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jinwoosungs · 2 months

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7/31/24; 03:34pm

yandere!sung jinwoo x fem.reader

{ oneshot }

warnings: unedited; dark themes.

you walk with jinwoo out of ahjin guild’s building, chattering excitedly with him about your respective plans for the weekend.

he buries his hands within the pocket of his dress pants, grey eyes looking at you softly as he payed attention to each syllable that falls from your parted lips. as you walk across seoul together, a deep voice was heard calling out your name. you stop walking with jinwoo already taking a protective stance in front of you-

only to see a tall man with fiery red hair appear before you both. you knew him as the man who was the president of the hunters guild, choi jong-in. with his burgundy suit a stark contrast to jinwoo’s darker colors, he steps forward toward the light, giving jinwoo a momentary look of disdain before focusing his attention on you.

“you’ve been avoiding me. has hunter sung been keeping you busy?”

“haha, you could say that, since i’m his guild’s primary healer and all.”

jinwoo’s eyes glow a startling purple hue as he interjects jong-in’s attempts to get closer to you. “cut to the chase, we’re exhausted and wish to go home.”

jong-in holds up both of his hands in mock defeat. “alright then, i’ll skip all the pleasantries and formalities and get to it. i would like to ask your lovely healer out on a date this weekend.”

your eyes go wide, with your mind short circuiting at the thought. you felt so taken aback (and honestly, a little flattered) that you failed to see the pure rage shining in jinwoo’s gaze. his fists were clenched tightly against his sides, and he was ready to speak up for you had you not taken the first step.

“ah, well, i don’t see why not. it might be fun.” you take up on jong-in’s offer, truly not seeing the harm in it. his crimson eyes seemed to brighten in response when he turns away, flashing jinwoo a victorious expression before waving at you.

“i’ll pick you up this coming saturday at 7. dress comfortably, okay?”

you hold your hand up as well, bidding jong-in a farewell before returning your attention back to jinwoo. a scowl was painted on your best friend’s face, watching as he bites down on his bottom lip before asking you, “are you really going to go with him?”

a sheepish expression was seen on your face as you kept both hands behind your back. “w-well, i don’t see the harm in spending an evening with him. besides, i don’t have plans, while you wanted to spend the weekend with your mom and younger sister. i don’t want to get in the way of your plans, jinwoo.”

“you could join me. cancel your plans with choi right now.”

you end up giggling at jinwoo’s poor attempts at keeping you away from jong-in. “it’ll be okay! besides, if he ends up being a shitty date, then it’ll give you a good reason to beat him up for me.”

jinwoo’s scowl never leaves his face, with him grumbling all the way back to your place, whispering lowly so that you couldn’t hear him say, “if that bastard takes your heart, i’ll kill him.”

{ … }

saturday finally arrives, and you had just gotten out of the shower. while drying your hair, you wrap the towel around your body, searching through your closet for something suitable to wear.

after some debate, you finally found the perfect outfit and began putting it on. satisfied with your choice, you were ready to complete the look with a pair of your favorite shoes when you noticed something was a bit off.

stepping closer into the light, your eyes go wide upon seeing the way your shadow lengthens from beneath you, seeming to grow larger and longer the more you stared at it. you became entranced by it, briefly wondering if jinwoo’s shadow soldiers were about to come out and tell you something-

only to let out a gasp when an armored hand was felt surrounding your wrist, pulling you into the shadowy depths as you cried out. you braced yourself for the incoming impact, but was pleasantly surprised when you felt yourself being held within someone’s tight embrace instead.

confusion paints your features as you look across the area to see a lovely meadow. surrounding you were all of your favorite wildflowers, its gentle petals being blown in the wind as it carried the sweet scent of spring in its wake. finally seeing the armored body that holds you, you gasp and take a step back, looking up to see a dark knight looking down at you.

he was lean in build, with heavy armor covering the entirety of his body from head to toe. despite his dark armor, his chest plate was something that stood out to you the most, glowing a bright purple in color, its hue reminiscent of jinwoo’s eyes whenever they glowed. even with your attempts to put some space between you and the knight, he seemed reluctant to let you go.

you look around the area, somehow knowing that this shadow soldier was different from the rest. that this place was made by him alone. recalling the millions of conversations you had with jinwoo about his newfound abilities as the shadow monarch, you take a guess at this knight’s name.

“are you the one known as… ashborn?”

laughter was heard coming from the knight, his tone rich and filled with amusement. it sounded familiar to you, yet you couldn’t understand why it did. “you’re a smart young woman aren’t you? yes, i am ashborn.”

his laughter was felt vibrating across the area when he finally turns you around so that you were fully facing him. you felt the way ashborn’s hands caress at your face with reverence and merely blink up at him, remaining silent as ashborn takes a moment to drink in your features.

after several beats of utter silence, ashborn begins to speak, “you’re breaking my successor’s heart.”

your eyes go wide at the mention of jinwoo. “i- what?”

a gentle huff was heard coming from ashborn, and you watch as the powerful knight removes his hands from you, “you heard me. if your heart falls into that man’s hands… jinwoo will find reasons to tear you away from him.”

your heart begins to race at the thought. jinwoo… did he really feel so strongly about you?

“ah… but… he is interested in cha hae-in, right?”

ashborn lets out another harsh laughter, his head shaking in response to your question. “i’ve seen the many lives sung jinwoo has lived, of different timelines and different universes… timelines where you do not even exist.”

your throat turns dry at the sudden realization, clinging on to ashborn’s every word when you shakily ask him.

“then… what about those universes and timelines where i do exist?”

ashborn meets your gaze, and you could see his eyes glowing a deep violet hue from beneath his helmet, his voice speaking with a brutal honesty.

“it has been made clear to me that he is the happiest when he is with you.”

you gasp, eyes going wide when you hear ashborn’s confession. he looks away from you and lifts up a hand, feeling the air shifting around you as a dark portal was settled behind you. letting out a deep breath, you feel ashborn place a hand behind your back.

“return to him. deep down, your heart knows who it truly belongs to.” ashborn ends up pushing you back into the portal, making you look back at him with a questioning gaze, seeing the tall knight standing solemnly still, simply watching you as the wispy shadows began to overtake your vision.

{ … }

the moment you land back in your bedroom, you were bombarded with a series of knocks on your door. still feeling disoriented, you look back to see the portal already shrinking, disappearing like smoke blowing in the wind. with a shake of your head, you let out a soft grunt, standing back to your full height before leaving your room to answer the door.

“hang on, i’m coming!” you call out to whoever was knocking with such fervor at your door.

you finally unlock it, seeing jinwoo standing before you with a bouquet of red roses in hand. “don’t go out with choi- spend the evening with me instead!”

an uncharacteristic desperation was heard in his voice and was seen in his gaze when jinwoo enters your apartment, placing the bouquet of roses within your awaiting arms. “jinwoo-“

“i know, it’s stupid of me to try and stop you now, but i’ve been in love with you ever since you joined my guild. i can’t stop thinking about you, and i’m not going to let my insecurities get in the way!”

you felt the heat settle across your cheeks, with you holding the bouquet close to your chest, “jinwoo, you… you feel the same way?”

you notice the way jinwoo’s eyes flash with realization. “you… you love me, too?”

your nod was all the confirmation he needs when he lets out a growl of your name, grabbing a hold of your chin as he pressed a searing kiss against your lips. you sigh into his kiss, not even caring that his tight hold on you was crushing at your bouquet of roses.

when the need for air proved to be too great, jinwoo pulls away first with a frustrated grunt, allowing you to be honest with him, “i-i always thought you wanted hunter cha?”

he scoffs at your assumptions, shaking his head while taking you fully into his arms. as you stand there, so caught up in the warmth of his embrace, you felt your adoration and love grow for him when he tells you these next words:

“as if i would ever choose her when you exist.”

{ … }

the man who you mistakenly called ashborn ends up chuckling, his glowing, purple eyes watching the events of the current timeline unfolding before him.

letting out a hum, he takes off the helmet of his armor, feeling his long, ebony locks of hair falling down the entire length of his back, finally revealing his true identity as being sung jinwoo.

the man who essentially became a god, locking himself in a realm hidden from both time and space itself. while watching the way his current timeline self held you so preciously in his embrace, a bitter memory fills him.

his eyes darken at the image of an alternative timeline-

a timeline where you accepted that bastard’s date and fell deeply in love with him-

a timeline where you told jinwoo about your plans of marriage and how you looked forward to building a family together with him-

a timeline where jinwoo’s jealousy and rage got the best of him, forcing the monarch to kill the bastard before stealing you away and keeping you locked in a basement-

a timeline where you had ultimately taken your own life due to how much misery you had been suffering through.

jinwoo hated the thought of being without you, so he did all he could to reverse time and lead your heart back to him-

to prevent himself from ever losing you again.

as his eyes take in the sight of his past (or was it present self?) keeping you so tightly within his embrace, jinwoo knew that he made the right choice.

he could never live without you-

he refuses to live in a world without you by his side-

and nothing was ever going to change that.

end notes: don’t mind me, this was just a brainrot that i had for a while now and was happy to be able to write and piece together in a semi-coherent story (⺣◡⺣)♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#yandere imagine #yandere x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo sung x you #solo leveling x reader #writings 📖

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evie-sturns · 8 months

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ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ - ᴍᴀᴛᴛ ꜱᴛᴜʀɴɪᴏʟᴏ

(part 3) (part 2) (part 1)

summary: you and your best-friend matt, have decided to sign up to be a summer camp counsellor for your school's summer project! will you two stay as just friends? or will this summer turn out different for you guys.

a/n: glad you guys are liking this series, this part is smutty af, but i like it, i might be wrong but i think this is a little shorter than part 1 and 2.

contains: SMUT! fluff, making out, swearing.

—------------╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝------------——

he pulls away slowly as his phone lights up, he scrolls through it before letting out a soft laugh "no way" he scoffs, rubbing his eyes. "tonight were sleeping in the kids hall, like me and you, supervising.."

"you're kidding matt"

"nope, apparently theres a small cabin that connects off the kids hall, its got 1 bed that we share" he laughs

my cheeks flush, sharing a bed with matt, after this?..

after my makeout session with my bestfriend ,matt, we both went back to our own cabins, packing certain things to prepare for sleeping next to the kids sleeping-hall.

"xaiveerrr!" i yell, swinging the door to our cabin, hes sitting comfortably on his bed, still wearing his swimshorts as he scrolls through his phone. "y/n! i was waiting for you to come back to the lake?" he says, slightly confused.

"oh i just went into the kayak shed with matt." i smile, trying to wipe the blush off my face.

he raises an eyebrow "why'd you go in there? you totally abandoned me, i had to try make friends with fucking lincoln, hes weird as fuck.."

my mind scrambles, trying to think of a believable excuse for why i disappeared with matt into a dark shed for 25 minutes. i open my mouth, nothing comes out.

silence grows in me and xaivers shared cabin before he interrupts "no way, you kissed matt!?" he laughs, i slam my hand over his mouth "ew no what the hell!" i say defensivley.

"you're getting defenssiiivveee" he teases, my face goes cherry red. "we didn't do anything xaiver." i mutter, walking over and packing my toothbrush and pyjamas in a small tote bag.

"oh girl, i know you're not moving out right now, i was kidding!!!" he says, staring at me while i pack everything i need for a night.

"im not moving out, me and matt have to spend the night in the kids hall."

he gasps "oh my god, its luxury in there, i heard paige and dani were in there the other night, the cabin which you guys stay in is relativly close to the kids hall, so you're not actually in with the kids, its just a private room near it." xaiver says.

"oh thank god, though id have to sleep in a bunk in the middle of the kids hall." i sigh, throwing my tote bag over my shoulder, hugging xaiver goodbye.

"don't have too much fun with matt" he whispers, resulting in me slapping his arm "shut up."

I walk down the long gravel path towards matts cabin, its got a small sign outside which reads, 'MATT & LINCOLN' i walk up to their cabin, knocking twice. matt swings open the door, hes got a toothbrush in hand.

