#i take a big nasty rip almost every night before i hop into bed

[yee-fxcking-haw]

Hi!! Could you possibly do a fic with Bakugo and Todoroki based on the lines from the song confident “she said it’s her first time” “I think she might’ve lied”

Where one of the boys are going on about their night with y/n and how it was their first time and the other says “I think she might’ve lied” and so on lol, thank you:)

I,,,, this ask,,,, I like it.

•She Might've Lied•

Summary: What the ask says lmao. Based off of the song Confident by Justin Bieber and Chance the Rapper. (College AU for legal reasons.)

Warnings: Oral (female receiving), mild overstim, multiple orgasms, mentions of a blowjob.

Pairing: Shoto Todoroki x Reader, mentions of Katsuki Bakugo x Reader (All aged up, 18+)

A/N: This turned into total fuckboy Todoroki but I am NOT mad about it, I simp aggressively. This is what my brain produced, I hope you like it! Thank you so much for such a fun request! I really enjoyed writing this.

Word Count: 1,428

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   "Shoto- oh my God- fuck- fuck- fuck." You pant, back arching as you fist the sweat soaked sheets beneath you. 

   You shiver as he pulls you apart and works you over. Everything inside you feels so tight and hot and good. 

   The tip of his tongue zeroes in on your clit and your whole body jolts back, almost afraid of how incredible it feels. 

   "Fuck no." He growls before throwing an arm over your hips so he can keep you glued to the mattress. 

   He slides the other hand up the outside of your thigh before delivering a harsh slap to the meat of your hip. 

   Your head is thrown back as you whimper out his name, hands flying to his hair as your walls start to flutter. 

   He's not even using his damn fingers, he's ruining you with his tongue alone. 

   He drops his jaw and flicks his tongue against your swollen bud with fervent speed, your eyes cross and you cry out with little to no shame. 

   "There! Fuck! Right there, baby, you got it." You sob out, hips rocking as much as they can under his strong arm. 

   Everything builds and snaps at once. Ribbons of silky pleasure shoot up your spine and down your legs as your core clamps around nothing. 

   And he doesn't fucking stop. 

   He moves with urgency, with dedication. His hands grab under your knees before he pushes up to fold your legs to your chest. 

   "Hold these." He demands with his mouth still against your cunt. 

   "I cant- fuck! I can't…" You twitch as his tongue works relentlessly, body slowly but surely becoming overstimulated. 

   "You fuckin' better." He says, voice dropping to a bone chilling tone. He glares up at you, eyebrows knit together as sweat drips from the crown of his two toned hair. 

   "Holy shit." You sigh as you take your legs from him with a weak hold, prying yourself open for him. 

   "Atta girl." As soon as you have a hold of your legs, his hands are free to carry out his dirty work. 

   One comes up to play with your tits as the other slides down to join his mouth at your center. His long, skilled fingers slide in. They find that perfect spot instantly, rubbing at it as he pulls you closer and closer to the edge before you've even stopped cumming the first time. 

   "Sho! I'm gonna- oh my fucking god-" Your words turn into strangled cries as your whole body turns to mush. 

   You feel the tears fall, your cunt pulse, your vision blur and you just scream. Goosebumps are all over your skin as your toes curl and your whole body trembles. 

   He just licks and licks and licks. Slurping and savoring everything you give him. He's always so nasty with it, always so dedicated to reducing you to a sweaty, sobbing mess. 

   "That's it, that's my good girl." He pulls his mouth away only to mutter those sweet words. 

   His fingers still move slowly within you, working to help you ride the aftershocks of the mind numbing back to back orgasms he's just given you. 

   "You're always so messy." He muses, finally pulling his fingers out so he can run them between your folds and gather your release. 

   You watch with your jaw dropped, panting and overwhelmed. He brings the cream covered fingers to his mouth, tongue lolling out to make a show of tasting you before he closes his lips around them completely. 

   "You a dirty girl?" He asks after he pops his fingers out. He starts to crawl up your body, caging you with his arms. 

   You loathe the fact that he's still fully clothed, while you lay completely bare beneath him. 

   You just nod, eyes wide and mouth agape as he presses his lips between your breasts. 

   His eyes flick up to yours, eyes full of sin and depravity. 

   "Whose dirty girl?" He asks against your skin. 

   "Yours, I'm your dirty girl." You say with a weak, unreliable voice. 

   "That's fuckin' right." He kisses a trail up to your throat, under your jaw, and finally your lips. 

   "Don't forget that." He whispers before hopping up to his feet far too quickly. 

   He always does this, rips you apart then saunters away like it's nothing. 

   You two have been going at it for months now, a very tense friends with benefits relationship. More benefits than friends, though. You occasionally share a laugh, help each other with homework when you have time, but most of the time you just fuck. 

   "Where are you going?" You ask, still reeling as your nerves twitch and fire. 

   "Boys night, I'm late." He flips his hair a little before winking at you. 

   "Don't look so heartbroken, I'll be back later." He laughs as he pinches your cheek. 

   "I'm not heartbroken, fuck off." You smack his hand away, pulling a blanket around you before you roll off the bed and walk to the bathroom. 

   "Katsuki's coming over later, don't bother." You quip as you round the corner. 

   "Oh I forgot, he's a big fan of those sloppy seconds then, yeah?" 

   Bastard. A big part of your arrangement is the no strings attached part, meaning you can both fuck anyone else, as long as you let each other know about it. 

   Katsuki Bakugo had been trying to get into your pants for months. You'd finally gone down on him the other night during a movie, successfully blowing his mind.

   You'd told the poor fool you'd never sucked a dick before, just to make him feel special. His ego didn't need to boost, but he sure got off to the thought of being the first person to fuck your pretty little mouth. 

   "He's a big fan of a good fuck." You snap as you turn the shower on.

   Shoto comes up to lean against the door frame behind you, looking absolutely delicious in his joggers and his adidas shirt. 

   "You two have that in common then." He smiles wolfishly before slapping your ass. 

   "Make sure you wash the sheets before he comes, you made a pretty big mess." He calls out to you before strolling out of your dorm room. 

   You roll your eyes and huff as you drop the blanket and step into the shower.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

   "I'm not fucking lying, she was such a whore about it, but she said she'd never done it before." Bakugo explains to a laughing Kirishima and Denki. 

   "Who's a whore?" Shoto waltzes into the common room where the rest of the boys wait for him. 

   "That cute chick you're always studying with, apparently she's got a freaky side." Sero chuckles, only making Bakugo turn a brighter shade of red. 

   "Oh yeah?" Shoto raises his eyebrows, glancing at Bakugo. 

   "She's fucking insane, best blowjob I've ever had. Not that you would know what that's like, icey hot." Bakugo sneers, arms crossing as he reclines into his chair.

   "Dude, there's no way she was that good if she'd never done it before." Denki says, leaning forward as he shakes his head.

   "I'm serious you sparky asshole, she said it was her first time!" Bakugo snarls. 

   Shoto can't help the bark of the laugh that leaves him, he runs his hands through his hair, then notices just how wet his chin feels. 

   "I think she might've lied." He sighs as he wipes his chin with the back of his hand, pulling it away to see some of your slick shining on the skin. 

   "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Bakugo grumbles, glaring at Shoto. 

   "You can tell dude, you've seen the way she walks into a room." He explains, so full of himself after spending the last half hour between your legs. 

   "What, did she fuck you too?" Bakugo stands up, chest puffed up as he strides towards Shouto. 

   "Nah." He sighs as sinks into one of the chairs, ignoring Bakugo's advances.

   "I fucked her." Shoto grins up at Bakugo, every jaw in the room drops before the rest of the boys start to hoot and laugh. 

   Kirishima jumps up to hold Bakugo back as he spews profanities at cocky Shouto. Sero and Denki are beside themselves, wheezing clapping as Shouto sits and enjoys the chaos he's created. 

   It's safe to say you won't be seeing Katsuki tonight, but you will be seeing a lot of Shoto.

[areiton]

broken open shell

Written for @badthingshappenbingo​, for the Reopening an Old Wound square. 

Warning: unhealthy mental state, brief suicidal ideation. Also, because I’m horrible, I reopened physical and mental wounds. Sorry, Sam. 

Read on AO3 | Follow the Series 

~*~ 

When the Winter Soldier rips him from the sky, it rips open something in him. 

He doesn’t realize it, not then, not for weeks, months, later, when he’s shaking on a balcony in Minsk, bile bitter on his tongue and screams echoing in his ears. 

He feels like he’s falling, still. 

He feels like he’s been falling, since Riley died and he screamed and did nothing to stop it. 

He shakes and smokes, and can feel eyes on him, in the darkness. 

Sam flicks the cigarette into the empty dark, and flips the Winter Soldier the bird and goes back to his cold empty bed to wait until morning. 

~*~ 

The truth that Sam doesn’t like to think about, that he avoids except when the silence is too loud to ignore--is he’s broken. 

He does the peer counseling that the VA expects of him, talks a damn good game--but watching Riley die shattered him, scooped out the best parts of him and left him a broken open shell. He can’t help people, not really--can only talk a damn good game and hope that no one is hurt in the process. 

Steve doesn’t see through him--he thinks maybe because Steve is the best man he knows, will ever know. He doesn’t think to look for the cracks in Sam. 

Maybe, though, it’s because Steve is so busy hiding the shattered webbing of his own self together. 

Either way--he doesn’t see. 

