#shes so funny to me like i can make her say so much funny shit on these

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

im STUDYINGGGG AGAIN hahaha and i decided to read ⬇️

You were pregnant.How could this happen? How the fuck could this happen?

so u see… there’s this bird and this bee…

You weren't going to cry. You couldn’t. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you physically couldn’t. Not with your makeup done so carefully. Your eyes were lined so meticulously, your foundation blended like a dream, your lips painted in that bold red everyone said you pulled off effortlessly. You couldn’t afford to let your mascara run. He wasn’t worth it.

why r u lowkey funny 😭 girly is going through it but she can’t cry bc she needs to keep her makeup intact is hilarious to me

Ruthie? That girl was giving everyone her signature snake sneer. Of course she was. The bitch had this superpower of sensing everyone's business before they even knew it themselves.

WHAT IF RUTHIE KNOWS

That would be so him, though.

oh my god

You did out without even thinking, grabbing Topper’s ear between two manicured fingers like you were his mom dragging him out of Sunday school, pulling him away.

like i said she’s FUNNNYYYY

But why did it hurt? Perhaps a small part of you wanted him to show up—just to see you, just to care. The other part, however, didn’t. You didn’t want him anywhere near you, or this… this thing inside you.

okokokok i love that she's hypocritical because all her motives makes sense and the sense of flow is so perfectly-paced it makes me wanna scream

They were trying to get you to admit you didn’t invite him. Well, they’d have to try harder. You’d been swimming around sharks since you were born, no one was going to fuck you over so easily.

Then, in the corner of your eye, you saw him.Rafe. 

a GUN

You stood taller, and forced a smile, but as you started to step down from the stage, you felt it.

THIS BITCH

“Can we just—” he was practically jogging after you, his voice strained. “Can we talk like fucking adults?”

im actually shaking

He ran a hand through his buzzed hair, the same agitated motion you’d seen a thousand times as if he was trying to smooth out the mess in his head.

this motion is so him too

He wasn’t apologizing for ghosting you. He wasn’t apologizing for her. 

WHAT IF SHE TOLD HIM TO APOLOGIZE

He stepped closer, looming over you now, his lips curling into that sneer. “I’m trying to give you a chance to be friends—”Give you? Like you were some charity case to him? As if you should be thankful.

i would be literally committing mass murders rn

You told him the truth and now it had become the scar he wouldn’t stop picking at. He was hurt. And he was angry, because you’d finally told him the truth about his dad, and it shattered that fake picture he had in his head. 

literally get a grip

“You don’t get to talk about him like that,” he growled, stepping forward. “That’s why we broke up. Because you don’t fucking get it.”

bro idolizes his dad wayyy too much

You shook your head, “No, we broke up because you didn’t like me telling the truth. Your dad was a piece of shit, and you know it.”

i love her so much

Rafe pulled at the back of his neck again, looking like he might’ve ground his teeth to dust. “Oh, I get it now,” he says, his voice thick with condescension. “You’re jealous.”

there would be nothing but god stopping me from murdering this man

“Jealous?” you repeated, in disbelief. “Of your little pogue girlfriend? Please, fucking spare me. You want me to throw a penny at her?”

she’s so bitchy i love her

He stepped closer, his breath quickening. "She’s real, okay? She’s not some polished barbie pretending in front of everyone, just to fall apart behind closed doors."

TOPPER HAND ME A GLOCK

"Real huh?" You scoffed, the bitterness in your chest taking over. "Is that what you call it? Someone who doesn’t know the difference between caviar and fucking canned tuna? That’s the 'real' you’ve been slumming it with?"

she's actually so real

"Is that a joke? You spend so much time trying to be your father, you’ve lost yourself. Do you think I don’t see it? You’re so fucking empty without his approval,” Your voice dipped lower, “You’re so pathetic it’s almost sad."

TELL HIM GIRLY POP

He said it so casually, so carelessly, as if it hadn’t ripped you apart. It was the way he said it, with that hint of affection, like she was this delicate, shiny little thing he was protecting, and you—you—were just a threat he had to deal with.

he likes SOFIA makes me wanna scream

"I'll drag the fucking Pope into this if I have to.”

i read this as pope heyward and went LEAVE MY MAN POPE OUT OF THIS

Once again, you pondered telling her everything—about breaking down and spilling every ugly detail. But that would make it real.

i wish she DID OHMYGOD

💌 — the visceral anger i feel for rafe right now makes me wanna register for a gun. also also, their fight that cuts so deep because they know each other so well is done to PERFECTION and not only that, i LOVE LOVE LOVE how you can follow reader's train of thoughts—so even if she's hypocritical in her response, it makes perfect sense. lastly, rafe has the fucking audacity i would've slapped him so hard he would've saw his dad ok done

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - THREE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x Sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy, of abortion, health risks & death.

Two lines.

Two bold, definitive lines.

You blinked. Once, twice, but it didn’t change. It wasn’t going away. 

Two lines, clear as fucking day, staring back at you like they were taunting you.

The universe was laughing right in your face. You felt everything plummet to the very bottom of the earth—the room, the floor, your stomach—it all just plummeted, like you’d been pushed off a cliff with no warning.

The test fell from your grip, clattering onto the marble countertop, but you didn’t care. You backed away from it like it was something radioactive, something dangerous that could destroy you if you got too close. But it already had, hadn’t it?

You were pregnant.How could this happen? How the fuck could this happen?

You knew how, obviously. You weren’t that dumb. All you could see in your head was Rafe’s stupid fucking face. His name alone made you want to punch something, preferably his balls. 

You were pregnant? With his kid? You were so careful with your life, with your image. 

You could feel the resentment rise in your throat again, the taste of acid making you want to scream. He didn’t get to do this to you. He couldn’t ruin your life twice, fuck you up this bad and then just leave. You wanted to hate him. You did hate him. You hated it. And worse, you hated yourself.

There you were, stuck with this. Alone with a baby you didn’t even want to think about. The thought of it growing inside you—of carrying some piece of him, some reminder of everything he put you through these past two months—it was loathsome. He wasn’t part of this, not anymore. And you weren’t that girl—you didn’t want to be. You weren’t the one who begged for him to care, who waited around for him to come to his senses, who made excuses.

You weren't going to cry. You couldn’t. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you physically couldn’t. Not with your makeup done so carefully. Your eyes were lined so meticulously, your foundation blended like a dream, your lips painted in that bold red everyone said you pulled off effortlessly. You couldn’t afford to let your mascara run. He wasn’t worth it.

You weren’t going to ruin all that hard work over him again. No way.

You pressed a tissue to your eyes—not to cry, but to catch the stray moisture that threatened to ruin your eyeliner—and took a deep breath. You smoothed your dress, and made sure everything was in place. 

You didn’t have time to figure it out, or wallow, or throw shit around. You straightened your back, lifted your chin, and forced yourself to feel nothing. 

Not the panic, not the nausea, not the rage. Nothing. 

You could push it all down, shove it into that deep hellish place in your guts where you put everything else. Later, maybe you’d have to let it out.  

Just as you were spiraling deeper into the pit, there was a knock on the door. Loud. It made you jump, pulling you out of your head for just a second.

“Hey!” It was Lily, her voice bright, oblivious. “It’s time. We need you out there. You’ve got like three minutes.”

Right. You wanted to laugh at how ridiculous this was.

You stepped out of the room, every movement rehearsed, the smile expertly placed on your lips. You were a master at this—faking it, pretending like nothing in the world could touch you.  Not after seeing those two fucking lines.

Your heels clicked on the floor as you walked through the hallway, down the steps, and into the ballroom. It was filled with kooks being kooks. Fake smiles, fake compliments, fake friendships. You weren’t even listening to a word anyone said to you.

“Hi, darling, you look stunning as always,” someone said, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek. You smiled, said thank you, maybe even added a you too, but you couldn’t hear yourself. Your body knew exactly what to do at these things. 

Pretend like you gave a shit.

“Your dad would be so proud,” another woman gushed, and you wanted to throw up. You laughed. 

If he knew what was happening. Pregnant? By a man who didn’t put a ring on your finger?

And there they were, of course—Topper, Kelce and Ruthie, standing in the middle of it all, grinning like idiots. Well, Topper grinning like an idiot.

Ruthie? That girl was giving everyone her signature snake sneer. Of course she was. The bitch had this superpower of sensing everyone's business before they even knew it themselves.

A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne flutes, and you reached out instinctively, but the waiter, somehow, just missed you. The tray floated right past, and before you could even realize the fact that you didn’t have a drink in your hand, her eyes were on you.

“Oh, you're not drinking?” she asked, voice dripping with fake concern. Her eyes flickered, like she knew something, and you swear to god, your eyelid twitched.

“Not yet,” you replied with the same faux smile.

Ruthie just kept watching you with those too-knowing eyes, like she was looking for a crack, some little tell. Because she always did.

You had to be so careful around her.

One wrong move, one second, and she’d be all over it, spreading it around the entire town before you even had a chance to breathe.

Your cousin, completely oblivious, was babbling with Kelce about something—probably golf, or the new boat his dad bought, or some other thing you couldn’t care less about. You nodded along, pretending to listen, but you were mentally still in the bathroom, staring at those two lines.

“So, you invited Rafe?” Kelce said it like it was nothing, like bringing up your ex-boyfriend was the most casual thing in the world.

“What the actual fuck did you just say?” You all but growled out, enough to make him choke on his champagne.

He looked genuinely confused, as if he didn’t just mention the one person you’d rather hurl off a bridge at the moment. “Yeah, Rafe. He’s on the list, right?”

Your whole body went rigid. You blinked, trying to keep your face from giving anything away, but inside? You were dying. Ruthie’s eyebrows shot up—oh great, now you had her attention too.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Kelce, of course, had the nerve to chuckle. 

If Rafe had spoken to them about being taken off the guest list, you’d lose it. The insolence of him mentioning your name—like he still had any right to talk about you? He should’ve buried the memory of you right along with whatever feelings he claimed to have had.

But then, if he hadn’t said a word about it to his best friends—that meant something worse. That meant he didn’t care. He was over it. Over you. 

He hadn’t even bothered to tell them that he wasn’t coming to the gala because he wasn’t thinking about it. Or about you. 

You hated either possibility. 

Kelce like the asshole he was, "I thought you two were—"

"Don't." You cut him off so fast, so hard, he had to take a step back. 

You wanted to grab Top by his clueless shoulders and demand answers. Did Rafe care? Was he coming tonight? You didn’t like any option—every scenario made you want to get on a plane to the other side of the world.  If he was planning to show up despite being cut from the list…Shit, what would you even do? You could feel the headache starting already. 

That would be so him, though.

The arrogance. The entitlement, ignoring boundaries because he never thought the rules applied to him.

Ruthie, of course, was still watching you like a hawk. Her eyes darted between you and Topper, and you could practically feel her mind working, trying to piece together whatever she thought she was seeing. She loved this. She lived for other people’s drama, and you knew she’d sniff out anything that didn’t look flawless.

You did out without even thinking, grabbing Topper’s ear between two manicured fingers like you were his mom dragging him out of Sunday school, pulling him away.

"Ow, Jesus—what the hell?!" he yelped, stumbling to keep up with you in his shiny loafers as you all but hauled him into the nearest corner of the ballroom, out of sight, but still within earshot of the crowd. 

You didn’t care. Let someone see. Let them all see.

You turned to him, barely letting go of his ear, your nails tapping impatiently against your crossed arms. He looked at you like you’d lost your mind, and maybe you had.

“Spill it.”

He was still rubbing his ear. “What are you talking about?”

“Rafe,” you snapped, eyes narrowing. “Is he coming tonight? And don’t you dare lie to me, Top.”

