#shitty au nobody asked for

[aus-nobody-asked-for]

Goncharov, but every time someone gets shot, there is a sunset in the background.

[aus-nobody-asked-for]

They should have included this in Sims 4.

There is a new update on the Sims. You can now play from first-person perspective, even as a goldfish! Also there are new moods regarding your environment.

The announcement headline reads 'There's going to be lot more autism in the Sims!'

[manicpixiejinxgirl]

Anyone who makes a modern au of Arcane that doesn't include a freshly out of jail young adult Vi and a long suffering totally not shady businessman Silco having split custody of a pissy teen Jinx who constantly pits her guardians against eachother to get exactly what she wants is doing it incorrectly

[maegorsbignaturals]

Give us more hillbilly au, pls!!! And they 100% live in a trailer park, omg what would King's Landing be in that au??

Grrrr okay okay just because you are asking nicely. Drangonstone IS the trailer park, Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys leaved there when they scaped their parents and adfer some time they managed to get enough money to move to an old farm that was full of mold and it smelt rancid and that everyone was pretty sure the drains of that farm was poisoned. Aegon and Aenys both tried to fix it but failed and it was Maegor the one who maneged to fix it the most of it and paint it of the most lustruous red he could find. The faith is just your ye-old south baptist/christian church, and ceryse is the girl Maegor knew there. She was the niece of the pastor and sings in the choir and leads some program to teach the kids about religion, Alys is the queen of all the small beauty peageants the town holds and ends up having names like the queen of the corn or something on those lines, Tyanna is the weird woman that lives alone in the farthest part of the town that house smells weird and she has like at least seven different animals as her pets and everyone is DAMN sure she does some kind of witchcraft and they talk about her on her back but if they need an abortion they just go to her, Rhaena was the girl who always dreamed of living in The Big City with her (girl) friends and knowing all this beautiful movie places with really high builidings and have long rides on her Blue Vespa (Dreamfyre) in the streets of the big city, but her uncle had this horrible accident and now someone needs to take care of him and his costant headaches and Maegor borderline treats her just as he treated her Ceryse and Alys and it is kind of weird.

After Maegor weird ass dead where he is found on his couch holding a beer and being illuminated by the blue gleam of the Tv with at least dozen flies flying around him he takes over the farm and said you know what i think we can make something with this shit and that is how he ends up doing the greatest emporium of milk products kingislandingtown has ever seen in its entire existence. Baelon and Aemon are your typical Highschool number one football players that could have had a uni sports scholarship but Aemon got tackled really hard during a game having some kind of internal decapitation against Sunspear's community highschool and that took Baelon so out of the rails that he just ended up never leaving the farm.

[nadvs]

hii i love LOVE love power play! can i ask a blurb where rafe's pissy again so he's a bit hostile to reader but this time she doesn't take his shit? she's kind but this time she wants to reiterate that he can vent but she's not a punching bag

thank you!! ong the man has zero emotional regulation skills 😭 most of the time, she doesn’t take it personally and just makes a joke about him being a brat, but when he crosses a line, she doesn’t play around. blurb set in the power play au.

Rafe presses down on the horn yet again, earning another sigh from you.

This is not how today was supposed to go. He’s already been in the car for three hours just to get to you, and five minutes after picking you up, you hit standstill traffic on the freeway on the way to a place you said is your favorite spot for lunch.

This is the second time he’s seeing you this summer, only a few months of officially dating behind you.

You’d greeted each other affectionately, but his mood turned sour the moment you hit traffic. He honks again, glaring at the bumper of the car ahead of you.

“I don’t think that does anything,” you say lightheartedly.

“How is nobody moving?” he mutters.

“I’ll check when it’s supposed to ease up,” you offer, picking up your phone to open a traffic map. “Yikes. We have two exits to go.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Rafe groans. He wants the purge the stress he’s been under. This is only making it worse.

“Is that all you’ve had today?” you ask, pointing to the empty shaker bottle in the cupholder.

He nods tersely and you decide against making a joke about him being hangry.

He rakes a hand through his hair. He tried hard today. He wanted to look good for you, but his clothes are damp and wrinkled against his skin, and when he looks in the rearview mirror, he can see the fatigue in his eyes.

You clasp your hands together, determined to bring up the mood.

“How was the gym this morning?” you ask. Now that he’s fully healed from his injury, he’s just gotten back into training.

“I’m not even close to hitting what I used to,” he answers, disappointment laced in his tone.

You wince. That wasn’t the right question. He takes his conditioning seriously, and you obviously just reminded him of how much work he has ahead of him.

“We could work out together one day,” you say.

“Sure,” he scoffs, already grown to despise the distance between you. “When?”

You suck your teeth, your patience starting to wear thin at his harsh tone.

“Whenever you’re in a better mood,” you mumble under your breath.

Rafe shakes his head to himself. The last thing he needs is your judgement.

“I’ve been driving for so goddamn long,” he mutters.

“I know,” you empathize, “but we’re finally together again and we’ll be eating lunch soon and we don’t have to be miserable the whole ride there.”

“You think I want to be miserable?” he says with a sarcastic scoff.

“I didn’t say that.”

Rafe bites his tongue from muttering that you’re saying a lot. He only stares forward, trying to remind himself of how shitty he feels when he loses it on you.

You smooth down your pants, the silence biting at you.

“So, we should just not talk until we get there?” you ask. He shrugs in response.

You scowl. Frustration bubbles up inside you. You know your boyfriend well, familiar with how anger is his fallback, and you usually can take it in stride.

But this is too much. It hurts that he’d rather give into his temper than just enjoy being with you.

“You’re being mean,” you say quietly.

“I’m just tired,” he mutters.

“How do you think it makes me feel when you’re like this, especially after we haven’t each other in so long?” you say. “I thought you…”

You trail off into silence, trying to cool yourself down.

“Thought I what?” he mutters.

You swallow hard. You knew going into this relationship that even though you typically think on the bright side, you hold a pessimism about romance that you can’t shake. It rears its ugly head any time you feel like Rafe doesn’t care as much as he says he does.

“I thought you missed me,” you reply.

Rafe grips the steering wheel and says, “I do.”

“So, why make me your punching bag?”

His brows pull together, irritation pricking at him.

“That’s how you feel?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” you reply, on edge.

Rafe’s heart twists in his chest. Underneath the frustration, it hurts that you don’t see that he’s making an effort.

“I try to be better about it,” he says. “I’m always trying.”

You look out the window as he eases on the break, following the slow moving traffic.

“It’s not fair that I have to do this for you every time,” you mumble.

“Do what?”

“Tiptoe around you and talk you through your own emotions,” you say. “Is it that hard to say, I’m tired and hungry and none of that is your fault and I’m sorry I’m taking my bad mood out on you?”

Rafe meets your eyes, guilt seeping into him, cutting overwhelmingly worse than his anger is.

“I am sorry,” he says.

It cracks through your frustration. You have a weak spot for him, you always have, and you can tell by how quick he always is to apologize that he has one for you, too.

“And?” you say.

“I don’t think any of this is on you,” Rafe says. “I just want us to have a good day, alright? You deserve a nice date. Not this.”

You not, a soft smile on your face. He can be rigid and grumpy, but this is why he stole your heart; the softness underneath, the pressure he puts on himself to be lovable, the way that even when he’s annoyed, you can tell that he treasures you.

“Okay,” you say. “We can listen to some music to pass the time.”

“I want to listen to you.”

“You listen to me every night on the phone,” you remind him.

“And?” Rafe replies, echoing your tone.

You roll your eyes and chuckle. He puts his warm, heavy hand on your thigh, making your skin tingle with endearment.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “I know I got shit I gotta work on, okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply.

You put your hand on top of his, hope blooming in your chest, louder than the doubt.

[dc-posting]

au where there’s no huge dramatic reveal when Jason comes back. Instead he takes a more… unconventional approach.

It’s a rare sight, so many of the batclan together in the cave. Dick looks around at his mishmash family, trying to ignore the ache in his chest and the glaring hole missing from the picture before him.

Simultaneously, somewhere in a shitty apartment block in Crime Alley, Jason Todd logs on to the family streaming services and starts watching shit again.

Bruce gets emails about the new devices logging in, but he assumes one of the kids got a new phone or something. He looks up from his computer but nobody in the room is (visibly at least) on a device. He sighs and logs into Netflix, wanting to check if anyone has changed anything.

He pauses.

Jason. His profile name has changed. ‘Robin II :)’ has become ‘Batman’s Greatest Failure’ and-

He turns to his team, his children, his most trusted allies, furious. He clears his throat, turns the screen around, and… well… all hell breaks loose. To put it mildly. Accusations are flying, voices raise, things are quickly escalating past a point of control.

And then Dick gets an email from Letterboxd.

‘Jaybird has left a review for the first time in a while! Check it out?’

He feels his heart race as he clicks the link. It’s a review of a documentary.

‘The life and death of Jason Todd’

★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“Movie was shit. Inaccurate. Jason Todd sucked and the guy who played him made him too soft. Also they couldn’t have given the guy contacts? Brown eyes? Are you fucking serious?

Also he hated poetry, everyone knows he was into classic lit and long form novels.”

It’s so bizarre and so clearly his brother that he laughs.

The sound brings the cacophony of bats to a halt, all turning to stare at Dick.

“Did you do this?” Bruce Batman asks, his voice cold. Dick takes a moment to breathe. Getting into another screaming match with his father won’t solve anything. Not right now anyway. There’s time for that later.

“‘No. It’s him, he’s alive, B.” Dick hands over his phone.

Bruce stands frozen for what feels like an eternity.

Everyone’s eyes are on him, on Dick’s phone clutched in his shaking hands.

“Oracle-” He starts, and it’s the most unsure the kids have ever heard him. “-can you trace this? Can you- he logged in from a new device. Can you find out where it is? Please?” Bruce finishes, never taking his eyes off the screen. Dick is pretty sure it’s already timed out.

“I’ve got a location, I sent it to your gps.” Babs responds, zeroed in on the Batcomputer.

“Do not follow me.” Bruce orders darkly, pulling on his cowl and beelining for the Batmobile. Dick doesn’t even argue that Bruce is still clutching his phone.

He’s gone in a flash of smoke, only the echo of the engine and the smell of burning rubber remains.

Dick chances a glance at the rest of the vigilantes filling the cave.

“Well, it’s a very Jason thing to do.” The joke seems to break some kind of tension, and after a moment, laughter ripples through them.

It is a Jason thing to do.

They move in synch, gearing up and moving out.

After all, what’s the first thing you learn as Robin?

‘Nobody listens to Batman anyway.’

[steveslevis]

let’s make it cinematic!

azriel x OF!reader (modern au) - part 1 of ?

summary: azriel and his girl are looking for new ways to make ends meet when their friends suggest something that neither of them would’ve ever thought to try…something neither of them would’ve ever thought they’d enjoy so much.

warnings: drinking, smoking (weed-adjacent aka mirthroot), sex tapes/filming sexual acts, dom!azriel x sub!reader, smut!!! so much smut, fingering, oral (m receiving), p in v sex, rough sex, degradation AND praise kinks, (light) choking, dirty talk, shadow play, size kink (simply bc az is HUGE), creampie (wrap it up yall!!!), az is a protective dom & king of aftercare, mentions of exhibitionism and a foursome

word count: 7.5k

a/n: it's FINALLY here!!!! shoutout to @bookishbishhh for the amazing idea, sorry this took forever...i hope everyone enjoys part 1 of who knows how many <333

Thick smoke hangs in the air around the apartment, the sound of laughter likely carrying through the entire complex as Azriel, Cassian and Rhys sit on the couch, talking about nothing in particular. 

It’s a weekly ritual at this point for them to get together on a Friday night, just three so-called brothers laughing about senseless stories and reminiscing on their years spent together while passing mirthroot and sharing a bottle of whiskey. This week was no different from any other, aside from the distance in Azriel’s hazel eyes as the other two laugh about something Cassian did at a party the weekend before. 

Rhys nudges the quiet male, offering him the lit mirthroot between his fingers to grab his attention. Azriel grunts in response, taking it before placing it between his lips and inhaling sharply. 

“What’s on your mind, brother?” Rhys questions. 

Azriel is hesitant to share, squeezing his eyes shut as he holds the smoke in for a moment. He knows Rhys specifically won’t understand his situation, considering he’s never had to deal with financial hardship in his life. But he knows there’s never been judgment from either of them when discussing money, so he pushes his hesitancy down despite the hollow feeling in his chest.

“Things have just been tough lately,” he sighs, finally exhaling the smoke he was holding in before passing the mirthroot to Cassian. “We have no fucking money and I hate that Y/N has to work pretty much any time she’s not studying or in class. She’s stuck at that damn restaurant every night until fucking midnight and I hate seeing her so exhausted every night but it’s not like she can just quit right now.”

There’s a beat of silence in the room as both Cassian and Rhys nod in understanding, before Cassian exhales his smoke and suggests something Azriel would’ve never expected.

“Have you thought about OnlyFaes?” 

“Shut the fuck up Cass–”

“I’m not fucking around!” Cassian interjects, “I mean, don’t get all shitty and possessive on me, but your girlfriend is hot as fuck, and horny as fuck might I add. So why not get paid to fuck her? Me and Nes have had the best time doing it.”

It was no secret that Nesta had her own OnlyFaes and that Cassian was featured on it more times than not, he loves showing her off on their page and showing everyone how hot his girl that nobody else will ever have a chance to touch is.

“You can’t be serious,” Azriel nearly snarls, shaking his head sharply, “I am not gonna even ask her to do that. Y/N would never.”

Rhys chuckles while pouring himself some more whiskey, making Azriel snap his gaze in that direction, “What?” he insists, eyes narrowed on Rhys, “What’s so funny about that?”

“I think you don’t know your girlfriend if you think she wouldn’t be willing to try that,” Rhys says smoothly with a smirk, “Considering all the times you’ve had an audience–accidentally or not–I think she might be more than okay with doing it on camera, as long as you’re the one doing it.”

Azriel’s jaw twitches at his words, mind racing with thoughts of how good you look when he fucks you, how he can’t get enough of the noises you make when you cum, how well it would probably do in a video. There’s conflicting voices in his mind, one telling him to never share you and one telling him that the two of you could be so successful and never have to worry about how you were gonna pay rent again.

“I mean, don’t you think it’s worth a shot, Az?” Cassian questions. “I think she’d be into it.”

As Azriel opens his mouth to reply, the sound of a key sliding into the front door lock stops him in his tracks. His shadows skitter towards the door and swirl around the handle, excited to greet their favorite person.

The door opens a moment later, and you’re on the other side looking exhausted from a long day of class and work. You give your boyfriend a weak smile, mumbling a quick hello to the other two males in the room while closing the door and throwing your bag down. You look up from where you throw your bag down and halfway frown, cursing yourself silently for forgetting that it’s Friday and you wouldn’t be able to spend the rest of the night cuddling in bed with Az. 

“Long night?” Cassian is the first to break the silence, furrowing his brow as he takes in your disheveled appearance. You nod and he grimaces sympathetically, holding up the bottle in his hand as he does. “Want a shot?” 

Azriel elbows Cassian roughly, shooting a glare in his direction before standing up to walk over to you. His eyes fall on you and you nearly melt, leaning into his grasp as he reaches for your cheek. Azriel’s large wings raise behind him, as if he’s trying to shield you from the two males on the couch behind him as he and his shadows greet you.

“Ignore him, I think he’s had too much mirthroot tonight and is going crazy.” he mumbles, stroking his thumb across your cheek, “did you have a good shift?”

You sigh before shaking your head, rolling your eyes at the thought of the draining night you just had. Working in Prythian’s finest dining room came with its perks, mainly being the somewhat generous tips, but that didn’t mean that people weren’t assholes to you throughout every single shift, and tonight was no different. 

You had gotten stuck waitressing for a large party of businessmen, who all decided it would be a great idea to flirt with you all night and make crude comments under their breath in your direction any time you passed their seats. So no, you hadn’t had a good shift at all.  

“Don’t really wanna talk about it,” you retort tiredly, frowning up at Azriel while reaching up to cup his cheek. “I’m just gonna go to bed, I think. Don’t wanna bring down the fun.”

A frown crosses Azriel’s face for a moment but he nods, noting the darkness underneath your eyes as you stare up at him, “we’ll try not to be too loud and keep you up.”

The other males bid you goodnight from the couch as Azriel kisses your cheek gently. You give him a tired smile before trudging towards the bedroom. 

You shrug out of your black slacks and polo, changing into pajamas before curling up under the covers. It doesn’t take you more than five minutes to fall asleep, exhaustion raking over your whole body as soon as your head meets the pillow. 

________________________________________

The bed is empty and cold when you wake, making you frown at the absence of your favorite person. Before you can sulk too much, your phone buzzes from the bedside table. You turn over in the bed to grab for it, a small smile crossing your face as you read Azriel’s name on the screen. You look at the clock in the corner of the screen, realizing you slept in until 12:30 in the afternoon after utter exhaustion took you in the night before. There are three texts from the male, all over the last six hours. 

Azzy <3 - 6:15 am: Forgot to tell you that I was taking an extra shift at the shop this morning, I’ll be home around 1. Love you.

Azzy <3 - 8:52 am: Can’t wait to spend the rest of the day cuddling in bed…wish I could’ve been there to wake you up the proper way this morning ;)

Azzy <3 - 12:28 pm: Don’t even know if you’re awake yet, but I’ll be home in less than five minutes. Finished up the car I was working on early, see you soon, love. 

You smile to yourself as you read his semi-formal texts. He’s never been keen on texting since he’d rather just call you, but he’s gotten more chatty over text since the two of you barely get to see each other when you’re busy with work and school all the time. You start to type a message in reply, but he’s true to his word and you hear the front door unlocking only four minutes after he sent his last text. 

