#and then me handing her to him and I get heart eyes thinking about us having a baby
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rafecameronssl4t · 1 day ago
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can u do kinda inspired by new season where Rafe finds out what Sofia did and confronts her and calls her saying get out of his house but it’s bitchy!kook!bsf!reader x Rafe where they’re kinda more than friends and she tells Rafe a lie about Sofia and he believes her and gets super mad at Sofia
Passenger Princess || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader
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A/n: love this idea tysm!!
Warnings: r is manipulative, slight angst
Word count: 1,583
MASTERLIST
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divider by @h-aewo
“Wanna come over?” you ask, your voice casual but your eyes lingering on Rafe’s profile, gauging his reaction. He turns his head to you briefly, pausing as the car idles at a red light. Without missing a beat, he reaches over, taking your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, rubbing his thumb gently across your skin in a way that makes your heart flutter.
But tonight, his words hit you before the warmth of his touch does. “I can’t. Sofia wants to go out later,” he says, his gaze flickering back to the road, oblivious to how your expression shifts instantly. The mention of her name is like a slap, and your expression falters instantly. You let out a scoff, the sound sharp and almost bitter.
Without thinking, you pull your hand out of his grasp and cross your arms over your chest, turning your gaze out the window. The hurt and jealousy you’ve been pushing down surge to the surface, making your chest tighten.“She’s still living with you?” The words leave your mouth more accusatory than you intend, but it doesn’t matter now.
You need him to feel what you’re feeling, to understand just how much Sofia is getting under your skin. Rafe’s eyes flicker to you, his brow furrowing slightly, but he doesn’t say anything right away. He rolls his tongue against his cheek, his gaze narrowing as he presses down on the gas pedal when the light turns green. You can tell he’s frustrated, but you want him to feel more than that.
“Y/n…” he says, the soft plea in his voice making you grit your teeth. He’s clearly trying to de-escalate the situation, but you’re not having it. His voice falters slightly when he says your name again, as if he’s unsure of how to handle you when you get like this. You don’t respond, eyes fixed on the road, even though you don’t see anything.
Your mind is consumed by the thought of Sofia still lingering in his life. “I don’t understand why you’re still with her!” you snap, turning to face him, your voice sharp with frustration. Your heart races, and you know exactly where this is going. You’ve been waiting for the right moment to make your move. Then, with a practiced vulnerability, you let your eyes soften, allowing tears to well up.
You turn your head slightly toward him, making sure he sees the hurt in your eyes. You know the exact tone to use, the one that cracks just enough for Rafe to feel guilty, to feel like he’s let you down. You draw in a deep, shaky breath, letting your eyes glisten with tears. With a careful tremor in your voice, you speak softly, like you’re letting out something painful. “After everything she did to me…”
Just as you anticipated, Rafe’s head snaps in your direction, confusion and concern filling his expression. His eyes dart between you and the road, brow furrowing as he tries to process your words. “What are you talking about?” You let the tears begin to fall, looking down as though ashamed, your shoulders subtly shaking as you pretend to hold back sobs.
“What did she do to you?” His eyes flickered back and forth from the road to your tear-streaked face, searching for answers. He was desperate, each glance showing his growing frustration and need to understand. “Y/n…” he said, his voice lower now, tinged with an edge of anger that made you shiver. “Tell me—what did Sofia do to you?”
His tone was a mix of urgency and something fiercer, like he was barely holding himself back. You continued to sob, letting your shoulders shake as you turned away, keeping up the act. Rafe’s jaw clenched, his patience wearing thin as he stared ahead, but his entire focus was on you.
~
“Hey babe, what’s up?” Sofia’s voice rings out, saccharine sweet, and it instantly makes you cringe. The way she says it, as if she’s trying to mask something, makes your skin crawl. Rafe’s eyes flicker over to you for a split second, taking in your tear-streaked cheeks, red from how much you’ve cried.
Your heart races, a cold pit settling in your stomach. You’ve made sure Rafe is in the right headspace, pushed all the right emotional buttons, and now it’s time to watch it unravel. Rafe’s grip on the steering wheel tightens as he presses the phone to his ear, his expression hardening into something unreadable.
The silence that stretches between him and Sofia is palpable. You can feel the tension in the air, the unease settling like a storm cloud. “Rafe… what’s wrong?” she coos, trying to soften the tension. You can tell she’s trying to maintain control, but you know it’s slipping. But Rafe is done. He’s had enough.
“Is it true? Is it true what Y/n just told me?” he demands, his voice suddenly low, razor-sharp. The words are a punch, sharp and deliberate, leaving no room for misunderstanding. There’s a long pause, a dangerous silence on the other end. You can hear Sofia’s shallow breathing, the way she’s stalling, trying to figure out how to save herself.
It’s almost like she’s trying to put on a mask for him, pretending everything’s fine, but you both know it’s not. Sofia’s mind races, the memories of her deal with Hollis flooding in through her mind. “Is what true?” she finally asks, her voice faltering, a hint of nervousness breaking through her usual façade. “Don’t play games with me, Sofia,” Rafe’s voice is firm now, his jaw clenched.
You can feel the weight of his anger simmering just beneath the surface, ready to burst. You watch Rafe closely, your chest tight with both anxiety and satisfaction. This is what you wanted. You wanted him to finally see her for what she truly is. And now, it’s all about to come crashing down for Sofia.
On the other end of the line, Sofia’s silence is deafening. You can almost hear her panic, her inability to talk her way out of this one. Rafe’s anger is too much, too raw. And it’s all aimed at her. Rafe can’t contain it anymore. He slams his fist against the steering wheel with a deafening sound, making you jump in your seat.
The force behind it makes the entire car shake, and his anger is now fully unleashed. His knuckles are white, his body tense with fury, and for a moment, you think he might explode. You can see the muscle in his jaw working, his anger mounting as he struggles to keep his cool. The tension in the air is suffocating, and you almost feel bad for Sofia—almost.
You got him here—you’ve got him angry at her, and it’s exactly what you wanted. “Pack your shit. Get out of my house,” Rafe says through gritted teeth, the words biting and final. His voice is low, full of rage that you can feel in the pit of your stomach. Sofia’s voice cracks on the other end. “What?” Her voice wavers, like she can’t believe what’s happening.
You can practically hear her trying to regain control, but it’s too late. Rafe scoffs, his patience wearing thin. “We’re done, Sofia. Done.” he seethes, his hand slamming against the wheel again with a force that makes the whole car jerk. You jump slightly, but you can’t help the small, satisfied smirk that pulls at the corners of your lips.
“Pack your shit and get the fuck out of my house,” Rafe repeats, his voice steady now, but laced with disgust. There’s no room for negotiation, no chance of a second chance. This is it. With one last frustrated breath, he ends the call, the click of the phone punctuating the finality of it all.
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madamechrissy · 2 days ago
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Gojo can't stop thinking about fucking Geto's girl
MDNI- Explicit Yandere Gojo jerks off thinking about you, Geto's girlfriend, yandere Suguru decides he'll share you once. Warnings: (yandere Geto and Gojo vibes, oral sex -f recieving, weed smoking, them being slutty lmao)
Part One Part Two
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Part Three
Suguru Geto is inhaling a joint, blowing the smoke out as Satoru hungrily devours you with his azure gaze, you're now just in a lacy black bra and panties, he drinks in every bit of your curves, your lines, your skin. Fuck you're perfect and Suguru just gets to have you, all to himself!? That's just not going to work, he'll have you see by the time he's done with you.
How many nights has he imagined being between your thighs?
Suguru hands you the joint now, and you take it carefully, inhaling lightly looking at Satoru then. "Blow it in his mouth, Princess."
You look a little shy, aren't you cute? You nervously take another hit, stepping up to him, and he leans down, cupping the back of your neck, your lips meeting. And when your lips met in that car, it took everything for Satoru not to devour you then, he's sure by the end of this Suguru may kill him.
Worth it though.
You're blowing weed smoke into his mouth, and he's sucking it down his throat, feeling it warm and foggy, expanding into his lungs. He leans back, exhaling, and you exhale too, before running your hands on his dress shirt, slowly. He notices your own gaze drinking him in, your beautiful eyes dilating from the hit, from desire, you're licking your lip, tempting him to no end.
"So, we doing a threesome or you just letting me fuck her?" Satoru asks, and Suguru chuckles again, taking the joint back and inhaling deep, coming to stand behind you, kissing down your neck, down your shoulder. Satoru pictures his lips there, his lips everywhere, stepping in front of you, pressing you between them both.
"How about you fuck her, I'll tell you what she likes, then we'll do one if you can make her cum enough." Suguru brushes your hair back now, exposing your delicate collar bone, more of your pretty breasts, Satoru is throbbing now.
He smirks. "If I can? You challenging me, Sugu?"
"Maybe I am." He says with a glint in his eyes, and now Satoru is trailing a hand down your cheek, tilting your chin up, sliding his other across the side of your breast, making you cry out so sexy. He watches your nipples perk up in your bra.
"I'll make her cum so much she's be crying." Satoru says then, and your breath catches at his tone, Suguru's big hands are trailing down your body, down your back, pressing into the dimples above your ass, making your breath catch.
"She's pretty when she cries." Suguru whispers, putting his joint out now, unsnapping your bra then, letting it fall to the floor, for Satoru's hungry azure gaze to drink you in, his snowy lashes lowering, full lips parted.
"Oh fuck, even more perfect in person." Satoru's gripping your breasts, as you're pressed between both of them, the familiar hands of Suguru on your waist, the new hands of Satoru squishing your breasts now. You cry out, head falling to the side for Suguru's kisses, then Satoru is kissing you once more, devouring your lips.
"Feel how wet she is, Satoru." Suguru says, and you know then they've done this before, they bounce off each other like a yin and yang, Suguru is running circles on your clit, the damp panties clinging to your pussy lips. You're shifting, heart pounding in your ears. "Want Satoru to touch you, princess?"
You nod weakly.
"Use your words." They say, simultaneously, your moth drops open, while Satoru is slipping your panties down his thighs.
"You two are ridiculous. Mmm!" Suguru is rubbing circles on your clit, Satoru has slid a finger in your soppy entrance. You're clinging to Satoru's strong arms, leaning back on Suguru's strong body.
"Is she talking shit, Sugu?" Satoru huffs, as you weakly whine out, he's fucking into you so good with that long finger. "Fuck, you're so wet baby."
"Stupid wet. Slutty little pussy." Suguru huffs those words now, and they do nothing but make you wetter.
"You're both slutty." You whisper, earning their deep chuckles, both sets of hands all over every inch of you they can touch, big hands taking over your waist, your breasts, while their other hands focus on your pussy. It's as if they telepathically know where to press, where to push, to make you a dripping mess. "Fuck."
"Lemme taste her."
"You'll get addicted." Suguru warns, Satoru slides his fingers out, sucking you off him now, he moans as his cheeks hollow, Suguru shoves his two fingers in now, and you're gushing down them.
"Oh my fuck... Let me eat her out." He whispers, mad look in his eyes now, so intense it's difficult to look at, they're both so all over you it's hard to breathe, their scents mixing with the sweet arousal in the room.
"Come on, Princess. Be a good girl for him?" You nod shyly now, how can you not be a little shy when your gorgeous boyfriend and his gorgeous best friend want to share you. Suguru sits down on the couch now, re lighting up his joint, as Satoru comes to spread your thighs, and he hands it to Satoru with a smirk.
"You're not really gonna blow smoke on it!" You say with wide eyes, and they laugh at you again, like you're their little toy.
"Just sit back, pretty." Satoru says, Suguru has your thighs held up, wrapping an arm around your waist and gripping a breast, Satoru takes a deep hit, sucking up thick smoke, then he's holding your puffy lips apart, blowing that smoke on your pussy, you gasp at the insane sensations, shaking your thighs, cumming just from that, and Satoru moans as he watches you. "Fuck you're pretty."
"Beautiful, isn't she." Suguru agrees, taking the joint back, another hit in his lungs, he grips your chin and blows in your mouth, you suck in the hit, making you lightheaded and fuzzy, then Satoru Gojo's flicking his wet tongue on your clit.
"Mmm!" You cry out as Suguru's sliding his tongue in and out of your mouth, pinching your nipple, and Satoru's lavishing your little clit, which twitches under the caress. Suguru turns your face gently, one of your hands are gripping Satoru's silky white hair, the other clutching Suguru's thigh.
"Look how much he loves your pussy, hmm?" Suguru says, his words tickling your ear, you're soaking Satoru's pretty face, he is looking at you with those insane eyes, lapping you up, until you're about to cum again, your pussy drooling all over. He's drinking you up, his big hands pressing into your hips, holding you there. Your head falls back, eyes fluttering shit, feeling so good you can't take it.
"Oh my... f-fuck!" You scream out, cumming all over Satoru again, pussy clenching around nothing, arousal dripping down Suguru's thighs and Satoru's chin. He peeks up at you, smirking, his chin covered in you, licking his lips as he stares at you from between your thighs.
"I think she likes you, Satoru, even if you're a psycho." Suguru says, kissing down your neck, biting hard, causing pain to prick you, but it only enhances how good you fucking feel, letting out a hoarse moan.
"Suguru, you act as if you didn't stalk her on IG first." You blink a bit, looking at Suguru, who's glaring.
"Fuck you, Satoru. No more. My turn." They switch places, now Satoru is behind you, holding your thighs up, hand wrapping your throat. "You can't choke her if she doesn't want."
"Wait, you both stalk me!?" You demand, they just laugh softly, then Suguru's tongue ring is hitting your clit, and Satoru's whispering in your ear, his long fingers pressing against your throat.
"Just sit here and be pretty. Pretty neck, want me to choke you?" He asks, you want to be affronted, want to tell him he's a dick, and Suguru's flicking his tongue on your clit again, violet eyes glittering. But you can't stand it, you feel too fucking good, so you just nod weakly, and Satoru moans softly. "Good Girl, we're gonna have so much fun with you."
Your heart is pounding in your ears when Satoru's hand tightens on your throat, and Suguru's fingers slip in you, you wonder what you're in for.
Comment for pt 4 aha, lmk if you wanna get tagged!
Taglist: @kakashixhatakesxwhore @sweetthingssourpeople @sylussss7 @teacupwaifu @nanasukii28 @haruhatake @bunheadusa @inthedarkshadows000 @cybernutbasement @aldebrana @queenkrul @megamumi @morikasan @melancholyyme @victoria1676 @seeing-stars-alt @73923 @misshat
Full Gojo fics of mine: Cruel Duke Gojo story here - Sweet Lawyer Gojo here -Psycho Yandere Gojo here - Cocky CEO Gojo here - Gojo Drabbles
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manheeiim · 2 days ago
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Nothing Lasts Forever - Gone Too Early
Warning: Season 4 Finale Spoiler Ahead
ᥫ᭡ link to nothing lasts forever masterlist
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I ran through the crumbling building, my goggles pushed up my face, headscarf covering my hair as I ran around looking for JJ. He had left for a few moments to help the others and we were now separated and I was alone, scared for my life.
I had never thought that my life would come to the point that I was in another country for the nth time, running from people. I was now always running from people ever since I met JJ and the other pogues.
I look around as I call out for my boyfriend when suddenly, someone comes up from behind, grabbing me harshly, one hand grips my shoulder while the other holds a knife up to my neck.
I scream and immediately I'm being shushed so I oblige, scared for my life. I didn't even know who was behind me but I had a few guesses.
I could hear footsteps and JJ came running in he froze for a moment as he saw the position that me and whoever was holding me were in. He then comes over, holding onto the bag that held the crown.
"Let her go!" He firmly told whoever was holding me.
"Stop right there." The man behind me tells JJ and so he does. "You know what I want." He tells JJ and even I knew what he was talking about. The crown, he wanted the crown.
"Just let her go." JJ says and I really hope that he just gives the crown to this man to get me out of this situation but really, I had no real doubt that he would.
"You could've stuck with me JJ. Think what you could've had." The man says and immediately I know that it's his dad. His real dad.
I'm whimpering in fear as this all happens as I look into my boyfriend's eyes, waiting for him to just give the guy the damn crown. He looks me back in my eyes before looking over at his dad.
"You want the crown. Sure, take it. Take it. I don't want it. Just let Lucia go." He firmly says.
His dad reaches out for it and JJ hands it to him, his other hand immediately grabbing onto me as he exchanges the crown for me. He holds me close as he pulls me away, leaning down and hugging me tightly.
I relax into his hold and start to cry a bit in fear as we hold one another close.
"It's okay. It's okay." He softly says and I pull away a little before kissing him. We pull away after a few moments and he looks down at me.
"JJ." I hear his dad say. JJ reluctantly turns around to face his dad. "It's a shame. You and me." His dad says and I sigh.
There's then a movement from his dad, a squelching noise, and JJ is bending down a little, a groan falling from his lips. I freeze, not able to process what had just happened. I back away a little and then I see, the knife in JJ's stomach. I gasp, my whole body now shaking in fear, not knowing what to do.
I watch in fear as his dad shoves the knife deeper into him, "You should have.. given me.. the rope." His dad says before pulling the knife out of him. JJ falls back a bit and I hold onto him as his dad stands there for a moment before running off.
"JJ..." I say, voice shaking. "JJ." I say a bit louder, the panic setting in. He falls to the ground and I kneel down with him. "No, no. No. Please, no. No." I'm stammering, tears sliding down my cheeks.
He's coughing, choking, stammering and I'm freaking out, my hand trying to stop the bleeding even though obviously that wouldn't work.
"I- I don't know what to do." I sob, feeling like I was making this even worse by not knowing what to do.
His hand comes up to my face before moving to my head, caressing my head over the scarf weakly. "Lucia.." He mutters out.
My heart drops even more than it already did, "No, no, don't." I say, knowing what he was going to say.
"Lucia, I love you. I love you so much." JJ says, despite my rejection. I find myself sobbing as I lean my head into his chest. "We're- we're not going to be able to have what we wanted. The- the big kook house with dogs and kids- kids of our own. I'm s-sorry, baby." He stammered out, using a lot of energy even to just say that.
Those words hit my heart so deeply, hurting it in a way I've never felt before. I'd never felt this type of pain before. Never in my life.
"Don't say that." I sob against his chest. "Don't!"
"I love you, Lucia. I love you." I say and after a few moments, I feel his body still and his hand slowly drops from my head. I freeze, quickly pulling away and I could see his body completely still and his eyes shut.
"JJ." I say. "JJ. JJ? JJ. Please, JJ. Please answer me!" I sob, shaking his body but he's limp. "No!" I cry out. "No! No! No!" I sob loudly as hug his body. "No!" I scream in internal pain as I cry against his skin.
I don't even realize it when the others come running over and crowd JJ and me. I don't. I'm completely in my own world as I sob in utter pain and sorrow. He was gone. He was dead. JJ was dead.
The man who, yeah, I planned to live in a nice Kook house with, with dogs and our own kids, was dead. Sure, I knew that would never happen but I was okay living the life we already lived, as long as it meant that I was with him.
What was I going to do without him? What was I going to do? He was all I wanted and now, I could have him no longer. JJ was the only one who really fully understood me. The only person I ever fully opened up to. I couldn't imagine being like that with anyone else and he was gone. Gone.
Sure, he made some stupid choices and sure, he didn't have the best life but that never mattered to me. I knew that all too well. I could never judge him for it. I'd always love him despite that.
Maybe I should've known that this day would come. I probably should've. Maybe in the back of my mind, I did know. If it hadn't been today it likely would've been another day. Especially with the way things were going leading up to this day.
I should've known that nothing lasts forever.
THE END
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soulofapatrick · 3 days ago
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The High Lady’s Claim - Rhysand x female reader 
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Summary: After a few days of becoming Rhysand’s mate you’re ready to take it to the next level
Words: 7.2K 
Warnings: fluffy smut; fingering; p in v 
Notes: I can do a part two of the next morning 😉
Y/N’s POV
The fire crackles softly in the hearth, its warm glow casting flickering shadows around the room. I’m curled up on the couch, a soft blanket draped over me, my favourite book open in my lap. The rhythmic sound of Rhysand’s movements in the kitchen fills the room—dishes clinking, the occasional sound of him humming quietly to himself as he prepares dinner. I smile to myself, content. There’s something about this moment, the easy comfort of it, that makes everything feel perfect.
The scent of herbs and spices wafts through the air, but it’s Rhysand’s presence—his power, his energy—that fills the space. I feel it even now, as he moves about the kitchen. The pull of him, of us, is always there, humming beneath the surface. And tonight, the bond between us feels… stronger. Almost like a low, thrumming pulse, syncing with my heartbeat. It’s a quiet, insistent thing, urging me to pay attention.
