#but there WILL be a crash i can promise you that

[ridingtorohan]

The Tulpar crew's reactions to walking in on you and post-crash Curly

𓇻 content warning. absolutely nothing explicit. can be viewed as dub-con given curly's circumstance, but I promise he consented. anya's reaction mentions sexual assault (jimmy to anya, but mainly she suspects reader did it to curly) and jimmy's mentions abuse (jimmy to curly) and a bit of voyeurism.

𓇻 enjoy! feel free to like, reblog, or send in asks!

Masterlist

Daisuke handles it like a champ. In the way that means he very much doesn't.

Absolute mess, apologizing profusely as he backs away, shielding his eyes dramatically. Hits the sides of the door on his way out. Both sides. He pin-balled.

Recovers fast but can't look at you in the eyes for a long time without picturing you like that.

"So how does it work when he's, y'know?"

So curious that it's not even funny.

Tries to get Curly to tell him the facts but Curly just does his laugh rattle

Honestly, he doesn't treat either of you differently, but he grins SUPER wide each time you go in to check in on Curly

"Get it, Captain!!!!"

May or may not time you just to tease you about it (gets so red if you tease him back)

Processes then immediately walks out

"Is this what kids do these days?"

Knew about you and curly's relationship/situation so he isn't surprised.

But you'll get his fatherly look of disappointment.

"At least make sure you're not snapping every last bone of his, alright?"

Doesn't tell anybody else because he knew it was consensual from the sounds you both made (he definitely asked Curly afterward just to make sure)

If you take a lot of shift work watching curly, he'll intercept and roll his eyes, "Jesus, let the poor guy rest"

Freezes, processes, then storms right up, eyes wild and voice high. "What are you doing?!"

She all but separates you from curly as fast as she can, tears in her eyes.

Curly sure as hell never protected her from Jimmy but she wouldn't let you abuse one of her patients.

Might be able to be coaxed down.

Shift work with Curly is outright canceled for everyone. At least until Curly conveys that no, he very much wanted that, (head nods go a long way, people).

Anya is still suspicious and weary. It's months before she stops hovering by the door, but a part of her is relieved, too.

The absolute last person you want walking in.

Stands there like a creep, eyes assessing. Memorizing.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He asks layer with a wrinkled nose, as if you're the one with the problem.

Honestly becomes kind of bitchy about the whole ordeal

Watches you a lot more intently that it becomes uncomfortable

Definitely imagines how you looked on that cot with the former captain

Passive aggressive with you afterwards, but fortunately, because nobody is really alone anymore, he can't do anything to you about it. If he had been attracted to you before and the crash never happened, you'd be in hot water.

Curly, however, gets the short end of the stick. Have you heard the audio of what Jimmy does to Curly the second time when giving him pills? Yep, he beats him more routinely

After all, how is it fair that Curly has doomed them all but still gets the glory?

[d-z20]

What We Have Left

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: After surviving the Witches' Road, you and Agatha find solace in caring for each other as you navigate the aftermath—her haunted by nightmares and you recovering from near-fatal injuries. (canon-divergence)

Warnings: physical hurt (R), emotional hurt (A), comfort

Words: 1.4k

A/N: Another request fic :) It took me so long to figure out how Agatha and Reader could survive without taking away from Agatha's character arc so it's as close to canon as possible.

AO3 | Master List

After the chaos of what happened with Rio and Billy, you don’t know exactly how you survived. The last thing you remember is the weight of magic swirling violently around you, the air crackling with danger. Agatha had been ready to sacrifice herself, a final act of redemption that would have consumed her completely. But something had shifted in the moments before her fate was sealed—your desperate magic, unpredictable and wild, surged in response to her intent. In a flash, it felt as though time bent, reality warping around you both. A surge of energy, as if the universe itself had decided you were both not yet finished, had pulled you from the brink of destruction.

But it had also sent you flying backward. 

You’d crashed into a jagged outcrop of stone, your already fragile body sustaining more injuries. A deep wound had opened along your side, nearly severing you in half, and your chest felt like it was caving in with each strained breath. It wasn’t just exhaustion; it was the real fear that you wouldn’t make it. You were too close to death, the darkened edge of your vision creeping in, when Agatha’s hand in yours had pulled you back from that final brink. You weren’t sure how, but it felt like she was holding you together in those final moments before you slipped into unconsciousness.

—

Your injuries keep you from being able to get upstairs, so you spend your days and nights on the couch trying to recover. Agatha promises to stay close, swearing she’ll sleep in the armchair beside you. But every night, you wake to find her pacing instead, her movements restless and agitated, her silhouette framed by the faint light above the stove.

The house is quiet tonight, save for the rhythmic sound of Agatha pacing in the next room. The soft creak of the floorboards betrays her unease, a subtle sound that feels much louder in the stillness. You know the routine by now—she doesn't scream out or cry, but she can’t seem to stay still. She’s trying to outrun something, her breath coming quicker, hitching in the air as though there's a monster that won’t let her rest. The nightmares are worse tonight. You can feel her anxiety through the walls—a tension in the house that makes it hard to breathe.

You lie back on the couch, a thin blanket draped over your legs, shifting carefully to avoid pulling at the bandages wrapped around your ribs. The dull ache is persistent, a reminder of what the Road has taken. What it has demanded.

“You’re awake.”

Her voice startles you, and you turn your head to see her standing in the doorway. She looks dishevelled, her hair wild and her lips chewed raw. Agatha Harkness, once a picture of control and sharp wit, seems smaller these days. Her sharp, calculating eyes are clouded now.

“So are you,” you reply softly, watching as she crosses the room and lowers herself into the chair beside you.

She looks at the floor, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “I didn’t mean to wake you. The dreams... They’re worse tonight.”

You reach out, your fingers brushing hers gently. “You didn’t wake me. Couldn’t sleep from the pain anyway.”

Her eyes flick to your bandages, her gaze lingering on the blood seeping through them. Her face tightens in frustration, but there’s something darker beneath the surface—a flicker of panic in her eyes. Her hands tremble as they hover near your side, as though she wants to help but is afraid to make things worse. She’s breathing faster now, her chest rising and falling with each uneven inhale. “You’re still in pain.”

“It’s manageable,” you lie, though you know she can see right through you. She always does.

Agatha stands abruptly, her movements sharp. “Let me change the dressing. It’ll help.” She doesn’t wait for you to agree, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with the first aid kit.

She kneels by your side, her hands surprisingly gentle as she helps you sit up, unwrapping the bandages with practiced precision. Her fingers linger on the jagged cut running along your side.

“This one’s healing slower than the others,” she mutters, more to herself than to you.

You wince as she cleans the wound, but you keep your focus on her face. Her brow is furrowed, her lips pressed into a tight line. She is concentrating, but you can see the tremor in her hands.

“Agatha.”

She doesn’t look up. “Almost done.”

“Agatha.” Your voice softens. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Her hands still. For a moment, the only sound is your breathing, uneven and shallow. Then she shakes her head. “It was, though. I led us there. I put you in danger.”

“And we both survived,” you counter. “That’s what matters.”

She finishes rewrapping the bandage in silence, her hands lingering on your side before pulling away. She sits back on her heels, staring at the floor.

You reach for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She hesitates, her eyes flickering toward the window as if searching for an escape. But then her gaze softens, and she looks back at you. “I see them, you know,” she says quietly. “In my dreams. The ones we lost. Lilia, Alice, Mrs. Ha—Sharon... I see them; I hear their voices.”

Her voice cracks, and she quickly looks away, but not before you catch the glint of tears in her eyes.

You lean forward, wincing as pain flares in your ribs. “They don’t blame you, Agatha. None of them do.”

“How would you know?” she whispers, her tone tinged with bitterness. “You can’t know.”

“Because I know you,” you say firmly. “And I know you did everything you could.”

Her expression crumbles, and for a moment, she looks so much younger, so much more fragile than you’ve ever seen her. The indomitable Agatha Harkness, finally undone by the weight of her own guilt.

You cup her face with your hand, your thumb brushing away a tear that slips free. “Agatha,” you murmur, your voice soft. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

“And what about you?” Her eyes open, sharp and searching. “You’re the one who nearly died, and you’re still acting like you have to take care of me.”

“I want to take care of you,” you say simply.

“I’m not sure I deserve it,” she murmurs, her voice cracking. Her hands shake slightly as she tugs at the hem of her sweater, the fabric clutched too tightly in her fists as if trying to steady herself. She won’t look at you, but you can see the tremor in her jaw. It’s a subtle thing, but you know that she’s fighting against something much bigger than just guilt. There’s a panic beneath it, a fear that maybe she can never escape what happened, that the person she is now—the one who’s failed so many—is someone who doesn’t deserve forgiveness, or love, or even peace.

“Too bad,” you say with a weak smile.

Agatha’s hand comes to rest over yours, holding it against her cheek. “You’re a stubborn witch,” she says, a hint of her usual wit breaking through.

“Takes one to know one,” you reply, your smile growing.

For a long moment, the two of you stay like that, the silence between you no longer heavy but filled with something softer.

“I didn’t actually know what I wanted from the Road,” you say suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Agatha’s eyes open, and she looks at you with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “What do you mean?”

“I thought I wanted knowledge,” you admit. “Or power. Or maybe to finally understand myself.” You hesitate, searching for the right words. “My magic’s always been... all over the place. Never strong enough in one area to fit anywhere. Protection spells don’t hold long, potions are hit or miss, divination’s a disaster... I thought the Road could give me something to make me belong.”

“And did it? Since Billy’s maybe made it real and all that,” she asks softly.

You nod your head. “Yes. It gave me you.”

Her breath hitches, and for a moment, you think you’ve said too much. But then she leans forward, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss so gentle it makes your heart ache.

