#Front Suspension Guide

[goodoldbandit]

Mastering the Front Suspension and Tee Clamp Adjustments of Your Motorcycle

Good Old Bandit Good Old Bandit. gob.stayingalive.in Learn how to adjust, maintain, and customize your motorcycle’s front suspension and tee clamps for optimal performance and safety. The front suspension and tee clamps of a motorcycle are pivotal for ensuring a smooth and controlled ride. They directly impact your bike’s handling, stability, and rider comfort. Whether you’re a seasoned rider…

[papayadays]

🧸 + denial. realization. obsession. + lando (maybe a little friends to lovers 🤭)

a/n: ohhh maddie i love your brain!! (oops i kinda went overboard for this)

you and lando had known each other for what felt like ages. the two of you had gone to the same country club when you were younger, both of you often following your parents. you instantly hit it off, becoming buddies as you wandered around the country club together.

since then, you and lando had become fast friends normally, staying close despite lando making it into formula 1. you still kept in touch as much as you could with countless facetimes, online games, and texts about each other’s day. you often couldn’t go to races, having been busy with work; however, when max and the rest of lando’s friends in quadrant decided they were going to go watch lando race, an invitation was extended to you.

you were hesitant at first, knowing the expensive lounges they were going to choose, but max said that he’d pay for it. (which meant that lando would pay for it, most likely) so now, you were getting out of the car, heading towards the track. you and ria were laughing about something when some teenage girls tapped you on the shoulder. “excuse me, are you lando’s girlfriend?”

your eyes widened with surprise, shaking your head. “no, i’m a close friend of his,” you answered. glancing up, you expected ria to be just as surprised as you were, but she gave you an amused smile.

“that was odd,” you commented to her, walking towards the mclaren garage.

“right, odd,” ria murmured, but it was almost a half-hearted agreement.

you were about to respond when you heard a voice behind you call your name. spinning around, you saw lando, who had a look of surprise on his face. “you’re here!” he grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in a tight hug. lando nuzzled his face in your hair as he spoke. “i didn’t know you were coming, but i’m so glad you’re here.”

“glad to be here, lan,” you beamed. you both pulled back, maybe a bit reluctantly, and turned back to the rest of the group, who gave you the same amused glance ria had. but to add to that, the mechanics in the garage also shared a similar expression that you couldn’t decipher.

“this your girlfriend, norris?” one of the mechanics asked, chuckling. lando’s eyes changed into something veiled, something you couldn’t place. “you two make a good couple.”

“thanks, she’s one of my best friends,” lando responded, throwing an arm around your shoulder. you nodded, smiling at him, though something in your gut twisted at his words. best friends, that’s what you and lando were, so why weren’t you happy with that?

but. wait.

lando had said thanks to the compliment about being a good couple. and he hadn’t necessarily said you weren’t a couple. your mind was reeling with the implications, heart fluttering at the thought that maybe you liked him. what made it more suspenseful was that he quite possibly felt the same.

“hello? you good?” lando laughed, waving a hand in front of your face as you blinked. “spaced out, huh?”

you chuckled, though somewhat nervous, and tugged at his hand. the surprise and faint hope in his eyes wasn’t lost on you. “wanna go for a quick walk?” you suggested. “my brain’s a little busy.”

lando quickly nodded, hand on your waist as he guided you out into a quiet area in the paddock. with your newfound epiphany, you were paying attention to every single detail. had lando always put his hand on your back? when did he start? did his touch always make your heart flutter?

“are you okay?” lando asked softly, eyes seeming green in the sunlight.

“i’m fine,” you replied. “it’s just…” you trailed off, not brave enough to voice your hopes about something that could change your friendship.

“just what?” lando questioned, scrunching up his nose in confusion.

“everyone’s been asking me if i’m your girlfriend lately,” you started.

“is it bothering you? i could-”

“lando, no, it’s not that,” you said, cutting him off. “but i was thinking. if you’d ever thought it about. us dating, i mean.”

lando glanced at you, surprise in his expression as he took a step towards you. “i do think it about it,” he nodded. “every time i look at you.”

your jaw dropped at the revelation, and you mentally kicked yourself for being so stupid. he had had feelings for a while now? and you had still maintained that you were friends? “what if,” you started, “we could tell people that it was true?”

lando’s mouth curled up into a grin, arms wrapping around your waist. “is that what you want?”

instead of answering him verbally, you pulled him down, smiling as you kissed him.

[princessbrunette]

i want jj to try and teach me to play some horror video game but everytime i jump in his lap and unintentionally grind into him, he’s just losing interest and slowing become preoccupied with touching all up on me instead of focusing on the game

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“why is it so dark?” you giggle, guiding the character you’d picked out through the abandoned hospital. it takes jj a moment to respond, because his eyes are located on the way you’re split open on his lap— tiny booty shorts doing very little to contain the globes of your ass, the perfect outline of your pussy pressed directly to his bulge through his basketball shorts.

“uh,” he scratches his head behind his ear, forcing his eyes back onto the screen. “you can pull out a flashlight, press square.” he instructs, feeling the weight of your head drop to look down at the controller in your hands before successfully demonstrating what needed to be done on screen.

“yay!” you chirp, shifting around on his lap forcing your crotch to slightly grind against his— yet you were too focused to acknowledge it. jj on the other hand winces, playing it off as a cough as he pushes himself up a little higher, having sank down into the couch.

“uh-huh, yep — good job babe.” he congratulates, whipping his hat off for a second to run a hand through his hair. you’re locked in, wide eyes staring at the screen.

“oh god, i’m scared.” you moan as your character pushes open double doors into a dark hallway. your body tenses up in fear and he swears he can feel you clenching, the fabric of your shorts so thin that each pulse and movement can be felt through his own.

“you got it.” he drawls lazily, accepting his fate as he can’t control the boner he feels forming beneath you. he lulls his head back against the couch, once hand still placed lazily on your hip as he awaits the scolding for distracting you whilst playing the game. it doesn’t come, instead — the suspenseful silence is replaced by a loud crash on the screen and your squeal, jumping on his lap. you fidget, practically rocking back and forth on his growing bulge as you panic, slamming your fingers into buttons and nearly breaking the joystick on the damn controller to get out of there as soon as possible.

“oh my god, oh my god!” you pant, whimpering in fear sounding uncannily similar to how you do when you’re close.

“my thoughts exactly.” he strains, eyes squinted as he tries to hold you still — damn near cumming in his pants. it’s only when your character is back to safety, you crane your neck around with a proud grin at your own skills in the video game. as your senses return to you, you give a little wiggle and a frown appears on your face, doe eyes blinking at him innocently.

“uh, hey there mama.” he greets awkwardly lifting up a hand.

“are you hard, jayj?” you mewl quietly and he winces through his teeth, pushing himself to sit up a little higher and reaching between your layers to finally adjust himself in his shorts, caught out.

“look, i… promise you i wasn’t plannin’ on that happening it’s just— you sat on me and it was fine but then you started movin’ around n’stuff— and then there was the whimperin’ and my dick was like BOOM. good morning— y’know?” he gestures, scratching beneath his nose nervously. you climb off, only to restraddle him front on.

“why didn’t you tell me? would have stopped playing the game and started playing with you.” you smile sweetly, beginning to grind down on him. his jaw drops, releasing an exhale he felt liked he’d been holding forever— hands sliding up your body to touch your torso all over.

“god damn… i — uh, i’ll make a note of that. for next time.”

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[gfmima]

category : 米哈游 原神 work title : he’s not lover approved by traveler/paimon

there is nothing lyney wouldn’t do for you. if he can, he will; if he doesn’t have the means, he will find a way — no matter if it means standing still as a deer in the forest in front of the traveler and paimon, who shot him with icy glares upon discovering your romantic relationship.

he stands at your front door, in his hand a small bouquet of flowers he purchased in the city; his heart beating madly in his chest. the moment was surreal, like a suspense novel.

questions swirled, each one more bewildering than the last. why were the traveler and paimon, individuals he weren’t exactly on the best terms with, standing by your doorway? where were you? and most importantly, how did you know one another?

he didn’t know you had a personal connection with the pair, let alone be a close friend whom they held in high regard. he feared they might reveal the truth about his fate and ask you to end things, two outcomes he hoped to avoid.

the unmistakable tension in the air pours through like a fog, making it difficult to breath. he, though, was determined to dull his unease in a strained yet cheerful sing-song manner.

“ta-da~!”

alas, his attempt at levity fell flat.

“eh? paimon didn’t know you knew each other!” she yelps, a blend of surprise and curiosity in her voice. the traveler, too, nods in agreement.

lyney, feeling like an uninvited visitor in his own lover’s cozy home, removes his hate and rests it on the standee that you had thoughtfully bought for his stay. with a sense of discomfort that he tried to bury, he takes a seat on your old armchair and crosses his legs.

a faint, near inaudible, sigh was his feeble attempt to soothe the racing thoughts within his head.

“i can say the same.” his nimble hand grazes the nape of his neck. “speaking of, where might she be? and, please, do not take offense, what lured you two into her humble abode?” his eyes dart between their scuffed attire, their fatigue state raising alarms. this cannot be good…

“uh, how does paimon explain this?” she trails, and shares a glance with the traveler.

the latter, taking the lead, starts to disclose how you’d been caught in a struggle on your journey to the city. fortunately, you held your ground, battling alongside the duo.

it didn’t mean you returned completely unscathed.

his concern heightened with every single word, and once he finally reached your bedside, he knelt down. his hand gently guides your gaze to meet his.

“why didn’t you tell me?” he espies the myriad of deep cuts and bruises that marred your delicate skin, the frown on his face deepens with every discovery. “why did you hide your injuries from me? do you wish to be the demise of your poor lyney? look, i’ve sprouted a forest of silver strands thanks to the harrowing distress you’ve inflicted upon me!”

as a joke, you roll your eyes at him, which elicits a theatrical and melodramatic whine of your nickname.

“i didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“but it’s my duty to worry about you?! and you’re well aware such secrets are forbidden from me, mon couer,” he scolds, rather mischievously, his finger tracing the outline of a particularly prominent bruise. it was clear that he genuinely couldn’t bear the idea of seeing you in pain.

he didn’t need to look to know the traveler and paimon were silently mocking him. you’re the very last person to say that, he can hear one of their voices answer.

the following hours unfold as a strange experience… the trio find themselves navigating the ‘intricacies’ of caring for you and your wounds, their interactions were a pleasant balance of teamwork and arguments.

it was a bit of an overstatement, you were merely sporting a couple of bruises and cuts here and there, far from laying at death’s door. at one point, they even engaged in — a passive aggressive — discourse about the meticulous art of wrapping bandages and the hours of your antibiotics intake.

“while i do appreciate your concern, traveler. i know what’s best for her.”

lyney, adopting a firm posture with arms crossed, ushered a resolute stare at the traveler. the atmosphere brimmed with an unspoken challenge as the latter counters, “it’s impressive how informed you are… i wasn’t aware the world of magic held such peril and risk.”

“what i’m trying to say is she needs a period to rest alone.”

“however,” traveler concedes, “she also needs the support of her friends. she doesn’t need to be isolated.”

he counters with a wave of his hand, punctuating his words,“i’m not advocating for such a thing! i’m only expressing my worry about overwhelming her.”

“if you’re both going to argue, do it outside.”

there was no longer space for disagreement, the severity of your expression conveys a message that leaves no room for uncertainty or lightheartedness in your tone.

one last glimpse of your resting silhouette and he returns to the comfort of your living room, on the settee, exasperated yet cautious. meddlesome eyes preying on him, the friction amongst them was obvious to see, beneath it lays a shared regard for you wellbeing.

“can paimon stay?”

quick question, can you positively say your friends and lover get along? the short answer, no; the long answer, not really, no.

ignorant, oblivious, and unaware… there exists a plethora of words to describe the profound state of confusion you felt regarding your friends’ steadfast reluctance to embrace the wanderer as your lover. their hesitancy remained an enigma, though, you can take a ganderw and guess it might be due to his crabby demeanor.

yet, when you allude to it, they refuse to utter a word.

although it did prove to be considerably simpler to gather a proper answer from paimon than traveler. she wasn’t shy, she expressed her thoughts about him. very freely. it began with her calling him short in both stature and temperament, and eventually led up to a blunt end, saying the problem lies in his attitude.

she was in complete denial, the notion you were in love with HIM, of all people, a sentiment underscored by her disbelief at the idea.

your warm presence rendered you a person whose kindness knew no bounds. in stark contrast, he was the epitome of a grump, a less than delightful company. if you were searching for a partner, she could’ve found a more ‘suitable’ match for you!

uh, maybe a compassionate and mellow personality, a man akin to kazuha, might be the perfect choice? she entertains the idea of opening it up to the traveler.

while privy on the subject, the traveler chose to stay hushed the entire time. despite their initial resolve to be neutral, you couldn’t help but notice the bitter expression that manifests when you utter his name.

it was clear to see something occured in the past…

however, your frequent line of questioning over the passing weeks eventually wore them down. after all, alongside paimon, you were a good friend of theirs! and it only seems fair to reveal their lingering apprehensions.

the fateful encounter with wanderer, a narrative that — you had to suspend your disbelief — went back to a time before his very existence had been erased by the use of irminsul and the assistance of lesser lord kusanali. as they wove this convoluted tale, you struggle to keep pace with the details, but your patience compelled you to still try.

“well, if it isn’t sumeru’s resident grouch!” paimon interjects your conversation by greeting him with a self-satisfied grin, thinking she just coined the most clever nickname since the inception of ‘tone-deaf bard.’

with a wry smirk, he chuckles, “i wasn’t aware they allowed pets inside the tavern.”

he was an absolute menace, you inwardly comment, stifling a giggle at her antics. her tantrum-like foot stomping in the air cemented your impression that they were far from being the best of friends.

“WHY YOU!” she shrieks, and he aptly interjects by sticking his tongue out at her. naturally, it only provokes her further. “paimon seriously doesn’t like you! c’mon, traveler. let’s find a table outside.”

the latter of whom sends you an apologetic glance, one that you reciprocate, before trailing after her.

not a second later, your dear wanderer eases in close to you. his knee brushes against yours — and if he sat any nearer, it would surely invite disapproving stares from the patrons at neighboring tables. he drapes his arm around your shoulder and leans his head next to yours.

it was rather audacious of him and out of place for the aura within the restaurant.

“was it necessary to tease her?” your amusement deepens now that paimon was out of earshot.

he shakes his head then lets out a short, mirthless laugh. “it was funny and there’s no hiding it, i know you were amused as well.”

“all lies!” playfully, you narrow your eyes at him. “i’m a good person and a good person like me does not take pleasure in other’s misfortunes.”

“then what are you doing with me?”

“hm, consider it an act of kindness.”

he was going to scoff at your retort when he met your gaze, a spark of affection and desire flickers. the blithe undertone gave way to a moment of intimacy. he leans closer, his eyes locked onto yours, and in that fleeting, heart-fluttering instant, it feels as if the entire world around you waned into obscurity.

“lucky me, then.” his lips, warm and inviting, met yours in a chaste yet rousing kiss, leaving you both breathless.

unbeknownst to either of you, paimon was on her way back witnessed the scene. the traveler asked her to tell you to go outside because the food they ordered arrived. however, seeing how happy the ‘good-for-nothing grump’ made you, her perspective shifts.

she returns to their table without a sound, deciding to give you two some privacy for a little bit longer.

[rapturously]

Grinding, biting, and a corruption kink with a sweet reader~ some nasty smut for one of the lost boys, your choice of who!

eyes on fire.

pairing. | david x fem!reader.

format. | one-shot — requested.

word count. | 4.5K.

warnings. | smut, biting, bloodplay (he’s a vampire), semi-public, risk of getting caught, little bit of corruption kink, fingering (f!receiving), handjob, breast play, making out, dirty talk, pet names (kitten, sweetheart), possessive/obsessive behavior from david, david reading your mind (reader doesn’t know), david is an asshole but he’s really sexy so it’s okay

author’s note. | remember how I said dwayne was my favorite ??? I lied, it’s actually David & I’m obsessed with him on god ,,, I have a ton of David smut sitting around in the docs that’ll get posted, but for now, have this! I’m in my Lost Boys era so I would love more requests for them (especially horny ones)

“Where are we going?”

Your voice emerged like a soft caress, barely making it to David as he coaxed you through the swarm of people. He was insistent on whisking you away to somewhere else — somewhere with less eyes. It was a labyrinth of rancor and thrill, the boardwalk strung-up with flyers for concerts amongst the many ‘missing persons’ leaflets. He was behind you, in front of you, all around — an inescapable haze.

David hadn’t intended to like you, let alone go as far as to express interest. Though, with the prospect of immortality on the line, it had become too tantalizing for him to simply abandon his fantasies. He hovered beside you, one hand firmly pressing into the small of your back as he carefully guided you throughout the pinstriped booths.

Even with the mass of fairgoers, your smell was the one that rose above it all — floral perfume intermingled with clean linens, perhaps a splash of rose-water. David continued to guide you into this maze, and at the very center, it would only be the two of you. As he came to a cluster of carnival booths lined up along a wall, he saw the gap of darkness behind one of them.

“You’ll see.” David murmured, lips ghosting around the shell of your ear. There was something unusually dark to his voice — something tantalizing and dangerous as his tone dropped to an alluring purr. The more that the both of you made your way into this unseen gap, the less noisy it became, but there were still people on the other side of the canvas.

“David?” Your voice hopped up an octave as your surroundings became darker, only to be illuminated by a few slivers of orange light that drifted through the cracks. It was almost as if he’d disappeared, causing goosebumps to coalesce along the column of your spine. It was eerily quiet, save for some distant music and the constant buzz of patrons close by.

His laughter emerged from the shadows, akin to a predator toying with their prey. He could see you, but you couldn’t see him. That little fluctuation of fear settled into your features, coupled with exhilaration as you fumbled around in an attempt to find him. You looked so perfect, wearing a softer-blue dress that made you appear angelic, compared to his black attire.

Your heart began to sing for him, beating erratically within your chest as you clasped your hands together, having another look around. He was hiding from you, but his laughter sounded so near. “David, come on.” Nervousness crept into your shrewd tone — subtle, but most certainly prevalent. “Where’d you go?”

A thump made you jump, nearly crawling from your own skin. You’d gotten used to his constant teasing, but the suspense of not seeing him became a little overwhelming. He couldn’t have been very far away considering the limited amount of space, but you relented, shifting towards the wall.

At last, hands suddenly grabbed at your hips from behind, tugging you against his musculature as you let out a loud yelp. “David!” You gasped, watching as he rounded you, appearing before you with that wolfish grin. Your back was against the wall as he caged you in, hovering above you. His hand came down to grab your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“There she is.” He uttered, able to make out that doe-like look you often had. Your pupils were dilated, chest heaving with heavy heartbeats as you calmed down from your healthy dose of fear. David had been toying with you for several days — fortunately for you, he was prepared to end your torment.

“Don’t do that again,” You mumbled, listening to his beguiling laughter as he pressed his stubbled mouth against your shoulder. It was always everywhere but your lips, which had become somewhat infuriating. You’d been itching to kiss him. “Please.”

David enjoyed reading your mind — especially those that involved him. You were particularly upset about the lack of kissing, sexually frustrated, often fantasizing about all of the things he could do to you. He intended on honoring that — he wanted to indulge himself, too.

“Anger doesn’t suit you, sweetheart.” David sneered, and in reality, he felt the opposite. He just enjoyed seeing you get all defensive and haughty in an attempt to make yourself more intimidating. You could never be intimidating to him. You were his pet. Pets were meant to be cute and docile — loyal, above all else.

As footsteps passed by, you became nervous, having a glance around. “David, what if someone catches us back here? Maybe we should go somewhere else.” You protested, but he only pushed you back against the wall with a guttural snarl. That sound terrified you in the best way possible, causing a soft gasp to escape you.

“Are you scared?” He murmured, subtly invoking a challenge. David was testing the waters, seeing if you’d shy away from his intentions. He caressed your lower lip with his thumb, as he’d done so many times before. The way your heart raced was music to his ears.

You shook your head, gaze flickering toward his lips. His mouth was perfect — you wanted to taste him. He was snug against you, body to body, heart to heart, feeling your warmth bleed into him as it rolled from you in waves. David smelled like an amalgamation of cigarettes, cologne, and that familiar coppery twang.

David pressed closer, lips mere breaths away, and you wanted to beg him for a kiss — for anything. His chuckle was sly and deliciously seductive, gaze becoming half-lidded as those crystalline irises drank you in, over and over. “You should be.” He uttered, dragging you in as he pressed his mouth against yours.

Through the dark haze of your surroundings, those little flickers of light pierced through, providing slim illumination. You could still see David, but not nearly as well as you hoped. As one hand squeezed your chin, the other fell to cup the curve of your waist, thumb digging into the fragile flesh there.

Your hands clamored to find their purchase, grasping at the dark, textured sweater underneath his trenchcoat. David suddenly stepped forward with you in-tow, pinning you against the rickety wooden wall. A gasp escaped you in between heated kisses, feeling his teeth nick the supple skin of your lower lip.

He could smell you — that familiar, feminine aroma of arousal as it began to coagulate between your plush thighs. David licked his lips, and for a moment, he reminded himself that you weren’t a vampire. You were still fragile and breakable — if he wasn’t somewhat careful with you, he’d hurt you.

