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#no.1
yalnizligincisi · 18 hours
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Yüzleş, zaten sayılı günlerim kalmış üç beş..
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mollyculecries · 2 months
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I am obsessed with this ipod
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insertsomthinawesome · 6 months
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Whumptober No.1 - Safety Net
In my head this might be something that happens pre-canon.... and like. Welt was out of it enough that he's not sure if he dreampt up the tail and horns. And when he's better he decides its none of his business if it was real. Dan Heng is DEFINITELY Jumpy afterwords (Both in the "Mr. Yang are you okay ;_;" Sense and the "Did I just out myself" Sense) and the fact taht Yang doesn't seem bothered helps settles his nerves ;;v;;
-NO ROMANCE INCLUDED-
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cyberwhumper · 6 months
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The dull clanging of the hollow metal pipe filled the air as Baxter dragged it slowly behind himself. Rust and dried blood pepper the bent and gnarled metal, matches to the wounds on the captive man tied up across the room.
"You still with me?"
No response. Whiskey doesn't even look at him. Rather, his eyes seem completely lost and unfocused, as if he is unable to comprehend his own predicament. That mangled ankle is getting to him faster than he expected.
Or he's pretending. Waiting for a chance to strike. He already did it once, didn't he? He will do it again.
The thought upsets Baxter. His cybernetic fingers tighten around the pipe. He's holding his rage in check by an ever-fraying thread.
"I'll give you one last fuckin chance. How many fingers am I holding up?"
With one swift motion the impatient man slaps Whiskey across the face, so hard his artificial joints nick the already bruised skin. He groans in pain and clenches his teeth, struggling against the ropes for any hope at retaliation.
"Eyes on me now, prick. I know you're not as sick as you're pretending to be. Now answer the fuckin question."
"Fuck… yo..u"
This is going to be fun.
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celtic-crossbow · 6 months
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Whumptober 2023
No. 1: “How Many Fingers am I Holding Up?” | No. 5: Debris
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (pre-relationship)
Setting: Prison era
Warnings: Head injury
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‘Please, don’t be dead. Please, don’t be dead!’ The railing on the stairs wobbled— a testament to the poor solidity of the building— as you hurried down the two floors separating you from the archer. The both of you agreed to tread carefully when entering the old hospital, the look of it not inspiring confidence but the probability of what it could contain overpowering any hesitance. Medical supplies were scarce in this world. Two Tylenol tablets and a pack of gauze would mean everything in what used to be the simplest of situations. 
“Daryl?” You called as loudly as you dared after shoving open the heavy metal door to the ground level. The hole in the flooring was easy to spot with the beam of your flashlight, several feet wide with dust still rising from the collapse. Your stomach twisted when there was no immediate reply, but another call was not necessary when you saw a piece of debris shift. A low groan followed the movement. You would swear that the moisture in your eyes was from the dust in the air. 
You had to hold the light in your mouth to help move the rubble covering him, but there he was. A little worse for wear but in one piece and blinking up at you with a dazed expression. The flashlight was propped against some of the wreckage so that your hands were free to help him sit up. 
“Are you okay?” He blinked a few more times and pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. He didn’t answer, minutely swaying where he sat. “Dixon, are you with me?” 
Daryl finally seemed to realize you were speaking to him and met your eyes, more than a little disoriented. “Huh?” 
Worry gnawed at your heart. “Are you alright? How do you feel?”
“Like I jus’ fell through the floor fer a half full bottle’a meds.” His speech was a bit slurred, his movements slow and jerky. He held up the aforementioned antibiotics and shook the bottle lightly. “Still got ‘em though.”
You couldn’t help but smile. “Let me look you over and then we’ll get out of here.” You left no room for argument. The archer quickly squeezed his eyes shut when the flashlight was pointed toward his face, swatting at your hand lazily. “Stop it, I need to look at your eyes, you big baby.” 
