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last-herondale · 9 months

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Bewitching Hour

Bucky Barnes x FemReader

Warnings: cursing, alcohol use, mentions of blood, spicy 🌶️ topics 👀

Hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of +18 stuff if ya know what I mean 😏

It’s weeks after your rescue mission and luckily Bucky is on the mend. Unfortunately, your actions on the field have you wrapped up in the biggest trial of your life. While the rest of the team votes on your future, you decide to hit up a bar and drink away your problems.

A/N: Someone suggested on my previous Bucky fic to write another piece on this storyline and i had some stroke of writers inspiration, which is very rare to come by nowadays 😩 So onwards with the y/n reader who has shadow powers and a super soldier for a boyfriend! 🫡

So this is part 2 of what I’m calling the Midnight Series. I will update my master list and link here.

Enjoy 🤘🏼

Clubs were not your scene. At first you tried a small run down bar you found in Hell’s Kitchen and that was packed on a Friday night with people from all walks of life. You had a few beers, but decided you needed somewhere different. Somewhere no one would notice you in a sea of people. Where you could drink your feelings away on what would probably be your last night of freedom.

You found a popular club not too far from the bar. The air was thick with the hot air emanating from the crowd as they danced to a booming beat. You sat at the far end of the bar, downing your 5th shot of vodka. The drink was horse piss compared to the stuff Stark stocked at the compound, but it would do for tonight.

“Another round miss?” The bartender asked, making her way down the bar as people clambered to get their drink. Her tank top was low cut, showing off her commodities that probably earned her extra tips on busy nights like these. “A double this time,” you respond, sliding over a few bills. The bartender didn’t bat an eye as she poured your drink and immediately moved on to the next customer.

Your hand shook a bit as you went to grab the glass. I should definitely stop. You thought. You had went out in the dance floor earlier, feeling the need to do something—anything to take your mind off your situation. Dancing had been a sort of release, letting your body move to the beat, letting yourself meld into the crowd like anyone else. Now you were flushed, sweating, and in your eyes—not drunk enough. I should stop. I will… after this…

Just as your fingertips touched the glass, a familiar gloved hand beat you to it and pulled the glass out of your reach. You looked up with blazing anger, your eyes turning dark at your thief. You had already been hit on by four guys, each one reeking of alcohol as the night progressed. You were one drunk idiot away from losing your shit. You felt a slight stream of smoke begin to encircle your closed fist until you recognized the man in front of you.

Immediately your eyes softened as they settled on Bucky’s concerned face. He still had harsh bruises scattered on his skin, most of them a pale yellow as they neared healing completely. He wore a dark baseball cap and a pair of phony glasses in order to blend in. While you were one of the few avengers that no one recognized, Bucky did not have the same luxury. The sight of him made your chest tighten. He was so beautiful it hurt to look at him sometimes, especially when he looked at you like this…

“Hey Buck,” you said softly, averting your eyes from him. You figured he would find you sooner or later. You left your phone at the compound when you left. It was a dangerous game to play, especially since you weren’t supposed to leave the compound in the first place. But you needed an escape, and telling Bucky would have complicated things. You wondered how many times he had called, wondering where you were in a panicked state.

“Hey Doll,” he replied with equal tenderness. He leaned onto the bar, fiddling with the shot glass in his hand, being careful to not spill its contents.

“You’ve been hard to find today.” The music around you boomed and his voice barely cut through the noise. You had to strain yourself to hear him, especially being inebriated, but you knew he would hear you just fine.

You shrugged. “I didn’t really feel like being around when the hammer dropped, ya know? If they decide to arrest me…” you willed yourself to look at the man you loved.

You were on the borderline of being drunk, and your vision danced a bit as you looked at him. He gave you a soft look, his eyes seemed to shimmer in the lights of the bar. “I didn’t want to make it easy for them.”

“They aren’t going to arrest you,” Bucky insisted. “Steve wouldn’t-“

“Of course he fucking would!” You yelled. Bucky did not react to your outburst, which made the anger in your core flicker even more.

“Fuck Steve! He’s the one that called this meeting in the first place. He wants to see me punished—I know he does. I mean come on Buck, I broke protocol, I defied his orders— I killed… so many people…” your memories flashed to that day.

The mission was the most important thing to you ever. You looked at Bucky again, and used one hand to remove the glasses from his face. He let you remove them and cup his cheek as you ran a gentle thumb over one of his fading bruises.

“I would do it all again. Every single fucking thing. I don’t care if they hate me for it—”

Bucky placed his hand over yours. You stood there a moment in silence as the rest of the bar roared around you. He always made it feel as if nothing in the world mattered but the two of you. As if the rest of the world sipped away into the background. You smiled at him, wondering how you could have ever been so lucky as to live a man like him. You stood from your chair, wobbling a bit as you regained your balance.

“I wanna dance,” you said, taking hold of his hand, “If it’s my last night of freedom, I want to have fun.” You tried to pull him with you to the dance floor but he didn’t budge. He just looked at you with a steady look.

“Y/n, let me take you home,” Bucky said. You frowned and let go of his hand. You began to back away from him and slip further into the group of dancing people. He called out for you again, but you had already lost yourself in the sea of people.

The music seemed to fill your senses. You danced and moved your body freely, wanting nothing more than to be taken by the moment. You let your hair down, spinning and feeling free in your drunken state. You felt Bucky’s hand on your shoulder and you turned around, wrapping your arms around his neck. People danced around you as you looked into Bucky’s eyes. He still had a look of concern, but there was something else in his eyes. A spark of something deeper— something wild.

“Dance with me James,” you whisper in his ear, biting at his neck as you pull him closer. He could smell the liquor on your breath and he sighed.

“You know you want to,” you teased. You slid your hands from his neck down to his chest, feeling the fabric of his shirt as you swayed to the beat. He couldn’t help but smirk at you, moving his hands ever so slowly to your waist.

You smiled brilliantly at this, and he pulled you in closer, his fingers gripping your hips as he stayed there inches away from your face. He was teasing you with his mouth, his lips parted over so slightly in a grin. You wanted to fuck him right there on the dance floor. You inched a bit closer and could smell the hint of vodka on his breath. Your eyes lit up.

Got ‘em.

The two of you danced together, a series of movements that pushed and pulled the two of you part like magnets. Everything else blurred away, and all you felt was the freedom and love and heat from Bucky. The way he looked at you, eyes blown wide when you moved against him, how he touched you in public, gentle yet firm to keep you close to him. It made everything disappear—for a little bit.

Memories from that mission flashed in your head. Dead hydra soldiers scattering the floor. The image of them choking on your shadows—the feeling of their life leaving their bodies. You told yourself it was worth it—believed in the moment it was right—

You stopped dancing and swayed a bit, holding onto Bucky’s shoulder. He steadied you and looked you over, his chest rising and falling from the dancing.

“What’s wrong doll?” The images flashed through your mind again. Bucky, beaten near an inch of his life, his metal arm on the operation table. Your stomach lurched. Sweat beaded on your forehead and the world seemed to tilt a bit under the neon lights.

“I think I’m gonna be sick— I need to get out of here.”

He pulled you by the hand gently.

“Come on,” he said as he wrapped one hand around your waist, guiding you as you stumbled a bit, “let’s get you out of this shithole.”

“Just don’t take me back— please. I can’t—“

He shushed you gently as you made your way out of the club and into the cool night air. There was a cab outside and Bucky helped you get in the car. You didn’t hear where he told the driver to go, but he insisted he was not taking you back to the compound.

“I won’t take you back sweetheart, I promise. Just relax and please try not to vomit on my nice jacket,” He teased and wrapped his arm around you as you leaned your body into his.

The idea of vomiting up the cheap liquor made you almost dry heave once. You groaned a bit as You rested your head on his chest, nuzzling your cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt. The smell of him was enough to calm your stomach for the rest of the ride.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled against him, “I’m a mess. I ruin everything.” Tears began to spill down your cheek and soak into the front of his shirt. Bucky ran his hand through your hair, kissing the top of your head.

“You dont ruin anything doll. You are perfect. You are wonderful. You are everything to me. I am alive because of you, you know that right? Hydra is gone because of you—“

“Because I killed them. I— I slaughtered them. I know I should feel some sort of regret for that… but when I think back to that day— when all I could think of was you—“ you shook your head against him.

“What they did to you— what they have already done to you over the years… Im sorry, Buck, but I don’t regret it. Not one bit. I would do it all again to save you. Maybe Steve is right— maybe I should be locked away for what I am—I’m no good— I’m a monster—“

“No.” Bucky said harshly, nearly growling against your ear. “Never think that. Do you hear me?”

His tone was a sharp blade in your chest. The last thing you wanted was to upset him, and yet here he was consoling you in the middle of the night—chasing after you like a damned child. You felt pathetic, but said no more. You just nodded once, wiping at your tears as he continued to stroke your hair.

Bucky also remained silent as the cab arrived at its destination. You looked out the window once the car stopped and were surprised by what you saw. You were outside of an old apartment building. You recognized it immediately as Bucky’s old hideout. Not even Steve knew about this safe house. Bucky paid the driver and helped you out of the car. He walked with you to the edge of the building, leaning up against the brick wall as he removed his hat. The night air swirled through his hair and he sighed.

“Any better?” He asked, watching you as you sat on the sidewalk, resting your back against the brick. The cool air was comforting, and the wave of nausea seemed to pass ever so slowly. You nodded and tilted your head back.

“Some hero I am, huh?” You laughed dryly. Bucky huffed out a small laugh.

“You know, I ask myself that almost every damn day.” You couldn’t help but laugh, turning to him with a sad smile.

“What a pair we make, eh?”

Bucky looked down at you, his expression thoughtful—but sad.

“Doll,” he sighed gently, lifting his head to look out into the night sky again. “I wish I could tell you—no show you— just how… important you are to me.” He struggled to find his words, but they made you freeze in place as he continued.

“I know what it’s like to do horrible things. Terrible, regrettable, and unforgiving things… To be haunted by the past—“ he looked down at this metal hand.

“To not be able to look yourself in the mirror most nights…”

He clenched his hand into a tight fist and exhaled slowly before turning to face you again. He held out his hand to you, and you didn’t hesitate to take it. He pulled you to your feet, guiding you closer until his hands were on your waist again.

“I used to believe that there was nothing I deserved more than to be punished for my sins. That I was a monster beyond saving. But then I met you, my little shadow monster. You saw in me what no one else believed existed—you saw the man, flaws and all. And you gave me something i never thought I deserved.”

His eyes glistened in the moonlight as he searched your face with the sweetest tenderness. As if he saw the world in your eyes.

“You gave me hope, y/n.”

A smile broke across your face as you cried and laughed. Bucky returned your smile and you pulled him in by his neck for a kiss. His mouth was gentle and sweet against yours. He pulled you closer, murmuring sweet nothings against your mouth as your tears fell down your face. The soft breeze tousled both your your hair, causing yours to swirl behind you like ribbons.

Bucky pulled away slightly, leaving his forehead tipped against yours.

“I love you, y/n. God, I love you so damned much.” You gave out a relieved laugh, and thumbed a stroke on the back of his neck.

