#turns out scanning black designs is really damn hard!

[bawnjourno]

The Girl Is Crying In Her Latte sleeve and vinyl scans, part 1

(photography by Munachi Osegbu, art direction/design by Julie Vlasak, scanned by me)

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

✨Pretty Boy✨

OOOOOHHHH BUDDY I'm excited to post this story! I'm not gonna ramble for this one, so please enjoy the ride 😉

(I'm a teeny bit late on posting this but better late than never!)

Summary: You find something peculiar in the walk-in closet...

Lucifer x f!sinner reader

Warnings: smut, 18+, lingerie, mention of toys, oral (f receiving), collars, pegging

"Damn it! Where the hell is it?," you shouted in frustration. You should have looked for that dress before you hopped in the shower, things would have been way smoother. Now you stood in your walk-in closet with damp hair and adorning nothing but a towel that was wrapped tightly around your chest. You could have sworn you saw that purple sequence dress hanging in here last night! Where could it have gone? You rummaged around your closet for 10 minutes now, but you still came up empty handed! You stomped over to the last rack of hanging clothes closest to the back wall, scanning every article of clothing.

While pushing each dress from left to right that wasn't the one you were hoping to find, something had caught your eye. A small golden handle on the left side of the wooden wall with hinges on the right side. A door? You were in here so often, it's hard to imagine how you could have missed it! Tentatively, you reached out to grab the handle, curious as to what you would find. The small door slowly creaked open and...woah...

You blinked a few times to make sure you were seeing what you saw hanging in there. "Lingerie?," you mumbled to yourself. Well, it certainly wasn't yours, you never really cared to wear something like that yourself, and Lucifer never seemed to mind your decision either, thankfully. You pulled one of the hanging pieces from the rack to examine it closely. The design was elegant as far as lingerie was concerned. Black fabric with lacy red leaf designs on the breasts and stomach area with no coverage around either side of the abdomen.

It was cute...but who's was it? Perhaps it was Lucifer's ex-wife Lilith's? You weren't sure why she would leave it behind. Or why Lucifer would keep them. But the more you looked at the piece of clothing you held, that didn't seem right either. This was small, smaller than most lingerie you'd seen before. And from what you had seen from pictures, Lilith was not a small woman, far from it. She had to have been at least 7' ft. tall, she would never fit in something like this.

You continued to ponder this until you went back to explore the hidden closet. There were more items located at the very bottom that brought a sudden blush to you face. "Holy shit...," you mouthed, struggling to get your brain to process what you've just found. You felt like you just accidently stumbled into one of Hell's sex shops! Dildos, vibrators, butt plugs, collars, bottles of lube and...was that a strap on? What the hell was this perverted closet?! It didn't make sense! Why was this here? Who did this stuff belong to? Why would Lucifer...?

Wait...Lucifer...

Oh! OH SHIT!

It finally clicked in your brain. This was never Lilith's. This was Lucifer's!

“Ok, ok, it’s ok, it’s fine,” you told yourself, “it’s…oh fuck me…”

You stood there dumbfounded, imagining him in the skimpy outfit you held in your hand. You saw him sprawled out in front of you on the bed, drool trailing down the side of his mouth. You saw his half- lidded eyes staring back at you as you hovered over him, his expression filled with need and lust. Your face suddenly felt hot. You were so lost in your fantasy that you didn’t hear the footsteps growing louder behind you.

“Honey?,” Lucifer called out, “are you ready to go? We’re gonna be late for-” he froze as soon as he turned the corner and saw you in your hypnotized state. You snapped your head towards him, holding him in place with your vacant stare. You both stood there wordlessly for a few seconds until Lucifer finally found his voice again.

“I-I…,” he stuttered, “I can explain.”

Oh, you would love to hear his explanation for this. But you quickly decided that you were going to have a little fun with him. Feigning annoyance, you folded your arms across your chest, still hanging on the piece of lingerie.

"And when exactly were you going to tell me about this, Lucifer?" you chastised, almost cracking a smile. "Or were you hoping that I wouldn't find this dirty little closet of yours?"

"Yes! I mean no! Th-that's not it!," he stumbled over his words. He was panicking. It was adorable watching his cheeks turn a shade of red you've never seen from him before. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, trying to cool himself down after the sudden heat spike he felt climb up his face. "Please, love, I'll tell you everything! I'm so sorry, I-I didn't know what you were going to think. I was going to tell you...eventually."

"So let me get this straight," you replied as you sauntered your way over to him, making your way over to the shaken-up man. He backed away from you slowly until he hit the end of the vanity on the other side of the room, gripping it for dear life. Once you finally stood in front of him, you grabbed Lucifer by his tie and forced his face to be inches away from yours. He held his breath as you leaned in closer and closer until he could feel your hot breath on his lips. "You mean to tell me…,” you whispered, “that I could have been fucking you senseless in lingerie this entire time?!"

In that moment, Lucifer’s mind absolutely shattered. Did you say what he thinks you just said? He inhaled sharply after remembering how to breathe. “Y-You…I…th-this is…WHAT?,” he choked out.

“Did I stutter?,” you snickered. You closed the gap between you two and placed a searing kiss on his lips. Though hesitant at first, Lucifer couldn’t help but melt into you, his eyes fluttering shut, your tongues entangled in an elegant dance. You pulled away from him, much to Lucifer’s dismay and flashed him a lustful yet devious grin. “I’m sorry for acting like I was upset with you just now, Luci. That was a tad mean, I admit. In all honesty, it’s actually quite the opposite.”

Lucifer finally released his death grip on the vanity and stood up straight, adjusting his tie that you had loosened. “Th-That’s umm,” Lucifer swallowed hard, “that’s a relief to hear, darling. This is probably the best reaction I could have hoped for.” He flashed a nervous toothy smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I think,” you smiled coyly, dropping the towel you had wrapped around your body and revealing your nakedness to a now wide-eyed and mouth agape Lucifer, “we can be a little late for dinner.”

You saw Lucifer swallow hard at the sight of you. “S-sweetheart,” he began,” I admire your eagerness, I really do! B-but we shouldn’t be late, it’s nearly impossible to get a reservation there and-”

Before he could finish making up excuses, you tossed the lingerie onto the vanity behind him and leaned forward to place your hands on either side of him, effectively trapping him against it. “You’re the King of Hell, Lucifer,” you retorted, “what are they going to do if we’re late, turn you away? Besides…” you took one of your hands and palmed the very apparent bulge in Lucifer’s suit pants, causing him to moan, “we really shouldn’t go out while you’re in this state, don’t you agree?”

Lucifer tried to steady his breathing as you continued to rub him through his pants which were now becoming extremely tight and uncomfortable. “It’s-mmph fuck…your fault,” was all he could manage.

You chuckled, loving the effect you had on him. Not to be outdone, one of Lucifer’s hands quickly slipped down between your wet folds, eliciting a surprise yelp from you. You removed your hand from his pants and gripped his shoulder for balance instead. “Well, well,” Lucifer hummed against you, “seems like I’m not the only one who’s needy right now.” He continued to tease your entrance with his fingers, your grip on his shoulder growing tighter with every passing second. But you refused to let him have the upper hand.

“So that’s how we’re gonna play this, huh?” You breathed against his neck.

“You started it, so don’t-HEY!” With one swift motion, you latched onto Lucifer’s hips and threw him over your shoulder while he tried to playfully squirm away from your grasp. You turned and marched your way over to the bed with a coy smile. “Damn it, let me go!,” Lucifer laughed, but the hold you had on him tightened even further. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry! Please put me down, love, I didn’t mean to-WOAH!” You gave him wish by tossing Lucifer onto the mattress beneath him.

“If you’re really sorry,” you teased as you hovered over him, “you’re gonna put that tongue of yours to good use.”

Lucifer’s smile widened, nodding his head vigorously. You chuckled at his eagerness to please you; it was always so endearing. “You know this is supposed to be a punishment, Luci,” you joked.

“Oh trust me, darling,” he smirked, “this will NEVER be a punishment for me.” With that, he grabbed ahold of your waist and forced your body forward, your dripping cunt now mere inches away his lips. You had no time to respond before you felt his tongue dart across your slit. A wanton moan escaped your lips as he worked his tongue around your clit, circling it with such vigor and passion. His hands dug into either side of your thighs, making sure you couldn’t move away from his ministrations. You couldn’t help but begin to grind your hips against his face, attempting to feel as much of him as possible.

“So g-good for me, Luci,” you staggered, “ffffuuuuck, s-such a good boy for me.”

Your words only seemed to make Lucifer pick up his speed, humming against your slick. His forked tongue darted in and out of you at a relentless pace, his own erection all but forgotten at this point. He was more lost in your pleasure and your intoxicating taste to worry about the almost unbearable tightness in his pants. You felt yourself reaching your peak. No matter how many times Lucifer goes down on you, you knew you’d never last long. He knew exactly what he was doing and he took pride in it. That knot forming in your stomach was on the verge of snapping at any moment.

“FUCK LUCIFER,” you moaned, “FUCKFUCKFUCK!” You forgot how to breathe as your orgasm hit you, your walls clenching around nothing as Lucifer lapped up your juices and helped prolong your high. You caught your breath once your body began to relax again. You shifted your body downwards so you could see Lucifer’s face again, now freshly adorned with your release. He flashed you an innocent looking grin, making you smirk and roll your eyes. You gave him a quick peck on his lips, tasting the faintest hint of yourself on them.

“Good boy,” you praised him, a small whimper escaping Lucifer’s throat. “Go change for me,” you tossed your head to side, indicating to the clothing you left on the vanity. Lucifer’s face flushed a deep shade of red, nodding his head wordlessly. “I’ll be right back, love.”

You made your way off the bed and walked over back to the walk-in closet, stopping at your now new favorite section. You grabbed the strap on and placed it around your waist, adjusting the harness to make sure it was snug against your body. The appendage itself wasn't overly large, around the standard 6 inches. It was perfect for both of you though, who knows how long it's been since Lucifer's done this. You wanted to take things slowly. You grabbed a bottle of lube and were about to leave when you something else in that small cupboard caught your eye. You reached down and grabbed it, wanting to complete his little ensemble. You hid the object behind your back so Lucifer couldn't see it at first.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the closet once more. You scanned the bedroom in front of you until your eyes landed on him. His back was towards you, sitting on the opposite edge of the bed, seemingly gripping the sheets below him. You could sense that he was nervous. And if you were being honest, you were too. But tonight you we're going to take care of him, he more than deserved it.

"Luci?," you called out sweetly. Lucifer sat up straight when he heard his name, looking over his shoulder and giving you a faint smile. You slowly moved towards him, your breathing becoming shakier. He stood up from his seated position, hands clenched at his sides when you stopped in front of him. There was no way to hide the flush of your cheeks when you saw him in his lingerie for the first time.

Breathtaking.

The minimal clothing hugged his body so well, and the black and red coloring made his pale skin pop. You couldn't stop staring, and he noticed. He looked away from you, feeling embarrassed, as if he were on display. You took your free hand and placed in under his chin, turning his head and gazing into his lovely yellow eyes. "You look absolutely stunning, Luci. So beautiful..." you trailed off, placing a small kiss on his forehead. Lucifer couldn't help but bury his face in his hands from your words of affection.

"Can you turn around for me, baby? I have one last thing for you," you asked. Lucifer did as you asked, exhaling a deep breath. You took the object you had in the hand behind your back and wrapped it around his neck. A deep red collar with beautiful golden patters and swirls embroidered onto it. Sewn into the front in large cursive letters spelled the words "Pretty Boy". Lucifer turned around and faced you again, lifting his hand to grab his newly embellished neck. "It suits you, my pretty boy," you cooed, palming his cheek and gently rubbing your thumb against his soft skin. You could make out the tiniest of tears forming in your lover's eyes as he leaned into your touch.

"Are you ready?," you asked sweetly.

"Yes," he whispered against your hand.

"We're going to take our time, alright?," you soothed. "If at any time you want to stop, tell me and we'll be done, no questions asked. You promise?"

"I promise," he smiled.

"That's my good boy," you approved. "How do you want to do this; on your back or on your hands and knees? Whatever you want."

Lucifer swallowed hard. "B-Back, please. Wanna see you."

"I was hoping you'd say that" you chuckled. "Lay down for me."

Lucifer quickly crawled back onto the bed and laid down flat on his back, his legs dangling over the edge. You grabbed a pillow from the top of the bed and placed it underneath his head, doing your best to make him as comfortable as possible. You walked around to where his legs hung, grabbing the bottle of lube and placing some on your first two fingers. "Legs up," you told him, and he complied immediately. His ankles now rested on either of your shoulders as he looked at you with the neediest expression you've ever seen from him.

"Let's warm you up, love," you hummed, "just relax for me, okay?" Lucifer shut his eyes and took a few deep breaths in and out as you shifted the fabric out of the way from his entrance. It also wasn't lost on you that his cock had been straining against his clothes this whole time, you planned on giving it some much needed attention. Slowly, you placed your first finger against his hole, feeling his body jolt from the sensation.

"I'm alright!," Lucifer nearly shouted, making sure you didn't pull away from him, "just...surprised me is all! Please don't stop."

With a smile, you pushed your index finger inside of him, feeling the tightness squeezing around you. Lucifer bit his lip and released a guttural moan. You set a slow pace as you thrusted your finger in and out of him, feeling his muscles relaxing with every movement.

"M-more, please more," Lucifer babbled. It was impossible to ignore his pleading, so you complied by inserting your second finger into him, picking up your movements slightly. "Ssshhhiiitt..." you heard Lucifer curse as you separated your fingers inside of him, stretching him further. You stretched and pushed your fingers inside as far as you could; Lucifer was already becoming an incoherent mess. After a minute or two of your continued ministrations, you finally removed your fingers from him, causing Lucifer to whimper desperately.

"You're doing so well for me, baby," you praised. You took the bottle of lube once more and applied a generous amount to the strap. You lined up the tip up against his entrance, hearing Lucifer's breath hitch. "Ready, Luci?"

"Yes, please," he whispered almost inaudibly.

You pushed the tip into him as slowly as you could, stopping only halfway when you heard Lucifer nearly scream.

"Do you need me to stop?," you asked anxiously.

"No, no! It's...it's alright," he heaved, "j-just give me a minute, please. It burns somewhat, I kind of forgot about that part." You stayed motionless for about 30 seconds before you heard Lucifer give you the okay to start moving again. You shifted your hips to pull out of him and began to slowly sink back into him. Lucifer clawed at the sheets beneath him, overwhelmed by the sensations you were giving him. After only a few more seconds, you had sheathed yourself inside of him as far as you could go. The noises Lucifer was making sent shivers straight down your spine; you wanted more.

"F-fuck..." Lucifer choked out, "Please...please move...n-need it...need you..." He was barely able to form a complete sentence anymore. Not wanting to deny him any longer, you started thrusting your strap in and out of him at a steady pace. The slapping of your skin against his echoed throughout the room, mixing with Lucifer's moans of pure ecstasy. Lucifer arched his back as each of your thrusts brushed against his prostrate. You reached down and pushed more of the fabric away, finally freeing his aching cock that was already leaking an excess amount of precum. You began to stoke him in tandem with your thrusts. Lucifer's eyes shot open from this new sensation he could feel all throughout his entire body, letting out a scream of pleasure.

Lucifer stared back at you as you continued to pound into him. You saw the tears welling up in his eyes, a smile of pure joy spread across his face. It was a feeling of pure bliss; a sense of euphoria had ripped through him. His heart was full. You were and are his everything. You leaned down closer to him, and with your free hand, interlaced your fingers with his own.

“You’re taking me so well, Luci,” you cooed, quickening your thrusts. “You look so pretty, my sweet boy.”

“Hnng, c-can’t…fuckfuckfuck, so c-close, please, don’t stop…gonna-FUCK…gonna cum…” Lucifer mewled. “L-Love you…love you so much, my angel, p-please…”

Your thrusts became erratic and you felt his cock twitching in your hand, ready to burst at the seams. “Love you more, Lucifer. Cum for me, baby, it’s alright. Let it all out for me.”

With a few more sharp thrusts of your hips, his orgasm had knocked the wind of of his lungs. Strings of his hot seed burst out of him, ruining his lovely outfit and spilling over your hand. Your thrusts and stroking had slowed as you helped him ride out his high. Lucifer was left a breathless mess beneath you. You hummed as you licked your hand clean of Lucifer’s mess, savoring its taste. You inched your way out of him gently, locking your hands around his ankles and letting his legs sway freely off the bed once again. After stepping out of the strap, you went and picked up the towel you had left on the floor over by the vanity. You patted down on Lucifer's stomach, wiping away the remains of his orgasm. Crawling up beside him, you outstretched your arms and brought him flush against your chest.

"You did so well, Luci," you murmured against his ear, "are you alright? Do you need anything?"

Lucifer shifted himself so he could face you. His eyes seemed to shimmer when he looked into yours, his expression was soft and serene. "All I'll ever need is you, my dear. Thank you...for this. For everything. I love you...more than anything."

You leaned into each other, your lips crashing together as if it would be the last time. But you knew it wouldn't. You'd always be there for him, just as he would for you. You pulled away and brushed his fallen hair away from his face.

"I guess we missed our reservation," you joked.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm absolutely famished," Lucifer laughed. "I should probably go change again, huh?"

