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leviathans-watching · 10 months

Text

Breaking the Ice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A jersey?”

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

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

∙

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Asmodeus laughs, light and airy. “Barely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

∙

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

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

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

“Simeon?” you ask breathlessly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, he’s got you there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, MC, what do you do?” Satan asks.

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

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

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

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

“Sure, humble,” you agree wryly.

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

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

“Next time, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think it was.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A jersey?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

∙

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweet.”

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

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

Diavolo_14: Is that meal trainer approved?

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

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

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

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

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

Diavolo_14: Jealous.

MC: Of the food?

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

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

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

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

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

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

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

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

MC: Is that so?

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

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

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

MC: Yeah lol.

Diavolo_14: Well, you should still come tomorrow.

MC: Alright, alright, see you then

Diavolo_14: Looking forward to it, MC.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nervous?” Simeon asks, and you scoff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Obviously,” you say, “but Diavolo…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Way awesomer than the Chols.”

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

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

“Of course I did.”

“Was it impressive?”

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

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

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

“I barely even got to talk to you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweet talker.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eh, they serve brunch all day.”

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

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

∙

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

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

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

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

“Play hockey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good. I want to treat you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

∙

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diavolo_14: I’m glad you made it

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

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

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

MC: Yes but you already knew that.

Diavolo_14: I suppose I may have had an idea.

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

MC: I already had reservations somewhere else!

Diavolo_14: Reservations Simeon canceled

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

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

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

MC: Liar.

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

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

Diavolo_14: It’s got a jacuzzi tub………

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

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

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

MC: Oh, good, I’m near there. Hold on

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!” Mammon and Simeon protest.

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

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

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

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

“Not threatening, just informing.”

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

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

“Anything.”

∙

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“Team merch, really?”

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

You can only shake your head.

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

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

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

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

“Nervous,” you reply honestly. “You?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Barely,” you snort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve been watching?”

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

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

“Oh, I can imagine.”

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

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

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

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

∙

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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phoenixyfriend · 3 months

Text

A lot has been happening today that rep calls could affect. UN vetoes, KOSA, Julian Assange, UNRWA's funding crisis and Israel's demands that it be completely dismantled, the large number of bills we just learned are on the docket for the coming week, and even the good news that is recent successes by the BDS movement.

And like... I care about this stuff. I want to talk about it. But it takes an emotional and mental toll to do it, and it takes time, and... there are two reasons to write up reference, update, information posts:

Compensation. I'm not a journalist, but if I were, I would in theory be getting paid for the information I collect and share to my audience. However, I am not, and am doing this for free. I have gotten maybe $5 in donations since I started this project, and while I recognize that this is probably because people are (quite rightly) donating instead to Palestinian charities or local campaigns or something, it's a basic fact that I am not actually being compensated for this work.

Promoting change and activism. This is in fact my main goal: to have a positive impact on current events by giving people a guide on the news and politics because there's so much happening that's hard to keep track of, and if I'm already doom-listening to half a dozen political podcasts, I might as well save other people the trouble, right?

The thing is, like... most of the reblogs on my guidelines and helpful posts are from me, to me. I am the one reblogging. I am desperately trying to get these things to circulate so I can make a difference, but... no dice. Some of the posts are admittedly pretty long (my 'how to call your reps, here's some verbiage' post is 3.4k words), and I can imagine some people are saving it for later, and then maybe forget, or they don't want to share something controversial, and like... I do get that. I do.

But it does mean the posts aren't circulating, and thus they're having less of an impact, and I can't help but feel like there are other things I could be doing to help that would be more effective. More bang for my buck, except it's my time and effort instead of my money. Like, maybe it would have more an effect if I hunted down a wider variety of elected officials I could bother instead of instructing other people on how to bother theirs? Maybe going to protests (which would be a huge commitment due to distance) would be more effective than trying to help ensure that the effectiveness of "I actually have a vote and you are losing it" of calls has the weight of numbers behind it.

Especially since I did try to blaze it, and tumblr mods rejected the post. I don't know why. It's not against ToS, since none of it was disinformation or election interference, which is the only reason given on the FAQ for why things might not be approved for blazing, but who knows.

Maybe tumblr just decided the possible blowback on them for blazing a pro-ceasefire post would be too much.

I don't know. I just... it's just really disheartening to try to help and it gets stymied because, as much effort as it might be, it doesn't reach more than a (comparatively) tiny audience, especially when my relatively low-effort polls and shitposts get easily ten times as many notes with way less energy put in.

EDIT: This is not a post that I need to have reblogged. this is just me bitching. This a vent post. What I am asking people to reblog is my activism posts that I spend hours on to try and help nudge things in a better direction. Please reblog THOSE. This one doesn't need reblogging unless you have an actual comment. Reblogging this post just to reblog, with neither useful comment nor encouragement, is not helping me with my issue of 'not paid, not making an impact' or helping with any important causes.

#personal #vent post #phoenix politics

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atzfilm · 2 years

Text

clair de lune (m); part four

genre; yandere, vampire!au, reincarnation! au angst, smut

pairing; ot8/f.reader

word count: 10.1k

summary; you’ve finally gotten the chance to enter “clair de lune”, a infamous night club to see the band hiraeth. but why did you feel like their eyes only watched you?

note: this first deals with the subject of yandere. with that being said, a lot of the things happening in this fiction will be manipulation, gaslighting, and various other techniques displayed by the characters. if you are not comfortable with that, please do not read.

please don’t reblog with harsh criticism!! not needed or wanted ♡

my bestie calzone read this and helped with grammar <33 LOVE U !! @hongism

part three | part five

chapter four:

content; manipulation, gaslighting, obsessive behavior, age gap, murder, blood, injuries, dark subjects, weapons, emotional manipulation, panic attack, gunshot wound, blood, murdering/referenced murder, blood drinking, cursing, smut: fingering, dry humping

“Please tell me you’re okay.”

You slowly open your eyes, body sluggish as you lift your head. Your lids are heavy, slowly blinking. You can feel the harsh restraint of your wrists tied together, a tug only making it worse. You swallow, mouth dry as you glance around the room. It’s dark. You strain as you glance around, seeing a shadow of a person just across from you. Your heart picks up its pace, feet sliding against the floor to push you further away from them.

“No, no. It’s me,” his voice is hoarse, the sound of chains decorating his words. “It’s Mingi. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“Mingi?” Your mind is still scattered, thoughts jumbled together. Mingi. Oh, Mingi. The previous conversation echoes in your head, the residual anger still resting deep in your heart. But your fear of what’s happening right now prevents it from bubbling to the surface. You’re still deeply afraid and hurt from what Mingi has not been telling you, but it’s not exactly the right time to hash out your differences. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, groaning softly. “Somewhere at their bar, maybe? House? I can see in the dark, but it’s all gray around us. Looks like they threw us in a basement. It’s been a few hours since you’ve been unconscious. I woke up here, but I can guess we’ve been here for almost ten hours.”

Ten. Hours.

The number causes a shiver to roll down your spine. You’ve been stuck in a basement for almost half a day. You’ve read about situations like this, watched it on TV. But none of it has prepared you for reality. The restraint around your hands prevents you from moving your wrists too much, but there’s nothing on your legs. You’re trying not to make yourself panic, taking slow breaths.

“I’m going to die here, aren’t I?” You don’t mean to say it out loud, body shivering. “We’re going to die here, Mingi.”

“Stop,” his voice is harsh, almost seething. “You are not dying. No one is going to kill you.”

“They tied us up. They’re going to play around with us a bit then kill us. Hanse shot at me. If you weren’t there—” You stop yourself, the panic settles in. “I don’t know what to do.” You think back to Mingi on the ground in a pool of blood, unconscious. “Are you okay?”

Silence.

“Mingi?”

There’s a light chuckle from the dark figure across from you. You watch as his body shakes with laughter, head falling forward. “You’re not upset?”

“I’m allowed to be worried and upset with you at the same time,” you say, eyeing the shadow across from you. “My words from before still ring true. I’m still fucking pissed. But we have bigger things to worry about now. We can figure out our issues later.”

“Why? So that we can go home with you still packing and running away from us?”

He’s touching a nerve. The ache on your side seems to be as livid as you are listening to him egg you on. You don’t respond, sliding your body back so that you’re resting against the cool wall. A low hum from somewhere in the basement starts up. You hope it’s heat. “I don’t have enough energy within me to reason with you, Mingi.”

“Hundreds of years have passed and you’re still as tenacious as before.”

“You know what?” You move your body, hissing at your wound. “Fuck you. Call me whatever name you want, I don’t care. Just know that it isn’t helping your case, it’s only making me hate you more.”

“You don’t hate me.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t,” He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. “You’re just confused.”

“Ah, yes. Please continue to explain my feelings like every other partner I’ve had does.”

“I’m not…” he huffs. “That’s not what I’m trying to do. I know that you’re upset with me, with us. For hiding things from you. It isn’t right, we shouldn’t be doing it. The reason we want to explain it together is because we’ve all lived it differently. You’ve grown closer to Jongho and Yeosang in comparison to the rest of us, so I’m sure you’re learning things from them that you can’t with me, or Yunho, or anyone else. We like to talk things through together. Decisions are made together. So when you ask me about the past, it’s hard for me to explain it because there’s parts that I’m missing. Things that I say might come out differently than I’d like. I’m not trying to lie to you on purpose.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow, turning to him. “Then tell me about that wall of faces.”

“I can’t, you know that.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

He adjusts himself. “Both.”

“Then this little speech you just did isn’t going to work. You say that I don’t hate you, so how do you explain why I’m pissed? Hm? Because I’m pretty sure it’s because I don’t like you.”

“We hurt you. I hurt you. But it doesn’t mean that you hate us. You’re just disappointed.”

“I am,” you say, tucking your arms closer to your body. “I don’t know why I’d even have expectations when I don’t really know you. And I’m not sure why I feel like crying every time one of you speaks to me. It’s like I don’t have control of my emotions when I’m around you. I don’t like how you make me feel. I don’t…” you huff, looking away. “I don’t like it, Mingi.”

You can’t see his face and you’re glad for it, knowing you’d break if you made eye contact.

“I’m sorry things turned out this way. And I’m sorry that my mistakes hurt you. It wasn’t right. It still isn’t right.”

His voice cracks. You close your eyes, turning your body away from his shadowy one. The tears burn against your cheeks. You wipe your face against your arm, body shaking. No. You’re not going to let his words get to you. No matter how distraught his voice sounds. You tuck your legs close to you, ignoring the pain throbbing on your side. It feels bandaged; Hanse or one of the others must have taken care of it. Speaking of them, where the hell are they? Mingi probably knows, but you’d rather not get into a discussion with him right now. It’ll lead to a forgiveness you’re just not ready for. Not until you talk to the rest of them and figure out exactly what’s going on.

“Are we going to sit in silence?” He asks.

“As long as we have to,” you murmur back, closing your eyes.

Minutes pass. The darkness is getting to you, prickling at your skin as you huff. He must be used to it; not even a hint of sound comes from him. No shuffling or anything of the sort. He never quite answered your question about him being okay.

“Do you heal fast?” You ask, breaking your own rule.

“Hm?”

“The shot, Mingi. You were on the ground, unconscious. Did you heal quickly?”

There’s a pause. You think he’s not going to answer until he clears his throat, adjusting his body. “Not necessarily. I didn’t think it would hurt me until I realized they laced the bullet with a chemical that hurts vampires. It’s why I’m not breaking out of this basement, they tied me up with it.” You hear a tug then a low hiss as he moves. “I just fed so I can survive for a bit without blood. But this will lower that time pretty quick.”

“How quick?"

“Two days at most.”

“What will happen then? Will you just die?” You’ve seen enough death in the past day for a lifetime. Mingi dying while you’re across from him only makes your stomach uneasy. He can’t die. No matter how furious you are… you don’t want it to happen.

“No,” he says. “It’s complicated. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, I just don’t want you to be afraid of what may happen to me.”

“I want to be ready,” you respond.

“I won’t start decaying like humans do. It will start slowly. Your mind begins to imagine things that are not there. You slowly lose parts of yourself; your humanity, your memories. It’ll make me more animal than human. We’ve learned how to control ourselves around humans, but it wasn’t always this way. We all struggled for years to resist killing every human we see. It will take everything within me to not hurt you. These restraints won’t matter anymore,” his voice is distraught as he speaks about it. Words wary. “But it won’t get to that.”

“You don’t know that,” your voice is low.

“I don’t.”

“Then what do we do?”

He sighs, “I… I don’t know, y/n. Just don’t come near me, alright? No matter what I say or do. Just stay over there. Please.”

“Okay.” The hum is most definitely not heat, a cool breeze tickling your skin. Even if you wanted to stick closer to him to get warm you can’t. You tuck your head down, desperately trying to warm yourself up with only your breath.

Hours must have passed. You’ve barely moved from your spot, too cold to stand. Mingi hasn’t said a word either. Has he dozed off? Has the cold gotten to him like it has to you?

“Walk around for a bit,” His voice is muffled, probably tucked into his arm. “It’ll help you warm up. Got to keep yourself moving or you’ll freeze to death.”

“Pretty sure I already have,” you closed your eyes, lids heavy. A bit shocking since you’ve already slept for most of the day. A little more sleep shouldn’t hurt.

“Don’t sleep,” Mingi says. Oh, you must have said it out loud. “Ever watch one of those survival documentaries? Sleeping doesn’t really end well.”

You slowly lift your head, pressing your hands against the concrete floors as you steady yourself. It’s rough, your body aches in pain as you stand. You let out a long breath, arms cracking as you stretch. In all honesty even standing makes you feel better. But you don’t tell that to Mingi of course, pacing back and forth along the far wall. You wonder a bit why they didn’t tie up your legs and only your wrists. But questioning their motives will only make you more frustrated. And the dress you’re wearing isn’t doing any favors, your feet entangling in the shreds at the bottom.

