#i suppose the best way to put this fic is--to use that good old bit of trite wisdom--it's not the destination. it's the journey | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

siriusleee · 8 months

Text

shot through with gold

“I smashed the whole house to bits,” Johnny keeps going, turning to put the milk in the refrigerator. “Had to get Simon over here to help me put it back together. It was his idea by the way. To get the mug fixed. He said you’d be mad if it was gone when you came home.”

tags: coming back home, implied torture, capture, smut, riding, reader is afab, mentions of medical procedures, mentions of blood word count: 7.7k author's note: This was a commission by the best and brightest @gazs-blue-hat. If you'd like to commission a fic, visit my ko-fi for more information. Also, I refuse to disgrace the good country of Scotland by attempting to do the full Scottish accent. Readers call sign is Sparrow, but it's only used once.

The room is heavy with dust; small puffs cloud around Johnny’s boots as he pads across the plush carpet. The summer’s oppressive heat makes the walls sweat - you’d be worrying about the mold forming in the drywall if you could see it. But Johnny doesn’t think of the way his handprints smudge on the paint you spent weeks agonizing over or the way your perfume lingers in the still air even after all this time.

His singular mission - to grab a few shirts he needs and leave - is the only thought he allows himself to think about, hands combing through the dressers and eyes trained downward, away from all the pictures hanging on the wall. He avoids your side of the dresser, avoids the lace that still peaks out from your top drawer.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, Johnny ignores it as he pulls the shirts he came to look for out of the dresser drawer, tucking them beneath his arm. He follows his tracks in the dust back out, eyes cast down at the carpet. The whole trip takes less than 10 minutes; he doesn’t let himself look up until he’s slamming the passenger door of Simon’s truck shut behind him.

“Got everything?” Simon asks, shifting the truck into drive.

Johnny sits ramrod straight in the seat, eyes avoiding Simon’s as he buckles in.

“Yeah, got everything.”

Your fingers trace over the marks you’d carved into the soft stone wall. You’d tried to keep a tally mark of days, but time slipped by in odd increments within your cell. Some days you’d watch the sunrise from the cracks in the ceiling and after just a blink, the inky blackness of night would be seeping in. Sometimes the sun hung in the sky for months before finally falling to the full moon. No matter how hard you tried to decode the pattern, the moment you had it everything would reset.

The guards were in on it; they had to be. They’d bring your meals at odd times - sometimes you’d still be full from the moldy slop they shoved in between the cell bars, spilling it out onto the floor like you’re an animal in a cage, and sometimes you’d be so hungry that you could barely crawl to eat.

It was supposed to be someone else - you were pulled for guard duty after another soldier slogged off and broke his foot doing something stupid while training. You’d finally been pulled to work with Johnny, three days away from being a full transfer to the 141 when your C.O. had appeared at the door of your bunk, new orders in hand.

A simple guard duty: get the guy to where he was supposed to be going, hand him off, and fly home. Your transfer could wait an extra forty-eight hours. But your plane was shot down somewhere over the middle of nowhere - you had told your C.O. that flying that low was a risk, but the desert was empty and the plane was old. They’d been making the flight for weeks, ferrying men back and forth with no hiccups. Your flight should have been no different.

It should have been someone else.

You couldn’t remember what had hit your small passenger plane: but the ground was David, and you were Goliath. You’d hit the ground beside the pilot’s head, his mouth formed in a soundless scream, and after a quick flash of black, had woken up to a bucket of water being poured across your face.

Whatever language your captives screamed at you, you didn’t know it. And if they knew any of the ones you screamed back at them: Spanish, Arabic, German, they didn’t let you in on it. You couldn’t figure out what they wanted until they’d ripped the Union Flag from the breast of your vest, a quick picture on a Polaroid camera snapped above you before you realized what they wanted.

Blood dribbled down your chin when you laughed at them: the government didn’t even pay for soldiers who got captured at war. What would they pay for your half-broken body to get shipped back in a wooden box? A simple mistake that could be written off as a plane malfunction.

The anger had come first, feet and fists slamming into the men when they appeared at the cell doors. Nails ripped from their beds when you tried to claw at the seams in the walls. It had cost you a few teeth and a pound of flesh. And then, when you were tired of the endless beatings and anger that went nowhere, you begged them to kill you, to do something to end the torment. By the marks on the wall, it took months before you first asked to be killed, and only weeks later for that to end, each request met with silence and a sneer. Now you lay in the corner, waiting for the few moments when they’d let you out to see the sun glinting off of the mountain ranges, the clouds threatening to storm in the distance.

Those quick trips seemed to come with less frequency as time slipped by.

You trace the tattoo on your thigh; they’d cut through it once after you kicked one of them in the chest, his ribs caving beneath your feet, but even beneath the dried viscera and matted dirt that covered your skin, you could still see Johnny’s name there.

You wonder if he’s picked a gravestone for you yet.

The two of you had talked about it, once. It was the nature of your jobs - to be prepared for everything that could come your way. Your wills were done: 75% to Johnny, 15% to your sister’s kids, and the rest to a local charity. Johnny wrote in that you were to get 100% of everything he owned, and you had chided him about it.

“What about your mom? Your sisters?” You had asked across the steam from your cup of coffee. Johnny had shrugged, dropping the black pen onto the table with finality.

“Already taken care of, birdie.”

After that had come the talk of headstones and burial plots. Of missing bodies and cremation. You had told Johnny that whatever he thought you’d like, to pick out. You weren’t picky about it.

You wonder if the military let him put his last name on the stone.

A decidedly male voice shouts from around the corner, and you pull back into the stone wall. Seconds later, fetid food falls through the bars. The man shouts at you, pointing at the food on the ground. Lazily, you turn your head towards him, watching the way he sneers at you through the bars.

They must be getting angry then. No ransom came through after all these months.

You bare your teeth at him.

You’d rip his throat out if you had the strength to do so anymore.

Johnny’s fingers don’t shake like they used to when he buckles the strap of his helmet, the night vision goggles weighing him down. He’s tired - exhausted. The entire convey smells of cigarettes and sweat. Heavy men in heavy gear press around him; across from him Gaz’s eyes shine terribly bright in the darkness. They press in on Johnny, forcing him back into his seat heavily.

Price’s voice is loud in his comms, intermingling with the sounds of the Marines and the whir of the mechanics beneath his feet. Johnny can’t make out the details over the sound of the truck rumbling beneath him.

“Steady Soap?”

Gaz knows - Johnny doesn’t know how Gaz can do this kind of job with the way he fucking oozes empathy. Or sympathy. Johnny could never remember which one was which, he always had to ask you which one to use. Gaz had been the only one who’d asked him if he was alright; Simon had lingered at the edges of rooms Johnny was in to keep an eye on him, and Price tried to give him an extended leave. Johnny had refused.

But Gaz had been waiting until Johnny was sitting outside of some bar a group of Seals had taken them to - a celebration for a job well done months after you were gone, after Johnny's failed attempt to find you.

“You good?” Gaz had asked, fingers twirling a cigarette he would never light.

“O’course.”

It had made Johnny feel like shit to lie to Gaz, and the same feeling washes over him as Gaz’s eyes linger on Johnny.

The warm summer air washes over them; sweat is starting to coat his lower back, his fatigues keeping him too warm. The smell of the desert, of warmed sand keeps him grounded, reminds him of where he is - what he’s doing here.

In the glint of the moonlight, the mountaintops shine at him.

The first few missions had been difficult: he’d fought like hell to try to search for you, fuck the regulations. He’d resign if it meant finding you. The rest of the fucking government didn’t care: no one on the plane was as important as anyone else, not to the officials anyway. Johnny had done just that, his resignation had landed heavily on Price’s desk, only to land in the trashcan a moment later.

Gaz volunteered to follow Johnny, but Price had cut that off quickly. It was to be Johnny and Simon only. They had five days, a week at most before they had to be back home.

The farthest they got was the plane wreckage, a little burnt-out village miles away, and sheep that stared at them from the sides of the mountains. But he couldn’t find a trace of you or a singular person who even recognized the photo of you he kept tucked inside his gear. Even after Simon had disobeyed Price’s orders to return home now after weeks had passed. They didn’t find anything.

Johnny knew that’s why Price had volunteered the 141 for this mission - a small-time terrorist cell hiding out in a country they didn’t belong to, a small promise of the bodies of missing soldiers hidden somewhere.

It was something.

The guards are panicking; the dirt walls shake around you. You can’t guess what it could be: American pilots doing a blind bombing, Russians pretending to send help only to rain down hell on the perceived innocent. Maybe God’s here to level the land and flood it. Try again. Do something different this time.

He could start with your cell, you think, scraping at the dirt on your leg. Underneath the sun-starved skin is paler than it should be. If you ever leave, you think, the first thing you’re going to do is eat a fucking steak in the sunshine. The bones that refused to set correctly ache beneath your bruised flesh.

The sound of gunfire pierces the inescapable silence. Your captors yell, screams punctuating between the bursts of firepower. Good, maybe they’ll tear each other apart and leave you here to die in peace.

Maybe it was a poker game gone extremely wrong. Someone asked to strip when they should have been ponying up the cash.

Smoke pops in the hallway outside, you don’t run from the white creeping in on you, just pull the rags that were your shirt over your mouth to try and keep breathing. It overtakes your cell; you watch as the smoke creeps through the cracks in the ceiling.

The sounds of war flood the small cell - the taste of blood and gunpowder in the air around you. You can taste the iron when you breathe in. It coats your tongue. You run your teeth across the chipped and broken enamel, mixing the taste of other’s blood with your own.

Someone shouts so close this time you can almost make out the words - American accent thick and heavy in your ears - and it stirs something inside of you. You try to navigate the cell through the smoke, rolling painfully off of the pallets your captors had so kindly turned into a bed for you. Crawling across the excreta and mud you try to make a sound, but you haven’t spoken in months.

Your throat is raw, and the sounds that come from you are barely human. You’ll be surprised the men even hear you, let alone notice you there on the ground. You try to pull yourself up at the bars, but the fracture in your ankle that healed up wrong weeks ago keeps you on your knees.

“Hey-” you finally croak out loud enough for one of the men to cast his eyes down at you. “Please.”

He’s so familiar, the softness in his eyes tugging at something familiar inside of you, the sharpness of his shoulders calling to you. You pull yourself up, leaning heavily on the bars and the one ankle that doesn’t scream at you, hands slipping through the bars to try to reach towards him.

His gun drops, swinging loosely on its strap as he steps towards you. His fatigues are filthy, and his nose wrinkles beneath the cloth mask covering his face. You know you smell terrible, and you want to apologize for it, but you can’t make the words come. He looks so tired as he steps towards you, hands reaching out to grip the bars between the two of you.

“Sparrow?”

“Johnny?”

It takes days for you to make it home: IVs from field medics who barely know what they’re doing, anti-viral meds, shots, stitches. They don’t even let you take a real shower until you’ve landed at a base you barely recognize. It’s a painful process, a female nurse wiping at you gently, but still peeling away layers of skin with each pass of the washcloth, your sobs muffled by the shower.

Johnny waits for you on the fringes of all the people that press around you, poking you, prodding you painfully until finally, you find yourself slammed into a British hospital bed.

Johnny comes in the moment they let him, hands held behind his back in a mock parade rest. You barely recognize him, his mohawk almost completely grown out and bags under his eyes. You know you don’t look much better; you’d caught sight of yourself in a mirror before they’d forced you into bed. Ruined was the only word to describe what you saw. Too thin, too broken. Too torn apart to be stitched back together. At least not without all the types of therapy a military doctor listed out to you: hydro, occupational, physical, mental.

Neither of you know what to say, so you start with the last thing the doctor told you.

“They’re going to rebreak my ankle tomorrow,” your voice is still thin, full of isolation. You’d tested it out on everyone who’d been in to work on you, but it didn’t sound right at all. Johnny shuffles nervously where he stands, and then rushes forward to sit in the chair beside your bed. He’s moving wrong, you think, like a wind-up doll. Too slow and then all at once, too fast.

“Why?”

“I healed up wrong.”

Johnny’s hands play with the edge of the blanket that dangles off of the bed, eyes trained on the fabric. He’s not going to look at you. At the ruin you’ve become. You press yourself down harder into the thin mattress, hands tucked beneath your thighs to keep them still.

“Is it going to hurt?”

You can’t help but smile at his question, your toes twitching beneath the blanket that feels so out of place across you. How many months had they had you? A year? No one had told you yet.

“They said I’d be fucked up on medicine. But probably, yeah."

Johnny’s hands aren’t still against the blanket, instead reaching out towards you. The movement startles you, and you jerk to the opposite side, nearly pulling your IVs out. Johnny pulls his hands back, crossing them across his chest.

“When you -” his voice breaks, just a moment before he put it back together, eyes finally meeting yours, “when you come home I’ll bring the bedroom downstairs so that you don’t have to walk far.”

You have the nagging suspicion that he changed what he was going to say at the last moment.

"Are you going to sleep on the couch with me?" You try to tease, but your voice falls flat, unpracticed. But it still makes Johnny smile, sharp incisors digging into his chapped lips.

"I'll sleep wherever you tell me."

The two of you are surrounded by the sounds of the hospital: the beeps of the heart rate monitors, the sounds of the nurses' quiet conversation outside of your room. You trace your hands across the blanket, grasping Johnny’s whenever your fingers collide with each other.

For a moment, neither of you move, just languish in the feeling of each other’s skin; you’re too busy tracing Johnny’s palm to notice him pushing himself closer to you until he kisses you, softly but with a tight undercurrent of desperation, his hand tightening almost painfully on yours.

The feeling of someone touching you so gently after weeks of rage and anger nearly stops your heart. The monitor goes crazy; Johnny pulls back, just the hint of a smile on his lips.

It takes four weeks for Johnny to get the go ahead to bring you home. Each day you were in the hospital he would come for a quick chat before work, bringing you breakfast he picked up. Every day after, he would collapse in the chair beside your bed, smelling of sweat and gunpowder.

The smell made you recoil when he tried to kiss you, and he didn't try again after that, even after you tried to stutter out a why. But the day the doctor tells Johnny that you can go home, you awaken to Johnny outside of the hospital room, arms crossed as he speaks to the head doctor - Johnny looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him off the battlefield.

Everyone rotates around you as if you’re not there, packing the room up, pulling your IVs out, fingers prodding and poking you until a nurse aide wheels a wheelchair into the room for you.

”Ready?” She asks, locking the brakes. She looks at you from across the room, and you know what she wants. Starting the day after they rebroke your bones, they made you get up and start walking, and you push yourself off of the bed, walkable cast heavy against the tile floor.

Johnny’s in the room in a second, catching sight of you whenever he sees you stumbling over your cast across the room. The aide lets him push her out of the way, his hands gripping the wheelchair as you lower yourself down.

“I can walk out, you know.” You grumble at Johnny as he tosses a heavy folder into your lap.

“Hospital procedure, birdie.”

Simon’s truck is waiting for the two of you in the parking lot, Simon in the driver's seat. He throws a glance at you as Johnny helps you clamber into the backseat, crowded around by grocery bags.