He sees the VA counselor, the war hero, the friend who lived and picked up the baggage, who came through the other side. 

Sam thinks--that’s not what happened. 

What happened is--he went through something. 

He’s still going through it. There is no getting over something, someone, like Riley. There is only learning to live with what happened. 

He thinks, sometimes, Barnes maybe understands that. 

~*~

He chases the Soldier. 

He chases the Ghost

He tells himself, he’s chasing Steve’s past and not running from his own. 

~*~

In Bangkok, he catches sight of a metal arm, gleaming in the neon bright darkness. 

In Tokyo, he screams himself awake three nights straight. 

In Helsinki, he finds chocolates on the pillow next to his. 

In Rio, he finds a note when he comes back from running along the water for hours, when he’s run so long and far that he can’t hear anything but the thud of his own heart--not his wings shredding or Riley’s or the screams that never quite go silent. 

~*~

Sam doesn’t tell Steve about the Soldier’s little gifts, the way he can count on the warm weight of his gaze on nights when sleep won’t come and concerned, rude notes telling him to fucking eat because he ain’t actually a bird. 

He doesn’t tell him about the nightmares, either, about the way he feels raw and exposed and one bad night away from imploding, a dangerous vulnerability he hasn’t felt since he first got home, when his baby sister sat in his bedroom every night for a month before she trusted him alone. 

He doesn’t tell Steve anything. 

It’s easier, he thinks. 

~*~ 

“I’m not special,” he tells the night, the Soldier, where he waits in the silence, “All of us from the Sandbox--we’re walking wounded, and no one sees it. I ain’t special--I should be able to live with this.”

He doesn’t say that he isn’t. 

He doesn’t have to. 

~*~

The thing is. 

The thing is--everyone sees the smile and they believe it. They see Steve’s strength and believe it. They see Nat’s cool calm and believe it. 

They see the surface and it’s so damn easy to believe--and anything else, it’s hard. 

Sam cleans his gun and wonders what he’d do, if someone saw him. 

~*~

It goes to hell in Tripoli. He’s exhausted, and probably had too much to drink, and has no actual idea where the fuck the Soldier is, and less desire to find out. He’s chasing a lead from Nat that he doesn’t think will turn up shit. Winter went to ground back in Oran and Sam doesn’t have much faith that he’s going to turn up this close to the last Hydra base he burnt out. 

Then he gets shot. 

As he goes down in a rush of burning metal and spinning blue sky and scarlet blood, he thinks--this isn’t how it’s supposed to end.

~*~ 

He wakes up in pain, screaming, and a leather clad hand is pressed against his mouth, silencing him. It’s bloody and Sam would gag, if he weren’t in so much fucking pain. He can see the cloud spotted sky above and shaggy hair and eyes. 

It’s the first time he’s seen Winter close enough to see the exact shade of his eyes, and he’s absurdly glad that if he’s going to die, he got to see those ice storm gray eyes first. 

“You’re not gonna die,” Winter says, and Sam almost laughs at how petulant he sounds, before the pain rips through him again and he blacks out. 

~*~ 

The bed is hard. 

It’s lumpy and smells like mold and vomit, and it’s disturbing just how reassuring the discomfort is. 

He squirms and a metal hand clamps down on his hip, holding him still. “You’ll rip your stitches,” Winter rumbles. 

“Gonna get an infection from this damn bed,” Sam says, and Winter huffs. He watches the Soldier move through the room, cleaning up the bandages and blood soaked towels, shoving them in a bag. He moves with a brisk efficiency, but Sam gets the feeling that even when the Soldier isn’t focused on him--his attention never does leave Sam. 

It’s disconcerting and reassuring, all at once, and he feels like they’re in a nameless city, separated by darkness, Sam on the balcony smoking, Winter watching through his scope. 

It’s a familiar feeling. 

“What happened?” Sam asks, eventually. 

“You were shot,” Winter says. “Through and through, shoulder. I cleaned and stitched you up.” 

“Who shot me?” 

“Hydra,” Winter says, simply. Then, “They’re dead now.” 

Sam blinks. 

Blinks again. 

“You killed them?” 

Winter gives him a curious, almost blank stare. “Yes. They shot you.” 

“Bucky--” Sam starts and Winter skitters back a step. Wary distrust crosses his face, and he dumps a bag on the nasty bed next to Sam. 

Then, without a word, he’s gone. 

~*~ 

The flop house Winter was using as a safe house is infested with roaches and rats, and Sam is close enough to suicidal to be worried about himself--but not so close he’ll stay. He calls Natasha for an extract and gets ready to deal with Steve’s worried questions. 

~*~ 

He can always tell when he’s close to Winter, because the air feels thicker--heavier, occupied, like they’re sharing space even when they aren’t together. 

He misses that feeling, in DC, in his little house that never felt like home, and he misses it when he lets his demons chase him from there to his Mama’s in Harlem. 

It’s safer there, and she feeds him up real good too, and he feels as close to whole as he has since before Riley fell, when he finally gets word that the Soldier raided a Hydra safe house in Paris, and he hops on a plane to France. 

~*~ 

He doesn’t scream, on the passenger jet filled with newlyweds and tourists. 

He does go to the bathroom and have a panic attack so bad he loses a little bit of time, somewhere over the Atlantic, wrapped up in the fear of falling, and the fear that maybe this time, he won’t fall. 

~*~ 

He chases the Soldier. 

He chases the Ghost. 

He chases BarnesJamesBucky. 

He chases because he doesn’t know how to stop or what he’ll do when he does. 

~*~ 

In Capetown, he gets into a scuffle with Crossbones and his crew, and it rips open the still healing bullet. Not so bad that it takes Sam out of the fight, but enough that Rumlow punches him twice and is going for a third when a metal hand clamps down on his wrist. 

Winter shoots Crossbones’ men without ever looking at Sam or Rumlow, then drags his gaze, cold and remote behind his mask, to Rumlow. 

“Don’t,” Sam chokes, when the muzzle, hot enough that Rumlow flinches back, presses against his temple. 

Ice storm eyes tip toward him, and he huffs. 

He shoots out Rumlow’s knees, and then hefts Sam to his feet, dragging him god knows where. 

“I got a hotel,” Sam interjects. 

Winter hesitates, and Sam huffs. “You aren’t takin’ me to one of your crack house flops, Barnes, I will bleed out in the street first.” 

Winter growls, but obediently turns them toward the hotel Sam’s been staying in. 

~*~ 

Winter is surprisingly gentle as he strips Sam out of his shirt and prods the bullet hole that’s bleeding, a sluggish ooze. 

“Man, that’s gross,” Sam grumbles. “Wash your damn hands.” 

He does, obediently, and then comes back, almost straddling Sam as he readies a needle and thread to stitch him closed. 

Sam tips his head back, not willing to watch. The sick stab and tug is bad enough, watching would make him puke all over Winter’s tac gear. 

“Why’d you step in?” Sam asks, because he can’t handle the sensation of Winter warm in his lap and the stomach turning nausea of the needle in his skin, and he’s tired enough that it slips out. 

Things like this are saved for the silent empty spaces of night and never answered. 

“They hurt you,” Winter says, and his eyes flick to Sam’s for a moment. “I don’t like people touching what’s mine.” 

Sam turns that in his head and Winter finishes stitching him up. 

~*~ 

He puts his hands on Winter’s waist, when he finishes. Holds him there, and Winter--he lets him. 

“Am I yours?” Sam asks. 

The thing is--

He’s broken. 

A shattered thing scraped raw by war and death and almost dying. 

He isn’t safe for anyone, not even himself. 

And no one, no one sees the walking wounded, no one sees the ripped up parts of him, no one sees him bleeding out. 

Winter--Winter sees him. 

Maybe because Winter is just as shattered, just as broken, just as damaged and dangerous. More so, after the shit he’s lived through. 

They aren’t good for each other, aren’t healthy or whole . 

But Winter is warm and solid and he licks Sam's cock and groans when Sam tugs on his hair, he’s gentle when he fingers Sam open, and smiles when Sam snarls and fucks down on his fingers, and when Sam rides him, his hands are big and hot and protective on his skin. 

He sees himself, all the fractured sharp edges and bleeding wounds, reflected in Winter’s eyes, and he sobs, a little, when he comes, and Winter licks away his tears. 

~*~ 

He wakes up screaming, caught in blankets and falling from the sky and Riley shattered on the desert floor. 

He wakes up alone, screaming, in sheets that smell like sex, and come sticky on his ass and thighs. 

He closes his eyes and breathes. 

Steps out on the balcony, into the sights of an assassin, a cigarette dangling from his lips and smokes, and wonders how broken it makes him, that he feels safe in Winter’s crosshairs. 

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @thedaughterofkings!

Hope you have a great Christmas and that your holiday season is wonderful!

Read on AO3

*****

Snowed Inn

Snowflakes buried the windshield, wiper blades barely able to keep up with the onslaught and the landscape was coated in white, almost to the point of whiteout. Derek had been slowing down how fast he drove for some time and time felt like it was moving at a crawl to Stiles. He had already gone through all his snacks, even the emergency ones, and his phone’s battery was looking to die within the next hour if he didn’t get somewhere to charge it. He’d been left with staring at Derek since there was nothing else to look at or so he claimed to Derek, it was true but not the entire truth. Being in love with a werewolf was hard when you had to come up with clever ways to avoid the truth while not telling outright lies that would give you away. 

