🍂 ࣪❀˳₊˚.༄🎧

miguel mora x reader

warnings: none it’s fluff

a/n: im literally so sorry i took so long on this part but work tired me out so bad and this week was stacked butttt part one here and part 2 here for those interested!!!

࣪❀˳₊˚.༄ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ✧˖*°࿐

Miguel called late—well, late for him. It was a little after 9 p.m., and I was lying on my stomach scrolling through TikTok when my phone lit up with his name.

miguel is calling…

I answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

The sound of his laugh filled my ear before he even said anything. “Bro, you’ve seen the edits, right?”

I groaned immediately. “Don’t start.”

“You HAVE,” he accused, still laughing. “Don’t lie.”

I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. “Okay, maybe I’ve seen a few. Or like… a hundred.”

He snorted. “A hundred? Damn. They’re really convinced we’re secretly married.”

“It’s crazy because you didn’t even know my last name until two days ago,” I shot back.

“That’s not true,” he protested. “I definitely knew it… right after I Googled you.”

I gasped dramatically. “You Googled me?”

“Had to,” he said. “To see if you were problematic before I associated with you. I’m famous, you know.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you like it,” he replied smoothly.

…He wasn’t wrong.

There was a short pause—comfortable, warm. Then he said, tone shifting into something mischievous:

“So… wanna break the internet more?”

My stomach did a stupid flip. “How so?”

“Let me take you out tomorrow.”

I sat up. “Out? Like… out, out? In public?”

“Yes, Y/n. Outside. Touching grass. Together. Because that’s what humans do.”

I laughed, hiding the nervous flutter in my chest. “Okay, fine. Where?”

“The beach,” he said instantly. “We’ll go at eleven so the sun doesn’t kill us. Then Publix for snacks, because I want a sub and I refuse to be judged.”

“I would never judge you for a Publix sub.”

“That’s why I like you.”

A beat. “So you’re saying yes?”

I bit my lip even though he couldn’t see me. “Yeah. I’m saying yes.”

He exhaled dramatically, relieved. “Good. Now I can sleep.”

The sun was already bright when he picked me up. He leaned over from the driver’s seat as I opened the door.

“Morning,” he said, voice stupidly raspy.

“Hi,” I replied, sliding in while pretending that didn’t do things to me.

He looked me over—slowly, like he didn’t realize he was doing it. I had on shorts, a bikini top under a half-zipped hoodie, and my hair tossed up.

“Cute,” he said simply.

And then he drove like he didn’t just ruin my whole cardiovascular system.

We walked through the automatic doors shoulder to shoulder, grabbing a basket. He kept pushing it with his foot like a child, making it roll ahead of us only to jog and catch it.

“You’re embarrassing,” I said.

“You’re entertained,” he corrected.

We grabbed chips, fruit cups, drinks, gummy worms, and—of course—his beloved sub.

We were heading toward the self-checkout when a girl around seventeen gasped so loudly it echoed.

“Oh my god. Are you… Miguel Mora?”

Miguel smiled politely. “Yeah, what’s up?”

She turned to me slowly, mouth falling open. “Wait. You’re Y/n, right?”

Oh no.

Suddenly she was shaking. “Can I—um—can I get a picture with you both? Please?”

Miguel glanced at me for confirmation. I nodded.

She snapped one with him, then one with me, then one with both of us. And of course she zoomed out suspiciously far to make sure we weren’t touching.

She practically bounced away after, giggling to herself. Miguel leaned down and whispered:

“That picture will be on TikTok in five minutes.”

“Three,” I corrected.

By the time we arrived, the sand was warm but the beach was surprisingly empty—only a few families and two older couples reading under umbrellas.

“Perfect,” Miguel said, spreading out the blanket.

I laid down on my stomach, stretching out to tan while he tossed his shirt off and jogged straight into the water with zero hesitation.

He turned back, grinning like a little kid. “You’re not coming?”

“After I tan,” I called.

He splashed water in my direction even though it didn’t reach me. “Lame!”

I flipped him off without lifting my head. He just laughed.

For a while, it was peaceful—the sun warming my back, the sound of waves crashing, Miguel occasionally yelling something unintelligible from the water.

Eventually he shouted, “Y/n! Get in here!”

I pushed myself up. “Fine!”

When I stepped into the water, it was cool against the heat of the day. Miguel swam toward me, hair slicked back and eyes bright.

“Took you long enough.”

“Shut up.”

He splashed me. I splashed him back. It went downhill from there.

He finally caught me by the waist when I tried to run and nearly face-planted into the water.

“Careful,” he said softly, steadying me.

His hand stayed there—warm, firm. Too long to be accidental.

My breath hitched.

He noticed.

Before either of us could say anything, two girls approached timidly from the shoreline.

“Sorry,” one said, “can we get a picture? Both of you? You guys are like… really cute together.”

Miguel didn’t move his hand from my waist.

He just smiled. “Sure.”

They took three photos, thanked us, and ran off giggling.

Miguel looked down at me afterward, raising a brow.

“They think we’re cute.”

I swallowed. “Fans ship anything.”

“Mhm.” He stepped closer. “Totally anything.”

But he didn’t push further. Just smiled and went back to swimming, leaving me to deal with the fact that my entire soul was overheating.

The car ride was quiet but not awkward—the kind of quiet full of glances and almosts.

At one stoplight, he looked over, voice low.

“Did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” I said honestly. “I did.”

“Good.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “’Cause we’re definitely doing that again.”

“Are we?” I teased.

He smirked. “Unless you hated it.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then yeah. We are.”

Another stretch of silence. The kind where things unspoken sat between us like electricity.