“And I adore you,” you whispered. He pulled you in for a hug, wrapping his strong arms around you, kissing your cheeks until your tears disappeared on his lips.

“We are going to figure this out. Whatever comes our way. I promise.”

Your stomach tightened on the last part. You had made Bucky a similar promise. One you had failed to keep—one you were currently paying for. You thought about what kind of power this love held over you—over him. You were willing to destroy your life in order to keep Bucky safe— to prevent him from ever going back to being on the run, being hunted, being alone. As you held the weight of the world in your arms, you felt a sickening hole rip through your chest.

You knew what you had to do for Bucky—always for Bucky.

#fem reader #reader x marvel #marvel fanfic club #marvel #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes

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petersbaby · 1 year

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HAHAHA I wrote this when I was half asleep PLEASE don’t make fun of it I will scream

Please - sub!billy x reader

Warnings: this is fucking crazy. I don’t know where this came from, but the idea of him being tied to a bed wouldn’t leave my thoughts. Good god. Uh, bondage/restraints, pain play, mommy kink (heavy usage), masochism maybe but not that bad, burning, smut (sex), cum talk (I love talking about cum), honestly it’s pure filth. PURE FILTH

A/N: let me know if this needs any more warnings I’m super tired and might’ve looked over something

“I love you like this. I wish the whole town could see this, that you’re not all big and bad. You’re just a pretty little boy who begs for what he wants.”

You look at his body intently, devouring it with your eyes, walking around the bed. Billy was restrained by all four limbs, wrists cuffed to the headboard and ankles tied tightly to the bedposts at the bottom. He doesn’t respond to your attempts to get a reaction out of him, he doesn’t deny it because it’s true.

“Hmm. Don’t wanna talk?”

He shakes his head ‘no’ quickly. He’s somehow already sweating, curls sticking to his face and neck, getting frizzy from the heat he emanated.

“I guess I’ll have to leave you alone, then…” you glance down at the ground, implying you’re going to turn around and abandon him, helpless.

“No, don’t. Please.” He whines, and you come back to his side.

“I know what you want, but you’re gonna have to be good to get it. Okay?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Fire shoots straight down to your core, setting it alight and it spreads rapidly. You almost lose your composure, having to mask how horny that made you, but you keep it together.

“Good boy.” You gently run your fingers across his forehead, pushing back the stray pieces of hair that were stuck to it.

You climb onto the bed, on top of the nude boy, still in all your clothes besides your shorts, which were already gone. Reaching to the side, you grab Billy’s pack of cigarettes and take one into your mouth. You light it, taking in a deep inhale and exhaling the smoke loudly.

“Hold this, baby.” You place it between his fingers, and he holds it, though he’s restrained.

You lean over, starting to do exactly what you wanted to do. You place the very first kiss onto his jawbone, near his earlobe. You’re horribly slow with the amount of progress you make, the ultimate goal to reach his cock.

You didn’t care, you knew he could wait, and you took lots of careful time licking and sucking on the salty, sensitive skin of his neck. Marks form all the way down the side of it, and he groans each time you bite down hard. The sound of his desperation was music to your ears, so you kept on going. You suck on the skin covering his collarbone, working all the way across it to the end.

“Everyone that looks at you is going to know you’re mine, that I own you.” You comment, pulling away and sitting up to admire the work you did with the bites and hickeys. They were already turning a dark purple color, and they were beautiful. You smell smoke and remember the cigarette you had lit, reaching over to take it from his fingers and taking a hit.

“Words, Billy. Hello?” You add.

“Yes- yeah, yeah. You own me, mhm. Can I hit that, please?” His eyes are fixated on the cigarette that sat between your lips.

“Yes, pet, here.”

You place it in his mouth and let him take a hit of it, pulling it away when he took the smoke in. He breathes out through his nose.

“Thank you.” He says softly.

“So polite, I love your manners. Sweet baby.”

You sit and just smoke, taking your leisurely time. You notice in his face that he’s staring at it, and at the cherry red burning end. He didn’t want to say it, but you weren’t a mind-reader, so you assumed he wanted more and brought it to his lips again. He just shakes his head.

“No? What is it, has your color changed?”

“No, no, it’s green.” He rushes out the words to assure you, “just… would you put that out… uh, fuck.” He gets frazzled trying to put it into words. You listen patiently, waiting.

“On me. Please. Burn me.” He finishes quickly.

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Mhm.”

You knew he had kind of a thing for pain, but were hesitant about this. You didn’t want to hurt him, you really didn’t, but he asked you to. Of all the cigarettes you’ve smoked together- it was a habit you shared- he’s never said anything like that.

You hesitate for a moment, but figure he’s done it before to know he wants it. You take one last hit of the cigarette before pressing the tip of it down onto his chest, on his upper pec.

“Ah- shit,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “Fuck.” He breathes.

You discard the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table, coming back to look down at the damage, a perfect white circle with a bit of ash speckled around it. You blow the ash away, and place a kiss on top of the burn.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You reply mindlessly, not noticing the desperation in his face as he stares up at you.

He starts to shift a bit, enough that you can feel it.

“I need-“

“You need to wait.” You interrupt him, shutting him down.

You place kisses all across his torso, starting at his chest and making your way down to his abdomen. You feel his tight muscles constrict even tighter when you kiss over them, his sensitive body tensing up each time.

He’s still shifting, whining quietly every now and then, trying to be good and not buck his hips. You work your way down to his happy trail, a line of blonde hair starting at the bottom of his belly button. Continuing, you get right to where the bush of pubic hair starts to form, and stop there. He starts to whine louder, close to tears.

“Please.”

“Be patient, I’ve still got all my clothes on. That’s not very fair, is it?” You ask, tilting your head as you do.

“N-no.” He shakes his head.

You reach for the bottom hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, discarding it somewhere in the floor. His big, dumb eyes fall down to your chest. You make quick work of getting your bra off too, letting it fall away.

You feel him continue to stare at you, getting up off the bed to remove your panties. Now that you’re off of his lap, you can see how miserable he is. His cock is a darker shade of red, hard as a rock, leaking desperately from the tip and twitching on its own.

“Poor thing. Can’t do anything about that without your hands, huh? Do you need help?”

He nods, swallowing hard. When you finally get back on top of him, your warm, wet pussy makes direct contact with his erection.

“Ahh, oh god, oh my god.” He moans, and you start to rock a bit, grinding on his dick without letting it actually get in. Your slick covers it, the entire shaft, when you spread your pussy lips around it and continue the bringing motion.

The motion stimulated your clit wonderfully, you felt like you could just do this forever. Maybe you didn’t need penetration, this contact was something so good that you could cum from it already. He watches the place where your cunt is rutting against his boner, and can’t take any more.

“Put it in, please, I want to fuck you so bad. What do you want me to do? I’ll do it, I’ll do anything. Just please fucking put it in.”

You come to realize that tears are actively falling from the corners of his eyes. You decide to give in, in that moment, but wanted to push him just a little more, just for your sick enjoyment.

“Hmm. Okay, well, do you know my name?” You ask.

You see some cogs turning in his little head, trying to find the answer.

“Aww, so horny you can’t even remember my name.” You reach to caress his cheek, skin hot.

“It’s mommy.” You bend down to whisper in his ear.

“Please, mommy, please. Mommy, mommy, mommy. I need you, mommy, please,” he starts to ramble, and you give a satisfied smile.

You line it up and sink down onto him with no warning, and he cries out loud. Almost like a sob, it filled the air in the room. You sat all the way down on his cock and stayed that way for a moment, getting used to it. Soon, you start to move, riding his cock slowly.

“Oh, my god, mommy, thank you, fuck, it’s sososososo good-“ he rambles again, saying words just to say them. He can’t be quiet, moans loud and resonating, babbling incoherently, crying and mewling.

“Stop crying, I’ve got you, baby.”

You lean back down to kiss the tears off of his face.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

“I’m taking care of you. Aren’t I taking good care of you, hmm?”

“Yes, mommy’s taking such good care of me.”

“There you go, good boy.”

You increase your speed, now bouncing up and down on his cock. He watched your tits bounce with each movement, enamored. He wishes so bad that he could touch them, that he could touch any of you. Literally anything, he just wanted to feel your skin beneath his fingers.

You start to let out moans that mix harmoniously with his, riding him at just the right speed for you. The sight below you was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, your boy sweaty with wide eyes and blown out pupils, mouth hanging open and panting like a dog.

All the while covered in bruises and bite marks that you made.

For the first time tonight, you leaned down and kissed him. You finally let him kiss you, and he was over the moon. The feeling was electric, his lips on yours, and you try your best to actually kiss but end up just moaning into each other’s mouths. Having to pull away, you ride him like your life depended on it, and it felt like it did.

“Mmh, god, I’m so close.” You try to say but the words are all slurred together, and you keep your perfect pace until you’re clamping down on his cock and orgasming hard, letting it wash over your entire body and take over your senses.

You keep on riding, using him, his dick hitting your g-spot over and over again. It was almost too much, overkill, but not enough to stop. You couldn’t stop, so you didn’t. You continued bouncing your ass up and down on his cock, relishing in the feeling you get when he’s filling you up.

You hardly noticed the words being spoken. When you tune back in, it’s him just begging and begging you to give him permission.

“M-mommy I can’t, please.” He whines, unable to keep it in.

“Oh, go ahead, pretty boy. Fill me up, keep going til nothing’s left.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice, and you feel him twitch inside of you before spilling. You start to slow down your pace, still continuing your movements until he started to shake and then you got off.

You immediately start spilling all over the bed below you, his hot cum leaking out. You’ll wash the sheets, just not now. You were just taking in the moment, silently appreciating it.

“Shit.” You remark, trying to get yourself together. Once you have, at least a little bit, you quickly tug on your panties and throw one of his big t-shirts on. You go to the foot of the bed first to untie his ankles, knowing that the knots you did were tight and possibly cutting off circulation.

He let out a sigh of relief at his freedom, then you grabbed a tiny key from the bedside table drawer. You move quickly to unlock the cuffs, one at a time until he’s soon completely unrestrained.

“Are you okay? What do you need?” You check in. You were tired, but not too tired to make sure he’s taken care of.

“I’m okay. Pants, please, and water.”

“Okay.”

You go to retrieve a pair of sweatpants and toss them over, then head to the kitchen and grab him a cold bottle of water. When you come back, he has a cigarette lit and is smoking it happily. You hand him the water and sit down next to where he lay.

You watch as he sort of returns to his normal self, and you wonder if he’s as exhausted as he is.

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

You smile. “Yes.” And you snatch the cigarette out of his hand, stealing it.

It makes you look down at his chest, and you wonder out loud, “does that really turn you on?” as you trace the skin around the burn with you fingertips delicately.

“I dunno,” he shrugs, “just feels good.”

“Well that’s something we’ll not do very often, sometimes, if you want, but not often. Can’t have scars all over this perfect body.” You compliment as your fingers wander and caress his bare torso.

He blushes, only slightly, smiling. “Stop it.”

“What? It is. I know it and you know it too.”

“That’s all you. You’re perfect.”