“Tell me a story,” you say after about a minute or so of pacing, glancing at his shadow. “Don’t want that mind of yours to go numb in the silence.”

“So, you do care?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Yes, I care about not being eaten today.”

You can only imagine how his eyes roll at your remark. His shadow moves, adjusting himself against the wall. If it were different you would have stuck by his side. If it were different, you’d make sure the bullet was already out of him. But things aren’t different, so you keep to your pacing, glancing at the shadow ever so often.

“I don’t have many stories.”

“You’ve lived for hundreds of years and don’t have one?” You raise a brow.

“They… I wasn’t a good person, y/n. The stories I tell will only make you think less of me.”

“More than I do now?”

“You’re trying to start an argument.”

“Anything to keep your mind still working.”

He laughs, “I’ll give you that. I have a few stories that aren’t too bad. But it involves Rose. I know you’re not too fond of hearing about her. But it’s pretty much the only thing that I have.”

It’s not that you don’t like hearing about her. It’s interesting to think that you had a life before this one. The comparisons are what get to you. Mindlessly listening to them call you Rose without thinking, speaking to or about you as if you’re her. It’s gotten better since you’ve spoken to them about it, but the thought that when their gazes meet yours, they see their old lover- that would hurt anyone. Even if you were just a friend to them. A quick toss and turn in your thoughts, you nod, encouraging him to speak. Thankfully he has his eyes on you.

“Rose was always quite stubborn,” he starts. “Why are you looking over here like that? Remember that it’s her, not you.”

“Yea, yea.” You’re allowed to feel a bit bitter for your former self. She’s gotta have someone defending her! “You may continue.”

“Anyway,” he clears his throat. “She was often right; I’ll give her that. But…”

“Darling,” Mingi towers over you, a crate of vegetables resting just behind you. You stare up at him in a pout, eyes narrowed. If you weren’t so angry he’d steal a kiss from you, his gaze flicking to them before meeting your eyes once more. Ah, the shift of focus only seemed to anger you. “It’s best if you rest. It’d be a tragedy if you wounded yourself.”

“I am a woman, my love. Not a child. I can tow a few wooden crates across the dock.”

“You can,” he agrees. “But you know why you mustn’t. Someone may spot you—”

“We are so far from home—”

“It’s still a possibility,” He steps forward, holding your face in his hands. Your cheeks are crushed as you glower up at him, groaning in aggravation as he presses a chaste peck to your lips. “I want you safe, you know that right?”

“I do. But using the defense of not wanting me to be hurt is such a scoundrel thing to utter. You know that I can handle myself on my own,” You press a finger into his chest for emphasis. He nods, your eyes only narrowing further. “Are you patronizing me?”

“I love you.”

“That does not answer the question, smelly man.”

His laugh is boisterous, shaking as he presses you deeper into his chest. You cannot be upset with him for long, the large frame of his holding anything but meanness. Which only makes you angry that it’s difficult to be angry with him. You sigh low, wrapping your arms around his torso.

“I’d never do such a thing, darling.”

“Wonderful. Now let me go. I may suffocate before we make it to my destination if you hold me any longer.”

His hold tightens, “Not until you say you love me back.”

“Mingi!” You try to wrestle out of his grip, but he doesn’t dare to let go. You laugh, shifting your face up to look at his. Chin resting against his chest, your gazes meeting each other’s. “You’re such an asshole.”

He gasps, eyes widening. “A lady shouldn’t say such vulgar words, you know. And that isn’t going to make me let go.”

“I love you, Song Mingi,” you say simply, pinching his side. “Now unhand me you big stinky man!”

“Not too long after that she persuaded me to let her help. It took a bit of pushing, but it worked in the end. I could never quite say no to her,” he shifted. “In many things.”

It’s easy to read between his words, especially the shift in tone. You continue to pace, glancing at the dark shadow against the wall every few seconds.

“What? We were pirates, there wasn’t much to do while we were sailing the sea.”

You stick out your tongue. “Nasty.”

“Nasty?” You can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks. “She was the one who initiated it the most. Perhaps you might want to do some deep digging in that brain of yours.”

The lights flick on. You wince, the brightness blinding you for a moment. After wiping your eyes and blinking a few times, look around the room. Mingi is right in his assessment; the room was bare, a dark gray painting the walls around you. It was big enough that you had enough room to walk without getting near him. But that wasn’t the issue.

Mingi’s eyes meet yours. He’s still wearing the same clothes as before, though it’s covered in rips and holes. The largest one, where he was shot, covers the side of his torso. His chest is rising and falling slowly, face bruised up and bloody just like the rest of him.

You rush over to him, dropping to your knees and tilting your head to look at the wound.

“You said you were okay, but this looks the opposite of okay to me,” you glare at him, eyes flicking back to the wound. The hole seems to pulse, the black veins spreading across his torso slowly.

“It’s nothing, so go back to pacing,” he says. Of course, you ignore his words. It looks horrible. You’ve never seen a gunshot wound in person, but you’re sure this is on the extremely unsafe side of healing. Whatever chemical they laced it with is doing numbers on him.

Mingi sighs. “You’re worried.”

“I am worried.”

“There’s no reason to be,” he says, pulling your attention away from examining the wound. “It’ll go away once I take it out. So, go back to pacing.” He repeats the words, though you ignore them once more.

“And how are you going to do that?” You say, “Mingi, it looks like it’s tearing through you. Just because I’m upset with you doesn’t mean I’d want you to suffer this way. If you claim to know me as well as you do, then you’d know how this would upset me.”

He doesn’t say anything for a brief moment. It’s not like he can reach out for you, his hands restrained. Instead, you feel the touch of his hand against your ankle. A slow stroke, nothing too much. But even with the slightest touch, you’re a bit comforted. But just a bit.

“I just need to take it out then I’ll be fine, y/n. I already told you that you can’t be near me, alright? You’re too close,” his eyes are no longer on yours, instead the wound on your side. “Not exactly the best spot to be when you have dried blood on your shirt. So please move away,” his voice is lower, head slumping to the side. “Please.”

With great hesitance, you back away from him. He lets out a sigh of relief, thanking you with his gaze. Nothing on him is healing. His face is still bloody, and his wound just continues to spill onto the floor. You know what you can do, but Mingi insists that it’s a bad idea. So, you go back to your walking, arms swinging in front of you. The situation is humorous, once you think about it. Mingi cannot move from his spot and yet beckons you with his eyes despite his words, and you don’t want to be next to him, though the only way you can think of helping is doing exactly that.

“Your brain is close to exploding if you continue making that face,” he says. Your eyes flick to him, frowning. “You can be as angry as you’d like. Just keep your distance.”

“I just want to help—”

“You can’t.”

“I know that,” you murmur. “I can try to pull it out. That will help, won’t it?”

He swallows slowly. “It’s possible. But we’re not at that point yet. We still have time. The others could be right outside, and we don’t even know it.”

His resistance is only maddening. “I know why you won’t let me help, but if we wait longer it’ll be harder for me to go over there. Especially with you losing yourself.”

“Why don’t you just listen to me when I say that I’m okay?” His tone is more annoyed now, eyes shifting to you. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m fine? Repeating myself over and over is just going to make the time pass slower.”

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” He paces back and forth across from you, glancing at your figure. “If you just let me aid you, then—”

“I told you countless times, love,” Your breathing is ragged, chest rising and falling quickly. They’ve reiterated that there is no need for breathing since you’ve turned into this being, but you cannot bother to care. “My mouth will not be filled with another’s blood. I refuse it.”

“Then you would rather die?” Mingi stops, brows furrowed. “You would rather end your life here than continue to spend it with us?”

“This form of mine is not natural,” you insist, “We as humans are to die a normal death, not stay forever. Hell is on Earth already, why would I want to linger longer? I have lost everything.”

“You still have us. Is that not enough?” Mingi steps closer to you, crouching on your side. Your senses are heightened now, the smell of blood lingering on his figure. If you look closely, you can see a bit of it still beneath his mangled fingertips. “Are we not enough?”

“Don’t make me answer that,” your voice is barely above a whisper. His eyes, are they just the same as yours? If you do not die, will you have to wear darkened glasses your whole existence? Unable to meet the gaze of others in fear that they may torture you? “I was forced into this life. Do not expect me to enjoy it. I cannot even… I cannot even desire the taste of fruit anymore. The one indulgence I have given myself since my family perished. He has taken everything from me.”

“It was a mistake—”

“Do not lie to me,” you sit up, gaze down to him. Fear crosses his face as you meet his eyes. “He could not hide the pleasure in his eyes before he bit me. He took it upon himself to make the decision for me. You know that I did not want this, Mingi. So do not ask me to pretend. I won’t.”

“Then…” his voice is hush, hands reaching for yours. You let him have his time, his moment of vulnerability with you. He rests his head against your hands. Your Song Mingi was always a warm man, consistently testy about the temperature on the ship. But as your hand caressed his skin, all you felt was bitter cold. “What can I do?”

You close your eyes, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead.

“You can let me die. And you can tell him to never see me again.”

You stop your strides. The feeling of fear resting in your gut every time they mentioned you wanting to be a vampire finally made sense. Rose didn’t want to be one. She never did. One of them… one of the guys turned her into one. And that fear only surmounts when you realize that they’ve been looking for you for centuries. What makes you think that they wouldn’t try the same thing again?

Has everything been a lie? Made up? Have you underestimated their obsession with you? You thought it was more of a reunion for them to see the reincarnation of their partner again, but somehow you’re not sure if that’s accurate. You can’t hide it; you care about them more than you’d like to admit. But being manipulated into it makes you want to vomit. And there’s still that important, lingering question:

Which one of them turned you into a vampire?

It could not possibly be Mingi; you cared for him too much in that brief memory. Could it have been one of them? Or was it someone from Subin’s family? Sejun?

Your head throbs at all the possibilities. You don’t have enough information to even vaguely guess who it is. And you doubt you will until the last moment, when it’s too late. You can’t run away either, you’re in too deep to turn around. Going back home will only bring chaos there. There aren’t any options left but to stay.

“You alright?”

It seems like that’s all the two of you can do, ask each other the same question over and over again. You glance at him for a brief moment, his brows slowly furrowing. You liked it better when you couldn’t see his face. Makes you feel a little less trapped in the situation.

“I know.” You say simply.

You’ve never seen someone’s face filled with so much fear. It’s brief, barely a second. But it’s enough to make you panic. Your heartbeat picks up its pace as you move to the farthest corner of the room, keeping an eye on him.

“What do you know?”

“What do you think, Mingi?” You eye him.

“I’m not playing a guessing game with you right now,” Despite how harsh his tone is, he doesn’t move his gaze from you. As if wanting to coax the answer out. You don’t take the bait of course. There’s many things they’re hiding. Perhaps this vagueness could be used for your gain. "Just tell me."

"Ah, so you want to know my secrets?" You sit in the corner, shutting your eyes briefly at the throbbing pain. It's not deep, but enough to bother you every time you touch it. You search your mind for something to grab on, something that'll make him tell you things you don't know. Hongjoong would be too obvious, especially with the way he protects the man. So, you go for the easy target.

"I know about Wooyoung."

His face seems to grow paler. "What? What did you see?"

You say nothing at that, knowing that if you start up he'll quickly figure out you’ve learned nothing new about him. He seems to take your silence for an answer, swallowing deeply.

“It was a mistake.”

“You say that often, don’t you,” you raise your brow, rubbing your cheek with your shoulder.

“He…” Mingi pauses. “Wooyoung has dealt with a lot. His past trauma got to him. Things just happen, y/n. Things we can’t control. He just has more than the rest of us. You can blame him for whatever you like, but he’s troubled. You learn to get used to it.”

He’s speaking vague enough to tiptoe the line, not giving you enough to pinpoint exactly what he’s saying. You’re not sure if he’s being this unclear to pull it out of you, or to see if you understand what he’s talking about. There are some things that you know of Wooyoung that Mingi may not know you do. Will that make him speak up?

“Right,” you nod. “Just like he turned Yeosang? Because he can’t control himself?”

Mingi stares at you. “We don’t talk about that.”

“And why not? Pretending it didn’t happen doesn’t make it go away. I don’t agree with all of you being the blame for someone’s own actions, but he has to take responsibility. And you all have to enforce it. Yeosang didn’t want to be a vampire. I… Rose, she didn’t want to be one either. And they were both forced into it. It only makes me think that—” you don’t say it. Being put in this position is your fault and you know it. If you just waited until you were safe, you could have argued with Mingi. You wouldn’t be stuck in this basement with someone you’re sure is senseless. Even arguing now isn’t exactly what you should be doing. Keeping his favor so that you can leave unharmed and run is.

“Wooyoung didn’t want to be alone,” Mingi says after a brief pause. “There was nothing we could do. Yeosang was his best friend, y/n. He couldn’t fathom a life without him. He shouldn’t have done what he did. That we all agree on, even Wooyoung himself. But what were we to do? Let Yeosang starve himself? He’s our friend, our family.”

“That’s selfish,” you say. “Taking the choice away from someone like that.”

“Selfish or caring? Are they not one in the same?”

You stare at him, your own brows furrowed now. The look he gives you is strange, odd. It makes you want to run in the opposite direction. Mingi is fiercely protective of his own, but something bothers you.

“Wooyoung…” your throat tightens. “He turned her, didn’t he?”

The door opens, Mingi straightening up against the wall. You stand immediately, waiting for the person to enter. He’s in all black, just like the last time you saw him. He shivers slightly, rubbing his covered arms as he enters the room. His eyes flick to Mingi, before looking at you.

