#my body is cursing me with pain and this is AWFUL but it's okay bc u may drop this if u so wish <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shingia · 3 years

Note

Could I request Kuroo, Bokuto, Tsukishima, Sakusa, Miya twins, and Tendou with a reader who used to self harm but was sober for a while, only to relapse after they left bc of a huge argument then please and thanks? Sorry if that’s really intense tho. And thank u for being so nice🙂💞

[𝐓𝐖] 𝐒/𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅-𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌

ok i reaaally hope this is what you expected. i didn’t know what kind of ending you wanted but i decided that you, my friend, needed comfort, so i gave you comfort because you deserve it ❤️️

i hope reading this will make you feel better! kisses on your nose ❤️️

type : (strong) angst | word count : 4.4K

warnings : mentions of self-harm, depiction of depressive behavior (plz do not read if any of these might trigger something, i want you all to be safe <3)

⇀ 𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨

« fuck you, kuroo. fuck. you. ». those were the last words you had told him. they had hurt, but they were nothing compared to the last words he had told you, the words that kept playing over and over in your head as you slowly felt yourself drift to your old habits again : « i’m done with you ».

was it your fault ? did you push him over the edge ? you had many questions to ask kuroo, but he wasn’t there to answer anymore. so these thoughts were left spiraling in your head as you started to lose balance between love and pain. because his love used to be the cure to your pain. so now what ? what were you supposed to do other than going back to your old habits ? you couldn’t think of any answer.

on monday morning, you woke up thirty minutes earlier because, first of all, you needed some time for the swelling of your eyes to go down, and second of all, you needed to mentally prepare yourself to see kuroo again. it had been two days since your fight, and he had not manifested himself once. it seemed to be well and truly over ; and that thought had been the main cause of the collapsing of your mental strength over the last two days.

during your first period, although you were avoiding his gaze, kuroo couldn’t help but cast glances in your direction. because he knew you better than anyone, and he could only imagine how hurt you were.

but he really started to get suspicious when he noticed you were not raising your hand to correct today’s homework. he had helped you with that last week, and you had told him that you felt confident enough to propose your correction to the class ; which rarely happened. so why weren’t you raising your hand ?

he had a bad feeling about the answer… he didn’t care about giving you quick glances anymore, he just stared at your arms until one of your movements would make your sleeve reveal just a few inches of your skin.

and he was horrified to have his fears confirmed. the cuts that he had so often kissed while holding you in his arms were back. and he knew it was all because of him. and although his first thought was that it was not his job to heal them anymore, he couldn’t bring himself to act unbothered.

he had loved you for long enough to know that you needed him right now. or maybe he still loved you ? it was not clear, but it didn’t matter right now. what mattered was that he needed you to listen to what he wanted to say, even if that was the last thing you accepted to hear from him.

« y/n, we need to talk » he told you once you got out of the classroom. you looked up at him ; his face was unusually austere. he carefully grabbed your shoulder and took you away from everyone else.

« i can’t… i couldn’t walk out of there pretending like i didn’t see what your arms looked like » he started. « now listen, i know i fucked up, but i still care. and you still matter. whatever our relationship is doesn’t define you and most importantly, these don’t define you » he pointed at your wrists, his brows furrowed with concern. « so please, i’m begging you, keep in mind that i’m always here if you need to talk. always. and if you don’t want to talk to me that’s fine, but in that case, please find someone else. for the sake of everything we've been through together, don't let everything you’ve accomplished go to waste » and he wrapped his arms around you in the strongest hug he had ever given.

⇀ 𝐛𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐨

it had already been a week. and bokuto had absolutely no idea what to do. call you ? text you ? probably not. what would he even say ? « hi, sorry for slamming the door in your face after screaming at you for fifteen minutes. am i still your boyfriend ? » awful idea.

and while bokuto was pondering every option he had left to get in touch with you, you were left in the darkest place of your mind. and you hadn’t felt like that in a few months. because bokuto used to always be there, his number on speed dial whenever you feared you would relapse. and thanks to his unwavering support, you hadn’t. but was there anything in this world that was truly unwavering ? you really started to doubt it. and now that bokuto had left you, what could carry the pain away ? whatever the answer was, you were in no condition to think rationally about it.

you remembered how he used to celebrate every improvement in your mental health, how strong of a cornerstone he had been for you. and just the fact of not knowing where you guys were at after your fight was enough to make you feel like you were drowning again.

you were overflowing with emotions that you thought you couldn’t control, and apart from holding on tight to bokuto’s chest, you only knew one way to feel better.

you loved him, you really did. but after a week without hearing from him, you started to think that maybe his feelings were not as real as he pretended they were. and how could you not blame him for that ? for letting you down so fast ?

curled up in your bed, tears were streaming down your face ; because you felt weaker than you had promised yourself to be. you were exhausted, in every sense of the word, yet there was still a tiny bit of strength left in your body that made you grab your phone and open your conversation with bokuto. the last message was a bitter pill to swallow : « no problem babe, i’m always here for you ». it was just a week ago but it felt like an eternity had passed. your fingers started slowly typing on the screen and immediately hit sent, knowing that you would second guess your message if you re-read it. « can we talk? », just three words, it was the maximum you could get off of your chest right now.

but bokuto did not answer. for the simple reason that he was too busy catching his breath in front of your door. he frantically knocked, not stopping until you opened it.

« oh my god, are you okay ?! » he exclaimed, patting your entire body like he wanted to make sure you were well and truly there. and once he had made sure of that, he pulled you against his chest like he wasn’t planning on letting you go ever again. « did- did you… » he ventured to ask, not wanting to finish his sentence precisely because he was afraid of your answer. but when he heard you let out a muffled sob against his chest, his fears instantly got replaced by guilt. more than he had ever felt. « you’re alright, i got you. i got you now… » he murmured, his hands stroking your back tenderly. « we’ll get through this together, ok ? we’ll show the world how strong you are. because i know you are. »

⇀ 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚

yes, sakusa had run away. and he was glad he had. because he knew how hurtful he could be with his words, and he had enough respect not to inflict that to you. but as he made his way back home, doubt started installing in his head. what if he shouldn’t have left you after your fight ? he immediately shook the thought away. no, you were good now. you were better. nothing like who you were when he met you.

and sakusa could be very convincing when he needed to, including with himself. that’s why he didn’t get in touch with you for the next three days, because he thought you just needed some time for yourself.

but when he received a worried text from komori when he got out of the gym after practice, he changed his mind within seconds. « i just saw y/n, something felt off. maybe you should check on them ? ».

sakusa felt a wave of guilt descend upon of him. of course he should. it was his fucking job to offer you his help, even when he thought you didn’t need it. and especially when he knew what you had already been through. he cursed himself all the way to your house, where he could only imagine how lonely you felt. not wanting to waste any more time, he pulled out his phone to call you. and heaved a relieved sigh at the sound of your voice : « hey, are you ok ? like, right now are you doing ok ? » he asked hastily.

you sat on your bed and rubbed your strained eyes, fiddling with the cloth of your t-shirt. « i- yeah, i’m good… » you lied. « i’m at your door, open up please, i gotta see you » he said before hanging up.

you knew sakusa was not going to take no for an answer. so, after wiping your tears and putting on a long-sleeved hoodie and sweatpants, you went to open the door.

« hi… » you uttered quietly. sakusa didn’t dare to move. he had been so determined to get to your house, but now that you were standing in front of him, he wasn’t so sure of what he was supposed to do.

you decided to be the first to break the silence, « i’m okay. and i’m sorr… » « sorry. about everything. » he pre-empted you. seeing you like this made him fear the worst. so he gently grabbed your wrists like he wanted to hold your hands, when in reality he just wanted to confirm his thoughts. and when he saw you stiffen at his touch, he knew he had guessed right. « come here » he whispered before going in for a hug. but you pulled away at the last second. « can we… go to my room ? i- i feel better there » you asked timidly.

he didn’t even answer and simply wrapped his arm around your shoulder before taking you to your bedroom where you immediately curled up on your bed. you didn’t want sakusa to see you like this, but you were in no position to fight back anymore. quietly, he laid beside you and pulled you in a warm embrace, just tight enough to let you know that he got you now.

when he noticed you were trying to find something to say, to explain yourself, he shushed you with a kiss on your shoulder. « you don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. but i want you to listen to me very carefully : don’t ever think that you’re back to square one now. you’ve dealt with this before, you’ve grown and you can do it again as long as you promise yourself to get back up. and i won’t leave your side. you deserve so much more than what you give yourself, and i’m here to remind you »

⇀ 𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚

tsukishima’s pride was important to him, everyone knew it. the only thing he valued as much as his pride was probably you. but during your arguments, the scale always tipped in his pride’s favor, you simply could not compete.

but surprisingly enough, it was you who had told him to go away after getting in the most heated argument you had ever had. and he didn’t have to be told twice : you had shattered his beloved pride, and he was not going to stay here begging for your mercy.

he still loved you, but he also had no problem ignoring you at school. yet for some reason, this argument didn’t sit well with him. well, no arguments ever sat well with him, but today felt different.

ignoring you was one of the most hurtful things tsukishima could ever do to you. he had helped you through so much, and suddenly becoming a stranger to him was slowly bringing you back down.

« it’s just one time, i won’t relapse » you thought the first time you tried to cope with the pain the way you used to. but you feared it wouldn’t be just one time. you were diving into what you had said goodbye to ; but now that tsukishima was ignoring you, there was no one to stop you from falling, right ?

well, that would have been true if he hadn’t kept a discreet but attentive eye on you. which is why he knew very well that you had gone back to your old habits. and he needed to do something about it.

but he wasn’t good with words, and he feared that actions would not be enough this time. he needed something more permanent, something that you could keep with you all the time. so he decided to do something he had never done before, and gave it to you as soon as it was done…

receiving a letter from tsukishima was definitely not something you expected. but what was written in it was even less expected.

« i’m not the best at this kind of stuff, but… i really need you to stop being so hard on yourself. i know it’s not something i usually say, but i fell in love with you because i learned to love your imperfections. and you have to start doing the same about yourself. please. and if you need to be held, to be listened to, i’ll be there. but i wanted to write something because i want you to be able to read this as much as you need, as much as you want. i want you to get better, but even more than that, i want you to want to get better. you can do it, i believe in you more than you can think. please come to me if you need it. i love you ».

the tears that streamed down your face had a salty taste, but for the first time in a long time, they tasted like hope as well. and the next time you came face to face with yourself and your thoughts, your eyes found find their way back to the letter, and you knew that there were people that still believed in you, counted on you, loved you. tsukki was just the first one of a long list. (<3)

⇀ 𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮

he had been there through everything. more than you would have imagined. which is probably why you felt desperately empty ever since he got so angry at you that he left without looking back. but at the time, it simply had not crossed his mind that you would suffer so deeply from his words.

but you did. a lot. and that was the reason you found yourself crying on your bedroom floor, not even able to be mad at anyone but yourself.

still oblivious to the true damage, atsumu thought he could get back to you by pretending like nothing had happened. he often did that because, to him, what was in the past belonged in the past. except that today, and in your situation, it could not work.

« wanna grab something to eat ? » was the first text he sent you. and you didn’t feel like answering, so you didn’t. « are you still mad ? i’m not <3 » was the second one. but you still didn’t feel like answering. maybe it was your fault ? maybe you were overreacting while you were just supposed to play it cool like he did ? but you would have played it cool if you knew how to.

when atsumu decided to go to your house, it was initially to apologize in person. he had not planned on seeing you looking the way you did, which was a heart-wrenching reminder of the dark period of time you had gotten through together. but here he was, standing in front of you, feeling more helpless than ever. he knew too well the look into your eyes, one that he hadn’t seen in a long time.

he dropped the pack of snacks he was holding in his hands before cupping your cheeks. « oh no, no, no. i fucked up, didn’t i ? i am… so so so sorry. c-can you forgive me ? » he stammered, absolute panic in his eyes as he took you in his arms. why would i have to forgive you ? you thought. i’m the only one to blame.

but atsumu seemed to also hear the things you didn’t say, and he refused to let you feel guilty for anything. ever so gently, he took your hands in his before placing the softest kisses on your wrists that were still covered by the sleeves of your hoodie. « i probably won’t ever forgive myself for leaving you alone. but promise me you’ll always come to me if you need help, or any kind of support, hugs, kisses… you name it. i’ll be your coping mechanism, and i’ll be the best you’ve ever had »

and he kept holding you for a long time, at least until he felt your breath become steady again. and if you thought atsumu was doting before, prepare yourself to be even more amazed now.

⇀ 𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮

fighting with osamu was not frequent, fortunately. but when fights occured, it was bad. really bad. he tended to think that you could endure as much as atsumu when it came to harsh words ; but you couldn’t.

kind of like his brother, samu had a tendency to leave the past behind and pretend like nothing happened when he got in touch with you after a fight. and that’s what he did a week ago, after one of the biggest arguments that you had ever had.

too happy that he seemed to still want to be your boyfriend, you didn’t have the courage to tell him how you had gone back to your old habits during the time you were on bad terms. but as they said, old habits died hard, and your destructive thoughts were still very present even when things seemed to have gotten back to normal.

yet samu was not blind, and he noticed that you were acting a bit more distant since last week, since your fight. but he still thought that your problems could be solved by just keeping on pretending like everything was ok. and eventually, things would turn out ok by themselves, right ?

you were laying on his bed, turned on your side as you scrolled on your phone. usually you would have had an arm swung around him, but you didn’t want to take any risk, so you kept your distances.

« hey, come closer baby. we’ve barely cuddled today » he told you before lazily wrapping his arm around your waist.

feeling nervous, you swallowed the lump in your throat before putting your phone on the nightstand. « i’m going to sleep, samu », you said, stretching your arm to turn off the light.

but he was quicker than you and gently grabbed your arm, careful not to apply any pressure on it. his eyes widened, he had barely seen your wrist but it had been enough to notice that the scars were recent. he put two and two together and looked at you dead in the eyes ; you looked ashamed, and it broke his heart. « when did y- was it because of me ? » he asked, his voice faintly shaking. you pulled away from his hand and held your arm against you, sinking in the pillow. « no, of course not. it’s nothing » you breathed out, looking away to avoid his gaze. but he was quick to make you face him again, with a slight pressure of his fingertips on your red cheeks. « there’s only one thing that i hate more than seeing you in pain. it’s knowing that i caused this pain. let me help you, y/n. please. you deserve to feel better. i’m sorry i didn’t give you as much love as you gave me. and i’m sorry for behaving like an asshole when you needed me. just… fuck, i just love you ».

tears started prickling the corner of your eyes, but he saw you trying to hold them back. with the most gentle look in his eyes, he proposed to turn off the light if it made you feel better. and you nodded ; you knew that you’d eventually had to have a face-to-face conversation with him. it was the only way to get better. but right now you just wanted to be held without thinking about what he’d see. or wouldn’t see.

so he turned off the light and let yourself get comfortable in bed before wrapping you in his embrace once again. his soft breath against your neck was obviously not enough to make all your pain magically go away, but it let you know that he had your back. and it was all that mattered.

⇀ 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐮

« i don’t want to do this anymore, y/n ! » tendou had yelled, making this sentence the peak of your argument. six words, and they were on replay in your minds since four days. you couldn’t believe that almost two years of relationship had ended so abruptly. but you had to face the truth : tendou had enough of you. and obviously you linked that to the turbulent start of your relationship. you knew it hadn’t been easy for him to deal with your self harm when you had just started dating. yet he had managed to make you feel so much better that you had been sober for about a year, all thanks to him. but maybe you hadn’t been grateful enough ? maybe that was why he had decided to end things now ?

the only thing you knew for sure was that he was gone, and you felt like you had lost your anchor.

you had spent the weekend in your dorm, and it had been a painful weekend. so painful that you did not get out of bed on monday morning ; it was just too much to handle. deep down you knew that you were not handling your problems the right way… and escaping reality was not viable.

but little did you know that tendou wanted nothing more than to see you again in the hallways and finally have a heart-to-heart conversation with you. and when he didn’t see you in class, he started to freak out. he knew how it was to feel alone and rejected ; and he started to fear that he had caused you to feel exactly that. so he did not follow his friends to the cafeteria at lunch and headed to your dorm instead, hoping that you’d open the door.

and you did. thank god you did. but panic started bubbling in his chest when his eyes laid on your face.

« alright, come here » he told you with a forced smile before pulling you in his embrace. truthfully, he didn’t feel like smiling, but he knew that the last thing you needed was to think you made him feel bad. when he was with you, his main goal was to cheer you up, he’d deal with himself later. « angel… did you do it again ? » he asked, his tone being the furthest thing from judgmental. you muttered a quiet apology, your face buried in his white uniform jacket. but something lingered on your mind. angel ? it sounded right, but you knew it wasn’t. not anymore. « don’t apologize ! the only person you owe an apology to is yourself » he whispered against your ear. slowly, he put his hands on your waist before bringing you to your bed where he sat right next to you, still refusing to take his hands off of your body.

« tendou, you don’t have to do this… » you muttered, knowing that you weren’t supposed to be this close anymore. « i’m your ex, you don’t owe me anything ».

he immediately looked down to meet your eyes, an eyebrow raised in confusion. « your ex ? wh- you think i broke up with you ? y/n, when i said that i didn’t want to do this anymore, i was talking about fighting with you ! i’m sorry, i should have texted you these last few days, but i thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me »

a tear rolled down your cheek. tendou’s words sounded like heaven right now. maybe you weren’t alone after all ?

« now, do you need me to get you something ? band-aids ? anything ? » he asked, caressing your hair with his right hand. you nodded your head no and kept your head buried in his neck, like you were waiting for his scent to go to your head. « i know you’ve been through a lot, and i’m proud of you no matter what. but, you know… even though i have enough love for the both of us, i’d really want you to have enough love for yourself » he said and placed a kiss on top of your head, waiting for you to say something. but he sensed that you were not ready yet. and he was ok with that, the last thing he wanted to do was to pressure you. it was going to be a long path, but you had already done it, and you were going to do it again. and he’d be there the whole time.

ok so if you’ve read until there it probably means that you needed comfort (i hope i have given you enough) : so if you are in this situation yourself, PLEASE don’t be afraid to ask for help, you can and you will get better. i’m rooting for you like saeko roots for karasuno ❤️️

@toworuu (didn’t forget about you ^^)

#haikyuu #haikyuu angst #hq angst #hq comfort #haikyuu comfort #bokuto x trader #kuroo x trader #tsukishima x reader #sakusa x reader #osamu x reader #atsumu x reader #tendou x reader

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reidamancy · 4 years

Text

too soon || spencer reid

summary: When you wake up in the hospital, buried feelings arise and you must now make a difficult decision. (spencer reid x fem!reader)

category: angst

warnings: detailed descriptions of kidnapping, mentions of guns and drugs, mild cursing

word count: 5.6k

a/n: this was really a struggle to write bc i hated how it kept turning out, but now after a month since i posted Too Late, i’m finally happy with it! this is the longest fic i’ve ever written and i hope it did Too Late justice (although i think i still like Too Late better lol)

MASTERLIST

(part one, part two)

(ICYMI: read part one here)

“I’m here, Y/N, I’m here.”

His voice echoed through your mind as you slowly gained consciousness. You smiled as you felt his hand in yours and you gave it a squeeze.

You slowly opened your eyes and greeted the blurry figure beside you. “Spencer,” you whispered with a smile.

“Spencer? Who’s Spencer?”

Your vision refocused as you looked over and saw that the figure was actually your boyfriend Connor. Your eyes widened in shock and embarrassment as you tried to laugh it off. “Sorry, he was the last person I saw.”

Guilt washed over you at once. During this entire ordeal, your boyfriend hadn’t even crossed your mind. Connor must have been so worried about you... while all you could think about was Spencer. You shut your eyes and attempted to shake the thoughts of your ex away, but much to your dismay, they stayed.

Your shallow laughs were cut off with a wince as the pain in your body hit you at once. You grimaced as you placed a hand over your stomach, trying to sublimate the pain. Connor looked at you with concerned eyes, but you waived it off. “It’s okay, I’m okay.”

Connor shook his head as his eyes filled up with tears. He grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it. “No, you’re not, Y/N.” He leaned over and placed another kiss on your forehead. “Oh God, I thought I lost you,” he whispered as he leaned his forehead on yours.

You smiled as you leaned into your boyfriend only to feel... nothing. You tried to combat the guilt swirling in your stomach by forcing the butterflies and happiness you felt whenever Connor was around. He’s your boyfriend, why doesn’t it feel like it?

You bit your lip at your guilty conscience as Connor sat back and ran a hand through your hair. The tension in the air was suffocating; between Connor’s intense stare of worry to your seemingly absent feelings, you had to lighten the mood.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” You quipped, laughing.

Connor’s face softened as his laughter joined yours. You heard footsteps enter the room and when you looked to see who it was, your eyes lit up. You ignored your heart’s flutters as you exclaimed, “There’s the man who saved my life!”

You tried your best to mask the overwhelming emotions that erupted once you saw Spencer. You overcompensated your guilty feelings by enthusiastically introducing your ex to your boyfriend. “Spencer, I want you to meet Connor. My boyfriend.”

You cringed at your tone as soon as the words left your mouth. Maybe you were too enthusiastic... And you were too caught up in your own delivery that you didn’t notice Spencer’s face fall.

But your boyfriend was none the wiser as he walked towards Spencer.

“I owe you the biggest thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” Connor extended his hand for a handshake, but Spencer just nodded at him.

Spencer gave a tight smile and cleared his throat. “I should uh, I should give you two some privacy.” His eyes stayed on the ground and his voice was weak. He gave you a quick glance and said, “Glad to see you’re awake, Y/N.” before swiftly leaving the room.

Connor sat back down next to you and said, “So that’s Spencer.”

You gave a slight nod and looked away.

---

Connor left to get lunch, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Seeing Spencer for the first time prompted a confusing set of emotions to bubble up inside of you. You were relieved to see him again; he saved your life and now you could properly thank him.

But you couldn’t deny that what you were feeling was more than that.

Why was your first instinct to call your ex-boyfriend, of all the people in the world? And why did your heart leap just at the sight of him? You thought you had buried these feelings long ago but right now, you felt the same as you did six months ago. It was as if your voicemail opened a Pandora box of hidden emotions. Now you just needed to find a way to close it.

Because you couldn’t afford to be thinking this way. You had a boyfriend now. Just thinking of Spencer in a different light felt like a betrayal, and you couldn’t do that to Connor.