Finally he pulled into my driveway.

He walked me up, hands in his pockets. I stood in front of my door, keys in my hand, suddenly unsure what to say.

“Thanks for today,” I said. “It was… nice.”

“It was more than nice,” he corrected. “And you know it.”

I felt warm. Everywhere.

He stepped just a little closer—not enough to cross a line, but enough that I felt it.

“I’m glad you came,” he murmured.

“I’m glad you invited me.”

He stared at me for a moment longer, eyes flicking to my lips before he caught himself and backed up half a step.

“I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Okay.”

He took another step back, but he didn’t turn away until I opened the door.

And even then, he waited until I was fully inside before walking back to his car.

I closed the door slowly, leaning my back against it as my heart thumped wildly.

Miguel Mora was going to ruin me.

finney blake x reader

warnings: none it’s fluff

a/n: based off this request !! i tried my best since i was writing for wattpad too🥹

࣪❀˳₊˚.༄ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ✧˖*°࿐

I shouldn’t be this nervous.

It’s Finney Blake, my Finney. The boy I’ve known longer than I’ve known how to spell my own name. The boy whose mom carried me around the Blake house when I was basically still in diapers, the boy who used to sleep—feet to head—with me during thunder storms at age six, the boy who made me friendship bracelets out of dollar store string because “real best friends match.”

And yet here I am, sweating through my shirt like I’m on my way to confess to a crush instead of a friend.

Except… yeah.

That’s exactly what I’m doing.

I climb the steps to the Blake house, every plank creaking under my sneakers like it’s tattling on me. I swallow hard, clearing my throat as I straighten my jean shorts.

“Today’s the day,” I whisper to myself, giving my cheeks a quick pat like that’ll wake up some fake confidence.

I raise my hand to knock but the door swings open first.

Finney stands there in a soft, worn gray tee that fits a bit too well on him nowadays, dark hair falling into eyes that have always made my heart skip. Not that I will ever admit that out loud. Maybe. Eventually. Okay fine—today.

“Oh, hey Finney,” I say, trying to smile like I’m normal. I’m not. My insides are screaming.

His completely oblivious grin makes everything worse.

“Hey, angel. Come in.”

Angel.

He’s been calling me that since we were twelve, ever since I accidentally fell asleep on his shoulder after a horror movie and he said I “looked like an angel.” It stuck. He refined it. And now it ruins me.

I step inside, slipping off my shoes by the rug, instantly greeted by the familiar scent of laundry detergent and whatever candle Mrs. Blake has been obsessed with lately. Before I can react, Finney moves behind me, gently tugging my thin white sweater off my shoulders.

“I’ll hang it,” he says casually.

He hooks it on the coat rack—my coat rack, technically. It has a tiny metal tag with y/n/n etched into it, something his parents added when I was nine because I “basically lived here.”

I drag my finger over the name the way I always do.

“Never gets old.”

He chuckles softly.

“Good. Wasn’t planning on ever taking it down.”

My heart flips. I ignore it.

“Water?” he offers, already walking toward the kitchen.

“Sure,” I say, following him.

He hands me a cold bottle, brushing my fingers. I pretend it doesn’t electrify me. We chat about nothing—how hot it is today, how boring summer break has been, how Gwen has been in her “detective era” again, convinced someone is stealing her socks (spoiler: it’s the dog).

But I can barely focus, because every second feels like the countdown to a bomb I’m about to detonate.

Finally, he nods toward the hallway.

“Wanna go to my room?”

I nod, my mouth already dry.

This is it. Once we’re in his room, the confession becomes real.

His room looks the same, just messier—records on the floor, the baseball bat he pretends he doesn’t sleep with leaning against the nightstand, a new poster tacked onto the wall. I flop onto his bed cross-legged, trying to act natural.

Finney sits across from me, leaning back on his palms.

“So, what’s up with you? You texted me earlier like you had news.”

I swallow.

Panic rises like a wave. Not yet. Need a second.

“Weird dreams again,” I lie.

He nods sympathetically.

“Like Gwen weird, or normal weird?”

“Normal,” I say, shrugging. “But like.. I was stuck in a Ferris wheel with a raccoon.”

He cracks up, head falling back, and the sound should be illegal.

“There’s no such thing as normal weird with you.”

I laugh because it’s easier than admitting the truth. But the room quiets after a minute, and I can feel his gaze on me. Warm. Curious. Slightly concerned.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “What’s actually wrong?”

Busted.

I stare at the comforter, twisting a bit of fabric between my fingers.

“Finney…”

He straightens.

“Yeah?”

“I need to get something off my chest.”

He nods, waiting, soft eyes steady on me.

So I look away because if I look at him, I’ll lose my nerve—and pull my legs in tighter, sitting cross-legged.

“Actually…” I start, voice small.

God, say it.

Say it, Y/n.

“…sorry. I should’ve stayed quiet. Forget I said anything.”

Finney laughs—soft, disbelieving, fond.

He shifts onto his knees, leaning forward close enough that I can smell the faint mint of the gum he always chews.

“You’re doing that thing,” he says.

“What thing?”

“That thing where you think too hard and freak yourself out.”

He nudges my knee with his. “Just tell me.”

My breath shakes.

Deep breath.

In. Out.

Okay.

Fine.

I meet his eyes.

“Finney… I like you.”

His eyebrows lift, but not with surprise. More like relief, pure, deep relief.

I rush on before I can chicken out.

“I mean, I’ve liked you for a long time. Not like a little crush. Like.. more. More than I should. And I know it might be stupid and I don’t want things to get weird and you probably don’t feel—”

“Y/n.”