“Sorry I lost track of time. Happy to see me?” Hanse wiggles his brows, groaning as he rolls his shoulders. “Ah, don’t look so pissed off, Rose. Long day?” You glance at Mingi. He doesn’t say a word, silent as he stares at Hanse. The man doesn’t seem to mind, hands tucked in his pockets. He kicks his foot at Mingi’s chains, wincing slightly. “Works like a charm. Ah, aren’t you cold? I can see your breath.”

He looks at you, but you further press yourself into the wall. All of this, just because you accepted an invite to a club. Hanse steps a bit to the side, gesturing to the open doorway. “Come with me? It’s warmer, I assure you. Just needed to keep it cold so this guy over here doesn’t break those chains of his.”

“Will you take the bullet out of him?” You ask. Hanse purses his lips, shaking his head after a moment.

“Not a good idea. He’ll try to kill me and I prefer being alive. So,” he gestures to the open door again. “Come?”

The warmth of the air from the room is inviting, the greatest temptation. You look at Mingi, and he only nods. Eyes still on Hanse. So he trusts him to not kill you. Not that you trust Mingi’s words, you just believe he wouldn’t lead you to your death. So you slowly move around Hanse, careful not to touch him. But before you exit, you look at Hanse.

“Don’t kill him,” you say.

He shrugs, “Now that’s just up to Fate, isn’t it?”

Mingi’s right.

You’re in a strange living room in the middle of nowhere, a fireplace going in the corner. You rub your hands together as you sit just next to it, the fire crackling filling the silence. Hanse watches you as you take a bite of food, trying your best not to look crazy as you eat. Taking food from people who attacked you isn’t such a good idea, but it looked sealed. And you were starving. Have you’ve been making terrible, stupid decisions? Yes. But are you no longer hungry? Also, yes. So maybe that cancels out the stupid choices. At least, that’s what you’re trying to convince yourself.

“How much do you know?” Hanse asks after a moment. “About them? About us?”

“I know you’re vampires,” you start, “I know you have this strange feud between your clans. I know your half is running out of blood supply and you’re trying to come into Hongjoong’s territory. I know that they absolutely despise you. I know that Seungwoo lied to me this whole time about being my best friend.”

“He was trying to protect you,” Hanse says simply, only making your frown deepen. “I’m telling the truth, y/n.”

“The truth,” you snort, shaking your head. “All I’ve been told is the truth, apparently. Somehow I think your truth and mine mean two completely different things.”

Hanse sighs, leaning into the couch. “I can tell you what I know. A lot of it, but not all. We’re still under a treaty, even if I have one of them in my basement,” Hanse glances at the floor. “He can’t hear me, so he hasn’t the slightest idea what we’re talking about. You don’t have to be afraid when you go back there.”

“Afraid of Mingi?” Are you scared of him? Sure he’s lied about a lot of things, but being afraid of him? He’s not harmless, no. But you’re sure he won’t hurt you. Right?

Right?

"They weren't always like this," Hanse explains. "They were kinder. Cared for others more. They liked you, but not to the point of this… obsession. We all cared for you. Something about being turned changed them. We haven't quite figured it out yet. Perhaps it was Hongjoong? Being turned by the first might change how you think."

"Yeosang wasn't changed by him," you say. "He told me that one of the other guys did it. So that couldn't be it."

"Then perhaps he is different from the rest if that’s the case. But that’s besides the point. Something did change with them. Their care for you grew to a madness, and uncontrollable craving for you. It was terrifying to watch them flounder over your very being. And now though they control it, I can see into it. I can see how they hold themselves back. You have no idea what danger you’re in right now, y/n. They’re willing to do anything to have you. Have you not noticed strange things happening? Forcing you to stay with them? There has to be something, anything for you to believe what I’m telling you.”

Your flooded apartment. Your job. Your applications leading nowhere. So many things prevent you from leaving their home. But… It's a coincidence. It… it must be. Or are you just being naive? You a month ago would have left without thinking twice. Why are you so insistent on believing them? Why can’t you just leave?

“So you understand, then?” Hanse takes your confused look for confirmation, nodding. “Then it will be easier to convince you to leave them.”

“Wait,” you hold up a hand. “Who are you? You keep on saying things about them, how they’re bad people. But why do you care? Why are you so deeply involved? Is it because of the blood supply, is this some type of revenge?”

Hanse laughs dryly, “No. I don’t care enough about them to make this about some power trip. I’d leave if I needed to, leave Mingi alone in the basement until he dries out into nothing. But unfortunately, that is not what Subin has chosen for me,” he sighs softly, shaking his head.

“You’re only confusing me more,” you say. “You’ve said nothing about who you are, what your relation to them is. You could be lying through your teeth because I don’t have the slightest evidence. Why… Why are you so devoted? Why is Subin?”

“It’s not something I--” he stops himself, shaking his head. “Subin is your brother, y/n. Was, your brother. That’s why he wants to protect you. You’re family.”

You shake your head, “There’s no way. She said her family died, Hanse. All of them were dead, she--”

“That’s what she thought. But things changed, y/n. Subin was her brother from your father’s side. A brother she didn’t know at the time. It was an odd coincidence of him being on the ship with her, but it happened. They found out after a few months of traveling together. They grew close, but he was turned before her. Rose wasn’t very keen on the idea of vampires. Her found family being turned into one wrecked her. And he left her on that ship. It was a reckless choice at the time, but he thought that she would be safe with them. Of course, we all know how that ended up.”

He gestures to your chest, your hand resting just above the scar. Your fingers dig into the fabric of the dress, swallowing slowly. He cares because he didn’t before. Because he couldn’t save her. He left her alone. It makes sense, it connects so many things that you were confused about. Still, there’s one lingering question. Why were you turned? Why did Wooyoung decide to turn you? Why are you still their object of affection? Do they reject their choices, want to make up for what they’ve done?

Or are they so deluded to believe that you’d decide to become a vampire this time around?

“Subin is going to kill me,” his tone is nervous, gaze flicking over yours. “Promise to keep this tidbit a secret for a while? I wasn’t even supposed to let you out of there, but I felt bad that you were cold.”

Felt bad? “You shot at me.”

He frowns. “I wasn’t going to kill you.”

“You could have! What if Mingi didn’t step in front of me? I could have died!” You stand, Hanse following suit. “For what? What’s the point of all of this? Kidnapping me and threatening his life-”

“You shouldn’t care for those men,” Hanse says harshly, kind eyes gone. “They’re not good people, y/n. They’ll never be, no matter what they tell you. They’re manipulators. They’re the ones that turned you into a vampire before. Why would you listen to anything they say now? And I kidnapped you to get you away for a second to tell you the truth, y/n. They don’t care about you, they just care about her. And you’ll never be her. No matter how much they want you to be.”

He takes a step toward you, you stumble back onto the couch. He leans forward, anger dropping. “Just stay in there for a few more days. Subin has some things to deal with, but he’ll be here to explain the rest. To help you do what you have to do.”

“And that is?”

This time, he grins. “Kill them, of course.”

He shuts the door behind you, harshly, the lock echoing around the basement. Mingi tries to meet your eyes but you avoid them, moving back into your corner of the room. Hanse gave you some heat packs so you won’t freeze to death, though you didn’t bother thanking him for it. It isn’t exactly a solution to your problem. Especially the man sitting in the same room with you, still trying to catch your eye.

“What did he say?” Mingi asks. You don’t bother glancing at him, huddling yourself into the corner and giving him your back. Is this enough to block him out? Or will he continue to pester until you cannot take it anymore? Either way, you still give him the cold shoulder. “y/n please—”

“Mingi, I honestly don’t give a shit how hurt your feelings are,” you start. You do care, moreso in comparison to the others. Rose loved him even if she rarely said it. She loved them all. They just made things complicated. Very complicated. “Leave me alone, alright?”

“I told you that they’re trying to trick you—”

“Are they?” You turn your head, glaring at him. He’s paler, his skin an odd shade. It has to be the bullet that’s still lodged in his body. The one that’s slowly killing him. If that’s possible, of course. “I can’t…” you sigh, rubbing your face. “I can’t, Mingi. I can’t handle the lies anymore. It’s exhausting, trying to decipher the truth from what you’re telling me. I won’t be able to trust any of you. Subin’s clan—Hanse, they’ve told me more than you, and we’ve seen each other three times. Three, Mingi. I’ve been with you for over a month. I mean, I don’t even know anything about you. And you don’t know me either.”

“I know you, y/n.”

You adjust yourself, eyes moving to him. “Tell me then, Mingi. Tell me what you know.”

“I know you’re addicted to fruits, that’s why we buy them for you every time we go shopping. I know you love to read, you had a book in your hand when we met on the elevator. I know you like to be alone. I know you hate being lied to, and despite it still stick by us." He slips the last part in, eyes moving away from you. "There's some things that I'd probably never tell you. But if we were to start again, with who you are now and not who you were before, we can make it this time."

"I never asked for us to dwell on the past, Mingi. I didn't know about it until Hongjoong told me to touch the jewelry. Before that I never had glimpses of us, thoughts of us as we were before. I was fine living my life as it was. If we met outside of those circumstances, things might be different. But we can't be rid of it now. Not when I know there's something big you're hiding. Hanse knows, the others know, you know. The only person who was involved and doesn't know is me. Was me."

"Is there something I can do to alleviate your worries?" You hesitate for a moment. It's brief, simple. Mingi notices it though, sighing softly. "There's just some things I can't say." He adjusts himself against the wall, hissing as the chains dig into his wrists. You can see how it’s hurting him, hands bloody. Dried stains against the concrete. You shouldn’t feel bad for him, but you do.

And that thought only hurts you more.

"When you've been alive this long to see everyone you care for die, it starts to affect you less and less. You grow accustomed to it. Numb, in a sense. It makes you realize how life short actually is. Your personality slowly flattens, lacking depth. You could care less about anything or anyone. Your thoughts are right in that sense,” his eyes flick to you. “We care for you so deeply and without reason because you were the only person that we hoped for over centuries. Before we turned into what we are, we were infatuated with you. It may have exemplified what we feel now."

You keep your distance, shifting yourself further to the wall. Mingi watches your moments, lids seemingly heavy. He's not going to survive if you don't help. Digging for more information would be useless if you don't aid him now.

“Are those feelings for me or her?” Your voice is low. His response will hurt either way, but you need to know. You need to know if your own feelings should be expressed. If it’s all for her, there’s no point in you continuing this path filled with thorns and crumbled stones. “And don’t lie to me, Mingi. I need to know.”

“Does that matter?” He furrows his brows. “Your soul is the same. You are her, and she is you.”

You can recall just days ago when he told you the opposite. That you’re your own person. Perhaps it’s the lack of blood that’s pumping through him causing him to think this way. Or maybe it’s true. “You aren’t the same person, but your soul is. She was a nuisance and irritating, but I loved her. You are wise and caring, quick-witted and curious. And I love you. The feelings for her and you are not the same.”

“You can’t love me, Mingi. We’ve known each other for weeks-”

“It doesn’t feel that way, y/n. Does it? Does it feel that way to you?”

You look back at the wall, unable to answer. How could you tell him your true feelings? It’s hard to hide it, hard to say that you care for all of them in some capacity. It’s scary, knowing how easily you’ve fallen. Love is a strong word, but not too far off from what you do know. You know that you’ve never felt like this with any of your other partners. You know that these emotions are silly and you should listen to the advice that Hanse and Subin has given you. You know all of this, and yet, here you are. Glancing at Mingi’s body, worried.

“Tell me.”

“Mingi,” you start, shaking your head. “I can’t do that.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?” Though there is a teasing smile on his lips, you know he’s mocking you. It would irritate you if you weren’t so afraid that these talks you’re having with him are your last. His skin is blue in tint, lips losing their color. “Come here.”

“Just don’t come near me, alright? No matter what I say or do. Just stay over there. Please.”

His words echo in your ear. You shake your head, “You told me not to, Mingi.”

A small sigh falls from his lips, “I know that. But I want you to come here for just a second. Just so that I can make sure you’re okay.”

“You can tell from there. I’m fine,” you stare at his wrists. “But you’re not okay.”

“That’s true,” he laughs dryly, nodding slowly. “I’m losing myself, y/n. Soon I won’t care about these restraints anymore. The pain of not feeding is the only thing that’ll be fogging my mind. It’s odd that they’ve left you in here with me when I’m like this. Why would they?” He coughs, breaths shaky. “I could kill you within the next hour.”

You shiver. Don’t listen to his words, you think. He told you not to listen to them when he’s like this. The guilt lingers in the back of your mind. He could just feed for a few seconds. That would sustain him long enough to keep him from going mad. Your eyes move to his, alarmed when you see that he’s already watching you. He rolls over his hand, palm facing upwards. The gesture is slow. A beckoning gesture, brow quirked.

"Just a little bit. Enough to help you."

He nods. You slowly stand, his gaze sharp as you slowly walk over. You’re a foot in front of him when his hand presses against the back of your knee. You stumble forward, body falling into his lap. You try pulling away, but his hands reach up, gripping your hips. The light touch of his fingers at the edge of your dress stops you from speaking. He lets them roam, fingers slowly sliding along your leg, large hands cupping your hips. He tugs you closer to him on his lap. The ghosting of his lips against your neck makes you shudder, fingers digging into his shirt. He blows lightly on your skin.

"Beg for it."

“What?” You manage to speak, hands on either side of his head, holding yourself from pushing your chest into his. “Mingi.”

"Beg."

