#fickleminder

[qrowsofafeather]

Backstory for Greedbringer pls 🙏🏻🥺

Qrow the author and Emma the MC shared an immediate thought:

"I've got to start all over?? SCREW YOU SOLMARE/NIGHTBRINGER!"

All my dp doesn't transfer, the cards don't transfer... Ugh.

Meanwhile Emma is royally pissed for many reasons:

the Bois are freaking tf out back home, why is Solomon so chill about it?

she's supposed to make pacts with these new brothers for the specific purpose of abandoning them?

why in the freaking Three Realms is she getting threatened by angels over 'helping' Nightbringer when her absolute #1 goal is to spit in his face??

like with bullet point 2, the brothers are suffering and she remembers how bad it was getting them to reconcile back home, is she really supposed to do that to them again? :(

"I'm going to fall for them and will have to decide which timeline's collective hearts to break. FUCK. THAT. Where are you, vilest of demons!??" She's going to make even Barbatos' dungeon look comforting.

Also Qrow the author is tremendously lonely and touch starved. ^^;

[misc-obeyme]

Happy birthday CC! Have a great one 💕

Ahh thank you so much!!! 💕💕💕💕

[elsecrytt]

Saw your new pinned post on my feed so I just thought I’d stop by to say hiiii~~~ 👋🏻💕

Hi!! I wave from faraway, across the gap of separate fandoms,,, my beloved Satan is still there as my pfp,,, tbh I don't want to replace him. idk why but i've always found that card to be so aesthetic.

[mostmouse]

Needed: Potion of Durability

Kirana's positive she knows what she's doing when she approaches Satan's door during his rut. But in hindsight, she might've bitten off more than she can handle.

A commission for the most lovely @fickleminder ! Thank you for letting me write Kirana :)

(Satan x OC - Kirana, explicit, 4,100 words)

Kirana studied herself in the mirror of her room, the moonlight shining in and bathing her in a soft white. Pulling at the clothes she wore, she tied her hair up into a ponytail, long hair cascading down her back. Making a stern face at herself, she nodded in determination. Bending to grab the potion on her nightstand, she drank it all before tugging on the hem of her shirt once more. 

Solomon had prepared a potion for her to increase her ‘durability’, as he put it. It would last for quite a while, and would make her sturdier than even Beel - temporarily. Holding the letter in her hand, she bit her lip before escaping her room, making her way towards Satan’s. The barrier spell was done by none other than Lucifer himself, sequestering Satan through his rut. Being a born demon, instead of a fallen angel, his were more aggressive, more violent, than his brothers’. 

Lucifer had helped her with the letter - a sort of consent form to quell Satan’s anxiety and inevitable panic once he regained his clarity and, with Kirana’s help, hopefully that moment would come sooner rather than later. Asmo had tried to stop her last week, recalling with a grimace how Satan’s other “partners” fared once he was done with them - some of them not surviving. 

However, that wasn’t enough to deter Kirana. Sure, maybe sometimes she didn’t exactly stand up for herself and say what she was thinking, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t devoted to Satan completely. Besides, she had been in rough situations with him before, and with Solomon’s expertise in potion brewing, this shouldn’t hurt... Relatively speaking. 

As she made her way to Satan’s door, she could feel the floorboards rattle silently. Sighing in relief at the soundproofing spell, she felt her shoulders relax a bit. At least not everyone in the House of Lamentation would hear what would soon be happening in their brother’s bedroom. Steeling her nerves one last time, she finally found herself in front of the door. Just as she was reaching out, it opened and a clawed hand reached out and dragged her inside. 

Gasping silently, Kirana let herself be brought inside, quickly tossing the letter towards Satan’s desk, hoping he wouldn’t go after it at the sudden movement. Blinking rapidly in the near pitch darkness, she tried to focus her eyes on the demon before her, hearing his disjointed tail scuff along the floor and knocking books over.

“Sata-” Her words were cut off immediately, his mouth on hers and his rough tongue shoved into her mouth. His hands pawed at her, making easy work of her clothing as it fell in ribbons around their feet, his own body already bare. Whimpering quietly, she tried to back up just a bit, his body suffocating hers now that she was nude as well. 

Following her steps, Satan had her pinned against the door, nails carving into the wood just beyond her arms. A fleeting thought had Kirana wondering if he was aware enough to realize it was her - but she didn’t dare get her hopes up. His tail ceased its lashing, instead coming and winding up her leg. As he broke away from her, his mouth trailed along her neck as he made low growling sounds. 

She felt her heartbeat in her throat, anticipating him biting her with his sharp teeth, upper and lower canines sharp as knives. However, he simply pressed her tighter against the door with his body, tail coiling and squeezing the plush skin of her thigh. 

Biting her lip, she took a sharp breath to ask him what was wrong, but instead a strange scent filled her head. His tail stopped between her legs, stroking her cunt as she felt her vision become a bit hazy. Meanwhile, Satan was taking his time rubbing his face and mouthing over her pulse point, steadily releasing pheromones into the air. 

Suddenly, Kirana’s mouth began to water, feeling a burst of heat in her belly. “S-Satan? Can you hear me?” As her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and as her demon had yet to move, she reached out, petting his hair softly. However, that seemed to engulf her more in the strange vapor of the air. 

Feeling her knees get weak, she whimpered quietly as his tail slipped inside her soaked cunt, panting at the feeling. It didn’t take her long to come to the conclusion that Satan had done something, and that it must be related to his rut. While it seemed to make her body loose, and to her embarrassment - intensely aroused, it didn’t seem to hinder her thought process, at least, not yet. 

Satan purred next to her, a deep rumbling growl in his chest as she idly stroked his hair. With a sharp shout before snapping her jaw shut, he bit down into her shoulder, feeling her skin break easily. Whimpering behind pursed lips, she felt his rough tongue lick along the superficial wound, his hands trailing down before seizing her hips in his tight grip. 

As easy as lifting a hardback novel, Satan tossed Kirana over his shoulder, making the short walk to his bed and throwing her down unceremoniously. In the few moments she had been aloft, she had noticed various jugs of water and provisions of food, and she couldn’t help but balk slightly, just how long exactly had Lucifer said Satan’s ruts last?

Fully nude, on her back, and staring up at Satan’s demonic appearance while in his bed, sheets torn all around her, she felt the weight of her choices - as well as his tail that was still pressed and coiled inside of her. A meek whine left her throat as she saw his emerald slitted eyes, the sclera a pitch black that seemed to make them glow that much more vibrantly in the inky darkness of his room. 

He watched her every move, every twitch of her face as his tail pressed inside her. He could tell she was soaked already, not that it mattered much - he was going to take her whether she was ready or not. Crawling onto the bed to hover over her, Kirana squeezed her eyes shut as he dragged his tail from her, instead lining himself up against her cunt. Heart pounding, she looked up at him and away from his monstrous cock. 

It wasn’t as if she were unfamiliar with him in his demon form, but still, seeing it so flushed and feeling it throbbing with his heart beat had her own skipping in her chest. His hands seized the backs of her thighs, propping her legs up as the blunt tip pressed inside. Trying to take deep breaths, she fisted her hands in the tattered sheets, mouth opening in a silent scream as he shoved himself inside. 

Eyes rolling back, she felt every ridge of him, his almost ruffled cock thick and lengthy inside. Grunting and whimpering as his knot approached her tight rim, she grabbed for his wrists. However, Satan couldn’t bring himself to care, he couldn’t even think. The only thing on his mind was how hot, tight, and wet Kirana was wrapped around him. 