It isn’t a kiss born of desperation or passion. It’s something quieter, something fragile. A shared promise that, no matter how broken the two of you might be, you’ll face it together.

When she pulls back, her hand lingers on your cheek. “I don’t deserve you,” she murmurs.

“You do,” you say firmly.

For a long moment, she’s silent, her lips pressed together as she absorbs your words. You can almost see her mind racing behind her eyes, calculating the weight of your reassurance. Her expression shifts just slightly, and for the first time since the Road, you see a flicker of something like peace in her gaze—a brief, fragile relief that she doesn’t have to bear the whole world’s weight on her shoulders alone. It’s like she’s finally starting to believe it. Then she exhales a shaky breath and stands, pulling the blanket up to cover you more securely.

“Get some rest,” she says softly. “I’ll be here.”

“And you?” you ask, catching her hand before she can pull away. “Will you sleep?”

Her lips twitch into a small, reluctant smile. “Maybe.”

“Liar,” you tease gently.

She sighs, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ll try. For you.”

She stays by your side that night, her hand clasped in yours as you drift into a fitful but comforting sleep. Whatever the Road has taken from you, it has left this: a bond forged in fire, unshakeable and enduring.

[honeyscara]

•Megumi Fushiguro• jjk

Synopsis: doing it for the first time with your bf

Content: 18+ MDNI!, a little bit of aftercare, megumi is aged up

~First time~

You were lying in your boyfriend Megumi’s room, lazily flipping through channels on the TV. He had gone out with Yuji to help with a mission, promising to be back soon. An hour passed, and impatience began to creep in. After all, it was his idea for you to stay over, yet now he was off somewhere without you.

You sighed, staring up at the ceiling when your phone suddenly rang. A smile tugged at your lips as the name on the screen flashed: (your friends name). Perfect timing, you thought, answering the call.

“Hello? What are you up to?” came the cheerful voice on the other end.

“In Megumi’s room,” you replied nonchalantly, moving to the window for a better signal.

“Ooh, in his room?” she teased, a playful lilt in her tone.

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “He’s not here right now,” you clarified, and the two of you fell into your usual rhythm, chatting about everything from your day to Stray Kids, to her constant gushing over her boyfriend. Inevitably, the topic shifted to Megumi.

“So, got any plans for tonight?” she asked slyly, catching you off guard and making you choke on air.

“I—uh... I don’t know. We’ve never gone past kissing,” you admitted sheepishly, heat rising to your cheeks. “But I wouldn’t mind if things got a little more... heated,” you added, your voice dropping as your friend snickered.

“Oh? Getting bold, are we?” she teased.

You huffed in embarrassment, but the words kept spilling out. “He’s just... so pretty, and those hands of his...” You trailed off dreamily. “I mean, I want more, but he’s so shy, just like me.”

Unbeknownst to you, the door behind you creaked open, and Megumi stepped inside. His quiet nature meant you didn’t hear him as he stood by the doorway, arms crossed, listening to every word.

It wasn’t until you felt a pair of warm hands wrap around your waist that you flinched, heart skipping a beat. Whipping around, you found yourself face-to-face with Megumi, his intense blue eyes locking onto yours.

“When did you—” you stammered, panicked.

He plucked your phone from your hand, ending the call with a single tap before you could protest.

“Megumi, I can explain—”

Before you could finish, he leaned in close, his breath brushing against your ear.

“If you wanted me, princess,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “all you had to do was ask.” He pulled back just enough to meet your wide eyes, a sly smirk playing on his lips. “Instead of being shy about it... you could’ve just told me you wanted to be railed.”

Your face burned, mortified by his words and the sheer confidence radiating from him. Megumi took a step forward, and instinctively, you backed up until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed.

His smirk deepened as he leaned in, his hands pinning yours above your head. “Do you want this?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it sent shivers down your spine.

“Yes...” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

That was all the confirmation he needed. His lips crashed onto yours, the kiss desperate and passionate, filled with a hunger you hadn’t seen from him before. One hand cupped your cheek while the other roamed your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. His kisses trailed down your neck to your collarbone, leaving you breathless and squirming beneath his touch.

Your shirt was the first casualty, discarded carelessly onto the floor. Goosebumps erupted on your skin as the cool air met your heated body. Megumi’s hands slid under your skirt, tugging your underwear down in one fluid motion.

Your fingers fumbled with his pants, but his hands were quicker, grabbing your thighs and spreading them apart. His lips found yours again as his fingers slipped between your folds, drawing a gasp from you that was swallowed by his kiss.

His touch was gentle yet deliberate, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. Your moans filled the room, muffled by his lips, but just as you felt yourself nearing the edge, he pulled away.

You whined at the loss, watching as he walked over to his bedside table. He opened a drawer and pulled out a small packet, holding it up with a teasing smirk.

“When did you get that?” you asked, your voice breathless and puzzled.

“Gojo gave it to me when we started dating,” he replied with a faint chuckle. “Said it’d come in handy one day.”

He returned to you, his expression softening as he checked if you were okay. “Are you comfortable?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You nodded, and he smiled before leaning in once more, pushing in slowly. His movements were careful at first, giving you time to adjust, but soon the pain gave way to pleasure.

Your hands gripped the sheets as he picked up the pace, each thrust drawing out gasps and cries that you couldn’t suppress. His lips found yours again, swallowing your sounds as you felt the coil in your stomach tighten.

.

.

.

Afterward, the two of you lay tangled in each other’s arms, your breaths still uneven. Megumi pulled you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blushed, hiding your face against his chest. “That was... amazing,” you murmured, still dazed.

He chuckled softly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “I’m glad you think so, princess,” he said, pressing a final kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” you whispered, your heart swelling as you looked into his eyes.

His lips curled into a rare, genuine smile. “I love you too,” he replied, his voice tender.

And in that quiet, intimate moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

[tinyticklishbud]

You lured me into your studio with the promise of a naked figure drawing. I didn't know at the time that my pussy would be the canvas. "You have to trust the process" whispered in a toe curling bass voice was all it took for me to pliantly let you arrange my body onto your matress, let you tie my arms and legs over my head, but I assume I always had a weak spot for artists. Maybe I should've been more worried about how this position left me with nowhere to go and my little pussy completely exposed but there is only room for excitement as I watch you prepare your supplies. My bubble of naivety bursts when you settle into a comfortable spot between my legs taking your sweet time to line up your paint brushes one by one.

"Um- don't you need a canvas?"

A low rumbling chuckle graces my ears sending a shiver down my spine as you casually respond "I got my canvas right here" with your eyes fixated on my defenseless pussy.

My world comes to a crashing halt. It's only now that I start to see the vision behind this position that I so easily let myself be manipulated into and how it left me with no semblence of protection. There is nothing I can do, nowhere for me to go as you pick up a mop brush and start 'painting' my lips.

"Hmm, ticklish little pussy, darling? How unfortunate for you"

I toss my head from side to side, my laughter and squeals intensifying as the brush flutters around faster and faster driving me crazier and crazier. Soon the mop brush is replaced by a fluffy angled brush flitting up and down my slit. It tickles beyond belief and I buck my hips in a desperate attempt to wrench my pussy away. The movement pulls my lips slightly apart allowing the fiendish bristles to slip inside and gain access to my pink folds, mindless to my hysteria as it pivots and swivels.

"Such pretty petals.. But where is all this nectar coming from, sweety? I think I should take a look inside, hm?"

I hear you say what feels like an eternity later as the diabolical brush withdraws from its previous nestle between my quivering lips. The implication of your words hit me like a freit train. Please not this. My head is shaking pleadingly, but deep down a sinister voice whispers in my ears that I want, need, you to find my little bud and bestow the most horrific of tortures on it.

My heart hammers away in my chest as my lips are taped apart. I'm flayed wide open. My pussy quivers weakly. My fate is sealed as you install a final piece of tape. My hood is now pulled back exposing my tiny sensitive bean. It quivers in fear of the impending torment. I can only watch helplessly as a fingertip hovers over it, bending menacingly before it lands on its target and starts stroking the tiny prisoner. Panic swells in my throat. My screams of laughter only encourage the tormenting fingertip to drag up and down faster, a maddening imitation of the 'come here' gesture. My little bean is too weak, too damnably ticklish to withstand, I beg and plead and apologize, but the only response is a sadistic chuckle and "We only just started sweety, and I have an artwork to finish" as you pick a detail brush and set on tracing intricate designs into my defenseless bean.

[suddencolds]

of painkillers and lenience

...hello! 😭 I wrote this way back in April; it's been sitting in my drafts ever since. Chronologically, it takes place shortly following Atypical Occurrence.

I wasn't sure if I was ever going to post this. I suppose it's more a character study than a proper romantic installment :') but it's an exchange I'd been wanting to write for a long time.

you can find everything I've written in this universe here!

—

Summary: Yves comes down with something. His best friend wonders where Vincent is, in all of this.

—

Perhaps it’s merciful that it’s on a Sunday that Yves wakes up with the slightest tickle in his throat.

Yves has an idea what it means. He’s had the flu enough times in his life to know that it comes on quickly. Maybe if he attempts to sleep it off, he’ll have a better time over the next few days.

Or maybe not. He cancels his Sunday plans, goes through his itinerary. There’s a slew of emails he’ll have to send off, a handful of meetings he’ll probably have to reschedule for this coming work week. He’ll need groceries, too, to last him the week—ideally something that won’t take too much effort to make. Resting now seems like it’d be a waste of time. Best to get everything over with before the illness has a chance to properly settle, he thinks. 

