#( para: kiss with a fist )

[lexiputellas]

Broken Vows - The After

Alexia.

Wife. Mother. Footballer. Multiple-time Ballon d’Or winner.

And a cheater.

If someone had told you ten years ago that you’d be in this situation, you would’ve laughed in their face. Alexia? Your dear, beloved Alexia?

A cheater.

A fucking cheater.

Her fingers are still inside you when you say it.

"Yeah, I know."

The words barely leave your lips before you feel the shift in her body. Her muscles tighten, her breathing halts, and her fingers—once moving with practiced ease—go still.

She doesn’t pull away.

Not yet.

She blinks, looking at you like she might’ve misheard. Like she needs you to say it again just to be sure.

You oblige.

"I know what you did."

Silence.

You can feel her heartbeat, pounding like a war drum. Her fingers twitch inside you, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t push in.

Just stillness.

Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

And then, finally, she moves.

Slowly, carefully, she withdraws her fingers from your body. The loss is sharp, sudden, and you hate yourself for the way your body clenches around nothing, for the way your skin still burns where she touched you.

You push past it.

Her face is unreadable. Jaw tight. Breathing shallow.

And she says nothing.

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. "Nothing to say?" You shake your head, your eyes burning. "Not even gonna gaslight me a little? Come on, Alexia. Don’t I deserve at least that?"

Her throat bobs as she swallows. Hard.

She finally speaks, voice lower than usual, rough at the edges. "It’s not what you think."

You laugh again. Sharp. Hollow. "Oh, really? Because what I think is that my wife—" You spit the word like it’s poison. "—was fucking someone else behind my back."

Alexia’s fingers curl into fists. "I—"

"You what?" you snap, leaning forward, invading her space now. "You slipped? Tripped and fell into someone else's bed?" Your head tilts. "Or was it a slow thing? Did you savor it, Alexia? Did you take your time?"

Her jaw clenches. "Stop."

"No, no, why would I stop?" You grin, cruel and mocking. "You didn’t. You didn’t stop when you let her touch you. Didn’t stop when you kissed her. Didn’t stop when you fucked her." You drag the words out, slow and deliberate, wanting them to hurt.

Her entire body tenses. "It wasn’t like that."

"Then what was it like?" you challenge. "Make me understand, Alexia. Make it make sense."

Her hands tremble at her sides.

You sit back on your heels, gaze never leaving hers. And then, softer, almost thoughtful, you ask, "Was she that good?"

Alexia’s eyes snap to yours, startled.

You tilt your head, feigning curiosity. "Good enough for you to risk it all, huh?" You shift slightly, rolling your shoulders. "Tell me, Alexia. Good enough for you to forget you had someone waiting at home?"

She stays silent.

You move again, this time letting your hands trail over your own body. Over your stomach, up to your chest. You arch your back slightly, watching the way her gaze flickers—her body responding.

"Did she touch you like this?" you ask, voice dripping with venom. "Did she make you feel like I make you feel?"

Alexia’s nostrils flare. "Para."

You smile. You lean in again, lips barely brushing her ear. "You like it dirty, don’t you?"

Her breath stutters.

You pull back just enough to see her face.

And you smirk.

"You know what’s funny? I could do it too."

Alexia stiffens.

Your fingers drag lightly over her arm. "I could find someone tomorrow if I wanted to. Someone who would make me forget all about you."

Her hands grip your waist before she even realizes what she’s doing. Like she’s trying to keep you there. Hold you still. Hold you hers.

You laugh again. "Oh, now you care?" Your voice is a whisper, almost tender. "Now you don’t like the thought of it? You don’t like the idea of someone else fucking me?"

She clenches her jaw, refusing to look at you.

"That’s the difference between you and me, Alexia." Your voice softens even more, almost affectionate. "I could. But I won’t."

Her body trembles, her grip tightening.

"I just want you to live with it."

Her lips part, but nothing comes out.

And then, finally, you say it.

"I fucking hate you."

She flinches.

Your voice breaks. "I hate that you made me feel unworthy of love. I hate you for living your dreams and never thinking about mine."

She tries to look away, but you don’t let her. Your hands are on her jaw, forcing her to face you.

"I hate myself for loving you so much that I lost myself in the process." Your voice is barely above a whisper now. "I hate that I let you bring me down so hard."

The words strike like a gunshot.

Alexia’s breath hitches, eyes desperate, searching.

And you can’t do this anymore.

You push off her lap, stumbling back as your vision blurs. The room feels too small, the air too thick.

You grab your robe, cinching it too tight, like that might hold you together.

Alexia is still sitting on the bed, looking at you, hands now empty in her lap.

You go to the closet, grab the biggest fucking suitcase you can find, and start shoving her clothes inside.

She moves quickly, reaching for you. "Please, let’s talk."

You don’t stop.

You open the drawer that used to hold your toys and dump them in the suitcase. "Here. For you to use with other people." You sneer.

Her hands shake as she tries to stop you, tries to reach for you. But you’re sobbing now, broken and raw, and you shove her away.

Her voice cracks. "It was just sex."

You scoff, lips curling in disgust. "Right. Just sex." You take a step closer, eyes burning into hers. “Did she make you come so hard you forgot you had a family?"

Alexia’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t answer.

She opens her mouth. Closes it.

Nothing.

And that’s all the answer you need.

"You can sleep on the couch," you say, voice empty. "Or you can leave. I don’t fucking care."

Alexia looks at you like she’s watching her whole world collapse.

"You don’t mean that," she whispers.

You meet her gaze, unflinching.

"Yes, I do."

She swallows, hard. "I never meant to hurt you."

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. "Right. You just meant to fuck someone else."

Her jaw tenses. "It wasn’t—"

"Don’t." You shake your head, biting down on the fury threatening to spill over. "Don’t you fucking dare try to make this anything less than what it is."

Alexia takes a step forward, hands reaching for you.

You step back.

She stops, pain flashing across her face.

For a moment, just a moment, you almost feel bad.

Almost.

But then you remember the messages. The late nights. The shift in her touch. The way her kisses started tasting like guilt.

And any softness inside you turns to ice.

You exhale slowly, steadying yourself. "I won’t forgive you. And I hope you never forgive yourself."

And with that, you turn away.

[missdynamighttt]

lmao okay... filipina! gf having a petty shouting match with bf! katsuki and cussing each other out in each other's languages.

the argument started over something stupid—so stupid you couldn't even remember how it began. but now? now, you were pissed.

"hoy, ikaw! akala mo porket pogi ka kaya mo kong bastusin?! (hey, you! do you think that just because you're hot that means you can insult me?!)" you snapped, jabbing a finger into his chest.

katsuki, never one to back down, fired right back in japanese. "kimi wa boku o okora seru nda yo, wakarudaro? itsumo sono kawaii kao de ki o magirawasu nda! (you piss me off, you know that? always distracting me with that pretty fucking face!)"

you weren’t even sure if he fully understood what you were saying, and you definitely weren’t catching all his rapid-fire japanese insults, but that didn’t stop either of you from cussing (possibly flirting) each other out in your own languages.

"para kang tangang sakit sa ulo na may abs! kung hindi ka lang gwapo, sinuntok na sana kita! (youre like a stupid headache with abs! if you weren’t so hot, i’d have punched you by now!)"

"ore wa hontōni mendōna sonzaida! demo... kuso, ore wa boku ga imamade deatta naka de mottomo mendōna sonzaida! (you’re such a pain in my ass! but... fuck, you’re the prettiest pain in the ass i’ve ever had!)"

neither of you were backing down. your voices clashed like thunder, both of you stubborn as hell, and honestly? if anyone walked in, they’d think you hated each other.

"oi.-kun ga utsukushīkara to itte, kimi ga itte iru koto o watashi ga rikai dekiru wakede wa nai yo.' (hey. just because youre beautiful, it doesn't mean i understand a fucking word youre saying.)" his jaw clenched, eyes blazing.

"ulol! (idiot!)" you shot back, arms flailing in frustration. "hindi kita maintindihan pero alam kong gago ka! pogi o hindi! (i don't understand you but i know you're an ass! handsome or not!)"

katsuki scoffed, stepping in closer, his voice dropping into something lower, more dangerous. "kuso, `chikatte iukedo, kimi ga nani o itte mo mechakucha shitsureina ndaroukedo, demo, kimi ga boku ni donatte iru toki no kuchibiru wa ī kanjida yo.' (fuck, i swear, whatever the fuck you’re saying is probably rude as hell, but damn, your lips look good when you’re yelling at me.)"

oh, hell no. (whatever the hell that meant.)

"ay, gago, ano sinabi mo?! pakyu! bahala ka dyan! maghanap ka ng ibang aawayin mo! ayoko na sa'yo—! (oh, you asshole, what did you say?! fuck you! suit yourself! find someone else to fight with! i don't want you anymore—!)"

before you could finish, his hands were on you—hot, firm, relentless, gripping your waist and yanking you forward.

katsuki grabbed you, his lips slamming onto yours with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. you barely had time to react before your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just as fiercely.

the kiss was all heat, teeth, and frustration—his tongue sliding against yours in a battle neither of you wanted to lose. the argument was already forgotten, who the hell cared what you were fighting about when this was so much better?

you tugged at his shirt, fisting the fabric, pouring all your irritation and want into the way your lips moved against his, biting on his bottom lip. he groaned, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, pulling, tilting your head just the way he wanted.

you gasped into his mouth, and he used that opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue pressing against yours like he was still trying to win.

it was messy. angry. hot.

his hands roamed, gripping, kneading, staking his claim as if trying to prove his point without words. your back hit the nearest surface—maybe the wall, maybe the counter, you didn’t care—and katsuki pressed into you, lips never leaving yours. his breath was ragged, matching yours, and when you nipped at his bottom lip, he growled, gripping your thigh and hoisting you up.

"still mad?" he murmured against your mouth, voice low and rough as you wrapped your legs around him.

you tugged at his hair, making him hiss. “oh, now you wanna use your mouth for something other than yelling at me?”

he scoffed, fingers digging into your waist. “tch. big talk for someone who was just moaning in two languages.”

you scoffed, shoving at his chest (not that it did anything, because he was built like a damn wall). “excuse me?”

he grinned, lips brushing against yours. “nah, you’re not excused.”

and then he used his mouth the other way he knew how—by kissing you stupid.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ used google translate for katsuki unfortunately🤕 lmk if any of the translations are wrong, and i hope you guys enjoyed!! inspired by @ch3rryjampi3's comment in my recent filo fic💜💜

[tommydarlings]

pretty mess | c.s

pairing: mean!dom!carlos x sub!reader

warnings: smut, overstimulation, dacryphilia

w/c: 0.6k

summary: carlos loves overstimulating you while you cry and beg for him.

check this out: my masterlist <3 // my ko-fi to support me! <3 // my PayPal to support me! <3 // my Patreon to become a member! (get access to +65 works) // Save a Life carrd made by me! <3

You were so far gone already as you threw your head back and moaned, palms fisting the bedsheets beneath your sweating body as your entire body shook with pleasure and also a bit of pain.

Carlos buried his face into the crook of your neck, letting his nose run along your skin as he chuckled into your neck, “C‘mon, do it again cariño, cum for me again, know you can,” he nodded before he bit your neck, letting his tongue glide over the spot he just bit.

You groaned, fisting his dark hair with your other hand now, “C-Carlos, I don’t think I-”

“I know you can… and you know that as well,” he nodded with a mean smirk, lips only slightly dancing over the skin of your neck and collarbones, “No me mientas, no me mientas, joder,” don’t lie to me, don’t fucking lie to me.

The Spaniard shook his head as he felt your soft hand pulling on his hair in utter desperation while his long fingers went in and out of your drenched cunt, collecting some juice and rubbing your pearly clit with it before he shoved them mercilessly back into you.

“Oh g-god, Carlos!” Your legs started shaking next to his arm, tears blurring your vision as you were only able to stared at the ceiling.

