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leviathans-watching · 1 year ago

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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.”

“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 <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.

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ghost-in-the-hall · 5 months ago

Text

The Anointing (Matthew Greywolf x Fem! Reader) SMUT

Hello hello this took way longer than I would have liked for me to finish, but, we made it! This is the second installment of The Sacrilege Series, and a request for some more Matthew smut from my dear friend @belnovacaine . This time reader is invited to participate in a ritual to help "alleviate some stress" by Father Matthew. But, reader's feelings are much deeper than a simple one night stand, will Matthew return her feelings?

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, MDNI, 18+ CONTENT, misuse of religious practices/spaces, mutual feelings, confession, body worship kinda, use of anointing oils, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, lots and lots of praise and pet name's from Matthew, I think that's everything if I missed any please let me know!

My Masterlist! ~ AO3 Link! ~ Tip Jar!

You just needed a break.

You had been running rampant trying to clean up all of Charles' new assistant's mistakes with their scheduling and paperwork. “I told her to call me if she had any questions,” you grumbled to yourself.

“I'm sorry,” Charles apologizes. “I hired her on Roel’s recommendation; I should've known better.” He sighs, leaning against the edge of the desk you were working at.

“Roel needs to stop being so concerned with trying to play matchmaker, especially when his recommendations don't have any clerical experience whatsoever.” You snap back in an annoyed tone.

“Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise?” Your scribbling pauses at the sound of an all-too-familiar voice, your grip tightening on your pen. Your heart pounding, you swallow thickly as his shadow stretches across the desk. “Charles is stealing you all for himself, hm?” he asks teasingly.

“Father Matthew, you sound awfully jealous.” You respond with a smirk.

He chuckles, shooting you a flirtatious grin. “Of course I'm jealous. My favorite girl is spending time with another man, my brother nonetheless, how scandalous.” You can't help but giggle as he winks at you. You return to your current task while Charles explains your predicament.

“So now, she's stuck cleaning up her mess before everything falls apart on us.” Charles chuckles, patting you on the back.

A finger is placed under your chin, Matthew gently tilting your face until your eyes can easily meet his. “That's a lot of work for one little rabbit.”

Your cheeks grew warm as his gaze held you firmly in place. “I can manage, don't worry,” you replied.

“After you finish here, I'd like you to come see me, alright?” His eyes slowly trail to your lips.

“Of course, Father. Can I ask why?” Your voice trembled slightly as you spoke.

“I need some help with a ritual,” he smiles sharply at you. “It's one I think you'll enjoy, especially after such a stressful day.”

“I'll be there,” you grin coyly. “But you need to let me finish my work for that to happen,” you giggle.

“My apologies, Schwester.” He chuckles before straightening up. “I look forward to seeing you later.”

Charles chuckles as his brother disappears down the hallway. “You're certainly in for a fun evening.”

“And how exactly do you know what he has planned?” Your heart thrums in your chest at Charles' amused expression.

“Matthew isn't a complicated man to read once you get to know him. He enjoys expensive alcohol, good quality cigars… and making the woman he's found himself enamored with completely melt in the palm of his hand.” He finishes with a chuckle.

Your cheeks grow warm. "You really think Father Matthew is—” You cut yourself off as you shake your head. Never mind, I don't have time to worry about that now.” Charles smiles down at you, watching you scribble away at the paperwork in front of you.

Hours had passed, and you were still nowhere close to being done. You sat up straight in your chair, rolling your shoulders back with a groan as you stretched. You didn't understand how someone could make such a mess in a single day. You glanced up at the sound of heels quickly hurrying down the hallway. “I heard you got stuck with a pretty big mess.” She smiles.

“Claire, thank God.” You could have cried at the sight of her. She looked over the spread of paperwork in front of you, covered in red cross-outs and arrows, frantic notes written in the corners so you could somehow organize it.

“Wow, I knew Roel was bad at picking assistants, but this is impressive,” she laughs. She bumps you with her hip, pushing you out of your chair. “Get out of here; I'll handle the rest,” she winks.

“Claire, I can't let you—” she says, cutting you off by waving her hand at you.

“Nonsense, this is the first time Falk has taken a vacation in years; you deserve the time off, too. You've already been doing this for hours, so I can finish it. And besides,” she shoots you a devious smirk, “I heard someone is in for a nice little evening with Father Matthew.” You sucked in a sharp breath, not expecting her to bring that up so casually.

“How did you know about that?” You ask with a bashful chuckle.

“You have to call Attila’s office to schedule a time at the mensa,” she whispers in response.

“The mensa?” You ask in shock. She nods slowly, shooting you a knowing grin.

“That’s all I know,” she says in response to your confused expression, holding up her hands to show she was innocent. “But you probably shouldn't keep him waiting,” she smirks.

“I owe you for this.” You thank her as you gather your belongings.

“You can fill me in on your evening tonight over lunch, and we'll call it even; how's that?” She smiles.

“You got it.” You laugh in response before hurrying off to meet Father Matthew.

You knock tentatively against his door, hearing him quietly call you inside. He smiles at the sight of you, rising from his seat as he smoothes his shirt. “You came.” Your heart fluttered in your chest as you fidget nervously with your fingers.

“Of course I did. Do you really think I'd turn down an invitation to spend time with you?” He chuckles, slowly walking around his desk to approach you. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes met his, his finger slipping under your chin to hold you in place.

“I'm glad,” he smiles sharply down at you, “because I plan on taking up a lot of your time tonight, schwester.” Your knees felt weak, your mouth hanging open to speak, but no words managed to find their way out. He slips his hand into yours, studying you carefully. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I'll ever be.” You respond with a nervous giggle. The two of you strolled side by side through the darkening hallways of the Abbey, the late afternoon sun leaving the corridors burning in their warm orange light.

“I don't want you to be nervous,” he says suddenly, feeling the anxiety behind all your excitement. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

You shake your head, making him smile in response. “You're perfect; I just don't know what to expect.”

“I'll be right by your side through every step of the process, and we can stop at any time.” Your cheeks grow warm as his arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you into him slightly as you walk. “If anything, I should be the one who's nervous,” he admits with a chuckle.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” You prod curiously.

“I have to make sure I'm up to your standards.” He responds vaguely with a wink.

Father Matthew holds open the heavy door to the cathedral, allowing you to slip inside ahead of him. It was always a strange experience being in the chapel after hours. You could hear a pin drop in the silence; even your breathing seemed to echo off the room's impossibly high ceilings. You jumped as the door slammed shut behind you. Father Matthew stands at your side, offering you his arm as you begin your procession down the aisle. You pause at the altar's edge, Matthew looking down at you when he senses your hesitation. You look up at him with large doey eyes that could have easily brought him to his knees. “Is it really okay?”

His hand slips into yours, carefully bringing your knuckles to his lips. “I would be honored to have you standing beside me.” He moves on to the first step, waiting for you to decide to join him. You slowly set one foot on the white marble step, taking a deep breath before allowing the other to join. Matthew smiles down at you, delighted by your acceptance of his invitation. He takes a moment to study you as you stand in the middle of the altar: your much smaller hands in his, the way he could see your nerves begin to settle whenever your eyes met his; the sight brought a smile to his face. “Now, for the hard part…” he trails off with a playful smirk. “You're not allowed to lift a finger, understand? He slowly lowers himself to one knee, forcing you to look down at him. “Anything that you need, I will take care of.” Your heart hammered in your chest as your mind raced. The feeling of Matthew’s warm hand slipping into yours snapped you back to reality. His gentle smile and warm brown eyes immediately pushed down the nerves that were bubbling up in your stomach.