He really does mean to stop by the grocery store. It’s perhaps just the timing that doesn’t work out as planned. Between figuring out how to reschedule everything that’s coming up with work—figuring out who he can ask if he needs to reallocate any of his assignments to anyone else, rearranging things for clients, and getting all the paperwork in order—all of it takes him nearly two hours. He wanders into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, finds himself having to turn aside to cough, notes the unpleasant sting in his throat when he turns back around. 

It’s not terrible yet, but he feels distinctly off. His head feels a little heavy, and everything he does feels strangely—sluggish, maybe. Like he can’t quite manage to be as efficient as usual. Judging by past experience, he’s probably going to crash in a few hours.

He can already feel a headache brewing. Staring at his computer screen probably hasn’t helped with that. If he takes something for it, it’ll probably be at least tolerable when it gets worse.

He opens the medicine cabinet, rifles through the couple bottles and the first aid kit he has stashed in there.

Right. He’s out of Advil.

It’s no matter. Just a quick grocery trip, then—he can grab the rest of his groceries while he’s at it. Yves shuts the bathroom cabinet, grabs his wallet and keys, and makes it all the way to the doorstep outside when the wave of dizziness hits him.

All of a sudden, he feels a little lightheaded. Heat crawls up under his skin, prickling and unpleasant, as if something in him has cranked up the heat generation to the max—but that can’t be right, because he’s shivering inexplicably in the wake of it. He leans his weight back against the wall, squeezes his eyes shut.

Fuck. He probably should have gotten groceries first, before sorting out everything for work. Perhaps going out on his own now would not be the wisest.

He heads back in, locks the door, and—after some thought—calls Mikhail.

Mikhail picks up on the second ring. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Are you busy?” Yves starts, but the words catch on his throat, and he has to stop immediately to muffle a cough into his elbow. 

There’s a moment of silence on the other end. “It depends what you’re about to ask me for,” Mikhail says.

Yves swallows. Shuts his eyes. He doesn’t like asking for help, but he doesn’t think he’ll be in any state to be doing this on his own over the next few days. “It’s not that urgent. Just if you have time,” he says. 

He can almost feel Mikhail rolling his eyes on the other end. “You’d say that even if you were bleeding out.”

Yves laughs, startled. “I promise I’m not bleeding out. Just—do you think you could run to the store and get me some Advil?”

There’s another, longer pause on the other end. “Any time is fine,” Yves says. A part of him already regrets this. “If you’re busy right now—”

“I’ll be over in a few,” Mikhail says. Then the line goes dead.

—

He doesn’t remember drifting off, but when he wakes, it’s to a knock on the front door.

The knock is just for courtesy, of course. Mikhail is one of a few people whom he’s permitted the privilege—or the burden, perhaps—of having a spare copy of his apartment key.

Yves opens the door anyways.

There, in the windy April weather, Mikhail shuts an umbrella and leaves it dripping at his feet. “You look even worse than you sounded over call,” is the first thing he says.

Yves blinks at him, surprised. “Did I really sound that bad?”

In lieu of answering, Mikhail just looks at him, scrutinizing, the corner of his lip ticking downward. “What is it? An injury? A migraine?” When Yves shakes his head, Mikhail presses forward to pick a stray lint ball off of Yves’s shirt. His hand makes contact with Yves’s shoulder, and he frowns.

Before Yves has a chance to explain, he feels a tickle—not the first, today, and certainly not the last—surface. It’s irritatingly difficult to ignore, more irritating still when he finds himself forced to turn away, to duck into one arm—

“hHehh-!’ hEHh’yyiISCHh-HHEEW!”

The sneeze is rough enough to scrape against his throat. He coughs tightly into his raised arm.

“A cold,” Mikhail says, with a frown. “But usually you don’t take Advil for colds. Wait—don’t tell me this is something worse?”

Yves winces. What is he supposed to say to that? “The Advil was all I needed,” he says. “Thanks for making the trip. I owe you one.”

“No, I’m sure of it now,” Mikhail says. “If it were only a cold, you would’ve driven out to get this yourself.”

“It probably isn’t,” Yves says, neglecting to mention that he knows exactly where he caught this. “Thanks for bringing these. I’ll take the next couple days off. I—”

The next sneeze sneaks up on him. He ducks into his sleeve again, taking another step back.

“hHhEH’iiDzzsCHH-yYew!” The sneeze sends a burst of pain through his temples, and for a moment, he’s glad his face is too deeply buried into his sleeve for Mikhail to see.

“Does Vincent know?” Mikhail asks.

The question catches him off guard. “What?”

“That you’re apparently unwell enough to ask me to pick up Advil for you.”

Yves doesn’t like where this conversation is going. “I told you not to come if you were busy.”

“It’s not a problem,” Mikhail says. “But if you’re sick, shouldn’t he be over here, taking care of you?”

 “He’s had a really busy few weeks,” Yves says, which is true, but simultaneously might be true at any point during the year. He clears his throat. “I - coughcough - wouldn’t want him to catch this.”

“So he doesn’t even know,” Mikhail says.

…Perhaps Yves should’ve thought of a more convincing excuse. Mikhail isn’t the type of person to drop an issue after he’s raised it, and Yves had, perhaps, neglected to think about how—for all Mikhail does to appear casually disaffected—he’s one of the most perceptive people Yves has ever met. “He doesn’t have to know.”

“What are you talking about? He’s your partner. I’ll text him,” Mikhail says. It’s then when Yves recalls that Mikhail probably does have Vincent’s contact—exchanged before their trip to France, so that he could text them all to coordinate the rides to and from the airport.

“Wait,” Yves says, unable to keep the panic out of his voice. “Don’t. If you text him, he’ll - snf-! - feel obligated to come.”

Mikhail doesn’t lower his phone. “I’ll just ask him to drop by,” he says. “You can talk to him about it when he gets there.”

But that won’t happen—can’t happen—because Yves knows that if Vincent were to see him like this… 

I’d feel terrible if you caught this, he’d said. He’d sounded so upset over it. How can Yves, after all his reassurances last week, admit to him now that he’s faring badly enough to need someone to look after him? 

Besides, Vincent probably has enough on his plate already. Yves knows enough to know that in their line of work, taking time off almost always means being swamped with assignments upon return. 

“Please don’t ask him anything,” Yves says.

Mikhail looks long and hard at him. He looks as though he’s trying to puzzle something out. “Did you guys get into a fight, or something?”

“No,” Yves says. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then, if you’re on good terms, why are you so resistant to the idea of him coming over?”

Yves squeezes his eyes shut, and then opens them. He can think of a dozen more excuses to field away the questions—that isn’t the hard part. Mikhail has always been good at seeing through his bullshit, but if Yves has to steer this conversation to a close through sheer willpower, he thinks he can do it. But then again—

Maybe it’s fine, he thinks, if Mikhail knows. For better or for worse, Mikhail is his best friend. Yves knows that if he asks him to keep his mouth shut about this, he will. 

“Vincent is my coworker,” he says, slowly.

Mikhail’s eyebrows creep up. “Yes, I’m aware.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Yves says, with a cough. “He is just my coworker. Nothing else.”

The alarm that flashes across Mikhail’s face is unmissable. “You two broke up?”

And there it is—another crossroads, where Yves thinks the easiest course of action would be to reshape the current lie into a simpler one, to keep the trappings of their fake relationship intact. With anyone else, it would be easier, that is.

Yves says, honestly, “We were never together in the first place.”

“But you went with him to France,” Mikhail says, confused. “Not to mention, to Margot’s new year party, and then to Joel and Cherie’s housewarming. Are you telling me—”

“That was all an act,” Yves tells him, and waits for this information to register. “There is nothing between us that’s real. That’s the reason I haven’t called him.”

The recognition settles on Mikhail’s face. Then he laughs, a little disbelieving. “You’re really not dating him? Why would you lie about that?”

“Do you remember Margot’s party?” Yves asks. It seems like the right place to start, after everything. “Erika was there with Brendon. And I was bitter, and—to be honest, jealous—and I wanted to show her I was fine. So I asked Vincent to go with me.”

“That was months ago,” Mikhail says.

“It was easier to just keep up the act, after that.” Yves says. “Easier to have him accompany me once a month than it would have been to stage a proper breakup. But obviously, this is all temporary. I just haven’t figured out when it’s going to end.”

Mikhail is quiet for a moment. Yves looks past him, at the staircase that leads down to the first floor.

“You’ll be fine, then,” he asks. “If you two break it off.”

“Of course,” Yves says. “I know it’s going to happen someday.”

“You won’t be upset at all?”

“What is there to be upset over?”

“From the way you spoke to him, I really thought there was something there,” Mikhail says.

“He is a good liar,” Yves says.

“Maybe so,” Mikhail agrees. “But you are not.”

He says it so calmly, it barely registers as an accusation. But Yves hears it, loud and clear.

“Vincent is attractive,” Yves says. “Anyone with eyes can see that. That’s all there is to it.” it feels wrong, even as he says it. Yves has always known Vincent to be attractive—that much hasn’t changed. But he knows that the feeling in his chest when he sees him at work, in the break room, or at lunch—the unusual ache—is a little more than that. 

“Margot’s party was at the end of December,” Mikhail says. “It’s April, now. Margot wouldn’t tell you this, but since I don’t like withholding my feelings from you, I will.”

Yves waits—waits for Mikhail to tell him how all of this has been unduly dishonest, how Mikhail doesn’t appreciate having been lied to.

But Mikhail doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he says: “If you’re still intent on keeping this fake relationship up…” Here, he meets Yves’s eyes, a little sternly. “You should think about who you’re really doing it for.”

It’s only for convenience, Yves wants to say. Now that we’ve set things up already, it’s merely the path of least resistance. But that isn’t quite right, is it?