Carlos licked his lips before he attacked your neck and collarbone area again, marking your skin up with bites and kisses,

“just like that… so fucking tight and wet, dios mío,” good god, Carlos mumbled under his breath as he glanced down at your clenching pussy around his two fingers, “don’t hold back, baby, want you to cum again, c‘mon,” he looked up at your trembling figure with dark eyes.

You gasped as your breathing quickened, “B-But I already came so m-many times, p-please,” you cried out in a hoarse tone.

Your boyfriend kissed your neck again before he smiled wickedly, “Oh but that’s doesn’t matter, cariño,” he shook his head, kissing your collarbones with closed eyes as his hand picked its pace up, making you wildly throw your head back again, “you’re gonna cum as many times as I want, are we clear?” He asked in a raspy tone.

You shook your head but Carlos only continuously nodded his head with an evil smile, “oh yes, you will,” he looked up at you through dark pupils, “Lo harás, cariño.“ you will, baby.

Then, Carlos glanced down at his wet fingers again, biting his lip as he noticed how they’re all covered in your arousal,

“Look at that, my pretty girl,” he grinned before he leaned down and quickly licked his fingers clean before he shoved them back into you with a groan, “such a beautiful mess I’ve created, fuck,” he breathed out as he watched how his long fingers stretched your tight entrance out.

You loudly whined in a high pitched tone, desperately trying to squeeze the tears out of your eyes,

“you’re taking it so good, tan jodidamente bueno para mí,” so fucking good for me, your boyfriend smirked down at your clenching pussy before he impulsively gave your wet clit and open-mouthed kiss, making you unintentionally jump at the sudden feeling of his big lips on your clit.

You pathetically tried to push his head with your shaking hands away, but Carlos didn’t move an inch, not even for a single second, while you continued whining and crying, repeatedly panting his name in between the small cries of pain and pleasure.

Carlos chucked into your pussy, neither mouth nor tongue leaving you alone, “trying to get me away from you, huh? Guess you’ll have to try harder than that, cariño…I won’t go anywhere,” he mumbled before he went back to sucking and flicking your clit like a starved man.

[spctrsgf]

morning banter

summary: something about you and marc? he wakes up early, and you most certainly do not.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: language, my shitty spanish (i’m trying okay)

a/n: took a quick break from b+h for a lil marc spector drabble!!! hope you all enjoy

Es tan temprano para esta mierda, Marc. Jake’s annoyed Spanish drawl smacks into the side of Marc's head. The combination of his drowsy, slow mind and that Marc knew next to no spanish caused the said man’s eyebrows to crinkle. “What the fuck did you just say?” He can barely hear his own voice, but he knows Jake can.

Don’t worry about it.

“Jake.”

Marc. Only Jake would pitch up his name in a high voice: it’s a mimic.

“Hey! I don’t sound like that.”

Yeah you do.

“No, I don’t! Back me up, Steven.”

Don’t bring me into this. 

C’mon, Stevie— Jake cuts off abruptly, probably the doing of Steven.

“Jake,” Marc resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Just tell me what you said.”

Go to sleep, puta.

“Okay, I know that one,” Marc hisses, toiling you in closer to him. “Rude.”

You deserved it.

“You wanna know what you deserve?”

Oh, yeah, Jake taunts. What’s that?

“A fucking pun–”

His voice goes legato as soon as he senses you moving, causing him to fall silent. You curl tighter into a ball, spiraling the covers more into your fists and tucking them again beneath your chin. Jake, by some miracle, also goes quiet, as if somehow his words could expel themselves out of Marc’s mouth and to your ears. 

But, the soft exhales are the only noise you left out, and if you heard them, you didn’t show it. Marc’s shoulders roll back from where they were hunched, surely Steven’s gentle gesture to the position he hadn’t even realized he’d been in. 

Would it kill the two of you to just be nice to each other? The Brit muses. 

Absolutely. Jake’s response is automatic.

“One hundred percent true.” Marc chimes in.

HAH! Steven ejects the exclamation in triumph. Now I got the two of you agreeing.

“Sure, whatever.”

Only time we agree is when you finesse us into it, hermano.

Marc slides his arm out from where it was wrapped around your waist to give the two a thumbs up in agreement with Jake, reluctantly.

Or, he tried to.

“Noooooo…” You groan groggily, tightening your hold. 

Marc freezes. “Baby?”

“Mmmmm?” 

“I- I didn’t know you were aware.”

“Well,” you snuggle closer into his chest, his warm embrace. “You ‘n Steven ‘n Jake aren’t exactly quiet when you argue.”

He sighs, guilt pooling in his stomach. “Listen, ‘m sorry. You know how we can be.”

“Yeah, I do. And I love you all,” you reach back, squeezing his bicep reassuringly. “But I also love my beauty sleep.”

“You don’t need to sleep to be beautiful.” He ducks his head to place a featherlight kiss to your neck, savoring the sigh you let out in return.

“You’re sweet, but we both know that’s not true.”

“Do we?”

“Mhm,” you turn, nudging Marc’s arms off of you as you face him. “‘M a menace without it.”

“That’s true,” he chuckles when you slap his arm, letting out an effortlessly beautiful smile. “But it’s nothing a cup of nice, warm coffee can’t solve.”

You giggle softly. “That’s true.”

“C’mon, sleepyhead,” He moves to slide you both out from under the covers. “Let’s get going.”

“Nope.” You let him go, rolling to burrito yourself in the covers again. 

“Nope?” He inquires, rounding the bed to stand over you.

“Nope.”

His shadow covers your shut eyelids and you know he’s bent over your face. “I’ll make you coffee to apologize for waking you up, baby, I promise.” You scrunch your nose. “Tempting, but no.”

“Not even because I’m asking you?”

“Not even if you were on your knees and begging.”

“Oh?” The sentence your half asleep brain had kindled clearly took him by surprise. 

You huff, flipping over in the bed dramatically. “Go away, I’m tired.”

“What’s so great about this bed that I can’t give you, huh?”

“Well,” You take a deep breath, and some small, rational part of your brain tells you that maybe the spew of words about to come out of your mouth is what he wanted to happen all along. “The bed is warm. It’s cozy. The covers are just the right heaviness and just the right thickness to provide optimal warmth and the right amount of pressure to keep me sleeping like a bear in hibernation. ‘Nd my pillow is the right firmness, but has my desired amount of sink to put me out as soon as you turn off the light and wrap your arms around me. Even though that only happens sometimes.”

Marc huffs in frustration. “Hey!”

“Yeah, Marc, my bed is always here on time. It never goes anywhere, and the only life it’s saving is your sorry ass right now.”

“Uncalled for.” He runs a hand through his hair. 

“Thought you liked a bit of banter.”

“I like a kick or two,” He leans over and pulls your shoulders to level on the bed and your eyes to meet his own. “But not at eight in the fucking morning.”

“Neither do I,” You reach up, pulling his face in for a kiss.

He gives in almost immediately, setting a knee on either side of your legs and scooping his arms underneath your body to pull you up.

“Nuh uh,” you pull away and unwrap his arms, flopping back onto the bed. “Sleepy. Time to sleep.”

“You can't leave me hanging like that!”

You yawn, pulling the covers up to your chin again. “I can and I did.”

For a second, a naive, small second, you think he’s going to leave you be. Your brain relaxes, you feel yourself on the precipice of sleep, the hypnotic, rich swirl of unconsciousness sucking you deeper into its whirlpool. But then you feel the covers lift, and Marc’s— frighteningly cold— fingers are dancing along your sides to a tune you illustrate with laughs. You slap his hands away, reaching out towards the lure of sleep that now sneaks away to taint another victim.

“You ready to get out of bed now, sweets?”

You groan, turning to face him in defeat. “You fucker.”

He throws his arms mockingly. “What’d I do?”

“You manipulated me! I hate you.”

“I did no such thing. What are these accusations?”

“You knew I would get worked up,” you sit up in the bed now, and Marc shrinks ever so slightly under the weight of your deadly stare. “You knew that would wake me up.”

“Hey, let’s calm down–”

“You knew that if you pushed the right buttons, you would get what you wanted.”

Marc’s face is ghastly, and he looks two steps away from summoning his suit and flying away.

“I warned you earlier about this, Marc, were you listening?”

He nods frantically. “Of course–”

“I’m a menace when I get woken up early.” You launch off the bed, and you might as well be Moon Knight yourself with your accuracy.

The takeaway from this event? For Marc, it’s to never try waking you up before you’ve recharged fully, or to have some coffee made ahead of when he was to attempt it. For you, though?

It’s that Marc shrieks like a little girl. 

translations (HELP I FORGOT):

es tan temprano para esta mierda - it’s too early for this shit

puta - bitch

i felt very fancy using these

[honestsycrets]

enfócate | tutor!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | tutor!miguel x student!reader, fake boyfriend!peter x reader

❛ type | explicit

❛ summary | jess is clear: miguel o'hara is a terrible boyfriend. he'll inevitably hurt you-- but peter has other ideas. or, you blow miguel in a library.

❛ tags | spanish tutor!miguel, bratty reader, a kiss with Peter, Miguel's jealousy, bjs, fake boyfriend!peter, slight obsessive qualities, fuck buddies, undefined relationships, fuck boy Miguel.

❛ reqs fulfilled | see here.

❛ sy's notes | the pov on this piece bothers me, it jumps between reader and Miguel. however, i did write two separate pieces for this request (a combined 25 pages vs my usual 11/12). so, i decided to meld them together to create this piece. anywho, if it bothers you, i understand! ❤️ I yoinked a lot of the Spanish from my Spanish learners textbook, hopefully, it's acceptable.

He knew he wanted you from the first day he saw you in the tea cafe. 

Jess and he rarely visited the tea shop. It was settled on the edge of campus. Close to the social sciences and arts, but far from the work he did in the Genetics department. As a Ph.D. student, however, not all the work was done in the lab. Jess liked to see the different types of people that came to this tea cafe, where the chair cushions were fluffy emerald pillows and plants hovered overhead.

“Miguel? What's---” 

You stood apart from the other students with their sloppy, half-cropped, or frumpy appearances, there was a particular care you took to dressing. It was the embroidered bow in your hair that drew his attention. When you left to fetch a refill of chai, he noticed the soft, frilled socks in tiny ankle boots. He just knew you would taste sweet, leering as he watched you at the drink bar. Jess glanced in your direction, the way you adorably bowed your head after the tea artist gave you your drink, and just knew. Jess looked over her shoulder. 

“Not her.”

Jess’s voice was a drawn-out sigh of your name, punctuated by her fist beating the table. Miguel perked at the mention of your name. Oh, so she knew you. She was probably sick of his shit. Good, he was also sick of being used as a vibe check for the lesbians she wanted to pick up.

“Don’t you have enough side pieces?” 

Miguel didn’t respond. 

“She probably has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Look who she's with.” 

That finally got a response. 

“You don’t know that,” he kept his eyes straight ahead. You caught him staring, wiggling your little fingers in a hello as you sat at a table. "I want her."

You sat with an incredibly frumpy, annoying photography student who once took his picture for the lab website. Could he be… his attention wavered when you pulled out a book: Español para el siglo. His lips quivered into a wildly sardonic grin. Oh no, no no. It was too easy. 

“You’ll ruin her. She’s too innocent.” 

He leaned in. 

“Are you going to help me or not?” 

“Buenas tardes,” 

Two chairs and a thin desk. The small study room was more of a glorified broom closet for its students. You were lucky that there was a large window that looked out over the student union, flowers blooming up its brick siding. Bits of lush dark green ivy poked into the window’s view from the library’s tall wall. As the sun set on campus, rich orange and pink settled over the sunset on that warm Friday afternoon. At least the sight was pretty for how overwhelmingly small the space was.

It wasn’t the space that bothered you. It was your tutor.

He was big-- big big. Not just a little big, but really big. The kind of big that was on bodybuilding competitions. It made his long, blue-grey muscle shirt and grey sweats look tiny, sucked to his well-pumped muscle. The room felt a lot smaller as you looked at him, his long brown hair whipped back over his neck. His eyebrows raised on his dark forehead, arms turning one over another, a bundle of muscle.

“Ah... you're him? The man from the tea shop.” 

