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sugarmaplewings-fics · 4 years

Text

Baby, You’re Perfect

Pairing: BNHA Boys x reader

Warnings: Weight insecurity, negative body image/icky thoughts, body shaming from relatives, talks about skipping a meal once, general stuff like that. Kirishima’s reader is actively trying to lose weight. Cursing/language throughout (but mostly in Bakugou’s)

Characters: Bakugou, Kirishima, Kaminari

Author’s Note:

And here we have yet another request that is super old. I’m talking this has been chillin in my inbox for three good months. My sincere apologies, anon. And again, I’m sorry that that had to happen to you. Your grandma has no right to speak to you in that way. You’re making great progress and that’s amazing! Keep going strong, I believe in you. Anyhow, I had a lot of fun doing this request! We all need more chubby y/n on this website.

Yes, it says Hawks but I contacted the anon and we switched it to Denki bc I don’t write for Keigo (and we had a lovely conversation. they’re very nice :D).

Also the first two insults are things that have actually been said/done to me irl (hehe tasty self projection) and the last one in Denki’s is from an episode from Tuca and Birdie (it’s a good show).

Anyway, be nice to people. Respect others and speak to them as equals. We’re all human beings here, trying to get by. We’re also like a month away from 2021, I shouldn’t have to say that >:(

Happy Thanksgiving!

-Sugar

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Bakugou:

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were tired of their faces, tired of their words. You were headed home early, and you would not be sorry.

You didn’t hate your family. They could just be a little . . . difficult sometimes.

At first, it had gone well. You’d arrived at your aunt’s house yesterday for a family gathering and met up with everyone. They’d hugged you and asked you how you were doing. They’d even asked after your pro hero boyfriend, who you had chosen not to bring along for the purpose of spending some quality alone time with your family.

But then it happened; the thing you’d been dreading, the type of comment you’d hoped against all things you wouldn’t hear this time. But there it was.

You were nearly done preparing for lunch, helping to place dishes of food out in the backyard for your family meal. Your aunt was starting to serve people food, and you happened to glance up to see one of your cousins making herself a plate.

“Do you want any more?” your aunt asked your cousin, ready with her ladle.

“No, thank you, I’ve got enough.” Your cousin flipped her long perfect hair over a perfectly narrow shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to get fat like—” her gaze wandered over to you, meeting your eyes pointedly, “—some people.”

You faltered. Had she really just said that? About you? Well, it wasn’t impossible that it would come from her, but seriously? Today?

You swallowed a lump that had started forming in your throat, setting down the new stack of paper plates. Your aunt shot you a pitying glance. Was she even going to say something? Would she call your cousin out on her words?

No. She just moved on. Moved on like you should have. But something about it stuck with you. Your cousin’s words and implications rang through your mind, making you feel sick to your stomach. You shouldn’t let it bother you this much. You were doing better, both with your habits and your confidence. So why did it hurt so bad?

The darker thoughts you’d kept at bay began to come back; you were worthless, you were ugly, you were undeserving. Why wouldn’t they stop? Why was your stomach churning and your hand shaking? Before you knew it, hints of tears began to prick at your eyes.

No.

You weren’t going to give her the satisfaction of seeing you this way. But you were no longer interested in staying, any sense of hunger leaving you for sick dread.

Next thing you knew, you had said an early goodbye and put your things in the car, headed back home. Maybe driving wasn’t the best idea, since now you were alone with your thoughts. But crying wasn’t worth it. It was a bad idea, especially since now was the time to focus on the road ahead.

You couldn’t have gotten home sooner, a sense of relief washing over you once you pulled into the driveway. You unlocked your front door, pulling your bags in behind you. You heard movement coming from the kitchen as you set everything down; the sound of the faucet turning off signaling to you that Katsuki had heard you come in.

Heaving a sigh, you tried to chase the negative thoughts from your head. They shouldn’t be there, and it wasn’t something to dwell on. You were home again, and you wouldn’t have to deal with your family for another few months at least.

Bakugou’s head peeked out from around the doorframe, double checking that it was you who had walked in. “What are you doing here?” he called, ducking back to whatever he’d been doing in the kitchen.

“Hello to you too.” You tried to keep the tartness out of your voice, but some of it must have crept back in. The sounds from the other room stopped again, and the house went eerily quiet. Huffing, you dragged your luggage into your shared bedroom.

You felt drained, that was the only way to describe it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hang your clothes in the closet. Giving up, you laid down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. You couldn’t help but hear your cousin’s words ringing over and over in your head, reminding you of the countless years of both internal and external torment you’d gone through regarding your weight.

The sound of footsteps in the doorway made you glance down, registering a spiky blond head of hair approaching you on the bed. You said nothing as the mattress dipped next to you, indicating that Bakugou had come up on your side.

The two of you were silent together for a long moment, and a stolen glance told you that Katsuki was mirroring you with his head resting on his arms as he stared at the blank ceiling.

“Are you going to tell me what’s got you in this mood?” he finally asked.

You sighed. “My cousin can just be a pain sometimes.”

“She the one you were telling me about or is it someone else?”

“Same girl.”

“Hmm.” Bakugou continued to keep his eyes trained solely up above. “What did she do this time?”

“Called me fat.” You tried to keep your voice even. You were simply stating a fact. It shouldn’t bother you like this, right? Even so, the tears you’d been forcing back once again rushed to your eyes, causing your tone to pitch. You swallowed them down again, blinking rapidly. This wasn’t something to spend time crying over.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Katsuki said, a little unhelpfully. “I don’t want to see you hating yourself.”

You frowned at this. “I don’t hate myself,” you said, thinking about your words for a moment before you spoke them. “I don’t hate my body. It’s just that . . . sometimes I wish it looked a little better, a little different. Sometimes I don’t feel like I’m enough as I am.”

“Don’t tell me you think you’d be happier looking like everyone else.” Bakugou’s gaze had shifted from a blank one to a glare.

“I don’t know,” you said, shrugging. “It’s just . . . hard sometimes. Being like this.”

Finally Bakugou rolled to face you, taking one of your hands in his. “I know you . . . struggle with your self-image or whatever, but you can’t let it take over your life, got it? You can’t just waste it worrying about what everyone thinks of you. You’re never going to be able to please everyone, but if they’ve got a problem with you, then they can go fuck themselves. You want to know the one person’s opinion who matters most? Yours. You have to be the one who’s taking care of yourself.” Katsuki paused for a moment, absentmindedly fiddling with your fingers as he considered his words.

“You want to know who’s opinion is the second most important?” he continued, his voice starting to get a little more mumbly. “Mine. I picked you because I love you. I love everything about you, from your shitty, annoying personality to your gorgeous body. You are so much more than just ‘enough’ for me, so don’t go worrying about that. You’re everything to me, and you know that, right? I love you no matter what, so don’t let this ruin your whole day.” He kissed your knuckles, signaling that he had said his peace.

You smiled at him, a tear or two finally sneaking past your defenses. “How—how do you do that?”

“What?”

“Sometimes you say something horribly stupid and I swear I hate you, and then next thing I know, you’re telling me everything I need to hear.”

“Tch, I can be eloquent whenever I want. It’s a choice.”

“Alright.” You rolled over so you could properly face him. “Can I have a hug?”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, but nevertheless held open his arms. You happily snuggled into the hard, built muscle enveloping you, offering a beautiful contrast to your own soft body.

“Do you need me to talk to your cousin?” Bakugou asked. “I’ll do it.”

“Nah, let her go.” You nuzzled your nose into his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

______________

Kirishima:

You honestly expected your family to last longer when it came to keeping from upsetting you. Nevertheless, maybe you were being a little too optimistic. But come on, did they have to ruin everything the literal second you walked through the door?

Even after the scathing comment, followed by a half-hearted, hasty brushing off, you forced yourself to spend time with them. It wasn’t often that you got to see this half of your family, so you decided to ignore it with the rest of them.

But as you sat on the couch sipping tea, you were unable to focus on the light conversation buzzing around you. The event that happened mere minutes before played over again in your mind, causing you to wince.

You’d walked into the house, prepared to greet everyone and have a nice time, when your aunt looked up from her position on her arm chair. “Hello, (Y/N),” she’d begun. “Ah, look, you’re still fat.”

Your heart had almost literally stopped beating in your chest as you froze in the threshold. Had she just said what you thought you heard? You must have been mistaken, right?

Any positive anticipation you’d had of seeing your relatives had plummeted to your feet, and you strongly considered turning around in place and leaving without another word.

But you couldn’t do that, of course not. Then your aunt had begun to babble something about how it made you look cute like a baby, but her words had already done their damage.

You tolerated the rest of your afternoon with them, but it was a great relief to you when you were finally able to leave and go home. As soon as you pulled into your driveway, you exhaled a sigh of relief. It was over with, and it hadn’t been that bad.

Eijirou wasn’t home, but you knew he wouldn’t be long after you. You went about making dinner, knowing he’d appreciate it once he got home. He was always so tired these days.

Even so, as you stirred broth in a pot, your aunt’s words rang in your head. You vaguely remembered telling her about your weight loss a month ago. You figured you’d been making considerable progress, and you knew that no one was more proud of you than Eijirou himself. But had it really made a difference?

After a moment of fretting, you turned off the stove. You walked into your shared bedroom, flicking on the light. Your eyes caught sight of your reflection in the mirror. You frowned, going up to it. Turning your body this way and that, you tried to see if you recognized a change in your appearance. You lifted your shirt, only to wince at yourself and tug it back down. You pinched at your arms, your thighs, and your cheeks, growing almost angry at the way your fingers sunk into the flesh.

Maybe you hadn’t been making as much progress as you’d thought. Or the progress you had made wasn’t enough. Without you even realizing it, your mind began to toy with ways to speed things up. Guiltily, you found yourself wondering if Eijirou would notice if you just skipped dinner that night.

You shook your head to clear away the intrusive idea. No, that wouldn’t solve anything. Eijirou had told you that he’d help you lose weight the right way, so you’d stay healthy and be able to keep it off. It would be best to listen to him.

Still, you found your eyes glued to your reflection. You wouldn’t consider yourself vain, but there was something in the way that your eyes traced over your curves, wondering just how they might look on you if only you were a little smaller . . . .

Movement behind you in the mirror caught your eye, and you were quick to recognize a head of spiky red hair. You must not have heard Kirishima come in through the front door.

“Hello,” you said with less cheer than usual.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted you, coming up from behind to give you a hug.

You leaned back into his chest as you both stared at each other’s reflections.

“Checking out my perfect girlfriend?” he teased, referring to how your eyes continued to trace down your body. “That’s my job, you know.”

You snorted, gently rubbing at his forearm.

“So how was your family?”

“Okay,” you shrugged.

“I saw you left something on the stove. Are you doing okay?”

Oh, Kirishima. How did he do it?

You shrugged. “I guess I didn’t really have a good time there. Got a little upset is all.”

Eijirou frowned. “What happened?”

You took one of his hands in yours and began to play with his fingers, now determined to keep your eyes from catching another glimpse of yourself. “My aunt told me I was fat.”

You missed the flash of genuine anger that shot through Kirishima’s eyes. He knew this was something you’d struggled with for a long time. Your aunt had no business making comments like that about your body, especially now.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, deciding to keep himself calm for your sake.

You continued to fiddle with his large hands. “I just worry sometimes that I’m not doing enough,” you mumbled. “What if it doesn’t work? What if I’m just meant to look like this?” You sniffled, hating the sudden tears that were beginning to fill your eyes.

“Honey . . .” Eijirou spun you around and held you to his chest, running a hand down the back of your head as you finally let the tears slide down your face. You nuzzled into his shirt, appreciating the warm, familiar feeling of it. “Even if you weren’t able to lose more weight, you know I’d still love you, right?” he said in a tender voice. “I’d think you’re beautiful either way.”

He tilted your chin up so he could look into your eyes, giving you one of the most loving gazes you’d ever seen. “And besides, we’re not together because of how you look. I love you for you. I love your personality, and how you always say and do the cutest things.” He bent down for a quick kiss, caressing your cheek as he pulled away. “I love your laugh, and I love looking into your beautiful eyes . . . .” He kissed you again, beginning to gently guide your bodies to the bed at the other wall.

Eijirou laid you down in the center of the mattress, hovering over you as he went in for another kiss. “I love your body too. This body, just the way it is. I love how it feels to hold you at night—” he kissed your neck. “—I love your chest, your butt, your arms, your thighs—” he nuzzled his nose against your face and neck. “—your cute tummy.” He pushed himself up and gazed down at it with such a genuine expression of love, you almost started tearing up again. “The cutest tummy in the world. And I love it because it’s yours.”

With that, he bent down again and lifted up your shirt just enough to give it a little kiss. You couldn’t help but let a giggle slip from your lips, which only made his ruby red eyes dart up to meet yours mischievously.

“You like that? What if I did it . . . again!” He placed a second kiss in a different spot, going for another and then another. You broke out into laughter, the sensation of his lips and nose brushing over your sensitive skin making you squirm in his hold.

Soon, he was laughing himself. He nuzzled into your skin one last time and blew a raspberry against your skin.

“Eiji—!” you began to protest through a laugh.

“What?” He smirked at you, moving up and settling his chin in the valley of your chest.

You smiled right back at him, bringing up your hand to brush the backs of your fingers against his cheek. “I love you.”

Kirishima took hold of your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the backs of your knuckles as he looked into your eyes. “I love you too, baby.” He held your hand in his, getting lost for a moment simply looking at your face.

Eventually he sat up, laying down next to you and pulling you into his chest. “I’m proud of you too,” he told you, tucking your head under his chin. “I know you’re actively making a change for the better, and you’re doing really well. Results won’t happen immediately, you just have to stick with it sometimes.”

You sighed through your nose, taking his hand in yours again. “I know. I just get discouraged sometimes is all.”

“And I’ll just be here to put you back on track. You’ve got this, you know.” He hugged you tight against him, rubbing your back. “Are you hungry?” he finally asked. “I’ll help you make dinner.”

“Sure,” you said, chuckling lightly.

“What? We both have to eat, and you know me. I’m a hungry shark.”

You laughed again, leaning up to kiss his jaw.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Well, there’s always more where that came from.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m here for you, okay?”

______________

Kaminari:

If there was one thing Denki hated more than anything, it was seeing you upset.

He could tell something was off the moment you came through the front door. You were too quiet, and that bothered him. When you finally made it up to your shared room, Kaminari was already watching the doorway for you.

He noticed immediately that your eyes were puffy and a little red. Even your posture looked defeated and slumped over.

“Hey, Denks,” you said once you noticed him stretched out on the bed. His heart broke even further when he saw you try for a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” Kaminari got up, clearing the space between you so he could put his hands on your shoulders.

“I—I just,” you began to stammer out, feeling the flimsy dam you’d placed behind your eyes begin to falter. “I . . . don’t know if I want to talk about it right now.” You covered your burning face with your palms. “It’s stupid anyway. I shouldn’t let things like that get to me.”

Kaminari frowned, trying to figure out what might have made you so upset. But he wasn’t one to pry when it came to situations like these, and he knew you’d tell him on your own time.

Even so, he led you to where he’d once taken position on the bed, pulling you up with him. He knew that sometimes you simply wanted to be distracted from things, so he decided to do just that. Allowing you to settle in next to him, he picked his controller up from the covers again where he’d set it down.

You noticed he’d been playing Minecraft. You let yourself take a mild interest in his mining session that you caught him in the middle of. You watched him wander through a cave system; placing torches, killing the occasional zombie, and mining out various ores he happened upon.

What you didn’t see was how often he shot you glances, studying your face for any signs of you getting upset again. He saw when you finally took your eyes off his screen, frowning distantly as you twisted the material of the blanket underneath you.

Before he could ask you again what was going on, you opened your mouth to speak. “Do you think this outfit is too much?”

Denki faltered, confused. “No? What do you mean by that? I think you look really pretty.”

You pursed your lips. Clearly that wasn’t the answer you’d wanted. “I just—I don’t know.” You frowned and went back to avoiding his eyes.

“Are you going to tell me what happened today?” Denki asked. A sudden idea struck him. Before you could answer him again, he stood up on the bed and walked over to a shelf you kept just above it. He pulled down a large stuffed Pikachu he’d gotten you a few years ago, and went back to sitting next to you. “Would it be easier to tell him?”

Denki positioned the toy in his lap, grabbing hold of its little arms and letting it go through various motions, starting with a little wave at you.

You couldn’t help but snort at Kaminari’s antics, looking from the plushie to the curious but concerned expression on your boyfriend’s face.

“Your Pikachus are worried about you.” Denki lifted it up higher on his chest, continuing to fidget and wave the arms back and forth in a little dance. “You saw your family today, right? How did that go?”

Your face fell again and you shrugged. “It went well I guess. My grandma just said something dumb and it made me upset.”

Denki frowned, lifting the arms of the Pikachu so its hands were on its pink cheeks. “What did she say?”

You shrugged again. “I was messing around with my cousins and I said I looked like a snacc. And then she said that snacks were probably what made me so fat in the first place.”

Denki’s frown deepened. “That’s not very nice.”

“I don’t think she knew what I was talking about, to be fair. And maybe it’s a little funny. I mean, she’s not wrong.” You rested your chin in your hands, sighing. “It just caught me off guard. It’s a dumb thing to be upset over, like I said—”

“Hey.” Denki met your eyes. “It’s not dumb. You have every right to be upset.” He held his arms open to you. “Come here.”

You sat up, letting him embrace you.

“Do you need me to remind you how beautiful you are and how much I love you?” he asked from next to your ear. “Because I’ll do it.”

He took your shy smile as a yes, letting you settle back as he proceeded to lift up the stuffed yellow toy.

“Are you hearing this, bro?” he addressed it, throwing a serious look on his face. “The most gorgeous person on the planet is sad. We have to do something about it.”

Denki put the Pikachu’s paw on its chin, tapping it for a second before removing it again. “What’s that?” he asked it. “You have an idea?”

He lifted the toy to his ear, pretending to listen to it for a moment as he nodded along. Once he was satisfied, Denki scooched himself even closer to you. He brought Pikachu’s nose up to your cheek and made a kiss sound with his lips. Setting the toy down beside you on the bed, he motioned for you to come sit in his lap.

You obeyed, settling yourself in between his thighs and wrapping your legs around his hips.

“There you go,” he muttered, slotting his nose beside yours as he touched foreheads with you. “I love you and you’re the most important person in my life. You know that, right?” He waited for you to nod before continuing. “And I know that you can feel a little insecure sometimes with how you look. You’ve got bad days, and you have good days. It’s my job to be there for you on these bad days, and you can be there for me when I have mine. I want you to know that you’re so beautiful and I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

He connected your lips to his for a long moment, trying to convey all his feelings for you into it. “And don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re less-than. They’re not the kind of person you should be listening to. Trust me when I say that you’re perfect just being you.” Denki wiped a tear trail off your cheek with his thumb, leaning in to kiss the skin there.

“Thanks, Denki,” you said, your voice just above a whisper.

He gave you a soft, caring smile; his fingers still lingering on your cheek. “Is there anything you want to do together to make you feel better? We could watch a movie, we could snuggle, whatever you want.”

You leaned in and hugged him tight. “I love you.”

He hugged you back. “I love you too. You’re my sunshine nugget, and it would take a heck of a lot to ever change that.”

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Taglist: @basicaegyo @fourteenow @iiminibattlehero @katsugay @nabo39 @onepieceask @pyrofanatic @sendhelpimstupid @xoxopam4

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bookofmirth · 3 years

Note

I'm not up to date with all the drama in this fandom bc i tend to scroll past it. But being a reader of the books before I landed in these fandoms, I'm utterly shocked about how people treat eachother.

I'm very neutral on this stupid ship war going on. I tend to fall more for Elriel. But I understand everyone's opinion. I used to read all the book analysis, but now it just seems so exhausting. I get that people love books and ship different people. That's normal, everyone has different taste etc i'm just here trying to understand why we need to bring other human beings down in order to push our own narrative.

Since when is it okay to do that???? Can't we have a normal conversation without sending death treats?

I normally don't really respond to anything that involves drama. But these last couples of months have gotten me to dislike the books more and more solely because of these, may I call them blandly, horrible people.

And i'm very sad to have to admit that i'm also getting sick of the art of the multiple ships. Which that's horrible because I love what all these amazing artists create. But the hate they receive and the comments just make me hate it all more,this whole fandom with all these toxic people ruining it for me personally.

Can't we all just agree that we like these books, and respect eachother as human beings, no matter what everyone else thinks? And maybe wait and see what the author writes? In the end it are still her books and she will have the final say in everything.

I wish SJM would release the next book sooner so all this hate would stop, then again i don't know if it will stop. They will likely continue and probably bother SJM too...

Thank you for listening to me ranting, you always seem very nice to people with different opinions, so I thought i might as well rant a bit too.

Have a lovely day!!

Hello! Thank you for this message! I think it's really helpful for people to see because they can see the impact of the things they are doing and saying in the fandom. There are a lot of people who feel comfortable being vocal in the fandom, but I gotta say, if I were just joining now, I'm not sure that would be me. I wonder how many people walk in, take a look around, and walk the fuck back out. I probably would.

I got on my soap box a little bit because I was thinking about some of the things you've said!

I was just talking with some friends, some of whom I've been in the fandom with since 2017, some who are newer. And we all 1000% agree with you. It's so, so frustrating that the fandom has gotten so nasty to the point where we've become so separated from each other that we can't have a single civil conversation. Where people of color don't feel safe, and where a lot of the fandom doesn't even seem to care about that.

When I first joined the fandom, there were definitely people who shipped one way and people who shipped another, but we were still able to have conversations with each other. There would be these really, really long posts that were chains of people commenting on posts and reblogging, then someone adding on their thoughts, then op would respond, etc. Yeah, the posts were super long to scroll through, but there was so much engagement, ya know? And it was genuine, too. We could disagree or say "hey OP I like this point, but have you thought of X?" And it was great! (I even have a tag for it, #long post tag, because I once got an anon who was annoyed at how long my conversations with people would be 💀so I made that tag for people who wanted to block those posts.)

I'm not going to pretend it was perfect - there were definitely people I didn't get along with. But that wasn't a fandom thing, that was just a personality thing. And I never in a million years expected those people to fly off the handle and start attacking me anon, or to ss my posts to make fun of elsewhere. Now, that's a constant fear hanging over everyone's heads.

It has created an extreme echo chamber. I would genuinely like having those old fandom discussions where people would comment - in the open, on reblogs - and then we could all engage in that discussion in public. Now, all of that discussion happens in private, in groupchats and Discord. And don't get me wrong, Discord is super fun. But it also means that 1) people who aren't in those groups have no idea wtf is going on when we vague, although I try not to do that anyway, and 2) when people are in those groups they egg each other on to be worse and worse. Worse than they would have been if they were on their own and didn't feel like they had a group of people there to support their asshole behavior. tbh, I have to check myself sometimes and think, "would I do this if I hadn't just gotten into a rant conversation with friends on Discord?"

And what you said about fan art, it's so frustrating!!! Since when did fan art become a battle ground??? Since when did the appearance of fan art = a win for one ship or the other?? Why can't the comments of those arts ever just be nice and appreciative of the work someone has put into it? Honestly, it makes me paranoid to write fanfic, too! I mean, is that next???

I totally agree with you that we should be able to respect each other as people. We used to be able to do that. I hate to admit it, but I have so many people blocked now because I just don't trust them. I don't trust them to be civil, I don't trust them to be able to see my posts, I don't trust them to even read what I've written without misconstruing everything I've said.

I'm not sure if people realize that there is a big difference between this:

I don't like X ship

And this:

People who like X ship are delusional

The first one is okay! It's normal! Like you said, we all have feelings and interpretations and stuff we would prefer to see or not see!

The second one, not okay! Stop insulting people, people!!!!

The idea of engaging in a normal, healthy debate with a huge portion of the fandom is such a foreign concept to me at this point, and it never used to be. There could be a lot of reasons for this. And I always try to avoid pointing fingers because I know that not everyone is like that, though I'm sure I have slipped into that from time to time.

I think it would help if we stop seeing each other as a gwynriel or an elucien or an elriel, and start seeing each other as individuals. When acosf first came out, I started noticing a trend where people would send me asks and write them as if they were writing to every single person who ships elucien, or as if they were writing to every single person who holds a certain opinion about Azriel. It was really confusing at first, and I'm gonna request that the fandom stop doing that altogether, to everyone. If you want to engage with someone, engage with that person, not your idea of who they are and what they think.