His hands drag along the curves of your body, fingers digging into your hips as he presses himself into you. His bulge is solid, twitching each time you squeeze yourself. His breaths tickle your skin, humping into you vigorously. You moan, gripping his biceps. He moves his lips from your neck, meeting your gaze.

Red.

You feel his teeth sink into your skin, pain coursing through your body.

“You’re always so pretty,” Mingi murmurs, fingers deep inside of you. You push yourself against his touch, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing your clit. “I love how you look coming undone.” You look at where he touches you, bite marks on your breasts, stomach, hips. He kisses your belly button, his head resting against the curve of your thigh.

“I love you.”

“They wouldn’t run. They aren’t the same as before. Subin is keener than that,” Hongjoong stands just by the fridge, glancing at the ever-growing pile of fruit that sits in the middle of the kitchen island. You’ve been gone for over a day. Too long. “He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.”

“How do we explain the abduction then? Is it just another Tuesday for him?” Seonghwa’s words are dripping with cynicism, though the expression on his face is anything but. “He is testing us, putting us at our absolute limit. He knows that we won’t just let this slide. Mingi can hold his own, but y/n—” He shuts his eyes briefly. “We don’t cope well when it comes to her.”

“He knows that, but so what? Are we just going to stand here?” Wooyoung’s seems the most out of it, pacing back and forth. The others aren’t dealing with it well but seem calm in comparison to the energy emitting off of him. He glances at the others quickly, thoughts seemingly scattered. “This could be her last life, she could be dead at this very moment. Or at least suffering.”

“Be realistic,” Yunho scoffs through furrowed brows. “They wouldn’t kill her. There would be no purpose in doing so.”

“It was the promise they made to Rose,” Jongho adds. “When they spoke to Seonghwa they mentioned it, it’s not far-fetched for them wanting to follow through.”

Hongjoong sighs. “We’ve all made promises we haven’t kept, Rose as well. But y/n doesn’t know about it and I doubt she ever will. Why continue to string along this promise when it should have been let go long ago? It’s been hundreds of years, things are no longer the same. Rose is dead.”

“You say that,” Yeosang murmurs. “You say that but we wouldn’t be where we are now without us desperately wanting to relive the past. To see Rose again, even in a different form. If we were to let go I would have been dead just like her. Most of us would have lived differently. Asking for them to forgo the past is silly since we haven’t done it in the slightest manner. Is it not?” A dry laugh escapes him, arms crossed stiffly against his chest. "We would only be hypocrites then. And I'd rather stand by my words than be accused of such."

"She does not belong to them, she belongs to us," Yunho says, shaking his head. "She's denied them in the past because of their hold on her. I doubt that will change now."

"So she will accept our hold, then?" Hongjoong eyes flick between them. "We cannot control her thoughts. She will decide on her own."

“Are you with me?” Mingi grips your body. “I’m so sorry y/n, I shouldn’t have, I wasn’t myself. Please don’t die, please.”

Your head is limp against his shoulder as you’re pulled out of the memory. Your body is weaker than before, a soft murmur against his neck. “You can’t take me out that easily,” you whisper. He sighs in relief, chest shaking as he sobs into you. You don’t question how he’s out of the restraints, how his body seems less weak in comparison to before. But you have enough strength to push yourself off of him, moving away.

“y/n?”

“I’m fine,” you say, smiling at him. He watches your moments, watches as you slide into the furthest corner of the room. You’re not sure why exactly you’re moving away. Your heart tugs at each slide, wanting to be closer to him. But you can’t. There’s too many questions that you have to just fall into with ease. Too many things you don’t know. And the tiredness is just spreading over you. Your eyelids flutter as you rest your head against the wall.

“y/n-”

The door swings open.

Hongjoong stands there, eyes flicking around the room. They don’t land on you immediately, meeting the gaze of Mingi. He rubs his wrists, nodding subtly at his friend. He steps into the room, jacket covered in what you can only assume is blood. He finally looks at you. You sit in the far corner of the room, body shivering due to the lowered temperature. You don’t quite notice how close he is at first, until he covers your hand with his. He’s warm, always has been. You watch as he takes your hand, pressing a light kiss to the back of it.

“You look utterly dreadful, my sea,” he murmurs gently, placing your hand to the side of his face. He looks hurt, swallowing slowly as he meets your gaze, almost comically so, lips trembling as he places another small kiss to your palm. “I’m so sorry we let you out of our sight.” Tears slowly fall down his cheeks, glancing at the outfit you wear. It’s still the same dress from the shop, though it’s very torn and bloodied. Without another word, he takes off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. You let him take care of you, body numb as he pulls your arms through the sleeves. He slides your hands into the pockets, small heat pouches causing another shiver to roll through you. You were angry before. Angry at this whole situation, at them for endlessly lying to you. But in this brief moment, his voice soft as he lifts you into his arms, pressing you into his chest. At this moment, it’s hard to see him as anything other than kind. He holds you close as he steps out the room, hand pressing your head against his chest.

“It’s very gruesome in here, sea,” he whispers, stepping over a body on the floor. “I won’t tell you what to do, but shutting your eyes would be best so that it doesn’t haunt you.”

You shouldn’t listen to him. You should look and see the destruction they’ve made in Subin’s cabin. But you don’t have the strength to continue, leaning your head against his chest, eyes closed.

“y/n?” The familiar voice of San appears. You don’t open your eyes, tiredness prevents it. “Is she unconscious?”

“No, just exhausted,” Hongjoong’s thumb rubs your cheek, humming. “Our girl has been through a lot. She needs a break.”

“We should have gotten here sooner—”

“You’re here now, that’s all that matters,” you interrupt his rant, eyes still shut. “I won’t blame it on any of you. So please don’t apologize to me, okay?” You say nothing more. Hongjoong continues his walk. A strange smell tickles your nose, your nostrils wiggling. Hongjoong doesn’t comment on it and frankly you don’t want to know.

“It’ll be cold for a moment, I’m stepping outside and putting you in the car, okay?” He murmurs. You nod, the cool breeze only making you press deeper into his chest. He moves quickly, one of the others swinging open the door. The air is warmer immediately, a deep shiver escaping your body as he leans into the seat. His arms drop from your body and you tense up immediately, until you feel his fingers brush against your cheek. “It will be quick,” he murmurs. “I won’t leave you alone for long, sea.”

The tapping of rain on the car fills your thoughts. You're thankful that Hongjoong told you to cover your eyes while walking through the cabin; the stench was more than enough for you to bear. You didn't want this to happen. Whatever they did. Killing. It's the last thing you desired. But if they had no other choice, it was okay, right? They wouldn't do it without a reason, without it being the only choice they had. You tuck yourself further into the seat, Hongjoong’s scent wrapped around you.

"Wooyoung is going to drive, alright?" His voice is soft as you open your eyes again, meeting Yunho's gaze. His brows furrow as he sees you visibly tense up. "What's up?"

"I don't want to see him."

"But he wanted to see you–"

"Then I'll walk," you slowly lean up, but he shakes his head, lightly pushing your body back down. "Not him, Yunho."

He nods briefly, shutting the door.

Yunho walks to the others, stopping Wooyoung just as he passes by. "Not you, Woo. She doesn't want to see you."

"Why?" His eyes widened in confusion. "What did I do? Why won't she see me?"

Hongjoong shuts the cabin door behind him. "Doesn't matter right now. All that matters is that she gets back home without any hiccups. Jongho can drive, I'll sit in the back. Mingi isn't that well, so someone else takes him home. We'll figure out what's going on when we get back and she's feeling better. For now, no drama."

"Did Hanse say something?" Wooyoung seems to ignore his captain's words, looking at you resting in the car. "What did he say to her? Mingi?" He turns to said man. Mingi leans against the other car, barely giving Wooyoung a glance as he enters. "I can't just stand here without knowing–"

"Think for one fucking second," Seonghwa hisses, moving over to his car. He taps his temple, "Put your head on straight and let's get going. We have bigger problems to solve. Subin is missing, and we just killed Hanse. We haven't exactly gotten on his good side. Once he finds out things aren't going to be as smooth as they are now.”

Wooyoung clenches his jaw, words left unspoken. Yunho pats his arm, walking over to his motorcycle and putting on his helmet. The others disperse while Hongjoong lingers by Seonghwa’s car, speaking to the two softly. Wooyoung doesn't bother saying anything else, getting into a car with Yeosang and driving off. The screech of the tires only make Hongjoong roll his eyes, flicking back to Seonghwa.

Mingi’s fingers dig into Hongjoong's sleeve, eyes flicking to Yunho's. Just as he disappears down the road, he moves his focus back on Hongjoong. He could tell that the man is panicked, lips trembling as his eyes widen.

"Mingi–"

"Someone's poisoning her," he whispers, eyes flicking to Seonghwa. "I don't know who the fuck is doing it, but I tasted her blood, hyung. It was bitter — it tasted like she'd been eating pure chemicals. I thought it was strange that she was out of it for so long while we were in the basement, but it could be because of the poison. There's a lot, Joong. A shit ton."

Hongjoong frowns, eyes narrowing. "Are you sure about that?"

"One hundred fucking percent. This… we can't do this again. Not like this. We've already lied enough to her. We can't just poison her to the point where she wants to become one of us. She has to choose to," Mingi lets go of him, shifting in his seat. He stares at the other car. "We've done enough."

Hongjoong pauses for a moment. “Okay.”

“What does that mean, hyung? What are you going to do? I was feeding off of her because I didn’t have a choice, I would have killed her if I didn’t taste the fucking poison-”

“Min, breathe. She’s fine,” Seonghwa says softly from his seat. “She’s fine.”

Hongjoong nods. “I’ll figure it out, Mingi, okay? I’m not going to sit on my ass, not anymore.”

Mingi stares at him for a moment, eyes flicking between him then he nods, shifting into his seat. It ends the conversation. Seonghwa meets Hongjoong’s gaze. He’s seen Seonghwa angry, sure. But the way he looks at him with pure fury, the grip on the steering wheel almost breaking it. Hongjoong nods to him, shutting the door of the car before things escalate. He walks to the other car slowly, mind scattered. Who the Hell is poisoning you?

The drive is quicker than you think, and when you arrive, Hongjoong carries you to your room. The others seem to scatter somewhere around the home. Though you cannot see them, you can feel their gazes on you as he brings you to your room, placing you on your bed. His fingers embracing you with eyes stuck on Mingi’s bite on your neck. His face reveals none of his feelings, though his fingers only tighten in their hold.

“I’m sorry, sea,” he says softly. Nothing else, no more embellishments. He lifts your hand and presses his lips lightly against your skin. “I won’t let you out of my sight again. Please rest.” He stands, letting go of your hand. His frame doesn’t linger by the door, shutting it softly as he flicks off the lights. You curl into yourself, still in the dress from the store. He didn’t ask to undress you, didn’t overstep, and just apologized. It’s not his fault; you wouldn’t place the blame on any of them. But his apology means a lot to you. The creak of your door makes you tense up, eyes opening and flicking over to the person.

Your heart drops. He seems to sense it, putting up his hands immediately.

“Get out.”

“I’m not here to hurt you, peach. Please just give me a chance to explain, let me know what’s wrong? What did I do to you?” Wooyoung begs, slow steps into the room. You see Yunho just behind him, resting against the far wall. Perhaps he’s here to watch him, make sure nothing happens between the both of you? It makes Wooyoung’s presence less stressful knowing that Yunho is nearby.

“y/n-”

“You are not a good person, Wooyoung,” you say, slowly rising to a sit on the edge of your bed. Yunho steps in to help, but you wave him off. Your heart is exhausted, not your body. “You were never a good person to me.”

“I didn’t do anything, please. Just tell me what’s upsetting you.”

“You turned Rose into a vampire, didn’t you?” You hiss, glaring at him. He stops moving closer to you, eyes wide. “And don’t you lie to me.”

"Why are you upset about something that didn't even happen to you? It was your former self, hundreds of years ago. Do you think that we remained the same people we once were? That we remained stagnant and didn't grow? It was a mistake, y/n. A terrible, horrendously awful and selfish mistake. There is nothing that we can do but ask for your forgiveness and move on. It is what she would have wanted."

He steps closer, merely a foot away from you.

“And I did not turn her into a vampire. I don’t know who told you that, but it’s not true. It’s not what she wanted.”

“You’re lying.”

“He’s not,” Yunho says from behind, eyes meeting yours. “He turned Yeosang, but not you. I can vouch for him.”

Yunho isn’t the most trustworthy man you know, but somehow, you believe him. Despite the underlying issues between you, you do trust his words. You stand, meeting Wooyoung’s gaze. Wooyoung matches yours. It's scary how empty they look. No emotion as he keeps your gaze. He takes a step forward, ignoring how you glare. Soon, he's barely a breath away. His red eyes are dark, almost black. He doesn't blink. "What are you doing?"

"I am selfish," His voice is soft and low. Broken. "I am eternally selfish. I will admit that if you let me stay with you." His hand rests against the wall, eyes flicking to your lips. "If you let me stay with you, I'll do anything you want. Beg if you'd like, Peach." His hand slowly slides down the wall with him. His eyes look up at you from where he's kneeling, free hand resting just behind your lower calf. He presses a light kiss against your clothed knee, sighing. His body seems to crumble as he does so, face pressed against your leg. "I'd do anything for you. Just don't make me go."

"Wooyoung," you try moving your leg but he doesn't budge the slightest, his grip tightening. If you really, truly tried, you could probably move him off since he isn't holding you that hard. Your eyes move to Yunho standing just by the door with his arms crossed. He doesn't say a word, meeting your eyes and giving no indication on what you should do. Wooyoung takes your lack of struggle as acceptance, arms wrapping around both of your legs and pulling them close to his body. You stumble, the quick movements of Yunho steadying you with ease. He nods at you slightly, hand outstretched against your back.