Huffing a sharp growl, he snarled above her, piercing glare making her shudder. With ease, he pulled back, only to snap his hips back into her. Gasping and writhing, she hid her face in the pillow, turning to look away and presenting the perfectly smooth skin of her neck to him. His mouth watering, Satan’s gaze slipped from her neck to her breasts, then back up. 

In the back of her mind, she rationalized that the pheromones he was exuding must be making her body that much more pliant, considering his massively ribbed cock wasn’t snapping her hips in half. Gasping at every deep thrust, she bit her lip, stifling her moans while his tail wound around her waist. 

The vulgar sounds echoing around them did nothing to cover up Satan’s animalistic voice, snarling and growling as he pounded into her. Breasts bouncing, Kirana let go of his wrists and covered her mouth, mewling behind pursed lips. His hands left her thighs, and instead anchored themselves on either side of her head, piercing stare boring into her watery gaze. 

His tail uncoiled around her quickly, stifled cry behind her palms as he cut her shallowly across the belly and ribs. Immediately, it went to her wrists, pulling them away from her mouth roughly, dragging her hands down where they rested on her tummy, arms pressing her breasts close together as Satan watched them bounce. 

Choking on her gasps, Kirana arched, the aphrodisiac of his scent beginning to cloud her mind, control over her own body slipping away steadily. Whimpering, she tossed her head to the side, biting the pillow and once again showing her neck to him. With a groan, Satan dove down, cock stuffed deep inside as he bit her neck. 

Kirana cried out sharply before snapping her mouth shut, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. His teeth easily punctured her skin just as they had on her shoulder, though she couldn’t help but buck her hips into his, thoughts scattered and legs falling open wider. With a sharp growl, Satan kept his teeth hooked into her skin, hips resuming his pace as he sunk deeper inside her, knot pressed against her cunt as he forced himself deeper inside. 

Tears slipped past her glassy eyes, stuttering out a quiet moan, cunt stretching around him as he shoved his knotted cock inside her fully. Gasping, her head fell back, feeling as he pulled away until he nearly slipped out just to force his fat cock back inside her aching cunt. Panting with every thrust, Satan pulled back, moving to suck bruises into her skin along her shoulders before dropping towards her breasts. 

Licking her perky pink nipples, Satan moaned wantonly, her cunt squeezing his cock like a vice. Panting, he licked across her torso, covering her in his drool and scent. Chest bouncing, skin rippling with every powerful thrust, her hot wet cunt clenching around him - Satan quickly found himself overwhelmed. With a loud cry, he threw himself over Kirana, covering her body completely with his own tail, abandoning her heavily bruised wrists and wrapping around both of their bodies. 

“S-Satan!” He rolled the two of them over, pulling her close to his chest as he forced her thighs apart. With a shrill cry, she could feel her hips pop, tail coiling and seizing her body in his grip as he battered her with his cock. Bouncing and sliding against his chest, she felt a burning heat surrounding her, flinching as he pounded her swelling gspot, the stimulation coming fast and hard. 

Whipping her head to the side, she bit the portion of his tail she could reach, sinking her teeth hard down on him and listening as he cried out. Reactively, his tail squeezed her tighter, ignoring how she strained for breath as he dragged his claws across her back, the grip around her suffocating. With fresh tears in her eyes, she tried to call out to him, not knowing what else to do as he fucked her hard, mouth watering. 

Gasping, his tail still in her mouth, she bit roughly once more as her orgasm tore through her, a burning wave of heat and wetness coating Satan’s massive cock as he continued to pound into her, moaning loudly at the sensation. He was gasping above her head, her cheek pressed tight against his chest. Drool pooling as she panted, her body slid against him perfectly, the roughness of his tail scraping her body and sporadically tightening around her. 

With an aggressive snarl as he climaxed, she moaned lowly at the sensation, Satan dumping his hot cum inside her. It felt like too much, like he was filling her belly and she writhed against his chest as best as she could, his tail seizing her tighter until she gasped painfully. His hips still didn’t stop, fucking his cum deeper inside her as the filthy sounds rang in her ears. 

Kirana could feel the heat of it pooling at the rim of her cunt, but his massive knot wouldn’t let a drop slip out. Listening to his low voice rumble inside his chest, Kirana didn’t fight back as his tail slipped free from her body. Dazed expression peered up to watch her demon as he pulled free of her cunt, ignoring how she gasped, how she could feel every bit of his cum begin to leak from her stretched hole. 

Satan grabbed her, manhandling her body as if she were a ragdoll, and shoved her face down into the pillows. She could hear him growling, how he snarled with every breath, sharp claws moving over her body as he grabbed her hips and jerked them up, pressing her face down into the pillows again as she tried to look at him. 

Whimpering, her hands fisted the pillowcase, thighs trembling and threatening to give out. She buried her face deeper as his hands spread her cheeks apart, gasping as he dragged his tail up through the mess of her slit and over her rim. Kirana couldn’t help but wiggle her hips, already missing the feeling of him inside her. Her head was fuzzy, vision blurred through tears as she drooled into the fabric of the pillow. 

He hooked his claws into her, growling as he watched his cum slip down her ass. Lining himself up with her tight rim, he pressed himself inside her hot ass, groaning and tossing his head back at the tightness. His human, however, was shouting into the fabric, the stretch almost unbearable. She bit into the plushness of the pillow, tearing it as she whipped her head to the side, trying to crawl away from him. His tail came back to her, coiling over one thigh before it curled up into a blunt tip and forced itself inside her empty cunt. 

“Satan!” Her voice was muffled, facing away from her demonic lover who was too absorbed in stretching her tight ass. He watched as his cock disappeared inside her, pulling back just to sink it in once more. His cum was leaking around his tail and as he felt it drip to the bed sheets, he swiped his fingers down, rubbing her clit and watching in a trance as her body writhed, collecting cum before teasing her rim by running his messy digits around where his cock was pressing inside her. 

Before long, however, it seemed he got bored of the show. One hand resumed its place next to Kirana’s head, the other still holding onto her hip as he shoved himself the rest of the way inside, knot and all, his tail imitating the movements, filling her messy cunt. Her hand reached out, nails scratching across the wall just above his bed where she could reach. 

Satan snarled once more, drool dripping down onto her back as he bucked his hips inside her. Shoulders trembling at the squeeze, much more intense than her cunt, he gasped aloud. He tried to catch his breath, pulling back only inches just to sink back inside her. A strangled moan passed his lips as leaned down, nose tracing the curve of her spine. She shuddered, feeling his tongue as he licked her, swiping up a few drops of blood where he had scratched her earlier. 

Keeping his hips still, he focused on fucking her with his tail, moaning wantonly as her muscles clenched tight around his swollen cock. Jerking his tail inside her, he coiled it tighter, increasing the girth until it was almost bigger than he was, listening as her breathing stuttered. Once he was pleased with the size, he brought more of it around, rubbing her clit with every thrust. 

Her body jerked, face pressed into the pillow as he licked and sucked marks into the back of her shoulders. His tail was unrelenting, the movement more fluid than his hard flared cock. The texture of the joints pressed hard against her cunt, the tip of it remaining pressed against her gspot. Tears soaked the pillow as she shuddered heavily, tail rubbing her clit while her gspot was left feeling almost raw from how he previously pounded it hard with his cock. 