He reaches out, placing his hand over mine.

I freeze.

Finney Blake is touching my hand voluntarily.

Not friend-touching.

Not casual.

Not joking.

Slow. Purposeful. Gentle.

And holy shit, he’s smiling.

“Angel,” he murmurs, scooting closer. “I like you too.”

My heart stutters.

“Finney—”

“No,” he says, shaking his head a little, eyes soft. “I’ve liked you forever. But I thought you only wanted to be friends. I thought if I said anything, I’d screw everything up.”

I exhale a shaky breath, tears pricking my eyes.

He lifts a hand to my face, brushing a thumb along my cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly.

My voice catches in my throat.

I nod instantly.

But he smiles a little, tilting his head.

“I need to hear you say it, angel.”

I melt.

“Of course you can, Finney.”

His smile grows, small but radiant. He leans in, and I meet him halfway.

The kiss is soft. Gentle. Careful at first, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. Then he presses a little closer, hand sliding back into my hair. I kiss him back, tilting my head, heart pounding.

He smiles into the kiss, and I do too.

It’s everything I imagined.

Warm. Sweet. Right.

The door slams open.

“Finney! I need your help—”

Gwen stops mid-breath.

Her jaw drops.

Her eyes widen.

She points accusingly.

“Oh my GOSH!!!”

Finney jerks back so fast he almost falls off the bed.

“Gwen!” he sputters.

“I’m so telling Ernie,” she says, grinning like the devil.

“Gwen! no,get out!” Finney yells, throwing a pillow at her.

She dodges it easily.

“Oh please, I knew it! I told you he liked you, Y/n!”

Finney groans loudly.

“Gwen! Stop!”

She smirks.

“Look at him, face redder than a tomato.”

I cover my mouth, giggling despite myself.

“I hate you,” Finney mutters.

“No you don’t,” she sings back. “But you ARE whipped, and it’s hilarious.”

“Out!” he shouts.

“Fine, fine,” she says, stepping into the hall. “But I’m telling Ernie everything!”

She disappears with a cackle.

Finney drops his face into his hands.

“God, she’s unbearable.”

I laugh, leaning back on my palms.

“Honestly? I think it’s cute.”

He peeks at me between his fingers.

“Don’t encourage her.”

We sit in silence for a moment before he sighs and flops back on the bed, one arm covering his eyes. I lie down beside him, close enough that our shoulders touch.

“I can’t believe she ruined it,” he mumbles.

“It wasn’t ruined,” I say softly.

He turns his head toward me.

“No?”

I shake mine.

“It was pretty perfect, actually.”

He smiles—small, shy, heart-stopping.

“Yeah. It was.”

We don’t kiss again.

We don’t define anything.

We don’t rush.

We just lie there, shoulders touching, hands brushing, hearts loud but steady.

And it feels like the first page of something new, something we both want, but aren’t ready to label yet.

Slow burn.

Like always.

But this time… it’s warm.

And real.

finney blake x reader

warnings: again none tbh!!

a/n: this is a pt 2 to this post , i wrote this while watching the movie so hopefully it’s accurate because i was getting distracted 💔

࣪❀˳₊˚.༄ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ✧˖*°࿐

“Oh no, Gwen!” Mustang yells, spinning around just in time to see her slumped over in the carriage. “Gwen, wake up!” she shakes her gently, panic lacing her voice.

“Need some help!” she shouts, turning to the rest of us. I don’t hesitate—I run with Finney and Ernesto toward her. “S-She must’ve accidentally fallen asleep.” Ernesto said, resting his hands on her. “Accidentally, my ass.” Finney said leaning back to look at her. Gwen’s limp form drips water as Ken, one of the staff, is dragged across the frozen lake nearby. I nudge Finney, whispering, “Guys… look at him.”

Ken is flung toward Barbara, who swoops to catch him but slams into the lake, her nose bleeding immediately. She screams, clutching her face. My pulse quickens. Barbara and Ken fall back with a yell, both bleeding from their foreheads.

“He’s still here—keep looking!” Finney shouts, scanning the area frantically. “Where is he? Where did he go?” Mando checks around, “The ice is breaking!” I point to the frozen lake, my heart in my throat. “The cable!” Mando calls out, inspecting the ice.

Mr. Blake rushes over to the hole we had made earlier, shedding his jacket and shoes as he scans the scene. “Fin!!” he yells. My heart lurches as Finney is suddenly pulled back against the carriage seat, struggling. “Oh my gosh!” I cry, stumbling back and grabbing Ernesto for support.

Finney is flipped off the carriage but quickly recovers, shouting, “Get them out of here!” Ernesto tries pushing me toward the carriage while Mustang and Mando rush to help. “C’mon Y/n!” he said, still pushing.

“No, I have to help.”

I sprint toward the hole in the ice we’d made earlier, my breath visible in the frigid air. “You got him?” Mustang asks Mando. “Yeah, I got him,” he replies. “You grab one side, I’ll grab the other.” I nod, and we heave together. The metal barrel slides up from the icy water, revealing the bones of one of the boys. I cover my mouth, choking back a sob.

Finney moves over to the second body, gripping something hidden from our view. He slowly reveals it, placing his hand down on his leg, moving up to his head. “Hell isn’t flames, Bill. It’s ice,” he mutters, slamming him into the floor, breaking through the ice beneath him. “You don’t scare me.” With one final pull, the body is dragged to the hole.

Gwen finally begins to stir from her sleep.