You wait patiently in the bed, sitting up as you watch the bedroom door intently. It only takes a few seconds for him to open the door quietly, eyes widening in half-shock when he sees that you’re actually awake. You smile over at him sleepily, noting how his oil-stained coveralls are draped over his arm and his hands are surprisingly clean, as if he cleaned himself up before coming home. 

“Well, good morning, sleeping beauty.” he teases, striding over to your side of the bed to give you a quick kiss. 

“Hi,” you mumble tiredly, reaching up to cup his cheek gently. “Did you have a good morning?” 

He hums in agreement, quickly tossing his work clothes into their designated laundry basket before slipping under the covers next to you. You slide as close to him as possible, wrapping your arms around his waist while burying your face in his neck. Azriel’s arms snake around your shoulders, planting a kiss on the top of your head. The two of you lay in comfortable silence, happy to sit in each other’s arms and enjoy the moment for a while. 

When you do finally pull away to look up at him, Azriel’s brow is furrowed and he’s staring at the opposite wall, deep in thought. You trail your hand along his chest to break him from his trance, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt to get his attention.

“What’s on your mind?” you question when he finally looks down at you. 

“Oh, just something Cass said last night,” he sighs, giving you a wry smile. You raise your brow at him, waiting for him to continue. “We were talking about how it’s been hard for us, with you being in school and working and with me having to pick up extra shifts at the shop. And–And he suggested a way for us to make more money. I was just thinking about it.”

“Well, what was it?” you urge. 

“He suggested that we try OnlyFaes.” he says bluntly, watching you intently to gauge your reaction. 

“O–Oh.” you say, a blush spreading across your cheeks as you mull over his words. 

“Yeah, I–I thought it was insane at first.” he begins, shadows slithering around his wings as he looks at you with nervous eyes. “But then I got to thinking about it. Would it really be so bad? I–I mean, we already fuck all the time, and you’re insatiable as is,” he says with a small smirk, “What’s the difference between doing it alone versus in front of a camera? It’ll just be us still.”

Your mind races as you think about his suggestion. In all honesty, it seems less and less insane the more you think about it. You’ve heard of people making so much money on OnlyFaes, so what’s the real harm in it? 

Before you can come up with a reply, Azriel takes your face in his hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks gently.

“I don’t want you to say yes right now. I don’t want to force you to do something you’re not interested in, love.” he says quietly, searching your gaze for any signs of offense. “It might not be for us, we don’t even have to attempt it if you don’t feel comfortable with it. It’s just something to think about, okay?”

Something roils in your gut as he peers down at you lovingly, a strange feeling of lust mixed with sin. 

“Yeah–Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

________________________________________

Laughter and playful banter fill the living room of Nesta and Cassian’s apartment as you sit on the velvet couch with Nesta. She insisted you come over on your night off for a girl’s night, one filled with gossip, talk about all of your favorite smutty books, and plenty of wine. The conversation flowed naturally, and you eventually brought up the conversation you had with Azriel a few nights prior, the one you hadn’t been able to shake for the last few days. 

“Can you believe that?” you giggle, swirling the red liquid in your glass, “Az actually suggested that I should start an OnlyFaes. Me, of all people! Like I would make any money.”

Nesta smirks at you, shaking her head at your feigned outrage while sipping her own wine. 

“I can believe it, actually.” she retorts, making you stop dead in your tracks. “I know you could make plenty of money. I make plenty on there and I’m sure you could make even more than I do, especially if you let Az fuck you–”

“Wait, wait–” you interject, brow furrowed as you sit up abruptly as she speaks. “You do OnlyFaes?”

“Of course I do, you didn’t know?” Nesta says casually, raising an eyebrow as you stare at her wide-eyed. “Me and Cass are so horny that we’re on each other almost all the time, might as well make some money while we’re going at it, you know?”

“Are you fucking with me right now, Nes?” you question, unable to read her facial expression as she watches with amusement as you obsess over this revelation.

“No, Y/N. I’m not fucking with you.” she laughs dryly. 

“And–And you actually make money by doing this?” you continue, still skeptical.

Nesta nods, reaching for her phone, “Would me showing you my profile and my last payment from the site make you stop asking so many questions?”

You’re silent as you nod in reply, waiting impatiently as she pulls up the page on her phone. Nesta hands her phone to you, a small chuckle escaping her lips again as you go wide-eyed as you scroll. There were dozens of videos on her profile, some with Cassian, some with just her, along with countless photos of her in positions you truly weren’t sure were possible before seeing them with your own eyes. 

“Oh, quit blushing like a schoolgirl,” Nesta’s voice makes you jump as she leans over to you, pressing a few buttons on her phone as you hold it, “it’s not like you and Azriel are vanilla saints in the bedroom who just stick to missionary. I’ve seen the two of you fuck before, remember?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble under your breath, blush deepening as you recall the time Cassian and Nesta walked in on Azriel fucking you ruthlessly into the couch of their old shared apartment and didn’t stop once he noticed them. 

“Uh huh, I’m sure you don’t,” she retorts, clicking one final button on her phone before letting go, revealing her last paycheck from the account, “Here’s the proof that I actually make some money.”

Some money was the understatement of the century if you were being honest. Last week alone Nesta had made $1200, and $1400 the week before, and some weeks she made up to $2000. The thought of making that much money in a month, let alone one week, was something you never thought you’d be able to do. 

“I really think you should go for it,” Nesta urges genuinely as she watches you stare in wonder at her paychecks, “I think you’ll enjoy this a hell of a lot more than your shitty ass waitressing job.”

“Yeah–Yeah, I probably would,” you say sheepishly, handing the phone back to her as your mind races with the possibilities. “I’ll think about it.”

________________________________________

Perched on top of the kitchen counter, you admire the shirtless male in front of you as he finishes preparing a simple dinner for the two of you. It’s not uncommon for Azriel to make dinner, as you’re usually too tired to think about making anything by the time you get home from work. He plates the pasta with tomato sauce, adding some cheese on top before pouring two glasses of your favorite–but cheap–red wine. 

Azriel tending to you–in any manner–is truly your favorite sight, the way he makes sure you’re always happy and cared for always makes your heart sing, and your core ache. 

You take in every inch of him as he focuses on the glasses in front of him, eyes trailing from his half-wet hair from taking a shower a few minutes ago, down to his bare chest, over his tattooed shoulders to his muscular back and the wings–gods, those wings–between his shoulder blades. The bat-like wings behind him always make you damn near feral, loving the way they flare and twitch when you touch them, the way they make the already large Illyrian male seem even larger and more intimidating than he already is. 

“Dinner, my love.” he says, finally breaking you from your trance as he turns to face you. Your cheeks are flushed red when he turns to you and he smirks, knowing he just caught you staring. 

Before he can make any playful jabs at you for gawking, you let what’s been on your chest for the last day finally come out. 

“I wanna do it.” you start, looking at him with fire and lust in your gaze. 

“I mean, you always wanna do it–” he teases casually as he slides the plates onto the small table in between the kitchen and living room, “but can’t that wait? You need to eat, sweetheart.”

“No, no.” you shake your head at him, brow furrowing in frustration as you’re unsure how to word your next sentence. But fuck it, you’re just gonna say it, “I wanna try OnlyFaes.” 

“Oh,” he says and you swear his voice drops an octave when he speaks, “you wanna do that, huh?”

He moves in one quick stride to stand between your spread thighs, trapping you on the countertop by bracketing his large hands on either side of you. You peer up at him with wide eyes, nodding wordlessly as his shadows flicker around the two of you. 

“Are you sure?” he questions, his hazel eyes going dark as his mind races to impossibly inappropriate places. 

“Yes,” you say confidently, reaching one hand up to tug through his dark hair, “I want you to fuck me on camera, Az. Wanna show the world how good I can be for you, Sir.” 

The tension in the air is palpable as you draw out that last word, looking up at him with lust-filled eyes as he towers over you.

“I told you not to call me that unless you can handle finishing what you’re starting,” he nearly growls, hands coming up to grip your hips tightly, “and right now, you need to eat, not start this teasing shit.”

You hum in response, a glint of mischief in your eyes as your hand trails from his hair and down to the back of his neck, pulling him down and into a passionate kiss. He groans against your mouth, pressing your body against his by tugging your ass to the edge of the counter and making you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“What if I’m not hungry and I wanna finish what I’m starting?” you tease, angling your hips up to meet his, only the thin fabric of your underwear and his sweatpants between you two, as you’re only wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of underwear.

Azriel doesn’t have time to make any remarks before you pull him back in for another searing kiss. He keeps his lips on yours as one hand finds its way between your thighs, making you whine against his lips as his fingers hover over your core. Your hips buck into his hand as his index finger swirls over your clothed clit, making him groan as you nearly melt under his touch. 

“Gods, thinking about me fucking you in front of a camera turns you on this much?” he teases, kissing down the side of your neck as you nod enthusiastically at him. He only chuckles and pushes the cloth of your panties to the side, slipping a thick finger into you without warning. “Such a good little whore for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes, Az.” you nearly plead, continuing to nod as he pumps the finger in and out a few more times before adding another. “I’m your little slut, wanna show everyone how good you make me feel.”

He hums in approval as you grind against his fingers, which drive into you quickly as you grip onto his shoulders to keep balance on the counter. His shadows travel beneath his shirt that you’re wearing, teasing your nipples as he focuses on your dripping cunt and swollen clit. You’re almost completely lost in the pleasure, that familiar knot forming in your stomach at a rapid pace while you whimper against his neck. 

Just as you’re about to reach that sweet release, all stimulation from the male and his shadows stops, his hands back against the counter as he leans in to give you a chaste kiss on the cheek. You stare at him with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing as if you’re a fish out of water as you look at him in disbelief. 

“You need to eat and you’re not cumming until you do.” he says in a warning tone against your cheek before pulling away completely, motioning for you to follow him to the dining table after he smooths down your shirt and places your underwear back over your core. 

“Az,” you plead, trudging along behind the male towards the table, “what if I told you that I ate a little bit, like, two hours ago?” 

The male turns to look at you with narrowed eyes as he sits at the table, he definitely doesn’t believe a word you’re saying. 

“Some asshole asked for a salad and then sent it back at least five times because none of them were right, so Omar let me have one of the remakes because of all the trouble the ass put me through,” you explain, ignoring the chair Azriel pulled out for you to sit in, opting to shift onto your knees in front of the male, “I’m not even hungry.”

That was a lie, you were hungry, but only for him. 

He stares down at you, his face showing only cool composure as you crawl a bit closer to him on your knees, hands coming up to rest on his thighs as you sit between them. There’s a noticeable tent in his sweats in front of you, which you eye hungrily as one hand comes up to palm it through the thin fabric. You hesitate for a moment as he looks down at you with an unreadable look in his eyes, but continue when he doesn’t stop you. 

It only takes one tug on the waistband of his sweats to free his large cock, letting it spring back in front of your face before grabbing the length. You’ll honestly never get used to how big it is, how your hand barely reaches around the entire girth when you stroke it, how it fills you up to the brim every time it’s in your mouth or in your cunt. 

You stare up at him as he leans back in the chair, trying to keep his composure as you reach to kitten-lick and kiss the red, angry tip of his cock before attempting to take it into your mouth. He grunts as the tip hits the back of your warm throat, your tongue sliding over the underside as you fist the rest of his length that you can’t fit into your mouth. He looks down at you then, noticing the way your free hand snakes between your thighs and you rut your hips against your palm, desperately trying anything to cure the ache that he left between your thighs. 

It’s then that he decides he’s not hungry–for anything except for you–anymore.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Azriel whimpers finally, tugging at your hair to pull you off his length. You look up to him with a furrowed brow, glassy eyes and a frown, disappointed in his denial. “You’re such a little needy cockslut, aren’t you?”

Before you can reply, you’re tugged from the ground and thrown over the male’s shoulder, making you squeal in surprise. He pushes the chair out of his way before turning on his heels to walk towards your shared bedroom.

“C’mon, love.” he murmurs as he kisses the outside of your upper thigh that’s nearest to his head, “let’s go practice for the camera.”

________________________________________

In all honesty, you never thought the two of you would actually follow through with this, but here you are, kneeling on your bed in the apartment you share with Azriel, wearing a new white silk slip over a matching lace thong while he sets up the camera facing where you’re sitting on the bed. 

“Are you sure about this?” Azriel asks for probably the fifth time in the last ten minutes, searching your gaze for any signs of doubt before he turns the camera on.

“Az, I’m fine.” you assure him once more, pushing your nerves down as you stare at your beautiful boyfriend from across the room. “Now let’s get this shit started before I’m not horny anymore.”

He raises a brow at you and chuckles, toying with the buttons on the camera you borrowed from Nesta once more.

“Ready?”

You nod, watching Azriel closely as he clicks the button to turn the video on. 

“Sit up straight and look pretty for me, sweetheart.” he says while taking a step towards the bed, “wanna see how beautiful you look before you get all fucked out on my cock, even though I love how cute you look then, too.”

You’re amazed at how quickly he switches into his usual sultry and serious tone, you immediately obey his command by straightening out your back, peering up at him through your lashes. You’re glad he’s acting like he normally does in the bedroom and is trying to make it seem as though it’s just the two of you as much as possible, like he’d promised the night before. 

He takes another swift step and he’s at the foot of the bed, thigh brushing against your knee as he presses against the mattress. Your eyes rove over his body, taking in his bare, sculpted chest littered with swirling tattoos, his wings flared behind his shoulders, the silver chain adorning his neck, his black boxers hiding his best assets, all making your heart–and core–flutter. He reaches for your chin, gripping it lightly to force your gaze to meet his lust-filled eyes. He smirks down at you, taking in every inch of you.

“Hi love,” he nearly purrs, one hand falling to the strap of your slip, toying with the silk between his thumb and pointer finger, “I like this little outfit, is this all for me?”

“All for you, Sir.” you respond sweetly, fighting the urge to reach up and pull his lips down to yours by pressing your palms firmly against your bare thighs.

“Such a sweet girl,” he coos, fingers trailing through your hair towards the nape of your neck, tugging at the locks to make you whine. “You’ve been such a good girl for me, sitting pretty while you wait for me to set up. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

Your eyes light up at his words, nodding quickly as he chuckles at your enthusiasm. At this point, you’ve almost forgotten about the camera pointing at you, your brain nearly turned to mush just because of Azriel’s sweet yet domineering demeanor, just like you always do when he takes control.

“What kind of reward do you want tonight, love?” he says, watching you fidget excitedly under his touch.

“Wanna cum for you, Sir.” you say shyly, a blush creeping onto your cheeks as you stare up at him, “Wanna cum on your fingers, a–and your cock.”

“So greedy,” he teases, one hand roaming toward the swell of your breasts, “But since you’ve been such a patient girl for me, I think I can make that work.”

You nod excitedly in response, grinning as Azriel leans down to pull your lips into a swift kiss. He pulls away as quickly as he pulled you in, moving to sit behind you on the bed instead of standing in front of you. He situates you between his spread legs, adjusting to where you’re leaning against his chest with your knees bent and your thighs spread, putting you on full display.

He makes quick work of exploring your body, one hand kneading your right breast while the other pushes the hem of your slip up. You crane your neck to look up at him, a pout forming on your lips to silently beg for a kiss. Azriel obliges, releasing your breast to grip your neck, squeezing slightly as he pulls you in for a kiss. 

His other hand continues to roam along your spread thighs, massaging the soft skin with touches teasingly close to your core. You whine into the kiss, canting your hips against his hand to gain more friction as he teases you. His fingers brush against your clit once before pulling the lace thong down your legs to throw it on the ground, exposing your glistening core to him and the camera. 

“Gods, you’re so wet.” he mutters against your cheek, one finger sliding into your heat with ease as you whine. “That’s it, such a good girl.”

Your head falls against his shoulder as you bite back a moan and snap your eyes shut, grinding your hips against his hand as he slowly pumps the digit in and out. His hand squeezes your throat then, a low disapproving growl falling from his lips making your eyes fly open to look up at him.

“Eyes on me, baby.” he warns, thumb reaching up to circle your clit as he adds a second finger, your mouth falling open in a silent whine as he does. “And don’t bite back those moans, I wanna hear you.”

You nod up at him with wide, glassy eyes as his fingers increase in speed, making a crude noise as they drive into your dripping cunt. Azriel groans above you, cock hardening against your back as you squirm and moan. His fingers are unforgiving, allowing you no time to adjust as he brings you closer and closer to your peak. He looks away from you for only a moment, taking the chance to look at the two of you in the viewfinder next to the camera. The screen shows you sprawled out in front of him, staring up at him with glassy eyes as his shadows swirl around your waist and arms to keep you firmly against him. You look so fucked out already, desperate for more as his fingers pound into you. 

“Look at you,” he chuckles, turning back to actually look down at you, eyes trailing along your form. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

You nod quickly, a moan falling from your lips as you grip his large thigh, squeezing it firmly to keep yourself in place. 

“Already so fucked out that you can’t even speak, huh?” he teases while tightening his grip on your throat to elicit a squeak of pleasure from your lips. “I haven’t even given you my cock yet, and you’re already a dumb little cockslut?”

“Y–Yes, yes, yes” you whimper, the words nearly a chant on your lips as you feel that familiar warmth winding up at your core. “I’m your dumb little cockslut, Sir. Just–Just wanna be your good girl and–and cum for you.”

It always amazes Azriel how easily you fall under a spell when he touches you, how easily you trust him with your pleasure like this. He smirks down at you, but can’t hide the adoration shining in his eyes as kisses your cheek gently, a stark contrast to his rough fingers in your heat and his skittering shadows holding you in place.

“So good for me, sweetheart.” he mumbles against your skin, nodding at you. “Go ahead, baby. Be a good girl and cum on my fingers.”

