Would Yall Hate Me If I Started Posting Merlin Fanfics

would yall hate me if i started posting merlin fanfics 😫

OH MY FUCKING GOD. this needs to be a book NOW.

READY TO COMPLY ; chapter 11/? : парамнезия

парамнезия or paramnesia is defined as:

a condition or phenomenon involving distorted memory or confusions of fact and fantasy, such as confabulation or déjà vu.

warnings/tags: gore, hallucinations, blood, unhygienic (srry), smut for a small portion, angst.

notes: flashbacks are in italics, (…) indicates a pov shift, whereas (….) indicates a time skip.

prev chapters here!

word count: 2.5 - 3k

🏷️: @viylikescats @warenai @briacreations96 @fullmoon-94 @breadboyye @kiroshang @zvdvdlvr @digitalrosariesblog @itzzjxlyn @lonely-ofc @m0rganit3 @badbishsblog @wolfyland07 @angelsdemonsmonsters @unkn0wnd3ad @itstokyo-cos @c1rice @venusianlustt @bugonawall @wakusbonkus @shadowycreatormentality @blackrose4242 @blackgaladriel @lilpothoscuttings @thvxr @tapioca-marzipan @jinxxangel13 @luvmeijii @mp3seoul @atjamesbbarnes @h-leigh @writingmybeloved @chloeforde @divine--serenity @zittles3000 @thriving-n-jiving @mar-mar-mel @ivymarquis @crazy-phan-girl13 @goodsoup03 @schaarfyx @rhyanna6012 @abbiesxox @kenz-ee @whateverwhocares6 @sae1kie @thychuvaluswife @elichisstuff @kkaaaagt @grippingbeskar (rest of tags will be in a rb)

The moment you released your opponent from the chokehold, he gasped for air just like you did when you were dropped from his hold. His wheezing was sharp as it filled the room. His eyes were wide with shock as he immediately clutched his throat. You didn’t even notice when your lips quirked into a small grin, relishing in the fact that he felt even a fraction of the fear that you had.

Your eyes were trained on his figure as he scrambled away from you, watching his muscles twitch as he retreated. You watched him, stared at him even when your handler was walking up to you. Your eyes narrowed at your opponent, daring him to get back up.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when your handler cleared his throat. Your eyes darted to him. A chill ran down your spine, almost akin to the jolts of electricity that were sent throughout your body only minutes prior. Your smirk immediately fading from your lips as you remembered how he electrocuted you for any minuscule mistake.

Your body acted on instinct, an almost animalistic sense of survival. Your posture straightened and your breath hitched, heart pounding in your ears as you rose to your feet. Standing at attention and preparing to follow any orders or commands that he barked your way.

You were so prepared to be growled at or barked at. You watched his face, expecting his lips to pull into a snarl as he found something wrong with your sparring.

Instead, he kept looking at you while he turned his head, opening his mouth to speak to someone else. “Romanov, here. Now.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to the space next to you.

Your brows furrowed at the mention of another person. When you heard the sound of boots hitting the rubber mats, your eyes darted to the woman who was jogging over to the two of you.

Once your eyes landed on her, something clicked inside your mind. She was familiar.

She came to a stop next to him, crossing her arms in front of her as she waited for him to give her an order. Her eyes wandered to you, filled with an emotion you couldn’t name.

It wasn’t anger, which was strange after seeing it in everyone’s eyes for months. Was it regret? Remorse? Guilt?

Everything was so familiar about her. Her frame, her plump lips, her fiery red hair. The way she carried herself with such confidence and strength, like she knew she couldn’t be knocked down easily.

Every little detail of this woman pricked at the back of your brain with familiarity. But you couldn’t figure out why. You couldn’t place where you knew her from.

Was she a friend? A loved one? Or an enemy?

“Take Asset no. 09012020 to the showers. Make it quick.” Rumlow ordered, nodding towards the training room doors.

A shower? Your ears perked up and your eyes widened almost hopefully. During your entire time in captivity, you hadn’t been bathed or showered. Not while you were unconscious or being cut open on the table. You definitely weren’t ever granted the opportunity to shower on your own.

For eight whole weeks, you were sitting in your own sweat and filth and dried blood. Your hair was tangled and greasy, riddled with knots and buildup. You felt utterly disgusting. The thought of being allowed a shower was the one thing that brought you a shred of happiness and relief in this cold, dark place.

“Of course.” The Widow nodded before beckoning you to follow her. You didn’t miss a beat, staying on her heels as she walked towards the door. You felt many eyes on you as you followed her, burning a hole into your head with every step you took. Truthfully, many of them had been staring at you ever since you were able to tap out the Winter Soldier.

The two of you reached the exit door and two soldiers opened the doors. She stepped out first and beckoned for you once more.

You stayed hot on her heels as she walked down the cold hallway. With each step, her vibrant red hair swayed and her boots clicked against the floor. Again, you felt that itch in the back of your brain.

You knew that hair from somewhere. That bold shade of red, almost appearing dyed but not quite. It was too beautiful, almost perfect but also lived in.

With each sway of the crimson strands, images flashed across the forefront of your mind. Sounds accompanied those images, painting a picture of your own fractured memories.

Images appeared of the same fiery red hair being splayed across a white sheet on a gurney, accompanied by the sound of a woman sucking in a harsh breath of air through her teeth in a painful wince.

Images appeared of her hair whipping in the wind, flecks of snowflakes dusting the strands, accompanied by the sound of something metallic clinking. Then gurgling of something liquid, maybe someone coughing up blood? Your hand reached for the old, long healed wound on your abdomen, as if moved by some sort of muscle memory.

Images appeared of her hair soaking wet, the damp strands sticking to her forehead as the woman pulled you out of the water, accompanied by the sound of the wind blowing in your ears and her panting with each pull.

