and forth. He lingered at the edge of the stands for a moment, staring out at the expanse of grass, before turning away with a muttered curse.

By the time night fell, his legs ached from climbing stairs and traversing hallways, but his determination remained unwavering. He retreated to the Undercroft once more, hoping that she might show up, seeking the solace the hidden room often provided. But as the minutes stretched into hours, he was met with nothing but the cold, empty silence of the space.

It was in the early hours of morning that Sebastian finally slipped through the entrance to the Slytherin common room. The dim, green-tinted room was nearly empty, save for a pair of fifth-years whispering near the hearth, but Sebastian barely spared them a glance as he made his way toward his dormitory.

He felt hollow, his chest tight with frustration and guilt. Hours of searching had turned up nothing, and the idea of going to bed without finding her filled him with a restless dread.

Pushing open the door to his dormitory, he stepped inside, his gaze immediately snapping to the companion candle on his bedside table. The soft glow of its flame greeted him, flickering steadily. His pulse quickened.

Evangeline was awake somewhere.

Sebastian stepped back into the corridor and closed the door behind him, leaning heavily against it as relief warred with frustration. She was awake. But where?

He racked his brain, thought back to every conversation, every memory they’d shared, searching for something—anything—that might give him a clue of where she might be hiding.

And then, it hit him.

The memory she’d shared with him for his birthday. It had been a beautiful day by the Black Lake in their fifth year, the two of them sitting side by side, staring out at the water as the sky reflected on its surface.

Sebastian pushed off the door, his heart pounding. Maybe she was there. It was a long shot, but it was all he had.

The castle was silent as he slipped through its shadowed corridors. Sneaking out past curfew was second nature to him by now, but tonight, his usual thrill of rebellion was absent. All he could focus on was finding her.

The cool night air hit him as he stepped onto the grounds, the vast expanse of the Black Lake stretching out before him. The moonlight danced across its surface, casting rippling reflections that seemed to shift with the breeze. The chill bit at his exposed skin, but he ignored it, his eyes scanning the shoreline.

And then he saw her.

She was perched on a low, weathered rock near the edge of the lake, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Her long hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the moonlight.

For a moment, he stopped, his breath catching in his throat. The sight of her after what felt like an eternity apart stilled him, rooting him to the spot. She looked so small, so fragile, her usual fire dimmed into quiet embers.

Sebastian swallowed hard, forcing his legs to move. The crunch of his boots against the gravel shore broke the silence, and he saw her stiffen slightly at the sound. She didn’t turn to look at him, but he knew she knew he was there.

“Evie,” he said softly, his voice barely carrying over the lapping of the lake’s gentle waves.

She didn’t respond. Her gaze remained fixed on the water, her arms tightening around her knees.

Sebastian hesitated, unsure whether to move closer. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and one wrong step would send them both tumbling into an abyss they couldn’t climb out of.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, his voice trembling with the weight of everything he’d been carrying.

“Why?” she asked, her tone flat and distant. The single word cut through him like a blade.

He took a step closer, the cool air biting at his skin. “Because I need to talk to you."

She let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and devoid of warmth. "What for? To give me some excuse for why you left me there? Why you chose her over me?" Her voice cracked, and she quickly turned away, her hands gripping the fabric of her cardigan - the very same one he'd picked out for her weeks ago in Hogsmeade. And now, seeing her clutch it like armor against him, the memory felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

“I—” His voice faltered. He had spent hours in his mind rehearsing what he might say if he found her, but now, faced with the raw pain in her voice and the sight of her curling further into herself, every word felt inadequate.

“You what, Sebastian?” she snapped, finally turning to look at him. Her eyes, glinting in the moonlight, weren’t filled with the fire he was used to. They were dulled, tired, and red-rimmed from tears. “You didn’t mean for it to happen? You didn’t think it would matter? You didn’t—what? Care?”

“That’s not true,” he said quickly, the desperation in his tone undeniable. “I care, Evie. I care more than I can—” He stopped, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I just… I didn’t think. I was stupid, and I didn’t think.”

“Didn’t think.” She repeated the words slowly, bitterly, her voice dripping with disbelief. “That’s always your excuse, isn’t it?”

Sebastian flinched, the accusation hitting harder than he’d expected.

“You didn’t think about how I would feel,” she continued, her voice steady but trembling with barely restrained emotion. “You didn’t think about what it would be like for me to hear what you did—to watch you strut around the school with her on your arm and know that everyone was laughing at my expense. You didn’t think about how it would feel to trust you, to stand by you, and have you turn around and… and—”

She broke off, her voice cracking as her gaze dropped back to the water. Her arms tightened around her knees again, her fingers digging into the fabric of the cardigan.

Sebastian took another step closer, his hands clenched at his sides as though he was physically holding himself back from reaching for her. “Evangeline,” he murmured, her full name slipping out instinctively.

"Don't call me that." Her voice cracked, sharp and brittle, as if the words themselves were a shield she had hastily raised.

Sebastian froze.

She had never stopped him from calling her Evangeline—never. It wasn’t just her name; it was his, in a way... something he naturally wielded with purpose. He used it sparingly, reserved for moments that carried weight: when he wanted to tease her into a smile, make her pause and really hear him, or when he needed to say something only she could understand. It was his way of reaching past her walls, of breaking through barriers when she threw them up. Now, hearing her reject it felt like a door slamming shut, leaving him stranded on the other side.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, the words rough and uneven.

She shook her head, her gaze still fixed on the water. “Don’t say things you don’t mean,” she murmured. “You’re good at that, you know—saying what people want to hear."

Sebastian stepped closer, “I do mean it,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I’m sorry, Evang—Evie. For everything. For hurting you. For making you feel like I didn’t care. I... I don’t know how to fix it, but I want to. I need to.”

She let out a hollow laugh, her shoulders rising and falling with the motion. “Fix it? You can’t undo what you did. You can’t un-snog her. You can’t erase what everyone’s saying.”

“I know,” he said, his voice almost breaking. “I know I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try to make it right."

Her head turned slightly at that, her eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment before darting away. “For me, or for you?” she asked softly. “You sure you're not just here to soothe your guilt? To make yourself feel better?”

“No!” he said urgently, stepping closer again. “This isn’t about me, Evie, it’s about you—because you’re…” His voice faltered, and he blinked hard, feeling the sting of tears building behind his eyes. “You’re everything to me, Evie. You always have been.”

Her breath hitched at his words, her posture stiffening as if she were bracing herself against them. “Stop,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Stop saying things you don’t mean.”

Sebastian’s throat tightened, and a tear slipped down his cheek, warm and bitter against his skin. He wiped it away hastily, as if embarrassed, but his hands trembled at his sides. “I’ve never meant anything more in my life,” he said, his voice raw. He took another step, closing the space between them, and knelt in front of her. His chest heaved with the effort to keep himself steady, to show her the truth in every fractured word.

Her hazel eyes lingered on the water for another beat, and then she exhaled, her shoulders sinking under the weight of everything she’d been holding back. It wasn’t a collapse, but a quiet unraveling, as though all her defenses were fraying at the edges.

The first tear slid down her cheek, and she didn’t bother to wipe it away. It was followed by another, and then another, until her breath hitched, a small, broken sound escaping her lips. She pressed her trembling hands to her face, muffling the quiet sobs that started to spill free.

“Evie…” Sebastian’s voice cracked, raw and filled with desperation. His own eyes burned, his own tears slipping free, but he reached out instinctively, his hand hovering uncertainly over her arm. “Please... don’t cry. I—Merlin, I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head without looking at him, her face buried in her hands. “You don’t get it,” she gasped through the tears, her voice raw and choked. “You don’t get how hard it is—how humiliated I’ve felt. I was always the one who stood by you, Sebastian. Always. And this... this is what I get for it.”

“You’re right,” he said hoarsely, his voice breaking again. “You’re right about all of it. I’ve been selfish, reckless... I’ve hurt you in ways I don’t know how to fix. But Evie, please believe me—I never meant to. I never wanted to hurt you.”

His hand trembled as it settled gently on her arm, the gesture tentative, pleading. When her gaze flickered down to it, Sebastian froze, his breath catching in his throat. He braced himself for her to pull away.

For a long moment, she didn’t move, her lips pressing into a thin line. But then, with a sigh so soft it was almost inaudible, she shifted, her body leaning ever so slightly toward him.

He stayed perfectly still, his breath catching as she let her head drop, her temple brushing lightly against his shoulder. He could feel her uneven breaths, the tremble in her frame as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I don’t know what to do with you, Sebastian,” she said after a long silence, her voice barely above a whisper. There was no anger in her tone now, no sharp edges. Just tired, aching honesty. “You always do this. You hurt me, and then you come back, and somehow, I always forgive you.”

He swallowed hard, guilt twisting in his chest like a knife. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he said quietly, his voice rough.

She didn’t respond right away, her silence stretching out between them. The soft lapping of the lake’s waves didn't even fill the void that had grown. And when she finally spoke again, her voice was so quiet he almost missed it.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this. I keep thinking… maybe this time will be different. Maybe you’ll change. And then... you don’t.”

Sebastian flinched, “Evie, please,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m trying. I know I’ve failed, but I am trying. I swear I am.”

She let out a quiet, hollow laugh, her breath warm against his shoulder. “I think you believe that,” she said softly. “But it doesn’t feel like it from where I’m standing. From where I’m... sitting.” Her lips quirked faintly, though there was no humor in the gesture.

Sebastian’s chest tightened further, his vision blurred by unshed tears, “I’ll do better,” he said, his voice heavy with desperation. “I swear it, Evie. I know I’ve let you down. Over and over. And I hate myself for it. I hate what I’ve done to you. What I’ve done to us.”

She leaned back to look at him and her gaze softened slightly, though the weariness didn’t leave her eyes. “I don’t want you to hate yourself, Sebastian,” she said quietly. “I just… I just want you to stop hurting me.”

Sebastian felt her words sink into him like lead weights, dragging him down with the raw, simple truth of them. Stop hurting me. It wasn’t a demand or an accusation. It wasn’t even spoken with anger. It was a plea—fragile and trembling, like she didn’t even expect it to be possible.

“I will, Evie,” he murmured, his voice raw and unsteady. “I swear it.”

Her lips twitched faintly, though the ghost of a smile never quite formed. “You say that,” she said softly, leaning back against him. “And maybe you mean it. It's just... I don’t think I can take it again if you’re wrong.”

He didn’t respond right away. He didn’t trust himself to. Instead, he let the silence settle between them again, his hand still resting lightly on her arm. He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, the quiet stretching out into a fragile bubble. But eventually, he spoke again, his voice low and steady.

“I’m not wrong this time,” he said, the words more a vow than a promise. “I can’t be. Because I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

Evangeline's breath hitched then, and for a moment, he thought she might pull away. But instead, she simply nodded, a silent acknowledgment of his words. A silent understanding.

Sebastian let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his hand hesitating before shifting to cover hers where it rested against her knee. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t grip—just let his palm rest there, warm and steady, like an unspoken promise.

“You’re still a bloody idiot,” Evie murmured after what felt like an eternity, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

Sebastian let out a faint laugh, the sound rough and cracked but real. “Yeah,” he admitted, his lips twitching into the barest of smiles. “I probably always will be.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hazel eyes searching his face. There was still hurt there, still an ache he couldn’t hope to erase in a single night. But there was something else, too—a flicker of something softer, something that gave him hope.