"Alright, baby?" He asks.

You hate it. You hate how easily they can pull you away from your anger, how easily that can manipulate you into another train of thought.

"Please," Wooyoung whispers again with lips pressed against your leg. His hands run up and down your calf, your body shivering at the touch. "Please let me take care of you."

if you would like to be tagged send me an ask <3

tags: @revehosh @mrcarrots @belletiny @sansblkgirlfriend @hwadump @honeyedtalisman @atzcoke @glitterhongjoong @whatudowhennooneseesyou @marievllr-abg @arkive78 @dysftopia @kpopnightingale @wxnderingthoughts @jenniee-tm @hongshines @atinytease @multidreams-and-desires @yla-aira @wommypeaches @avantalem @youre-a-wallflower-charlie @toxicccred @xciiiomwliah @madelinelina @kirooz @a-tiny-teez @tenebrisirae @ageofjade @n0v4t33z @yoongiigolden @jonghoharibo @fl0r4f4wn @gh0stbish @kodsukein @vitrealislux @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @spiderrenjunfics @aeoliannie @tannie13

#fic: clair de lune #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #yunho x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #jongho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #ateez x reader #ateez fanfiction #ERM this took me so long to post SNJFDAJNSKLDF #me when you like instead of rbing: 🤬🤬🤬🤬👹👹👹👹😡😡😡

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scover-va · 1 year

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Generally when you reblog things I feel like I ask for ???/Carla/Chandrelle a lot. So I’m going to switch it up and say Rust for the ask meme

My favourite old man!!! And my favourite, dare I say, babygirl

Favourite thing about them:

His fucking CHAPTER oguhgguughggugh i could talk about him and his experiences for HOURS OGUGHGUGUH. Hi. I am NOT normal about him. Tho genuine, less vague answer is probably just. Like. His personality? Like he is SUCH a good dad and i just wanna see him and Weasel Kid bond post-game yknow??? But also like. His entire life is the wastes, people wanting to kill him and his son around every corner, yet he still tries and avoid violence whenever possible?? I dont know if it's more of a genuine pacifist thing or if he doesnt want his son to experience all this death, but like. I kinda wanna lean towards the second option considering how quickly he resorted to killing and shooting on sight when Rocky wasnt there. And I know thats mainly bc of trauma and determination to get to his kid but. I mean. Shooting Jeremiah in the chest was NOT necessary. Anyways also hes silly and goofy and I love him <3

Least favourite thing about him:

Maybe not about HIM specifically but like. I wish the mind control serum was explored more?? Like it kinda feels like a useless plot. Yes it triggered Carla's hardcore mod, but unless she or Sado were in contact with Reggie and Jeremiah somehow, then that mod could've just...been triggered differently. And like. It's mostly Sado's actions that drive him to that brink of insanity. I cant remember if Jeremiah told him to go to the inn, but the ONLY reason i can see the MC Serum being important is just to get him to the inn. other than that. He joins in on the ritual because he thinks it'll get Rocky back. He's already a player character, he doesnt NEED to be controlled by the player. And also I think the potential of him being the dead body up during Junior's lil assistance section of VG2 is unexplored

Favourite Line:

Not even the full line, but. Mayhap. I quote it all the time. (Full line is something like "Can't fit in there. Someone smaller, mayhap" idk I'm not pulling up the game to find it) Mayhap mayhap mayhap. Hes so silly I love him <3333

brOTP:

Again, I think he and Weasel Kid should have a father-son dynamic, as seen in one of my fics. They both lost what the other is, and I just mmmmm!!!!

OTP:

My number of Rust ships is. Low. Admittedly. But him with Bryce and/or Lazarus <3

nOTP:

Obviously The Hex has like 10 fans, and the number of Rust ships is. Low. But I'm just gonna say the obvious notps; Weasel Kid, Sado, or Rocky. Thank fucking god this fandom is small because weirdos would use Lionel's voice line about never figuring out Rust and Rockys exact bond as an excuse for proshitting. So. Yay small fandom moment <3

Random Headcanon:

I dont know how random BUT while in the Wastes, he's fairly thin and doesn't eat much, only eating up to half of their food rations, often less, saving the rest for Rocky. But he had slight muscle to make up for it, because I'm sure carrying around supplies and a bigass shot gun all day every day + walking all day every day at least builds up SOME muscle. Once he gets to the inn, however, he loses his gun and doesn't walk around too much. After all, the inn is MUCH smaller than the wastes. So, he ends up losing muscle. Not to mention he's probably eating less (especially after the possibility of fully coming to terms with what happened to his son), so. He grows thinner. Though he DOES go down a road of recovery (probably with Bryce's help tbh, knowing how Bryce is) and ends up regaining some body fat! He eventually gets healthy enough that he slowly develops a bit of a dad bod :-) I wanted to draw out this hc but couldn't get the anatomy to look right so I forgot about it, but I am VERY happy I get to ramble about it now <3

Unpopular Opinion:

There are like 2 or 3 other people who talk about Rust enough for ANY sort of 'popular' opinion to form. So. That sucks. Does him being the skeleton in the GameWorks base count? Can I say he's smart just not conventionally smart? Like he can hotwire a car and picked up some German thanks to a certain nuclear sandworm and can aim with perfect accuracy despite having poor vision, but he can't read or do math or write or-

Song I associate with them:

I. Have an entire playlist for him. Whoopsies. ANYWAYS. Grief from The Devil's Carnival (ive never listened to the musical i just found it in a playlist a while back) and Still Here by Digital Daggers. Mostly Grief tho. But like. It's from Sado's perspective about Rust. If that makes sense

Favourite Picture of them:

His steam emoji <33333

It looks even goofier on my phone bc of how blurred it is

#the hex #rust mcclain #other characters mentioned but im not listing em all #scov.txt #hey did i mention i love rust /j

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rise-my-angel · 2 months

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Why did you leave the Pedro fandom?

A few reasons, the biggest being a growing toxicity amongst certain subsets of the fandom, including a lot of very popular blogs.

Very much adhering to the idea that disagreeing opinions no matter how calm and well stated are just "bitching and complaining". I got called out by multiple people for ever DARING to say I did not like the inclusion of a romantic backstory between Joel and Tess in the show version of The Last of Us. So many people got talked down to for just voicing their discontent on their own blogs. It happened again with the Mandalorian between those who liked season 3 and those who didn't. Those who didn't were called out as if we were either looking for things to hate or trying to ruin other peoples enjoyment.

Part was also just I got into the fandom through the Mandalorian, and I felt so burned by season 3 that it soured a lot of my enjoyment of future content in the fandom.

But a big part was the other fic writers. Fic writers in the pedro fandom are some of the most needlessly aggressive people. They promote that they are so for sexual freedom but are super hostile about whenever a kink they dislike is popular. Lots of Pedro writers did age gap, and instead of just not reading it they TO THIS DAY make posts about how its wrong to write age gap for certain pedro characters when its supposed to just be fun smut fantasy. Or gatekeeping characterization to the point no one could have a different interpretation without being called out or talked down to about being wrong.

For me to, it was also that the fic side of the fandom was a heavy numbers game. So many big writers in that fandom are the ones pushing "DONT LIKE JUST REBLOG AND COMMENT" with regards to fics but they always get 200 notes minimum and their mutuals all reblog and support each other anyways when you rarely see them support super small writers. If its below 50 notes, they ain't touching it unless they've promoted that writer before. When just leaving a like on a fic is GREAT. If you read my fics and only like it, you are based and I am emailing you a smooch on the forehead cus you do not need to do anything else, I'm just thrilled people like it no matter if they engage with it at all or not.

They care so much about optics to a degree they forget what being a reader is like.

It made you feel like you were a bad writer. Like your story was shit, and if you got big, it meant everything that doesnt match up felt like a failure. I had a Joel Miller x Reader series get super big, and whenever I didn't get those numbers I felt like I was a shitty writer, and the mutuals around you don't really care about anything but their own fics engagement or their friends fics.

It was just all very clique like, and I still see them engaging in the same discourse every other week because they refuse to just ignore the sides of a fandom they disagree with. They have to engage with people they disagree with because they feel the need to be on the morally superior side of the fandom.

It was truly killing my passion for writing. I was never in love with any of my pedro stories the way I am for my Jon Snow fic, and that gets like 30 notes per chapter. I still struggle with seeing low numbers because my time in the pedro fandom really taught me that numbers matter and being the loudest voice matters most.

It's not everyone in the fandom obviously, but it was the most significant portion of people I was surrounded by who were like that. I can't even read pedro fics anymore, the experience for me was soured beyond repair.

#anyone whose still in it reading this it aint about you #at this ppint ive been blocked by 99% of the toxic side of the fandom so if you read this #your not someone who made me want to quit writing all together #so dont worry

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thefact0rygirl · 2 years

Note

Unpopular opinion: it’s disheartening to see rec lists. I know those (like you) create them with good intentions, to help support other writers and share their stories… but it always seems like the same people get their stories featured, while writers like me don’t ever get included, despite following all the same people. It just makes you wonder if your writing wasn’t good enough, or not memorable enough, or if those people don’t follow you back or dont care about whatever you post. Just feels kind of defeating.

#i am so so sorry #i can relate to feeling defeated about this #it's hard not to compare yourself and once you're in that headspace it's hard to stop #as someone who creates rec lists i agreee that some fics get recommended more than others #and i will say it puts me in an awkward position where i want to include the fics but at the same time it's not fair to exclude a fic #it isn't the writer's fault and it seems kind of shitty to exclude them #but it doesn't mean it doesn't have an effect on others like yourself #that being said i do think there are a lot of different factors that contribute to this #the sw x reader community isnt as big as people think it is #and the tumblr tag system is fucked #i used to use it a lot to find new fics but since deceember it's completely broke #it excludes a lot of fics #and includes fics that aren't even tagged with the tag i'm searching for #and i know people don't like to hear it but reblogs have been down #and low reblogs happen for a number of different reasons #but if the tags are broken adnd reblogs are low it means that exposure to fics is down #and something that isn't talked about a lot is the push from other social media platforms #a lot of the fics that get recommended a lot fo times are coming from people that found it on tiktok or twitter #and it's going to piss off some people but i think people on other sm hyperfixate on certain fics #and it turns into that fic being the new cool hyperfixation to get views and interaction #and yes it's a good thing #but it also means other fics are tossed to the side #but i guess that is how social media works #but i will always recommend that if someone accepts recommendations then RECOMMEND YOUR FICS #seriously #do it #do it right now #a lot of getting your fics out there is you needing to sort of push your way in #you need to remind people they are there because things to get lost in the shuffle here on tumblr #and trust me when i say that self-recommendations are more common than people think

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buckybarnesdiaries · 3 years

Text

i won't let you down

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Bucky helps you and gives you hope.

word count: 1.196 words.

warnings/tags: very brief mention of domestic violence, the winter soldier coming to help you.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

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BUCKY POV

It was the fourth month he was living in the same building as you, concretely, in the apartment next to yours. Since the very first moment you met in the lift, you were extra kind with him and he couldn’t help but think that you were hiding some kind of intentions, until the days passed away and he discovered it was part of your naturality. He remembered, as if it happened yesterday, the first morning he knocked on your door asking for some coffee and you practically invited him to have breakfast together. You two talked about your part-time job in a cafeteria by morning, close to the neighborhood, and another one in a book shop by evenings. Bucky was fascinated by how much you used the hours of your days, letting you work out and have long walks in Central Park.

And he also remembered the night you knocked on his door for the first time, after hearing him having some nightmares and not being able to go back to sleep. The walls seemed like thin paper. He didn’t get it out of his head that time he heard you crying in your room, in the small hours, after a fight with your boyfriend. A punk who didn’t deserve an angel like you. On all the occasions you two argued, Bucky wanted to intervene, but he didn’t because what was his right.

Until a night where the heated talk escalated too quickly to swearings coming from him, and a painful scream coming from your lips after a loud hit. Bucky kicked the door down without doubting, panting furious and breaking into your apartment like a bat out of hell. As soon as he reached the living room and saw you crying and lying on the floor, all his rage contained during months got concentrated on the same point. Five cold fingers closing in a big and dangerous fist.

“Who the fuck are you?” Your boyfriend spat raving mad.

“A guy who’s gonna disappoint his therapist for breaking rule number two”. The soldier hissed, not giving time to the other to react.

With his left hand grabbing your boyfriend’s throat, Bucky pinned him to the nearest wall with so much uncontrollable strength that he almost opened a hold in it, straight to his own house.

“Listen to me now, you son of a bitch”. Their faces were separated barely for a couple of inches, drinking each other’s breathing. “If I see you coming again, laying a finger on her… I promise I’ll turn your life into a damn nightmare”.

Bucky could see the horror borning in his eyes when your boyfriend recognized him. That voice. Those blue orbs. The metallic fingers cutting off the air from his lungs. He was in the news for a long time. The Winter Soldier. One of those freaks with superpowers, with the difference that he was a trained assassin. Only a fool wouldn’t obey his threat. But for some reason, Bucky wasn’t able to loosen the hold around the other man, driven by the desire he had for killing him. After all the suffering he made you go through, after all the nights hearing you crying, after all the time waiting for your boyfriend to change. He wanted to end his life.

“Bu— Bucky”. Your weak sobs brought him back to reality. To New York. To the year twenty twenty-one. To the new century.

As if it was an automatic act, his fingers opened making your boyfriend fall to the floor. Coughing, choking with his own saliva and the lack of air. The poor coward ran away before Bucky could blink twice. Shaking his head to shut up the voices inside his head claiming him to chase the man, he turned around and squatted next to you. A thin thread of blood poured out from the upper right corner of your lip, as your cheek was burning in pain after the punch. The soldier held you onto his arms, listening to the sound of the police sirens coming. Probably some neighbor called them, fed up with the fights inside your house.