“Derek, we have to stop in the next town, this blizzard isn’t ending and some of us wouldn’t live through a crash. This wouldn’t be a problem if someone hadn’t insisted on using the Camaro instead of beautiful Roscoe, who has 4-wheel drive and could survive through anything.” Stiles said. He looked away and fiddled with the GPS instead of getting caught staring in eyes with colors in a pattern to rival kaleidoscopes.

“Stiles, the heat in your jeep broke before we had to go and we couldn’t waste any time staying in another pack’s territory just to get it fixed, if it could even be fixed that day. Boyd said he’d fix the damn thing for free if we left it so stop complaining about leaving it behind.” Derek said, briefly turning his head to Stiles and then looking back at the road. The snow was only getting worse and even werewolf reflexes wouldn’t help him drive if he couldn’t see a damn thing.

“My baby was just acting up for attention since you keep refusing to let me take us somewhere with it for a change.” Stiles said. They had hit the city limits and there were no other cars to speak of on the road, even a couple of street lights had gone out, everyone else already taking shelter to avoid the snowstorm. They get close to their temporary destination, only a minute or two at most.

“The last time I was in that thing, I was bleeding out to death and that’s the only way you’re getting me in that deathtrap ever again.”

“Roscoe is not a deathtrap; you just have no sense of taste. Turn right there, it’s the only decent inn in town according to the reviews I’m finding on my phone and we’re going to be stuck here overnight at least, maybe all of tomorrow too.”

Derek slowed to a crawl as he looked for a spot to park in the inn’s parking lot.  “Fine but I’m paying. The last time I let you pay for something, you kept complaining about it for the next three weeks.” He saw what was probably the only available spot and pulled the car in. They both took their seatbelts off, Stiles flailing a little because he slipped a little and his one hand ended up on Derek’s leg, too close to his thigh for Stiles’ heartrate. Derek stiffened and Stiles moved his hand away fast, willing the blush to stay away from his face.

“Maybe if you had paid attention to the damn movie I wouldn’t have felt ripped off. Why did you even go with me to see that terrible werewolf movie if you weren’t going to pay attention to it?” Stiles said, keeping up the argument to distract from the slipup. “I thought it offended your werewolfy sensibilities to see how badly people see your kind and that you refused to see any more after the pack bad horror movie night.” 

Derek moved quickly to get out of the car, Stiles following after, both with small bags full of essentials for the night, as they braved the snow to the entrance of the inn. Derek was silent on the walk, letting the conversation drop hard instead of respond. Garish lights proclaimed it the Full-Moon Inn, Stiles turning with a quip begging to be said only for Derek to cover his mouth with his hand. “Not a word, Stiles. Make one comment on this and I’ll bury you in the snow myself.”

Stiles licked Derek’s hand causing him to grimace and pull it back. “Who, me? Don’t be such a sourwolf, I’d never make a comment about the werewolf in a inn called Full Moon.” Derek glowered at that, opening the inn door a little harder than necessary. 

He stomped to the front, Stiles following behind and said to the receptionist, “We’ll take two rooms for the night.”

“I’m sorry sir, we only have one room right now. We have a bunch of travelers staying here because of the storm and it is only good luck we even have the one still available. Will that be okay with you two?” The receptionist said. Looking between Derek with his serial killer impression on point and Stiles fidgeting away, the woman looked doubtful that it would be fine.

“We’ll take it.” Stiles chimed in to save the girl from Derek. “Come on, big guy,” Stiles patted Derek’s arm, lingering a second longer than necessary because he’s only human and anyone would so who could blame him.  “Let’s get up to room and sleep. Trying to sleep in the Camaro is hell on my neck and a bed will be good for a change after this past week.” Stiles leaned his head away from Derek to crack it, a simple black mark on display with Derek staring at it like he usually does. Stiles wanted to know where Derek’s mark would be but that isn’t something you could just ask. The girl handed over the key to room 7 to Stiles, Derek pulling his wallet out to pay quickly to a sly grin from the receptionist before retreating after Stiles. 

The duo made their way to the room, getting in with Stiles tossing his bag on the floor. “I claim first shower. I’ve got to reek by now after going without so long, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude. And you don’t smell that bad.” Derek said, walking to the bed and taking out a pair of pajama pants and a toothbrush. “Make sure to brush your teeth, your breath stinks like your nasty lacrosse gear after you practice with Scott.” Stiles gives him a dirty look at that before he closes the door behind him as an end to that conversation. Derek reads a book and then takes his turn in the shower, coming out with only a pair of pajama pants on. Stiles stares for a moment, then shakes himself and turns to face the bed instead of Derek.

“So…” Stiles begins and stops. 

“We can share it, it’s not any different from pack nights.” Derek looks a little unsure, still staring at the bed as Stiles gets under the covers on one side of the bed.

“From the puppy piles?” Stiles settles finally with a small sigh, relaxing into the comfortable bed.

“Stiles, stop calling them that.”  Derek grumps at Stiles.

“Never, sourwolf. Now hop into the bed and turn the light off while you are at it.” The two settle in for the night, both keeping strictly to their side. The rustle of clothes, change in breathing and rustle of more hair than is human tells Stiles that Derek had shifted into a wolf, probably to get as close as possible to the puppy piles back home as possible. It slightly hurt to think he would never sleep with him as a human but that was an old pain by now as sleep took him at that final thought.

Morning comes and Stiles feels a line of heat along his back and across his chest. He sighs and huddles a little more into the heat before a thought sparks in his head that this isn’t right. A quick inhale sounds next to his head before he feels a pair of lips gently kiss his neck, right on a mark that has laid dormant all his life. Most people had been born with such a mark somewhere and it never activates, never strikes so hard to the very soul of a person, that resonance of another soul that matches yours. People said it only works with soulmates in love and Stiles’ parents had been like that, his dad’s mark on his right hand and his mom’s mark on her shoulder. That is also something not right, he and Derek aren’t together and while he’s been pining away for years, Derek has never shown the same as far as Stiles has seen. Yet that small kiss kicked his heart into overdrive because of the brief flash, waking the werewolf up the rest of the way and to realize what he had just done. He bolted out of the bed, standing and fidgets a little, looking nervous but hopeful at the same time, something Stiles had seen only a couple times through the years. He keeps starting to open his mouth, only to close it again. After this routine for a couple of seconds, he makes a run for it to the bathroom but Stiles grabs his hand before he can get away. “What was that, Derek? I won’t let you run away without an answer. I’ve been pining away for years now and only find out now that you care that much?”

Derek takes the time to pull on his sweatpants, Stiles doesn’t know if he should mourn the loss of the sight of naked Derek or be thankful because that’s insanely distracting when they need to be having a serious conversation. Derek and feelings are already a risky mix, adding in him smelling just how hot Stiles finds him isn’t going to help things out. 

“At first, you were too young.” Derek looks pained as he says that, the specter of Kate haunting him still to this day. He’s grown since then, the summer spent searching for Erica and Boyd (and subsequent rescue) was when Stiles realized how Kate had done what she had done and felt sick for days after that realization. It had taken the following years to finally get Derek to at least lower his burden of guilt for days at a time instead of hold tight to it every day. “Then it was never the right time and I thought you had a thing for that one new guy.”

“Josh? He’s a friend from college, Derek. He could never have competed with you and he wouldn’t be interested in me.” Stiles said.

“Given how he smelled around you, he was interested.” Derek’s lips curved down, his entire face darkening at the thought.

“Awww, no need to get jealous. You’ve always been the wolf for me. Now when did you fall in love, sappywolf, because that’s what it is if the mark flashed like that? Enough stalling about other people, I’m going to get that answer no matter what. It’s just a question of how long you can stand me annoying you to find out the answer.”

“You’re always annoying, Stiles.”

“Still annoyed my way into your heart, now give it up, Derek.”

“…That summer we were looking for Erica and Boyd.” Derek shifted uncomfortably.

“All the way back then?” Stiles eyes were wide open, mouth hanging open a little unattractively. 

“Yes.” Derek crossed his arms in front of him with his answer.

“Damn, it took me a little longer to give up on denying it was just a crush. How long do we have this room for?” Stiles shook himself from his surprise, eyebrows waggling at the question.

“Til tomorrow.”

“Perfect, now get your furry ass over here because I have been wanting to climb you like a tree for years and now can do so, as long as you are okay with it because consent is very important and sexy and I don’t want to ignore…”

Derek interrupted before Stiles could wind himself up with anxiety. “It’s more than okay, Stiles. I’m ready for that too.”

[rallis-fatalis]

White Walls

Keeping an adventurous and inquisitive dragon cooped up in a single boring town was a difficult endeavor, Kaqemeex was starting to realize. Especially when that dragon thought the grass was greener and the walls whiter on the other side. When Rallis disobeys her mentor and leaves the safety of Taverley for the first time, her awe and innocence of the world is shaken. The city next door may have been the grandiose and incredible thing she dreamed of seeing all this time, but every rose had its thorns and being pricked never felt good.

Rallis laid down in her usual mud puddle, pouting into the soft dark muck. Kaqemeex was unfortunately used to her childish antics by now and knew what they meant. Laying in the mud meant she was upset she wasn't getting something she wanted, and in return Kaqemeex also wouldn't get something he wanted: a clean dragon. Rallis growled angrily in her mud, ruined tattered robes getting covered in brown. Her outfit used to be white and perfectly sewn. Now they were tannish greenish from the repeated grass and mud stains and torn everywhere they could be. The sleeves were ripped off until they reached Rallis' shoulders, essentially making the top a regular shirt, and the robe bottoms were given the same treatment to about her knees, effectively making it a short skirt. Both had holes that had been patched and re-patched, one of which looked as if it were about to come undone with all her current flailing and rolling.