"where the fuck is your bag" i laugh.

"bag?" he questions

"yeah? overnight bag, like pyjamas, toothbruhs, face wash..."

his face stays deadpan "oh uh, this is all i need." he laughs pointing to the toothbrush.

"doesn't matter, lets go." i say unlocking my phone and reading the time 7:34pm

matt subtly holds my hand as we approach the kids hall, theres a small cabin about 20 meters away from it, "theres our room!" he says, walking me over to it and swinging open the door, theres one double bed with a book of rules on it. i place my bag down on the bed as matt flicks through the book

"all the campers must be in bed by 9pm, uhh, any complications call jessie in the main office.." he trails off "seems easy enough."

after a few minutes of unpacking matt grabs my hand again, my heartrate increases as he stares into my eyes, "c'mon, lets go check out the kids hall." he says before letting my hand go and walking out into the evening air.

we walk up the stairs to the kids hall, opening the double doors.

theres about 100 bunk beds, with around 200 hundred kids scattered across the room, wall diveders in some parts so its not just an open room, a group of kids are doing gymnastics, another couple are reading, its chaotic but controlled.

i look up at matt, he seems slightly overwhelmed.

instantly three six year old girls run up to us,

"are you guys boyfriend girlfriennddd!" one of them says, smiling up at me and matt. another group of slightly older girls come up to me, "can we braid your hair?"

i look at matt, hes smiling at me, a small blush painted on his cheeks, "yeah sure!" i say as one of the nine year olds pulls me towards her bunk bed, sitting me and matt down.

she giggles as she pulls out two hairbands, tying up matt's hair into pigtails above his head. matt rubs his eyes, as they start placing bows in his hair. "looking good matt" i say, nudging his arm.

i check my watch again, 8:55pm

shit.

i stand up from her bunk bed, my hair decked out in glitter hairspray.

i drag matt away from his makeover, "hey, we're just getting to the good part!" matt whines, "matt we have 5 minutes to have 200 kids asleep." i say, stressed, running my hand through my crispy hair.

"you guys have to be in bed in 5 minutes guys! whoever falls asleep first gets a candy!" i yell from the middle of the hall, instantly all the kids leap into bed, screaming as they gather their stuffed animals.

the whole room goes silent, apart from a few whispers, i look at matt whos got a suprised expression spread across his face. i grab his hand before walking towards the door, flicking off the light and stepping out into the night breeze.

we approach our small cabin for the night, matt opens the door, pulling me inside and locking the wooden door behind us.

"we should finish what we started earlier." he mumbles, looking down at me in the dimly lit cabin.

"what?" i whisper, but im cut off by his hand on the side of my cheek, he leans down, pulling me into a gentle kiss.

"we can't matt." i say pulling away.

"why not, you scared?" he teases.

"anyone can walk in or hear us, the walls are paper thin." i sigh.

"who said we have to do it in here?" matt says seductively

"im not fucking you in a public bathroom, thats gross." i sigh, walking over and grabbing my toothbrush.

"come with me." matt whispers, taking my hand and unlocking the door to the cabin. he grips onto my hand as he runs towards the trees, he picks me up, taking me into the garland until theres a patch of soft grass.

he waits for me to say something.

"i think i need you.." i mumble as he lays me on the grass on my back.

"tell me what you want me to do to you baby." he whispers, grabbing the inside of my thigh.

"fuck.. please fuck me." i whisper shakily.

i pull my tanktop off over my head, to his suprise i have no bra on underneath. my nipples instantly become hard as the breeze hits them. i pull down my pyjama shorts, leaving me revealed for him

"its gonna be okay baby, just tell me when." matt says, pulling his sweatpants down.

his length springs out, tapping his stomach lightly.

"oh my fuck-" i groan, throwing my head back as he kneels between my legs, lining himself up with my entrance "you gotta be nice and quiet for me, can you do that for me?" he says, holding my hand.

he slowly pushes inside of me, his length stretching me out, i wince. "breathe." matt says, "look at me sweetheart." he mumbles as he thrusts deeper inside of me, my eyes stay sealed shut. "watch me baby or i'll stop."

he pulls out to his tip, then thrusts back in "taking me so well."

i let out a loud moan, "shut up, and take it." he says slamming a hand over my mouth. his thrusts intenseify, my moans are muffled by his palm. "im gonna fuck-" i groan, "hold it for me." he says, continuing to fuck me. without warning i clench around him, letting myself go.

he abrubtly pulls out, stroking himself a few times as he whimpers, realeasing all over my stomach before collapsing down beside me.

"im so proud of you." he whispers shakily as he pulls up his sweatpants. he hands me my shorts as he stands up, pulling me onto my feet as my legs tremble. "you okay?" he looks down at me, concern spread across his face.

"mmfgh." i mumble out, still processing what just happened, matt chuckles before picking me up and running us back to the cabin.

(the next morning)

I wake up to the godawful sound of dani's voice, i open my eyes slowly looking at her as she looks down at the bed, her arms folded.

i tap matt, forcing him awake. he groans as he yawns, his eyes springing open. his face drops as he sees danielle.

"saw you two last night." she says, her arms folded.

my stomach drops.

"jessie wants you two in her office, such a shame that you have to go home so early, you were only here for such a small amount of time! guess someone didn't read the no romance between staff rule.." she tuts.

"god, i feel soo sorry for you guys, also gonna fail business class cause you couldn't even keep a job here." she says in a fake sympathetic tone.

tears well in my eyes, threatening to fall.

"oh well, go on get dressed and pack your bags, better to be prepared before you see jessie." she sighs before walking out of our cabin.

—------------╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝------------——

taglist which i forgot earlier

@iammattsturniolo @iloveneilperry @tatumrileyslover @chrisstopherfilmed

@leprechaunbirthdaygirl

not too sure wtf just happened none of it workin

#sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo fluff

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leclercvsx · 10 months

Text

I miss your facts | TEXTING AU

LANDO NORRIS

pairings: lando x reader

summary: y/n and lando are bestfriends, y/n liking lando. She introduces him to one of her bestfriends, he forgets about her and only realises what he missed when it’s too late

warnings: mentions of suicide!

y/n <3

did you know that some sharks can’t stop swimming otherwise they’ll die?

Lan <3

that’s useful, thanks

y/n <3

EXACTLY! i knew i was needed

Lan <3

you’re always needed

11:23am | thursday

y/n <3

i miss you, can you come over after training?

Lan <3

i will, might be a little while though

y/n <3

don’t take tooo long

14:56pm | Tuesday

y/n <3

did you know that there’s over 500 different species of sharks?

Lan <3

i didn’t know that, no. cool

y/n <3

OH ALSO

there’s a new girl at my work, she’s super nice

you should come meet her!

Lan <3

i might

10:35am | Saturday

Lan <3

you were right, Taylor is actually really nice

y/n <3

SEE? I TOLD YOU

me and her are gonna hang out on tuesday if you wanna come

Lan <3

sure

16:45pm | Wednesday

y/n <3

australia is wider than the moon

you should tell Oscar that

Lan <3

Taylor told me that

y/n <3

oh really? wow she really knows her facts!

Lan <3

yeah, she’s pretty smart

18:18pm | Saturday

y/n <3

do you wanna hang out?

i’m bored

Lan <3

i’m with Taylor rn

y/n <3

oh, nevermind then😊

12:25pm | Sunday

y/n <3

human teeth are the only body part that cannot heal themselves

Lan <3

i know, Taylor told me

y/n <3

it’s illegal to own just ONE guinea pig in switzerland

Lan <3

Taylor’s from Switzerland, she told me

17:34pm | Tuesday

y/n <3

the heart of the shrimp is located in the head!

Lan <3

the shrimps heart is located in the head

y/n <3

haha, we said the same thing!!

Lan <3

Taylor told me the fact, haha

y/n <3

ohh

9:27am | Thursday

y/n <3

do you have time? i really wanna talk about something

Lan <3

i’m with Taylor right now, but what’s up?

y/n <3

oh okay, nevermind then :)

17:26pm | Monday

Lan <3

octopuses are so weird, they’re cool looking though

y/n <3

i thought you hated octopuses?

Lan <3

i did before.

but Taylor told me some cool facts about them

y/n <3

i did that with sharks🙃

14:27pm | Friday

y/n <3

you’ve been hanging out with Taylor a lot

Lan <3

anything wrong?

y/n <3

nothings wrong, i just miss you

Lan <3

i’m not leaving you though.

y/n <3

no, i know

13:45pm | Wednesday

y/n <3

hiiii! do you wanna hang out?

hello?

read

16:56pm | Wednesday

Lan <3

sorry i was hanging out with Taylor

y/n <3

i know.

Lan <3

why are you mad?

y/n <3

i’m not?

Lan <3

why is it so wrong that i’m hanging out with her?

18:34pm | Sunday

y/n <3

you’re forgetting me.

lando

i’m not though?

hello?

answer me.

i’m not forgetting you.

14:30pm | Wednesday

y/n <3

you’re all i have, had.

lando

why are you using dots? don’t scare me

y/n <3

is Taylor all you needed?

lando

stop.

17:25pm | Tuesday

y/n <3

i’m sorry

lando

for what?

stop leaving me on read, please.

stop scaring me.

you’re not funny.

18:45pm | Thursday

lando

i miss you

i was dumb

i’m really sorry

Venus is the only planet to spin clockwise

i really wanted to tell you, i miss your facts. i love you. i hope one day we meet again

you could’ve told me about Taylor. i reread our messages, i saw that you needed me

i’m sorry

12:34pm | Sunday

lando

you looked really pretty at your funeral today

i miss you

pez candles were made for you, so you could stop smoking

i could smell it on you before, now i miss it.

3:34am | Tuesday

lando

sharks skin feels like sandpaper.

7:17am | Wednesday

lando

sharks are one of the oldest living species on the earth.

but you knew that, right?

——————————

this made me sob writing it😭

ib: this tiktok

masterlist | request page

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nctsplug02 · 2 years

Note

dad!johnny wanting another baby 😃😃 thanks!!!

[7:34PM]

GENRE: smut and fluff

WARNINGS: breeding kink, kissing, unprotected sex, praising, degrading, spanking and marking

it’s usually the women who have baby fevers but this time.. your husband, johnny had it.

whenever you and him went to stores, he’d separate from you and find the baby aisle to ween over the stuff. his reason for wanting another child was, “so our daughter can have someone to play with.”

your three year old was fine being the only child but sometimes she would beg and ask for another sibling.

“babe, check out these—?” you sigh, not turning around. “if it’s baby shoes, again, then put them away.” johnny clicks his tongue and frowns. “but it’s cute ones.”

you turn and slump your shoulders. “johnny, we aren’t having another baby. let it go please.” johnny nibbles on his bottom lip and sets down the pack of tiny shoes.

“look at you.” johnny pins you to his chest and holds your head up, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror.

“imagine me fucking you dumb and pregnant right now.” you softly laugh. “you’re so desperate and needy, it’s really adorable.” you wince when johnny pinches your hips.

johnny nips your neck and groans. “the things you do to me, baby.” he sighs and you push away from him, turning around to meet his eyes. “honey,” you cup his face. “control your dick.” he laughs.

“my ovulation week is in two more weeks. so, let’s wait, okay?” the mention of your ovulation week sparks a sparkle in johnnys eyes. “okay, john?” he nods and grins.

“now, get out my way i have to pee.” you say, shoving johnny aside.

dramatically, johnny spins himself to the small chair in the corner next to the mirror and cries out. “uch! babe, you hurt me!” johnny holds his waist and you give a nasty laugh as you enter the bathroom.

two weeks had passed and johnny couldn’t wait.

“honey, i’m— oh, my god!” you shriek when being snatched up. “upstairs, baby.” johnny says with his arms wrapped tightly around your legs.