He pulled free his sunglasses and set them down. His warm chocolate eyes glanced from the edge of your now too-short skirt to the glint of a dagger necklace that beat between your breasts. He’s staring. Why is he staring-- you finger the dagger between your thumb and index fingers, soothing yourself with the manipulation.

“Miguel.” He warmed, pulling the seat out beside him. His voice was buttery and smooth, almost like rich caramel. The lilt in his voice lightened, inviting you to take a seat by him. You should. You thought. Sit down. “Siéntate." 

You stared.

"I said sit down.” 

That was a bad idea. You paused, slipping the bag down from under your shoulder and onto the beige tile by the door. Miguel watched every slight movement. That’s fine. It’s natural to do that. You tugged the bottom of your skirt and took a seat beside him. Miguel pushed the chair back in, pushing your chest to the edge of the desk space. Oh-- oh boy, he was strong. Of course, he was, he was built like a-- 

“Bueno. Now you're settled. How can I help you?” 

Do that again.

“Me? Oh! I... Jess said you could help me need to pass a test,” you murmured. The four semesters of Spanish seemed relatively easy compared to being stuffed next to this Adonis in this tiny study room. Your legs settled over your skirt, hands working over one another to will down the pulse of your wily excitement. What was wrong with you? “To pass my language requirement.” 

You should have been able to do that alone but-- let’s say you weren’t the most applied to the language in your childhood. A tutor was a great alternative to embarrassment and thousands of dollars in classes. If only he didn’t look like… this. His large hand left the pasty back of your chair.

“Hm,” he paused. “¿Puedes hablar español?” 

“Sí,” you murmured. “My mami was-- well, I should have listened to her.” 

Hm. 

You want to know what Hm means. Your leg tremored on its own accord. He swept a leather bag by his side up and pulled out a thick folder, running across several tabs. Lab notes, diet plans, pruebas. 

“It happens,” he notes, sliding a page free. “Let’s see how much you know, princesa.” 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to know more, to hear the hum of Spanish bouncing off his lips. It was a world apart from your mother’s shrill screams on Saturday mornings to clean an already clean house. It held its own beauty and mystery when he spoke it. You took the page from him, setting it down on the bland tablespace by your phone, lighting up with a notification.

Jess When you meet Miguel, don’t do it.

"¿Princesa?" you asked.

"You dress like one. Don’t worry if you fail,” you plucked out a pink mechanical pencil, complete with little animated characters tightened around the wrapping. You perked at his words, choking a small smile. “I expect you to.” 

Why was he like this? You took another unfortunate look at him, his large forearm plastered over the desk, making the book he had to look like peanuts in comparison. God, he was hot-- you felt comparatively hideous, drooling over a man that was out of your league. Maybe he could be your piece of eye candy this year. Your phone buzzed along the table again. Miguel’s eyes shot to it, a frown pulling at his lips. 

Jess Don’t fuck him. He can’t keep his dick to himself.

He reaches over, flipping your phone down with an overworked smile sundering his expression. It’s almost fake. 

“Are you…” you turned your eyes to the questions on the page. “A student?” 

“Grad student,” Miguel answered. So, older than you then. “I graduated with a BA in Spanish and a BS in Genetics.” 

“Oh! A dual degree?” The man couldn’t be normal. He had to do both. “Did it… take a while?”

“No, it was accelerated.” 

He was unreal. There was no way this man was ordinary. It was physically impossible for the man to be that hot and successful. You scribbled across the page, nipping the back of your pencil at particularly hard questions.

“So you just do this for… a living?” you asked him. 

“I teach and train clients, yes.”

“Train?” 

“Gym,” Miguel set his cheek on his fist.

“I do cardio with Jess. No strength training for me.” Jess-- who suggested Miguel to you. You had some shit to bitch at her about the next time you saw her. Namely, why she didn’t warn you about Miguel. He was a boon for chaos in your life.

“I’d waste your time. I’m all marshmallow,” you pat your soft belly. “All pan dulce and burros.” 

He chuckled. 

“You have a beautiful body.” 

And that was that. You set the pencil down on a page half full of answers, glancing toward his full lips. They were quirked into an arrogant smirk. He knew the effect he had on women. He glanced to the page, then to you, his lips growing into a smile laden with arrogance. 

“Your hips--” he glanced down, “My girls couldn’t pay to get them.” 

He noticed. You supposed that the miniskirt wasn’t the best choice for meeting a new man.

“Do you talk to everyone like this?”

“No. Only the ones that look at me like you did." 

Oh. 

 If it were a game of whom ate whom up first, you had to be honest-- it may have been you. You couldn’t shoot anything back at that, angling your head down at the page guiltily. A sigh fell from his chest. His large hand came to the back of your head, cupping the thick bow on the back of your head. His fingers ran across the silk, teasing it between his fingers.

“Calm down, you’re not the first one to do it. You won't be the last,” he turned your head to look at him, large fingers combing through the strands of your hair. He chased the panic in your wide eyes, doe eyes blown wide. Your heartbeat soared into your chest, choking you there, looking for an outlet from your shame. 

“Breathe for me,” he leaned in, his warm breath tingling your ear. His cologne was clean, like the lapse of the waves on the shore back home where the tropical heat was a second skin. You listened, taking a weary, deep breath in, then out again. Again. 

“Go on.” His knuckles rapped on the sheet. Miguel’s hand fell away. You found yourself longing for it again. 

“He’s gorgeous.” 

“I told you not to fuck him," your superior, Jess said, her feet bouncing off the stairstepper effortlessly.

“I didn't-- I just, he called me beautiful.” 

“He would call anyone beautiful if it meant fucking them. Don’t fall for it.” 

You knew Jess wouldn’t say it unless she were serious. She always knew what you needed help with, where to locate a good solution, and had the right words to calm you down.

“How?” you said, louder than you intended. You were suddenly thankful for the pounding music that beat down on your ears in your school’s gym and the rush of people that came and went. “Jess, you’re a lesbian. You don’t understand-- he’s thick. Like, he’s luchador status big. Big, big.” 

“I’ve dated some thick women.” 

“And he likes me,” you said pointedly, rushing to the topmost step, remembering his words. The way he calmed you down from your embarrassment, seeming without concern for his own body. It was… sweet. “Men usually don’t like me, Jess. I’m too… soft.” 

“Okay, girl, whatever,” you were pretty sure she rolled her eyes. “Unless you’re going to be another one of his fuck toys, just ignore him.”  

“How?”

Her stare trained on the floors lapsed. Thirty and she was still going. “If you don’t want him, just fire him. What’s going to do? Come find you?” 

You stopped for the entirety of five… or ten seconds. Enough to consider her words. Enough to quite literally get plop off the stair stepper and onto the cold floor. Jess exhaled a stale breath, reaching over to jam the STOP button on your machine. Ow.

“Good job.” 

Miguel likes to tutor you. Not because you’re good at Spanish, no, for a girl that grew up with a Spanish mother, your skills are quite poor. But he likes the opportunity to have you in a room all by yourself, late at night. Wednesdays are great days for that. 

Your soft buttercup yellow dress is short today, exposing your thick thighs that take up so much of the chair. He pretends that he’s listening as you go over a list of irregular verbs, your lip pouting in response to the irregular verbs. Some were simple in their familiarity like poder with endings such as pudiste; but the plurals and other irregular verbs, you pouted at. It was cute. 

“Miggy, it’s not funny, ” Oh, nicknames now. Miguel throws a glance at your glossy lips, undoubtedly sticky but oh so soft looking. 

“I never said it was.” 

“You’re smirking.” 

“Then don’t whine,” he said. “It’s cute.” 

“Oh--” As to be expected, you shifted your hands between your legs, drawing your skirt in between your legs. He faltered and took a glance, coasting his eye over its edges and memorizing the way it fell over your skin. You’ll ruin her, he remembers Jess saying. She wasn’t wrong, he sensed the bit of it now, how close you sat-- 

“Take a break, princesa. Vocabulary-- ascendencia.” 

Rather than take a break, you turned and caught the corner of his lips in what was a terrible, cherry-red kiss that would stain his skin. But the connection of your lips, puckered in a pouting kiss on his skin, caught him off guard. 

“Descent,” you took his red pen out of his loose grip, scribbling descent by the word. Fuck. Miguel took a sip of now cold coffee. A smile kept pulling at his cheeks, looking out of the window and catching the slight reflection of your lipstick smeared across his lip and cheek, he bobs his head into a nod.

“Correcto.” 

You’re with Peter the first time you see Miguel with another woman. 

It’s at lunch. Tuesdays and Thursdays are regularly spent running to the College of Arts, waiting for Peter to get out, and a picnic. Today, you forgot to bring lunch, running off to the union hand wrapped around his elbow as he talked to you about a bright new camera lens filter.

“These new pictures are going to come out perfect! Thanks for lending me the money,” he beamed. You loved the way he talked about his art-- stopping to show you his newest pictures of the camera that hung around his neck. Peter was always good with a camera, catching you in all the prettiest angles in your trade of photos for… sponsoring a lens or whatever. Or, at least, bringing down the cost. “Look at this one. Look how pretty you look in that dress, kinda like a pin-up! We should do some’a those next.” 

Feet thumping over the pavement, you failed to sense Miguel's presence until you smelled his peppery cologne carried on the air. There, on a bench, he sat next to a girl. She was pretty, with long dark hair and soft skin. Her hand was on his thigh and his arm around her shoulder, eating the last bit of a flaky empanada-- your eyes burned, the closeness of her head on his shoulder, clearly done and finished, waiting for whatever next plan he had. You don’t want to know what that could be.

“Huh? Oh. hi Miguel!” Peter waved to your dismay. You held onto him a little tighter, wringing circles around his sleeve. Miguel spares you two a glance, his eyebrows pushing together. But he waves, lazy and short. You stifle the hot prick of tears at the corner of your eyes and yank Peter away. “Wha-- I’m coming, I’m coming!"

Days later, Peter has a plan.

“I’ve got it-- the solution to your tea guy problem! You should have told me sooner that it was Miguel.” 

Peter was very excited. Why, you weren’t sure. He liked to feel helpful. That’s why he was a photographer. Photography lets others feel beautiful and seen. He picked at your lunch, his head flopped on your thigh as he worked through his camera. 

“I’ll be your boyfriend!”

“You want to be my boyfriend?” you offered him a grape. He opened his mouth with an adorable ‘ah’ of his his lips. You slipped the grape between his lips. He chewed appreciatively. “I don’t know, Peter. Isn’t it lying?” 

“C’mon, I know Miguel. He’s macho. The kind of guy you have to make jealous. And I can do it! I’m boyfriend material. Aren’t I?”

“Sí. But I don’t think I can make him jealous.” 

It was a sunshiney day, sprawled out at lunch on a cool picnic blanket, tracing the clouds when you heard his voice. Soft, smooth, inviting. Your head spun around, this time with a lean blonde-haired girl-- her legs were long, tummy nice and flat, blue eyes shining like little sapphires set in her pale face. She swooned on his arm. The perfect sorority princess. What if he called her princesa, too?

“--close lab with me--” 

“I can do it myself.” 

Miguel’s eyes caught yours, raising his hand lazily to greet you as he walked down the sidewalk, undoubtedly back to his genetics lab on the other side of campus. Over where brilliant boys and girls and theys were, rushing through accelerated scientific programs while you figured out how to fix broken artifacts. He lived in another impossible world. A realm far away from Peter and you: photography and the maintenance of culture and art.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter's eyes were glossy with concern. “It’s okay. We don’t have to-- did I say something wrong?” 

You shook your head. Peter sat up, his eyes bounced up-- from Miguel over his shoulder to your sudden sad eyes. Peter set his hand on your cheek, the fibers of his soft pink cardigan tickling your jaw. Your eyes tore from Miguel, whose pace became sluggish as if steps along took immense effort. Peter’s nose bumped against yours, clumsy and oh so Peterish-- his hand on the middle of your back, his warm but cracked lips swallowing the gasp that tumbled from your lips. He tasted of sweet fruit, the sloppy lunch you shared, and a silly comfort. 