Kaqemeex sighed as he watched the face-planted dragon throw a tantrum. He thanked Guthix he was blessed with immeasurable patience, unlike Sanfew who would likely make Rallis do all the laundry again if he found her like this.

"This is not going to change my mind," Kaqemeex told her. He spoke slowly and clearly so he could let every word sink in. "In fact, it is doing quite the opposite. You are not ready to see the city yet." One of the druids had to leave for Falador that morning, somewhere Rallis had been begging to go ever since she heard of the place. Kaqemeex had told her no once again, thus leading to the current predicament.

Rallis moaned and whined and rolled in the mud. "I want to seeeeee!"

"Not yet! One day, but not yet. Most people are scared of things that do not look like them and do not understand. The people in the city will be scared of you. And Falador has people who will hurt you because you are different."

"Not true," she pouted.

"I am sorry, but it is. I would love if it was not. Why don't you get out of the mud and wash off? I will let you have as much fruit as you want." Sanfew would have chided him for rewarding her for such terrible behavior, but he just wanted her out of the mud sooner rather than later.

Rallis' head shot up at the mention of fruit. "Really?"

"Promise. Now go clean up before Sanfew sees."

The dragon giddily jumped into the nearby river, eager for her treat.

____________________________________________________

The day sped by, dinner came and went, and soon all of Taverley was sound asleep. All save one disobedient rambunctious dragon. Rallis grinned as she snuck away from the druids, causing not a single stir. Sneaking away from some sleeping old guys was so much easier than the stunts she pulled down in Taverley Dungeon. She ran south as fast as she could once she was in the clear, breathing in the fresh air of freedom. It felt so freeing to be alone in the quiet darkness, no one talking her ear off and making her do things. It was just her, the night sky, and the quiet wonderful world to explore.

Thankfully for her, Rallis could see in the dark better than any human. Every tree, stone, and blade of grass was as visible to her as if it were day. Even from her reasonable distance away, Rallis could see the huge white walls that guarded the city shine with the moon. She smiled and began to run, eager to see what was so great about this 'Falador.'

Rallis was awestruck at just how big the white walls were up close. They looked so much smaller from far away, and all the stories she had been told paled in comparison to the real thing. She looked up and down for some break in the stone so she could crawl inside. She'd rather not have to climb all the way up. Even though she could with her claws, that was quite the nasty fall if she messed up. Luck seemed to be on her side tonight as she found she wouldn't have to climb after all. Part of the wall down the road crumbled into a pile of bricks and mortar. Something big and heavy must have destroyed it. That was her ticket inside. With a startlingly loud cacophony of crumbling, Rallis scaled the brick pile and flopped onto the other side. She hissed at her tumble and looked up to see what she had snuck out for.

At first, she was confused. Why were there more big white walls in front of her? Hadn't she just hopped over them? She walked closer and found herself at the edge of a tiny river. On the other side of the river stood the other white walls. She would have swam across, but it didn't look like there was much land to run around on on the other side. So she settled for walking around to find an opening.

The more Rallis wandered, the more confused she grew. Everything in here was made of white walls! It was the most disorienting and foolish design she had ever seen. Were it not for the big white stone structure across the river, she would have grown lost multiple times.

"The humans build a bad place," she mumbled as she continued on through the pale stone graveyard. As she passed a more open space with a much bigger opening to the outside, she found the path branched. Although the smells of water and nature beckoned her down one path, the other led to the white walls beyond the river. Rallis bounced excitedly at the bridge that crossed the river. "It's a house! A big white house!" She had never seen a living space so big before and was beyond excited to explore.

She eagerly sped across the bridge and looked around in wonder. There was a big open area and lots of parts to the big white house. A part of her mind tugged out the word 'castle' but she was too excited to correct herself. She didn't know where to begin her exploring, it was all so incredible and big! The man walking her way ensured she wouldn't have to make that decision. He had on armor as white as the walls around them and a sword that shone as silver as the moon. His shield had a yellow star painted on it, and a cape with the same design in the middle. His long messy brown hair reminded Rallis of her human friends' bed head, but she didn't laugh at the sight this time. The sword pointed her way told her not to.

"How did you get in here, you spawn of Zamorak?!"

Rallis wasn't sure what he was talking about, giving him a confused chirp, and started to walk up to him to talk.

"You'll take not a single step more, monster!"

He swiped his sword at her, tearing a clean hole through her top, but thankfully missing Rallis herself. Rallis shrieked and jumped back before the sword could hit her. "Stop! Why you attack?!" She backed far up, putting distance between them in case he decided to strike again.

"Hmph. So the demon speaks. Nothing you say will stop me, however, so don't waste your breath. I only want to hear your last as you die."

Rallis was scared and confused. Who was this human and why was he attacking her for no reason?! "Stop! Please! What I did?! I did no wrong!"

Her assailant snorted and aimed his sword at her. "You do not have to do wrong to be wrong, monster. I don't know why a demon like you came here or what tragedies you sought to cause, but I'll make sure you leave in pieces! I will not let a monster like you have your filthy way with us!"

The man ran forward to strike, slamming his sword down above Rallis' head. She yelped and skittered out of the way, slipping on the white stone floor of the bridge. She ran as fast as she could from the swordsman, but he was fast too despite the armor.

"Just like your god! You run like a coward! No amount of running will save you!"

All her instincts from her time spent fleeing the humans in black armor kicked in. She sprinted as fast as she could, turning sharp corners in hopes of slowing him down or slamming him into a wall. Alas, she had no luck losing him. She almost felt her tail feathers get swiped off from one hit of his sword. She ran faster, gunning for the crumbling brick pile. She nearly cried tears of joy once the hole in the wall came into view. She threw herself at the crumbling mess and began to climb, kicking down loose bricks for the knight to trip on. Unlike Rallis, her pursuer could not see well in the dark, and sure enough fell prey to a misplaced brick beneath his foot. As he went down, he dropped his shield and grabbed Rallis by the tail, yanking her down the bricks with a cry. He slammed a foot on her tail as he regained his footing, making her scream bloody murder.

The man pulled his blade back to cut Rallis' head clean off. "By Saradomin, you will be judged!"

He brought his blade down, but he was not rewarded with the feeling of metal slicing through flesh. Instead he was met with a sharp loud clang and a pain indescribable in his hand. Something, many somethings, pierced through the metal of his gauntlet and went straight through his hand and the hilt of his sword. He let go of his sword with a howl and cradled his hand, all thoughts of killing his foe gone. Puncture wounds went straight through his hand and even the metal of his gauntlet on the other side. He glared at his prey and found blood dripping from her teeth, a horrified look on her face. She was too scared to apologize or help, scrambling over the rubble pile and off into the night, eager to get back to the safety of Taverley.

___________________________________________

Rallis didn't go to sleep that night. Kaqemeex found her early the next morning solemnly watching the fish swim by in the river. Something was troubling her, he could tell. He brought over an apple and sat down next to her. She didn't even take the fruit. Now he was certain something was wrong, and whatever it was it was big.

"Would you like to talk?"

The dragon shook her head no.

"Alright. Maybe not now then. Whenever you are ready." He placed the apple in her lap, sure she would want it later. The two quietly watched the fish swim by, enjoying the early morning peace with only the sound of the flowing water to keep them company. Were Rallis not so sad, he would find it rather pleasant.

"I have been thinking since yesterday," Kaqemeex said. "About your desire to see Falador. I think maybe next time I visit, I could bring you along. I would leave in about two weeks. Perhaps it is time you--"

Rallis paled and shook her head. "No! No white city! I don't want to!"

That was a 180 the druid was not expecting. "Are you sure? You have wanted to go for so long."

She shook her head adamantly. 'How curious,' he thought. 'What changed?' It was then he noticed a new hole in her shirt. He had grown so accustomed to her ruining her clothes, he hadn't immediately noticed. But this hole was no rip from rough play. It was clean and precise, like a knife sliced it open, and an idea formed in his head he wasn't happy with. Kaqemeex narrowed his eyes at Rallis but said nothing. His scolding wouldn't make things better. She already seemed to be beating herself up enough. He pat her head and stood. "Whenever you are ready then. I hope you will remember I set rules to keep you safe. You would have to be sure to follow them if we went. I am sure you understand why."

Rallis nodded her head with a whine. Kaqemeex left her alone. She ate her apple in silence as she dipped her feet in the river. This human world was a scary place, and she found herself wishing now more than ever she could curl up with her mom and brothers in the safety of her family.

[ikonislife]

Home.

-Hoseok (J-hope) x female reader

-Friends to Lovers softness

-“How could I fucking hate home when to me, you’re home!”

“I like you.” There was an ease in the way he sighed so contently that sentence as if matter of the heart had always been weightless. It was as if all the pain of unrequited love, all the sorrow of heartache since the beginning of mankind had always been effortless and thoughtless as a breath. It was almost beautiful… Almost.  As you stared up above, leaning back in the patio chair with your feet up on the railing of your apartment’s balcony, the sky had been inky and far too bright for the heaven to shine through, your eyes glossed over with, hell, you didn’t even know what it was. Nonchalant, unimpressed, light? For so long you’ve harbored feeling for Jung Hoseok, the man so beautiful in all of his duality that had left you breathless since you were both learning the alphabet. To you, he was Hobi, bright as the sun and happier than a field of sunflowers in full bloom. No honey in this world could compare to his sweetness, how caring he had always been and how beautiful his soul will always be. 

