#I also really like your skin cracking idea so I tried to individualize it a little 😊

[autisticrosewilson]

First of all, you have given me so much to work with, thank you so much. Second of all, I’m really glad you could see where I was going with Grant’s real test not actually being about killing Slade. Third of all, I absolutely love what you’ve suggested with the powers and I am currently designing met gala esque outfits for the trio and Tara’s specifically is really fun to play around with. I’ve been thinking to show they’re becoming more divine I’ll change their hair and eye colours but not their faces for the most part. I was drawing robin Jason with Natalia and decided he should have brown eyes and a crooked nose from breaking it as a kid but once he returns his eyes get weird (eg go blue and occasionally other colours), a patch of his hair went white and he lost all of his scars. Also, I think the closer they get to divinity I’m gonna draw cracks on their body that glow with their specific colours just to hammer home how they’re shedding their mortal forms.

With Tara being able to see the strings of fate, I though it’d be fun to give her a harp and then with Jason having the see no evil trait I thought it’d be fun to give him weighing scales since lady justice wears a blindfold. Idk what to give Grant though. I mean probably a weapon of some sort or maybe a Shepard’s crook that he can turn into a scythe to play into the sheep, wolf, Hunter thing.

With Jason and Tara’s splintering, I love the idea of them making fun of Grant for being the baby god. He hasn’t even had a cult yet, gosh he’s so young. Also them being besties just holds a special place in my heart.

And I just came up with this, of course they have parallels to the trinity but in universe rumours of their existence have been around much longer than Bruce, Clark and Diana. They’re the big three of the justice league but these guys are justice gods. So they start calling themselves the justice trinity but then people get confused about which trinity is which because the justice leagues’ trinity sounds awfully close to the justice gods’ trinity. The new all caste is certainly more distinctive branding but the point isn’t to be distinctive, it’s to be petty.

I'm so glad my unmedicated rambling helped!!! And I'm so excited for the outfits!!! I love when characters start becoming less and less human, when they're stuck in that uncanny valley spot of not quite human but not entirely Other, when they lose control and the cracks start to show...um I should probably give a warning for slight body horror elements. Not in the gore sense, in the "this body is not made of flesh and there is something divine clawing it's way out". Uh also there are teeth. Just. Teeth. I dipped into a little bit of cosmic horror at the end there because I wanted to cover my bases with mixed mythologies

Jason, with his defined splinters, is usually depicted with three faces in ancient texts. The Child, gaunt and dark colored, is said to appear before the downtrodden and impoverished. The few stories remaining tell of kindly people who give him an offering, and in exchange he reveals his true form, with his crown of golden ivy and beautiful strong wings to gift them bounties of food and water and riches. Other stories tell of not so kind encounters, where The Child witnesses an injustice - typically against women or children - and again reveals his true form, one with clawed hands and a mouth dripping with blood. Scholars argue what the wings looked like, but whichever All-Caste member annotated it before has compared their likeness to either a Robin or a Shrike.

There's also The Ghost, He appears young at first glance, but his hair is wirey and gray, his eyes milky and unseeing, in bloodied armor he greets the souls of the damned as they're delivered to him, and with scarred hands he wipes the tears of children taken too soon. Accounts of this face are few and far between, but all of them are entrenched in sorrow.

Finally there is The Soldier, scarred and still smoking from the ruins of battle he emerges, giving voice to the weak and resources to the needy. He champions revolutionaries and philosophers first, a strategist who delights in the liberation of the people from corrupt systems. Accounts of him usually come from times of famine and war, and he was particularly popular with poor villages, who would mark the graves of their dead with the symbol of his sword as offerings. For some reason or other, he got particularly popular with the youth, girls and boys both seemed to pray for him and leave him offerings.

The way these manifest on Jason is subtle at first. I could go the body horror route, but I won't. Yet. Instead I think his splinters show up as reflections, shadows, imprints. The faint echo of bell-like laughter when Jason does a move he learned as Robin, the image of a younger him with longer hair and unblinking eyes staring at him in the mirror. It gets worse when he gets the blades, the white streaks his hair, the swirling mark covers more of his skin every time he uses them, he trails the scent of smoke and blood behind him like a signature. His scars...they should disappear. They have for everyone else who used the pit, but instead his skin starts cracking. Any place he's ever been scarred glowing cracks break up his skin. He can't feel them, but he's always aware of them, the meaning behind them, the divinity literally leaking through his body. His eyes aren't brown anymore. They aren't even green. He looks in the mirror and they are copper, molten and burning. He tries his best to keep his mask on.

What do you think of when you imagine the word divinity? Probably something like Tara. Something with skin carved from stone, with moss and fungus crawling up her legs and snow laden shoulders. They say her hair is made of swirling clouds and the sun and moon are her eyes.

Some say she's a nymph although no one knows what kind. You're just as likely to see her name among the naiads as the dryads. Whether flowers bloom where she dances or waves crash when she sings, she's known to be more vicious towards suitors than her sisters.

Others have said she's a faerie, who takes the faces of lost daughters and lovers, slipping into their places seamlessly, forcing unruly men to pay their dues. Others say she's a shifter of a different sort, with a shawl of feathers and a crown of twine and gems. Stories range from men trying to steal her coat (and paying dearly) to lost children returned safely home on the back of a swan.

Tara doesn't think about it at first, the way gravity tends to cede to her, she doesn't notice how sunflowers turn their faces towards her instead of the sun. She doesn't notice the way her face...shifts. it's imperceptible really, and it's not like she looks in the mirror all that often. But everyone around her notices it, on some level, the way her expressions are off. A little too exaggerated. The way her limbs bend just a little too oddly. The way she never looks quite the same as she did the day before, the way she picks up features from the people around her the way she picks up rocks from ground to add to her collection. Clay molded subtly into the image of those she loves, a museum of everyone she's ever met. She does notice when her hair starts going white at the ends, the strange way her hair starts to curl unnaturally, almost floating. She's not so upset about her eyes, the deep blue of her father that has glared down at her day after day, she has changed her hair, her face, her language but she could not change her eyes. It seems she didn't have to, when she wakes up with one a little too silver to be gray and one a little too gold to be brown. And then her skin starts splitting, a cavern made from a broken rib and ravines made by the slashing of knives. She doesn't even bleed anymore, they never scab over. They crystallize, amber like ambrosia, like ichor. Her body a geode waiting to be cracked open to let the thing within finally break free.

They know the least about Grant, whatever he used to be. Half written scrolls, torn or burnt or simply stopped abruptly, illegible journal entries with symbols never recorded in any known language, half finished sketches where the details are never quite clear. A few things are usually consistent though, signs that he's been there, usually from hunters down on their luck or the particularly old and sickly. First, the howling. Like a wolf or a storm, although later accounts would add that it occasionally sounds like a mechanical whirring. Then the rabbits, dead and gutted, but not a trace of blood. Piles of them left in heaps on doorsteps or windowsills. Some have reported knocking at strange hours or finding teeth in their homes, a mix of human and animal. There is one photo on record, the most recent thing in the archive most likely, of claw marks on the side of a barn, too big and oddly serrated, certainly not from anything native to the area. Elderly that report these phenomena typically pass from heart problems within the week, according to some of the old medical files.

Grant came back wrong. Physically, at least. He knows that he's still himself for the most part, dying didn't make him a selfish asshole he did that all on his own, but...but something is wrong with him. It's the way lightbulbs flicker when he's mad and how cameras, no matter the quality, never quite get a clear shot of him. The way Joey can't ever grasp his features, not fully, the details slipping from his mind like water. The way eyes on his face slide right past, unable to look directly at him. It's in the gray spreading from his roots and his eyes too wide and dark to belong to something human. It's the way death clings to him like a second skin, sickly and pallid turning the tips of his fingers gray. His teeth are starting to feel too sharp for his mouth, and he hears things no one else does, whispers of voices that Are Not and Can't Be. The worst part is the orange, liquid candlelight under his skin, lighting up all of his veins and scars, webbing together like the world's worst game of connect the dots. No, there is no mistaking him for something human, so there is no reason to try. If this is his fate then he will take it, because he is not a sheep and he will not be a wolf, he is a hunter, and he is hungry.

[feralghxuls]

here's a snippet of this. it hurts. it's about aether staying behind :) and dew finding out from Not Aether :)

Dew stands quietly in the center of the room. Feet shoulder-width apart, hands behind his back. Shoulders squared. Eyes boring into Aether. He's silent, nothing unusual about his posture, but all of it is deafeningly loud. Aether tries to ignore it as he closes the door behind him, but it's impossible with the way the distinct feeling that he's done something wrong crashes through him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Dew demands. His voice is loud in the silent room, harsh and bitter, threatening to crack with the force he puts into the words. The words he speaks out loud. In Ghoulish. Instead of using the telepathic link they share, like he always does. Aether's heart cracks as he turns slowly, resisting the urge to press his back against the door, his ears flattening against his head. 

He barely gets half a word out before Dew is speaking again. Speaking isn't really the right word for it, though; spitting, more like. Hissing. There's violence in his words. 

"Aether." He hates the way his name sounds in Dew's mouth right now. It makes his skin crawl and his stomach turn inside out. "What the fuck is wrong with you. Did you think I wouldn't find out? It wasn't important enough for you to tell me yourself? I had to hear it from fucking ChAir!" 

His voice doesn't rise in volume, only intensity, but it leaves Aether's ears ringing anyway. He opens his mouth to defend himself, confused and hurt because he's not really sure what Dew is talking about. 

"Shut up. I don't care what you have to say now. You missed your chance for talking. It's been a fucking week, Aether. And not once did you think, 'oh, I should probably tell my fucking mate this very important piece of information!'" Dew's voice rises now, loud enough by the end that it rings in the corners of the room when he pauses. His tail lashes once, a controlled, tight movement. His head tips to the side, gaze firey and freezing cold as he rakes it over him. "You don't smell guilty enough. You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" 

Aether doesn't bother trying to respond. His heart can't decide if it wants to sink into his toes or take up residence in his throat, and has somehow managed to do both. And also race at double speed, pumping adrenaline through his veins so fast it's making him dizzy. He tries to plead with Dew instead, eyes wide, tail tucked and curled around his thigh. 

Dew scoffs. A harsh, brutal sound that makes Aether flinch. He smells worse now. Far worse. Like he did in those first days after his transformation ritual. Aether swallows hard, and it tastes like bile. 

"Whatever. Fuck you." Dew drops the words like individual, searing pennies right into the center of Aether's chest. He steps forward, two strides covering the distance between them and he's less than an arm's length away, staring icily up at Aether. He can see the hurt in his eyes, and he still has no idea what Dew is talking about. 

"Move." 

Aether sidesteps automatically, barely processing the command before his body is moving and it doesn't sink in that Dew is leaving until he pulls the door open, a sharp, rigid movement. This close, it's clear to see the tension written in every line of Dew's body, and he wants to beg him to stay, to tell him what he's done wrong, but he's frozen, unable to move or speak.

[javaghoul]

Ok sooo what’s your idea for Nishiki, Tsukiyama and Naki and their first time *wink wink* Just what do you think how it went and with who or something idk

Nishiki X Tsukiyama X Naki?

That's some... threesome anon. I've never considered this before.

Nishiki

I think Nishiki would've been a late bloomer, despite his young-insecure-guy claims at the time. I think he was already settled in university by the time he lost his virginity

Not for lack of interest though! Nishiki is an extremely particular guy (maybe more than Mr Tsukiyama), and for him, he has to at least LIKE the person he intends to sleep with...

...and we all know he basically hates everyone so

Also: one night stands are so trashy in his opinion

His first time would've been with someone he was in a relationship with. They would've dated, fooled around, spent time together. Someone he trusted

I imagine Nishiki as someone who isn't immune to nerves, awkwardness, and feeling shy, but his control of his own composure is rock solid. On the surface, he would've appeared intense, confident, and would definitely have taken the lead. All the while thinking "Shit, am I doing this right"

Pretended he finished quickly because he had a class to get to

(Berated himself over that)

Texted a couple of hours later, and called the next day. Good boy.

Tsukiyama

I don't wanna fall for the whole 'family arranged something for my coming of age and now I'm a man' trope, BUT BUT! I don't think it's too outlandish to believe that Shuu's people were somewhat... involved? Supportive? Encouraging? In him losing his virginity, and especially with whom it was lost to

So going with the trope: his partner would've been a little older maybe. He would've known them previously, had some form of relationship with them

Basically he wanted to make sure that he knew the individual. It's risky not to

For Shuu, the emphasis would've been on the act rather than the emotional investment. He was all about the experience

I doubt he would've lost his virginity at his family home. Arranging to meet at an exclusive hotel is an option I can see him choosing. Neutral ground, more privacy

Everything Shuu does is smooth, and his first time was no exception. He's always been so comfortable in his own skin, it didn't faze him

The guy knew what he was doing before he knew what he was doing

Would've had little to no further contact with the person again.

Naki

It's canon that he didn't know where babies came from despite being an adult...so this is somewhat tricky for me to write lol. This is going to toe the line of crack ok?

I think it takes a special individual to want to sleep with Naki, so pinpointing the 'type' of person he lost it to is challenging

It would've had to be someone he knew. Or at least someone he was AWARE of, and he finds tolerable

Any sexual suggestions/flirting/innuendoes are going to fly right over his head. And the snippets he did catch, were nonsensical when he relayed them back to his friends

I am CONVINCED someone sat him down and put on some porn. Some safe, vanilla, porn. Potentially provided a running commentary explaining things

they HAD to, didn't they?

Ayato was it you??

When the moment arrives, it is confusing as heck, frustrating, and hilarious. In retrospect

Look, whoever wants to have sex with Naki obviously really likes him so I'm sure the experience was magical, and lovely

The person may or may not joke, 'I tried to fuck your brains out, but someone beat me to it' 😉🤭

Naki won't get it.

[windblooms]

Hi!! Could you do headcanons of Diluc, Kayea, Childe and Zhongli with a s/o who is touch starved but is too shy to intimate physical affection please? Thank you!💙

decided to answer the two of these in the same ask since they have similar personalities for the reader, and they evolved into scenarios.  hopefully what i’ve written is all right!

edit: to the second anon, i’m sorry, i don’t know how people write more than 500 characters in asks. ㅠㅠ  is it maybe a submission . . . ?

childe:

as a very perceptive individual, childe would pick up on your hesitations relatively soon, however won’t say anything about them outright.  

while he may ask you if something’s wrong whenever you reach out, but self-consciously pull away, or when you’re on the verge of words but can’t bring yourself to speak, he won’t pry into your meekness. 

he knows that some people prefer to keep things to themselves or away from others – he’s a prime example of this himself.  so he doesn’t want to push you, but will continue to keep mental tabs on when you shrink away, or backtrack after you sound as if you’re going to ask him something.

if the trend continues for a while, he’ll eventually sit down to talk with you about it.  he’ll discuss with you patiently, not wanting to invade past things you might not want to share just yet, but he still tries to find the cause of your hesitancies so he can better understand you.

“there’s something bothering you, isn’t there?” he leans forward across the table, and rests his chin on his hand.  “you can tell me, you know.  i’ll try and help you with it.”

as you take your time to answer, he grows increasingly concerned, but still wears a poker face to not influence you as well.  across the table, he’ll slowly reach out his hand as a means of comfort, and clasp yours when you don’t pull away.

you begin to speak about your uncertainties, and childe listens intently.  ah, so that was it – now that you mention it, the two of you don’t hold hands much, or really touch each other.  he had assumed that’s how you preferred it, little to no physical touch.  but now that you’ve explained why you’ve concealed those wishes . . . 

“i’d be more than willing to hold you.”  childe’s words are soft, and he manages a small smile to encourage you.  as soon as your face flushes, though, he can tell that there’s something else you want to say.  so he pauses, expectant, but you still seem nervous.

he takes a gander and speaks.  “we can start off slow, if you want . . .  actually, anything you want, you can tell me.  you don’t have to worry about being embarrassed.”

from there, the two of you work out what you want.  you both agree to take it slow, since this will be a first for you; small touches against each other’s fingers as reassurance, and taps against his shoulder when you’re too nervous to outright ask for his attention.  he also has something of his own to suggest:

“there’s some custom that mondstadtians have,” childe ponders aloud suddenly.  “hm – something about tapping three times, meaning ‘i love you’?”

at his notion, you become bashful, and look down towards your lap.  you know where he’s going with this, and at your reaction, the snezhnayan chuckles, unfolding his hands from atop each other to squeeze yours in demonstration.

“one, two, three.  it’s just gonna be between us, all right?”

diluc:

diluc is arguably one of the most emotionally reserved characters in all of mondstadt.  sure, he’s got a sense of dry humor and wit whenever he feels snarky enough, but when it comes to personal sentiments?  he keeps them behind lock and key, with the exception of passive aggression.

if you’re self-conscious about asking for affection, such as when you’re about to reach out to tap at his hand yet pull back at the last instant, you find him looking at you expectatntly, his notorious half-lidded gaze fixated on you.  if there’s something you want, you’ll ask for it is his mentality, since he assumes that the two of you are both comfortable enough in your relationship to do so.  and relationships are built around trust.  so why are you hesitating?

that is to say, he doesn’t stare at you until you crack.  after a few seconds, he’ll look away, and resume whatever he was doing beforehand.  if it were anyone else, he’d most likely ask them verbally what they want, since there’s no use in prolonging the time, and he’s an impatient man. 

he makes a conscious effort to be more gentle with you.  he can’t quite tell if you appreciate it though especially in these scenarios, since you always chew at your lip and refrain from looking at him afterwards.

diluc will only allude to these instances.  he’ll ask “is there something you need?” or “is something the matter?”  he has no experience with physical affection of any sort, at least since his father all those years ago.  so he’d be quite lost with your circumstance; he doesn’t know at all what you want unless you make a verbal indication as to what it is. 

one day, in the privacy of his office, he senses your fingers just near his forearm.  diluc looks over in time to see you clasp his coat rather shakily, but your hold is there nonetheless.  much like usual, he’ll peer at you with a half-lidded gaze, although this time he addresses how skittish you appear. 

“something the matter?” he’ll say as per usual, but this time he isn’t vague; he’s referring to your sudden committance to reaching out as opposed to pulling away.

“ . . . just wanted to hold you.”  your confession is a mere whisper, but your boyfriend still hears it.  the two of you sit in silence for a bit, before he turns his body and puts his hand on the side of your head, pressing gently so that you lean flush against his arm. 

you’re speechless, however the circumstance doesn’t need words anymore.  content with you hugging his arm, and now understanding your wants, diluc continues to work as you drift asleep against him.  while there’s still a ways to go, as he’s sure that this isn’t the only desire you have, it’s surely a start.

kaeya:

the astute captain that he is, kaeya can hone into your desires with relative ease.

before you can retract your hand after reaching out, he’s already grasped it in his own.  you’re caught off-guard, not expecting his agility, but his grip isn’t firm or unpleasant; it’s gentle, as if he’s caring for glass.

he lowers his face so that the two of you are eye-level.  “no need to be shy.  it’s just us.”  kaeya’s reassurance is playful at first, until your contemplative silence queues him in on the severity of your timidness.

he’s concerned: is there something serious that’s bothering you?  he’d just assumed that you wanted to hold hands, or lean on each other.  for how long it takes you to speak, he’s thinking the worst: is a coworker bothering you?  are you ill with a fever?  kaeya’s eyebrows furrow, and he immediately speaks again.  “what’s wrong, precious?  tell me, please.”

looking up at him, you realize that he has the wrong impression.  tenderly enveloping your cheek with his hands, rubbing your skin with his thumbs, you sink into the affection – but he’s got the wrong idea.  

“i-it’s fine,” you begin, and he blinks rapidly.  “just . . . wanted to, uh,” you nudge further into his hands, and squeeze his arms gently, “ . . . touch you.”

ah.  your meekness makes sense now, although considering your personality, his initial guesses probably wouldn’t have been far off.  nevertheless, kaeya indulges you, even if you both continue the circumstance in silence.  it’s evident that you’ve been holding back this request for a while, and as much as he loves to tease and would like to in this moment, he doesn’t believe now is an appropriate time.

so, kaeya continues to stroke your face, soothing away your nerves.  his other hand clasps yours in your lap, giving you the time and affection you crave.  

he finds your vulnerability endearing, but there’s guilt on his conscience: why have you been nervous to approach him about this, and why did he not pick up on it sooner?  not that he expects you to come for him for everything – kaeya just theorizes that there must be some reason as to why you appear so touch-starved, and he’s thinking the worst about such a reason.

“feeling better?”  he inquires, still cradling your face, and he pulls you into a hug.  his warmth is reassuring to you – the security that you’ve longed for.  if this is what affection feels like, you’re not sure that you’d ever want to pull away.

“yeah.”  hesitantly, you lift your face from his chest, but your arms remain around his waist.  your boyfriend grins slightly, and ruffles your hair, pushing your bangs aside so he can kiss your forehead.

“tell me about it.  we can figure this out together.” 

zhongli:

about three weeks into your relationship is when zhongli receives questions from hu tao: “hey, you and y/n don’t touch each other at all.  i know you’re ‘professional’ and stuff, but jeez – not even hand-holding?  thought it’d get more exciting at this point.”

and while he initially thought of her remarks as rude – your relationship isn’t any of her business – it did prompt him to consider her words.

specifically, she’s right: while he’s generally busy at wangsheng, he strives to make time for you whenever possible.  and in that time, never once have either of you touched each other.  he’s never minded, since he’s admittedly gone without it for so long and is used to life without it – but it’s the modern age, and isn’t it customary for liyuens to . . . ?

so he takes it upon himself to ask you over dinner.  he’s made bamboo shoot soup for you tonight, and as you sit across the table from him, finishing the dish, he speaks so candidly it nearly makes you choke on your last bite.

“would you like to hold hands in the market tomorrow?”

“what?”

zhongli makes a strange face.  he knows you heard him, so why do you also look startled, and are averting your eyes?

he repeats himself nonetheless, and while you do answer him this time, it’s by mumbling under your breath.

“ – odd question,” is how you start, and your boyfriend folds his hands underneath his face, yet doesn’t rest his chin.  “um, sure.  yeah, sure . . . ”

you most definitely do not sound sure, but it’s in a way that further perplexes him.  you look . . . thrilled now?  he can see that you’re refraining from smiling – the corners of your mouth flutter – but why?  zhongli doesn’t recall saying anything that would be good news . . .

“is something the matter?” the archon supplies instead, to which you shake your head.  your hands are in your lap.

“ah, no.  what you said just came out of no where.”  an unconcealed smile from you now, and zhongli finds himself relaxing.  if you’re certain, that’s all he cares about.

he stands up, and prepares to take your dish to the kitchen.  before though, he makes sure to bring you up to your feet, and intertwines his fingers with yours.

“may i kiss you?”  he asks, suddenly, unexpectedly.  he sees you nod, the slight pressing of your lips together, and gives them a quick peck before retreating; zhongli can still taste the slight bamboo left over.

when the two of you draw away, there’s a noticeable flush on your cheeks.  once more, you seem giddy, however this time he doesn’t have to ask why.

“i’ve never done this before.”  there’s trepidation in your voice that causes his brows to furrow slightly.  “so . . . it’s all right if we start out slow, right?”

“of course,” zhongli doesn’t hesitate to respond.  you could mean so many things, and he isn’t sure which you’re referring to: initiating physicality with him, or maybe that you’ve never had a partner before . . . ?  but he doesn't dwell on that.  “your comfort is what matters.”

in the market the next day, zhongli finds comfort in the slight tugs on his coat sleeve from your fingers, and the smile that beams on your visage.

[swanlake1998]

Article: The Unbearable Whiteness of Ballet

Date: April 22, 2021

By: Chloe Angyal

In an exclusive excerpt from her new book Turning Pointe, contributing editor Chloe Angyal lays out the ways that white supremacy is embedded in ballet's most basic foundations.

Wilmara Manuel and her 11-year-old daughter, Sasha, were at the world finals of a ballet competition, the Youth America Grand Prix, in 2015 when it happened. Shortly before the competition began, the young dancers were on the performance stage with their parents, warming up and preparing to dance the solos they’d been rehearsing for months.

As Wilmara, who is Black and originally from Haiti, and Sasha, who is biracial, stood there, a young white dancer looked around the stage, checking out the competition. “And her eyes land on Sasha,” Wilmara remembers, “and I saw her look [Sasha] up and down, and then look at her mom.

“And her mom said, ‘Don’t worry. They’re never really good anyway.’ ”

Wilmara did her best to contain her shock. Sasha didn’t hear what the white mom had said, and Wilmara wasn’t about to tell her, because “that’s not the thing I want to discuss 10 minutes before she takes the stage.” But Sasha could sense that something was amiss. “Just the look on my face, she was like, ‘What? What happened? What did she say?’ ” Wilmara brushed her daughter off.

Don’t worry. They’re never really good anyway. An entire worldview of white resentment of Black progress and excellence passed quietly from mother to child in just seven words.

That white mother could not fathom that Sasha, a biracial child with a Black mother, might be really good—as in very good, or truly good—at a traditionally white art form at which her child was presumably also quite proficient. She could not imagine that Sasha might deserve to be at that competition, might have qualified on her merit—her talent and skill and persistence—rather than because of what she might consider a misguided or even unjust attempt to diversify ballet by lowering standards. They’re not really good, but they are allowed to be here. In this space that is rightfully yours, in this art form that is rightfully yours. They’re never as good as the white girls, a sweeping generalization that grants no individuality, no humanity, to any nonwhite dancer. They’re all the same, and they never deserve to be here. But don’t worry. Your excellence is a given. You belong here, while their presence is conditional or even ill-gotten.

A few minutes later, Sasha took the stage and performed her solo. She ended up placing ahead of that white dancer.