His words are your undoing, making you fall apart almost instantly. Your body shakes as you cum, and you feel nothing but white hot pleasure as he continues his assault on your core. You can barely hear him over the ringing in your ears as you tighten around his fingers, but you know Azriel is murmuring words of praise in your ear as he watches you writhe under his touch. He doesn’t relent when you come down from your high, fingers still pumping into you while his thumb circles your clit as you attempt to squirm away from him, but fail as his hand on your throat along with his shadows hold you in place. 

“P–Please, I–I can’t.” you cry out, eyes wide as you plead with the male and twist in his arms. “I–I wanna cum on your cock now, n–not your fingers, Sir. Please.”

Azriel smirks as you beg, but finally slows his fingers to a halt and releases your throat. 

“Since you were so good for me, I guess I can give you what you want.” he teases, repositioning you to sit in the middle of the bed once more, kneeling behind you this time. He kisses your shoulder as he tugs his boxers off, pulling at the silk strap of your slip. “Why don’t you take this off for me, sweet girl.” 

You nod mindlessly as your eyes wander towards the viewfinder, remembering that you’re not exactly alone in this scenario. A deep blush spreads across your cheek as you pull the slip over your head, catching a glimpse of your bare body on the screen. 

“So sexy,” you hear Azriel rasp out behind you, bringing you back to reality as he reaches for your hips, pushing your knees apart as he kneels between yours and presses your ass against his painfully hard cock. “You want my cock now, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please.” you plead, craning your neck to look back at him again. 

He hums in approval as he kisses up your neck, stopping at your ear. His breath fans against your skin as his teeth graze your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine as you wait for his instruction.

“Go ahead and bend over for me,” he orders, watching you with lust-filled eyes as you bend at the waist, pressing your chest to the bed with your ass still pressed against his cock. 

Azriel’s shadows flick out then, tugging your hands to bind them behind your back, leaving you defenseless against the male behind you. He lets out a low groan as he takes you in, one hand kneading the fat of your ass as the other fists his length, teasing it between your folds slowly. You whine in response, craning your neck to look up at him with wide, needy eyes. The sight behind you is enough to make you fold immediately, enough to make you bend at any whim that he has. He’s staring at his cock with heavy-lidded eyes, arm and chest muscles flexed as he holds back the urge to slam into you right then. His wings droop slightly, but you can’t help but notice the way they twitch as his hips roll against yours. A moment later, he looks forward to meet your gaze, silently searching your eyes for any signs of hesitation, but finding none. 

“You gonna be a good girl and take what I give you?” he questions, raising a brow at you as your hips rock back against his once, twice.

“Yes, Sir.” you reply quickly, eager to see how he wants you. 

“Good girl.” he nearly purrs, voice low as he finally slams into you, cock filling you to the brim as you let out a small moan. “Fuck, always so tight.”

Azriel’s vice grip on your hips is the only thing holding you up as he fills you to the hilt, tip rubbing against your cervix with brutal force when he bottoms out. You can only cry out and take what he gives you as he picks up speed, just like he wanted. He smirks down at you, mind spinning as he takes you in; takes in how your ass bounces against his hips with each thrust, how your bound fists squeeze tightly behind your back, how your eyes brim with tears as you cry out in pleasure as he pounds into you.

“Gods, it feels like your cunt was made for my cock,” he remarks, squeezing his eyes shut to push off a premature orgasm. “You love when I fuck you like this, don’t you? You love being at my mercy and going dumb on my dick, don’t you?” 

“Yes, yes, I–I love it!” you nearly yell followed by a string of moans falling from your lips as a rogue shadow snakes around to toy with your clit. “F–Fuck, you’re so big, s–so full.”

“I know, sweetheart. You’re taking it so well, though.” he praises, continuing his punishing pace. “I know you can give me another orgasm, wanna see you fall apart on my cock.”

“I–I’m already close, Sir.” you admit, blushing as you peer back at him. “N–Need to cum, please.”

“That’s okay, baby.” he says gently, slamming his hips into you again as he slaps your ass lightly once. “You can do it, you can cum for me, baby.” he urges while his shadows press into your clit even more, “Cum on my cock, make a mess on my cock and I’ll reward you with my cum.”

The thought of him cumming in you spurs you on more than it should and before you know it, you’re cumming on his length, walls spasming around him feverishly as you cry out. Azriel curses under his breath as you do, only moments before he reaches his own climax, release coating your heat as his hips falter. 

You swear you almost black out as you come down from your high, a whirlwind of emotions and sensations flooding your body as Azriel slows behind you. Once he stills, you relax, a small whimper falling from your lips as his shadows retreat from your body and your hands fall to your side once more as the rest of your body relaxes. You don’t know how long the two of you stay there, and barely notice Azriel pulling out of you and sliding off the bed, quickly moving to turn the camera off before returning to your side. He sits down next to you, peering down at you lovingly as you blink at him slowly. 

“Hi, love.” he says gently, reaching over to push your hair out of your face.

“Hi, Az.” you reply tiredly, rolling over onto your side once you’ve caught your breath.

“You did so good for me, baby.” he coos before turning to the bedside table to grab the glass of water and washcloth he’d set out before you began earlier. “Take a drink for me.” 

You sit up slowly, taking the glass to take a long sip as Azriel runs the washcloth over you legs and core, cleaning the slick from your thighs. Your heart flutters as he takes care of you, falling more and more in love with the male with every second he spends focused on you. He looks up as you finish off the glass of water, taking it from your hand before kissing your forehead lovingly. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, genuine concern shining in his eyes, trying to decide if he missed any signs of your discomfort during the scene. 

“I’m great, Az.” you say with a veritable smile, cupping his cheek to pull him in for a quick kiss. “That was amazing, you’re amazing.”

You swear you see a blush pass across his cheeks at your compliment, a smile gracing his lips as he nods at you. “How about you get changed into something comfortable while I order us some Thai takeout, yeah? We can eat on the couch and watch your favorite movie, and I’ll even give you a massage if you want.” he suggests, leaning down to kiss you again. 

Your eyes light up at his suggestion, giggling happily at him, “You always spoil me,” you reply against his lips. 

“Only because you always deserve it.”

________________________________________

It took you a few days to get the courage to finally post the video to your page, but you finally did. Nesta convinced you that she would help you edit the video. She even went as far as offering to ‘shout you out’ on her page, which entailed you posing with her in a pair of skimpy lingerie to post on her feed. Azriel wasn’t happy about that at first, but didn’t try to stop you from doing it, knowing it would only boost your page and get more engagement for your video thanks to Nesta’s established following. 

You posted the video three days ago and essentially avoided opening the OnlyFaes app after that, scared to see the results of your scandalous endeavor. 

So, when you returned from your evening class, you didn’t expect to find Nesta and Cassian lounging on your couch with Azriel, seemingly celebrating something with a bottle of champagne. 

“There she is!” Cassian cheers when you walk in, grinning widely at you while reaching for a glass of champagne to hand to you. 

“What’s this for?” you question, hesitantly taking the glass as you take the seat on the couch next to Azriel, who leans over to press a kiss to your forehead in greeting.

“We’re celebrating,” Azriel murmurs against your skin, a half-amused smirk on his lips as he looks down at you when you furrow your brow, “Celebrating our success. The champagne was entirely Cassian’s idea.”

“Your video was a hit,” Cassian laughs, wiggling his eyebrows at you mischievously. “We just wanted to come say congrats.”

“Oh, it was?” you say, eyes widening as you reach for your phone quickly. 

“It seems everyone loved both you and Azriel.” Nesta interjects, watching you with a smirk as you navigate to your OnlyFaes app. 

You quickly open the app, noticing how the Notifications tab has a red bubble above it that says 99+ before clicking on your profile. Last time you checked, you only had one subscriber–Nesta’s account–and now you have over two thousand. You scroll down to the video, clicking on the thumbnail. The sight of 302,000 views makes your eyes widen once more, wondering how you missed all of the notifications from the apparently semi-viral video. Before exiting out of the video, the amount of comments catch your eye, urging you to scroll to see them.

faebae12: GODS he’s soooooo hot…and the way he looks at her!!! I need a male like this in my life.

daycourtbabygirl: his mouth is so fucking dirty and she’s SO sexy i need more of them ASAP

biggestwingspan9: came so fast. need someone to go dumb on my cock like this 

subslut1000: what i would give to be between them…so fucking good

sizequeen75: ohhhh my gods his cock is so big i need to be tied down with shadows and fucked like that

The sound of laughter finally pulls you from your trance as you sort through the endless comments talking about how much they love the two of you, you finally look up to see Nesta and Cassian staring at you expectantly. 

“I–I really didn’t expect this to happen.” you say sheepishly, blushing deeply as they continue to stare you down. 

“You need to have more faith in yourself,” Nesta chides, raising a brow at you, “This is just the beginning, and you’re already doing so well. You were so hot.”

“You–You actually watched it?” you stammer.

“Of course I did,” she chuckles, and Cassian nods next to her while elbowing Azriel encouragingly. “I think you look like a great time, and who knows, maybe we could collaborate someday when you’re more comfortable. I would love to do some more dom work alongside these two,”

Cassian smirks at Nesta in agreement and you expect Azriel to tense beside you, but he doesn’t. You look to him then, and he smirks down at you as well before kissing your cheek. 

“What do you think, love?” Azriel says, raising a brow at you, “Should we keep doing this and see where it takes us?” 

Your mind races as you take in the whole situation, letting the fact that you were actually successful with this escapade finally settle in. A smile crosses your face then, core heating at the thought of continuing to let Azriel fuck you on camera. It sounds insane, but you truly don’t care anymore, especially since you both enjoyed it so fucking much.

“Yeah.” you say with a wide grin, “Yeah, I think we should keep going.”

tag list (add yourself here!): @dreamloud4610 @angelbunny222 @bookishbishhh @fanficscuziranout @buckingforbuckybarnes @thefandomplace @feyretopia @mad-hatters-lover @kissesfromnovalie @mulledwinetea @saltedcoffeescotch @mrsjna @chillymountsjess @azriels-human @messageforthesmallestman @delphinefour04 @kbear8863 @secretsicanthideanymore @randomgurl2326 @shushsstuff @caitm1 @eeniemeenie

[gravedwe11er]

Got hit by a Mecha AU Swerve angst idea in the middle of the night, and I had to put it down on a page. Based on the @keferon Mecha AU and inspired by all the amazing Swerve/Blurr art I see around (seriously, yall are giving me so many ideas and I love it).

More often than not, nowadays, Swerve feels like an imposter in his own frame. His time spent as a human was so short, just an insignificant speck compared to the eons of his real life, his real lifespan, and yet...

Those few scant human years are the realest he can remember feeling.

The medics said it took fifteen cycles for anyone to knock on his door, to even notice his absence. And when someone eventually did, it was just- his boss. One of the engines was giving them trouble, and they needed all servos on deck. That's all.

None of the bots who he talked to every day, the ones he’d worked side by side with for years noticed he was gone. None of the people who would laugh at his jokes and drink with him at the bar had a single thought to spare for him. Nobody missed him, until they needed him for something.

Glum thoughts in the dead of night are one thing. It’s another thing entirely to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it’s all true.

So of course Swerve figured out the holoform thing again. Sure, it’s still kind of risky, but now that he’s actually doing it on purpose, he’s been taking a few precautions – a good recharge, a full fuel tank, and an automated message to be sent off to the medics after a set period of time, in case he knocks himself out again. Actually, he nearly managed just that, the first time he tried it, overtaxing himself almost to the point of shutdown. The keyword being nearly, though! It did little to weaken his resolve, and after a few more tries, he now has a whole system figured out, one that won’t damage his processor.

Or, it probably won’t, anyway. He’s not about to go ask; someone higher up might order him to stop, which-

Yeah, he’s not doing that.

On this ship, Swerve’s got nothing. He might as well be nothing - he’s a trained metallurgist working as a common mechanic, amongst people who barely even know he exists. On Earth, he’s- well. It’s not like he was exactly a social butterfly, but people invited him for shitty cafeteria coffee, a few pilots liked to stop by for a chat sometimes, and if he fell asleep at his desk, someone would come shake him awake within an hour or two.

On Earth, he has Blurr. And that’s not something he’s willing to give up.

Swerve shutters his optics in his tiny room on the ship, and surrenders gladly to the pulling sensation overtaking his processor as his holomatter generator struggles to cross such a vast distance. Then, with a crackle and a fizz of static across his neural net, he’s gone.

When he opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of Blurr’s expansive private hospital suite, with the man nowhere to be seen. He’s been hoping for that, though- as a general rule, he tries to catch the pilot between press conferences and physical therapy sessions, so nobody starts asking questions about the dead man loitering around a celebrity’s rooms. Blurr has enough problems as it is.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait for long. Soon enough, Swerve hears several pairs of footsteps approaching the door, and he ducks into the bedroom, keeping out of sight. “Again, thank you so much for the well-wishes,” carries through the walls, barely loud enough to be audible – Blurr’s voice, he thinks. The ‘business’ voice. “But I really have to go now. The doctor will be visiting soon, you understand.”

There are polite sounds of assent, an exchange of a few more pleasantries before the steps retreat back down the hallway, followed by the quiet whoosh of the front door opening. Cautiously, Swerve peeks out of the bedroom.

Blurr stands in the doorway, back straight, with a bright, practiced smile on the visible half of his face. The other, the one with scars and still healing skin grafts, is covered by an elaborate mask, shaped to look like his mech’s helm. He gives the people outside one final wave, and clicks the door shut.

Then he turns around, notices Swerve and slumps.

Now wobbling slightly, the injured pilot leans his back against a wall, gingerly peeling the mask off of his face to revealed reddened, irritated skin. The smile he turns on Swerve is completely different from before, small and tired and slightly pained.

To anyone else, it would look like an insult. To Swerve, it’s a precious thing, a gift the star shares with very few people in his life - honesty.

“Swerve, hello!” Blurr greets him, sounding slightly out of breath. He’s getting the best care money can buy, but even that only goes so far- recovery will slow and painful, and not everything will go back to how it was. There are some scars the pilot will carry for the rest of his life, and just the thought makes Swerve’s holographic heart ache.

“Hi,” he answers enthusiastically, crossing the room to go help the injured man, only to get waved off.

“Thanks, but I’m good. I need to build up my stamina again.”

Swerve frowns a little, but steps away again. “Alright, if you’re sure. Just be careful! You can lean on me if you need to, yeah? I don’t want you to hurt yourself, so if-“

“Swerve!”, Blurr laughs, interrupting his awkward rambling, and he can feel his holoform’s cheeks going red. “It’s fine, really. I’ll ask you if I need help, alright?”

“Alright,” he mutters into the collar of his shirt and follows after the man, ready to support him if he stumbles. Blurr leads them to his bedroom, laying down on the mattress with a pained grimace, once again waving off any of Swerve’s offers to help. Instead, the man pats one side of the bed in clear invitation, and Swerve does his best to pretend his face isn’t looking like an overripe tomato as he sits, their hands almost touching. Judging by Blurr’s teasing little grin, he fails miserably, but- it made Blurr smile. He’d say that more than makes up for it.

They talk, for as long as Swerve’s holoform generator allows and perhaps a little bit beyond that. He asks after Blurr’s recovery, listens to the pilot bemoan the weakness of his atrophied muscles and endless physical therapy sessions. Learns more about the constant press releases, the pressure from command to return back to duty and perform his star pilot act once again.  They talk about anything and everything the man wants to share, from the important to the mundane.

In turn, Blurr asks him about his life, his day, his work on the ship. Which, here’s the thing- he didn’t really notice much it before his coma, but nobody else actually asks about him. Swerve talks a lot, and sometimes, other bots will even listen, but they never ask.

Except for Blurr. Blurr always asks now, and Swerve always talks and talks and talks, and the pilot never seems to mind. Sometimes, he wishes he knew how to express it, to show the man just how much it means to him, but- in a rare twist of events, the words never manage to leave his mouth.

Doesn’t make it any less true, though.

Every small, honest smile, every real, slightly ugly laugh he gets out of the man makes Swerve’s holographic heart beat overtime. He feels so happy, so at peace when by the man’s side, and he never wants to leave.

But he has to. Eventually, it’s always time to go, his systems warning him of impending shutdown and he hates it, he hates it so much, but he says his goodbyes. Blurr’s understanding about it, of course, and the pilot’s cheeky little wave is the last thing Swerve sees before he closes his eyes and disappears.

When he unshutters his optics, it’s to the sight of his empty, windowless habsuite.  Getting up from his berth, he feels a fleeting stab of vertigo – some echo of his human self’s instinct, warning him of a dangerous height, which, huh. That’s been happening more and more often. Something to ask the medics about, perhaps.

Then again, why bother. It’s not like he doesn’t know what the answer would be.

He misses Blurr already. Misses the warmth of Earth’s sun and the warmth of companionship, the warmth of a soft human touch. Misses his false life and false body, and the very real joy it brings him.

Sometimes, he wishes he never woke up, instead living out his fake human existence in blissful ignorance until his spark eventually guttered from the strain. Occasionally, he wishes he was human. Actually human, not just the holoform- muscle and bone and sinew, just like the rest of them, just like Blurr. It’s clear he doesn’t belong amongst his own kind, so… maybe it’d be better that way.

Most of the time though, he just wants to be on Earth; true frame, fake body, it doesn’t matter. He wants to hold Blurr in his servos, wants to feel like he matters to somebody, wants to-

He’s not really sure what he wants, exactly. He just knows it’s not this.

[scary-grace]

blind date (part ii) - shigaraki x reader

After endless failed attempts to help Tomura up his game, his friends have settled on their last resort: A blind date. Even before you show up, it's not going well. No quirks AU, female reader.

Part 1

Part 2

“No.”

“Yes,” you say. You look sort of embarrassed. “Eight times.”

“No way.” Tomura studies you across the table. His eyes feel blurry with exhaustion and alcohol, but he’d prop his eyelids open with toothpicks before he’d let you think he was falling asleep. “I don’t buy it. Two, maybe. Not eight.”