“Good one, Hobi.” You bit out in a near mirthless chuckle, “Say it a few more time and I might actually believe you.” 

A sip of green tea to calm your soul, though no longer piping hot as the moment Hoseok had handed to you, warm enough to keep your blood running. You’ve never believed it, your Hobi, sweet and lovely, the kind of man you bring home to your parents could be anything else but that. His reputation preceded him, and it too made it back to your little neighborhood, one he had left in pursuit of the bigger and better. His kid brother raved about the amazing life he had led, the people he made friends with, and the girls… You felt your heart clenched as Chanwoo words flourished with excitement of the amazing dates, how beautiful the girls were, and the fun they had. Your little naive heart could never, didn’t dared dream to compete with. You couldn’t believe the preposterous stories but now, you wondered if you had simply refused to open your eyes to the new world, a world you had lost your Hobi to, all because you couldn’t deal with the fact that he had changed. 

You never spoke a word of it, not during the many phone calls you shared, not even when he came home to visit. Gone were the leather jacket and styled hair Chanwoo and Hoseok’s friends had spoken so fondly of, gone too was the many terms and slangs hopelessly lost on your foolish self they had used to describe a much cooler version of your childhood friend. He came home the dorky Hobi you remembered with stars lighting his eyes and a warm fire in his soul. He reminded you of freshly baked apple pie on a cool autumn night, cuddling up beside the glowing ember of the fire place and hot cocoas. Your heart thrown for a loop and for the first time in your life, his hug felt like a lie. 

You spent that week doing a song and dance about your daily life, all in a big effort to avoid him, doing your best to feel a bit of normalcy with the storm brewing in your heart. Did your best too, to stay out of his way once your company had decided you outgrown the little niche this corner of the world and sent you right into the vibrant life of the big city, his city. Millions of places life could’ve sent you but life’s funny in its own twisted sense of humor, it likes to watch people suffer and life had never taken a favor with you. Nothing could’ve prepare you for the day your company had placed you right into the lap of Jung Hoseok, an apartment all paid for just one floor away - you were F103 and he, F203. Funny thing too, apartments are, it was nothing more than a bigger, better, glorified version of your old bedroom. Sure the space was yours, sure the freedom was there once that front door close but deep down, it truly never was, will never be. Fact of the matter was you shared a roof with hundreds other tenants just as you had shared a roof with your siblings. One major difference, you had traded your annoying brother stomping away at your ceiling for Hoseok and his morning stomp from being late for work was the very least of your concerns. Every late night private party, every morning fuck, every single time he forgotten to close his window (a nasty habit he got since he was a mere baby, gotten sick countless time yet lesson never learned), you were suddenly reminded of how little you really know the man you thought was your best friend, just how much lied he had fed you every Thanksgiving, every Christmas, and just how little you mattered to him.

“I’m so into you, it scares me a little.” The words vibrating through that alluringly deep voice, yet it did nothing to comfort the turmoil in your heart. Your dress swayed in the soft breeze of a mild autumn night, a year now since you’ve learned to live with the baggage that come with Jung Hoseok. Though the soft moans and creaks of bed haunting your nightmare no longer manifest often, courtesy of a very very awkward conversation, the damage was done. You’ve learned to accept, and you’ve adapted even if the progress made barely considerable. 

“Alright cut it out. I know you’re into mocking me and all but. What do you think you’re doing?” But you weren’t a fool. You too a different woman than the innocent childhood best friend Hoseok left behind for the glamour and felt the need to put up a facade for, to lie to. You’ve been duped for far too long to take anything Hoseok say at face value. You’ve dreamt of the day you hear those words, the fanfare and lightness left from the dissolving of all the suffering through years of unrequited love. But this moment, hearing the little confession, it brought nothing but the fire of hell upon your soul, souring your inside, and searing your skin with disgust. 

“Well you say if I say it a few more time you’ll believe me.” Perhaps the sentiment was earnest, as earnest as fuckboy Jung Hoseok could manage… God, you hated that word. Fuckboy… or rather, you hated that your dear best friend had gotten boiled down to how smooth his lines was and how amazing the heaven his tongue provided could be. His beautiful soul withered away with pointless small talk and his wonderful, magnificent mind lost to the moans of momentarily gratification. 

“Might. I said might.” You corrected, half way hopped out of your chair before facing him with a grimace, a sharp pain in your chest. “And are you insane? You can’t just casually say something like that and expect me to… to what? fall to my knee? willingly add my name to your long laundry list? suck your dick? let you fuck me till I can’t distinguish up from down?” Your chest puffed up, eyes redden and for the first time in a long time, Hoseok was scare. He was truly fearful because the last time anguish had flashed so painfully in your eyes despite your best effort of hiding it behind anger, he had told you of his plan to move away.

“Jesus, Y/n. Is that how you fucking think of me?” His hand reluctantly reaching forward yet before it could sooth your raging soul, you had slapped it away in complete disbelief. “Is that all I am to you? A loser that will do anything to get in your pants?” There was no denying the hurt spreading through his veins like wild fire, searing every bit of his skin with disappointment… Disappointment that he was no longer Hobi in your heart. 

“What do you want from me, Hoseok? You can’t really expect me to still be that gullible girl patiently waiting for every phone call, bated breaths and anxious heart counting down the day until you come home? You’ve lied to me for so long so why should I believe anything you have to say. I don’t even know who you are anymore, Hoseok.” 

You bit out bitterly and Hoseok remained silent, what could he say when every word that came out of your mouth was true. He loved having your attention, craved it to a point where he was willing to make a fool out of you fearing that the new him would drive you into the arms of someone else. He was selfish, yes, so incredibly selfish but it was all because he wanted you all to himself. But at the same time, he loved the new him, stains and all its hell fire glory. The party made him feel alive and for once, he wasn’t nerdy Hoseok waiting for his best friend and her fiery soul to come rescue him from the playground’s bully. People paid attention to him because he was Jung Hoseok, not because he was Y/n’s best friend, Y/n’s little pet, Y/n’s boy toy or whatever else jealousy had conjured up. He was cool, he made women swoon and men envious. With a well-placed smirk and a few charming words in that sultrily deep voice, the world was at his feet. For once he was the man. He knew lying was wrong, but he wasn’t ready for you to learn of the new him. Fearful that disgust would replace the love you had for him twinkling in your lovely eyes. 

“No… Don’t say that, please. You know me, I’m me, I’m Hobi.” Oh the desperation in his heart, if he could tear it out of his chest right moment and present you with the truth, he would. But ripping his heart out would also mean ripping you out of his soul because truly, you own his heart. He clutched your hands in his trembling ones, tear had begun to dot the length of his lashes. “Hmm? Y/n… It’s Hobi.” He pressed your palm to his cheek, nuzzling in close as he always did but this time, desperation drawn out a small kiss and placed it delicately on your wrist over your tiny bee tattoo. He had nearly forgotten how much trouble you had gotten into, drunk out of your mind, paired with the foolishness of 16 years olds agreeing to get a matching tattoo with him. He’d have a sunflower and you’d have a tiny bee. You had insisted that he was as bright as the sunflower and you, nothing but a small bee lingering, drawing from her flower friend’s brightness and strength. If Hoseok really did have his way that night, you would have the sun dainty on your wrist and he, the humble Earth. You were his sun, his warmth, and his everything. 

“Stop, Hoseok. I know you hate being Y/n’s dorky best friend Hobi, just as certain as I know you hate home.” You voice wavered at the sentence you’ve for so long despised, denied, and suppressed even if you knew it was the truth. You knew home was always too small for Jung Hoseok and he deserved the world, but you didn’t let yourself believe it. Because for Jung Hoseok to conquer the world, it would’ve meant he left you behind. 

“How could I hate home, hmm, Y/n? How could you even say that?” You couldn’t remember the last time you had saw him cry… The tear streaming down his cheeks and how his hands still clutching so tightly on yours as if fearful you’ll dissipate the second he let go. “How could I when… When…” The word choked in his throat, a ragged gasp was all that escaped when he truly realized just how angry you were. Never before had he seen the light behind those beautiful eyes darken so, and to be here, to know he was the reason, he dimmed out the universe inside your soul, it was terrifying. 

“When what? When what, Hoseok? Spit it out!” Your feeble little heart no longer able to contain the surge of emotion rising at an exponential rate. It exploded with the vigor of watching him laughing away with his exes, of hearing those vulgar words fallen from his lips, of crying yourself to sleep to the moans of faceless and nameless, of realizing that after all these years… You still love him.

“You’re home, Y/l/n Y/n. How could I fucking hate home when to me, you’re home! I fucking love you, what about that is so hard to understand?”

The very next second your lips were on his and the world melted away. The distant between home and this new hectic life of yours no longer exist, line blurred between Hoseok and Hobi, and suddenly, ceased to exist too was the anger in your heart. Hoseok stiffen under your unexpected touch but soon melt into the way your lips desperately moulding against his, gentle fingers dancing across his chest and rest against the sharpness of his jawline. He stilled himself, reveled in the delightful taste of your lips - bitter of the tea mingling with the faded sweetness of your chapstick.