From then on, Wilmara traveled with Sasha to every competition, paying the additional travel costs to make sure that, if something like that ever happened again, she’d be there to support her daughter.

“That has stuck with me,” she says. “And it’s one of the reasons I make the sacrifice and I go with her everywhere. Even if there are others going, I feel like I need to be around should comments like that pop up. I just don’t feel like I can take that chance, you know? And what cracks me up is that . . . she doesn’t even look as dark as I do, which makes me feel like, ‘Oh my God, if you were darker, like, what else?’ ”

Sasha grew up in a suburb of Indianapolis and is now 16. She trains at the Royal Ballet School in London, an exclusive training ground that serves as a feeder school for the Royal Ballet. It’s widely acknowledged to be one of the best ballet schools in the world.

Wilmara says that people often express their surprise at the quality of Sasha’s training and technique. “Oh wow, you’re really good,” Wilmara says by way of example. “Where do you train? Have you been dancing for a long time?” She says that while she tries to give these white people the benefit of the doubt, she knows what they usually mean, and she’d prefer they just come out and say it: “I’m surprised you’re that good. You’re Black and you’re dancing and you’re good.”

Now that Sasha is a little older, Wilmara talks to her about the racist assumptions embedded in those surprised comments. “You know she’s asking because she doesn’t think a person of your color can do this,” she’s told Sasha, who now “gets it when she hears that tone of voice.”

And, she says, she’s been frank with her daughter about the kind of resistance she should expect from the overwhelmingly white ballet establishment if she keeps excelling—which she shows every sign of doing.

It’s moms who do the bulk of the work of ballet parenting: the sewing of costumes, the schedule keeping for rehearsals and recitals. And when you’re a ballet mom to a dancer of color, there’s an even higher price to pay.

“Not everybody’s gonna be thrilled,” Wilmara says, paraphrasing her conversations with Sasha. “Even if you’re not a dancer of color, it’s cutthroat. And on top of that, you are a dancer of color, and so that poses another threat in some ways. So you have to be mindful of your things and what you are doing, and know what things are okay, and [pay attention to] when you are uncomfortable.”

This emotional labor, the work of helping young dancers understand what “that tone of voice” means and why it’s being used—or the work of deciding whether to tell your child about the racist remark you just overheard or absorb it yourself and shield them from it—is a part of parenting not demanded of mothers of white dancers.

Then there’s the payment in time and money required of Wilmara to make sure that Sasha’s ballet experience is as fair and worry-free as possible. Once, at a competition, Wilmara forgot to color in the “nude” pale pink straps on one of Sasha’s competition costumes. Wilmara scrambled to find brown foundation because none of the vendors at the competition had a leotard in Sasha’s skin color.

“Come on, people, you are here,” Wilmara remembers thinking. “There may not be that many [dancers of color], but they are all here and you should be able to bring various shades of nude leos.”

Succeeding in ballet, or even just surviving, requires extra talent, extra work, extra resilience, and extra sacrifices from dancers of color, especially Black and brown dancers, and their parents. White ballet moms might have to talk to their white daughters about how cutthroat ballet is. But they don’t need to issue additional warnings about how a white girl’s success will be received by that cutthroat culture, because almost all the successful girls and women in ballet are white.

“They’ve had to grow up a lot faster,” Wilmara says of Black and brown ballet dancers. “I think the ballet world makes you grow up a lot faster, but on top of that,” there are the “extra hurdles that other dancers don’t have to think about.” There are the overtly racist comments backstage before a performance and the subtly racist “compliments” after. There is time spent frantically searching for the right leotard or adapting the default pink leotard. There is the knowledge, internalized first by parents and then by their kids, that if you make it over all those hurdles your success will be viewed with suspicion and resentment—that ballet does not have a “diversity” problem; it has a white supremacy problem.

“Our kids,” Wilmara says, “are thinking about this and thinking about it early on.”

The organizing principle of ballet—of training, of performance, of making a ballet body—is control. Control of your rigid torso while your foot shoots upward from the hip in a battement. Control of a silent and compliant class of otherwise giggly 9-year-old girls. “The traditional and classical Europeanist aesthetic for the dancing body is dominated and ruled by the erect spine,” wrote dance scholar Brenda Dixon Gottschild in her landmark book The Black Dancing Body. “Verticality is a prime value, with the torso held erect, knees straight, body in vertical alignment. . . . The torso is held still.”

It all demands control. Control of your smiling face as your feet scream in your pointe shoes at the end of a long pas de deux. Control of your weight, of your turnout, of your stretched and strengthened feet that now arch into a shape no ordinary foot can make. “The ballet audience, attuned and habituated to view control as a prime value, applaud its display and are embarrassed when it isn’t fulfilled,” Gottschild wrote.

Discipline, order, adherence to strict and unquestioned rules. That’s what ballet is. When Gottschild asked Seán Curran, a white dancer and choreographer who performed with the Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Company, what he pictured when he thought of white dance or white dancing bodies, he said, “Upright. . . . For some reason, ‘proper’ stuck in the head a bit, something that is built and made and constructed rather than is free or flows.” A body that is rigid, obedient, and disciplined, remade from something natural and unruly into something refined and well behaved. Proper. “Whiteness,” Curran said, “values precision and unison.”

Curran’s assessment identifies a central underlying prejudice of white supremacy: the belief that people of color, and their bodies, are wild. Uncivilized, animalistic, subhuman. That white people—who, by contrast, are assumed to be organized and civilized—have both a right and a responsibility to tame that which is untamed and impose order, precision, and unison on it. To suppress and control that which is savage; to press it into something that approaches whiteness but will never be truly white and thus never truly equal.

This is the logic that underpinned white colonization and American slavery. It is also the logic that makes racial segregation possible: that which is pure and organized must be kept separate from that which is profane and undisciplined. And central to this worldview is the idea that the work of white supremacy is unending, not because white supremacy is flawed, but because the very people it seeks to suppress are inherently inferior, naturally incapable of complying. Because of some inborn lack—of will, of understanding, of discipline—people of color will never fully obey, never properly assimilate, never be redeemed by whiteness. In this way, white supremacy perpetuates itself, justifying both its worldview and the permanent need for its existence.

It’s little wonder, then, that ballet—with its fixation on control, discipline, and uprightness—wraps itself so neatly around whiteness. It makes sense that white Americans, reared on the belief that whiteness is synonymous with order and refinement, also believe that people of color have no place, or a limited place, or a conditional place, in classical ballet.

Furthermore, it is easy to see how the ideal ballet body—so controlled, so upright—is everything that white supremacy imagines a Black body is not. And because of deeply ingrained American cultural associations with musculature, loose movement, brute force, and untamed sexuality, the Black body is believed to be everything a ballet body is not permitted to be.

“When we talk about the ballerina,” says Theresa Ruth Howard, a former dancer and a teacher, diversity strategist, and the founder and curator of the digital ballet history archive Memoirs of Blacks in Ballet (MoBBallet), “we’re talking about the ideal, our stereotype of the desirable woman, and that is reserved for white women.”

Howard has made a career of helping the people who run ballet companies and schools to examine their ideas about what makes for a “good” ballet body, asking them to question their biases about the inherent fitness of white bodies and unfitness of other bodies, especially Black bodies. She says that long-standing racist tropes about Black women’s bodies make Blackness and ballerinas seem antithetical.

“You have the trope of either the jezebel, the mammy, or the workhorse of the Black woman,” which are incompatible with desirability, fragility, and sexual purity, the ideal of white womanhood at the heart of the ballerina’s appeal.

“She’s desired. It’s the epitome of beauty, of grace, of elegance, and these are not adjectives that are assigned to Black women,” Howard says. “Especially not darker-skinned Black women. This is why the closer you look to the white European aesthetic as a Black woman, the better chance you have at occupying that role. Especially at a higher level.”

Despite the long tradition of Latin American dancers carving out successful professional careers in the U.S. and the enormous success of Misty Copeland—a light-skinned Black dancer whose ascent to the pinnacle of American ballet was a watershed moment for Black dancers and audiences alike—the archetypal ballerina is still a pale-skinned white woman with slender limbs, negligible breasts and hips, and long, sleek hair. In the American cultural imagination, the ballerina is still white.

George Balanchine famously said that “ballet is woman,” but that’s not the whole truth. Ballet is white woman, or, perhaps more precisely, white womanhood. Ballet is a stronghold of white womanhood, a place where whiteness is the default and white femininity reigns supreme.

Excerpted from Turning Pointe: How a New Generation of Dancers Is Saving Ballet from Itself by Chloe Angyal. Copyright © 2021. Available from Bold Type Books, an imprint of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

[starshipsofstarlord]

The Sheriff and the Murderer

Part Five

Series masterlist

Summary | whilst spending time in the shower with you, Lee notices that there are a few things missing to the household, like any mention of your husband. And thus, he does what he originally came to your house to do, and speak with you about his strange disappearance.

Warnings | smut, shower sex, oral sex (f receiving), very slight sheriff kink, cum swapping, mention of death, swearing, some fluff, angst

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Water ran down the curves of your body, as Lee caressed your ribcage from behind, his fingertips dancing along your skin, with water showering down upon the pair of you, flattening your hair in its spray of passion upon the back of your neck. The man behind you nursed the tip of his nose along your shoulder line, pressing supple kisses upon the blades, enforcing you to hum contentedly.

This is what you had always wanted, this one individual person making sweet love to you, he was your home, not these four walls, nor the tiles that were configured around you. Lee Bodecker was the man of your dreams, but mama and papa had always told you, that dreams were not realistic, they were pits of gold that would drive you made. And maybe, you were a tad mad, after all you had murdered your husband, and gone through with burrowing his body parts in the wild.

The worst part was, as panicked as you were, in that moment, you had felt crazed, as though a true part of yourself was released as you beat his motionless form, spilling further blood around. With Lee, you felt severely calm, soothed with the quiet presence of him puckering pursed kisses down onto your spine, as he swiftly turned you around, pressing his nose against your own as he slithered his addictive hands down, probing at your waist with them to grind his cock against your stomach, fingering the dips of your body.

A stuttered breath left your lips as his tongue traced your lips, prompting you to open the oral depths of your fence of teeth, allowing him to enter the shallow insides of your conversing cavern, tangling the tip of his tongue with your tonsils, your hands tracing up to stifle upon his jaw, feeling the light and dampened stubble across the firm and well aged structure. He backed you into a corner, grasping your hips as his beverage bloated stomach pressed against your own, making your heart swell with adoration.

“Take me Bodecker, consummate me as though I were your own bride.” It was impossible not to allow the words to slip out, and it made Lee groan into your mouth, the sound echoing and reverberating around your entire body. He wanted there to be some momentous truth to support your spoken scenario, for the pair of you to wed in an instant, even if it were to be in the lack of spaciousness proximity of the bathroom shower, that had an inkling of mould brewing in the far top corner, and a few cracked tiles splintering in random placements.

“Thought you’d leave me hanging forever.” The sheriff groaned, stifling his hard cock in his hand, as he bent his knees, using his physical leverage to hoist you into his law enforcing arms, enabling you to wrap your tense legs around the curves of his behind, grasping his flesh closer against your own. “Tight, so tight baby doll.” He gritted his teeth, as he ran his teeth along your slit, just in time before he sunk his hungry cock through your folds, stretching your walls to accommodate his size.

“Lee Lee.” Your voice muffled into the crease of his neck, as you felt obscene pleasure as he stilled inside you, allowing you to adjust to his pulsating length within your pussy, whimpering lightly at the sensation of his entirety, suctioning your lips against his cleansed skin. “Fuck me sheriff, I want to feel every inch of you.” You nestled against him, sending moans directly into his ear as Lee began to rut up into you, his balls slapping against your ass cheeks, as he delivered intimate bites along the side of your neck, though nothing too harsh to leave prominent and dark marks into the canvas of your skin.

“I-“ Lee frowned, his blue eyes reeling shut as he picked up the rate of his thrusts, feeling himself succumb to an immoral pleasure that the preacher would subject against; adultery was against the beliefs within the house of the father, but in the moment either one of you could care less. In fact, it sounded like Lee cared a little too much as his next words passed through the air like a dream similar symphony, that bundled in your ears, leaving you feel conflicted with emotions. “I love you.”

And then he came, filling you with his seed, as he pulled out, dropping to his knees, watching his white gold spill down your thighs. He dragged his tongue over his source, moving closer to your lips to seep below the outer folds, devouring his flow of essence, realising that the first hand taste of himself wasn’t so bad after all. Your hands sewed around the blunt and short hairs of his head, as he swirled your clit into his mouth, the rest of his seed painting down onto his chin, content to continue eating you out until he made you revel into a spiritual space, blinding you into a hot white light, that had you falling back against the chipped dirty blue tiles.

“Oh my god.” You whimpered, eyes blurring with galactic, starry irised tears until your vision returned to vivid clarity. “Lee Lee, come up here.” He stood, his own cum still orbing in his mouth, as he began to kiss you, swapping his taste into your mouth, smirking lightly to himself as you gulped down the extraction of him. “I love- you know.” You shook your head, hardly wishing to say it aloud, considering all that had happened the last time that you had uttered those words to someone, even if you had not actually mean them.

“I need to hear you say it gorgeous, so that I know that you mean it. I’ve waited all these years, practically my entire life, so please, for the love of the law, say it.” He grasped your jaw, caressing your nose once more with his own, sharing breaths with you. His eyes bore into your own, his hand resting again the back of your neck to bring your face closer to his own.

“I love you Lee Bodecker. I really do.” You spoke softly, feeling the water spitter coldly upon your pores, reminding you of how long the two of you had been under its spay. You pecked his lips, running your hands up along his chest, your palms cascading over his pebbled nipples, as you felt him delicately tickle your flesh beneath the flow of your hair. “You were the one I should have married. It always should have been you.” Tears began to pelt out from your eyes, spilling as you thought of how much of a life you had missed out on with him.

The sneaking around had amounted to much stress, the secrecy arising pressure in your lives that felt over the top, all while whilst being worth it. “I fucked up, so bad. I married the wrong man all because I was a young naive girl that thought you deserved better, and you do. The things I’ve done, this life I’ve amounted into, I never wanted it. The one thing I’ve always wanted was you, and I let you get away, all whilst never letting you go.”

Your fists lightly began to beat against his chest as you sobbed, thinking of how previously there had been blood and dirt encasing them, serving as evidence for your unforgivable sins. “Baby girl, it’s okay. We’ll figure things out, Simon is the only thing holding us back from finding a new way to live, by chance, have you found him?” It was not only his way to ensure you with whims of comfort, retelling you that you could find a way to publicly be together, but to also uncover the destination of your missing husband.

“Found him?” You frowned, confused by what he meant. He nodded, racking his fingertips down the side of your face, as you peppered light kissed along his soft skin. “Whatever do you mean darling?” A large part of you was severely worried about the situation; it was a great secret that you did indeed know of his whereabouts, he was in deep, in a literal sense. You’d know, considering that you, along with Sally, had buried him six feet under, and prayed cursively that no one would find his remains.

“Yes, he’s been required at the police station, though none of us have been able to find him. Do you have any idea where he is, I figured you’d be the best person to ask.” It all clicked, and you stepped away, softly shoving his chest as he tried to come closer to you. The tears continued to flow, flooding your face like a broken dam, as you felt overcome with a conjunction of newfound prospects.

“This is what this all was, wasn’t it? That’s why you came here, but instead of firstly asking me where Simon was, you decided to get in my pants! How could you Lee, you made me feel vulnerable, convincing that you loved me so that you could pick my brain.” Cradling your own scalp, you felt how your head was ready ready to implode. Everyone tended to use you for their own dirty deeds, and here Bodecker was, doing the exact same thing.

“No, y/n. That’s not what-“ he realised that you were near on right, he had buttered you up physically, though he had gotten quite distracted from his original ploy. “I’m sorry, but I meant it. And I thought that we would be able to speak like this like civil adults, neither of us have anything to hide.” You did, and the only way to keep it concealed was to push him away, and thus you climbed out of the shower, grabbing a towel and covering your nude body with it.

Lee fumbled after you, grasping his clothes as he exited the bathroom, following your footsteps as you raked your mind obsessively. “Y/n/n please don’t push me away, I want you, and I just need an answer, otherwise you’ll be swarmed with strangers questioning you on Simon, and we both know there’s many things that they don’t know.” Instead, you turned and watched as he clicked his belt together, his eyes pleading at you.

There were many things that he too did not know, and such secrets you did not intend to share with him. Rubbing your eyes, you glanced at the wedding ring that was encrusted upon your vowed finger, grimacing at the sight of it. “Just leave Sheriff, I’m sure you can finish your duties elsewhere. This case better be pretty important if you’re willing to use me for it.” Crossing your arms, you tensed your nostrils, glaring hurtfully towards the man that you currently felt everything towards. “And no, I haven’t seen him, so you can write that down when you get in that car of yours, and drive away from me, for good.”

“I didn’t mean for that darling, please don’t reject me now.” His voice cracked, plodding backwards as he felt his heart stutter rapidly in his chest, cracking at the edges as he saw the brokenness on your features. “I love you, and I’m leaving. But this isn’t the end, we’re going to sort this out once you’re not so tense about all this.” He pointed at you, staring endearingly as he exited your front door, shock falling down his face in liquid pebbles as soon as it slammed behind him.

There were things that you couldn’t tell him, but there was one thing that you had already confessed. You loved him, always had, and it was sure that you always would. You weren’t y/n Priot, you were y/n y/l/n, the girl that had snuck around with him, for vast amounts of years, and had definitely married the wrong man. It had hurt you that he had not showed up at your wedding, though it had always been understandable why. He loved you too, and he would prove it, more so when he got to the end of the case concerning your missing husband.

taglist for this specific series; @charmed-asylum @tcc-gizmachine @stucky-my-ship @brynthebulldozer @acciosiriusblack @lady-loki-ren @bxnnywriting @severewobblerlightdragon @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable

[attllhak]

Surface Too Soon .3

@tortilla-of-courage @emenerd hey look it’s chapter 3. Two chapters in a day and I’m on a roll.

General warnings because Ghirahim is in this chapter and he’s, well, he’s Ghirahim. And he’s being creepy.

Anyways, enjoy! (And to Tortilla, sorry for torturing you with vague updates as I wrote. The boy is fine, just shaken up and scared.)

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

Chapter 3: On The Surface

Link did his best to swallow back every pained whimper as the strange woman ran her hands over his body. He still didn’t want to move, because ow, and it wasn’t like he was in a position to complain.

He’d already survived, which was more than he’d expected after he made it past the clouds.

He did end up crying out as she made it to his ankle, jerking it up away from her, sparking more pain along his leg and side.

She sat back, glaring at him slightly.

“Well, you’re not walking,” she huffed, glaring at the offending ankle, which was throbbing quite painfully. “I’ll need to actually be allowed to take a look at that to assess the damage,”

Link frowned at her, shifting his leg a bit further away.

This seemed to frustrate the woman further. “I am trying to help you. I can’t do that unless you let me.”

Link considered this, and considered the pain he was in, and then considered that, ulterior motives aside, he had no idea where he could find help without this woman. Slowly, because ow, he moved his leg back down to her.

He had to grit his teeth as she slid off his boot and sock to inspect his ankle, and then declared it not broken, but still very badly injured.

His ribs, it turned out, were broken in a few places. Which explains the crack he felt.

One of his shoulders had been dislocated, which the woman popped back into place, which was a LOT of ow.

Eventually, with a lot of complaining and pained noises and slow movements, she got Link sitting up against the sand he’d sid down. So he was still kinda laying down.

Which is when he finally got a look at his surroundings. Hard, red rock rose up all around him, the slope above and behind him was all loose sand, and some kind of thick, red liquid sloshed nearby, giving off heat.

“Who are you?” He asked, and filed away quickly that ow, talking hurts.

The woman looked at him, pausing from where she was using the fabric that had been covering her face to wrap his foot. She looked very annoyed for some reason he couldn’t identify.

Link didn’t know why he’d pissed her off by landing here, but he felt a bit bad for it.

“My name is Impa,” she said finally, turning back to his ankle. “I am a servant to the goddess Hylia, meant to protect the Spirit Maiden on her journey to fulfil her destiny,” she finished tying off the fabric and looked up to meet Link’s eyes. “You are not her,”

He lifted his good arm, since the other still hurt to move. “Is that why you’re mad at me?”

She frowned at him, like he wasn’t making sense.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hoping that would help.

This got him a glare.

“You do not need to apologize for not being who I was waiting for,” Impa told him bluntly. “I’m mad, but not at you. I’m mad because you shouldn’t be down here yet. I should be meeting the Spirit Maiden, not the Chosen Hero. Regardless, you are in no shape to fulfil your duty, and I see no sign of Her Grace arriving here. I’ll take you somewhere safer to heal, and we’ll talk more about your destiny then,”

Link had no idea what she meant by most of that, but it was nice to know she wasn’t mad at him.

He did make a few pained noises as she picked him up, balancing him in her arms.

Every movement as she carried him away from the heat and rocks was ow, ow, ow. He really was a giant bruise by now. Also ow.

The green that started popping up was awe inducing. Especially as there came more and more green. Link had never seen so much green before. And the trees! There were so many trees!

He probably should have paid more attention to where they were going, but he was too enthralled with his surroundings to care.

Which was when he noticed the tiny birds.

All thoughts of pain and worry were out the window at this discovery, and he all but begged Impa to stop and let him look at the tiny birds. She said later, and he tried pouting, which didn’t work, and then needled away until she agreed to bring him a tiny bird to hold when they stopped.

That had Link very excited.

Eventually, Link was set down on a very big plant, Impa called it a mushroom when he asked, and was told to stay put. Impa promised to bring him a tiny bird and some healing items.

Link, of course, did not stay put.

His right ankle couldn’t support his weight, so he ended up crawling around instead, doing his best to keep his weight off his left arm.

When Impa got back and finally found him, he was lying on his stomach and chatting with a small creature he met called a kikwi, who was also face down on the ground.

Impa was not pleased in the least.

He drank the potion she brought him, and even got to hold one of the tiny birds after he’d done so. It felt so small and fragile in his hands, and it was so cute. Even his new kikwi friend stood up to also coo over the tiny bird with him.

Machi didn’t understand why Link was so fascinated with the bird, but Machi also was a bit confused by the whole ‘came from the sky thing’, so Link didn’t hold it against him.

Impa just seemed frustrated with him, proceeding to lecture him about why laying on his stomach was bad for his ribs and how he was just going to hurt himself more. Something about pressure on the breaks or whatever.

Link was only about half listening to her. Oh he was trying to pay attention to what she was saying, of course he was. He always got in trouble in class for not focusing, and he knew it was even more important to focus on what she was telling him down here, with so many unknowns.

But, there was just so much happening around him! The trees here were HUGE! And there were so many new kinds of plants! And what even was a mushroom and were they all that big? And the little bird was falling asleep in his hands, which was adorable, and there were more birds flying around. And there was a new bug he’d never seen before on the wall over there.

It was hard to focus on her, was the point. He kept getting distracted by all the new things to look at.

“Are you even listening to me?” She asked, frowning at him.

Link, realizing he’d zoned out and missed most of what she’d said, responded as tactfully as he could think of.

He lifted up the tiny bird to her slightly. “I can feel it’s heartbeat,”

Impa slapped her face.

Link got the slightest hint that maybe, maybe, he was pissing her off a bit.

“I’m sorry,” he said, watching her drag the hand down her face. “There’s just a lot of new things around and I’m having trouble focusing on you. If it helps, I’ve kinda always had trouble paying attention when surrounded by new things,”

She looked very unimpressed.

“Fine,” she sighed. “We’ll talk about all that later. But no more lying on your stomach,”

Link nodded seriously, or as seriously as he could manage. “Yes, ma’am.”

She looked very tired, and while Link didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d fallen that morning (he’d never been good with time and today was not a good day for that) he was still pretty sure it was too early in the day for her to look so exhausted.

He was pretty sure he was at fault for that. Maybe he should apologize?

“Are you hungry?” Impa asked finally, after just looking at him for a while.

Link was about to say no, but then his stomach growled and so he nodded instead. Food never hurt, he figured.

“Stay put. I mean it this time,” Impa pointed at him firmly. “I’ll be right back,”

Link watched her walk off, and figured maybe he should actually listen this time. She had seemed awful annoyed.

“So, what’s it like in the sky?” Machi asked as the silence dragged on.

“Oh, it’s great!” Link grinned. “The stories say the goddess sent us up there a long time ago to protect us. We ride around on big birds called loftwings, and it’s so pretty, and I was supposed to participate in this competition called the Wing Ceremony so I could graduate into the senior class and become a knight. Actually, I wonder who won it. I mean, I know Zelda will be disappointed- HOLY HYLIA ZELDA!”

The bird in his hands startled and flew away, and Machi fell over at Link’s outburst. Link’s hands shot up to fist in his hair, panic and worry constricting his chest.

“Zelda is probably so worried about me! I have to get back to Skyloft, I need to tell her I’m okay!” Link gasped, suddenly remembering that little detail he’d forgotten in his excitement. “I gotta get back to the sky!”

“I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed then, Sky Child,”

Link didn’t like the way that voice slithered along his spine like a snake, making all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He slowly turned his head to see someone standing on one of the mushrooms, smiling at him like a remlit that had just caught a butterfly.

This individual, probably a man if Link had to guess, was very pale, skin fitted white clothing stuck tight like a second skin and a deep red cape sat around the man’s shoulders. Sharp, too big eyes watched Link like he was the most fascinating and precious thing in the world, and it made him feel very uncomfortable. He didn’t like the way this man was looking at him, eyes taking in his form and tracking even the rise and fall of his chest as he wrestled to keep his breathing under control.

