#ill confess i like being bitten a little more than biting

[catwaifuwu]

might be me projecting but one of your love languages is biting

Shhdhsgs you are correct!

[sunlessea]

pride laid bare, here he finds himself, left to wonder what exactly it would mean for him to accept this between them so obediently, without nary a bite or scratch or denial. for once, just once... its nose against his doesn't startle him this time, even where he glowers at it, always annoyed to be praised or complimented, but this time with bitten tongue. its purr is so deep when its like this, he almost thinks he can feel the vibration of it along its body, and there's a part of him that wonders if it would be comforting laid across it. perhaps not in quite so scandalous a way — something softer, and kinder, and less humiliating.

"love is the most powerful thing in the universe, don't you know." he scrunches his nose, his response bitter, but not meant as an offense. "gods may weep, but kine are the ones left with broken hearts. my kind isn't strong enough to heal from it, when it shatters them. and even when you're in it, it can still hurt. why would you want to understand something so painful?" an irony from him, certainly, where he is left with sucked in breath at the feeling of its claws taking opportunity to explore him right back. he looks away from it because he can't bear the humiliation of his own racing heart, and somehow, busying himself with the once again slowing strokes of his hand is less embarrassing than admitting to his own feelings, even now.

he winces not from fear but sensitivity 'gainst the feel of its claws grazing his stomach, even where it does little but pull away the ill-fitting fabric still clinging to modesty. untucked, he doesn't stop it from then unbuttoning one of the layers this time, lips pressed together where he unfurls his fingers and instead lightly runs his fingertips along its hardened shaft.

"did you find your answer?" he blinks from his reverie, attention pulled to the wing that envelopes them with no small amount of blatant interest. he gaze shifts from that to its face, pointedly aware of how hot his own still is... but there's little he can do about it now, where even in his heated state, he's left shivering as its claws press into his skin. its hands, such as they are, are softer than usual, silken ... its nails are sharper, though, threatening to nick him if tilted a certain way or pressed even slightly deeper than it already is. the realization makes him tense, and flustered beside. "tha—a—ah...—that's..." his free hand left 'pon its chest closes into a soft gift, tugging at its fur whilst he wilts 'gainst its touch, his body trembling the further up its claws travel. he is sensitive by comparison, but he's never felt quite so ... small, he supposes. keeping himself from falling into it is difficult, when it is surrounding him. "you're... giving up? i thought your... your goals with replicating—" he bites his cheek, swallows again, and keeps going, "—replicating love went deeper than just understanding it? if you know to nurture it now, then..."

he's not stupid, no matter how he plays at being so. he pretends to be clueless, during times when he should just accept things at face value, and he suspects fires know it too. at times it's because he's too embarrassed, or maybe just lacking in confidence... he would have to be daft not to understand the confession it's making to him right now, or the things it's saying for his sake. it would do this, too : murmur something nauseatingly romantic, whilst looking to have him fall apart. his own ministrations have paused only for the moment, his attention firmly 'pon his hand tangled in its fur to distract himself from where its own travel. his knees press into it at its sides as he squeezes his thighs around it, a breath he hadn't realized he was holding coming out in broken whimper 'pon its thumb finally brushing over his nipples. they'd grown hard, the further its touch had goaded him. he'd be more embarrassed, if he weren't the one with precum dripping in string at his back.

he sighs and lifts both hands temporarily to hold its face, inhuman as it may be — that leaves his fingers towards the top of its neck, palms cupping its muzzle. he'd pinch its cheeks in retribution were the mood different, but because it isn't, he swallows his own pride just this once and pushes himself up on his knees the distance required to lean up and press his lips 'pon its. it is odd, certainly, an exploratory gesture at first if nothing else, where he for the first time in his life feels the most human he ever has in hundreds of years. so accustomed is he to being the monster, the wretched, the caitiff, that he finds it exceedingly romantic, given the opportunity to kiss what their polite society would call a beast. less chaste is his own moan 'gainst it, unable to keep himself quieted where its fingers still pinch his nipples 'tween them.

and yet admirable he hods himself together for even a moment so purely, considering a moment later he falls back down into its lap, a victim fallen to the way it's taken to teasing his chest throughout. he does whine for it, but its quiet, pushed back in a stubborn attempt to keep quiet behind his faltering mask of composure. he only pretends to hold himself together better than it does, his breaths soft but growing notably ragged, brows furrowed in desperate effort to keep his voice down. his thighs tremble, too, how hard he has them pressing into its legs, and it takes a great deal of effort to look up at it again, gaze wavering in confidence. its claws leaving him to tug at his pants, instead, do little to help him maintain his decorum.

"fires..." he's not perceptive enough in the moment to realize why it's looking at him like that, with the remainder of the clothing he has still covering him plenty, but in a way that's ill fitting and not at all appropriate for his stature. his shirt's fallen off his shoulder a little, pants sagging at his waist far too thin without the belt to hold them up proper. he feels like a mess : what a joke, that it would almost look pristine as a curator, where he would end up falling apart. "our souls..." he huffs, though it's weaker than earlier, when he'd disparaged it before : he still doesn't know whether he really believes they have a soul anymore, if they ever did ... but its sentiment still leaves him deeply flustered, and silent. how is he meant to deny it, if it's going to be so romantic? he doesn't want to accidentally reject it...

he runs his hand 'long its chest, lower, to its stomach, and then it's abdomen, where he near sits. his fingers draw patterns where its fur is thin, but when he snaps out of his own reverie... he indulges it again, returning to its briefly neglected cock with an almost demure energy. his thumb presses to the head again, running in slow circles around its tip. the way it twitches in his hand makes him feel hot, and a little nervous ... it's ... so big. longer, thicker — he knows he wouldn't be able to take all of it without choking no matter how hard he tried, but the prospect of making it work doesn't bother him. it's the atmosphere that's overwhelming him, far more shockingly romantic than even he had anticipated. not that he had anticipated this. spur of the moment, in a sense... but not entirely.

"oh." realization dawns on him a little slowly, because how could he have ever fathomed it reaching this point? his heart might've skipped a beat just then, but— "...you meant i was the answer?" well. if he weren't blushing before, and he certainly was, he would've been now anyways. his heart's a mess, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure and, he supposes, love. he's almost surprised when it finally gives in and leans back, though less so at how it tugs at his pants, both expectant and unfocused. he slides his hand further down its shaft again, this time while lifting his hips up in blatant submission. the movement allows fires to tug his pants down, and in an act of either mercy or allowance, he uses his other hand to untangle them, and brush them off entirely into the rest of their clothes. he's still incredibly covered in comparison, but he's certain it's left him like so for a reason.

" ... you're really turned on, aren't you? more than usual," he finally points out, his voice just above a whisper. he knows it'll hear him, even above its own sighs and purring. he watches it with noted interest, however uncharacteristically tender he is about it. it's trembling, like it usually does when it's excited, but beyond that... there's so much precum making a mess of both of them already, and each time he quickens the pace of his hand, he can feel how tense it's getting, even before it starts to thrust into him. it's a terribly simple thing, but the way it starts to grind its hips into his ass whilst he's already pumping its cock, paired with its murmurs, is ... incredibly erotic to him. he's still struggling to keep his own breathing steady, but he can feel how hard its cock is pushing against his ass and lower back, never mind how each stroke upward along its shaft leaves precum on his clothes and skin alike.

perhaps it's so shocking in that he hasn't really done anything, at least beyond the beginnings of tease. this realization is dawning on him, too, little by little ... fires likes going slow, doesn't it? well ... then—

"yes sir..." he murmurs with surprising obedience, before stopping once more though only with the purpose of repositioning himself. as good as its cock feels grinding against him, the position is a tad bit awkward, at least for now, so he takes in a breath to steady his nerves and swaps the positions of his legs : he turns around to face its length instead, his back now towards it. he hurriedly gathers his hair and pulls it around his shoulder, nervous habit, then returns his hand to its shaft. he doesn't take very long to explore it this time, settling into a rhythm of slow strokes, broken up in monotony by pumping in occasional quick, harsh motions. his skin can't flush any deeper, he's certain, so it's with what little gathered pride he has left that he bends down to test his tongue against the tip of its dick. it comes back with precum clinging to his lip, but he licks it off before moving forward more pointedly afterwards — with free hand tucking the hair in his face behind his ear, he parts his lips and takes its cock into his mouth.

it is an adjustment — from texture to girth, he whimpers around it when he finds he can barely manage to take it in to begin with. but he does, however difficult, and more beyond that, as he bobs his head along the tip, he starts to take it deeper, experimenting with what, exactly he can even manage like this. he was right in his assumption that he can't take the full length, but where he hollows his cheeks and sucks it off, swallowing the majority of its precum whilst he does, he finds himself able to push a little further each time he presses down, until its tip pushes into his throat. his hand continues to stroke further down where he can't reach, pumping it in time with sucking its cock. his other hand trembles holding his hair back ... but eventually he gives up, and shifts himself to lay properly along its stomach so he can hook his arm under its thigh. his nails dig into its skin still, pulling at the fur on its legs in eager need for some kind of tension relief — but not for long. as he presses his tongue flat against its shaft, he too fights the lustful fog in his head long enough to press his other fingers to its clit beneath him.

and he is clumsy, at best, where he occasionally chokes on its cock when he presses too far, or fails to swallow in tandem, but each time he pulls away with spit and precum clinging to him, he regains himself, before opening his mouth to the head of its cock, and then the rest of it shortly after.

he's fascinating ... and humiliating. were it any other, it thinks it might be the slightest bit embarrassed, how enraptured he seems by its form. but however rare its worn its true skin, that does not make it unfamiliar, nor anything for it to be ashamed of. it has never grasped the notion of human shame, where it matters most, but it has gathered enough about other aspects of their culture to take mental note as to why he seems so transfixed. it is hardly as if it is any bit harder than he'd left it ... but it can gather that is not the issue, if there is any issue at all. he's shivering not unlike it, and it can see the red creeping further up 'cross his features between his wide eyes and fingertips. forgive it, for its piping laughter. it really isn't trying to make fun of him!

" you can be so cute, " it teases in jest, nuzzling up against his cheek a little more pointedly before it too is pulled from its delightful reverie, and left squeaking against how harshly he tugs it down by its ears. they're sensitive too! but it complies with no short amount of writhing, falling to its knees first before returning back to its original position. if it is embarrassed by anything, it thinks itself flushed by his own eagerness, the way he practically scrambles back atop its lap ...

" you never will give what i say so much as an ounce of credence, will you? " despite the way it tuts, shakes its head, there is no denying the tender edge in its regard of him. he's not terrified, quite, and that in and of itself is an accomplishment of its own merit ... be it cause of its own rivals or no, but he sits above it—straddling it—and the red flush of his cheeks makes him look as if this is their very first dance in intimacy; though it supposes, in some sense, it is ... a first, in a different sense. an intertwining of hearts so much as their bodies ... or it will be, inevitably, if he doesn't faint first. his reaction is everything it expects and yet nothing at all what it presumes it'd be : from his prolonged stares to the airs he puts on, he gifts it fascination. " you are the furthest thing from ordinary, little light, you are something exceptional. "

its voice carries strikingly well, all things considered—given it is ill-fitted for the languages made from kine, and more apt for the words that burn; a pleasant, silken purr, rumbling against its chest even as he starts to explore it. he lets it go long enough it can stretch its neck forward and tease bumping its nose against his own. and he's so much warmer, compared to it ... though the magic still does wonders, a heart fluttering behind its ribs where it so often was nothing better than dead, and it knows it races for far more than mere magic, when it stares up at him, eyes shining in brilliant embered red. " i have had a question long left unanswered, until i came to know you. do you know what that was? " it lets him explore, uninterrupted, watching his expression for a time with stare unwavering before it shifts to settle back and take in the feeling of his wandering hands, instead, breathing out a sigh. " i wanted to understand why love was such a powerful force to begin with, should it be strong enough then to make gods weep, " not to say it keeps itself still, however ... he gives it unspoken permission the moment he pulls its claws to his hips, and it is quick to take full advantage of the opportunity provided : it draws the tips of its claws along his hip, across the slim expanse of his stomach before unraveling, taking the fabric of his shirt carefully between its fingertips. and slowly, one-by-one, his buttons fall undone. it barely even bats an eye 'gainst the coarse fabric of the layer above it, easy to be removed in ample time. but it should give his skin some space to breathe ... it can feel his heat, no matter how smothered beneath—and it will not be the only one stripped bare! it is hardly in a state of decency, given ... well, everything. the fur really does leave little for the imagination, especially given the scarcity of it the thinner it becomes over its stomach and abdomen.