“Then why did you left me…” Forehead resting against his, your eyes fluttered shut as tears of sorrow hot against your cheeks. Your hands still flushed against his skin and soft kisses bloomed on his lips. “Why did you lie?”

“I never meant to hurt you. I wanted to take you with me but this city life, it changed me. And before I could catch my breath, I had turned into this person that I wasn’t sure myself if I could still be love.” Though tears no longer raining down those beautiful features, his voice trembled under the insane rollercoaster of the last few minutes. “I wanted to change so badly, want to be a better man, a more befitting man for you… But all this, I fell in love with the party, the loud nights, and the clothes but I never once wanted to be known for my laundry list. I just wanted you but before I know it, I could see the confusion, the disappointment in your eyes.”

“I would’ve love you no matter what. I’m angry because you felt like you had to lie to me, as if we hadn’t shared most of our lives together. Am I that, that…” You wanted to ask all those questions lodged in your heart from hearing those words being spoken about your Hobi, and if you had truly been such a horrible friend, he thought you’d judge the new him. 

“Shh, no, baby. Don’t. Don’t blame yourself for what I did.” All the self-doubt, all the self-pity, the confusion harbored, festered in your heart hushed out, washed away with the moment his lips returned to yours. “I just thought, if I act and make myself look like the way I used to, that I could somehow convinced you that I’m the same person. That was the only reason why I lied, I just wanted you to look at me the way you used to.” He reveled in the way you leaned in so close, body heat warming, dispelling the shiver running down his spine and let his arms snaked around your waist.  

“Hoseok, there’s nothing wrong with changing and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel judged for being yourself. Everyone has to grow up someday. I changed, even though I insisted upon being the same boring person all these years. To me you’re Hobi, no matter what. I don’t care if you change your hair, your clothes, your face, deep down you’re still my sunshine. Nothing will ever change that, nothing will truly change who you are inside. I just wish you had been honest with me.” You let your hands rested at the nape of his neck, fearing that the second you let go, he’d just disappeared into the late night moans and the cold sent off the next morning as his late nights do their walk of shame. “I loved you for so long and I thought coming here, giving into my hate for this new you would finally let me move on but…” You word trailed off, the thought of him fucking another girl, of the bliss on her features as he worships her body, and the way she gets to touch him… It lit a fire in your heart and not in the way you wanted it to. Then you thought too of how much these girls that had thought they got the best of him, went on living their days not knowing just how amazing it would be if Hoseok had decided to worship their heart and soul the way he did their body. 

“I don’t think I can ever make up for what I put you through. Just thinking of you and another guy…” Breath hitching, his jaw clenching tightly as the ball of anger in his chest unravelling picturing you under a faceless, nameless guy. “Let alone hearing, knowing…”

“But you know what the funny thing is?” Your question dispelled the jealousy and envy in his eyes as they soften at the sound of your voice, once more lingering on your soft smile. “Hearing you… Them, made me realized just how fucking jealous I was. It forced this part of me that wanted so desperately to hate you into defeat and I just, I want to be them, I want to be the one that make you moan, make you smile. It forced me to come to term with just how fucking hopelessly in love I still am with you.” Thumb petting over the soft skin of his cheek, you let yourself relearning the sharp features and soft, plush lips of the man you were still desperately in love with, the man that you now knew in love with you. 

“So, what does this mean for us now?” He sighed, heart finally content, soul basking in the solace it deserved.

“Well, we have a lot of catching up to do, and all the missing time to make up for… I suppose you’ll have to spend the night, maybe the weekend too seeing how it’s Friday night.” Idly drawing circles atop his tone pecs, you mulled over the plan for the weekend and how suddenly none of your plan seemed to matter anymore. Everything seemed so pale in comparison now that the possibility of lazing in bed with Hoseok, morning breath and bed head and all, was possible. 

“Oh, can we do those brunch things with like alcohol and like eggs and bacons too? I’ve always wanted to do it!” For a split second, it was as if you were both 17 once more, hanging out on a Friday night trying to figure out where the weekend will be spent now that Hoseok officially had his license. The pure excitement in his eyes and the way his smile beaming so brightly, it made you wonder if there really ever was another version of Hobi. 

“Okay, when they say alcohol, you know they meant like mimosa right… Not tryna get drunk at 10 in the morning here.” You heed a warning, knowing full well just how drunk your sunshine could get when he really wanted to. 

“I know, just excited. I always wanted to do this with my girlfriend.” A kiss placed delicately on your nose, Hoseok couldn’t stop the smile blooming on his lips, overjoyed that one was mirroring on yours too. 

“Girlfriend? I- Wow…” You sighed dumbly, repeating the word you had only dreamt of. The reality of the last mere half hour hadn’t yet settled in your erratic heart. Who would’ve thought when Jung Hoseok called you up for a Friday hang out to reminisce the past that you would’ve ended the night kissing the man you’ve been dreaming of. Now that his little confession had been made, it wasn’t so strange after all that someone as popular as he was would be bored on a Friday night, calling up his childhood friend.  

“Yes, you’re my girlfriend. I’m your boyfriend.” He said matter of fact-ly, tugging you closer into his embrace as the piercing wind of the night began to pick up. For a second, neither of you said much, letting the content soft breaths warming each other to echo through the night lit with sight assaulting neon signs. You both were so far from the moonlit nights of the small town you’ve fallen in love with one another in. Yet the longer you remained in each other arms, even as he led you back inside to the warmth of your bed awaiting, the realization that the place and time matter not for as long as you got love for each other finally settled in your heart. It’d be a long way till all those lonely nights, painful nights could truly be forgotten but you had an inkling that with Hoseok by your side, healing will too be effortless. 

[inhodear]

* long flight ( solo )

WRITING TASK #001: music prompt! ↳ taeyong -- long flight 

dance in a swimming pool called sky, in that space, my lips are tingling in the cold air

TW: anxiety, animal death, emetophobia, (implied) violence, (implied) gore. last but not least: Furry Shit 

[  SPRING 2018, TUESDAY NIGHT, THE FOREST BEHIND GRANDMA’S HOUSE. ]

inho’s recent growth spurt hit him like a truck. 

while the extra height is worth celebrating, his arms and legs feel too long, making him even more awkward than he was before. he’s too clumsy now -- wider shoulders making him bump into his classmates in the hallway, bringing more attention to himself than he ever wanted. it was his grandma who pointed out the difference to him, complaining lightheartedly about how quickly he grew out of two shoe sizes.

the changes do bring him some relief; being mistaken for a high school freshman all the time is getting tiring. it’s about time he caught up with everyone -- most of his classmates have sharpened up, filled out, started growing facial hair, etc., so inho is grateful that he’s at least the same height as the other boys now. 

he’s not completely happy, though, in fact his clumsiness has made him very frustrated -- more so because of the contrast between how his teenage body feels compared to... this one. 

how cruel is it that he can only feel comfortable when stuck in the body of the thing he hates so much? how he feels the most himself when he’s not even Himself? 

this Big Ugly Grey Thing moves with more grace and purpose than inho ever could. this body is filled with a level of energy and awareness that the sleepy, lazy inho has never been able to achieve. it feels upsettingly, terrifyingly good to be like this, as much as he tries to forget that feeling for three weeks every month. 

as he makes his way over prickly shrubbery and stones, the Big Ugly Grey Feet don’t miss a single step. the water of the local creek glitters beside him, reflecting the cold light of the moon, but he doesn’t stop to admire it yet. he races up the path he’s familiar with until he finds the tree that marks his section of the forest and slows, sharp eyes taking in the area to make sure it hasn’t changed since he left it last month. 

his log is where he positioned it, covered in soft moss and laying on its side a few yards away from the creek. the cover he made using dead branches painstakingly layered over each other is also intact, blocking the little clearing from view on all sides except for the one facing the river.

and, most importantly, his books are still there. 

inho sighs with relief, in a puff of air that comes from his nostrils. he walks over to perch himself on the log in what must look like the most awkward seated position ever. 

it’s bare, dirty and ugly, but this has been his home away from home for so long now; it’s been especially comfortable since he managed to teach his Big Ugly Grey Fingers to turn pages without ripping them, and he learned that he can kind of read most of the words if he squints hard enough. these past few moons have been more peaceful than any of the other ones -- it’s much easier to convince himself to stay still if he can focus on someone else’s story, instead of wasting the whole night wandering around and being melancholy. 

getting brave about his improved dexterity, he’d also tried to bring his phone out with him last month. but it didn’t go as well - tapping in a password doesn’t work when your fingertips are claws and Siri does not parse weird wolfy noises. smashing his phone so easily was a nasty wake-up call, reminding him that no matter how much he tries to make things feel normal out here, they never will be. 

oh... did i finish this book already? 

he squints as he carefully reads the last paragraph of his novel. he recognizes the words on the last page of both of the other books, meaning that he’d read them all and then forgotten.he groans audibly, but immediately cuts himself off as the sound comes out too loud, too... scary. 

he’s always hated to re-read books, so he resigns to settle in for another night of Nothing. 

he supposes he can’t complain that much, because being bored and alone for 12+ hours is much better than any alternative. the pros of being in his own mind far outweigh the cons (even if his inner monologue tends to hurt him sometimes.) 

he gets up to wander after a little while, knowing that being under the moonlight is the best way to calm down his mind.

he walks up the side of the creek for a while. his usual daydreams start to take over as the moon slowly angles herself higher over his head, cool light washing him and almost soothing his nerves. 