“Yes, Father.” Your eyes flickered around his features, everything about him only drawing you closer. Goosebumps erupt across your skin as his fingers trail down the outside of your leg. He places your hand on his shoulder, steadying you as he lifts your foot from the floor. He carefully undoes the buckle of your shoe, easing it off your foot before mirroring the process on your other leg. He stands, neatly placing your shoes to the side. The marble was cold under your feet; you touched your chest only to feel your heart racing under your palm. You let out a startled yelp as he suddenly scoops you in his arms. You can't help but giggle slightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he gently sways you with every step. He sets you on the edge of the mensa, one arm wrapping around your waist as his free hand cups your cheek. He presses his forehead to yours, gazing down at you longingly.

“Matthew?” You state his name softly.

“Yes, Engel?” He whispers, his lips brushing over yours as he speaks.

“Can,” you swallow thickly, your mouth growing dry as you work up the nerve to ask, “Can you kiss me?” He breathes out a soft chuckle.

“Funny, I was about to ask you something similar.” You share a coy smile as his lips carefully slot against yours. Your arms slide over his shoulders, tugging him closer as you memorize what it feels like to kiss him. He tasted faintly of sweet wine and tobacco, his calloused fingers rough against your skin as he slowly pushed up the hem of your dress. You whine softly as he parts from you, making him chuckle. “Patience, Engel. We can't get too far ahead of ourselves.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips before separating from you entirely. He skillfully moved around the altar, grabbing everything he would need from memory. You inhaled deeply, making a pleased hum at the sweetly perfumed oil he set at your side. He drapes a deep maroon silk cloth over the mensa, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips capture yours. He cups your face carefully in his hands, his thumbs stroking over the peaks of your cheekbones. “Can I undress you, schwester?”

“Please do.” You respond breathlessly, making him chuckle. His hands squeeze around your thighs, your supple flesh dimpling under his fingertips. He slowly slides up your dress, the palms of his hands memorizing the feeling of your body's curves as he passes over them. You were so soft in his hands; watching goosebumps erupt at his touch was intoxicating.

“Arms up.” He instructs, allowing him to ease the fabric over your head. He allows himself a moment to just drink in the sight of you, a sound akin to a territorial growl bubbling up in his throat. He takes your chin between his fingers, “So pretty, Schwester.” You shiver as his fingers trail down your neck. He smiles as he hesitates over your pulse, feeling how it thrummed under his touch before continuing on his path over your shoulder. He easily undoes the clasp of your bra, guiding the thin straps from your shoulders delicately as if you would shatter at the slightest wrong movement. You press your lips to his; you can feel Matthew smile as he melts into the kiss. His hands slide under the curve of your ass as he effortlessly lifts you from the mensa; your arms fling around his neck as the action causes you to let out a startled yelp that quickly dissolves into a flustered giggle. “Guess I need to remember my own strength.” He chuckles. He wraps an arm securely around you, holding you against him as he works the thin, delicate fabric of your lingerie down your legs. His hands felt hot against your bare skin, massive paws that engulfed the curve of your hips. You felt drunk off the euphoric buzz you were already experiencing, Matthews's attentiveness making your pulse race. He paused momentarily, taking hold of the glistening silk cloth, offering it to cover up while he finished setting it up. You instinctually lean into his muscular chest as he pulls you to him from behind, lips trailing up the sensitive skin of your neck before stopping just below your ear. His hand slides across your stomach, the silk cool against your otherwise bare body. “I'm going to take good care of you, Engel.” You shiver at the feeling of hot breath against the shell of your ear.

Your body jolts slightly as the first drop of oil splatters across your shoulder. The liquid was warm as it dripped down your skin. You let out a soft moan as Matthew’s strong fingers press into your aching muscles. “Good girl.” He whispers. You can't help but squeeze your legs together at his praise; you catch your lip between your teeth as you hear him chuckle, noticing the effect such a simple phrase had on you. He trails a finger across your jaw, turning your head to allow his lips to find yours. “Such a pretty thing you are, Engel.” You catch the sight of the triumphant smirk that had plastered itself across his features, reveling in the way you melted under his touch. Every compliment a praise for giving into your body's need for pleasure, Matthew simply couldn't get enough of the image of you. A sacred Madonna placed upon the altar, of which he was the only one bestowed with the grace of God to lay a finger on her. He vowed to care for you like the divine being you were. The way you arched into his touch, your sweet sounds gradually became louder and more fervent, making it hard to stay in control. He's snapped from his thoughts as you softly call his name, placing yourself on your knees before him. The hardwood of the mensa was hard under your body, your mind too clouded with arousal to acknowledge the discomfort. Matthew stared back at you with blown pupils, his eyes nearly black as he fought against his primal urge to take you right here and now. But he couldn't deny how gorgeous you looked presented before him. The deep red of the satin complimented your soft skin; it cascaded off your body like a crimson waterfall. Your hair is already slightly tousled; your cheeks flush with warmth.

“Schwester,” his husky voice echoes through the empty chapel. “Will you allow me to cleanse your body of sin and anoint you here before the eyes of God?”

“Yes, Father.” You cup his face in your hands, pulling his lips back to yours. Matthew's hands are on you in an instant, lifting you from the mensa with a growl as he guides your legs around his waist. He crushes your body against his, easily able to maneuver you until he has you lying how he wants against the cold wood.

“So beautiful.” He whispers sweet words of praise over you as he dedicates time to massaging each tender muscle. You can't help but let out a soft whine as his hands begin to trail up your thighs. He paused at the edge of the fabric that covered your body. He glances up at you, silently asking for permission to continue. You nod, giving him a soft smile. He leans over you, placing a soft kiss to your lips. “Remember, we can stop at any time, okay?”

You take his face in your hands, smiling softly as you study the sharp contours of his features. “I don't want you to stop.” You whisper against his lips. Matthew freezes, his heart pounding in his chest. The way you looked at him with such fondness, how gently your palms rested against his cheeks.

“I…” he swallowed thickly, warm brown eyes drinking in the sight of yours. “I’m in love with you.” He confesses, his voice trembling with nerves.

You breathe out a laugh, a smile instantly stretching across your features. “I love you too, Matthew.” You let out a delighted squeal as you feel his strong hands wrap around your hips, his lips crushing against yours as he pulls your body closer to his. You let your head fall back, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as Matthew trails wet kisses down your neck. One of his hands slowly slid up the outside of your thigh before it dipped below the cloth that covered your body, trailing over the curve of your hip. He hikes your leg around his waist.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, a strangled gasp escaping you as you feel Matthew’s teeth bite down roughly on your neck. “Just relax, sweetheart; I'm going to take good care of you.” He coos, pressing one more kiss to your lips before letting the satin fall from your body to the floor. He whispers sweet words of praise in your ear as he slowly starts to tease your entrance with his fingers. You fist your hands in his shirt, gasping softly as you feel him ease his long, thick digits inside of you. Your back arches off the hardwood, Matthew’s warm palm immediately pressing into you for support. “I've got you, Engel.” Your mind was already clouded with pleasure; Matthew was an absolute expert in his craft, as he seemed to know exactly where to touch you to drive you insane.