“Why would I lie about this?” You take a sip of a drink. It might be yours, or it might be Tomura’s. There are so many mostly-empty glasses on the table between the two of you that Tomura’s forgotten which ones he ordered. “If anything, I’d lie the other way. Being stood up for eight first dates isn’t exactly a good sign.”

Tomura finds another drink, finishes it, and gives his verdict. “It’s a sign you met eight stupid guys.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” you say. “If it was one person, or two – but eight? At that point it’s more likely that I’m the problem.”

Tomura doesn’t think so. Tomura’s been talking to you for a while. Probably hours. He lost track of time at some point, probably around when he lost track of which drinks were his and which were yours, and there’s nothing about you that looks like a problem to him. Except the fact that nobody else is dating you, and that looks more like a crazy stroke of luck for Tomura than anything else.

Tomura might not be good at this shit, but he’s not naïve. He keeps checking in with himself, trying to make sure his interest in you isn’t just because you’re a woman who’s talked to him for longer than five minutes without looking at your phone. He hasn’t seen you take your phone out except once, and that was to put it on silent. Which was – hot isn’t right, but Tomura doesn’t really have a better word, except nice, which isn’t right, either. It’s not just because you’re a woman who talked to him or held his hand or ran to meet him even though you were late. He likes a lot of other things about you, too.

He likes that you showed up looking the way you actually look most of the time, instead of dressing up like Magne told you to. He likes that you don’t try to pretend to be something you’re not. When Tomura started talking about video games, you didn’t act like you knew something about them – just like he didn’t pretend he knew something when you started talking about horror movies or novels or manga. You’re funny, but not on purpose. Or at least that’s what Tomura thought, until he glanced at your face after you’d said something that made him laugh and realized that it was what you’d been hoping to do.

“Sorry,” you say, and Tomura snaps out of it. “Talking about past dates on a first date is kind of a red flag, isn’t it?”

“I asked,” Tomura says, wondering if you called this a first date because you’re hoping for a second one. You shrug. “If you’ve met that many shitty guys, how come you agreed to this? What did Magne tell you about me?”

“What did she tell me.” You finish one of the drinks and grimace slightly. “Um, she said you were my age.”

“Okay.”

“She said you have a job,” you continue, “and friends.”

“Yeah,” Tomura agrees. “We have an apartment. We were friends before we had the apartment. It’s not just because we have an apartment.”

“Magne said you’ve all known each other forever,” you say. You smile slightly. “It sounds nice.”

It’s a good thing Tomura’s known them forever. He hasn’t had a lot of luck making friends as an adult. The closest he’s come to making a friend as an adult is probably Dabi’s stupid fiancé, and that’s only because he never leaves. Toga keeps saying that she thinks he’ll like her girlfriend, but she also never lets her girlfriend within a kilometer of the apartment. One time Tomura asked her why not and Toga gave him the weirdest look he’s ever seen. “You’re all boys,” she said. “You’re gross.”

Maybe that’s true. Tomura’s never been in a woman’s apartment, so he doesn’t really have a way to confirm. How gross could it be, really? He should probably ask Toga for specifics. “Did Magne say anything else?”

“She said online dating and the apps weren’t really working for you,” you say. “You do better in person. I don’t know what you’re like online, but – I feel like she was probably right.”

Tomura’s face flushes. He finishes another drink to cover it up. “Your turn,” you say. “What did Magne tell you about me?”

“Uh,” Tomura starts. He finds another drink, but can’t quite stomach finishing it just yet. He’s already about to screw this up, and it’s going to be worse if he throws up on you afterwards. “Not much. Just that you were a girl and you were my age and that you agreed to it.”

You laugh at that. “That’s the important stuff,” you say. “She did a good job managing your expectations.”

“No,” Tomura says. You blink. “She should have told me more.”

“She doesn’t really know more,” you say. “I only see her at work. She got my number so I could tell her when I’m on shift and my boss is off.”

“What’s your boss’s deal, anyway?” Tomura asks. “Just an all-purpose asshole, or –”

“He’s not great to us. The employees, I mean.” You don’t like talking about this. Tomura can tell. “But he makes things really hard on customers who have certain prescriptions. HRT and stuff like that. He doesn’t do anything they can report him for, but he makes it so miserable for them that they don’t want to come in to pick their meds up.”

Tomura knows that type. Magne runs into that type a lot. If it happens when all of them are out together, Tomura and the others take care of it, but they can’t be there every second. “A few people have my number,” you continue. “I give them a heads-up when their prescriptions are in and he’s out.”

“Why didn’t she tell me that?”

“She did,” you say. Tomura meant before, and says so. “Maybe she thought you’d think I was too nice.”

Tomura snorts. “That guy who tried to cut us in line didn’t think you were too nice.”

If he’d been by himself, Tomura would have let it slide just because he doesn’t care enough, but you blocked the guy’s way with your arms crossed, and when he told you to move, you stared at him until he backed off. “Okay, so not too nice,” you say. You pick up another glass, see it’s empty, and wince. “But if she’d told you more about me, you’d have found a reason not to show up.”

“If she’d told you more about me, you’d have said no.” Tomura feels pretty confident in that, and more so with however many drinks under his belt. “She told you I was bad at app dating.”

“Lots of people are.”

“So bad at it that I’ve never been on a date.” Tomura feels pretty good about one-upping you right up until he sees your eyes widen, but his mouth is way ahead of his brain. “Beat that.”

It’s quiet for a second. Tomura stares at you, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment, while you peer into glass after glass, trying to find one that hasn’t been emptied yet. “I don’t know,” you say. “I think being stood up eight times is worse.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“My record is terrible,” you say. You find one more glass and drain it. “Your record, on the other hand – you’re one for one. I’d say that’s pretty good.”

“One for one on what?” Tomura asks.

“Dates,” you say. “This one’s going well.”

“Yeah?” Tomura’s mouth goes dry. He looks around for a glass with something in it, so that he’ll be able to speak without swallowing his tongue, but he comes up empty. You slide your water glass across the table to him and Tomura gulps half of it. “You think it’s going well?”

You looked pretty calm until he said that. Tomura sees you getting nervous. He slides the glass of water back across the table to you in case you want to drink it, but you leave it alone. “I mean,” you start, “we met up at five-forty-five, and it’s almost last call. Maybe it’s just me, but I wouldn’t spend eight hours hanging out with somebody if it wasn’t going well.”

“Last call?” Tomura says, like a dumbass, only for the bartender to shout it out to the room at large a few seconds later. “Eight hours? Really?”

You nod. “So either it’s going well,” you say, “or you just didn’t have anything better to do.”

If Tomura doesn’t want to be somewhere, he goes home even if there’s nothing better to do. He’d rather spend hours watching the most boring vintage simulation game streams in history than spend two seconds longer being social than he wants to. Eight hours hanging out with one person is a record, even once Tomura subtracts the bathroom breaks he had to take because he was dumb enough to break the seal four drinks in. Has he ever spent eight hours doing nothing but talking with someone without getting bored? No. Not even close.

“It’s going well,” he says, and you look relieved. Not happy, just relieved. That’s – not good. “They’re kicking us out now.”

“Yeah.” You get to your feet and stagger a little bit. You probably drank at least as much as Tomura did, but you’re shorter than him, and you’re a woman. Are you okay? “I’m going to go pay. We should figure out rides home. The trains don’t run this late.”

Tomura fucked up somehow. He can’t figure out how, but he’s pretty sure he did. But you’re still about to get kicked out, and somebody has to pay the tab – and somebody has to figure out how you two are getting home. He gets to his feet, too. “I’ll get it. It can’t be that much.”

You look back at all the glasses on the table. “I think it’s going to be a lot. We’ll split.”

Even with the split, it’s more than Tomura’s spent on a night out, ever – and the longer he spends upright, the clearer it is that he’s trashed. You’re trashed, too. Maybe less than he is, because you’re still trying to work out how to get home. “It’ll be cheaper if we split a rideshare,” you say, and hold out your phone. “Put in your address.”

Tomura forgets his own address for a second. Then he types it in, and you take your phone back. “Okay. It’ll drop you off first, then me. Let’s go.”

Tomura follows you out, only weaving a little bit, and then the two of you are on the sidewalk again. The air’s still warm and humid, but at least there’s more of a breeze than there was before. You lean against the boardwalk railing and Tomura copies you. He leaves one hand open at his side in case you want to reach for it. You don’t, so Tomura goes for yours instead, and you look up at him. “Tomura?”

“It’s going well,” Tomura says. Your eyes slide away from his, and he asks a question that’s been on his mind since an hour or so in. “Want to do it again?”

“Stay out until two am on a work night and blow five times my hourly rate on drinks?” You shake your head. “Go on another date? Yeah.”

Tomura hears all of that in the right order, except the thing in the middle that he actually asked about. “It’s a work night?”

“For you, too. You said earlier.” Your hand moves in Tomura’s, unfolding your fingers to lace them together with his. “We should have called it quits four hours ago.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to.” Tomura shouldn’t have had this much to drink. He’s saying stuff he probably shouldn’t. Or should he? He doesn’t see the point in lying about shit on a regular basis. Why start now? “I still don’t.”

Next to Tomura, you take a deep breath, then let it go. “Okay. Give me your phone.”

Tomura fishes it out of his pocket with his free hand and passes it to you, then has to take it back to unlock it. He watches as you navigate to his contacts and add yourself to them – your first name, plus the words “blind date”, like Tomura’s going to forget who you are. How many women do you think he has in his phone? You hand it back to him after saving your contact and Tomura waits for you to hand yours over so he can add his number to yours. You don’t. “I need your phone. You need my number.”

“If you text me, then I’ll have it,” you say. “If you don’t, I won’t need it.”

Tomura feels weird about that. “Is this some kind of test?”

“I’ve gotten stood up eight times. I’m done chasing after people who don’t want me.” You loosen your grip on Tomura’s hand, like you’re giving him the chance to let go. “I ran sixteen blocks to meet you. You can send me a text.”

Tomura can see where you’re coming from. Sort of. The rideshare shows up, and the two of you slide into the backseat. Going from standing up to sitting down gives Tomura some kind of drunken headrush, and he slumps sideways against you. “Sorry –”

“It’s fine.” You shift around in your seat until Tomura’s cheek is resting on your shoulder. You’re still holding his hand. “I don’t mind.”

Tomura doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but the next thing he knows, the rideshare’s coming to a stop outside his apartment building and you’re shaking him awake with the hand that was holding his. “We’re here,” you say. “It was nice to meet you, okay? I had a really good night.”

Tomura nods. His mouth tastes like something died in it, and his mind feels foggy, but not so foggy that he can’t figure out how he wants to say goodbye. Maybe you know. “What do we do?”

“How about a hug?”

Sounds good. Tomura’s mouth tastes too bad for kissing, anyway, and his lips are gross enough to make you wish you’d never met him. He reaches out and drags you awkwardly across the backseat and into his arms, and you – fit. Tomura normally hates touching people, and he hates it even more when he’s drunk, but you fit, still and quiet with your head tucked in against his shoulder and your eyelashes brushing the side of his neck when you blink. Tomura could go back to sleep like this, easy. He’s having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

“Hey,” the driver says from the front seat. “Are you staying or going?”

“Are you in a big hurry or something?” Tomura pulls away from you with an effort and gets out of the car. The door shuts behind him, and Tomura turns to say goodbye, but he’s too slow. All he gets is a glimpse of your face through the window as the rideshare drives away.

Tomura should text you right now. The thought occurs to him, but then a mosquito bites him, and he slaps it a second too late. He’ll get inside the stupid building and get to his room, and then he can text you. It’s a good plan. Whether Tomura will remember it by the time he gets to the apartment is an entirely different story.

Tomura and his friends live on the top floor. The entire top floor. It used to be a penthouse, back when both the building and the neighborhood weren’t shit, but now the rent is cheap enough that the seven of them can afford it together. They all get their own rooms, three bathrooms is usually enough for everybody, and usually there’s at least one person who’s willing to cook dinner and let the rest of them mooch. Tomura and his roommates all keep weird hours, but by two-thirty in the morning everybody’s usually in their rooms, even if they’re awake. He’s not going to bother anybody as long as he’s quiet.

Or at least that’s what Tomura thinks. He’s dead wrong, because when the elevator doors open, he finds all the lights on in the living room, and most of the people he lives with sitting in there, wide awake. It looks like they’re waiting for something. It occurs to Tomura with slowly dawning horror that they’re waiting for him.

He makes the first move out of shock more than anything else. “What the fuck?”

“We decided to wait up for you. Since it’s baby’s first date and all,” Dabi says with a smirk. His stupid fiancé is here, too, perched on the arm of the chair Dabi’s in. “So how’d it go?”

Tomura doesn’t want to talk about this when he’s drunk. He wouldn’t want to talk to Dabi about it stone sober. He shakes his head. “Come on,” Twice announces from where he’s sprawled out on the rug next to Toga. “Nobody comes back from a date at three in the morning and gets to shake his head about it. Spill. No, don’t spill! I don’t want any nasty details.”

“I want all the nasty details,” Magne says. “What happened?”

“Perhaps we shouldn’t quiz him,” Sako says from the other chair. “Shigaraki will tell us what he wants to, when he wants to.”

Sako is officially the only person Tomura’s not pissed at right now. “No, he has to tell us now,” Toga says. “We’ve all been working on this for a month. We have to hear how it went!”

“Give us at least a few details,” Dabi’s idiot fiancé says. “We need something to base our wild speculations on.”

“You don’t live here,” Tomura says. Dabi glares at him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Wait, it was bad?” Spinner runs the opposite way with it. “Why didn’t you just come back? Or you could have called us – we’d come drink with you –”

“It wasn’t bad,” Tomura snaps. “I got her number.”

He was hoping that would shut everybody up. Instead they all trade glances. “That’s it?” Dabi asks, incredulous. “You get back an hour after last call and all you got was her number?”

That’s not all Tomura got. “She said we should go out again. And we held hands.”

“Are you thirteen or something? That’s so lame,” Dabi’s idiot fiancé says. “Was she like, not –”

“She’s not that kind of girl,” Magne says. She reaches over from the couch to punch Dabi in the arm, even though it was the goddamn fiancé who said it. “You think I’d set Shigaraki up with that kind of girl?”

“Yeah, because that’s the kind of girl he’ll be dealing with in Vegas. Did you time-warp back to the fifties when I wasn’t looking?” Dabi grimaces. “You’re supposed to be upping your game. This is a setback.”

Tomura finally gets his feet under him. “No, it isn’t,” he says. “I had fun.”

He feels weird saying it, even though it’s true. He had fun walking around with you trying to find a bar you both wouldn’t hate, because both of you hate when things get too loud. He had fun talking about any of the fifty things the two of you talked about over the course of the eight hours you spent together. He liked seeing you square off with the asshole who tried to cut you both in line and he liked seeing you order the weirdest drink on the menu, even though it was disgusting and neither of you could finish it. He liked that he didn’t notice you trying to make him laugh until it already happened. He liked holding your hand.

Tomura had fun on his date, end sentence. “You guys are assholes. I’m going to bed.”

“We’re not assholes! We want to help,” Twice protests. “You don’t need our help! You’re doing fine.”

“Yeah, I’m with Twice,” Spinner says. Twice starts arguing with him, but Spinner ignores it. “It’s a win if you say it’s a win. Hanging out with somebody who’s not us for that long is definitely a win.”

“It’s not a game,” Toga says. She rolls over on her back and stares up at Tomura. “Are you going to text her?”

Right. Tomura was going to do that. He fumbles his phone out of his pocket. “No,” Dabi and his fucking fiancé say at the same time. Dabi keeps talking. “It hasn’t even been an hour. Are you trying to look desperate?”

“I texted Ochako while I was on the train home from our first date,” Toga says. Toga’s the only one other than Dabi who’s in an actual relationship, rather than a bunch of situationships, friends-with-benefits things, and hookups they block the next day. “I wasn’t desperate.”

“You’re the most desperate person I’ve ever met. But you’re a girl, so it’s cute on you,” Magne says. “It’s not cute on guys. It’s weird.”

“I don’t think it is,” Spinner says. Tomura adds Spinner and Toga to the list of people he doesn’t hate right now. “Sending a dick pic or begging for nudes would be desperate. Just saying something is – nice. I’ve never had a date text me the same night before. I wouldn’t mind.”

“In that case, your date would be a girl,” Magne points out. “Cute when girls do it. Weird when guys do. I’d know.”

Tomura lost the plot a few sentences back. “I wasn’t going to send a dick pic. I don’t even have a dick pic.”

Dabi’s fiancé wheezes. “What?”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Toga pops up off the floor. “Tomura-kun has work tomorrow and so do I – and so does Spinner – so we’re all going to go to bed.”

“We are?” Spinner asks, then yelps as Toga yanks him off the couch. “Hey!”

“That’s right,” Toga sings out. She grabs Tomura’s arm, too, and Tomura barely manages to avoid getting yanked off his feet. He stumbles down the hall after her, colliding with Spinner a few times. It’s all he can do to keep ahold of his phone.

Toga’s bedroom, Spinner’s, and Tomura’s are all along the same hallway, sharing the same bathroom. Once they’re in the hallway, Tomura plants his feet. “Why are you kidnapping me?”

“We’re not kidnapping you. Your room is right there.” Toga points, like there was any way Tomura was going to forget. He’s drunk, but not that drunk. “They were being mean. I’m happy for you. So is Spinner. Right, Spinner?”

“Like I said. A win’s a win.”

“It’s not a game.” Toga elbows him. Then she looks at Tomura. “They’re making it sound complicated and it’s not. If you like her, text her. If you don’t, don’t. Easy. Now go to bed.”

It’s not a puzzle game. It’s a yes or no question. Tomura likes that a lot better than whatever the hell the others wanted him to do. Still – “Do I need a dick pic?”

It’s quiet for at least a minute. “You know what,” Spinner says finally, “we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I’m with Toga. Go to bed before you get yourself in trouble.”