“Hello, Luv.”

“Hello, Simon. Thank you for the ride.”

Simon opens his mouth to speak, black hospital mask sliding up, but he’s cut off by Johnny clambering into the passenger seat.

You watch Johnny from the backseat, foot propped up beside you. His hair has grown out too long, the Mohawk nearly disappeared and his beard has started to grow in. In all the years you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him anything other than clean-shaven; even in the field, he'll butcher himself with a knife before he lets it grow in.

He’s thinner than he should be, too. You wonder if he’d been eating like he was supposed to.

The drive home is disorientating, Simon taking turns too sharply, too quick for your still queasy stomach. By the time Johnny helps you climb down from the truck, dropping your hands quickly when both of your feet are on the ground.

The house is clean, too clean for Johnny to have been here alone. Like he can sense you'd skepticism, Johnny speaks from ahead of you.

“I’ve hired a cleaner,” Johnny says, holding the door open for you. “So don’t worry about anything.”

It’s odd to be back home; you trace your fingers across the knick-knacks you’d collected throughout the years, the furniture you’ve spent years picking out. You have memories of sitting here with Johnny, memories of Simon and Gaz laughing from the kitchen. But now all you feel is lost, a bottle floating in a foreign ocean.

You wander into the kitchen, fingers trailing against the wall - there are no dirty dishes in the sink, no food in the cabinets; Johnny wasn’t living here.

The only dish you recognize is sitting on the counter, you pick it up, feeling the unfamiliar weight in your hand.

“It’s called Kintsugi.”

The Japanese word rolls heavily off of Johnny’s tongue, your fingers pause tracing the golden lines that cut through the mug. It was your favorite, a gift from when you and Johnny had first met. The two of you met at a diner, out with mutual friends. You’d thought it was cute, the name of the diner printed across the front in vintage lettering. Johnny had swiped it for you, hiding it beneath his jacket until the two of you parted ways at your doorstep.

“What happened to it?”

“I broke it,” he admits, dropping the grocery bags onto the counter. Your fingernail can’t find any snag in the glaze, any sign that the mug has never had the golden lines cutting through it.

Johnny busies himself with unloading the bag, speaking without looking at you as he confesses.

“After you were taken, I spent weeks searching for you until Price forced me to come home. I was angry, and I smashed it.”

You can feel the frown sketched onto your face; you don’t look at Johnny as you set the mug down on the counter.

You lean against the counter and watch Johnny busy himself with the groceries.

“He was right,” you admit, feeling silly over the sadness that fills you over the broken cup, “but maybe that’s something Simon has a lot of experience with broken things ya’know.”

You and Johnny orbit each other for weeks: he’s there every day until you begin to question if he’s gotten himself fired to stay home with you. He drives you everywhere, and if he can’t, Simon waits for you just out past the front gate, no doubt on Johnny’s orders.

“I had a lot of time off,” he says one day, elbow-deep in the laundry that he dumped between the two of you, eyes cast on the television. “Never had a reason to take it before.”

Your hands smooth the wrinkles out of one of Johnny’s shirts, fingers picking at the loose string. Today had been talk therapy, recommended by the SAS doctors. They were strict about all the requirements you had to meet if you ever wanted to go back, and laying on a shrink’s couch for two hours a week was one of them.

The graying doctor had asked you if you had spoken to Johnny about the anger that still wells up in you, the dreams you have of tearing your captives to pieces with your hands, the internal self-flagellation you went through every night when you thought about the career you’d worked so hard for, and have now lost.

You had spent the rest of the day thinking about what he said, even when it meant not paying attention to the medical doctor’s order when they were cutting your cast off, but Johnny took in every word.

You almost say something then, tossing Johnny’s shirt onto his pile, but the wrong words come out.

“You need a haircut.”

“Yeah?” Johnny’s hands still around a pair of your shorts, you feel him watching you in his peripheral vision. “You want to cut it?”

Of course, you did; you spend more moments than not thinking about how his hair must feel like long if it’s still soft. But every time the two of you tried to touch each other, the other pulled away.

So when Johnny takes your hand, and pulls you up the stairs, you let him - hand heavy and warm in your own.

Johnny lowers himself onto the closed toilet seat; you feel unsteady as you approach him, clippers in hand, and you’re not sure if it’s from the closeness or the weight of your cast being removed.

“Are you sure you trust me to do this?” You ask again; since you’d come home your fingers had been a kind of clumsy they’d never been before.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Johnny keeps his eyes trained on you, fingers tapping against the tight denim stretched across his jeans.

“I can scalp you bald,” you admit, switching the clippers on, “and then you’d look like a Q-Ball for eight weeks.”

“I’ll be the best damn Q-Ball anyone’s ever seen,” Johnny says, beard twitching as he smirks at you. If he notices the way your fingers tremble when you take his jaw in your hand, he doesn’t say anything.

His eyes close at the feeling of the clippers cutting through his hair, no doubt the feeling of the weight being removed was comfortable for him.

“You didn’t do this while I was - while I was gone?”

Your therapist says you shouldn’t shy away from calling your kidnapping what it was, but you still can’t form the words in front of Johnny.

He hums at your words, never opening his eyes as he speaks.

“I don’t let anyone else touch my hair, birdie.”

“What about your beard?”

Johnny snorts, eyes meeting yours as you maneuver his head to the side.

“You don’t like it?”

You like the way he feels against your skin, you want to tell him. But you can’t make the words form, can’t spit them out. Johnny watches you chew on them for a moment before he lets out a sigh. His hair is scattered on the floor around the two of you, more than you’d thought he’d had.

You swap the guards to shorten his mohawk, pressing yourself in between Johnny’s knees so that you can reach the nape of his neck.

His hands wrap around your thighs, light and warm against the skin that peeks out beneath the shorts you hadn’t taken off since you’d left your cast removal this morning.

Your skin is on fire at his touch, you try to ignore it as you clean up his neck; Johnny buries his face in your shirt, breath warm against your stomach. His fingers trace light patterns on your thigh and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep the clippers from straying.

His fingers trace the scar that covers his name, and you jump back like you’ve been shocked. Your back hits the wall, knocking the decorative towels you’d spent days choosing to the floor. Johnny’s hands linger in the air between the two of you as you try to catch your breath.

“Sorry,” you pant out with a heavy swallow.

Johnny pushes himself up, eyes watching you like you’re a wild animal ready to run.

He reaches out and brushes some of his fallen hair from your shoulders, electrifying your skin again. His touch is hesitant as he traces up your shoulder, fingers cupping the back of your neck.

He’s fire as he presses himself against you, lips brushing over yours just quick enough to light something up inside of you before pulling away with an apology. He loosens the clippers from your hands and shoos you out with a promise he’ll clean the hair up himself.

A storm rages outside, threatening to cut the power at any moment. You watch it throw around tree limbs and leaves through the front window. Behind you, the television casts soft shadows on the walls.

“Still pouring out there?” Johnny asks from his spot on the couch. Your answer is the curtain falling back into place. You pad back to your spot beside Johnny; he holds the blanket up for you to slip underneath.

His bare leg rubs against yours, but his hands stay firmly in his lap. He hadn’t tried to touch you since that day in the bathroom - even when he dropped you off at therapy, you’d wait for him to stretch across and kiss you, but he’d just send you off with a wave.

You knew it was partially your fault: you couldn’t get the words out to explain how much you wanted him to touch you, how sorry you were for every jerk away. Every time you tried to tell him how much you wanted him, the words curled into your throat and refused to budge. You had even asked earlier for him to take a shower with you, to no avail.

The movie - some family flick Johnny picked because it didn’t have any violence, you know - cast shadows across Johnny’s face. His stubble is starting to come in again; you reach out and trace your finger across the five o’clock shadow creeping onto his jawline.

Johnny doesn’t take his eyes away from the television screen, but he leans his face into your touch. Your fingers trace upwards, lacing through the Mohawk you’d trimmed just two weeks ago. Johnny nearly purrs when you tug on his hair, pulling him down so that he’s lying across your lap.

You have to take it slow, you know or you and Johnny both might break apart. So you just settle beneath him, fingers tracing patterns onto his scalp, eyes trained on the television, but not really watching.

“I don’t think I’m going to go back,” you whisper, voice nearly drowned out by the storm outside. Johnny rolls, doing his best not to dig painfully into your thigh to look up at you.

“To work?”

You nod, still refusing to look at him.

“I talked about it with the therapist today; I just - I think it would be best if I just cashed in my retirement. I’ve got a lot saved up: hazard pay and all that. The corporal offered me a job as a trainer. So I could still be around."

Johnny’s hand reaches up to grab your wrist, forcing you to look at him. You can’t read the expression on his face, and you don’t like that. He’s always your open book. You try to keep your heart rate steady at the feeling of him tracing patterns on your wrist.

“I’m sorry, birdie.”

And you know he’s not just apologizing for your ruined career, for the nearly year you’d spent locked away in some disgusting cell, for the still broken teeth in your mouth, or the screws that hold most of you together now. He’s still apologizing for not being able to find you earlier, to be there months earlier.

“It’s not your fault Johnny - I should have told them no. I should have been smart enough to just tell my commanding that I couldn’t do it. I should have-“

Hot tears start to fall; Johnny pushes himself up, fingers brushing them away gently. When you don’t shy away from his touch, he pulls you into his lap, tucking your head beneath his chin, and pulling you so tight you think you might break beneath his touch. And you would let yourself shatter beneath him, if it meant he could put you back together, shot through with gold.

Johnny lets you cry on his shoulder until the fabric of his shirt is soaking wet; after a while, the smell of him, the softness of the way he caresses your back,and the feeling of his jean-clad thigh between your own stirs something else inside of you. You need something else, something more desperate, something to push away the feelings of failure. Of the fear that still lingers in you of heights, and darkness, and men who smell of sweat and gunpowder.

So when you kiss him, softly, Johnny doesn’t push you away like he can feel how much you need him to touch you. Even as he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, you don’t break the kiss. It stays superficial, and soft, neither of you breaking apart or deepening it. You expect him to carry you to the spare bed he brought downstairs for you, but instead, he cradles you up the stairs, hands gripping your thighs so tight you know there will be a thumb-shaped bruise there tomorrow.

Johnny doesn’t stumble as he carries you.

In the bedroom the two of you shared before you were lost, Johnny collapses on the bed, his smell enveloping you, hands never leaving you. He buries his nose in the soft skin of your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“Are you here with me birdie?”

Johnny’s voice is muffled on your skin, his hands pausing at the hem of your shirt.

“I’m here Johnny.”

You rest your hands on his biceps and feel the way his heart is in your own chest. His weight presses down around you, the mattress sinking down beneath the two of you. The wind rolls in through the window, gooseflesh erupting on your skin where Johnny isn’t touching.

Johnny’s hands don’t move from the hem of your shirt until you slide your own down to his wrists, a bravery you hadn’t felt in weeks taking over you.

“Please, Johnny.”

Johnny shifts, knees spreading your own apart, but he still doesn’t touch your bare skin until you tug on his wrists, trying to slide them underneath your shirt, instead, he traces your arms - the area you know he thinks is safe.

The feeling of his calloused hands on your soft skin makes you shiver; Johnny presses a kiss to your pulse point. You know he can feel the way your heartbeat picks up quickly, and he bites down on the sensitive skin lightly. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you, the way you buck your hips upward into his.

“Birdie.” It’s a warning and a promise rolled into one, and it makes you press your knees together, trying to slow yourself down.

You let your own hands start exploring Johnny. Once, you’d had his skin memorized - every scar and freckle committed to your own memory. But there are new scars there you’ve never seen before, new wrinkles at the corner of his eyes he didn’t have before.

It’s like the first time again, both of you exploring each other slowly. Johnny pauses every time you make a noise, eyes searching your face to make sure you’re alright. You push him away just long enough to pull his shirt off of him, hands instantly reaching out to pull him back down. His own hands slide your shorts down until you can kick them across the room.

Johnny kisses you, full of the same desperation he’d had that day at the hospital. Your teeth click together as the two of you suddenly move frantically, hands grasping at each other. Johnny shakes as you run your nails down his back, pushing until he realizes what you want.

Johnny rolls, hands still wrapped around your waist until you’re on top of him. The thin material of your panties is already wet; you can feel it when you grind down on him. The rough material of his blue jeans has enough friction to send lighting bolts through you.

“Is that what you want birdie?” Johnny’s voice is low and rough in his throat; his hands rest lightly on your hips as you grind down. Your hands reach back to rest on his thighs, more leverage for you to move.

You can’t answer him, already biting down on the moans that start to build in the back of your throat. Johnny’s grip tights as you speed up; you can feel his erection pressing tightly against his zipper as you grind faster.

You feel yourself start to tremble, hands moving to brace yourself against Johnny’s chest. He wraps one hand around your wrist, the other still at your waist; you can’t look away from the hungry glint in his eye.

Outside the storm lashes, the cool air rolling in across you and Johnny.

“Let it out,” he whispers, voice ragged and panting. He’s bucking his own hips in time with your grinding; he’s holding back - you know he doesn’t want to scare you, so you loosen the knot inside of you, moaning loud enough that a blush starts to creep up your chest. At the sound, Johnny bucks up harder.

You can’t help the way you come undone, nails digging into Johnny’s chest, leaving half moons on the sensitive skin. Johnny lets you ride him until the waves of your orgasm finish rolling over you, his hands not leaving you until you finally still, thighs shaking on each side of him. You can feel your drenched underwear, feel yourself soaking into his blue jeans.

Johnny is so hard beneath you, a red flush across his chest. Outside the storm rages harder, and the lights flicker momentarily. Johnny pushes himself up onto one elbow, the hand that has refused to move up your shirt sliding up just an inch. His fingers play with the edge of your underwear, the lace snagging on his callouses.

“Why don’t you want to touch me?” You can barely hear yourself over the rain lashing against the window; Johnny’s eyebrows knit together, and he pushes himself up until he’s sitting up, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep from falling backward.

“I want to touch you,” he tries to reassure you, hands tracing patterns across the back of your shirt. But you shrug his hands off, catching his wrists in your hands before he can fully withdraw away.

“You won’t touch me beneath my shirt,” you slide his hands down to the bare skin of your thighs, moving them until the hem of your shirt falls over his fingertips. “You wouldn’t take a shower with me.”

Johnny chews on his lips, they’re too chapped, you think. The silence stretches in the sound of the storm, and the flickering lights. Before Johnny can speak lightning and thunder crash outside, and the house goes dark - the sound of the electricity powering down cutting him off. Neither of you moves in the sudden blackness.

“I’m not broken, Johnny.” You don’t want to sound so pathetic, but you do.

“I know you’re not, hen.”

“Then why am I having to beg, Johnny?”

Johnny’s hand slips up so that he’s holding your hips beneath your shirt.

“I’m not going to hurt you too.”

It’s a tough confession for him to make, you know. He’d done his best not to talk about the whole ordeal, he never asked what you went through. This was his way of keeping you away from it.

You roll your hips across his again, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Please Johnny; you’re not going to hurt me.”