"Yes, go get your suit!" Before he could sit up, you wrapped your hands around the back of his neck, placing his forehead against your own. "But leave the lingerie on underneath. I'm going to want dessert after our meal."

~~~~

⬆️ God reading my Lucifer smut fics live reaction

I got a lot of explaining to do when I meet Gigachad St. Peter after I leave this corporal realm.

Tag list: @kermitdafroggy, @luc1fersducky, @orbitinglumps, @bigfatbimbo, @myhornybrainonlyknowsthis, @lilzebeth, @bbootyyyshaker9000

[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 <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

[amazingmsme]

Hard of Hearing

AN: MERRY CHRISTMAS! I know it’s not Christmas anymore (for me at least) but just barely! But this is my third Christmas fic, & I’ve been so damn busy it’s a miracle I even had any time to write this! But I’ve had an urge to write a fic for It’s A Wonderful Life ever since watching it in film history over a year ago! This movie is so underrated probably because it’s in black & white but George Bailey is a fucking cutie & I need to see that man get wrecked by the love of his life! I WILL spread my agenda to anyone & everyone willing to listen! (read)

George Bailey was many things. A father, a husband, a son, a brother, and he was also an unnamed hero of their small town. A simple man who poured his heart into the world around him, and expected nothing in return. He was loving and attentive to those around them, a good natured man who brought more joy than he knew. A half deaf man who just so happened to be a prankster at heart.

"Oh George?"

Now, George heard Mary call him from the other room loud and clear, but she could get so cute when she was put out with him. She called him again, waiting for an answer that didn't come. She yelled a third time, and there was that fire that he loved to see so much. "George Bailey!"

"I'm right here, you don't gotta yell," he said from the doorway, holding back a smug grin. Mary gave an exasperated smile.

"Well you weren't answering me!"

"Gee, I'm sorry Mary, I didn't hear ya," he lied easily, only feeling slightly guilty. Mary's expression softened as she walked over to him, handing him the Christmas tree topper.

"I just need help putting this on the tree," she said, turning back to the box of ornaments and grabbing a crystal snowflake to hang on a branch.

"Oh, well why didn't you just say so?" he asked, making her roll her eyes fondly. He stretched as much as he could to place the angel on top of the tree.

"Mm, a little to the left," she directed, standing on the other side of the room to get a better view. George smirked to himself before looking at her over his shoulder.

"What about the lights?

"No, it needs to go to the left," she repeated, slightly louder. George stepped back, looking the tree up and down.

"I don't know Mary, they look like they're working to me," he drawled, knowing damn well that's not what she was saying.

"No, the angel!" she reiterated, trying to hold back her laughter at her husband's expense. If only she knew who the butt of the joke really was.

"Well what about it?" he asked, placing his hands on his hips and taking a step back to admire the tree. He started at the bottom, scanning from trunk to the tippy top, where the angel sat, leaning just a little too far to the right. "Ah, it's just a little crooked! You shoulda told me, I'd fix it right up," he playfully chastised, trotting over to straighten the tree topper.

Mary watched her husband with a skeptical eye, starting to catch on to his scheme. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, a fond smile on her face. George completed his designated task, almost walking right past Mary without a second thought.

"George!" The almost aghast tone in her voice made him stop dead in his tracks.

"What? Don't tell me I ruined the tree," he teased, looking at it again just to make sure. She shook her head with a chuckle, smacking him on the arm lightly.

"Were you really going to walk by without giving me a kiss?" she asked, cocking her head sweetly. She looked up at him with those warm brown eyes that made him melt, batting her long lashes. George flushed, ducking his head down and shoved his hands in his pocket. He bit his cheek to keep from grinning, but a sly smirk still found its way on his face.

"Now why would I go and do a thing like that for?" he asked, barking out a laugh at the indignant look she gave him.

"Because I'm standing under the mistletoe!" she explained, exasperated. He took a step closer, cupping his ear and scrunched his face in confusion.

"Huh? You stubbed your toe?" he asked, and the absurdity of the question caused Mary to burst into giggles. "You want me to kiss it better, is that it?" She shook her head, laughing too hard to answer.

"You're messing with me, aren't you?" she asked, humor and mischief sparkling in her eyes.

"Am I what?" he asked, not bothering to hide his smug grin.

"George Bailey, you're horrible!"

"I'm sorry, I'm what?" he asked, leaning in and cupping his ear to "hear" better. She arched a brow, smirking at him.

"I know that's not your bad ear," she said, matter of factly.

"Do you now?" he asked, taking a step closer.

"Mhm." She closed the distance, wrapping her arms around his waist to pull him closer.

"Say, what else do you know?"

"Oh you'd be surprised," she mused.

"Try me," he said, finally leaning in for his mistletoe kiss. But Mary wasn't about to reward bad behavior. She waited until their lips barely brushed before she dug her hands in his sides, scribbling up and down.

He yelped, doubling over in shocked laughter. "Mahahary! Whahahat are you dohohoing?"

"Oh I'm just showing you what all I know, just like you said!" she explained, as if it were obvious. "And I just so happen to know aaaall your tickle spots!" she cooed, relishing in the way his cheeks blushed bright red.

"Nohoho don't!" he cried, leaning against the doorframe for support. Mary started squeezing his hips, and he positively screamed.

"Aw but why not? You thought it was funny to mess with me, I'm just giving you something to laugh about!" she reasoned, voice as sweet as honey.

"Ihihi'm sohohorry!" he apologized, knees buckling as he sank to the floor. Mary followed him all the way to the ground, drilling her thumbs in his hip dips. She laughed along with him as she continued taking him apart with her fingers.

"I don't know, are you reeeaaally sorry?" she asked in a singsong voice. George was laughing too hard to answer, nodding frantically as he stuttered out, "Y-yes! Sohoho sohohorry!"

"Hm... Alright, I believe you," she said, only she didn't stop.

"M-Mahahary! You're still t-tickling mehehe!" he whined, rolling around on the dusty ground. She really needed to sweep, Mary thought to herself.

"Oh, I never said I'd stop!" she clarified, tossing her head back with a joyous, yet somehow maniacal cackle.

"Nooohohohoooo!"

"Oh hush, you know you deserve this."

George balked, staring at her indignantly as he tried to come up with a retort. "Well- maybe not all of it!" he exclaimed, bursting into laughter once more when Mary shot her hands up to scribble in his underarms.

"Agree to disagree," she conceded, moving down to pinch and pluck at each rib. He snorted between his giggles, swatting at her weakly with one hand as he hid his face with the other.

"George Bailey, you better not hide that smile from me if you know what's good for you!" she threatened, wiggling her fingers a few inches above his stomach. On reflex, his hands shot down to grab her wrists, holding them at bay.

"Call me a glutton for punishment," he challenged with that signature cocky grin that made her fall for him in the first place. Her jaw dropped to the floor as she scoffed, though in actuality she couldn't be more delighted.

"Oh you are going to get it!" she cried, wrestling her arms free from his grasp. He was already laughing before she laid a finger on him.

"Wahahahait wait I'm sorrYYYY!"

"Oh now you are," she teased, not stopping her favorite kind of torture just yet. His long legs scrambled for purchase against the wood floor, catching her attention.

"And how could I forget about these," she mused aloud, spreading her nails over his kneecaps. He shrieked, tucking his legs in close to his chest for protection, though it offered none. Not that he really minded all that much. But he was a pretty good actor, if he did say so himself.

She mercilessly squeezed his knees, leaving him a wheezy, cackling heap on the floor. She wasn't too cruel however, and her hands slowed to a stop.

George laid on the ground in a breathless daze, clothes dirty and wrinkled, and hair thoroughly tussled, all while sporting a large, genuine smile.

"So," he started, shifting into a sitting position, "Are uh, are we still under the mistletoe?"

Mary rolled her eyes at her husband's antics for maybe the millionth time before grabbing him by the shirt collar, pulling him in for a passionate kiss under the mistletoe.

George Bailey may not have gotten the life he had hoped or dreamed for, but what he got in return was more than any wish could ever grant.

[syrupspinner]

i just completed mothered

oh this is gonna do some funky things to my brain

this game has an amazing visual style. i love how dark it is without just feeling like a black filter was put over the screen, the lighting is always intentional and does so much to elevate the mood of the game. and the design of the mother in this game, god damn. she looks just enough like a human that it can be passed of as a stylistic thing, but the way she moves is so deliberately uncanny. this is the best way to make a human terrifying ive ever seen, and is probably the only time ive been jumpscared by someone standing still (multiple times across multiple playthroughs)

i noticed the dark lighting and made a point of turning the lights on wherever i went. i was impressed by the consistency and restraint of having them stay on no matter what... with a single exception. you know the one im talking about. ive seen other people need to interact with the bed, but i was so thrown off by the darkness i thought "oh, mother turned off the light, thats very foreboding. im gonna turn it-" and thats how far my train of thought went.

the atmosphere, dude. this game completely understands what is scary and how to achieve it. there are so many subtle things the game does to make you feel nervous and connect to the central theme of family bonds and appropriate roles. like, the game has an emphasis on menial tasks just done for the sake of it without really enjoying it. at first, i just thought this was a jab at how the apple picking section wasnt very fun. i had such a hard time finding them i had to scan through the trees in a single file like a dot-matrix printer. on a second playthrough, its so much more resonant, its such an effectively recontextuallized moment.

id like to emphasize this game doesnt have anything that people usually "cant deal with" when it comes to horror games, like chase scenes or threats popping out at you. so, this isnt a 'try it if youre interested' reccomendation, im telling you that you are going to play mothered. its currently on sale for less than six dollars canadian! thats like what, probably $4.99 usd? buy it now!!! its so well made and emotionally resonant and i just felt it so personally in my brain... its just art, yknow? its probably one of the best games ive ever played

but hey, its your life

[iaminsane-blog]

Little Lady, Big Guns

hope you like chapter/part 4 :)

Bzzz, bzzzz. 

A pounding headache had reached the forefront of my head, nearly blinding me from the small rays of sunshine peaking through the blinds. My whole body seemed to slightly ache but most of the pain was concentrated on my lower back and…butt? As I went to massage the tense muscles my hand was met with a film of plastic. My instincts screamed and I jumped out of bed immodestly shoving my pajama pants to my ankles and eyeing the plastic area. There in small but bold ink just below my hip read “Gun Girl of 141” with a small poorly drawn clipart of a pistol. A deep laugh emerged from my throat as tears began rolling down my cheeks from laughing so hard. This was definitely one for the books. My room was messier than I remember leaving it and my small clock on the desk read 11:42. Shit, even though it was technically a weekend I still had to get something productive done. I slipped into a blue dress with small white flower designs and fixed your self up before heading out the door. 

After sending my final email I finally got the chance to sit back and breath. The day wasn’t stressful however there had been a lack of large army men to lighten your hangover. And so I withdrew from my office and made my way to Price’s office hoping for a new assignment. Price however wasn’t in his usual chair and so you went to the next possible place, the meeting room. It was there that well all of 141 resided. 

“Vera thank the lord, I was loosing braincells with these knuckle heads. I’ve got a task for you” 

Price’s voice had alerted the guys who stood seemingly also hungover. Soap stood with a stupid toothy grin, he had to have known about my tattoo discovery this morning. I gave Price and nod and squirmed my way between soap and ghost, sitting on the conference table and swinging my legs. 

“we need customized gear and weapons for a mountain of a man think you could do that?”

I raised my hand in a small salute, giving a mock serious expression.

“Sir yes sir, but please inform me why this guy cant fit into standard issued clothes?”

Soap nudged Ghost and gave him a sly grin which ghost only ignored, however I could see his eyes scanning me through my peripheral. 

“Well here he comes in”

My eyes drifted to the entrance of the room where a very very tall bulky figure ducked to walk underneath the doorway. As he came into the light the first thing that caught my eye was the absolute unit this guy was, completely massive in height and muscle. He had a large once white but now slight grey cloth snippers hood draped across his face. Two eye holes had been cutout however he had eye black smeared around his eyes. His eyes shifted all over the room. I let out a breathy “gawd damn” under my breath but apparently it was loud enough to warrant a gaze from Ghost. His eyes seemed to sharpen and he returned his gaze to the man, his jaw tense with annoyance. The huge man held his hand out and waved to both Soap and Ghost and then his eyes settled on me. He approached further and held out his hand to mine, and I let my small hand slip to his much larger hand and broke the silence. 

“My name is Vera, I’ll be your designer.” 

“I am König, thank you for helping me.”

I used his hand to pull myself up off the table and craned my head to look up at him, he seemed miles away. My mouth pulled into a wide smile and from miles away König’s eyes had widened. 

“You’re all seeing this right? I’m 5’1 on a good day and König  you are?” “Around 182 centimeters or um..6 foot 10?”

His heavily thickened accent made my smile widen as I gestured to the two of us to the rest of the group. 

“Finally Price a challenge! König you and me will get along just fine.”

His eyes seemed to reflect happiness although I really couldn’t tell under his sniper hood, the masked men are the hardest to read. 

“Thank you team, y’all are dismissed.” 

I started to turn to walk out the door but Soap stopped me short waving a small cell phone in front of my face. The screen illuminated a picture of me, splayed on a tattoo artist’s chair my pants pulled down slightly to expose skin to the tattoo artist who sat concentrated. My face was twisted in a Cheshire Cat grin and I held up a small peace sign. I snatched the phone from Soap’s hand to get a closer look. 

“Soap that is a sick photo here König look.”

I shoved the phone into his hand and for a second he blanked out. Perhaps from being drawn into a conversation so abruptly , however he still brought the phone to his eye line. And when he did his eyes immediately  shot to the ceiling as his eyes widened.

 “That is a very cool photo” 

Was all he said as he handed the phone back his eyes still adverted away. It was comical the way König was, standing rigid above all of us. I gave the phone back to Soap with a grin on my face.

“Please send that to me, thats priceless. But me and König should probably go start on designing, See y’all at lunch.” 

As I began to walk away I noticed heavy footsteps behind me, but for every step I took theirs were doubled. And soon König was walking right next to me. Let’s see where this goes.

“and that is 35 inches across, let me just get here real quick” 

I had been taking König’s measurements for about an hour and still had a few more to go. His large body meant large measurements which would explain why my largest gun appeared like a rifle in his hands. He had started to warm up to me, his body growing less and less rigid. I stepped down from my step stool and looked at my page of measurements, there was only a couple left thankfully. 

“König these last few measurements are gonna be awkward if you acknowledge it, best thing to do is to ignore me.”

His eyes twisted with slight confusion and his shoulders raised slightly. 

“Whatever you need to do Vera”

I nodded and got down onto my knees and took my thin measuring tape, first wrapping it around his waist, and moving down to wrap it around the largest part of his thighs. 

“Tell me König what’s your favorite animal?”

König’s gaze had remained forward facing but he still leaned his head slightly down. 

“Well to look at perhaps a peacock but to pet I love cats”

His voice was soft and low almost as if he was afraid to speak too loud. I moved my measuring tape to measure the length from the front seam of his crotch to the waistband of his backside. I kept talking in hopes to release any tension or awkwardness. 

“You know there’s this old Russian cartoon called Маша и медведь, or Masha and the bear.” 

I finished my measurements and gestured to myself then him.

“Masha ergo the bear.”

I gave him a wild smile to invite friendliness and thankfully he let out a deep giggle that made his eyes shut. 

“Zat is a good one, that is our uh pet names.”

I’m pretty sure he meant nicknames but I didn’t correct him, might as well let him have it. 

“Okay and we’re done with measurements finally, lastly do you have any preference in style or color?”

His eyes darted slightly to his covered arms and then they locked to mine. 

“I would prefer long sleeves and dark colors.”

I didn’t pry why but instead nodded and scribbled down notes, setting my notebook down on my desk. I brushed my hands off and grabbed my intercom. 

“What do you say we get lunch with the other guys?”

König nodded and waited for me to exit the room first before following me down the hall. 

“I fear Ghost does not like me all that much.”

I meant to wonder it out loud but instead let it come out. König’s head peered down at me and he his eyes shifted slightly. 

“Ghost just needs time to warm up to people, especially new people.”

“What was he like when you first met him?”

“He would never admit it but I think he was intimidated, thought I might replace him as the mysterious masked man. But that was not the case and we are friends now, i hope”

I gave a hum in my throat and pulled down my dress slightly before we walked into the cafeteria, no free show today. Although the lunch line was practically empty the cafeteria was filled to the brim with every liutendent and private on the base. König stood next to me scanning the crowd, his height gave him a large advantage on spotting the table first. Konig placed a large hand on my shoulder and gently guided me to the table that was conveniently in the middle of the cafeteria. As we approached the group they seemed to quiet down at König and I’s presence for whatever reason. It seemed that the short steel table only had one seat left, next to Ghost. And his gaze was focused on König or rather König’s hand on my shoulder. I had started to eye Konig but he had already gestured for me to sit. 

“König come on you can take the sea-“ 

“Please Vera you have been on your feet all day.” 

And yes he was right and my feet had started to ache, oh god might as well. I took the seat next to Ghost and König stood near the front of the table, setting down his tray but picking up his plate.  The tattoo has started to burn slightly making me squirm in my seat.

“Something bothering you?”

It was Ghost who had asked not anybody else.

“Yeah my tattoo from last night hurts like a mother, I don’t remember getting it how drunk was I?” Soap and Gaz shared a look and a grin at each other from across the table.

“You were trying to fist fight all of us because we tried to get you into the car and at one point you swung missed and fell straight on your face”

I let out a laugh and so did the rest of the group even König let out a chuckle. 

“So that’s why my face hurts, go figure.”

i started eating my food but felt a set of eyes on me, I turned up to König  but he was preoccupied with his own plate. Instead i shifted to my right to meet face to face with Ghost. His eyes were softer than usual and they scanned my face, i was waiting for him to say something but he didn’t. 

“Do I have something on my face?”

His features softened even more but he just chuckled and shook his head letting out a breathy. 

“No”

I scrunched my eyebrows in confusion, the enigma that is Ghost continues to get more eccentric. If only he could take off that stupid mask and show his emotions, maybe then I would relate to him. I sighed and pushed some of my food around, my appetite seemingly disappearing. I took my packaged muffin and gave it a once over not my cup of tea, I looked up to König who had just finished his plate. 

“Hey медведь, want my muffin?”

He peered down at me and took the muffin from my hand, his hand slightly brushing mine.  

“Danke Masha”

“пожалуйста” 

I gave him a smile and turned to the rest of the table who had grown eerily silent yet again. The eyes of Soap, Gaz, Graves and even Ghost bore slightly into my own. 

“You’re Russian?”

It was Soap who had spoke, his face twisted slightly into a face between confusion and slight anger. My confidence wavered upon seeing his emotion.

“Polish but I speak the language”

It seemed like a large breath of relief and the tension was gone in an instant. 

“Thank god” 

It was Graves who spoke from his end of the table going back to shoving soup into his mouth.

“And if I was Russian? Would you guys resent me?” While the rest of the room was booming with conversation our table grew silent yet again, the ego of these guys. 

“Just because you had a bad expierence with one person doesn’t define the group.” 

Its not that I was mad at them ,more disappointed that they judged so quickly. I get it they had to fight off Russians, but that doesn’t mean they can hate a whole nationality for it. 

“She’s right”

Ghosts deep voice penetrated the silence, and thank god it did I had to get back to work.

“Thanks Ghost, shit I gotta get back, catch ya later team.”

I stood up taking my tray and exited from the side, brushing past König slightly. But before I could walk away his hand caught my arm, and pulled my attention to him. He cocked his head to the side slightly as if asking me “are you ok?” I gave him a smile and nodded, and he released my arm. 

At the table 

As they watched her walk away Konig turned back to the group, nobody could see the slight blush across his cheeks under his mask. 

“König swear to god you’re gonna be the one to cuff her, lucky bastard.”

Gaz had begun to violent poke his food while talking to the whole group. 

“Cuff her?”

Konig’s accent had warranted an eye roll from Ghost who suddenly got up and carried his tray.

“Ghost is jealous, he can’t stand the fact that you’re taller than him. lets hope for your sake Vera likes tall men.”

All the guys except Konig let out a stifled laugh at that and they all went back to their meals and individual conversations. 

[sluttywonwoo]

pretend || j.ww x reader

Summary: reading thirst tweets with your co-star/boyfriend’s best friend makes things a little tense

Warnings: swearing, smut mentions (18+)

Word Count: 1.8k

a/n:  originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )

Masterlist

The sound of Mingyu cracking his knuckles next to you sent a shiver down your spine, making you cringe instinctively. You turned to glare at him and leaned away from the noise.

“I hate when you do that!” you groaned.

He smirked. “I know, that’s why I like doing it.”

You looked over at Wonwoo, who was sitting across the room with the crew, and pointed to Gyu. 

“Can you tell your best friend to stop being annoying?”

“Can you tell your girlfriend to stop being dramatic?” Mingyu retaliated.

“I’m not picking sides!” Wonwoo shouted back and held up his hands in surrender.

You let your jaw drop. “I’ll remember that, Jeon.”

“Baby, I-” Wonwoo started to defend himself, but fell silent when the producer got up from her chair and approached you and Mingyu who were sitting behind the camera. 

“Which one of you wants to take this?” she asked, holding up a large insulated jug full of paper strips. 

“I’ll take it,” Mingyu offered and set the cup in his lap. 

“What a gentleman,” you said, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. 

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he muttered, “because you’re so fucking annoying.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

The producer gave you both a sideways look. “Are you guys alright? Should we take a minute before starting?”

“No, we’re fine,” you assured her.

“We don’t actually hate each other,” Mingyu added, “this is just how... we are.”

She didn’t look any less concerned, but nodded anyway. “Okay, well remember what your director said about playing up your chemistry to promote the show. And when we call action just give a quick slate and start reading the tweets.”

She walked back over to her spot next to the cameraman and took a seat before looking over a checklist that had been handed to her and writing some notes on it.

“Nervous?” Mingyu whispered to you as you both waited for your cue.

“A little,” you admitted. “You?”

“I’m a bit on edge,” he concurred. “Mostly because your boyfriend is about to watch me read filthy comments about you on-camera.”

You glanced over at Wonwoo who gave you an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up. “He’ll be fine. How bad can they be?”

From a distance, the producer you had just spoken to called for everyone to be quiet on set and signaled the cameras to start rolling. You perked up and straightened your dress, waiting for Mingyu to take the lead. 

“Hi guys, I’m Kim Mingyu.”

“And I’m y/n y/l/n.”

“You might recognize us from our new Netflix series, Breaking Curfew, where we play opposite each other in what you might call a... complicated romantic relationship.”

“We’re enemies with benefits,” you summarized. “And today we’re here with Buzzfeed to read thirst tweets about each other.”

“Ladies first,” Mingyu said and held the cup out to you.

You closed your eyes and sifted through the strips of paper with one hand, selecting one at random. 

“Okay, this one’s about you. ‘Kim Mingyu has the prettiest eyes’.” You grinned as you watched your co-star’s cheeks turn pink. “He’s totally blushing right now! We haven’t even gotten to the good stuff!”

“Thank you very much to whoever tweeted that,” Mingyu said and cleared his throat. 

“I agree with this person,” you continued, “you do have really pretty eyes.”

“Aw, thank you, y/n.”

“You’re welcome.”

“My turn.” Mingyu closed his eyes and rummaged around the cup before picking one. “‘Someone tell y/n y/l/n that I’m single and I get a discount at Olive Garden if she ever wants to let me take her out on a date’.”

You chuckled. “I do like Olive Garden.”

“She’ll get back to you on that one, mate,” Mingyu said quickly and let the crumpled piece of paper fall to the floor. 

You took that as a sign to move on so you reached into the jug and pulled out another tweet.

“Oh, this one’s about me again. ‘Y/n y/l/n scissor me challenge’.” You clapped a hand over your mouth in shock and thrust the slip of paper towards Mingyu.

“You know what, props for being so bold. What do you think, y/n? Are you going to take them up on the offer?”

“I’ll think about it,” you managed to choke out, sending Mingyu into a laughing fit. You fanned yourself with your hand as you tried to recover and motioned for your co-star to read another one. “Your turn.”

“‘Kim Mingyu and y/n y/l/n are my dream celebrity threesome,’” he read. “What a compliment, don’t you think?”

“Oh, for sure,” you agreed and winked as you held your hand to your ear in a call me motion. 

“These are just getting more and more vulgar, aren’t they?” Mingyu asked. 

“I don’t know that anything can beat the scissoring one,” you pointed out as you fished another tweet from the bucket. “Another one about Mingyu, okay. ‘I wanna suck Kim Mingyu’s soul through his dick then spit it back in his face’.” You blinked at the piece of paper in front of you in shock, scanning back over it to make sure you had read it right the first time. “Jesus... christ.”

Mingyu smirked and nudged your shoulder with his. 

You ignored him and pointed a finger at the camera in disgust. “I cannot believe you made me read this with my own two eyes. I could have lived my entire life without seeing those words in a sentence together!”

“I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever received,” Mingyu countered, running a thumb along his jawline cockily. 

“No, I have beef with whoever tweeted that now.”

“You’re just jealous that I like this tweet better than the threesome one.”