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargove smut #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things smut #billy hargrove x y/n

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knightyoomyoui · 1 year

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The Tale Of The Bloodline | TWICE MiSaMo (Mina, Sana & Momo) x Male Reader- CHAPTER 3: “The Honorary Muse”

Note: Starting from this chapter, I will start adding specific length of timeskips and when is the date of that part. If there's nothing in there then it means that it was happening on the same night as the previous part. This is to let you readers keep in track as we progress more into the story.

Previously on CHAPTER 2: "Defend In Honor"... "I know he's having a busy night. I know the Myouis too. I know the Bloodline does. They all are having a busy night. I'm trusting you with this." Sana patted Jinyoung's shoulder then proceeded doing gestures again to emphasize her statement. "You tell him, I will personally deal against Jang Wonyoung, okay?"

Jinyoung was astounded, he looked at Sana interestingly. A smirk and a clutch to his chest. "He doesn't need to worry about it, okay? I will handle it on his behalf. Ijust need to make sure that you let him know soon, okay?" Jinyoung paused Sana, excusing her with a finger up. They leaned their heads closer, Jinyoung lowered his voice near Sana's ear. "I'm gonna tell you something I really shouldn't repeat." "Well go on then." "The Empire Chief..." "Yeah?" "...respects and appreciates your initiative." Jinyoung proudly said with a grin. Sana brought her fists up, feeling uplifted. "That's what I'm talking about! O-okay, I have to go now and prepare for Wonyoung later. Tell Yuta that I acknowledge him."

Jinyoung nodded and accepts Sana's handshake before the fighter left, fully motivated to meet her mission later dedicated to her one and only Empire Chief.

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall, introducing first: from Osaka, Japan, she is the great liberator... Minatozaki Sana!" The ring announcer Song Jihyo introduces Sana who has now entered the ring and dressed completely to fight.

It didn't last long as another one has made her way to the ramp by emerging on the stage, flipping the crowd noise from boos to yays for the arrival of the babyface Jang Wonyoung.

"And her opponent, from Seoul, South Korea. She is the artist known as Jangggg Wonnnnnyoung!!!!!"

As she stepped inside the ring along with Sana and the referee where the two combatants positioned theirselves in their respective corners, their normal and clear state has allowed the referee to signal for the bell to ring and start the match.

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

"Wonyoung, who is now fighting hard to escape from Sana's armlock" says the color commentator Knight Yoo as he calls the current scenario of what's going in the battle area where Wonyoung is now slowly standing up on her feet after consuming supports and motivations being sent by the fans cheering for her.

Now fully risen, she hits a knee to Sana's midsection twice before Sana decides to stop Wonyoung from applying minor damages to her body, only to backfire when Wonyoung starts running through the ropes and Sana was unable to catch her fast pace.

"Wonyoung looks to build momentum, and perhaps that will do it as Sana goes down."

Wonyoung ended her stomping grounds as she nailed a swift heel strike towards Sana's awaiting face, causing both of them to crash down on the mat but more pain will be on Sana as she ate that hit pretty hard.

Both recovered already on their collision, Sana tried to strike a punch at Wonyoung but the latter prevented it; instead delivering a successful elbow hit on Sana's jaw then a knee again to her torso, causing Sana to bow her body in an angle.

Highlighting her martial arts and flexibility elements, Wonyoung added a huge scissor kick straight to the back of Sana's neck. The Japanese who is now on fours, became accessible for Wonyoung to attempt critical loss of advantage for Sana as she ran to the ropes and bang Sana's face with a sliding kick.

The dazed and exhausted Sana threw herself to the top right turnbuckle. Wonyoung saw the opportunity, she ran at her. Sana noticed her charging figure, defending herself with a double kick yet the still observative and alert Wonyoung holds both of her feet then hurled her on the middle rope.

Sana was left sitting between the top and middle rope, unaware that from her behind Wonyoung did a reverse roll, ran and slid beneath her while clutching at her body; resulting for a sliding suplex. She collapsed back first into the mat while Wonyoung who landed on the ringside fires herself up with rage as the crowd cheered louder for her.

"RAAAAAGGGGHHH!!!!"

Wonyoung climbed back to the ring and into the top rope, eyeing down Sana who weakly stood up before she does a knee to the back of Sana's neck.

Wonyoung then pinned Sana, lifting her one leg up. The referee began to count.

"1...2...-"

Sana kicks out of two.

The frustrated Wonyoung grabbed Sana's hair and carefully lifts her up. Sana broke out of her hold, swiping away Wonyoung's hands, attempting for another sucker punch but Wonyoung dodges. She plants another forearm strike on Sana's face then a shin kick near to the ear.

The poor Japanese fighter must be seeing stars now based from how she already lost the composure of her stance. Wonyoung hilariously watched her spun around and go again near at the bottom right turnbuckle.

Sensing the incoming opportunity for her to end the match on her favor, Wonyoung positioned herself in a fighting stance; hyping the crowd to her prepared finisher about to be released.

"Jang Wonyoung seems to have Sana where she wants her and now, looking to finish with a running knee chop but AGAIN, MINATOZAKI SANA RETREATS!" the commentator Knight Yoo mentioned Sana's sudden roll out to the ring as she realized the danger she just put herself in.

The annoyed Wonyoung gets out of the ring from the other side, monitors Sana as she stayed on her spot for a while before she plans to blindside her but to everyone's shock, Sana counters it by powerslamming Wonyoung on the ringside floor who groaned loudly at the harsh impact her back received.

The referee started to count. Sana entered the ring again at 4th count while Wonyoung is still recovering.

"5!!... 6!!!!"

The crowd is now chanting, mixed with their synchronized counts together with the referee while the others had the audible panic in their pleading screams for Wonyoung to continue fighting.

"7!!!..... 8!!!!"

Wonyoung gripped the ringside apron. One knee out of the floor.

"9!!!"

She finally did it. The crowd expressed their relief and joy that Wonyoung was still able to make it. Sana is probably the only person inside the arena right now who is having the opposite reaction to Wonyoung's toughness.

The match still continues. Sana rains stomps and kicks on the unrecovered Wonyoung to steal the lead. She rolled outside of the ring and brought Wonyoung with her. Pulling her up, she was about to bump her into the ringside pole but to no avail as Wonyoung switches; Sana was the one who took the contact instead.

Wonyoung threw Sana beyond the ringside barricade where the ring announcer, timekeeper and other staffs are sitting around. They were surprised, Wonyoung just entered the ring and the referee once again counts; this time to put Sana's fate in tatters.

The count is now at 8. Sana stood up but still slightly falls from her feet.

"Mintozaki Sana, falling at the count of 8. Enters at number 9, barely beats the count"

And then all of a sudden... as Sana crawled back into the ring; she meets her demise by accepting Wonyoung's finisher as her opponent charges on her in desperation.

"OHHHH RUNNING KNEE STRIKE!!!"

"1..2..3!!!" The bell rang after as the crowd erupted in joy along with the commentators, still satisfied from that awesome finish did by Wonyoung.

"Here is your winnerrr... JANG WONYOUNGGG!!!" the ring announcer declares the victory for the Queen Of Strong Style. The referee helps Wonyoung celebrate her win by holding her raised arms in the air in front of the applauding audience.

Sana on the other hand, clutches on her jaw in pain as she rolls her body around.

"Well thankfully Sana should be glad that the Bloodline is very busy right now to witness her lost, right?" Knight talks to his fellow commentator partner Lee Kwangsoo whose grin is from ear to ear, delighted at his pick's victory.

"Apparently yeah, they don't have any care either that this match existed tonight so Sana is just safe." Kwangsoo replied, agreeing to Knight's statement.

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

1 WEEK LATER | May 13, 2023

During the another episode of Friday Night Knockdown, everyone has seen the special adviser Park Jinyoung walking in the backstage holding a coffee that probably the Empire Chief has requested for him to get.

On his way back to the Bloodline locker room, he saw Sana who is waiting outside, smiling that the person she came there for has appeared.

"Oh, Sana." Jinyoung greeted her simply. Sana clasped her hands and smiled timidly back at him.

"Hey, Jinyoung."

"Wait here for a second, I'll just gonna give this to the Empire Chief." Jinyoung excused himself to Sana, opening the door and entering the room as he gave the hot coffee to Yuta inside. He walked out immediately, facing Sana again who patiently waited outside.

"What brought you here?"

Well, I came here. I know he still has a lot in plate. He's talking to the Myouis right now. He's getting them prepared to go out there and talk address that tag title match. I don't want to bother him so... I'm asking you a favor here. Sana began speaking out her concern. Jinyoung impressively reacted.

"Because I want to make sure that everything is in full square, okay? I may have overstepped my boundaries by accepting that match with Wonyoung but I need to make sure, I want him to see my true intentions, you know what I'm saying?" Sana continues, pointing her two index fingers at the walls of the Bloodline locker room to refer at one of the person inside, and that is none other than Yuta Nakamoto.

"I stood up, Jinyoung. Nobody else stood up! Those guys came from War and then what? They disrespected everybody. They disrespected The Bloodline. They disrespected Yuta Nakamoto. They disrespected the entire locker room I'm keeping an eye in and with that, I had to be the one to stood up."

Jinyoung remained silent, still listening at Sana who sounds absolutely making sense as of the moment. She was indeed right, because of what Sana did it truly did seem that she might be the only person around here in the roster who respects and cares about the Bloodline's status.

"I'm the one. Me. Me!" Sana kept pointing at herself. "And I have to make sure that the relationship between the locker room leader and the Highness of the Land is... synergystic, you understand?"

Jinyoung tried to speak but he just let Sana proceed as she added another words to say on behalf of her reasoning.

"We have to be on the same page. So what I'm asking you, please Jinyoung... I need to get my respect back." Sana begged at Jinyoung, squeezing her tone.

Jinyoung nodded, understanding Sana's side. "It all starts with Yuta Nakamoto. It all starts with the Bloodline. I just want to make sure that he's not mad at me, honestly."

Sana has finally done opening up her fears and worries of the possibilities that his goal of getting along really well with Yuta and his family won't last long. Her obvious uneasiness brought Jinyoung to smirk, lean closer beside her and pat her in behind.

"Sana, your Empire Chief... appreciates you."

That was the only thing he said. Giving one last little stronger pat, he returned inside the room; leaving Sana to cheer up instantly by creating antics of success and hope within her.

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

1 WEEK LATER | May 20, 2023

The time has come. Tonight's main event in Friday Night Knockdown is what all have been waiting to see. The twins YN and Mina Myoui are currently defending their Japan Fightful Federation World Tag Team Championships with Park Jinyoung and the reigning World Champion Yuta Nakamoto on the ringside against the challengers, Miyawaki Sakura and Kim Chaewon aka LE SSERAFIM from Monday Night War.

The match is now ongoing for 13 minutes and so far the crowd is really into it, chanting loudly in support for either one of the teams of their choosing. Right now, Chaewon is on the top rope with YN Myoui, pounding her arm against his back to weaken and execute a superplex on him.

YN tries to counter, but that urged Chaewon to increase her offense; plowing YN's nape with series of elbows until he stops.