“Gwenny,” I call softly, rubbing Gwen’s back. She smiled softly at me as Ernesto wraps his arm around her shoulder. “Hey.” he said gently, as if speaking too loud would break her. She leans in to kiss him. “Ew…” I mutter with a slight smile, turning toward Finney.

“Are you okay?” I ask, placing my hand on his back. He wraps his arms around me tightly. “No… but now I have you.” I hug him just as tightly, feeling his heartbeat against mine. There’s a calm in the storm, a quiet moment amidst the chaos.

After packing everything up and doing one last clean-up sweep of the area, Mando calls out that the car is ready. Gwen and Ernesto start walking ahead with Mustang and the rest of the staff, their voices fading into the cold wind.

Finney and I hang back.

The snow crunches beneath our boots as we walk slowly toward the edge of the frozen lake—the same lake that had nearly swallowed us whole just an hour ago. The ice looks different now, scarred with cracks and the jagged break where the barrel had torn through.

Finney stops right near the edge. I stand beside him, the wind stinging my cheeks, my breath fogging in front of me.

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

Just silence.

Just the winter air.

Just the weight of everything that happened.

Fin finally exhales, long and shaky. “When we first got here, I hated this place,” he murmurs, staring out across the frozen surface. “The cold. The quiet. The way it always felt like something was watching.”

I glance at him, his profile soft in the gray light. “Do you still hate it?”

He shakes his head, eyes still fixed on the ice. “No… not right now.” His voice lowers. “Because you’re here.”

My heart tightens a bit. I tuck my hands into my sleeves, leaning my shoulder lightly against his. “You didn’t have to be brave alone today,” I whisper. “And you won’t have to be brave alone again.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. He turns to me slowly. There’s something raw in his expression—not fear exactly, but something close. Something vulnerable.

Finney lifts a hand, brushing a piece of hair away from my cheek with the gentlest touch. “You always show up,” he says softly. “Even when everything gets messy.”

I offer a small smile. “Good. Because I don’t plan on stopping.”

He nods, like he already knew the answer. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here today,” he says, voice low and honest. “I don’t know if I could’ve gotten through it.”

I take his hand, squeezing it gently. “You did get through it,” I whisper. “We all did.”

For a moment, it’s quiet again—the lake stretching out before us, cold and endless, but somehow not as frightening now. Maybe because we’re standing together. Maybe because the worst is over.

Finney shifts closer, our arms brushing. “I’m glad you came along,” he says again, softer this time, like it’s meant only for me.

“Me too, Finney,” I murmur back. “I missed this.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head—slow, warm, steady—and my breath catches just a little.

“Me too,” he whispers into my hair.

We stand there for a few more seconds, just breathing, just letting the cold quiet settle over us. Then Fin sighs softly and nods toward the car. “We should go before they start yelling for us again.”

I laugh lightly. “Yeah… let’s go.”

We walk toward the car together, step by step, leaving the frozen lake behind us—leaving everything that happened on it behind too.

finney blake x reader

warnings: none??? i think

a/n: i tried to my best attempt to write this off the movie the best i could, some stuff like the cabin names are made up and sorry if my uses of the dashes are wrong im trying to use them in my writing more!!!

࣪❀˳₊˚.༄ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ✧˖*°࿐

The library smells like old books and polished wood, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above. I’m sitting across from Ernesto at a table, flipping through some papers for a project, when Gwen slips in like a whirlwind.

“Sorry to interrupt, I just need to talk to you guys,” she says, sliding into the seat across from me and beside Ernesto.

“It’s alright, Gwenny. What’s troubling you?” I ask softly, concerned at the urgency in her eyes.

“I had a dream again… about this camp. We have to go,” she says, her voice tight with something between fear and determination.

Ernesto finally looks up from his paper, brow furrowed. “What did you see in the dream?”

“These three little boys… they can’t rest in peace until they’re found. We have to find their bodies,” Gwen whispers. Her hands tremble slightly as she rests them on the table.

I grab her hand without thinking. “Where do we sign up? When do we go?” My pulse quickens. The thought of helping, of doing something meaningful, ignites a spark of determination in me.

Gwen smiles faintly, bringing out papers with instructions and camp details. “We leave tomorrow morning,” she says.

The next day, Ernesto and I drive up to the Blake house, the sky low and gray with snow heavy in the air. On the porch, Finney stands with his father, overseeing Gwen and me as we load her duffel into the car. His posture is careful, almost distant, and I sense the tension that’s grown between us since Robin’s passing.

“Wait!” he calls suddenly, running back inside. My eyes follow him curiously. He returns with his bag packed and a blanket. “Sit in the front, Gwenny,” I say softly, climbing into the backseat.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

I nod, untangling my headphones, and Finney climbs in beside me. He shoots me a small smile, and I return it with one of my own, careful, respectful, letting a flicker of connection pass between us.

Ernesto and Gwen talk lightly in the front, their voices blending with the soft hum of the car engine. I close my eyes and let the music fill my ears, trying to lose myself in the familiar notes.

A tap on my shoulder jerks me awake. “Uh… what are you listening to?” Finney asks.

“Don’t You Want Me by The Human League,” I reply, pulling one headphone out.

He smiles. “Our song.”

I grin softly, letting the warmth of that memory seep into me. For a few moments, the tension between us is gone, replaced by something gentle and familiar.

The snow falls harder as we drive, a thick, white curtain against the windows. I drift off again, leaning against the glass, only to wake when Finney nudges me gently. “Sorry… didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmurs.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, shifting slightly so he has room beside me. His shoulder brushes mine again, and I feel a small spark in the quiet of the car.

The blizzard hits harder the farther we drive. Snow smears across the windshield in thick white streaks, the wipers barely keeping up. Ernesto leans forward over the wheel, squinting. The headlights bounce off nothing but swirling white.