He gulped. Actually gulped. You swore you could see the gears turning in that pretty, empty head of his, trying to figure out if he could weasel his way out of this.

“I— I don’t know, okay?” Topper stammered, running a hand through his hair. “I haven’t talked to him today, but I figured… I mean, he always comes to these things, so I assumed—"

That meant Rafe didn’t tell him. That your little stunt hadn’t phased him in the slightest. 

“You assumed?” You leaned in closer, eyes burning holes into his skull. “After everything, you thought it was a good idea to just assume he’d show up and not even bother telling me?”

“I can’t put him on a leash!” His voice rose defensively, eyes wide like he was the one under attack. And yeah, maybe he was. Maybe you’d gone full psycho mode. Rafe always turned you into this—this furious, spiraling, out-of-control version of yourself.

Your cousin was just collateral damage.

“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe someone should.”  You said it slowly like you were explaining something to a child. “Do you even know what it’s like?” you hissed, leaning in closer, your voice dropping , “To sit here, wondering if he’s gonna show up like some ticking time bomb?”

Topper’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

He didn’t know shit about what you were going through. How could he? He wasn’t the one with a whole life-changing secret burning a hole in his brain, wondering if the father of the child growing inside him was going to ruin everything—again.

“I—I didn’t think it was that serious,” Topper stammered, hands flying up in surrender. “I mean, he’s always been a dick, but—”

You remember the first thing he texted you after weeks of radio silence.

“No,” you interrupted, “He’s more than just a dick. He’s—” You stopped yourself before you said too much. God, you were on the edge, and you needed to rein it in. 

Topper, still looking like a kicked puppy, shifted on his feet. 

“Look, I’ll text him. I’ll ask if he’s coming or not, okay?” He pulled out his phone, typing something quickly. You watched him, arms crossed, tapping your foot against the marble floor like your life depended on it.  If you saw his face—his stupid, beautiful, infuriating face—you didn’t know what you’d do. 

Punch him? Scream? Run? The thought of him being here, so close, when you hadn’t even processed what was happening to you…

“Okay, he says—” He paused, squinting at his screen, “he’s not coming.”

The relief. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, shoulders sagging for just a second before you caught yourself. He’s not coming.

But why did it hurt? Perhaps a small part of you wanted him to show up—just to see you, just to care. The other part, however, didn’t. You didn’t want him anywhere near you, or this... this thing inside you.

“See?” Topper said, holding up his phone like it was some peace offering. “He’s not coming. Crisis averted.” He gave you this awkward, nervous smile, like he thought you might hit him again.

You forced a laugh, even though nothing about this was funny.

“Great. Awesome. Perfect,” you said through gritted teeth simultaneously smoothing your dress, and pushing your hair back over your shoulder, “Thanks, Top. Really. You’re a real lifesaver.”

He looked at you like he wasn’t sure if you were being sarcastic or not, but you didn’t care. The moment was over. You’d survived. 

You rolled your eyes as you turned away heading back toward your original group. Of course, Ruthie was still standing there her arms crossed, that smug little smirk on her face. She’d been watching the whole thing, no doubt about it. 

You could feel her nosy ass dissecting every single move you made. 

“He’s not here yet,” she hummed, her eyes narrowing just enough to piss you off. “Weird, right? Maybe he’s busy with Sofia.”

Of course, she brought up that fucking name. 

She was sniffing out blood in the water, as if she wasn’t just another Sarah Cameron knock-off. You could already picture it—the headlines, the whispers spreading through the audience, everyone talking about you. The legacy who ruined her own gala.

Kelce snorted, not even bothering to hide his amusement, because of course he thought this was all a joke. He never got it. None of them did.

You wished, for just a second, that you weren’t born into this pristine, high-society life. You felt so smothered by these expectations. If you were anyone else, if you weren’t some debutante raised on champagne and etiquette, you’d have punched her right there. You’d have knocked her straight to the floor and wiped that pretentious smile off her face with blood in front of every stuck-up rich asshole in the room. 

“I didn’t realize we were talking about her,” you said, voice like sugar, even though you knew Ruthie could sense the underlying warning in it,“But thanks, Ruthie, for always keeping me updated on things that don’t concern you.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t back down yet.

“Just making conversation. I mean, it is weird that he hasn’t shown up yet, right? Considering how close you two used to be. I’m sure it’s nothing, though.”

Kelce, that asshole, leaned in, "Come on, don't act like you’re over it." His eyes glanced down to your hand. "You’re shaking."

You were. You hadn’t even noticed.

But instead of acknowledging it, you shot him a look that could've killed. "Fuck off, Kelce."

They were trying to get you to admit you didn’t invite him. Well, they’d have to try harder. You’d been swimming around sharks since you were born, no one was going to fuck you over so easily.

“Uh-huh,” Ruthie said, not buying a word of it. Her eyes flicked between you and Topper, and you knew what she was doing. She was fishing. “You sure about that? You were giving him a look.”

You glanced at your cousin, who was still rubbing his ear like a toddler. “Just sorting out some... logistics for the gala,” you said, voice saccharine, but it felt like chewing on glass. “It’s nothing. Really.”

She arched a brow, her lips curling up in a knowing grin. She knew something was off. She always did. “Right,” she said slowly, drawing the word out like she was savoring it. “Because for a second there, it looked like you were about to explode.”

She was monitoring you so closely, you could feel it crawling up your skin.

“You know,” she sighed, like she cared. “If something’s going on you can tell me. I won’t say a word.”

That was rich. Ruthie, keeping a secret? You’d sooner trust a thief with your jewelry.  “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” you said, not keeping the sarcasm out of your voice. “But trust me, there’s nothing to tell.”

Ruthie’s pursed her lips, annoyed that she hadn’t managed to dig anything up, “Are you—”

You were two seconds away from shoving her into the nearest fountain. But instead, you took a deep breath, “You should worry less about me,” you advised her, “and more about that atrocious dress you’re wearing.”

The smile fell off her face so fast, it was glorious.

You didn’t wait for her to recover. You turned on your heel, and grabbed Topper by the arm.

As soon as you were far enough away, he let out a breath he’d been holding. “Jesus, I thought you were gonna deck her.”

You grinned, but there was no warmth in it. “I still might.”

He sighed, “She’s still my girlfriend.”

“Yeah, downgrading seems like a thing for you boys.”

Like a guardian angel sent from above, Lily appeared, stepping between you two with a concerned expression.

“Hey, hey,” she interrupted, glancing between you, “What was that about?”

You could see the caution in her eyes. She wasn’t stupid—Lily knew things between you and Rafe had been rocky, and she’d probably been sensing the tension the entire night. But right now, she was doing her best to defuse the earlier situation before it got any worse.

“Nothin’, just Ruthie being herself,” You dismissed, as you grabbed onto her forearm, “Let’s go.”

Lily blinked, startled by your urgency, but she didn’t argue. “Yeah, we should head backstage, the speech is coming up.”

“Bye Top. Stay the fuck away from the chocolate fountain.”

You could hear him whine in the back, ���I did that shit once!”

Lily pulled you along through the ballroom, her arm linked with yours, quickening her pace to keep up with you as you nearly bolted toward the back of the venue. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you bit out, though your voice didn’t even convince you. “I’m fine. I just need to get this speech over with.”

“Uh-huh,” She replied, clearly not convinced, but smart enough to drop it for now. “You got it, don’t worry.”

Finally, you made it to the side entrance that led backstage. The thick drapes and low lighting created a shield, giving you a small moment of privacy before the world demanded your attention again. 

Lily stood next to you, gently touching your arm, “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. We can stall, or—”

“I have to,” you stopped her, rubbing a hand over your face, “I can’t—” You didn’t finish your sentence because you didn’t know how to say it. You had no choice.

Lily’s fingers squeezed your arm a little tighter. “Okay,” she said quietly, nodding. “But I’m here if you need me.”

You forced a smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks,” you whispered, even though the words felt hollow in your mouth.

You appreciated her being here, really, but she was blissfully unaware of the pregnancy test in the trash can. 

Taking a deep breath, you adjusted your posture, straightened your dress, and ran a hand through your hair, reminding yourself that you’d been here before. You’d stood on that stage so many times.

This wasn’t new. You just had to get through it. 

One more speech. One more night. You glanced at Lily, gave her a quick nod, and stepped through the final curtain. Back into the spotlight. Back into the role you’d perfected so well—put together, poised, untouchable.

The low murmur of the gathering hummed in your ears, growing louder with every second. You weren’t ready. You were never going to be ready.

You just needed to remember how to breathe.

The speech was printed and sitting in your hands, it felt like dead weight. You hadn’t even read through it since you’d finished it hours ago, and now, the thought of standing in front of all those people, pretending to have it together—it felt impossible.

Then, in the corner of your eye, you saw him.

Rafe. 

He said he wasn’t coming. Topper said he wasn’t coming. But there he was, standing there, watching you just like he always had. 

You hadn’t even meant to look. You didn’t do it on purpose, perhaps it was muscle memory, always searching for him. He was standing in the same spot he usually took. Like nothing had changed.

As if he hadn’t ripped you apart.

You tried to focus, but your heart was racing, thundering in your ears. 

How dare he? How fucking dare he? Instantly you were back there, that messy, intoxicating space you swore you’d never return to. The one where he controlled the air you breathed. He looked so good. Too good, really. He was wearing a crisp navy suit that hugged his frame perfectly, hair buzzed again. 

You should’ve guessed he’d find a way back here, even after everything. 

“Are you ready?” Lily whispered beside you, her voice pulling you back from the brink of a breakdown. 

“Yeah.”

Your heart raced as you forced yourself to look back at Rafe.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even pretending to look interested. He just stood there, his eyes locked on you, unreadable, unfathomable.

He was still watching you. It felt like could see through your polished exterior. He probably did. He knew you better than anyone else. You wondered what he saw—the confident girl who had always pulled off these events with ease or the terrified woman who was about to pass out from the pressure.

Then, he’s lips lifted slightly. That infuriating, devil-may-care almost there smirk that had made your heart stutter long before everything went to hell. It reminded you of nights spent tangled in sheets, whispers pressed against your skin under the cover of darkness, moments that felt like they belonged in a dream.

You wanted to throw the speech away and storm off the stage, leaving this whole night behind.

Instead, you cleared your throat and gripped the edges of the podium, the cool wood bringing you back to the world. 

The words were on the paper in front of you, but you didn’t need to look at them. You knew the speech by heart every year.  You’d written it yourself, after all—crafted it with care, knowing exactly what people needed to hear to make their checks bigger, to keep your father’s legacy alive.

It was just a matter of saying it without breaking.

A deep breath, and then you began.

“Good evening, everyone. Thank you so much for being here tonight.”

Your voice sounded better than what you felt, and you leaned into that, letting it carry you through the first few lines.

“We gather here every year for the same reason—to celebrate the incredible work this foundation does, and to honor the legacy of those who came before us. This foundation isn’t just a charity; it’s a tribute. A way to remember those we’ve lost and to carry their dreams forward. It’s about giving back to a community that gave so much to us.”

You paused, just for a moment, glancing down at the speech in your hands, feeling the overwhelming crush of what you’re about to say next.

“For me, this has always been personal.” Your voice softened as you continued, “Most of you are aware I lost my family a few years ago. My father started this foundation. His vision was always to make sure that no one was left behind, that we take care of our own. My mother helped build it. And my sister…” You hesitated, remembering how faultless she’d been, “She was always the heart of it.”

The room was utterly still now, everyone listening intently. 

“Tonight, as I stand here, I can’t help but think about how proud they would be of what we’ve accomplished. At least, I hope they’d be proud.”