Change of plans, the crowd was in awe including the commentators when Chaewon positioned herself beside YN to look like she's aiming rather to perform her and Sakura's own finisher called the "Antifragile" from the top rope and turn the move into a surpreme one.

"What the hell is Jinyoung doing?!" commentator Knight saw something strange going on in the ring.

In a shocking turn of events though, Jinyoung tried to enter the ring; distracting the referee by warning him not to do it. That was just in time for Chaewon to slay YN when suddenly everyone screamed in shock when Chaewon ended up rather crashing down on the mat alone.

"WAIT A MINUTE! T-THE EMPIRE CHIEF! YUTA NAKAMOTO! THAT WAS YUTA SAVING HIS COUSIN YN!!!" Knight yelled as even him witnessed Yuta taking advantage of referee arguing with Jinyoung rather on focusing in the match as he quickly grabbed YN's leg to prevent him crashing down with Chaewon in the ring.

Now that Chaewon suffered from the painful landing she received, that allowed YN to ready himself on the top rope.

"SAVING YN MYOUI WHO GOES FOR THE SPLASH!!! COVER!!!"

Commentator Knight Yoo called for the referee's actions as Jinyoung stopped bothering after what Yuta did, letting the referee to notice YN pinning Chaewon.

"TO DEFEND THE TITLES, 1... 2...3!!!"

The bell rang, alarming everyone that the match has closed. The audience's expressions fell with disappointment, sadness and anger at The Bloodline's slick trick to restrict the fan favorite LE SSERAFIM win the titles.

"Here are your winners... and STILLLLLL the Undisputed Japan Fightful Federation's World Tag Team Champions... YN and Mina, The Myouis!!!" ring announcer Song Jihyo declares the victory for the reigning and defending tag champs, keeping the streak alive.

Meanwhile, Minatozaki Sana is watching the match on the backstage from the LED TV; celebrates and felt very proud for The Myoui's win and for the entire Bloodline's additional accomplishment.

She kept on watching the show as The Myouis and Yuta weren't done at LE SSERAFIM, giving each of them a brutal attacks as Sakura got placed into a guillotine lock by Yuta who is screaming in rage while all of the referees and executive staffs of the show rushed in to try restaining the group from causing chaos in the arena while Chaewon just went crashing straight to the table as she got frog splashed by Mina from the top rope.

The show ended with Yuta, YN and Mina raising their title belts in the air with Jinyoung joining them in the ring with his finger up in the sky, leaving the grieving people of Japan to forcefully accept and acknowledge their greatness while their unconscious LE SSERAFIM has finally been rescued by the staffs for emergency assistance.

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

3 DAYS LATER | May 23, 2023

On Monday Night War, General Manager Bang Sihyuk confirms that he booked a match for tonight as the Undisputed World Tag Team Champions The Myouis who successfully defended their titles against the fallen LE SSERAFIM will team up with Minatozaki Sana to face off one half of LE SSERAFIM, the medically cleared Kim Chaewon who didn't ended up in hiatus due to injury unlike her partner Miyawaki Sakura.

As a replacement and voluntarily act, one of the babyface teams in War called Tomorrow x Together or TXT for short, consisting of duo Huening Kai and Choi Beomgyu agreed to step beside with Chaewon for an Intergender 6 Person Tag Team match.

As the match progresses, Chaewon who is still not fully recovered from the attacks she suffered in the hands of the Bloodline; having her torso wrapped in elastic bandage to protect her bad ribs, delivers an exploder suplex to both YN and Sana before doing a senton to double the damage.

Chaewon saw Mina enters the ring but Beomgyu also saw that coming from the ringside. Mina tried to slap Chaewon but dodges, only to encounter a heavy knuckle from Beomgyu.

YN stood up, taking the turn to pounce at Beomgyu but he began to ran through the ropes; firing a flying elbow to YN.

Kai joins Chaewon and Beomgyu in the ring, starts to sprint through the ropes to rocket away with a dive towards The Myouis outside.

Back in action, Chaewon who is the legal competitor; hypes up the crowd by lifting up the spirit in her to execute the Antifragile finisher on Sana but she saw The Myouis stood up on the apron in distraction.

She tried to approach them but the Myouis avoided, jumping out of the ring until in everybody's surprise; they began backing out from the ramp.

"Woah, wait what?" The color commentator for Monday Night War team, Kim Jong Kook expresses her confusion on The Myoui's actions.

"Looks like The Myouis are taking a hike.", says his partner Yoo Jaesuk on the table.

"Wait, are they abandoning Minatozaki Sana?!"

Sana slowly rises up from her feet. Her eyes furrowed and went puzzled as she saw The Myouis from the distance, far away from her who supposedly they are the ones to remain sticking up for her side tonight.

Too preoccupied with confusion, Chaewon finally succeeds to hit Sana with the Antifragile. The referee counts to three, giving the win to Chaewon and TXT.

---------------- 4 DAYS LATER | May 27, 2023

As part of the main card of tonight's episode of Friday Night Knockdown, Minatozaki Sana has been invited to guest the talk show called the "G-IDLE show" hosted by her bestfriend who is currently part of the Monday Night War roster and eventually got requested by Sihyuk to make a surprise appearance for tonight's show.

Sana has been introduced, walking down into the ramp along with the boos of the crowd and her entrance theme. She enters the ring and she was fluttered when she got hugged right away by her bestfriend.

"I missed you, Sana."

"I missed you too... Miyeon." They whispered at each other off the mic.

In the midst of the show, the host Choi Miyeon switches the topic from conversing about her current feud with a fighter. She mentioned Sana's situation with The Bloodline this time.

"Look, that's why I am here tonight and I have you as my guest, alright? I just... want you to drop everything you've been doing on Knockdown and just come with me on War." Miyeon suggested. Sana frowned at how unlikely for her to do that easily knowing how her chase of respect and loyalty with the Bloodline has now become some sort of a mission now to her. She can't just cut it off that easily.

"You can call out the entire locker room there and expose all the liars, starting with Wendy. Okay?"

Sana just sighed for her bestfriend's eagerness.

"Look, Miyeon. You know I always got your back, right?"

"Yeah, I know exactly so... lets go?!"

"But now is not a good time, Miyeon. Seriously."

Miyeon was stunned at her bestfriend's response. She didn't actually expected that Sana would reject her.

"You see I have a lot in the plate right now. As a locker room leader of Knockdown, I have to monitor back there. They need me. The Bloodline needs me. They've been leaning on me heavily right now. N-now is not a good time. I'm sorry." Sana excused herself, much to Miyeon's dismay as she kept on pinching her forehead stressfully.

"You know sis... look at you." Miyeon pointed her hand at Sana. "This is the part you don't notice. This... naive, delusional side of yours."

Sana furrowed her eyebrows.

"Woah woah naive? Delusional? What are you talking about? I'm not naive?!" Sana paused Miyeon from talking.

"You are."

"I'm not?!"

"Duh look at you. Talking about The Bloodline? You are not with The Bloodline." Miyeon reminded.

"I know I don't belong yet but I'm been somehow their associate..."

"Yeah no. You're not with the Bloodline and I'm sorry to tell you this but... quite frankly you come out here, praising about them, you trynna help them out, wearing their t-shirt... makes you sound like a moron."

Sana was taken aback at Miyeon's pick of strong term to use on describing her.

"So let's just skip this out... listen to your real friends-"

Miyeon halted when Sana stood up from her chair, shaking her head in disapproval.

"Nah. Moron, huh." She muttered. "You know what, I take back what I said about Wendy minutes ago. I'm just being nice at you. You are now completely being left behind now in your roster. You can't keep up with their limits anymore."

Miyeon twitches her lips and clenches her fists in pent up anger consuming her deep inside. She thought that it would come down to this then, well she doesn't have any other choice but to slap back at her delusional bestfriend and show how she's being a hypocrite now also.

She stood up in her seat aggressively, facing Sana closely. "Shut up. You're being a bigger moron now. You aren't with the Bloodline, okay?!"

"You're being a liar, you don't know what you're even saying."

"I do, you moron!"

"Liar!"

"Moron!"

"Liar!!!"

"Moron!!!"

"LIAR LIAR LIAR!!!"

"MORON MORON MORON!!!"

They kept on exchanging childish insults at each other until Miyeon breaks it off at how it's getting ridiculous now. "Alright stop stop! Too far, you're being too far now Sana!"

"Fine, sorry." Sana bowed her head in guilt. Miyeon sighed tiredly, clicking her tongue.

"And you! You need to snap out of it okay?!" She pushes Sana with angst. "If you're so tight with the Bloodline like you claim to be, why would they leave you high and dry on War, huh?"

Sana was speechless at the painful truth that Miyeon just fired.

"It's so easy to figure out if you're really this close to them, why don't we just call them out here and see what happens?" Miyeon said, spreading her arms as she laid out a dare for Sana who is still silent.

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen give it up for The Bloodline!!!"

The crowd looked at the stage. Nobody showed up.

"Give them a sec." Sana reasoned.

"Oh, yeah maybe they didn't heard me loud and clear. Okay, again. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, GIVE IT UP FOR THE BLOODLINEEE!!!"

Nothing. No signs of either Yuta, Jinyoung or The Myouis in the entranceway.

She went beside Sana who must be feeling embarassed and saddened, wrapped her arm around her back and caressed her shoulder. "Look, girl. Sana. You know why aren't coming out?"

Sana just looked at Miyeon.

"Because the Bloodline couldn't care less about you."

Sana scoffed, removing Miyeon's arm around her. "Whatever. You don't know what you're talking about."

She left the ring through hopping between the ropes, leaving Miyeon alone in the ring. Sana begun walking back in the ramp when Miyeon rolled out and chased Sana. "Wait, Sana! Just forget about this stuff, okay?! Girl, just come with me on War-"

Miyeon reaches Sana's shoulder and tried to turn her around, only to met with an intense push to her chest by Sana that made her look weirdly at her.

"STOP IT! GO BACK TO WAR IF YOU WANT! STAY THERE AND LEAVE ME ALONE, I HAVE A LOCKER ROOM TO LEAD!" Sana burst out furiously at Miyeon off the mic which made most of the crowd except the ones behind the barricade near at them to heat what she's saying.

Sana proceeded to walk again. Miyeon was left there, watching her back in confusion and surprise at her bestfriend's change of attitude.

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

The crowd watched on the big screen as the siblings and tag champs YN and Mina Myoui exit The Bloodline locker room. One turn, they encountered Sana who is just walked out on her bestfriend Miyeon in the arena.

The three gathered, YN looking annoyed at Sana while Mina is just serious.

"Guys, I feel like I'm putting a lot around in here and I just... not sure at all if I'm getting back the same level of respect that I deserve. We don't need to keep doing this, okay?" Sana started talking at at the twins with a hint of cluelessness in her tone of voice.

"You all can just tell me the truth in here. What do you guys exactly think of me? I mean, what am I to you? Here's what I'm thinking, what if... I don't know...

What if I join the Bloodline?"