“johnny!” you laugh and hold his head while ducking yours. “it’s ovulation week, baby!” you let out a scream as johnny drops you on the bed.

you laugh and curl your knees to your chest. “where’s aera?” johnny yanks off his shirt. “at my moms with taeils daughter and son.” his hand lands on his belt. “this whole night is to ourselves.”

you flinch as johnnys belt hits the floor with a clink. “strip for me.” your hands fiddle with the buttons on your jacket.

your eyes so focused on johnnys hand, his hand stroking his cock and his thumb rubbing his tip and smearing the precum.

by the time you’re pulling off your shirt, johnny is sinking on the bed in front of you. “god, you’re sexy.” you lick your lips and toss your clothes off the side.

“oh!” you gasp out in shock when being pinned to the bed. “baby,” johnny groans and buries his face into your neck. “i’m dying to be inside you.”

you cross your legs around johnnys waist and you hold his face up. “well, i’m waiting on you.”

johnny doesn’t need to be told twice before he nudges himself up against your entrance and sinks himself in.

“waited two weeks for this, baby. saved up just for today.” johnny exhales and sits up, his knees under your thighs and his hands on your waist.

“fuck, you smell amazing.” johnny groans and doesn’t waste anymore time before pinching your waist and forcing his hips against yours.

you bite your lip and hold back a moan that ached to be let out.

“cmon, baby.” johnny reaches forward and grabs your jaw, shaking your head side to side. “let it out, baby. i wanna hear you.”

your lips part and your jaw is sacked.

moans escape your throat and pleasure trickles up your throat. “oh, johnny.” you gasp softly and feel his tip briefly brush past your g-spot.

“oh, god.” you grasp his wrists and moan, his cock nestling against your g-spot.

you whine feeling your orgasm build up. “j—johnny, i’m really close!” you release his wrist and bring your balled up fist to your mouth.

your teeth dig into the soft skin of your knuckles.

“jo—johnny!” you whine as your orgasm crashes over you.

“ssssshit, baby!” johnny winces and attempts to meep his hips moving but, with how tight you’re clenching around him, he stops and releases his first load.

johnny slowly cranks himself forward and lays himself on you. heavily breathing and huffing.

“johnny—?”

“still going, baby.” he softly grunts out.

you softly chuckles and pat his back with a sigh. “you really were saving up, huh?” you laugh and so does johnny.

“okay, this isn’t fair.” you say putting down your plate full of tiny trees.

your husband and daughter looks up at you from the kiddie table. “what ain’t fair, honey?” johnny asks and picks up his fountain drink.

“that i have to eat broccoli while the two of you eat junk food in front of me.” your plate of broccoli balances on your huge belly.

johnny knocked you up with twins a few months back and now you’re on a strict veggie diet from the doctor.

“honey, you heard what the doctor said. she said you must only eat veggies. it’s just for this week.” you groan and hold the plate as you struggle to sit up. “it’s been so loonngggg.” you whine.

“it’s been an hour.” you glare at johnny.

“it’s okay, mama. here, take a fry!” she hands you her small box of fries. “oh, sweetie,” you ween over her cuteness. “gimme the whole thing—?” you attempt you snatch the box but johnny is quicker than you and snatches it.

aera gasps and takes the box of fries back from her dad. “no fries for mama!” she hugs the box of fries to her chest.

2K notes · View notes

cuubism · 7 months

Text

Computation

part 7 of Complex Mathematics

(aka Dream vs Technology -- Technology: 1, Dream: 0)

------------

Wednesday, 3:54am

Hob. what is the wifi password?

3:56am: why are you texting me when I’m in the same house?

3:57am: I did not want to wake you up.

4:00am: ……….

4:01am: Ah.

4:03am: it’s 12345. which is terrible security by the way

4:04am: how do i know this and you don’t? we’re in YOUR flat

4:05am: Computers are your friends, not mine.

4:10am: It does not like the password.

4:12am: alright i’m getting up

Dream creeps back into the living room, holding a cup of tea, as Hob’s tinkering with the router. Turns out it needed to be completely reset before he could reconnect it to Dream’s laptop. Not that this is that hard, but for some reason Hob doesn’t understand, technology is simply out of Dream’s grasp. Head in the clouds, too smart for basic computer skills, etc etc.

“A peace offering,” Dream says, placing the tea on the coffee table. He perches on the couch beside where Hob’s leaning over the router on its spot on the bookshelf.

“I’m not mad at you,” Hob says. He pats the router as its indicator lights finally turn green again. “I will take tea, though.”

“I woke you,” Dream says softly.

“You’ve woken me before, you will again,” Hob says with equanimity. Their sleep schedules are out of alignment, it tends to happen.

It’s the wrong thing to say, though. Dream cringes, hands folding in his lap. “I should be able to handle such things.”

“It’s just the wifi.” Hob finally finishes reconnecting Dream’s laptop and turns properly towards him. Dream still looks guilty about it. Sometimes Hob misses the time before they were dating, when Dream would bristle at him instead of caving. Just because he doesn’t like seeing Dream feel bad.

He takes the cup of tea and places it in Dream’s hands instead, briefly wrapping their hands around each other. “It’s okay,” he repeats. Possibly they should have a longer conversation about it, but Hob’s not emotionally awake enough for it.

Instead, he gets up and heads for the kitchen to put on some coffee. He needs something with more caffeine in it than tea.

“What are you doing?” Dream asks.

“Might as well get something done while my brain is online,” Hob says. He goes to fetch his own laptop from Dream’s bedroom. Lord knows it’ll need to get reconnected to the glitchy wifi again, anyway.

Friday, 2:05pm

Hob.

2:06pm: ?

2:07pm: The wifi is angry again.

2:09pm: did you antagonize it?

2:09pm: hang on did you just wake up now?

2:10pm: I cannot comment.

2:12pm: I assume you have been hard at work in the library since six.

2:14pm: more like hardly working in the library. i did make an app that gives you a gold star every time you do the laundry

2:16pm: Will that assist in your routines?

2:17pm: probably not but it’ll be fun for 5 minutes

2:17pm: wifi password’s still 12345

2:18pm: maybe I should make an app for that instead…

2:20pm: I do not think it would help.

2:30pm: …You are not trying to make said app, are you?

2:34pm: nope just realized I’m late for a class and had to scramble out of there. I’ll be back later can do couples counseling for you and wifi then?

2:35pm: Very well.

For a while after putting down his phone, Dream stares at the wifi router in vexation, as if that will possibly make the angry red lights turn green again. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. He knows even less what to do to fix it.

He needs the wifi operational to keep generating these fractals. He supposes he could go to the library and use university wifi, but that requires going out in public, which is preferably avoided, at least while he’s trying to work. So he will have to do something else until Hob gets back from class.

He recalls what Hob had said. That instead of working on his dissertation he had made an entire phone app about laundry. He had said it so casually, like it was a doodle to pass the time. Dream can use apps—barely—but he cannot begin to fathom how he would go about making one. Hob does not understand how even in his procrastination he is exceptional.

Well. This is something that Dream can do. Hob hates doing laundry—hence the app-based reward system—but Dream doesn’t mind. He finds it meditative. He will have to be more precise about fabric care instructions now, as while his own clothes rarely range beyond grey, black, and dark blue, Hob actually wears colors which might bleed into each other.

He puts on his headphones with some music, gathers up the laundry from the bedroom, and goes about his routine.

When Hob gets back, Dream has finished hanging the laundry to dry and returned to his contemplation of the router, this time still with his headphones playing. He’s lost in thought, and doesn’t notice Hob’s come in until his hand lands on Dream’s shoulder. Normally a sudden touch when he’s thinking would make him jump, but he’s become used to Hob.

“Trying to solve your marital problems through telepathy?” Hob asks.

“We were never married,” Dream says. “Indeed we are enemies.”

Hob laughs. He kisses Dream on the cheek, then kneels in front of the router. “You have to stop tormenting my boyfriend,” he tells it. It only blinks back at him innocently.

Hob can be very silly at times. “I do not think arguing with the inanimate object will help,” Dream says.

“You never know.” Hob takes the router down and sets about unplugging all the cables. Dream still doesn’t know what any of them precisely do, nor how wifi works. It may as well be magic.

Hob has it fixed within minutes, of course. Far more effective than Dream’s intense staring. He gets Dream’s laptop reconnected, and Dream is finally able to start generating his fractal. “Thank you,” he says.

“Anything for my love,” says Hob, getting to his feet again. “Guessing you want some time to yourself now to work on this?”

“Yes,” says Dream, with some guilt. Hob has come home to help him only for him to immediately bury himself in his work again. But yes, he does want to make progress on this at last.

“Well, good,” says Hob, and Dream turns to him in surprise. “Because I’m due for a nap.”

Dream still hasn’t formulated a response to this by the time Hob’s disappeared into his bedroom. Strange, that their routines can be so opposite and still meld together so well.

Hob pokes his head back out into the hall. “Did you do the laundry?”

“Yes,” says Dream.

“I could kiss you,” Hob declares, then blows one to him before disappearing back into the bedroom.

Dream presses his hand to his cheek, as if to touch a kiss that had really landed there. Smiles to himself. Then goes back to his fractal.

Monday, 5:02pm

Hob.

5:03pm: Wifi?

5:04pm: …Yes.

Thursday, 9:50pm

…..Hob.

9:50pm: I’m sitting right next to you.

9:51pm: ….

9:51pm: I’m just gonna get you a new router. This thing’s got problems.

9:52pm: I think it is I who has the problems.

9:52pm: That too.

Saturday, 6:00pm

Hob.

6:00pm: Is it broken AGAIN??

6:01pm: No. I got dinner.

6:02pm: Oh!

6:02pm: Fuck I’m starving.

6:03pm: Coming back from class now.

6:03pm: Don’t touch the router it’s in a fragile mental state.

6:04pm: Aren’t we all.

Thursday, 3:50pm

This time, it is the wifi in Hob’s flat that is stymieing Dream. He does not think it is broken. Hob has merely changed the password, as he’s much more diligent about internet security than Dream, and then forgotten to tell Dream what it is. Or, more likely, correctly assumed Dream would have to ask him again anyway.

He briefly contemplates trying to deduce the password, but it is likely an incomprehensible string of characters that Hob would claim is ideal security precisely because of the impossibility of deducing it.

He refuses to text Hob about it again. Hob has a class to teach soon—Dream has his schedule memorized—Dream does not want to distract him. Though speaking of…

3:50pm: You have a class in ten minutes.

3:51pm: FUCK

3:51pm: I got distracted

3:53pm: Now… running

3:54pm: You are not near the building, are you.

3:55pm: NOPE

Dream smiles to himself, thinking of Hob sprinting across campus. It happens often. Hob is good at many things, but time management is not one of them. This is why Dream knows his schedule.

He does feel… a bit silly, though. He should be better at this, should he not? Less bothersome to Hob over small things that he should be able to handle.

Normally he would go back to his work to distract himself from these thoughts, but he still can’t work on his fractals without being able to connect remotely to the university computers, which are more powerful than his own. This is something Hob had also set up for him, because Dream had not been able to make any sense of the instructions he had been given for remote login, and the like.

Sighing, he instead takes his sketchbook out of his bag. It’s been a while since he’s made any time for drawing. But he had started looking at fractals in the first place to better understand patterns in art, to understand resonances between what occurred in nature and what was projected by mathematics. And drawing used to soothe him.

So he starts drawing, sketching the fractal he has been generating—to the extant that he can with the imprecise instrument of his pen. Even in infinite impossible digital form, the branching spirals eventually become too small for him to see, though he knows they continue on in perfect replication forever, smaller and smaller until they disappear into atoms. He cannot recreate that level of detail by hand. But he tries.

By the time he gets another text back from Hob, an hour later, he’s moved to the floor to have more space. He’s found a bigger piece of scrap paper and is drawing the fractal again, in more detail this time, color-coding the different shapes, free-handing where he should probably use a ruler for more precision. He has achieved several more levels of replication than before, but it is still not right. He can’t get it right. If he could only use the stupid computer system he could get it right.

Finally he looks at his phone, several minutes after the text alert pinged.

