#die cut magnet

[mini-merch]

Get 7 different ideas for personalized soft PVC fridge magnets here. Use your creativity to your fullest with personalized designs. Visit Mini Merch to begin creating right now!

[axi35]

Mountain Landscape Magnet

[mini-merch]

Mini-Merch offers stylish PVC magnet designs for modern houses. Personalized pins are a great way to elevate your brand and promote businesses and cooperation.

[axi35]

Die-cut magnet

https://www.redbubble.com/i/magnet/Beautiful-Grey-Flower-by-Axi35/85233154.TBCTK?asc=u

[kanekisfavoritegf]

PERFECT LOVER: The Life of Nanami Kento the 35 Year Old Virgin

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: Kento Nanami, a 35-year-old introvert with a tendency to avoid social interactions, has made a conscious decision to steer clear of romantic entanglements. However, everything changes when he meets a new colleague at his birthday party, (Satoru's Idea). From the moment they meet, he is mesmerized, finding himself increasingly unable to resist her magnetic presence. Like taking a bite of forbidden fruit, he becomes ensnared by the allure, delving into a realm of infatuation and finding himself unable to break free. As he delves deeper into this newfound connection, Nanami begins to realize that he craves more than just a fleeting experience and yearns for more than just a fleeting taste of what she embodies.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

CHAPTER ONE:

The lights somehow made you glow in Kento Nanmi's eyes. Or maybe it was just you, and your effortless ability to draw everyone's eyes on you. You stood atop a table dancing with Satoru wildly, arms flailing and your body rolling along to the rhythmic pounding of the bass. Pink and blue lights stuck to you and everyone in the nightclub's eyes.

"Stare any harder, Kento; lasers might shoot from your eyes," Suguru smirked as he spoke.

"I don't know what you mean, Suguru," Kento said curtly before taking a swig of his drink.

"Don't worry, I won't tell."

"There is nothing to tell."

"Do you want me to schedule a date with you and Yuki?" 

"Yuki?" Kento coughed a drop of his drink catching in his throat.

"Your eyes have been locked on her since she got on the table with her friend." The blonde man almost laughed in his face from pure shock.

"Who wouldn't stare with her atrocious dancing, almost like a headless chicken. Either way, stop trying to set me up; I've sworn off dating, remember?"

"How could we ever forget." Satoru chimed in, sliding next to Suguru, sweat making his blue work shirt cling to his body tightly, "One bad kiss in University and suddenly, any romantic opportunity was thrown out the window with you."

That was the washed-down version of what happened to Kento, but his work colleagues didn't need to know about how he basically got verbally beaten by a girl cause he wasn't ready to lose his V-Card in a one-night stand.

"Oh, all he needs to do is put himself out there more," Yuki said, forcing herself into this embarrassingly uncomfortable conversation. "You are gonna die a virgin if you keep this up."

"Better to die a virgin than known as a whore."

"Hey! I am not a whore." Satoru exclaimed. 

"Yet somehow you knew Kento was talking about you." Yuki quipped back.

"Where is…" Suguru’s voice trailed off when he realized he had forgotten your name.

“Y/N?” Kento helped Suguru find the name.

"Yes," the long-haired man snapped his fingers, "Where is Y/N? She is going to miss the cake."

"Cake?" Kento grumbled. "You didn't say there was going to be cake, Satoru. You promised there wouldn't be cake."

"Okay, I lied." Satoru tried to conceal a smile

Kento raised to his feet, ready to leave before the birthday parade showed up with cake, probably with something stupid on its icing, and a club screaming happy birthday drunkenly. "But think of it like a welcome cake, too. For Y/N, Yuki wanted her to get to know all of us before her first day in the department on Monday. And you two haven't spoken to her since she first introduced herself." Satoru pointed at Suguru and Kento.

"You are the one who stole her away to do the “Six Devil Shots” and then to the dance floor," Suguru said.

"Or you too could have come and danced with us." You cut in, a cake and candles in hand. "I stole this out of the kitchen."

"You said you were going to the bathroom." Yuki laughed.

"I did, and then I stole the cake."

"Unbelievable," Satoru said. "It was supposed to be a big thing for Nanami." Satoru pouted slightly at the prospects of not being able to embarrass his coworker. 

"Well, Mr. Nanami doesn't seem like the type to enjoy drunk people sing-screaming at him, much less their attention solely on him." You slid your way onto Nanami's side, placing the cake in front of him and the three and five candles in its center. "You have a lighter, right?" You whispered into Kento's ear. He only nodded, letting out a nervous breath before pulling it out and handing it to you.

The group sang Happy Birthday as loudly as they could over the blasting music that played behind them. Giving up after the first verse, Kento blew out his candles.

Thirty-five years old as of today, and he was no better than a teenage boy, semi-hard because you whispered in his ear and stole a cake so he could avoid attention. Sometimes, Nanami felt he was missing out on what Yuki, Satoru, and Suguru had. Some imaginary certificate to adulthood, the type that could only be won through cashing in his V-Card, but then again, would losing it to a stranger make him catch up with others his age? He knew he wasn’t the only virgin at his age, but in situations where a pretty girl flirts with him, and he wants to flirt back, something always manages to catch his tongue. The voice in the back of his head probably reminds him that she wants something from him that Kento knows he won’t be able to give her. So he doesn’t flirt anymore. And as fast as the hard-on came, it was gone, along with any idea of ever entertaining the idea that you would ever want him.

Just because a woman is nice to you doesn't mean you get hard. Kento reprimanded himself in his head.

"Okay, enjoy the cake; I'm heading home now," Kento shouted over the music. "I have to catch the last train."

Yuki and Gojo booed them loudly while Geto threw him a look that screamed, "You are going to leave me with these idiots?"

"So do I." You said, "Mind walking with me?" you said, realizing what time it was.

Kento wanted so badly to say, "Yes, I mind. The whole reason I am taking the train and not a taxi later is to avoid you." but he didn't. He only shook his head and grabbed his coat.

"I'll send you the money for my bill when I get home, Satoru," you said, grabbing your coat. 

"Don't worry about it," Kento said as he placed down a wad of cash before putting a hand over your shoulder, hovering slightly, "You ready?"

You only nodded, ignoring the head in your voice that swooned a little at the simple act of covering your bill. You were tipsy; that's why your delusions ran a little wild.

You made a mental note to never do shots with Satoru again as you slowly made your way through the dancing crowd and out of the nightclub, Kento's hand still on your shoulder.

***

The night air was surprisingly calm for the summer, making you shiver a little as you turned into Kento, keeping his body close to yours under the stars and in a quiet street.

“How was your birthday?” You asked, wanting to break the silence that seemed to fall upon the two of you.

“It was good.” He said curtly, “I don’t really have experience with celebrations to do with me.”

“You don’t celebrate your birthday?” You asked, even though it wasn’t all that surprising.

“What counts as celebrating?” 

“Hmmm, something fun, I guess.” You shrugged.

“Well, it’s my first time going to a nightclub to celebrate.” A small smile decorated his face, “I usually cook a nice dinner for myself or go to a fancy restaurant that I have been saving up on.”

“What about everyone else?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, you are telling me this is the first time Satoru has dragged you out for your birthday?”

“The first time since University, yes.” Kento didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t pry, letting a comfortable silence fall upon you two. As you turned the corner, you guys made your way to the train tracks, empty and void of any life other than the three people on the other side of the tracks. 

Just like before, the train ride was quiet. A few people were on the train, but you managed to snag seats together. You don’t know when it happened, but you let yourself drift to sleep, leaving Kento alone to his thoughts.

Each lurch of the cart when the train stopped and started made you curl into the man even more until your body leaned against him completely. 

It was only when his stop approached that Kento realized he didn’t know where you lived or whether you missed your stop. A slight panic filled him, and he shook a fully asleep you back to consciousness. 

“Y/N. Y/N.” He half whispered into your ear. Only to be met with soft groans. He shook you a little harder this time, and that’s when your eyes fluttered open. Still half asleep, though, you barely comprehend what he was saying, mindlessly grabbing his hand and following him as he stepped off the train.

Alcohol was still dancing in your brain; you nodded your head in agreement and followed him to his apartment…

Preview...

Nanami knew he wouldn’t last long, but as he sunk into you, the idea of even holding in the waves of pleasure that drowned him was impossible.

TAG LIST: @marikuchanxo @sukunasstomachtongue @getosgirlfailure @allysunny @tojicvmslut @typefeisu @aiyaaayei @villsophie @sillysillygoofygoose @jinleft @rivversin @haikioo @destinyblue-jjk @ramonathinks @actuallysaiyan @actuallysaiyan @melisuh123

CHAPTER TWO UPLOADED

[volcanocraft]

hi how are you feeling about this life series season? :D

can you believe that they kept going in the same direction despite trying to shake eachother off. both with joel offering sticks and gem denying it so he mutters "guess we're not teaming then" and gem saying "ill mine this way and we'll go our own seperate ways" and end up magnetizing anyways. like they literally would not leave eachother alone.

then the mild seperation anxiety joel has when he can't find gem in the mines ("gem where have you gone?" "im right here, im just mining"). his weird admission of going crazy with the cows when separated from gem for a few minutes. and then you have gem going "come on then joel" and telling him to be careful and not die... laughing at his blunders and making light fun of him

then the domesticity of immediately bunking down. gem building a campfire and joel calling it cute. they split and share everything 50/50. they have signs outside their door with quotes on them

theyre so inherently suspicious. scott thinks theyre either going to take over the server or implode. multiple pairs go to their base and try to take some of their cows. joel gets so mad and gem deescalates. jimmy accuses joel of malicious intentions. then they lick their wounds together complaining that everyones always blaming them but at least they can rely on eachother

joel ending the episode saying he and gem will win. and the only other person hes shown interest in trying to recruit is his wife. something something my two favourite people in the same room.

both povs are a mandatory watch to get the whole picture. because they cut a lot out, and leave in other moments, and that says a lot about what interactions matter to them personally. shoutout jeffery

the entire first episode is just boy best friends slow burn yaoi with freudian slips of vulnerability and affection. i think im going to be sick

[just-jordie-things]

hold the phone- imagine megumi giving you mind numbing dick that you are so blissed out you don't register his attempts to kiss you so he has to sternly tell you:

"Kiss me back"

While holding your chin with his eyes being a mix of lust and seriousness ahhhhhhhaaa

lets go girls~ smut under the cut obvi

your friends might tease you a bit for your relationship with the stoic, gloomy looking boy. megumi had a natural air of "i don't give a fuck and i mean it" about him... so yeah, you might get some questions about how much passion your relationship could actually have being with a guy like that.

but god.. the things they don't know.

and you won't tell. you like to have your fun... and so does megumi, he just...

your friends only see the surface. how bubbly and charming you are all the time. whether it's stealing his food, planting kisses on his resting bitch face, grabbing at his hand, playing with his hair, you're very affectionate. always finding some excuse to be close and touch him. you're his magnet that he can't turn off (not that he would. he might not show much expression when you're in public, but he'd rather die than have you sit opposite him at a table)

when it's just the two of you, it's like a switch has been flipped. if you don't meet his every gaze and kiss, you're in trouble.

even if you're finding rather hard to keep your eyes open because he's hitting so deep inside you all you see is stars.