Tomura’s tempted to tell them both that he’s doing it because he wants to, not because they’re telling him to, but then he decides not to waste the air. The sooner he goes to his room, the sooner he can send you a message without everyone bothering him about it. He shuffles back to his room, flops down on the bed – which he didn’t make this morning, because he’s just going to get back in it later – and pulls out his phone. When he taps the contact icon, the first thing he sees is the contact you set for yourself.

Your name (blind date). Tomura opens a message and gets stuck trying to think of what to say. Short is probably better. His mind is off on some weird paths right now, a lot of which have to do with you and his dick and all of which would be a lot more of a problem if he wasn’t still drunk. And none of which you need to know about. You also don’t need to know about the ambush his friends set up for him when he got home. Or the fact that Tomura’s friends only sent him on this date so he could get better at women before the trip to Vegas in two months.

That might have been why Magne set you and Tomura up, but that’s not why Tomura’s texting you. this is tomura. i want a second date. That gets the point across for sure. If you texted Tomura that he’d count it as a win, so he sends it. But Toga said it’s not a game. Spinner said it would be nice to get a text from a date. What would Tomura want you to say, if he got a text from you?

Tomura overthinks it. He overthinks it so hard that he falls asleep, and only wakes up when he drops his phone on his face. You haven’t texted back yet, but it’s only been fifteen minutes since he sent the message, and you’re probably asleep. What kind of text would Tomura want to see from you when he woke up in the morning? That you liked him. That you had fun. Maybe you’d say something funny, too. Tomura doesn’t do funny. He almost falls back asleep again, then hauls himself up to wakefulness hand over hand, sitting up in the bargain. One more message. It should be easy.

sorry I fell asleep on you is what Tomura says. He barely manages to plug in his phone before he falls asleep for good.

He wakes up to his alarm howling, right on schedule. He can hear Spinner’s alarm doing the same thing from across the hall. Tomura’s mouth tastes like he threw up in it in his sleep. He fumbles for his phone to hit snooze on the alarm, but in the split second before he does, he sees a text notification. Everybody he texts has been asleep for the last – Tomura looks at the time and groans – four hours. So who –

Tomura unlocks his phone at warp speed and taps the message icon. He remembers texting you last night, but he didn’t remember how stupid he sounded. Sorry he fell asleep on you? You’re probably texting him to fuck off. Tomura glances down at your message. His head hurts badly enough that he has to read it five or six times to process it all the way.

You gave his first text a thumbs-up, then asked what he wants to do on the second date. But you replied directly to his stupid second message. it’s okay. next time it’s my turn.

Tomura’s lips split as an uncontrollable grin crosses his face. He got four hours of sleep. He’s got a full day of work and a hangover to go with it, and the instant he sets foot in the living room, his friends are going to start up on him about how he’s handling this all wrong. But Tomura must not be handling it all that badly, because he’s got a second date, and for a few seconds, the hangover and work and everything else doesn’t matter at all.

[aus-nobody-asked-for]

The final episode of Attack on Titan (Final Season Part Three: Second Special) will be a Musical.

[eomayas]

chasing pavements • hjs

pairing: husband!joshua x wife!reader, parent au

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

synopsis: just reader and joshua being parents

warnings: parental woes, arguments, past childhood trauma, girl-dad!joshua, their child is nameless and is called ‘baby’

a/n: the people asked for dad!shua but nobody said which kind…🤭 anyway this was v random and is very parent-y so beware!

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

sighing out a deep breath, you open your eyes and try to make your voice as gentle and even as possible. “i’ve asked you to clean up your mess three times now, baby. i’m not going to ask you again,” you stop stirring the spoon in the pot to look over your shoulder at her. she’s busy dragging her crayons over a coloring page, not bothering to look up at you.

“but im not done!” she whines, bottoms lip jutting out with the beginnings of a tantrum. you tense and and blink a few times as she just whines, tiny hand holding the crayon tightly in her hand. she’s not even coloring inside of the lines, just streaking the colors over the sheet haphazardly.

“dinner is almost ready. clean it up,” you voice is stern, tension in your tone rising as well as in your posture. you grip the ladle tightly in your fist, your other hand braced against the kitchen counter. “if i have to ask you again, then-“ the consequence dies on your tongue at the sound of the lock clicking and the front door opening. she gasps and shoots up from the table, loose crayons scattering across the wood floors.

“papa!” she shouts, running down the hall to greet joshua. you close your eyes and push out a breath from your nose. your jaw is tight as you turn back to face the stove. “look at what i got from school today! oh, and you missed seeing soobin today!”

“yeah? what is it?” he’s pressing a kiss to her cheek as he enters the kitchen, making her giggle when he blows raspberry against her skin. joshua sets her down so she can run to her backpack. “hey, baby.” he says, a hand sliding around to your hip and his lips pressing against your jaw in a greeting.

“hey,” you shrug him off of you and turn the burner down to low heat. “uh-uh, you can show daddy after dinner. go clean up,” you say, stopping her short when she comes back with a paper from school clutched in her hands.

that bottom lip juts out again and her eyes dart over to joshua for help. it only frustrates you more, because all three of you know that she has him in her palm. “well- joshua, stop.” you bark, throwing your arm out to the side to push against his abdomen. “go clean up the table so we can eat dinner.” her eyes well up with tears, and you feel like the biggest asshole in the world for making her cry. you remember a brief moment of yourself as a child and being scared each time your father asked you to do something. he never had to ask you or your siblings more than once—you all found out the hard way—and worry that you’re doing the same thing to her.

she huffs and spins around, her walk mopey as she puts her paper back into her bag and starts to slowly pick up the crayons. you feel joshua start, his hand gently pushing yours away as he makes his way over to her. “i’ll help you, princess,” he says and you grit your teeth.

“joshua, stop! i’ve asked her six times now, she needs to listen!” you’re on the brink of snapping, another word out of him or her is very likely to send you over the edge. it’s rough. the day was shitty from the jump, but you didn’t think it would be this bad by the end.

you expect joshua to at least have your back when you put a number on it, he looks over at you before glancing down at your daughter with sad eyes. “y/n, she’s just a baby.”

“goddamnit, joshua! let me do this!”

and then the dam breaks. her wail ripples through you like an electric current, setting off all of the alarms and signals that let you know your daughter is in trouble. except, you put her in this position, and now your heart has sunk to your stomach. joshua hurries to pick her up, cradling her against his chest and smoothing his hand over her hair. you stay rooted at your place by the stove, ignoring the sting in your nose and the newly formed lump in your throat. joshua shushes her softly like he used to when she was much smaller, but she just keeps wailing.

her cries slice through your heart and shred it to pieces. you want to walk over to her and hold her, tell her that you’re sorry, but you don’t think it’ll help. “baby- i’ve got it,” joshua cuts you off this time, cutting his eyes at you as he keeps trying to console her.

it only frustrates you more, and your anger is misplaced when you spit out, “deal with dinner, then. since you’ve got everything,” and storm out of the kitchen, your heels punctuating the end of the conversation. you fly up the stairs and into your bedroom, kicking off your shoes into your closet.

you stand there, in the middle of the walk-in, with your hands on your hips as you take in deep, shuddering breaths. your vision blurs with tears that you don’t let fall, instead blinking them away as you try to regain control over your breathing. her crying face swims through your mind and you almost forget why you’re so upset. almost. but unlucky for her, you’re not as easily swayed like joshua is.

grabbing a sweatshirt and a pair of pants off of their hangers, you quickly undress from your work outfit, and pull onto the much more comfortable clothes. you shove your feet into a pair of sneakers and push out a breath. her cries echo through the house, and you wince at her gasping breaths. it’s muffled, but you can hear joshua trying to calm her down, though whatever he says makes her let out a piercing wail that makes you flinch. it all feels too much; your guilt, her crying, your frustration at the both of them for different things.

you slip out of the bedroom and move as quickly and quietly as you can down the stairs. you force your eyes away from the kitchen and grab your purse off of the accent table in the foyer, and leave the house without a word.

i’m just like my father.

the thought rang through your head the the moment you pulled out of your neighborhood. it almost brought you to tears, but you managed to keep them in again. and you almost turned back, but couldn’t. you have the harrowing realization that the more you fought to be better than him, you ended up a mirror. it makes your stomach flip and turn, but yet you still don’t turn around.

time is a flat circle.

there’s not a place you’re heading for. you’ve just been driving on the back roads for nearly two hours. the sun set a long time ago, and now the sky is dark and unwelcoming. you should go him, you know it, but facing your husband isn’t something you feel up for at the moment.

turning into a dimly lit convenience store parking lot, you pull into a space and out your car in park. you sigh and lean back against the headrest, shutting your eyes and reminding yourself to breathe. you visualize a square and practice the breathing exercise your therapist taught you. in for four, out for four, her voice echoes through your head. it calms down the storm brewing inside of you and brings you back down. that voice in the back of your head, the one telling you that you’re just like your own dad, gets a little quieter.

your phone buzzes in the cup holder, and you pick it up.

joshua: you don’t have to tell me where you are, just lmk that you’re ok.

you: i’m okay.

you gnaw on your bottom lip, deciding that it’s time to go home. it’s past your daughters bedtime now, and you can guarantee that she’s already tucked in and asleep. at least you won’t have to deal with the both of them tonight.

on your way home, you pass a donut shop that is surprisingly open. you stop and quickly run in. the pastries surprisingly look fresh for 8pm, and order half a dozen of your daughters favorite (chocolate with sprinkles, and maple), before heading to the car to make your way home.

the stress of the day starts to weigh on you halfway home. the morning started out rough; joshua had to go into work early, so taking your daughter was your duty. from the moment you woke her up, she was in meltdown mode. you take the blame for rushing a seven year old, but you let her have juice in her lunch instead of the usual water, so you figured that it evened everything out. but then you were late from picking her up from the after school program she sometimes goes to if neither you nor joshua can pick her up, and she whined about it the whole way home. never mind the fact that your workday was filled with hour-long, unnecessary meetings.

you yawn as you pull into your neighborhood and up to your driveway. you stall in the car for a moment, looking at the dark house in front of you, save for the bright porch light. there’s a chance that joshua has gone to bed, but in your heart of hearts you know that he’s waiting up for you. deciding to just deal with your life, you grab the box of donuts and your belongings, and get out of the car.

you quietly make you way into the house, lightly shutting the front door and locking it behind you. just the sight of the kitchen makes you tense, and when you walk in you’re met with a clean kitchen table and floor, no signs of there ever being a previous mess. you put the donuts away in the fridge to keep them fresh.

with a sigh, you exit the kitchen and start up tje stairs, footsteps light just in case the stairs creak. you step into your bedroom with a quiet sigh, and shut the door. the light from the en suite bathroom shines through the cracked door, and you can hear joshua in there. grabbing some pajamas, you pull on a tshirt just as joshua comes into the room. “hey,” he says, voice soft.

“hi,” you tug the shirt over your head and toss your other clothing items into the hamper. he lingers near the bathroom door with his arms crossed over his chest, watching you as you make yourself busy with little things.

“we need to talk about earlier,” joshua says. you don’t look up at him as you apply hand cream.

you take a moment before responding. “okay,” you breathe out, roughly massaging the lotion into your skin. you hear joshua shuffle on the other side of the room.

“you can’t yell at her like that,” joshua says gently. you sit up and stare across the room at a family photo, blinking a few times.

“i know. but i asked her six times to do something, and she still didn’t even do it. you need to let me discipline her,” you say, finally looking over at him. he uncrosses his arms to run a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh as he does.

“she’s just a baby.”

“she’s seven.”

“she’s a little girl, honey,” joshua says, like that changes anything. you two are usually on the same page when it comes to disciplining her, though she doesn’t really get disciplined because she’s an good kid. you thought he’d understand your frustration today, but he doesn’t and you feel like your back is against the wall.

the fight in you is gone, though a flicker or your earlier anger lights inside of you upon hearing him talk. “okay, and i shouldn’t have to tell her to do something six times. she should just do it the first time,” you say, looking at him pointedly. he pokes his tongue in his cheek, and you know he doesn’t agree with you and is holding back whatever he wants to say. “and, i don’t need you to step in when im trying to teach her something. you need to let me parent her.”

“are you implying that i don’t parent her?” he asks, head tilting to the side. you squeeze your eyes shut and swallow the frustrated groan at the back of your throat.

“i’m not implying anything. im telling you that you need to let me teach her things, without interrupting me. because she’s going to think that she can get out of everything if she looks at you,” you say. joshua purses his lips and looks down at his feet, nodding slowly. “you have to stop babying her, joshua.”

asking him to do that is like asking him to recolor the sky: it’s impossible. one look at her and his entire backbone shatters. it’s sweet sometimes, until you need him to enforce some rules.

“fine, alright? but you can’t yell at her like that. you heard how she cried afterwards,” he says, his voice less gentle than before. you blink at him and drag a hand down your face. you’re ready to put this conversation to bed—nothing feels like it’s going to get resolved tonight. “she was scared, baby. remember that night when i met your dad? she had that same look on her face.” your stomach drops at the memory.

the first time you let joshua meet your dad was also the last time he saw him, until your daughter was born. you were in college, and had only been dating joshua for a few months, but you felt so sure about him. he was the first person you felt so sure about, and it scared you, but you felt like in order for joshua to understand you and to love you, he had to meet your dad. he’d met everybody else in your family, but you were putting off him meeting your dad because of how your father is. the night started out fine, everybody was generally getting along with each other and joshua was fitting in. you were on edge, worried that something would happen so much so that you weren’t able to relax. you were running around trying to help your mom with the kitchen, be a good host to joshua, and avoid pissing off your dad.

and then it happened. you can hardly recall the reason now, since you’ve really tried to block it out of your memory, but you forgot a dish, or burned something that he wanted in particular, and he flipped out. you were in your twenties, so you didn’t have a problem standing up for yourself at that point. but because your new boyfriend was there, and it was humiliating that he was yelling at you like that in front of company, all you could do was cry. you begged him to stop with tears streaming down your face, begged him not to say things in front of joshua. he ignored your pleas as they only made him explode. joshua tried standing up for you, but your dad yelled at him too, claimed joshua was ‘disrespecting’ him, and told him to get out.

joshua left but took you with him. he kissed your mom and siblings goodbye, and whisked you out of the house. you were so embarrassed that you could hardly talk through the tears. you expected joshua to break up with you after that, and managed to ask if he was going to leave you. he stayed and proposed to you five months later, and you quietly eloped together, only a few of your friends knowing about it.

“i’m not like him,” you say, throat closing. joshua’s face falls and his features soften as your eyes well up with tears, already moving to walk over to you.

“no, you’re not,” he clarifies, sitting next to you on the bed and pulling you into his chest. you press your fists into your eyes and try to control your breathing while he softly rubs your back. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to upset you.” joshua whispers, kissing your head as you tremble in his arms. he keeps his lips pressed to your hair and lets you fight the tears, never once letting go of you.

your eyes ache from pressing against them and you pull your hands away, sniffing and trying to pull yourself away from him. joshua only holds onto you tighter which makes your eyes well up again, and you can’t believe you’ve been brought to tears more times tonight than in the year so far. “i left,” you mumble weakly.

“you came back.”

“but i left.”

joshua pulls back enough to look down at you. you look up at him with sad eyes and he lets go of you to wipe your face. “and you came back. you’re nothing like him, baby. you’re a good mom, a good wife, and you care. you left, but you came back. water under the bridge,” he says, pushing your hair out of your face. you blink tears away as he peers down at you before leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“i love you. and im sorry,” you murmur, wiping under your eyes.

“i love you too, and we both have things to work on.”

you nod, and let him hold you until you eventually doze off, headache and all. you only wake up in the middle of the night because you’re uncomfortable, and move to your side of the bed. joshua still tugs you back into his chest and the two of you mange to stay that was until the morning.

when you wake, joshua is right behind you. he talks you down when you panic about facing your baby. “does she hate me?” you ask, wiping sleep out of your eyes.

“of course not,” he says, a small frown on his face. you want to tell him to wait until she’s a teenager, but he looks distraught enough at your question, so you just nod.

she’s asleep when you peek in her room, sprawled out on her small bed. you creep over quietly and kneel beside her, gently shaking her shoulder. she wakes up easily, stretching her short limbs before she opens her eyes. “mommy?” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes with a small yawn.

“hi, baby,” you say, smoothing a hand over her head. she looks up at you timidly, and your stomach knots. “did you sleep okay?” she nods and you give her a small smile. “mommy’s sorry, baby. i didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“it’s okay,” she says, sitting up. it’s not, but you’ll take her accepting your apology. “can i have a hug?” her voice is small, and makes you want to cry because she doesn’t have to ask you for that.

“of course, baby,” you say, wrapping yourself around her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. your hold her for awhile, until she starts to struggle against you. “i got you something.” you say once you loosen your hold around her. her eyes light up and you smile, scooping her up and heading downstairs.

you pull the box of donuts out of the fridge snd she gasps when you open the lid. you let her have a whole donut for breakfast, and promise her half of one after dinner. you apologize again, and she tells you that it’s okay again. one day, you’ll let her know that she can’t just say ‘it’s okay’ whenever somebody apologizes, but for now you let it be.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

"Twix."

Blue says your name in a single exhale of relief. You didn't expect her to be awake. She sits with her legs outstretched by a barely-there fire as you enter the cabin, the busted door groaning shut behind you. Fatigue sinks you to the floor beside her. You're about to curl your numb hands within the long sleeves of your new jacket, but the burn on your fingers makes you wince from the friction.

“You're filthy." She reaches for your hand, gently inspecting the burn. "And someone hurt you."

"Well, technically, I hurt them."

Blue shakes her head, the tone of her voice hardening the moment she drops your hand. "You shouldn't have gone."

"It was important—"

"It was stupid. You saw how those guys tried to kill us!" She huffs out a breath before snapping her gaze back to the flames. "You... you didn't tell me you were leaving. You didn't even say goodbye. I just woke up and you were gone.”