You allowed yourself a small, bittersweet smile.

“My dad would’ve been in his element, making sure everything was spotless. And my mom, well, she’d probably tell me that the curtains were horrid and needed to be replaced immediately.”

The crowd gave a light laugh, the tension in the room dissipating just a little. You smiled, a real one this time, for the first time in weeks, picturing your mother in her no-nonsense way, criticizing every decoration like it was the most important thing in the world.

“I miss them every day,” you added, “And I’m certain I’m not the only one in this room who’s experienced that kind of loss. It changes you. But it also reminds you to live in a way that makes them proud. And that’s what tonight is about, continuing their work, continuing their legacy, and making sure we do right by them.”

Your grip on the podium loosened, and you looked up, making eye contact with the audience. 

“So, to everyone here tonight—thank you. Thank you for believing in this cause. Thank you for your generosity, your support, and your kindness. And thank you for helping me keep their memory alive.”

With that, you stepped back from the podium, the applause swelling around you, but all you could hear was the sound of your heart breaking.

It was over. You did it.

Automatically, your eyes flickered up toward the back corner, the spot where Rafe was standing. You never needed to look before; you’d always just known he’d be there. It was his silent promise to you since you were sixteen. Every gala, every speech—no matter what happened between the two of you—he was there.

But he wasn’t there anymore. The space was empty.  

This was what you wanted, you didn’t need him anymore. You were going to get through this on your own. It was the first time he wasn’t there to catch you like he’d always been.

You stood taller, and forced a smile, but as you started to step down from the stage, you felt it.

That stupid fucking warmth. 

His hand found your elbow as you and every nerve in your body screamed bloody murder. The applause was still buzzing in your ears, cameras flashing—none of it registered.

All you saw was him.

Three seconds. That was how close you were to snapping. Who the fuck let him in?

You yanked your arm away, the touch burning your skin like it was staining you. You didn’t say a word—just turned and headed straight for the back exit.

Behind you, you heard his footsteps.

Of course, he never knew when to stop, when to let you breathe.

“Can we just—” he was practically jogging after you, his voice strained. “Can we talk like fucking adults?”

You were already halfway down the hall, pulling off your earrings as you stormed toward your suite.

The fucking sheer audacity of this man. You couldn’t even process it—how he could stand there, with his fake-ass calm tone, chasing after you like you were the one being unreasonable.

You threw open the door to the suite you got ready in, the one that was supposed to be your sanctuary for the night and stepped inside, not bothering to close it behind you; you knew he was going to follow you in any way.

He was relentless like that.

You tossed the earrings onto the vanity and glanced up to see he was right behind you now, lingering in the doorway, as if unsure of how much further he could push before you exploded.

He looked at you like he was the victim in all this.

“Can you at least listen to me for a second?” It sounded like he was forcing himself to stay calm.

But that bite was so Rafe.

You spun around, your breath coming out harsh.

“Listen to you? Listen to you? You’ve got to be out of your fucking mind.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but you were already pulling off your heels, the sharp tug at the straps doing nothing to calm your frustration.

He stood there, his eyes on you, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him for more than a second without feeling the betrayal flooding your chest.

Rafe was rubbing the back of his neck in that agitated way he did when he was frustrated.  “I came here because I didn’t want to leave things like that. I thought we could be civil—”

“Civil?” You nearly laughed, “You seriously think you can walk in here and be civil after everything?”

His eyes narrowed just a fraction. He moved on his feet, stepping further into the room, and you saw it—the way he rolled his shoulders like he was already preparing himself for a fight.  “I came to apologize.”

He ran a hand through his buzzed hair, the same agitated motion you’d seen a thousand times as if he was trying to smooth out the mess in his head.

Your hands stopped mid-motion, your necklace halfway off. You looked at him like he’d lost his mind. "Apologize for what, exactly?" 

“For calling you dramatic.” He exhaled like he was doing something noble by saying it. As if he was doing you a favor. “For that text. I was drunk, didn’t mean it.”

He wasn’t apologizing for ghosting you. He wasn’t apologizing for her. 

You stared at him, completely floored. He was serious, he thought this was some kind of peace offering. The fact that he thought an apology for that would fix anything? Insane.

“You think this is about that?” You cackled, chucking one shoe to the side, not caring where it landed, and the other followed right after. “Oh my god, Rafe, you are so fucking clueless.”

His expression changed then, brows furrowed, “I’m trying to make things right,” he mutters. “I don’t want you out of my life, okay?”

You threw the necklace somewhere on the ground, your patience gone. “You were the one who pushed me away. You don’t get to waltz in here and act like we can just fix things because you finally feel bad about it.”

He stepped closer, looming over you now, his lips curling into that sneer. “I’m trying to give you a chance to be friends—”

Give you? Like you were some charity case to him? As if you should be thankful.

“I don’t want to be your friend!” You growled in his face, stepping forward and jabbing your finger into his chest,  “I’d rather set myself on fire than be your friend, so you can take that chance and shove it up your ass.”

His hand came up to run along his head again, and you saw the way his fingers curled into his scalp like he was trying not to give in to his impulsive thoughts. His breathing was heavier now, too, chest rising and falling quickly.  

“Why are you being so difficult?” he snapped, and there it was—the familiar, accusatory edge in his voice. “After what you said about my dad—”

The reason.

The thing that broke you two this time, the thing he’d been holding over your head. You saw the hurt in his eyes, the one thing he hadn’t let go of.

You told him the truth and now it had become the scar he wouldn’t stop picking at. He was hurt. And he was angry, because you’d finally told him the truth about his dad, and it shattered that fake picture he had in his head. 

“You’re gonna bring that up right now?” Your voice was so quiet it nearly scared you. “After all the shit you’ve put me through, that’s what you’re mad about?”

“You don’t get to talk about him like that,” he growled, stepping forward. “That’s why we broke up. Because you don’t fucking get it.”

But Sofia did, right? 

That was fucking hilarious. She didn’t grow up listening to Ward’s bullshit. Didn’t see the kind of things he’d say or did to his oldest child. 

Of course, she would take his side. She didn’t know better. 

You shook your head, “No, we broke up because you didn’t like me telling the truth. Your dad was a piece of shit, and you know it.”

For a moment, the air went deadly still between you. You could sense his hurt, the way it sneaked between every bitter word.

Then, he did it—the thing you knew he would, that thing that made your blood boil. 

Rafe pulled at the back of his neck again, looking like he might’ve ground his teeth to dust. “Oh, I get it now,” he says, his voice thick with condescension. “You’re jealous.”

Your whole body went borderline rigid, like a door, locked in place.

He was standing there, offering you friendship like a pity prize, calling you jealous when you were standing there broken, trying not to fall apart because of him.

“Jealous?” you repeated, in disbelief. “Of your little pogue girlfriend? Please, fucking spare me. You want me to throw a penny at her?”

He stepped closer, his breath quickening. "She’s real, okay? She’s not some polished barbie pretending in front of everyone, just to fall apart behind closed doors."

Ouch. But you could do worse. 

"Real huh?" You scoffed, the bitterness in your chest taking over. "Is that what you call it? Someone who doesn’t know the difference between caviar and fucking canned tuna? That’s the 'real' you’ve been slumming it with?"

"At least she doesn’t care about any of this," he snapped, gesturing to the glittering gala that surrounded you both. "She’s not obsessed with keeping up appearances.”

A cold laugh escaped your lips. He must’ve forgotten to look in the mirror today.

"God, you’re so delusional. Do you think I wanted any of this?” You shot him a look that could cut through steel. "I’m not the one faking it. You are. You are still so desperate for Daddy’s approval that you can’t even see what a fucking mess you are."

Rafe's hands flexed at his sides, his fingers twitching. His nostrils flared, and he tilted his head to the side, running his tongue over his teeth like he always did when he was trying to stay calm.”

"I’m not afraid of who I am," His lips barely moved as he spoke, rolling his shoulders back again, standing to his full height. "You spend so much time trying to be perfect, you don’t even know who you are anymore."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin, like a predator sizing you up, his eyes locked on yours. You could see his jaw clench, his chest rising and falling with every shallow breath as he tried to keep his composure.

You took a step closer, your chest brushing against his, your heart pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears. His gaze flicked downward, scanning your face.

"Is that a joke? You spend so much time trying to be your father, you’ve lost yourself. Do you think I don’t see it? You’re so fucking empty without his approval,” Your voice dipped lower, “You’re so pathetic it’s almost sad."

He clenched his jaw again, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He took a sharp breath through his nose, staring you down with a look that was all Rafe—volatile, unreadable, on the edge of breaking.

Right then and there, Lily burst into the room, her wide eyes taking in the scene like a bomb had just gone off.

"Okay! What is going on in here?" she demanded, her voice sharp but layered with concern. “I could hear you two in the hallway. If something happened, this is not the place to deal with it.”

 “You wanna know what happened, Lily?” you started, almost laughing with disbelief. “This motherfucker started seeing someone behind my back. Two months—two fucking months—with no real closure, no answers. And he’s off fucking some pogue.”

“It’s not like that,” He scoffed, pointing a finger in your direction as he took a few steps back, "Don't drag Sofia into this.”

His posture screamed defensiveness, and all you could think was how much you hated the way he said her name. It made you want to throw up, it felt like someone was taking a rusty nail and dragging it down your spine. 

He said it so casually, so carelessly, as if it hadn’t ripped you apart. It was the way he said it, with that hint of affection, like she was this delicate, shiny little thing he was protecting, and you—you—were just a threat he had to deal with.

"I'll drag the fucking Pope into this if I have to.”

You were the one who had been there through all his bullshit, you were the one who held him together when everything in his life was falling apart. Now, suddenly, she was the one he spoke about softly. Like she mattered.

It was insulting. 

“Guys!”

Lily stepped between you both, throwing her hands up as if she were separating two wild animals about to rip each other apart.

“Please, please calm down. Rafe, I think you should leave. Now."

He looked like he wanted to say more, you knew he had a million things screaming at him beneath the surface, but for once, he stayed silent. Maybe it was the fact that Lily was there, or maybe he finally realized you weren’t going to bite into his bullshit excuses and provocations.

Whatever it was, he took a step back, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, storming past Lily and out of the room.

You could hear the distant sound of the door slamming as he left.

The moment he was gone, you felt your breath coming out in shallow gasps. Your heart dropped to your stomach, your pulse racing.

Lily turned to you; her face full of concern. She reached out and grabbed your shoulders gently.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice soothing, “Breathe. Just breathe.”

You pressed a hand to your chest, your breath hitching. Pregnant. You were pregnant with his kid, and this was what you got in return.

No peace. No calm. 

Your chest tightened, your vision blurring.  

“Hey, hey,” She cooed again, her hands on your arms, grounding you. “You’re okay. We’re going to figure this out. Just breathe, okay?”

You couldn’t believe you’d let it get this far—couldn’t believe you were even in this situation.

There was no way you were having his kid.

Absolutely not.

You didn’t even have to think about it. The decision had been made the second he’d defended her and insulted you like you were sidewalk littering.

Tomorrow, you’d take care of it. You’d book the appointment and that would be that. Clean break, no more ties to Rafe Cameron, no more staying in that fucked up twisted cycle with him.

“I really think you need to sit down and breathe for a second. You’re scaring me sweetheart, and honestly, this isn’t good for you.”

Once again, you pondered telling her everything—about breaking down and spilling every ugly detail. But that would make it real.

Your designer dress clung to you in all the wrong ways, as if even the fabric could understand the order going changes in your body. 

“Whoever let him in, I want them fired.”

You spat suddenly gaining momentary strength to ruin lives. It wasn’t just a demand; it was an execution order. 