I try to focus on the pages in front of me, but the words blur. I read the same sentence over and over again, the scenes from the book igniting something deep within me. The heroine is lost in a forbidden desire, a slow burn that builds with each touch, each glance. She’s aching for someone, her body pulling toward them with an urgency that mirrors my own. As her desire grows, so does mine, the intensity building with every word, every heated kiss described in the story.
My breath catches. The bond flares, like a flame catching in the wind, suddenly roaring to life. Rhysand, still in the kitchen, pauses. I feel it—the way he freezes for a split second, like he’s caught in the current of something powerful. His eyes flicker toward me, and I can feel the question before he even asks it.
"Is everything alright, darling?" His voice is low, smooth, like molten velvet, and I feel the weight of his gaze on me even from across the room.
I bite my lip, trying to focus, but the words from the book and the heat in the room, the tension building between us, make it impossible. I shift slightly, my legs brushing the edge of the couch, trying to quell the sudden, sharp need stirring within me. The bond between us hums louder now, more insistent, as if it’s urging me to acknowledge what’s happening.
Rhysand’s gaze sharpens as the silence stretches. He knows me too well. His voice drops a fraction lower, a hint of amusement—and something darker—in the tone. “Tell me what you're feeling, sweetheart.”
I swallow, the weight of the desire I’ve been trying to ignore pressing heavily in my chest. The heroine’s thoughts echo in my mind: I want him. I need him. And the words pull something loose inside of me, something that’s always been there, hidden beneath the surface.
“I…” My voice falters, and I look up, meeting his eyes. There’s a fire in them, a hunger that matches my own, but there’s also patience, tenderness. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” I whisper, feeling the heat in my face, the way the bond between us crackles with energy.
He doesn’t move at first. But I can feel the shift in the air, the way the space between us gets charged with anticipation. Then, slowly, he crosses the room, his movements fluid and graceful, every step bringing him closer. My breath hitches as I sit up a little, the intensity in his gaze never wavering.
He stops just in front of me, looking down at me with that mischievous, knowing smile that makes my heart race. His eyes flicker to the book in my hands, still open to the scene I was reading. The heroine’s desire, laid bare on the pages, suddenly feels too real. Too close to what I’m feeling.
“Is that what you want?” His voice is softer now, but the undercurrent of tension is unmistakable, vibrating in the space between us.
I nod, unable to find the words as my heart pounds in my chest. My entire body is drawn to him, the bond between us flickering with a need that I can no longer ignore. He sees it, feels it, and the look in his eyes sharpens with the weight of my desire.
Without a word, he sinks to his knees in front of me, the motion fluid, almost predatory. I can’t help the sharp intake of breath that escapes my lips, my body tensing, as he gently takes the book from my hands. His fingers brush mine, sending a surge of heat up my spine. The soft rustle of the pages being closed is the only sound for a moment.
He places the book aside, his focus entirely on me now. The firelight flickers across his face, casting him in a golden glow that makes him seem almost otherworldly. Rhysand’s gaze never leaves mine as he moves the blanket away from me with deliberate slowness, his touch light but purposeful.
I shiver as the cool air meets my skin, and he notices, his lips curving into a smirk. He leans in, his breath warm against the sensitive curve of my knee. His fingers trail down my calf, and my body responds instantly, a tight coil of need forming low in my stomach. The way he watches me, taking in every tiny shift of my expression, makes the heat between us intensify.
“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint.
I barely have time to respond before he shifts, moving my legs gently. With a fluid motion, he pulls them from where they’re curled beneath me, spreading them slowly, the weight of his touch sending sparks of anticipation through me. My heart hammers in my chest as he gazes up at me from his position between my thighs, his face so close to me that I can feel the heat of him.
The air between us crackles with energy. He’s so close now, so achingly close, and I can feel everything—the steady beat of his heart, the thrum of the bond that ties us together, the electricity in the space between us. The intensity is overwhelming, and I can’t stop myself from reaching out to him.
But before I can do anything, he gently guides my hands back to my sides, pressing a kiss to the inside of my knee, a gesture so tender it makes my pulse skip.
His eyes lock onto mine, his voice a low growl that sends a ripple of shivers down my spine. “I can feel everything you’re feeling, darling,” he says, each word pulling me deeper under his spell. “And right now, you’re exactly where you belong.”
His lips hover just above mine, his breath warm against my skin, and the intensity in his eyes sends my heart racing. I can feel the bond crackling between us, pulling us together, and without thinking, my hands reach up to curl into his silky, dark hair. The softness of it contrasts with the firm, muscular body that hovers over me, and I tug him closer, needing him to close the space between us. His lips finally meet mine in a kiss, slow and deliberate, as if he's savouring every moment, every inch of me.
I deepen the kiss instinctively, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. My body responds to his with a raw, desperate urgency, and I feel every shift, every brush of his skin against mine.
His fingers slide slowly up the inside of my thighs, and the touch is electrifying—gentle but deliberate. I tense at the sensation, the heat of it spreading like wildfire, but as his hand moves higher, I feel my body instinctively parting for him, my legs falling open just a little. The bond is wide open now, no shields to protect me, and I can feel every flicker of desire, every storm of need, coursing between us. But then, there’s something else—something new. A spike of anxiety flares from me, sharp and sudden, and I feel it flare through the bond, reaching him like a splash of cold water.
Rhysand pulls back immediately, his expression shifting to concern. His eyes search mine, the heat between us dampened for a moment. He brushes a strand of hair away from my face, his hand coming to rest gently on my cheek. His voice, low and soothing, rumbles softly in the quiet room.
“Are you okay, darling?” he asks, his voice carrying that note of tenderness that makes my heart ache.
I open my mouth, trying to find the words, but they don’t come easily. Anxiety twists in my chest, the vulnerability of the moment overwhelming me. Finally, I manage to speak, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I... I’m a virgin,” I confess, my gaze dropping to my lap as heat rises in my cheeks. The admission hangs in the air between us, thick with the weight of everything unspoken.
His hand slides beneath my chin, lifting it gently, forcing me to look at him. His gaze is gentle but intense, searching my eyes for any trace of doubt or hesitation. I see only care and warmth in his eyes, and my heart calms slightly.
“You don’t have to do anything, darling,” Rhysand murmurs, his voice soft but insistent. “We don’t have to rush into anything you’re not ready for. I’ll wait for you. Always.”
I shake my head, the words catching in my throat. The bond hums, warm and insistent, and I know, deep down, that I want this, want him. I lean forward, my heart beating wildly in my chest, and before I can second-guess myself, I pull him into a kiss—slow, deep, and filled with everything I’ve been holding back. The bond bursts open between us, unleashing a flood of everything I feel: my love for him, my desire, my trust, everything. It pours into the kiss, a blend of affection and need that makes the room spin.
His lips part, a soft, guttural whimper slipping past them as he responds, pouring everything back into me. His hands, once hesitant, slide to my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel the heat building between us again, more intense than before. The fire between us rekindles, stronger this time, as if the kiss has stripped away any remaining walls, leaving only us.
The bond pulses again, and I feel him—all of him—surrounding me. His fingers tighten on my hips, and his lips trail down to my jaw, my neck, and I gasp at the sensation. He lifts his head, his gaze locking with mine once more, this time with a hunger that matches mine.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice hoarse, almost pleading.
I nod, my eyes searching his with unspoken certainty. I am sure. I want this. I want him.
And with that, he kisses me again—this time, deep and all-consuming, as if nothing else in the world matters.
Rhysand’s kiss softens, his lips gentle against mine, as if he’s savouring every second, every touch. The pressure of his mouth against mine is slow, deliberate, as though he’s giving me a chance to feel the full weight of his love, his care. His fingers, still resting lightly on my hips, begin their slow, deliberate trail once more, but this time, there’s no hesitation in the movement. He moves with the grace of someone who knows exactly how to make me feel seen, cherished, wanted.
I feel the warmth of his touch seep into my skin, spreading through me like wildfire, and I can’t help the soft gasp that escapes me when his fingers travel higher, brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. My breath hitches, my body reacting to the heat of him, to the pull of the bond between us. The energy swirling in the air is thick with unspoken desire, but it’s not just the hunger—it’s the connection. I feel him as much as he feels me, each kiss, each touch, each shift of his body against mine.
He leans into me, his hand gently guiding my legs apart just enough for him to press closer. His fingers, so tender, trace the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, moving ever so slowly toward where I need him the most. The sensation is overwhelming, and I can feel my body shiver with anticipation, my pulse quickening as his touch leaves a trail of heat behind it. Every part of me burns for him now, every part of me aching for more.
"You're so beautiful," Rhysand murmurs between kisses, his voice low and full of reverence. “So perfect.” His lips press softly against my neck, his breath hot against my skin. I feel the weight of his words settle into me, grounding me, filling me with warmth that spreads through every fibre of my being.
His hand continues its slow journey up my thighs, and I feel every movement of his fingers as if they’re marking the path to something I’ve wanted, something I’ve dreamed of, but never truly believed could happen. The anticipation is maddening, but it’s also sweet, so sweet, as he takes his time, as if he has all the time in the world.
When his fingers reach the very edge of where I need him, I shiver, the heat pooling low in my stomach, my body so desperate for him that the world outside of us seems to fade away. Rhysand presses his lips to mine again, his kiss deep and loving, his tongue sweeping against mine, coaxing me open in ways I never imagined possible.
The bond flares between us—so intense, so raw—and I feel it in every part of me, every part of my soul, that we are one. He feels my need, and I feel his, an undeniable pull that’s more than just physical, more than just desire. It’s a promise. A vow.
His fingers brush against my already soaked panties, and I gasp, my body instinctively arching into him, urging him closer. He pulls away slightly, his lips hovering just above mine, his eyes dark with want, but filled with that same tenderness I’ve come to love so deeply.
“Tell me, sweetheart,” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me you want this too.”
I can’t stop myself from nodding, my breath quickening as I meet his gaze, my heart pounding so loudly I can hear it in my ears. The bond pulses with my answer, and I feel it—my love for him, my desire for him, my complete surrender to him. Everything, all of it, pouring into him.
“Please.” I feel a little embarrassed begging, my voice barely a breath, but it’s enough, “I need you.”
“Fuck me,” His voice is low and husky as his eyes fluttering with lust and want, “Don’t beg like that.” Rhysand lowers his lips to mine once more, kissing me like I’m his entire world, like nothing else matters. His hand moves again, this time with more certainty, slipping under the silk panties he bought me a while ago, and to where it’s been longing to go, and I shiver under his touch, the heat of him spreading like a fire consuming everything in its path. 
Rhysand’s fingers slip through my folds, gathering as much arousal as he can on his fingers before he’s pushing a long finger into me, drawing a sharp gasp from me, a mixture of pain and pleasure. Rhysand sits back on his knees, watching my face as my head falls back on the couch, my fingers digging into the arm. 
He curls his finger deep inside me, his thumb finding my aching clit, already knowing how to make my body sing for him. He’s gently pumping his finger in and out, a broken breath leaving him as he watches where his fingers disappear inside me as he adds a second finger. The stretch burning a little but it’s not unbearable, my body aching with so much need and love for Rhysand that it almost hurts. 
“R-Rhys-“ I’m whimpering out his name like a prayer, some part of my mind thinking his dick would be so much better than this but this… oh god. My hips are rocking to meet his thrusts, hands reaching for him and he complies, my hand finding the soft strands at the nape of his neck before I yank him into a dirty kiss. My lips parting under his, welcoming him eagerly as our tongues slide together in a slow and sensual dance, this thumb quickening on my clit as my legs begin to shake as a tightness builds in my stomach. 
I’m whimpering and moaning into his mouth, my hand tugging at his dark hair and his kisses become deep and demanding. His hand between my legs speeds up until my nails are digging into the back of his neck and forearm, my back arching off the couch and my head hits the back of it as an orgasm ricochets around my body, leaving me shaking and crying his name so loud I’m sure the whole world can hear it. Rhysand’s fingers continue their abusing pace until I’m trying to wiggle away from overstimulation.
For a moment, everything feels hazy, like I’m floating. The intensity of what just passed leaves me breathless, and I’m slow to come back to myself. Rhys’s presence anchors me, his hands tracing soothing patterns on my skin as he whispers sweet praises against my neck. The feeling of his lips pressing gentle, reverent kisses along my jaw makes my heart flutter, and I shiver in the aftermath of everything we’ve just shared. His voice is low and rough when he pulls back enough to meet my gaze, and I can see the satisfaction, the bliss in his eyes that mirrors what I feel.
"Fuck, darling," he breathes, his tone filled with raw admiration. "You’re perfect."
A soft smile tugs at my lips, but I can’t help the surge of warmth that floods through me at his words. The bond hums between us, and I feel his love for me, deep and pure, filling every inch of me.
His eyes darken with affection, and then, with a slight tilt of his head, he brings his fingers to his lips, licking them clean. The simple, yet intimate gesture sends a shiver down my spine, and I find myself pulling him closer, desperate to feel him again. My lips crash into his with a fierceness I didn’t know I had, pouring all my need into the kiss. His lips curve into a playful smile against mine, a soft chuckle vibrating through him.
"Impatient, aren't we?" he murmurs, his voice a teasing purr, but there’s something else in his gaze now—something darker, more primal.
He pulls away just enough to look at me, his smile widening as he softly laughs, low and throaty. "I think it’s time we move this to the bedroom, darling. What do you say?"
Before I can respond, he lifts me effortlessly, cradling me in his arms as if I weigh nothing at all. His strength is comforting, his touch tender, as he carries me toward the bedroom. My arms instinctively wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, and the bond hums louder between us, urging us forward, pushing us toward something deeper.
He gently lays me down on the bed, his hands immediately brushing the hair from my face as he looks down at me with so much love and adoration that it takes my breath away. There’s no trace of anything but warmth in his eyes—nothing but care. His gaze drifts over me slowly, and I feel the intensity of it, the way he takes in every detail of me, like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever seen.
"Is it okay if I undress you, darling?" His voice is soft, filled with the kind of reverence that sends shivers down my spine. He lifts one hand, gently brushing the edge of my panties with his fingers before looking back at me, his eyes asking for permission, for consent. "I need to know you’re ready."
I nod, my breath catching in my throat, and for a moment, I feel exposed—vulnerable—but then I see the expression on his face: adoration, love, and something so deeply protective that I can’t bring myself to feel ashamed. The way he’s looking at me makes me want to open myself to him fully, to share every part of me.
Rhys stands back, his eyes never leaving mine as he takes a step back, a soft exhale leaving him when he takes in my form. His gaze travels over me, full of nothing but pure affection. I feel like I’m being held together with the weight of his love, his eyes drinking me in like a precious, rare thing. And for a moment, I want to hide—I feel too exposed—but then his voice breaks the silence, soft and filled with awe.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers again, his words like a blessing, and I know he means it with every fibre of his being.
I want to say something back, to tell him how much he means to me, but I’m lost in the way he looks at me—like I’m everything he’s ever wanted. He’s looking at me like I’m the one who’s perfect, and I can feel the bond between us, open and laid bare, humbling me in ways I didn’t know were possible.
Instead, I sit up on my elbows, my heart racing as I tug shyly at the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms, my fingers trembling slightly. The movement is small, tentative, and when I glance up, I see the soft, appreciative sound leave Rhys's lips as he meets my gaze. Without hesitation, he complies, pushing the fabric down to reveal the lean, sculpted muscles of his legs, his body a masterpiece of strength and elegance.
The moment he’s standing before me, my breath catches in my throat. I can’t help but drink in the sight of him. He’s tall—towering, really—and heartbreakingly handsome. His short blue-black hair, like a raven’s feathers, shifts slightly with the movement of his head, but it’s his eyes that steal my breath. Those violet eyes of his, flecked with silver like starlight, lock onto mine with an intensity that has my heart pounding in my chest.
His tan skin seems to glow under the dim light of the room, the tattoos that decorate his muscular chest and arms adding an extra layer of allure. They speak of stories, of battles fought and won, of triumphs and losses. Tattoos that wind around his body like an ancient map, but it's the two on his knees that catch my attention. The designs of mountains, crowned by three stars, remind me of the unyielding strength he carries inside him. He will bow for nothing, no one—but now, he bows for me.
For a heartbeat, I forget everything—forget to breathe—when his wings suddenly pop into existence behind him. The sound is subtle, almost imperceptible, but the shock of it makes me freeze. I hadn’t thought about his wings, forgotten for a moment that they were even there, since he hides them so often. But there they are, magnificent and imposing, spread wide and powerful, a perfect reflection of the god-like creature before me. His wings are giant, their smooth, membranous surfaces flecked with iridescence, glowing faintly under the soft light of the room. The bat-like claws at the tips of the wings give them an intimidating edge, but it's the sheer beauty and strength of them that leaves me breathless.
I let out a soft sound of surprise, my eyes wide as I take them in, and Rhys gives me a soft, almost apologetic smile, as if he’s used to this reaction. The wings ripple slightly with a controlled grace, as if he could fold them in at any moment, though I can tell how much they mean to him, just as much as I mean to him.
He steps forward, and in that moment, I can see all of him. Every curve and line of his body, every inch of him made for battle and beauty. His chest rises and falls with his breathing, his muscles taut and defined, but the most surprising thing is the sheer gentleness in his eyes. There’s no arrogance in him now, no power struggle—just love, raw and pure.
When I look down, my breath hitches in my throat. His desire for me is undeniable, straining against him in a way that makes my pulse race, my skin flush with heat. There’s no shame in it, no fear, just an overwhelming need, like the ocean pulling at the shore.
Without a word, he moves, his powerful form crawling over me like a predator that has just caught its prey, but in the most tender, loving way. I’m breathless when he presses his lips to mine, the kiss soft at first, and then deepens, each sweep of his tongue a slow, deliberate caress. I can feel the heat in his kiss, the love, the desire—he’s kissing me as though the world could end tomorrow and he just wants to feel me, taste me, keep me with him for as long as he can.
I melt into the kiss, my hands finding their way into his hair, tugging him closer as the bond hums louder between us, our connection deepening with every heartbeat, every breath we share.
Rhys pulls back for a moment, just enough to look at me, his eyes soft with adoration. “You’re everything to me,” he murmurs, and I swear I can feel the weight of his words deep inside me, all the way to my soul.
“Rhys, please.” I flush, legs falling apart fully beneath him, my core aching for him. His left hand finds mine and intertwining our fingers by my head as he lines himself up, sliding the head through my folds and catching my clit, drawing gasps of pleasure from me before he’s capturing me in a breathtaking kiss as he begins to slowly slide himself into my aching heat. His head falls into the crook of his neck as he stops a few inches in, thumb finding my clit again to get me to relax into it as I was right, he’s splitting me open, whispered praise making me roll my hips and taking him in a little more before he takes the plunge and buries himself to the hilt. 
My jaw falls open in a mixture of pain and pleasure, feeling fuller than I have ever felt before. He’s shaking against me, trying to hold on to any piece of self-control he has to give me time to adjust, a hand toying with my clit to relax me. 
“M-move, baby, move please.” I’m gasping as he twitches inside me and he’s nudging my face to meet his so he can draw me into a passionate kiss that steals any air I had in my lungs away. The taste of spices and the saltiness of me still on his lips is sweet and intoxicating, and I can’t get enough of it. Our tongues dancing together in a fiery exchange, each exploring and discovering the other. 
Rhys’ hips cant back before he’s pressing in again, drawing a sharp gasp from me at the slide back in, feeling every bump and ridge of his thick length and it feels like everything else fades away. The world disappearing as we get lost in the intensity of each other, being so intimately joined together as he sets a steady rhythm, my heart racing and we’re gasping and moaning into each other’s mouths. He’s letting my hands go to wrap them around my body and mine curl in his hair and grip onto his shoulder as that feeling begins to build up. 
My nails dig into Rhys’ shoulder and I’m tugging on his messy locks, the kisses becoming sloppy and needy as his dick twitches with every drag, pulling both of us closer and closer. He soon changes his motion to rolling his hips in a circular motion, the dark curls of his happy trial brushing against my clit with every circle until I’m arching my back, crying out his name and clenching around him. He continues the movements, whispering sweet nothings as I ride out my high, him following through and my legs clamping around his hips. The sensation of him pulsing inside me as he fills me up makes my eyes roll back in my head, almost coming again as it’s a new sensation. 
Rhys lets himself fall on top of me, face buried in the crook of my neck again as he continues to twitch inside me and slowly, almost painfully at how hard I was tensing every muscle in my body I unwind my legs from around his waist. He stays where he is, lips curling up into a smile against my skin before he’s mumbling, “That was new…. We should do that again.” 