YN coughed up at that statement, Mina just looked at her. Sana noticed what that reaction meant. "No, it's fine. I know you guys are blood. I didn't mean it like that. It's like... what if I... what if I just become, I don't know? Honorary member?"

Mina looked at Sana then you calmly. "Honorary member? Or should I say hmm... honorary muse of ours? Yeah, sure." she shrugged. YN just turned at her with a scrunched up face, in complete disbelief at his sister's decision to just add Sana like that plain and simple to their faction.

Sana raised her fists in joy, hissing in the utmost adrenaline of pleasure cursing in her soul at that wonderful answer. "You... you guys are smart. That is a right choice. Whatever you guys need, anything. I'll be here. And if I need anything, well you know..."

"Yeah, you don't have to say it now muse. We got you." Mina nodded with a small smile. YN just scoffed and entered the locker room again. "Catch you up later."

"Yeah, you too Mina." Sana waved her hands goodbye at Mina who followed YN after. Sana tried to call YN too but she was only left ignored.

She won't mind it that much for now. What matters for Sana the most is that tonight, she has now finally gained the respect and credibility that she's seeking to have by earning the trust of The Myouis, leaping onto one step away from the Empire Chief's own next.

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cevans-is-classic · 1 year

Text

Dieter

18+ only please.

Warnings: drug use, sexual content, language — dieter.

My Masterlist

Work in Progress Pedro Pascal list

:Read More:

You fell in love with a teenage man child.

Why?

Said teenaged man child is still ridiculously adorable even as he’s wallowing on the couch with a half eaten block of cheese in his hand?

“Dieter.”

He muffled something into the cushion.

“Honey, I can’t hear you.”

He mumbled louder.

You fought the huff that made its way up, took two deep breaths, and moved to push him off the couch.

He didn’t even yelp as he hit the floor.

He frowned at you, bringing the cheese to his mouth and biting off a huge chunk.

Your lip curled. “Please tell me you took a lactaid pill first?”

Dieter coughed, gagged his face turning red as he sprang up, pounding on his chest until he cleared his throat and could take in a proper breath.

You waited.

“Mayrin called and said they went a different direction for the Highway Heights part.”

Sitting on the couch, he shuffled towards you, leaning his head on your outer thigh and letting a feeble whimper out. You shh’d him, combing your fingers through his curls, scratching your nails over his scalp until the whimpering died down.

His cheese block was abandoned for your attention.

He grew heavier against you. “I haven’t worked in almost a year.”

“I thought you were going to let the ‘right roles’ come to you? The universe and all that.” His hair curled around his ears, the tufts sweeping across his neck lining up to the cowlicks along his temples.

He’d made a choice almost a year after his very public breakup with Annika and refusal to sign onto another Cliff Beasts.

“That hell set nearly cost me my career. No. Nope. Did you know I let those bastards eat my mushrooms?”

“Those are your friends, De.”

“Friends wouldn’t have eaten my mushrooms.”

The last mini series he’d worked on you’d been a writer, visiting the set. You’d seen the actor around, watched him deliver lines you’d written. You were surprised at how well he’d done.

(You’d never tell him this, but not all of his projects were — winners)

In between arguments with the director and the studio breathing down your necks about scheduling, you spent hours running around and outside in 100° weather like a psychopath. When you’d been on the brink of shoving the director into the nearest swamp — here came Dieter asking where the bathrooms were. His gaze was unfocused and glassy.

It’d taken you about two seconds to realize the actor wasn’t high but severely sleep deprived.

Two Ambien and a drool spot on your couch later Dieter asked you to dinner that led to watching an entire season of 1000 lbs sisters as he taught you how to needle point .

(Rehab has been beneficial in more than one way.)

He talked to you about Anika in a way you hadn’t expected.

The breakup hadn’t been pretty, and the man himself was a broken mess for months after.

He explained his descent into madness in the bubble and Anika being the one thing that seemed to matter to him.

“I’m sure it was the LSD

“Your feelings for her aren’t invalid no matter the situation, De.”

“I loved her.”

“I know.”

He spent nights on your couch — or on the floor next to your couch — both of you swinging between raging about past relationships or running commentary of whatever was on the screen.

Smoking was a green light as long as there was no alcohol near him. One night, you both did shrooms — first time for you — and he asked if you knew how to do makeup.

You didn’t.

He did.

The friendship lasted well past the end of filming — turning into three am phone calls when he was away or texting during writers panels when your ideas were ignored.

It bloomed, stretched, and twisted into something you hadn’t expected. When Dieter showed up on your doorstep when he should be in New York — well — learning how beautiful he sounded became your newest addiction.

The easy friendship turned into wondrous sex, which turned into holding him at night and curled against his chest during movies.

He’d been the first one to say I love you.

You'd stayed silent.

He hung up.

(In your defense, he was in Canada, and you'd been asleep when he called, okay? You try handling a love confession when you can't remember answering your phone.)

You wouldn't let him avoid you when he returned. Dieter loved you. He loved you and, fuck, that was an amazing thing to have.

He smiled when you swore you felt the same, "I want to wait to say it. It needs to be special."

Dieter buried his face in the crook of your neck, "What's more special than morning breath and coffee?"

Three months later, you were lying in bed with him curled against you, sweat cooling, ears ringing, the smell of Marijuana and pizza in the air, and all you could think was how normal this felt.

"Hey, De?"

"Hmm."

"I love you."

He'd made a long noise that sounded like a dying cat before rolling over and burying himself back inside you.

A year later and many, many, many moments of contemplating those exact words. With Dieter one foot in the gutter at all times and your ever increasing urge to strangle him on odd days — you both were still here.

You loved him, every aspect of the man, whether it be his genius at remembering dialog, his inability not to gay panic when a pretty man walks by or when you convinced yourself he'd lost what right mind he had left— sometimes especially then — this moment proved it considering the man himself just laid back down on the hardwood floor and spread his limbs out like a starfish.

You stared at him.

"I'm retiring."

"Dieter."

"No," He flopped his arms and legs, dark eyes rolling your way, "This is my last hoorah. I'm done. Finished. Dieter Bravo is walking away from the limelight."

He pouted.

The jut of his lip made you smile. He may be almost fifty — you should probably start planning his gift now, or else he'll be impossible — that didn't stop him from being damn adorable.

With a sigh, you slid off the couch and sat on top of him. Dieter made a noise, hands going to your hips in an instant.

"You're retiring?"

"Yes."

"Alright."

"Alright?" He sat up groaning until you shifted closer to his thighs, then held himself up with his arms and cocked his head, "Alright? You're supposed to talk me out of this! Tell me I'm being dramatic. Call me a child. Slap me across the face to end my hysterics. You-"

He gasped. The noise was louder than the actual smack was painful. His mouth dropped open in shock, "You slapped me."

Your turn to cock your head at him.

A moment of silence, Dieter blinking at you owlishly, mouth opening and closing, cogs turning behind his eyes to understand what happened.

You smiled.

Dieter groaned, "Do it again."

"Only if you admit you're not retiring."

His hips jumped. You felt what the slap had done to him and transformed your smile into a smirk.

Dieter clenched his teeth, "Of course I'm not retiring."

Your hand came up, tipping his chin back to make him look at you directly, "Good boy."

Most of our service is jacked. It's been a stressful few days.

Losing half your town does that to you 😅

Writing some of Pedro's characters helps me feel a little stable.

#jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal #dieter bravo #dieter x reader #dieter x you

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nagito-kissmaeda · 11 months

Text

if it isn't real, why does the sun still burn?

CHAPTER ONE: Rise and Shine CHAPTER TWO: i guess its all up to me now CHAPTER THREE: Predictably, everything gets worse CHAPTER FOUR: good morning CHAPTER FIVE: Something to eat CHAPTER SIX: a start CHAPTER SEVEN: the party don’t start ‘til CHAPTER EIGHT: your full hospitality CHAPTER NINE: visitation rights CHAPTER TEN: gamer girl moments

Summary : Like most people visiting this tag. You have always dreamed of meeting Nagito Komaeda for real, what you would do, what you would say? Things don’t go as planned.

AKA: Reader from our universe ends up in danganronpa and is just trying her best to keep everyone alive. and maybe to make komaeda kiss her.

Contains: she/her pronouns, canon typical violence ment Read on Ao3

Komaeda went back to acting like what he had done the day before never even happened.

He didn’t mention it once, not even when the two of you sat in near silence during dinner. You did appreciate that he thought to bring food from the dining hall and eat it with you instead of leaving you all alone. He made some comment about not being worthy to eat with the ultimates and that you are much more on his level. That was pretty par for the course with him though, and so not much of a concern.

You are growing restless, trapped in Komaeda’s cottage like this. You only have nine more days before your agreement with Komaeda comes to an end, at which point…well…he was going to kill you. He left the cottage earlier in the day, headed off with Togami to discuss something or other, you hope that he will tell you what when he comes back.

The couch starts feeling uncomfortable, so you stand up and start pacing back and forth, thoughts running a mile a minute.

When Komaeda kills you. You hope that he does it gently, kindly, maybe kisses you beforehand.

“If” you whisper to yourself, “If he kills me, not when.”

You huff aloud and dig through the bag of food that Hanamura left, grabbing a banana and taking an angry bite. Stress eating. Great. You had half expected a motive announcement this morning when Monokuma woke everyone up, but when nothing came, your anxieties only grew. There was no idea to know how things were progressing outside of the cottage if class 77B was changing their opinion of you or not.

There is a zit on your chin too. Which is just stellar.

A knock at the door has you freezing mid-step, Komaeda usually knocks before unlocking the door, but he is much more gentle about it.

Abandoning your banana on the coffee table, you step over to the door and open it just a crack, “Hello?” A bright pink eye peers back at you, “Uh…hey…am I botherin’ you?” Souda. The last time you were in a room together he cracked a wrench over your head. He whines like a sad dog when you don’t reply, “C’mon, please lemme talk to you. M’not gonna hit you again I promise.”

You huff and pull the door the rest of the way open. Souda is dithering on your doorstep, nervously playing with the zipper on his jumpsuit.

“Did you need something, Souda-san?” You ask.

He rubs the back of his neck and casts his eyes downward, avoiding your line of sight. You’ve always had a soft spot for Souda, he’s a dumbass, you like that about him.

“Yeah I uh…” he’s shifting nervously from foot to foot, “Look, can I just come in? I don’t wanna have this talk on your doorstep.” “Technically it’s Komaeda-san’s doorstep.” You say, “But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you come in.”

This is true. Komaeda would have no problem with Souda coming inside, there wasn’t even any point in asking.

“Oh yeah…right…thanks.” He says, stepping past you and into the cottage. Once he is inside, you close the door and lean against it.

“So, are you ready to talk now?” He is in the middle of snooping around the room, but quickly spins to face you, “Yeah, sure, sorry I just uh-” He clears his throat and starts fiddling with his zipper again, “I just wanted to apologise, ya know? For knocking you out that one time.” He still isn't making eye contact, “We were all just really scared and stuff, like…fuck, that killing game business isn't a joke and we really thought-” You perk up a little at his words, “What made you change your mind if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oh, yeah, uh- Mioda-san has this crazy hearing, and she told us all exactly what she heard that night. Something about you stopping Komaeda-san?” Your heart starts racing, worried that everyone else now knows what Komaeda was planning during the party.