Growling, Satan jerked his hips back, smacking her ass with his hips as he began a brutal pace, easily controlling his tail so that it kept battering her sweet spot and clit. Pulling back, he leered as her body bounced under him. Grabbing her hair and twisting it around his fist, he yanked her head back, forcing her mouth open as she cried out. 

Kirana tried to close her mouth, hands reaching back and pulling his wrist, humiliatingly salacious moans falling from her bitten lips. “Satan!” He grinned behind her, sharp teeth catching the light as his emerald eyes focused on her, the grip he had on her hair unhindering his brutal pace. 

He snarled behind her, the sound harsh and coaxing another wanton moan from her mouth. He licked his lips, forcing his tail faster, deeper inside her messy cunt. She quaked, hands falling from his own as she propped herself up on all fours, feeling another orgasm tear through her body as his tail overstimulated her. 

Choking on her moans, she felt herself cum, crying out as a hot wave leaked from her swollen cunt, dripping down her thighs and soaking the sheeting under the both of them. As Satan continued to pound into her with his swollen monstrous cock, and the unrelenting rough treatment of his tail, she felt the edges of her vision go blurry, soft moans spilling from her mouth as she passed out. 

Satan paid no mind to her body and how it suddenly went limp in his intense grip. Licking his lips, he let go of her hair, letting her fall face first into the pillows, tugging her ponytail so he could see the side of her face. Groaning loudly, he adjusted his grip, grabbing both her hips once more and picking up his pace. 

He was close, so close to getting off again. How her perfect ass squeezed him so tightly he might burst at any moment, the scent of her cum stuffed cunt driving him mad. Kirana’s scent mingled with his, driving him mad, along with the way she tightened around his tail, how she was so stretched out he could fit more and more of it inside her. Grinning wildly, he snapped his jaws, unable to keep himself in check as he pounded into her, dragging her back by her hips until he tossed his head back, crying out as he finished once more inside her, stuffing her full of his cum in both holes. 

Gasping, he curled forward, dropping her hips as he fell to his forearms, body pressed against hers. It would be a few moments before he could pull free of her, knot swollen and blowing his heavy load inside of her. Surely her belly had to be full of his cum now, his perfect mate, covered in his scent, his cum, his sweat. 

Rocking his hips, his tail pulled free of her body, coiling up and slipping into his mouth. He licked the tip clean, panting at the heady taste, the mixed cum driving him wild. Once he felt his knot soften a bit, he tugged free of Kirana’s body, watching as she fell flat against his bed. Licking his teeth inside his mouth, he slid off the messy sheets, grabbing a bottle of water and chugging it before popping off it and panting. 

He flexed his hands, fingers stiff from the tight grip he had on her body. Looking back over at the limp body on his bed, he refilled the bottle, walking over as his still hard cock swung between his legs. Flipping her body easily, he licked his lips as he grabbed her by the hair, tugging her up and pouring water into her mouth. 

Scoffing as she coughed some up, he tossed the bottle away after draining it. Shaking his head, he felt his hair fluff up from where it had been weighed down with sweat. He easily crawled back on top of her soft, vulnerable body. Grinning, sharp teeth glinting, he slipped his fingers inside her messy cunt, gathering wetness on his digits before dragging them between her breasts. 

Rolling his hips, his tail grabbed her wrists, forcing them together and down against her tummy, so her breasts were pressed tight together. Adjusting her hands, he moved so he was sitting on her belly, heavy package resting on her hands. He slipped his throbbing cock between her pillowy tits, the mess from his hand allowing him to easily move across her chest. 

Sighing at the feeling, his eyes were half lidded as he rocked his hips, cock disappearing just for the aching tip to appear by her perfect lip. Picking up the pace, he growled, tail tugging her hands so her breasts were squishing his cock, the softness rattling his breath in his lungs. Crying out, his hands pressed against the wall above his bed, hips jerking fast and rough as he felt his orgasm approaching too quickly, heavy package gliding across her belly and hands. 

Gasping for breath, he winced as he grit his teeth, jaw tense. It was too much, how his cock was aching, the visual of her bruised and bitten chest bouncing as he slid his thick shaft between them, it felt too good. Panting, his emerald eyes watched as her tongue slipped from her mouth, soft moans leaving her body as he rocked above her chest. 

His hands were moving before he was aware, glazed eyes watching as his swollen tip brushed past her lips with every thrust. One hand held the back of her head, tipping it enough so that her mouth fell open, the other cupped his heavy package, squeezing it as he cried out, hips jerking as he finished across Kirana’s relaxed face. His cum slipping over her cheeks and into her mouth. He moaned as he continued to pump his shaft between her breasts, covering them as well. 

Hand tightening around his package, he whimpered softly, hips bucking as he finished, leaving her in an absolute mess. Letting his head fall back, tail releasing her hands once more, he let himself rest for a moment. While his body was tired, and his cock ached, he didn’t feel satisfied, he needed more of her, of his mate. Her scent was driving him to the brink of insanity, tongue restless in his mouth before he growled low in his chest. 

Satan tilted forward, his fingers slipping through the mess before pressing them inside her mouth, stroking her soft pink tongue. His chest tightened, gritting his teeth as his digits slipped from her mouth and he seized her in a kiss, tongue ravaging her mouth. Hands on her cheeks, he moved his mouth against her pliant lips, sucking her tongue into his mouth before breaking apart and biting her lower lip. 

Pulling back, he slid down between Kirana’s legs, admiring his work and how messy he had gotten her. Shoving his face against her plump body, his rough tongue licked along her slit, rocking his hips into the sheets and giving his aching cock a brief respite. 

Moaning loudly, he ate her out, tongue rubbing harshly against her still swollen clit. With practiced ease, he slipped his tail around both their bodies, slipping back inside her cunt. He felt her hips jerk, thighs trembling as he tightened his grasp on her, scraping his teeth along her slit as his tail found her gspot once more. 

Sharp eyes watched Kirana’s face closely, waiting for her to wake up. If she woke up then he’d pound her again, make her cry and scream for him. However, as he continued to eat her out, he could feel his eyes getting heavy. Covering her mound with his mouth, he licked and drooled all over her pulsing clit, tail lazily stroking and pressing against her sweet spot. While she fidgeted in his grip, head pressed into the tattered pillow, she still didn’t open her eyes. 

Nuzzling his face tight against her, he slowly closed his mouth, resting his cheek atop her lower belly and nestling his tail inside her. Heat radiated from between her legs, but the scent of their mixed cum and the feeling of her soft skin beneath him had him nodding off. He barely registered the soft hand petting his hair as he passed out, body quieting and breathing evening out. 

Kirana blinked hazily above him, eyes bleary and not quite conscious. Unable to move her body, she tried to pick up her heavy arms, wrists aching. Blindly, she pawed for her demon, finally finding his sweaty mop of blond hair and combing her fingers through it. Sighing contentedly, she let herself pass back out, the taste of cum in her mouth. 

[amberheavendremurr]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! 🥳🥳🥳

Hope you’ll have a great one hehe

Hehe! Thanks Karo! <3

[arvandus]

Not so much a question, but your Love and Duty fic? The first chapter where MC is telling Barb how stressed out they are with the brothers constantly pulling them in all directions? 10/10, felt that in my soul, you hit the nail on how much the brothers are over-dependent on MC. Makes me want to knock them all onto their asses and bundle MC up to give to Barb for some TLC 👌🏻

Waa, thank you! As someone who feels that in real life, it really is exhausting and not fun at all, tbh. I love the OM characters and what bits we do get of the worldbuilding and stuff, but I avoid a lot of the character chats for this very reason!