“Please don’t make me regret this, Sebastian,” she said quietly.

His throat tightened, and he nodded, his eyes locked on hers. “I won’t,” he promised, his voice raw but unwavering. “Not this time.”

For a moment, she held his gaze, her expression unreadable. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible sigh, she leaned back into him, letting her arms snake around his waist, pulling him closer.

The tension that had been coiled so tightly in Sebastian’s shoulders began to ease as he closed his eyes, his chin lightly brushing the top of her head. The scent of her hair enveloped him. It was a comfort he hadn’t realized he was desperate for until now.

“I mean it,” he murmured, his voice soft, “Whatever it takes, Evangeline, I’ll prove it to you. I’ll fix what I’ve broken.”

Her grip on him tightened slightly, and though she didn’t respond, he felt the subtle shift in her breathing. She was letting him in, piece by fragile piece. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it was something. A beginning.

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

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imperatorrrrr · 2 days ago

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Why is Jack public enemy number 1? Sorry I don’t go on twitter but I keep seeing it here on tumblr

According to some folks on Tumblr, Jack Hughes didn't smile at them or was rude to them or something at the team signing event last night.

Anon, you're in for a treat, because I will be defending a white man on main. lets go!

I want to first reiterate a few things...

this was a team signing event. not a meet and greet. meaning, Jack Hughes and the other players were there to sign things, any further interaction or anything would have been a plus. I think someone actually shared the rules of the event on twt, posted below. you couldn't even take selfies or pictures with the players. it was literally just a line where you handed over something that you wanted signed and it got signed. of course, there were players that personalized the signatures or let people take selfies and posed with them, but this wasn't actually a part of the experience nor should it have been an expectation.

2. this is not "part" of Jack's job or any hockey players job for that matter. I think people need to realize that although hockey players are celebrities in a certain sense of the word, their interactions with fans are not a necessary part of their job. I'm seeing a bunch of people say that he's being unprofessional and if he can't be good with fans than he shouldn't be a hockey player, and thats, frankly, idiotic. Jack's job is being a hockey player. that is what he gets paid to do. anything on top of that is on top not a part of his job. please understand that a hockey player does not need to have a social media presence to do their job, doesn't ever need to interact with fans to do their job, and actually can play a hockey game without any fans and still get paid!

3. I genuinely don't believe any of the things being said on Tumblr are actually true or if these incidents of him being "rude" did occur I don't believe they're being interpreted the right way or are being relayed in the right context. Rather, I feel like this is just another instance of folks looking for a reason to dislike or even hate Jack. he's a very easy player to dogpile on because of how he plays and how he is portrayed by the media and his fanbase. you don't need a reason to hate the dude, go on and hate him, but please stop making up stories.

anyway...

as far as things I have seen and first person accounts I've been told, Jack was perfectly normal with everyone and especially nice to the kids.

folks are just mad that he didn't rise to whatever lofty expectations people had of Jack during a team signing event where everyone's time with the players was incredibly short and heavily policed. maybe be upset with how it was organized (like why did they have three player tables, it didn't make any sense!).

plus, I have seen several accounts of people hearing folks in line talking shit about Jack while waiting for him, so like what exactly do you expect to happen when he hears you waiting in line for his autograph and being entitled to his time and his generosity and you're chatting shit? like that he's gonna be all sunshine and roses with you? naaaaaaaah.

and finally, we speak so often about respecting the privacy of these players, taking into account their mental health, etc. but then you're gonna turn around and judge someone because they didn't do exactly what you wanted to do when you met them for fifteen seconds? so we're giving grace to players on one end and turning around and blasting other players. make it make sense.

this is essentially the "people pay to watch me play" incident all over again where that quote is taken out of context and then everyone and their mother runs with it because Jack is a very easy target.

#Text #Anonymous #Question #Ask #Jack Hughes #New Jersey Devils #taking a chance and tagging this with Jack #because why not #I already feel like this is not going to be a good decision #anyway no more defending white men #Im done! closing up shop!#and honestly if this weeds out the weirdo fucking fans Jack seems to attract then so be it #it is actually the most annoying thing how misunderstood the Hugheses brothers are by hockey fandom #this gets into my dislike of the fandomification of hockey players #where people expect their favorite players to act like their favorite characters or their favorite celebrities #whats the thing people say #touch some grass #take a hot girl walk (gender neutral)

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imogenkol · 2 days ago

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— WIP WEDNESDAY

I’ve been tagged a lot (thank you to those that have 💕) so I’ll just throw in the general tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @socially-awkward-skeleton @neonshrike @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @florbelles @adelaidedrubman @simonxriley @tommyarashikage @buggknife @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch @d-esmond @loriane-elmuerto @shellibisshe @katsigian @captastra @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut @g0dspeeed @strangefable @statichvm @sevikagf @cptcassian @hexmaturgy @euryalex @auricfog @confidentandgood @e-the-village-cryptid @raresvtm

Been playing around with a concept to make Imogen’s life a little more difficult 🥰

The child trembled, his scrawny body curled in on itself to make him appear even smaller. There was no clear indication of how long he had been in the cell, but Imogen recognized the hardened gleam in the boy’s defiant glare. He experienced enough not to trust anyone who could open the locked door.

In those piercing eyes, the former Inquisitor recognized something else. A subtle strain at the edges of his features told Imogen that it took a massive effort to put on such a brave face.

Imogen saw a faint resemblance of the girl she had struck down all those years ago. That child had been slightly younger than this one, and she had been so very afraid, yet she stepped into the path of Imogen’s blade anyway. As if that would spare her younger brother behind her from an Inquisitor’s wrath. Even children reach for the smallest victories.

There was no one else this boy could protect besides himself. And even that was moot. The restraints on his wrists made what little he could use to defend himself obsolete. The boy knew it. Imogen knew it. Still, he scowled fiercely as if daring her to do her worst.

Imogen grinded her teeth and glanced left, then right. The other troopers on the block were dead and the hallway lay barren. She should not bother with any diversions, but she thought that perhaps granting this child a chance — however meager — may begin to balance the scales.

A chance was far more than she ever got at his age.

With a twitch of her fingers, Imogen forced her mind into the inner workings of the binders and released them. They clicked open and clattered onto the cold durasteel floor at the young boy’s feet. He glanced down and then blinked back up at Imogen in shock. The unexpected act of kindness only seemed to make the child more suspicious of her, so Imogen took a step back and pointed down the hall.

“That is the way out,” she said curtly. “I suggest you take your leave quickly.”

Imogen did not spare the child any words of comfort or even another glance before she turned on her heel and marched onward. She got several paces along until the gentle patter of a rushed gait behind her reached her ears, nearly drowned out by her own steady steps.

As she turned back, she saw the young boy come to an abrupt halt a mere meter away, his eyes wide and suddenly desperate.

“That way,” Imogen commanded and pointed in the opposite direction with more insistence.

The boy stood with such an unfazed expression that Imogen wondered if he even understood Basic until he spoke up. “I… I have nowhere to go.”

“The exit is a good start.”

“What about after that?” He shuffled on his feet and stared into his now empty cell as if that were the most viable option. “I don’t even know what planet I’m on.”

“That is not my concern,” she replied coldly.

Before he could argue further, Imogen turned her back on the boy again and continued on. She did more for him than she should have and would certainly not burden herself further. If he lacked the basic intelligence to escape or even take care of himself then he would not last long in the galaxy anyway.

“But you’re like me!”

Those words stopped her short. Imogen hadn’t the faintest idea where this random child had gotten such a notion. Had the boy not wasted so much of her time already, Imogen would have found his claim amusing.

“Is that so, child?” Imogen asked incredulously as she shot an impatient look over her shoulder once more.

The boy reached out and suddenly Imogen’s blaster flew out of the holster at her side with surprising velocity. She only had a split second to react and catch it with her own mind before the weapon could land in the palm of a child no older than twelve. The blaster remained suspended in the air between them as Imogen took a moment to weigh the boy’s strength in the Force. His talent was no match for hers, but the pull she felt against her whispered of this boy’s potential.

Seeing enough, Imogen wrenched the blaster free of the child’s influence and it floated into her gloved hand. She remained quiet as she returned it to its holster and regarded the boy with more interest. He clearly was no simple deviant the troopers had picked up off of the decrepit streets, but this revelation complicated things. Imogen had no desire for complications.

“I’ve never met anyone like me,” the boy stated in wonder, his bright eyes shimmering like she was a beacon before him.

Imogen should have known that her sins would be no easy task to atone for.

She sighed heavily. If nothing else, she could pawn the child off on Cal once she returned to him. The pretentious Jedi could finally have more students. “Stay close. Do not get in my way. Do not speak unless spoken to.”

The boy perked up and nodded emphatically. He trotted over to her like a pup. “My name is—”

“I do not care to know it, boy.”

#oc insp: Imogen Kol #Imogen at any given moment with this kid: nearly threw hands with an 11 year old #everyone is gonna be terrified that she’ll kill this kid and she’s gonna have to be like #omg the child murder thing was ONE time give me a break 🙄#also yes this is gonna be a Kratos situation were she exclusively refers to him as ‘boy’ even after she learns his name

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farenmaddox · 11 hours ago

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@wormieapple I don't want to reblog all your tags, but I do want to respond a little bit because you made some great points!

You kind of summarized it as "free will is ugly, has consequences, and is constantly in competition with the free will of others." I think that's true, but only up to the certain point of the original run of the show. I would tentatively say that I think this point has been eroding ever since season 6.

In the beginning, it was just about Sam and Dean having autonomy for their own bodies and souls and being allowed to make their own choices about who they can share those things with and/or give them away to. They spend a lot of seasons 4 and 5 finding out that a lot of their lives were "predestined" and they are left questioning how much of it was really up to them. But the story is about them fighting back against this idea, and Castiel comes in to provide this additional perspective that it's not just because they're the Winchesters and they're special, that this type of freedom should belong to anyone. At the end of season 5, they have thrown off the preselected narrative and saved the world. It did have consequences and it did hurt and not everybody survived, but the message is still that free will is a good thing and the world is better for it.

Everything from that point on has been very "free will's consequences are devastating, actually." They get so many people killed, and they have no victories that are not pyrrhic and directly leading to even worse problems. Every attempt they made to have a personality outside of their assigned role was brutally punished.

In my original post I was talking about Cas embodies this a lot, and how specifically every time he tries to grapple with or defend free will, it goes wrong. He wants so much for angels to have this, to make heaven a better place, but all it ever does is get them killed in droves. It literally never works even a little bit. Introducing free will to angels was unequivocally bad and this is never rectified or redeemed. The ending message is that angels can't handle free will and it's bad for them and for the world. But I'm also thinking about how they will never ever let Sam process his trauma meaningfully. Thinking about that scene in the apocalypse world (season 13, I think???) where they killed him and had Lucifer be the one to bring him back and hold him hostage to get to Jack. Sam is yet again helpless against Lucifer's wishes, as if nothing has changed in the last 10 years, directly contradicting what they wanted to say when they had him say "no" to Lucifer in season 11. When he wanted to use his trauma to display how resilient it had made him at the beginning of season 12, he wasn't allowed to have that either, they just drugged him and took what they wanted anyway. Sam is never allowed to be anything but a victim, EVER. All this before season 15 even happened.