I'm down for conversations where we talk about the series and what might come next as possibilities, because that's all this is, so far. Anyone who says that "X thing will never happen" is making some bold claims, and it's really off-putting to people who know that that's not why we are here. It's not a contest where we "win" canon. It's fandom, where we talk about what we like and what we don't like and what we want and cross our fingers and hope.

EDIT I wanted to add on one thing - a lot of this behavior is incredibly shocking and disgusting and I think that we, as a fandom, need to be better at 1) calling it out, and 2) not assuming that whoever did X horrible thing represents all people from that corner of the fandom.

I hope that you have a lovely day as well! And that the fandom doesn't get you too down. @heleencollier

#acotar fandom #acotar #acosf #fandom wank #leslie being a fandom grandma again

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cupidhaos · 4 years

Text

not just on christmas

pairing: choi seungcheol x gn reader

word count: 2.8k

genre: fluff, angst w/ a happy ending, non idol au, slice of life, xmas fic

summary: after breaking up with seungcheol, you look back on some winter memories that you made together as you prepare to spend christmas eve alone

warnings: none

song rec: the best thing i ever did | twice

a/n: okay so this is like the first written fic that i’m posting that isn’t part of any of my social media aus and i wont lie im a little nervous im kinda shy (ಥ﹏ಥ) OKAY ANYWAYS i wanted to post this cute little cheol fic i wrote as a kinda christmas present to u all!! and if u don’t celebrate xmas then its just a present!! i hope u enjoy it bc honestly winter activities r so cute!! i hope ur all staying warm and healthy!! <33

choi seungcheol was the love of your life. the two of you had planned your futures out together, under the assumption they’d be together still. but as you sit on your bed sadly watching reruns of some cheesy holiday romance movies - you begin to think otherwise.

a misunderstanding and a wrong choice of words has now led to this misfortune that left you with a pile of tissues surrounding your bed. you don’t move from the spot on your bed until the buzzing of your phone was heard. lazily picking up your phone, you press on the call button to answer.

“hello, who is it” you groggily greet the person on the other end of the line.

“be ready in five minutes. i’m on my way” was all that they said before ending the call.

you weren’t even able to get a word in before the call had ended. sighing and placing your phone back down on the bed. you slowly get up and look at the picture frame that was placed on the side of your bed. it was a photo of you and seungcheol smiling happily on one of your very first dates.

“seungcheol! hurry up!” you called out to your boyfriend as you walk ahead of him, holding onto his hand tightly as you dragged him behind you. seungcheol lets out a low chuckle as he continued to let you drag him - slightly putting pressure on his feet against the ground to give you a harder time.

this didn’t stop you though as you continued to pull him behind. both of your mitten covered hands clasped within one another.

“i don’t even know how to skate!” seungcheol retorted playfully, though his voice was muffled by the scarf that covered half of his face. you just shrugged him off in response as the two of you neared the ice skating rink.

“i don’t either - but that makes it even more fun!” you told him cheekily as you two get in front of the outdoor ice skating rink.“two people please!” you said to the clerk, holding up two fingers.

“oh yes! two people please! one for me and one for my beautiful date.” seungcheol states as he gestures towards you with that last sentence. your face turns red as you try to hold back a smile “stop” you whisper to him as you playfully hit his chest.

“what?” seungcheol whispers back in feign cluelessness. you felt your face heat up even more as seungcheol wrapped an arm around your shoulder - pulling you closer to his warm body. he holds both of your hands up high as you two continue waiting for your skating shoes.

“excuse me!” he announces loudly, causing your eyes widen. you attempt to try and put your hands back down before he can say anything, but it didn’t help that his grip held you tightly. a couple of people passing by turn to look towards the two of you as he continues to ignore your attempts of stopping him. “this person right here!” he loudly says as he gestures down towards you.“is my very beautiful date!”

seungcheol then puts your hands back down as you hit his chest again. all he does laughs in response and pulls you closer to his chest. you bury your face into his sweater and he wraps his arms around your shoulders as he continues laughing at your reaction. you just shake your head at his antics as you shyly hug him back.

sooner or later, the two of you are in the ice skating rink.

“seungcheol!” you yell out at your boyfriend who was now the one to pulling you. he smiles as he watches your attempts in stabilizing yourself.

“aw come here” he coos as he pulls you closer towards the edge of the ice rink. you grab the edge and you both begin to skate slowly.

“you said that you didn’t know how to skate.” you pout at your calm boyfriend. seungcheol just shrugged though as his smile never wavered “guess you can say i’m a natural like that!”

you roll your eyes at him before he turns around to fully face you. grabbing your hands - you feel yourself slowly glide towards him. he mimics the pout on your face as he brushes a strand of hair from your eyes. you feel your breath hitch as he leaned in close.

your eyes fluttered shut as you waited for what was to come. that was until you felt his hand leave your face. opening your eyes, you see seungcheol staring at you with a playful grin. “you can get a kiss if you catch me!” were the last words you heard before he turned around and quickly skated away.

“choi seungcheol!” you called out with a laugh as you slowly started to skate towards him.

with a sigh, you slowly place the photo back down. a couple of minutes later, you hear the honking of a car outside of your apartment - indicating that your ride was now here.

the car ride was silent aside from the music quietly playing in the background.

“where are we going?” you quietly asked as jeonghan continued driving.

“you’ll see”

ten or so minutes of driving, you two finally reached the destination.

“why are we at a cafe?” you question after a couple of minutes waiting inside of the cafe. the waitress brings your drinks to your table and jeonghan just shrugs in response to your question. as he grabbed his cup to take a sip from it - he spits it back out quickly and you just hand him a napkin as you give a judging look towards your friend.

“okay - so that was hot. i suggest that you wait a while until you drink yours.” jeonghan suggests as he gestures towards your cup. you looked down at the cup of hot cocoa - staring at the swirls that the deflated foam created at the top of the drink.

“you have some whipped cream right there.” seungcheol pointed out as the two of you stood in the middle of a park on a cold winter afternoon.

“huh? where?” you ask, looking back up at him. seungcheol stares at you for a moment before quickly leaning in - catching his lips with yours. you didn’t have anytime to react though, because once you processed what was happening he had already pulled away.

“sorry i just had to - but hey! i got it!” he cheers and all you can do is laugh. you grabs his hand again as you both continued through the snow covered park. swinging your arms back and forth as you walked throughout the park.

it was silent between the two of you before you felt something soft land on top of your hair. curiously looking up, a wide grin soon spreads across your face.

“look! it’s snowing!” you gasped, causing seungcheol to look up as well. he looked back at you though as he watched you from the side. you admired the snow that fell softly, landing gently on top of your head. seungcheol lets out a small chuckle as he takes off the scarf he was wearing, wrapping it around your neck.

“huh?” you ask as you look back towards your boyfriend. he just shrugs though as he continues to adjust the scarf around your neck. “you looked cold - and i can’t have you getting sick, can i? i mean who else am i gonna kiss?”

you felt your face heat up at that last comment and seungcheol’s face did as well. he looked back up at you while giving you a knowing look. with an over dramatic gasp, he points towards your reddening cheeks.

“look! your cheeks are already red!”

your eyes widened as you bring your hands up to cover your face. he just grabs your hands with a laugh though - pulling them away from you “stop hiding your face - you’re cute.”

shaking your head, you raise a finger up to point towards his cheeks. “what are you even talking about! your cheeks are red also!”

the blush on seungcheol’s face reddens as he struggles to look for the right words to respond back with. you just give him a small smile though as you unravel the scarf from around your neck. seungcheol puts his hands up to stop you, but is too late once you wrap the long scarf around both of your necks.

“there we go! now both of us can stay warm and none of us will have to get sick.” you state - making the smile on seungcheol’s face grow ten times its original size. the two of you continue to smile at each other before seungcheol brings his hands up to softly cradle your face.

“and i can continue to kiss you.” he adds on as he squishes your cheeks playfully - right before leaning in to give you another kiss. the warmth of the kiss satisfies both of you as you continued to stand in the park as the snow falls gently from the cloudy sky.

“hello? earth to y/n?”

you quickly snap out of your thoughts as you look back up at your friend with a lost look “i’m sorry - what did you say?”

jeonghan just laughs at you which causes a pout to appear on your lips.

“i knew you weren’t listening. but i just wanted to talk to you again about joining me and shua for christmas eve tonight.” jeonghan offers you. you automatically shake your head though, kindly declining him “jeonghan i already told you that i didn’t want to bother you guys.”

a frown formed on jeonghan’s face at your comment. “you’re not bothering us! he invited vernon and the others over also so it isn’t an issue at all. we want you there with us!”

you just wave him off once again as you decline “it’s fine. seriously jeonghan - don’t worry.”

the frown on jeonghan’s face just deepened as he gave you a worried look. “how could i not be worried? you’re gonna be all alone on christmas eve.” he tells you with a pout. you just gave your friend a reassuring smile as he took a piece of his muffin and stuffing it in his mouth.

“seriously jeonghan i’ll be okay.”

the two of you finished up your food and headed back towards your apartment. as you exited the car, jeonghan leans over his seat and leans out of the window.

“i have to go and prepare for tonight, but just remember that if you ever change your mind - the party starts at 7, okay?” he yelled out as you walked away you just nod your head and gave your friend a thumbs up before entering into your apartment complex

as you came in, you sigh loudly. your shoulders immediately slumped as you plopped down onto the couch. another memory soon coming to mind.

“god you two are disgusting” jeonghan grimaces and joshua just laughs next to him. seungcheol sticks out his tongue playfully as the four of you continued to walk together. you just laugh from where you stood next to seungcheol as he squeezes your hand.

“you’re just jealous that i got a cute date with me aren’t you?” your boyfriend teases. joshua and jeonghan both scoff loudly at his question.

“whoever said we don’t like being single! you and y/n are just gross all the time!” jeonghan retorts.

“yeah! you’re both rubbing in your lovey dovey stuff all in our faces to mock us” joshua adds on. seungcheol just rolls his eyes at his friends as you all walked through all the decorative lights and attractions at the park.

“it’s not my fault you two decided to tag along on our date”

this causes the two roommates to gasp dramatically. jeonghan turns to joshua, ignoring seungcheol’s presence “joshua let’s go and check out those goats in the petting zoo since we’re apparently BOTHERING the love birds here”

“i think that’s a GREAT idea jeonghan!” joshua loudly announces before the two of them stalk off towards the direction of the petting zoo. its quiet for a little while before you and seungcheol turn to look at eachother.

“wanna go see the lights now?” seungcheol offers you, a wide smile spreading across your face.

you excitedly nod at his offer and the two of you quickly make your way towards the lights display. you both gasped as you began to look at all the bright christmas lights in awe.

“cheol look at that one!” you point towards another bright display a bit farther off. you both began walking towards the display smiling brightly as you stare at everything in awe. dropping seungcheol’s hand, you fish for your phone from your pocket to take photos of all the bright lights. seungcheol smiles fondly at you as he also takes out his phone. he starts to take pictures of the lights as well before his phone slowly drifts towards your direction instead.

you continued to take photos of the lights as seungcheol continues to take photos you. you glance towards to the side, causing seungcheol to act as if he was taking photos of the lights around you instead. a shy smile forms on your face as you place your phone back into your pocket. grabbing onto his hand, he puts his phone back into his pocket as well.

“i kinda wanna go see the goats now.” you sheepishly admit, causing seungcheol to laugh.

“honestly me too, i also may feel a little bad for sending shua and han off like that. don’t tell them i said that though”

bringing a hand up to your face, you feel a tear fall from your eye. glancing towards the clock, you just now realize just how long you had been sitting there.

the clock blinks 5:47 PM as you quietly sigh.

“ah screw this. i have nothing else to do i might as well go” you mumble to yourself. getting up from the sofa, you slip on your coat and quickly put on your shoes. as you open your door to leave, you feel your heart stop as you see who was standing on the other side.

seungcheol’s eyes widened as he freezes in his tracks - one of his hands in the air as if he was just about to knock on the door. you felt your breath hitch as you both stare at each other in shock.

“hi”

“hello”

you shake your head from your thoughts as you look down towards your shoes.

“what are you doing here?” you ask him quietly, gripping the sides of your coat nervously..

seungcheol looks away as he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck.

“jeonghan told me you were spending christmas alone and i just- i don’t know i guess hearing that led me back here. i was worried.” he admits, mumbling the last part under his breath. you felt your throat close up at his words.

“you were worried about me?” you asked, eyes widening at his confession. he quickly looks up at you with furrowed and confused eyebrows “i always worry about you.”

you weren’t sure what to say, all you could was stare at him in shock.

“i miss you” seungcheol blurts aloud, his face quickly turning red.

“you miss me?” you asked with a surprised look on your face.

“i’ve been missing you. i’m sorry about the fight, and i’m sorry about what i said. i want us to be how we were before. i just - i want you back.” seungcheol confessed as you stood in front of him frozen.

“but only if you want to be together again! but if you don’t i understand-”

“-i miss you too.” you confess, cutting him off. seungcheol stops in his tracks as a smile spreads across his face. the same smile that always made you heart race.

“so does that mean we’re together again?” he asks, hopefulness laced in his tone. you just laugh at his nervous demeanor.

“i mean… technically… if you really want to be...”

seungcheol just smiles before he takes something green out of his pocket.

“i brought mistletoe just in case this was the route we were to go down.” he says with a grin. you just look at him with a confused look on your face. “cheol that’s basil.”

he looks up at the stem of basil leaves he held above the two of you with confusion “but… jeonghan told me this was mistletoe”

“theres a bit of a difference between the two - how can you get it mixed up?

“i don’t know! i was in a rush and i just knew that it was green! can you just act like its mistletoe?”

“but it’s basil -” you start off with a laugh, before being cut off by a soft pair of lips.

out of all the things that were to happen tonight, kissing choi seungcheol underneath a stem of basil leaves hanging above both of your heads was something you would’ve never expected.

m.list

#kwritersworldnet #seventeen #choi seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x you #seungcheol oneshot #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fics #written fics #seventeen oneshot #seventeen imagines #merry christmas!! its still xmas where im at even tho its ending soon AFHSDFHW #anyways happy holidays and if u dont celebrate holidays i hope ur days are filled withjoy anyways!!#aye who else in love seungcheol tho i know i am #i wanted him to be the first one i posted a written fic for

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themetaphorgirl · 4 years

Note

alright but can i request a patron saint hotch loopy on day quill one shot?? bc i would love to read that even if it takes like 3 years to get around to it 🥺🥺🥺

did I get in the mood to write something cuddly and kind of silly with lots of Alex and Aaron: The Wonder Twins vibes???

yes I did. also I wrote over half of this on my phone during my break at work.

----------

“...so when you think about it colloquially, it’s perfectly acceptable to refer to the monster as Frankenstein, so-“

Alex moved Spencer’s glass of orange juice out of the way before he could knock it over with an overenthusiastic wave of his hand. “JJ, what are you doing?” she asked, exasperated.

JJ reached into her cereal bowl, picked up a couple of pieces, and tossed it into an empty mug. “There’s too much cereal in my lucky charms, I only wanted the marshmallows,” she said.

“You can’t eat just marshmallows, Jennifer.”

“I’m not. I got donuts too.”

“Hotch wasn’t here to stop her,” Emily snickered.

Alex sighed. “Where is Hotchner?” she said. “It’s not like him to be late.”

“He said he slept through his alarm and he’d meet us here,” Derek said, stabbing his fork into a hashbrown.

“That’s also not like Hotch,” Alex said. She caught Spencer before he could topple out of his chair onto the floor. “Darling, I’m so glad you’re this enthusiastic at seven in the morning, but please sit down.”

Spencer obeyed, sliding down from his knees to sit on his bottom. “I got the wrong juice, I don’t like this kind,” he said. “I got the kind with pulp.”

“Why didn’t you get the kind you like?” Alex asked.

“Hotch gets it for me because I’m too short to see the labels. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.”

Alex pulled her phone out of her skirt pocket. “He hasn’t texted me or the group chat,” she said. “It’s not like him to be late.”

“Should we be worried? I feel like we should be worried,” Penelope said.

“We don’t need to worry,” Alex said. “Spencer, what are you doing?”

“Getting the pulp out of my juice. I shouldn’t have to chew juice.”

“Please put the spoon down.”

“I’ll get you juice,” Penelope promised.

“Thank you,” Alex said. “And can you please get something for JJ that isn’t dehydrated marshmallows?”

“I like them.”

“Eat a fruit, Jennifer!”

Derek paused as Penelope left the table. “Uh...we might need to worry about Hotch,” he said.

Alex twisted around in her seat to look behind her. “Oh, fuck,” she sighed.

Hotch’s tie was knotted wrong, leaving one end of the tie dangling by his belt buckle, and his blazer was misbuttoned. His dark hair flopped over his eyes, still sleep-mussed, and his backpack was unzipped. “Hey, guys,” he said. “Sorry I’m late.” He tried to hang his backpack on the empty chair next to Alex but missed completely, sending it crashing to the floor. “Well, shit.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, dude?” Emily said.

Hotch blinked. “I overslept,” he said, rubbing his ear. “What time is it?”

“Almost time to go to homeroom,” Alex said. “Are you okay?”

He kept rubbing his ear. “Huh?” he said. He sat down heavily next to Alex. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Do I have time to eat?”

JJ slid her mug of cereal over to him. “You can have the rest of my lucky charms,” she offered.

Hotch scooped a handful of dry cereal into his mouth and frowned. “What happened to all the marshmallows?” he asked.

“I ate them.”

“You can have my juice,” Spencer offered.

Hotch reached around Alex, picked up the glass, and took a swig. “Ugh, there’s stuff in it,” he complained. “I don’t want to chew my juice.”

“That’s what I said!” Spencer said.

Alex frowned. “I don’t think you’re okay,” she said. She touched the back of her hand to his forehead. “Yikes, Aaron. You’re burning up.”

“Hm?” he said. He coughed, a thick sound rattling deep in his chest. “I’m okay. I drank like...half a bottle of DayQuil.”

“I can tell,” she said, poking at the damp orange stain on his uniform shirt. He squinted down at it and frowned. “Also, drinking half a bottle of DayQuil doesn’t mean you’re okay. I think that’s the opposite of okay.”

“I’ll be fine,” Hotch said. “I have a test in second period I can’t miss.”

Emily caught his arm across the table. “Stop, stop, stop,” she said. “Do you know you’re about to pour your juice into your cereal?”

Hotch paused long enough for Alex to carefully take the glass out of his hand while he blinked in confusion. “Maybe you should make up the test later,” she suggested.

“No, I can handle a test,” he said. He blinked, then clapped a hand over his face. “Oh, shit. I think I only put one contact in this morning.” He rubbed the heel of his palm into his eye. “Shit. Aw, yikes.”

“You need to go back to bed,” Alex said. “Or the nurse’s office.”

He swatted at her hand. “No, I don’t, Alexandra,” he said. “It’s just a chest cold. Stop treating me like Spencer.”

Spencer scowled. “I think I’m insulted by that,” he said.

Alex put Spencer’s fork back in his hand. “Eat your breakfast,” she said. “Listen, Hotch, I can’t stop you if you want to go to class. But nobody’s going to judge you if you stay in your room and rest.”

Hotch coughed into his elbow. “I’m gonna get a Red Bull,” he said, pushing himself out of his chair and nearly knocking it over in the process.

“Oh, he’s definitely sick,” Derek said. “You hear his Virginia accent coming out? He sounds like Colonel Sanders.”

“Don’t worry, Al, I’ll keep an eye on him,” Emily said.

“Thanks,” she said. “Spencer, you have to drink your juice. You and Hotch have no immune systems and if he gets sick, you’re going to get sick, and I can’t deal with both of you coughing up a lung.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Spencer said. “Although vitamin C-“

“Drink your juice.”

By the time breakfast was over Alex was confident that Hotch wasn’t going to last the whole day. His cough was deep and persistent, and he kept absentmindedly rubbing his ears. She couldn’t exactly blame him- she’d pulled similar stunts herself when a big test or project was coming up- but this was more than a mild cold. Most likely he’d make it to lunch before he relented.

To her surprise, it was even sooner.

She got to chapel early and pulled out her book to read, but she nearly dropped it when Emily’s voice cut through the soft chatter of the hall.

“Hey, Alex, come get your twin!”

Alex picked up her book and set it back beside her. “For the last time, Emily, stop telling everybody that Hotch and I are twins,” she said. She stopped. “Oh, no.”

Hotch was leaning heavily on Emily’s shoulder, his eyes glazed over. “Hey, I think I need to sit down,” he said.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Emily huffed, struggling under his weight. “You shouldn’t have gone to class in the first place.”

“I had a test,” he said.

Alex crossed her arms. “Yeah?” she said. “How’d that go for you, bubba?”

“I’m not sure, I don’t remember taking the test,” he confessed. “I remember sitting down at my desk and then...everything got kind of blurry.”

Alex sighed. “Please tell me you’re going back to your room to rest,” she said.

“I mean...it’s not that bad.” Hotch said. “I’ve been sicker before.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

Emily scanned the chapel doors. “Oh, wow, is that Haley Brooks over there?” she said. “You should go over and say hello. Haley! Hi, Haley!”

“No!” Hotch said. “Jesus, Emily, I don’t want to talk to her right now, I look like shit!”

“Then you should definitely go back to your room before she sees you,” Emily said. She gave him a gentle push towards the back exit doors. “Come on, hurry up.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Alex called, but he was out the door already, his still-unzipped backpack dangling off one shoulder.

Emily tilted her head. “I don’t think he heard you,” she said. “He looks like death warmed over through. I’m kind of worried. Which means your spidey-sense must have bypassed tingling and gone straight to exploding.”

“I should have gone with him,” Alex said. “Although I’m not sure I would be able to explain missing classes.”

“Just tell your teachers you have to take care of your brother,” Emily suggested.

Alex rolled her eyes. “Listen, I don’t know you and Dave keep telling everybody we’re related,” she said. “We’re in different grades. We have different last names.”

“C’mon, it’s fun, you’re the Wonder Twins,” Emily said. She squished Alex’s cheeks and laughed. “You look enough alike to pass for siblings.”

“Nobody thinks that,” Alex said flatly, batting her hand away. “We’d better go sit before chapel starts.”

She kept her phone close through chapel and her third period class. He didn’t text her, but that wasn’t reassuring either. No news wasn’t necessarily good news.

The bell rang at the end of third period, but she hesitated before she started the walk towards the dining hall. She tapped her fingertips against the back of her phone case, and after a moment she typed out a text. Her phone buzzed seconds later with an answer.

Jamie <3

11:26am

yeah I figured youd want to check on him. dont worry about the baby i’ll make sure he eats a vegetable. love you!!!!

Alex felt the back of her neck heat up as she smiled at the screen. The whole love thing was still shiny and new and made little sparks prickle at the nape of her neck.

She slung the strap of her satchel across her shoulder and made the trek across campus to Lincoln House. Hotch had given her a spare key fob- Derek was constantly losing and finding his, resulting in multiple replacements floating around- and she let herself into the quiet lobby. Hopefully there wouldn’t be too many people around.

“Ah, Miss Miller. What are you doing over here? Shouldn’t you be in the dining hall?”

Alex jumped. She was not expecting to see Mr. Gideon standing in the lobby and staring at her. “Checking on my brother, he’s, uh, he’s sick,” she blurted out.

“Oh, the big one or the little one?” he asked.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” he said. “Aaron or Spencer?”

“It’s, uh, it’s the big one this time,” she said.

Mr. Gideon nodded sagely. “Your twin,” he said. “Well, go on up. Hope he feels better soon.”

He walked out to his office and closed the door; she sighed heavily. Maybe Emily and Dave were on to something after all.

She made her way up the stairs to the seventh floor and knocked lightly on his closed door. “Hotch?” she called. “It’s Alex. I just wanted to check on you.” He didn’t answer. “Hotch?” She tried the handle. “Oh, of course you locked the door.” She pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and stuck it in the keyhole.

The lock popped easily after a bit of fiddling and she opened the door. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Hotchner,” she sighed.

His unzipped backpack had dumped half its contents in the middle of the floor when he’d dropped it, along with his uniform blazer and his right shoe. Hotch was sprawled out on his bed on top of the covers, his long gangly legs dragging on the floor and his left shoe still on. He was still wearing his uniform and his rarely-worn glasses perched at a crooked angle on his nose, threatening to fall off at any moment as he snored.

“You’re dead to the world, aren’t you, bubba?” she said aloud. She set her satchel and blazer down on Hotch’s desk and sat on the edge of his bed. His breathing was shallow and congested, and his face was flushed red. “Hotch. Hotchner. Wake up for a second.” She pinched him lightly and his eyes shot open. “Hey, good, you’re awake.”

“What the fuck?” he mumbled. He rubbed his eyes, knocking his glasses sideways. “How did you get in here?”