You don’t know if it’s the whine in your voice or the way you trace your fingers across the hard plane of his chest, or if Johnny is just as tired of holding back as you - but he rolls you over, gentle and quick until his chest his pressed against yours, his mouth finding the sensitive skin at the base of your neck.

You’re horribly out of practice, fumbling with the buttons on his jeans, getting stuck when Johnny pulls your shirt over your head, but he doesn’t let his lips leave you; your teeth clip together as Johnny deepens the kiss he refuses to let end until your gasping for breath beneath him.

It’s electric in the best and worst ways - Johnny’s calloused fingers tracing patterns on your stomach, kneading the soft flesh of your breasts, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear, pushing them further down each time.

The current running through you makes it difficult to breathe; you can’t even warn Johnny, can’t beg him to slow down what you were just begging him to speed up. But there has never been anyone who’s known you the same way Johnny has, and when his hands slow you know he can feel that it’s too much. Just for a moment.

“Still with me?”

“Still here.”

Johnny’s hands don’t speed up, but he doesn’t slow either - pressing open-mouth kisses down your neck, between your breasts, across the planes of your stomach until he finally stops at the edge of your underwear. He darts his tongue out to lick the sensitive skin peeking out above the hem, and the feeling makes you gasp out, hips pressing harder into the mattress. His fingertips brush just over the wetness you’ve soaked through and you grind your teeth together, painfully.

“Too much?”

Yes.

Too much for you at this moment; you’re not sure if your body will hold together if Johnny even tries to eat you out, tries to stretch you with his fingers, you can hardly keep together at the feeling of him touching you anywhere after so many months of nothing but dirt, and maggots, and feverish longing for-

You didn’t notice Johnny crawling back up your body until he presses a soft kiss on your temple, fingers wiping away your hair that’s plastered with sweat there.

Johnny’s whispering in your ear: how much he missed you, how he had thought about you every day, how he’d tried to scorch the earth to look for you; he pulls you until you’re back on top of him. You can feel how hard he is, how wet you are as you grind down against the hard planes of his lower stomach, searching for him.

Johnny’s hands squeeze at your hips, shifting the both of you until you feel the tip of him catch against you; a shudder rolls through you both, but Johnny doesn’t move. Every muscle in his body is pulled taunt, pulled against fucking into you at a frenetic pace. You recognize the set of his jaw, the way his hands wrap around your forearms. He’s letting you set the pace, letting you control him.

You wait for just a heartbeat before pressing down onto him; your vision whites out from the almost uncomfortable stretch of him as you sink down slowly. You can’t remember the last time the two of you were here, the last time the two of you fucked. Johnny’s nails dig into the underside of your forearm, yours into his chest until you finally reach the hilt.

You hold there for a moment, feeling the way he fills you up - so much so that you don’t think there’s room for anything else besides Johnny - there never has been. You can’t even think between the feeling of Johnny filling you up and the feeling of not trying to cum so fast. Finally, when your heartbeat slows incrementally, you rock yourself against him, slowly, using his chest as leverage.

Beneath you Johnny is coming undone; he’s biting his lip so hard you think he might draw blood, so you trace your fingertips across his bottom lip. His lips part beneath your touch, and he takes your pointer finger into his mouth, tongue swirling around it.

The feeling makes your hips move faster, stuttering against him. Johnny moans, muffled around your finger. The sound is horribly erotic in the darkness, and it spurs something inside of you to move your hips faster, rougher against Johnny. But he doesn’t move beneath you, still holding himself back. The sound of skin on skin, of how wet you are for him drown out the storm.

Johnny’s hands are everywhere: in your hair, cupping the supple flesh of your ass, pinching and rolling your nipples between his thick fingers; one hand sneaks across the flesh of your hip, dipping between the two of you to circle your clit. The feeling makes you crumple against him; Johnny takes the opportunity to roll you over, pressing you into the mattress.

Johnny presses one of your knees up, hooking it over his elbow so that he can fuck into you, still gentle even when he’s deeper than you think he’s ever been before, his other hand still circling your clit, slowly enough to keep you from falling apart, but fast enough to bring you to the edge.

His pace grows rougher; you claw at him, drawing red welts across his skin, but Johnny doesn’t slow down. You keep your eyes closed tightly, back arched to try and get him in deeper, to get more.

“Look at me.”

Johnny’s voice is rough, a gentle command you have to follow. His eyes never leave yours, even when his pace increases, the finger on your clit still rubbing tight circles until-

Until you’re breaking apart, shattering beneath him. Your orgasm makes you arch, back nearly leaving the mattress. Johnny’s hands move to cup your face, pulling himself down until he can kiss you as you ride through your orgasm, gasping in his own mouth. Your nails draw thick red welts across his back, but Johnny doesn’t stop pounding into you, your moans drowned out by the way he kisses you.

Not long after, Johnny’s pace starts to stutter, his lips never leaving yours until he plunges in deeper than he had before, and you can feel his warm release spill out inside of you.

Even when he’s completely spent, Johnny doesn’t pull out of you, instead fucking into you once, twice, three more times until you know you can’t take anymore, hands pressing on his chest to push him away.

Johnny’s fingers smooth your twitching thighs as he pulls away. In the darkness, you can just see his outline as he shifts between your legs, but he doesn’t move from there.

He caresses you until you are finally still and your panting finally slows. His fingers trace across the cracks you can still feel, stitching you back together, shot through with gold.

“Still here?”

“Still here.”

#my fics #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish #cod soap x reader #cod imagines #cod smut #soap mw2 #soap mactavish #cod x reader #johnny mactavish

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kissesforsatoru · 11 months

Text

GUARDIAN ANGEL | wc: 5k~

GUARDIAN ANGEL!HOBIE BROWN X GN!READER

₊˚⌗ hobie was never supposed to get involved with you, yet you and him became irrevocably tied to one another.

⤷ cw : general yandere themes, soft yandere!hobie, near death experiences, marking (not in the way you guys probably think), jealousy, possessive behavior if you squint, implied power dynamics, pet names (love, sweetheart), horribly written british accent, utterly smitten hobie, softie!reader, reader is smaller than hobie, but angels are big compared to humans so that's why (he’s like 6’5+ and he wears platforms), EVERYTHING ABOUT ANGELS IN THIS FIC IS ENTIRELY MADE UP.

notes : please bear in mind that i don't have a full grasp on hobie yet, so he is probably definitely a bit ooc; i did try my best though!! i’m also planning to put this on ao3 at some point, so if you see it pop up there it’s not plagiarized, it’s just me ૮ ˶´ ᵕˋ ˶ა

♫₊˚.🎧 now playing . . . fool for you by noita

it was never supposed to turn out like this. you and him were never supposed to happen.

you were only supposed to be 'just another human' to hobie like the rest of everyone else. he wasn't supposed to get involved or contact you directly; he wasn't supposed to get attached. you weren't supposed to get attached to him either. but you did, and he did too. so much that he’s entirely fucked. there’s no coming back from this for you or him.

it's not like this is any of hobie’s fault though, not when he’s known to not follow the rules and definitely not when you're the most precious human he has ever had the pleasure of being the guardian angel of.

he will admit that at first it was boring to watch you, but then it was fun.

you aren’t anything incredibly special. just a broke college student with very few friends who likes to stay home more than you like to go out. but following you around and laughing his ass off about all of the stupid little things you did when you thought nobody was watching, like talk to yourself or narrate your actions, hobie really enjoyed that. he got a nice kick out of whenever someone would catch you doing one of those things and you’d get all flustered, shy, and painfully awkward.

you're undeniably adorable, and so refreshing. it's nice being your guardian angel in comparison to being one for some grubby old bastard whose morality borders far past what's considered to be good. hobie hates those people, pigs they are, all of them. you aren’t anything like them. you're boring, yeah, but hobie still likes you better than any other human.

he sometimes pretended that you were talking to him whenever you spoke to yourself out loud, even though that couldn't have been possible. he would smirk and respond to you still with his dry humor and witty remarks because it was fun and it gave him a delightful little buzz.

he didn't know how, or when, it happened, but hobie then found himself melting whenever he was around you, and more, he didn't mind it.

hobie used to hate angels that fell for humans because they’re such fragile beings; you have to be careful with them, all gentle and soft—it's why they need guardian angel, otherwise, they would die out faster than any other species earth has ever known. and angels, despite what people may think, aren't gentle lovers. they're aggressive and intense by nature due to their power and status as "higher beings." humans are too weak to handle an angel's love; it would be too overwhelming for them to handle, so falling for one is pointless, and hobie always thought that the angels who did were stupid. but he gets it now.

he shouldn’t though.

guardian angels have very specific and strict rules that have to be followed meticulously for both the safety of humans and angels. of course, hobie has broken more than a few of these rules before and he’s also gotten plenty of lectures from miguel about it too—enough for hobie to have actually considered flying under the lunatics' radar by doing his job correctly, but hobie... he doesn't like to be pushed around and forced into a role. especially one as heavy as guardian angel. that's just not him, so he does what he wants.

but still, hobie has never seriously messed up before. he's only had a few slip ups here and there that aren't too reprimandable in comparison to other things. he's tried to be somewhat serious about his job, follow all the important rules and all that. that is until he fell for you.

hobie has broken many of the important rules for you, and the first one was even falling for you in the first place. you made him break that one so easily, almost too easy. the next rule hobie broke for you was communicating with you directly, revealing himself and really getting involved with you. but to be fair, that also wasn't his fault. he didn't have the intention of letting you see him that night, let alone talking to you; it just happened.

your friend gwen told you about guardian angels and how it was possible for you to manifest using the help of yours, and you were awfully excited about finding out if that was true or not. you asked him for a sign that he was there, that he was willing to help you. one thing led to another and suddenly you were nestled deeply into the corner of the wall on your bed, wide eyed and shivering as you stared at him standing across the room.

perhaps it was your over eagerness mixed with his half-developed love for you at the time that made him stupidly decide to give you a sign that he was real in the form of literally showing you that he was real, he doesn't know. either way he did show you himself, and it had shocked you, really (an understatement). it took many hours of him consoling you to get you to understand that he's not some psycho who broke into your home somehow, but your actual, real guardian angel, in the flesh.

you were practically all over him after that, asking him all sorts of questions and touching him just to see if that was even possible for you to do—and to know what it would feel like too. not that he minded anyway. hobie decided then that it was much better having you actually talk to him than it was pretending that you were. and your touch was so soft that hobie had actually faltered a little bit when you reached for his cheek, pressing your palm against his skin and keeping it there for as long as he would let you.

of all the places you could have touched him, of course you would choose an area that felt so unreasonably intimate, shaking him to his core. luckily you were far too enamored with the idea that he was a real angel for you to notice how much you’d set him off, how much you affect him.

after that he couldn't stay away from you. before he might have had a chance to snap himself out of his little love-sick puppy stupor, but having you aware of him, talking to him, touching him—it was all exhilarating; he loved it. and it would truly be unfair for anyone to expect him to pull away from you and never let anything like that happen again. that was never an option for hobie, so he just didn't. he won’t ever deny himself the pleasure of you.

the last, most recent rule that hobie broke for you, and the one that happens to be the most important of all, was interfering with your life. going against "fate," as miguel calls it. hobie always thought that it was bullshit since a guardian angels' job is to protect, but apparently, they aren’t allowed to prevent their assigned human's death, or cure their illnesses, or anything like that, even though they had the power to. he didn't understand it, but still, he never got attached enough to feel the need to go against that rule until he fell in love with you.

— ୨୧ —

he indulged himself little by little with you. first by allowing himself to enjoy being your guardian angel, then by falling in love with you and involving himself physically with you. and then he started allowing himself to steal your attention from anyone or anything other than him on days he felt oddly needy.

that term isn't something anyone who knew hobie would use to describe him, not even he would use it to describe himself, but with you he's always acted a little bit different. he came to accept it, told himself that it was the "y/n effect" and left it at that. being needy with you was something that hobie didn't really mind all that much; he embraced it, really.

hobie can at least get away with a little bit of harmless interference this way, by stealing your attention for himself. he didn't mind receiving another long, boring lecture about how he can’t keep breaking rules if it meant he got to spend his day with you holed up in your little apartment, just the two of you. you and him and nobody else.

he'd show up out of nowhere when you least expected him to, always, and tug on your arm, pull you into his body and coax you into staying with him. he'd tell you that going to work would be bad for you, leave you sick and groggy—you hate being sick and all groggy, and only a fool would think hobie wouldn’t use that to his advantage.

"you have to listen to your guardian angel, love," he would tell you, tilting his head to look down at your small frame, admiring the slight angry pout on your lips. "i know what's best for you, so stay, yeah?"

you always do listen to him. you trust him completely, after all, because you're such a naive human that could never ever think that hobie, your guardian angel, has bad intentions with you. and he doesn't, no, he's just a little bit selfish. no harm in that, right? 'course not.

hobie can go a little overboard with his selfishness whenever you have a date to go on though. he shouldn't be because you're a human and he's an angel and he could never have you for real, right? so he should let you have your little love story with your puny little human boy.

but hobie is going to be selfish regardless of the facts. regardless of some stupid rules.

he hates the idea of you being with some dumb human when you have him. he's perfect, he's an angel. he's strong enough to protect you, he has your best interest always in mind—it's his literal job—he can love you the way you deserve to be loved and more, he can care for you better than anyone else in the world because he knows you best and knows exactly what you need without ever having to tell him. no human can ever compare to him.

no human will ever be as cool as him either. hobie doesn't think any guy can top him when he's a punk angel—what could possibly be cooler than that? you said it yourself when the two of you first met.

"wow, i didn't think angels could look so... cool. hobie, you're amazing; what the hell!? how did someone like me get you as a guardian angel?”

who are you to be going on dates when you compliment him so sweetly like that. you obviously have an interest in him and all hobie needs to do is push you in the right direction, so he doesn't mind telling you any excuse he can come up with to get you to drop a guy, stupid and unreasonable or not.

"that guy just wants you for your body."

"that guy has a love already that he's not telling you about."

“that guy isn’t a good person, he’ll be a bad influence for you.”

"sweetheart, he's too ugly for you." he told you one time as an excuse, and you did not like that one.

"hobie! it's not about looks, it's about personality, and– and the heart!" you yelled at him, smacking his chest lightly as you pulled away from him and rushed your way down the hall towards your room.

"oh, s'at right? you like guys with ‘heart’?" he huffed a laugh as he followed behind you, leaning against your door frame when he got to your room. you turn around to glare at him, but he only smirks at your ruffled posture.

cute. cute.

"yes, actually! unlike you. i had no idea angels could be such assholes," you grit before turning back around to flop yourself face first into bed.

you always do that when you're upset with him, which isn't often at all, but it happens enough for hobie to pick up on the little habits you develop, and this is certainly one of them. you don't like looking at him 'cause he ‘does stuff to you,’ apparently. makes you unable to stay mad if you look at him too long, so you just choose not to.

he pushes off the wall and saunters towards you, pressing a knee into your bed as he reaches over to tug at your arm, urging for you to roll over, to look at him. "c'mon, you don't mean that, love." he smiles when you do eventually turn to look at him, and this time with a much less angry expression on your pretty face.