Season 15 was where they should have drawn those threads back together and found a way to say, actually, you CAN escape these narrow definitions and things CAN change and your choices DO matter and the world IS a better place for having you and the way that you care in it. But they either didn't want to leave us with that message, or they fumbled the ball so badly that we're still talking about it on fandom ESPN these four years later. Like, I'm not arguing with what you were saying about season 15 being terrible and spitting in the face of the story they were trying to tell before. But my main point is that I think the warning signs were there much earlier than season 15 and they were undermining themselves well before then.

... is it just me, or was Supernatural's ultimate thesis statement on the character of Cas that angels cannot and never will be any good at independent thinking and all efforts at expressing free will shall have unexpected and terrible consequences? He thought he was digging a tunnel out and he was proud of himself but actually all he dug was his own grave. The message being that you actually cannot escape the role you are assigned no matter what?

This is the message of Cas, as a way of underscoring the arc of the actual main two characters, in which the thesis statement is that you cannot escape the trap of toxic masculinity and patriarchal hegemony, you will never deal with your trauma in a way that matters, and you will die and spend eternity caught in its endless cycle. The maze has no exit.

the son becomes the father and becomes absent. this happens to all four members of TFW 2.0 in one way or another. god is dead, long live god. long live broken promises.

#spn #spn meta #it's spn meta day I guess. I have thoughts. and feelings.

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lightlycareless · 2 days ago

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Do you think Naoya and his brothers feel a slight resentment in the change of Naobito’s behavior towards Naohime when compared to raising them? While Naobito is certainly not Grandpa of the Year, I’m sure his behavior is a significant improvement to how he raised his own. So I’m curious if they’d hold some anger towards him or Naohime(I doubt Naoya would but I think he’s feelings might be complicated) since it shows Naobito had the capability to be better but wasn’t? Or do they think that Naohime is just a Naobito whisperer Lol

Now isn’t this an interesting ask? This is a can of worms I feared opening because it might put some of Naoya’s relatives in a bad light but hey, that’s just how some families work haha.

Anyways, I won’t say much here, everything will be either on the actual post or afterwards :> I hope you enjoy my analysis of the situation!!

Warnings: none. Difficult family dynamics.

I would love to say that all of the Nao-siblings are responsible, mature adults when it comes to their feelings but let's be real, when Naohime comes along that’s when the real issues with their nephews begin.

Sure, they always considered them to be quite spoiled from Naoya’s willingness to give them whatever they want, followed by having an actual mother that cares for them, to finally, how they don’t seem to go through the same suffering they did when growing up around people like the Zen’in. (You defend them, Naoya is somewhat softer when training them, etc)

They don’t like the whole dynamic around your family…

BUT Naohime just takes it to a whole ‘nother level. At the intervention of Naobito, they finally realize that what they felt upon seeing your family… might’ve been akin to jealousy. It’s just that Naoya gets to experience that as well this time around.

However, the worst part of it is that nobody really expresses their sentiments, so they kind of just continue to grow bottled up inside them—and you don’t blame them. It’s the first time they get to see Naobito being… well, an actual human being and not the monster they grew up to fear and avoid, so they just don’t know how to process it.

Naofumi kind of gives you hints about their current turmoil, or at least that what affects those present at the estate—I dare say Naosuke and Naohito couldn’t care less about this because they’ve moved on, really. They’re rarely home anyways. And truth to be told, when they’re told about Naobito’s and Naohime’s relationship, they don’t really believe it— but outside of that, he’s used to never being up to anyone’s expectations so there’s no difference now :’(.

Naohiko is very vocal about it too, always complaining about how the old man “now has a heart” and how “ridiculous he looks” acting like that. He blames it to old age, that he’s growing senile, or he’s finally lost it, but…. Well, he won’t do anything outside that. Like Naofumi, he’s accustomed to never being to anyone’s expectations. Dare say, he probably has children too at this point, so he can’t bother himself to care about other kids that aren’t his.

Naoaki and Naoya though… they take it the worst.

Naoya is conflicted in the sense that he’s happy that finally one of his kids appear to be of his father’s approval (he’ll never admit it, but he’s unfortunately cursed to always seek his approval, one way or the other.) it’s just that… he never expected to see that kind of behavior coming from him. For the longest time, he believed it was too ingrained in Naobito’s DNA to be evil… alongside the eternal questioning of “what does Naohime have that I don’t to earn that kind of treatment?”

He eventually overcomes this when Naohime reassures him of being the best father ever (it’s a type of “Father adores Naohime, but Naohime adores me, so take that!!), because to him being a good father is much more important than being a good son (at least to someone like Naobito.) and besides, to compare himself to Naobito is… his worst nightmare haha. But all possible thanks to your and the kid’s support ♥️.

Naoaki… yeah, he’s the worst. He effectively hates Naohime, unjustifiably, but he couldn’t hate Naobito more so he has to take it out somehow, you know?

Now, he won’t do anything outrageous, but… he’ll try to diminish her achievements, make her feel guilty about what she does or doesn’t do, and most importantly, project his own insecurities onto her, like comparing her to her siblings. Naoaki genuinely believes she doesn’t deserve all that she gets, thinks that he's worked harder and such. Kind of a “I spent my whole life training to try to appease my father, and this kid is just born and suddenly she’s all he’s ever wanted?”

But by that point Naoya is the leader of the clan so if anything happens he’ll make sure to take the necessary measures to protect his family, though I think that Naoaki would rather live anywhere else than be under the control of his brother. So, kind of like Naosuke and Naohito.

Naohime is quite a spoiled kid, but nonetheless, she’s equally loved by you and Naoya, and Naobito, it seems haha. You really did come to change the Zen’in estate for good 😭😂.

TLDR: Naoya is a bit conflicted but eventually surpasses this situation because he loves Naohime too much to let such petty things bother him. (It took YEARS to get this mature version of Naoya OOF worth it) Naoaki already disliked everything that had to do with you and Naoya so now this is just— great lol. He’ll avoid Naohime most of the time… unless Naobito inspires her to mock him 💀

There you have it :> what I believe their thoughts would be regarding Naohime’s odd relationship with Naobito. They for sure think she’s some kind of Naobito-whisperer lol and those bold enough might use that to their advantage (like get favors and such, very bad influences indeed) but I also believe it doesn’t really matter since I envision that by the time she’s around Naoya is effectively clan leader. It’s a miracle that Naobito is still around by that point lol.

I hope you enjoyed my short analysis, and you don’t know how happy it makes me to read that y’all are interested in my other characters 😭!!!! It’s the highest compliment I could get, so thank you so much for sending in this ask 🥺♥️

Take care and hope to see you soon!!

#ask #naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

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doctorsiren · 1 year ago

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😨 Phoenix didn’t watch the lore videos

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greenerteacups · 3 months ago

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oooh please someday tell us what you think of GOT

oh, no, it's my fatal weakness! it's [checks notes] literally just the bare modicum of temptation! okay you got me.

SO. in order to tell what's wrong with game of thrones you kind of have to have read the books, because the books are the reason the show goes off the rails. i actually blame the showrunners relatively little in proportion to GRRM for how bad the show was (which I'm not gonna rehash here because if you're interested in GOT in any capacity you've already seen that horse flogged to death). people debate when GOT "got bad" in terms of writing, but regardless of when you think it dropped off, everyone agrees the quality declined sharply in season 8, and to a certain extent, season 7. these are the seasons that are more or less entirely spun from whole cloth, because season 7 marks the beginning of what will, if we ever see it, be the Winds of Winter storyline. it's the first part that isn't based on a book by George R.R. Martin. it's said that he gave the showrunners plot outlines, but we don't know how detailed they were, or how much the writers diverged from the blueprint — and honestly, considering the cumulative changes made to the story by that point, some stark divergence would have been required. (there's a reason for this. i'll get there in a sec.)

so far, i'm not saying anything all that original. a lot of people recognized how bad the show got as soon as they ran out of Book to adapt. (I think it's kind of weird that they agreed to make a show about an unfinished series in the first place — did GRRM figure that this was his one shot at a really good HBO adaptation, and forego misgivings about his ability to write two full books in however many years it took to adapt? did he think they would wait for him? did he not care that the series would eventually spoil his magnum opus, which he's spent the last three decades of his life writing? perplexing.) but the more interesting question is why the show got bad once it ran out of Book, because in my mind, that's not a given. a lot of great shows depart from the books they were based on. fanfiction does exactly that, all the time! if you have good writers who understand the characters they're working with, departure means a different story, not a worse one. now, the natural reply would be to say that the writers of GOT just aren't good, or at least aren't good at the things that make for great television, and that's why they needed the books as a structure, but I don't think that's true or fair, either. books and television are very different things. the pacing of a book is totally different from the pacing of a television show, and even an episodic book like ASOIAF is going to need a lot of work before it's remotely watchable as a series. bad writers cannot make great series of television, regardless of how good their source material is. sure, they didn't invent the characters of tyrion lannister and daenerys targaryen, but they sure as hell understood story structure well enough to write a damn compelling season of TV about them!

so but then: what gives? i actually do think it's a problem with the books! the show starts out as very faithful to the early books (namely, A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings) to the point that most plotlines are copied beat-for-beat. the story is constructed a little differently, and it's definitely condensed, but the meat is still there. and not surprisingly, the early books in ASOIAF are very tightly written. for how long they are, you wouldn't expect it, but on every page of those books, the plot is racing. you can practically watch george trying to beat the fucking clock. and he does! useful context here is that he originally thought GOT was going to be a trilogy, and so the scope of most threads in the first book or two would have been much smaller. it also helps that the first three books are in some respects self-contained stories. the first book is a mystery, the second and third are espionage and war dramas — and they're kept tight in order to serve those respective plots.

the trouble begins with A Feast for Crows, and arguably A Storm of Swords, because GRRM starts multiplying plotlines and treating the series as a story, rather than each individual book. he also massively underestimated the number of pages it would take him to get through certain plot beats — an assumption whose foundation is unclear, because from a reader's standpoint, there is a fucke tonne of shit in Feast and Dance that's spurious. I'm not talking about Brienne's Riverlands storyline (which I adore thematically but speaking honestly should have been its own novella, not a part of Feast proper). I'm talking about whole chapters where Tyrion is sitting on his ass in the river, just talking to people. (will I eat crow about this if these pay off in hugely satisfying ways in Winds or Dream? oh, totally. my brothers, i will gorge myself on sweet sweet corvid. i will wear a dunce cap in the square, and gleefully, if these turn out to not have been wastes of time. the fact that i am writing this means i am willing to stake a non-negligible amount of pride on the prediction that that will not happen). I'm talking about scenes where the characters stare at each other and talk idly about things that have already happened while the author describes things we already have seen in excruciating detail. i'm talking about threads that, while forgivable in a different novel, are unforgivable in this one, because you are neglecting your main characters and their story. and don't tell me you think that a day-by-day account tyrion's river cruise is necessary to telling his story, because in the count of monte cristo, the main guy disappears for nine years and comes hurtling back into the story as a vengeful aristocrat! and while time jumps like that don't work for everything, they certainly do work if what you're talking about isn't a major story thread!