“And yeah, Komaeda-san laughed kinda weird and said he was just falling over, and you caught him and that’s all.” Souda finally meets your gaze, but then his eyes quickly dart away again, “Togami-san said something about reexamining the scene from that night, ‘cause there was a knife, and even if you didn’t want to use it, someone did.” That must have been what Komaeda pulled Togami away for this morning. To ask for a reexamination. That’s concerning because even a little detective work will reveal Komaeda as the attempted murderer and that will just cause another uproar that you don’t need right now.

Since you don’t respond, Souda clears his throat, “Anyway, that’s why I came to apologise.”

“Thanks, Souda-san.” You say, smiling, “Things did get pretty scary that night, so I don't really blame you for what you did. Just don’t do it again, my head still hurts.”

He yelps, “Yep! That’s a promise.” God what a loser , you adore him, “Does this mean I can head back to my own cottage now? Since I’m not a suspect anymore?” Souda shrugs a shoulder, “M’not sure, that’s really up to Togami-san I think, he’s running the show these days.” He gives you a smile, showing off his pointed teeth, “I think you’ll be okay though, lot’sa people want to say sorry, I just got here first cause like- I’m the one who actually hit you.” You laugh a little, covering your mouth with your hand, “No hard feelings, I promise.”

“I’m glad. I didn’t want you thinking I’m some sorta asshole, the wrench is usually for fixing stuff, not hitting people.” He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment and then turns a little pink, “Hey uh, since you’ve been locked up in here, you probably didn’t hear about it, but a bunch of the other girls are going to the beach tomorrow. If you want, you could probably join them.”

Huh. That’s weird. Technically the second island hasn't opened up yet, if it had Monomi would have announced it and you would have already run over there to unlock the way out, and yet the girls are still planning that beach trip. You suppose they are just going to the beach next to the hotel instead, but even still, it’s interesting that preplanned events are still happening.

“That sounds nice.” You reply, “I’ll need to get some sunscreen beforehand, but sure, I’ll go.” you give Souda a sly look and cross your arms, “How do you know about this trip though, Souda- kun? ”

He turns beet red and exclaims, “Mioda-san invited me I swear!” in a breathless panic.

You laugh again, “Either way, I guess I’ll see you there.” Provided nothing bad happens before then.

Komaeda comes back not long after Souda leaves, as usual, he knocks politely on the door to advise you of his return before letting himself in.

“Hey.” You say from where you are sitting on the couch, mindlessly farming in Stardew Valley, “Souda dropped by, everything went well with Togami-san, I take it?” Komaeda beams at you, gently shutting the door and kneeling beside the coffee table, “Remarkably well, though I should have known that someone as bright as the Ultimate Affluent Progeny would be amicable to a reexamination. Togami-san is a man of details, and I admire that.” Togami-san is hardly admirable, despite the long legs.

The real Togami-san, you mean. You would trust the Ultimate Imposter with your life.

“I guess I will start moving my things back tonight then, but I will still be able to count on your help, right?” Komaeda nods enthusiastically, “Yes, of course, I did promise, after all. Plus I can’t deny that I am interested to see where your path may lead us.”

“Thank you.” You say, and you really mean it.

Komaeda smiles at you, but just before he is able to reply, the monitor in the room comes to life.

The both of you freeze, and your heart is racing in your chest. Terrified

Monokuma begins to laugh, “Well, it looks like you lot are more boring than I thought and you were so close to getting the killing started too!”

You heave a sigh of relief, no one is dead.

“Annnnnnyway-” Monokuma continues, “Since you lot aren’t too keen on getting started I thought we would up the ante. Motive two, coming at’cha!”

Monokuma didn’t even need to finish the announcement before you were on your feet and out the door. Kicking up gravel as you skid at the exit of the hotel area and start running towards the central island. Komaeda is running behind you, trying his best to keep up. You have never been an athletic person, and if not for the adrenaline pumping through your veins you surely wouldn't be able to keep up this pace, Komaeda, on the other hand, is struggling.

You come to a stop at the bridge, turning around to see him doubled over, still a good 50 feet away. You cup your hands around your mouth and yell, “I need to keep going, are you okay?” Komaeda doesn’t lift his head but does give you a shaky thumbs up as he continues catching his breath.

“Okay! I’ll meet you at Jabberwock Park!” You replied, turning on your heel and continuing your mad dash over the bridge.

Your sandals aren't designed for running, and one of the buckles comes undone and gets caught in the slats of the bridge, miraculously, you don’t fall to the ground and you instead kick the shoe off and keep running. The gravel on the other side of the bridge is much less pleasant on your bare foot, but you don’t stop until you reach the park at the centre and all but collapse against the arcade machine.

It’s here , thank god .

A sob breaks free of your throat as you clutch tightly to the cool metal, legs wobbling beneath you as the strain of running that hard and that far finally catches up with you. You gulp in air, gratefully and much too fast, as you lift your head to start playing a hiccup escapes your throat and you huff irritably. You intend to take a few more seconds to catch your breath but are startled when the game boots automatically.

It has a splash from the game’s developer at the beginning, “MonokumSoft…ugh…of course.” you say rolling your eyes.

Then, the title screen, Twilight Syndrome Murder Case. Just like in the game.

You breathe a sigh of relief, glad that Monokuma doesn’t seem to have changed anything, even with your inclusion into the narrative. Luckily you know this part of the game back to front, and all you need to do is access the true ending before anyone else does, preventing even the acquisition of a motive.

You have little chance of beating someone like Pekoyama head-on, so preventing her from even trying is your best bet.

Another hiccup escapes you, just as you hit the start button on the game and are greeted with the familiar sight of the ominous lettering reading ‘2nd Day’. Luckily, Twilight Syndrome Murder Case has always been one of your favourite parts of SDR2, you’re secretly a huge fan of obscure Japanese horror games, and this part is not even subtle about the inspiration it takes from the Twilight Syndrome and Clock Tower IPs, so you have little effort grasping the controls and start moving your way through the story as quickly as possible.

Just as you finish Day Two and start working through Day Four, you are drawn away from the game by Komaeda’s wheezing breath when he finally stumbles into the park. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, his hair is windswept and messy, and there is a dusting of pink climbing up from his chest to his face.

He’s cute, but you knew that already.

“Apologies.” He wheezes, moving to stand beside you, chest still heaving, “You were remarkably fast” You hiccup again, “I’m not usually. Adrenaline helped.”

“I believe this is yours?” He says, holding out your lost shoe. You laugh and take it from him before dropping it on the ground and shoving your foot in, you would do the buckle up again later, “Yes, thank you.”

Komaeda hums to himself and then shuffles in a little closer so he can get a better look at the arcade cabinet. He smells a little sweaty, but it’s clean sweat so you don’t mind too much. Mostly you are just distracted by how close he is now, by how his arm subtly presses against yours.

Even though you know it is coming, you still jump a little when the words, “I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU” appear on the screen in blood. It makes you hiccup again, and Komaeda chuckles. “You’ve got the hiccups.” You wince, and go back to playing the game, “Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s cute.” He says, and you feel a rush of blood through your whole body, but Komaeda loves to tease, so he quickly changes the topic, “Did I miss anything important?” “O-Oh…like in the game?” “Aha, yes, of course in the game.” You give him a quick rundown of the events so far as you continue playing, eventually moving onto the final scene where Girl A steps into the classroom and encounters the body of Girl E. Sato.

“Oh.” Komaeda says, brows pinching when the words ‘game over’ appear on the screen, “Well, that was not quite the motive I expected.” he squints at the screen and it makes his nose scrunch a little. Your palms are getting sweaty, “There must be more than that- what does down five-” “Already on it.” You say, cutting him off and exiting back to the title screen before tilting the right joystick down five times. You’re in a rush, hoping to get the game finished and stash away the reward before anyone else even knows you have played.

Komaeda is the exception.

Komaeda is always the exception.

“Ah, as I thought.” Komaeda says when the title screen changes to read ‘truth edition’, “It seems this game has more to it.” You nod your head, “It has a motive, that’s for sure.”

As you go back and play through the previously missing Day One, Komaeda nudges you with his shoulder.

“You’re surprisingly good at games for a talentless person.”

“Hm?” You say looking up from the game for just a moment “Oh, no, I just know what do to. Foresight, remember?”

Komaeda moves even closer to you, so close that you can feel his chest pressed against your back. You hold your breath as he leans forward, watching curiously as you help the girls on screen examine the crime scene, he is a lot taller than you are, so to get a better look at the screen, he rests his chin on your shoulder.

Your hands stiffen, and your heart nearly stops. Why does he keep doing this? Why does he just keep toying with you?

“Have you looked at the fish tank, yet?” He says.

You blink a few times, only just realising that you had stopped playing the game, “N-No, I’m just getting to it now. Then we just have a little more exposition before we jump to day three.” You feel Komaeda nod, the two of you watching as the end of Day one plays out and then day three begins.

“Hah.” Komaeda says, “Just as you said.” He inclines his head a little so he can look at you, and you swallow nervously, “If you were the ultimate clairvoyant and had lied about being talentless, you wouldn't hide that from me would you?”

You laugh, “the ultimate clairvoyant role is already taken, I’m surprised you don't know that.” His brow furrows, “Well, Monokuma did say our school memories were erased. Did they attend school with us?” Ah. You think. Fuck. Stupid Idiot. Shit. Fuck. Of course, he doesn’t remember.

“Uh.”

Komaeda smiles, “You can tell me.” God, when he looks at you like that, you want to tell him everything , “In the class below you.” You say quickly, “Please don’t ask me how I know, I just…I just do.” He chuckles again, “And that isn’t a talent?”

“Nah.” You reply, moving Guy F over to the furnace to examine the photos left behind by Girl E, “It’s not like an ability that I’ve had forever or a talent that I’ve honed, it’s just uh…happenstance, I guess?” You sigh, “either way, you can keep treating me like a nobody. No need to kneel before me or anything aha, I’m still talentless.”

“Hm. You didn’t seem to mind when I did it before.”

“Did what?”

“Knelt before you.”

Your cheeks burned bright red and you choked on any words you could have said.

Luckily, the game finally comes to a close before you have time to get more embarrassed. Komaeda and yourself watch the credits roll past in silence, and when it reaches the cast section, he hums to himself. With his chin resting on your shoulder, you can feel the vibration from his throat. It makes you sweat.

“So the characters in this game were some of our classmates here.” “Yes.” You reply.

“Kuzuryu-san has a sister?” “Had.” You reply

Komaeda giggles, “Yes, I support had is more appropriate.” Komaeda reaches around you to grab the joystick himself, effectively wrapping a skinny arm around your waist. He uses the joystick to reverse the credits roll so he can get a better look at the cast listings, “Ah. I think I have figured it out. That was a selfless act that Sato-san performed for Koizumi-san, I’m disappointed that she wasn’t more appreciative, her talent would only shine brighter without obstacles.” He sighs, “For a talentless person to attempt rising above their station by harassing an ultimate, well, I suppose she deserved her fate.”