You sighed. “This interview was a bad idea. Your head is already so god damn big.”

Mingyu opened his mouth to retaliate, but paused like he had thought better of it and took a deep breath to compose himself. 

“Anyway, moving on.”

You watched as he sifted through the tweets and chose one from the bottom, reading it to himself and grinning slightly before reading it aloud. 

“‘Petition for y/n y/l/n to start an OnlyFans because I just know her tits are incredible. I can feel it in my bones’.”

You brought your hands up to your boobs self-consciously and laughed. “I don’t know about that, but thank you.”

“I’ve seen them,” Mingyu added nonchalantly, “and I can confirm that twitter user ‘geminisuns’ is correct.”

“Mingyu!” 

“What? Do you know how many sex scenes we had to shoot? We’ve seen each other naked plenty of times.”

You looked back over to the crew and made eye contact with the producer. “Do you see what I have to deal with?”

“Maybe we should take a quick break,” she suggested and motioned for the cameras to stop rolling. “Get a drink, freshen up and be back here in five.”

“Do you think they’re going to use that part?” Mingyu asked as he followed you over to the water cooler. 

“I don’t know, dude,” you sighed in annoyance, “but great fucking job. The whole world already thinks we’re boning.”

“I don’t know about the whole world.” You glared at him. “Wonwoo knows we’re not.”

Wonwoo. You had nearly forgotten that your boyfriend was there on set with you. You looked around for him, and saw him still sitting in his designated guest chair looking at his phone. You could only imagine what he must be thinking of all of this. You should probably say something to him. 

You told Mingyu that you’d be back and made your way across the room to Wonwoo. Even from a distance you could tell that he was upset. 

His knuckles were pale and his jaw was tight. He didn’t look up at you when you approached him. 

“Sorry this is taking longer than expected,” you said, brushing a stray curl out of his eyes. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured in response, still not looking at you. 

You sighed and draped yourself across him, slinging your arms loosely across his shoulders as you leaned down to see what he was doing on his phone. He was scrolling aimlessly on Instagram, not even liking any of the posts. 

“If you’re bored you can leave,” you said curtly and stood back up. 

“I’m not bored.”

“You’re not even paying attention to the shoot.”

“Trust me, it’s impossible not to. I’ve been trying to tune it out for the past ten minutes with no luck.”

“Why would you not want to pay attention?” you demanded even though the answer was sitting right in front of you. “This is a big deal for me.”

Wonwoo swallowed and finally looked up at you. “I know, baby. It’s just- do you know how hard it is to listen to my best friend talk about doing all of these dirty things to you-”

“He’s my best friend too,” you pointed out in a quiet hiss. “The only reason we’re together is because of him.”

Sometimes you felt the need to remind Wonwoo that you had known Mingyu longer than you had known him. If Gyu hadn’t brought him to set all those times back when you were filming in the fall, you wouldn’t even know about each other’s existence. 

“I know that.”

“You’ve done interviews like this before,” you argued. 

“I know,” he repeated.

“Then why are you being like this?” He didn’t answer, so you kept going. “You know my bare ass has been on tv, right-”

“Don’t,” Wonwoo warned and grabbed your wrist.

You gasped and flexed your fingers gingerly in his grasp, challenging him. “Don’t what?” 

“Y/n,”

“Don’t... act like I want to fuck your best friend?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You’re enjoying this.” It wasn’t a question.

“Don’t pretend like I’d rather fulfill those tweets with him instead of you? Give the people what they want?”

You had to bite your tongue before you went any further and said something you might regret. Your words had already had the desired effect. You didn’t even have to look at Wonwoo’s lap to know that he was struggling not to get hard. 

You could see it in his eyes. The arousal that had turned the warm brown into black. The way he was looking at you told you everything you needed to know. You wondered if you would even make it back home before he’d break, if he would pull the car over on the side of the road and take you then and there. 

Your knees were weak at the mere thought of what you were in for later that night. Making Wonwoo jealous was admittedly one of your favorite pastimes, purely for selfish reasons. Possessive sex was arguably the best sex. The teasing, the hair-pulling, the choking, the face-fucking, all hit different when Wonwoo was reminding you who you belonged to. 

Wonwoo released your wrist from his grip and raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Are you finished?”

You shook your head and grinned. “Just getting started.”

lmk what you thought; i always appreciate feedback!!

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[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 4

Chapter 1     Chapter 3

“We have a problem,” Tim grumbled as he stumbled into the dining room.  He threw the morning newspaper down on the table, letting it slide the last few feet until it stopped millimeters short of Bruce’s coffee.

Bruce sputtered his eggs and grabbed the paper, staring at the picture of him speaking with Marinette and Adrien that took up the entire front page above the fold.  He threw the paper back on the table.  “Son of a b…”

“We’ve been getting calls from PR all morning,” Tim interrupted him before Alfred got upset with Bruce for his language. “Because they’ve been getting calls from every newspaper, news station, blog, and interested citizen in the world, calling to ask them about it.”  

Tim poured himself a large cup of coffee, larger than usual.  He’d had patrol last night and gotten woken up at the crack of dawn this morning with calls about the story. So he was running on all of three hours of sleep and just wanted to crawl back into bed, but with this story, there was no chance of him getting to bed until after tonight’s patrol had already left.

It didn’t help that he was beating himself up for not picking up on the cues she was giving that night.  He’d run into her.  He and Stephanie had talked to her.  He saw her freeze up when she realized who he was.  He knew she was acting off, he just hadn’t thought it was nefarious.  If anything, it seemed hurt, not scared.  He should have caught onto her body language. He should have noticed how she seemed to freeze when he mentioned the family.  She must have thought he was fishing, letting her know he was onto her and her plan to do this.  

“You’d think after all the false alarms they’ve reported in the past that they’d know better by now.  Not every black haired, blue eyed child is a Wayne.  I’ve had PR draft up a statement that while we appreciate her support for the orphans, she is not, in fact, a Wayne,” he finished, taking a bite of his muffin, missing Bruce’s grimace.

Damian grabbed the paper, wrinkling it in his clenched fists as he scanned the text.  “She must have orchestrated the whole thing to put this out.  How else would they know these details?”

“No,” Dick commented thoughtfully, prying the paper away from Damian to take a look at the picture.  “If she was in on it she would have put on a better act.  Look at the image.  She isn’t playing into it.  She looks scared, not excited to ‘introduce her fiancé to her family’.” Dick quoted. He briefly scanned the paper for more information.

All the evidence appeared to be the picture, her physical features, and some call logs to her parent’s business.  Dick scrunched up his face with concern.  While not damning, it was interesting.  He didn’t know any reason Bruce would have to contact a bakery in Paris.  “Not to mention the story would have gone out yesterday for a bigger circulation boost. Sundays are the big press days. They wouldn’t have waited until Monday. That suggests they researched, or rather stole the information.  And no quotes from her in here.”

“Fine,” Damian growled, acquiescing to his logic. “Maybe she did it after the fact. She saw the opportunity and took it.”

“No,” Bruce admitted quietly.  “She wouldn’t have had to do that.”  The room seemed to become still as everyone turned to face him.  “If she wanted this story to go out she could have put it out at any time.  And she would have played up the dance, would have sought me out at the gala.  But she didn’t.”

“What dance?” Duke asked cautiously, his focus entirely on Bruce now.

“I asked her to dance.  She said no.  Ran away as quickly as she could actually,” Bruce chuckled self-deprecatingly as he stared at the paper in Dick’s hands.

Damian blinked at him as though the longer he stared the clearer what was happening would become.  But no matter how hard he stared, the image didn’t become clearer. If anything, things became hazier. “This could all be a clever ruse. She wants to appear innocent so when you confront her she can point out that she didn’t do those things.  It says she’s an aspiring designer.  This could all be for publicity.”

“She wouldn’t have to go through all that,” Bruce stated again, more finality in his voice.  He finally looked up, but still didn’t make eye contact with any of them.

Dick stared at Bruce, taking in his response, letting the words and their broader meaning sink in.  The words he wasn’t saying hung in the room like thick smoke, winding their way into everything they touched, stealing the air out of the room.  “What are you saying Bruce?” Dick asked cautiously

“The story’s true, isn’t it,” Tim observed.  It was a statement more than a question.  

Bruce nodded with a sigh.  ��Except for the meeting her fiancé part.”

Tim knew it was true even before Bruce’s verbal acknowledgement.  The pieces suddenly fit together.  It was the only thing that made sense.  That’s why her reactions were off.  That matched.   He saw her face when they told her the gala was to celebrate family.  He saw her body language change sharply when Stephanie joked about Bruce taking in everyone he saw.  He wasn’t sure what to make of it at the time and didn’t really even try because it didn’t seem relevant and they had more important issues to think about, namely celebrating Duke.  After the story, he thought the reactions were a tell.  But now… now that he knew, they were a tell, but for something else entirely.

She was trying to be polite about it, not letting on how hard it was hitting.  And oh God, didn’t that make it worse.  Everything they said had been cordial, joking at Bruce’s expense, at their own expense. But with the new knowledge… it was at hers.  They weren’t jokes, they were digs.  They were attacks.  They were him putting her ‘in her place’; out of the family.  Tim took in a shuttering breath and collapsed on the couch, his head in his hands.

He would have so much to apologize for.  He would have to find her and make sure she knew he didn’t mean his words the way they must have come across.  He knew how it felt to not be accepted.  He knew how it felt to not feel loved by your parents. He knew how it felt to have your place in the family questioned constantly, to be attacked, to be unwelcome. He wouldn’t wish that on enemies, let alone family.

“Who is she, Father?” Damian demanded.

Bruce met his eyes, guilt swimming in his own.  “She’s your half-sister.  Her mother and step-father have been raising her in Paris,” Bruce answered calmly.

Damian fought the gasp his lungs demanded against his will.  His father was confirming it.  He was acknowledging her.  But never trusted them with the information.  “Were you ever going to tell us?” Damian finally asked with forced coolness

“I was letting the dust settle on introducing Duke before I broached it,” Bruce hedged.

“So you just found out,” Damian asked angrily.  That would make sense.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them, him.  It was that he didn’t know until recently.  Of course that was what happened.

“No.”

Damian gaped at him, his hastily built protective construct shattering with one word.  “How long have you known?”

“Since she was born.”  Damian gaped at him.  He’d known. He’d known since before Damian came to live with them and still never told them.  He didn’t trust him.  Even after all he’d done, he still didn’t trust him.  And now he was letting this unknown, this daughter, even just thinking the word made him wrinkle his nose in disgust, do whatever she wanted.  He trusted her but not him.

“You have a daughter, a biological daughter you’ve known about for decades and that you never told us about,” Dick asked again in a daze.  He fell into a chair staring at Bruce incredulously.  There was no way.  He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.  He loved kids.  He loved his kids.  Why would he send one away?  He hadn’t even wanted to do that to Jason.

“So I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know?” Duke asked. He looked around, taking in the stunned, disbelieving, hurt expressions.

“Not just you,” Damian gritted out.  

Duke sucked in a breath and pulled out his phone, texting Jason and Cass to let them know what was happening.  They were going to want to know as soon as possible too. All of them were going to have questions and issues with this information.  And if the conversation went on much longer, they may want to be involved.

“Why was she there last night?  What did she want?  Surely she wouldn’t have come without a plan,” Damian pressed.  Nobody had access to the kind of power and money they had and just walked away.  If she was presenting herself and not to them, to the press, there must be a reason, a plot.  They needed to find out more about her to figure it out.  “How did she get a ticket in the first place?”  That might be a place to start.  It would give an insight into her accomplices and they could be pressed later for more information.

Bruce sighed and looked back down at his food, pushing the plate away, no longer hungry in the slightest.  “I can’t answer how she got her ticket.  As to why she was there, she was there to talk about a position for a friend of hers… with Lucius apparently, not me.”

“She was using her name to get her subpar friend a job,” Damian spat in disgust.  There had to be more though.  With their name, she could get much, much more.  This had to be an opening gambit.  The job must be placing an operative, loyal to her, within their institution.  Next was the stunt with the press.  They needed to figure out her next steps.

“No,” Bruce insisted.  “She didn’t mention her association.  He doesn’t know… well, he does now.  He spoke to me after the gala, said he discovered one of our managers is stealing ideas and there was someone he was going to spend the weekend researching but he was excited about hiring him.  Luthor is trying to hire him, so if we don’t act fast we’ll lose him.  I’m betting that was her friend.”

“You don’t know that,” Damian growled out.  “That could be a coincidence.”

“I’ll confirm with Lucius today, but it fits with what I know,” Bruce insisted calmly.  “From what her mother has told me over the years, it’s the kind of thing she would do; go well out of her way to help a friend.  And her mother let me know she was planning on attending the gala to talk about hiring her friend.  I just thought she was going to talk to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell us,” Dick asked breathlessly. He was staring at Bruce with hurt saturating his eyes.  He heard nothing after Bruce admitting he’d known about her and never told them.  He was aware Bruce had been saying things for the last few minutes but none of it had registered.  None of it was what he needed to know.  

Bruce sighed and ran his hand over his face.  “Nobody knew.  Nobody but me and her mother and step-father.  It was easier that way.”  Easier to pretend was left unsaid.  Easier for Bruce to pretend like he hadn’t cut her out of his life, like he didn’t regret it every day.  Easier for Bruce to try to forget.

“Not even her?” Duke asked.

“Not even her,” Bruce confirmed with a sigh.  He ran his hand over his face.

“Why?”  Dick was staring at him in wide eyed confusion.  It didn’t make sense.  None of it made sense.  He’d been with Bruce for twenty years and never heard a whisper of a biological daughter. But she existed.  And he knew.  Bruce took a deep breath and Dick scowled.  “I swear to God, B, if you say some dumbass excuse like to protect her…”

“She has a happy life.  Her mother and step-father love her beyond words.  They support her, love her, encourage her.  They’re there for her whenever she needs it.  They never miss an event.  Family dinners every night.  She has friends… a good life.  She’s safe.  She never had to worry about defending herself.  She never had to be taught what to do when she got kidnapped.  Never had to… doesn’t remember seeing the people around her dead from the latest rogue attack.  Not like what she would have here…” he again left the last part of the sentence off. The “with me” was left for everyone to fill in on their own.

“You’re a good father,” Tim assured him weakly, because at this point, with this information…

“I hope so.”  Bruce gave him a weak smile.  “But when she was born…  I had an obligation.  I had a responsibility.”

“She was your responsibility!” Dick yelled, his face suddenly contorting in anger and frustration with Bruce.

Bruce looked away stoically, face suddenly a mask devoid of emotion.  “She had a better option and I made sure she got it.”

The room was silent for a few moments while his words settled in.  The only sound was Dick seething in his seat.  “But she doesn’t know you?  You never visited.  You never interacted with her.  Even not telling her who you were to her,” Tim clarified.

Bruce shook his head.  “I visited her final project for her degree a few weeks ago under the guise of research for the fabric project.  She’s a designer.  I was hoping to get her in on the fabric project.  I thought it would be a good cover to get her comfortable with the family. But I didn’t talk with her while I was there.”  He chuckled slightly at the memory.  “I couldn’t even get close.  There were too many people talking to her, congratulating her, offering her internships. Her work was beautiful.”

“But you’ve talked with her parents,” Tim checked.

He sighed and waved his hand helplessly.  “I spoke with Sabine every so often to check on Marinette, make sure she was okay.  I helped pay for her schooling, but even that was disguised as an investment into her parents’ company.”

“So her parents were having you pay for their company, holding the secret over your head,” Damian spat out.

“No!” Bruce growled.  He knew Damian was having a hard time with this.  Hell, that’s one of the main reasons he waited so long, because he knew Damian wouldn’t react well.  Damian would have taken it as an attack on his position in the family.  And after the way he treated Tim and Dick when he first found out about them… They could protect themselves against his attacks. She wouldn’t have been able to. He didn’t know how far Damian would actually go and he didn’t want Damian to have to find out either.  He had been waiting until Damian was more settled, more secure in the family and their unconditional love for him before he reached out to her.  But he wasn’t going to let him disparage Sabine and Tom.  They’d been nothing but understanding.

“They only let me put in the amount for tuition. They wouldn’t allow me to give any more than that and Marinette got a scholarship for her university so she didn’t need any assistance.  I tried to keep giving them money for her to at least have spending money but they refused. They stopped accepting the transfers. They only relented when I said it would look suspicious.  So they’ve been creating a trust for her with it.”

Damian grumbled and looked away.  Whatever their game was, they were certainly good at it.

Bruce dropped his head into his hands.  “Nobody was supposed to know about her until I was sure it was safe,” Bruce grumbled into his hands.  “Until I’d had a chance to talk to everyone about it.”

“Well now everyone knows, so maybe now is a good time to start trying to make that connection,” Dick growled.

“If she’ll let us,” Tim added.  He remembered the look in her eyes when he talked about his… their family.  

“It’s never too late to start trying to bond,” Dick insisted.  His eyes were bordering on wild.  They could bring this back, right?  The family had come back from worse.  They’d faced steeper hills.  Hell, Damian tried to kill them when he first came.  Jason had also tried to kill them all more than once when he came back. She couldn’t be that bad.  They just had to make the first move.  “We just have to let her know we want to.”

Tim shook his head and looked down, not at all convinced it really was as easy as that.  Tim was awkward on a good day.  He could make friends but usually they made the first move.  He was pretty certain she wouldn’t make the first move in this instance.  Damian wouldn’t accept her, period.  Dick would crowd her.  Jason would… whatever Jason did, probably disappear.  She wasn’t a Robin so he probably wouldn’t try to kill her.  Cass would try, but her success depended on Marinette understanding what Cass wasn’t saying.  And Bruce… Bruce was never good at understanding emotions or sympathizing. Honestly, their best hope was Duke.

Duke breathed out a deep sigh and looked away. This family was not easy to get along with or find your place with.  And bonding with each other?  He managed because he fought next to them.  They bonded in the field, in their suits.  He wasn’t sure if they realized that about themselves.  If they interacted outside the suits it was because of the bond they formed inside them.  She wouldn’t have that opportunity and without it…  The prognosis was not good.

“What are you going to do, B?” Tim asked tentatively. “Because whatever your plans were, now she knows and she’s dealing with it on her own.  She… You need to talk to her.”

Bruce sucked in a breath and massaged his temples.  “I know.”  

“And you need to apologize,” Dick added firmly.

Bruce nodded.  “I know.”

“No, you don’t,” Dick growled.  “You have no idea what has to be going through her head right now.”  He grabbed his bag and stalked out of the manor, slamming the door as he left.

“And you need to decide what we’re going to tell the public,” Tim added.  “We need to put a statement out soon.”

“I know,” Bruce agreed.  His voice this time was more detached.  That was something he would have to decide, but that wasn’t the priority right now and not something he wanted to do without her input.  

He needed to come up with a new plan and quickly. This was nothing like the one he had come up with.  He was supposed to have more time.  He was supposed to be able to ease into this.  He was supposed to be able to feel things out before deciding a path.  He was supposed to control the environment and how his family found out.  

But now he was thrown into it, they all were, and he had no idea how to proceed.  He didn’t know her well enough to anticipate how she would react to the situation or to him. He didn’t know her well enough yet to know the best way to approach her.  He needed to come up with a game plan.  He sighed heavily.  He had to get into the office, not show anything out of the ordinary.  And once he was behind his office door, he could talk to Sabine.  She would know what to do.

Chapter 5

Tags:

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[ashintheairlikesnow]

AAAAAH!!! Petition for the news people to show Chris's face on tv and Akio and his mom see and come to rescueee -🦖

(follows from this piece, in what I am calling the Chris Saves Himself AU)

CW: BBU, some vaguely dehumanizing language, references to child abuse and ableism

"Mom! Aki!" Emi's voice rises loud enough to filter right up the stairs and into Akio's room, audible right through his headphones while he listens to his playlist of Tristan's favorite songs and lays in bed.

Akio sniffs, sitting up and taking the headphones off, rubbing the tear tracks off his face. It's still light outside - he never knows what time it is anymore, not since he quit gymnastics. "Emi? Did you say something?"

"Yeah, you better get down here like right now! Right now!" The urgency in her voice sets his heart to beating faster and Akio pushes himself up, taking the stairs three-steps-to-a-jump. His mother is right behind him, coming out of her own room with her book still in hand, thumb marking her place.

"Are you okay, honey?" Aimi calls out. Somehow even though she doesn't skip any steps she beats Akio to the bottom. "Em? Emi?"

"I'm fine, I swear, just-... look at the TV!"

Akio and Aimi swing into the living room, finding Emi sitting on the couch, remote in hand, groaning in frustration.

"Damn it, they just cut way from his-... hold on, let's see if they cut back before this ends. You have got to see this."

"Just what have I got to see?" Aimi asks, frowning, walking up behind Emi and absentmindedly tucking a bit of hair behind her daughter's ear. Emi sort of ducks-pulls away, rolling her eyes. "I'm almost to the bit where the ship sinks, Em."

"I know, I know, don't mess with your reading time but-... but look!"

Akio's eyes scan the TV, reading the chyron - the little moving headline at the bottom - that says MYSTERY BOY FALLS FROM BALCONY IN GOVERNOR'S MANSION - IN HOSPITAL WITH SERIOUS INJURIES - POLICE LOOKING FOR CLUES TO IDENTITY - GOV. BRANCH CLAIMS LEGAL PURCHASE FROM WRU - WRU DENIES CULPABILITY...

Talking heads banter back and forth about the seriousness of the scandal, the lack of documents to prove any kind of veracity to the governor's claims.

The anchors start interviewing a woman with short, dark red hair with a cold smile that sends a chill down Akio's spine. Karen Renford, WRU Representative to the Media, reads the little nameplate beneath her as she speaks.

"Since when do you care about politics?" Akio asks, head tilted. "This is stupid. I don't care about any of this."

"WRU sponsors your team, Aki-"

"It's not my team anymore. I'm going back to my room."

He turns to leave, but feels Emi grab at his wrist, and when he looks back her black eyes are pleading. "Please, Aki. Please. Trust me, you will want to see this."

He sighs. Everything feels too heavy to add one more thing to his days right now. But Emi is his little sister, and... "Yeah, okay." He moves around the corner of the sectional and flops himself down on it. He's put on some weight since he quit gymnastics, the waistband of his jeans digging just a little into his stomach where he used to have to wear a belt.

He doesn't care. It's... actually really nice to not have to care. He kind of likes himself better this way.

If only he didn't have to be grieving his best friend's death to get there-

"There!" Emi hisses, and her nails dig hard into Akio's forearm, hard enough for him to wince. "There, Aki, fucking look!"

"Language, young lady-" Aimi starts, and then falls silent. When she whispers, "Nantekotta..." That's when Akio looks at the screen.

Where his dead best friend is very much alive in a hospital bed.

He hears a thump and jumps, turning to see his mother's book on the floor, fallen from suddenly numb fingers as she stares unblinking at the boy on the TV screen.

Akio looks back and swallows, hard, and then swallows again. Inside him there is a sudden burst of fight between the despair and anger he's been living in and a kind of awful, horrifying hope.

"Tris?" He whispers.

"I told you!" Emi says, still holding his forearm painfully. He doesn't pull away from her - he can feel her starting to shake right alongside him. His eyes flood with hot tears and he has to blink them away to focus on the screen.

"-are speaking with the boy, who appears to be a legitimate WRU product. A simple barcode scan was performed, and police have the pet's designation, Facility number, and basic identification number." Karen Renford's voice speaks in voiceover. "However, WRU has been unable to find in our own records at the Facility any record of the boy's existence or training. WRU has strict ethical protocols surrounding the age of accepted trainees who apply, and it's increasingly clear that none of our Facilities would have taken on this individual, especially not our flagship Facility here in Berras-"

Akio hears none of this.

Instead, he hears only a rushing as loud as a waterfall filling his ears, the sound of his own blood pulsing through his veins as his breaths go shallow and gasping.

Tris is right there.

He's alive and he's right there.

He's sitting in a hospital bed, cringing back from the doctors speaking to him, looking at them with wide, terrified eyes. There are bruises around his neck like someone-... bit him, or something. His arms are bruised, wrists rubbed red in circles. He doesn't sway or rock or tap like Tristan Higgs, he sits perfectly, hauntingly still.

But it's Tris.

It's him.

"He's alive," Akio says, and his voice is strangled. "Tris is alive, he's alive, but he's-... he was-"

His mother's hand rests on his shoulder and Akio tenses at the firey rage he feels right through the tension in her fingers. "His aunt," Aimi says with a voice that cuts through bone. "His aunt told us he was dead."

"She said he-... you know... did the thing. To himself," Emi says, looking nervously sideways at Akio. "That he ran away and they found him."

"He told me she took away all his stuff and stopped giving him his meds and then she took his phone... why would she say all that if he was alive the whole time, Mom?" Akio looks back up at Aimi, and she looks back down at him.