"no, i don't," you sigh defeatedly, "but you are pretty mean sometimes, hobes."

that nickname. he loves that nickname. he loves even more that you were the one who gave it to him.

he hums thoughtfully before responding, "not to you though, and tha's what matters, don't you think?" you roll your eyes at him, shifting so that you're flat on your back now as you look up at him. you don't say anything more, only stare up at him with your pretty eyes, all glossy and shining under the dim light in your room. big, and so fucking innocent.

god. fuck.

hobie crawls over you slowly, keeping his eyes steadily on you as he does. he brings a hand to your cheek, stroking his thumb over your soft skin gently as he settles himself above you, and then he reaches his thumb to press into your chin so that he can get a good grip on your face. to keep you from gettin' all shy on him, ‘cause he knows you will when you realize what he’s about to do to you.

his eyes flit down to your lips when your tongue darts out to lick across your bottom one, all sensual like—or maybe hobie is getting too worked up. yeah, probably that, but whatever.

you sigh shakily when hobie starts to lean down closer. you're so pliant, laying there nice and still for him even though you're feeling nervous right now. because you trust him; there isn't anything hobie could do that would make you not trust him.

hobie has to keep himself from absolutely devouring you when his lips press to yours. he has to remind himself to be soft, to not be too aggressive so he doesn't scare you too much, or hurt you either; the weak little whine you let out as he kisses you does nothing to help his self-control stay intact though. thankfully, you grab tightly at his leather vest and tug for him to come closer, inviting him to press further into you and kiss you deeper.

hobie balances himself up on his knees as the hand that was holding him up comes to knead at your waist and tummy, feeling and rubbing there as gently as he can right now in his worked-up state—which is just barely enough for him not to leave imposing bruises on your skin from how much stronger he is compared to you. you don't seem to mind how tightly he holds onto you though, because you're still eagerly kissing him back, making all sorts of pleased little noises that hobie is all too happy to swallow up.

hobie only pulls away when you start squirming under him, signaling that you need to breathe. he wraps his arms around you and pulls you tight against his body as he nuzzles into your neck, inhaling your delicious scent and placing little kisses on your neck as you pant softly.

"you don't need another man, you know that love?" he ask you, tells you, after a while of the two of you just laying together.

"yeah, i guess i don't," you reply to him, airy and quiet, right before you fall asleep tucked nicely into his arms. exactly where you belong.

— ୨୧ —

jessica stops hobie one night right as he's about to leave and go see you.

"if miguel finds out about this, you know he's going to be pissed, right?” she says, coming up behind him. “maybe you can get off on a wrist slap for breaking small, stupid rules, but falling in love with a human is something miguel absolutely will not allow, hobie."

hobie scoffs and rolls his eyes but doesn’t reply, nor does he turn around to look at her. his emotions and feelings would be right on display for her if he did. she’d know well how much he fucked up, and that would be a hit to his pride. ‘specially since he always told her about his dislike for angels who fell for humans.

"what’s ’at got anything to do with me, mm?" he decides to respond out of courtesy, turning his head to look at her through his peripheral, "i'm not in love with any human."

hobie knows that jessica knows that's a lie. it's obvious he's in love with you because of how different he's acting. doing his job right and all that, to some degree at least. breaking the 'don't get in physical contact your human' and 'don't fall in love with your human' rules aside, he's properly keeping up with his status reports about you, he's not off doing other things when he's supposed to be with you. he's being the good proper guardian angel he should be, and that is definitely out of character for hobie. it was really only a matter of time before someone found out. hobie is just lucky it was jessica who put two and two together first instead of miguel. then he’d have a real big problem on his hands.

jessica sighs. "all the stuff miguel says about angels getting attached and falling for humans being dangerous is true, hobie, not just some control tactic to keep angels on a leash. it could cost your human their life, and you your job," she warns before leaving.

hobie always liked how not-pushy she is; it’s why he prefers her over miguel. but he thinks she's wrong, because he would never let you die. ever. he couldn’t care less about losing this shitty job though.

— ୨୧ —

the conversation with jess, as much as hobie hates to admit it, put a real damper on his mood.

he's agitated when he gets to your apartment, showing up right in your room where he knows that you are because he can feel you there. and once he is there, he eases up a little bit. all of his racing thoughts seem to disappear when you come into his vision so he can see you now, not just feel you. seeing and feeling you is nice; it grounds him.

you jolt when you see him suddenly appear behind you in the reflection of the mirror that you're sitting in front of though. a gentle gasp falls from between your pretty lips as you whirl around quickly to look at him, eyes widening like a doe caught in headlights. you ease up quickly, realizing that it's just him; you sigh the words under your breath as you deflate a little bit, coming down from the brief bit of adrenaline you must have felt with him scaring you like that.

goodness, aren't you just so delicate? it's a damn shame hobie's not supposed to go falling for a human, isn't it? a load of tosh that is.

he smirks, "sorry, love. didn't mean to scare you li' that,” he says easy, stepping forward until he's a few feet in front of you, looking down at you, looking up at him. your eyes are glimmering under the artificial light of the lamp settled next to the mirror. he thinks that even in such dodgy lighting, your eyes and soft expression are still utterly enrapturing. the soft, charming glow that the light provides to your features draws a pleased hum from hobie.

so pretty. you're so damn pretty.

"geez, hobes," you say, huffing as you look away from him and down at your lap, "you can't just keep randomly showing up like that; you may well give me a heart attack one of these days if you do." your laugh is music to his ears. airy, pitched, and sweet like the ripest peach. sweeter than the ripest peach.

an angel's voice is supposed to be the most beautiful sound, people say, but hobie disagrees. he would much rather listen to you talk or laugh all day long rather than ever have to hear another word uttered from his shitty coworkers' mouths.

"i would never let that happen to you," he says, tone shifting from playful to serious. hobie feels better that he’s with you now, but the bit jess said about you dying clings to him still. weasels it’s way into his thoughts and makes his stomach lurch. he’s buzzing, and not in the nice delightful kind of buzzing that you bring out of him, no. he just needs you right now.

he needs to feel you—really feel you, beyond the way he feels your life force tied to him, fluctuating with your emotions and physical state. he needs to actually touch you, hold you.

hobie gets down onto his knees in front of you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you up into his chest as he does. you whimper in surprise at the sudden proximity between you and him, your hands instinctively grabbing at his shoulder and jacket to steady yourself, even with how tightly he's holding you against him because his presence just overwhelms you too much. he always makes you feel dizzy and weak in the knees. you can never seem to function, not without his help. but that's normal between humans and angels. you aren't made to handle him, you aren't supposed to, but that's okay; he can be as gentle as you need him to be.

"look at me, love," hobie whispers, hooking a finger under your chin, nudging you to look at him. you squeak when your eyes meet his, no doubt incredibly flustered—he can feel that you are. can feel your pulse throbbing as heat rushes through your skin, radiating a dull warmth for him to sink into as his fingers dig deeper into your skin. he smirks, huffing out a faint laugh as he looks down at you, admiring you.

"there you go, sweetheart," he praises you softly, brushing the pad of his thumb across the slight curve of your bottom lip. your eyes flutter closed briefly as you take a shaky breath, and then you open them again, watching him intently, and god does it make hobie feel all sorts of things.

"'m never gonna let anyone or anything hurt you," he murmurs, tightening his grip around your waist and holding you firmly against his chest with each word uttered, “you’re too precious for me to be careless with you like i am the rest of the shitty people in this shitty world. only you matter to me, yeah? just you and nobody fucking else.” he finishes quietly, dipping down to kiss lightly on your cheeks, one on each side, and then another on your forehead, drawn-out and lingering even after he pulls away.

you're practically melting in his hold by the time he does pull away, so pliable and warm, and you're looking at him with hooded eyes that you can barely keep open. delirious as you are, utterly suffocated by him, your grip on his shoulder and jacket is still relentless, unwavering, as if he would slip away from you if you loosened up the tiniest bit. you want him, need him, near to you as much as he wants you near, really. it's not just him with all of these intense, overwhelming and all-consuming emotions; it's you too.

“hobie,” you whine, nearly breathless, “can you– can we please kiss again? on the… the lips?” you plead, tugging at his jacket in desperation.

“anything for you, sweetheart,” hobie whispers, leaning forward until his mouth is hovering over yours, breathing you in slowly before he finally closes them together. he kisses you slow and tender, taking his time in savoring how delicious you taste. you sigh contentedly, tilting your head to the side and parting your lips for his tongue to delve inside of your mouth.

the hand he has wrapped around your waist slides across your body, feeling every dip and curve down to your thigh, where he grabs at gently, swinging it up to his hip as he pushes off the floor. your legs wrap around him instinctively to hold yourself up in his arms as he carries you across the room to your bed, his lips never once parting away from yours as he does. his other hand is holding your chin and jaw in place so that you can't pull away from him either, wanting as much contact with you at a time as he can get away with. he knows you wouldn't pull away from him so easily, but he likes controlling the kiss, likes it when you let him lead the way and guide your body with his.

hobie carefully sits down on the bed and leans back against the wall, settling you into his lap comfortably before his hand starts roaming all over your body; along your hips and over your thighs, squeezing the fat in his hands before moving back up and dipping under your shirt to feel at your tummy. you moan and whimper into the kiss, shivering under his touch when his hand grazes along especially sensitive areas of your body.

when hobie pulls away you're panting and dazed, humming mindlessly in pleasure as hobie starts pressing kisses down your jaw and neck. his teeth graze lightly along the sensitive flesh beneath your ear teasingly before his tongue dips out to lick delicately at the spot, making your body thrum and pulsate in delectation. he nips once at your skin before finally pulling away to look at you, to savor how much of a mess he was able to make you into with a heated kiss. and god do you look absolutely stunning like this. swollen lips parted as you breath out small puffs of air, hooded eyelids, and your clothes are entirely disheveled from where hobie had pushed them up and slid his hands under.

fuck, you’re lovely.

"you look a mess, sweetheart," he rasps fondly, running his fingertips lightly along your hips and thighs.

"'ts your fault," you mumble, falling into his chest and nuzzling your nose into his neck, exhaling softly as you close your eyes and relax. hobie wraps both of his arms around you and rubs your back gently, soothing you until you hum contentedly.

"yeah, i suppose it is, isn't it?" he agrees quietly, not wanting to disrupt your somnolence.

hobie lays with you in his arms for hours after that, listening intently to your steady heartbeat and soft, rhythmic breathing, every now and then feeling you shift with a cute disgruntled little huff whenever you've stayed in one position for too long. hobie loves your sleepy, content little sounds, loves the way your fingers curl around his vest; even in your sleep you're still clinging onto him, because you need him, and he loves it.

hobie loves you.

— ୨୧ —

hobie knows he's not supposed to interfere with fate. it's against the rules, or whatever bullshit excuse everyone says it is. hobie didn't really care that much about it before because he's never cared about anyone enough to ever want to change their fate, but now he has you, and you need him more than ever to keep you safe, to keep you from dying.

god, he doesn't know how it happened, but you were crying for him so desperately. curled on the floor, gasping for air and clutching onto life with weak claws, you were calling his name. it was like sensory overload, hearing every strewn-out letter of his name mixed in with your sobs, with the incessantly throbbing and pulsating of your life force weakening, slowly and agonizing.

the second you had been put in danger, hobie felt it. all throughout his body and deep within his soul, he felt you dying. there was a shift in the air at that moment, a suffocating, excruciatingly tense one that everyone around hobie had noticed; jess and miguel, and his best friend pavitr.

they all yelled and screamed at him that he couldn't go to you, lunging to stop him as he fumbled for the watch that would help him get to you the fastest, but the noise they made was dull and muffled in comparison to the way you cried for him. and god did it feel like he was getting stabbed through the heart mercilessly every time that you did. how dare they ever expect him to just listen to then when you were in so much fucking pain, all alone and the only one you wanted was him.

he had to save you. fuck the rules and fuck his shitty job; you were far more important to him than any of that. it didn’t matter to hobie that in order to save you he had to enchain his soul with yours, it didn't matter to him that he would share every bit of pain with you now, even your last breath if you ever took it, because hobie would rather give up his entire being to you than ever have to live without you.

#yandere #yandere thoughts #yandere imagines #yandere atsv #yandere spiderverse #yandere hobie #yandere hobie brown #hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie x y/n #hobie x you #hobie brown x y/n #soft yandere #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #gender neutral reader

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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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smellingofpoetry · 6 months

Text

High Expectations

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Jody Mills

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Their meeting was just a lucky coincidence. Everything that happened after that was just their doing.

Warnings: fluff, insecurities, lies

Word count: 1252

A/N: Hello! How are you doing? I hope you had a lovely Christmas day. As promised, I'm here with a new fic. Some of you voted to read this one, so here's your chance. This story happened out of nowhere and it wasn't supposed to go this way, but I had fun while writing it and I'm so happy with what I came up with. I hope you'll like it as much. Enjoy! ❤ All errors are mine.

It started unconventionally.

It was during one of Jody’s dinners. Y/N was new in town so, of course, Jody had invited her in. The boys were just passing through after one of their hunts.

It was just a coincidence.

Y/N didn’t know anything about the supernatural, and Dean was covered in cuts and bruises.

She was beautiful; he noticed it the moment he saw her, feeling self-conscious for once because his face, well, it looked like a battled filed. That feeling went away pretty quickly the moment Y/N and Sam discovered to be two nerds. Dean definitely couldn’t compete with that, bloody face or not.

They had a lovely dinner, though. A normal one, that was for sure and Dean didn’t mind that one bit, even if that meant watching his little brother flirt with her.

Y/N was glad she had accepted Jody’s invitation. All the worries of being alone in a new town were forgotten for a moment. It was a nice evening, even though she had to do her best to not glance at Sam’s brother.

What was his name? Oh, right – Dean.

He was beautiful; she noticed it the moment she saw him, bloody face and all. Y/N had felt self-conscious when his eyes had landed on her because she was wearing that damn old shirt her mom had told her to toss away ages ago and, on top of that, she was wearing zero to nothing makeup. She couldn’t look that good that way.

She didn’t let it sting too much when he hadn’t paid too much attention to her through dinner, she was used to it anyway.

So, Y/N ended up talking to Sam, mostly about their shared passion for books. Until it was time for dessert, and Jody went to retrieve coffee and pie. Of course, Y/N went after her, trying to be useful.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked with a smile, with Sam right behind her taking the mugs from Jody.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. You can go call Dean, though. He’s outside on the back porch. He’ll kill us if we start the pie without him.” Jody smiled at her, grabbing the plates and disappearing into the next room.

Y/N glanced at the door that led to the porch, unsure. Taking care of the coffee would have been easier, she thought while walking towards the door. She opened it slowly, sliding through it. Dean was leaning against the railing, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as soon as he heard her footsteps, surprised to see her there. Y/N smiled, waving his hand mid-air, suddenly not sure how to act around him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Dean put away his phone, watching her fidgeting with her hands.