" what makes it so special? " it continues, and as it speaks, its hands draw higher over his chest, the largest of its wings enveloping them with the gesture. " and beyond that ... could it be replicated so convincingly, that it could fool the world itself? " its eyes narrow as the last button gives, but hardly for scrutiny. it thinks he can tell, even like this, the familiar curl of its lip and the way its purr deepens where its thoughts have drifted. " my experiments never succeeded. there was always something missing. and i believe it was because i never understood it, honestly. " all this casuality, as if it doesn't slip its hands now fully underneath the fabric, thumbs first pressing into his ribs where it slowly draws its touch up. " i don't wish to replicate it anymore. furthermore, i don't believe it is something that can be feigned, or forced. it is nurtured. "

it pauses here, teeth catching its tongue to keep it from rambling further ... yet. its savoring the sensation of his hands trailing its form, obvious for more than just its erection pressing into his back, but the never-wavering tenderness it regards him with. it hasn't even stopped purring, not even once! his hands look so delicate, like this ... and it always thought they were, no matter the temporary bruise, scratch, or callous, small and gentle ... and he treats it, for the most part, with delicacy, like he wants to memorize every detail of its form alongside the places 'cross its body that leave it shivering in its own excitement. more than usual, anyway. and it is still with some tender regard when it lifts its hands higher, teasing brushing its thumbs over the hardened bud of his nipples. he's already so red-faced, but it knows better than anyone it is not just for his embarrassment. his desire for it is no more shocking than his love, but it revels in hearing both.

and a cruel tease it makes, where its other claw tips tease his skin where thumb and index tease pinching and tugging the sensitive bud, just in hopes of hearing him moan, too. not that it keeps with the sensation long, before its attention shifts again, and its hands draw downward. much, much further downward, to the belt it'd loosened and abandoned. he thinks he's subtle—! it tugs, roughly, at the clasp ... and off it comes too, its brow would be quirked in curiosity over the slouch of his pants without anything securing them to his hips, but instead it cocks its head, huffs, and returns its attention back to him proper. " i told you ... " it murmurs, struggling only to keep its breath steady the further it feels his own hands trail, " i believe love is something that comes from the soul. and i know this because of you. "

there is so precious little time between its unwavering confidence and when it wilts quite so pathetically ... it feels like no more than minutes at its best, voice starting to tremble the moment his fingers return to curl around its cock, so briefly neglected. its shivering ... " so of course i— hhn— of course i ... want this— " it breathes out a sigh, eyes fluttering closed for however brief a moment where it finally gives in and settles down on its back, hands trailing down to his thighs to test just how far down it can tug his slacks where it is not otherwise unfocused. " wanting you was never a question, nor was loving you. it is an answer, a desire, and a— aah ...— a- an inevitability. " the erotic edge to its tone almost makes the sentiment all the more romantic ... how it has to pause to catch itself against his harsher strokes, and how rapidly it has to come to process how good it feels to have him explore it in its entirety. its unbearably sensitive. " keep going ... " it murmurs, half in a rumbling purr as it drops its claws from his thighs, hips grinding slow against the curve of his ass. even still covered, it knows he can feel it, just as it knows he knows the exact expression it'd wear, were it not so limited. " i want to see just how much it is you can take. "

[burnedbyshoto]

kacchan, kaacchan, kaachan

— “Your real fucking Kaa-chan is going to fuck your brains out and make sure that you can’t say that stupid fucking nickname to Bakugou without getting hard and remembering what I’m about to do to you, Deku,” you practically snarled into Izuku’s ear as you rut the silicone veined cock between his ready, supple cheeks. “Now, what’s my fucking name?”

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pairing: midoriya izuku x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, mommy kink, dom!reader, sub!izuku, pegging, jealous!reader, degradation, anal fingering, begging, crying, marking and biting, best friends(?) bkdk

word count: 6,520

a/n: I have transcended. im sorry, this is now my favorite fic. im... ohhh mama, I just froth at this idea so much, please if you aren’t so utterly disgusted by mommy kink or bkdk pray you read this. p l e a s e.

kinktober day 13 main kink: pegging | kinktober masterlist

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“I fucking hate them,” you growled, temples throbbing in your anger, fingers clutching your drink. “I’m going to kill Izuku and his stupid fucking Kacchan.”

You met Midoriya Izuku before high school. At the time, you had been a sweating, nervous middle schooler who was applying for Yuuei, who was sitting right next to him during the entrance exam. Despite the way your hands were shaking the entire time you were taking the test, and the way your stomach felt seconds from exiting your abdominal cavity and falling straight onto your lap, you smiled. You kept watching the green-haired boy next you continue to fanboy over the smallest of things. 

Through this, you had also met Bakugou Katsuki. You had initially thought the two of them were friends, well with the rather weird nicknames they had for each other, and then the small disgruntled comment on not being able to work together with friends. 

After being dismissed to go change out of your school uniforms, you had tapped on the green-haired boy. He was muttering a storm under his breath. He wasn’t much taller than you, and his green eyes were shot wide when you thanked him for making you less nervous. He didn’t say anything back to you, a red blush bright on his face as you wished him luck before racing off.

So on the first day of high school, on the fated orientation day, you had been surprised to see that Midoriya and Bakugou nearly fought. They weren’t friends, you quickly figured out, a small frown on your face as Aizawa-sensei dropped Bakugou from his capture weapon. It didn’t take much for you to become friends with the initially timid, but entirely confident Midoriya Izuku. The two of you were fast friends, and before long after watching countless times where Midoriya and Bakugou would be at each other's throats to only be okay within the next few hours.

It confused you entirely.

Eventually, one day on your way home together one night, you finally asked Midoriya.

Midoriya had frowned, his eyes looking out of the speeding window as he slowly explained his relationship with Bakugou to you. He explained that he and Bakugou were childhood friends, having first met when they were three years old. They had been good friends, best friends if it was possible to have one back then. Then, their quirks appeared, and Bakugou received endless praise and awe — it was a changing point in their relationship since Midoriya explained that he was a rare individual who only manifested his quirk within the last few years. So while Bakugou had never put him down for being quirkless, a single moment happened when they were about six years old, wandering in a gated woods area, and Midoriya went to see if Bakugou — who had fallen from a great height — was okay. From that moment on, something flipped inside Bakugou, and he lashed out. He smiled sadly, admitting without a lick of doubt that Bakugou was a jerk to him, a real asshole.

As if to save Bakugou from an ill opinion from you, Midoriya quickly imputed that Bakugou was still one of the lesser antagonizers he had in middle school and at the end of grade school. Most of his other classmates had been his bigger bullies. Still, because Bakugou was just different to both him and the school as a whole, the few times he antagonized Midoriya, it seemed to wave into ripples that turned into tsunami wave crashes. Midoriya had explained that he had gone too far in a single instance and that it still hurt thinking about it. He would like an apology from Bakugou but didn’t know how or if it would happen. After all, Bakugou hadn’t bullied or antagonized him at all for the last full year.

You had taken it all in, watching the small green-haired boy look both sad and determined as the metro pulled into your station.

“You still want to be friends with him, huh?” you asked, ignoring the people clambering out and in of the vehicle. 

Midoriya had looked at you with wide eyes and his teeth bitten, swollen lips pressed into a flat line, his head dropping, “Is it weird that I do?”

Chuckling, you shook your head, moving to leave the metro, “A little, you guys definitely will have to put some work into it, but hey, as long as you know that he’s done you wrong before, I think you deserve to find out if you two can make it work again.”

That had happened at the end of your first month of school.

At the end of your second year of school, you had confessed your feelings to Midoriya Izuku, who thankfully, returned your feelings.

At the end of your third year of school, you had watched with bright eyes and a great smile as your boyfriend hugged his childhood friend Bakugou Katsuki as the graduation streamers and confetti still swirled in the air. You and your entire group of female friends, who for the past two years had been trying to get both boys to confess that they were best friends with each other, seemed to have succeeded. They had obviously been friends by the end of the first year; both boys have gotten to speak on their many different feelings and thoughts at the end of the first year. But it had taken seven girls, two more years, and a late-night discussion between you and Izuku for you to figure out that no matter what happened with his relationship with his Kacchan, he would be at peace with it. He had chased him for so long, for such crazy lengths and obstacles that the moment when they found peace, he had accepted it.

But you knew what would happen if you had gotten the ever so annoying, permanent tsundere of Bakugou Katsuki to admit where the lengths of their friendship were at currently. You had guessed correctly because Izuku was absolutely sobbing as Bakugou hugged him. It could have been an awkward moment between them. The two of them never touched one another unless it was because they were roughhousing, training, or assisting one another in the middle of a fight. But your heart warmed at the sight of your boyfriend, entirely built and tall as he was now, blushing as he still does, scarred fingers and arms holding his Kacchan tight, the happy tears on his face rushing down his cheeks as Bakugou seemed to be blinking up a storm.

You have succeeded.

Best friends, you squealed internally, grabbing the girls and walking away to take some photos together. You had finally gotten them to admit that they were best friends again.

It should have made you happy, and for a while, it did make you glad to know your loving boyfriend was over the moon happy to have this small detail confirmed with him, but two years post-graduation, it was straight up annoying and made you somewhat... livid. 

It started when your classmates began to whisper about how strong you were to let Izuku and Bakugou be that close. Then reporters asked about how you felt about the Wonder Duo’s relationship outside of the field. Fans straight up saying that they liked them better than you and Izuku, fans asking if you felt lesser than Ground Zero in Pro Hero Deku’s life. At first, you had always expressed your truths, you didn’t care what others thought because you knew the truth, but they must have been annoying you for so damn long that you were beginning to feel doubtful, just the tad bit anxious. 

Izuku had asked if you wanted to go to a bar for a night of some drinking. Well, with the both of you not having work tomorrow, you had agreed. It had been a while since the two of you had been able to do anything. So a night at the bar the two of you frequented a lot was a great start to a long night the two of you were undoubtedly going to have if the lace panties under your skirt had anything to say about it. You thanked the gods of every deity every night for making your boyfriend such a stupid pervert that a single whisper of what you were wearing would have him turning red and stumbling out of the bar to get you home immediately.

Well, that was the plan.

But no, nope, nope, nope, nope.

In the middle of your flirting session with Izuku, who still could not keep up with your quick, slick tongue, his phone had rung. It wasn’t abnormal that it went off, he was an incredibly gifted hero, and with his recent sort of permanent team up with his Kacchan to form a hero duo, they were hot shit.

But it wasn’t a work call.

No, it took two seconds to figure that out because Izuku had placed his phone to his ear, his cheeks pink, and eyes sparkling as he immediately chirped out: “Kacchan! Hi!”

And just like that, your flirtatious mood had been stomped on and stabbed over into one of annoyance.

Your boyfriend was a hero otaku; that was something you knew the very moment you met him when both of you were merely fifteen. From that moment on, when your crush was formed on the excitable, blushing otaku, you knew that should you become his girlfriend, there would only be two people above you.

Midoriya Inko then All Might.

Both of those people were completely understandable.

Inko was the best mother in the world, and as Izuku’s most significant and first support system, you didn’t mind losing out to her. She was a fucking sweetheart, after all.

All Might was a slightly annoying one, but as your boyfriend's mentor and father figure, you understood. Plus, the scrawny man was also a sweetheart who flustered over Izuku almost as much as Inko did.

But, you didn’t and couldn’t believe that Bakugou ‘Kacchan’ fucking Katsuki would be challenging your place as third in the most critical person in Midoriya Izuku’s life. You wouldn’t sit idly by on it.

Taking another long, deep chug of the heavy in alcohol percentage drink in your hand, your anger seemed to be at an all-time high. 

Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan.

That stupid fucking nickname seemed to pour like liquid gold from Izuku’s mouth.

Kacchan this, Kacchan that, Kacchan yes, Kacchan no.

You knocked back yet another fucking drink, slamming the glass onto the bar counter, demanding another one as Izuku’s deep stupid voice seemed to turn airy as he laughed at something Bakugou Katsuki said. Bakugou Katsuki, who didn’t ever tell jokes because everything he said was stupidly not funny and hated being not serious even for a single second, was making your stupidly thick, built, and strong boyfriend giggle like a schoolgirl. Izuku only laughed like that around you?!

Oh, fucking, no, you realized, your back straightening, your eyes blazing into Izuku’s side profile that still illuminated the deep, intensity of his blinding happy smile. 

“Kacchaaannn!” Izuku suddenly whined, his lips pressing into a pout that wouldn’t form because of his stupid, irritatingly handsome smile. “That’s not fair!”

Growling under your breath, you grabbed the new drink presented to you by the bartender and began chugging.

Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan.

Kacchan, Kaacchan, Kaa-chan.

You spluttered, your head light and fuzzy with the inhibiting alcohol as you heard Izuku still rambling on the phone to his dumb fucking Kacchan.

‘Did he just?’ you thought, entirely unprepared for that name to whisper from his mouth.

Kaa-chan, Kaa-chan, Kaa-chan.

You stopped a broken moan from spilling from your mouth at that word. Despite the coursing alcohol in your veins and the way it typically made you hornier slower, that slightly whiny, entirely Izuku’s tone when he said what your horny brain to be interpreting as Kaa-chan, your panties became wet immediately.

“Izuku,” you breathed — almost whined — into his ear. Your chest pressed against his muscled arm—your mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to the back of his ear before biting down on his earlobe. 

“Y-Y-Yes, y/n?” Izuku stammered, his face flushing, mind entirely lost at the feeling of your breasts pressing onto his arm and probably his stupid Kacchan’s voice in his other ear. 

“I’m wearing those panties you really, really like,” you moaned softly into his ear, your teeth nibbling on his earlobe.

You never heard Izuku hang up so quickly on his Kacchan as he downed his drink and quickly followed after you, a puppy at your heels.

The two of you made it home, mouths pressing fervently together, fingers in each other’s hair and clothes. You giggled when you managed to push your much larger boyfriend into the door the moment you both managed to enter your apartment. 

His scarred fingers had invaded the underneath of your skirt, already pressing his fingertips to the lacey fabric. He moaned against your mouth, his hands pervertedly gripping your full ass in his large, hot palms. 