Images appeared of her red hair cascading down her shoulders, still dripping water as she watched you get dragged away and stuck in that torture chair.

Those images echoed in your mind in a continuous loop, flashes of color booming across your brain.

At the same time that your brain was flooded with images and colors and sounds, doubt and fear ran through your veins.

Was the Widow that woman?

Was she the same woman that pulled you out of the water? Or was it just your mind trying to piece together the fragments of your mind like a puzzle? Giving that woman her face and body because they shared the same hair color.

Was it just your brain associating that fiery red color in your memories with the woman in front of you? Was your mind just trying to fill in the blanks with what little information it had?

Were the images in your brain even real? Or was your brain so desperate to remember something, anything from your past life that it conjured up some fake memories in order to protect itself?

Before you knew it, you were pulled out of your thoughts by the Widow pushing open the door to the showers.

You were immediately hit with an onslaught of smells the moment you walked through the door. The most prominent was the strong scent of chemicals, similar to disinfectant and bleach. With every inhale through your nostrils, you were reminded of how familiar that smell was. You didn’t know why, you couldn’t place it in any specific memory or feeling. But it just felt.. right.

The other smell that stood in the background was less pleasant. Less clean or sterile.

It was the stench of blood. It reeked of ammonia and it had a metallic tinge. It was so bitter and potent, just a single whiff of it made you wrinkle your nose with a cringe. That smell was also familiar, just like the first scent. With every whiff of that pungent odor, images flashed behind your eyes. Images of the crimson liquid pouring from wounds, the sound of gurgling echoes through your mind.

Your eyes wandered as you took in the shower room.

The shower room was lit up by bright strips of white lights on the ceiling. The light illuminated the large white room, revealing at least thirty showers. Each shower was separated by a thin wall that only came up to waist level, boxing in each cubicle and providing a piss poor level of privacy. In each shower stall was a small porcelain shelf mounted to the tile wall, with just enough space for the bare minimum toiletries.

The walls and floors of the entire room were lined with white tile, and along the walls of the room were sinks and mirrors. The mirrors were cloudy with steam from previous showers, leaving your reflection muddled in the glass. The sinks were white porcelain with silver fixtures. The familiar shade of crimson flooded your vision as you saw blood spattered on the fixtures. The plasma stained the silver handles, from scraped palms and jagged cuts as fingers tried to turn the fixtures. That same blood that stained the silver had dripped down the porcelain sink, seeping into the silver drain. The crimson red was a harsh contrast against the clean, sterile white.

The rest of the sinks were splattered with blood just like that one, all evidence of past wounds and beatings suffered by other subjects and Widows.

The longer your eyes were trained on the blood stained sinks, the more your mind was flooded with images of that same vital liquid. You couldn’t place the origin of any of the images, let alone whether they were real memories or not.

But they sent chills down your spine regardless. You felt a pit settle at the bottom of your stomach regardless.

The images came and went from your mind like shreds and scraps. At the same time, your brain tried to piece the scraps together like a puzzle. A puzzle that was always missing one vital piece.

The images came in fragments. With each fragment, you flinched. Recoiled from the gory pictures.

…. gun shots rang out from Russian soldiers.

“No!” You could hear your own voice wail. It sounded alien. Nearly unrecognizable. As if it was spoken by someone trying to sound like you. Trying to imitate you.

Flinch.

You saw a horrific scene, taking place in your own cell. The cell you were kept in for weeks. Blood spattered on the walls and onto the floor as the bullets tore apart—

Flinch.

— bodies fell limp on the dirty floor, blood pooling around them. Everything was red. The guts and intestines that were spilling out of their stomachs. The chunks of flesh torn apart, falling from the bone.

Flinch.

A bearded man staring at you from the ground where his limp, lifeless body lay. Icy eyes wide as he stared at you, but not actually looking at you. Just glazed over, unseeing. Blood matting his brown hair, pouring from the head wound that left his brain matter exposed. Chunks of pink and white were scattered around his head, blood splattering the cement beneath him.

Flinch.

A man with darker skin than the first man was laid on his back. His brown eyes staring straight up at the ceiling, wide with shock and fear. Glazed over and unseeing, with his lash line shining from unshed tears. Mouth agape in a choked off scream, blood brimming along the seam of his plump lips.

You visibly recoiled at the next two images, even though you still didn’t recognize them.

Another man laid in a pool of his own blood and guts. Whatever skin that peeked out from his tan military gear was sun kissed, littered with scars and freckles. The brown specks and dots were drowned out by splatters of blood. Chunks and clumps of clotted blood had stuck to his arms and neck. His vest was soaked with blood, the tan fabric turned into an almost black. Blood pooled around him. His head was shaved on the sides and his hair was styled into a mohawk. His hair was dark brown, but it looked black with how much blood was caked in it. The strands were matted together with the plasma, and clumps of pink were clinging to his hair.

Brain matter.

The man’s face was just as bad. His face was all chiseled angles, but not harsh. Just sculpted. His tan skin was splattered with blood and brain matter, just like his neck and arms. His brows were bushy and furrowed in pain, framing his eyes.

His fucking eyes.

They were the same shade of blue that kept flashing across your brain, day in and day out. The exact same shade. No matter how many times you were hooked up to that machine and your brain was scraped of its memories — those eyes always came back.

Those eyes were looking right at you in this.. vision? Memory?

His cerulean eyes were shining with unshed tears, but void of any emotions as he stared at you. Blood trickled out from his lips at the corners, before his lips were pulled into a wolfish grin. His white teeth were stained just like the porcelain sinks, tainted with such a deep blood red that it almost appeared black.

“Bonnie,” an accented voice echoed in your mind before your eyes landed upon the last dead body.