“Yeah, yeah.” He slowly peeled open one and then the other, keeping his hand in front of them while they adjusted to the light. After a few seconds, he dropped his arm so you could see two evenly sized, reactive pupils. 
“Good. That’s good.” Lowering the light, you reached for the back of his head before he could think to stop the unwanted touch. Your fingers quickly probed at a wet, raised area. 
“Hey! Tha’ hurts, woman!”
“You’ve got a decent sized bump on your noggin, Dixon. How many fingers am I holding up?” You had perfected the art of ignoring his griping over the span of months you’d spent with him, a feat that the others in your little apocalypse family wished they all could achieve. Or maybe he just wasn’t as grumpy with you to begin with. Your hand hovered between you, three fingers wiggling to get his attention. 
Daryl scoffed and began preparing himself to stand, nonchalantly flipping up his middle finger. “How many m’ I holdin’ up?” 
You sighed with a fond smile, dropping your hand to his arm to help him get to his feet. “Yeah, you’re okay enough to get back to Hershel.” It was a bit of a struggle getting him upright, and he swayed a little before you settled his arm over your shoulders. “I’m driving.” 
“Hell no, ‘ve been through ‘nough today.” His tone was gruff but not angry. 
“And I’d like to make it in one piece. I bet you see two of me right now, don’t you?”
“Wouldn’t be such a bad thing, don’ reckon.” 
You could feel your cheeks burn. You ducked your head when you felt him staring at you and pinched his side playfully. 
“You must’ve really hit your head, Dixon.”
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omgiamwish · 6 months
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"Mikey... I only have three fingers." "Not if you use both hands!" "... My other hand is on your head." "Oh... Haha, oops!"
Whumptober 2023 Day 1 - "How many fingers am I holding up?"
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lovestereo · 7 days
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breezy-cheezy · 6 months
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WHUMPTOBER Day 1:
“But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”
OR: “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Hellooooo Arknights peeps have some Silverash siblings (watched friends in the discord cook up a funny scenario where Enciodes just. Tries so hard to get to his sister's birthday party. He has not slept in 3 days. There have been 2 assassination attempts. He has fallen off a cliff. He has like 3 concussions somehow. He Will Get To This Party. For political relations of course.)
I feel this goes without saying buuuut just in case:
Please don't tag with ship tags thank you!!
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aceofwhump · 6 months
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Day 1 : “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.” - Swooning
Game of Thrones 3x05 | Iron Fist 1x09 | Supergirl 2x07 | Bull 4x15 | Merlin 4x01 | The Umbrella Academy 1x09 | Ted Lasso 3x02 | The Mentalist 1x16 | Our Flag Means Dead 1x06 | Gracepoint | Ode to Joy
@whumptober @whumptober-archive
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jasmines-library · 6 months
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Just One Big Headache
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WHUMPTOBER 2023: Day one, prompt "How many fingers am I holding up?" FANDOM: Supernatural Summary: A routine salt 'n' burn takes a nasty turn when the spirit directs its anger towards you, leaving you with a nasty concussion, but not to worry, the Winchesters are there to look after you. Warnings: Head injury, concussion, loss of consciousness, violence, weapons, broken ribs. Word count: 1.8k Author Note: Aaaaaand its off! Welcome to jedi-archives whumptober 2023! I promise i'm going to try my best to get these out everyday but i can't make any promises. My prompts are coming from a mixture of the official @whumptober prompts and my own. I'm starting off with something slightly fluffy to ease us in. With that said, happy whumping!
MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS
🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸
'it's just a salt 'n' burn' they said. 'it'll be fun' they said. Oh boy were they wrong. 