“Picked the lock with a bobby pin,” she said.

He scrunched up his nose. “Like Annie Drew?”

“It’s Nancy Drew, and maybe that’s where I learned it from, I read a lot of mystery novels when I was an impressionable middle schooler,” she said. She tucked her legs underneath her and touched the back of her hand to his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Like hot garbage,” he said. “This cold is kicking my ass.”

“I don’t think you have a cold, bubba, I think you have bronchitis,” she said. “Did you take anything when you got back here or did you just crash?”

“Well, I’ve had most of a bottle of DayQuil today,” he said. He struggled to sit up. “You know what happens when you drink most of a bottle of DayQuil?”

“No, what happens?”

“Nothing good, I’ll tell you that for free,” he said.

Alex winced in sympathy. “You threw up?”

He ran his hands through his hair and dragged his palms over his face. “It was neon orange, Al,” he said, slightly muffled.

“That’s no good,” she said. “Did you-”

He broke into a cough, thick and heavy and rattling in his lungs, and Alex rubbed his back. “Hey, you’re okay,” she said gently. “Take a deep breath. You’re okay,”

It took a moment for him to settle down and breathe normally again; his glasses tilted drunkenly on his nose and his eyes were watering. “That sucked,” he rasped.

“Yeah, I bet,” she said. “You’ve got the sore throat, right? Feels like you swallowed broken glass?”

“I was going to say barbed wire, but yeah,” he said.

Alex squeezed his knee. “Get out of your uniform and lie down,” she said. “I’ll go get you something to drink. How much water have you had today?”

“If Red Bull counts, then I’ve had two waters.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll go get you water and a gatorade,” she said. “You get changed.”

She started to leave the room. “Hey, Alex?” he asked. She paused in the doorway. “Can you get me a purple one?”

“Yes, I’ll get you a purple gatorade.”

“The light purple, not the dark purple,” he called after her.

“I remember, I remember,” she called back.

She went down to the vending machines and got him two bottled waters and a light purple gatorade. For all his mature-for-his-age, old soul vibe, Hotch was as hard to handle as Spencer when he wasn’t feeling well.

His door was cracked when she got back to his room, but she paused. He’d changed into flannel pajama pants and he was struggling into one of his wrestling tee shirts. Alex bit back a wince and ducked back into the hallway. She rarely saw the scars on his back, but he usually kept them well hidden and it never got easier to see it. He didn’t like to talk about it, and she didn’t blame him.

When she was sure the coast was clear she stepped back into the room. Hotch sat on his bed, his shoulders slumped and his head in his hands. “Headache?” she asked as she set the bottles down on his nightstand.

“It feels like there’s a rock concert playing directly in my brain,” he said.

She went into his bathroom and dug around in the medicine cabinet. He didn’t have much for himself; it was mostly medicine they kept on hand for Spencer. “Oh, I can give you the big boy ibuprofen instead of the chewable stuff,” she teased. She set the bottle of ibuprofen down with the drinks. “This first though. Hold still.”

She set the thermometer in his ear and he jumped. “Ow,” he complained. “You could have warned me.”

“If I warned you, you’d try to argue,” she said. It beeped and she held it out so he could see the readout. “A hundred point four. You’re not going to class today, or tomorrow either.”

He rolled his eyes. “At least I got my test done,” he said.

“How do you think you did?” she asked.

“I don’t think I failed.”

Alex took his hand so she could place the pills in his hand, then opened one of the bottles of water. “Take these. Drink all of this. And then go to sleep,” she said.

“I’m not tired, I had so much DayQuil,” he complained as he popped the pills in his mouth.

“Which you’ve already puked back up,” she pointed out. “You need to get some sleep.”

He chugged a third of the water and paused to cough. “I just need to rest,” he said. “Can you hand me my laptop.”

“No.”

Hotch scowled. “Alexandra. Give me my laptop,” he said. “I have an essay due on Friday.”

She grabbed his laptop and wrestled it into her school bag. “You can have it back when you’re not running a fever,” she said.

“Alex!” he whined. “I need to work on that.” She bit back a laugh. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Sorry, it’s hard to take you seriously with your nerd glasses on,” she said. He huffed, which turned into another cough. “Seriously, Aaron. You need to take it easy. And it’s school policy that you can’t attend classes until you’ve been fever-free for twenty-four hours.” He rubbed his ear. “Besides, you know Spencer’s going to try to spend quality time with you, and he’s not going to be able to handle it if he catches what you have. The more you rest and take care of yourself, the sooner you’ll get over it.”

Hotch sighed. “Fine,” he said. “You win.”

“I usually do.”

“You just had to play the Spencer card.”

“I was saving it just in case.”

Hotch set the empty water bottle back on the nightstand and shifted around until he was under the covers. “Are you going back to class?” he asked. “Lunch is almost over.”

He sounded nonchalant, but he was avoiding her eyes and tugging at a loose thread on his comforter. “I can stay a while longer,” she said. “Besides, if anybody asks where I was, Gideon can tell them I was with you. You know he thinks we’re twins too?”

“For such a brilliant man, he’s kind of clueless,” Hotch said. “I’m not going to sleep, but I’ll rest, okay?”

“Sure,” Alex said. “Do you want to watch something?” She pulled at the laces of her ankle boots. “Do you want to watch wrestling?”

“I don’t watch wrestling.”

Alex looked him up and down. “We all know you’re a secret wrestling fan,” she said. “And even if you say you’re not, I can read your tee shirt.”

“No one ever wants to watch wrestling with me,” he said.

“Yes, well, you’re sick, you should get to watch what you want,” she said. She set her boots aside and handed him the remote. “Now scoot over.”

He paused, the remote balanced in his hand as the TV blinked on. “Why?” he asked.

“Because I said so,” she said. “I mean it! Scoot over.”

He obeyed, still clearly confused, and she pulled and tugged at him until they both fit on his narrow twin bed, his head resting on her stomach. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Wow, you really are mostly limbs, aren’t you?”

“I’ve had a couple of growth spurts,” he said. “You’re sure you want to watch wrestling with me?”

“Go for it,” she said.

Truthfully she had no desire to watch wrestling, but she knew it would make him happy, and when he was this sick he deserved things that would make him happy. She ran her fingers through his thick hair, and before long she heard him snoring again, the sound thick and rattling in his lungs. When she was sure he was asleep she tugged his glasses off and set them aside on the nightstand. Most likely he would wake up cranky and groggy and he’d try to argue that he could go to class, but for now she could keep him calm and quiet, and hopefully the sleep would help.

“Maybe you’ll be a little bit less of an absolute disaster when you wake up,” she said, and she kept stroking his hair while he slept.

#au: patron saint of lost causes #caitlin writes things #patron saint: hotch #patron saint: alex #patron saint: the wonder twins #alex is a mom #hotch is an ABSOLUTE DISASTER #spencer is a perfect cherub #wow james loves alex #emily is a queen #EAT A FRUIT JENNIFER #yes hotch is a secret wrestling fan #criminal minds fanfiction #brenna has helped me workshop a lot of ideas for my hotch arc and some of those ideas are popping up here #Anonymous #thank you for asking!!

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perriewinklenerdie · 4 years

Text

History repeats itself (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

A/N: Hi guys! I'm on a roll (it's that high that patients that are about to die experience right before they crash. Kinda fitting, giving the fact that I'm going to die tomorrow bc of OH, isn't it? :D), like back in the old, good days. This was a request made by a wonderfull Nonnie. Thank you so much for suggesting it! I hope you enjoy it and that I didn’t disappoint :D

This fic is part of the ESIMY series (Claire and Ethan met and got married before they started working together and that’s basically all you need to know, as the fic can be read as a separate work)

Tag list: @paleweasels, @kittykatchoices, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian, @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @awhmilkywey @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @bucket-harrington , @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @daisy-ashton, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @justanotherrookie @mvalentine @starrystarrytrouble

Enjoy! <3

-----------

Paging Dr. Ramsey to Dr. Banerji’s office.

He looked up from the article he was reading, expecting a message from his wife. They were supposed to go home soon, finishing her last day of work before she would go on maternal leave. The page didn’t read as urgent, and yet somehow, a shiver ran down his spine. He couldn’t explain it. Call it a hunch that made him abandon his work and rush through the halls of the hospital.

Naveen was waiting for him by the door, his expression gravely. The air in the room was so thick that Ethan, who was running, stopped abruptly in his tracks, feeling weight being slammed against his chest. He didn’t know what was happening yet, but it couldn’t have been anything good.

“Naveen?” he asked, walking closer, treading slowly and carefully, as though it would save him from the approaching heartbreak he could already feel. His friend sighed heavily, stepping towards to him and laying his hand on Ethan’s shoulder.

“You might want to sit down.”

“Tell me. I need to go pick Claire up from the locker room in five minutes.” He didn’t miss how his mentor’s face fell at the mention of her name, making his stomach drop in worry. “What happened?”

“Claire is being transferred to the OR as we speak.” He said, the next words being an almost exact echo of his own words years back. “She had a seizure, full eclampsia. We’re delivering the baby.”

------------

That day, from the very beginning, was a bust. Her head was pounding, slowly but surely rising and breaking through the threshold of her pain tolerance, causing her to reach out to her OB-GYN in search of any advice, along with some painkillers. Her vision was getting blurred around the sides from time to time, making it incredibly difficult to read charts or look her patients in the eye. Esme asked her about it, figuring out something was wrong when she misread the patient’s name while they were walking towards their room, but she dismissed her with a kind smile.

“That’s pregnancy for you.” she joked, seeing in her resident’s eyes that she didn’t believe her. Sighing heavily, she nodded. “Okay, it’s not typical. I- I would appreciate if you kept your eye on me today. I feel like something is about to go south and I’d like to avoid that.”

“Of course, I’ll watch you like a hawk.”

Light sensitivity came next. Supply closets were her biggest friends that day, providing with as much darkness as she wanted, blocking out any traces of light. She couldn’t barricade herself in there, no matter how much she’d want that, so she braced herself and pushed through.

She knew all those symptoms too well. She was, after all, treating her pre-eclampsia since it reared its ugly head three weeks ago. The moment she heard her diagnosis, she felt as though she has been struck by a lightning. It was the same diagnosis she gave Dolores not even three years ago.

Ethan wouldn’t survive it if this case ended the same way.

Claire was battling with herself. Should she tell him about it and let him worry about her every second of every day until she gave birth and the postpartum eclampsia was ruled out, or should she shoulder that weight on her own, treating it behind his back and praying that he’d never have to find out that the very same complication that took away his dear friend not that long ago, now threatened to take away his wife too.

She opted for something in between. There were symptoms that she couldn’t hide from him, about which they talked and she let him ask about them on their appointments. Dr. Weland, her OB-GYN, was aware of the whole situation, carefully formulating her answers for the first-time father.

It kept her up at night. She knew he would be scared, disappointed that she didn’t tell him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. He’d lock them both up at home for the remainder of her pregnancy, with a private doctor at hand, and treat her with extra caution. But most of all, she didn’t want to see the panic in his eyes, which she knew she’d find there. He would stop sleeping, watching over her at every moment.

Dr. Weland expressed her concerns when she saw Claire that day, hence her asking Esme to keep an eye on her. It wouldn’t be wise to send her home; she would need help in case something went horribly wrong.

Three hours later, as though on cue, she felt pain in her stomach, right below her belly button. All the symptoms she’s been experiencing that day cumulated, striking her at once with double their force, bending her in half. Esme, who was just down the hall, called out her name, rushing towards her, just in time to catch her as she crashed towards the ground, her body shaking.

“She’s seizing! Page Dr. Banerji!” the resident shouted, taking care of the fallen doctor.

“What about Ramsey?” someone asked, pager in their hand.

“Do as I say!”

What happened next could only be described as a chain reaction, its magnitude that of an avalanche. Naveen was called, OR was ordered, Claire was moved onto the bed and wheeled away. The hardest was still ahead of them.

Ethan fell against the wall heavily, struggling to catch his breath. “What do you mean eclampsia? Did she have any symptoms before that? Did she know? Who found her?”

“Dr. Ortega. She probably has more answers for you than I do. Come on, we’ll talk to her and Dr. Weland.”

His every move felt as though there were two impossibly heavy bricks attached to his feet, and another three on his shoulders and his chest. Panic began rising in his chest, fighting the overwhelming urge to let the tears fall. Esme was waiting for them by the entrance to the OR, worry spelled on her face.

“Can someone tell me why my wife and my daughter are fighting for their lives in there?” he barked the question, shaking in emotional distress. Naveen placed his hand on his shoulder, asking him silently to let the doctors speak.

“She’s been not feeling well for the whole day. Asked me to keep an eye on her; she told me she felt like something was about to happen.” the youngest doctor explained, stepping away to make space for Dr. Weland.

“Claire was treating her pre-eclampsia for the past three and a half weeks. The symptoms you noticed and were asking about were all a part of it. She asked me to not tell you, hoping that she would be able to avoid developing eclampsia.”

Never before in his life had he looked up at someone so fast. “She knew? And she didn’t tell me?”

“Ethan, I know you’re angry but-“

“I’m not angry. Right now, I’m terrified, because my family is fighting for their lives and I’m here, instead of being by their side. Step aside, I’m scrubbing in.”

“No.” Naveen shook his head, pulling him aside firmly. “And you know why.”

“Move out of the way, Naveen, I’m going in there.”

“I’m going to lock you in my office if you don’t calm down. You won’t help anyone by being emotional and reckless. Breathe, son, they’re going to be alright.” Ethan’s breathing was treading on the line of hyperventilating, panic rising in his chest even more. At last, tears fell, two trails running down his cheeks. He fell into his friend’s embrace, sobbing like he hasn’t done in a very long time. Helplessness, anger at fate and at himself for not noticing it sooner. “Claire is a fighter, so are you, and so is your daughter. They’ll pull through.”

“The last time I had to give this diagnosis to a person I cared about was Dolores, and she was dead within ours. Don’t tell me to calm down.” He stumbled over his words, holding onto Naveen’s arms for dear life.

“This time will be different.”

---------------

Not even an hour passed before the surgery ended. It gave Ethan enough time to go over the last weeks, all the pieces falling together into one tragic picture. It was all there, right before his eyes. Edema on her hands and feet, which could be written off as a pregnancy symptom. Headaches plagued her quite often even before she was married, so he didn’t even bat an eye on it, maybe except for the intensity of them. Her nausea returned long after her morning sickness phase passed, but again, pregnancy manifested itself with a variety of things.

He blamed himself. After Dolores died, he thought he’d be able to see the symptoms and prevent it from getting worse, but when it mattered the most, with his own beloved wife, he failed to add two and two.

“Ethan, you can see them now. The baby is safe and healthy, Claire’s condition is under control, she’s stable and conscious.” Naveen called out for him, a small smile on his face spelled out relief.

Jumping to his feet, he ran towards them, catching the room number from a shouting Naveen, not waiting for anyone. Nurses and doctors moved out of his way, some of them knowing what happened, others having no idea but knowing better than to stand in Dr. Ramsey’s way.

The lights in the room were dimmed, curtains closed, providing privacy and peace. Ethan opened the door as quietly and gently as he could, his stare falling onto Claire immediately. She smiled at him lazily, watching his every move in anticipation. He strode towards her, sitting at the edge of the bed and taking her hand in his, rising it to his lips and kissing it, over and over again, saying silent prayers of gratitude. Tears started running down his cheeks again, wetting her skin, his shoulders shaking as he let out all the emotions.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, choking on her words, her face wet with tears too. He looked up at her, shaking his head.

“No. It’s my fault. I- I somehow attract tragedy. My Mother, Naveen, Dolores… and now you.” She looked at him confused, not understanding his reasoning at first, only seconds later did she remember his thought process, her eyes filling with horror.

“Ethan, that’s none of your fault. I won’t be sitting here, letting you blame yourself for something completely out of your control.” She grabbed him by the sides of his face, hauling him onto her, pressing their lips together and lingering there, connecting them, again and again. “Your Mother wasn’t your fault.” Kiss on the nose. “Naveen wasn’t your fault.” Kiss on the forehead. “Dolores wasn’t your fault.” She kissed both his cheeks, catching his tears. “I wasn’t your fault, and neither was she.” She cried, her voice getting thick from tears. Her head crooked towards his left, pointing towards their daughter.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” his words stabbed her like a knife that she herself was holding against her heart. She knew he’d ask, but she wasn’t prepared for it, no matter how many times she rehearsed it in her head.

“I didn’t want you to worry.” She explained after a moment, biting her lip in shame. “I thought if I can get through this and not have any complications, you’d never have to find out. Especially with how it ended for Dolores…”

“There isn’t a single thing in this world more important to me than you two. Whatever it is, however hard it gets, I want to be there for you. For both of you.”

Both of them cried silently, embracing each other as closely as they dared, refusing to let the other get away even for a mere inch. Silent comfort, not needing any words, only each other, alive and well.

The soft sound of wailing pulled them out of their little bubble, pulling their attention towards the crib by the bed. Ethan stood up, walking over to look inside, Claire peaking from her position on her bed.

A little girl was staring up at him, her eyes blue and curious. She couldn’t smile yet, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t see how at peace she was. Perfectly fine.

His whole family was perfectly fine.

“Katherine…” he muttered, running the outer edge of his index finger along his daughter’s cheek softly.

“She looks like a Katherine to you?” Claire asked, humor in her voice. He nodded, turning to his wife. “I was thinking of Isabelle.”

“We can compromise.” He embraced her, kissing her head tenderly.

“Katherine Isabelle Ramsey. Perfect.”

#open heart #ethan ramsey #mc x ethan #ethan x mc #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #mc x ethan ramsey #choices #choices fanfiction #open heart fanfiction #fic #fanfiction

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sunsinrinn · 4 years

Text

Secrets Part 11.

Bakugo x reader, Bakugo x Uraraka, Kirishima x Reader

Fluff- ish, language, angst

Word Count: 1,177

Idea: Y/n has a secret to share with bakugo not expecting a secret from him. She leaves heart broken and attempts to move on. But how will she move on if her secret can no longer be hidden? She fakes a relationship hoping its enough to not expose the true origin of the secret. (This is a terrible summary but I cant say much without spoiling future parts. 🙃)

Bakugo rushes to the Hospital and somehow manages to carry you in while you are still crying in pain. He yells for nurses to help and nurses come rushing to your aid

“Sir, what happened?”

“She’s going into labor! But she’s early”

“Okay sir, sit her down on the wheel chair and we will take her to a room where she can began labor.” Bakugo is hesitant to let you go alone but finally sets you down when you yell in pain, “BAKUGO SO HELP ME GOD, IF YOU DON’T SIT ME DOWN I WILL FUCKING MURDER YOU” ‘You’re scary rn’ he thinks and follows the nurse as you’re being taken away. Not long after they have you situated and ready for labor, Kirishima bursts through the door glaring at Bakugo, “YOU! I WILL FUCKING MURDER YOUR ASS-“

“NOT MY FAULT KIRISHIMA I JUST WANTED THE TRUTH.”

“Excuse me gentlemen, if you guys cannot shut up, I will have to kick you both out until Ms. L/N is finished giving birth.” The nurse glares at both of the men. Kirishima looks down, “I’m sorry ma’am.” And walks over to you. You are just attempting to keep calm but feel a contraction, “AHH”

*okay, we are skipping the birth part bc I’m not good at this :P hehe*

“It’s a beautiful and healthy girl! Congratulations Ms. L/N, what would you like to name her?”

“Um.. I’m not completely sure yet. I’d like to talk about it with my partners.”

You look over at Kirishima, and see he is tearing up at the sight of your baby and then you glance at Bakugo, who was sobbing at how beautiful she was.

The nurse nods and leaves you alone with the knuckleheads. “So, what are we naming her?” You ask both of them. But they ignore you as they watch as your baby was being taken away to get properly cleaned up. You roll your eyes and ask again, “What are we naming our baby girl, Dumbasses?” They look at you and Bakugo answers, “Ours?”

“Speaking of that...” Kirishima says right before he smacks Bakugo upside the head, “YOU EVER DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT AGAIN BAKUGO I WILL PERSONALLY MURDER YOUR ASS. GOT IT” Bakugo nods quickly scared at how Kirishima suddenly became scary-like. “Good, now my angel, what do YOU want to call our kid?”

You think about it for a second, “What about, Nao?”

They both nod and agree with the name. Bakugo stays quiet for a second before speaking up, “What about her last name?”

You and Kirishima stay quiet thinking about it. Bakugo speaks up again, “I understand if you dont want her with my last name...”

“Its- its not that, we were actually thinking of hyphenating both of yours and Eijirou’s last names...” you respond quietly. Bakugo smiles, “That’s a good idea.”

You smile at that, “Bakugo... There’s something we want to talk to you about-“ Kirishima widens his eyes and shakes his head.

“What’s wrong?” Bakugo says confused.

You clear your throat, “um... so... Kirishima and I were talking...”

Bakugo glances at Kirishima and Kirishima pretends to read the wash your hands flyer on the wall,

“Go on Y/N.” Bakugo says impatiently but before you respond the nurse walks in with your baby in tow, “Finally decided on the name, dearie?” You nod.

“Yes Ms., We want to call her Bakugo-Kirishima Nao.”

The nurse hums, “Ah, Nao means honesty such a pretty name.” You nod and think of the irony behind the name. “And two last names? Well that is not common.” You smile and shrug,

“We couldn’t choose a last name so we did both” the nurse nods, “Well, we will have that set up and here is your baby again.” She picks up the baby and hands her to you,

“She might be hungry so you should probably try and feed her.” With that the nurse leaves the four of you alone. You hold your baby close and smile at her. Kirishima and Bakugo crowd you as they try and fight over who gets to carry her first.

“Move out the Shitty Hair, I’m the father I should go first.”

“A dead-beat father, I should carry her first”

“I AM NOT A DEAD-BEAT FATHER, ESPECIALLY IF IM RIGHT HERE!”

You glare at both of them for scaring Nao but notice she did not even flinch at his voice. ‘Wow, used to his voice already.’

“None, of you are carrying her until Nao finishes eating” and with that both men pout like babies and sit down as you begin to feed her.

After a minute of silence, Bakugo speaks up remembering you had to talk.

“Oh yeah, Y/N, you said you needed to tell me something?”

You and Kirishima tense up. ‘Well damn.’

“Oh yeah.... heh, so, uh, its about us.”

“What about us?” Bakugo asks hopefully.

“So me and Kirishima... talked... about how you will fit into our lives now that you know...”

“Do... do you not want me near the baby?” He asks sadly.

“WHAT- no no no... its more about how me and Kirishima- Kiri-baby, why don’t you explain?” You ask him

Kirishima sends you a glare before clearing his throat.

“Bakugo, what she was trying to poorly explain is that- I cant fucking do it babes,”

“Just fucking tell me already.”

“Alright alright Bakugo. Meandy/narelikeinlovewithyoubutwedidntknowhowtosay”

“What the hell did you say Kirishima?”

Kirishima sighs, “Look bakugo, Y/N still has feelings for you. And I have feelings for you to. We are willing to let you be part of our family.”

Bakugo stares in shock unable to say anything.

You and Kirishima look at each other nervously.

“Is this a sick fucking joke?” Bakugo asks angrily.

You flinch, “No... We are being serious. We both like you.”

“YOU BOTH NEED TO STOP FUCKING PLAYING WITH MY EMOTIONS.” He says almost tearing up.

“We are not Bakugo. We are serious. But we have a condition.”

Bakugo sniffs, “You guys love me? Like even after what I did?”

“Bakugo, we know you didn’t mean to but you did hurt me. Uraraka was to blame here... overall we want to give you a second chance.”

“What’s-what’s the condition if I accept.”

“It’s not a hard one. There are only two things you need to do, go to therapy and anger management classes.”

“Thats all?” He asks nervously.

“Yes Bakugo. That’s all.”

“This isn’t a sick joke right?”

“No Bakugo, we are serious.” Kirishima responds for you.

He sheds a tear, “I- I can’t thank you both enough for giving me a chance... I swear to go to therapy, and that class, and thank you for letting me be in my daughter’s life. Thank you so much.” He reaches over to hug Kirishima and lets out a sob. Kirishima pats his back and smiles at you. You smile back and hold Nao tighter as she finishes eating. “You are lucky to have two loving parents little one.” You whisper to her.

Suddenly Kirishima’s phone rings, he looks down and pales, “It’s Mina.”

“Ah crap.”

SERIES MASTERLIST — Part 12

A/N: an update??? Jeez, sorry about not updating sooner but I got distracted :) I hope you enjoy this chapter! It seems a bit rushed but lmaoo. Anyways Bakugo didn’t get killed yet.