Recoil.

The last man’s face was almost unidentifiable. It was so bloody and massacred that his face was more mangled flesh than actual facial features.

His hair looked like it could be blond, but it looked brown with how much blood it was soaked in. The strands stuck to his forehead as the blood dripped down from his hair, streaking down his face. His eyelashes were wet with the crimson liquid as it trickled over his eyelids. His eyes were rolled back into his skull. His mouth was open in a silent scream, blood trickling out of his mouth. His neck was torn apart, allowing you to see every muscle and tendon and even some bone.

On the bloodied concrete floor next to the dead man lay a skull shaped mask.

“Lovie.”

Recoil.

Though time seemed to stretch on endlessly in your mind, those images came and went in a matter of seconds. Anyone watching you would’ve just seen you flinch a few times. They would have no idea the torture you were forced to witness. The gore that would now be committed to your memory — until it was wiped again.

You were yanked out of your thoughts by the loud sound of the faucet turning on.

You sharply exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding as your eyes darted to where the noise came from.

The red head had walked over to one of the first showers in the room and turned the fixture, letting the water run from the faucet. The sound of the running water filled the large room, a welcome white noise to drown out the chaos inside your head.

You forced your legs to move, taking shaky steps toward the shower.

“I’ll give you some privacy.” The Widow murmured to you with a nod before walking to stand by the door.

You glanced at her to see that she was facing away from you. You crouched down to unlace your combat boots before stepping out of them. You peeled your socks off and stepped back onto the tile floor, wincing at the abrupt cold tile.

Then you moved on to take off your cargo pants, reaching to pull down the zipper. You pushed the fabric down your hips and past your thighs, until the pants were pooled around your ankles. You shivered a bit at the cold air hitting your bare skin.

The more you pushed the pants down, the more bruises and scars you revealed on your legs. Marks that served as a reminder of all the times you were knocked around. Tased, lashed, sliced. Evidence of all the wounds you couldn’t even remember receiving.

You swallowed and steeled yourself, stepping out of the pants and moving on to the shirt.

With a wince, you grabbed the bottom of your muscle shirt and pulled it over your head. Cringing at the smell of sweat and dirt, you pulled your arms out of the sleeves. You tossed the dirty shirt on top of the other dirty clothes before turning to your shower.

When you looked at the shower stall, you noticed that she had slipped in some toiletries for you to use. On the short wall of the stall, she had hung up a white washcloth for you to use to scrub your body. Placed on the small porcelain shelf were four small plastic bottles. They were clear, with no designs or branding labels on them. The only indicators you had of what bottle held which liquid, was small white rectangular stickers that were labeled as each product. Two bottles for hair care, one bottle for body wash and one bottle for body lotion.

She had also placed a wide tooth comb on that shelf, decent enough for you to detangle your hair with.

You had an inkling that the products belonged to her, instead of some random HYDRA soldier.

You pushed open the door to your shower with a creak before stepping into the shower stall. Picking up the comb, you began detangling your hair. You started at the ends, taking care to be gentle with each pull of the comb through your (curls/strands). You held your hair mid-way while you worked the comb through, ensuring that it doesn’t yank at your scalp.

You winced with each tug, feeling sharp tingling pain as you worked through each knot and tangle that had built up for weeks on end. Your hair was greasy from being unwashed for so long, but also crusted over in some parts because of so much dried up blood. When you ran into those areas, you had take extra time to break through those snarls and knots.

After many minutes of painstaking detangling, you had finally achieved a manageable state with your hair. You touched it, from the roots to the ends, determining that it was good enough for you to wash it.

You exhaled as you stepped under the stream of hot water, letting it soak through your hair. Closing your eyes and tilting your head back, you let the water drip from your forehead and down your face.

That’s how you spent a good few minutes. Just standing under the stream of water, letting it run over you. Savoring it.

Feeling it soak into your hair, deep in the roots and down to the ends. Feeling it trail down your neck and past your shoulders, trickling down your back.

You reached up and parted your hair, making sure every piece was saturated in water. You craned your neck forward, to the side, and then back again, to make sure water got behind your ears and your neck.

You reached down to the small shelf to pick up the first bottle, popping the cap open to squirt out some of the clear liquid into your palm.

You tried to ignore how strange it felt to squirt the liquid onto the metal hand. Your metal hand. It felt so alien to look at where your human hand was supposed to be, only for a chunk of metal to be in its place. It felt even worse to touch that metal hand with your other hand. It felt just like touching a gun. An inanimate object. A killing machine.

Which was technically true.

You shook your head, as if that could shake out the downward spiral taking place in your mind.

You forced yourself to move on. You brought your hand under the water before rubbing your hands together, starting to create a lather.

You spent the next ten minutes scrubbing at your scalp until it felt raw, massaging the shampoo thoroughly into your skin. You groaned in pleasure as your nails scratched your scalp, feeling a fraction of the tension in your body melting away.

Soon, you had finished washing your hair. You already felt so much cleaner now that your hair was free of the buildup of sweat, dirt and blood.

You moved on to scrubbing your body raw, cleaning off all the sweat and grime and dried blood that had caked on your skin.

With every scrape and scrub of the washcloth against your skin, you felt bruises and cuts and welts under the cloth. You cry out in pain when you hit particularly angry gashes but keep scrubbing.

Scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing.

Even as tears stream down your face.

You cried for everything you could remember and everything you couldn’t. You cried for every scar that hurt no matter how much you couldn’t remember how you received them. You cried for every scar that you did remember receiving — having to relive the trauma of those moments every time you put pressure on those bruises, every time your hand grazed a welted patched of skin.

You cried for your left arm. Even though you didn’t remember having it cut off, you still grieved for the warm, human flesh that used to be in its place. You cried for the numbness that was a constant in your metal limb.