There was something very wrong about this man, and Link wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure if his leg could support his weight yet, not that he’d be able to run very far even if it could.

Where was Impa? She said she’d be right back.

“Don’t bother looking for your bodyguard,” the man grinned, noticing Link breaking eye contact to scan the forest where Impa had gone. “She’s a bit, tied up right now,”

The smile on the man’s face made every nerve and muscle in Link’s body scream “RUN!” at him. But he couldn’t run, he’d never make it away in time.

Stall! He thought desperately at himself. Stall so Impa can get back and get you out of here!

“Wh-who are you?” Link asked, fighting his throat and hating how shaky he sounded.

He’d never been in real danger before, though he was pretty sure that’s what this was, and he was terrified. He didn’t know what to do here!

The man grinned wider, and Link felt his stomach twist into uncomfortable knots.

“Oh how rude,” the man cooed. “I hadn’t introduced myself. I am the Demon Lord who presides over the land you look down upon, this world you call the Surface,” he vanished in a cloud of diamonds, then reappeared inches from Link’s face. “You may call me Ghirahim. In truth, I much prefer to be indulged with my full title: Lord Ghirahim. But I’m not fussy,”

Link backpedalled, crawling as fast as he could to put as much distance between himself and the man as he could.

Ghirahim vanished again, this time appearing behind Link to grab his shoulders. Link froze, fear rooting him to the spot. He didn’t dare breathe.

Where was Impa?!

“I’m much more interested in you, however,” the, the demon cooed almost directly into Link’s ear. He suddenly felt nauseous. “Yes, Your Majesty, you are a much more interesting find. I had actually expected your mortal form to be that of a woman, but I’m not complaining about this little surprise. It’s certainly clever, if nothing else,”

Link swallowed down bile, body tense as he felt the man continue to look him over, even from the awkward angle.

Impa, he thought desperately. Please hurry!

“I-I don’t know w-what you’re t-talking about,” Link stammered out, fighting his very uncooperative voice to keep it from shaking too badly. He didn’t really succeed.

Ghirahim chuckled, the sound directly in his ear causing goosebumps to rise up on his skin. It was warm out, but Link shivered.

“No, of course you don’t, not yet. You just got here,” Ghirahim finally vanished again, appearing in front of him, and Link finally let himself breathe, chest heaving and sending him back onto his elbows. “I had thought that goddess-serving dog would have told you, but no matter. Whether you know or not, it doesn’t change my plans. And you, dear boy, are very important to them,”

The sick, pleased smile on Ghirahim's face made Link want to hurl, and scream, and curl up into a ball and cry. He’d never had to deal with someone this, this deranged before, and he was scared. He was scared, and he wanted to go home. He wanted to be back up on Skyloft with Zelda, getting yelled at for not practicing hard enough. He wanted his best friend to smile and tell him this was all a bad dream and hold him tight and tell him it was going to be okay. Hell, he’d even take dealing with Groose over this.

What he wouldn’t give to go back to this morning, and not be here, trapped under the gaze of a demon who seemed so pleased to have caught him.

“Stay away from him!”

Ghirahim turned, dodging sharply as someone moved to attack him.

Impa!

Link gasped in relief. He had never before been so happy to see someone he’d only known for a few hours.

Impa positioned herself between Link and Ghirahim, glaring down the demon lord and turning herself into a barrier.

“Of course, you’re here,” Ghirahim sneered, lips twisting on his face in disgust. “Come to protect your precious Spirit Maiden, hm?”

“Link,” Impa said, ignoring what Ghirahim was saying but never taking her eyes off him. “Run,”

“Imp-” Link tried, voice still shaky and weak sounding.

“GO!” Impa snapped, and Link scrambled around to get moving.

He knew he wouldn’t get far, being as injured as he was, and who knew what other kinds of monsters there were in the woods. He spotted Machi waving to him and scrambled over, ducking behind one of the mushrooms to hide, waved into a small crack in the stone where he curled up to wait, Machi pulling some of the vines to hide him better.

He could hear fighting beyond his hiding spot, and covered his ears with his hands in the hopes of blocking out the sounds of breaking glass and metal on metal. He squeezed his eyes shut too, stomach and chest twisting uncomfortably at every flash of blue and black light.

He had never been so scared or helpless in his life, and he hated it. He hated it, he hated it, he hated it.

He wanted to go home. To where there were no demons out for him or Spirit Maidens or fighting between people to the death. He wanted Zelda to tell him it was okay, like she would when he had nightmares, or when Groose was a bit meaner than usual. He wanted the biggest worry in his life to be whether or not Groose put something in his food or hit him with a spitball during class.

He was done with the Surface, he wanted to go home!

It was far too long before he realized the sound of fighting had stopped. Did, who won? Was Impa okay? Was Ghirahim going to take him away somewhere for some reason he still didn’t understand?

“Link,”

Link slowly opened his eyes and turned his head at the soft voice.

Impa was crouched down next to his hiding spot. She was bleeding in a few places, and her features were creased with worry, but she was okay.

“Are you hurt?” She asked, once she was certain he was looking at her.

Link shook his head, the movement jerky. “Is, is he, is,” he paused to swallow, finding it hard to get his thoughts across and into words. “Gone?” He finally managed.

Impa nodded. “For now, yes, he’s gone,”

Link felt like bursting into tears. He was scared, and mostly alone, and some demon was hunting him and Impa had gotten hurt trying to protect him and-

“I want to go home,” he said quietly, not even really embarrassed by how broken the phrase sounded.

Impa frowned, gently, and offered him her hand. “I know. I can’t get you home right now, though,”

Link sniffed, reaching up to swipe at his eyes. He somehow already knew that.

“Come on, it’s not safe here,” Impa said, offering her hand to him again. “There’s somewhere safe close by where we can at least spend the night, though,”

Link sniffed again, wiping at his face with his sleeve, and accepted her hand, crawling out of the spot he’d hidden in. He felt like a little kid all over again, like he was when his parents had died. Scared and lost and alone, with no idea how anything was going to turn out or if it would even be okay.

Only this time he didn’t have Zelda, or Pipit, or Karane to help him out. There was no Geapora to take him in. Just him, a whole world full of new things and dangers, and Impa.

“Is he going to come back?” Link asked while Impa looked him over for any new injuries.

Impa paused, looking up at him, then turned her eyes back to his arm. “Probably,” she admitted, slowly, like she was trying not to scare him. “Which is why we can’t stay here,”

“What does he even want from me?” Link asked, trying his best not to actually burst into tears. He didn’t want to cry. He could be brave, though he was starting to think he didn’t want to be.

Impa sighed, putting her hands on his shoulders and looking him in the eye. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as he’d feared considering the last time someone held his shoulders.

“He doesn’t want anything from you,” Impa told him seriously. “He wants something from the person he thinks you are. He wants the Spirit Maiden,”

“But I’m not the Spirit Maiden,” Link said, in a way that bordered on a mix of a whine and beg but wasn’t quite either. “Can he leave us alone?”

The sympathetic look Impa gave him did not make him feel better.

“He doesn’t know that, though,” Impa said gently, squeezing his shoulders to try and offer him some comfort. “He thinks you are the Spirit Maiden, which is why he’s targeting you,”

Link could feel himself trembling, and he dropped his eyes away from Impa’s.

“I want to go home,” he repeated, trying his best to blink back scared tears and avoid just curling into a ball.

“I know,” Impa sighed, and he felt a gentle hand brush through his hair. “Come on, let’s head somewhere safe for now. We can work on getting you home once you’re healed,”

Link nodded, sniffling a bit and swiping at his face with his sleeves.

He hated being so helpless. He hated being so scared.

He just hoped Zelda wasn’t hating herself too much for pushing him. It really wasn’t her fault he ended up down here, being hunted by a demon.

He hoped Impa could find him a way home soon, so that he could apologize for worrying her.

He was done being excited by the surface.

[harbouredsoulss]

LURK

Author's note: You have no idea how happy I am to post again! 💞

I've been working on this for a while and am so excited to finally share this with you all. This is set to be a series, with the current number of parts unknown (though I'm currently working on that).

I also appreciate every single person who helped me when I was trying to work out how long my posts should be! You were all super helpful 🥰

warning(s): violence. mention of stalking. blood. a hint of smut. friends x lovers! panic.

pairing(s): ez reyes x [OC] ivána

word count: 2.3 k

summary: Ivána has a secret. She is in danger, and has kept this from everyone including her best friend Ez. What happens when this danger finally comes for her?

Nights alone were truly unbearable, though Ivána knew she was never truly alone.

There was always that heavy feeling -an inexplicable feeling that haunted her, to the point where she knew that he had to be out there watching her each and every move. The feeling clung to her, never abating.

Her home was locked down with the doors bolted shut, and windows sealed and secured. She had made it into a fortress since the first time he had made his intentions clear. She knew his kind; had seen it before. They liked to toy with their prey, and strike fear into their hearts, not long before they consumed them, body and soul.

Ivána knew she was just biding her time before the games would truly begin. The intimidation thus far had been nothing but mere warning of what was to come.

She lay in bed, tossing and turning, thoughts all consuming. She knew what she could do to make the problem go away. The police would be the best place to start and a smart move at that. Though that wasn’t who she was really considering turning to.

There were people she knew and trusted enough to protect her from harm. She had connections with people from all walks of life, some of which she grew up with, some of them considered family.

Her best friend, the one she had been secretly in love with for the majority of her life, Ezekiel Reyes, would do anything for her and she knew that. But she couldn’t bring herself to drag him into her mess. He had already gone through enough; he doesn’t need her problems added to his list.

At some point in the night, she did fall asleep. She fell to the faint pitter patter of the rain, which was rare for Santo Padre. It soothed her restless thoughts, and nudged her slowly to an unbroken sleep.

For once her dreams were not filled with terror, though there was still a flicker of anxiety as her thoughts shaped and manifested to their final form. In her dreams she spoke to EZ, hands caressing his face softly, lips barely a breath a part, whispering to him, telling him the truth, and allowing all her fears to be released. She allowed him to protect her. He encased her in his arms creating a barrier that separated her physical form from all the uncertainties her life was set to face -that plagued her mind incessantly.

Her mind gave in to her desires, ones she not would let happen in the real world. It allowed her a glimpse at what safety and love would truly feel like.

Unlucky for her, the dreams did not last, it was the arrogant sound of her alarm which happened to choose that precise moment, when her thoughts morphed into something more illicit, to interfere with her reverie. The idea of snoozing the alarm was tempting, as was remaining in bed hidden within the confines of her room. Though she knew she would be missed, and staying here, locking herself inside forever, would arouse suspicion.

The hospital would be nothing more than a brief reprieve from the game she had been made part of.

At least that’s what she told herself.

It wouldn’t stop her from looking over her shoulder as she made rounds, checking each bathroom stall, and cataloguing each individual in a waiting room. She was in a minefield and was sure to explode if she made the wrong move.

He had been doing this for quite some time now, though usually he left her alone at work. He left toying with her for when she was alone with no one to reach out to for help. He knew her hours, when she would begin her shift and when it would end. She figured he had someone hack into the hospital’s servers and access her roster. She also knew that if he was not going to be physically present, there would always be someone else from within his inner circle there to stalk her.

She stood in her bathroom, scrubs gripped tightly in her hands, eyes glaring at the fabric as she debated her choices. Her skin was like ice, with goosebumps coating her flesh as she stood there naked in the room, allowing her mind to tick over like a clock. She didn’t want to leave, and it took every ounce of strength she had to force her body to cooperate.

Her mind was at war with itself. Different parts of it were broken up over what she should do. Parts of her wanted to run and hide, whilst the other parts wanted her to stay, too scared to step a toe out of line and be killed.

Her eyes remained locked on her reflection, fingers tracing the length of her skin, up and down, from the curve of her breasts to soft bump of her waist. Her eyes fluttered closed as the soft movement of her fingers pulled her into trance.

It was kaleidoscope of colour that flickered beneath her eyelids as her body began to relax. Soon the mirage of colour transformed in to one whole image of Ez and herself.

Their limbs were intertwined, sliding against one another intimately. His breathing hot against the crook of her neck, fingers torturing her in the most delicious way possible. Sliding down the slope of her body, caressing her breasts, kneading her tender flesh as they ventured lower. They slipped between her thighs, and began rubbing her gently and softly. Edging her, at a leisurely pace, to her release.

It was a sound reminiscent to that of a gunshot that shook Ivána from her fantasy and filled her to the brim with terror.

She moved as fast her body would allow, though it resulted in her tangling herself in her scrubs, tripping over her own feet as tried to dress herself. She could hear the thrum of her heart pounding in her ears as she made her body move towards the living room, grasping onto the baseball bat she kept hidden behind her couch.

It was at that point she came to the realisation that it was not a gunshot she had heard, only what sounded like one. What she had heard was actually the sound of someone banging themselves against her front door.

She had every intention of calling out and demanding the name of whoever it was that was trying to take down her door, but it was the fear that froze her where she stood. She knew with every fibre of her being that the person on the other side of the door was not a friend.

It was only when she took a few hesitant steps away from the couch towards the entryway that the wood began splintering and a large crack struck through the length of the wooden panelled door.

Particles of dust and wood chips scattered across the floor as the banging continued. Her knuckles turned white; her circulation sure to cut off as she continued to grip the handle of the baseball bat, tighter and tighter.

She could hear whoever it was grunting as they continued to throw their body against the door.

It went on for a limited time, mere minutes, before she saw her front door fly off its hinges, bang against her hallway table, and land right before her feet.

A jolt of surprise and dread iced her veins as she took in the scene before her. It was only one man.

It took only one man to break into my home.

Recognition sparked as the cog wheels in her mind began to turn.

His face was red, with beads of sweat clinging to his flesh, soaking his brown hair, and plastering it against his face.

Ivána had seen this man before.

He smiled at her faintly, chest heaving, struggling to catch his breath. He held up his hand, his index finger pointed upwards.

“One…. Moment…” he rasped out; face still flushed as he struggled to catch his breath.

Her eyes were fixed on him, as he stood there both hands pressed on either side of the door frame, his head hanging low. It was a surprising sight for her. One that took an edge off the fear that was gripping her.

There was no awareness of time as she stood there like a deer caught in headlights. All the awareness was honed in on the man before her and his breathing, and how much easier it was starting to become. She knew she was running out of time, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything.

It didn’t take too long for his demeanour to change. No longer was his mouth agape with salvia bubbling at his lips, slipping down his chin as he tried to capture his breath. He brought his hand to his mouth and begun wiping it slowly, removing any hint of weakness as he did so.

Finally, he took a step towards her, entering her home, stepping on the broken door.

“Let me guess,” she started, taking a step back, “you’re one of David’s men?”

Her fingers curled tightly around the handle of the bat, using all the strength within her, to hold herself up right. The target she’s had on her back, the dread, anticipation, never quite knowing when he would strike. It was always clear that he was waiting for the right moment, which had now come.

The intruder nodded in return, making sure to smile at her wickedly.

“Matteo.” He answered, though she had no care for his name. Being one of David’s lackies was all she needed to know.

Ivána ignored him and instead widened her stance, preparing her body for the inevitable swing that she would take.

Matteo took another step towards her, chest heaving. The knock down of the door had clearly taken a lot out of him, although he tried to show her otherwise.

He didn’t appear to be too old, though she could tell he was not in his prime.

“You know why I’ve come; I assume?”

“To finally take me?” She guessed with a slight shrug to her shoulders, stance still wide, arms ready to swing, “though after that little performance, you shouldn’t feel too confident on your mission being a success.”

He wasn’t fazed by the scorn notable in her voice. He just stood there with his hands on his hips; a smirk plastered on his face, pure excitement gleaming in his eyes.

His gaze remained locked on hers, never wavering, though that was not before he allowed it to lingered down her body slowly, zeroing in on the weapon in her hand. It transformed his smirk into something more wicked; sickening.

“Oh, baby girl,” he said, voice thick and husky, almost as if the mere sight of her holding a weapon turned him on. He licked his lips, clucking his tongue as he did so, with an evil gleam now luminous in his eyes, “surely you must know that it’s a massive turn on when you think you can fight back.”

“You’re disgusting,” she spat; voice laced with venom, “you and your entire crew are nothing but pigs. If your boss wants me, he can come and get me himself.”

He laughed, a hearty kind of laugh. One full of promise.

He began his attack.

_____________________

Blood trickled down the sharp edges of the blade at an unhurried pace. Each drop leaving a faint echo throughout the room one might miss if they weren’t listening out carefully.

Ivána stood there frozen, arms rigid, and glued to her side, clutching the kitchen knife. Her breathing ragged, chest heaving with every painful intake of breath. Her body was battered with cuts, and bruises which, unbeknownst to her, had already begun developing across her flesh. There was no mistaking the red, angry, marks on her skin that were sure to ache, leaving a clear reminder as to what had happened. Perhaps the physical marring of flesh would clear, in time. Though that moment, standing frozen over her assailant’s body, knife caked in blood, would never fade.

Her body convulsed, though she was unaware, as the shock washed over her like a tidal wave. The knife slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor as she fell to her knees. Her body was wracked with loud uncontrollable sobs as the image of the attack flashed through her mind at a hastened pace. Her hands crimson, caked in his blood. Her breathing grew erratic and the panic began to set in, eyesight blurred with tears.

“Yo! Hermana.”

Confusion triggered an innate reaction within her at the sound of Angel’s voice, one that she was not ready for. She jerked forward and frantically began trying to clean the mess around her. Hoping to hide the mess - afraid of anyone else seeing it.

Had she been in a rational state of mind, she would have stopped herself. The attempt she was making was needless given the fact that all she was doing was using her hands to rub the blood around her.

“Ivána…” Voice trailing off, Angel stood within the threshold of the doorway, gaze locked on Ivána as she continued to frantically clean her kitchen floor.

Crouching down he reached out to place his hand on her shoulder, his voice softly urging her to stop. As he touched her, she let out a shrill scream, and lashed out at Angel. Her body and mind were still locked in the fight of her life.

She mistook Angel for another one of David’s men, come to finish what Matteo had started.

“Please,” she begged, voice cracking as her sobs turned heavier, shaking her body further, “Please.”

“I’m here,” Angel murmured softly, attempting to soothe her, “it’s me… Angel.”

“I’ve got you.” He murmured again as he reached towards her, both arms open in attempt to pull her body towards his in an embrace.

She allowed him to take her, his heart shattering when her body went limp in his arms.

If you have stuck through with this part thank you so much! I am really excited to make this a series and worrying about it being a flop! Especially given this part doesn’t really have EZ it, merely mentions of him. I have honestly read and reread over this so many times it’s gotten to the point where I hate it lol. Please leave feedback (if you wish 😂) and pleeeease let me know if you are actually excited to see where this goes. Any guesses? Again, thank you so much if you have actually read all of this and didn’t give up! I appreciate you so much! 💞 I am truly sorry if this was boring!! It’s just the set up so pleeease stick around

TAGLIST (OPEN): @appropriate-writers-name @thesandbeneathmytoes @abby-splace @tartanbumsters @noz4a2 @sesamepancakes @montanaraed

[crescentsteel]

Keeping a Secret - Part 5

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn wc: 6.8k

[a/n]

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist uwu

AO3

Part 4 || Part 6 || masterlist

“Your lips aren’t disgusting,” Tsukishima says quietly, but loud enough to reach your ears. You did hear him the first time though. You just didn’t understand what he meant so you brushed it off as garbled words induced by your sleep-deprived brain. 

You didn’t expect him to contradict the subtle insult you unconsciously threw at yourself. From his reaction to your suggestion a while ago, you’d think he’d be glad that you instantly discarded it instead of pushing it further. 

You pull back just enough to see his somber expression meeting your baffled one.

“I thought you didn’t want to do it again,” you mutter softly even though the kiss snapped you out of your drowsiness.

“I changed my mind,” he simply says.  

“Uhhh. Care to elaborate?” you ask, still confused as to what his change of mind entails. Does he now agree to your earlier proposal? Or is he just saying that he doesn’t mind kissing you again? 

...Wait, isn’t that the same?

Okay, so apparently your mind is still fuzzy and not digesting the situation clearly. His closeness isn’t helping either. 

Maybe you’re actually still asleep and you’re having sleep paralysis on their sofa. In just a matter of seconds, Tsukishima’s face will turn demon-like and scream at how moronic you are for dreaming about this.

“You’re allowed to kiss me when it’s just the two of us,” the boy sitting in front of you announces.

Tsukishima tries not to look away so you wouldn’t think he feels awkward agreeing to your suggestion the same way you offered it. You look way better and more alert after he kissed you so he’s expecting you to say something sassy to get back at his brutal words. 

Instead, you wrap a hand around your throat. Before he can even process what you’re doing, your hand is already joined by the other. 

“What are you doing?” he asks both confused and worried as your hands tighten on your neck, but you don’t answer. He only confirms that you’re indeed choking yourself when you start gasping for air. 

“What the fuck!” He hurriedly yanks your hands away from your throat, gripping each wrist and pulling them away from one another. 

You inhale sharply from the absence of your hands blocking your windpipe.

It didn’t work. You’re still in sleep paralysis and with absolutely no idea how to get out.

You close your eyes and dejectedly lean on his chest. “I’m too tired to tell if this is real or a poorly conjured dream. Demon, begone,” you mumble while feebly knocking your head against him.

“Tsukishima will think I’m an idiot,” you add.

He usually doesn’t care about the aftermath of his words. The more they get under a person’s skin, the more it amuses him. But you seem to have really taken his words to heart this time, and he hates the fact that he’s bothered by it. He’d rather be annoyed by you than plagued with guilt.

He admits he was being a complete dick earlier, but he didn’t expect it would get to you like this, to the point that you’d even think you’re dreaming.

He sighs, accepting that he needs to deal with the consequences of his sharp tongue. “You’re not an idiot, y/n,” he softly says. You lift your gaze and look at him like he’s grown two heads. “So stop acting like one already,” he spurs on, unable to help himself as his true nature immediately returns.

You detach yourself from him as life returns back to your eyes. “Okay, I’m not dreaming. You’re definitely Tsukishima.” You shake your hands, probably to shake off the lethargy from your nap, then slap both your cheeks with your palms. 

You steady yourself as you face him again. You verify the vague exchanges you two had with one question. “I take it we have a deal then?” 

He holds your resolute stare, trying to come up with some set of rules but weariness is already hitting his cognitive capabilities. However, there is one that’s extremely necessary for the both of you to follow. 

“No one should know about this.”

You scoff at his answer. “No one  will  know about this,” you repeat his words with a more convincing variation. So despite the insane premise of the arrangement and its lack of detail, he agrees.

“Deal.”

--

Tsukishima heads straight to the kitchen as soon as he gets home. In spite of the audacious agreement you now have, neither of you felt awkward when he walked you to the main road to see you off. Once again, you were right. Accepting that he is also attracted to you somehow cleared his head. He still doesn’t like it, but it’s better than constantly being irritated at the strange pull you have on him. 

Since you’ve proven yourself to always be right, he’ll give this a go. It’ll only be until the end of the project anyways, which won’t be long from now considering the timetable you laid out. 

As he gets a pitcher of water, he sees Akiteru approaching the kitchen as well. He moves away from the fridge to make way in case his brother is going to get something from it. But Akiteru passes him by and leans on the counter next to him instead. 

He pours himself a glass while growing prickly of Akiteru’s not-so-subtle staring.

“If you’re going to say something, just say it,” he snaps. 

Akiteru laughs lightly at his displeasure. “She’s very lovely,” his older brother comments randomly, and yet he already knows Akiteru is without a doubt talking about you. 

Lovely?

His mind instantly goes back to when you were: (a) dancing like a crippled fledgling; (b) squawking like a dying seagull to imitate a crocodile; and (c) choking yourself because you thought you were dreaming. 

“If an alien in a human suit is lovely, then sure,” he answers dryly as he returns the pitcher back to the fridge.

“She’s really just a classmate?” his older brother probes. 

Akiteru has been insinuating for a while now that he should get a girlfriend, as if not having one will cause him to miss out on this ‘great’ experience of life. So now that he’s finally brought someone home, Akiteru had decided in his head that you’re a potential romantic partner. 

“How many times do I need to answer that?” he responds sourly. 

His brother smiles apologetically, but his face shows a regaled glimmer. “Sorry, Kei. I must have misunderstood since I don’t kiss my classmates on the lips.”

He stills right as he was about to bring the glass to his lips. 

He did not hear Akiteru’s steps back then. If he did, he’d quickly give himself adequate distance from you. He’d blame you for the distraction, but you weren’t really doing anything outrageous at that moment. You were actually unobtrusive and reasonable for the first time. It was him and his guilt that preoccupied him well enough to not notice Akiteru.

He finishes his water and leaves the glass on the counter. “Goodnight,” he says without looking at Akiteru as he hurriedly goes back to his room. 

It hasn’t been an hour since you two made the deal but someone -- worse, his own brother, has already found out. His only consolation is that Akiteru doesn’t really talk with his social circle so there’s no need to be worried. Also, Akiteru is not really the type to babble about stuff like that. 

The disadvantage is also the same as its advantage, it’s Akiteru. He might get all excited and continue assuming that there’s more to the two of you than this limited agreement, when the truth is you’re just two individuals who agreed to make out in secret.

But that’s something he wouldn’t dare reveal to anyone, most especially to Akiteru.

When he reaches his room, he immediately texts you. 

‘We meet in your place next time.’

Hopefully, Akiteru will forget whatever he saw tonight if you don’t come back. 

--

Surprisingly but not really, you and Tsukishima are getting along swimmingly since you made the deal. ��Swimmingly,’ meaning he still ignores you and regards you as a pest during practice. During your private meetings, however, he is agreeable. 