now put aside whether or not all these meandering, unconcluded threads are enjoyable to read (as, in fairness, they often are!). think about them as if you're a tv showrunner. these bad boys are your worst nightmare. because while you know the author put them in for a reason, you haven't read the conclusion to the arc, so you don't know what that reason is. and even if the author tells you in broad strokes how things are going to end for any particular character (and this is a big "if," because GRRM's whole style is that he lets plots "develop as he goes," so I'm not actually convinced that he does have endings written out for most major characters), that still doesn't help you get them from point A (meandering storyline) to point B (actual conclusion). oh, and by the way, you have under a year to write this full season of television, while GRRM has been thinking about how to end the books for at least 10. all of this means you have to basically call an audible on whether or not certain arcs are going to pay off, and, if they are, whether they make for good television, and hence are worth writing. and you have to do that for every. single. unfinished. story. in the books.

here's an example: in the books, Quentin Martell goes on a quest to marry Daenerys and gain a dragon. many chapters are spent detailing this quest. spoiler alert: he fails, and he gets charbroiled by dragons. GRRM includes this plot to set up the actions of House Martell in Winds, but the problem is that we don't know what House Martell does in Winds, because (see above) the book DNE. So, although we can reliably bet that the showrunners understand (1) Daenerys is coming to Westeros with her 3 fantasy nukes, and (2) at some point they're gonna have to deal with the invasion of frozombies from Canada, that DOESN'T mean they necessarily know exactly what's going to happen to Dorne, or House Martell. i mean, fuck! we don't even know if Martin knows what's going to happen to Dorne or House Martell, because he's said he's the kind of writer who doesn't set shit out beforehand! so for every "Cersei defaults on millions of dragons in loans from the notorious Bank of Nobody Fucks With Us, assumes this will have no repercussions for her reign or Westerosi politics in general" plotline — which might as well have a big glaring THIS WILL BE IMPORTANT stamp on top of the chapter heading — you have Arianne Martell trying to do a coup/parent trap switcheroo with Myrcella, or Euron the Goffick Antichrist, or Faegon Targaryen and JonCon preparing a Blackfyre restoration, or anything else that might pan out — but might not! And while that uncertainty about what's important to the "overall story" might be a realistic way of depicting human beings in a world ruled by chance and not Destiny, it makes for much better reading than viewing, because Game of Thrones as a fantasy television series was based on the first three books, which are much more traditional "there is a plot and main characters and you can generally tell who they are" kind of book. I see Feast and Dance as a kind of soft reboot for the series in this respect, because they recenter the story around a much larger cast and cast a much broader net in terms of which characters "deserve" narrative attention.

but if you're making a season of television, you can't do that, because you've already set up the basic premise and pacing of your story, and you can't suddenly pivot into a long-form tone poem about the horrors of war. so you have to cut something. but what are you gonna cut? bear in mind that you can't just Forget About Dorne, or the Iron Islands, or the Vale, or the North, or pretty much any region of the story, because it's all interconnected, but to fit in everything from the books would require pacing of the sort that no reasonable audience would ever tolerate. and bear in mind that the later books sprout a lot more of these baby-plots that could go somewhere, but also might end up being secondary or tertiary to the "main story," which, at the end of the day, is about dragons and ice zombies and the rot at the heart of the feudal power system glorified in classical fantasy. that's the story that you as the showrunner absolutely must give them an end to, and that's the story that should be your priority 1.

so you do a hack and slash job, and you mortar over whatever you cut out with storylines that you cook up yourself, but you can't go too far afield, because you still need all the characters more or less in place for the final showdown. so you pinch here and push credulity there, and you do your best to put the characters in more or less the same place they would have been if you kept the original, but on a shorter timeframe. and is it as good as the first seasons? of course not! because the material that you have is not suited to TV like the first seasons are. and not only that, but you are now working with source material that is actively fighting your attempt to constrain a linear and well-paced narrative on it. the text that you're working with changed structure when you weren't looking, and now you have to find some way to shanghai this new sprawling behemoth of a Thing into a television show. oh, and by the way, don't think that the (living) author of the source material will be any help with this, because even though he's got years of experience working in television writing, he doesn't actually know how all of these threads will tie together, which is possibly the reason that the next book has taken over 8 years (now 13 and counting) to write. oh and also, your showrunners are sick of this (in fairness, very difficult) job and they want to go write for star wars instead, so they've refused the extra time the studio offered them for pre-production and pushed through a bunch of first-draft scripts, creating a crunch culture of the type that spawns entirely avoidable mistakes, like, say, some poor set designer leaving a starbucks cup in frame.

anyway, that's what I think went wrong with game of thrones.

#using the tags as a footnote system here but in order:#1. quentin MAY not be dead according to some theories but in the text he is a charred corpse #2. arianne is great and i love her but to be honest. my girl is kinda dumb. just 2 b real.#3. faegon is totally a blackfyre i think it's so obvious it may well be text at this point #it's almost r+l = j level man like it's kind of just reading comprehension at this point #4. relatedly there are some characters i think GRRM has endings picked out for and some i think he specifically does NOT #i think stannis melisandre jon and daenerys all will end up the same. jon and dany war crimes => murder/banishment arc is just classic GRRM #but i think jon's reasoning will be different and it'll be better-written.#im sorry but babygirl shireen IS getting flambeed. in response stannis will commit epic battle suicide killing all boltons i hope #brienne will live but in some tragic 'stay awhile horatio' capacity. likely she will try to die defending her liege and fail #faegon will die there's zero chance blackfyres win ever #now jaime/cersei I do NOT think he knows. my brothers in christ i don't think this motherfucker knows who the valonqar is!!#same with tyrion i think that the author in GRRM wants to do a nasty corruption arc + kill him off but the person in him loves him too much #sansa i have no goddamn idea what's going to happen. we just don't know enough about the northern conspiracy to tell #w/ arya i think he has... ideas. i don't think she's going to sail off to Explore i am almost certain that the show doing that was a cover #because the actual idea he gave them was unsavory or nonviable for some reason. bc like.#why would arya leave bran and jon and sansa? the family she's just spent her whole life fighting to come back to and avenge?#this is suspicious this does not feel like arya this does not feel right #bran will not be king or if he is it'll be in a VERY different way not the dumbfuck 'let's vote' bullshit #i personally think bran is going to go full corruption arc and become possessed by the 3 eyed raven. but that could be a pipe dream #the thing is he's way too OP in the show so the books have to nerf him and i think GRRM is still trying to work out #a way to actually do that.#i don't think he told them what happened with littlefinger or sansa. i think sansa's story is vaguely similar #(stark restoration through the female line etc)#but the queen in the north shit is way too contrived frankly. and selfishly i hope she gets something different #being a monarch in ASOIAF is not a happy ending. we know this from the moment we meet robert baratheon in AGOT #and we learn exactly what GRRM thinks of the people who 'win' these endless wars of succession #and they are not heroes #they are not celebrated #and they are neither safe nor happy

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twwcs · 3 days ago

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the library scene warms my heart that they are still in each other’s side (lets just forgot the whole he needs my help with tutor and i need her help for tutor excuse cause i know they just have and neeeeddd to be close) ughh

"Dinner later?" He inquires, brow raising as he's starting to walk away. Walking backwards away from the table, his eyes on you the entire time. "Sure, I'll meet you there.." You rest your head on your hand, watching him go from where you're sitting. Watching that look on his face. A sort of satisfaction in that he's leaving but already thinking about when he gets to see you next.

just kiss already count : 1

"He's a great friend... isn't he...” He says it with a little bit of annoyance in his voice, thinking about how you two have gotten really close as friends and he didn't even know it. "Yeah he's really sweet," You smile, not really noticing his expression. You want Miguel to know that you can get along with his friends too and you can be a part of his life. "He's funny..." His brow twitches just a bit. He doesn't know how to feel about the fact that you two are friends in and out of the tutoring club. And that you're calling him sweet. And funny.

Oh honey you officially make this man brain restless with your wording😭. Just kiss already count : 2

Maybe you're just so focused on being his friend to prove to Miguel you can be part of his friend group. Miguel can feel his patience slipping. How you seem so oblivious to the fact that Peter is a huge flirt and that Peter was flirting with you earlier when he invited you to the bar. But he's been Peter's friend for years, of course he knows the girls flock around him.

LIKE WHATT JUST PLEASE DONT BE SO CRYPTIC GIVE THIS MAN HIS BREAKK

The topic change gives him some relief. Grateful to think about something other than the image of Peter taking you home tonight. He lifts his hand, flexing a few fingers. "It's fine. Doesn't really hurt much right now. It's a good reminder to not lose my cool again... " "Yeah, that locker room hates to see you comin'..." You joke with a smile. Shaking your head.

Finally just focus on you two, let’s start from there. Just kiss already count :3

Miguel can only listen and watch this interaction between the two of you. It's like a nightmare come to life. And he's feeling claustrophobic in this crowded place with all these people. He just wants to take your hand and go back to campus, go back to your dorm, go back to the library.

Okay sir respectfully why didnt you?. But for real it’s already written there but it’s so frustrating that the reader wanna be close and fit in with miguel’s circle but honey i know you meant well but didnt you see this guy right here is a bout to combust

'Well you all played very well..." You hum. Looking between the two boys. You can't help but notice Miguel's body language. Thinking he must just be upset that he didn't get to play because of his cast. But he did very well on the sidelines.

It’s not that ball you need to be concerned. You succeed on making them both oblivious on one another . Just kiss already count : 4

I cant defend you any more girlie, i cantttrttr

"Um..." You're thinking. You don't really do this that often and you're finally getting to hang out with Miguel and his friends. What the hell... "Sure!" Peter flashes that charming smile at you and Miguel can feel his control slipping again. Now he's buying you drinks?

Mig, jealousy looks good on you <3

"I'm sweating..." You huff, moving to get up off the bed and his arms come to steady you. "Woah woah slow down, sweetheart..." The words ooze off his lips.

Just kiss already count : 5

Your mind filled with the thoughts of being Miguel's again. You're friends with his friends like any girlfriend would be. So what's stopping him? What's stopping both of you from just being together again? Since you've proven to him, you can fit in.

Your hips slot between his legs, standing between them and getting closer. Fingers clenching into his shirt and smashing your lips against his. His fingers splay out, shock and surprise. His eyes wide and heart seemingly stops. You're... kissing him... you...

"No baby... you need to go to sleep... you're drunk.." He whispers, feeling so weak, his hands running up your warm bare thighs, like medicine. His cast is slightly scratchy on your thigh. Finally your body on his, your warmths feeding off of each other. "No please... say you want me, please you have to, don't you want to?" You whine. Leaning over him and kissing his cheek, burying your face in his neck. He's speechless. Doesn't know what to say or think. He thought you were done all this time. He thought you were pining after Parker.

"I want you... I do want you..." He whispers before his mind can even think. His hands falling from your thighs and flat on the bed. It feels wrong to touch you this way. His love for you overshadows his own selfish need. You won't remember this in the morning.

I HAVE BEEN SOBBING FOR THE PAST 30 MINUTES.

I Think I'll Keep You 5

a/n: Thank you again for your patience! I hope you guys enjoy and the next chapter is already underway and will come very soon! And some more art and bots coming out as well so look out for that!

w.c.: 10.2k NSFW MINORS DNI

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5

“...accurate and efficient methods of decoding… further aiding us in understanding… um… complicated genetic codes… pushing preservation and conservation. Uhh… yeah.” Miguel sighs, sitting up in his seat and peering over your arm as you type away on his laptop. Sitting at a table in the middle of the library during tutoring hours. Your fingers typing for him as he speaks what he wants written. He can’t type. Not with his right hand totally out of commission. So he’s come to your open tutoring hours. And now you have a student to work on so you can get paid and he can get help with his work. It’s Saturday and the two of you have been practically connected at the hip for the past two days.