“Uh – Jody asked me to tell you there’s pie inside. She made it sound like something really important, so – ” she trailed off, feeling awkward but hoping that he wouldn’t catch on that. Dean smiled, nodding his head.

“Yeah – uh – I’m kinda a pie guy.” He said without even thinking. Y/N smiled at that and Dean could feel his ears getting warmer. Why in heart had he said that? A pie guy – what an idiot, he thought.

“Can’t blame you. It smelt good in there.” She pointed at the kitchen with her head.

“Oh, yeah?” He asked, putting his hands in his pockets, feeling more at ease.

“Yeah. I might have peeked at the filling if you’re interested.” She said, getting a bit closer while her lips curved upwards in a half smile. Dean grinned, making more room for her. They got closer, their bodies leaning toward each other.

“I think I might.”

Y/N pretended to ponder for a bit, before lowering her voice. “Jody wouldn't mind, right?”

“I won't tell if you don’t.” He whispered in a conspirator tone.

“Yeah, alright.” She was easy to convince. So, she got closer then, whispering in his ear their little secret. Dean hummed, her breath making his skin tingle.

“My favorite.” He answered, glancing at her and catching her already looking at him with a smile. They stared at each other for a few minutes, until Dean cleared his throat, forcing himself to look elsewhere. Y/N did the same, feeling her cheeks getting warmer.

“So, what happened to…?” She asked, pointing to his cuts on his face.

Right – Dean thought. He had forgotten about that for a minute, and the reality crushed back on him.

“Bad call on work,” which wasn’t a lie.

“Are you a police offer, too?”

“Firefighter.” It came out of his mouth faster than he could imagine and, yeah, not an entire lie. He wouldn’t have minded it to be a firefighter.

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.”

“No, it’s just –”

“What?” He asked arm crossed at his chest and eyes trailing down to the tips of his shoes, trying not to show her the hurt in his voice.

“My dad was a firefighter too.” She whispered, a sad smile on her face.

“Oh –” Dean looked up at her then, feeling guilty for lying to her but he couldn’t tell her the truth, though.

“You kinda remember me him.” She smiled, before walking towards the door. She was almost inside when she turned around towards him. “Be safe out there, Dean.”

He watched her turn around again, while his mind was still stuck on her words. Dean didn’t know how to answer that, but he knew that, for some reason, he wanted to keep talking with her. So, he tried hard to come up with something smart to say but, of course, he wasn’t Sam.

“I lied.” He said without really thinking. Dean closed his eyes, giving himself an idiot. Y/N stopped in her tracks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion while turning around for the second time. She looked at him with curiosity. She leaned against the door frame with her hands joined together in front of her, studying him and trying to decide what to do next.

“About what?” She asked cautiously.

“About the bruises and the job,” Dean admitted, hoping someone would come to look for them and save him from his misery.

“Did you have a good reason to lie?”

Dean was taken aback by her question but nodded at the same time. “Yeah.”

“Would you lie again if I asked you the same question?”

“Probably.”

“You could have gotten away with it, you know that right?” She asked, amused.

“Yeah, I’m painfully aware.”

“Then why did you confess?”

“I have no fucking idea, usually I’m better than this.”

“I wouldn’t have said.” She joked, earning an annoyed look from Dean. They studied each other for a few seconds until he broke the silence they had fallen into.

“Are you gonna ask again?” He said, wondering why he was torturing himself like that.

“Oh, I will at our next dinner.”

“Our next dinner?” He echoed her with a smirk on his lips.

“Yeah, you didn’t think you were out of the hook for lying to me just because you’re cute, right?”

“Cute, uh?” Dean smirked, taking a few steps towards her while making her roll her eyes. He raised his hand in surrender. “Alright, dinner seems fair.” He agreed, hoping he wouldn’t have to regret it.

“Good, ‘cause I have high expectations for you next lie." She winked at him, before going inside. Dean stayed stuck on the floor, blinking a few times at the closed door before starting to laugh.

#dean winchester #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fan fic #spn #spn fic #spn fan fiction #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #high expectations #sam winchester #jody mills

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honey-beann · 8 months

Note

💞

Sweet Victory

Connor x Reader Fluff

💕 - Kisses

Note: Okay look, I genuinely thought I hadn't gone that far over on this one until I put it in the word counter, so no judgement allowed! (For those of you who might not know this was supposed to be a 200-600 word drabble and I failed hard at keeping to that limit).

So, with that said, here is this request fulfilled with a word count far higher than I had initially anticipated (sorry, I apparently have no self-control).

A huge thanks to the Anon who requested this, and I hope everyone enjoys this random fluff fic!

Word Count: 2,534

Okay, so maybe you could be a little bit competitive at times. Was that really such a crime?

Sure, this was supposed to be some children's event designed to help the DPD gain favor amongst the younger generation of Detroit Citizens, but what were you supposed to do, just let your teammate down? Hell no, if you were in it, you were in it to win it, and that was a fact.

"Okay, remind me of what we have left to find?"

You asked Louisa, the eight year old girl walking alongside you, who you had only just met twenty minutes earlier.

Prior to the notice you'd received just this morning, you'd had absolutely no idea about the fact that kids were coming into the DPD today, let alone that you would be paired with one for their little scavenger hunt (and that may have showed in how unprepared and unsure you seemed).

That said, somehow, you had ended up with the most understanding third grader of all time, which you found yourself incredibly grateful for.

"Uh..."

Louisa checked her paper before continuing,

"It says we need to get warning citations written by an officer who isn't on duty right now, find where the Captain hides the donuts until after precinct meetings, and get something one of a kind from one of the detectives."

You raised a brow at that last one,

"One of a kind?"

You questioned looking down to see Louisa nodding in response as she looked down at the sheet in front of her.

"Yup. It says that at the end of the scavenger hunt Officers Miller and Chen will decide together who got the most unique item, and that that team will get points for the category."

"Huh, okay then."

You said, shrugging a bit before smiling down at your new friend,

"How about we go grab us some donuts?"

Five minutes and one trip to the storage closet later, and you and Louisa were making your way towards Chris Miller's desk, where you slid him his favorite powdered sugar confection before giving him your best (most pleading) smile.

"Wanna write us some citations, Officer Miller?"

You asked politely, watching as Chris looked down at the treat in front of him before looking back up at you and your partner with a slightly guilty looking smile.

"No can do, judges can't participate in the competition."

You groaned under your breath, shooting a nervous grin down to Louisa before you began scanning the bullpen with your eyes, looking around for another off duty officer while cursing yourself for never paying attention to the officer duty schedule.

That is, until your eyes landed on a familiar face.

Connor, everyone's favorite rk800 (or maybe that was just a you thing) was just sitting at his desk, all but begging to be interrupted by your shenanigans.

Instantly, you started making your way toward him, motioning for Louisa to follow you as you did so.

"Hey, you forgot your donut!"

Chris called after you, causing you to simply shake your head in response, a rather cheeky looking grin spreading across your face as you briefly turned to look at him.

"Don't need it."

Within moments, you were stood beside Connor's desk, hands clasped politely in front of you as you tried your best not to look as devious as you felt.

Immediately, the android looked up at you, a familiarly soft smile forming on his lips as he opened his mouth to speak, though he notably faltered when his eyes fell to the eight year old beside you.

"Good morning Detective, is there something I can help you with?"

He asked politely, his demeanor immediately making you smile ever so slightly.

"Hey Con, can I ask you a favor?"

The android in question seemed to perk up at your words, tilting his head as he turned his chair to face you and your new partner properly.

"Well I can certainly try. What can I assist you two with?"

You blushed ever so slightly at the sight of him as he turned to face you, trying your best not to make how good you thought he looked in that perfectly tailored dress shirt too obvious.

Thankfully, Louisa clearing her throat beside you brought you back to reality, and you quickly answered.

"We need an off duty officer to write us warning citations, but I can't remember the officer schedule for today. Did you happen to take a look at it anytime recently?"

Connor hummed, his LED briefly going yellow before slowly circling back to it's typical stagnant blue.

He nodded.

"According to the schedule, Officers Brown and Person are both off duty for the afternoon."

Your eyes scanned the room once more before they finally fell on Person, who sat at her desk, tapping away at her keyboard.

You grinned at Connor, fighting the urge to hug him as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

"Awesome, thanks Con!"

You enthused,

"I'll be sure to pay for lunch tomorrow to make it up to you."

The android in question smiled but shrugged his shoulders,

"I'm always happy to be of assistance, Detective, with or without incentive."

With that, he bid the two of you farewell before turning back towards his desk and continuing whatever he'd been doing prior to your (all too welcome) interruption.

Meanwhile, you and Louisa set off toward Officer Person's desk, which was when Louisa spoke up again.

"Was that your boyfriend?"

She asked, causing you to startle a bit before laughing nervously.

"Uh..."

You trailed off, looking over your shoulder slightly to glance at Connor once more.

The man had super hearing, and would therefore probably hear what you were about to say, but if you thought too hard about that the words would never come, so you just pretended he was too distracted to listen properly.

"Kind of. We've gone on a few dates together."

Louisa smiled and nodded,

"Yeah, I thought so."

Your cheeks reddened slightly at her comment, but you pressed onward nonetheless until finally, you made it to Officer Person's desk, where you were immediately regarded with an almost taunting eyebrow raise.

"Did I see you using lover boy over there to your advantage?"

She teased as she pulled her citation notepad out of her desk, writing your name at the top without even having to ask any of the spelling details.

You blanched.

"Oh hush, Person, who else was I supposed to ask? He has a literal connection to the database in his brain."

The woman in front of you shrugged, but her grin remained persistent nonetheless.

"Whatever you say, Detective, I just thought the first kiss came a stage before asking for personal favors. But hey, I could be wrong."

She finished up your citation and ripped it away from the rest of her note pad with a flourish before handing it to you and shifting her attention towards Louisa.

"Now what's your name?"

She asked.

You rolled your eyes at your friend and coworkers antics, looking down at your citation with a sigh only to be met with an absolutely humiliating sight.

Under infraction, Person had put 'Not kissing by the fifth date despite previously verbalized intentions to do so'.

You groaned internally, glaring down at your still seated friend as she finished up Louisa's warning citation, which cited that she was 'Stealing the hearts of Detroit's finest left and right'.

She handed it to the young girl with a kind smile before turning her attention back to you, satisfaction written all over your face.

"Anything else you need, Detective? I could give you some courage for your next outing with -"

"I think we're all set, thanks Person."

You muttered through gritted teeth, watching as she simply laughed before giving you a nod and waving the two of you off.

"Well in that case you'd better get moving then, the scavenger hunt ends in five."

You felt your eyes widen at that, and you cursed quietly before looking around the room.

Your brain struggled to conjure up the image of anyone who could provide you with that final artifact, something so unique it was guaranteed to win. Something that was truly one of a kind.

At that, your mind abruptly brought your thoughts to Hank, the lieutenant detective like no other (because no other could ever get away with doing the things he did).

Spotting him just outside the break room, you hurried over, offering him a quick greeting before getting straight down to business. The clock was ticking after all.

"Hey Hank, got any unique items on ya?"

You asked, gesturing to Louisa at your side as your only explanation.

Hank sighed, clearly having been asked this question more than once this morning.

You bristled a bit at this, realizing that maybe asking Hank had been a bit too obvious of a choice.

Still, what other options did you have now with only two minutes left?

"C'mon Lieutenant, anything?"

You all but pleaded, watching as Hank sighed and pulled a gold plated DPD pen out of his pocket.

"Jeffrey bought one of these for each high ranking officer like fifteen years ago. As far as I know, he and I are the only ones left that still have one."

You cheered a bit at the win, thanking Hank profusely before walking over to the crowd of waiting students and precinct workers to see who would be crowned the winner once items were handed in.

Except as you stood with your partner at your side, you couldn't help but notice something shiny sticking out of Gavin's pocket.

"Hey Reed!"

You called out without thinking, catching the attention of the aforementioned officer immediately.

"What?"

He replied snidely, never having been your biggest fan.

You ignored his tone.

"What'd you get for your unique item?"

Gavin regarded you with distrust for a moment before he seemed to get over it. He shrugged as he pulled the shiny thing out of his pocket entirely.

"Some pen Jeffrey gave my kid when he asked for a unique item. Said nobody else should have it."

You cursed under your breath, looking down at Louisa to find her staring up at you, the question of 'what do we do now?' obvious in her eyes.

You swallowed thickly, looking around the room at the various officers who were sitting at their desks.

You checked your watch.

Thirty more seconds.

Could you even hope to convince one of them to give you something by then, let alone have them actually find something genuinely one of a kind in so little time?

No, that would take far too long.

So now, you were left with only one option.

"Quick, come with me."

You told Louisa, taking her hand and weaving through the crowd with her, walking as fast as you reasonably could with a child at your side until you reached Connor's desk.

Sensing your urgency, the android stood as you grew closer, worry evident in his expression.

"Detective, is there something wrong? Do you need something?"

He asked, and you fought off the urge to take the additional time to assuage his fears and instead turned to face Louisa.

"Cover your eyes."

You told her firmly, watching as she nodded and did as she was told without question, equally as determined to win as you were, and knowing there was no time for you to clarify.

With that, you turned back to Connor, taking a single deep and shaky breath before speaking.

"Kiss me."

You said, cheeks immediately becoming warm as the man in front of you tilted his head in confusion, his eyes searching yours for any type of answer, or even just an ounce of context.

You looked down at your watch.

10 seconds.

"My apologies, Detective, but what did you just-"

"Con, I swear I'll explain later, but right now I really need you to kiss m-"

You were interrupted by a strong hand wrapping around your wrist and tugging you closer, and then suddenly, there were lips, warm and firm, pressing against your own.

You gasped briefly, shocked despite your previous pleas, before melting into the man in front of you, your arms moving to wrap around his neck as he kissed you so sweetly you could have wept.

By the time he pulled away, your face was beet red and your legs felt lie jelly.

Connor smiled nervously down at you, grabbing your hand to give it a gentle squeeze.

"I didn't think you would-"

"I figured it out."

He clarified before you could finish, glancing down at the pen in your pocket with a slight smirk.

"No need to clarify."

You nodded almost mindlessly, finding yourself crashing back into reality only when you heard your name get called from the other side of the room.

You snapped to attention, looking over to Chris and Tina, who were both holding back laughter.

"Sorry, what did you guys need?"

You asked, your voice slightly higher in pitch than usual as you struggled to contain your embarrassment.

"We need you to hand in your items."

Chris replied, and you nodded slowly before handing everything to Louisa, following behind her as she rushed back over to the group, immediately giving the judges everything the two of you had collected.

It was then and only then, after they scored the groups based on their initial findings, that they asked about the unique items.

And at that point, everyone began to share.

You thought about leaving, or maybe even just falling off the face of the earth altogether, but in the end when they called your name, you steeled your resolve, opening up your mouth to speak only to be interrupted by Louisa.

"She got a kiss from Detective Connor!"

She shouted giddily, all but dancing on her feet as she spoke, eyes gleaming in a way that told you how much the sight of your budding romance had excited her.