If you’d like to be tagged in future parts or future works dont hesitate to dm, ask, or comment! I hope you guys had a lovely day today! Also if you asked to be tagged and I didnt tag you send me a dm so I can fix it :) also any tags in italics and bold, I couldn’t tag you :/ I’m sorry </3 but I’ll work on it <3

Secrets Taglist: @hero-ink-pillar , @silentw-lkr , @ushiwakatrash , @purple-rabanito , @chaelysian , @puppycat714 , @fake-id-69 , @adaydreaminganon , @jessie9008 , @sam-i-am-1025 , @purple--nebula , @curiouslilbeast , @httpswwwtbhkcom , @setup-the-ace , @chanultis , @kit-kat428 , @thatonefangirl722 , @fxirylightsx , @katsuki-bakubae , @sakurakatsuki , @whatishappinesswhatislove , @wannabedaphne , @casey0407

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima x reader #eijirou x reader #kirishima eijirou #bnha x reader #bnha #mha x reader #mha

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Note

Okay well then!!!! I am very glad and excited to share my most recent idea I had while rereading Yeti Hunting again!! And the new Incubus one too!! They're almost exactly the same idea, just different flavors I suppose. Also Joe is trans in both the ideas but that's less to do with the ideas themself and more to do with just me projecting on him sgfjgsjfhsjdh

Okay so it's like a reverse au so Stern is some kind of cryptid, but as far as Barclay knows they're just two good human friends (but maybe they wanna be a little more than friends...). And then one day Joseph goes into heat and tells Barclay he's sick to try to keep him away, but Barclay being the sweetest man alive goes to his house with fresh soup to take care of him and Joe seems really panicked about Bar being there and tries to make him leave but he is CLEARLY unwell and Barclay is very stubborn when it comes to helping people he cares about and so he plants himself down on the couch and says he's not leaving until Joe tells him what's wrong and Stern tries to hold onto his human form but it's taking too much focus and energy and whoops Barclay finds out his friend not human and currently in distress and so horny it hurts and if he can help his friend and fuck him at the same time, well then that's just a win all around (bonus points if at the end Barclay is kinda sad because he thinks Joe just needed somone to fuck him, not nessacarry Barclay, but Joe frantically assures him that he is SUPER into him and if it were anyone else he would have kicked them the hell out and probably skipped town bc he couldn't trust anyone else with a secret like this).

Or!! (This is where the incubus part comes in) Joe is an incubus and currently hiding out in his human disguise at the Amnesty lodge and it's going fine for a while, but then he starts talking to and getting to know the really hot chef. And they slowly start growing closer and closer. And maybe in this world, the power an Incubus gets from sex depends just as much on their desires as it does the human's. And this has never been an issue for Stern before, but now he's falling for Barclay and wants him and no one else so he's getting less and less energy from his encounters and Barclay is worried about him because he doesn't seem like himself anymore. Almost as if he's... dulled? When Barclay looks at him the blue of his eyes seem muted and his general aura seems... gray. And it all comes to ahead when Joe finally stops insisting he's fine and after dinner one night he asks if he can speak to Barclay privately, and he comes clean about everything and Barclay, while a little shocked, rolls with it very well and cups Joe's face in his hands and kisses him softly and it like,,, you should have come to me sooner, I'd do anything for you,,, and yeah it's really tender,,,,

Okay that's it I'm sorry it's so long and probably incoherent. I tried to use at least little formatting to make it better but it's a tumblr mobile ask, I'm not sure even the new paragraphs will translate over. The general idea is that they're close friends and Stern is Not Human and Barclay finds out under less than ideal circumstances :3 I know these are far from original or unique but I just wanted to share my ideas with you bc you're the inspiration for a good 70% of my private writings, but if you like them enough and ever feel like doing something with them that'd be cool ;3

Here you go! I went with scenario one. Content Note: some “mating” talk and mild subdrop at the end (which is, of course, taken care of)

The two canvas bags are ready to burst. Barclay peers into them, contemplating the addition of another box of tea, in case Joseph doesn’t like the other two. Mama was cagey when he asked, he doesn’t know what’s ailing the other man, only that he’s sick.

Joseph manages Amnesty Lodge, where Barclays’ been a cook for the last six months. Barclay was initially wary of him; his cosmopolitan bearing and clean-cut appearance is so out of place in the rustic mountain town of Kepler that the logical explanation is he’s one of those city types who fell on hard times and got stuck here.

It took less than forty-eight hours for him to prove Barclay wrong. Polite and polished, efficient and stunningly good in a crisis, Joseph handles the day to day chaos of the lodge while Mama, the owner, took care of the big picture stuff. His friendly greetings and consistent compliments about Barclays cooking gradually turned to afternoons spent at a table with his work so they could talk during lulls in business.

When Joseph leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, laughing as he helped Barclay tidy the kitchen, the cook rushed headlong into his crush and never looked back. He regularly dreams of blue eyes and a movie-star face, finds his day doesn’t really start until Joseph pokes his head in to say good morning.

He’s been without that greeting for two days now. Joseph never misses work, and his sudden absence worried Barclay enough that he checked with Mama to be sure the manager was okay.

“Joe’s fine big fella, just under the weather is all.”

The one time Barclay got sick, Joseph brought him tea and soup himself, checked in on him every hour, and--if Barclay’s fever addled brain is to be trusted--fluffed his pillows. It’s the least Barclay can do to drop off snacks and be sure his friend is okay.

It’s a short drive to cabin Joseph calls home; he used to live at the Lodge, but as it got more crowded, he moved to his own space so those who needed a cheap, safe place to stay could have one.

His knock on the door is answered by a brisk, “Who is it?”

“Barclay. I, uh, I brought you a get-well gift.”

Joseph opens the door to the cabin and to an entire new universe of fantasies. His normally slicked-back hair falls, relaxed, across his forehead, his loosely tied blue robe shows a tantalizing V of skin, and the dreamy-sleepy expression makes his face even more kissable.

“Hi.” Joseph takes a step forward, taking the bags and bringing his face achingly close to Barclays’. Then he freezes, reversing into the house, “I, um, it was very sweet of you to bring all this. But you need to go.” He takes another step back, then doubles over with a groan.

Barclay hurries across the threshold, setting the bags on the floor and steadying him over to the couch.

“Fuck, do you need me to get you like a heat pack, or a puke bucket?”

“No, no I just need to lay down, and for you to g-” he shudders, curling in on himself and tipping sideways.

“Joseph, you’re really sick, I’m not gonna just leave you here. I mean, fuck, what if it’s your appendix or something?” He sits down next to the shaking man, rubbing his back comfortingly.

“It’s not, I promise. Oh lord” he whines, looks at Barclay with frantic eyes, “I hope you can keep a secret.”

“Of course I can. Whatever I can do to help, I want to.”

“Careful with those promises, big guy.” The nickname comes out in a growl as Joseph stands, undoing his wristwatch.

“Oh FUCK!” Barclay scrambles back, almost falling over the arm of the couch.

There’s a monster where Joseph just was. Years ago Barclay saw a Maned Wolf in a zoo, and he’d swear that’s what he’s looking at now were it not for several glaring issues. First, it’s standing comfortably on two legs. It’s paws are more like hands, able to hold the watch and adjust the collar of its shirt. And he’s never seen a wolf, maned or otherwise, with spines down its back and a whip-like tail.

The creature runs a clawed hand through the fur at the top of it’s head, the way Joseph does when he’s nervous, “So. I can’t tell you everything, at least not right now. What I can tell you is that this is the form I was born into, somewhere far away from earth.”

“Okay.” Barclays brain grinds like a broken ice machine as a familiar voice speaks to him from a fanged mouth.

“I, um, I’m what humans call a Chupacabra. To answer the usual questions: no, I’ve never been to Puerto Rico. No, I don’t eat goats. And no, I’m not going to eat you.”

“Okay.” His heart is still racing, but not from fear, which is the most confusing was this could have gone.

Pointed ears flick, worried, “Are you in shock?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He nods as Joseph sits next to him with a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out this way. I took the next few days off to avoid this exact scenario. I figured I wouldn’t see you, but forgot how thoughtful and caring you are.” Claws gently stroke Barclays hair, “my wonderful Barclay.”

He’s about to bring his hand up, cup those strange fingers to his cheek and whisper “always”, when Joseph pulls away.

“I, I’m sorry. Again. I always get too handsy when I’m in heat. That’s the second worst side-effect, after the fact that being in my disguise is untenable when I’m in the thick of it. It’s like wearing a wet, wool sweater made of nausea.”

“....Hold on, you had to take time off work because you’re horny?”

“Almost. Heat doesn’t come that often for me, which means whenever it happens, it’s intense. I have a hard time eating or sleeping, I can’t focus, and I spend most of the week masturbating. Which is not as fun as it sounds; I’m not even at the height of the damn thing and last night I humped a pillow on the kitchen floor while dinner reheated.”

Barclay groans, tries to hide it when the ears swivel his way, “Uh, guess I’m glad I brought you lots of food so you remember to eat. Shoulda, uh, put some lube or something in there as well, huh?”

Joseph chuckles, “My nose tells me you put molasses cookies in there, so I’ll let it slide.”

“There anything else I can do to help?”

“Well…” he shakes his head, “never mind, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Do what?”

“My heat is more manageable when I have a partner. Fucking someone relieves things more effectively than masturbation does. But I can’t-”

“I can help with that.” The offer is out before his brain catches up with his mouth.

“Barclay, my kind have a very, um, involved mode of, um, well, I guess you foreplay. As, as much as I’d love for you to be my mate” he winces, “see, that’s what I mean. I say things like that, most of them not even possible given the fact you and I can’t reproduce.”

“Uh, does it help if I say hearing you call me that is really hot?”

Blue eyes widen, and a tail traces up Barclays leg, “Only if you mean it.”

“I do.”

A narrow, long tongue flicks into the air, “In that case, big guy, how about we have a little planning session over dinner?”

-------------------------------------------------

Barclay parks in the driveway, next to Josephs’ sedan. He heads past the house and down a short slope to a creek, the twilight sky casting the forest in eerie grey-blue. There’s a tire swing leftover from a previous resident, and he idly pushes it back and forth as he waits for the game to start.

“It’s like hide and seek” Joseph wipes his mouth, cleans cookie crumbs from the table, “We start outside, move inside, and you go as long as you can without me catching you. After all, I want a mate who can hold his own.”

He stuffs his hands in his jacket pocket to warm them. A yip bounces out from the trees behind him. When he turns, he quickly spots glinting eyes and bared fangs hidden in the undergrowth.

Sprinting towards the cabin, he realizes Joseph laid a trap for him from the start; by asking him to begin at the creek, he’s forcing him to run uphill to safety, slowing him down. He lets his lizard-brain, concerned only with the fact that something dangerous is chasing him, take over and drive his legs as fast as they’ll go. The back door is locked, he double-checked that on the way down, so he doesn’t waste his time trying it, races to the front of the cabin and slams the door shut just as something huge rounds the corner after him.

The nob jiggles, his pursuer testing the lock and discovering the thrown deadbolt. Barclay uses those few seconds to secure the windows on the first floor, throws his jacket down into the cellar as a failsafe, and bolts up to the bedroom. His hammering heart insists that locking that door is not enough, so he crawls into the closet and shuts himself up among the meticulously organized shirts and slacks. It’s not enough space for him to stand, so he tucks his knees to his chest and waits.

“What happens if I, like, completely outsmart you.”

A toothy smile, “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.”

Each of the downstairs windows rattle in turn. Then the scratching starts, claws on wood coming closer with each breath. Joseph is climbing the wall up to the bedroom window that Barclay knows for a motherfucking fact he did not secure.

A shuff as the window slides open, the cryptid landing with remarkable stealth on the bedroom floor. Barclay tracks him by the light coming under the closet door, his mouth covered so his breathing won’t give him away. The shadow pauses, sniffs, and then the bedroom door opens and shuts. Barclay’s not moving until he hears the front door do the same.

Just as his legs start to protest being smushed up against his chest, the door reopens. Snuffling signals Joseph closing in, and an instant later the only light coming in is from the far ends of the door. Slowly, his last line of defense rolls to the right, revealing the creature crouching on the other side.

“Not a bad effort, big guy. You actually confused me for a minute with the scent trail of your coat downstairs.” Joseph reaches for him and Barclay, remembering that he’s not supposed to give up until he’s pinned, leans away.

“That’s how my mate wants to play?”

“J-just following your instructions, babe.”

An intrigued purr, “I guess you are. All the more reason you’re the perfect partner for me.”

The words Barclays dreamed of hearing for months distract from the claws closing around his ankles. He lets out an undignified yelp when Joseph pulls his legs straight out and drags him out of the closet. Once he’s free of the forest of clothing, the cryptid picks him up and drops him on the bed. He moans and Joseph snickers, joining him on the bedspread.

“Fuck, Joseph, no one’s ever been able to do that before and it’s so, so fucking hot.” He arches his back and shifts his limbs to help Joseph undress him.

“It’s because you’re the perfect size; big and strong, large enough to give me a decent cuddle when I’m human, but still small enough to be an easily subdued mate.” He gets the humans’ jeans and boxers off, hesitates, and then tosses them on the floor with a pained expression, “I’ll fold those later.”

“Gonna hold you to that. Also, wanna point out that it wasn’t that easy to subdue me.”

Joseph nuzzles his cheek, claws caressing his thighs, “Barclay, I was jogging while you were sprinting.”

“You coulda caught me right awaAAy ohwhatthefuck.” Tingling heat glides down his throat as Joseph licks a stripe along the skin, “fuck, it, it feels like the time I tried hot wax.”

The cryptid sits up slightly to look at him, “Is that a...good thing?”

“Fuck yeah. I really fucking liked it but it was fucking murder with the chest hair.”

Joseph runs his claws through the hair in question, “I like it.”

“I know, I saw you eyeing me that one time I used the springs at the lodge.”

“You can’t prove anything.” Joseph leans back down, curling his tongue around Barclays left nipple. The sensation makes him buck his hips, which Joseph correctly takes as a signal for more. He moves to the other side, takes his time teasing it and licking down the sensitive center of Barclays chest. Noses his stomach, nips his sides, and slides the alien heat of his tongue into the crease of his thighs.

“Y’know I, ohfuck, I assumed from all that talk yesterday you’d get right to fucking me.”

Joseph kisses the inside of one thigh, “I, um, I thought about it, almost ripped your jeans to shreds and took you on the floor. But I wanted to be sure you were turned on. You’re not just a warm body, Barclay. You’re my mate. That means your pleasure matters as much as mine.” He licks up Barclays’ cock, hardened from rubbing against the soft fur of his belly, and sighs, “and what a mate.”

“Fuck” he squeezes his eyes closed because if we watches that mouth saying everything he wants to hear in between sucking his dick, he’ll cum in ten seconds flat.

A final lick to the tip and then Joseph hops off the bed, “Did you prep the way I told you?”

“Uhhuh.”

“Good.” Joseph returns, sets several items he can’t see by his feet, “that’ll make things easier. First things first” he produces a cock cage, sliding it into place, “these are a few things I smuggled over from my original home. This is enchanted, so it can go on an erect cock but still prevent the wearer from cumming until it’s removed.”

“That’s just cruel, babe.” He sits up on his elbows to kiss Josephs snout, earning him a pleased yip.

“If you cum too fast, I won’t be able to properly breed you.” He winces again, “sorry, I sound like one of Indrids romance novels.”

“Again, gorgeous, I find it really fucking hot.”

The spines on Joseph’s back ripple, “You think I’m gorgeous? Like this?”

“I do. Also kinda scary, but in a hot way.” Now it’s his turn to cringe, “see? I sound like cheap porn written by an eighth grader when I’m horny. The way you sound is fine.”

Joseph lovebites his ear, then retrieves the other two items from the end of the bed.

“And how does this look, big guy?”

“Like it’s either going to kill me or make me cum like a dozen times.” He furrows his brow at the strap-on. It’s narrower than the average human dick, with a pointed, slightly up-curved tip. What’s worrying him are the spikes.

The entire shaft is coated in short protrusions. They don’t end in points, thank god, but if they’re at all stiff this is going to be miserable.

“Here” Joseph waves him over, “touch it.” He guides his fingers along one side and the spines bend fluidly under his touch, and now all he wants to know is how they feel inside him. Joseph also moans, bucking his hips so the toy slides along Barclays palm.

“It’s, ohlord, also enchanted so that the wearer feels it as an extension of their body and can cum with it. Also, please decide in the next thirty seconds whether you want to be on your back or your stomach.” Amber pre-cum drips down Barclay’s fingers.

“Stomach is better for meWHOAH, ohfuck, okay we’re doing this.” Now flipped on his belly, he raises his ass. The cryptid kneads it appreciatively before holding it open and sliding his cock in with once, graceful thrust.

He bottoms out with a groan, which is more articulate than Barclay is managing to be as the spines rub and glide inside him, finding every patch of nerves, every angle to drag against in just the right way. Joseph hauls him onto his knees and then he’s off, growls and yips filling the as he fucks him. Barclay only just registers the bed banging into the wall so forcefully the headboard is cracking when claws sink into his hips and Joseph pulls him all the way onto his cock and pulses into him.

“Holy fuck that was fast.”

“I, I didn’t jack off once today. Didn’t want to waste it, wanted to save it all for my perfect mate.” He’s thrusting again, not as hard but twice as fast, “shit, you feel so good, big guy, please tell me Mama okayed your time off for tomorrow.”

“Wh-why are we talkingAHnnn, about this now?”

Hot breath tickles his ear, “Because now that I know what’s like to cum in you, I don’t plan on cumming anywhere else for the next day and a half.”

“Ohfuckme” Barclay groans happily into the pillows as Joseph empties into him, cries out when his tail whips across his calf.

“Shit, did that hurt?”

“No, no it felt good, fucking-A babe every fucking part of you is amazing.”

The cryptid whines, pleased, and wiggles his hips, giving Barclay an idea.

“That’s, uh, that’s why I want you for my mate, because you’re so fucking goo-mmph” his face presses harder into the pillows as Joseph pins his shoulders down and fucks into him, snarling “yes” over and over again. When he finishes this time he hunches over, nipping Barclay’ shoulders and neck.

“You catch on quick, big guy.”

“Thanks, babe. Uh, are we gonna switch it up at any point or am I staying like this until tomorrow night?”

“No, we can fuck however we want. After” a fuzzy hand rubs circles on Barclay’s abdomen, “I’ve cum in you enough times that I can feel it from out here.”

Barclay moans, tightening around him as his hips snap once more, already imagining being full and fucked out. Maybe it’ll take all night. He’ll be limp if it does, but right now nothing sounds better than melting into the bed while Joseph fucks his ass like it belongs to him.

After forty-five minutes, his cock is aching, his mind holds only thoughts of how good it feels to do as Joseph tells him, and he’s been cum in so many times that wet, obscene sounds accompany the cryptids thrusts. Said sounds pale in comparison to Josephs’ voice, which is spinning increasingly impossible scenarios the longer they’re in bed.

“I hope they take after you.” Joseph murmurs.

Barclay just manages to turn his head, “Who?”

A muzzle playfully nudges his cheek, “Our kids.”

His heart seizes and shakes at the words; they both know that’s not what will happen. Joseph warned him he might say things like this, said he could tell him to knock it off if need be.

“Maybe they’ll, ahnn, they’ll have big, beautiful brown eyes and bigger hearts, just like you.”

He doesn’t want him to stop. Every thrust hits deeper, every point where their skin meets buzzes brighter when he talks like this.

“H-hope at least one looks like you, blue eyes.”

A guttural whine, tingling heat as Joseph laps tenderly at the back of his neck, “We’ll just have to see, usually we’re born in threes so, soOH, oh I’m close, shitshit”

“That’s it babe, fill me up, c’mon, c’mon I want it so bad, Joseph, baby, please.”

There’s a howltrill as cum spurts into him, Joseph panting as he smooths his hand around Barclays side.

“There, that’s done it.”

Barclay whimpers as he pulls out, his mind and body pulled tight, certain that if he doesn’t cum soon he’ll propose marriage instead and that’ll be a fucking disaster.

Joseph carefully rolls him over and unlocks the cage, “Do you want to cum?”

“More than anything. Oh!” he’s unprepared for Joseph to sink down on his cock, “oh fuck, yeah, wanna cum so bad babe please, I’ll be so good, be such a good mate if you just let me cum in y-fuuuck” A trio of sensations levels him as he climaxes; his vision whites out, his hips jerk more violently than they ever have before, and a line of cum drips down his leg.

Somewhere far away, Joseph says, “I think we’ve earned a break.”

He nods, body limp as the cryptid climbs off him. Then he’s falling, spinning helplessly down in a pit of realizations.

Joseph didn’t mean any of those things he said. His friend needed a mate and Barclay, lovesick fool he is, was eager for a chance to play pretend that he didn’t think about what would happen when the game ended. Even if Joseph keeps him here through tomorrow, the next time they meet at the Lodge he’ll act like nothing happened.

Fuck, Barclay didn’t even get to kiss him during all this, and now he’ll never get the chance, never, nevernever-

“Shit, I should have put a towel or a spare blanket down. Now I’ll have to strip the bed before I can--Barclay? Oh, oh baby, what’s wrong?” A hand pets his face and he turns away from it, refusing to open his eyes. Joseph takes his hand instead, “it’s okay, I’m here, whatever you need I’ll-”

“Don’t. Don’t say that. You can’t give me what I need, it isn’t your fault I, I know I’m not really your partner and I, I…” he sniffles, wipes his palm under his eye.

“Barclay, look at me please.”

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes just in time to see Joseph dip down and kiss him. It’s awkward, their mouths not made to fit together, but he savors it all the same because it’s Joseph, his Joseph, kissing him like he hoped he would.

“My heat can make me say some ridiculous things. What it can’t do is make me feel affection where none exists. In fact, the reason I wasn’t able to keep my disguise on yesterday is because being near you meant being near the mate I wanted most in the world. I, um, suspected you might share my feelings, but I didn’t want our first interaction as boyfriend to be me asking if you wanted to spend a day or so with me while I was in a sex haze. But then you offered to help, and I wanted it so badly that I barreled ahead without making sure you understood that this was me declaring my feelings. I’m sorry.”

Barclay climbs into his lap, not caring about the mess he makes in the process. The cryptid laughs, hugs him close.

“I, I shoulda said something sooner too. Not that I regret how we spent our first date.” He kisses Josephs chin.

“Me neither, though I don’t think it quite counts.” He rubs their foreheads together, “can your boyfriend take you out to dinner on Friday?”

Barclay grins, looks into loving, blue eyes, “Yeah, he can.”

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #reverse!AU #reverse AU #monster march

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ddaenggtan · 5 years

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black irises in the sunshine | kth

anger is everything. other gods tease you for the short fuse, but it comes with the territory. people have called you stupid, have called you dumb, oafish, useless, incompetent, insolent, rude, arrogant. all of it. insults and mockery flung at you, but even your skin isn’t thick enough to deal with constant abuse. it’s the exact reason you keep going to the underground, knuckles bloody and bruised, fighting anyone that dared enter the cage. it’s the reason you go to the clubs, surround yourself with mortals and their writhing bodies. it’s there that you see him the first time, voice husky as it rolls through the room. it’s there you find someone who treats you differently than the rest. you just never expected him to be one of the muses. | monsters and gods pt 3 (masterlist)

pairing | taehyung x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, calliope!taehyung, ares!reader, theres a lot of violence and it does get descriptive so be aware of that, none of the main characters other than ares get hurt and its not uncalled for or anything in a narrative sense, so just be aware of that; there are mentions of other idols, but if you can guess them you get a cookie because they are Vague; suuuuper bisexual Ares, Ares Can Step On Me, like I am SO gay for her it isn’t funny; explicit smut ft: cunnilingus, taeHUNG bc hes got MASSIVE SCHLONG, some body worship kind of and then just....regular worship? like? idk how to explain that? lots of praise and lots or orgasms

word count | 14k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | HOOOOOOO this has been sitting in my google docs for literal months waiting for an ending and i decided to try to get it out for tae's birthday bUT that didn't work because i have a Job and shit so YEET I GUESS HAPPY FUCKIN NEW YEAR??? LIKE??? YEEEEEEEEEEEEE this fic is very near to me because Ares is my sweet sad angry babie and i love her, and i love tae and i love suho and i love the muses and i just........lOVE this fic like i think this is currently my favorite of the mag series so!! i hope yall also enjoy it!!!! yall are welcome to send me messages about this even tho I'm terrible at replying to them in a timely manner!! thanks to everyone who helped me with this, and everyone who has expressed interest in it, and everyone who has ever read anything of mine, because you're genuinely the best people ever, and this is literally a gift to y'all because you deserve it.