You cried for the electric shocks that were running through your body not even an hour prior, used for forcing you into what your handler wanted. You could almost still feel the burning pain shocking your nerves, sending stabbing needles down your spine as you stood under the water.

You cried for the very few memories that came and went in your brain. Memories that you couldn’t place, memories that you weren’t sure even existed. You cried for the massacre of bodies that appeared whenever you closed your eyes. The pile of bloody bodies and spilled guts, shattered bones poking through skin and brain matter splattered against cement.

You cried for the two voices that you couldn’t place, the voices that echoed through your mind over and over. The voices that sounded so tender and loving and soft, the complete opposite of any voices you heard in this place. You would give anything for those voices to be real. To be in the presence of those voices.

You cried for the blue eyes you kept seeing. Those bright, cerulean eyes that were filled with more life and happiness than anything in this place.

You cried for the you that you didn’t know. The you that must have existed before you were the Asset. Before you were moulded into a killing machine.

(…)

At that exact moment, almost 2,000 miles away in the United Kingdom were Ghost and Soap. Simon and Johnny.

Enjoying the spacious, comfortable shower in your their shared quarters on base. Standing together under the stream of warm water, skin already scrubbed clean and hair already washed free of any dirt.

Panting echoed amongst the running water as hands wandered, lips roaming to kiss and bite on sensitive skin. Simon had already been working Johnny open around his fingers and his tongue, pulling moans and whines from the Scot’s mouth as he made sure he was slick and ready for his cock. Johnny was already nearing the edge by the time the other man pushed in. Simon was already pent up from being on a mission together, having to restrain himself from bending the other man over whenever he felt like it.

Johnny’s face is pressed against the tile wall as Simon’s arms caged him in, the Lieutenants’ chest pressed flush against his lovers back. Simon’s lips found their home on the span of Johnny’s neck, pressing tender kisses to the soft skin.

Johnny moans against the cold tile as Simon eases himself in deeper, squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure. With every inch the blond man pushed in, both men could feel warmth building in their stomachs. Johnny could feel himself stretch to accommodate Simon’s size, a slight sting accompanied by that familiar fullness.

Simon angled his hips and gave a sharp thrust, finally bottoming out and hitting that spongey spot that made Johnny cry out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Moans fell from Johnny’s lips, all drawn out and desperate.

“Yeah, I know,” Simon crooned into Johnny’s ear, nipping his earlobe. His mouth traveled back to bite at his neck, sucking marks into Johnny’s neck. With every suck, he moaned into Johnny’s skin. He could feel Johnny clench around his cock with every thrust, practically sucking him in.

He just needed feel Johnny clench around him a few more times, then he’d be nearing his own climax.

Simon shifted his weight on one arm, using his other hand to reach down and wrap around Johnny’s cock. Simon felt Johnny’s hips buck forward at the contact, but he only thrusted further into the shorter man.

Simon smirked against his skin at the sharp whine that fell from Johnny’s lips.

That only made him stroke further. Each stroke of the man’s cock spread his white juices up and down, covering his shaft and making wet noises echo.

Simon’s hand and his thrusts worked in tandem, perfectly in sync so he could work both him and Johnny to the edge. With each stroke and each thrust, Johnny would moan out Simon’s name. The Lieutenant would be groaning into the other man’s ear, all husky and gruff as he neared his own edge.

Soon, Simon would curse in Johnny’s ear and he would thrust in a broken rhythm as he let go inside of the other man. Johnny’s breath would hitch and his hips would buck as he squeezed around Simon’s cock. White ropes of thick cum would spurt from his cock as Simon fucked him through their releases.

While you were covered in scars and bruises and welts, and you had no memory of your past life, they were basking in their own pleasures.

While you were starving and fighting for food, they had full stomachs. While you received the bare minimum medical care, they received only the best.

While they were able to hold onto each other and feel loved, cared for — you were stuck.

Stuck feeling absolutely alone.

(….)

Two weeks had passed since your fight with the Winter Soldier. Two weeks since you made him tap on the floor of the training room.

Two weeks since you finally stopped holding back.

In those two weeks, you won again and again. Every single fight or spar ended with your opponent hitting their palm on the mat.

It was unspoken by anyone around you, even by other subjects. When you won a fight, you were allowed one shower and a meal.

If you lost? You would be stuck with just water and those same protein shakes, always just enough nutrients to keep your body running but never enough to stop your stomach from growling. You would have to sit in your sweat and grime until you won your next fight.

And if you didn’t win your next fight? Then the cycle would continue.

No showers or meals.

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

GymRat!Miguel Part 10

content warning: “vague” descriptions of American colleges (iykyk), Winston [Earth-928/ Earth-TRN590] is here with a cool prosthetic arm (he originally has three! so I thought it would be cool to incorporate his robot arm back somehow), suggestive at parts so MINORS BEWARE (although you shouldn’t be looking at this series at all 😒), Miguel is the baby of his friend group, if the Spanish here is wrong please lmk!

word count: 3.8k, proofread so there should be no mistakes (something short and sweet!)

In case you missed it, you can find GR!Miguel’s full SFW + NSFW Alphabet here!

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

GymRat!Miguel who has become one with his room. The bed is comfortable, the AC is just right, and more importantly, he can hide here in solitude.

His parents decided to host Gabriel’s graduation party, Gabriel’s college acceptance party, and a Fourth of July party all at once. It was nonstop trips to Sam’s, Party City, and the grocery store.

Gabriel got a full ride to a prestigious art school up north and his parents were using every second of the summer to make time for him.