It still seems unbelievable to you when you actually think about it. You and Tsukishima exchanging kisses when no one’s around? You’d have a good laugh if someone even suggested that idea to you before you shared that first, completely unintended kiss.

It is indeed comical, how you two would sit across each other, and with only a certain glance, both of you already know what’s up. Eventually, it became a bother to stand and go over to one another just for a kiss so you two sit side by side now.

Tsukishima is funny though. Sometimes, he wouldn’t act upon it because he expects you to take the initiative. You don’t mind doing it, but it’s fun to see him all bothered while trying to study. 

“Tsukishima, you look weird. Are you okay?” You feigned concern even though you clearly know why. 

He didn’t spare you a glance at all and just mumbled, “I’m fine,” while typing.

“Hmmm, alright! I’m done so we can wrap up now,” you let him know as you started fixing your stuff up. You thought that he’d hold on to his dumb ego and follow suit since you’ve finished cleaning up, but he still hadn’t done anything. 

You held back a smile when you felt him grab your arm. You swiftly composed yourself before turning to his direction. 

“What?” you ask like you don’t have a clue.

He glowers at you. “You know what.”

You pursed your lips to the side as you gently shake your head. “I am very confused right now,” you acted persuasively.

He puffed tempestuously before he grabbed your nape and roughly descended down on your lips, utterly disregarding his unnecessary pride. You willingly reciprocate it. You latched your fingers in his wrist beside your cheek as you responded to each suck and nip of his lips.

When it ended, you smiled into his mouth which effectively gave you away. 

He harshly pulled himself away from you. “You fucking knew,” he muttered furiously.

You scrunched up your nose and grinned mischievously as you gently tapped his cheek. “Of course, I knew. See you tomorrow at the match, Tsukishima,” you said, gesturing to his scattered belongings.

Needless to say, he was extra salty with you during the match with the Lions. But hey, at least they won the game. 

However, despite the Lions now out of the picture, your workload isn’t any better because winning only means needing to prepare the next opponent’s profile. You’re just a bit thankful now that unwarranted and unexpected kisses are no longer bothering you since the two of  you acknowledged the stupid attraction you have for each other.

Still, that doesn’t mean that your body has magically recovered and you’re no longer stressed all of a sudden. Because you are. You are stressed as fuck. With your academic load also on the line, you can’t rest yet.

You’re starting to feel overwhelmed and whenever that happens, you succumb to your one coping mechanism: stress eating. 

You’re about to meet Tsukishima but you have a few minutes to spare, so you head to the nearest cake shop. You buy a mini cake for yourself and one slice for Tsukishima. You don’t feel like sharing yours so you just get him his own. 

With a paper bag in hand, you see Tsukishima waiting for you by your dormitory’s entrance. You waste no time and ask him to follow you even though he probably already knows where exactly your room is. 

One would think that when the door closes, you two would jump on each other’s arms and just get on with your deal, but nah.

You two get to your usual seats with your mind solely on the cake you bought as both of you take out your notes and laptop. 

After you pull up the journal you need to look at for the day, you eagerly bring out the cake.

‘Hnnnngg,’  you groan internally. The cake’s design is so pretty that you almost don’t wanna eat it. But of course you will. You’ve never had strawberry shortcake from that shop before, so you’re curious to taste if it’s as good as it looks. 

Just as you’ve been ogling at your cake, you catch Tsukishima staring at it as well. “Do you want some, Tsukki?” you ask before you give the slice you got for him. 

“Why would I want something childish?” he asks back with a scowl. 

“I don’t see how a cake is childish but okay.” You would’ve felt bad, but you’ll have the extra slice for yourself anyways so it’s not really that bad.

Normally, you would like to savor the pastry while doing something fun, but you don’t have the time for it right now. You’ll just eat it while doing your assigned stuff for the day. 

For someone who thinks cake is childish, he keeps glancing at you with tiny hints of envy every time you take a bite. When he sees you catch him peering at the cake, he instantly flicks his eyes back to his laptop.

To verify your hunch, you moan exaggeratedly the next time you take a spoonful of the cake, instantly earning you a menacing glare from the blonde across you. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just so good, you know. The bread is so fluffy. The cream is not too sweet. The strawberry filling has actual bits of strawberry.” You enact a chef’s kiss after your detailed remarks. 

“Amazing. Best I’ve ever had. 10/10 would recommend and buy again,” you give a positive review before getting another slice.

When you get another spoonful, you groan again and roll your eyes for added effect. You look at Tsukishima and you can tell that it’s getting to him. Yet, he’s still not saying anything. He only keeps staring as if silently imploring you that you should let him have a taste as well. 

As if you’ll bend to his will just like that. 

“If you want some, just say so,” you taunt him with a smirk as you scoop the last spoonful in the plate, giving him not much time to swallow his pride and ask. 

Before you can put it in your mouth, he stops you. “Fine,” he says as he grits his teeth. “I want some.” 

Tsukishima really is funny. It’s only cake but he sounds so angry and embarrassed just because he asked for a tiny piece. How can you not tease him just a bit more?

You take the remaining piece and move beside him. You get the spoonful of cake, extending your arm and offering it to him that way. 

He looks at the cake and then you. “I know how to eat,” he enunciates coldly at your attempt to spoon feed him. 

You shrug it off with an ‘okay,’ then proceed to withdraw your hand so you can have it for yourself. 

“Wait.”

You comply and let your retreating arm stay in place. A faint pink tint surfaces on his cheeks as he leans down and takes the cake from the spoon with his mouth. When he starts munching on it, he looks away and slump a little while savoring the small remains you gave him.

You press your lips together to repress a smile cause you know he’ll be even more embarrassed. But holy crap, Tsukishima is so cute like this! You want to take a picture of him right now and just ogle at how adorable he is when he’s this flustered. 

The Sendai Frog’s nastiest middle blocker, standing at 6’3, likes strawberry shortcake. You’re reeling internally at your astounding discovery. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he snarls with the tiny blush still on his face.

You can’t help it anymore and give him a tight-lipped smile. “Nothing,” you squeak out from how hard you’re trying not to gush at his cuteness.

He suddenly regains his composure as he narrows his eyes while studying your face. 

It’s your turn to be conscious from how he seems to have discovered something about you as well. 

“What?” you ask warily.

You’re completely caught off guard when he puts a hand on your shoulder and lunges down. His lips capture the skin just beside the corner of your mouth, delicately sucking on the skin before brushing his warm tongue against it. 

You go rigid on your seat at the totally unexpected action from him. It’s not even a kiss but you feel goosebumps prickling your skin while the air you’re breathing gets stuck in your throat. 

That’s all he does then hoists himself back up, his features devoid of any emotion as if he didn’t just do something bold. His hand on your shoulder goes up to spot he just licked and strokes it with his thumb. 

“You eat like a ten-year old,” he says blankly. 

Just like that, the situation is reversed. He now has the upperhand while you’re completely frozen as your mind helplessly tries to come up with something, anything, to hide the fact that you’re a complete muddled mess on the inside.

But nothing. Your mind does not work and all its attention is still on the little stunt Tsukishima pulled just now. 

Being the manager of the Frogs, you’ve always seen them as cute little puppies you need to take care of. You’re the one in charge of them so you always feel like you’re the one in control. The sense of control is even more reinforced with other male athletes getting swept away with your antics during matches. 

Even with the several kisses you shared with Tsukishima, it’s only now that you’re rendered utterly disconcerted. Your lips start to tremble while your brows contort with horror from the foreign feeling that’s creeping on your whole body.

Fuuuucck, you curse silently at your mind’s incapability to come up with a solution to handle the situation. 

To make it worse, the corner of his lips start to tug up, forming a smug grin that suits him ludicrously well. 

“You okay, y/n?” His pompous demeanor lets you know that the question is not out of concern. He is very much aware of the effect he has on you. He’s just milking it.

And it’s fucking working.

He drags his thumb to your chin and tilts it up to get a better view of your features growing even more at loss by the second. “What’s wrong, hmm?”

You press your quivering lips together as you harshly avert your gaze from his. “Nothing,” you say too softly, losing the playfulness you had not long ago.

“What’s that?” He pretends to not hear it. 

Seems like you’ve had enough because you swat his hand away from your chin and cover your whole face with both hands. 

His grin spreads wide from your surrender as a chuckle escapes his throat. To entertain himself even more, he pries your hands away from your face. It’s easier than he expected since your wrists are like twigs with no strength in them.

Your face is a furious shade of rose as you glare at him with both shame and anger. You try to retrieve your arms but he’s obviously way stronger than you. “Tsukishima, you smooth li’l shit, let go of me!”

With that, he releases you as he cackles from your remark. He can now see the merits of acknowledging the inexplicable magnetism between him and you. Now that he doesn’t have to feel conflicted about it, he can relish breaking your previously impervious defenses by teasing you this way. 

There wasn’t even any cake on your face. He just made it up to get back at you for toying with him like one of your dumb admirers. 

You give off one enraged puff then you go back to face your laptop.  You try to look fine but you’re trying too hard. He can tell that you’re still bothered by it even when you’re focused on your screen now. 

He gets back to his own as well, the same grin he had earlier still there. He thought you’re going to keep ignoring him for the rest of your meeting, but before he can even focus on his own task, you awkwardly slide him the paper bag you had. 

“I actually got you a slice in case you wanted one,” you huff timidly while meeting his surprised gaze. You don’t say anything else and get back to working. 

That was… thoughtful of you. You got him one even if he didn’t ask for it. And despite teasing you like that, you still gave it to him. If it was him, he wouldn’t have bothered.

He gets the cake and saves it for later at home. He’d like to enjoy it alone away from your cheekiness, ridding you the chance to make fun of him the second time.

When he looks at you again, you give him a brief glance before settling in to do your assignment. He does the same since you two have frolicked enough for the day. 

He had learned something about you from your former meetings:  you have unbreakable focus when you start concentrating on something. You don’t talk. You don’t fiddle with your phone. You don’t even peel your eyes away from the screen unless you’re checking something on your notes.  

The remarkable thing is how efficient you are. You work fast and come up with decent output. He’s seen it both in your write up for the project and in the reports you give to the team.

It’s almost impressive, if not for its inevitable downside: you run out of steam just as fast, which is what seems to be happening right now. He’s ignored the first two yawns he’s heard from you, but he can’t dismiss the third consecutive yawn. 

He looks at your direction and confirms that you’re indeed starting to drop your attentiveness. Your eyes are becoming lazy and you’re just pressing your keyboard too hard one key at a time. 

“Oy, it’s still early for you to be sleepy,” he scolds you.

You tap your face, a futile attempt to wake yourself up because your eyes are still dazed when you look at him. “It’s the cake. I overfed myself and now I want to sleep like one.” You groan as you realize your mistake. “No worries though. I just need coffee,” you mutter. 

He slams his palm on the wooden surface of your table. “Do not get coffee,” he warns almost threateningly. He does not want a repeat of what happened the last time where you’re one wheeze away from death because of your damn coffee.

“But I need it,” you protest.

“No, you don’t. What you need is rest.”

“Don’t wanna. It felt weird last time. I don’t like slacking off when someone else is being productive,” you insist further.

He sighs irritably at your obstinacy. There’s no need to rush because you two managed to get back on the schedule you set, but then again he understands why. You’re trying to get as much shit done before your responsibilities become too much for you. 

That’s probably how you’ve been getting by for the past three years, being a university scholar while managing the team. If being a student while being an athlete is already difficult for him, how much more  for you who has grades to maintain while working as well?

If it were anyone else, they’d have exploded from the humongous amount of work that entails. Yet, you come to the gym with that carefree attitude of yours like you’re not burdened in any way. In all the times you’ve met with him outside the gym, not once has he heard you complain about it. 

You don’t whine. You just do what needs to be done.

It’s something worth respecting, to say the least. But you should really rest when your body tells you to. 

“I’ll stop doing the report and watch volleyball clips from last year’s Olympics. Take your nap,” he says. 

Your face brightens up at his suggestion. “Can I watch with you?”

“No.” The point of him watching is so that you can rest easy, not for you to join him. However, the look on your face tells him you won’t budge unless he lets you watch with him. 

“I swear, it’ll do me better than a nap,” you press on. 

He rubs his temple with irritation as you leave him with no choice but to agree. “Fine.” You squeal at his approval and scamper to his side. 

He opens his folders of volleyball clips he’s yet to watch while you tuck your knees together the same way you did last time you watched documentaries for your project. 

Halfway through the first clip, he feels your head bump his shoulder. He peers at you from his peripheral and sees your hazy eyes fighting off sleep. He doesn’t say anything and just waits for your drowsiness to successfully take over. 

By the end of the first video, he feels your head bobbing forward which he can no longer ignore. “Can’t you just go to your bed and sleep?” he asks almost desperately. 

You fix your posture and open your eyes again. “I’m fine.”

He rolls his eyes and gives a resigned huff as he skids his laptop to your front. You shoot him a puzzled look while he positions himself behind you. 

“Continue watching then.” He scoots closer until your back is pressed to him, effectively caging you as he extends his legs on your both sides. There’s no use trying to convince you to sleep when you’re this stubborn. So, he’ll just provide you the means to do so. 

You frown at him which he answers with a raised eyebrow. In the end, you just shrug it off and go back to watching. 

Just as he anticipated, you’re already unconscious in a matter of minutes. Your head falls back to his chest. He lets you settle deeper in your sleep, watching you unconsciously find a position you’re most comfortable in. By the time the second video ends, you’re no longer wiggling around and have found refuge on the front of his shoulder with your arm loosely wrapped around his bicep. 

Although he did say that he’ll slack off with you, he sees no reason to uphold it now that he’s finally got you to rest. Unlike you, he works at a normal pace. He needs to continue doing his own tasks so when you wake up, he’s already done as well. 

He carefully reaches for his laptop and closes the video currently playing. He gets back to working on the current draft of the project, feeling the strain on his back with nothing to support him while you lean against him. 

He shouldn't be doing this. There is no reason for him to be inconvenienced this way by you. This isn’t part of the deal.

But seeing how you’re working so hard yet still face everyone else with that vexatious cheerful smile of yours, he deems you deserving of that serene look on your face while you’re peacefully snuggled within his grasp. 

Just as he allowed you to kiss him, he also allows you to hold on to him like this. 

--

“Hey, number 17!”

Tsukishima hears someone yell. He’s sure that it was him who’s being called because he recognizes the voice. It’s someone from the Jaguars, the team they’re up against after winning against the Lions the previous game.

Still, he’d like to pretend that he doesn’t know it’s him the other athlete is shouting for. The gym is filled with other number 17s from different teams anyways. He can easily dismiss it. 

However, he hears his last name not long after, automatically singling him out from the other players who also wore his jersey number. 

Even though he despises small talk, it would be rude to ignore other players when they specifically call for him in public. Not that he bothers about what other people think of him, but more about how he represents his team. 

In high school, he didn’t care at all. But things are different now in the professional level. He’s forced to engage in insignificant nonsense with other players. 

He just hopes that this time it won’t be one of those times and that whatever this is is actually important

He turns around lazily and sees not one, but two Jaguars approaching him. It’s their starting setter and their pinch server. “I thought you couldn’t hear us, dude,” the setter says. He doesn’t reply and just stands his ground while waiting for what they’re going to say. 

“Anyways, mind if we ask the number of your manager?” 

It’s worse than nonsense. They approached him because of you.

They turn towards each other and simper at how they seem to think that it’s a genius idea to ask him instead of you. 

“You can ask her yourself. She’s just over there with the rest of the team,” he passively suggests. He’d be glad to lead these two poor hopeful souls if they want to. He’s sure you’d be more than happy to entertain them, in your own kind of way. 

“Nah. We know how she disses everyone. That’s why we’re asking you, Tsukishima-kun,” the pinch server counters. 

He’s the least protective of you compared to the rest of the team. He doesn’t care if you flirt all day long with these people or if you give your number to every single person here at the stadium. 

But whatever these hoodlums the idea that  he’ll  be the one to give your number to them? It’s not his to give. It’s yours. “It’s not really my decision to make,” he responds. 

“Is she really that good of a manager that you won’t share her?” 

He would’ve not perceived anything out of it if not for the malicious grin that surfaced on the setter’s poor excuse of a face. The two athletes step closer and speak in a volume only for him to hear. 

“Come on now. Don’t tell us you guys are not touching that hot piece dangling itself in front of you.”

‘Lowlives.’ 

That’s the most fitting word he can describe these two uneducated imbeciles who talk like you’re a slice of meat. No one deserves to be treated like that, especially you who madly dedicate yourself out of actual interest and affection for the team and the sport. 

Yet, these two fucking dimwits are insinuating that you’re available for him and his teammates to sleep around with. It’s more than just disrespect. It’s an absolute mockery of the effort and commitment you have for the job. 

It’s not his place to be angry. He’s not the one being slighted. But the image of your exhausted features fighting off sleep to do the report of these scumbags in front of him makes him want to do something about their blatant lack of intelligence. 

“Don’t look so scary now. We’re not going to steal your manager. We just want to know what it’s like to have a hot one managing us,” the setter once again proves his brainlessness to Tsukishima, successfully provoking him to do what he’s been itching to do. 

He offers them a too-pleasant smile that he gives to people who are about to get a taste of his snide irony. “Sorry, but it’s not really my problem that no one wants to manage a bunch of unsightly goons.”

A vein on the setter’s temple looks like it’s about to pop out as his hand yanks Tsukishima’s collar. 

“The fuck did you say?!” The setter of the Jaguars lashes out, quickly losing his temper amidst the public gymnasium.

The feigned smile on Tsukishima’s face is replaced by a genuine smirk as the two dimwits react exactly the way he wants them too. Although he can rile them up even more than he did, something tells him that these peabrains will actually resort to violence if he does so.

They’ll definitely be held out from playing the game if they do get violent, but so will he if he gets involved. 

Even though he looks unmotivated and lazy, he actually likes being on the court. And if he’s going to be honest, he looks forward to blocking the tosses of the setter who’s clutching his shirt at present.

“You shitty blocker,” the pinch server backs up his teammate. 

The shift of attention from you to Tsukishima doesn’t surprise him at all. From slandering you, they quickly move to verbally attacking him. His eyebrow twitches up from the remark but doesn’t bother responding to it. 

Why would he when he’ll just prove them wrong later? Instead of engaging with these two, he should be getting back to the rest of the team to get ready for their match. 

He’s about to grab the setter’s wrist to yank it off him when a set of feminine fingers beat him to it.

“My, my. Thank you for wanting to be friends with one of our players, but he really needs to warm up now,” you say with congenial sympathy to the upcoming competition. 

They seem to have forgotten that you’re the reason why they approached him. The setter releases Tsukishima’s shirt with a glare before the two Jaguars walk away.

“Bye, bye! Let’s get along well, yeah??” you shout and wave at them way too enthusiastically. You probably didn’t catch them talking about you, which is a good thing because you didn’t need to hear that kind of horse shit.

You put a light hand on his shoulder, making him anticipate a lecture from you for dawdling around. But you only tell him that you two should go back already. 

As you both turn around, the smile on your face drops while your grip on his shoulder tightens. 

“Did it bother you that much?” he asks as you both walk back to the court. 

“You bet it did. The gall of them to call you a shitty blocker, those fuckfaces. I swear to God, I would’ve,” you take a sharp breath then slowly let it out as you take your hands off him. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. It’s just the usual gibberish talk among athletes,” you say to yourself, more than to him.

“What about what they said before that?”

Your brows scrunch up as you try to figure out what he’s talking about. “You mean when they assumed I’m sexing everyone from the team? Nah. I know some people think I’m a slut because I’m too sexy for their lame asses. I’m used to it so I don’t really care about crap like that,” you explain way too casually. 

He thought that at this time and age, people would be a little more progressive with how they think. Apparently, he was wrong. He’s always observed how you put yourself out there, entertaining any flattery that’s thrown at you. It’s also very obvious how open you are to showing affection for the team.

But he didn’t think people would have such indecent assumptions about you. What surprises him even more is you’ve been aware of it for some time now. Still, you continue being yourself.

“But Goooood. Their childish shit talking really pissed me off.” Your previous attempt to calm yourself down fails as anger graces your features once again.

“Promise me something, Tsukishima,” you tell him a few steps away from the court.

“What?” 

“Up your blocking game and win. I want to see those fucktard’s faces pulverized with defeat,” you announce as you seethe with fiery determination.

“There’s no need to promise,” he says calmly before the curve of his lips form a subtle yet definite grin. You immediately get his message as you mirror the arrogant pride on his face with a smirk of your own.

—

You’re not particularly competitive. Even as the captain of your own team before, you did not play to win. You played with your very best because you want to experience all the sport has to offer.

Maybe that’s why you stopped playing and decided to be a manager. You love the sport, but not as an athlete. You just love pushing people to their potential and being their support so they can give their all during matches.

Although you do like winning, you’re not hellbent on it. As long as the team gives their everything and you see them at their best, you’re happy with that.

This match is an exception.

At 23-24 with the Sendai Frogs on their match point, you’re clutching your notebook way too hard that the pages become crumpled and the edges dig in your palms.

When you saw Tsukishima earlier approached by the two Jaguars, you didn’t intervene immediately. You were near the area, watching and listening as to how things will unfold. You didn’t hear much of their mumbled conversation, but you caught enough words to put together that it was you they’re talking about. 

You do gain a lot of attention, but some of them are not exactly wholesome. Apparently, being outspoken and open equates to being easy to bed.

You just wish they said something more interesting because you almost yawned at how unoriginal their speculation is. You fucking around with the Sendai Frogs? Groundbreaking. 

What amused you though is Tsukishima’s response. Right at that moment, you wanted to kiss his snarky mouth. Not because he defended your honor, but from the clever snide comeback he quickly spat at their faces. 

Your amusement was quickly ruined when one of them laid a hand on him. You didn’t care that the fuckfaced setter did it in public. Even if he did it with no one around, your blood still would’ve boiled. But when he said that Tsukishima was a shitty blocker? The palm of your hand itched to get roughly acquainted with the opposing setter’s face. 

If this isn’t a tournament, you would’ve had a hard time deciding whether or not you’d have done it. But since this  is  a tournament, you can’t do that. You need to be civil and maintain good relations with every team, even if some of their members lack basic decency and  proper manners. 

Luckily, there is a way to get back at them: that is to win this match which has got you to the edge of your seat as soon as it reached the 20s of the second set. 

With Tsukishima, Eiji, and Kogane in front, there’s nothing to be scared about. It’s just that you really want them to score that last point already. 

The ball gets to your court and is received by Kogane, effectively cutting out your most optimal set-up to attack. 

“Tsukki!” Kogane calls out. Tsukishima runs to the center of the court, right in front of the net. The opposing blockers observe him to predict who he’s tossing the ball to, only to leave him completely open as he dunks the ball to the Jaguars’ side of the net.

You were sure it happened fast, but the pounding of your heart made it seem like the ball hitting the ground was in slow motion. You wait for the referee’s signal, hoping that there were no misplays on the Frog’s end that would prolong the game. 

The referee whistles and extends his arm to the Frog’s court, letting everyone know that it’s your team’s win. Cheers from team members themselves roar inside the gymnasium, soon joined by the applause from the audience. 

You’re supposed to check the losing facade of the Jaguars, but the joy and relief of winning floods you that you completely forget about how they insulted your clever middle blocker. You leave your tally notebook on the bench and rush to the court along with other members. 

You’ve always been impressed with Tsukishima’s blocking skills, but to win from his offensive mindfuckery with the other team just sent you to a whole different level of being proud. So it’s him you first go to. 

Without putting any thought to it, you wrap your arms around his waist. You don’t mind that he’s sweating and that his body heat is emanating from his skin. You’re too thrilled that he scored the winning point to even care. 

“Good job, Tsukishima!”

Right after saying it out loud, you feel him tense beneath your touch. You lift your gaze up to him and meet his eyes which are wide from shock and panic. Immediately after, your eyes do the same when you realize what you’ve done.

The loud cheers from the team have stopped.  You slowly turn your head to see why, even though you already know the reason.

It’s like a paused scene from a movie where everyone completely halts whatever they’re doing. The only difference is they stopped with their attention completely on you, specifically on how your limbs are enclosed around Tsukishima’s waist and your cheek flat on his chest. 

Shit. 

You’re hugging Tsukishima in public, in front of the whole team.

Part 4 || Part 6 || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem​ @akaashisslave @tsumurai  @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @berna-dette @just4readingfics @suteorra @xxekitten69xx @simp4tsukkii @music-is-all-i-need @keshinslittlegirl @raspberrysunshinebby @iminlovewhaikyuu @pdiddy11 @lightyagamami @sailorscout1902 @lovershaikyuu  @expectonothinfromme @finnydraws @namelessidentity @hqbeesun @yatoatyourservice @mrkozume @suzuyamitsuki @celestialarchiveshq @yongboxerrr @gomenpudding @kutiekoge @fizzfrick @flamingosis @korean-bbq​

[stuckybarton]

Maneater

Summary:  Nathan Summers has come to realize there was more to you than just the Assistant Teacher in Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Warning: Profanities. Suggestive Contents. Not Beta’d. [if I miss any warning please let me know] Characters: Unnamed Female Character x Nathan “Cable” Summers Words:1,761 A/N: Another one. Lol

Masterlist

For the life of Nathan Summers, the craziness that had come in his arrival to the past, the only sane thing he could look forward to was you. Y/N Y/L/N. An assistant teacher to one Piotr Rasputin, and an overall well loved individual in the X-Mansion.

You were the first one to not bat an eyelash at his arrival all those months ago. Unlike most of the people that grew hostility to the band of misfits Wade had pulled into the mansion, you had been more welcoming and accommodating. You had treated every single one of them as normal people instead of the mutants everyone in the world has deemed them to be. For a moment, Nathan had thought you weren't a mutant, but training had proven otherwise. An empath that could manipulate anyone's emotion if you so much please. A great power and perfectly fitting from someone like you.