"c'mon pretty girl look at me," he mutters, snatching your chin with gentle fingers so you'll stop throwing your head back and give him what he wants. "y'know i like to see those pretty eyes when i make you cum"

you whine- a mix of pleasure and struggle because he knows it's hard for you to follow instruction when you're this fucked out. you've lost count of how many times it's been already- is he crazy? does he think you're conscious enough for this?

but you can't possibly deny him, so you blink your teary eyes open and find him already gazing at you. he's smiling proudly when you finally manage to keep them open.

"there's my girl" megumi coos, and it's not your heart that flutters at his sweet words. your fingers claw at his back for the umpteenth time, reviving the bright red marks that had barely started to heal from the last time.

he keeps his fingers hooked at your chin, knowing it's the only thing keeping you from tossing your head back and denying him his favorite sight again. you're twitching, it's clear that you're fighting the urge, and he's not exactly making it easy for you with the brutal pace he's keeping up with, but you try, for him.

to reward the behavior he leans in to kiss your swollen lips. he's gentle with you, brushing his lips softly over yours, ever so sweet in every way but the way he's fucking you. it's dizzying, really, and maybe that's why you don't kiss him back, but megumi doesn't bother asking why, just demands that you do.

his thumb presses into your chin, not minding the drool dribbling over it as he brings you closer to him again.

"kiss me back" even for a murmur, it's a command that shoots straight to your natural instinct to obey him, and this time when he kisses you there's not an ounce of hesitation to return it.

it's messy, you're still panting and whining, your teeth catch his bottom lip and you're making a mess of saliva between the two of you, but megumi wouldn't complain for even a second. he keeps up with the pace of your messy kisses until he has you coming undone again.

megumi doesn't give a fuck about most things and he means it, but you certainly aren't most things.

[vigilante-3073]

Mouse

Rosalie Hale x Emmett Cullen x Female Vampire Reader

Summary: Bella observes the relationship between Rosalie, Emmett and Y/N.

TW: Throuple, vampire mates, mentions of death and torture.

In the time that Bella had spent as a human while dating Edward, she learned very little about the young vampire who Rosalie and Emmett shared as a mate. Y/N was quiet and reserved, which made her stand out in the relationship with her mates.

Rosalie had an anger that burned like the hottest flame and Emmett was always the loudest one in the room. Someone so calm and soft-spoken didn't seem to fit into their relationship dynamic.

Y/N almost seemed to get lost behind their big personalities, but they always saw her in a way that others didn't. Rosalie and Emmett always had some innate ability to sense their mate in every situation. They gravitated towards each other like magnets and could always be found together.

One thing Bella had come to notice about Y/N is that her love language was physical touch. Y/N was always touching one or both of her mates in some way. Bella was almost alarmed to see how different Rosalie could be when she was interacting with her young mate.

Rosalie tended to be a bit more protective than affectionate towards Y/N when Bella had first come around, but after some time she gradually started to see Rosalie soften.

Bella would always remember the day she saw them all together for the first time. She had walked into the living room with Edward only to find Y/N sitting sideways on the couch with her back leaned against Emmett's side and his arm wrapped around her body, a baseball game playing on the television. Rosalie sat next to Y/N with her mate's legs draped across her lap while she flipped through a magazine. The sight caught Bella off-guard, but then she started to notice it more and more.

On another day, Y/N was walking through the woods after a hunt with Emmett's arm wrapped around her waist and his hand slipped into the back pocket of her jeans. Her other hand was holding onto Rosalie's as they talked about whatever came to mind.

The day after that Bella saw Y/N sitting on Emmett's lap while she talked to Rosalie about a book that she had just finished. The blonde listened to her intently with a soft smile on her face as Emmett brushed his thumbs back and forth over her hip bones.

At first glance, they seemed like they would never fit together in a million years, but Bella had never seen a closer relationship in her lifetime. There was some unexpected gravitational pull that kept them orbiting around eachother. Y/N grounded the pair in a way that was necessary when they got riled up, bringing everything back into focus.

...

Bella learned that Y/N's human life had ended tragically like many of her family members. She wouldn't talk about it, but Edward knew about what she had endured.

He told Bella that he could feel it when her mind drifted to those memories. The first time it happened, he had frozen in his tracks and his body locked up in a way that he had never experienced before.

Y/N had been walking home after a closing shift at the diner she was working at. A car pulled up beside her and a man offered to drive her home, he pulled a gun on her when she refused. Y/N got into the car and it was definitely a decision that she would regret for the entirety of her human life.

Edward had never known someone who had experienced as much suffering as Y/N had. The man kept her chained up in his basement for weeks, he beat her, starved her, cut her, burned her and forced her to endure many other kinds of torture while under his imprisonment.

Y/N barely managed to escape with her life, her bones were broken and the blood loss had made her weak. She ran from the house until her body collapsed into unconsciousness. Y/N thought that she would die in her place on the damp grass, she could feel herself fading away and she decided that it wasn't the worst place to die.

Someone had found her in the morning and called the authorities, she was taken to the hospital and she would have died from her injuries if Carlisle hadn't been working that day. It took almost a week for her body to put itself back together after she had died.

Y/N's death was traumatic and she was never the same after she had reanimated. Y/N was quiet and reserved, slipping back into those dreadful memories.

She was terrified every day, especially around the men in the house and no one could question her reasons. She gradually formed a friendship with Rosalie, bonding over their shared trauma and Y/N slowly began to come out of her shell a bit.

No one could pinpoint when exactly Y/N and Rosalie's relationship had changed into a romantic one, but it had. Rosalie was Y/N's protector and they hardly ever spent any time apart.

Carlisle felt relieved to see the girls finding something in their lives that was worth carrying on for. They had both been through so much and their willingness to create a relationship let him know that they were adjusting to this new life.

Y/N and Rosalie spent every possible moment together and when Rosalie found Emmett, he was brought into their dynamic seamlessly. If anyone chose to question their relationship, Rosalie would be on them in a second.

Rosalie had a ferocious love that no one could ever mess with. She allowed herself to be used and walked over in her human life, the loss of that life made her stronger and showed her that nothing lasts forever.

Their relationship had endured years of traumatic experiences and bloodshed, built on the back of a curse that provided eternal life.

...

Hearing about their relationship from Edward's point of view gave Bella a better understanding of who they were to each other. Though no recognition could be given to their union at the time, they were all married to each other. It didn't matter to them that it wasn't legal, they knew that their bond ran deeper than any laws ever could.

Bella respected the love that they all had for each other, it was fierce and strong like nothing she had ever seen before. It made her look at the other relationships that had blossomed within the Cullen family and she quickly found that none of them were the same.

They may have had similar values, but their dynamics were all vastly different. Her own relationship with Edward was romantic, tumultuous and tragic. There would always be parts of their lives that would never be possible if they stayed together.

Edward had lived for many years before he met her, forming relationships and losing people that Bella would never know. Bella would likely never know who he was before he died, time changes so much and it would likely be impossible for him to remember now.

If Bella transformed into a vampire to stay at Edward's side, she would lose whatever future she could have had as a human. She would never be able to have children or grow old with her friends or family. Eveyone would die around her and she would remain unchanged with Edward and his family as her only solace in a changing world.

Her fascination with Y/N's relationship had served to put things in perspective for her regarding what she could gain and lose in this life. None of the Cullen children had a choice in whether or not they pursued this life. Bella seemed to have tunnel vision on the topic, always worrying about how much time she was wasting.

Every day that passed made her feel physically older, every scrape or bruise on her skin made her feel like her body would just crumble underneath her. Bella knew that her worries were nothing that a teenager should be concerned about, but she had seen what a future could look like.

Bella was staring down the finish line of a marathon that she had been treating as a sprint. She didn't have to rush, she didn't have to make a choice now.

Y/N, Rosalie and Emmett never would have found each other if it hadn't been for the horrific way that their human lives happened to end.

Bella felt like she could finally understand that this choice shouldn't be rushed, it needed to be carefully considered. Bella didn't need to push the envelope and choose a tragic end for herself when she had the luxury of time.

She would become a vampire, but she could definitely choose to enjoy her life as a human for a while.

[dungeonzine]

⊱ 🥘 PRE-ORDERS ARE OPEN 🥘 ⊰

With 140+ pages of mouth-watering and heart-warming pieces from 65 contributors, it’s a delicious dungeon meal for the soul!

🪄 See below for our bundles! 🪄

💸 dungeonzine.bigcartel.com

🗓 Nov 15th - Dec 20th

🍱〘 Main Course: Full Bundle 〙🍱

💵 USD $70 💵

🥘 1x A5 hardcover zine book (140+ pages)

🥘 1x A5 zine PDF (140+ pages)

🥘 12x digital downloadable emotes/icons

🥘 2x 5"x7" foil prints

🥘 2x 2"x6" double-sided interlocking bookmarks

🥘 3x ~2.5"x~2.5" die-cut stickers

🥘 2x A5 sticker sheets

🥘 1x glitter enamel pin

🥘 1x ~2.5"x~2.5" double-sided glitter acrylic shaker charm

🥘 3x 9.8cm (diameter) ceramic coasters

🥧 This bundle is eligible for all stretch goals.

🍨《 Dessert: Partial Bundle 》🍨

💵 USD $50 💵

🥘 1x A5 hardcover zine book (140+ pages)

🥘 1x A5 zine PDF (140+ pages)

🥘 12x digital downloadable emotes/icons

🥘 1x 5"x7" foil print

🥘 2x 2"x6" double-sided interlocking bookmarks

🥘 3x ~2.5"x~2.5" die-cut stickers

🥘 1x A5 sticker sheet

🥧 This bundle is eligible for stretch goals.

🥗 〚 Appetizers: Zine Bundle 〛 🥗

💵 USD $30 💵

🥘 1x A5 hardcover zine book (140+ pages)

🥘 1x A5 zine PDF (140+ pages)

🥘 12x digital downloadable emotes/icons

🥧 This bundle is eligible for stretch goals.

🍤〔 Hors D’oeuvres: Digital Bundle 〕🍤

💵 USD $15 💵

🥘 1x A5 zine PDF (140+ pages)

🥘 12x digital downloadable emotes/icons

🍥 This bundle is not eligible for stretch goals if purchased alone or only with other non-eligible bundles.

🥄〈 Limited item: Wooden Spoon Set 〉🥄

💵 USD $27 💵

🥘 3x engraved bamboo spoons (30cm tall, 6cm wide bowl, 2.4cm wide handle)

🍥 This bundle is not eligible for stretch goals if purchased alone and requires its own shipping.

‼️ Only 100 of these items will be sold; once sold out we will not open further preorders.

🌶〔 Midnight Snack: 18+/Pin-Up Digital Zine Add-On 〕🌶

💵 USD $10 💵

🥘 1x A5 zine PDF (~50 pages)

Midnight Snack has exclusive pin-up and other "suggestive" content from our artists and writers. This zine is rated "M" and, while not explicit, is meant for adult audiences.

🥩〔 In The Kitchen: BTS Digital Zine Add-On 〕🥩

💵 USD $15 💵

🥘 1x A5 zine PDF (300+ pages)

Wondering what went into making Melting Pot? Want to see exclusive content? Here's over 300 PAGES of full works of art and writing, sketches, artist process walk-throughs, sequel comics, and more!