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

(ep8 spoilers ahead!)

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a king who honoured Truth.

He was as gentle as a lamb, as pure as driven snow, as warm as sunlight, and his citizens revered him for these qualities. His Truth was his kindness and his hope, and he was said to be able to heal a Cookie of all their woes and pain with a single touch, so blessed by the heavens he was.

Unfortunately, his Truth was no armour, and eventually it became a blade that turned against him. His soft heart failed to protect his kingdom when disaster fell like a fog over it, thick with malice, and those citizens who once revered him came to despise those very same traits they once praised.

The king of Truth, as gentle as a coward, as pure as a martyr, as warm as the remnants of his burning kingdom. The king, dismayed by his Truth failing him, had little idea of what to do as his citizens abandoned him, one by one until only he remained.

One day, a wise scholar happened upon the shell of that kingdom and, curious to know its story, he went to visit the king. The king, still at a loss for what to do and hoping the scholar may impart some of his knowledge, freely shared the tale of the kingdom's downfall with a deep sorrow in his voice.

The wise scholar, taking pity on the king, stepped up to the weary silhouette curled in that old throne and said, "Is it not obvious? You should let go of your Truth."

"My Truth?" The king murmured, disbelieving. "I certainly must have misheard you. I have dedicated my life to Truth. I cannot possibly part with it."

"Whyever not? Look at where Truth has lead your life – to complete ruins, hasn't it?" The wise scholar explained, oh so patiently. "It has paid your dedication back with anguish and despair. Why should you live like that? Deceit would be far more merciful to you, and it would surely soothe your poor heart, if you'd let it."

The wise scholar had offered this morsel of Knowledge out of the goodness of his heart, and for a blissful moment, the king considered it. Sadly, the king could not see it as the act of goodwill that it was, too blinded by his own petty pride, restrained by his years of stubborn devotion to the false idol of 'Truth'.

"No, what you have said is a lie meant to mislead me. I can tell, because Deceit drips from your tongue like poison." The king foolishly declares, his face hardening with misplaced determination. "This must be a test sent to me from the Witches, to test my strength, and I will not fail so easi––"

—No, that's not quite right. Let's try again.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a great hero.

This great hero was benevolent, noble and self-righteous, known as a friend and ally to all, but he harboured a dark secret. His Soul Jam, the source of all of his awe-inspiring power, was not wholly his.

Indeed, it had once belonged to an illustrious sorceror, a manifestation of his very soul. But this sorceror had suffered a great injustice under the hands of the fickleminded Witches, and his Soul Jam had been torn asunder. While he had clung fiercely to one half, the other had slipped out of his grasp and fell into the hands of our great hero, the unwitting thief.

Of course, the sorceror came to confront the hero, to claim back what was rightfully his and reunite with the full extent of his power. But the hero was unwilling to give it up, and after much consideration, the sorceror decided to be gracious. He allowed the hero to keep his half of the Soul Jam, granted that he never stray from the sorceror's side.

For a blissful moment, it seemed like this compromise would work well for the both of them. One day, however, the hero approached the sorceror, fidgeting with his long sleeves.

"My Soul Jam calls for yours," The hero admits, soft and careful, "and so too does my soul. Even though I am by your side, it is not enough."

The sorceror smiled, flashing teeth, pleased by the admittance because it proved his emerging hypothesis correct. That the other half of the Soul Jam could not have landed in anyone else's hands but the hero's, for they were meant for each other.

"Then come closer." The sorceror goads, reaching for the hero. "Unite our two halves and become one with me, as it should be."

The hero does, pressing into the sorceror's arms, pushing the softened middles of their Soul Jams together until they begin to merge, light melting into the dark of the sorceror's tight embrace. Truth into the comfort of Deceit.

For a blissful moment, they are together and whole and one.

Then pain bursts through the sorceror's back and he screeches as the hero pushes and stumbles out of his twitching arms. The sorceror's wide, blurry eyes catch on the icy glint of a dagger in the hero's hand, sticky with jam.

The sorceror heaves as his hand scrambles to his own back, finding an open wound weeping thick jam that seeps through his clothes. He starts to taste it, sour on the back of his tongue. Sure enough, the hero had stabbed him in the back with a blade he had hidden in his long sleeves.

The hero stares down at him passively, unremorseful. The sorceror's back burns with gouging pain, and his chest burns with boiling rage, coming up through his teeth in a mighty growl. Jam leaks through his clenched fingers as he curls into himself, his Soul Jam crying in the hollow of his throat, calling for its traitorous other half, ringing, ringing, ringing, RINGING. "YOU--"

—NO! No, no, no, that's not right either, absolutely not. Let's take it from the top, one more time.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a humble shepard.

The shepard was sweet and languid as honey, content in spending his days tending to his vulnerable flock. He had no interest in the world at large, though he welcomed any travellers that passed through with friendliness, making peace in his little meadow.

One day, another shepard, hooded and pale, arrived at the meadow with a single sheep trailing sadly at his heels. He asked for a place to stay for the night, as he had recently lost the rest of the flock to a wolf and, in his grief, took to wandering the lands as a nomad.

The shepard, sweet as he was, agreed. He led the hooded shepard to his flock, where the hooded shepard settled his sheep in for the night. Then, he led the hooded shepard to his little cottage, where the hooded shepard settled himself in for the night, right beside the shepard in his small wooden bed.

Little did the shepard know, the hooded shepard laying beside him was, in reality, a wolfherd. Little did the shepard know, the sheep he had allowed to rest in the comfort of his poor flock was, in reality, a wolf bundled in sheep's wool, trained to behave mildly in the presence of Cookies.

When morning came, the shepard was horrified to find that his flock, which he had dutifully nutured since young, had been eaten whole. The wolfherd's wolf, smeared in red with its woolen disguise hanging off it in sticky clumps, trotted up to its master lazily as the shepard helplessly fell to his knees.

For a blissful moment, there was just the shepard's sobs as his world crumbled around him, ready to be remade.

Then, the wolfherd came up to the miserable shepard and lunged.

He pinned the teary shepard to the damp grass, bathing him in lamb blood as the wolfherd bared his fangs and dug his claws into dough, shedding a disguise of his own.

A thin throat gave way under the wolfherd's teeth, and he discoverd that the shepard really was as sweet as honey, all the way through, as jam spilled into his mouth. He made cracks as the shepard weakly tried to struggle, tearing into his dough in reprimand, in retribution. The shepard deserved it.

He dug into his chest with his wet teeth, pulling out his jammy heart, his pulsing Soul Jam, his writhing soul. He savoured it as he swallowed it whole, as the shepard went obediently still beneath him, because he deserves it, this is his, he is his, and the shepard deserves it too. He deserves it, he DESERVES it, HE DESERVES IT--

—HE DOES, he does, but not quite like that. No, no, something's still off. Maybe a change of angle is needed. A change of perspective.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a liar.

He was beautiful, magnificent in his dark robes and rough around the edges in a captivating way. He watched the world from the top of a spire, looking down on Cookiekind from above with dozens of golden eyes, turning his back on Truth.

The liar was not alone. At his side, and he at his, was the beast that strung the world in shimmering strings, playing the universe like a grand orchestra to seranade his companion. Their power did not just blend harmoniously; it was a singular one, feeding into an endless cycle between the two of them, driven by the thrum of their Soul Jam.