You pull his lips to yours, kissing him feverishly as you hold onto him anywhere your hands could manage to reach. “Please,” you whine against his lips. “Need you.”

He chuckles softly, “My, my, what an impatient girl you are, schwester.” He cups your cheek as he presses another ferocious kiss to your lips. “But I’m happy to comply with such a pretty little thing.” He makes quick work of undoing his belt, haphazardly kicking off his pants as he pulls his shirt over his head. He moved with urgency, easily hoisting himself onto the mensa to pin your smaller form beneath him. His gaze rakes hungrily down your body, drinking in the sight of every curve. You squirmed, feeling your cheeks grow warm under his intense observance. “You are just so perfect, Mein Herz.” He cups your cheek in his hand, peppering your face with kisses as he eases himself inside of you. You cry out, your nails digging deep crescents into his biceps as you grab onto him. He hushes you, “You're doing so good, sweetheart.” He groans, cursing under his breath. You feel every inch of him push inside of you, stretching you to the point you were worried you might break. You whine, your thighs trembling when he finally settles his hips against yours. Matthew lets out a shuddering breath, another curse tumbling from his lips at how tightly you squeezed him. He buries his face into the crook of your neck; the feeling of his hot breath against your skin sends a delicious shiver up your spine.

You let out a loud moan as he slowly rolled his hips. Matthew let out a low growl at the melodic sound, repeating the action, smirking slightly as your loud moans echoed through the empty chapel. He gradually increased his pace, hitting a spot inside you that made your toes curl and the edges of your vision go white with every sharp thrust. “Fuck,” he curses gruffly. He sits himself on his knees, wrapping both hands around your hips. He manages to somehow push even deeper inside of you; you scream his name, Matthew groans at the sound. He grabs your face in his hand, making your eyes meet his. “So fucking pretty.” He growls. You groan as he pushes his thumb past your lips, greedily pulling the digit into your mouth with your tongue. “That's my girl.” He praises you with a smile. He picks up the bottle of oil, tipping it just enough to let a few drops of oil splatter across your stomach. He eases his thumb from your mouth, using his strong hands to massage oil over your bare skin. You weren't sure how much longer you would be able to last, every snap of Matthew's hips sending you closer and closer to the edge.

“Schwester,” Matthew growls, not slowing his pace. He could feel your body start to twitch in his hands, your body moving against his as you raced towards your climax. “Do you give yourself to me before the eyes of God?”

“Yes, Father.” You weren't sure how you managed to push the words past your lips, barely able to form a coherent thought let alone a sentence.

“Do you… fuck,” you both can't help but smile at each other, the seriousness of the ritual long pushed from your mind, completely absorbed in the fact that you were here with each other. “Do you wish to be absolved of your sins in exchange for pleasure?” He purrs, his tone only making the coil in your core wind tighter.

“Yes, Father.” He lets out a hum of approval. He dabs holy oil on his thumb, supporting himself in his forearm as he leans over you. You close your eyes, Matthew’s hand warm against your skin as he marks the sign of the cross on your forehead.

“I absolve you, Schwester.” He says with a sharp smile, his hips beginning to stutter as he struggles not to fall over the edge. His lips crash into yours, making you moan loudly into his mouth. You feel his hand slide down your torso; you cry out as his fingers begin to draw tight, quick circles on your clit.

You moan his name, “I'm close–” You’re cut off by another moan that he effortlessly rips from your lungs.

“Cum for me, Engel.” He whispers against your lips. You felt the pleasure building up inside of you until it finally snapped. You screamed his name, your nails clawing down his back, undoubtedly leaving deep red scratches in their wake. Matthew followed not long after, your name tumbling from his lips mixed with curses in both German and English as his hips stutter to a stop, his member pulsing against your sensitive walls as he releases himself inside of you. He drops his weight on top of you, making you groan. Both of your chests heaved as you struggled to catch your breath.

“You're in love with me, huh?” You smile, Matthew chuckles at your question.

“I am.” He props himself up enough to meet your eyes. “I hope that's not a problem.” He teases.

“I'm just trying to figure out why it took some fantastic sex ritual for you to confess that to me.” You laugh as he litters your face with kisses.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” he kisses your lips softly, “confessing to you through worship seemed like the only right way to tell you.” Your cheeks grow warm at his sweet words.

You carefully press your lips to his, “I'm in love with you too.” He smiles, cradling you in his arms.

“How about I get us cleaned up, and we head back to my room for some dinner.” He offers, gently tucking some hair behind your ear.

You can't help but smile in response, “I'd like that.”

Tag List: @spookyghostjelly @mossmothworld @obsessed-and-possessed @hinkepink @iamsarahsaysso (if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list please let me know!)

#powerwolf #powerwolf band #powerwolf matthew #matthew greywolf #matthew greywolf x reader #powerwolf x reader #sacrilege series #sacrilege kink #smut #x reader #the abbey #🐺#ghost writes

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kindheart525 · 3 months ago

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What are your favorite kinds of stories to tell? What are your favorite type of characters to write? Favorite dynamics?

I love this question, thank you so much! Most broadly, my favorite kinds of stories to tell are the character-driven ones. I often tell my friends that I find it easier to write dialogue than describe actions in my MLP stories and I think that's a reflection of how interpersonal interactions are where I really feel at home as a writer.

I can write anything from friends to enemies to lovers but I think my favorite dynamics to explore are between family members. I am incredibly close with my family irl so I enjoy putting that into my stories. Even the less happy family interactions make for an emotionally-gripping exploration of the tensions and traumas that do exist within homes. The thread of generational trauma that runs through Bojack Horseman had me especially captured so I like to explore those themes in my own work. I am a mama's girl so mother-child relationships are usually my favorite within stories, particularly those that are very much loving but complicated like the Tempest Shadow/Raspberry Sorbet dynamic. I also like delving into a little relationship drama (like in Scootaloo and Terramar's arc) because that kind of angst is just so much fun to write. Marmalade Meringue's arc is among the upcoming arcs I'm really looking forward to because it has relationship drama AND family tension, both themes I love.

As for my favorite types of characters to write, I've consistently been drawn to the angsty/sad asshole types. Those characters who make terrible choices and are perhaps unkind to others but carry some deep trauma inside of them. Turquoise Edge, Galaxy Guard, and Firefly from the Kindverse were those types of characters to varying extents. I write Scootaloo like that in the Auraverse where she makes mistakes as a mother while also coping with internalized ableism and a shitty marriage. Rainbow Dash is also that character for me in the Kindverse and Thirdverse where things keep going wrong for her and she responds by pushing others away. Blueberry Sticks in the Auraverse is another one of those characters; her arc consists of the Sad Asshole trope AND familial drama which makes it another I'm especially excited about. Outside of the MLP fandom, I really enjoy Smiling Friends fanfictions that portray Charlie Dompler struggling with his vices and trying to become a better man despite his behavior harming others, so my enjoyment of that trope is more widely applicable. I like exploring this trope in a way that shows the angsty asshole really trying to make things better. When they succeed it feels all the more rewarding, and if they fail it's even more heart-wrenching in a good way.