He watching? Peter murmured against your lips. 

You nearly forgot to return the kiss, captured in the way Miguel stared-- something in his warm brown eyes was almost wounded. Peter shoved you onto the picnic blanket, a soft sorry murmured under his breath as his thin frame fell between your legs. Miguel stomped away, his bumbling blonde rushing to keep up. 

“Oh yeah,” Peter rolled over onto his back, crossing his legs one over another. You watched Miguel stomp past the tall hedges, out of your line of sight. “He’s gonna be mad at you.” 

“Peter!” 

Miguel was still in a bad mood hours later. 

“¡Qué surpresa!” he murmured, offering you your paper blotted with red circles. “You did remarkably shit on this test. Do you focus on anything? Or just Peter?” 

“Perdona me.” Your focus was shot with his consistent presence in your life. Not that he could appreciate that. 

“How long are you going to keep wasting my time?” 

“Are you talking about the Spanish or--”

Miguel set the red pen down, a sharp slam snapping the pen under his force. The fragile plastic snapped into shards of plastic. He flicked it away, paper and pen both, his large hand flexing in and out of a closed fist. You traced the tracks of his veins along his forearm.

“Are you mad that I kissed you?” 

“Stop.”

“Or are you angry that Peter did?” 

 “Don’t touch me.” 

Though he said that, you didn’t listen. You slid out of the chair and in between his spread legs, your hands trailing his handsome jawline. He jerked back when your lips caught his, the legs of his chair hitting the wall. Though he said no, his mouth opened to your kiss, and his palms flushed against your soft cheeks. You pinned him between your body and the wall-- and though you were sure he’d quickly whirl you off if he really wanted to, he didn’t. His tongue pushed into your mouth, owning yours. His hands skimmed your back, trailing lower and lower down your deep red dress until he connected with your ass. 

“You need to stop.” Miguel broke from his kiss. Though he said that, he brought you onto his lap. You felt little in his large arms, his hands guiding your hips over his crotch. “Before I do something you’ll regret.”

You listened to the sounds of the library’s floor. The scrunch of take out into the trash, the sing of a door opening and closing. It was dinner time. Most everyone had gone to get their snacks— and here you were, looking down at Miguel with rapt eyes. 

“Peter is just a friend.” 

“A friend who happens to jam his tongue down your throat,” he turned the word over on his tongue and found offense in it. “Now why do I doubt that?” 

“He only wanted to help.”

“By kissing you?” 

Your fingers trailed his jaw, dipping back down for another kiss if only to say you could. That Miguel couldn’t tell you what to do. A sound of frustration ripped up his throat. You felt him, his dick twitching to life behind those sweatpants. He felt big. You bit your lower lip— a movement that didn’t escape his attentive eyes. 

“By making you as jealous,” You slid off his lap and onto the dirty floor. But as you lifted a hand, cupping his dick through the heavy fabric, he couldn’t bear to stop you. 

His lips pulled in a wicked grin, your soft palm stroking along his length. He hooked his thumbs into his sweats, yanking them down over his knees and onto the floor. His cock kissed his belly, straining with droplets of moisture at the tip. Miguel set his hand on your shoulder and forced you to heel on the floor. His temperament evened out. “You were jealous.” 

“Yes--” you murmured. “Are.. those girls, are they special?” 

“Special? No, none of them are.” 

“I want to be.” 

“That so?” Your soft hands trailed along the dark hair on his calves, up his thighs, settling your nose where his muscular hand tightened around the root. He wrenched his swarthy hand along his length, drawing along his veiny cock shamelessly. "Let's see how much you do, princesa."

“Please.”

“Aquí se habla español.” Miguel teased. Your fingers dipped down, small tickles of your fingertips as his heavy balls. He watched you massage them with half-lidded eyes, his lips pursing in a pleased hum. 

“Por favor.” 

“Abre,” you did, sliding your soft mouth open, a well of saliva on your tongue. Miguel slid himself into your warm mouth, a ruptured groan fizzing in his chest. You didn’t want to be too loud— someone might look into the small window on the door, and see you on your knees between Miguel’s thick legs, sucking his cock down when you should be going over that test you just failed. 

You caught the salty beads at Miguel’s top on your tongue, sliding sloppily around his thick head, and lapping at his slit for more. Your soft hands stroked along his length, clumsy and shy. He hummed in approval, a sound you were more than thankful to elicit. Miguel took a fist full of your hair and drove himself into your mouth, your tongue stroking the underside of his length. 

“Pero mira esto,” Miguel wrenched his head in your hair, grabbing handfuls of it in his palm. “You can focus on something. Sucking my dick.”

Even if you wanted to look up, Miguel drove your head down onto his dick, the dark, trimmed tuft of his pubic hair tickling your nose. He drew his hips back. You nearly pulled off him, if not for his hand assuring that you wouldn’t move off of it. Drool coursed down from your lips, soaking your chin and neck, connecting to his cock as if it were a spiderweb. Your cheeks flushed with blood— you must have looked a mess. 

“Coño," Miguel tutted with his tongue, grasping his phone. Your lips pursed around his tip, eyes flickering up to catch the lens of his phone camera on your ruined face. A picture or a video, you weren’t entirely sure. Only that it sent thumps of pleasure down your core to know he wanted to record it, keep it close. You suckled along his sensitive head, working his moans free. He set his phone aside. 

Miguel stood and dragged your head along with him to pin you between the ledge of the desk space and his wonderful hips. His hands slipped behind your head, keeping you still and steady, driving himself deep into your mouth. Past your tongue, down your throat, it felt like he hit parts of you that you could only dream of. You struggled with his size, choking the urge to swallow him when he forced you to hold him there. As if your throat was just a hole for his pleasure. Your sad attempt to suckle him down was tempered by the rocking of his hips, his needy face fucking. Your eyes screwed shut, bits of color dancing behind your eyes, the easiest way to deal with this was to focus— on the way he tasted, the scent of his fresh body wash, the light judder of his hips as he came close. 

"Hah-- ay, qué rico," his nails scraped the back of your neck, sloppy and undefined thrusts filling your throat. He spurts thick ropes of his cum down your throat and mouth, withdrawing to jerk the last bursts of his cum over your lips. Miguel’s breath fell from his lips in heavy gulps, meeting yours down on your aching knees. Strings of coughed-up cum connected your sodden lips to his cock, globs of his seed slipping between your breasts. You ached. 

“Tate quieta.” 

You don’t know where you’d go, your palms catching yourself on the floor. He snapped another photo, humming appreciatively. Miguel reached into his gym bag, pulling a sweaty shirt free. Your fingers dipped into his warm cum that spattered across your warm chest, drawing it to your lips. He tasted salty, tangy, and just right.

"You look so-- so beautiful, princesa, just perfect," Miguel bent down, wiping the rest of his mess from your chest and face, gently stroking away all evidence of your face fucking before cleaning his cock and tucking himself away into his sweatpants. He chucked the t-shirt back into his bag, glazing his eyes over your hazy, exhausted eyes. He crouched down. 

“Rule one, I never share my women,” he settled his knuckle under your chin, urging you to look him in the eyes. Something told him you wouldn't be as easy as the others, but for some reason, he shrugged the thought aside. “As long as I'm fucking you, you date no one but me. If I find out you are, we're done. Am I clear?”

He was a walking red flag. But for once, in your good girl life, you wanted that. You wanted to fuck in the library-- against the genetics building late at night-- to kiss him during a sunny picnic. More than you wanted a lot of things. His eyes went soft with your answer. 

“Claro que sí, Miggy.”

He loves it when he gets what he wants.

[dead-boys-club]

†  loving pt2 : various.

❥ scenario: what it feels like loving __ ❥ requested ❥ this is a section post: a quote, short para, song, associations.

❥ this post includes: bakugo. kirishima. sero. tokoyami. hawks. toga.

❥ katsuki.

"He’s a storm that can tear you apart, but if you stand your ground, you’ll find he’s the only shelter you’ll ever need."

Loving Bakugo feels like standing in the middle of a thunderstorm, the wind whipping around you, the crackle of lightning in the air. He’s intensity, raw and unapologetic, with emotions that burn brighter than any fire. His love isn’t gentle—it’s fierce, protective, and overwhelming, like the surge of adrenaline before a fight. But beneath the sharp edges, there’s a quiet, smoldering tenderness he doesn’t show to anyone else. It’s in the way he lingers just a little too long when his hand brushes yours, or how he stands between you and anything that could hurt you, even if he won’t say it aloud. His affection is never spoken in soft words; it’s shouted, sometimes brash, sometimes angry, but always with a ferocity that tells you he’s never letting go. It’s in those rare, quiet moments when he lets down his guard, resting his head against yours, that you feel it most—the vulnerability he tries so hard to hide, trusting you to hold it without breaking him.

“My Blood” by Twenty One Pilots

Explosions. Gritted teeth. Calloused hands. Blazing sunsets. Fireworks in the night sky. Cracked knuckles. Running shoes. Sweat dripping down your back. Smirks. Fists hitting walls. Faint scars. Battles fought side by side. Rough laughter. Fierce loyalty. Pounding heartbeats. Thunderstorms. Bruised lips. Glowing embers. Eyes burning with determination. Heated arguments. Apologies in actions, not words. Sudden, fierce embraces. Cold nights spent under warm blankets. Streetlights in the rain. Adrenaline rushes. Sharp glares. The smell of gunpowder. Holding hands behind closed doors. Sunsets reflected in his eyes.

❥ kirishima.

"Loving him is like being wrapped in warmth—he’s a shield from the world’s harshest blows, and he’ll never let you fall."

Loving Kirishima feels like being embraced by sunlight. It’s steady, comforting warmth, the kind that seeps into your bones and makes you feel like you’re home. He’s the kind of love that’s always there, a constant presence that never falters, never fades. His laughter is infectious, lighting up even the darkest days, and his smile has a way of making everything feel alright, no matter how hard life gets. He’s the shoulder you can lean on, the arms that hold you close when the world feels too heavy. With him, love is simple and pure, a promise spoken through actions, through the way he catches your hand and squeezes it reassuringly. He’s the guy who will hype you up, tell you you’re amazing, and genuinely mean it. His affection is always open, always full of warmth, like a fire that never dims, never burns out. He’s the sun on your skin, the feeling of safety in a world that sometimes feels too chaotic.

“Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves

Bear hugs. Warm hands. Soft sweaters. Laughter that lights up the room. Early morning workouts. Rough, but gentle hands. Friendly competition. Chipped tooth grins. Rock-hard determination. Red hair catching the sunlight. Loyalty without question. Cheering you on at your worst. Sunrises over mountains. Holding your breath before a kiss. Playful banter. Soft smiles. Big promises. Long road trips. Arms wrapped around you from behind. Steady heartbeats. Movie marathons. Helping hands. Warm soup on a cold day. Loyal to a fault. Soft kisses on your forehead. Shielding you from the rain. Sharing everything—your food, your worries, your laughter.

❥ keigo.

"He’s the sky, vast and free, but if you hold onto him just right, you’ll find that even the wildest birds need a place to land."

Loving Hawks feels like flying. There’s a weightlessness to it, a freedom in the way he pulls you into his world with a playful smirk and a wink. He’s lighthearted, quick-witted, and always seems like he’s one step ahead, but behind that casual demeanor, there’s something deeper—an unspoken need to be seen, to be known. He flirts with the world, but when he’s with you, it’s different. His teasing smiles turn softer, his sharp eyes more focused, and suddenly, you realize that the man who seems to belong to the sky is tethered to you. His love is fast-paced, thrilling, like the wind rushing through your hair as you soar above the clouds. But it’s also in the quiet moments—the way he tucks his wings around you like a shield, pulling you close when no one’s watching. It’s knowing that beneath all his charm and bravado, there’s a vulnerability he only shows to you, and in that vulnerability, you find something precious and unbreakable.