You were crying inconsolably and ashamed when he walked into his apartment, placing you with so much care on his sofa. Bucky didn’t utter a syllable, heading to his bathroom to take something to fix you up. He had a good medical kit since he didn’t want to visit any kind of hospital. Coming back to you, the soldier knelt next to you, feeling a knot inside his chest pressing out his skin. He wetted a cotton in hydrogen peroxide and placed his warm free hand on your untouched cheek to urge you to raise your head towards him. You couldn’t help but draw a grimace of pure soreness that broke his heart in one million pieces.

“Sorry…” Bucky murmured, earning your look filled up with sadness. “I, uh… I wanted to… So many times, I…”

“Thank you… for saving me”. You stuttered in low tears, while he continued healing your lip and cleaning the blood on it. “You’re a… good man, James”.

“I just did what I had to”.

“We’re… more than fifty persons living here… And you’ve been the one who has saved me”.

Knocks on his door interrupted your little chat, causing him to frown as the two of you heard it was the NYPD. Bucky left a delicate caress on your cheek before standing up and attending the call. The cops came into his house without asking if they could, knowing very well the man who was living there.

“Ma’am, you okay?” One of the officers inquired walking closer.

“Yeah, it was… I just… slip off to the fl—”. Tell them about your, now, ex-boyfriend wasn’t an option for you, feigning a soft chuckle as you cleaned the tears in your eyelids.

“His boyfriend hit her”. But Bucky interrupted you.

“And you helped her, mister Barnes?”

“Yeah, and she’s gonna make a complaint”.

That wasn’t an option for you either, but by the look coming from his eyes, you knew it was the only one for him. You couldn’t persuade him.

“Ma’am?”

Bucky licked his bottom lip, shortening the distance between both to grab his cozy and baggy black hoodie to offer it to you. He was determined to help you. He really wanted your welfare.

“C’mon”. He almost begged you in a whisper, shaking briefly his hand holding the piece of clothing to convince you of taking the good road. “I’ll be with you, I promise. I won’t let you down… Not again”.

It took you a couple of seconds to nod your head, getting up from his sofa being helped by the cold hand showing up. Bucky made you wear his hoodie, with so much careless to not touch your right cheek still burning because of the pain. Under the attentive look of the cops, he placed his flesh arm over your shoulders, not caring about the lack of distance when you clung yours around his waist and tried to hide your face on his chest. For the first time since you started that toxic relationship, you felt safe. You felt liberated.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Laisse tomber les filles 7

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; size kink; age gap; manipulation; sexual acts and dubcon (not explicitly tagged for a surprise but nothing extreme).

This is a dark!fic and Lee Bodecker x (short) reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find yourself ostracized on campus by your shyness, but your reticence won’t deter an unwanted suitor.

Note: We back at it again! Happy Tuesday.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

‘When I was nineteen, pureness was the great issue...I saw the world divided into people who had slept with somebody and people who hadn’t, and this seemed the only really significant difference between one person and another. I thought a spectacular change would come over me the day I crossed the boundary line.’

You read and reread the paragraph. You couldn’t help it. The first time you read that book, you just didn’t get the cynicism. There were still parts you couldn’t quite relate to. But that passage sank into you like a pebble in water. You felt changed already and after something so little.

You hadn’t seen Lee since Saturday. He had your number now and called at night. A few times, there was noise in the background; people, cars, life. You realised he must’ve been at a payphone, taking a moment away from his patrol. That was another thing about him; he felt so established, so wise, and that made you feel even less.

When the phone began to ring that night, you ignored it. And when it stopped, you picked up the receiver and dialed the only number you knew. Your mom picked up and you heard the sink running in the background. She was always busy when you called.

“Mom,” you said, “it’s me.”

“Oh, hi, dear,” she replied in her creaky tone, “how are you? Oh, is something wrong?”

“Um… I’m okay, I just wanted to call, I…” you thought of telling her about Lee but you weren’t really sure how. You weren’t even sure why you called her, only that you felt alone. “I miss you and daddy.”

“We miss you, too,” you heard her steps and her grunt as she stretched the cord and twisted off the faucet. “He’s been working hard down at the steel yard and he’s so proud. All the other men tell him to hush up when he brags about you.”

“Yeah? I… I’m working hard. Got an A on my last paper,” you played with the coiled cord.

“That’s great, dear,” she chimed, “are you sure you’re okay? You sound tired.”

“I am tired,” you said, “that’s all. Studying and all that.”

“I hope so. I wouldn’t want you going out late to one of those parties,” she tittered, “Noreen’s son got arrested at one of those and spent a night in jail. They spent their mortgage to get him out.”

“No, no, I don’t, um, go to parties,” you assured, not adding that no one would even think to invite you to one.

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry, I’ll have to call back tomorrow,” she sighed as you heard the door clamour, “your father’s so intent on hurting himself these days.”

“Okay, um, it’s alright, I’ll talk later, love y--” the phone went dead and you listened to the dull tone.

You put the receiver back in the cradle and tapped your fingers on your lips. You picked up your book and sat back on your bed. You couldn’t focus on the words though as your mind lingered on the familiar sounds of home. You missed it terribly. You just wanted to take the bus and go hide in your old childhood bed.

The phone rang again. You knew it wasn’t your mother. You left it and when it silenced, there was only a second before it started again. You waited until the next lull and moved the receiver off the cradle and let the low hum rise from the speaker. You kept it off the hook and closed your book.

You didn’t want to deal with any of that today. Not Lee, not Plath, not the plague of woes that roiled your stomach. You flopped onto your bed and pulled your pillow over your head. You weren’t going to think again until your morning lecture.

📚

You sat near the front of the hall with your elbow on the small fold-out desk. You swirled your pen lazily in the air as you listened to the professor expound on the flaws of historical revisionism. He wasn’t the type to entertain questions or comments, he merely ranted and expected you to note those few words of value amidst the sea of thoughts.

You yawned, exhausted despite an early night. You felt empty and drained those last four days. Ever since…

You didn’t think about it. Tried not to even as it tugged at your mind. When the memory managed to poke through, you felt the same tingle between your legs and your cheeks burned in humiliation.

How had you let it happen? How could you let yourself do that?

You were so confused by it all. How could it be wrong if Lee said it was right? He was older, he was a cop, and he knew much more than you. You never even kissed a boy before him and he was so confident in everything he did that he must be doing it all right.

Besides, after everything, if you refused him, you’d have only been leading him on and using him for his kindness, even if you didn’t realise what you were doing. Because what you did know was that he was a man and you were a woman and that he was doing nice things for you. And you accepted them all. The least you could do was bide his affection. That was the age old exchange, was it not?

“Next week, we’ll review chapters five and six,” the professor’s tone piqued as his ramble subsided, “I expect a class discussion and you can expect ten percent of your mark to be evaluated from your contribution and I will know if you just ‘skimmed’ the introduction.’

The class grumbled as he dismissed you and you stood slowly, stretching the cramp from your leg. You packed up your bag and hauled it on your shoulder. You had a gap between that class and your afternoon publishing class. You trailed out behind the flow of chattering students but found many of them lowered their voices as they came out into the hall.

There voices fell to whispers as they entered the hall. The sight of a brown hat assured you of the reason. Sheriff Bodecker stood against the painted brick and watched the students pass by, each eyeing him nervously and some chuckling under their breaths nervously. You tried to hide behind a taller student but your name tripped you up.

Despite your efforts to maintain your invisibility, he’d spotted you and you knew you could run away. Several of your peers craned around to watch you, no doubt suspecting some trouble on your part. You dragged your feet and stepped out of the tide of fleeing co-eds to stand along the wall with Lee.

“Hi,” you said quietly.

“Young lady,” he said staunchly and kept his eyes on the other students, nodding at them darkly as they passed.

He waited until the hall was empty before he turned on you. You fidgeted and caught your bag as it slipped from your shoulder. Your thoughts wrinkled above your brow and you stared at his brown leather shoes.

“How did you… find me here?”

He was silent as he reached in his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He opened it and showed you a print-out of your schedule.

“Easy enough,” he tapped his badge nonchalantly, “I was worried. You didn’t answer last night.”

“I fell asleep early,” you said weakly, “morning lecture, you know?”

“Mmm,” he hummed, “not that early.”

“I’m sorry, I was sleep--”

“You’re no good at lying and I don’t like you telling me fibs,” he growled, “you playin’ around with me, honey.”

“No, I…” you blinked as he folded the paper back into his pocket and pushed his jacket back to settle his hand on his pistol.

“Did you forget who I am? What I am?” he arched a brow darkly.

“N-No, sir, I… I got schoolwork and--”

“You can’t stop and talk to me for ten minutes?” he challenged, “you hurt me, honey. I’m out on patrol all night, in danger, and the only thing I got to look forward to is hearing your sweet voice.”

“I, um, I… er, I’m confused,” you eked out, “I don’t know… I…”

“Honey,” he leaned in and his hot breath glossed over you as he lowered his voice, “you know what this is, we both know what a bad girl you were on Saturday.”

“I didn’t…” you swallowed and choked on your voice, “I gotta go to the library--”

You tried to turn away but were pulled back by his tight grip on your arm. He forced you against the wall and knocked the wind from you as your bag tumbled from your arm. You gasped and stared up at him in fright. In that moment, he seemed bigger than ever; taller, thicker, and strong as hell. Stronger than you for sure.

“You don’t go nowhere ‘less I say you do,” his other hand shifted on his gun, “you got me?”

“What are you-- I didn’t… why are you being mean?”

“Me? Honey pie, you been avoiding me and I’m mean?” he snarled.

“I wasn’t avoiding you, I’m just... busy,” you whimpered as he squeezed your arm so tight it throbbed, “you’re hurting me.”

“You’re hurting me,” he hissed, “you think I got time to be comin’ down here on duty to find you?”

“You didn’t have to--”

“I did,” he barked, “I had to make sure you weren’t hussyin’ around with any other boys, like I found you last week.”

“I told you, that wasn’t--”

“Shhhhh,” his hand flew to your chin and forced your mouth shut, “I don’t got the time for this, honey. I’ll be around tonight and you’ll wear a pretty dress for me, won’t you?”

You clenched your jaw and nodded stiffly as his thumb toyed with your lip. He smiled and the tension left his grasp.

“Good girl,” he drew away and squared his shoulders, “you be ready at six and don’t keep me waitin’ again.”

“Yes, sir,” you croaked.

“Mmm,” he nodded with a smirk, “you know, I think I do prefer ‘sir’.” He bent and kissed your lips before you could turn away. You let him and he stood straight again and adjusted his belt, “six o’clock, honey pie.”

#lee bodecker #dark lee bodecker #dark!lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #fic #series #dark fic #dark!fic #laisse tomber les filles #the devil all the time #college au #au

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azaleavi · 3 years

Text

Stranger with a knife - Y.B.

Summary: A stranger disturbs you in the middle of the night. Turns out that stranger might have a thing for knives.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: use of knives, blood, alcohol mention, stab wound, mention of knife kink, very brief hint on use of poison

Author’s note: My first ever Yelena fic!! I’m super nervous to post it so please give me feedback! I’ve never written for a female character before but i hope you guys like it!

Feedback is always appreciated and don’t forget to reblog and like if you enjoyed it and want to see more. Thank you!

Masterlist

It's in the middle of the night when you hear noise coming from outside your front door. It must be the neighbor you think and turn to your other side, away from the door to your room. You look at the digital clock and the bright red numbers tell you that it's just a little past 4 am. You are used to the people living next to you making noise. They always go out partying and they come back around this time so you don't make a fuss about it.

The noise of a few cars passing by on the street flow through the open window with the movement of the curtain caused by the light breeze. It does nothing for the heat that settled inside the four walls, the summer sun not letting go of you even during the night when it's sleeping.

You hear the noise again, like a person grunting just outside your little living space. It must have been some party you smile to yourself, a little jealousy seeping into the curve of your lips. You wanted to go out and party sometimes. Of course, you do, but that kind of time is not something you have.

The noise comes again, not moving an inch away from you and you realize that it's a female voice. You sit up in bed, worried for the mystery woman. She might be in trouble and you could not sleep knowing she might need your help.

Your feet touch the ground beside your bed just as the front door opens. The creaking of the old door echoes through the quiet space as you freeze in your spot, hands on the edge of the mattress ready to push you up to stand. Didn't you lock the door?

You are thankful that your eyes are used to the dark as you stand on shaky legs, trying to be as quiet as possible. Slowly walking to the door you grab the wood to open it just enough to look through the crack. An outline of a smaller figure catches your eyes as she stumbles in and closes the door behind her. At least she has some manners.

She stumbles onto your couch, her hands clutching her side. Landing on the soft cushions with a groan, she turns on her back.

You open the door a little more but stop your movements as it creaks. Damn old doors. She looks up from her stomach that she is still holding and your mouth opens in shock as she locks eyes with you. She has beautiful eyes.

"What-" she starts speaking, but her words fell short as she loses consciousness and falls back onto the couch. In a panic, you walk out the door and turn on the light. The woman has a big red patch on the side of her shirt and you can see her flesh under it as the fabric is cut open.

You pull the shirt away from her wound to check it out and you realize that it's not as bad as it looks. You are not a doctor, but you can tell that she doesn't need stitches. Pushing her shirt up just enough, you go and get some water, a towel, and some bandages. She needs your help no matter how she broke into your house. You clean all the blood away and wrap her in the bandages to the best of your abilities. When you are satisfied with your work you sit down on a chair facing the couch. You know you couldn't sleep with a stranger in your apartment so you decide on watching her. Your tired body has other plans though and you slip into sleep 15 minutes after.