“Call me Kaa-chan,” you suddenly moaned, your mouth tearing away from Izuku’s reveling in the fact that he tried to chase after your mouth. It was at moments like this that being so much smaller than your skyscraper of your boyfriend helped — the third year of high school had made your entire male classmates grow an additional near one hundred centimeters, fucking ridiculous. 

“W-What?!” Izuku spluttered, his eyes wide but still entirely glazed over with his lust.

“Kaa-chan,” you slur, the alcohol in your veins and his kisses on your lips, making your brain mush. “Call me, Kaa-chan, please!”

“I-I can’t? I’m not going to call you, Kacchan! T-That’s so weird? You don’t even look like him, and even if you did, I’m sure that would be entirely not okay! That’s Kacchan’s nickname, and for me to just use it in bed would make me think that I’m having sex with Kacchan, and I bet you’d agree about how not okay that would be! Imagine that! That would be not okay, but if there’s anything else you want me to call you in bed, although, you do have the best reactions to me whenever I call you—” Izuku rambled, his eyes searching the dark hallway for something to focus on. His face red with slight humiliation and his muttering tongue speeding so fast you could barely keep up with his sentences with your drunken brain. 

“Not Kacchan,” you roll your eyes, your hands pressed to his side, trapping him between your arms — something that was a hilarious sight. “Kaa-chan, Izuku-chan, Kaa-chan.”

“O-Oh.”

You pulled away from the wall, your eyes bright with what you thought would finally be the tipping point in your biggest kink finding a spot in your sex life with Izuku.

But Izuku begins laughing, his head shaking quickly, the laughter so loud that you watch literal tears form in his eyes as he stands there. Your cunt suddenly feels dry.

“I-I can’t do that,” Izuku finally manages to press through, his hand on his stomach as small laughs still manage to breakthrough. “Oh, god, no, I can’t. I’ll always think of Kacchan when — if I call you kaa-chan.”

Your lips pressed together, anger flushing through your blood as you nod your head once.

“Fine.”

“Y-Y/n!” Izuku bawks, his eyes wide as he quickly understood that he hurt your feelings with that outburst of his. “W-Wait, I mean—”

“No need,” you cement over, lips pursed in your shaking anger. “Give me some time alone, please.”

Izuku can only watch with wide, tearful eyes as you guide him out of your apartment, and you don’t look at him when you close the door, too afraid of what those puppy dog eyes would do to you. You needed time after being laughed at like that; your pride demanded it.

.

..

.

It took less than five hours for you to forgive Izuku. He had stayed in the hallway of your apartment. Sitting outside of your door, waiting for you to message him of some sort about wanting to talk. You hadn’t precisely forgiven him, just wouldn’t allow your more often than not perfect boyfriend to be trapped outside, sleeping in a terrible position on your day off. So at nearly two am, your eyes refusing to close and fall asleep, you trudged to your front door and demanded he gets in or else he’d sleep in the hallway.

Izuku had looked up at you with tired, sad eyes, and your throat tightened as you looked away with a huff. He had gotten to his feet and walked into your apartment, kissing you softly as the door closed behind the two of you. Despite you having been the one to kick him out earlier, he carried you to your room as you began to cry again. He undressed to just his boxers, and the two of you cuddled each other before the both of you fell asleep, feeling slightly better.

Although you hated to admit it, everything was back to normal the following morning.

Well, that is until the fateful day when you were straddled across Izuku’s waist, his thick, long cock stretching you out as much as it felt that first time you fucked, riding him until his hands left bruising prints on your hips. You knew what made Izuku tick, moan, and go absolutely feral in bed; you knew him so well, and if the indicating throbbing of his swollen cock had anything to say, was that he was seconds from cumming.

Again, this was a fateful day.

His work phone suddenly screeched at the nightstand, and you both screamed at the horror.

What was happening?!

Not bothering to unmount from his cock, Izuku grabbed his phone and placed it to his ear.

“Hello, Deku, speaking!”

You pouted from on top of him, still rather pleased that his cock was still firm within you, and you watched his face, ready to send the blood in his cock right back to his head and get him out the front door if it was an emergency.

“K-KACCHAN?! THIS ISN’T AN EMERGENCY!” Izuku screamed, his face pounding red as his free arm collapsed over his eyes.

You were going to kill motherfucking shithead, Bakugou Katsuki.

Your eyes narrowed, and with the fury of being cockblocked by your boyfriend's stupid best friend in a whole new way, you began to shift your hips against his cock. Your hips rising and falling as you continued to fuck Izuku, uncaring that he was on the phone.

Izuku, never having been good at being secretive, let out a strangled choke and a moan, his hand thrown over his eyes trying to get a solid hold on your hips to keep you from fucking yourself against him. He froze, his face exploding with heat the moment you forcibly clenched around his thick length, “I-I-I’m at y/n’s apartment! Kacchan! NO! We were having sex!”

Rolling your eyes, you knew he was going to blab that secret out.

“We are having sex right now, K-Kacchan!” Izuku whimpered, downright hilarious of the brick wall of a pro hero could do. “Kacchan, that’s not fair! You called on my emergency-only phone! Of course, I was going to pick up!”

Red bled into your vision as you realized that Bakugou undoubtedly was talking shit about your ability to fuck your own boyfriend. 

“Kacchan!” Izuku groaned again, but you were far past the point of being okay with this situation.

Grabbing the phone from Izuku’s hand, you slammed the phone to your ear, listening to the chortling laughter of Bakugou fucking Katsuki.

“You fucking piece of fucking shit, try calling this number again without a proper fucking emergency next time, and I’ll kill. you!” you spat into the phone, your blood boiling as the laughter on the other side of the line stopped, only for you to be met with an irritated and challenge-accepted growl of Bakugou Katsuki, who was seconds from responding back with his own threat and challenge. But you hung up, chucking the phone into the corner of the room before setting your sight on Izuku who’s eyes and pupils were blown wide.

You couldn’t even begin to process that your words had turned Izuku on; you could barely feel his throbbing, twitching cock buried deep in your womb because your inner walls held a vice, unbreakable grip on him. Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan. You had finally heard that stupid fucking nickname in bed, and still, the way it was said and who it was for wasn’t for you, and you were absolutely frothing.

“Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan,” you spit out, fury and animosity, your hips still slamming down on his cock, Izuku’s scarred hands once again reaching for your waist. “Is there any other fucking name you can ramble in bed?!”

Izuku cries out, his hips snapping up to meet yours, the echoing slap of your meeting sexes still not loud enough to tune out your angry, abhorrent thoughts. 

“N-No?!” Izuku stammers out, confusion heavy on his tongue, and you know why, but you don’t care. “I-I-I don’t! What else am I supposed to sayyyy oh my god, baby! What am I supposed to call Kacchan?!”

A cold shiver runs down your spine, and you smile slowly. You wait for green eyes to open and lock on you before your smile becomes cunning, altogether ferocious, and biting as your hand reaches out and grabs the curls at the nape of his neck. You yank on the hair towards you, watching as his neck arches, and you coo at the breathless gasp that spills from his mouth as your lips are at his ear, his cock threatening to slip out of your boiling cunt at this new angle. There’s a growl on your tone, your lips brushing against the soft cartilage of his ear. “Say Kaa-chan, Kaa-chan, Kaa-chan. Since you fucking want your damn fucking Kacchan so badly that you can’t even indulge in my little nickname, I’ll make sure to ruin the damn fucking nickname for you forever.”

You pull away, your hissing words sitting heavy in his ears as you slip off his cock and stumble to the closet for your toys. 

Izuku lets out a needy noise, his breaths pathetic gasps as he looks at you and away, unable to fully comprehend just what you were planning on doing to him.

Slamming open the closet, you grab the plastic tinted box in the closet, throwing it open and grabbing three items.

One: your pretty green harness. 

You had bought at a sex shop store you frequent whenever you were bored and alone. About six months ago, this particular sex shop had obtained rights to sell Pro Hero styled lingerie and sex toys. This harness was modeled after Izuku’s costume, and you bought it to surprise him with whenever you two got into pegging.

Two: the bottle of lube.

Also purchased from the sex shop. Apparently, it was a lube that was both super cold and hot — obviously modeled after Todoroki. It would start off as cold on the skin before warming up to temperatures that were guaranteed to make people shriek and moan like porn stars.

And last, but definitely not least, your ace up your sleeve: the strap on dildo.

At the same sex shop, they had released a limited quantity, a one-week available dildo that was nearly impossible to accept was a thing. Along their wall of many, many different shapes and sizes of dildos had sat seven limited dildos made from the cocks of pro heroes.

One of which being Ground Fucking Zero: Bakugou Katsuki.

You’re not sure what possessed you into buying it, but you did. The dildo modeled after Bakugou’s own cock was now something you possessed, something you hid from Izuku’s sight at all times. The cock was about eight, nearly nine inches, maintaining a fat, swollen head and base, with thick veins running through its length. 

The dildo itself was completely minimalist, jet black with only the Ground Zero’s logo painted to the bottom of the curve, but if you were to do this, Izuku wouldn’t know it was his best friend's cock until you were done with him. 

Throwing your legs through the harness, you turn your head to lock eyes with Izuku’s bright eyes that are taking in your every move. You fasten the ties, making them just a tad bit tight around your thighs and waist because you knew that Izuku loved seeing the divot in your skin. 

Your eyes are peering through your lashes to look at him, your frown becoming a confident, biting smirk as you attach the dildo, immediately covering your hand with the cold lube before slicking up the silicone cock. Izuku watches you with shaking thighs as you climb back onto the bed, your eyes dark, dangerous, as your fingers drag down his toned and muscled calves.

“Get on your fucking hands and knees like the fucking good boy you are,” you growl out the command, your fingernails digging into his skin. “Show your cute fucking ass to your Kaa-chan.”

Izuku let out a heavy moan as his body quickly shifted over, he got up onto his knees, but he went a step further by pressing onto his knees, letting his scarred back curve beautifully for you. 

You groan at the sight, Izuku's large, muscled ass on full display for you. His body trembles and shakes with every breath he takes and how his muscles are tight with his nervousness. His little asshole clenching and tightening at the air, undoubtedly ready to have you press the cock into him. You groan, your hand that's slick with the lube becoming warmer with the intended promise of the lube, and your grin when you grip his supple asscheeks between your hands, delighting at the way his flesh molds within your hands.

“You have such a pretty little ass, baby boy,” you moan, your index finger circling around the rim of his pert, tight hole. You lean in closer, your hot breaths spilling across his muscle that sends it spasming in its attempts to clench around nothing. “What do you want your Kaa-chan to do?”

Izuku stammers, his mouth unable to form any sort of coherent sentence as you lather your fingers in the cold lube, and without much of an introduction, you slide your slick, cold index finger into his hole. Izuku cries loudly when you move your finger inside of his ass, and you smirk at the sight of his twisted with delirium face before you. Eyes crossed, tongue hanging out as your finger dives into his ass. 

“Does this feel good, baby?” you ask, finger curling deep within his ass.

He can’t find the energy to speak, but strangled noises of approval are made, and his hips shift back onto your thrusting finger.

You enter a new finger, stretching out his tight muscle even further, your two fingers reaching a further depth and more manageable pace than you had before. You grin at the way Izuku begins to fuck himself against your fingers, his asshole looking as if it swallows your fingers as your dildo ruts against his leaking cock. Izuku's chest collapses onto the mattress when you glide your free hand against both the dildo and his cock as you continue to finger his ass — a third finger eventually joining.

“God, your ass is so fucking slutty, sweetie,” you groan, absolutely obsessed with the pink haze on Izuku’s cheeks and the growing moans. “Is your Kaa-chan making you feel good? Kaa-chan promises that she’ll protect you through everything!”

Izuku spams, a loud cry of your name as your fingernails scratch at his walls, and his hips buck further into your fingers deep in his ass before rutting back into your hand, stroking his cock. You coo at how he is clearly enjoying it, chest-thumping with how he clearly wants more, and how you intend to give him more. A sadistic smile carved onto your face as his rambling begins to take shape begins to actually have meaning behind it except the whining, pitiful cries.

“You are!” Izuku finally manages to gasp, his ass slamming back onto your curled three fingers. The lube is now hot as it can grow, and Izuku is obsessed with the heat in his ass. “You’re doing this to me, y/n!”

You freeze, fingers freezing in his ass as Izuku once again refused to call you Kaa-chan.

Well then.

Freeing your fingers from deep in his ass, your upper lip curled into a snarl as you doused the Ground Zero dildo with the ice-cold lube, your blood roaring in your ear. It just seemed that you were going to have to take that nickname by force.

Slapping the lube coated dildo between the valley of his pretty, beautiful asscheeks, you grabbed his head of curls, snapping his head back so that his ear was a lick away. “Listen to what I’m about to fucking do, I-zu-ku,” you accentuate his name, your free hand gripping his slick cock, and fisting it slowly, your grip tightening whenever he tried to rut into your grip. “Your real fucking Kaa-chan is going to fuck your brains out and make sure that you can’t say that stupid fucking nickname to Bakugou without getting hard and remembering what I’m about to do to you, Deku,” you practically snarled into Izuku’s ear. Izuku freezes for a second, deep flushed red exploding on his face before he moans loudly, face burying into the mattress as you rut the silicone veined cock between his ready, supple cheeks. “Now, what’s my fucking name?”

“Kacchan…” Deku’s mouth fumbles, unable to find that distinction even like this, but that’s okay, you got time.

“Again, Deku,” you snap, watching as a shiver slams down his spine at the nickname, and you press the head of the cold, lube coated dildo against his ready, clenching asshole.