Thanks love 😘

Unexpectedly, it makes him tear up. Always this happens to him. He does not realize how frustrated he has become with himself until it is too late.

Of course, to only make matters worse, he is still sitting hunched on the floor, pen clasped tight in his hand, teeth clenched so hard it’s hurting his jaw, when Hob comes through the door. He must have texted not far from home.

“Hey, love,” Hob’s already saying as he comes through the door, “meant to stop and grab dinner but I totally forgot— I’m sure I have something here, though— Dream?”

Dream hasn’t moved from the floor, or responded. Hob puts down his bag and comes over to him. He looks down at the fractal, which is still incomplete. “Did you draw that?”

“Obviously,” Dream bites. The pen is still in his hand. He drops it, scraping a hand through his hair. Great. Now he’s snapping at Hob, too.

Hob sits down on the floor beside him. He studies the fractal. Then points to one of the shapes that Dream’s colored in red. “That’s supposed to be purple.”

Dream stares at the fractal. Hob is right, it is meant to be purple. According to the way Dream had color-coded it digitally. He looks at Hob. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve watched you fiddling with it enough. We set it up on your laptop, remember?”

Yes. Dream remembers. He remembers how Hob had helped him.

“Wifi giving you troubles again?” Hob asks, looking from the drawing, to Dream’s laptop, which is sleeping on the couch.

Dream nods, then saws quietly, “Are you not… frustrated with me? Annoyed?”

Hob doesn’t need to ask what he means. “Sometimes,” he says, and Dream can’t help his flinch. “So?”

“So?”

Hob shrugs. “I would have missed that class if you didn’t text me.”

Dream does not understand the relevance.

Hob looks up at him, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “Aren’t you annoyed with me?”

Perhaps he is, at times. Recently, Dream has been too absorbed in his project to feel much about it at all.

“I don’t know,” he says. “It is just how you are.”

Hob seems to think that Dream still doesn’t understand the point he’s making, and perhaps Dream doesn’t. Hob takes his hand. “Look. I’ve no idea why someone as smart as you are is constantly defeated by basic technology, but it doesn’t matter. Always having to be the one to fix the router is a small price to pay for having you in my life.”

Dream’s mouth opens, but no words come out. He… he does not know if anyone has ever put up with him with so little complaint. For truly, it is not only computer troubles. It is all the small things that stack upon each other to make him feel different and difficult.

“I find I do not like…” Dream admits tentatively, “when you must do these things. That I should be able to do.”

“You did the laundry the other day,” Hob says.

Why must he jump topics in this manner? “I do not understand.”

“Well, we don’t actually live together, you know. You have your own laundry. You don’t have to do mine, too.”

“I thought it would help you,” Dream says.

Hob just waits expectantly.

Dream looks down at his lap. “Ah. I… see.” Hob finds him frustrating at times, he had said so, but still wants to help him. He finds Hob’s admittance that Dream is frustrating to be a relief, in its way. He would only feel more on edge if Hob pretended otherwise, surely to snap later when Dream was least expecting it, as so many have done.

“Give me your arm,” Hob says then.

When Dream does, Hob pushes up his sleeve, takes one of the markers from the floor and writes on Dream’s forearm, the wifi password is I love you.

“There,” he says. “Now you won’t forget.”

Dream touches the words with a light fingertip. “This is not good internet security.”

“Oh, so you do listen my ramblings,” Hob says, laughing. Always, Dream thinks. “What, you’re going to throw out my valentine because I cut the heart out a little wonky?”

He makes as if to rub the marker off, and Dream pulls his arm protectively to his chest. Hob’s smile softens. He carefully pulls Dream forward into a hug, Dream’s arm pressed between them. Dream tucks his face into the crook of Hob’s neck. It’s one of his favorite places to hide.

“I’ll help you fix your program after we find some dinner,” Hob tells him, rubbing his back.

“I think I should give up on using computers,” Dream mumbles.

Hob chuckles. “See how you feel about it after I make you some brownies for dessert.”

Dream hums in pleasure at the thought, and Hob kisses the side of his head. And Dream touches, again, the words Hob’s written on his arm, where it’s pressed between them. And allows himself to smile.

Wednesday, 6:03pm

Dream is attempting to cook dinner. Hob doesn’t think it’s going so well. At least not if the blaring fire alarm, which Hob’s just silenced by waving a dish towel at it until the smoke dissipated, is any indication. But it does mean he’s been treated to the sight of Dream with his sleeves rolled up, delicate hands at work—and wearing an actual apron.

Having soothed the alarm, he leans against the counter so he can shamelessly ogle instead of helping.

“What are you even trying to make?” he asks, eyeing the still-smoking oven.

Dream pouts. “Only bread. It should not be so hard.”

“You didn’t wait for me to get home to watch?” He imagines the sight of Dream aggressively kneading the bread dough. It shouldn’t be a turn on, but it kind of is.

“You would make a spectacle of my misery?” Dream says, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, like he knows exactly what Hob is thinking about.

“Definitely,” Hob says, and Dream sighs, but turns to take the attempt at bread out of the oven. It’s… pretty blackened, to be honest. “Butter’ll save it, I’m sure!” Hob says cheerfully.

“Nothing will save it,” says Dream, morosely. He pulls off his oven mitt in apparent disgrace, and— Hob catches his arm.

“How has this not faded yet?”

For Hob’s writing saying the wifi password is I love you is still on his forearm.

Dream looks sheepish. “I got it tattooed.”

Hob tilts his head at him, confused. “So you could remember the wifi password?”

“So that I could remember this.” He traces his finger over, I love you.

Hob feels a blush creep across his cheeks. But it’s a pleasant feeling. “This is not even my best handwriting.”

“I know,” says Dream. He does not seem unhappy about it.

Hob takes his arm, touches the words, too. “You could have just gotten this part done.”

“I think,” Dream says slowly, touching the part that says, the wifi password is, “that this is another form of the same.”

And Hob… finds himself tearing up a little. Because it’s true. It’s so silly that Dream, certifiable maths genius, struggles so much with basic computer skills. But Hob will do any silly thing for him, because he loves him.

“Yeah,” he says, taking a shaky breath. “It is.”

“Unfortunately, you can never change the wifi password now,” says Dream, and Hob laughs wetly.

“I really can’t, can I? Terrible security. The things I’ll do for you, darling.”

“Would that include making proper bread?” Dream asks, and Hob nods, patting his arm.

“We’ll fix it, don’t worry.”

Now he’s wondering how he didn’t notice Dream getting a tattoo. Though to be fair, they haven’t seen each other as much in the past two weeks as they usually would, thanks to very inconvenient scheduling. Apparently Dream’s taken advantage of that time to do this.

“Can’t let you out of my sight for a second,” he says, as he fetches a new bread pan from the cupboard. “God knows what you’ll come back with next.”

“Be careful or I will consider that a challenge,” Dream says, and Hob pauses as way too many images flash through his mind. He shakes them off. He’ll never be able to focus on anything like that.

And Dream, the bastard, is smirking.

“Watch that look on your face or you might find that flour you’re holding dumped over your head,” Hob warns, but Dream only looks victorious, and utterly uncaring of the bag of flour he's precariously picked up.

“How will you ogle me kneading the dough that way?”

Hob swipes a dish towel from the counter and throws it at him. Dream yelps and spills the flour, which poofs up in a cloud of white landing all over his black t-shirt.

“Hob,” he complains.

“Serves you right, you dickhead,” Hob says. It only returns the smirk to Dream’s face.

“If you feel that way perhaps I’ll decide I don’t need your supervision,” he says archly.

Hob tears a piece off of Dream’s first attempt at a loaf. Or rather, breaks off a piece, which is hard as stone. He shows it to him as evidence.

Dream snatches it and shoves it into his mouth. Bites down with a crunch so horrifying Hob’s afraid he’s broken a tooth. But Dream persists, chewing it painstakingly and then swallowing, as if by force.

“Taste good?” Hob asks.

“Yes—” Dream starts to insist—then dissolves into a fit of coughing that swiftly turns into giggles. Hob loves it so much when he laughs like that. It’s so rare.

Hob laughs with him. Then frees the crumpled bag of flour from Dream’s grasp and sets it aside, brushes the flour and crumbs from his shirt. Then he takes Dream’s arm and runs his fingertip over the words again, still in awe.

He again finds himself having to clear his throat to avoid tearing up. But he manages, and says, “Let’s get you some proper, not burnt bread, yeah?”

“Please,” says Dream, a tad sheepish. “I am… very hungry.”

Hob kisses his cheek, then goes about solving that problem, too.

#this is so... silly. so sappy #complex mathematics #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing #proofread this many times so here's hoping it's fine now XD

236 notes · View notes

stealanity · 7 months

Text

playlist one , the boyz ( lsg to kvm ) :

ꕤ lee sangyeon ,

someone

⠀

[ 7:02am ]

[ 5:12pm ]

[ 6:14am ]

⠀

ꕤ bae jacob ,

summer love

birthday cake

melatonin

co-lover

white lily

⠀

ꕤ kim younghoon ,

corny jokes

reassuring hands

kinda miss you

i didn't forget

⠀

[ 1:02am ]

[ 2:45am ]

⠀

ꕤ lee hyunjae ,

suffocating ( written serie , discontinued )

this special look

stay

waffle

loser, lover

crazy

too late

only for practice

⠀

[ 9:32am ]

[ 4:35pm ]

[ 10:37pm ]

⠀

ꕤ lee juyeon ,

his s/o waking up in the middle of the night

cute little intruder

bad day, but good boyfriend

daydream

terrible idea

the bet

cold hands

risky

sick of you

⠀

[ 5:34pm ]

[ 10:45pm ]

[ 7:52pm ]

[ 8:57pm ]

⠀

ꕤ moon kevin ,

bad words

the little prince

⠀

[ 3:37pm ]

[ 11:23am ]

⠀

. . . link to maknae line !

148 notes · View notes

zhng96 · 1 year

Text

7:34PM — k. gyuvin.

↳ night market date blurb w/ gyu <3

↳ pairing: kim gyuvin x gn!reader

↳ warnings: i started giggling and kicking my feet when writing this,, thats your warning </3, also lowercase intended!!!!!

perm taglist (open): @tzuberry @hrtattcker @yueriots @neohyxn

you and gyuvin had thought that getting to the night market quite early would mean fewer people- let's just say this was quite a close-minded way of thinking.

this particular night market lay on one of the busiest streets in seoul, of course, there would be a crowd of people no matter the hour.

in order not to lose you, gyuvin kept his eye on you the entire time, often reaching a hand out to your side to keep anyone from bumping into you too harshly. however, his actions toward you are unnoticed as you find yourself busy being captivated by the many stalls of local businesses and their specialties.

a special desert manages to capture your attention so much, that you rush over towards the stall, pulling out your wallet in ready. you watched as the shopkeeper dipped the kebab of strawberries into the boiling sugar water, and your eyes drift over to the assortment of fruits that also have the potential to be candied.

the slices of mango cause your eyes to sparkle and you politely beckon over the shopkeeper, pointing excitedly towards the mango slices and the fresh strawberries. the shopkeeper smiles, sticking the fruits onto a skewer before heading towards the pot of boiling sugar, spinning the fruits to coat them fully.

you couldn't help but feel entranced by the way the sugar glistened under the many LED lights that lined the night market, you couldn't wait to pass this to gyuvin and watch his eyes light up at the sight of the candied mango.

gyuvin on the other hand was freaking out. he took his eyes off of you for a second, and you were already gone. thankfully, his height came in handy when it came to situations like this, and he found your figure happily thanking a shopkeeper with something in your hand. looking up at the bright sign it read 'tanghulu'.

he jogs closer towards the shop before calling out your name, a big smile on his face as he watches you compliment the shopkeeper once more. at the sound of his voice, you perk up and turn back to him with an excited smile, gesturing towards the tanghulu in your hand.

his smile only grows wider, endeared by your actions and his eyes sparkle at the sight of the sugar-coated mangoes.

he holds out a hand, nodding towards it and you happily jog over towards him to take it.