“Stop the car,” Finney says suddenly, leaning forward between the seats. His voice isn’t panicked—just tense, steady, like he knows something the rest of us don’t. Snow whips across the windshield so thick that the world looks like static on a television screen.

“What?” Ernesto asks.

Finney is already shoving the door open. “I’m going to run in front of the car, just follow me!”

Cold air blasts inside and Gwen gasps. “Fin! What are you—”

But he’s gone, boots slamming into the snow as he takes off into the whiteout.

Ernesto mutters something in Spanish and puts the car in park. “This guy’s gonna get himself hit.”

The wind shoves at him, whipping his jacket around, but he lowers his head and keeps running.

The visibility is so bad I can barely see Finney—just the dark shape of his coat, the faint movement of his arms. He keeps glancing back, making sure we’re following, then waving Ernesto to go left or right. He’s guiding us like he’s done this all his life, steady and instinctive.

The fear crawls up my spine anyway.

One wrong step, and we lose him.

Finney slows down, waving us to a stop. I think he’s going to get back in the car, but instead he cups his hands around his mouth and shouts:

“This way!”

He veers sharply into the woods.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Ernesto mutters, but he follows. The tires crunch through thick snow as we ease off the road and onto a path I never would’ve seen on my own. Branches scrape along the sides of the car, snow falling in sheets from the overloaded pines.

Finney keeps running, breath puffing visibly in the cold, the back of his jacket dusted white.

A horse materializes out of the storm.

A tall, dark mare with snow clinging to her mane. On her back sits a young woman with a flashlight strapped to her glove, her braid whipping violently behind her.

She reins the horse to a stop in front of Finney.

“You kids heading to camp?!” she calls over the wind.

Finney nods quickly. “Yes! The freeway’s blocked—we can’t see anything!”

She grins—confident, wild, unfazed by the blizzard. “Figures. I’ve been out looking for anyone who might’ve gotten stuck. Follow me!”

She turns the horse sharply and begins guiding us, but still Finney stays in front of the car.

He doesn’t stop running.

Mustang leads.

Finney keeps the car from losing her.

Ernesto follows both.

It’s like watching a chain of survival form right in front of me.

After a few minutes, another figure emerges from the storm—tall, bundled in a puffy jacket, waving his hands. As we get closer, I see him clearly: messy black hair, scarf pulled up to his nose, snow-covered boots.

He jogs right up to the hood of the car.

“I’m Armando! But just call me Mando!” he shouts, loudly enough we hear him through the glass. He points deeper into the woods. “Parking’s over there—just, uh, anywhere! We weren’t expecting anybody to show up!”

We step out of the car and I sink halfway down my shins into snow. Mando pushes his hair out of his eyes and looks at us like we’re miracles.

“Camp’s canceled!” he yells again. “Road crews can’t reach us till this blizzard passes! You guys might be stuck here for a bit!”

“Camp’s canceled?” Gwen repeats, stunned. “But the sign-ups—”

“Yeah, I know!” Mando says with a huge shrug. “Weather’s gone nuts. Support staff’s been here a week already but you’re the only campers that made it through before the roads shut down!”

Finney is breathing hard, doubled slightly as he rests his hands on his knees. Snow clings to his eyelashes. He looks exhausted but alive.

I walk up to him, placing a hand on his arm.

“You could’ve slipped,” I say softly.

He lifts his head, a tired smile pulling at his lips.

“But I didn’t.”

The wind softens just enough for me to hear the creaking of the trees overhead. Snow keeps falling, relentless.

Mando gestures toward a row of long wooden cabins with smoke rising from the chimneys. “Girls cabin is down there! Boys cabin is the one with the broken porch light!”

Mustang trots up beside us, hopping off her horse with athletic ease. She pats its neck affectionately. “I’ll take the girls. You take the dudes, Mando.”

“You got it!”

Mustang leads Gwen and me through the snow. Her boots crunch steadily, leaving clear prints for us to follow.

“State law says minors have to sleep separately,” she explains. “So you girls will be in Cabin Daisy. Boys get Cabin Oak.”

Cabin Daisy is warm when we step inside, heat from the old radiator humming, the air smelling faintly of pine and old blankets.

Gwen drops her bag on the bunk nearest the window. “We’re really sleeping here alone?”

“’Fraid so,” Mustang says, brushing snow off her sleeves. “If you need anything, just holler. My cabin’s right across the way.” She gives us a soft smile. “I’m Mustang, by the way.”

“Gwen,” she replies.

“Y/N,” I say with a matching smile.

Mustang nods approvingly and heads out, shutting the door behind her.

I turn to Gwen, “I got you if anything happens, Gwenny.” “Thank you, Y/N,” She replies softly, squeezing my hand.

The silence that follows is heavy—thick, almost eerie—but safe. Safe enough for Gwen to fall asleep within half an hour, safe enough for me to sit on my bunk listening to my walkman. Safe enough, until Gwen’s scream rips me out of sleep.

She sits bolt upright in her bed, eyes wide but unfocused, her entire body shaking like she’s freezing from the inside out. I’m already scrambling toward her.

“Gwenny?” I whisper as I grab her shoulders, trying to steady her.

But she doesn’t hear me.

She staggers out of bed and stumbles toward the cabin window, fingers trembling as she claws at the glass. Her scream gets louder, breaking, wild.

“Gwenny! Wake up!” I shake her harder, panic clawing through my chest.

Footsteps slam against the wooden porch and Finney bursts inside, hair a mess, breathing hard. “What’s going on?!”