“Kaa-aachan!” Deku moans loudly, and you press the head of the black dildo into his ass, watching as his slutty little ass swallows the head without a single problem. His back arches further, and his ass shakes as you keep him from falling further on his Kacchan’s cock.

“Are you having that much fucking trouble distinguishing who’s fucking you right now, Deku?!” you practically seethe, your fingernails digging into his firm, plump ass before beginning to drag the cockhead away.

“No!” Deku sobs, his ass pathetically following after your exiting cock. “I’m not Kaa-chan, I promise!”

Oh, the golden words you’ve been looking for.

With a widespread, near-feral grin, you slammed the whole cock within him, not stopping until you couldn’t see the black of the dildo, and your thighs were pressed against his ass. The noises that spilled from Izuku’s mouth with sinful, lewd, and made you think for a second the hot and cold lube was in your cunt. His mouth continued to speak at a speed you couldn’t understand, his ass greedily sucking the dildo in with no thought to return it.

“I-It feels so good!” Deku cries, his ass slapping backward onto your strap. “Your cock is so good!”

“Damn fucking right it is, Deku,” you laughed, hands gripping his hips and with a determined show to make sure he knew just who the superior Kaacchan was, you began to rut your hips back up again his. 

Your pace was a lot faster than Deku’s, thighs crashing against his ass with every successive pound of your hips. Deku, who’s always been so good about being responsive in bed, is crying and moaning like a bitch in heat. His moans are endless and delightfully loud, his ass slamming backward to meet your rutting hips, and you can't help but land a loud spank against his sweet ass.

“How is this feeling, Deku? Tell your Kaa-chan how your shitty little hole is feeling?” you laugh, your body leaning over his, your lips and teeth marking up his sweaty, scarred back with bites marks and hickies. “Tell your Kaa-chan how it feels to have your shitty asshole fucked like this?”

“It feels sooo good, Kaa-chan!” Deku sobs and you shiver at the power behind that stupid little nickname. “My Kaa-chan is making me feel so good, so loved! Kaa-chan’s cock is stretching my ass out so good, her cock makes my stomach and ass feel so funny, but I d-don’t want it to end!”

His back is arched, and his fingers can no longer clutch the fabric of the mattress, and it’s all overwhelming as you fuck into him faster, more demanding, with more intention to have him be yours forever.

“My precious little Deku looks so fucking cute when he’s crying for his Kaa-chan,” you pant, your thrusts becoming sloppier with your heightened pleasure, knowing just whose cock he was crying for. His stupid Kacchan could never do this. 

The raw noises of wanton pleasure rip from Deku’s throat and his ass comes down to fuck back on your strap on with greater power, faster speed. You keep up, though, you have to prove your worth, you’ll fuck his brains out until the only thing he can call you is his Kaa-chan. You grip his hips, your knees shifting as you find a new angle, a better angle as you drill the cock in faster and further in, bottoming out in him with every stroke of your bucking hips. 

“Fuck!” he screams, his knees almost wholly giving out on you as you drive against his prostate. The cock and angle you had quickly allowing you such a pleasure as you fuck into him faster. And upon the tenth slam against his prostate, Deku is shouting. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Kaa-chan!”

Drool is pouring onto the bed, and you feel on fire as Deku continues to whimper, continues to cry your name, claiming that his Kaa-chan has never made him feel this good before. Your hands move from his waist and find themselves latched onto his curls and fisting his cock again. The power that hums through your body makes you see stars as he cries at the pain of having his hair yanked backward, and having your fingers press against the head of his weeping, pre-cum drenched cock.

“Oh, poor pathetic Deku,” you snarl despite the grin on your face, sweat drips down your temple, and you laugh. “Does your pathetic fucking cock need to cum? Do you need to cum while your Kaa-chan’s cock fucks you?”

“Y-Yes Kaa-chan!” Deku screams, his tongue falling from his mouth, his eyes dazed in his hysteria. “Yes, Kaa-chan! I want to cum on your cock, please let me cum on your cock!”

Your cunt throbs from your arousal and lack of stimulus, but the apparent slick in your lips that is slowly dripping down your thighs, makes your next train of thought seem worlds apart hot. The hand in his curls fists his hair harder, snapping Deku closer, making his back arch further. The hand around his cock pinches his cock head together, a pain you had discovered that never failed to get him to cum. And your hips, the hips that drove the Ground Zero dildo further into his tight, greedy asshole, slammed viciously and barbarically into his pretty little asshole.

Deku praises your cock again, his eyes fluttering shut as he cries for his Kaa-chan’s cock, and in a blind fit of victory, your lips press against his ear and whisper to him the truth.

“I’m actually fucking you with your Kacchan’s cock,” you admit, feeling Deku go rigid beneath you. “I know you know what I’m talking about, Deku. So yes, I bought it just to fuck you with it, and look! It’s Kacchan’s cock, but it's your Kaa-chan who’s making you feel so. good. with it!”

And with one last driving slam of Kacchans cock into Deku’s slutty, needy hole, you can feel his cock spasm within your hold, and the way his ass tightens beautifully around the dildo, and he collapses with a pitiful, pathetic: “Oh my god.”

Your hand is coated in his hot, heavy load of cum. You pull away from him, and you laugh, watching as Deku moves onto his back, his eyes fluttering with a million emotions as you bring your hand to your mouth and lick his musty cum clean from your hand. 

“Now,” you cough, slipping the harness from your waist and thighs and climbing back onto his awaiting, still semi-hard cock. You moaned at the feeling of his cock hardening back within your crazy soaked cunt. “Kaa-chan wants you to suck your Kaa-chan’s tits, and then you’ll be rewarded for being. So. Good.”

His eyes swim with uncertainty before he blinks, his hips rutting up to meet your cunt, and his mouth latching onto your needy nipple.

“Anything for you, Kaa-chan.”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Bonus!

Due to Bakugou calling on Izuku’s emergency-only phone, Bakugou had come over with an apology dinner made for the two of you. You sat at the table, Bakugou sitting in front of you, Izuku, to your side in the square table Izuku owned. 

Bakugou was already frowning, his body language trying to hide the apparent surprise that went through him when Izuku opened the door and greeted him as ‘Bakugou-kun!’ 

Had you known his reaction would be that pathetic, you wouldn’t have bothered to accept his dinner. You would have sufficed with that moment being caught on camera instead.

But no, Izuku loved Bakugou’s cooking, and you were now sitting here, glaring at Bakugou, who was glaring right back at you.

However, you knew Bakugou wanted to understand why his childhood nickname had suddenly been abandoned, and you had strategically placed Izuku’s favorite drink near the empty seat. Closer to you than it was to Bakugou because you knew that asshole was quicker than most.

“Oh, Kaa-chan, do you mind passing me my drink?” Izuku asked before flushing at the realization of what he called you in front of Bakugou.

But Bakugou didn’t notice, how could he?

Because both of you had made for his drink, and you just managed to snatch it before Bakugou did as you watched in evil elation as Bakugou quickly placed two and two together. Handing the glass to Izuku, you smiled, as he stammered out an embarrassed thank you.

“Sorry, boys, I’m actually needed somewhere tonight,” you lie, rising to your feet as Bakugou’s eyes rage with something you can’t name but love nonetheless. “I’ll leave you two alone, I’ll be back!”

You don’t let Izuku’s embarrassed begs for you to say deter you, your fingers grabbing your boyfriend by the chin before kissing him deeply, shoving your tongue into his mouth for good measure as you look at the still, void Bakugou when you break away.

You don’t know what happens as you leave, but the way that Izuku’s less superior Kacchan snaps his name makes your toes curl with pleasure.

Oh, you really liked this.

[toothlessturtle21]

You Are Worth It

Welcome back to me posting my oneshots on tumblr! This is the first one posted on my AO3 account, so if you remember it, wow, I’m impressed. TW: suicide mentions, mental health issues, implied depression. Takes place mid to end season one. Glaciershipping angst/fluff!

----------

Cole has always felt butterflies around the Ninja of Ice, but he has to suppress these feelings when he finds Zane so very close to the edge of the Bounty's railing, fingers slipping. While Zane reassures him it wasn't suicide, he can't shake the feeling that Zane isn't as fine as he seems. 

It was the middle of the night, and winter's bite was still as potent as ever. Zane sat on the railing of the Bounty, looking down at the world below as the ship leisurely made its way through the skies. He probably should've felt fear from staring into the black abyss, but he felt oddly calm as he watched the faint shape of trees drift past. He exhaled heavily, eyes fluttering shut as he let the tranquil night engulf him.

Not that he knew it, but he was relaxing so much that he was unconsciously leaning farther and farther over the side, until his grip began to slip from the cold, icy railing, threatening to send the almost hypnotized ninja into the inviting darkness. It would have succeeded if it weren't for a certain ninja deciding to step outside for a breath of fresh air.

"Zane! What are you-!" Cole grabbed roughly at the back of the Ice Ninja's shirt, pulling him down from the railing. Zane, not expecting someone to yank him backwards, was thoroughly startled when strong muscles hooked under his arms, catching him with his legs still hanging over the side.

"Cole?" Zane tilted his head back to look the Earth Ninja in the eyes, Cole's brown eyes frantic and shiny with unshed tears, a rush of emotions all occurring at once inside his head.

"Zane, why were you up on the railing?" He asked almost hysterically, alternate realities where he had been too late flashing through his mind. All he could focus on was how his heart was pumping, the fear he felt when he had strolled outside to see his best friend so close to falling off the edge of the ship, so close to having to collect his remains from the jagged rocks and trees below.

"I couldn't sleep, so I was enjoying the view. Why?" Zane was confused when Cole breathed a sigh of relief, looking away to try and blink the water in his eyes away.

"I- I thought..." Cole trailed off, swallowing thickly as he gently helped Zane onto his feet, stepping away just incase. "You were leaning over the side, and you looked so at peace with yourself that I thought..."

Zane suddenly understood what Cole was implying, and guilt overwhelmed him at the thought.

"Cole, you know I would never," The Ice Ninja stepped closer to his leader, and the man nodded but didn't look too reassured.

"I just- I know how you were when we met you, Zane. I thought maybe you had relapsed, and I don't think I could stand watching you die," Cole swiped away a stray tear, and the Nindroid didn't know what to do. He approached his leader with caution, wrapping his arms around the man's bulky frame.

"I didn't mean to scare you..." Zane mumbled into Cole's shoulder, the latter being a solid few inches taller. Cole hugged back with more force than normal, reassuring himself that Zane was okay, and that he hadn’t been too late. He shoved down the butterflies that tried to crawl up his throat back into his stomach, where they lived every time he interacted with the Ice Ninja. They were slightly less present than normal, but watching your best friend and crush supposedly about to take a dive off the side of a railing would do that to you.

"I know, I know," Cole felt Zane burrow into his shoulder, and at this action, the ill feeling in his stomach returned, this time with full force. He was so close to the Ice Ninja, he could feel his power source buzzing right below his right pectoral, nuzzling into his rib cage. It wasn't a heartbeat, but to Cole, it didn't matter. The Earth Ninja sunk down slowly, keeping the Ice Ninja encased in his arms.

"Are you alright?" Zane asked earnestly, turning his head to the side so his forehead rested under Cole's chin. "You aren't normally this... clingy."

"Sorry, is this too much?" Cole flushed, and Zane shook his head slightly, but didn't respond verbally. Cole rested his cheek on Zane's hair, which smelled of mint from the shampoo he used. The two sat in silence for a few minutes, neither of them daring to speak, both afraid. Eventually, Zane took a deep breath.

"Cole, you do know I would never abandon you all like that, right?" Zane pulled away slightly to look Cole in the eyes, and the Earth Ninja met his gaze for a moment before responding.

"No, I don't know that." He tightened his grip around the Ice Ninja, expecting the resistance that the Nindroid gave.

"I beg your pardon?" Zane bit, his eyes brimming with hurt. "How could you accuse me of being so selfish?"

"It's not selfish, Zane. You know that. I don't know what's going on inside your head, I don't know how much you're hurting. I wish I did, but I don't," Cole felt his throat closing with emotion, and Zane slumped back into him, the fight quickly draining. "I neglected you at the beginning, we all did. We all knew not knowing your family was eating you, but we did nothing. I know you still haven't fully recovered, I know that your "sick days" are spent crying locked in your room, but I haven't done anything," Cole was nearly sobbing by this point, trapping Zane in his grip to convince himself that the Nindroid was still here, still with him.

"You are right, Cole, the act of killing oneself is not selfish. My apologies," The Ice Ninja rubbed circles into Cole's arm in an attempt to sooth the man whose grip seemed to be tightening by the minute. "Cole, I may have my bad days, I will admit that. I have times where I would much rather lay in bed and work out my emotions than train, and I have days where I have trouble convincing myself that anything I do is worth it, that the connections I make are worthwhile. I wasn't aware that you knew of my worse times, however. I am sorry that I have caused you to feel so much pain for me."

"Don't apologize. I know you're hurting, and that's what worries me. What if you can't get yourself out of a rut one day, and you spiral too far down? I don't think I could live with myself if I let you torture yourself like that anymore," Cole buried his face into the Ice Ninja's hair, and Zane squeezed his arms a little tighter, bracing himself.

