#it's 3:01am

[wrylu]

cod headcanon that nikolai uses like 18 in 1 shampoo and i won't elaborate

[aceaceace144616]

hits your ninja turtle with my SomeGuyification Beam pt.3

[tea-and-secrets]

So I've been thinking recently

And feeling so guilty

I'm not mentally well enough for a relationship I think, but I'm in one (I do plan to try and split next week)

But I'm also questioning my sexuality again

I know im arospec but here lately I've been thinking

Am I just aroace?

I watch porn/jack off sometimes and sex with someone sounds good in theory but... people scare me and I'm too anxious to talk to them and frankly the thought of.. actually having sex with someone sounds

Not too good for me

But what's kept me from taking the plunge is I'm lonely. I'm so incredibly lonely it hurts, I'm not sure if it's just isolation thats made me feel this way or not. But i

I might be aroace. Maybe. If um. Anyone has any words/advise I would love to hear it.

Sorry for this being long and thanks in advance

.

[jmflowers]

My first nephew, my brother’s son, has arrived!

[faces-of-the-traveler]

close up

[nico-hakobyan]

sometimes i have the most messed up dreams and wake up at 3am and just have to act like that didn't happen

[kiemiu]

𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄: 𝓛𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝓞𝐧 𝓜𝐞

pairing kang sae-byeok x fem!reader | wc: 3.2k

summary -> a concerning message from sae-byeok leaves you desperately scrambling to help her. warnings -> injuries, and blood but that's about it.

( beneath the quiet masterlist )

3:01AM

Sae-Byeok’s ability to keep up with her payments at the orphanage was nothing short of puzzling. After the stunt she pulled—swiping the first week’s payment from you without a second thought—you couldn’t shake the nagging questions that filled your mind. How had she managed to pay her way for the rest of the month? What was she doing behind the scenes to where she’d show up bruised and battered? You couldn’t escape the questions that hovered over you, particularly the ones about where she went after hours and vanished for days on end, you desperately wanted to know what kept her disappearing so often. The unanswered questions gnawed at you, haunting every waking moment you got to yourself.

Tonight Sae-Byeok hadn’t showed up, leaving you pacing around the foyer in worry whenever you got the chance away from the kids and your mother. Wringing your hands relentlessly, picking at the loose pieces of fabric on your sweater, knee bouncing in place whenever you sat down, eyes falling back to the front door, hoping to see her shadowy figure getting ready to knock on the door or ring the doorbell. your anxiety was at an all time high.

Your thoughts were swirling with worry and concern, your breath laboring as your head fell in your hands. You couldn't take it anymore, roughly slamming your foot down on the wooden floor beneath you, and picking yourself up to walk into the kitchen, your eyes rapidly searching for your mother.

She’d occupied herself with cutting up boiled eggs for her lunch tomorrow, her eyes laser focused as she listened intently to the old truce crime podcast play through her speakers. “Mom,” you quietly began, voice tentative as you started the movement of wringing your hands once again, “Do—um, Do you think Sae-Byeok could sleep in the attic for a while? I know it’s not much, but it’s better than wherever she could be now. I mean-”

Without even glancing over her shoulder, your mother cuts you off dismissively, her hand waving you off as she mutters out, “If you’re so concerned, why don’t you offer your own room?” her tone mocking as she made it clear that she had no interest in renting out a place in the orphanage for a stranger. You could understand her point of view, you just wished she wasn't so impertinent about it.

Her response stung more than you’d like to admit. You had to remind yourself to disconnect from her time and time again. Always wanting to build a relationship with her and getting close to it only soon to be reminded by who she really is when she responds so bitterly to the things you do.

All you wanted to do was help, you really did, but her dismissive tone made it feel impossible to get through to her. You curled your fist in an attempt to fight back the urge to snap at her, to ask her why it was so hard to see things your way. Instead, you rolled your eyes in silent frustration and let out a sigh. You were starting to believe she’d never understand you.

You turned on your heel, concerned deepening at her disappearance. Where was she? What happened to her? Is she okay? Those three questions spun around your head on repeat day in and day out. You could feel them, gnawing at you, even as you stepped outside after gathering all of your things, a slam of the front door behind you as the cool air washed over your heated skin.

You walked to your car, a huff escaping your lips as your brows furrowed in. Mixed in anger at the way your mother shuts you down with such ease, while trailing back to the whereabouts of Sae-Byeok. Just as you brought your hand out from your jacket pocket to pull on the car door handle, your phone buzzed in your pocket. The sudden vibration startling you out of your mild rage fit.

Kang Sae-Byeok :)

Are you busy?

The message from Sae-Byeok appeared on your screen, your eyes so focused on the screen you didn't notice the way your heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t reached out ever since she told you to refer to her as Kang, the suddenness of the brief message—although filled you with relief in your sudden state—felt off, unsettling.

Kim Y/N

No, actually. I just got off of work.

Kim Y/N

Is everything okay?