“All I Want” by Kodaline Feathers. Golden sunlight. Crisp autumn air. Quick winks. Soft chuckles. Eyes that see everything. Playful smirks. Wind in your hair. Rooftop sunsets. The smell of leather jackets. A hand always ready to catch you. Glimpses of vulnerability behind a cocky grin. The sound of wings flapping in the distance. Soft laughter in the middle of the night. High-speed chases. Free-falling into safety. Teasing words with hidden meanings. Late-night conversations under the stars. Warm hands on your waist. Secret smiles. Red feathers brushing your skin. Sky blue eyes full of hidden depths. Moments of quiet that say more than words ever could.

❥ tokoyami.

"He walks through shadows, but his heart is a light you never expected. Loving him means finding warmth in the places you thought were dark."

Loving Tokoyami feels like walking through a quiet forest at dusk—peaceful, mysterious, and full of hidden beauty. He’s reserved, speaking in soft words that carry more weight than most, and his love is subtle, but it’s there in every action. He won’t shout it from the rooftops, but he’ll stand beside you in silence, a constant, unwavering presence. His mind is sharp, always turning over ideas and philosophy, and being with him feels like an endless conversation, even when no words are spoken. There’s a strength to him that isn’t loud or brash, but it’s solid, like a shadow that never leaves your side. His affection is gentle, found in the way he takes your hand in his, or how he stands just a little closer when the world gets overwhelming. Loving him is finding peace in the dark, knowing that even in the quietest moments, you’re never alone.

“Youth” by Daughter

Quiet nights. Flickering candlelight. Raven feathers. Soft whispers. Moonlit forests. Cool breezes through open windows. Deep conversations about the universe. Shadows that feel like home. Black ink on white paper. Old books with yellowed pages. Guitar strings humming softly. Midnight walks. Warm tea on a chilly night. Protective stances. Subtle glances that say everything. Silence that speaks louder than words. Crisp autumn leaves underfoot. Dark skies full of stars. Soft blankets. The sound of distant thunder. Gentle hands. Longing gazes. Wisdom hidden beneath the surface. Silent loyalty.

❥ toga.

"She loves with the same reckless abandon that she lives, and to love her is to embrace chaos and find beauty in the wildest parts of the world."

Loving Toga feels like stepping into a whirlwind—intense, unpredictable, and exhilarating. She throws herself into everything with a kind of wild passion that’s both dangerous and mesmerizing. Her affection is fierce, overwhelming, and all-consuming. She doesn’t know how to love halfway; she loves with everything she has, and sometimes it’s hard to keep up with the way her emotions swing from one extreme to the other. But in her chaos, there’s a strange kind of purity. She sees you, really sees you, and when she loves, it’s with a raw honesty that few others could match. It’s in her teasing smiles, her sharp laughter, and the way she clings to you like you’re the only real thing in a world that doesn’t make sense to her. Loving her is intense, sometimes overwhelming, but beneath it all is a girl who just wants to be seen, to be understood, and to be loved in return.

“Control” by Halsey

Wild laughter. Sharp teeth. The smell of blood and flowers. Quick hands. Messy hair. The thrill of danger. Fast heartbeats. Clingy hugs. Glinting knives. Eyes that sparkle with mischief. Whispered confessions. Stolen kisses. Chaos in her wake. Sharp nails dragging down your arm. Late-night escapes. Bright red lips. Skipping through puddles. Bruised knuckles. Running barefoot. Intense stares. Sweet smiles that hide something darker. Constant energy. Unfiltered emotions. Twirling in a dress. Laughter that makes the world stop.

❥ sero.

"He’s the friend who turns into the best thing you never saw coming, and loving him is realizing that the simple moments are the ones that matter most."

Loving Sero feels like catching your breath after a good laugh. He’s easygoing, always with a quick joke or a playful grin, but there’s more to him than just fun and games. He’s the kind of person who’s there for you, really there, when things get tough—someone who can turn a bad day into a good one with just a few words. His love is comfortable, like slipping into your favorite hoodie on a chilly day, and being with him feels like home. He doesn’t need grand gestures to show you how much he cares; it’s in the little things—the way he brings you your favorite snack without asking, or how he leans into you when you’re sitting close. With him, life feels lighter, like everything’s going to be okay, no matter what. Loving him is like finding your best friend and realizing they’ve always been the one.

“Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles

Skateboards on pavement. Easy smiles. Sunrises after long nights. Loose t-shirts. Bean bag chairs. Movie marathons. Quick-witted jokes. Lazy afternoons. Popcorn scattered on the floor. High-fives that turn into hugs. Bubblegum-flavored candy. Soft chuckles. Warm hands on your shoulders. Lying on the grass under a blue sky. Sticky tape pulling you closer. Comfortable silence. Inside jokes. Late-night phone calls. Board games with missing pieces. Stolen fries from your plate. Familiar playlists. Hoodie sleeves that are too long. Playful teasing. Comfortable, worn-in sneakers. The sound of laughter in the air.

[wannab-urs]

Bittersweet

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: You're perfect to him, but he's not good enough for you and never could be.

Warnings: kind of derogatory mention of “whores,” SMUT, javier peña’s oral fixation, I’m imagining season 3 Javi but it’s up to you, reader is 20ish, wears a skirt, is referred to as sweet, and is able bodied. Soft and then mean!javi. WC: 1.1k

A/N: Thanks to Andrew for leaking this song and to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for correcting my fuckass spanish <3

Javier Peña Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

I'd rather take my whiskey neat My coffee black in my bed at three You're too sweet for me

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t have encouraged your flirting. He shouldn’t have met you at the bar for drinks. And he definitely shouldn’t have taken you home with him. It’s way too late to turn back now though. 

Your hips sway in the tiny skirt you’re wearing as you climb the stairs to his apartment. He greedily drinks in the sight of your exposed thighs, sauntering up the stairs behind you. He grabs your waist and pulls you tightly against him as he unlocks the door, pressing his lips to your throat. 

You squeal out the sweetest giggle as his mustache tickles your skin. He gets the door open and guides you inside, leading you by the hips to his bedroom. You’re much too precious to fuck on the couch like some whore. 

He lays you back on the bed gently as he kisses you, his tongue delving into your mouth to get more of your taste. He’s addicted to you already. You moan into his mouth softly, tangling your tongue up with his. He licks the back of your teeth, bites into your plump bottom lip. 

His hands push your skirt up and he presses his clothed erection into your core. You whine and rut against him and he groans against your lips. He kisses down your throat, dips his nose into your cleavage, pushes your shirt up until you sit up and help him tear it off you. 

He sucks a nipple into his mouth, rolls it between his lips and nibbles gently. You arch your back, your hands finding the back of his head and holding him to you. Your fingers thread in his hair as he kisses down your stomach and settles between your thighs. 

He pulls your skirt and panties down your thighs at the same time and discards them on the floor. He spreads your folds with two fingers and groans. 

“¿Así que mojado para mí ya?” (So wet for me already?)

“Sí, Javi,” you reply breathlessly. He adores the way you answer him, the way your voice is airy with desire. 

Javier licks a stripe from the cleft of your ass to your clit, savoring the flavor of your skin and slick.

“Sabes tan dulce, cariño.” (Taste so sweet, baby). 

He sucks your clit into his mouth and flicks it with his tongue over and over, loving the way you squirm against him, the way your hands tighten into fists in his hair. He dips his tongue inside you, his nose settling against your clit. He grabs your hips and encourages you to grind on his face. 

“Usarla. Sé buena para mi,” he mutters into your cunt. (Use it, be good for me). You take direction so well. He feels you shaking as he plunges his tongue inside you. He sucks your clit into his mouth again and plunges two fingers into you down to the knuckle. You come with a cry of his name, spilling sweetly from your lips. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. 

He lets you ride his fingers through your high before he slowly extracts his fingers from you. He sucks them into his mouth, not wanting to miss a drop of your taste. He strips off his shirt and stands to discard his pants as you catch your breath. 

You reach your hands out toward him as he settles back on the bed between your thighs. He thinks he feels his heart crack a little. He kisses you again, letting you taste yourself on his lips as he notches the head of his cock at your entrance. You wiggle beneath him, trying to push him inside you. 

“Paciencia, cariño,” (patience, baby) he mutters, but he starts pushing inside you. He’s finding it hard to deny you anything you ask for. You both moan as he bottoms out inside you, your noises tangling together in the scant air between your lips. He drops his forehead to yours as he slowly retreats and pushes back in. 

You meet his thrust with your own hips, driving him deeper. He drops to his elbows and picks up the pace, rolling his hips into you steadily. He wants to savor this, wants it to last as long as it can, because he knows he’ll never have it again – never have you again. 

He can’t hold back, though. The way you grip him, tight and hot and wet, the way your hands roam across his broad chest and through his too long hair, it drives him crazy. He dips his mouth to your throat, tasting your skin again as he pounds into you. You let out little huffs of air, choked out moans, bitten off cries of his name as he fucks you. 

When you come it catches him off guard and he nearly follows you. He fucks you slow and deep through it and when you finally stop clenching around him he pulls out and comes on your belly. You whine when he stands, wanting him to cuddle with you. 

“Ya vuelvo.” (I’ll be right back). 

He goes to his bathroom and wets a washcloth with warm water. He should kick you out. Instead, he brings it back and gently cleans between your legs and wipes his cum off your stomach. He tosses the cloth into the pile of his clothes and snuggles into bed with you. You curl into his chest and he wraps his arms around you, falling asleep with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

He wakes up in the morning to an empty bed and nearly thinks you were smart enough to leave on your own, but he spots your skirt still on the floor by the bed. Fuck. You dance into the room, a cup of coffee in your hand and his shirt on your shoulders. You look beautiful. Perfect. Like everything he doesn’t deserve. 

You hand him the mug and he sets it on the nightstand.

“Deberías ir.” (You should get going). 

He lights a cigarette to avoid looking at your face. He knows it’s crestfallen, knows he’s hurting you. But he’s saving you even more pain in the long run.

“Okay,” you say. And he refuses to look, but he can hear the tears in your voice.

When he hears the apartment door close, he rolls over and pretends to go back to sleep. He lays there for hours, thinking about how perfect you are. You’re way too young, maybe twenty years old. And so… soft, gentle. His rough edges would cut you to shreds. He never should have slept with you, but he’s only a man. He’s a weak, broken, pathetic old man and for one night you made him feel worthy. 

When he finally drinks the coffee on the nightstand, it has long gone cold and the alarm clock reads 3:00pm.

[shuaboo]

jealous sex with filo!haobin 💋

a/n: this was a request, thank you sm anon! i’m sorry this took so long. i had terrible writers block writing this, hence why it’s not the best! but nevertheless, i hope you enjoy. sorry for the rushed ending, going all the way would make it too long and i have 0 ideas:(

jealousy isn’t an uncommon feeling being with hanbin and hao. people always seem to assume that you’re all just a close group of friends.

that’s exactly what happened today. a guy approached the table during your dinner date, and asked for your number. obviously, you immediately turned down his offer but that didn’t stop your boyfriends from being jealous.

as you got home, they immediately have their hands and lips all over your body. your neck, collarbone, shoulders, tits, ass, everywhere. you’re sandwiched between your two jealous boyfriends, and there’s no other place you’d want to be in.