“Gwen,” he says, voice softer now, stepping toward us, “wake up.”

She blinks, gasping like she’s drowning, finally snapping back into herself and then she starts crying.

“What’s happening to me?!” she sobs. “Oh God! I feel crazy.”

“No, you’re dreaming,” Finney says, steady and gentle in a way that twists something in my chest.

“You’re okay, Gwenny,” I whisper, resting my hand on her shoulder, trying to soothe her.

Gwen’s tears keep coming, her breath shaking.

Finney sighs, glancing between us.

“Let’s go. You guys will sleep with us.”

Gwen nods. She’s too shaken to argue.

We all walk across the snow-dusted path into the boys’ cabin. It’s warmer inside—dim, cozy, the old heater humming like a lullaby. Ernesto is already half-asleep under his blanket, barely lifting his head when we enter.

Finney goes straight to his bed, slipping his headphones on as if trying to make space for us without making a big deal out of it.

I slide into the bed across from his, turning my back toward Ernesto and Gwen as they settle onto his mattress.

The cabin goes quiet except for the wind outside.

After a few minutes, I hear Gwen whisper softly, “I had a bad dream.”

Ernesto murmurs something reassuring, his voice too low for me to hear. I’m drifting again when a sudden, whispered confession breaks the silence:

“I think you’re beautiful.”

Ernesto.

My eyes shoot open.

“What about me do you think I’m beautiful?” Finney asks, teasing them.

Silence and then:

“Fin, you rotting shit stain! Have you been listening this whole time?!”

Finney sighs loudly and pulls his headphones off. “Well, I’m still right here,” he grumbles. “So it’s not like I had any choice.”

I stifle a laugh behind my hand.

Watching them banter almost feels normal, familiar. Like back before everything happened.

Gwen huffs and lays back down. Within minutes, she and Ernesto fall asleep, breaths evening out.

I lie on my back, staring at the bunk above me, feeling the weight of the long day press down on my chest. The storm. The dream. Finney running through the blizzard like he had something to prove. Like losing us wasn’t an option.

My thoughts start drifting. Too many of them are about the boy across the room.

“Y/n?”

The whisper snaps me straight out of my head.

I sit up slightly and turn.

Finney is facing me, eyes soft in the dim yellow cabin light.

“Hmm?” I hum back.

He quietly lifts his blanket.

Just a small opening but an invitation all the same.

My breath catches.

I swallow, then slowly slide out of my bed, the floor cold beneath my feet as I pad across the room. I slip beneath his blanket, the warmth of his body immediately surrounding me. We settle shoulder to shoulder, close enough I can feel his breath against my hair.

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

Then, in a low, careful voice, he says:

“I’m sorry.”

I blink. “For what?”

He stares at the ceiling, jaw tight. “For disappearing. For pushing you away. For acting like I didn’t want you around when I did.”

He swallows. “When Robin died, I… I didn’t know how to be around anyone. But losing you too felt worse. I just didn’t know how to fix it.”

My heart squeezes.

“Finney…” I whisper.

“I needed someone,” he says. “But I pushed away the one person I—”

He cuts himself off, shaking his head.

I shift a little closer, brushing my shoulder against his.

“You didn’t lose me. You just scared me,” I admit softly. “I missed you. A lot.”

His breath hitches.

He turns his head toward me, face inches from mine in the dim light. His voice is barely a whisper.

“I missed you too.”

The tension hums between us—warm, quiet, certain.

His nose grazes mine accidentally, or maybe not. His eyes flick to my lips then back to my eyes like he’s fighting himself.

I smile softly. “Scoot over, Fin. You’re hogging the pillow.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, the first I’ve heard from him in what feels like years, and shifts so I can settle beside him fully.

I curl into him.

He curls around me.

His hand hesitates in the air before resting gently at my waist, careful, like he’s asking permission. I lean back into him in answer.

He exhales, slow and warm against the back of my neck.

Within minutes, the cabin fades; Gwen snoring softly, Ernesto mumbling in his sleep, the storm raging outside.

Finney presses his forehead to the back of my shoulder, voice barely audible:

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

“Goodnight, Fin.”

We fall asleep like that.

Entangled, steady, holding on.

With the quiet promise of something new warming the small space between us.

And for the first time in a long time…

Finney Blake isn’t running away.

miguel mora x reader

warnings: none

a/n: i feel like it deserved a part two, again still kinda new to this but yeah!!

࣪❀˳₊˚.༄ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ✧˖*°࿐

The gym smelled like fresh towels and determination. My usual early morning peace.

I scanned my membership QR code at the front desk, greeted immediately by the familiar voice of the sweetest woman alive.

“Good morning, y/n! Scared you weren’t going to show up today,” Stacy said, her silver hair pulled into a bun as she typed something into her computer.

I smiled. “Good morning, Stace. Always a pleasure to see you. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Atta girl,” she said, waving me off as I headed toward the locker room.

I dropped my things into my locker, snapped a quick before picture in the mirror, and tightened my ponytail. The moment I hit play on my playlist, the rest of the world disappeared.

I started on the mat in the corner: my spot. A few deep stretches, touching my toes, rolling out my shoulders. Then came the seated row machine, pulling back slow and steady. From there, I hit the lat pulldown, chest press, and free weights. My playlist bounced from soft R&B to pure hype music as I moved through each exercise.

By the time I reached legs, I was already sweating through my top. The leg extension burned, just like always. Three sets later, I kicked off to the linear leg press, pushing through the exhaustion. My last stop: the abductor machine. My thighs were already screaming, but I wasn’t leaving without finishing strong.