He is terrified of her, in that moment. Scared of her the way you are scared of a bear rushing at you, knowing that you aren't much more than a matchstick in its way. But he also wants - needs - her to tell him everything is going to be fine.

Instead, she pulls her hand back off his arm and turns to leave the room. She murmurs to herself in a rapid-fire string of Japanese even Akio isn't quite keeping up with, and he jumps up to follow her, Emi on his heels.

"Mom? Mom, what are you doing? Mom, answer me-"

"Mom?"

They manage to catch up to her in the den, where she's picked up her cell phone still charging, plugged into the wall, and dialed a number.

"Mom-"

Aimi holds up one finger without looking at him, phone to her ear, and Akio's voice cuts off immediately.

"Yes, hello," She says to whoever picks up. "My name is Aimi Nakamura and I am calling about the boy found in the governor's mansion today. I believe I can tell you who he is." She pauses. "Who he really is."

Another pause.

"Yes, I'll wait."

Yet another pause. Akio and Emi stay in the doorway, staring at her in baffled confusion. Neither of them dares to speak when her face looks this way. They know better than that.

Finally, Aimi takes another breath. "Yes. Thank you. Hello, Detective... Davis. Right. My name is Aimi Nakamura." She rattles off her phone number and address when she is asked for them without hesitating. "Yes, as I said-... as I said to whoever answered the phone, I know who the boy in the governor's mansion is. I have absolutely no doubt... Yes. His real name is Tristan Paul Higgs. He was born-... oh, yes, sorry. I can slow down. His birthday is March 6th... yes. I don't know his social security number entirely but I know the last four digits were 6654... his mother and I were close friends. Veronica Botham Higgs - Ronnie. She was murdered, with her husband, it was a double-... oh, you remember? Tristan survived it. Custody went to his only surviving relative, Joanne Botham..."

Aimi swallows, and Akio feels Emi's hand seek his out and squeezes it tightly, reassuringly, as their mother's steel comes flashing to the surface underneath her usual deceptive tranquility.

"Joanne Botham works for WRU. Her nephew lost his family and was given to her. And now, more than a year after she told us he was dead, he falls out a window with a WRU barcode. I think you see where I'm going with this, detective."

Another long silence.

"Yes. I need about an hour and a half. Is that too long? Perfect."

She hangs up, and turns to look at Akio and his little sister. There is a startling brightness to her that makes Akio think she's feeling exactly what he is - grief and horror and rage and that awful swell of hope.

Maybe it really was just a horrible mistake.

Maybe he's never been dead.

Maybe he's still breathing.

"Put your shoes on," Aimi says in a flat voice. "We are going to meet Detective Davis at the hospital where Tris is."

[stylistiquements]

The Sorcerer pt. 1

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated.  {Playlist}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

You’re about to blow your 23rd candles and Corpse is about to experience the consequences of it. Somehow, something about your rebirth is different this time.

☾ Words : 6009.

☾ Warnings : angst, mention of death (only suggested and not specific), grieving, swearing 

Masterlist | Next 

What does it mean to be a sorcerer in 2021? Corpse wonders as he chooses an outfit for his black bean character, lightly tapping his fingers in a crafted rhythm against his dark wooden desk. Nothing, really. The modern days turned his kind into a groundless concept, legendary creatures at best and it’s truly a shame when you think about it.

“Alright, are you ready?” Corpse asks as he moves his mouse above the “start” button and projects everyone into a new round.

“I won’t forgive you like I did last round,” Karl warns Corpse, dash of amusement in his tone.

“Sure,” he scoffs and the devious ghost of a smile shines on his lips when the bloody word “imposter” appears above his virtual pink cat hat.

Sorcerers used to be the rulers of this world and the most famous of well-hidden secrets; no one talked about it yet everyone knew. You just had to be here, respect and adoration followed their every move. People from all horizons went out of their way to meet them in hope of witnessing a miracle.

Oh, how the tables have turned now. They didn’t have to hide their face back then and it all went the harmonious way until a certain day when their fate met a tragic outcome. The day when life took a turn for the hidden.

Corpse is somehow retired now. Maybe that’s why he started doing youtube in the first place; because the craving of being needed had to be fulfilled one way or another. Or maybe because the thrill of life has been gone for so long he had to try everything to fill the void in hope of feeling a drip of something again. The weariness of a mere life stiffened in his rib cage from time to time, preventing a proper breathing.

He could have still been able to practice his magic facelessly -he wouldn’t be the first one to do so after all- but it seems crazy, surreal even, for him to picture being so public about such a heavy little secret nowadays. He found comfort in the concealed, in the invisible so long ago.

See, that’s the most important reason why Corpse is who he is today but stopping the explanations there would be neglecting the truth. Corpse would, but I'm more honest than he is.

Somehow, he believes a little too seriously that a kid’s app was designed to ruin his life. He feels this rotting taste that burns his tongue every time he thinks about it, he always talks about it with great passion; as if one minute videos could compete against the thundering energy that travels from his veins to the tip of his fingers. Witchcraft tiktok got the last bit of his ancestral pride and that’s a damn shame.

His character ambles around the hostile corridors dipped in yellow light, looking for a prey to slice in half. He doesn’t have a plan yet but he sure knows how to improvise by now. Corpse deems that he’s rather good at it. He meets Tina in O2. She’s wandering around, running like a headless chicken. What if he took that expression a little too seriously? Alas, he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of the unforgivable and she escapes his reach. Corpse’s nose wrinkles, better luck next time.

His fictional blood thirst gets stronger when he hops inside a vent and observes Rae’s red character doing her tasks. Corpse knows what comes next, it’s inevitable. A hint of excitement and nervousness hatch on his chest.

At the same time on the other side of the country, the ones you love are carrying a big cake to your table. It seems so silly and it leaves you slightly embarrassed that people are celebrating the fact that you were born but, somehow, you can’t forbid that smile to reach your ears.

When you look at the cake, a snort escapes your control. Your friends drew a glazed picture of you but you find yourself hoping that there isn’t much resemblance between that Picasso-ish designed cake and your actual face. I mean, except for that particularity your face displays; eyes that don’t match in colors, one green and one hazel, it really just looks like a kid's doodle.

23, what a weird number. It doesn’t sit quite right with you for some reason. 22 is fine, same goes for 24 but 23 … Somehow, it feels like something is either missing or too much. You’re not too sure which one it could be.

The warmth that emanates from the candles is sweet and tickles your chin softly and everyone is singing along the most disastrous birthday wishes. You’re preparing for your wish. What could you need more? You’re a faceless horror narrator on youtube and life is just about good. I mean, there really isn’t much to complain about and that should be enough.

Your mind drifts off for a second, contemplating what the dream life could be about while one of your friends is already complaining about wax getting all over your glazed face. You could wish for material things but they come and go and their meaning is only ephemeral, maybe 23 is about getting more than that.

Ah, found it. You close your eyes. May I find the place where I truly belong. 23 candles are blown in one breath, not a bad performance.

That’s when the candle on Corpse’s desk starts shining a delicate and orange shade.

Corpse doesn’t notice it at first, too impregnated by his hunt, but when the unusual warmth finally informs him of the merry event, he wrestles to keep his mind into the game. His virtual character stands motionless for a second as he mutes his mic and takes his headphones off.

Fuck, not now please.

Somewhere, a new version of the love of his life turned 23. His mind drifts off, wandering near this idea as his eyes meet the flame.

It’s been hundreds of years and that fucking candle kept you hostage of his mind. Because Corpse couldn’t forget about you, he built those walls to provide you from slipping away, from invading too much of his busy mind. It was a compromise he made with himself so he couldn’t reach you entirely and, therefore, miss you completely. Yet, your rebirth leaks through the pores of his brain and past the fences no matter how hard he tries.

Corpse battles to breathe, he tries to get his mind back on the game but somehow his throat is already filling with a dangerously acidic concoction. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice immediately the way his fingers start shaking at a painstaking rhythm.

He moves his character around. Left and right. It’s mechanical and meaningless, nothing but a lost cause. Corpse clenches his grip around the mouse, hoping that the unsteadiness would pity him. How much longer can he carry that feeling? It sits on his shoulders and his chest. It tests out his patience, his own resistance to pain.

“Corpse!” Rae shouts wholeheartedly, rooting him out of his spiral. “Where are you?!”

Fuck; he has no ounce of idea of what is happening in real life, too busy going down this familiar and intimate loop once more. He swallows it all, praying that you would spare him some earned mercy. You’re always so cruel, unabashedly sneaking in and taking over his space despite all his efforts.

“I-huh- I’m in medbay, I have scan," he bluffs, hoping that no one would notice the way his voice cracks at the end.

Because if anyone did, he would have to admit that he’s not okay, that he never was and doubts that he ever will be. Just as if conceding the facts would’ve allowed him to feel how flourishing his despair was. There’s this knot inside his throat. It’s painful and he’s so tired. How many times was he left crawling on his bathroom’s floor when his heart fractured a little deeper? He misses you every fucking day but each rebirth brings back more and more longing.

He would love to abandon himself to the aching pleasure of this unsolicited reminiscence but he knows that if he did, you would possess him wholly and never give him back. You plague his mind like a mist that grows thicker and thicker on his lungs. It diffuses everywhere and intoxicates what’s left of him.

“Sure sleepy but that’s bullshit,” Tina whines. “We know it’s Corpse. He’s been sus’ the entire round!”

“He said he had scan, right?” Sean interferes, believing that Corpse is the jester. “Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

They’re all waiting for Corpse to step in, to defend himself but he’s no longer here, too busy trying to swallow the emotions that are leaking all over the place. It gnaws him alive, piece by piece and it hurts so fucking much. Will it ever stop?

Silence is convenient, “I voted” badges get pinned on everyone’s chest. His black character falls into the lava, what an ironic metaphor.

“Sorry guys, something came up and I gotta go.” He finally says, hurry in his voice. He doesn’t try to hide it. In fact, he can’t.

“Are you s…” Rae’s voice gets cut abruptly when Corpse quits the call without further notice.

Corpse knows what’s next, when his head gets overcrowded by feelings and his heart too empty. It’s ugly, it’s messy and oh how he wishes it would be different this time.

The room is spinning from the crumbs of your sweet face and the trickle of your voice that drips through his ears as if you were still here. He clings onto that distorted and stained picture as if it was the ultimate proof that you were real. Were you even real once ? Remembering feels like repeating a word over and over again: with time, it loses its meaning. It wasn’t you he remembered, Corpse figured it out a long time ago. You weren’t there anymore.

The thought of it drives him crazy. He wishes he could get rid of that fucking candle, constant reminder of your rebirth away from him, constant reminder of the defeat he has to endure every time you turn 23 and you’re still not by his side. He has been looking for you everywhere for hundreds of years, from the biggest capitals to the most secluded parts of this world, without a single hint of your existence. You’re his greatest failure and he can’t, he won’t stand that.

Corpse grabs the candle and it collides with the floor with a thud that tangles with his raw voice. His chest moves heavily. It's scattered and in discord and there is this distorted gaze on his face when he remembers that the candle cannot be shattered. It’s this unsolicited spark of self-awareness that brings him closer to reality. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? Corpse finally lost his damn mind. His hands wander uncontrollably in his hair and he looks around frantically for a second, trying to remember how to survive.

Corpse’s head is pressuring him, rushing him to turn off his computer and spill the words that are stuck on the back of his tongue on a piece of paper. That grip is unforgivable and unclear but he starts writing as if it was the only thing left to do, maybe it is. It feels like survival instinct at this point, it feels like the last attempt to collect the pieces of himself you left behind.

Dear you,

Happy birthday, wherever you are in this world. Another letter is about to join the pile. How many are there already? I wouldn’t know. I stopped counting since it made me sick.

As every time, I hope it’s the best birthday you have ever had. I remember the twenty-third birthday we spent together as if it were yesterday. I can no longer recall the way your eyes wrinkled under your bright smile or the sound of your echoing laughter but I do remember that warm feeling inside my chest, the pain in my cheeks from laughing with all my heart. How pleasant was it to be able to live it all with you? To be able to embrace you, to breathe you, to see you. Forgive me, my love, for I am no longer capable of picturing anything of you. I wish I could. I wish I could be haunted by a proper ghost, at least, and not just a glimpse of the range of emotions that animated me when you were by my side. All I can remember now is that you felt like a firework and that my eyes never met a prettier human. It’s so truly unfair to think about the fact that no one matters as much as you still do.

I am drifting off, am I? I always tend to do that in those letters. I hope you’re doing well, I really do. Did you spend your birthday with the ones who love you? I hope you’re happy and healthy. It’s the only important thing, or at least that’s what I have learned so far.

I hate those letters, they make me realize how lonely I am. Somehow, it feels like I’m expecting an answer that is never going to arrive.

Fuck. My skin aches from the lack of your touch. I miss you so fucking much. Just tell me what to do. I tried everything and you’re still stuck inside my brain. I’m a sorcerer for fuck’s sake, one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and yet the concept of one single human defeats me day after day, rebirth after rebirth. I’m a fucking shame for my kind. I hate you. I love you so very much. Happy birthday.

Yours truly, Corpse Husband

The paper is stained by the storm that has been building up in Corpse's mind for hours. The letters are deformed now. Look at the mess you just made. He throws the letters away, where he can no longer see it and brings his knees to his chest, resting his head between his legs. He feels like screaming one more time but he’s choking. Sweet and sore agony grips his throat as his veins are burning with thick poison.

Don’t be fooled, Corpse would have been able to cast a spell or two to forget about your existence and spare himself a bit. Yet, it would only erase the last proof he had of you, not his feelings. He would have to bear the burden of a quest he could no longer figure out. He would be left longing for something that no longer existed. As if it wasn’t the case already. He wishes he could sleep, life would be so fucking easier if he could just fall asleep.

A few days have passed since your birthday. The thread between days and nights is thin and confusing and the candle on Corpse’s desk is still radiating with as much energy as the first day.

Corpse’s head is heavy, aching, he wonders if he could still carry it on his shoulders if he wasn’t lying on his bed. That sore body feels like it has been drained from an eagerness that has been growing for too long. Corpse groans, trying to figure out what’s sheets and blankets and what’s limbs, living up to the name he chose for himself.

Every ray of the sun is burning his skin. It leaves his body smelling like heat, he doesn't like that smell. Now, he could just get up and draw the curtains but that laziness is as weary as infiltrated. If only it could rain, maybe it would soothe his nerves and his growing migraine.

After a few minutes of silent fulminations, Corpse finally unlocks his phone and opens his texts one by one just to ignore them. He’s curled up on himself, as if a compressed version of his darkness could help in order to block the light. Sorcerers are supposed to be tied with nature, with every ray of the moon and the sun. His bond with the sun is molded, if not completely doomed to grow untie. Corpse is a sorcerer like no others and that goes without saying.

One text captures his breath and his attention, bringing back some interest into the numbness. It’s coming from you, y/n. Or at least, the “you” from this present life. The “you” who isn’t aware of the past and the “you” Corpse doesn’t know is the one he has been looking for during eternity.

In this life, the two of you aren’t close enough to be friends -and he would never let you take that role- but, by the time of your first Twitter interaction -which consisted of you tweeting emo Sykkuno with tattoo pictures and Corpse replying with a meme that said "If life is a simulation please turn it off", Corpse knew you should be near him at all time. Not too close for you to actually be able to touch him but definitely not too far. It’s peculiar but something that has to be felt, not explained; a primitive hunch so loud it couldn’t be unheard.

His mind is awake again. The plan for today, which consisted of him rotting in his bed, seems compromised right now. Corpse turns to lay on the left side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler. His brows furrow and he sighs heavily as he rubs his eyes with his thumbs.

Corpse really doesn’t know why he’d feel that way in the first place for someone like you. You always seem so organic, radiating, so free in the way you choose to exist. He envies you for being so authentic when all he can afford to do is remain hidden, where no light can really reach him if not to draw a faint shape of his being. No harsh feelings though, it’s just the way he feels about anyone who doesn’t sound fake. There is still a bit of remaining endearment in the way Corpse’s words are thrown at you, you just have to know what to look for.

Now, Corpse trades his horror narrator's advices against some social media help. Those things are bigger than him, he’s too old for that anyway. You think the way he still uses symbols as emojis is charming -no one does that anymore- but Corpse just can’t keep up with today’s slang and way of showing emotions via texts. Kids these days are just too creative with the way they express themselves.

[Hello, Mr Sorcerer, hope you’re doing good. I need your help on something.]

Huh.

He meets your words and his mind gets coated in sweat, frozen blood preventing the next heartbeat from happening. Who told you?

Corpse can’t wrap his mind around the fact that his most precious secret is being exposed with that much negligence. He can count on his fingers the number of people who are aware of his true nature, half of them are actually other magical beings of some sort. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

His head is hammered by thoughts. He thinks he’s screwed, that everyone will know. He can already foresee what is about to come. That’s why there is a bit of fear in the way his eyebrows are arching. His alerted mind screams for him to just throw his phone across the room but his fingers, covered in panic, are faster. The first text he sends is not directed to you, but to Sykkuno, his familiar.

Familiars are to sorcerers what assistants are to magicians. In short -but not limited to- a massive help.

Corpse’s link with Sykkuno transcends the law of words and thoughts. They just understand each other and the way they do, without even having to see each other, is just something that has to be witnessed once in a lifetime. It’s a sort of energy that travels through space, a special connection. It's light and invisible but leaves a warm trail on its way.

However, what doesn’t transcend their bond is the concept of time zone -which Corpse forgot about for a second. Sykkuno is probably asleep right now. Corpse’s panic takes back its race once he realizes he’s on his own and he types:

[Haha, very funny. You know, if you wanted to talk, you just had to say hi :)]

Denial, that will do the trick, right? You can’t be that persistent. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he leaves his phone on an unstable balance on his forehead, waiting for an answer he hopes would spare his mind from yet another issue he has to take care of.

[I knew you’d say that but don’t worry, I promise I won’t snitch,] you reply, lips twitching under a sly smile. [I’m way too afraid of you cursing me or something.]

[Who told you shit like that anyway?]

[I just know someone.]

His expression hardens, that head keeps throbbing harder and harder by the minute. You’re so impetuous and it turns him into an impatient and choleric fog. The topic is too important, crucial and it shows how you truly have no idea what you’re talking about when you act as recklessly as you do.

[Some crazy folk told you about magic and you believed them, huh? Thought you were smarter than that.]

[Dream would be pretty upset if he knew you called him “some crazy folk”.]

Corpse stares numbly at his screen before sitting back on his bed, pulling away from his vision the curly strands that fell down. He throws a bunch of silent curses at the sun which is still attacking him, if not even more now. He types a few words but erases them in a snap, repeating the process once or twice more. Now he has to send another text, this one is for Dream : “we need to talk.”

What a weird day.

Questions, Corpse has so many of them but he can’t stop shaking his head with confusion. He had no idea you knew Dream. Why would Dream reveal something so critical as Corpse’s identity? Why would another sorcerer send you his way? That’s not how things are done unless it’s something they deem they wouldn’t be able to handle and there’s really a few things Dream wouldn’t be able to do. Corpse hesitates for second, fingers fidgeting in the air. He doubts that he would ever be capable of doing something Dream can’t do but does it really matter when, right now, you’re holding information you should never be holding in the first place?

[Feeling like trading secrets under the full moon?] You outbid. It’s always so tempting to tease Corpse when he sounds like a grumpy old man.

[A sincere fuck you.]

[That’s very rude, Mr Sorcerer.]

The way you avoid providing any sort of explanation grows in his mind like weeds that need to be ripped off. Really, from all the good timing in the world, you had to choose the worst one. But there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips when he does the math and realizes that, if you wanted to use that secret to your advantage, you would have done it by now. A slow relief that softens his headache. Also, Corpse is well aware that, as annoying as you can get, he can’t refuse you a thing.

[Fine, tell me what you need.]

[So I keep seeing the same number again and again and your name keeps appearing in my head at random times. Still don’t get the correlation but I know there is one. I wanna know the number’s meaning and how I can get rid of you.]

Corpse huffs, he’d like to know that himself. He’s about to laugh it off when he reads the text one more time. Something about it is mysterious enough to pique his curiosity. You mentioned his name, it bothers him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you thinking about him but because it sounds odd enough to be something related to magic in one way or another. There’s this mix of excitement and apprehension that fills the pit of his stomach and now half of a smile is embellishing his lips. This buzzing sound in his brain, maybe it’s the final signal that he should start practicing magic again, the final signal his life will feel thrilling again.

[Call you in 5. This is a consultation by the way, I’m not doing this for free.]

[Fine, you rat.] You answer with a victorious smile.

Corpse’s words linger in the air. It’s smooth like velvet -you could almost touch it if you pictured it hard enough- and it’s soothing in some way. It’s deep mumbles and bits of light chuckles and a little magic. You’re spinning slowly on your chair, playing with strands of your hair. There’s a different tone in Corpse’s voice. He sounds tired and it’s mixed with something else you can’t really pinpoint. For the best or the worst, that, has yet to be determined.

“So.” Corpse says, bringing you back to reality. “What’s that number you were talking about?”

“Right. So, I keep seeing the number 5 everywhere. I wake up at 5:55 every morning. When my eyes are looking at the clock, it’s 5:55PM and it extends to absolutely everything.” You faintly slap your palm against your thighs in exasperation.

Corpse is silent for a moment as he tries to collect the bits of knowledge that are still hanging here and there inside his mind. As he expected, the pressure below his left eyebrow makes it hard to think. He really doesn’t get why Dream wouldn’t be able to take care of a matter that sounds so frivolous. It feels like the most important piece of the puzzle is missing , the one that makes the whole picture makes sense.

“Okay, this is not really my specialty but the number 5 is an interesting angel number.” Corpse hums. The word “specialty” echoes. Dream talked about that once and somehow, that’s how you finally realized that Corpse was, indeed, a sorcerer. Not that you wouldn’t believe the information in the first place but there’s a remarkable difference between learning and experiencing. What would be his specialty then?

Dream introduced you to this new veil a couple of months ago and you never fully believed in it before getting involved. Maybe that’s why you never talked about it to anyone. Even now, your skeptical nature always finds its way back to you. He said all sorcerers had specialties and that his was clairvoyance. You don’t really know what that means but you wouldn’t ask too much. Knowledge seems like a curse in that field, or at least that’s what you have learned from Dream’s distressed tone when he talked about the past. He always sounded like a broken record, a little out of tune, as if his soul was still partially stuck back there and maybe that’s why Corpse always sounded that way too.

“Do you believe in guardian angels?” You raise an eyebrow, high voice brimming with confusion.

“Do you?” Corpse pauses, you’re silent for a couple of seconds and he realizes that he won’t get an answer to that. “The number 5 is your guardian angel trying to tell you that things are about to change in your life. In fact, it means that the process already started.”

“You’re kinda scaring me though,” you say as you readjust your sit, nose wrinkling under an almost grimace. You don’t like it, you don’t like their world. It’s not yours, you’re only a human with a mere life and an almost mere job. Sometimes, you hate Dream for letting you on this secret you were now forced to keep. It always felt so two faced.

“You don’t have to be scared, the change is only gonna benefit you.” Corpse’s voice is soft and the way you can tell he believes in the words he is speaking is almost as surprising as reassuring. You can’t help it, you don’t like change. The unknown is called that way for a reason and maybe this reason is the explanation for why it needs to remain that way.

“Sure,” you coy. “What do I do about you? That’s what really interests me.”

He scoffs. Trust me, that’s what interests him the most as well. Yet Corpse knows no answer to that. He hesitates for a second and his eyes wander into the void. Should he let you know that he doesn’t have a clue, that it somehow scares him as much as it intrigues you? It feels like his broken sorcerer ego would crack even more if he did. Maybe he just had to find out before letting you know.

“Are you obsessed with me, y/n?” Corpse winces. Why would he have to travel through sarcasmland(™) to escape the question? His eyes go wide for a second, flickering on corners of his empty room. It’s only fair that he would tease you like you tease him, right?