I really like writing character driven angst as you can tell lol but I've also had fun writing the Dottieverse which in a lot of ways is the opposite of my pony projects. Sure there's some light angst, but it's mostly lighthearted and funny and told through doodles, shitposts, and lore dumps rather than full stories with dialogue. One thing it does have in common with my other projects is the heavy focus on character interactions, of course. Plus, I've been known to make shitposts and doodles alongside my pony arcs as well so that part isn't new. I'm going to try to make some more pony content in the lighthearted and informal format of the Dottieverse because I have really enjoyed that. It might make the angst a little less overwhelming if I have more of a balance in format and tone.

#AskKind #my little pony #mlp fim #mlp g4 #auraverse #thirdverse #kindverse #dottieverse #asks open #send asks #send me asks #ask me stuff #ask me anything #ask me things

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dandelion-sugar · 3 years ago

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𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐟𝐞 『Adam x Reader』

Summary: Reader was Adam's first wife before he married Eve.

Warning: Angst, a little fluff, death, deities are really cruel

15,8k

Author's note: Requests for Genshin have not been forgotten! I'm working on it BUT I just finished season one of Record of Ragnarok and needed to write about Adam. I think he deserves more writing about him...he's the best husband and father Earth could have!

"A demoness? A succubus? No! A human whose legends turn her into a fearsome ruler of the underworld! She rules an entire army with an iron fist! Made of the clay of creation, she is made in the image of the gods! N°00000000002 : Lilith!" shouted Heimdall to announce your entrance.

You have been chosen to save humanity. The creation of Adam and Eve. You don't know why Brunhilde trusts you to save the humans. What could she possibly have been thinking in choosing you? Were you the best choice for this? Protecting the beings conceived by your ex-husband and his new wife. Unlike your ex-lover, you refuse to walk around naked. Your body is far too precious to be revealed to the world. You stand in the middle of the arena waiting patiently for Heimdall to finish presenting your opponent.

Your eyes rest on your army led by your only son. The only being you have ever given birth to. The third human born. A slight smile appeared on your lips. Your son resembled his father, and you found that particularly funny. You couldn't help but think that Adam's genes were particularly strong. But the way your son stood proudly at the head of your army...he took that from you. Even if you were to perish in this fight, you know that your army and your son will come through.

Your right hand will be around the shaft of your spear. You hear the mocking laughter of the gods, announcing your crushing defeat. You hear the hesitant whispers of humans about your place among the fighters of humanity. You are known in human legends to be a danger to pregnant women and newborns. To be honest with yourself, you hate this legends. You are a mother, how can humans think that you would harm a woman and her child? Your eyes drop slightly to the floor and your lips pucker into an unpleasant pout. After a few seconds, your face frees itself of all displays of emotion and your hand rises to challenge Heimdall.

"Yes, Lilith?" asks the god who has the role of announcer.

"I will not fight under that name," you announce.

"Huh?" he blurts out in surprise.

"I will not fight under the name of the monster the humans wanted to make me," you reply immediately.

"So...what do you want to be called?"

Lying in a meadow, you enjoy the sun and the soft breeze on your bare skin. Rabbits and foxes quickly surround you to enjoy the comfort with you. Everything is perfect in the Garden of Eden. A shadow covers your face, forcing you to open your eyes to discover the obstacle between you and the sun. It is a pleasant surprise when you discover your husband's welcoming smile, his blonde locks framing his face. Adam sits down beside you, placing his fruit basket between his legs. He pulls out a bunch of grapes and takes one between his long fingers. He then brings the fruit to your lips to let you savour the sweet, pleasant taste of the fruit. A sigh of contentment crosses your lips. Your husband's smile widens as he notices your relaxed state.

"You have grape juice running down your chin, Lilith," Adam informs you.

Your eyelids droop slightly as your eyes express your displeasure. Adam only lets a laugh emit from his throat as he leans forward to lick the grape juice off. Your hand gently but firmly pushes him away. You want him to understand that his gestures of affection will not be tolerated again until he realises his mistake. And you know perfectly well that he has understood what he has done.

"Stop teasing me," you say, a frown appearing on your face.

"I like to see your eyebrows furrow. You look like that kitten that was trying to scare us." replies Adam, running his hand over your hip stroking it in lazy circles, as if to soothe you.

"But unlike that kitten, I can bite," you reply sharply.

"I know you can..." he hums in the hollow of your ear. "Y/N."

This memory was a moment of pure happiness that you experienced in the Garden of Eden before you were forced into exile. This name you chose with Adam was the beginning of your independence from the gods. You had never accepted the principle of being subject to a man and Adam always supported you in this choice. But the gods did not like this and in response you abandoned the name they gave you at your creation. Perhaps this is why Eve was created from Adam's rib? To prevent her from becoming like you.

"Y/N. Call me that," you proudly announce.

The gods of your creation frown but do not protest. They hope that you will perish against one of their own and that your soul will disintegrate in space and time.

Adam had slipped out of the room where he was locked up. When he learned of your presence here, he did not expect you to fight for the humans. The children he had with another woman. He snuck into the bleachers to get a better look at your figure. A sense of nostalgia stirs in his heart as he sees that you haven't changed in all this time. You stand with dignity, your weapon in hand. You are strong and independent, you have become the woman you always dreamed of. A woman you could not have become if you were in his company because...everyone wants his wife to be submissive to him.

Adam does not regret his married life with Eve, he enjoys it too. But he has enjoyed the life he has lived with you. He believes in your victory. He wants you to win. He does not want to witness your complete disappearance from the universe without any chance of reincarnation. Your first separation has already split his heart in two, Adam does not want to experience this intense pain a second time.

You swing your divine spear with one hand, deflecting your opponent's first blow. The strength in this attack was not worthy of a god, was he testing your abilities? Your eyes meet. The victorious and arrogant smile on the god's face already irritates you. He underestimated you because you are a human AND a woman. His leg comes to sweep over yours but you manage to dodge by gaining height. You position your spear, blade towards the ground to pierce his skull. The god quickly dodges in a backward leap, leaving you to land on the ground, puncturing the concrete floor which cracks under the impact.

Your exchange of blows lasts for a while. Or should we say: the god throws blows at you that you deflect with your spear. But suddenly, his paterne changes. The force that the god uses becomes more powerful. His leg comes to meet your stomach. You prevent the blow from reaching your skin by placing your spear between your stomach and his leg. Unfortunately, the attack sends you flying a few metres away. You manage to land with difficulty and before you can regain a stable footing, the god launches himself at you. You are forced to fall to the side in a roll to narrowly dodge the punch. Your cheek begins to bleed.

"Mother!" your distraught son shouts.

"Commander! Get up!" your soldiers shout to encourage you.

You let out a breath, your muscles relax, making your movements more fluid and lively. Your eyes fall on the figure of your opponent. The aura around you changes completely, causing the small smile on the god's face to disappear. Your hands grip the spear and your feet anchor themselves to the ground to give you a good foothold.

"Answer my question before we resume this fight. Why are you fighting for the humans?" the god asks.

"Do I need a reason to fight? The gods have forced me to be submissive and men have clothed me in a veil of monstrous lies. It's like choosing between the plague and cholera," you explain. "But I had to choose and I chose my ex-husband's children.

The humans observing the exchange begin to stir, either out of guilt or because they were moved by your story. Humans get teary-eyed easily, you think. But you can't help but find this side of them very touching. Perhaps it was a good thing that Eve was the Mother of humanity?

"Humans have the will to survive and a strength that allows them to constantly evolve. This is a strength that the gods can never possess," you say with contempt.