The air was crisp as you stepped out of the Impala. You watched as the little clouds of air rose before your face, illuminated by the street lamps which flickered haphazardly. Tugging your jacket closer to your body you made your way around to the back of the car, following the crunch of Sam’s shoes as he walked across the frosted grass. Dean propped open the trunk and made quick work of loading rock salt into his rifle and ensuring that there were enough matches inside his pack. The other Winchester hauled the shovel from the car and leaned it against his shoulder; it was hefty and made with iron, caked in mud and rust. The pistol that you shifted between your hands was so familiar, like an extension of your body. It fit snugly in your grip. Flicking the chamber open with a metallic click, you made sure it was fully loaded before snapping off the safety and slipping it in a holster on your belt. 
The grass was damp from the frost that had settled on the grass in the graveyard. It had managed to claw its way up the gravestones and trees like fingers too. It seeped uncomfortably through the toes of your boots as you trudged towards the grave. Small and unkept, it sat located towards the west side of the gravesite. It belonged to a young woman who was brutally murdered a few years ago, but who’s case ran cold. It was safe to say that she was pissed; her revenge taking the form of hunting down those who were associated with the woman who killed her. But what started out as unfinished business soon turned cold and twisted as she turned to others who had wronged. Her grave stood out on the line of tall, pearly stones with dainty flowers laying at their feet. It was dark and clad with weeds. Unloved.  
Dean’s duffel landed with a thud next to the grave, unsettling the ground around it. The shovel went down next to it. 
“Alrighty.” He said, rubbing his hands together. “You know the drill.”
Sam rolled his eyes, but brought out his hands in front of him anyway. “Seriously dude, I don’t even know why we bother anymore.”
“It’s a game of chance, Sammy. Now shoot.”
After the count of three, you and Sam shaped your hands into a fist and brought them forwards. You smirked. Dean had played scissors. With a groan, he pulled his hand back and reeled his body away. 
You laughed. “Scissors everytime, Dean.”
The eldest Winchester grumbled something underneath his breath, but picked up the shovel and begrudgingly began to dig until the shovel hit something solid, you and Sam kept your eyes peeled for any sign of the spirit. 
“Okay. This is it.” he confirmed, hauling up the lid of the coffin. It creaked open on unsteady hinges. The corpse beneath still had skin attached to its discoloured bones. It pooled loosely around the woman's frame. The putrid smell that emerged would have made you gag had you not already had your fair share of salt ‘n’ burns. “Keep an eye out for that son of a bitch.”
Sam lent a hand to haul his brother out of the newly dug pit. From where you were standing, a few feet away, you could see the top of his hair poking out from the top of the opening. Almost mechanically, the brothers began to tip the gasolene and sprinkle the salt onto the body. 
The deathly howl that suddenly emerged in front of you snapped you awake. The spirit raced towards the Winchesters, gritting her teeth and scowling. Her vacant eyes narrowed at them as she got closer, but your fingers were on the trigger before you could blink, sending her away with a shrill cry and a cloud of grey. 
“Hurry.” You told your friends, who had moved from preparing the body to the old duffel on the ground. Dean rummaged around desperately on his knees, not caring about the cold, until he felt the familiar grit of the matchbox against his fingers. Tugging it out, he ran back to the body. Sam tugged the shotgun tighter to him and positioned it in front of himself. The two of you danced around, keeping your eyes peeled for the ghost.
The spirit appeared behind you this time, wailing like a banshee. Sam shot it in the chest before it howled shrilly and disappeared. 
“Dean! Hurry up!” You cried as it reappered again. He was busy fumbling with the matches, which refused to light on the cold box. He pushed too hard against the cardboard and felt the stick snap and splinter. He cursed loudly. 
“I’m trying!” He huffed back through gritted teeth. 
All it took was that one look over your shoulder to Dean for the spirit to catch you off guard. Sam’s shout of your name was a second too late as a ghost appeared behind you, wrapping its cold, bony fingers around you and flinging you away. You cried out in pain as your head collided with one of the neighbouring gravestones and your body slid to the floor. 
“Dean!” Sam yelled out for his brother, firing his weapon at the creature and sending it dissipating to somewhere else on the property. 