“should we leave our marks on her? para alam ng mga tao na sa atin lang siya? hm?” should we leave our marks on her? so people know she’s ours? hm?. says hao, who is now leading you to your shared bedroom. “maybe. that way wala nang lalapit na lalaki sa baby natin, isn’t that right?” maybe. that way guys won’t approach our baby anymore, isn’t that right? hanbin replies, now setting you down on the bed.

hao helps you out of your clothes, leaving you bare beneath him and hanbin. “fuck, ang ganda mo, mahal. i can’t blame that guy from earlier for trying to ask you out, sobrang sarap mo tignan.” fuck, you’re so pretty, love. i can’t blame that guy from earlier for trying to ask you out, you’re eye-candy. he says as he stares at you, before attacking your upper body with kisses. he nips and sucks at your neck, leaving dark marks before moving down to your chest and tummy area.

hanbin on the other hand, has his eyes set on your center. he spreads your legs, revealing your wet, glistening pussy to him. “basang basa ka, i can’t wait to taste you.” you’re so wet, i can’t wait to taste you. finally, he goes down on you. he starts by kissing and lightly sucking your clit to stimulate pleasure, before licking a stripe up your slit. “we’re gonna make you cum so many times, you’ll go dumb and only remember us.” he skillfully uses his tongue, entering your hole. he knows how to make you feel good. using both his mouth and hands, he eats you out like you’re his last meal. “f-fuck! hanbin, i’m gonna cum—“ he smirks against your pussy, rubbing your clit harder and abusing your hole with his tongue faster. as you cum, he doesn’t stop. “w-wait! hanbin, tigil stop! sensitive pa ako! i’m still sensitive”

your words go unheard and hao decides to join you once again, stroking his cock in his hand. “shh, pretty. we told you, right? we’re going to fuck you and make you cum until its only our names that you scream and think of. now open up for me.” he slaps his tip on your lip, waiting for you to open up for him. as you open, he slowly pushes his cock in your mouth. he groans at the vibrations your muffled moans bring to his cock, as hanbin continues to lick up and make out with your pussy. “fuck.. i’ll go slow muna. then after, i’ll fuck this pretty throat of yours.”

you look up at him, eyes brimming with tears. he chuckles. “hah, you look like such a slut. hanbin is tongue deep in your pussy while you lay there and take my cock in your mouth.” he grabs a fistful of your hair, making you take more of him. hanbin pulls off your pussy for a second to speak. “but s’okay, because you’re our slut. our pretty doll molded for us to touch, love, and fuck. isn’t that right, hao?” hao smirks, speaking in between his own moans. “f-fuuuck, you- you’re taking my cock so well- of- of course, she’s our pretty girl. prettiest out there— even other dudes want her, but they never will, because she’s all ours. r-right angel?”

you pull of his cock, voice raspy. “y-yes! ‘m all yours… only want you two…” hanbin smiles against your clit, kissing it. and hao pulls your mouth back on his cock. “that’s right. this greedy little slut is only for us to claim.”

to summarize, the pleasure of being claimed by both of your boyfriends is… a lot. they’ll make sure you remember who you truly belong to, with no fail. but that’s fine. because sex is always better when they’re feelin’ particularly possessive and mean <3.

[richeeduvie]

It’s secret Santa time at the party on Lalo’s compound!! Princesa gets nacho and Lalo’s so pissed, and Ciro gets Princesa- his Christmas gift this year might be that Lalo lets him live

"Nacho?"

"Yeah?"

Lalo's forcing Ciro to wrap his own gift, cause he's the boy's secret Santa. Don't worry, it's still in the package it came in. But the excitement of opening a gift you wrapped can't be extreme, can it?

"Let's never do this secret Santa thing again, huh? Leave it up to the fat guy to give us presents next year."

"We're still doing regular Christmas-"

"Why are you interrupting me like that like you're getting more gifts, hm? You wanna save this gift for secret Santa time or for Jesus's birthday?"

"Sorry, boss."

The loud, screeching roll of the tape sounds out with Ciro. Lalo blows smoke before turning on the TV.

"She's up there wrapping your gift right now. What kind of thing is that? You should be home with your girls right now. Damn!" Lalo scratches his nose. "I should've made that your gift, one way back to New Mexico to see your duo and your papa."

They hear footsteps coming along the stairway. Lalo smiles, turns to Nacho next to him.

"You know, when you were talking about Joey and Ashley-"

"Jo. Amber. I bought them gifts I'm gonna send. Maybe I'll head that way-"

"Yeah. The other day, you were talking about the gifts you were gonna send to them, right? That night, I go to bed...I dreamt I had two of her." Lalo stretches out his arms, taps ash onto the ashtray. "Thank you for that, Ignacio."

"...Okay."

"Two of her. That was-" He coughs into his fist. "But one of the Princesas reminded me more of me than of her. You think I should go tell a doctor that or something? Eh, you're doing the job of a headshrinker right now."

"Ignacio, I think you'll like your present-oh, Ciro! I'm sorry - I didn't know you were wrapping mine-"

"It's not yours, Princesa. It's his. Don't worry. I didn't go and ruin the Christmas spirit. He didn't look in the box."

"Oh, okay."

Lalo waves Princesa over. "You gonna go work hard and make hot cocoa in this weather?"

He holds her by the waist, thumb rubbing up and down.

"No. I'm gonna take it easy and make hot cocoa in this weather."

Lalo smiles with almost all of his teeth. He kisses Princesa's stomach, she might already be blushing red - fitting for the season.

"Ciro, is she gonna like your present?"

"I promise."

"I know I will."

"Mm, for Nacho. What did you get for Nacho?"

Lalo taps Princesa's waist before turning his smile to his hard-eyed friend. "¿Un clon tuyo? Una Princesa para mí, una Princesa para la colección de Nachito."

Lalo's smile holds. Princesa brings one light in confusion. Nacho clears his throat.

A clone of you? A Princesa for me, a Princesa for Nachito's collection.

He turns to whatever they're not watching, because what do you even say to that?

[emmalandry]

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕪 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 ~ 𝕄𝕚𝕘𝕦𝕖𝕝 𝕆'𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒 𝕩 𝔽𝕖𝕞!ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕓𝕓𝕝𝕖༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

"Shh, It's okay querida. Just breathe." Miguel whispers into your ear as he mercilessly pounds into you from behind. "You'll always remember who you belong to right? Even after you marry that estúpido brother of mine?" No response leaves your lip earning you a harsh slap to your ass cheek. "Answer me. You'll never forget you belong to me. You'll never forget that this pussy belongs to me." You let out a whimper "Never Miggy, Never forget that 'm yours." you say practically breathless from how harshly he was thrusting his cock into you.

"Una chica tan buena para mí. Un coño tan bonito también." he whispers in your ear as his thrusts begin to slow down earning a high-pitched whine from you. "My pretty, pretty conejita." Your hands are clawing at the bed sheets trying desperately to hold on as Miguel continues to abuse your cervix with his cock. Pummeling in and out of your hole. "Imagine if Gabriel walked in right now and saw you grinding back against me like a desperate fucked out little slut." He allowed a 'tsk tsk tsk' noise to leave his lips as your pussy begins to flutter and clench around him. "You like that don't you conejita? You like the thought of your fiance walking in and seeing his big brother show his pretty little future wife how BIG he really is?" He growls out. "Yes, Miggy~ Want him to walk in and see how good you fuck me. Want him to know he could never use me the way you do!"

He wraps your hair around his fist beginning to speed up his thrusts signaling that he's near his release. He reaches his hand around your tummy to start drawing quick figure eights on your clit. Your body starts to spasm as the coil in your belly builds up. As his palm bumps your puffy clit and triggers your release. "Fuck yes, cum on that cock bunny." Miguel groans the gushing feeling that comes with your orgasm. He gives you a few last lazy thrusts before he's spewing his hot, sticky seed inside you. "Mierda..." is all he's able to muster out as his cock begins to soften inside you.

He pulls out of you watching your pussy clench around nothing allowing his cum to drip out before grabbing you and yanking you down to lay on top of his chest. He kisses your temple before muttering. "What do you even see in that bastard?" he questions making you raise your head off his chest to look into his eyes. Before moving to rest your face against his shoulder. "Nothing anymore. I used to love him but these past few years he just doesn't bother anymore. I don't want to be with him anymore Miggy..." Tears begin to well in your eyes. "Wanna be with you. Want to wake up next to you every morning. not him." the tears begin to cascade down your face.

Miguel begins to gently draw shapes on your back while he takes his other hand and wipes at your tears. "No no. Don't cry cariño. I'm here its okay." you sniffle and let out a choked breath. "Just can't take it anymore Miggy. He doesn't respect me, I don't love him anymore." your words are muffled as you nuzzle further into his shoulder and neck. "Significas más que nada para mí, conejita. Dejaría que todo el multiverso colapsara solo por estar contigo." He sighs heavily as your tears begin to slow. "Don't want us to be a secret anymore. I want everyone to know how much I love you, Miguel."

"I know cariño. it's just-" he's cut off by the sound of his someone's throat being cleared. You both shoot up, eyes wide in shock at the sight of Gabriel in standing in the doorway with his arms crossed against his chest. "Gabe- I didn't know you were stopping by..." Miguel starts but is quickly cut off by Gabriel flinging his hand up to signal him to stop. "Save it, Miguel. I heard everything. Nunca pensé que caerías tan bajo. But I guess I was wrong." His gaze shifts over to you he has fire in his eyes. He is furious and you're terrified for what he's going to say to you. "And YOU. I brought you home to my family when you had no one and THIS is how you repay me? By fucking my brother for god knows how long. You guys are perfect for each other. The weddings off. I only want to have to see your face If it's when you come to collect all your things. I'm sure Miguel here would be happy to let you move in."

Your lip begins to quiver as it falls into a pout as Gabriel your fiance ex leaves the room and Miguel's penthouse. Your eyes are glossed over. You want to cry again. But not sad tears, no no its happy tears? You're overjoyed to finally be able to be with Miguel. You guess Brotherly Love is the way to go.

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

Translation:

querida - darling/dear

estúpido - idiot

una chica tan buena para mí. Un coño tan bonito también - Such a pretty girl for me. Such a pretty pussy too.

conejita - bunny

mierda - shit

cariño - sweetheart

significas más que nada para mí, conejita. Dejaría que todo el multiverso colapsara solo por estar contigo - You mean more than anything to me, bunny. I would let the entire multiverse collapse just to be with you.

nunca pensé que caerías tan bajo. - I never thought you would sink so low.

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

𝔸/ℕ: 𝕀 𝕙𝕠𝕡𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕘𝕦𝕪𝕤 𝕖𝕟𝕛𝕠𝕪𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕥! 𝕀 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕡𝕖𝕠𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕦𝕡 𝕄𝕚𝕘𝕘𝕪'𝕤 𝕓𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕟 𝕤𝕠. 𝔸𝕝𝕤𝕠, 𝕀 𝕦𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝔾𝕠𝕠𝕘𝕝𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕤𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕣 𝕤𝕠 𝕚𝕗 𝕀 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕊𝕡𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕤𝕙 𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕝 𝕗𝕣𝕖𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕤𝕞!

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆

[kairiscorner]

WE NEED MORE MIGUEL W FILIPINO READER HCS RAHHHHH🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭

SIYEMPRE FOR YOU ANONNNNN

miggy x filipino reader headcanons (in your tito/tita era with tito migil)

ok, but imagine, tito migil. (ay miguel)

HE WOULDN'T BE LIKE TITO PETER AND SPOIL THE KIDS, instead he's the guy you half-trust, half-really don't trust with kids for two reasons: 1) he's scary, 2) he's strict.

i like to think that you and him, as magjowa or a married couple, you'd be more of the sweeter, more open and nice tito/tita, and he's the scary/intimidating one who you don't wanna approach at first 😭😭😭

tbh miguel isn't an irrationally angry tito, he's just... masunget most of the time :> HE'S PISSED OFF WHEN KIDS DON'T LISTEN AT FIRST KASI, ayaw niya ng paulit-ulit ok 😶‍🌫️

but...... you're the counter to his kasungitan with your patience and love, kahit masungit ka rin, YOU ARE LESS MASUNGIT THAN THIS MAN OK

if his pamangkin wanted to ask him to take them to jollibee or buy them ice cream or wtvr, at first, he'd be like, "who do you think i am? sino ako sa tingin mo !!!!!" HE MEANS IT IN A NICER WAY, I SWEAR, AYAW NIYANG UMIYAK YUNG BATA

pero if the kid cries, miguel would, reluctantly, do whatever the kid wanted without question, para lang wag nang umiyak AAAAA tas he'd get a little more fatherly and open around the kid when they say "salamat po tito !" for doing what they wanted and giving them what they wanted :DD

LIKE BRO,,, IF THE KID ACCIDENTALLY CALLED HIM "PA", HE'D DIE INSIDE AND NEVER WANNA LEAVE THE KID. he'd want to play with them, take them to the mall, go to the park with them, treat them to dinner, buy them toys and carry them when they fall asleep in the car and admire how cute his pamangkin looks 😭😭😭

he'd have mixed reactions at the kid calling him "pa" though, like if the kid's parents were around, he'd laugh awkwardly and correct them. kaso if they weren't... no harm in indulging diba? :>

HE'D READ THE KIDS FABLES TO GET THEM TO SLEEP, AND WHEN HE GETS SLEEPY HE STARTS MUTTERING IN SPANISH AND THE KID LAYS ON HIS CHEST WHILE HE SLEEPS AND YOU HAVE TO SCOOP THE KID OFF HIM WHILE HE DOZES OFF

OH AND the kids always turn to you for spoiling when you're around, and miguel is always the mediator 😭😭😭like if he knows the kids' demands are getting out of hand, he'll use his iron fist and say straight up "no, uuwi na tayo."

