#she hasn’t wished me a happy birthday in two years fuck dude

[neonkoii]

something something the unspeakable hurt of drifting away from someone you thought you’d be friends with forever

[headheartbellarke]

EIGHTEEN | Charlie Gillespie

PAIRING(s): Charlie Gillespie x sister’s best friend!fem reader

WARNING(s): mentions of abuse, trauma, fluff

WORDS: 3.9k

SUMMARY: “So kiss me where I lay down

My hands pressed to your cheeks

A long way from the playground

I have loved you since we were 18

Long before we both thought the same thing

To be loved and to be in love

All I can do is say that these arms

Are made for holding you.”

READ ON AO3 

OR READ HERE BELOW

    Charlie smiles, watching the sunlight dance on Y/N’s face, almost like little splashes of golden paint. She hums to whatever song is playing through her earphones, a faint smile teasing the corners of her lips. Her eyes are closed, and Charlie marvels at how peaceful and serene she looks. Her h/c hair surrounds her head like a halo, and he is tempted to reach forward and press a kiss to her temple.

  He doesn’t do that, of course. Instead, he gets up from his couch and joins Y/N on the floor, lying beside her. Her eyelashes flutter at his movement and quaint, kind e/c eyes hold his stare, eyebrows raised in question.

  “I thought you said that you were too mighty for the floor.” She teases, biting her lower lip to hide a smile. Charlie almost melts at that.

  “I never said that. Is everything okay up there?” He points his index finger at her head.

  The young woman of nineteen laughs mockingly. “Why, afraid you’re rubbing off your crazy on me?”

  Charlie rolls his eyes, and shifts closer to her, their arms touching slightly – and even that slight touch makes him feels butterflies in his stomach. It’s not uncommon, of course. Ever since he realized that he is indeed in love with her, anything that she does gives him butterflies. He doesn’t mind, of course – but he hates the fact that he is unable to tell her what effect she has on him. So, he resorts to ignoring or suppressing everything he feels for his little sister’s best friend instead.

  She pulls out an ear pod from her left ear and shoves it into Charlie’s ear. Eastside. She’s had this song on repeat, ever since she came to visit him in Vancouver, where he’s filming for the first season of Julie and The Phantoms.

  “I love this song. Reminds me of my first boyfriend. Remember him?” She says, softly.

  “Aaron. How could I forget? You begged me to cover for you at home so you could hang out with him.” He says, smiling softly at the memory. They were so young, Y/N just fourteen, and him sixteen. He remembers Y/N sitting beside him on the couch while he was watching a movie, all flushed and bothered, eyes continuously flitting to Charlie. He remembers saying, “I know you’re dying to tell me something.”

  She had nodded, looking around the Gillespies’ living room where they were currently seated in, apprehensively. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

  He had jutted out his pinky finger and wrapped it around hers. “Never.”

  “I think I really, really, super-duper like Aaron.”

  “Aaron as in your next-door neighbor?”

  “Yep.”

  Charlie had smirked. “He’s such a dork. I can’t believe that you like him.”

  “Shut up, Char. He’s the sweetest.”

  He chuckled. “His hobby is taking pictures of trees… if that doesn’t scream ‘dork’, then I don’t know what does.”

  She had glared at him while Megan had entered the room, plopping down on the couch beside Charlie. “What’s up?”

  “I’m telling him about Aaron, and he thinks that he’s a dork.”

  Megan shrugged. “What’s wrong with that? He’s really cute. Also, he was asking about you today.”

  “Really?” Y/N’s eyes brightened. Charlie laughed, shaking his head. “You girls are weird. But I approve. He’s a nice kid.”

  “I wasn’t looking for your approval?”

  “Yes, you were.”

  The girls had rolled their eyes at him and he had wrapped his arms around the two.

  Y/N’s voice brings him back to the present. “Simple times.”

  Charlie faces her. “Everyone after him were horrible.”

  She narrows her eyes at the boy beside her. “No, you were just too overprotective.”

  “Nope. They were all horrible.”

  They weren’t. Charlie just hated anyone who showed an interest in Y/N. At first, he thought that it was probably because he had literally watched her grow up. But a couple of months later, when he watched her kiss Levitt from the swim team, he had felt a smoldering rage rise in his stomach, along with his heart clenching. That day, he had realized that maybe there was more to it than watching her grow up. A couple more months later, on his eighteenth birthday, when she had kissed him on his cheek and handed him a present wrapped in shiny, blue paper, he had felt butterflies in his stomach. He also could feel the ghost of her delicate lips against his skin for days after, like the remnants of a fire brushing against his cheek.

  When he unwrapped the present, he found a vintage, hardbound copy of his favorite book, Les Misérables, along with a note, saying: ‘I might’ve read your journal. Only the part about how much you loved hardcovers and the part about how much you hated the fact that no bookstores nearby sold it. Well, I also might’ve read the part about how frustrated you are with microwave timers. I feel you, dude. But, yeah, remember when I said that I was going to visit my sister in Montoc? I lied, LOL. I went to a vintage bookstore in Fredericton. I’m sorry for lying, but ‘twas for a good reason, huh? Hope you like this. Also, you’re my second favorite person, after Meg. Happy 18th, Charles. Love, Y/N.’

  That moment he had realized that he was completely, utterly, truly, madly, deeply in love with his little sister’s best friend.

  It’s been about three years since that, and he still hasn’t told her how he feels.

  Now, Y/N looks at him, and rolls her eyes. “Sheesh.”

  She props herself on her elbow. “When are we going out today?”

  “Jeremy said that he made a reservation at 6. So, we’ll leave half an hour earlier.”

  “Okay. Is Owen going with us?”

  “Yeah. I don’t trust him to drive in Canada.”

  She grins. “He’s cool.”

  “Maybe sometimes.”

  “Savannah and Madi are the coolest, though.”

  “Definitely, yeah.”

  “You never told me that you had a cute roomie, though.”

  “Yeah – wait what?”

  Y/N flashes him a teasing smile and pushes herself upward with the palm of her hands. She brushes off her yoga pants and extends an arm to Charlie who is currently panicking inside.

  “Do you like Owen?”

  “What if I do?”

  Charlie must have looked as horrified as he had felt because she laughs and says, “I’m just messing with you.”

  “Thank god.”

***

  “Finally!” Y/N yells, kicking off her black, leather heels, which land near Charlie’s feet. He laughs, kicking them to the side.

  “You’re so dramatic.”

  “I dare you to wear heels like that for a day. See how you feel.”

  Owen pipes from behind them, closing the door to their apartment. “Oh, I did. My friend Dani made me wear them for a video. It was the most painful day of my life.”

  “See!” Y/N high fives his roommate as Charlie scrunches up his face. “How’d she find heels in your size, dude?”

  He laughs, and extends an arm toward the other two, who hand him their coats, muttering ‘thank you’ individually. He walks inside, yelling, “I’m fucking tired. Going to sleep.”

  “Don’t forget to check the stove!” Charlie yells back, hearing his roommate affirm his request.

  It’s just the two of them standing in the foyer now, and Charlie can’t stop staring at her. She’s wearing this beautiful red dress that compliments her skin perfectly, clinging to her body in all the right places – he had himself gifted her this dress on her nineteenth birthday. (Not really. His mother had picked the dress.)

  She hasn’t noticed him staring, though.

  “Ugh, I can’t wait to get out of this dress.” She walks inside.

  Charlie pauses and purses his lips, trying to stop himself from picturing him doing it. He breathes out raggedly and follows her inside – trying (and failing) to shove that mental picture away.

  Reaching the living room, he falls back onto the couch, which has been his bed for the past few days that Y/N has been here. She had protested, of course. But she already has so much trouble sleeping – she’s had it ever since she was a child.

  Y/N hadn’t had the best childhood. Charlie faintly remembers his mom pulling him and his sister into the kitchen one day when Y/N left their house after spending the whole day there.

  “Mom? What happened to Y/N?” Megan had asked, childlike innocence dripping off her tone.

  Charlie had nodded, saying, “How’d she fall down the stairs? That bruise looked nasty.”

  Their mother had sighed, and Charlie still remembers the pain in her eyes. “Honey. I want you to listen carefully, okay? And not tell anyone. You two think you can do that?”

  They nodded enthusiastically.

  “There are good people in this world – like Y/N. But there are also bad people, people who hurt the good people. And sometimes, sometimes, your parents can also be bad people.”

  “That’s not true!” Megan had protested, their mother smiling.

  “Maybe not for you. I hope so. But Y/N’s parents – they aren’t the best people, okay? They…uh… I’m not going to excuse their actions. They, uh, hurt Y/N.”

  “So, they pushed her down the stairs?” Charlie asked, his eyes widened. He could not understand how the people that loved you the most could do that to you, especially to someone like Y/N. He’s known her his entire life, ever since the Y/L/Ns moved next door when he was still in diapers.

  “I don’t know. Something happened. She was too shaken up to talk about it.”

  “But – but – she’s the best person ever! Why would her mom and dad do that to her?” Megan had protested, eyes welling with tears at the thought of her best friend getting hurt.

  “I don’t know, honey. I wish I did, I really do.” Their mother paused for a long moment. “I want you two to always be nice to her, alright? No matter what happens. Because, right now, she feels alone. I can see it in her eyes – she’s scared, confused, lonely. I know you two love her so much, and I want you guys to make sure that she knows it, okay? Make sure that she never feels lonely, all right? Make sure that she’s always safe and comfortable, as long as she’s with us, you.”

  They had nodded, their hearts welling up with love for their friend.

  After their mother hugged the two of them, Charlie’s twelve-year-old sister had run off to the other room, to call her best friend and tell her just how much she loves her.

  Charlie had lingered in the kitchen, too sad over what he’d just been told.

  “Maman?”

  “Yes, honey?”

  “Can’t we just keep her for ourselves?”

  “If we could, we would. I would like nothing more. But that’s absolutely not legal, mon chéri.”

  “Oh. That’s unfair.”

  His mother had flashed him a sad smile. He had taken both of his hands in his, and said sincerely, “I promise you, maman. I’m always gonna protect her. No matter what.”

  His mother had pressed a kiss into his tousled hair and whispered, “I expect nothing less.”

  It’s been more than seven years since, but Charlie still does everything in his power to make sure that she is always safe and happy.

  “Hey, Char?” Her voice brings him back from his childhood.

  “Yeah?”

  “That couch doesn’t look comfortable.” She shrugged one shoulder.

  “It is! I promise you.” He lied. It definitely wasn’t comfortable. The blinding pain in his neck is proof of that.

  “Don’t lie to me. Come on, sleep in your bed.”

  He shook his head.

  “You’re not gonna sleep on the couch, Y/N. Seriously. You’re right, it’s too uncomfortable.”

  “I wasn’t gonna. We’ll sleep together. That came out wrong. I mean, we can both sleep in the same bed, we’re both adults.”

  Charlie wanted to protest, but the hopeless romantic in him drowned all objections.

  “We’ll put pillows between us, okay? And it’s not like we haven’t slept in the same bed before. Remember my seventeenth? We were so drunk that we thought that the bed was a magnet, and we were screws.” She continued, looking away.

  Charlie smiled up at her, remembering the feeling he had the next morning when he had woken up to find Y/N curled up into him, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. “All right. If it’s okay with you.”

  She nods, walking into his bedroom, with Charlie following close behind. Both them wordlessly change and freshen up in the bathroom, and Charlie falls face first in his bed.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  Y/N laughs, sitting at the corner of his bed. “Knew it.”

  Charlie grins at her, feeling absolutely euphoric, especially with the buzz from all the drinks he’s had tonight still lingering in his head like a tattoo kiss. She slides under the covers, burrowing her face into the soft pillows. “I can’t function anymore. Bye.”

  He laughs softly, squeezing her shoulder, to which she softly smiles. He slides under the cover, resting on his side to face her, or rather a mess of h/c hair and soft, rhythmic breaths. He closes his eyes, switching off the light, but he knows that he will not be getting much sleep tonight, especially with the fuzzy citrus scent of her perfume everywhere and the heat from her body consuming him.

***

  It’s 1:20 AM and Charlie can’t sleep. Turns out that being in the same bed with the girl he’s been in love with since he was eighteen is a very, very bad idea. He’s put as much space between them as possible, yet he still feels vigilant and hot. His mind is betraying him: all he can think about is how beautiful she looks when the moonlight streaming through his window is casting shadows on her face, or how she’s sometimes saying things (really, really weird things, though – Charlie doesn’t understand anything), how much she looks like a little cat while she’s snuggled into the covers, or how she flails her arms while she’s asleep.

  He considers crashing in Owen’s room for the night. But as soon as Y/N starts moving around, still sleeping, he holds that thought and watches her instead.

  He can see her getting agitated, as she tosses and turns. She continues murmuring something, but it’s still all jumbled, and it hits Charlie.

  He props himself on his elbow and leans close to her face. “Y/N. Hey. Come back to me. Y/N. Honey. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

  She gasps, as consciousness floods in her system. She looks confused for a second, and Charlie sits up, right beside her. “Listen to me. You’re safe. I’m here. It’s okay. You’re okay. Everything is okay.”

  She exhales, eyes closing for a second.

  “Are you okay?” Charlie asks when her breathing has turned cadenced.

  Her eyes widen and lips part. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You don’t ever need to apologize for that. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I just – ever since I left home, I’ve been getting these nightmares.” She says, softly. Charlie lays next to her, turning to face her, while she mirrors his actions.

  “What do you see?” He asks.

  “Mostly my childhood. You know, my dad pushing me down the stairs. Or my mother telling me that I’m a horrible person and no one will ever love me, and she should have aborted me. Or my dad breaking the mirror the one time I got a B in math. Or my parents fighting. Or – you know, just a montage of my parents’ greatest hits.”

  She breathes out shakily.

  “Getting away didn’t stop the nightmares, huh?” He asks, resting a hand on her warm cheek.

  She scoots closer. “No. They still text me sometimes, mostly to remind me that I’m a terrible person and that I’m gonna go to hell for walking out on them and not going to Harvard.”

  “Y/N, don’t you dare –”

  “No. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. Walking out was the best decision that I’ve ever made.”

  He smiles softly at her.

  “You and Megan… god, you two saved my life. I would never have had the courage to get this far if it wasn’t for you guys.”

  “No, honey. It was all you. You’re the strongest person we know.”

  “Shush. Let me compliment you in peace. You guys are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know.”

  She smiles, reaching forward to tangle run her hands through Charlie’s hair. They were dangerously close now: Charlie could see the curve of her nose, the lingering red lipstick color on her lips and count the number of eyelashes she has.

  “You’re the best thing that’s happened to us, too.”

  Charlie can feel something in the space between them, something pulling them close. It is cold outside, but here, in the cocoon they’ve created, he feels warm and at home.

  “Like, thank you so much for pushing me to get into law school. Now, I’m learning how to help millions of little girls who are going through what I went through, and it makes everything worth it. I feel like I don’t say this enough, but Charlie. Thank you for everything.”

  He smiles, trying to retort something funny but her proximity has jumbled his mind.

  “I know you’re really busy with your life, but thanks for still thinking of me sometimes.”

  That breaks Charlie out of his daze. “What?”

  “You know. You’re in a Netflix show, working with Kenny freaking Ortega and all these incredible people – and I’m enormously proud of you, by the way – and… well, you’ll soon not have that much time for your little sister’s best friend, you know?”

  “You’re not just my little sister’s best friend, Y/N.”

  “Yeah, I’m your friend, alright. But soon you’ll be meeting celebrities and models and actors and then you wouldn’t have time for me anymore.”

  Charlie furrows his brows. “Where is this coming from, Y/N?”

  “I just had a lot of time to think today.” She turns on her back, facing the ceiling.

  He hates the fact that she is so unpredictable: he never knows what’s going on in her head or what she is feeling. That’s one of the reasons that he’s kept his feelings for her a secret for almost three years.

  “I saw you with that model today. At the bar. Uh. So, I thought that you’re probably gonna meet a lot of them in LA. Models and Hollywood girls and all that. So, you’ll probably not have any time for me anymore.”

  Charlie shakes his head, recalling the model he was talking to earlier today. Or rather, yesterday. Carol. She was really nice, sweet, and beautiful – and definitely interested in Charlie. But his focus had been on Y/N, who was having a dance off with Owen and Savannah, all evening – or rather, all the time. He had tried to focus on the Carol, he really did – but after an hour, she herself realized that he wasn’t into her and whispered a ‘good luck with her’ to him before leaving to go back to her friends.

  “Y/N, that’s not true –”

  “It’s okay, Charlie. It’s good. Your life shouldn’t be stuck in the same place. It should be getting better, and you should be meeting new people, you know? You’ve been alone for a weirdly long time and it’s freaking your mom out. So, I know you’re gonna fall in love with someone and then you’ll be too busy –”

  “God, Y/N, how are you so fucking oblivious?” Charlie snaps, annoyance coursing through his veins.

  Her eyes widen at his harsh tone of voice, and it shocks Charlie, too. He’s never, ever raised his voice at her.

  “What?”

  Maybe it’s having her so incredibly close that causes him to finally snap. “Y/N, I have been in love with you ever since I was eighteen. You’re the only person that I want, and you’re the reason that I’ve been alone for a weirdly long time.”

  He immediately regrets saying that. Y/N is sitting up, and she is looking around everywhere, trying to avert Charlie’s eyes. He hides his face behind his hands, sinking deeper into the covers and trying to create a hole and fall down to the center of the earth.

  “I think you’ve had too much to drink today.”

  He groans into his hands, glad that he’s under the covers and the girl can’t see his absolutely scarlet face. “Oh, for god’s sake. Dude. I wrote you an entire ballad when I was nineteen because I realized that this is exactly what’s gonna happen – that I’m always gonna be in love with you, and you’re always gonna think of me as your best friend’s older brother.”

  He feels the covers shift above his head, and is greeted with Y/N’s face, a vulnerable look in her eyes. “Do you really mean it?”

  “Of course, I do. You’re my family – do you really think that I’m gonna joke about something like this and ruin our friendship? The only reason I’m even telling you this is because I’m incredibly frustrated that you’re so oblivious and you’re so fucking pretty. And so close. See, this is exactly why I wanted to sleep on the couch. Because I knew that I would lose it.”

  There’s a sudden flurry of movement and her lips are on his’, and they’re kissing, kissing, kissing. Charlie is too shocked to do anything at first but as soon as the warmth courses through his system and the butterflies go wild in his gut, he pulls her closer, rising up. She sits in his lap, straddling him, their hands getting lost in each other’s hairs – both of them trying to be closer, closer, closer to make up for all the lost years and to keep feeling the contentment that they feel from just being close to each other. She tastes like Charlie’s mint toothpaste and his dreams – like everything he’s ever wanted.

  As they separate for air, Y/N rests her forehead on his. “I thought you knew.”

  “What?” He’s surprised to find his voice hoarse.

  “That I’m in love with you.”

  He can’t stop the grin on his face from escaping. “What?”

  “I thought Meg told you. Or your mum. Or anyone really. Everyone’s called me out on it. I’ve always had a crush on you but dating all those guys in high school made me realize that I was kind of, you know, in love with you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Same reason as you. You’re my family, Charlie. I didn’t wanna lose what we have just because of… you know.”

  Y/N slides off his lap and lies on the bed, next to him and he mirrors her actions, and she rests her head on his chest, the frantic beating in his chest her background music. He drapes an arm around her shoulders, desperate to have her close.

  “We’re both cowards, eh?”

  She giggles.

  “Wait. Meg knew?”

  “Of course. She’s my best friend.”

  “You know, one day I got drunk and told her that ‘I’m 100% attracted to your best friend sexually and emotionally and everythingally.’ I kept wondering why she was laughing.”

  “I hate her.” She buries her face in Charlie’s chest, giggling.

  Charlie laughs and pulls her in for another kiss, desperate to hold her again, to feel the high he only feels around her. She smiles against his lips, before a thought occurs to him. “Wait. You were jealous of the bar girl, weren’t you?”

  “Shut up, you dork.”

  They’re only half aware of the snowstorm raging outside from the warm cocoon they’ve created in each other’s arms. Maybe miracles really do exist.

***

drop a message in my ask or in my messages if u wanna be on the jatp taglist!! requests are also open <3

[morganaspendragonss]

holly's august extravaganza day 17: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team)

for both my incredible birthday twin jenny (@laelipoo) and a little bit for myself! i hope you are having a wonderful, wonderful day and i wish you all the love in the world. i'm so glad we became friends and i cannot tell you how glad i am for our conversations 🥰🥰🥰

many, many, many thanks to jenny as well for helping me out with the plot!

ao3 | 3.1k | firefighter carlos, hurt/comfort, pining, developing relationship, major character injury (two of them 😌)

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the soft blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

The thing about Carlos Reyes is that he isn’t only stupidly hot; he’s also just plain nice. TK can’t even make up a flimsy excuse to keep his distance. Carlos is, quite literally, perfect.

He shares recipes and book recommendations with Paul, he spars with Marjan, he discusses superheroes with Mateo, and Judd has had nothing but good things to say since before Carlos even joined them. Apparently they’d worked together a lot before the explosion, when Carlos was with the 116, and he’s ‘one of the best damn firefighters’ Judd has ever seen.

He even makes time to hang with the paramedics, which...isn’t a new development, exactly. But it is recent, and TK is willing to bet they’d still be pretty divided if Tim hadn’t suddenly transferred back to Maryland and he hadn’t taken the leap to be a full paramedic.

Even after that… His friends were hardly going to abandon him after he switched, but Nancy had still only been semi-included at best. She’d called him out about it during their first week working together, but fixing it had been a slow process.

Until Carlos came along, that is. Excluding Judd, they all regularly hang out at his place now, and Nancy’s inclusion had never even been a question. Safe to say, Carlos has charmed everyone in the firehouse, including both captains, and the worst part is, he doesn’t seem to realise he’s doing it.

He’s perfect, from his freakishly toned body to his infuriatingly sweet personality to his incredible skills in the field, and TK does not have a crush, goddammit!

One morning about three weeks after Carlos’s arrival, TK is greeted in the firehouse by the sound of a long, beautiful laugh coming from the kitchen. Three weeks is an embarrassingly short amount of time to admit that he’s memorised everything about him, but he instantly recognises the noise as coming from Carlos, even if he can’t see him yet.

He saunters into the kitchen, where Carlos is standing with Paul, and leans up against the counter. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Carlos turns with a winning smile and holds out a steaming mug of coffee, clearly freshly made even though TK only got in two minutes ago.

He blinks. “How—” Then, taking in the slight pinkness to Carlos’s cheeks, “Are you seriously offering me your own coffee, Reyes?”