"It was their first kiss and everything!"

You felt your eyes widen at that comment, and in an effort to keep her from saying anything more you started to laugh nervously, watching as the whole room looked towards you, some of them grinning while others regarded you with a raised brow.

"Well, I mean..."

Tina began, chuckling a bit as she turned to her fellow judge to share her thoughts,

"I'm not sure if anything can beat that in terms of uniqueness."

Chris shook his head, smirking amusedly at your thoroughly embarrassed expression as he spoke up,

"You know what Officer Chen? I was thinking the exact same thing."

They looked at each other before nodding, choosing without hesitance to extend your misery.

"I guess that means we have our winners!"

They shouted together, causing the entire group to clap as you attempted to sink into the floor beneath your feet, far too nervous to look up and see the expressions of those around you.

Gee, this was gonna be a fun one to explain to the captain during your lunch break today.

'But hey', you thought as you looked down at Louisa's smiling face.

'At least we won'.

masterlist

AO3

#dbh x reader fluff #dbh x reader #dbh connor x reader #connor x reader #dbh fics #request #c: connor

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disturbedbeautywrites · 11 months

Text

Cardigan - Rafe Cameron Imagine

Word count: 4.5 k (Longest fic I've ever written!!!)

Warnings: Illusions to smut, a lot of angst and heartbreak, and swearing. 18+ only Minors DNI

The italics are flash backs, so I hope this isn't too confusing to read!

Vintage tee, brand new phone High heels on cobblestones When you are young, they assume you know nothing Sequined smile, black lipstick Sensual politics When you are young, they assume you know nothing

Life in outer banks was paradise, or at least it was supposed to be. Growing up, you had been blessed enough to be the rich side of the island and known as a kook. Your parents were pretty well off and you grew up next door to the Cameron’s. You had a good relationship with both of the kids, or you did anyways. You were never as high up on the popularity chain of politics at school as they were, but that didn’t keep you from fittings in with them.

Summer had just started; which meant that the first party of the year was creeping up that night. “What should I wear?” You were standing in your closet, eyes scanning the choices you had. You could wear an old band tee and a pair of jeans, or you could dress up a bit. But, that wasn’t really your style, it never had been. “Just wear your old nirvana tee, I love how that looks on you.” Your friends voice cemented your choice as you changed into the clothes, putting your makeup on. You were almost ready when you heard a gasp, your eyes lingering on your best friend as you waited for her to get on with the dramatics.

“Rafe is coming tonight.” The words hung in the air as you just clicked your tongue and tried not to think about what those words meant. “Do you still wanna go?” Reminders of the heart break the boy brought on filled your head as you swallowed thickly, thinking of if you wanted to deal with the feelings coming back. However, that slowly slipped out of your control as you skidded back into the recesses of your mind that had been taken up by the Cameron boy.

He ran a hand through his hair as he gnawed on his bottom lip. He wasn’t expecting you to act this way. “Come on, her and I were just having fun. You have no right to act like this.” His words infuriated you as you shook your head and laughed under your breath, of course he was that clueless. “Actually, I do. Fuck you. You can’t have us both like this.” And with that you stormed off, leaving him standing stunned and alone in the middle of the crowded party.

"(Y/N), come on. Do you still wanna go or not?" Your friend stood in front of you, her keys dangling off her finger as she tried to get your attention. You didn't realize you had zoned out until she snapped you out of it, an embarrassed blush taking over your face as you nodded. "Yeah, sure. I deserve to get out for a bit."

But I knew you Dancin' in your Levi's Drunk under a streetlight, I I knew you Hand under my sweatshirt Baby, kiss it better, I

As soon as you agreed, your friend could be heard cheering and taking your hand. She pulled you down to her car and quickly got in, driving towards the party.

She drug you inside, the sounds of kids cheering and music that was way too loud immediately filled your ears. The smell of weed and alcohol was impossible to ignore as the two of you made your way to the kitchen to grab a drink, the two of you leaning against the counter to people watch. You saw some of your old friends and went over to talk to them, laughing and smiling.

Time felt like it was flying as you enjoyed yourself, your body moving to the music with your friends. You hadn't felt this free in what felt like ever and it was a refreshing feeling. "Oh, shit. Excuse me." You felt someone run into you and you turned to look at who it was, meeting an all too familiar pair of steely blue eyes. Your mouth opened to say something before it closed again, your eyes now landing on the girl standing next to Rafe. Sofia, of course. You just gave a small, tight lipped smile as you saw a flash of sadness in the boys eyes.

You pretended to ignore it as you turned to your friends, telling them you would be right back. You walked outside and sat by the pool at the party, soft whimpers leaving your lips as you heard your name being called from behind you. Why did he have to be here? Why? Why why why? The questions kept piling up in your mind as you let yourself remember when everything was simple and easy; when you were the girl attached to his hip. When you were the girl he pulled along with him at parties and showed off.

“Rafe, come on.” Your words were drug out as you tried to pull the man up off the couch, his Levi’s feeling scratchy against your bare legs. He just sat back, an amused smile on his lips as he let you continue to try and pry him off the couch. “Come on, sweetheart. Gotta try harder than that.” The smugness in his voice was all but aggravating as you threw your arms over your chest, crossing them in frustration.

The boy in front of you finally took the hint and got up, his hands finding yours with one as his other slid around your waist. He held you close, humming softly as he spun you around the kitchen. The two of you were best friends, or were you more? You didn’t know. The two of you just always acted like this and no one asked anything about it and you never had any doubts. He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he leaned in.

Just before he kissed you, his phone started ringing and it caused the both of you to jump apart. “Hey, Top.” He put the phone up to his ear and listened to the other boy, nodding and glancing at you as he chewed on his bottom lip. “Yeah, man. (Y/N) and I will be there.” He said goodbye and looked at you, a smirk on his lips. “Come to the bar with the guys and I.” You knew you didn’t have a choice, nodding as you ran to go change.

After the excitement of the night wore off you stood next to Rafe outside the bar, his arm thrown around your waist as he talked to Kelce. The alcohol was pumping through both of your veins, your eyes moving from the boy towering above you and the streetlight you were standing under. “Well, I gotta go. It was good to see you guys.” Kelce gave you a nod and a smile before he left, leaving you and Rafe to your own devices.

You leaned against the streetlight, a love drunk smile on your lips as you looked up at the boy who was now leaning against you. “What?” Your words were innocent and quiet as you felt Rafe’s hand slide up on your waist, his cold fingers on your waist as he leaned in to attach his lips to yours. He tasted like bourbon and cigarettes, the taste intoxicating as you reached up and tangled your fingers in his hair.

That was the first time you guys kissed, but it definitely wasn’t the last.

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan Under someone's bed You put me on and said I was your favorite

“Rafe, do you wanna come home with me?” The girls words rang out in your head as you stood next to him at the party, a crushing feeling starting in the pit of your stomach and in your chest. You were right next to him. Didn’t she see you? Or did she just not care?

Your eyes ran over the girl, feeling a bit insecure. She clearly was higher up on the pyramid than your family when it came to money, her flashy jewelry and clothes making that obvious. She was pretty, very pretty in fact. But, Rafe didn’t seem bothered. He just shook her off and pulled you closer, smiling down at you as he leaned and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

You didn’t know what you were to Rafe. You didn’t know if the two of you were just best friends still, friends with benefits, or dating. You didn’t know. But, you knew he made you feel special. He made you feel important. “You’re all I ever need.”

A friend to all is a friend to none Chase two girls, lose the one When you are young, they assume you know nothing

Rafe was a player, you knew that from a best friend stand point and from the standpoint of just having a pair of eyes. He did not like to every commit to just one girl. "It's too boring." The conversation was one the two of you had a lot; especially when his hookups came whining to you about what was happening. It always slightly broke you, and you weren't sure if it was jealously or just seeing the sheer heartbreak these girls went through at the fingertips of someone you knew that well.

"I'm just playing the field until I find someone I want to really settle down with." His explanations always were an attempt at getting away with it. And for a while, you let them work. You would just apologize to the girls and go about your life. After all, you weren't his mom. You couldn't control him.

But, the game seemed to change once you got wrapped up in it. It didn't seem so fair anymore and guilt ate at your stomach; wondering who else was getting the same treatment you were. But, hey. He wouldn't do that to you, would he? Surely not.

But I knew you Playing hide-and-seek and Giving me your weekends, I I knew you Your heartbeat on the High Line Once in twenty lifetimes, I

Rafe sung in the shower, that was a tid-bit that you knew that not many other people did. But, as you sat on his bed and listened to his voice carrying out of the bathroom, the angelic tone mixing with the falling of the water, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

You got to see all of his quirks that he hid from the world because they didn't seem to be manly enough. For instance, anytime he took medicine he almost always gagged and he didn't like the feeling of scratchy sweaters. He was human, but it often got lost in the perfection act that he had to put on for everyone.

But, as the water stopped you got a maniacal idea and decided to try and scare your beloved best friend. You scampered out of bed and went to hide behind the door to his bathroom, praying that he didn't accidentally slam it on you as he walked past. "(Y/N)?" His voice was softer now that he was out of the shower and it wasn't vibrating off the walls, his blue eyes scanning his room for you.

You stood in your place, hand over your mouth to hide your giggles. However, it was fruitless and soon you were being pulled into his tight chest. His arms wound around your waist as he twirled you around, both of your laughter filling the room. "Put me down! You're getting me soaked!" You instantly regretted the words as soon as Rafe let out a signature chuckle and winked at you, setting you down on the floor. Your bare feet felt soft against the hardwood floor as you landed softly, his eyes meeting yours. "Oh, I can show you soaked." And with that, you were shoving his chest away with a huff. "You're so perverted."

That was your friendship with him. It was everything good and innocent until it wasn't. "Come with me to the bar this weekend." After he had gotten dressed the two of you were now laying in his bed, your head in his lap as he scanned through text messages. His eyes would dart down to you every once in a while, his eyebrows raising in a half question and half statement as you considered it. "Maybe I want you to suffer without me." It was a joke, and you both knew it. But, it was fun to push his buttons. A scoff left his pretty lips before a pout overtook it, blue irises boring into your soul. "Oh, come on. You can't possibly leave me with Kelce and Topper. You know how much of a vibe killer they are."

The words elicited a laugh from your lips as you nodded in a shared understanding, though you had love for all three of the boys, Rafe wasn't wrong. The weekends were usually spent with Topper whining about Sarah and Kelce whining about the new girl who he struck out with. You really needed to give them some pointers, but it always fell on deaf ears. They never believed any of your tips. "I'll only go if you say please." You moved to sit up, looking at him with a raised brow as you put the ball in his court. "You know that word is like poison. You're evil." Your shoulders shrugged as you crossed your arms over your chest. You weren't kidding, and he knew it. "Fine. Please come with me oh lovely (Y/N). I will simply die without your presence." His dramatics made you laugh and nod as you leaned in to kiss his lips, taking solace in the warmth and giddiness they provided.

To kiss in cars and downtown bars Was all we needed You drew stars around my scars But now I'm bleedin'

The weekend came and you kept your promise of accompanying Rafe to the bar downtown with the boys. But, you hardly even paid attention to what was happening with the other two. You and Rafe were lost in your own little world, his lips almost always at the shell of your ear as he whispered drunk nothings into it.

"You make me so damn happy." The words caused goosebumps to run along your entire body, your eyes daring to peak up into his. His pupils were blown, no doubt the cause of the liquor that he had been drinking since you had walked into the packed bar. But, there was an ounce of truth there that was so raw and so Rafe. He could be tough, he could be scary, but around you he was raw and real. Or, so you thought.

"Any man would be incredibly lucky to have you." His words were beginning to slur as he pulled you into a kiss, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you closer. The kiss got deeper and more passionate, your hands tangling in his hair and yanking slightly. This was perfect. It was everything you ever needed. "Let's go out to your truck." Your words were breathy and quiet as he gave you a knowing smirk. He took your hand and told Kelce and Topper he would be back; which earned a whistle and a wink from the other two. "Use a condom! We don't need anymore of you two." Oh, Kelce. Always the PTA mom when it came to you.

You brushed the two of them off as you walked out to the truck and Rafe helped you inside, the kisses shared enough to make your head spin. "I've never done this before." The words were a quiet and shameful confession as the kisses got more heated and the lines between friends and more started to blur. "I got you. Don't worry." His words were whispered into your neck as you felt euphoria start to take over. You had never felt anything like what Rafe was showing you right now. "You're so beautiful."

That was the night that Rafe took everything from you and you willingly let it happen. You let the lines blur, you let the alcohol and the pleasure take over your every instinct that was yelling at you this was dangerous. You knew he was a player, but maybe he was changing. Maybe he would want more after this. Maybe. Maybe..

'Cause I knew you Steppin' on the last train Marked me like a bloodstain, I I knew you Tried to change the ending Peter losing Wendy, I I knew you Leavin' like a father Running like water, I And when you are young, they assume you know nothing

Boy, you could not have been more wrong. After Rafe took your virginity that night, it seemed as if something clicked in his brain that you guys went too far. He was more distant and unavailable.

That was until Sofia came to town and Rafe fell for her hook line and sinker. He met her at a party and lit up like a little kid on Christmas. You had been standing with him, his arm against your waist as he kept his eyes trained on her. She was moving to the beat in a way that you couldn’t, her eyes locking with Rafe’s. She motioned him over; your stomach dropping as he pushed off the wall and seemed to happily oblige to her request.

His body molded into hers immediately, his lips finding hers as they swayed to the tone of the music together. It was sickening for you to watch, bile rising up in your throat as you decided to walk outside. However, he called after you and pulled the new girl over. "(Y/N), wait!" His voice stopped you in your tracks as you gave a fake smile, looking at him expectantly. "This is my best friend, (Y/N). We’ve been best friends since we were practically in diapers." Best friend. The words stung as you recalled the feel of his lips, the taste of his tongue, the feeling of his arms around you. How was that just something best friends did? You knew it wasn't and you all but held back a sob.

"It's so nice to meet you! I'm Sofia." She held her hand out for you and you took it, giving the most awkward hand shake you had ever given. You gave the best fake smile that you could muster up before you excused yourself to go back to your friends.

Throughout the night you could feel his eyes on you as you danced with other guys, having fun despite the circumstances. “What do you think you’re doing?” You heard the all too familiar voice behind you as he pressed a kiss to your neck, his arms snaking around your waist. “I’m dancing and having fun. Where’s Sofia?” The words had a bite to it that you weren’t expecting, but as Rafe’s hips stilled you could tell you caught him off guard.

He licked his lips and turned you towards him, his eyes locking on yours. “She left. What’s with the attitude?” His eyebrows went up and knitted together as he looked you over and tried to read you like a book. He knew you like the back of his hand, or so he thought. He could tell you were upset, but he didn’t realize it was with him. He thought you were just a little buzzed and the alcohol was making you act weird. But, unfortunately for him he was reading the words on the page wrong and it would come back to bite him in the ass. “You we’re just hanging all over her and now you’re here hanging all over me. Is this a joke to you?” Your words exposed your hurt as you glared at the boy that you knew better than anyone, his eyes flashing with confusion.