You quickly texted back, your fingers trembling slightly, you couldn't tell if it was from the freezing air temperatures or out of nervousness, deciding to get yourself settled in your car before you continued to text her. Throwing open the car door only to quickly throw your bag to the side with your jacket, your eyes trained on your phone screen as you shut the door behind you.

Staring intensely at the screen, you watched as the familiar bubbles appeared and disappeared. Over and over, the dots flickered, teasing you with no final reveal. A sigh escaping your lips as you threw your head back against your head rest. I don’t understand you Sae-Byeok. You quietly murmur to yourself as you prepare to drive off.

You didn’t understand her, but you wanted to. On the drive back home all you could do was think in silence, wondering when it’d be the next time she responded to you.

Was she avoiding your question? Or was something else preventing her from answering?

They didn't stop, even as you pulled into your driveway. Your hands gripped the steering wheel as you leaned forward resting your head on your arms. A sigh escaped you, a desperate question, a plea of why she kept pushing you away, until a new message lit up your phone screen.

Without hesitation you reached down to grab your phone out of the cup holder, your breath hitching as soon you read her messages. The words hitting you like a kick to the stomach making it harder to breathe.

Kang Sae-Byeok :)

I need your help

Kang Sae-Byeok :)

Please.

Without thinking, you texted back frantically, your fingers feeling as if they were going a million miles per minute.

Kim Y/N

Where are you?

Kim Y/N

Are you okay?

Kim Y/N

What do you need from me?

Kim Y/N

Sae-Byeok, please just tell me what I have to do

You sent the messages before you even realized. Panic surged through your entire body as you waited until there was pure silence on the other end. The message bubbles coming to a complete stop. She wasn’t replying and for a short second, you felt pathetic for the onslaught of texts you sent her way, possibly overwhelming her and making her seek refuge somewhere else.

Your phone lit up for a third time, the buzzing insistent yet unwanted as your boyfriend’s name filled the screen. You scoffed under your breath, swiping decline on his call without a second thought. Sae-Byeok being the only thing to cloud your kind, she was more important.

Minutes passed. The seconds felt like hours. Then, finally, like music to your ears, the ping of your phone went off, Sae-Byeok sent another message. This time her location appeared on your screen.

Without a second thought, you slammed the car into gear, swerving and speeding down the freeway without casting a glance to the speedometer, knowing you had been going well above the speed limit. A silent prayer replaying on a loop in your head, hoping that you'd make it in time to help her. Her location was thankfully only twelve minutes away, yet every second felt like an eternity passed as your heart raced, fear and anxiety gnawing at your insides.

Your insides twisting and turning in panic as you arrive into the parking lot of a dingy dive bar. You didn’t even pause to think or turn your car off, jumping out as soon as you were haphazardly parked into a free space, your eyes squinting at the brightness of the glowing bar sign that buzzed persistently.

Your eyes land on your phone again, scanning the screen of her location, seeing as her icon sat between the dive bar and an unknown burger place. You quickly jog over to where you think she might be, eyes flitting to your screen and up to spot her. Running through a crowd of people, whispers of ‘Sorry’s’ and ‘Excuse Me’ leave your lips as you shove past the drunken patrons.

You turn the corner into a small alleyway, trash cans and loose garbage line the walls as you scan the street in a panic. It thankfully didn’t take long for your eyes to land on her—Sae-Byeok, slumped against a damp brick wall, her body lacerated and bloody as she clutched her side, her figure leaning forward as she winced, agonized weak groans escaping her lips as if each breath she took was too painful to bear.

Your footsteps paused as you took in her appearance, your heart clenching at the battered sight of her. Without hesitation, you rush towards her. “Sae-Byeok!” A raw, broken cry of her name from your lips leaves her frozen in place before she slowly lifts her head up to see your quickly approaching figure, her frame relaxing momentarily before she shakily plants her hand on the wall, weakly pushing herself towards you.

You stop right in front of her, your breathing frantic and uneven as your eyes skim her face. Hesitation gave way to desperation as your hands cup the sides of her face, a choked sob leaving your lips as you take in the state of her.

One eye swollen shut, its lid puffy and dark purple, while a fresh gash on her cheekbone trickled blood, the crimson streak contrasting with her pale, sweat-slicked skin. A split lip glistened with a mixture of blood and saliva, dried blood crusting on the edges of her nostrils. Bruises blossomed across her jaw and neck, their hues shifting from deep maroon to a sickly yellow color at the edges. Her breathing was ragged and shallow, each exhale hissing through clenched teeth as her ribs, likely bruised or cracked, protested with every movement.

“Come on.” you whisper meekly, securely wrapping your arm around her waist as her legs wavered beneath her weight. She leaned against you, her body trembling from exhaustion as you guided her towards your car. Every step felt like a battle for her but she trusted you to hold her up, her breath jagged as she shut her eyes tightly, her grip still weak even as she tightened her hold around your shoulders.

When you reached the car, you opened the door as wide as it would go, lowering her into the seat with painstaking care. She bit down on a groan as her body shifted, her hand weakly gripping your arm for support. You helped her adjust her position, your hands trembling slightly as you did your best to make her comfortable without pressing against any of her injuries.