Besides, with all the feelings that Spencer brought back, he also brought back all the pain. No matter how much your heart longed for him, you couldn’t ignore the heartbreak that resurfaced with every thought of Spencer Reid.

You couldn’t go down that road again. Spencer made no effort to fix what you two had after the fight, so why should you be pining after a man who doesn’t want you back? And you had to stay loyal to Connor; you can’t be thinking about your ex like this. You’ve moved on. He’s moved on.

Just then, the door swung open and a familiar mop of brown curls walked in. You pushed down your conflicting feelings and politely smiled at him. “Hi, Spencer.”

Spencer looked at you and cleared his throat. He looked disheveled, and he carried a large paper pad with him. “Hi Y/N,” he said then cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?” He asked, voice soft.

“Like I just got stabbed by a serial killer.” You deadpanned.

Spencer visibly swallowed and lowered his eyes.

You regretted your answer as soon as you saw him sulk. “Too soon?” You nervously laughed. “It was a joke, Spencer. All things considered, I’m fine.”

Spencer looked back at you and slowly nodded, staying silent.

You glanced down at the pad he was holding. “I’m assuming you’re here on business?”

He nodded. “I’m here for your police report.”

“Oh, right,” you nodded. “I didn’t know the FBI did those.”

“I volunteered.” He glanced at you before immediately looking back down at his papers. “I uh, I thought you would want a familiar face.”

You did, and you appreciated it. “Thank you.” You smiled.

He gave a curt smile and continued. “Are you ready now or should I come back later?”

You took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m ready.”

“So tell me exactly what happened.”

You sighed as you let yourself recall the most traumatic moment of your life. “I was at the grocery store.” You set the scene again in your mind, trying to remember everything for him. “I finished putting all my bags in the trunk. I went around to the front door. I just opened it. But before I could sit down-” You took a sharp breath, the memories overwhelming you.

“It’s okay, Y/N, take your time.” His voice was sweet as he comforted you. You shut your eyes to calm yourself, trying to ground yourself with the sound of his voice.

“He uh, he put a towel over my mouth and a gun against my back. I froze, I, I should have fought but I couldn’t move and I tried not to breathe, but I couldn’t hold it any longer. I don’t know what I was breathing in but I knew-” A cry interrupted you and a tear ran down your cheek. You hadn’t even realized you started crying.

A pained expression took over Spencer’s face. He raised his hand towards you but quickly recoiled when he realized what he was doing. He settled on just placing his hand on the side of your bed, lightly patting the hospital mattress. His hands were close, but not touching, your own.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Y/N.” His voice was a whisper.

You shut your eyes and cleared your throat, pushing through. “I knew I was in trouble,” you choked out. “Next thing I knew, I was waking up in his car. There was duct tape over my mouth. And my hands and feet were in zip ties, Spencer.” You cried as your voice broke.

Spencer bit his lip, unsure of where the boundaries were to comfort you. He decided to innocently place his hand on top of yours. You silently thanked him for the gesture.

“I saw everything. I know which streets he went on and what turns he took. I saw the numbers on the building when he got to the warehouse. I don’t even think he knew I was awake.” Another tear ran down your cheek. Spencer’s intense gaze never left your face. You avoided his stare, but if you didn’t, you would’ve seen the immense worry in his eyes.

You took a breath before you began again. “When we got there, he carried me into this room. I tried to fight him, I tried so hard. But he was just too strong,” you cried. Your heart was racing as you remembered the fear and adrenaline you felt in that moment. “And his voice, I- I can’t forget his voice.”

Your abductor’s voice echoed in your mind as you repeated his words to Spencer.

“My, my, look what we have here.”

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t ya?”

“Aw, it’s just you and me now. Unless you want someone to help you?”

Your eyes were squeezed shut as his laughter rang in your ears.

“Doesn’t matter. They’ll never get here in time.”

By now, you noticed Spencer had grasped your fingers in his hand. The action was comforting.

“He- he hit me with his gun and said, ‘Don’t try anything.’” Your head throbbed a little harder as you recalled his strike. “Then he gave me a phone and said, ‘No police. Make sure they answer.’ So, I- I called you.”

You brought yourself to look into his eyes. Tears fell from your eyes and you noticed his were glossy.

“Why?” Spencer asked.

You were taken aback by the question. You ignored the heat rising to your cheeks as you answered, “You’re an FBI agent.”

Spencer stared at you, his eyes narrowed.

You broke away from his gaze.

“Don’t do that.” You said, eyes fixed on his hand on top of yours.

“Do what?”

You brought your eyes back up to his face. “You’re profiling me.”

Spencer opened and closed his mouth, as if he were debating on what to say. “I told myself I’d never forgive you, but the truth is I already have. I can’t leave without you knowing that.” He was reciting your voicemail. “Is that true?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. You stayed silent as your eyes remained on your hand in Spencer’s. You weren’t thinking of the repercussions when you uttered the last words of your voicemail. You just knew you needed him to hear it, even if it was the last he’d ever hear from you.

But now that Spencer was in front of you, asking for answers, you froze. This was a conversation you never planned on having, and you weren’t sure how to navigate it.

Spencer acknowledged your silence and leaned forward, disregarding his paper pad. “Y/N,” he whispered, voice soft. You avoided his eyes, feeling more tears already starting to form. “I listened to that voicemail 167 times. I memorized every word, every breath, I... Please, Y/N. Tell me I’m over-analyzing. Tell me my emotions are biasing my profiling skills. Tell me the only reason you called was because of my job.” His voice was stern, masking his hurt. If you were looking at him, you would have seen the tears in his eyes and saw that he was practically begging you to alleviate his pain.

But in your mind, all you heard was a cry from a man who didn’t want anything to do with you.

Tears fell from your eyes as you shook your head. You wanted to tell him you only called him because he’s an FBI agent. It’d only be fair. You’d go back to Connor, he’d go back to living his life. You’d both be able to move on. But it wasn’t the truth.

Deep down, you knew you said those words to him for a reason; there was still so much left unsaid. And as afraid as you were to expose your raw emotions to him, you opted for vulnerability because it was impossible to leave this alone.

Your voice was strained as you whispered, “I can’t.”

“I thought I was going to die, Spencer.” You looked at him with teary eyes and were surprised to see his expression mirrored your own. “When he gave me the phone, you were the first person I thought of. I needed to talk to you one last time; there was so much I haven’t said, so much I needed to say, to you and I wasn’t thinking when I dialed. I called you because I needed you, Spencer. Not your badge.”

You let out a sniffle as the pace of your words quickened. “I wasn’t thinking,” you repeated. “I didn’t realize I was calling you until I heard your answering machine. Then everything came back to me. Your job, our memories. You gave me hope, Spencer.” You were rambling, desperate to justify your call before he could shut you down. “So I gave you clues, thinking maybe I could get out of there. But just in case it didn’t work out, I told you what I needed you to hear the most,” you sobbed. “And I know, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called, I-”

“I never stopped loving you, Y/N.” Spencer interrupted you and confessed for the second time. He had heard all he needed to hear, and he couldn’t stand another minute without telling you.

You froze. “What?” You breathed.

Your mind was rampant, emotions were bouncing around inside of you as your thoughts scattered.

He, he loved you. He still loves you. This changes everything. You had prepared for your resurfaced love of Spencer to go unrequited. Although a part of you longed to feel that way again, you had accepted that you lost that feeling the day you lost Spencer. You were prepared to rebury your love, but he feels the same way. How could you dismiss your feelings for him if he feels the same way?

He loves you? He can’t. Not after what he put you through. How can he say he loved you, that he never stopped loving you, after breaking your heart six months ago? How could he have loved you while you were struggling to put yourself back together in the aftermath of your relationship? It took so long for you to heal after him, and now he’s claimed to have loved you this entire time?!

“It was never you, Y/N, I-”

You took your hand out of his grasp. “No, no, Spencer. You can’t do this to me.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry-”

“No! Do you remember the last thing you said to me?!” You held your hand over your chest as you looked at him through teary eyes.

Spencer sighed and lowered his head in shame. “Yes.” he whispered.

“Spencer, just talk to me!”

“Leave me alone, Y/N!”

Both of your minds remembered your last fight at the same time.

It was late, you had shown up to his apartment uninvited that day. You suggested a spontaneous movie or a quick late-night dinner. He shot you down. Up until then you had tried everything, but the man in front of you was still a stranger in the shell of Spencer Reid. So after weeks of negligence, the two of you got into a screaming match in his apartment.

“I have left you alone, Spence!” You yelled through your tears. “It’s been three weeks. I’ve given you space, time, I’ve kept my distance, but enough is enough! Please, I’m just trying to help you!”

“I never asked for your help!”

“Well, can you help me Spencer?” You were sobbing now, but Spencer’s expression didn’t soften. “I haven’t felt your touch in weeks, when you’re home you feel so far away, you don’t talk to me anymore, hell you won’t even look at me!”

“Then stop being so fucking clingy.” He sneered in your face.

“Clingy?!” You screamed. “Is it clingy to want a relationship with my boyfriend?! I don’t even know who you are anymore!”

Spencer glared at you and you tried one more time. “Please, Spencer. I just want to fix us. I don’t know what happened when you were away but if you’d just let me-”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t...?”

“I don’t want to fix us.”

Your breath had hitched and your heart dropped. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh yeah? And how would you know? You don’t know me anymore apparently.”

“Spence, I, I love you, and I know you’re going through a hard time-”

“I don’t.”

Hot tears silently fell down your cheeks. You had to be sure what he was saying, even if it broke your heart. “You don’t... what?”

“Love you.”

You bit your lip as a sob racked through your body. “You’re upset. I’m going to leave, and we can talk in the morning.” You turned your back towards him as you began to open the door. But his voice interrupted your action and broke your heart in one sentence.

“Yeah, don’t even bother coming back.”

Tears were now streaming down Spencer’s face as he said, “I didn’t mean it, Y/N. You have to know-”

“No, Spencer. What I know is you broke my heart. You don’t get to come back and tell me you loved me all along. It isn’t fair.”

“No, what isn’t fair is you clearly still have feelings for me and you’re not letting me reciprocate them!” Spencer’s voice raised in pitch as he increasingly became exasperated.

“I, I never said that.” You scoffed, feeling the dryness in your throat.

“You didn’t have to.” Spencer whispered. He licked his lips and leaned forward. “Y/N, your pupils are dilated. Your pulse is 30% higher than usual.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion as to how he knew that. But then you became acutely aware of the heart-rate monitor behind you and it made sense. You steadied your breathing, attempting to calm down and rid yourself of these involuntary tells.

He lowered his eyes and bit his lip, “And when I told you I still loved you, your demeanor completely changed. You didn’t have to say anything, Y/N, I...”

“Spencer, stop.”

“You’re probably confused. A near death experience combined with the emotions of a past relationship-”

“Spencer, please.”

“Maybe I have confirmation bias, but everything points to you still having feelings-”

“Spencer, I don’t want to feel this way!” You half-shouted at him.

Your words hung in the air as both of you processed them. The two of you stared at each other, letting out heavy breaths at the intense atmosphere.

“What?” He breathed.

“I don’t want to feel this way, Spencer.” You shook your head as more tears escaped you. “Spencer, you broke me. I truly thought you were the one, but you didn’t even give us the chance. I don’t know what happened, but I would’ve gone through anything with you, Spencer. We could have worked through it together. If you had just let me...” You trailed off as sobs racked your body.

Spencer hung his head as tears fell into his lap.

“Did you know I came back the next morning?” You croaked. You heard a small gasp from Spencer and continued, “I don’t know why. I was staring at your door, trying to knock, but I couldn’t do it.”

“Y/N, why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve...” Spencer started but he trailed off. Even he knew that at that point in time, he would have only hurt you more than he already had.

“What was I supposed to think Spencer? You ignored me for weeks, and when we finally talked, you told me to leave. You obviously didn’t want me there anymore. But I wanted to knock, I wanted to knock so bad. I just, I couldn’t handle being shot down again. So I left.”

You swiped away the tears on your face. “And I figured you’d call me if you wanted to talk again. But you never did. And I had my answer.”

Spencer let out a sob. “I didn’t know it yet, but I needed you.”

“And I needed you, Spencer. Those weeks before our breakup were hell. All I wanted was my boyfriend back.” You cried.

“But I’m here now, Y/N.” Spencer breathed and you shook your head. He continued through his tears and said, “I’m here and I still love you as much as I did back then. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. All I could ever think about was you and how I lost you...” Spencer’s voice became a whisper. He grabbed your hand. You let him.

“I wasn’t in my right mind, Y/N. I became addicted to dilaudid and I pushed everyone away because I thought I could handle it by myself. But that’s when I needed you the most. If I could take it all back, if I could take back all the pain I’ve caused, I would. I’m so so sorry for hurting you, Y/N.” Spencer sobbed.

“It took me so long to heal from you, Spencer.” you cried. “I can’t go down that road again... but for some reason my heart can’t let you go.” You stared at your hands as you gave into temptation and slowly interlocked your fingers through his. You could hear Spencer’s breath hitch at the small action. He squeezed your hand and the two of you looked at each other with teary eyes.

“Why can’t I get over you? Why do I still love you even after you broke my heart? I don’t want to feel this way. There are so many reasons I shouldn’t be feeling this way.” You cried. “But I just can’t help it.” You looked up at him through damp lashes and saw him biting his lip.

“I never should have let you walk through that door. I miss us, Y/N. I didn’t know how much I needed you in my life until you left. Please, Y/N. I’ve tried to move on, but I just couldn’t. It’s you, Y/N, it’s always been you. And even after all this time, I still love you... It’s scary how much I still love you.”

“You didn’t tell me he was your ex.” A voice interrupted you and your head jerked towards the door to see Connor standing at the entrance.

You snatched your hand out of Spencer’s as you stammered, “Con- Connor! How long have you...”

“Long enough.” He rolled his eyes. “Look Y/N. I am no one’s rebound, and I am definitely no one’s second choice.” Connor scoffed. “Here’s your lunch.” He dropped one of his bags down on a nearby chair and left the room.

“Connor!” You called out to him but it was too late. You sighed as you leaned back against your hospital bed.

You wiped the tears from your cheeks as you looked over at Spencer. He licked his lips and quietly said, “But I understand if I’m too late. Time changes people. Just say the word, and I’ll leave you alone.” He got up to leave but you reached for his arm.

“Spencer,” you stopped him. He looked back at you, completely broken. You blinked the tears out of your eyes but no words came out. The two of you stood, frozen in time with unspoken words written over your faces.

You weren’t sure what you wanted to say. You wanted to say something, anything.

But when no words left your mouth, he gave you a small nod then left the room.

You were still frozen, your hand in the same position it was when it was on his arm. Your mind was scattered and your heart was torn. What just happened?

---

You stayed in the hospital for two more days. Since then you had a few visitors, but none from the two men you needed to see the most.

It gave you time to think. You now held two hearts in your hands and you weren’t sure what to do.

With Connor, he was a safe choice. And he was still your boyfriend. Just the thought of betraying him and getting back with your ex didn’t sit right with you at all. Connor was a good guy, he was smart, cute, funny, and a total sweetheart. Not to mention, he was there to pick up the pieces that Spencer left behind. How could you betray him after all of that and go running back to your ex?

But Connor was a temporary high that could never compare to the way Spencer made you feel. Spencer was your greatest love. He showed you what love was supposed to be; Spencer Reid was everything you wanted in a man and more. Your relationship with Spencer was a whirlwind of emotions, and the two of you had a love you could only dream about... up until the last month.

But were you willing to overlook that, in the name of true love? The spark between you and Spencer was undeniable, but the foundation of a committed relationship was lacking: trust. You didn’t know if you could trust him with your heart again. And the worst part, Spencer Reid had so much power over you because you were still undeniably head over heels for the young genius.

But could you could forget about him and continue living your life with Connor? Maybe one day you and Connor could have what you and Spencer had. Or maybe you never will. Was it worth the risk?

You looked back on all the memories you shared with Connor, looking for a sign, any sign to stay. You were desperate to protect your heart from more heartache, even if it meant losing Spencer. You thought back to the beginning of your relationship and tried to remember the blissful feeling Connor gave you. How he brought out butterflies in your stomach and made your heart skip a beat. But that’s when you realized that euphoria you used to feel was nothing but a distant memory. Your entire relationship with Connor was based on a short-lived infatuation. An infatuation that ended the minute you dialed Spencer.

Because the entire time, Connor was a distraction from your feelings for Spencer. Connor may have masked your feelings for your ex, but they were still there. They always were. At that point, it was undeniable. You knew you had to follow your heart.

---

After you were discharged from the hospital, you knew exactly what to do. Your plan was simple: you’d make a quick stop before going to straight to Spencer’s apartment. But there was one factor you didn’t take into account. It was the first time you’ve been truly alone since the abduction. You caught yourself looking over your shoulder multiple times, and your heart raced as you rode on the subway. Everyday acts became daunting, and the task at hand didn’t help to calm your nerves.

It felt like years before you found yourself staring at Spencer’s apartment door. Your heart was still beating out of your chest as you stared at his apartment number. You took a deep breath and remembered the last time you were standing here. You weren’t going to make the same mistake again.

You knocked.

There was the quiet patter of footsteps behind the door, and you felt your heart rate pick up as the shadows came closer.

Finally the door swung open, and a tired-looking Spencer answered. Once you saw him, you couldn’t hold it in anymore; you immediately burst into tears.

“Y/N?” He said your name in confusion before instinctively pulling you into a warm hug.

He backtracked when he realized his hug might have been unwelcome, but when you rested your head against his shoulder, he instantly relaxed as he pulled you into a full embrace. He pulled you into his apartment and shut the door, giving the two of you some privacy.

He held you close as your tears flowed, his hands silently comforting you. You let out a sigh because now that you were in his arms, you finally felt safe. His shirt was balled in your fists as you whispered his name. “Spencer.” You breathed shakily.

His hands ran up and down your back. “I’m right here, Y/N.”

“Please don’t leave me.” You cried as you held on to him tighter.

He shook his head. “Never, Y/N, never again.”

“Spencer, I’m scared.”

The proximity of your bodies allowed Spencer to feel your heartbeat as it pounded in your chest. Your hands trembled as they held on to his shirt, and he realized the true cause of your tears.

He held onto you tighter as he said, “He’s never going to hurt you again, Y/N.” He heard you take a shaky breath, so he emphasized, “Ever.”

You took a step back to look at him. Your hands were now interlocked behind his neck as you looked into his eyes. “Thank you,” you weakly whispered. “Thank you for saving me.”

Spencer bit his lip and shamefully lowered his head. “I should’ve been there sooner.”

You shook your head. The odds were against him, and you knew that. But he made it. He was there, and not a moment too soon. Spencer saved your life, and he was just in time.

You released one of your hands from his neck and traced his jawline until you got to his chin. You used your thumb to gently bring his eyes back up to yours. “You were right on time,” you whispered.

Spencer’s brows furrowed as he eyed your bandages, but before he could say anything you closed the gap between the two of you and pulled him into a kiss.

You both smiled into the kiss as your hands found their way into his hair. Your fingers weaved their way into his curls as he snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you up toward him. You got on your tip toes to meet his tall stature.

As your lips moved in sync, your bodies moved impossibly close as the two of you engulfed each other. Holding each other tight, his soft lips moved against yours until you both had run out of air. He pulled away and let his forehead rest on yours.

Spencer licked his lips. “Um, what about...”

“I broke up with Connor.”

A huge smile broke out on Spencer face, but he quickly regained his composure and nonchalantly said, “You did?”

You nodded. “Yeah, like literally just now.” You let out a small chuckle as you nervously asked, “It’s not too soon is it?”

Spencer laughed and said, “I’ve been waiting six months for this.”

You felt the heat rising to your cheeks as you smiled. Your hands traveled down his shoulders and onto his chest, resting right above his heart.

“I never stopped loving you, either.” You whispered.

His hands retreated from your waist and moved up your body until they met your shoulders. His large palms engulfed your shoulders in warmth, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps as they went down your arms and onto your hands. He pulled your palms away from his chest and into his own and you interlocked your fingers.

“Please don’t leave me,” you repeated, only this time the words had an entirely different meaning. Spencer’s heart broke at the implication, though he knew your insecurity was completely valid.

“I promise I will make up these last seven months to you.” He brought your interlocked hands up to his face and kissed the back of your hand. “And I will never lose you again.”

Spencer brought a hand under your chin and lifted your face towards his. “You’re so strong you know that?” You broke out into a huge smile as tears welled in your eyes. You cupped the sides of his face with both of your hands and replied, “So are you.”

You brought his face down to place a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Addiction is no joke. I wish I could have been there so you didn’t have to go through it alone.” Spencer shamefully lowered his eyes. “But,” you quickly added. You ran your thumb along his cheek bone and said, “I’m so proud of you for overcoming it.”

He smiled and kissed your forehead. “And I’m proud of you, Y/N. That beautiful mind of yours saved your life.” Tears silently fell down your cheeks as you smiled up at him.

Spencer smiled as he used his thumb to wipe the tears away. “I love you so much, Y/N.” He whispered in the softest voice. He pulled you into another hug as he whispered into your ear, “And I’ll never let anything happen to you again.” His breath was warm against your ear, and his voice sent shivers down your spine. “I promise.”

You held him tighter as you said, “I love you, Spence.”

Spencer instantly relaxed at the nickname, missing the way it fell from your lips. You rested your head on his shoulder as his arms held you close. The two of you finally had what you had denied yourselves for six months, and both of you were doing everything to savor the moment. With eyes closed, your bodies swayed together, holding each other tight and memorizing the way you felt in each other’s arms.

After missing him for the past half year, being here with Spencer just felt... natural. It felt like you just came home. He was your home. And for the first time in six months, you were finally where you belonged.