You left, sobbing as you shrunk down against your car outside. This was an absolute nightmare and it was affecting you deep to your core. This was a boy you’ve known for as long as you could remember. He was the one who wiped your tears when you fell. He was always there. "Friends forever." The words echoed in your head as you leaned your head back in frustration, cursing the words the two of you had sworn on as children.

That was the last time you had spoken to him, and now the wound was just as wide open as it was that day.

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs The smell of smoke would hang around this long 'Cause I knew everything when I was young I knew I'd curse you for the longest time Chasin' shadows in the grocery line I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired And you'd be standin' in my front porch light And I knew you'd come back to me You'd come back to me And you'd come back to me And you'd come back

The sounds of the party had faded into the distance as you sat outside, head in your hands. Everything felt like it was a bad dream and you prayed that you could wake up from it. You wished you and Rafe had never started to get physical because that was when things got confusing. That was when feelings erupted and burst through the surface on your end. But, what if things had worked out? What if he had felt the same way about you?

The feeling of his lips still haunted your memory, a ghastly reminder of the impact the boy had on your life and your body. He was in your life for so long and then he was just gone, a faint memory of good times etched into your memory. It was like the faint smell of fire after a kegger, it lingered on your clothes and in your hair until you washed it off. But, it still always felt like it was there.

"He's an idiot for doing that to you. He'll be back once he realizes what he's missing out on." The talk you had with Sarah was resonating in your mind as you stared up at the stars of the backyard, their twinkling bringing a small sense of comfort as you let out a breath you did not realize you were holding.

"Hey." You swore you were hallucinating his voice and you actually prayed that you were. You didn't want to face him. You didn't want to see his pretty eyes, or see his shit eating grin that could light up the entirety of a room in an instant. No, that was your kryponite. That was the absolute thing that could make you break no matter what else was going on in your life. But, as you turned around and saw that exact sight, you knew you were in trouble.

"Shouldn't you be inside with your new girlfriend?" The words were pointed like a spear and you hoped it would wound him and cut deep. But, you knew he would never outwardly show if you did. However, the clearing of his throat was enough to show that they had at least pierced through the surface. "She's not my- That isn't important right now." You rolled your eyes as you stood up, looking up at his towering figure in front of you.

"Really, Rafe? Because she seemed pretty damn important when you completely forgot about me for her." Your voice was rising and you felt tears prickling at the waterline of your eyes, the big droplets falling down your cheeks. He was only back because he was bored of Sofia, you knew it. That had to be it. "She was a damn distraction." He was getting stressed, he was rubbing the palms of his hands against his jeans in a way that he thought you wouldn't see. But, unfortunately for him you did. "A distraction from what?" You hated how you took the bait and you also hated how he was walking closer.

His movements were slow and cautious as his hand moved under your chin, tilting your head up to his. "You." The single word answer was not what you were expecting, confusion crossing your face as you tried to read his reaction. "I fucking fell for you and I was afraid of fucking it up." His voice was saying all the things you ever wanted to hear, and yet you couldn't take them at face value. He had taken your virginity and dipped. He had abandoned you. He had left, after everything he had told you. And, you weren't ready to forgive him. You didn't think you could do that yet.

You just chuckled and shook your head, taking a step back. "I chased the ghost of our friendship around a graveyard of memories for the last month, Rafe. I'm not ready to forgive you just because you come spewing words about falling for me. For all I know, it could be a lie." Your words were not what he was expecting, that was obvious by the look in his eyes.

"What can I do to make it up to you?" His words were almost laughable at the rate of desperation that they were bred out of. It was a scared look, it was a flashback to growing up together, it was the feeling in his chest whenever you were around. It was the happiness that your laugh brought him, the bottle of your perfume he always kept in his car, the clothes of yours he kept in his dresser drawer. It was everything, you were the sun and the moon and all the stars. You were the entirety of his universe and now you were pushing everything into a black hole because he fucked up. That, in itself was enough to feel like death to him and he hated the fact that he messed up this bad.

"I don't know, Rafe. I'll let you know if I ever figure it out. Now, if you'll excuse me I have a party to get back too." And with that he watched you walk away, your head high and proud and your tears no longer falling for the boy and what could have been. You knew this would be better. You knew you deserved more than feeling like second best. You deserved the world, and you weren't going to have it given to you on someone else's time.

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wingedquill · 11 months

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notes on survival (a preview)

so i blacked out and wrote like 4K words of a new fic concept. I don't think I'll be posting it on ao3 until it's entirely done (really do not need another currently-updating WIP) but wanted to share the first little bit on here with y'all (CW: kidnapping, violence against children) ---

Here’s how it starts, for Steve:

He’s ten.

He’s riding his bike. It’s a bit late in the day, but not that late, not nearly his curfew. The sun is still high in the sky, and he can hear kids shrieking with laughter a few streets over. They’d invited him to play with them, but he’d turned them down cause he wanted to check on the tadpoles he’d found in the pond last weekend.

He gets to a stop sign. A car pulls up next to him: old, gray, forgettable. The windows are down, but it’s summer. It’s normal. He wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

A bang. A scream.

“Help!” a voice shouts from the trunk. “Someone help!”

The driver looks over. Makes direct eye contact with Steve.

He knows, even as he starts pedaling, that he’s not gonna be fast enough.

***

Steve can’t really remember a time when he’d been un-messed-up. Not clearly, at least. He has the vague, stretched-summer memories of baking cookies with his mom, of somersaulting off the diving board at the public pool and getting yelled at by a lifeguard, of hiding in the woods simply because it was the best way to avoid his chores.

They’re nice memories, he thinks. Part of him wants to put them in a box and never touch them again. But they’re nice.

He’s good at pretending they’re all he’s made of.

But now he’s here. Walking through the woods. He’s not avoiding his chores but he’s also not hiding, and that’s probably the only reason why he’s not vomiting into the underbrush. Nancy’s hand is cold in his, and it’s enough of an anchor.

He’s not alone.

“Will!” he yells, his lungs burning with the force of the yell. “Will!”

He wonders if he got a search party like this.

***

They’re bumping down a road that’s more potholes than asphalt. The other boy won’t stop hyperventilating.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, if I hadn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone apologizes. You’re supposed to accept it.

He doesn’t even know what the boy is apologizing for, not really. He isn’t a kidnapper. He hadn’t tied Steve up and stuffed him in the trunk. He had only screamed for help. That’s what you’re supposed to do.

“I’m Steve,” he says. It’s important that the other boy knows his name. Vitally so. The man who took them isn’t gonna care, and he needs one person here who cares about him.

The other boy sniffles against Steve’s shirt.

“Ed,” he chokes. “I’m Ed.”

***

He’s cold. He’s tired. He’s gasping for air and his sides are on fire.

Second verse, same as the first.

“We gotta get your shirt off,” Robin’s telling him. “We need to, Steve, your dirty, lake-gunk sweater is embedded in those wounds, I don’t want you getting a massive infection on top of rabies. That’s like, for sure definite dead.”

He drags himself out of the hunting shack and into the Upside Down. Eddie and Nancy are huddled together by a fallen tree, Nancy giving him a quick rundown of how the hivemind works. Neither of them are looking.

“I can’t,” he chokes anyway. “They’ll see–they’ll know.”

Cross your heart and hope to die.

She bites her lip. She looks like his mom had, when she’d told him he wouldn’t be seeing Ed again. Like she’s cutting off one of his limbs to save the rest of him.

“Steve, they won’t care,” she lies.

He shakes his head.

“I’ll chance the infection,” he says. “I mean it Robin.”

She closes her eyes. Scoots around to the other side of him, putting herself between him and Eddie-and-Nancy.

“I’ll dress the wounds quick,” she says. “And give you my overshirt. That okay?”

He takes a deep breath. Hunches in on himself. He’s always been a bit too good at making himself unseen. A bit better than he would like.

“Okay,” he agrees.

***

“They’re looking for us,” he whispers.

He tucks his face into Ed’s shoulder, wishes they could hug. A hug would make this better, he thinks, if he could just get his arms around to the front. If he could just hug, and be hugged, he’d wake up. They’d both wake up.

They’d both be at home in their beds. They’d be safe. Mom would make him hot chocolate like she always does after nightmares, and he’d check to see if the robin’s eggs outside his window had hatched, and he’d be okay.

“Yeah,” Ed whispers back. “Yeah, they are.”

Around them, the car’s engine roars.

#steddie #stranger things #my writing #my fic #oh noooooo i wonder who ed could be #for those of you who remember me from my star trek days: no u don't

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fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic · 3 months

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Good Omens Fic Rec: Time Marches Forward

Our story follows Aziraphale as he toils alone in Heaven to thwart the Second Coming while Crowley, back on Earth, encounters a powerful and frightened 15-year-old Adam Young in desperate need of guidance. One of the infinite possibilities for how the Good Omens story can end. With some twists, and some angst, and lots of character development.

Length: 128,201 words

AO3 Rating: Mature

Best for: Safe in Public, Slight Angst, Post S2

Triggers: Temporary Character Death (kind of)

Read it here, fic by Bellisima_writes

*Minor Spoilers* I need everyone to read this story and marvel at the fact that this is the author's first fic! I am astounded by the quality of this story. It's cinematic, clever, and creative. It constructs a world that fits seamlessly into the canon while introducing its own truly interesting concepts. If you're looking for a Season Three "what if", this is a must-read!

Our story starts immediately after the Final 15. Aziraphale arrives in Heaven and already things are suspicious. I really love that this story goes with the route of taking things mostly at face value. It's not until the Second Coming line that Aziraphale truly kicks into gear, fully understanding the threat he's under. Crowley meanwhile finds himself in Tadfield, where a 15 year old Adam Young is in desperate need of some guidance. I won't spoil the plot; it's best experienced as it unfolds. This is a long story, but the pacing and plotting are brilliant, the time will fly by so easily. I read way past the time I was supposed to stop without even realizing it!

The characterizations are all excellent here. Adam in particular is one of the best uses I've seen with him. There is a character introduced that he will parallel with beautifully. Both placed into positions they did not ask for, tasked with things they do not want, and burdened with unbearable responsibility. It was a really insightful bit of characterization, and made me look at that "new" character in a way I never have before. Adam's new relationship with Crowley was such a beautiful and heartwarming plotline. He needed Crowley in his life, to help guide him, to understand his powers, and how he fits into the world. Crowley needed him just as much.

Crowley and Aziraphale's characterizations are top notch as well. It was effortless to read this in their voices, and just be prepared for this story's 1941...ouch. Actually a lot of what Aziraphale went through here broke my heart. This story creates a phenomenon called, "The Void." It's as ominous as it sounds, and puts Aziraphale through the ringer. As much as it hurt, it was also a really interesting concept. I'm so relived that Aziraphale will be taken care of now.

Seriously, what an excellent story this was. This is a more action based plot, and every twist and turn kept me right on my toes. Safe in public, and while there's some hints of angst, it's not a heavy story. If this is what a first fic can be, I can't wait to read this author's second!

Read it here, fic by Bellisima_writes

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #fanfic rec #aziracrow #good omens fic rec #aziraphale x crowley #Time Marches Forward #Bellisima_writes #extra long #safe in public #post s2 #second coming #adam young #canon timeline #slight angst #no spice

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fitzs-trained-monkey · 1 year

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Hi!!! I saw in your description that requests were open and I was wondering if it would be possible to request some headcanons or something of Kol with an autistic reader (if not really anything fluffy with Kol would be awesome!) Your fics are always amazing and have honestly become a part of my happy and cozy routine (along with a nice cup of hot chocolate and some cookies!) Thank you so much for being such an amazing author and for sharing your writing with us, this fandom is super lucky to have you!

Forever On My Mind

Kol Mikaelson x autistic!reader headcanons || Here lies my Masterlist

A/N: Okay, Annon? Whoever you are, I want you to know that you are the sweetest little bean alive and I adore you. What am I even supposed to do when I get an ask like this? Not cry from sheer overwhelming feels? I don't think so! I adore you, keep being your amazing self and I hope this makes you happy.

First of all, can I just say couple goals?

Seriously, you two are the epitome of love and understanding in a relationship.

You first saw Kol in a coffee shop where you confused him by purchasing hot chocolate. You noticed him but you were way too shy to actually start a conversation. (I mean, come on. The dude is so pretty. How are the rest of us even supposed to approach?)

So, it was a little odd when you started seeing him every day.

He would always sit in the corner opposite to your spot. Sometimes you would catch him watching you and you were a little creeped out by that at first but then he smiled and waved and that put you at ease a little bit. Besides, he never followed you so it was fine.

One day, though you were still too shy to actually talk to the guy, you walked right up to him and wordlessly held out a handful of bunny-shaped marshmallows. See, the boy never had any marshmallows in his drink and you thought that was a shame. You always brought some with you so you figured it would be nice to share.

That was the moment Kol fell for you.

In his eyes, you are the most adorable human being on the planet.

All your quirks and habits never annoy him and he's always there to help you with anything you may need.

He always makes sure you take your medication. Always.

Cuddles? YES.

If touch is kinda a big thing for you then even though he'll probably deny just how much he loves it at first, Kol is 100% living for your hugs.

Also, he trusts your judgment which is HUGE for him. Whether it's what movie you should watch or what is or is not a good idea, Kol actually trusts that you know what you're talking about because you're usually right.

You may have two left feet, but he loves dancing with you. Dancing has never been your strength, but Kol always makes you feel like you're walking on air. He makes you feel pretty and graceful.

Like this guy is seriously so soft.

People often get annoyed with you, but not him.

"Do you maybe want to watch a movie? It's okay if you're busy. I can go, it's no problem."

"Darling, I am one thousand years old and immortal. You are physically incapable of wasting my time. A movie sounds brilliant. I'll grab some popcorn. What do you want to watch?"

When you stim, Kol finds it absolutely adorable. Most of the time, when he sees you wringing your hands or jumping in place, he has to resist the urge to rush over to you and kiss you senseless. Seriously, it's so bloody cute! What's he supposed to do??

Hyperfixations may come and go, but Kol is always more than happy to join along for the ride. Anything that catches your interest is sure to be fun.

He understands that you have a schedule and even though he is the most spontaneous person probably ever, he always does his best to ensure your days remain somewhat consistent. If that's not possible, then rest assured he'll notify you of any changes. Consider yourself lucky because nobody else will ever get a warning from him.

Kol delights in anyone who can make him feel just a little bit stupid. So your ability to pick up on patterns no one else seems to notice never fails to blow him away. He's fascinated by your lateral form of thinking.

You catch things no one else does and he's more than grateful for your thorough approach to just about everything. Whereas he would probably just rush in, you're there to point out that: "No sweetheart, that's a trap."

Sometimes you repeat things, usually random facts, when nervous or excited but he never gets upset over it. Kol will tell you if you've already said something but he's never demeaning about it. Honestly, he's kind of amazed you can fit so much knowledge in your pretty little head when all those facts do not pertain to one another in the slightest.

Now, it does take him a while to get over his passive-aggressive attitude because… well he's Kol.