For a blissful forever, they stood together, casting the veil of Deceit over the world, dampening the blistering light of Truth until it coalesced into the shadow of Deceit, becoming what it always should have been. The two of them were unstoppable, bowing to nothing and nobody, rising above it all. They were unstoppable, they could have been, they would have been unstoppable-- IF--

—IF THOSE GNATS HADN'T– IF HE HADN'T–

(Stupid, traitorous, weak fool!)

—No, no, enough, enough, enough. This still isn't getting anywhere. How about this?

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a saint of Truth.

He was blindingly bright, too bright, and he could drive the shadow monsters away with a single swipe of his staff, so radiant was he. And yet, for all his shining power, he was also a complete idiot, driven by his soft, squishy heart.

For instead he cleaved the monster out of the shadow, held out a hand and said, "Let me be your...friend."

Friend. Friend. How ridiculous! Laughable, really, in its absolute stupidity. The saint's eyes were so soft, gentle in contrast to the harsh edge of the light, gooey like melted chocolate, like the saint was doing the monster a favour even though it was the other way around, it was SUPPOSED to be the OTHER WAY AROUND--

—NOPE, no, that's no good either. Come on, what else, what else, what else– aha!

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived an angel.

This angel was once a shepard, once a king, once a hero, once a saint before he ascended to the light of the heavens. He was beautiful and benevolent, warm as sunlight, sweet as honey, blindingly bright and infuriatingly beloved. Until he wasn't.

You see, when the angel had ascended, he had thought that he had risen from the rock bottom of the river. He had foolishly believed that he now knew everything, that he had captured the essence of Knowledge through a brief meeting of two halves of a single Soul Jam.

He hadn't realised that a new rock bottom can always be created – all you need to do is dig.

And so, the demon did, dragging the angel down from the picturesque heavens and back to him, backed by a symphony of screams.

The angel tried to reason with him, with his faulty logic. The angel tried to fight but wouldn't risk crumbling him for good. The angel tried to reach out to him, like he really, truly believed it would work.

In the end, the angel lays crumpled at the demon's feet in a heap, cheeks wet with tears but eyes tired and wild. His painful light dims into something bearable, close to snuffing out entirely, flickering weakly like a candle in the wind.

"You were right." The angel whispers, about his hope, about his kindness, about anything, about everything. "You were right. It was always going to end like this."

And when the angel looks up, it is as if he is giving all of himself to the demon. Properly, this time, no clever tricks even passing his mind. His life and soul forfeit.

There. Perfect.

Shadow Milk sighs, a heavy sound that thickens the air. He is not quite satisfied, because he cannot be, not with his dough crawling with restless viciousness, but he is satisfied enough. With the story, of course. Not with anything else.

Just thinking of that, Shadow Milk scowls, finally looking back down at his hands. He had forgotten about the little plush doll he was holding. It's a cute little replica of Pure Vanilla, small enough to fit neatly into the palms of his hands. He had been fiddling with it for no reason in particular, mostly agitated boredom.

In the midst of his storycrafting, he must have tightened his grip too hard. His claws have ripped its chest in half, stuffing bubbling out of the wound like sea foam.

He stares at it blankly for a moment, claws idly toying with the fluff. Then he narrows his eyes, growls, and twists his claws deeper into the tear.

Lonely, Pure Vanilla had said, with the absolute gall to act like he could read him perfectly. Like he could understand him.

As if! There was no way he understood him, and his new little light show only proved that. Whatever understanding Pure Vanilla thought he had was conjured by his own mind, his poor little heart's attempt to find a peaceful solution. It's like Shadow Milk had told them – in the face of the unknown, Cookies tend to fill in the gaps with whatever fits best with their existing belief system, and what they want to believe is true.

Shadow Milk huffs, finally pulling his claws out of the Pure Vanilla doll. It's a sad looking thing, droopy with the lost stuffing. He considers it for a moment, before gingerly beginning to push the stuffing back in, tuft by tuft.

There is one thing Pure Vanilla got right, though. He really is the only one with the potential to truly understand Shadow Milk. He was close to it, even, tantalisingly close before he pulled himself back out again, but he hadn't gotten there yet.

Shadow Milk knows that he hasn't. Because Shadow Milk knows what it will take to get him there, and it involves tearing him to shreds–

Shadow Milk summons old marionette strings, now mostly unused, and begins to sew up the open chest of the doll with lazy flicks of his finger. Despite the casual movement, the stitches are precise and perfect. Once he's done, the doll looks almost as good as new, but inarguably altered.

—before fixing him back up in Shadow Milk's design.

Only then would Pure Vanilla really be able to understand Shadow Milk. Only then would Shadow Milk believe it.

Shadow Milk rubs his thumb over the doll's cheek, something ugly twisting in his chest. His claws twitch, eager to tear the doll apart again, to have an outlet, but he refrains because he does have self-control and he just fixed it.

Instead, he lifts the doll up and presses a kiss to the little stitched star on its forehead. No, not a kiss. It's more like a curse, a harsh press of lips with the slightest snarl of teeth, with enough pressure to create a dent in its soft head.

Yes, this isn't the end. They have eternity, after all. The wait may be agonising, but eventually, he'll understand him. Shadow Milk will make sure of it.

The something in his chest loosens just slightly, as if relieved.

[shootingstarrfish]

recent commissions but the theme is raphael! i loooove him so very much

first one is for @melverie and the second is for @fickleminder!

[qrowsofafeather]

lmao I got to panel 4 and went "Wait, I know the reference!"

loved this, loved the fic <3

A commission for @fickleminder fanfiction ✨️

You can read it here

I had so much fun working on this comic. The fanfiction is way more spicier, though 😏✨️

Kora has really interesting writing skills and I hope you'll enjoy it 🤗

PS: If you're interested in the commissions, don't hesitate to DM me, I'll be more than happy to assist 😉

[qrowsofafeather]

After pulling Satan’s latest detective card, I unlocked the premium picture immediately but ended up picking the pre-devil flower art as the home screen 😅

Was staring at it constantly while writing that secret agent AU fic 🥰🥰🥰

Was the Devilgram good? I stopped at 60 pulls because it was enough to get the Memory UR and I wanted to save for Christmas/New Year's.

I want to read the story somehow before reading your fic because otherwise I'll be completely lost. 😥

[the-auguer]

no guts

just a little something that’s been in the crockpot of my mind for, oh, a year. i’m purging the dreaded WIPs of my notes app and figured I finally found the direction I wanted to go with this one. this is inspired by @fickleminder’s “no hope, no love, no glory” which you should definitely read. basically, what would happen if MC fell out of favor with Mammon

———————————————

“And— and ya shoulda seen the server’s face when Beel kept goin’ with the— hey. Hey? Ya listenin’ over there?”

Your eyes had gone cloudy. They usually do around halfway into any story, but Mammon was determined to make you laugh this time. This was a story tried and tested to make even the grumpiest demons laugh and he misses your laugh like he’s never missed anything else. There’s an ache where your presence used to be that nothing else can fill. Because he can be leaning over your bedside, fussing over your pillows, scooting his chair up until his knees knock against the bed frame and it won’t matter. You’re present and you’re breathing and he’s close to you, but you’re not there. Not there. 

Your eyes drift back down to his face, focusing back in, just a little. It’s enough for Mammon to pick back up his story, watching your attention extra carefully now because this is the punchline of the story and you can’t miss it or he’ll never hear you laugh and the void will keep aching because he’s greedy and grasping but there’s nothing to have anymore, nothing to grasp— except there will be because Mammon will make it. He’ll create something to hold onto, something he’ll horde all to himself in the hole in his chest. He’ll create it. 