The morning sun shines onto your closed eyelids making you stir in your sleep. Realizing what happened you jolt awake, almost falling off the uncomfortable chair you have been sitting on for the past few hours. the woman is still in the same place, passed out. A sigh leaves your lips in relief. You don't know what she would have done to you if she woke up before you.

Your stomach grumbles into the quiet morning air, signaling that the small dinner you had was not enough. After one last check on the woman, you walk into the kitchen to prepare something for you, making a little more than you usually would in case your guest wakes up hungry too.

As you busy yourself with breakfast, you don't notice the woman wake up and look around the unfamiliar place. Felling something around her torso she looks down and sees a bandage neatly wrapped around the wound she sustained last night. Her eyes land on your frame standing by the stove and her training kicks in. Standing up she quietly walks over to the kitchen counter that has knives on it and grabs one.

You feel a presence behind you, but before you can turn around you feel the coldness of the metal pressed to your neck. Your hands stop moving as you gasp. Her other hand goes around your waist and you can't help but grab onto it in panic.

"Who are you?" her accent is thick as it rumbles inside your ear.

"I think I should be the one asking that" your accent is just as prominent yet slightly different and she is taken back for a second. Who are you to talk back to her like this when you have a knife to your neck?

"I asked first" the childish claim is the only thing that comes out of her mouth, her brain unable to think of anything else. You tilt your head slightly as if saying fair.

"I'm the owner of the house you stumbled into in the middle of the night" you don't know where this confidence comes from, but you like it "Your turn" you look at the tiles on the wall ahead of you, trying to make her out in the reflection but it's no use. It's way too blurred to make out any features, but you can feel that she is around the same height as you.

"I'm the person who stumbled into your house" you can basically hear the smirk in her voice and you hold back a groan.

"I'll need a little more than that" you talk back to her and she is surprised once again.

"Well too bad" she lets go of you and you immediately turn around to come face to face with the most attractive woman you have ever seen. You look into her eyes and now it's your turn to be speechless.

"I was right" you mumble as a small smile plays on your lips.

"About what?" she furrows her eyebrows in confusion.

"Your eyes are really pretty" her whole body freezes at the compliment that leaves your mouth. She stares at you for a few seconds then clears her throat and turns away from you.

"So what happened?" she sits down on one of the chairs, keeping the knife close to her hand. Just in case.

"I told you. You walked into my house and bled on my couch" you shrug as you turn off the stove. Taking out two plates you scrape the food into each. She watches as you place one plate in front of her before sitting down on the chair across the table.

"How do I know you didn't put anything in this?" she looks down at it and she has to admit, it smells delicious.

"You'll have to find out" you tease her but immediately regret it as the knife is back under your chin, pressing against your skin almost breaking it.

"I'm starting to think you have a knife kink" your eyes don't leave the blade as you continue to tease her. She scoffs at your comment and pushes the knife harder against you "Okay, okay I'm just kidding" you try to de-escalate the situation as you hold your hands up in surrender. She takes mercy on you and pulls away the knife from your throat. A sigh escapes you as she leans back into her chair, making her smirk under her nose.

"Do you want me to eat from your food too?" you raise your eyebrows but she waves you off.

"I'm not hungry anyway. Do you have some vodka?" she tilts her head that you find oddly adorable.

"Vodka?" you ask back in surprise. Why would she want alcohol early in the morning?

"Yes" she nods like there is nothing wrong with what she is asking for.

"Sure" you shrug, acting nonchalant. If she wants to drink so early then she has another thing coming. You walk to the fridge and pull out a bottle. Trying to shield it from her view, you pour it into a shot glass and turn around to face her. She is sitting there impatiently as you hand the glass to her and she drowns it without thinking. You can see on her face that she was expecting the familiar sting of alcohol. Instead, she got a big shot of water from you. You can barely hide your smile as you see her face drop. She turns to you and you hide your mouth behind your hand.

"Do you think you are funny?" her voice is low as she stands up and you take a step back.

"A little, yes" you scrunch up your nose while nodding. She feels her anger dissipate at the action, but she steels herself.

"Okay then funny girl why don't you tell me your name?" she takes another step closer to you, but you mirror her movement backward.

"You first" your eyes don't leave hers as you play this cat and mouse game.

"I could kill you in a second" she threatens you, but for some reason, you don't budge. Everything you do baffles her and she needs to figure you out.

"If you wanted to kill me you would have done it already" you tilt your head to the side with a small smile. She stops in her tracks as her heart almost skips a beat at the action. Almost. The expression on her face makes you furrow your eyebrows "What?" the question shakes her out of her stupor and she raises her knife once again. She needs to leave right now before she does anything she will regret.

"If you tell anyone that I was here" she steps closer and this time you don't move back "you will die a painful death" you suck in a sharp breath at her words.

"Wait, you are leaving?" there is a slight sadness in your voice that she notices, but chooses to ignore. You don't even know why you want her to stay. She is a stranger that got stabbed and broke into your apartment in the middle of the night. You shouldn't want her to stay.

"I already stayed longer than I should have" she explains as she puts down the knife on the table and walks towards the front door.

It's already open by the time you reach her and you grab her elbow in a hurry. Her hand wraps around your wrist so tightly that it hurts and you hiss as you pull away from her. She mumbles a sorry under her breath as she fully turns back to you.

"I need to-"

"At least tell me your name" you interrupt whatever she wanted to say. Your eyes are wide as you look at her, your voice having a hint of desperation. Her heart beats just a little harder as you stare at her with so much hope in your eyes. A sigh parts her lips as she brings her hand to your cheek. Her palm presses against the soft flesh on your face and you can't help but lean into her touch. You don't know her, but you feel more comfortable around her than you had with anyone in your life.

"Yelena" you didn't even notice that you closed your eyes until it snaps open. Her name. Yelena.

"Yelena" you whisper is like an echo of an empty staircase of her voice and she concludes she likes it. You stare at each other for a few quiet seconds, her hand still on your cheek.

"Don't move away from this place" she lets go of you and leaves you perplexed by her words.

"What?" you ask back. You must have heard her wrong.

She doesn't answer you. Instead, she walks away from you and only throws you a smile over her shoulder. You stand there as she walks down the stairs and disappears from your sight.

Your mind is a mess as you close the door and press your back against it. You don't know anything about her other than her name, but you know one thing. You won't move away from this apartment until a specific blonde woman shows up at your door again. Maybe this time not bleeding.

#yelena belova #yelena belova x female reader #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova drabble #yelena belova one shot #yelena belova fanfiction #yelena belova fic #yelena belova fluff #black widow

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bukojuiice · 3 years

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i like you a latte. ➸ coffee shop au headcanons

ೃ pairings: (izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugo, and shoto todoroki x reader)

ೃ tags: headcanons, coffee shop au!

ೃ warnings: none

ೃ word count 4572 words

ೃ my nav → my mha writing masterlist → my katsuki bakugo x reader smau

ೃ if you want to be a part of my mha taglist. send me an ask! ♡

ೃ please do reblog if you enjoyed!! it really helps writers and content creators on tumblr! (feel free to add tags too because i love reading them and my heart swells with happiness when people love my work!)

ೃ taglist: @chibishae34 @sparkykatsuki @ramunegoddess, @serossimpy

- Katsuki Bakugo

- Being a barista or just someone who works in a coffee shop in general, leads to a lot of unexpected things.

- You meet and interact with a lot of busy people every single day. They come and they go.

- Anything could absolutely happen.

- But did it ever cross your mind that amongst all these busy people who flock in and out of the café, that you’d fall in love with one of them? Nope.

- That was until a particularly handsome spiky-haired blonde came crashing into the door with his chaotic friends at his tail, pushing him to confess his feelings to you.

- How did this come to be? Why you of all people?

- Bakugo and his squad frequently visit a café that you work in as a barista.

- You were one to take note of every regular customer you see.

- You do it for fun most of the time and it’s nice to observe people, especially at a very social job such as this.

- Katsuki and his friends were a bit loud and stood out in particular. They were good-intentioned people and they looked like they were very fun to be with.

- They immediately piqued your interest as soon as you saw them line up at the counter, chattering away, their personalities clashing with each other with the way they talked, yet they looked like they were all still the best of friends.

- Kaminari noticing how cute and pretty you are, and decided to hit on you. Pulling a very lame romantic coffee pun that you’ve heard time and time again.

- His red-headed friend who was a few places away from him, bonked him in the head for being a weirdo again.

- You brush him off jokingly, ignoring his pleas and side remarks until he finally tells you his order and apologizes. (Not only for embarrassing himself, but also to you for having to put up with a lame joke.)

- When it was time for the blonde to order, you notice his expression soften and his voice go low. and as oblivious as you were, you just took it as a casual customer who was just being courteous and respectful to baristas like you.

- But, you were very very wrong. There was meaning in it all along.

- “One Pumpkin Spice Latte please.” He announces his order, looking away from you, whilst you can hear his friends snickering behind you as if they were teasing him about something.

- “Will that be all?” You smile, calculating his order onto the cash register.

- “Yes.” He nods solemnly, then hands his payment to you.

- “Name please?”

- “Katsuki.”

- Ever since that warm spring day in March, the blonde would visit almost every day.

- Sometimes with or without his friends, sometimes just dropping by to get his usual drink or staying until closing hours, sometimes ordering his usual Pumpkin Spice Latter or some other drink that surprises you, and sometimes with a book on his hand or typing away on his laptop.

- And- you never got tired of seeing him.

- For all the people who come in and out of this establishment, he was special.

- He became someone whom you couldn’t get out of your head, someone who you were excited to see after a tiring day, and he became a sort of reminder to you as to why you came to love this job in the first place.

- In fact, you’ve grown to like him by just merely observing him.

- Sure, there were times when you’d go up to his table and interact with him. Engaging in small talk, albeit sometimes he didn’t seem interested, but you knew he was listening.

- You wanted to interact with him more than just idle chit chat. More than just asking if he enjoyed his drink or if he need an extra fork or straw. You wanted it to be more than just that.

- Katsuki feels the same too, but with how unfriendly and aggressive he may look sometimes, he has no idea how to interact with you either. Maybe, he might hurt your feelings or maybe you might misinterpret something he says, prompting you to not approach him anymore.

- Maybe for the first time in his life, he needed to appreciate and be contented with the little things. No matter how insignificant or trifling they may be, he had to be content with what he has with you right now.

- That was until today.

- You take a tray from the counter, and place Katsuki’s drink on it. You walk slowly to his table, showing him your usual smile, sliding his drink off your tray and putting it down on his table. “Enjoy your drink Katsuki-san!” Next, you place tissues and his usual order of honey-glazed donut (in contrast to his every day order of pumpkin spice latte)

- When… your hand brushed with his.

- You hear yourself squeal in place, slowly taking back your hand and apologizing. “Ah, I’m s-sorry! Anywho, enjoy your drink!”

- “Wait.” He grabs your wrist. His touch, soft and gentle, giving you a very different feeling that you would usually feel from a guy like him. “Can I ask for your name?”

- “Oh. It’s (Y/N)! It’s nice to meet you Katsuki-san! Bye!” You cover your face, running back to the counter to attend to another customer’s order, leaving his table before he was even able to say another word.

- It was a week before he came back to the coffee shop after that day.

- You counted the days when he didn’t visit, and because of that, you were in a rather damp and sad mood ever since. Maybe he wanted to tell you something? Maybe he was about to tell you he was never going back to the coffee shop again? Maybe he took the gesture of you running away from him as a sign that you weren’t interested in talking to him that’s why he didn’t bother coming back?

- It was a regular Tuesday. Taco Tuesday actually. You decided to stop counting the days that Katsuki didn’t visit, maybe he really was gone now.

- Your eyes lit up at the sight of Katsuki entering the café with his friends. A pink-haired girl, obviously points at you, nudging her blonde friend in the arm. “Go for it! What’s stopping you from talking to her!?”

- You pay them no mind and divert your attention back to the customer in front of you. Although you were waiting for them to get in line and attend to them.

- You hear their voices from the back of the line growing louder and louder as they got closer to the counter. You couldn’t help but shake your head and chuckle at the sight of seeing them.

- “Hi (Y/N=chan)!” Mina beams. Kirishima and Kaminari had their arm around Bakugo’s shoulder at both sides whilst Sero was behind Bakugo making sure he had no chance of escape. “My friend, Bakubro, here wanted to ask you something!”

- “Sure.” You give them your signature smile. “Is there something up?”

- “Ooooh! He wants to ask you if-“

- “Could you guys shut up for a second!?” He turns to his friends, shooting all of them a glare, and you swear you could see him pop a vein on his head. His friends simmer down and hand you a note with all of their orders instead, as they retreat to a table within earshot of the two of you. They flash Katsuki a thumbs up before trying their best to not eavesdrop.

- He collects himself first, taking a deep breath before finally speaking again.

- “I was wondering… if you’re free sometime?” He scratches the back of his neck, looking away from you as to not show the cute and dorky blush present on his face. “If you’re not interested though then-“

- You giggle, reaching for the cup of his pumpkin spice latte and writing something down on it. You put down the orders of his friends on a tray then hand it over to him. “Let’s talk about it later… If that’s okay with you?”

- He nods, a puzzled look on his face, as he gets out of the line.

- You notice his friends were about to jump for joy as soon as their explosive blonde friend approach their table, Kirishima grabs Katsuki’s pumpkin spice latte before he takes a sip, then notices what you had written on there. “OH MY GOD!?”

- “BAKUBRO! SHE GAVE YOU HER NUMBER!?”