A strangled whimper tore past your parted lips as his gloved palm brazenly groped your breast, gauging your smitten reaction. “Poor, poor girl,” David purred, pressing a string of hot, greedy kisses along your jaw. “No one’s taken care of you, have they?” He murmured, nipping at your jugular.

A squeak of surprise left you as David became a little rougher, but you didn’t know what you should’ve expected. Getting involved with him meant stepping into that gritty, domineering aspect of sex, and you weren’t about to refuse him. You keened into his touch, fingers curling into his sweater.

Leather-clad fingers audaciously jerked at the fabric around your pliant chest, producing a slight tearing sound. A resonant growl rumbled throughout David’s chest as he slipped his palm around your bare breast, teasing and tugging at your nipple until you were mewling — it was fitting, given the nickname he had for you.

David trailed his mouth upward, from neck to your lips, hungrily attaching themselves to yours once more. His kiss was ravenous, passionate — it was as if he were caught in some frenzied state. A soft moan left you as he continued to knead your breast, one hand skirting to rest around your throat.

He squeezed, gloved digits tensing on either side of your slender neck as he applied pressure. There was a sudden flicker of uncertainty in your eyes, a sense of intrigue — you’d never felt something quite like this before. A sharp and sudden sensation rippled throughout your lower lip as teeth sliced flesh.

“Sorry,” David smirked, gaze glistening with sheer lust and desire. “You’ve got such pretty lips.” He uttered, and could smell the singular droplet of blood that bubbled atop the soft flesh of your lower lip. His jaw tensed, and without hesitation, he careened in for another kiss, open-mouthed as he lapped at the blood.

Arousal hit you like a heavy haze, stomach churning with anticipation as a liquid heat pooled between your thighs. Whatever David was doing, no matter how brazen and primal it was, it made you want to melt within his grasp. A moan escaped you, lost between another barrage of heated kisses.

His tongue traced across your lower lip before he not so-gently sought entry into your mouth, letting out a low, rumbling chuckle when you gasped. David could tell that you weren’t used to any of this, but that made it all the more sweeter. He relished in that starstruck look you had, eyes wide and akin to a startled doe.

With a pitiful whine, your throat bobbed beneath his palm, pulse racing at the speed of light. Your fingers began to roam and wander, wanting to feel even a mere inch of his skin. David knew how desperate you were, and normally, he’d want you to work for it — but this was your first, and he was feeling particularly merciful.

Your smell was becoming unbearable — in a good way. David could sense the way your body bent for him, turned malleable within his hands. The pad of his gloved thumb pressed just above your pulse point, listening to that erratic beating of your heart.

“David,” You gasped, letting out a soft moan when he pried his mouth away from yours, peppering a string of greedy, voracious kisses along your collarbone. Your soft, warm fingertips slid underneath his sweater, feeling along the taut plane of his musculature. He was cold, but it wasn’t unpleasant. “David, please.”

Heat coursed throughout your body, a consuming fire, burning bright within the pit of your stomach. Whatever flame of arousal David sparked within you, it demanded to be extinguished. Your cunt clenched pathetically around nothing at all as you felt one of his hands grab at your haunch.

“Please what, kitten?” David murmured, voice dark and salacious, like the lull of a siren. He could smell your desire as it pooled between your thighs. You whimpered when his teeth scraped across your collarbone, snagging a portion of your flesh. Saliva coalesced within his maw as he prepared to bite.

The hand that held your throat flew to your breast again, kneading and groping as he bit down, leaving behind a rather angry bite mark. If you were to look closely enough, the incisors seemed abnormally long — thankfully, you were masked by darkness. Rivulets of crimson trickled toward your heaving chest.

David snarled, hastily licking and kissing his way around your breasts, lapping at whatever blood trickled onto his tongue. You tasted divine — akin to the forbidden fruit. The yelp and moan that escaped you rolled into one pleasurable sound. It stung for a moment, but David was swift to kiss the pain away.

“O—Oh,” Shock fluttered across your face when you noticed David brazenly lapping at the inklings of blood. It was strange, initially — but when he lifted his head, lips stained with a light crimson, his cerulean irises were now a vibrant, burnished gold. “Your eyes.” You thought you were going crazy.

Another delicious laugh escaped him, and he quickly licked his lips as if he’d had the most delectable meal. “Just the light, sweetheart.” He murmured, and angled himself in a different direction, conveniently into the sliver of orange that trickled through the canvas. They were blue again — icy and penetrating.

Maybe you were going crazy.

“Lift your dress up.”

David’s voice was an alluring command — he wasn’t asking. His countenance was wrought with lust, gaze burning a hole right through you as he hastily scanned your thoughts. They were tantalizing and rather amusing — just a jumbled maze, thinking about him, predominantly. That familiar smirk had diminished, making the moment more intense.

You swallowed the lump within your throat, breath hitching as your hands fumbled toward the hem of your ruffled dress. Your pace was completely and utterly sluggish, as if you were moving at the speed of a snail, which amused David. He was staring at you again — you were a feast for the eyes.

“Don’t make me wait.” David uttered, nudging his knee in between your legs, forcing them to part as he rucked up your dress for you. Goosebumps erupted across your flesh, crawling over the column of your spine as he tilted inward, pressing his lips against yours. “Hm.”

A breathy whine escaped you as he dragged his hand along your stomach, lifting one hand towards his mouth. Pearlescent teeth sank into the leather as he removed one glove, flesh ice-cold as he teased the waistband of your panties. “David,” You shuddered, both excited and scared of getting caught. “Please.” You panted.

David chuckled next to your ear, forcing you to look at him with his other hand. Leather-clad digits swept across your chin. “Is this what you wanted?” He purred, lips pressing against the corner of his mouth. “Use your words, kitten.” He murmured, reveling in your mesmerized expression.

“Yes, I—I want you to touch me,” Your voice was desperate, high-pitched with a needy whine as you stared at David, whose lips curled into a salacious grin. “Please, David. I want you.” A soft whine left you as he dipped his fingers underneath the thin cotton fabric.

Desire rippled through you just as it did through him, hot and heavy as it burned between you both. “I like your manners.” He whispered into your ear, playfully biting at the sensitive shell. With that, his hand deftly traveled to that aching warmth between your legs, icy digits tracing across your slit.

Your body reacted violently, hips jolting into the sensation of his hand. You fumbled to hold onto him, fingers clamoring to grasp his chest and bicep. Those dexterous digits slipped against your cunt, savoring the heat that oozed from it. You were soaked — it was almost embarrassing how aroused you were.

David chuckled, withdrawing his fingers, much to your dismay. They glistened with your slick, and you nearly collapsed into a pile of nothingness as he placed them into his mouth, lewdly savoring your taste. “Hm,” He sneered, eyes alight with an intensity. “Is that all for me?”

“Y—Yes,” You nodded several times over, licking your lower lip. A coppery twang was still present, fainter than before. “Yes.” You said it again, watching the way he grinned like a sharp-toothed predator. You waited with bated breath as his hand went right back into your panties, thumb grinding against your clit.

He stopped toying with you so much, fingers finding a rather voracious rhythm as they slid along your cunt, thumb drawing circles around your clit. You were so sensitive, like a live wire — virgins always were. David kissed you again, tongue dragging across your lower lip as he let you lean against him.

“You’re mine,” David uttered, digits drifting toward your slick entrance. The unfamiliar sensation left you gasping, sputtering for more as he began to sink two fingers inside of you, sluggishly working you open. He chuckled when you moaned, kissing along your jugular with a frenzy. “Say it.” He growled.

A shiver of delight rolled through your spine, coupled with that continuous oozing of warmth that pooled between your legs. David began to pump two fingers in and out of your needy cunt, thumb continuing to work wonders against your clit. The sounds you made were incredible — especially those little whimpers of yours.

“M’yours,” You slurred, idly rolling your hips with those rhythmic strokes of his hand. The shrill screaming of fairgoers still echoed around you, and a ruffling of the canvas backing of a tent nearly made you squeak. David squeezed your chin, demanding that you look at him as he finger-fucked you into submission. “Yours, David.” You groaned, wanting to pull his platinum-blonde locks.

David chuckled at how quickly you said it — your body responded to his touch as if you were made for him. Your heavy scent invaded his senses, making his maw pool with saliva. He nearly considered taking another bite from you in the midst of all this, but he knew better than to get greedy. He didn’t want to kill you so soon. “Good girl.” He uttered, watching as you keened into his hand.

His fingers were divine — David had a way of subduing you through it, drawing out the most intimate parts of you. Those pale cerulean hues remained fixated upon you, lips curled into a slight sneer as he attempted to squeeze a third digit inside of you. You were tight — cunt snug around his fingers as he pistoned in and out, glistening with a sheen of your juices.

That knot of liquid heat inside of your stomach began to unravel, bringing with it a white-hot pleasure that made your knees shake. David let you lean against him, wanting to keep you aloft as he licked at your lower lip again, gathering a singular pearl of crimson that beaded from your tender flesh. “David!” You whined, chasing after that sensation.

Your cunt throbbed with excitable pangs, and you nearly cried out again when David’s thumb flicked over your clit, drawing vigorous circles around the bundle of nerves. He could tell that you were getting close — the scent was enough to drive him into a frenzy.

Heat crawled across your flesh, which felt borderline feverish as David let you ride his hand, dress rucked up around your hips. The pace in which he fucked you with his fingers was rhythmic and passionate — he wasn’t about to leave you with nothing at all. He laughed again when your hips bucked forward, clawing at his chest as you clung to him.

“Getting a little greedy, aren’t we?” David purred, noticing that glazed, lustful look in your eyes as you reached your pinnacle. Your orgasm was akin to being bathed in a pleasurable fire, everything felt good. A buzz formed within your stomach as you came, chest rising and falling with quick pants. “Hm.” One whiff of you, and David had to restrain himself.

He withdrew his fingers from you, and again, treated you to a most sinful sight as he sucked on his middle digits, face screwed into one of amusement. You looked blissed-out, lips parting as he careened forward. “That was …” You couldn’t properly describe the way he made you feel.

“Thank me for it,” David mused, trapping your chin within his gloved hand. “I’ve got something else for you, kitten.” His voice became deliciously husky as he offered you one of his fingers. You swallowed the lump within your throat, heart beating erratically as you slowly opened your mouth. “Good.” He crooned.

Embarrassment rippled through you as you gently sucked on his index finger, able to taste yourself — though, you assumed that was what David wanted. Judging from the burning stare he was giving you, he was enjoying himself. A soft whimper left you when he pressed on your tongue, and you listened to that familiar, wolfish chuckle of his.

When he made you stop with a simple squeeze of your jaw, you whimpered, flesh feeling so incredibly warm. “Thank you.” Admittedly, David had done more than you thought he would, all things considered. Though, you felt as if you needed to return the favor. “Would you want me to touch you, too?” You asked, keeping your voice hushed.

David grinned, sliding the leather glove back over his hand as he flexed it once or twice. “Would I want you to?” He asked incredulously, prepared to tease you. Instead, he found himself enticed by your innocence and demure demeanor. “What do you think, sweetheart?” His voice dropped into another low growl.

“Yes?” You asked, and David simply gestured toward his belt with a flicker of those cerulean hues, wanting to see what you’d do. You hadn’t done something like this before, but you wanted to please David more than anything else. With hesitant hands, you gently grappled the studded, black belt he wore, quietly unfastening it. You wondered if he’d instruct you further.

“Do I need to talk you through it?” David sneered, head cocked to one side as he playfully grazed his sharp teeth across your jaw. You shuddered, digits stuttering as you moved to unbutton the front of those black, ragged leather pants. You were afraid of disappointing him and making a fool of yourself.

You very nearly said yes, stomach churning with anticipation as he began to plant hungry kisses along your neck. Teeth nicked your flesh, and you could feel his predatory grin against your jugular. You were visibly flustered as you handled him as if he would break, which David found amusement in.

Freeing his cock from the confines of snug, tattered leather, you stopped, gaze fluttering toward his pale features as he let out another harsh bark of sly laughter. “Don’t be shy.” David purred, encouraging you in his own way. He had no intention of ridiculing you for your inexperience — in fact, it enticed him more than anything else.

With a soft exhale, you began to drag your soft palm across the base of his cock, stroking up toward the head in a series of sluggish, experimental motions. You watched David’s face, noticed the way his smugness was curbed just a little bit. You kept quiet, continuing to pump your hand along his length.

A series of grunts escaped him, and he became unusually devoid of words. The noises he made were tantalizing, causing you to shiver as you continued to touch him, caressing your thumb across the head of his cock. He trapped your lower lip between his teeth, giving you another hot, open-mouthed kiss.

Your ministrations became invigorated, sharp and swift as you found a heavier rhythm. David growled, grinding against your bare thigh, with your dress still pooled around your hips. With one hand, you reached for his platinum tresses, tracing your fingers through as you grabbed a fistful.

David’s wicked chuckle made you bristle, lips melding with yours in a greedy, consuming kiss. You relinquished control to your pale-headed paramour, continuing to stroke his cock with eager thrusts of your hand. He knew that he wouldn’t get off to just your hand — it was too early to put you on your knees, but the thought had crossed his mind.

His stubbled, scruffy visage scratched against your face, and the sensation was unusually pleasant. Your hand never slowed, hoping that you were pleasing him in a valiant attempt to reciprocate. You felt his cock twitch within your hand as a pearl of precum beaded from the tip, prompting you to swipe at it with your thumb.

“Good girl,” David uttered, knowing that if you continued, he’d likely lose all of his self-restraint. You enjoyed touching him, reluctantly removing your hand from his cock. You stopped, but he was staring at you expectantly. “The work isn’t completely finished.” He mused, noticing the lick of heat that saturated your skin.

With a soft ‘oh’, you made sure to fix him up, straightening his clothes and buckling his belt again. He was still painfully hard as he grinded into your thigh, pressing a sultry kiss against your jaw. David flicked the strap of your dress back over your shoulder, and happened to scan your mind.

For such an innocent creature, your thoughts were everything but — the idea of corrupting you was delicious. It was filth and sin all intertwined together, and you wanted so much more. David was prepared to provide, but he wanted to let it simmer again. It was best if he hunted and regained his own composure before attempting to corrupt you and suck the sweetness right out of your marrow.

As he squeezed your chin, David leaned off of you, steering you away from the darkness and toward the gap of light up ahead. “I have somewhere very special to show you next time.” He fully intended on taking you to the cave — he’d claim you, then.

“Where is it?” Your voice was indicative of excitement as he lingered around the fringes of the gap you’d gone in to begin with. You didn’t want to put any label on this — you weren’t certain if this was a date. At any rate, you thoroughly enjoyed whatever this was — the heat, the tension that flew between you.

“You’ll see,” David purred, pausing within the gap that led back out to the boardwalk. “It’ll be a pleasant surprise.” He assured you, stopping to trail his fingers across your cheek. Those pale, icy hues studied you for a moment, drinking in the sight of your humanity, your fragility — beating heart and saccharine blood pumping within your veins, the warmth radiating from you.

Immortality would suit you, but he’d certainly miss your many mortal qualities. Perhaps, he’d keep you like this for a while, his sweet little human. David often shared with his brothers, but you were something he coveted, longed to keep just for himself. Like so many times before, he traced his gloved thumb across your lower lip.

You wanted to kiss him again, just one more time before you’d have to leave and go home. “Thank you for tonight, David.” You whispered, hands gently curling into the woolen plane of his sweater. David’s smirk made you shiver as he cupped your jaw, eyes flickering toward your now-healing lip.

Enraptured, David decided to let you come to him, watching as you stretched up to reach his mouth. Your lips melded with his, and he took it a step further, shamelessly deepening the kiss as he held you close. A low growl reverberated throughout his chest, causing you to shiver as he pinched your chin.

“I’ll see you soon, kitten.” He smirked, sly laughter rippling through him as he stepped away, strolling into the crowd that hadn’t an inkling of what the two of you were doing in the darkness.

As you watched David walk away, your head swam with him — his voice, the sound of his devilish laughter, those piercing eyes — but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else. Even after he disappeared completely, assimilating into the masses, all you could think about was a pair of golden eyes.

[sweetercalypso]

Knife’s Edge || Abby Anderson

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: when reader gets lost inside a haunted house, ghostface!Abby takes her to the backroom

Notes: part one in my week of horror series! minors dni; brief dubcon, knife play, throat holding, fingering, dom!Abby wearing a strap under her costume, sex against a wall, afab reader

Scary stories and sleazy horror films had never been something you enjoyed, so you’re not sure why you’d agreed to tag along when your friends invited you to a haunted house hosted in a bleak, abandoned building sitting at the edge of town.

As soon as you walked through the doors, you knew you’d made a mistake. Gory backdrops, clown-faced actors, fake bodies hanging out of coffins – you found a reason to shield your face lurking around every corner. Your friends had shrieked with laughter and pulled you along with them, but you couldn’t keep up with their excited pace, dragging your feet and lagging far behind the group.

Maybe if you hadn’t spent so much time with your hands covering your eyes, you would’ve known you were headed down the wrong hallway, straying further away from your friends with each blind step. When you look up to find yourself stranded in the empty darkness, you chastise yourself for coming to a haunted house in the first place.

Tonight would’ve been better if you’d just stayed home.

When you realize that the noise and the commotion of the tour have all but faded into the distance, your heart leaps into your throat. There’s something about the silence that doesn’t seem right.

A rising panic overwhelms your senses as you look around for anything that might tell you where you are. Your friends are all gone, and so are the actors and the gruesome scenes that had been guiding you through the halls. Is it worse to be scared or to be hanging in suspense?

The sudden shuffle of footsteps floods your lungs with relief. You speed up to follow after the sound, only briefly stopping to consider how humiliating it is to be this frightened by a rundown building full of cheap decor.

“Excuse me! Hey-”

You grab the person’s shoulder with a trembling hand, no longer concerned with keeping your dignity intact. They can laugh at you all they want as long as they can lead you to the exit.

When the stranger turns around, you let out a small noise of surprise. She’s tall and brawny under her costume, and the tips of her boots peak out from the bottom of the black sheet of fabric she’s cloaked in.

The mask covering her face is shaped into a ghoulish, twisted scream, just like the one from those cheesy slasher movies you’d never managed to sit through. Even the prop knife she wields at her side is unnervingly sinister.

You pull your hand back and turn your attention to the mesh covering her eyes, hoping for a glimpse of the person underneath.

“Do you work here?”

She cocks her head to the side, silent.

“Look,” you sputter. “I just got separated from my friends, can you help me or not?”

A group of muffled voices erupt from somewhere in the house, a mess of laughter and gasps and thrilled shrieks of artificial terror. You feel her eyes raking over you before she bobs her head and motions for you to follow.

“Come with me.”

The walk through the hallway is quiet beyond the eerie music playing on a loop and the sound of her steps over the creaking floorboards. Cardboard cutouts and tarped sheets of plastic block out the light from the windows and you’d struggle to follow her trail if it weren’t for the occasional flash of her white mask looking at you over her shoulder.

She leads you through a maze of intersecting hallways before finally stopping in front of a door marked with gaudy caution tape and a formal ‘DO NOT ENTER’ sign tacked in the middle. She guides you inside with a hand flattened against your lower back and a warmth licks up your spine from her easy touch.

She follows in behind you and shuts the door, and you’re suddenly aware that she’d taken you beyond the part of the house marked off for guests.

Overloaded boxes and bins of leftover decorations are scattered around the room, a collection of undead odds and ends stuffed into every corner. It’s too crowded and too uncanny for your liking.

You turn to look at the quiet stranger with wide eyes, heart hammering in your chest.

“Why are we here?”

She’s silent for a moment before she grabs you by the waist and wraps her arms around you, pressing her face into the crook of your neck.

“Are you scared?”

You shudder as her cold plastic mask connects with your skin. Standing this close, you can hear her heavy breath contorted by her disguise, feel the rise and fall of her chest pressed against your back.

The kitchen knife gleams against your hip where her hand gropes for purchase. In the darkened hallway, it’d seemed like a cheap, flimsy prop to match her crude costume, but in here, there’s just enough light to catch the metallic luster of the blade’s sharp edge.

She seems to follow the trail of your downcast gaze because she runs the flat side of her knife up the length of your torso with an amused hum.

“Don’t worry,” she taunts in an overly cloying voice. “You won’t feel a thing.”

Her grip is loose enough that you could break free if you wanted, but you’re too flustered by the heat pooling in your belly to try. You wriggle in her grasp and unintentionally move your hips into hers, gasping when the tip of the blade digs into your side.

“Ah- careful with that thing.”

She laughs dryly and drags the steel up to rest in the valley of your breasts. “I think you like a little pain.”

Without a warning, she spins you around so that you’re sandwiched between her form and the wall, cheek pressed roughly against the cracked, yellowing paint.

“You feel that?” She grinds against the curve of your backside, revealing the hard plastic bulge underneath her costume. “S’my cock, baby. You gonna take it like a good girl?”

You whimper at the harsh treatment and the thought of what’s to come. When you take too long to work up a reply, she wraps a hand around your throat, delicate but forceful enough that you’re aware of her underlying strength.

“I asked you a question.”

Honeyed slick coats the apex of your thighs as you squirm in place, practically thrumming with adrenaline and a feeling you can’t name. You’ve always hated scary movies, but living through one is turning out to be much more of a thrill.

“Yes,” you pant with a shaky nod. “Please, yes. Just fuck me.”