Her head leaned back against the seat, her eyes fluttering shut briefly before she forced them open again, clearly fighting to stay conscious. “You’re okay,” you murmured, brushing a strand of damp hair away from her bruised face. “Just hold on a little longer.”

As you leaned over to buckle her seatbelt, her breathing hitched, and she winced when the strap brushed against her ribs. You stopped immediately, your hands hovering uncertainly. “Does that hurt?” you asked softly, your voice tight with guilt as your eyes scanned over her cautiously. She nodded faintly, in which you adjusted the belt to sit loosely across her lap instead, careful not to apply any pressure.

Finally, when she was settled, you stepped back, your chest heaving with the effort of holding yourself together. Her pain was palpable, etched into every line of her battered face, and you felt utterly helpless. “We’ll be home soon,” you promised, though your voice wavered as you said it.

Before closing the door, you gave her one last look, her fragile frame slumped against the seat. The way she clung to consciousness, her strength fraying but her resolve unbroken, made you swallow hard against the lump rising in your throat.

The drive home was suffocating. The silence between you was heavy, the air thick with unspoken words, her injuries looking worse with each passing flicker of the streetlights.

You reached out, brushing her knuckles lightly to keep her awake. "Are you okay?" you asked softly, knowing the answer before the words even left your mouth. She gave a faint nod, but her silence screamed the truth.

When you finally pulled into the driveway, your chest ached from the tension you'd been holding in. Her pain filled the space between the two of you like a tangible force, unspoken and overwhelming, as you quickly move to help her out of the car. You carefully eased her out of the car, your arm steadying her as she leaned heavily against you. Each step toward the door felt deliberate, her weight light yet grounding, as though she was barely tethered to the world.

Ignoring the mess inside—shoes kicked aside, papers strewn on the counter—all blurring into irrelevance. You would've been a bit embarrassed if it weren't for the state of shock you were in. Nothing else mattered but getting her inside safely.

“Come on,” you murmur, your voice quiet, coaxing, as you guide her to your bathroom. She didn’t protest or even front to put up a fight, only following your lead with sluggish movements. Her silence was unnerving, but it wasn’t the emptiness kind—it was the kind of quiet that carried too much weight, an unspoken language of pure pain and exhaustion.

Your bathroom feeling smaller than usual, the walls feeling suffocating as you scramble to get your medical supplies from off of the shelves next to your bathroom mirror, sitting her on the edge of the toilet seat, softly lifting the edges of her shirt up to view any other injuries that could be hiding. Your frown deepened at the bathroom light casting stark shadows over the bruises that bloom across her face.

Gently, you dampen a cloth and begin to clean her wounds, each touch light and precise, jerking your hand back at every poorly concealed wince from her. You run to your freezer to retrieve a cold pack before running. back to your bathroom, pressing it gently to the swollen side of her face, holding it there as she flinched slightly but refused to say anything.

“Sorry,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

Her eyes flickered open briefly, meeting yours drearily. For a moment, time stretched. Her gaze was heavy, searching, and you felt your breath hitch at the vulnerability reflected back at you. She wasn’t saying much, but the quiet between you spoke volumes. She trusted you—a lot more than she wanted to.

Her head suddenly began to droop, her strength failing to continue holding her head up. Before you could react, her weight shifted forward, and she leaned into you, her forehead lightly pressing against your shoulder.

Your body stiffened on instinct at the sudden feeling of her upper body pressed against yours. Your hands holding the ice pack fall to your sides, uncertainty heavy over you, unsure of what to do.

“I just need a second,” she murmured—her voice barely above a whisper—almost as if she could sense your hesitancy.

The exhaustion in her words hit you harder than you expected, threading through the room like a quiet plea. “Take all the time you need,” you said softly, relaxing against her but not daring to move. Her cheek rested against your collarbone, her warm breath coming in waves against the skin of your neck as her chest pressed against yours. The ache in your legs from holding her up didn’t matter. You’d stand there forever if it meant she could have this moment of rest, your hands twitching at your sides as you fought the irresistible urge to hold her closer.

Her body slowly started to stir against you, the wet ends of her hair softly brushing against the skin of your cheek. You pay the sides of her arm softly, beckoning her to stand with you. “Do you wanna take a shower?” you asked gently, afraid to break the intimate atmosphere between the two of you.

She hesitated as she lifted her head from your shoulder, her gaze falling toward the bathroom floor, before giving you a faint nod.

A soft smile stretched across your face as you hurriedly put the medical supplies back where you found them. “I’ll go get you something to wear.” You stepped out to give her privacy, not before leaving fresh towels within her reach. Closing the door behind you, you couldn't help but let out a sigh in exasperation and disbelief. You were afraid for her, scared for what she experienced outside of the orphanage, yet relieved she called on you for help and you were able to be there for her.

Sooner than later the sound of the shower running fell onto your ears. The water steady, almost soothing, as you busied yourself preparing something—anything—to make her more comfortable. You adorn your pull-out couch with pillows and blankets for her comfort before running into your bedroom to grab a few clothes. Taking an oversized sweater from your closet and using baggy sweatpants that David had left at your house a while back.