"The point of my telling you this is to explain why I am confident I won't commit suicide," Zane said rather bluntly, and Cole found himself flinching. "Every time, I convince myself that connections with the people around me are worth forming. I still crawl out of bed the next day to make breakfast, or to attempt to resume a regular eating pattern. My mind may still be hurting, but I try to break through it and come back to all of you. It may take hours or it may take days, but I pull myself out of the spiral. Life is worth it."

Zane took a deep breath, mentally steeling himself.

"You are worth it."

The two sat in silence as Cole processed this statement. There was no way, this couldn't be happening-

"Are you implying what I think you are?" The Earth Ninja lifted his gaze to meet Zane's bright blues, and they seemed to glow in the dark as Zane blinked slowly with a nod, his eyes shutting with a light squeeze as their lips met.

When Cole had fantasized about this moment, it had never involved such a heavy discussion leading up the occasion. He had imagined a sunset, light breezes tousling his teammate's hair as they confessed affections. Never had he considered that it would be incredibly late, cold, biting air tearing at their skin as they poured every unsaid word through their kiss. He tried to communicate how much he cared for the Ice Ninja, how much he desperately wanted to be there to help heal the Nindroid, make up for all the time where he could've been there but wasn't.

Zane had never really thought about it, accepting that whatever happened was what was destined to be. Even if he had, he would never have conjured the scene of being held tightly in the Earth Ninja's arms after reassuring his leader that he wasn't leaving, and that he never would. Something about it was so bare, so emotional that it had the Ice Ninja shivering, and it wasn't from the frost-bitten air. He hoped Cole knew that he wasn't angry with him, that he could never blame his family for how he felt. His bad days and his depressive episodes had nothing to do with the actions of his team, and he desperately hoped Cole realized that.

When they broke, Cole taking in huffs of air, they stared in silence as their minds caught up to their actions. Cole felt a blush rise as he realized that he had just kissed Zane. Zane had confessed that he cared for Cole deeply, enough to kiss him. Which he did. On the lips. The Earth Ninja gently leaned in for a peck, coaxing a pink tinge to appear on his companion's cheeks.

"So," Cole said roughly, voice raw from emotion. "I suppose we have a lot to talk about."

"Indeed," Zane nodded, leaning back to rest his head on Cole's shoulder. "Shall we head back inside?"

"Please," The Earth Ninja stood, shivering at the sudden lack of heat from the absence of the Nindroid's body. To his satisfaction, Zane slotted himself under Cole's arm immediately, not quite willing to let go yet.

"Do you want to sleep in my room?" Zane asked quietly, almost afraid to ask, but Cole smiled.

"Of course. I would have trouble sleeping on my own after tonight anyway," The dark-skinned man pressed a light kiss on the side of Zane's head, not able to sate his newfound desire for the Ice Ninja.

Zane didn't respond, but pulled Cole gently into his room, shutting the door behind them with a soft click. They both crawled in bed, Zane splitting his pillow stash with his companion as the Earth Ninja let out a sigh of pleasure from the warm blankets settling over him.

"First of all," Cole said in a half-whisper, voice gravelly. "Are we dating? I don't want to assume anything."

"I would say we are, yes. We are dating," Zane responded in a whisper of his own, almost uncharacteristically elated. Cole involuntarily grinned as Zane smiled, tucking himself to mold to Cole's chest. At least the spooning argument was solved.

"You have no idea how happy this makes me," Cole nuzzled into his boyfriend, the word rolling around his mind like a bouncy ball, pinging off every corner with unmatched energy. "How happy you make me."

"The feeling is mutual," Zane smiled, the two content with holding each other for what seemed like an eternity.

"Secondly, are we going to tell the others? They might say that I'm playing favorites," Cole snickered, and Zane made a noncommittal noise.

"I don't see why not, unless you can think of a real risk. I haven't perceived any information that would claim that they would disapprove on anything more than a joking scale."

"When're we going to tell 'em?" Cole yawned, the warmth from the Ice Ninja making him increasingly drowsy. "Tomorrow?"

"I have no issue," Zane let his eyes flutter shut with a content sigh, and the two whispered goodnights, arms wrapped around each other tightly with no intention of letting go.

[fakeyellow]

Can you write a Serafine fic? Sorry I’m just thirsty and I’m not sure if we’re going to see our pirate queen again in BB3 🤧🤧

I adore Serafine ♥ and I think we will see her again in BB3 (although it won’t be enough lol). I don’t have the time to actually write a fic but I couldn’t help myself from thinking about it so here are a few thoughts I had:

After saving Serafine from the Order of Dawn and reuniting with Kamilah and Lily, Eva (MC) decides to stay in Paris with Serafine. Although Gaius is still running rampant in New York, Eva says she needs to explore the darkness that Serafine sensed in her. 

If anything, Adrian is relieved because he thinks Eva will be safer in Paris. Kamilah is hesitant but Eva says that this is something she needs to do. 

Eva moves in with Serafine and they spend their evenings together, trying to figure out what exactly lies in Eva, with Serafine coaxing out memories and visions using her psychic abilities. 

Serafine likes to be close with the people she looks into so Eva opens up every night, baring her soul. Serafine doesn’t want it to be one-sided so she reciprocates with stories of her past experiences, from swashbuckling tales from when she was a pirate to gripping tales of her brief queenhood.

Serafine’s stories are fun to hear about but Eva feels like she doesn’t know Serafine any better than when they first met. For all of Serafine’s outgoing demeanour, she’s a hard person to really get to know. Eva expresses this one night, surprising Serafine who turns quiet and says she’s not ready to tell Eva everything yet. It’s unfair but she’s just not ready.

Eva calls everyone, particularly Kamilah, when she can, but sometimes it’s just not feasible with the time differences, the whole Gaius mess in New York, the fact that Eva’s all too human body needs regular amounts of sleep. Sometimes Eva wakes up only to hear from Serafine that Kamilah has called and her heart hurts because she just misses Kamilah so much.

At one point, Serafine gets hurt somehow and even though she knows that vampires heal quickly, Eva offers her neck to Serafine. This isn’t something new to Eva. 

Adrian’s bitten her neck before and he’s always delicate, as if he’s always worried about hurting her. Lily’s bite is filled with a sort of contagious excitement as if she’s still unused to the thrill of fresh blood pouring down her throat.

Kamilah’s bite is tender, so experienced that she knows exactly where to pierce to minimise the pain and maximise the pleasure. And Serafine’s bite is a new experience as well, but it still brings with it the intoxicating rush of pleasure that Kamilah’s does, and Eva tries not to cry but a tear slips out. 

Serafine notices and immediately stops, hugging Eva who cries all of her longing and fear into Serafine’s warm embrace.

A few weeks? later, Eva and Serafine have become much closer with each other. They’ve made a small breakthrough into what lies in Eva and although it doesn’t bode well, they decide to celebrate anyway because the past weeks/months have been stressful for both of them.

They share a few glances of wine on the couch and Eva feels slightly buzzed but nowhere near drunk. Serafine laughs at something she’s said and Eva feels mesmerised, entranced at just how beautiful Serafine is. She leans forward and their lips finally touch in one heart-stopping, breathtaking kiss, before Serafine leans back and continues talking as if nothing happened.

It takes Eva a few moments to open her eyes and escape from the bliss that she fell into and she can’t help but feel a little bit hurt. So she directly asks Serafine why she’s ignoring what happened.

And a forcefully light smile plays on Serafine’s lips before she notices that Eva is upset and Serafine sobers up.

“Listen. I think much too highly of myself, not to mention you and Kamilah, to allow myself to be some sort of substitute.”

Serafine then rises from the couch and kindly tells Eva to sleep well.

Eva is left alone and she covers her face with her hands in despair. Because Kamilah had been the furthest thing on her mind when she’d kissed Serafine.

A/N: I just jotted down what I was thinking so it’s not fully thought through / fleshed out but I thought it’d be interesting to play with an MC who becomes torn between Kamilah and Serafine, leaning more towards Serafine. 

Also as a bonus, here’s a few potential thoughts I had about Serafine’s backstory. It’s probably very out of character but I’m just not that familiar with her character. Also, I guess you can say this is her hundreds of years ago, so she could have changed a lot. 

As a human, Serafine kind of just wandered from village to village. She was a “healer” but really, people just came to her, seeking help. And although she didn’t have psychic abilities then, she found that most people really just wanted to be listened to.

She also deals with physical injuries and sometimes, she’s driven out of villages because people see her as a witch for saving so many lives, even though all she really does is make sure her hands are clean when dealing with injuries. It’s annoying but she figures she would have left those towns soon anyway.

She never settles down in one place because she wants to see the world and she’s always restless whenever she’s been in one place for too long.

But then, one woman comes to Serafine in her temporary home on the outskirts of a town. And she comes every day for a week with a new illness each time until she finally confesses that she just wanted a reason to see Serafine.

And they fall in love and it’s beautiful and for the first time, Serafine feels like she wants to settle down, lay her roots down. The woman says that she doesn’t mind going anywhere with her because she’s found a home in Serafine and Serafine feels like she couldn’t possibly love a person more. 

Officially, the woman becomes Serafine’s “apprentice” which doesn’t make any sense because they’re the same age, but the title is undoubtedly useful when no one objects to her moving into Serafine’s cottage.

But then, one day when Serafine’s out alone, foraging for herbs or something, a vampire (I don’t know who) bites her and her life is forever changed. She wakes up alone and confused and terrified and thirsty.

The vampire doesn’t even have the decency to train her and Serafine blindly stumbles around the forest. She comes across a young hunter from town and it’s only when his blood is dripping down her throat that she’s filled with a startling clarity. 

She runs to a lake and sees her bloody reflection, her eyes still crimson, her teeth pointed. Terrified, she runs back to where she left the man’s body, and hurriedly hides in the foliage upon hearing the voices of some townspeople.

They take his body to the cottage and Serafine prays to whatever deities there may be, that she has not killed him. But the woman, Serafine’s apprentice, Serafine’s lover, mournfully says that he is far too gone to be helped.

And Serafine is horrified. She’d been called a witch before but that is nothing compared to the monster that she is.

She can’t bring herself to face the woman she loves but she can’t bring herself to leave either so Serafine lives in the shadows, secretly watching over her.

The woman is strong and although Serafine can sometimes hear her crying at night (and Serafine’s heart aches), she always meets each day with an unwavering resolve. Although she’d never really been an apprentice, she takes on the mantle of being the village’s healer. 

And every day without fail, even when she’s old and her hands are wrinkled and her eyes are failing, she sits out on the porch of their home, waiting for Serafine to return, not knowing that Serafine is right there.

A/N part 2: I don’t know. The plot bunny sort of wrote itself. Serafine then continues to travel the world and have all sorts of amazing adventures, but in her heart, she’s never really forgotten the woman who first captured her heart, the woman who never stopped waiting even though Serafine was too afraid to face her. lowkey influenced by Asterin’s story in the ToG series.

I don’t have the time to flesh these out into actual fics but I’d like to hear any of your thoughts on my thoughts!

[icy-warden]

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

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Vergil

The bodies of his attackers were mocking him. The one on his left twitched weakly, so he summoned the sharp gland of ice, finishing it off with a sneer.

He contemplated leaving them here and carry on.

Three mauled humans should make an example for any other trying to ambush a lone traveler.

He grimaced. If not for the crow leading him through the path in one moment, and suddenly hurtling itself at Vergil with a loud screech, the Warden would be the one on the ground, bleeding out from the arrow in his throat. The bird saved his life, when he was too deep in his thoughts to pay attention to the surroundings.

He almost twisted his ankle trying to hop off quickly from the horse's back, hurriedly casting shields. Thankfully, the animal lived through the scuffle, too valuable for the bandits to simply kill it.

There were three of them and the closely growing trees were their advantage in the surprise attack. But once the surprise part was over, Vergil striked them as hard as his rage fueled him. He was in a hurry and they dared to slow him down.

Lightning and ice cracked in the air, and when the crow unexpectedly dived for one of the bandits, slashing her face with its claws, Vergil saw his opening and lunged for it. The blood of the wounded one was the source of the fall for the rest. He didn't even need to draw his daggers.

The inhuman screams faded quickly enough and now he was left with the remains.

He blinked slowly, trying to recall the spell Aether taught him long time ago. The one with the earth elements, using nature as its base. The one which, when Vergil once used in some other fight, had Velanna shouting in outrage. She was less than impressed about someone spilling Dalish secrets, but later, after a lot of grumbling and some small bribing, helped him with understanding it's mechanics better.

For proper use, she said.

And it should come of use now, as Vergil concentrated more than usually, on bringing out the vines and roots from beneath the earth. Willing them to entwine the bodies and swallow them down, leaving the scattered dirt behind.

After it was done, he exhaled slowly, standing for awhile and just breathed. Earth spells were difficult and took more of him than what came naturally. Fire was something he never could harness properly, just the small, simple things.

Earth and fire were not his fields of magic, but Aether wielded them like Vergil his lightning and ice.

Easy like breathing.

The crow cawed at him from its place at the nearby branch, the sound loud in the forest silence.

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Doors opened so quickly, that Vergil had to take a step back. What greeted him was Aether's paled face, the eyes widened and frantic, looking like he saw a ghost.

Is it because I am here? The thought nibbled at him, bringing back that odd feeling of sour disappointment. Still, Vergil's gaze stayed on Aether's face, taking in the visibly changed features. Too sharp cheekbones, usually tanned skin lost its glow. He stared at the panicked man before him with a dare, slightly tilting up his chin.

Blocking the escape route and not having the intent to move without a talk.

And he will have the man talking, willingly or not.