Carlos shrugs, forcing the mug into TK’s hands. “I only just made it so technically it belongs to anyone, and I can always make another,” he says. “Besides, you look like you could use it more than me.”

His grin has TK narrowing his eyes and stubbornly refusing to drink even though Carlos is right—he really, really needs it.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was an insult.”

“Who says you do know better?”

TK splutters, momentarily left speechless in the face of Carlos’s smile and the twinkle in those goddamn eyes. He turns to Paul for help, but Paul...has disappeared. Huh. TK honestly hadn't noticed him go.

He shakes his head and looks back to Carlos, only to be stunned silent again by the way his smile has softened into something else, something more.

TK’s heart skips a beat or two and he swallows, staring down into Carlos’s coffee. “Whatever, Reyes,” he mutters.

It was too late for a witty comeback anyway.

Carlos’s laugh follows him out of the kitchen, and TK wonders when, exactly, he let himself fall this far.

*

“Earth to TK? Hello?”

TK is rudely snapped back to reality by one Nancy Gillian’s hand waving violently in his face. He scowls at her, to which she responds with an eye roll.

“Stop drooling over your man and come help me with inventory.”

“I’m not drooling,” TK argues, following her over to the rig. “And he’s not my man.”

“Right,” Nancy drawls, folding her arms over her chest as she leans against the ambulance. “So you’re just going to deny that weird energy around you two that makes the rest of us feel like we’re creeping on something?”

“Exactly.” TK nods emphatically, then frowns. “Wait, what?”

Nancy casts her eyes heavenward. “You know,” she says, “you’re a lot of things, Strand, but I hadn’t pegged you for oblivious.”

TK’s next words are reflexive, said without thought for the consequences—the story of his life, really.

“I’m not oblivious!”

The grin spreading over Nancy’s face rams home just how much he’s fucked up with those three words. TK drops his head in his hands and groans, unable and unwilling to look Nancy in the eye.

“Not a word,” he warns, which Nancy appears to respect, for now. TK is well aware that there will be words—several of them—later, whether he wants them or not.

The thing is, he really isn’t oblivious. He knows perfectly well what Nancy is talking about and he has often fantasised about all the things he’d do to Carlos given half a chance. TK likes Carlos, way more than just in the physical sense, and he’s pretty sure that Carlos likes him right back. It would be so easy to start something between them and, god, TK wants to. He just… He can’t.

One year—that’s what he promised himself back in New York. One year on his own to sort his head out and figure out how he fits back into the world after the overdose. Granted, his sobriety anniversary is only a couple of months away now, but he refuses to give up on his promise, especially when he’s so close.

Maybe in a couple months, if Carlos hasn’t gotten bored of something that’s clearly going nowhere.

But not now.

*

“He did not ask me out!”

“He totally did, dude, and you know it. You want to say yes, I can tell.”

“No, I don’t. I—”

“Children,” Tommy interrupts from the back of the ambulance. They’re heading to a callout, and Nancy has not let up the entire way about something TK is certain never actually happened. “Either of you want to enlighten me on what the argument is about this time?”

“TK’s too chicken to go out with Carlos,” Nancy jumps in, before TK can stop her.

“I am not!” he protests. “Plus, he wasn’t asking me out, he said we should go over to his place for dinner sometime, which Carlos does all the time. So there.”

“Strand, you are not this dense,” Nancy snarks, probably rolling her eyes. “His exact words were, ‘You should come over sometime’.”

“We were all there! It was obviously the plural you.”

“Oh my god—”

“Alright!” Tommy sighs wearily. “Nancy, can we keep from provoking TK until we’re back at the firehouse and he’s no longer driving?”

“Ha!” TK exclaims, but Tommy’s not done.

“TK, if I weren’t your captain, I’d be telling you that Nancy is right and you should pull your head out of your ass before it’s too late, understand?”

Now it’s Nancy’s turn to be triumphant as TK struggles to form a coherent response. Thankfully, he’s saved from further torment by them finally pulling up at the scene—a warehouse where one of the workers had become trapped after parts of the upper level walkway had broken and fallen. Apparently, the falling metal had caused some of the machinery to malfunction, turning the call from simple to beyond complicated in a matter of minutes.

“TK, grab your turnout gear and your bag; I’m sending you in with them,” Tommy informs him as soon as they’re out of the rig. “Normally, we’d just talk the firefighters through it over radio, but given your training it’ll be quicker and safer for you to deal with our patient.”

TK grins; he’s missed the adrenaline rush of running into emergencies more than he can say. “Got it, Cap.”

“Maybe try and look a little less happy about a serious injury, too.”

“Copy that.”

*

The noise when they enter the warehouse is deafening, an ugly screeching cutting right through TK’s skull.

“Shouldn’t they have shut the machines off?” he shouts, fighting to be heard.

“Apparently they can’t,” Judd calls back. “Something wrong with the control panel, I don’t know exactly what.”

TK groans—just what they need. The sound is lost in the din, but Carlos still looks over and gives him a sympathetic grin, shrugging in a ‘what can you do’ motion. TK can’t help but grin back, the mere sight of Carlos easing the annoyance he feels and the headache already beginning to build behind his eyes.

Their patient, when they reach him, is pinned under a large, heavy-looking sheet of metal. He’s bleeding from a gash on his temple and his skin is worryingly pale, to the extent that TK can tell even from a distance. He jogs to the patient’s side and kneels down, pressing his fingers against his neck.

“Cap, I have a pulse,” he reports into his radio after a few seconds. “But he’s unconscious with a head wound, and I think there are probably injuries I can’t see yet. Possible spinal damage, but I can’t tell until we’ve got this metal off him.”

“Copy that,” Captain Vega says. “Get ready to run a line; he’s gonna need it as soon as he’s free.”

TK nods and moves to secure a c-collar around his neck. “We need to cut this thing off of him,” he says, addressing the team. “Quickly, but carefully.”

Judd steps forward, brandishing the saw. He hands TK a couple of spare turnouts and kneels on the patient’s other side. “Couple of you need to cover him, and yourselves.”

TK doesn’t even have to ask before Carlos appears next to him, taking one of the turnouts from him. He smiles gratefully before arranging himself to provide maximum protection to all three of them as Judd starts working on the metal. The vibrations from the saw are unpleasant, and TK dreads to think what effect it’s having on the already unstable machinery, but it’s the only option they have to get their patient free.

Fortunately, everything seems to go off without a hitch, and soon the team are able to remove the metal. TK immediately gets to work, feeling for any damage. As he suspected, there’s a pretty large gash on the man’s leg which is bleeding badly, though thankfully it seems to have missed any arteries. He also seems to have a broken wrist, but he should heal.

TK quickly wraps his leg, then gets Carlos and Judd to help move him onto the spine board. It feels like, for once, the call has gone as smoothly as possible, and TK allows himself a breath of relief as they prep to get the guy outside to the ambulance.

Naturally, that’s when everything goes to hell.

The machine closest to them lets out a threatening groan and shudders before there’s a loud roar and it explodes. On instinct, TK folds himself over the patient as shrapnel rains down on them, and he sees Carlos doing the same in his periphery.

The downpour seems to last forever, but eventually it slows and comes to a stop. TK cautiously lifts his head, his heart pounding, and sags in relief as it seems that the worst is over.

They need to get out of here, now.

He stands, a brief stab of pain running through his back—probably because of his awkward position over the patient—and turns to Carlos, reaching to offer him a hand up.

Only to see Carlos’s face tight with agony, and then the cause—a jagged piece of shrapnel running right through his hand.

“Carlos,” TK breathes, horrified. Carlos looks up at him, his breathing carefully measured and his eyes wide, and TK drops back to his knees, reaching out for him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

Carlos swallows and nods, his eyes squeezing tight. TK’s heart rate skyrockets, and he’s barely able to keep his cool as he signals to the others to get their first patient out of the warehouse.

“Cap, the team are bringing him out, but we have a problem.”

“Talk to me, Strand, what’s going on?”

“It—It’s Carlos.” TK breathes out shakily and takes a moment to steady himself before continuing, “It’s not serious, but some of the machinery broke apart and some shrapnel impaled his hand. I’ve got to stabilise the shard before we come out to you.”

“Alright, but hurry. I don’t want you guys in there for longer than necessary.”

“Copy.”

Stabilising the shrapnel with rolls of gauze and wrapping Carlos’s hand should be a matter of course—it’s an easy process that TK could probably do in his sleep. But this is Carlos, so his damn hands won’t stop shaking and he almost fumbles and drops his supplies.

He manages though, and soon he’s helping Carlos up, instructing him to hold his injured hand above his heart. Carlos sends him a wobbly smile, which ends up turning out to be more of a grimace, but it’s a comfort nonetheless. Things could have gone so much worse today; TK could have even lost him, and he would have never been able to—

But that’s not important. Carlos is okay, or he will be, and they still have plenty of time to figure out whatever this is between them.

Everything will be okay.

TK’s back and side twinge again as they make their way out, but he brushes it off, too focused on getting Carlos to the hospital as fast as possible. Tommy shakes her head as they make their way over, her eyebrows raised despite the concern clearly in her expression.

“Never a peaceful moment with you, Strand, is it?” she asks dryly, hissing as she inspects Carlos’s wound.

“In my defence, Cap,” he says, more at ease now that they’re safe, “it’s not me who’s injured this time.”

Tommy hums, then directs Carlos into the back of the rig, jumping in after him. “Get back here, TK. Nancy’s driving.”

She has a teasing look in her eyes that instantly makes TK suspicious, but he moves to comply, shrugging off his turnout coat as he does. The movement hurts, which is weird, but he thinks nothing of it.

At least, until Tommy’s eyes go wide and she stands from her seat, holding her hands out towards him. “TK, do not move,” she instructs, her eyes firmly fixed on his right side.

TK frowns, then follows her gaze down, and— Oh.

His grey undershirt is stained with blood, and it’s difficult to miss the large piece of metal sticking out of his side. He has no idea how he missed it, but now that he knows, the pain slams into him full force, causing him to stagger.

“Oh,” he gasps, eloquently.

Then, his legs buckle and the world goes black.

*

TK wakes up to a steady beeping sound, which only exacerbates his pounding headache. He groans, scrunching his face up, before slowly peeling his eyes open, almost slamming them shut again after getting an eyeful of obnoxiously bright fluorescents.

“You’re awake,” a voice says, sounding surprised, then the lights suddenly dim, the room lit by the gentle glow of a lamp. TK sighs in relief and shifts to look at his saviour.

It’s Carlos.

“You… You’re here,” TK states, confused. His gaze drifts down Carlos’s body and lands on the white bandages around his hand, the memories of the warehouse suddenly hitting him all at once. “Shit, you— How are you?”

Carlos shakes his head and comes to sit in the chair by TK’s bed. “I can’t believe you’re the one asking me that.”

“I’m a paramedic, it’s my job.”

“Not when you’re the one in the hospital bed,” Carlos counters, sighing. “If you must know, I’m fine. They gave me some pretty good drugs, so…” He shrugs, and TK can’t help but laugh, which proves to be a very bad idea.

His side lights up, an unnecessary reminder that TK is very much not on the good drugs, and he moans softly, slowly settling back in the bed. “I hate you,” he mumbles, eyes closed.

“You love me,” Carlos says, and TK’s heart seizes in his chest.

The silence after his words is deafening, so TK forces himself to crack his eyes open enough to look at him. Carlos is frozen in his chair, biting his lip hard, and he looks like he either wants to bolt or be swallowed by the earth.

TK thinks he should probably be feeling the same. They’ve been dancing around this issue for weeks now, and he’d thought he had it under control. That he could last that little bit longer until his one year was up; that he could ignore these feelings that have been steadily growing since he first laid eyes on Carlos.

It was a hopeless endeavour; he recognises that now. TK remembers the fear he felt when Carlos was injured back at the warehouse, the desperation for him to be better, and now with his own injury…

He could have lost this chance before he ever got it, and TK isn’t about to let it slip through his fingers now. He reaches out and takes Carlos’s good hand, startling him into meeting TK’s eyes.

“Yeah,” TK whispers, just loud enough for Carlos to hear him. “I think I do.”

The smile Carlos gives him lights up the room, and he doesn’t waste any time in leaning down to kiss TK. And it’s… It’s everything TK had hoped and imagined it would be and more. It’s soft and sweet and gentle and perfect, and he never wants it to end.

But end it does, though Carlos doesn’t go far. TK smiles at him, squeezing his hand with all the strength he can muster.

“That’s a yes, by the way,” he says.

Carlos frowns. “What?”

TK’s smile widens and he flicks his eyebrows at Carlos. “To dinner. Or were you not asking me out after all?”

Carlos huffs a laugh, and the look in his eyes when they lock back onto TK’s melts his heart and makes his entire chest ache. “Does Friday work for you?”

He nods, tugging Carlos down for another kiss. “It’s a date.”

[chidoroki]

TPN - “Dreams Come True”

What better way to cheer up the TPN fandom after the second season’s final episode than with the special exhibition chapter finally being fully translated. I caught glimpses of a few pages here and there over the past couple months but seeing all the children live happily together in the human world in their own little village that they made close to Emma and Alex warms my heart. Of course I would’ve loved if we got to see more of the GP Resistance (because the anime denied us of them) but following the GF kids around the world as they experience their dreams is fair enough. We started the series alongside them so might as well finish strong with them too. I really loved seeing everyone grow up but no matter how old they get or how much time passes, I’ll probably never get used to seeing Emma without her iconic “63194.” It’s a bittersweet feeling for me, but her smiles bring me so much joy and I’m beyond happy that she accepted everyone into her life as they accepted her without her memories.

I haven’t a clue on how much time passed since everyone found Emma in ch181 to now, but seeing her call out everyone’s names is a little detail that I love so much considering she had no idea who anyone was at first. Trying to remember 60+ names doesn’t seem like an easy task to me. No doubt I was just as shocked as our girl upon learning these mere children bought a goddamn plane! We learn in a couple pages that it’s because of Norman’s company that they can afford it, but still, he’s like 15 or 16 now? He’s still a child! And I’m impressed! Not only at him, but that Oliver and Violet became pilots as well! It’s especially cute when you remember that Lucas gave Oliver a little toy plane during their time at Goldy Pond.

Speaking of GP, is it just me or does Emma’s current outfit resemble her GP one just a little bit? Sure we have no idea what color scheme this one has but come on, the short jacket, the dark shirt and jeans.. just imagine it! Jemima, Yvette, Alicia and Mark remade Gillian’s original GP outfit sometime before the Grace Field Raid arc (ch137 extra page) so I don’t doubt they could’ve done the same for Emma. Of course that’s just me being completely hopeful and missing the Goldy Pond arc to death but yeah! I’m also so happy to see Chris up and moving again! Seeing him wake up briefly in ch181 was nice but this is so much better. I imagine he and Emma have a lot to catch up on in terms of stories, with him being unconscious since ch105 and Emma not remembering anything.

But here we go, the original 15 escapees plus Norman, Phil, Sherry, I believe I saw Carol somewhere and a couple other random kiddos ready to see the entire world. They get to accomplish so much.. and in a single day too I believe? At least that’s what Phil and Alicia say a bit later about everyone’s wishes, but aahh what a lucky bunch. Hell, I’ll say we’re lucky readers too to be able to see such a great story. Can’t thank Shirai and Demizu enough y’all. I wish we got to see more of Alex though. He’s such a kind soul but I’m sure he’ll be just fine staying behind with everyone else.

This entire page where we learn about Norman as a CEO is gold. I still can’t believe this child successfully built up an entire multipurpose company not only to help their search for Emma but also because he didn’t want to live off the Ratri clan. I wish I knew about this last week when writing out Norman’s birthday post because hell yeah this deserves some praise! AND he managed to graduate school as well during all that! Well, by skipping grades which totally makes sense. I mean, if he managed to pass all the Grace Field and Lambda tests effortlessly I’m sure normal human world school was a piece of cake for him. Holy shit dude, keep on impressing me why don’t ya. Not only him but Nigel and Sonya too! I’m not surprised that Vincent helped out but I’m glad those two got a tiny moment to shine as well! Ray is another obvious choice when it comes to helping Norman, as they’re best friends and he’s always been good with machines.. but boy, I can’t take you seriously when you’re just sitting there unamused and eating chips! Hahah I love him so much! And the fact he replies to Norman’s idea with just a simple “kay” is an eternal mood.

Okay boys aside, can we talk about our fabulous girls now? Because oh my god, they’re so darn beautiful! They’re more fashionable than I’ll ever be and it’s so cute how they drag Emma along to take advantage of the 3-for-1 deal. But our girl pulls off that sporty look so well! (r.i.p. goldy pond outfit ver2.0). I’m not at all surprised that Nat wanted to go see the opera. That's perfect for him and I’d like to think the anime did something similar with that one shot we see of him in the human world. We don’t see him in a theater like this but to me it looks like he’s on the streets of Broadway? At least that’s the vibe I get from it. I’m sure there was something music related on one of those signs.

I can’t get over how adorable all the children look and how happy they are fulfilling their wishes, even if some of them aren’t as extravagant as others. Like eating a fluffy pancake and a ton of ice cream? We can do that whenever we want. But for these kids, it means everything and they absolutely deserve to experience such simple joys like that after all the harsh nonsense they’ve been through. I also love how Ray continues to be such a great older brother by still looking out for them too. The fact he remains completely unfazed by the haunted house is perfect. This boy has been haunted by his own nightmares and demons his entire life, there’s no way a couple of lousy jump scares are gonna spook him. Though I do find it funny that Alicia and Rossi still manage to get scared while Yvette is having the time of her life. I can’t help but laugh at Thoma’s “Shirai face” as well.

I find it interesting that out of all the different kinds of exhibits they could’ve shown us while Rossi visits a museum, they give us dinosaurs.. like that seems so silly to me. Y’all have seen several demons in your young lives already and yet dinosaurs manage to amaze you too? God these kids are precious. And then our boy Phil finally gets to see and ride a train! Just look how happy he is! The poor kid can’t even sit still he’s so darn excited and I can’t help but smile with him! Thankfully the anime showed us this too.

We eventually get to Ray’s wish and guys.. oh my fucking god. Tell me that this is not the absolute best and prettiest smile we get to see from him!! It honestly leaves me speechless okay? Ray never imagined he would ever get to see the outside world, let alone live past the age of 12, and yet here he is, seeing such a beautiful sight such as this, right in front of him instead of from inside a book. You can’t believe how happy and proud of him I am right now. Did you see how ecstatic I was when the anime kept Isabella alive? Multiply that feeling by ten and there ya go. That’s my level of happiness upon seeing my favorite boy smile like THAT! AAHHH!! That panel is gonna live rent free in my head until the end of time. I can’t get over how damn perfect it is. His smile is so pure and how he looks like he’s in complete awe is beautiful. He’s about to burst into tears and I swear I might do the same because I’m making myself emotional over this fantastic boy. Someone hold me.

No seriously, hold me because we’re about to get into some angst as we move onto to Emma’s wish. We all know that ever since 2039 her one dream was to ride a giraffe once they got outside, so here we are, about ten years later and the animals in question are within reach. Our girl should be totally excited, right? Ha, not quite.

That wish was something the old Emma wanted, but since demon god had to be such a bastard, this Emma doesn’t know what to think, let alone what to even feel. She hasn’t experienced the same hardships as her family. She hasn’t gone through hell and back while holding onto that one wish that would make all the suffering worth it. The amount of joy everyone else felt upon living out their dreams, she wonders if she would be able to feel it too.

They brought her here to make her happy, but is this truly want she wants as well? This is old Emma’s wish after all. What about her and what she wants? Could this wish make her just as happy as her old self? She knows her family is only trying to help, but seeing her doubt herself does a number on my heart. Even without her memories, she’s still the same Emma deep down, as she doesn’t want to disappoint her family. She spends so much time worrying about living up to her family’s expectations, to try and be that Emma they all love so dearly.

Little does she know that she acts the exact same as usual, almost as if nothing has changed when she finally expresses how much she wants to ride a giraffe. And that’s great considering when they first arrived at the giraffes, no on had even mentioned riding them. She came across that feeling all on her own and everyone else can’t help but laugh and feel relieved. Her mind may have forgotten but her heart remembers everything. There is no “old Emma” and “new Emma” to her family, just “Emma” and words can’t express how wholesome that is because they love her regardless. All that matters to them is Emma’s happiness because if anyone deserves to feel and experience that, it’s her.

I just made myself tear up, damn it. I started this series with season one okay? I heard about this precious girl’s dream within the first minute of the first episode and here I am, a little bit over two years later, finally reading about it coming true and seeing that bright as hell smile on her face. Do you know how amazing it is to come full circle like that? My heart feels so full right now. I’m beyond proud of her and love her to death. Say what you want but I believe this to be the true manga ending in my eyes.

(damn this series for always getting me emotional)

[nebraska-is-a-myth]

Drown your sorrows - part 7

Grab your tissues dude, this one is not a happy one at all. I'm sorry in advanced

special shout out to my pal @hufflepuffkilljoy for helping me with some details for this chapter. I also feel like they’re going to kill me after reading this so wish me luck.

Masterlist

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

Tommy is fortunate enough to stay conscious this time.

It's a lot warmer than the warehouse was and he's still just as afraid.

But he feels more prepared for the heat now.

Tubbo was so close to the first explosion, too close. Tommy watches the blast separate them and he can hear his friends desperate coughs from across the burning room. He can't get up, his wrist is hurt and his injured leg burns every time he tries to put pressure on it. He calls for Tubbo but he doesn't think his friend can hear him between his endless coughing and the roaring flames.

He's so thankful Tubbo isn't alone when Eret finally shows, the older man slips masks on both of them and they huddle together for a moment before Tommy hears something explode below them. He tries to cling to Eret as he reaches for Tubbo and they all plummet down into freezing water.

He and Eret sink into the water and the harshness of it makes Tommy gasp. 

Water seeps in through his mask and the tightness of it makes him panic

He attempts to take the mask off, as if that might make him less disorientated.

It's doesn't

He takes a big gulp of water into his mouth and suddenly he can't stop.

He's drowning.

His limbs flail about and he cant help but scream into the water as pain ruptures through him. He keeps taking in more and more water and his lungs spasm as they fill with murky liquid. Tommy doesn't know where he is, it's dark and cold and he doesn't know which way is up and if his body wasn't already submerged in water he thinks he might cry.

Tommy doesn't want to die

There are so many things he hasn't done yet, so many things he hasn't said.