🥧 ᐓ STRETCH GOALS ᐗ 🥧

🔓 200 UNLOCKED - layered wooden magnet

🔓 300 - UNLOCKED - three cover print set

🔓 400 - UNLOCKED - acrylic keychain

🔓 500 - SECRET UNLOCKED - enamel pin

🥧 Bundles Main Course, Dessert, and Appetizers are eligible for stretch goals!

↢ 🍖 ADDITIONAL INFO 🍖↣

💸 Shop: dungeonzine.bigcartel.com

🔖 Carrd: https://dungeonzine.carrd.co/

❓Retrospring: https://retrospring.net/@DungeonZine

📩 If you have any questions, feel free to drop us a message on our socials.

[picaroroboto]

One of the typical imageries associated with the concept of "hope" is the image of light amidst darkness. FF14 does a lot of stuff with light and dark of course but in Shadowbringers they made light a thing of horror so they can't rely on the light image all the time.

Another usual image is a bird - "Hope is a thing with feathers..." from the Emily Dickinson poem. Meteion, the bird, was created with hope, but becomes a thing of despair.

So what's left as the image of "hope" in Endwalker is this:

From the cutscene "Live, Die and Know", where Venat monologues about hope and light everlasting while the camera cuts back and forth between her, blackened with blood, and the WoL succumbing to the Light corruption, both limping and stumbling along their paths. This is the face of hope in FF14 - broken, dying, bloodstained, yet defiant. That's what makes playing the hero in FF14 so damn magnetic.

Early ARR, I was cringing at the cliche chosen one, light vs dark type concepts. Further along I began to doubt Hydaelyn, given her ineffectiveness and the cruelty of the fate she bound the WoL to. But from Elpis to the end of Endwalker and beyond, I was proud, for the first time, to be called a Warrior of Light.

[velarisdusk]

I Slept with Someone in Wings of Illyria

A Bat Boys Band AU

word count: 1.5k author's note: i have not been able to stop thinking about bass player az, nor have i been able to shut up about it (exhibits A, B, and C found here lol). i am so taken with bass player azriel that this was originally gonna be a one time thing to get the mf thoughts out of my head, but i may make this a collection of drabbles/one-shots/whatever the fuck. enjoy ! <3 ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The room is sweltering, the kind of heat that clings to your skin and wraps around your throat. Bodies pressed together, arms raised, the crowd surges with the beat, their cheers deafening as the final notes of the song fade out. 

Cassian tosses his drumsticks in the air, catching them with a grin as he leans back, his chest heaving from the sheer energy of his playing. His skin glistens under the stage lights, sweat dripping down the sharp cut of his jaw to his bare chest. Rhysand steps forward, guitar slung low on his hips, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, the movement so casual it borders on taunting. 

The three of them are magnetic—untouchable—but your eyes are glued to Azriel. 

The bass still hangs low across his hips, his dark shirt clinging to his chest and arms, every inch of him shining with effort and heat. His hair sticks to his forehead in damp strands, but he doesn’t seem to care. There’s a faint curve to his lips as he looks out at the crowd, their screams refusing to die down even as Rhys steps up to the mic.  It’s Wings of Illyria’s last song of the night, and the air is thick with anticipation.

“Alright, alright,” Rhys says, his voice rich and smooth, but it barely registers over the roar of the audience. He glances back at Az and Cass, shaking his head with a laugh, and you catch the way they all exchange a look—silent, knowing.

Cass twirls a drumstick between his fingers, grinning wide. Rhys throws a wink at the crowd, and Azriel… Azriel holds up a hand, palm out, a subtle watch this gesture that has your stomach flipping. 

And then he steps forward.

The moment his fingers graze the mic stand, the noise dips. He leans in, his lips brushing the mic, and inhales sharply. The sound carries through the speakers, intimate, like he’s right there beside you. The crowd freezes, the energy shifting into something electric, breathless. And then, he chuckles.

It’s low, almost a growl, and it sends a shiver down your spine. For a moment, the room is still. And then, chaos. The screams erupt again, louder than before, like every single person in the crowd had been seized by something primal and uncontrollable.

Azriel laughs, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Rhys and Cass. They’re laughing too, Cassian smacking a hand against his drums while Rhys shakes his head, mouthing something you can’t make out. 

But then Az turns back to the mic. 

Your heart stops as he adjusts it slightly, his hand steady, his expression calm but sharp, focused. The moment stretches, and you swear he looks right at you before his lips part, and his voice spills into the venue. 

It’s not Rhys’s voice this time, not the smooth, cocky tone that usually owns the opening of this song. No—this is something darker, rougher, saturated with a raw kind of emotion that makes your knees go weak. You know this part by heart—hell, you’ve screamed it in your car more times than you can count—but hearing Azriel sing it? It’s like hearing it for the first time. 

He owns it, every word dripping with purpose, with heat. His voice snakes through the room, curling around you, pulling you under. The crowd is a blur, the sound of their cheers distant compared to the way your pulse pounds in your ears. 

And Azriel knows it. He’s fully in control, commanding every single person in the room with nothing but his voice and the intensity in his eyes. When he glances over at Rhys and Cass again, they’re grinning like they know exactly what he’s doing—and exactly what it’s doing to everyone in the room. 

You’re breathless by the time he finishes the verse, and when he pulls back from the mic with that faint, wicked smirk, the crowd surges again, screaming louder than ever. 

You scream too, the sound ripping out of you without restraint, caught up in the heat and the pounding bass still thrumming through the room. But then Azriel’s gaze sweeps across the crowd, scanning the sea of faces, and it lands on you. 

Your breath catches. 

It’s brief, a flicker of his hazel eyes locking onto yours, but it’s enough. Enough to leave you wondering if he’s seen you before—if he’s noticed you at every show you’ve managed to get into, always in your usual spot near the edge of the stage, close enough to feel the pulse of the speakers in your chest. 

And then he turns back to the mic, and your chest tightens all over again. 

It’s the way Azriel shifts his stance—shoulders squared, leaning slightly into the mic as his fingers curl around the neck of his bass—that holds you captive. His voice joins Rhys’s in the next verse, a low harmony that wraps around the melody like smoke, rich and addictive. 

When the lyrics take a turn—something dark and suggestive, dripping with innuendo—you swear he looks at you again. His lips curl just so around the words, and the way his hand moves on the fretboard has your pulse racing. 

It’s stupid, you tell yourself. Ridiculous, really, to think that someone like him would single you out of a crowd like this. But as the song builds to its peak, the heat of his gaze feels too intentional to ignore. And then they hit the chorus, when Azriel takes over the melody for one shining moment, he sings a line that makes your cheeks burn, makes your hands curl into fists at your sides. It’s not subtle. It’s meant to be filthy, meant to tease and taunt, and he sings it like it’s directed straight at you. 

The crowd loses it. You barely hear the screams over the pounding of your heart.

He’s still looking at you when the song ends, sweat dripping from his temple as he lets the bass hang low against his hips, his breathing heavy. Cassian slams his drumsticks against the snare one last time, punctuating the end of the set, while Rhysand tosses his guitar pick into the crowd with a lazy smirk. 

Azriel doesn’t move for a moment. He stays there, on the edge of the stage, as if waiting for something. 

And then he winks. 

It’s quick—blink-and-you’ll-miss-it—but you see it. You feel it. 

Your knees go weak, your grip tightening on the barricade to keep yourself steady. By the time you process what just happened, he’s already turning away, laughing at something Cassian said as they disappear backstage. 

The crowd surges again, desperate for an encore, but all you can hear is the pounding of your pulse. 

Your knees are still trembling as the crowd surges around you, voices raised in chants for an encore. You try to breathe, to ground yourself, but the memory of Azriel’s smirk and the weight of his gaze keeps playing on a loop in your mind. 

And then, just as the noise reaches a fever pitch, you see him again. 

Azriel lingers near the side of the stage, his bass slung over his shoulder now, his hand reaching out to clasp the shoulder of a man in a black security shirt. You watch, heart pounding, as they exchange a few quick words, the guard leaning closer to hear him over the din. 

It’s casual—normal, probably—but then Azriel points.

Directly at you. 

You freeze. Your pulse spikes. There’s no way, you think. No way this is happening. 

But it is. His arm extends toward the crowd, his finger cutting through the haze of heat and lights to land right where you’re standing, gripping the barricade for dear life. The security guard nods, glancing in your direction as Azriel leans closer, lips moving again. 

He says two words, slow enough for you to catch even at this distance.

“Blue top.”

Your breath hitches, your gaze darting down to the shirt you’re wearing. Blue. Not just blue—bright blue, standing out against the darker tones of the crowd like a beacon. 

You look back up, your heart slamming in your chest as Azriel straightens, throwing one last glance your way before disappearing offstage. 

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen, every nerve in your body buzzing. Did that really just happen? Your mind races, replaying the movement of his hand, the way his lips had formed those words. Blue top. 

Your gaze darts around, scanning the crowd. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you’re losing your mind because surely he didn’t mean you. But your stomach flips again as you realize—no one else around you is wearing blue. Not a single person. 

It was you. 

Your fingers tighten on the barricade. He had pointed at you. You’re sure of it. And then you see him. 

The security guard is cutting through the clusters of venue workers. Your breath catches when his eyes land on you, sharp and direct. He doesn’t say a word, just jerks his chin toward the end of the barricade, a silent instruction. 

[mini-merch]

Improve the perception of your brand with Mini-Merch personalized pins! These stylish pins will add flair to any outfit or bag. Perfect for parties or corporate advertising. Shop now to make an impact!

[astrologyvas]

venus in the 8th house overlay/synastry

please do not copy or repeat my work anywhere

this synastry is one of my all time favs. before i get into it, i want to preface that this overlay will be especially compelling and impactful if you have a pluto dominant chart, significant 8th house placements, scorpionic energy or heavy pluto aspects. in fact, you may find yourself yearning for these kind of connections and the intensity it brings.

when you meet them, it's an instantly potent and magnetic experience. something draws you to them, and you immediately feel intrigued by their presence. you are quickly captivated and at the whim of this connection. these are the people who you keep on a pedestal in your heart. the people that you compare to when you meet someone new. the people that you think about late at night, when you're the only one awake.

venus in the 8th house gives both the planet and the house a similar taste in things like music, the arts, and other venusian themes. there is a deep appreciation of interests, which are often shared and acknowledged.

this overlay gives both parties, but heavily the venus, a craving to know more about their partner. they are fascinated by the crevices of the house's personality that they occasionally give venus a taste for. the house is an enigma to venus, and they want to figure them out.

when unevolved or unhealthy, this placement gives me the vibes of "i want you so bad and no one else can have you, but i'll never let you know that". extremely susceptible synastry for mind games, powerplay & toxicity if either parties feel insecure or imbalanced. these connections are often karmic in nature, and can feel like they latched onto your heart, sucking the blood out of it before disappearing completely.

the energy of this connection will undoubtedly be erotic. both parties, but specifically the house, will find the other physically irresistible. the planet person crawls into the house's head and lures out the deepest, most primal parts of them. m*sturbating and getting off while thinking about each other vibes.

accepting this union into your life unleashes powerful emotions. you feel like this person brings out your darkest side, like they want to see your flaws. you can't run or hide from them, they pry open the parts of yourself you keep locked with a key.