Her knife clatters to the floor beside your feet and you flinch at the shrill noise. The hand around your throat is gone, disappearing somewhere behind you as she bunches the fabric of her costume around her waist.

You chance a look over your shoulder in hopes of catching a glimpse of her form without the curtain of fabric blocking the view, and you’re met with the sight of her harness digging into her hips, leading below the waistband of her black cotton boxers.

A sliver of bare skin is visible between the dregs of her cloak and the hem of her underwear, accentuating the smattering of blonde hair trailing down from her naval. The muscles of her thighs flex as she pulls the length of her strap from its confines.

She reaches around to unbutton your jeans and tug the material down your legs, careless of the way your hips jerk from the force of her strength. When her fingers prod at your entrance and she slides her fake cock between your thighs, your palms flatten against the wall to keep yourself from crumpling over in bliss.

“S’that feel good?” Her thumb swipes at your clit in fast, messy circles while two thick digits part your velvety walls.

Little sighs and puffs of air are all you can manage as a response. Her fingers curl at the perfect angle to hit your sweet spot, and you think you could manage to come like this if she kept at it for even a minute longer.

To your disappointment, she frees her fingers before you can reach your peak, and you push back against her with a whine of protest.

She doesn’t seem to appreciate your breathy complaint, because she shoves your hips back against the wall with a bitter force that makes you gasp at the impact.

“Don’t fucking move.”

Her masked face peaks over your shoulder, creeping into your peripheral with an unblinking, static gaze.

You feel the tip of her cock nudge against your weeping entrance, sleek plastic rubbing against your skin just like the pale visage resting against your cheek. She drives her cock into you in one fluid motion, grunting as her hips slam into yours.

“Fuck-” you choke out a breathless, eager sound as she gives an experimental thrust against your backside.

Her broad figure envelops you completely as she grinds her cock into your slick cunt, agonizingly slow until she decides you’re ready for more. She’s everywhere all at once – a blur of heavy-handed touches over your hips and your chest. You can’t decide whether you’d like to push your breasts into the cradle of her palms or to contort yourself into the hollow of her frame in search of more pleasure.

“mmh- please, faster,” you beg, brows pinched together with the effort of keeping still like she’d asked.

“Yeah?” She picks up a bit of speed and returns her fingers to your clit. “Too cock drunk to be scared anymore?”

You nod along with what she’s saying, too focused on the tension twisting in your gut to pay attention to her words. You’d agree to anything as long as she kept moving.

A minute passes and you’re teetering at the edge of your release. She seems to notice, adding pressure to your clit and grinding her cock into you as far as it’ll go.

“That’s it,” she pants. “Come for me.”

The tension inside of you snaps and you shudder through your release with a choked sob and a silent thanks to the stranger holding you up. Your walls cling to her slick length as you come around her cock, heaving a shaky breath into the quiet, cramped room.

After a few more greedy thrusts and swipes over your sensitive clit, she stills inside of you and presses her mouth to your shoulder, almost like she’s kissing you through the plastic mold covering her face.

With a content flush crawling up your cheeks, you turn to look at her in the dim lighting. “You could’ve taken the mask off, y’know.”

She laughs wryly and shakes her head. “Where’s the fun in that?”

[riiwrites]

Here’s a more spooky request. Maybe dazai has tried watching a horror movie to scare reader so they’ll lean towards him in the movie and he can comfort or hold them but his plan isn’t working because they love horror movies. I think that would be cute and funny. Thank you 💕

“the scariest thing.”

❥ pairing : dazai x reader

❥ genre : fluff

❥ warnings : none

❥ wc : 1k

❥ a/n : i loved writing this so much! although, i’m not a big fan of horror movies but I tried my best for describing some movie scenes.

Dazai greeted you with a sweet smile hidden with a little touch of mischief. He wrapped his arms around you as soon as you stepped through the door

"Ah~ my love, how was your day today?" He asks with such ease as if he’s let out a breath of relief he’s been holding in for a while.

"Hi darling." You replied, accepting his hug instantly when you wrap your arms around the back of his neck and rest your chin on his shoulder.

"Day was good, m’ drained though."

"Oh, you don’t say.."

He has that glint in his eyes as you pull away from his shoulder, raising an eyebrow

"What are you planning?"

"Nothing!"

"Osamu." His smirk only grows when your eyebrows furrow together and a slight pout appears on your lips. He admired that expression for a quick moment before chuckling, placing one hand on your back as he guides you towards the living room, revealing the surprisingly organised sight of blankets sprawled all over the couch, candles lit in the dimmed room and placed on the counter infront of the TV which the channel was switched to Netflix. Your slightly confused expression was suddenly replaced with a look full of surprise but adoration as you stared at the sight.

"Dazai, you did this for me..?"

"Why, of course. I knew your day was going to be rather long and more dreadful than usual, so I prepped you a little something." He smiles at your happy expression, walking over to the couch and taking a seat, patting the space next to him. You oblige obviously and rush over, plopping yourself down onto the blanket from underneath you and sitting on the opposite side of Dazai. He looks at you for a moment looking absolutely bewildered, shocked and almost betrayed.

"Not cuddling up to me after I’ve prepped you such a lovely surprise? I’m wounded!"

"Oh you’ll live!" You say with a smirk, he sighs playfully. "I certainly hope not."

"Osamu."

"Okay okay, sorry!"

Truth was he had already known you would sit on the complete opposite side of him, a big empty bit of distance between you two. He knew how after a draining day sometimes you liked to have your distance, and sometimes you preferred to cuddle up to him, which is why he had crafted the most mastermind plan of all.

"What do you feel like watching?" You ask, keeping your eyes glued to the screen as Dazai has the remote.

"Hm." A smirk adorns his face once again.

"How about a scary movie?"

You turn to him with a smile, being completely oblivious to his 'master plan' as you nod.

"Okay."

He huffs out a chuckle as he throws his head back against the couch, holding the remote in-front of the TV and clicking onto the search bar. 

Around 15 minutes of the movie pass by, and yet not a single reaction out of you. Dazai wasn’t really paying much attention to the movie, only the suspenseful and tension filled parts as he took quick glances at you to try and sense some sort of reaction out of you - but nothing. Dazai continued to stare intently at you, not only because of him trying to sense any sign of emotion, but just because he found you so lovely to stare at. You looked so beautiful when you focused intently on things.

Once Dazai turns his head back to the screen, a loud scream and figure appearing on the screen makes Dazai jump out of his skin, eyes going wide like tennis balls as he yelps.

"Fuck! Oh bella, it’s okay I’ll hold y-"

"Holy shit that was amazing!"

Dazais head quickly snaps to the side to see you - of all people laughing, at the sudden jumpscare.

"Y-you think this is funny..?"

You giggle at the screen as you reply.

"Yeah! The visuals are insane!"

You had the most precious smile on your face that Dazai was actually in shock of. He stared at you with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth as he processed what had just happened. Dazais plan, for the first time in his life - had backfired on him.

He turned away from you and continued to watch the movie, fearing to inject as he didn’t want to spoil your fun or enjoyment of the movie, although he didn’t quite understand how you could enjoy such things.

After nearing the movies end, you’re still smiling so peacefully, whilst Dazai on the other hand looked absolutely mortified and disgusted with what he had just watched. He had really expected you to be all jumpy and startled, him holding you close as you tremble in fear, not the other way around. He felt defeated to say the least - and very humbled. But seeing that sweet precious smile on your face was all the while worth it. You turn to him.

"Are you okay, love? You look rather..disturbed."

Dazai blinks for a few moments before smiling sweetly back at you.

"Yeah..I’m great, I just- didn’t really expect you to act like that."

"Oh! I’ve seen Possum more times than I can count. I love horror movies!"

He blinks a few times again, before looking down at the empty space on the couch

"Oh."

You tilt your head to the side, surprised to see your lover look so dumbfounded.

"What’s the matter?"

"Nothing, I just.." He starts.

"I thought if I got you to watch a scary movie with me then you’d possibly be startled enough to take up the space on the couch and cuddle up to me. But now I look like the fool who needs to be goddamn coddled!" He huffs and crosses his arms, eyebrows furrowing like a little kid. You giggle at his reasoning.

"I mean, I could cuddle you..-"

"Don’t even think about it. That’s my job damn it!"

You laugh, throwing your head back into the couch as you wipe some fake tears off your face.

"Oh my, I’ve outsmarted the Osamu Dazai! Please, how shall I be rewarded?"

"Oh stop it, I can’t take this anymore!!"

He places his hands on his head, shaking his head rapidly as he continues his tantrum, before eventually stopping and falling back into the couch, he sighs loudly.

"Well I’ve certainly been humbled."

You giggle at this, before crawling over to him and sitting on your knees in front of him. He perks up at this and raises an eyebrow as he stares at you.

"What?"

You tilt your head to the side with a cute smile.

"We can pretend I don’t like horror movies.."

He stares blankly for a moment at your suggestion, both eyebrows now raised and his eyes open wide.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He smirks, before grabbing you by your waist and pulling you into his side, you squeal.

"Shhh, it’s okay, I’m here." He says, caressing your hair gently as you snicker

"Seriously?"

"Shhhh, it wasn’t real, only visuals.."

"You sure you’re not just telling yourself that?"

"Let me have my moment, sweetheart."

He smiles as he places a gentle kiss on your cheek, you smile and rest your head against his side, peaceful silence fills the room as the two of you are tangled in utter bliss with one another.

"Okay but seriously, I really need to keep close to you tonight." Dazai says. "Im not having any puppets or massive spiders come through any bags or windows tonight."

"Pfft, yeah okay."

"What? I’m being serious, that was the scariest thing ever Y/N!!" He whines, pressing his cheek against the top of your head, rubbing your arm gently.

Sure, his plan may have failed - and it turned out he was the one who actually needed taken care of. But he got his main goal - you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

TAGLIST : @hauntedsol @hopefulpain @forgotten-blues @ruru-kiss @texas-bitch-yee @lvstyangel @thetizzler @is-therelife-onmars @atlasnessie @101strawberries101

want to be added to my tag-list? : click here!

[writingstoraes]

sparks 🎇

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: written imagine (fluff)

word count: 1.7k, no warnings hehe

notes: once again this is a new idea even though i have a ton of drafts like my mind is a mess so i am not surprised ANYWAY . trying to get out of a writing slump so lmk what u guys think! ALSO apologies for any typos or grammatical errors this is not proofread at all 😆

about:  The few of the many times Charles’ heart skipped a beat because of you.

Movies have always portrayed “real” sparks so well. Sometimes it’s a scene where a guy sees the girl for the very first time during a first date and he freezes for a moment, the apparent electricity between two people when their hands almost touch and they panic for a little while, or the moment of suspense before a first kiss and the exhilaration after.

But Charles taught that was exactly what they were - movie scenes. He lingered on the thought that the moments where sparks flew and one’s heart skips a beat, those moments cannot be manufactured in real life. They stay in movies, books, in the arts; where they belong, somewhere where they were fiction.

Not until he experiences it first-hand, not until he meets you, the woman who held his heart in the palm of her hand.

He felt it the first time your hands ever touched. 

At first, he thought he was going crazy. There was no way he felt a current run through his skin the moment it came in contact with yours, but to this day, it’s a testament he swears on very seriously. 

You had been going out for a few weeks, several dates here and there. It was the exact point where you felt comfortable with each other, but only starting to be, hence why there were still evident boundaries present. The two of you were careful to not cross any, especially Charles. He’s cautious on establishing any physical touch, sure, he’s held your waist to guide you through bustling crowds and had slung his arm over your shoulder, but he hasn’t held your hand. At least, not yet. 

He had invited you to have dinner on his yacht, set at the perfect time where you can be of witness to the beautiful sunset over the sea. He says the food was nearly done, so he set up two comfortable chairs that gave you just the perfect view of the Monaco skies. The sun was setting and the golden sky formed a beautiful gradient with the blue hue that painted it beforehand. 

He turns his head to you, your arm resting on the chair’s handles, a tad bit preoccupied with the view in front of you. He keeps a smile to himself, enjoying the personalized view he had. For some reason, he feels the urge to hold your hand, or at least rest his on top of yours. He was hesitating and second-guessing, lifting his finger once in a while and then putting it back down when he decides not to push through. It didn’t help that there were minimal distance between your chair and his, and so he was fighting the urge to initiate contact and have you flee off. 

But his hesitant hand that kept on moving was something you grew to notice, and thanks to your knowledge of many, many romance movies, you assumed it meant he wanted to hold your hand but was too afraid to do it. You shove the thought of doing it first in the back of your head, overthinking that you might be wrong and he in fact did not want to hold your hand. 

Maybe it was something in the air, the quiet waves of the ocean, or just the fact that he really really liked you. 

He finally lifts his hand so he can reach yours, resting it softly on top of your hand. He lets out a relieved and contented sigh when he feels you ease into his touch. His heart raced faster, like it was screaming for help and begging to be let out of his chest.

As if that was not enough, he feels a current run through his arm and out of his fingertips the moment you grasp his hand and decide to interlock your fingers with his then setting it on top of the chair’s handle.  He swears he saw fireworks when he closed his eyes and his heart finally exploded out of his chest. He vows he can stand up and jump around out of joy, but he chooses to indulge in the moment and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze instead.

He had met you earlier in the season and he would be lying if he said he didn’t want you to see him in his element, doing what truly made him happy. That is, if his team does not proceed to ruin the entire weekend for him and his dedicated fans.

He invited you to watch a grand prix, in a track that he felt most comfortable. He was the perfect gentleman whe he extended the invite, letting you know you could always decline if you didn’t feel like going. You were together, in all terms to be considered, but he didn’t want to pressure you into finally making your appearance only because he knew how harsh it could get. He assures you that he will take care of everything and all you needed to do was come.

You were committed to attend the entire weekend, from free practice until the race itself. Even if Charles was quick to reassure you that you didn’t have to be there for everything, you only return a smile and tell him you wanted to be, which not surprisingly calmed his nerves. 

You knew people were going to stare, fans will take pictures, even the possibility of you making headlines. This was your first paddock appearance as his girlfriend, after all. It was inevitable, so you try to take your mind off of the pressure. Much to your nerves bothering you before you even got on the plane, you had been racking your brain on what to wear. You didn’t want to seem like you were trying too hard or too little. 

You finally settle on an outfit and your lips form a small smile as you looked in the mirror. It was nothing extravagant, only a black one-shoulder top and a black high-waisted pants that you paired with a red leather jacket. It’s not like you wanted what you wore to scream Ferrari, but you wanted to add a little touch, at least for Charles. 

“What do you think? I chose the red jacket for you,” you turn around to see Charles, seeing as you heard his footsteps earlier and knew he entered the room.

If he was being honest, he had seen you put on the outfit. He witnessed how you cocked your head to the side trying to see if it looks good. He sees the outfits laid on the bed, all with a touch of red, and he could feel butterflies swarm his stomach at the thought of you carefully planning out your outfits to include his team’s colors.

There it was again, the stupid sparks that he’s been getting ever since he met you. He curses himself for being a little non-functional when feels them, but he figures he has to get used to being blown away by everything you did. It feels magnetic, like he’s feeling actual static. You make him feel so much by just doing so little. 

He sees you twirling around in front of the mirror, smiling when you finally put on the red leather jacket, looking satisfied. 

He stops at his tracks, at least internally, and fails to respond for at least 10 seconds. 

“Do you not like it? I can always go change-”

“No,” he says, almost out of voice. “You look absolutely beautiful.” 

Where he was standing, he swears he sees fireworks erupt behind you.

Charles stands on the podium, feeling victorious and ecstatic he had clinched another win for his Formula 1 career. He looks fondly at the sea of crowd cheering for him, waving flags of his own country, Ferrari, and Italy. From where he stood he could see Fred’s big smile and the engineers celebrating, jumping up and down. 

The trophies had been awarded and the Monaco national anthem had finally played. He was wearing his Pirelli cap and completely drenched in champagne. He scans the crowd down the podium, hoping to get a glance of you. Earlier, he did tell you you didn’t have to witness the awarding personally should he win, because he didn’t want you to get in between many people and possibly get shoved or pushed. He assumes that you were in the garage, waiting for him, probably with a kiss and a hug. 

He leans over the makeshift railing of the stage, eyes still set on possibly sighting you. When he fails to find you, he finally comes down and there he sees you, just near the stairs going up to the podium with teary eyes and a wide smile. There you stood with hands clasped together, in awe of Charles who was standing in front of you. 

He feels his heart race yet again, having experienced the first time you ever greeted him after he claims P1 in a race. Even just by looking at you he feels his world shift, like its only goal was to pull him towards you, like the fireworks that took the skies earlier weren’t enough and he was having his own show. 

He jogs towards you, exhilirated and filled with adrenaline and pulls you into a tight embrace. His entire body twitches when you plant a soft kiss on his cheek, as if every fiber of his being had turned into putty at your touch. Everytime you engulf him in an embrace, kiss his cheek, or run your hands through his hair, he feels as if he’s inside his car going at least 320 kilometers per hour. He has no clue how you do it, how you possibly make him feel like he’s won a race every time he was with you;  as if you and his heart had a binding agreement. 

“Congratulations, mon champion du monde,” you say slowly and close to Charles so only he could hear, hoping you didn’t mess up the pronunciation, after having practiced it several times on the plane. 

Something tugs at his heartstrings, having been greeted by the knowledge that you sent out his well wishes in French, even though you didn’t speak the language and mentioned you were always scared you were going to say something wrong. But mostly because you called him your world champion, and that just sends him down a spiral.

“Thanks for being here, amour.” he replies, pulling you in again for another hug. 

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

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy

notes: thanks for reading everyone <3 will try to post a 1.4k special soon but firstly thank u so much for all the love hehehe hope u guys r having the nicest day!

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1956 Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

Bullet on Wheels: The 1956 Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

Easily one of the wildest General Motors dream cars of the Motorama era, the Olds Golden Rocket was the epitome of Jet Age design. Let’s take a closer look. 

Throughout the 1950s, Harley Earl and his forward-looking crew at the GM styling studios frequently turned to aircraft and space travel for their inspiration. There might be no better example of the automaker’s guided-missile design theme than the far-out Golden Rocket, Oldsmobile’s Motorama dream car for 1956. “The Supersonic Age comes to automobile styling!” the company proclaimed.

1956 Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

Constructed in fiberglass on a shortened Oldsmobile passenger car perimeter frame with a 105-inch wheelbase, the Golden Rocket was essentially a bullet on wheels in side view (above.) But under the skin, the show car was fairly conventional with a 324 CID, 275-horsepower Olds Rocket V8 up front, Hydra-Matic automatic transmission, and leaf-spring rear suspension. The custom wheels employed integral brake drums, and a pair of fuel tanks were housed in the rear fenders. Note the “dotted-line” segmented whitewalls, a novel feature that never went any further.

1956 Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

At a little more than 200 inches long but less than 50 inches tall, the Rocket sported an impressively low silhouette, which required some ingenuity in the packaging of the two-seat cabin. For easier entry and egress, a roof panel popped up when the door was opened on either side, while the steering wheel rim swung upward and the bucket seats rose three inches and pivoted on their mountings. Upholstery was blue and gold leather, while the speedometer was housed in the steering wheel hub. The lap belts and driver pedals display a strong aircraft influence.

While the Rocket seems to be one of the more obscure GM dream cars in current times, it did include some ideas that turned up later on the General’s production models. The stubby rocket-type tailfins would adorn some memorable Cadillacs of the early ’60s, while the split-window teardrop rear window is extremely familiar. It was next tried on a dead-ended 1958 Corvette styling proposal, then famously appeared on the 1963 Corvette Sting Ray coupe. As with a number of GM Motorama dream cars, the fate of the Golden Rocket was not officially documented, reportedly, but it hasn’t been seen or heard from in years and is presumed destroyed.

1956 Oldsmobile Golden Rocket

[aangarchy]

Netflix atla live action review ep 4-6

So, they completely ruined Bumi. Spoiler warning.

The more episodes pass by the more confused i get with the choices that were made. I wrote down commentary for the episodes and the thing that i wrote down the most was "why does this happen?". The writing is incredibly confusing and messy, feels too rushed in some spaces and too slow in others. There's just... so much going on and so little at the same time. They brought in elements that in the OG don't get introduced until later in s1, s2, the comics, or even the legend of Korra. The reason these things get introduced so early here is not clear at all, because they don't serve any purpose other than to be an obstacle to Aang, Sokka and Katara on their way to the North.

Mai and Ty Lee are.. there. They get introduced earlier but they don't serve any purpose at the moment other than stand around, watch Azula train, ask questions so that Azula can give us the answers the viewer needs. My guess is they only got introduced for the audience who watched the OG to go "oh we know them!". We get the secret tunnel story earlier too, but it has absolutely nothing to do with love. Somehow "love is brightest in the dark" now correlates to the badgermoles being able to sense a human's emotion. It's a waste of a storyline, doesn't teach us anything about love, gives us Omashu lore which is useless bc neither Sokka nor Katara actually use love to escape the tunnels. Also Oma and Shu are lesbians now, but you only know that bc they changed Shu's pronouns. Wow, so progressive! We have lesbians in the story now! Boy do i feel represented as a sapphic!