“And it was a mess, and the server said, he said—“

“I was a server,” you croak and Mammon is instantly snapping his mouth shut. His teeth clink together uncomfortably but Mammon ignores it, nodding his head rapidly, eager to egg you on. You talk so little. Your voice sounds a bit rough, should he grab you a glass of water? But no, he has to pay attention, he’ll get you that glass in a minute. He’ll remember. 

Your eyes list to the side and Mammon swerves his head so you’re still making eye contact with him. 

“There was… the company went bankrupt so I had to find another job.” You say. Your fingers inch across your blankets, tapping against the mattress just slightly. Like you’re about to start gesticulating when you speak. They don’t go very far. “It was around— no, it was near my… my house. Apartment. The restaurant was near my apartment… maybe two, three miles away. I’d walk there everyday.”

Mammon leans further in, hanging off your every word. What little he knows about your life outside your time in the Devildom hurts him. Pains him like nothing else. That you had a life, that you had experiences, that you lived your human lifespan and Mammon only gets the tail end of it when he wanted the all of it. But that’s his own fault, isn’t it? No use in being greedy with something you gave up. Mammon will leave that to Levi. He’d prefer to be greedy with the time you have left in his life than envious of the time you spent without him. 

“I mostly… I mostly handled the cashdrawer. The customers would— they never tipped when I was the server.” Your eyes move to him and there’s the clarity Mammon’s been aching for. The slightest bit of sharpness in your eyes. It makes his heart beat a little faster, even after all this time. “And I always wasted the— the ingredients when I cooked. So I manned the register.”

You huff out a breath and Mammon’s heart near leapt out of his throat. You laughed. You laughed you laughed you laughed you laughed. You laughed and he was here to see it. 

“Should— I should have known,” you mumble and Mammon strains himself to hear everything you say. “I never did anything right. It was a couple dollars at first. Every few nights. But then I was losing ten. Twenty. Thirty. Every night.” Your brows furrow as you recall. “And they said— said I was stealing.”

Your eyes turn to him and they bore into him with… something. Not intensity. Not sadness. But some kind of weight Mammon can’t place. Every nerve is prickling. His chest hurts. 

“I wasn’t.” You whisper, like it’s a confession. “But the— and then when I was moved to cleaning, when it stopped going missing. And then I spilled— I was fired. From being a server.”

Your eyes slide away from him and you look down at your hands, still and wrinkled on the blankets. 

“Never did anything right,” you mutter.

“That’s not true!” Mammon bursts out heatedly, making you startle a little. He lowers his voice immediately. “That’s not true. Ya— ya did everythin’ right. Ya did.” 

You slowly sink back against the pillows, loosing whatever wind you had, the firmness of your posture and eyes fading away. You make a ‘hmmph’ sound of mild derision and say nothing else. 

Mammon’s hands hover over one of yours. There’s a sick, tight feeling in his throat and he just wants to explain that you weren’t a screw up or a failure or whatever else you might think. They were the failures, the colossal fuck ups. Mammon most of all. 

If you were having trouble at your job, Mammon should have been there. Your first man, your protector, should have helped you prove your innocence and helped you find the missing cash. Mammon’s always had a nose for money, and it would have been easy for him to give you some of his—

Some of his affinity for it. 

“No. No no no no no no no no no no.” Mammon hands cover your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Ya— did you have trouble? Did— did— ya said your company went bankrupt? Money went missing? What other stuff happened? Hey, hey. Focus on me, please? What else happened? Please?”

Your eyes do move to him, annoyance in the slight furrow of your brow. But you don’t say anything. 

“No, please? Just— ya don’t gotta tell me all of it, promise. Just a little.”

“Every company,” you mutter, resentful. Mammon doesn’t know if you’re resentful of him or what you’re talking about. He doesn’t want to know. 

“Every company what,” Mammon snaps, impatient. His heart is thudding so fast. His hands are drained of color around the knuckles and shaking over your wrinkled one. “They what?”

“Went bankrupt. Or I got laid off. Every company I worked for.” You shake your head, eyes trained on the ceiling but looking off somewhere unknowable. “Never did anything right.”

Mammon’s hands fall away from their vice grip on yours. They find a new home over his mouth, where he clamps his fingers to his jaw as he fights wave after wave of nausea. 

Fuck. Fuck!

“I didn’t…” he gasps. “It— I didn’t do it,” he tells you desperately. “It wasn’t me! Or I— I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know!”

You look at him again. And it… it’s awful. Mammon can spend hours by your bed, praying for you to look at him, hoarding every moment you acknowledge him. But this? Your empty eyes that somehow pin him to his chair? They make him want to run. Shrivel up and disappear. Worse than when Lucifer gets the wrinkle in the middle of his forehead that means he’s really upset and Mammon has fucking done it this time. 

“Okay,” you say, befuddled and… and nothing else. Nothing at all.

Mammon puts his head in his hands, his elbows digging into his thighs. You once told him his elbows were bony. Laughed right in his face when he got all puffed up and mad about it. He feels it now, the aching pressure that presses his legs into the fake leather cushion of the stiff, uncomfortable chair he sits in. 

He would give every Grimm— no, every bit of gold, every shiny piece, every glimmer in his collection for you to call him bony again. 

“I didn’t know,” he says again. To you. To the open air of the stupid, shitty human nursing home. To his brothers— fuck how is he going to tell them? How is he supposed to… fuck. 

You don’t answer. And for once, Mammon’s grateful for it. 

[leviathans-watching]

Breaking the Ice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A jersey?”

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

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

∙

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Asmodeus laughs, light and airy. “Barely.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

∙

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

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

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

“Simeon?” you ask breathlessly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, he’s got you there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, humble,” you agree wryly. 

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

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

“Next time, then?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think it was.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A jersey?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

∙

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweet.” 

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

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

Diavolo_14: Is that meal trainer approved? 

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

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

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

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

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

Diavolo_14: Jealous. 

MC: Of the food?

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

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

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

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

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

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

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

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

MC: Is that so?

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

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

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

MC: Yeah lol. 

Diavolo_14: Well, you should still come tomorrow.

MC: Alright, alright, see you then

Diavolo_14: Looking forward to it, MC.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nervous?” Simeon asks, and you scoff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Obviously,” you say, “but Diavolo…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Way awesomer than the Chols.” 

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

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

“Of course I did.” 

“Was it impressive?” 

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

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

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

“I barely even got to talk to you!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweet talker.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eh, they serve brunch all day.” 

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

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

∙

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

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

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

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

“Play hockey.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good. I want to treat you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

∙

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diavolo_14: I’m glad you made it 

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

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

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

MC: Yes but you already knew that.

Diavolo_14: I suppose I may have had an idea.

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

MC: I already had reservations somewhere else!

Diavolo_14: Reservations Simeon canceled

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

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

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

MC: Liar. 

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

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

Diavolo_14: It’s got a jacuzzi tub………

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

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

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

MC: Oh, good, I’m near there. Hold on

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!” Mammon and Simeon protest. 

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

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

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

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

“Not threatening, just informing.” 

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

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

“Anything.” 

∙

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

“Team merch, really?” 

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

You can only shake your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Barely,” you snort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve been watching?” 

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

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

“Oh, I can imagine.” 

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you say, leaning into him. “Everything’s alright.” 

∙

Excitement bubbles through your veins as you take your seat, one similar in position to the one you have at the Dogs’ home rink, basically on the ice and near the team box. The only difference is that you’re on the away side instead of the home, allowing you to continue to sit near the Dogs.  