financially, this overlay feels loving in terms of money. the energy of "i'll buy you this, because you mean more to me than a few dollars ever could". money feels safe with this person, like the superficial aspects melt away.

it is an indescribable and all-consuming placement. the lust this connection brings is intoxicating. the venus in particular will feel like they need the house physically, like they would die without access to their body. since the 8th house rules over death and the occult, there is a very intense "i'd die happy with you" aura. the feeling of wanting to merge with them, because touching them isn't enough.

since this synastry is karmically charged, it usually blows up if either are receiving karma or paying debts through this tie. be mindful of betrayal, 3rd parties, and affairs.

after this connection ends, they linger & loom in the back of your mind. they eat away at the depths of your subconscious before you finally feel like you can move on. this synastry can be beautiful and interchangeably painful.

even after cutting them off, you feel the familiar hunger for them. they feel like an addiction that still invades your mind, looking for the fix only they can give you.

songs that may resonate:

break - alex g twilight - boa haunted - beyonce

[loving-family-poll]

Ultimate Incest Tournament - Semifinals

Propaganda under the cut:

Sam/Dean:

I'm sorry but they have it all. children of metaphorical incest just continuing the cycle in any way they can. they are brothers and mother + son and wives and each other's scorned lovers and life partners they've had multiple infidelity arcs they are sexually psychopathic together they have forsook life and morality and the earth itself for each other and just love each other so much . They are literally in a heaven of their own making together for eternity, incestuously. Come on!!! Blueprint!!!!! It's not gay if he's your brother!!!!!

dean did stuff to sam's dead body in ahbl. i just know it

Messed-up, isolated sibs with all the daddy and abandonment issues. Their lives are so claustrophobic with the brothers no more than five feet apart in the car, a motel room, or standing next to civilians (face it, they are frigging magnets). Can't leave out that they are always touching each other to check for wounds which is a huge PLUS for any shipper.

Sam and Dean ARE literally the blowjob brothers. They walk into a situation and everyone goes well well well if it isn't the blowjob brothers....... And they say. Yep. That's us. And then they fix the situation with their epic love story

THE classic, iconic, show shopping, never done before etc. etc. incest ship. It changed fandom and it changed the world

Dave/Rose:

Daverose blondetwin sweep because they were codependent without ever meeting from growing up seeing each other in their dreams

What does it mean to be an abused teenage boy growing up alone and seeing a girl in your dreams every night who is also your best friend. and when you finally meet her you go on a suicide mission together even though nobody was asking you to die with her. and then you are the only two human beings left in the recognizable universe on a cold meteor surrounded by aliens but you’re glad it’s with her. and when you finally touch the girl from your childhood dreams she looks exactly like you. because she’s your sister

I don't have words for how good these snarky assholes are together. DaveRose is brain chemistry changing. They both put up so many fronts, and engage in so much snarky wordplay, and are constantly trying to get under each other's facade. They play off each other so well, witty and sharp, I need them to be together always

We all die & we all die alone are the two cold truths of the universe but dave and rose broke both simultaneously by ascending to godhood together

Their twincest wins because it is just so confusingly tragic? profound? dave leaving rose behind in a doomed world, dave following her to the bomb. they are both so closed & cut off & curt its hard to imagine the depth of these things. but that is their love language: giving up their lives for each other over and over, in a confusing and fumbling and heartfelt love song. i can’t say i love you but i know we’ll die together anyway. because we’re made of the exact same stuff. i’ll find you again at the last moment. that’s love.

THEY DIED TOGETHER, YOUR HONOR

Confirmed canon by the author, (something happened) between them. Parallels of dying by each other's sides in EVERY timeline. They are THE womb-to-tomb. There is nothing platonic about winking at your brother while talking about crushes, that shit is incestuous. Seer/Knight archetype. They will die protecting each other.

do you realize love someone if you don’t follow them on a suicide mission into the gaping maw of a literal fucking sun after they knock you out and psychoanalyze you in your dreams? the blueprint of the “ethereal androgynous blonde boygirl twins” trope. witch/knight dynamics. they find each other to die together in every timeline no matter what (but they’re still emotionally constipated teenagers who bicker and make fun of each other in pesterchum). kids with grown-up powers. perfect little freaks of nature. what if we looked exactly like each other’s eyes

[crossroadsangel67]

MDNI. NSFW. 18+

dean taking your virginity, and he’s walking you through the entire thing btw. oh how i need this.

warnings: romance, love confession, foreplay f!receiving, fingering, oral f!receiving, gentle sex, unprotected piv, inexperienced virgin!reader

REQUESTED

if someone had told you a few years ago, you’d be sure it was a lie, a trick. dean winchester, being in love with you? yeah, right. nice joke.

only it isn’t a joke. it never was.

and you didn’t believe that until he took your hands, looked deeply into your eyes with a serious expression, even when you were still cackling, and reassured you.

“y/n, i’m being serious. i… i love you.”

your laughter slowed to a stop, and your entire world shifted.

dean winchester, your ride or die. the same dean you were introduced to by your dads, hunting buddies, as a small child. the same dean you shot a rifle with for the first time. the same dean you snuck out to get drunk at a playground in the middle of the night freshman year with. your very best friend. the boy you fell in love with, he loves you back. he’s in love with you back.

“you’re being serious.”

“i’m being serious.”

dean’s hands were sweaty at this point, despite usually running cold. he looked like a deer caught in headlights. his eyes were scanning yours, looking for any hint of rejection. all he could think about was what you would say. he was terrified.

“y/n/n?”

your lips curved up into a smile as a blush spread across your cheeks. you held onto his hands tighter.

“i never thought you’d…” your voice trailed off, and you shook your head, laughing in disbelief. dean swallowed a lump in his throat, still unsure of what you were thinking. his heart was nearly pounding out of his chest.

you let out a small, amused scoff and grabbed his face gently, moving closer and connecting your lips with his.

dean immediately relaxed, his hands finding your hip and back as he leaned in closer. he pulled away gently, smiling from ear to ear as he admired your features.

“so… you fell for me like every girl does or—”

“shut up.” you cut him off with a breath of words and another kiss. though you were secretly amused at him mocking you. it was true, you did always complain about him being a chick magnet.

he smiled against your lips, resting his forehead against yours.

“just in case you didn’t guess, i love you too, dean.” you whispered as your smile grew sheepish. he chuckled in return, his hands running up and down your back.

“god, i could get used to this…” dean mumbled as he just relished in your touch, in touching you. he was loving every damn second of it.

he wanted to feel you, all of you. in the most loving, innocent way possible too. for once, it wasn’t just gonna be a casual hookup or a one night stand. it wasn’t just lust, it was love.

and you, you’d never been so comfortable being in someone’s arms. his hands on your back and hip were like heaven. you wanted to be as close to him as you possibly could.

you wanted his skin on yours, everywhere.

the two of you sat there, your hearts thumping in your chests, your breaths heavy at just the thought of it. you both knew what you wanted. and you could feel that the other wanted it just as much.

your hands slid around to the back of his neck, and you swung your leg over his lap, resting to straddle him.

he looked up at you in awe. his hands running up and down your sides. his bright green eyes reaching deep into yours.

he opened his mouth to say something, but just couldn’t find the words. he was silently asking you a question, and you knew exactly what it was.

you nodded and your fingers found the collar of his brown leather jacket. you slid it off over his shoulders, letting it fall, painting a contrast against your white comforter with little flowers all over it.

you tugged at the bottom of his worn-down black t-shirt, silently asking for permission to take it off. he nodded eagerly, lifting his arms for you. you tossed it off to the side, not bothering to see that it landed at the foot of your open closet. it stuck out like a sore thumb next to the rows of mostly white and pastel colored dresses.

you lifted your own arms, letting him lift your comfy light pink dress off and discard it to the floor.

he was mesmerized by you. the way your white lace panties hugs your curves, your thick thighs, your soft tummy, and the way your matching bra perfectly held your tits. and all of this, you were giving to him. to say he felt undeserving was an understatement. he didn’t deserve any of this. any of you.

but, god, you’re right here. and you love him back.

his hands felt up and down your back, stomach, and thighs with such a loving caress. your fingers danced along his bare chest and abdomen. his breath hitches at your touch. he’s never felt so vulnerable, so seen,

so loved.

but that still didn’t distract him from the nervous look in your eyes, the way you avoided his gaze, and you seemed to shy away when he got too close to anywhere too private.

“hey, hey…” he tilted his head to meet your eyes, his hand gently taking your chin.

“you okay?” he asked in a tone so soft, full of concern and focus.

you hesitated, taking a deep breath, trying to get away from looking him in the eyes again.

“um… dean… i’ve never…”

he understood what you meant right away, and his expression relaxed. he knew you’d had a few boyfriends here and there, some kisses. whenever you broke up with someone, you always told him it was because it just wasn’t working out. but dean knew it was because you weren’t ready for anything more with them, and they were all too dumb to want you without the sex.

“i know, baby. i know.” he nodded. “we don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for. you hear me? not a damn thing. you call the shots.”

“no, i—i wanna have sex with you.” you rushed out, chuckling a little at how eagerly you had just said that. he smiled cheekily. any other time he would’ve made some stupid remark, but he knew how nervous you were. and he wanted you to be as comfortable as possible.

you took a breath, relaxing your body. “i wanna have sex with you.” you said in a calmer voice. he chuckled and blushed a little. “okay, sweetheart.”

he gave you a soft kiss on the cheek and held you close to him, turning the two of you so he could be on top. he rested your head against your pillows, making sure you were comfortable.

“just relax. i’m gonna take care of you.” he whispered into your ear. you nodded and your breath hitched as he moved to your neck, lightly kissing and sucking, surely leaving marks. his hand ran over your waistline, brushing against your underwear. you tensed up a little.

“dean,”

he pulled his hand and head back. “yeah?”

you took a breath, meeting his eyes. “um… what are you gonna do next?”

he smiled softly, bringing his hand up to caress your cheek. “i’ll walk you through it, okay?”

you nodded in response, putting your full trust in him.

he shifted to lay next to you on his side, his hand hovering over your upper thigh.

“is it okay if i touch you underneath your underwear, sweetheart?”

you nodded, your eyes never leaving his hand.

“has anyone else ever touched you there?”

you shook your head no.

“have you ever touched yourself there?”

your eyes widened a little at his question and you hesitated for a moment.

“um… yeah. yes, i have.”

“nothing to be embarrassed about, you know i’ve done it too.” he chuckled lightly. that eased your nerves a little as you smiled and nudged him.

“you know your body better than i do. so, you tell me if i’m going too slow, too fast, if it’s not feeling good. anything like that. it’s just you and me. okay?”

you blushed at his words. that was already a turn-on itself.

“okay, i’m ready.” you nodded, resting your head on his shoulder and gripping his free hand from where it was resting on your shoulder.

he planted a kiss on your temple and slowly slipped his fingers under your panties. you shifted a little, sucking in a breath as his finger ran up your slit.