HE'S THE TYPE TO SAY, "AH, LALABAN KA HA?"

but if he makes the kid cry he folds and gives the kid what they want anyway (again)

MAGALING SIYA SA PAGLAMBING NG BABIES.

HE CAN MAKE BABIES SLEEP AS HE CRADLES THEM CLOSE, HE HUMS THEM LULLABIES, HE LETS THEM DROOL OVER HIS CHEST OR SHOULDER WHILE HE CARRIES THEM AND TELLS THEM TO HAVE SWEET DREAMS AS HE KISSES THE SIDE OF THEIR HEAD OR FOREHEAD AND SITS NEXT TO THE CRADLE AND WATCHES THEM UNTIL THEY FALL ASLEEP OR HE FALLS ASLEEP.

a/n: i want tito miggy, i am your tita kairi <33

tags !! @binibinileonara (time to worsen your brain rot.)

[fckinwild-kiwi]

Dec. 14th: Let’s Play House

Day 14: Morning Routine/Handiwork Around the House

It’s time for day fourteen of @comp-lady’s Domestic December writing challenge!

Warnings: Swearing, *Slight* Allusions to Smut (This is an 18+ blog, minors dni)  Word Counts: 1.3k+ Words Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader

You and Eddie had finally agreed, after the New Year you two would begin saving up money to move in to your own apartment with hopes that it would be by at least the middle of summer. With Eddie’s income working at the record shop and the money you’ve been saving from your job as a para in a school, you would finally save enough money to make a deposit on a studio or one bedroom apartment in Hawkins. 

“I think we should practice living together,” Eddie randomly blurted as he played on your bed. 

“You mean compared to what we have already been doing?” You said before laughing. “We already stay at each other’s places every night.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Eddie agreed, sitting up and putting his head on his hands. He stayed quiet. You could tell something was beginning to eat away at him, it wasn’t in his nature to have long bouts of silence.

“What are you thinking about,” You said, walking to the edge of the bed to sit down before nudging your shoulder against his.

“I really want to have a trial run of living together, like actually,” Eddie said, turning his body to face yours. “People fall out of love all the time and the find little things they hate about each other because of their living arrangements. I don’t want that with us.” 

“Baby,” You whispered, now turning your body to face Eddie’s as you looked into his eyes. “We have been living a trial run, but if you want to make it feel more official, I can see if my Mom and Macy would give us the weekend alone? They might be able to go visit my grandparents or something.”

“We could decorate the house together for Christmas,” Eddie said, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he thought about the possibilities. 

“I swear on my heart, I will not fall out of love with you based on your living habits. Shit, I already know how messy you are, Eddie Munson,” You mumbled, pulling his head towards you to press a kiss to his nose. “But if it will ease your mind, I’d love a little domestic moment between us.”

The next day you had asked your mom if she would be okay with giving you and Eddie the space for a “domesticated trial run,” as your mom was calling it. She eagerly agreed but Macy was extremely hurt.

“Why don’t you guys want me here with you?” Macy asked Eddie the night they were getting ready to leave. 

“Sweet girl,” Eddie sighed, his eyes widening as he tried to determine the best way to approach this conversation. “You know we both love you right?” 

When Macy acknowledged Eddie’s question, he continued, “We want to live together sometime soon in a place that is our own home that you can visit us in. We want to pretend that we are living together alone for a few days to make sure we’ll be okay. I need to know if you sister farts in her sleep or not.” 

Eddie winked at you and your mom as Macy giggled at the word fart. “She does,” Macy said as she looked over at you before laughing harder.

“You’re such little traitor,” You said, stalking towards your sister to wrap her in a hug. “Be good this weekend, we’ll see you soon!”

“Have a good weekend, my lovelies,” Your mom said before she wrangled Macy into the car and drove away. 

“Soooo,” You whispered, making sure the car was out of eyesight before turning to Eddie. “We’re all alone, in a big house, what ever should we do?”

“I want to fix the ceiling fan in Macy’s room,” Eddie said, before turning towards the house and beginning his walk back. 

“What!” You shouted. “We are home alone and that’s what you want to do?”

“You’re incredibly sexy, baby,” Eddie said, chuckling. “And we’ll have plenty of time for that later, let me be the man of the house for a few hours.”

“I can not believe you,” You gawked. “Okay, go be the man of the house.”

Fist pumping the air, Eddie ran into the house and up the stairs to Macy’s room. As you began to follow him up the stairs, you could hear him banging around. 

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing?” You questioned as you walked into the room. Spread before you were tools that you had never seen before. Eddie had a pencil behind his ear and an empty tool belt on his waist. “You were left alone for less than two minutes!”

“Oh, I had all of this stuff ready when Macy and your mom left,” Eddie said, shrugging. “Can you go get me a ladder?”

“Jesus Christ,” You mumbled, walking out of the room to grab the ladder from the garage. After finding the ladder, you began carrying it up the stairs. As you approached the stairs, you could hear a faint singing sound coming from Macy’s room. 

“We’ll know for the first time, if we’re evil or divine,” Eddie sang as you walked in to the bedroom. Placing the ladder against the wall, you walked over to Eddie and gently grabbed his face to press a kiss against his lips. 

“Dio?”

“Dio,” He agreed, kissing you again. “Thank you for the ladder, I’m going to try and fix this fan now.”

“Mm,” You mumbled as you watched your boyfriend start climbing the ladder with a look of concentration. Quickly, the idea of Eddie being a little domestic handyman began to grow on you. There was the man of your dreams, putting in manual labor to fix your little sister’s ceiling fan. And, he was wearing grey sweatpants, your domestic dream. “You look incredibly sexy up there with your work face on,” You said, smirking up at the curly-headed boy. 

“You think I’m sexy up here?”

“It’s definitely working for me,” You answered, proceeding to wink. 

“What about when I do this,” Eddie said, flexing as he turned the wrench, tightening the fan to the ceiling. 

“Yeah, baby,” You said, giggling at his macho display. “My big strong handyman!”

He chuckled as he finished fixing the fan. Before long, Eddie climbed down the ladder and jumped off the last step before dusting off his hands and presenting you with jazz hands. “I did it!”

“Macy is going to be so excited when they get home on Sunday!”

“Now imagine, five years from now, we’re married and our first child’s little dangly thing from their crib is loose. I’ll be able to fix it because that’s way easier than a ceiling fan,” Eddie said, matter-of-factly. There was no way to argue with his logic, fixing a mobile. 

“We’re married in five years? With a baby?” You questioned, stuck on the fact that he was thinking so far ahead and he spoke so sure of your future. 

“Well I’d like to think so,” Eddie said, his neck and cheeks heating up with a soft pink blush. “I’m pretty confident in our love.”

“Oh, my handsome boy,” You gushed. “Me too. If you’re so confident, why were you so worried about our ability to live together successfully?”

“Oh, I wasn’t,” Eddie said, shrugging. “I just wanted an excuse to show you how great it’s going to be when we do live alone. There’s nothing you could do, even farting in your sleep which you definitely do, that would make me fall out of love with you. But I also had to prove that I am capable of fixing anything.”

“I hardly think tightening a ceiling fan equates to the ability to fix anything,” You scoffed, before smiling at Eddie. “You’re sneaky but I love you. I’m excited for this weekend alone too.”

“C’mon, let’s go practice playing house,” Eddie said, scooping you up in his arms as you squealed.

“When you say, play houses do you mean?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna rock your world, baby,” Eddie said, huskily before dropping you on your bed.

[beardedmrbean]

After getting off his helicopter, he kissed the ground then pumped his fist in the air in victory.  General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan made a triumphant return to Khartoum on March 26, to celebrate regaining control over the capital, “liberated” from the grip of the paramilitaries.

The army chief had been forced to flee the megapolis nearly two years ago, at the start of the war opposing his Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF) led by his former ally Mohammed Hamdan Dagalo, also known as "Hemedti". 

The bloody power struggle has left tens of thousands of people dead and over 10 million displaced.

Forced to change course, RSF retreated across Khartoum on Wednesday, using the Jebel Awliya bridge, the last escape route from the greater Khartoum region. Scenes of joy erupted in various areas of the city following the militia’s retreat.  

General al-Burhan ‘back to business’

Launched in September, the Sudanese army’s offensive in Khartoum is a turning point in its war against RSF. The militia controlled certain strategic sites in the capital, including the international airport, the presidential palace and several military bases.

“Abdel Fattah al-Burhan’s return to the presidential palace is a very important symbol within the country as well as abroad,” said Marc Lavergne, Sudan expert with the Paris-based French National Centre for Scientific Research. “He claims to be the legitimate leader of the country, and he is showing the world that he is back to business.”

His return was long awaited. When the war began, the military-led government was forced to move to Port Sudan, the country’s principal port on the Red Sea, located 700 kilometres north-east of the capital.

The Sudanese army struggled to stem RSF’s advance. Besides controlling their historic bastion of Darfur, the militia managed to extend their presence across northern and southern Khartoum. The RSF in 2023 inflicted a particularly humiliating defeat on the army by capturing the city of Wad Madani, the capital of Sudan’s central Al-Jazirah state. The army reversed this defeat by reconquering the megapolis of 400,000 inhabitants in January 2025.

The paramilitary fighters lose ground

The change in the balance of power in favour of the Sudanese army is because the paramilitary fighters are “losing steam”, said Lavergne. “The Rapid Support Forces are not professional soldiers with a real hierarchy and logistical organisation. They wanted to hit hard and fast; they took control over large territories without being able to run them.”

Since the start of the war, serious acts of violence have been attributed to both sides. The army is accused of carrying out indiscriminate bombings, killing numerous civilians. A strike this week in Tora, in Darfur state, killed several hundred people, according to witnesses.

Accused of numerous massacres, the RSF is considered even more brutal than the Sudanese army. “These are looters who exploit the territories they manage to capture,” said Lavergne.

The RSF’s methods have tarnished their image and weakened their capacity to recruit among the population. The RSF are also confronted by desertions, like that of the war chief Abu Aqla Kikl, who changed sides and joined the Sudanese army in October 2024.

Fear in Darfur

The balance of power between the two warring sides in Sudan has long been relatively stable, despite the Sudanese army’s notable advantage of possessing military aviation. More established in urban combat, the RSF also possesses an arsenal of drones and missiles provided by the United Arab Emirates, their main supporter, although Abu Dhabi denies any implication in the conflict.

Pressured by losses suffered on the ground, Hemedti embarked on a regional diplomatic tour in Uganda, Ethiopia and Kenya. In a quest for legitimacy, he even announced the creation of a “parallel government” during a February visit to Nairobi, to govern the areas under RSF control. The initiative was firmly rejected by SAF leader Burhan who accused Kenyan President William Ruto of supporting his rival.

“The eastern African countries that hosted Hemedti could have maybe weighed in his favour during a negotiation phase. Yet on the military side, I don’t see how RSF could inverse the balance [of power] today,” said Lavergne.

While in Khartoum the army is celebrating the end of fighting, certain observers fear that RSF’s retreat to Darfur, which it still controls, will provoke a new wave of violence against the non-Arab communities, which are often targeted by the paramilitary forces. The United States accused the RSF and allied militias in January of committing genocide, through the systematic murder of “men and boys – even infants – on an ethnic basis”.