He wanted to take Tubbo to his favorite place in the city and go adventuring through the abandoned buildings Dream used to let him demolish when he was angry or upset. He wanted to tell his best friend in the whole word that he loved him, that they were brothers until the end. He never really had the courage to say it before now, thought it would make him sound childish and weird. ( Really he was just afraid that Tubbo wouldn't feel the same, and he wasn't ready to let his best friend go just yet. )

He wanted to thank Wilbur for taking him into l’manburg, for trusting him and becoming the older brother figure he never thought he needed ( or wanted ). For teaching him how to properly aim a gun and negotiate something without shouting, for letting him become the heir to the empire they built. 

He thinks about all the movie nights with fundy and Eret, remembers popcorn fights and sleepovers, baking competitions and playing video games till early dawn. He remembers waking up from nightmares and talking to Eret about his scars, sharing the good and the bad with each and every one of them.

As the seconds roll past, Tommy can feel himself suffocating. His lungs fill with more and more water and his body starts to shut down, the pain is everywhere and nowhere and slowly he becomes blissfully aware that he is going to die here.

In the back of his mind he hopes that dream knows he’s forgiven. If he’s going to die he might as well forgive the man, he knows deep down that dream never wanted any of this and he hopes that his death will spark something in the man, and prevent the bloodshed of his friends.

The last thing on Tommys mind before the darkness swallows him is Technoblade, and he wonders if he’ll finally see him again when he goes to sleep.

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

“How old were you when you first killed someone?”

“Jeezus Tubbo what the hell dude.”  

Tommy swats at his best friend who's laying next to him on the wooden floor. They're all laying on piles and blankets and duvets and tucked up in sleeping bags like campers. Popcorn crumbs litter the floor and Tubbo has kernels stuck in his hair after he used the bowl as protection from Tommy throwing pillows at him.

The group decided to have a sleepover to commemorate Wilbur's birthday, all of them laid in a circle around the couches in wilburs living room and Wilbur almost regrets letting them into his house.

Tommy and Tubbo are layed on the floor, heads close to each other facing opposite directions. Tommy is smiling as he flails his arms at the other boy and has his feet resting in Erets lap. Fundy is on Erets left, curled up in 3 blankets like a burrito, a clear sign of Wilburs handiwork after someone made a joke about fundy being wilburs child.

Wilbur himself is half paying attention to the movie they all put on as background noise as he tries not to look like he’s actually enjoying the night his boys had planned.

Nobody spoke at first, no one was really quite sure what to say. Eventually, Wilbur took a breath and spoke in a slight monotone. “fifteen.”

Even though they may have been concerned, nobody was quite as surprised as maybe they should have been. It was a rough line of work, it wasn't really a shock to anyone that their leader had started so young.

“Robbery gone wrong, cops came earlier than expected. Shot one to save myself, nothing more to it.”

Fundy pokes his head out of his blanket burrito a little more and rests his head on his knees. “Got in a fight back in the Netherlands when I was eighteen, ended badly for the other guy.”

Eret is a bit more hesitant to respond but with a reassuring nudge from Tommy, he gives the teen a small smile and takes a breath. “Got involved with a super serious gang back in England when I was sixteen.”

He doesn't say anything more but nobody really blames him. Eret never really talks about his time back in England much, but the team sees the way he gets nervous around cameras and always makes sure he can never be traced wherever he goes. Everyone is running from something, it's why most of them came to America after all.

Tommy doesn't realize it's his turn until he’s noticed everyone's looking at him.

He laughs and swats at Tubbo for a second time. “It's your question you go first.”

Tubbo looks at his friend strangely but shakes it off and reaches to grab a handful of crisps. “Ummm, technically I haven't.”

Tommy listens to his best friend shove a handful of crisps in his mouth and his throat goes dry, he only distantly hears Fundy ask Tubbo a question but his thoughts seem to drown everyone out. 

He knows he has two options here. He knows that lying is the safest one for him, that he could just follow along with what Tubbo said and just get it over with. But he feels compelled to let the truth just spill out of his mouth and let everything into the world. He can't help it when the words start falling from his lips, he so desperately wants to shove everything back into the box he’s kept everything in for years and go back to the fun loving, annoying Tommy everyone knows.

But instead he just had to open his stupid mouth like he always does.

“I uhh, I killed mum.”

Shit

Shit

Shit

“She uhh, bled out, when I was born.”

Shut up

Shut up

Shut up

“So yeah uhh, I guess I win.”

The room is silent, and he’s brought out of his head by Eret rubbing small comforting circles into the bottom of his leg.

“Tommy.”

He really wishes he hadn't spoke

“You know that couldn't have possibly been your doing.”

Wow the ceiling is really interesting

“Tommy.”

He can't speak. If he speaks he’s going to cry and he can't cry. 

Tommyinnit doesn't cry.

He feels Tubbo moving to wrap and arm around him and he really wants to just not be here.

He’s lying on the floor of his bosses friends house, crying in front of the people he cares about most about because he couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut.

Tommy feels himself moving and slowly more and more arms are around him. He feels a blanket being draped over him and suddenly he finds himself sobbing into someone's chest.

Someone is running their hand through his hair and he wonders if that's something his mother would have done for him.

Sometimes he wishes life was different, that maybe he might have had a better childhood if his mother had been in his life for longer than three seconds.

But as he feels his own tears soak into one of his friends' shirts, he thinks that maybe his life ain't so bad.

And later in the night when he's stood on Wilbur's kitchen counter with Erets glasses hanging off his face singing loudly to random Hamilton songs with his friends, he knows he wouldn't change it for the world.

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

Tommy wakes up confused and coughing.

He can feel the water spluttering out of his mouth and he feels like he's throwing up his organs.

He’s vividly aware that something doesn't feel right

He feels wrong and disorientated and,,,

He’s underwater?

Tommy flails his limbs about and in a matter of seconds he surfaces into darkness

He coughs up all of the water that's been sloshing about in his lungs and his throat stings as fresh air floods into his body.

Through all the coughing and the sound of water in his ears, he hears a voice calling him.

“Tommy!”

He turns his head to find Eret also treading water on the other side of a mountain of rubble, he has a large gash on the side of his head that looks like it would have dried by now if not for the water continuously splashing against it. His glasses are nowhere to be seen and Erets looking at him like he knows something Tommy doesn't.

“Tommy thank god you're okay.”

Tommy swims over to where Eret is still floating and takes a moment to examine the rubble surrounding his friend. 

Most of it seems to be concrete and rocks piled up around him, but the two big metal pipes separating him and Eret are what concern him. And the fact that Eret hasn't made an attempt to move past them.

"Where's tubbo?"

"He swam over that direction, tried to find a way out I think."

"Why didn't you follow him."

"Tommy."

"Come on we can't just leave him to look on his own. He'd get lost in a bloody parking lot."

Tommy wraps his hands around one of the pipes and attempts to push it out of the way.

Eret doesn't move.

"Tommy I,"

"Waters rising, gotta move this thing before Tubbo ends up swimming into someone's toilet."

The younger boy changed angles and tried to pull the other pipe towards him.

"Tommy."

He feels Eret place his hand on top of his own but the younger boy swats it away and keeps trying to force the pipes out of the way.

“Come on man, just, just try.”

Eret grabs his hand again.

“Just help me okay!”

Water splashes up Tommys nose and he feels tears pricking at his eyes

“Just, Just do something! Please! please” 

Eret grabs a hold of both of tommys hands and holds him as close as the barrier of rubble will let him.

“Please. I can't lose you too.”

Erets voice is soft and calming. Tommy wants him to laugh and point at him and tell him how this is all just a big joke and they can all go home together and watch movies on Wilburs couch.

But he doesn't

“Hey it's okay, you're not gonna lose me alright. I will always, always be with you, no matter what.”

“Don't give me that bullshit. I don't want you in my heart or looking down on me, I want you to stay here, alive.”

“I want that too Tommy, more than anything. But life doesn't always go the way we want it to.”

Eret coughs and shivers in the water, he looks up and realizes that neither of them have a lot of time left before the water fills the room. They both know Tommy can't stay here any longer, and it's only a matter of time before the coldness of the water gives him hypothermia.

“You need to go.”

“No.”

“Tommy.”

“No I am not leaving you here!”

“You don't have a choice Tommy!”

“Yes I do! Now help me move these goddamn pipes”

“For fuck sake Tommy! I am stuck down here! Those pipes aren't going to move and I'm not leaving this fucking basement. You need to go, now!”

“I-”

“Tommy you are my brother and I will always love you but you need to get the fuck out of here right now.”

“Tommy, Eret!”

“Down here.”

Eret hears Wilbur jump down into the freezing water and he can faintly see him swimming towards him and Tommy.

“You guys okay?”

“Yes now get him out of here.”

“I said no!”

“What about you.”

“I'll be fine just go.”

Wilbur takes a moment, a moment of weakness, a moment of emotion and sadness and he looks at Eret, his friend. He feels the water clog his nostrils and nods, with his heart heavy and his mind full, he drags a tired and freezing Tommy away.

“Wilbur let me go!”

“We can't leave him!”

“we have to help him!”

“Wilbur!”

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

Later on when everyone's safe and dry and the adrenaline and panic has left his system, Wilbur finds himself gazing up at his reflection in his bathroom mirror. Every time he looks at himself all he can see is the look in his friends eyes before he left him to drown, he remembers the hurt in his face and his willingness to die just to see Tommy safe. Every time he closes his eyes it's all he sees.

Wilbur stands up tall and strong in front of himself and plasters on the face of a warrior, a face that dream and George and sapnap will forever fear. He vows on this day that he will teach them what true fear feels like, no more kind words or friendly disputes.

He doesn't care about making allies or keeping peace.

His city is in danger

His mind is broken

His friends are traumatized

Eret is dead

And Wilbur wants vengeance.

If dream wants war, he’ll give him war.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @sassy-sara @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane @odi-et-amo85 @watermelonlover-123

~^~

Saturday, 13:20

Song: Benny - Boys Will Be Boys

Jens watches the story again, watches a redheaded girl he doesn’t know wrap her arm around Lucas’s neck and pull him into the frame. The two of them grin cheesily at the camera, Lucas’s eyes squinted exaggeratedly, happily, as the girl hollers a ‘happy birthday’ and presses a kiss to his cheek. Next is a full shot of the party, reposted from the same girl, then a recording of Lucas’s own, with a shorter girl with a head of curls who Jens thinks is Isa, and then the boys he recognises as Kes and Jayden. All of them giving Lucas the same cheerful, enthusiastic wishes.

Happy birthday.

He had woken up to Lucas’s post, with the balloons leaving no doubt as to its purpose.

He’s startled from examining further when his door opens and Moyo slips inside, smiling easily at him and instantly flopping onto his bed. “Hey man. Oh, is that Lucas’s party? Why the fuck didn’t we know it was his birthday?”

Jens stares at him, brows raised and lips slightly parted. “What are you doing here?”

Moyo raises a brow back. “You invited me?” He gives a small laugh as Jens continues to look on in confusion. “Dude, where is your head at these days? Remember on Thursday at lunch when Lucas was talking about going home and you got all pouty so I asked if you wanted to hang out? And you said to come here?”

“Right,” Jens eventually allows. It does poke vaguely at his memories, but it’s quite unclear. Still, it isn’t as if he’s going to turn Moyo away. He has no reason to. It’s better than staring at his phone any longer. “Cool.”

Moyo snorts. “Okay, cool. I also texted you when I was leaving my house. And you didn’t reply. Which is why your mom had to let me in.”

Jens furrows his brows before drawing down the notification bar on his phone. He purses his lips when he sees the text from Moyo, wondering how he had taken on such an absentminded focus that he missed it completely. “You did.”

“But I can see you were preoccupied,” Moyo raises his brows. “Didn’t you already see them when you woke up?”

“Yeah,” Jens mumbles.

“So what’s the obsession?”

“I’m not obsessed. Just, trying to see who I know.”

Moyo snorts again. “If you know anyone other than Lucas in those dark, blurry ass shots, I think that’s a little bit obsessed. I know he’s your new favourite toy but surely you can survive without him for one day.”

Jens feels angry, suddenly. He isn’t sure if he’s right to be, knows that Moyo probably doesn’t mean anything by it, but he’s already upset and so incredibly tired. It leaves him wrinkling his nose in distaste and sitting up and away. “Why do you always have to make it out like everything is so gross? You know there’s a way to make a point without fucking making fun all the time?”

It feels surprisingly good to get it out, and where he expects regret to claw through his chest, a small stream of relief flows through him instead.

However, it leaves Moyo’s brows shooting towards his hairline. “Sorry, man. What has you so pissy?”

He sits up next to Jens, bumping his elbow gently, and now he begins to feel a little bad. Still, the upset hasn’t quite run out. “Why do you think it’s so wrong for me to care about Lucas?”

“What?” Moyo frowns. “I never said that. Lucas is cool, I’m glad we’re all friends with him.”

“He’s not my friend.”

The words slip out before Jens can stop them, and then there’s no taking them back.

Moyo’s frown melts away in his confusion as his brow furrows again. Then he lets out a small, somewhat nervous laugh. “What, are you that pissed you didn’t get to join the party?”

“I am,” Jens agrees easily, then has to pause, has to center himself. He thinks of Robbe yesterday, so happy and understanding, and of Lucas just before he left, so happy and excited, and of Moyo a year ago, laughing at the idea of anyone being bi, nose wrinkled at how ‘gross’ it appeared to him.

Then he thinks of how that was a year ago.

Then he says, “I am pissed, because my boyfriend didn’t even tell me it was his birthday and I don’t know why and because it doesn’t surprise me that the first thing you did is make fun of it.”

Moyo’s lips part, and he simply stares at him as they fall into silence. Jens looks back, trying not to let himself falter, trying not to let his fissures show or crack any further. It’s difficult, more so than he thought it would be, and he puts it down to the tumultuous feelings already raging through him after the surprises this morning. It also feels somewhat more terrifying to be voicing it in this room, under this roof. Perhaps this is where it should feel easiest, that it should be a safe place, but he finds his eyes flickering towards the door instead, making sure it’s shut tight. It’s not like it had been, wrapped up in Lucas’s warmth in their own little universe or under Robbe’s gentle gaze in a familiar setting. It’s nerve-wracking and nauseating, to listen for footsteps and watch Moyo look away from him.

Jens is inches away from pulling his hair out when Moyo finally turns back, appearing cautious as he licks his lips. “So you’re...you’re bi, or something?”

Jens’s heart clamours as he nods.

“And you’re with Lucas?”

“Just for about two weeks,” Jens says quietly.

Moyo’s brows raise, but he nods, once again licking his lips and averting his gaze. He focuses on a spot on the duvet as he speaks again. “Like...you’re into him? Like you would want to have sex with him, and everything?”

The little flicker of irritation returns. “Yeah, man, maybe, and I don’t need you telling me how it disgusts you or whatever, okay? Just—“

“I don’t think I ever want to have sex. With anyone.”

Jens snaps his mouth shut as his friend meets his gaze, surprised to have been interrupted.

He certainly hadn’t expected to be interrupted with that.

“What?”

Moyo makes himself small, hunching his shoulders slightly, but he keeps his gaze on Jens. It’s oddly full of nerves, alive with apprehension, overcast with doubt. Below it all, there’s a small hint of relief. Jens suddenly understands what’s happening.

“You don’t like sex?” he carefully pushes.

Moyo curls in on himself further, shrugging without opening his shoulders back up. “I’ve never had an actual experience to base it on, but the idea of it doesn’t actually appeal to me, no.”

All of this is admitted quietly, almost tersely as Moyo picks a thread loose in the sheet. Jens lets him, watchful and thoughtful, wondering where it is he’s supposed to take it from here. He hadn’t been prepared to come out to anyone today, but he hadn’t even considered the possibility that someone else would come out to him.

He has to admit, however, that he’s a little confused.

“But you talk about it all the time. About getting with girls, about what you’d do, and all your shitty dirty jokes?”

“That’s what we all talk about,” Moyo points out. “Aaron was whining over getting laid for months before Amber and it’s not like you’ve ever been shy about it. It’s what we’re supposed to talk about. Even Robbe isn’t as shy about it now. Like shit man, what else am I supposed to say?”

Jens eases up, letting his expression soften as he shifts slightly towards him, setting his phone aside entirely. “The truth,” he says gently. “Anything other than digging yourself into a deeper hole.”

“Yeah, because I wouldn’t have been the butt of the joke, the prude, if I just said I didn’t want to join in right?” Moyo scoffs, shaking his head as he turns to lean back against the headboard. “Don’t give me that.”

“Moyo,” Jens tries, but the words aren’t there. He knows, no matter how much it disappoints him, that his friend is right. They would have joked, and Jens would have been the main instigator.

He realises, with a sort of derisive amusement, that he’s as much the reason Moyo hadn’t come out to them as Moyo is the reason Jens hadn’t come out himself.

“I didn’t even realise what was wrong with me, why I revolted against it even while making dumb jokes or random passes. I thought it was just like, frustration, or jealousy even, that I didn’t actually have the experience. I knew that talking about it, wanting it, was the normal thing, the guy thing.”

Jens’s heart twists, and he’s instantly shaking his head back. “Bullshit. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Moyo snorts, shaking his head. He still won’t look at Jens. “Isn’t there? Fuck, I didn’t even understand it until Noor came onto me and I had to literally shove her away.”

This is another new surprising piece of information.

“Noor? Seriously?”

Moyo closes his eyes, nods his head, doesn’t say anything else. Jens remains quiet, as well, absorbing the information and giving Moyo room to think. It’s a dead sort of silence, not comfortable or awkward, but heavy. It’s only when Jens realises that Moyo isn’t going to offer anything else that he pushes a little further.

“When was that? I mean, the thing with Noor?”

Moyo shakes his head slightly, shrugging again. “Like two months ago maybe?”

“Two months?”

“I know.” Moyo purses his lips, picking at his nails as he stares down at his lap.

Jens thinks. “You’re not...forcing yourself to do anything, are you?”

Moyo finally looks at him, head whipping around as his brows knit together. “What? No. It’s not like that. Since then, she’s been helping me figure my shit out. Because I...I don’t know, I went into like this panic mood. It wasn’t even about kissing or sex it was like I realised I wasn’t attracted to her at all. Not physically. Like I know that Noor is beautiful, but it’s like I didn’t care. My mind could understand it and my body just didn’t feel it. And then I started to think about it and I’ve never actually been attracted to anyone. Not just Noor, just in general. Girls or guys. It confused the hell out of me, because I thought I did like her but I just...don’t think I can like anyone like that. Sexually.”

“Okay,” Jens nods slowly. “I’m still just not really understanding all your talk about something you have no interest in.”

“I’ve already told you. That’s what’s expected, y’know? That’s how you be a man.”

“Where is that shit coming from? Because I know it’s not your parents, and I hope it isn’t us.”

“No, not my parents, but what about the rest of my family? My uncles and even some of my cousins, I don’t know, it’s like fucking ingrained in them. I’ve ingrained it in myself. Even with you and Robbe, it’s different. They’d see it as like this minor error, but at least everything still works the same. With me it’s like...I don’t work, like this thing just isn’t there at all and—“

“Hey, hey, Moyo, woah,” Jens cuts him off, laying a placating hand on his friend’s shoulder. He waits for Moyo to steady himself, taking a deep breath with a clenched jaw, and then he gives a light tug to his shoulder. He has to do it again before Moyo actually gives in and looks at him, and then Jens keeps his expression serious. “Everything about you works whether you have sex with someone or not. Look at it like this. Your dick could be chopped right off, never able to use it, and you’d still be Moyo.”

He makes a cutting motion with his hand and then a sweep to the side as he makes a ‘phew’ noise through his teeth. It has the intended effect of making Moyo crack a smile even as he cringes, slapping Jens’s hand down with a shiver.

“And you said I make everything fucking gross, man. Jesus.”

Jens cracks, too, letting a small laugh escape as Moyo’s smile widens and his shoulders relax just so. “But it feels better, right?”

Moyo shrugs again, drawn-out and ashamed. “Still abnormal either way.”

“You’re not. You’re just asexual, I think.”

Moyo’s brows instantly shoot upwards. “You know what that is?”

Jens blinks at him. “Do you?”

“Dude, it’s been the only word in my head for weeks. Why do you know about it?”

“I kind of researched into everything when…”

He trails off, letting Moyo pick up on the implication himself, watches him purse his lips and give another nod. “Have you told anyone else?”

“Robbe, and only yesterday,” Jens admits. “You? Apart from Noor?”

Moyo purses his lips, shakes his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t react better to you actually...I mean, Jens, you know I have no problem with it right? What I said last year, it was really stupid. That’s not how I think anymore. Or at least, I’m trying not to think like that.”

“It’s okay,” Jens says softly. “I think I definitely understand a little better now. I’m sorry I haven’t made it easy for you to tell me, either.”

“We can circle back to me, okay? Right now we’re gonna talk about Lucas. You really didn’t know a thing about his birthday?”

Jens kind of wishes they could continue talking about Moyo, because in the last few minutes, he’d forgotten all about his own predicament. Now he’s forced to face it with a groan as he drags a hand over his face. “No. And I was telling myself it wasn’t that weird, because maybe it just hadn’t come up or he didn’t like celebrating or something, but now that you’re asking I feel like it’s weird.”

“Well maybe it is that. It looked kind of like a surprise party,” Moyo offers. “Maybe he just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Not with a new relationship.”

Jens isn’t quite sure why he flushes at that, but it makes Moyo’s lips tick slightly upwards. “Yeah,” he blows out a sigh, “but he also hasn’t messaged me. Like things were good yesterday before he left, and he fell asleep on the phone to me last night, and then like an hour later,” Jens makes a vague gesture, only waving his hand back and forth, but Moyo nods with a grimace.

“Maybe he’s stuck in bed. Hungover.”

“Maybe. It just freaks me out, ‘cause I know this is what he does when he’s pissed, or when something’s wrong. Gives me this radio silence. And I can’t go see him at his flat when he isn’t there.”

Moyo hums, then simply says, “Fuck. I’m kinda glad I’m not in this relationship game.”

Jens snorts, rubbing his hand over his face again as Moyo locks an arm around his shoulders and gives him a brief squeeze. “I thought Luc was going to be easier. These past few weeks have been, but,” he breaks off on a sigh, slumping back against his pillows as Moyo slips his arm out from behind him.

“You know what I think?” Moyo says. He waits for Jens to look at him before producing an unopened bag of weed. “I think you need some of your chill back.”

Jens only hesitates for a second before grinning and snatching the bag out of his hand.