Your hatred for the gods is much stronger than your hatred for humans. On your words, the fight resumes. You manage to follow your opponent's movements. Like Adam, you were forged from clay in the image of the gods. You are Adam's equal, you have the same ability as him to copy the techniques you see. Your movements remind the gods of Athena. You had copied the movements of this goddess a long time ago.

Your body and that of your opponent are covered in blood. You are bleeding from the wounds inflicted on you, but you were able to avenge yourself by seriously injuring your opponent as well.

Adam clenches his lips into a thin line, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands but he still believes in your victory. You must win. You can't give him up a second time...you can't.

"They've created a second wife for you," you scream indignantly.

"You're the only one for me," Adam admits in an attempt to calm your nerves. He can't bear to see you cry.

"It's only a matter of time before the gods kick me out of the Garden of Eden! I don't understand their desire to have me submit to male authority! Do goddesses submit to male deities?" you growl in frustration. The anger was so strong that you can't hold back the tears.

"If they chase you away then I'll go with you," Adam announces, interlacing your fingers together.

A soft warmth spreads through your chest as a gasp of surprise passes through your lips. A slight blush marks your cheeks as you look away from your husband. You can't help but enjoy the tender feeling. Adam wraps his muscular arms around you in a soothing embrace. His scent calms your restless nerves.

"Spend the night with me tonight," you whisper.

"We always sleep together," he says, tilting his head to the side, not understanding the meaning of your words.

"Adam..." you gasp shyly. It almost sounded like a soft moan.

His blue eyes widen slightly as the implied request is processed by his brain. A teasing smile spreads across his face as he leans in to your blushing ear to whisper provocative words.

That was the last evening you spent in his company before the gods kidnapped you and threw you away from the Garden of Eden. You never tried to return to that place, you knew it wasn't possible. So you did your best to survive. You were able to thrive and enjoy your newfound independence.

That night Adam gave you a gift, your son: Eurynome. A child identical to his father, who grew up with you as his only role model. He has become an independent young man capable of leading an army. But he remains a child... a child afraid to be alone without the reassuring presence of his mother.

It is impossible to understand the pain of losing a parent when you have not experienced it. No one could understand a tenth of the pain of Eurynome's scream as the god's fist plunges into your chest.

Your eyes crinkle under the sudden fatigue your body feels. Your right hand struggles to hold the spear. The humans weep in despair as the gods celebrate the downfall of Lilith, the woman who did not obey divine orders.

Nausea takes hold of Adam's body. All that blood, your blood spilling on the floor. Will you die? Disappear forever...you don't even know that he witnessed your fight. You will never know that he missed you terribly. You will never know that he wanted to feel your warmth in his arms again and whisper those three words to you.

Your eyes linger on your son's tear-streaked face. A peaceful smile appears on your lips. A fire of determination shines in your eyes. Your hand tightens around the spear and you slice the god's jugular before collapsing to your knees. If you must die...then you will prevent the gods from achieving a victory as well.

Your eyes slowly close and your hearing becomes increasingly blurred. The voices are now just an indistinguishable din.

Adam could only watch as your body and the god's dematerialize into a smoke of green glitter. His legs move towards the battlefield as if trying to retrieve the flakes that represent your soul dissolving into space. But your son's crying snaps him out of his trance. His eyes fall on a miniature version of himself.

Cain and Abel have some characteristics of their father but Eurynome is a carbon copy of Adam and you would have to be blind not to notice. Adam walks over to your son and takes him in his arms, sharing his pain. Adam fully understands the tug of war that Eurynome feels.

That night Adam gave you a gift, your son. Today, this gift will show the world that you existed. That you are not like your legends.

You are an independent woman, a mother and Adam's wife.

"Adam," you call to your husband, who is perched on a tree branch.

"Yes?" he hums, keeping his eyes closed.

"Don't you think I'm strange?" you finally question him. "Do you think I owe you obedience too?

Silence passes between the two of you. A pain assails your heart at this lack of response and you instantly regret having asked him the question. The disappointment was much stronger than you had thought. You look up abruptly when you hear a thud only a few feet away. Adam had just jumped from his branch. His back was to you. He turns towards you, his face devoid of emotion. He encircles your cheeks with his warm palms. His piercing blue eyes almost seem to probe your soul and you struggle to hold his gaze. But your desire to know the answer prevents you from looking away.

"We are husband and wife, I accept you as you are. Don't change for the world, for anyone," Adam says with conviction.

"So...you love me like this?" you ask aloud, wanting to sound confident.

Adam looks at you slightly surprised at this sudden question. He hums softly before leaning in to kiss your forehead. The smile he flashes makes your heart race.

"I love you," he says.

"I love you too..." you admit after a few moments.

#record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok x reader #ror adam #Angst #shumatsu no valkyrie #Adam #x reader #ror adam x reader

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personasintro · 5 years ago

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My Tiny Secret | 20; First Steps

𝑴𝒚 𝑻𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆 | 20; First Steps

⏤𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; Pretty face doesn’t make it up for an ugly personality. And Kim Seokjin is the perfect proof of that.

⏤𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: seokjin x reader

⏤𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: angst, smut, fluff, mistress au, unexpected pregnancy au

⏤𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: strong language, mature content

⏤> 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒙

The birds' chirping creates a calm melody, outstanding the sounds of kids laughing and crying that reach your ears. Even the blanket underneath your legs feels soft, softer than usual and you wonder if it's made from one of those expensive materials. Surprisingly, Seokjin was the one who packed everything and you left him to it.

It's nice to see him doing such a normal stuff, especially if it's related to you and your son.

“It seems busier than last week.” His voice resounds, your eyes snapping to him as his legs are spread out with arms holding him in a relaxed position. Those black locks that got longer are thrown back, making his forehead on full display along with his thick brows.

He looks so relaxed, wearing a white casual shirt with jean shorts, something you should've got used to by now, but you still find yourself occasionally stare at him.

You're not even sure how, but your Saturdays have been spent in a park nearby your apartment building for the last couple of weeks. You often went alone, making sure you're not stuck in your apartment all day, sometimes Hoseok tagged along with you as well. Surprisingly, Seokjin comes every Saturday without even making any official plans with you, knowing he's about to spend the whole day with you. Well, with Yoojin.

It became a silent routine.

“It does,” you hum, eyes trailed on Yoojin who crawls up to the tree you're sitting underneath. It creates a perfect shadow in this warm weather. “He's so active these days.” you say as you already panic when he starts to standing up, holding the tree with his small hands.

He can stand for a long time now, but he's too careful to hold onto something and not let go. Yoojin's puckered lips stretch into a huge smile, proudly showing himself to his parents as you clap in praise, not holding a smile back. He grew up so fast, you can't believe how many things have changed since he was born.

Seokjin comes to visit more often, he even sleeps on the couch sometimes since the guest room is slowly renovating to Yoojin's new bedroom. You both went shopping together and bought him a new crib, along with a few different decorations and furniture. The memory of the two of you walking with Yoojin in his stroller seems weird, but nice and comfortable. For the first time, it felt like you're a real family, spending some time together.

He's an intelligent man managing a successful company on his own, with no help whatsoever, however building a crib isn't his strong suit. Stubbornly, he insisted on being the one who makes Yoojin's bedroom for him. You've never seen him being so passionate about something, so you let him. Even if it took him a month, but you silently enjoyed every day he came after work struggling in that room, ending sleeping on the couch.

It feels nice to have him there. He's more open, casually talking with you about your day, but mainly has his focus on Yoojin.