1K notes · View notes

pwarkluv · 3 years

Text

❝ what is love? - l.mk ❞

lee mark x reader | fluff | 2k words

WARNINGS | lowercase is intended, idol au, love at first sight au, 6thmemberofitzy!reader, shy!mark and shy!reader, fluff bc that’s what i’m best at LOL, another request :), just enjoy <3

REQUEST | “hii i read ur electric love fic w jisung and i really loved it :DD could you do the same for mark ? still as the 6th member of itzy ofc :D” - my lovely anon <3

SUMMARY | he wonders what is love, but finds the answer in you.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | inspired by the song “what is love” by twice (english lyrics by genius translations)! ANOTHER REQUEST HDSFKLDSJHF IM SO SO SO SO EXCITED! i wanted to change up the setting so it’s still 6th member itzy, but not in weekly idol :P ALSO this was inspired by when nct dream, itzy, and stray kids sat next to each each other in that one award show so yeah lolol. IM SO SORRY I LOST THE MESSAGE WHERE MY ANON ASKED FOR IT BUT I STILL WROTE IT FOR YOU! I LOVE YOU, THANK YOU, NEVER BE SHY TO DM ME ;)

what is love?

mark knew the general idea of it; the sappy moments movies show, the “butterflies in your stomach” feeling books portray, the pain and hardships songs make you feel.

but he’s never been in love, at least not like this.

❝ how could it be as sweet as candy? ❞

training at such a young age molded mark into the perfect idol, and with that he was fully aware dating would look bad to the public. he accepted the fact that he might never find love, all to help achieve his dream.

but as cheesy as it sounds, the canadian wished to be loved.

yes he was loved by his members, his family, his friends, his fans; but the type of love he longed for was something none of them could give him.

mark wanted to feel the sweetness of being in love, the giddiness you’d feel whenever you talk to them, the pounding of your heart whenever they’re near. he wanted to experience the overwhelming need to be with that person, like if they’re gone for too long it’s like you can’t breathe.

was being in love like making a song for the very first time? or was it like eating watermelon all the time?

so many questions with no answers, the boy left to wander in his own thoughts.

❝ how it’s like flying in the sky? ❞

he smiled bittersweetly as the newly wed couple danced around in confetti, the sound of laughter and cheers resonating around the room. one of nct’s managers that had been with them since the beginning invited them to her wedding, to which the team obviously accepted.

all 23 of them were happy for their noona who found her happy ending. mark could only watch in awe at the sight of the two lovebirds, the love and adoration for the other evident in the way they looked at each other.

his heart tugged a bit knowing he wanted something like that too.

“being in love is like flying in the sky.” his manager explained to the boy as a makeup artist experimentally brushed strokes on her face. it was a couple hours before the ceremony when mark knocked on her hotel door, wanting to visit his favorite noona before she finally said ‘i do’.

his question left his mouth before mark could fully register what he was about to say, the poor boy flushing a bit as the woman laughed at him.

“are you in love mark? is that why you’re asking me how i knew i was in love?” she teased as mark stutterd, denying her accusation.

“n-no i swear!” he said as his manager continued laughing, the makeup artist having to pause a bit to let her get it all out. “i’m just curious.” mark said quietly trying to stop the heat from rushing up to his cheeks.

“well being in love is a magical feeling.” the woman said, turning a bit serious. mark sat up straight as he listened intently. “when you realize you love someone, it can be a scary thing. love isn’t perfect mark, and i want you to know that. there are moments where you want to scream and rip your hair out, or cry to let it all out.”

the boy nodded in understanding, having a bit of knowledge from all the good breakup songs taylor swift writes about.

“but it can also change your whole world.” she continued on. “it’s like seeing the world again for the very first time and the colors are more vibrant. it’s like having a permanent reason to be happy, and a reason to stay.” she explained as the mark sat quietly trying to comprehend it all.

❝ i wanna know know know know, what is love? ❞

the poor boy’s head couldn’t wrap around the thought of you.

his heart hammered in his chest as he secretly glanced at you, desperately trying to avoid suspicion from fans and his members. you were just too breathtaking, having the canadian looking back for more.

the moment he first laid eyes on you, it was like an epiphany. you were the answer to all his questions.

so this is what it feels like, mark thinks to himself as he looks back on all the things he’s heard about love.

the butterflies, the pounding of your heart, the “seeing the world in a whole new perspective”, mark felt everything and as much as he felt excited, he was scared.

as harmless as it sounds, award shows were a risky thing for idols. being surrounded by fans of different groups as well as said groups themselves always seemed to cause a bit of a stir between fans.

between dating rumors and rumors about beef between two idols, anything could happen.

but usually mark would be okay. he’s been doing this for a long time and knew how to behave.

however what he didn’t expect was to see you, the tiny rookie idol from the newly debuted girl group ‘itzy’.

nct 127’s table was right next to yours which let mark have a clear view of your pretty eye smile as you laughed at something lia had whispered into your ear. your laugh was bubbly and contagious, the boy having to physically stop himself from wanting to laugh too.

he was panicking, but mark couldn’t tell if it was in a good or bad way.

❝ what does love feel like? ❞

your breath hitched as you saw the boy sneak glances at you from the corner of your eye.

the mark lee was looking at you, your heart racing as you tried to deny the fact that he was staring you down. there was no way the dude you’ve looked up to your entire trainee life is noticing you, no way at all.

everyone has heard of mark lee even if you weren’t into kpop. he was just that iconic.

you’ve been an nctzen since the very beginning, being there for nct u’s debut stage. in fact, nct was the very reason you decided to audition to become an idol in the first place. you looked up to the team but more importantly you looked up to a certain canadian in the group.

originally doyoung was your bias in nct when nct u first came out. but as the years passed by you found yourself more and more intrigued by mark, having him absolutely wreck your bias list.

since then you’ve been a loyal mark stan, even rapping his part in cherry bomb for your audition tape which ultimately led you to become an idol yourself.

you refused to believe you were in love with the dude, not knowing a single thing about him. there was no way you could love him, not if you’ve never even met the boy.

but your heart seemed to prove you wrong as it beat wildly knowing mark was sitting right there on the table next to you.

“you okay bubs?” lia asked in a worried tone, leaning in to whisper into your ear. she saw the way your leg bounced in a fast rhythm, knowing you only did that when you were nervous.

you forced a smile as you hesitantly looked her way, knowing that she could take one look into your eyes and know you were lying. “i'm fine unnie, don’t worry about me.” you replied as sweetly as you could, wishing the elder wouldn’t notice a thing.

though you two and yeji were the eldest in the group, all being born in the year 2000, you were the baby of the unnie line. lia and yeji knew you the best, having grown up with you after all.

the girl only gave you a look before taking your hand in hers to give a soft squeeze. “i know you’re lying but i won’t push you. also mark lee from nct 127 is totally checking you out.” lia said, whispering a bit on the last part. she winked as you flushed, looking away in horror.

johnny nudged the boy next to him with a small smirk, clearly seeing the heart eyes he was giving the girl in the table next to them. mark jumped a bit at the feeling, looking at his hyung with confusion.

“so y/n of itzy?” johnny said with a small smile as the younger immediately sat up straight.

“is it that obvious?” mark whispered back with a hint of fear in his eyes.

if any of the fans were to get a hold of this… the boy could only shiver at the thought.

johnny’s playful smile dropped a bit at mark’s worried look knowing how he must feel. they were idols after all.

“don’t worry, i only noticed because she was looking back at you too.” he said, mark flushing at the revelation.

“really?” he asked a little out of it.

“i say talk to her after this?” the elder said, laughing a bit when mark jumped in his seat, immediately saying no.

❝ will love come to me someday? ❞

“unnie why are you making me stay in the dressing room~” you whined as the end of the award show came along.

you just wanted to go home, your body worn out. not from all the dancing but from the way it viciously pounded in your chest whenever you ever thought about mark.

lia only smirked in retaliation as she brought a hand up to squish your cheeks. “trust me, you’ll thank me later.” she said as she walked out of the dressing room, bumping into a 6 foot tall boy with a smaller boy behind him.

“oops sorry.” she said a little playfully, as lia gave a wink to johnny knowing their plan was going accordingly. johnny only gave her a small smile, but if you looked closely you could see the mischief in his eyes.

“hyung where are we going?” mark asked, a little weirded out by the two’s interaction. johnny only ignored the boy, dragging him by his arm as they walked down the hallway.

“hyung i swear if this is a prank i’ll-” mark’s words were cut off as the two entered a door, only to see your confused face staring back at him.

“oh shit.” he cursed under his breath, a little taken aback from how beautiful you were. one whole award show later and you were still as gorgeous as when he first saw you sitting down in the table next to his.

your confused face quickly turned to an embarrassed one as you noticed the boy, turning another shade of red when you noticed he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“hi y/n, my name is johnny and this is my band mate mark.” the taller boy said, holding his hand out in a handshake.

“h-hi i’m y/n.” you stuttered, not expecting to see the boy you’ve been daydreaming about for the past two hours to be right in front of you.

mark gawked at the sight of you, his mind malfunctioning as the words seemed to get stuck at the tip of his tongue.

“markie right here has something he wants to ask you.” johnny said, pushing the younger in front of him with a grunt.

this seemed to knock him right out of his trance, a hand coming up to the back of his neck as he stared down at the floor with pink cheeks.

“do you maybe wanna-”

“yes.” you blurted out, a hand covering your mouth in shock. “i-if you were gonna ask if i wanted to hang out sometime, the answer is yes.” you said a little shyly as the boy smiled.

all this time mark thought he was gonna find love, but maybe love found him instead.

“i’ll pick you up at 6 tomorrow evening.” mark said with a sweet smile as he took a step back only to be pushed back up again by johnny.

“you don’t even have her number you dumbass.” the elder scolded, disappointed at how dumb the boy was.

your laughter caught both of the boy’s attention as you put your hand out with a small smile. “you want my number or nah?”

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plant-flwrs · 4 years

Note

i just read house unity and i am in tears!! it's so beautifully written, you must be an author bc that is pure TALENT 😭✨ if you don't mind can i request george x soft hufflepuff reader? she's kinda pure and george is like ily let's be together. thx!!

budding romance // george weasley

masterlist!

a/n: um UR TOO NICE!!! thank you so much!!! I do not mind in the slightest, so I hope you like it hehe! um i also love hufflepuffs so much they are like the best house (coming from a ravenclaw) my sister is a hufflepuff and like three of my good friends are hufflepuffs so y’all are the best and i have a major soft spot for u.

i’ve always found something about botany and plants incredibly romantic, so if this just sounds like a fanfiction for plants, you know why lol. I also made George a bit soft in this so i hope you don’t mind that either <3 n e ways, i hope you enjoy this! thanks for requesting! also sorry this took so long :( i had a bit of a hard time finding a solid idea but i think it worked out :) like, reblog, or leave any feedback if you’d like!

summary: George needs a tutor for Herbology, but has no plans on learning.

(3k)

--------

The back of your neck was particularly warm, and you hadn’t decided if it was because of the blazing sun shining through the Herbology classroom glass ceiling, or the fact that George Weasley was staring at the back of your head.

Your delicate fingers traced the back of the Dittany plant, feeling the bumps and lines of the veins that trailed to the stem. You wrote down some observations in your worn notebook, before glancing back at the plant. You picked up a pair of garden scissors, prepared to cut the plant at the stem.

“George Weasley is looking over here,” your friend whispered to you, casting a glance over her shoulder.

“I know, he does it often,” you replied, using a pair of tweezers to pull apart the Dittany.

“Do you think he needs something?” she asked, returning back to her own plant.

“I just figured he was copying what I was doing,” you wiped a bit of moisture off of your hand and onto your apron, taking the opportunity to look over your shoulder.

George’s eyes met yours, and his face flushed with an embarrassed blush. You offered him a kind smile, your eyes falling down to his mangled Dittany plant. You looked back up to his eyes, this time sympathetically smiling at him.

You returned to your own plant, jotting down a few more notes in the stained journal next to you.

Herbology was a strong suit of yours, you had always found it relaxing and simple. The plants offered so much to people, and all you had to do was understand how to care for them properly.

After your eventual dismissal, you rubbed the back of your neck and felt a sunburn, cursing yourself for not bringing some sort of sunscreen in your bag.

You heard an awkward cough from behind you, followed by a weak “hello”. You turned to face the noise and was a little surprised to see the tall redhead it came from.

“Hello,” you said kindly, closing your bag.

“Hi,” he repeated, and you waited for him to continue.

An awkward amount of time passed before he realized he had already said hello.

“Oh, right, um” he coughed again, clearing his throat, “well, I just wanted to introduce myself.”

He paused, holding his hand out for you to shake.

“I know who you are, George,” you replied before he had the chance, smiling at his sentiment, “we’ve gone to school together for 6 years.”

“Yeah, I just usually say it formally,” he retracted his hand after he held onto yours for what he felt was too long, “you know, with an identical brother and all.”

You nodded your head, still smiling at the nervous boy.

“Well, I wanted to ask you something,” he said, his hands gripping the leather straps of his bag nervously.

“In addition to the introduction?” you said, trying to make him less nervous.

He laughed lightly, shifting from one leg to the other.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” you pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, finding it impossible to wipe the smile off your face.

“I was wondering, since you seem so good at it, if you would help me out in Herbology?” he spoke fast, and you nearly missed what he said.

“Oh,” you were surprised by his question. He and his brother had a bit of a reputation at this school, and tutoring didn’t seem to align with it.

“I get if you can’t or something, I know you must be busy with your own studies,” he began, but you waved your hands, cutting him off.

“No, no, I don’t mind,” your smile widened as he let out a relieved breath of air, his chest deflating.

“So you’ll tutor me?” he asked, a crooked smile dawning upon his lips.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not,” you replied easily, nodding your head.

There were many reasons not to tutor George, you found later. For one, you fell in love with him. Not that you could be blamed, he was incredibly charming and adorable. The other reason was that he actually had very little interest in the plants, and his efforts seemed more geared towards you.

You had asked Professor Sprout if you and George could meet in the Herbology room every Wednesday after her classes. She was skeptical, but she trusted you and allowed you access as long as you promised to keep George in line.

This particular Wednesday seemed no different than the others, besides the growing crush you had formed on George. You waited for him at a stool by the door, a textbook open in front of you, along with your Herbology journal, a few quills, your apron, your gardening equipment, and a dying Dittany plant you planned on showing George how to save. You had been waiting for a while, but George was usually late. You had pulled some Arithmancy homework from your bag and worked on it in the meantime.

“Sorry!” George burst through the door of the greenhouse, a book falling from his fumbling hands, “Sorry, I got caught up with Fred, I’m sorry I’m late.”

More and more apologies flooded from his mouth, like they did most days, as he made his way to the stool next to you.

“It’s alright,” you put away your homework and pulled your textbook to rest on the table between the two of you.

You stood from your stool and began putting on your apron, and moved over to the cabinet with the spare aprons. You got one for George and his hands fumbled behind his back, his focus on you. He watched the side of your face as you peered into the textbook, your fingers tracing the words as you read. You lightly tapped it, pointing it out to George.

“We’ll start here,” you said, sitting back down in your stool.

Your wand hovered over a watering jug on the table, and you cast the Aguamenti charm. Water poured from your wand, filling the jug.

George watched you, nervously turning his fingers over in his lap. He glanced down, noticing the habit, and smoothed his hands over his legs. He brought his hands to his hair and raked them through the red locks, rolling his shoulders back, trying to relax in your presence. He never was able to, and he knew this, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

George couldn’t care any less than he already did about Herbology. He thought it was boring and useless. Not many of his pranks required extensive knowledge about plants, and when they did, the plants were already in use. But, when he saw you from across the room, your glasses teetering on the edge of your nose, your fingers tracing over the lettering in the textbook, hair falling into your face, and that wonderfully sweet smile etched onto your beautiful face, he had to talk to you.

It took him a week or two of staring at the back of your head before you even noticed him. The first time that beautiful smile was for him, he could only think of you for the rest of the day. Fred was tired of it, honestly, George was desperately infatuated with you. George had worked up the tutoring plan with Fred, with the promise that he wouldn’t actually study anything. “We have a reputation to uphold, Georgie!”

“Okay,” your sweet voice pulled George from his thoughts, and his eyes flickered from your face to your hands on the book, “so this is a Dittany.”

Your hands moved from the book to the dying plant. Its previously green leaves were now brown and wilting. Your fingertips moved over the delicate leaves, to the stems, and you raked your fingers through the dry dirt.

George leaned forward on the table, putting his chin to rest in his palm. He listened to you talk about the plant, describing just about everything there was to know. He wondered how you knew all of this from memory, and admired you even more than he thought possible.

You reached over the table to grab the garden scissors, but they were just out of your grasp. George leaned forwards and picked them up, turning them to you. You hadn’t retracted your hand, so when he pulled them from the table, they slid open and you felt a sharp pain on your fingertip.

You pulled your hand away and nursed it in your lap. A red stain appeared on your apron, and soon it spread as your fingertip was flowing with blood. You heard the scissors clatter on the table and George turned to you, already spouting apologies.

“Shit!” he cursed, his body turning towards you and he slouched to become eye level with you in your seat, “I’m so sorry!”

You whimpered involuntarily, bringing your finger to your mouth to suck away some of the blood. You removed your finger and wiped it on your apron, only for the blood to continue flowing.

George was panicking, he felt absolutely awful.

“Can I see it?” you looked up to see his creased brow and guilt- flooded eyes.

You swallowed hard and nodded, offering him your hand timidly.

He gently placed his hands over yours, they were so large they nearly covered them completely. His hands were warm and calloused on the palms from years of gripping his Beater bat. He brought your hand to him, holding it close to his chest as he looked at the small cut.

“I am so sorry,” he repeated, and he rubbed his thumb soothingly on our palm.

He pulled out his wand and looked at you for wordless permission, which you granted him curiously. He hovered over your finger and mumbled a spell you hadn’t heard before. The broken skin on your finger began to mend together, and the stinging had been replaced with an odd numbness. There was still the remains of blood, but George brought his apron to your finger and wiped it away. He still held your hand, looking at your face.

“How did you know that spell?” you asked, surprised when your voice came out as a whisper.

“You learn a lot when you have siblings like mine,” George responded in a whisper, looking at you sheepishly.

His hand was tightening around yours, and his palm rested against the back of your hand. You wrapped your fingers around his thumb, squeezing it lightly.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

George’s eyes flickered down to your lips, and it was so fast you had thought you might have imagined it. Your eyes moved to his lips, noticing that his bottom lip was trapped between his teeth.

“Well, it’s the least I could do,” he responded coolly, dropping your hand back into your lap and straightening his tie as if it had become too tight.

You looked down at your aprons, each stained with small drops of your blood.

“Ew,” you said, trying to wipe off the dried red stain, “Sprout will kill me!”

Pulling his wand back out, he placed it on the table.

“Here,” he moved close to you and wrapped his arms around you. You stiffened, breathing in deeply as his mouth was inches away from your ear. You felt him fumbling with the bow that tied your apron, and his hands grazed your lower back.

Soon the bow was untied, and George hovered for a moment, and he couldn’t help but smile as he smelled your wonderful perfume.

Your apron became lose and he pulled back, his hands moving to your neck as he pulled it off. He did the same with his own and laid them both on the table.

“Tergeo,” he said, pointing his wand at the aprons.

Your apron was as good as new, and so was his, all the dirt and blood removed from the cloth.

You swallowed hard, trying to push the moment of intimacy from your brain. You forced a smile at him, thanking him as you took the apron from him.

“You’re a much better student than you let on, George,” you said, holding the apron loosely in your lap.

He made a scoffing noise, but a genuine and flushed smile fell on his face.

Neither of you felt inclined to nurse a dead plant back to life, in fact, you had no idea what to do. George just stared at you, as if he were waiting for something.

“Um-” George spoke at the same time as you, and you closed your lips.

“No, you go ahead,” he said, bowing his head to you slightly.

You laughed and insisted that you weren’t going to say anything important.

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to take a walk around the grounds,” he said, already standing from his stool, “it’s awfully warm in here.”

George was right, the greenhouses seemed to be particularly warm. You thought some fresh air would be nice.

“Not very interested in the Dittany?” you teased, standing from your stool and moving to clear the table.

“Oh no!” George said nervously, hoping he didn’t offend you, “No, its wonderful-”

“I’m only teasing George, I know Herbology can be boring,” you smiled at him and laughed to yourself when you saw him visibly relax.

He was always so nervous around you, no matter how hard you tried to make him comfortable.

The two of you put away all the supplies, cleaning the table off for Professor Sprout. You had used the water left in the watering jug on any dry looking plants. George watched you going around the greenhouse, the sunshine making you seem like you were glowing. You held your hair behind your shoulder, peering into each pot.

“Alright,” you dusted your hands and tucked away your apron, “let’s go.”

George held the door open for you, and you ducked beneath his outstretched arm as you crossed the threshold. You followed his lead as he led you down a hallway.

“So you like Herbology a lot, right?” George asked you, casting a glance down at your side profile.

“Yeah, I do,” you replied.

“There’s a boy in my house, Neville, he’s great at Herbology,” George spoke fondly, his eyes turning to look out the tall windows.

“Sprout has talked about him,” you said, looking at George’s side profile, “says he’s quite talented.”

“Yeah, he’s great,” George said awkwardly, feeling quite uncertain in your presence.

“What’s your favorite class?” you asked, still trying to make some conversation.

George raked his mind, trying to decide if he should make up an answer to sound smart or be honest. He decided to be honest.

“I quite like lunch,” he said, casting a smile down at you.

You giggled, rolling your eyes playfully. He bumped his shoulder against yours, and you giggled even more.

You were eventually able to fall into a comfortable conversation, walking around the castle with ease. His hands tucked themselves into his pockets, and you crossed your arms over your chest. You eventually stopped in the courtyard, and George led you over to a bench under a large tree.

You sat close to each other, and he was painfully aware of the way your leg rubbed against his. He looked down at the spot where your skirt ended and your tights began, a lump forming in his throat. He looked at the side of your face, you seemed wonderfully content. Your eyes scanned the array of plants in front of you, looking at each of the vibrant flowers that were beginning to bloom.

“I really am sorry about your hand,” he said, partly as an excuse to pick up your hand and pretend to look at the healed cut.

Your felt tingles shoot down your arm at the unexpected touch. You looked at the hair that fell over his forehead as he peered down at your hand, holding it delicately.

“Oh, it’s alright,” you said reassuringly, “accidents happen.”

He smiled at your kindness, your eyes meeting. This time, you were sure he was looking at your lips. Your eyes danced around his face, and you felt your lips curling into a smile as he watched them.

“Would you mind if-” he croaked out, but the words seemed to be caught in his throat.

You giggled, and he dropped your hand, his head rolling back as a bought of laughter came from him. He suddenly seemed the most relaxed he had ever been.

Suddenly, when his head came to face yours again, his hands snaked up to hold your cheeks. Your eyes widened, and your smile did too. He brought your face to his, and you had realized what he was going to ask you just a second ago.