Fuck, that was too hard .

The guy across from you goes flying, hitting the chain link wall of the cage harder than you intended. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and even holding back, you've got a better buzz than even the best nectar can give. Your blood sings as the guy gets back up, and you almost wish you could remember his name, because he's put up a hell of a fight. For a mortal, anyway.

He charges at you again, and time slows as your vision tunnels. You can see the feint as he decides on it, how he hesitates in bringing his left up. You wait, watching him get closer and closer. You start to dart to your left, letting him think he's got you, before you side-step and dart to your right instead. His punch goes wide as you steady your balance and move. The top of your foot connects with his ribcage and the resulting crack of bone is lost amid the cheers and yells of the audience.

Your opponent steps back and you're proud of the way he doesn't show the pain. He doesn't wince, doesn't move to touch the spot you hit, just tightens his stance and clenches his jaw. It's only you that notices the hitch in his breath, the way he flinches with every inhale. Your eyes narrow at that, zeroing in on the rib. You'd meant to just crack it, had been holding back most of your strength to keep from hurting him too seriously, but as he steps forward, you can see the way he grits his teeth against the pain.

The fight leaves you immediately, like a bucket of cold water straight to the chest, and you drop your hands.

"Yield." He just stares at you, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Yield to me, and then go to the doctor."

"I'm not gonna yield," He says. He spits a mouthful of blood out onto the floor. "I'm not weak."

"Seriously, dude," You insist. "You're not gonna win this, and I don't want to hurt you more."

His scoff has you seeing red. "As if a princess like you could hurt me."

Your fist connects with his face before either of you registers that you've moved. There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that he's just mortal, he can't take the same kind of beating you can, but it's lost in the haze of fury. The next thing you know, the ref is dragging you away and slamming you into the cage wall. Your opponent is being dragged out - you still don't know his name - and he looks beaten senseless. Victory rolls through you accompanied by a sick satisfaction at the way his blood looks decorating the canvas beneath your feet.

It lasts for less than an hour. It's always like this; the thrill of the fight, the burn of success, it's gone faster than you can blink. It's what drives you to keep fighting, to keep going to match after match, just to seek out the under-the-table stuff afterwards. It's never enough, not anymore. Back in the old days, they'd let you fight anything. Bears, bulls, lions, giants, anything they could get a noose around long enough to point it at a colosseum. That was a long time ago, though, before all the rights movements happened. You won't lie: you miss fighting beasts like that. The sheer power and strength they have, the survival instinct that makes them such fierce competitors, it's so much better than the rules and regulations of the mortal world now. Fights have gotten dull, rehearsed, more like a performance or a show than an actual fight. People make more money losing than they do winning and it's made the world boring.

You flex your hand as you open the door to your favorite bar. Something caught it at some point in the last fight, a cheekbone or a tooth, and it stings a little. Doesn't hurt, not exactly, not for a goddess, but it did enough that you feel it at all, which means it couldn't have been anything but torture for the guy on the other end. The bartender waves at you and gets your usual ready as you sit, and you idly wonder if Busted Rib Guy will be okay. It looked painful, for a human, and you'd tried to hold back, but…

Well, you weren't really responsible for what happened to condescending little fucks, were you?

You sip the bourbon, enjoying the burn as it goes down. The lights are dim, tonight. You're glad. You don't want to deal with people looking at you, men coming over to talk to you, trying to advise you on how to properly bandage your knuckles or how to avoid the bruise on your cheek next time. If you had wanted to avoid it, you would have. You'd intended it to hurt worse, honestly, but that first guy'd had a weaker right hook than you expected.

You look around, wondering if anyone here would provide a decent distraction for the night. There's a pretty brunette in the corner with carefully crafted braids, and as your eyes travel, you imagine what's hiding beneath the silk and leather. You're pulled from the thought by the sound of music, and you curse under your breath. You forgot that it's an open mic night and you'd meant to go to the bar across town instead. Irritation colors your vision; every open mic night is awful, full of lofty poets talking about their trauma and wannabe Taylor Swifts thinking they're on the same level as Sappho. Ah, now that was a girl with a set of pipes. You miss her, wonder what she would say to the butchering of whatever song you're about to hear.

The voice that comes isn't what you expect. It's smooth and deep. The world turns to velvet around you as the voice wanders from one speaker to another, creating a mesmerizing multi-dimensional effect despite the way the singer doesn't ever leave the stage. You turn, knuckles white around your bourbon glass; he's utterly magnetic, every eye in the room trained on him as he purrs into the vintage mic. Long fingers are wrapped around the scuffed metal, decorated with jewels that glitter in the dim light of the bar. You can smell the lingering cigarette smoke from the guy beside you and the Jäger from the girl two stools down and for once, you don't even care. He's captivating, voice travelling between speakers in the bar and coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Your eyes don't leave him, and you wonder if you can memorize the way the blond waves fall against his forehead if you stare long enough.

The red seeps away from you, slinking back into the corners of your mind, settling once more into a low thrum under your skin. It fades into the background of this man's voice, the charisma that rolls off him in waves as he pulls the mic in close just to push it to the side with a teasing smirk. It settles something in your chest that hasn't been calm since the fight in Athens so long ago.

The music fades out sooner than you'd like, and he gives a slight bow before wandering into the crowd. You do your best to follow him, but the gold of his hair disappears almost immediately, lost in the throng of people around the stage waiting to speak to him. You turn back around, downing the next bit of bourbon that Suho pours you.

"I know," He says with a grin. You cock a brow at him, not having said anything he could agree with. "He's good. That's what you were thinking, right? He's why we're so packed on open mics. Got the audio and lighting guy whipped, so he's got all these special effects, too. Drives people crazy.”

"He's alright," You mutter. You toss a few bills down on the bartop and step back. Suho gives you a courteous nod as you leave. The bouncer gives you a dirty look when he spots the lit cigarette between your lips, but he knows better than to try to tell you otherwise. You've taught him better.

You lean back against the brick wall of the alley and take a drag. The warm smoke fills your lungs and you close your eyes. It's a different kind of burn than you're used to, a distraction from the crawling sensation that drives you to fight. It's calmer, more controlled. Feels like the smoke from Hestia's fires. Feels like home.

"Never expected to see you here," A voice calls out. It's deep and startling in the darkness, but you don't jump. You just open your eyes, exhale, and look to where it came from.

The singer stands before you in the same undone white button up and black tee he performed in. He doesn't have a cig, doesn't seem to have much of any reason to be outside. He moves almost lazily, as if he doesn't even need to, just wants to, and when his gaze flicks up to meet yours, your vision fills just for a breath with every opponent you've ever faced lying at your feet.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them. It's not his fault, the voice in your head says, he didn't mean it that way, but still, your blood is thrumming now that he's here and you want to know what he's talking about. Want to know why he thinks you wouldn't be here when there's attractive people and good bourbon and you've never seen this man before in your life. Want to know why he already seems to think you aren't civilized enough to be at a bar, why he spoke but all you heard was Zeus' voice in your memories.

"Exactly what I said. Should I be clearer?"

"Yeah, probably," you spit. Yet another person that assumes you're stupid, that you don't understand basic languages, as if you haven't been speaking them since the ancient times. As if you couldn't speak circles around him if you wanted. "Unless you want your teeth on the fucking ground."

"Good to know the stories are true." He tsks and you're filled with a strange sense of disappointment and fury, both at him and yourself. Your vision turns red at the edges and the cigarette between your fingers is crushed in your grip. He pays no mind to it, just saunters past with a lazy, swaying gait that draws your eyes to his hips and then down the long leather-clad legs. "See you around, Ares."

"That's not my fucking name," You yell after him. He doesn't respond when you shout your actual name, the one you chose, on your own, as a middle finger to the Olympians. "Get it right next time, dickwad."

He turns the corner of the alley and the streetlight catches his face just enough for you to see the smirk he wears. For once in your life, you're torn; you want to smash his face in, yes, because how dare this random guy speak to you like that when you could kill him with one finger to the right pressure point. You also find your skin's hotter than usual, stretched too thin over your bones, and you want him to run his hands over you until it feels right again.

Until it feels like it did when he was singing.

How did he know my title?

The thought comes unbidden, days later, with the desperate hit of a palm against your shoulder. You've got the woman in a headlock, patiently waiting for her to pass out completely so the fight can be called, and your mind is wandering.

How did the singer know who you are? You hadn't thought anything of it at the time, distracted by fury and frustration, but with time comes a special kind of clarity. You've never seen him before, not that you know anyway, yet he didn't hesitate to call you Ares. The only ones who know of your kind are your kind, but you haven't seen any of your siblings among mortals in a long time. You thought you knew the other gods and goddesses, but maybe not. It has been a while since you stepped foot in the golden city.

The woman in your grip goes slack and you release her. You're still lost in thought as the ref calls the match and leads you out of the makeshift ring. The cheers of the audience are background noise at this point, akin to static or the buzz of electricity, and you pay them no mind as you head to collect your winnings. You didn't even get any kind of buzz from success this time, too immersed in the way the singer walked and talked and looked. The image of his smirk is burned into your retinas.

"Yeah, you didn't hear? He just got out of the hospital. They had to keep him overnight because they thought he might puncture a lung. I heard that if it had been a little worse, they would've had to wire his jaw shut." You stop, fingers brushing over the stack of bills you don't even remember being handed. You look up, making eye contact with the guy whispering nearby. Your suspicions are confirmed when his friend smacks his arm and juts his chin in your direction before they both disappear into the crowd.

You shove your way outside, frustration creeping through you and coloring your vision. You manage to keep it contained long enough for you to make it to the alley behind the warehouse, but it explodes from you in a rush of thrown dumpsters and sheet metal.

Fuck , you never meant to hurt him like that. You told him, you fucking told him to yield, it isn't your fault he didn't listen. It's not your fault that he went and insulted you, acted like he was better than you just by virtue of being a dude, as if you weren't worshipped in the old days for the power you had and the blessings you could give. You'd held back, through all of it, you'd told him to yield, and he insulted you. It wasn't your fault.

You slide to the ground, running a shaking hand through your hair. It isn't your fault , you repeat. You close your eyes and take deep breaths, the way Hestia taught you, willing the fury to dissipate. It's like a fire in your veins, burning and bubbling your skin until you can't resist anymore. You take another breath. It isn't your fault. You tried. You offered an out. It isn't your fault. Fuck, what was his name?

With a growl that quickly morphs into a scream, you kick the dumpster once more before stalking off into the darkness. You need a fucking drink and you're gonna find a distraction in someone else if it's the last thing you do.

The club is packed when you get there; you're not usually a fan of clubs like this, too full of people who are too friendly, but they're perfect for nights like tonight. You don't even need to wait in line, just slip the bouncer a 50 as you pass, and the bartenders are quick to spot you. You're pretty notorious in the city for over-paying, which means you're knocking back bourbon before you have a chance to ask for it. There are people everywhere, pressed up against both sides of you while the bass thrums in your throat, and it takes you longer than you're proud of to realize why.

There's a band playing, apparently. They're not bad; the vocalist isn't anything like the singer from Suho's, but it doesn't make you want to tear your ears off, so you consider it a success.

You're dancing before you remember deciding to. Everything's a blur when you get the itch in your bones, the need to make someone bleed. To feel something that isn't rage or condescension. People are even closer here on the dance floor, suffocating in their proximity, but there's a woman grinding her ass into you, and it sparks the dying fire in your gut. The beat of the music drowns your own heart, and it's all flashing lights and heat and a body pressed against yours that is all too willing.

She follows when you go back to the bar for another drink, and giggles when you lick salt from her wrist before downing tequila. Her hands are wrapped in the leather of your jacket as she kisses you, your own resting lightly on her hips. She laughs against your lips and says something you don't hear before ordering another drink. Something makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You take the brief reprieve to look around the club, searching for whatever it is that has you on alert. You find him on the upper level of the club, leaned over the balcony with a drink in hand. You can't make out his expression, exactly; it's too far away and too guarded. But you'd know him anywhere now. The singer knocks back whatever's in his glass, eyes never leaving yours. You don't know why he's here, if he comes here often or if the Fates are having a laugh at your expense, but you do know you want to make the most of it.

The girl is back, pressing a heated kiss to your lips and drawing your attention from him. You return it, nipping at her lips and getting a small gasp in return. You smirk and bite your way down her neck. She's breathy in your ear, hitched moans lost in the beat of the music, but you barely hear her as you suck bruises into the skin of her neck. He's still watching you. His drink is gone and he's gripping the bannister of the balcony, rings glinting in the light. You wonder if the cool metal could soothe the burn in your bones. You want to know if he can bring that calmness from before back, if he can soothe the frenzy in your mind with his hands the way he can with his voice. Just imagining it has you soaking through to your jeans.

The girl makes a particularly loud noise in your ear and you're brought out of your thoughts. As if he can sense it, the singer straightens. He gives you one last look before disappearing back into the crowd, and you wonder if you're imagining the disdain in it. You draw back from the girl's neck, about to tell her to find her friends when she slides her hands in your hair and tugs.

The burn in your blood is back, now, and you hope this girl is prepared for what awaits her.

"You're here early," Suho says when he spots you in the nearly empty bar the next night. He's not wrong, either; you skipped the fights tonight completely. There was no buzz last time, no relief, and you have no reason to believe there would be tonight. Not with the way the singer captivates your thoughts.

Besides, you have enough money leftover from the previous few to last a couple days.

"What, did you decide not to kick someone's ass before getting wasted?" Suho doesn't wither at the look you give him, just pours you a couple fingers of bourbon and slides the glass over. "Or did they just stop letting you in completely?"

"I might change my mind if you don't shut up," You tell him. There's no real heat behind it. You've known Suho for years now, been coming to his bar for so long it almost feels like home. You're almost friends at this point.

It helps that he knows when to bite his tongue so he doesn't get his teeth knocked out.

"Seriously though, I don't think I've ever seen you here this early. Especially not on mic nights." You're very careful in your lack of a reaction to his words. You'd seen the workers setting up for it when you came in, and even if you hadn't, you know when mic night is. You've spent enough time avoiding it.

"Does he sing every time?" You ask in lieu of an explanation. You don't look away from the amber liquid in your glass, letting the silence hang as the bartender does his best to follow your thought process.

"Taehyung? Most weeks, yeah. It's been a nice change from the usual drunken karaoke. He goes around to some of the other places in town, too. Apparently he just likes to sing."

"Taehyung," You repeat. The name rolls from your tongue a bit awkwardly. It's more than you expected, somehow, but you can't place exactly how . Just...more. "Is he always that good?"

"Oh, yeah. We have regulars now for mic night because of him. He's got a whole fan club and everything."

"Hm." You drain the rest of your bourbon and Suho refills it. He leaves you in peace then, serving some others that appear at the bar.

The place fills faster than you can blink. That's what it feels like, anyway. It's like one moment there's you and a handful of other people scattered around, and now you're being jostled between some dude a million feet tall that definitely doesn't look old enough to be here and a girl with her tits up to her throat and surrounded by a cloud of perfume so thick that it starts a migraine behind your eyes almost instantly. She flirts with Suho a little, likely trying to score free drinks, and you roll your eyes. She pouts at him when he gives her the total, batting eyelashes that go on for miles, and for once, you wish Suho would just give in and comp the drinks.

"I'll pay for them," You say. She was definitely saying something, maybe you should have been paying attention to it, but fuck , this migraine is only getting worse the longer she stands there. "I'll pay for your drinks."

"Oh, thanks," She says. Her smile is hesitant, and quickly turns apologetic as she takes in the boots and the ripped jeans and the leather jacket. "Um, I'm not...I don't, uh…"

"Do I look like I want to fuck you, sweetie?" She looks a little affronted and a laugh escapes you. You lean closer, letting your breath ghost over her cheek as you speak in her ear to be heard better. "If I wanted to fuck you senseless, you'd know it. And I can guarantee you it would be a hell of a lot better than the watered down rat piss this guy's giving you."

When you lean back, her face is flushed and she's stammering. You smirk and hand her the drinks she'd ordered.

"Too bad you’re not, you don’t, huh?" You tell her. The patronizing tone isn't lost on her, nor is your mockery of her earlier words, and she shuts her mouth with an audible click before strutting off. Suho glares at you as he pours more bourbon.

"Can you please try not to run off my patrons?" He mutters. "Some of us actually need money to live."

"Some of us would like decently timed refills and to not choke on perfume," You quip. "And better bourbon, for that matter." He hisses something about what he's giving you being top quality but you tune him out, throwing one leg over the stool Perfume Girl vacated. You'd like to keep just a little bit of personal space.

Across the bar, you catch a brief glimpse of the girl from the night before and you wince. Her neck is thoroughly bruised, and you catch a peek of bruises and scratches on her back as she shrugs her jacket on. You didn’t mean to be so rough with her, even if she had been into it; you’re usually pretty good about remembering that the mortals are just that - mortal - and as such have to be handled delicately. They’re so fragile, it feels like they could break with a strong wind. Guilt settles in your gut and turns the bourbon in your glass to cough syrup. You’ve half a mind to just leave before she sees you, are about to turn and do exactly that, but the speakers screech to life and the deafening feedback from the mic keeps you glued to your seat.

The crowd quiets even as the excitement ramps up, all talk silencing but for the occasional hushed whispers here and there. The first few notes of the song echo through the speakers, and a spotlight appears on him.

He looks different this time, his hair dyed a vibrant blue that matches the glinting jewels in his ears and on his hands. He's an absolute vision and you wonder how Aphrodite has allowed him to live so long when he's so beautiful. His voice hangs in the air and calms you, the same settling in your chest as last time, the same freedom from the burn in your veins. It's addictive.

The song doesn't last nearly as long as you want it to but the stillness inside you lingers long after he's done caressing the microphone. You place a few bills down for Suho and light up a cigarette as you head outside, ignoring the dirty looks from other patrons as you do. You're on a mission, the thrum of bloodlust returning with every second that passes, and you can't even be sure if he's still around or if he's wandered off already.

You stand in the alley for what feels like hours, turning at every sound and smoking cig after cig just so you have something to do. You've almost decided to say fuck it when footsteps sound from the back of the bar, coming closer to you.

His blue hair is visible even from the other end of the small alley, a giveaway similar to the light at the end of your cigarette and the smoke you blow into the air. There's no way he hasn't seen you, you think, you're making no effort to hide or be sneaky, and yet he's continuing forward as if he doesn't see you at all, eyes focused on a phone in his hand. You wait until he's just a few steps away before speaking.

"How do you know my title?" You ask him. He stops as if he'd always meant to and doesn't even bother to glance up at you or respond. The edges of your vision turn scarlet at the blatant disregard and you're speaking before you can even process the words. "I asked you a fucking question, pretty boy, you're gonna answer me. Unless you want that precious mouth bloodied up."

"And you wonder how I know who you are," He drawls, still not bothering to spare a glance at you. A scowl grows over your face at his sarcastic tone. "If you're going to hit me just get it over with. Otherwise, I have places to be."

He stands, waiting and expectant, but you don't move. He's humming, quiet and to himself like he doesn't even realize he's doing it, and the red seeps away from your mind until you're left clear-headed once more. You sigh, long and heavy, and crush your cigarette into your denim-covered thigh to put it out. It tickles.

"I'm not going to hit you," You tell him eventually. "I just wanna know how you know me. And how you do it."

He cocks a brow at that, finally looking up from the phone in his hand to level dark eyes on yours. "Do what? Sing?"

"No." You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. The words are harder to find than you thought they'd be, lost in the depths of his gaze, in the clarity you're so unaccustomed to, in the way you feel like you can breathe for the first time in days. "I don't care how you sing, that's not important, it's the...fuck, you know what, never mind, it doesn't fucking matter." You push off the wall and step past him to head towards where the streetlight gleams off the bar windows.

"Tell me." The command has you stopping in your tracks, and you're again flooded with just wanting to know how. How he clears the haze, how he stops you, how he makes you feel real. You turn, hands stuffed into the back pockets of your jeans. "How I do what?"

It takes you several long breaths before you can answer, and you aren't even sure he can hear you over the sounds of people leaving the bar, and you find yourself disappearing into the crowd without waiting for a response. Your own words are reverberating in your skull, getting louder with each step you take, and you wish you could just turn it off .

"How you make me feel like a person again."

You avoid the bar for a few weeks, going hours away from your usual area to an unfamiliar hole in the wall just to make sure you don’t see him. You’re more deadly than usual in your fights, victories coming quicker, injuries piling up along with the guilt, but you can’t bring yourself to return. It’s unnerving, the way everything goes quiet around him, the way you can think, but the worst is the way you can feel. Everything’s calm and steady and blue, and it only makes it easier for the regret and the guilt and the anxiety to curl around your throat and squeeze until you can’t breathe, to clog in your throat while the laughter of your siblings echoes in your ears, and you...can’t. You can’t do that, you can’t let it win, you can’t let them win, they can’t know that you’re everything they think you are and worse.

You can’t let yourself drown in that, and yet you find yourself back at Suho’s, lost among the crowd while Taehyung’s voice surrounds you. The ache in your bones fades away, chased by the thrum of the fight that still lingers despite the hours that have passed since you felt your opponent’s femur break under your palm and their screams echoed in your ears. Everything is calm again, and the guilt nearly drowns you.

He hasn’t even finished singing before you’re outside, chest heaving as you gasp against the weight on your chest. You broke someone’s femur , and did you even really need to? The fight itself is a blur even now, snapshots playing through your mind like a montage. The way they’d darted at you first, how their foot felt connecting with the backs of your knees, the determination in their eyes when you went down, the jolt of shock as your hands wrapped around their leg, the dull throb of a barrage of hits against your waist as you pulled them down as well and bloodied their face, the blood-curdling scream as you snapped the bone like a pretzel stick.

Your breath comes faster in your lungs, forced out by the growing guilt that lodges there in its place. Images swirl in your mind, chased by a never-ending stream of thought and regret that you should be used to by now. Fuck, you didn’t need to, and you still did it; you lost control, you fucking hurt them, and for what? A couple hundred? Was it even worth it? Who knew when they’d be back into shape to fight, what if they needed the money? They weren’t even half-bad. They got you down, at least, shouldn’t you have gone easy on them? You don’t even remember their face, can’t remember what the announcer said their name was, words drowned out by the buzz under your skin.

Metal crumples under your grip and you spare a half-second to mourn Suho’s dumpster before you slam your knuckles against it. It tingles, not even real pain, and you don’t hesitate to repeat it. By the time the metal is disfigured completely, a distorted mess of paint and steel and garbage, you still aren’t in pain, but there’s a sheen of gold across your knuckles and you feel less like you’re drowning and more like you’re suffocating. The usual. You can handle that. You think.

You don’t even realize that you’ve slid down to the ground beside the dumpster until the back door of the bar opens and footsteps echo through the alley. You wish you knew how long you’ve been here, how long you’ve sat among empty bottles and stale beer and broken glass, but you can’t be sure. The brief reprieve brought by Taehyung’s voice is long gone, chased away by the guilt and rage that still sits heavy in your chest. You hope you’re not noticeable here, that whoever’s left will just pass by and leave you to piece yourself back together on your own.

Voices tell you that it isn’t likely, the deep baritone of one too familiar to ignore. The other is new, but you’re familiar with the tone, the inflection, the intent behind it. You've heard it before, in crowded clubs as a guy pushes too close to some girl who can barely stand, in a coffeeshop when a random customer can't take a fucking hint, at the local campus when some professor insists that there could be maybe one thing her student could do to pass. It makes everything in you curdle, the bourbon from earlier threatening to work its way back up; it screams predator , and you absolutely refuse to let anyone fucking talk to someone like that, like they have some right to whatever it is they want.

You refuse to let someone talk to him that way.

"Seriously, Kratos, didn't I tell you to leave me alone? Did Aphrodite not teach you your lesson last time you harassed someone?" Taehyung's voice brings a calm that's an unsettling match to the anger washing over you. You're used to the red at the corners of your vision, the tint to everything you see, but you aren ' t used to the way it all turns purple and focused and clear .

There's no haze this time, there's no abrupt shift of you moving before you know you've done it. You can feel the glass crunching under your boots with every step you take, can feel the way the air has a chill that creeps down into your lungs with every breath, can almost taste the apprehension that's rolling off of Taehyung despite his relaxed stance. The only thing that gives him away is the tense set of his jaw and the mix of relief and fear when his eyes land on you.

"I'm pretty sure he said no, Kratos." The god turns at your voice and you watch the realization wash over him as he realizes what - who - you are.