They didn’t do nearly as much for him when he graduated and got a full ride. Although, Miguel guesses the shiny Range Rover from Tyler parked outside was enough to soothe the old wounds trying to reopen. Plus, Gabriel really deserved it. The chances of getting in were low, but Miguel helped every step of the way and now a bright future in the Big Apple was calling his name.

Still, if his dad called him to cut the grass or season another pack of meat, he might lose it.

GymRat!Miguel who was glad to see you were still enjoying your summer. He was probably the first to watch your stories, like your pictures, and even comment on your little notes.

He hoped it came off as endearing and dedicated because sometimes he worried it was annoying and clingy. He couldn’t help it, though. You’re always on his mind nowadays.

Today you had posted clips of you and your friends at a Boba shop. He could hear your laughter as you zoomed in one of your friends fighting for their life after sucking up a boba ball.

He smiled to himself as he played the video a few more times just to hear you.

GymRat!Miguel who decides to play a Gacha game on his phone to distract his wandering mind.

There was a character he wanted and he wasn’t stopping until he got her.

GymRat!Miguel who three domains, a farming session, several 10-pulls, and a lucky spot later did not get the character he wanted. He was heartbroken, shattered, and inconsolable.

He groaned and flipped over to the wall, choosing a few colorful words to complain.

GymRat!Miguel who’s half-asleep state is interrupted by Gabriel doing their special knock and poking his head inside.

“Whatdoyouwant,” Miguel pushed his face further in his pillow in hopes that it would make him disappear.

“Broski, your friends are here,” Gabriel sang as if he were a white suburban mom with too much time on her hands. “And they bombarded my TikTok stream so if you could please retrieve them, that would be nice.”

Miguel poked his head up, “Are you rating people’s talents again?”

“Even better. I’m being an NPC and making bank!”

“Why don’t you ever play the saxophone or something?”

“Because that’s not what the people want me to do, Miguel. The people want to see me go ‘Lick a lil sum!’ over and over again. They eat it up.”

Miguel squinted at the bright light coming from the hallway, “In a pickle suit?”

Gabriel looked down as much as he could with his constricted movement, only his appendages sticking out of the holes, and looked back to Miguel with gritted teeth.

“If you would have put your Nightwing costume back on, I could have been Robin and we could have made money together. But it seems that you hate me.”

GymRat!Miguel who watches Tempest push the door open further and shuffle around a seething Gabriel.

“I still don’t know why you’re dressed like a Spongebob character,” she laughs at his green tights.

“I’m not Kevin! Stop saying that. There’s no glasses. There’s no crown. There’s no pants!”

Lyla poked her head around him.

“‘Lewser.’”

Gabriel yelled and turned around, waddling back to his room, “I’m not letting the Geek Squad bully me!”

“You say that like you’re not one of us!” Winston shouted after him, shells and beads in his hair clanking together.

“One of us, one of us, ONE OF US!” the trio started to chant at Miguel’s door.

Gabriel just let out incoherent noses until he was able to shut his door.

GymRat!Miguel who feels like hissing when Tempest opens his blinds.

“Please, no more!” he whined into the pillow.

“What’s with you two today? So snappy,” she mumbles.

Winston stood by the door with his hands on his hips, “Have you been in here all day?”

Miguel sits up, “No.”

“You look like it,” Lyla snickers, kicking a bag out of the way.

“We haven’t seen you in like, forever, and you’re acting like you don’t really care,” Tempest pulls up her long, ruffled skirt to plop on the bed next to Miguel. “Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Did someone die?” Winston pulls out Miguel’s gaming chair to take a seat.

“No.”

“Wait!” Lyla’s voice makes everyone jump. “You failed your class for the first time and now your life is ruined.”

“What? No, never.”

GymRat!Miguel who perks up at the sound of the text tone he picked just for you.

“Look!”

“I just found this picture of us”

“We’re working hard 🫡”

“I’m putting in overtime”

“There’s no PTO”

“Only work”

“We get paid in kisses”

“Only kisses?”

“Everything else is a bonus check for being the perfect employee”

"Aka my girlfriend"

“And what does that bonus check look like?”

“Hmmm”

“She looks divine”

“She tastes really sweet too”

“Inside and out”

“What does your bonus check look like?”

“He’s big and hot 😌”

“He looks really nice when I love on him”

“He feels really good”

“Be very lucky you’re not near me rn”

“What?”

“I’m just describing my elite employee!”

“Aka my bf”

“I feel really good?”

“Yeah!”

“You’re my teddy bear”

“….and you also feel good in other places that I won’t be spelling out”

GymRat!Miguel who doesn’t feel Tempest leaning over his shoulder until her voice snaps him back to reality.

“No fucking way you got a girlfriend and didn’t tell anybody.”

She snatches the phone from his hands.

“Temp, give it back!”

“And you’re getting freaky with her while we’re right here!”

“No, I’m not-”

“It says right here ‘she tastes really sweet, inside and out.’ It’s in 4K!” Tempest shoved the phone in Winston’s face who gets the derpiest smile.

“My man!” he reaches his hand out to Miguel to dap him up, ending it in the handshake that only the two of them know. “You finally got a girl and you putting in that work. Let’s. Fucking. Go.”

“At least someone is on my side.”

“I never said I wasn’t on your side. I’m just stuck on the fact that you didn’t tell anyone. No texts, no socials. Just tumbleweed in that big ass head of yours,” Tempest pushed a duck nail against Miguel’s temple. “Like you could have died, and we would have never known.”

“I’m sorry, Temp, it’s been a hectic year.”

“And now it’s summer. We’ve got nothing but time,” she grabbed a pillow to place in her lap. “So get to talking Migster.”

“Yeah, while I can understand waiting to tell us about your girl, this is like, what, the second strike for you? First, no yacht and now this? Aggy,” Winston shook his head.

“All three of you had plans! I checked!”

