#michaelcimino | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

angelic-vibez · 15 days ago

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#michaelcimino #loved this one #so hot

Michael Cimino | Fallen

• Genre; ( Angst, fluff, romance)

ᰔ Warning; (Heavy angst, hurt comfort, Kissing/Making out)

• Summary; He hurts her enough to fall for her.

A/n; Spent the night writing this! Let me know what you think :)

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She hated that she noticed him. She hated that no matter how many times she told herself it was ridiculous, she still found herself drawn to him. And, most of all, she hated that he had no idea—no idea how her heart would race when he walked into the room, or how her palms would sweat when their eyes met, even if it was only for a moment.

She hated the way he made her feel, the way her heart skipped whenever he said her name, even when it was laced with ridicule. But most of all, she hated the fact that beneath all the cruelty, there was still a part of her that couldn’t stop wanting him.

She still loved those chocolate brown eyes of his no matter how mean he was. How unfair it felt to be on the receiving end of his taunts all the time.

"Still reading the same book? You know, the one where the main character gets picked last for everything?" His voice was light, but the sting in his words was undeniable.

It was impossible. They would never be anything but this—enemies in a twisted game where she always lost.

In their group project, they were supposed to brainstorm ideas for their presentation, but he barely cared. He slouched in his chair, scrolling through his phone, barely acknowledging her existence.

Her on the other hand, couldn’t help herself—she got to work. She researched the topic with fervor, pulling up articles, notes, and sources, determined to do the best she could. Her mind was already racing with ideas, and as usual, she was the one who ended up carrying the weight of the project.

"You’re seriously a menace, you know that, right?" He growled, leaning forward with a scowl on his face. "You make everything harder than it has to be. You can’t just relax for once, can you?"

She blinked, surprised by his outburst. "I’m just trying to do a good job" she replied, her voice quiet but firm.

But he wasn’t having it. "You don’t get it, do you? You’re so obsessed with being perfect, with always being the best at everything, that it makes everyone else look bad. It’s exhausting. No one cares. You’re a menace to society, honestly. It’s like you think the world revolves around your stupid notes and your perfect little plans."

His words hit harder than she expected. It wasn’t the first time he had lashed out at her, but this time, his words weren’t just teasing—they were cruel, targeted. She could feel the weight of them settle on her chest, the sting of his judgment making her throat tighten.

She nodds, as if she was agreeing to his statement yet still looking down as she fiddles with the edge of her sleeves. His brows furrow with a witty smile creeping on his face in confusion.

For a second, as she looks back up somewhere and back down, he notices it. Her glistening eyes filled with tears. How her brows pull together with sorrow. Her heart felt heavy. It was the last straw. She was at the edge of her breaking point and just tipped over.

She tried to swallow, to breathe, but her throat felt tight, constricted, as if the very air had thickened around her. She fought to keep her emotions at bay. But it was a losing battle. Tears spilled silently down her cheeks. Each inhale stung at her heart as her throat burned with effort to hold back more sobs.

Michael was taken aback. His dark expression, once cold and indifferent, had softened. Something in him had shifted.

He couldn’t take back the words, but it's as if the regret burned in his chest? Almost stronger than the cruel mockery that had come so easily to him before. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his words choking him. There was no going back from this, but for the first time, he wished there was.

"Are you okay?" He asks genuinely this time, and it was clear in his voice how concerned he was. Except she didn't know. She felt as if his words were about to be followed with one of his cruel statements.

She nodded. "Im fine," she whispered, forcing a smile through the tears before she swung her bag over her shoulder and got up to leave as his wide doe eyes followed her until she was out of sight.

And just like that, she was gone.

From that day on, she was nowhere to be found. The quiet, subtle signs of her absence were like whispers in his mind, growing louder with each day. Her empty seat in class felt like a glaring reminder. He’d foud himself looking over without thinking, waiting for her. But every time, he was met with emptiness, and it gnawed at him.

Her absence slolwy pulled at the strings of his sanity, a reminder of how much he had fucked up. It was no longer just a feeling—it was a force, a hollow ache that sat deep in his chest, tightening every time he thought of her.