His hands were warm, and the callouses felt nice against your soft cheeks. His kiss was soft and gentle, and he waited for you to reciprocate. Your hands traveled up to wrap around his neck, and the second your fingers tangled themselves in his hair, his kiss intensified.

One of his hands traveled down to your neck, and his thumb grazed your jaw. The other slithered to your hair, and he lightly pushed your face even closer to his. Your nose pressed into his cheek and you leaned closer, your shoulder bumping into his. His tongue trailed over your bottom lip, and you sighed, opening your mouth to his.

“Ew! Get a room!”

You heard two voices shouting towards you. You pulled away, much to George’s dismay, who stayed in the same place with his eyes closed.

You looked over George’s shoulder and saw his brother and his friend.

“George,” you nudged him, casting your blushing cheeks and sheepish smile down at your lap, “I think you’re needed.”

George groaned, opening his eyes slowly. His hand was still tangled in your hair, and he slowly removed it. You felt chills as his hand raked over your neck and down your yellow tie, attempting to keep your close.

“What?” he said so poisonously, that your eyes widened.

“Keep it in your pants!” the younger redhead called out, shoving his shoulder against his friends, laughing.

“I swear to-” you heard George mumbled, already moving from his seat next to you and off to his brother.

The smaller redhead shoved his books into Harry’s chest, setting off in a run. Harry laughed loudly as George chased after his younger brother. George pulled his wand from his waistband, pointing it at Ron and easily casting a spell that bound a rope at Ron’s feet. Ron fell to the ground with a thud and George stood over him, smiling evilly.

He looked back at you, watching as you covered an entertained laugh with your hand. His face melted into pure admiration, and he abandoned Ron, leaving him tied up in the grass. George broke out in a jog, determined to hear your sweet laugh.

#george weasley #weasley twins #george weasley fic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #george weasley x y/n #request #harry potter #hogwarts #hufflepuff #fanfic #weasley fic

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kijobaby · 2 years

Text

Okay so I have endometriosis and I was having a particularly rough bout w it when I wrote this. I don't know why I chose 03 Envy for this one??? Especially bc he (using male pronouns w him just bc it. Feels right for reasons.) Is notoriously bitchier lmfao but pain brain doesn't always make sense.

Also this takes place in the isekai where he comes to my world instead. Bc that one really is just. A giant sitcom.

Anyways idk how many words this is bc I'm on my phone but enjoy (I guess I dunno I'm shy )

Series: Fullmetal Alchemist 03

Ship: Envy x Kijo

Plot: Kijo is having a rough time and just wants to take a bath. Envy isn't particularly patient about her whining and decides to help -- in an unexpected, tender way.

Warning: Reproductive issues.

Kijo was wrapped tightly around her heating pad when Envy came out that morning. She looked downright miserable; the bags under her eyes were a darker shade than normal, contrasting against her ashen face. Her eyebrows were burrowed and while her eyes were shut tight, she didn't look like she was resting. Moreso... Concentrating. The rhythmic, meditative breathing told him that much.

But on what?

" Oi, did you make coffee? "

There was an agitated exhale from Kijo. Envy watched as she shifted, her middle finger raising in his direction. He whistled,

" So... I take it that's a 'no'."

" Fuck off, I'm so not in the mood to deal with you today."

" I can tell. You look really pathetic. What's wrong, got a tummy ache?"

Kijo inhaled sharply for a moment and cringed before her gaze seated itself on Envy, " Nah, my insides are just cemented together. Yknow. "

Envy was silent. His anatomy and that of a humans weren't so different that he didn't understand common ailments but....

" Cemented together? "

" Yeah. " Kijo was breathless as she hoisted herself up, " I've got a fun condition where my fuckin' uterus went nuts and it's lining grows on the outside of it. So like, everything in this area, " she gave a general wave towards her swollen abdomen before she closed her hand up tightly, " stuck together. It's like someone poured super glue in there and smooshed everything into one spot."

" Huh. " Envy yawned, spinning around to enter into the kitchen, " sucks, I guess. Anyways, I'm making coffee."

" Don't burn it."

" Too bad your mouth can't be superglued shut too, huh, y'brat?"

There was no quip from Kijo at that remark. Envy silently celebrated his victory as he fussed over the coffee maker -- he'd only used it once before -- before a retching noise broke his concentration. He scrunched his nose up,

" Aw, man, tell me you have a bag out there or something."

" Seriously... Fuck off...!"

Envy wasn't capable of much empathy, but Kijo sounded pathetic. It was like listening to a dog whine. He stepped away from the coffee maker when it hissed to life and poked his head out from the doorway, watching as Kijo struggled to get to her feet. Luckily, there was no evidence of stomach bile on the floor. It seemed as though Kijo had nothing in her stomach to begin with.

"Where are you going?"

" Bath, " Kijo murmured out. She'd managed to sit up, but her body was trembling as she moved. Her face was shrouded in her curls, but if Envy had been able to see it, he would've seen the frustrated and embarrassed gleam of pink on her cheeks.

" 'Kaaay. Don't drown."

" I'll try."

Envy crossed his arms as he watched Kijo struggle. She was huffing and puffing but finally, she managed to get to her feet, which was applauded by a condescending applause from Envy. The brunette shot him a nasty look before taking a few tentative steps forward.

" Go eat a dick."

" I'm impressed. I didn't think you could get any more vulgar, yet here we are."

" You wanna hear vulgar--" Kijo's jaw suddenly dropped and she lurched forward, an arm sweeping against her lower abdomen as she croaked out in surprise. She fell against the wall and a string of curses came out of her mouth. Envy couldn't help but think if Dante had heard her, she'd be washing Kijo's mouth out with soap.

The mental image made him smirk. But only for a moment.

Envy's amusement was short lived when he noticed tears pricking at her eyes. The smirk was still on his face, but his tone no longer mocked her.

"... Hey. Are you dying?"

" Okay, really?! I'm going to lose my shit. I just want to take a fucking bath because I feel disgusting and I can't fucking make it to the God damn bathroom and the last thing I need is some homunculus that doesn't even know what the fuck a uterus is --"

Envy had crossed over from the kitchen to where Kijo was during her rant, interrupting her midsentence. She jerked back with a flinch, half expecting him to poke and prod at her for further amusement, but she was surprised when his hands gripped around her shoulders.

" Walk, " he commanded. Kijo's cheeks burned with a fury but she nodded, obediently moving her feet. The support from Envy made it easier to get to the bathroom and he seated her on the closed toilet, turning to run the bath.

Kijo watched him curiously for a moment. For once, she was grateful that they were alone; she could just imagine the grin on Kenna's face if she'd seen that.

" I can do that, y'know--"

Envy was silent, his violet eyes glancing at her in disbelief. He shook his head and reached for the bag that had the bath bombs, extending it towards Kijo so she could pick one out.

It felt silly. Of all the things to spare an eye for detail to, the bath bombs felt incredibly trivial. Yet, Kijo couldnt help but feel a twinge in her chest as she plucked one from the bag and dropped it into the swirling water. It sparked and fizzled and bubbles drew to the surface.

" Okay... Thaaaank you.... I can take it from here." Kijo was itching to slide into the water. Envy shrugged, standing to full height.

" Enjoy your bath. "

The second he was out, Kijo was prying her clothes off. The water provided much relief to her aching body, and she sighed as she slipped under the bubbles. Eventually, she would have to wash her hair, but for now, she just desperately needed relief.

Except, with a condition like hers, that was just asking for too much.

It came with a violent pop, followed with an ache. And then, Kijo's abdomen exploded with pain and all she could manage out was a groan.

For fucks sake, are you kidding me?!

She didn't notice the door creak open. Nor did she hear Envy when he asked her if she was alright.

It wasn't like he asked out of genuine concern or anything. But he was relying on this person to get him back through The Gate, as bitterly as he would've admitted that, so he needed to make sure she wasn't dying. Yet, Envy was caught off guard to find her curled up in the water, trying to muffle her sobs.

" You're really pathetic, you know that?"

Kijo shot up, her knees curling more against her chest as she realized Envy was standing there. She grabbed at the shower curtain and attempted to pull it shut, but Envy's hand stopped it,

" Out," she gasped out, her eyes fleeting up towards him. " Get out."

" You're really weak right now, aren't you? You can barely pull this shut."

"I'm going... To shove a shampoo bottle down your throat....!"

Envy glanced towards the shelf, grabbing one of the bottles,

" Are you now? "

Kijo nodded, but whatever fierce look she'd mustered up with that threat quickly fell away. She turned her face, cringing. Envy watched her.

This is so embarrassing...!

Kijo cursed herself for not filling her pain medication prior to her cycle starting, but with all the buzz and excitement of Envy arriving, she'd forgotten. Obviously, it was too late now -- and the stress must've made this round a lot worse, too. She could barely lift her arms at that point. The bath just wasn't enough.

She went to tell Envy to get out so she could get dressed, but her voice hitched in her throat when water dumped on her head. She coughed and sputtered,

" W-what the--"

" I'm washing your hair. "

" What?!" Kijo turned to shout at Envy but instead, she was silenced when more water dumped on her head. Envy was scooping it up with the palms of his hands and moving quickly, pausing only to squeeze out shampoo from the bottle he'd grabbed.

Kijo realized there was no point in arguing with this one. Envy was just as stubborn as she was -- besides, she wasn't exactly in the position to argue. So she tried to relax.

Except that damn, pitiful muscle in her chest was pounding so hard she thought she might pass out, and she was shaking as she sat under Envy's gaze.

The two were silent while Envy's hands massaged at her scalp, working the suds through her curls. It'd been a long time since he had to wash someone's hair for them. He recalled helping Dante when she was in her much older body and arthritis had rendered her hands useless, and although they weren't close, Envy couldn't stand the scent of her rotting body. So he'd relented.

This was similar... Wasn't it? Kijo's pain had made her hair stick to her face with sweat, and Envy didn't want to deal with her laying about in her own filth. If she couldn't bathe, that would be his problem too.

... At least, that's how he rationalized it.

He'd moved on to running conditioner through her hair now, frowning. Something gnawed hungrily in his chest and he wasn't quite sure how to place his finger on the feeling, so he tried to shove it down, far away from his mind. Instead, he focused on the task at hand. He'd noticed Kijo's whimpering had ceased, and when he glanced at her face, he found her eyes were closed and she actually looked relaxed.

One final rinse and she was done. Envy dried his hands on a towel before he dropped it on her head and he stood,

" There. Now you won't stink up the house. "

There was no snarky comment from Kijo. Instead, she squeezed at her hair, glancing over her shoulder at him.

" Thank you. "

Envy almost fell over. He hadn't been expecting that. Her face was pink but her tone was surprisingly soft, and she immediately turned back, not wanting to look at him. Envy hesitated before gritting his teeth,

" Yeah, yeah, whatever. "

The door shut behind him, and Kijo noticed that her pain seemed to have mostly subsided.

What a relief.

#Kijos writing #Don't look at me I'm scream

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arteacactus · 4 years

Note

Can we get a sick fic Janus hiding in his room until someone else breaks down the door? Cause he thought no one would care

this is so out of nowhere bc i like never get fic requests here anymore it’s like always on my sideblog hissceit ,, but it’s 10000% welcome and appreciated JDFJFD thank u .. also i apologize for how needlessly wordy this is HAHA i strayed from the prompt like .. a lot

warnings for sickness , the coughs , vomiting, sore throat , etc , the whole shebang-- and some cursing

-----

It’s not that Janus had never been sick before, it’s just that...

Well, he’d never been sick before.

He wasn’t positive why (which irked him; he hated being in the dark about things, especially things concerning himself), but he had some theories- the most plausible one thus far simply being that while Thomas had always viewed the Light Sides as human, to some extent, he saw Janus as a two-faced snake; a monster kept hidden away in the shadows under his bed. And monsters didn’t get touched by things like disease. So while the others got touched with sickness occasionally, Janus never did.

But if Janus was getting sick now..

That implied that after he told them his name, Thomas started seeing him as somewhat human, too, with vulnerabilities like the rest.

He wasn’t sure just how he felt about that, but he didn’t love it (he liked being untouchable, okay?).

Ah, well, Janus supposed the why didn’t matter much at the moment. He could ponder that after the fact.

Right now was the time to think about how to end it, because it was pure torture.

He was too hot and too cold all at once, his head throbbed and his body ached in places he never knew could ache, his eyes were sore and oozing and his nose wasn’t faring much better. His throat was raw as if he’d spent hours and hours screaming at nothing, and even after trudging his way into the Dark Side’s kitchen for a cup of tea (though it was more like a cup of honey and lemon with a hint of green tea), it felt absolutely no better; in fact, he just felt worse, because he had to leave bed, go downstairs, spend twenty minutes standing around to make the tea, and then go back up the stairs to his room again.

He’d been fidgeting with his blankets for the past three hours; having them on made him too hot, having them off made him too cold, and so he settled for having one leg covered and nothing else (oddly enough, this was actually a good compromise). The air in his room was hot and stuffy which certainly didn’t help- nor did it help his sinuses any, as it made his headache pound worse and his airways were thoroughly blocked off. He dreaded drinking or swallowing anything as it sent the most uncomfortably painful sensation down his throat and rendered him to a groaning, pained mess.

He clutched his pillow weakly, pressing his head into the hot surface. He hated this. Usually, he thrived in the heat, as his room was typically colder than a jail cell, but this time he wanted it gone. He wished it was winter, just so he could full-body launch himself into a mound of snow and sleep for eternity.

He felt a slight tug, the distinct feeling of someone requesting his presence, and promptly shooed it away. Not only was he just wearing pants, but he was sick, and he’d rather die than show that level of weakness to anybody.

Three days before, when he’d first felt his symptoms come on, he’d briefly considered going to someone for help; perhaps Remus, because he was his best friend, or Logan, because surely he’d know how to handle diseases and how to cure them, or maybe even Patton, because he was a father figure and might have even made him soup- but he had quickly banished the thought. Sure, maybe they knew his name now, but they still really didn’t like him and had absolutely no reason to help him and not laugh at his predicament.

Well. Remus liked him well enough, but he would have just taken his morning star and bashed Janus across the head with it and called it good, so Janus had to pass on that.

Another tug came, a little more forcefully this time, and Janus dismissed it, just as forcefully. For a little precaution, he took a deep breath and waved his hand, locking up his room so no one could rise up/appear in it, nor could they come through his door. The strain it put on him to maintain that lock was almost enough to make him pass out, but he didn’t dare remove it; he couldn’t risk anybody seeing him in this state.

He forced his body to roll over to the side, pressing his face into his pillow and sighing in relief as his nose unplugged just enough to take a deep breath in. He found himself actually wishing he’d sneeze, just for the temporary relief it brought.

He pointedly ignored the next few tugs that hit him, though they weren’t as forceful and harsh as the past couple were. He could only assume the only reason they actually wanted him up there was to lecture him, because him being incapacitated like this surely was affecting Thomas in some way that they didn’t like.

Well, sucks to be them, Janus thought in mild frustration, I’m staying right here until this all goes away and I don’t want to die anymore.

Eventually, the incessant tugging slowed to a stop, and then they finally left him alone.

Letting out a relieved sigh, Janus curled his body into a tight ball, cringing at the sticky feeling of his sweaty skin against his silk sheets, and tried to fall asleep.

Thankfully, sleep claimed him easily, and he drifted off.

However easily it came, though, it certainly wasn’t very forgiving.

He didn't wake up randomly, but he kept getting thrown so many vivid nightmares and odd, fever-induced dreams that he almost wished he was waking up every few minutes, if only to get away from whatever things his mind kept throwing at him.

He wasn’t awake, but he was aware of his own constant tossing and turning, his bed creaking in protest every time he thrashed and threw his body around the mattress, and when he finally did open his eyes (his throbbing head wasn’t very appreciative of it), he realized he’d somehow twisted himself so his head was at the foot of his bead and his blankets had been fully tossed onto the floor. His pillows weren’t faring much better; only two of his usual six remained in place, and they were mangled to death, the rest on the floor with his blankets.

Janus truly couldn’t bring himself to give a damn- instead, he weakly pushed his body upright, trying not to topple over as his head swam, and fell right back down in the proper position. Thankfully, though, his head not touching the pillows in a while meant they were delightfully chilled, and he moaned aloud at the lovely sensation it brought him. Absently he wondered if he should gather the strength to get himself an ice pack or run an ice bath, but thought better of it. After all, he was still part snake; he’d rather not throw himself into a self-induced comatose state from the cold.

He blindly reached out and grabbed ahold of his bedside clock, a little antique thing he designed himself to fit his aesthetic despite being very poor at reading Roman numerals, and squinted as he tried to decipher how long he’d been asleep for.

He nearly dropped the thing upon realizing he’d slept for eleven straight hours.

He slid it back onto his nightstand and groaned loudly, though it quickly turned into a pained, chest-wracking cough. He couldn’t avoid it; he had to get up and eat something, or drink something, or get literally anything in his body, because whether he liked it or not, that was the only way he was going to get over this thing quicker.

He managed to move just enough to get up and off the bed (nevermind the fact he nearly fell straight on the floor the second he stood), and took a couple shaky steps towards the door. The moment he reached out to turn the knob, though, the knocking started.

He froze, looking like a deer caught in headlights as he stared wide-eyed at the piece of wood in front of him, the only thing separating him from them.

There was a call of ‘Janus?’ that was so soft, Janus didn’t actually know who it came from; but that didn’t matter now, because the doorknob was turning and fuck, when did he let go of his lock?

Janus snapped his fingers, and managed to summon all but his hat when the door opened and revealed- much to his surprise- Virgil.

Janus and Virgil blinked at each other for a moment, dumbfounded, but thankfully, Virgil didn’t seem to see anything off about him, and just lowered his gaze and shrunk into his hoodie, refusing to meet Janus’ eyes.

“We- uh, they were trying to call you earlier today, you know.” Virgil’s voice was low and gruff, and Janus could honestly say this was the best possible Side to come see him. Remus was loud and shrill, Patton was too cheery and Roman was boisterous- Logan probably wouldn’t have been awful, but with his insistence to look everyone in the eye as he spoke to them, Janus was sure he’d have deciphered what was going on in a second.

“I’m aware,” Janus replied, internally cringing at his rough tone. He cleared his throat, which was screaming in protest at speaking.

Virgil didn't seem to notice- or if he did, he didn’t care. “Well. You made them worry, and they sent me to come collect you.”

“Worr- Collect?” Janus echoed in confusion, taken off guard by everything Virgil said.

“Yeah, uh, you worried them so now they won’t take no for an answer. You’re gonna have to come with me.” Virgil, at least, seemed a little sheepish saying this, but he also has a particularly determined and frustrated look to him. Clearly, he wasn’t happy being the one picked to come ‘collect’ Janus, and he wasn’t going to take no from him as an answer, either.

“Wh-” Janus was cut off as Virgil gripped his arm, and any protests he could have made died on his tongue as they started moving. Dizziness attacked him with such ferocity that he was honestly astounded that he hadn’t immediately fallen over, and his stomach lurched at the speed they were moving. Of course, he didn’t bring this up, just took a deep breath and pushed through. After all, Virgil was the last person he wanted to know about his current state.

Once Virgil brought them across the line that separated the Dark Sides from the Light Sides, the immediate bright artificial light from the lamps and ceiling lights making his head pound in a way that was even worse than what the red light of the heat lamps in the snake terrariums in his room caused.

The air here, though, was clear and fresh, and he basked in the coolness of it as it surrounded him. If it wasn’t for the lights, he’d almost be tempted ask to stay for a while.

Once they made it to the living room, Virgil released him from his grasp, and slunk over into his own corner in the stairwell- and Janus found himself standing right next to Logan.

Unfortunately, they were all staring at him.

Time to put your acting skills to work, Janus, he thought to himself as he heaved an internal sigh, and plastered a toothy grin on his face that bared his sharp canines just enough to make them flinch away.

“So. I was summoned?” His throat protested speech, but thankfully his voice came out smooth and silky, not one bit of it hinting towards his predicament.

“Yeah, and you never answered..?” Thomas seemed more concerned than anything, but Janus definitely saw some suspicion on Roman’s expression (he couldn’t blame him, after how his name reveal went), and Patton was more fidgety than usual. Logan, bless him, didn’t seem to be acting any different, and Virgil looked just as bored as he usually was.

Remus, however...

Well, Remus was looking at Janus with a suspicious gaze similar to Roman’s but far more scrutinizing. Janus briefly felt a flare of panic. If there was anyone here to notice he was off, it would be his best friend, who he lived with and saw every day.

“I was resting, Thomas, would you blame your personification of self-preservation for taking a day off for self-care?” Janus’ tone was exasperated. He wasn’t lying, not really; he was resting, and he was taking a day off for self-care.

Just.. more than one day.

“Respectfully, I have to.. what is the term, ‘call bullshit’?” Came Logan’s voice next to him, and he hoped to God that Logan didn’t notice Janus’ feverish tremors. “You’ve been MIA for the past few days, and it’s escalated to the point where Thomas is beginning to react to it. There is something else going on, and we’d like to know what’s going on.”

Ah, yes, for the good of Thomas, Janus couldn’t help but think a little bitterly, Really, I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like they’d worry about my wellbeing. “I’m afraid I wasn’t bullshitting you, Logan,” Janus replied coolly, “It was the truth.”

“Then how come your room looked trashier than Remus’?” Virgil’s voice, where earlier it was comfortingly gruff, was now an offputting growl. Despite his words, though, Janus could tell he was trying to act like he didn’t actually care. He took note of that, because Virgil caring about him was odd.

“Rearranging,” Janus replied simply, and hoped they took that alone as an acceptable answer.

Of course, they didn’t.

“You never rearrange,” Virgil’s tone turned accusatory, and then Patton cut in.

“Well, maybe then that’s why he’s doing it now? For something fresh?” He sounded hopeful, as if he couldn’t wait for this entire conversation to be over. Janus felt similarly.

“I’ve lived with him, Patton, I know him, and it’s not something that happens.” Virgil argued, but this seemed to set off Remus as he cut in with, “And you left, so who are you to claim you ‘know him’?”

This sparked an argument amongst themselves, as they fought over the sudden new topic that thankfully centered around Virgil more than anything, and with Logan, Roman, and Thomas trying to mediate, there was no attention put on him anymore.

Janus took this momentary distraction to let out a sigh of relief, the mix of loud voices and trying to act like nothing was up was doing absolutely no good for his headache and exhaustion. He mourned the loss of his hat, because he could have used that to hide his face away from the lights that were bearing down on him and making his skin feel uncomfortably hot.