“And it’s looking like you’ve been with her for almost a year. Wow,” Lyla said from a bean bag on the floor.

Miguel reaches to snatch it from her, teeth gritted in a way that mimicked his brother.

“I never knew you could get so romantic! Maybe scratch the arcade idea off, though. You get way too competitive.”

Tempest hit Miguel with her pillow, “An entire year?”

“Cold-blooded. I should smack you next,” Winston struck his metal arm back like he was getting ready to swing.

Miguel held his hands up, “I’ll finally let you teach me how to play Halo!”

Winston sat back, “2k too, and all is forgiven.”

“Halo and one round of 2k.”

“Deal,” Winston shook Miguel’s hand. “You’ll be hooked once you get the hang of it.”

“God, I hope not,” Lyla mumbled.

“Says the one who yells at children on Roblox,” Winston bit back.

“You don’t hear what those heathens say, I do!”

GymRat!Miguel who is forced to make a short PowerPoint about his past year while his friends help Miguel’s parents set up even more.

“I want a Final-worthy presentation by the time we get back! I even showed you where to get the cute templates,” Tempest fusses from the door before she closes it.

GymRat!Miguel who calls you while they’re gone.

“I mean, if it were me who just found out that my closest friend told me essentially nothing about their partner for that long, I’d be pretty upset too.”

Miguel groans as he leans back in his chair, “That is pretty fucked, isn’t it?”

“But, because I was with you most of the school year, I know that you were just preoccupied with other things. Figuring out college, checking off a lot of adult firsts, making new friends, dealing with family, totally scrambling your way through getting your first girlfriend.”

“Hey…”

You laugh at his annoyed expression and snap a picture, “I’m sure if you just explain things to them, they’ll understand.”

“I hope so. I already promised Winston a game of 2k.”

You scrunched your nose in the cute way that Miguel adored, “I’ll take a gamer, nerdy boyfriend any day. Might draw the line at 2k, I fear.”

“My face doesn’t cancel out the bad connotation?”

“Depends. Will you cancel on me in place of playing with your friends?”

Miguel’s eyes looked to you on his laptop with a frown on his face, “Never. I don’t think I’d do that for anything that can be rescheduled. Did he do that?”

Miguel didn’t want to say his name because it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“More than I’d like to admit, yes.”

“If I ever see him, I might punch him.”

“Miguel.”

“I’m so serious. There hasn’t been one good quality about him yet.”

Only the fact that he was a good stepping stone to get to Miguel, not that he would ever say that out loud.

“He was…nice when I met him.”

“Just nice?”

“He had a cute face!”

Miguel’s frown deepened, “I don’t want to talk about him anymore, actually.”

GymRat!Miguel who finished his PowerPoint with the help of you.

Honestly, you just had to sit pretty in the corner of his monitor.

GymRat!Miguel who was ready to present once his friends got back, each of them sporting a Fanta in their hands.

“Nobody brought me one?”

Tempest made a noise of satisfaction when she took a sip, “A cold one is waiting for you when you finish, buddy.”

Miguel rolled his eyes and set up the PowerPoint.

GymRat!Miguel whose presentation is dragged even further because everyone keeps asking questions.

Section 1: New Experiences

“Only you would attract sorority girls despite the clear baby boy energy radiating off of you,” Tempest said.

“I mean, look at him,” Lyla gestured to Miguel’s body. “We still see our big baby, but that body? That’s what people notice first. We should have prepared him more.”

Miguel’s face fumed as he went to the next slide.

“And only you would make friends with the cafeteria lady. She saw the baby aura,” Tempest quipped.

“L-let’s just move on,” Miguel mumbled.

“You’re on the robotics team!! There’s our Miggy,” Lyla rounds her words like she was talking to a child.

“Guys, Miguel is going to be a tomato if you don’t stop,” Winston chides.

Section 2: Family

“I’ve been waiting on somebody to get that gremlin Kron and you finally got him,” Lyla shook her head with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry about your mom, though. She didn’t really like us too much either when we first started to hang out,” Tempest pulled her knees up to her chin.

“Mind you, I had a mean set of braces, suspenders, and high water pants when we first met,” Winston said.

“Oh my god. Remember when she thought Tempest was tricking Mig into doing her homework?”

“When all I was doing was comparing answers because Miguel was the only one who could keep up with me in that class,” Tempest snickered. “Glad me and Mrs. O’Hara moved past that because I was definitely looking out for you more than she was.”

“Remember when she thought you two were dating?” Winston asked.

Miguel groaned, “That was so fucking embarrassing.”

“You think now I read as a raging lesbian or what?”

Section 3: My Gorgeous Girlfriend Whom Which I Love

“The same guy who lectured me for 10 minutes over not jumping out of a car to hold the door for my girlfriend left his girl at a party?” Winston snickered.

Lyla played with the end of a braid in her hair, “Chivalry is dead.”

“Get all your jokes out now, because we’re going strong,” Miguel waved everyone off as he flipped to the next slide.

“Is that her?” Lyla sat up as much as she could in her sinking seat.

“Yeah,” Miguel’s smile grew at the picture of you from a coffee date on the screen.

“Look at him,” Winston pointed a finger. “He can’t even speak. He’s gone.”

“She’s hot! Nice job Miguel,” Tempest clapped with a giddy smile on her face. “You’re like, lovestruck over there.”

Miguel continued to flip through the several slides he had of you, face sinking further into his palm as he stared at you like he’s never seen you before.

“Does Xina know you have a girlfriend?”

“Woof,” Tempest and Winston said in a low voice simultaneously.

Miguel tilted his head with a confused expression, “What’s with the ‘woof’? Why are you all looking like that? And where is Xina, anyway?”

“She said her parents wanted her to go visit family, so she’s far, far away right now.”