“Don’t worry about me,” Yves says, trying a smile. “Vincent and I have talked this through already. Whatever happens with our arrangement, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Mikhail says. He pockets his phone, and then hands Yves the bottle of Advil. “Sorry for the interrogation, then. If you believe it to be fine, I trust you.” Perhaps that’s the worst part of it. Mikhail has never been the type of person to stay quiet about any foreseeable problems, but Yves knows that his agreement now is not a tactical retreat, nor is it an acknowledgment that it’s not worth arguing over something they won’t agree on. Mikhail is dropping the subject because he really trusts him.

Yves just doesn’t know if that trust is justified.

Mikhail turns on his heels, steps delicately past the hinge at the bottom of the doorframe. 

Yves clears his throat. “Thanks for stopping by.”

Mikhail nods. “Feel better soon. If you need anything other than Advil, just give me a call.”

Then he’s gone. Yves shuts the front door behind him and wonders just what exactly he’s gotten himself into.

[gotta-winwin]

2019 debut year special <> you do too much pt 2

word count: 2.8k TW: anxiety, hurt, angst, comfort, mentions of hit the road trauma italics are in english, bolded words are in mandarin

She supposed she should've expected tour to be difficult. The first couple legs of their An Ode tour were fine, Cyana had gone in wide-eyed and immensely happy to be sharing the stage with her found family. She liked how she was able to hear the cheers of their fans every night and how it lingered even after the concert. She was still nervous about returning to LA for their North American leg, but Joshua had promised he'd make it okay. Cyana always had a strong love for travelling, and was glad she could do it while performing.

Everything started to go sideways moments before landing in Jakarta.

"1-10, Cyana?" Jun touched her shoulder gently to catch her attention. They were waiting at the airport for the others to get through security.

She blinked. "7." It was a system she had started with the boys, finding that asking for a number was easier than asking how their condition was. It was easier for them to answer to, if the pain was rated on a scale. She had deemed anything lower than a 4 to be dangerous and a cause of worry. So far nobody had reported anything lower than 6. Thank god. "What about you?" She asked back. She had noticed the heavy eye bags despite Jun covering his face with a hat.

The boy shrugged. "7 too. Just tired."

She turned, about to tap Dino and ask him the same question, when Wonwoo stood up, startling them all. He had been napping and his sudden movement was unexpected.

"What's going on?" Jun asked, grabbing Wonwoo's elbow to steady the boy.

"They're here." Wonwoo nodded to the rest of the group, who had finished security and was approaching them. He nudged Dino awake with his foot. "Let's go. I need to crash on the plane."

Cyana grabbed her bag, grateful the staff had taken all their luggage. In her drowsy state, she would have a higher chance of forgetting her things than anything else. Shuffling to Seungcheol's side, she walked to match his pace. It was unusual that she could, most times Seungcheol walked too fast for her to keep up.

"Cheol? Number?" She asked, her eyes betraying her worry. Joshua looked over from Seungcheol's other side with as much worry as she felt.

Seungcheol seemed to struggle to even compute the question. "5." He mumbled, glancing at them both. "I'm fine."

Cyana's eyebrows furrowed. "That's low."

"Not a 4." Seungcheol countered. "Don't push it." The tone of his voice sounded more weak than stern.

Cyana could only look at Joshua, who shrugged. She remembered what he had told her just this morning, when she complained to him she just wanted to strap Seungcheol down so that he could rest.

"You can't help people who don't want to be helped." He had told her, although he looked just as distraught. "Coups needs to want to help himself first. Before we can do anything."

Now, looking at the boy in question, she felt eerily as if he wasn't there at all, like some shell of their leader was the one walking next to them instead.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" Cyana pleaded with Jeonghan, who looked mildly bemused under his tired state. "All Mingyu and Hoshi does is snore."

That pulled a laugh out of him. Jeonghan was another member on Cyana's worry radar, and if Mingyu and Hoshi's snoring could gain her a ticket into keeping an eye on Jeonghan, she would take it.

"Okay." Jeonghan relented, moving over to let her into his hotel room. "But just tonight. Don't get too comfortable." He gave her a teasing smile. "You might get too attached."

Cyana frowned. "Big headed much?"

She was glad to see him laugh. She knew how much his body had been aching during this tour. Every time she looked over after a song and saw a brief look of pain flash across his face, she felt a heavy pang in her stomach. On any other circumstance she would've quipped that it was because he was old. But that was the exact reason why it scared her so much: Seungcheol and Jeonghan were getting old and so were their bodies. She wished desperately that they could be young forever.

Sliding into bed, she heard Jeonghan shuffle to turn off the lights before joining, tugging the blanket away from her with a cheeky giggle. Pulling back equally hard, they finally settled in a standstill as they both stared up at the ceiling.

"Number?" Jeonghan whispered into the dark.

"8." There had been no concert today. Cyana felt fine. "Less tired. You?"

"Mentally I'm at a 9. But physically, more like a 6." He admitted.

"Sit out of the next concert, please." Cyana pleaded into the darkness. It helped that neither of them could see each others faces. It was in darkness where it was easiest to talk.

She could hear him breathe as he thought. "I want to perform. For Carats."

"They'll be sad that you're not there, sure." Cyana agreed. "But they'll be even more upset if you die."

Jeonghan laughed. "Oh, our little pessimist." He cooed good naturally. "I'm not going to die."

"It feels like you might." She admitted out loud for the first time. "Every time you take off your shirt for taping it's like you're withering away."

There was silence, and Cyana started to fear she may have overstepped.

"You worry too much." Jeonghan finally said. "If it gets too much before our concert tomorrow, I'll sit out. Promise."

She nodded, although he couldn't see it. "Good. If only Cheol was as cooperative as you."

"You've got his stubbornness, that's for sure." Jeonghan let out a loud sigh. "He's not doing well."

"I've noticed." Cyana agreed. "It's kinda hard not to."

"His mind's not doing well." Jeonghan corrected himself after a pause. "I'm been trying to get him to take a break. See a doctor. Admit he's going a little crazy. He-" Jeonghan's voice cracked. "You know he scrolls through SNS like a ritual? He'll just sit there and read comments. I can always tell when he reaches a particularly cruel one cause he just sits there."

"He hasn't been talking much during filming either." Cyana recalled. "He used to like filming for Going."

"Dieting too." Jeonghan added. "Even though I told him he's fine the way he is."

"He told Hoshi he doesn't see himself being an idol after his contract ends."

Jeonghan froze, and Cyana could tell by the way his arm suddenly stiffened from next to her. He hadn't known.

"I thought he would've told you." She added lamely, feeling like she had definitely said something wrong.

"I guess not." Jeonghan sighed after awhile. "We're a mess, Nana. You joined at a bad time."

Cyana hummed, rolling over to lean her head against his. "That's okay. Maybe it was just meant to be. I'll fix it. I'll fix him."

Jeonghan wrapped an arm around her. "I like that idea actually. You and us all being meant to be."

It was only because she was listening too hard, so concentrated, that she could tell exactly what moment Jeonghan fell asleep, his arm still around her. She told herself to sleep too, she would need all the energy she had if she wanted to help Seungcheol and perform tomorrow.

"We go on in twenty minutes!" One of the event coordinators called out towards the members who had all gathered in the green room. Cyana adjusted her stage outfit, tilting her head up to give her makeup artist easier access. Her eyes flitted around the room as she mentally counted her members. She knew it was the leader's job and she had no business stepping in for a weary Seungcheol as the youngest, but she felt as if she had to. She was easily the most well rested out of them all.

"Number?" She mouthed at Mingyu, who she briefly caught eye contact with.

He merely flashed back an ok sign and a bright smile. She knew he was telling the truth. If there was one thing Seungcheol enforced the most it was their strict 'no lies' policy.

The man in question sat bleary-eyed on the couch, seemingly out of it.

"Are we almost finished?" Cyana mumbled to her makeup artist, who was busy touching up her lips. "I need to go speak to Cheol."

She shook her head. "Not yet."

Cyana sighed as Jeonghan approached her, wincing as he rolled his shoulders. "I think I'm heading out." He leaned down to whisper into her ear.

Her eyes widened. "Really? Good." She eyed his shoulder warily. "Does it hurt a lot?" She asked.

He nodded. "I can barely remember our choreo. Figured I would do better not embarrassing myself onstage tonight."

She let out a sad laugh, stopping quickly when her makeup artist scolded her for moving. "Is Cheol going too?" She wondered hopefully.

Jeonghan shrugged before wincing at the movement. "He hasn't said anything. I'm gonna go to the car before I pass out." He offered weakly, waving towards the staff who was waiting for him at the exit. "Have fun. Be safe." He reminded her, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head before leaving.

She waited impatiently for her makeup artist to finish. Hoshi found her next, murmuring into her ear about position changes they needed to make without Jeonghan here.

"Scratch that and make us 12." She whispered back, moving once she got a green light from her makeup artist. "Cheol's not performing tonight."

Hoshi looked at her, surprised. "He finally agreed?"

Cyana shook her head. "I'll convince him."

He scoffed. "Good luck with that. We've all been trying since last week."

It felt like the longest twenty minutes Cyana had ever experienced.

"Go back to the hotel, Cheol." She begged, fixing his hair so it wouldn't fall into his eyes.

"I'm fine." He insisted again, turning his head away from her. The stubborn piece of hair fell back where it was before.

They'd been at this for hours, it felt like. She was blindly aware of the amount of eyes that were on them, watching who'd win the mental battle.

"Number?" She asked, hoping he'd give her the truth this time.

"7."

She couldn't help but scoff. "You're lying again. We said no lying about the number system."

He finally looked up from the ground to shoot her a glare. "I'm not lying."

"I don't want to fight, Cheol." She sighed. "We're worried. You're not doing okay."

His shoulders dropped as he looked away again. "I can do this concert."