You woke up beside him yesterday afternoon after that late night emergency room run. Lazily, sleepily taking the rest of the day slowly. Walking across campus to get food since all you both ate the whole night was a few pieces of candy. Smiling and talking, shoes splashing in shallow puddles along the concrete. A refreshing feeling having moved on from the mess of the last few weeks. The bubble has popped. That bubble of sex and ignorance that felt so great for the both of you. Sitting in the dining hall, among the hardwood and tall, ancient windows of your old university; looking over the school grounds turned fall shades and the autumn breeze blowing in through the window. Trying to talk about anything that won’t add any more stress or tension. No talk of friends, or family, not even school. Really just talking about whatever comes into your mind. And the conversation is just so easy. It’s different to spend time with him outside of the dorm room. It didn’t happen very often before. A lot of your conversations were pillowtalk. It’s different talking about the other parts of your life that don’t take place right after doing the deed. Miguel is funny. And he’s a good listener when his mind is clear and he’s focused on you. Only you.

Feels like things are going back to normal. Well not how it was before. A new normal.

“I think it sounds good… it’s a little awkward in the intro still but we can fix it up later…” You assure him, fixing a few typos and reading it over. The library is nice and quiet as always. You didn’t have any other students come this afternoon so you have time to focus on this and help Miguel since you know he can’t really do it himself right now.

“I don’t know… feels like I’m missing something. I’m gonna include the research but it doesn't feel like enough.” He sighs, leaning his elbows on the table, pushing his frames further up the bridge of his nose and looking over the notes in his hand. His knee is bouncing under the table and you can feel the vibrations of it in your seat. He’s applying to the Alchemax grant program. A huge grant with a long essay to go with it, multiple letters of recommendation and a personal profile piece. Tens of thousands of dollars for his research project. And he’d basically be an intern there. Able to use their facilities and labs to complete the job and create a brand new study of his own. It would start right after graduation and almost definitely lead to a great job at Alchemax Industries. He sighs, leaning back in his seat, draping his arm over the back of your chair.

“You okay?” You hum, observing his clearly distressed behavior. His knee bouncing, his brow furrowed, the sighs. He looks over at you, in your eyes. Don’t lie. “Yeah I’m fine… just… want to get this right.”

You nod. Knowing that’s not all there is to it. But accepting it for now. “Well, maybe you should include some of your… personality…traits…” You suggest with a small smile, knowing that it will be like pulling teeth with him, clasping your hands in your lap and looking over at him next to you.

“Like what. I mean… Tyler knows me. He’s the one that told me to apply.” [Tyler Stone. President and Ceo of Alchemax Industries.] He sighs, pushing his glasses up on his head, his dark curls becoming a little messy with the metal pushed through them, and rubbing the sides of his nose with his fingers. The ache of wearing his glasses for a while when he usually doesn’t like wearing them at all. But he’s worn them more often the past few days. He can see you more clearly now.

“Yeah but he’s not the only one who’s gonna be working with you or deciding if you get the job or not. You want people to know who you are… know the kind of person you are. More often than not, that’s more important than the research when it comes to something like this. I mean, you’re not just applying for a grant, you’re applying for a job…” You explain kindly. He looks up, in your eyes, his eyes raking over your pretty face. He loves feeling like he can be close to you again. He loves feeling like he knows what’s going on in your head. Or maybe that’s just his need for control seeping in. Like venom in warm blood. Just sitting next to you like this. Even if he hasn’t so much as kissed you since everything went down. It’s only been nearly two weeks but it feels like an eternity. He wants to so badly. But he reminds himself that this is how things are right now. He messed up and he’s getting a second chance. He won’t take your forgiveness for granted. “Yeah, you’re right.” He admits, dropping the graphs and charts on the table.

“Maybe talk about family… inspirations… personal goals. People like that kind of stuff. People also want to know that you can be a part of something bigger than yourself…” You say, fingers brushing over the keys and ready to type what he says. “Uh…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, trying to pull this out of his brain. He doesn’t really want to talk about his family. Doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of being considered inspiration. But his upbringing and his parents’ names alone have opened a lot of doors for him in the past. His fingers fidget on the back of your chair, catching a few strands of your hair, playing with it so softly that you don’t even feel it. And he watches the side of your face to make sure you don’t notice, your eyes focused on the computer screen. Curling the strands around his finger and getting lost in touching you. Hanging on desperately to this morsel of touch. Knowing he probably shouldn’t but he just can’t help himself.

“I guess… we could say I grew up watching my parents with their business. But that’s more… financial services. When I was born, OLI was just taking off and now… I’ve watched them build it into what it is today.” He explains. You keep typing, writing it down in the notes to keep it straight. You can hear the sigh in his voice like he hates to be talking about it. You don’t know why. Mostly because he’s never spoken about this before. But if he’s applying for such a big opportunity then it’s important to include.

“OLI, I’ve heard of that, I think…” You look over at him, unsure what that stands for but you know you’ve heard that acronym before, or maybe you’ve seen it somewhere?

“O’hara Legacy Investments.” He says with a nod and sigh, a level of disdain in his tone. He leans forward, his mind still on this essay. On beefing it up with info that might secure him this grant. Even though he’s confident his connections will get him in. There’s always a chance things might not go his way. He wants to prepare for every possible outcome. He hates to feel out of control. You stop typing. That sounds like investment banking. Like the kind of thing that makes people billionaires.

“Is that the… that tall building downtown?” You ask, looking over at him and he nods, a blank stare in his eyes as he’s looking down at the research notes. “Your family runs that?”

“Yep.” He sighs, not offering more information so you don’t ask for more.

“Okay sooo… how would that influence your work at Alchemax?” You prompt, trying to veer back on course. You can tell he’s losing steam, you’ve been at this a while.

“So I guess it’s not really the same as what I would be doing at Alchemax but… Watching how that runs… how many people it takes to keep something running like that. I guess something about leading teams of people working towards a goal…” He keeps thinking out loud and you keep typing, interpreting his words into organized notes and ideas. “So.. maybe about you as a leader? You think you can be a good leader…”

“Yeah. I think so… and soccer, we could include that too.” He says, perking up and sitting up a bit straighter. Although the topic of soccer does bring his anxiety levels up a bit. Watching you type while playing with a piece of frayed material on his cast. “Yeah, captain of the soccer team, sports is always something they want to hear. If you’re a leader… organizer. And coming from SU especially, they love to see it.” You agree, typing and compiling the thoughts that come to mind. “And to know you can work in a team…”

Miguel nods. Feeling relieved that you’re able to help him with this. He did all the more technical notes for it over the past few weeks. Organized lots of thoughts and data to start the writing process. Then he broke his fingers and that put a wrench in the process. It’s due next week and without you he’d be screwed. But it works out sort of perfectly, and a little selfishly, that now he’s spending more time with you because of that. “I think also…”

He starts. You look over, ready to type whatever he suggests. “I’m an older brother too… that’s… I don’t know…” He mumbles. You find yourself smiling. “I feel like… maybe being a leader in that way is different.”

“It’s very different, yes…” You nod, looking back at the laptop screen, a smile dancing on your lips. “Maybe something about… protecting… looking out for those that are important to me. Or being a good role model I guess…” He sighs. Thinking. About Gabriel. About you. Pretty much the two most important people in his life. I guess I haven’t been a very good role model as of late.

“Loyalty… role model…” You say and nod. Typing those words in the compilation of notes you’re making in the margins. His knee is still bouncing.

“I also think you’re very passionate…” You say. He looks over at you, the side of your face, watching you type more things in the notes. Trying to create a section of his essay that can portray him as not just another applicant. “I think I’m just generally angry… I don’t really think before I do things…” He scoffs, shaking his head and leaning forward, his arms on the table, his head resting down on his forearms, looking at your pretty face from this angle. You grin and nod, giving him a look. “Yeah but we don’t have to include that… passion works…”

He laughs through his nose, blinking softly and admiring your face. Watching your pretty eyes, the light of the computer screen reflecting in them, making them especially sparkly. It’s quiet for a moment, just the clicks of keys and fingertips. He thinks, reflecting on all that’s happened in the past few weeks. That thing with Dana keeps coming to mind. That was really a moment of lost control. Is that the passion you’re talking about? That he loses control and can’t get it back until it’s almost too late? He worries about that. Not remembering most of it because he was so angry. It sort of feels like a dream. Especially since he fought with you right after that and then everything went right to shit.

All he knows is that Dana made it back to his dorm. He knows for a fact nothing happened. He wouldn’t have wanted it anyway because he despises her and she was drunk off her ass. But she did lie on his bed. Her perfume was all over him. And he remembers standing over her and wanting to make her hate him. Just so that she would leave him alone. That’s a level of anger he never wants you to witness, or anyone really for that matter. It scares him a bit now to think of it. All he knows is that if you think he’s loyal, he’ll be loyal as a dog. If you think he’s passionate, he’ll be a raging, burning fire to keep you warm. You think he’s anything, he’ll be that. If you want him to be.

He fidgets with the fray on his cast. Coming off the blue material. His gaze caught on the little cursive “mine” you wrote. That night in the drug store. When you were both so deliriously tired, sitting in the middle of the floor. Having this on his arm is like a reminder. Or a promise. That maybe you’ll be his or he’ll be yours again. He’ll just have to be patient. His thumb brushes over the word, like making sure the letters won’t fall off, making sure they’re stained into the blue permanently. Do you even remember writing this? He thinks. Or were you so tired it feels like a dream? His bouncing knee still vibrates against your chair.

“Anything else for today? We did a lot…” You ask, looking over at him. Bringing him out of his thoughts. “No, I think that’s good, thank you… but maybe next week we can finalize things and you can help me edit it?” He asks hopefully. “Yeah definitely, I’ll block out some time for you…”

He nods, sighing and pulling his glasses off his head. Folding them up in his hand and collecting his papers. You just save the document, debating in your head the words on your tongue. Closing the laptop so he can pack it up in his bag.

“So… you wanna tell me what’s stressing you out?” You ask, turning in your seat to face him and leaning your elbow on the table, head in your hand. He stops what he’s doing, putting down the stack of notebooks. “You can read my mind…” He smiles.

“No, you’ve just been bouncing your knee against my chair for the past hour.” You sigh, smiling soft but sympathetic at him. His shoulders slump. “Oh sorry…” He shakes his head, feeling embarrassed for being so obvious, pinching the bridge of his nose in his fingers.

“It’s okay… Is it the grant? I think your essay will be good enough…” You hum. Noticing all of his distress and not wanting him to be freaking out over something he’s already spent so long working on. “No it’s not… I… I’m really glad you can help me with it. Thank you… I’m just worried about the game tomorrow…” He nods. And it dawns on you. “Ohh…”

“I actually should get going… have a meeting with the coach. Figure out how we’re gonna pull this off…” He sighs, getting up from his seat to gather his things. He’s been wracked with anxiety about the game ever since putting two and two together that he’s out for the next few weeks. It’s against the rules for someone to play with a plaster cast on and he’s nowhere near getting that removed. So the team will have to supplement him.