[suituuup]

for the christmas prompts, can you do “you’re in the hospital for the holidays so i came in while you were sleeping to decorate your room i love you merry christmas". Thank you :)

I don’t want a lot for Christmas

rating: T

word count: 1,4k

ao3 link

*

Like a morning out of two, Beca wakes up to the steady beeping of her son’s heartbeat. She slowly sits up, wincing as she braces a hand over the painful twitch in her lower back from sleeping on that uncomfortable cot.

Her eyes fall on her sleeping son, so small and vulnerable in that large hospital bed. She pushes to her feet and leans over the railing, brushing her fingers through his auburn hair as she bends down to press a kiss to Dylan’s forehead.

The last year and a half has been an emotional whirlwind.

Dylan was diagnosed with Hodgkin Lymphoma right after his sixth birthday, and their whole world shifted on its axis. Chloe stopped teaching so she could take him to chemo and numerous doctor check-ups and Beca asked to only work part-time at the studio so she could spend more time with her family. Six months after the diagnosis, Dylan was in remission. Their happiness and relief were short-lived however, when signs of the illness showed up four months ago. The cancer was back. From LA, they moved to Philadelphia, where a doctor specialized in Hodgkin Lymphoma and Proton therapy.

Dylan’s body hasn’t been responding well to that type of treatment, and his body continued to shut down. He was admitted three weeks ago. The nurses and doctors on the peds ward are kind enough to let one parent stay over every night, so she and Chloe have been alternating night shifts at the hospital.

“Morning.” Beca’s pulled away from her thoughts by her wife’s voice. Chloe is standing in the doorway, two to-go cups balanced on one hand and a paper bag dangling from the other. The one who sleeps at home usually brings coffee and breakfast on the way in, as the hospital coffee tastes terrible. “How’s he doing?”

“Still asleep. Didn’t wake up through the night,” Beca says as Chloe steps further in, setting the items on the tray by Dylan’s bed before kissing Beca hello. Beca leans against her, releasing a sigh as she wraps an arm around her waist. Her eyes fall on the tote bag full of Christmas stuff set by the door. “What’s that?”

“I thought we should decorate, give this room a little holiday feeling.”

Beca smiles. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Once Dylan wakes up and the morning rounds are done, Beca and Chloe work around the room to hang the tinsels and Christmas lights, Christmas music playing through their portable speaker.

“What do you think, dude?” Beca asks when they’re done, lowering herself next to him and wrapping an arm around the seven-year-old’s shoulders as she takes in the newly-decorated room. “Did we do a good job?”

Dylan nods, a toothy grin spreading across his features. “Looks awesome.”

“I think so, too.” Beca presses a kiss to the side of his head. “I have to head to work, but I’ll be back for dinner, okay?”

“K.”

“Don’t destroy Mama at Mario Kart, alright?” She whispers, though she knows Chloe can hear her as she hangs the wreath on the door. “Let her win a couple times, at least.”

Dylan giggles while Chloe casts her a playful glare. Beca chuckles and pushes to her feet, brushing a quick kiss to Chloe’s lips on her way out. “See you later.”

It’s hard for her to truly focus at work when she knows her phone could go off any second if Dylan’s state suddenly worsens. She does her best to be present, but is immensely grateful when her boss assures her they’ll be fine if she leaves an hour early.

Like every night, they watch a movie or cartoon of Dylan’s choice while eating take-out, and read him a bedtime story before one of them has to leave.

“I love you,” Beca murmurs as she tucks the covers tighter around Dylan’s body. Leaving him at night is always the hardest, but they can’t both stay here.

“I love you too, Mommy.”

Chloe follows her out into the hall, where they have their only private moment of the day.

“I hate this,” Chloe whispers into their embrace. “I hate that one of us has to leave.”

“I know. Me too,” Beca mutters, her palm rubbing soothing circles over Chloe’s back as she soaks in her wife’s warmth. “I’ll be back early tomorrow morning.”

“You should get some more sleep,” Chloe says as she pulls away, cradling Beca’s cheek gently. “You’re exhausted, baby.”

Beca inhales sharply, cursing under her breath when a few tears escape the corners of her eyes. She can’t contradict Chloe; balancing work with their situation is exhausting, but they can’t afford to both be on leave. Bills still need to be paid, even when their son is extremely sick. “I’m terrified to miss your call if something happens.”

“You won’t,” Chloe murmurs. She catches the tear drops with the pad of her thumb and presses a lingering kiss to Beca’s forehead. They’re each other’s rocks. One is always there to anchor the other on tough days. “And he seems okay tonight.”

Beca nods. “I know. I just-- I can’t stop thinking of how unfair it all is. He doesn’t deserve any of this, Chlo.”

Chloe doesn’t say anything, probably because there’s nothing to be said. She hugs Beca a bit tighter, and they remain that way for long minutes, wordlessly giving each other as much comfort as they can despite the circumstances.

“I love you so much,” Beca whispers when she eventually lets go of her wife, taking Chloe’s hand and brushing a kiss to her knuckles.

“I love you, too. Send me a text when you’re home?”

“I will.”

The amazing team of nurses at Philly’s Children Hospital turn the pediatric ward into a Christmas Wonderland over the next few days. Service dogs come hang out with the young patients and Santa even visits to give out presents on Christmas Eve day.

It gets even better when Dylan’s favorite nurse swings by towards the end of the day to tell them that, since it’s Christmas Eve, they’re both allowed to spend the night at the hospital. Dylan gets to stay up an hour longer, facetiming with Chloe’s parents who are back on the west coast. Once he’s asleep, Beca sneaks in his presents and lies them in front of the tiny plastic Christmas tree they managed to tuck in the corner of the room.

She slides under the covers next to her wife a few minutes later, puffing out a content sigh. It’s the first time in a month that they get to sleep in the same bed, and Beca’s missed it more than she realized.

“He had a good time tonight,” Chloe whispers as Beca absentmindedly strokes her forearm while they cuddle on the twin sized cot.

“Yeah, I think so. Tomorrow is going to be even better. I’ll go get donuts and hot chocolates across the street before he wakes up.”

“Good idea.” Chloe smiles and nuzzles her cheek. “I wish we could get him a puppy.”

It was the plan up until Dylan was admitted. But the pet wouldn’t be able to stay in the hospital, and it would spend most of the days on its own in their empty house.

“Next year,” Beca says softly. Her heart physically hurts, because she knows another year is not guaranteed, but she can’t afford to let go of her hopes, or else she'll crumble. “We’ll get him one next year.”

Chloe nods, blinking back tears. “Okay.”

They wake Dylan up with a kisses and tickle attack in the morning, his giggles warming Beca's mind and soul.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Chloe murmurs, letting up on the tickling as she kisses Dylan’s cheek. “Looks like Santa came by last night.”

Dylan gasps as he follows his Mama’s gaze to the tree surrounded by presents.

Beca pushes to her feet to get a couple, setting them on Dylan’s lap. They maybe went a little overboard with gifts, and some parents would probably call him spoiled, but after all he’s been through, Beca doesn’t give a flying fuck.

They play with his new toys for the rest of the day, and if Beca closes her eyes and shuts out the hospital sounds for a minute, focusing on her son's laughter, it almost seems like he's not sick.

It almost seems like things might be okay.

For a minute.

[ddaenggtan]

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. 

[burnedbyshoto]

Gimme More

Kinktober Day 14 ~ kink: lap-dance

pairing: jirou kyoka x fem!reader

warnings: smuttish, lapdance

word count: 3,118

a/n: so I ended up choosing gimme more by britney spears the slowed down version! feel free to listen when you get to the lapdance!!! DONT YOU DARE FUCKING SLEEP ON MY WLW PIECES YALL!!!!!!!! YOU SLEPT ON MY THREESOME AND I WONT EVER FORGIVE YOU FOR IT >:(

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

“Open up, please!!” Jirou and Mina screamed through the door.

Jirou was holding on to an entire crate of sake and she turned towards Mina who had a box of soju in her own arms.

“Do you think anyone of them heard that? Bakugou’s as deaf as an old man.” Jirou wonders aloud.

“Well, y/n is already here, and I texted her when we were just dropped off,” Mina responds, shifting the box in her arms. The weight of the box slowly becoming uncomfortable. Jirou’s eyes widen as her eyes snap down at her casual clothing, her cheeks burning as she shakes her head.

“I thought, wait no, didn’t you tell me she wasn’t coming?!” Jirou hisses at Mina who laughs, her eyes snapping away. She had been caught.

Jirou’s head snapped forward as the door opens, and there you are. Your hair was down, grazing your shoulders as you smiled. Jirou’s face darkened as she saw the gray sweatpants that sat comfortably around your waist. She froze as she noticed the tank top embellishing your figure and curves.

“Finally!” You say swinging the door open, stepping back to let the girls in. “Everyone else is here, and everyone wants to get Ei drunk as quick as possible!”

Jirou scurries in, avoiding your greeting hug. She is barely able to kick off her shoes as you envelop Mina into a hug. Jirou doesn’t wait for you to try to hug her again, walking over to Kirishima’s kitchen with the box in her arms.

This tight-knit group of friends wasn’t one that Jirou was all that close to. Yes, she was great friends with both Mina, Kaminari, and surprisingly Bakugou! But she didn’t see herself as apart of this squad. Your presence especially was one that had her on edge. Because Jirou Kyoka was undeniably in love with you. It was embarrassing because it seemed that everyone and their mother had picked up on her crush on you. Except, of course, for you. Or maybe it was that you knew and just didn’t want to hurt her. Either way, it was horrible.

“What the hell took you two so long?” Bakugou barked as soon as Jirou entered the kitchen.

All four of the boys were already there. Kirishima sipping on some metal flask, with the most disgusted look on his face.

“Happy birthday, Kiri!” Jirou states, thrusting the box into the ash blond’s expectant hands as she sits down.

Jirou watched with flushed cheeks as you walked in with Mina. You lifted the box of soju over your head as Kaminari, Sero, and Mina all joined in screaming. Bakugou’s smirk growing as Kirishima looked scared. Jirou could not lie, she loved the dynamics of this group. She watched on as everyone besides Kirishima laid out multiple glasses. Alcohol being immediately opened and pouring into them all.

She watched on as you in your comfortable clothes, swatted away Bakugou who was trying to take over. Sero and Kaminari trying to down a bottle of sake without being caught. Mina by your side, being your help as you fought Bakugou on who should give Kirishima his first ‘real’ drink. Kirishima’s laugh was way too forced as he slunk over to Jirou, who nodded at him.

“Happy birthday!” She stated as Kirishima grins, thanking her with a kind smile.

“I was not excited about this day at all,” Kirishima admits as Bakugou rips the soju bottle from your hands. Bakugou’s grin is wide as he laughed as you attempted to reach it. Your body jumping in an attempt to get it, and Mina was on the floor with laughter. “I fully believe they will get more drunk than I will.”

“Even Bakugou?” Jirou asks shocked. She had never been out drinking with this group after all.

“If y/n starts challenging him…” Kirishima trails off, and Jirou laughs. She knows that the two of them could never back down from a challenge.

“Well, it’s still your birthday,” Jirou affirms, taking her own bottle of sake and handing it to the birthday boy. “So, take a drink.”

Jirou wished she could have taken a picture of everyone’s reactions when they saw that she had given Kirishima his official first drink.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

You weren’t paying much attention to the group anymore. It had been a few hours since getting started and you were helping Sero with the drinks. You kept feeling someone gazing at you but when you turned around. You saw that no one was even trying to hide that they were looking. Maybe you were just too a bit too tipsy.

“Alright, everyone! Listen up! The birthday boy wants… he wants to switch up the next games’ rules. Truth or dare. But we’re playing the hot hot hot rated version.” Kaminari slurred excitedly, his hands moving to rub each others in great excitement. You glanced back to see everyone groaning, but the blond was smiling and winked at you.

“What do you mean by hot hot hot rated?” Jirou asked, her cheeks tinged red from her drinking while she sat nearer to the blond. The tiniest bit of jealousy shot through your veins as you watch him lean his head against hers, his smile warm and dopey while she blushed more. What can you say, you had a crush on the sound hero.

“ANYTHING AT ALL REALLY. I’m talking about taking clothes off! Lap dances! 7 minutes in heaven or even hell - if you know what i meanI Yeah, why not? Of course, more, if ya know what I mean.”

“Are you fucking serious, dunce face? Not everyone here is-” Bakugou tried to rip him a new one but Kaminari shushed him to be quiet, his body slumping over toward the ash blond.

“What? A big fat pussy? Suck it up! Besides, we need to get you ‘virgins’ out of your shells. Want me to start naming who hasn’t had any AT ALL?!”

“Come on, really Denki.” Mina was shaking her head, her fingers rubbing her temples. You brought the drinks to the floor and sat next to Kirishima again. You rested your legs on Bakugou’s knees who put a hand on your calf out of his own comfort.

Jirou glanced over at you, her eyes looking at the close proximity between you and the boys. You waited for her eyes to look up at yours, and when you do you motion the ‘crazy’ symbol towards Kaminari, and she smiles.

“Come on, just relax! It’ll be fun, I promise! Um, Sero help me out here! Pick someone random to start? Maybe with a random selector thingy for someone else to make a question…randomly.”

“Good job dude, you sound like a fucking idiot!” you laughed at Bakugou’s slander, throwing a pillow at him while Bakugou shoulder nudged you.

“I mean, I guess?” Sero sighed, pulling out his phone. Mina was over his shoulder, looking as he inputted everyone’s name into the generator.

“Alright… first up is, Mina, you get to ask… Bakugou anything.” Sero states placing his phone down.

Kaminari gave Bakugou a drink. “Oh man, I don’t even know? I’m the best at this game, but what do I want you to tell me... Okay…umm what is your fav-” Mina was immediately interrupted by Kaminari.

“What part of rated XXX do you not understand?”

“You didn’t let me finish the rest of the fucking question, KAMINARI! Shut up!!!!”

The group burst into laughter as Kaminari sulked, his body wilting as he took another drink from his cup.

“What’s your favorite lingerie color to see?” Mina wiggles her eyebrows at Bakugou and saw him shaking his head.

“Why would I want lingerie when I prefer people stripped naked. I’m trying to fuck, not explode in my pants.” He never dropped his gaze from hers. Your eyes widen as you look at Bakugou, tipping your drink towards him, you took a gulp of the bitter liquid.

“WOOOW didn’t expect that from you of all people. Drink up!” Kaminari handed him a drink.

“I thought we only fucking drink if we don’t answer?”

“My game. My rules. You drink either way.”

“I thought this was my game?” Kirishima asked.

You laughed as Kaminari flushed again, oh boy, this night was going to be rough.

The game went for a long time. Kaminari and Mina were having way too much fun with the questions. Jirou was then dared to guess what the bra color of Mina’s was. Sero asked Kirishima about who in the group he would fuck if he was a girl. Everyone was very buzzed. You were too lost in your gaze on Jirou who was whispering to Kaminari that you didn’t hear them calling you.

“Sorry what?” You feel your cheeks turning red as Mina laughs a bit too loudly.

“You only had like seven drinks. Wake up!” Kirishima claps near your face and you shove him aside.

“Who’s asking me?” Your question, your lips sipping at your drink again.

“Me,” Mina declared, her hands clasping.

“Alright.” You clear your throat, shifting in your spot to prepare for the worst.

“When was the last time you got laid?” she questions, her eyes curious and innocent, but her smile knowing and cunning. You honestly did not expect that low-leveled question out of her at all.

“Wow, you are an asshole. Fine. Ummmm pretty sure since high school, senior year in the locker room.”

“No fucking way. That’s not possible. Y/n you’re one hot as hell chick. How is that-” Kaminari grabs your thighs and Jirou shifts.

“No nuh-uh. I was asked when not why, so I am not answering anything!”

“No wait, we’re not moving past this. You need to answer-”

“NOPE! Sero, next person please.” You were still smirking when you looked at Jirou. She looked really uncomfortable and when she saw you staring at her... she dropped the face and smiled shyly at you.

“Kaminari... dare... Y/N?”

“Wait, no! THAT’S NOT FAIR!” You screamed.

“The generator chose it’s victim,” Kaminari grins as he leans forward. “Submit.”

Your mouth twitches, your frown growing as you glare at him. “Fine. Denki if you please.”

Kaminari was thinking for a while. Which lead you to believe you were at the very least safe from follow up questions. You felt it all crumble away when Mina got up and whispered something to him.

“YES, you’re a tricky girl. Y/n…I dare you to give someone a lap dance. This someone has to be the person you find the hottest in the room, too!”

“What the hell kind of dare is that?” You protest. Blood rushing to your cheeks as suddenly the boys were all hyperaware of what was happening. It wasn’t to say they all liked you, but no one could deny they wouldn’t take a lap-dance from you.

“The one you can’t back out of. Now, do you want us to get on chairs and close our eyes until the music starts?” Sero asked. You were about to answer when Mina yelled out chairs before you could say it yourself.

You were still on the floor as suddenly all the boys were on chairs, staring at you as you sat on the floor. Your jaw dropped as Mina brought two chairs over for her and Jirou. The black-haired girl trying to get herself from not being on the chair, and it made your throat clench. What would she do when you went over to her?

Mina shoved a phone into your hands, the one connected to the Bluetooth speaker. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you tried thinking about the best song to choose from. You looked at their closed eyes, all of them expecting you to mount them as your heart finally chose one.

The beat started and you sang along.

Every time they turn the lights down

Just want to go that extra mile for you

Your public display of affection

Feels like no one else in the room (but you)

Eyes snap open, and everyone is silent as they watch you saunter towards Jirou, swaying your hips to the music. Her gaze was so intense, so surprised, but you made sure you never broke eye contact. For a moment, you thought you saw her smirk but it was gone the second the thought intruded your mind.

We can get down like there's no one around

We'll keep on rockin' (We'll keep on rockin')

We'll keep on rockin' (Keep on rockin')

Cameras are flashin' while we're dirty dancin'

They keep watching (They keep watching)

Keep watching

Feels like the crowd is saying

You slid your hands down your neck to the valley between your breasts. Stopping right below your navel. Shutting your eyes, you focused on just you and Jirou. At this moment. With no distractions. Just you and her.

You straddled her thighs the moment the pace picked up.

Gimme, Gimme more

Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme more

Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme more

Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme more

Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme, More

You were thoroughly enjoying this. Grabbing her shoulders and holding on, you arched your back and kept on rubbing yourself on her. Too close to the middle of her parted legs. It didn’t help that the sweats you wore were thin. And god did she feel so fucking good against your skin.

A center of attention (Can you feel them?)

Even when we're up against the wall

You've got me in a crazy position (yeah)

If you're on a mission (uh-uh)

You got my permission (oh)

You slowly felt her hands grabbing your waist, its tentative, yet confident. Your tanktop has ridden up and you loved feeling the seeping heat of her hands on your skin. It drove you crazy. You held onto her biceps and she couldn’t help but move them against you, wanting to show you just how much she loves this.

We can get down like there's no one around

We'll keep on rockin' (Keep on rockin')

We'll keep on rockin', rockin' (Oh ah-ha)

Cameras are flashin' while we're dirty dancin'

They keep watching (They keep watching)

Keep watching

Feel's like the crowd is saying:

You turned around quickly and straddled her again, your back hitting her chest. You felt the heat radiating off of her and couldn’t help but shut your eyes and moan. The curve of her breasts overwhelming as your ass ground into her. You grabbed her hands and placed them back on you. Rubbing your ass further onto her, you felt how hard she was breathing against your sweating skin. And fucking hell was it turning you on. She got a little bolder and placed one hand right below your breasts. The other going to your back and forcing you to bend down.

Gimme, Gimme more

Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme more

Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme more

Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme more

Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme more

Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme, More (Gimme more)

Gimme, Gimme more

Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme, More (Oh woah oh!)

Gimme, Gimme more

Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme more (Gimme more, yeah)

Gimme, More

Gimme, Gimme, More

You came back up and reached back to rake your fingers through her hair, trying to pull her closer to you. You felt her breath on your skin and heard her whine. Jirou was muttering expletives that only you can hear.

Sadly, the song ended. You wished you could stay like this forever but let go. You turned around and looked at her. Jirou’s eyes barely had any color left in them. You both snapped out of your haze when you heard Kaminari and Mina whistle and clap.

“Damn Y/n that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Kaminari remarked while handing you your drink back. You hoped no one noticed how hard you were breathing and just sat back down in your seat, chugging the whole drink.

Jirou stood up and scrambled out of the room, soft excuses leaving her mouth as she ran. And you? You were embarrassed, shocked to the core. Had you gone too far?

“Is she okay?” You ask. You worried that she was completely uncomfortable with you giving her a lap dance. You no longer felt tipsy as everyone looked around. As if they knew something you didn’t.

“I’ll go check on her.” Kirishima was about to stand up when you motioned for him to sit down.

“It’s ok I’ll go. I need to apologize for what I did anyways.”

Arriving at a closed-door, you were about to knock when you heard her from inside.

You knocked on the door and asked her if you can come in, your sweating forehead pressed against the wood. Hearing some shuffling and footsteps, you waited patiently. Jirou opened the door a little and walked back to the bed, her head down, and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Damn, you definitely went too far. Pushing it, you walked inside, trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. You walked and sat next to her, your feelings feeling like a steaming mess as she won’t look at you.

“Hey.”

She didn’t reply. This was a terrible start.

“I-I wanted to…apologize for..you know.” You motioned to her lap, and her eyes finally locked on you.

She shrugged but said nothing, her fingers finding her earlobs, gently pushing the metal together.

“I should have asked if it was ok with you before I did anything.” When she nodded, you took the chance to get closer to her, resting your head on her shoulder.

Jirou’s breathing hitched, she was surprised by what you just did.

“I-I like you. I really, really, like you. And sometimes, I almost feel like a coward because I’ve liked you for so long now, but… I don’t know if you feel the same way.”

“Are… are you being serious right now?” Jirou asks, her voice low. Soft. Scared almost.

“I have no reason to lie.” You laugh, trying to mask your own insecurity.

What you didn’t expect, not once in a million years was for her lips to be over yours within seconds. Your eyes widening as you saw her eyes clutched closed as her lips pressed against yours. A shocked gasp escapes your lips as your eyes flutter closed, kissing her back as much as you could.

She breaks away, her face red, her breathing unstable as she shakes her head. “I really, really like you too, y/l/n.”

Your smile has returned full force as you bring her lips back towards yours. The kiss is sensual, her lips dragging over your own as she pushes towards you. Your back hits the mattress as she slides on top of you. Your chest heaving as the arousal and excitement from earlier makes its way back to you.