"Hannie oppa's going home." She offered, knowing it'd make him feel better not to be the only one dropping out. It was almost silly, his pride and responsibility.

He looked at her with surprise before quickly averting his eyes again. "Jeonghan's leaving?"

"He's in the car waiting for you. His shoulders aren't feeling well." Cyana grabbed his hand and tried to pull him off the couch. "Please." She begged again.

Resigned, Seungcheol stood up, wavering as he called their manager over with a feeble wave. They both stared at him, watching as he tried to form words into sentences.

"I think-" He broke off, before picking up again. "I think I need a break."

It was like a dam cracked open. Cyana let out a harsh sigh of relief as she watched their manager take Seungcheol away, presumably into the car with Jeonghan and back to the hotel.

"He'll be okay." Minghao joined to stand next to her. He took her hand, gently leading her towards the stage entrance. "Game face on, Yue Liang. We can worry later."

She nodded, knowing he was right. They were resting and safe and that was all that mattered. She'd be back to them in a couple hours anyways.

Cyana cracked open the door to Seungcheol's room as quietly as possible. She knew he was awake, the lights were on despite it being nearly 3AM. The concert had gone smoothly despite the missing members and she knew Seungcheol would appreciate an update.

"Cheolie?" She called into the room, walking in and see the leader standing on the balcony. She slid open the balcony door and stepped out to join him.

He turned around at the sound of the door opening immediately, frowning and opening his mouth to scold her when he saw how little she was wearing.

"Stop." Cyana held a hand up before he could go on his rant.

"You should be wearing a jacket." He said either way. "You'll catch a cold."

"I'm okay." She moved to stand next to him and looked out at the city landscape. "Everything went really well today. Carats had fun."

She received back nothing but silence. Still, she continued. "DK led the skit and he roped Vernon in with him. They somehow got me involved too. I was nervous, but it ended up being lots of fun." She paused to glance up at Seungcheol, who had his eyes trained on the night sky. "I went and said hi to Jeonghan before coming here. He's okay. Worried about you. We all are."

She watched as his eyes seemed to quiver and glisten with forming tears.

"Minghao told me it was just part of the job, going onstage and pretending like everything wasn't just chaos. It was hard. I don't know how any of you do it. Vernon told me it's not like America, where we can just take a break whenever we wanted to and have people understand." She stopped talking again, wishing he'd say something. It was odd for her to be the one talking the most.

"I think people would understand though. You've all worked so hard and people can see it. You should've heard how loud they were cheering you and Jeonghan's names today. It was like you guys were there anyways." She smiled softly at the memory. "We'll be here for a long time, Cheol. You can step back for a little while."

There was a pause as a particularly strong gust of wind passed them, diverting both their attentions.

"I think-" His voice was quiet but she could hear him. "I think I need a break." He echoed the same words he had said hours ago. "I talked to manager-hyung and-" His voice broke. "he said it was okay. If I stopped for a bit."

Cyana nodded. "We'll be okay without you for awhile, Cheol. You don't need to carry so much on your back. There's 14 of us for a reason, we can all take a little bit of the burden."

He was still staring off into the night sky, giving no sign he had really heard her. "It just felt like if I stopped even for one second, the world might spin too fast and lose me." He continued. "Like I needed to be there every moment."

Cyana could relate to the feeling. "I know." She had the same problem. "Someone once told me it's okay to step off the world for a little bit. To stop chasing the cycle and to breathe."

"It spins too fast." He whispered, finally looking at her. She felt a pang in her chest when she noticed there were tears tracking silently down his face. "The world spins too fast."

Cyana nodded ruefully. "Yeah, sometimes it does that." She tried to smile, reaching up to wipe his tears away with her sleeve. "Don't cry, Cheol."

He sniffed, looking down at her and giving a weak smile back. "We've been doing a lot of that recently, huh."

She laughed, and he watched her throw her head back as the sound echoed into the night. He couldn't help but smile at the sight. "It's okay." She said, coming back to him. "Crying is good sometimes."

"You're good at this." He mused. "Comforting people. Maybe you should replace Jeonghan as SEVENTEEN's therapist. Surely you'd do much better. He usually just listens and then starts scolding."

She shook her head. "That's okay. Feelings still make me iffy." Shivering suddenly as another gust of wind blew past, she patted Seungcheol awkwardly on the back. "Good talk. You're okay now, right? It's cold."

He let out a breathy laugh. "I'm better now. Go inside, I'll be in in a moment." He turned back to look out at the city's nightlife.

Cyana moved back into the hotel room, shivering as she grabbed one of his spare zip-ups for the couch and pulled it on. Pulling out her phone, she selected her conversation with Jeonghan, typing out a text.

me: seungcheol, fixed!

She smiled, amused when she saw him immediately start typing back.

hannie: you're the best.

Liking the message, she was about to swipe out and peruse the ramen packets Seungcheol had laid out on the coffee table when another text popped up on her screen.

dino: we're in hoshi's room. got ramen.

Sending Dino a silent thank you, she called back into the room as she opened the door to leave. "I'm going to Hoshi's!" She knew Seungcheol would need his silence.

A quiet grunt of acknowledge came from the balcony as she closed the door behind her.

She knew Seungcheol was a long way from being completely fixed and fine again. She knew Jeonghan's body was still a long way from healthy. She knew they still had months of tour left over without the two. Yet, just like she had told Seungcheol, the world would keep spinning, and Seventeen would come back stronger in 2020 then ever before.

a/n: more angst for you guys (..◜ᴗ◝..) we're officially kicking off into hit the road era!

[bullet-prooflove]

Broken Glass: Travis Wheatley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @yousigned-upforthis @gatefleet @pansexualhailstorm

Companion piece to:

Texas - Travis and you make a realisation about your relationship.

Broken - Travis recieves a phone call from Rip regarding you and Malcom Beck.

Maui - Travis adds some extra security measures to your new place.

Colt 45 - Travis doesn't mess around when it comes to your saftey.

Ride - Travis lifts your mood by taking you for a ride.

Wet - You and Travis discuss something you've been avoiding.

Travis’s secret comes out in the worst way possible, during a fight about him fucking another woman.

You’ve been quiet over the last few days, more withdrawn than usual. Sleeping on the couch instead of coming to bed. He thinks it’s because of the counselling session you’d had earlier in the week. You’re confronting a lot of tough stuff through EDMR therapy and it can throw you off a little.

“I gotta shoot out for my physio appointment.” He tells you, picking up the keys to his truck from the side table in the living room and that’s when he hears you say.

“We both know you don’t have a physio appointment.”

He freezes in that moment, his entire body shifting to look to you. There’s a fire in your eyes he’s not seen in a long time as you stand over by the bookshelf with his things on,  your fingertips trail over the glass trophy from his latest competition. You flick it forward and it hurtles off the shelf smashing onto the hardwood floor sending glass skittering in every direction. The dog barks from outside but you ignore it, your gaze fixed on him.

“You have five more of these fucking things Travis.” You say tipping over the next one and the crash reverberates through the house. “And lot more shit that I can break, so why don’t you tell me who she is?”

“Gina honey, I promise you…”

And down goes the next one, exploding into a million pieces.

“You’re a liar.” You tell him with a ferocity he feels in the very depths of his bones. “I called your physio to pass on a message last week but they said you haven’t been going for months. So I’ll ask you again who the fuck is she?”

You reach for the crystal decanter then, the one that’s been in his family for five generations and that’s when he snaps.

“I’ve been seeing a counsellor.” He shouts with an edge of franticness to his voice because your hand is already wrapped around the heirloom, your arm slung back ready to hurl it at his head. “It’s not another woman, it’s a counsellor!”

“What?” You respond, lowering the decanter, the amber liquid sloshing around inside. “But you said…”

“I know I said that cowboys don’t do therapy but I was having some anxiety about leaving you alone with the new season coming up.” He confesses as he approaches you slowly with open palms as if you were a skittish horse. “I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want to exacerbate the shit you’re already dealing with.” His hand clasps your wrist lightly, guiding it down so the decanter comes to rest safely back on the silver tray.

“When you say anxiety…” You begin and Travis releases you, rubs his palm over the nape of his neck.

“Panic attacks.” He tells you as he meets your gaze. “Whenever I think about leaving you, I get this tightness in my chest, my heart starts to palpitate and it feels like I can’t breathe.”

“Do you know…”

“Yea.” He tells you, his hands coming to rest on your hips, thumbs tracing soothing circles over as he swallows hard against the well of emotion in his chest. “I can’t get over what Malcolm Beck did to you, what I allowed him to do to you.”

You frown at his words and he purses his lips into a grim expression.

“The night you were attacked I was supposed to be there.” He reminds you, his voice rough. “But I wasn’t, I was in Texas licking my wounds because you decided to stay in Montana and I…” He trails off then forcing down the sob that threatens to erupt from his chest. “That choice, it haunts me because if I had stopped being such a prick there’s a chance that none of this would have happened.”

“Travis.” You whisper, cradling his face between your hands. “This would have happened whether you were here or not. Malcolm wasn’t the kind of man who can let his ex-wife be happy, it wasn’t in his nature.”

“But…”

“No buts. What happened to me is no more your fault than it is mine.” You tell, wrapping your arms around him, drawing him into your proximity. “And as for leaving me alone when you’re off showing the horses, that’s something we can work on, together. There’s steps we can take to make you feel more comfortable with it.”

Travis sighs, burying his face into the curve of your throat.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be comfortable with it.” He mumbles against your skin, cradling you close.

“We’ll work on it.” You reassure him, your fingers carding lightly through his hair. “I promise you, we will.”