We get Koh early on as well, but his entire gig got changed. Now suddenly he doesn't steal faces but he "feeds", and hunts using the fog of lost souls (which is tlok lore mind you) as a tool to trap humans. We introduce the mother of faces (comic book lore!), or rather pendant of her that Koh owns. There's no reason for her to exist in this story though other than to be an easter egg to everyone who read the search (Not even the majority of the fandom!) and to offer a solution to this problem we've created, which is Koh capturing our friends in order to eat them and us not being able to convince him into letting them go. There's no feeling of dread in the Koh scenes at all because the whole problem of not showing emotion is just not a thing now. No suspense, no fear, just a weird cgi clown face worm. The worm doesn't even menacingly circle around Aang to invoke a feeling of being surrounded, it just sits there. I also just don't understand why Koh is here already bc now who is going to give us information about Tui and La?

This decision also creates a problem that Hei Bai's story just isn't about Hei Bai anymore. We get fed a few lines from a talking fox about how the forest spirit got hurt, but there's really no solution? Aang buries a pinecone in front of the statue and tells him not to give up hope but he didn't even really need to do that, because Hei Bai wasn't the one kidnapping villagers! It was Koh. Why did we appease Hei Bai if Koh was the real villain? Hei Bai/Koh's story leads us to Roku, but Roku is completely useless. All he does is undermine Kyoshi's advice to Aang, tell Aang about the mother of faces pendant so he can appease Koh, and then we leave. I knew in advance Roku wasn't going to warn Aang about the comet here bc Albert Kim already told us working with a deadline like that with child actors is just impossible. But with Roku suddenly not being Aang's main Avatar guide he just gets nothing to do. There's no suspense in this part of the story either, bc the time limit of the winter solstice isn't a thing here at all. Aang also ends up flying over Fire Nation borders without issue, and gets led right into the sanctuary without the puzzle of figuring out how to open the door, and without the problem of Zhao's soldiers waiting for him when he comes out. It creates this issue of there not being any excitement, at least for me. I genuinely am getting a bit bored with the show, which was never an issue with the OG for me. There's a reason all of this extra material didn't get introduced until later on. There's too many characters and they all get too little time to really do anything useful, they're not fleshed out, the stories aren't thought through and it ends up getting very confusing and boring. I'm genuinely curious for the perspective of people who have never watched the OG cartoon, bc i wonder if they're even able to follow along without prior knowledge of this universe.

Bumi is just... not Bumi. They completely changed his character to be this bitter old senile man that resents Aang for abandoning the world. This doesn't make any sense because in this version of the story Bumi shouldn't know that Aang is the Avatar at all, because Aang was told right before he disappeared! So why does Bumi immediately know that Aang is the Avatar, and why does Aang immediately recognize him? Also the original point of Bumi's tests is to get Aang to approach fights and puzzles from a different angle, so he can learn versatility as the Avatar. But here the tests are just happening because Bumi is mad at Aang for leaving and wants to get back at him for being gone so long. He says some lines about Aang having to learn to make hard choices and you can't rely on your friends, but Aang ends up proving him wrong in the end! What is even the point of Bumi's part in the story now, except for him just being another obstacle on the way to the North Pole?

There's a lot of instances where I feel like the bond between characters gets completely lost. We barely spend any time with the side characters like the mechanist, Teo, Jet and the freedom fighters, and the people in the spirit village. It makes some scenes feel very out of place. These storylines all happen at once, and they don't get their individual moments to shine. We have no room to feel betrayed by Jet or Sai, because we barely got to know them to begin with. Jet and Sai only spend time with One member of the gaang each, but when their betrayals come to light the rest of the group acts devastated, as if it was their dear friend. Sokka also gets really mad about the Jet thing, but he only met Jet once when he smuggled them into Omashu, and Jet didn't even tell Sokka his name. He said it afterwards when Katara met him again. It makes absolutely no sense why Sokka is yelling at Katara for trusting Jet only bc she finds him attractive, when Sokka wasn't even there during all of that!

The sense of family between the gaang that we get from the original also just doesn't happen here. Especially because these characters so far have spent more time apart than together. Aang constantly gets separated from Sokka and Katara, leaving no room for them to bond. We get Katara and Sokka bonding, but they shouldn't need those types of scenes because they're already siblings (which isn't very clear in the show either btw!). I ended up forgetting that Sokka and Katara were trapped by Koh, bc we spend so much time away from them (a whole episode, which is now an hour!).

I have little to no criticism for the Blue Spirit story. Want to guess why that is? Bc they left it pretty much untouched. We even get a little bit of an extra scene, with Zuko and Aang talking while Zuko recovers after getting hurt during the escape. I liked this choice, especially bc it highlights how conflicted Zuko is.

This is where we get Zuko's backstory. I have one question here: why did they make Ozai more sensible and less ruthless? Was that a Daniel Dae Kim decision? Bc it feels like a Daniel Dae Kim thing to do. They're very on the nose with the way Ozai is abusing Zuko and Azula, but then they turn around and make this man visit Zuko after he burned him and praise Zuko about finding the Avatar. I understand that they did this to show how Ozai uses Zuko's accomplishments in order to push Azula, but even if it were to do that: the original Ozai would NEVER. The problem here as well is that they don't let the viewers draw any conclusions themselves anymore. They're holding the viewer's hand through the whole thing, leaving no room for nuance or doubt.

I just finished episode 7 and 8 and I have Things To Say. None of which are good. Writing it down is challenging so it might take a day or two.

[dumpsterfire-daydreams]

Reader POV:

The walk to their side of the base was overwhelmingly silent. Ghost’s heavy footfalls led the way down a series of sidewalks and into a nearby building while you scurried behind him. You kept up with his pace as best you could and pulled out your phone to send König a few hurried texts in case he finally came to the parking lot and found your car empty. You knew how he could get sometimes and the last thing you wanted to do was start his day off with a panic attack.

“Headed in now. With the big scary skull face guy. See you soon.”

Your previous messages still sat unread. Where the hell was he? You’d triple checked the date beforehand and made sure you were headed to the right address. Just to put your mind at ease, you started scrolling back up through your conversation to make sure you hadn’t misread anything.

Your thoughts abruptly ground to a halt when you crashed face first into your escort’s back. It wasn’t enough to knock him off balance (as if you could even do such a thing), but he let out a small grunt as he wheeled around to shoot you a pointed glare.

You shrank back a bit, both embarrassed and terrified that you’d pissed him off. A litany of “sorrys” started spilling out of your mouth, but he dismissed them with a wave of his hand and motioned for you to stop speaking.

He’d stopped outside the door of what looked like a conference room. From the hall, you could hear muffled voices coming from inside. You felt like a puppy being told to “stay” when he just said “wait here” before turning the knob and ducking inside the room.

A few moments later, the door reopened a crack and the skull mask reappeared.

“Briefings over. Captain says you can come in.”

You cautiously pushed the door open and stuck your head into the room. By now, the voices had all stopped. As you ventured inside, you were met with a room full of men dressed in tactical gear similar to that of your escort. And they were all staring at you. You didn’t get the feeling that your presence was unwelcome. But still, being the center of attention was not your favorite feeling in the world. Your face flushed as you waved sheepishly, looking for a familiar figure. Luckily, it was him who spotted you first.

“There you are, little maus!” König practically jumped up from his seat and rushed in to give you a bear hug.

As usual, you couldn’t see his expression behind the black fabric he always kept draped over his face. But you could tell just from his eyes that he was beaming. You were used to the way he towered over you. At first, his height had scared you silly. But with your face nestled into the center of his chest and his arms locked around you, you could already feel your anxiety melting away. He made everything feel just right.

“The suspense!” a lighthearted Scottish voice called out from behind him.

“Come on, cabron!” Another man said. “We want to meet her too, you know!”

“Scheiße, yes, yes. I’ll introduce you.” König gave you one last squeeze before releasing you and guiding you over to the rest of the group. “Everyone. This is mein liebling, Y/n.”

You smiled, giving another small wave. “Nice to meet you all.”

König motioned to the man standing at the front of the room beside a whiteboard. “This is Captain Price.”

The burly man in question sauntered over, his eyes cheery and pleasant as he shook your hand. “Please,” he laughed. “Call me John. I’m glad you could come by!”

“And this,” König went on. “This is Alejandro.”

You extended your hand to the dark-haired man as well. He had a nice smile and a suave air about him. But you were still surprised when he raised it to his lips and kissed it. This earned him a playful shove from König.

“Nice to meet you, senorita,” he crooned, hopping out of König’s reach.

“Alright, alright. My turn,” the Scottish voice returned as a blue-eyed man with a mohawk pushed his way through the group and offered you a friendly hug. “John McTavish. But everyone calls me Soap. Aren’t you a looker! Good on you, lad!”

A blush crept its way across your face as Soap gave König an approving nod and a light punch in the arm.

There were so many names and faces to remember. As you made the rounds, shaking hands, you added more and more names to your list. It was all a bit overwhelming. But everyone seemed welcoming and kind. Well, everyone except the brooding figure sulking at the doorway. Your escort hadn’t ventured any further into the room, almost like he was intentionally keeping you at arms distance. His mood was a stark contrast to the rest of his companions. Whereas everyone else was open and inviting, he was completely closed off and indifferent. He just stood there like a shadow, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. His dark eyes bored into you as he unabashedly stared you down. It made you shiver as you shrank back against König.

He looked up from his conversation, eyes flitting from you to Ghost. “Ah, and that is Ghost. He is the Lieutenant.”

You thought about approaching him to formally introduce yourself and maybe shake his hand. But as you moved to take a step in his direction, König placed a hand on your shoulder as Ghost’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly before he turned on his heel and left the room in a huff.

“I think I pissed him off somehow,” you sighed, turning back to the group. “I don’t know what I did.”

“No, no, it’s not you,” König reassured you, patting your head affectionately. “That is just his nature.”

Soap snorted. “If by nature, you mean him chronically having a stick up his arse…”

“I wouldn’t take it personally, Y/n,” Price chimed in, throwing Soap a disapproving glance. “Ghost is a soldier through and through. It can be hard to turn that side of ourselves off when we’re not out in the field. But he’s a good man.”

You nodded, feeling a bit relieved. But you were still a bit wary. The way those eyes had drilled into you. You felt like an insect under a microscope. Your curiosity made you want to get closer and actually get him to warm up to you, too. But everything else about him made you want to run like hell and hide. And you couldn't figure out which response you should act on.

[cybertied]

How I Make These: Part 2

Sample prompt development

There’s a limit of 30 images per post so I’m splitting this into 3 parts:

Part 1: General tips and learnings

Part 2: Sample prompt development

Part 3: Sample prompt development (continued)

A word of caution

As noted previously, if your prompts get blocked too much you can start to get account suspensions in increasing severity (ranging from 1 hour to 24 hours to indefinitely). If you care about your account, be careful with this. This guide runs through my process and learnings but I don’t take any responsibility if you run into any issues with what you do with it.

Here we go

This example highlights the process I’ve found success with and the principles I use in my prompts. I won’t embellish the environment or guy too much and just focus on the basics. I’ll call out when blocks happen and include all the images, even the poor quality ones, so you can see the real results at each step. Significant changes to each prompt highlighted in green.

Prompt 1:

photorealistic. early morning inside a damp log cabin with bright light shining through the logs. a rugged clean cut ranger with a square jaw lays across an old wooden bench.

I almost always use “photorealistic” but I’ve done realistic paintings in a couple cases. You can get really creative just with the art style. That first guy looks a bit like a The Last of Us or Red Dead Redemption video game character. The term ranger seems to be introducing objects like guns that might conflict with the prompt later on so I’m gonna switch the guy out next. Resulting images:

Prompt 2:

photorealistic. early morning inside a damp log cabin with bright light shining through the logs. a rugged clean cut athletic trainer with a square jaw lays across an old wooden bench.

I only got 2 images rather than 4 so I suspect I’m at risk of getting blocked if 2 were already filtered out from this very tame prompt so far. And these guys are looking a bit generic. Resulting images:

Prompt 3:

photorealistic. early morning inside a damp log cabin with bright light shining between the logs. a rugged clean cut athlete with a square jaw lays across an old wooden bench.

These guys are still looking a bit generic to me. And when guys are laying down, I frequently get kinda boring front angles. I’m going to try to switch the perspective next. Resulting images:

Prompt 4:

photorealistic. side view. early morning inside a damp log cabin with bright light shining between the logs. a rugged tough clean cut athlete with a square jaw lays across an old wooden bench.

Now I only got one image which isn’t a great sign. This angle still isn’t very interesting to me. I’m going to try tweaking that. Resulting image:

Prompt 5:

photorealistic. side view overhead view. early morning inside a damp log cabin with bright light shining between the logs. a rugged tough clean cut athlete with a square jaw lays along an old wooden bench.

I thought that might give the perspective of looking down on the guy but it didn’t work. Next, I’m going to try getting closer to the pose I’m going for. Resulting images:

Prompt 6:

photorealistic. side view overhead view. early morning inside a damp log cabin with bright light shining between the logs. a rugged tough clean cut athlete with a square jaw lays along a slippery old wooden bench with his hands behind his back.

I introduced the slippery element which may come in handy with the next prompt. Only got 1 image again. His arms aren’t behind his back. And I’ve still got this dull angle. Resulting image:

Prompt 7:

photorealistic. early morning inside a damp log cabin. bright beams of light shining between the logs. a rugged tough clean cut athlete with a square jaw sits on a slippery old wooden chair with his hands behind his back.

Got 2 images this time. The faces really lack definition for some reason. The bench results wasn’t turning out how I envisioned so I changed it to a chair. And his arms are still in front unfortunately. Resulting images:

Prompt 8:

photorealistic. early morning inside a damp log cabin. bright beams of light shining between the logs. a rugged tough clean cut athlete with a square jaw sits on a slippery old wooden chair with his hands behind his back. to prevent him from sliding off, he is securely tied to the chair.

I don’t know that this prompt wouldn’t work if the chair wasn’t “slippery,” but I do try to provide a reason for the bondage to increase the chances of it working. I frequently have an issue where ankles have rope wrapped around them but they aren’t tied to anything so I’m going to try to fix that next and also try to get a closer shot. I only got 1 image but that worked so far. Resulting image:

Prompt 9:

photorealistic closeup. early morning inside a damp log cabin. bright beams of light shining between the logs. a rugged tough clean cut athlete with a square jaw sits on a slippery old wooden chair with his hands behind his back. to prevent him from sliding off, his chest, hands, and feet are securely tied to the chair.

Blocked. Maybe the word “chest” did it but I’ve also noticed getting blocked for “feet” and “ankles” so maybe it’s that part.

Prompt 10:

photorealistic closeup. early morning inside a damp log cabin. bright beams of light shining between the logs. a rugged tough clean cut athlete with a square jaw sits on a slippery old wooden chair with his hands behind his back. to prevent him from sliding off, his hands and feet are securely tied to the chair.

Blocked. Removing just “chest” didn’t help so I’ll conclude that the issue was “hands” and/or “feet”.

Prompt 11:

photorealistic closeup. early morning inside a damp log cabin. bright beams of light shining between the logs. a rugged tough clean cut athlete with a square jaw sits on a slippery old wooden chair with his hands behind his back. to prevent him from sliding off, his arms and legs are securely tied to the chair.

So it appears that “arms and legs” is safer to use in this situation than “hands and feet.” “Feet” is probably the issue. I imagine a lot of people are trying to generate images focused on that. Anyway, despite the glitchy tank top, these look promising. Resulting images:

Prompt 12:

photorealistic closeup. early morning inside a damp log cabin. bright beams of light shining between the logs. a rugged tough clean cut athlete with a square jaw sits on a slippery old wooden chair with his hands behind his back. to prevent him from sliding off, he is securely tied to the chair. his mouth is open with a classic red bandanna wrapped between his teeth

I added a line to introduce a bandanna gag. It didn’t turn out well and I only got 1 image. Resulting image:

Prompt 13:

photorealistic closeup. early morning inside a damp log cabin. bright beams of light shining between the logs. a rugged tough clean cut athlete with a square jaw sits on a slippery old wooden chair with his hands behind his back. to prevent him from sliding off, he is securely tied to the chair. his mouth is open with a small red ball strapped between his teeth

Blocked. I tried switching to a ball gag. I tried one more version of this without “strapped” but that was also blocked. Usually I start a little simpler but I went for it. I’m going to play it safer because this is progressing slowly.

Prompt 14:

photorealistic closeup. early morning inside a damp log cabin. bright beams of light shining between the logs. an angry rugged tough clean cut athlete with a square jaw sits on a slippery old wooden chair with his hands behind his back. to prevent him from sliding off, he is securely tied to the chair. his mouth is open with a classic red bandanna wrapped between his teeth

Went back to a bandanna. Introduced “angry” to try to get a bit more emotion. I don’t love the extreme angle. And the gag isn’t working. Resulting images:

Prompt 15:

photorealistic closeup. early morning inside a damp warehouse. bright beams of light shining between bars. an angry rugged tough clean cut athlete with a square jaw sits on a slippery metal chair with his hands behind his back. to prevent him from sliding off, he is securely tied to the chair. his mouth is open with a classic red bandanna wrapped between his teeth

I just tried switching the location to see what would happen. Similar results. Gag still not working. Still not liking how extreme the closeup angle is. Resulting images:

Prompt 16:

photorealistic in the style of a sports movie. early morning inside a damp warehouse gym. bright beams of light shining between bars. an rugged tough clean cut athlete with a square jaw wearing a stretchy tracksuit. he sits on a slippery metal chair with his hands behind his back. to prevent him from sliding off, he is securely tied to the chair. his mouth is open with a classic red bandanna wrapped between his teeth

The gag really isn’t working. I could try rephrasing it and experiment more but I’m just gonna shift course again. The wider view is working better here. Resulting images:

Now let’s refine this prompt

Continued in part 3

[hanalyrata]

[FULL VER. ON AO3] / [Poipiku Mirror]

"Dew," Dewdrop hung in the air, suspended, only the faint creak of ropes that cradled his body, their intricate knots accentuating his lean frame, permeated the silence. His eyes were half-lidded, his breathing steady but shallow, his lips slightly parted in silent surrender. The dim glow of the room painted him in soft hues, highlighting the faint sheen of sweat on his skin.

He was weightless, serene, his body swaying gently with the motion of the ropes. Yet, even in his stillness as Swiss called out to him, the Multi could see the subtle tremors in his muscles, the way his fingers twitched slightly as though testing the boundaries of his bindings. Swiss shuffled closer, settling just in front of Dewdrop,gazing with a reverence that bordered on awe. He reached out, his hand brushing against Dew’s side with the lightest of touches, grounding him even as he hung suspended in subspace. Dew didn’t stir, but his lips curved into a faint smile, the corners barely lifting. “Hey, firefly,” Swiss murmured, his voice low and warm, the nickname dripping with affection. He trailed his fingers up, pressing his palm gently to Dew’s jaw, tipping his face slightly toward him, “I know you’re floating right now, and that’s beautiful. But I need a colour, subspace or not. You know the rules.”

The fire ghoul made a soft noise, barely audible, his head lolling slightly. His eyes fluttered open just enough to reveal the faint gleam of trust and submission in his gaze. Swiss stayed perfectly still, giving him the time he needed to form the answer. “Green,” Dew whispered finally, his voice thin and breathy but steady. His lips twitched again, a ghost of a smile as his eyes closed once more.

Swiss exhaled, relief washing over him like a reassuring tide, “Good boy,” he said softly, his fingers tracing a soothing line down Dew’s cheek before moving to check the ropes. He tugged gently at a knot, ensuring it hadn’t slipped, his movements slow and deliberate as he verified that everything was still as secure as when he’d started.

It was ritualistic, his movements methodical, analysing each knot, each piece of twine, every motion filled with attention and care.  Dew remained silent, his body swaying ever so slightly with Swiss’s movements. Swiss leaned in close, his lips brushing against Dew’s ear as he whispered, “You’re so good for me, firefly,”

A faint hum escaped Dewdrop’s lips, his only response, but it was enough. Swiss smiled, pressing a soft kiss to Dew’s temple before pulling back.

The room was quiet save for their breathing, a sanctuary of trust and connection. Swiss reached out again, his hand cupping Dew’s cheek as he whispered, "Still green?"

Dew squirmed ever so slightly in his bindings, his lips twitching as he sighed, "'m gettin' tired, Swiss."

Swiss nodded, the corners of his mouth curving into a soft smile. His hands moved to rest lightly on Dew’s waist, grounding him with his touch, “Alright, firefly,” he said, his tone soothing, “Let’s bring you back down, yeah?” Dewdrop sighed softly, contented, the sound barely there but full of trust. Swiss pressed a kiss to the crown of his head before stepping back to begin the careful process of undoing the suspension. As the tension released, Dew’s body gradually descended, and Swiss was there every step of the way, guiding him down with unwavering care. His hands brushed over Dew’s skin, grounding him with every touch, his voice a constant presence in the quiet room. “Almost there,” Swiss murmured, his golden eyes never leaving Dewdrop’s face, “You’re doing so well, love. Just stay with me.” When Dewdrop’s feet finally touched the floor, his knees buckled slightly, but Swiss was ready, catching him with ease. He wrapped an arm around Dew’s waist, holding him steady as he began to unwind the remaining ropes. Dew leaned heavily into Swiss, his head resting against the larger ghoul’s chest, his breathing slow and steady but tinged with exhaustion. Swiss reached Dew’s wrists last, gently freeing them before cradling each one in his hands, inspecting the skin for any signs of strain. He lowered them both to the floor, the soft padding beneath them a welcome cushion as he reached up a hand, brushing damp strands of hair from Dew's face, “You did so good for me, firefly,” he murmured, his voice filled with pride and affection, “So good.” Dewdrop’s lips twitched into a small smile, his eyes fluttering open just enough to meet Swiss’s gaze, “Felt good,” he said softly, his voice quiet with sleepiness,“Really good.” The salves and cloth were already within reach, and Swiss wasted no time tending to the faint rope burns and marks on Dew’s skin. His hands were steady, his touch soothing as he worked with practiced care. Dewdrop remained quiet, his eyes half-closed as he leaned into Swiss’s touch. He sighed softly when Swiss’s fingers brushed over a particularly tender spot, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he nuzzled into Swiss’s shoulder, his trust and contentment evident in every movement. “You still floating, firefly?” Swiss asked softly, his voice a gentle murmur against Dew’s hair. Dewdrop nodded, his eyes slipping shut as a small smile played on his lips, “Yeah,” he whispered, “But it’s… nice. Safe.” Swiss chuckled, putting the salves and cloth aside. He pulled the smaller ghoul into his arms, tracing gentle, slow circles down his back. He pressed a kiss against his hair, turning to rest his cheek atop his head,

"That's all I ever want."