there’s one daydream that he sees often. 

it changes from time to time, but the gist is the same: a too-perfect scenario in his head where his best friend is out here with him, where he’s not too afraid to tell her the truth, where she’s not too afraid of him, where he can finally show her this forest and everything he loves about it and share with her all that love he feels pouring down from the moon. where he doesn’t have to be alone out here and left with only his thoughts to keep him company. 

of course he knows it’ll never happen. his eunji is brave about many things, but inho is not -- at least once a week he finds himself in a thought loop where he’s just terrified of losing the only person other than grandma who makes him feel safe. 

as often as those pretty daydreams play out in his mind, the Bad thoughts paint pictures in his mind too, uninvited -- though none of them are things he’s ever seen in person, there are horrible visions. visions of eun looking at him in an expression of disgust -- a mirror of that of the teacher who once tried to get him taken away years ago. visions of her looking at him like he’s a stranger. visions of her looking at him with fear in her eyes. her running away from him. and even worse, her-- 

inho knows where the Ugly part of his brain tends to go next, and he knows he’ll end up spiraling if he lets himself go there. so he shuts it down quickly, stopping to vigorously shake his head as his stomach churns with nausea and a sour taste fills his mouth.

don’t think, don’t think about anything, he tells himself as he looks up. there’s nobody else out here to worry about. just me and the moon. yeah... 

he inhales deeply, and then breathes out slow, closing his eyes as his anxiety slowly starts to drain out of him, the energy from the moonlight filling the empty space left behind. like this, he starts to feel okay. to let himself feel okay.

but that doesn’t last very long.

he jolts as a familiar hunger rips through him, and he lowers his head again, a hand coming up to press down on his abdomen. it hits so suddenly that it’s alarming. mostly because inho knows exactly what it means. oh no no nonono.

he crouches in the bush, heart racing. he stares towards the sound of rustling with wide eyes, fearful, but not for himself.

hey - HEY, no! not this way!

he starts shaking the bush in front of him, stomping his feet, growling pathetically, doing everything he can to scare off the whatever-it-is, even as pain stabs his stomach when the earthy scent of an animal enters his nose without his permission. 

panic spikes in his chest as he watches as a little white bunny hop out into the open.

don’t, he thinks, taking an unsteady step back. don’t be stupid! there’s a monster here! go away!

inho is definitely making a racket now, but the bunny is too far away to hear it. it’s upwind and apparently incapable of smelling him, either, stopping to groom its fluffy fur in the moonlight. inho drags his claws down his face, groaning, pulling on tough skin as if he could just take it off.

after a moment of this, he gets an idea. in desperation, he tears a large green leaf from the branch in front of him and stuffs it in his mouth.

he chews aggressively. there. salad! this is fine. i won’t be so hungry now. yeah--

it only takes about five seconds for the Wolf to spit it all back out in a fit of dramatics, inho’s brain taken over with BLEGH VEGETABLES NO VEGETABLES EW EW EW on loop as he frantically scrapes the horrible taste off his tongue. 

when he looks up, he doesn’t see the bunny in that ray of moonlight anymore, and relief floods him as, just for a second, he thinks that it smartened up and ran away. he eases a little, shoulders sinking, until that scent hits him much stronger and every hair on his body stands up. 

it’s only a few yards away now. 

are you serious!? dumb stupid idiot bunny, just run away! please run away --

the anger and frustration he feels towards the little thing only serves to ramp up the other, more feral, feelings. chest heaving, he can feel his own mind slipping from him a little, as the one Big thought shoves itself to the front --  

HUNGRY.  

there’s enough of inho left in there to feel despair, though -- the voice in his head crying out not again not again in time with the loud thumping of his heart. his body tenses, and though he wants to run in the other direction more than anything, his eyes remain fixed on the rabbit, his feet rooted to the ground. 

this has happened too many times for inho to not know what happens next. 

i’m sorry... i’m sorry... you’re so cute... i’m sorry... 

the next thing he feels is the wind whipping past him as he jumps out of the bush.

[ WEDNESDAY, GRANDMA’S HOUSE. ]

“i’m sorry--” 

-- it’s that phrase that he says again and again into the toilet bowl the next day, shaking uncontrollably, hunched over like that until every trace of rabbit is out of his system. 

he’s inconsolable for the remainder of the weekend, sitting there in the bathroom alone except for when grandma sets down a cup of water or his wolfsbane flask on the sink next to him, or gently brushes fingers through his hair. he eventually takes a shower, then passes out and wakes up a day later in his own bed, slowly feeling himself again as he gets ready for grandma to drive him back to school the next day. he’s all smiles for grandma after, but his heart hurts.

i’m too tired, grandma, he wants to say, but he knows she’ll just get sad that she can’t fix it for him, so he stays quiet. 

[  FRIDAY, HIGH SCHOOL MESS HALL. ]

it’s usually only eunji who will notice when something’s off, as good as inho thinks he is at hiding it. but it’s a little more obvious this time, he guesses, as their whole lunch table stares at him pulling Green things out of his lunch bag for the first time since... ever.

“uh, inho? where’s your real lunch?” eun asks. 

“this is my real lunch,” inho replies, not looking at her. 

“oh...” he can feel her gaze, the attention making his own cheeks warm. “even that... is that just a leaf of lettuce...?”

inho meets her gaze now as he nods, breaks off a piece, and places it on his tongue. ugh. he chews for a painfully long moment, swallows, then gives a very forced smile. “oh, i forgot to tell you... i’m vegan now.” 

eun seems to choke a little on her food (a very delicious-looking piece of stir-fried duck that her mom no doubt prepared for her today... inho tries not to salivate.) 

she blinks several times. “that’s new,” she seems like she’s trying to be nice about it, but he can see the utter confusion on her face as she’s no doubt remembering that inho had five(5) hamburgers the last time they went out. 

“yes,” inho says, dumbly, unsure of what else to say.  this is so awkward... of course she knows this isn’t normal.

eun is looking down at her own lunch box, and inho can’t help but to follow her gaze to the duck. his stomach gurgles, but the feeling is nothing like the agony he feels during the full moon so he can handle it. and he will -- no matter what, he’s done with eating animals. he’s sick of how gross it feels. and if he gets used to vegetables, maybe he’ll be able to control himself when he’s out there next month. maybe one day he won’t have to crave bunnies or squirrels or deer or humans ever again. 

“okay, but can i ask why? do you... like vegetables now or something?” 

he doesn’t answer the second question, because his lie would be far too obvious. he takes another bite of his Nothing Sandwich, and eun waits while he chews. he answers after a moment with a shrug: “i think i just need a change.”

eun peers at him. “we’re about to graduate, and then start at college soon... those are big changes already, don’t you think?” 

he thinks about his reply for a second. "maybe i want to start at pocheon as a new man?” he keeps his tone light, but there’s a note of sadness there that he hopes she doesn’t notice. 

eun takes a sip of her drink and then speaks. “being vegan isn’t going to make you a different person, inho...” 

inho looks down at his gross, ugly, stupid rabbit food. “i know. i mean, i’ll change other stuff too.” he wants to, at least he thinks so. as much as he’s felt content having eunji as his Number One all these years, he knows he should start to branch out a little if he wants to actually experience all of the things that he hasn��t yet. things that he can’t experience with eun... 

“well, i support you of course, but...” 

there’s a pause, long enough for inho to glance back up at eun, who he catches looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face. she looks away quickly, and swallows. her voice comes out a little hushed, almost too quiet for him to hear. “i don’t think you need to change. you’re fine just like this.” though her face is turned away her expression makes it seem like she’s saying a little more than that. like it’s something closer to i don’t want you to.

inho blinks once, twice, and then his eyelashes flutter a little as he looks away, pretending to stare at something else to the side.  something stirs in his chest -- something weird and sad, but there’s something else too?

“um,” he stammers and rubs the back of his neck, scrambling to find words. “i-- i mean, we’ll still be best friends, no matter what. yeah?” eun still doesn’t look at him. “we’ll still go out to eat, i just  won’t be getting barbecue... unless they barbecue vegetables? that might taste good, actually,” (he does not believe that.) “-- and i can still eat fries too, i think. so it won’t be that different. and they make vegan ice cream now...”

his attempt to babble to her until she’s comforted seems to work somewhat, because she offers him a smile with her nod. 

gradually, they ease back into regular conversation about exams and girl groups and the usual things, as inho very obviously struggles to keep down the lunch he packed for himself. 

yeah, i'll change a little, he thinks, even as a piece of broccoli almost triggers his gag reflex. you’ll see, he affirms in his head, though he doesn’t know who he’s talking to.

[mcglaviano]

The Trap

Sam and his mother stamped their wet shoes on the mat.  She juggled shopping bags and fumbled for her keys.  The warmth felt good on Sam’s face as he followed her across the threshold.  And having a home felt awesome.  

He handed off the grocery bags he’d brought up from the car.

“Thanks, hon,” Mom said.  “I don’t know how Dad and I got so lucky.”

He grinned and shrugged out of his parka.

She arched an eyebrow and gave him The Mom Look. “Remember to hang up your coat, Sam.”

“Um, okay.”

Arms laden with grocery bags, his mother headed for the kitchen.  Worry edged Sam’s warm, safe feeling aside.  Mom’s limp looked worse.