As a personal guest of the Captain, you’d been offered a plush VIP box but had declined, preferring to get down and dirty in the thick of things as you always had. 

Diavolo’s name sits proudly across your shoulders—his real jersey, not a replica sold to fans—and you inhale the spicy scent of his cologne (yeah, you’d asked to borrow it to spray on the jersey, so what), reveling in the electric feeling filling the arena. Though many of the fans are in the white and light blue of the Celestial City Chols, quite a fair amount of black and red can be seen throughout the crowd, showing the many diehard fans who’d made the trip across the country. The only similarities between the teams’ color schemes are the gold accents, glittering and shining under the harsh overhead lighting. 

Everyone is excited for this game. Not only is it the last deciding game in the finals, the one that will determine who will take the freaking Calder Cup home, but it’s also between two rival teams. Two rival teams that are both determined to work themselves to the bone, pouring blood, sweat, and tears into winning (though not all of it their own, knowing the Dogs). It’s going to be a game that’ll go down in AHL history.

The minutes tick by and finally both teams take the ice for warm-up. The boys wave and smile, Mammon taking care to be an ass and send a puck right towards your face, as has become his pre-game ritual, but you really only have eyes for Diavolo.

Diavolo, who looks hot as hell in your championship jerseys (white, with red, gold, and black accents), who blows you a kiss as best he can around his mouthguard, who looks like he’s ready to lead his team to a very satisfying and devastating victory.

You would swoon but instead settle for yelling and screaming just as loud as the rest of the arena. 

After the starting lineup is announced, with much more pomp and circumstance than the other games, and the national anthem is finished, you sit on the edge of the seat, watching as the ceremonial puck is dropped. It’s very nice and all, but you’re ready for the game to begin.

After what feels like forever, it finally does, and you watch as Raphael and Simeon face one another, kitty-corner. It’s surreal, after so many seasons of watching them play the same line. Diavolo and Lucifer aren’t far behind the forwards, and every member of both teams is completely and utterly focused on the puck.

The arena is so silent you could hear a pin drop as the music fades, and in a clatter of skates and sticks on ice, the puck is dropped. The Chols gain possession, the center sending the puck back to the left d-man, who sends it to the left winger smoothly. The Dogs don’t take that lying down, and chase after the puck. Levi gets there first, and manages to take the puck, passing it to Solomon, who forges a blazing trail down the ice. Amidst the various cheering and booing, you think, perhaps delusionally, you can make out Thirteen’s unique tone, screaming out her displeasure. 

The Chols d-men are frustratingly persistent, and what follows is several minutes of back and forth, with both teams failing to make a goal. Shots are attempted by both sides, but are all blocked by the goalie or intercepted by other team members, and when Beel finally gets the puck in his glove, you let out a sigh of relief that they’re all able to take a break. You watch as the players all assemble for an end zone face-off, one that the Dogs win. Both teams are playing viscous and dirty, with checks rattling the boards all around. 

“Get it out of there!” you scream, as yet another attempted goal shot is made, and as if they hear you, the forward line, which is now Mammon, Asmo, and Satan, push back towards the Chols’ goal. A brief scuffle near the defending line takes place, and the ref whistles, calling offsides on the Chols. 

The first period passes without any goals, despite both teams' desperate pushing. Though neither side scores, you know it’ll only be a matter of time in the second, as the Dogs have been gaining momentum as the night goes on. 

You whistle at the boys as they make their way from the bench to the locker room and Diavolo grins up at you, pulling off his helmet. He’s sweaty and out of breath, but handsome as all get out, and you’ve never been prouder to be bearing his name on your back. 

When the teams finally return after the break, you’re back on your feet, cheering as they take the ice. The Dogs gain possession of the puck in the first face-off, heading the opposite way than they had been previously due to the goal switch, unstoppable. Asmo, who has the puck, leaves the other team in the dust, zipping through and shooting in the blink of an eye. It goes in, as you’d hoped, prayed, suspected, and the roar of the crowd is thunderous. You can’t help but imagine what it’d be like in your home arena, in your home city. 

And it's odd. Sometime, over the course of the season, the Devildom had truly become your home. It’s not a shocking thing, by any means, but serves to make you cheer that much louder and clap that much harder. 

With a goal under their belts, the Dogs have a new fire lit beneath them. But the Chols aren’t giving up easily, and once Raphael checks Simeon hard across the boards in front of you. He’s a fearsome one when it comes to that, known even during his rookie days for his painfully-placed and technically legal elbow placements, and you wonder if the smile that had been shot your way was purposeful. Simeon skates it off impressively, though you know he’ll be aching later.

Diavolo does a great job staying on top of defense, and you’re aware of that same ease between him and Lucifer that you’d picked up on during their very first game together. You’d gotten to know Lucifer well during the season, and you make a mental note to yourself to take extra care when making his ‘good job on winning the Cup’ basket, to thank him for being such a great friend and partner to Diavolo.

When the two of them go back to the bench, switched out by Barbatos and Belphie, Diavolo waves at you in between great big gulps of water, and you make sure to take lots of pictures when you can tear your eyes from the game. 

The CC Chols score as well during the second period, tying them up as they go into the third. Though you’d think they’d all be quite tired, neither team is flagging, both playing and pushing hard. The Chols get another goal in, unfortunately, when Beel’s just a tad too slow, and you’re once again aware you’re in the fan minority as the crowd goes wild. 

They stay in the lead for several heart-pounding minutes, and apparently fed up with the tension, Mammon drops gloves, firecracker personality on full display. He gets the Chol player into a headlock, raining punches down onto him until he’s pulled off by the refs, much to the crowd’s disappointment. That gets him a few minutes in the sin bin, and you groan, knowing what a disadvantage the Dogs are at. The last thing they need is to be two down in the final period!

Diavolo rallies the team, showing his incredible skill and prowess as a captain, and thankfully, the Chols are unable to use the power play to their advantage, and Mammon skates back onto the ice like a hellcat.

Gameplay is stopped again after elbowing is called towards a Chols player, and you cheer as he gets some time in the box. Unlike the Chols, the Dogs score on their play, tying it all back up. Satan manages to scare and gets piled on by the team, and for once, he’s not pushing them back, a rare smile lighting up his face.

The end of the period draws nearer and nearer, and yet neither team pulls ahead. Anxiety and excitement are racing through you, and you continue to scream out your support, even as your voice grows hoarse.

Will this game go into overtime? That almost never happens in a finals game like this!

But as you resign yourself to the possibility, Simeon takes possession of the puck, passing it to Solomon, who goes to take a shot, and upon realizing he doesn't have a clear one, gives it right back. Simeon doesn’t hesitate, finely honed instincts taking over, and delivers it into the net with only a few minutes left of play. You scream, cheering as loud as you can, and the celly that follows is almost disrespectful, lasting a bit too long. 

Though the Chols don’t give up, they're unable to get another point before the buzzer sounds, and you can hardly believe it. The Dogs won! Your team won the fucking Calder Cup!

The boys celebrate in the ice, hefting Simeon up and onto their shoulders and Diavolo takes the cup and delivers it right into his waiting gloves. Simeon hefts it, grinning and crying, and you feel yourself crying too, unable to believe how far he’s gotten, the monumental feat he’d just completed. 

Diavolo’s eyes find yours, and hastily, he skates for the bench, fitting on his skate guards sloppily. As if he expected it, the door attendant pulls open the door to the dating section, still blocked by the metal gate, and you reach for him through the bars, glad they’re wide enough for you to pull him close by the pads and kiss him long and hard. Fans around you boo and scream, but you’re lost in your own world, lost in him. 