Unlike most of the people in the Mansion that give no shit to one Wade Wilson and his eccentricities, you tried your best to understand the man while also making sure he was never out of the line. You were often called the female version of one Colossus, just more hotter and less annoying--Wade's words, not his.

But then, this quite image he had believe he had seen of you was growing to be different when he finds out about your nightly escapades. Anything that did not involve a mission or your class, you prefer if no one bothered you when the clock struck six. You'd be out of the door and into your waiting car, only to returning by three or four in the morning for classes that morning.

No one really knows where you go, not even the nosy Wade Wilson had any idea of your nightly whereabouts. So imagine Nathan's surprise when he had to meet up with his new arms dealer at a shady strip club an hours drive from the mansion and there you were, in all your naked glory.

Supple skin contrasted greatly to the pole you were leaning on. Money had been flying nonstop in your direction, no wonder you always spared Wade cash like it was nothing if he asked. You got a whole different life that no one knows about.

"Interested in Bonnie over there?" His arms dealer broke Nathan from his shocked trance. If the seedy little bitch didn't have the best arsenal he would have punched him right in the face. "Put her in a VIP room with you and everything in your possession is gone. That's how good she is."

Just the idea of having you lap dancing on some stranger had his blood boiling. He couldn't imagine you that way. to have some dirty hands holding onto you. You, the innocent little woman that he had tried not to think about so much since his arrival to the mansion--but just can't seem to shake out of his mind.

"I'll test my luck."

And he did, one request from the waitress and a heft amount of money that was supposed to be for one of the guns, he was escorted to the VIP room, asked to patiently wait as Bonnie was finishing up her set on the stage. It had given him enough time to question himself why he was doing this? You had your secrets as much as he had his own, secrets he wasn't even prepared to acknowledge.

But it was you, one of the only person in the past that he can't seem to get out of his head.

It didn't take long for the door to open and the woman that had constantly gave him the beaming smile every morning now come face to face with him. To say shock was an understatement as he looked at you. A mix of different emotions now swam your features, watching you and you thinking this was a sick joke by another mutant on her.

"Nathan."

"Cable would do here, Bonnie." he points out.

His eyes fell towards your barely there clothing. A thong and a top that barely hid the swell of your breast. In one swift motion, he had peeled off his jacket to cover you. The jacket had completely swallowed you and it was enough for him to not be distracted.

"So this is were you go every night?" he inquired eyes wandering around the claustrophobic room.

The walls were of a dark shade, with neon lights as one of the only thing giving the room light. There was this hedonistic glow in you that he had never seen before. Maybe it was the way he had always sees you now, a complete opposite on how he had always viewed you. An innocent woman in a world that was too fucked up for someone like you--then here you were, part of the fucked upness of this world.

"You wasted God knows how much just to ask me that?"

He did. He genuinely wasted a lot of amount of money for you, but then again, it was you so it wasn't much of a problem to him.

"I want to know why you're doing this? You're already working as a teacher at the Institute, why do you need to be here? You make enough money as it is back there?"

You scoffed, pulling the jacket tighter around you. Only then did Nathan notice the way you took a deep breath, and the warmth of the room was more of your own powers seeping through. Arousal? He shook his head, hoping to keep his head at bay of all the dark thoughts swimming him.

"It's not about the money?" you muttered, now sitting besides him on the leather couch. "Sure I do get money from those seedy criminals, but this is the easiest way of getting intel for missions." she shrugged.

"So Wade knows about this?"

"God no, The Professor and Piotr know. Piotr was the one that found me in this hellhole. Saved me from it, this is just until I'm certain that there are no more mutants like me are in places like this."

Now it becomes clearer to him why you were like this, why you understood their cause more than the rest of the X-Men. But it didn't stop the worry from sipping through his core. What if you get into involved with men that weren't immune to your powers. Where would that leave you?

"You don't need to worry about me, Nate." The name still surprised him. But other than that, you now on his lap surprised him even more. "So how much did you spend on me?" you inquired, ass now dangerously close to his crotch.

"Enough." he muttered hands now falling to your jacket covered waist. The smell of the intoxicating perfume and your own pheromone seeping through your skin consuming him. A heady combination that was far too dangerous if used at the wrong people.

"You're gonna tell everyone about my secret?" you inquired leaning closer to him. The swells of your breast now touching his own solid ones.

"You want them to know?" he retorts.

"No."  you shook your head, meeting his eyes. Huh, behind this facade you show to Nathan, the person he was more than well acquainted with was breaking through. But the softness on top of him was making it hard for him to really think clearly.

"I don't know, Red Dildo would love the pole dancing lessons." he tried his best to crack a joke but the stern look on your face made it evident that this isn't a laughing matter to you. "Fucking hell, that's your secret to tell. Why the fuck would I bring it up, to the X-Men of all people."

Before he could convince you even more, having you lean even closer to him, breath fanning his cheeks, he was left tongue-tied. There was this line that the two of you were breaking and it scared him more than anything what it would mean once they step out of it.

"I trust you, Cable." you whispered before your lips finally met his own.

The taste of cherry intoxicated him. He consumed you, consumed you in the same way that you were beginning to consume him. Mind, body, and soul. Hands resting on his shoulders and his own in a deathly grip on your hips, pulling you closer. Creating as much friction on his crotch in the process.

"What are you doing to me, Nathan Summers?" Your breathless words brought him back to reality. Your hands rubbing against his chest and he was more than certain you could feel the frantic heartbeats.

"I could ask you the same thing, Y/N Y/L/N." he smirked looking up at you,

With your bottom lip now between your teeth, it took every ounce of control Nathan had to stop himself from taking you here and ignoring the possibility that anyone else could walk in on them.

"You want them to know?" you inquired between the two of you. A smile now breaking on your face, brightening the dark room.

"No." he shook his head, whatever this was, they needed to keep this a secret, God knows the handful of innuendos and crude remarks Wade would be ready to fire if he finds out about this.

"I don't know, you're a good kisser. Wade might need a few pointers from you." you teased, finger touching his lips. Feeling playful, biting one finger and immediately earning himself a light slap on the chest.

"He can kiss my ass for all I care." he muttered kissing you quickly before pulling away. "I gotta head back out, still got a few guns I need to check." he muttered already annoyed at the possibility of leaving this little piece of heaven in favor of a slimy bastard he has to do business deals with.

"Let me deal with him." You volunteered, slipping off the jacket he placed on you. "How many guns did you want?"

"A couple more but his markup price is horrible." he sneered.

The smirk on your face as the façade was back brought a sudden warmth into his groin and the ideas that run his mind worried him.

"I'll make sure you get all the big guns." you promised, pulling him back into a quick kiss before leaving him in the room to think of what just happened.

Well, whatever it was, he knew it will be a fun ride. Good to see someone dancing on the pole better than Wade for once too.

[yummyinmytwistedtummy]

Draconic Instinct: Malleus x Reader vore

So... this was originally going to be posted on the 7th for @twistedtummies2′s birthday, but I saw that they were having a rough time recently and decided to post it a bit earlier. I’m a little unsure about how this one came out but I’m gonna post it anyways. I hope ya’ll like it, and happy early birthday/happy easter @twistedtummies2.

I swear I didn’t mean to make it so romantic. It just kind of happened.

   There were hardly any words to sum up how you felt at this moment, but to say the very least you no longer envied ant man's power of shrinking on command. You supposed fictional characters couldn’t get vertigo but you certainly did and it wasn’t pleasant.

   Groaning, you sat up and held your stomach and head. It hadn’t taken you long to figure out what happened. The only thing you were left wondering was how and why it had happened.

   With awe and slight fear you gazed at the world around you and how different it was to when you weren't the perfect size to soak in a teacup.

   Everything was 10 times the size it had once been. Maybe even bigger. Bushes loomed over you, flowers were bigger than your hands, grass was like walking through a corn field, and when you looked up at the trees they were larger than skyscrapers. In comparison you were roughly the size of someone's palm. 

   Being shrunk definitely wasn’t on your bucket list, but NRC never really seemed to care about what you wanted. “Great, how am I gonna get back to the dorm now?” You huffed and placed your hands on your hips. 

   Several ideas came to mind yet none of them were actual solutions. You couldn’t walk, it would take forever. You couldn’t call anyone since your phone had cracked when it fell from your hands before you shrank. You also couldn’t ask Grim for help since he was already back at the dorm.

   The one day you actually needed his help he was sick because the little furball ignored your advice and ran out into the cold rain the night before. You sighed and looked at your surroundings again. 

   It was rather odd that you were shrunk today. Not that being reduced to a few inches tall was ever normal, but today was a particularly peculiar time to fall victim to more troublesome magic. 

   Today was your birthday. 365 days in the year and today was the day that something like this happened to you. At this moment your gorgeous beau was waiting for you back at the ramshackle dorm with some movies so you could cuddle up and relax together after a long day of school.

   Although you doubted Grim would let you have any alone time with the prince since he was so sick. A sick Grim was a clingy Grim. You didn’t mind as long as he was comfortable but you had been hoping to watch your boyfriend indulge in some ice cream later that evening. You still loved Grim but you were a bit bitter about the fact that your favorite bonding activity with your boyfriend was cancelled.

   Now you couldn’t care less about it as it seemed that you might miss the evening all together. A frown decorated your features and you grumbled unhappily about the situation as you began to walk in the direction of the dorm.

    You would never make it home in time, but there was no use in standing around and pitying yourself. As you walked you tried to recall anything out of the ordinary that had happened during school. Besides the birthday wishes and occasional presents, everything checked out.

   Maybe it was someone’s unique magic. You hadn’t seen anybody around as you were walking home but then again you weren't really paying attention either. Apparently you weren’t paying much attention now either as you hadn’t noticed the giant teen approaching you until it’s shadow fell over your very tiny figure.

   You looked up and gasped. A very large hand was reaching down to grab you, which had been the cause of the shadow. You did what any sane person would do and tried to book it. The giant hand was faster.

   “Let me go!” You shouted angrily, but stopped when you were swung upwards in a way that made you worry that you were going to lose your lunch. “Oh boy…” Even after the ride was stopped you felt dizzy.

   “Well, well, well, lookie here. The high and mighty prefect of the ramshackle dorm!” A smug looking face appeared in your vision and you had to hold back a scream.

   The giant in front of you was the owner of the hand that had plucked you from the ground. He was dressed in a Savanaclaw uniform and resembled a bear. His smirk displayed two rows of sharp teeth that in any other situation would make you swoon. Right now though your fear conquered your kink.

   “Got ‘em good there Bazz. Aw look at ‘em all tiny and trembling. Hahaha!” Another student who you didn’t recognize came from the side and sneered at you. “What a weakling. Hardly fit to be called a prefect, especially without any magic.”

   Oh… That’s what this was about. You glared at the two men and started struggling. “Put me down you oafs!” It had been a while since you first arrived at NRC but it seemed that some people were still insistent on bullying you about your lack of powers. 

   This wasn’t the first time that other students had decided to pick on you. People sneered and called you names in the hallways all the time. It wasn’t hard to ignore them after a first few weeks and soon you began to think that they were just words. 

   No one had tried anything like harming you so far, but it wasn’t entirely out of the question. At a villain school it’s generally to be expected. It was why you so often only travelled with others. Your fellow students that you had established relationships with and trusted accompanied you back to the ramshackle dorm most days. And if they weren't around, Grim was usually there to take care of you.

   Except for today.

   You were in no way a weak individual, however it was much harder to defend yourself when you were 5 inches tall.

   The second student, a Scarabia student from the looks of it, had a curly mop of red hair and cheeks spotted with hundreds of freckles. His eyes were a light blue color and his crooked smile revealed good dental work. He would have been more attractive had he not been leering at you or practically peeling apart at the seams from sunburn.

   Bazz, the bear manimal, had dark skin and medium length black hair. His eyes glowed yellow as he smirked with teeth so disgusting they almost matched his eyes.

   Several more students, from nearly all the dorms, crept out of the shadows and surrounded your initial two captors. The color drained from your face and you willed yourself not to tremble as a series of horrific opportunities entered your mind.

   “Oafs! Ha! We aren’t oafs, you're just a shrimp!” The group laughed and you glared at them with as much malice as you could muster. “Not that name calling ever does anything.” Bazz drew your attention back to him. “We had hoped that by telling you that we didn’t want you here, you would get the message and scram. But some herbivores just don’t get it, so us predators, both physically and magically, have to teach you where you belong on the food chain!”

   You gaped and let your eyes widen. Did these buffoon’s know who you were? That you had saved their arses on several occasions, both from others and themselves. You weren’t super buddy buddy with Leona, (cause he’s a pain and doesn’t like you very much anyways), but he still seemed to care about you enough that he didn’t want you to die. At the very least Ruggie could still get some free chore help out of you.

   And if Kalim and Jamil found out what one of their students was doing they would both be unhappy, angry even if he actually managed to hurt you. There was also the deal with Azul, situation with Riddle, and the show Vil put on as well. Truthfully there were so many reasons that they shouldn’t hurt you. It was almost shocking that they still wanted to hurt you after everything.

   One thing you did notice was that there wasn’t a single Diasomnia student in the bunch. That comforted you a minor amount. At least no one in your boyfriend’s dorm disliked you enough to go behind their dorm leaders back in order to get rid of you.

   “G-guys, let’s just t-talk this out.” You held out your hands in hopes that you could calm them into a negotiating state. “Listen, you don’t want to do this really. So if you could just turn me back I’m sure we could work somethi-”

   “Shut it, meat!” the savanaclaw barked at you. The noise made your ears ring and you held your hands over them to muffle the loud shouts. “Heeheheehe… is the little herbivore scared. That’s alright no need to be shy, I like it that way.”

   The circle of boys surrounding you, howled with laughter and you cringed from the stimulus. 

   As the laughter died down, Bazz looked at you closely. “Scrawny thing like you would have barely made a meal full-sized. Guess we’ll have to kill you the old fashioned way instead.” You gasped and began to thrash in his grasp as some of the students whistled. 

   “Bazz, you should feed her to yer snake!” “Bazz! My little sister’s been looking for a new doll to dress up!” “Bazz, hey! My dog needs a chew toy and that thing is the perfect size.”

   Threatening ideas that all promised a painful demise bounced around the group, each one more horrific than the last. The scarabia boy looked like he was about to lose it with laughter and Bazz watched you struggle as if it was the most entertaining thing in the world. No one noticed the clouds above head slowly circling and becoming denser. 

   “Alright alright! Hey everybody shut up!” Bazz, who you had concluded was the leader by this point, shouted at his lackeys. “I’ve decided how I wanna kill ‘em.” he said darkly with a smirk. An almost crazy look came to his eyes and he turned you so you were on display for the whole group to see. 

   “This little magicless shit and their raccoon thing have been plaguing this school for too long. I saw we knock out two birds with one stone and get rid a both of ‘em at the same time.” he paused for dramatic effect. “We’ll coat this one in tuna and leave it for the racoon to eat, and when he’s finished we’ll tell the headmaster and he’ll be expelled!”

   The group cheered and you moaned in utter exhaustion with a dab of hopelessness. Why was this school so ridiculous. You swore one day these imbeciles were gonna set the school on fire and when they turn to you for help, you were just gonna roast marshmallows and watch them panic. 

   A part of you was scared of course, you knew how Grim got when it came to food, but there was no way he wouldn’t notice you. Besides you weren’t really all that nervous anymore now that you noticed the sky.

   Dark clouds swirled around and flashes of green lit up the sky momentarily before dying down. Malleus was obviously looking for you and he was obviously not happy. Moments after you realized he was coming a massive lightning bolt struck the ground only feet away from where the pod of students stood.

   You screamed and shut your eyes as pain lit up behind them. You were swung around as the bear man protected his eyes as well and nausea took over you temporarily. 

   Even after you opened your eyes, only blackness filled your vision. Luckily you could still hear pretty well and relief flooded your veins when you picked up the voice of your boyfriend.

   “Hmm… it appears a bunch of scoundrels have decided to pick on my darling. Unfortunate as it seems, I am at fault for letting them walk home alone. Please return them and I won’t harm you.”

   Malleus was a frightening person to be up against, however the number of other students seemed to give them hope. “Not happenin’” You heard Bazz growl. “I caught ‘em so their mine!”

   The dark fae stiffened and you inhaled sharply. Thunder boomed and some of the students appeared frightened for a moment before attempting to return their expressions to confidence. They failed miserably.

   Malleus’ eyes widened before slanting dangerously. His pupils which were already slits, thinned out in an even more reptilian like way. His cape billowed around him as the wind picked up as a result of his rage.

   Being possessive doesn’t even begin to cover how Draconia feels about you. To him you were the most magnificent treasure in his entire hoard. The shiniest most beautiful precious gem he owned and his mate. After many many years of near solitude, Malleus had come to appreciate your company more than he could describe with words. Hearing another try to claim you ignited the fire in his belly and drove most logical thought from his mind. 

   The only thing he was thinking about was getting you back to him, completely unharmed. You supposed this might be the reason that the next events were so seemingly out of character for him. 

   He growled threateningly and the students took a step back. Two of them ran for it and one looked like he was just about to. Bazz and the Scarabia student stood stiff and nervous but didn’t back down. 

   Your eyes finally adjusted and you watched as a pomefiore student foolishly took a step forward. As first years they had practically nothing to use against the dark prince, who waved his hand and a gust of wind blew the student over like he was made of cardboard. 

   Malleus obviously wasn’t in the mood to play, yet he didn’t take out the students just yet. He decided he would show them something. “Bring my treasure here!” he snarled. Bazz shook but didn’t comply.

   “Fine, be that way.” the half dragon snapped his fingers and you were effortlessly teleported into his hands. You knew from experience that he could only do that to smaller objects so you supposed it was a good thing that you were shrunk.

   “Malleus!” You cried out and looked up at him with relief. His eyes momentarily flashed with the familiar adoration that he used when he gazed at you everyday. They turned dark again when the Scarabian boy shouted, “Hey! We caught that little rat so it’ ours. You're gonna have to fight us if you really want to take them!”

   “I will.” his voice was eerily calm as he stared them down. “In due time, but first,” he raised a finger and you squealed when he lifted you suddenly. “I need to tuck my treasure where it will be safe. I wouldn’t want my mate getting damaged or having to see the gruesome mess I am going to turn you into.”

   Confusion etched itself on your face but quickly shifted into understanding. Scared understanding, but understanding no less. “Umm… Mal… I don’t think-” 

   “Shh…” he quieted you and smiled at you softly. Despite your fears you nodded, giving him permission to continue. 

   The two of you had discussed this before, as he was well aware of your interests, however you had both decided that it wasn’t the time yet. Now, apparently was the time as you found yourself hovering over him in anticipation of what was to come.

   You glanced to the side and saw the last 4 students’ faces undergo the same transition yours did except they appeared much more horrified. Squirming, you looked down and gulped when Malleus gave you one last comforting look before stretching his jaws wide beneath you. 

   A flush crept onto your face as you gazed down into the open maw of your boyfriend. His teeth were sharp like spikes waiting to clamp down and tear through anything that he decided to consume. Each dip and crevice of pink pulsing flesh was oozing with clear slime. The back of the throat was illuminated by a strange green glow that came from below. Hot, stale breath washed over you and blew your hair slightly.

   Nervousness and anticipation spread through you as you were lowered into the large mouth that you realised resembled a sort of odd cave. His long forked tongue curled around your torso tightly as it carefully pulled you past the sharp fangs and into his mouth. The action was weirdly comforting as you picked up on his concern for your wellbeing. 

   Soon you were pulled completely into the slimy maw and watched, mildly afraid as the jaws shut, sealing off your exit. The tongue unwrapped itself and slid over you instead, prodding and feeling as it tasted you. It particularly enjoyed any part of you that wasn’t covered by clothing. And as your shirt was pushed up slightly so the tongue could lap at your midsection, you felt and heard Malleus humm in delight.

   You squirmed and giggled as the tongue continued to tickle you as best it could. It pulled back suddenly when a loud groan echoed up from below, telling Malleus that it was time to eat. He had never been one to deny himself of food if it was within appropriate terms so he tipped his head back and you felt gravity shift as he began to swallow you.

   The fae grunted and swallowed thickly, using a finger to trace your form in his throat. He scrunched his face as you sank slowly down past his chest, which he thumped in order to speed up your journey. And finally he felt you plop into his stomach.

   You panted for breath as the ride down had been far too tight for your liking but almost immediately gagged when you were hit by the horrid stink of whatever meat and sweet dessert Malleus had eaten last. 

   The gut around you was fairly large and spacious compared to the size you currently were. The walls pulsed and throbbed as they sensed you in their space. It was almost as if they were trying to locate you. That’s when you realized they were. 

   A high pitched whining sort of sound alerted you to the fact that your boyfriend was checking to make sure if you had made the journey safely. Quickly you trudged through the sludge, which tingled your skin when in contact, and placed two hands on what you assumed was the front wall of the stomach. 

   You could see due to the eerie glow in the stomach but you weren’t quite sure which direction you were facing. You received an answer when a handprint pressed against you in a comforting manner. 

   “I’m alright!” you called, “Don’t worry about me!” The stomach lining tensed and you heard Malleus growl, “Impossible!” You blushed and smoothed your hand over the slimy walls in appreciation for his undying concern for your wellbeing. 

   Outside, the remaining two students who had failed to flee when they saw Draconia swallow his lover whole, trembled in their spots. Both whimpered when his gaze turned towards them and fixed with a cold and dangerous stare that promised pain. 

   “You!” the dark prince seethed, “attempted to take my mates life!” His voice raised and lightning flashed behind him. “And for that, you will pay dearly!”

   You were flung backwards into the sludge as you felt Malleus jerk swiftly as the fight began. He pointed his staff at the two buffoons and muttered an incantation under his breath before a large jet of light blasted towards them. 

   Both jumped out of the way just in time for the laser to scorch the ground where they had previously stood. 

   They looked at each other fearfully and then back at Malleus. Scrambling, they attempted to stand up and fight back, but neither were successful as they were suddenly blasted by another powerful spell. 

   Your boyfriend smirked wickedly as he watched the two students deform and shrink until there was nothing left but two large rats screeching panickedly in the grass. “You’re lucky my mate disapproves of murder. Otherwise you would be in hell right now!”

   Lightning struck again and Malleus vanished from his spot, leaving the, now rodents to scamper off into the woods, hoping the spell would wear off. 

   Flickering lights flew around the room as its owner appeared out of thin air, transported home with magic. He sighed and leaned his staff against the wall with a huff. You were quiet as you listened to the dark mage begin to undress enough to leave his midsection exposed. 

   He gently sat down on the bed and you gripped the stomach wall to remain balanced. He leaned back and grunted, placing a palm over his stomach. “Darling, you are still alright?” his voice sounded slightly strained and you raised an eyebrow.

   “Um, yes, yes I am.” he sighed in relief. “That’s good. In that case please do excuse me but-” you didn’t hear him finish his sentence before the air around you thickened momentarily before rushing upwards in a loud blast.

“GRRRRWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRP!!!!!”

   You gasped and felt your legs weaken beneath you. The large eructation bellowed around you and seemed magnified from you being inside of him. 

   Malleus moaned softly. His eyebrows drew together and he sat a bit straighter on the bed. “My apologies, darling, it appears you gave me quite a bit of gas.” He muffled another burp, which rumbled deeply in his throat and blew the fetid air out the corner of his mouth.

   “N-no need to apologise.” you said hesitantly. You were very aware of your boyfriend's aversion to rudeness, however, your interests didn’t care much and you always found yourself shaking at the knees when he let loose a bit. 

   He smirked and rolled his eyes at your reaction and wished he could see your no doubt adorably blushing face. His hand rubbed large circles over his stomach and a low purr like sound began to rumble through his chest.

   You trudged over to the wall again and placed your hands against it. He pressed back lightly in conformation that he knew you were there and you smiled fondly as you began to rub the stomach lining.

   He let out a low croon and you felt him sink into the bed. You could almost see the look of pure delight that would slip onto his face anytime you massaged his belly. If only you knew how much better it felt to him now that you were applying your ministrations from inside.

   Malleus hummed softly and peered down at his stomach with a loving and satisfied gaze. You were safe. Away from those bullies who he would further deal with later once you weren’t around to stop him with morals, as most humans had. Safe, warm, delicately tucked away inside of him, where nothing and no one could get to you. 

   His most valuable possession, most treasured jewel, most worshiped treasure. His mate. HIS! The instinctual possessiveness and protectiveness had died down a bit now that he was back in his ‘nest’ with his mate, safely stowed away in his stomach. Now feelings of regret and guilt began to fester within him as he thought about how he hadn’t really asked for permission before swallowing you.

   “Darling?” you stopped rubbing and looked up, not that you could see him, “I… I wanted to say I’m sorry…”

   You made a confused face and pressed against the lining a bit. “Why?”

   “I’m sorry for several reasons, actually.” he sighed. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to protect you in the first place. I’m sorry that I didn’t prevent such an event from happening. I’m sorry that you were scared and in danger while you were under my care. I’m also sorry that I ate you…”

   He paused and you cocked your head. “It’s… it’s a dragon's instinct to protect their valuables no matter what. For you… in such a position… I felt that you were too exposed, too vulnerable. Even if I had placed you in a pocket there was no guarantee that you wouldn’t get hurt. What I was sure of was my ability to protect my own body, so I decided to temporarily add you to it.”

   The dark fae wrapped his arms around his midsection and frowned. “Oh darling, I hope you can forgive me.”

   You stepped back from the wall and swung your fist at it as hard as you could. He was unable to stop a magnificently large belch from erupting past his lips, which you were quite delighted about but shoved those feelings to the side. You had caught his attention, so now it was your turn to speak. 