You've met his friend – Kim Namjoon. As you've learned, he accidentally found out about his best friend having a child, thinking it's all gossip. But when he burst into Seokjin's office with a single question if he has a kid and his friend didn't deny it, he knew those gossips were true.

According to Seokjin's words, he bugged him about wanting to meet Yoojin for a whole week, until he had no choice but to say 'yes'. Before Namjoon came to your apartment, Seokjin made sure you're okay with the visit of his friend, the same thing he did when his father came to visit for the first time.

You didn't have any reason to say no, Yoojin is his son as well. A part of you wanted to meet his friend anyway, which happened to be a very polite and kind man. It made you shocked that he has such a nice friend, you were expecting someone similar to his personality. The visit was far more enjoyable than that time when Mr. Kim visited. You even saw Seokjin to crack a few smiles and chuckles, not the dark ones you're used to, but honest and happy ones.

“He's Kim,” he points out proudly, smiling at Yoojin who grins back at his father, still holding to the tree. “He has your smile.” he comments, your head snapping to him before you look at Yoojin.

“Really?” you cock your head to the side, trying to find your similarity in your son.

He's a mixture of you both, although he definitely takes after Seokjin's side more. You're not mad at it, his father is handsome, there's no lie in that.

“Yeah,” he hums, his phone vibrating inside of his pocket as he pulls it out.

You see his wife's name on the display, but he just locks the phone and ignores the call.

“You can speak to her, y'know...” you mumble, watching your son instead as he squats down to admire dandelions.

“I know,” he assures you lightly, “I don't want to.” he admits and you don't let a surprise to be known on your face.

The conversation dies there, both of you watching your son as a way to distract yourselves, that's until Seokjin opens his mouth again.

“I'll divorce her,” he informs you, his tone firm as his hardening features. “For Yoojin.” he adds, glancing at your son that touches the top of dandelion and giggles when it bounces.

“That's nice of you,” you tell him softly, heart warming at the progress he's made. “But, are you sure? Is that what you want?”

You don't mean to doubt his decision, nor you feel some kind of triumph that he wants to divorce his wife. It was never a competition for you and you feel sorry for the woman, whether she's a bad person or not. You're not the one to talk, nor is Seokjin. All of you made mistakes along the way that got you where you are right now.

“I thought about what my father said,” he confesses, your mind drifting to that time he told you what he and his father talked about. It took his some time to open up, but when he finally did, you couldn't be more proud of him. “I think he's right. Besides, I don't see any future with her.”

“If that's what you really want, I'm on your side.”

Seokjin catches the smile you give him, eyes glinting with honesty and his heart does a weird twist at seeing you like that. You're wearing a yellow sundress, youth and happiness radiating from you and he wonders what's the reason behind your happiness. Is he a part of it too? Is someone else behind it?

“Thank you,” he says, tone sounding almost unsure of what to say, and you giggle when you see the puzzled look. “I don't know how she will take it, knowing her she'll throw a fuss. She seems to be furious whenever I come back to the house. I think I'll leave the house to her, maybe she'll be less furious when I break the news to her.”

It seems like he's thinking out loud more to himself, than telling you all this stuff, but you appreciate it nevertheless. It's weird hearing him saying house instead of home.

“I can still pay for the rent, I've got my maternity leave every month,” you suggest, ignoring the raise of his brow. “I don't need your money, Seokjin.”

“Debatable.” he mutters, causing your brows to twitch in irritation.

“No, I don't need it. I'm thankful for everything you're doing for us, but I don't need your money.”

Sighing, he scratches his chin as he looks at you. “I'm sorry,” he apologizes, your mouth falling open but you stay quiet. “Let me do this for you. And Yoojin.”

“I am, but I don't want you to think I need your money. Yes, you make our lives easier but I'm not your wife. I thought you knew that.” Your voice fades away, but the disappointment in it stays as Seokjin groans underneath his breath.

“Shit, I know that,” he curses, voice thick with regret. “I'm not good with words. I've never done this before and I've never met someone who didn't try to fuck me over. It's hard for me to trust someone and you're the first person-- I'm sorry. I know you don't need my money, you made that clear from the day one.”

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you let it go before you give him a soft smile. Confusion is clear on his face, probably thinking you were about to curse at him but he's just met with your smile.

“What?”

“Hm, nothing,” you hum, causing him to roll his eyes in annoyance. Well, some things haven't changed. “I just.. thank you for being so open, I think. It makes me understand you better.” you tell him honestly, seeing him look away as he plays with the grass next to him.

Is he blushing?

When he looks back at you, his eyes trail somewhere behind you before his eyes widen. You follow his vision, eyes mimicking Seokjin's expression as you see your son standing, without holding himself. He giggles and stumbles, but still doesn't reach for the tree next to him.

“Oh my god, he's standing!” you chant, clapping like a crazy woman which makes your son giggle.

“Where's my phone?” you hear Seokjin mutter, before he's snapping a few pictures of your son.

“Come here, pumpkin. You can do it, come here!” you call to him, arms outstretching as you silently call him to your embrace.

He frowns, complementing on what to do but when you clap again and call for him, he smiles. He takes a step forward, and you push the squeal that wants to rip out of your throat away, not wanting to scare him as he slowly starts walking towards you. He's wobbling, his chubby legs barely holding his balance, but he doesn't fall this time. From the corner of your eyes, you see Seokjin pointing his phone to Yoojin, recording this moment with a huge smile plastered on his lips.

“Come to mommy!” you call for him, giggling when he's almost in your embrace, loosing his balance but you're quick to catch him, causing him to giggle. “Good job!” you praise him, kissing his cheeks as you hug him closer to you.

You've never felt so proud, like this very moment. Seokjin's eyes are filled with a rare emotion, something you've never seen on his face and you wish you could snap a picture of him right now. He reaches towards you, caressing Yoojin's back as he gives him a set of praise words.

“Go to daddy,” you tell him, making sure your son is standing as he stares at his father.

He moves away, crossing his legs as he outstretches his arms the same way you did. He's smiling, eyes glistening as he wonders if his son will walk into his arms like he did to you.

“Yoojin-ah, come on. Come here.” he calls out to him, your eyes watering when he starts taking a few steps to his father, grinning at him as Seokjin starts to scream in encouragement causing you to laugh.

You've never heard him being so loud, full of joy and you pull out your phone, taking a lot of pictures as he picks up your son, bouncing him in his arms as he starts kissing his face repeatedly. It makes your son erupt into a fit of laughter, his bubbly laugh outstanding from other children's ones while you're wiping your tears, too stubborn to look away, savoring this moment.

[9:23pm] hobi: wait... he looks... happy???

The message makes you giggle, covering your mouth with the blanket before your fingers work their way onto the screen. You've sent him the video of Yoojin walking, along with the pictures you managed to snap of Seokjin kissing him.

[9:24pm] he does, i've never seen him look so happy

[9:24pm] hobi: that's good, right? is he treating you okay?

He never fails to ask the same question every time the two of you talk, but you know he's just looking out for you. And besides, today was nothing but great.

[9:25pm] yeah, he's really trying hobi

He sends you a couple of emojis of confetti, clapping hands and fireworks which makes you snort. Your giggling is interrupted with a soft knock on your bedroom door. Knowing it's Seokjin, you call out a gentle 'come in' before he opens the door. His head is the first thing that appears, as he cutely looks around noticing Yoojin's crib where he's sleeping.