You knock softly on the door once you hear the sound of water halt, “Clothes by the door.” you inform quietly before heading to the kitchen.

By the time she emerged from the steamy bathroom, her hair was damp and her face freshly cleaned. “There’s food on the counter if you’re hungry,” you tell her quietly, motioning to the bowl of tteokbokki sitting untouched in a glass bowl. “You can heat it up whenever you feel like it.” you added on, hesitantly.

She offered the faintest nod of acknowledgment, though her exhaustion still weighed heavily on her shoulders. You gestured to the pullout couch in the living room. “It’s not much, but�� I just want you to be comfortable,” you added, feeling awkward under her quiet scrutiny.

Before she could respond you head back to your bedroom, a brief second passes where you feel the urge to ask if she needed anything else—a fan? More water? A different blanket?—but you stopped yourself, afraid of pushing too far. She was fragile right now, and you didn’t want to overwhelm her.

“Goodnight, Sae-Byeok,” you say quietly as you linger by the doorway. “I’m just in my room if you need me.”

She didn’t say a word, but the subtle shift in her posture—the way her shoulders seemed to ease—spoke volumes. You closed the door gently, the soft click somehow echoing with more weight than expected.

As you moved to your own room, the heaviness in your chest stayed with you, lingering even as you showered. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Sae-Byeok on your couch, you couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was so close, just beyond the wall, yet the gap between you felt vast, insurmountable. You collapsed onto your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, unable to shake the sense of her quiet presence, fragile but resolute, carved into the quiet of the night.

' 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ' 📷 : @miabcuzz @twicesuuui @kissyslut @kritkalhit @st4rcs @dumbbellxo @theforestchoseme3 @wlvlurvsfimmia @genshinenjoyer @theweirdanimation @ch-3-rry @nenukkjhj @giaqnn @crack240 @pookalicious-hq @laurenkenss @sheinhamood @pooksterrr @bbynai @diorzs @beaaluv @colorfulkittenperfection @yourl0caltrash @kidicaruslover911 @sherryuki-callmeyuki @i0nic02 @knfthxv @mina-has-been-here @monroesturnns

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊ ⇢ birthday boy yuuji!

『 ♡ 』 yuuji x fem!reader (18+ under the cut!) -`✧ yuuji itadori masterlist

✩ you wake yuuji up right at 12:01am by smothering him in kisses and softly singing happy birthday, his sleepy giggles filling your bedroom as he's mumbling "aw thank you baby!"

✩ when the morning comes, he's greeted with an entire living room full of pink and gold balloons accompanying the biggest bouquet of pink roses and tulips that he's ever seen. he didn't even know that you knew he loved flowers! (he literally stops to take pictures of every single flower you pass by - how could you not know?)

✩ you spoil him with a mountain of fresh pancakes for breakfast, topped with all the sweets he desires. you're not shocked that he devours at least 3 whole stacks himself, whipped cream and syrup covering his toothy smile.

✩ megumi and nobara text you throughout the day to keep you posted on the status of his surprise party, giving you the signal to bring him by when they're ready.

✩ yuuji is completely shocked when you stroll into the park and surprise him with all of his friends! streamers hung up between pavilions, buffets of snacks and cakes, presents stacked on a table in the corner and plenty of warm smiles from his found-family. he's teary-eyed when they all yell "happy birthday yuuji!" in unison.

✩ yuuji is nothing but smiles all day long as you snap endless pictures of him with everyone - your favorite being nobara and megumi smearing icing all over his cute cheeks while singing happy birthday. they all had silly party hats on and smiles brighter than the sun.

✩ after cleaning up the party, you have a few more presents hidden up your sleeve for yuuji when you get home - he's oblivious to it all.

✩ when you return home together, you ask him to go start running a bath. he doesn't ask questions, just obeys your simple request. once it's full, you can't help but playfully pull him in with you - fully clothed - soaking you both water and bubbles.

✩ wet clothes are stripped from your bodies in succession, relaxing in the warmth of the bath together. you wash his back and hair for him, refusing to let him lift a finger on his special day. he accepts, blissfully enjoying all of your pampering with a smile.

✩ it doesn't take long for him to start quietly panting with need as you massage his whole body from behind, tracing your fingers over and working every muscle you could get your hands on. his hands grip at the plush of your thighs under the water, head rolled back against the top of your breast with his eyes closed. he gasps each time you "accidentally" let your hand brush against the tip of his semi-hard cock.

✩ when you kiss him from above, his cheeks are rosy - enamored with all the tender love you've served to him throughout the day. he turns and picks you up out of the bath, wrapping a towel around the two of you as you make out against the bathroom counter, dripping wet. the kisses are sweet and sloppy, tongues tangling as both of your hands roam each other's bodies. you can still taste the birthday cake on his tongue.