"don't go off like that without telling me first", he reprimands gently, watching as you smiled knowingly.

"yeah, but i got you mango tanghulu so you can't get mad at me..." gyuvin smiles once again, an adoring chuckle bubbling from his throat and his eyes turning into crescents which perfectly portrayed how charmed he was by you.

you had him wrapped around your finger just like you were wrapped around his.

navi. mlist.

#. . . 🖋️ zhng’s prose #zb1 #zb1 x reader #zb1 fluff #zerobaseone x reader #gyuvin x reader #zerobaseone #kim gyuvin x reader #zb1 imagines #kim gyuvin #gyuvin #gyuvin fluff #gyuvin imagine #kim gyuvin fluff #kim gyuvin imagine #gyuvin zb1 x reader

318 notes · View notes

phyrestartr · 11 months

Text

Till Death Do Us Part (Miguel x Reader)

Miguel x Husband!Reader W/C: 9.5k

#NSFW, exhibitionist kink, praise kink, hurt/comfort, infidelity, toxic relationships, brief verbal abuse, mending relationships, mentions of medication, mentions of mental illness, difficult/complex feelings and emotions, things work out in the end, nobody dies, the zombies aren't that important, old men just really going through it

Note: I cried a lot writing this lol please also cry and enjoy! (I also tried my best with the Spanish and tried to reference good sources, but I apologize if it sounds whack lol I only know EN and JP o(--( )

-- Till Death Do Us Part --

"(Name), where the fuck are you?" Miguel ran his hand through his hair as he watched the news, as he stared outside at the cascade of chaos. He waited for you to pick up the phone. He'd already called so many times, but you weren't picking up. Why weren't you fucking picking up?

"Miguel, he's probably fine," Dana cooed as her arms looped around him from behind. "You need to worry about what we're gonna do."

Miguel shook his head and shoved Dana's arms off of him. "Our daughter–Gabriella–"

"You mean our daughter?" Her tone was vile. So, so fucking vile.

"Shut up," Miguel barked before ripping the phone from his ear when your voicemail picked up again. He shot you another text, asking where you were before his fidgety fingers scrolled the log up and down, cruelly reminding himself of the messages he'd ignored from you just a few days ago.

November 18th 7:04am babe come home 7:04am please 12:19pm we can talk about it 12:20pm we'll figure it out 12:46pm gabi misses you 9:34pm call me tomorrow

November 19th 7:35am you still ignoring me? 7:40am gabi wants to call you 7:41am you gonna answer if it's her? 8:05am i'll tell her you're busy with work 9:50pm i miss you

November 21st 9:56pm call me

November 23rd 12:01am i shot someone 12:01am i had to 12:01am but i can't stop thinking about it 12:32am i need you 1:12am please 2:07am miguel

November 30th 7:16am miggs shit's crazy outside 7:17am lock the doors, don't let anyone inside 7:17am maybe stock up on food first idk this might take a while 7:18am but DON'T help anyone who's bit or injured 7:19am they evacuated gabi's school but i don't fucking know where they're going 7:19am i'm gonna find her, i promise 7:20am i love you. stay safe.

December 2nd 3:05am i love you 3:06am i'm sorry

Miguel rubbed his eyes. He sped past his own wall of text starting from that day, December 3rd, and sent another plea, another wish that you'd respond back sooner than a week from now.

"Oh my God, just give it up–"

"Dana, shut the fuck up, just shut up."

He called you again.

And this time, you answered.

Miguel's heart jumped. "(Name)?"

"Babe?" You sounded like you were panting, like you were straining against something. "Are–are you okay? Where are you?" A string of coughs punched out of your lungs in rough staccato, pinching Miguel's nerves with every ghastly beat. He was scared. He was so fucking scared.

"I--I'm," Miguel stammered, still unable to have that conversation, still too much of a coward in the end. "Does it matter?"

"Just keep the doors locked," you continued. "Keep 'em locked, and…and I dunno if you're in a tower or a house or fucking whatever, but don't leave until things get quiet." You picked yourself up from the ground, Miguel could tell by the scratch of gravel echoing wherever you were. "Don't get bit. Don't help anyone who is bit. Put yourselves first."

"But, I–you–do you have Gabi?" Panic gripped his throat as jets flew overhead, high above the city. The engines roared a gruesome apology, a sound Ouranos himself must have made when his own children slew him, so filled with godly enmity.

Then, molten death rained on the city. Miguel stared at roaring explosions dotting the cityscape, watching pillars of flame feed into the world's chaos. His hands trembled when the same carnage screeched through your phone.

"I'll find her. I-I promise, Miguel, I'll find her and--and I'll–shit."

There was gunfire. Gunfire encased in wild snarling. It devoured the crack of plastic hitting concrete, the noises you gasped out, the–

Silence.

Miguel hated his mind. He hated how it remembered that one moment so clearly, like it'd happened just a minute before the present. Sometimes, when he felt like torturing himself more, he wondered what your face looked like in those last moments. He wondered where your life flickered out. He wondered when he'd see you stumbling through the streets and have to put a bullet in your head.

But he'd force good memories to the surface when he found the light growing too dim; that confession and first kiss, starry nights spent lazing on the hood of your jeep, the look on your face when you finally held little Gabriella for the first time–it all chased away the darkness. It all made him feel whole again, it let him see clearly again. But with clarity came the difficulty of accepting what he'd lost.

He found a way to do it. He found a way to talk about you, too. It was hard not to–your old colleagues, other officers of the lost world, were an integral part of the Alchemax colony. Jeff Morales and George Stacy, amongst a few others, had known you, and by proxy they knew Miguel.

"He was a good guy," Jeff had mentioned when the moment felt right. "Bragged about having the best-looking and smartest partner around. Now, I ain't gonna say he was right, but he wasn't wrong." That brought warmth to Miguel's chest, but guilt smothered it too quickly.

"Never stopped talking about your daughter either." George smiled when he recalled it, but it was something small and morose. "Gabriella, right? Yeah, he said she was a smart cookie. Kind of a brat, apparently, but hey, with that guy as her father? Hah! I'm not surprised."

Miguel liked having them around. He liked the happy memories they brought to your name.

But on bad days, vulnerable days, Miguel wanted to break their necks and watch them turn so he could kill them again in their undeath; they still had their children, their families. How could they bring up what he'd lost while they still had everything?

Today was one of those days, too, one where your memory hurt just a little more than usual. Maybe it came with the snow whirling in the blue-drenched outdoors, or the sudden darkness the world lost itself in. But he knew the frostbite decaying his heart came from the eternal proof of your lost existence:

December 2nd 3:05am i love you 3:06am i'm sorry

Why did you apologize? Miguel sighed, and carded a hand through his hair as he paced Alchemax's halls. Enough of that, Miguel. You need to focus. Focus.

And once he stepped foot in the control room, the routine morning check commenced: doors remained sealed with no record of tampering, security cameras still functioned, the solar panels still collected more than enough light to keep things rolling. Good. Perfect.

"Hey, hey, how's it lookin'?" Peter asked, a cup of coffee in one hand and his little girl tucked in the other arm. It would've been a wholesome sight, if Peter hadn't ruined it with a too-loud slurp from his mug. Ugh.

"Fine," Miguel grumbled. "Everything's in the green. Nothing to worry about." He ran a hand over his face with a sigh. "Just have to clear the snow off the solar panels later today."

"Oooh, snow! It is that time of the year, huh? December already! Who woulda thought. Time goes by pretty quick when you're not worried about getting eaten all the time." Peter looked at his little May and cooed. "Isn't that right, Mayday?"

Miguel rolled his eyes fondly and shook his head. "If you're that excited about snow, I'll put you on shovelling duty, Parker."

"Oh, wow, I'm suddenly deaf and can't hear you." Peter shuffled away in his stupid slippers and stupid bathrobe. "Oh, right, right, MJ made bread! Can you believe it? I feel like I haven't had a bread-carb in forever! We really gotta do another supply run or we're eating canned beans all winter long. Y'know what? I'll put it on the 'to-do' list!"

Miguel threw a glare at Peter over his shoulder. He was annoying, but he wasn't wrong. They did need more food, more supplies, more ways to sustain themselves. Scavenging the dregs of supermarkets and convenience stores wasn't cutting it anymore; there were too many mouths to feed, and shitty, packaged foods wouldn't suffice much longer.

Miguel braced his hands on the centre console after pulling up a satellite map of the surrounding area. The lab they called home laid nestled away from prying eyes of citizens, making it a safer place to start to rebuild the semblance of a normal life. Though, at the same time, it made it more difficult to get in and out of the city in good time. They had to pick their destination on the map, calculate the time it'd take to get there, and then execute the plan with little to no hiccups. It was hard. It was a pain in the ass. But it had to be done.

Miguel took his time scanning through the map, trying to spot any buildings they hadn't already marked off as empty and not worth the trip. These days, they had to get creative, they had to think of places that'd have food where people wouldn't expect, where the average scavenger wouldn't think to look and–

"Shit," Miguel breathed before rushing to move the map. "How could I forget?"

He spotted a small building on the map, one they'd never ventured to, one they never thought to go to. A chain link fence surrounded the perimeter, giving about five metres worth of breathing room around the building. Clusters of huge garden pots dotted the area randomly, along with whatever outdoor trees and shrubs that'd survived all these years on their own.

Miguel covered his mouth as he smiled.

"You might've just saved us, viejo."

Because you were a country boy. A farmer's son.

You convinced (begged) him to pull over, to go to the new garden store that'd appeared not too long ago. Miguel, far too smitten with you, couldn't find the heart to say 'no' to the excitement buzzing in your voice.

The store was filled with beautiful plants, ranging from common houseplants, to tropical rarities that Miguel never knew existed. All sorts of bushy plants, tall single-leafers, and vining beauties lined the displays and bathed in the gentle, constant mist raining down on them. It really felt like a tropical jungle landed in New York.

You'd sauntered over to the seed section while Miguel wandered through all the store had to offer before finding you again. You had several sachets in your hands and scanned the shelves for anything else that piqued your interest; they were all vegetable seeds, stuff like corn and green beans, tomatoes and onions, but the occasional herb showed itself as well.

To Miguel, raising vegetables seemed like a cute hobby. But to you, raising crops meant revisiting your childhood.

"You wanna get some?" Miguel asked. He looped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder as he read all the different seed names on display.

"Yeah. I mean…maybe. Dunno if a vegetable garden'll go with the house." You laughed softly, a little self-deprecatingly, before you reached to put the packets back. "I just–I don't know."

"I think it'll work." A smile warmed Miguel's face as pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. "We can make a greenhouse. A big one. In the backyard." He kissed your neck next. "You can show me the farmboy fantasy."

You laughed, turned in his arms, and kissed him. "Done."

Miguel crept up to the garden centre with Hobie and Gwen in tow. Travelling anywhere from the safe confines of Alchemax was something of a nightmare, but Miguel was used to it–despite being the man who knew how to run the building, he too often volunteered to head out on supply runs himself. He needed the space to think, to feel the darkness they’d found themselves in, and to feel the light of the sun on his skin to remind himself it wasn’t over. Because it was far from over.

The garden centre was surrounded by chain link fences encircling the entirety of the building, the very same ones Miguel had seen from the satellite’s view. Honestly, he found himself surprised to see just how good the place looked–the windows were mostly intact, the fences hadn’t been torn through, the doors were still sealed, and a row of crippled undead and frozen re-deads dotted the perimeter, but none were inside. It didn’t seem like any had ever been inside, actually.

“That’s…kinda weird, right?” Gwen murmured as she adjusted her toque. “This place feels like…like it never went under, or something.”

“Damn near stuck in the past, I’d say,” Hobie agreed. He looked to Miguel. “Fishy’s an understatement, yeah? Might be some not-so-dead-yets in there.”