Love Travis? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

Icemav or MOTA for the hurt/comfort please! But I would actually be opening to maybe learning about some new fandoms too

Oooh buckle up baby! This is definitely missing some of my fav’s and is not a full list, some are more angst than hurt/comfort, but just a jumping off point ❤️ Mostly MOTA b/c I’ve been in my h/c era with that fandom lately lol

MOTA:

Buck x Bucky

To the Moon and Back by @rambleonwaywardson (i physically felt this one in my gut at times)

my kingdom for a kiss upon on your shoulder by @swifty-fox (changed me fundamentally and there’s an ongoing sequel from John’s POV)

Reverie by @avonne-writes (idk if there’s words for this one other than ouch but i loved it)

nothin’ but blue skies from now on by @majorbuckyegan (read the whole series, i promise you won’t regret it, but this one in particular is everything)

Tough and Sweet (Like You and Me) by @johnslittlespoon (ongoing and i am unhealthily obsessed)

Close and Yet Closer by Anonymous (holy shit. that’s all. holy shit)

Brady x Benny

understanding in a plane crash by @swifty-fox (goddamn that’s all i gotta say)

Here I am (right here with you) by StevieWicks45 (ongoing and getting me right in the feels)

second string series by @reallylilyreally (not tagged as such but i am counting it because yes)

Top Gun:

Hangman x Rooster

Let Me Face the Hurricanes by Cristinuke (ouch. just ouch. captivity hurt)

I want to brainwash you into loving me forever by @hangmanbradshaw (i love this one so fucking much)

Ice x Mav

The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Eclair_Fair98 (first TG fic I ever read and it’s still on my mind almost every day)

i’ll ride in this life with you by @sassenach082 (ongoing, i have reread this fic more than a couple of times)

Stranger Things:

confession… I don’t read a lot of h/c for this fandom but there’s some incredible ones if you give it a chance!

Billy x Steve

Under the Covers by @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger (this is hurt/comfort just the way you want it)

Eddie x Jason

But I’m a Cheerleader by @shieldofiron (hoo boy this one got me good)

Harry Potter:

bet y’all didn’t see that coming… another one of my OG fandoms I don’t talk about much but still lurk lol

Remus x Sirius

Sweater Weather by @lumosinlove (hockey au that took me out in a good way)

Also I don’t know/remember everyone’s tumblr’s off the top of my head so feel free to tag authors I missed and I can update with their @‘s 😊

[heartstringsduet]

(ignore me accidentally unfollowing you while trying to send an ask)

for your prompts:

"Why are you following me?"

Hi Jen <3 Don't worry, I accidentally unfollow peeps too sometimes haha. We all do I think. Thanks for your prompt. I tried not to overthink it and it might be half-baked (not Ben&Jerry's ;)) but I hope you still like it. "Why are you following me"

His father might have been the one to tell him to trust his gut, but it was Tía Lucy who taught Carlos about the sixth sense. Her sixth sense told him when he had pulled out some of her herbs to chew on them when he was a toddler, his father’s seemed to be when Carlos got reprimanded at school and even later at work, his mother’s seemed to be knowing when he needed a hug even when he tried everything to appear like he didn’t.

Carlos’ sixth sense tingles as he rounds the corner of the candy aisle — and stops.

As expected, someone crashes right into his back. So he had been right about being followed. Sixth sense, gut, intuition. Whatever it was, it didn’t disappoint.

“Sorry!”

He’d only seen the stalker from the corner of his eyes, so to turn around and be faced with someone that walked right out of his dreams congeals Carlos momentarily.

What he didn’t expect to blurt out when he reinhabits his frozen body is, "Why are you following me?" 

It is true. This is the third aisle he’s felt the eyes on his back, the third aisle the stranger had stayed the exact same distance, the third aisle Carlos had had enough and tested his theory.

It’s one thing to think it, another to ask it straight out but Carlos stays cool. Even when he sees the slight flush of the man’s cheeks and the way he licks his lips and leaves a sheen. He stays totally cool. Unaffected and not lost in the slope of high cheekbones. 

“Uhm…I’m not?” the stalker says.

“I’m a cop, I know when I’m being followed.”

The stalker’s eyes widen — light green irises in full glory — before he quickly schools his face. “No you’re not.”

Carlos tilts his chin up. “Wanna see my badge?”

He gets a raised eyebrow and a smirk as a response that makes his stomach do a full loop. It hadn’t been an innuendo but the reaction makes his face feel hot.

The stalker’s tongue pokes into the corner of his mouth as he seems to think on what to say. “Okay.” He blows out a breath. “Okay. I followed you because you got the last Mexican Hot Chocolate ice cream and, frankly, I need it more. So if you don’t mind, could I buy it from you?”

Carlos frowns into his basket where he picked up both a tub of Cookies & Cream and apparently the reason someone followed him through the store for the past ten minutes.

A part of him doesn’t really care about the flavors, knowing the nephew he was planning to buy it for isn’t picky, but a bigger part prompts him to ask, “Who says I don’t need it the most?”

It seems to stump the other guy just like it stumped Carlos before. “Believe me, there is no way you do.”

“Unless I see concrete evidence for that need, I’m afraid I can’t give my tub up.”

It’s impressive how lowering his eyebrows makes the guy’s eyes look like a stormy sea, glistening as he blinks and suddenly Carlos gets washed into sadness with him. It’s there and it’s gone as the guy pushes past him.

“Nevermind.”

Carlos watches the rigid back retreating, the hands turn into fists and release. Before the man can forever stay a stranger, Carlos calls, “Wait!”

The guy turns.

Carlos jogs the few steps toward him, compelled to bridge the distance quicker. “It’s already pretty melty. Do you want to share it in the parking lot? I promise not to ask about your awful day again.”

He holds the guy’s stare again, like he will all night on the curb of the H-E-B, half a tub of ice cream long melted against he bamboo forks. A few years down the road, Carlos will think of that moment and realize his sixth sense hadn’t been about being followed. It had been a sign of his soulmate being close, giving his heart no chance to miss him.

[insomniac4000]

56 - George Clarke

you’re so warm.

George Clarkeey wasn’t exactly an outdoorsman, but when ChrisMD invited him to join a camping-themed video, he couldn’t say no. The idea was simple: a group of creators would face a series of survival challenges in the wilderness, earning points for their efforts, with the loser stuck cleaning up the campsite.

The twist? Among the guests was Sophia Hale, a fellow TikToker whose laid-back charm and killer dance moves had stolen George’s attention long before this trip. He was usually confident in front of a camera, but something about Sophia left him fumbling for words like a nervous schoolboy. In his head he chastised Chris for also inviting her on the shoot, the little hobbit knew exactly what he was doing.

They all arrived at the campsite in high spirits. Chris had gone overboard, as always, bringing props like oversized marshmallows, ridiculous tents, and an inflatable kayak. Alongside George and Sophia, the group included Theo Baker and Calfreezy, who quickly started bickering over who could build the best fire.

George tried to play it cool, cracking jokes and keeping the group laughing, but he couldn’t help glancing at Sophia. Her laugh was contagious, and every time she smiled at him, he felt like his heart was doing backflips.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the temperature had plummeted. The group huddled around their not-so-roaring fire, bundled in hoodies and jackets.

Chris announced the next challenge, which involved cooking a proper meal using only what they could forage nearby. George and Sophia were paired together.

“I guess it’s you and me, Clarkeey,” Sophia said with a grin.

“Dream team,” George replied, hoping his voice didn’t crack.

They ventured into the woods with a flashlight, picking through leaves and bushes. George couldn’t resist trying to impress her with his limited wilderness knowledge.

“See this?” he said, holding up a leaf. “Totally edible. Probably.”

Sophia laughed, rolling her eyes. “Let’s not end up in the hospital tonight, yeah?”

Despite the cold, George felt warm just being near her. They managed to gather a few berries and some questionable mushrooms before heading back to the group, where Chris deemed their haul “barely passable.”

The night dragged on, with more challenges, jokes, and a fair share of teasing from Cal and Theo about George’s inability to make a tent. By the time everyone finally turned in, the air was freezing.

George crawled into his sleeping bag, which was laid out in the shoddy tent he’d managed to erect. He could hear the others settling in, their voices fading into the night. Just as he was starting to doze off, he heard the zipper of his tent being pulled open.

“George?” Sophia’s voice was soft.

His eyes shot open. “Sophia? What’s up?”

She crouched down, shivering. “My tent’s like an icebox, and I’m freezing. Can I crash here? I promise I won’t steal all the space.”

“Uh, yeah! Of course!” George scooted over so she could slide in beside him.

Sophia zipped the tent back up and slipped into his sleeping bag. George’s heart was pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it.

As she adjusted, she let out a content sigh. “You’re so warm,” she murmured, snuggling closer.

George froze, unsure what to do with his hands or his breathing—or his entire existence, really. He could feel the weight of her head resting lightly on his shoulder, her hair tickling his neck.

“Thanks, George,” she whispered sleepily.

“No problem,” he managed to croak out, though inside, he was anything but calm. Every beat of his heart felt like a drum solo.

As Sophia drifted off, George stared up at the tent’s ceiling, unable to sleep. The cold didn’t matter anymore. All he could think about was how close she was and he tried to calm the thumping in his chest.

[chimneyz]

y'all wanted to know what happened, here is a sequel to this post:

Falling, that was the last thing he remembered, falling to his death. No, she said he wasn't going to die. Just falling. 

His eyes sluggishly blink open, his vision hazy, the lights around him were too much to bear. A comforting squeeze wraps around his hand.

"E-Ev'n?" Tommy croaks, his vision still adjusting. 

The squeeze becomes tighter, "No, I sent Buck home," a familiar voice soothes, "I promised I would stay with you until he actually ate and got some rest... you honestly don't know how hard he has fallen for you, do you? 