“fuck, you’re soaked, y/n/n.” he nearly groaned out his words. you felt so good already.

you let out a small gasp as his fingers found your clit. he started rubbing in slow circles around your sensitive bud. he watched in awe as your head fell back against his arm. your mouth dropped open and you rolled your hips slightly. instinctively, his motions started to speed up.

you gave his hand a squeeze. “s-slower,” you managed, and he nodded, not even realizing he had sped up until you told him. “sorry, sweetheart.” he chuckled lightly, still watching you closely. “s’okay… feels so good… god, dean…” you moaned softly, and his heart fluttered. he could tell you were already getting close, and he pulled his hand away.

you let out a whine as his hand slipped back out from your panties. “deeeean!” you pouted. he laughed a little and licked his fingers. he gave you a menacing grin as he shifted down the bed.

your eyes widened and you propped yourself up on your elbows. “dean, you don’t have to—”

“i want to. you taste too good.” he said firmly. “unless you aren’t comfortable with it. but i really want to.” he said, holding back from pleading with you. he didn’t want to make you feel pressured in the slightest.

you nodded and lifted your hips. he smiled and tugged your panties down. “atta girl… you wanna take that bra off for me?”

you happily sat up, unclasping your bra and tossing it to the floor. dean was nearly foaming at the mouth at this point. he threw your panties to the floor too.

he took a moment to admire your bare chest, the way your tits sat perfectly, fitting the rest of your body so well. your nipples we’re hardened too. and he looked up at you before silently asking for permission. you nodded, biting your bottom lip, and he wasted no time, his hands cupping your tits and thumbs flicking over your nipples.

he laid you back down, hovering over you as he stuck his tongue out, swirling around one of your nipples as he pinched lightly at the other. you arched your back slightly, your core only getting wetter by the second.

his hand traveled down your tummy, and he once again gently rubbed at your clit. your body twitched at the contact, and he pulled away from your tit with a pop. a string of saliva followed him as he licked and kissed down your soft skin.

it wasn’t long before his head was in between your thighs. he still rubbed at your clit, but slowed down enough for you to be in the right state of mind.

“y/n/n, i gotta ask you some more questions now, alright?” and you hummed in response, still relishing in the pleasure of his touch. your eyes were closed and your head was turned to the side.

“y/n.” he said in a firmer tone. “look at me, or i’ll have to stop. i know you don’t want that.”

he smirked a little as your head perked up, and you propped yourself up on your elbows.

“good girl. now, tell me… have you ever fingered yourself?”

you were once again embarrassed by the questions, but you knew they wouldn’t leave this room.

it’s just you and me. dean’s words rung in your head.

“i have… a few times before. but, um… not a lot.”

he nodded. “okay. that’s okay, sweetheart. i’m gonna go one by one, and if it’s too much, you just tell me to stop, alright?”

you hesitated a little before nodding.

“y/n/n…” he squinted a little, noticing your hesitation.

you met his eyes and shook your head a little. “it’s okay, it’s okay… i’m ready.”

“we don’t need to rush,”

“i want you to.” you said firmly, your tone much less hesitant.

dean smirked a little before nodding. he caressed the insides of your thighs before spreading your legs open wider.

“okay, baby… i’m gonna use my fingers and my tongue. think you can handle that?”

your stomach turned at his words. you hadn’t ever been so aroused, it was such a new and exciting feeling. and you wanted to give it all to him.

you nodded and laid back on the bed, closing your eyes as you felt his finger at your entrance.

“words, sweetheart.” his voice was low and firm, almost like a growl.

“yes,” you breathed out immediately. “i can handle it, just please…”

dean smirked in amusement at how desperate you sounded. again, he thought it’d be best to save the dirty talk for another time. this time was about focusing on you, learning what you liked and what you didn’t, for the both of you.

he slid one finger in slowly, watching how you grimaced slightly. “tell me how it feels.” he said in a firm but gentle voice. you eyebrows furrowed as he went in and out slowly.

you gave it a minute, adjusting to the new feeling. you jolted a little as he brushed against your g-spot, unaware of that feeling. “y/n/n.” he said, gaining your focus.

“oh, god… do that again.” you panted slightly. he found that spot again, making you gasp. “fuck, that’s it…” you moaned softly. it felt uncomfortable at first, but you were very much into it now.

dean kept his slow pace, feeling your juices coat his finger as his tongue found your clit, moving in slow circles as he kept his eyes on you.

you shifted your hips closer to him, surprising him a little with how eager you were. he sped up his movements a little, adding in a second finger.

your panting got heavier and you whined as he stretched you out, his fingers curling to that spot you loved. one of your hands went to his hair and you took his free hand with the other, holding onto him tightly.

“dean…” you moaned his name as you slightly rolled your hips against him. he groaned at hearing you say his name like that, and you shivered at the vibration.

he could feel you getting more eager by the second as your body was building up to your first proper orgasm. you were a breathy mess and squirming to get closer to him.

dean took his hand, still intertwined with yours, and used it to hold you in place, pressing firmly on your lower abdomen. you whined a little at not being able to move around as easily, but you quickly snapped out of that when he slipped in a third finger.

you let out a whimper as his fingers moved in and out of you at a faster pace, and his tongue was now going wild on your clit. you couldn’t get enough of him.

his name left your lips over and over. your voice sounded so desperate as you got close to your climax.

“dean, dean, fuck, m’so close, oh god, dean,” you rushed out, repeating words over and over like your mouth was on autopilot. you gripped his hand and the sheets tighter as your mouth dropped open.

you let out a loud moan as your orgasm shot through you. your entire body tensed underneath of touch and he slowed his movements, riding you through the high.

you were almost certain you’d see stars if you opened your eyes. once you did, you were only met with dean’s beautiful, sparkling eyes. he was hovering over you, lightly rubbing your clit before pulling his hand away.

he brought his hand up, sucking his middle and ring fingers clean of your juices, and you shivered at his stare. his eyes were fully locked on yours. but it wasn’t seductive, it was warm. his lips curved into a smile once his fingers were out of his mouth, and he held up his index finger.

“you wanna…?” he quirked an eyebrow, holding his finger to you. you looked between him and his wet finger before nodding. you stuck your tongue out and he let you take his hand, your tongue swirling around his finger and tasting your juices for the first time.

he let out a small gasp as you sucked on his finger. your lips were so pretty, he couldn’t take it. and your tongue felt like heaven on his skin.

after your lips left his finger with a small pop, he took a moment to admire you. he took in your features, knowing that he had the privilege to be here with you at this time.

he brushed a stray hair from your face and placed his hand on your cheek. he smiled wide, having such a look of awe in his eyes.

“i really love you.” he whispered softly. you smiled with him. it was all he needed to say, because you knew he was just so lost in every damn part of you.

“you’re so perfect.” he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips, the two of you sighing into it. you rested your forehead against his.

“i really love you.” you said back, your eyes scanning his loving gaze.

he blushed and placed a quick kiss on your cheek. he then moved from his place above you, standing up from the bed.

“hey, hey, woah,” you grabbed his hand. “and where do you think you’re going?”

he looked a little confused, raising an eyebrow. “i was just gonna grab a towel… to clean you up, y’know… and i, uh, thought we could cuddle and watch a m—”

“who said we were done?” you cut him off with a playful tone.

his eyebrows shot up and a small smile played on his lips. “sweetheart… are you sure it wasn’t too much already for your first, y’know, pre-sex stuff?”

you chuckled and yanked him back toward you. he stumbled and caught himself by putting his hand on the mattress. your faces were close together and you smirked a little as you looked between his eyes and lips.

“i wanna go all the way. today.”

his eyes widened a little and he caressed your arms.

“are you sure? like, really sure?” he hesitated a little.

“i’m really sure.” you smiled genuinely and placed a hand on his cheek. you tilted your head to the side and ran your free hand down his bare chest, to his lower abdomen, til you hit the belt on his jeans, your eyes following your fingers.

you looked back up at him and saw how his breath had quickened.

“dean?” you questioned quietly. he hummed in response, still focused on your hand on his belt.

“do you wanna do this?” you asked hesitantly. his eyes shot up to yours. despite still looking nervous, he nodded eagerly. “i do. i really do.” he breathed out.

your lips curved into a soft smile and you gave him a small kiss again. he blushed and stood up straight, his fingers fiddling with the belt on his jeans.

you put your hands over his, sitting up on the bed in front of where he was standing.

“can i…?” you questioned, gently pulling his hands away. he nodded and dropped his hands to his sides, watching as you undid his belt and slid down his jeans and boxers.

he sprung free from his restraints and your eyes widened. you swallowed hard, your gaze stuck on his length. this wasn’t gonna be an easy first time, you were sure of that.

he pulled his clothes down the rest of the way, kicking them to the side.

his eyes stayed on yours, but you couldn’t pull your own eyes away from his cock.

god, he’s so big.

“y/n/n?” he asked quietly, his hands finding your face. “we really don’t have to, if you aren’t ready.” he nodded, a small smile on his lips to reassure.

your eyes went up to his. “no, no, dean… i want this.” you reassured him too, placing your hand over his on your cheek. you placed a kiss on his palm and scooted back on the bed, pulling him with you. he crawled over you as your head rested on the pillows.

he was hovering over you, taking a look over your body again as his hand ran gently up and down your side.

“i don’t have any condoms.” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“i’m on the pill, for hormones and whatnot. but… you’re gonna pull out anyway. never can be too safe.” you chuckled and he laughed with you, resting his forehead against yours.

the air grew thick around you, and the two of you tensed up in each other’s arms.

“it’s okay to be nervous,” he said softly. “i’m nervous too.”

“i know,” you smiled shyly, nodding. “but i trust you, and i wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.”

he smiled at that, leaning in to give you a soft, slow, heartfelt kiss. he took his time with you, making sure you could really feel it.

“i love you.” he breathed out against your lips. he loved saying it.

“and i love you.” you whispered back. “i’m ready when you are.” you let out a shaky exhale and spread your legs open wider for him.

he got in a comfort position and stroked his length a few times while placing small kisses on your cheek.

he led the tip of his cock along your folds, coating it in your slick, the two of your breaths picking up as he did so.

dean placed his free hand on your side, squeezing you gently as he focused solely on your face. the tip of his cock was poking at your slightly stretched entrance, and you were dripping wet.

“baby… i’m not gonna lie to you, it’s gonna hurt. just tell me if you need me to stop or slow down or anything, okay?” he ran his thumb over your skin in a soothingly manner.

“i will.” you nodded, already holding your breath.

“breathe for me.” he took a deep breath with you before slowly pushing in. your mouth dropped open and you let out a gasp as he got maybe 2 or 3 inches in.

“stop, stop, stop.” you blurted out. he went completely still, his hands rubbing your sides, hoping it would provide some comfort.

you winced and took some more breaths, slowly adjusting to it. dean grimaced at the sight of you in pain. just as he was about to ask if you wanted him to pull out, you came back to.

“okay, you can keep going… slow, please.”

“sweetheart, are you sure?”

you nodded eagerly, holding onto his shoulders to ground yourself. he nodded in understanding and started to move slowly again, pushing himself further into you.

you squeezed your eyes shut, whimpering and wincing as tears prickled at the edges of your eyes.

“you’re doing so good, y/n/n. keep breathing, baby.” he stayed close to your ear, whispering sweet nothings to you. he was more than halfway in now.

you let out a cry and he stilled again. “shhh, hey, i’m right here. talk to me.” he was growing concerned, and he wanted to stop if it was hurting you too much.

you shook your head, taking another breath.