“You’re not gonna play are you? You shouldn’t… not with your hand like that.” You insist, watching him get up, pulling on his jacket precariously with his one working hand. He can hear the concern in your voice. “I can’t. It's an instant disqualification… so I have to talk to Coach and maybe I’ll just assistant coach tomorrow, I don’t know…” He sighs, knowing it’ll be a struggle for the team to play without him. And they very well might not win. This is a university proud of its win streak so far.

“If it hurts, let Coach know… you don’t have to do anything that’s uncomfortable.” You advise softly. Wanting him to be comfortable. Always. That look of care on your face makes him feel a little warm. Making him feel a little soft and fuzzy inside. He can’t remember ever being worried over like that. He clears his throat, trying not to let that feeling get to him too much, shoving his laptop in his bag and zipping it up. “I will… don’t worry about me…”

He says it but he doesn’t really mean it. Although he doesn't want you to be anxious; he definitely doesn’t need to inflict any more emotional pain on you, he’s done more than enough of that over the past few weeks… he does want you to care. Or it’s more like… once he realized you actually do care, now he doesn’t want to lose that.

“Just be careful… I know you’ll do well and the team will be fine…” You smile gently. Clicking your pen and watching him getting ready to leave. His bag slung over his shoulder. “Thank you… yeah I just need to chill.” He sighs, moving his hurt hand around absentmindedly to soothe the ache. “Well… the feeling you’re having just means you care. It’s a good feeling, even though it’s scary…”

He looks in your eyes, down at where you’re still sitting. Feeling struck by your words. You’ve always been so good at that. You always know exactly what to say when he needs to hear it. He hopes to do the same for you one day. If only he can figure out how you manage to do it every time. He just nods in thanks, a renewed sense of relief inside.

“Dinner later?” He inquires, brow raising as he’s starting to walk away. Walking backwards away from the table, his eyes on you the entire time.

“Sure, I’ll meet you there…” You rest your head on your hand, watching him go from where you’re sitting. Watching that look on his face. A sort of satisfaction in that he’s leaving but already thinking about when he gets to see you next. He nods. Turning towards the library doors and smiling to himself, making his way out. Sneakers tapping on the hardwood floors of the academic building, sparing you one last glance. Finding your eyes still on him. A stupid sort of giddy feeling in his chest. Lopsided grin on his lips as he leaves the library.

“O’hara! Dude.” Peter’s voice brings him out of his flurry of thoughts. Watching his friend march down the rest of the hall to him. “Where you been? You disappeared again…” Peter chuckles.

“Oh yeah I‘ve just been… busy in the lab and stuff… and my application.” He lies. While it’s true he has been working on his application and piles of homework, he’s also been actively avoiding all of his friends ever since your fight. Unable to handle even the slightest of social interaction. His mind set on you and only you. But he won’t tell Peter that.

“Dana said you were being crazy or something…” Peter huffs, his brow quirked in disbelief. Miguel’s heart starts to beat a little harder at that. Did Dana tell everyone what happened? Or her version of what happened? “What did she say?”

“Well… she’s kinda implying that you two hooked up after the party last week…” Miguel’s eyes widen at that news. It’s just not true. But that seems to be the story everyone believes so far. “MJ thinks she’s full of shit bu-"

“She is full of shit.” Miguel sighs. Pinching the bridge of his nose. Or trying to with his cast. It was a foolish thing to give into his anger and take Dana back to his dorm. But he didn’t sleep with her. He’s not surprised though that she’s spreading that rumor around. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Shit, what happened?!” Peter flips, looking down at the cast engulfing Miguel’s forearm to the tips of his fingers. Looking at the seemingly broken hand, his eyes scanning over Miguel as a whole. Feeling like he has no idea what’s going on with someone who’s supposed to be his closest friend. “I broke my wrist but it’s fine, doctor says it’ll be fine even without surgery.”

“It’s fine?! What about the game?” Peter asks in panic, running a hand through his previously neat light brown locks. It’s against policy rules to play with a hard plaster cast for the safety of the other players and teammates. But Miguel’s the captain, their top offense and shooter.

“I’ll be on the sidelines and Miller and Durante can take care of it.”

“It’s Princeton, Miguel. We’re gonna get fuckin’ smoked out there…” Peter huffs, going on and on but Miguel just shakes his head, feeling that anxiety rising again. The anxiety you were able to dampen only moments ago. “I know it sucks… I know. But those new drills have been helping… I’m gonna talk to coach.”

“Alright… but Marco and Santiago need to get their asses in order before tomorrow. I’m not playing defense because they can’t pay attention to the fucking ball.”

“I know, I know…” Miguel sighs and nods. Knowing this is all bad timing. They’ve been preparing for this game for a while now and it’s a pretty big spectacle. The stands will undoubtedly be full to the brim. It makes him tense and anxious to think about.

“Okay…” Peter huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Well, text me what Coach says…” He sighs, lifting his fist. Their knuckles colliding as he’s starting to walk off to where he’s going. “No more disappearing…” Peter chuckles, looking back as he starts walking down the hall, pointing a finger at his friend. “Yeah, yeah…”

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” Peter says with a nod, his hands in his pockets as he rounds the corner, walking into the library. Miguel sighs, feeling that tension, that tomorrow might not go well and it’ll be all his fault. Because he can’t do more to help the team he’s supposed to be leading.

He jogs down the stairs, down another hallway and outside. The fall breeze and smell of the trees and crisp autumn air flows past his cheeks, blowing back the little curls by his ears. Hunching his shoulders up when the brisk air cools his neck, pulling his collar up and walking across the commons to get to the athletic building on the other side of campus. To meet with Coach about the game plan for tomorrow.

“Come on guys, one more time!” Miguel calls out to the team. Dressed in his uniform, dark blue and silver stripes, school colors with the Sterling University crest on his arm, a C on his chest. Number 99 on his back. Cleats and his cast to match. It does suck he has to miss out on actually playing but he does a lot of assistant coaching as captain anyway so it’s nothing he’s not used to. Coach Dean is talking with the referees anyway. Schmoozing on the sidelines, convinced it’ll earn them less whistles through the game.

Miguel sighs, anxious, shaking his head and directing his attention to the mobs of people filling the stands. The sun is setting, the field lights coming on and a slight chill filling the air. A buzz with that too. College soccer fans here as well as lots of students from both universities. People are excited. The team is excited as well as anxious without Miguel playing beside them. Knowing they’ll have to supplement him being out. Miguel huffs, stretching his arms and wincing slightly at the remnants of ache in his wrist, his breath fogging in the cold air.

“Come on… si yeah! ¡Mantén la posesión!" He shouts from the sides, watching the team warming up with the drills and keeping order, following them up and down their half of the field. “Marco!¡Sigue presionando! Call for it!" A mix of Spanish and English naturally leave his lips. Dark eyes follow their form and technique. Keeping everyone in order. They’re doing really well as always. But Miguel would prefer perfection. “Good! Alright break!” He shouts.

The team all relaxes, sighing in relief and collecting on the sidelines near the bench. Some passing the ball back and forth. The goalie is doing some technique in the practice nets with Durante and Miller. Others glancing at the opposing team warming up on their side of the field. “Marco, you’re gonna break you’re fuckin’ ankle doing that. Keep it light, it doesn’t have to be so fast. Slow down and go through the steps, alright?” Miguel instructs calmly, grabbing a ball and demonstrating on the turf by the benches. Marco nods, wiping his brow with the edge of his jersey.

“Just like that… keep it loose and look at Miller, he’s the one you’re paying attention to. Don’t look at Durante, he’s gonna be looking at Miller for that pass down the field. But that was still good, keep it up..”

“There’s a lot of people here…” Peter comments, squirting some water into his mouth, catching his breath. Miguel walks over from helping Marco, standing beside his friend and looking out at the people in the stands. It’s a little more than they’re used to. Little intimidating considering this stadium seats thousands of people.

“It’s a big game…” Miguel huffs, grabbing his water bottle. Wish I could fucking play… he thinks. Glancing at Coach, still talking to the refs near the midline. They have a little while before everything starts.

It’s the end of the first half and it’s been a good game so far. Princeton is good but so is Sterling. They’d be better if Miguel was on the field to help them. He finds himself getting frustrated on the sidelines, disagreeing with the refs calls and calling out to his teammates, trying to lead and instruct. The whistle blows and the team finally relaxes. Panting and walking over to the sidelines.

“They’re fast…” Marco pants, plopping down on the bench to catch his breath. “We have to be faster… but we’re holding our own…” Miguel says, hands on his hips and looking over the team, trying to keep the edge from his tone. He’s here to lead, not berate.

“You good?” He sees Peter covered in grass stains. Peter’s the one that’s been scoring pretty much all the goals so far. Princeton’s defense is good. It’s one of those games where no one’s going to score very many goals, it’s all about making sure the other team doesn’t get too close. “That was really good, keep doing that. And if it works better for Marco to go up the right side, then do that.” Miguel says.

“I will… they’re so fuckin fast…” Peter pants, grabbing his water bottle and squirting some in his mouth. Breathing heavy through his nose. The team takes a few minutes at halftime to refuel and plan for the second half. Peter and Marco will have to be smart about the next plays. They’re down by two and the other team just keeps getting closer and closer.

“I got a girl in the stands…” Peter says with a lopsided smile, still out of breath, spraying some more water into his mouth. “Yeah?” Miguel’s brow quirks at that information. He knows Peter has a lot of girls around him and friends that are girls. Makes sense, he’s very smart, an athlete, loud and the life of the party. Everyone always trying to get a piece of him. Not a foreign concept to Miguel himself. Miguel grabs his water bottle too, raising it to his mouth. “Who is she?”

“Her name’s y/n…”

What?

“...yeah you should meet her… she’s really pretty and smart and funny...”

What?

Peter keeps talking, tossing a ball to someone else across the bench. Not even registering the look on Miguel’s face. Like shock and something else. Something Miguel himself can’t put a finger on. And Miguel can only half listen to Peter’s words. “She’s head of the tutoring club… did I tell you I started doing that? Dude, I’m getting paid to do some freshman’s homework and get course credit. It's like the easiest shit in the world…” Peter laughs, talking on and on.

Miguel doesn’t understand. It’s like his brain can’t process this. Staring at Peter silently and waiting for him to say it’s a joke. But how could it be a joke?

“She’s riiiiight… there-” Peter turns, pointing at the stands. Turning stiffly, Miguel looks out to where he’s pointing. His dark eyes searching the stands and looking for your face. Hoping to see some stranger who happens to have the same name as you. But no. It’s you.

He watches your gaze snap onto them, seeming surprised to have both their attention now. How did he not notice? You’ve been here this whole time, sitting nearly 15 rows behind him and he didn’t know? But Peter knew?

He can’t help that his immediate reaction to seeing you is relief. Seeing you up there and he just wants to smile. Wants to disappear with you and forget this stressful game. You’re like… his best friend in the whole world. But then that relief is quickly quelled when he realizes Peter is the one who invited you, he’s the reason you’re here.

Miguel huffs. Nearly getting hit in the face when Peter starts waving at you. Stepping back and trying to make sense of this. There you are, waving back their way. What is this? He wonders. Unable to help the scowl that appears on his face as he observes Peter waving. What is this happening that he doesn’t know about or had no idea could even happen? Another bubble has popped and he didn’t even know it.

He looks back up at you. Your eyes looking his way. But are you looking at him or are you looking at Peter? He hates that he can’t even tell. He hopes it’s him but it’s too much distance to know for sure. He just holds up a hand weakly. Waving at you. Feeling like an idiot, a total fool. And here Peter is waving at you, thinking Miguel doesn’t even know who you are. Fuck.