Sam chewed on his lower lip and edged toward the hall closet.  He reached for the doorknob only to hesitate and pull back.  He tried again.  This time a shudder passed through his body, leaving him chilled.  His heart pounded in his chest and his mouth went dry.  He glanced toward the home’s interior, toward the kitchen, where his mother sang to herself as she worked.  

He wanted to do what Mom said, really he did.  But he couldn’t bring himself to open the door.  He didn’t dare.  Finally, he hung his coat on the doorknob and scurried up the stairs to his room.

Outside, the storm raged, but the room that greeted him was warm and comfortable.  This cozy bedroom had been his very own for almost two years.  No metal bunkbeds, no institutional furniture.  No mean kids.  No scared kids or crazy kids.  Instead, he had his own books, his own stuff.  He had a mom and a dad.  He even had friends at school.  Life was lots better now.  More than anything else he could imagine, Sam wanted to keep it that way.

With a heavy sigh, he closed the bedroom door and dragged his boxes of Lego® pieces into a semicircle.  Within minutes he was immersed in his project.  This was his third try.  He had to get it right.

At first the work went quickly.  From its cavelike opening to the odd, twisty way the blocks tailed off at the back, the pieces snapped together easily.  But as the complicated shape evolved, progress slowed.  Eventually, his project moved ahead in fits and starts.  Several times, he worked himself into corners and had to rip out what he’d done.  Each time, he set his jaw, took a deep breath, and tried something different.

Sam squinted, trying to picture the construct’s interior.  Occasionally, his eyes burned and he fought back tears.  Tears of frustration, tears of worry.  “I have to get it right this time,” he whispered, careful to keep his voice soft, masked by the rattle of the storm.  “I just have to.”  

He remembered other Moms, other Dads.  Others who’d wanted him.  But it’d never worked out.  It’d never had time to work out.  And, at eight, Sam knew this might be his last shot at a home and family.  

When Mom and Dad adopted him, he’d had been happy and excited but worried.  What if he was followed?  That had happened before with other homes and other chances for a family.   So Sam been vigilant at first.  And for a long time, there’d been no signs of pursuit, so gradually, over the past year, his worries had faded.  It seemed like they were going to leave him alone… leave his new parents alone.  

Then, a month ago, in the dark of the night, he’d been awakened by a faint sound.  He sat bolt upright in bed, straining to hear.  Something wasn’t right.  There was a whisper, a noise that had no place in a safe, happy home.  And sure enough, in the weeks following, it had grown worse.  His enemies were back, and they got bolder every day.  

He recognized the signs.  This morning he’d noticed his mother scratching her ankle as she sat in the kitchen with her coffee.  Later as she’d pulled on thick socks in preparation to take Sam to school, he’d caught a glimpse of a red welt on that same ankle.  And after school, it had scared him when she said her leg hurt as they bustled through the aisles of the grocery store.

And several times in the past week, his father had misplaced his keys.  Worse, Monday evening, even though he called her every couple of days, Dad couldn’t remember Grandma’s phone number.  Sam had found a bunch of his father’s books pulled from the shelves in the den too.  Some had nasty-looking bite marks on the covers.

But Sam couldn’t say anything.  He’d tried that before with foster parents and with potential adoptive parents.  It had never ended well.  Grownups, no matter how kind and patient, just couldn’t believe.  He’d learned the hard way: if he insisted, if he pushed too hard, their patience faded.  And as they got sicker, their good feelings went away, replaced by something else.  Something that led, finally, back to The System. 

So it was up to him.  If anything were to be done, it would be Sam’s doing.  The responsibility felt heavy, like it might squash him flat.  But what else could he do?  With an effort, he pushed the scary thoughts away and concentrated on his work. 

Sometimes he whistled softly.  He’d only just figured out how to whistle and needed to practice.  He thought whistling might help; in fact, he was almost sure of it.  

Sam kept at it all through the rainy, wet afternoon.  Working with his Legos.  Getting better with his whistling.  After a while, warm dinner smells drifted upstairs.  He loved those smells.  They were filled with the magic of good food.  Of a safe home.  Of his mom and dad.

Finally, there was a familiar tread on the stairs.  Footsteps, heavier than his mother’s, approached.  Sam clicked the final Lego block into place just as his father knocked at the door to his room.

“Hey, Dad,” he called, “come see what I built!”

The door swung open, and his father stood in the doorway.  As always, his father’s arrival brought with it a feeling Sam couldn’t describe.  It felt, somehow, like everything would work out, like everything would be okay.  It was a new feeling in his eight-year-old life… a feeling he wanted desperately to protect.

Unlike his mother, who was petite and pretty, his father was a bear of a man.  Big, but kind and funny.  Sometimes, Sam almost felt like his father would understand his secret.  That the big man could be enlisted in the battle.  But what if he couldn’t make Dad believe him?  No.  He’d  have to win this fight on his own.  

“Hey there, Champ.  You have a good day?”

“Um, sure.”  Sam pointed to the Lego project.  “See what I built?”

His father leaned over to peer at the strange angles, at the color patterns along the sides of the thing.  “Say, now.  That’s really something.”

Sam hopped up.  He hugged his father around the waist.  He felt the big man’s hand on his shoulder and craned his neck.  When he caught the look on his father’s face, a pang hit his stomach.  He knew what was coming.

“So… Son.”

“Yeah?”

“Did your mom ask you to hang your coat up?”

“Um…  Yeah.”

“Well?”

“Uh, I can’t… reach the hangers.”

His father nodded.  “But there’s a hook on the inside of the closet door.  I put it there for you… ’Til you’re taller.”

Sam took a deep breath, and suddenly, despite his resolve, it all poured out in a rush.  “There’s spider things in that closet, Dad!  Big ones.  And they’re bad.  And—”

His father shook his head, which sent Sam’s stomach into the basement.  The big man’s voice stayed patient, but firm.  “We talked about this, Son.  Imagination is good.  Grand, even.  But we still have our responsibilities.”

He nodded.  “I know.  That’s why I built it.”

“Built what?”

Sam pointed to the Lego project.  His father glanced at it, only to return his gaze to him, to look deep into his eyes.  The big man started to reply but hesitated.  He puffed out his cheeks in a sigh.  Nodded. 

“So, what should we do?” his father asked, finally.

Hope surged in Sam’s heart.  “Um, would you carry it downstairs for me?”

“I suppose I could.  Then you’ll hang up your coat?”

Sam gave a vigorous nod.  “Yep.  You bet.  This’ll take care of those boogers.”

“Well, then.  I guess we’d better get on with it.”  The big man’s knees crackled as he knelt on the floor.  “Hmmm…  What is this?  Some kind of spaceship?”

As his father reached toward the complex object, Sam grabbed his wrist.  “No Dad!  Not there!” 

“What?”

“You can’t touch that part.  They’ll smell your hands and won’t go in.”

“Ah.  Where then?”

Sam pointed to some flat places on either side of the piece.  “There.  Hold it there.  And there, see?”

His father hesitated, nodded.  His knees cracked again as he got to his feet.  At last, with Sam trailing behind, his father carried the Lego sculpture down the stairs and into the front hall. 

Sam pointed.  “Put it on the floor, Dad.”

“Here?”

“By the closet door.  A little closer.  Now turn it.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah.  That’s it.  Thanks, Dad.  I was wondering how to get it downstairs.”

“Hmmm…  So now what?”

Despite feeling like his heart was trying to shinny up his throat, Sam stood up straight and flung back his shoulders.  “I’ll do the rest, Dad.  You just stand back.  And keep watch.” 

He took a deep breath and reclaimed his coat.  He glanced over his shoulder and met his father’s gaze.  The big man nodded, a kind smile firmly in place.  

Finally, with his jaw clenched hard and his heart hammering in his chest, Sam turned the knob and flung open the closet door.  At first nothing happened, but, just as Sam heard his father take a breath to speak, there came an unmistakeable skittering from the back of the closet.  Something moved in the shadowed space behind the coats, behind the umbrellas and slickers.

Mouth dry, Sam fought to summon enough spit to wet his lips.  He whistled once, low and soft.  The same whistle he’d practiced all afternoon.  A shape darted, almost too quickly to see, out of the depths of the closet and into the mouth of the Lego structure.

“What the…?” began Sam’s father.  

Dad grabbed his shoulder, hauling him back, away from the closet.  Sam twisted free and shook his head.  “No, Dad,” he hissed.  “We have to keep going.  There’s more of ‘em.”

He whistled again.  A second shape emerged and then a third.  Suddenly, like a flood, they poured from the closet with their legs scrabbling for purchase on the oak floorboards.  Sam caught glimpses of misshapen things.  Of dark, reddish things that sported tufts of coarse hair.  The spiders scuttled toward the Lego structure only to vanish inside.  On and on they came until, at last, there were no more.

Sam approached the closet.  He hung his coat on the hook.  His mouth hurt from grinning so hard, but he didn’t care.  He stepped back, pressed the door shut and turned around.

“That’s it?” asked Sam’s father, his voice full of something Sam had never before heard in a grownup.

“Almost.  Later, we’ll take it back upstairs.”

“Can…  Can they get out?”

Sam shook his head.  “Naw.  They go… I don’t know.  Somewhere else.  It’s hard for them to come back.  Anyway, you and Mom are safe now.”  

He looked directly into his father’s eyes.  “But if you want, after dinner you can help me take it apart.  So you can see they’re gone.”

The big man nodded.  “You bet I will.”

“Dinner!” his mother called from the kitchen.

Copyright © 2020, Michael C. Glaviano.  All rights reserved.