“D-Do…” You trail off as her soft lips press against your neck, and you arch into her body, overwhelmed. “Are you trying to fuck me in Kirishima’s guest bed?” You tease as her hands slip under your tank top.

“We’ll clean his sheets for him. Besides, they’re all hammered, they won’t notice unless you’re loud.” Jirou breathes against your skin, and you moan as her fingers make contact with your breasts.

[afictionaladventure16]

Sebastian x daughter!reader, so he gets really busy with something and forgets her birthday and it ends up in argument between the two and he says something really mean to the reader? Then the two of them go to cevans for help and don't know the other is already there? i know it's angsty but that's what i live for

Did You Forget? (Sebastian Stan x Daughter!Reader)

Actors Masterlist

Sebastian Stan Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of an absent mother. 

Word Count: 2,032

A/N: Thank you for being so patient! I hope this was angsty enough for you!! Love you! 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, I’ll be over in about thirty minutes,” Sebastian said into the phone as he rushed around the kitchen. You sat down at the kitchen table, watching him rush around like a chicken that got his head chopped off. Your heart felt heavy; the fact that he hasn’t said anything was eating you up. “Alright. See you later,” Sebastian said before hanging up his phone. “Make sure to clean your mess up before you leave for school, Y/N.” With that, your dad left the house. No ‘good morning.’ No ‘I love you,’ and most certainly no, ‘happy birthday.’

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” you softly said to yourself. “Oh! Thanks, dad! I almost thought you had forgotten about me!” You replied to yourself. “Because you would never forget your daughter… right?” Tears brimmed your eyes at your little scenario. You never thought your father would be so busy that he would forget his only child’s birthday. You were the apple of his eye. 

But with everything, you carried on with your day. You went to school and then came home to an empty house. You heard your phone ring, quickly answering it. “Hello?” 

“Happy birthday!” Chris said with glee. “How old are you now? 100? 200?” 

You chuckled. “Chill, I’m not as old as you, Chris.” 

“Ouch!” Chris laughed before clearing his throat. “Your dad wanted me to tell you that he’s going to be home late.” 

“Oh?” You questioned. 

“Yeah, they’re holding him, hostage,” Chris joked. You hummed in response but Chris quickly took notice of your tone. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing,�� you said softly. 

Chris knew not to press it any further; it’s the way you were. If you wanted to talk about something, you would. “Alright, well, you call me if you need anything, okay?” 

“Yeah.” You ended the call. Tossing your phone onto the couch before sitting down. You wondered if you even mattered to your dad at times. If he even cared about you. Of course, he did, right? He raised you. He took care of you all on his own. So, how could he forget your birthday? He already knew how hard it was to celebrate a birthday without a mother and now here you were, basically celebrating it without a father. 

A few hours went by before your dad had finally arrived. It was nearly eight o’clock at night. 

“Nice of you to finally show up,” you mumbled as you got off the couch. 

Sebastian groaned. His head had been hurting all day and all he wanted to do was go straight to bed and forget today ever happened. “Not now, Y/N,” he said as he made his way towards the stairs. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” you called out. 

Sebastian stopped in his tracks and looked over at you, giving you a confused look. “No.” 

“Unbelievable.” You rolled your eyes as you walked over to your dad. “Nothing about today rings a bell? Maybe the day that changed your life forever?” 

Sebastian’s expression quickly changed as it dawned on him the date of today. “Fuck!” 

“Thanks a lot, dad,” you said as you moved past him. 

“Hey! I’m sorry I forgot but it’s hard when I’m working these ridiculous hours while also being a single father!” 

“And it’s hard to celebrate a birthday without a mom or a dad!” You yelled. “Sometimes, I even wish she would’ve taken me with her! Maybe then I wouldn’t have been such a burden to you!” 

“Maybe,” Sebastian mumbled. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. Sebastian instantly regretted what he said, “Y/N, I di-”

“Save it!” You hissed as you brushed past him towards the door. 

“Y/N, where are you going!?” Sebastian panicked as he saw you heading towards the door. 

“Far away from you!” You yelled as you walked out of the house and ran down the street. 

“Y/N!” Sebastian called out. He ran out the door. He saw you in the distance, running down the street. “Shit.” 

The streets of New York were no friend when it came to trying to just have some time to yourself. You groaned in irritation as another passerby bumped into your shoulder without saying sorry. The sound of roaring thunder pierced through your eyes. Not even a second later, you felt the droplets of rain on your skin. You rolled your eyes. “Just great,” you commented. Before making your way to the familiar hotel that Chris was staying at. If there was someone you knew you could trust, it was Chris. 

You made your way into the hotel and towards Chris’ room. Softly knocking on the door, Chris opened it seconds later, surprised to see you. “Y/N? Come in! You must be freezing!” He said as he noticed your outfit slightly damp from the rain. 

You walked into the hotel room; Chris closed the door behind you and sprinted to the bathroom. You sat down on the bed before Chris came back into the room with a fresh towel. “Here,” he said softly. He wrapped the towel around your shaking body. “Where’s your dad?” 

You rolled your eyes once again, shrugging in response. “Probably forgetting my birthday somewhere.” 

Chris gave you a confused expression before sitting down on the bed beside you. “Care to explain?” 

You sighed, feeling the tears well up in your eyes. “He forgot my birthday, Chris,” you choked out, “and we argued and I was angry and I said some things about maybe if my mom had taken me I wouldn’t have been such a burden and he agreed with me!” You sobbed out. 

Chris sighed, knowing damn well that Sebastian fucked up, but he couldn’t point the finger at him right away. Chris knew how much Sebastian loved his daughter and how he would do anything for her. There had to be a reason why Sebastian said what he said. 

“You know he doesn’t mean it,” Chris reassured. 

“Yes, he does! He’s been ignoring me for weeks! It’s like I don’t exist to him anymore!” 

Chris pulled you in for an embrace, kissing the top of your head in a platonic way. “That’s not true, Y/N. Your dad loves you so much. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to him.” 

“Then why would he say that?” 

Chris shrugged. “I don’t know, sweetie, but I’m going to find out.” 

~ 

Sebastian frantically called your phone, but the sound of the ringtone of your phone coming from the couch caused him to panic even more. You didn’t have your phone, and he had no way of contacting you. 

“Fuck!” He expressed. Grabbing your phone from the couch, he made his way towards the door, and the sound of the thunder caught his attention. He grabbed his jacket and then yours, knowing very well that you were going to need it. 

Sebastian drove around the block, hoping that you were still around. He cursed to himself, “I had to sign her up for track,” he mumbled to himself. Commenting on the fact that you were a fast runner. Sebastian took his phone out of his pocket and quickly dialed Chris’ number. 

“Seb,” Chris didn’t take long to answer. 

“Chris, man, I fucked up,” Sebastian began to say. “Y/N, she ran away and I can’t find her,” Sebastian began to choke up, tears welled up in his eyes as he leaned his head against the headrest. “I can’t lose her, Chris. I can’t. I… I need help finding her.” Chris couldn’t help but chuckle. “This isn’t funny, Chris!” 

“I’m sorry, man, I didn’t mean to laugh.” Chris cleared his throat. “She’s right here with me, Seb. I was gonna call you once she calmed down.” 

“Oh thank god!” Sebastian expressed. “Is she okay?” 

Chris looked at your sleeping form before walking out of the room and into the hotel hallway. “She’s hurt emotionally.” Chris let out a soft sigh. “You fucked up, dude.”

“I know.” 

“She’s asleep right now, but I’ll make sure she stays here until you get here.” 

“Thank you, Chris.” Chris hummed in response. “And Chris?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What do I do?” 

Chris let out another chuckle; he found it humorous that his friend was asking him for parenting advice. “You’re asking the wrong person, man.” Sebastian let out a heavy sigh, desperate for any advice at this point. “But if I were in your shoes, I would apologize.” 

Sebastian let out a frustrated groan, “How the hell do I forget my only child’s birthday!? I was an only child, and my parents never forgot my birthday!” 

“Well, you have been working long hours, I believe you need a break. After a while, it starts to mess with your head… You know this already. You’re not new to this crazy lifestyle.” 

Of course, Sebastian knew that. He’d been an actor for quite a while but even then, with all his other projects and crazy hours, he has never forgotten your birthday. Maybe a break was needed, Sebastian has been jumping from one project to another for the past two years. He hasn’t had a well-needed break in quite a while. “A break sounds nice,” Sebastian commented. 

“And I would also explain to her about the crazy hours you’ve been working.” 

“You’re right,” Sebastian said. 

“You got this, Seb.” 

“Thank you, Chris. I appreciate it.” Chris smiled, even though Sebastian couldn’t see him. They both said “see you later” before ending the call. 

It wasn’t long until Sebastian made it to the hotel, meeting Chris in the hallway. “She’s asleep,” Chris informed Seb.

“Thank you again,” Sebastian repeated before walking into the room. He looked at your sleeping form, letting out a relieved sigh. You were safe. A bit damp from the rain, but you were safe. Sebastian walked closer to you; he began to pick you up gently, but it startled you awake. “Shh, it’s just me,” Sebastian said calmly. 

Tears quickly welled up in your eyes. You covered yourself with the blanket and faced the other direction. “Go away, I don’t want to talk to you.” 

Sebastian sighed. “Fair enough,” he softly said. “You don’t have to talk, but can you at least listen?” You didn’t respond. Sebastian took that as ‘yes’ and continued. “I didn’t mean anything I said, sweetie, and I’m sorry I forgot your birthday. I really am. It’s just, with the crazy hours at work and the constant jumping from project to project, I haven’t had a decent break in a while and I guess it finally got to my head.” Sebastian let out a shaky sigh, the thought of the words he was going to say next, the thought of everything being different. It broke him. “I have never, ever, thought of you as a burden. Never. You know what I thought of you as?” 

You turned your body so you were facing your father’s direction. He gave you a somber smile. He wiped away the tear on your cheek that had gone astray. “What?” You questioned. 

“I thought of you as a blessing.” He pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I don’t know what life would be like without you, and I am so sorry if I hurt you, baby girl. I’m still learning how to be an amazing dad to you. I’m going to make mistakes. There’s going to be arguments, but I promise you, you are not a burden. I love you so much.” 

It felt like a dam broke within your eyes. You got up from your position on the bed and wrapped your arms around your dad. “I’m sorry I ran away.” 

Sebastian held you tightly. “It’s okay,” he said softly. He placed a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m going to ask for a break from work. It might cause some setbacks, but I don’t care. You and I are in a dire need of some family time.” 

“May I suggest a place?” 

Sebastian chuckled, already knowing your answer. “Let me guess, Disneyworld?” 

The door to the hotel room quickly opened, “I swear I wasn’t eavesdropping but did I hear Disneyworld?” Chris asked. 

Permanent Taglist (CLOSED): @otomefan @dejaazaro @culturebay @kpopishilarious @fireproof-heaven @iloveyouthreethousand-o6  @weappreciatepower @whereyoustand  @white-wolf-buckaroo @spider-woman22 @coffee-habit @supernaturallover2002 @barnes-parker @therealmrshale @myinternetissoslow @myhippiehopes @celyndavies @xzowiex @ximaginx @wooshytooshy @ellaorelizabeth @rororo06  @chloe-geoghegan1 @hdthdthdt @sophie-barnes26 @thamuddagirl @scarletmeii @ssebstann @fangirl31415 @thepeggyann @lauren-novak @reerrrrskillz @unapologeticallymimi   @glitterquadricorn @lady-of-lies  @cassmoreiraxo @just4muggles @mellorine-paprika  @agirlruinedbybands @yougottalovefandoms @avngrsinitiative @lizlil

Sebastian Stan Taglist: @acalmandquietplace @sleepylunarwolf @alicat-life @captaiinameriicasass @edgyhargreeves @noobmaster63 @pleasantlysecretdream @tessvillegas @xiumin-girl99 @thejourneyneverendsx  @thewintersoldier1124 @booksarebae2000 @scarletmeii @imjusthereforsupernatural @sebastiansmadden @latsyrc85x @dyckvindyck  @dumblani @vapingisntmything @viarogers @supermoonchildbroski @beepbeepmarie @notice-me-tc @cautiouscalum  @tfandtws @infinity-saga @marvelsexlol

[lovely-angst]

Hi! I’m so glad to see you back, I’m dying with college too so good luck! So my request would be Bakugo forgetting his girlfriend bday and things get angsty and ugly and the Bakugo trying to make it up? You decide wether they make up or not muahahahha, thanks a lot and have a lovely day!

oof, me. My birthday last year was not so hot. Thankfully this year it went by pretty okay!

Bakugou is a Pro Hero in this fic! I thought it would fit the story a little better, hope you enjoy!

Today was your big day; your birthday had finally rolled around! The past few months had taken all of your power to not burst out of excitement and tell Bakugou how close your birthday was getting. You wanted to see if he would remember his own girlfriend’s birthday, it shouldn’t be too hard, right?

“Good morning Katsuki!” You chirped as you rolled around to lift yourself off the male, hovering over him with your arms on each side of his head. Bakugou squinted at you before turning away and tucking himself into his pillow, “Why are you so excited, go back to sleep,” he groans, pulling the blankets with him. “Katsuki, come on, lets go do something fun today!” You whine as you lay on his side dramatically.

“I can’t, I have work today,” he mumbled from underneath the blankets and you frown, getting off him and sitting beside him on the bed. “You work today?” you ask as he finally sits up, blankets falling off his bare chest. “You didn’t take work off or anything?” 

“No, why would I?” he asks puzzled but shrugs it off with a hard stretch. You furrow your brows slightly upset with how things are looking but you still had hope for today. “What time will you be done?” you ask as Bakugou stands from the bed and makes his way towards his dresser.

“Sometime around five, maybe?” he states, “Were you trying to do something today?” Bakugou asks and you laugh lightly at his question. “Well, not really. I have no plans today, I’m free all day!” you hint but Bakugou didn’t react at all. 

Bakugou didn’t mention anything about your birthday the entire morning before he left for to work for the day, but you still had hope. Bakugou was loving and he cared for you! There was no chance he could forget your birthday, you two had been together for all these years! 

At least, that’s how you tried convincing yourself.

“Thanks again, Mina! It means a lot to me!” You exclaim as you held the girl’s hands happily. As you were out buying a cake for you and Bakugou to share for the evening, you ran into Mina, who had wished you a happy birthday.

“It’s nothing! I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a present today, I wasn’t expecting to run into you like this!” she cried and you shook your head, “The fact that you remember is more than enough!”

She gave you a warm smile before perking up, “Oh! What did Bakugou do for you today? I bet he got you some red roses or an elegant ring!” She exclaimed excitedly but you could only smile back in response. “Um, he hasn’t done anything yet, but maybe he’s just trying to surprise me?” You state hesitantly and Mina steps back in shock. “You’re kidding! Has he at least wished you a happy birthday?!”

“Well...no..” You sigh dejectedly before she reaches over to grab your hands once more. “Do you need me to yell at him? I can go to his hero agency right now!” 

“Thanks, but it’s okay. I want to see if Katsuki will remember,” you sigh once more as you step away. “Thanks again for today, see you soon,” you say with a small wave as you make your way towards the bakery.

By the time you got home with the cake, four in the evening was approaching quick. You had spent your morning replying to birthday wishes from old classmates and spent the afternoon running errands. Bakugou would be coming home in an hour so you decided to give him a quick call just to check on him.

“Hello?”

“Hi Katsuki, how’s work going?” You ask with a smile as you decorate your cake with many candles around the neat piping. “Coming home soon?”

“Same as usual, just finishing up these dumbass papers. Why do we even need to fill out paperwork?” Bakugou complains over the phone causing you to giggle. “But turns out im going to be at the agency a little longer today, later in the evening.” 

Your hand finishes placing the candles on the birthday cake as you look at it with sad eyes, “You can’t come home early?” You say in a voice so soft it almost comes out as a whisper. Bakugou sighs into the phone, “I’m trying to get this all done so it’ll be easier on us in the future.” 

“Okay,” you sigh, “see you later then.” and with that, the phone call ended.“The day’s still young...” you whisper as you placed the cover back over the cake with a heavy heart.

It was long past ten at night and Bakugou was still at the agency finishing his hero work. It had taken him much longer to complete his paperwork and other hero assignments in the office than he had anticipated. 

“Woah dude, you’re still here?” Kirishima exclaims, jerking to a stop when he sees his friend still in the office. “Unless you finish these papers for me, these papers don’t finish themselves,” Bakugou mumbles as he scribbles away.

“Shouldn’t you be home with (Name) right now?” Kirishima inquires and Bakugou turns around from his chair, “Did you even do anything with her today?” 

“What are you getting at?”

“Well, it’s (Name)’s birthday today.”

“No it’s not, (Name) didn’t tell me it was her birthday this morning,” Bakugou scoffs and Kirishima sighs disappointedly, “Of course she didn’t. Girls do that to test if their boyfriends remember their birthdays. You’re kinda hopeless in a relationship Bakugou..”

Turning around to grab his phone from his desk, Bakugou checked on the time only to find a little less than two hours until midnight. “Fuck!” Bakugou cursed as he grabbed his items and dashed past the red haired male. “Good luck!” Kirishima yelled out as he watched Bakugou running home.

When Bakugou reached the door to your shared space, he was nervous and incredibly guilty, to say the least. Opening the front door, he noticed all the lights off and all that surrounded him was the silent of the night. 

“(Name)?” Bakugou called out as he made his way towards the kitchen table. A cake was all that sat upon the table with a single sliced removed, the peice you ate by yourself alone on your birthday. 

Slowly, Bakugou made his way towards the bedroom where he found the door shut. Hesitantly he opened the door and found you on the bed covered in blankets, asleep probably. 

Stepping closer, his heart shattered in his body when he saw the light tear streaks illuminated by the moonlight streaming down your cheeks. You turned away from him and towards the wall as you covered your face with the blankets. 

“(Name), I-” Bakugou started, unsure of what to say to make you feel better. “Happy Birthday,” he said softly but you didn’t react. The room was silent for what felt like an eternity before you spoke up in a whisper.

“It doesn’t matter anymore; it’s already night time,” you said heartbroken. “Babe,” Bakugou whispered as he walked over towards the bed and turned you over, your face filled with sadness. “I’m- fuck- I know I'm an idiot for forgetting.”

“I waited for you to say something all day, Katsuki,” your replied as more tears filled your eyes, “All I waited for was a simple ‘happy birthday’ from you.” you brought the blanket to your eyes as you let out a sob. 

“Birthdays aren’t all that special but I thought that you could be there to make it special for me and make me feel special on this day, but in the end, I was left feeling like I didn’t matter instead.” 

All Bakugou could do was sit there and listen to your sobs. He really messed this up big time. The only day in the year dedicated to you and he forgot it. 

What a mess. 

“I can take work off tomorrow for you and we can celebrate together, that sounds like a solid plan,” Bakugou tries but you just shrug, “It’s not the same though cause it’s not on my birthday anymore.” You sure were a tough bug when it came to your birthday and though it was quite frustrating to Bakugou, he still couldn’t blame anyone but himself.

Checking the digital clock on the nightstand, it read an hour until midnight. That’s an hour left of your birthday. An hour left to make things right for you. Bakugou sighed to himself, what was he going to do?

As a thought emerged into his mind, Bakugou got up and left the bedroom. You didn’t move from your spot until you had heard him slowly come back towards the bedroom, setting a few things down on the nightstand, it sounded like he was carrying things? 

Finally sitting up, your eyes widened in surprise as you found Bakugou holding the cake with all it’s candles lit up in front of you. Looking up at him, he quietly, yet embarrassed, sang you a happy birthday with that low yet charming voice you loved.

“Happy birthday to you,” he finished as he glanced at your illuminated cheeks from the flames. A small smile made its way onto your lips as you blew out the candles. Bakugou held back his smile for you after seeing you lighten up a bit. He hurried and placed the cake back on the kitchen table before joining you in bed with the soft moonlight in the room. 

“It wasn’t much, but I hope it was enough,” Bakugou whispered against your cheek as you turned to face him, your eyes staring into his. “Can I ask for something Katsuki?” You whispered back, he was silent, an answer for you to continue. “Could you hold me tonight?”

The sudden request caused Bakugou’s cheeks to flush before letting out a sputter of nonsense. “W-what the fuck kinda request is that?” He blushed as you stared at him with that sweet look of yours, causing him to be unable to look at you. “Katsuki-”

Before you could say anything, Bakugou pulled you into his arms and securely wrapped his arms around you. “It doesn’t have to be your birthday to ask for such a lame request like this,” he states roughly. “It doesn’t matter what day it is, as long as it’s what you want.”

You smile gently into his chest before you close your eyes, “Thank you Katsuki. This birthday isn’t so bad after all,.”

[breakingsomething]

third year

basic summary: chase hates his birthday, but maybe someone can help him change that.

trigger warnings: mentions of past suicide attempts

"good morning, bastard."

chase groans, pausing before yanking his blankets off his head. he rolls over his bed to see henrik standing at his door, looking amused. "the fuck do you want?" he mumbles, already feeling the morning chill on his bare arms.

henrik smiles softly. "happy birthday."

oh. it's his birthday, isn't it.

two years since he made his attempt. a year since he was wrongly arrested for kidnapping. a year since his kids went missing.

"shit," he says. then he pulls his blankets back over his head.

there's a moment of silence. "come on, bruder, get up. we have a surprise for you today."

"i'm sure you fucking do," chase mutters from beneath his covers. his eyes still burn from crying so much last night. he can't even remember what he was crying about, really. "is it worth getting up for?"