✩ you finally have enough willpower to part from his kisses - long enough to scoot out of the bathroom with a wink and telling him to stay put. he wraps the towel around his waist, attempting to mask his excitement through the tented fabric while he patiently waits for you.

✩ "come and get it, birthday boy!" you call from your shared bedroom. he makes his way down the hall and can smell a multitude of different candles, light flickering against the bedsheets as he sees you splayed out in his favorite pink lingerie set. "you have one more present to unwrap, better hurry."

✩ and by hurry, you mean "treat me like an all you can eat buffet." so he does - sweet and purposeful. he doesn't bother to remove the lingerie from your body, preferring to work around it because it just looks too pretty on you to go to waste. he sucks your nipples and massages your clit through the mesh fabric, loving how it soaks up every drop of your slick to tease himself. he dips his tongue in and out of you between orgasms, drinking up all of your arousal like honey off a spoon.

✩ he doesn't fuck you until you've given him at least two full orgasms, relishing in all the pretty moans and sounds you make for him. and when he does? it's full of love, soft and slow, the drenched mesh panties pulled to the side as they massage his shaft every time he thrusts in and out of you.

✩ between his own moans, he can't help but keep saying "i love you" against your lips, thanking you for being such an angel to him, and how much he adores you. it warms your heart as you melt into him like ice cream on a hot summer sidewalk.

⋆ ˚ʚɞ — happiest of birthdays to one of the sweetest angel protags!! shoujo-coded baby who's forced to shonen. he deserves the world! happy birthday yuuji~ this one's for you both @kweenkatsuki-fics & @yuujispinkhair 💖🎀

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Devil Wears Armani 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

—posting to the correct blog lol—

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

The appletini at girls' night does little to ease you through a restless night. You’re not a traveller. You’ve never flown before. The only reason you have a passport is it was required for the job. You didn’t expect to actually use it. 

You give into consciousness around 3am and double check your bag for everything you need. You forego your usual coffee as you fear an anxious bladder adding to your addled state. You still can’t figure out why Mr. Stark told you to come along. You don’t have anything blocked into his calendar. He’s had weekend meetings before but you usually pop into zoom to take notes and nothing else. 

You spare the fare for a cab as the streetcar isn’t in service yet and you don’t feel like venturing into the underground at this hour. The ride is swift in the dead streets of the city. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them so empty. 

You arrive at the airport and realise you’re missing a very important piece. A boarding pass? Terminal information? Any sort of direction to find where you need to be. Well, it never hurts to ask for help even if you don’t get it. 

You enter and go to the counter. The woman behind it looks tired as dark rings stain her sockets and she fixes her smile to greet you. You nervously clench your jaw and exhale through your nose. 

“Hi, I... I’m supposed to be flying, er, private? I work for Tony Stark?” You creak out through your dry throat. You need water. 

“Mr. Stark?” She lowers her brow, “do you have proof of employment?” 

“Erm, yeah,” you unhook your keyring from your purse and shove it towards her. Your company ID is hooked onto the cluster of novelty attachments and keys. 

“I need to make a call,” she says as she examines your identification. 

Great. 

You bob nervously on the other side of the counter as the attendant speaks quietly into the speaker. Your phone buzzes and you jingle the keys as you find it. Stark has sent you a simple message; ‘Terminal 1, tarmac. Now.’ 

As you peek up over the counter, the woman hangs up. “You need to head up to Terminal 1. Find an employee there, in a white shirt like mine, and show them this.” She kits a few keys and her printer grinds with great effort. She hands you a boarding pass but most of it is empty. There’s only a code at the bottom. 

You thank her and head off. You scramble through security, walking through the scanner as your bag rides the conveyor through and x-ray. You retrieve your things on the other side and run off to reach Mr. Stark before he gets too impatient. He’s probably already agitated. 

You check your watch. It’s only 5:01am. You’re on time, right? 

You follow the signs to terminal one and find a large man standing by a ramp entrance. You approach him and show him the pass. He points you to another employee at the far end as he talks over his walkie talkie to them. You cross the tiled floor to meet the man and he beckons you towards another ramp. 

You’re led down to the tarmac and left to shuffle across it on your own. You’re only told to approach big jet waiting by a tower set of stairs. There’s an attendant at the bottom who greets your brightly and you show the pass again.  

“Mr. Stark is expecting you. May I take your bag?” She offers. 

“No thank, I can handle it,” you nod and lift the bag off its wheels. 

You climb a stair at a time and pass another attendant at the top. She directs you to leave your bag in the front carriage and you roll it behind the wall of webbing there. You turn to the ivory curtain and peek through tentatively. The movement of fabric draws Mr. Stark’s gaze from his phone. 

“Get in here,” he demands, “about time, George. I was about to fall asleep.” 

You push through and near him, “sir, did you need coffee?” 

“They got the long-legged ones for that,” he waves away your offer with his lecherous allusion to the pretty, tall attendants. “Sit.” 

You look at the chair on the other side of the table, across from him, and you hesitate. You lower yourself into the cushy seat and cross one leg over the other, your foot bouncing anxiously. You clutch your hands together and stare at Mr. Stark. 

