A story where the reader falls into a coma due to some unfortunate circumstances rip to them and they end up being taken to the demon slayer world by their guardian angel who’s actually pretty stupid if they’re putting the poor reader in demon slayer of all things. Anygays— so Reader is out there but knows Japanese because at least the angel knows that and meets the gang and tries to do the usual prevent as many deaths thing.
If you want this as a story let me know because oh boy I am full of crack filled ideas and I wanna make this story but only if people really want it yknow
02/02/16 - coming out (in any way or form) + sciles
“what is 29DLS?” <<PREV NEXT>>
“I think I want to come out,”
Stiles’ hands go still, because, what.
It’s been a normal day, just average. It was Thursday, both him and Scott’s class schedules at their busiest; Stiles has a full day of computer programming classes, and then goes to work in the afternoon at the campus marketing department as their IT guy. Which, is glorified study time if anything. And Scott studies elementary education, so between his student teaching and his actual classes, it’s pretty normal for them to come in this late, around nine when it’s pitch black out, but warm in their crappy rent-controlled apartment.
At this point in the day, all they want to do is just relax in the quiet with each other, which is really just lying different ways on the couch and checking their phones in silence.
It’s one of Stiles’ favorite times of the day.
Currently, he’s sitting on the end of the couch, feet propped up on their ottoman coffee table. Scott is so gracefully laid out on top of him, his head pillowed on Stiles’ lap, Stiles’ hand automatically going to his had, massaging his scalp, his fingers running through the dark curls methodically, both of them thumbing at their phones.
It was quiet and nice, Stiles was just reading a Buzzfeed post on Facebook that Allison had shared titled “Ten Reasons You Should Own a Beta Fish”, and Scott had basically dropped the biggest bomb there could ever be. Stiles’ couldn’t breathe what with the elephant taking 100% of the room’s space.
It’s quiet for a beat, Stiles’ eyes going wide, his phone forgotten in his hand as he glares at Scott, who, the fucker, is still just looking at his phone.
“Excuse me, what?”
Now Scott moves the phone away from his face, and Stiles is surprised to see a smile on Scott’s face, warm and cheerful.
Fuck, he’s so in love.
“I want to come out.”
He just blinks, blinks, and stares up at Stiles like he’s the sun and the moon and all of the stars in one.
Stiles can’t help it when he leans his head down to press his lips to Scott, warm and inviting as always.
“Okay,” he says.
Here’s the thing; Stiles loves Scott. He loves him with every fiber of his being and every and any ounce of compassion he has, and he’s felt this way since he was six, he’s sure of it. So, when Scott had kissed him on the night of their graduation party, buzzed and lit and giggly, he didn’t mind that immediately after, Scott had asked him not to tell anyone.
He’s known. It doesn’t matter that Stiles embraced his sexuality since he was a junior in high school. He didn’t expect Scott to, and he never did. And sure, everything became complicated that night. What used to be study sessions turned into make-out sessions, what used to be late night fast food runs turned into subtle date nights in the next town over. And everything that was them was now muted and exciting; a secret, for only them.
Stiles didn’t care. He’s wanted this, Scott, for so long, and from what Scott has told him, the feeling was mutual, he didn’t care if he had to keep it a secret. He loved Scott, and he’d wait for him forever, even if it meant until he was comfortable labeling himself with whatever he needed to. Even if it meant he couldn’t tell their friends, of that Scott couldn’t tell his mom, or that Stiles couldn’t even talk to his dad about the little black box he kept in his nightstand.
So, even four years later, Stiles still loves him. Especially when Scott has the terrifying idea of telling all of their friends and family at once, at Thanksgiving.
The usually are there; Melissa and John, Allison and Chris, Lydia, Malia, Kira, and Liam. It’s rare they all get to be together at once, almost too perfect of a moment, but that feeling is considerably gone when Scott asks him to help him with something upstairs. Because he knows the look on his face; it’s the one he gets whenever he’s afraid someone has noticed them being too “friendly”, getting too close, being overly affectionate.
“Stiles, I can- I can’t,” his breathing is heavy as he closes the bedroom door, looking everywhere besides at Stiles’ eyes.
Stiles hands instinctively go to Scott’s sides, holding him, grounding him. “Hey, Scotty, hey. Look at me.”
Even through his shallow breathing, he lifts his head to lock eyes, and Stiles gives a soft smile.
“It’s okay,” his hands moves up and down. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell them, okay? But if you do, if you want to, I’m going to be sitting right there, right next to you. And I love you, no matter what, Scott.”