The quiet threat of it was more terrifying than your screaming would have been. 

Tomorrow, you’d make sure this nightmare ended before it could begin. 

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron @serrendiipty @sunny1616

@yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog @psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[bluesidez]

Gym Rat Miguel Part 16

content warning: angst, recreational drug use, mentions of food, 18+ so MDNI (not spoiling the positions this time, so you’ll just have to read and see)

word count: 8.2k (thank ya once again @slushycoookie 😚)

If you really love Xina as a character, then don't read this. Nothing crazy happens, it's just so far removed from her original character action-wise that you’ll definitely get angry. That's all. 🥸👍🏾

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GymRat!Miguel who should have taken the edible.

He held his head down, everything over the past years starting to click.

The touches, the stares, the treatment. Xina wasn’t just close to him because they were friends.

She was in love with him and he was too dumb to see it, too naïve to even think it was a possibility.

He takes a deep breath and looks down at his hands.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Xina speeds out. “Or maybe you can just let it sit with you.”

“Ok.”

Xina widens her eyes, “O-ok? What do you mean ok? Ok as in you…you like me back?”

“Ok as in I hear you. I understand.”

Xina nods, hand holding her elbow.

“And I’m sorry that so much happened to you. I wish you would have reached out. It sounds traumatizing and no one should have to go through that on their own.”

Xina waits, heart beating out of her chest.

“But?”

“But, it doesn’t excuse anything you’ve done to me. Not a single fucking thing.”

She opens her mouth, eyes burning and eyebrow pinched, “I-“

“-need to let me talk first,” Miguel finishes. “You know how much you mean to me, so you have to understand that what you did was so low, Xina. It hurt, genuinely.”

“I know.”

“You know and yet you continued. It’s funny because after you were being weird to my girlfriend the first time you met her, I still defended you. That’s how much I had faith in our friendship.”

Xina blinks rapidly, pulling her hair back.

“Now, I feel even more stupid because this,” Miguel pushes his hand in and out between himself and Xina, “looks exactly how she thought it was. But that’s what you wanted, right? You wanted her to feel like you were someone to look out for.”

Her lip wobbles, “For just a second, I was relieved. I was so relieved that someone finally fucking beat me to you. But then I saw how you looked at her and I, I felt something boil over.”

Miguel wanted to laugh in disbelief.

“Xina, that doesn’t make it ok for you to go in my phone, plot and scheme, then lie like you didn’t. When has that ever been right?”

“Miguel, I know that so please-“

“You don’t love me.”

Xina falters, a tear falling down her face. A light from a car outside brightens the room for just a second, and she sees Miguel give an unfamiliar look of disdain.

“Yes, I do. I do love you. How could you say that I don’t?”

“Because you really don’t,” Miguel pushed his hair off of his face, only for it to fall back in place. “Love isn’t seeing me happy and trying your best to ruin it. Love is not control. If this is what you do to me, I would hate to see what you’re willing to do to someone who wants to be yours.”

She squats, hands wiping away the sorrow on her face.

In the past, Miguel would have been at her side arms open for comfort, heart hurting to see her like this. Right now, he just wants to plead at your waist for forgiveness.

“I don’t really want to look at you right now. I think you should go.”

He starts to get up, tired.

“M-Miguel? I, I’m sorry.”

“Me too. About a lot of shit I need to fix. You have more than just me to own up to and whenever you’re ready to do that, let me know. Right now though? You can see your way out.”

“Miguel, just,” she grabs his arm. “If I- Do you-“ her quiet sobs rack through her body. “I don’t want to lose you. Y-you don’t have to like me back.”

He turns and grabs her arms softly, eyes going back and forth between hers.

“Go home, Xina.”

GymRat!Miguel who opens the door to a flustered Gabriel and a nonchalant Tempest sitting on the floor.

“It’s not what it looks like-”

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” Tempest cuts Gabriel off. She looks past Miguel to a mourning Xina. “C’mon, girl, I’ll walk you to the door.”

Miguel steps aside as Xina shuffles over. He does his best to ignore the last tug she gives his hoodie before she leaves.

GymRat!Miguel who crosses his arms as he looks at Gabriel.

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough to put a smile upon my face,” Gabriel grins. “It’s like watching your dreams come into fruition. I feel like I have enough adrenaline to run to New York and back, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. This isn’t funny, Gabri.”

“Uh,” Gabriel peers left and right. “It’s a little funny. To me.”

Miguel reaches into his pocket and threw the gummy into his mouth. The taste was interesting, to say the least.

“This is a good thing,” Gabriel tries again. “It’s one step closer to what you wanted, right?”

Miguel thought about you from last week.

He didn’t want you to look at him like that again.

“It is. I just don’t know how I let it get this far.”

Gabriel squeezes his shoulder with a pout.

“Because you’re an idiot, to be frank.”

The squawk that Gabriel lets out when Miguel hits him on the back echoes through the hallway.

GymRat!Miguel who goes back to his room to see a knocked out Lyla and Winston with a plate piled high with wings and yams.

“Yo,” he whispers, but his voice is still unbearably loud. “I think she’s trying to steal my fucking food.”

Miguel looked to Lyla who was folded over a beanbag, neck bent awkwardly. Her mouth was open and a little wet, but she was snoring up a storm.

“No, she’s not,” Miguel laughs. His friend's eyes are blown wide, horrified, like he’s in the middle of a haunted house.

Winston observes Lyla before turning back to Miguel, slow like he was made of wires and metal, “Don’t say shit to me when you’re next.”

GymRat!Miguel who shouldn’t have turned on your playlist as his limbs got heavier.

He was going to try and write something down in his journal, thoughts from before too much for his head.

It started with what just happened down the hallway. Was he right or wrong for what he said and what he did? Should he have done more?

Was it enough for you to see the truth?

You. You and everything you brought him. Your being, your emotions, you core, your love.

Now, he’s staring at the page full of your name alone scrawled across it with slow blinking eyes.

It feels like your hands are all over him and you’re whispering in his ears. You’re going through his hair from his scalp to his neck. Your tongue is hot on his skin, in his mouth. You taste like cinnamon and whipped cream. You’re pressing your chest against his and your heartbeats are becoming one.

His heartbeat.

Your heartbeat.

It’s sinking him. His heart is on the marked paper before him. It’s in red and graphite, smudged and darkened.

He’s falling. The clothes on him are rubbing against his bones. The chair under him is slipping from his grasp but he thinks you’ll catch him.

GymRat!Miguel who gasps for air as his back hits the cold metal of his desk chair.

Winston’s cackle refocuses his train of thought and he breathes in deep as he tries not to let you drown his thoughts again.

GymRat!Miguel who joins Winston on the floor to finish off the variety bag of takis.

Lyla shifts to a better position and Winston clutches his purple bag for dear life. Miguel laughs until he cries.

GymRat!Miguel who ends up on Gabriel’s fluffy rug, rubbing his hands over the fur like it’s a cat. Winston is bopping his head in the corner, music making him worry less about whether or not he’s being watched.

“Why is he so soft? What did you put on him?” Miguel asks.

Gabriel snickers as he watches him, “My feet.”

Miguel makes a face like a disgruntled cat.

“That’s fucking weird. Why would you ever do that? Is that why he smells lie that?”

“No, that’s your breath.”

Miguel gasps and covers his mouth, blowing straight through his fingers. He waits for a minute, then sniffs the air.

“You’re such a liar. It smells like apples. You need to be nicer to your rug, Gabri.”

A snap from above makes Miguel pose at the very last second. He thinks he’s posing at least. His smile is big but his eyes are closing every time the camera clicks and his peace sign is hidden somewhere in the fuzz of the rug.

“Say ‘party gal!’” Gabriel sang.

“I’m not at a party, nor am I a girl, so…no?” Miguel says with squinted eyes. “Why are you taking pictures of me?”

“Because you’re just so adorable that I have to share with your girlfriend.”

Miguel stops rubbing the rug and sits up, “Is she here? Where is she?”

Gabriel pushes him away with his foot.

“Chill out, Mig. I’m just sending her a video.”

“But,” Miguel stiffens. “It’s too dark in here. How is she supposed to see me?”

Gabriel looks at the several ambient lights his room is sporting then back to Miguel, “She can see it.”

“Was my shirt off in it? She likes it when my shirt is off.”

“I’m not filming your striptease, you hornball.”

“But Gabri-“

“No!”

GymRat!Miguel who snowballs his way through telling Gabriel his plans for when he visits New York for the next twenty minutes.

“And then,” he pauses and giggles like he’s holding the world’s greatest secret. “We go to the bodega. Ham and cheese. Orange drink. You know the one.”

Gabriel joins in his endless bubble of laughter, “Who taught you that?”

Miguel spaces out his giggles just enough to let your name fall through.

“Do you think she still loves me, Gabri? Because sometimes I get scared that she doesn’t.”

His brother sighed, head upside down as it hung off of his bed, “Yeah, I think so. It’s your first big fight, but what is love if not war?”

There’s a silence in the room.

Winston is giving a silent performance in the corner of the room now, his audience being Gabriel’s closet door of scarves and belts.

“War is what keeps humans apart,” Miguel mumbles.

“Uh oh,” Gabriel turns to look at him. “Don’t start this.”

“Statistically speaking, all first marriages have a 50% chance of surviving.”

“You just made that up.”

“No,” Miguel closes his eyes, hoping that would stop his million and one thoughts. “She could find another guy and last longer with him. It’s science. Proven.”

“You’re not even married.”

Miguel opens one eye and checks his empty left hand, “Holy shit you’re right.”

He starts to pat down his clothes, cotton pulling against his fingers.

“Where did it go? I just had it.”

Gabriel thought for a second.

“The Funyuns you just ate?”

Miguel starts to flip things over, papers and chip bags going everywhere.

He finds the bright yellow bag, opening it up and finding nothing. He turns it over and shakes it much to Gabriel’s annoyance who snatches it from his hands.

Miguel is about to cry until Gabriel throws another bag into his hands.

“Let’s switch topics,” Gabriel grumbles. “I feel like I’m watching a big ass baby.”

Miguel opens the bag and starts crunching.

“I think stars is such a good theme for the nursery. And penguins.”

“I’m turning on Spongebob.”

GymRat!Miguel who is out of his mind watching Squidward run around a blank screen.

The colors were there and now they’re not.

It does a number on him.

GymRat!Miguel who sits staring at Gabriel’s door. Watching. Waiting.

He said that you were coming around eventually.

It was sure taking you a long time to open the door.

GymRat!Miguel who is disappointed when Tempest and her pink-tipped locs bang the door open instead of you.

His slow turn and look of disappointment towards Gabriel is comical.

GymRat!Miguel who is guided back to his room by a more relaxed Tempest who asks Gabriel to distract Conchata.

“Did she say something?” Gabriel asks.

“No, but we need to act normal. She asked me some shit about some seasoning I used and I think dozed off mid-explanation. Can’t remember.”

GymRat!Miguel who finds a picture of you under his pillow right before he goes to sleep.

It’s a part of the polaroids you gave him last Christmas with your tank and panties.

He presses his lips against the film, eyes closing as he groans against it. The action repeats, his mind putting him in front of you.

A pain hits his hip, ache in his bones matching his heartbeat.

He looks down to a gray, metal hand covering him and screams.

Two of his friends jerk up from across the room while Winston throws a pillow at him.

“Shut the fuck up. I’m trying to sleep.”

Tempest squints as she removes her eye mask, “Why did you throw your arm at him?”

“He was making weird sounds,” Winston replies as if the answer was obvious.

GymRat!Miguel who wakes up to Tempest shaking him for dear life.