His words make my heart race, and before I can think, before I even realise the weight of it, the words slip from my lips. “I love you.”
The moment I say it, everything seems to stop. I can feel the weight of it, the truth in it. His body goes still, a breathless pause, and then he slowly lifts himself on his elbows. His eyes search mine, wide and full of emotion, something raw flickering in the depths of his violet gaze. His face is flushed from our shared moments, his breathing shallow, but it’s the look on his face that makes my heart flutter. His expression wavers between disbelief and wonder, his lips trembling as if he’s holding something back.
“Sweetheart…” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, blinking away the sudden wetness in his eyes. I can’t help the way my chest tightens at the sight, at the fact that I’ve left him speechless. “I love you too. So much.”
And then, as if that confession is all we need, he kisses me again. This kiss is deeper, more intense, his lips pressing into mine with a fervour that matches the way my heart beats. He stays buried inside me, and the feeling of him, of us, so connected, makes me gasp into the kiss, my entire body responding to him.
Rhys stays still for a moment, his breath ragged, lips pressed against my skin in gentle, lingering kisses. But I can feel it—feel the way his body responds to me, hardening again, the subtle shift in him that sends a wave of warmth through me. His hands rest lightly on my hips, as though he’s waiting, uncertain, but I can feel the need in him. The bond between us pulses, a silent hum of desire, love, and connection that leaves me trembling beneath him.
I nudge him gently with my hips, my breath quickening. A soft, almost playful grin tugs at my lips as I shift beneath him, urging him to roll us over. He hesitates for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly, but then his lips curve upward, a spark of understanding in his violet eyes.
Without another word, Rhys complies, his body shifting to lie beneath me, and I feel a rush of heat flood my body at the power dynamic shift. His hands slide up my sides as I settle myself over him, my thighs straddling his hips. I can’t help but look down at him, at the way he’s watching me with such a tenderness that my chest tightens. His violet eyes glimmer with desire, but there’s something deeper there—something that makes me feel safe, loved, cherished. It’s as if, in this moment, we belong to each other completely.
I sit up, my knees pressing into the soft bed on either side of his hips. The feeling of him beneath me, his skin warm and welcoming, makes a soft gasp escape my lips. His gaze is darkened with passion, but there’s still that softness—he’s letting me take control, giving me space to explore this new territory. His hands rest on my thighs, but they don’t move. He’s allowing me to set the pace, his eyes never leaving mine.
The bond between us hums louder now, drawing me closer, urging me to let go of any remaining hesitation. I lean down to kiss him, slow and tender, pouring all the emotions I’ve been holding into it. My fingers weave into his dark hair, and as the kiss deepens, I shift my hips ever so slightly, feeling him, feeling the way his body responds, the hard length of him still inside me.
A soft moan slips from my lips as I feel him stir again, and Rhys groans into the kiss, his hands sliding up to rest against my back, pulling me closer. His body tenses beneath me, a mix of control and need, and I feel the heat between us intensify, almost like it’s building, growing stronger with every moment.
I break the kiss, resting my forehead against his as I catch my breath. His chest rises and falls beneath me, the rapid rhythm of it matching my own. “Are you sure?” he asks softly, his voice a mixture of desire and tenderness, checking in with me. His eyes, though filled with passion, hold an underlying concern, a protectiveness that makes my heart swell.
I nod, my hands trailing down his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, the warmth of his skin. “I’m sure, Rhys.”
And with that, I slowly begin to move, lifting my hips just enough to set a slow, deliberate rhythm. Rhys groans beneath me, his hands curling around my hips, guiding me ever so gently. The sensation of him moving inside me, so deep, so slow, has me gasping, every inch of me alive with the feeling. His eyes never leave mine, filled with love, adoration, and hunger, his lips parting as he fights to maintain control.
The tension builds, knotting tighter in my chest, and I feel my body begin to respond more urgently, my movements growing bolder, more confident. Rhys lets out a low groan, his hands gripping me tighter, his body pressing up to meet mine. Every inch of him feels like fire against my skin, and I can feel his power and tenderness both, swirling together in a way that has me trembling.
His breath catches again as I shift, my movements becoming more fluid, more synchronised with his. “You’re incredible,” he breathes out, his hands caressing my skin, as if memorising every curve of me. His words are almost too much, a mix of praise and desire, and they send a wave of heat through me that makes me gasp.
I meet his gaze again, my heart swelling, my breath catching in my throat. “I love you,” I whisper once more, this time a little more confidently, my voice thick with emotion.
His reaction is immediate, his eyes softening even further as he lifts his hands to cradle my face. “I love you, too,” he murmurs, his voice low and raw with affection. His lips crash into mine once more, and the kiss is like a fire that burns us both, filling the space between us with a sweet intensity that consumes me.
I continue to move against him, slow and steady, the tension growing tighter with each movement, the pressure inside me building. Rhys’s hands roam over my body, touching me in ways that have me gasping, my skin alive with sensation. He’s so gentle with me, despite the hunger in his eyes, his movements a careful dance of love and need.
I can feel it, feel the moment building, both of us teetering on the edge, and as I sink into him once more, the world fades away, leaving only us—our connection, our love, and the shared desire that binds us together.
The pressure in my core builds with an intensity that I can no longer ignore. My thighs begin to burn from the effort, the muscles trembling with each movement, each desperate pull of my body as I move with Rhys. His hands are gentle yet firm on my hips, guiding me in a rhythm that has me gasping, every inch of me alive, every nerve on fire. My breath comes in ragged bursts, the bond between us thrumming with raw desire, pushing me closer to the edge.
I feel that familiar heat, that tightening knot in my stomach, and for a moment, everything fades except the feeling of him inside me, the way he fills me completely, both physically and emotionally. My pulse races as the world narrows to just him, his hands, his touch. Then, without warning, the wave crashes over me—suddenly, overwhelmingly.
I cry out, a sound filled with pleasure and release, as my whole body convulses, every muscle tightening as the warmth unfurls inside me. Rhys groans, his grip tightening on my hips as he helps guide me, the slow, steady motion of my body now a dance that drives me deeper into bliss. The feeling is so intense that my mind is hazy, every breath a soft gasp, my body shaking as waves of pleasure ripple through me.
And then, as if the very act of me clenching around him, tightening in the most intimate way, sends him spiralling, Rhys groans out my name, the sound low and primal, and I can feel him pulse inside me, his body tensing as he reaches his own peak. His hands tighten around my hips as he helps me ride out the waves, the closeness of us, the bond between us, deepening the experience.
Time seems to stop for a moment as we both shudder together, caught in the aftershocks of our shared release. His breath is warm and shaky against my neck, and I can feel his heart racing beneath me. He pulls me down against him, wrapping his arms around me in a protective embrace as I rest against him, still trembling from the intensity of it all.
We stay like that for a moment, the only sound between us the steady rhythm of our breath, tangled together in the warmth of the afterglow. His fingers trace gentle patterns on my skin, and when I finally lift my head to look at him, I see the raw adoration in his violet eyes, a quiet love that leaves me breathless all over again.
As the weight of our shared moment settles between us, I shift slightly, trying to pull myself out of the afterglow, but Rhys is already moving, pulling me into his strong arms despite my half-hearted protests. My voice barely makes it past my lips before he laughs softly, the sound deep and rich, filling the space around us like a warm embrace.
“You can’t escape me, darling,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the top of my head as he settles me into his chest. I try to wriggle free, but it’s no use. His arms are wrapped around me so gently, yet so firmly, I can’t help but surrender.
I want him. The ache is still there, an undeniable, burning need deep inside me that refuses to be ignored. The bond snaps open between us like a live wire, raw, urgent, and powerful. But it’s not just lust—it’s a need, a hunger for him, for my mate. The desire I feel for him pulses in time with my heartbeat, now that the bond is solid, and the reality of it has settled into my very bones. I don’t know how I went this long without it, without him.
Rhys seems to sense it, his fingers gentle as they thread through my hair, soothing me, grounding me. He lifts my chin with his finger, his violet eyes glowing faintly in the low light of the room, and I see the love, the patience, the understanding in them.
“We have plenty of time, sweetheart,” he whispers softly, his voice a calming presence. “To explore each other, whenever, wherever we want.” His lips brush mine again, just a soft kiss, but it’s enough to leave me wanting more. “I’ll always be here for you.”
His words are a balm to the ache that still burns inside me. He continues to soothe me, the tension in my body slowly unwinding as I melt against him. My mind settles into a calm I’ve never known, the heat of desire still simmering beneath the surface, but his touch, his reassurance, is enough to quiet the storm inside me.
But then, he says something that sends a shiver down my spine, a quiet pride in his voice as he strokes my hair back from my face. “You are the High Lady of the Night Court,” he murmurs, the words full of reverence. “You, my darling, are everything I’ve ever dreamed of. You have always been meant for this—my equal in every way.”
I gasp, the weight of his words sinking in, settling over me like a warm, golden cloak. There has never been a High Lady in any other Court before. And now… now it’s me. I can feel the significance of it, the power and love behind his words. The Night Court has always been a place of strength, and now I am its ruler by his side.
The thought sends a rush of pride through me, swelling in my chest as I look up at him, my heart full and overwhelming. “High Lady of the Night Court,” I repeat softly, almost to myself, testing the sound of it. It feels like a part of me I never knew I needed, a role that belongs to me as much as it belongs to him.
“You are everything to me,” Rhys says, his voice thick with emotion, his hand resting over my heart as if to steady it. His gaze softens, a tenderness in his eyes that makes my chest ache with love. “You are my heart. My equal. My Queen.”
I close my eyes, resting against him, the comforting presence of his arms around me and the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat against my ear lulling me toward sleep. But before I drift off, his voice comes again, low and hushed, a promise.
“We have all the time in the world, my love. And no matter how long it takes, I’ll be right here—forever.”
The warmth of his words wraps around me like a protective blanket, and as I finally give in to the pull of sleep, I know, without a doubt, that this is only the beginning.
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ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024
TAGS:
@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout @angelbunny222
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passengerprincessblog · 1 day ago
Text
“Too Rough”~ Max Verstappen short
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WARNINGS: SMUT! NSFW! Mean max, degrading? Rough blowjob.
Summary: After a brutal press conference where doubts about his championship prospects are thrown at him, Max storms back to his room, seething with frustration. When his anger spills over onto Y/N, she stands her ground, igniting a tense, charged moment between them.
The door slammed shut, and Max stormed into the room, his expression thunderous. I barely had a chance to stand before his voice cut through the silence like a knife.
“Unbelievable,” he spat, pacing back and forth, hands flexing with barely restrained fury. “They actually think I’d lose to Lando? Lando.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes as if the very thought was a personal insult. “I’m the best out there, and they’re acting like I’m already washed up.”
I could see the anger twisting his features, his jaw clenched so tightly it was a wonder he hadn’t cracked a tooth. I stepped forward, cautiously, reaching out. “Max, it’s just press talk. You know how they are. Don’t let it get to you—”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to make me pull back. His eyes, usually so bright and clear, were dark and narrowed, focusing on me with an intensity that felt almost hostile. “They’re talking to me like I’m a nobody, and now you’re here, acting like I need some… some kind of pep talk.” His words were biting, dripping with disdain.
I swallowed, feeling a sting from his harsh tone but choosing to ignore it. “I just thought maybe you needed someone to be here for you, that’s all. You don’t have to carry it alone, Max.”
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Alone? You don’t get it, do you? I’m not some charity case that needs your comfort. I’m Max Verstappen. I don’t need anyone, especially not someone telling me to ‘not let it get to me.’ If you’re not going to say something useful, maybe you should just go.”
The words cut deeper than I’d expected, each syllable sharper than the last. But I stayed silent, letting him vent, knowing this wasn’t really about me. I’d seen him like this before, on the worst days, when nothing went according to his plan. I knew he’d push everyone away if it meant keeping his pride intact.
Still, it didn’t make it hurt any less. I took a small breath and steadied myself, speaking softly. “I’m not going anywhere, Max. Even if you think you don’t need me.”
He just glared at me, and I could feel the weight of his frustration directed fully on me now. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me like I was another one of his problems. I looked at him, hoping he’d see that I wasn’t backing down, but that only seemed to irritate him more.
“What?” he snapped, his voice rough and unyielding. “What? What’s wrong with you? Don’t look at me like that.”
A flicker of defensiveness sparked in me, and I crossed my arms, taking a small step back. “I’m not even doing anything, Max.”
His jaw clenched tighter, and his stare hardened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He took a step toward me, his presence overwhelming as he loomed closer. “Watch it,” he warned, his voice low and dripping with a threat that sent a shiver down my spine. “I’ll make you regret opening that mouth.”
The tension was thick, charged with a mixture of anger and something else I couldn’t quite place. My breath caught as his gaze bore into mine, challenging me to either stand my ground or step back. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Not tonight.
“Fine,” I replied softly, my voice steady. “Do whatever you want, Max.”
Before I could process what was happening, his hand shot out, gripping my arm and pulling me to him, our faces mere inches apart. His eyes darkened, and the intensity in his gaze sent a jolt through me.
“Excuse me?” he whispered, his tone dangerously low. “Watch your tone. Do you know who I am?” His grip tightened just slightly, grounding me in place. “Do I need to fix that mouth?”
My heart raced, my breath shallow as his words hung in the air, thick and laced with a challenge I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet
Without warning, he pushed me backwards, his hands gripping my shoulders and shoving me down onto my knees. The cold tile floor was hard against my skin as I knelt before him, looking up at his towering figure.
"Look at you," he sneered, his gaze raking over my body. "On your knees where you belong. Maybe this is what you need to remember your place."
His hands moved to his belt, undoing it with practiced ease. The sound of his zipper lowering made my heart race, and I watched as he pulled out his already hard cock, stroking it slowly.
"Open your mouth," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "And don't you dare make me ask twice."
I hesitated for a moment, my mind racing. But the look in his eyes told me that disobeying would only make things worse. With trembling hands, I reached out and wrapped my fingers around his shaft, feeling the hot, velvety skin beneath my touch.
"That's better," he purred, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Now put that mouth to good use. Show me how sorry you are for pissing me off."
I leaned forward, parting my lips and taking him into my mouth. The taste of him filled my senses. I worked my tongue along his length, trying to please him, to make up for my earlier comment.
But it wasn't enough. His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back roughly. "Is this all you've got?" he taunted, his voice dripping with disdain. "I thought you were supposed to be good at this. Guess I was wrong."
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I didn't dare protest. Instead, I took him deeper, relaxing my throat and letting him slide further into my mouth.
His grip on my hair tightened, his fingers tangling in the strands as he held me in place. "That's it," he growled, his hips thrusting forward, forcing himself deeper into my mouth. "Take it all, like the good little slut you are."
I gagged slightly, my throat constricting around his thick length. But I didn't fight it, instead focusing on pleasing him, on making up for my earlier mistake. My tongue swirled around his shaft, tracing the veins and ridges, eliciting a low groan from his lips.
"Fuck, that's better," he panted, his voice strained with pleasure. "Maybe you're not completely useless after all."
I felt a surge of pride at his words, even as they stung. I hollowed my cheeks, sucking harder, my head bobbing up and down his length. My hands gripped his thighs, nails digging into his skin as I worked him over.
"Yeah, just like that," he hissed, his hips rocking faster now, fucking my face with abandon. "Keep going, don't stop until I tell you to."
I complied, my jaw aching from the strain, my lips stretched wide around his girth. Saliva dripped down my chin, pooling on the floor beneath us. The wet, obscene sounds of my sucking filled the room, mingling with his grunts and moans.
"Goddamn, your mouth feels so good," he groaned, his head falling back in ecstasy. "I should keep you on your knees like this all day, every day. Would you like that, baby? "
I whimpered around his cock, the degrading words sending a shameful thrill through me. I knew it was wrong, knew that I shouldn't enjoy being treated this way.
After a few more moments, I felt his movements become erratic, his breathing growing ragged. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep in my throat, his cock pulsing as he found his release. I swallowed quickly, desperate to take everything he gave me, not wanting to waste a single drop.
He held me there for a long moment, his grip on my hair loosening slightly as he caught his breath. Then, with a soft curse, he pulled away, his spent cock slipping from between my lips.
I looked up at him, my vision blurry, my face flushed and tear-streaked. He stared down at me, his expression softening just a fraction. One hand reached out, gently stroking my hair, almost tenderly.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice gruff. "I was too rough, maybe. I let my anger get the best of me."
There was a hint of regret in his words, but it was overshadowed by a condescending note, as if he were patting me on the head, reassuring a child.
He helped me to my feet, his hands lingering on my hips for a moment before he kisses me softly.
"Go clean yourself up," he ordered, his voice back to its usual brusque tone.
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Note: welp 😅🚨💀
Lmk if you want more! Liking and following let’s me know you want more writings! 💜
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steveseddie · 3 days ago
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gold was the color of the leaves
steddie | rating: t | wc: 1,6k | cw: none | tags: steve pov, silly teenage boys, first kiss, fluff
for @steddie-spooktober day twenty two prompt “leaves”
read here on ao3
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Steve wakes up when a leaf tickles his nose– or rather, when someone tickles his nose with a leaf. He scrunches it up, swatting the leaf away with his hand. 
He easily recognizes the snigger that follows so he’s not surprised to open his eyes and find Eddie leaning over him, one elbow propped up on the grass and a devilish grin stretching over his lips.  
Steve lifts his sunglasses to scowl at him. “Are you like, allergic to people relaxing?” He asks in a bitchy tone that only makes Eddie grin wider. 
“Deadly so, Stevie,” he says, long dark eyelashes fluttering as the hand that’s still holding the leaf rests against his forehead like he’s going to faint. “It was either annoying you or dying, and you don’t want me to die, do you?”
“I guess not,” Steve says with a long-suffering sigh, but either the fondness in his voice or the way his lips tick up prove that he doesn’t mean it because Eddie’s grin turns blinding, his dimples popping. Steve is glad he’s already lying down or his knees might’ve buckled at the sight and sent him rolling down the small hill they’re laying on.
“Besides,” Eddie says, tickling Steve’s cheek with the leaf, “you’re missing out on all the fun.”
“Napping is fun,” Steve points out, swatting Eddie’s hand away again. 
“Yeah, if you’re eighty!” Eddie snorts. “Are you an old man, Stevie?”
“Eddie, I’m younger than you,” Steve deadpans. 
“Maybe, but I have a young soul, Harrington–”
Steve smirks. “If by young you mean immature–”
Hand to his heart, Eddie gasps indignantly. “Hey!”
“Dude, you and the kids spent the last hour gathering leaves in piles and jumping on them,” Steve says amusedly. He spent the better part of that hour watching them tackle each other between shrieks of laughter, thankful for his sunglasses and how they let him stare at Eddie as much as he wanted without getting caught.
Eddie shrugs. “Hm, you may have a point.”
When he moves, something in Eddie’s hair catches Steve’s eye. A leaf– proof that he’d spent an hour being tackled and rolling on the floor before he decided to annoy him.
Steve’s fingers itch to reach out and pluck that leaf from Eddie’s hair, smooth the curls down, grab a hold of them and drag Eddie down–
Steve shakes those thoughts out of his head, balling his hands into fists to keep them from reaching out. In the silence that follows, Steve becomes aware of the sudden lack of yells and laughter around them. “Where are the little shitheads?”
“Wheeler sent them to wash their hands so they can have a snack,” Eddie says, pointing at the water fountain where the boys are cleaning up and at Max and El, walking arm in arm towards Nancy and Robin at the picnic table. 
“Not you?” Steve asks, head falling back against the blanket he’s using to lay on the grass. 
Eddie shakes his head. “Nope, I told her she’s not the boss of me,” he pauses, “then ran away before she could hit me with her book.” 
Steve snorts out a chuckle.
“Besides, I don’t want a snack. I got one right here,” Eddie says with a playful wink that turns Steve’s cheeks bright red. 
He ignores the heat creeping on his face. “I swear, Munson, if you try to bite me again–” he says, thinking about last week when Eddie said he was hungry and promptly sunk his teeth on Steve’s arm.
It didn’t hurt that bad– he was wearing a thick sweater after all. What did hurt was biting his tongue as hard as he could to keep a moan from slipping past his lips from Eddie biting him.
Eddie sniggers. “I won’t bite you, I promise,” he says innocently before he leers at Steve, his face hovering merely inches from Steve’s face. “Only if you ask.”
Steve grits his teeth together. “Shut up,” he quips, shoving Eddie off of him until they’re both lying on their backs, their sides pressed together. 