He took a step forward and Aether backed away as well. Few steps in, like a weird looking dance. Vergil advancing forward, the healer retreating equally, until he bumped on Josephine's desk. Only then Vergil glanced away from him, as there was another person in the room.

“Lady Montilyet,” He greeted her, nodding slightly. “Thank you for your letter. I've found it exceptionally intriguing. So much, I decided to visit without proper notification.” He brought his gaze back at Aether. “I apologize for the eventual inconvenience.”

“You needen't apologize, and it is I, who should be thanking you for taking the time to travel to Skyhold.” She answered gracefully, standing quickly from behind her desk. “I should leave you both to your privacy, now if you'll excuse me.” And with that she was gone, door quietly shutting behind her.

Aether winced at Josephine's departure, fingers clutching at the desk's edge. He was looking anywhere, but not at the Warden. Neither of them seemed eager to break the uncomfortably stretching silence. Vergil busied himself with taking off his gloves,  movements slow, calmly scrutinizing Aether's form.

He didn't utter a single word. So thin, the clothes are hanging on him. Is it illness too? He rejected the fleeting thought.

“The truth is,” At the sound of his voice Aether seemed to shudder a little, but finally looked at him. “The truth is,” Vergil began anew, “that I did find it curious Lady Montilyet contacted me.” He paused for a moment, using teeth to help himself with somewhat stuck glove. “What I neglected to say, was why such knowledge has not come from the interested party himself.”

Aether scoffed. “I haven't known she'd written to you. It was not her right to tell and,” He brought his arms up, crossing them tightly. “I would prefer it to stay this way.” He swallowed, looking away. “I should have done it myself.”

“But you have not, and I'm inclined to think you would not.” Vergil said, putting the gloves under his belt. “Not without a proper push anyway. Which brings us here.” He shifted, bringing off the weight from the leg. It must have been strained form the scuffle in the forest. “You look awful.”

“Tell me something I don't know.” Aether huffed, irritated. Then the shadow of anger seemed to leave him, his shoulders dropping wearily. “Last time we've seen each other I've... said things I should not have.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Bothering you to show up here was-”

“Then you are a fool,” Vergil's sharp tone interrupted him, “thinking I would be somewhere I not wished to.” Aether looked at him in disbelief. His cheeks reddened, eyes suspiciously moist. “This,” Vergil gestured between them, “is making me unsure if it is my presence, that reduces you to shaking mess you want to escape so badly.”

And it's a cold shard in my chest, seeing I am the source of your fear, he didn't add.

“And pardon me for cutting the chase,” Vergil stepped closer to Aether, “but I need to know if I am truly not welcomed here by you.” He paused, collecting himself visibly. “The time for distractions has ended.” He continued in more soft voice. “I need straight answers to simple questions. If you truly wish me to leave this time, I will. No more visits, especially when it's not you who would explicitly write it to me. What I need, is to know, how I-... we cut it cleanly, and just stop.”

Even if just saying this feels like I'm drowning.

Aether watched him, eyes gleaming, surprised. And upset. He opened his mouth, but not a sound came out. He tried again, and the words still seemed to leave him. Vergil sighed, suddenly so tired, stepping away from the healer.

Bad decisions haunted him lately. At least, they didn't cause the emptiness, numbing him with the feel of loss.

“I think I have my answer.” He rasped, not even angry at himself. “What I ask now is a place to stay for the night, I will be on the road-”

“Why?” The quiet, slightly wobbling voice cut him off. He glanced at Aether, annoyance painting his features in cherry red.

“Why do you say you'll leave again when I...” He sniffed, hand coming up to rub quickly at his eye. “I miss you.” His voice cracked slightly. He curled on himself, like expecting a blow. The shape of his collarbones even more obvious, visible throught the opened shirt.

Vergil straightened his back, striding to crowd into the healer's personal space. The whirlwind of strange emotions seemed to calm down at Aether's confession. He brought his fingers to grab at Aether's chin, gently, but still forcing him to look at Vergil.

“Was it so hard to say?” He asked in deliberately lofty way, quickly seeing his mistake. The healer's stubbornly bitten lip quivered, tears in the verge of spilling. At the sight of them, Vergil didn't think, just moved, embracing the shorter man. His hold was tight, hands coming to cradle the back of Aether's head and his back.

And it seemed to do it, as after a moment of shocked stiffness,  Aether started crying. With quiet sobs and gasped “I missed you”, face tucked into the crook of Vergil's neck, he weeped, clutching almost desperately at the man holding him. And Vergil cradled him even closer, both relieved and worried, stroking Aether's back with slow caress, whispering “I'm here”. The lump in his throat making it hard to swallow freely.

And when Aether exhausted himself, tears drying, and swaying on his feet, Vergil just leaned down enough to get his arm under Aether's knees, hauling him up to carry him to his chambers.

So light, so fragile, Vergil thought, walking through empty corridors, not even in need of helping himself with magic boost. Aether was quiet, letting himself being held without protest, arms around Vergil's neck. Warm puffs of his breath and delicate fluttering of his lashes on the mage's skin as the only signs of him being conscious.

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The water was pleasantly warm, the calming scent of oils freely mingling with steam.

Aether had his back on Vergil, as the man applied the creams to his hair. He gently held the strands, spreading the balmy substance on the strands, hopefully making them glossy and healthy looking once again. He openly fussed at the state of Aether's skin, checking his pack for more essentials to use, making the healer's shoulders lightly shake in quiet amusement.

The bumps of his spine so sharp, sharper than he ever seen them, made him both want to kiss them one by one and grith his teeth in helpless anger. Vergil kept his touches smooth and careful, the movements precise and limited only to the bathing. Even if he wanted to let his fingers to linger, to let himself feel more of Aether's warm skin, bite and mark, he controlled himself.

He would not jump into old habits, not with Aether's current mindset, even if the man himself offered a tub-sharing.

“To save the time on water heating. And you are in a need of bath, too.” He said with a tentative smile, his eyes tired and still slightly puffy from earlier outburst. So he hadn't hesitated, leaving the room only to collect his travel pack and making some orders to the first met servant.

And now, they relaxed, unhurriedly washing themselves, taking care of their bodies to calm their minds, even for a moment. Vergil get out first, after hearing the knocking of a servant bringing food. He winced slightly, as stepping out of the tub he brought more of his weight on the strained leg. Still, turning away from the man in the bath, he grabbed the towel, getting one more for Aether.

“I told them to leave the trays beside the doors.” He said, toweling himself quickly and getting the black pants on, not bothering with covering his scarred arm and back. Aether only hummed in affirmation, slowly getting out of the water.

After short time, they were lounging on the sofa, their sides constantly brushing, the trays with food splayed before them on low table, pitcher of water in the middle (the wine bottle apparently meant to go with Vergil's meal left behind the doors). Vergil rehearsing some silly anecdotes from the Keep between the bites, watching Aether feebly nibbling on pieces of bread. He didn't bring it up, though, seeing the exhaustion seeping from the man in waves. But his trivial tales seemed to brighten him a little, so he continued, until his plates were clean. Aether was done with his long before him, the food nearly untouched.

“Do you want to lie down?” Vergil asked, turning to the man properly. The Warden felt tired, mostly because of the swift pace he forced himself to maintain in order to get to the castle faster. He needed to rest, but not without knowing Aether would get some rest too. Not with him looking like he'd shatter at the mild push.

“I'd like that.” Aether replied softly. He hesitated, then covered Vergil's hand with his own. “And I'd like to you lie with me.” His cheeks reddened at the implication. “For a nap only.” He quickly added.

Vergil gave him a fond little smile, pleased by the warmth of Aether's palm. The other kind of warmth spreading in his chest thanks to the simple words and gestures.

“Of course.”

You need only to ask.

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Later, both of them lied tangled in blanket and themselves, Vergil gradually dozing off with the top of Aether's head under his chin. Warden's fingers lazily thumbing the skin under Aether's ear, listening to his slow breaths.

The warmth in him seemed to grow, something he wouldn't think of possible missing, until it was snatched so cruelly all this time age.

By his own hand.

He vowed not to make the same mistake again.

[themalhambird]

Chapter Forty Two: Collapse

CW for mention of & flashbacks to past rape- as with Chapter fifteen, I’ll summarise the main plot points of this chapter at the beginning of the next one, so this can be skipped over without loosing too much of the story.

Kent walked in to Richard’s room without knocking. 

His brother looked up from the parchment he was doodling on and smiled that pleased, absent smile that meant he was pleased to see the sight of another person. “Edward’s not here,” he said, “He’s getting ready for…you know.”

“The trials. Yeah. I know. It was you I came to see,” York’s absence was actually what Kent had wanted. The man had been increasingly over-protective of Richard of late, and wouldn’t let Kent alone with him. It was absurd. Richard was his baby brother, he wasn’t going to hurt him. 

He did need to have something out with him, however. Are we not going to talk about it?” he asked abruptly. Richard looked up at him with quizzical brows.

“Talk about what?”

The frustration of the past few weeks began to boil again. “About what? Richard- you could have been back here a year and a half ago! Why wait for York? I know you love him, but I’m your brother,. I promised our mother I’d look after you, why wouldn’t you let me? Why did you not come with me!” He’d thought, at the time, that Richard had gone mad. But Richard wasn’t mad. He was quieter, and less confident, and he flinched sometimes if you moved too fast, but he wasn’t mad. So why? 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Richard said, drawing in on himself. “I don’t know- I don’t- I don’t-” he trailed off, looking frightened. 

“I came to rescue you,” Kent pressed. “I came to you, in your cell, and tried to help you, you’d been whipped raw, there was blood everywhere: sticking your shirt to your back, on your thighs, your feet-”

“Stop it!” Richard pressed his hands over his ears. “Stop it, I’m not thinking about it, I don’t want to think about it I don’t - you’ll make me remember-”

“Richard?” Queen Isabelle appeared in the door. “It’s- oh, hello, Jean.”

“Your Majesty,” Kent bowed. “I was just leaving.” He strode from the room, feeling irritable and wishing Richard was seven again. Life was so much easier when a problem could be solved by giving his baby brother piggy back rides, or letting him clamber in to bed with him after a bad dream.

“Dickon?” Isabelle asked softly , as Kent left, door slamming shut behind him. “What was that about?”

“I don’t….I don’t feel well,” Richard said. “I don’t…I don’t want to go. I don’t…I don’ t want to see Exton. Ned said….Ned said he killed him, can’t we just…can’t we just…”

“Darling, I know Exton’s a horrible, horrible man. But it’s five minutes. Five minutes after we’ve dealt with Henry and Northumberland, five minutes so it’s an execution not murder.” she took his face in her hands. “Come and sort out Henry. If you want to leave after that, you can, it will be alright, I promise. And even if you stay after Henry, but decide to leave after Northumberland. We can take as many breaks as you need, remember, we talked about that. If you need to stop, all you have to do is…”

“Kick Edward in the ankle,” Richard said, a little more brightly. Isabelle smiled. 

“Exactly. Come on, my darling,” she said gently. "Let's go to work."

Hal had bitten his nails down to the quick, and the trials hadn’t started yet. John sat next to him, so still he could have been carved of marble. “It’s going to be fine,” Hal said , biting his thumb.  “Father’s going to be just fine.”

“How can they do this?” John hissed. “Look at York- bastard, father should have taken his head--” 

“Don’t,” Hal said. “Uncle Ned’s a good...Richard is...”

“Right. Right, I forgot, you always did love them. Even the first time they tried to take everything.” John said sarcastically. “I can’t believe you’re even trying to defend them-”

“John, he’s King!” Hal hissed. “Whatever your thoughts, whatever your feelings- shut up, and deal with it!”

John glared mutinously, but fell silent again as the doors opened, and they all stood for the King and Queen.

Isabelle looked stunning. Was it wrong that Hal was pleased for her, that he was happy Richard was King again, even though he was sick with worry about his father. He was relieved not to be Prince of Wales any more. And Isabelle had promised him that his father wouldn’t be executed, so...

And Richard. 

King Richard. 

Hal hadn’t spoken with him since...everything. He had wanted to- badly- but he hadn’t wanted Richard to think ill of him and he’d already babbled to Isabelle about his father and...

They took their seats, to the left of Edward York. Once they were seated, everyone else sat down too.

And then Hal’s father was brought in. 

The charge was treason: in the first instance, ignoring his exile and returning from France; in the second, the illegal usurpation of England’s lawful King. How did Bolingbroke answer, Edward wanted to know?

Henry squared his shoulders. “I confess to returning too hastily to these shores, my Lord of York. But I did not usurp our noble cousin. He abdicated. You ought to remember that, you were there.”

Edward smiled tightly. Richard was clenching the arms of his throne so hard his knuckles were white, and he didn’t appear to be paying the slightest bit of attention. “The abdication would only be admissible if it were done of the King’s own free will. With no bargains or threats made to bring it about. Correct me if I’m wrong, cousin, but did you not tell his grace that he would have to chose between his crown, and the lives of his friends- including mine?”

Damn it.

“I did,” Henry said slowly. “What I felt was right. For the Kingdom. And her people. My conscience is...clear.”

Edward looked at him. Henry met his gaze, and wondered if a doctor had seen to his leg. There was a quiet, hurried conference between Richard, Edward, and Queen Isabelle, then Richard spoke.

“We...acknowledge that our actions were, in part the causation of your actions,” he said, making a visible effort to pull himself together. “And in light of this....you may have what you came for six years ago. The Duchy of Lancaster. You can go back to your estates, cousin. And then stay there. Forever. Your sons and daughters will remain at Court, in my- in our- care.”