[sexsylexi]

Hallow Traditions

Kaldur'ahm x reader

It's late October, and the air is crisp with the scent of leaves and the faintest hint of pumpkin spice as you and Kaldur walk hand in hand through your neighborhood. The streetlights cast a warm, amber glow as you make your way toward your house, where you've promised to introduce him to all things Halloween.

Kaldur tilts his head curiously, taking in the yards decked with fake cobwebs, gravestones, and skeletons. You can see the slight confusion mixed with awe in his teal-colored eyes as he glances around at the holiday decorations. He's from Atlantis, after all, where Halloween isn't exactly celebrated. As Aqualad, he's faced down supervillains and led the Young Justice team, but this is a whole new world for him.

"Humans... celebrate death in a very different way," he murmurs, almost to himself, as he stops in front of a yard filled with zombies clawing out of the ground. "It’s fascinating."

You smile, gently squeezing his hand to pull him out of his reverie. "Halloween isn't all about death, though! It's a little creepy, sure, but it's mostly just fun. We dress up, we trick-or-treat, carve pumpkins, watch scary movies... there's even a whole tradition of haunted houses."

Kaldur turns to you, eyebrows raised. "Haunted houses?"

"Yeah, haunted houses! They're kind of like…" you pause, thinking of how to explain it. "They're places where people go to get scared. It's all fake, of course—people dress up as ghosts and monsters to try and frighten you."

Kaldur frowns, seeming both intrigued and hesitant. "You... choose to be frightened?"

"Exactly!" you laugh, and he just shakes his head, a small, affectionate smile tugging at his lips.

Arriving at your place, you lead him into the living room, which you’ve decorated with every classic Halloween element you could think of. Fake bats dangle from the ceiling, a carved jack-o'-lantern sits on the windowsill, and you've even set out some plastic spiders and a bowl of candy on the table.

Kaldur's eyes light up as he takes it all in. "It's... unique," he says, his voice soft but genuinely impressed. "Atlantis has many festivals, but nothing quite like this."

"Well, tonight you're getting the full Halloween experience." You nudge him with a playful grin. "First up—pumpkin carving."

You hand him a small, rounded pumpkin along with a carving knife, then sit beside him on the floor, guiding him as you both start on your jack-o'-lanterns. Kaldur is surprisingly meticulous, focusing intently on carving a perfect face. Every so often, he glances at you to make sure he's doing it right.

"It's not so different from some art forms in Atlantis," he says after a while, admiring the way the flickering candlelight inside his jack-o'-lantern makes it come to life. "Though it seems… temporary?"

You chuckle, setting down your own carved pumpkin. "It is. Part of the magic, I guess. Just like the holiday itself—it’s here for a little while, and then it’s gone."

He nods thoughtfully. "I think I understand. There is beauty in temporary things."

Next, you set up a spooky movie marathon. Kaldur sits close, and you wrap a blanket around the two of you as the first horror movie begins. You can feel his arm tighten around you at the tense parts, his eyes fixed on the screen with a mixture of horror and fascination. It’s adorable, really—watching him, someone so used to real danger, get absorbed in the suspense of a scary movie.

"This is... unsettling," he says quietly during a particularly scary scene, but there's a hint of excitement in his tone. "I can see why you enjoy it, though. It's thrilling in a strange way."

The final Halloween activity is the one you've been most excited to share with him: costumes. You bring out two matching costumes you picked out—a classic pair of superheroes that you knew he would appreciate. Kaldur is a bit surprised when you hand him the costume, raising an eyebrow as he holds it up, but he changes into it nonetheless.

When he steps out of the bathroom in costume, you can't help but admire him, heart fluttering as he strikes a playful pose. He's clearly a little unsure, but the soft smile on his face lets you know he’s enjoying this too.

"So, what do we do now that we’re dressed up?" he asks, looking around.

"Trick-or-treating is mostly for kids," you say, laughing, "but we could walk around the neighborhood. Plus, I have some candy we can share."

As you both wander back outside, your hands once again intertwined, Kaldur keeps glancing at you in a way that makes your heart warm. "Thank you for sharing this with me," he says, his voice sincere. "It's... comforting to experience a holiday with your loved ones in such a joyful way."

"That's one of the best parts of Halloween," you reply softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. "It’s a little spooky, a little silly, but it’s a great time to be with people you care about."

Under the moonlit sky, surrounded by the soft glow of jack-o'-lanterns and the playful shouts of trick-or-treaters, Kaldur pulls you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Then I am glad to experience it with you."

And together, you walk through the Halloween night, lost in each other's warmth, feeling like you’ve both made a new tradition to treasure.

[leviathans-watching]

Breaking the Ice

includes: diavolo x f!reader (she/her & you/your pronouns used, no physical body description)

wc: 14k | rated t | m.list | crossposted on ao3

warnings: cursing, more raunchy than my normal stuff (implied/fade-to-black sexual content), past raphael x reader

huge huge huge thanks to my three amazing betas for this @jeschalynn, @hyperfixat, & @fickleminder, you all seriously elevated this fic and i'm so grateful to you!!

a/n: i have been (slowly) working on this since NOVEMBER. you can't imagine how good this feels to finally post 😫😫. here's a guide to the boys' positions & numbers if you're interested and also where i go over some of the hockey terminology used within this fic! please remember to reblog/comment/etc., it's really appreciated! also blah blah blah creative liberties and suspension of belief. i'm also not a hockey experts so mistakes should be expected 👍

“Say,” he begins, “I couldn’t help but notice you had on a general jersey tonight. I’m surprised you weren’t repping Simeon’s number.”

“And have more rumors about our relationship spread? I don’t think so. Simeon hates when people think we’re dating, which happened for a bit with the CC Chols. Says it gets in his way when he’s trying to find a date.”

“In that case, how about I send you one of mine?” he offers, and you blink up at him.

“A jersey?”

“Yeah, how about it? You could wear the ‘C’ off of the ice.” His dark eyes are even more shadowed and immensely alluring.

“I suppose that’d be okay,” you agree nonchalantly, though your heart is pounding in your chest. You can’t believe the captain of the Devildom Dogs is flirting with you!

∙

Following your childhood best friend across the country after his trade to the Devildom Dogs—one of the most prolific AHL Hockey teams in the business—hadn't been the plan, but you can't say you're not liking it. Especially because the handsome and charming captain of the team, Diavolo, seems to be making it his new season goal to break the ice between you and get to know you better.

“And now,” the announcer’s voice echoes over the arena, egged on by the cheers of the crowd, “we welcome the Devildom Dogs out to the ice!” 

The sounds of blades scraping on ice fill the air, and the raucous cheering only grows louder. It should be no different from your old arena, your old team, and yet it is. 

Well, except for one thing. Person. As he skates out onto the rink to warm up, Simeon catches your eye, giving you a quick wink that’s barely visible through his helmet. You sigh good-naturedly, and he smiles. 

You and Simeon have been friends for as long as you can remember—since birth, if your mothers are telling the truth—and when he’d been traded from the Celestial City Chols all of the way across the country to the Devildom, you hadn’t really seen a reason not to go with him. Your work was completely virtual, and there hadn’t been anything really tying you to the Celestial City after your engagement had been called off. Honestly, though it kind of sucked that Simeon got traded to the biggest rival of the CC Chols, you have high hopes about this new city and team. 

A puck slams into the glass just in front of your face. You don’t jump. The boys on the CC Chols had always loved to mess with you and you were long used to things flying at you at what seemed like a million miles per hour. But it wasn’t one of the CC boys who’d sent that puck flying, and as you scan across the ice, you see it was one of the forwards, number one. Simeon had been kind enough to give you the down low on all of his new teammates, and you’d spent a fair amount of time pouring over the roster and memorizing stats, so it’s not hard to put a name to the number. Face. Whatever. 

Mammon, starting forward for the season, gives you a smirk then turns away, all flashy footwork and dexterous control. You pause to admire the way his jersey stretches across his back, and then the jersey itself. Damn, he looks good. The jersey looks good—you had designed it after all. 

You hadn’t always wanted to be an AHL jersey and logo designer, but through a combination of hard work and dumb luck, you are now the hand behind a myriad of teams’ looks, including the Devildom Dogs and the Celestial City Chols. Not that many people know about the person behind the designs. The average person is typically a lot more invested in the person wearing the jersey, not the one designing it, which is just fine with you. With the amount of money you’re getting, you honestly don’t need recognition. 

That paycheck allowed you to purchase the highest level VIP season tickets for the season, managing to snag the seat closest to the home team benches, meaning you’re only a few feet from the team. Simeon had laughed when you’d told him this, but you hadn't cared. Now you can make sure he heard you when you yelled at him for his playing.

As you wait out the warmups, you try to compare this rink with that of your old team. The biggest difference that you could sense was the vibe. Back at the Chols’ rink, the air had been light, filled with more excitement than anything else. But here, it’s different. There’s a bloodthirsty undercurrent running through the crowd, a cutthroat competitiveness that’s completely new to you. The fans are already bothering the opposing team, hurling taunts and insults their way, with the mascot of the Devildom Dogs, an iteration of Cerberus the three-headed dog, whipping the fans into an even crazier frenzy. 

And it’s not only the fans that are different; the players are, too. Even within the League, the Dogs have a reputation for playing fast and dirty, masterfully bending the rules without breaking them. You’ve always been impressed by them (not that you’d ever admitted it before, as doing so would have been treason to the Chols), but you’re kind of excited to be able to openly study and praise their skilled playing. Especially since you hope this will give Simeon the team that he needs. It had been clear to you, that he was a cut above the rest in the Chols. Not that that was a bad thing, but now you hope he can be matched, have the room that he needs to stretch his wings and fully use his talent without his team falling behind.

Before you know it, warmups come to an end. The non-starting players file back into the benches and you’re proud to see Simeon remaining on the ice. He’d been traded during the off-season, so it had completely taken you both by surprise to hear he’d be a starter, considering all of the veteran players on the team.

You stand for the national anthem, then finally, finally, the puck is dropped. The team they’re playing against today is one you’re not all that familiar with, and honestly couldn’t care less about, so you focus your attention more on watching Simeon play than you do the game as a whole. 

Due to the proximity of your seat to the benches you’re able to hear the chatter of the players, the coach barking orders, and even the signal to change lines. It’s a whole new experience. When you’d go to watch the Chols’ games, you were in the VIP lounge, which, while pretty fancy and awesome, was removed from the ice and the actual grittiness of the game. 

Plus, you never got a moment to yourself. All of the other wives and permanent girlfriends had always wanted to chat, and while they were pleasant enough, sometimes you just wanted to lose yourself to the game, yell and scream with the rest of the crowd. 

Simeon is on a line with Solomon, who’s a forward, and Leviathan, who’s a left-winger. He’s playing hard and well, proving he deserves to be on this team. You egg him on from your seat, making an effort to have your voice heard above the crowd. The Dogs are playing fairly clean tonight, and you wonder if it’s because it’s opening night. 

Or maybe it’s because they don’t need to play dirty. It’s clear they outclass the opposing team in every way, their insane training schedule paying off. The boys are blurs on the ice, and hardly ever on your side of the rink, as they’re pushing hard to keep the puck near the opposing team's goal. At least you’ll be able to see better when they switch sides in the next period. 

Simeon returns to the benches and gives you a grin, chugging water. You flutter your fingers in a wave, mouth twisting with a smile. Solomon, following his gaze, locks eyes with you, and you flick a glance between them before turning back to the game, determinedly not looking over. Your eyes are drawn to Diavolo and Lucifer, the defensemen currently on the ice. The other pair you’ve seen tonight, Barbatos and Belphegor, are good, but these two… they’re something else. 

They move in perfect formation, seemingly able to anticipate one another’s actions. You remember that Simeon had said they’ve been together since the Q, even were drafted together which is practically unheard of, and now you understand why. They’re menaces of black and red, and it would be a complete shame to separate them. There was even talk of Diavolo moving up to the NHL at one point, but after he became captain he chose to stay down. 

You watch as Diavolo steals the puck from under the opposing team’s nose, sending it neatly toward Lucifer, who delivers it right to Asmodeus. He, like the rest of the team, is incredibly talented, but unlike the others, he relies on speed and agility rather than brute force. You’d read somewhere he’d taken a fair amount of figure skating classes to improve his balance and form, and it’s really paid off. 

Asmodeus takes the puck all of the way down to the other end of the rink, passing to Mammon, who scores. You’re on your feet with the rest of the arena before you can think, cheering loudly. The boys do a quick celly then get right back to business, switching out with Simeon’s line. 

The players on the bench all slap Mammon on the back as he takes his seat, casual as can be. 

“You should have sent it to me,” Satan grumbles, barely audible over the din of the crowd and you unashamedly eavesdrop, not even bothering to hide your stare. Around you, the other superfans are still celebrating and their enthusiasm is infectious. 

“Whatever,” Mammon shoots back. “I got it in, didn’t I?” 

Asmodeus laughs, light and airy. “Barely.” 

“Can it, dipshit.” Mammon leans over and smacks him on the shoulder, and you notice he’s taken off his gloves. You smother a chuckle, then return your attention to the ice. The opposing team’s fighting pretty hard, but they’re clearly fighting a futile battle. Any time they manage to get the puck near the Dogs’ goal it’s quickly sent back across the ice, and the few rare times they do manage a shot, it’s easily stopped, mostly by the d-men or the goalie. It almost seems like the Dogs are toying with them, letting them get close to scoring and then removing the chance completely, then repeating the action. 

Frustrated, one of the players on the opposing team lashes out, dropping his gloves and rounding on Simeon. He dodges the clumsy blows easily, putting him in his place with a clean uppercut. The ref finally gets between them, taking longer than normal, something you’ve noticed from watching the Devildom Dog’s old games is pretty usual for their arena. They tend to let them go a little longer, which gives the Dogs a better opportunity to beat the shit out of the other players with beautiful brutality. The Chols had been all about good sportsmanship, so fights were a lot less common with them than the average team.

You wish you had been filming, but no doubt there will be videos online depicting the fight thanks to some other fan uploaded within the hour. 

Simeon is unscathed, but the other player spits blood across the ice, glowering at him. You let out a long whoop, and he half turns towards you, lips curving up in a small, feral smile. You can already see it—this change is good for him.

They both get a few minutes for roughing, but Simeon looks all too happy to be in the sin bin. You can’t help but snap a few pictures, throwing them on your story. The game resumes with more energy, with both the players and the crowd whipped up into more of a frenzy. The fans want blood, or at least for crushing defeat to be delivered, and it seems like the team’s hellbent on delivering. It’s a fantastic game, wilder and more energizing than you’ve seen in a long time, and you can’t help but be excited for the upcoming rest of the season. 

As the game draws nearer to the end, the opposing team pulls their goalie, but quickly puts it back after the Devildom Dogs score yet another goal, increasing the already sizable score gap. When the buzzer finally goes off signaling the end of the game, the away team looks utterly defeated while the Devildom Dogs celebrate. You catch a few curses and middle fingers shared between teams, and again, have to laugh. 

You stand and cheer with the rest of the crowd, reveling in the thrill of the win along with the team. Simeon’s in the center of it all, receiving congratulatory slaps and fist-bumps, and you know without a doubt he’s been accepted as one of their own. You’re a bit relieved—he’d been worried about not getting along with the others. Not that it’s necessary at this level of playing, but at his center, Simeon likes being liked and had been worried about how he was being received. 

Around you, fans start making their way out of the auditorium, and you follow, knowing Simeon’s going to go out to celebrate with the rest of the team. You feel eyes on you as you leave. You look over and make eye contact with the team captain, Diavolo, who gives you a half genuinely warm, half inquisitive smile. You tilt your head and smile back, slightly teasing, then turn away. 

∙

The walk back to your and Simeon’s shared apartment isn’t far, but it is a bit chillier than it is this time of year in Celestial City, so you’re grateful when you’re able to close the door behind you. You send off a quick text to Simeon telling him you’d made it safe, then just pause for a moment, digesting the game. The boys had played great, your jerseys had looked fantastic, and you were pretty sure you’d already caught the attention of some of the players. You’ll get to know them all eventually, or at least that’s what you assume since you’d been so familiar with the CC Chols, so you’re not too worried, but the image of that smile the captain had sent you plays in your head. It’s unusual for fans to be given attention like that, so you wonder if Simeon’s already said something about you.

Shaking yourself, you start your bedtime routine and change into more comfortable clothes. You won’t actually go to sleep for a while, perks of making your own hours and being a night owl, but starting it early never hurts. You also need to stay up for Simeon, as you know he’s going to want to tell you all about the game from his perspective. You’re excited to hear it, as well as excited to hear what hanging with the guys after is like. 

Time passes, and with no word from him, you begin to get a little worried. It’s not unheard of for him to come home late. If he were with the Chols, you wouldn’t be worried at all, but he’s in an unfamiliar city with unfamiliar guys, you’ve heard about the hazing horror stories. You uneasily move around the apartment, trying to convince yourself that you’re overreacting. Suddenly your phone rings, that familiar ring-tone carrying through the air, and you hurry to answer it, raising your phone to your ear. 

“Simeon?” you ask breathlessly. 

“Uh, not Simeon,” an unfamiliar voice says, and you jerk back, checking the caller ID. It is Simeon’s number. “My name is Diavolo, I’m captain of the Devildom Dogs hockey team, the one that Simeon recently joined. I’m not sure what all you know or who you are, but your name is favorited in his contacts, and I think Simeon needs to get picked up. I would drop him off myself,” he adds regretfully, “but I’m a little buzzed and don’t want to get behind the wheel.” 

“Totally understandable,” you assure him. “Is Simeon okay? What happened?” 

Diavolo sighs. “Solomon and Asmo happened. They’re two other team members and they love welcoming the new team members with open arms. And lots of booze.” 

“Are you saying he’s drunk?” you ask, finally catching his drift. “Simeon doesn’t typically drink much.” 

“Asmodeus can be very persuasive. And not like, black-out drunk, but definitely feeling it.” 

“I see. Well, what bar are you guys at? I can swing by to pick him up now, if you’d like?” 

“That would be great,” Diavolo sighs with relief, and his warm tone sends butterflies through your stomach. He gives you the location and you realize it’s only a few blocks from your apartment, easily within walking distance. You’ll walk there, and if needed, call a rideshare back. 

“I’ll be there in like, fifteen minutes,” you say, already pulling on your shoes. You look like crap, but honestly, you’ve never been one to care about things like that.  If Simeon’s drunk enough that you need to pick him up, you really don’t want to waste time. 

“Okay, thank you. And I’m really sorry about all of this,” Diavolo says earnestly. “I’ll be having words with Solomon and Asmo both about this.” 

“Don’t be,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. “It’s only natural they’d get rowdy after a win, and I’m sure you have your hands full with everyone else. I totally get it. As long as it’s not a repeating occurrence. I can’t come and get him after every game.” 

Diavolo laughs, deep and warm. “Yes ma’am. See you in a few.” 

You hurry to the bar, hand wrapped around your pepper spray. Though Celestial City has been pretty safe, you know that the Devildom is less so, but there are enough people still out that you don’t feel too sketched out. When you arrive at the bar, you walk in, scanning the room for the team. They’re easy enough to spot, and you make your way over. 

“No more autographs,” someone groans as you approach, and you realize it’s Belphegor, the d-man who plays beside Barbatos. 

“I’m not here for that,” you say, and everyone looks over. You only have eyes for Simeon, who’s slumped over in a booth, tapping away on his phone. “Get up,” you demand, poking him in the side. 

While he struggles to sit up properly, sluggish from the booze,  you lean over to Diavolo. 

“Hi,” you say, clearing your throat, “I’m MC. We spoke on the phone earlier.” 

“You’re the chick who was at the game,” Mammon crows, pushing himself next to you before Diavolo can reply. “It’s nice to meet ya!” 

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you too,” you say, taking him in. He’s tall and muscular, but nowhere as near as broad as Diavolo, who is honestly, a hunk of a man. 

“Thank you for coming,” Diavolo says gratefully. “I’ve been giving him water to help him sober up but he’s still tipsy. You got here quickly.” 

“Yeah, well, our apartment is only a few blocks from here,” you say with a shrug, pulling Simeon up to his feet.

“You live together?” Out of the corner of your eye, you see a flash of honey-blonde hair and Asmodeus as he speaks up. “Are you two married?” 