“Did you know she’s transferring to your school?” Lyla asks.

“Why? I thought she was going to an Ivy League somewhere. It was all she talked about.”

Tempest’s eyebrows raised, “Can’t stay at an Ivy League if you fuck up your scholarship.”

"She told me that she didn't like it there," Winston looked confused.

Lyla and Tempest just stared at each other in disbelief.

“If you worked your ass off from starting a non-profit to being the school valedictorian, just to get into one school, would you just up and leave after one school year without finding better options?” Lyla deadpanned.

“Hey, we don’t know what happened. Maybe she really didn’t like it there, guys,” Miguel said.

Lyla and Tempest both gave Miguel twin looks as if telling him to get serious.

“Well, if she’s going to your school, I’m sure you’ll see her at some point. Maybe she’ll tell you,” Winston suggested.

“Yeah, Miguel. She’ll tell you anything if you ask,” Lyla folded her arms with a smile.

“What does that mean?”

“It just means,” Tempest waved her hands around. “She’s enamored by you.”

“Guys. Stop.”

“She’s not lying. Every time we hang out together, she’s always clinging to you,” Winston said.

“It’s been years and she’s never told me anything,” Miguel reached to exit the PowerPoint. What was about to be a 10 minute yap session about you was now turning into something else. “I doubt that if she felt that way, she still feels that way now.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Lyla shrugged.

Tempest nodded her head, “Good on you for being so optimistic.”

Miguel squinted his eyes, “You two are freaking me out.”

GymRat!Miguel who sat with his friend’s words once they dropped him off back home after an impromptu day of fun.

He really needed to get out of the house to reset, but he couldn’t help but to worry about Xina.

He was there when she worked herself to the bone just to even be considered for the top schools. When she got in, she was over the moon.

What could have possibly made her stop now?

GymRat!Miguel who wakes up to sound of his dad laughing and yelling outside of his window.

He dragged himself to the window to see him running around with his brothers with a nerf gun.

It would be a pretty funny sight if it wasn’t 7 in the morning.

GymRat!Miguel who goes through his morning routine of booting Gabriel up, taking his morning run, and eating a hefty breakfast.

He sends you a picture of himself right after he finished the run, sweat dripping down his neck and his skin glowing from the hot sun.

Knowing you were probably still asleep, he doesn’t expect a response until later. So when you call him immediately, he’s filled with surprise.

“Sending thirst traps at ass o’clock is crazy,” you say as soon as the call connects.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So you just happened to take the perfect picture in the sun with your skin all wet?”

“Are you saying that I’m photogenic?”

You roll your eyes and Miguel laughs, happy to see you.

“Where are you going?” Miguel asks, noticing the fluffy headband you’re wearing that’s holding your hair back.

“We’re going to my aunts house and she lives about two hours away so I got up early to get ready.”

“Bebe, qué hermosa eres.” (Baby, how beautiful you are.)

You pause what you’re doing to turn and stuff your head into a plushie to scream.

“You can’t tell me that,” you say when look back to the camera, fanning your face. “I won’t stay focused.”

“But it’s true. You’re stunning.”

You groan and slide down your chair, “Miguel, please. I need to focus.”

“Ok, ok. You still look amazing.”

“Thank you,” you say, patting the back of your hands against your heated cheeks.

“I wanna kiss you.”

“I’m hanging up.”

Miguel laughs as you bring the phone to your face.

“I wanna kiss you, too,” you say before ending the call.

GymRat!Miguel who blows your phone up with teases after that.

It all shuts up once he sees your outfit of the day.

“You can’t do this to me”

“Baby????”

“This is agony”

GymRat!Miguel who is the loudest when Gabriel makes his grand entrance to the party, graduation cap snug on top of his curls. His family is popping mini confetti and string cannons while his little cousins blow bubbles.

GymRat!Miguel who catches Gabriel at any chance he was idle, snapping picture after picture like a proud parent.

GymRat!Miguel who stacks his plate high full of food to the shock of no one.

GymRat!Miguel who almost gets knocked down by Gabriel when he opens his gift of specialized sheet music. After years of hearing the songs Gabriel would blast through the house, he compiled together a music book with covers done by different artists.

"I'm going to play every single one of these for you," Gabriel says with a geeked-out smile.

"Oh boy."

GymRat!Miguel who watches Gabriel scream as their neighbor's dog runs towards the fireworks that he set on the ground.

Miguel always thought there was nothing going on behind those little eyes.

GymRat!Miguel who feels Gabriel slide next to him in the corner of their backyard. A place where the two of them used to do everything from hide-and-seek to sharing secrets to pretending to be superheroes.

Gabriel leans his on Miguel’s shoulder, eyes watching the small fireworks their cousins bought.

“Mig?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you ever get scared when you left home?”

Miguel was quiet for a second, “At first, I was. I was leaving what I knew, but once I got used to it, it was like a weight off my chest.”

The two sat for a minute, listening to their family sing and laugh.

“I’m really fucking nervous.”

“About leaving?”

“About everything,” Gabriel took a shaky breath. “I’ll be so far away. I won’t know anyone. And you…”

Miguel’s sleeve was wet.

“You won’t be there if I need you.”

Miguel turned and pull Gabriel into a hug, arms tight as he felt Gabriel cry into his shoulder.

“No tengas miedo, Gabri,” Miguel’s voice cracked as he rubbed his brother’s back. “I’ll be a call away, ok? Right there if you need me. I promise.” (Don’t be scared, Gabri.)

"Te voy a extrañar." (I'm going to miss you.)

"Yo también te voy a extrañar." (I'm going to miss you, too.)

After a while of the two calming down and making promises to continue their weekly calls, Gabriel leans up and covers his eyes with his arm.