So. it was to be seclusion, rather than death, exile, or prison. His children would be hostages against his behaviour, and...in effect, he would no longer be their father. He wouldn’t get to watch them grow, or glower imposingly at foolish young men who flirted too much with his daughters at dinner- or at his sons for flirting too much with serving women...neither Edward or Isabelle looked particularly happy; doubtless they thought it was too light a sentence. Perhaps it was. But truthfully? 

Henry would prefer death to being alive and knowing that he was forever divided from his family. 

Northumberland’s sentence had, effectively, already been announced. He was no longer Northumberland, just Henry Percy, and only out of consideration to his son- a true and loyal friend of the King- was he not being executed on Tower Green. Instead, he would live out the rest of his life in the Tower of London.

Kate and Harry had used the excuse of her pregnancy to remove themselves from the proceedings. They lay on their bed together, Harry’s head resting on Kate’s chest and his arm protectively around her stomach as she sang incomprehensible welsh lullabies to him. He still didn’t understand his father’s actions. Kate didn’t know how to help, but she did the best she could, and that was enough. 

John’s words were doing bad things to Richard’s head. They wouldn’t go away, they kept echoing- Richard kept remembering the second stranger to come in to his cell and promise escape, only now he had his brother’s face. Blood. He’d told Edward about the whipping. It made sense that there would be blood. on his back. And his feet- his feet had always been getting torn, and bloody- that was what happened when they were bare.

But his thighs? 

He sentenced Harry. Isabelle thought he should be placed under house arrest; Ned wanted his rank removed. Richard wanted none of this to be happening, so all three of them were miserable.  

Why would there be blood on his thighs? 

Edward dealt with Northumberland. 

They brought in Exton. Richard couldn’t breathe. The sound had rushed from the room, except for the sound of Exton’s voice....’What’s the matter, your grace? Is this not how you like it? would you rather

be on your back?”

“....guilty of treason and sentenced ...,” Edward was saying, and Richard needed him but he couldn't move, “...to death?”

“You know how they kill sodomite Kings? but-”

“My prisoner was not a King..” Exton was looking straight at him and smiling, “Were you, your grace?”

“Stop it! Stop, please, I am the King! I am King of England”- “But you’re not, are your grace, you’re not a king, you’re not anything, so why don’t you make this nice and easy on yourself and relax a bit? What’s the matter, your grace ,is this not how you like it? would you rather be on your back? Guards-

Edward. Edward where are you please come and save me you’re always here, your always here when I need you why aren’t you here why aren’t you here-”

“Your majesty?” Kate and Harry both sprang upright as the King crashed through their door, tears streaming down his face. 

“Anne!” he wept, “I need-she should- this is-where’s Anne, where’s my wife?”

“Your majesty,” Harry  swung to the floor. “L-let me go f-for York-” he could here running footsteps heading towards them and prayed they belonged to Edward. 

“No! No he can't see me he can’t know he’ll hate me I want Anne I want her why isn’t she here?”

“Richard!” Isabelle appeared in the doorway, 

“What happened?” Kate asked.

“Exton. He went all tense and  rigid and then he bolted, Ned wanted to come after him but the doctor only let him out of bed on the condition he was carried to the courtroom and spent the entire time sitting down, I told him to send Exton to Tower Green and be done with him- Richard ,darling-” she went to her husband, who shoved her as she went to embrace him:

“Don’t touch me!” he screamed. “Don’t touch me, please don’t...” he hid his head with his arms. “Don’t touch me. I want Anne. I want Anne. I want Anne.”

[rktaeyong]

09.23.17

SATURDAY, SEPT 23RD

Skipping out early on training was not something Yuta would have usually done, but it was the only time he could get out before Taeyong would. One arm clutched around his waist as he pretended to be ill, bowing in apology to the trainers and fellow trainees, and making his way home with nervous energy sparking in his body. There were three stops to be made before he was opening the door to the empty apartment; his eyes darting around for any sign of Jaehyun or Taeyong, before he was inhaling the cool air to calm himself. He could do this. He’d nearly blurted it out twice this past week, once, when he came home to find Taeyong asleep on the couch again, staring at his fingers, over his face, at the soft pink strands, and another during a lunch break in the Seocho building, while they were talking and chatting about nothing at all important.

His belongings were dropped off in his room before he began to set up. 

It took much longer than he had expected, individually wrapped chocolates placed in the shape of an arrow in the doorway, pointing in the direction of Taeyong’s bedroom. Pieces placed in a trail, one after the other, spaced one length of his hand apart, until they reached Taeyong’s bedroom door. The last few formed an arrow on the end of Taeyong’s bed, aimed towards the sunflower bouquet, decorated with tiny white flowers and stems wrapped in brown. Four different placements until he had found one he was satisfied with it.

The last two things were the Rilakkuma and Korilakkuma plushes. Twice, he had nervously taken them back to his room and then returned them. His dull nails scratching at his nape as he adjusted them to be leaned up against the bouquet. Yuta wanted Taeyong to be happy when he saw it, when he saw Yuta standing there in his bedroom, when he saw that Rilakkuma was holding a paper note, scratched with the black ink question of, ‘go out with me?’

A note that Yuta snatched up when he heard someone at the door, hoping it was Taeyong and not Jaehyun. His heart racing in his chest, flushed against his ribs as he stepped away, finding his closer to the wall than the bed and glancing around, wondering if there was somewhere he could hide and finding none. There was no where to hide, the note was crumbled in his hand, and his eyes were darting up towards the approaching footsteps. He should have changed his shirt, he should have gotten rid of the box the chocolates came out of, he should have picked a better bouquet, cuter plushes, a more significant day—

God, what if Taeyong said no?

Yuta swallowed down that thought, tried to ignore how lightheaded he was; blood pumping too quickly and air not making its way into his lungs as he stared at the boy, the room, and how his heart was on display. His shoulders tensed up higher, licking over his parted lips and glancing down at the crumpled paper. The Japanese male shifts his weight, realising why his teachers always told him to write notes for his speeches.

Suddenly he didn’t know what to say, but he needed to say something.

“Taeyong, I.. I know last time, I messed up, but.. I was wondering if you’d give me a second chance and go out with me, again,” he asks, fidgeting with the paper and lifting it up to show the words. “This was supposed to be a cool note, but you said being genuine is the most important thing. And you know I’m not very good with emotions, that’s why..”

He motions gently to the scene around them, to the chocolates, the bouquet, the plushes, and he bites back the edges of a laugh. It was horrible, being vulnerable; he could feel it. Salty cold air, stinging at the edges of his skin that were being peeled back, and all he wanted was to say it, properly, before Taeyong could shut him down, before every reality would hit him.

“But I love you,” comes out quick and hasty, not able to quite look at the boy who had his heart when he confessed it the first time. His eyes slowly raising, fingers tearing at the edges of the note in their grip to calm his nerves. “I love the way you smile, when you get that crinkle in your nose, when your giggle gets all pitched. I love how you’re always there for me, always looking at me with those worried eyes, always calling me a dork when I am not a dork. I’m not a dork. I love how caring you are, how you.. you cook for me and argue that you’re going to stay up until I get home, but you fall asleep anyway. I just.. I want you to believe me.”

Yuta looks at Taeyong, eyes wavering slightly and biting over his lip before he musters those words up again. “I love you.” This time it was easier, smoother, relieving, to say them. Like he was giving the other boy a secret, sharing with him something that ultimately, he believed the other knew. After everything, after every kiss, after every stolen moment. He was just the one dragging it out and pretending not to know. “I love all of you.”

The note he wanted to be cool, lifted up again to show Taeyong the words on there and teeth nipping the edge of his smile — ’go out with me?’

normalcy hasn’t ended, taeyong decides earlier on in the day. his routine is almost like clockwork – wake up, have a quick breakfast, brush his teeth, get dressed, then go to schedule. run through exercises and training for the day and then go back home to sleep and start the cycle all over again. it’s not a bad cycle, not in the least. he’s gotten used to expecting that this is his new normal.

and he doesn’t mind it at all. not expecting any surprises to come out of the blue. nothing jumping at him from the walls or dragging him down to the floor. he liked that, the conclusion of an overall unsurprising day, the way he could predict how things could happen or work out – key work, liked. the power of knowing what would happen in his day would be a much appreciated superpower, he feels – effective and efficient, too.

but the second he gets home, the second he sees the way the little individually wrapped drops of chocolate are arranged in an arrow, he decides that surprises can be pleasant in the long run.

perhaps.

for a second, taeyong is startled to think about what awaits beyond the threshold of his bedroom. is it a burglar? did a rabid animal make it into the apartment? what if he gets knocked out as soon as he opens the door? it made his heart pound to think about all these possibilities. they were wrestling in his head, and his feet hesitantly take him closer to his bedroom all the while looking around for other evidence of another presence in the apartment.

he slowly creaks open the door, and when he sees yuta standing before him, sunflowers and stuffed animals by his sides, he just about almost faints. he gasps slightly and covers his mouth with both of his hands as his eyes flicks around the room.

his eyes become glossy. his mouth curves slightly upward through a bitten smile, his hands interlaced in front of his hips. as he stares at yuta, listens to every word he says, his slightly faded, rosey blonde fringe slightly covering his eyes.

he cries. the tears stream down his face so easily, like rivers in a canyon, a waterfall running off a cliff.

for the first time in a long time, yuta looks so small. so helplessly nervous. so unsure of himself. yet also, taken into account with everything he’s saying, it’s so moving. such a powerful moment to drive taeyong to tears hearing every single word he’s saying. he knows that he means every bit, that he means it and even more. he sounds so real, so raw, so passionate.

it makes his tears sweet. it makes him cry harder for all the right reasons.

for a while, he’s silent. he doesn’t know what to say, he’s overcome with so much emotion, almost too much that he can’t handle it. what does he want to say at the moment? his heart pounds, and his feet finally take a few steps forward. their bodies are closer, but not touching.

taeyong finally speaks, with a rawness to his voice. “yuta… i…

– i love you too. i love you so much.” he doesn’t know what else he can say – he doesn’t know if there’s any other appropriate response. his hands finally unclasp, and with an experimentally slow pace, he locks his fingertips around the back of yuta’s neck. their bodies grow closer still, there’s still a few inches between their faces.

taeyong’s red eyes curve into delightful half-moon crescents. he sniffles a bit, his nose scrunching as he stares at yuta with so much adoration, so much relief. “this second chance… i’ve honestly been thinking about it for a long time – and it’s been the only thing basically on my mind as of recently. and i wondered… wondered if it was ever going to be a reality. i wondered if we were ever going to be a reality together again. i realized – that i just… love you. so much that… sometimes i think that someone like you deserves better than me. but… the way you make me feel, the way you’re so caring, how you bring out my best self… i realized that i wanted us to happen again. that i wanted you back. that i wanted to be yours again.”

he inches closer to yuta, small smile hidden behind a layer of tears, “i missed you.” and their lips meet in the most delicate kiss they’ve ever shared possibly, his eyes immediately closing at the flesh touching flesh.

and taeyong couldn’t be happier.

[anigraham]

Curse of Strahd 05: Rudolph Van Richten’s Tower

Previous Session | 

Highlights:

Most of the group wishes to head back into Vallaki to save Ireena as quickly as possible. There is a suggestion of going during the upcoming festival.

The owner of the tavern catches up to the group and delivers a letter...which urges the party to seek out a tower about a days travel to the west.

Along the way to the tower they hear thunder nearby.  It’s unnatural.  They go to investigate and find a female dwarf being attacked.  Seeing as how she is also an outsider to Barovia, she teams up with them.

They reach the tower and after some time, a Vistani by the name of Ezmerelda shows up.  After a short conversation, she allows the party to come into the tower with her so they all can rest.  Some werewolves soon show up.

Ezmerelda and her mentor, Rudolph Van Richten, both wish to kill Strahd.  Maybe they all can help each.  Zelda makes a connection that Rudolph is Rictavio from the inn in Vallaki.

Zelda spends much of the night crying alone.

In the morning they set off to deal with the werewolves that are watching the tower.

Zelda gets bitten…

Session in Detail:

The party begins putting distance between them an Vallaki, but mostly everyone wishes to return sooner than later in order to save Ireena.  Zelda seems to be a bit reserved and concerned about the idea...worrying they just aren’t suited to take on an entire town of angry people.

It is suggested that maybe it would be best to return during the night of the festival and hopefully then the city will be too distracted and provide them an opportunity to retrieve Ireena.  (Zelda isn’t completely convinced, but keeps it to herself.)

As more and more distance begins to grow between Vallaki and the group, it is noticed that they are being followed by a raven.  Soon this raven lands near the group and transforms into the father of the Martikov family...the family that owns the inn.

He offers them a letter which reads…

“To the adventurers recently forced to flee the town of Vallaki. You have friends, though we did not get the chance to truly acquaint ourselves. You perhaps acted rashly, freeing your friend so quickly. But a good deed nonetheless, which is why I write this: there is a tower about a days travel west of Vallaki, journey there and you'll make a new friend. Just don't fiddle with door to the tower and don't touch the wagon. your soon to be new friend is properly prepared for trouble.” -R

He also hands over a standard healing potion.  Zelda muses that it may have been Rictavio who had sent the letter.  The tower perhaps is a good place to “lay low” until the festival in addition to getting more help in saving Ireena.