They fall into comfortable silence which Steve breaks with a loud yawn. 
Eddie’s head lolls to the side, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Tired, sweetheart?”
Steve’s stomach flips at the petname. He shrugs as casually as he can. “A little, I- uh, I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Nightmares?” Steve nods. Eddie grimaces apologetically, tugging some hair across his face. “Shit, I should’ve let you keep napping.”
Without giving it much thought, Steve curls his pinkie around Eddie’s. “No, it’s fine,” he says, waiting for Eddie to meet his gaze. When he does, his eyes are a little wide. Wistfully Steve wishes it’s because of their interlocked pinkies. “I don’t wanna miss out on all the fun just because I’m tired.”
Eddie's eyes sparkle and he props himself up on his elbow again, grinning at Steve. “Does that mean I can tackle you into a pile of leaves?”
“You forget I was a jock,” Steve says smugly. “I’d like to see you try.”
Eddie laughs, something between a snort and a giggle. He drops his head in Steve’s chest, making Steve’s heart stutter. 
From this angle, Steve spots another leaf trapped in the curls in the back of Eddie’s head, and this time he doesn’t stop himself from reaching for it. 
The moment Eddie feels Steve’s fingers in his hair, his head snaps up and Steve’s hand ends up cupping the back of Eddie’s neck. 
Their faces are close– so close that Steve can hear the way Eddie’s breath catches when he realizes the same thing.
“Eddie–” Steve starts, not sure if he’s going to apologize for touching his hair without permission or for the way his eyes keep darting down to Eddie’s lips in a way that he knows is fucking obvious. 
But before he can decide what to say, he hears Eddie make an impatient, needy noise in the back of his throat before he surges forward and presses his lips against Steve’s. 
He lets out a surprised yelp, thinking– holy shit, Eddie is kissing me!
The thought bounces against Steve’s skull like a ping-pong ball as he tries to get his brain working again. But before he can do that long enough to kiss Eddie back, he’s pulling away and out of Steve’s reach. Steve’s hand falls back to his side, empty except for the leaf that he plucked out of Eddie’s hair. 
“You uh– you had this in your hair,” Steve says dumbly, holding up the leaf. 
Eddie’s eyes dart to the leaf and his expression falls as he realizes that is why Steve’s hand ended up in his hair, not because Steve was making some kind of move.
“Shit,” he mutters, his doe-like gaze darting from the leaf to Steve’s mouth. That he just kissed. “Shit, fuck– I– shit.”
He scrambles to his feet, and in his haste, ends up stumbling and falling back on his ass– only to roll down the small hill. 
“Eddie!” 
Steve jumps to his feet and runs after him, careful not to trip and follow Eddie down the hill the same way.
He makes it to the bottom right after Eddie and his eyes dart over his starfished body, checking for injuries. 
“Christ, dude. Are you okay?”
Eddie groans, covering his face with his hands. “Did the fall kill me? Please say yes.”
Steve suppresses a snort. “I mean. It’s barely even a hill, so I don’t think that’s possible. You might end up with a bruise or two though.”
“Oh, you mean apart from the bruise to my ego?” 
“What?”
“You know,” Eddie gestures between himself and Steve with one hand, “because I kissed you and you didn’t want me to.” 
Steve puts his hands on his hips. “Who says I didn’t want you to?”
Eddie’s hands fall from his face, revealing his wide eyes and slack jaw. “You did?” He asks, voice going high-pitched.
“Yeah,” Steve says, a lopsided grin stretching over his lips. He knocks his Nike against Eddie’s leg. “I did, you just took me by surprise, s’all.”
Eddie lets out a tiny, startled, “Oh.”
Steve smirks. “Yeah so how about you get up so I can check you don’t have any cuts or bruises before I kiss you. Properly this time.”
Eddie squeaks and scrambles to his feet with as much grace as when he tumbled down the hill. Steve finds his eagerness fucking endearing. 
There are even more leaves trapped in Eddie’s curls now, and with an amused shake of his head, Steve plucks them out of his hair before checking for any bruises. 
Then, as promised, he leans in and kisses Eddie. The second kiss is also short and chaste and over too soon, but it’s good and Steve has to remind himself they’re in public in order to gather enough willpower to pull back. 
When he does, his brain is a little hazy and he completely misses the way Eddie’s expression shifts from dopey to mischievous so it catches him by surprise when Eddie tackles him into a pile of leaves, laughing maniacally. 
“Ha! Got ya!” Eddie whoops, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, hovering over Steve who wants nothing more than to kiss the stupid smug smile off his face. 
But he can hear the kids laughing at him and cheering for Eddie in the distance and there’s no way he can get away with kissing him even if Eddie’s hair falls like a curtain around them, offering a little cover.
So he grabs a handful of leaves and shoves them into Eddie’s grinning mouth instead.
He’ll save the kiss for later.
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ittybittyremy · 3 days ago
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Dorym confessed to each other a week after reuniting
Day 1
Dorian's face when Keyleth says that Orym is most likely safe. "I knew he would be"
Orym contacting Dorian and asking him to come to him. "Fuck I miss you"
Dorian's face when he hears Orym's message
Dorian, a bard, struggling with words and not knowing how to reply
"But the only thing that's in his heart's just three words: I'll be there." (boy we both know those were not the only three you were thinking of)
Orym jumping into Dorian's arms for a hug
Dorian holding Orym for a solid minute before looking deep into his eyes and setting him down
Orym's worried look when Dorian talks about revenge
Day 2
Dorian dreaming about holding Orym and is disappointed when he wakes up and sees it's Chetney (at least that’s how I interpreted it)
Orym knowing Dorian's sleeping quirks
Dorian's worrying when he hears Orym's message
Dorian knowing something is wrong because Orym never said where he was
Orym double checking that Dorian still wants to come with them
Orym's face when Dorian winks at him
Dorian noticing Orym's interest in the armour
Dorian using all his money to buy Orym the armour
Dorian saying that he likes to see Orym happy
Orym constantly looking at Dorian during the performance
Orym's heart eyes at silly drunk Dorian
Dorym's heart to heart, everything about it was beautiful
Orym's surprised face when Dorian offers his hand
Dorian taking Orym's side during Swordgate
Dorian specifically asking Orym if Laudna could be trusted
Day 3
Dorian thinking about Orym before he uses the gambler's blade
Dorian wanting to princess carry Orym
Orym comforting Dorian after the hallucination
Orym's face palming when Dorian knocks on the door (they're so married)
Orym's face when Imogen said that Dorian should've been there to do the porn
Dorian's face when Braius asked Orym if he's single
When seeing Orym go down, Dorian's first instinct is run to him and heal him (bonus: the loving slap on his cheek)
Orym using Dorian to stand
Dorian using dimension door to get a downed Orym out of the fight
Dorian's frustration when Orym says that Ashton was the one who saved him
Day 4
Dorian looking at Orym when Keyleth talks about the Moonweaver being the goddess of "hidden love" and "beauty in that regard"
Bonus: Will basically telling Orym that he is allowed love again
Dorian asking if Orym is alright after the Wildmother vision
Orym watching Dorian sleep, not knowing that Dorian was awake
Day 5
Orym privately and gently telling Dorian that he thinks his father is there
Orym bluescreening after Dorian does that beautiful monologue and summons an equine dragon (me too Orym)
Orym talking to Zeru about how he should be proud of Dorian (Orym needs all the in-laws to like him)
Day 6
Dorian smiling while watching Orym gracefully leap along a wall
The sad look on Orym's face during Dorian's monologue with the Archheart
Dorian and Orym teaming up to knock out the emissary
Orym's worried look when Dorian suggests splitting up
Orym leaning on Dorian
Dorian's smile when Orym leaned on him
Dorian putting his arm and cape around Orym while playing with his hair
Dorian continuing to play with Orym's hair while the party talks about what to do after the god talk
Day 7
The loving look they give each other after Orym talks about how great it is to live a lifetime
Orym and Dorian glancing at one another when Laudna proposes that they all funerals for each other to say what they need to say
Bonus: Leeta specifically greeting Dorian
Dorian praising Orym while talking to Braius
Dorian's jealousy showing when Braius talks about wanting to fuck Orym
Dorian wondering if romance is an adventuring thing (and him glancing at Orym while Yasha answers)
Dorian being jealous over Orym asking Beau about her workout routine
Dorian trying to show off his abs to Orym
Dorian being very curious about romance within an adventuring party
Caleb giving Orym a pep talk
Dorian overhearing to Jester's relationship advice to Ashton
Bonus: Robbie trying to initiate the confession scene for 5 minutes
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gh0stsp1d3r · 22 hours ago
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Maybanks sister, part 3 chapter 8-Blackbeard
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Maybanks sister masterlist | previous chapter
Warnings: character death, mentions of blood
A/n: finally brought this series back for the new season. This is wrapping up from season three and then I’ll start season 4’s part.
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Ward pointed his gun towards everyone, his face covered with the realization that he was indeed outnumbered, that he wouldn’t win this.
“What are you gonna do, shoot us all?” Pope spat bitterly, his sword pointing at the man. Ward turned the gun to him for a moment before Big John spoke.
“If you gotta shoot somebody, Ward, shoot me.”
He turned his body and the gun to Big John now, cocking his gun. John B however, stood in front of his father and blocked Wards gun.
“Or me.”
His hands shook, going closer to John B when Sarah stepped in front of the gun.
“Stop.” She told him, staring him directly in the eye. “Enough.”
He now had the gun to her chest, “don’t!” He shouted in protest.
“You’re not gonna kill all of us.” Sarah shook her head, “I know you won’t. I know you.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “You forget that I know you.”
Ward started to sob when she put her hand over his own, glancing down and back at her.
“You can’t.”
Ward shook his head, slowly letting her take the gun from him.
“I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.” Ward shook his head at her, tears still running down his cheeks. He went to cradle her face.
“Yeah? Well, I can.” The man behind him spoke, cocking his gun while walking towards the group of you all.
You turned quickly, holding his gun up to the man, but the man turned it to Big John, staring you in the eyes.
“Toss it.” He spoke.
“Take it easy, big bud.” Big John murmured, still holding his bleeding chest in pain. “Your boss is dead. You got no reason to do this.”
“I can think of a few reasons.” He paused for a moment, “Toss it!”
You breathed heavily, your heart pounding as you held your hands up. The man inched closer, everyone getting on their guard.
“Thought you’d end up with the gold, eh? All right, nobody move.” He bent down to pick up the gun, holding it to all of you. “My mate back there is dead. Because of you.” He stared at Sarah, raising his gun.
Jj got impatient, you glancing at him, Kiara holding her hand out in front of him, stopping him from doing anything reckless.
“You go first.”
He cocked the gun, Sarah’s mouth opening in shock.
“No.” Ward turned to his daughter, his mouth forming a small smile. Sarah shook her head with tears in her eyes, already having an idea of what was about to happen.
He rushed towards the man, taking two bullets for Sarah. He shoved him off of the mountain, both of their bodies flying off of it. Your eyes widened, hearing a thump of both of them at the bottom.
Sarah gasped, everyone lowering their weapons and moving to where the two men had fallen.
“Sarah.” John b said in a warning tone, but she ignored him, continuing to look down at the fallen men. You all stood on the edge, Sarah starting to sob while John B held her.
You swallowed, before hearing someone else’s heavy breaths, turning your head to see Big John’s head resting back.
“Hey, hey, big John. Big John.” You murmured, lightly shaking him. You checked his pulse before shouting John B’s name. It was faint.
“Dad.” He whispered as he turned his head, helping you to lift him up off of the rock.
“Okay, dad, we gotta get you out of here.”
“It’s all right.”
“Hey, stay awake, man, stay awake.” You told him, your breathing becoming heavier by the second you grew more anxious.
“Come on, come on, come on.” John B repeated.
You all made up to a high point, farther than you would have believed you would make it. You and John B still held Big John, helping him walk slowly.
“We just gotta get you downriver. You’re gonna be okay.” John B spoke, but he didn’t know if he even believed it anymore.
You all made it to the docks, practically dragging him into the boat, everyone watching him closely.
You all made it off the island, Big John breathing heavily and groaning. John B looked down at him.
“Pop, hey, hey, hey. Hang in there, okay?”
Big John chuckled, his eyes shut. “But we did it together, my boy.”
“Yeah.” He sniffled.
“Just…”
JJ had his hand over his mouth, his leg anxiously shaking like you knew it did whenever something like this had happened. You glanced at him, wrapping your arm around him and laying your head on his shoulder in some small attempt to comfort him.
Ever since he was a child, Big John had played a large role in his life, taking him in when his dad was mad at him, or when he needed somewhere to rest. He was like the father he never had.
“Just like we drew it up.” Big John continued, opening his eyes to meet his sons.
“Yeah. Yeah we did.” John b nodded with a sniffle.
“Bird, bird, bird.”
“Dad, yeah.”
“Hey, hey, bird.” He grabbed John B’s hand, placing it over his bloody chest, caressing it as he stared up at him with a mixture of aching pain and love all at the same time.
“Sarah. Sarah.” Big John spoke, looking down at her now, who sat next to John B.
“Hi.” She spoke with a smile, grabbing his hand as well.
“Bird, you got to hang on to this one.”
Sarah and John B looked at each other for a moment before turning back to Big John.
“I know… that I wasn’t any great shakes as a father.”
“Stop, dad.” He whispered.
“But you… you were the best son any man could hope for.” He paused for a moment. “I want you to know that…”
“You can tell me when we get home, okay?” John B whispered to him. He sniffled again, looking solemnly down at his father. “Almost there.”
“Okay…”
“Hold up. Look, dad, look.” He held a piece of gold up, wrapping his arms around his head. “We did it. We did it. You did it.”
“I’ll see you. I’ll see you at home, kid.”
It was silent for a beat, John B knew it. He knew what what happened. “Dad?”
“Dad?” He whispered, putting his lips on his forehead, sobbing next to his body, laying his head on his father’s.
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18 months later, you were all finally being recognized for finding it.
“An expedition of one man, John Routledge, and a group of teenagers, who are with us today, locals, who grew up here, and who succeeded where centuries of conquistadors, explorers and admirals failed. Today, we come together to celebrate these teens, friends from both sides of the island who came together to solve this 500 year old mystery. Let’s hear it for them!”
All of you stood up in front of the town, listening to the claps and the cheers of everyone.
But something was missing. Or rather, someone. You hadn’t seen him in a while. Not since you told him.
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You took a deep breath, raising your fist to knock on the door before it opened in front of you, your eyes widening and you swallowing.
“You’re back.” He noted, you nodding along.
He narrowed his eyes at you, peering behind you for a moment to see nobody else behind you.
“Where’s my dad?”
“Can I talk to you?” You asked him, ignoring his question. He glanced behind him and into the empty house.
He opened the door wider for you, moving aside so you could enter.
You sat down on the couch, and he stood with furrowed eyebrows.
“You should… sit.” You told him, his worries becoming increasingly worse.
He opened his mouth to argue and you just looked up at him, letting out a quiet and broken plea.
“Please.”
Your voice cracked, and it was then he knew you were being serious. He folded his arms over his chest, sitting down across from you, waiting for you to speak.
“There’s no…” you took a deep breath, avoiding his gaze, “easy way to explain what happened.”
“What the fuck happened, y/n?” He asked you, his leg bouncing up and down as he heard you utter the words.
“Ward… he… your dad is dead.” You paused for a moment, finally looking up at him. “I’m so-“
“What?”
You understood his reaction, and you had a feeling it would be like this before you came here.
He had tears in his eyes, trying his best to process this all.
“You— you step into my home, telling me this— this— this bullshit,” he stammered, frustration evident as he rubbed his hand over his furrowed brow, “and you just— just…” His voice trailed off, lost in a mix of disbelief and anger.
“I wanted you to hear it from me before you heard it on the news.” You told him quietly, your voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.”
“Get the—” he inhaled sharply, the tension in the room almost palpable as he hesitated. “Get the fuck out of my house, y/n.”
Anger.
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and you felt your throat tighten, a lump forming as you nodded. Slowly, you rose from the couch, your movements heavy with reluctance. He ran a hand over his buzzed head, watching you leave.
You turned away from him, your heart heavy as you paused at the door. Before stepping through it, you stole one last glance over your shoulder, your eyes lingering on his expression.
A deep breath escaped your lips, a mixture of relief and sorrow, as you stepped outside.
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You couldn’t focus on that now, not when you had accomplished this. You knew he had moved on, and you knew you should probably do the same. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t get him outside of your head.
You swirled the liquid you had poured for yourself in the cup, staring directly into it as you stood at with JJ, kiara, pope and Cleo. Your thoughts were interrupted when you all heard some man come up to John B and Sarah.
“Excuse me. I… I don’t mean to interrupt.”
All of you began to walk over there, Pope furrowing his eyebrows. “Uh, can we help you?” He asked the man.
“Yes. I wanted to tell you all it’s remarkable what you all did. Royal merchant,” he glanced around behind him, before continuing on. “El dorado, Denmark Tanny. Impressive resume, impressive. I was wondering if you all would be so kind as to look at an item of mine.” He spoke, pulling out a suitcase and putting it on the table.
“Oh yeah? What type of item would that be?” You asked him with a raised eyebrow, sipping from your cup.
“It’s a manuscript. I would investigate it myself, but it’s too long in the tooth. I need partners. And you all were first on my list.”
It was silent for a moment, everyone collectively thinking about it. Pope held his hand out, “May I?”
“I was hoping you would.”
“1718. Jeez, this is old.” Pope murmured to himself, flipping through the pages of the logs. “Exhibition notes, dates… this is a captains log. This shows the exact position of the ship.”
“The exact location where the ship sailed and where it stopped.”
“Who is the captain?” JJ asked him, looking down at it, everyone turning to the man for answers.
“Edward Teach. Blackbeard.”
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Taglist
@cassie0sstuff @rafesgiirl @fals3-g0d @tiaamberxx @callsignwidow @saintnourah @calmoistorm @ethanthequeefqueen @theoraekenslover @just-levyy @hallecarey1
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childrenofcain-if · 2 days ago
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AS THE WREN SHEDS HER FEATHER (ELIAS’S POV AFTER SEEING YOU OFF TO UNIVERSITY)
one of the servants unlocked the door to the manor and elias stepped inside, the peculiar quietness pressing down on him like an unexpected weight. it was strange—to be met with silence when he expected his little apple to come bounding downstairs or to be already lounging in the living room to greet him. he thought he’d have an easier time getting used to it, but now? he wasn’t so sure.
elias handed his tailor-made suit jacket to another servant, glancing at the framed picture on one of the mantles near the fireplace: you, as a young kid, perched on his shoulders, a grin lighting up your face. your mother’s arm is looped around his, a laugh in her eyes so identical to yours as she holds onto the two of you.
he could remember the day that picture was taken, but it wasn’t enough—just memories which grow blurry each day. so he went to his study, where he kept the home videos. the cabinet was hidden behind a stack of old books, almost as though he’d been trying to bury it. but tonight, with you miles away at yale and his heart feeling like it was suddenly too big and too heavy for his chest, he wanted to see her. he wanted to see both of you.
after a few minutes of sorting through the SD cards, he found one simply labeled, “to be remembered.” he slid it into the player, and the screen flickered, a bit staticky, before the familiar image of the manor’s living room filled the screen.
the camera was shaky at first, moving around as your mother laughed, “elias, you’re terrible at this. here, let me…” her hand appeared in the frame, reaching for the camera.
“no way!” elias’s voice, younger and far more cheery, filled with laughter, protested from behind the camera. “i’m the cameraman. you, mijn liefje, are the star.”
“oh, so you just get to sit back and watch, huh?” she teased with a fond roll of her eyes.
the camera settled, a little less wobbly, as elias zoomed in on you, toddling around with your hands outstretched for balance, your whole face lit up with excitement. you must have been barely two, still unsteady on your feet, wobbling a little as you reached for her.
“come here, sweetheart,” she said, crouching down to your level, arms open. “you can do it, just a few more steps.”
elias chuckled as he watched her coax you forward, a surge of warmth flooding his chest. he remembered how her face would soften every time she looked at you, the way her eyes would light up. and then he saw it again—how she laughed when you finally tumbled forward into her arms, her joy bubbling over.
the tape lurched forward in fits and starts, as if elias had just recorded whatever seemed meaningful at the time without thinking about how it would piece together later. the screen shifted to a birthday, candles on a homemade cake—your fifth birthday. you were wearing a crown made of a long balloon that you’d insisted on, sitting cross-legged at the table, and there were flecks of icing smudged on your cheeks. your mother was holding the cake, careful to keep it level, beaming as she leaned toward you.