The match slipped between Dean’s fingers, twisting in his grip as he tried to create friction between the two objects. Time seemed to stop as Sam raced towards your side to be cut off by the woman re-emerging in his path. That was when the match tumbled from his brother’s grasp, landing on the heap of chemicals and starting the chain reaction of events. 
The woman reeled back as she burst into flames like a candle. The sound she made was dreadful, it cut right through you as she writhed on her feet. When she finally finished her onslaught of screaming and her bones were no more than a dismal pile of ash, Sam fell to his knees in front of you, cupping your head in his hands. It lolled to the side, unable to hold itself up against the throbbing pain in your skull. Sam was suddenly aware of the blood that trickled from your temple and coaxed his fingers, crying out again for his brother, he gave your face a gentle tap. Your eyes fluttered beneath heavy lids.
“Hey, Hey. Kid. Stay with me.” He pleaded, searching your face. “Open your eyes Y/N, come on.”
Your eyelids felt like they were made of lead. Your head felt hazy as you peeled them open, watching Sam swim before you. 
“That's it! Keep them open Y/N.”
Dean was to your left, his hands roaming your body for any other injuries. You whimpered when his fingers flushed against your tender skin on your upper back. You were sure you had a broken rib. Or three. 
“I know. I know sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
Sam’s face was close to yours as he tilted it upwards. He saw the way that your pupils were dilated; one the size of the fucking moon, the other lagging behind. 
“Shit. Dean?”
“Okay, sweetheart,” Dean prompted, “Can you stand?”
He moved to position himself under your arm, wrapping it around his neck. Sam’s arm weaved around your waist and the two of them hauled you to your feet. The movement made you want to hurl and you cried out as the pressure in your head and ribs increased tenfold.
“You’re okay, sweetheart, You’re okay.”
Your movements were sluggish as you floated towards the car. your vision doubled and you were now struggling to differentiate left and right. Your legs trembled in your fogginess, you seemed to lose all control of your limbs, relying heavily on the arms wrapped around you to aid you back to the Impala. It was when your vision blurred and your legs completely folded beneath you like a crushed can that Sam scooped you up into his arms. He cringed at your noise of discomfort, but raced behind his brother to the old car which was parallel parked across the street. 
“We’re nearly there kiddo,” He hushed. “Just keep those pretty eyes open for me, okay?”
You tried to keep them open. You really did, but it just became too much. Your body became slack in Sam’s arms as you gave into unconsciousness. 
~
The light was too bright when you peeled your eyes open again. You were back in the bunker, propped up on pillows in your bed. Your whine alerted Dean to your awareness. His hand, which was clutching yours, moved to wave in front of your eyes.
“Y/N? How many fingers am I holding up?”
Sam rolled his eyes, swatting his hands away. He saw the way you squinted painfully against the light and moved to the switch on the other side of the room to dim it, before promptly coming to perch on the edge of your bed. . Satisfied, you hummed and scanned the room, eyes landing on the two worried Winchesters who loitered in your room. They breathed a visible sign of relief when they saw your eyes focus on theirs. Your ribs still stung, and the throbbing in your head was still present. You reached up and trailed your fingers across your temple. The skin had been cleaned there, the dried blood no longer glued to your face. You could still feel it in your hair where Sam hadn’t quite managed to get it all out. The skin was rough and had begun to scab over. A pair of hands wrapped around your wrist and pulled your fingers away. 
“Don’t touch.” Sam said tenderly, handing you a glass and a handful of painkillers. The glass was cool against your lips as you swallowed them thickly. “It should heal on its own. It didn’t need stitches.”
 You blinked groggily. “What happened?”
“Ghost got you good.” Dean told you. “You have two broken ribs and a concussion.”
“And the ghost?” you asked.
“Taken care of.”
Nodding slowly, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes.
“I-” Dean stuttered. “You had us worried Y/N”
“I'm sorry.”
Sam shook his head firmly. “Not your fault.”