   “Malleus Draconia!” you said sternly, “If you think for one minute that I am going to let you blame yourself for something entirely out of your control then you’ve got another thing coming to you.”

   The half dragon stared in shock at his gut and let his jaw drop. 

   “It is in no way your fault that those jackasses decided to pick on me. In fact it was bound to happen sooner or later so it was only a matter of time. Besides you can’t be with me 24/7. It’s just not possible. So you stop being sorry about it this instance or I am going to give you the gut ache of your life!” You kicked his stomach again to prove your point and he released a deep burp into his fist. 

   “HHHHRRRRRMMMMMMMRRRRRLLLLPPPHHH!!!!”

   “Oh and another thing,” you started, “I have no idea why you would be sorry in the first place, since you saved me.” He paused and knit his eyebrows together as he thought about it. “You saved me Malleus. I’m safe. I’m safe and I’m not scared or unhappy or hurt in any way. I’m safe and in fact I’m also quite content.”

   The half dragon sat up in surprise. “Yes, that’s right.” you continued, “I am enjoying this experience deeply. True it would be a bit nicer if you could stop repressing, but I know how you feel about that. So don’t feel bad that you swallowed me to keep me safe. You probably could have swallowed me just to add some fat to your thighs and I would still be in heaven.” 

   He growled at the suggestion of him killing you, even if you would appreciate it due to your twisted sense of what's arousing and such.

   You chuckled and restarted rubbing his stomach lining. “Malleus, I love you. I trust you and your decisions. If you need to do something to keep me safe, even if it did make me slightly uncomfortable. I would still love you just as much.” 

   He began to purr again and sighed. “Thank you darling. I… I suppose you’re right.” he paused. “I love you too. So very much, and because of that, along with the fact that it is your birthday… I will indulge you as much as you like.”

   You paused and gasped. As much as you’d like…? You almost shook with excitement and Malleus chuckled, sensing your joy. “Shall I start with the usual?” You nodded vigorously, then realized he couldn’t see you and blushed in embarrassment. “Yes I would like that very much.”

   Malleus smiled at your enthusiasm and waved his left hand, conjuring a bottle of soda. He much preferred to drink from a glass and have his beverage stored in glass bottles, but for simplicity's sake he decided it would be alright to drink from a regular two liter.

   Another wave and he had sound proofed his room. Something he found himself doing often since you had begun to come over. 

   Carefully he unscrewed the bottle cap, wary of it potentially exploding. You heard the hiss of air being released and backed up against the wall in anticipation of what was coming next. The next sound you heard was a series of thick squelches and some fizzing accompanied by the noise of liquids rushing downwards. 

   Soon enough a waterfall of sweet, sugary soda cascaded through the open valve above. You squeezed your eyes shut and hissed when it splashed you as it hit the stomach bottom and mixed with the acids that pooled there.

   The liquid level around you rose steadily and you heard it bubble and hiss as it frothed incessantly upon exposure to the heat in Malleus insides. The pressure in the air doubled until it became almost too thick to breath. 

   By the time Malleus had finished the bottle, the liquid level had risen past your hips and rested just below your waist. He pulled the rim of the bottle away from his mouth and panted. Almost hesitantly he replaced the cap on the now empty bottle and placed it on the bedside table. 

   “Alright darling,” he grunted, “I’m HURP!- hah… I’m ready. Give it a good kick.” Almost immediately he felt a sharp pain in the side of his middle as you gave the inside of his gut a fierce blow. His stomach groaned loudly and the air pressure thickened harshly before Malleus opened his mouth and let out one of the loudest, deepest, longest belches you had ever heard.

“BWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUULLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRP!!!!!!!!!!!! - HACK!!!”

   It came to a close after a sheer 14 seconds of filling the room with its hellacious stench. The paintings on the walls had rattled and shaken in its wake and the bottle fell off of the table it was placed upon. 

   Your ears rung and you were sure your nose was bleeding by how intensely hot you felt. Your whole face turned a lovely shade of crimson almost as dark as Riddle’s hair. 

   Malleus gasped and moaned, letting his head fall back on the pillows. Despite his favor for elegance and manners he could never deny how simply incredible it felt to release a large amount of pressure from his stomach. 

   He puffed out his cheeks as he felt another massive burp roll up his throat.

“HHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRP!!!!!”

“BRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPP!!!!”

“BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLCH!!!!”

“BRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOOOOOOORRRP!!!!!!!!!”

   Several more belches, all magnificent in size, erupted past his lips and echoed throughout his bedroom. You moaned and listened as your boyfriend continuously burped without restraint. This was a once in a lifetime experience and you intended to enjoy it to the fullest.

   Finally the burps tapered off and Malleus groaned, rubbing his throat which stung a bit due to the power behind the eructations. He looked down and realized that while busy emptying his stomach of gas, he had also hacked you up. 

   The ride up had been short and tight but you hadn’t been paying all that much attention when it happened so you couldn’t say for sure if it had been uncomfortable. Rolling over on his stomach where you happened to end up, you smiled loopily up at him and he flushed looking you over.

   It made him feel nice, seeing you so small and content. While you were in danger he hadn’t gotten the chance to appreciate how simply adorable you looked, being this tiny, or how delicious.

   Malleus’ stomach growled disapprovingly at having lost its new favorite snack but he ignored it in favor of muttering a short incantation which quickly cleaned you of gut gunk. Now clean, you stood shakily since his midsection was bloated a bit, and tried to walk over to your boyfriend's chest. 

   You ended up falling over, since it was slightly like walking on a waterbed that wasn’t totally full. Malleus chuckled and you saw his eyes flash a bright green before your perspective changed rapidly. 

   It was only moments later that you found yourself, full sized once more staring into the captivating eyes of your beau. 

   “Hello darling.” he spoke softly. “Did you enjoy yourself?” You nodded rapidly and he sighed wrapping his arms around you. His hand gently runs over your hair and you let your head sit on his chest. 

   The sound of his heartbeat fills your ears and you sigh. It was quite a relaxing sound, but you still preferred the low burbles that his stomach provided. The two of you lay this way for a while, simply enjoying the presence of each other. However Malleus eventually shifts underneath you and whispers your name.

   Curiously you look up at him and he beckons you closer. 

   Closer. 

   Closer.

    Your lips touch in a brief kiss and he pulls back with a smile. “I have a birthday gift for you, but first.” He loosens his grip so he can sit up, positioning you in his lap. You shiver in anticipation when he gazes down at you greedily. Finally he leans forward enough to lick a stripe up your cheek and bite your earlobe teasingly.

“HHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMLLLLLPH!!!! - Phoosh”

   As he pulls back he suppresses a thick belch and blows the leftover fetid gas into your face. Your eyes water and you cough while inhaling deeply at the same time. You opened your eyes and Malleus could have sworn he saw hearts in them.

   “Thank you…” you breathed and he smirked. “Mmmm… as delightful as it is teasing you and getting to see...” he flicked his tongue along your lips, “taste your sweet blush. I do have an actual gift for you.”

   He moved so you could see the table where he had previously placed the soda bottle, and lifted a hand in a swift motion and whispered a few words. Suddenly a large ice cream cake appeared with a scrawled “Happy Birthday” on top. 

   The ice cream appeared to be chocolate vanilla swirl, and the frosting on top was vanilla. Decorative chocolate thorns encircled the cake’s base and had been arranged to appear as if they were climbing the dessert. Just above the wording a candle in the shape of a spinning wheel sat delicately. The spindle part was engulfed in a small green flame that danced almost eagerly as it waited to be blown out.

   You gasped and turned back to look at your boyfriend in surprise at the complicated cake he had (ordered you presumed) gifted you. The overly large size and ice cream part didn’t slip your notice and you had a feeling this night's adventures with your interests were far from over.

   “And one more thing.” Malleus spoke hesitantly, as if nervous by the next gift. He waved his hand and a small box appeared. He handed it to you and you opened it carefully. Inside sat a silver ring that had been made so detailed it looked as if it had literally been woven together with several tiny vines of thorns. Right in the middle of the ring was a small emerald which flashed in the candlelight.

   Your eyes widened and you glanced up at your beau who looked as if he was holding his breath. “It’s to signify our relationship. It’s not an engagement ring, it is meant to be worn on your right hand.” You watched as he gently slipped the ring onto your right hand. 

   In the valley of thorns we have something similar to the gallagh ring that you told me exists in your world. Instead of wearing it a different way depending on your relationship, the gemstone in the middle turns black when you are single. It turns the color of your partner's eyes when you are in a relationship, and when you become married it permanently changes to that color and the band turns gold.”

   He explained how it works in a quiet voice while you admired the pretty ring and your hand held in his. Malleus pressed a kiss to the ring and looked at you nervously. “Do you like it?”

   You threw your arms around him and smiled wide. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever received. Thank you so much Malleus.” You pulled back still smiling, he sighed in relief and smiled back. “That’s good to hear.” he looked like he was about to say something else but was interrupted by a loud growl that came from his stomach.

   “Sounds like you’re hungry. Why don’t we eat some cake?” he smirked and tightened his grip on your waist just a bit. “Hmmm. you mean, you eat some cake and I eat all the rest, only to end up with a big bloated tummy for you to rub?” You blushed fiercely. 

   “Yes, I do believe that sounds like an appropriate way to end the evening.” He leaned forward and kissed you once more. “Although you will always be the sweetest treat I have ever had the pleasure of tasting.” You giggled. “I love you too, Malleus.”

[carry-the-sky]

Hi could you do 14. touch on a bruise for brio please?

ahhh thanks for sending this one in!! have some post-s3 angst, hahaha. :)

(also on ao3)

.

The next time she sees him, he’s bleeding.

Okay, maybe not actively, but the jagged line of stitches etched above his ear looks like it’s seconds away from ripping open. Beth takes in the nasty bruise blooming along his jawline, the cut splitting his bottom lip.

“Um,” she says.

Rio smirks. “What’s up?”

“I—” she sputters, because he’s just standing there with that stupid, smug expression, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to drop by the showroom after hours looking like—that. “You—what happened?”

“Not your division, darlin’.”

He says it lightly enough, but Beth reads the undercurrent of warning in his voice like a neon sign. He wants her to drop it.

Well. She’s not feeling very incentivized to give him what he wants at the moment.

“It is when you bring that”—she pointedly eyes the stitches—“into my showroom. Those look awful, by the way. Did he do them?” She juts her chin toward Mick, who’s lurking in the doorway.

The two men share a look, and Mick folds his arms across his chest. “Maybe I did,” he grumbles. “YouTube’s got tutorials for everythin’.”

Beth glances between them both. She’s about to open her mouth—to say what, she has absolutely no idea—when Mick snorts, shaking his head at the same time that Rio’s mouth twists into a grin.

“Nah,” Rio says, still smiling as he casts a glance back at Mick. “Nah, he didn’t. Your concern’s duly noted, though.”

Mick makes another sound in his throat that he quickly covers by turning it into a cough. Beth’s face flames, but she draws herself up and meets Rio’s gaze head-on. Let him try to get a rise out of her—she knows better than to take that bait.

“Fine. What can I do for you, boss?” she says, spitting out that last word like it’s acid.

Rio’s eyes fall to the floor, but Beth can still see the ghost of a grin lingering at the corners of his mouth, like he knows he got under her skin. Like he’s won. For one furious second, she imagines how hard she’d have to hit him to split his lip, leave a bruise. She imagines hurting him and liking it.

But she doesn’t really have to, does she? Beth still remembers the weight of his gun in her hand, how the recoil from pumping the trigger once, twice, three times made her hand ache for days afterwards. She remembers him choking on his own blood, the sound of it filling up the loft—

No. No, she hadn’t liked any part of that. It’s a catch twenty-two; she hates him, she wants him dead, gone and out of her life, his name crossed out in permanent ink, but then—sometimes she doesn’t. It’s the not-knowing that keeps her circling the drain, pushing that damn boulder up the hill only to watch it come crashing down again and again.

She thinks she might hate that even more than she hates him.

Beth blinks, coming back to the office. Mick’s staring her down like a hawk, but Rio’s gaze is more appraising, head tilted to the side in a gesture that’s so familiar, so him, it makes her stomach flip.

“Just here for my cut,” he says, as nonchalant as if they’re discussing the weather. She hears the unspoken words as clearly as the night he said them—you, me, we. It’s just business.

Beth holds his gaze a second longer, then tugs a black duffel out from under her desk. She hands it off, dropping the straps like they burned her to avoid brushing her hand against his when he takes it from her. If he notices, he doesn’t show it.

“What, no mama bag this time?” he says, then presses his lips together like he’s trying not to grin.

Beth glares at Mick, who just shrugs. She snaps her eyes back to Rio, barely managing to unclench her teeth before asking, “Anything else?”

“Yeah, Mick’s gonna check the books.”

Of course he is. Beth isn’t exactly shocked, but it still feels like a slap on the wrist, another reminder that there’s a hierarchy and she’s the furthest thing from sitting on top. Even this, the operation she pieced together herself, the system she built on equal parts desperation and determination—even this isn’t hers.

You wanna be the king, you gotta kill the king.

Yeah, she tried that. Technically she’s still trying, but she shoves that thought down deep and ignores the twinge in her chest.

Rio’s already turning to go, slinging the duffel over his shoulder. “Next week, yeah?”

Maybe it’s the way he says it, like he’s glad he can pawn her off on someone else because he has better things to do with his time, or maybe the stress and exhaustion from these past few months are finally cracking her foundation—the reason doesn’t really matter. Beth can’t—won’t—let him have the last word.

“You should really get those stitches looked at,” she says.

He pauses, then looks back at her. In the low light, his eyes almost look black.

“I’ve had worse,” he says, and the words hang between them for a moment, heavy as a loaded gun.

Beth swallows. “Still. They could get infected.”

Something slides across Rio’s face, sharp and predatory. It’s the look he gets when he sees an opportunity, and Beth feels her stomach drop.

“Yeah?” he says, turning around so that he’s facing her again. He drops the duffel, and Beth can’t help flinching at the thud it makes when it hits the floor. “Sounds like you’re volunteerin’.”

“No, that’s not—”

But he’s moving, sliding into the chair on the opposite side of her desk. Beth’s eyes dart to Mick, but he just arches an eyebrow, not even bothering to look up from the list of sales projections he’s been checking.

Rio leans back in his seat. “A’ight, doc, fix me up.”

Beth stays where she is. The irritation that’s been bubbling just beneath the surface ever since he walked through the door is reaching its boiling point, but there’s something else humming under her skin, crackling like a live wire. He can leave whenever he wants—he was halfway out the door a second ago—but instead he chose to stay.

They’re circling the same drain, each of them waiting to see who will get sucked under first.

“I’ll—get the first aid kit,” Beth says, stepping around the desk only to be stopped in her tracks by Mick, who clears his throat audibly and pulls his jacket back to reveal the Glock tucked against his side.

Beth resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Really? You think I’m stupid enough to try something with both of you here?”

Rio doesn’t answer, just fixes her with an amused look.

“Fine,” Beth snaps, taking a step back. She nods at Mick, tips her head in the direction of the door. “It’s in the bathroom across the hall.”

Mick gives her a two-fingered salute and ducks out of the room, and then it’s just her and Rio.

He’s still—watching her. He looks relaxed enough, legs spread a bit and his hands clasped loosely in front of him, and if Beth didn’t know better, she’d say the expression on his face is almost neutral. But she does know better. His eyes are what give him away, flashing with the same electricity that’s thrumming behind her sternum. He’s waiting for her to make a move. She knows, because she’s doing the same thing.

God, she hates how much she likes this.

She barely registers Mick coming back—it’s only when he tosses the first aid kit onto the desk that she jumps, startled back to herself.

“Thanks,” she says, injecting as much sarcasm as she can into the word.

Mick’s mouth twitches, but he goes straight back to the books, sinking into a chair in the far corner of the office. Beth rolls her own chair around the side of the desk, lowers herself slowly into a seated position beside Rio. This close, she can see each individual color in the whorl-patterned bruise that stretches up toward the hollow of his cheek. She lets her eyes drag across it, then up his temple. The stitches look—well, not great. It’s clear they were done hastily, probably to prevent as much blood loss as possible, but the wound is seeping.

“Damn, that bad, huh?” Rio asks, reading it on her face.

Beth stares down at the kit in front of her. Her first aid knowledge extends about as far as patching up a skinned knees and Benadryl for minor allergic reactions—removing possibly-infected stitches from her crime boss’ head isn’t even in the same zip code.

“I don’t—I don’t know what you want me to do,” she says, abruptly exhausted.

Rio adopts an expression of mock concern that does nothing to ease Beth’s urge to slap him. “Oh, no?” he says. “What part’s trippin’ you up?”

Beth shuts her eyes for a second, briefly wonders why the hell she didn’t let him waltz out of here when she had the chance—except she knows why, and so does he, and when she looks again—

He’s practically beaming, that smug tilt at the corners of his mouth dialed up about a thousand percent, and it’s like a puzzle piece slotting into place. This is just another game—he’s messing with her, playing with his food before eating it.

The low buzz of electricity inside her ignites.

He’s not the only one who’s hungry.

“No, you’re right,” she says, popping open the first aid kit and digging around until she finds the antiseptic wipes. “I should at least clean those stitches up. Maybe even remove them, start fresh.”

She glances up, and that’s the only reason that she sees him falter, a blink-and-miss-it record-scratch behind his eyes before he recovers, slides the mask back on. Satisfaction floods through her. She can play his game.

“Whatever’s good, ma,” he says with a shrug. “You’re the boss, yeah?” He echoes her earlier emphasis on the word, grinning when he sees the barb land. “Shit, that’s my bad—poor choice o’ words.”

Beth rips open a wipe. “This might sting,” she says, pressing against his line of stitches, hard. She’s rewarded with him hissing a breath through his teeth, the hand at his knee balling into a fist.

“Easy, mama,” he grits out.

Beth flashes him her sweetest smile. “I’m sorry, is that too rough? I thought you liked that.”

Mick makes a noise like he’s choking, and Rio looks over, eyes bright with amusement. “Ay, cállate la boca.”

“Didn’t say nothin’,” Mick mumbles, still staring intently at the books.

Beth presses her tongue behind her teeth, swallowing a pinch of annoyance as she switches tactics. “Aren’t crime lords supposed to have, I don’t know, some sort of medical professional on retainer? For situations like this?”

“Nah,” Rio says with a shake of his head. “Why, you gunnin’ for a promotion? ‘Cause I gotta say, your bedside manner could use some work.”

And something inside her roars, because this is how she’s going to get him. She dabs gently at the wound beneath his stitches, swiping a thumb over the sutures. Rio winces, jerks back—

She sees it, the moment he drops the mask.

Beth leans forward. She brings the antiseptic up to his face again, stops just short of pressing it to his skin, as if to ask, okay?

She sees it, the moment he drops the mask.

Beth starts at his temple, softly scrubbing at the caked-on blood that’s streaked down from the cut above his ear. Her hand moves lower, fingers gliding over his cheekbones, and she’s not sure if she imagines his breath hitching when she reaches the bruise at his jaw. She drags her thumb across it, then back again. His skin is warm, under the pads of her fingers.

“How am I doing now?” she breathes, barely above a whisper, and she knows she doesn’t imagine him dipping a glance down to her mouth. Their faces are inches apart, close enough for her to count the shades of brown in his eyes. Her fingers trace lower, toward the curve of his lips—

His hand comes up to grasp her wrist, tug it away from his face. “Don’t,” he growls, low like thunder. A warning. “Don’t do that, Elizabeth.”

He’s looking at her again, but she almost doesn’t recognize the emotion swimming in his eyes. He’s—terrified. Of her. For a fleeting second she lets the thrill of it run through her, buoyant on the feeling of power, the feeling that she’s won—

(—she did it, she shot him, she’s free—)

The moment pops like a soap bubble, and she’s empty, hollow, everything good inside of her scooped away until this is what’s left. This is who she is. And maybe this game they’re playing was never meant to have a winner.

The realization leaves her numb.

She’s vaguely aware of Mick slipping the books back onto her desk, and when her eyes flick back up to Rio, his mask is firmly back in place. Steel, untouchable.

“I’m all better now, thanks,” he says, and then he’s pulling away, pushing up from the desk, slipping out the door. She watches his silhouette until it dissolves into shadow.

She’s alone.

[bunny-hoodlum]

Asynchronous With You: Ch 6

ship: naruhina

rating: teen (quite possibly mature or explicit later)

tags: Modern Day AU, Foster Siblings, Family, Angst, Unrequited Love, Poor Communication, Missed Opportunities

summary: An awkward journey full of self-denial and missed moments between two foster siblings. Perhaps their love will find the right timing someday.

"I think everyone should know," she said.

They were walking the usual route to their high school, the train station coming up ahead. Naruto kept a protective though furtive gaze on Hinata as he walked behind her on the steps.

He swore she's never modified her skirt. It would be against the dress code she's forced to protect. So he has no idea why it feels like he's seeing more of her than usual.

"Know what?"

Usually he's already doing this, because he's worried about perverts. Even in grade school, he was worried. If it weren't for their teachers educating them on Stranger Danger, he probably would have had to do it himself.

He had to learn it the hard way before Kurenai-obasan took him in, but so did Neji apparently. That's why he's gotten good at being less obvious with his suspicion, and also why he can better tell apart intent based on their body language.

He used to perceive everything around him to be potentially malicious. He never realized the toll that had been taking on him until Neji taught him how to really see.

He stood close behind her on the platform as they waited.

"That we're fosters."

A burst of wind shot through the platform, ruffling overcoats and business suits and whipping pleated skirts and loose hair in a sudden frenzy.

The PA announced the train's arrival, and it wheezed to a stop soon after.

He observed Hinata as she flattened her skirt down and smoothed her bangs, but none of it registered in his brain.

It was simply auto-pilot for him to follow her onto the train, then using his larger frame to block the other passengers from nearing his little sister.

Right. His foster sister.

In all of their nine years together, they've never told anyone. It wasn't that it seemed weird, it just… never occurred to them?

But now it did seem pretty weird.

"Why, though? In a couple years, it's not going to matter anymore."

She turned her face against her shoulder to look at him, but he didn't know what she was thinking. It was the same schooled features she put on last night when visiting Neji, like there was a one-way mirror and only she could see through him.

Then she looked away.

"You're not going to introduce a girlfriend to Kurenai one of these days?"

"Hmm?" The suggestion bloomed in his mind and quickly withered. The idea wasn't… very appealing. Something about inviting judgment onto his life and stuff. He defends himself in every aspect but at home, and he'd rather keep coasting on the good thing he's got. "Dunno. Hadn't ever thought about it."

He certainly wasn't going to introduce any of the one's he's taken to bed when the apartment was empty. He's rarely done it with the same girl twice, mainly because he can't help but lose interest.

He blames it on sexual incompatibility.

"Well, I know I will."

He misses the melancholy hedging around her words, and latches onto the opportunity for an easy ribbing.

"You're gonna bring a girlfriend over?" he's happy she shoots him a look so that she can see his corny grin, otherwise he worried she might've mistaken him for serious.

He's nonplussed by the severity of her glare, but then she says "Maybe when you're not around," and he no longer knows what to think.

"Wait, what? Hinata?" He's craning left and right in hopes of catching a smirk or a giggle from her, but she's evasive. Has she? "Hinata, are you--?" And since third grade she said? "Also, what's that supposed to mean 'when I'm not around'? Huh? Hey, what's that supposed to mean 'when I'm not around'?? Hinata???"

"We're getting off topic--"

"Bullshit! I have questions!"

She ignored him.

"I vote to tell our friends that we're fosters. And I'd like to have it taken care of during Lunch. What's your vote?"

Is this what she sounds like during her Public Morals Committee meetings? Because it was doing something to him.

Oh, right. She wanted an honest answer.

But… "What do you get out of announcing this? I mean, aside from knowing how to introduce me in the future or whatever. Have you thought this through at all?"

What's the rest of the school going to say?

The guys who share their skin mags with him might get wary and reject him. The girls he's dumped might try to get to him through her. Teachers might give up on disciplining him, essentially offloading their responsibilities onto her as both Public Morals Committee and his sister. And he wasn't having any of that shit again.

All kinds of things could bite them in the ass one way or another.

She hasn't replied to him at all, and he thinks she's upset again, but he has to make his point.

"Hinata, the way things are now isn't broken, so what are you trying to fix?"

"It would help me."

"Huh? How? With what?" He waited, and she was silent. A drop of dread sank in his chest for her. "So something is wrong," He leaned in closer, causing her to shrink. He sighed. "Hinata, for someone who wants the world to know we're fosters, you sure don't seem willing to rely on me like a sibling."

"I don't favor Neji-niisan over you."

"Yeah, well, you don't have to," Tension clutched at their throats. "People always have more history with their blood. I can't really compete, y'know?"

He can't compete at all, actually.

Sometimes he thinks his only true brother is Sasuke, but he still wants to work at this. She just has to let him.

"I'm sorry. I just thought it would be less lonely if we could talk to each other normally again. And we only see each other at school these days, so…"

He envisioned her waving to him in the halls between periods, or her having a reason to cheer him on during a deadlift tournament. It would prevent people from making the wrong idea about them.

Damn, he felt stupid now.

"Fine!" He intoned with mock-annoyance. "If it'll make you happy."

She looked over her shoulder again, and what she found was his warm, supportive smile.

________________________

Hinata gathered her friends, Kiba, Shino, Ino and Sakura.

And he gathered his friends, Sasuke, Shikamaru, and Chouji.

Ino had tsked in distaste when she saw Sasuke, had gone as far as to drag Sakura away so that the others sat in-between them. He caught some sort of nickname from her lips, but wasn't sure what she had really said.