“Alright boys! Let’s huddle up!” Coach yells, coming over to the bench and motioning for everyone to come over. Peter moves to head over, gently kicking a ball on his way. And Miguel can’t help but keep glancing at you. Feeling self conscious. You’ve been watching him and witnessing all of this, this entire time? He didn’t even know you were here and half of the game had already been played. And all he’s done is stand on the sidelines while Peter played big shot scorer.

Your hands wave at him, mouthing something he can’t make out. His brow knitting together as you try to communicate something to him before Coach snaps again.

“O’hara!”

His eyes snap to the team huddled by the bench. Taking long strides to get over there. But his mind is a mess. He didn’t even know you knew each other.

The second half, the rest of the game, it’s hard for Miguel to focus on coaching. He’s watching the team play but it’s like a delayed reaction in his mind. Like his body is here but his brain is trying to tap into some invisible signal stretching from you to him. Peter scores again and Miguel flinches at the sound of the stands erupting. Cheering and echoing through his head. Pounding the sides of his skull.

He can’t help but glance your way every chance he gets. But every time he’s able to spot you in the sea of colors and foreign faces, you’re looking at the ball on the field. Which is always in Peter’s possession. And he can’t focus on anything except what he doesn’t know. What he can’t control.

…

“Wooooo!” Marco hollers, the team gathering in a huddle on the field and celebrating their close victory. They won, but it was a tough game. Miguel stares almost blankly as the team all slaps hands and says good game. And by the time he snaps out of it, turning to find you, the stands are already emptying out and you’re gone from your seat.

“O’hara!” The team shouts, bringing him out of the mess of thoughts. The players crowding him in celebration on the sidelines. Cheers and loud voices. Talking about moments in the game, highlights, certain techniques that had Princeton on their toes. All in all it was an exciting match and Peter was definitely the savior, scoring more goals than anyone and making the game. And Peter is all smiles.

The team heads back to the locker room. Showering and warming down from the game. Miguel stands at his locker. His new locker since the punched in door wouldn’t close properly on his old one. Pulling off his jersey carefully with one hand and hanging it up. Wiping down his broad chest with a towel and hearing Peter with some of the boys walking in from the showers. His movements slow, brow furrowing, grabbing his change of clothes and pulling a tank top on, the black material bunching down his toned abdomen against his deep skin. Listening to Peter’s voice.

His mind races. Since when did you two become such good friends? And why wouldn’t I know you were coming to the game when I saw you all day yesterday? Does Peter know that? Does Peter know we spend countless hours together? Does Peter know we have this deep connection that I’m actually working really hard to repair? He ought to.

He listens to Peter’s conversation, as if waiting for him to say your name to confirm he’s talking about you. But he can’t make it out all the way. Something about a party, something about his car, something about the game. He watches the rest of the guys leave the locker room. Peter walks by with the guys and he just subtly, silently glares as they pass, not noticing him. pulling his hoodie on and shutting his locker gently. Pulling his phone off the charger and slinging his sports bag over his shoulder, walking out.

He slumps down the concrete steps, the hallway leading to the exit doors, opening out to the athletic parking lot. Raking a hand through his hair, his mind a mess. He’s not used to feeling so beaten down after a game. They won, he should be happy. He should be glad. But he just feels indifferent. Or he just really needs to see you.

When the door swings from someone else leaving, he catches a glimpse of you through the opening. The bright lights from outside assault his eyes as the door swings again. Seeing you for just a moment. Just a split second. Talking with Peter against the fence. He stops. What is he walking into? What’s about to change? You’re gonna be there right when he goes through that door. He stands in the dim concrete tunnel, feeling his heart race. He doesn’t like this feeling. This is the loss of control.

“Miguel!” Peter smiles, making you turn to look back. And there he is, walking out the door. You want to just run into his arms and tell him how great he was. Even though he didn't get to play he still coached very well and played his part in the victory. But Peter is talkative and gets in there before you can. And you don't really want to interrupt when he's talking with his friends. Since this is the first time you've been around his friends with him.

“We’re gonna get drinks, you have to come” Peter says, ushering Miguel over to where you’re standing. “This is y/n… y/n this is Miguel”

“Yeah we know each other.” Miguel says immediately. Not a hint of a smile on his face. He’s annoyed with Peter. Annoyed that it’s not a known thing. He wants it to be known that you two are an item. Or… that there’s something going on… he’s not even sure of at the moment. At least that Peter should know to back off. “Oh cool, so drinks?”

Miguel’s a little astonished with how easily Peter just brushed that off. Eyes flicking between you two and hoping to god you don’t accept the drink invite. But he bites his tongue. Friends. Really good… friends.

“Uh… I don’t know, I’m kinda tired…” You sigh. Part of you not wanting to go since it’s not your normal scene but a bigger part needing to go so you can feel like you’re really one of Miguel’s friends. Not someone he has to hide. That you can get along with them and be a part of his life. That’s all you want to prove to him.

“Come on… please?” Peter pouts. And Miguel wants to scream. Trying to tell you with his eyes that he doesn’t want to do this. Not right now. Maybe later when he’s had time to mentally prepare himself. It doesn’t help that you look adorable right now. In your Sterling Uni hoodie with a scarf to keep warm. He doesn’t want to do this. He’d rather just go to dinner. Like always. Talk for hours and maybe even fall asleep talking in your dorm like always. Not this. Please not this.

His eyes burning a hole right through you, trying to communicate it without using the words since he can’t right now, not with Peter standing right there. Part of him wants you to come and show you off. The other part of him wants you all to himself, not wanting to share you with anyone. But he’s trying to be better. Trying to control himself rather than try to control everything else around him.

“It would be fun, right Miguel?” Peter asks, bringing him out of his thoughts. He wants to say no. Wants to say fuck no and disappear, taking you with him. But he can’t do that now. So he just nods stiffly, forcing a smile. Almost painfully. “Yeah… come…”

Your eyes light up and Miguel knows he’s done for. “Oh great!” You smile and Peter is instantly excited too. Talking about how great it’s going to be and how many people will be there. Miguel’s heart is pounding, seeing how easily Peter was able to get you to come. How Peter is smiling and looking at you. A sense of dread filling his chest.

It’s the usual bar. The college bar around the corner from campus where the sports teams usually congregate after a game. Or the general student body on a Friday night. Loud music and conversation, the place is packed. Football and UFC playing on the multitude of TVs hanging in the place. The team filters in all acting like they own this place. Playing pool and getting drinks, talking to girls in corners and at the bar. It’s a crazy night at least for you. Miguel’s seen nights like this before, but this time you’re here. And he won’t let you out of his sight. Even as people talk to him, trying to strike up conversation and catch up. Since everyone knows who he is and knows his name. He still keeps his attention focused on you. He doesn’t care about anyone else in this bar tonight.

Drinks flow the second everyone is in there, laughter and loud voices, trying to be heard over the music. Miguel keeps his arm barred at your side to help get you through the density of people. Like a shield to make sure no one bumps into you. Not wanting you to be too claustrophobic or crowded. Staying nearby until you find two seats at the bar miraculously. As you sit down, Miguel quickly scans the room. Looking for one face in particular. No sign of Dana and he can relax a tiny bit. Sliding into his stool seat beside you.

He sits down, watching how you observe the place, looking a little out of your element here. It’s clear you’re not a party girl. You’re a smart, intelligent tutor and it shows. It would almost be comical if Miguel didn’t have a fierce determination to protect you in this place.

He leans over, getting closer to your ear to be heard over the noise. The smell of your shampoo mixed with your perfume, so close and familiar, filling his senses and almost making him dizzy. His mind flashing with moments of you in his bed. Your body under his and his face buried in your soft sweet smelling hair. He’s the only one in this bar that knows what you sound like when you come.

“Drink… Do you want a drink?” He asks, trying to be heard over the noise, his cheek brushing against yours. Pulling back to hear your response. “Yeah! Whatever is fine…” You smile, trying to speak over the chaos of people and stimulation. A bit out of your element but doing fine. Excited to be here with him and feel like you’re fitting into his world.

He gets the bartender's attention, ordering you just a beer in a bottle. He doesn’t know if you’d want anything fruity, not that this crappy bar would have anything that good anyway. He’s never drunk with you before. He slides it over to you, watching you take a gulp and smile. You’re so out of your element here. He sighs. A swell in his chest.

Even though he would normally be drinking a couple beers himself, he just has water in front of him. He wants to stay relatively sober. Enough to keep watch over you and make sure no one else talks to you. “Oh, I thought you were gonna get the same thing…” You chuckle, leaning your elbows on the bar and watching him sipping his water from a plastic cup.

“Someone needs to be responsible for all these people right?” He chuckles. As captain of the team he actually does feel that responsibility. To keep people in line since he knows they’ll listen to him. “And I need to be sober if I’m carrying you out of this place drunk off your ass…” He jokes, teasing you.

“I’m not getting drunk tonight, no way. No thank you…” You sigh, shaking your head. Looking down at the label on the bottle in your hand. Then your eyes dart around the crowded room a few times. He just looks at your face. You’re so pretty. Especially pretty in this low light.

“Well how is the beer at least? I know it’s not something sweet but it’s probably the best thing they have here.” He huffs, keeping his eyes on you, studying you. He’d love to just be all over you and show people that you’re his. But you’re not right now. You’re his friend and that’s the boundary you both set. He’s trying his best to uphold that after his mistakes. “It’s fine… I don’t ever drink much anyway so I’m not picky…”

He nods. Learning more about you all the time. The two of you have never been out to a bar or club before so this is all brand new. He can see how you’re a little nervous in this place. It’s not your usual hangout spot and he can tell. “Yeah, this place is pretty chaotic tonight…” He comments, looking around then back at you. “You’re okay though, right?”

“Yeah I’m fine…” You smile. Clasping your hands in your lap. He’s attentive, more recently than ever. It’s true that he’s become like your best friend over the last month and a half. Even though it hasn’t been that long, it’s felt like a lifetime. And with how much time you spend together, it still feels like he separates you from a lot of the other parts of his life. Friends, family, everything else. You spot Peter across the way standing with some people. The only other person you even know in this place.

Miguel follows your gaze over towards where Peter is and he can't help but wonder why you're looking at Peter or what you're thinking. He looks at the group of people around him, recognizing teammates and classmates, but notices Peter in particular.He tries to remain cool, looking back at you. "He's a great friend… isn't he… "

He says it with a little bit of annoyance in his voice, thinking about how you two have gotten really close as friends and he didn't even know it.

"Yeah he's really sweet," You smile, not really noticing his expression. You want Miguel to know that you can get along with his friends too and you can be a part of his life. "He's funny…"

His brow twitches just a bit. He doesn't know how to feel about the fact that you two are friends in and out of the tutoring club. And that you’re calling him sweet. And funny. He knows how charismatic and charming Peter is, knowing he could get any girl he wants. "He always gets the girls… he's quite the flirt…" He mumbles.

"Oh really?" You smile and scrunch your nose up, looking back at Peter and seeing that yes, there are many girls around him right now. And he must be very popular with the girls, you think. You hadn't really noticed that Peter was a flirt but you think he's charming. Maybe you're just so focused on being his friend to prove to Miguel you can be part of his friend group.