“You’re just being annoying now,” you mumble, cheeks flushing in a vivid tint of pink and Corpse snorts.

Corpse almost forgot about himself for a second, about that damn candle, but it hits him once the conversation fades away and the static silence is the only thing left. So he gets up, grunts in complaint rooted out by sore muscles, turns his computer on and plays some rain sounds. The melody of droplets hitting the ground is reminding him how to breathe.

“Rain sounds, huh,” you whisper. “You like those.”

Corpse hums and the two of you are left listening to the rain. It tickles your ears pleasantly, so you close your eyes and relax in the back of your chair for a moment. It’s a beautiful disharmony if you really pay attention, just like Corpse is. You feel like the conversation is about to end, you don’t want him to hang up just yet.

“Corpse?” Your voice trails for a second and Corpse hums again. “Why did you decide to be faceless?”

“What did Dream answer to that question?” His tone is interesting, a bit higher than it probably should have been. What came up as conversation modalities turns into a piqued interest.

“He never answered me," you mumble.

“So people like you can’t take advantage of our nature in real life too,” he lies and you can tell by the half chuckle that travels with the answer.

You know you won’t get more from him, way less than you wish you did. Those faceless sorcerers always leave you hanging. They let you in on their little Hannah Montana life but never bear the consequence that is this endless and flowing well of questions. The rain rings heavily through your ears. It’s time for the call to end.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer,” you sing before hanging up.

When the darkness finally surrounds Corpse, he slips into a strange place that greets him with a familiar smell; vanilla and freshly cut grass. The birds are singing. He takes a long inspiration, his body knows before he does. Corpse looks around, trying to let the image of the surrounding setting sink in.

That place seems oddly familiar, yet totally new; a kitchen made of golden wooden walls. It's decorated with an old and distinguished taste. The wooden table is dressed with a pretty blue and red tablecloth. Vases of fresh flowers displayed on parts of the kitchen, dried herbs hanging above the sink in front of the window. It’s dipped in sunlight, too bright to be real. The rays of light are swaying with the shadows of branches which are dancing outside with the wind. Corpse doesn’t mind the light for once, he even closes his eyes for a second to let every pore of his body get soaked in it. God, did he miss that place.

“Honey, I was waiting for you.”

Corpse’s heart jumps a little before clutching harder. He knows who’s here, he knows it’s his unforgettable love and the idea makes him almost want to never open his eyes again. He can feel it, the profound kindness and sweet smiles that are surrounding you like it always have and it makes his eyes burn with tears that are ready to trail down his cheek, sobs jostling inside his throat. Corpse wishes he could just cover you in embraces and kisses but he can’t, he can never do that in those dreams.

Corpse tries his hardest not to let the frustration immerse him in bitterness by controlling his breathing which could get carried away at any moment now. He finally swallows it all to look at you. There’s a significant disappointment on his face when he realizes yours is as blurry as always. He wishes he could just witness this beauty one more time. He doesn’t remember what your face looks like, you’re not real. It’s nothing but a dream and you’re not here.

“I made some cookies for you.” The ghost of you says as it points out a chair that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, inviting him to take a seat as it does the same. “Those are your favorite, remember?”

With a voice sweeter than honey, so bewitching, Corpse’s body works on its own and mimics your gestures. His eyes are frozen on your silhouette. He tries to remember the shades and colors that were once painted on your face. If only he could remember.

“Did you redecorate our kitchen?” Corpse asks as he takes a bite of the cookie.

“Did I?” Your past self wonders out loud. “It’s been so long, I can’t tell.”

The treat tastes as good as it always has, Corpse takes another bite. The silence in the kitchen is delicate, contemplative. Outside, the weather is lovely; white clouds floating above the endless and bright green meadows. Corpse tries to take everything he can from that dream, from the peacefulness he feels now deep inside, and the perfume of your skin, to the sweet voice that caresses his ears. If Corpse could stay here forever, he would.

“Why are you here, my love?” You suddenly ask, forcing Corpse’s attention which he refuses by looking away.

“I wonder if the wind is warm or cool outside, maybe I should check.”

Corpse knows what happens every time you visit his dreams : you end up asking this question, he answers and suddenly he’s alone and you vanished into thin air. The response is always the same; because I miss you. It leaves him feeling lonelier than ever, craving a presence he can no longer be blessed with. Just a little bit longer, please. He blinks rapidly to expel the few tears that are forming in his eyes, so the knot inside his throat wouldn’t become more unbearable than it already is. Corpse is left feeling so desperate and helpless.

In a precipitation he almost can't control, he gets up and walks towards the door. He just wants to feel the wind on his skin. Please, just a bit longer. Corpse is almost at the door when his eyes deform with stupor under the pressure of a hand that grabs his sleeve. His heart stops, he was never able to touch you in a dream before. What changed? There’s a moment of hesitation before his eyes travel from your hand, to your arm, to your neck, to your face and he can no longer swallow his emotions when he dives into your eyes. Your eyes, he can see them.

When Corpse wakes up, wiped out of his dream, his breath is short and sweat pearls down his forehead. He’s in a rush, he remembers something about your face, something important. He knows what to look for now; your eyes, your irises. They don’t match in color. The left is green, the right has a pretty hazel color.

☾ A/N : Welcome on this new AU my friends I’m so excited to have you here with me on this new journey! I hope you liked the first chapter. A big thank you to @moontwinkles for beta reading the chapter and being a big help 💗 How are we feeling about this? Faceless leo men being sorcerers and familiar Sykkuno??? Idk I’m a little too passionate about it. Don’t worry the next chapter won’t be as angsty as this one but I needed to express my thrist for angst lmao anyway let me know what you think! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : @open-minded-chip-101​ ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy​ ; @bizarrebibitch​ ; @bellomi-clarke​ ; @ladybismuth​ ; @katyasrussianaccent​ ; @satanhauntedourcats​ ; @owl-llie​ ; @teenloves​ ; @notannis​ ; @mcntsee​ ; @rottenroyalebooks​​ ; @peachdoppi​ ; @mirahg​ ; @foxxtrot-116​ ; @koi-soi​ ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ;

[another-fantasy-world]

Theirs, In Every Way Possible

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Pairing: Jemily x Fem! Reader, JJ x Reader x Emily

Summary: JJ and Emily thought that their life couldn’t get any better, until they met you. However, what happens when you aren’t completely truthful to them and the team who was already a family to you? 

Warnings: Canon Violence, Reader came from a serial killer family, Reader has so many traumas, Homophobia, Reader has trust issues and is very indecisive. Y/N might frustrate you. Major Character Injuries.

Word Count: 3816 words

GIF isn’t mine

This case is completely made up from the top of my head, so if there are any similarities in the episodes in CM, they were probably just carved in my brain. Also, this might be a little ooc because I can’t just seem to tap into their personalities just yet

I’m sorry, I tried making this as angsty as I possibly could, I’m still working on my angst.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆      ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You were fairly new to the BAU, only working there for about 6 months, and yet you fit in really easily. It definitely helped that you were the sunshine- Penelope Garcia’s bestfriend and that Erin Strauss couldn’t bring herself to dislike you. But what matters the most to them is that fact that you were a genius. No, not like Dr. Reid genius. You understood the serial killers in a personal level, and you would often coax the weapon out of their hand and get them to submit and surrender. Of course, when they confronted you about it, you easily lied and they somehow accepted that. So much for being profilers.

You never really did know when you first started seeing the couple in a new light. Yes you liked them both. It never really mattered since you just knew that it would just fade away. It was already embedded in your brain that everyone eventually leaves and that being too close to anyone would only get them killed. You learned that the hard way. But that didn’t stop you from admiring them from the shadows. It didn’t stop you from smiling whenever they talk, it didn’t stop you from memorizing their features like they were about to vanish into thin air, it didn’t stop you from admiring how JJ controlled the media, or how Emily used that voice when she’s speaking to the unsub and it didn’t stop you from admiring how well they fit each other, how their hands fit like puzzle pieces, and how your heart clenches in awe when you see them cuddled up with each other. You didn’t know what you would do with yourself, you desperately needed to get away from them, but you also wanted and needed to be around them. God, you knew you sounded like a hormonal teenager. 

“This is Daryln Garcia, Ahron Balydyn, Abbey Banagher and Jehoushua Castiel. Their names are on top of the list of the recent chain of murders all over each state.” Garcia winced at the pictures that she had to present to the whole team, she never did seem to get used to it

“Some of these are from waaaaay long before, why only now?” Emily asks from her seat , which was coincidentally next to yours

 “The M.O’s are all over the place, which is why they didn’t connect the murders until now. The only thing connecting them are black sticky notes that are posted on the wall and on their body.” Rossi reads out.

“Where’s the latest one?” You ask, sipping your coffee

“...Los Angeles, California.” 

“Wheels up in Five.” Hotch concludes, as everyone gets up to gather themselves. 

After talking and discussing the case a bit more, You all decide to calm down for a few hours, and each and everyone of you set off to do your own things.

“Uh-huh, you’re staring at them again huh.” Garcia teased you through the screen.

Spencer was memorizing and rereading the case files,

Hotch was talking with Rossi, probably discussing the case,

Morgan has his headphones clogging his ears,

JJ and Emily were cuddling with each other as JJ munched on her cheetos.

You were currently seated away from the team, just out of earshot because you knew that Garcia would begin spouting non-sense. 

“Shut up...” You blushed bright red. “...I told you this once, while I was drunk and now you bring it up in every conversation that we have. It’s just a silly little crush, sunshine. It’ll pass.” You told her, playfully glaring at the screen, to which she laughed

“Sure, Gummy Bear. Keep telling yourself that.” She grinned.

When you were about to land, you hung up on your bestfriend before steeling yourself, You didn’t need to acknowledge the gut feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you most certainly ignored the growing headache that you have. 

 JJ and Emily certainly noticed you right from the start. The woman who had no experience in the field whatsoever is suddenly the finest one they ever seen. (or maybe that’s just because they were so attracted to you that they happen to pay too much attention) That wasn’t the only thing they noticed though: They also noticed the tiny change in tone when you talk to either or both of them at the same time, or the way that your head would be the first to turn when they walk in the bullpen, or the way that your eyes would quickly scan them from head to toe before you bury your face into the paperwork that Hotch gave you, just a slight hint of embarrassment in your eyes peeking out from the cover or maybe it was the way that you would breathe a little heavier and talk a little faster when you discussed the case with them. You weren’t painfully obvious, but they were profilers for God’s sake, they notice everything, especially if it’s about you. There was just something so painfully attractive about you that interests them so much. The way your hair flowed as it dances with the wind, The way you licked your lips since they were dry (They tried to get you to use a lip gloss or a lip balm but you fought them, real hard.), The way your body tackled unsubs who got into your nerves (They always had to change clothes after that...), The way your eyes shined when you successfully return and reunite families, The way your mind worked: How you analyze quick, How you look at things in all angles, How you tried to put yourself in the very scene, How you work so well with Spencer and How you always seem to know what to say, every damn time. Maybe it was the way you broke social construct just by wearing a suit everytime you go to work, or it’s probably the smirks you give them when you’re right about something and they were in the wrong. (It makes them want to pounce on you, but they restrain themselves, taking their frustrations out on each other in the privacy of their own home.) But what they hate the most, it how dense you are. At this point, JJ could send you a love letter and you would think that it’s a recent case evidence. 

"...This is Dr. Reid, SSA Prentiss, Y/LN, Morgan, Jareau, and Rossi."

“Right this way, we have arrested a prime suspect this morning.” 

“How?” You ask, lifting two duffle bags and setting them down to your designated table

“She was found lurking around the crime scene and a bloody shirt matching one of the latest victims in his backpack.” 

“Can we have her bag?” Emily asks, approaching the officer

“Yeah sure. Right this way Agent.” He leads her to somewhere while you trail Hotch to the interrogation room, only to freeze in your tracks.

“What the hell” you whispered under your breath, feeling the same suffocating aura when you felt like your past is catching up to you. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” You hear Derek ask you.

“I can’t do this. I need to call Garcia. Excuse me.” You replied with a look in your eyes. Derek recognized that same look with Emily when she ran away, pursuing Doyle to protect the team, and he’ll be damned if he let’s history repeat itself.

“Nuh-uh sweetcheeks. I know that look. Tell me.” Derek grips your forearm gently.

“Derek. I promise I won’t run away. And if I’m not back within an hour, track my phone and my ring.” you assured him, pulling your phone out and hurrying outside.

“Garcia. Please tell me that my identity is still concealed.” You begged Penelope while you were stress smoking at the back of the precinct. 

“It is! I promise! There’s no way they would find you! through technology at least.” she ranted. You see, Penelope Garcia doesn’t do well with secrets, but you really needed her, and she understood that. Which is why your secret is the best kept secret she has, she hid your secret for a year now.

“Then tell me why my aunt, who might I add is an absolute psychopath, is in our major suspect list right now?” you panicked, knowing that your “family” has somehow tracked you

“It might be a coincidence, Gummy Bear. But I will look into it! I promise.” 

“Garcia. One more favor. Back up all my files, all of it. From my work laptop, my FBI files, my personal devices, all of it. Then delete them all. I’m going to use a disposable starting now. Pull up the GPS service for my ring, keep an eye on me at all times. I’ll be damned if I see more of my family.” You spat out, stomping out the light of your cigarette, before popping a mint.

“Consider it done. Don’t you think it’s time to tell them?” she carefully asks, knowing how sensitive you are.

“Thank you Garcia, And I will. Once the time is right.” You grumbled, knowing that it’ll be sooner than later.

“Y/N. Tell them before it’s too late. Please, for your sake and for ours too.” 

“I will short stuff. I will.” 

For days you successfully evaded interrogating your aunt, subtly helping them as much as you can without raising suspicion. You knew that this secrecy is going to be revealed soon

“Y/N. We picked up coffee for you.” You suddenly hear JJ behind you, Emily’s hand gently placing the coffee in front of you, her eyes filled with concern

“You didn’t go to your hotel room did you?” Emily accused

“...No” You dropped your head onto the files in front of you

“You need your sleep Y/N. You’re no use when your brain can’t even function.” JJ retorted, taking a seat beside you, with Emily by her side.

“...Fine. A nap on that sofa. That’s it.” You bargained, determination shines in your eyes

“Okay. Go.”

And then, the moment your head hits the arm rest, you blacked out. Only waking up to Derek’s frantic shaking of your body

“Y/N! Get up!” It was rare for Derek to be this panicked and scared, and that gave you anxiety

“What? What is it?!” You stood up, feeling yourself get dizzy my how fast you got up.

“JJ and Emily are gone.”

What?

“Wait- What do you mean- How long was I asleep?” You blinked

“Precisely 4 hours, 36 minutes and 56 seconds.” Reid blurts out from infront the whiteboard.

“What happened for fuck’s sake?” You sat back down, rubbling your head

“Hotch was about to send you in on a lead, but they both volunteered instead.” Rossi explained

“And no one sent backup?” You were angry, barely keeping it in, you were slowly regretting keeping your secret now

“No one knew until now, when JJ and Emily didn’t come back after an hour, Derek went after them, only to find this.” Rossi lifts up the black sticky note.

“Family for Family, Blood for Blood”

“Is it possible that Rayna Torres, is their relative?”

“ Call and Tell Penelope I said Yes.” You point to Derek, knowing that Garcia will know what to do. You’ll let your bestfriend explain, she’ll explain it better since your mind is fogged

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your face hardened, clenching your jaw. You rarely showed anger, or annoyance for that matter, so they didn’t know what to do when you stormed off in pursuit of Hotch.

You found Hotch in the interrogation room, silently observing your Aunt

“Let me talk to her.” You say, earning a nod from him

You stormed in, slamming the door behind you.

“Listen here, you little psychopath. Where are they.” His eyes widened slightly, Hotch didn’t expect you to be so hostile

“There you are. I was beginning to think that we got the wrong team.” She grinned, intertwining her fingers, her wrists still bound to the table by a handcuff.

“I am not in the mood for your games.” You deadpanned, gripping the table to conceal your anger

“Hmmn. You always did have your father’s temper.”

“WHERE. ARE. THEY.” You slammed your palms on the metal table, making a slight dent on it. Ignoring the pain, you glared at her hard

“You know where they are child. I know that you know where they are.” The devilish grin once again appeared on her face.

“If I step foot inside that warehouse, and they are not there, I can’t guarantee your head will still be attached to your shoulders when they prepare you for your casket. Auntie.” At that statement, you walked away with a surprised Hotch on your trail.

He treated you like his very own ever since you knocked on his door, crying your eyes out, ranting about your family. Of course he noticed the small slip-ups you accidentally let out especially when you’re drunk. But it was never enough to completely put the picture together. He knows that you treat him as a father figure. Which is why he can’t let you go in there alone.

“No. Absolutely not. You might die Y/N!” You raised your brow at him, the bulletproof vest never felt as heavy as it is now

“You’ve known me for 6 months, you’ve known them for years. Why are you picking me over them? You know that I’m what they want. You or any other person steps in though that door, they’re all going to be dead before they see JJ and Emily. Not to mention they might kill JJ and Emily too. Please Hotch. This is my battle. If I die, I die. I don’t want to live knowing I could’ve done something.” Those were your last words before you slowly walked to the warehouse door after getting wired.

“This really isn’t the best first impressions you could make on your future daughters-in-law. Father.” You spoke as you saw him pointing a revolver at her, at your Emily.

You almost collapse at their state. JJ’s beautiful blonde hair caked with dirt and blood, she was staring at you, shaking her head, tears welling up in her eyes. Her lip is swollen and you could see multiple bruises forming. 

However, Emily’s state was much worse. Her eyebrow was bleeding, her knuckles are bruised, she has small cuts everywhere and you could see that she was struggling to stand up despite being tied by her hands to the ceiling

“This one has a sharp tongue daughter. i don’t appreciate it.” He snarled, now pointing his gun at you

“Last one who said that exact words to had his dick cut in half. Where’s my jerkwad of a brother anyways? How’s his dick? Still has my bite marks? Scars maybe?” You smirked, hearing your “mother” load her gun

“Disrespectful Bitch. Don’t talk to your brother like that, he’s better than you ever will be” She snarled, firing at your feet, slashing through your pants, making you bleed slightly, making JJ scream through her gag.

“Your aim’s getting rusty.” You pulled out both your guns, pointing them at you biological “parents” 

“And you’re wearing a bulletproof vest. Take it off and kick your guns to us. You know what’ll happen if you don’t” you gritted your teeth, taking off the vest despite the protests of Hotch and the rest of the team

“Happy?”  “Very.”

“Now let them go.” You frowned

“No. You see, since you do love them right?” Your father smirked, making you frown

“Yes. I do. I’m in the same team as them for fuck’s sake!” 

“No. No. That’s not just it. You love them in a different way as well. Say it.”

“...” Your mother rolled her eyes at your silence and fired two bullets to Emily and JJ, scraping Emily’s cheek and JJ’s shoulder.

You flinched, you knew not to show emotion, but it’s painful to see the women you love get hurt. 

“Okay! Fine! You want me to say that I love them? I will.” You gritted out

“Go on then, you know how I love my drama shows.” You glared at them, taking a deep breath in, watching them walk out of the room, a bright spotlight aligns itself on the three of you, It really is a sick TV show that your parents would love to watch.

“What they say is true. I don’t know if you noticed it yet. But I do love you, both of you. I really hoped that I could tell you over dinner, or a cup of coffee, but I guess life has other plans. Loving the both of you seems so weird, and unconventional, but who wants to be normal and boring am I right?” You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, which they didn’t appreciate.

You moved your hand to their gags slowly, listening for complains from your parents, hearing none, your grabbed their gags and pull them down.

“Y/N-” They both started

“Shhh. Let me speak, you know I don’t have much time.” You smiled, implying that you wouldn’t get out of this alive.

“I notice everything. I do. I’m not as dense as you think I am. I just... I didn’t like the thought of you both getting attached to me. I love you both so much that I knew that if they catch up to me, I could die, or you could get hurt. And now this happened.” JJ shook her head as if to say it isn’t your fault.

“I love you both so much, I love the way you look at each other, often wished I could look at you both like that. I love the way you both force me to sleep then give me coffee in the morning. I love the way your brow furrows when you see a detail in the reports that displeases you, and then you’ll playfully glare at JJ and I when you notice that we’re laughing at you. There’s a lot more that I want to say to you, but I don’t have enough time.” you say, moving closer to them, tears staining their bruised cheek.

“I’ll see you in our usual spot in the coffee shop across the street?” You whisper to JJ, kissing her cheek

“I’ll be copying your move now.” You chuckle lightly, kissing her cheek

A slow clap rang throughout the room.

“Now that is a perfect drama and revenge.” You whipped your head around, only seeing your father. Pulling out your knife from your thigh, you run towards him recklessly, the screams of JJ and Emily’s pleads piercing your ears.

And then three gunshots rang throughout the warehouse, Derek kicked the door down, chasing after your laughing family. Your ears were ringing, you didn’t even notice that you collapsed from the impact. You couldn’t believe it actually worked. You could feel the sticky, red colored cornstarch mixture on your abdomen. However the growing pain on your shoulders prevented you from celebrating.

“Fuck.” You whimpered out, the impact of the bullets on your abdomen radiating throughout your body, yet you can also feel the bullet that’s still in your shoulder.

“Y/N. Stay with us come on” Emily whispered, despite her being in a worse condition that you, She still has your hand in a death grip.

“I’ll be fine Em.” You reassure her through jagged breaths, JJ’s crying face invading your view made you smile too. 

The moment that Emily and JJ were free from their binds, they immediately limped towards you as fast as they can, both of them on each of your side, silently wishing that they had more time

“They only managed to shoot me on my shoulder okay? I’ll be fine.” You could see the confusion in their faces, which faded when the paramedics unbuttoned your stained white shirts, only to find another bulletproof vest and an empty plastic bag, previously filled with what they can assume was fake blood. 

Emily’s eyes widen, what you did was dangerous, and extremely risky. You gambled on a unpredictable mess and she wondered how you got Hotch to approve of what you did, only to find out later that Hotch didn’t know either.

You could only smile at them, feeling the drugs the paramedics injected take effect, slowly drowsing off. You were happy they were somewhat safe. You were also happy that you managed to stab your father in his arm. Even if your brother did shoot your shoulder from behind, you were still happy with how things turned out.

Almost regretting what you did when you woke up to a staring Emily, JJ quietly handing you water, before they both scolded you like there’s no tomorrow. 

However, after what seemed like ages of reprimanding from the older women, they both pecked your lips before asking you out on a date.

I guess it all worked out in the end.

[harryimaginedstories]

on your side

genre: au (while I don’t like the term ‘au-fic’ at all imagine the two characters are in college together and in their early twenties.) angst and some fluff as well.

about 5k words

it’s entirely different than anything I have ever published and I really love it. please let me know what you think and stay safe during these wild and often scary times. 

read more here: my stories

photo: taken from instagram, previously taken by somebody from the movie AWC, which also inspired me (kinda) to even write this.

They started arguing pretty much the second the car door fell shut behind them and even ten traffic lights, countless of turns and getting honked at twice, didn’t stop their heated exchange of words. Harry’s hands held on to the seat tightly, an attempt not to touch her thigh like he normally would, while hers curled around the steering wheel until the white of her knuckles showed. It wasn’t uncommon for them to fight. They had never been one of those couples who didn’t call each other out on their bullshit or who tried hide anger when there was reason to feel it. However, this was the first time that they weren’t on their way home, where their argument could be settled in private. Instead, Harry and Y/N, both infuriated with each other, were on their way to a party. With one generous rotation of the wheel, Y/N parked Harry’s black car in the last free niche on the street of the frat house. The vehicle gave an unpleasant sound and Harry closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring. Before he got the chance to complain, Y/N swung open the door, stepped out and threw it shut hard enough to know it would set him off. 

“Jesus fuck!” Harry shouted, opening the passenger door and stepping out, too. 

She waited long enough to press ‘lock’ on the keys once he was out, then she walked away. With quick strides he caught up with her, and had he not been as angry as could be he would have probably felt hurt at her for not waiting up like she would have any other day.  Walking next to her he turned to look at her profile, trying to catch her eyes, but she refused. 

“Would you mind not taking your crazy out on my fucking car?”