“You look tired as hell,” he cackles. 

“Sir, it’s early.” 

“Ah, don’t let that ruin an all-inclusive. Tell me, Georgie, a girl like you, are you jet-setting every weekend? You got billionaires flying you to the Caribbean on the reg? Didn’t think you were the popular type.” 

“No, sir, I--” you try not to wince at his insinuation. You are all too aware that you’re on the bottom rung of the ladder he sits atop of. “Thank you for this. It’s very nice of you to bring me along.” 

“You are very welcome,” he says smugly, “move.” 

He points to the seat next to him. 

“Oh, uh,” you pull your hands apart and push yourself up with the armrests, “sorry.” 

He grunts, irritated, and signals with two fingers. As an attendant approaches, you sidle around the table and in front of Stark to get to the other seat. You feel a brush on your thigh but ignore it. It’s a tight squeeze.  

He asks for an espresso as you lower yourself down. He reaches over and pinches the fabric of your pants, just at the top of your knee. He sniffs. 

“This isn’t very Caribbean-friendly. You’re gonna sweat your tits off,” he derides. 

You try not to show your embarrassment, ignoring the urge to cover your chest at his comment. Out of habit, you put on your usual attire. A cardigan, a tidy blouse, and slacks. He huffs again and tugs at the sleeve of your cardigan. 

“Get rid of this,” he demands. 

“Oh, uh...” You sit forward as you undo the single button and you shrug out of the wool. He swipes it away and tosses it on the floor.  

The attendant returns with his espresso and gathers up your cardigan as you send her an apologetic look. Stark takes his coffee and tastes it before setting it on the table. He turns to you and clucks again. You let out a squeak as he reaches to pop the top button of your blouse, then the next. You flatten yourself to the seat helplessly. 

“Better, gotta let those things breathe,” he winks and sits back with a smirk. 

[14dayswithyou]

How would [REDACTED] react to Angel sending him this at 3am with absolutely zero context:

“You sleep 4 hrs per night. I sleep 12. We should breed and see how long our offspring sleeps”

[TEXT] 3:01AM: my guess? probs like an hour [TEXT] 3:01AM: never met a baby before so idk [TEXT] 3:01AM: ..oh [TEXT] 3:02AM: are u asking me to sleep with u?

[mazeinthemiroh]

[12:01am] chan's face lit up when he saw your text message on his screen.

" happy bday, channie <3 "

it was simple. short and sweet. and yet, he found himself kicking his feet, launching his blanket up in the air as he squealed and grinned to himself.

you remembered.

you always remembered. without fail, no matter what was going on in your life, no matter how much time had passed, you would always remember his birthday.

and time had gone passed, very quickly, for the both of you. you hadn't spoken in ages, sort of drifted apart in a sense. he felt a certain emptiness inside of that only you could fill. and when you weren't there by his side, that feeling would remain.

but on his birthday, there was always a glimmer of hope that you'd come to refill his heart, the way you had done so in the past.

" thanks. nice to hear from you, finally "

he messaged back. he didn't really think about the impact of his words. sure, he jabbed at you slightly, wanting you to think. wanting you to yearn for him.

" that's rich, coming from you "

chan frowned. but he knew he deserved that. he had no excuses not to reach out to you. just the same old thing - time and energy and, well, moving on with everyday things. you were the same. he got it. that's how life worked. but it didn't have to be that way...

" i should really be going to sleep now "

" you? sleep? neverrr "

chan grinned at his screen, chuckling to himself at your response. you knew him all too well.

" yeah i won't be sleeping for a while..."

his thumbs hovered over his phone as he hesitated to type his next thought.

" you wanna meet up tonight? "

instant regret rippled in his chest as he breathed in and out heavily. he couldn't delete a message you had already seen, so he switched his screen off and buried his face in his pillow, cursing himself as he awaited your response.

what felt like hours to chan, replied within a minute. he took a deep breath and opened up his phone again, reading your response.

" thought you'd never ask. omw bday boy <3 "

who knew that birthday wishes came true?

skz taglist: @hearts4sungie, @alyszaen, @a-wandering-stay, @anyamaris, @acciocriativity, @minnysproutgriffinteddy, @junebug032 (reply to be added or removed)

[phyrestartr]

Till Death Do Us Part (Miguel x Reader)

Miguel x Husband!Reader W/C: 9.5k

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

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

-- Till Death Do Us Part --

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

November 21st  9:56pm call me

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

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

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

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

"Oh my God, just give it up–" 

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

He called you again. 

And this time, you answered. 

Miguel's heart jumped. "(Name)?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel covered his mouth as he smiled.

"You might've just saved us, viejo." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eh. I would.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It made for good content, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel frowned. “Gwen–”

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

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

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

…Right?

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

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

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

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

“Gwen.” 

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

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

One minute passed. 

Then two minutes. 

Three minutes.

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

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

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

But someone grabbed her, and yanked her inside.

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

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

Click. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gabriella,” Miguel breathed. 

“Ho-ly shit,” Hobie commented.