And Scott’s breathing slows, and his eyes rim wet, and he can’t help the surge in his stomach at the man in front of him. His boyfriend. The love of his life, even, who was willing to wait for him, wait for whatever the hell is going on his head. And he knows how much Stiles hates lying to his dad, yet he was patient for four years, and even now still has the courage to run his hands over him and tell him that it can wait.
It can’t.
After a brush of lips, they walk back out to the living room, everyone mulling around, talking to each other, Charlie Brown idly playing on the television.
Stiles must sense the discomfort, or can probably hear the gears running in his head, because he stops to put a strong hand on his shoulder, gripping tight, grounding and supportive, before walking away to toss himself over the couch and falling into Allison and Lydia’s laps, a fit of giggles escaping them all.
And then Scott moves to stand in the living room, in front of the television, facing a room of the people he cares about most. The people he hopes will still love him that same way after today. Which, really, is profoundly idiotic of him to think. No one minded when Allison and Lydia started dating. No one batted and eye when Stiles had confessed his bisexuality. So, why does he feel so scared, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders?
He hears the sounds of the tv stop behind him, too busy staring at anything but someone’s eyes to notice who did it. A shaky breath leaves him, and he looks up, his eyes easily finding Stiles, remote in hand.
And he smiles.
It’s not much, not even different from any other time Stiles smiles, but it feels different. It feels special. And even though he knows he’s doing this for himself, for his happiness, he also wants to do it for Stiles. He has to.
“I’m gay.”
It’s abrupt, sudden, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop his head for spinning. And when he looks, the room is quiet and still, or perhaps that’s just his mind giving up on him.
“And Stiles is my boyfriend.” he breathes out.
“What?” Lydia is the first to speak- well, yell-, and she flips her head to glare at Stiles next to her, her eyes piercing.
“That’s what you’re most shocked about here?” Stiles snaps, brows furrowing like they do when he’s probably wondering how someone could have the audacity.
“Please, we already knew about Scott,” she says, waving a hand behind her as if to dismay the thought. “You guys have been dating and we’re just now finding out?”
Before Scott could interpret her words, he feels his mother’s arms slink around him, pulling him in tight like she used to do when he was younger. It’s warm and solid, and her arms feel like they have a home built in them, and he can’t help holding on to her. He also can’t help the sobs he muffles into her shoulder, secreting stress and anxiety as it leaves him.
Melissa shushes him, her hands running through his hair.
“Thank you for finally telling us,” she whispers in his ear, and wait, what. He pulls back, quickly wiping at his eyes.
“Finally?” he mumbles, and Melissa just smiles.
“Sweetie, you would run around the house when you were little saying you were going to marry Stiles one day. I’ve always known.”
Scott isn’t sure why, but it makes his heart leap, and suddenly a force has risen off of him, and it’s like he can breathe again. He’s not sure if he laughs or cries, or if it’s a mix of both, but he smiles at his mom. Sheriff comes up next to her and places a hand on his shoulder. And suddenly all of his friends are surrounding him, Allison wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace, Lydia kissing his cheek, Kira bouncing where she stands, and Malia offering him a smile. Liam mentions how he’s texting Mason.
And it feels warm, comforting. He is overwhelmingly relieved, never expecting it could all feels this good.
“You guys knew?” he asks his friends with a watery laugh.
“We’re your best friends, Scott. We’ve always kind of just known.” Allison speaks softly, her hand holding onto his.
“How come you never said anything?”
Kira steps over now, her head pillowing on his shoulder. “We wanted you to be ready to, whenever you wanted to.”
He’s speechless at that. He has so many people in his life who were patient and accepting, always around him. Now he just wonders why it’s taken so long.
Cue Stiles, who comes to his other side and takes his free hand, linking their fingers. He looks at Stiles, his boyfriend, his anchor, and he sees hope in his eyes and the future in his smile.
“What I would like to know,” Lydia saunters, arms crossed, eyes narrow. “Is how long you two have been dating. A month? 6?”
Scott doesn’t even get to swallow the lump in his throat before Stile says:
“Four years.”
His smile is smug when everyone’s eyes go wide, even Scott’s mom. And while they all mull it over, streams of consciousness and yelling about any signs from four years ago could have led to this, Stiles leans into his space.
“I’m proud of you.” he says low, for only him to hear, and tightens the grasp he has on his hand.
“I’m proud of me, too.” he breathes, nosing Stiles’ cheek, the smell of home somehow hidden in the earthy, spring scent of his skin.