His eyelids are heavy and the sun peaking through the windows are bright.

His arm covers his eyes as he tries to block it, feelings of his muscles slowly coming back to him.

“C’mon, buddy. You feeling ok?”

Miguel only yawns and nods into the pillow.

“Need to pee? Feeling sick? I got some water right here.”

Miguel slowly sits up with his eyes closed, hair sticking up every which way. Tempest opens his hand and places a glass of water there, helping him guide it to his lips. One taste of the liquid and he’s gulping it down like he’s never drank before.

“What time is it?” he asks, throat dry.

“Noon,” Tempest takes the glass away. “You guys were sleeping like babies. Very cute.”

Memories of last night slowly come back.

He’s pretty sure he texted you a string of random things, but he doesn’t even know if it went through.

“Yeah, I know, I know. Come to the kitchen and eat some food.”

GymRat!Miguel who makes his friends promise to text him when they make it home.

Sure, they’ll probably be on the call tonight playing some game or watching obscure compilations, but he was nothing if not a worrier.

“And don’t forget to-“

“We know, dad,” they say in unison.

GymRat!Miguel who spends Thanksgiving near his grandma.

His mom is giving him sideways looks all day and he feels that something is coming.

GymRat!Miguel who watches his brother place his cousins in formation for a video for the nth time.

“It’s swing, back a-round, grab your pants, thumb up with ‘I’m cool’. Feet out and in at the same time then CIRCLE your arms really high. What is so hard to understand about that guys?”

He runs to his phone on the tripod.

“From the top!”

GymRat!Miguel who hides with his grandma in her bedroom as his mom starts to bark orders. She was doing a lot for someone who didn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving.

The two of them are watching some random sitcom under a giant quilt sharing coconut cookies that she snuck from the kitchen.

“¿Abuela?”

“¿Si nieto?”

“¿Alguna vez has experimentado un desamor?”

His grandmother looks up, chewing as she thought.

“Yes, but only for a short while. I didn’t really have the time to sit with my feelings.”

“But, what if you did? Does it feel as terrible as it sounds?”

“Sometimes. But we’re human. If you’ve put in effort to love, that means you can put effort into yourself to heal and grow.”

Her arms wrap around him and squeeze, kissing his cheek like he was still the chunky baby she met decades ago.

“Now, relax and watch these two teachers avoid love. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

GymRat!Miguel who is leaning on his grandma, cheek pressed against her chest, when Gabriel comes in to plop on the bed.

“Move over,” he whines to Miguel as he tries to push him away to be in the middle.

“I don’t wanna sit next to you. You’re disturbing my peace.”

“And you’re hogging Abuela.”

“Go to her other side!”

“But this side is already warm!”

“My daughter has raised two giant babies,” their grandmother laughs as she moves the blanket to let Gabriel into her other side. “What am I going to do with you two?”

GymRat!Miguel who was nearly asleep when George comes to get them to eat.

It’s deep in the evening and the crickets are loud outside of the window.

He and Gabriel pout, the darkness of the room and the smell of their grandmother’s perfume making them lethargic.

“Your cousins are going to eat up all of the empanadas if you don’t hurry up.”

Miguel perks up and stumbles out of the bed, foggy mind registering his willingness to stuff his face with doughy goodness.

“Like a moth to a flame,” Gabriel says as he helps his grandmother up.

GymRat!Miguel who is on his third or fourth plate, not that he’s really counting, when his mom does what she always does every holiday: annoy him.

“Mijo, have you checked on Xina today? I saw Tempest walk her out the other day. Was she doing alright?”

Miguel glances around the table, mouth full of turkey as he sees his family perk up.

“No, I haven’t,” he answers slowly. “I’ll see her next week. Probably.”

Conchata brings a cup to her mouth while giving him a miffed look.

“And you’re not worried about her? What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing has gotten into me,” Miguel replies calmly. His relatives are staring at him like he’s grown two heads.

“Did you two fight?” one of his aunts asks.

Miguel didn’t understand how this was anyone else’s business, but from the looks of it, it seems that his mother has already told it.

“Can I just finish my food, please?”

His mother thumps her cup against the table with more force than necessary.

“You’re never going to find a suitable woman if you keep acting like this. I know you hurt her somehow and you need to fix it.”

“Ma,” Gabriel interrupts with a hushed tone. “Right here? At the table? Seriously?”

She ignores him and stares at Miguel, as it’s supposed to urge him to obey her. His appetite is long gone.

“I have a suitable woman-“

“Mijo, no. You have stars in your eyes. You’re young, so I know you can’t see it yet, but it’s almost time for you to start planning properly for the future. I can only let your playing go on for so much longer.”

Miguel stares at her, eyes not blinking once. Gabriel anxiously looks back and forth between them.

“Who is up for Abuela’s famous cake? Mm mm mm, I know I am!” he tries, only getting a small portion of the table to move.

Miguel gets up to follow them, plate in his hand heavy and half-eaten.

They’re back at square one.

He’s not sure how many more times he can restart.

GymRat!Miguel who texts you before he knocks out.

He stares at the blinking line, thinking of all that he wants to say, but not really knowing how to put it.

“Happy Thanksgiving mi luz”

“I miss you more than ever today”

“I miss you every day”

He stops himself and turns his phone off.

GymRat!Miguel who does a light jog Friday morning.

He’s been having far too many days of wallowing and feasting.

The November air wakes him up completely.

GymRat!Miguel who thinks he still has THC in his bloodstream when your name pops up on his screen as he’s checking his miles.

He opens it too fast, heart racing faster than what any exercise could do to him.

It’s a link to your calendar, blocks of blues and pinks covering the screen. He sees that your last final is next Thursday, and his plan is already in motion.

He hearts your text and stops himself from spamming you with emojis and pictures.

He’s ready to see you.

GymRat!Miguel who has never been more happy for his coding professor being a recluse and making their final submission online.

He knew for a fact Xina was definitely still processing everything. Quite frankly, he didn’t want to see her unless she was ready to apologize to you.

He tried not to stew on it, his mom’s insinuation putting a bad taste in his mouth.

He had finals to focus on and a girlfriend to win back so he pushed thoughts of crumbling friendship to the back of his mind.

GymRat!Miguel who sits in the hallway of the art building. It was becoming a familiar sight for someone who couldn’t draw a stick figure to save his life.

He waits for the studio door to open, leg bouncing involuntarily. He wasn’t sure when it would end, so he got there about thirty minutes after it started.

Maybe that was a bad idea, simply because he feels like he’s about to sweat out of the stupid button down and sweater he chose to wear. The thick knitting was starting to suffocate him.

Pulling at the chain around his neck, he wonders if he can appeal to you like he did around this time last year.

The door opens in the middle of his tenth time rehearsing what he was going to say. A few students walk out, arms full of canvases as they chat about whatever.

Miguel stands, big bouquet in his hands and heartbeat in his ear. The students notice him and shuffle out of his way as he heads towards the studio entrance.

GymRat!Miguel who spots you talking with a classmate.

You’re both bent over some, engrossed in conversation.

Miguel sees you laugh before you stand up straight. The guy next to you looks familiar.

He rises too, and his build and height become all of the focus. His hand lands on the middle on your back and slowly begins to fall down.

Miguel is building the formation of your name at the back of his tongue, anger climbing before he can really think about it.

You grab the guy’s arm and yank it off, a smack on his shoulder to follow.

Miguel stops himself with an ugly sound, alerting you both to turn and look at him.

GymRat!Miguel who hides the bouquet behind his back, not wanting you to see it yet. Not when your friend was making him shoot daggers with his eyes.

You walk over to him eyes curious, and Miguel thinks that there was no way in this lifetime, no way in this timeline, that you weren’t made for him.

“Hi,” Miguel starts.

“Hi,” you repeat back.

“We’re matching.”

Miguel couldn’t help but to sound giddy about it. He was more than ecstatic about it. You both looked like a couple, therefore you are a couple.

You purse your lips and nod, “That we are. Did you spy on me?”

Miguel copies you and shakes his head.

“You look different.”

“Ah. I uh, I ate good.”

You pat his stomach, fingers tentative and soft, “I see.”

Miguel wants to say something back but your eyes are scanning him with a small light similar to your anniversary night.

He breathes in and puffs his chest up a bit, like a bird trying to show off his pretty feathers to win over his lady. The corners of your lips twitch, holding back your smile.

That alone brightens Miguel up.

GymRat!Miguel who tries not to deflate when your classmate slash friend slash him-imposter makes his way into an A and B conversation.

“I haven’t seen you around campus before,” he puts his right hand out, “I’m Royce.”

Miguel’s eyes flit to you and you look up to the ceiling avoiding his look with your hands behind your back. He brings his left hand out, still poorly hiding his gift for you, twisting his wrist to shake Royce’s hand.

“Miguel.”

“Strong grip you’ve got there, Miguel,” Royce smiled, lip piercing shining. The chains attached to his pants clinked together as be let go.

“Just happy to meet new people.”

Royce pulls the sleeves of his sweater up and grins, like he knew something Miguel didn’t. The fullness of his tattoos contrasted his skin.

“Likewise. What else do you have there?” he tilts his head.

You push him in his side, Royce’s laugh echoing of the studio ceiling, “Go away. You’re so irritating.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. I’m guessing this means our late night session is rain checked?” he asks as your eyebrows raise.

He barely dodges as you pick up a ruler and swing at him, laughing as your professor tiredly asks you both to chill out.

Royce calms down, grabs his things, and hugs you goodbye, black hair brushing against your head.

“See you later. Bye, Miguel,” he sings, hand waving.

Miguel makes a line with his lips as he watches him leave.

“Interesting guy.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty fun,” you say, watching Miguel’s lips. “You ok?”

His face shifted, “I should be asking you that after everything.”

“Hm,” your eyes casted down. “Well, you’re here, so I think that counts for something.”

GymRat!Miguel who presents the bouquet to you, nervous of your reaction.

“It’s a small start, but I, I hope that we can still be together. I talked to Xina like you asked and I want to go somewhere with you to really say everything. All truths on the table.”

Your mouth wobbles as your eyes light up from the fairy lights woven throughout the green and golden roses.

“I’m sorry it’s not as big as it’s supposed to be.”

The woman he ordered them from was stacked with birthday and anniversary bouquets. He paid more than he should to get his flowers finished faster.

“‘You are my Evangeline’?” you ask, fingers going over the silky petals.

“Sí,” his hands cover yours over the bottom of the bunch. “La luz de mi vida, mi estrella. Mi bella Evangeline.”

You pout, stopping yourself from falling, only to plant your face in his chest, glasses and all.

Miguel wraps his arms around you, confused.

“You make me so weak,” you mumble.

His hands clutch onto your sweater, heart warm.

“I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing.”

You move your head, cheek pressed against his chest, “Of course you don’t. C’mon.”

His sweater is a little damp but he doesn’t mention it.

GymRat!Miguel who wants to skip as he follows you back to your dorm, but your wet oil paint canvases are in his hands. One wrong move, and his pants will be stained with whatever color landed on him.

He watches as you cradle your flowers to your chest, glancing down whenever you were waiting to cross the street.

“Do you like them?”

“Yes. They’re beautiful.”

He could do a backflip.

GymRat!Miguel who takes his shoes off by your door.

Your dorm smells like oranges and cherries, something so different than the pinecones and brown leaves outside.

“Where do want me to put these?” he asks, holding the sides of your paintings with all of his focus.

You turn and laugh at his stiff stance. His arms were stretched out to a slanted T and his feet were placed together.

“Just sit them up against the wall. They won’t bite you,” you say.