“go on, make a wish!” she encouraged.
you closed your eyes so tightly, putting your hands together with exaggerated seriousness, lips moving silently as if asking the universe for something only a child could imagine. then, with a deep breath, you blew out all the candles in one go. the room erupted in cheers—your mother, your father, your kindergarten classmates, even some of elias’s business partners they’d invited over that day.
“what’d you wish for, apple?” elias’s voice asked from behind the camera.
“i can’t tell you, dada, or it won’t come true,” you said, grinning, eyes twinkling in the candlelight.
the camera lingered on your face, the pure joy and belief shining in your eyes. elias could remember how the moment felt then, with both of you so young and so certain that everything good could be held together just by love and laughter. he felt a pang in his chest, a memory too nostalgic to hold without pain.
the video cut to the christmas morning of 2009—your mother was filming this time, narrating with a chuckle as she zoomed in on the chaos of ripped wrapping paper and new toys scattered across the floor.
“look at this mess! who do you think is going to clean all this up?” she asked, mockingly stern, zooming in on you hiding behind the couch.
“dada!” you’d shouted, giggling as you peeked out from your hiding spot.
“wow, selling me out, huh?” elias’s younger self chuckled as he leaned into the frame, pretending to growl and chasing you around as you giggle and try to run away from him.
the frame then jumps to another clip of you in the center of the frame, small and wide-eyed, your tiny hands busy, your concentration fixed on hanging ornaments on the lower half of the tree. you were talking to yourself in that way only small children do, a quiet monologue about which ornaments went where and how important it was that they were balanced just right.
“that’s the glittery one!” your mother’s voice came through, rich with warmth and humor. the camera wobbled slightly as she adjusted the focus, trying to capture your handiwork up close. “are you sure it should go there?”
“mama,” you said, in that exasperated tone only a preschooler could muster, “i know where it goes.”
“oh, i see,” she laughed, the sound a warm, gentle ripple through the screen. she shifted the camera to capture elias as he stepped in, feigning seriousness, hands on his hips.
“is the decorating committee open to suggestions?” he asked, crouching down to your level with a grin.
“no,” you replied without missing a beat, making him chuckle.
he then reached over, lifting you off the ground in one swift motion, swinging you in a wide circle. you shrieked with delight, half trying to wriggle free, half clinging to him.
in the background, your mother could be heard laughing too, her voice just as bright and full of love as your giggles. as he lowered you back down, she moved closer, still holding the camera as she leaned in to plant a kiss on your cheek.
“who’s the little ornament expert now?” she murmured, voice so close, so impossibly tender. she kissed you on one cheek, and elias joined in, kissing you on the other, making you squirm between them, giggling with each kiss.
“stop, stop!” you squealed, caught between pushing them away and clinging to them. “you’re both squishing me!”
“we just can’t help it,” your mother said, a soft laugh trailing off as she kissed you again. “you’re so loved, my sweet baby, you know that?”
elias’s voice was quieter but equally warm as he added, “we love you so, so much, little apple. more than anything.”
he pressed another kiss to your cheek, lingering, his voice almost catching, as if he was holding onto the moment where he truly felt like he was the richest man on earth.
elias hit pause. the screen froze on her face—her smile bright, eyes crinkling at the edges. he swallowed hard, feeling the tears well up before he could stop them. the years had done nothing to soften the edges of her absence. the house still echoed with her laugh some days, in small ways that felt like nothing and everything. he let the tears fall, a quiet acceptance of how deeply he still missed her.
finally, he pressed play again, as if he couldn’t bear to stop watching. he watched you grow through that grainy screen: you with your first lost tooth, your first day at school, your proud insistence on making dinner—omelette burnt to a crisp that elias and your mother had eaten anyway, praising every bite.
and then the last video came, a quiet day at the beach. the camera showed you and your mother on the sand, the waves lapping at your feet. she held your hand as the wind whipped through her hair, her smile soft and quiet as she watched you point excitedly at the seagulls swooping overhead. she bent down, saying something to you that he couldn’t quite hear over the sound of the waves, but he remembered the feeling of that day, of everything feeling just right in that one moment, sun dipping below the horizon in a blaze of color.
he watched as the sun began to sink lower in the video, casting a warm orange glow across the sand. and then she looked back at the camera, at him, her gorgeous eyes meeting his through the lens.
“come here, darling,” she called, beckoning him with a smile.
the camera dropped slightly as he walked toward her, and for a moment, all that was visible on the screen was a blur of sky and sand. then he set the camera down in the sand, angled just so, and the three of you were together, laughing as you stood side by side, the waves lapping at your ankles, the horizon stretching endlessly behind you.
and then, just like that, the tape ran out, the screen going to static.
elias sat there in the silence, his chest tight, the memories pressing in on him, so beautiful and aching all at once. he hadn’t let himself revisit these moments in years, too afraid of what they’d stir up, but now the memories felt as vital as air. he could almost hear her voice, feel the weight of her hand on his shoulder, see the way her eyes had softened every time she looked at you both.
he leaned back in his chair, one hand covering his mouth as he closed his eyes, letting the repressed emotions wash over him. the tears spilled over, hot and unbidden, the kind that left him feeling vacant and full at the same time.
he never cried in front of you like this, too afraid that it’d break the fragile tape that held the dam of your devastation upright. but now, elias didn’t even try to wipe the tears away. he let himself feel it all, the bittersweet ache of love and loss, the memories that filled the empty spaces your mother had left behind.
the silence seemed different now though, less hollow, filled with echoes of laughter and whispers of promises he’d made, long ago, to keep always keep going—for you, and for her.
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just-dreaming-marvel · 3 days ago
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Love That Burns ~ 28
LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST
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< previous chapter
Word Count: 1,995ish
Summary: The aftermath of the Battle of Alcatraz Island.
Warnings: Possible character death. Grief.
Notes: I know I said that I'm taking a break. I am. I'm focusing on taking care of myself. But I also got to take care of you all. Hopefully, this provides a slight distraction for any pain any of you may be feeling. (Also, I know the gif happened in the last chapter, but it can still work here...)
Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! 
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The debris and water around the area quickly fell as Jean collapsed, dead. Logan spun around, looking for you. He couldn’t see you on top of any of the debris, making his heart sink.
“Y/N!” He screamed as he began using his senses to find you. “Y/N!” He caught a whiff of your blood and immediately began throwing debris. As soon as he could reach you, he pulled you into his lap. “Y/N? Sweetheart?” His heart dropped at the realization of how cold you were. “No.” 
He frantically looked for any sign that your body had begun to heal itself, but there was none. His fingers shot up to the pulse point at your neck, waiting with bated breath for something—anything to tell him that you were alive. He came up with nothing. 
“No, no, no, no, no!” Tears began pouring out of Logan’s eyes. “Somebody help me!”
“Logan!” Hank shouted, running towards Logan. “Logan, what—“ The blue, hairy mutant came stumbling to a stop. His eyes widened as he took in the scene of you limply laying in Logan’s arms with Jean dead a few feet away.
“Why is she not healing?!” Logan began panicking. What had happened that caused you to not be able to heal?
Hank broke out of his trance and rushed over to kneel on the other side of you. He placed two fingers under your neck and silently prayed for a pulse. His heart sank further with each passing second.
“Logan—“
“Do something, Hank! I need you to do something! Anything! I can’t lose her again!”
“I can find us a jet, perhaps get her back to the mansion. But, Logan, there’s no promises that she’ll… that she’ll wake.”
Logan shook his head, pulling you closer into his chest. “She’s not dead! She can heal!”
“She’s not healing, Logan.”
“No! You need to do something! You need to try! Or I swear to God that I will kill you.”
Hank gave a solemn nod. “I will go see if there’s a jet we can borrow.” Hank rushed off, worrying about how Logan would react if you didn’t wake up.
Logan’s eyes fell back on you. He began rocking back and forth. “I need you to wake up, baby,” he whispered, using everything in him to beg. “This isn’t funny. I know that I’ve made a shit ton of mistakes, but I can’t fix them if you’re not here… Wake up, sweetheart. Please.”
~~~
Hank was thankful to quickly find a jet that they could use. The X-Men piled up in it, steering clear of Logan and you. Hank brought Jean’s body on board, covering it with something so no one had to look. It was completely quiet the whole way back to the mansion.
“Logan,” Hank called once they had landed. “I need you to give her to me.” The Wolverine simply growled, holding on to you tighter. Hank sighed. “I can’t do anything with you holding her.”
“Work around me,” Logan snapped.
“I can’t do that.”
“Try.”
“Logan,” Ororo walked up, trying her hand with him. “We know that you love Y/N; we do too. But you have to let her go in order to help her.”
Logan shook his head. “What if I let her go. and she’s truly gone?”
“We don't know that until we let Hank try.”
After a brief second, Logan nodded, loosening his grip on you. Hank quickly took you and carried you off to the lab. Logan felt empty without you, sliding to the floor and breaking down. Ororo was quick to kneel beside him, trying to comfort him.
“I can’t—She can’t be—I don’t think I’ll—“ Logan’s mind was spiraling so fast that he couldn’t finish a single thought. “I should’ve stayed with her. I should have protected her… Ororo…” She sucked in a breath as Logan used her real name for the first time. “What if I’ve lost her?”
Though Ororo knew that Logan didn’t like physical affection from anyone besides you and sometimes Rogue, but she couldn’t help herself. She flung herself at Logan, holding him close. His head fell against her shoulder as heart-wrenching sobs began to wrack his body. Ororo rubbed Logan’s back as she let him cry. She knew it was pointless trying to say anything of comfort. She had seen you for herself and was utterly heartbroken at the thought of losing you after the loss of Scott, Charles, and Jean. But she didn’t love you in the way Logan did, for as long as Logan had. So Ororo would do what she could, which was to hold Logan as he let out his emotions while she said a silent prayer to whoever was listening.
~~~
Hank had to keep his emotions in check as he worked on you. The first thing he had to do was check to see if you had been injected with the cure without anyone’s knowledge. It was the only thing that he could think of for the reason why you weren’t healing, why you weren’t breathing. As Hank took a vial of your blood, he quickly realized that your blood was bubbling like it was boiling. He quickly began to run the test for the cure as he took another few vials, noticing the same thing: your blood was boiling.
Hank locked down the lab, not wanting anyone to enter if something was terribly wrong. He knew that Logan would fight it and could get in with his adamantium claws, but he had to take that chance. There was something going on with you. His only hypothesis was that Jean’s own powers had down something when she was controlling you. But what? 
Checking the monitoring for your stats, Hank noticed that your temperature began rising again, though you still had no heartbeat. 
“What are you doing, Y/N?” He muttered to himself.
It didn’t take long before Hank could confirm that you hadn’t been injected with the cure. He carefully monitored you, making note of your slowly rising temperature.
“Hank!” Logan yelled, pounding on the large lab doors. “Let me in!”
“Not a good idea, Logan!” Hank responded, not taking his eyes off the monitors as your temperature rose faster.
“I need to be with her!” The monitors began frantically beeping as your temperature rose to dangerous levels. Logan could hear them. “What’s going on?!”
“Stay out there!” Hank backed away as smoke began to lift from your body.
Logan sniffed, smelling the familiar scent of your smoke. He unsheathed his claws and before Hank or Ororo could stop him, cut a large hole in the lab doors. He rushed in, with Ororo right behind him, only to see your body go up in flames.
“NO!” He hurried forward only to be pushed back as your flames suddenly grew. “Y/N!”
“Storm!” Hank shouted. “Can you put her out?”
Storm shook her head. “I don’t know if I should.”
“Someone do something!” Logan yelled.
Abruptly, the flames that had engulfed you disappeared, leaving behind a heap of ashes where your body once was. Logan reached out, hands trembling over your ashes, before collapsing to the ground.
“No,” he breathed out. “No…”
Hank looked down, shoulders slumped as Ororo covered her mouth in shock. The two watched as Logan let a few tears trickle down his cheeks before his jaw clenched and his eyes closed. His hand found the dog tags tucked underneath his leather suit and tore them from around his neck. Logan’s eyes snapped open, with a cold, determined look in them. He stood up and tossed the dog tags onto the pile of ashes. Spinning around, Logan marched out of the room.
“Logan!” Ororo called after him, Hank following. “Where are you going?”
“This is not my home,” he sneered. “Not without Y/N.”
“That’s not true,” she shook her head, trying to get in front of the man. When she did, he simply stepped around her. “This can be your home. We care about you.”
“There’s nothing for me here anymore.”
“Logan, please… we all have lost enough. We need each other.”
“I do better alone.”
“No, you don’t,” Hank responded. “Don’t go, Logan.”
Logan paused for a brief moment, thinking about you. He was sure you wouldn't want him to be alone. But you weren’t here to stop him.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled before heading upstairs.
Ororo and Hank didn’t bother going after him, knowing that it was hard to change Logan’s mind. And that Logan needed time to mourn your death.
~~~
A week passed since the Battle of Alcatraz Island. Jean had been buried with both her and Scott given memorials next to Charles’. No one was ready to give you one yet. No one had set foot in the lab since you had turned to ash.
Rogue, now going by Marie, returned having taken the cure. She and Bobby finally got to touch, but her biggest concern was Logan.
Though no one had officially followed Logan, they had heard that he was at a nearby bar, drinking and fighting his way through his grief. Ororo and Hank made sure to keep tabs on Logan by bribing bar regulars and did their best to keep Marie from going to Logan. He wasn’t okay, and no one wanted her to see him like that.
“The President wants me to be the new ambassador to the United Nations,” Hank told Ororo one night. They were sitting in the Professor’s office, often finding themselves there at night when they couldn’t sleep. “He wants me in DC tomorrow to announce it.”
“You should go,” Ororo encouraged. “You’ve helped out so much. You need to get back to your own life.”
Hank nodded. “I should clean up the lab before I go.”
“We should put the ashes in an urn. Logan may want them one day.”
“Okay… I just wish I could understand what happened to her. Why did her healing abilities stop working? How did she turn to ash?”
“I do, too. For Logan’s sake.”
“Keep me updated on him, will you?”
“Of course.”
Hank wished Ororo goodnight and headed downstairs to find something to clean your ashes into. He immediately froze at the door when he arrived. The ash pile had grown, with a similar shape to yours. Slowly, he moved closer. All of a sudden, you gasped, shooting up. The ashes fell off of you and onto the floor, revealing your naked body.
“Oh, my— Y/N!” Hank exclaimed. 
He grabbed the lab coat from a nearby chair and rushed to your side. He draped it over your shoulders as he began to take in your form. There were no scars on your skin. It was like brand new.
“What—“ you cut yourself off with a cough. “What happened?” You glanced around the room. “Where’s Logan?”
“What do you last remember?” Hank asked.
“Uh… we were at Alcatraz Island. I was injured, I think… Jean got a hold of me, and then nothing.”
“Well, you died.”
“What?”
“You died a week ago.”
“No,” you shook your head. “That’s not possible.”
“I know, but somehow you died, and then when we got you back here, your body went up in flames. You turned to ash.”
“That’s… insane.” You looked around again, finally noticing the dog tags in your lap. You carefully picked them up. “These are mine and Logan’s. Where is he?”
Hank sighed. “He left after you turned to ash.”
Your heart dropped. “He left?”
“Yes, but we’ve been informed that he’s at a nearby bar, drinking away and cage fighting.”
“I have to go get him.” You scrambled off the table, the lab coat slipping off you.
“Uh, Y/N?”
“What?”
“You may want to put some clothes on.”
You looked down to find yourself naked. You picked up the lab coat and wrapped it around yourself. “Right. Thanks.”
“Be careful. Logan’s not okay.”
“That’s why I can’t waste another second.”
next chapter >
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httpsdana · 2 days ago
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hey!
love your work! i was wondering if you could do one about pau cubarsi and they get a pet and she pays all her attention to the pet and pau gets jealous or smthg?
thank you sm 💕
Puppy Love~Pau Cubarsi
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*Pictures are from Pinterest*
this has got to be one of my favorite fics I've ever written. I need a Pau outside my door asap. enjoy <3
request from here
master list -> part 2
players/drivers I write for
From the moment y/n and Pau brought home their new puppy, Mochi, it was pure love. They'd both been so excited, planning out every little detail: his bed, his toys, the cutest little collar, and spending way too long debating whether “Mochi” or “Tofu” was the perfect name. Eventually, Mochi won out, and now here he was, a fluffy little ball of mischief that they both adored like their own child.
Pau was obsessed from the start. He would cradle Mochi in his arms, cooing, “Mi amor, look at him! He’s already the most handsome boy in the world. Right, Mochi? You’re perfect.”
She'd laugh at his cuteness, running her fingers through Mochi’s soft fur. “Wow, I think I have some competition now.”
Pau smirked, giving her a wink. “Sorry, cariño. Mochi and I? Unstoppable duo. He’s basically my mini-me.”
“Oh, so he’s already dramatic about meal times and leaving crumbs everywhere?” she teased with a smile
Pau gasped, clutching his chest. “Excuse me, I am not dramatic, and I clean up my crumbs… sometimes.”
The early days with Mochi were filled with laughter and cuddles, both of them cooing over every little thing he did. The two of them doted on him together, taking turns waking up in the middle of the night when he’d whimper or need to go outside, racing each other to see who could make it to Mochi first when he called for attention.
But soon, Pau’s schedule got a bit busier. He was away more for practices and games, and y/n found herself spending more and more time with Mochi. While Pau was out, she'd have little “puppy and me” dates, complete with treats, belly rubs, and mini photoshoots where she would send the funniest pictures to Pau, captioned with things like, Look at your competition or Mochi says he’s the new man of the house.
Pau would text back immediately. No way. Mochi can’t be half as charming as me. But then he’d send three heart emojis and demand more photos.
One evening, after a long day, Pau came home, eager for some quality time. He walked in to see y/n sprawled on the couch with Mochi stretched out across her chest, his tiny head resting comfortably as she scratched his belly.
Pau stopped in his tracks, crossing his arms and giving her both an exaggerated pout. “I’m gone for a few hours, and this is what I come back to?”
She looked up, stifling a laugh at the face he was making. “Jealous of Mochi, are we?”
He put a hand to his chest, looking utterly wounded. “Me? Jealous? Absolutely. This used to be my spot, you know,” he grumbled, nodding at the spot on her chest where Mochi was curled up. “I used to get those head scratches, too.”
“Oh, bebé, come here,” she cooed, setting Mochi down gently before opening her arms. Pau took his chance, practically launching himself onto the couch to snuggle up to her.
“Finally,” he sighed dramatically, burying his face in her neck. “About time you give me some attention.” His tone was teasing, but he looked so adorable that she couldn’t help but laugh.
y/n wrapped her arms around him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Aww, you poor thing. Mochi just missed you. I missed you, too,” she said, rubbing his back soothingly.
“Oh, good. Because I was about to start howling for attention myself,” he joked, causing her to burst out laughing.
“Maybe Mochi has been teaching you a thing or two,” she teased, ruffling Pau’s hair just like she did with Mochi.
Pau grinned, snuggling closer. “So, you’re saying I need to be more puppy-like? Alright then.” He scrunched up his face and gave a dramatic little whimper, making puppy eyes at her.
She playfully rolled her eyes, laughing as she stroked his hair. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
“Ridiculously cute?” he asked with a hopeful grin, his eyes twinkling as he leaned in for a kiss.
“Alright, yes, ridiculously cute,” she admitted, kissing him softly.
Mochi, clearly curious about the attention shift, clambered back onto the couch, settling down between y/n and Pau, his little tail wagging as he looked up at the two of them.
Pau raised an eyebrow, looking at Mochi. “Oh no, you’re not stealing my girl again,” he warned playfully. “Go on, go chew a toy or something.”
But Mochi just flopped down, resting his little head on her lap, looking far too adorable to move.
Pau sighed, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. My own puppy is trying to sabotage me,” he said, though his face softened as he reached over to scratch Mochi’s ears. “Alright, fine, maybe we can share the lap.”
y/n laughed, leaning over to give Pau a kiss. “Face it, babe, we’re a package deal now. You, me, and Mochi.”
Pau’s face lit up as he kissed her back, pulling her closer. “As long as I get first dibs on goodnight kisses. Deal?”
“Deal,” she agreed, grinning as she wrapped herself up in his embrace, Mochi happily snuggled between them.
From that day on, Pau made sure to reclaim his spot in the cutest ways— “accidentally” bumping Mochi aside to curl up in her lap or dramatically announcing his need for “emergency cuddles” whenever he saw her petting the puppy. The three of them settled into a perfectly fluffy routine, filled with laughter, and many sweet moments.