“I told myself I’d save my tears for the move-in day, but it’s just now hitting me how much I’m going to miss seeing your stupid face.”

Miguel laughed and thumped him across the head, “And I’m going to miss hearing your stupid laugh across the hall. But what did you do when I left?”

Gabriel turned to avoid Miguel’s face, “Ma thought I was dying or something. She kept bringing random shit that I liked to my room for three weeks because ‘Te pareces a Ígor, mijo!’” (You look like Eeyore, mijo!)

Miguel bit his cheek as he ruffled Gabriel’s hair. He still saw the little baby who followed his every move. The baby that laughed hard when he read books with a funny voice. The baby that stood up for him front of their mom when he couldn’t even stand up for himself on the playground.

The kid who stayed up with him to beat some game because their dad wouldn't buy them memory cards for the PlayStation. The kid who tried food once he saw it on Miguel’s plate. The kid who refused to go to summer camps without him.

Here he was, sitting in front of Miguel, getting ready to start a new chapter.

“Oh god, Miguel don’t start crying again. It’s gonna ruin the tour,” Gabriel groaned and dug his head into his arms.

“I’m not, I’m not, I’m sorry,” Miguel hurriedly wiped his cheeks, hot tears filled with his thoughts escaping. “You’re going to kill it in New York. By the time I get there, you’ll be so used to it that it’ll be like breathing air.”

“I hope so,” he sniffles and looks back up. “I need to impress Dana.”

“And there he is,” Miguel shook his head. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to visit.”

“Yeah. I already have some places planned for dates.”

“Smooth. That’s the Miguel in you.”

“Shaddup.”

GymRat!Miguel who calls you closer to midnight.

"How was the party?"

"It was pretty good," Miguel moved to settle further into his bed. "Gabriel was happy."

Hearing the tone in his voice, you pouted, "Are you ok, though?"

"Yeah, I'm just. I'm feeling a lot."

He felt he might cry again, thinking about his little brother in a place all by himself, thinking of his parents being empty nesters, thinking of his feelings from yesterday.

"You want to talk about it?"

Miguel shook his head, "Tomorrow."

"Whenever you're ready, I'll be there."

"Thank you," Miguel smiled. "That means a lot."

GymRat!Miguel who feels better listening to you chatter until you fall asleep. His head isn't filled with so much noise and your voice is like a calm breeze.

He can't wait to see you again.

divider by: @thecutestgrotto 🩵

a/n: I was thinking of this video when I was writing Lyla talking about Kron + that smoking duck gif. I also doubt there are many nerds alive that play 2k, I just wanted Winston to play it lol. Anywho, I was going for a boho-chic vibe when I imagined Tempest (with red locs), a maximalist + art deco vibe with Lyla, and an elevated streetwear style with Winston. Winston also upgraded his prosthetic arm to mimic Link's from Tears of the Kingdom. As for Xina...we'll see! 😗

As always, like, comment, and reblog. Let me know how you feel! 🩵

If you want to be on the taglist, sign up here! Make sure to have your age in the bio or somewhere on your blog!

taglist: @ghost-lantern @miguelhugger2099 @slushycoookie @emelie-s-h @lake-lili

@obsessed-with-miguels-ass @scaleniusrm @superiorspiderass @lexluvswriting

@flordelalunas @froggygal @vmpz8sauceee @famouscattale @nixinluv02

@jada-of-arcadia @spideykid22 @what-the-jams @julia4today @tojishugetiddies

@samjinxx @sleeklyalisha @the-pan-liquid @prongs-lover @kikaaauu

@urlocallocachica @wanderlustingcastaway @peachey-pie @ch3rry-bl1ss @girl-of-multi-fandoms

@love-kha1 @manlikemilesmyguy @sillysillygoofygoose @monticellohoe @kodzuminx

@lauraolar14 @bruhhvv @m4dyy @farrowroyale @cl3stevu

@ohara-whore @muneca-lemon-steppa @alexa4040 @amelialysm @snails-doodles22

@questionable-behaviour @babygotl01292003 @calig0sto @tatatida @haveclayeveryday

@corpsenightmarebride @earth2fae @maiyart @feegrh32 @darkstarlight82

@ladysimp @sonicbutbutter @relatednative @slowlyshycomputer @nuetralcolorsenthusiast

@maxlinpetersen @beyondstarlight @Madeofstar-dust @leoeloo @just-simpins-blog

@poisamm @thequeenreaders @tinybirdhidedout @aly29a2001 @mimi-sanisanidiot

@snakelore @pigeonmama @darkstalight82 @prettygirleli @koikohib

@jayskookies @xo-zeze @planetxella @thedevax @stressed-cherry

canon

Guys what are your thoughts on…

WIP

Overstimulating Miguel

A quick ramble featuring sub miggy from yours truly!

——————————

Miguel’s jaw hanging slack as you lazily pump your fist up and down his aching cock, his raw voice catching in his throat like it almost hurts to moan anymore…

You’re giggling now as he starts to writhe, his hips twitching as he’s unable to decide whether to move away from your touch or to fuck up into your hand. Finally letting himself relax and be the whore you’ve been trying to turn him into. His back’s arching and now he’s shaking his head frantically-

“What is it, baby?” You coo, your voice dripping with syrup and poison as you continue your ministrations. What is it now, the fourth time?

Miguel’s hair-dusted chest heaves as he nearly fucking whines for you. “N— Not again, no, ‘s too-“ He begins, and you don’t even have time to prepare a rebuttal when he’s coming all over himself and adding to the sticky ropes already painting his chest and tummy. Labored moans emit from the wreck of a man as you can only laugh.

“What’s two more times, huh baby?” You ask, grinning like the fucking devil themself. “Oh God,” He pants out.