“I love you,” Diavolo says as he pulls away, breathing heavily. He’s crying too, but his smile is ear-to-ear, and you pull him in again, peppering kisses all over his cheeks, nose, and forehead, overwhelmed by your joy. 

“I love you too,” you say, and finally, someone opens the gate between you, and Diavolo lifts you up into a hug, kissing you again. You hear camera shutters and see flashbulbs go off and have no doubt your image will be all over articles and social media posts by tomorrow, but can’t bring yourself to care. Eventually, Simeon joins you, and you break from Diavolo to hug him tightly, both of you breaking down fully into sobs.

Diavolo lets you have your moment with your best friend, but Simeon’s soon stolen away by members of the team and you’re all shepherded out of the stands and off the ice so the boys can do their post-game photos and interviews and the like. Diavolo hesitates to pull away, but you shove him along, smiling. 

“Go,” you say. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.” 

“I love you,” he says again, a little helplessly. 

“I know.” 

How did you get so lucky, with this man, this team, this life? You watch the boys, heart bursting, and can’t wait to support them for their next season as well.

Although, not before you and Diavolo do everything you want during the offseason, including traveling and exploring, putting some of both of your accumulated wealth to good use. You’ve heard the Maldives are pretty this time of year, and nice and relaxing for Diavolo to recover. And private, you think with relish. The hotel you pick will be private. Very, very private. 

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[misc-obeyme]

no words, just

tumblr.com/fickleminder/769831635857375232/me-too-satan-me-too?source=share

why.

I’m gonna spare you from my broken heart and shit (boy have I become really not good)

Oof. My heart 😭

It’s definitely been sad. I know they say the story will continue on in some form, but I’ll miss the games getting new content. I’ll probably end up replaying the whole story and going through all the Devilgrams as long as we have the apps running.

And of course I’ll be writing fic. I have so many ideas for some longer Solomon fics and I’ve been thinking about my OCs again…

Anyway, at least we still have the fandom right? This community has been so great to be part of. And we can still enjoy our favorite characters together.

[butterbeair]

🔆 Commission for @fickleminder! 💚

Thank yoy for ordering!! 😊💕

[another-lost-mc]

PUMPKIN SPICE & EVERYTHING NICE // fall match-up event

Love is in the air and it's time to enjoy the beautiful colours of autumn. Let your fav take you on a perfect fall date, or maybe someone you're not expecting will surprise you!

THEME // the perfect fall date

EVENT STATUS // submission status: closed

— Thank you to everyone who submitted a match-up request! Your matchmaker is hard at work finalizing your perfect dates. ♡

— Completed match-ups can be found below!

RESULTS // who's your lucky date?

Leviathan and Thirteen (for amberrskiies)

Michael (for angelzone)

Solomon (for antique-remains)

Belphegor (for bupr0pion)

Barbatos (for calesleftboobie)

Mammon (for caprinaesprout)

Diavolo (for cosmicstarlatte)

Lucifer (for darksekiryuuteiz)

Barbatos (for fickleminder)

Leviathan (for formaldehound)

Mammon (for godhatesyouandi)

Solomon (for i-am-empress-irish)

Mephistopheles (for jozhenji)

Beelzebub (for justletmelurkinpeace)

Barbatos (for kitsune-oji)

Lucifer & Pollux (for meggsngrits)

Asmodeus (for my-fic-corner)

Belphegor (for naomi-nana)

Simeon (for nevae-mae)

Satan (for oikasenpai)

Solomon (for onyourowndaisymae)

Mammon (for osamu-dazais-husband)

Diavolo (for satanlovesusall666)

Simeon (for thusspokeleena)

Asmodeus (for trashy-corvian)

Barbatos (for ykslsworld)

Karasu (for yourboyhack)

Beelzebub (for your-next-daydream)

Satan (for Zee)

Alpheratz (for zisestars)

[qrowsofafeather]

Like I said, I laughed loudly at several points and now kind of feel like an asshole, but they're funny and also digs at Solmare.

“Hush, Beel. MC doesn’t have to know they’re not coming. Not anymore.”

I was confused for a moment and then "Ohhhhh.... :( "

And there'd been enough jokes about title dropping things that I misread the last line as

“Our love for you is Eternal,” was the last thing you heard before Solmare let go and everything went white.

with you

I wrote this based on vibes alone. Viva la OM fandom.

“Keep running!”

It felt like you were dreaming. Everything was rushing past you in a blur as Mammon pulled you along by an iron grip on your hand. He’d always been the fastest of his brothers, but you had no clue what the cause of his panic was this time.

“They’re coming for us.” Lucifer answered your unspoken question, frustration laced in his curt words. “But we’ll make sure they don’t get you too.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked dazedly, still trying to understand what was happening. One moment you were minding your own business, the next the brothers were practically corralling you out of the house and towards who-knows-where. There was no warning, no fanfare, just a lot of urgency and confusion. “Who’s coming?”

“It’s the final boss! The one who’s been pulling all the strings from the start!” Levi wasn’t making any sense either. “So many plot holes, so many loose threads, and now they’re just gonna wipe the slate clean!”

“We’re getting you back to the human world. You have friends there, you’ll be okay.” Satan explained, oddly calm given the situation.

“But what about you guys?” The sinking feeling in your chest had reached your stomach. You felt as though you could puke from sheer stress alone, the way it seemed like they were saying goodbye. “And— and Diavolo, Barbatos, the angels—”

“They’ll meet us at the portal, so don’t stop working those legs honey!” Asmo tried to encourage you, his perfect smile straining against the exhaustion from keeping up with his brothers.

(“But Mephisto, Thirteen and Raphael—”

“Hush, Beel. MC doesn’t have to know they’re not coming. Not anymore.”

“…Okay.”)

The portal was wide open when you arrived. Diavolo and Barbatos greeted you with forced smiles which only made you freak out even more.

“Thank you for coming at such short notice,” Diavolo said, looking at you apologetically. “I’m sorry for not consulting you about our decision first, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Whatever this is, we can face it together!” You reasoned, not above begging at this point. “I can help—”

“You can help by staying safe,” Barbatos interrupted you with a rare frown, and that was the moment you realized things were going to shit. Whatever your expression was, it made the butler’s soften gently. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take care of yourself from now on.”

Two arms wrapped around your waist like a vice, and you looked down to see Luke squeezing you like his life depended on it. “Don’t forget, you have my blessing, so everything’s gonna be okay, you’ll see!”

“No more tears, lamb.” Simeon reached out to wipe away the wet tracks on your cheeks. You didn’t realize the waterworks had started. It was the slow, quiet kind that came with deep sorrow etched into your very bones. “We’ll see each other again. Please try to stay strong until then.”

Solomon held out his hand and you took it without hesitation, your trust in your mentor unwavering. “We’ll be with you, always. Your pacts, your memories, they can’t take those away from you.”

“You’re not coming with me?” Your voice wobbled despite your best effort.

He only gripped your hand tighter, and that was answer enough.

“It is time,” Lucifer murmured. Everyone gathered behind you as you stepped towards the swirling mass of magic. No matter how hard you willed them, your legs simply refused to obey your heart, trudging robotically into the light and away from your family and home.

This was wrong, this was all wrong, how were you supposed to keep going without them—

“Our love for you is Eternal,” was the last thing you heard before Solomon let go and everything went white.