In the end, they both knew they’d created a little family, with enough love to go around—Mochi included, of course.
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honeybelleee · 5 hours ago
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for you i’d bleed | p.js
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req ( anon & my bae @kpopiedictionary ) : down bad boyfriend jay fighting someone who talked bad about you in your absence + passionate sex but dom!y/n
pairings - jay x fem!reader
genre - established relationship, dom!y/n x sub downbad!jay, smut (MDNI), fluff
warnings - lower case intended, fighting, jay getting injured, mention of blood, heavy oral (m receiving), pwp, y/n getting objectified
1,3 ++ wc ! masterlist
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jay had never imagined he’d be fighting to defend y/n from someone so close to him, but the bitter reality hit when his friend’s careless mouth spewed inappropriate, lewd remarks about y/n in her absence.
the argument flared quickly, blazing like a fire out of control. jay’s friend, wearing a smug, dismissive grin, shrugged off jay’s fury as if y/n were meaningless a joke.
"why are you getting so worked up man?" his friend sneered. "if she wasn’t your girl, i’d fuck that pussy real good. she’s got a body that—”
“don’t,” jay interrupted, his voice low and dangerous. “don’t talk about her like that. you have no idea who she is, and you clearly don’t respect her.”
his friend scoffed, crossing his arms. “come on jay, it’s just a joke. lighten up. it’s not like she’d ever even find out i said anything.”
jay stepped closer, fury flashing in his eyes. “that’s not the point. if you think I’m going to let you talk about my girlfriend like that, you’re dead wrong.”
“oh, so now you’re gonna act all tough? over a few words? you used to be fun, bro,” his friend taunted, raising his eyebrows in mock amusement.
jay’s patience finally snapped. “a real friend wouldn’t disrespect the woman i love,” he said through gritted teeth, “and a real man wouldn’t need to put someone down like this to feel big.”
jay's fists clenched, his blood boiling at the blatant disrespect toward someone he cherished. he couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t just let it slide. his friend’s sick remarks and arrogant stance only spurred jay on until he couldn’t hold back anymore.
with a surge of anger, jay threw the first punch, connecting with his friend’s jaw. the impact left him stumbling, but he recovered, lashing back and landing a wild swing that split jay's lip. ignoring the pain, jay lunged forward, grabbing his friend by the collar and slamming him into the wall, “if I ever hear you talk about her again, i’ll fucking kill you. understood?”
the friend, suddenly realizing the depth of jay’s anger, muttered, “alright… fine. i’m sorry. i went too far.”
jay stormed off, his mind racing as he headed straight for y/n's place. as he reached her apartment, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorbell. his face was bruised and bloodied, and he didn't want to scare her. but the door swung open before he could change his mind, and there she was, looking concerned and beautiful in her silk robe.
"jay, what happened?" she asked, her voice filled with worry.
he tried to smile, but the pain from his split lip made it more of a grimace. "just a little disagreement with a friend."
y/n's eyes widened as she took in his battered appearance. "oh baby, come in! we need to get you cleaned up."
jay followed her inside, feeling a mix of shame and desire. he knew he had overreacted, but the thought of that guy disrespecting y/n had made his blood boil.
in the bathroom, y/n gently guided him to the sink, her touch soft and soothing. she ran a damp cloth over his face, wiping away the blood and grime. her fingers were gentle as she dabbed at the cut above his eyebrow, her breath warm against his skin.
"does it hurt?" she asked, her voice low and concerned.
"not as much as my pride," jay replied, his voice hoarse with emotion.
y/n's eyes locked with his, and in that moment, something shifted between them. she could see the hurt and anger in his eyes, but also a raw, primal desire. her heart raced as she realized the effect she had on him.
"you fought for me," she whispered, her voice laced with a mixture of awe and arousal.
jay nodded, unable to speak as the emotions overwhelmed him. he had always been the protective type, but this was different. the thought of someone sexualizing y/n had sent him into a blind rage.
y/n's fingers trailed down his jaw, her touch electric as she caressed his bruised face.
"you're so beautiful when you're angry," she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.
jay shivered at her touch, his body responding to her words. he had always been the dominant one in their relationship, but now, as she stood before him, her eyes burning with desire, he felt a surge of submission.
"y/n, i..." he began, but she placed a finger on his lips, silencing him.
"shh," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "let me take care of you."
with that, she dropped to her knees before him, her hands sliding up his thighs, her touch sending shivers through his body. jay's breath caught in his throat as he felt her fingers brush against the bulge in his pants.
"i want to make you feel good," she whispered, her voice throaty with desire.
"let me show you how much i appreciate what you did for me."
jay groaned as she unbuttoned his jeans, his cock springing free, hard and throbbing. y/n's eyes widened at the sight of his thick, erect shaft, her lips parting in anticipation.
"you're so hard for me baby," she purred, her voice filled with satisfaction.
she leaned forward, her breath hot against the tip of his cock, and then she took him into her mouth, her lips sliding down his length. jay's eyes rolled back in his head as pleasure surged through his body. y/n's mouth was warm and wet, her tongue swirling around his sensitive head, driving him wild.
she sucked him with a passion he had never experienced before, her hands gripping his thighs as she took him deeper into her throat. jay's hands clenched into fists as he struggled to hold back his orgasm, wanting to prolong this moment of pure ecstasy.
"fuck, y/n," he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. "your mouth feels so fucking good."
y/n moaned around his cock, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through him. she pulled back, her lips glistening with his precum, and looked up at him with a wicked smile.
"i want you to fuck my face," she whispered, her eyes daring him to take control.
jay's heart pounded as he realized she was giving him permission to be rough, to take what he wanted. he placed his hands on her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, and began to thrust gently at first, but soon the primal urge took over, and he was pounding into her mouth with abandon.
y/n's moans and gasps fueled his desire, her hands gripping his hips, urging him on. her tongue danced against his shaft, her lips tight around him, and he could feel her throat constricting around his cock as he plunged deeper.
"oh baby i'm gonna cum," he grunted, his body tensing as the orgasm built.
y/n's eyes flashed with excitement, and she pulled back, her hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking him in rhythm with her mouth. jay's body convulsed as he exploded, his cum shooting into her mouth, down her throat, and over her lips. she swallowed eagerly, sucking him dry, her eyes never leaving his.
as he caught his breath, y/n stood, her body flushed and her lips glistening with his release. she pressed herself against him, her breasts pressing into his chest, and kissed him deeply, sharing the taste of his cum.
"i love you," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
y/n smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "i love you too, ready for round two?”
jay will bleed for u if u like/comment/reblog!
perm taglist - @ancnymcnzjy @june19190 @wiccangirl29 @shjsnjkj @who-tf-soddhi
©honeybelleee on tumblr!
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passengerprincessblog · 2 days ago
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“Off Track” pt.1 ~ Franco x reader
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Summary: Caught in a complicated, long-distance relationship with F1 legend Lewis Hamilton, Y/N finds herself unexpectedly drawn to Franco Colapinto, a young and charming rookie driver with the Williams team. As sparks fly between them amidst the adrenaline-fueled world of racing, Y/N begins to question the boundaries between friendship and something more. With Franco’s undeniable charm and Lewis’s overprotective presence, Y/N must navigate the thrill and danger of her growing attraction—on and off the track.
WC: 1,200
Part 2 here
The chaotic energy of the Brazilian Grand Prix was electric, each roar from the crowd sending a wave of excitement through my veins. It was one of those races where the air felt alive, every sound and smell magnified. Usually, I’d be in the Mercedes garage with Lewis, cheering him on, but today I found myself wandering around the paddock, my eyes searching for someone else.
Franco Colapinto.
He was just a rookie, a temporary driver for the Williams team, but he had quickly charmed his way into everyone’s hearts, including mine. Maybe it was his easygoing smile or that sparkle in his greenish-blue eyes. Maybe it was the way he was so obviously in awe of Lewis, reverent and respectful but still carrying that cheeky, Argentinian confidence.
We’d met through Lewis, of course. He’d been eager to introduce me to his “protégé,” as he called him, which made me roll my eyes. Franco was younger than Lewis, and maybe that was part of the appeal—he hadn’t been worn down by the sport’s pressures yet. He still carried that spark, that excitement. And somehow, in the process of being introduced, I found myself drawn to him. More than I should be.
Finally, I spotted him, leaning against the side of the Williams garage, scrolling through his phone. The moment he looked up and noticed me, a broad grin spread across his face, lighting up his entire expression.
“Y/N! Looking for me?” he called out, slipping his phone into his pocket and walking toward me, his posture relaxed and inviting. There was something inherently magnetic about the way he carried himself, all confidence and charm wrapped up in a twenty-one-year-old with wild ambition.
“Maybe I am,” I teased, shrugging playfully. “But don’t let it get to your head, rookie. I’m here to watch Lewis.”
He raised an eyebrow, feigning disappointment as he placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “Ah, so it’s not me you came to see. You’re just using me to get closer to the legend.”
I laughed, crossing my arms as I watched him. “Maybe, maybe not. You’re still figuring me out.”
He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Well, I’d like to think I’m good at that. Figuring people out, I mean. And I think I’m starting to understand you.” His voice dropped a little lower, a hint of mischief in his tone as he leaned in slightly. “After all, I know when someone is interested in more than just the race.”
My breath caught slightly, and I raised an eyebrow, refusing to let him have the upper hand. “Oh really? Is that your expert analysis as a rookie F1 driver?”
Franco smirked, switching seamlessly to Spanish, his voice warm and teasing. “No, es mi análisis experto como argentino.” (“No, it’s my expert analysis as an Argentinian.”)
I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “Well, Mr. Expert Analyst, you might want to work on your skills. You’re a bit… off track.”
He chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall casually. “I don’t think so. I think I’m right on target. And anyway, it’s not my fault you’re too tempting to resist.”
The way he said it, so direct yet playful, sent a shiver down my spine. There was no hiding that I enjoyed his company, maybe more than I should, and the easy banter between us felt like an escape from the complicated world of F1—and my complicated relationship with Lewis.
My phone buzzed, interrupting my thoughts. I glanced down and saw a string of texts from Lewis.
“Where are you?”
“Are you coming to the garage?”
“Y/N, let me know when you’re here.”
I sighed softly, feeling that familiar tug of guilt and frustration. Lewis and I… well, we hadn’t been at our best recently. The long distance, the pressure, his overprotective tendencies—it all added up, making things harder than I’d ever imagined. And as much as I loved him, sometimes it felt like I was suffocating under the weight of his expectations.
“Everything okay?” Franco’s voice pulled me back, concern flickering in his eyes as he watched me.
“Yeah,” I replied quickly, slipping my phone back into my pocket. “Just… Lewis. Checking in, as usual.”
Franco’s expression softened, and he nodded, leaning a little closer. “I get it. But, if you don’t mind me saying, he’s a lucky guy. And, if he doesn’t realize that…” He trailed off, his voice taking on a more serious tone, and I found myself caught in those green-blue eyes of his.
“Franco…” I said softly, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. I tried to brush it off with a smirk, but he was too close now, too present, and I couldn’t deny the pull I felt toward him. “Careful. Flirting with Lewis Hamilton’s girlfriend might get you into trouble.”
He laughed, his cheeks flushing slightly, but he didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned in just a fraction closer, his gaze intense. “Maybe. But you don’t look like you’re running away either.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Instead, I found myself inching closer to him, testing the boundaries we both knew were there but choosing to ignore, just for a moment. The tension was thick, and for a brief, reckless second, I forgot about Lewis, forgot about the world, and just focused on the way Franco was looking at me.
“Maybe I like trouble,” I whispered, barely aware of the words leaving my mouth.
Franco’s eyes widened, his cheeks taking on a slight pinkish hue. It was endearing, how easily he could be flustered, despite his usual confident front. “You know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “if you keep saying things like that, I might start believing you mean it.”
I smirked, reaching out to lightly tap his arm. “Maybe I do. But I wouldn’t want to distract you before the race, would I?”
He chuckled, shaking his head, clearly enjoying the game we were playing. “I think I’m starting to realize why Lewis doesn’t let you out of his sight.”
We stood there in silence for a moment, just locked in each other’s gaze, the world fading away around us. But then my phone buzzed again, a reminder of the reality I couldn’t escape. I looked down and saw another message from Lewis, his words laced with impatience.
Franco seemed to sense the shift, and he stepped back, giving me a small, understanding nod. “I’ll see you later, Y/N. Try not to get into too much trouble, okay?”
I laughed softly, nodding as I turned to leave, but I couldn’t resist glancing over my shoulder one last time. “No promises, Colapinto.”
As I walked away, I could still feel his eyes on me, and the hint of a smile tugged at my lips. Whatever this was, it was far from over. And I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be.
_______________________
Note: idk what I’m doing and idk if I like this but if you do please let me know… or any ideas or request for any other drivers and/ or scenarios 🙈💜♥️
I apologize for typos or mistakes 😅
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bluesidez · 11 hours ago
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Gym Rat Miguel Part 16
content warning: angst, recreational drug use, mentions of food, 18+ so MDNI (not spoiling the positions this time, so you’ll just have to read and see)
word count: 8.2k (thank ya once again @slushycoookie 😚)
If you really love Xina as a character, then don't read this. Nothing crazy happens, it's just so far removed from her original character action-wise that you’ll definitely get angry. That's all. 🥸👍🏾
Prev | Next ✩°。 ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist
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GymRat!Miguel who should have taken the edible.
He held his head down, everything over the past years starting to click.
The touches, the stares, the treatment. Xina wasn’t just close to him because they were friends.
She was in love with him and he was too dumb to see it, too naïve to even think it was a possibility.
He takes a deep breath and looks down at his hands.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Xina speeds out. “Or maybe you can just let it sit with you.”
“Ok.”
Xina widens her eyes, “O-ok? What do you mean ok? Ok as in you…you like me back?”
“Ok as in I hear you. I understand.”
Xina nods, hand holding her elbow.
“And I’m sorry that so much happened to you. I wish you would have reached out. It sounds traumatizing and no one should have to go through that on their own.”
Xina waits, heart beating out of her chest.
“But?”
“But, it doesn’t excuse anything you’ve done to me. Not a single fucking thing.”
She opens her mouth, eyes burning and eyebrow pinched, “I-“
“-need to let me talk first,” Miguel finishes. “You know how much you mean to me, so you have to understand that what you did was so low, Xina. It hurt, genuinely.”
“I know.”
“You know and yet you continued. It’s funny because after you were being weird to my girlfriend the first time you met her, I still defended you. That’s how much I had faith in our friendship.”
Xina blinks rapidly, pulling her hair back.
“Now, I feel even more stupid because this,” Miguel pushes his hand in and out between himself and Xina, “looks exactly how she thought it was. But that’s what you wanted, right? You wanted her to feel like you were someone to look out for.”
Her lip wobbles, “For just a second, I was relieved. I was so relieved that someone finally fucking beat me to you. But then I saw how you looked at her and I, I felt something boil over.”
Miguel wanted to laugh in disbelief.
“Xina, that doesn’t make it ok for you to go in my phone, plot and scheme, then lie like you didn’t. When has that ever been right?”
“Miguel, I know that so please-“
“You don’t love me.”
Xina falters, a tear falling down her face. A light from a car outside brightens the room for just a second, and she sees Miguel give an unfamiliar look of disdain.
“Yes, I do. I do love you. How could you say that I don’t?”
“Because you really don’t,” Miguel pushed his hair off of his face, only for it to fall back in place. “Love isn’t seeing me happy and trying your best to ruin it. Love is not control. If this is what you do to me, I would hate to see what you’re willing to do to someone who wants to be yours.”
She squats, hands wiping away the sorrow on her face.
In the past, Miguel would have been at her side arms open for comfort, heart hurting to see her like this. Right now, he just wants to plead at your waist for forgiveness.
“I don’t really want to look at you right now. I think you should go.”
He starts to get up, tired.
“M-Miguel? I, I’m sorry.”
“Me too. About a lot of shit I need to fix. You have more than just me to own up to and whenever you’re ready to do that, let me know. Right now though? You can see your way out.”
“Miguel, just,” she grabs his arm. “If I- Do you-“ her quiet sobs rack through her body. “I don’t want to lose you. Y-you don’t have to like me back.”
He turns and grabs her arms softly, eyes going back and forth between hers.
“Go home, Xina.”
GymRat!Miguel who opens the door to a flustered Gabriel and a nonchalant Tempest sitting on the floor.
“It’s not what it looks like-”
“It’s exactly what it looks like,” Tempest cuts Gabriel off. She looks past Miguel to a mourning Xina. “C’mon, girl, I’ll walk you to the door.”
Miguel steps aside as Xina shuffles over. He does his best to ignore the last tug she gives his hoodie before she leaves.
GymRat!Miguel who crosses his arms as he looks at Gabriel.
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough to put a smile upon my face,” Gabriel grins. “It’s like watching your dreams come into fruition. I feel like I have enough adrenaline to run to New York and back, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. This isn’t funny, Gabri.”
“Uh,” Gabriel peers left and right. “It’s a little funny. To me.”
Miguel reaches into his pocket and threw the gummy into his mouth. The taste was interesting, to say the least.
“This is a good thing,” Gabriel tries again. “It’s one step closer to what you wanted, right?”
Miguel thought about you from last week.
He didn’t want you to look at him like that again.
“It is. I just don’t know how I let it get this far.”
Gabriel squeezes his shoulder with a pout.
“Because you’re an idiot, to be frank.”
The squawk that Gabriel lets out when Miguel hits him on the back echoes through the hallway.
GymRat!Miguel who goes back to his room to see a knocked out Lyla and Winston with a plate piled high with wings and yams.
“Yo,” he whispers, but his voice is still unbearably loud. “I think she’s trying to steal my fucking food.”
Miguel looked to Lyla who was folded over a beanbag, neck bent awkwardly. Her mouth was open and a little wet, but she was snoring up a storm.
“No, she’s not,” Miguel laughs. His friend's eyes are blown wide, horrified, like he’s in the middle of a haunted house.
Winston observes Lyla before turning back to Miguel, slow like he was made of wires and metal, “Don’t say shit to me when you’re next.”
GymRat!Miguel who shouldn’t have turned on your playlist as his limbs got heavier.
He was going to try and write something down in his journal, thoughts from before too much for his head.
It started with what just happened down the hallway. Was he right or wrong for what he said and what he did? Should he have done more?
Was it enough for you to see the truth?
You. You and everything you brought him. Your being, your emotions, you core, your love.
Now, he’s staring at the page full of your name alone scrawled across it with slow blinking eyes.
It feels like your hands are all over him and you’re whispering in his ears. You’re going through his hair from his scalp to his neck. Your tongue is hot on his skin, in his mouth. You taste like cinnamon and whipped cream. You’re pressing your chest against his and your heartbeats are becoming one.
His heartbeat.
Your heartbeat.
It’s sinking him. His heart is on the marked paper before him. It’s in red and graphite, smudged and darkened.
He’s falling. The clothes on him are rubbing against his bones. The chair under him is slipping from his grasp but he thinks you’ll catch him.
GymRat!Miguel who gasps for air as his back hits the cold metal of his desk chair.
Winston’s cackle refocuses his train of thought and he breathes in deep as he tries not to let you drown his thoughts again.
GymRat!Miguel who joins Winston on the floor to finish off the variety bag of takis.
Lyla shifts to a better position and Winston clutches his purple bag for dear life. Miguel laughs until he cries.
GymRat!Miguel who ends up on Gabriel’s fluffy rug, rubbing his hands over the fur like it’s a cat. Winston is bopping his head in the corner, music making him worry less about whether or not he’s being watched.
“Why is he so soft? What did you put on him?” Miguel asks.
Gabriel snickers as he watches him, “My feet.”
Miguel makes a face like a disgruntled cat.
“That’s fucking weird. Why would you ever do that? Is that why he smells lie that?”
“No, that’s your breath.”
Miguel gasps and covers his mouth, blowing straight through his fingers. He waits for a minute, then sniffs the air.
“You’re such a liar. It smells like apples. You need to be nicer to your rug, Gabri.”
A snap from above makes Miguel pose at the very last second. He thinks he’s posing at least. His smile is big but his eyes are closing every time the camera clicks and his peace sign is hidden somewhere in the fuzz of the rug.
“Say ‘party gal!’” Gabriel sang.
“I’m not at a party, nor am I a girl, so…no?” Miguel says with squinted eyes. “Why are you taking pictures of me?”
“Because you’re just so adorable that I have to share with your girlfriend.”
Miguel stops rubbing the rug and sits up, “Is she here? Where is she?”