"Been a while since anyone's seen you, Ares." He scoffs a little, not moving from where he has Taehyung caged against the wall of the bar, one hand pressed firmly into the brick. He's entirely too close, and you have no doubt that the stench of him permeates the very oxygen around them.

"Been busy. Doesn't change the fact that the man said no. Take the loss, walk away." Kratos' eyes narrow at your words and he steps away, but only to move closer to you.

"Why do you care so much? You've never been one to care about any of us before." Kratos inches closer and the hyper-focus that Taehyung's voice causes starts to melt away with every twitch of your fingers. You've never liked Kratos, all brute strength with no respect for the challenge, no appreciation of the fight, too focused on sheer power and exhilaration. He is the worst of the worst of the worst of your kind, of all the war-focused gods. Every bit of yourself you hate is every piece that Kratos loves about himself.

"I care that you don't seem to be able to understand when someone doesn't want to be around you, you absolute piece of filth. Taehyung had a point though, I really thought the whole thing with Aphrodite would've taught you how to back off. Or should I pull the video out, I think I still have it saved for when I need a good laugh." Malice and fury twitch across the other god's face and you absolute revel in it. You can feel his anger prickling across you, like needles in your very pores, and you ache for it. It's been so long since you last had a good fight, a real challenge where you didn't need to hold back at all.

Too long since you fought a god like yourself.

"You're testing my patience, cousin," Kratos spits. It's a little generous to call the two of you cousins - you're several times removed, at best, and potentially closer than that with your family's warped history - but you let him have it. It might make him feel better. "I'm having a conversation, that's all. And if said conversation means that we end up back at my place, then, well, can anyone really blame me for what might happen to this pretty little m-"

Your fist connects with his jaw immediately and the red floods you for the few seconds it takes to register Taehyung calling your name. The calm struggles for a second, warring with the rage, but it wins out eventually. The singer's talking, but you can't make out any actual words. You're too focused on Kratos, the way he's righting and readying himself for a brawl. There's a fire in his eyes that matches the one in yours and everything in you feels alive for the first time in too long.

This fight is different than your usual ones. There's no blur, no warped sense of time that usually comes with the adrenaline. You're focused and controlled in a way you haven't had to be for centuries, careful and precise and deliberate with every swing and every kick. The red seeps back in slowly and every time you think you're about to lose it, you hear Taehyung, still pressed against the wall of the bar.

Kratos lunges at you for what has to be the tenth time, clearly trying his best to knock you to the ground - he succeeded, once; you let yourself get distracted, too caught up in thoughts, but it didn't last long - and you sidestep him just in time for him to ram into the ruined dumpster instead. He looks pissed when he turns back around and something in you sings at the sight. He makes for you again and you dodge again, only to be dragged back towards him by the grip he has on your jacket. Fuck, should've taken that off , whatever, he's too close.

Pain explodes in your side and you're fairly sure he's busted part of your rib, but you just slide your arms out of the sleeves and twist to plant your knee straight into his gut and then slam your heel down onto his much-less-safe toes, and then back up to knee him in the groin. It's nowhere near enough to take him out, but his nose is oozing golden ichor and he groans with every shift of his weight, and you've got him pinned against the wall with your forearm pressing hard into his windpipe.

"Now, you're gonna listen to me you steaming pile of dog shit," You hiss. "When someone tells you no, it's not a fucking negotiation. It means you fucking leave and find someone with loose enough morals or enough internalized self-hatred that they're willing to subject themselves to your absolutely pitiful fucking excuse of an existence for the thirty-two seconds it'll take for you to get off."

Kratos doesn't respond, just sneers and spits blood at you. It's a miracle you don't actually try to rip his head from his body, because the thought crosses your mind for a second too long. Instead, you just press harder against his windpipe and enjoy the choked gasp that it draws.

"You don't stalk people either, the way you did with 'Dite. Don't you know it's better to let them come to you sometimes?" You tsk, ignoring the way he claws uselessly at your arm. Gods may not need to breathe, that's a fact, but they feel pain, and there is no way this isn't absolutely excruciating for him when even you can feel the small bones in his neck cracking and breaking. "And if I hear even a whisper of you pulling shit like this again, then I'm gonna find you, you pigshit. And when I do, I won't hold back even the slightest, and do you know what comes after that?"

His eyes are full of fear now, and only grow wide with terror as you lean in close enough that he can feel your lips against his ear as you whisper.

"You are going to wish that you could die."

When you do release him, he disappears instantly, with a cloud of acrid grey-green smoke curling around your ichor-spattered boots. He's only been gone a second when you slump, the adrenaline fading as quick as Kratos had left. Your side is throbbing now, your knuckles are bruised and broken and gold, there's a pain in your leg that you aren't sure what's causing, your head is screaming even through the high of the fight, your face stings in the crisp-cool air. Every breath makes the pain worse so you stop breathing. The brick wall of the bar is rough against your palms, but it's the only thing around that can keep you upright, so you'll take it.

"Well," a voice drawls from your left. You'd jump if you had anything left in you, but every ounce of energy is gone, spent teaching Kratos what Aretha Franklin meant when she sang about respect - and really, there was another fantastic singer, you really should visit her sometime soon - so instead your head lolls to the side. You aren't sure what it is that jolts through you when your eyes land on Taehyung, fingers curled carefully around the collar of-

Your jacket. That's your leather jacket. You barely remembers shrugging out of it, but you're glad it's not on the ground, trampled and covered in the gold spatters that decorate the rest of your body.

"Well?" You echo, wincing at the pain it causes. You've definitely got a busted lip, that's for sure from the way it feels different and swollen, and you're pretty sure there's a head wound, too, because you don't remember there being a golden halo around Taehyung before the fight.

"Well," He repeats, slinging the jacket - your jacket - over a shoulder. "You should get that looked at." He starts walking, making his way to the entrance of the alleyway. He gets halfway there before he stops and turns and cocks a brow. "Are you coming, or do I get to keep this?" Your jacket waves a little, as if he's wiggling it, and it makes you feel like a stray dog being lured off with treats.

You're never going to tell anyone that it works.

Taehyung's place is as nondescript as the car he parks outside. It's a plain apartment building on the outside - looks like maybe it was a hotel back in the 1930s, based on the outdated carpeting in the lobby and the grate on the elevator he steps into. Even the hallway is plain and unassuming as he leads you to the end and uses an old, tarnished brass key on an older, more tarnished brass knob. You aren't sure what you expected, you can't even begin to guess what Taehyung is like outside of the dirty alley or the stage where he sings, can't fathom what kind of decor he could possibly have.

What you step into isn't anything you could have guessed. It looks like he has the entire rest of the floor to himself based on what you can see, but there's also a spiral staircase tucked into a corner, bookshelves built in under each step that are filled to the brim, and a fireman's pole in another corner, so there's at least one more level above this, but something tells you both the staircase and the pole continue past that. There's artwork everywhere, pieces you recognize and pieces you don't, several van Goghs and a couple from Matisse and you think in the corner you spot an actual fucking da Vinci sketch that's supposed to be somewhere in Europe. There's a gramophone beside a top-of-the-line sound system, an entire wall that's just a record collection, books upon books, framed bits of poetry - including an actual hand-written rupi kaur, a signed Maya Angelou print, and a signed cover of ain't i a woman by bell hooks that you would die to know how Taehyung got his hands on. It's a museum's wet dream and yet it retains a lived in atmosphere. There are mugs left on tables, blankets strewn about as if someone just got up from a nap, an easel propped up by a far window with what looks like an impressionist painting of the cityscape, books tossed down half-read with receipts and coupons and candy wrappers and everything but a bookmark tucked between the pages.

It feels like a home and it makes your heart flutter in your chest at the same time that something in your stomach shrivels up into itself.

Taehyung walks like he’s meant to be followed, so follow you do. You spy another man - older, you think, but it’s hard to tell, really - sprawled across a couch, blanket splayed across his lap as he watches some kind of dance show on a flatscreen hung above a warm and roaring fireplace, a couple of girls in what looks to be the kitchen, one sitting on the counter while the other stands between her legs and pretends not to notice the former stealing strawberries from her bowl as she taps at her tablet, and there are footsteps creaking above you, hidden behind walls even as Taehyung leads you up the staircase. They all look up when you pass, but only the man gives you a second glance; his eyes are a weight on your back that doesn’t leave until you’re upstairs and following Taehyung into a large, rather nice bathroom.

It’s vintage as well, but it’s spacious and well-kept, like the rest of the place. Taehyung pats the marble counter by the sink and you bite your tongue against the urge to tell him you aren’t a dog. You don’t move though, instead watching him as he lays your jacket across a brass bar on the wall and then digs around in a cabinet for a minute or two. When he straightens up, he’s got a somewhat dusty off-white box in his hands, and he frowns.

“Up,” He says. “I need to look at your ankle.”

You don’t move, but you can tell he doesn’t miss the twitch of your nose at the thought of being commanded like an animal. Like someone who can’t understand. Like-

He sighs.

“Please, will you sit on the counter, so I can look at your ankle?” You huff, but you do as he says.

He doesn’t speak as he works, completely silent except for the odd command - “Roll it for me...alright, now flex that...deep breath...stop fidgeting or I’ll only make it worse…” - and the occasional hum under his breath. It seems to be second nature, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and it endears you more than you’d like. His touch is gentle but firm as he lightly squeezes your ankle and wraps it, lifts your pant leg to rub some kind of cream into a somewhat worrisome golden bruise forming on your calf, darts under your shirt to quickly and painlessly set your ribs before wrapping those as well. He doesn’t say anything at all until he’s almost finished with the cuts on your hands, golden ichor long gone and wounds already on their way to healing thanks to some sort of mist he spritzes on them.

It only stings once, as he’s spraying something over some kind of cut on your thigh where Kratos ripped through the denim there without you noticing. You can’t stop the hiss as the pain hits, though you regret it when he glances up at you.

“Sorry,” He mumbles under his breath as he dabs lightly at it with his long fingers.

“It’s fine,” You tell him. “I’m used to it.” Your voice is rough, always, but softer than usual. You don’t know why. You can’t decide if you like it.

The entire time he works, you wait. For him to tell you it wasn’t necessary, that he can fight his own battles, that he’s not surprised a brute like yourself got into a fight, that you’re no more than what the rumours say you are. You’ve got a million different curses and insults ready to spit back at him when he finally speaks.

“Thank you,” is what comes. It shocks the words out of your mouth, and you actually look up from where you’ve been watching him methodically wipe gold away from a scrape on your forearm. His gaze is concentrated on the injury and his lips are pursed and you wish you could figure him out.

He must take your silence for the confusion it is, because he continues.

“I mean it,” He says. “I’m usually not someone that lets other people fight for me, but we both know that I couldn’t have taken Kratos. He’s too strong, and he was counting on that. Until you showed up.” You don’t respond. “Is there a reason you left before my set was done? Or why you were sitting in an alley beside what is possibly the most gnarled dumpster I’ve ever seen?”

You don’t answer him, instead focusing on the way his hands feel as they tilt your chin so he can look at the cuts and bruises and scrapes that decorate your face. You focus your gaze just past his shoulder, content to memorize the pattern of his gaudy vintage bathroom wallpaper, and he doesn't press for more. The distracted humming picks up again every time he stops talking, and eases the storm of guilt shame rage pain hurt grief loneliness in your chest.

"I fight," you eventually say. Your voice is too loud in the quiet of the bathroom, shatters the silence like a sledgehammer, and you hate the way it trembles. Still, Taehyung doesn't look away from where he's carefully wiping gold from your skin, just cocks a brow, and it's as if a dam breaks in your throat. "Like, real fights. Actual competition, with rules and shit, and...sometimes the bad ones, because they tend to fight differently, it's a different kind of fight, y'know, and it's never really fair, because I'm...I'm me, but I hold back, just for fun, y'know, and it's, uh. It's alright usually, I go in, do my thing, I win, I go drink, and it all gets, I dunno, easier, maybe, for a while, like I can think right, but, um.”

You hesitate for a split second and force yourself to focus on the way the alcohol-soaked cotton tickles the cut on your head.

“Sometimes it's not...sometimes I can't control it as well, the anger, and I kind of just lose it on people, and a while ago this guy, he almost needed his jaw wired shut, but he was kind of a prick anyway, I guess, so whatever, but, uh, today, I...there was this girl and she was doing really well, actually, y'know, managed to get me down to the mat, which is rare and pretty impressive, and I'm pretty proud of her for it now, but then, I just. I just kinda lost it, like, I just kept swinging, I couldn't stop, and then I just...I broke her leg, for no real reason, just because I wanted her to hurt, and I don't...I'm not sure why I even did it, because I'd already won, right, like what was the point of doing any more, it wasn't even helping at that point, y'know, it's not like the buzz kept up any longer because I broke this kid's leg, and I love the fights, they help clear my head for a second, but I never wanted to actually-"

You words stop short, like there are too many of them to say in too short a time, and it's then you realize Taehyung's hands are in his lap and he's looking at you fully. His expression isn't neutral anymore, it's not the carefully crafted mask of a performer, it's real and open and genuine and all you see there is pain . For you. Pain and understanding and compassion you never expected to find anywhere but the deepest corners of your soul. Looking at him looking at you like that makes you feel like you can breathe again.

"You never wanted to hurt anyone." His voice is rough, like maybe there's emotion clogging his throat as well, and you aren't sure what that does to you, but something in you jumps at the thought.

Tears mar your vision as you nod and you curse under your breath before wiping them away. He catches your quivering hand in his and just holds it for a second. His eyes don't leave yours and there are a thousand things you expect him to say but what he says is:

"I believe you."

And that...it's more than you can take, and you break, right there on his bathroom counter, sobbing into his chest while he just rubs your back and hums and you remember the face of every person you've ever hurt and the look in their eyes as you left some of them for dead.

You wake up the next morning curled up on the most comfortable chaise lounge in human history, sitting up and shoving the blanket off of you in a rush before you remember where you are, why you're there. A glance around tells you that you aren't alone; there's two guys bent over a table that you think might also be a tablet, conversing quietly and pointing every so often at whatever they're looking at, a girl balanced along the edge of the staircase holding a lyre - which, wow, you haven't seen a lyre in that good condition in a while - and strumming lightly along it before she frowns and shakes her head and restarts whatever melody she's playing, and the same guy sprawled over the couch with a blanket strewn haphazardly over him while he watches a different dance video on the flatscreen. He's the closest and you don't really want to talk to any of these people but you think you might have to because you aren't really sure how Taehyung got you here last night but you know it was quite a drive. You'd just mist over to the bar if you really wanted to, but your ribs hurt like a bitch still thanks to that fucker Kratos. Anything as intense as misting is out of the question for the time being.

The man on the chaise spares you a glance that feels longer than it should, full of a judgement you have no doubt you deserve and yet somehow fires your anger anyway.

He rolls his eyes before you even say anything and waves a hand towards the kitchen. You snap your mouth closed and shoot him an irritated look, but you storm in that direction anyway. Healing is exhausting, and you want nothing more than some meat to tear into and a cold beer.

When you get into the kitchen, however, Taehyung is standing there already, as if he’s been expecting you any minute. There’s a plate in front of him, full of food you barely recognize, and he slides it towards you.

“Eat,” He says. You grit your teeth, unmoving, and he sighs again. “Please sit, and eat. You need the strength to heal properly.”

You resist for a split second, but there’s a softness to him now. Something you can’t exactly put your finger on, but that you know is different , somehow, and it changes things. It makes you want to listen, to do as he asks, because he is asking . He’s not telling, he’s treating you like an animal.

It’s a request, not a demand, and that makes all the difference.

Taehyung is quiet while you eat. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t watch to make sure you’re doing it, but you have no doubt he’s keeping an eye on you. It’s quiet, but not unbearably so; the air is broken by the sounds of the lyre and the television, as well as the soft chattering of the men at the table. It makes it comfortable, makes it soft in a way you’re unaccustomed to being, like the way people talk about lazy Sunday mornings or that voice they get when they see a cute animal.

It feels like home should be, instead of what yours is.

“So why’s Pretty Boy giving me the death glare?” You eventually ask past a mouthful of food. Taehyung barely looks up, just glancing past you to the guy laying on the couch. You can feel his eyes boring into your spine, but it’s nothing new.

“Taemin’s just protective,” Taehyung says softly. “Especially considering the stories.”

“The ones about me, you mean.”

A myriad of emotions passes through his eyes when he nods, and you wish you could more easily decipher them. Maybe in time, you will.

Maybe.

“Those, yes,” He says softly. “But he’ll learn.” He doesn’t say it, but nonetheless, you hear the words as clear as day. Just like I did.

Someone hums behind you and you glance over to see a woman - the strawberry thief - making her way into the kitchen. She gives Taehyung a look you don’t care enough to figure out, and they have an entire conversation in the span of five minutes. Something about it irks you, and it only gets worse when they start moving around each other, Taehyung handing her things without her asking.

It’s ridiculous, and you know it, but the air gets heavy in your lungs and your head starts to swim and suddenly you’re suffocating. It’s too much, there’s too much here, and you can’t take it anymore.

The force with which you shove away the counter would have slammed it into the wall were it not already attached. There are slight cracks in the granite tops, though, and there’s just enough clarity as Taehyung calls your name for you to feel guilty about it. It’s not enough to stop you though; you have to get out, you need to get out, before you do something worse, and the cracks in the granite are proof of that.

You’re out the door in an instant, your form coalescing painfully back into solid matter as you reach the hallway. Your ribs ache, screaming with the effort of trying to mist away from this place, this home , and you lean against the wall in the hope that it will help steady you.

The door opens behind you, the creak of the old hinges deafening in the silence of the hall. There’s a commotion behind it, voices overlapping each other and reverberating in your skull until they’re a twisted mockery of your siblings.

You stumble down the hall, one hand clutching your ribs to keep them as still as possible despite your movement. It’s not lost on you that there are footsteps following you, but you can’t focus on them now. You’re not moving fast, and you need to be, you should be running , but you can’t. Your vision is already clouding slightly at the edges, the sudden spike of adrenaline waning now that you’re out of the apartment.

Someone says your name and you swing.

It’s instinct, the way your fist flies through the air; you can’t control it, not this, not when the red is all you can see even as it seeps away and turns lilac. It doesn’t matter anyway. You don’t make contact with anything but the wall, plaster crumbling around your fist and onto the carpeted floor.

“That was rude,” Taehyung says softly. He doesn’t sound mad, though he should, considering you almost decked him straight in the nose. “I’ll take you back.”

He drapes your jacket over your arm and walks away, toward emergency stairs tucked into the corner instead of the elevator, and you follow. He hums as he goes, and he lets you lead the way down the stairs, keeping pace with your quick steps until both of you step out a side door into an alleyway.

Out of habit, more than anything, you light a cigarette and put it between your lips. You don’t miss the disgusted scrunch of Taehyung’s nose, but you do ignore it. The smoke is familiar in lungs, comforting, and he doesn’t understand it, won’t ever understand it, but he doesn’t have to.

“Sorry, Tae,” You say after a few minutes of silence. Taehyung shrugs one shoulder and moves to lean beside you against the stone of the building.

“Are you okay now?” You nod, taking a deep breath, remembering how Hestia had taught you, so long ago, how her hand felt against your chest, the warmth and love it held. “Then you’re forgiven. And you can call me Calliope, if you want.”

You’re both quiet after that. He doesn’t make fun of you, he doesn’t judge you, he just silently drives you back to Suho’s bar, which is when you remember that he doesn’t know where you live. You’re fine with it; you don’t want to see him in your run down hovel. It’s not much, especially compared to his own apartment, but that makes sense, too.

What could ever live up to the home of a Muse? Not even a muse, really. The Muse. The Head of the Nine Muses, the one called on most often by those in need, the one that everyone knew, the one that Hephaestus just put statues of in the gardens of Olympus, according to the rumors that Apollo sent you.

The calm that he brings lasts until you get back to your apartment, nearly ten full minutes after you disappear into the alley beside Suho’s bar. It’s the longest the calm has ever lasted, and the view of the city tinted lavender is one you think you love.

If you can love.

Things get clearer, somehow. The weight on your shoulders lessens, makes you feel less like Atlas and more like you, how you were all those years ago in the now-ancient days when things made sense. When people fought for honor and glory and justice more than they fought for oil and death and greed.

It could be because open mic nights are frequent around the city, and you’re able to figure out his schedule pretty well. You don’t go every night that he sings, just when it gets to be too much, when the scarlet haze starts to bleed into your irises like a flag in front of a bull. It helps, for a while, lets you settle long enough to pull the pieces of you back into a shape that vaguely resembles yourself.

It could be because the fights happen every night, and Taehyung is no stranger to where to look to find them. He watches every one that he can, when he isn’t singing, and his presence anchors you. Focuses you, so that you can pull your punches just enough, so that there’s less hurting and more fighting. It doesn’t work every time, you still lose yourself in the rage and do more damage than you ever mean to, but it helps enough. And when it doesn’t, he’s there, to slide a hand across your shoulders in that exact same way that Hestia used to, that Apollo might if you let him close enough to know you’re alive, that Artemis would , were she anywhere but where she is.

It’s a strange feeling. You’re not used to companionship, you don’t know how to have friends. You still say the wrong things and do the wrong things and he still speaks to you like he expects to be listened to, but you both are learning. You apologize more often, and he corrects himself quicker. It’s a slow, fragile thing, this friendship, but it’s there.

Until the night when it’s not.

You aren’t sure how it happens. It’s been weeks since you last saw Taehyung; he mentioned some project he was working on, something or another that would have most of his attention along with that of several of the other Muses. You had brushed it off when he said it, some snide remark about how you don’t need him there to win.

You would take it back if you could.

Because you were right, of course, you don’t need him there to win; you can do that on your own. And your control has gotten better, stronger, over the last few months, but complacency is what always leads to disaster.

The guy deserved it, is what you tell yourself as you’re pulled out of the ring. He was a piece of shit anyway, you remind yourself as you call Apollo with shaking hands. He didn’t deserve your mercy, you tell the golden gold after you’ve begged him to help save the man’s life. Artemis would have done the same, you insist to him, long after he’s hung up the phone and left to follow the ambulance to the hospital.

You don’t go to Suho’s. You can’t bear it, not when he might be there, not when he would read it on your face in a heartbeat. You don’t want to watch the disappointment crumble into something more familiar, something worse, you can’t watch him look at you with the knowledge that your siblings are right, that they’ve always been right, that you’re nothing better than a crazed animal.

The club is packed full when you get there. The bartender starts to pour you a drink and you just take the bottle, leaving a too-thick wad of bills in return. The bourbon tickles as it goes down but it warms your stomach and distracts you from the haze in your mind, the repetitive beat of they were right they were right they were right they were-

“Whoops, sorry,” someone says, a second before they knock into your shoulder. You’ve been around long enough to know a fake fall, and you scowl as you glance towards them.

He’s cute. Taller than you, with skin that would hide the marks you so love to create, and hair that looks like it would be soft in your hands. His clothes fit well, and they look like they were chosen for comfort over style despite the way he walks like a model in them, which you always find attractive.

The smile that slips onto your face is familiar, as is the way you bring your hand up to rest on his hip in an effort to steady him.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” You tell him, not being subtle in the way you eye him. He looks soft; you love them soft. “You headed to get a drink?”

“I might be,” He says teasingly, a coy grin forming on his lips.

“I’ve got something better, if you’re interested.”

His eyes roam along your body, his breath drawing somewhat quicker when he notices the scrapes on your knuckles. “I might be.”

It takes five minutes to get him to a corner quiet enough to talk. Less than three to get your lips on his. One and a half to start sucking a mark into his neck that makes him moan so pretty you can’t help but want to hear it again.

One of your hands is up his shirt, playing with the pebbled buds and the metal pierced through them, while the other teasingly massages the skin of his hip when he’s torn away from you roughly.

“What the fuck?” Your voice growls as you look up. The guy is standing there, looking for all the world like he’s ready to run, but he isn’t watching you.

No, his eyes are on a familiar sight; Taehyung, his hair now a pretty lavender that makes you think of a home you don’t have, even as he doesn’t look at you.

“Taken,” He growls, releasing the collar of the guy you had every intent to make cry with pleasure. The guy scurries off before you can stop him, though, and you don’t bother to hide your disdain.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You demand, already lighting a cigarette as you head outside. Taehyung follows, pulling it from between your lips and crushing it in his hands before you have the chance to get your lighter out.

“Me? You looked like you were about to eat him .” He follows you all the way to the street outside and down the sidewalk, pulling each cigarette out of your hands before you can light it. He waits until you’re a decent distance from the crowd outside the club before he stops you, one hand lightly encircling your wrist.