“But-”
“Nope. Not hearing it.” He said sternly.
You sighed. “So, what's the damage, Dr Winchester?”
The youngest brother chuckled at the remark, glad to see that you were feeling more of yourself. “You are going to stay in bed and rest for a few days. We are going to stay here and look after you.” he told you before you rolled your eyes at the idea of being bed bound. 
“I suppose I could do that.” You shrugged, not opposed to the idea of having the Winchesters as your personal waiters for the next few days.
“I thought you’d be happy.” Dean shook his head, then gestured to the covers and the tv which was mounted on the wall. “Room for two more?”
🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸
DAY TWO
🏷️ Whumptober Taglist
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whumpetywhump · 6 months
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Whumptober Day 1 - Swooning
Cherry Magic - Ep. 5
Desire Catcher - Ep. 21
Link: Eat, Love, Kill - Ep. 1
My Love From The Star - Ep. 11
The Sound Of Magic - Ep. 6
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ynscrazylife · 6 months
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Whumptober Day 01: Swooning
Summary: Miguel usually loves to make you swoon. He doesn’t like it when you’re swooning like this, though.
Masterlist
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It was LYLA who first alerted him that something was wrong. “Sir,” the AI said. Even that one word had Miguel sitting up straight in his chair. LYLA only ever addressed him formally when she wasn’t joking about something, when it was serious. “I think you should go check on Y/N. They just got to HQ and, from looking at their vitals, something seems . . . Off.”
Despite sharing a place together, Miguel always left earlier than you, usually at the crack of dawn. He was the Leader of the Spider Society, after-all. He’d wake up before you, cuddle with you for a few minutes, and then reluctantly leave your warmth to get ready for the day. Sometimes, you’d let out a sleepy mumble of protest against him going, which always made his heart swell with so much love and adoration for you.
He tried to think back to the morning of that day now. Nothing was very out of the ordinary. He awoke to find you sleeping on your stomach, facing away from him. He had wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in close so that your back was against his chest. You grunted a bit, and made a small noise when Miguel had kissed your cheek and said that he was leaving, but otherwise nothing happened.
Still, he wouldn’t be able to focus now until he made sure that you were alright. “Thanks, LYLA,” he muttered, rising from his seat and leaving his office. She told him that you were at your own desk, which was also a little odd, because usually you’d come to his office to greet him.
The moment your desk came into view, Miguel started to understand. Other Spiders around him shot him worried looks and he saw that you were sitting in your chair, practically slumped over. Even from his distance, Miguel noticed that you were pale. Usually you were energetic when you got to HQ, but this was the exact opposite now.
“Honey?” Miguel murmured as he walked over to you, coming up to stand behind you and rub your arms. “You alright? How’d you sleep?”
Instead of answering his questions (or showing any sign that you had heard him), you jumped a bit. “Sorry, sorry,” you muttered, quickly going to type at your keyboard and turn your computer on.
Miguel sighed. You tended to be a bit of a workaholic, so this wasn’t much of a surprise. Thankful he had listened to his employees and got the chairs that swiveled, he spun your chair around so you could face him — only to regret it a second later. The action made you visibly dizzy and you swooned, rocking from side to side.
Usually he loved to see you swoon — he prided himself on eliciting that from you — but this? It filled him with an awful feeling.
“Are you not feeling well? Did you sleep alright last night?” Miguel asked softly, not letting go of the sleeping thing. You had a tendency to not feel like sleep was very important and often sacrificed it in favor of working. Miguel had told you that you didn’t have to do that, as both your boyfriend and your boss, but you refused to listen to him.
“Hmm?” You hummed, struggling to focus on your boyfriend, even though he was right in front of you. You were really trying, though, and Miguel could see that. He carefully cupped your cheek in his hand, rubbing over your skin comfortingly.
“Can you try to tell me what’s going on here, babe?” He asked, trying to be patient for your sake. It was hard since he was a naturally impatient person.