"I didn't want to wake you this morning because you needed rest,” you reason.

"That's a shitty excuse," she grumbles back, gesturing to the pink bracelet on her wrist. "I may not have a lot of friends, but I do know they're supposed to tell each other things like this."

Your eyes trail down from the burnt skin on your fingers, red and bubbly, to the cheap, plastic beads encompassing your wrist.

"You're right," you speak softly. "I should have told you."

A few minutes lapse in thick silence. In the midst of it, you swallow a few chalky pills to help with all the pain. You've been conservative in using them so far, but with your additional score of medicine, you figure you can afford some relief. There's no way you'll be able to sleep with your bitten wrist throbbing incessantly.

You're about to lean against the wall and let your eyes flutter shut when Blue speaks again, this time her voice so quiet you wonder if you're imagining it. 

"You know, I was excited to go on this trip," she whispers, still looking at the fire. "I even secretly hoped we'd run into other people, just because—" she pauses to swallow, "—because I never get to meet any. And the ones we have met, my dad always kills. Except for you."

She drags her sleeve over her face and it’s now you notice she is crying. A knot forms in your throat and, after the day you've had, you struggle to find the right words. 

"He kills them for a reason," you settle on, voice equally hushed. "A lot of people are—"

"A threat, I know." Blue repeats the words like a bitter mantra, then looks at her bandaged leg. "What does it feel like?" she asks after a moment, sliding her glossy eyes to yours. “Killing a person. Ghost told me it feels just like killing an animal or a Grey."

You inhale, then fix your stare to the dark ceiling. "No— I don't think it feels the same. It's much worse. I still get sick from it,” you admit.

"How many have you killed?"

"I don't remember anymore, but not that many." Certainly not as many as Ghost has. "It was always in self-defense. Always because I had to."

"I wish nobody ever had to," she says.

"I know. Me, too.”

With a sigh, she carefully scoots closer to you. "I'm sorry for getting mad. I just want to go home.”

"Don't be sorry. I’m the one who is sorry." You shake your head and offer her a shoulder until both of you have your backs against the wall. Her hair tickles your cheek. A small hand slips around your waist in a tender embrace, her fingers latching onto the fabric of the jacket. The sore muscles of your core flex instinctively from the touch before you finally force yourself to relax. It’s just Blue.

"Your dad says we're going back tomorrow,” you whisper, jaw grazing the crown of her head. “Sleep. It'll be a long day again."

"A long day for you maybe," she murmurs against your shoulder. "I get to ride on his back."

"Lucky you." You drape the heavy blanket over your bodies. Together you are warmer, if only by a little. 

Deft wind whooshes through the trees, kissing your wet skin. Splotches of wriggling orange and red follow the water's current, along with a trail of brown muck as you scrub your breasts, hair, and cheeks. The sight of fish makes your stomach grumble. It's been far too long since you've had anything but squirrel and deer and berries, but this is not the time or place to ponder a way to catch one. The blue wash of early morning lightens with each second that passes. You wring out your hair, rewrap your wrist, and put your clothes back on before carefully climbing up the slope, satisfied enough with your icy bath.

"Ready," you announce, blowing a white breath into your hands and rubbing them together. Ghost crouches down so Blue can teeter onto his back. The backpack full of ammo hugs his front. He appears exceptionally bulky with all the baggage, and yet, he makes it look effortless.

Together, you head towards the infamous bridge, if one could call it that. Silvery fog makes it hard to see more than ten meters ahead of you, but Ghost seems to have the area memorized. Your hands ball up in your pockets, feeling empty and useless. With no bow, you have to rely on Ghost to get you back. It's a weird thing. Though, you suppose if there's anyone you'd want to be stuck out here with, it would be him. His presence alone offers more safety than the measly knife around your ankle.

"Ghost, we should go behind her," Blue says when you reach the beam.

He steps aside to allow you on first. "Try not to go for a swim this time."

A flush of pink bites your cheeks, though you blame it on the cold. It's hard to believe just four days ago you slipped off this thing. With his hands preoccupied, Ghost can't hold onto your shoulders like before, but he lingers close behind and repeatedly orders you to keep your eyes on the bank. 

Once you're all across, a calm quiet settles, a vast contrast to how talkative Blue was the first time around. It makes you absentmindedly pick the skin around your nails. By the time you reach the road, you've looked behind your shoulder at least ten times, half-expecting to spot a burnt face hiding among the trees. Squirrels prattle by. A starling calls above your head. But no people. You force your eyes onward and take a deep breath.

"So, uh, would you rather get mauled by a bear," you break the silence, stepping over a stray tire, "—or be struck by lightning?"

It takes a second for Blue to respond. "Oh. That's a good one. Do I have a gun while the bear attacks me?"

"No. No weapons. Just you and the bear."

"Then lightning." She pats Ghost's shoulder. "Could you take a bear?"

"On a good day, maybe," he answers.

"What about you, Twix?"

"No," you instantly scoff, kicking at a rock. "A bear would rip me apart. I would choose lightning because it'd be quick."

"Okay, I have one," Blue quips. "Would you rather be ripped in half, or fall off a tall building?"

"Ripped in half by what?" Ghost asks, tilting his head back.

"It doesn't matter." You can hear the roll of her eyes.

"It does matter. Might change my answer."

"Fall off a building," you interject. "The way down would suck, but I bet you don't feel a thing once you hit the ground."

"But you'd look like a dead bug," says Blue.

"I don't care what I look like. I'll be dead."

Ghost clears his throat. "My turn, then."

"No! You have to pick one," she exclaims. 

"Building," he drawls. A shadow of movement passes to the right of you. You naturally flinch closer to them, but it's just a doe hunkering down tall weeds that reach out of the concrete. A chuff of breath leaves your lips as you look away, only to find Ghost staring at you. For a few seconds, his eyes flicker between you and the deer before he goes back to focusing straight ahead. 

"Would you rather," he begins, "—chop off all your fingers, or take out your own eyes?"

"What do I use to take out my eyes?" Blue asks.

"Knife."

"I guess my eyes," she winces. "I mean, I'd rather get rid of two things than ten."

They both glance at you expectantly. A frigid gust of northern air takes hold of your hair, so you tuck the unruly strands behind your ears. "Uh, fingers," you decide after a moment. "I could probably live without them."

In the village, the air stinks enough for Ghost to come to a halt. Before, he was able to pass right through. This time, a group of fourteen or fifteen Greys seems to be trapped on the main street between a crumbled wall and a fallen telephone pole. He has to decide between expending ammo or time. It's not long before he nods to a small building and the three of you scale the rusted fire escape. From the safe distance of the roof, he takes out the Greys one by one with an accuracy that barely leaves a dent in the ample stockpile of cartridges. With the route cleared, he's saved at least an hour or two of precious daylight. 

The fog lifts. The ambery sun tries to peek through the clouds, but the sky is bent on staying grey. By the time you are back, your blisters have blisters. Blue has fallen asleep, cheek smushed against the back of Ghost's neck. Relief, thick and palpable, tastes sweet on your tongue. The fence, the rabbit hutch, the much-cozier cabin; none of it is home to you, but still, it calls your name in a welcoming coo. 

You have to aim Ghost's flashlight so he can unlock the gate. Blue stirs, but her eyes remain closed even when he pushes inside the cabin. It's shrouded in darkness. You prop the flashlight on the table as his boots scuffle against the floor.

He puts her to bed. As he does, you feel around for the sofa and nearly choke when your worn fingertips graze shabby fabric. Not icy water or solid wood or muddy ground, but something soft. You're about to sink into it, your bones desperate for the springy cushions, when he returns to the threshold of the hallway with an ugly, flannel sheet in his hands. 

"Here."

It's hard to be certain if you thank him or not; your brain conjures up the words, but your voice doesn't seem to function quite right. One thing is certain: you accept the sheet, tuck it on with urgency, and then lay down, burying your face in the crook of the pillow and arm. You kick off your boots and let the darkness take you, swift and heavy. It could be a coma or death disguised as sleep, and you figure you'd still slip into it without fuss. 

Those first days back are quiet. Blissfully uneventful. You sleep and sleep. In fact, you don't move from the couch except to relieve yourself and eat a little. Ghost and Blue don't seem to do much, either. Or maybe you just don't notice.

At one point, you wake up to a small stack of shirts beside the couch. All black. One long sleeve, the rest short. You change into one and continue sleeping. 

At another point, Blue hovers above you with a whisper that draws out a groan from you. "Hey. Ghost is making me skin some rabbits. Apparently, it's the only chore I can't get out of. Do you want to help me?"

"I think I'm good." You stuff the pillow over your face to make your point. 

"You've been sleeping for three days, you know."

"I could go for another three."

She takes the hint and staggers away. Walking now. You hear her right leg drag a little.

The sleep is good until it's not.

On the fifth night, you're no longer fatigued enough to keep the dreams squandered. They start as whispers. Hoarse and gritty. Then they get louder and louder, shouting your name until they are so loud it feels like someone is screaming in your ear. Different voices blend into an indecipherable cacophony. One screams in pain; another in anger. You feel someone's cold fingers take hold of your neck and are finally pried awake, flying up against the couch with fiery pants burning through your lungs. But all that's there is a dark room.

Sweat clings to every inch of you. It feels like everything is on fire, and all you want to do is cool down. You haven't bathed since the river. Catching your breath, you swing your legs down and quietly pad to the bathroom where you hope a little water is left. Luckily, in the glint of moonlight, you find a bucket used for washing hands and scoop some to your face. Then, you comb it through your sweat-laced hair. 

You unwrap your wrist and brush your fingers over the bite. You dab some water on it. You can't see well, but you feel the constellation of congealed scabs beneath your fingertips. Scars. Wounds. Your nostrils flare as a you wonder if one day you'll be so covered in them you won't even look like yourself. It's a good thing there is not enough light to spot the reflection of your face in the mirror, because you're not thrilled to greet the one now on your brow.

On your way out of the bathroom, something solid and immobile blocks your path. You startle backward, sucking in air as you peer up at a masked face. Ghost. It's Ghost. You haven't spoken to him since getting back, and in this moment, you long for the ability to push past him, but his wide shoulders consume the narrow hall. 

It's silly to think you can avoid him when you sleep in the same space now. The thing is— you have no idea what to think of him. Before, it was easy to settle on fear of how easily he could snap your neck, and annoyance for how he treated you. And then, when forced to, you could engage in a pragmatic conversation about how to keep yourselves alive.

But now, you don't know what you are supposed to feel around him, and you have spent zero time reflecting on it so far.

"Sorry. I was just, uh, washing my face."

"In the middle of the night?" he rasps, tilting his gaze down.

You teeter back a step, keeping a healthy bubble of space between your bodies. You're not sure why he hasn't just moved out of the way, or what he would be up and about for at this hour, but briefly, you wonder if he is suspicious of you. If after everything you went through, he still thinks you're trying to do something and might send you back to the shed. The three of you relieve yourself outside the cabin since the plumbing doesn't work, so it certainly does seem odd that you'd be in the bathroom during the night. 

"I was sweating a lot." Inwardly, you curse at yourself. "I mean, I haven't bathed since we got back, and I..." You trail off in a whisper.

"And you what?"

"I don't know." You fiddle with the hem of the oversized shirt he gave you. "I'm not trying to kill you or your daughter in your sleep, though, if that's what you're thinking."

He simply stares at you. It feels like he can see right through you, and your eyes drop to your wool socks. Then, he murmurs, “I wasn't thinking that."

"Okay," you reply carefully. "Could you... please move, then?"

Finally, he steps out of the way, but you feel the burn of his eyes on your skin as you brush past him. 

"Twix."

You pause, looking back. "Yes?"

A shake of his head. And then: "Take a proper bath tomorrow. You could use it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Will do." 

With that, you crawl back onto the couch.

[callsign-swan]

Home

Chapter One

You, a top level showjumper, left unable to walk after an injury. Him, the handsome cowboy who works on your grandaddies ranch. You had moved away, left for something better. But then you're forced to return, back to him. Back Home.

Jake Seresin X Reader cowboy!au

Warnings: Injury, not explicitly said but reader gives hints of depression

Navi

It had all happened so fast. One moment you were fine, riding along as you normally did. He was confident, calm and sturdy beneath you. It was just you and Percy against the world.

The next moment, heavy machinery was in your path, driving towards you. It would have been fine, all stuff you and Percy had dealt with before. But then the sirens started blaring, lights flashing and men shouting. There was nothing you could do to keep Percy calm, to stop him from bolting.

Percy took off with you. You held on, that much you could remember.

The next thing you knew, you were surrounded by paramedics and your horse was missing. You couldn't remember the ride in the ambulance. You couldn't remember being wheeled into the hospital. You couldn't remember being told that your poor, sweet pony had been found.

Found, but not in good condition. You were delirious, high on pain medication and whatever else they had given you when you agreed to pay whatever it took to get him better. But you would have said it regardless. You would have paid anything for your Percy.

You didn't know what cost more, your hospital bills or Percy's vet bills. You and Percy were in awful shape. All of the injuries the doctor listed off to you, from the fractured leg to the concussion; you could feel all of it. Back pain, pain in your shoulders. Your entire body ached constantly.

Your mother was at the stables for all of Percy's vet visits. She had grown up around horses and there was nobody you trusted more to look after him while you were stuck in bed. She couldn't do everything, you knew, didn't have time to muck out his stall or sort his food. But that was what you paid your stable fees for, for a member of staff to look after him.

The update picture she sent to you kept you going while you were in the hospital. Everything the vet said to your mom was sent to you in text messages, all decisions about Percy left up to you.

At the end of the first month, Percy was going on daily walks with your mother, but you were unable to move without pain and the help of a mobility aid. You were miserable, but your horse, your entire world, was on the mend.

The first time your mother took you to the stables, you cried. You had been discharged from the hospital and was finally back home. But being stuck in the house, watching shitty daytime television was driving you crazy, and your mom could tell. So, she got you into the car and took you to see Percy.

The sympathetic stares almost had you hobbling back to the car as you made your way across the yard. But then you saw Percy's head over the top of the stable door. You rushed towards him. It was still a hobble, and you were definitely risking yourself more injury at your attempt at speedy, but you had to get to him.

His ears were forward as you stumbled over, only remaining on your feet when one of the grooms grabbed you. "Thanks," you said as you pulled your arm out of his grip.

"Big guy missed you," Ben said, patting your horse's neck. You tried not to pull a face at him.

But then it hit you. "You've been looking after Percy?" You asked and he nodded, unable to keep the grin from his face. All of your money, going to Ben Ritter.

There was nothing wrong with Ben. He knew how to take care of horses, had worked as a groom for several years now. He was good on the ground, good when it came to grooming and mucking out the horses. It was in the arena where you judged him harshly. Whips and spurs used with enough force to leave marks on the horses. His rough hands pulling on the bit until it drew blood.

Yeah, you hated Ben Ritter.

Ben patted Percy's neck and something stirred inside of you. You didn't want him touching your horse, but you couldn't get close enough to stop him. You were as close as you could get without Percy touching you. Even if he stretched out his neck, he couldn't reach you.

"Thanks, Ben," you said through clenched teeth.

Ben kept speaking, but you took none of it in. You just wanted a moment alone with your horse, was that too much to ask? He fed Percy a treat from his pocket, watching as the horse reached towards you, trying to investigate if you had more. When you made no move to touch Percy, tings became awkward..

Clearing his throat, Ben leaned against the stable door. "You'll be back to riding in no time," he said, using all of his willpower to not glance at your fractured leg.

Asshole.

"But, until then, you'll need someone to ride Percy for you, right?"

"No!"

Several eyes were on you now.

"No," you continued. "Nobody is allowed to ride Percy, okay?" The vet hadn't cleared him for riding, anyway. Even if they had, you didn't want anybody to ride him. "My mom is gonna hand walk him and that is it," you said, loud enough for everybody on the yard to hear. "Touch my horse and I will end you."

With his hands raised in defence, Ben backed away from the stable door.

You used your crutches to hobble back towards your mother. Her look of pity was the worst. She'd had riding accidents of her own before, but nothing like this, nothing that left her unable to touch her horse.

Percy stretched his neck out towards you once again, but you were gone. Fuck, you were going to cry again. Your throat burned as you held it all back. You weren't going to cry again, not surrounded by your competitors.

"Can we grab his saddle before we go?"

Your mom nodded and pulled open the car door. She helped you into the passenger seat and laid your crutches across the back seat. Your lip wobbles as you stared towards the arena in front of you. Somebody was riding, jumping a small course. That should have been you and Percy.

For five minutes, you sat in the car. Tears fell, but you didn't sob. You just let them fall. When your mother opened the boot and placed Percy's saddle inside, you wiped the tears away.

You drove away from the yard, silence filling the car. You didn't have it in you to turn on the radio. You passed a horse and rider on the road, and panic took hold of you. They had no idea how dangerous it was.

Your mother glanced at you out of the corner of her eye. "You'll get back on," she muttered, mistaking the look on your face as jealousy. "Soon you and Percy will be back in the ring, getting win after win."

You didn't want that. You didn't want to get back on and start competing again. Maybe this was it for you. Maybe it was time to hang up your boots, retire Percy to a field and let him get fat and lazy. Maybe you would sell him on, sell him to somebody who could properly take care of him. How could you take care of him when you couldn't even touch him?

You wiped at your eyes.

"Wanna get ice cream?" Your mother asked.

Shaking your head, you folded your arms over your chest, ignoring the slight pain in your shoulders from the slight movement. "Just take me home," you mumbled and kept staring out of the window. For a few minutes of the drive you passed nothing but fields of horses. Percy should have been in the fields, if it wasn't for the accident, for the vet's recommendations.

Take me home. But you didn't go to your home, your little apartment in the city. Your mom drove past your street and kept going, taking you back to the house you had bought for her. You couldn't be trusted in your own apartment, your mother told you when she first took you to stay with her. You were too independent for your own good.