"it is," henrik says. chase listens to the door squeaking as henrik holds it open, waiting for a response. when chase doesn't give one, he sighs. "get up when you're ready, ok? don't spend all day doing the sulks. you will not feel better that way, i promise."

chase doesn't move as the door closes. he waits a minute before looking up to see henrik is, in fact, gone.

good. he didn't want him to stay anyway.

he thinks he goes back to sleep. when he wakes again, the room is considerably brighter, and he wonders if he should bother getting up. but he's extremely hungry - if he's remembering right, he hasn't eaten since yesterday morning - so after a few moments of psyching himself up, he pushes himself into a sitting position and swings his legs off the bed. even that simple motion is enough to make his head pound. he really wished he hadn't cried so much last night. too lazy to go to his drawers and grab a pair of socks, he patters from the room barefoot, wincing at the cold floor beneath his feet.

the house is very, very quiet. chase checks each room on his way downstairs, and eventually realises that everyone must be out. "i take it you're all planning a surprise party for me, huh?" he says aloud. of course, there's no response. chase chuckles silently, before setting about making toast. the clock on the wall tells him it's half twelve. damn, he really did sleep in. the silence is unnerving him - he really hopes anti isn't involved in this somehow.

after he's eaten, he goes to take a shower. he figures that while he's awake, maybe he'll go for a walk, get some fresh air to maybe help get rid of this headache. his hands brush over his bullet scar on the side of his head, and he winces. it doesn't hurt, but the memories of what he was doing two years ago today certainly do.

once he's dried his hair, he pulls a cap and beanie over his head and tries not to think about it.

he locks the door and sets out, walking aimlessly away from the house. he wanders through the city, listening to the sounds and watching the people go by. he's suddenly very aware of how all the other people he's seeing have real lives, and that he's not the only one with problems - there's probably someone here who has it even worse than him. the thought makes him feel odd, so he tries to focus on other things instead, like shop windows and passing conversations. a few people catch him looking and he quickly glances away as he goes by, keeping his eyes to the floor.

he stops for lunch around two. the man who serves him in gregg's smiles and comments on how good chase's hair looks, and his face burns. he fumbles with his change as he pays and races out as quickly as he can. marvin would be ashamed of him.

he walks along the shorefront and eats his sausage roll. he should probably think about going home - he's sure his brothers are wondering where he is - but he really doesn't want to think about it being his birthday.

technically speaking, this isn't even his real birthday. just the one jack assigned him; he'd rather celebrate his birthday now anyway, given that all his brothers birthdays are so close together. well. he'd really rather not celebrate his birthday at all, to be honest.

is that why he's not going home? is that why he's alone, waving off seagulls from his cheap lunch instead of with his brothers, eating cake and playing mario kart?

it's getting cold. he's not wearing a jacket, just a thin pink hoodie, and he can feel goosebumps appearing on his arms. he decides he might as well go home and get this all over with, if only so that the goddamn seagulls leave him alone.

he tosses the rest of his sausage roll to the floor and watches the birds go wild over it. probably a dumb idea, but whatever. he starts off in the direction of home, still feeling completely miserable.

there's still no one there when he gets home.

chase peeks cautiously around each doorway, fear bubbling in his chest. "hello?" he called nervously. "hen? jackie? marv?"

the floorboards creak under his footsteps. there's no response.

chase hugs himself tightly and sits down on the couch, trembling slightly. please don't let him have gotten them. please, please, don't let him have gotten them.

he only waits for half an hour before he hears keys in the lock.

immediately he springs to his feet, racing to the kitchen and pulling out the largest kitchen knife he can find. if that glitch has taken his brothers, if he's coming to kill him, he's not gonna make it easy.

"hey, chase! sorry we were gone so long, we got sidetracked and - woah, woah, dude! put that thing down, it's just us!"

chase just stares at the man in the doorway. reddish hair, round glasses over dark blue eyes - he looks like jackie, but what if he's not? what if he's - what if -

jackie takes his hand and gently uncurls his fingers from the knife handle. chase can see henrik and marvin in the background, clutching a big box covered with a blanket between them, looking shocked. he's breathing very quickly. jackie takes the blade and puts it back into its drawer, slowly turning back to chase so as not to startle him.

"hey man, it's just us, ok?" jackie says, hands up. chase stares at his feet, trembling.

"thought you were - thought you were him," he mumbles, embarrassed. "you were all gone, no note or anything, i got scared."

"we left a note!" henrik says. he pushes the box into marvin's hands and comes to stand beside his brother. "didn't we? marvin, you left a note, right?"

"uh," marvin says. he struggles with the box in his hands. "i, uh, may have forgotten?"

henrik rolls his eyes. "we're sorry, chase. you were asleep and we didn't want to wake you."

chase was fixated on marvin."what's in the box?"

marvin grins, and sets the box down on the kitchen table. "ah, but take a look!" he announces in his best performer's voice. he leaps on top of a chair and spreads his hands out. "step right up, and admire the beauty, the majesty, the magnificence of -"

he lifts his arms, blue sparks trailing from his fingertips as he uses his magic to levitate the blanket from the box. he's gotten a lot better at controlling his magic again since his return, and he's absolutely showing it off. jackie and henrik both grab chase's hands as the blanket moves to reveal -

it's a black cat carrier. chase just stares at it, open mouthed, until he hears a small mewling from inside.

he claps his hands over his mouth and feels his eyes well up with tears.

"go see her!" jackie says, unable to contain himself any longer.

"yes, please do, i can't hold up this blanket all day," marvin laughs. he snatches the blanket from the air and looks down at chase, who's covered his face with his hands and is sobbing quietly.

"hey, hey!" henrik soothes, patting his arm gently. "what's wrong?"

chase wipes his face, giggling. "you guys!" he beamed, scrubbing away his tears. "did you really -"

"come see!" marvin says, and steps down from his chair to open the door of the carrier. "chase, come here and let her see you!"

chase peeks inside the carrier and sees a pair of bright blue eyes staring back at him. his breath catches, and he lets out a gasp. the kitten mewls again, taking a cautious step towards chase.

"we've been keeping her secret for weeks!" jackie grins, coming up behind chase. "she's from the shelter on the high street, she's six months old, her previous family couldn't care for her or her siblings so we decided to take her!"

"she's already been - what is the word? we had the spaying done for her." henrik explains. "we were going to take her home last week, but we decided to wait." he clicks his tongue, trying to get the kitten to come forward. she does so, hesitantly padding half out of the carrier onto the table. she cowers back slightly at all the people around her, and jackie, henrik and marvin step back to give chase and the kitten a bit of space.

chase removes a hand from his mouth and slowly, carefully, stretches it out for the kitten to sniff. she looks at him, then fully leaves her carrier and smells chase's hand. he admires her, a huge smile spreading across his face as she purrs quietly. her fur is fully black, and she's very small, her tail swishing around and batting chase's hand. he laughs, feeling more tears fall from his eyes.

"do you have any name ideas?" marvin asks.

chase nods. "jaffa cake."

jackie and marvin immediately burst into peals of laughter, while henrik just looks confused. "what - why jaffa cake?" he asked. "i mean, it is of course your choice, but -"

"jaffa cake." chase says firmly, and he grins widely. he gently strokes the kitten's head, and she allows it, purring softly. "i love her so, so much, guys, thank you so much! i - i don't even know what to say!"

jackie rushes forwards and throws his arms around chase, much to his surprise. "happy, happy, happy birthday!" he cheers.

marvin comes round to his side and ruffles his hair underneath his hats. "happy birthday, asshole." he chuckles.

henrik smiles awkwardly at the ground for a second before pulling chase into a huge hug. "ich liebe dich, chase brody," he beams, burying his face in his brother's shoulder.

and chase just breathes, trying not to cry any more as he swells with love, only held up by the three sets of arms wrapped around him. he sniffles, closing his eyes. "i love you guys so fucking much!" he sobs, and the four of them fall into a heap on the floor, giggling and holding on to each other like they were all that was keeping each other afloat.

[popculturebuffet]

Mickey Mouse Birthday Shortstravaganza!

It’s Mickey and Minnie’s Birthday! It was 92 Years Ago Today everyone’s faviorite mouse came in on a tide of whistling, romance and animal abuse and swept into America’s hearts and wallets. Okay I am a day late on this, I had a busy day, but hey a belated celebratoin’s still good right? Right? Eh i’m doing it anyway.   Anyway since then he’s been one of animations most iconic characters, and while out of the classic power trio I vastly prefer donald and goofy, they still woudln’t be around without Disney’s big cheese and having not seen a ton of Mickey’s shorts, I felt I owed it to the big eared one to take a look at a bunch of his shorts for his birthday and see how I liked em. If your curious about my previous Donald Duck marathon, it’s CLICK THIS LINK.  Unlike last time all of these shorts are on Disney+ as more of Mickey’s library is on there and one or two of these were added recently, as Disney tends to add a few a month. I do wish there were more on there.. but unlike with say the handful of shows they haven’t put on there, i’m a bit more forgiving here. For one thing, YouTube has all the shorts available from various uploaders and DIsney hasn’t touched them despite Plus’ launch. Given like most companies Disney usually has their bots a cirlcing for their content, this has to be delebrate on there part and it’s a good gesture from the company. So while not in crisp HD like the Plus copies, or as easily avaliable, you can find any short that’s happened. So the shorts not all being up at once isn’t an issue like most of the shows that are absent on Plus. 

They also heavily need to cherry pick their library as some shorts simply haven’t aged well or have offensive stuff. With the exception of “The Beach Picnic”, which has a racist caricature of native americans via ants.. yes really, most of the shorts are fine to show kids, and have aged pretty well. And as my last marathon showed some shorts.. just haven’t. While not you know racist, seriously why is the Beach Picnic on there?, “Donald’s Penguin”, while utterly adorable at first, ends with Donald trying to murder a baby penguin with a shot gun. No amount of content warnings is going to get past one of their beloved icons pointing a shotgun at a baby. While Disney’s self conciousness can be silly, the splash edit and not putting the Darkwing Duck episode “Hot Spells” on plus for instance, this is one time when I can agree with them: if someone is curious about a paticuarlly offensive short or a propoganda one, youtube exists. But given Plus is trying to be all ages and dosen’t have censoring they have to be careful what they put on there, and I can respect that. I don’t think anyone’s crying a river over the fact that the goofy short where his reflection keeps saying “Hey Fat”, over and over while he struggles with his weight isn’t on Disney Plus and thankfully never will be. But seriously get rid of the “Beach Picnic”. It’s not a good short and you already have one batch of native american stereotypes with “Peter Pan”, I don’t think racist ants are the hill you want to die on disney.

So yeah, this time all of these are from Disney Plus, and since I watched them all at once, their in Watch order rather than chronological like last time. So with all that out of the way...

After the cut

1. Steamboat Willie (1928): It’s All Fun and Games Until Mickey Strangles an Innocent Duck Starting from the obvious source, Steamboat Willie was the start of Mickey’s career. And it’s.. okay. The animation is fantastic and the first half is pretty good: Theirs a pretty good gag with one of the cows. But the finale, with Mickey abusing various animals just isn’t that funny A LITTLE rattling of an animal for comedy is fine.. but the things Mickey does here are just sociopathic> And yes I know it was the 1920′s, but even in that lawless, racist, sexist time, they knew better than to strangle a duck, or, in the moment that puts it over the top, remove suckling pigs fromt heir mom and then play a pig’s teats like an insturment to make it squeal musically.. I assure you I did not make this up. That actually happens.  The pacing is also fairly slow at points, with some gags dragged out, though that can be chalked up to having no way to edit the damn thing, so that part I can forgive more.  What makes up for it, like I said, are some good jokes, and some gorgeous animation. Decades later and while clearly made a long time ago, it still looks vibrant and really pops even in black and white. It shows just how talented Disney was and how far the company could go with this medium.  One last thing to note is Mickey’s Early personality. While he’d retain trickster aspects at times, here he bounces between the loveable jolly mouse we’d come to know for the rest of his career who sometimes has a wild streak.. and a total asshole who strangles a duck. It’s just intresting to see such a diffrent side of him,  most of which would end up going to Donald over time. Overall the short is decent, not the best of Disney’s catalogue but worth a watch for the historical significance despite it’s shortcomings, pun unintended. 

2. Thru the Mirror (1936): That Was a Weird One This was easily my favorite of the bunch and as of now, my favorite Mickey Mouse Theatrical Short. Part of it is that it’s entirely bonkers; The film STARTS with Mickey , sound asleep, some how astral projecting as his soul, his spirit or whatever lead shis body and having been reading Alice Thorugh the Looking Glass, goes into a mirror world. But instead of encountring evil goatee mickey, he encounters a bunch of living objects and a bunch of fun set pieces for jokes ensue. He dances with playing cards, fights an army of them, has a sword fight with the king after dancing with the queen which.. no Mickey, bad mickey, your in a relationship and so is she. Bad Mouse bad. It is entirely fucking insane, even including a living nut cracker which.. words can’t.. look

They.. they had to know how this looked right? did the director have a ball busting fetish? I mean okay if he did, nothing wrong with that, but maybe don’t put it in your children’s cartoon.  That being said it does eat the shells which I find creative. And that’s what really makes this one pop. The creativity. Not a single minute is boring, every minute has something intresting going on, but without throwing too muchi n your face. It’s just a wonderful short and one that like Mr. Duck Steps out, i’ll be rewatching a LOTTTT. 

3. Mickey’s Rival (1936): Mortimer: The Original Bro From the same year we have disappointment. Having grown up with the disney classic House of Mouse, I was a huge fan of Mortimer. So when I first saw this, I was happy to see where he came from.. then justifably blocked it out of my mind till this review. While I love mortimer, I love Mickey having a sleazy rival and one diffrent than Pete who has different goals and tactics than the big guy. But his debut just has him as an obnoxious snickering bro.. which to be fair is who he is, but without the venre of charm his later version would have.  Mortimer just spends the short being a pranking douche, and blatantly hitting on Minnie in front of Mickey while their on a date. Which even in an open relationship is a no no, so he has no leg to stand on.. metaphorically. He also walks weird in this one because, and this is true, he’s carying 9 volt batteries in his pants. Yes really. That’s the level of Douche we’re dealing with. Someone so up their own ass they carry batteries int heir pocket instead of money or a mask or children’s trading cards like a normal person or a me.  What makes it frustrating is Minnie just swoons over the guy. And not like “Awww he’s so funny”, I mean romantically then has the gaul to say “your just jealous” when Mickey is understandably fuming over the jackass who swooped in, pranked him, is hitting on his girlfriend in front of him by teasing a bull, and in general is just the worst. Yes.. yes he is. Justifably. Jealousy is an ugly emotion but there’s a line between some dude bro like Mortimer getting mad your friends with someone you could be in a relationship with, boy, girl, neither, both, whatever your into, and Mickey getting mad his girlfriend is chuckling all over her ex who agian, crashed their date and treated him like garbage and is very transparently hitting on her in the middle of it.  It’s also just not a very funny short, outside of the bit pictured and tha’ts more for the sheer aburdity of Mortimer elctifying his pant for a really dumb gag about stealing people’s pants button. He’s very lucky we didn’t see Mickey’s Epic Mickey is what i’m saying. But given he’s a frat bro, the 1930′s version granted but a bro nonetheless,  he’d probably find that hilarious until he noticed the sheer size and scope.  Overall a forgetable, frustrating short. The one bright spot is mickey and mortimer’s cars which have faces and stuff and look neat.. otherwise it was just a waste of my time and the only good thing it did was bringing Mortimer into our lives. And that ain’t nothing. 

4. Mickey Down Under (1948): ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

This is a quick one.. because this one was a vacum. I mean I can at least say for Mickey’s Rival it’s interesting.. i’ts not good but it’s interesting. this is just.. Mickey farts around with a boomerang with his dog and then pisses off an ostrich. There’s not really a lot of consequence or intrest is what i’m saying. I can’t even find a good opening to make a letterkenny joke. No one got close to fucking an ostrich here. It’s telling by the fact theirs no gif’s of this one that no one cares and it baffles me this is one of the ones Disney chose to gussy up for D+ release. But still no donald messing around with a robot? 

5. The Band Concert (1935): That’s More Like It.  Okay scooting back a year we have the band concert. This is my third time watching this one and it’s a delight. Like the last one I don’t have a ton to say.. but it’s more because this one is just so good rather than because it wasted my time. It’s got a fun concept and the breakout performance from my boy donald duck as he constantly fucks with the band’s performance by either getting in their faces or hilariously pulling Flute’s out of thin heir. I miss that gimmick for donald, his love of pulling objects out of the either via magic and shenanigans. They should bring it back. Also his shenanigans remind me of opus and that’s never a bad thing. 

Also Horace takes off his shirt. For the Ladies. A Classic for good reason. 

6. On Ice (1935): Donald is a Bastard Man Another great one from the same year. This time around we have what i’ve come to call a Mickey and the Gang Messaround. This is back when Donald and Goofy were supporting characters, so generally each of the big three do something, usually coming together for the climax.  In this case Mickey tries to help Minnie with her skating, with him adorably following her around with a pillow before showing off for her, just really sweet stuff. Goofy’s bit is hilariously dumb, as fitting my boy, as he feeds fish tobaco to get them to spit into a spitoon, and tries to club them, with predictable results. While not the most enivrionmentally friendly just the sheer oddness, the fact it sort of works minus him actually clubbing them, and one of hte fish smacking him in the face all make it work.  The only bit that reallyd osen’t is Donald and pluto... it was present a bit before but here illustrates why I really dread Pluto based shorts. While I don’t hate the dog, he’s a dog I love dogs, most of the gags in his old shorts, and even up to mouseworks are him either being blamed for shit that’s not his fault, a pet peve of mine, or being tourtured in some way...

But dosen’t work at all now. He puts the poor dog on skates and then laughs at him and even sings a song mocking the poor dog, before justifably nearly ending up going over a watterfall, then ending up clubbed in the head. Good. I love donald but good god is he unsympathetic here.. and for some reason they teamed the two up again for more shorts! Why. It’s why I don’t get why Pluto was the star of his own shorts: if this is all they had.. why do it? Was the 30′s, 40′s and 50′s equilvent of a micheal bay audience really that into dog abuse?  So yeah otherwise a good short but that segment drags it down. not Donald’s best work. 

7. Clock Cleaners(1937): This is a Great One Not much to say on this one. It’s pretty good, has some fun set pieces, and some great jokes from all three characters. Mickey deals with a seagull, donald effs with a main spring and Goofy fights some statues. All good clean fun. My lack of brevity is more because I don’t have any jokes rather than this genuinely being bad. It’s pretty good. 

8.. Mickey and the Seal(1948): More Pluto Torture Porn! 

This one’s more of a mixed bag. On the one hand, it is really cute, as a young seal ends up going home with mickey after he visits the zoo to feed them fish. On the other hand.. it’s mostly Pluto chasing after the seal, Mickey being kind of a dick to pluto and not getting he clearly saw SOMETHING in his house, and then teasing him at the end despite him having been right. That being said the ending, with the seal brining back all it’s buddies to mickey’s house, is fricking amazing. ALso the seals in this unvierse who aren’t antrho can speak. That.. that raises a lot of questions I don’t think disney can answer. 

9. Ye Olden Days (1933): Jaunty Dueling Music Now this.. this was a fun one. Mickey and Minnie head to Medivil times, proving that the current shorts tendency to jaunt to various settings isn’t a new thing, and it’ sjust a much of a fun change up here as it was there. Mickey, a wondering minstral, ends up trying to rescue Minnie after her father throws her in a dungeon for not wanting to marry Prince Dippy Dog, who hopes she can learn to love him. I can’t tell if he’s genuine or a dick here. But it’s fun, especially the part where, after Minnie declares she loves mickey which.. it’s been a few hours slow down, they decide on a duel and thus sing some ragtime, 1930′s getting ready for duel music that’s just catchy. if X Of Swords ever gets a movie, I want to use this song. Just.. really good stuff. A fun short with some great gag,s a great concept, and my boy goofy as the villian. What’s not to like? Alright one more. 

10. MIckey’s BIrthday Party (1942): Big Chicken Breasts We end on another all together now, Mickey and the Gang Messaround that was a great note to end on. I did watch another short, Pluto’s Birthday party.. but it was both more of a Pluto short and more Pluto torture nonsense, so yeah, skipping that one, as I ended up one short of my 12 goal because I can’t count, apparently. So Mickey gets 10, but this one’s a good note to go out on. 

Minnie throws a suprise party for mickey which almost turns into a live sex celebration as Mickey clearly is a wee bit horny going in. But it turns into a fun dance party, with Donald throwing out razzes like a good buddy, Goofy making a cake, and some fun gags with a piano they all bought him. It’s a really good short. That’s the problem with Mickey Shorts and doing all D+ ones: There just isn’t the weirdly offensive stuff to talk about there is. He’s not a bad character, but there’s a reason in every short that features all three, Donald and Goofy easily outshine him. Mickey’s not a bad character, but when not in trickster mode, there just isn’t a lot for him to do. It’s why the comics reinvented him, much like they did for donald, into a plucky detective/reporter who reguarly sovles crimes. He’s not bad, and as seen with Ye Olden Days and Thru the Miror, his blank slateness cna be put to good effect and house of mouse gave him more of a personality, but here he’s just the bland good guy to Donald’s loveable scmap and goofy’s loveable dumbass. It’s an issue comedy has to this day: having a lead whose just.. not as intresting as the rest of the ensemble.  There is weirdness to note, as Donald dances with Clara Cluck> That’s not the weird part, he and daisy took a while to be etched in stone. The weird parts are 1. Donald wearing a sombrero and smoking a cigar, and 2. Clara’s MASSIVE boobs.. yes really. Clara Cuck has giant breasts. Like actual boobs that sway around while she dances with donald. it’s.. bizzare. Not terrible, who doesn’t like big chicken boobs but just.. really really weird to see ina  Disney cartoon.But yeah it’s jus ta fun note to end on. 

And that was MIckey’s Birthday special. I enjoyed it even if I had less to say than I thought. If you liked this review, you can comission your own for five bucks, just hit up my pms or my discord , avaliable on request. You can check out my ohter disney reviews in the disney tab on my blog and until next time, ther’es always another rainbow. 

[nancythebisexualslutwheeler]

Happy birthday!! Another prompt idea: soulmate au where the first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed on the first place on your body they touch. You wake up on your 16th birthday and it’s there

It’s Eddie’s sixteenth birthday and he runs to the bathroom connected to his bedroom. He’s very blessed that his mom can’t get in, and he strips and stares at himself in the mirror, looking for his tattoo.

He finds it on the back of his hip bone on his left side, It says:

“Sorry dude.”

The words are generic, but the ‘dude’ gives him hope. Because ‘dude’ means it’s a guy. Eddie’s soulmate is a guy.

It’s the type of stuff that he’d only dreamt about, and secretly. When he had kissed a boy, at age five, his mom had flipped out.

He’d never let himself hope before. Because men who loved men were disgusting and sick and bound to get sick.

And he’s only 16 and only has two years left with his mom and he’s hoping when he actually meets his soulmate that he can love him. But he also wishes he could meet them right at the moment.

He is extremely physically aware of his body the next year. He moves patiently and waits for it. His fate. His destiny. His soulmate.

So he’s three months from eighteen, saving up to move out of his mother’s house, wearing a ridiculous diner outfit, and rollerskates because apparently this is A Cinderella Story. So he’s zooming two plates back to behind the counter when some dumbass stands up at the same moment, and he slams into  him, something he hasn’t done in forever.

“Shit!” he exclaims, hitting the guy’s shoulder before knocking them down.

Eddie can feel himself on the guy’s chest and feels so bad and tries to scramble up, before slipping again on his skates. He feels himself getting settled by a hand on his hip,

“Sorry dude.”