“keep going.” you groaned after a short minute. dean went in deeper, and it felt like pressure was released. you let out a breath, your head falling back to the pillow.

dean kept himself buried deep inside you as you fully adjusted to him. he waited for your command on his next move.

your grip on his shoulders was still tight, but a lot of your tension had let go.

“okay, m’ready. you can move now.”

he nodded and slowly pulled out about halfway, before pushing back in. he watched your facial expressions to be sure you were still okay.

after a couple of slow thrusts, the pleasure started outweighing the pain. it was still a little uncomfortable physically, but it was all worth it. having this moment with dean, being able to make love to him, was a gift.

once dean knew you were okay, he picked up the pace slightly, groaning softly as his cock twitched inside of you.

“god… you feel so good. you’re so perfect. shit.” he cursed under his breath, whimpering lightly at the feeling of your cunt clenching around his cock.

you held him closer, panting and letting small moans slip every so often. your arms were draped over his shoulders, and your breaths were mixing with each thrust.

“dean,” you breathed out, you back arching into him. you wanted more now that it felt better. it hurt in a damn good way.

he chuckled breathlessly and grabbed a pillow that you hadn’t been using for your head.

“y’know that spot that i hit earlier? with my fingers?”

your pussy throbbed at the thought of it, and you held back another whine. you nodded instead, biting your tongue.

“lift your hips.”

your eyebrows furrowed and you whined as he pulled out of you, already feeling empty without him.

but you still did as he said, lifting your hips with your shaky legs. dean slid the pillow underneath, letting you rest on top of it.

“okay, so what is this gonna—?” you were immediately cut off by your own loud moan as he slammed back into you, hitting your g-spot so perfectly.

“fuck, dean!” you growled loudly. he stayed still for a moment, smiling in amusement at your reaction.

“feels good, huh?” he asked with that cocky little smirk of his, only now he was on the verge of busting out with laughter at how desperate you now looked.

“jesus christ, do it again, please.” you mumbled as you gripped the pillow behind your head. he got a firmer hold on your hips and thrusted in and out of you again.

you wanted to cry at how good it felt when he bottomed out. you squirmed to get closer to him. he couldn’t help but let a laugh slip, but that quickly faltered when you rolled your hips so deliciously against his. fuck, he was so gone.

he started to thrust in and out of you again at a steady pace, letting you adjust to the newfound pleasure before he went faster or harder. he wanted to hear that from you if you wanted it.

your free hand found his on your hip, and your fingers intertwined. he leaned forward and brought your hand up with his, pushing it into the mattress next to your head.

the two of you were face to face again, and you slid your other hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. it was messy and sloppy and the two of you laughed about it when you accidentally hit your teeth against his.

but that’s what made it so perfect.

“harder, dee…” you breathed out. you started kissing and sucking at his neck, feeling him shudder at your touch.

he grunted as he slammed into your pussy harder, feeling your walls clench around him again. to him, being inside of you was like fitting two puzzle pieces together that took forever to find. except… way better.

you had that knot again in your tummy, feeling it build with each thrust. dean noticed you squirming more, and quickly took note. he slid his hand between the two of you, finding your clit once again with ease.

he rubbed in circles at the sensitive bud as he fucked your cunt, feeling your wetness cover his cock.

you thrusted your hips up to meet his, setting a faster pace for the two of you. you could feel your second orgasm building, and you knew it was gonna feel like heaven.

“mmph, dean… you feel so good, fuck… my god…” you moaned as you scratched at his back, overwhelmed with the pleasure building up between you two.

“c’mon, sweetheart. cum on my cock… wanna feel you pulse around me…” he breathed these words out into your ear. “cum for me, y/n…” he said shakily, feeling himself get close too.

your orgasm shook your body, and the white-hot liquid pooled around dean’s cock, coating him in your delicious juices.

“fuck, that’s it, baby. you did so good…” he groaned as he felt your cunt throbbing. he helped ride you through your high, eventually pulling his hand away and gripping your hip again instead.

“y/n/n, i’m close, baby. where do you want it?” his voice was getting a little more high-pitched, and you could tell he was so close to that sweet release.

“in my mouth,” you rushed out. “wanna taste you.”

he let a moan slip at your words, his thrusts getting more sloppy.

“yeah? you wanna, or you need to?”

“need to, baby.” you breathed out, your body still shaking below him.

dean shuddered at your words again and he pulled out, the two of you groaning at the loss of being connected. once his legs were on either side of yours, you slid yourself further down the bed as he he moved up on his knees.

he was hovering over your chest, jerking himself off with his hand and cock covered in your slick. you rested your hands on his thighs, rubbing soothing circles with your thumbs as you egged him on.

“bet you’re gonna taste like heaven. m’right here, dee. cum in my mouth. i need to taste you.” he let out a breathy moan as you dropped your mouth open. your tongue was out, waiting to be covered in his load.

he groaned and threw his head back as his white-hot cum shot out into your mouth. he brought his head back to see your mouth all wide open, taking every bit until he was done. and when he was, you swallowed all of it. licking your lips and scooping up every last drop with your thumb.

his breaths came out in heavy pants and he moved from his place on top of you, flopping down next to you on the bed.

the two of you lay there, absolutely out of breath and spent, before you notice dean giggling to himself.

“what?” you turned and looked up at him, amused by his cute little giggles.

he shifted closer to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling the blanket up over the two of you.

“i just had the best sex ever with a virgin who happens to be my best friend who loves me back. and she’s not going anywhere after this.” he looked at you feigning a serious expression.

you chuckled lightly and shook your head, leaning into his chest.

“you’re right about that. she’s not going anywhere.”

this was kinda a lot longer than i meant for it to be LOL, but i hope you guys enjoyed <3

reminder that requests are open, and you can check the “in the works” section of my MASTERLIST to see what’s up next. thank you for the support!!!

[dusterbishop]

i hear you call my name (and it feels like home)

summary. || three timelines, you have watched remy lebeau die. you didn't believe you would earn a fourth chance to save him until you find a variant with no memory of his past, lost in a void of existence.

pairing. || gambit x f!reader (past relationship with current enemies-to-lovers)

count. || 6.4k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. warning for character death and violence. this is the end! thank you all for the lovely words of support, it means so much that you all loved this duo as much as i do. i have ideas of oneshots for the future, but for now, i leave you all with this!

part one. || part two. || part three. || part four.

Your ears are ringing.

Awareness floods you in slow, uneven strokes. You can hear the roar of battle buzzing through the fog in your mind, guttural screams of pain cutting through in sharp starbursts. There’s a staff in your right hand, and you spasm your grip on it, testing its weight.

It is Remy’s.

Once, that staff had been too heavy for you to properly swing around. He had watched you practice with a pained grimace for a week before he surprised you with your own to train with. The two of you were nothing more than colleagues at that point, simply two mismatched X-Men crossing paths by sheer fate. Until he had handed you your own staff, its weight balanced with delicate perfection in the palm of your hand, and showed you how to use it.

You had never told him that you only used the staff because you could see it in every timeline, a slow conversion of your fighting style across lifetimes. Not every life you lived shared Remy, but his influence still lingered at the edges, seeping in like ink. Fighting with a staff, learning to pick locks, using sleight of hand to swap items from timelines with ease. It was all an extension of your life with Remy. Just echoes, over and over, spreading out in rippling waves.

Echoes, which could never replace the thrill that sparks your attention when a blazing playing card whizzes past your ear. There’s a muffled explosion as the card makes contact with the enemy swinging for your head, and you gracefully sidestep the half-dead man that staggers into a collapsed pile at your feet.

“Watch where you goin’, mon coeur,” Gambit calls. Another whistling hum of kinetic energy, another flash of blazing purple as he throws another card and cuts down another blank faced enemy. The base that Nova commands has a strangely illusive layout, and the war-starved bodies seem like an endless, writhing thing to overcome.

Time is a limited resource, after all. You can taste it just as surely as the blood in the back of your mouth.

“Maybe I’m too distracted watching something else,” you call back. You don’t take the time to see the expression on his face, but you hear his delighted laugh before he starts slinging explosives again. It’s easy to fall into battle. Even easier while you’re wearing your old suit, and the fabric is soft and well-worn just as you remember it. The clothes you wore in the Void were fine for travel, but you felt strangely out of place last night watching Remy adjusting his coat for the upcoming battle.

You are one of the X-Men, technically. It’s been more than a lifetime since you felt like one, but you know their colors and their mission. The suit always did feel more like a formality. There is nothing that could prevent you from fighting for people who cannot protect themselves. Everyone else only has one life, and you have an infinity of them. The gold and blue of your suit is meant to inspire hope for the people you are defending, not to boast about your position, and yet Remy had stuttered mid-sentence when he turned to see you suddenly dressed in your original suit, prepared for battle.

Been a’while since Gambit seen you wit’ those colors. Though, Gambit t’inks you look better out of ‘em, too...

“Pot callin’ the kettle black,” Gambit says. He’s closer, now, as if magnetized to the orbit of your battleground. You smash the skull of a man trying to catch a cheapshot to Gambit’s ribs, and Gambit slips an explosive card into the pocket of the man’s coat for good measure. Briefly, his hand catches the curve of your elbow, brushing his fingers over the pulse-point. Even through the sleeve of your suit, you can almost feel the heat of his skin, searing bone-deep.

“Just calling it as I see it, Cajun,” you say. It doesn’t sound as breathless as you feel. Gambit still has that infuriatingly pleased look on his face, though, so you give him a half-hearted shove with a raised brow. “Save the world, remember?”

“Mais la, all bluff no play,” he complains. “S’il vous plait, mon coeur —”

Time slips.

One moment, you take the chance to catch your breath, falling all-too-easy to the lure of sparring with Remy. The next moment, you’re on the ground. There’s blood beneath you, pooling under your head, dripping from your nose and down to the hard-packed soil.

“Remy,” you choke out. Your ears are ringing with echoes of voices, though you assume it’s across timelines based on the range of emotions. You can hear crying as soul-wrenching as fresh grief, and laughing as bright as bells. It’s like picking up a landline and hearing a conversation you’re only privy to as a passing voyeur.

You blink away some of the dirt and sweat stinging your eyes. You’re still on the ground. Something weighty and warm is settled over your back, tucked into the curve of your sides. The scent of smoke and cologne curls around you as familiar as the back of your hand.

Remy draped his coat over you. You spit a wad of bloodied saliva onto the ground, grimacing at the dark thickness. How long have you been out? You don’t remember charging up to leave the timeline.

Even worse, you don’t remember going anywhere. Time may change around you, but your mind keeps itself sharp with a constant awareness. Even when you would travel time in your sleep, you knew you were moving based on the pressure changing in the air. There had been no pressure change, this time. Only standing with Gambit, teasing him in the way that blazed adrenaline through your veins. Then, it is you laying on the ground, curled up underneath his coat, tasting blood.

You blink again. You think you’re shivering, or maybe you’re trembling, because you aren’t cold. That hazy, all-consuming fever pulses across your skin in waves, burning across your every nerve. It takes effort to turn your head just a fraction, searching the scattered battlefield. You’re still in Nova’s compound. You can see Blade and Elektra distracting any enemy seeking the weaker prey, luring them away from where you lay.

It had taken two more days before you and Gambit had met back up with the resistance. Initially, you had been wary of the strange collection of mutants, reflecting their own suspicion of you back like a mirror image. Yet they had seemed relieved that Gambit was back unharmed.