Though perhaps that was from all the layers of his outfit.

Unfortunately, though, as the seconds passed, the voices seemed to get louder, the lights got brighter, the clothes got hotter and his stomach was churning, his hands were sweating, his head was pounding his legs were getting shaky oh god his ears were ringing oh fuck fuck stop the noise please turn off the lights please stop please stop-

Distantly, he felt his throat start hurting intensely and he realized he was speaking out loud, stammering out pleads that were growing muffled as everything swamped him. His hands raised to cover his ears, trying to drown out the noise around him, and his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed, feeling something warm and wet trickle down his face- tears? Was he crying? No, surely he was just imagining the feeling- but before he hit the hard floor, he felt something grab a hold of him, long, spider-like fingers gripping the undersides of his arms like a lifeline. He felt sharp nails and soft ruffles and realized Remus had caught him, he must have run from his spot to catch him before he fell, and Janus felt the stinging gaze of everybody on him. He felt like a mouse that was dropped into a snake’s cage for feeding, cowering beneath the penetrating gaze of the predator before him. The roles were reversed, and he hated it.

He managed to pry open his own eyes- when had he shut them?- and the moment he saw the horrified gazes trained on him, he fled.

He forced himself from Remus’ arms and he vanished, retreating back to his room, where the lights were off and the curtains were shut and the only thing he had to deal with was the light of his snakes’ heat lamps.

The hot, stuffy air attacked him with a vengeance, though, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. He stripped himself of his clothes again, his skin glistening, heat radiating off of his person.

He hurriedly locked up his room again, and fell to his knees beside his bed, and retched.

Thankfully, he’d managed to grab his trashcan, but it didn’t make him feel any less humiliated.

He thought he was doing himself a favor, hiding his state from all of them, but from not going to just one of them when he could, he had ended up breaking down in front of all of them.

Body trembling and chest heaving, Janus collapsed onto the hard floor beneath him, unable to pull himself onto his bed, and curled up into a tight ball.

He wanted this to end.

Janus was so caught up in his misery that he didn’t even notice pounding on his door, all of his senses wrapped up in himself, in his throbbing head and hot skin and burning throat and sore stomach and the sound of his blood pumping in his ears, until there was a deafening ‘crash’ and splinters of wood came flying into his room.

He flinched at the noise and forced himself to sit up, but the sudden movement made him gag, and he found himself panting like a dog trying to cool himself off and calm down his raging nausea.

There was a barrage of voices at first, but they were quickly hushed- from what, he didn’t know- and then a delightfully cold hand clutched his bicep, and he couldn’t hold back the relieved moan he let out in response.

“I’m gonna put you in bed, okay, Janus?” Came a soft voice- Remus- and Janus didn’t protest as he was gently lifted up by the Creative twin. Admittedly, he didn’t even know Remus could be that gentle, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

There was some quiet shuffling and the sound of a dull ‘smack’ and then someone cursing softly, but soon enough Janus was set down on a set of smooth cotton sheets, clean and cool, and an absolute blessing.

“Jan-Jan, why didn’t you tell us you were sick?” Remus’ tone was scolding, like a parent to a young child (ironic, considering Janus was the one who raised Remus), and Janus opened his eyes just enough to see Remus’ face swathed in the shadows of his room.

“Weak,” Janus croaked in reply, his voice wrecked, “Di’n.. wan’ see.”

“Your pride is going to be the death of you,” Remus sighed, and Janus heard some other voices pipe in.

“We would have helped you, Janus,” Thomas sounded sad, almost regretful. For what, Janus would never know.

“Indeed,” Logan’s voice was a comfort, Janus was willing to admit. “In fact, I will begin researching how to best care for this as soon as possible, so you are in utmost comfort while you recover.”

“I’ll make some soup,” Came Patton’s quiet promise, “And water, and tea.”

“I changed your bedsheets,” Roman seemed shy, “If you need me to, I can try and make a set that keeps you cooled down.”

Janus almost moaned aloud at the thought, and Roman must have seen it in his expression because he perked up right away.

“Sorry for, uh, dragging you away so forcefully,” Virgil muttered, and Janus just managed to flap his hand dismissively.

“You didn’ know.” He mumbled weakly, and he felt Remus’ cool touch brush away hair that clung to his sweaty forehead.

“And now we do. So we’re going to take care of you, because we care about you.” He promised in a tone with no room for argument, with the others murmuring in agreement behind him.

And for once, Janus believed him, and let himself be taken care of.

#vanna talks #ask #anonymous #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #sickfic #fic #fanfic #sanders sides #tssides #thomas sanders #fanfiction #platonic dlamptr #with a slight focus on dukeceit i suppose #Anonymous

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cunningambitousdetermined · 3 years

Text

Do You Love Me? (I Loved You Part 2: young!Sirius x Reader)

ahhh im so excited to write this! @aseriousfckingmess and @iamninaanna AND @maraudersbitvh asked for this and i was so happy bc i had so so many ideas and even more feelings. thank you to everyone who read my last two things i’ve written, i feel so so lucky and so happy. and thank you to those who spurred my ideas for a part 2! thank you thank you thank you.

this is the second part to I Loved You which i wrote for @vogueweasley‘s challenge. so here it goes:

warnings: swearing, fluff, some angst, walburga being a butthole

not my gif

“Did it mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?” With that she turned on your heel and ran out of the dorm. Sirius stood and watched as you got smaller and smaller and with step she took, his anger ebbed a little. And then she was gone, leaving behind the boy who loved her.

“Mate,” Remus’s voice was cool and collected but the undertone of fury shook Sirius out of his stupor. “What the actual fuck did you do?” Remus swore often- he was always tripping over his long limbs, mumbling curses under his breath- but this, this, was calm fury. His jaw was wound tight and his eyes bore through Sirius.

“Moony, I- I- What?” Sirius whispered, his voice sounded like the sad ending chord of a symphony as it moved and filled and soared through the space between them. “I- I- She hates me?” The realization rocked Sirius so hard, he found his knees skidding the rough carpet of the floor, Y/N’s words filled every inch of his head, spilling out his ears, mouth, his nose. “She hates me.” The only person who had ever seen past the arrogant smirk, the only person who had ever wiped his tears, whispered his fears away. The only person who had ever loved him, was gone. Gone.

Remus needed to sit down. His whole body was buzzing with anger at Sirius. How could he hurt her? Why would he hurt her? It didn’t matter though. All that mattered was how sad Y/N looked, how tired and then how angry she had become. That wasn’t the kind, soft, funny, Y/N he knew. This was hurt, and betrayed and broken. He went to move the lumps in Y/N’s pillow aside when his hand brushed against paper. Remus dug his hand down farther underneath the sheet and grasped the paper. It was a letter and a stack of small papers, crumpled and wet with tears. He glanced down at Sirius, in his current shocked state and began to read.

Sirius shook the tears from his eyes and turned to find Moony reading some papers on Y/N’s bed. Y/N’s bed. The one he’d used to sleep in. The one that he used to whisper the love of his life to sleep in. His mind was filled with thoughts, memories, and ocean of words and kisses and hugs.

“YOU ARSE!” a screech shattered the rose tinted memories, Remus was up and towering over Sirius. “YOU ABSOLUTE BASTARD! I TRUSTED YOU! I TRUSTED YOU NOT TO HURT HER! YOU PROMISED! HOW COULD YOU?! SHE WAS NOTHING BUT GOOD AND KIND AND WONDERFUL TO YOU! SHE GAVE EVERYTHING TO YOU AND YOU BROKE HER! YOU BROKE HER!” Remus’s hands were shaking in an effort not to hit Sirius, he didn’t know the boy in front of him. It was occurring to him that maybe he never did. “YOU DON’T DESERVE HER AND YOU NEVER WILL!” He tossed the letters at Sirius’s face and with a turn Remus stormed out of the room and once again Sirius was walked away from, by the people who loved him most.

Y/N was racing around the castle, trying not to break. She just needed to find a place. She paced past the stairwell to the Gryffindor Tower and stalled. She had taken those stairs and cuddled in his bed. She had kissed him awake and kissed him goodnight there. The memories came in waves, flowing down the stairs, kisses and hugs, fights and making up, crying and laughing until their stomachs hurt. Barefoot, racing toward the common room, collapsing on the couch, reading out loud. His smile, his eyes. His laugh, his cry, his nose all the way down to his toes. She knew it all.

“Y/N?” a soft voice inquired, large hands placed on her shoulders, the soft smell of chocolate wafted through her nose. Remus.

She slowly turned around and was met by her best friends eyes drowned in worry. She croaked, “Did you know Rem? Did you know?” Her eyes filled with tears once more and she turned away, embarrassed.

“No.” Remus slid his fingers under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. “No, no no. I never knew. I never thought he could even...” Remus trailed off as the tears spilled down her cheeks, “Come with me, love.” He then tucked Y/N under his arm and started to walk. She dug her face into his neck and smiled softly as she felt his hand encircle her own with a soft squeeze. Right now she just needed her best friend, who had always been there no matter what. And somehow he always just knew what she needed. As they entered Remus’s dorm and he threw her some comfy clothes and a book, she thanked him internally. Thanked whatever higher being there was that she had ended up with the best friend in the entire world. Her heart felt a little bit light as she snuggled into his side and he began to read aloud as he had done so many times before.

“Rem?” she questioned, turning her gaze to his soft green eyes.

“Yes?” his soft smile gave her made tears fill her eyes in gratitude.

“Thank you,”

“What for, darling?” Remus let his hands card softly through her hair as she looked away.

“Everything.” That word held so much meaning for them. Everything meant all the full moons, all the hard days and the good ones. All the sad moments and all the happy ones, all the time they had just been there. The quiet moments of just reading and the loud ones filled with laughter and joy. Everything just meant Remus existing. Thank you, she said, thank you for it all.

Sirius would watch them from afar. His heart would ache as he hid around the corners as Remus and Y/N would walk to class. He would turn in his bed to hold her only to grab at cold sheets, to tell her a joke but she wasn’t there. To ask her if she really thought he was enough even if his family didn’t. If she didn’t think he was an awful person. Before, she would have held him and with words so soft, she would’ve told him how much she loved him and that he was real, human and it was okay to feel. But now, he was an awful person. Remus wouldn’t talk to him, Y/N wouldn’t look at him, and he was tired.

He didn’t sleep anymore. All he could do was lay awake in hope of never falling into the dreams where Y/N would yell at him. Would curse him, spit at him. It was all his fault that she was gone. His fault that she couldn’t meet his eye. His fault that she hated him. Even drowning in these thoughts, he felt a confusion. What had he done?

Sirius was sitting by the dying embers of the fire one night when footsteps echoed from behind him. “Sirius?” James’s groggy voice called, “What’s going on?” He didn’t answer. The footsteps got closer until James was next to him, sitting down. “Pads?” his voice had softened to one of worry, “Hey, tell me what’s up?”

“I can’t sleep James,” Sirius’s voice sounded like broken glass, the echo of happiness all but lost, “I love her. And I don’t even know what I did, but she’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone. I love her. She was the only thing that mattered. I lost it all. I lost my family, my mom, my dad, my brother. My cousins. But I had her. And you guys but, with her... it was different.” James put a hand on Sirius’s shoulder and Sirius collapsed into James’s side. “She got it. And she was all I had. All that kept me good inside. The glue that held me together. SHE’S GONE!” and it went like that, Sirius sobbing into James, repeating how he didn’t know what he did, he loved her, he did. James just held him, his broken best friend as he cried for the girl he had lost. And James cried. He cried for his best friend who had been hurt so much and lost it all. He cried for the girl he once knew. But when his tears ran out and Sirius drifted off to let sleep’s greedy claws take him, he had an epiphany. Whether or not they liked it, Sirius and Y/N would forever be each others catalysts. The only way to balance was together. Apart, they would just keep on falling.

James found a sense of resolve as he walked over to where Remus and Y/N lay under a tree, reading.

“James...” Remus acknowledged him with caution, but James wasn’t done.

“Remus, can I speak to you?” he asked, motioning to a spot not far off from the tree, “It won’t be long.” Remus glanced down at Y/N who offered James a tentative smile and wave.

“Go on, Rem.” She said, “I’ll be fine.” With one last suspicious look, Remus got up and followed James to the shaded area where James leaned against the cool stone wall.

“Jam-” Remus began, but James was faster.

“Just let me say something.” James needed to know, “I just have to know. What happened?”

“Sirius didn’t tell you?” The bite in Remus’s voice made James flinch and he saw Remus’s face soften to apology.

“No. He hasn’t slept, he lost it last night. Just blubbering about love and how he just didn’t know what he did!” James cried, “What did he do?”

“Tonight.” Remus’s face hardened now, “Room of Requirement, and bring Sirius. We need to have a little chat.” He then whipped around and resumed his position with Y/N, placing a brotherly kiss to the top of her head. Remus gave James a look which he took as a sign to leave. Sighing, he trudged off, hoping that Sirius wasn’t going to end up in the hospital wing tonight.

Remus paced impatiently in the seventh floor corridor as he waited for is roommates to show up. Just as he was about to go drag them from wherever they had gotten themselves sidetracked, James rounded the corner, dragging Sirius behind him. James stopped in front of Remus and shoved Sirius forward. He looked up and Remus’s heart clenched. His eyes were sunken deep and his eyes held a pain so deep he had to look away. He closed his eyes and heard the familiar scratching of the wall becoming the door. Remus couldn’t stomach a glance back at his friends sad face as he pushed the door open. Inside, there were plush couches and loveseats scattered around near a small fireplace. Remus took up a position curled into a loveseat and raised an eyebrow in expectation at James and Sirius. They quickly took their spots. James sitting on the floor while Sirius sat stiff backed on the couch. The silence and tension thickened as Remus started Sirius down, his eyes burning through his long tousled locks. James finally had enough, “AHEM.” Sirius’s head shot up, “Remus, please tell us what the bloody hell is going on.” Remus sighed and pulled the stack of well work paper from his pocket. Glancing down and then at Sirius’s hurt face, he let out another tired sigh.

“What happened is that Sirius, our dear friend,” The way he spat the word friend had Sirius flinching and James’s eyes widening. “was using Y/N. To get back at his mother. And, and I quote ‘ It doesn’t hurt that I get sex. I mean I could have any girl but damn, she gave herself to me so fast. Even I didn’t know I was that good. ‘” He let out a hard breath as Sirius’s face still looked painted with confusion.

James had stood up and was towering over Sirius, “YOU DID WHAT?!” he screamed, “YOU TOLD ME SHE WAS DIFFERENT!” Remus was in shock, he had never seen James yell at Sirius before. And he barely ever saw James angry.

Sirius couldn’t even register the things that James was saying. He didn’t write that. No, no he didn’t. He loved her more then anything. She was the only one who cared. She kept him human in his family of monsters. She kept his feet on the ground when his head was in the clouds. He loved her. This was supposed to be the real thing. Like forever, this was it for him. “I didn’t- I would never- Remus-” The shock that she had read those words hit him like a knife to the gut. Remus threw the paper down at him and Sirius scrambled to read them all. Note after note after note saying awful things. Each time he read something he felt the knife twist as he realized she read this. His love. Thought.... he couldn’t even bare to finish the thought. He kept going and going. He knew he didn’t write these, his handwriting was neater then that, crafted to perfection by his mother. But all the things that the notes said; worthless, mudblood, fat, ugly. His Y/N was stunning, took his breath away, blood status didn’t matter. She was worth more then anything this world could offer. She was his world. The notes just kept going, the pile seemed endless. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to puke or go find you and get drunk on your kisses. He could feel Remus and James’s stares on him as he rifled through the papers. Just as he was about to turn away from them and tell his friends that theses weren’t his, a signet caught his eye. The Noble House of Black signet. He yanked the letter out and his eyes frantically scanned the page. His mother’s tone made his stomach churn. It was no wonder she hated him now. He might not be able to get her back, this was quite unforgivable, but he could put her heart at ease. He still loved her. But did she still love him?

“Remus, James; I didn’t write these” His voice came out raspy and shaky from the tears he didn’t even realize were falling down his face, hot waterfalls cascading on the papers. He cleared his throat and continued, “It was Regulus and Walburga. I know it. I love her. I don’t care about her blood status, I never have! She was it for me.” He lowered his head, “I know that I hurt her by putting her in harms way and she might still hate me, but I can try and fix what I’ve broken. I know I don’t deserve her and I never have, but she’s all I have and I need her. I need her to know how I feel. I need her know I love her and I’m sorry.” Sirius was crying harder but his voice was firm. Remus and James exchanged looks that very clearly said He’s telling the truth. Remus sunk to his knees and took Sirius into his arms. “Do you believe me?” Sirius’s voice was cracked and tired.

Remus tugged him closer letting Sirius’s tears soak through his sweater, “Yeah, yeah I do believe you. I’m sorry that I yelled at you, I didn’t even think.... but it all makes so much sense. She told me Regulus gave her the letters, and I mean Reg is a nice enough kid on his own but something seemed off. You’re my best friend and I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. I’m sorry. But if you ever really hurt her...” Sirius made a noise somewhere between a sob and a chuckle.

“I know, I know... you did the right thing. If I did that, I would murder me too.” The boys laughed and James joined the hug. Sirius gave his smallest but most real smile in the weeks it had been. He had his friends back, now all that was left was her.

Sirius was shaking. Like actually shaking. He stood outside your dorm door as Remus knocked softly. “Y/N?” he called, “Can I come in?”

“Remus? Come on in!” A soft voice floated out the door and he felt his mind go blank, his only thought was to get to her. James tried to shake him but he could only think about his skin on hers. The delicate shape of her hips and the small curve of her smile. His mind spun, would she forgive him? Could she forgive him? With one last glance back, Remus pushed the door open. Sirius froze. There she was. She had never looked more stunning in shorts and a old t-shirt of... his? Yeah, that was his shirt. His heart leapt, she was wearing his shirt.

Y/N was petrified. What was he doing here? Her heart clenched, he looked so soft, and her whole body ached with the effort to run to him. “Siri...?” her voice came out soft and wispy, high and broken. His whole face broke open at the tears in your eyes. Y/N whipped around, furiously wiping at her tears. “Leave.” she croaked, “please.”

Remus let a hand massage her shoulder, “Love, just listen to what he has to say. I would not have brought him here to hurt you, you know that.” She gazed up at her best friend with glassy eyes and scanned his face. His face only held love for her and strangely enough, hope.

She turned away again, letting Remus’s hand fall of her shoulder, “Fine.”

Sirius stepped forward and took a breath. This was it. There was no going back or do overs anymore. “Y/N, I love you.” he began, “And I always will. Those notes, they weren’t from me. Regulus wrote them after he told Walburga about us. He must’ve seen you sneaking in or with me in the yard. They took you away from me to hurt me. And I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. I’m sorry for making you a target. But none of that bullshit if true. I love you and you are perfect. You are my whole entire world. You are my oxygen and I’m struggling to breathe right now. I love you so much and I know I don’t deserve you or your forgiveness but I need to know. Do you love me?”

Y/N was shocked. It all made sense, the notes, Regulus. The tears pooled in her eyes slipped out and she sobbed, hands clasped over her mouth. She had missed him so much and here he was in all his glory, with his long hair and his grey eyes, asking her if she loved him. She did, there was nothing to ask.

“Y/N?” Sirius whispered and she realized she had been silent for much to long.

“Of course I love you, you arsehole!” That was all it took to break Sirius and he was running at her and sweeping her up into his arms. Her breath fanned over his neck and he pulled back to gaze at the face he had been missing so much. The soul that completed him.

“Do you forgive me?” he whispered as he inched closer to her lips.

She closed the gap, pressing her lips against his and his heart had never felt lighter. She pulled away softly and Sirius panted as he laughed at the sheer happiness of it all. “There’s nothing to forgive baby.” She breathed against his lips and went back to kissing him. He kissed her neck and her cheeks muttering all the things he loved about her between kisses. James and Remus shared a disgusted but happy look as they slipped out the room.

“I love you Sirius Black and don’t you ever forget it.”

wow sorry the ending was rushed and idk but it’s done! thank you guys so much for reading this ahhhh im so happy that you guys liked it enough for a part 2! i love you guys!

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percyjacksonfan3 · 3 years

Text

The Last Olympian Thoughts

So because I have absolutely 0 self-control or restraint when it comes to this series and its characters, and for The Last Olympian in particular, I could not put TLO down. Because of this I figured I couldn’t do the usual photo reaction posts I have been so far, because the spam would just be ridiculous, so I am stealing the idea from @yourstrulytaaay to do a masterpost instead. (Adding a Read More cause this got ridiculously long)

Fun fact, TLO came out right after i finished reading the series for the first time so it's the first PJO book i bought and my only hard cover one for the og series. I checked the year and turns out it was published 2009, which means i was actually 9 when i read the series for the first time. I realize this is not really a fun fact but i thought i was older when I first read the series so it's blowing my mind a little ‘cause now I’m 21 and everything hits different and i still have so much love for this series and the characters Okay onto book thoughts: - i was right that this book is gonna destroy me, the first line alone made me so excited and nostalgic it's ridiculous - I love Rachel and Percy sm tbh. Her being a bit of peace and normalcy in his life without always reminding Percy of who and what he is is so good for him. Just a little escape

- of course by the end of the book that's not the case any more but by the end he's lived his prophecy so he doesn't need it as badly, plus he and Annabeth are solid again - Percy saying Annabeth has been hard to be around lately... Ouch my heart. Luke really is the last thing that keeps them from being together and Percy is so jealous and Annabeth so torn and in pain, i feel so bad for them both

- Beckendorf 🥺🥺 - the telkhine with the Lil Demon lunchbox!! I forgot about him. Percy: 'i left him alive, partly because his lunchbox was cool' is one of my absolute favourite lines tbh - Paul taking Percy crabbing and being imperative in helping Percy kill the giant crab 💖 Paul Blofis is important and deserves the world, okay? - aw Percy, you can't save every demigod bb

- 'i had to fight him eventually. Why not now?... What difference would a week make?' Oh Percy you have no idea - real talk tho, the fact Kronos possessed Luke's body would also mess me tf up. Percy keeps forgetting it's not Luke anymore and yeah, that would be so so hard and confusing af, like what another smart little mind game for Kronos to pull on top of everything else - the fact Percy fights Kronos before getting the Achilles Curse and actually doesn't die within seconds is... Astounding. He kicks him in the chest! And yeah Kronos is weaker and still adjusting to Luke's body, but Percy is having trouble fighting Luke cause they used to be friends - Percy breaks Kronos' time magic!! Like?! Boy is POWERFUL.