He was supposed to sleep in his new crib, but he somehow didn't want to let go of you, even though he fell asleep almost immediately.

“Can I come in?” he asks you, cautiously staring at you and catching a glimpse of your exposed legs.

Slowly, you sit up and nod in response. He tries to be quiet, making his way towards the crib to check on Yoojin before he sits next to you. The fresh scent of his shower gel that he brought one day to your home lingers on his skin, his hair slightly dampened after he took a shower. He's wearing a loose shirt and some sweatpants, to stay decent. You know he likes to sleep naked most of the time, or at least that's what you always thought after he fell asleep a few times in your bed – back in the time when you messed around. He always made sure to leave after you both had sex, but there were times when he had a couple of drinks and stayed the night. But you never felt the warmth of him the next morning, no sight of him.

“He fell asleep right away. I think we tired him out.” you whisper, pointing at your son's crib as he chuckles.

“He had an eventful day.” he comments, his voice gentle and quiet not to wake him up.

He's right. After you both packed your stuff and put it into the truck of Seokjin's car, you went to eat ice cream and walked around for a few minutes, before it was time to go back home. Seokjin took a bath with Yoojin, playing with him in the water and you left them there, and cooked dinner.

“Can't sleep?” you ask quietly, making out his features thanks to the moon and opened blinds.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Can you? I heard you giggling.”

“Oh, it was just something Hobi sent me,” you wave your hand, silently watching him in the darkness.

Luckily, Hoseok visited you more often, even when Seokjin was present and even though the atmosphere is awkward most of the time, at least they don't want to rip each other heads anymore.

“Thank you for taking us out today, Yoojin was so happy.” You feel the need to tell him that.

He's not a kid who needs to get praised at every single good thing he does, yet you want to show him your gratitude. He's been involved in Yoojin's and your life more with each passing month. Maybe it's weird but you feel like a family. You raise him together, even though Seokjin officially doesn't live with you, but he's spending most of his time with you. This actually works nicely, way better than you've ever imagined.

And the littlest smile that ghosts his lips whenever you show him your gratitude doesn't go unnoticed, even though he tries to hide it. It's the same one that's hidden by the darkness in your bedroom.

“Were you?” he asks, head tilting towards you, although you can't see his eyes clearly.

“Huh?

“Happy,” he whispers, “Were you happy?”

You're taken back by his question. Does he really care about your happiness? You can't believe your own ears. You knew he's not such a bad guy as he makes himself out to be – hence all the gestures he's done for you, like sending you money and making sure you live in a nice place. There are a lot of things he's done, nice things that made you even more confused by him. But he's never been so straight forward. Until these recent days.

“Yes,” you answer him, “Were you happy?” you ask him back, watching his broad shoulders as he stays quiet for a moment.

“Yes.” he whispers, turning to you and you automatically smile at him, not even sure if he can properly see you.

“I'm glad, I don't think I've ever seen you happy.” you admit, wondering if you're pushing his buttons too much.

“I don't really show emotions but I don't think I've ever been happy. I kind of just... lived.”

The lamp that slowly creates in your throat makes you painfully swallow, your heart shivering of sadness from hearing those words. He says it lightly, although the meaning behind it is sad. You put your hand on his back, caressing his tensed muscles as you scoot closer to him. He's warm, inviting almost and you hate yourself for craving his touch.

“Are you happy now?” you hesitate to ask, but relax when he doesn't seem too tensed from your question.

Slowly, he turns around, your hand falling off his back as he stares at you. It's hard to see his eyes, but you know he's looking at you. He reaches towards your face, caressing your soft skin as his thumb swipes across your lips. Your breath hitches but you don't dare to look away or flinch, it feels too good to do that.

“I'd like to think that I am.” he answers.

It's something about the tone and the way he says it, making it sound painful yet smooth and joyful. He's a one big mystery you were always trying to solve, but if he's not the one opening himself to you, it's pointless. But you see it now. So many things have changed and you get to know a new side of him, each layer he has, almost every day.

You don't know who moves the first, maybe the both of you at the same time, as your lips crashes together in a soft and slow manner. It's been so long since you've felt those lips against your own, enjoying how perfect they feel. As expected, he takes over the kiss, leading you the entire time as you adjust to his pace. It should be embarrassing how quick he has you squirming in your spot and groaning into the kiss, whenever he pulls onto your bottom lip. He cups your face for the better measure, while the other one holds your neck and fuck, how amazing it feels.

Even when your back meets the softness of your mattress, and your neck Seokjin's lips, you know you're utterly fucked. He hovers over you, kissing every sensitive spot which makes you giddy over the fact, he still remembers what makes you moan and clench around nothing.

His thigh is settled between your legs, and when he lightly nibbles onto your weak spot with his teeth, you automatically grind against him. He shushes your moans with his mouth, leaving your mouths connected before has to pull away after a couple of seconds.

“Jin,” you plead, arms hooked around his neck as you pull him closer.

The chuckle that leaves his mouth is shushed, but very audible to your ears as he nudges your nose with his own. “What do you want?”

Of course, he knows what you want from him. He just likes you to say it, even beg for it.

“You,” you whisper, arms traveling down his broad shoulders making its way to his defined chest and abs. “I want you.”

“Is that so?” he hums, nudging your cheekbone with his nose this time. “Are you sure?” he asks when he receives a few set of nods in response.

Your hand trails down, cupping him through his sweatpants, surprised when it's the only clothing separating his length and your hand. What shocks you the most, is the obvious erection poking underneath the thin material and how just the feel of it makes you aroused.

“Naughty,” he comments, pushing away the groan that wants to escape past his lips, clenching his jaw when you stroke him. He sits back on his knees, motioning for you to sit up and you obey, letting him taking off your loose shirt.

Now that you think about it, it seems like it's one of Seokjin's shirts he forgot here. If he noticed such a little detail, he doesn't comment it and softly lays you back down. You bite onto your lips, feeling his palm against your breast, groping the soft flesh.

“So big,” he hums, noticing how bigger they seem and feel ever since you got pregnant. Surprisingly, he leans against your chest, sucking on your nipple as he licks it a few times.

Your palm slaps against your mouth, silencing all those moans and soft groans. He does the same thing to the other breast, coating it with his saliva as he trails down onto your stomach, kissing and licking your skin.

You haven't thought about having sex for a long time, there was never a proper time to think about such thing. You've spent all your time taking care of Yoojin, that the thought of another man and your intimate life was the least of your worries. There were times your hormones would act up, and you craved for someone else's touch. Your mind often drifted to the man that's enveloping your body with his mouth, no matter how many times you've reminded yourself that he's not right for you.

You were so busy trying to be the best mother you could be, that you never really thought about having sex after nine months you gave birth. You got in shape, although your body is not what it used to be. Your breasts got bigger and you still got some fat on your stomach and thighs. And for this very time, you're lucky there's a darkness in the room and Seokjin can't tell all the stretchmarks that failed to disappear.

His hand disappears between your thighs, chuckling when he notes you've no underwear. “Naughty girl.” he chuckles, circling your opening teasingly as you bite onto your lower lip.

It hurts, but you've to keep your mouth shut if you don't want to wake up your son.

“Can you...” he trails off, your mind clouded with lust before you realize what he's asking.

“Yeah.” you answer, giving him the green light as he slowly pushes a one finger inside of you.