Now, far past the initial skepticism of your arrival, they treat you with the same consideration they give Gambit.

Though Gambit is… the same, and yet he’s more. The way he fights is far different than the way he did during the days when you both worked with the X-Men. He doesn’t linger near the boundaries of the fight anymore. You used to breathe easier knowing he had been prowling the edges of a fight with his cards at the ready, always protecting your back.

Now, when he fights in the Void, he storms the battlefield as a raging violet-blaze tempest. You find him easily through the crowded clusters of skirmishes, his staff humming with kinetic charge. He wields a handful of cards with careful scarcity, and you know it’s because you have his coat draped over you, holding all of his extra ammo.

He is going to get himself killed.

That thought propels you into motion. Your arms tremble as you push yourself to sit up, the back of your mouth filling with blood and nauseating saliva. It hurts to breathe. It feels like there is a shard of glass lodged in your ribs, cutting up your insides. The only blood you can sense is the slow drip from your lips, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t damage you can’t see yet. Something in your being is dismantling in slow, even strokes, cast adrift from the timelines and stranded in the Void.

One of Nova’s henchmen gets too close to Remy and sideswipes him. The soft-muted grunt of pain from Remy sends a chilling lance of fear through your gut, though before you can move, Remy is already turning and taking down the enemy with a swift twirl of his staff.

They are going to kill him if you don’t get him out. You know it, and it hurts so much to move, but you push yourself to your feet with a strangled whine of frustration. Of all the times for your body to fail you, it has to be now, when Remy is exposed to an entire base of people trying to kill him.

His coat is a familiar weight over your shoulders, but that doesn’t quell the violent shiver that runs through you. Neither does it stop the sudden rush of dizzying pain, or the way you have to hunch over and spit out blood onto the dirt. No time. You don’t have any time.

“Remy,” you call out. You fumble to wipe away the blood dripping down your chin just as he turns at the sound of your voice, his face bright with relief. He doesn’t notice the blood. He moves quickly through the battlefield nonetheless, wrapping an arm over the shuddering arch of your shoulders.

“ Mon coeur,” he says, and he must see something in your face that makes him hesitate. “Enjoy your nap, chér ?”

You suck in a sharp breath. It’s always ‘chér ’ when he doesn’t know which version you are.

“Still with you, LeBeau,” you tell him. Your hand reaches up to cradle the curve of his jaw. He’s buzzing with energy beneath your touch, but it’s the simmering fire in his eyes as he gazes back at you that makes you feel set alight.

“Wanna play?” He says softly. One arm is still slung protectively over your back, but he uses his free hand to fasten his coat tighter over your shoulders, his hand lingering at the vulnerable curve of your throat. “I deal you in, mon coeur.”

You’re reluctant to let him go, so you pull him in and press a chaste kiss to his mouth. You don’t let him go deeper than that so he doesn’t taste the blood, even if there’s a savage wanting in your gut to sink deep into his embrace and never resurface. It’s not fair, you think, that you finally found him only to lose him all over again.

“Deal me in, Cajun,” you whisper to him. His fingers drop from the hollow of your collarbone to the seam of his coat sleeve, drawing a card. He flickers it between his fingers to show you his dealt hand — the ace of hearts — before it disappears into the nothingness of time. You let Remy press another kiss to your mouth, and you have to close your eyes to fight back the burn of tears. Even with your eyes closed, you can hear the hoarseness in his voice when he pulls back.

"You an' me, chér, couple'a aces, non?" 

You have to turn your head to hide a sad smile. "A matched pair."

Like that, the two of you separate. He goes into the fray of battle, the air whirring violently with charged energy, and you step back into the shadow, pulling your ace of hearts from the timeline. You have caught nothing but glimpses of Nova since you arrived, but you can feel her presence at the edges of your mind, probing for weakness. 

So you look weak. It’s easy to slouch against the wall, your breathing coming in labored pants, the sleeve of your X-Men suit streaked red with the blood you keep wiping from your chin. Hurt prey is weaker, after all. You know what she must see when she sees you so far from Remy’s orbit: an injured fawn ripened for the kill.

“Don’ ya leave now, the fun just startin’,” Remy laughs. He sweeps his staff in a wide arc, warding off the enemies crowding closer to his position, but he only has eyes for you. He’s watching you, and you know the moment she arrives by the way his eyes harden with venomous hatred.

“Indeed,” Nova says. Her presence is a sudden, harsh strike to your mind. You have to grit your teeth to muffle your shocked gasp. Her hand is lax around your throat, but you are all too aware of the hand gently caressing the back of your skull. You can hear the smile in her voice when she whispers in your ear, “I’ve never seen something like you.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” you say. The air whirs in quiet contention around you,  but you’re more focused on the card still clutched in your hand. Come on, come on...

“You’re a little wanderer, aren’t you,” she muses. She runs her fingers through the locks of your hair with gentle fingertips, and it takes all of your self control not to spasm and jolt out of her touch. You clench your empty hands tightly, instead, and try not to stare at Remy when he suddenly tucks his hand into a tight fist, purple light buzzing ravenously through the tight clench of his fingers.

“What are you doing running with the swamp rats, hm?” Nova strokes your head again. “You don’t seem like one of their merry band of misfits.”

Remy makes an indignant sound at that, and just as Nova looks to him, the light in his hand dies to nothingness.

“His name is Gambit,” you say. The playing card in your hand whirs with pitched fervor. Almost there. “Make sure you remember that.”

Time condenses to your will, and you’re looking right at Remy when the ace of hearts detonates, rippling a shockwave through you and Nova. Kinetic energy consumes you in a wildfire, burning through the flesh of your body with fervent hunger. You see the ache of distraught cross his face, and then there is only the movement of timelines shifting in place, carrying you through lifetimes, blurring the world around you into a wash of muddled watercolors.

When you blink, the world rights itself.

When you breathe in, settling back into a body escaped unharmed, you see Remy fall.

“No!” You shout. Or perhaps it is a whisper. Or perhaps it is spread across every timeline, every particle of your being spread thin and calling out in pained fury. You aren’t sure of anything except the way Remy twists, losing grip of his staff, and collapsing to the ground.

A wordless scream of rage tears through you. You can hear its echo filling the air as you yank time into a heel, drawing yourself across the expanse of the field in moments. You aren’t sure where the others are, or if Nova truly perished in the kinetic explosion as you intended. All you can see is Remy, lying in motionless rigor, and the man that took the shot that put him down.

Time scrambles in your mind, but you reach your destination faster than the man can draw his weapon at you. Your hands take his head in a vice grip, the tips of your gloved fingers digging harshly into his dirt-streaked skin.

“How dare you,” you snarl. If you had the chance, you would tear him through time until he disintegrated. You break his neck instead, the sickening crack of his bone fading from your attention the moment you feel his body slip from your grasp. You don’t manipulate time to fall to your knees by Remy’s side, but the space between movements is a blur you don’t care to investigate.

“Remy,” you half-sob. You reach out and grasp his shoulder, turning him over onto his back, and nearly sob again in relief when you see him squinting back at you with dazed annoyance.

“Lucky strike,” he mutters. Your hand flutters down to brush against his side, your heart seizing at the grimace on his face. The warmth of blood against your fingers spreads a numbness through your gut. You only press your hand firmly to the wound, gritting your teeth against the roaring fury building in your throat.

“What happened to ‘the house always wins’?” You snap at him instead. The blood is sticky and warm, and it won’t be staunched by the pressure of your hand alone. He’s going to bleed out.

“Raising the bet,” Remy grunts. There’s a sheen of sweat across his brow, but it’s the ashen pallor of his skin that makes your chest tighten with panic. God, you’re going to lose him.

“I hate you,” you whisper. You hate the Void. You hate Nova, and her violent-driven henchmen. You hate yourself, most of all, for doing this to him. For not being able to do more.

“Tha’ sounds more like love than hate, mon coeur.”

“Just playing the odds,” you bite out. He blinks at you, sluggish, and you realize exactly what you have to do. It’s the only thing you can do for him. You draw your hand back from his side and try not to gag on the smell of it permeating the air. There’s a steady puddle beneath him, soaking the knees of your suit, but you hardly feel it. You can’t feel anything at all, in fact.

Just that whirring buzz of time, and the slowly approaching footsteps of Cassandra Nova coming up behind you.

“Go ahead, Remy,” you breathe. The timeline whirs to life beneath your palms, a composed symphony to the crackling buzz of kinetic energy. You cup his face, thumbs smoothing away the dust beneath his blackened eyes, and you will him to live.

He reaches up to try and catch your wrists. There’s that furrow in his brow, again, like he’s preparing to curse you out for this. He’s a pulsing livewire of humming energy in your hands, simmering with an explosive potential. If he stays here, he will be nothing more than a husk. Dying like a goddamn hero, slaughtered like a martyr upon the altar, just to give you the chance to take down Nova.

So you imagine him at your apartment, in your bed, instead. Tucked under the blankets, his hair mussed from sleep. Figaro curled up on his chest, purring his strange rattling hum, the other two boys stretched out beside him. The world is quiet, and safe. Nothing is there to hurt him.

The timeline sings in your hands. You want to kiss him, but you don’t. Kissing him will feel like goodbye, and you don’t think you could bear the thought of it, not right now. Not before you finish taking down Nova.

Your gaze locks with his. You can see the moment he realizes that you aren’t going with him. The annoyance at being forced to take the retreat cracks out of his expression with sharp, desperate panic. His hands nearly catch you at the wrist, his fingertips brushing against the sleeve of your coat, but then he’s gone. You stare down at the dirt where he once was, fighting to keep your breathing steady. He’s safe.

At least, you tell yourself, one of you made it home.

Yet it still feels like a gaping wound in your side. You betrayed him to save him.

“Touching,” Nova remarks. You can’t bring yourself to move. You’re still kneeling in the remains of Remy’s blood when she strikes you.

The world flickers in and out of focus, spinning in rampant circles. Distantly, you’re aware of your legs kicking weakly in the air, your hands scrabbling desperately at your throat to ease the choking grip she has you in. Except she isn’t touching you, not with her hands.

No, she’s standing just out of arm's reach, smiling like a sphynx.

“I have seen so many variants,” she says idly. You’re choking on nothing, fighting the headache rending through your temples. “There’s been some Jean Grays, a few Rogues. More than a few Gambits. Many, many Deadpools.”

“And yet,” she continues. “I have never found more than one of you.”

The release of the grip she has on your throat makes you gasp out a cry, sucking in air with deep, hoarse wheezing. You hardly feel the impact of your body collapsing to the ground, too relieved in the taste of air. You rub at your throat with shaking fingers, trying to erase the feeling of her grip crushing your windpipe.

“That isn’t the strangest part, however.”

You know where this is going. You close your eyes.

“I could feel you,” she shifts closer to you, but you don’t have the energy to flinch and create distance between the two of you. “In your mind, you are nothing but fragments.”

“Wayfarer,” you whisper. It comes out in a croak, but you are far beyond caring. “I am everywhere and everything.”

“Broken,” she agrees. You open your eyes at that. She looks vindicated, as if admitting your ability has only made you weaker. You suppose, hunched over and wheezing, you don’t look as threatening as you used to during your X-Men days. You must look like nothing but bleeding prey.