The room was dark, but his eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling as he laid in his bed. Each second stretched out painfully, every breath felt harder to catch. His mind replayed the memory again and again—the look on her face, how her mouth had tightened as she tried not to show her hurt, the way her eyes had shifted as though she was deciding whether to hide or turn away.

He clenched his fists on top of the blanket, struggling to steady himself, but the weight of guilt pressed down on his chest, pressing out each shallow breath. He felt himself spiraling. The darkness around him seemed to close in tighter, thickening the air, making it harder to escape the feeling that he’d crossed a line he could never uncross. What had he done?

He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to escape the image of her face, but all he could see was the hurt he'd caused, the disappointment in her eyes. It was as if he was trapped in a loop, and every time he thought it couldn’t hurt worse, it did.

A tremor went through him. He wanted to call her, to hear her voice, but he knew it would do nothing to undo what he had done. The room was too quiet, too still, amplifying his own shallow, uneven breathing. He swallowed hard, feeling a sting behind his eyes as he fought against the rush of emotion.

Michael found himself below her window, the night air cold against his skin, his heart pounding harder with each rock he tossed, hoping—praying—she would hear him. After what felt like an eternity, her face appeared, shadowed by the dim, warm glow the light. He saw her blink in confusion, her expression shifting as she took in the sight of him standing there, desperate and anxious. Her eyes softened just a little, and he seized that tiny flicker of hope.

“I’m coming up,” he called softly, not waiting for her answer.

By the time he reached her window, his hands were shaking. He climbed through, catching his breath, overwhelmed by the delicate, warm scents that filled the room. Vanilla, lavender, something he couldn’t name—it made the dim light seem softer, almost like a dream, except he was too tense for this to be a dream. His chest felt tight, his heart racing as he looked at her, feeling everything he’d been holding back rush forward in a flood.

“Baby…” The word slipped out before he could stop it. He had never called her that, but it felt so natural, so right, like the only way to capture everything he felt for her in one word. His voice cracked, trembling, and he took a step closer, his hands reaching toward her as if she were the only thing anchoring him. She took a step back.

“I messed up. I know I hurt you… I know I shouldn’t even be here, but I couldn’t just… I couldn’t just leave things like this.” His voice broke, and he swallowed hard, the panic tightening in his chest. “I—I’m so sorry. I hate myself for what I did. I’d do anything to take it back, anything to make it right. Please, just… I need you to forgive me. I need you to know how much I regret it. I’d give anything to take away your hurt…”

He wanted to kiss her, to close the space between them, but he held back, his gaze searching hers for any sign of forgiveness, for even the smallest opening that would let him know he hadn’t ruined everything.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, the cold floor beneath him, a sharp contrast to the burning desperation rising inside him.

“I—” His voice cracked, breaking on the first word. He could barely form the sentence, the words tasting like acid on his tongue, each one more difficult to say than the last. “Please… please… forgive me,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper, a broken plea in the quiet of the room.

His eyes, red-rimmed and wide with the desperation. Yet her gaze softened, but that was the last thing he needed. The softness of her look, the understanding in her eyes, only made it worse. It wasn’t what he deserved.

“You can hate me,” he whispered, almost pleading “You can blame me. I deserve it. Please, tell me I’m wrong. Don’t just say it’s okay, tell me how much you hate me” His knees buckled beneath him, and for a moment, he was unsure if he could hold himself upright.

"M-Michael" He weakens even more at how she said his name. Warm, soft hands cupped his face gently, pulling his head up, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her touch was tender, but there was no anger in her eyes, no bitterness.

He gets up and pulls her into a warm hug, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, barely able to speak, his voice muffled against her hair. He felt her hand gently trace circles on his back, a silent reassurance that he hadn’t lost her, that maybe—just maybe—he could start to make things right.

They stood there in the quiet, the candlelight flickering around them. Closing the gap between their faces, their lips met, the kiss was immediate. Their bodies moved together, hips meeting, breath becoming more ragged, as if each second was a desperate need to get closer.

His lips brushed the soft curve of her neck, warm and gentle at first, a teasing whisper of sensation against her skin. Then, with a deep breath, he pressed a little firmer, the pressure sending a shiver down her spine. His mouth moved along the delicate line of her jaw, soft kisses that deepened as his lips found the pulse point just beneath her ear. Her breath caught, a gasp escaping her lips as the heat of his mouth lingered against her sensitive skin.