“Ok,” he says and awkwardly puts them down. He pauses his hands in front of them afterwards in case they fall.

You go to sit at your desk, placing the flowers down.

“Is Jess here?” you hear Miguel ask.

“No, she’s gone for winter break already.”

You survey your desk, looking for anything else to focus on. You brought him here, you asked for him to prove himself, yet it’s barely been two weeks since you told him that. You feel silly for it.

Still, when you don’t hear or feel him for a while, you call his name.

“Miguel?”

“What’s this?” he asks.

Spinning around, you see he’s by the end of your bed, on the floor rummaging through a box.

“You packed my stuff up?” he holds up a hoodie that you only let him wear shortly before it finds its way back into your closet. His eyebrows turn, limbs heavy as he pulls out gift after jacket after picture. So many things that marked his time together with you.

“Looking at everything was too much for me. I did it the night we fought. It helped me to focus and not,” you threw your hands up, “simmer on my boyfriend sleeping with someone who is practically the opposite of me.”

Miguel pushes the box to the side and crawls towards you. It was an odd sight to see him inching steadily across your big rug. He stops and sits in front of you, face upset.

“I really wish you would listen to me. I wish you would believe me.”

“I’m trying-“

“No, baby,” Miguel says, pulling your chair towards him. You were too far away. “You’re not. You’re blocking me out.”

You blink, fingers picking at your nails.

“Do you remember that time I said I wasn’t going to let you go?” Miguel wraps your legs around his sides and slots his head on your thigh. “I was serious about that. You aren’t supposed to let me go either.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I know.”

“So if you know, why did you let me go?”

You took a deep breath.

“Because I was hurting, Miguel. I painted this picture in my head of you two being this perfect, ideal couple because of….jealousy? Insecurity? I don’t know. I would see you two in the library sometimes or standing in line for food together, close and wrapped up in a bubble. I kept telling myself that you both were friends. These are the things that friends do. I would leave before I could give myself time to get stupidly upset. But when we were all hanging out together, you kept defending everything she was doing.”

Miguel thinks back to the comments and snide remarks he let slide and wants to shake that version of himself out of delusion.

“Then, there were the messages that weren’t going through, the calls that were getting dropped. Sometimes, I saw Xina holding you,” your voice faltered. “And she’d wear things I could find in my closet and I thought I was being punked. So, when I saw you on your birthday and took a leap of faith, I was destroyed when she was texting your phone.”

You couldn’t take it. You thought he lied to your face for months.

Miguel closed his eyes, trying to form what he wanted to say.

He’s thinking about how stupid he was to not see your pain. The signs were all there, or at least, the times when he should have stepped in were.

That aside, he was upset. Upset at the situation, upset that his relationship has been torn by someone who barely acknowledged him for a year, upset at you.

He didn’t want another girl, he didn’t need another girl, and even if by some sick and terrible decision, he decided to part ways with you, he would never choose Xina.

She couldn’t love him the way you do and what she did to him showed that.

She couldn’t make him feel the way you do. You left him with butterflies, you made him excited. You brought him so much joy.

She couldn’t care for him the way that you did. She would rather hang him out to dry to make herself look good before she thought about how he felt about something.

She couldn’t even confess to him without hurting him, without trying to shift her chances of being with him. It sucks that her life was changing so rapidly against her will, but that didn’t mean she had to create a whirlwind for him to suffer through, too.

It’s so irritating how she came in and swept up his time, his life, and your confidence, but it’s more frustrating for you to have to even wonder if she could replace you.

Miguel’s mind is going a thousand miles per minute, head starting to hurt with how aggravated he was.

“Don’t cry,” you say reaching up to his face, sniffling. “Please, don’t cry.”

He didn’t even notice he was. He realizes then that his thoughts were made aloud.

“’M sorry,” he says, face scrunching up. He leans into your hand, eyes closed as the tears fall. “I’m sorry for everything. But I’m angry that you keep thinking that you’re not worth my love. You’re worth it. You’re worth so much more than what I can give you. But I feel so lucky that you’re giving me the chance to be a part of your life, so I want you to love yourself, too.”

You nod once, twice, before your palms cover your face and you’re sobbing. Miguel pulls you down to his lap, holding you tight. He hated that you were fighting these thoughts alone, but now that he’s aware of everything he’ll try his best again to give you the love you needed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair like a mantra.

Through your sorrow, your relief, you everything, you echo his words, “I’m sorry, too. I should have trusted you more.”

“True,” Miguel says and you laugh in the midst of your aches. “But I still love you.”

“I love you, too. I never stopped.”

He squeezes you tighter, heart feather light.

GymRat!Miguel who eventually gets you comfortable, the two of you settling down on the giant plush bean bag sofa that you’ve stuffed under your dorm bed.

He was prepared to wine and dine you, but you insisted on videos and some warm, fulfilling fast food. The true college dream.

You laid on his chest, watching as the man on screen yelled as his character opened the door to a bathroom and a stranger was fixing the sink. Miguel tensed under you, hands gripping the waist of your lounging pants.

It was making up for the Halloween you two spent apart.

“Too scary?” you move your head to look at his face.

His mouth was twisted up, heart beating, “No…”

“Then, why are you holding me so tight?”

“A boyfriend can’t hold his girlfriend?”

You grinned.

You didn’t know how much you missed him calling you his girlfriend until he was less than a centimeter away from you.

A scream followed by a line of curses comes from your laptop speakers, Miguel gasping and squinting at the screen, eyes almost squeezing shut.

“You know, we don’t have to watch this,” you try your best to turn your body so that you were fully on top of him. “We can watch something else.”

Miguel focused on your face, eyes fighting to not look at your lips, “Like what?”

“We can watch a cooking competition. I know you have some documentaries and video essays saved up. We could watch those.”

Miguel thinks he could really be a lip reader. Your lips were moving pretty fast, but he thinks he got most of it.

“You want to use the kitchen this late? It might be closed.”

You slide your hand up his chest, comforting through the thin shirt. Your lips move again and Miguel blinks slowly trying to keep up.

A touch on his jaw has him look up.

“Did you hear me?”

Miguel moves his head in a circle, answer going from yes to no.

“What are you thinking right now?”

He feels you out, hands slowly going down your back and circling the area where your thighs curve out into your ass.

“How much I need to kiss you.”

“Oh really?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Then maybe, you should put those words into action.”

That was all he needed to pull you up, mouth going to yours like a magnet. You make a startled noise as he opens his mouth to slide his lip from your jaw to the bottom of your lip.

You open your mouth with his, thumbs rubbing against his sideburns as he hums against your tongue. The sound of the push and pull of your lips fills the small space under your bed. The tale of the girl and her winter vacation long forgotten in the background.

His hands go under your waistband, palms bringing extra warmth as he squeezes over your underwear.

“I missed this,” he sighs, mouth and hands working together to make you melt into him. He was starting to grind you against him, humming low in his throat.

“Kissing me or something else?” you open your eyes a little, watching his eyelashes against his cheek.

He pushes up against you, bean bag shifting down, “Everything.”

“Cheeky.”

“More like charmed.”

The two of you were glued to each other long enough for the hour long video to end, only the glow of your fairy lights and lamps lighting your room.

Both of your shirts were pulled up, your chest smooshed against his. Miguel had one hand around your waist, massaging your side, and another pulling your underwear between your lips so that you had something extra to feel as you grind against his groin.

“Bebecita,” Miguel says after you let his tongue from your lips. He pecks you in between his words, hungry. “Let’s move this to the bed.”

He kisses down your jaw, making no effort to get up.

“I don’t have any condoms and unless you’re willing to drive out to get some-”

Miguel removes a hand to reach into his pocket.

“Did you just have that on you?” you ask looking at the pack of condoms in his hand.

“No. I got them when I went to go get clothes.”

You tut, “So you just thought we were going have sex? You’re not even supposed to be in here right now.”

He slides his fingers down between your legs, pressing on your lips over cotton, “Of course not, bebe. I’m not an animal.”

He rubs and sucks a kiss into your neck. You’re so lost in him that you didn’t even realize that you were beginning to push back against his fingers. The moan you let out brings you back to reality.

Seeing Miguel’s smug face made you hide yours in his chest.

“Just try not to be too loud. I don’t know if my neighbor is still here or not,” you muffled into his skin.

GymRat!Miguel who really didn’t give a fuck about the neighbors.

He thinks he wants them to hear. It’s been too long since he had you, his decency was thrown out of the window.

Right now, he was head first, indulging, sucking at the entrance of your heat. You were on your knees, ass in his face, and feet hanging off the bed. You were already so wet from earlier, but now he has you dripping down his face onto the floor, moaning into your pillow.

He didn’t hear you over himself as he gripped your skin to spread you over his tongue. Your thighs were shaking like a leaf, feet occasionally kicking as Miguel found his pocket to make you suck him in.

You sounded off into the silk case below you, trying not to make yourself louder than the music you put on.

Miguel was satisfied that you came on his tongue, but didn’t like you censoring yourself not one bit.

“I want to try something new,” he states into your skin, sucking your clit through the aftershocks.

You only give him a shaky thumbs up, mind still finding its other pieces.

GymRat!Miguel who has you flat against your stomach along the bed. There really was barely any room to do this, but he was going to make it work.

You had a long mirror in your room that wasn’t attached to the wall, so beforehand, he brought it over to lean against the desk and turn it towards the top of your bed. He saw the confusion in your face through the glass, but he only smiled and went right back to you.

Now, he was holding one cheek over as he slid in slowly. From the mirror, he could see your face scrunch up. He shifted his knees, watching.

“¿Estás bien?” he asks. “Want me to slow down? Pull out?”

“No,” you keen, constricting around him. He sucked air in through his teeth, feeling you suck him in. “I just haven’t felt you in a while.”

He leans to kiss up your back, taking fat in between his lips to mark it as his. He fights the urge to just bite and stay there for a while.

“Whose fault is that, pretty?” he teases, dragging his lips to the back of neck.

You look to your left and pout at him through the mirror. He looks back, eyes scanning your naked upper half.

You arch your back and tighten around him. He thinks you’re a menace.

“Yours,” you tease back.

“Yeah?” his left hand grabs your waist, thumb pressing into the small of your back. He slides out a bit, hips elevated. “Let me fix that, then.”

His hips dip back into you, smack of his skin against yours. The bed creaks and Miguel watches your eyelids fall.

“Do you want a fast solution?” Miguel says right in your ear. “Or should we do some deeper research?”

He snaps his hips again, leaning down and pressing his weight onto you. Your hands curl up against the mattress, mouth open but only letting out gasps and breaths. Miguel nearly pulls all the way out, then swerves back in, pushing your voice out of you.

“It sounds like you want to pull from some scholarly articles,” Miguel whispers. He’s barely picking up a sweat while you’re hot everywhere. “It’s unclear.”

The springs of the mattress sing, metal and wood bed frame keeping a steady tempo against the wall.

You can’t even focus enough to tell him to shut up, the position you were in knocking the wind out of you. You start to hide your face in your pillow again, overwhelmed.

Miguel releases an offended sound.

“Nuh uh,” his right hand wraps in front of your neck. He pulls head up and turns it towards the mirror. “Look how pretty you look. Don’t hide.”

Your boyfriend might be a little nuts.

Your eyes can’t even focus but he’s holding your head steady and nibbling your earlobe as he waits. Your glasses are crooked and fogging up, you can’t even really see.

His name tries to fall from your mouth, but that “M” sound comes out broken and loud. He’s too busy being enchanted by how good you look.

“Mi preciosa princesita,” his hips stutter as you clench in response. “So gorgeous.”

He’s hitting your spot over and over again. You’re losing track of time.