- OUCH - honestly Luke, Thalia and Annabeth's family breaking the way it did... Don't talk to me. Poor Annabeth, Luke betrayed them, Thalia joined the Hunters because of Luke's betrayal so she's pretty much AWOL all the time and then Luke dies. Like Rick wtf, my heart can't take it? -Percy and Tyson having each others backs when talking to Poseidon in the underwater palace is the brother-brother relationship we love to see - Percy trying to stick a sand dollar in the vending machines at school 🤦🏻‍♀🤦🏻‍♀ - the whole underwater interaction at Poseidon's palace? Perfection. Awkward family drama and all - Connor falling out of the tree when he sees Percy because he's so excited 😂😂

- 😭💖

- k, ik Clarisse isn't perfect but tbh if i was a child of Ares whose father was disrespected and hated by my fellow campers (ares deserves it but still) and that disrespect trickled down to how the other campers treated ME (which if Percy is reliable here, it obviously does) then i would also be irritated at being used for muscle and nothing else? And just expected to fight with the people who act as if they'd rather not have Ares kids around the rest of the time. Like Clarisse isn't totally wrong - Percy reading the prophecy, seeing he's meant to die and just being like 'i do not see it' and refusing to outright think about it makes me so sad for him - (but it taints every action after and he's super reckless afterwards bc of it- including finally breaking and accepting the Achilles Curse) - (also him taking this as the last straw and finally beginning to show Annabeth how he really feels, cause fuck it, he's dying anyway) - Give me more info about Rachel's backstory and family Rick!! - how did i forget Percy willingly eats chocolates that taste like cardboard because 'i didnt have anything against cardboard' like sir? Ik Silena didn't want them but still? - 'she'd always been cute, but she was starting to be seriously beautiful' STOP, MY HEART CAN'T TAKE IT - Percy staring at Annabeth and forgetting what they're talking about cause hes so distracted 👌🏻

- hmm yeah... For some strange reason.... - i forgot how Percy totally bombs this convo bw them and now want to cry 😭 Annabeth is trying to talk about what's important and Percy, you sweet oblivious man, you're shooting her down without even realizing - love that they're both on the same wavelength tho. Percy two lines before, hmm it's cool to date ppl from other cabins, wonder why im thinking that around Annabeth, my best friend in the world, and then Annabeth a beat later, hmm, let me bring up Silena and Beckendorf and how it's important to be with the people you love when you have the chance, no way Percy will miss this huge hint right? - they're the best - k i honestly forgot Percy full on physically intimidates Leneus like that - luke telling his mom if he ran away the monsters wouldnt get her..i can just imagine luke crying when he says good bye before running away because he thinks it's his fault his mom is like that and he cant take care of and protect her anymore because it's too hard - uh oh now i have angsty pre-lightning thief luke fic inspo... Him, Thalia and Annabeth on the run... The ANGST - Rick holds absolutely nothing back in this book and i am in pain - HESTIA!! 💖💖🥰 - actual loml - i love that Rick titled this book after her and that he wrote such a great series about the importance of family (biological, found or otherwise) and home, and that he said actually Hestia is the most important bc shes the most humble and keeps the peace and knows when to fight and when to yield and you protect what you love, which is your home - i just... Adore Hestia - Grover! Missed you babes - Hades is so so horrible to Nico, always comparing him to Bianca :/ - but i do love Hades, Persephone and Demeter together they make me laugh - oh god the River Styx - Achilles 🥺 - Annabeth being Percy's lifeline is, and continues to be, A Lot™ - 'my name was Percy Jackson. I reached up and took Annabeth's hand.' LOL Why am i crying? - Like the fact there is no Percy without Annabeth, and that remembering her literally reminded him of who he is in his very soul... It's fine im fine - i won't even get into the parallels of her being his lifeline now and then later when Hera takes his memories but leaves the memory of Annabeth for Percy to fight to get back to (anyone who wants to yell about it with me... Feel free to message) - badass Percy is my fav Percy tbh - him defeating Hades?? Like? Hades is arguably the most powerful god, okay - i feel bad for Nico but if i was Percy I'd do the exact same, Nico, sorry man but this is a high stakes time crunch deal and Nico is literally the only hope of persuading Hades and distracted by his own internal stuff - flashbacks to Luke, Thalia and Annabeth hurt, ow - George and Martha are the best - damn i forgot Hermes full on nearly kills Percy here, yikes - Luke stop cockblocking Percabeth challenge

- i love!! Percy's love for New York!! So much!! - Percy leaving to live in New Rome in HoO is a lie and this is all the proof i need for why - the fact the entire last half of the book is the battle and aftermath... Such great buildup and pacing. All the tricks and twists and battles in this War of Manhattan? I would not take out a thing, Rick, you legend - of course then the final battle in hoo with the gods is what? Two pages? Ugh, don’t talk to me about my hatred for BoO and HoO - 'no detours you two' is still the cutest thing!!! - THE HUNTERS!! Thalia i missed you - good job Percy, you finally spent your sand dollar - Minotaur!! - 'dont i get a kiss for luck? Its kind of a tradition right?' Percy finds out he's gonna die and is out of fucks to give and honestly I support him - also Michael just standing beside these two while they're flirting like umm 👀 👀 while a monster army marches towards them, nbd - Annabeth taking Ethan's knife meant for Percy!!! Cause she just knows his weak spot without him even telling her! They literally invented love - Feral Percy is so scary omg, i love how well Rick incorporates the Achilles Curse in this novel, with the whole heightened weaknesses and stuff ans the parallels to Achilles arrogance being what killed him and Percy's loyalty, fierceness and protective instinct being his own heightened weakness - the fact that Percy is the one who inadvertantly kills Michael Yew tho, I'll never recover from that - the fact Hades offers Maria di Angelo a golden palace by the Styx like how Poseidon offers Sally a palace under the sea tho. Let's talk about that parallel - the entire talk with Prometheus is so so good - not me picturing young Luke hiding in the closet to get away from his mom when she has an 'episode' -i love callbacks in stories and all of the callbacks to the rest of the series in this book make me very happy (medusa, minotaur, the underworld, Rainbow!! My baby!!, Daedalus and more) - Percy summoning a wholeass hurricane against Hyperion - the Party Ponies! They're so chaotic, i love it - Dionysus! 😁 I can't help it, i love him - Percy absolutely losing it when he sees Sally and Paul asleep in the car 🥺 - Rachel telling Percy he's not the hero screws with him so much :( poor bb - although i really really love how Rick wrote this, it's so refreshing to not have one chosen one save the world, but a combination of people - the drakon, Silena and Clarisse make me cry - the Patrochilles references, im not okay - Annabeth giving up on Luke after hearing what he did to Silena and Percy telling her that doesn't make him happy 😭 that whole interaction makes my heart ache - Percy giving Hestia Pandora's pithos 🥺 - and Hades, Nico and the others coming for a final attack is so badass, i love it - listen im glad the og trio were the ones to confront Luke on Olympus but the fact Thalia got so close and then pinned by a statue of HERA makes me so sad. Ik her and Luke were finished and she coped by cutting him off completely and giving up all hope but i would pay money to know what they would have said to each other to say goodbye - Ethan 🥺 - Poseidon joining the fight against Typhon is so cool, such a great scene - 'PEANUT BUTTER!' - Annabeth you brilliant badass you - RIP Luke, you werent great but you werent the worst either - the gods just rolling up seconds too late, wondering wtf happened in Olympus and who the dead body is - the chapter where the Olympians meet and give out rewards is one of my absolute favourites (again i am incensed we didn't get anything like this in HoO) - will Percy turning down immortality ever not make me scream in glee? No? Alright then - Annabeth being relieved like Percy was relieved at the end of Titan's Curse tho - oh Hermes :/ - its so hard reading all this and knowing what comes in HoO... Like it's such a cathartic, earned and mostly happy and peaceful ending and then HoO comes along and undermines it all - aww Rick let Paul see Olympus somehow pls, he deserves it, he killed a dracanae - (i would also love to see it) - Percy being more upset Rachel took his pegasus than her going to Camp and possibly dying, lol, priorities dude - i honestly think that Rick had other ideas for the second Great Prophecy and how things would go down in BoO, cause the prophecy like... Barely applies to BoO, Doors of Death are in book four, and explabations of it is all so unclear when Rick is usually pretty good with that stuff - PERCABETH - lol Percy complaining about privacy when he and Annabeth are caught kissing literally in the middle of the very open and public dining pavilion, okay - BEST UNDERWATER KISS OF ALL TIME - that's it and im a glass case of emotion - very happy to say that this series remains my favourite of all time 💖

If anyone ever wants to come gush about anything Riordanverse related feel free, because as you can see I have a lot of thoughts about it all

#lau rereads pjo #the last olympian is my favourite book for a REASON #honestly every line is killer #so much subtext to read into #the dialogue #the relationships are dialed up to 11 #every character is so on point #the battle strategies too? are just so interesting?#I just adore it #Tay don't read any of this yet cause it's all spoilers #alright I'm gonna go write fic to express these feelings now #tlo #the last olympian #pjo #pjato #percy jackson

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kurt-nightcrawler · 4 years

Text

Piercings

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Request: ok hear me out, the mother nature character is innocent and all, but what if she low key had some crazy secret like she has nipple piercings or something crazy like that. and the gang find out bc jubilee was there the day she got em or maybe warren finds out when they’re making out and he feels them. idk just a thought

Warnings: sex/smut —everyone in this story is 18+— nipple piercings, nudity, and language

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: usually Mother Nature is very sweet and innocent, but we can indulge in some spice, as a treat. Also I didn’t really mention her eye color or mutation because it wasn’t too relevant for the story! Enjoy!

Other Warren works here!

All he could think about was how she’d taste on his tongue. How the only coherent thought running through his head would be to explore her body like an undiscovered corner of the galaxy.

How her grip on his hair would tighten as she got lost in the euphoric feeling of his mouth. Or how the bruises on his body from the latest mission would be identical to the ones she gave him.

He practically ran up to her, kissing her hello. She could feel his smile against her lips as he kissed her. He hugged her tightly, never wanting to let go— his hands traveling a little lower than usual.

“Later,” She whispered. “You stink.”

He smiled and patted her head, telling her he wouldn’t take long.

Warren rushed through his shower, thinking about her— how much he’d missed her, craved her— just being in the same room as her satisfied his need for her, even if only for a little bit.

His cock was already hard just thinking about her. He groaned, water pounding down on him. He wrapped his hand around his cock, slowly moving up and down. Thinking about her.

Her voice, how he could listen to her speak for hours without getting tired of listening, and how she made the prettiest noises when they fucked.

He shivered at the thought of her, whining and moaning, begging for him.

Her face— how he’d kissed it a million times before, and he would do it again. How she would bite down on her lip so hard, trying to stifle moans, it would sometimes bleed. Or how her head fell back— her eyes closed, hips bucking towards him, her breathing rapid— he’d do anything to see her like that, for she was always beautiful, putting all of nature in its beauty to shame.

His mind flashed back to his hand on his cock. He bit his lip in frustration, wanting to edge himself on and finish, but he knew waiting for her would be better than his hand in the shower.

She was laying on the bed, propped up against his pillows, mindlessly scrolling through her phone.

Warren stepped out of the bathroom only in his underwear. He laid down on the bed, his thighs spread over hers, lightly straddling her.

“Hi,” He whispered.

She tore her gaze from her phone and looked at his face— lips pouting, eyes tired, damp strands of hair framing his face. She set her phone aside and kissed his lips, finally greeting him. His hands lazily grabbed on to her hips.

As their kisses deepened, his grip on her hips tightened and traveled upward. She sighed in pleasure.

He swiped his tongue over her bottom lip. (Y/N) let him in her mouth and they became nothing short of in sync. He tugged on the hem of her shirt, causing them to break apart for a moment so she could slip it off.

“Want me to take my bra off?” She asked, eyes shining.

“If you want to.” Warren didn’t want to seem desperate and forceful.

“Just so you know—” She reached her hands behind her back to unclasp her bra. “—My nipples are like, really sensitive, so just, be careful with them.”

“Oh, okay. That’s fine.” Warren wanted to know why, but he wasn’t going to push. “Just tell me if I get too aggressive.”

“Oh, no, it’s not like that I just—” Her bra fell down, exposing her breasts. Warren’s gaze fell to them immediately.

They were beautiful. Her whole body was, but his gaze was stuck on her nipples.

They each had a small piece of metal going through them.

Warren blinked in realization.

They were pierced.

“When did you get these done?”

“While you were gone… Do you like them?”

Warren nodded, “Yeah.” His voice was shaky as if he was restraining himself.

His dick was rock hard. He knew her nipples would be extra sensitive— he wanted to take one in his mouth. Feel the metal against his tongue, see if he could make her cum without touching her lower half.

Probably not, but he’d try and relish in her moans and whimpers.

“Did it hurt?”

“The first one didn’t, but the second one was awful. I almost cried.”

Much as his lust-filled judgment liked her nipple piercings, he’d rather she didn’t have to suffer through any pain.

He kissed her shoulder, “Do they still hurt?”

(Y/N) chuckled, “No. They’re just really sensitive.”

“Mhmm… Where’d you get them done?” He asked, continuing to kiss her.

“That tattoo and piercing place down on 23rd and Rosewood. Jubilee went with me. I tried talking her into getting her nose pierced, but she didn’t want to.”

Warren’s eyes widened with surprise. “Jubilee huh?”

“Yeah. She held my hand through the whole thing.”

Warren began to kiss down (Y/N)‘s body, inching closer to her core with every moment of lip to skin contact. She quickly removed any clothing she’d left on.

“Thank you,” He breathed once his lips met her clit, sending a slight shiver up her spine.

“I didn’t get them done for you. It was for me… And if anything this is more torture for you because the healing process can take anywhere from six to twelve months.”

“I know, I know,” He looked up at (Y/N). Her head resting against his pillows, hands loosely gripping his hair. “But I really like them. They’re hot— you’re hot.”

She laughed a little, “Does it turn you on knowing I fulfill the ‘innocent yet secretly dirty’ cliche, baby?”

“Yeah,” He kissed the skin right above her center, and then slowly began to rub his thumb on her clit. “It does.”

He gently nipped at her thigh, before moving his mouth over to her pussy, licking it up. Warren used his other hand to grip one of her thighs and keep her legs open. He added another finger to add sensation to her clit.

(Y/N) whined, and Warren couldn’t hold back his smile.

His mouth got more aggressive, trying to take her all in. Her thighs pressed up against the sides of his head. His fingers sped up on her clit, still rubbing in a circular motion of sorts. One of (Y/N)’s hands was tangled in Warren’s hair, and the other was holding one of her breasts, careful of the nipple, but still clenching on to it as she let out breathy moans and bucked her hips upward.

He removed his hand from her clit and (Y/N) whined at the sudden loss.

“Sorry, baby.” He cooed.

(Y/N) huffed. Warren quickly replaced his mouth with his hand and inserted a finger inside her.

“This good?” He asked. She nodded, biting down on her lower lip to stifle her moans. Warren added another finger, her cunt adjusting to it.

He began to rub her clit again, with his other hand, as he pumped his fingers in and out of her, curling them every so often.

(Y/N) was a mess of breathy moans, and choked out curses.

Warren smirked, reveling in the pleasure only he could give her.

He left soft, tender kisses on her stomach; contrasting the rough, hard work his hands were doing.

“Are you close, baby?” He asked, looking up at her, his eyes gleaming with feigned innocence.

“Uh-huh,” She nodded. Warren’s thumb sped up on her clit. He felt her cunt clench around his fingers.

He continuously worked in her pussy and on her clit, helping her ride out her high and reach her climax until her legs stopped twitching and her breathing became steady.

Warren pushed himself forward making his body parallel to hers, leaving kisses all over her neck.

“Angel, baby,”

“Yeah?” His breath was warm against her neck.

“Don’t leave marks.”

“Can’t you cover them? Your neck looks so pretty covered in flowers.”

“Mmm…” She squinted her eyes as if she was in deep thought.

“No.”

“No!?” He repeated.

“No,” She kissed his nose.

“Please?” He pretended to beg.

“No,” She repeated.

He smiled, “I’d say you’re terrible, but I can’t lie to you. I love you too much.”

“I love you too, Angel.”

#warren worthington iii x reader #warren worthington x reader #angel x reader #archangel x reader #warren worthington iii x mother nature #mother nature! y/n #warren worthington x mother nature #angel x mother nature #archangel x mother nature #warren worthington smut #warren worthington iii smut #warren worthington iii x reader smut #x-men x reader #xmen x reader #x men x reader #mother nature reader

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thelostguardianau · 4 years

Text

The Lost Guardian- Chapter Eight

“Heed the Silenced”

(Authors note: aha.. yknow I should probably stop making promises for this fic. Months later, w/ a chapter that doesn’t have Thomas in it, three different outlines down and i’m really just at the mercy of this fic at this point xD considering midway through writing this chapter I had to cut and rewrite an entire scene i’d spent a month on bc I’d decided that Dee had a chance at redemtion that added an actual direction and a tangable end goal to this story. So. Yeah. And!! A loud Thank You!! to @bumblebeekitten for helping me bounce ideas back & forth for this au and being my beta for this chapter!!)

Character Info & Art:

Chapter Seven | Chapter Nine

Fandom: Thomas Sanders Sides

Pairings: Eventual Polyamsanders (LAMPR/CALMR-a.k.a LAMP/CALM + Remy ‘Sleep’ Sanders)

Warnings: THIS CHAPTER IS KINDA DIALOG HEAVY!(sorry) Currently depicted as morally grey Deceit(subject to change in future chapters), though the side of Deceit from his first appearance doesnt make an appearance in this chapter and it is explained why, mentions of past betrayal and dark descriptions of bodily concepts, curses, limitations, and changes only really explained as possible through the lore of this au. Deceit speaks in riddles because he has to, ominous warnings. Virgil still isn’t okay mentally. Mentions of indifference to death, lack of selfworth or self preservation. (Let me know if I need to add anything!)

[[MORE]]

Brown eyes flutter open at the chilly breeze of a fan, and the ravenette’s mind comes to realize that he’s been moved from resting on his stomach to laying on his back. Groggy from his much too short nap, it takes a few moments to realize there are no warm bodies near him or under him, no breathing or chatter of familiar voices to sooth him.

The room, he realizes, is empty.

The room itself is, in fact, not Remy’s bedroom at all.

Shooting straight up, Virgil’s first clear thought is that he’s back at home. At his apartment, this time in his hoodie yet still roughed up from his latest ‘adventure’. The scene is eerily familiar, and yet he knows this time that work is not where he needs to be. It’s already daylight and his mind now knows this familiar scene, he should feel alone. Yet, this time he can hear the sound of honking cars and people, his loud neighbor from upstairs stomping around.

It doesn’t make sense as he walks to his window and peers out to see vague cars and people, he can’t even seem to make out any individual faces. It’s grey and raining outside, but there is no pattering sound against the foggy window. ‘What’s happening?’ Virgil wonders.

“Life seemed so simple a week ago, even months ago, did it not..?” A familiar voice drifts from behind him. Ice cold fear shoots down the ravenette’s spine as he recognizes the voice.

“I can hardly believe you were able to leave it, your routine. It was your everything, back when you came to terms with what you had left. Am I wrong, Virgil?” Whirling around to face the voice, Virgil finds the terrifying ex-Guardian sitting on his couch looking quite at home, if a little sheepish.

“What do you care?” He spat back, stepping back against his window.

“I am only looking out for you, you know. I have been protecting you all your life. Of all people I think I would know what is best for you, don't you think? We are connected after all, you and I.” The man sighed, making a surrendering motion with his hands.

“Why would I trust you?! You tried to kill me yesterday!” Virgil growled. “Why--h-how are you even here!?”

“False, my dear Virgil. I tried to warn you. Sure,” The guardian rolled his hand as he spoke, “I am forced to have a round-about way of speaking my truths, it is just part of my consequences it seems. But how else was I going to get you to listen to me after the others fed you lies about me? I do sincerely apologize for my other half being rough, though. I cannot quite.. Control.. Him.” The guardian tilted his bowler hat down to guiltily hide his eyes, regret briefly twisting his expression.

Finally the Guardian stood, dusting himself off as if his immaculate attire had acquired dust from just existing in his apartment. “I needed my physical body to reach yours and make our soul connection strong again, so that my soul could reach yours. However.. The pain I caused you was far from my intention. I am deeply regretful that it came down to.. That awful encounter.

“To answer your question though, Virgil, I am here because I created ‘here’. A realm made to form this illusion of being home, sweet home, just on the corner of the little street you had come to live on for the past year. It is all my doing. Where you stand is simply an illusion only you and I can access, a manipulation of your dreams and memories. The only place where the real me can talk to you mostly unhindered.” The guardian gestured to his surroundings.

“It takes only one person to flip your life on it’s head, a matter of hours to make the decision of a lifetime, and a matter of days to have completely changed your life’s direction,” He turned to Virgil, and looked him straight in the eyes, feeling distant and lost.

“And only a matter of years to succumb to the depression of the lonely consequences..”

Virgil blinked at that. The sad, longing tone had him thrown for a loop; it almost felt like the Guardian wasn't even quite talking to Virgil. “I-What..? I.. I don’t understand.”

The Guardian shook his head, snapping out of it and refocusing himself. "Nevermind that. It is time I talked to you for real, if you will have me?" The Guardian held out a hand politely, though there was no real expectation for Virgil to take it.

After a pause, Virgil gave a slight nod, still suspicious of the other's intent. The Guardian returned the nod, and his hand fell to his side.

“I am limited to the time that you rest and for now I will not be able to explain myself thoroughly, so, I ask you to understand that I do not expect you to trust me when I am done. I honestly do not expect you to ever trust me. With the mistakes I have made, I firmly believe I would not deserve it.”

Virgil blinked in surprise, not having expected his captor to admit to his faults straight off the bat.

“Okay.. Well, we’re here, might as well hear your side of the story. So.. Shoot.” Virgil said lightly, distrust and suspicion still evident in his tone and stance.