Your boots scuff against the ground as you stop, not turning to look at him. You’re too afraid to, too worried he’ll see it all on your face and just know that you’ve fucked up, maybe beyond repair.

“Apollo called me,” is what he says instead. “Said I might want to find you tonight.”

You should’ve known. That little fuck, of course he would rat you out.

“I didn’t-”

The words choke in your throat. You want to say you don’t need him. You don’t need him to come running like you’re some scared little girl who can’t control her strength, you don’t need him to piece you back together because you aren’t broken, you don’t need him because you don’t need anyone, you never have.

“I know you didn’t,” Taehyung says quietly. “I know he deserved it, I know what he did, and I know you didn’t mean to.”

Something inside of you breaks and you find yourself shaking.

“He hurt her , Tae, I heard it, I heard her telling her friend about it on the phone, I saw her crying, I saw her clothes, okay, he-”

“I know,” Taehyung says, pulling you into a loose hug. “I know you did, it’s okay. He’s going to be okay. He’s not gonna escape his punishment from that, you didn’t send anyone to Hades today. It’s okay.”

The cloud struggles, for what feels like hours. Guilt settles like lead in your stomach, and you wish you weren’t so used to the feeling. The rage returns every time you remember what that girl looked like, what she sounded like on the phone, how you felt when you realized it was your competitor who had done that to her.

There’s no honor in that. There’s no justice, no glory, in beating an opponent who was never aware they were in the ring, and it makes your blood boil all over again. Taehyung’s voice soothes you, slightly, makes the edges of your vision turn indigo, but it isn’t enough.

It’s never enough.

“I have to go,” You say, pulling yourself away from him. “I need- I have to find-”

“A distraction,” He finishes for you, too aware that you can’t find the words you need. “Some mortal that you can bruise and break and bang until you feel less like a monster?”

That’s exactly what you want to do, what you had been about to do with that guy at the club, and it’s only Taehyung’s voice calling your name in that soft, sweet way of his that makes you wonder if that’s not a good plan.

“I’ll be a distraction, if you need one.” You whip your head around, staring at him, but he doesn’t flinch. “I’m sturdier than the mortals, I can take more. Let me be your distraction.”

“I…” You hesitate. You don’t know why. You shouldn’t even be entertaining this idea, it’s not a good one, but then...when have any of your ideas been good? “I can’t fuck in a house with eight other people.”

“You have an apartment,” He says easily. “Let’s go there.”

It’s a bad idea. You don’t do that, you don’t fuck people at your apartment, you don’t have people in your apartment, it’s your space. It’s a bad idea, it can only end in disaster.

“Okay.”

Taehyung’s lips are soft against yours, yielding and pliant just the way you’re used to. His hands are big and warm against your ass, even through your jeans, and the feeling gives you the courage to slide your own under the ridiculously patterned button-down he’s wearing.

He lets you lead the way through the door, kicking it closed behind you with slightly too much force. Your apartment is small, a studio with a bed tucked in the corner for the rare times that you need it.

You push Taehyung onto it and slide yourself onto his lap, already grinding down onto the hard length you can feel there. He's not quite as enthusiastic, but his fingers are like steel against you, pulling you down with every rut of your hips.

This, you can do. This, you're familiar with.

You push on his shoulders, doing your best to get him on his back so you can have better access to the clasp of his jeans, but he resists. You try again, firmer, using a harsh suck against his skin as a distraction, but he still doesn't go.

Frustrated, you pull back.

"Not like this," He says. His voice clears some of the fog, and you frown.

"Do you want to be on top, then? Because I don't mind, I just need it," You tell him. He sighs a little, but he flips the two of you over so he's kneeling between your open legs and your back is cushioned against the mattress.

"How long has it been since you spent the night with someone who knows who you are?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he sits back on his knees.

You shift, uncomfortable. "A while. Why does that matter? Just fuck me."

"No," Taehyung says, voice gentle but firm. You cock a brow at him and move to get out from under him, but he stills you with a hand on your thigh.

"You are a goddess," He tells you, trailing his hands down so he can undo the laces on your steel-toe boots and slide them off. "You have held Victory in your palms and set her free."

His palms burn through the denim on your thighs, but you welcome it as he slides your jacket over your shoulders to the bed beneath.

"You are the winner of wars. You are the one who grants battlefield wishes. You are the dead's escort to Hades." He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek and then down your throat.

He pulls back as he gets to your collarbone, eyes blown wide with unfamiliar desire, and it makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You," Taehyung tells you, with desire in his eyes and belief in his voice, "Deserve to be treated like the goddess that you are, with the respect you have earned, and the care you deserve."

As often as you fuck people, it's been a very long time since anyone wanted to fuck you for any reason beyond your appearance and the personality you show them. But this? This look in the muse's eyes as his hands settle on your knees as he waits?

Taehyung wants to fuck you because you're you. Not despite it, not because he doesn't know . He has seen you at your worst and yet he keeps coming back, keeps showing up as you fall apart. Each time he stays, hands you a basket so you can pick the pieces of yourself up off the ground, holds the tape so you can mash it back together, and is ready to help steady you when you start to crumble again.

He's here for you , to treat you in a way no one has ever treated you before. He's your friend.

He cares.

You nod, however tentatively, and his lips are on yours in an instant. They're firmer now, less pliable and more controlling, but you don't mind. Not this time.

Not with Taehyung.

His hands don't hesitate as he strips you both of your clothes, but you can feel it each time he checks to make sure you're okay. The way that he watches your expression, the tense of your muscles under him, the cadence of your gasps for air between kisses, he reads all of it as clear as if it's a book in front of him. He slows down before you can stop him, his lips drawing back from the kisses he draws across your thighs, and he speeds up as your thoughts start to drift, swiping his tongue and two fingers through your folds to tease and bring your attention back to him.

His fingers bury themselves in your heat, crooking slightly to brush against that soft part of you that makes the world spin, and it's all too intense. His lips are hardly even touching your skin, just pressing gentle kisses against the skin of your thigh, a gentle complement to the way he glides his fingers in and out of you, slow and steady and delicious, but it's absolutely intoxicating.

He's talkative, too; he gives you constant praise. He tells you how well you take his fingers, how good you look with his fingers inside you, how absolutely fantastic you taste on his tongue, how he'd live between your thighs if he could.

It's too much, and you can't be sure why, not when your orgasm is approaching quicker than it ever has, not when your walls clench around him and you soak your sheets, not when he's cleaning your cum off his fingers with his tongue.

"Good," He purrs. "Now you're all warmed up."

His mouth hits your heat without hesitation or warning, before the aftershocks are even finished, and your hips buck upwards. His arms slide underneath your thighs only to grip them and bring them back down. You can't move much in his grip except to grind your pussy against his mouth, which he seems to enjoy, if the muffled grunts that escape him are any indication.

He doesn't stop until his tongue is buried inside you with one finger drawing lazy circles on your clit and you're cumming again, hands gripping the soft strands of his hair so tight that you would be afraid of pulling it out if you could focus on anything besides the feel of him against you.

He lets you ride the aftershock, this time. Waits until your pants die down slightly, until you're back in your mind.

"Good?" He asks you. His voice is deeper, rumbles instead of slides, but it breaks through the post-orgasm haze long enough for you to nod. “More?”

“More,” you agree, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him into a heated kiss. You haven’t been this clear-headed in a while. Every sensation is clear and crisp, every sound heightened, everything is simultaneously more while also being exactly what it’s always supposed to have been.

Taehyung’s cock is everything you could have expected from a muse; thick, long, beautiful, and it fills you in a way that’s indescribable as he slides inside. He groans at the feeling, deep and throaty and beautiful, and begins his thrusts nearly immediately.

It’s as slow as he was with his fingers; steady and forceful, but unhurried. As if he wants to take his time. As if he wants to savor it. Savor you .

“Do you have any idea how amazing you are?” He mutters, almost as an afterthought. “What you look like right now, what you look like when you’re fighting, when you’ve won and you’re triumphant? It’s fucking addictive, seeing that confidence in you.”

“Shit, Tae, don’t stop-”

“It’s so fucking intoxicating,” He groans, pace quickening. Your arms wrap around him more fully, nails like claws down his back as you arch your back to get him deeper. “You get this look in your eyes, like you can do anything you fucking want to, and it’s so fucking brilliant, because you can , you can do anything and everything you ever fucking want to do, and no one can stop you.”

A whine you’ll never admit to escapes your throat, and Taehyung drives his cock further into you.

“Let go, my sweet,” Taehyung purrs in your ear. “Let yourself relax, just this once. For me.”

His hand touches your clit and it’s so much, too much , you’re feeling everything so intensely that it takes a solid minute to realize you’re coming down from an orgasm. Taehyung has stilled inside you, unmoving but groaning as you flutter around him, and you push weakly at his shoulder.

He slides himself out of you, looking entirely too proud of wet spot underneath you and glistening against his lower stomach. You wobble your way up to rest your elbows underneath you, and it’s like he can sense your words before they come.

“No,” He says simply. “I don’t you to get me off with your mouth.”

“A hand then? I don’t want you to leave unsatisfied.”

A frown pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he leans down just enough that your lips are almost touching, a not-there kiss that you can only wish for.

“In what world is fucking you to the point of Elysium unsatisfying?”

The crowd around you is deafening; some of them are cheering for you, but the majority are rooting for your downfall. Such is the life of a challenging the champion, you suppose.

You don’t know how Taehyung found this place; maybe Artemis had heard rumors, or maybe he searched for it himself. You can’t bring yourself to care, not when you’ve got someone worth fighting on the other side of the arena.

The sand crunches beneath your feet. It’s hot, hotter than it should be since you’re still wearing your signature jeans and boots - without the jacket this time. You learned from that mistake.

Your vision tints pink as you size up your opponent; he’s massive, not one to be easily defeated, and you relish the challenge. It’s been so long since you’ve fought a giant. Excitement thrums under your veins as he turns to you. He scoffs.

If you had a little less control, you might be flying across the arena already. He clearly has no idea who’s standing across from him. Probably thinks you’re some demigod, come to challenge him for the fleece he isn’t supposed to have.

He’ll learn.

Something moves in the distance. It should blend in, considering how dark it is, but instead it draws your eye, and you don’t even question why. You would recognize him anywhere, have recognized him everywhere, and his presence calms you. Makes you remember a few nights ago, falling into bed in a hotel in Rome because the burn was to much and you needed him to help you release it.

“Try not to be too quick, princess,” The giant across from you huffs. You cock a brow and send a look to your muse, who just rolls his eyes, despite the smile playing across his face.

Violet rings your vision as you ready your stance. The announcer yells something that’s lost over the noise of the crowd. Taehyung leans forward, elbows on his knees, excitement and pride in his eyes.

The giant swings.

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fics-for-my-heart · 4 years

Text

Broken (b.h)

Summary: After a bad breakup you go to the only person you know can help

Word count: 2332

Warning: The ex is a dick, some cussing, mention of getting sick

Requested: I love your blog so much omg! I’m not sure if requests are open but if they are may I please request something with Ben? Could you maybe do something where reader has just come out of a long term relationship bc the partner said they didn’t love her anymore? And she goes to best friends Bens house crying wth makeup all down her face and runny nose and it’s just the sweetest comfort he could ever give her? Maybe a sweet lil kiss if you could? I’m not having a great day as you can probs tell 😭❤️

A/N: I hate writing people who are dicks. Ugh. But I hope this is good. Honestly i was thinking of maybe making another part? Let me know please!

Masterlist

“Russ will be here any minute. What if he doesn’t like my dress?” Your eyes widened as you met the green ones watching you through your phone screen.

“Y/N, you look beautiful. Take a deep breath. He’s going to love your dress.” Ben said, his reassurance calmed you down, like it always did. He’d been your best friend for ages, and was always your rock when your mind started getting too jumpy.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, centering yourself. “Okay. I think I’m ready.” After looking over yourself you picked up your phone. “Thank you Benny. I hope you have a good night. I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Have fun tonight, but not too much fun.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you hung up.

“Y/N! He’s here!” Cordelia, one of your roommates called.

“Alright. Tonight is the night. It’s happening. Tonight.” You examined your left hand, the ring finger currently empty. But hopefully not for long if your suspensions are correct. All signs point to yes. He had lunch with his mother and grandmother a month back, and he’s been acting slightly nervous. After three years there’s really only one thing you can think of that could make him that way.

With one more glance at the mirror you were out the door, nervous butterflies fluttering around your belly.

Russ was leaning against the door with his phone in his hand as you came down. He looked handsome as always, his suit tailored to him, his white button down chrisp against the black of the jacket. His blond hair was quaffed just right while still looking slightly ragged.

The butterflies intensified as you drank him in. Smiling about just how lucky you were.

“Hi.” You whispered once you hit the bottom step.

He hadn’t looked up until you spoke, his soft smile didn’t quite meet his eyes as he pecked your cheek. “Hello dear. Are you ready?”

“Yes! I’m starving. I already checked online at their menu so it won’t take me long to make a decision.”

He chuckled lightly as his hand met your back, leading you out to his car.

Russ was quiet through most of the ride, which was weird because normally the two of you had a good flow. But he was probably nervous about what was about to happen. You sure were. And bless him he just let you talk and talk the entire way there, and part way through the meal. Reminiscing on some of your favorite memories together.

“Do you remember that time we got snowed in at the cabin?” You sighed, remembering how nice it had been. Just the two of you for three days. “We should definitely do that again.”

“I want to break up.”

“We can go aft...wait.” Your heart stopped, but was also making your ears ring. You must have heard him wrong. “What?” The squeak was almost too soft to hear.

Russ rubbed his brow with his thumb and forefinger, and gave a heavy sign. “I said I want to break up.” He wouldn’t look at you as your mouth gaped like a fish.

The world got blurry as you silently started crying. “You. You’re not.” Your chest shuddered. “You’re not proposing?” Again, barely a whisper.

A look that could only be described as disgust crossed his face, becoming stronger as he spoke. “Proposing? Why would you even think that?”

You started picking at a thread in the napkin on your lap. Still crying. Still hardly able to speak. “I told Cordelia you went to eat with your mom and grandmother and she said that you must be asking for your great grandmother's ring.”

He sighed, again. “Oh my god.” You glanced up just as he was shaking his head. “No, Y/N. I’m not asking you to marry me. I,” again with the sighing, like he has better things he could be doing. “I met someone else, and I just don’t love you anymore.”

You were going to puke. Yup, bile was definitely burning your throat just like the tears burning your eyes. “Som-someone e-else?”

“Yes. That’s who I was with when I told you I was with mom and gran.”

“That was.” You shook your head, a new emotion starting to build in your gut. “That was a month ag..how long?” You weren’t sure you even wanted to know. Dread. Sadness. Anger. To many emotions at once. Your hands were shaking as you looked at him. Waiting on his answer.

Finally guilt flashed across his face. “Eight months ago.”

Suddenly you were on your feet, chair knocked over and your voice the loudest it’s ever been. “EIGHT MONTHS? You’ve been cheating on me for eight months?” Your voice broke at the end with a full body sob. “Ei-eight fucking months? After almost four years!” Everyone was looking at you.

Again, Russ sighed, he really must have better things to be doing. Or a better someone. “Look Y/N. We had a great time together.” His voice was the low one now, trying to not be overheard. But everyone in the restaurant was quiet. Even the chef and line cooks had come out to watch. “I’m sorry. I just needed something new. We’ve got lots of good memories together, as you know since you talked about a lot of them tonight. But I just don’t want to be with you anymore.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me sooner? Why fucking stay with me?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at anyone else. The embarrassment only added to your nausea.

Russ shrugged one shoulder. “Since I’m being honest, you’re really good at a..few things. And I wasn’t quite ready to give them up.”

“You fucking dick! You piece of sh..” Your own body cut you off with a wretched sob that had firm, but soft hands wrapping around your arm.

“Shh.” A gentle breath hit your ear as the hand turned to an arm, wrapping around you. “Come on dear, let’s get you out of here.” Russ moved to get up as you finally looked at the women at your side. Her hard stare was enough to send him back on his butt. “You better sit your ass down and don’t move.” She turned you, grabbing your bag on the way to the door.

“Here hun.” Another soft voice said, as a phone was placed gently in your hand. “Enter your address, I’m paying for your Lyft home.” It was the hostess who had taken you to your table. Her face saying she heard everything.

There was only one place you could think of to go, and it wasn’t home. With shaky hands you typed in the address, thanking the hostess. Then waited, still in the arms of the nice women who had come to your rescue.

“Thank you.” You whispered, eyes finally drying enough.

She tisked. “No need dear. I couldn’t let him talk to you like that. Howard, my husband, is making sure he doesn’t come out here while you’re still here. I’m Wanda by the way.” She reached in her pocket, pulling out a business card. “My husband and I are realtors. If you need anything. This number is my cell.”

You nodded, spilling the card in your purse as a car pulled up.

“Lyft for Y/N?” The female called through the window.

“That’s me.” You turned to Wanda, “thank you again, really. I. I don’t know what could have happened if you hadn’t stepped in.”

“I’ve got girls of my own and a son too. I couldn’t sit back and watch it go on. You go home and get some rest.” She opened the door and you climbed in, thankful for the quiet of the car.

The ride wasn’t long, but it felt like forever. Your mind was reliving the past 30 minutes over and over. Your jaw was hurting from trying not to cry in a strangers car. It was taking everything in you not to lose it, but the moment Ben opened the door you collapsed.

“Fuck.” He gasped, reaching for you before you were all the way down. “Y/N? Y/N what happened?” He was pulling you inside as you shook with sobs, clinging to him as if he might disappear.

“Shit.” You heard him whisper as he wrapped an arm around you, using the other to lift you. “Y/N. Talk to me what’s going on?”

You still couldn’t speak, just sobbed more and pressed your face into his shoulder as he carried you to the living room, keeping you in his lap as he sat.

And he let you cry. Gently rocking side to side, a hand softly rubbing your back as the other kept you against him. His breath was warm as he shushed you. His lips occasionally pressing against the crown of your head.

“Russ broke up with me.” You finally whispered against his chest, hiccups causing your body to jump. His entire body froze as you kept talking. “He’d...he was cheating on me. Has been for..for a while. Then, said the only reason he stayed with me was for the sex.” Another hiccup had you gasping for a moment. “Everyone in the restaurant heard him….I think I’m going to be sick.”

You jumped out of his lap, running to the bathroom under the stairs and dry heaved. The tears started again, as nothing came up, but Ben’s general fingers were pulling your hair back just in time.

“It’s okay. It’ll all be okay.” His voice was general as he stood there. Then once you were flopped on the floor, he handed you a glass of water.

“Why me, what did I do? Why wasn’t I good enough?” You sniffed. How many tears could someone cry? “I’m sorry.”

“No. There’s no need to be sorry. Here.” He extended his hand. “Let’s go upstairs and get you cleaned up.”

The only sound in the house were your hiccups and both your feet walking up the steps. He led you to his bathroom, handing you a toothbrush. As you brushed your teeth he went back to his room, returning with one of his hoodies and shorts.

Your face was a mess, and you almost started crying again looking at how different you looked now compared to just two or so hours earlier. Eyeliner and mascara streaked your face, eyeshadow was smeared everywhere, and your hair was all over the place. Not to mention how red and swollen your eyes were.

“Up.” Ben said, patting the space beside the sink and pulling out some makeup wipes. “I want you to know something.” His voice was a whisper as he gently started removing your makeup. “You are so strong and amazing, Y/N. I know it hurts now, but I promise it’ll get better. And I’ll be here through it all with you.” He placed a soft kiss on your now clean forehead. “You are beautiful, and smart, and funny. Russ is a moron for what he did.” He finished with your eyes and pushed your chin up to look at him. “But that’s his fault. He’s the dumbass who fucked up. Not you. It’s not your fault. Okay?”

Tears were threatening to fall again as you pinched your lips and nodded. As you looked away you saw the mess on his shoulder from your makeup. “Oh. I’m s-“

He put a finger to your mouth. “It’s a shirt. It’ll wash out. Please, Y/N, stop apologizing.”

The two of you were silent as he finished wiping your face. Then he gently brushed out your hair, braiding it behind you.

He stepped away, letting you get off the sink. “Alright. You, bed. I’m going to go make you some tea.”

You just nodded, exhaustion weighing every movement down as you buried yourself in his bed.

Ben's bed was always one you preferred over your own. It was the perfect amount of softness and firmness. His duvet was light as a cloud but still warm. And his sheets always smelled like him.

“Y/N?”

You grunted in response, moving the blanket down.

“Tea, love.” Carefully he joined you, passing you the tea once you were sitting up comfortably. “It’ll help with your stomach.”

Ben turned the tv on to a movie you'd each seen a few times as you sipped the tea that was made just how you liked it.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess.” You whispered to your empty tea cup. There were so many thoughts swimming in your head, yet you felt empty. Drained physically and emotionally.

Ben took the cup and sat it on the nightstand before gently placing both hands on your face. His green eyes unyielding at his seriousness. Yet his voice was just as gentle as it was all night. “Please stop apologizing. I’m serious. There is nothing you need to tell me sorry for.” His thumb swiped at a tear as you nodded. “Your feelings are valid. You have every right to be upset and to show how upset you are. And I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here through all the tears and for anything you need.”

Your body relaxed, his hands the only thing holding you up. After another nod from you, he pressed his lips against your head, holding them there for a bit before pulling you to lay with him.

The gentleness of his hand rubbing your back, and the rhythm of his heart beat relaxed you more. And you knew, even if it was just for tonight, that you were safe and that he was right, even if it’s not okay right now it will be. That was the last thought you had as you drifted off to sleep, thankful to forget the events of the day even if only for a few hours. Knowing Ben would be there when you woke up to keep you grounded. Just has he always had been.

#ben hardy #ben hardy fic #bff ben

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ofmythsandmadness · 4 years

Text

prompts & requests.

SO...I never meant to delay this for so long, I’m so sorry for this, but I’m excited to rejuvenate this page -- I’m quite bad with tumblr, but I just hit 350 followers and I figured I’d put in a second dime for trying to make this little account work. People seem to like my little writings (which surprises me tbh, but I appreciate the love) and I’ve gotten a lot of questions about requests, so here’s the masterpost of all that for here!

PLEASE NOTE: I don’t use Tumblr too regularly, I’m trying to be more active but because of life & stuff, I’m not always active to write. Plus, just because you request something, doesn’t mean I will automatically be able to give that! It takes time, inspiration, and often the ability to form a sentence, which weirdly I struggle with. Way too often.

ALSO! please feel free to check out the kofi link in my bio (can’t link it here bc tumblr doesn’t like links and this won’t show up at all) and buy me a coffee if you feel like it! please don’t if you can’t and i’m not trying to force, guilt or forcibly nudge anyone to do it, it’s just if you can and want to support me, that’d be real sweet. :)

WHO I WRITE FOR...most people look at this acc for tua writings, which i’ve got an abundance of! I’m quite fine with any requests of any characters, except for five (unless like it’s some aged up version of him; I don’t feel comfy writing about him and I just don’t care to). I also will write for a lot of other fandoms if you ask for them: those including marvel, stranger things (those of age, i’m not writing stories about minors), harry potter and a couple others. Just ask me, I’ll let you know if I write for the fandom & we can move from there, darling. :)

HOW TO REQUEST...I prefer not too many details in a request, just so I still feel inspired to write the piece. So, if you’re asking based on a prompt below, tell me the number(s), the character you’re looking for, and any details you feel necessary to add! Remember, nothing too specific, like don’t give me the entire plot but things like genre, atmosphere, details on the reader are okay. I usually write either genderless or female reader (I try to stick with the former to be accommodating) but you can ask for a specifically gender-neutral or female/male reader too. This also applies to fics you want garnered to a specific section of the LGBTQIA+ community (for example, if you wanted a lesbian reader with Vanya Hargreeves). I try not to add any details to appearance to the story so that everyone can enjoy the fic, but again you can ask for any specific and I will try my best to accomodate for you lovelies.

REQUEST EXAMPLE - “Can you write something with prompt number 3 and 17? Preferably with a gender-neutral reader, and with Allison Hargreeves? I’d like it to be a happy fic, please, and for the reader to not have any powers. Also, they’re a cat person! Thanks!”