He freezes. Stops moving and looks up at the guy. He’s taller than Eddie, with wild brown hair and thick glasses. He’s cute. He can’t speak. He’s frozen in time as the guy helps him up. There’s ketchup all over his shirt. His chest is big and broad and Eddie wants to be held to it. This is his soulmate.

“I have a diner shirt you can have,” he finally manages to get out, “Come this way.”

The guy follows him, and doesn’t seem too upset about his t-shirt. It was hideous anyway, Eddie can’t help but think. So they head to the back room and Eddie grabs one of the new diner shirts out of a bag of plastic wrap and he doesn’t expect the guy’s shirt to be off when he turns around. He’s hairy and muscular and Eddie’s head is swimming a bit.

“Sorry about that. I have precisely the worst timing of the universe. But now I’m stuck in here with a cutie like you, so maybe my luck is turning around.”

“You don’t know who I am?” he asks.

The guy stares at him, looks him up and down pointedly,

“I’m sure I’d remember you hot stuff.”

Eddie wants to cry, does his soulmate not know what words are typed on his goddamn body. Eddie snatches up his uniform shirt to show off the words tattooed on his hip. Curiously, he moves forward, face paling. His meaty fingers go to trace the words.

“Holy shit.”

“Did you not? Do you not?”

The guy pulls down the collar of his new t-shirt, where it in fact does say ‘shit’ on his shoulder.

“Do you know how many people bump into you throughout your life? A shit ton. I stopped hoping. But Jesus, it’s you. And look at you. Holy shit, you’re like fun-sized. You’re hot too. Why do you work here? Are you in school? God, your eyes, holy shit, you’re my soulmate.”

Eddie is reeling from how fast the guy is talking,

“Geez, are you like this all the time?”

The guy grins,

“Yes I sure am. And you’re stuck with me. Aww my little honey bun.”

Eddie gags,

“Please stop.”

“I’m not gonna stop, you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, god.”

Eddie blushes, well aware of the guy’s hand still on his hip.

“I’m Eddie.”

He grins,

“My little Eddie Spaghetti. Richie “TrashMouth” Tozier at your service.” He bows slightly.

“TrashMouth? Sounding awfully sugar sweet to me.” Eddie teases.

Richie’s hand squeezes a touch tighter on his hip,

“Just wait until I can talk to you in the other way. I’m gonna have you desperate all the time.”

Eddie squirms,

“Sorry I shouldn’t have!”

“No, that was perfectly fine. More than fine.”

“But for now my Eddie Spaghetti, get ready for all the pet names in the world. Oh my god, my soulmate. Tell me all about yourself.”

Eddie hesitates,

“I’m on the clock.”

“No, fuck work! Oh my god, do you want to meet my friends quickly? Oh my gosh please, it’ll be my first chance to show off. Then we can go to my place, or get food, and chat.”

Eddie blushes, he has quite a few favors to turn in, so he quickly talks to his boss, turns in his apron, and he’s so grateful he has body spray, deodorant, and a fresh shirt in his locker. So he heads out and arrives at Richie’s side. He’s in front of a beautiful blsck boy and a short red haired girl.

“Guys, this is Eddie! Is he not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” and he wraps a hand around Eddie like it’s second nature.

“What happened to sex on a stick?” the girl asks.

“This is Beverly. For your own safety never listen to anything she fucking says. This is Mike. He’s much more honest.

“Cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” he deadpans.

“We’re gonna go grab some food and get to know each other. May not wanna come home anytime soon,” he says with a wink.

“Wow, really exposing ourselves early, huh?” Bev asks.

“He finds it very charming, trust me.” And Richie kisses his forehead. Eddie melts.

“Let’s go baby.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“If you survive, I’ll see you very soon,” Bev says with a wave.

Richie grabs his hand and they walk out to his car.

[t-lostinworlds]

Subverting Expectations (Shawn Mendes)

A/N: Am I being extra with the title? Maybe haha. Anyhow, here’s a quick birthday blurb I wrote that may suck since I really wrote this in a few hours (yay me *gives self a cookie* aslkalska) Hope you enjoy!

AND HAPPY 21st BIRTHDAY TO YOU SHAWN! ILY 

Summary: Shawn expected his birthday to not be as happy since you couldn’t make it, but it was his birthday, of course there was a surprise.

Warnings: Fluff and typos.

Word Count: 2.2k+

Masterlist in Bio

-:-:-:-:-

"Come on man, lighten up, it's your big day. I'm sure she has a good reason why she can't make it." Brian tried his hardest to comfort the birthday boy, but much to no avail, Shawn didn't even bother to move a muscle. He was all bundled up in his bed on the bus, a deep frown etched on his face as he stared blankly at the conversation shown on his phone.

They were on their way to New York at this hour to celebrate his 21st birthday, but Shawn couldn't find his excitement anymore as he re-read the two text messages his girlfriend of 2 years, sent him just last night and one this morning.

iMessage from Y/N: Hey bub, I am really really reallllyyy sorry to tell you this over text but I don't think I can make it to New York :(( Something came up with work and I can't say no unless I want to jeopardize my job. I feel soo awful right now but I will make it up to you in due time, I promise. I love you with all my heart my wonderful rockstar. Happy birthday. xx

iMessage from Y/N: Hey baby, my boss just said it's a no phone event so I won't have access with my phone the whole day. I really am so so sorry Shawn :// I will make it up angel I promise. I love you loads x

Shawn had been so thrilled for months on end leading up to this day, not only because he was turning into the big twenty-one but he was finally going to see her after months of being away. But now, even that plan has flunked and he wasn't sure when he was going to see her, if it was sooner or later.

The young man's hopes were definitely crushed with those simple text messages, and he doesn't even have the energy to get up anymore. Sure it may sound a bit too extra, but he just misses her so damn much and he was looking forward to celebrating this special day with the love of his life.

"Bro, don't make me drag your ass out of bed." Brian's voice echoed around the space again, followed by a loud thump as a pillow was thrown right at Shawn's face, making him drop his phone on the floor.

"Seriously dude?" The curly boy reached for the device with a groan as he shot his friend a death glare, to which Brian only shrugged. "We're almost there, get up or I'll be throwing something less soft than a pillow."

"Okay fine. Jeez, I didn't ask you to become my dad all of the sudden." Shawn grumbled, sitting up fully with a deep sigh as he ran a hand through his unruly hair.

"Don't worry, I'm sure she sends all her love to you dude. And she would want you to have as much as you can; it's your big day." Brian gave his friend a reassuring smile, trying his best not to say anything or else Y/N would definitely kill him for good this time.

"Yeah, I know. I just really wish she was here."

***

"Does he suspect anything?"

"Not a single clue. Idiot has been moping around the whole day." Connor chuckled as he helped you with your bag, loading it in the car as quick and as low key as you can, making sure both of you will go unnoticed.

Connor's alibi of buying more film not raising any suspicion in Shawn's mind, and you were thankful.

You couldn't help but feel bad a little though, knowing that he was probably so gutted when he found out you couldn't make it, or at least that's what you made him think.

What you told him wasn't entirely a lie, but you've managed to charm your way out of the situation, thankful that your boss was an understanding person. You owe that woman a lot.

Though the last text was totally made up, since you can't find the courage to lie to him more when he calls you, and knowing your man, you best believe he's going to blow up your phone.

Besides, he is turning 21 after all, a little surprise won't hurt.

"And none of you has managed to slip something up this time?" You raised an eyebrow at your companion, Connor scoffing in response as he placed a palm flat on his chest, feigning offense.

"Are you doubting our ability to keep secrets Y/N?" The young boy teased, to which you only roll your eyes. "Oh please, I haven't forgotten Amsterdam." You stated, still remembering how both him and Brian managed to slip that you weren't missing Shawn's first show after all.

"Touché."

"Come on, party starts in a few hours and I need to get ready." You laughed as you nudged Connor to get in the car, the boy nodding with a chuckle of his own as he slid in the backseat.

This was going to be a fun party.

***

You went straight to the back once you got to the venue, keeping your head down low as you met with Jake who stood just beside the cake that sat at the table.

"Hey there kiddo." The big man chuckled as he brought you in for a hug, you returning the gesture with a bright smile of your own, casting your eyes at the cake once the two of you pulled away.

"Is it heavy?" You asked, wondering if you would be able to carry it with ease without it toppling over. It was a cute cake to say the least – a simple three tiered cake with the colors of blue, pink and purple in swirls, sort of like a galaxy with the tour flowers littered everywhere along with musical notes, and of course, with a guitar right up top – and you definitely don't want it to end up on the floor.

Jake only gave you a knowing nod as he gave the cake a once over. "It's nothing you can't handle."

You flashed him a genuine and grateful smile. "Thank you so much Jake. Are we set?"

"Yup, you should hear Brian yell in just about a few minutes."

***

Meanwhile, Shawn was across the room from where you were hiding, constantly checking his phone to see if you had responded to any of his texts, also while trying to keep up with the conversation with his friends.

Shawn had a smile on his lips while he talked, going around and thanking each person for coming and for greeting him happy birthday, but that smile never did once reach his ears for the whole duration of the party.

He was being a Debbie Downer at his own birthday bash but he just can't help it. He hasn't spoken to you the whole day and he was worrying himself sick just thinking about where you are and if you were okay.

It was maybe the hundredth time he's checked his phone when Brian pulled it straight out of his hands.

"Dude what the fuck?" If looks could kill, Brian would've been straight up dead as Shawn glared at his friend, nowhere near pleased with what he did.

"Relax man and enjoy your party! You're being so grumpy right now and you're ruining the mood." The ginger boy joked, punching Shawn's arm playfully with a loud laugh.

Shawn sighed, a hand threading through his curls as he thought about how awful it might have looked, that he was mopping around when a lot of people went their way to celebrate his birthday with him. "Fine, I'm sorry. Just give me my phone back."

Brian did so as he handed the 21-year-old his phone, giving his arm a comforting squeeze as he said. "Just enjoy your night man and besides... It's cake time!" The boy yelled the last part at the top of his lungs, making sure that his voice was heard through the loud thumping music.

Everyone cheered at Brian's announcement, the DJ quick to transition the tune to the usual happy birthday song as the crowd sang along. "Happy birthday to you..."

People started to slowly make way for the cake at it slowly approaching the birthday boy, the crowd singing with bright smiles as the sparklers on the cake glowed high and bright, just enough to hide who was actually carrying it.

Shawn smiled, waving his finger in the air as if he was conducting an orchestra as he was relishing his moment, giving his friends and family thankful glances, heart filled with nothing but love and gratitude from them.

"Happy Birthday dear Shawwwn, happy birthday to you!"

A series of applause was heard soon after, Shawn laying his eyes back on the cake as the sparkler started to die down, but before it could fully go out, Jake came into view, taking the caking away from the holder's hand.

And when Shawn finally saw who it was, he felt his whole world halt, full stop.

"What? Did you really think I'd miss your big day?" You giggled, tilting your head to the side as you opened your arms wide. Shawn stood frozen in his spot for a split second, glancing at Brian who shoved two thumbs up in the air before casted his eyes back on you, a mixture of shock, and confusion followed by pure joy flashing on Shawn's face as his brain finally registered what's in front of him. And that was when he ran – like really ran – into your arms as he buried his face right on the crook of your neck.

“You’re so sneaky. I hate you but I love you.” The boy whispered against your skin, his voice soft and gentle but with a little hint of annoyance that you couldn’t help but giggle.

A chorus of Aww's filled the air as Shawn held onto you as tight as he can, scared that if he lets you go, you might disappear before his eyes. Your heart was melting at the seams as you rubbed his back comfortingly, the more so when you heard a soft sob escape his lips.

"Oh baby, are you crying?" You pulled away slightly with a pout, hands going to cup his face to get a better look at him and sure enough, your boy stared right back at you with glossy eyes, bottom lip quivering as he lets out tiny sniffles.

"I just miss you so much." He croaked, resting his forehead against yours as he grips at your waist, the look in his eyes enough to make your tear up a little, an adoring smile on your lips as you pulled him down for a sweet and loving kiss, both of you sighing in a combination of pure relief and content to finally be this close again.

The howls and cheers from the people around you made the two of you pull away with wide grins, a giggle heard from you as wiped away the tear the ran down his cheek with your thumb before your finger got lost in the mesh of his curls and oh how you've missed that feeling. "I miss you too Shawn, happy birthday bubba."

Shawn's never left your side after that. He was somewhat attached to your hip as the two of you went around to room to great new and old friends. Him introducing you to some people with that proud smile on his face and that made your heart grow ten times its normal size.

It was an hour later and a few drinks more when you can tell that he was close to being fully drunk as he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself anymore. Always leaving kisses on sensitive spots and trailing his hand too far down your back as you sat on his lap right on the couch.

"Can we go back to the hotel now please? I just wanna love on you." Shawn whispered in your ear, a pout on his lips as he looked up at you with those pleading eyes.

You couldn't help but giggle at your boy, shaking your head in the process as you boop his nose. "You can't ditch your own party you dork." Shawn shot you a wink, bottom lip now caught between his teeth as he chuckled deeply. "Watch me."

A hearty laugh filled the air as you  threw your head back, his offer sounding tempting but you can't just steal him from his own party now can you? "Okay how about I make you a deal: you be a good boy for the rest of the night, enjoy your party, have the greatest fun and in return, I'll be your good girl after hours."

Before Shawn could even get a word out, you dipped your head lower, placing a soft kiss just behind his ear as you whispered, "Plus, I have one more surprise for you later tonight too." You felt Shawn shudder a little under you, hopeful and now blown out eyes looking at you expectantly, a growl like chuckle rumbling in his chest.

"Oh really now? Then it's a done deal miss."

And throughout the rest of night, the birthday boy had the widest smile the world could have ever had the pleasure of seeing, so grateful to be surrounded by so much love and so happy to have you by his side to celebrate this special day that would for sure be a night to remember.

The more so when it was finally left to only you and him back at the hotel, alone and in love with all the time in the universe.

-:-:-:-:-

Like and Reblog if you enjoyed! x

Permanent Taglist: @dylshoney​ @keithseabrook27​ @outlandishnerd​ @particularsof​ @chrizzy95 @sunshinesofty @aspiring-fangirls-world​ @lettingtherosegrow​ @shawnshoodies​ @nedthegay​ @luvluvxx​ @adonishawn​ @justanotherfangurl272​ @h-oneyholland​ @baefrombombay​ @whotfiskate​ @loveydoveyshawn @hehemendes

Lemme know you want to be added/removed from the permanent taglist loves! <3

[blossom-hwa]

Believe a Demon - JISUNG

two years of darkness is officially over and i’ve got another story! wow look at me being productive what a fucking miracle

@chenle you told me at some point you were looking forward to jisung’s, well here it is! this installment is dedicated to you and @renjunious - dude, i don’t think you know just how much your reblog inspired me for this story. i hadn’t been able to do much with it for like a month, but after i saw your comment, i wrote out the last few scenes i needed to complete this :) thank you so much! <3 <3

it’s a given but thanks again to @chenle for the idea of a guardian devil! the post that inspired this all is linked here, give it a read!

Pairing: Jisung x fem!reader

Genre: angst, fluff, angel/demon!au

Notes: reading “Trust a Demon” isn’t required to understand most of the story, but it might make some things less confusing. 

Word Count: 6.3k

Believe a demon, for they tell no lies.

NCT Masterlist | Angels and Demons

Believe me, Y/N, I only ever wanted to see you smile.

. . . . .

Jisung is eleven. His birthday is in ten minutes.

He grasps the letter tightly, nearly crushing the envelope between his sweaty clutches. He’s afraid the sweat will stain the paper but he also doesn’t want to let go for fear that this will all turn out to be a dream and disappear.

Dimly he wonders where Taeyong is. He promised to come over to Jisung’s house to watch him open the letter. When Jisung first asked him to come over, Taeyong had laughed in surprise, asking why Jisung needed him to open a letter.

“Because if I get in, it’s only thanks to you,” the younger boy had said solemnly.

It hadn’t taken much longer for Taeyong to agree.

A short knock sounds on the door. Jisung answers it, white-faced, still clenching the unopened letter between his clammy fingers.

“Whoa, Sungie, you look really nervous.” Taeyong laughs, ruffling Jisung’s hair. “I’m sure you got in. I’ve known people who got in who were way worse than you and had less than half the work ethic.”

Jisung nods mutely, walking back to the couch.

The lights flicker once. Taeyong raises an eyebrow. “Better open it before the lights go out,” he jokes, but Jisung suddenly rips the envelope open with a vengeance. The letter slips onto the ground, still folded in thirds.

For a minute, both boys simply look at the crisp sheet of paper. Then Jisung opens his mouth, heart hammering in his chest.

“You read it,” he says. “Read it and tell me what it says.”

“You sure?” Taeyong picks up the paper, carefully keeping it closed. “Like, are you -”

“Yes.”

Without another word, the older boy flips the letter open and begins to read out loud.

“Congratulations -”

Jisung snatches the letter out of Taeyong’s hand.

“I got in,” he whispers, within seconds of reading the first line. “Taeyong, I got in!”

“Yeah, I know,” Taeyong says, looking slightly miffed. “I was going to tell you that, like you asked me too -”

His words are lost when Jisung attacks him in a gigantic hug. Slightly startled, he wavers for a bit, then wraps his arms around the younger boy as well.

“Thanks, Taeyong,” Jisung mumbles into the older boy’s jacket. A few tears drip onto the worn material.

Taeyong ruffles Jisung’s hair again and pulls the boy close. “Anything for you, Sungie. Happy birthday,” he whispers.

Taeyong remains with Jisung until the crack of dawn when he leaves the house with a last, long hug from Jisung. “See ya, Jisung,” he says before disappearing out the door.

Jisung doesn’t see Taeyong again.

~ ~ ~

Maybe that was the tipping point, the point where Jisung became paranoid that everyone was going to leave him. His parents were basically already gone, but then Taeyong left that day and just… never came back. Despite his promise that he would see Jisung off on his first day of school.

Taeyong had never broken a promise before.

It hurts, even as Jisung stands in front of the doors to the academy, wishing Taeyong were with him. But he knows the older boy must have had his reasons. Even if he doesn’t know them.

So he steels himself and walks through the open doors.

That morning, he makes a couple of friends. A short, bright-eyed art student named Lee Minhyun, and a taller, soft-spoken singer named Park Jung. Minhyun has been at the academy for a year, while Jung has been there for three.

And then he sees you walking down the halls of school in your graceful way, hair tied up, a slight, soft smile on your lips. He sees the way you greet everyone, the respect with which everyone treats you, feels your sweetness envelop him in warmth.

At the end of dance class, you plop next to him on the floor, taking a long drink from your water bottle. “Hey, I’m Y/N!” you chirp. “You’re the new guy, Jisung, right?”

Jisung nods silently, drinking from his own bottle. “Hi,” he ventures cautiously.

“You dance really well,” you say sweetly. “People say you haven’t had any formal training! You’re seriously amazing!”

Jisung dimly wonders who said that, how they found out, and why, but smiles a little shyly anyway. “Thanks. You’re really good too,” he says, gaining a little confidence.

And then the bell rings, signaling the end of the period. “Aw, man,” you say, shoving your bottle in your bag. “It was really nice meeting you, Jisung. You should give me tips on dance! Oh, what’s your next class? I can take you there, I know the school’s kind of confusing.”

“… History. Room 8B.” Jisung internally groans. He hates history.

“Hey, I have history too! I promise it isn’t that bad. Mrs. Park is a really good teacher. Or so I’ve heard,” you promise, picking up your bag. “Let’s go!”

A crush. It’s the first time Jisung has ever had a crush. The girls at his old elementary school were too clique-y, standoffish, or just plain horrible for him to ever really like any of them. But you? You’re sweet beyond words, and Jisung’s had so little sweetness in his short life that he just really wants to be with you as much as he can.

When Jisung waves at you in the hall next day, starry-eyed, Minhyun eyes him knowingly. “Everyone’s had a crush on Y/N at one time or another,” he says later in the cafeteria. “Everyone, Jisung.”

“Even the girls,” Jung quips. And then the three burst into laughter.

“What are you guys laughing about?” Suddenly, you’re standing by the table, lunch in hand, smiling your same wide smile. “Can I join?”

Minhyun responds first, his bright smile making another appearance. “Of course!” he chirps, moving around his things to make room for you. “We were just talking about how everyone loves you, even the girls.”

You snort a little, unpacking your lunch. “Shut up, Min.” The slight smirk on your lips hints at a mischief that Jisung hasn’t seen before but thinks he likes very much.

Conversation flows smoothly at the table, even though Jisung and Jung are a little stutter-y at first, but soon voices and laughs take over and Jisung is feeling a kind of happy that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The kind of happy that he felt when he was with Taeyong. The kind of happy that he felt when he was with friends.

And gazing into the warm, bright eyes of his newfound friends, he thinks to himself, I never want to leave this school.

I never want this to end.

~ ~ ~

Jisung celebrates his fifteenth birthday at Minhyun’s house. It’s nothing big. You and Jung are also present, and there’s dinner, cake, and lots of laughter. When it comes time for Jisung to leave, Minhyun’s mother notices him dragging his feet and offers for them all to have a sleepover.

Loud cheers follow her proposition.

The four of you build a blanket fort in the living room, despite the strange logistics of your gangly teenage bodies being packed into a small tent of blankets and pillows. It’s pretty uncomfortable – Jung’s foot is pressing into Minhyun’s ribs, you’re curled up at Jisung’s side, and Minhyun is squashed between you and Jung. And despite this, Jisung finds himself nearly crying with laughter with you and the other boys and for the first time in years he feels like a child again.

For hours the four of you talk, cry, laugh, and shove each other around in the sheets, talking about anything and everything, crying about how old you’re getting, laughing about teachers, and shoving each other because why not. Pretty soon, the fort is in shambles, and the four of you are crying tears of laughter as you try to untangle yourselves from the blankets.

Jisung catches a glimpse of Mrs. Kim smiling in exasperation before she disappears back into the kitchen, coming out with a few tubs of ice cream and setting them on the nearby coffee table. Jisung wishes Mrs. Kim was his mother.

It’s nearing two in the morning when the four of you finally tire out, gasps of laughter turning into breathless wheezing and playful shoves into soft hugs. Minhyun and Jung fall asleep first, tangled in blankets, and then it’s just you and Jisung and the lone lamp you’ve lit up for light.

“Had a good birthday, then?” you murmur. The light illuminates your face, making you seem almost ghostly.

Jisung nods. “The best.”