��I would assume at this point you are well aware of how the story you have been told paints me as the villain, a mastermind seeking power, immortality, and revenge? At least, that is what I am led to believe is still the story, it has been many years since I have heard the tale first hand… And... Well. Would that not be so lovely?” Virgil made a face, eyes narrowing in confusion.

“I am serious. Life would be so much easier if it was all black and white, true or false, good and bad, would it not? If those who meant well knew everything and those malicious few could not corrupt anything?” The Guardian frowned a bit, frustrated with his words that couldn’t seem to cooperate with him.

“Would it not be lovely if I could talk to you without fighting to keep from turning every honest thought into a question or theoretical statement just to let it be said? That my words could hold a meaning not forcibly disguised in the forms of fables and riddles?” The Guardian looked down lamely, his words tapering off in agitation. For a moment, Virgil waited as the Guardian was silent, contemplative. Then, the next moment the Guardian’s face scrunched up in sadness and his words were soft as he placed a hand over his golden wrist markings.

“My story is complicated, and twisted with shades of grey. One could say what I did was an attempt to keep you safe, another could say that what I did was outlandish and impulsive, and stupid. But no one will be able to tell you that what I did went according to the plan I had... at first. No one will tell you that my intention was to save you, to keep your fate safe. No one will tell you that my plan was ruined. Because there is no longer anyone who remembers what happened that night except for me,”

The Guardian’s eyes flicked up to meet the ravenette’s, a hurt look passing over his face as he continued. His steady voice now just barely trembled with uncertainty as he continued.

“No one but me and the soul who wants so desperately for everyone to forget. The soul who ripped my own in two to bury the secret, and ruin you and I both.”

“My final warning is this: Beware of the man who carries the world on his shoulders unflinchingly, he will be watching you closely. You have immunity to his power thanks to our connection, you might use this knowledge well to find the truth that lies in plain sight. However, your fate lies in the decisions you chose to make with this knowledge, I can only warn you of what might come.” The Guardian nodded solemnly, choosing to finish his cryptic warning there.

Virgil stood there, reeling with the information. Sure, he definitely wasn’t completely convinced he could trust this cryptic stranger, Guardian? Foe? Friend? Virgil wasn’t really sure what to call him anymore. But damn, his life was already so fucking crazy, this was all just fucking crazy! He could just be dreaming for all he knew.

But… Deep inside, he was hoping he wasn’t.

This was, well. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting to hear when facing the man whose, er, body? Had originally tried to strangle him? Now he’d heard his sob story and, well, Virgil wasn’t that easy to fool, but he’d also been told that it wasn’t expected that he’d trust the guy even in the end and he didn’t really want to.

He’d been on the path to death for so long, and then just two days ago everything had changed. So much was happening, it was frankly exhausting. What the fuck was he, some book protagonist? Couldn’t he get a little time to think about all this before he went crazy?

Still, something under all his incredulity begged to hear the guardian out. He vaguely wondered how Stockholm Syndrome worked before he gave in a little. What difference did a little more crazy make in his life at this point?

“Fine, I’ll heed your warning, or whatever the fuck. But only if you can tell me what you mean when you said that this guy ripped your, uh, soul? In two.” Virgil huffed, partially relaxing. It was odd how comforting he found it to be, floating in this weird feeling imaginary world, where he could interact with objects that weren’t real. It felt like he was really standing in his home, and yet it was just built from memory.

The guardian’s solemn expression formed into a grim smile, eyes distant once more before nodding. “I will do the best that my words will allow.” Virgil nodded, and waited for the now very familiar stranger to gather his words and take a breath. Then he began, his markings lightly flashing gold.

“You find yourself whole one day, as you have always been. To be whole of body, whole of mind, both human and guardian in nature. To have conscious thought and control over your whole physical being and soul..

“You find that yourself and others of the winged variety are capable of separating your soul from your being, though only the most Elite can do it well. You find out the family you made would soon be in danger. You then find yourself lost and alone when you once had a home to call your own.

“You find yourself knowing a truth, a perilous truth. Your home is in shambles now that you are gone, yet they do not know it. This truth is at fault, but the blame is not fully your own in a world built on lies.

“The source of truth tucks itself into blankets of grey, drawing itself further from discovery with each passing day. Now only you know the truth. The source of the truth finds you, it seeks to hide you too.

“You find yourself split one day, as you have never been before. Forced apart from the body, trapped within the mind. Guardian in nature, to have conscious thought and your dying soul trapped within, a false mind piloting the puppeteered confines of a broken body with a blind goal.”

“You find you cannot control what you used to, you are a prisoner to a body that is no longer your own, mostly unconscious to the world around it. Crazed by the false emotions that fuel it.”

“The you that used to be is no longer, and has not been for over a hundred years. The world that knew you knows not of what you’ve become. Knows not of the shackles that bind you.

“The you that used to be is no longer, and will never be again.” The Guardian finished, hesitant yellow eyes meeting Virgil’s carefully. Phantom goosebumps trail down Virgil's arms as the final sentence strikes a cord in him.

Virgil found he really wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, the rawness in the other’s tone spoke volumes of the sore spot they’d reached.

“Your body rests, but your mind also needs time to process today. I shall see you when you next rest, though only if you wish to seek me. Rest well knowing that you will not be scooped from your safety once more, as I hope I’m never to do so again. And...” The guardian paused, considering their next words very carefully.

“I know it is selfish to ask... but, I hope and wish that Thomas is alright, after all this time... Do take care of him, would you?”

Virgil paused and stared, finding only concern and longing in the guardian’s expression. And, well, fuck. What a way to pull at a guy’s heartstrings.

“Er, yes. Yeah. I’ll try my best.” Virgil gave his signature mock salute, the Guardian tipping his hat in return.

“Trying is all I could ever ask of you, Virgil. Rest well, you will need it.” And with that final sentence, the world around Virgil gently grew dark, and he sunk into the comforting arms of sleep.

Despite it all, Virgil still found his mind vaguely conscious. Sluggish at best, but awake nonetheless.

He figured it was likely some lingering effect from the Guardian’s dream realm, but didn’t dwell on it. His life had way too much else going on to be debating the side effects gained from Guardian powers.

First, he’d been pretty damn convinced two days ago that he was going to be a goner by the end of the month. Completely resigned to die believing that his very existence was scorned by the world he’d been unwillingly born into.

Then Patton had stumbled onto his shitty apartment’s roof, found him in all of his resigned and depressed glory, and changed his life forever.

They’d mostly skipped the whole ‘Human nature is a series of life, death, and rebirth’ spiel that guardians were known to give in these situations because... Well, It wasn’t like they’d really had time to address it before the truth about his soul had come out. That he wasn’t exactly human to begin with.

Virgil didn’t think that Guardians had ever had a situation like his before. There wasn’t a protocol for comforting a kidnapped guardian soul. It’d never been a possibility before!

So it wasn’t surprising then, that Virgil didn’t have any better of a time processing it.

His whole life, all that he’d known to be true, all that he’d believed in? Everything had been uprooted and turned on its head. He’d apparently been living a life that was not supposed to be.

Perhaps for the first time in two days, Virgil realized that the thought of his death at the end of the month had not been consistently worming into his brain. It had once been something he could never seem to stop thinking about.

The death indicated by his soul timer was now perhaps the farthest thing from his mind.

Perhaps the strangest thing so far was that he wasn’t alone anymore. He’d possibly had more physical contact with other people in the short two(three?) days since this adventure started then he’d had in the past 16 years.

And wasn’t it just the cherry on top that he’d also gotten nearly choked out by the very guardian accused of kidnapping his soul in the first place? And now he was considering trusting the damn guy.

Virgil hollowly wondered why he even cared.

Why did he care about staying alive now when he’s spent his whole life believing he never would? Up until two days ago, that belief had still been true. But now? Avoiding death was the goal, Logan had stated as much.

Really, would Virgil lose anything by trusting the banished guardian? Even if the guardian was trying to trick Virgil and got him killed, what difference would it make? That’d always been the goal before. What did he, Virgil, really have to lose?

If it happened that Virgil lived past his twentieth birthday, if he became a guardian like he was supposed to be in the first place. Would he want that? Did he want that?

He wasn’t sure. Didn’t know if he ever had been.

His life had been built on resignation to the inevitable. Nothing seemed to motivate him towards liking or hating that possibility. He was just that.

Indifferent.

And wasn’t that just the greatest revelation of the night? Finding out that you’re indifferent to living or dying.

Once this was all over, if Virgil lived that long, he would make a note to see a therapist. He knew very well that this kind of mindset was unhealthy to keep. It just couldn’t be helped that the nineteen years he’d lived with this particular affliction couldn’t be fixed by a few extra hugs and comforting words.

Even if he didn’t like the fact that death sounded like the more peaceful option.

His thoughts paused, mentally sighing at the downward spiral he’d caught himself in. It was tiring, and going nowhere.

‘For now,’ he decided, ‘I’m just going to see how this plays out. The Guardian said that none of the others remember the truth, or whatever. So, It’s a ‘he said-they said’ situation right now...’

‘I’ll have to keep an eye out for the guy that he warned me about, then. Who knows if he's as dangerous as The Guardian made him out to be. It’s hard to tell with the weird way he has to talk..’

Virgil paused again, a realization striking him. If he could have groaned, he would have. Not once had he been given or even remembered to ask for the name of said Guardian. What was he supposed to call the rogue Guardian now? He couldn’t just keep calling him The Guardian!

Amidst the disbelief of such a slip up, a foreign yet familiar feeling prodded questioningly at his conscious mind. Adding confusion into the mix of emotions, he returned the feeling with a questioning thought of his own.

He briefly heard the Guardian’s whispy voice once more, now acting with permission.

“You may call me Janus”

Then all at once, Virgil woke up.

Chapter Nine

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #lamp/calm #LAMPR/CALMR #LAMP/CALM + remy ‘sleep’ sanders #tw angst #tw long post #long fic #thelostguardianau #morally grey deceit #for the time being #the aim is that he reach sympathetic but trust aint that easy

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samanthadalton · 3 years

Text

Gift and a curse part 2

pairings: Bianca x f! mc (Charlie)

sorry it took so long with part 2, i have like 5 different fics to write and i felt myself burning out a bit bc of school, idk how many parts this fic will have maybe 4/5

slightly NSFW (im not good at smut writing at all so i apologise in advance if its weird or awkward (or both))

taglist: @cloud9in @robintora @penda-bear @alleycat97 @kawaiibanditmoneytaco @crazzyplays @itszdavenport @annamaries-things @gamechoices-player @oxjenayxo @suoirallesalta @boopbapbeepbop @queensayeed @fantasy-of-fiction @baronyvampire @vampiregod325 @waterinathermostat @sanguetripasebolodechocolate @thepotatobleh (not everyone was showing up in the tags im sorry)

wordcount: 1.9k

Charlie makes her way to the house, each step filled with dread as she ambles to the front yard. She gingerly opens the front door, quietly closing it behind her, part of her hoping that Adam is already sleeping so she can slip into bed and have the talk with him once she’s off her high from her date with Bianca. Before she can open her bedroom door, the door swings open revealing a concerned Adam as he assesses his fiancee with a worrisome expression.

“Hey, it’s late where have you been?” He moves forward to place a kiss on Charlie’s lips but in the last second, Charlie turns her head and the bad boy’s lips graze her cheek. “Hey, is everything alright?” his voice laced with concern. Charlie awkwardly steps past Adam entering the room, a solemn look on her face.

“Not really no,” she mumbles.

“What happened? Did Vince do something?” Charlie shakes her head.

“No, no. Nothing like that. But we need to talk Adam.” Confusion washes all over Adam’s face as he attempts to comprehend Charlie’s words, his mouth hanging open struggling to find the words. Charlie sniffles, wiping away the tears in her eyes before they can fall and takes a seat at the edge of the bed, patting the space next to her, for Adam to follow suit. When Adam sits, Charlie sharply inhales, her lips slightly trembling before casting a glance to see Adam’s brows furrowed as he stares off into the distance.

“I thought we put the whole elopement thing behind us,” he quietly speaks out, his voice low and gruff. He shifts his body slightly to the left, as his gaze flits to Charlie,

“It’s not about that,” Charlie dismally responds, her eyes trained to the floor unable to meet Adam’s penetrating gaze.

“Then what is it about, because ever since Vegas something has been off.”

“Adam….I can’t marry you.” The spike of Charlie’s admission is met with silence as Adam looks away from Charlie, a mixture of indignation and befuddlement in his facial expression. The silence only grows, the atmosphere dense with awkwardness until Charlie reaches out, wrapping her hand around Adam’s to alleviate the tension. “Adam..please say something.”

Adam lets out a hollow laugh, the pain noticeably instilled in his chuckle as he pulls his hand out of Charlie’s grasp, running it over his face. “What do you want me to say? I don’t get why this is happening. Look I’m not mad about Vegas, I want to marry you even if we have to do it on tv okay I’m onboard with it all.”

“Adam- no. This is going to sound so shitty of me but it’s not you, it’s me. There’s someone else.” Adam freezes, his jaw clenched as he grasps at Charlie’s words.

“Who?” he squeaks out.

Charlie dissolves into tears, her words blubbered out in an incoherent mess. “I’m sorry, i’m so sorry Adam.”

Adam jumps up from his seat, his voice vehemently echoing through the room, “who?!”

“Bianca!” Charlie weeps, her sobs becoming more and more uncontrollable by the minute.

“Bianca?” Adam’s voice dwindles back down to his usual articulation, his tone dripping with confusion. “Charlie what are you talking about?”

The AME contestant inhales deeply, before letting out a shaky breath, trying to get a grip on her breaths. “A couple of days ago Bianca confessed that she had feelings for me.” Charlie steals a glance at her fiance to see a solemn look on his face. “And….I feel the same way about her.” Adam looks at Charlie with disbelief as a pang of guilt hits the brunette and she slightly winces at Adam’s unwavering gaze. Adam shakes his head with incredulity, struggling to come to terms with Charlie’s admission. “I didn’t mean for this to happen but it happened so suddenly an-”

“Exactly!” Adam says, cutting Charlie off, “this is happening too quickly. I mean last night you were fine with marrying me and now you’re saying you don’t want to. Charlie you’re just confused.”

“I’m not confused!”

“It’s just wedding jitters.”

The two continue talking over each other, their voices overlapping unable to hear what the other is saying. It isn’t until Charlie yells out Adam clamps his mouth shut, “Adam stop! Please listen to me.” The two stare at each other with great intensity until Adam breaks the eye contact, nodding softly.

“Okay, explain it to me.”

And so she does, Charlie comes clean about it all, starting from her past feelings about Bianca to Bianca’s confession to her date with the model tonight which ended in a kiss until they were busted by Mackenzie. Adam listens intently, a blank expression on his face throughout the duration of Charlie’s revelation.

“I understand,” Adam finally says, a sadness glimmering in his eyes as he glances over at Charlie.

“You- you do?”

The bad boy nods dejectedly, “I can’t lie, it hurts but I don’t want to marry someone who isn’t one hundred percent sure about marrying me.”

Charlie gulps uneasily, responding with a curt nod, “Adam, I am sorry you know.”

In retort, Adam gives Charlie a sad smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, “I know. Umm I should sleep on the couch I guess,” he rubs his hand against his neck sheepishly.

“No I can, you should take the bed.”

“Nah it’s fine,” Adam grabs a pillow and a duvet and just before he leaves the room he turns back to Charlie, “glad you’re listening to your heart, if anyone deserves to be happy it’s you Charlie.”

Charlie musters a small smile in appreciation, a mournful look in her eyes as she watches Adam leave the room, but she can’t help but feel the butterflies in her stomach as her mind drifts over to Bianca and the kiss she shared with the model tonight. Her fingertips ghost over the outline of her lips as she feels a trace of warmth creeping up on her cheeks as she excitedly speculates about what tomorrow will bring for her and Bianca.

…..

The next morning Charlie wakes up to an empty house, her mind drifting to Adam’s whereabouts, feeling a pang of guilt as she recollects last night's events. But she brushes off any negative feelings as her thoughts drift to Bianca, eager to declare her feelings.

Charlie makes her way to the mansion and when she spots Bianca she wordlessly hooks her arm around the model’s steering her into one of the empty bedrooms. Bianca raises a questioning eyebrow at the contestant and before she can get a word in, Charlie pulls her in for a passionate kiss, which Bianca eagerly reciprocates. When they pull away Bianca stares at Charlie, her eyes glimmering with hopefulness and even though she knows the answer, she still knows she has to ask “Babe, not that I’m not happy for some PDA but what about Adam?”

Charlie grins at Bianca before pulling her in for another kiss, she wraps her arms around the taller girl’s neck while Bianca’s arms snake around Charlie’s waist, diminishing the gap between them. “I told him about us,” Charlie whispers against Bianca’s lips. In response, Bianca stares at the girl with such a great intensity, desire penetrating the atmosphere as she leads Charlie towards the bed.

Charlie’s knees buckle as they hit the edge of the bed forcing her to fall back onto the bed and Bianca uses the opportunity to straddle the contestant’s hips, a devilish smile on her lips. Charlie gazes up at the model in awe, taking in her features. She glances at the model’s sharp jawline, her intense smouldering hazel eyes, her cute button nose, those beautiful red plush lips.

Bianca leans down, her lips ghosting around Charlie’s as she whispers, “what did you tell him.”

“I told him…” Charlie cranes her neck slightly nipping at Bianca’s lips, “that I want to be with you.”

“Mmmm,” Bianca grinds down on Charlie’s hips, earning a low groan from Charlie who places her hands on Bianca’s hips, squeezing down on them to create more friction between their bodies. Just as Charlie is going to flip over Bianca, the model places her hand on the girl’s chest pushing her down on the bed, a serious look on her face.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just can’t help but feel a little bad for Adam,” Bianca slides off Charlie and sits down on the edge of the bed, a few seconds later Charlie sits up, lacing her fingers with Bianca’s.

“I know, it’s been on the back of my mind too,” Charlie sighs tiredly, her fingers subconsciously rubbing circles on Bianca’s knuckles.

“How exactly did he react?” Bianca asks, her voice laced with apprehension.

Charlie blows hot air from her lips, huffing, “better than I thought he would. At first he was hurt, but then he was understanding. I could tell he was hurt but he wanted nothing but the best for me.”

“I guess the bad boy is softer than we thought,” Bianca jests, alleviating some of the discomfort within the room. Charlie smiles sadly before shaking herself out of her thoughts.

“I don’t want to be thinking about Adam right now,” she inhales sharply as her eyes roam Bianca’s presence, feeling a pool of desire wash all over her as she presses her lips against Bianca, satiating the hunger she feels.

“I can’t believe you’re all mine” The model runs a finger down the contestant’s body a amourous look twinkling in her eyes.

“Say that again,” Charlie whispers Bianca’s lips.

“You’re mine,” Bianca slowly and sensually enunciates. “God you’re so beautiful,” Bianca whispers as she places her hand around Charlie’s neck squeezing softly, “I can’t wait to break you.” She leans in to kiss Charlie, their tongues tangling together in a passionate embrace as Bianca’s tongue languidly moves against Charlie’s, eliciting moans from the contestant. Bianca’s hand travels underneath Charlie’s clothes, her fingers stroking the smoothness of Charlie’s chest before travelling down, her fingers dipping below the waistband of her panties, teasingly tracing around her inner thigh.

“Please,” Charlie quietly pleads, her breaths becoming short and heavy just from a few touches from the model, turned on by the view in front of her, Bianca begins kissing Charlie’s neck, her fingers still teasing on the outside of the contestant’s panties, her fingers ghosting over where Charlie wants her most.

“God,” Bianca sighs against the crook of Charlie’s neck, “you have no idea how bad I’ve wanted this.”

“Show me then,” Charlie challenges. A fire burns in Bianca’s gaze, matching the intensity in Charlie’s as the realisation dawns that her fantasies can now be made into a reality. The girls are locked in a kiss, the atmosphere dense with desire and sexual tension as they move back to the middle of the bed, Bianca taking the reins, straddling Charlie as she wraps a hand around Charlie’s neck squeezing softly as she pushes her down onto the pillow. Just as Bianca’s hands make their way to the hem of Charlie’s clothes, the bedroom door swings open and a gasp breaks them out of the moment as they swivel their heads to the doorway.

“Omar, we can explain.”

Fury burns in Omar’s eyes as he looks over at the girls, “Clean yourselves up and then get to the production room now.”

#playchoices #america’s most eligible #ame #bianca scandoval #bianca ame #bianca x mc

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stubbychaos · 4 years

Text

The First Time He Sees Her

A one-shot for Saviin’ika

This goes hand-in-hand with chapter 1 of Saviin’ika, for those who might not have read it yet

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: Paz sees his nurse before he meets her for the first time and is stunned by her selflessness and beauty.

Rating: T for language (there are a couple F-bombs bc Paz has a sailor’s mouth tbh) and the tiniest bit of violence since Paz is injured.

Word Count: 3,000ish

Warnings: Unless you count tooth-rotting fluff and Paz absolutely crushing on his little nurse, there are no warnings!! There’s mentions of Paz’s injury from the first chapter, but nothing too descriptive!

A/N: Thank you to the anon who sent that super sweet ask about me writing from Paz’s POV. I’m not sure if this will meet your expectations, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!! I actually had a lot of fun writing this much fluff after writing all the angst for the newest chapter. I might do some more of these if you guys are interested in certain parts of the story?? <3

The first time Paz sees you, you’re smiling so brightly and it’s enough to make him freeze him from across the street where he’s found himself cemented to, his visor instantly fixated on your plush pink lips and the whites of your teeth.

You're not the one he's smiling at and for some reason that feels like the biggest crime in the galaxy--and Paz has witnessed many crimes and atrocities in his lifetime.

He’s clutching a canvas bag filled with several supplies and fresh food for his tribe as he watches you crouch down in front of a crying little boy who must have tripped and fallen, his little palms bleeding as you carefully inspect them with furrowed brows.

Unintentionally, Paz finds himself cocking his head to the side as you shuffle through a small cross-body bag, seeming to search for something in particular and your smile widens as you pull out a little glass jar with some sort of soft purple substance in it.

A smile stretches across Paz’s lips as he watches you completely drop to your bare knees on the cracked pavement so you’re more eye-level with the child and you begin the tender task of rubbing the ointment into his minor wounds, all while reassuring him with a bright smile that everything is going to be alright. Your smile is a soft, comforting one, Paz notices as you easily cheer up the little boy with warm words, the skin at the corners of your eyes crinkling and a part of him is tempted to get a little closer to you so he can hear your voice better. It’s a breathy, lilting melody that barely reaches his ears underneath his helmet, but the sound of it comforts him and he’s not even the one who’s injured.