Gabriel pushes him away with his foot.
“Chill out, Mig. I’m just sending her a video.”
“But,” Miguel stiffens. “It’s too dark in here. How is she supposed to see me?”
Gabriel looks at the several ambient lights his room is sporting then back to Miguel, “She can see it.”
“Was my shirt off in it? She likes it when my shirt is off.”
“I’m not filming your striptease, you hornball.”
“But Gabri-“
“No!”
GymRat!Miguel who snowballs his way through telling Gabriel his plans for when he visits New York for the next twenty minutes.
“And then,” he pauses and giggles like he’s holding the world’s greatest secret. “We go to the bodega. Ham and cheese. Orange drink. You know the one.”
Gabriel joins in his endless bubble of laughter, “Who taught you that?”
Miguel spaces out his giggles just enough to let your name fall through.
“Do you think she still loves me, Gabri? Because sometimes I get scared that she doesn’t.”
His brother sighed, head upside down as it hung off of his bed, “Yeah, I think so. It’s your first big fight, but what is love if not war?”
There’s a silence in the room.
Winston is giving a silent performance in the corner of the room now, his audience being Gabriel’s closet door of scarves and belts.
“War is what keeps humans apart,” Miguel mumbles.
“Uh oh,” Gabriel turns to look at him. “Don’t start this.”
“Statistically speaking, all first marriages have a 50% chance of surviving.”
“You just made that up.”
“No,” Miguel closes his eyes, hoping that would stop his million and one thoughts. “She could find another guy and last longer with him. It’s science. Proven.”
“You’re not even married.”
Miguel opens one eye and checks his empty left hand, “Holy shit you’re right.”
He starts to pat down his clothes, cotton pulling against his fingers.
“Where did it go? I just had it.”
Gabriel thought for a second.
“The Funyuns you just ate?”
Miguel starts to flip things over, papers and chip bags going everywhere.
He finds the bright yellow bag, opening it up and finding nothing. He turns it over and shakes it much to Gabriel’s annoyance who snatches it from his hands.
Miguel is about to cry until Gabriel throws another bag into his hands.
“Let’s switch topics,” Gabriel grumbles. “I feel like I’m watching a big ass baby.”
Miguel opens the bag and starts crunching.
“I think stars is such a good theme for the nursery. And penguins.”
“I’m turning on Spongebob.”
GymRat!Miguel who is out of his mind watching Squidward run around a blank screen.
The colors were there and now they’re not.
It does a number on him.
GymRat!Miguel who sits staring at Gabriel’s door. Watching. Waiting.
He said that you were coming around eventually.
It was sure taking you a long time to open the door.
GymRat!Miguel who is disappointed when Tempest and her pink-tipped locs bang the door open instead of you.
His slow turn and look of disappointment towards Gabriel is comical.
GymRat!Miguel who is guided back to his room by a more relaxed Tempest who asks Gabriel to distract Conchata.
“Did she say something?” Gabriel asks.
“No, but we need to act normal. She asked me some shit about some seasoning I used and I think dozed off mid-explanation. Can’t remember.”
GymRat!Miguel who finds a picture of you under his pillow right before he goes to sleep.
It’s a part of the polaroids you gave him last Christmas with your tank and panties.
He presses his lips against the film, eyes closing as he groans against it. The action repeats, his mind putting him in front of you.
A pain hits his hip, ache in his bones matching his heartbeat.
He looks down to a gray, metal hand covering him and screams.
Two of his friends jerk up from across the room while Winston throws a pillow at him.
“Shut the fuck up. I’m trying to sleep.”
Tempest squints as she removes her eye mask, “Why did you throw your arm at him?”
“He was making weird sounds,” Winston replies as if the answer was obvious.
GymRat!Miguel who wakes up to Tempest shaking him for dear life.
His eyelids are heavy and the sun peaking through the windows are bright.
His arm covers his eyes as he tries to block it, feelings of his muscles slowly coming back to him.
“C’mon, buddy. You feeling ok?”
Miguel only yawns and nods into the pillow.
“Need to pee? Feeling sick? I got some water right here.”
Miguel slowly sits up with his eyes closed, hair sticking up every which way. Tempest opens his hand and places a glass of water there, helping him guide it to his lips. One taste of the liquid and he’s gulping it down like he’s never drank before.
“What time is it?” he asks, throat dry.
“Noon,” Tempest takes the glass away. “You guys were sleeping like babies. Very cute.”
Memories of last night slowly come back.
He’s pretty sure he texted you a string of random things, but he doesn’t even know if it went through.
“Yeah, I know, I know. Come to the kitchen and eat some food.”
GymRat!Miguel who makes his friends promise to text him when they make it home.
Sure, they’ll probably be on the call tonight playing some game or watching obscure compilations, but he was nothing if not a worrier.
“And don’t forget to-“
“We know, dad,” they say in unison.
GymRat!Miguel who spends Thanksgiving near his grandma.
His mom is giving him sideways looks all day and he feels that something is coming.
GymRat!Miguel who watches his brother place his cousins in formation for a video for the nth time.
“It’s swing, back a-round, grab your pants, thumb up with ‘I’m cool’. Feet out and in at the same time then CIRCLE your arms really high. What is so hard to understand about that guys?”
He runs to his phone on the tripod.
“From the top!”
GymRat!Miguel who hides with his grandma in her bedroom as his mom starts to bark orders. She was doing a lot for someone who didn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving.
The two of them are watching some random sitcom under a giant quilt sharing coconut cookies that she snuck from the kitchen.
“¿Abuela?”
“¿Si nieto?”
“¿Alguna vez has experimentado un desamor?”
His grandmother looks up, chewing as she thought.
“Yes, but only for a short while. I didn’t really have the time to sit with my feelings.”
“But, what if you did? Does it feel as terrible as it sounds?”
“Sometimes. But we’re human. If you’ve put in effort to love, that means you can put effort into yourself to heal and grow.”
Her arms wrap around him and squeeze, kissing his cheek like he was still the chunky baby she met decades ago.
“Now, relax and watch these two teachers avoid love. Maybe you’ll learn something.”
GymRat!Miguel who is leaning on his grandma, cheek pressed against her chest, when Gabriel comes in to plop on the bed.
“Move over,” he whines to Miguel as he tries to push him away to be in the middle.
“I don’t wanna sit next to you. You’re disturbing my peace.”
“And you’re hogging Abuela.”
“Go to her other side!”
“But this side is already warm!”
“My daughter has raised two giant babies,” their grandmother laughs as she moves the blanket to let Gabriel into her other side. “What am I going to do with you two?”
GymRat!Miguel who was nearly asleep when George comes to get them to eat.
It’s deep in the evening and the crickets are loud outside of the window.
He and Gabriel pout, the darkness of the room and the smell of their grandmother’s perfume making them lethargic.
“Your cousins are going to eat up all of the empanadas if you don’t hurry up.”
Miguel perks up and stumbles out of the bed, foggy mind registering his willingness to stuff his face with doughy goodness.
“Like a moth to a flame,” Gabriel says as he helps his grandmother up.
GymRat!Miguel who is on his third or fourth plate, not that he’s really counting, when his mom does what she always does every holiday: annoy him.
“Mijo, have you checked on Xina today? I saw Tempest walk her out the other day. Was she doing alright?”
Miguel glances around the table, mouth full of turkey as he sees his family perk up.
“No, I haven’t,” he answers slowly. “I’ll see her next week. Probably.”
Conchata brings a cup to her mouth while giving him a miffed look.
“And you’re not worried about her? What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing has gotten into me,” Miguel replies calmly. His relatives are staring at him like he’s grown two heads.
“Did you two fight?” one of his aunts asks.
Miguel didn’t understand how this was anyone else’s business, but from the looks of it, it seems that his mother has already told it.
“Can I just finish my food, please?”
His mother thumps her cup against the table with more force than necessary.
“You’re never going to find a suitable woman if you keep acting like this. I know you hurt her somehow and you need to fix it.”
“Ma,” Gabriel interrupts with a hushed tone. “Right here? At the table? Seriously?”
She ignores him and stares at Miguel, as it’s supposed to urge him to obey her. His appetite is long gone.
“I have a suitable woman-“
“Mijo, no. You have stars in your eyes. You’re young, so I know you can’t see it yet, but it’s almost time for you to start planning properly for the future. I can only let your playing go on for so much longer.”
Miguel stares at her, eyes not blinking once. Gabriel anxiously looks back and forth between them.
“Who is up for Abuela’s famous cake? Mm mm mm, I know I am!” he tries, only getting a small portion of the table to move.
Miguel gets up to follow them, plate in his hand heavy and half-eaten.
They’re back at square one.
He’s not sure how many more times he can restart.
GymRat!Miguel who texts you before he knocks out.
He stares at the blinking line, thinking of all that he wants to say, but not really knowing how to put it.
“Happy Thanksgiving mi luz”
“I miss you more than ever today”
“I miss you every day”
He stops himself and turns his phone off.
GymRat!Miguel who does a light jog Friday morning.
He’s been having far too many days of wallowing and feasting.
The November air wakes him up completely.
GymRat!Miguel who thinks he still has THC in his bloodstream when your name pops up on his screen as he’s checking his miles.
He opens it too fast, heart racing faster than what any exercise could do to him.
It’s a link to your calendar, blocks of blues and pinks covering the screen. He sees that your last final is next Thursday, and his plan is already in motion.
He hearts your text and stops himself from spamming you with emojis and pictures.
He’s ready to see you.
GymRat!Miguel who has never been more happy for his coding professor being a recluse and making their final submission online.
He knew for a fact Xina was definitely still processing everything. Quite frankly, he didn’t want to see her unless she was ready to apologize to you.
He tried not to stew on it, his mom’s insinuation putting a bad taste in his mouth.
He had finals to focus on and a girlfriend to win back so he pushed thoughts of crumbling friendship to the back of his mind.
GymRat!Miguel who sits in the hallway of the art building. It was becoming a familiar sight for someone who couldn’t draw a stick figure to save his life.
He waits for the studio door to open, leg bouncing involuntarily. He wasn’t sure when it would end, so he got there about thirty minutes after it started.
Maybe that was a bad idea, simply because he feels like he’s about to sweat out of the stupid button down and sweater he chose to wear. The thick knitting was starting to suffocate him.
Pulling at the chain around his neck, he wonders if he can appeal to you like he did around this time last year.
The door opens in the middle of his tenth time rehearsing what he was going to say. A few students walk out, arms full of canvases as they chat about whatever.
Miguel stands, big bouquet in his hands and heartbeat in his ear. The students notice him and shuffle out of his way as he heads towards the studio entrance.
GymRat!Miguel who spots you talking with a classmate.
You’re both bent over some, engrossed in conversation.
Miguel sees you laugh before you stand up straight. The guy next to you looks familiar.
He rises too, and his build and height become all of the focus. His hand lands on the middle on your back and slowly begins to fall down.
Miguel is building the formation of your name at the back of his tongue, anger climbing before he can really think about it.
You grab the guy’s arm and yank it off, a smack on his shoulder to follow.
Miguel stops himself with an ugly sound, alerting you both to turn and look at him.
GymRat!Miguel who hides the bouquet behind his back, not wanting you to see it yet. Not when your friend was making him shoot daggers with his eyes.
You walk over to him eyes curious, and Miguel thinks that there was no way in this lifetime, no way in this timeline, that you weren’t made for him.
“Hi,” Miguel starts.
“Hi,” you repeat back.
“We’re matching.”
Miguel couldn’t help but to sound giddy about it. He was more than ecstatic about it. You both looked like a couple, therefore you are a couple.
You purse your lips and nod, “That we are. Did you spy on me?”
Miguel copies you and shakes his head.
“You look different.”
“Ah. I uh, I ate good.”
You pat his stomach, fingers tentative and soft, “I see.”
Miguel wants to say something back but your eyes are scanning him with a small light similar to your anniversary night.
He breathes in and puffs his chest up a bit, like a bird trying to show off his pretty feathers to win over his lady. The corners of your lips twitch, holding back your smile.
That alone brightens Miguel up.
GymRat!Miguel who tries not to deflate when your classmate slash friend slash him-imposter makes his way into an A and B conversation.
“I haven’t seen you around campus before,” he puts his right hand out, “I’m Royce.”
Miguel’s eyes flit to you and you look up to the ceiling avoiding his look with your hands behind your back. He brings his left hand out, still poorly hiding his gift for you, twisting his wrist to shake Royce’s hand.
“Miguel.”
“Strong grip you’ve got there, Miguel,” Royce smiled, lip piercing shining. The chains attached to his pants clinked together as be let go.
“Just happy to meet new people.”
Royce pulls the sleeves of his sweater up and grins, like he knew something Miguel didn’t. The fullness of his tattoos contrasted his skin.
“Likewise. What else do you have there?” he tilts his head.
You push him in his side, Royce’s laugh echoing of the studio ceiling, “Go away. You’re so irritating.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. I’m guessing this means our late night session is rain checked?” he asks as your eyebrows raise.
He barely dodges as you pick up a ruler and swing at him, laughing as your professor tiredly asks you both to chill out.
Royce calms down, grabs his things, and hugs you goodbye, black hair brushing against your head.
“See you later. Bye, Miguel,” he sings, hand waving.
Miguel makes a line with his lips as he watches him leave.
“Interesting guy.”
“Yeah, he’s pretty fun,” you say, watching Miguel’s lips. “You ok?”
His face shifted, “I should be asking you that after everything.”
“Hm,” your eyes casted down. “Well, you’re here, so I think that counts for something.”
GymRat!Miguel who presents the bouquet to you, nervous of your reaction.
“It’s a small start, but I, I hope that we can still be together. I talked to Xina like you asked and I want to go somewhere with you to really say everything. All truths on the table.”
Your mouth wobbles as your eyes light up from the fairy lights woven throughout the green and golden roses.
“I’m sorry it’s not as big as it’s supposed to be.”
The woman he ordered them from was stacked with birthday and anniversary bouquets. He paid more than he should to get his flowers finished faster.
“‘You are my Evangeline’?” you ask, fingers going over the silky petals.
“Sí,” his hands cover yours over the bottom of the bunch. “La luz de mi vida, mi estrella. Mi bella Evangeline.”
You pout, stopping yourself from falling, only to plant your face in his chest, glasses and all.
Miguel wraps his arms around you, confused.
“You make me so weak,” you mumble.
His hands clutch onto your sweater, heart warm.
“I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing.”
You move your head, cheek pressed against his chest, “Of course you don’t. C’mon.”
His sweater is a little damp but he doesn’t mention it.
GymRat!Miguel who wants to skip as he follows you back to your dorm, but your wet oil paint canvases are in his hands. One wrong move, and his pants will be stained with whatever color landed on him.
He watches as you cradle your flowers to your chest, glancing down whenever you were waiting to cross the street.
“Do you like them?”
“Yes. They’re beautiful.”
He could do a backflip.
GymRat!Miguel who takes his shoes off by your door.
Your dorm smells like oranges and cherries, something so different than the pinecones and brown leaves outside.
“Where do want me to put these?” he asks, holding the sides of your paintings with all of his focus.
You turn and laugh at his stiff stance. His arms were stretched out to a slanted T and his feet were placed together.
“Just sit them up against the wall. They won’t bite you,” you say.
“Ok,” he says and awkwardly puts them down. He pauses his hands in front of them afterwards in case they fall.
You go to sit at your desk, placing the flowers down.
“Is Jess here?” you hear Miguel ask.
“No, she’s gone for winter break already.”
You survey your desk, looking for anything else to focus on. You brought him here, you asked for him to prove himself, yet it’s barely been two weeks since you told him that. You feel silly for it.
Still, when you don’t hear or feel him for a while, you call his name.
“Miguel?”
“What’s this?” he asks.
Spinning around, you see he’s by the end of your bed, on the floor rummaging through a box.
“You packed my stuff up?” he holds up a hoodie that you only let him wear shortly before it finds its way back into your closet. His eyebrows turn, limbs heavy as he pulls out gift after jacket after picture. So many things that marked his time together with you.
“Looking at everything was too much for me. I did it the night we fought. It helped me to focus and not,” you threw your hands up, “simmer on my boyfriend sleeping with someone who is practically the opposite of me.”
Miguel pushes the box to the side and crawls towards you. It was an odd sight to see him inching steadily across your big rug. He stops and sits in front of you, face upset.
“I really wish you would listen to me. I wish you would believe me.”
“I’m trying-“
“No, baby,” Miguel says, pulling your chair towards him. You were too far away. “You’re not. You’re blocking me out.”
You blink, fingers picking at your nails.
“Do you remember that time I said I wasn’t going to let you go?” Miguel wraps your legs around his sides and slots his head on your thigh. “I was serious about that. You aren’t supposed to let me go either.”
“I know,” you whisper. “I know.”
“So if you know, why did you let me go?”
You took a deep breath.
“Because I was hurting, Miguel. I painted this picture in my head of you two being this perfect, ideal couple because of….jealousy? Insecurity? I don’t know. I would see you two in the library sometimes or standing in line for food together, close and wrapped up in a bubble. I kept telling myself that you both were friends. These are the things that friends do. I would leave before I could give myself time to get stupidly upset. But when we were all hanging out together, you kept defending everything she was doing.”
Miguel thinks back to the comments and snide remarks he let slide and wants to shake that version of himself out of delusion.
“Then, there were the messages that weren’t going through, the calls that were getting dropped. Sometimes, I saw Xina holding you,” your voice faltered. “And she’d wear things I could find in my closet and I thought I was being punked. So, when I saw you on your birthday and took a leap of faith, I was destroyed when she was texting your phone.”
You couldn’t take it. You thought he lied to your face for months.
Miguel closed his eyes, trying to form what he wanted to say.
He’s thinking about how stupid he was to not see your pain. The signs were all there, or at least, the times when he should have stepped in were.
That aside, he was upset. Upset at the situation, upset that his relationship has been torn by someone who barely acknowledged him for a year, upset at you.
He didn’t want another girl, he didn’t need another girl, and even if by some sick and terrible decision, he decided to part ways with you, he would never choose Xina.
She couldn’t love him the way you do and what she did to him showed that.
She couldn’t make him feel the way you do. You left him with butterflies, you made him excited. You brought him so much joy.
She couldn’t care for him the way that you did. She would rather hang him out to dry to make herself look good before she thought about how he felt about something.
She couldn’t even confess to him without hurting him, without trying to shift her chances of being with him. It sucks that her life was changing so rapidly against her will, but that didn’t mean she had to create a whirlwind for him to suffer through, too.
It’s so irritating how she came in and swept up his time, his life, and your confidence, but it’s more frustrating for you to have to even wonder if she could replace you.
Miguel’s mind is going a thousand miles per minute, head starting to hurt with how aggravated he was.
“Don’t cry,” you say reaching up to his face, sniffling. “Please, don’t cry.”
He didn’t even notice he was. He realizes then that his thoughts were made aloud.
“’M sorry,” he says, face scrunching up. He leans into your hand, eyes closed as the tears fall. “I’m sorry for everything. But I’m angry that you keep thinking that you’re not worth my love. You’re worth it. You’re worth so much more than what I can give you. But I feel so lucky that you’re giving me the chance to be a part of your life, so I want you to love yourself, too.”
You nod once, twice, before your palms cover your face and you’re sobbing. Miguel pulls you down to his lap, holding you tight. He hated that you were fighting these thoughts alone, but now that he’s aware of everything he’ll try his best again to give you the love you needed.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair like a mantra.
Through your sorrow, your relief, you everything, you echo his words, “I’m sorry, too. I should have trusted you more.”
“True,” Miguel says and you laugh in the midst of your aches. “But I still love you.”
“I love you, too. I never stopped.”
He squeezes you tighter, heart feather light.
GymRat!Miguel who eventually gets you comfortable, the two of you settling down on the giant plush bean bag sofa that you’ve stuffed under your dorm bed.
He was prepared to wine and dine you, but you insisted on videos and some warm, fulfilling fast food. The true college dream.
You laid on his chest, watching as the man on screen yelled as his character opened the door to a bathroom and a stranger was fixing the sink. Miguel tensed under you, hands gripping the waist of your lounging pants.
It was making up for the Halloween you two spent apart.
“Too scary?” you move your head to look at his face.
His mouth was twisted up, heart beating, “No…”
“Then, why are you holding me so tight?”
“A boyfriend can’t hold his girlfriend?”
You grinned.
You didn’t know how much you missed him calling you his girlfriend until he was less than a centimeter away from you.
A scream followed by a line of curses comes from your laptop speakers, Miguel gasping and squinting at the screen, eyes almost squeezing shut.