As Naruto stood before them alongside Hinata, his gaze fell on the skinny lad scribbling away at his sketchbook, and immediately his fight instinct was switched on.

"What's your monochromatic ass doing here??! Did anyone invite him?!" He jabbed a finger in Sai's direction.

The monotone, softboy, little creep didn't even look up.

"I'm making a record of these proceedings for posterity," he lifted the sketchpad and flipped it around.

Inkified Naruto was pointing right back at him with an agape snarl. Sai then proceeded to show everyone else individually, and they all cracked up, one by one.

Ino was absolutely dying. Stomach-clutching and tears rolling, the whole nine yards. She snatched the sketchpad from Sai and begged if she could keep it.

"Whaddya want that for??" Naruto interrogated. He was so about to punch Sai and throw his art supplies in the pool. This was Hinata's announcement and the softboy was ruining it.

Ino mockingly tilted the sketchbook side to side. "Something to keep your ego in check, Charato."

Hinata faintly snorted. He wasn't sure until he saw how she had her face turned around and her shoulders were lightly trembling.

He frowned at her, feeling betrayed.

"Ahhhh, alright, enough! Me and Hinata have gathered you all here for a reason! So shut up and listen! Hinata, tell them!"

Hinata jolted out of her humor, her face flushing as though this were the first time she's done public speaking.

"Uh, Uhm… Naruto-kun and I… we're foster siblings. We, uh… we live together," Hinata froze up under their collective stares. With a stiff smile, she half-heartedly sang "Ta-da," and punctuated it with rather embarrassed jazz hands.

"And as our friends, you're the first to know," Naruto added. "Also we don't care if the whole school finds out. So don't worry, we're not sharing this out of confidentiality."

Their collective shock evaporated rather quickly.

Sakura was the first to speak. "Well, that answers a lot of questions. And raises plenty more." She ended it with a growl and a glare. That accusatory look irked him.

"Feel free to ask away! I've got nothin' to hide!"

Sakura flattened the back of her skirt as she rose up like a dignitary representing The House of Hyuuga. And then like a certain video game attorney, she pointed at him.

"I always wondered why you obsessively protected Hinata in the past, but never showed any romantic initiative towards her. Now I have to ask, knowing the sex maniac that you are: Do you ever sneak into her bedroom?"

"No," He answered unconvincingly. He looked at the jury one by one, unsure how much of their scrutiny was sincere or misperceived. Sasuke was leaning forward, arms circling around his knees. He looked a little too interested in the idea of him and Hinata… doing things… "I-I've never done that! I would never do that! Hinata's special to me, okay?! You've got a filthy fuckin' mind, Haruno!"

"Me?! You've tried to sneak into the female locker rooms!" Sakura took off her shoe and slugged it at him. "Multiple times!"

Naruto hunched up and twisted away as the shoe smacked his shoulder and bounced away.

Hinata moved in between him and the one-woman mob. "Okay, this is getting out of hand--"

"I will never fucking do that to Hinata. I was in an orphanage for six years. And they're not all run by saints."

Dammit.

This was way more than he ever wanted to share.

He took a few steps back before turning tail. He jogged downhill as fast as he could.

What was he doing?

Uzumaki Naruto doesn't run away.

But it was either that, or… have them watch him cry.

________________________

AN: So this is missing a scene cuz I cut it. I might not use it anymore, and instead I'll see if the backstory I had expanded upon will be worked in later on in the plot. Because before I started writing this, I had anticipated that things would actually get cuter from here on out. (Also anticipating that I may work in at least one smutty chapter in the future. Yeah, it's totally diverging from this fic's original concept when I posted it for Secret Santa, but that's okay!) And the total Ego Death I unexpectedly wrote just feels kind of Deus Ex Machina in a way to Naruto's vices. I just can't have him maturing right now. That's a plot route I don't have any material for, and I don't quite see it as not defeating the other stuff I had planned to write. (I'm also happy to state that I'm starting to get a better picture of how to condense this content on AO3, because I honestly feel like this could be Ch. 2 now. :B I mean, it's too short on its own if I do, but it kinda has that hook for the rest of the story.)

I hope you enjoyed this update! 😘💕💕💕

[driflew]

Lucid (adj.)

Lu·cid (/ˈlo͞osəd/)

· showing ability to think clearly, especially in the intervals between periods of confusion or insanity

· (of a dream) experienced with the dreamer feeling awake, aware of dreaming, and able to control events consciously

Dream for April 8, 2021

I can’t think of the last time I wrote about a nightmare in one of these journals. I think it might’ve been in 2020 or 2019, because I don’t think I’ve had one this year. I feel most people would assume lucid dreamers never have nightmares, but that’s not true. They’re rarer, sure, since I can usually just turn them off, but I still have them. I had one last night.

I’ve written plenty about my sleeping problems. It was the same thing as always--The line between “lucid dream” and “awake and confused” is thin, and I was straddling it again. I can’t remember what I was dreaming about, but it was boring enough that I woke myself up a little trying to find something more interesting to dream about, and when I checked my phone clock it was 3:20-something AM. When a dream is boring, there’s nothing to do but wait to pass back out and hope for a better one, so I rolled onto my side to try.

My eye caught on my window. I usually close my curtains before bed, but I forgot to last night. I like to say it’s because the sunlight wakes me up too early in the morning (which is true!), but honestly, I just don’t like being able to see out the window at night.

My window faces my backyard. It’s little, and at the back it gives way to a forest. It’s cute during the day, but at night, it’s all looming shapes and dark splotches. With bad vision and an active imagination, it’s way too easy to see things out there in the dark. Especially when my body’s awake and my head’s still dreaming.

That’s what happened last night. I imagined something out there in the treeline, peering back at my window, and suddenly I’d convinced myself there really was something out there. I didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t matter. I just knew it wanted to get to me, and that I didn’t want it to.

That’s the thing about lucid dreaming. It’s not total control of your dreams, just awareness that you’re dreaming. And stuff like this is hard to control, because the less I want to think about it, the more I’m actively doing so. The more that thing in the trees stressed me out, the more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself it was actually there, the more it stressed me out... And I was still half asleep, so this all felt real, even while the part of me that was awake knew better.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was probably a few minutes, but it felt like much longer. I couldn’t stop thinking about it shuffling around in the trees, wanting to come in, until I heard a real sound from the trees. It was the crack of a branch, breaking under a heavy foot.

Now that I’m awake, I can say that it was probably some terribly timed deer, but at that moment, I was convinced the thing had actually started stepping out from the trees, and it was coming.

I got up and closed the curtains. I didn’t see it out there, obviously, but I was afraid to look for too long. Moving around was good, though. It was easier to shake my head of the dream and go back to bed once I’d reminded myself of what was real.

Writing it all down now, it all feels really silly. Nothing like a nice morning to put a bad night into perspective.

Dream for April 9, 2021

I dreamt about that thing again last night. I don’t really have recurring dreams, but I guess my subconscious wasn’t done with it yet. This time, it was inside, at the foot of the stairs, and it was coming up.

I was sort of waking up when the dream came, so I shook my head a little and rolled onto my side to try to clear the dream away. Every time I rolled over, though, my head would just put it back at the bottom of the stairs, and it’d start its climb all over again.

Sometimes, when a dream is particularly unpleasant, I sit up and try to orient myself again. The dream-thing made it about halfway up the stairs, and the dread I felt was nearly suffocating. I sat up, near-frantic as I looked around the room, taking in the details. My room was blurry without my glasses, but still more distinct than the shapeless dream-thing and the memory of the staircase.

I remember taking note of as much of the room as I could, little stuff I couldn’t remember. Stuff like the hazy shapes of my clothes hanging in the closet, or the books on my shelves. Couldn’t make out individual shirts or read any spines, but the patterns were more than I felt I could have come up with in a dream. Granted, when I recall doing that now, the memory is just as fuzzy as a dream would be--My inability to retain finer details is exactly why I did it. It was grounding.

Of course, that only made the creak worse.

A little over halfway up the staircase, there’s a step that always creaks, and at that moment I was sure I heard it. The dream-thing was out there, and was coming.

My body was wide awake, and I thought my head was awake, too. But if my head really was awake, I would have remembered that houses creak at night. So I know I must have been lingering in that dream, letting my imagination get the best of me.

I got up again. It worked to clear my head last time, so I decided to try it again. This time, I locked the door. If I was making the thing up, I could decide the lock was an effective barrier. I told myself that if I locked the door, it couldn’t get in, and I went back to bed.

I didn’t sleep well. Pretty sure I only snagged an hour before the sun came up. I still feel really tired.

It’s silly. I know that. I certainly felt silly about it this morning when I went to get breakfast--Believe it or not, I actually managed to forget all about the dream for a little when I first woke up. Then I tried to leave this morning and walked face first into the door because it didn’t open when I tugged it. My face still sort of stings, but it was pretty funny.

Thinking back, I don’t actually know what the thing looks like. That’s just how it is with dreams, though, isn’t it? At least, that’s how it is with mine. They’re all indistinct, and I just know things, even when they’re formless like that.

Dream for April 10, 2021

It was on the landing last night. It didn’t move this time. It just watched my door. I didn’t see it or hear it, but I felt it.

I tried to think about other things. I flipped through this journal before I went to bed last night, finding old dreams I liked, so I had other things to dream about last night. I couldn’t hold onto any of them for very long. I was too tired to stay focused. My head just kept drifting back to the Thing on the landing.

I got up again. I stopped in front of the door. I thought about the Thing on the landing. For a moment, I entertained the idea of opening the door. I could look out there right then and prove to myself that there was nothing, that my house was as empty as it was every other night, that I was alone.

I pictured opening the door. I pictured the Thing on the landing. I pictured opening the door and looking at the landing, and when I pictured the landing, I pictured...

My fingers closed, not around the handle, but on the lock. I was being irrational, but my courage was asleep. I didn’t want to look out there--I couldn’t! The Thing was out there. I couldn’t let it see me. I couldn’t let it get inside.

I didn’t think much about what I did next. My door opens inwards, so I grabbed the heaviest thing I could lift by myself--my nightstand--and dragged it over to the door. I told myself that the movement would wake me up. I took in as much of the experience as I could. I felt the wood under my hands--chilled slightly, sturdy and unyielding, covered in the faintest ridges making up the pattern of the grain. My arms trembled slightly, a mix of exertion and exhaustion. I narrowly missed my foot when I dropped it down, and I winced with the idea of pain.

I was only validating my fear. Every step I took as I crossed the room with the nightstand made the Thing more real.

It was stupid. It was so stupid. I feel like an idiot now, looking back in the light of day. But all I can think about is how drained I felt after I got back into bed, and how I didn’t get any sleep at all. How I haven’t got much sleep since I first noticed the Thing.

Looking back, I don’t remember what the wood felt like.

Logically, I know that the wood was cold, hard, and bumpy. That’s what all wood feels like. But I can’t feel it now. My hands can feel the rigid plastic pencil and the soft paper of this book, but they can’t feel the table. It felt so real in that moment, but in my head? There’s no real difference between a memory and a dream. How can I tell what during that night was real? I can picture dragging the nightstand. I can picture grabbing the door and opening it. They’re both hazy, draped in the films of tired darkness, poor eyesight, and imagined recollection.

Maybe I did open the door. I know I didn’t, but do I know that? I also knew the Thing was there. It’s so hard to tell. I thought the daylight was supposed to bring clarity.

I just pinched myself. If I were dreaming, that would wake me, right? Except the pain of that gesture is gone now, and all I have is the memory of it. Memory isn’t tangible, it’s not real. It’s fickle, and malleable as any dream. How am I supposed to trust it? How do I know what was real?

I’m going to put the nightstand back at my bedside now.

Dream April 11

I’m breaking my one rule with this book. I never write at night, but I need to write this down now. I’m hoping maybe it will help. I always feel more clear when I’m writing in this book. I feel the pencil in my hand, with the plastic grip I’ve picked apart. I feel the paper under the side of my palms where I’m resting on the open pages. I feel the pattern of the faux-leather cover against the skin of my thighs. I can feel my sheets, soft below me, and the slightly scratchy material of my shirt. I feel the uncomfortable bend in my back where I hunch over this journal. I feel where my thighs stick together, and where my elbows dig into my sides. I feel my eyes as they ache with exhaustion, and from looking at the reading light when I flicked it on. I feel my bangs brushing at my glasses, tickling the skin there. I feel awake. I feel real. I feel the Thing outside my door.

I know it’s there. I don’t hear it moving, and I can’t see its shadow in the crack under my door, but I can feel it, just like I feel my lungs fill and deflate when I breathe. I know it’s out there, right outside the door.

I didn’t lock the door before I went to bed. One last burst of logic. I thought maybe if I didn’t indulge it this time that I wouldn’t have this dream, but I haven’t even fallen asleep. I didn’t fall asleep yesterday, either. I’m starting to wonder if I ever fell asleep--Was I awake this entire time, every time the Thing appeared? I can’t remember.

Did I really move the nightstand yesterday, or lock the door the night before? The nightstand is next to me now, as if it never moved at all. It’s cool to the touch, but when I pull my hand away from it, I don’t remember where in my fingers I felt the grain.

I want to lock the door now, but I can’t. I don’t want it to hear me and realize the door is unlocked. I don’t know what I’d do if I got up and it opened the door. I don’t know what it would do if it opened the door. I don’t want to find out.

The line between “lucid dream” and “awake and confused” is so very thin, as is the line between memory and dream. The intersection of both is where I exist now.

I’m unsure of anything except the exact moment I’m in, knowing only what I can feel.

It’s not making any noise out there. I don’t hear it. I don’t need to. I don’t need to hear my own heart to know it’s beating. I know it’s out there, as surely as I know I’m alive. If I am real, so is the Thing. I can feel my heart, thundering away in my chest, and I can feel that Thing wants to get inside my room. I can feel that it wants to get to me, to my heart. I can feel that it wants to tear the beating thing straight out of my chest.

Some people believe lucid dreaming is awareness, clarity. Some people believe it’s control. I’m neither aware nor clear. Am I in control? I don’t feel it.

I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep tonight, either.

April 12

There was a scratch on my door, on the outside, under the door handle. That wasn’t there before. I would have noticed something like that, right? Maybe little details escape me sometimes, but I’ve lived here for years. I would have noticed that before.

Which means it was here. It really was here last night.

The lock won’t work. I know it. When I think back to the snap of that branch, and the creak on the stairs, they both feel so significant. A resounding snap, a downed tree shattered under its heel. A long, terrible groan, the wood protesting below a massive weight. What will it do when it gets to me?

I don’t know what I’m up against, but I’ve always had a terrible imagination. I haven’t been able to do anything today but sit and think of snapping, of crushing, of clawing. The longer I think, the worse it becomes. I can’t think about anything else--The more I try to turn my head away, the more I find myself stuck.

My door is open. I can see the scratch. If I can see it, it’s real. When I look down to write, I forget the details. I can’t picture its exact length, or how far away it’s set from the handle. So I leave the door open and I look at it again and again, and I know that it’s real.

I broke my arm once, as a child. I remember lying in the dirt. I remember sobbing, crying for help. I remember staring up at the tree I’d fallen from, unable to move off the ground. I don’t remember the pain. I don’t remember what it felt like to land, or for the bone to snap. Were the trees unclear because the tears blurred my eyes? Or is that my memory?

I see that I wrote last night that I didn’t hear the Thing, but there’s a scratch on the door. The Thing must have left it last night. Wouldn’t I have heard it, like I heard the branch and the stair? I can imagine those. I can imagine the scratching just as clearly. It must have been clawing at the handle. It scratched all night. The noise kept me awake. How could I sleep with all that scratching? I don’t even want to look at the door. With all that scratching, the wood must be gouged all over. I can picture the damage so clearly.

I keep thinking about what it will do when it comes tonight. I put the book down and I stare at my window for hours. There’s a bit of light coming out between the curtains, and it’s fading quickly. I picture the Thing. I still don’t know what it looks like. I know it’s big, and heavy, and it has horrible claws.

I imagine snapping a twig below my heel. I imagine breaking a branch over my knee. I imagine crushing an empty soda can between my hands. I imagine cutting into the stomach of a plush toy. I imagine tearing a wishbone in two. I imagine crushing a bug between my thumb and my index. I imagine rending the leg off of a chicken at dinner. I imagine popping the head off of a doll. I imagine myself. So easily, with so little resistance.

I can’t begin to think about what it will feel like. I doubt I’ll know until it happens.

I don’t imagine I’ll have an entry tomorrow. At the very least, I know I won’t be dreaming.

[willadisastercry]

Sleep deprived Keith annoying the crap out of the other paladins before crashing

Tw: depiction of sleep deprivation, insomnia, needles.

Keith has trouble sleeping sometimes... but this is a new level for him. His teammates can’t remember the last time he looked well slept and neither can he. They also don’t remember him being this hyper or social with them, like literally ever.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Shiro so annoyed,” Lance whispered over a crouched Pidge as they peered around the corner into the control room.

Keith was hovering around Shiro as he typed away on the panel in front of him, working out the strategy for their next mission.

“Well, if you really think about it, the Galra are kind of like space Russia, they have a lot of real estate, the people are really tall, and—hey, wait why wouldn’t we infiltrate the loading dock first? That’s the most reliable route because the lions won’t be far, we can just cloak them ya know, like all stealth? and if we go in where...”

“I think his mouth is twitching, watch. There it is, it did it again!” Pidge pointed out, her eyes wide in amazement.

The older boy’s mouth was indeed twitching, the corner pulling up like he wanted to say something as well as drop someone, but he refrained from both.

“I think I would’ve punted Keith across the room by now... do you think Shiro meditates, he must meditate, ya know? He’s always so calm and reasonable, always telling us that we have to breathe and whatever, no one can possibly be that zen without—“

But before Lance could finish his analysis on Shiro’s freak ability to be so zen, the basis of his argument shattered with an explosion from their team leader.

“I can’t even hear myself think, Keith!” Shiro started, a vein very visibly pumping away on his forehead as his face took on a dark flush.

“I have been watching the same surveillance loop for five minutes now beccause I can’t focus with you rambling in my ear!”

The red paladin’s face fell, his antsy pacing halted and his hands tapping his side like he was anticipating something. He took a breath. He hadn’t realized he’d started trembling.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—fuck,” Keith said before turning away, “I’ll leave you alone.”

Lance and Pidge nearly toppled over with how aggressively they flung themselves away from where they had been perched while they eavesdropped. Mostly out of curiosity at how Shiro would handle a manic-ly energetic Keith.

They could hear Shiro cursing under his breath, then ushering an apology for being so harsh but Keith likely didn’t hear it as he hightailed it out of there. He moved so quickly he didn’t even notice the pair as they stood planted in the center of the hallway failing to feign even the slightest of nonchalance.

Shiro ducked his head out to find that Keith had already disappeared and became wildly flustered when he found the very guilty-looking pair instead.

“Uhuh,” he cleared his throat, “do you guys know what’s going on with Keith? I didn’t mean to be such a dick, but he’s like next level tweaking out and I have no idea why...”

“Uh, we’re not sure either,” Pidge replied, “but he’s been like this all morning.”

“Yeah, he made Coran snap and crack a crystal in half earlier...”

“Oooo and Allura stained her dress when he wouldn’t shut up about how human mice carry infection and probably shouldn’t be near food and then she like flung her coffee...”

“And poor Hunk was trying to entertain his ramblings about the how hard it is to attain cinnamon in space and that it should be rationed and ended up burning a whole batch of snickerdoodles...”

“He was bouncing off the walls, it was weird” Pidge resolved. “And Keith never has that much energy.”

“Yeah, he’s been rambling, that’s my thing! The kid hardly says more than five words in one sentence and now he can’t shut up,” Lance added, scratching his head.

“Okay,” Shiro looked like he was running over in his head a million possibilities of what could be wrong, “will you two go check on him for me... and let him know I didn’t mean to yell at him?”

“Of course.”

“We’ll let you know if we figure it out,” Lance promised before they started after their friend.

They checked the common room first as it was the next room on their way and found only a grumpy Hunk scraping the singed bits off of the plate of cookies in front of him.

“D’you see Keith?” Pidge asked, surveying the sight before her.

“No,” he gruffed sadly, taking a bite of one of the cookies and breaking it off with a loud snap.

“Okay, keep an eye out, we think something’s wrong...” Lance looked around, “I know where he might’ve gone but we have to grab something first, let’s go.”

They took off at an urgent trot, once again more out of curiosity than concern because this just didn’t occur. Keith is a guy of few words, so when he speaks it’s usually sarcasm, not a rapid flurry of silly questions that seem more like the goofy blue paladin than the tempered red. This was weird for him. And they just wanted to know why.

But their curiosity changed quickly into fear as soon as they entered the hallway of the training room because they could hear the intense whir of the simulator working. From down the hall.

“Shit Keith,” Lance said activating their bayards they stopped to pick up on the way.

“He’s got it on the highest setting—not even Shiro can handle that intensity solo,” Pidge noted as they raced for the door.

“This kid’s got a death wish,” Lance deadpanned as he wrenched the doors of the training room open, only to be immediately met with Keith’s strangled scream as his head snapped against the floor with a sickening crack, the sentry that threw him across the room quickly closing the distance between them.

Lance ran forward and knelt down, slowly lining up shots and taking down the new sentries as soon as they regenerated while Pidge made her way to the kill switch.

By the time she got to the lever and tugged it all the way down Keith was dangling from his twisted arm and throat, shuddering gasps the only noise he was able to make in protest.

Lance had just taken out the second sentry cornering Keith with a head shot when every robot assailant powered down at once, the one choking Keith releasing his grip on his throat first, his arm pulling at an awkward angle as he fell before it was released. The pale boy let out a shrill gush before clamping his lips together tightly and pulling his slumped form up with the help of the wall.

“What the fuck was that, mullet?!”

He refused to make eye contact with his worried friends as he went to storm out like before, but this time he moved slowly, gingerly.

“I needed a good workout... to clear my head,” was all he managed. They could tell he didn’t want to let on that he was in pain, but the way he grimaced when his arm swung as he walked as well as the obvious bump protruding from his shoulder where no bone should be told them otherwise.

“Oh, that’s a load! That was not a good workout, that was a good ass-whooping! And I’m not entirely sure there’s anything left in your head to clear after the way it smacked the—“

“You’re hurt,” Pidge blurted. “The sentry dislocated your shoulder, I’m staring at the head of your right humerus and I shouldn’t be able to do that...”

“Oh... huh,” was all the mind he seemed willing to pay to his injury, his eyes bleary and wider than usual as he continued to walk away from them, but they persisted.

“We’re taking you to get that checked out by Coran. Right now,” Lance ordered.

“I’m good,” he assured, shouldering the door with his other arm.

Lance reached the door handle first and pulled on it, keeping Keith from going anywhere and spurring a low groan when his bad shoulder was jolted.

“Lance...”

He looked so tired.

He closed his eyes and continued to lean heavily into the hulking door of the training room. Under the bright artificial lights his skin looked greyer than it usually did, every bone in his face sickly accentuated and sharpened, the staple bags underneath his eyes hanging heavier than ever.

“Keith, you’re hurt and something else is obviously wrong so NO, we’re not letting you storm off to go pout to maintain your stup—“

“Shut up—“

Keith’s vision tunneled, his eyes fixed in a clearly unfocused haze as he stared at nothing.

“What?” Lance questioned, very caught off guard by the sudden interjection.

“I s-said shut u-up,” he whispered as he sucked in a shuddering breath.

The shrillness of Lance’s chastisement made his head swim and he blinked away the haze that came with the sudden levity.

“Hey, take it easy...”

It seemed the more he tried to control the tremor in his voice the worse his entire body seemed to shake.

He was fading; he could feel it.

The exhaustion had given way to anxiety as the adrenaline dripped dry allowing him to fully feel the pain in his shoulder as it pulsed angrily.

It was like the tide was washing out, the tumultuous waves of the storm that settled itself in his chest receding just before the next wave surged, and then he could feel everything he’d been ignoring.

Every individual bone seemed to ache with weariness and the pressure behind his tired eyes was so immense that it made him unsteady.

“Woah, what’s going on man?”

The floor suddenly seemed to shift beneath him, like he was walking on one of those moving conveyer belts in the airport that made your feet feel weird once you were back on solid ground.

“I think you should sit down,” Pidge urged, tugging worriedly at the hem of his shirt.

As much as his pride wanted him to protest he couldn’t seem to muster enough energy to even disagree let alone have a shred of cofidence that he could possibly get himself back to his room on his own.

They seemed to understand by his silence that he wouldn’t push away their help now and then he could feel firm hands on his good shoulder and back, guiding his trembling frame down to the floor where he came to rest his head on the knee that wasn’t bouncing.

“Where you at, mullet?”

The tinier hand had never left the middle of his back and rubbed soothing circles on the tense muscles beneath it.

“Can you tell us what you feel like right now?” Pidge asked before moving a hand to steady his restless leg.

He took a strained breath.

“D-dizzy... c-cold maybe, I-I don’t know why I can’t stop s-shaking.”

“That’s okay, don’t worry about that.”

“Here, this’ll help,” Lance added as he draped his jacket over Keith’s back, careful to not have it touch his injury.

“How’s your shoulder? Is anything else hurting?”

Keith thought about it for a solid minute, finding it sort of difficult to organize his thoughts and give Pidge an answer.

“Hurts a lot. S-so does my head... I have a headache—maybe... maybe a migraine I d-don’t know.”

“Is that what was bothering you before? The lights are pretty bright in here so that’s probably not helping... why don’t we start heading to the infirmary, before it gets worse?”

He nodded slowly against his knee and lifted his head up, his eyes still pressed together tightly. He pried one open to test his head but the swirling nausea and general agony that followed was answer enough.

“You don’t have to keep them open if it hurts.”