It feels weird, almost as if it's the first time you ever experienced this particular touch. Although, it doesn't take you too long to get used to it, hips bucking into his hand as you plead him for more. Surprisingly, he doesn't insist on begging, listening to you as he watches your body squirm in pleasure. He pumps his fingers inside and out, grazing your walls before he scissors them, penetrating you.

“Fuck, you got so tight.” he groans, pumping his fingers before he kisses you.

He barely used to do that. He barely kissed you during sex, and if he did, it was always harsh and rushed. This seems to be slow, but intense at the same time.

You've heard so much stuff of women getting even tighter after they gave birth. You weren't sure if that's true but if Seokjin can tell a difference and he's telling the truth, you guess all those articles were right. Woman's body is something amazing. It goes to its original state even after bringing a human into the world.

He adds another, silently shushing you when you whimper.

“I know, gotta stretch you out,” he whispers, pushing onto your clit with his thumb while his fingers continue to fill you up. “Have you had sex after you gave birth?”

There's a possibility he feels unsure, but he doesn't stop and continues with his movements as if he's not asking you such an intimate question.

Would he be angry if you said yes?

Would he become possessive all over again?

“No,” you whisper, clutching the sheets between your fingers. “You're my first.” you tell him, and you wish you could see his reaction more clearly. This way it seems he barely reacted, although he goes down to bite onto your collarbone which leaves you gasping.

You clutch his shoulders, frowning when he's still fully clothed. “And you?”

“You mean, if I had sex after giving birth?” he snorts, causing you to roll your eyes at him before you groan both in annoyance and pleasure.

“You know what I mean.”

“Then the answer is no,” he tells you, mouth pressed against your ear, so you can hear him clearly. “I haven't had sex with anyone else.”

“That's hard to believe.” you choke out, when he adds his fourth fingers making you breathe through it with a scrunched face.

He gives you the time to adjust, halting his movements. “I didn't. Believe it or not, I've found it hard to find someone else. Not that I was really looking for someone.”

It's the honesty that makes you pause, your heart hammering even faster and you wonder if he can feel it too with his chest pressed against your own. Before you can question him, your curiosity getting the best of you, he's already pumping his fingers again. Deciding you want to feel him, you hook your fingers underneath the hem of his sweatpants, hand disappearing into them as you finally grab him. He groans, surprised by your bolt move, as you slowly pump him.

You were right. He's not wearing any underwear, making it easier for you to access him. He feels just as thick as you remember him, the weight in your palm causing you to clench around his fingers.

“I need you.” you whisper, clearly enough for him to hear because you see him pulling away, staring at you.

“Don't you wanna cum? It'll be easier for me to--”

“I'm sure,” you interrupt him, pulling your hand out of his sweatpants. “Take your clothes off.” you tell him softly, surprised when he actually listens to you without any side remarks.

The loud thud of his clothes makes you both freeze, waiting for Yoojin to wake up but you barely hear the soft puffs leaving from the crib, before he goes back to you. You sit up, pushing him to lay down as he stares at you in confusion. There's not much place or time to actually speak, you're both aware you have to be quiet. Maybe you should just move it to the living room, but there's something thrilling about having sex knowing you've to keep your mouth shut.

“I wanna ride you.” you whisper, already sitting down onto his abdomen, his hardened length poking you into your ass.

“Holy fuck.” he grunts, hands gripping your hips before you lift yourself up, enough to grab his length and make yourself more comfortable.

His head pokes your entrance, your walls clenching just from the thought of feeling him stretching you, as you slide him up and down. Your other hand is outstretched onto his defined abs, feeling how tense they're. You know you're teasing him, but he doesn't say anything and simply lets you take the lead.

Maybe it's the understatement, knowing you're about to have sex for the first time since Yoojin was born. Or maybe he just got a lot more understanding, appreciating current situation. You'd never have thought it'd come to this again, even though your dreams have been wild these couple of months.

Slowly and cautiously, you slide down onto him, your mouth opening at the sudden stretch and burn that his fingers couldn't do. This way, he reaches you even deeper and he's not even halfway in. He's groaning, doing an awful job to contain the pleasure, while you whimper with each inch that you take him.

This has to be difficult for him too. If he's really telling the truth, which you believe him, he haven't had sex for a long time.

Oh, if you just knew he's minutes from spilling himself like some teenager.

Maybe it's just that exact reason, him not having sex for a long time. Or it's you and the way you feel around his length, making him throb inside of you as he twitches when you finally take all of him. A few seconds of adjusting yourself to his huge length, and you're already bouncing on him. Your arms failing you, your body falling onto Seokjin's chest as he holds your body even closer, meeting your thrusts with his hips. He's fucking into you, taking the control even though you're the one on top. He envelopes you in his arms, making you feel closer to him than ever.

You can't describe it, but this time it's different. It's not just sex full of lust and pleasure, there's something else there. You know you don't love each other, but there is a certain kind of chemistry going between you two. Instead of fucking you so hard trying to chase his own pleasure, his movements are quick but still soft. It might sound stupid or ridiculous, but it feels lot more closer. Like there's an actual connection between you two, and it's not just from the fact he's inside of you.

“Fuck, Jin, I can't--” you whimper into his neck, silencing your moans as he starts to fasten up.

“Come on, cum for me. Let me feel you.” he grunts into your hair, digging his fingers into your back and hips as he urges you to cum.

With a few more thrusts, you're cumming around him as your whole body shakes, but he's there to hold you through it.

”Shhh, you did so great. You were amazing.” he shushes you, his length twitching inside of you, reminding you of its presence and need.

You slide off him, settling yourself between his legs before you take him into your mouth, hand gripping the rest that you can't take. Bobbing your head and stroking him with your hand, you feel his fingers grabbing your hair. Swiping your tongue and repeating the same process couple of times, causes him to let out a low growl as he's spilling himself into your mouth. He twitches in your mouth, emptying himself and when he's done, he sighs.

You let him go with a pop sound, swallowing all of his cum as you sit down onto your knees, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“That was... fucking amazing.” he breathes out, his rigid breathing filling the bedroom.

The sex itself wasn't the longest you both had, but it was intense and probably the best one. Something's telling you he thinks the same thing as he seems to be far more affected than ever.

“Yeah,” you chuckle, agreeing with him as you stand up.

“Where are you going?” he asks immediately, already leaning against his elbows as he watches you in the darkness.

“To take a shower,” you answer, stating the obvious while a surprised 'oh' leaves his mouth. “Can you please watch Yoojin?”

He coughs, nodding his head remembering that you can't probably see him that well. “Sure.”

You go take a shower, smiling giddily for the whole time the water splashes onto your body, ignoring the little jumps your heart does every time you replay what has just happened. When you're done, Seokjin takes his turn to take a shower while you can't fall asleep. Staring at the ceiling, you're surprised when the bedroom door are pushed open. You don't move, nor close your eyes as you feel him getting into your bed. You don't comment it, nor does he. You're not even sure if he knows you're still awake and you wonder what's been going on in his head again.

What made him to come here and sleep next to you?

Nevertheless of your raging thoughts, you find yourself relaxing when you feel a warm body next to you. Small part of you wishes he'd pull you closer, letting you feel his warmth properly.

But even without that, you manage to fall asleep in a minute, enjoying his proximity and warmth while it lasts. And for the first time, you wake up next to him peacefully dreaming and sleeping in your bed.

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