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

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

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

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

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

"She's not alone." 

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

(You, the man he betrayed.)

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

You looked so, so tired.

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

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

"Hey, Hobie. Behaving?" 

"Eh. Sometimes." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miguel nodded. "Yeah, that one." 

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

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

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

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

"No truck?" 

"None." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you came home early. 

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

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

(But you weren't.)

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

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

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

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

Something. Anything. 

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

"How long?" You managed. 

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

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

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

Miguel's smile faded. "What?"

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

"Wait–" 

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

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

You ignored him. Miguel's temper flared. 

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

"Miguel–" 

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

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

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

“We’ll figure this out, I promise.” 

And he believed you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of--"Where's Gabi?" 

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

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

"Yeah, I thought so, too." 

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

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

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

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

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

“Then come back with us.” 

“Miguel–”

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

“What about food?” You asked quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I never did," he confessed. 

"Then why did you say it?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” she whispered. 

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

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

You sighed, then, and Miguel did too.

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

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

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

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

"Miggs, don't say that. I–" 

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

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

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

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

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

This time, Miguel cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then, he spied a locked folder. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Knew you'd like watching 'em back." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nope.”

“Shit.”

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

"No." 

You chuckled. "Okay." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Till death do us part.”

[taylorklosscomeout138]

YOU'RE KIDDING ME....

I just inspected element for the exact time duration between Karlie's pregnancy post and TN's scheduled post to announce merch. Results are exactly what you expect....

Karlie posted at 11:01am Central 50 sec mark

Taylor Nation then posted at 11:03 Central 38 sec mark

Karlie's post timestamp: (UTC)

TN's post timestamp: (UTC)

Yes TN scheduled their post to be for minute 3, seconds 38, not even 2 minutes after Karlie's pregnancy announcement.

A total of 108 seconds in between or 1 minute 48 seconds. But if you don't count the rest of Karlie's duration, then it was exactly 1:38 after hers.

I am feeling so normal about this.

It is blatantly obvious Taylor Nation and Karlie have been coordinating posts, especially a lot in the past 2 years. This just reaffirms it all the more.

When I saw TN posted so soon after especially at the mark :03 I had a gut feeling but I really did not expect it to be as clear as them scheduling the seconds mark for 38.

What do y'all think?!?!?!

[missstolensweetheart]

the hottest tears you've ever cried ⚭ ☆ 🌧️

thecar!prof!Alex turner x prof! reader

warnings: angst (kinda)

Summary: Alex shows up at your doorstep at 3 am begging for you to take him back during your divorce.

You looked at the clock in the corner of your home office it read 3am. You rubbed your temples, frustrated by the almost non visible dent you’ve made in the stack of papers you have to grade that was sitting on the corner of your brown wooden desk lit up by the dim light of your lamp.

Usually you would be grading with Alex; keeping each other company. Your eyes pooled with tears when you remembered how he made you coffee or tea or literally anything you wanted and how he’d keep one hand on your knee rubbing it gently while carefully reading over the stacks of papers.

Your phone Buzzed which ultimately made you jump. “Who the hell is texting me right now?” You mumbled to yourself. Your heart dropped when you saw Alex’s contact.

3:01am

“Open the door”

“Baby please”

3:02 am

“Don’t leave me out in the cold”

Your legs shook as you walked to the front door of your big home. You reached a shaky hand out twisting the door nob. And sure enough Alex was on the other side, his face lit up with a look of relief, love, sadness, anger, basically all of the above. His eyes were red and puffy. His hair was messy. He clearly hadn’t shaved in a minute as the shadow of his stumble was very clear.

“Hi” he broke the ice first.

“Hey” your lips quivered as your voice broke.

You stared at each other for a minute, getting lost in the spark that was once there.

“To be quite honest I don’t know why I’m here.” His voice was sad and empty, you had only ever heard that voice one other time and that was when you two got into a really nasty argument but that was years ago.

“Would you like to come in?” A part of you knew it was a stupid idea but the other part was curious.

“I- uh yeah sure” you stepped aside so he could come in. His movements were awkward almost like this was his first time in the house, even though you two previously shared it.

“Would you like tea?” You managed to finally say as you closed the door.

“Yeah, sure” he smiled awkwardly

“Lots of sugar right?” You smiled warmly, breaking the tension. He smiled back. “Yeah.”

You nodded your head and quickly walked to the kitchen. As soon as you were out of his sight you let a few tears fall but you quickly wiped them away with the sleeve of your sweater. You put the kettle on and leaned against the counter taking a few deep breaths to gather yourself. It didn’t take long before the water was ready. You grabbed your mug then his.. his mug had his initial on it. a rush of memories came back to you, long talks during the evening, grading papers together at three in the morning, making his and your coffee in the morning, everything.

“You okay?” His voice startled you. You dropped his mug.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry” you immediately panicked picking up each piece of glass. He rushed to your side subconsciously.

“It’s alright love ive got it” he picked up the pieces. “See it’s alright” he looked at you with a warm smile which immediately dropped once he saw your panicked face and tears. He wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back. You let your emotions go, sobbing loudly.