“Don’t you think so too, baby?” Miguel huffs.

“Y-yes, Miggy, please.”

“Are you close?”

You nod, watching his eyes get darker.

“Ok, bebé. I still have some follow-up questions, though. Gonna answer them?”

A yell comes out as your answer, Miguel stroking faster.

He kisses your cheek and takes your glasses off. They were slipping and he was scared you were going to break them.

“Question one, do you want to do something for winter break?”

He opens your legs a bit, leaning and wrapping his hand under your body. His fingers find your clit and rub nice and slow. Overstimulated, you scream into the pillow. Miguel kisses your shoulder as he hums.

“I think that’s a yes,” Miguel says. Your back arches as you try to move your hips to match his pace. “Question two, what do you want for Christmas? It’s getting late, but I’ll find it. I swear.”

“Fuck, Miguel,” you say as his hands move to your breasts. He can’t do much, but there’s still something so good about him all over you.

“You want this again? We can arrange that.”

He was close and you could hear it in the way his voice wavered.

“Last question,” he rose off of you, hands pushing against your back. Your body couldn’t move as he slapped his pelvis against your ass. The recoil sounded off in the room and the entire bed jumped with his movement.

“Are you still mad at me?”

Your back arched as you felt him breach deep enough to make you go crazy. He was mumbling something but your thoughts were swimming with his dick inside of you about to introduce another orgasm.

“Say it back, baby. You gotta say it back,” Miguel’s voice sounds out.

There might be a pool of drool growing under your face. Your boyfriend didn’t care, though. He would still want you to say that declaration through any obstruction.

“I love you, Miguel. Te amo tanto.”

His hips quicken, bed against the wall like a drumline.

When he cums, his body tightens and releases, weight letting go as he covers you. He’s breathing hard, “te amo,” his proverb to you.

You blink at the mirror, vision blurry, but the comforted and satisfied expression of Miguel still recognizable.

You could stay like this, breaths slowly becoming tighter until you fall asleep in his arms.

The bed gives a loud snap, scaring Miguel into nearly falling off of it with you on top.

It’s leaning a little more to the back left than it should.

“Did you just break my fucking bed?”

He panics, “I-it was a joint effort!”

“Miguel.”

GymRat!Miguel who thanks whatever entity it is out there afterwards that it was just a screw that came out and not the bed actually completely splitting.

“This is why the beds are tiny in the first place,” you say from the bean bag, watching him screw it back together.

“I would have covered the costs if it was actually broken. We should look into sturdy bed frames for the future, though.”

“Oh?”

Miguel pauses, “Not that I was thinking about that!”

“You already have a list, don’t you.”

You watch his hands stutter as he puts your screwdriver back in your bin.

GymRat!Miguel who suggests you lay on top of him in the bed.

The two of you were freshly showered and ready to close your eyes any minute now.

“We should take breaks more often. I feel like jelly,” you say with a low voice, drawing circles over his chest.

He grabs your wrist, voice serious in the dark, “Don’t joke like that.”

“Hmm, I guess you’re right. You made up for the last time you didn’t make me come.“

“Baby.”

You giggled into him as he pinched your sides.

“What about you and Royce? Your friend whose name starts with an R and ends with an E.”

“It’s not my fault rose and Royce are similar!”

“But you knew what you were doing. How cruel,” he pouts.

You pat his cheek!

“Well, you don’t have to worry because he has a boyfriend.”

“Oh! So, he’s gay.”

“Bi. Open relationship.”

“Oh,” Miguel replied, less happy.

“I kind of just want one lover, though.”

“Oh,” Miguel says again, more happy. “What kind of lover?”

You stay quiet for so long, Miguel thinks you’ve gone to sleep.

There’s a lot of things that you love about him. His kindness, his heart, his determination, his wit. Tonight, though, he truly took your breath away.

And you realize, he’s always done that.

“The kind that loves me the way that you do.”

Miguel’s chest rises and falls like a wave that gets weaker as it hits the shore.

“Me too, mi luz. Me too.”

divider by: fanguro + adornedwithlight 🩵

a/n: Our family is has been brought back together!! Also, if you get which horror game they were watching, you get a gold star.

Please very mindful, very cutesy, very demure in the comments. Don’t ask about the next part unless you have something nice/constructive to say to go with it. And no, this is not the last time Xina will be in this story. But it’ll get better!

The taglist is full, so if you would like to be informed of future updates, check my blog occasionally (💀) or subscribe to the story on AO3!

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[carmyberzattosjournal]

Therapy Files 1: Dead Enough to be Alive

Screenshot Credit: @neverscreens

Summary: Carmy is headed to his first therapy appointment and his girlfriend (who he calls Darling) tries to soothe him while he freaks out about it. (873 Words)

Warnings: Swearing, mention of vomit, passive suicidal thoughts, impending mental breakdown (no breakdown in this one), fem reader/generic lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns.

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! Sideblog for social stuff: @m-z-shoroi. If you want to filter out the therapy posts, the tag is #cb therapy files.

Day 1

I almost threw up the day of therapy.

It's funny how al-anon meetings didn't fuck me up this bad. Being a no-face in a room full of faceless sufferers somehow made it easier to summon and examine the pain of Mikey dying, of cooking consuming every aspect of my being until all that was left was this chewed lump of mangled muscle and bone fighting for some form of continued existence. I could rip it from my chest, hold it in my hand, turn it in the light. Look at all the faces, the thin spots, the gouges, the dents. Half the people there weren’t listening to me at all, were lost in the turmoil of their own pain and suffering, of the loved ones that were too far away to reach or so unreachable that they were gone. I didn’t mind it.

Half the time, I just needed to hear what I had to say, anyway. Something about the words coming out of my mouth, as stuttered, incomplete, inadequate as they were; something about hearing my own voice say them to me, of my voice hitting my ears—that was the important part. I’ve been through hell and back, I understand clearer than anyone else that I’m the most powerful climber I know. I don’t need someone to grab my hand and pull me out of this mess; I just need someone to know that I’m here. I need someone to witness my existence, my pain, my misery. I just need someone to come looking for me if I go quiet for too long. Just a face over the edge of the cliff. They don’t need to say nothing. They just need to exist.

I’m just dead enough to be alive at all, and in a room full of ghosts, that’s an easier thing to reconcile than trying to explain that to a fucking therapist (who’ll probably put me on some sort of watch list after probing me with a thousand questions about whether or not I want to die, how I plan to do it, how much of my plan I’ve enacted). I shouldn’t be pissed. It’s their job. Fuck only knows how many times they’ve had their 3:00 not show up only to find out the next day that their 3:00 would never show up for anything again. But how else do I explain these brambles of mortality, this barbed wire anchored in my skin. I can’t escape death.

He owes me a brother.

He owes me some fucking answers.

 Darling's hand landed on my thigh. "Baby, you're going to crack your knees on the dashboard if you don't stop bouncing your leg like that."

And I'm fucking terrified of therapy.

"Why are you terrified, sweetheart?"

Shit, I said that aloud, didn't I? "I just... I don't know." I raked my hair back. "I don't know."

"It's a little too late to cancel the appointment now—"

"I know, I know, I know." I pressed the heels of my hands into my cheekbones. I know. I’m not saying I’m not going to go; I’m saying I’m terrified. Those are different things.

She squeezed my knee. "Breathe, pretty boy."

I heaved a breath.

"You're gonna be okay, baby.”

"What if I'm not?"

It took her a bit to answer. "Then we'll do what we can to make it okay."

She can’t make promises, but right about now I need some of those. Promise me I’ll be okay? Promise me it’s not as bad as it seems?

The car turned, then stopped. Her cold fingers curled around my wrist.

"Hey. Look at me, Bear?"

I dropped my hands, but I couldn't make myself look over. Don't know why; it probably would've calmed me down to see her pretty face, but my eyes stayed glued to the hood of the car parked in front of us, the icicles hanging in front of the grill. Teeth. Fuck, I was clenching my jaw again. Heat surged in my chest, crawled up into my neck, only this time, the panic didn’t come with it—my eyes just stung. I only felt a breakdown coming.

She interlocked her hand with mine, brought the back of it to her warm lips. Pressed a kiss to it, just to the side, behind my thumb. She returned it with a plum-pink lipstick print on it. Jagged, sharp, blurred edges, but distinctly hers.

"Do you think that'll help?" She whispered, carding through my curls, tucking them behind my ear.

I’m trying not to have a meltdown, baby girl, I’m useless.

She pulled my shirt collar down and planted another one on my sternum, just below where the neckline would be. It bloomed a wave of coolness in my chest. A comfortable cold. This wasn’t ice against my chest; ice is sharp, jagged, a frozen lightning bolt. The kiss was milder, softer. Diffuse.

She replaced my shirt, pecked my mouth. “How about that one?”

How about you give me another one after this fucking appointment, hm?

Tags: @jess248, @catharticconsolation, @persymons, @morgthemagpie, @glitch0o0, @nox-is-thename @forgechildofheph @leminjelly

[royaltea000]

I’ve never felt so conflicted about a franchise in my life but at least this dude was hot

[supersecretmetalocalypseblog]

Always thought this shit was funny. So kidnapping is cool, stabbings are cool, killing random funeral attendees and attempting to brutally beat Charles to death, all cool. But, when the creepy mask wearing, brainwashed a bunch of people into zombies, angry violent possibly people eatin' man you work with kills someone WITHOUT your permission..... Maggie he was never listening to you, I know he was rolling his eyes every time you told him to do something. He's not like, a trained attack dog, hes some stray with rabies you found living in the woods, and he WILL bite you the second hes had enough of ur antics.

Like, what was Magnus's end-game? He doesnt want to kill DK, just have them be... not famous. Right? So what, they lock DK in with Toki and just wait till they arent famous? Or?? What was Magnus's plan? At least MMA knew what he wanted. He was just gonna brutally murder like, 7 ppl. That was his plan. Kill the band. Kill Charles. Possibly Abigail, though I dont get why MMA or Magnus have any beef w/ her. The band would've showed up to rescue JUST toki, idk why she had to tag along. But regardless. what was Magnus planning? Why does killing Ishnifus put him off so bad? Bad enough to confront MMA even after he watched him commit crazy acts of violence and torture and stuff? He BUTCHERED that tracker, presumably infront of Magnus? But that was planned? So it's ok?

I suspect that Magnus was like... not really planning anything. His plan doesnt make a lot of sense to me. More than all of that, I'm just confused about why killing Ishnifus was so far out of line? Is it really just what he said, and that Magnus didnt say it was ok to kill him? MMA was out of line? Questioning Magnus's authority or something? And that was too much? (which is sort of in character for Magnus, and I guess it makes sense for him to be mad about this, when we saw him blow up over DK playing the music a little bit different than he wanted. Hopefully unsanctioned murder pisses him off as much if not more as a band dispute)

Anyways sorry for my ramblings, I've had this thought one too many times though. I'm sure you can tell it's gettin late where I live lol

[bloomfish]

the comments on literally everything about this series of taskmaster are actually appalling. i'm not a particular fan of rosie jones myself, not that i dislike her at all i just don't know her stuff that well. but I thought she was really good on this first episode! the "i think i got a bit of umbilical cord" had me in tears. And in general like... you don't have to find her funny but there have been plenty of contestants on taskmaster who aren't that funny either and it's really telling that this is the person everyone thinks is going to "ruin taskmaster." be so fr. alex and greg are good at their jobs and they bring out the humour in all contestants.