“Oh, so you do care about that then. Good to know,” she snapped back. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Y/N halted and so did he. They were standing on the pavement, one house away from where there could already be heard the dull sound of music blaring and a good meter of distance between them.  Any other night they would be standing there, too. Only not to deliver a few more blows before pretending to be alright while their friends were around. On any other night, Harry would have taken advantage of the warm weather, by letting his hands roam across Y/N’s bare arms. She would have given him a kiss or two and made him a laugh at least as much. He would have reminded her for the fifth time (at least) that she looked beautiful. There wouldn’t be any distance between them, let alone one entire meter.

“There is one thing I’ve been hearing clearly through all of the bullshit you’ve said today,” Y/N hissed, her lips barely moving and her hands curling into tight fists by her side, “which is that you don’t give a fuck about me.”

“Oh my god.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his head falling back before snapping forward quickly, “You’re being such a lunatic!”

Wind picked up some of her hair and pushed the loose strands into her eyes, breaking the angry stare she’d held with him and for a moment, Harry could have sworn she appeared to be younger. Then she brushed the hair off with shaky hands and back she was, angry and exhausted. 

“You’re a dick!” Y/N squealed, 

“Well, clearly we could go on,” he snapped and rolled his eyes, “but our fucking friends are waiting for us so do you think you can manage to avoid me for the next few hours so we can at least settle this at home?” 

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her cleavage which he had tried not to stare ever since she’d put on the blue dress. That damn dress. Focusing on it now it only irked him further. She knew how much he loved it when she wore this particular piece of clothing. It had spent the night on the floor of his bedroom or over the back of a chair often enough. He was certain she’d put it on specifically to spite him. 

“Fine, let’s go. But since you’re unhappy with my parking,” Y/N stepped forward and reached up, pressing the hard metal of Harry’s car keys into his chest, “you get to be the designated driver tonight.” 

Her fist lingered on the fabric of his black T-shirt. Feeling her touch him momentarily paused his thoughts. All anger was forgotten, as if the wind had picked it up, too, and carried it far away. Harry whimpered and her lips parted, their eyes connecting without any trace of hurt in them. Then his hand found hers and she dropped the set of keys into his palm, snapping them both out of their brief moment of peace. 

“I don’t want to see you right now,” Y/N stuttered, blinking rapidly until her eyes turned darker again.

“Don’t come look for me later when you’re drunk and feeling sorry,” Harry replied, before he stepped around her and walked towards the frat building.

Y/N lost sight of him the second he stepped inside. Despite still feeling angry with him, she couldn’t stop herself from briefly wishing he wouldn’t have left her alone. She didn’t like being left alone at a party. Neither did he, for the matter, but she refused to feel guilty for sending him away. Y/N drew a shaky breath and stepped inside, instantly greeted by the smell of alcohol, smoke and pot. A big banner had been hung from one side of the hall to the other, wishing everybody a cheerful start to the new semester. Underneath mingled numerous students, all of which held drinks in their hands. Already Y/N recognized a few of them from some of her classes, she didn’t feel like talking to them however. To her luck she spotted a few friends of her in the first room she entered and was quickly greeted with hugs and kisses to her cheek. 

Dena, a girl Y/N had grown close with through sharing an equal distain for their econ teacher, pressed a drink into her hand and smiled. “You look like you need at least two of these.”

Y/N smiled sadly. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well, you didn’t cheer in delight upon seeing us like you should have so,” said Clara, another friend Y/N had made whilst talking badly about her teacher.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.” 

Dena nudged her. “Also, your boyfriend stormed past us earlier so we expected something was up.��

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clara asked.

Y/N shook her head and took a long sip from her drink. It tasted of a mixture of beer and vodka, which on any other day she would have refused to drink. “I really don’t.”

“Great. Then let’s just cheer to us.”

The two girls raised their own cups and waited expectantly for Y/N to do the same. Dena grinned at her and cleared her throat. 

“To us, the coming semester, which we will fucking ace. And-” she paused, looking at Y/N, “to knowing when to kick your boyfriend’s ass. Cheers!”

“Cheers.”

Harry stood by the unlit fire pit in the lounge area, where the chairs had been pushed aside to create a dance floor. A scowl was deeply etched onto his face and he had yet to smile genuinely. He blamed the alcohol he wasn’t allowed to consume for how poorly he was feeling, but he knew even if he had drowned his veins in liquor, it wouldn’t be until he’d feel her touch him that he would be in a better mood. He stood back watching with a few of his mates, who were all except one, very drunk, as some freshmen clumsily turned the dinner table into a bear pong station. Matt, the only sober one left, had tried to get him to talk about why his mood was so sour three times already, receiving no answer each time. Harry rolled his eyes upon feeling him nudge his shoulder again.

“Where’s your girl?”

Harry shrugged. “Don’t know.”

He’d been cursing her short height since turning around and looking for her in the crowded hallway thirty minutes ago. She’d slipped past him without him noticing, and while he was too proud to go look for her properly, it annoyed him that he wasn’t able to casually spot her whenever he scanned one of the many rooms that had been turned into a club. He especially didn’t like it since he knew that she was drinking. Blindly he felt for his phone in his pocket, ensuring for the tenth time that its volume was turned up. Should she call him, he wanted to be sure that he wouldn’t miss it.

“Didn’t she come with you?” Matt pressed on, either oblivious to Harry’s annoyance or simply indifferent to it.

“Doesn’t mean she can’t wander off on her own, does it?” Harry replied, his voice rough. 

He’d never really liked Matt. Actually, he’d liked him a lot once. They’d even considered becoming roommates in their second year. He’d liked him, up until he’d gotten together with Y/N and noticed the gleam in Matt’s eyes the first time he’d introduced her to him. Their friendship dissolved fast after.

“I’m sure she can. She’s always been good at enjoying parties, hasn’t she?”

Harry didn’t reply. Once more his eyes scanned the room frantically, detecting every single face in hopes of recognizing the eyes to the one he loved.

“Dude!” Eric, a tall and broad looking bloke who’d just become team captain to the football team, stumbled into Harry’s side, knocking him back. 

“Sorry! Shit,” Eric laughed, doubling over, revealing that he was clearly drunker than he should have been, “I’m sorry, mate. Wow, I need to lay off a little.”

“No kidding,” Harry replied, but smiled when Eric slung a heavy arm around his shoulders. The unmistakable smell of alcohol fanned over his face as Eric talked, and his nose scrunched up. 

“You’ve been wearing a look as depressing as Matt’s sex life-”

“Hey, fuck you, Eric!” Matt snapped, unamused.

“-and I intend to fix that. C’mon.”

Harry didn’t fight it as the taller guy dragged him away, out of the lounge and into another room further down the hall. He certainly didn’t mind getting away form Matt. Regardless of them having been friends once, Matt was the last person he wanted to be around when he was having a rough time with Y/N. The smoke was thicker in this room and the music a little quieter. There were less people dancing and more sitting around on the couches and chairs. A few stood by the wall in small groups and some, the ones Eric was walking towards, were standing opposite a dart board. They cheered upon seeing the two guys approach, making more noise than anybody else in the room.

“You’re on my team and you’re gonna help me win, yeah? M’taking advantage of you being sober as a stone. Your aim is probably better than any of theirs.”

Harry laughed and nodded, accepting to be involved. “I’ll try my best.”

The first dart arrow was thrust into his hand by a guy named Kyle who appeared to be on the same team. Half an hour later and Eric was grinning from ear to ear, writing their leading score numbers onto a makeshift writing board that was really just the coffee table. Something the guys living in this house would be happy to find in the morning.  Y/N watched him. Despite being intoxicated, or perhaps because of how intoxicated she was, she noticed every muscle of his back move each time he raised his arm. Her heart fluttered whenever he laughed and she felt a heat grow at the pit of her stomach whenever he leaned his head to the side, revealing the back of his neck to her. And above his neck was his ear, which hid a spot right under his hairline where he liked to be kissed. Y/N’s lips parted at the thought and her toes curled.  He hadn’t noticed her when entering the room. She didn’t blame him though, since she’d successfully hid herself behind Dena and Eric’s big body also worked wonderfully as a shield. Despite anything she’d said before the party, she was immensely relieved to see him. The vodka-beer mixture which she’d learned had been invented by Clara, was disgusting but also got her drunk faster than she had expected. Or intended. Another round of cheers erupted as Harry scored another point for his team. 

“Not fair. You won’t give them as much as a chance to win.” 

A chill rushed down Harry’s back at the sound of the honey sweet female voice behind him, and Y/N, too, froze in place. Slender fingers touched Harry’s arm, caressing the skin despite being less than welcome to. Upon turning around he was met with Silja, who’s face wore a smile equally sweet as her sly voice. Though standing by the opposite wall, Y/N swore she could hear Silja as if she were standing next to her. She would always be able to detect her voice, especially if the words she spoke were directed to Harry. 

Dena followed her friend’s gaze and raised her brows. “Haven’t seen her in a while. I thought she dropped out.”

“Would have been too nice,” Y/N growled. 

She’d never actually talked to Silja herself and she surely didn’t intend to. Before getting together with him, Y/N had been mostly oblivious to who was genuinely interested in him and who she imagining to be. Only with Silja there had never been any doubt. Even before Harry had become hers, she’d felt a bitter taste collect in the middle of her tongue whenever the pretty brunette girl tried to talk to him. Once her claim on him had become justified, she disliked Silja and her upfront behaviour all the more.

“Hey, you know you don’t have to worry about her, right?” Dena said quietly, reading Y/N’s expression, “Harry has rejected her what, three times already? Even before he was with you. He’s not interested in her.”

“I know. I’m not worried about that,” Y/N said quickly, stepping around Dena to get a better look at her boyfriend and the girl that had yet to remove her hand from his arm, “I trust him.”

“Doesn’t make her less of a bitch,” Clara grumbled, also staring at them intently. 

The three girls watched Harry turn to look at Silja. He gave her a tight lip smile before he stepped away to make room for the next player, conveniently shrugging off her hand in process. To their dismay, Silja followed him.

“I haven’t seen you this summer,” she complained in an uncomfortably high voice, that was laced with feigned displeasure, “Where were you hiding?” 

Harry sighed, wishing Y/N would find him already, and rested his back against the wall. The last thing he needed for this party to become worse were the advances of the woman standing before him. “I wasn’t.”

Their summer had been great. They spent it looking for a flat to move into together. One weekend they’d taken the train out to the ocean and spent two days in a pretty bed and breakfast, where nothing distracted them from each other and everything, even their sheets, held the faint smell of sea salt. He wasn’t about to tell any of that to Silja though. 

The girl pouted, smudging her lilac lipstick at the corners. “Didn’t you miss me at all? Not even a little bit?” 

“No.”

She smiled. Her neck moved to the side as her eyes mustering him. “You and your attitude. I really missed that.”

Harry let his head fall back and for a moment Y/N forgot to eye the girl hitting on her boyfriend and instead stared at his throat. She longed to kiss him there, too. The darkened expression taking over his relaxed face quickly brought her attention back. Thinking about kissing him had made her miss the words Silja had said to upset him. 

“You’re wasting your time missing me.”

At last, Silja’s smile dropped. “You’re still with her, then?”

“Yep,” he replied shortly. 

 “Fine,” Silja pushed the long brown locks off her shoulder and crossed her arms, “maybe if she fucked you right you wouldn’t be such an asshole all the time.” 

“Fuck off, Silja,” Harry snapped, pushing himself off the wall to instantly tower over her.

“Harry! Your turn again, mate.”

Without giving her as much as a second look, Harry turned away and followed Eric’s call. Dena’s hand rested on Y/N’s shoulder, squeezing her gently whilst smiling at her. Y/N exhaled loudly and relaxed. She didn’t doubt Harry’s capability of getting rid of Silja. She’d also truly meant it when she’d said that she trusted him. But after their argument she wasn’t so sure that he didn’t want to receive some affection tonight, be it from anybody. While she would have hated it, simply entertaining Silja’s flirting wouldn’t have been cheating. A warm feeling overtook any worry left in her body upon watching him turn Silja away. He didn’t bother look at her again but walked back to his friends to resume the game, treating her like she wasn’t even there. He didn’t even give Silja the satisfaction of remaining angered by her words. Giving up her attempts, Silja walked away and left the room quickly, her cheeks slightly rosy in embarrassment. 

“Remind me to kiss him later for that,” Y/N said, her voice holding more love for him than she would usually let on whilst angry. 

Clara laughed. “So you’re not mad at him anymore.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me that I was or I might still be.”

“What were you two fighting about anyway?” Dena asked. 

Y/N took another long sip from her drink, before remembering that she’d wanted to not drink any more for the night. Oh well. 

“He didn’t come home last night. Without notifying me. He fell asleep at stupid Rick’s place and neither of them bothered shooting me a text or ringing me about it. I spent all night worried sick.”

Y/N’s expression hardened at the thought of waiting up for him. She’d paced around the living room of their new flat before settling on the couch, vowing to stay awake until he returned. She’d had half a mind not to call his mother or sister, not quite worried enough to ask them. 

“I didn’t see him until an hour before coming here ‘cause I had to work today. So we didn’t have time to properly fight about it.”

“Didn’t he say he was sorry?”

“Sure he did, as well as stating that I was overreacting and not his mother.”

“Ugh, men,” Dena grumbled, then she changed the subject, “Let’s get refills in the kitchen!”

Harry got bored of the game after the fifth round, but stayed to play until the team he’d joined won by a margin. Then he politely excused himself from playing another round. Though she’d told him she didn’t want to see him, Harry really wanted to see Y/N and he figured over an hour of distance sufficed for her to calm down. Maybe she would even allow herself to be happy about him finding her. He strolled around the room, then went looking in the hall and finally searched the lounge. If only she were a little taller, he thought once more. All of sudden he heard a loud shout. It wasn’t one of the usual party hollers, it was one that held no joy at all. With swift strides Harry crossed the room, turned left in the hallway and entered the kitchen. This time he didn’t have to search to see her. Y/N was sitting on the counter, her legs dangling down and her hands curling around the stone surface. Across from her was the kitchen table on which all of the different liquor bottles had been placed. It was also where the single shout turned into several. A guy Harry hadn’t ever seen around campus before stood next to a broken bottle of vodka. His hand curled into a fist and his face was red. Opposite him stood Dena, a girl Harry barely knew beyond her being a friend of Y/N. Next to Dena was a guy named Dylan, his face painted with guilt and worry. 

“You fucking broke my shit!” the stranger shouted. 

Y/N flinched. It wasn’t Dena who’d pissed off the wrong guy, but Dylan who had tried to make a drink for them. She didn’t feel any less involved if the guy were to be shouting at her. The second the bottle had broken and the tall stranger exclaimed that it’d been his, Y/N had felt fear curse through her. She hated it. She hated how a man shouting was so scary that she froze in place.  Just like she always did when afraid, her eyes began to search for Harry. Heavy like a wave and equally overwhelming was the relief when she saw him lingering in the doorway.  Their eyes met. Y/N visibly relaxed. She could read the question in the look he was giving her and she eagerly nodded. There were so few people scattered around the small place, Harry had no trouble reaching the counter.  Once in arms reach she held out her right hand, whimpering when his fingers slotted through hers and holding on tight. Any anger towards each other was forgotten the moment their skin touched. Y/N gave a determined pull until he stood next to where she was sitting, her legs touching his waist. Harry didn’t say anything, but he allowed her to let go of his hand to instead hold on to his shoulder. His own settled heavily on her thigh, relishing the feeling of her bare skin. He didn’t complain when her fingers curled tightly around the fabric of his shirt, nor did she mind how intimate it felt to have his hand on her naked thigh. His eyes quickly scanned her face, waiting for her nod, confirming that she was alright. Y/N smiled gently, relief mirroring in her eyes. Harry returned her smile. His heart clenching when he noticed the faint veil of alcohol before her eyes. Ever so slightly, their heads leaned towards each other, then his nose softly touched her forehead.

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” Dena said defensively, “and these bottles are for everybody to use.”

Harry shifted closer to Y/N but removed his nose form her hairline. Unwillingly he turned his attention back to where the argument grew. The stranger’s head, figuratively doubling in size by the minute, was red and looming over Dena like a balloon hovering in the sky. He had to admit it was impressive that Dena, equally short as Y/N, refused to back off.

“I wasn’t asking you! You and your friend better figure out how to replace my drink and you better do it fast!”

“Mate, lay off a bit, will ya? They didn’t do anything on purpose,” Harry interrupted, his voice calm and steady, “Why don’t you just grab one of the ten other bottles and leave ‘em alone?” 

The stranger, slightly shorter than Harry, turned to look at them. Y/N tightened her hold on his shoulder. She was mentally preparing herself to jump off the counter and at the stranger’s throat instead, should he as much as try to pick a fight with Harry. Noticing her shift beside him, Harry’s hold on her intensified.

“Leave them alone?” the tall guy snapped, “that was twenty fucking quid he broke!” 

“Bit embarrassing that you’re whining about twenty quid,” Harry said, wearing a smug grin, “and picking a fight like some kind of neanderthals who found out somebody’s pissed into his cave.” 

Dena giggled and so did Y/N, along with some bystanders who’d gathered to watch. The bloke narrowed his eyes, first at Harry, then at the girl sitting beside him. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but Y/N interrupted him. “Quit looking at me and spare me any sexist bullshit you’re about to say.” 

The guy rolled his eyes, then smiled. “You’re pretty for a bitch.”

Y/N’s hand yanked Harry back by his shoulder equally fast as he’d pushed off the counter to lunge forward and at the guy. The movement caused him to knock against the counter uncomfortably. She didn’t let go and didn’t move, despite Harry’s enraged breathing getting louder.  

“Fuck you!” Harry shouted, eyes wide. 

Anger oozed out of his pores and heat settled in the small kitchen. Calm and collected only a moment ago, he was all the more scarier now that he was enraged. Scary enough to make the stranger take back a step. Y/N loosened her hold on Harry’s shoulder, sliding her hand down to press against his back instead. She rubbed his spine gently, hoping to ease him by letting him know she was okay. 

"You need to leave,” Y/N stated, her voice calm.

“Definitely,” Dena agreed, her eyes trained on her friend before finding Harry.

He didn’t return her gaze, his eyes remained on the tall blonde. They stayed put until the guy lowered his empty cup to the table, the movement slow and deliberate. He clearly didn’t want it to look like he was leaving because he was told to, so he took his time. But finally he turned away, before at last leaving the kitchen and hopefully the party all together. 

Harry shuddered upon feeling Y/N’s nose against the shell of his ear. “I’m fine, Harry.”

“What a wanker.”

“A fucking wanker,” Y/N replied, her smile practically audible in her voice. 

Harry turned around to face her, all of his attention returning to where it belonged: her. His eyes looked into hers intently, reading every answer to all of his unspoken questions.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Are you?”

He nodded. “Did he try anything before I came?”

“I noticed him about zero-point-five seconds before you arrived, Harry. I’m fine, I promise.”

Her hands gently took hold of his face. The fingers of her left hand traced along his jawline as tenderly as one would the rim of a glass in hopes of eliciting a sound. That’s how Harry sometimes felt when she touched him. Like she was being as tender as she could possibly fathom to be. 

“Does that mean you’re gonna go back to being mad at me?” As he spoke, Harry moved closer. His hands rested on each side of her hips, allowing his body to get closer to hers as he leaned forward.

Y/N laughed and shook her head, their faces so close they almost touched. She enjoyed the warmth of his breath fanning against her throat. 

“Are you? You were at least as pissed off as I was.”

He shrugged, then playfully nudged her nose with his. “No.”

“Then I think I’ll let it go, too,” she answered, faking to be coy, “For now, you still owe me an apology later.”

Harry laughed. “That’s fair. Promise to mean it this time, too.” 

Her eyes narrowed. She took hold of his chin, holding him still so she could kiss him without giving him the chance to deepen it. The feeling of his mouth slotting with hers, be it as briefly as it was, ignited her like nothing else could. Any remaining worry was pulled from the corners in her body where it had hidden, and was thrown out not to return. Harry took over. All of the space inside her that could belong to an emotion, now belonged to him.

“I knew you didn’t mean it earlier,” she breathed accusingly against his lips. 

“I meant it a little,” he said, curling his hand around her wrist to pull away the hold she’d taken and he kissed her a second time before she could complain. 

Despite their desperation their teeth didn’t clash together, nor did their noses unintentionally bump. They’d kissed too many times not to blindly meet each other without missing. His tongue glided along her bottom lip, hers pushed his aside so it could trespass into his mouth. Frantic hands held on to her hips and her thigh, eager fingers remembered to be gentle as they settled on the back of his neck. Harry moaned and Y/N pulled away.

“Thank you,” she whispered, just enough space between them so she could speak. 

Harry’s kisses trailed down from the corner of her mouth to her cheek and her jaw, his lips warm, wet and determined. He allowed one kiss to last a little longer, followed by a small lick to her earlobe.

As satisfied as could be as long as they weren’t alone, he raised his head to look at her again. “What for?”

“Being on my side even when we’re fighting.” 

The smile gracing her features was so genuine he could have melted, just like her words were spoken with more love behind them than he could detect. He smiled and willingly moved his head to the side, so she could kiss below his ear. The heat in his belly grew and he let her know by squeezing her hips.

“Ditto.”

[applsauss]

Östliche Helden | I

Description: Your grin is unabashed when you hear him shouting after you.

Fandom: Hetalia


Pairing: Human!Prussia (Gilbert Beilschmidt)/Reader

Word Count: 4k+

Warning(s): None.

Unsere Freundschaft mit der Sowjet-Union erzwingt den Frieden.

The words are printed on a sun-bleached poster featuring two working class men, one holding the red and gold banner of the Soviet Union, the other with a German flag with three stripes: one black, one red, one yellow. 

“Our friendship with the Soviet Union enforces peace,” you whisper to yourself. Staring at the smiling men, trying to read into their expressions, you pick at the peeling corners of the poster, then try to smooth them down. 

Behind you, through the window, the sky is aglow with a strong orange and dusty red that fades into pink. You’ve wasted the afternoon in an abandoned factory, with the small, portable radio Gilbert spent a fortune on tuned to a western station. The announcer is saying something about a concert, but you don’t hear him. The sun is setting. The wind drags its fingers through the trees.

Gilbert is sitting in the window, with one leg bent at the knee and propped up on the window sill, the other dangling against the outside of the building. He’s reading a book your brother gave to you about Frederick II, the greatest king of Prussia. You could never sit through it, but Gilbert hasn’t been able to put it down for the last two weeks. 

You hum lightly to yourself as a different, tinny voice advertises some household cleaning product, and continue to observe your boyfriend. His brow is furrowed in focus, eyes scanning each page with intent, and his platinum hair is painted red by the blazing sun buzzing behind him. You can’t help but stare at him, and then past him. 

The view from the window is framed by Gilbert’s body, and then by large, dark trees that inhale and exhale with the breeze. Behind the trees is a demolished industrial block, rubble left where it fell at the foot of the wall--then past that is the Berlin Wall, itself: nearly four meters tall, two thick, and with various layers of increasingly horrible deterrents running the length of the death strip. It is a grisly sight. 

Behind that though, lies true innovation and freedom. Sunlight bounces off the windows of pristine West Berlin as if to say Look! Look at what is here. Look at Germans like you--but not--as they live with American autos, French wine, and Italian designer bags.

The radio announcer’s voice cuts off, and then the guitar chords of the next song fade in, plucking at all of your drifting thoughts and drawing them back tight again. It is a song of freedom, the western stations like playing it because they know it can be heard even behind the Iron Curtain. You close your eyes and let the music take you away, swaying in rhythm. 

“I, I will be king,

And you, you will be queen.

Though nothing will drive them away,

We can beat them, just for one day,

We can be heroes, just for one day.”

You never listen to western radio in your house. It is silent except for when your father listens to a concert performance, or when your brother used to practice piano in the sitting room. Besides, your mother is frighteningly aware of the ears in the walls, and your father makes a point of socialising with people he suspects of being connected to the Stasi--probably in hopes of being recruited. It’s why you’ve been left alone, even after your Onkel took bolt cutters to the chain-link border fence at the Austrian-Hungarian border.

You hear your shoes scrape on the floor as you step side to side, getting more into the song, nodding your head and then you hear Gilbert snicker under his breath. You peak your eyes open to find him watching you. His book is closed, resting on the window sill, and he’s now sitting with his legs inside the building. You stop dancing, laugh, but the music continues on without you, the sound like an afterthought calling to you.

Gilbert leans forward, watching you with steady eyes, then pushes off the window sill to stand. He tilts his head for a moment, like he’s appraising the music, then begins to snap his fingers on beat, tapping his foot and bobbing his head.

You join him, shimmying, waggling your eyebrows and he snorts, then gets more into the song, shaking his hips and dramatically reaching up towards the ceiling, then closing his fist and dragging it down in front of him like the disco stars on TV.

Trying to upstage him, you click your heels together and start to do the twist, but the song’s chords are drawn out, and so the shuffling you’re doing is more for comedic effect than anything else.