Miguel took a deep breath as he thought. “It’s a plant store. Not the highest priority for scavengers like us.” He headed forward, grip tight on his hunting knife. “Try not to shoot. Not unless there’s a runner.”

“Better not be any runners,” Gwen grumbled. “It’s December. Hopefully they’re all freezing to double-death right now.”

Hobie scoffed a smile. “If not, we just give ‘em an early Christmas present, hey?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure they’d love their brains blown out.”

“Eh. I would.”

Miguel rolled his eyes as the youngins bickered softly behind him. There was no point stopping them–trying to dad them out in the wilds of New York just gave Miguel a bigger headache, and too often ended in a louder match of bickering and scolding, which then often resulted in the undead stumbling their way. It was always a mess. Maybe he should stop bringing the dynamic duo with him.

But you’d known them. You were fond of them, too, always letting them off the hook with a slap on the wrist when they were caught vandalizing buildings or stealing from stores when they were teenagers. You laughed when you told Miguel stories about them, about how Hobie’d call you “officer tall, sunny and handsome” to get on your good side (which worked), and how Gwen would try to bribe you with car-washings and babysitting to get you to not tell her dad what happened. You knew they were good kids, just bored and too smart for their own good. Miguel knew that, too; the two of you were thick as thieves back in the day, total petty-crime masterminds. Maybe Hobie and Gwen were your dark apprentices, in a way.

Miguel smiled faintly. He missed the days where you both broke into abandoned buildings, haunted houses and everything else inbetween to fool around and fuck. It’d always be filmed, much to Miguel’s embarrassment, but watching the videos back always made him feel…wanted. Appreciated. Like a rare piece of art.

You’d always cheese it up and make it sound like some sort of bad porno or found-footage film, like you didn't just break into Chuck E. Cheese to fuck in front of the creepy animatronics. Breaking the law got you excited, as ironic as that was for a future cop. Miguel thought you were a freak. Miguel was kind of a freak too, though.

“Fucking God,” Miguel moaned, somehow louder than the squeak of the table hosting your feverish coupling. His hips bucked and rolled against yours in a desperate attempt to keep up with your brutal, delicious pace, and his thighs dug into your sides with his hands clutching to your shoulders for dear life.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you mumbled into his ear. Miguel’s body gave a sharp, involuntary jolt, kickstarting the sudden crescendo of his well-earned euphoria. He let his voice be heard as he arched off that shitty table and up against your solid frame, his hips still rutting and moving in sync with your own. You groaned too, letting yourself be just as loud in the midst of him tightening around your heavy, thick cock pummeling into him.

“God, lookit that pretty face,” you growled when you pulled back to see how fucked out he was. “You feel good, huh? ‘M I makin’ you cum hard?” Your hand slapped the side of his ass, and Miguel whimpered sharply. “You’re so good, baby, so fucking good. I’ll make you cum again, yeah? Make you cum while you–while you take everything I got.”

You were terrible. Horrible. A monster in the sack, and apparently in front of powered-down robots. You did what you promised, and ripped another orgasm from his exhausted, over-stimulated body before reaching your own blissful undoing with a rude grin on your stupid, annoying face.

It made for good content, though.

They reached the front gate without problem, only to find it locked with hefty chains and thick padlocks. If there were people in there, then breaking through the first line of defence wasn’t their favoured option–they didn’t like other survivors, no, and they didn’t work with them without good reason, but they weren’t in the business of sabotaging them, either.

“Hobie,” Miguel beckoned, muffling the chains’ clanking while holding up one of the locks.

The young man smirked and flicked his old lock picking set from his pocket. “Don’t mind if I do, coz.”

He unlocked everything in record time. Miguel thought of you for a moment, and wondered if you’d taught the young man a few nefarious tricks since you, too, were an expert sneak. But Miguel pushed the thought aside as they all carefully, slowly, painstakingly unwrapped the linked metal from the fence, and pushed it open with just as much care to keep the noise to a minimum. It’d be a shame to ring the dinner bell in such an untouched place.

They relocked one of the padlocks for peace of mind before wandering towards the front entrance. The doors’ windows were boarded neatly and meticulously, Miguel noticed first. He crouched down and noted something blocking the small gap between the ground and the door, but the faintest reach of light still reached through the few cracks that remained.

“Lights’re on. Front’s boarded,” he sighed before backing up. “Might be a different way inside. Looks like there might be people in–”

“Miguel!” Gwen whispered. He looked her way, and saw her point to a decrepit shed nestled up against the side of the building, right underneath a large window. Shoved against it laid a single, heavy pot flipped on its end, serving as a sort of stool to get up on. But the lack of snow on the newfound path gave Miguel pause.

“I’ll check it out,” Gwen said before nimbly scampering up the side of the shed.

Miguel frowned. “Gwen–”

“Relax, I’m just gonna look.” But Miguel did not relax, especially not when she rose on her tiptoes on that shitty, rickety shed roof and peered through the window before her eyes grew wide with a soft woah.

“Whatcha got, Gwendy?” Hobie asked, approaching the shed himself.

“You two–” Miguel warned. He looked around cautiously, his body aching with primal instinct–they weren’t alone. There had to be someone else here. Gwen and Hobie had to realize that. They were smarter than this. They wouldn’t do anything stupid. They wouldn’t be hypnotized by whatever was in there and throw caution to the wind to get it. Right? Right.

…Right?

Excited, Gwen smiled and glanced at the two before looking back at whatever she saw. “There’re–there’s…trees? And bushes with veggies and–and wow, you were right, Miguel.”

“Well, I say we hop in there and snag a few to bring back, yeah?” Hobie suggested. “Reckon they grew on their own?”

“No,” Miguel scolded. “They didn’t. Come down, right now. We need more people for this.”

“I’m juuust gonna...” Gwen reached for the window, and Miguel’s anxiety peaked.

“Gwen.”

“Just a little–” The window groaned as it popped open.

They froze. They died as statues for a single, long moment, rejecting the need to breathe, letting their eyes freeze solid in winter’s mercy while their ears pricked, searching like the alert deer suspecting death stalking nearby after a misstep on a brittle branch.

One minute passed.

Then two minutes.

Three minutes.

But the birds kept chirping, the world kept spinning, and Ares didn’t come to collect their battle-worn souls.

Gwen looked at her group with a nervous smile, a guilty thing that said, “oops?”

Miguel was furious. But now was not the time to argue or yell. He could let her father handle that back at Alchemax.

But someone grabbed her, and yanked her inside.

Hobie didn’t hesitate. He jumped up to where Gwen once stood and took the plunge after her, scrambling up into the window, but that same someone shoved him, sending him plummeting down to the frigid concrete. Miguel rushed to his side when he hit the pavement with a choked-back groan.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Miguel rolled him on his back. “Hobie, you fucking idiot.” Miguel’s panic ebbed just the slightest bit when he saw the punk blinking away stars instead of losing consciousness.

Click.

Electricity burst through him. Miguel ripped his revolver free of its holster and returned aim up at the shadow in the window. The tired winter sun illuminated a barrel of black metal, and the small, tawny hand holding it steady. A child. A kid. He was pointing a gun at a kid.

“We don’t want any problems, kid,” Miguel called up. He tried to relax, but he couldn’t; children who grew up in this world were ruthless. They were cruel, unrelenting, and unapologetic towards their targets. He couldn’t blame them. It was all they’d known, all they’d been taught. But they were only as cruel as their teachers made them. Some of them still held on to shreds of humanity.

And judging by that unwavering hand, Miguel feared their adversary was at least a confident shot if not a full-blooded monster.

“Yeah, c’mon,” Hobie groaned. “We just–we just want some seeds ‘n shit, ‘at’s all.”

The small hand faltered a bit. Seems she still possessed sympathy. But a voice, deep and thread-bare, called to her. She looked over her shoulder for a second, before pulling the window closed and locking the latch behind her.

Panic lanced through Miguel as anger possessed Hobie. “I’m gonna snap that kid in half–” but the creaky hinges of the front door opening cut him off. Miguel aimed toward it, and Hobie did the same once he got himself together, but then–then Gwen peeked out.

“Guys!” Her hand fluttered and ushered them to come. “You’re not gonna believe this! It’s–”

“Daddy?” A young, gentle voice asked, and Miguel’s gaze snapped to her. To her. To the little girl peeking out from around Gwen. To his baby, to his tiny world, long lost but never forgotten. To–

“Gabriella,” Miguel breathed.

“Ho-ly shit,” Hobie commented.

Gabi’s eyes flooded with emotion. She sprinted to him, nearly slipping and tripping in the snow before jumping into his arms and holding on tight. She was so much older now, so much bigger; her tiny face used to bury into his stomach, but now she had her head tucked up against his chest, staining his jacket with heavy tears.

“It’s okay, mija, it’s okay. I’m here, Daddy’s got you.” Miguel kissed the top of her head. He fought back tears of his own, but did so so pitifully with broken, bewildered laughs and shaking breaths. He pulled back and looked down at her face, her beautiful, beautiful face, and carefully wiped away the wet trails freezing on her cheeks. “I–you–L-Look at you. How’d you get so big?”

Gabi smiled and sniffled as she wiped her eyes. “I-I, um, finally ate my veggies.” She took a breath to try and still the quiver in her lungs between thoughts. “Y-You have so much grey in your hair now!”

A few beats of warm laughter left Miguel. “Yeah, no thanks to you. Spent all this time worrying about you, kid.” His hand, so used to killing and defending, trembled as he brushed flyaways out of her face. "Listen, I–I'm gonna take you somewhere safe, okay? You won't be alone anymore."

Gabriella blinked. Her small hands clutched his jacket. "What? But–"

"She's not alone."

Miguel almost didn’t look. He didn’t really believe what he just heard. But when he risked it, when he managed to wrench his gaze away from his daughter and back to the heavenly light of the front entrance, he saw you. The man who'd been haunting him for years. The man who'd been keeping him warm at night. You, his lover. You, his husband.

(You, the man he betrayed.)

"She hasn't been alone," you said, the words punctuated by hazy clouds of warmth–proof you were alive, that you weren't an illusion, not this time. "I promise."

You looked so, so tired.

But Gwen was grinning, and even Hobie smiled with a lack of irony as he walked to you and gave you a hug.

"My man! Officer tall, sunny and handsome in the flesh!" He clapped his hand hard against your back but you hardly wavered. You offered a smile, and hugged him back, short and sweet.

"Hey, Hobie. Behaving?"

"Eh. Sometimes."

"Good enough for me." You let him go and scanned over all the survivors, your eyes not lingering on anyone for too long. "Head inside. It's warm, there's food. We'll talk. Gabs?"

"Okay!" She hurried to corral everyone inside. "In, in, in, we gotta lock up for the night." Her gaze turned to Miguel as he hesitated, still watching you with glazed eyes. "Daddy, are you–?"

"I'll be there in a second, mija." And, thankfully, his baby girl read the room better than he could have at that age, and let you two be.

You looked over your shoulder, so like a predator making sure his cubs were inside and safe before prowling through the night. A man enchanted, Miguel followed you, watching you re-lock the gates they'd slipped through, and lagging behind while you checked the perimeter with thorough hands. Miguel would give anything to have those hands on him right now.

He didn’t know where to start. "(Name), I–"

"You said you could take her somewhere safe, right?" You asked before you turned that timid, unsure gaze back to him. "You meant that?"

The words took too long to register. "I–yeah, I meant it. I mean it." Miguel forged courage out of trepidation and used it to fuel his journey to you. "We have a colony. The old Alchemax building, you remember?"

"The one that was supposed to get torn down?" You wondered.

Miguel nodded. "Yeah, that one."

You kept walking. "Didn't we fuck in your office there?"

A smile threatened Miguel as he followed like a lost puppy. "We did."

"Ah. Always liked that building. Liked that desk, too." You shrugged. "Comfy, all things considered."

Miguel hooked his finger into your belt loop and pulled you closer to him. "Then you'll be happy to hear it hasn't changed."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You almost laughed, Miguel heard it. But you pulled away from him, and wordlessly finished up the perimeter sweep.