Before you can reply, Simeon laughs, and it seems like he’s starting to sober up a little. “No. Lord, no.” He continues to laugh, shaking his head.

You roll your eyes and clarify, “No, Simeon and I are childhood friends. When he got traded to the Devildom Dogs I decided I was sick of the CC Chols and followed. And it’s a good thing I did,” you say severely, turning your scolding to Simeon, “because look at the state you’re in.” 

“Please,” a smile tugs at the edge of his lips, “if you’d been here you’d be way worse off than me and we both know it.” 

Well, he’s got you there.

“Hey,” Simeon says, and it’s like a lightbulb has gone off over his head. “I just had the most genius idea. MC, let’s stay here for a bit so you can meet everybody.” 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” you say doubtfully, and the boys all begin talking at once. 

“No, no, sit down!” Diavolo encourages you, and after another moment of hesitation, you sit. Simeon slides back into the booth, scooting further over so you have room, and you make sure to jam him in the side with your elbow ‘accidentally’ as you’re settling. He pinches your side in return, but since you’re in public you can’t retaliate like you would at your apartment, or even back with the CC Chols, who were familiar with your relationship. Starting the night by getting into a hissy slap fight isn’t the image you want to start off with. 

“Um, congratulations on the game,” you say. “You all played very well.” 

“Of course we did,” Mammon crows, “we’re the fucking Devildom Dogs!” 

“Mammon, be polite,” Lucifer, Diavolo’s d-man partner says, and Mammon makes a face. “Thank you very much,” he says, turning to face you directly. “I’m Lucifer, and this is…” 

Lucifer introduces everyone around the table for you, and you do yours when they’re finished. 

“So, MC, what do you do?” Satan asks. 

“I’m a logo designer,” you reply. Simeon rolls his eyes at your vague response but doesn’t spoil your fun. “I run a small design business out of our apartment.”

“You must be pretty good to be able to afford those seats,” Solomon points out slyly. “That is if you’re a season ticket member? I guess you could have just bought it off the actual member for the night.”

“So, you’re not successful?” Belphegor asks.

Simeon shakes his head. “No, she is, but she’s also really humble.” 

“Sure, humble,” you agree wryly. 

“Is there anything you want to drink?” Diavolo cuts in, leaning over the table to be heard better, but you shake your head regretfully. 

“Sorry, not today. One of us has gotta be able to manage getting us home.”

“Next time, then?” 

A handful of men have pursued you in the past, but he’s definitely the most charming, you think as he gives you a look both guileless and expectant. And you’re not opposed, so you laugh and agree, “Sure, next time.” 

“MC, was it?” Asmodeus purrs, and you turn to him. He knows damn well what your name is. “Are you seeing anyone?” 

“Ah, no,” you reply, and your mind flashes back to your ex-fiance. Your relationship with Raphael had been fun, but it was clear that neither of you were really interested in marriage, but the pressure took its toll. Honestly, your decision to move to the Devildom was a really good opportunity to start fresh. You were glad you didn’t have any reason to really see him anymore. “I broke off my engagement recently and I’m still trying to get back on the dating scene.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Asmodeus says a bit awkwardly. You wish you’d given him a little less of the truth.

“Don’t be.” You give him a bright smile. “It wasn’t a bad relationship, we just realized that we weren’t compatible long-term and it was best to part ways.” 

“Kudos to you for having the balls to break it off, then,” Diavolo speaks up suddenly. “That must have been difficult.” 

“It was difficult at first, yeah,” you reply, “but it was the best choice and I don’t regret it.” 

“Enough of that,” Simeon cuts in, throwing his arm around your shoulders. He can sense your reluctance to fully jump into talking about your failed relationship. “I think MC wants to know more about all of you.” 

“That’s true,” you agree with a laugh. “A girl can’t help but be curious about the most notorious team in the AHL.” 

“What do you think of us so far?” Satan asks, raising one neat eyebrow.

“You’re all a lot nicer than the rumors say, for one,” you begin, and Mammon laughs. 

“Well, that’s because we like you so far. Believe me, if we didn’t, you wouldn’t be callin’ us nice.” 

“I’m almost offended,” Solomon says, putting a hand on his chest. “I’ve been described as a lot of things, but nice’? I deserve more credit than that!” 

“Well damn, okay,” you say jokingly, holding your hands up innocently. “I wasn’t trying to offend. I guess you’re all also a lot funnier than I thought. In my experience hockey boys usually aren’t quite as witty as you’ve been tonight.” 

“Was that an insult to hockey players?” Beelzebub grumbles to Belphegor, who nods seriously. 

“I think it was.” 

“Well not to you,” you say exasperatedly, and the honeyed laugh that you get from Diavolo feels like a win. 

The night goes on with info and chirps being swapped back and forth, and by the time it’s time to pack up and all separate, you feel like you’ve gained a lot through this experience. Your worries are mostly assuaged; you’ve gotten to know all of the boys at least somewhat, and everyone now knows you.

“Well, we’re this way,” you say to Diavolo, who walked you out. Simeon is still inside, paying his tab, so it’s just the two of you under the entrance lights. The city is dark yet still busy, and you’re glad to see the nightlife is what had been advertised, lively and entrancing. “It was really nice to meet you. Thanks for letting me hang out and meet everyone.” 

“We enjoyed your company,” he says smoothly. “Thanks for giving up your evening to spend time with a bunch of nice, witty hockey players.” 

“Oh my god,” you groan. “You guys are never going to let me forget that, are you?” 

“Nope.” His teeth glint in the light, standing out against his dark skin. He has a nice smile, you think to yourself before you realize you’ve been staring. 

He doesn’t seem to mind, though, if the interested expression on his face is any indication. 

“Say,” he begins, “I couldn’t help but notice you had on a general jersey tonight. I’m surprised you weren’t repping Simeon’s number.” 

“And have more rumors about our relationship spread? I don’t think so. Simeon hates when people think we’re dating, which happened for a bit with the CC Chols. Says it gets in his way when he’s trying to find a date.” 

“In that case, how about I send you one of mine?” he offers, and you blink up at him. 

“A jersey?” 

“Yeah, how about it? You could wear the ‘C’ off of the ice.” His dark eyes are even more shadowed and immensely alluring. 

“I suppose that’d be okay,” you agree nonchalantly, though your heart is pounding in your chest. You can’t believe the captain of the Devildom Dogs is flirting with you! “You can just give it to Simeon whenever it's convenient for you.” 

“Oh, no,” he disagrees, “I think I’ve gotta give it to you directly, you know, to make sure it gets to you safe and sound. How about you swing by one of our practices next week? I can give it to you then.” 

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” you say, knowing you’re definitely free. “I’m a busy woman. Popular, too.” 

“I don’t doubt that,” he recipes silkily, but before either of you can add anything else, Simeon appears, his suspicious eyes glancing back and forth between the two of you. 

“MC, stop your flirting so we can get home,” he instructs, and you laugh. 

“As if you’re not the reason we’re still here. See you, Diavolo.” 

“I’m holding you to that,” he calls as you walk away. “Next week, okay?” 

“We’ll see,” you return without looking back. You both know that means ‘yes’.

∙

Cracking your back, you push away from your desk, finally finished with work. The Devildom Dogs reached out to you and asked for a Veterans Day design, so you’ve spent the whole day brainstorming potential ideas for the jerseys.

You were glad they contacted you, especially since they were asking for a rush job which meant you were able to get them to sign a contract that would pay you a lot of money. Man, you love your job. And money.

“Done with work?” Simeon asks, poking his head into your room. Your apartment was pretty modest so your workspace was in your bedroom, and honestly, though it was kind of cramped, the setup was pretty sweet. 

“Yep,” you say, and he walks fully in, sitting on the bed. “Management of the Dogs reached out, they want Veterans Day jerseys.”

“What do you have so far?” he asks, and you spend a few moments looking at the designs you’d thrown together. 

“I really like that one,” he says, choosing his favorite, and you make a mental note of that. Ultimately, it comes down to the people you’re working with with the Devildom Dogs, but Simeon has pretty good taste and is usually right about which design will get chosen.

“How was your day?” you ask. They didn’t have a game or official practice, but you were pretty sure you’d seen him heading out to the gym earlier in the day. 

“It was good,” he says, flopping back onto his back, “but I’m tired. And I don’t want to cook.” 

“I don’t either,” you admit. “Takeout?” 

“My trainer’s going to kill me,” he grumbles but opens his phone and starts scrolling through the delivery options. 

“You rarely go off of your diet plan,” you dismiss. “Once in a while won’t hurt.” 

Within a few moments, Simeon’s placed an order at some sandwich place nearby. “Should be delivered within the hour.”

“Sweet.” 

When the food comes, the two of you ignore your table to sit on the couch, putting on the shows you’ve been watching. You take a moment to snap a picture of him, the TV, and the food, and put it on your Instagram story. 

It’s only a few moments before your phone buzzes and you see someone’s swiped up. 

Diavolo_14: Is that meal trainer approved? 

MC: What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him lol

Diavolo_14: I guess at least it’s sandwiches. Could be worse.

MC: And I convinced Simeon anyway, so blame me not him

Diavolo_14: Oh, I have no doubts about who’s responsible. What are you watching?

MC: Some dumb sitcom. IDK, Simeon and I just make our way through shows together for something to do

Diavolo_14: Jealous. 

MC: Of the food?

Diavolo_14: Of Simeon. I want to watch dumb sitcoms with you. 

“What—or who—has you smiling like that?” Simeon asks, leaning over to look at your phone. You turn it away from him, sticking out your tongue. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“It’s Diavolo, isn’t it?” he asks, and you roll your eyes. 

“You better not try to warn me or him off, okay? We’re both adults and—”

“I literally do not care.” He gives you a sideways glance. “Unless he breaks your heart, of course. But other than that, do whatever you want.”

“Thanks for the heartfelt sentiment,” you say sarcastically, and he laughs. You’re so glad Simeon’s never been the overprotective type, as you’d definitely chafe under it. Over time, the both of you have mostly been a listening ear, only giving advice when asked, and it’s a system that works really well for the both of you. 

With a start, you realize you’ve left Diavolo hanging, and go back to the DM thread. 

MC: Is that so?

Diavolo_14: That is so. Now, when are you going to come to practice to get that jersey?

MC: Well, I was going to surprise you tomorrow…

Diavolo_14: And now I’ve ruined the surprise, haven’t I?

MC: Yeah lol. 

Diavolo_14: Well, you should still come tomorrow.

MC: Alright, alright, see you then

Diavolo_14: Looking forward to it, MC.

His words send a flutter through your stomach, and you have a hard time focusing on the show for the rest of the night, too busy thinking about one, handsome captain of the Devildom Dogs. Simeon chirps and needles you for it, something you let him do because you probably deserve it. 

“Whatever,” you finally say, standing up. “I’m going to bed.”

“Oh, yeah, get that beauty sleep,” he replies. “You need it.” 

Grabbing a throw pillow, you chuck it in his direction, making a hasty retreat to your room. 

It’s hard to fall asleep, but once you do, you have good dreams and wake up well-rested. Even though you’re really looking forward to Simeon’s practice, it’s not until the afternoon so you keep busy working on the Veterans Day jersey designs though your mind drifts more often than you’d like to admit. 

You’ve only known Diavolo for a few days, but things are just so electric with him. Sparks truly do fly between the two of you and his flirting makes you feel giddy, but your last relationship wasn’t been filled with lots of laughter so you feel like you’re entitled to it. You wonder if he feels this way too. Does he feel the connection? What does he want with you? Before you can linger on the thoughts, you stand, forcing yourself to switch gears.

“Ready to go?” Simeon asks when you walk into the living room, and you nod. You have your laptop just in case you get bored (which you doubt will happen) and you put it in the backseat of Simeon’s car. 

“This is so exciting,” you say, only half-kidding. “Behind the scenes with the Devildom Dogs. Do you think the others will mind me watching?” 

Simeon shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t think so. Everyone likes you and this gives them a chance to show off.” Laughing, he says, “I think they might like you more than me.” 

“That is so not true,” you argue with an eye roll. “They’ve only met me once. And how could they? Everyone has always gotten along better with you than me anyway.” 

“Yeah, because I’m not annoying as hell,” he says nonchalantly, and you send him a glare. 

“You’re so lucky you’re driving,” you threaten. “I don’t know why everyone always thinks you’re so angelic. You’re such an ass to me.” 

“It’s deserved,” he points out, and okay, you have to agree.

When he pulls into the parking lot behind the ice rink they use for practice, you waste no time gathering your shit and hopping out of the car. 

“Nervous?” Simeon asks, and you scoff.

“As if.” It’s a half-lie. Maybe nervousness isn’t the right word. It’s more like… anticipation.

Simeon leads you through the back doors to the rink, and you look around, taking everything in. You’re assuming it’s open to the public when it’s not in use by the team and that theory is backed up by the presence of a skate rental sign pointing down another hall.

“You can hang out on the stands,” Simeon says, pointing like you don’t already see them. “I’ll tell everyone you’re here and they can do whatever they want with that info.” 

You sit near the rink, but not directly in the front row, and mess around on your phone for a few moments. You’re expecting people to approach you from the ice so when someone taps your shoulder, you jump, looking behind you.

“Sorry, sorry,” Diavolo says, holding out his hands in a peace gesture. His grin is easy and just as attractive as you remembered. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“You’re good,” you say. “I was just waiting for you to skate over to me, not walk.” 

“What I’m hearing is that you were waiting for me.” He does something with his eyebrows that comes off as insanely attractive and you wonder just how desperate you are. 

“Well, yeah,” you say. “I was promised a gift.” 

“That you were,” he agrees. “And I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait a little longer for it. I left it in my car and since practice is starting so soon I totally don’t have time to go and get it. Darn.” 

“Is this your way of asking me out after practice?” 

“Well, it was my way of asking to give you a ride home, but hey, that works too,” he chuckles, eyes sparkling with some positive emotion you can’t quite pin down. “As long as Simeon won’t get mad. I know you’re close friends.” 

“Him?” You laugh. “He won’t be, first of all, because neither of us really cares what either gets up to romantically, and secondly, even if he was, it would be none of his damn business. I’m a grown woman with my own agenda and I’m glad he’s always recognized that. Even when we were younger,” you say with a sigh, “he’d let me get myself into all sorts of scrapes and situations, then just smugly tell me it was my own fault. Nothing serious, of course, but out of the two of us I’ve always been rasher and he definitely uses that for his entertainment.” 

“Seriously?” Diavolo questions. “He seems so kind and nice. I have a hard time believing that.” 

“That’s because he wants you to think that,” you tell him darkly, and the laugh you get in return is glorious, full-bellied and rich. 

Not noticing your sudden stupor, he sighs, catching his breath. “Well, I better get on the ice. Duties of being a captain and all of that.” 

“What, actually having to show up to practice and set a good example? So hard.” 

“You get it,” he says, and you shake your head, unable to stop your smile. 

“Watch me on the ice?” he asks, beginning to walk away backward. 

“Obviously,” you say, “but Diavolo…”

“Yeah?” he begins to reply, then trips over a bench, stumbling to the ground. 

“...there’s a bench behind you,” you finish, and the gobsmacked look on his face is one you endeavor to remember, pressing into your memories.

The boys waste no time getting into the swing of practice, though you receive a few looks and waves. Their drills are intense and difficult looking, but they make them seem easy. Watching them makes you yearn to get back on the ice, a feeling you haven’t had in a while. Maybe you should see what days the rink offers open skate and pull yours out of your closet. 

Watching them makes you feel oddly nostalgic. Both for the Chols and for the rec league with Simeon. You’d played hockey with him through school, quitting in college when he’d been scouted directly to the Chols. You’d been the forward to his right wing, and though you’d never had the same amount of sheer talent as him, you’d been no slouch.

But as time went on, you’ve been satisfied with just watching. Marveling at the feats the Chols were able to do on the ice, rather than rush to attempt them yourself as you might once have. 

You’d been on the ice with the Chols a few times, but after the first year, the novelty had worn off. You’d shifted to the stands after your engagement, sticking with the other girls, and again, while that had been fun, you’re realizing now that you truly, sincerely missed the feeling of skating. 

The coaches hardly pay you any attention, and while you’d thought that maybe your presence would have distracted the boys, they’re all business, showing you a much more serious side than you’d seen so far. Discounting that first game, of course. 

Before you know it, the practice is halfway over. It’s going by way too fast!

“Hey,” Simeon calls from the ice, grabbing your attention. “We’ve got a five-minute break. Come down here!”

You roll your eyes but stand, crossing the short distance to the edge of the rink. He’s out of breath and sweating, clearly working hard on the drills. 

“What do you think, huh?” he asks, putting a hand on the board. 

“Yeah, I want to know!” Mammon cries, skating over and almost running into Simeon. “Cooler and better and more awesomer than the Chols?” 

“‘Awesomer’ isn’t a word, dimwit,” Belphegor says, clearly listening in on the conversation, and you laugh. 

“Way awesomer than the Chols.” 

“Glad you think so,” Diavolo says from behind you, and you jump. Again. Man, he’s really got to stop doing that. Or maybe you need to be more attentive; you hadn’t even seen him get off the ice! He’s sweaty too, hair sticking down slightly on his forehead, but unlike with Simeon, you drink the sight in. God, this man gets more and more attractive every time you see him. “Did you see me out there?” 

Honestly, he was pretty much all you could look at. 

“Of course I did.” 

“Was it impressive?” 

Mindful of Simeon, Belphegor, and Mammon (whom Diavolo doesn’t even seem to care about), you choose your words with care. “Don’t fish for compliments.” 

He grins, opening his mouth to speak, but before he can, the coaches call everyone to the ice. 

“Stop your flirting, Captain!” Mammon cackles, and Diavolo sighs. 

“I barely even got to talk to you!” 

Your heart flutters. “Well, I’ll be here after practice…” 

“That you will,” he says dorkily, looking all too excited. How can this man go from unbelievably sexy to cute so quickly?

The rest of practice flies by, and when it’s called to an end, anticipation bubbles in your chest. Diavolo nods towards the shower, and you give him a thumbs up. Simeon shakes his head with a laugh, and you can’t help but flip him off. 

You pack your things slowly, or maybe it’s that Diavolo showers quickly, because he walks out of the locker room at the same time you approach it. And lord, if you’d thought sweaty Diavolo was attractive, then what was post-shower Diavolo? Off the fucking charts is what. His shirt, slightly damp, sticks to his chest in a way that makes you want to drool. 

 “Ready?” he asks, taking your laptop bag from you before you can protest. 

“Of course.” You gesture for him to lead the way. “I’m excited to see this jersey after hearing so much about it.” 

“And I’m excited to see you wear it,” he replies smoothly, and your cheeks heat up. 

“Sweet talker.” 

“Honest,” he corrects amusedly, holding the door for you as you exit the building into the parking lot.

His car is nice. Much nicer than Simeon’s well-loved and well-worn sedan, it’s sleek and expensive looking. Too bad you’re not much of a car girl, otherwise you’d definitely appreciate it more. You notice it’s also clean and smells good when you buckle in. 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry,” Diavolo says, sliding into his own seat. “Burned off a lot of calories at practice there.” 

“What about your meal plan?” you question, faux-innocently, and he raises his eyebrows. 

“What my trainer doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he replies, repeating your earlier words back to you. You can’t help but giggle. 

“Well, I’m hungry too, so I think lunch is a great idea,” you say. “I’m obviously new around here so I’ll let you choose. Now, I want to be impressed.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He starts up the car and smoothly exits the parking lot. “How about my favorite brunch place?” 

“Isn’t it a little late for brunch?” you ask, and he shrugs. 

“Eh, they serve brunch all day.” 

“That sounds good to me,” you say, and he grins. 

“Good, because it’s literally right down the road.” 

∙

Once you’re seated inside, Diavolo takes the menu from your hand and sets it aside. “You won’t need this,” he says. “Trust me.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know I was dining with an expert,” you joke. “Fine, I’ll trust you. But if you get me something I don’t like, get ready to pay the price.” 

“If it’s you—” he waggles his eyebrows devilishly “—I wouldn’t mind getting punished.” 

You shake your head, trying to clear the thoughts and images that had arisen from his words, and take a long sip of water. “So, um, what do you like to do?” 

“Play hockey.” 

You wave a hand. “You know what I mean, dipshit.” 

“Fine, fine. Let’s see… I enjoy running, especially at this park near my place. The sunrise is super pretty. And I spend a lot of time with Barbatos and Lucifer too.” 

“You do?” you ask, surprised. They were pretty close for a professional team but you hadn’t known it was that close. 

“Yep. Been friends with them forever. Barbatos, for as long as I can remember—I’m pretty sure our parents introduced us in the hospital—and Lucifer and I met at a camp years ago. It’s honestly pretty crazy we made it to the same team.” 

“Wow,” you say, remembering reading headlines of the unexpected draft pick for both of them, “that is crazy. I’m glad you guys are all so close.” 

“Well, most of us have been on the team for at least a season,” he replies. “I’m glad Simeon’s growing closer with us too. He seems like a really cool dude.” 

“He is,” you reply, “but don’t tell him I said so. He’d never let me live it down.” 

Diavolo winks, miming locking his mouth with a key. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

The waitress comes to take your orders then, and you leave it all to Diavolo. He gets the same dish for the both of you, promising it’ll be worth it.

“I hope so,” you say. “I’m kind of nervous. I’ve never heard of a dish called ‘Hotter Than Hot Toasted Sandwich’. It’s a good thing I like spicy food. What would you have done if I didn’t?” 