Your mom helped you out of the car and into the house. She sat you on the sofa and and headed into the kitchen to make you some lunch.

You hated this.

Your independence was gone, forced to rely on your mother for almost everything. You couldn't go five minutes without feel like you were going to choke on your own tears. Hell, you couldn't even touch your horse without panic seizing you.

Your Percy. He deserved so much better than this. He deserved so much better than you.

The thought of selling your horse had never crossed your mind before today. And this was the second time in a few hours the thought had entered your mind. It would break your heart, to sell him to someone else. But maybe it was the best thing for him. To get him healed up, back to his best self and sell him to someone who could ride him to his full potential.

Just six years ago, your grandfather had bought Percy for you. He was only young when my grandpa picked him up for you, barely backed. Percy was your grandfather's way of saying that he was proud of you, of where you career was going. Back then you had been show jumping on a smaller scale, only when you went to stay with him in the summer. He used to let you ride his rodeo ponies into competition until he bought you Percy.

You used to feel so smug, beating the all of the girls training their expensive show jumpers while you rode your grandpa's cutting horse, Chewie. By that point, your grandfather had retired him from the rodeo, used him to move cattle from pasture to pasture.

Nothing could beat hearing your name called by the announcers as you took first place.

Well, almost nothing. There were just two things that could. Having the rosette placed on Chewie's bridle and hearing your grandfather cheering your name from the stands.

That wasn't who you were anymore. You couldn't just jump on any of your grandpa's horses and ride into the ring, taking first place. You couldn't even jump on your own horse and ride into the ring, full stop.

You were no longer the girl your grandpa could be proud of.

Your stomach made a noise and you reached for your crutches. It took too much effort, caused too much pain, but you pulled them close and got them under your arms. Pushing yourself to your feet, you used your crutches to hobble towards the kitchen.

As you got to the kitchen door, you paused, keeping it partially closed in front of you. Your mom spoke and you took a moment to listen in.

"I think this'll be good for you," your mom whispered to whoever was on the other end of the phone. Oh, so she was talking about you.

Your mom paused as whoever was on the other end of the phone responded. That part you couldn't hear, having to wait for your mom to start speaking again.

"If anybody can get her back into the saddle, you can," she said and you felt panic settling in. No, no, no, no. "She's miserable and she won't admit it."

But she was right, you were miserable and and you weren't going to admit it to anybody. The fact that your mother had picked up on it through your silence was impressive, since you didn't think you were giving anything away. Maybe you weren't as stoic as you thought.

"I'll bring it up to her in a minute," she said and you backed away from the door. It wasn't the easiest thing with your crutches, a miracle you managed to keep yourself upright while reversing. "Thanks, dad. I'll speak to you later."

She ended the conversation with your grandfather and you listened as the phone hit the kitchen counter. As your mom walked towards the door of the kitchen, you hobbled back to the sofa. Sitting down, you rested your crutches on the cushion beside you and tried to gain control of your breathing.

Pushing open the door, your mother strode over to you, a plate in hand. She placed it down onto the coffee table in front of you and sat in the armchair across from you. "Midge," she said and you stared at her. You breathed in, tasted the smell of tuna in the air. Gross. "I've just gotten off the phone with your grandpa."

You pushed the tuna sandwich across the coffee table and sat back. "Yeah?"

She breathed in and leaned forward, elbows against her knees. "We thought it would be a good idea if you went to go and stay with him for a while. You and Percy."

You sucked in a sharp breath, sharp enough to make you cough. But you recovered quickly and stared across the room at her. Go to stay with your grandpa, at his ranch. You couldn't do it.

You couldn't fucking do it.

"No," you said and shook your head. "I don't think it would be good for Percy."

Your mom rolled her eyes at you and stood up. "Midge, honey, I'm not giving you a choice."

***

The backwards cap on his head did little to protect his face from the sun. He took it off to wipe his brow and returned to mending fences.

Chester Morgan watched from the corral. It didn't matter how many times Jake told him I got it, he still watched. Chester trusted him, Jake knew that for a fact, but he still watched, still make sure he was okay with his workload.

Jake wasn't the man in his seventies. He could cope with his workload. He was the one worried about Chester.

The dog pulled at Jake's shoelaces as he worked on fixing the barbed wire fencing. Last time the cows had been in this pasture, they'd used this hole in the fence to get out. Jake had spent the night with Javy, trying to get each and every cow back onto Chester's property.

To this day, Chester still didn't know about their little adventure. It was a secret Jake and Javy would take to their graves.

The hammer hit the nail. Jake held the other three between his teeth and continued with his work.

Wednesday. Jake's favourite day of the week. It was the day he and Javy headed out to Blue Sunday with Brisket and Donald. Javy clocked Jake and Brisket around the barrels and Jake helped him while he practiced roping. They couldn't exactly practice with the bulls outside of the rodeo.

After that, they would head out to The Drunken Cactus to see what trouble they could get into. Trouble that usually had long legs and flirty smiles. There was a reason Jake was called a bad influence growing up.

Jake hammered another nail into the wood. As soon as he was done, he pulled on it, tested the durability. Nothing. No creaking or groans from the wood. There was a reason Chester had him fix everything around here.

A whistle cut through the air. Jake looked towards the corral, to where Chester was waving his arm. Waving him over, he realised. Dropping his tools, Jake walked over.

It made no sense to him, why Chester had Chewie in the round pen. Chewie had been enjoying retirement for the last two years; he definitely didn't want to be dealing with whatever Chester was putting him through. Training him like he was a foal.

"Get on him," Chester said as soon as Jake reached the round pen.

He stared at his boss. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Chester replied sharply, but it wasn't vitriolic.

Almost reluctantly, Jake climbed into the round pen. He jumped over the fence and strode towards a stationary Chewie. His ears were forward as he stared, nostrils flaring as he began calling for Jake.

"I know, I know," Jake muttered once he had reached him. "I don't know what he's playing at."

Chester held Chewie's reins as Jake climbed into the saddle. Something he had done a hundred times before, but not on a horse as small or old as Chewie. If Jake was uncomfortable, Chewie certainly was.

Jake patted his neck as Chester passed the reins up to him. "Just keep 'im walkin'," he said and stepped back, returned to the middle of the corral.

Chewie was a cow pony. It had been a good, long time since Jake had ridden him, since he'd ridden any horse that wasn't Brisket or, on occasion, Donald. Most of the horses at the ranch were old, living out their retired years. Jake knew Chester wanted more for the ranch than retired horses and cows, but they weren't in the position for anything else.

Not yet, anyway. But Jake had seen the plans in the office, the drawings Chester's grandfather used to do. His dream was her dream, the one she had as a girl, visiting in the summer.

Chewie was bouncy as Jake rode him, like he was holding back. No, he was holding back, Jake knew him too well to think any differently. Last time he had been ridden, properly ridden, it had been around the show jumping ring, flying over fences. He had been younger then, but he still had it in him.

"Get him on, now," Chester said and Jake urged Chewie on. Just a faster walk, that was all he wanted. But Chewie sped up into a trot.

"Jesus, Chew," Jake mumbled as he tried to bring him back down. But there was nothing he could do but sit there and let him go. Even turning him towards the fence did nothing. But that was Jake's fault; he was the one that had trained him around barrels.

Chewie went as fast as he could in the round pen. Not very fast in the slightest. A canter and nothing more. But his ears were forward as if he was running free. He was enjoying it and, admittedly, so was Jake.

Finally, he slowed. He brought himself back to a walk and put his head down, neck stretched out. "All right," Jake mumbled as he patted Chewie's neck. "Are we calm down?"

Chewie stopped and shook. The first time he had shaken his entire body with Jake on him, it had thrown him, send him tumbling off the side. But it had become a classic brisket move over the years. Every run he shook as the buckle bunnies surrounded them.

Releasing a sigh, Chester approached. "That wasn't really what I wanted from you, Chew," he mumbled as he pulled them into the middle of the round pen, leading Jake like a child on a lesson. "Think we can make him beginner friendly by Friday?"

Jake's eyebrows rose as he jumped from the saddle. "We're not trying lessons again, are we?" He asked as he loosened the saddle and pulled it from Chewie's back.

Chester shook his head. "No, nothing like that," he said, leading Chester from the round pen.

Something was going on, something Jake wasn't allowed to know about. There was no secrets on Morgan Ranch, not unless he was the one keeping them.

"Get those jumps from the shed after lunch. Then you're free to go."

The jumps in the shed. Jake remembered making them at sixteen. It had all been a bit to impress some girl, so that she could use them to practice her show jumping. It had worked, sort of. She was impressed by the jumps, but she was more interested than them than Jake.

That was ten years ago, now. He thought about her sometimes, when he saw the bucking bronco at The Drunken Cactus, when her impressive, long standing record was on display. Many cowboys had tried to beat her record, but nobody ever had, Jake included.

Jake did as Chester asked and set up the jumps. He set them in the field, putting them out in an easy course. They weren't high jumps, but they could be made bigger. Brisket would hate it, I knew, but there was something that made him want to try, something like that longstanding record in the bar.

a/n: I've named you midge in this fic after an old horse of mine. He died a little over a year ago and i miss him

[gunwoo-bh]

The Night Shift - Part 12 [Min Yoongi x f!Reader]

MIN YOONGI x F!READER UniStudent!Yoongi AU SUMMARY: You chose a boring, quiet job at your campus’s 24-hour library for a reason: it kept you away from drama, gossip, and parties. It was positively uneventful. Until it wasn’t. 18+ MDNI cw: warnings for more talks of depression, anxiety and not feeling enough, self doubt, some kissing, angst, fluff, reader being a hypocrite (nobody is perfect, we're all learning), overwhelmed reader, if i forget anything please let me know, oh, there's some nakedness but nothing smutty, but still wc: 4.2 A/N: WELL. This is chapter 12, which almost brings us to a close. It's a pretty short chapter but the next one will conclude the story. I can't believe we're already there to be honest. I won't stop writing drabbles for this even when it's over. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

THE NIGHT SHIFT

PART 12

You're both sitting on your bed. 

You, leaning against your headboard and him, sitting closer to the end of it. 

Sitting there, you wonder how he's doing and you want to ask him what he's been up to these last few days. He looks exhausted, completely haggard and so small. You never would have imagined your taller than life boyfriend being so small. You’re letting him take the time he needs to speak because it needs to come from him. Coaxing it out of him would be making it all worse. 

“I’m sorry…” “I know you are.”

You respond so fast you almost speak over him, both of you chuckling softly. 

“I’m guessing Namjoon spoke to you…” he starts.

You immediately look apologetic, “I know I can’t tell you how to feel, but I hope you don’t stay mad at him if you are…”

He shakes his head, “I was for a moment when I realized he probably spoke to you, and…told you everything…” he bites his lower lip, “He did tell you, right?”

You’re quiet for a moment, “About your depression?”

His shoulders sag when he exhales loudly, “Ahh, so he did.” 

He immediately starts picking at his nail bed and you crawl to him, grabbing his hand and he looks at you. You have to keep in the tears when you see how relieved he is that you’re initiating contact. He leans forward and presses a kiss to your lips, pulling back a few seconds later when you don’t respond. 

“Shit, sorry…I shouldn’t have, especially when we haven’t talked yet…”

You grab his face and kiss him back, moving your lips softly against his before you pull back, “Babe, I love you, and I don’t want you to think you can’t ever get comfort from me…” he nods softly, “but we do need to finish talking…”

You stay near him, holding his hands in yours, “He did tell me about your depression. Where it came from. How you’ve managed.”

“And what did you think?”

You shake your head, “I mean, it cleared up some things but I honestly mostly felt like a bad girlfriend, but it’s not about me. It’s about you and keeping this in, not telling me, because you were…” you sniffle, “because you thought you were protecting me from what?”

“From me. My bad days.” He admits.

The first teardrop falls, tracing your cheekbones, “It left me confused, Yoongi. Like I had done something wrong and I know that I didn’t, now, I know that, okay? I don’t know much about what depression does to you, but I’d like to. To be there for you. With you. To help you ride that wave and be your cheerleader.” 

He blinks softly, “Even if it’s shitty like this sometimes…?” 

You hum, “Yes! It’s not fair that you’re alone on your shitty days and facing those by yourself. We get to enjoy the good days together, let’s enjoy the okay ones and the bad ones too.” You wipe away your tears, catching his attention when he looks at you. “And vice versa.”

He smiles softly, reaching to wipe your tears with his finger as you lean into his touch and he slides his hand across your cheek to hold it, “I’d like that, too…”

Your lips curl gently into a smile, “Good. I’m glad we agree there…”

The talk stretches into the wee hours of the morning but neither of you want to be the first to end it. His body betrays him though because the moment he yawns it hits him just how tired he is. He looks over to you like he’s worried that you’ll ask him to leave, it’s written all over his face but you smile as you stand up. 

“When was the last time you slept?”

He blushes, embarrassed at the answer, “About a day ago…”

You tug him up with you, “Let’s go to bed, okay?”

You wash up for bed, Yoongi standing behind you as you brush your teeth. He stares at your reflection and disbelief is etched over his features. He still can’t believe you want him, but it really shouldn’t be so hard to believe. Not to you at least. You lean into his chest and he relaxes, his entire body relaxing.

When you’re snuggled in bed, facing him as he holds you with your leg hooked over his hip and a hand buried in his hair. You’re nose to nose, kissing each other softly in the quiet of your room as he pulls you as close as he can, which doesn’t seem enough. 

“I love you…” he breathes against your lips as he gathers your face in one hand.

Your entire body sags against his, “I love you, too…” 

“So, what now?” He asks, kissing your upper lip.

“We keep trying…and we can talk some more when we wake up…I don’t think it’s possible for us to figure things out in one night…” you both chuckle, meeting in a kiss. 

“Okay then…let’s keep trying.” 

Yoongi falls asleep within seconds and your heart feels light for the first time in days.

EIGHT WEEKS LATER

You turn a corner so fast your ponytail sways and whips you in the face so fast. It started off as neat, sitting as high as possible on your head but now it sits lower, loose strands making it messier as the dinner rush continues. 

You had begun working at the restaurant Yoongi’s parents’ owned about six weeks ago when your hours at the library were ruined by your new class schedule. You now worked there and here part time, making up enough hours for you to not worry about making your rent. But it also meant you were crazily busy and running yourself into the ground some days. 

Yoongi had mostly stopped working at the restaurant, coming to help some nights but mostly the ones you worked. His work as a teacher’s assistant kept him busy but he never stopped making time to pick you up, sleeping either at his or yours. 

He was doing better every day.

You made a point of showing him you were there for him, the few weeks following that rough patch touch and go until things settled down. Since then, he’d had only one other episode but he had tried so hard to open up to you, making you love him more for not wanting a repeat of what had happened. 

Your fears over the intensity of this new semester had somewhat simmered down now that you had settled into a routine. School, work, time with your friends and time with Yoongi. It was very much lather, rinse, repeat, but it was the thing that kept you going. Having to look forward to time with your boyfriend and friends. 

Your parents had also finally met Yoongi last weekend, which had been a source of nerves for your boyfriend leading up to it. It wasn’t meant to be a meeting, you had been careful to make it a casual visit from your folks with no pressure. A simple day visit that suddenly had turned into them staying overnight and meeting Yoongi, and his parents. 

He handled it all like a champ, charmed your mom and dad with ease, and both of your parents’ had also gotten along which only reinforced your inside joke. 

“How long ‘til they actually plan our wedding now?”

You smile at the memory because he’s the one who asked that question, making you chuckle when you quickly stole a kiss from him before going back to sit with your parents. 

Your name gets called as you turn to Yoongi’s mom, “Yes?”

“Leave those there, you have your class to go to!” You let go of the tray of dishes as you look up at the time.

Oh shit, she’s right!

Smiling at her sheepishly, you remove the apron when she grabs it from you as you grab your things and run out while thanking her. His mother had been a great support and working for them had honestly saved you in more ways than one. 

You no longer feared dealing with big crowds of people. You, too, changed these last few months. If you had told yourself months ago that you would be working at a restaurant as a waitress, you would have laughed and dismissed yourself. Blooming is the word your mom had used when she saw you last, grabbing your face with tear filled eyes. 

Leave it to your mom to make you cry for being proud of you. 

“Hey!”

You look up as you walk down the stairs out of the restaurant, smiling bright as you walk straight into your boyfriend’s arms. You pull back, mouth falling open when he slips his hand into your hair to pull your lips to his in a breathtaking kiss. 

“Hey…” you are breathless when he pulls back, smiling giddily.

He has the softest look as he pulls you in for a kiss to your forehead, “I have exactly half an hour to walk you to school and go back to grading papers…” he sighs. 

“Let’s go then…” You reach for his hand, dragging him cheekily. 

Managing to make time for each other has become a skill you both mastered, enjoying the quality of your time spent together no matter how short, or long, it was. 

“When is your class done?”

“At 8pm.” 

He pulls you under his arm, “I should be done grading then, I’ll come pick you up then…yours or mine?” 

You smile broadly, “Yours. Can we get some fried chicken on the way home?” 

“Yeah,” he looks down at you, “we can get fried chicken on the way home. Do you have your things?” 

“Not on me. But Hwayoung is going to yours with Hoseok to get ready before they go out so she’s taking my stuff to yours and that way I don’t have to go back home…”

He looks proud, “Look at you go, planned everything already, mhm?”

You nod, “Yes, sir!” 

He chuckles, stealing a quick peck as you look at him with adoration. 

“Should I just go to yours if you’re not done grading?” 

He frowns, “You can. You know the code. Shoot me a text if you do. Or come to me, I’ll be in your old stomping grounds…” he grins at that.

“The library, huh?”

“Yep.” He laughs.

Reaching your building he stops and pulls you closer, looking down at you and rubbing your shoulders. Sometimes you can see the wheels in his brain spinning, when his thinking gets a little bit too loud. 