"You should stay the night," you mumbled on the way back. "Pretty sure it's gonna snow."

"Might make it harder to get back tomorrow," Miguel said, following you inside and watching you bar the door again. "We came here by foot."

"No truck?"

"None."

"I'll take you back, then. I got a truck."

"You make it sound like you're not coming." Anxiety gripped Miguel. "I'm not losing you again." He held onto your arm tightly.

You looked troubled, glancing between the hand on your arm and Miguel's eyes. "Did Dana die?" You asked.

Sickness coiled in Miguel's stomach. "What?" But his tone was too deep, too dark.

You shook your head. "No, I–I'm sorry I don't know why I said that, I'm just–"

"We both know why you said that," Miguel said through clenched teeth.

The way you looked at him, eyes full of bristling hatred for the woman who'd stolen away everything from you, set alight an ancient sort of fear in Miguel’s core. It was so like that night, the one where you'd found out.

Gabi was still at daycare. You were at work. Miguel was supposed to be at work, too. It could have been the perfect crime, one full of sinful lust and infinite rapture.

But you came home early.

You didn't even say a word when you walked into the bedroom and found him tangled in the sheets with Dana, with the woman he'd convinced you to think was a surrogate, not someone he was fooling around with and just so happened to knock up. You had that same stare, rotting with hatred, infested with betrayal, all for the woman underneath your husband. Miguel loathed that look, but he found some sick joy in hurting you, too. Because he hated you, for some reason.

Dana laughed when you walked out, some smart comment about how pathetic you were dancing off her plush, scarlet-stained lips. Miguel scoffed a laugh, too. You really were a coward, weren't you?

(But you weren't.)

Miguel finished with Dana, and she left. He heard her say something to you, something light and playful and damn hurtful, but Miguel didn't say anything. Nor did you.

He found you in the living room after he'd pulled some clothes on like it mattered. He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, staring hard at your profile while you graced the ground with an empty gaze. Your hands clasped and unclasped slowly. Your head nodded shallowly.

"You're really not gonna say anything?" Miguel goaded.

"What am I supposed to say?" You offered.

Something. Anything.

Miguel laughed, mocking, and sat down across from you, on a mirrored couch, across the glass coffee table you'd picked out together.

"How long?" You managed.

Miguel hummed in thought. "How old's Gabi?"

That got a reaction out of you, something Miguel craved so deeply; your eyelids fluttered in disbelief, and your lips parted to suck in a sharp breath. You looked hurt. You looked like you were feeling something.

"The prenup says you keep what's yours, I keep what's mine, yeah?"

Miguel's smile faded. "What?"

"Gifts fall into that category. I’m keeping the Jeep."

"Wait–"

"I'll find a lawyer in the morning." You got up, and Miguel snapped.

"You're not even going to fucking ask why?" He yelled, pursuing you into the bedroom. "You don't wanna know why I'm fucking someone else? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

You ignored him. Miguel's temper flared.

"Fine! Fine, fuck it, I'll tell you. You don't excite me anymore. You don't try, you don't wanna fuck me, you don't wanna do anything anymore–"

"Miguel–"

"You're not the same man I married. What happened to you? When'd you get so–so pathetic and weak?" He took a pause to breathe. Or maybe gasp, more like, as the stabs of panic started to overtake him. "I hate you. You can't leave me."

He braced on the door, trying to get his bearings on his own, but you were quick to his side. With a strength Miguel loved and adored, you eased him down and fell in slow-motion with his shaky frame secured in your arms.

“It’s okay, Miggs. You’re okay.” Your fingers combed through his hair slowly. You held him tight, and convinced him to breathe with you. In and out. In and out. In and out. He breathed to the rhythm of your heart, as it turned out. Slow and steady. Hurt and bleeding.

“We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

And he believed you.

That’s why he took off the ring, and left first thing in the morning.

Hobie and Gwen passed out after eating their fill of stew. Miguel was beyond annoyed, but couldn't find it in himself to wake them up and leave, not when you were undecided about going with them, but very much wanting him to take Gabi.

Honestly, he didn't think you'd still be hurting after all this time. Dana was something of the past, a succubus that followed the steps of opportunity and wealth wherever it may go. That's why she wasn't with the group anymore. That's why she left him when he needed her most, and jumped in a truck with strangers while he bled out, alone, in the solitude of an abandoned pet store.

Chills raked his spine, breaking off chunks of bone when he thought about it. He'd never been so fucking scared in his life. He wished he could have called you to come save him. He wanted you to be the one to walk in there and find him, crying and dying, because you would have stuck by his side through all of those moments; if he hadn't let his emotions get the best of him, if he hadn't made so many stupid decisions, he would've been with you. If he died that day, it would have been in your arms.

"Hey," you murmured with a gentle touch to his shoulder. Miguel jumped, and your eyes softened. "You okay?"

Miguel swallowed thickly as he nodded. He looked around, grounding his mind through the touch of your hand, the duo snoring and slumped against bags of soil, and the gentle flickering of the propane campfire keeping the space warm. You taking a seat beside him helped, too.

Copper eyes took a moment to pace around the old garden centre; true to the outside, it was more or less untouched on the inside, just more cluttered with haphazard barricades and half-done projects. Miguel watched his ghost walk through the isles, once filled with tropical plants, but now replaced with beautiful, healthy trees raised by your hand. It was no wonder Gabi grew up so strong.

Speaking of--"Where's Gabi?"

"She's in the next room. Watering some seedlings." You smiled for a fraction of a second. "Putting her green thumb to the test. Tryna show her old man up, I guess."

Miguel smiled though his eyes stung. "Sounds like an O'hara."

"Yeah, I thought so, too."

You shared a few broken beats of laughter before silence fell, just like the snow beyond the door. Then, shyly, like you'd never done it before, your arm reached around his waist. Miguel didn't hesitate to lean his weight into you, though, and that arm didn't wait to pull him in closer right after.

"So. You still hate me?" Miguel dared to ask before the dancing cinders.

Your hand smoothed up and down his side thoughtfully, soothingly. Miguel melted against you more with a sweet, content sigh.

"I never hated you," you whispered in return. "Never."

Miguel made a little sound, something caught between surprise and relief, while your words sunk deep into his thoughts. You didn’t hate him. You didn’t hate him.

“Then come back with us.”

“Miguel–”

“There’s no reason to stay here,” Miguel bit out, frustration egging him on. “We have shelter, we have water, showers, rooms, beds–we have everything.”

“What about food?” You asked quietly.

But Miguel didn’t have an answer; food was the reason they were coming out here, to find more ways to create sustainable living, to try and make life work again. He couldn’t help but look at the trees and bushes bursting with colourful fruits and vegetables, showing off years of dedication and hard work through the literal fruits of your labour. Miguel didn’t know how hard it was to get there. He didn’t think he wanted to know.

“...It’s a work in progress,” he grumbled instead of admitting the truth. “But we could use your help.”

Your warm fingers dipped under layers of clothes to find the searing skin of your past lover. To Miguel, it almost ached. He hadn't been touched in so long. He hadn't felt your hands on his bare skin for even longer. It intoxicated him, filled his mind and blood with wants and needs–things only you could fulfil for him.

"I won't leave you hangin', promise that. I just–I need to figure out how this is all gonna work." You looked around the room, taking stock. "Lots of gear we'll need, lots of shit to move. I'll send you back with whatever's already picked. Not worried about the cold with those. The trees are another story, don't want 'em to go dormant while–"

Miguel kissed you. Sloppily, and wantonly, but with genuinity. Your hands scrambled to hold onto his massive frame when he leaned into you and almost knocked you off the discounted garden bench. This time, you were the one who made a cute, surprised noise.

And you were the one who kissed him the second time, but it was smaller and shier coming from you, not so eager to consume like Miguel. Your calloused hand held the side of his neck, and your thumb ran along his jawline thoughtfully when you parted, noses bumping and nudging together in a weak nuzzle.

"I guess you don't hate me anymore?" Your whisper ached Miguel's heart.

"I never did," he confessed.

"Then why did you say it?"

"I don't know." He traced the curve of your lips with tired, weighted eyes. Your cupid's bow had a nice shape to it, so soft and pillowy, meant just for him. "But I didn't mean it."

"I need a better answer than that." You swallowed down what Miguel could only guess to be a tincture of fear and sorrow, or maybe rage and betrayal. "I've lived with–with that for a long, long time." Your eyes glistened with unspent grief, suddenly. "I need more than 'I don't know.'"

Miguel's heart lurched. He hadn't bore witness to the consequences of his selfishness before, not with you, not during his affair with Dana. He'd only seen you grow distant across that coffee table far before that god-awful night. And back then, he wanted a reaction. He wanted something like this out of you, but now, he couldn't fathom why.

"Mi amor, I–it's hard to put into words, and I was a stupid kid, and–hey, hey, don't--don't cry." He wiped away the bravest tear to fall first before you turned away, back to the flickering blaze, and rubbed your face roughly.

"Here's my guess," you muttered. "You wanted to fuck, and I couldn’t–I just–it was hard for me. Or maybe it wasn’t hard, maybe that’s a better way to put it.” You rubbed your face, and held your head in your hands. "The, ah, the medication, the anti-depressants or whatever, they were fucking me up. I didn’t wanna fuck you. I didn’t wanna do anything. Then I was in training to join the force. Wasn't home, and when I was, I was too tired to take care of you and Gabi, so I focused on her. And that made you go back to Dana. Again."

Bile scorched the back of Miguel’s throat. "You knew." A realisation, not a question. "You knew we–that she and I–"

"Yeah, that she wasn't a surrogate.” You picked your head up from your hands and stared at the fire, unseeing. “Because she was dating Gabe at the time, and you were with me." You sighed and let a deep, venomous grief finally escape from the space between your lungs, from the spot where that thing had festered like a disease for too many years.

"I could let it go the first time, turn a blind eye because she gave me–gave us–our daughter, but–the second time? With all the shit you two said?" You shook your head. "I just--I couldn't–I wish you'd just told me what was wrong. I wish I'd told you what was going on with me, too, 'cause I know all the shit that happened is my fault, too.”

"Dad?” Gabi's small, hollow voice rang. The both of you turned to her, but you were the one who got up.

“Baby,” You said with a hushed tone, somehow so comforting but so afraid. “Hey, you done with the watering?”

“Uh, yeah, but…um, is everything okay?” Her gaze flicked between you and Miguel. He could almost hear her little mind firing on all cylinders as she tried to parse what they were talking about. “You look sad.”

You crouched before her and took her hands in yours. “We’re talking through some things, honey, it’s alright. We’re figuring things out.”

A light of worried realization illuminated Gabriella’s gaze. Miguel fidgeted and futzed with his clothes as he looked away, unsure of how to deal with her accusatory revelation. How much did she know? Did you tell her anything? No, no, you wouldn’t do that, you wouldn’t dirty her memory of her father like that. You were a good man. You were a better man than Miguel.

“Oh,” she whispered.

You nodded and brushed some hair free from her freckled face. "We’ll be alright, baby. You just get some sleep, alright? Tomorrow's gonna be a busy day. Lots of loading up to do."

Gabi whispered the softest okay before giving you a hug. She paused for a moment, before running to Miguel and throwing her arms around him for a few precious seconds before running off to the loft to sleep.

You sighed, then, and Miguel did too.

You turned to him. “Look, you–I don’t know why I’m starting shit right after you…you wander back into my life,” you murmured, going back to Miguel and straddling the bench before taking his hand and squeezing. “I’m sorry. And I love you. You know that, right?”

That pang came back in Miguel’s chest, but this time, it was warmer.

December 2nd 3:05am i love you 3:06am i'm sorry

Miguel squeezed your hand back and this time, he was the one tearing up. “Mi amor, you don’t need to–you’ve done enough apologizing already.”

"Miggs, don't say that. I–"

"Stop. Stop it." Your husband straddled the bench, too, and scooted closer to you until he was more or less in your lap, his heavy thighs draped over your own.