Miguel can feel his patience slipping. How you seem so oblivious to the fact that Peter is a huge flirt and that Peter was flirting with you earlier when he invited you to the bar. But he's been Peter's friend for years, of course he knows the girls flock around him. It just annoys him that you’re completely oblivious to it. He watches you watching Peter across the room, trying not to let it show on his face how frustrated he is.

"How's your hand?" You ask, taking a sip from your bottle. Gesturing towards his cast in his lap. Trying to talk over the noise in the room. The topic change gives him some relief. Grateful to think about something other than the image of Peter taking you home tonight. He lifts his hand, flexing a few fingers. "It's fine. Doesn't really hurt much right now. It's a good reminder to not lose my cool again… "

"Yeah, that locker room hates to see you comin’…" You joke with a smile. Shaking your head. Punched his locker like some guy in a movie.

Miguel can't help but smile, knowing you’re referring to him punching the front of his locker like a crazy person. He sighs, knowing it was stupid and a loss of control. "That locker had it coming though…"

You laugh at his words, his eyes lighting up watching your head throw back a bit. The fluttering sound of your laughter carrying slightly over the noise in the room and hitting his ears. He wants to make you laugh like that all the time. Make you smile like this every day. And Peter works his way through the room over to the bar.

"There you guys are! I thought I lost you…" Peter's face lights up when he gets closer, excited to see his best friend and you, the pretty tutor. He stands behind both your chairs putting his hands on the backs of them. Miguel’s eyes flick back-and-forth between you two. You're still oblivious. Smiling at Peter like you don't know what he's doing. Every instinct inside of him telling him to make Peter back off. But he's trying to be better for you. Trying not to lose control or act impulsive.

"Spending the night bragging, are you?" You smile and tease Peter lightly. Leaning over the back of your chair. He did score a lot of the winning goals tonight. Peter laughs and loves any attention from you. Miguel can only listen and watch this interaction between the two of you. It's like a nightmare come to life. And he's feeling claustrophobic in this crowded place with all these people. He just wants to take your hand and go back to campus, go back to your dorm, go back to the library.

"Well you all played very well…" You hum. Looking between the two boys. You can't help but notice Miguel’s body language. Thinking he must just be upset that he didn't get to play because of his cast. But he did very well on the sidelines.

"Peter here was especially on his game today. Princeton is tough…" Miguel says with tension in his tone, finally joining in on the conversation. His eyes flicking between the two of you but landing on you mostly. Watching your reaction to Peter's words.

"It's all in the foot work really. Reading the opponent… Gotta think about 10 steps ahead." Peter says with a grin, in his element. Miguel has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. As much as he loves Peter, he wants him to fuck off right now.

You giggle softly at Peter's joke and his obvious love for attention. Loving the way you can so casually hang out with Miguel and his friends for the first time ever. Miguel clenches his jaw, sipping his water and trying to keep his cool. You take a sip of your beer finding it's the last one, putting the empty bottle back on the bar. It seems both boys take notice.

"Can I get you another? "Peter asks, His eyes lighting up.

“Um…" You're thinking. You don't really do this that often and you're finally getting to hang out with Miguel and his friends. What the hell… "Sure!"

Peter flashes that charming smile at you and Miguel can feel his control slipping again. Now he's buying you drinks?

"I got it." Miguel suddenly says, waving to the bartender for another round. If anyone's getting you drunk tonight, it's gonna be him. So he can make sure you're okay. “Okayyy…” Peter huffs softly, raising his brow at Miguel’s rivalry. But Miguel doesn’t care. Grabbing the fresh cold beer bottle and sliding it over the bar in front of you. Looking back up at Peter, a stern expression on his face.

Over the next hour and your next two beers, Peter just won’t go away. He’s practically hanging on your chair, talking to you about whatever. And because you’re so nice and sweet you just keep giving into him. Smiling at Miguel too like you want him to be in on the conversation. But it just makes him feel worse somehow. Is he really losing you to Parker? Is that how this is gonna go?

“So… you guys are like best friends?” You ask, your words slightly slurred, cheeks pink and flushed. You’re tipsy and Miguel’s watching you like a hawk. Your beer shined lips as you smile up at Peter. So damn cute and pretty. “We are… best friends…” Peter says in a cocky way. Grabbing Miguel’s shoulder and shaking it a few times, a beer in his other hand. Miguel might be the only sober one in this place and it’s getting annoying.

He fidgets with the same fray on his cast, pulling on it and pulling on it. Watching you talk to Peter. Forcing a smile when you look his way. It’s getting unbearable. Eyes flicking around the crowded room and just wanting to get out of here.

“One more round?” Peter asks and Miguel groans internally. You’re both drunk, everybody is drunk and he just wants to get you back somewhere it’s safer. Peter gets to chatting loudly with some other people down the bar.

“Do you wanna leave?” You lean over, getting closer to Miguel, right up to his face and he just gives you a soft look. Admiring your pretty flushed features. He can see you’ve been having fun. “No, I’m good, we can stay if you want…” He hums gently.

“Don’t lie, Mig…” You whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear over the noise. And his brow knits together, hearing the nickname, your soft warm voice, wanting to reach out and brush your hair back, kiss your pretty pink lips. Anything. “I’m a little tired…” He admits. And even in your tipsy state, you know it’s time to go.

“Let’s go then… it’s too loud…” You sigh, a distracted Peter now talking loudly with Marco and Miller down the bar. Relief, Miguel thinks. He does really want to make sure you get back to your dorm okay.

…

“Wai-I ‘ave a question…” You slur, hanging onto him and pressed up against his chest as he’s trying to get you over to bed. His big strong arms around you and it feels so good, feels so right. What you’ve been missing all this time and now it just feels like everything is perfect and everything is good and… and your tongue still tastes like beer and… and he smells so good.

“Yeah, what's your question?” He asks so soft and gently. His voice is like smooth melted butter mixed with sweet brown sugar. Bringing you over to your bed and sitting you down on the edge. Making sure you don’t topple over. “Hold still, I’m gonna take your shoes off…”

“D’you think… that… um…” You sigh, the alcohol clouding everything making you instantly forget what you were about to ask him. But the thought is mixing around your brain just waiting to come out. After all, it’s all you were thinking about all night. “M-my shoe is stuck”

“I know, I’m trying to get it off…” He sighs, unable to stop the smile when he hears your little whine. You are pretty cute like this and he likes helping you. Kneeling down in front of you and taking your shoe onto his knee to undo the laces, slipping it off.

“Do you think that… all your friends… that they like-like it?” You sigh, wiggling your toes in your socks as he slides your shoe off. His hands on your calves, absentmindedly caressing up and down, having you in his hands like this is too good to pass up, but he looks up at you at your question. His brow furrowing, wondering what you mean. “Do they like what,-?” He almost called you baby right there. But stopped himself. Maybe it’s just being like this with you right now. Being close and finally being needy for his help, needing him in any way. Or the way you seem so soft and fragile right now he just wants to protect you.

“That they like me…” You sigh. Pushing a hand through your hair and he pulls your other shoe off, your feet freeing and legs dangling off the side of the bed.

He looks up at you, piecing together your broken sentence. Do his friends like you? Peter?

“Like P-peter… does Peter like me?” You ask and his expression goes serious. Swallowing thickly and setting your shoes to the side. He knows the answer. He knows that Peter obviously has a thing for you. It’s becoming more clear you have a thing for him too.

Miguel straightens back up, standing over you and listening to your drunken rambling. Your mumbles. “Cuz I think Peter is really nice and I think you and I can be friends… and I can be friends with your friends too…”

He doesn’t understand what you mean. Towering over you and feeling so blocked up. Like he’s miles away from where he wants to be with you. He wants you to want him. Not think about Peter.

“Uh… I think Peter likes you, yeah…” He mumbles. Looking down at your face. The way it lights up and his heart falls. “Really? So we can all be friends?”

His heart hurts, looking in your eyes. So confused, not knowing what to think. But wishing he could just kiss you right now and make your thoughts stop. Or to fill your thoughts with him. If he kissed you right now would you forget Peter ever existed? If he kissed you right now, if he laid you down and pumped into you until you were a crying trembling moaning mess like all those times before, would you forget Peter and think about him again?

“I’m sweating…” You huff, moving to get up off the bed and his arms come to steady you. “Woah woah slow down, sweetheart…” The words ooze off his lips. His hands guide you before you reassure him you can walk. He huffs, watching you walk over to your closet. He sits down on the edge of your bed, head in his hands. Feeling pathetic and so lost. Not even knowing what to do at this point. Has he actually lost you for good? Will he actually only ever be your friend now?

You’re sweating, pulling at the material of your hoodie and ripping it off over your head. Slipping your pants off and sighing in relief. Standing in your panties and bra by the dresser and looking for some comfy clothes. Your mind filled with the thoughts of being Miguel’s again. You’re friends with his friends like any girlfriend would be. So what’s stopping him? What’s stopping both of you from just being together again? Since you’ve proven to him, you can fit in.

“Miguel…” You hum, his head coming out of his hands and looking up at you. Eyes widening seeing you in just your underwear. Gulping thickly. “Yes?” He whispers. Like beckoning to your call. Like a plea for you to just put him out of his misery already.

You walk over to him, trying to half haphazardly pull on a big t-shirt. His hands unable to stop themselves, coming up to help pull the material down. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing. This all just makes him feel somehow worse. Your body taunting him, teasing him with everything he needs and no way to get it.

Heavy breath through his nose and his eyes flutter closed. Kissing you back, feeling your eager tongue tasting like alcohol come into his mouth. Letting it swirl against his lips and his tongue. His big hands snaking around you, holding you for the first time like this in so long. You gasp and hum against his lips and a chill goes down his back. He must be dreaming.

But your hands go to his chest, pushing him back on the bed, and he’s so weak to you. His back hitting the mattress. He wants this so badly. Wants you more than anything in the entire world. You climb on top of him, clambering over his body, sitting on his abdomen and leaning down to kiss him again.

“Wait-”

He’s silenced by your lips, trying to be dominant and licking into his mouth. You never did that before. That was always him. But right now it’s like you’re hungry for him in the exact same way he was hungry for you all this time.

“I need you…” You whisper, pulling back from his lips with a smack. His eyes wide and breath heaving. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and yet it’s not right at all. “No baby… you need to go to sleep… you’re drunk…” He whispers, feeling so weak, his hands running up your warm bare thighs, like medicine. His cast is slightly scratchy on your thigh. Finally your body on his, your warmths feeding off of each other.

“No please… say you want me, please you have to, don’t you want to?” You whine. Leaning over him and kissing his cheek, burying your face in his neck. He’s speechless. Doesn’t know what to say or think. He thought you were done all this time. He thought you were pining after Parker.

“I want you… I do want you…” He whispers before his mind can even think. His hands falling from your thighs and flat on the bed. It feels wrong to touch you this way. His love for you overshadows his own selfish need. You won’t remember this in the morning.

You won’t remember this in the morning.

“I love you…” He whispers. Into your hair. Choking back a lump in his throat.

“Mm?” You groan, pushing yourself up drunkenly on your hands, your hair dangling into his face under you.

“Nothing…” He whispers. Swallowing thickly and wrapping his arms around you again. Pulling you to his chest and hugging you. Keeping you there, knowing you’ll pass out in a few minutes anyway and he can tuck you into bed safe and sound.

To be continued…

Reblogs and comments very much appreciated!! Let me know what you think or your theories!

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