There it is. You think. The reminder you so often need that Komaeda is not an uwu softboy. You shrug your shoulder, forcing him to stop leaning on you.

“That's a fucked up thing to say, Komaeda-san.”

Before he can reply, you are both distracted by the arcade machine letting out a little fanfare and dispensing a manilla folder from a small drawer under the control panel. You drop to a crouch and pull out the folder, eyebrows tugging together when you notice something else in there too, a small envelope. “Huh.” You say out loud and Komaeda drops down next to you. “You sound surprised.” He grins, “That doesn’t happen often.” You quickly tuck the envelope in your pocket before he notices you have it and produce the folder with a smile, “It just uh- bigger, than I thought it would be.” You say quickly.

Komaeda doesn’t quite seem to buy it, he gives you a saccharine smile but otherwise decides not to pry.

For now , you think.

“So, what did we win?” He asks, practically vibrating with excitement as you pull the folder open and shake out the photos. Four, as expected. You pass three of them over to Komaeda for him to examine himself, but continue clutching the one of Natsumi in your hand.

You realise just how much Natsumi looks like her brother. The blonde hair, the pink cheeks. Looking closer you can even see a small spattering of freckles across her nose.

You swallow. Unlike everyone here with you in the Neo World Program, Natsumi is dead and isn’t coming back. There is nothing you can do for her.

Passing the photo over to Komaeda, you are filled with resolve. Because you can save Kuzuryuu and Pekoyama. That much you can do.

“Now what?” He asks, smiling loosely, “We have the motive, what is next?” You smile back, a little uneasily, “I’ll need you to head back to the cottage.” You give him the empty folder and he quickly puts the photos back inside, “Hide these somewhere. I need to stay here and talk to whoever comes by next.” “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Komaeda asks.

You adjust yourself to sit on the ground with your legs stretched out in front of you, back leaning up against the arcade cabinet, “Yes. I’ll be fine. Do you promise to hide the photos? Remember our agreement?” He nods, “Of course, you have another nine days.” He shakes the folder and you hear the photos moving around inside, “Until then, these are our secret.” Christ, your whole body flushes at the words ‘our secret’. Our secret. Just the two of you.

Komaeda turns on his heel and starts heading back to the first island, his long coat fluttering in the breeze.

You bury your face in your hands.

This is going to be a long day.

#i never got around to uploading this here lol sorry #komaeda x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #danganronpa x reader #isekai

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laughsinfandom · 1 year

Text

A Whittle Help

Muriel X GN! Reader

“could i possibly ask for a muriel x reader where the MC is picking up whittling to share an interest with muriel? and they end up getting cut because they're new to it, so muriel's trying to teach them how to do it right...”

Thank you SO MUCH for requesting Anon! Hopefully this is good enough T-T ❤️

(I also did this and edited it through my Phone notes so I apologize for any mis-spellings or anything of the sort.. Please tell me through DM’s or ask box if there is anything to improve T-T!!!!)

Please have a Wonderful day and Stay Safe!

Love you!

=====================

The small piece of wood sat within my hand, small shavings slowly falling from the piece as I glide the whittling knife into the grain; The indents of a face had began to settle into the wood.

You’ve been working on this piece for a while now, it was supposed to be a gift for your lover; Muriel, a surprise gift if you will. You had no prior experience with this sort of thing but, He had little wooden figures all throughout the hut you both shared and you wanted to add to his collection of handmade items.

Inanna trotted up near where i was settled on the fur piled onto the floor, a happy pep in her step. Seeing her walk up, a smile fell upon my lips, seeing as i’ve made a generous amount of progress today I sat the items held within my hands down and began giving lnanna a scratch behind her ear.

As I rubbed against her ear she began to lower her head and sniff away at the shavings on the floor, her ears perking up as she eyed the knife that laid near. Her tail began to slowly wag as her face drifted between the knife and my face.

Then Suddenly, the knife was no longer there.

“Inanna! Put that down!”

The wolf’s tail wagged viciously as she bounced around, a small whittling knife trapped tightly between her jaws. I couldn’t help but laugh a bit as she began to playfully growl when my hand reached for the knife.

Heavy footsteps sounded off behind me as I dropped to my knees; attempting to trade the knife for a stick.

“Do you…need any help?” Muriels voice, always deep and laced with a small level of concern hit my ears. I look over my shoulder and give him a quick smile.

“I’m good!” His eyes cast a curious gaze down at inanna, the knife still held tightly in her jaw. At seeing this Muriels face drops, his large form flashes quickly from where he stood and towards inanna; the sudden action causing her to make a break for the door of the hut.

“Inanna!” Muriels voice thunders after her, a heavy lacing of worry coating it as he jolts after her.

I make a run after the two only for Inanna to curve past Muriel and begin darting towards me. I attempt to grab her only for her to jump away, with the knife dropping from her mouth.

A heavy sigh left my mouth as i bend to pick up the sharp utensil till I notice something; Blood. Blood was settled onto the blade, my eyes widen and my stomach drops. It was coming from me.

A small but deep cut in my hand had began to trickle blood, the small rivers of it gliding down my hand as i stare down at the now shaking palm.

Two large hands quickly fall into my vision and grip onto my wrist, Inanna slowly shuffles into view beside me; A sad look in her eyes.

Muriel stood before me, eyes widened with worry and a frown stained onto his lips. He quickly ushered me back inside the hut and began to wrap my wounded hand.

“How did she get it?” He asked.

Honestly, you didn’t wanna say. It was supposed to be a surprise, you didn’t want this little incident to spoil months of hard work.

“Please…” You couldn’t help but sigh and look up at him, His face still crunched into a worried expression.

“It was supposed to be a surprise.” Your non injured hand goes to rub your temple; “I was working on something for you but I didn’t realize inanna wanted to help too.” A small chuckle escaped your mouth.

The Wolf’s ears perk up at the sound of her name and she trotted over, my hand settles once again on her head and i give her a gentle scratch behind the ear. I look up at Muriel; an awkward smile on my face, the smile fades quickly as i notice his features blooming in a dark red.

“You… You wanted to make me something?” His voice was barely above a whisper, a small smile attempting to curve his lips as he finished wrapping your hand.

“Yeah!” I giggled at his flushed expression and stood up, pulling his arm with me in the process. I pulled him over to the pile of furs I had been working and grab the small wooden figure.

Turning the small thing within my hand I grab his and place it within his palm.

“It was gonna be you! I was gonna make one of me too, but..” Watching Muriel turn the figure around in his hand was almost vomit inducing, his eyes were just … Studying the figure; His thumb rubbing against the pieces edges.

“It’s … wonderful.” A smile graces his lips as he stares down at the figure.

At his words my face began to heat up, a heavy blush settling upon my features. His eyes rise from the figure to stare into mine, his own blush returning. One hand falls from the figure to grasp my own, his fingers curl tightly around mine.

“Thank you. But, Next time… let’s do it together.” His voice was soft as he began to express how he adored the figure, and the rest of the night was filled with giggles and wood shavings covering the floor. Your unskilled hands being guided by one of a near master, inanna was seated near the fireplace; a heavy bone settled in her jaws. Muriels way of keeping her curious and playful self away from the sharp tools.

=========================

#arcana #the arcana muriel #arcana x reader #the arcana #the arcana x reader #Muriel x reader #Muriel arcana

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tippedbykreider · 1 year

Text

it's all coming back to me | c. kreider (part viii)

(Part VII ICYMI)

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: slow burn, exes to lovers, relationship breakdown, swearing, alcohol, 18+

Author’s Note: This feels like progress. Doesn't this feel like progress to you?

Summary: Chris Kreider x Reader Insert. They say that all good things come to an end, that you can never have too much of a good thing, but when Chris decided to end your relationship you wondered how anything could ever be good again. A chance meeting 9 years later drags up all those feelings you both thought you were done with. Can you work through your hurt and pain to see what it is that Chris is trying to show you? Or are some things better left forgotten?

Tagging: @laurenairay; @thebookofmags; @whatishockey; @robindrake13

It had been over a week.

It had been over a week since Chris had heard from you and over a week since you’d shared you were going on a second date with Sam and his disposition could only be described as sour. Chris had few smiles for his teammates, even Mika, and his temperament when it came to reporters was uncharacteristically surly. Perhaps the worst part of it all was that he’d once again found himself in a slump and despite him trying his utmost to drown out the background noise that was the internet, it was hard to ignore comments that called for his immediate trade. He wondered if you’d noticed. He wondered if you even cared.

The Rangers’ latest win against the visiting Capitals hadn’t hit the way that it should and despite the jovial atmosphere in the locker room, Chris felt anything but.

“You comin’ out for a few, Kreids?” Lindy asked as he took off his pads.

“Nah,” Chris shook his head. “Not tonight.”

“Awww, c’mon,” Trouba piped up. “Not even for one drink? If this is about the turnover in the neutral zone-”

“It’s not,” Chris snapped before exhaling to collect himself, a forced evenness in his voice as he spoke again. “It’s not about the turnover. I’m just not feeling up to it tonight.”

Mika gave Trouba a look that told him not to push.

“A’ight,” Jacob shrugged as he turned away.

Chris wordlessly removed the rest of his pads, pulling at the velcro with more force than was necessary, all the while Mika watched him with furrowed brows.

“Hey, how about we grab a quiet drink somewhere, just the two of us?” he offered, quiet enough for Chris’ ears only.

“Mika-”

“One drink,” Mika pressed gently. “One drink and I swear I’ll let you go home to mope.”

“‘m not moping,” Chris groused as he stood and grabbed his towel.

“Sulk, then.”

Chris went to protest but stopped himself at the good-natured smile his best friend was giving him and simply sighed instead.

“Fine,” Chris conceded. “One drink.”

Chris didn’t see Mika’s triumphant little smile as he turned away to head to the showers but he knew Mika well enough to know that he’d be feeling rather pleased with himself right about now. He also knew that Mika would coax out the truth about what was truly bothering him, one way or another and he knew that would mean having to talk about you, which he truthfully didn’t know how he felt about. Perhaps it would be good to get it all out, to get a third party perspective on it all, but it still didn’t change what happened and it certainly didn’t change the fact that you were clearly moving on with your life.

The walk from Madison Square Garden was mostly silent but not uncomfortably so. Mika had found a quiet little piano bar in Chelsea that wasn’t too far and there was little chance of them running into any teammates. The pair slid into a booth near the back of the bar and shrugged out of their jackets, Chris picking up the menu and studying it intently as if that would stop Mika from pursuing whatever line of questioning he knew was imminent. Mika watched him, his usually soft eyes uncharacteristically keen while he waited. Chris could feel Mika’s gaze on him, steady and unwavering and after a few more breaths he put down the menu with a soft exhale. Better to rip the band aid off and get this over with.

“So what’s going on with you?” Mika asked.

“Wow, cutting right to the chase,” Chris remarked. “We’ve not even ordered our drinks yet.”

“Figured I’d get ahead,” Mika shrugged in reply, eyes still keen on Chris.

Chris paused for a moment and glanced around the bar, giving himself time to gather and order his thoughts. He supposed he didn’t need to start from the very beginning, given that Mika knew about you, at least in part.