"the other contestants must be so mad that nobody's going to watch this series" lmao you're an irrelevant little nobody who likes to whinge on the internet and rosie jones is a professional comedian, i guarantee the others would rather hang out with her than with you. the series seems great so far sorry

[weirdmageddon]

sorry for liking davejade in 2023 btw its in a cool way though

[voxofthevoid]

#jjk#goyuu#fic#is this fic hilarious? yes. is it as good as your writing always is? also yes#but the main awe of it to me remains the fact that its in megumis pov because youre a fucking mandman#love that yuuji takes up so much space on the bed. love that megumis just...let him. thats yuujis bed now. he lives there#rip nobara they will never sort their shit out. at least megumis self-aware but also it is SO funny that yuujis that oblivious#[Megumi almost misses what he says.] i can hear and see nobaras judgemental look. hovering. lingering. dude you are down so bad#ah. the paragraph about yuujis death and fake death and the fact that it only came after he died for real.#yuuji never seems bothered. nobara and megumi both slip up. yuuji doesnt talk about those two months. he definitely doesnt mention his death#[“An hour? Both of you? Huh.”] knowing the end of this fic and what yuujis experience of sex ed with gojo is: this is hysterical#the way you build to the delivery of Sex Ed With Gojo-sensei. yuujis casual everything. megumi finds out. “I'd rather cut my dick off.”#cackling and have not stopped cackling#“We started anal last week.” baby boy. sweetie. angel. sugar pie. snookums. you are absolutely bananas#megumis crush being So obvious just everywhere. bodies too close together. yuujis mouth 'soft and wet' against his palm. His Strength#laughing louder and meaner and all at megumis suffering. you did this to yourself#god i fucking love you. yuujis growth rate is nuts!! he keeps up with maki!! he absorbs everything she teaches him!! hes casually insane!!#GOD I FUCKING LOVE YOU. HES VERY GOOD WITH HIS MOUTH?? AND THEN LAUGHING AT MEGUMIS REACTION. i love him#the blushing. the ending. yeah id say gojo likes you. its a problem how much#ah well. at least megumi enjoys himself (he is losing his mind)

Lemme chew on you

It's never not gonna be funny how the PoVs we favor outside of Gojou and Yuuji make the other go "you're insane." Nobara is twenty times harder for me than Megumi is, but you tackle her good and easy. And then there's the Nanami conversations 🤣

Megumi's crush being so incredibly obvious to everyone except Yuuji is such a hilarious concept to me. Hell, it's practically canon. He's Not Subtle. Unfortunately for Megumi, I use it to torment him most of the time. So yes, he can sacrifice his bed and his sanity to Yuuji's...everything. Also, I'm amused and endeared that you zeroed in on that one(1) tiny passage about Yuuji's death and the aftermath. I love your priorities, always.

Also preening that you enjoy the build-up to the Great Reveal. Yuuji is absolutely bananas, true. Love it when you break out the array of saccharine nicknames for him. It's always followed by you calling him unhinged. And yes, it's very much a problem how much Gojou likes Yuuji—poor Megumi sure thinks so!

I'm feeling the love 🥺. Also right back at you. Chewing you x2.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Gojo Satoru/Itadori Yuuji Characters: Gojo Satoru, Itadori Yuuji Additional Tags: Pre-Shibuya Incident Arc (Jujutsu Kaisen), Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage Sex, Abuse of Authority, POV Outsider, Humor, Non-Explicit Sex, Voyeurism, One-Sided Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji

Summary:

“Exhausting? It’s sex ed, Itadori. Gojou-sensei spent an hour trying to embarrass us and bailed when it failed. We didn’t even learn anything.”

“An hour? Both of you? Huh.” Itadori shakes his head. “What did he…do?”

“He projected a bunch of unnecessarily explicit pictures, talked about STDs in gruesome detail, and asked if we were into BDSM.”

Itadori blinks. “That’s it?”

“He also called us boring virgins,” Megumi says drily. “Then he ran off with Kugisaki chasing him.”

“Did she catch him?”

“Obviously not.”

“Huh,” Itadori says again. “He skipped all that for me. Got right into it.”

“Right into what?” Megumi asks warily, straightening up from his huddle on the chair. There’s a weird feeling in his spine that’s got nothing to do with the position.

Itadori cocks his head, like he’s confused by Megumi’s confusion. “The sex part.”

Megumi finds out that Gojou has been giving Yuuji some hands-on sex education.

[allmyandroids]

Raymond Reddington

In Season 4 Episode 2 - Mato

[memento-morri-writes]

This is far from my best work, but it's 1:30am, and I needed to get this down before I slept or lost my mind. So here, take a snippet of Rook seeing Zara again for the first time in 3 years.

Trying, and failing, to keep his voice from shaking, [Rook] said “Hello, Captain.” Mouth still open in surprise, [Zara] replied “Well, hello yourself.” The reality of what she was seeing seemed to hit her as she rounded the desk. “Rook, is that really you?” He nodded. “It’s me.” Zara ran towards him, stopping just short of touching him, and said “What did she do to you?” Rook’s heart stuttered and he had to brush his fingers together to confirm Sigmar’s ring was still in place. Could she possibly see through its illusion? But then he remembered what Lanny had said. She knew where you were. His throat clenched and he choked out “Two years.” A wave of grief swept across Zara’s face as she said “I’m so, so sorry.” Rook shook his head vigorously. “It’s not your fault.” Zara ignored him. “It is my fault. I failed you. As your captain, it’s my responsibility to keep you safe, and I failed you.” Rook wanted to say something, to reassure her, but she pushed on. “She sent me letters, told me all the terrible things she was doing to you. I… I let you down.” Those words hit Rook with the force of a dozen cannonballs. Lanny had said that Zara knew Wolf had him, but knowing that Zara had been aware of what Wolf was doing to him… somehow that was more painful than any wound Wolf had ever inflicted. He barely managed to force his next words out around the lump in his throat. “Where were you?” And why didn’t you come? “She said she’d kill you if I came to get you. Or if I hired anyone to get you. You’re standing here because I stopped sailing.” 

(honorary one-time tag for @space-writes bc I remember you enjoyed my other bits about Rook and Zara.)

[trickarrows-bishop]

[supersecretnerd]

Ok so these designs are cute as hell, the Internet is just mean

I have too many thoughts about a game I still need to watch

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

i think i finally realized why ive been feeling so damn depressed lately again

sorry for writing this here. im really hurting actually. im not good. i feel a bit helpless too. idk who to talk to bc i dont want to burden anyons and i donf feel like anything could console me right now

Like. fuck me man. thanks for saving me but. why the hell are you not here. i dont want to do this without you. i hate only being able to remember you. i was supposed to grow old with you, not without you.

And. honestly. even with all this bullshit i say here, all the endless times i spend trying to write down my feelings, abt you, about all the pain ive felt my life, it doesnt get better. not at all. and no words, no poetry takes it away and i truly feel like nobody will ever truly understand how suffocated i felt all my life.

and i want to change thanks to you but. i dont know. nothing's satisfying enough.

no matter what, i truly only feel great when im in that daydream like world you created.

and these past days ive been thinking a lot that. i really wouldnt mind dying right now. not at all. because at least i know what happiness feels like. and i want to stay in that state. probably, even in this life your music will bring me happiness, but i want to be trapped in it.

im tired of being so unseen, and even when im seen, im hurting. but i dont know whats hurting. i think im just really tired thats all.

and. ye. i feel brave tbh. i still havent posted my video to instagram, bc im not brave for that. i dont know. and i feel like a hypocrite bc everything is true that i wrote there but at the same time these are my thoughts currently

in a long while i looked up suicide methods again. i feel so hopeful, but im not really sure if really for the future. jm sorry this is probably alarming. i will probably not kill myself but. idk. im not sure actually. i dknt know what to say. i wasnt cut out for this wordly shit.i feel unlovable but even if im loved, i donf want to be. i dont want anything. just let me stsy in this quiet place snd just. disappear. i wouldnt want my family to hurt if i die but i wont know about it anyways. idk man. i feel strongly i could die calmly this time and thats nice. bc 6 years ago i was terrified, and hurt. but now im content and kind of ready idk man. its not a terrible feeling, its a "this is it, it was nice while it lasted" ig.

there are no clouds in my head actually. i truly dont feel like im thinking irrationally, i feel like this would just be like. the end goal i was looking for. to feel true love once. it was nice.

no goodbye yet bc idk how id kms even if i do. But ill tell u guys if i found something.

[hauntingblue]

ENIES LOBBY PART 2 BABY

The last look... like Orpheus to Euridice I'm going to be sick... also how they keep evading each other... they crossed each other in town and now they can't even cross glances.....

I can't do this anymore I'm not making it out of here you guys... I'm going to die all dried up in my bed like a mummy.... I'm just realising how similar luffy and Robin are and how unlucky she got in comparison but luffy reached her in the end... and now they're family 😭😭😭 anyways now to the sbs if I can read through my tears my god. Robin spent the rest of her life running from the government and in hiding just for a minute of contact with her mother. Like are you seeing this. And luffy would do it too. Fuck it is that not what marineford was??

Have I ever talked about how robin holds her mother's hand and her power (most of it for now) is manifesting hands out of thin air? It's like she can make need for connection manifest physically. That makes me feel so normal and emotionally stable

Look at these fucking freaks... also usopp who was the one who told robin to trust luffy burning down the flag because luffy told him to do it for robin... are you seeing this???

Luffy manager and assistant manager

Sanji is so scared of women look at him...

Look at his stupid face. What the fuck is that.

Her alpha pheromones have him ovulating right now. Look at this

Luffy is very dumb but look at the extreme he is willing to go for her friends. Just throwing himself into the rough sea. Thank god a child and her pet are out there to save him ajdkajsks

Was she... was she in the tub with kalifa.... fighting????

IS SHE LOOKING FOR THE STRAP???? THATS SEXUAL HARASSMENT!!

okay... normal reaction I guess

Sanji has never looked more pathetic I love it

Kalifa wants Nami's full attention.... wonder why that is... *pussy shot*

You know this is actually the building of a beautiful relationship

Look how frank approves of nami and her lesbianism... he's so supportive ❤️

He always has something cool to say... also zoro I saw your approving smile... you can't hide from me

Zoro couldn't say what he thought to usopp but sanji could do it here.... usopp needs to heart it so bad

I hollered so hard when I saw this for the first time... that is such a slay sanji.... luffy and zoro have fuck all to say when they beat someone so sanji gets all the one liners (also sanji is a demon and zoro is the king of hell there is zosan everywhere for those with the eyes to see)

It's fascinating to me that zoro says sorry here. What is going on inside that head. Like in recent developments (egghead) we can see they can be friendly but.... sorry for what....

Robin going from not trusting the crew, to protecting them because she sees her own life worthless and values theirs, to trusting them and their love to know they will save her... 🥺🥺

Gear 5 in gear 2 tease (no)

He is like the sun and he doesn't even fear the gods. Okay. Who made the people who wrote these reasons into prophets.

Oh my god. One piece water seven is so old that the world population was 5 billion.

This is so funny. "I love nami and robin" Does he makes cakes like that sometimes with things written on them. A cake with nami looks beautiful today. Another one with robin is very intelligent. Just for the fun of it I guess

This to me is CRAZY btw. Let me explain. I get it here it makes sense but he says the same thing about ace in thriller bark. And then after time skip he is back to this and he should be TERRIFIED. In my opinion at least. Knowing his friends is all he has left and they could die at any minute if he slips up or isn't quick enough to save them? Or did he understand that ace saved him. Still ace died (not saying this is true) to protect him because he wasn't strong enough or because he didn't get there quick enough.

Are they stupid??? Arkham games reddit referenced one piece that's so cool....

I thought I could finish enies lobby with one post.... welp....

[kitsquared]

So are there Sir Raymon fans here or

[moe-broey]

Man..