[huitzilinthebudgie3]

Para Ti Papa

Summary : Y/n Spector isn't your normal run of the mill Fist of Vengence. She isn't a very friendly Moonknight , not that she was given much reason to be one. Being transported into the past by centure

Hey Guys , sorry again for the hiatus. I'm planning on redoing a lot of my old Moonknight Fanfics. I plan on redoing Amor No Correspondido and doing 2 main story's based off of it. This story has been in the works for a while and will be released as normally as i can manage. I'll be letting this one out with a few possible Miguel O'hara stories ….again i'm not 100% sure , so let me know what you guys think and if you'd like more. My ao3 is linked , so just let me know what your interested in and not interested in. Like always my asks are open so feel free to message me or request a few things as i love doing one offs, incorrect quotes or drabbles.

Also if you'd like me to create C.ai bots as well , i currently have one Miguel O'hara bot that needs some redoing , but let me know and have a wonderful day :)

The Artifact was a simple instrument with a high risk , Khonshu had reassured her that she'd be back in time for her husband's event. Miguel was hesitant to let her go and threatened Khonshu before letting her go with a kiss and promise for an owed debt. Which made her smile and blush at the same time, she hadn’t expected for the mission to drag said husband into said mess. As they were on the steps of Nueva Yorks Museum’s steps when said doomsday device went off

……………………………………..

*A few hours later*

Y/n groaned in pain as she held her head cursing Khonshu and her father for ever associating with said deity as she sat up and observed her surroundings. 

She huffed calling out for her husbands as Khonshu appeared clearly upset that their mission had gone askew. “Dude i don’t shocking care ! Where’s Miguel!” she cursed as the skeletal bird growled at her . 

Y/n sighed dramatically as she stomped down the stairs , her dress clung loosely around her waist before she fingers toyed with the belt of her gater having been in a completely different setting seconds before as she practically ran down the stairs . She heard Khonshu grumble in irritation as she nearly tripped on the last rung before sprinting down the last length of the distance before , stopping abruptly this realms version of Moonknight pounced down from the building . She grumbled in irritation before vaulting herself from the path below to her target before the other version interfered once again . She hissed at the slash her way leaning back , her skirt twirling at the fast movement before using her weight to shove the other away and twisted away before she heard a familiar voice . She curled a brow before relenting silently and allowing  Khonshu’s suit to take over before stepping into the shadows . 

Later

Y/n stared curiously at Khonshu as he reminded her of the possibilities as she made her presence known to the realms Khonshu  and Moonknight . She blinked sheepishly  as Marc Spector argued with his other self and Layla - her father argued with his ex-wife Layla la Fouly as she merely crossed her arms in annoyance before Khonshu made himself known appearing rapidly and attempting to make her kneel with his abilities before she glared with a quirked brow as her Khonshu stepped in . In his original appearance , his nemes and mask in place as he slammed his staff down “Enough !!” his voice was much different than this one as he turned to her silently she sighed “What time period is it ?” she said, attempting to mask her voice “2025 ?” they botched answered in confusion as they kept their own stances.  She frowned before turning to Khonshu and then back , before Khonshu grumbled dramatically “You're 100 % sure ?” They appear concerned before Khonshu mentally projected and left in a poof . Taking his suit with it , she sighed in irritation  , before her clothing revealed her face and attire before staring away dismissively “There can’t be more than one pigeon right ? Physically impossible !!!” she smiled at Steven’s response before throwing a playful smile “In this reality right now ,yes. Normally no. but he’s not as bad as you think . '' she said before Layla rudely interrupted, souring her mood , before returning to her neutral face . Before Her Khonshu returned his cloak once again covering her nearly as the impossibly tall being whispered information already confirming what she knew , she frowned, holding his face in the palm of her hand before sighing “What do we do then ? We’ve no idea how we ended up here “ the god nodded in understanding “This affects nothing here as it is not similar to our era “ she nodded before burping .

Later

Y/n continued staring at the pair of avatars before her as they continued arguing in the flat , before she interrupted “I need to talk with Steven if it doesn’t bother the lot of you too much" before Marc turned to her in confusion and horror slightly “How the hell do -?” she gave him a very annoyed look “Steven is-” she smoothed her hair down in irritation before sighing “Listen , i just need to talk to Steven . I have a few questions “ Marc -her father straight out refused .

She grumbled “Listen you don’t want to do this , aba “ she tensed and her eyes widened at the slip up before clenching her jaw before switching promptly to Spanish and cursing out all her ancestors before Layla raised a brow at that “Your name ?” she bristled before turning back to Marc “I’ll tell you but I need to talk to Jake or Steven first “ Marc glared “Who the hell is Jake ?! “ Marc sighed .

Later

Y/n was reluctant to give more information than was given to her as she sat silently watching both Layla and Marc talk about the newest artifact.

Khonshu her khonshu was reminding her of their need of the artifact and how critical it was that they find it to return home. However Y/n reminded Khonshu of her own husband possibly lost in this time as she blinked, recalling that her husband probably wasn’t as lucky and freaking out in the past era. 

It was late and after a few venomous words were turned from her as Marc and Layla interrupted their conversation. Y/n was a stubborn woman , like her father and mother …she wasn’t bending to anyone's will. She was proud of her heritage and her mother’s own work as an avatar. 

Marc however was getting upset and she could tell the subtle spanish now mixing into his language as she didn’t want to meet this version of Jake like this as she sighed. 

“You said it was 2025?” she asked softly as Marc quirked a brow

“Yes , are you gonna talk now kid ?” Y/n sighed and reluctantly decided to spill the beans.

“I don’t know how accurate this will be “ she explained “I live in the time 2099-”

______________________________________________________________

TBC: 9/4/2023

Thank you for reading !! Have a wonderful day :) And let me know if you liked it .

[alectocarrowx]

where: carrow manor who: alecto & alora carrow sell-para

Alecto was bewildered when an owl appeared at her balcony with parchment hanging from its beak. Upon further inspection it was a request for her to make an appearance at home. The last thing she wished to do was anger her mother and refuse, the witch took a moment to change her attire and fix her image.

An hour later, with the help of floo powder, she was sat across from her mother in the study with a cup of tea. Alecto sat straight, searching her mother's demeanour for any hit on what this might entail. She gave nothing away, both sat with a stoic expression on their features, waiting for the silence to be broken.

"It's time we talk marriage." Her mother stated bluntly, her eyes narrowing at her.

Alecto nearly spat out the sip of tea she took, perplexed. "Are we not still fixated on Amycus and Valeria?" That is where her mother's attention lay for the longest time, and she'd rather it remain there.

"That will sort soon, and then you, my love." Every time her mother used my love, it sent a chill down her spine. Alora Carrow was a cruel woman that shared no affection. It was obvious where she inherited the coldness from when the two of them shared a room together. Alecto stood.

"Sit down." Alora's voice echoed throughout the room and normally it would make her sit back down in her seat, but she knew she was fighting fire with fire and one was going to end up burnt.

"No," her fingers curl into fists at her side. "I'm not sitting, mother. I do not wish to be married." No, that was far from the truth, she knew the chances of one that she would consider an equal to her was slim, one that she could respect, and didn't look weak beside her. They had to know the real her, and there was only one she would show it to. "All I care about is the cause." A beat. "What the Dark Lord wants." She could see the red seep into her mother's features.

A blink of an eye, there stood her mother, two inches taller than her, murdering her with lethal stare. "I was not giving you an option. Considering this a warning." Distance is made between them, Alora Carrow returning to her seat, slender fingers plucking up the saucer holding her mug of tea.

A sudden desire to scream surged through Alecto, her features void of emotions, except the anger that swirled in her haze hues. "Careful mother, I would hate for any future husband of mine to suddenly perish." Ending a life, she would not hesitate to do. Her body twists, heels clicking against the marble stone, in the direction of the foyer.

Floo powder is tossed, stepping through to once more be home. This time she did let a scream out. Almost kiss, Emma Vanity, potential betrothal, Rabastan Lestrange. Fingers grasp at the roots of her hair at the side of her head, tugging, indulging in the pain. Anger built and there was one way to deal with what she was feeling, but before she could turn to that vice, an owl arrived. A mission from the Dark Lord. It seemed like an easy feat, omitting where it mentioned the assistance of another, a need for madness.

If only she had taken heed.

[lungfishpoem]

So far I have two (2) Brazilian songs that remind me of White Face... and I want to post about them.

Lyrics + scuffed translation + why they remind me of White Face below ^u^ (suicide tw for Flores)

Translations in red

Flores - Titãs ("Flowers")

Olhei até ficar cansado (I looked until I got tired)

De ver meus olhos no espelho (of seeing my eyes in the mirror)

Chorei por ter despedaçado (I cried for having teared)

As flores que estão no canteiro (the flowers that were on the flower bed)

Os pulsos os punhos cortados (My wrists and fists cut)

O resto do meu corpo inteiro (the rest of my entire body)

Há flores cobrindo o telhado (There are flowers covering the roof)

E embaixo do meu travesseiro (and under my pillow)

Há flores por todos os lados (There are flowers everywhere)

Há flores em tudo o que eu vejo (There are flowers in everything I see)

A dor vai curar essas lástimas (The pain will cure these sorries)

O soro tem gosto de lágrimas (The serum tastes like tears)

As flores tem cheiro de morte (The flowers smell like death)

A dor vai fechar esses cortes (The pain will close these cuts)

Flores, flores (Flowers, flowers)

As flores de plástico não morrem (The plastic flowers don't die)

(the song repeats after this)

Explanation: Honestly kinda self explanatory. The song is about suicide and flowers... two things very present in IMSCARED and that are deeply connected to WF. Just... the song is about someone who killed themselves and see flowers everywhere. If your interpretation of IMSCARED includes the suicide of WF in order to become data... well. You have it. This song isn't a favorite of mine but AUGHHH THE LYRICS GET ME OK. Anyways. Flowers, suicide, White Face... that's all.

Janeiro Continua Sendo o Pior dos Meses - Ludovic ("January keeps being the worst of months")

Pelo pouco que eu conheço a vida (For the little that I know about life)

Eu não posso me queixar (I can't complain)

Quem de todo e qualquer ataque se esquiva (Those who of every and any attack dodges)

Não pode se queixar (can't complain)

Porém, aqui eu confesso (However, here I confess)

Janeiro continua sendo o pior dos meses (January keeps being the worst of months)

Quando eu estiver desprevenido (Whenever I'm unprepared)

Volta e acaba comigo (come back and destroy me)

Lembra como você era boa nisso? (Remember how good you were at this?)

Foi tudo um ledo engano, ela tem novos planos (Everything was a well-meaning mistake, she has new plans)

Irreconhecivelmente otimista (Irrecognizably optimistic)

E eu, preso no mesmo lugar (And I, stuck in the same place)

Milhões de cortes para estacar (Millions of cuts to stop)

Regando flores mortas, beijando fotos (Watering dead flowers, kissing pictures)

Ninguém pode me culpar (no one can blame me)

Quando eu estiver desprevenido (Whenever I'm unprepared)

Volta e acaba comigo (come back and destroy me)

Lembra como você era boa nisso? (Remember how good you were at this?)

Foi tudo um ledo engano, ela tem novos planos (Everything was a well-meaning mistake, she has new plans)

Irreconhecivelmente otimista (Irrecognizibly optimistic)

Explanation: UAARRGHHHHHH!!!!!!!! Okay. This one may be confusing but you Must see my Vision. Again, flowers, self explanatory, and how they're dead?? Good lord. But like, the main thing is how I imagine that in this scenario, January is when the player is playing the game, and killing WF. Play the game again, destroy it again, remember how good you were at this?? God . WF made a mistake, a well-meaning one. It wanted to play and be your friend... scare you? But ah well, it made a mistake, now all of That happened. It is stuck in the same place forever, (full of cuts from the bullets that hit Her??? <- insane), and it was too optimistic when it asked you to give it the flower.. Also it doesn't seem to know a lot about life, maybe? I mean... entity in a computer and all... heh... I don't know. I just remember jumping and going like "THIS IS LITERALLY WHITE FACE!!!!".

That's it, thanks for reading. May update the list in the future... who knows...