I sat back, took a sip of water, and sighed.

As I waited for the person before me to finish, I looked down at my phone, scrolling through notifications, until I heard a familiar voice.

“Y/n? Hey! How are you?”

I looked up, blinking in surprise. Standing in front of me, dripping sweat but smiling like the sun itself, was Miguel Mora.

“Uh, hey stranger,” I said, half laughing. “I’m good. Didn’t know you came here.”

He grinned, leaning slightly on the machine. “All the time. Guess I just never saw you.”

“I’m a regular here,” I said proudly, grabbing a towel from my bag.

“Guess I need to start coming at this hour, then,” he said smoothly, and I bit back a smile.

As I sat down to start my set, he hovered nearby, pretending to stretch but definitely watching. When I finished, I wiped the machine and stood, meeting his eyes again.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, “how about I wait for you, and we catch something to eat? Maybe an açaí bowl?”

I tilted my head, feigning thought. “Asking me out on a date so soon?”

He smirked. “Is it working?”

I chuckled. “Well… if you insist.”

His grin widened. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

After finishing my hip adductor sets, I grabbed my bag and headed toward the exit. “Bye, Stace! See you tomorrow!”

“Stay safe, sweetie!” she called out, then glanced at Miguel and winked. “Oh! And bring the handsome boy back too!”

I groaned, and Miguel laughed.

“Sorry about her,” I said, shaking my head as we stepped outside.

“No worries,” he said, glancing at me with genuine curiosity. “She like family?”

“Kind of,” I said. “Stacy’s a good friend of my mom. Used to teach her dance when she was younger. When my mom got pregnant, Stacy helped her with pretty much everything. She even helps me sometimes too. She’s the sweetest lady ever.”

Miguel smiled softly. “She sounds amazing.”

“She is.”

We reached our cars parked side by side. “You know where the açaí place is?” he asked.

“Yeah. You’re following me?”

He leaned against his car, crossing his arms. “Actually… I was thinking of beating you there.”

“Oh, it’s like that?” I laughed.

“Exactly like that,” he said, slipping into his seat and rolling down the window. “Try to keep up, dancer girl.”

“Game on,” I said before hopping into mine.

The drive turned into a playful race.

Nothing crazy, just him speeding up at yellow lights and me cutting him off at a turn with a teasing wave. We both pulled into the small café parking lot at nearly the same time, him hopping out of his car and bowing dramatically.

“Ladies first,” he said, holding the door open.

Inside, the air smelled like fruit and honey. The cashier smiled when she saw us. “What can I get started?”

Miguel ordered first, then turned to me. “What about you?”

“I’ll have the tropical blend, extra granola,” I said.

We found a corner table by the window. For a while, we just talked; about how weird premieres could be, how he hated small talk, how I once tripped onstage during a dance recital and pretended it was part of the choreography. He made me laugh harder than I had in weeks.

Halfway through eating, a small voice piped up beside us. “Um, excuse me?”

We both turned. A girl, maybe fourteen, stood there, clutching her phone nervously. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but could I maybe get a picture? I’m a big fan of yours.” She looked at Miguel like she was trying not to cry.

Miguel smiled instantly, warm and kind. “Of course. No worries, pretty lady doesn’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” I said, smiling back.

She grinned so wide her cheeks turned pink. After taking the photo with him, she turned to me shyly. “Uh… can I get one with both of you? Please?”

“Wait, me too?” I laughed, pointing to myself.

She nodded eagerly. “You were on his story last night! You looked so pretty!”

Miguel chuckled as we leaned together for the picture, his arm brushing mine. “You’re famous now,” he teased as she left, waving excitedly.

“Please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You’re the one who can’t go ten minutes without someone recognizing you.”

“Jealous?”

“Not even a little.”

We finished our bowls, still teasing each other until it was time to leave. He walked me to my car, hands in his pockets, that little half-smile still there.

“This was nice,” I said softly.

He nodded. “It was. We should do it again. Maybe next time, no gym sweat first?”

I laughed. “Deal.”

As he turned to go, I called out, “Hey, Miguel?”

He looked over his shoulder.

“Thanks for the açaí.”

“Thanks for the company,” he said, giving me a small wave before heading off.

Later that night, curled up in bed, I opened TikTok and there it was. A fan had posted the exact moment we took the photo, captioned “They’re literally the cutest couple and I’m living for it 😭💜.”

It already had hundreds of thousands of views. The comments were chaos.

“Wait they’re dating??”

“Miguel and Y/N are literally endgame.”

“This is the softest thing I’ve ever seen.”

I couldn’t help but smile. I hit “Repost” and commented:

“This is the cutest video I’ve seen ❤️”

Then locked my phone and sank deeper into my pillows, face buried in my blanket to muffle the giggle.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed again.

so you think we’re cute, huh? 😉

don’t let it go to your head.

too late, already there.

goodnight, mr. movie star.

goodnight, Miss Dancer.

I stared at the screen for a while before setting it aside, still smiling.

miguel mora x reader

Warnings: none

࣪❀˳₊˚.༄ — ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — ✧˖*°࿐

If there was a record for the number of times someone could complain before leaving the house, I was sure I’d just broken it.

“Come on, y/n, it’s a premiere, not jury duty,” my best friend laughed, slipping on a deep red dress that looked like it was made for her.

“I don’t even know these people!” I argued, zipping up my own dress, a sleek black one that hugged in all the right places. It was simple but elegant, paired with matching black heels and soft curls falling just past my shoulders.

She gave me that look, the one that said stop being dramatic. “You don’t need to know them. You’ll make friends. You have a very open-minded heart; that attracts people.”