He hummed in acknowledgment and steeled himself as they took up his good arm and pulled him to his feet then waited for him to give the go ahead before making their way.

It was almost worse when his eyes were closed. The pounding in his head had only increased while they guided him, each step rattling his brain around so painfully that it almost distracted him from the instense heat in his shoulder.

He didn’t know why his head hurt so bad and why it was making his eyes so sensitive. He knew he’d hid it, but not hard enough to warrant this. He was also really tired, practically jumping out of his skin every few moments when he let his head tip forward slightly as if to nod off, which was entirely strange and alarming seeing as he was so drowsy he almost fell asleep while still walking.

He hadn’t noticed when they made it to the infirmary, only realizing when he was being pushed to sit down on something and a light was being shone across his now opened eyes.

“No! Oh-ouch,” he inhaled sharply when the light retreated and he was left seeing a blurred strip of bright white across his field of vision.

“I apologize, my boy, it had to be done. No concussion though! We have dimmed the lights for your comfort, the aversion is most peculiar given your injuries... “

He proded Keith’s shoulder blade and the inflamed area around it, earning a hiss when he tested the dexterity of the limb.

“The scanner detects significant ligament damage that will need to be corrected in a pod after I er... set the joint in its proper place. It will hurt for only a tick and I have several nerve blockers and muscle relaxers I can inject in the area to make the process less painful. Does that sound manageable to—“

But Coran didn’t get to hear Keith’s answer, the way his face greened and he clamped a hand over mouth was telling enough. He bit back a sob as he lurched forward, not enough time or notice for anyone to prepare before Keith was dry heaving, but they didn’t really need to worry because nothing but saliva came up.

“Were you at all ill before this today? This is the first time you’ve been sick to your stomach... when was the last time you ate?”

Silence only followed for a dobash before all three launched into different themes of admonition, but they all had the same anger to them. He knew they meant well, that they were just worried, but the bite to their words made his eyes sting like hell and he was seriously worried he wouldn’t be able to keep the tears at bay before Shiro was there telling them to be quiet.

He turned his head away and tried to breathe normally, but his chest was working up and his head throbbed pitifully and the movement made the burning in his shoulder deepen to where he had to hold his breath to keep from aggravating it. But Shiro’s warm, human hand was pulling his face towards his own, his eyes taking in Keith’s form and coming to several conclusions at once, the tension everywhere, the darkness under his eyes, the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands shook entwined about themselves...

“Keith,” his voice was so low and warm, he felt his chest pang at the gentleness in it. He closed his eyes, he knew what was coming next and he was both relieved and terrified for it.

“When was the last time you got a solid night’s sleep?”

He waited, even though they both already knew the answer and then it was when his hand moved to cup the top of his head that he finally broke. He didn’t need to speak for Shiro to know the answer.

Too long. It had been entirely too long since Keith could remember going to bed and waking up refreshed, each night only more frustrating than the last as he laid his head on his pillow and closed his eyes, knowing full well it wouldn’t work. Nothing did.

This week had been too much though. Running on empty on far too many missions followed by a dozen insomnia-induced late night training sessions trying to tire himself out in order to snag only a few hours of rest.

He’d just kept excerting himself and not ever properly recharging, but not on purpose, he physically couldn’t.

That part wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t help that, but he could let people know he was struggling and he had purposefully not alerted Shiro.

“Shit, Keith,” Shiro murmured with Keith’s forehead on his chest as he held back the sound of his crying, “you have to tell me when it gets bad like this! It’s not safe for you to be fighting and training when you’re not properly rested, you know that...”

Coran resumed analyzing his shoulder.

“And now you’re hurt because I snapped at you—Keith, I’m so sorry, I should’ve realized...”

“D-dont,” he managed through stiff breaths as Coran worked his bad arm gently out of his shirt, “s’not your fault, never is.”

Shiro set his jaw and eyed Coran who looked at him sadly and nodded.

“This conversation is far from over, but we have to get that shoulder fixed right now.”

Coran asked Pidge to gather some supplies and Lance to help him brace Keith.

“You’ll feel a small pinch in your arm now.”

He did. The area felt cold with the liquid that was now under his skin and Coran rubbed it for a minute before moving near his collarbone.

“This one might burn, but you’ll find it entirely numb in a dobash.”

This one was quicker, less to inject, longer to rub in so it spread. It burned and itched, earning a groan before he felt less of Coran’s fingers and more of just pressure.

“Oh, that’s... better.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

He felt someone kneeling behind him holding just below his shoulder and around his chest. Someone else was in front of him holding his arm up with their hand on his other shoulder, Shiro’s hands on his shaking one.

“Now I trust you’re familiar with what is about to happen, do you want me to explain what I am doing or—“

“Don’t explain, just—“

The pain that exploded with the hollow pop that followed was even grosser than the sound itself. Keith’s vision whited for a second and he was immediately ashen and panting as his body worked through the shock of the correction, his ears rang and so he wasn’t sure if he had screamed or not but with the way his throat ached he’d assumed he had.

Exhaustion weighed on him like a sopping wet blanket, making it difficult to keep his head up let alone his entire upper body. He wasn’t sure how long he had been leaned against Shiro’s chest once he started coming back to himself and realized he was the only thing keeping him upright.

Something was compressing his shoulder, pulling in places he didn’t quite like as it was wrapped tightly around the still damaged joint, making its way around his chest and back several times. Shiro held him away for a moment while something fell around his neck that held his arm against his chest and had an attachment to secure it to his side.

He tried to open his eyes and see what was going on but they were so very heavy and he was in awe of how he wasn’t entirely asleep by now, almost thankful for the steady ache behind his eyes as it was forcing him to keep them closed.

“You still there, Keith?”

He hummed into Shiro’s shirt in response.

“Hey, so we’re going to forgo the pod to repair all the torn ligaments for a little while. Coran thinks it’s best that you catch up on your sleep without the being frozen part... we’ll see how you’re feeling tomorrow, does that sound alright to you?”

It sounded superb to him. Truly.

He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline crash or the general daze from sleep deprivation, but he was entirely checked out. Sufficiently out of it to care much about anything other than Coran’s lovely altean painkillers and the comfy pillow his head was now resting on.

Once he was laid down he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness almost immediately, the last thing he knew before he was consumed in bliss was the blanket that was being pulled up to his chest and Shiro calming words.

“Rest, buddy.”

And he finally did because now he actually could.

He wasn’t sure if it was the level of exhaustion he’d brought himself to or the threat of pain when he awoke, but whatever it was keeping him asleep he was grateful for it. Coran never even had to administer a sedative to keep him down during the night, just pain killers so he wouldn’t be woken up by his shoulder.

He slept for a day and a half after that, everyone taking turns watching over him while he slept so Shiro didn’t bring upon himself a similar fate.

The next time he was conscious coming deep into the next night, nearly early morning. Shiro stirred in the chair he was posted up in when Keith groaned and tried to turn over but cried out instead.

“Crap, what—hey... you’re okay,” Shiro soothed as he held Keith’s searching hand away from the thick layer of bandages covering his shoulder.

“It hurts, Shiro! It h-hurts!”

“I know, Keith, I know it hurts.”

Shiro sounded sad, Keith didn’t want to make him sad.

“I’m sorry...”

“You don’t need to be sorry for anything, bud.”

“I was stupid, I shoulda t-told you—just didn’t want you to worry.”

“I’m always going to worry about you, Keith. All of us are going to worry until you stop giving us reasons to,” he laughed weakly as he ran his hand through Keith’s hair while his breathing returned to normal.

“And until then, we’ll be here to make sure you don’t get pulverized by the training simulators and aren’t walking around delirious from not having slept in a week, okay?”

“Aha, yeah... okay.”

He tried to doze off again, but the steady pulse of pain in his shoulder seemed to prevent it. After an hour of trying, Shiro called Coran in who agreed it was also time to go into a pod.

“You will feel as good as new in no time, number four.”

Keith nodded absently as he rested his head back against the cushion in the cryopod before its doors closed with a whoosh and then cold surrounded him, lulling him off into another much needed sleep.

[ruewrites]

Thrones are Built on Lies Chapter 9: The Hands that Guide Me

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo, Diavolo/Lucifer

Word Count: 3823

Warnings: None

A/N: Comments and feedback are appreciated! This fic has been a little harder for me to write, not gonna lie, so I hope you guys are still enjoying it!

Prev

Next

“What?”

Asmo’s voice came out as a shriek. It hurt Solomon’s ears a bit if he was being honest.

The two of them stood before Lucifer, Diavolo, and Azazel. It had been easy to push the idea of assassination attempt to the side until this point, but after an arrow had been shot in their direction… well… He couldn’t ignore it anymore. Of course the crowds had gone scattering and word quickly got back to the main palace. This is when he also learned that the princes weren’t supposed to leave the palace.

Lucifer shook his head, “You heard me Asmodeus. I shouldn’t have allowed you to go out to the sector. I thought it might be safe for you during the day, but I was wrong. So no more. You must stay here.”

“But it’s my sector,” Asmo continued. Even if Solomon wasn’t looking at him, it was easy to tell he was upset. His voice was strained and cracked. He was on the edge of begging and pleading with his eldest brother. Solomon wanted to tell him to stop, but as soon as he went to touch him, he was shrugged off. “I should be allowed to visit it whenever I see fit!”

"That was before an arrow almost took your head off," Azazel chimed in, shaking his head, "Not to mention, you put civilians at risk with your presence."

The way Asmo flinched at those words… He didn’t seem to care about himself in that moment, and Solomon couldn’t help but think back to the small children flocking around his legs and how Asmo genuinely seemed to adore every one of the individuals in his sector. Yes he seemed a little thoughtless, but his intentions were innocent.

“Not to mention, you put a king in danger,” Azazel continued, gesturing to Solomon himself, “Could you imagine the commotion you would have caused if your fiance, royalty from another kingdom, had been struck? He’s an only child, their only heir, and you almost cost them that. His death would have been on your hands.”

That was hardly fair, Solomon had gone there on his own free will. Asmo had asked him, yes, but Solomon hadn’t felt forced. Yet, Azazel’s words had him questioning himself. The entire situation was extremely uncomfortable.

“Azazel, don’t you think-”

The glare Azazel shot Diavolo as his neck snapped towards him was dangerous, “Don’t coddle him. He should have known better.”

“Uncle,” Lucifer’s voice was steady, drawing Azazel’s attention back to him, “I am more than capable of handling my brothers. Please refrain from making any more unnecessary comments.”

The two men stared each other down for what seemed like an eternity before Azazel reluctantly backed down. That was when Lucifer turned his attention back towards the fifth prince. “Asmodeus,” Asmo didn’t look up towards his brother, but Solomon swore he saw him twitch, “No more outings. None. Am I understood?”

Asmo nodded curtly and then that was that. They were dismissed.

The silence was uncomfortable, even for Solomon. Yes he had complained about Asmo being high energy, but now that it was gone… It was unnerving. Solomon had had his guard so high around his fiance, and for what?

“You’re quiet,” he said. An inch stood between them. They hadn’t really walked together like this in the halls before.

Solomon was also a bit disturbed. From what he knew of Asmodeus, he knew that he didn’t give up on what he wanted to easily. But the moment Azazel started speaking, it seemed that all of the fight had left him.

You have a role to fill Lilith.

What exactly had been going on in Arcadia prior to them approaching him?

What exactly had becoming Lilith entailed for Asmodeus?

“I was under the impression you didn’t like me talking.”

Solomon couldn’t blame him for being snippy. He just got chewed out by his older brother and his uncle for something that Solomon didn’t really blame him for. Asmo was agitated, a free spirit locked away in a cage.

"Well, I don't like being distracted by anyone when I'm doing research, and you're a rather distracting presence," he tried to joke, but Asmo didn't seem too amused, "But I don't have my nose in a book right now."

"You will soon."

Just when he was trying to make an effort, Asmo didn't seem to want anything to do with him. At least not right now he didn't, but he could fix that. "I've heard you've gotten into a bit of reading yourself."

"I guess."

"Perhaps we could have a little library date sometime."

He was almost surprised about the smile that crossed his own face when he saw Asmo's ears twitch at the mention of a date. That's what he wanted. He wondered if Asmo didn’t quite believe what he had heard. After all, Solomon knew he’d been a little aloof. A library date was also a little more up his alley. He allowed himself to move ever so slightly closer. "Would you like that Asmodeus?" he asked softly.

"It's not going out-"

"But it's still a date."

He was going to do better.

He was going to start putting a little more effort into Asmodeus.

That also meant that he was resisting the urge to grab at his pendant. He had to open himself up to talk to Asmo more, and that meant also forming a more organic way to figure out how he was feeling. He needed to ask him questions, he needed to know a little more about him.

"You would like a date? Wouldn't you Asmodeus?"

Slowly, Asmo nodded and then his motions became more rapid, "Oh! Oh yes! Yes I would like that!" He caught Solomon in a tight grip and held him close. Solomon felt himself go stiff and was unsure what to do with his hands. Although, it was nice to see Asmo smiling. Eventually he settled on patting the prince's back. Asmodeus looked up at him, eyes sparkling, "Oh you'll be the luckiest man in any kingdom! Well, maybe next to me of course. But you'll love being with me! We can talk about it more if you'd like to walk me back to my room?"

"Well, you see, I would, but someone still has to teach me how to navigate the caverns."

It was a little embarrassing. He'd been living here for a while now and still had little to no idea as of how he was supposed to get around. It was especially inconvenient when he was hungry or wanted to visit the library. Asmo tilted his head and backed up, taking Solomon's hand in his own and squeezed. His hands were a bit bigger than Asmo's, but he also couldn't help but notice how warm and soft they were. They reminded him of soft silk. His nails were also well cared for especially compared to his own which were bitten. Had anyone ever held his hands like this before? It was such a small thing to think about, something that didn't matter in the long run, but he thought about it nonetheless.

Asmo's skin felt nice against his own.

Asmo's hands felt nice against his own.

"Well, I guess that gives me an excuse to spend more time with my husband!"

"Fiance."

"Same thing," Asmo let go of his hands and waved him off, "The point is I can get some time with you all to myself."

The very idea of spending time with him seemed to have Asmo excited, a little life was coming back into his eyes.

He was cute, and Solomon could feel an appreciation for his spark start to creep over him.

"In any case, I think walking back to my room would be a fantastic first lesson."

***

It was easy to forget how dizzying the tunnels were. Was the Heart always this aggressive or did it just have a special spot for him in it's cold unfeeling grasp?

"You think too much," Asmo's voice cut through the disorienting feeling. He was leaning against one of the walls, completely unbothered by the magic surrounding them. Pushing off the wall, Asmo walked closer to him and put his hands on either side of his face. "Let yourself relax."

Funny. He thought he was relaxed. There was nothing for him to be stressed about, he was as calm and collected as he could be.

Asmo pressed into his face and frowned, "You're so incredibly tense. I told you to relax." Pretty fingers pressed into his jaw and trailed their way down, "Unclench. Stress causes wrinkles you know."

"I am relaxed," he said as Asmo squished his cheeks. Yet, he felt his jaw relax.

"Clearly you're not. I've seen how you sit, slouching over those books of yours is terrible for your posture. When's the last time you've just cleared your mind and relaxed?"

Solomon scoffed, "Never, clearing the mind isn't really something a king can do." Not if he wanted to be a good ruler he couldn't. He needed to be on his toes, to strategize, to think. Not to mention, he was also a scholar.

"Ugh," Asmo rolled his eyes, "You sound just like Lucifer. Stubborn." His fingers ran down his face, neck, and to his shoulders. His touch was nice, gentle and a little curious, "If you think too much down here it's going to be harder to navigate. Pick one thing to think about if you have to. Something that won't lead you to thinking too much."

That seemed like a bit of an impossible task. What thought could possibly keep him from slipping down a rabbit hole?

The glint from the scorpion on Asmo's chest caught his eye. Then his thoughts drifted back to the hands on his person. There were only so many thoughts a single person could spark. Just like that a little bit of the haze cleared. He took each of the hands from his shoulders and held them in his own. Subconsciously, his thumbs ran over the soft moisturized skin. He couldn’t help but think once more about how warm he was. His body was very much a contrast to his own.

Asmo shuddered but didn’t bother to move. “Got something?” he asked, a hopeful edge lining his voice. His weight shifted towards the balls of his feet as he leaned closer to Solomon.

Solomon looked into his eyes. They were just as hopeful as his voice and they seemed to hold every star usually confined in the night sky. “Perhaps, but that’s for me to know,” he smirked, letting go of his hands to touch his nose.

His smile quickly turned into a pout and he placed his hands on his hips, “Boo. Really? You won’t tell me?”

“I don’t think I will, not yet anyways.”

“You stubborn man! I should just leave you down here.”

“Not if you’d like me to walk you to your room you won’t.”

Asmodeus pulled away from him and Solomon followed, walking a little closer behind him to the point where they were almost touching. He still smelled like the flowers of his sector. Solomon was still lucky to be here. Lucky to be paired with an attractive partner. Lucky that he was finally making progress.

“Anything else I should know? I doubt Diavolo just automatically knew where to go,” he leaned over Asmo’s shoulder.

Those soft slender hands reached out to run against the wall, “There are marks in the brick work. Some of them have the Mark of the Heart. You can feel them in the brickwork if you know what you’re looking for.”

Solomon placed his hand over Asmo's, stopping him in his tracks, “Show me.”

He swore he could hear Asmo swallow as he guided his hands along the subtle etchings in the brick work. They went slow along the clean cut lines, and the more Solomon moved over them the more familiar they became. They became etched in his memory as their hands cast shadows in the soft light from the torches. They stayed there in silence continuing their pattern until Solomon glanced towards him.

“You blush quite a bit,” he was so easy to read, “What is the cause this time?”

“The flames cast a wonderful shadow against your jaw line,” his voice was was soft, for once Solomon had to strain to look at him, “You’re a very handsome man, and I like touching your hands.”

Was he a mind reader? Voicing his own thoughts in such a way, Solomon swore he must know exactly what he was thinking in the moment. He didn’t look up at Solomon, but remained focused on guiding his hands along the wall.

“You think I’m handsome?”

“Well yes, I can see.”

Solomon stopped tracing his hand against the wall and pulled back only to close in to his fiance, “Then don’t avoid looking at me.”

Asmo’s breath hitched as they came closer together. Solomon threaded their hands together and squeezed. “I realize I haven’t been the kindest to you, and I apologize. I’d like to fix that if you’d allow me,” he allowed his voice to drop. His eyes swept over Asmo’s face, he was incredibly attractive and his features only enhanced his beauty. Long lashes, full lips, bright eyes. He was gorgeous.

“You’re very pretty Asmodeus.”

“Thank you.” Both of their voices were soft, despite being alone in the tunnels. Asmodeus continued, bringing his free hand back up to his face as a spark of hope returned to his eyes, “I want you, I do. I’m happy to hear that you… you want…”

He was quiet, but Solomon found it hard to pull away. There was something inside of him that felt… conflicted. It was a new feeling, one that was set into motion since he went to Asmo’s sector. He wasn’t sure what to make of the feeling yet. All he knew was that he could have stayed down here with him for hours, just like this, with their fingers intertwined together. Solomon’s other hand went to his hip and followed along the curve.

Beautiful.

“Oh! It’s wonderful to see you two spending time and getting closer together,” the booming voice made Solomon jump and move away from Asmodeus. Now it was his turn to become red. Diavolo stood not too far away from them, his butler not too far behind. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything if I did.”

Solomon coughed as Asmo moved away from the wall and huffed, “You kind of did. What are you doing down here?”

“I wanted to check on you! I know you loved travelling to your sector and that someone telling you you could no longer go was upsetting. But I see that Solomon had you in mind! Doesn’t he Barbatos?”

“That he does young lord.”

Solomon couldn’t bring himself to look the butler in the eye. It felt like Barbatos was bearing into his soul, that he knew what he was going to do before Solomon even knew himself. What he did see of the butler was all knowing eyes and an incredibly sly smile. Suddenly he became all too aware of himself. Hopefully the light was dim enough that his features were obscured.

“We could have gotten closer if we weren’t interrupted,” Asmo growled under his breath. It almost made Solomon sputter. Getting closer? Down here? Solomon wasn’t about to go a lot further than what he did. Well maybe he would have, he wasn’t too sure what was going on inside of his mind at the moment.

“Why don’t we walk with you the rest of the way?” Diavolo asked, “It could be nice for all of us to get a little closer together.”

Asmo held up his hands, “Diavolo, normally I would love to but-”

“It’ll be fun for us!”

And that was how the four of them walked back to Asmo’s room together. Diavolo spent a lot of time chatting with the fifth prince as Solomon walked stiffly next to Barbatos. He was a private man, he preferred things to stay that way.

“Getting used to being here your majesty?” Barbatos hummed, glancing towards him, “I know the young prince has been eager for you to be here with him, even if he was nervous about seeing you here.” The two of them started to lag behind Diavolo and Asmodeus.

“Keep an eye on him, he’s not always transparent, none of them are.”

Solomon furrowed his brow, "That's a bit ominous don't you think?

"Ominous pr a gentle hint towards well intent? I'll leave that for you to decide," Barbatos then continued onward and placed a hand on Diavolo’s shoulder, “Perhaps we should head back. I can make tea for you and Lucifer.”

“But Barbatos!”

“We should leave them be,you can talk to them later, but for now we’ll leave them be,” Barbatos turned to face them again, “I do apologize for the intrusion, but we’ll be able to see you again soon.”

“Alright! Buh bye! We’ll see you later then!” Asmo chirped, grabbing Solomon’s arm and continuing on down the hall. It was a bit faster than Solomon was expecting, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Asmo wanted to spend time with him.

“Come in with me?” he asked, trying to tug Solomon into his room.

“Not tonight, but we’ll meet in the library to spend some time together. I promise.”

Solomon watched him before squeezing his hands one more time before backing away, “I’ll stop by in the morning, we can eat together, just the two of us, and then we’ll read together.”

“And you promise?” Asmo asked once more.

He's not always transparent.

“I do.”

It took him a while to return to his room. He wanted to make sure he was taking the right path back. But the longer it went on, the more confident he became. Thoughts of soft skin and golden scorpions inhabited his mind, keeping his path straight and narrow.

***

A few non royal magic users live within the fifth district. It leads me to genuinely believe that magic truly does run through the land. They aren’t strong users, but they can use a bit. The flora and fauna in Arcadia also don’t cease to amaze me. There’s a change in variety from the entrance to the fifth district, it’s very easy to forget how large the empire is when staying in the center. People also seem rather attached to their individual leaders, so maintaining good relationships with them will be incredibly important. I have to wonder if magic users outside the royal line have always been here or if they slowly integrated into the city. I also have to wonder if they have access to the Heart.

The underground caverns simultaneously require focus and no thought at all. Thinking too much causes what is akin to interference and it is easy to become disoriented. There are also small markings along the walls that are easier to find once you have your bearings. They lead along correct paths in each of the corridors. I can only assume the path to the Heart would also be the same, only more hidden.

Asmodeus is beloved by the people in his sector. He also seems to have a natural talent with young children. They adore him and he cares for them deeply. He seems to care for every person in his sector. He’s very warm, and it’s clear that he uses products from his sector daily. His hands are soft and his nails are well cared for. There may be a little more to him than I initially thought.

***

Asmodeus was more focused on Solomon than on the book in his hands. He sat close to him on the couch, eyes fixed and shoulders touching. It was a little hard to focus on the words in front of him the longer he stared, and yet it was also a little nice.

“Asmodeus, nothing unsavory in my library please, and try not to drool on my books,” Satan glided behind the couch only to disappear behind one of the many bookshelves. Solomon could only dream about reading half as fast as he did, it was a mystery.

“I’m not! Hush up and let me enjoy my date!”

“Quiet, it’s a library,” Satan’s voice echoed through the room. Solomon could picture the smile on his face as he spoke. He could only imagine what Asmo had confided with him in private.

Asmodeus rolled his eyes and resumed his work.

“You haven’t made a dent in your book,” Solomon said, closing his own and picking another up from the pile, “Does it not interest you?”

Asmo looked panicked before holding the book closer up to his face, “No! It’s incredibly interesting! I just like to take my time when I’m reading about advanced stuff. But I’m sure you completely understand! After all, you read scholarly stuff like this all the time.”

Hooking his finger over the spine, Solomon slowly brought the book down so he could see the page. He wasn’t really met with any resistance. “Oh yes, I do enjoy taking my time on the table of contents,” he smiled, “Asmo, it’s okay if this isn’t really your thing.”

“No I-”

“It’s okay. It is. You don’t have to read every single book you think I’d might pick up,” he gently took the book from Asmo’s hand and placed it at his side, “We can still spend time together if you’d like, just like this.”

He could see the hesitance in Asmo’s eyes. What had him so worried? Solomon certainly wasn’t angry that they didn’t enjoy the same literature. He wanted to know him better. If Asmo didn’t find what he researched fascinating like he did, that was alright. There was still so much about his fiance that he didn’t know and so much he wanted to learn. Maybe one day he’d understand him. Just maybe.

What he did know is that physical affection seemed important. So he slung one arm around the back of the couch and motioned for him to come closer, “You can lay your head on me if you’d like.”

Asmodeus didn’t say a word, instead he jumped at the opportunity to snuggle closer to Solomon, placing his head on his chest and letting out a content little sigh once he was comfortable. He was warm. So very warm.

"Let me know if you'd like me to start reading out loud."

Asmo nodded against his chest.

His weight was somewhat calming, and he found that he didn't mind spending his reading like this. This was what made Asmodeus happy. It was so simple, Solomon felt like a fool for depriving him. He’d become paranoid due to ambition. As he read, the fingers on his other hand gently started rolling over his fiance in one fluid motion.

He was going to be better for Asmodeus, for his happiness.