“You okay?”

He nods, “Just tired. I mean it, I am okay. After we have food can we just go to bed?”

“Of course, baby…” 

He gets flustered at your calling him that. He’s used to it, but when you say it with understanding, patience and the love you feel for him, it makes him want to curl into your arms and stay there. 

“Okay, I need to get back…” he sighs, grabbing your face and pulling you to him, “I love you. I will see you later. Text me when your class is over?”

“I will. Good luck grading, yeah?” You kiss him, pulling back but he pulls you back. “Mhm?”

“Say it back…” 

You grin softly, realizing what he means, “I love you, baby.” He seals his lips to yours one more time, standing tall. 

God, he gets so proud when you say it. 

“Have a good class.” 

You watch as he walks away, feeling pride swell up in your chest. 

But your smile falters slightly when you think about your fears, how they creep into your mind every time you feel even the slightest happiness. They lurk at the back of your thoughts, waiting for you to let your guard down, eager to emerge and seize hold of you. 

That’s why you dread what you’re about to do. 

Once Yoongi is out of sight, you pause for a moment before turning away from the building. You never intended to lie to anyone, and you truly mean that, everyone. No one knows that you’ve been sneaking in appointments between work shifts and classes, and like tonight, even skipping a class to attend one. 

You feel like a hypocrite. Every day, you lied to go to an appointment, and the words you had spoken to your boyfriend and friends haunt you. Because when you had no boyfriend and no social life, it was easier to have fewer things to think about. You would never return to that life, but in these last few months, you have bottled everything up. 

Your hypocrisy annoyed you every single day. 

You reach your destination more quickly than you anticipated every single time, entering the building and walking to the elevator. As you stand there waiting for it, you glance at the sign between both elevators and find yourself fixated on one name.

Gangnam Counselling Centre 

You make the mistake of going directly to Yoongi’s right after your appointment, a little over an hour before the end of your class. But you’re mentally drained and don’t even clock it when you walk down the hallway leading to the door, hearing feet shuffling in front of you as you look up. 

Yoongi must see the fear in your eyes, how caught you look as you stop dead in your tracks. Your lips part slightly, letting the smallest of gasp escape you as you grapple with what’s about to happen.

Yoongi is soft, but cautious when he asks, “Class let out early?”

He’s not doing it to manipulate the situation, you know that. He asks because he knows there’s no way for you to keep hiding whatever this is. 

He looks hurt though. His shoulders sag, lips held in a tight somewhat smile but his eyes betray his attempt at looking like nothing is going on. 

“No. Didn’t go.”

“I see…” you avoid his eyes, tears threatening to fall already, “I’m sure you wonder what I’m doing, not grading papers…”

To be honest, it didn’t even cross your mind until now. 

You shrug as he says, “Let’s go inside. We…we can talk…” his voice trembles when he says ‘talk’, like he’s concerned your world as you know it is about to collapse. 

You hate that you’re putting him through that. 

He holds the door open for you as you step in, completely in silence. You unburden yourself of your things and drag your feet to the couch where he’s gone to sit. He looks scared, like you’re about to break his heart and you have to wipe angrily at a tear that falls for putting him through that. 

You sit next to him, moving your body towards him as you hold your hands in your lap and you can’t look at him as you sniffle. 

“So…” he breaks the silence, “I won’t force you to talk, but I’m confused?” You could smile if you weren’t so scared and sad. He’s being open and vulnerable with you. “Wondering…why you lied or…and why you would go through the trouble of lying…”

He releases a long, shaky breath as he adds, “...I’m scared…”

“I’m not cheating.”

He huffs, “I never thought you would. Still don’t. That’s not what scares me…”

Blinking quickly, you finally look up at him, “Oh…”

“Can I tell you what scares me?” You hesitantly nod. Were you really ready for this? “That you felt like you needed to lie to me about something and that, that something is that all of this, all of me is too much…for you…Like it all caught up to you now…” 

That’s exactly what you were absolutely terrified of, this exact situation. Tears start to fall, looking down to your lap and swallowing thickly. 

“I’m…” Yoongi’s bracing for what you’re about to say, you can see the way his body tenses when you finally meet his eyes, “I’m so fucking stupid…”

He shakes his head, “Baby, you’re scaring me…”

“I’m in therapy! Counselling, whatever…” you look and sound disappointed, even though you know there is nothing to be ashamed of. 

“What?” 

“Therapy. Counselling. That’s where I was instead of going to class…” 

You don’t expect the next reaction out of him, he scoots closer to you and grabs your face to make you look at him, to make you stop hiding from his gaze. He’s showing you he wants to see you, to understand every bit of you in that moment. 

“Talk to me.”

And you unload everything.

“Three weeks into the semester I-I got so overwhelmed with the workload, working the library and learning being a waitress, making time for the girls, for our friends and for us…” you feel awful for saying that but he keeps looking at you, “and I made no time for myself…I wrote a shitty essay about a month ago and my teacher was concerned, she knew me and knew this wasn’t like me…”

You feel yourself inch closer to him and he lets you, “...I broke down, Yoongi. Completely broke down in front of my teacher and I was fucking embarrassed but she’s the one who recommended I go get some counselling. So, I did. Went a few days after and it’s been four weeks now…and it’s annoying but it’s helping.”

“What made you break down?” He asks softly.

“That I’m not doing enough…?”

“For who?”

Your entire body deflates, “Everyone. I feel like I could be a better daughter to my parents and visit more often, call more often…A better friend to the girls, make more efforts to spend more time with them even though they say it’s fine, spend more time studying and maybe go to office hours and ask for help, try to spend more time with you and get closer to your parents because y’know…” you make a face and he can’t help but chuckle. 

“Because we’re getting married someday…” It’s your little inside joke that isn’t so much a joke anymore.

You nod softly, “I just let it get to me…the pressure I put on myself to be perfect…”

“Baby, nobody is perfect…”

You snort, feeling a single tear fall still as he wipes it, “I know! I sit there during my appointments and my counsellor reminds me that I’m being really hard on myself and that…” you shake your head, “if I spoke to you, or Hwayoung or Eunji, or even my parents…that everyone would most likely understand and tell me that everything is fine…”

He smiles, nodding, “Tell me…tell me how you feel…”

You open your mouth and shut it again, “I feel like I’m not doing enough to be of support to you. Like I could…come over more often, maybe make food more often because you cook for me a ridiculous amount of times. Since school started I feel like I haven’t been good about asking you if you’re okay. And with being so busy I just…I really miss hanging out with you. I don’t think I’ve been a great girlfriend recently…”

You exhale loudly, letting your face relax in his hands and he just stares at you, “You’ve been a great girlfriend but,” you fear what comes next, “you will never be perfect. And I don’t expect you to. Do you know why?”

You simply shake your head.

“Because you never expected that of me. What did we say? As long as we keep trying?” He comes closer, watching you carefully. 

You remember that conversation as you smile sadly. 

“Also, do you know why I’m hurt, too?”

“Why?”

“It’s not fair that you stood by my side during my shitty days and that I don’t get to do the same for yours…” You mouth the air, scoffing when he uses your own words against you in the sweetest of ways, too. 

“Wow.”

“What?”

“Using my own words, huh?” You put your hands on his thighs.

“Well, it’s always easier dishing it out than taking it, right?” He looks at you, chewing on his lower lip as he pulls you in his lap suddenly. You’re as flush to him as you can physically be, his hands still adoringly holding your face. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

“Actually,” your hands fly to his shoulders as his hands snake around your back to pull you even closer, “I’m in love with you.” 

He can’t help the grin on his face when you stay quiet, but you don’t look surprised. Peace is what you’re feeling as his words sink in. You fall forward, your arms wrapping around his shoulders to hug him tightly. You revel in the silence of his confession, your face buried in his neck as he holds the back of your hand with one hand while holding you tightly against him. 

You know then that being as young as you are, it doesn’t matter. You’re going to do everything in your power to spend the rest of your life with him. 

Lifting your head but staying exactly where you are, you whisper in his ear, “I’m in love with you, too…” 

You feel him squeeze you tighter, pulling his head back to look into your eyes, “Yeah?”

You hum faintly.

“Then, let me in on those bad days. And I’ll do the same. Let’s keep each other accountable…” he delicately tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “And don’t hide therapy from me or anyone you feel safe sharing that with…It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I go too, you know that…” 

“I know…”

“And let’s figure something out to maybe help with the school stress, yeah?”

You sniffle but nod, “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” 

Staring at each other for a moment he pulls you into him and seals your lips to his in a loving kiss, breathing heavily through his mouth, “I fucking love you, I need you to know that…”

You whine into his mouth, nodding as he captures your lower lip and tugs at it, “I love you, too…I'm sorry...”

"Shhh, don't...you don't have to apologize for that."

When you lie naked in bed with him later that night amidst more talking, lots of kissing and some time with your hands on each other’s bodies, you lie in his side as he tells you the story of how his mom had been on him, in the most loving of ways of course, to secure you as her future daughter-in-law. 

“Really?”

His hand rubs down your side, squeezing your hip, “Yeah! She…fuck, she loves you and loves that you’re working at the restaurant now…” he smiles, kissing the crown of your head, “I think she’s trying to make me jealous though…”

“Of?”

“She says there’s guys trying to get your number and being real handsy sometimes…” he quirks an eyebrow at that

“It’s nothing I can’t handle…” You shrug as he laughs.

“So, they are flirting?” 

“Yes. I always gladly tell them I have a boyfriend.” He blushes furiously at that, shifting under you as he squeezes your body tighter to his. 

“That’s good…”

“Just good, huh?” You tickle him once, and you’re given a warning, but you go again, and again. Soon it evolves into you full out tickling him as he twists your bodies around so he hovers over your naked form. With the sheet barely covering your body and his breath hot against your lips, you anticipate his next move when you still, your foot running up and down the length of his calf. 

You look at him and know that through it all, you will always be able to rely on him and have his support just as you’ve shown that you will do the same for him. You break into a smile as he frowns before laughing, meeting your lips in a playful kiss.

“What?” He asks, nose to nose. 

You shake your head, “Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Tell me, please…” he kisses the high point of your cheek. 

You cup his cheek, feeling him nuzzle the palm of your hand as you pull him to your lips for one more kiss. He’s smiling when pulling away from you, “I’m just really grateful you came into my shift that one night…”

He scoffs, “I was scared shitless to talk to you…”

“You know what sealed the deal for me early on?”

He frowns in question.

“That damn tangerine.” He bursts into laughter, his forehead falling to your shoulder as you pull him into your body. “I swear! I went soft for you right then and there!” 

He peppers kisses to your bare shoulder as he looks up at you, “Well, that just means one thing…” you furrow your eyebrows, “I gotta find some tangerine level grand gestures now…”

You shake your head, “Nope, keep to the small stuff…that means more to me.”

“Yeah?” 

You hum brightly. “There was a lot of love in that tangerine and all the tangerines you brought me…”

“I hoped it came across that way…” he confesses. 

“It did.” You promise him.

He inhales deeply as he shifts above you, looking down at you tenderly as he bites his lower lip, “Y’know what?”

“Yes?”

He kisses your lips once more, “We’re gonna be just fine…”

As the words settled, they resonated within you like being swept by the tide and a profoundly genuine joyful smile tugged at your lips as you nodded.

“Yeah, we are.”

A/N: Again, another kinda heavy chapter but this will soon be of the past! Reader will hopefully have learned something just like Yoongi has last chapter. Communication! We only have one more chapter before the end of this story. I can't believe we're here already.

tag list: @muchwita @kam9404 @ot72025 @lalazilz @janeelizabeth1216 @rinkud @yngisstuff @lolpanda94 @angelicbunnee @wubbz05 @illicitelle @legendarydreamqueen @flyxfall @mintmango-min @moorepls @gojomyoneandonly @yoongiiuu93 @wobblewobble822 @michaela0901 @ariakamil @watchingover-hypegirl @lovesvt17 @misschelliejeon @niieceyy @this-most-assuredly-counts @ronaa33 @yoonminv @meghanacloud @petroogorodnik @existentialzaddy @illnevertrustmyselfagain

Post separator credit to @hyuneskkami

[sturnmeovr]

Neighbor!Matt Headcanons

Best paired with Brat!Reader

✮Neighbor!Matt who ... Brat always calls on as her personal handyman. They live in a shitty apartment building with property owners who could give a fuck less what shape their apartments are in, as long as each unit was livable and nobody would sue them. Matt takes pride in showing up at her door to fix her water pressure for the sixth time this month, anything to see her; anything to keep a smile on that pretty face of hers.

✮ Neighbor!Matt who ... has a secret passion for cooking. It all started one year when he baked Christmas cookies with his mom, quickly sparking a light inside his soul. He loves cooking for his brothers and the few friends he has. Brat loves all the delicious meals he cooks for her just as much as he loves showing her his secret love for cooking, he always makes sure to plate them like a 5-star restaurant would.

✮Neighbor!Matt who ... works a blue collar job for a local construction company. He comes home with stained jeans, dirty hands, and the same brown, three-year-old Carhartt jacket his mom gifted him for Christmas one year. He even picks up odd jobs on the weekends to have extra money in his pocket since living in the big city is so expensive nowadays.

✮ Neighbor!Matt who ... has a horrible sleeping schedule. Even though he works a full time job, he stays up late on his PC, usually playing COD or GTA.

✮Neighbor!Matt who ... has a bedroom directly above Brats. She can hear his every move much like he can hear hers. It doesn't matter if he's screaming at his game or arguing with his brother, she hears everything. Matt often eavesdrops on her phone conversation to her friends when she talks about him.

✮ Neighbor!Matt who ... frequents the diner a few blocks away. The owner is a good family friend, so him and his brothers are always welcomed there, always getting a discount every time they go.

✮ Neighbor!Matt who ... is a logical crash out. He stands for the right causes; no bullying, no hurting women, and no talking to him like he's fucking stupid.

✮ Neighbor!Matt who ... carries Brats drunk ass up to her apartment every other Friday night. She can't handle her liquor, and she has shitty friends, in his opinion. He doesn't mind helping her out whenever she needs it, and he loves it when she asks him to stay to cuddle her all night. She'd always be embarrassed in the morning, but he thought her rosy, red cheeks were adorable.

✮ Neighbor!Matt who ... races downstairs to Brats apartment every time she tries to cook by herself a meal and ends up setting the fire alarm off. Seriously, the girl burns toast.

✮ Neighbor!Matt who ... shares an undeniable, indescribable connection with Brat, whom he thought was just his bitchy downstairs neighbor until he actually got to know her. He'd do anything to make her his and he can't stand that she's so guarded.

♡‧₊˚ Cheys Note - I’ve been posting so much I was gonna give myself a little break but this anon changed my mind 😋 thank you for the love baby. Try not to hit that anonymous switch next time, I love to argue 🫶🏻 anyways I hope everyone enjoys, thanks to everyone who shows love and doesn’t hide behind that anon button. Love & appreciate you guys more than you know! 💚 (I have a masterlist for this au coming soon, click the neighbor!Matt x Brat!Reader tag in the meantime!)

Masterlist

Taglist (comment to be added)

[vaaaaaiolet]

Your writing is so superb , but I would appreciate it if you could recommend other Leon Kennedy fan fiction blogs you think are as superb as your work.💛

AWWW GOSH 😭 you're too sweet :)

what i CAN do for you is recommend some very fantastic authors (in no particular order) who i look up to immensely 🫶 and rest assured they're far more skilled than i am so you'll def find a new fic to love in their masterlists!!

please be respectful when perusing their work and don't bother them with asks to write leon fic bc many of them have moved to other fandoms :) and mind their dnis!!

@miss-oranje-disco-dancer (masterlist):

never penelope, always calypso haunts me enough that i've written shitty poetry to cope about it in my SPARE TIME, liz's angst is that good. her writing packs a sucker punch every time without mincing words and her attention to detail never misses!!!

@uhlunaro (resi masterlist):

a tale of grief in ten parts is literally what made me start writing. leon's (hell, every resi character's) characterization is FLAWLESS in ro's fics. using my full chest to say i've cried to their writing multiple times yeah what about it🧍‍♀️

@crsssie (leon masterlist):

nobody does a delicious back-and-forth dialogue like cressie :3 you'll either be crying of laughter or punching your screen wishing it was leon (in the best way). that racer leon au you've been seeing? she pretty much invented it. and in 20k words no less.

@sweeterthanficstion (masterlist):

if you've ever wanted to taste sunshine in writing form, YOU'VE FOUND YOUR GIRL!! with her soothing flow and fairytale prose, amber's writing always has me blushing and crushing like the first time i laid eyes on leon <3

@inkonparchment (masterlist):

ink is leonblr's classics author and we are spoiled BADDD with her writing!! her leon is just as - if not more - charming as a jane austen male lead. give class of '95 (or any of her fics) a read and invest in a fainting couch for when you swoon ;)

@byexbyez (masterlist in pinned):

ronnie writes like a freaking renaissance painter. you WILL feel everything with all 5 senses in her prose. i found her through love me more in '23 and it STUCK WITH ME until '24 when she finished it like a NOVEL in both length and quality. she's that good.

@mandalhoerian (resi masterlist):

HOOOOO BOY. you know the "hide them from mappa" meme. apply that to shai but with publishers bc her prose deserves to be BOUND IN GOLD AND LEATHER and WE OUGHT TO PAY TO READ IT. come prepared with kleenex. trust me.

@comatosebunny09 (masterlist):

some of the DREAMIEST writing i’ve ever read. i highly rec lighting candles and going over her leon musings as self care bc YOU DESERVE IT. more often than not i read bunny’s work only to end up taking notes 😭

@uncouth-the-fifth (resi masterlist):

she is MAGIC!! user uncouth's prose reads like MOVIE SCENES i'm not kidding. please give her leon works a go bc they far surpass mine in their worldbuilding, narrative voice, and just in general. her leon is so very real and dear to my heart <3