“Faced a Mysterio anomaly yesterday . . . Messed with my head. Couldn’t fall asleep for a while. Didn’t sleep much earlier in the week, either,” you admitted, eyes nearly fully closed.
“I thought you said the fight with Mysterio went alright yesterday, hm?” Miguel pointed out, reaching up to brush your hair back.
You shrugged. “I thought I could brush it off. That it’d go away. Didn’t want to worry you. You were really busy yesterday,” you explained, feeling guilty because Miguel had told you before to always come to him if something was wrong, no matter what.
“Oh, honey,” he cooed. He knew he was going to be having another conversation with you about not hiding these things from him, but that could wait. You looked absolutely miserable right now. “Let’s get you home, alright?”
“You—you can’t leave work, Miguel,” you said, almost wanting to cry. More than anything did you want to give him and let him take you home, but he had a responsibility as the leader here.
“Yes, I can. I’m the boss. Plus, LYLA and Peter B. can handle things. Sometimes they almost do a better job than I do,” he joked, trying to ease the tension. Around you, he was always so soft. You brought out that side of him and he loved it.
“Are you sure?” You asked, and he nodded.
“Completely,” he assured you. He stood up from where he had been crouching down in front of your chair and pulled you up with him.
You swooned again and Miguel was quick to tuck you against his side. He would have loved to sweep you up into his arms and carry you, but you’d be embarrassed at everyone seeing. So, he grabbed your bag and slung it on his shoulder, then focussed on getting the two of you out of there. He moved slowly, taking it at your pace.
When the two of you get out of HQ, Miguel murmured to you that he was going to pick you up before he does, carrying you in bridal style. You leaned your head against his chest, feeling safe enough to let your eyes fully close.
He secured you in the passenger’s seat, bucking you up before he got in the driver’s seat and pulled out of the parking lot. Miguel turned on classical music on the radio in hopes that it would help soothe you, and your eyes remained closed and body still the entire ride home. Miguel made sure to focus on the rode, but glanced at you every so often, checking up on you.
Thankfully the drive wasn’t too long and soon, he pulled into the garage of your home. Miguel looked over at you, rubbing your shoulder a bit, but you never stirred. Leaning in, he noticed your deep breathing and smiled, as you were asleep.
Miguel quietly got out of the car, going up to the door and unlocking it. He returned to the car, opening your door and undoing your seat belt. You started to curl into him, letting out a noise.
“I got you, shhh,” he coped, taking you into his arms. He lifted you up, closing your door with a gentle kick and locking the car. He took you inside and headed straight to the bedroom.
Miguel laid you down in bed, deciding to just let you sleep in your work clothes instead of waking you up to change. He still changed out of his work clothes and into pajamas, before grabbing his laptop and slipping into bed beside you. Miguel tucked you in and fluffed your pillows, then turned on the laptop to do work while you slept.
It didn’t take very long for you to roll over in your sleep, though. Your arm landed across his abdomen and he smiled, glancing down at you.
“You want me to stop working, hmm? Is that it?” He teased, finding you utterly adorable. Your face was smushed against the pillow, though he did take note of the bags under your eyes.
Unable to look away from you, Miguel decided that work was done for the day. He put away the laptop, curling up in bed and holding you close.
“You just keep on sleeping. Get all the rest you need,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and rubbing your back and side.
That’s how the two of you stayed for hours. Miguel was perfectly content to lay there, watching over you and holding you. If he could do that forever, he’d take the chance in a heartbeat.
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whumpneto · 6 months
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Whumptober2023 - No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.” Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Milo Ventimiglia as Peter Petrelli in Heroes (S04E13)
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WHUMPTOBER 2022 - DAY 1 - “This Wasn’t Supposed To Happen” WHUMPTOBER TIME LADS i’m bullying sebek so badly on day one -NO ROMANCE INCLUDED-
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limeskye · 6 months
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beppeux · 27 days
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Hayırlısı
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