Tommy's body relaxes, he knows that voice. He may not know that voice as well as he would like, but he knows it. That same voice that practically raised the man he loves. That same voice that was the soul mate to one of his oldest friends. That same voice that told him he wasn't going to die. 

"Maddie?" 

Tommy's vision adjusts, the room was painfully bright, machines beeped around him, his body ached from cuts and bruises. Stitches were spread across his skin. His left leg in a cast lifted above the bed, the right arm tucked into another cast. Next to him, Maddie patiently sits in one of those uncomfortable plastic hospital chairs with a cup of what smells like coffee in her hands. 

"You gave us quite the scare there Tommy," Maddie weakly smiled. 

"Won't happen again," Tommy chuckled, God it hurts to chuckle.

"It better not," Maddie placed her hand on his and squeezed lightly "for my brother's sake." 

There was a comforting silence between them. Tommy doesn't remember much after the crash, just that it happened and with some stroke of luck made it out alive in one piece. 

"H-Hey did you by any chance play that message for Evan?"

Maddie shook her head, "No I didn't." 

"You promised tha-"

"No, no, no," Maddie wiggled her finger at him, "I promised in the worst case scenario that he would listen to the recording." 

"You said there will be no worse case scenario." 

"Was I wrong?" Maddie tilted her head. 

Tommy huffed out a laugh ducking his head, "No, I guess you weren't." 

"Tommy, look at me." 

He forced himself to look at her, her brown eyes full of sincerity. 

"Tell him everything you said, all of it."

"But Maddie," Tommy said "What if he doesn't forgive me, what if I fucked it all up beyond repair what if-"

"I am going to stop you right there. You and I both know that you can fix this. Just tell him."

Tommy weakly smiles, maybe she's right, maybe he can fix this. 

"Tommy you're awake!" Evan cheered as he stood in the doorway. My God did he look like a wreck, dark circles formed under his eyes, a stubble on his cheeks, hair messy. It looked like Evan hadn't slept for days. Not that it mattered, to Tommy this was the most gorgeous person that walked on this earth. Evan rushed to Tommy’s side cupping his face. He winced at the touch still in pain from the crash. 

Evan pulled away concern raising his eyebrows, "Oh, s-sorry I didn't mean-"

"No don't be," Tommy reached his unbroken hand to him, "Never be sorry Evan." 

"So it's Evan now huh?" 

Tommy's gaze moved to Maddie, she gave a reassuring nod getting up from her seat heading towards the door. 

"I will leave you two to it," Maddie smiled. 

"Hey Maddie," Tommy said.

She stopped at the door to look at him one last time before leaving. 

"Thank you."

"Of course, now tell him." 

She gave them privacy by closing the door behind her, Tommy and Evan gazed at each other. 

"Tell me what?" Evan smiled.

Tommy patted the bed gesturing for Evan to come close, to hold him. Tommy gazed in his big blues squeezing Evan's hand wondering how he could have ever walked away from this. No more, not again. Evan was his, and he was Evan's, it was how it was meant to be.

[starclancy]

hello!! Can I have a part 2 of the flirty shanks x reader angst? Where shes been with the Heart Pirates for a while but they cross paths again and have to work together because of some problem or puzzle needing to be solved. And it’s Law x reader in the end??

thank you! I love your writing so much!

TY!! I have gotten many pople asking for a pt.2 so here it is! there were many people requesting different endings so i tried to take from multiple, hope you like it!

~ Unspoken Goodbye Pt.2 ~

PAIRING: Fem!Reader/Shanks to Fem!Reader/Law

CONTENTS: 💘 - hurt/comfort

WORDCOUNT: 3000

Request status: Open (PLS)

The Polar Tang hummed steadily as it approached the jagged shores of an uncharted island, the rough waves crashing against the submarine’s hull. Y/N stood at the railing, her gaze fixed on the horizon, where the dense jungle met towering stone ruins. She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, the chill of the salty air biting against her skin.

Months had passed since she’d walked away from Shanks, leaving behind the chaotic warmth of the Red-Haired Pirates for the quiet precision of the Heart Pirates. The pain of her decision still lingered, a dull ache she carried like an old wound. But the ache was easier to bear now, dulled by time and the steady presence of Trafalgar Law.

Law wasn’t like Shanks. Where Shanks was carefree and loud, Law was reserved and methodical. He didn’t make grand promises or sweep her off her feet with charismatic grins. Instead, he offered something far more precious: stability.

“Y/N,” Law’s voice cut through her thoughts, calm and steady as always. “We’re docking.”

She nodded, her fingers tightening on the railing. The mission was straightforward—retrieve an ancient artifact rumored to hold information about a deadly virus spreading through the Grand Line. But something about this island felt heavy, as if fate itself had drawn her here for reasons beyond the mission.

The Heart Pirates disembarked, their boots crunching against the rocky terrain. The ruins loomed ahead, their massive stone pillars covered in moss and weathered carvings. Y/N’s eyes scanned the area, drawn to the intricate designs. But then she saw them—figures moving through the ruins, their silhouettes instantly recognizable.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The Red-Haired Pirates.

And leading them was Shanks.

His red hair glinted in the sunlight, tousled by the breeze, and his laughter echoed faintly through the air. He was leaning against a pillar, his posture relaxed as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But then his gaze shifted, and his eyes locked onto hers.

For a moment, the world seemed to still.

“Y/N,” Shanks murmured, his voice barely audible even to himself.

Law noticed the way she tensed and followed her gaze. His golden eyes narrowed slightly as they landed on the infamous red-haired pirate.

“This could get complicated,” Law said, his tone measured.

Y/N forced herself to breathe, to steady the storm brewing in her chest. “Let’s just focus on the mission.”

The two crews came together in front of the main structure of the ruins, the tension between them palpable. The artifact they sought was locked behind a series of puzzles, the mechanisms ancient and intricate. It quickly became clear that cooperation was the only way forward.

Shanks kept his distance at first, his usual jovial demeanor subdued. But his eyes never left Y/N, tracing her every movement as if trying to confirm she was real.

“You’ve been quiet,” Benn Beckman muttered to Shanks, his tone laced with unspoken understanding.

Shanks didn’t respond, his attention fixed on Y/N as she worked alongside Law.

Law, for his part, stayed close to her, his sharp mind focused on deciphering the carvings on the stone wall. His hand brushed hers briefly as he pointed out an inscription, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes.

Shanks’ jaw tightened.

“So, that’s how it is now,” he muttered under his breath.

When the groups split to tackle different challenges, Y/N found herself paired with Shanks. She kept her focus on the puzzle in front of her, trying to ignore the way his presence unsettled her.

“Y/N,” he said softly, breaking the silence.

She didn’t look up. “We need to concentrate.”

He stepped closer, his voice low. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

Her hands froze on the mechanism she was adjusting, but she didn’t turn to face him. “Don’t do this, Shanks.”

“I made a mistake,” he continued, desperation creeping into his tone. “Letting you go was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

Y/N clenched her fists, her knuckles whitening. “You didn’t let me go. I left. And you didn’t try to stop me.”

His breath hitched. “Because I thought I was protecting you. I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” she snapped, finally turning to face him. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “I gave you everything, Shanks. I believed in you when no one else did. And you broke me.”

His shoulders sagged, the weight of her words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I need you to know how sorry I am.”

Her voice wavered as she stepped back. “Sorry doesn’t change anything.”

When the crews reconvened, Shanks’ mood had darkened further. His usual charm was replaced by a simmering frustration, especially when he noticed Law’s proximity to Y/N.

“You’ve moved on,” Shanks said when he caught her alone again. “With him.”

Y/N squared her shoulders, meeting his gaze with a steady resolve. “Yes. Law treats me with the respect I deserve. He doesn’t make me question my worth.”

Shanks’ eyes narrowed. “Do you really think he can give you what I couldn’t?”

Her laugh was bitter. “He already has.”

Law approached then, his expression unreadable but his presence commanding. “Everything okay here?”

Shanks glared at him, but Y/N stepped closer to Law, her choice clear in the small distance she placed between herself and Shanks.

“We’re fine,” Y/N said, though her tone left no room for further discussion.

The final puzzle was solved, and the massive stone door creaked open, revealing a glowing artifact resting on a pedestal. It pulsed with a faint golden light, intricate carvings running along its surface.

The crews worked together to secure the artifact, but the emotional weight of the day hung heavy in the air.

As the Heart Pirates prepared to leave, Shanks approached Y/N one last time.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice breaking.

She turned to face him, her expression unreadable.

“Please,” he begged, his usual confidence shattered. “Don’t go. I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. To fix us.”

Her chest tightened at the sight of him—vulnerable, regretful, everything she’d wished he’d been before it was too late. But the pain he had caused was too great to ignore.

“You can’t fix what you broke, Shanks,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. “I’ve found someone who values me the way you never did.”

Her words were a dagger, and Shanks knew it.

Onboard the Polar Tang, Y/N found Law waiting for her in the mess hall. He handed her a steaming cup of tea, his golden eyes searching hers.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

She nodded, a small smile breaking through her sorrow. “I am now.”

Law tilted his head, studying her with a quiet intensity. “You don’t owe me an explanation, but if you ever want to talk…”

“I know,” she said, her voice warm with gratitude. “Thank you.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N felt at peace. She wasn’t just someone’s second choice anymore. She was her own person, carving out a new path alongside someone who truly cared for her.

As the submarine submerged, leaving the island and the Red-Haired Pirates behind, Y/N looked ahead—not to the past, but to the future.

A future with Law.

Shanks stood on the rocky shore, watching the Polar Tang disappear beneath the waves. The ache in his chest was unbearable, a hollow emptiness where her love had once been.

Benn Beckman approached, his footsteps soft against the sand. “She’s gone,” Benn said, his tone matter-of-fact but not unkind.