"But–" you started, and stopped as Miguel cupped your face with both hands and squished your cheeks. You sighed and leaned into his touch when it eased up. "Baby–"

"Me arrepiento de lo que hice," he whispered to you, "espero algún día puedas perdonarme." He let go of your face, and found your hand to kiss its back. "Te amo."

You smiled. Something real, something happy. Something that stayed around for more than a few seconds, and made the corners of your eyes crinkle with the beautiful way you'd aged. Then, you kissed him.

"Te amo," you murmured back, your lips still touching his. "We'll figure this out. Work it out. We have the time." Your lips pressed against his again. "I'm not giving up on us."

This time, Miguel cried.

It took some time to transport everything to Alchemax. It took a little bit longer to get you there, too.

But you got there eventually, ready to stay for good, and ready to put Miguel's mind at ease.

Your old friends and coworkers greeted you, clasping their hands on your back and hugging you tight until you couldn't breathe anymore. You smiled, too, and asked them how they were holding up, if your husband was keeping things in line. You couldn't help but remind them that you in fact hand the handsomest and smartest partner in the world, too.

They let you get acquainted with the building pretty quickly, probably seeing the haggard, exhausted state you'd lived in for five years and wanting to let you unwind for the first time in a long time. And that called for a hot shower, food, and some sleep.

"I'll take you to your room," Miguel told you as you both left the common area.

"My room?" You retorted, sounding mighty confused and damn near insulted.

Miguel blinked and looked at you. "Yeah. There's enough for–" Oh.

"What's yours is mine, yeah?" You said, stern and a little bit spicy. "Then your room is mine. And your ass is–"

"Câllate," Miguel cut you off with a smile. "I'll take you to our room."

He led you there with a bit of a spring to his step, and you kept up with as much enthusiasm. The room was nothing special, featuring nothing more beyond a mediocre bed, uninspired furnishings, and random knick knacks Miguel had left here over the years. But it was home. Your shared home.

"Huh." You looked around the room. "I think that coffee table woulda looked nice here."

Miguel scoffed a laugh and rested his hand on the small of your back. "You think so? I think it'd clash."

"Yeah, well, you have bad taste, hun."

"Oh, wow, you're really gonna say that when I'm married to you?"

"I'm the one who confessed first. I'm the one who proposed. Pretty sure it's safe to say I picked you." You leaned toward him and kissed his cheek. “And I have good taste.”

Miguel felt his face get hot. "Shut up and take a shower."

"Your wish is my command." You set your pack down by the bed before sliding open the door to the ensuite. Miguel watched you like a hawk, his prey drive skyrocketing when he caught swaths of your bare skin peeking out from the washroom. He wanted to watch more, but you deserved a little privacy.

"Oh," you said, peeking out from the doorway. "I, uh, kept my phone through everything. There're some photos of Gabi, if you wanna check it out." You vanished back into the bathroom and Miguel heard the water turn on. "It's in my pack! In the shitty little phone pocket thing."

"Yeah, I–okay, I'll take a look, thanks." Miguel smiled, and rummaged through what you'd brought with you before pulling out that beat up phone with the charger still plugged into it and kept together with bandages of tape. Colour him impressed.

He sat on the edge of the bed and went straight for the camera roll. There were loads of new pictures ranging from Gabriella when she was littler, to pictures of animals that Miguel guessed Gabi had a hand in.

There were old pictures, too. Mostly of Miguel, as embarrassing as that was, but the baby photos took over his reign once that perfect little girl entered your life. It made Miguel wish he’d taken more photos, that he hadn’t thought it was too cliche and embarrassing to capture every moment. He used to say shit like, “Do you have to take a photo? Can’t you just live in the moment?” but you’d stick your tongue out, give him a pinch or a bite on his cheek or something else in retribution. Because you didn’t care, you wanted to look back on little memories.

He scanned through photos until he caught one that sent a rush of red to his features; it was of him, on his back, eyes teary and face alight with a fierce blush as you, well, obviously fucked him stupid. It was the only one of its kind. Maybe you forgot to delete it? Maybe–

The videos. Oooh, now that had Miguel excited. Miguel scanned through the other folders, but found nothing, much to his dismay and relief, seeing as Gabi probably had free access to your phone.

But then, he spied a locked folder.

The first password he tried worked (your anniversary because duh. You were such a sap), and a whole catalogue of videos and pictures were unleashed.

Miguel glanced up at the washroom door before he skimmed through. He remembered all of these places (but the geo tags helped, too. Christ, you were so organised with your exhibitionist porn), ranging from IKEA after closing, to an abandoned amusement park. He still didn’t know how you picked out these places, or how you knew how to get into them without getting in heaps of trouble with the authorities.

He tapped on a video and bumped the volume up a couple notches, just so he could barely hear; it was him on his knees, on a rusty old ferris wheel, staring up at you like you were God himself as he gripped your thighs and did his damndest to give you the blowie of a lifetime. Your sighs and soft moans rippled through the speakers like waves lapping at the shoreline. Present Miguel rubbed his mouth, worrying at his bottom lip before licking the dryness away.

“Good boy,” You whispered on the other side of the camera. Your hand came into view and carded through dark locks before cupping his cheek. Miguel of the past turned into your touch and took your thumb into his mouth while his hand took over stroking your length from base to tip over, and over again.

Miguel swiped to the next video. He was on his back this time, in your shared bedroom, if that duvet cover was to be trusted, while your fingers plunged deep inside of his heat and tore loud moans and gasps from him. He remembered this; you called it an experiment before you bullied his prostate with three, thick digits.

"How's that feel, gorgeous?" You purred. Miguel swallowed thickly, both in the video and in the now. His hesitant hand crept down his thigh slowly, like he was trying to hide it from himself and call it an accident as he reached to palm himself through his jeans while he watched. He almost felt guilty. But that's what made it better.

"Good. Really fucking good." His past self rocked down against your fingers, choking on a needy whine as his eyes slid open, and found you. "I need you, mi amor. Please–"

"I know, babe, I know. I'm almost done here," you promised. You tilted the camera down to his stretched hole to catch what you did next. "Then you can have whatever you want from me."

You pressed your pinky in, then, and Miguel of the present bit his lip as his shocked gasp and shaky cry pierced through the speakers. Miguel still couldn't describe the deranged pleasure he got from having half your hand in his ass, nearly to the point of fisting him.

Miguel switched to a different video quickly. The next one was in the Jeep you loved so much. You were both out camping for the weekend, something you loved and Miguel had learned to love; that stupid red truck became home for so many long weekends, it became host to long hours of napping and intimacy, it turned into one of Miguel's favourite places.

The video started with you adjusting the camera and squinting at it while Miguel’s younger self bitched and moaned in the background.

"I'm just making sure the tripod's working 'n shit, babe, just gimme a sec!" You whined back.

"My dick's getting soft," Miguel threatened, so blasé but annoyed at the same time. "Come on, viejo."

You pulled away from the camera, grinning smug as a fox, and scooted back to your lover. His past self was lounging, hair and clothes already a mess from the prologue to this movie, as he watched you.

"I'm here, I'm here." You kissed him, and Miguel could almost taste the s’mores on your tongue, the coffee on your lips. "Sorry, just wanna make sure it's perfect."

"Oh, yeah, 'course. Gotta make sure your indie porno looks good."

"Hey, one day we're gonna look back on this! It's worth it, baby, trust me."

"Whatever. Just kiss me," Miguel demanded with a laugh. And you did as you were told, kissing his lips, then down his chest, then–

"Knew you'd like watching 'em back."

Miguel jumped, nearly dropping the phone as he jerked his hand away from his clothed bulge. "I, uh–what?" he asked dumbly as he stared at your built frame leaning against the doorframe. God, you were still an impressive specimen. He wished that loose towel would just drop from your hips already.

"Our, ah, home videos." You grinned, so much like that fox from the past, and paced to Miguel. "Nice looking back, ain't it?" You cupped the underside of his jaw and tilted his face up. "Got you a lil' excited, yeah?"

You weren't wrong. With a hammering heart, burning skin, and tingling nerves, he couldn't deny he was stuck deep in a pool of desire and need. And now with you handling him like this–fuck. He was in trouble.

Miguel nodded weakly. "Yeah." He took a deep breath. "Just a little."

“I’ll help.” You eased onto the bed and took great care in settling behind him. "Let the video play," you whispered against his neck before leaving a possessive kiss.

Miguel leaned back into you. He watched you pop open his jeans and slip a hand down, down, down, until your warm palm met his aching length. A shuddered breath escaped him when you felt him up, pulled him free, squeezing and stroking in all the right spots; it'd been so long since anyone touched him. It'd been so long since he touched himself.

"I, ah, don’t think we–did we lock the door?" Miguel heard himself moan in the video, and he dared another look; your head bobbed between his thighs while fingers pistoned into him. He wondered if you would do that to him again. Maybe tonight.

"Nope.”

“Shit.”

"Mmmh. You want me to stop jerking you off so you can lock it?"

"No."

You chuckled. "Okay."

Your hand still worked him slowly and thoughtfully while lovers of the past filled in the rest of the silence. Miguel's hips bucked, and you hummed, so pleased with yourself. Pleased with yourself for pleasing him. Something Miguel found self-value in.

"I think I, uh, I think you mighta been right," he murmured to the air, trying to control his voice. Your gentle hum of intrigue spurred him on. "I think I need you to fuck me more than I realized. Need you to want me, ‘n…take me."

“Yeah?” You asked before sinking a bite into his neck. “Figured you had somethin’ of a praise kink. Makes sense, in hindsight.”

Miguel gasped when you picked up the pace. “Fuck–I’d call it…mmmmn, I’d call it a-a love language–”

“Huh, didn’t know there were six love languages–”

“Sh-shut up, shut up, you know what I–what I mean–!” Miguel bit down hard on the inside of his mouth as his hips rocked up into your cruel, talented hand. He was close. How embarrassing. “I, uh…physical touch. Words of affirmation.”

“‘Needing my husband to fuck me and tell me I’m sexy.’” Miguel moaned and dug his head back into your shoulder as you chuckled. “That sound about right?”

“Viejo,” he whined, setting the phone aside to be forgotten. “I–”

“I know, baby; show me how hard this love language makes you cum.”

It only took a few more strokes for Miguel to come undone. His teeth clattered together as he strained to keep his voice on lock as a forgotten rapture ripped the air from his lungs and electrocuted every vessel in his body. He clung to the other arm that’d come to wrap around his chest and hold him against you while you worked him through the motions, slowing down, accommodating the way his body reacted to the blinding pleasure. There were words said, probably encouraging ones muttered into his shoulder, but Miguel didn’t have the mind to parse the meaning of what you’d said.

“Y’know,” you tried again when Miguel’s mind levelled out, “I think I have a praise kink, too. But a complimentary one. One where I like praising you.” You rested your chin on his shoulder and hummed. “Hm. Who woulda thought.”

“Hah. Good to know you’re still annoying,” Miguel said with a chuckle. He scrunched his nose up when you licked the side of his face. “(Name)--”

“No.” You bit his cheek this time, and he sighed. You did, however, feel his softening cock start to come back to life again. “Want me to lock the door now, old man?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. You got off the bed, letting the towel fall where it may, and Miguel finally gazed upon his lost treasure. “And set up your phone. We need to update the archives.”

You grinned when you turned back to him, and Miguel felt so at ease.

There were still things to work out: the mental illness you hid from him, the cheating Miguel tried to hide from you, the little secrets you both kept wedged in the darkest cracks of your minds. But with you with him, the man who refused to give up on their bond and their love, Miguel felt safe indulging in mindless pleasure you so generously gave to him. Neither of you were about to seal away the past again, but if you could share in the good of your relationship while acknowledging the bad, then hope wasn’t lost; it was found in the moment you’d pulled his old wedding band from your pack, and slipped it back on Miguel’s finger that night, murmuring the words you said in a church so long ago:

“Till death do us part.”

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