You pause when you’re closest to the ground, then jerk your head up to catch Gilbert’s eyes in challenge. He lets out a breathy laugh, then changes tactics. Not one to be outdone, he throws his arms above his head and begins thrusting his hips in time with the drums, while training his expression to remain serious, smoldering, almost. You laugh.

“And you, you can be mean,

And I, I'll drink all the time,”

“ 'Cause we're lovers, and that is a fact,” he mouths the words dramatically, then winks and blows you a kiss, making you snicker again. “Yes, we're lovers, and that is that.”

Still thrusting his hips, he begins to make little hops towards you, dust from the floor kicking up around his feet. Grinning, you rise back up to both feet and meet him halfway, swinging your arms and stepping in time with the beat. 

When you finally meet each other, he reaches forward, smooshing your face between his hands, then ducks down to plant a silly, solid kiss to your lips. Your teeth clack, your nose presses hard into his cheek, and he laughs into your mouth, then quiets when you kiss him back. 

The music becomes less of something you hear, and more of something you feel thrumming in your heart, thrumming in Gilbert’s as it beats beneath your palm, and thrumming in the way you both sway side to side, caught up in the moment.

“Though nothing will keep us together,

We can steal time, just for one day.”

Gilbert sucks in a breath through his nose, kissing you earnestly, sincerely now, then pulls back slowly. His hands are cupping your face, thumb gently rubbing your cheek, and you’re humbled by the expression on his face, still painted in increasingly soft shades of red-pink. Affection blooms in your chest, warm like a candle, and spreads until you forget about the bite of the approaching evening. Almost overwhelmed, you pull his arms around you and lay your forehead on his shoulder, watching the West as the sun dips farther towards the horizon, as the sky begins to bleed the same red, the same damn Sowjetisch Rot, that paints their bloody flag.

You can hear him smiling in the way he breathes, feel it in the way he settles the weight of his arm over your shoulders and presses his face into your hair. You forget about school, you forget about the stress of your parents’ disapproval of Gilbert, of you, you forget about the future and you forget about the gottverdammte West. “Lieb’ dich, Liebchen,” he whispers into your hair.

The intimacy scares you. You think about pinching the soft fat on his stomach and twisting like you would a bottlecap to relieve some of the carbonated tension that’s filled the space, the tender moment buzzing around the two of you, surrounding you with its quiet intensity. The sudden thought makes you laugh, and you settle farther into his embrace instead, letting yourself sink into this feeling despite the fear for once. “Lieb’ dich, doch. You’re my favourite, you know.” 

You somehow both see it coming and are taken by complete surprise when he pinches the meat of your arm and twists enough for it to smart.

“Ow-a!” You shove him off you and he stumbles back over a piece of broken furniture, snickering. You huff, dust your pants off, and try to glare at him, but you can’t bring yourself to be all that annoyed. Afterall, you chose this place and you chose him.

And the sun continues to set.

***

The morning is grey outside the apartment. It’s still early enough for the streetlamps to be on, and from under your bedroom door, you can tell the hallway light is on as well. You hear the muted clamor of breakfast coming from the kitchen, and your father coughs.

You smooth your hair back in the vanity one more time, double-checking your appearance, then grab your backpack and head out into the hall.

“You came home late last night,” your father comments from the dinner table as soon as you enter the sitting room. In front of him sits an empty plate, a mug of coffee and a half-empty glass of orange juice. 

You set your bag on the table and head into the kitchen. “I know.” 

“You shouldn’t ride your bike at night,” he calls after you.

“I know.” 

Your mother is by the stove, wearing her sunflower print apron and black slippers. The room smells like breakfast sausage. She has her back turned to you and when you approach, she spins on her heel and pushes a full plate into your empty hands before you can do anything else.

“Ah--Guten Morgen, Muti. Vielen--” you’re caught half-way through a yawn--“Dank.” 

“Good Morning, Liebling. Eat up.” 

You smile and return to the table. Your father is waiting, but says nothing. He continues to say nothing as the clouds are pushed across the sky and the food on your plate disappears one bite at a time.

Eventually, he grows tired of the silence. He takes a long sip of his coffee, then says, “You were out with that boy, weren’t you.” It is not a question.

“You know his name,” you say mildly as you push your chair back and stand to take your plate into the kitchen. Your mother appears at your elbow and collects it for you instead. Without another excuse, you pull your bag across the table to check if you have everything you’ll need for school.

Still sitting where he is, your father asks, “When are you going to break up with him?” 

“I’m not.” 

He gives you a hard look. You pull your arms through the straps of your bag. “Is there really no one else for you?”

“I’m going to class now.” 

He sighs, seemingly giving up on the conversation. “You have work after, right?”

“Right.” 

Another sigh. “Alright. Be safe. See you soon.” 

He drains the last of his coffee. Your mother kisses you on the cheek and tells you to have a good day as well. 

“You, too. Lieb’ dich.” You turn to your father, “Bye, Vati. See you soon.”

***

Childhoods are not made equal, and the law of even-stevens is not something adults seem overly interested in. You first learned this in year three, when you were dropped off by your mother to play with a friend who lived in an apartment the size of your living room. Her bed was folded up neatly under the coffee table and the bathroom was two floors below hers. When you explained all this to your parents, they never allowed you back.

The second time you learned that adults were not as worried about being fair as they pretended to be was at Gilbert’s house, when the two of you could only play cards on his bed because his newborn brother was sleeping and anything else would have woken him. His mother made you sandwiches and when you asked about her lunch, she said she wasn’t hungry, then ate the discarded crust off your bread. 

The third was when Gilbert was visiting your house, and switched on your family’s brand-new color television set. He casually flipped through the channels until he found one you’d never seen before, and you watched with confusion as image after image of the glamorous, rich, free West Germany flashed on the screen--something you’d never seen before, something he thought of as common knowledge, and something that made you begin to question what else was hidden from you. Your father catching the two of you soaking in the perverse capitalist propaganda movie ‘Grease’ was the beginning of his long-lasting feud with Your-Best-Friend-Gilbert. 

The list goes on and on, your eyes not so much being opened to a single dawning realisation--but rather that realisation was inevitable, a full picture fed to you piece by piece each time you bore witness to some other lie fed to East Germans, who chew and chew and swallow because they’re so starved of everything else. 

This is what you’re thinking about as Kristian goes on explaining Nietzsche to you. It’s terribly pretentious, he’s terribly pretentious, and so, regretfully, terribly, are you. 

“I thought it was interesting. Didn’t you as well? What Herr Ullman was saying about the difference between Nietzsche’s master and slave morality--obviously we are the strong masters. We must not be pitied.” 

Kristian is a person who never for a second thinks for, or critically, of himself. He is in your Philosophy lecture, your father knows his, and he has never once wanted for anything. The urge to fidget overcomes you, and so you grip the underside of the shop-counter, and rock back and forth on your heels to stop the annoyance from crawling up your arms. 

“Y/N?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I asked what you thought of how Nietzsche’s ideas could be applied to our politics now.” 

“Oh, well--” you pause for a moment to think about how much of yourself you’re willing to put into this conversation-- “It’s interesting how some people claim to be masters--”

“Of course!” he interrupts. “You’re brilliant--because in reality, they are not. Take here, in the DDR, for example. The majority of the working class think of themselves as masters, while holding slave moralities,” he finishes for you, incorrectly. You bite your tongue.

Sometimes, Kristian is enjoyable to be around because it’s like a game, to have a conversation with someone who refuses to hear anything you say. You like to test the limits of his perception of you and see just how far he’ll go to rationalise whatever you say so that in his head, you agree with him.

Recently though, it’s become clear that he has an interest in you that is just a little more than friendly, and casually letting him down is becoming a problem because he refuses to take a hint. Now, at Uni, every time you turn a corner, he’s there to follow you to your next class, and his forwardness is beginning to unroot whatever amusement you used to feel around him.

Kristian is another item to add to the growing list of reasons you’d rather be wasting your day watching the clouds go by than be at Uni--or be trapped behind the counter of the Apotheke you work at, begging the powers that be that Kristian leaves before your shift is up, otherwise he might get it in his head that you have free time to spend with him.

Time moves in slow motion as Kristian stands in front of the register and continues to talk. No one has come in after him so you don’t have any excuses to leave the conversation. You feel awkward, like being alone with him is a mistake that you can’t escape from because the owner of the Apotheke is out taking his lunch in the park across the street. 

“We think so alike, you and I…” Kristian trails off, and then he fiddles with the soda he bought ten minutes ago, and looks away, embarrassed. “Hey,” he begins again, and at the tone of his voice, your stomach drops. Before he was just dropping hints or loosely suggesting the idea of going on a date, but this is a confrontation that you’re not prepared to deal with. “I was wondering if sometime you’d like to--”

The bell above the door trills, and you jump into action. “Ah--Willkommen! How can I help you today?” you speak loud enough to smother the end of Kristian’s question.

“Liebe,” you hear the customer say, and immediately you know that it is Gilbert. What timing! He’d taken the morning off to go see Ludy’s school play and mentioned that he might be able to swing by after running a few errands for his mother. “You’ll never guess what happened! Oh! Kristian--” he pauses-- “Hallo. Anyways, I was riding my bike down Schulstrasse after the play and I--” 

“We were talking,” Kristian interrupts, whatever boyish shyness he’d had evaporating as he crosses his arms and turns to face Gilbert, almost puffing out his chest like a bird.

Gilbert gives him a funny look, then asks, “yea?” He looks to you for confirmation.

You shoot Gilbert a wobbly, unconfident smile and gesture to Kristian with wide eyes. He furrows his brow in confusion, then looks around and realizes you’re alone in the shop. He then turns his full attention to Kristian and, with fake pleasantness, asks, “how are your classes, Kristian?” 

Kristian rocks back on his heels and unfolds his arm at the sudden question. “Good, I guess…” He shoots a look back at you, and you pretend to be seriously inspecting the cash register for defects. You pop open the drawer and feign counting the Deutsche Marks.

“Good!” Gilbert presses forward. “I hear Herr Ullman is a hardhead.” 

“A bit,” Kristian replies, then turns his back to Gilbert and tries one last time to get your attention. “Y/N--” 

At the sound of your name leaving Kristian’s mouth, Gilbert slides an arm on the counter between you and Kristian, who bites off the rest of his response and drops all pretenses to glare at Gilbert. 

“Interesting,” Gilbert says flatly, “Sowieso, Schatz, when does Herr Friedman get back from his lunch?”

Kristian doesn’t wait for your response. He just huffs, snatches his drink off the counter, and stalks out of the Apotheke. The bell trills as he pulls the door open, then lets it slam shut in its frame.

“Tschussi!” Gilbert calls after him, and you really should reprimand him for that last, unnecessary taunt, but the amount of relief you feel now that Kristian is gone is ridiculous, and so you reach over the counter to grip his forearm with both hands, grinning up at him.

“Don’t be so mean,” you say half-heartedly. 

Gilbert cocks his head to the side. “Then he should take a hint and listen when you tell him no.” 

His genuine response surprises you when it shouldn’t. Afterall, you know what sort of man he is; you’ve known for years. It’s what kindled your crush on him in secondary school, the year before he went off for his apprenticeship in that garage he still dreams of, it’s what fanned the flames when he returned for his year of mandatory service, and it’s what stokes the love even now. “Thank you.” 

“Why?” He grins. “Did you think it was awesomely sexy when I made him back off--”

You choke on a laugh, cheeks warm. “Oh, shut it! You ruin everything!”

He laughs like a witch’s cackle, and you pretend to be put out, then ask,“what were you trying to tell me about before?” 

“Oh!” He straightens. “Remember that pigeon from school?”

***

“Gib can talk to birds, you know,” Ludwig says factually. ‘Gib’ is his childhood nickname for Gilbert. You nearly trip at the sudden change in topic.

“See!” Gilbert throws a hand out to gesture at Ludwig, vindicated. His other hand holds his bike steady as the three of you continue to walk down the sidewalk.

You groan. “I swear to god, the pigeon does not know you!”

“Yes he does! I’ve named him--” 

“Don’t remind me--” 

“His name is Gilbird.” Gilbert proudly sticks his nose up, and you resign yourself to pushing your bike in silence. You’ve had this same dispute since school. Gilbert is convinced that since he saved a pigeon from a hungry alleycat one time, it now owes him some sort of life debt, or at least he thinks the pigeon thinks that.

“I think it’s clever,” Ludwig says quietly, squeezing the straps of his backpack tighter in his hands as he continues to walk beside you and Gilbert, who are pushing your bikes to keep pace with him.

“Ludy,” you stage whisper just loud enough so Gilbert can still hear you, like you’re sharing some grave secret, “he’s been saying the same thing since year five. I don’t even think it’s the same bird!”

“Schatz!” Gilbert cries, outraged.

You roll your eyes dramatically. “C’mon,” you say, and goad Ludwig into jogging ahead of Gilbert with you. As much as Ludwig hero-worships his elder brother, he also can’t resist the temptation of teasing him, especially when you offer him the upper hand. 

“Ah!” Gilbert exclaims once he realizes your plan. “Hey!” When you pass him, you stick your foot out to unhinge his kickstand, making him stumble over his bike.

 “I’m too awesome to not be telling the truth!” he calls after you. “You were there! Hey!”

Ludwig laughs out loud, and so you turn around as well, only to see Gilbert struggling to untangle his handlebars from a bush. “Quickly!” 

You swing your leg over the seat of your bike, then usher Ludwig into the basket fixed over the rear wheel. It’s not meant for a person and is an uncomfortable fit, even for little Ludy, but the two of you manage. 

“That’s cheating!” Gilbert calls out sorely, still a little ways behind the two of you, though you know he’ll catch up in no time. Ludwig giggles right in your ear, and then you push off the concrete and begin pedaling down the sidewalk. 

“Look at him, all the way back there,” Ludwig teases. 

You can’t turn around to bask in your victory, you’re afraid to lose balance and throw Ludwig off the bike. “Is he still stuck?” 

“Yes--No! He’s just freed himself! Schneller! Faster!” Ludwig leans more of his weight forward, onto your back, and you laugh breathlessly, then pedal harder. You take the curb hard, pushing yourself off the seat to absorb the shock of your front wheel dropping onto the asphalt, then the rear wheel squeaks in protest under Ludwig’s added weight.

From around the wide bend of the road, you see the young trees that are planted in front of Gilbert and Ludwig’s Plattenbau, the tall apartment building looming over the road like a victory line. Your thighs begin to burn under the exercise. You pant, and Ludwig squeezes your shoulders tighter. “Oh no!” he cries. 

Then it’s over. “Ha ha!” Gilbert tuts victoriously as he flies past the two of you, legs stuck out in a silly pose as his gears rapidly click. 

“Aw! That’s no fair, Gib! Y/N has me on the bike, too!” Ludwig defends you from over your shoulder. 

“You should have thought about that before you two unawesomely conspired to push me into that bush!” 

“We didn’t push you! You tripped!” You slow to a stop in front of the side entrance next to Gilbert, and wobble under yours and Ludwig’s combined weight. Gilbert drops his bike in the grass and moves to help Ludwig down from his perch on the basket.

Gilbert rolls his eyes. “Same thing.” He sets Ludwig on the ground, then adds with fake scorn, “cheaters.”

Ludwig laughs, and you inspect your backpack, which Ludwig had been crouched on for the duration of the short ride. “Do you go to work now, Gib?” he asks.

“Ja. But I’ll be back like normal.” You look up in time to see Gilbert messing with Ludwig’s hair. You feel a pang of jealousy, thinking of your own brothers.

“Okay.” Ludwig walks to the entrance, then pulls open the door. “See you later!”

“Bye!” 

“Bye, Luddy!” 

For a moment, the two of you just breathe the filthy air. This part of town always stinks like a car’s exhaust pipe. Then Gilbert looks back at you. “Race you to your house?” 

You eye him critically for a moment, then turn your bike around and begin pedaling as fast as you can without so much as waiting for a fair start.

Your grin is unabashed when you hear him shouting after you.

***

Translations:

Unsere Freundschaft mit der Sowjet-Union erzwingt den Frieden. Our friendship with the Soviet Union enforces peace. From this 1979 propaganda poster.

Deutsche Demokratische Republik. DDR. German Democratic Republic. Abbreviated ‘GDR’ in english. The official name of ‘East Germany’.

Onkel. Uncle.

Sowjetisch Rot. Soviet Red, referring to the Soviet Union’s flag colour.

Gottverdammte. Goddamn (f).

Lieb’ dich. Love you (slang, not proper grammar).

Liebchen. Sweetheart, lovely (noun). Term of endearment. (Literally: little love, love I am fond of, the -chen is diminutive and cute).

Doch. Too, totally, all the same, nevertheless. This is a ridiculous german word.

O-Saft. Orange Juice (slang).

Guten Morgen. Good morning

Muti. Mom.

Vielen Dank. Thank you very much. 

Liebling. See Liebchen, though this is a more common version.

Vati. Dad.

Apotheke. Drug store, pharmacy.

Willkommen. Welcome.

Liebe. Love.

Hallo. Hello, Hi.

Deutsche Marks. Mark der DDR. Currency of the GDR.

Sowieso. Anyways.

Schatz. Babe, baby. Term of endearment. (Literally: Treasure)

Tschussi. Bye-bye, toodles. Cute with children, though usually used sarcastically by adults, especially men. (Gilbert is making fun of Kristian here)

Schneller! Faster!

Plattenbau. A cheap style of building made from prefabricated concrete slabs common in the GDR. (Literally: Panel building)

Masterlist | Posting Schedule 

[kumkaniudaku]

Understanding

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17

Recommended Listening: Understanding x Xscape, Purple Emoji (ft. J. Cole) x Ty Dolla $ign, My World x Asian

Word Count: 2,137 

If you were going to win an award that afternoon, it’d be for attire, not confidence. Your expertly crafted golf outfit was the only thing willing your feet forward once you parked your car in front of Senior’s golf course.

Black women and men dressed like modern Jet magazine ads waltzed in and out of the clubhouse while you scanned the area for your party. You’d been to your fair share of golf courses, but none as exquisite as The National. Marble accents complemented modern brass finishes and unbeatable views of the city. The desire to take photos for your father was almost too much to shake, but you managed to play it cool. Acting out of place was surely some type of faux pas for the wealthy.

Across the way, Senior sat at the bar sipping a glass of water while thumbing through a newspaper. His furrowed brow was identical to Yahya’s whenever he was knee-deep in work or a good book. The mental comparison made you smile before ushering in a tinge of sadness. For two people so undeniably similar, they were miles apart physically and mentally.

You navigated through groups of young and old alike on the way to the bar.

“You made it on time,” Senior spoke without looking up from a story on education budget cuts.

“I made it with time to spare.”

“You don’t get praise for doing what’s right.”

“Think of how much better things would be if we did.”

Senior paused his reading to take a deep breath and shake his head. You mentally berated yourself for overstepping so soon. Not even five minutes into the outing and you had already committed an avoidable infraction

Yahya I prolonged the unbearable silence as he continued to read through another article, reading each line painstakingly slow while you watched in agony.

“I apologize. That was unnecessary.”

“I’ll ask you again,” he spoke, finally looking away from the newspaper to study your face. “Let’s leave the character right here. We’re here for a purpose, so grab your clubs and follow me to the first hole. I hope your game is as good as you are at running your mouth.” Taking his retort in stride, you quickly grabbed your set of clubs and followed with no objections. “After you.”

Senior found himself immediately impressed though he wouldn’t verbalize his feelings. He watched you breeze through each hole with near expert precision, opening a series of questions at hole 5 during casual small talk.

“Where’d you say you were from again?”

“A tiny town in South Carolina that you probably wouldn’t know.”

“Try me,” he answered while taking stock of his position on the fairway.

“Anderson, South Carolina. Home of Larry Nance and the great Chadwick Boseman.”

“Can’t forget James Kennedy, Young Lady.”

You cocked your head back in surprise. “What you know about Radio? I mean outside of what the movie says?”

Senior remained quiet long enough to take a hard swing. The loud “whiff” of his driver slicing through crisp, clean air didn’t match the stroke’s output. Both of you watch the golf ball sail high into the air before making a landing well short of the intended destination. Senior shook his head at the miscalculation before turning to answer your question.

“Black folks from all over are connected, even without all that Snapgram and Facebook foolishness.”

“I could argue it’s helped, right? How else would you be able to share your granddaughter’s first steps with the whole family?”

“In photo albums. You might not remember those, but they did us just fine.”

“Yeah, but it’s instantaneous conversation and information. Who wouldn’t want that?”

“Maybe instantaneous conversation is the problem. We aren’t making enough time to stop and really think about what we’re saying to each other.”

“Mm.” You let the conversation naturally taper before following Senior to his golf cart. The rolling hills provided enough scenery to keep you interested while you sorted the words in your head.

“I think we may have started off on the wrong foot.” You spoke once the cart came to a full stop. Senior trailed behind in silence, gathering a new club while watching you examine the other golfers in the area.

“You’re rather observant.”

You chuckled and plucked a club from your bag. “I’ve been told. Yahya calls me Eagle Eye when I catch something he’s already talked about ten minutes ago.”

“It’s what his Big Mama used to call his Pop-Pop for the same thing. That man was notoriously late to the punchline.” The nostalgia in Yahya I’s voice caught you off guard though he didn’t see your minor fumble. Something in his retelling appealed to your sense of compassion in a way that you considered long gone when it came to him.

“Let’s not beat around the bush. You have an issue with my presence that we should discuss. Because I can assure you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Bold,” Senior responded with a sarcastic laugh. He gestured to nothing in particular as you squared up to take a swing and nodded. “And direct. Continue.”

You took a moment to hit a line drive toward the green in the distance, using the movement as an outlet for the unexpected nerves churning your stomach. Both of you quietly watch the golf ball for its final resting place before you turned to speak.

“You are extremely hard to please, and it is literally ruining your family. Yahya does everything in his power, and, excuse my French, you don’t seem to give a fuck. Why is that?”

“What makes you think that my love isn’t what makes me push him to be the best that he can? It may not be the fluff and frills you’re used to in your home, but it’s what he needs to get him to his potential.”

“Did it help you?”

Senior mistakenly allowed a quick moment of confusion to take over his features. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You tell me. When’s the last time you enjoyed a laugh with your family or felt like you could just...be? You’re carrying a weight that is crushing the people around you, and you don’t even see it.”

“You don’t…” Senior caught his words and bottled them behind his lips. He took a deep breath as he approached his golf ball and took a half-hearted swing. Noticing his misstep, he shook his head. “I’m from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. My father, Yahya’s Pop-Pop, moved my mother and me to a shotgun shack to find work when things weren’t quite shaking out back home. He was in and out of trouble and such. Couldn’t get right, but he had a natural knack for building and design.”

A nearby group of golfers erupted into laughter, helping to break up some tension.

“So architecture’s been in the family for a while,” you asked. Yahya I curled the corner of his lips into a far-off smile.

“A long, long time. It got us out of that shack when my siblings came along and into a house with our own rooms and a backyard. But, my father was a hard man. Hard to please, you know,” he laughed, making a reference to your earlier words. “He wanted the best from me, and he made damn sure he got it. I needed that to get my head out of the clouds.”

“You also needed some reassurance.”

“Perhaps. But, what’s done is done. I look at what I’ve built with no complaints, especially when it comes to my boys. I couldn’t be more proud of the men they’ve become.”

Senior’s proud smile almost looked foreign on his face. You’d never seen more than an indifferent expression or the slight twinge of anger smoldering behind his eyes.

Leaning on your club, you kept your eyes forward to gaze out over the course.

“Yahya would love to hear that. I don’t know if you know this, but he is desperately searching for your approval. There is not enough praise from me or anyone else that could replace knowing that you’re proud of him. Yet, as much as he would like to tell you these things himself, he’s afraid that you’ll think less of him for being vulnerable.”

“I could never think less of the boy. Tough love is still love.”

“Maybe for you,” you added, shrugging. “But, what good is continuing this cycle if it’s hurting the children you claim to love and the grandchildren after them?”

Senior dropped his head in thought before looking up with an unreadable expression. “Deuce will be fine. He’s all the best parts of his mother. I...I’m confident he’ll figure out fatherhood on his own despite my shortcomings. We raised him well.”

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping -”

“That has never stopped you before, young lady.” His light-hearted chuckle invited you to follow suit.

“Fair point,” you laughed. “So, let me cut to the chase. Allowing Yahya to just ‘figure things out’ is a passive existence. Yahya says you’re constantly reminding him to take things into his own hands. Sounds like you should take your own advice. Be the parts of your father that you needed at 33.”

Instead of acknowledging your advice, Senior twirled his club in his hand on the way to the golf cart. He maintained an impenetrable poker face that even the most skilled readers couldn’t interpret. You silently hoped that at least some of your words had made it through his thick skull, but you chose to let the discussion meet a natural end.

As he started the cart, Senior turned to you and smiled. “How the hell you learn to swing like that? I know it wasn’t in Anderson.”

“Hey, we play a little golf here and there!”

“Where? Out in the woods?”

“No, out in the Bayou like you did.”

A small smirk crept across your face as Yahya I chuckled at your joke. He sounded identical to Yahya, full of mirth and beautiful melodies.

“The ole Bayou,” he repeated in a thick accent. “You ain’t seen a place more beautiful in your life.”

“Maybe Yahya and I could visit one day.”

He quickly looked over and shrugged. “Maybe. For now, you focus on defending this lead. I think I’m getting back into my rhythm.”