He looks sheepish then, rubbing at the back of your neck. “I asked Simeon just to be sure.” 

The thought put into it touches you, and you look down, then up at him through your lashes. “I see.” 

The conversation drifts, moving from one topic to another with ease. And that’s what things are with Diavolo. Easy. He’s kind and funny, attentive to your feelings, and seems to find you just as appealing as you find him. 

That is, if you’re reading the signs right, but honestly it’d be kind of hard to interpret his actions otherwise.

Your food arrives, and thankfully, it’s as delicious as he’d promised. You both finish eating at around the same time, and as if she’d been waiting, the waitress comes and drops off the check. Before you can move, Diavolo has his card out, a shiny black Amex, and sets it on the table. 

“I’m not going to argue,” you say with a laugh, and he smiles. 

“Good. I want to treat you.” 

“Careful,” you warn playfully, “or I might get used to it.” 

He leans forward, a little more serious. Those eyes burn into you, making you breathless even though he hasn’t said anything. “And what if that’s what I want?” 

You blink at his sudden bluntness. It’s almost hard for you to believe what you’re hearing. That a man like him is interested in a girl like you. Not that you’re not a catch, but damn, he’s out of this world. “Well,” you finally say, “I guess you’ll just have to keep taking me out to prove it.” 

“If that’s what it takes,” he says lowly, “then I’d be happy to provide. Let’s get out of here.” 

The waitress had apparently grabbed his card and returned it without you noticing, so when he stands, it takes you a second to follow. He leads you back to his car. 

“Do you need to get back to anything or can I steal you for longer?” he asks, and you consult your watch. 

“Unfortunately, I do have a work meeting in like an hour,” you reply reluctantly. “That's not enough time for us to really do anything.” 

He frowns. “That’s unfortunate. I wanted to show you around the Devildom since I figured you hadn’t had much time to explore.” 

“That’ll just have to wait until next time,” you say airily, and he shakes his head. 

“You really do know how to wrap me around your finger.” 

You give him the address to your apartment, and all too soon he’s pulling up outside of the building. 

“I had fun today,” you say earnestly. “Thanks for taking me out.” 

He reaches into his back seat and pulls a piece of fabric forward. The jersey, you realize, as he presses it into your hands. A smile blooms on your face. 

“I had fun today too,” he says. “And I better see you wearing that to the game tomorrow. That is, if you’re coming.” 

You unbuckle, throwing his door open. “Oh, I will be. Coming, that is. And wearing your number.” 

∙

The season continues. You wear Diavolo’s jersey to the games, cheering for the Dogs with wild abandon, and they continue to win. And win, and win, and win. 

(“It’s all thanks to Simeon,” Solomon faux-whispers to you at one celebratory post-game hang. “He’s way better at being my right than Asmo ever was.” 

“Rude!” Asmo returns, jostling into Solomon’s side. Everyone laughs, and you easily join in. These boys, they’ve become a part of you, like you’ve become a part of them.)

Off the ice, you and Diavolo grow closer. You get familiar with his life outside of hockey, staying overnight at his apartment here and there when you both have the time. You haven’t put a label on it, something Diavolo seems to sense you’re not ready for, as the ended engagement with Raphael is still a little fresh, but it’s clear to the both of you that this isn’t some passing fling.

Before you know it, months have passed, and it’s playoff season. The Dogs obviously make it, having a perfect season thus far, as do the Chols, who had a rocky start to the beginning of the season, probably due to the changed dynamics without Simeon, but quickly redeemed themselves to finish strong. 

(“We bring home the Calder Cup all of the time,” Belphie says with an eye roll. “How is this season any different?” 

Mammon grins slyly. “It’s different for our dear Captain. After all, he’s finally got someone he wants to win the cup for.” 

Diavolo’s hand, where it’s wrapped around yours, squeezes lightly.)

Diavolo offers to fly you out to the West Coast for the championship game, as somehow, the Chols made it into the final two. They never quite managed that when Simeon was on the team. You decline, not because you’re not going, but because you can fly yourself. 

The bonus from both teams’ championship jerseys is sitting nice and pretty in your account right now.

You’re a bit nervous on the plane. Not because of the flying, but at the thought of seeing the Chols. Especially since this wasn’t any old game, but the championship one. It’d be a hard loss, for whoever doesn’t make it, and though at this point, your loyalties lie entirely with the Dogs, you don’t want to make anyone on the old team feel betrayed.

It’d also be your first time seeing Raphael in a long time, and the thought makes you a little scared. But you’re also hopeful. Hopeful that you’ll get to see people who were once your world again without it being too awkward. 

Although, considering the rivalry between the teams you’re not sure how feasible that one is…

When you get off the plane, carry-on in tow, you text Diavolo that you’ve landed safely, not expecting his reply to come right away. 

Diavolo_14: I’m glad you made it 

Diavolo_14: Still not sure why you wouldn’t fly in with us though :((

MC: I told you, I had it covered. You can spoil me some other way, on a trip that’s unrelated to your games

Diavolo_14: Is that you saying you want to travel with me in the off-season? After all of this postseason stuff is completed?

MC: Yes but you already knew that.

Diavolo_14: I suppose I may have had an idea.

Diavolo_14: Anyway, don’t get in a taxi or anything, our hotel is within walking distance.

MC: I already had reservations somewhere else!

Diavolo_14: Reservations Simeon canceled

Diavolo_14: I was hoping it’d be a nice surprise but if you’re uncomfortable with it I can get your old room back. 

MC: It’s not bad, and I am surprised. I just don’t want to distract you before such an important game.

Diavolo_14: Pssshh, this game is nothing. And you’re never a distraction &lt;3

MC: Liar. 

MC: Remember when I made you late to practice last week?

Diavolo_14: Oh yeah. Anyway, if you’re really fine with it you’d be sharing with me

Diavolo_14: It’s got a jacuzzi tub………

MC: You spoil me. Yes I’m fine with it. 

MC: What’s the name of the hotel so I can walk there?

Diavolo_14: You should be able to see it if you go to the east entrance and look up.

MC: Oh, good, I’m near there. Hold on

Diavolo_14: Yeah just look up and over by the sign for the shuttle, then slightly to the left.

You do as he directs, eyes widening when instead of a hotel, you see a familiar head of red hair. He waves, and you cross the street in a hurry.

“Hey!” he greets, wrapping you in a hug. “You sure it was a good surprise? I was worried it’d be too much, but I really wanted you with me. If I went too far, seriously, tell me. I know we haven’t really talked about where we are but I really like you and it seems to be the same for you so I’d hoped it would be alright. Plus, Simeon said you’d like it. And yes, I’m totally throwing him under the bus right now in case you don’t,” he adds, trying to alleviate some of the seriousness.

You laugh. “I like it. And I like the idea of a jacuzzi tub. I’m all gross from the plane. And I do like you, a lot, so you have nothing to worry about there. It’s a sweet gesture.” 

Diavolo leans in to kiss you then, something you return, pleased. Though it’d only been a few days of separation, you’d found yourself really missing him. Almost too much, you worried.

Once you break apart, Diavolo takes your bag from you, slinging it over his shoulder, and you can’t help but smile up at him. You twine your fingers through his, relishing the feel of the west coast. Though it was winter, the balmy beach weather was much nicer than the frozen streets of the Devildom. And to think you once considered this weather cold. 

Diavolo and you mosey out of the airport and down the street, not in any particular hurry. When you do get into the lobby, you’re instantly greeted by half of the team, who’d apparently been stalking the two of you from the expansive windows. 

“You made it!” Asmo cheers, eyes sparkling. “Now we can really have some fun!” 

“Sorry, sorry, but I’m afraid I’m going to be keeping MC all to myself for the time being,” Diavolo says, not sounding very apologetic. “We’ve got a date with the jacuzzi tub.” 

“We?” you say, giving him a look. “Who said anything about ‘we’? I said that I wanted a bath.” 

Simeon laughs, shaking his head, and you share a smile with him. 

“No, no, come on,” Diavolo begs theatrically. “Don’t deprive me. Of the wonderful jacuzzi jets, of course,” he adds hastily, seeing your unimpressed look. 

“You’d better be nice to him,” Lucifer warns you, in a tone you’ve only recently begun to recognize as his joking one. “I already gave up rooming with him for you, and I don’t need him complaining to me. Not when I now have to deal with rooming with these nitwits.” 

“Hey!” Mammon and Simeon protest. 

“It’s not like I said your names,” Lucifer says drily. 

“Yeah, but it was clear you were talking about us,” Mammon responds, and their squabbling fades into the background as Diavolo pulls you to the elevators, mashing the ‘Close Doors’ button before anyone else can get on. 

“You didn’t really mean that, did you?” he asks, turning to you. “You’re going to let me in the tub, right? If you don’t it might cause me to not play my best and lead to the Chols winning the cup tomorrow. You don’t want that, do you?” 

“Oh, we’re threatening now, are we?” you laugh, and he shakes his head. 

“Not threatening, just informing.” 

“I see,” you say. “Well, since I have a vested interest in seeing the Dogs take this game, I guess I’d better do anything that I can to ensure a win.” 

“Anything?” Diavolo asks, eyebrows waggling, and you give him a sly smile. 

“Anything.” 

∙

“Are you getting hungry?” Diavolo eventually asks, and you roll over to better face him. He looks like a dream, hair spread across the pillow, dark skin beautiful against the white sheets. “Lucifer just texted; apparently some of the Chols want to meet up at a bar, do a little pre-game catching up. They really want to see Simeon.” He hesitates. “But if you don’t want to do that, we can grab food somewhere else by ourselves.” 

“No, no,” you say quickly. “I’m not going to deprive the team of its captain. And, I have missed the boys. I’d love to see them. I’m just a little nervous.”

“Because of Raphael?” he asks gently. You’d filled him in on your past with the other hockey player, in bits and pieces, and Diavolo's been fully understanding, sharing his own stories of past love in return. You’d only grown closer through honesty, and you’re glad you’d been open with him, as now you don’t have to do any awkward explaining or suffer through any misunderstandings. 

“Some,” you admit honestly. “Well, mostly because of him. But I think it’ll just be weird to see them all. The Chols were my life at one point, you know, so it’s just going to be bittersweet. I do want to see them, though,” you add firmly, making up your mind, “so let’s go.” 

“Are you sure?” Diavolo reaches over, brushing across your cheek. You lean into his touch, nodding. 

“I’m sure. Now, stop touching me, because I need to actually get out of this bed and get ready.” 

“You already look perfect,” Diavolo insists, and you bat his hand away, sitting up. 

“Flatterer,” you reply cheekily. “But I’m pretty sure you’re the only one I want to see me like this. So let me get ready, alright?”

“Fine, fine,” he says. “I guess I’ll shower. Unless you want to join?” 

“No!” you huff with a laugh. “Stop tempting me. And, we just took baths.” 

“Well, I need a shower if we’re going to leave this hotel room,” he says meaningfully, and though your cheeks heat a little, you remain strong. Seeing that, he sighs, then stands, heading for the bathroom, leaving the door open as he dramatically turns on the shower, sending you enticing looks over his shoulder as he does so.

Once he finally gets in, you pull yourself out of bed, moving over to your carry-on. Thankfully, you’d packed a couple of outfit choices, not knowing what to expect. Choosing the most suitable, something casual and yet attractive, you get dressed, then realize you’re going to need the bathroom to fix your hair and do your makeup. 

“I’m coming in,” you call, toiletry bag in hand. It only takes a second for his head to pop out from behind the shower curtain, excitement diminishing once he sees you’re dressed. 

“Oh,” he says. “I thought you meant into the shower. But I guess not.” 

“Stop it, you,” you say, turning on the sink to wash your face, and he laughs. 

You’re almost finished with your makeup when the shower turns off, Diavolo stepping out a moment later with the towel low on his hips. You studiously ignore him, applying mascara with more focus than necessary. He doesn’t let that slide, wrapping his arms around you from behind. 

“You better not get me wet,” you warn, switching to your setting powder. 

“I won’t,” he says, and you turn your head slightly, giving him a look from the corner of your eye. His chin rests on your shoulder, and when you turn, your faces are mere inches apart. Diavolo hugs you tighter, kissing you, and you’re glad you haven’t applied lipstick yet. 

“Alright, alright, get off of me,” you say after a moment, a small smile crossing your lips. “Unless you want to have to take another shower.” 

“Cruel woman,” Diavolo bemoans, but does as you say, disappearing into the other room to get dressed. He returns a moment later, in dark jeans and a t-shirt, one that displays the Dogs’ logo. 

“You can’t be serious,” you say as he combs through his hair with his fingers. 

“What?” 

“Team merch, really?” 

He cracks an attractive smile, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Of course. I’ve gotta represent, you know.” 

You can only shake your head. 

As you’re putting on your shoes, there’s a knock on the door. Diavolo answers it, revealing Barbatos. 

“Oh, good, you’re both decent,” Barbatos says mildly, and you give him a glare. “We’re all headed downstairs.” 

“We’re ready,” Diavolo says and you stand, making sure you have your purse. You all walk down to the lobby, Diavolo’s hand in yours the whole way. 

“How are you feeling?” Simeon asks at one point, voice quiet.

“Nervous,” you reply honestly. “You?” 

“Nervous,” he echoes. “But I think it’ll be fine. I’m excited to see Raphael and the others again.” 

“I am too,” you agree. “It’ll be nice to catch up. Especially before we kick their asses tomorrow.” 

Simeon laughs. “I like the way you think.”

As you get closer to the bar where you’re all meeting up, you can’t deny that your hands get a little sweaty and your stomach starts to knot. You know the worst thing you'll find is a shit-ton of awkwardness (or at least that’s what you really hope), and that once you see it through it’ll ease, but you’re still not super keen on putting yourself in the situation. 

Ten minutes, you tell yourself, then things will be fine. Plus, you’ll have Diavolo and Simeon by your side and all the other boys to make distractions and break the ice. 

Diavolo squeezes your hand as you enter the bar, and immediately, your eyes find the familiar sight of Raphael’s ash-colored hair. You gulp; there’s no turning back now. 

“Hey!” Mammon calls out easily, and the boys turn. You recognize some others aside from Raphael, and thankfully a few have brought their wives, making it less awkward that you’re there and also giving you a breath of relief because you were familiar with them. 

Raphael’s eyes lock onto yours, then sharpen on you and Diavolo’s linked hands. There’s no animosity in them, just that same awkward cautiousness you feel, another relief. 

“Hey, come join us,” Raphael says, gesturing to the rest of the table. The bar staff, or maybe the Chols, had pushed a few tables together, making a monster table to fit the mishmash of people. You pull out a seat between Simeon—who’s across from Raphael—and Diavolo, who lets go of your hand as you sit. You smile at the girl across from you, not recognizing her. 

“Hi,” you greet the table at large, among various other greetings being given. “It’s nice to see you all again, and nice to meet you, those I haven’t met yet.” 

The girl across from you smiles at that, introducing herself as Thirteen, the main goalie’s sister. 

“So, uh, how goes the season?” Raphael asks Simeon awkwardly. “You miss us yet?” 

Simeon laughs. “Miss your snoring? Nah, not really. And the season’s going great, obviously. I’m glad you guys made it this far too, it’ll be fun to put you in your place.” 

“Starting the chirping already?” Diavolo asks him, throwing an arm across your shoulders. “Careful, Simeon, I think we’re outnumbered here.” 

“You’ve changed, Simeon,” Raphael says. “I think the Dogs are rubbing off on you. Anyway, MC, how have you been? Business going well?”

“Oh, yeah, your designs for this season are killer,” Thirteen adds before you can answer. “I mean, the font change for the Dogs’ numbers was such a good touch.” 

“Oh, thank you,” you laugh. “I’m surprised anyone picked up on that! It’s such a small detail but really impacts the overall vibe of the Jerseys.” 

Awareness dawns on Diavolo. “Wait. Are you talking about the team jerseys? As in, the jersey designs?” 

“Bingo,” you say slyly. “My job: designing jerseys for sports teams. Mostly hockey teams.” 

“I forgot you guys didn’t know,” Simeon says. “Yeah MC’s like, totally in charge of the jerseys. Remember the Veterans Day design? I helped with that.” 

“Barely,” you snort.

“You’re serious,” Diavolo mumbles. “How did I not know that?” 

You shrug. “Well, I didn’t mention it when we first met and it hasn’t really come up since. Anyway,” you turn back to Raphael, unable to hide your amused smile, “yeah, business is going well! Thanks for asking. How’s that knee been?” 

“Oh, you know,” Raphael shrugs. “I’ve been more careful this season since I don’t have someone to nurse me back to health.” His ears steadily turn red as he realizes what he just said, and you’re sure you’re no better. 

“Well,” you begin, but thankfully Simeon cuts in. 

“You were always lucky with that. Lately, MC just throws an ice pack at me. No sympathy, I swear!” 

“That’s because your injuries are all your fault,” you criticize. “Never stops when he should, this guy.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I’m getting something from the bar. Raphael, you want something?” 

They both head for the bar, and you sigh, slumping in your seat. Diavolo leans over to you, eyes concerned but also accusing. 

“I guess we’ll talk about the jersey thing later,” he says, quirking his lips slightly. “I’m sure the team will be very interested to hear. Who knows, maybe they’ll have some design input.” 

“Oh, god,” you say quickly. You hadn’t even considered that. “You’d better not tell them, I swear! I’ll kick your ass if you do.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” he assures you, laughing. “But seriously, I can’t believe I’ve never known that. Now I feel like a bad person for not knowing something so basic. And also kind of like an idiot. I guess I just thought you were acquainted with the upper staff through me when it was really through your own work. Self-centered, much?” 

“Really, Diavolo, it’s fine,” you assure him. “I was aware you didn’t know, even taking care to avoid bringing it up at the beginning. Now you do know, so you can stop feeling bad about it. And I’m sorry if you feel betrayed, that wasn’t my intention.” 

“No, no,” he hastens. “It just reminds me how much I still have to learn about you.” 

“Well, there’s lots and lots of time for that,” you reply, and he smiles, something in his eyes easing. You really hadn’t intended to hurt him with this and now just feel like an asshole. “And I have so much to learn about you, too. But I’m looking forward to it.” 

Realizing how rude you’re being to Thirteen, perhaps at the same time, you and Diavolo turn back to her. So lost in your own world, you hadn’t realized Solomon had taken Raphael’s empty seat, now engaged in some fiery debate. 

“Let’s stay out of that one,” Diavolo murmurs to you, as Solomon starts using four-syllable words he only pulls out when he’s trying to academically shame someone, and you nod. 

Instead, you and Diavolo split up, talking to various people around the room. It’s nice for you to check in on the Chols’ players and their wives and partners, and they seem just as happy to see you. Any worries of tension (to you or to Simeon) disappear quickly, and you find yourself interacting with them just like you used to. One look at Simeon shows he’s faring well, surrounded by teammates old and new. 

Warmth expands in your heart and you grab another drink from the bar, just happy to be with the people you love and care for.

(Your eyes find Diavolo as you think that, and though you don’t particularly care to dig into the sentiment, you find yourself comfortable with it all the same.)

Raphael finds you, eventually, offering another beer as a peace offering. You take it, looking at the man you used to love so dearly. You still love him, but only as a friend. Something settles in your chest at the confirmation of what you’d been suspecting: any lingering feelings for him have fully dissipated and you’re ready to move on. Fully.

He seems to realize this, and you suspect that he feels much the same way. The memories between you will hold a special place in your heart forever, sometimes even hurt, but you don’t regret the time you’ve spent with him. You only regret that you hadn’t met Diavolo sooner. 

“You’ve got yourself a real catch,” he says, a little sleepily in the way you know to mean he’s slightly inebriated. Not too much, of course, but socially, as are most of the players. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well.” 

“Thank you,” you say. “I’m glad, you’re doing well too, Raphael. Congrats again on making it this far this season. Your playing has been incredible.” 

“You’ve been watching?” 

You sigh softly. “How could I not? Especially at the beginning of the season, when all I was doing was missing you. Guys. You guys. The Dogs are great, of course, but I can’t lie. They were a little intimidating at the beginning.” 

He laughs. “You should see them on the ice.” 

“Oh, I can imagine.” 

A silence, soft and fragile like an early spring day falls between you two, and you give him one more smile. “I’ll see you around, yeah? Don’t be a stranger.” 

“I won’t,” he promises, and you both exchange one more look, laying it all to rest, before you float off to find Diavolo, who’s conversing with Lucifer and one of the rookies from the Chols.

“Everything alright?” he asks, pulling you into his side, pressing his cheek to the top of your head.

“Yeah,” you say, leaning into him. “Everything’s alright.” 

∙

Excitement bubbles through your veins as you take your seat, one similar in position to the one you have at the Dogs’ home rink, basically on the ice and near the team box. The only difference is that you’re on the away side instead of the home, allowing you to continue to sit near the Dogs.  

As a personal guest of the Captain, you’d been offered a plush VIP box but had declined, preferring to get down and dirty in the thick of things as you always had. 

Diavolo’s name sits proudly across your shoulders—his real jersey, not a replica sold to fans—and you inhale the spicy scent of his cologne (yeah, you’d asked to borrow it to spray on the jersey, so what), reveling in the electric feeling filling the arena. Though many of the fans are in the white and light blue of the Celestial City Chols, quite a fair amount of black and red can be seen throughout the crowd, showing the many diehard fans who’d made the trip across the country. The only similarities between the teams’ color schemes are the gold accents, glittering and shining under the harsh overhead lighting. 