Shanks nodded, his gaze distant. “She’s happier now.”

“And you?” Benn asked.

Shanks didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back toward the ruins, the weight of his choices pressing down on him. He had lost her, and for the first time in his life, he knew the meaning of true regret.

[sseomtada]

rear view (ruben dias)

gripped onto a sliver of inspiration i felt and this came out...not proofread. warnings: 18+, masked!ruben, taunting, praise, one use of the word sl*t (affectionately, i promise), a lil rough to gentle...

the sound of your heels meeting the wooden floor is prominent as you stagger into your flat blindly. a hand splays, fingers fanning wide to feel along the smooth wall for a light switch. flick - nothing.

though obviously not a fluke, you flip the switch a few times more to ensure that you’re not being dramatic. air leaves your lungs in a smooth rush while you continue along the dark path to resume your wind down routine.

work has been absolutely brutal. long hours, sitting stationary for endless amounts of time until you tailbone feels battered, and not nearly enough pay to be quite frank. you needed a vacation, or a lobotomy - whichever provides the most instant relief and gratification.

“snoogs?” you call calmly for your cat.

she gets so shy sometimes, but she loves the dark. it’s her hunting ground and you’re a helpless little ferret. every day must be a mind boggling adventure for her fur baby. or maybe you’re romanticizing it too much, delirious from lack of proper rest.

“snooogss?” your voice is a sing song.

around the bend to the living room you go and let your ears perk up to lock in. while your mind is dancing between reality and imagination, what was that in the corner, you hear a rustle and sudden a fur ball is launching at your chest.

with an oof, you catch her and stumble backwards. the sudden halt you come to isn’t from a wall as you would expect, but a hard, warm body. their broad chest expands with a slow inhale and you slowly let snoog melt from your hands.

“hi, princess.” fingertips grip into your waist, and tension falls from your frame as you recognize the timbre and feel. it’s just ruben.

“h-hi…” you don’t know what to say to stay in character, so you try to keep it as simple as possible.

bringing up this fantasy of yours really did a number on him. it had only been two days since you disclosed it during pillow talk and look at him now, ready to be nominated for his oscar.

“i’ve been watching you for some time,” he reaches an arm around your stomach and reels you right up against him. “you really ought to wear more than cropped shirts and panties when you walk by the windows.”

a hand slides up your thigh, the edges of his fingers toying with your underwear’s seam. you begin to seep into his petting. ruben is in sync with you, his hips drop to catch yours and push them back up.

“or not, cause you look so fucking hot.” an open mouth kiss lands on your lower neck. “so pretty, babygirl.” he starts undoing the closures on your top. “so fuckable.”

you bite out a moan you had been attempting to stifle. that gorgeous accent pairing with those nasty words beckon you to respond. you push back into him, dress bunching up, rasping.

his hands roam you wildly and dangerously. one cups your hot cunt, squeezing until he feels it throb against his palm. the other alternates between massaging your breasts that he pulls free of your dress.

“that’s what you wanna do to me, hm?” your brows meet as you turn your head.

“mhmm…” ruben grazes the fabric of the mask covering his face across your cheek. “come here.”

you’re dragged over to the sofa where he crashes down harshly, pulling you to sit on his lap with your back to his front. ruben’s burning touch is back again. he has your legs spread wide, using his thighs to keep yours open while he circles your covered clit.

“shit!” your head drops against his shoulder.

“listen to that,” he chuckles, spanking the ruined seat of your panties. “why’re you already so wet, angel?”

“i’ve been-” you swallow thickly. “waiting for you.”

that makes him growl, pulling at your panties until they dig into your flesh. ruben tosses the stretched out fabric to the side and teases your hole with two fingers. you buck into them hungrily.

“can you be good and take my fingers like this?” ruben thrusts them into your pussy to the knuckle and your eyes disappear. he doesn’t stop there, fucking them into you every time he asks, “like this, like this, like this?”

“oh, fuck…” your hips start to rock onto them for more friction.

“not an answer-”

“yes!”

you surge upwards to catch his lips between your own. it’s carnal and possessive and claiming the way your tongue rolls over his. your words fall down the rabbit hole into him in between deep breaths, yes i can be good, i can be good.

“i know you can. maybe you should close the curtains when you play with yourself, too.” ruben nips at your earlobe.

god, how is he so good at this? he’s never been shy with his words, much less when you have sex, but tonight is another level. if you had to guess, you would say that he’s certainly done his homework.

“need you in me…” you whimper.

“aww, look at you.” ruben swipes his free thumb over your bottom lip, dragging the skin slowly. “i need to feel you squeezing and shaking. then, we can move on.”

a gushiness fills the air as he fills you powerfully with his digits. you’re nothing short of a mess, legs trying to close on instinct and his forcing them open wider for the same reason. you grasp out wildly, hands eventually settling behind his neck where a bit of his hair peeks out of his mask.

“let it go, princess. just like that.” he laughs into your ear, curling and pumping relentlessly.

it feels more like you are the one getting let go of. the rope you cling to snaps and you’’re free falling. terrified initially, but accepting and gaining pleasure from the weight pressing down on your tummy.

you scream with a filthy grin, fuck, you’re gonna make me sq-

and the weather changes right on cue. your hips lift just above his, one hand dropping to his thigh and the next flying to flick at your clit as you rain down. soft patters fall onto your helpless wooden floor. it creaks too with the force of ruben handling you roughly to face him.

“good fucking girl…” he praises, yet spanks you.

another scream that melts from terror to erotic erupts from your throat. he smooths where his blow lingers as you rut over his bulge, running his basketball shorts. not that he seems to mind with the way he’s pushing it up into you too.

“if you saw me touch myself, you’ve seen me ride dick before too, right?” now that you’ve cum, you’re no longer as needy as before.

ruben knows this about you and you suspect it’s the reason he decides to go about tonight they way that he is. the light is so dim in here, but you see his eyes glint mischievously. and he calls you a brat.

“gonna do me like that, huh?” he sucks your breast and reaches down to free himself. “show me, pretty girl. show me, fuck-”

his words end up in his throat as you swallow him whole. so snug and warm tucking into your walls, you sigh with content. you let yourself just feel him, hips circling slowly to get your bearings.

your stomach tenses as you lift up and down his cock. he swears lowly in portuguese, rubbing up your ass to your waist. they slowly leave your body completely to settle on the back of the sofa.

“come on, then.” he smacks your ass again. “fuck me like a little slut.”

you shake your head and laugh, ready to give it to him even more since he’s begging so much. your grip settles firmly over his corded shoulders and you get onto your toes on the floor. soon, you’re bouncing on it. the sound of your soaking cunt working his shaft steadily and your gasps and his groans-it’s already too fucking much.

“that’s it,” ruben marvels. “take that fucking cock.”

oh, he wants you to take it? you bring your feet up to the sofa, legs a big wider, and grab onto the back of his neck. your pussy grips him, tip to base, tucking and squeezing at the bottom to feel the way the slight curve in his cock presses right to that spot.

“oh, shit, baby.” he needs his hands to come back to control your movements.

if you continue doing that one, he’ll be planning a baby shower in a few months. which, let’s be real, you might end up doing anyway because there’s no way he’s pulling out tonight.

ruben thrusts up to meet you as you come down and you quiver around him. you’re so close again you can feel the rope fraying beneath your hold. full surrender is instant this time, you welcome the fall as you spurs you on.

your cries pierce the room and he’s hugging your lower back in a vice grip while he fucks you into senselessness. another unpredicted shower. you drips down his legs and want to apologize, but his awe and praise shut you off.

can’t believe this is all for me

ruben nestles your body to the sofa and joins you, pulling you face to face. well, face to mask. his eyes look so dark behind them as he drinks you in. mouthful gulps until you’re dripping down his chin.

you grab his jaw and kiss him as he sheaths himself in you again. the leg you have draping over his hips tugs him closer, opening you up some more too. ruben grabs your ass and spreads you out more so.

“yes…nice and deep.” your eyes cross.

“want me to cum, hm?” he tucks himself as far as possible. “right here at the back of your pretty cunt?”

all you can do is groan and nod furiously. if you could speak, though, you would say please, please fill me up. make it yours over and over again, please, i need to feel your warm cum in me.

ruben gets the message. he can see it in the way your eyes glaze over and your back bows into his palm. the way your bottom lips quivers and your grow several degrees warmer, steaming up his flesh as you squeeze and squeeze…

until he’s making good on his promise and shooting all the possible little additions to the diaz clan up your stream. you suck them in, hoping it’s helping and not hurting their efforts, but delighting in the feeling anyway.

ruben hums and lazily strokes into you. having had enough of the mask, you reach up and remove it, fluffing out his messy hair on the way down. his eyes are droopy as he stares at you.

“was that okay? are you alright?” he blinks slowly.

you grin with a light laugh, “i’m so good right now. you were incredible.”

his thumb strokes your cheek, “you’re so perfect.”

that’s one thing you’re never gonna argue with. you lay there for not too long before both drifting asleep in the same position. and when you wake up in a few hours, you meet him stiff and you’re ready to go all over again.

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

What’s with everyone thinking of Zhongli looking tired so frequently someone give him another hug pls

Very VERY heavy foreshadowing??? Is the crash-but-not-exactly going to happen soon????? Also Qiqi is still so adorable istg (Picking up my pen again as we speak)

heheh

[sun-e-chips]

You’re relaxing in the resort room before heading into the park:)

[lucky-slice]

I'm obsessed with Kevin for far too many reasons to reasonably count, but also because he's like crack cocaine for any and all character interactions in aftg.

Like if you really wanna get down and dirty into a characters psyche, just throw them into a jar with Kevin Day and shake it up a bit.