As her knees weaken, his arms tighten around her waist, holding her steady.

His kisses grew more insistent, trailing slowly down toward the base of her throat, his breath warm and soft against the tender flesh. He pressed a kiss there, lingering, as his teeth grazed lightly over her skin, sending another jolt of heat through her body. She could feel the rhythm of her heartbeat beneath his lips, her pulse quickening with each gentle yet consuming kiss, as though her very body responded to him, craving the contact.

That night, with the subtle rain hitting against the window and the candle light dimly illuminating the room, she nestled deeper into his embrace. His muscular arms, strong yet gentle, wrapped around her, holding her close in a way that made her feel safe, as if nothing could harm her in this moment. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed softly, his light snores a comforting, rhythmic sound. It was like his very presence wrapped her in a cocoon of warmth.

Her fingers moved to gently trace the outline of his jaw, the roughness of his stubble beneath her touch sending a shiver down her spine. She looked up, her eyes meeting his even in the dim light of the room, and she saw the warmth in his gaze, the softness that mirrored her own feelings. Slowly, he leaned down, his lips brushing softly against her forehead, lingering there for a moment, as if savoring the simple closeness.

“I love you,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin.

She sighed contentedly, her heart swelling with affection. Lifting her face to meet his, her lips pressing against his in a tender kiss. It was slow, unhurried, like time itself had stopped to let them savor the softness, the warmth of his lips. The kiss deepened, just for a moment, a soft caress that was more about the emotion between them than the passion.

She pulled back slightly, her lips still grazing his as she whispered, “I never want to let go.”

He smiled, pulling her closer, kissing her forehead once more. "You don’t have to,” he whispered back, and they both drifted off to sleep, tangled in each other’s arms, surrounded by nothing but love, warmth, and the soothing sound of his heartbeat.

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unblogparaloschicos · 4 years ago

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TV: Love, Victor (2020)

La verdad es que sí: Simon Spier la tenía fácil. La familia del protagonista de la película “Yo soy Simón” (”Love, Simon”, 2016) era bienintencionada, cálida y compasiva. Cuando se enteraron de la homosexualidad de su hijo sólo hubo abrazos y algún pedido de perdón paterno por algún chiste potencialmente ofensivo. Casi un cuento de hadas demasiado perfecto, demasiado ideal.

No es, desde luego, lo más común, y el primer capítulo de los diez de la (por ahora) primera temporada de “Love, Victor” (Hulu) hace énfasis en este aspecto. Para empezar, la familia del protagonista, de raíces latinas y católicas, no tiene ningún prurito en demostrar lo poco que le agradan las personas gays. En ese ámbito vive Víctor Salazar (Michael Cimino), un adolescente que se muda con papá Armando (James Martínez), mamá Isabel (Ana Ortiz) y su hermanos menores, Pilar (Isabella Ferreira) y Adrián (Mateo Fernandez) por alguna razón molesta que se develará.

Ya en su primer día en Creekwood High School comenzamos a tener idea de lo que afronta cuando aparece ante sus ojos "Benji" Campbell (George Sear), un compañero de clase ya salido del closet con quien siente una especial fascinación, a pesar de que ya tiene novio. Y su confusión se acelera cuando inicia una relación con Mia Brooks (Rachel Hilson), la chica más linda del curso.

Victor tiene un gran amigo en el inefable Felix Westen (Anthony Turpel), pero a quien cuenta su experiencia, miedos e inseguridades es al mismísimo Simon Spier (Nick Robinson, también productor de la serie), quien va indicándole o simplemente acompañándole en su día a día.

Spin-off de la película “Yo soy Simón”, basada en un libro de Becky Albertalli (que aquí oficia como consultora), “Love, Victor” es una muy agradable sorpresa porque se juega con una historia creíble, muy bien contada y actuada. Algunas series sólo buscan ofrecer un buen entretenimiento, y está muy bien que así sea, pero también existen aquéllas que, como esta creación de Isaac Aptaker & Elizabeth Berger resultan ser algo más. Y se convierten en una obra indispensable y necesaria para todo adolescente que afronte una situación similar mientras busca su lugar en el mundo.

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