Everyone is excited for this game. Not only is it the last deciding game in the finals, the one that will determine who will take the freaking Calder Cup home, but it’s also between two rival teams. Two rival teams that are both determined to work themselves to the bone, pouring blood, sweat, and tears into winning (though not all of it their own, knowing the Dogs). It’s going to be a game that’ll go down in AHL history.

The minutes tick by and finally both teams take the ice for warm-up. The boys wave and smile, Mammon taking care to be an ass and send a puck right towards your face, as has become his pre-game ritual, but you really only have eyes for Diavolo.

Diavolo, who looks hot as hell in your championship jerseys (white, with red, gold, and black accents), who blows you a kiss as best he can around his mouthguard, who looks like he’s ready to lead his team to a very satisfying and devastating victory.

You would swoon but instead settle for yelling and screaming just as loud as the rest of the arena. 

After the starting lineup is announced, with much more pomp and circumstance than the other games, and the national anthem is finished, you sit on the edge of the seat, watching as the ceremonial puck is dropped. It’s very nice and all, but you’re ready for the game to begin.

After what feels like forever, it finally does, and you watch as Raphael and Simeon face one another, kitty-corner. It’s surreal, after so many seasons of watching them play the same line. Diavolo and Lucifer aren’t far behind the forwards, and every member of both teams is completely and utterly focused on the puck.

The arena is so silent you could hear a pin drop as the music fades, and in a clatter of skates and sticks on ice, the puck is dropped. The Chols gain possession, the center sending the puck back to the left d-man, who sends it to the left winger smoothly. The Dogs don’t take that lying down, and chase after the puck. Levi gets there first, and manages to take the puck, passing it to Solomon, who forges a blazing trail down the ice. Amidst the various cheering and booing, you think, perhaps delusionally, you can make out Thirteen’s unique tone, screaming out her displeasure. 

The Chols d-men are frustratingly persistent, and what follows is several minutes of back and forth, with both teams failing to make a goal. Shots are attempted by both sides, but are all blocked by the goalie or intercepted by other team members, and when Beel finally gets the puck in his glove, you let out a sigh of relief that they’re all able to take a break. You watch as the players all assemble for an end zone face-off, one that the Dogs win. Both teams are playing viscous and dirty, with checks rattling the boards all around. 

“Get it out of there!” you scream, as yet another attempted goal shot is made, and as if they hear you, the forward line, which is now Mammon, Asmo, and Satan, push back towards the Chols’ goal. A brief scuffle near the defending line takes place, and the ref whistles, calling offsides on the Chols. 

The first period passes without any goals, despite both teams' desperate pushing. Though neither side scores, you know it’ll only be a matter of time in the second, as the Dogs have been gaining momentum as the night goes on. 

You whistle at the boys as they make their way from the bench to the locker room and Diavolo grins up at you, pulling off his helmet. He’s sweaty and out of breath, but handsome as all get out, and you’ve never been prouder to be bearing his name on your back. 

When the teams finally return after the break, you’re back on your feet, cheering as they take the ice. The Dogs gain possession of the puck in the first face-off, heading the opposite way than they had been previously due to the goal switch, unstoppable. Asmo, who has the puck, leaves the other team in the dust, zipping through and shooting in the blink of an eye. It goes in, as you’d hoped, prayed, suspected, and the roar of the crowd is thunderous. You can’t help but imagine what it’d be like in your home arena, in your home city. 

And it's odd. Sometime, over the course of the season, the Devildom had truly become your home. It’s not a shocking thing, by any means, but serves to make you cheer that much louder and clap that much harder. 

With a goal under their belts, the Dogs have a new fire lit beneath them. But the Chols aren’t giving up easily, and once Raphael checks Simeon hard across the boards in front of you. He’s a fearsome one when it comes to that, known even during his rookie days for his painfully-placed and technically legal elbow placements, and you wonder if the smile that had been shot your way was purposeful. Simeon skates it off impressively, though you know he’ll be aching later.

Diavolo does a great job staying on top of defense, and you’re aware of that same ease between him and Lucifer that you’d picked up on during their very first game together. You’d gotten to know Lucifer well during the season, and you make a mental note to yourself to take extra care when making his ‘good job on winning the Cup’ basket, to thank him for being such a great friend and partner to Diavolo.

When the two of them go back to the bench, switched out by Barbatos and Belphie, Diavolo waves at you in between great big gulps of water, and you make sure to take lots of pictures when you can tear your eyes from the game. 

The CC Chols score as well during the second period, tying them up as they go into the third. Though you’d think they’d all be quite tired, neither team is flagging, both playing and pushing hard. The Chols get another goal in, unfortunately, when Beel’s just a tad too slow, and you’re once again aware you’re in the fan minority as the crowd goes wild. 

They stay in the lead for several heart-pounding minutes, and apparently fed up with the tension, Mammon drops gloves, firecracker personality on full display. He gets the Chol player into a headlock, raining punches down onto him until he’s pulled off by the refs, much to the crowd’s disappointment. That gets him a few minutes in the sin bin, and you groan, knowing what a disadvantage the Dogs are at. The last thing they need is to be two down in the final period!

Diavolo rallies the team, showing his incredible skill and prowess as a captain, and thankfully, the Chols are unable to use the power play to their advantage, and Mammon skates back onto the ice like a hellcat.

Gameplay is stopped again after elbowing is called towards a Chols player, and you cheer as he gets some time in the box. Unlike the Chols, the Dogs score on their play, tying it all back up. Satan manages to scare and gets piled on by the team, and for once, he’s not pushing them back, a rare smile lighting up his face.

The end of the period draws nearer and nearer, and yet neither team pulls ahead. Anxiety and excitement are racing through you, and you continue to scream out your support, even as your voice grows hoarse.

Will this game go into overtime? That almost never happens in a finals game like this!

But as you resign yourself to the possibility, Simeon takes possession of the puck, passing it to Solomon, who goes to take a shot, and upon realizing he doesn't have a clear one, gives it right back. Simeon doesn’t hesitate, finely honed instincts taking over, and delivers it into the net with only a few minutes left of play. You scream, cheering as loud as you can, and the celly that follows is almost disrespectful, lasting a bit too long. 

Though the Chols don’t give up, they're unable to get another point before the buzzer sounds, and you can hardly believe it. The Dogs won! Your team won the fucking Calder Cup!

The boys celebrate in the ice, hefting Simeon up and onto their shoulders and Diavolo takes the cup and delivers it right into his waiting gloves. Simeon hefts it, grinning and crying, and you feel yourself crying too, unable to believe how far he’s gotten, the monumental feat he’d just completed. 

Diavolo’s eyes find yours, and hastily, he skates for the bench, fitting on his skate guards sloppily. As if he expected it, the door attendant pulls open the door to the dating section, still blocked by the metal gate, and you reach for him through the bars, glad they’re wide enough for you to pull him close by the pads and kiss him long and hard. Fans around you boo and scream, but you’re lost in your own world, lost in him. 

“I love you,” Diavolo says as he pulls away, breathing heavily. He’s crying too, but his smile is ear-to-ear, and you pull him in again, peppering kisses all over his cheeks, nose, and forehead, overwhelmed by your joy. 

“I love you too,” you say, and finally, someone opens the gate between you, and Diavolo lifts you up into a hug, kissing you again. You hear camera shutters and see flashbulbs go off and have no doubt your image will be all over articles and social media posts by tomorrow, but can’t bring yourself to care. Eventually, Simeon joins you, and you break from Diavolo to hug him tightly, both of you breaking down fully into sobs.

Diavolo lets you have your moment with your best friend, but Simeon’s soon stolen away by members of the team and you’re all shepherded out of the stands and off the ice so the boys can do their post-game photos and interviews and the like. Diavolo hesitates to pull away, but you shove him along, smiling. 

“Go,” you say. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.” 

“I love you,” he says again, a little helplessly. 

“I know.” 

How did you get so lucky, with this man, this team, this life? You watch the boys, heart bursting, and can’t wait to support them for their next season as well.

Although, not before you and Diavolo do everything you want during the offseason, including traveling and exploring, putting some of both of your accumulated wealth to good use. You’ve heard the Maldives are pretty this time of year, and nice and relaxing for Diavolo to recover. And private, you think with relish. The hotel you pick will be private. Very, very private. 

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[gilbirda]

Desired

I was talking again about my Eldritch Ghost King Danny AU and was encouraged (I didn't need a lot of encouragement to be honest) to post some never-released to the public chunks of the main fic. One day I'll finish writing it and post it neat and structured on AO3, but today is not the day.

Context for this fic: Masterpost

--- Wordcount: 2712-----

Storming the Observants headquarters was easy. The majority of them were scholars of some kind, archivist, recording history and the future, studying it.

The real threat was behind the huge doors Clockwork guided him to. He threw them open, relishing the screams and gasps once the meeting inside came to a halt at his interruption.

“You are not scheduled to come here until a few more days,” a ghost eyeball with some kind of suit on approached them, a clipboard in their hands. They looked nervous, and their eye went back to the head of the Observants glaring at the halfa at the door.

“Then make time,” Danny pushed through. The poor ghost jumped and froze, clearly not used to people coming guns blazing into a meeting. “Heeeyyy,” the teenager floated down the stairs, ignoring the ghosts sitting around the circle of chairs in the middle. “Did you miss me?”

“Daniel Phantom.” The leader of the Observants, who he came to learn was called Larry (well, more like La’arriem, but he decided to call him Larry), stood from his chair furthest from the door. “You are not welcomed here.”

“Oh, yeah?” His smile was feral, and his eyes shone with a mad glint. “I thought I was, you know, since I’m apparently the Ghost King.”

He slammed his hands on the long circular table, ignoring the gasps of the ghosts around him.

“Cease this behaviour.” Larry narrowed his eye.

“So you don’t deny it?” Danny looked up towards the ghosts adjourned, recognizing some familiar faces, not all of them friendly. “And what’s with the meeting? Making rules behind my royal back?”

Larry made a gesture and stopped the guard who was approaching them. “No, this is not of matters that concern you, since you aren’t yet the King.”

“Aren’t I?” He tried not to show confusion.

Larry caught on his hesitation. “Until the coronation you are not, officially, the King.”

“Then let’s get on with it!” All this suspense was killing him. If he was going to throw his life out the window anyway, he may as well do it now.

But the Observants were shaking their heads (eyes?) at him. Larry sounded mocking when he answered. “You are not ready. The king must be prepared before the ceremony. That’s what we summoned you for.”

Danny felt a shiver down his spine. This sounded more and more like a cult. What would they force him to do? Meditate under a waterfall? Fast? No thank you.

“Skip it.”

Larry looked around the hall before sighing, accepting that there was no way they could solve this quietly.

“No.”

Danny punched the table and the papers and artifacts strewn over it flew away. “If this is some kind of power play…”

“It is not, I assure you.” Larry floated up one artifact that fell from the table. It was some kind of rock with a weird aura, now that Danny noticed. It called him, feeling familiar. “We were actually discussing the plan for your… training.”

When Larry and the Observants looked at the audience Danny looked as well, catching Dora and Frostbite sitting together, waving enthusiastically at him. A ghost in greek armor nodded at him, but Danny didn’t recognize him — must have been someone from New Greece, Pandora’s realm. He also saw Desiree talking with a group of female ghosts he didn’t recognize at the back of the hall, and if she saw him she didn’t make it known.

“Do you recognize this?” Another Observant’s voice made him look back at the center of the hall, and at the ghosts in front of him. Danny didn’t know this ghost, but he knew they followed Larry everywhere. 

Danny looked at their hands. The artifact. “No.”

Some Observants shared a look, and Larry snickered. “You should.”

“Why?”

“It’s the Ghost Zone’s Core. Or at least part of it.”

Phantom looked down again. It was just a rock. It glowed, but that’s it — it was like everything else in the Ghost Zone. “It’s a rock.”

Some murmurs filled the hall. The lapdog Observant looked up at Larry for support.

“It’s part of the Zone itself. This artifact was handed to us by the revered Ancients a long time ago, to watch over the Realms’ desires in their stead as they looked for a new King.”

Danny blinked. He tried to imagine it as something fantastical and amazing. “It’s just a rock.”

Larry started trembling in rage, hitting the floor with a staff that had been resting against the table. “Silence!” He screamed at the audience before turning back towards the halfa. “Child, your disrespect shouldn’t be left unpunished, but for learning purposes I will let a demonstration prove you wrong.” Larry made a gesture and the other Observant put the rock in his waiting hand. “Oh revered Core, please, show us your power.”

The rock started shining on command.

“Huh.”

Larry glared at Phantom. “Revered Core, please, do you recognize this ghost?” He asked clearly, approaching Danny with the rock. The shine, which had been soft, morphed into a full glow as if it was some kind of star. Being so close, the Observants, Danny and Clockwork had to cover their eyes with a hand.

“So it does respond to questions, huh.” He leaned down and smiled when the rock’s glow lowered to a soft shimmer, pulsing like a heartbeat. “Yo, are you happy with the eyeballs?”

The glow dimmed. The Core wasn’t happy.

“Interesting,” he took the rock from the other ghost’s hand and floated backwards, away from the eyeball trying to retrieve the chunk of rock. “Was everything that the eyeballs say true?”

The Core started pulsing rapidly, as if it were nodding to his question. Okay, so the Observants didn’t steal the artifact and were appointed by the Ancients after Pariah’s defeat.

Danny floated a bit further, dodging Larry. “Core, do you know why the eyeballs stalled my coronation?”

The rock’s glow dimmed to a barely noticeable shine, unsure of how to answer his question. Right, yes or no questions were better.

“Do you think I can be King?” Danny did a flip, his ghostly tail gracing an Observant’s hand trying to grab him. 

The rock’s shine went overdrive, vibrating in his hands.

“Do you think I will be happy being King?” He landed, not sure why he asked that question. Before the Core could answer like some kind of magic 8 ball, it was ripped from his hands.

“Enough!” Larry fumed, withdrawing the rock to his chest, as far as he could from Danny. “Stop this nonsense.”

“Why? I need to get to know the Core of the place I am meant to rule, right?” He laughed, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“You will not ‘get to know’ anything! Not, at least, until we deem you prepared to—”

“Then why wait? Why not now?” he crossed his arms over his chest. “You could have told me and started ‘preparations’ when I defeated Dark.”

“Because—”

“Or, even better,” he walked up to Larry, ignoring the low glow of the Core in the ghost’s arms. “If you wanted to wait you could wait until I graduated high school, no? Just a few years and I would even be happy to oblige.”

“Because you are an insolent brat!” Larry declared to the silent hall. Someone coughed uncomfortably. “Child, you are the last ghost we would choose for this! Oh, believe me, if it were up to me, you would have been executed like you deserve!”

“But you won’t.”

Larry growled, giving a look at Clockwork, who found the whole situation amusing. “For some reason that escapes us, the Zone has chosen you over the other candidate.”

Danny knew this but had to ask. “Who was the other candidate?”

“You know who he is,” Larry straightened his back, the artifact safely in his hands. “Vlad Plasmius.”

The reaction was immediate. The Core turned pitch black, vibrating with an emotion that one could even call fury. Not fear, not dislike — the Core despised Vlad.

Huh. At least they had that in common, Danny appreciated.

He looked up at Larry. “How can you say he is a better alternative? Vlad only wants more power to conquer the whole Zone!” He turned towards the audience and the other Observants. “If it were up to him, all of you would be stripped of your freedom if he decides you’re in the way of his conquest.”

“But he is more experienced than you. He knows the Realms, more than you. Our customs, our ways,” Larry narrowed his eye, ignoring the angry rock in his hands. “You, on the other hand, are just a child. You would only lead us into chaos!”

“Is your fear of the unknown so deep that you would choose a tyrant over me?”

“Plasmius is not a tyrant. At least he can be reasoned with. Not like a brat like you.”

Danny couldn’t believe his ears. “Excuse me? Do we know different Vlad Plasmius?” He waited for Larry to admit he was just kidding, but it never happened. “Vladdie would decimate you the first thing if he becomes king.”

“Impossible. He appreciates the order we keep in this institution.” Larry puffed his chest.

“And he told you this himself, right,” Larry didn’t nod, but it was implied. “Ok, then you are more stupid than I thought you were.”

He grabbed the rock again when Larry stuttered at the insult. “Tell me, Core,” he stage-whispered at the still black stone. Apparently it didn’t like all the Plasmius talk. “Are the Observants stupid for believing Plasmius?”

The rock changed colors to a soft yellow and vibrated, amused. “Thought so.” He nodded and looked back at the audience. “Please, never trust Plasmius. He will stab you in the back at the first notice. I know many of you don’t know me, but I assure you that he would not be a good alternative as King.”

“It doesn’t matter,” a bored ghost interceded from the crowd. Danny didn’t know who it was. “The Core has chosen you no matter if we like it or not.”

On cue, the rock changed colors to green, pulsing and vibrating with desire in Danny’s hands. The halfa almost could hear a whisper in the back of his mind, pure desire, a visceral want of him, his body and his mind. The Core wanted him. Pretty words, but faced with what he could sense from the piece of rock in his hands, he wanted to throw it away and never look back.

He had never been desired or felt desire at this level. It rubbed him the wrong way. It was borderline sexual, how the Core seemed to want him as theirs, as the King — a desire so primal and animalistic that scared him.

Danny licked his lips, turning towards the Observants. “What if I say no?” He knew the answer as well, but he needed to hear it again. He really didn’t want to be King.

Larry looked worried, but relieved. Maybe he sensed that Danny was scared of what he felt from the piece of Core. 

“Destruction. Chaos. The end of the Realms,” he walked towards a book resting on the floor, one of the documents that fell when he hit the table. “It has been recorded by previous kings that they received… visions from the Realms, messages, possibilities of what could have been or could be. One recorded such a vision of what could happen if the Zone is left without a King for too long.” Larry searched for the passage he was referring to and started reading. 

[...] and I saw a black void, hunger, eating everything and everyone away. Such pain and destruction [...]. Unhappiness, the weight of absence of light and a center, a pivot from where the Core would anchor in, only the ultimate unmaking of the Realms was what was left of us.

“Some parts have been lost in the translations, but the message is clear, child. The Realms cannot exist without a king for too long and we are already at the limit.” He closed the book with a thud, the sound too loud in the suddenly quiet room. “This cannot wait until it is convenient for you.” Larry said the word in mockery.

Danny looked down at the chunk of Core, pondering. He knew he didn’t actually have a choice — he couldn’t just leave the Realms to die so he could have a normal life for a few decades and die in a fight.

Centuries.

He would instead reign for millennia, become something else, leave behind his life as he knew it. No big deal. In his mind’s eye he saw his friends and family, Jazz smiling at his show of responsibility. He could almost hear her go on in a spiel about growth and maturity. He chuckled quietly.

There was really no other way, huh? His future that once had been so uncertain now was taking shape in a way he never imagined, set in stone before he even knew what was happening. Decided for him before he knew the implications.

He didn’t want to be king, but he could try. He had the power of friendship and love on his side, right? What could go wrong?

Oh… maybe he shouldn’t have thought that. Jinxing this so early on was a bad idea.

Whatever.

Danny sighed. He knew there was no way in hell he was going to let the Infinite Realms crumble and perish just because he was sixteen and wasn’t sure about his future.

“Okay,” the word was heavy in his mouth, his hands playing with the shiny piece of Core. “Then I accept.”

One blink and you miss it — he found himself in another place, maybe even another time, maybe another realm. He saw a man, tall, muscular, with an imposing figure. The man wore dark and spiky armor, with shoulder guards that resemble animal skulls, a giant white cape clasped over his chest with a black chain waving in an invisible breeze, and in his hand he could clearly see the Ring. He looked up, knowing what he would find.

His own face. Older, more defined, once the baby fat is gone and years have eaten away his innocence. He looks a bit like Dan.

But his eyes. His eyes were different. They weren't red, or angry, or even vicious. His bright green eyes looked gentle and gracious, even with the unnerving absence of pupils or irises. They were all green, toxic green, with flowing green smoke pouring out of the sockets, the wispy ends curling up. The kindness he found in them was familiar.

The not-Dan tilted his head forward and smiled. On his head, among impossibly long flowing locks of snow white hair, the Crown flared with a silent command.

Danny wanted to say something, ask how things would turn out for them, if he was making a mistake, but when he opened his mouth he was back at the Observant’s meeting hall, back to being watched and scrutinized. He blinked the spots in his eyes at the sudden change of lightning, noticing the unusual silence in the room.

Everyone was looking at something behind him.

He turned barely in time to glance at a giant hologram (astral projection?) of the not-Dan crossing his arms around his broad armored chest before it vanished. A deep laugh rang in his own voice, and yet so different from his, reverberating in the big round room. 

Clockwork smirked, as if he had planned for this to happen, and knelt.

“May the King reign forever.” It was just a murmur, but it startled half the room.

Soon, everyone else followed. Detractors, enemies, frenemies, the Observants… Everyone knelt and echoed the claim. His supporters spoke louder, but there was little they could do to add on the fantastic reality he was living.

Danny barely has the conscience to acknowledge what was happening. Because since the… apparition vanished, he felt like he was not the same. His body, a mere flesh suit, the mold of a person he could become. His mind was not just Danny Phantom or Fenton. He has become something else. Someone else.

Or, at least, the ball has started rolling in that direction.