Good, you think. You smile at her with bloodied teeth. “Broken things are meant to hurt, you know.”

Like shuffling a deck of cards, you let time flutter through your hands, staggering into a timeline version of yourself where you can breathe without choking. Your body follows the commands of your mind with elegant obedience.

Your hands meet their mark, and latch onto Nova tight enough to turn your knuckles pale. The pair of playing cards pressed against each of your palms sizzle with hunger where they make contact with her body.

Pain lances through your skull, exploding into brilliant light behind your eyes. You think your hands are still clutching onto Nova, but you cannot feel them. The world is bright violet, time shuffling with a charged whir. The kinetic energy ripples down your hands in great, staggering waves, a faint prickle of pain among the agony of time rendering itself apart around you.

Nova is screaming. Distantly, you feel her hands pulling at you, yanking at the lapels of Remy’s coat, hitting your face. She must be trying to delve into your mind. She cannot catch you, though. You are plummeting through every timeline, shuffling from one version of yourself to the next, then the next, then the next. Over and over. Over, and over, and over.

Shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You think you let go of her.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

No, it’s not your hands that have let go. Your arms are shuddering through time, but your hands keep locked onto her, holding her steady, burning violet. You haven’t let her go, but your body is being torn into pieces.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Nova isn’t screaming anymore.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You are.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You can’t hear it over the roaring of time rushing through you, but you can feel your throat blazing, screaming through every timeline, every version of yourself. This must be what dying feels like. It is infinite across all time. There is no other way out.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Her body dissolves with slow tendrils of violet light creeping beneath the exposed flesh, tracing whirls with the lines of her veins and arteries. It consumes her from the inside, spreading out with a meticulous, parasitic intensity.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Remy’s power consumes you, too. You see the light creep up your wrists, then your arms, then your shoulders. You can feel its warmth down to your bones. It almost feels, strangely, like it’s him hugging you. It feels like it did last night, tangled in his arms beneath the sheets, your ear pressed to his chest to listen to the rhythm of his heart.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You wonder, distantly, if his power is trying to keep your body together. The charge of kinetic energy is concentrated in your hands, but you can still feel the heat of it pooling in the pit of your stomach and scorching the back of your mouth. Remy had been dismissive when you asked him what it felt like to charge something, though you figure he had been exasperated by your own explanation of your ability. You doubt he would have known what it felt like to be torn asunder with only the kinetic lightning crackling through him.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You think about Remy, for a moment. You think about the apartment that you both signed the lease on, furnished with a thief’s eye of luxury, cluttered with the little bits of memorabilia and creature comforts you curated over the years. You think about the cats that Remy dotes on, your own cats by marriage, all curled up in their favorite spots around the two of you. You think about the couch that you had teased Remy about for the price, only for him to turn around and gloat about the amount of naps you took on it. You think about the movie nights with you two intertwined on that couch, the cats pressed into your sides, the room dim-lit and safe.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You think about how you would like to do that, again. To be able to sit on the couch with your husband and watch a movie. To be with Remy, and not be caught in this web of unraveling agony.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Like a loose thread, you unravel.

Shuffle.

It starts in your hands, with your fingertips, and it spreads from there.

Draw.

Your eyesight goes last.

Pull.

You see Remy in every lifetime, looking at you, his outline glimmering with that kinetic violet light. His mouth is moving. It almost looks like your name.

Shuffle…

Nothing comes to your mind. Everything comes into pitch black.

Shuffle…

Your hands are empty.

Shuffle…

Time is empty, now absent when it once was vast. You had been infinite, once. Like time, you had been endless.

Shuffle…

You had been lost before you knew what it felt like to be seen. You could never be sure what timeline was originally yours before you switched them. Even the smallest of details could escape your attention if you weren’t looking for it. At a certain point, you realized you had to choose a life to claim as yours and stop wandering. Even a Wayfarer needed an anchor to call home for when it was time to rest.

Draw.

You had wandered for a long time. Years, perhaps, though your physical bodies changed shape and form in ways you couldn’t predict. The face in the mirror had never been home, anyway. There were too many genetic variables to each timeline to preserve the way you looked. Your body was merely a temporary housing for your time-stepping mind. A body was not an anchor. It was simply a tool to be used and discarded.

Pull.

An anchor needs to be constant. It needs to be something that will not retreat when time grows teeth and begins to hurt. It needs to be loyal to the cause. It needs to be kind, deep down, even if the surface is skin-deep careless. It needs to make you feel safe.

It’s… warm. Soft.

You bury your face deeper into the pillow with a long, blissful sigh. You will never regret insisting that you splurge and spend the extra money on a memory foam mattress. It feels like floating in the clouds.

A soft, questioning mmrph rumbles next to your ear. It’s your only warning before a small, wet nose presses to your temple. You know it’s Oliver by the way he starts to knead at the pillow next to your head, purring a roaring chorus. There’s another weight on your legs, pinning them down, and a third is nestled into your side. Remy must be up, already, if they’re all stuck to you for warmth.

“Did your father abandon us again, boys?” You mumble sleepily. Oliver purrs louder at the sound of your voice. You can feel the weight on your legs shift, no doubt being that it’s Lucifer standing up to stretch before he starts to walk up the length of your body. He’s purring, too, though he resettles on the spot between your shoulder blades, the hum of his purr radiating across your back. Figaro doesn’t grace you with an acknowledgement, but neither does he unfurl himself from his spot next to your side.

Warm, soft, and safely nestled amongst your cats. It’s nearly heaven. You end up half-dozing back off, lulled to sleep by the purring next to your ear. You feel like you haven’t slept in a lifetime.

You don’t hear the door open, though you know something is wrong by the way Figaro leaps to attention and Oliver’s purr stutters to a stop.

When you open your eyes, it’s half-lit by the morning sun. It must be closer to noon than the time that you usually wake to train. Any trace of lingering sleep drifts away when the bedroom door creeps open with its usual squall of hinges.

You smile and twist to look over your shoulder, dislodging Lucifer despite his soft sound of discontent, and yawn, “Morning. I think.”

Remy is posed in the doorway. Your next words die in your throat as you see the look on his face, the staff still gripped tightly in his hand. He’s dressed in his usual armor, not his civilian clothing like you expected. His hair is longer, tied back carelessly from his face, flyaway strands curling around his temples. His eyes are near-black, both through his irises and the dark shadows collecting beneath them.

He looks like he has spent years surviving an apocalypse.

“Jesus, Remy,” you breathe. You’re sitting up in an instant, one hand out reaching towards him. His armor is dust-streaked and worn from battle. “Are you hurt?”

“Where’d you go, chér?” He rasps. His face is still utterly, terrifyingly still. You have never seen him at the brink of collapse like this, before. He looks like he wants to step further in the room, his hand twitching with a nervous tic of adrenaline, but he stays stock-still. Waiting for you.

“Nowhere,” you say softly. “I’ve been in bed with the boys, love.”

You have to resist the urge to spring out of bed and run your hands along his body to look for any sign of injury. You aren’t entirely sure what’s gotten into him, but if he’s hallucinating or delirious, you should probably reach out to the other X-Men. Maybe the professor would know why Remy’s in full gear and looking battle-worn at this hour. Why would he go without waking you first?

Remy wavers. He looks heartsick. “Don’ lie t’me, chér.”

“Never,” you agree. You offer the spot next to you in bed with a half-pleading, half-alluring gesture. “Come here. You look like hell, Remy.”

“You…” he starts, then stops. Abruptly, he drops his staff with a rattling thud. Within three strides, he’s in your arms, melting into your embrace. You clutch at him just as fiercely, burying your nose into the crown of his hair. He smells like smoke and dust, but there’s no indication of blood and pain. He simply sags in your grip, his breathing quick and unsteady against your collarbone. His fingers curl weakly into the back of your nightshirt, as if that’s all the strength he can muster.

He’s mumbling, even with his face pressed tightly to the curve of your throat, but you can’t make out much more than your name, over and over.

“Shh, Remy, I’m right here with you,” you whisper against his crown. With a free hand, you reach up to pull out the elastic band holding up his hair, letting it fall in uneven waves. When was the last time he took care of himself? Your Remy loved to indulge in fine-smelling soaps and lavish hair routines, surrounding himself in a luxury he earned himself. His appearance was just as much armor as his coat was. You had never been fooled by his demeanor: his weapon of charm was just as sharply honed as his weapon of playing cards.

Yet it’s the length of his hair that sours the back of your throat with nausea. You run your fingers through it, slowly massaging his scalp in the way that makes him pliant and sleepy. It’s not that you haven’t seen Remy with long hair before; it’s simply the fact that you haven’t seen him with long hair in years. Just last night, his hair had been just long enough to curl at the nape of his neck. You had run your fingers through it and mentioned a haircut, and he had been a deadweight in your lap, humming sleepily in acknowledgement.

You swallow thickly. Either this is not the same Remy you went to sleep next to the night before… or you are missing time.

“You should take a bath, love,” you murmur, gently scratching his scalp. You can feel smudged wetness on the collar of your nightshirt from tears, though he hasn’t made a sound other than a few deep, unsteady breaths. Back when you first got together during missions, the shower was the first place you two could unwind and start to sort through your fading adrenaline rush.

He pulls back from your embrace, just a little, and every word of encouragement dies in your throat at the look on his face. Rage. Betrayal.

Heartbreak.

“You been gon’ awhile, chér,” he says. It’s not an accusation, but there’s a simmering anger beneath that matter-of-fact tone. It’s always ‘chér’ when he doesn’t know which version you are. His eyes burn through you, intent on stripping you raw. You wonder what answers he could possibly expect from you. If it’s answers he wants at all, or rather an apology.

You have to offer him something.

“I —”

“Gambit go lookin’ for you,” he laughs, mirthless. “Got him spending two years lookin’ and you jus’ show up in bed. Like nothin’ happen.”

Two years. There’s a small itch in the back of your mind, like the whisper of a memory raking its claws down your back. There had been an unraveling. Utter destruction. Then it had been you here, you waking up in bed as if nothing had happened.

You blink back at him, struck speechless. You don’t have to offer a word, though, because there’s true anger in his eyes, now.

“I go to de Void,” he says. “I t’ink that’s what it was. Nothin’ left there. Dere’s no life around, hein? Mais, non, not even my wife, only the dead. Ev’rybody dead.”

 His eyes close as if he can ward away the images tormenting his memories. You’re grateful that he can’t see the way your face crumples at that. He went back for you. He had survived the wound, and he found a way back to come for you.

And he had found nothing but death.

“You’re such an idiot,” you choke out. His eyes snap open at that, but you merely cup his face in your hands and draw him in to bump your forehead against his, sucking in a shuddering breath. He is warm and alive under your touch. You didn’t think you could touch him like this again when Nova had been standing above you, prepared to tear you in shreds. “I sent you ahead, but I was coming with you.”

“We stay together,” he tells you. There’s a strain in his voice just as painful as yours, but the way he reaches up to swipe away a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb is careful. As if he’s marveling that he has the chance to touch you at all. “Mais la, don’ tell Gambit he wrote up those vows for nothin’, Mrs. LeBeau.”

“Matched pair,” you whisper back.

“Couple’a aces,” he agrees, and he kisses you just as gently as he wiped away your tears, as if you have all the time in the world.