Senior couldn’t make a convincing comeback, but he did show glimpses of a softer, more personable disposition. He cracked jokes on occasion and asked questions that turned the conversation from a therapy session to banter between associates. Your mind traveled to the possibility of civil family dinners or vacations during the ride home. Though it seemed silly to create imaginary scenarios after one conversation, you couldn’t help the urge to see a better future.

Your happiness helped you float into your shared apartment, making Yahya smile when he caught a glimpse of your wide grin and short skirt.

“Damn, girl,” he hollered from the couch with Leche cradled in his arms. “If Tiger was out there cheeked up like that, I might’ve paid a little more attention to the golf network.”

“Oh, really?”

Your raised eyebrow made Yahya kiss his teeth once he caught on to the joke. “You know what I meant. Where you been anyway?”

“Oh, I was just out doing a little golfing...with your dad.”

“Right. That was today, huh?”

Even Yahya’s best attempt at feigning interest, his question came out in a flat drone typically used on annoying coworkers. You dropped your purse and keys against a nearby barstool on the way to his spot on the couch.

“It was today. I think we had a good time,” you answered as you slid your arms around his neck from behind, placing a gentle kiss behind his ear. “He didn’t yell at me.”

“You must’ve kissed his ass the entire time.”

“No. We talked about how great I am at golf. I mean, I kicked his ass.”

“Good on you, baby girl. Bring honor to our house.” In a surprise maneuver, Yahya pulled you over the couch and into the space beside him. “Is that all?”

Silence blanketed the room, allowing the college basketball game in the background to have center stage. You considered your options carefully, weighing the pros of a potential argument against a peaceful Saturday indoors. Yahya turned his attention back to the television as he waited for a response.

“Did you hear me, baby? He didn’t say anything rude to you, did he?”

“No!” You blurted. Taking a deep breath, you slowly slid the remote off the coffee table and pressed the power button. Yahya blinked twice at his reflection on the black television screen before turning to you for answers. Your fingers danced across his thighs to interlock with his long digits.

“I think...I think we need to have a real talk about your dad.”

----

A/N: I hope this is better late than never. Only two more chapters left! Really striving to have those to y’all by the end of the month.

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[mochegato]

Hope on Board

Chapter 3 - What’s in a Name

Chapter 1     Chapter 2

The morning light seemed intent on waking up Marinette.  However she moved, the light found her eyes to shine obnoxiously brightly in them.  What is the point of blackout curtains if it doesn’t black out the light and the light gets in anyway?  She groaned and threw her arm over her eyes.  That reduced the light but my no means eliminated it.  She tried to turn away from the light, but was met with resistance against her movement.  She grunted, cursing the heavy blankets she used during the winter to stave off any hint of chill, and turned on her side anyway.

Her face scrunched up in confusion when she heard a contented hum sound next to her.  Was Tikki sleeping in her bed again?  She thought Tikki had sworn off doing that the third time Marinette had clocked her with a wayward arm in her sleep… in one night.  Her eyes flew open when she felt an increased pressure around her waist, pulling her closer to a body.  She barely managed to muffle the squeak she let out at the sight of the man, the very naked man from what she could feel on the rest of her also very naked body as their very, very naked bodies were pressed together.

She closed her eyes and let out a long breath.  If she concentrated very hard, she could just barely remember flashes of the night before.  Not that they were helpful flashes for remembering the events of the night before. They were mostly his charming smile, his captivating eyes, his soft and insistent lips, his rough but gentle hands. She blushed at the memory and fought burying her face in his very broad, chiseled chest.

She smiled and traced his jaw with her finger in a feather soft touch, trying not to wake him.  He smiled sleepily in response, humming happily and tightening his grip around her waist to pull her even further into his strong embrace.  She giggled quietly and placed a few kitten kisses on the underside of his jaw.  She sighed and snuggled into his embrace.  After a few minutes, her stomach growled, letting her know it did not appreciate the vast amounts of liquor she had consumed the night before, and into the early morning, without eating anything.

She imagined Dan… David!  Devlin? Hmmm. She’d have to ask that when he woke up. Derrick!  No… that wasn’t right either…  Regardless, she was sure Dominic would appreciate something to eat as well. She carefully extricated herself from his arms so she could surprise him with a breakfast.  She stood up and immediately fell back on the bed clutching her head.  Ah yes, the other after effects of a night of drinking, the hangover.  She glanced back to Nick… Nick?  She quirked her lips to the side, that seemed closer and further away at the same time.  She wondered if he would mind her raiding his medicine cabinet to look for some pain killers.

She stood back up slowly and looked around for her clothes, remembering belatedly that hers were back in the living room.  She padded quietly out to the living room and found her panties as she walked in, next to his tee shirt and she pulled them both on.  His shirt was large enough on her to reach mid-thigh. Stupid tall people she mumbled to herself.  

Her throat suddenly felt parched the closer she got to the kitchen.  Maybe breakfast could wait in favor of water.  She grabbed a glass from the drying rack next to the sink and filled it with cool water.  She took a slow sip and pressed the glass against her forehead, savoring the cool liquid against her throbbing head.  She leaned back against Duke’s counter and finally opened her eyes and seeing a flash of red in her peripheral view.  Tikki!  Tikki would surely know his name right?

“Tikki,” she whisper shouted looking around for where she had seen the flash earlier and moving into the living room.  She nearly tripped over her pants and decided she might as well pull those on. She was not anticipating sleeping with him again this morning. She was going to be responsible, damn it.  Maybe after a date... if he even wanted to start a relationship.  This might have been all he wanted.  She groaned and started pulling her pants on, cursing sober her for designing such tight, hard to get on pants.  Sober her was an inconsiderate bitch.  “Tikki!” she growled out, slightly louder this time.

Tikki appeared next to her with a strained smile.  “Hey, Marinette.  How are you feeling today?”

“Like crap.  Any ancient remedies you’d like to pass on?”  Tikki gave her an apologetic look and shrugged.  Marinette narrowed her eyes at her and poked her in the belly. “I don’t believe for a second you haven’t some across something in the last few million years, some magic potion you could conjure up.  You just want me to suffer so I’ll learn a lesson.  Joke’s on you.  I refuse to learn from this and you can’t make me!”  She stuck her tongue out at the kwami and crossed her arms over her chest.

Tikki rolled her eyes.  “Marinette, you’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being hungover,” she grumbled picking up the glass of water again to take another soothing sip.  “Oh, actually, there is one thing I’d like to learn.  I don’t suppose you picked up on his name, by any chance, did you?” She made her way back to her water as she waited for Tikki to answer.

“I believe I may have heard the name ‘Dick’ screamed a few…” she trailed off when she noticed Marinette wasn’t listening anymore, which wouldn’t be that concerning considering her current state but she had started breathing harder. “Marinette?  Marinette, what’s wrong?”  She flew in front of Marinette to get her focus back on Tikki.

Tikki followed her line of sight to the kitchen counter, more specifically, a massive piles of weapons on the kitchen counter.  “That’s… that’s a lot of weapons, Tikki,” Marinette stuttered out breathlessly.  “Why… why would he need that many weapons?”  Her mind started racing.  Oh God, she was in Gotham.  The crime capital of the world.  Why did she think she would end up with a good guy instead of a villain?  This was a cosmic curse.

“Maybe he likes to be able to protect himself from villains?” Tikki offered weakly. “There is a lot of crime here.  It makes sense that he would need to protect himself.”

Marinette nodded absentmindedly.  She reached out to the knife slightly separated from the rest, staring at it with her full focus like a spell had been cast and she couldn’t look away. She was Aurora and this was her spinning wheel.

She had almost touched it when she heard a thump from the bedroom.  She squeaked in surprise and dropped the glass of water, suddenly broken from the spell.  Her heart was beating wildly and her mind racing with the sudden shift. She looked around frantically and made the split second decision to run.  She didn’t know what was going on.  She didn’t know who or what he was, but the miraculous, Tikki, was too important to risk. She couldn’t hesitate.  She needed to protect Tikki.  

She ran to the door in a stupor.  She yanked the door open and ran out without looking behind her, leaving the door to close on its own.  But, just before the door closed, she pushed it back open a crack to reach in and grab her shoes.  She was scared not stupid.  She wasn’t going to run down the Gotham streets without shoes on.  This time she made sure the door was closed behind her. After all, she might be wrong and he could be a good guy… who has his own armory in his kitchen, and she didn’t want him to get robbed because she left his door open.  She closed it with more force than she intended in her haste.

Dick snapped his head to the direction of his kitchen when he heard a crash and immediately regretted it, cradling his head in his hands to let the blood settle even as he stood up to pull on his underwear and rush out into his living room, well walk fastish.  That was the best he could manage under the circumstances.  He was positive that was his front door.  Had Marinette left?  He looked around his apartment and finally pulled open his door to look in his hallway. Huh… he frowned.  He had thought there was a connection there, more than just a one night stand, but she must have disagreed.

He walked back toward his living room but yanked his foot up with a sudden pain. He pulled it up to his chest to examine the source of the pain.  He pulled out a sliver of glass and looked back down to the floor.  He furrowed his brow in confusion at the shattered glass on the floor.  He was not nearly sober enough to clean up that mess right now.  He grabbed a paper towel and hopped to his couch, collapsing on it.  

He held the paper towel to his cut and laid his head on the back of the couch to try to ease his headache.  He squirmed in the seat trying to get comfortable but something was poking into him. He reached behind him and pulled out Marinette’s bra.  He stared at it.  She left without her bra?  She must not have been able to find it… here on the couch… out in the open…  He furrowed his brow.  He supposed she might have been in a hurry and didn’t look that hard.

He scanned the room and saw her shirt strewn across the arm of his chair.  That was harder to explain.  There was no way she had missed her shirt unless something had happened or she hadn’t even bothered looking.  Something that made her drop a glass and leave her clothes behind. He just needed to figure out if he should try to find out what that something was.  She had left without saying anything for a reason… but it seemed like something happened to make her run.  And if he was being honest with himself, he really, really wanted to see those smiling eyes again.  And if she was in danger…  He reached out and grabbed the shirt, studying it as though it might give him some answers, missing the flash of red that flew over a building across the street.

Chapter 4

Tags:

@dickinette-february​ @demonicbusiness​

[cuddlesslut]

Live my Life Ch.1

Kuroo x fem reader

Summary: sometimes life is full of making the wrong choices and not knowing till it’s to late.

A/N: this is chapter one of my new story. I’m still writing the Home series I must really wanted to start this story as well. I hope you guys like this one.

Warning: Angst, Smut, Drunk Sex, Underage drinking, toxic behavior

You found yourself sitting in this dingy bar nursing a drink you weren’t supposed to have. This had become part of your routine. It all started about three weeks ago. Your friend Kana, or well you suppose she could be called a friend she was more of a friend of a friend. She seemed nice enough kind of the free spirit type of girl always into the new big trend, not really what you would describe yourself as, more of what you wanted to be. You weren’t exactly some shy shut in but still your anxieties held you back from charging head first into in life and taking the bull by the horns. That’s why you surprised even yourself when you offered to be Kana’s bar buddy.

Kana is bartender at this whole in the wall bar with dim lighting. It got fairly good business but not enough to warrant more than one bartender at a time. That being the case Kana would often be there by herself well late into the night, the neighborhood wasn’t horrible but it still was unsettling sometimes. So as her bar buddy you would come at some point in her shift and find a free seat at the bar hopefully far enough distance from any other patrons. You’d order some fries or whatever greasy snack food you craved and waited there with her while she worked until she was ready to lock up. It was pretty easy you’d just sit there offering her someone to talk when she was bored or when she need to escape some overbearing customers. She’d make her way over too you and pretend to make you a drink. Although she offered you a drink you usually turn her down for the clear fact that you were underage when it came to drinking. It was perfectly fine for you to sit in the establishment since it also served food but at the age of 18 drinking was still prohibited. Being the laid back girl and bartender she was Kana didn’t care about bending that rule for a friend.

Most nights you’d pull out some school work on your tablet that your carried with you or just read some stories on your phone. Usually trying your best to avoid conversation with the regulars. That didn’t work as well as you hoped and soon enough you were quickly learning all of the local gossip and being included in the group known as the regulars. Which is what you were since you found yourself here four nights out of you week. You didn’t mind spending so much of your time here with Kana it was kind of nice to stray from your comfort zone plus you and Kana were steadily getting closer as friends too. Everything was smooth sailing until you met him.

It was a usual Thursday night you got dressed in your causal but sleek outfit. Wearing a comfortable pair of Jeans that hugged your body nicely not too tight but still showed your curves. You paired it with a black blouse and black ankle boots. You freshened up your make up of the day not needing to try to hard seeing as you weren’t going there to impress anyone. In fact you preferred to not draw any attention. Your brushed through your hair finally heading out of your home and too the dingy bar. Things seemed a little off tonight some felt different but still you took your usual seat as you scanned the bar. It was fairly empty only two other customers sitting all the way at the other end of the counter. Kana wasn’t anywhere to be found, she’s probably just grabbing something back you reasoned. And sure enough you could hear a clang in the back of the establishment that was hidden from the public eye. Although it wasn’t Kana that popped around the corner. Instead stood a tall and extremely handsome guy. He was wild black hair that was strewn in a chaotic fashion but it suited him. You could tell by his physique that he was fit , not too overly muscular but when he reached up to put the box he was carrying on the top shelf you could see a peak of a very well defined v line on his tanned skin. This man was the definition of tall, dark ,and handsome. And that wasn’t even mentioning his intense honey eyes that felt like they pierced your soul with just one look. He wore a black pair of fitted jeans and a red button up with strange print on it. You could inspect the odd design more intensely as he approached you with a smirk plastered on his face. Ah they were little black cats that littered his print. The style screamed I’m stylish but quirky.

“Well hello there sweetheart how can I help you?” You could tell he was using his customer service persona. Ah he goes for the smooth talkng flirt, he probably does very well with middle aged woman, you think.

“Um yeah,” you state giving the room one more look “ do you know where Kana is?” You questioned.

His perked at the mention of your friend. You could see him relax a little as he released some tension rolling his shoulders back. “Ahh you must be YN,” he smiled placing his hands on the bar leaning forward. His voice was a notch higher no longer Using his deep Casanova tone, this one was more natural. You eyes widened at the sound of your name leaving his lips.

“Yeah,” you replied hesitant.

“I’m Kuroo Tetsurou,” he presented his hand offering a firm shake to which you awkwardly accepted. “I’m guessing Kana forgot to inform you that id becoming back to work my usual Thursday shift today did she?” He let out a small chuckle.

Damn it Kana you cursed inside your mind. You could have been cozy in bed right now. “Ha nope she did not,” you let out a sigh. “I didn’t realize she was just covering these last few weeks” you respond.

“She just had my Thursday shift Mondays and Wednesdays are still her regular days.” He grinned “she was nice enough to take my shift while I was out with some family stuff.”

“Ahh I see, well I’ll should probably get out of your hair,” you stated starting to slide off the stool.

“Hey wait you came all the way out here let me get you a drink,” he offered.

You froze in your seat for a moment kind of embarrassed. You felt heat creep to your face as you respond “ oh umm I’m not actually old enough I’m only 18,” your eye locked on the surface in front of you.

He let out a chuckle “let me see your ID.”

Your face scrunched in confusion “but-” you start but he cuts you off.

“Shh just hand it over,” he smiles. You raise your eyebrow as you reach into your handbag fishing out your ID and handing it over. He backs upmholding it as though it was valid. “Well look at that! Sure enough you’re 20,” he gives a cheeky smile “so what can I get you to drink?”

You take back your card placing it back safely in your bag a look of shock present on your youthful features. You lean forward whispering “won’t you get in trouble!” Not wanting to have someone risk their job. He lets out a haughty laugh. “My dads the owner so I’m not too worried.” He stated cockily. “So again what are you drinking sweetheart?” Again he flashed that stupid smirk that sent your stomach doing flips.

After two drinks and some idle chit chat in his free time you decided it probably be best if you headed out. He was quick to stop you. “Ahh come on dont leave so soon I was hoping you’d be my bar buddy too,” he pouted. You rolled your eyes at his teasing. It was enough to keep you there though ordering another drink to nurse. It felt nice chatting and casually flirting with this attractive stranger.

This too became part of your routine. You still went to the bar during Kana’s shift to keep her company but you kept going on Thursday and spending you night talking to Kuroo. The both of you spending most of the night getting to know each other. It was just surface things like school, you found out he was two years older than you going to a university near by studying chemical engineering,and your taste in music which was something you had a lot in common. The conversation focused mainly on you. He always directed the flow of the conversation he was so out going and smooth, always asking questions about your day liked hearing about your day as if being a 3rd year in high school was the most exciting thing. You’d sit there for hours with him trying new drinks sometimes finding yourself leaving the bar at three am as if you didn’t have class in four hours. But you didn’t care it was exhilarating this was the most rebellious thing you had ever done. The flirting was harmless never going to far. And although you wouldn’t admit you were getting a crush on the raven haired bartender.

It was just another Wednesday night but today something inside of you told you to dress up more than you’d usually go for. Tonight you wore a simple black dress with a deep neckline that really showed your figure without being to flashy. Your period had recently finished so knowing you were securely dried up you decided to go for a pair of your fancy red lace panties and a matching bra that always boosted your confidence. Not that anyone would be seeing them. You checked yourself one last time before heading out to the bar and damn did you look hot.

When you entered the bar you were surprised to it was rather busy with customers all over the place, luckily you find a seat at the bar. You noticed that Kenma was also behind the bar. Kenma was the other bartender that worked the shifts opposite of Kana and Kuroo. He was also Kuroo’s best friend. You’ve only met him a couple times when he’d come to the bar to see Kuroo while he was on shift. It must be really busy if they called him in to work the bar with Kana.

Kana gave a sigh of relief and smiled as she saw you sitting at the bar. “Oh my god girl hey,” smiled “do you see how hectic it is?” She laughed. She took a moment to fully look you over her eyes wide.

“Damn girl you look fucking hot!” You felt some pride grow in you hearing your friend complement you. She always looked amazing so hearing that she thought you looked great felt like high praise.

“You want a drink babe?” She asked although it was more a of statement as she was already whipping together a drink before you were finished nodding. She handed you a strong yet sweet drink before she was whisked away by some needy patrons.

You sipped on your drink watching Kana handle the crowd. You and Kenmas eyes would lock every now and then but it’s very short and awkward. You don’t know him very well. Part of your anxieties had you convinced he didn’t like you. But you tried not to read into it to much. Kuroo had told you once that it was just that he wasn’t much of a people person only working at the bar as a favor to Kuroo and his father. You sit there silently observing the world around you not noticing someone taking the seat next to you.

“Boo,” a husky voiced whispered into your ear sending shivers down your spine. Kuroo cackled as you jumped turning around clutching your chest.

“What the hell Kuroo!” You gasped trying to steady your breathing. “They call you in too?” You ask referring to the booming business you sat in.

“Nah it’s my day off and I wanted to come have a drink and bug Kenma,” he rose his hand singling said man for a drink. “But looks like I lucked out now I get to bother you all night,” he smirked.

“Oh really and who said I want to have you around I deal with you enough on Thursdays,” you smiled back with a sly look.

He feigned a look of hurt. “Ouch YN you wound me, I thought we were friends,” giving you look that definitely didn’t come off as just friendly. You just roll your eyes trying to hide your intrigue. “Well it seems I need to prove my friendship to you let me by you a drink.” He rested his hand on yours as he signaled for a refill on your drink.

You should have seen it coming but you acted surprised when after several drinks and a couple rounds of shots you found yourself in the back seat of his car. Your red panties tossed to the side somewhere in the vehicle. You were laying back as he dove under the hem your dress. Kuroo looked up to your face his lips barley an inch away from your heat. He had a devious look on his face as he watched your face flush with need. Your lips were swollen from the heated make out sessions you had outside the bar. He quirked his eyebrow teasingly his heavy breath tickling you. He was waiting. It was almost tortuous but you knew what he wanted.

You pouted your chest rising and falling from your hard breathing. “Please!” You begged. He smiled content with hearing your pleas before diving into you his tongue lapping at your wet folds. Your head fell back in pleasure as he ate you out like a man starved. Your moans filled the car as he worked his skilled tongue in and out of you. He could feel how close you were as he felt you clench around his fingers as he worked you loose. Relief flooded your body as you came on his face. Lust still flooding you as you watched him lick up all your juices. He moved up your body sealing your lips into a searing kiss you could taste your essence on his lips.

Your hands reached down his body grabbing at his bulge. He let out a groan in your ear before picking you up and placing you on his lap. He attacked you neck nippping and sucking harsh purple marks into your skin. He pulled the collar of your dress down pulling your breast out . Moving your bra down he latched his lips around your swollen nipple rolling it between his teeth. You let out a pained moan as you rolled you hips into his lap. He finally hit limit. He lifted you up as he pulled his pants and boxers down before lining his achingly hard length with your wet cunt before pulling you down on it. Both of your groans filled the space as you felt him fill you whole. You hid your face in his neck as you panted while he let you adjust to the intrusion. You could feel his hands roaming your ass pushing the skirt of your dress up. A sudden smack came to your ass. You let out a hiss. He rubbed the mark he left on your soft skin.

“Go ahead sweetheart ride my cock,” he demanded. His dirty words sent shivers over body. You did just as he said starting to move your hips up and down rotating on his dick as it reached deep inside of you. Your body was already on edge from your earlier release so it took no time to have you clenching tightly around him you next orgasm fastly approaching.

“Fuck you’re so god damn tight,” he groaned. Lust took over as he grabbed your hips holding you still as he drilled up into your pliant body. Your moans egged him on as he chased both of your climaxes. He loved the feeling of your pussy clamping down on him. Feeling you milk his cock drained him of his will and of his semen as he came deep into you.

You both sat there for a moment both coming down from your highs. Bodies worn from the intense session you had just had. He groaned throughing his head back, “fuck I didn’t wear a condom,” he cursed.

“I’m on birth control” you breathed moving off his lap. You searched for your panties sliding them on quickly trying to contain the mess between your legs.

“Good, that’s good,” he breathed a sigh of relief he looked around both of you. It seemed no one notice dyour little drunken romp in the parking lot. There was a slight awkward pause neither knowing what to say.

“Well that was great,” he offered, “uhh do you need a ride home?” He questioned.

You shook your head, “no I’ll just grab a quick Uber home,” you respond pulling your phone out to do just that.

He nodded seeming to like that idea not wanting you to walk home. “I’ll probably head back in and sober up a little before heading home. I definitely can’t drive right now. I’m not even sure my legs will get me back inside,” he laughed. You giggled as well. A chime rang from your phone, your ride would be pulling up soon.

“Hey give me your number and message me when you get phone safe.” He said taking the phone to send a message to himself successfully trading numbers. He gave you one more deep kiss before you left to catch your Uber.

That night your body passed out exhausted. You knew you were going to regret drinking so much tomorrow morning when you have to wake up for class.

And damn was your body sore. Your head was ponding from all the alcohol and the rest was sore from the wild sex you had. Still you woke up bright and early making sure to shower off any evidence from your delinquent activities. You made sure to take some Advil before leaving for school opting to skip breakfast since your stomach was still unstable from the liquor. Your morning classes were relatively easy not but extremely boring. You found yourself daydreaming through most of your history class thinking back to your night with Kuroo. Little fantasys of dates, and more long talks at the bar, even some naughty ideas popped into your head. It was almost like you willed him into existence because not two seconds later your phone vibrated. Your heart skipped a beat seeing his name pop up in your notifications. You laughed at the way he saved his number last night. Oh my god he texted me you thought you were so giddy. That was until you read the messages.

Kuroo 🥵: Hey YN.

Kuroo 🥵: Last night was a Mistake. Look I have a girlfriend and I love her so I think it’s best we pretend last night never happened. Sorry.

Ouch. That hurt.

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