I sighed, unable to help the smile tugging at my lips. “You always know what to say.”

“That’s why you love me,” she said, grabbing her purse.

Minutes later, we were sliding into the backseat of the Uber, city lights streaking past the window. My friend bounced with excitement beside me, practically vibrating.

“Aren’t you excited?!! I’m dying to see Mason,” she squealed, shaking my shoulder lightly.

“I’m excited,” I admitted with a grin, “but seriously, I don’t know a single person there.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “That’s what the open bar is for.”

I laughed, rolling my eyes, but her energy was contagious.

The Uber stopped in front of the theatre, where flashes from cameras and the hum of conversation filled the air. The carpet glowed red beneath our feet, lined with actors, reporters, and fans pressed behind barricades.

We stepped out, the night buzzing with life. My friend instantly spotted familiar faces and waved them over.

“Hey! You made it!” she said, hugging one of them, a tall guy in a fitted black suit with a warm smile.

Before I could introduce myself, they were already deep into conversation, bouncing between old memories and laughter.

Typical.

I slipped away politely, finding a spot near the bar. The bartender offered a polite nod as I ordered something simple, just a soda with lime. My fingers tapped lightly against the polished counter as I waited.

Then, a new voice cut in beside me.

“Just a water, please.”

I glanced sideways. The guy next to me looked… familiar, though I couldn’t place him. Dark hair framed his forehead, and his suit fit like it was custom-made. There was something quietly confident about him, calm in the chaos.

He turned slightly, offering a polite smile. “New here? I haven’t seen you before.”

I shook my head, returning the smile. “Never been in a movie. I dance, but not for big companies like this.”

He nodded, eyes soft but curious. “I think you’d look great in a movie.”

Heat crept up my neck before I could stop it. “Flirting with a stranger so soon into the night?” I teased.

He chuckled. “I only flirt if it’s someone that appeals to me.” His eyes met mine. “And you may be a stranger now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t change that.”

He extended a hand, grin widening. “Miguel. Miguel Mora.”

I took it, shaking his hand. “y/n l/n.”

He repeated my name slowly, like he was memorizing it. “Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he said with a wink.

I laughed, shaking my head, though the butterflies in my stomach had already started their routine.

“So,” he said, leaning casually against the bar, “how’d your friend convince you to come?”

I smiled. “She bribed me with sushi and the promise of free drinks.”

He laughed. “That’s a fair trade. I came because well me and Mason star in this movie, not to brag or anything.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Mason Thames?”

He nodded. “Yeah. He’s—”

“Miguel!”

We both turned at the sound of my friend’s voice. She was approaching, Mason in tow, grinning from ear to ear.

“Miguel, this is my friend y/n,” she said, oblivious to the fact we’d already met.

Mason smiled and reached out to shake my hand. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard the name all night,” he said, glancing teasingly at my friend, who playfully nudged him.

Before long, the four of us found ourselves sitting together in the theatre. My friend sat beside Mason, giggling at every whispered joke he made, while I somehow ended up next to Miguel again.

The lights dimmed, and the movie began, shadows flickering across his face as he leaned in occasionally to whisper something funny. I tried to hold in my laughter, but he made it impossible.

At one point, during a particularly tense scene, I flinched slightly, and he chuckled quietly. “You okay?” he whispered.

I nodded, smiling. “Just didn’t expect that jump scare.”

He leaned a little closer. “I’ll protect you from the next one,” he teased, and I nudged him with my elbow, fighting a smile.

The rest of the film passed in a blur of laughter, quiet commentary, and the soft hum of comfort that shouldn’t exist between two people who’d just met.

When the credits rolled, the lights came back up, and my friend was already pulling me toward the after-party area. Miguel and Mason followed close behind.

The music was low, the atmosphere soft. People chatting, laughing, taking photos. My friend disappeared again, introducing Mason to someone she knew, leaving me once more with Miguel.

“You know,” he said, sipping his water, “for someone who claimed she didn’t know anyone here, you’re doing just fine.”

I smiled, shrugging. “Maybe your flirting warmed me up to the crowd.”

He laughed. “Then I did my job.”

We ended up talking for what felt like hours.

About music, travel, my dance career, his early acting projects. He was easy to talk to, the kind of person who listened and didn’t just wait for his turn to speak.

At one point, a photographer passed by and snapped a candid of us laughing. “You two look cute together!” the woman said cheerfully before moving along.

Miguel grinned. “See? Even the paparazzi agree.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t hide the smile tugging at my lips.

Eventually, my friend came back, eyes heavy with exhaustion. “I’m calling our Uber,” she announced, slipping her heels off under the table.

I stood, adjusting my purse. “Guess that’s our cue.”

Miguel stood too. “You leaving already?”

“Yeah. Long day tomorrow,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed.

He nodded, smiling softly. “Well, before you go…” He pulled out his phone and opened Instagram. “What’s your handle?”

I gave it, watching him type it in and immediately hit follow.

“My turn,” I said, following him back.

He smiled, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Guess that means I’ll see you around, right?”

“Maybe,” I said, though the warmth in my chest said definitely.

“Goodnight, y/n.”

“Goodnight, Miguel.”

Hours later, curled up in bed, I scrolled through my notifications: one new follower, a new story view, and a repost.

Miguel had posted a picture from the premiere, the candid one where we were laughing. His caption read:

“Proof that strangers make the best company.”

I stared at it, smiling softly to myself.

Maybe my friend was right, maybe an open heart really did attract people.

Because tonight, mine had found someone entirely new.

And maybe, just maybe… something was beginning.