“That’s good.” There’s a beat of silence. “I have another gift for you, you know.”

“What?” You’ve already given him something, a leather necklace with a charm of a dancer dangling from it. “You don’t need to give me -”

“Let me finish, Jisung.” You shuffle around a little, and then you’re sitting, pressed right up against him.

His heart begins to beat faster.

“I don’t know if you’re going to like this gift,” you murmur. “But if you do, give me a sign.”

Your hands cup his cheeks slowly, your hands smooth against his skin. Jisung stares into your eyes, not really believing this is happening.

It can’t be, right? This is something he’s only ever dreamed about. You, with your horde of admirers, picking him? Poor, strange, him?

But then your lips press against his and Jisung’s eyes fall shut in bliss and he melts into your touch like it was made for him.

The kiss feels like it goes on for so long, but you finally break away. Jisung feels empty for a moment, but your eyes are uncertain and a tiny, shy smile is playing on your cheeks. “Sorry –” you start.

Then Jisung pulls you back in for another kiss. It’s even better than the first, now that he knows what to expect and knows he should cherish it.

“So you did like it,” you breathe when he finally breaks away. The smile is still there.

“I did,” Jisung mumbles. His cheeks are painted with red. It’s the first time he’s ever done something so bold.

But really, he would do it again and again, just for the intoxicating feeling of your lips on his. Pure, giddy joy has spread through his limbs, and he wants nothing more than to pull you in once more.

So he does.

At four in the morning, Jisung’s eyes finally shut in exhaustion. You stay awake a bit longer, and thank the universe you did.

“Don’t leave me.”

Jisung isn’t really awake when he says this, it’s more sleep-talking than anything. But hearing the soft murmur nearly breaks your heart.

You snuggle into the sheets, curling up next to him. “I won’t,” you murmur.

And then you fall asleep.

~ ~ ~

Every day that Jisung goes to school, it’s like a new flower blooms in his chest. He never particularly liked school before because of the run-down buildings, dark bathrooms, and the smell of cigarette smoke and weed haunting the halls, but the bright rooms and clear sunshine of the academy feel nothing like the public school back in his neighborhood.

Home. The word tastes strange in Jisung’s mouth. Is my house really home? he wonders, trying to pay attention to Minhyun’s rambling rant about some kid in his math class, but he can’t help but think.

No, he decides. Home isn’t his house. Home is where he feels like someone cares. Taeyong used to be home, he thinks, but now that he’s gone, you guys have taken his place.

You catch Jisung’s eye as he takes another bite of rice and smirk slightly in that mischievous way of yours before breaking into laughter at something Jung said. Having caught the end of the joke, Jisung joins in, too, feeling another few years of weight lift off his shoulders. You look over at him in adoration and press a quick kiss to his lips.

Minhyun and Jung yell, catching the attention of many others in the cafeteria, and normally Jisung would shy away and hide his face in your shoulder. But this time, he just laughs, then kisses you.

Hoots burst out in the tables around and he receives more than a few smiles and frowns, but even the lunch monitor coming over and telling you two to quit the PDA doesn’t ruin his mood.

And as he looks around at his friends, and they look back at him with equal happiness and care, he knows it is true.

You guys are his home.

~ ~ ~

“Jisung!” He turns around to see you running to him, hair flying out of your bun, waving around a piece of paper. “You should see this!”

The paper is blue. Your favorite shade of blue.

“Yeah, I know, I ran out of normal paper so I had to print the flyer on colored paper,” you say impatiently. “But read it! It’s a great opportunity for you!”

“But don’t I need to put together an audition tape?” he asks, looking up.

“Details, details.” You wave him off excitedly. “I know it’s a bit last minute, but we can record tomorrow at lunch in Kim’s room. We’ll use my phone, then we’ll set everything up and send it off! If all goes well, we can celebrate you getting past the first round on your birthday! That’s when the results come out, don’t they?”

Your excitement is infectious, and Jisung finds himself smiling. “Yeah,” he grins. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“Anything for you, Jisung!” And then you press a fleeting kiss to his lips before running off down the hall, and Jisung doesn’t see you for the rest of the day.

The hours pass, and finally Jisung is walking home from the bus stop, sweaty and tired from practice but glowing with excitement. He can’t wait for tomorrow.

This audition might be his chance to actually move out of the hole he lives in.

The sun begins to fall, and Jisung knows it’s a dangerous time. Despite his exhaustion, he tries to keep a sharp eye out for danger, even though he’s sure he has no enemies. He’d always been careful not to annoy anyone, not to piss anyone off, because where he lives… that could be detrimental.

Too bad that Jisung’s parents were never as cautious as their son.

It is dusk when he is cornered. It is dusk when he is shoved to the ground in front of a shady building, hauled upright, and forced to stare into the eyes of one of his neighbors. His initial struggle stops when he sees those who surround him.

Jisung always knew Hae Jinyoung was slightly unhinged. He had anger issues, possibly bipolar disorder, and long story short, Jisung always tried to be nice to Jinyoung. Nothing more, nothing less. Not friends, not enemies.

He never really thought that Jinyoung would corner him.

“Your parents owe mine money,” Jinyoung hisses.

Oh. That’s why.

“I -”

“Shut up!” Jinyoung’s fist flies into the side of the building and Jisung winces, feeling blood trickle down his skin.

When did Jinyoung get so strong?

“So where’s the money?”

Jisung has no idea. He tells Jinyoung that.

“Shut the fuck up!”

Jisung has a cold, sinking feeling that this is the end.

“You think you’re so much better than us, just because you could leave? Because you could get into that stupid art school? You thought you could leave, just like that?”

Jisung can’t decipher the swirling emotion in Jinyoung’s troubled eyes. He never will – at least, not when he is alive. His mind is woozy, and as Jinyoung shoves his head back into the wall again, Jisung feels something liquid trickle through his hair.

Someone rips his bag from his back, rifling through his school papers. Jinyoung snatches out the blue flyer you gave Jisung, and Jisung has just enough sense left to get a little more worried.

“School of the Arts Dance Competition?” Jinyoung reads, letting out a derisive laugh. He tears the flyer into pieces scattering them to the wind. Jisung slides down the side of the wall, unable to continue standing.

“Ten thousand dollars, a guaranteed admission to university?” He laughs harder, hysterically. “You thought you could actually leave?!”

Everything hurts. Jinyoung’s voice hurts. Jisung wonders if the painful throb in his temple will ever go away.

There’s a shout, and then a million others follow suit. Something hits his stomach, then his chest, then his head.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Jisung groans. Blood drips down his face.

“You could never have left.” Jinyoung’s words move slowly through Jisung’s mind. His voice sounds sluggish, as though it’s coming through waves of water. “You can’t just leave.”

Jisung is trapped in his own sluggish mind, flickering in and out of consciousness. A low groan of pain escapes his lips but no one is around to hear him. Everyone has already gone.

Agony.

Your face flickers through Jisung’s mind. He can hear your laugh, see your smile, feel your breath against his skin and the warmth you bring wherever you go. He wants to get up, he wants so badly to stand and hobble home, but he can’t.

Don’t make me leave Y/N.

Don’t make that the last time she will see me.

He was the one that was terrified everyone else would leave. Now he’s the one that’s leaving. The thought makes him fight harder.

Don’t make me leave her.

Don’t make me leave any of them.

I don’t want to leave.

I don’t want to go.

Don’t make me go.

But the pain is making his brain fuzzy and he can feel his body shutting down on him.

I’m sorry.

Jung, Minhyun, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

Y/N, I’m so sorry.

Please, don’t make me leave.

Let me see her smile one last time.

One last time.

God, your smile. Jisung pictures it with the last waning bits of his strength.

Your smile.

I’m so sorry.

Maybe it’s this internal struggle that keeps him alive for more than an hour. He knows he is dying but he doesn’t want to. He can’t bear to imagine the faces of his friends, the solemnity of his school once they hear of his death, but most of all, he can’t bear to imagine the pain on your face.

Please.

Your smile…

I’m sorry.

. . . . .

Believe me, Y/N, I never wanted anyone to leave, least of all me.

. . . . .

Jisung hates leaving. More accurately, he hates leaving people he loves, and he hates it when people leave him.

He isn’t sure which is worse.

First it was Taeyong. The older boy just disappeared from Jisung’s life, and Jisung never really stopped looking for him. Any time there was a rare knock at his door, he would eagerly peek from the window, hoping to see the tall, dark-eyed boy and his chiseled face. But it was never him.

At least Jisung somewhat reunited with Taeyong. The older boy was the one who collected Jisung’s soul when he died. Of all the things in the world, Jisung never thought Taeyong would be a messenger of the dead, but then again, he also never thought angels and demons were real entities.

After Taeyong, it was his parents. Even before Taeyong they had barely been present in his life, but their visits home became more and more infrequent until Jisung only saw them once every one or two weeks. No one ever knew because Jisung never said anything, but it still made a small hole in his heart.

True, his parents had never really shown him love, and Jisung isn’t sure that he even liked them. They just left him with debt and indirectly caused his death, since Jinyoung had found Jisung because of their debt. But still, they were his parents. And they’d never really done anything explicit to hurt him.

Despite what Jisung probably should have felt about it, their disappearance hurt.

Until then, it had only ever been other people leaving him. Jisung swore to himself he would never do the same.

And then he left, left for the first time – left the world of the living for a place among the dead, left loud cities and dirty neighborhoods for pristine walls and pure thoughts, left his friends on earth for angels in the clouds.

For years, he thinks that was the worst experience of his conscious mind. Chenle takes him back to earth once to see you one last time and he unconsciously chooses the day of his funeral. Seeing the tear-stained faces of his friends makes him freeze, and Chenle has to dig his nails into Jisung’s palm to get him to snap back to reality.

Then Jisung sees you, flanked on both sides by Minhyun and Jung, a blank expression on your face but tears still rolling down your cheeks. He wants to run up to you, to hug you, to kiss the tears away and make up for all the times he wasn’t there for you, but Chenle holds him back, a solemn expression in his eyes.

“She can’t see you, Jisung,” he says quietly. “Only some certain exceptions can, and she isn’t one of them.”

For years, he thinks that is the worst experience he has ever had – seeing you in so much pain, being the cause of said pain, and not being able to help you through it. His heart aches for you, but he knows the ache will only get worse if he tries to see you. He really could go to find you at any point, but he won’t allow himself to.

And then he leaves heaven.

Haechan has never had a love. Yes, Jisung knows he loves his friends, but he rarely says it and Jisung has always known Haechan ached for a romantic love. Someone to share his heart with in a way he can’t with his friends.

But by the stars, it seems Haechan won’t ever have a break. He falls in love with the girl he guards, a laughing, quick-witted girl with the same blue eyes as his.

Love between an angel and a human is prohibited. Forbidden. 

Impure.

So Haechan is taken.

Tensions had been growing within Jisung’s group ever since Renjun’s best friend – probably girlfriend, but Renjun would never admit it – left him for the demons, with Jeno and Chenle remaining by his side while the other four, including Jisung, were more sympathetic to his friend. But the tensions were heavily veiled, always hidden by a cover of increasingly strained laughs and grins.

Haechan’s impending trial finally forces the decision.

It is Mark who comes up to Jisung three days before the trial and asks him if he truly believes in the angels’ cause. There is uncertainty in his eyes and he looks guarded, even scared, but he really has no reason to fear, Jisung thinks. Ten years have passed since he died, providing ample time to reflect, and Jisung needs only a few moments to think before giving Mark his answer.

Jisung thinks his death was unfair, and many would have thought it reasonable that he be staunchly on the side of the angels. After all, his own guardian angel had told him it was unfair that he had died so early in his life and even apologized for his failure, and those around had agreed. But if there is one thing Jisung has learned from his stint on earth and his years in heaven, it is that nothing is ever fair.

Was it fair that Jisung was born into such poverty while others were born into wealth and affluence? Absolutely not. Was it fair that Jisung died so early when he had done nothing wrong while rich and corrupt persons maintained their wealthy lives for so much longer? Absolutely not.

But was it also fair that Jisung had found Taeyong when he was young, Taeyong, who kept him from going the path Jinyoung had? Absolutely not. Was it fair that Jisung found his passion for dance so early on and subsequently had many more opportunities to break free from his poverty than those who did not know what they wanted? Absolutely not.

So his answer to Mark is no.

When Mark tells him that Jaemin has found a way to escape from heaven, a way to get to hell, a way for Haechan to escape without being cursed to live forever without companion, Jisung’s heart leaps. Eyes hopeful, he asks if the others are leaving as well – Renjun, Jeno, and Chenle.

And then Mark shakes his head slowly, says that Renjun, Jeno, and Chenle would never have agreed. Jisung wants to scream, to yell at Mark, to ask him whether he even questioned them, but deep down inside, he knows Mark is right. Renjun is still hung over his best friend leaving him for “the other place,” and Jeno is staunchly on his side.

As for Chenle, though he is not so antagonistic towards demons as the other two, he still believes in the angels’ cause. He explained it to Jisung more than once, and Jisung understood. But he could not fathom how Chenle’s beliefs would turn him against a friend so easily.

Perhaps he is a hypocrite. After all, his faith in the opposite of what Chenle believed was what led him to leave, to turn away from heaven and the angels.

Jisung thought that leaving you, then seeing you that last time would be the worst experience of his life, but a new contender for the position rises the day he, Mark, Jaemin, and Haechan leave heaven for hell.

Leaving you had been an involuntary act. It hurt so greatly because he didn’t want to leave, and he loved you so much. But leaving heaven was voluntary. And it hurt so greatly because despite his love for the three friends he left behind, he still wanted to leave.

Never in his life did Jisung think that he would want to leave his friends. But that day proved him wrong and his carefully structured view of himself shattered.

He comforts himself with the thought that he had been growing apart from his angel friends for a long time, anyway. He had never felt as close with them as he felt with you. His fellow demons are a different story, but mostly because he has been with them for so long.

Jisung knew you for so much less time, a mere five years compared to the nearing ten he has had with the demons. And yet the love hasn’t faded.

Even now, as Jisung sits, staring at his new tattoo, your name inked into the curve of his wrist, the love burns as bright as ever within his heart. He didn’t want to see you before, but now by some trick of fate, your old guardian nearly failed, and now he has you as one of his assignments.

No one knows the extent of his story except Chenle, and he hasn’t spoken to his old friend in years. And he isn’t about to tell anyone soon. So when Mark asks him why he has such a long face, he lets Haechan make a joke about it and then diverts the topic to something else.

But the tattoo serves as a reminder – a reminder of you, a reminder that you are still alive, a reminder of his love, a reminder of his love that is still alive.

And Jisung doesn’t know whether to love it or hate it.

~ ~ ~

The first time Jisung has to save you, he very nearly almost fails because he is so taken aback by how little you’ve changed. Sure, you’re a bit taller, a little skinnier, face slightly more chiseled, but Jisung still feels like he’s been blown back in time.

And then a loud honk sounds in his ears and he remembers what he’s there for, and just before you’re hit he shoves you out of the way, just enough that the car whizzes by and you’re safe.

“Suriel,” Lucifer says in his cold voice, and Jisung flinches at the use of his God-given name. He vaguely wonders why Lucifer still uses the God-given names when he is supposed to be God’s opposite, but he is pulled back to reality with the next words. “You must take care not to let your emotions get the better of you.”

Thankfully, it’s ruled that Jisung will not serve punishment, that the incident was not close enough to be considered a near failure. Still, Mark admonishes him when Jisung walks out of Lucifer’s throne room, looking shaken but still standing. And since Mark doesn’t know about everything that happened, Jisung doesn’t say anything back, just nods and takes it. He knows Mark only has his best interests at heart.

But by the stars, he wishes someone knew. Wishes someone could understand. And he wants to tell someone but he just can’t. So he goes on, keeping his thoughts to himself.

It’s torture. After seeing you for that split second when he pushed you away, Jisung is torn between wanting to see you again and wanting to keep his distance like usual. It’d be easier for him if he did the latter, but the pull of the former is strong.

So he coexists like this. You don’t get involved in near-fatal incidents nearly as much as some of the other people Jisung has and is guarding, but it’s often enough that he just wants to kiss you, pull you close, and tell you to be more careful.

And that’s also weird, because his feelings are clearly the same about you, but you’re older. You’ve changed. No longer does happy innocence dance in your eyes, no longer do you speak with such fervor, such cheer. Sadness has replaced the innocence, maturity has replaced the cheer.

It suits you. Jisung always knew you would mature into yourself, and he’s happy to see that he was right. But it doesn’t help the ache in his chest.

What wouldn’t he have given to watch you grow by your side and not from above?

It doesn’t help that every year, you go to his grave on his death anniversary and talk to him. He found out on accident – he was just walking the streets that day and happened to see you, and after a moment’s debate, he followed.

Seeing his grave is weird, even from a distance. There are some chips on it and his name is faded and little things are inked into the stone and Jisung feels like he’s violating some kind of code. Some kind of rule. He doesn’t get close enough to make out the words on the stone – he doesn’t want to see it.

You tell him about your day, about your week, about your year, and you ask questions that he answers with words you cannot hear because damn it all, you are not an exception, and Jisung wants to tear out his heart.

Because by the stars, he loves you. And your words just make it harder for him to let go.

~ ~ ~

Jisung would be thirty-two. It is exactly two weeks before his birthday, the same day he died.

Jisung is standing there when you visit his grave – off-schedule, he might add – to tell him that you’re finally getting married.

It doesn’t matter. You can’t see him anyway.

Jisung is standing there when you talk about this strange feeling of betrayal. It shouldn’t be there, you argue, because he’s been dead for nearly twenty years. And yet there’s still a small part of you that can’t move on. But this man you’ve met, this man you’re in love with, is willing to take that, because he loves you so much. And truly, you love him too.

Maybe it’s because you never got to say goodbye, you reason. Maybe it’s because it will always feel like things were unfinished between you two. There was no expectation that Jisung would die so early, so suddenly, so without warning.

And Jisung regrets that. But there isn’t anything he can do about it.

So he understands. After all these years, he can’t seem to let go of you either. He read somewhere that first love dies hard and now he knows that is the truth.

Just as he always did, he sends a curl of soft wind to wisp around your shoulders. It’s the only thing he can do, the only power he has to comfort you.

It’s all he can do to tell you it’s okay.

At times like this, Jisung sorely wishes you were an exception. Maybe you two could have continued things, made things work. After all, that’s what he sees Mark doing, though the elder demon is oblivious to Jisung’s knowledge. He’s seen how Mark’s eyes have softened since he got his latest assignment, how his words are less sharp and his face less pained.

Jisung wants that. He wants it so badly. Maybe, if you were an exception, things wouldn’t have ended so abruptly.

But somewhere, in the back of Jisung’s mind, he knows you weren’t destined for that. That he wasn’t destined for that. And it hurts, yes, but it is the truth.

Jisung watched a drama one time. It was when he was trying to learn Chinese, and one of his friends had to help translate for him. But though he doesn’t remember most of the drama, he remembers one phrase.

You yuan wu fen. Fate without destiny. A couple that was fated to come together, but not fated to stay together.

As Jisung stares at you, kneeling at his grave, he thinks that maybe that’s you and him.

When you leave, having placed the flowers before his grave, Jisung remains where he is, staring at the letters etched into the stone. It’s the first time he’s seen the tombstone up close.

Wonderful student, passionate dancer, and loving friend.

Underneath is his name, then his birthday and the day he died. Jisung swallows.

Scattered on the stone are a few other small messages that are clearly not supposed to be there but that Jisung greatly appreciates nonetheless.

I miss you already, Jisung. I’ll never forget you. – Jung

I’ll carry on your dream for you, Jisung. – Minhyun

You’ll always be my first love. There is no way I could ever forget you. And some part of me will still love you, forever and ever, no matter what. – Y/N

And finally:

We will miss you.

Signed beneath those four simple words are the names of every single member of his dance class.

Staring at the signatures, Jisung wonders. How many people from that class till remember him? How many can still recall his name, his face, his passion for dance? They all loved him, probably, in some way or another, and Jisung still loves them all, just as he loves you. Jisung still vividly remembers their faces, but the world of the living is different from the realm of the dead.

Maybe they have all moved on.

And as Jisung stares at the chipped stone that bears his name, he thinks maybe it is time he moved on as well.

~ ~ ~

Jisung watches your marriage. It’s the first time he’s allowed himself to watch a milestone in your life, and he’s glad he did. Jung and Minhyun are there as two of the groomsmen. Jisung’s surprised but happy you all stayed in touch for so long.

In your white dress, you are stunning. Jisung watches the groom as much as he watches you, though, and is satisfied to see the pure love and acceptance in his eyes as you walk down the aisle. Jisung has always been an intuitive person and his first instincts are typically right. His gut tells him that your fiancé is a good man.

It is only with the slightest bitterness that Jisung listens to you recite your vows, feels your joy when you say “I do,” watches your lips press against your husband’s. Slight bitterness because despite it all, he wishes you were kissing him, but he’s come to terms with the fact that that will never happen.

Jisung doesn’t stick around for much of the reception, just disappears and comes back in time to watch you have your first dance with your husband. And as your husband whisks you around the dance floor – well, more like you whisk him around, since you have the grace of a gazelle and he seems to have two left feet, but it doesn’t matter because fuck gender roles and you’re smiling and he’s smiling and you’re both so, so happy – he sees the pure calm and joy and love in your face and he knows you made the right choice.

After that, Jisung leaves, disappears into the shadows behind a tall column. He’s seen all he wanted to see, seen all that he needed to see.

He doesn’t reappear in hell, as he usually does. This time, he materializes on a quiet field of soft grass, moonlight illuminating patches of small white flowers. He sits down next to a clump and idly plucks one of them, twirling it around in his fingers.

The moonlight shining on his face gives him a sense of calm, a sense of peace that he hasn’t felt in all the years since he left the living world. It is as though a chunk of ice has melted behind his heart, or a huge weight has been lifted off of his back.

This is the feeling of letting go, Jisung realizes. Letting go of a love that was never resolved, letting go of a love that will never be resolved. He wonders for a moment why he doesn’t feel more bitter, more upset. He still loves you – the warm feeling in his heart hasn’t lessened.

He closes his eyes, then remembers the look of love on your face as you danced with your husband. That expression of joy fills his heart with indescribable happiness. And then it hits him.  

As long as you’re happy, Jisung thinks, he will be happy also. He won’t stop loving you, but he’ll still be happy. And he’s okay with that.

With moonlight glowing on his face, Jisung smiles, the first genuine smile he’s worn since the day he died.

. . . . .

Believe me, Y/N, I’ll love you forever.