“You know, we don’t have to watch this,” you try your best to turn your body so that you were fully on top of him. “We can watch something else.”
Miguel focused on your face, eyes fighting to not look at your lips, “Like what?”
“We can watch a cooking competition. I know you have some documentaries and video essays saved up. We could watch those.”
Miguel thinks he could really be a lip reader. Your lips were moving pretty fast, but he thinks he got most of it.
“You want to use the kitchen this late? It might be closed.”
You slide your hand up his chest, comforting through the thin shirt. Your lips move again and Miguel blinks slowly trying to keep up.
A touch on his jaw has him look up.
“Did you hear me?”
Miguel moves his head in a circle, answer going from yes to no.
“What are you thinking right now?”
He feels you out, hands slowly going down your back and circling the area where your thighs curve out into your ass.
“How much I need to kiss you.”
“Oh really?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Then maybe, you should put those words into action.”
That was all he needed to pull you up, mouth going to yours like a magnet. You make a startled noise as he opens his mouth to slide his lip from your jaw to the bottom of your lip.
You open your mouth with his, thumbs rubbing against his sideburns as he hums against your tongue. The sound of the push and pull of your lips fills the small space under your bed. The tale of the girl and her winter vacation long forgotten in the background.
His hands go under your waistband, palms bringing extra warmth as he squeezes over your underwear.
“I missed this,” he sighs, mouth and hands working together to make you melt into him. He was starting to grind you against him, humming low in his throat.
“Kissing me or something else?” you open your eyes a little, watching his eyelashes against his cheek.
He pushes up against you, bean bag shifting down, “Everything.”
“Cheeky.”
“More like charmed.”
The two of you were glued to each other long enough for the hour long video to end, only the glow of your fairy lights and lamps lighting your room.
Both of your shirts were pulled up, your chest smooshed against his. Miguel had one hand around your waist, massaging your side, and another pulling your underwear between your lips so that you had something extra to feel as you grind against his groin.
“Bebecita,” Miguel says after you let his tongue from your lips. He pecks you in between his words, hungry. “Let’s move this to the bed.”
He kisses down your jaw, making no effort to get up.
“I don’t have any condoms and unless you’re willing to drive out to get some-”
Miguel removes a hand to reach into his pocket.
“Did you just have that on you?” you ask looking at the pack of condoms in his hand.
“No. I got them when I went to go get clothes.”
You tut, “So you just thought we were going have sex? You’re not even supposed to be in here right now.”
He slides his fingers down between your legs, pressing on your lips over cotton, “Of course not, bebe. I’m not an animal.”
He rubs and sucks a kiss into your neck. You’re so lost in him that you didn’t even realize that you were beginning to push back against his fingers. The moan you let out brings you back to reality.
Seeing Miguel’s smug face made you hide yours in his chest.
“Just try not to be too loud. I don’t know if my neighbor is still here or not,” you muffled into his skin.
GymRat!Miguel who really didn’t give a fuck about the neighbors.
He thinks he wants them to hear. It’s been too long since he had you, his decency was thrown out of the window.
Right now, he was head first, indulging, sucking at the entrance of your heat. You were on your knees, ass in his face, and feet hanging off the bed. You were already so wet from earlier, but now he has you dripping down his face onto the floor, moaning into your pillow.
He didn’t hear you over himself as he gripped your skin to spread you over his tongue. Your thighs were shaking like a leaf, feet occasionally kicking as Miguel found his pocket to make you suck him in.
You sounded off into the silk case below you, trying not to make yourself louder than the music you put on.
Miguel was satisfied that you came on his tongue, but didn’t like you censoring yourself not one bit.
“I want to try something new,” he states into your skin, sucking your clit through the aftershocks.
You only give him a shaky thumbs up, mind still finding its other pieces.
GymRat!Miguel who has you flat against your stomach along the bed. There really was barely any room to do this, but he was going to make it work.
You had a long mirror in your room that wasn’t attached to the wall, so beforehand, he brought it over to lean against the desk and turn it towards the top of your bed. He saw the confusion in your face through the glass, but he only smiled and went right back to you.
Now, he was holding one cheek over as he slid in slowly. From the mirror, he could see your face scrunch up. He shifted his knees, watching.
“¿Estás bien?” he asks. “Want me to slow down? Pull out?”
“No,” you keen, constricting around him. He sucked air in through his teeth, feeling you suck him in. “I just haven’t felt you in a while.”
He leans to kiss up your back, taking fat in between his lips to mark it as his. He fights the urge to just bite and stay there for a while.
“Whose fault is that, pretty?” he teases, dragging his lips to the back of neck.
You look to your left and pout at him through the mirror. He looks back, eyes scanning your naked upper half.
You arch your back and tighten around him. He thinks you’re a menace.
“Yours,” you tease back.
“Yeah?” his left hand grabs your waist, thumb pressing into the small of your back. He slides out a bit, hips elevated. “Let me fix that, then.”
His hips dip back into you, smack of his skin against yours. The bed creaks and Miguel watches your eyelids fall.
“Do you want a fast solution?” Miguel says right in your ear. “Or should we do some deeper research?”
He snaps his hips again, leaning down and pressing his weight onto you. Your hands curl up against the mattress, mouth open but only letting out gasps and breaths. Miguel nearly pulls all the way out, then swerves back in, pushing your voice out of you.
“It sounds like you want to pull from some scholarly articles,” Miguel whispers. He’s barely picking up a sweat while you’re hot everywhere. “It’s unclear.”
The springs of the mattress sing, metal and wood bed frame keeping a steady tempo against the wall.
You can’t even focus enough to tell him to shut up, the position you were in knocking the wind out of you. You start to hide your face in your pillow again, overwhelmed.
Miguel releases an offended sound.
“Nuh uh,” his right hand wraps in front of your neck. He pulls head up and turns it towards the mirror. “Look how pretty you look. Don’t hide.”
Your boyfriend might be a little nuts.
Your eyes can’t even focus but he’s holding your head steady and nibbling your earlobe as he waits. Your glasses are crooked and fogging up, you can’t even really see.
His name tries to fall from your mouth, but that “M” sound comes out broken and loud. He’s too busy being enchanted by how good you look.
“Mi preciosa princesita,” his hips stutter as you clench in response. “So gorgeous.”
He’s hitting your spot over and over again. You’re losing track of time.
“Don’t you think so too, baby?” Miguel huffs.
“Y-yes, Miggy, please.”
“Are you close?”
You nod, watching his eyes get darker.
“Ok, bebé. I still have some follow-up questions, though. Gonna answer them?”
A yell comes out as your answer, Miguel stroking faster.
He kisses your cheek and takes your glasses off. They were slipping and he was scared you were going to break them.
“Question one, do you want to do something for winter break?”
He opens your legs a bit, leaning and wrapping his hand under your body. His fingers find your clit and rub nice and slow. Overstimulated, you scream into the pillow. Miguel kisses your shoulder as he hums.
“I think that’s a yes,” Miguel says. Your back arches as you try to move your hips to match his pace. “Question two, what do you want for Christmas? It’s getting late, but I’ll find it. I swear.”
“Fuck, Miguel,” you say as his hands move to your breasts. He can’t do much, but there’s still something so good about him all over you.
“You want this again? We can arrange that.”
He was close and you could hear it in the way his voice wavered.
“Last question,” he rose off of you, hands pushing against your back. Your body couldn’t move as he slapped his pelvis against your ass. The recoil sounded off in the room and the entire bed jumped with his movement.
“Are you still mad at me?”
Your back arched as you felt him breach deep enough to make you go crazy. He was mumbling something but your thoughts were swimming with his dick inside of you about to introduce another orgasm.
“Say it back, baby. You gotta say it back,” Miguel’s voice sounds out.
There might be a pool of drool growing under your face. Your boyfriend didn’t care, though. He would still want you to say that declaration through any obstruction.
“I love you, Miguel. Te amo tanto.”
His hips quicken, bed against the wall like a drumline.
When he cums, his body tightens and releases, weight letting go as he covers you. He’s breathing hard, “te amo,” his proverb to you.
You blink at the mirror, vision blurry, but the comforted and satisfied expression of Miguel still recognizable.
You could stay like this, breaths slowly becoming tighter until you fall asleep in his arms.
The bed gives a loud snap, scaring Miguel into nearly falling off of it with you on top.
It’s leaning a little more to the back left than it should.
“Did you just break my fucking bed?”
He panics, “I-it was a joint effort!”
“Miguel.”
GymRat!Miguel who thanks whatever entity it is out there afterwards that it was just a screw that came out and not the bed actually completely splitting.
“This is why the beds are tiny in the first place,” you say from the bean bag, watching him screw it back together.
“I would have covered the costs if it was actually broken. We should look into sturdy bed frames for the future, though.”
“Oh?”
Miguel pauses, “Not that I was thinking about that!”
“You already have a list, don’t you.”
You watch his hands stutter as he puts your screwdriver back in your bin.
GymRat!Miguel who suggests you lay on top of him in the bed.
The two of you were freshly showered and ready to close your eyes any minute now.
“We should take breaks more often. I feel like jelly,” you say with a low voice, drawing circles over his chest.
He grabs your wrist, voice serious in the dark, “Don’t joke like that.”
“Hmm, I guess you’re right. You made up for the last time you didn’t make me come.“
“Baby.”
You giggled into him as he pinched your sides.
“What about you and Royce? Your friend whose name starts with an R and ends with an E.”
“It’s not my fault rose and Royce are similar!”
“But you knew what you were doing. How cruel,” he pouts.
You pat his cheek!
“Well, you don’t have to worry because he has a boyfriend.”
“Oh! So, he’s gay.”
“Bi. Open relationship.”
“Oh,” Miguel replied, less happy.
“I kind of just want one lover, though.”
“Oh,” Miguel says again, more happy. “What kind of lover?”
You stay quiet for so long, Miguel thinks you’ve gone to sleep.
There’s a lot of things that you love about him. His kindness, his heart, his determination, his wit. Tonight, though, he truly took your breath away.
And you realize, he’s always done that.
“The kind that loves me the way that you do.”
Miguel’s chest rises and falls like a wave that gets weaker as it hits the shore.
“Me too, mi luz. Me too.”
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divider by: fanguro + adornedwithlight 🩵
a/n: Our family is has been brought back together!! Also, if you get which horror game they were watching, you get a gold star.
Please very mindful, very cutesy, very demure in the comments. Don’t ask about the next part unless you have something nice/constructive to say to go with it. And no, this is not the last time Xina will be in this story. But it’ll get better!
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sturnstars5 · 3 days ago
Text
i love you, i’m sorry-matt sturniolo
you and matt swore you were done, but are you?
warnings: fluff, swearing, happy ending
*there is a flashback in the story it’s in blue!*
empty. emptiness was what you felt. it had been two weeks since you left the love of your life, matt. you try to tell yourself, “well, it was his fault” or “i’ll be better off without him, it’ll just take time”, but nothing worked. you missed him.
you sat on your couch, something you had been doing more than usual lately, and stared outside through the window. you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything other than overthink. you would replay the moments of you and matt’s breakup argument in your mind, like it was a movie on loop 24/7. and just when you would feel a sliver of joy, the movie would start again, leaving you to drown in self pity.
it was getting late, so you picked yourself up off of the couch and laid down in bed, staring at the ceiling. sleep wasn’t exactly on your side.
it was about 1:30 am, and you were still awake when you heard your front door creak open.
what the fuck?
you sat straight up and froze, paralyzed in fear, not knowing what to to next. normally, matt would take control and go see what was happening, but he wasn’t there. he was gone.
you hear the persons foot steps get louder and louder until you hear them stop right in front of your bedroom door.
the door opened slowly, revealing a puffy eyed, sad looking matt.
he looked awful to say the least, he looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. his face was all swollen, his eyes bloodshot with dark bags under them. his face was glistening with tears, and his nose was runny.
“matt,” you say.
“i know, i should’ve called, im sorry.”
“you almost gave me a heart attack! do you know what time it is?”
“yes, i know, okay? i said im sorry.”
“why are you here matt, i thought we were over.”
“i know that’s what we said, but i cant stop thinking about you, about us.”
“matt,”
“i know, y/n, i know what i did was wrong. going to that party was a whole wrong decision in itself. but i still love you, y/n.”
“but matt, you pinky swore you wouldn’t cheat, and you broke it! how am i supposed to trust you now?”
“i don’t know, i just hope you can find it in your heart to give me one more chance.”
you think back to the night you found out about the party…
1:00 am, 2:15 am, 3:40 am, matt still wasn’t home. he said he was filming with his brothers, and you believed him. you called him, and he didn’t answer,m. you then called nick and chris, and they didn’t answer either. you give up, just telling yourself that their phones died, and you go scroll on instagram in your bed. nick posted a picture of himself and chris at a party.
where was matt?
you look harder, only to see matt’s lips pressed against another girl. her hands threading through his soft brown hair. matt was yours, so why was he with her?
matt arrived home, drunk, stumbling lazily into your shared bedroom.
“hey baby.” he says with a smirk.
“don’t call me that, matthew.”
“what the fuck is your deal, y/n?”
“this!” you say, throwing your phone in his face. you’re zoomed in on him and the other girl, matt looking at the photo. even his drunken state cant cover up the guilt and regret in his mind.
“who’s that?” he says, lying.
“that’s you, matt! who else would it be? you know what you did matt, and i know too. i’m not as dumb as you think i am.”
“it was just one kiss, so what? it was a party, and we were needy and drunk.”
“have you lost your fucking mind, matt?
“no i haven’t, but clearly you have, bitch!”
“i’m not gonna be talked to like this by my own boyfriend, so get out.”
“what?”
“i said, get. out. matt. we’re done.”
“come on, don’t you think you’re being overdramatic?”
“get out! now!”
“y/n?” you hear matt say softly.
you snap out of your memory, taking a second to focus back on reality.
“listen, y/n, i’m not asking for you to let your guard down again and take me back, i just guess i want you to know that i love you, and that im sorry.”
matt stares at you, his face full of desperation and vulnerability, and most of all, regret. a single tear rolls down his face, dropping on the floor as it falls off.
“do you promise to be loyal, matt?”
“yes, of course i do. i wont screw it up this time.”
“i’m serious matt, i cant take that again. i cant go through that again.”
“i promise.”
“okay then.”
“so, what now?” matt asks.
“do you wanna, maybe try again?” you ask softly.
“yes. i swear i wont fuck it all up this time.” matt replies.
you and matt hug, and for the first time in a while, you feel genuinely happy and loved.
“i love you, y/n.”
“i love you too matt.”
kind of a rushed fic but wtv!!
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lunaa-runee · 1 day ago
Text
Constant Reminder
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cw: Mafia AU, no curses, suggestive content, afab reader, major character death, hurt - no comfort
wc: 1.3k
The dimly lit room hummed with pulsating energy. Men dressed in fine suits filled the room, surrounded by a sea of scantily clad women who seemed to ooze seduction and desperation in equal measures. Amidst this lively scene, Kento sat alone at a corner table, his piercing gaze cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke as he nursed a glass of whiskey.
As the night wore on and drinks flowed freely, Kento's carefully cultivated network of informants worked their magic, extracting juicy secrets from unsuspecting businessmen. With each tidbit of information, Kento's power grew stronger, his influence reaching every corner of the city. This was his game - manipulating and controlling those around him through their deepest desires and darkest indiscretions. And he played it well, earning him the reputation of one of the city's most powerful men.
A hand lightly grazed against his shoulders, and he did his best to ignore it. But the woman, who owned the hand, was persistent as she planted herself on his lap. While most men would have welcomed such an opportunity, Kento was not one of them. He had to use all his self-control to keep from pushing her off of him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing," he grumbled.
"Kento," she purred into his ear, wrapping her arms around his neck. She leaned closer to him, exposing more of her chest as a blatant attempt at seduction.
Kento's eyes narrowed in a cold, stern glare." You should be working, we're busy."
"It's my night off." Daisy's finger, adorned with delicate red nail polish, glides over the contours of Kento's muscular chest
Daisy initially came to Tokyo for school but quickly became entangled in his world. Despite her attraction towards the underground businessman, he had no interest in being around her. His heart still belonged to someone who was no longer with him.
Kento's patience was growing thin, and his tone reflected this: "If you aren't working, you should go home. There's no point in staying here if you're not going to be useful to me."
Daisy pouted at his harsh tone, but her determination remained unshaken. As she leaned down to him, her lips trailed gentle kisses along his skin. "Why don't we sneak away to one of the private rooms and indulge in some playful fun?" she whispered seductively in his ear.
Kento's composure shattered in that instant. He forcefully pushed Daisy off his lap, her body crashing onto the hard floor. Her face twisted in shock. "Get out," he growled.
Fear took over her eyes, realizing her mistake in that moment. Quickly, she gathered herself, leaving his sight. She was at least smart enough to know he was not a man to test.
"How you can be so mean to such a beautiful woman I will never understand."
Kento sat back in his chair and tilted his head to better view his friend and business partner, who seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. "I didn't know you were going to be here Gojo. What do I owe this pleasure?"
"Can't a man just drop by to see his old pal?" Kento's narrowed gaze showed he knew there was probably some hidden purpose behind his visit. Gojo clicked his tongue, aware that Kento would likely brush him off anyway. He looked around the bustling club as another lucky guy was pulled towards the door that led to the private rooms. "I don't understand how you could turn down these poor girls who throw themselves at you."
"I'm not interested."
"You're seriously still hung up on that girl? It's been nearly two years."
Kento's chest tightened as he was overcome with bittersweet memories. The face of his former lover appeared in his mind, bringing back intense feelings of pain that time had failed to soften. He hadn't thought about her in a long time; she used to be the light in his life and motivated him to become a better person. However, he had waited too long to make changes.
The cool ocean breeze brought a new day through the open French doors. The sun shined softly through the window, illuminating the room with golden rays. Kento's gaze took in the sight of you sleeping peacefully on the bed. The thin sheet barely covered your form, revealing the beautiful marks scattered across your skin, a testament to your night of passion.
How did he get so lucky?
Almost three years had passed since you entered his life unexpectedly on a Tuesday afternoon. He had stopped at a nearby bakery to grab a quick lunch, exhausted and stressed from his day. In his haste, he wasn't paying attention and didn't notice you as he turned around, colliding with you.
He sighed and bent down to begin picking up his dropped items. He could hear your apologies, but when he looked up at you to tell you to stop apologizing, his whole world shifted in that moment like the air had been forced out of his lungs. You were the most stunning woman he had ever laid his eyes on.
He fell for you, hard.
He was a prominent figure in a notorious crime organization, and you were an ordinary individual who lived a quiet life. But he selfishly pursued you despite the dangers to you.
He went to great lengths to conceal his true profession and maintain distance between you and his more illicit dealings in the organization to keep you safe. But you were observant, and he had to come clean about everything to you. To his surprise, you stayed by his side, though you clearly disapproved of his work.
You sense Kento's eyes on you as you stir from your sleep. "Quit being so creepy," you mutter in your exhausted state.
Kento chuckled at your usual morning attitude. "Can't a man admire his beautiful girlfriend?"
You playfully smacked his arm, to which Kento only chuckled, "That hurt."
You rolled your eyes at his antics. "Oh please."
Kento embraced you, holding your body close to his. He nestled his face into the curve of your neck. "I love you," he murmured.
"I love you too," you whispered before a comfortable silence fell between you. The only sounds were the crashing waves and the chirping birds outside the open windows. Time seemed to stand still as you lay there, basking in each other's presence. But eventually, reality set in. "I have to leave for work soon."
"Don't go," he begged. "Quit. Be with me."
You sat up and lightly kissed Kento on the cheek before getting up to make your way towards the bathroom. "You know I can't."
Kento's heart ached as he recalled the last morning he spent with you. If he had known what would happen, he would have kept you in bed that morning. Instead, he was blinded by his happiness, oblivious to the dangers lingering in the background. As tears threatened to spill from his eyes, he couldn't help but replay the painful memories of that fateful day over and over again in his mind.
Gone.
The word echoed mercilessly in his mind, a cruel mantra of agony and disbelief.
The doctor's condolences were empty words, futile attempts to soothe the wildfire of emotions raging through Kento that day. He felt it all - raw, unbridled rage burning in his veins, gut-wrenching grief clawing at his heart, a sense of betrayal that threatened to consume him whole.
In an instant, his entire future shattered into a million pieces. The dreams of leaving the mafia behind and building a new life with you are all gone. It was too late. You were taken from him, a victim of his world.
Your blood would forever be on his hands, a constant reminder of his love's tragic end.
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