Obviously, I know most people know what’s up and are respectful. But just in case you wanted an example, there you go. :)

PROMPTS LIST

(these were made by me and to my knowledge, they’re not used elsewhere, only some were taken off my last requests list. also, feel free to mix + match and ask for as many as you want)

Quote Based Prompts:

1. ‘I think I’m falling for you,’ clumsy character. 2. ‘C’mon, this is definitely safe!’ 3. ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’ + ‘Why, is there something you want to tell me?’ 4. ‘Shut up about your black coffee aesthetic and try my (insert here) drink.’ 5. ‘I’m only asking for a hug because I forgot my coat and you’re like a human furnace...don’t get any ideas.’ 6. ‘Just five more minutes.’ 7. ‘And you’re sure this isn’t illegal?’ 8. ‘Wanna go get married?’ 9. ‘I love you” “don’t lie to me’ 10. ‘I hate you’ + ‘no, you don’t.’ 11. ‘let’s dance to taylor swift and forget about reality for a moment, please.’ 12. ‘why don’t you trust me?’ 13. ‘promise me, we’ll make it out of this alive.’ 14. ‘we can’t just pushing each other away and expecting things are going to change.’ 15. ‘why are you helping me?’ 16. ‘tell me a secret.’ 17. ‘you can’t friend-zone me, we’re married!’ 18. ‘is this the end?’ 19. ‘I let you win.’ 20. ‘go away’ + ‘no, not until I know you’re okay’ 21. ‘we were supposed to be forever.’ 22. ‘nothing’s fair in love and war.’ 23. ‘I want to be here for the good and the bad.’ 24. ‘So...what happened this time?’ 25. ‘I just really wanted to see you.’ 26. ‘Uh, that’s the whole point?!’ 27. ‘You cut your hair?’ + ‘I just needed a change.’ 28. ‘I can’t lose you too, dammit!’ 29. ‘Don’t lie, you’re a hopeless romantic at heart.’ 30. ‘Can we keep it?!’ 31. ‘Why can’t this happen like it does in the movies?!’ 32. ‘Can you come with me? It’s just to get gum, but I don’t want to be alone.’ 33. ‘I made muffins!’ + ‘You can bake?!’ 34. ‘I can’t sleep.’ + ‘We can share.’ 35. ‘It used to be so simple...’ 36. ‘STOP SINGING THAT SONG OR-’ + ‘-or what?’ 37. ‘I just wanted to tell you...you look really nice tonight.’ 38. ‘Ooh, show me, show me!’ 39. ‘I really wish I could paint, because you’re the perfect muse right now.’ 40. ‘Where’d you learn how to do that?’ 41. ‘Hey, it’s okay...you’re safe now.’ 42. ‘Am I in heaven?’ + ‘Aw, you think I’m your idea of heaven?’ 43. ‘I’m not crying!’ + ‘Oh, so it’s normal for your eyes to leak like that?’ 44. ‘Why wouldn’t you tell me that sooner?!’ 45. ‘What do you think of kids?’ 46. ‘Do you think I’m a good person?’ 47. ‘Don’t look down.’ + ‘You’re only telling me that now?!’ 48. ‘It’s okay...it’s going to be okay...’ 49. ‘I didn’t think it would hurt so much to do this.’ 50. ‘Nerd.’ + ‘Loser.’ 51. ‘Wait, you actually came?’ 52. ‘You didn’t notice the one bed before?!’ + ‘It didn’t say on the website!’ 53. ‘I’m in the hospital, but don’t worry--’ + ‘Don’t worry?!’ 54.��‘Yeah, I was jealous. So what?’ 55. ‘Did you know you talk when you sleep?’ 56. ‘Of course I kept it. Why wouldn’t I?’ 57. ‘I can’t get you out of my head...’ 58. ‘I made you it because I love you, duh.’ 59. ‘I trust you.’ 60. ‘How am I supposed to trust you?!’ 61. ‘You have to start getting better excuses.’ 62. ‘I think they like you!’ 63. ‘I swear if you sing baby it’s cold outside ONE MORE TIME--’ 64. ‘You’re telling me you don’t know all the words to Promiscuous? Who are you?!’ 65. ‘I only went along with it for your sake, you know I hate (insert here).’ 66. ‘Hold my hand but only so we don’t get lost. I don’t need you getting any ideas about us.’ 67. ‘Loosen up, jackass, and give in to evil a little more!’ 68. ‘You didn’t respond to any of my texts, so I assumed you were either dying or crying. I brought answers to both situations.’ 69. ‘That’s it. I’m officially convinced that you’re actually three years old.’

Situation Based Prompts: 1. Person A refuses to dress for the cold and gets sick; Person B is stuck taking care of them afterwards. 2. Person A finds a stray and wants to take it home, but Person B isn’t so interested. 3. Coffee Shop AU; Person A shows up every Saturday to work, and Person B becomes infatuated with the mysterious person. 4. Person A wants to watch a scary movie. Person B accepts, too chicken to admit they’re terrified of horror movies. 5. Person A falls asleep, and Person B plays with their hair. 6. Person A and B wake up hungover and realise that they got married last night. 7. ‘Oh...you love them’, where Person A realises that their real feelings for Person B. 8. Person A is a Christmas enthusiast, but Person B hates the holiday season. 9. (School Based Prompt); Person A doesn’t know how to talk to Person B, and decides to pretend to need help in a subject they definitely don’t need help with. 10. Person A decides to confess their feelings to Person B through a series of anonymous gifts...only they aren’t who B suspects behind it all... 11. Person A and B have a Catwoman/Batman type relationship, dancing around one another and ignoring their obvious feelings. 12. Younger!Person A and B shared their first kiss with each other -- not because of feelings, JUST to get it over with. It never meant anything, right? 13. There’s only a little bit of time left for Person A...will they make it to B, in time? 14. (Flower Shop AU) Person A comes in every day to purchase the same single flower every time, and Person B has no clue why. 15. (Villain/Hero AU) Person A goes home to find B in their bed, bleeding and fast asleep. 16. Person A has a fear of driving. Person B finally asks why. 17. (School Based AU) Person A and B get paired together to complete a project worth a lot of their grade. The only problem? They hate each other. 18. (Coffee Shop AU) Person A comes in every day with a different name and sunglasses on, ordering the same thing every time. And Person B is obsessed. 19. Person A has a hard day at work. Person B doesn’t know what they should do to help. 20. Person A finally finds out about Person B’s big secret -- only, it doesn’t come from Person B. 21. Person A is the most oblivious person in the world. Person B is slowly losing their mind over it. 22. Everyone thinks that Person A and C are meant to be together, and it’s only A and B who really, really don’t see it. 23. And they were roommates (oh my god, they were roommates...) 24. Person A’s roommate’s boyfriend is over again, and they escape to Person B’s for peace of mind. 25. Person A finds a random bag and is determined to return it to the owner -- only, all the clues she has for who the person really is, is in the contents of the bag. 26. (Party Based Prompt) Person A and B really, really didn’t want to go to the party. But maybe meeting one another makes it worth it. 27. Person A and B go laser-tagging for some stress relief. 28. There’s a Halloween party and neither A or B knows who the other is going as. But the (insert costume) standing in the corner is looking rather suspicious... 29. (Apocalypse AU) Person A and B have been struggling for months alone, and finally reach something that gives them hope. 30. Person A and B both head to the roof for some escape. They definitely didn’t expect to see someone in their special place... 31. Person A works really late shifts downtown; Person B always makes sure they’re there to give them a ride, no matter how inconvenient it is. 32. Person A forgets about changing their emergency contact, and this backfires when they end up in the hospital... 33. (Soulmate AU) In a world where people don’t age past 21 until they meet their soulmate, Person A is surprised to learn that the partner they’ve been with for four years hasn’t aged a day -- but they have. 34. (Airport AU) Everything shuts down in a last-minute snowstorm, leaving two strangers stranded. 35. (School AU) Everyone ships Teacher A and B together, and scheme to finally set them up. 36. Person A and B ride the train together every day. 37. (Doctor AU) Person A has to take Person C to the doctors. Much to both surprise, Person A falls quickly for the Doctor who comes in (Person B) -- and Person C takes it upon themselves to let B know. 38. (Neighbours AU) Person A is tired of hearing Person B being so loud so late at night -- especially when they have to get up super early. They finally decide to confront them on it. 39. (Soulmate AU) Everyone has the same cuts, bruises and scars as their soulmate, which really freaks out Person A, who becomes determined to find their soulmate to make them stop getting hurt. 40. Person A and B are hiding their relationship from everyone. They’re not very good at it. 41. Person A finally trusts Person B to meet their (insert here); the last step in their relationship. 42. Person A sends their text to the LAST person they wanted to send it to: Person B. 43. (Delivery Person AU) Person A somehow always manages to be the one to sign for the office packages...does Person B have anything to do with it? (Also, why does A keep buying so much stuff?!) 44. (Arranged Marriage) Person A is being forced into a marriage to Person C neither they or Person B wants. But B might just have a plan out... 45. (Bodyguard AU) Person A always knew that Person C was rich, but never rich enough to need a legit bodyguard. But when C’s father’s company is threatened, they call in the big dogs -- and they’re cute, too. Aka...A makes a point to catch the attention of Person B at any time possible, much to their upset. 46. (University AU) Person A needs a model. Person B needs a way to occupy their afternoon. Thus, a deal is struck. 47. Person A is a private detective hired to work the case on a mysterious murder (that strangely, Person C doesn’t want getting out). Person B is C’s lead suspect, but A can’t help but feel like they’re not the real culprit... 48. Person A drags Person B along onto a roadtrip across the country to go visit their oddball grandparents. But things go south quickly. 49. Person A gets robbed, and has no one to call when they can’t shake the nightmares but Person B. 50. Person A can manipulate time, but only by an hour. Person B doesn’t know this, but gets suspicious when they see A do something very, very weird... (you can supply more details for this one) 51. (Neighbours AU) Person A and B have the thinnest walls ever, which would suck, but they both oddly have the exact same taste in music. It’s nice; if only they got to meet. 52. (Store AU) Person A and B get locked into their work’s freezer for the night. 53. (Coffee Shop AU) Person B has never met Person A; they always miss them by only a minute. They do, however, manage to sit at the exact same table every day and pick up the piece of art they leave for the next customer. 54. Person A has loved Person B their entire life. Too bad they’ll never get to tell them. 55. (Diner AU) Person A meets Person B at three in the morning when they stumble in soaked. They’re surprised, when they show up again...and again...at the exact same time. 56. (5+1) Five times Person A told Person B they loved them, and the one time Person B finally said it back. 57. (5+1) The five times Person A surprises Person B, and the one time Person B surprises A. 58. (5+1) The five times Person A broke Person B’s heart, and the one time they didn’t. 59. (5+1) The five times Person A saved Person B...and the one time Person B couldn’t save A. 60. (5+1) The five times A and B almost meet, and the first time they finally do. 61. (5+1) The five times Person A lies to Person B, and the one time they finally tell the truth. 62. Person B is like, super allergic to dogs. But Person A doesn’t need to know that. 63. Person A has no clue how to tell Person B how they feel. So, they make a playlist. 64. Person A and B accidentally switch luggage at the airport.

Happy requesting, darlings.

#diego hargreeves x reader #luther hargreeves x reader #allison hargreeves x reader #ben hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves x reader #vanya hargreeves x reader #lila pitts x reader #mine #requests #peter parker x reader #michelle jones x reader #ned leeds x reader #harry potter x reader #hp x reader

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when-they-write-stuff · 4 years

Text

For the fic prompts bc these three were overwhelmingly asked: “I’m dying and I’m confessing my love for you” & “I’m scared but won’t admit it so you take my hand” & “You took a bullet for me”

pairing: sterek

wc: 2604

warnings: open ending, violence

Sometimes, Stiles forgot that he was the most unlikely person in the pack to have a happy ending.

It struck him like a blow to the chest whenever he remembered that he was a human among wolves. Between the hunters, the constant threats, and the of the things that they faced on the daily, Stiles was the most likely to not make it through the fights.

He didn’t have super healing. He had a baseball bat and his wits and sometimes he realized that one day, that wasn’t going to be enough.

So yeah, Stiles always knew there was a chance he lost his happy ending. But he didn’t like to stop and focus on that.

It was a little depressing when he did.

Sitting bound in a dingy warehouse, Stiles once more reflected on these things. One day, he was so going to get out of Beacon Hills. He was going to get out of Beacon Hills and go somewhere far, far away where there were no hunters and no supernatural assholes to put him in the hospital every other week.

Stiles was not a fan.

He was very firmly trying to avoid looking at the werewolf opposite him, but that wasn’t easy. Stiles didn’t understand how whenever he was kidnapped, Derek seemed to be there with him. The man had supernatural strength; Stiles didn’t. Derek was supposed to be the big badass that got them out of this, not hung in chains opposite of him.

Derek’s shirt hung off him in tatters and he was still unconscious. Stiles didn’t like looking at the empty bullet wound in his shoulder, where one of the hunters had dug the bullet out— much to Stiles’s retching.

Stiles just… he just… he was tired. Of this, of Beacon Hills. Shifting in his position on the floor, he worked his bound hands for a moment before sighing. Stiles was tired. Yeah, that’s what he was.

It took Derek a little longer to wake up.

The man came back to consciousness angry, snarling, and flashing his red eyes. Stiles waited in his spot until Derek’s fight had died down and then he sighed, raising an eyebrow at the man.

“Why good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Stiles, what the hell is this?”

“A good question,” Stiles said. Then he furrowed his brows and backtracked. “Actually, no it’s not. I totally get being kidnapped out of the literal school parking lot for this token human but dude, what the hell? How did they get you?”

Derek shifted again and then winced. He flexed his arm and Stiles flinched away as the bullet wound in his shoulder started to bleed again. “I was shot.”

“I noticed.”

“With wolfsbane.”

“Shut up, Sourwolf, I got to watch the whole ‘digging it out’ process, so you don’t even have room to talk. I’m pretty sure was more painful for me than it was for you because you were unconscious and I was retching.”

Derek rolled his eyes. He moved again and the chains clanged together. The man tugged on them, shifted around once more, and then sighed.

“Have they hurt you?”

Stiles snorted. The man gave him a flat look.

“When they come, don’t fight back.”

“I’m well-rehearsed on being kidnapped every other week, dude. I know the basics of not getting myself killed.”

“I’m serious, Stiles.”

“So am I!”

A little bit of red leaked into the man’s eyes. But before he could say another word, the door of the warehouse opened and Stiles straightened as a new hunter came into sight. Stiles didn’t recognize him from earlier, but he did recognize the cattle prod in his hand and that sent a jolt of fear shuddering down his spine.

The hunter didn’t even acknowledge him, though. He went straight to Derek, head tilting as he studied the man’s shoulder. Then he pressed a thumb into it and Stiles shied back as Derek snarled.

“Oh,” the man said. “That looks painful.”

“Asshole.”

Stiles hadn’t really meant to say that aloud but it slipped out anyway. The hunter turned around, one eyebrow raising, and Stiles cursed himself silently.

“The boy who runs with wolves,” the man said, moving closer. “Don’t like seeing your mutt get hurt?”

“Can we skip the back and forth and jump straight into why the hell we’re here?” Stiles said, raising his chin despite Derek’s soft growls. “Cause I’m a teenager and not a werewolf, and I’m pretty sure you hunters are supposed to have a code.”

“Not a werewolf,” the man said, waving a hand through the air. “Not a mutt. Just a boy in over his head playing with the wolves.”

Stiles glared. The man smirked.

“You’re not here for much. A little bit of incentive, a little bit of bait. I’m hoping your dog will talk when I ask him about the rest of his pack but we can’t count on that, now can we?”

“Screw you.”

Stiles only got a thin-lipped smile. The hunter turned back toward Derek, who snarled again. Suddenly, the cattle prod was pressing against the man’s shoulder, Stiles heard the buzz of electricity, and he screwed his eyes tightly shut as Derek screamed.

“Tell me about the rest of the mutts,” the hunter said. “I’m curious.”

Silence reigned. Then Stiles heard the spark of electricity again and flinched automatically as Derek’s shout filled the air once more.

“I’m not a terribly patient man, Hale.”

When Stiles opened his eyes again, Derek was just glaring. The hunter smirked and let the prod buzz again, his smirk widening at Derek’s wince. Stiles tried to swallow down a litany of curses, meeting Derek’s eyes from over the hunter’s shoulder. He offered his best nod and could’ve sworn Derek’s glare softened a little.

Stiles wasn’t sure how many hours passed after that.

He kept thinking that sooner or later, Scott and the rest of the pack would come bursting through the warehouse doors and everything would be okay. But that never happened. By the time Derek was hanging heavy and limp in the chairs, and the hunter turned toward Stiles with a sick grin, hours had passed. And Stiles was pretty sure they were alone.

They were alone in this.

He finally let himself curse as the hunter untied the ropes and pulled Stiles to his feet. The man dragged him across the room and shoved him back to his knees in front of Derek, and Stiles really tried to not let his panic show. But he was pretty sure he failed as red bled into Derek’s eyes and once more, the man yanked on his chains.

“Come on, Hale,” the hunter said. “Do you really want me to make you choose? I hate to make you choose.”

“Don’t touch him.”

“And there you have it. So, tell me. The human or the pack?”

“Don’t,” Stiles said. “Don’t, Derek, dammit—”

He cut off as something buzzed and then Stiles screamed, unable to hold it in. The electricity that jumped through his body like fire and he’d never wanted to experience something like this. Ever. Derek roared and yanked forward, chains clanging, and Stiles was pretty sure it was only the hunter’s grip that kept him from dropping sideways.

His vision spotted. He wondered if this was what happened when someone put a fork in a power outlet. The hunter carded a hand through Stiles’s hair and tightened his grip, pulling his chin up a little.

“Got anything to say, Hale?”

“Stiles—”

“Don’t,” Stiles said, cutting him off. “Don’t, Derek. I’m fine, I’m okay, and I—”

Electricity jolted through his entire body again. Stiles bit down another scream, just making a warbling noise of pain this time. Derek looked utterly broken.

Stiles’s chest rose and fell in pants. He was definitely only being held up by the hunter’s grip on his hair now. He was pretty sure he could taste something iron in his mouth. Or maybe that was just his heart pounding all the way up in his skull.

“I don’t think the boy can take as many of these as you can, Hale,” the hunter said, dragging the cattle prod across Stiles’s shoulder but not turning it on. Stiles smothered a whimper and Derek flinched. “Do you really want to play this game?”

Derek didn’t say a word. His eyes never left Stiles’s face.

The hunter sighed and Stiles tensed. But the man only pulled the cattle prod back. For a moment, all he could do was blink in confusion.

Then there was a click and Stiles went stock-still as the cool muzzle of a handgun touched his temple. His heart leaped into his throat and Derek yanked forward again, teeth snapping.

“Don’t!”

“I don’t want to, mutt. Don’t make me shoot a teenager.”

“Please,” Derek said. “Don’t.”

“Tell me about the rest of the werewolves in Beacon Hills.”

Derek looked back at Stiles with terror in his eyes. Stiles tried to shake his head but then the hunter pressed the gun more firmly against his head and all he could do was close his eyes, body tensing up. For a moment, silence reigned.

The hunter sighed. Stiles shivered at the sound.

But suddenly, there was the distant ringing of gunshots and a series of shouts. The hunter straightened, pulling the gun away, and Stiles took that moment to leap for his abandoned cattle prod. Derek shouted his name, Stiles rolled, and then electricity cut through the air once more.

The hunter hit the ground. Stiles shoved himself up, racing toward Derek as the warehouse doors burst open and the fighting spilled in.

“Stiles, go,” Derek said, pulling away as he approached. “Get out of here.”

“Shut up, Sourwolf.” Stiles looked over the chains and then retreated back toward the hunter, searching him for the key. The man groaned and Stiles jabbed the cattle prod back into his gut, turning it on again. The man convulsed a few times before going still again.

Stiles turned back toward Derek, quickly unlocking his chains. The man all but dropped and Stiles only just managed to catch him. Derek leaned heavily against his side, one arm slung over Stiles’s shoulder.

“Okay, big guy. Let’s get you out of here. Yeah?”

Derek just grunted, face turned into Stiles’s neck. Then he tensed. Stiles gave him a confused look before he heard the click of a trigger. The echo of a gunshot.

Stiles’s blood went cold.

Derek shouted his name as he moved without thinking, dropping the man and angling his body sideways. For a moment, Stiles felt nothing. And then he felt everything— it was like he’d been punched in the stomach. Stiles gasped, stumbling back, and when he placed a hand to his stomach, it came back wet. Red. The smell of iron filled his nose.

Stiles dropped to the floor, gasping in pain.

Faintly, he could hear the sound of the fighting going on a little ways away. Derek roared, there was a blur of movement, and then a scream that cut off. Stiles closed his eyes, clawing at the wound, and then Derek dropped down beside him, gentle fingers cupping his head.

“Stiles, fuck, Stiles.”

“That was dumb,” Stiles said, snorting weakly. “Oh my god, that was so dumb, right? I don’t think the bullet was wolfsbane.”

“It’s still in you.”

“Oh. That’s… that’s not good, right?”

Derek looked downright terrified. Stiles still tried to find the wound, fingers scrabbling weakly, but his stomach was slippery with blood now. And it hurt. It hurt so bad.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, and Stiles realized he’d said all of that out loud. He tried to laugh but ended up gasping in pain, the taste of iron filling his mouth.

“I’m not used to the unhappy endings,” Stiles said, blood staining his teeth. He was terrified, to be honest, heart pounding against his chest as fear crashed over him. But he still offered up his best grin, before squeezing his eyes tightly shut and taking another gasping breath. “I always hoped I’d get someone other than an unhappy ending. Kinda stupid, right?”

“Shut up,” Derek growled. The man’s eyes searched him up and down, very obviously ignoring the bullet wound. “Shut up, you’re going to be fine.”

Stiles didn’t think so. His throat tightened and he realized he wasn’t going to be fine. This didn’t have a simple solution. This didn’t have an easy way out. And it… it was going to kill his dad.

This was going to kill his dad.

Derek’s voice brought him back to reality, hand squeezing Stiles’s tightly as he looked back up at the man’s face. Stiles didn’t understand why Derek looked so pained until he realized his cheeks were damp, tears sliding down in streaks. Stiles barked a shuddering laugh, before taking a gasping breath again.

“Sorry, Sourwolf. I’m not being emotional, I swear.”

“Stop talking, Stiles.”

“You don’t want me to stop talking,” Stiles said. “What if this is the last time you get to hear me ramble again? You’d regret telling me to shut up. You know you would.”

“It’s not the last of anything.”

“I’m just human, buddy,” Stiles said. His heart twisted and he held onto Derek’s hand tighter, like a life force. “I’m just human.”

“I know, Stiles.”

“I don’t heal like you do.”

“I know.”

“I’m dying, Derek.”

The man’s face twisted. Around them, the fighting had quieted, and Stiles startled when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. But they cut off sharply a little ways away and when he heard the croaky “S-Stiles?” he knew there was no way he was going to survive this.

“Scott could give you the bite,” Derek said quietly. Stiles blinked.

“What?”

“He doesn’t want it,” Scott said. “I won’t.”

“I didn’t want the bite,” Stiles said quietly, searching Derek’s face. “I never did.”

“You’re going to die, Stiles.”

One of the betas whined; Stiles wasn’t sure which. He curled his fingers into Derek’s sleeve and tried to shake his head, but he felt a little woozy now. Like he wasn’t fully there. Derek said something that he didn’t catch and he gripped the man’s hand tighter.

He didn’t want to die, Stiles realized. He didn’t want to leave his dad.

Or Derek.

Scott could do it. But Stiles didn’t want that. He searched Derek’s face, swallowing hard.

Words formed in his mouth but his tongue felt heavy. Sentences of ‘I want you to do it’ and ‘I don’t want to go’ all melded together. When Stiles finally managed to speak, a dozen things spinning through the heavy fog of his brain, the only thing that came out was ‘Want you’ and Derek’s eyes widened.

Stiles was pretty sure that’s not what he’d meant. But he couldn’t get anything else out. The world was dipping to grey around him. Stiles felt his eyelids fluttering closed, fingers curling into Derek’s sleeve even tighter until they slipped off.

He was dying and he was terrified.

He was terrified and unable to form words as Derek said his name over and over again. There was the sound of movement. Derek barked something that Stiles didn’t catch. And then he was being pulled into the man’s chest.

There was a pinch of something right above his collar bone. Stiles thought he cried out, but he wasn’t sure. He thought he felt blood trickle down his shoulder, as if he hadn’t already lost enough.

Someone was yelling.

And his last thought before everything went black was ‘Want you’.

He wanted Derek.

- -

Oh, this one was fun. I don’t usually write open endings but I didn’t want to launch into a 5k+ story just yet so... there could be another part at some point? Perhaps. I hope you all enjoyed!

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your struggling student writer? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

#sterek #prompts #teen wolf #derek x stiles #derek hale #stiles stilinski #the hale pack #all the angst

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