“Shh love I’ve got you. It’s alright.” You quickly calmed down and looked up at him, noticing he was crying too. You wiped his tears with your thumb, He grabbed your hand which shocked you a bit, he studied it for a moment. his thumb ran over your wedding ring. You didn’t even realize you were still wearing it. He broke down resting his head between your collar and jaw, it was your turn to comfort him.

“Shh” you ran your fingers through his hair and cried with him

“Take me back..please baby…. I need you.” His voice was shaky and even cracked. It pulled on your heartstrings. You can’t lie, you missed him like crazy. You don’t even know what happened between the two of you. One moment you were perfectly fine and happy the next you were arguing 24/7 and staying at friends houses just to take a break from each other. The truth was lack of communication you were both guilty of it but neither of you wanted to admit it. You didn’t think it could ruin your marriage to the point of divorce but it did.

“Let’s talk about this in the morning.” You thought it was the wisest decision because after all it was 3am and you were both sleep deprived. He sat up quickly, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah yeah uh I’ll be by tomorrow whatever time works for you”

“I was thinking you could stay the night” you knew it was a risky move but you needed him to stay.

“Yeah I can grab some blankets and sleep on the couch” he nodded

“I mean you can sleep in our bed if you want, it's still technically your bed.” your voice shook, you never could have imagined asking the love of your life to do as little as sleep in the same bed as you but here you are. You could tell he was hesitant.

His big brown eyes locked with yours “okay” he nodded softly.

You stood up reaching a hand out for him to grab, once you helped him up you both stood there for a moment almost unsure as to what your next move would be.

“I uh i'm going to go get ready for bed” you broke the silence.

“yeah of course of course ” he flashed a nervous yet reassuring smile.

You turned around quickly, shuffling to the stairs and making your way up them. Alex decided to wait a few minutes before following you, taking the time to compose himself. He made his way up the stairs. A specific photo caught his eyes, one you two took 3 years ago in the fall. It was supposed to be a cute photo shoot but soon turned into a complete mess when it started raining and Alex fell in mud dragging you down with him. He smiled softly at the photo, staring at your mud covered outfit and wide smile, god he misses that smile. He sighed, snapping out of his thoughts and making his way to your shared bedroom, you were already in the shower when he got up there. He grabbed some pj pants from his dresser ,quickly changing into them before sitting on the bed waiting for you.

You quickly finished your shower, moving on to doing your night time routine. You thought about the time you made Alex do a face mask with you and it became a weekly thing, you smiled at the thought. Once you finished up and got into your pjs (underwear and alex's shirt that you stole a long time ago) you opened the door of the bathroom that was in your bedroom. Alex's eyes shifted to you scanning your body carefully, you felt your cheeks get hot. You walked over to the bed and crawled in, rubbing your legs gently against the cold sheets, Alex did the same. You faced each other. Both fighting the urge to reach out and hold each other, one of you failed to resist. Alex reached a hand out to your hip, his finger traced on the bottom hem of your shirt before slipping under it onto your bare skin. A small gasp escaped your lips when Alex's cold hand met your warm skin.

Your eyes met his lustfully, you broke your gaze by looking down at his lips missing the feeling and taste of them. Alex took that as his cue and leaned in…

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pt 2?

[quinloki]

Yan wbp keeping their sweet little marine after beating them in a fight

To be fair you could have won if it was a 1 on 1 but we can’t have that now can we? We’re so proud that you’re so strong but what if someone stronger hurts you? Do we need to show you what could happen?? We’re just protecting you and don’t worry, the government won’t get you either <3

-💧

Imagining a big, week long festival on an island. You're there, you're a marine, but for the festival you're a citizen of the host island and you've taken leave from your job to help out.

It's a kind of Peace Festival and so there are marines and pirates, but the truce of the festival is only for that week and it's one of those Centuries Old Traditions that no one steps out of line on, and those that don't know learn FAST.

You catch the eyes of some of the more infamous WBP Commanders, but you're not too nervous. They'll leave after the festival, and if you're too worried you'll just hop a marine boat back to the base a day early.

Unfortunately, you don't get any kind of sinking feeling, so you don't leave a day early, and the last day of the festival is busy. Busy busy. So busy that by the time you're heading back to the dock, it's 12:01am.

Festival's over, and all bets are off.

You are strong. you've got haki, you've got skills. You've got a future as a Marine - Admiral is something you could achieve with a little more experience under your belt, after proving your capacity as a captain. But you are alone, and outnumbered 4 to 1.

Two devil fruit users and two expert haki-based fighters.

The fight lasts longer than you expected, honestly, but they're on the defensive. Marco can heal you, but none of them want to hurt you. Finally, Izou and Marco get you disarmed without any real injury and Thatch just straight up scruffs you. The man's just so damn big.

Into the bag you go.

By the time you're let out of it, you're on the Moby, and there's nothing but wide open ocean in every direction.

Don't fret, pretty bird, your gilded cage will have plenty of enrichment.