You’re asking the child innocent little questions to distract him--“What’s your name, sweetheart? Where are your parents? Do you have siblings or pets? What’s your favorite color? Yellow? Mine is purple but I like blue as well!”--and Paz finds your dedication to this child that you don’t even know so sweet and honorable when he’s only ever dealt with scumbags in the village.

You’re a breath of fresh air, Paz realizes with a soft grin, watching as you do everything possible to comfort the tiny boy who seems to be warming up to you, growing shy when you tenderly ruffle his messy curls before you pull some gauze out of your bag to bandage his hands. You tend to his little wounds with the utmost care, as though you’re nursing graver wounds and Paz nearly chuckles when you inform the boy he is far stronger than any soldier that you’ve ever met.

Then he notices your long, shiny mane and he melts.

Paz thinks he’s never seen such a beautiful head of hair in his entire life. The long waves tumble down the length of your spine with a healthy shine, the locks curled at the ends and he’s in absolute awe, knowing that you must have spent years growing out your beautiful mane. Then he spots little bundles of violets tucked behind each of your ears and his smile grows tenfold, not used to seeing such vibrancy in the little village that resides above the covert.

Paz thinks you must be some sort of beacon of hope and purity in a place filled with criminals and greedy bounty hunters and his breath hitches in his throat and his heart stops beating as you remove one of the little bundles of flowers from their home behind your ear. His eyes follow your tiny hand as you pluck a flower from the bouquet and offer it to the blushing child who’s no longer crying, but instead smiling shyly at you as he happily accepts it.

The Mandalorian tenses a little when a man steps out of the building that you’re kneeling in front of on the sidewalk and he watches as the man roughly grabs you by the elbow and pulls you to your feet with no regard for your own comfort. Even with the soft smile you give the little boy as he waves goodbye to you, it no longer meets your eyes and Paz notices the way you drop your head as the aggressive man tugs you back into the building.

Paz spots the sign on the outside of the building and realizes it’s an infirmary, and that you must be some sort of doctor or medic and everything suddenly makes sense--your kindness towards the child and how you hadn’t hesitated to step outside to tend to his minor wounds.

Paz isn’t even aware there’s an infirmary in the village and he’s grateful for this new information, especially since him and so many others in the tribe are always getting injured during training and sparring. As he makes his way back to the enclave a smile still stretched along his concealed features, he hopes he will soon again see you--the pretty medic that wears bright violets in your hair.

It happens sooner than he wishes for, to be honest.

Two weeks later, Paz is storming into the infirmary that he had never known to exist before you, gripping his bloody side as he searches specifically for you and immediately, his eyes zone in on the small figure that’s hunched over in a chair at the front desk.

At first, you don’t even notice him, utterly focused on finishing whatever the hell it is you’re writing down in a big white binder, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth and your brows furrowed in concentration.

“You.”

Immediately, your head whips up and it takes Paz a moment to remember how to speak when your wide, expressive eyes somehow meet his; a part of him actually worries that you can somehow see him, despite his helmet. Almost instantly, your gaze lowers to his chest and he knows the look of fear all too well and dread settles deep in Paz’s chest when he realizes that you’re afraid of him.

His voice is strained as he tries to ignore the intense pain flaring like hot coals in both sides of his ribs, “I need medical attention... please.”

“Oh! Okay,” You quickly stand up, still refusing to look at his helmet and you tuck a non-existent lock of hair behind your ear--it must be a nervous habit, Paz realizes and manages to smile a little at your awkwardness, actually forgetting that you can’t even see him, “I think there might be someone who can--”

“No!” Paz hisses through clenched teeth, his ribs aching fiercely and he has to force himself to lower his voice to something softer so he won’t frighten you when he notices how badly you flinch at the sound of his deep voice, “I want you to tend to my wounds.”

Paz watches the way your nostrils flare a little, the muscles in your jaw slightly shifting as you force yourself to nod and immediately, he dislikes how frightened you are of him as he stalks past you and into the slim hallway and he realizes he’s already ruined your first impression of him. Angrily, he struggles to remove his heavy equipment as you quietly usher him into your little office. He’s a little surprised to find your desk and the window sill decorated with well-cared for flowers and plants, the vibrant flora seeming so out of place in such a bleak village, though it still comforts him for some reason.

“W-Would you like some help sir?”

Your voice--so quiet and so fucking sweet--is filled with such hesitation and is still just as much of a melody as he remembers it to be from the first time he’d seen you tending to that child.

Immediately, he turns to you and curses the Maker because you look so frightened by his appearance, your tiny hands wringing together nervously and he forces himself to relax and drop his guarded facade when you offer to help him remove his armor. Paz is grateful when you bravely step forward to remove his cuirass, taking great care and caution as you fiddle with the latches with small, skilled hands. He’s surprised that you somehow manage to figure out how to remove his chest plate and he nearly laughs through the pain when you fumble with the weight of his Beskar cradled in your small arms as you carry it to your desk.

He remains complacent as you return to help him remove all of his extra armor and padding, though he has to force himself not to grunt when you help him untuck his tunics from the waistband of his pants. You’re asking him questions about his injuries and what he was stabbed with--your voice that same soft melody--and he wants to apologize for being an asshole after rudely answering your gentle questions, but all he can focus on are your small hands and how cold they are against his warm skin and how he’s not fucking used to being treated so delicately.

He’s being an absolute asshole towards you and he loathes that you’re clearly growing more frustrated with him with every sarcastic sentence he offers you, but all he can focus on is how he can feel your tepid puffs of breath hitting his bare skin as you stitch his wounds, your pretty face only inches away from his stomach. You’re mumbling something about how lucky he is that the stab wound isn’t deep and the thought of him being stabbed and body-slammed by another Mandalorian makes him ‘lucky’ nearly has him laughing.

He decides not to mention that he had initially been distracted by the pretty village nurse and your pretty flowers during the middle of an intense sparring match and he makes some sort of sardonic remark before he can stop himself. He’s muttering some nonsense of how you should be used to violence and gore, what with being a doctor, but you’re quick to correct him and Paz admires the irritation in your small voice.

He thinks that he must not be the first to judge you and what you must have been through.

“I’m a nurse, actually. The infirmary only has one doctor and he barely works here since he’s always traveling,” You correct him, eyes trained on the way the curved hook of the needle pierces his skin, nylon thread bringing the torn flesh back together, and Paz feels sorry when he notices the exhaustion evident in your hushed voice, “Sorry if you expected to be treated by an actual doctor when you stormed into the the infirmary asking for my help. There’s not really a huge need for medical professionals in the village–most people are dead before they even make it here.”

Paz is surprised by the bleakness in your soft voice and how you almost seem to put yourself down for only being a nurse, as if your job is somehow not important and he remembers how kindly you had treated the little boy’s extremely minor wounds with such tender care. It seems unfair that someone with such a kind, tender heart could feel such insecurities, but he thinks you must not be used to being treated with respect.

“Why did you ask for me?”

The question throws Paz off guard and he struggles to form a coherent response when he feels the curved hook of a sterile needle piercing his bloody flesh. Paz wants to tell you that he’d seen you comforting that distraught child just a couple weeks ago--that he’d witnessed you tending to the tiniest of scrapes on the boy’s hands that really didn’t even require medical attention. He wants to tell you that he wants one of the little violets that’s tucked behind your ear, but he knows it would sound ridiculous and perhaps childish, so he responds with:

“You were the only one that actually looked competent.”

You still wear an intense expression of confliction, but you nod slowly and Paz is grateful when you continue to stitch up his wounds with great precision and grace, your fingers moving so fluidly like water against his bloodied flesh. He knows he’s only making everything worse for himself when you kindly and nervously ask him to stop fidgeting around so much, but the soft feeling of your fingers brushing against his skin every now and then is too much and he--

“Fine. Just hurry up.”

The way he says it is so fucking rude and he knows it and cringes the second he sees the expression of disappointment and distaste among your lovely features, you eyes barely glancing up at him through the lenses of your big glasses. You must be so used to cruelty from others and he sees it in the way you shake your head a little as you finish his stitches, or how your eyes momentarily dart up to his helmet and hands, as if confirming you’re not going to be struck or beaten by him.

Then your hands are on Paz’s tender ribs and he nearly jumps right off the cot at how soft and delicately you are pressing your hand against his damaged torso, like he’s made of the most fragile glass and not of impenetrable Beskar. Suddenly, you’re standing up, rambling something about a bacta salve that you made yourself and Paz is quick in his attempts to stop you, feeling utterly undeserving of such medical care after he already antagonized you enough, though you don’t pay attention and he watches as you makes your way to your desk.

He sits up a little higher when he notices you struggling to reach the top shelf that’s connected to your desk and how you have to stand on your tippy toes to reach for a big jar that’s filled with a bright blue substance. He’s nearly halfway off the cot to help you, but your fingers gently curl around the glass jar before you’re approaching him once again. There’s a tiny smile tugging at your lips from the mere thought of relieving the ache in his ribs and Paz is quick to catch your wrist before your bacta-clad fingers can touch the side of his stomach.

“I don’t want your pity.”

Your voice is more confident when you speak and Paz grows warm at how willing you are to argue with him, “It is not pity, Mandalorian.”

You smile sweetly at him, a gentle expression that immediately has him loosening his grip around your tiny wrist, “Then what is it?”

“Kindness.”

Paz stares at you, absolutely stunned as he drops your wrist and lets you tend to his bruised ribs with the softest pressure possible. He tilts his helmet to stare up at you and wonders how something so sweet and soft has lasted this long in such a cruel village. He feels the soft pressure of your cold fingers against his ribs and smiles underneath his helmet, though it’s a sad one as he thinks of all the ungrateful patients you must get on a daily-basis and he longs to tell you that he’s grateful for your tender touch,

Instead, his mouth grows dry and he remains silent as you finish tending to his wounds and it’s not until you silently offer him the little jar of bacta salve that he shows his gratitude with a sharp nod and a tiny ‘thank you’. Paz feels awful for not having credits to give the sweet nurse, but he figures that money is something you do not care much for and simply accepts the precious gift without another word. He thinks of your selflessness with the little boy from the other day as you kindly escort him out of your office and briefly wonders if you’re just this genuinely sweet with everyone you meet.

As Paz leaves your office, utterly aware of you sheepishly following him, he’s half attempted to give you some sort of payment for your hard work and dedication to your job, but before he can even reach into his pouch, an angry voice is calling out your name.

“I thought I told you to have those reports done today by sundown and it’s almost kriffing midnight. I’m tired of telling you how to do your job! Am I not punishing you hard enough? Is that why you’re too stupid to understand how to do something as fucking basic as filing reports?”

Paz instantly sees the way your head lowers in shame as the same man who had forced you back into the infirmary weeks ago antagonizes you and before he even realizes what he’s doing, his fingers are wrapped around the handle of his vibroblade, ready to kill the man if he chooses to harm you severely. The Mandalorian doesn’t like the way this man berates you--how he refers to the sweet nurse as pathetic and incompetent and his heart aches in his chest when he hears how defeated and broken you suddenly sound as you attempt to apologize.

After being told to leave the infirmary, you quickly turn around and Paz is just as surprised as you are as the two of you face each other. Your eyes are fixated on the firm grip he has on his vibroblade and it takes Paz a moment to realize that the poor nurse is not only afraid of that cruel man, but him as well. Slowly, Paz removes his hand from the handle of his blade and watches sadly as you quickly skitter past him, clearly terrified of what cruel men were capable of and he feels it deep within his chest as he watches you quickly make your way down the rocky sidewalk.

“Nurse.”

Paz barely speaks, but it’s enough for you to freeze in your tracks, not uttering a single word as he slowly approaches you. Your shoulders are practically touching your earlobes with how tense you are and shame fills his entire being when he realizes just how terrified you are of him--just how much pain you must have endured if you’re this afraid.

A tear slowly slides down your cheek and...

Maker, what have you been through to feel such intense fear? Could they really beat down someone so precious and innocent to the point where you fear that everyone wishes to harm you?

“It’s too late and dangerous to be walking alone. I’m going to walk you home.”

Paz reaches out to grab your small elbow, but you quickly back away with an intense flinch and he fears that you’ve somehow decided to mistrust everyone you meet. Against his better judgment, he offers you his beloved vibroblade, giving you the option to stab him if you start to feel threatened at any point during the walk home and finally, your beautiful eyes meet his through the protection of his visor.

Paz stares at the beautiful flowers tucked behind your ears with reverence as you question him in a small, timid voice, “Haven’t you uh, been stabbed enough for one day?”

Before he can even attempt to stop himself, the Mandalorian finds himself laughing at your innocent question and nods a little, “Yes, I think I have. Now, let’s get going.”

You offer him the tiniest smile, something only slightly similar to what you’d given the little boy from weeks ago, but Paz is willing to accept anything at this point, even if it’s a ghost of a smile from his tiny nurse.

His heart swells when your fingers eventually curl into the crook of his elbow and he can feel the soft pressure against his skin as you allow him to walk you home.

Paz quickly decides that your company is just as lovely as your warm smile.

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aeryntheofficial @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat @spaghetti-666 @readsalot73 @lanatheawesome @absurdthirst @anakinsittinginsand @yes-music-is-my-religion @tangledlove27 @justrunamok @haloangel391

#THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE #I hope y'all enjoy it too <33 #my writing #if u guys want more of Paz's POV pls let me know #THIS DUMB BITCH LOVES HIS NURSE #AND IS OVERWHELMED BY HER THAT HE MAKES A FOOL OF HIMSELF

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ddaenggtan · 4 years

Text

black irises in the sunshine | kth

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

pairing | taehyung x reader

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

word count | 14k | cross posted to ao3

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

Fuck, that was too hard .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until it feels like it did when he was singing.

How did he know my title?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You refuse to let someone talk to him that way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too long since you fought a god like yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I believe you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The ones about me, you mean.”

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

Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Someone says your name and you swing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you can love.

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

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

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

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

Until the night when it’s not.

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

You would take it back if you could.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t-”

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

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

Something inside of you breaks and you find yourself shaking.

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

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

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

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

It’s never enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a bad idea. You don’t do that, you don’t fuck people at your apartment, you don’t have people in your apartment, it’s your space. It’s a bad idea, it can only end in disaster.

“Okay.”

Taehyung’s lips are soft against yours, yielding and pliant just the way you’re used to. His hands are big and warm against your ass, even through your jeans, and the feeling gives you the courage to slide your own under the ridiculously patterned button-down he’s wearing.

He lets you lead the way through the door, kicking it closed behind you with slightly too much force. Your apartment is small, a studio with a bed tucked in the corner for the rare times that you need it.

You push Taehyung onto it and slide yourself onto his lap, already grinding down onto the hard length you can feel there. He's not quite as enthusiastic, but his fingers are like steel against you, pulling you down with every rut of your hips.

This, you can do. This, you're familiar with.

You push on his shoulders, doing your best to get him on his back so you can have better access to the clasp of his jeans, but he resists. You try again, firmer, using a harsh suck against his skin as a distraction, but he still doesn't go.

Frustrated, you pull back.

"Not like this," He says. His voice clears some of the fog, and you frown.

"Do you want to be on top, then? Because I don't mind, I just need it," You tell him. He sighs a little, but he flips the two of you over so he's kneeling between your open legs and your back is cushioned against the mattress.

"How long has it been since you spent the night with someone who knows who you are?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he sits back on his knees.

You shift, uncomfortable. "A while. Why does that matter? Just fuck me."

"No," Taehyung says, voice gentle but firm. You cock a brow at him and move to get out from under him, but he stills you with a hand on your thigh.

"You are a goddess," He tells you, trailing his hands down so he can undo the laces on your steel-toe boots and slide them off. "You have held Victory in your palms and set her free."

His palms burn through the denim on your thighs, but you welcome it as he slides your jacket over your shoulders to the bed beneath.

"You are the winner of wars. You are the one who grants battlefield wishes. You are the dead's escort to Hades." He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek and then down your throat.

He pulls back as he gets to your collarbone, eyes blown wide with unfamiliar desire, and it makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You," Taehyung tells you, with desire in his eyes and belief in his voice, "Deserve to be treated like the goddess that you are, with the respect you have earned, and the care you deserve."

As often as you fuck people, it's been a very long time since anyone wanted to fuck you for any reason beyond your appearance and the personality you show them. But this? This look in the muse's eyes as his hands settle on your knees as he waits?

Taehyung wants to fuck you because you're you. Not despite it, not because he doesn't know . He has seen you at your worst and yet he keeps coming back, keeps showing up as you fall apart. Each time he stays, hands you a basket so you can pick the pieces of yourself up off the ground, holds the tape so you can mash it back together, and is ready to help steady you when you start to crumble again.

He's here for you , to treat you in a way no one has ever treated you before. He's your friend.

He cares.

You nod, however tentatively, and his lips are on yours in an instant. They're firmer now, less pliable and more controlling, but you don't mind. Not this time.

Not with Taehyung.

His hands don't hesitate as he strips you both of your clothes, but you can feel it each time he checks to make sure you're okay. The way that he watches your expression, the tense of your muscles under him, the cadence of your gasps for air between kisses, he reads all of it as clear as if it's a book in front of him. He slows down before you can stop him, his lips drawing back from the kisses he draws across your thighs, and he speeds up as your thoughts start to drift, swiping his tongue and two fingers through your folds to tease and bring your attention back to him.

His fingers bury themselves in your heat, crooking slightly to brush against that soft part of you that makes the world spin, and it's all too intense. His lips are hardly even touching your skin, just pressing gentle kisses against the skin of your thigh, a gentle complement to the way he glides his fingers in and out of you, slow and steady and delicious, but it's absolutely intoxicating.

He's talkative, too; he gives you constant praise. He tells you how well you take his fingers, how good you look with his fingers inside you, how absolutely fantastic you taste on his tongue, how he'd live between your thighs if he could.

It's too much, and you can't be sure why, not when your orgasm is approaching quicker than it ever has, not when your walls clench around him and you soak your sheets, not when he's cleaning your cum off his fingers with his tongue.

"Good," He purrs. "Now you're all warmed up."

His mouth hits your heat without hesitation or warning, before the aftershocks are even finished, and your hips buck upwards. His arms slide underneath your thighs only to grip them and bring them back down. You can't move much in his grip except to grind your pussy against his mouth, which he seems to enjoy, if the muffled grunts that escape him are any indication.

He doesn't stop until his tongue is buried inside you with one finger drawing lazy circles on your clit and you're cumming again, hands gripping the soft strands of his hair so tight that you would be afraid of pulling it out if you could focus on anything besides the feel of him against you.

He lets you ride the aftershock, this time. Waits until your pants die down slightly, until you're back in your mind.

"Good?" He asks you. His voice is deeper, rumbles instead of slides, but it breaks through the post-orgasm haze long enough for you to nod. “More?”

“More,” you agree, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him into a heated kiss. You haven’t been this clear-headed in a while. Every sensation is clear and crisp, every sound heightened, everything is simultaneously more while also being exactly what it’s always supposed to have been.

Taehyung’s cock is everything you could have expected from a muse; thick, long, beautiful, and it fills you in a way that’s indescribable as he slides inside. He groans at the feeling, deep and throaty and beautiful, and begins his thrusts nearly immediately.

It’s as slow as he was with his fingers; steady and forceful, but unhurried. As if he wants to take his time. As if he wants to savor it. Savor you .

“Do you have any idea how amazing you are?” He mutters, almost as an afterthought. “What you look like right now, what you look like when you’re fighting, when you’ve won and you’re triumphant? It’s fucking addictive, seeing that confidence in you.”

“Shit, Tae, don’t stop-”

“It’s so fucking intoxicating,” He groans, pace quickening. Your arms wrap around him more fully, nails like claws down his back as you arch your back to get him deeper. “You get this look in your eyes, like you can do anything you fucking want to, and it’s so fucking brilliant, because you can , you can do anything and everything you ever fucking want to do, and no one can stop you.”

A whine you’ll never admit to escapes your throat, and Taehyung drives his cock further into you.

“Let go, my sweet,” Taehyung purrs in your ear. “Let yourself relax, just this once. For me.”

His hand touches your clit and it’s so much, too much , you’re feeling everything so intensely that it takes a solid minute to realize you’re coming down from an orgasm. Taehyung has stilled inside you, unmoving but groaning as you flutter around him, and you push weakly at his shoulder.

He slides himself out of you, looking entirely too proud of wet spot underneath you and glistening against his lower stomach. You wobble your way up to rest your elbows underneath you, and it’s like he can sense your words before they come.

“No,” He says simply. “I don’t you to get me off with your mouth.”

“A hand then? I don’t want you to leave unsatisfied.”

A frown pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he leans down just enough that your lips are almost touching, a not-there kiss that you can only wish for.

“In what world is fucking you to the point of Elysium unsatisfying?”

The crowd around you is deafening; some of them are cheering for you, but the majority are rooting for your downfall. Such is the life of a challenging the champion, you suppose.

You don’t know how Taehyung found this place; maybe Artemis had heard rumors, or maybe he searched for it himself. You can’t bring yourself to care, not when you’ve got someone worth fighting on the other side of the arena.

The sand crunches beneath your feet. It’s hot, hotter than it should be since you’re still wearing your signature jeans and boots - without the jacket this time. You learned from that mistake.

Your vision tints pink as you size up your opponent; he’s massive, not one to be easily defeated, and you relish the challenge. It’s been so long since you’ve fought a giant. Excitement thrums under your veins as he turns to you. He scoffs.

If you had a little less control, you might be flying across the arena already. He clearly has no idea who’s standing across from him. Probably thinks you’re some demigod, come to challenge him for the fleece he isn’t supposed to have.

He’ll learn.

Something moves in the distance. It should blend in, considering how dark it is, but instead it draws your eye, and you don’t even question why. You would recognize him anywhere, have recognized him everywhere, and his presence calms you. Makes you remember a few nights ago, falling into bed in a hotel in Rome because the burn was to much and you needed him to help you release it.

“Try not to be too quick, princess,” The giant across from you huffs. You cock a brow and send a look to your muse, who just rolls his eyes, despite the smile playing across his face.

Violet rings your vision as you ready your stance. The announcer yells something that’s lost over the noise of the crowd. Taehyung leans forward, elbows on his knees, excitement and pride in his eyes.

The giant swings.

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