When he talks, you're often left trying to figure out whether or not he was being rude. It's common for you to overthink his words.

He's always quick to reassure you though.

"Hey, with what you said earlier, did you mean-"

"Nope. Still love you."

Yeah, "I love you" gets passed around a lot. Not vocally, however. Usually, it's three taps. A little signal for when you forget to say it. Three taps on his arm to remind him that you care. He always returns the gesture. Even in his sleep.

Even though both of you often forget to actually say it out loud, those three simple words are pretty evident in everything you do.

Tagging: @yn-ymn-yln@r13mar@rootbeerfaygo @iiskittles16ii @fandomrulesall-blog @dark-night-sky-99 @railingsofsorrow @apolloroid @thatweirdoleigh @misswe03 @eat-cake @felinegrate @cute-freak27 @fayeatheart @archangelslollipop @aonungs-tsahik @sleepneverheardofher @heartbreakgrill @whatsupb18 @enchantedlandcoffee @trikigirl271 @dreamingwithrafe @her-violent-delights @witchcraftandgeekness

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ratasum · 22 days

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When We Were Young, Ch. 1

Summary: Once upon a time, an excitable little boy with messy hair sat down next to an angry, lonely orphan girl in a progeny class and decided they were going to be best friends. Zojja may have been skeptical of Hann at first, but time changes a lot of things... Word Count: 3003 Note: I refer to Leyya by her deadname and old pronouns in this fic because that's how Zojja knew her until college. She is still a trans woman, and as an adult uses she/her pronouns. AO3 Link

“Wards of the council.” That was what everyone called them, anyway. It was a polite way of saying they were orphans, of course- not that there was any stigma, but she was very keenly aware of how differently people treated them when one of the caretakers took them anywhere that wasn’t in the group home deep in the bowels of Rata Sum. She was smart enough to realize the difference, and clever enough to sort out that she hated it.

Some of the kids, she had learned, remembered their parents. Lost in tragic lab accidents or any number of bizarre accidents that could befall a hapless asura. She herself didn’t remember at all. The caretaker had told her that her father died before she was born. Her mother? Lost in childbirth.

And so Zojja was placed with two dozen other kids close to her in age when she wasn’t even old enough to speak or walk, and had grown up with no one but the other orphans to keep her company. And as far as she was concerned, it wasn’t much. The superintendent was very kind, but that didn’t make their lives any less lonely.

And she didn’t expect today to be much different. Even a six year old could feel the difference in the air, after all, and being placed into a progeny class was better than sitting around and getting annoyed listening to the other kids try desperately to keep up with her rapidly developing mind. They called her a prodigy. Maybe they were right, but she didn’t like hearing it.

The preinstructor, she heard, was a nice younger woman with a kid about the same age as the kids in her part of the group home. Apparently, she’d be bringing that kid with her to the classes… perhaps that made sense. Easier, she supposed, if nothing else.

And so she sat, balled up in her usual corner with her little datapad and stylus, a little bit away from the other children. That was the way it always was. She was in her own head, angry and sullen, and it was so hard for her to make friends. So why put in the effort with a bunch of kids who weren’t going to give her the same effort?

Zojja sat that way for what felt like ages before the woman in question came through the door. She was short and heavy set, with inky skin and bright gold eyes, long braided hair a very pale blonde. The little boy at her side was definitely poured from the same mold- leaner, though, and very lanky, with amber eyes and a shock of white hair that stuck out in every direction. Something told her that it must’ve been impossible to tame on a good day.

“Good morning, students!” The progeny instructor’s voice was bright and sunny, almost grating, but the other kids responded cheerfully and so Zojja tried to do so in kind, one hand lifting in a tentative wave. “I’ll be your new preinstructor moving forward. My name is Pruri, and this is my son Hann. He’ll be joining you in the class.”

Two dozen eyes turned on the boy, then, and it was obvious not all those looks were kind. Hann had a target just on the principle of being the only kid in the room with even one parent… not the best position to be in when one was in a room full of orphans.

But Zojja just watched him with an appraising look, and as she tilted her head, Hann turned and caught her eyes, staring back for a moment before his head swung up towards his mother. “Mom, can I go sit?”

She nodded faintly, gesturing for him to move along, and much to Zojja’s surprise, the boy trotted right over to plop down beside her, leaning back on his hands and offering a brilliant grin. She blinked a few times before furrowing her brow, scrunching up her nose. “Hello…?”

“Hi!” He shifted his weight to stick out one hand, grinning all the while. “I’m Hann. What’s your name?”

Taken aback, she hesitated before taking his offered hand. “...Zojja.”

Hann beamed, giving her hand a firm shake. “Hi, Zojja! I think we’re gonna be good friends, y’know? I got a feeling about those things.”

She wasn’t sure of that.

Already Hann seemed like the sort of kid she’d normally avoid. He sat there with that silly grin, ears straight up, hair a mess and hanging into his face. None of the other kids even looked at him when he’d headed over to sit by her, but maybe that would change. There were any number of far more personable progeny here, herself not included among them.

Hann, however, didn’t appear to take notice of any of the cluster of other kids. They were all sitting in their own little groups. He had apparently decided that, as she was the only one sitting off to herself without anyone around her, she was in need of some sort of extra company.

Not that she needed it. She had been just fine on her own since she was old enough to understand her lot in life, and she would be just fine on her own after. It was a very mature thought for a very little girl, but like most asuran progeny, she was far smarter than one might expect for a child of six… and then smarter by far than that.

“...are you gonna sit over here all class?”

Hann’s expression when she asked was curious, tipping his head in a way that caused that wild mess of pale hair to sway to the side. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re over here all alone. And Mom says I’m gonna learn with you guys. So I should make a friend, and you look like you need one!”

Zojja squinted at him, then sat back on her hands. He was very high energy, and a lot to deal with. But she could manage. Maybe, if she just ignored him, he would go bother one of the other kids instead. Turning her head when Pruri began to introduce their “icebreaker” lesson, she made up her mind.

It wouldn’t take long at all. She was sure of it.

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

The first thing that softened her view happened as other areas of Tyria were entering the winter months.

The boy was determined, she gave him that. He was also kind of funny, telling little jokes under his breath as his mother talk. Allaying boredom between lessons by showing her little sleight of hand tricks he’d taught himself and sometimes stealing extra candy during lesson time, giving the dolyak’s share to her. When she asked how he’d learned to do that, he just winked and said “trade secret!”

The other kids never seemed to warm up to him, but as she let herself talk to him more, she was glad they hadn’t. He had three younger siblings, too young yet for progeny school, two from his dad and one from his mom. They’d separated when Hann was far too young to remember, and often Hann was a bit left on the wayside.

He lived with his mother. Rarely saw his father.

For all the love he should’ve had in his life, with two living parents and three brothers and sisters, he was far lonelier than she had anticipated. And that manifested in unexpected ways.

Hann did not really have much in the way of family, despite having plenty of it.

She may not have admitted it openly, but as time passed, Zojja came to appreciate Hann seeking her out in classes. He was always cheerful, energetic, even when she had a feeling he wasn’t really feeling it at the time. They had their lunches together, talked often. Hann would sneak things from where he lived with his mom to show her, books and papers and anything interesting he could get his hands on.

He often got in trouble for it, but it didn’t seem to deter him.

What was it the superintendent often said…? Even negative attention was attention to the neglected…?

Whatever it was, it only seemed to spur the boy on. And over time, he got caught less and less. That didn’t make Pruri stop bringing him, of course. She often heard his mother lecture him at the beginning of class that he should be more like Zojja. Quiet and obedient and oh if only she knew. She sniffed indignantly whenever she heard it- obedient, pah.

But then, something changed. She had always seen Hann as being such a stabilizing force, even when things were weird… and he’d been gone for a week or two. It was strangely lonely without him there, though she didn’t necessarily want to say that. Something had to be wrong for him to be gone so long, and when he arrived with his mother for classes that morning, she realized she must have been right.

Hann was oddly subdued, despite his mother’s attempts to cheer him up, smoothing his wild pale hair before he ducked away from her and slunk over to Zojja, plunking down next to her and pulling his knees tight against his chest.

Had he been crying…?”

“...Hann?” She wasn’t good with feelings. Not like these, anyway. “Everything okay…?”

He didn’t answer at first, sniffling and scuffing at a wet cheek with the back of one hand. It was only then she realized he had bandages around that arm, thick and hard, indicating a recent broken bone. “...it’s nothing.”

Zojja’s brow furrowed and she pursed her mouth, ears flipping back in frustration. “If it was nothing you wouldn’t have cried. What’s going on?”

Again, he didn’t answer, looking away for a moment before sniffling hard. “Broke my arm. Right before my birthday. That would’ve been fine I don’t really care but… then my dad didn’t show up. Not the day the healers set my arm, or on my birthday. He only said something before we came ‘cuz Mom made him. And he called me Hejj. I don’t even know anybody named Hejj. He thought I was ten, too- I just turned seven.”

Zojja was quiet as he explained. What he said certainly explained a lot about much of his behavior. Pruri was probably doing her best, but things were worse at home than she’d previously thought. “Well.” Her voice was clipped as she sniffed, turning her little nose up. “He just doesn’t know you as good as I do.”

“...we only met like two months ago.”

“And we’ve clearly spent more time together if I can remember your name better th an your own dad. And I’ll remember your birthday for next time, too.”

Hann gave her a curious look, but then he let out a little giggle, scrunching up his nose. “You’re really weird, you know that?”

Though Zojja rolled her eyes, it was hard to avoid smiling. “Not as weird as you.”

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

The second thing solidified their friendship, more than either one expected.

Zojja was a very smart little girl. And that did not go unnoticed by many of the other kids in the care of the superintendent. Some of them were less kind about this than others- an overachiever meant they could reach greater heights than them, and children were often cruel. Taking one down a peg was the option angry, lonely children would lean into.

One of those children was a little boy named Jirrkh. Tall for his age, and broad in build, he stood a little taller than Hann did… meaning he towered over Zojja.

That day had been a long one. They were nearing the end of their first year together, tests and birthdays had come and gone, and after completing their lesson for the day, Zojja had again come out on top of the pack. Hann was thrilled for her, cheering excitedly when Pruri read out the test results. But as they were packing up for the day, it was Jirrkh who made his way over, crossing his arms as he stood over where Hann and Zojja were sitting and putting together their things.

“Can’t you let some of the rest of us win sometimes, Zojja?”

Her pale blue eyes shifted up before she gave him a sharp look, her lips pressed together in a thin little line. “I can’t help it that you don’t pay attention when Professor Pruri is talking, Jirrkh. Maybe if you applied yourself, you could actually score higher than the bottom.”

The taller boy puffed up a bit, frowning sharply at the small girl’s tone. “You’re just a showoff!”

“No. I’m just smarter than you.”

If Jirrkh’s face hadn’t been red before, it certainly was now, and he immediately reached down to try to grab Zojja’s collar to pull her to her feet. What he instead caught was Hann’s arm as it shot into the way, and the wild haired boy scowled as Jirrkh shoved his arm away and stepped back. “You stay out of this, Hann!”

Hann just sniffed, putting his hands on his hips. “No. Zojja’s my friend and you’re being a bookah.”

That elicited a wave of gasps as other progeny began to gather nearby, and Zojja went to push herself to her feet. “He’s not worth it, Hann…”

“No, he’s being rude to you, and you’re my friend.”

Jirrkh frowned, moving forward to get into Hann’s face. “No one’s Zojja’s friend. She’s mean and nasty and doesn’t talk to anybody. She probably wanted you to go away this whole time you’ve been here, like the rest of us!”

“I have not!” Zojja retorted, moving forward. “You take that back!”

If anyone was going to deescalate or break up the fight, it didn’t look to be happening now. By the time Zojja got those words out of her mouth, the bigger boy had lunged, tackling Hann to the ground, causing him to cry out. The jostling of the other kids made it impossible to get too close as they started shouting to egg the pair on. Hann had managed to flip the two, trying to pull away to disengage as Zojja worked to get back to the front of the crowd.

By this point, Pruri had been alerted to the fight that was starting, and she could be heard shouting for them to calm down and break it up as she hurried over. Her voice was just enough of a distraction that Hann jerked his head up, and Jirrkh managed to get one lucky hit.

The blow to the face sent Hann reeling, and right as Jirrkh went to get up and go after him again, Zojja clenched her fists, stamping one foot down hard as flames rippled from the impact, electricity dancing up from her clenched fists around her arms. “Jirrkh, you’d better stop or else!”

Heads whipped around and the voices quieted, just in time for Pruri to push through the crowd of progeny, steering clear of the burgeoning elementalist as she hauled Jirrkh to his feet, one of the other kids reaching to help Hann up on instinct.

“Everyone, everyone stop- there will be no fighting! Hann, I am so disappointed in you!”

“Jirrkh started it! He was being mean to Zojja!”

Other voices lifted for one or the other, and as they did, Zojja was trying to settle, glancing over as Hann moved to her side, his eye rapidly swelling. He would have an awful black eye once this was all said and done. It took Pruri another several moments to calm the kids down, but Zojja’s hand found Hann’s regardless. He didn’t seem to mind the little static zaps from her clawtips.

Someone had to have their backs. Maybe it needed to be each other.

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

Maybe it was an unorthodox start to their friendship, but from that moment on, the pair were inseparable. And as they got older, the older kids warmed to the two as well, even Jirrkh. More kids came in, others got adopted out, but if nothing else they were there for each other.

But things were about to change.

They had just passed Zojja’s tenth birthday, and most of the kids had finally worked off the sugar from the seafoam pudding Pruri had brought as a special treat. She was laughing as they settled, gesturing with her hands for everyone to sit. “Okay, okay! Calm down everyone! We’ve got one more surprise for you. Since we’ll be starting on building second level golems today, we have a very special guest.”

Hann tipped his head towards Zojja where he’d sat. He’d shot up fast, now standing half a head taller than most of their other classmates, his limbs all long and lanky like he had somehow not grown into them. A comical contrast to Zojja, who had remained small and chubby, most of their classmates outgrowing her.

“Mom’s been super excited about this but she wouldn’t tell me who was coming,” Hann was whispering, tapping his claws lightly on the stone desktop. “Apparently he’s a big deal.”

Zojja’s nose wrinkled up at the thought. “There’s that Synergetics professor, Vilarr. He’s s’posed to be an incredible golemancer but his theories are so basic…”

Hann nearly burst into giggles at that, a grin splitting his face. “You would say that.”

Leaning back a little, Pruri cleared her throat, tapping her stylus against her palm. “Kids! Quiet please. We all need to be very respectful of our guest. He’s one of Rata Sum’s most famous and respected golemancers… but I’ll let him introduce himself.”

Stepping aside, she cleared the way for an older asura to step in. He wore a warm, welcoming expression on his weathered face, grayed hair swept back from his broad face. He swept a look over the gathered progeny, then clasped his hands together in front of him and bowed forward just slightly. “Good morning, scholars! Please allow me to introduce myself…” Standing straight, he beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “My name is Snaff.”

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