The group continues heading west toward the tower, but the sound of thunder nearby catches their attention.  It’s unnatural.  Hugo is quite curious in the nature of it and so the party decides to go investigate as it doesn’t seem like it would delay them by too much.

They head into the forest a bit to find a female dwarf being attacked by a druid and surrounded by twig blights.  They manage to rescue the dwarf who introduces herself as Undhalla.  She doesn’t seem to be from Barovia, let alone even realize that is where she is, and so the party invites her to come along as there are strength in numbers and outsiders should stick together in this place.

Zelda notes that the dead druid seems to be decaying at an alarming rate.  She records it in her journal.

Along the way to the tower, Hugo shares stories from his past with Undhalla and Zelda takes the opportunity to explain the history of Barovia and who Strahd is.

They reach the tower that is mentioned in the letter.  It seems worn, but sturdy.  There is a wagon resting out front.  Hugo muses over the idea of simply asking the front door if it will open, but Zelda argues that that sort of thing might count as “fiddling” with it and seems rather impolite.  Hugo declares that asking is not fiddling and Zelda points out that the writer probably didn’t know we had someone who could...ask doors and locks to open for him.

But Hugo isn’t given the chance as during their polite bickering...a Vistani woman arrives on a horse.  She seems very injured, tired, and watching the group a bit from a safe distance.  Hugo takes initiative to call out to her and begin introductions.  After everyone has shared their names, she introduces herself as Ezmeralda D’avenir.

The group shares the letter they had received calling them to this tower.  She recognizes the handwriting as belonging to her mentor, Rudolph Van Richten.  Ezmeralda shares she hasn’t been in Barovia for quite a while, but returned to find her mentor who she had heard was hunting down Strahd.  She offers the party to continue their conversation in the safety of the tower...seeing as how she is being chased after having attempted to kill Strahd earlier that day.

...the group then discovers that the locked door on the tower is opened through...dance...

They are lead into the tower and up to the top and 4th floor...a room that appears to be lived in with a bed, desk, and other comforts.  Ashcroft peers out the window and spots several wolves coming running down the trail and heading in the direction of the tower.  

Undhalla opens up a nearby chest and discovers a head.  Specifically a somewhat preserved head of a Vistani.  Ezmeralda suggests that Rudolph may have been keeping it to question it.  This leads to many questions and the group begins to learn that Rudolph is not really a fan of the Vistani.  He’s a hunter of vampires and other werebeasts.

His son, Erasmus, had been...acquired by the Vistani and given over to Strahd.  Done in a trade after Rudolph failed to save a Vistani member who had become very ill.   Rudolph begged the Vistani to “take anything of mine” out of fear of what the group might do otherwise.  That’s when they chose his son.

They further learned that Rudolph sought out his child, worked with a lich, and eventually killed the entire tribe that had been responsible for taking his son and giving Erasmus over to a vampire by sending hordes of undead.  Before the leader of the tribe was killed, she put a curse on Rudolph, “Live you always among monsters and see everyone you love die beneath their claws!”  

Rudolph eventually did find his son who had been made into a vampire.  His son begged for Rudolph to end the curse...which he did.  

After learning of all this, Zelda makes the connection that Rictavio is indeed Rudolph and then asks Ezmeralda how she and Rudolph met.  She explains that it was her family that Rudolph initially found and interrogated.  He had let her family go after they revealed the location of the rest of the Vistani camp.  Ezmeralda eventually met Rudolph years later after she had ran away...and after some convincing, Rudolph agreed to train Ezmeralda and they worked together for some time.

In need of allies, the group welcomes the help of Ezmeralda and agree to head back to Vallaki together to save Ireena and possibly find Rudolph still there.  They would first need to deal with the werewolves who wait outside for them...but after a night’s rest.

As things begin to settle down, Zelda slips away and expresses her desire to sleep alone on the ground floor.  She does so and spends much of the night crying.

In the morning she takes out her tarot cards...something she hadn’t used for some time.  It felt a little uncomfortable doing them after all that had happened, but she supposed it might be something to settle her mind a bit after a terrible night’s sleep.

She contemplates their mission to save Ireena and does a simple spread that would describe the situation, action necessary, and the outcome.

Up come the cards…

V of Swords.

VI of Cups.

V of Cups.

The V of Swords reminded Zelda of the urgency of it all.  The need for action and how they must achieve their goal...retrieving Ireena and finding Rudolph.  She mused a bit over the center card, struggling to find how it fit in describing their course of action.  Perhaps it was suggesting simply as she was in the moment...desperately trying to get herself in a happier state of mind and relying on the nostalgia tarot reading tends to bring her.

But the V of Cups weighed heavy on her.  Loss.  Grief.  Disappointment.  The image depicting two cups still upright while three were tipped over...meant to give a feeling that there is still a chance to salvage what may be lossed.  But there.  A card signifying as loss itself sitting in the “outcome” position.  It did nothing to clear her mind…

And in that moment Hugo appeared with breakfast in hand an a warm smile as always.  He greeted her and she confessed that she hadn’t slept well and the tarot reading wasn’t exactly a positive one.

“We’ll just have to show the fates that we have a brighter future in store than they think!”

The comment catches Zelda a little by surprise, but actually does a lot to cheering her up.

After breakfast is finished, the group sets out...some armed with silver weapons provided by Ezmeralda to take on the werewolves outside.  The group does win in the end, but during the battle Zelda took a bite from one.  She quietly looks over the wound and suspects that it is infected.  Zelda alerts the rest of the group and Ezmeralda mentions she does have one scroll that could take care of it back at the tower...

[ash2ash]

Duality of Pride

I don’t know that I have ever experienced pride without shame. I’ve sat with it and marinated in it, but any memory I may have of that experience predates my conscious memory. 

My godfather lived in shadow and shame for all of the nine years that I knew him and for every moment that I have continued to love him since. Posthumous love is such a curious thing.

The irony of the safety he found in the shadows is that I have always associated him with late morning sunlight. The gentleness of it that filters in through the lace curtains over my crib with the promise of the unrelenting afternoon sun that would bake the Texas clay later in the day. Kindness that gave way to a strength I have not known in another person since. 

He used to sing to me. Not very many people ever did that, even when I was small. I still can’t listen to You Are My Sunshine without the raw ache of grief threatening to swallow me up. I had dreamt once, after he’d sent me adrift on the waves of sleep, that the song meant that someone was going to take me away from him. In the dream large men in suits with mirror black sunglasses and buzzcuts grabbed me away while we cried out to one another to stay. I vaguely remember him shushing me with a sad smile and rocking me back to sleep on his warm chest, humming along to a tune I wish I could recall. I wonder if he’d known then.

I had just grieved the loss of a friend from cancer when Steve sat me down and explained that he was sick, too. I think he expected me to cry. I’m sure if I had then the tears threatening to flood from his eyes would have drowned us both. Destri’s death had been mostly hidden away from me. The only firsthand knowledge I had of his illness was the aphasic seizures he would sometimes have when we played together. One moment we were pirates and the next I was holding his hand while he stared into space. Sometimes he peed his pants. Once I even peed my own to make him feel better about it. I’d seen it on a movie.

Destri’s death was like saying goodbye to someone after the phone had already been slammed down on the receiver. There wasn’t much else an almost five- year- old could tell you about it. He was there and now he was gone. When Steve told me he was sick, I held onto him expecting the same thing. I was afraid that when he walked out our door he would disappear. He looked so sad, all I could do was wrap my tiny arms around his neck and hold on for dear life to try and keep him there. I didn’t cry until he left. Until I thought he was already gone.

I’d heard the word AIDS whispered like a curseword by adults before, I’d seen it spat like it tasted bad by people on TV. I didn’t know what it was any more than I knew what sex was; a tangential sort of comprehension like I’d had it called to me in a dream. I wasn’t supposed to say the word out loud, it was a secret between Steve, my mom, and myself. There wasn’t much in the way of treatment back then and people would be ugly to him if they knew. As the months went on in a sleepy haze, the strong arms that had rocked me to sleep grew thinner, weaker. His uniform hanged too loose and the badge that had shone brightly on his chest now looked down at his boots like saggy tits.

His first stay in the hospital we only visited a few times. It had been a little less than a year from when he had first sat me down. We told everyone that he’d been bitten by a venomous spider; a lie easy for a nature fanatic like myself to remember. It was like Christmas and Halloween all at once when he got to come home, but he was never strong again after that. He got tired too fast when we played and he kept getting skinnier and sadder. My mom was a nurse and had offered to be his caretaker as his condition deteriorated. For me, this meant I got to see him every single day. 

He fought to stay strong for four years, every moment of agony hidden behind the prison of his smile. I asked my mom once why he was sick. She told me that he had fallen in love with a boy who was poisonous. I accepted this and filed it away with the rest of his secrets. Secret doctors visits. secret medicines, secret words, secret tears. So many secrets.

There was a lot of shame towards the end. He had to retire from his job and they threw him a big party. He was too sick to eat anything so he slid me his piece of cake when my mom wasn’t looking. I remember looking around at all the badges and thinking that it must not be that bad to lie to the police if it meant protecting someone you loved from getting hurt. My mom had explained that, too. Boys who kiss boys make people scared, especially when they have been poisoned by another boy. 

He was in bed a lot after that. He caught pneumonia and sometimes there was blood when he coughed. His coughing fits and wheezing were scary at first and sometimes they made his mouth bleed, but after a while I learned not to run away from his lap when they started. The only thing he ate was rum raisin ice cream, which I thought was pretty cool. I wished I could eat ice cream all the time. The crinkling in his chest meant it was hard for him to sing to me. His arms got as skinny as mine were. He had accidents in bed a lot and it made him cry because he was embarrassed. He cried harder when I told him my little brothers did, too. I didn’t understand why that hurt him but he had so many bruises that I thought everything must hurt all the time. I tried not to cry when he cried, but sometimes I couldn’t help it. One night he told my mother he loved her and she cried all the way home. We must have made an ocean with our tears.

His golden morning light was being drowned out by the sickly green skies that come before tornadoes. The week before his death was just as eerily silent. He was in a special hospital room all to himself and we brought him rum raisin ice cream every day. He always tried to eat a few bites, even when his arms were too tired to hold the spoon. Nobody else ever came to visit with us and his hallway was always too quiet. Everybody whispered and their eyes moved around too fast when we walked by, but my mother never seemed to notice. The doctors were nice to him but it felt like the kind of nice that the popular girls were even though they laughed at you when you walked away.

The last time I saw Steve he was stronger than he had been in a long time. He gathered me up on his lap and he told me that he loved me, that he would always be in my heart, that I was so brave, to remember to be kind, and to take care of my mother. He held me to his chest like he did before his got sick and he sang to me one last time. His voice kept cracking but he sounded happy and also sad, like the last day of school. He hummed to me and rocked for a while after the song was over. He kissed my hair and told me to go out to the hall and get my mom. I didn’t know he was saying goodbye. I remember looking back in the room when we left and the sun was shining through the windows again. His smile went all the way to his eyes and he laid down and closed his eyes like when he used to float on his back in the pool.

My mother knelt by the edge of my bed that night and told me that Steve had gone to look after Destri.

I remember his slow death through the eyes of a frightened child, but his funeral is told with the biting tongue of a jaded adult. His casket was carried by men in uniforms who were scared of boys who were poisoned by kissing other boys. Those men took his body to a plane and flew all the way to Arkansas with it like they would not have turned their backs on him if they had known who he really was beneath the lies. Beneath all the shame.

Steve didn’t die because a virus took away his immune system. Steve died because generations of scared men sowed shame like crops of violently carnivorous invasive plants that choked out all the natural flora and fauna. Such beautiful, thriving ecosystems decimated by fear to make way for their hate.

Steve died of shame. Shame made him hide who he was. Shame made him find love with a stranger under the safety of darkness because he could not love like my mother in the light.

I share Steve’s shameful malady. Before you clutch your pearls, I’m not dying. There are no hospitals or melting pints of rum raisin. I don’t have AIDS, but I am afraid my condition is terminal all the same. I spent years hiding it, trying to choke it out from within lest I end up poisoned as well. Like my godfather before me, I am bisexual.

I was 12 the first time I had a wet dream about a woman. In hindsight, my volleyball coach really was a total babe. I panicked. I spent all day at school sick to my stomach, remembering the smell of Steve’s sick room and the way his frail body was dwarfed by the bed. I remembered the rattle in his chest and shouting cough that was so much louder than his voice had been when he was strong. I confessed to my mom with every tear I had not allowed myself to cry for Steve. She urged me to keep it secret, so I strangled it. For every poisonous thought I biked another mile. By the end of that summer I was lithe and lean like a jungle cat. There were no more dreams, not for thirteen grey years.

It has been almost twenty years since I last heard his voice, but it still echoes between my ears. I am haunted by the ghost of everything he never got to see, taste, smell, hear, and feel. I am shackled by the chains that coiled like snakes beneath his death bed.

You are so brave.

Steve never got to go to Pride, never got to feel pride in who he was beneath the ill fitting mask that kept him safe in a small town. Steve never got to love freely. Steve never got to live his truth. To this day, I am one of few people who can say they ever truly knew him. That every truly loved him. 

I owe it to him just as much as I owe it to myself to be brave, to be out, to be proud, to be bisexual. 

You are my sunshine,

My only sunshine,

You make me happy,

When skies are grey,

You’ll never know, dear,

How much I love you,

Please don’t take my sunshine away.