- “WAIT!? WHAT!?” He reaches for his drink, stealing it from his red-headed friend, reading the contents of the cup.

- You notice him blushing as his friends burst into a fit of laughter. “SMOOTH MOOVES, KATSUKI! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING! YOU WERE THAT OBIVIOUUS!” they continue to tease him as he registers your number into his cellphone.

- “START EATING YOU LOSERS! WE HAVE A LECTURE WITH A SHITTY PROFESSOR AT 10 AM.”

- “yeah~ yeah~ yeah~”

- You giggle at the sight of them relentlessly teasing him still.

- At the end of your shift, you finally check your phone to be greeted to a text by Katsuki.

- “Hey (Y/N). Is Friday good with you? I noticed that you don’t work at the café during Fridays, and I wanted to confirm if that’s one of your free days?”

“Of course! And, yes, it is! Can’t wait to see you for the first time out of the café by then! (´｡• ω •｡`)”

- “Yeah… see you.”

- Shoto Todoroki

- Why is the owner of the coffee shop near your university have to be this hot?

- The girls around campus call him the Coffee Prince for a reason.

- Who gave him the right? Who gave him the right to arrive at the very café he owns in a dashing black coat that he matched with a black (sometimes grey) turtleneck, his defined and toned muscles clearly perking from underneath, an expensive watch in his wrist, and some doc. Martens boots to complete the look.

- Who gave him the right to be this handsome?

- Did I mention that he’s also a student at the same university you go to?

- Did I also mention that he sometimes manages the cash register? And how everyone and their mothers flock to the café as soon as they see him at the counter?

- Shoto Todoroki.

- That was his name.

- The youngest son of the Todoroki family who owns pretty much about every corporate building and company in the city.

- Yet, here he was, managing his little own café. Clearly not interested in the business world that his entire family had built.

- It was large yet quaint coffee shop, not only were the drinks crafted with love and care along with the snacks and food you can order, but it was also the wonderful smell of scented pinecones wafting around the café. It was heaven. (Just like all coffee shops are, but this one in particular has a special place in your heart, and it’s not JUST because of the handsome man that owns this café.)

- Shoto was different and a very hands-on kind of guy. If he wasn’t managing the counter, he would be making drinks, messing around in the kitchen, and bringing out yummy cookies and other amazingly baked goods (that he made) as the dish and the dessert of the day.

- He was very kind to his staff. Making sure the energy was always light and happy. Joking around with them, helping them out, and with the occasional outbursts that customers have, he quickly handles the situation with ease.

- He was perfect in more ways than one. And with that, he was very much out of your league.

- Although your friends would encourage you, it wasn’t enough for you to push through with it and talk to him.

- Besides, it’s not like he has time to talk with customers on a daily basis right? He was a busy man and a college student just like you.

- You were just like everyone else. Helplessly in love with a guy like him. The rich and handsome young man who looked like he came straight out of a romantic comedy.

- There is a 0.0001% chance he would even notice you. Why bother trying to compete when there’s so much competition? You weren’t main character material at all. Why would he notice you then?

- In some days, when busines is slow and the café is quiet, you see him working at the farthest table in the corner, near the charging station. He had a stern and serious face, very much focused on his laptop, typing away, while sipping on a cup of coffee from time to time.

- Although this happened very rarely since the café was usually packed 24/7.

- But, when days were extremely slow, these were the perfect times to just admire him from afar.

- His handsome features, half-and-half colored hair, and his beautiful heterochromatic eyes…

- Sometimes, he would run his fingers through his hair, and you feel your heart stop every time he does it, that you can’t even focus on the project you were doing.

- Unbeknownst to you, he too would sneak glances at you from time to time.

- Maybe, Shoto Todoroki wasn’t the type of guy who would fall in love with the main heroine.

- Maybe, he wasn’t that kind of person after all this time of thinking that he is.

- As books and clichés go, maybe you just had to read in between the lines.

- To notice that he too was in love with you all this time.

- “Earth to (y/n)?” Ochaco waves a hand in front of you. No answer. The girl huffs and starts to pack up her things. But, before she leaves, at a last attempt to wake you up from your trip to space, she whispers loud enough for you to hear.

- “Is that Mr. Shoto Todoroki I see shirtless in the corner!?”

- “You won’t be able to trick me with that Ochaco-chan.” You snap back into reality, shaking your head at your best friend’s failed attempt at trying to get your attention.

- She winks and grins at you in disbelief. “Still gotcha there love. I’m about to head off to my next lecture, will you be staying here?”

- “Yup. It’s not too crowded today anyway, and I also need to catch up on my lessons.”

- “Mkay! I’ll tell Tsuyu and the others to head here after class! See you!” Your brown-haired friend waves goodbye, a ringing bell at the door signaling that she left the premises.

- You watch Ochaco’s walking figure as she leaves. But, once you turn to sneak a glance at Shoto, you catch his gaze.

- Oh. my. God.

- He was looking at you too.

- You grin sheepishly, waving gingerly at him. “H-hi Todoroki-san…”

- He returns the greeting by nodding at you, as he gets back to doing his work. (trying to keep his cool as you obviously caught him staring back at you.)

- You frown as soon as he averts his gaze. Much like him, you go back to focus on the pile of learning materials you had to go through.

- Someone suddenly enters the store, disrupting you from your studies yet again with how loud they shut the door behind them. Shoto was also annoyed and alerted by this, keeping an eye on the sleazy guy who had just entered his precious establishment.

- The guy approaches you, shooting you a glare. “This is my seat. Get out.”

- “Excuse me? I was here first. I don’t see your name anywhere you a-“

- “What did you say!?” The sleazebag attempts to grab you by the wrist forcefully, trying to drag you out of the table by first. But, before he could, you notice someone grab his arm first, pushing him away from you.

- “Who the hell are you!?”

- You look up to see Shoto shielding you, his hand gripping onto the guy’s wrist. You feel your heart beat rapidly at the sight of his tall and well-built figure standing in front of you.

- “The owner of this café. There are a lot of unoccupied seats in the area that you can sit in, as you can see. Unless you’re blind that is.”

- “Excuse me!? What kind of asshole are you!? Ain’t the customer always right!? I’m never going back to this shitty establishment!” He flips Shoto off before storming out of the store.

- Shoto sighs and then turns to you. “Are you okay?” His hand tries to reach out for you, but he hesitates, and stops before you notice him doing so. “Did he hurt you anywhere?”

- “Ah no. Not really. Don’t worry.” You wave your hands in assurance, a faint blush appearing on your cheeks. “Thank you, Todoroki-san. You didn’t have to do that.”

- “I had to. You’re an…“ He pauses for a second, as if trying to collect his words and trying his best to not slip up in front of you. “Important customer. I couldn’t stand to see anybody be hurt like that.”

- “Important customer?” You look at him in disbelief. You turn away from him, trying to process what he had just said. “I’m just another regular old customer who frequents your café. How can I be of importance when nothing stands out about me?”

- Shoto raises his finger, telling you to wait a moment, and then leaves your table. He collects his things from the place he usually sits at and heads over to sit on the chair opposite of yours. Sitting down on the seat, he brings out his laptop and places his coffee mug on the table.

- You blink and tilt your head. But on the inside, you wanted to yeet yourself into space because here he was, the guy you’ve been crushing on for almost a year, face to face, your face meters away from his, and the two of you trying to study in peace like some lovey dovey university couple.

- The two of you continue to make idle chit-chat while working on your respective tasks. You told him your name and in turn, he told you to stop being so formal with him, saying that you calling him Shoto was fine. He was fun to be with despite the fact that the two of you were quiet throughout the entire time.

- Time does fly when you’re with your crush, that you didn’t notice it was time for your next lecture. You were about to stand up from your seat when Shoto suddenly speaks.

- “(Y/N).” He says sternly. You look up from your computer, continuing to fold it and stuff it in your bag. “Yes?” You reply.

- “I was wondering if you wanted to be study buddies? I notice you studying alone most of the time whenever the café isn’t busy, and I think it would be less lonely if we shared a table. Only if you want to though…” He says ever so casually, as if nothing fazes him. Even though on the inside, he was about to die of embarrassment thinking about what would happen if you said no.

- “Of course! I’d love to!” You reply coolly, trying to not act like you were about to explode of happiness on the spot. “See you tomorrow, then?” You stand up from your seat, slinging your backpack on your shoulders.

- “Yup. See you.” He waves goodbye, watching you leave his café. As soon as you were out of earshot, he breathes a sigh of relief, mouthing a joyful “yes!” as he goes back to what he was doing, and he’ll be in a good mood for the rest of the day.

- You did the same too. As soon as Shoto wasn’t within reach, you smile widely, squealing, and clutching your journal to your chest. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. I can’t believe that actually happened.”

- This was it. The start of something new.

- Your love story with the Coffee Prince was about to begin.

- Izuku Midoriya

- Izuku Midoriya is the cute and hardworking barista who works at your favorite café that you and your friends visit every day.

- Aoyama and Ochaco call him the “matcha haired cutie” for some reason, even though the color of his hair?? is far?? from the color?? of actual matcha??

- Even from afar, he just looks like the most precious cinnamon roll ever?? And your heart just can’t stop fluttering at the thought of seeing him every time you drop by to get a cup of coffee.

- Pls why must this boy be so cute? his floofy dark green-hair do be making all the ladies swoon

- The coffee shop is flooded with customers every time it’s his shift. Most of them are regulars who find him really sweet + adorable and they spend way too much time at the counter trying to make idle chat with “izuku” (as seen on his name tag) and it’s really annoying.

- Some bold and confident regulars attempt to ask for his number, but izuku politely refuses.

- Which means more chances of winning for you (even though you’re in the same level of interaction with izuku as all these other people)

- When you come up to the counter however, his smile feels different. He shows you a smile that feels so warm and comforting. A smile that reminds you of home. a smile that makes you forget the stress put upon you by college just for a little while.

- You notice that he adds extra whipped cream and some chocolate sprinkles to your frappe from time to time and you have no idea if this is intentional or if he just does it by accident.

- Either way, your friends are convinced that it is intentional and it’s some sort of love language/special treatment that baristas have for customers they have a soft spot for.

- You always greet him warmly. “good morning izuku-kun! How are you today?”

- He immediately beams at you. “Good morning! It’s been a great day so far! may I take your order?” You then proceed to recite your usual drink.

- It’s the littlest things and the smallest gestures that matter after all.

- Sometimes you would space out whilst at the register, not knowing you were next in line (most of the time it’s because you’re trying to think of something witty to say to him)

- He smiles at the sight of seeing you, “hi! will it be the usual?”

- “a-ah yes. I’m sorry for spacing out there.”

- “it’s alright! I feel you! it happens to me all the time too actually!”

- His smile. His cute little freckles, his friendly aura, and just his entire presence in general. There’s just something about him that draws you in.

- He reminds you of a little daisy amongst a field of different flowers. pure, bright and very pleasant. Just swaying with the wind and perfectly content with life.

- If he arrives early from uni, you see him chilling at the mini library of the café and is usually seen engrossed in a classical novel (you’ve noticed he’s been reading a lot of jane austen, franz kafka, f. scott fitzgerald and arthur conan doyle novels recently!)

- For some reason, when he’s out of his whole barista uniform, no one seems to notice him. It’s like he fades into the background.

- He’s able to enjoy the peace and solace that loneliness brings, with a frappe or an expresso usually at the table next to him along with a pile of other books.

- At the insistence of your friends, you decide to approach him and have small talk.

- That was enough to make you happy even just for a moment.

- “hi there izu-kun! It’s nice to see you out of your popular barista persona for the day.”

- “oh? hi (y/n)!”

- “wait… you know my name?” you immediately feel a faint tint of pink appear on your cheeks, trying your best to hide it from him by covering your mouth until it fades.

- “of course! i asked one of your friends who regularly visit the shop. Your blonde friend? The one that has these sparkles around him that follow him everywhere?”

- “aoyama…” you grit your teeth, muttering under your breath.

- “anyway, would you like to have a seat? It’d be nice to have some company.” he pats the cushion next to him, scooting over to the other side of the sofa.

- You slowly sit down, feeling yourself shaking a little bit because you had absolutely no idea he even ACTUALLY knew your name and what you had originally wished for, which was just a normal interaction with him, would ESCALATE to this.

- “What are you reading?” you turn to him, trying to take a peek.

- “Pride and Prejudice!” he grins, scratching his head sheepishly. “I know it’s not the typical book that you’d expect someone like me to read out in public like this, but mr darcy and elizabeth’s romance throughout the book makes me feel giddy. They’re such a good couple and they’re written so well!”

- “they are! The dumb English lit major in me wrote a 40-page doc just talking about their love and other classical couples seen in novels! There’s just something about them that makes the book worth reading time and time again!”

- “Y-yeah…”

- You notice him grow flustered and nervous all of a sudden and you can’t help but shoot him a puzzled look. “is something wrong Izu-kun?”

- “I-I actually want to recommend this to you!” He hands you a small and slightly worn book with no cover or title in it. He then takes a look at his watch, his eyes growing wide. “A-ah! It’s time for my shift!” He stands up from the couch, but before he properly leaves, he turns to you and smiles his precious smile again. “see you later (y/n)!” he waves then quickly takes a beeline to the back of the café.

- You wave back. watching his figure growing smaller and smaller until his disappears when he enters the backdoor.

- You sigh and start to skim thru the pages of the book, when you notice a yellow sticky note inside.

- “Words cannot expresso how much you mean to me. Would you like to go out sometime?”

- And you swear, at that moment, you feel your heart about to combust from happiness. Squealing internally, you hide your flustered expression by digging your face inside the book, not to be seen by anyone else.

- You were going to savor this moment.

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