“Remember when we met up after summer break and you asked me if there was a girl?”

“Yeah, which you denied pretty enthusiastically,” Mika replied, a little smile playing on his lips. “There was, wasn’t there? I knew you were bullshitting us.”

“It’s not as simple as that,” Chris shook his head.

“Sure it is. There either was a girl or there wasn’t.”

Chris exhaled.

“Remember that girl from college I told you about?”

“The one you lived with, right?” Mika asked.

“Yeah,” Chris answered, his eyes sad. “She was the only person I’ve ever loved, like truly loved.”

Mika nodded in wordless encouragement.

“And I messed up pretty bad,” Chris continued, his voice rougher than Mika had ever heard it. “I hurt her.”

“C’mon, Chris,” Mika said gently. “I know you and I know that you’d never hurt anyone intentionally.”

“Doesn’t matter if it was intentional or not,” Chris countered. “My actions hurt her. I thought in some stupid way that by doing what I did, I was protecting her but it wasn’t my decision to make. I left her behind in Boston because I thought I was doing right by her but I never even asked her what she wanted.”

“You were young, Chris,” Mika reasoned. “You made the decision you thought was right at the time.”

“Doesn’t mean it was truly the right one though, does it?”

Mika watched as Chris’ shoulders rose and fell with his sigh, giving him a moment before speaking again.

“So what happened?”

“I bumped into her,” Chris answered plainly. “In Rowayton of all places.”

“No shit,” Mika exhaled. “Did she recognise you?”

“I recognised her first.”

Mika chewed his lip for a moment while he processed Chris’ revelation.

“That’s… huge,” Mika said eventually, Chris merely nodding in response. “What happened? Did you talk to her?”

“Yeah,” Chris replied. “And we got talking and it was rough and she bolted, which is fair, y’know? But then I bumped into her again in Stamford.”

“Fuck,” Mika breathed. “Like bumping into her once? That’s nothing to really pay attention to, but twice?”

“Feels like some sort of shitty joke on the universe’s part, right?”

“Or divine intervention,” Mika offered. “If Irma were here she’d say that was a sign that the two of you weren’t done.”

“Oh, I think we’re pretty done,” Chris grimaced. “She’s been moving on.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because she told me,” Chris said matter of factly.

“So you guys have been talking, then?”

“We met up again in person and talked more about stuff, y’know, about what happened with us. Since then we’ve exchanged a few texts here and there,” Chris confirmed. “And it kind of felt like things were going somewhere, I don’t know where exactly but… I dunno, it just felt less strained and maybe like something resembling friendship, and then she told me that she’d been on a date with a guy and that went well so they arranged a second one.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Mika asked.

“Like shit,” Chris replied bluntly. “And I know I have no right to because I’m not anything to her anymore, but…”

“It still hurts,” Mika nodded. “And it’s gonna. She was your girl, Chris. You loved her, that sort of stuff doesn’t just go away.”

“It has for her,” Chris countered.

“You don’t really know that,” Mika offered. “You don’t know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling.”

“No,” Chris conceded. “But it’s been a decade and she’s dating and that’s enough of a sign. I couldn’t have expected her to still be waiting on me after all this time, not after what I did. So I told her I was happy for her but she’s left me on ‘read’.”

“Shit, Chris. I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is,” Chris shrugged, relieved at the sight of the waitress coming over to take their order and giving him a much needed reprieve.

To Chris’ surprise, Mika didn’t push the subject further once their drinks were ordered and conversation turned to Mika and Irma’s upcoming wedding. True to his word, Mika didn’t press Chris to stay for a second drink and the two parted ways with a hug and a goodnight, Chris taking the short walk home to his apartment while Mika grabbed an Uber.

Somehow the apartment felt emptier tonight, hollow even. Perhaps it was simply reflecting Chris’ energy right back at him, perhaps not, but as Chris hung up his jacket and kicked off his shoes he couldn’t help but pay attention to the ache that sat deep within his chest. It had been years since he’d come home to you, so long that, truthfully, he wasn’t even sure if he could really remember just what that was like. Your apartment together always smelled so good, Chris remembered that much, always a vanilla candle burning whenever you were home, and you would always call out ‘Marco’ to him whenever he stepped through the door, eagerly awaiting his ‘Polo’ in reply. You would repeat this until you finally got eyes on him, greeting him with a “hello, Marco” and a big smile. He never truly understood why you did it, but he would indulge you every single time without question.

The hurt washed over him again, like a rogue wave and he couldn’t help the quiet sniffle that escaped him. You’d never been in this apartment, he’d never experienced the grace of your presence in this space he called ‘home’ and yet tonight it seemed so barren without you, completely devoid of any vibrancy. He wondered how that was possible, how a space could miss something it never had, how his apartment felt as if it had a you shaped hole in it when it had never known anything other than Chris. Perhaps this place had never been whole and that it was only now, in the swirling waters of his hurt and grief, that Chris was realising it. Maybe it wasn’t the apartment at all that wasn’t whole, maybe it was Chris and he was beginning to wonder if he’d ever truly been whole since the day he closed the door on your shared home in Boston for the last time.

It took you three days to reply to Sam.

You’d picked up your phone to do it multiple times over the 72 hour period, even getting as far as opening the text conversation on a few occasions, but each time something stopped you right in your tracks. You couldn’t deny the fact that Chris had been on your mind more often than not over the last couple of days and that in itself was equal parts maddening and confusing. You were angry with yourself for allowing your mind to wander the way that it had, angry that you had let yourself slip but you continued to tell yourself that thinking about Chris subconsciously while you touched yourself meant nothing. It was the wine. It had to be the wine.

And yet despite this, you still hadn’t rushed to reach out to Sam either and perhaps that spoke even more volumes. You’d very quickly chased away the idea that you were hesitating because of Chris, it simply being too ludicrous to give any sort of meaningful acknowledgement, but you also couldn’t think of any other tangible reason for it either. Even as you finally text Sam back, there was the distinct sense that it was forced, something you hoped wouldn’t come across in your message, and even as you found yourself agreeing to date number three, it all just felt a little contrived. A little insincere. You hoped as the days passed that the feeling would dissipate, that the thoughts of Chris would recede like fog being chased away by the mid-morning sun and you would rekindle those feelings of initial excitement at the prospect of new romance, but as you stood in front of your closet ahead of your date trying to decide what dress to wear, you felt nothing.

The kiss Sam gave you as he picked you up didn’t flutter the butterflies in your stomach like it had done before and the feeling of your hand in his as you walked from the car to the restaurant felt foreign, wrong even. You’d suggested doing something different this time, like a movie or bowling, but Sam had insisted on taking you to dinner with the promise that you could choose the date activity next time. You couldn’t help but think back to your dates with Chris, the pasta making class he’d booked where you both left absolutely covered in flour, the time he took you ice skating, the time you made a Christmas wreath together for your apartment door. All the concerts, the plays, trips to bookstores and record shops, walks in the park with kisses that tasted of coffee and cake. Those dates in each other’s dorms where Chris would somehow manage to eat a 16 inch pizza to himself and still finish strong with a pint of ice cream. You smiled involuntarily at the memory before it quickly faded at the sound of the restaurant door closing behind you, bringing you back down to Earth.

You forced a smile through dinner, socially aware enough to know when to nod and laugh in all the right places, but you couldn’t deny the overwhelming relief in your chest when the check came. You’d hoped that Sam hadn’t noticed; he hadn’t seemed to but you then questioned whether he was simply being polite. He certainly seemed like that kind of guy. You cursed yourself. You cursed yourself for living inside of your own head, for thinking about Chris, for being a bad date. After all, this was what you wanted, right?

This was you, once again, trying to move on and move forward with your life, leaving the past in the past and all you seemed to get for your trouble was a ‘nearly but not quite’ version of the man you were trying to leave behind. There was nothing wrong with Sam, of course and in any other timeline, where your path never crossed Chris’, you were certain you could have had a fourth date with him, maybe even a fifth, to see where this would lead. But if this whole evening, this whole week, had achieved anything, it had simply reaffirmed what you already knew to be true in your heart, that you’d never really let Chris go and while some men might come close, there was nothing quite like the real thing.

It was too easy to let your mind drift during dinner, the conversation that had initially been scintillating suddenly feeling a little lacklustre through no fault of the man in your company and the bottle of Sangiovese he’d ordered for the table, a wine that Chris would order every single time, had you crawling back into those corners of your mind where you’d stored away every memory of every single date you ever had with Chris Kreider for the second time that night.

The evening ended with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a vague promise to do this again sometime, but instead of the disappointment you’d expected to feel, there was instead a strange and unexpected feeling that was akin to relief. No, clarity.

You weren’t over Chris, that much was clear as day to you now and for better or worse your heart still clung to the man who had both given you so many happy memories, so much joy, and had shattered your world. It was the reason why you’d accepted and reciprocated contact after a decade, why you hadn’t brushed him off, why you’d let him back into your life, even if you had been keeping him at arm’s length for the most part. Your reckless heart still called out to his, even if your cautious head was screaming at you to stay away, to be careful, to protect yourself. You couldn’t help but let him back in, because even if you couldn’t say that you truly forgave him for what he did, you could never say that you ever stopped loving him. Not really.

All you had to do now was to decide just what exactly you were going to do next.

The last thing Chris expected on a Tuesday night after a game at home to the Predators was a phone call from you and he found himself hesitating for a number of reasons, not least because of the late hour. This was the first time hearing from you since you’d left him on ‘read’ and if he was being truthful, he still wasn’t over the knock to his pride. But it was late and Chris knew that he would never forgive himself if you were in some sort of trouble and he ignored your call. It was that thought that had him reaching for his phone, a forced calmness in his voice as he answered.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you answered, a slight edge to your voice that Chris couldn’t quite place. “I just… I saw the game and I wanted to check in, make sure you were okay.”

Chris’ face flushed in embarrassment and he was thankful that you couldn’t see him at that moment. The game you referenced was nothing short of a shit show and Chris hadn’t seen much of the ice in the third period, the benching he received completely justified in his own opinion, but still stung nonetheless.

“I’m fine,” Chris lied. “Just have to correct the mistakes, learn from it and move on to the next one.”

It was such a PR friendly response, one he’d throw out during a postgame interview and he was so tired that he hadn’t even tried to mask the overly rehearsed delivery with something a little more sincere. He’d half hoped you wouldn’t notice but, of course, you’d prove him wrong. You always could cut right through all the smoke and the mirrors to get to the very heart. It was one of the things he’d always loved about you.

“I’m not a reporter, Chris,” you gently scolded. “Please don’t treat me like one.”

Chris had to swallow down a scoff at that. You were right, of course, you weren’t a reporter, but Chris also wasn’t sure just what the hell you were anymore. One thing he was certain of though was that he absolutely wasn’t about to take a lecture from you, not when he’d not heard from you for so long. Not with how things were left between you both. But Chris was tired. His body was tired, his mind was tired and his heart was tired. He didn’t have it in him to get into it with you. Not tonight.

“It was just a bad night,” Chris offered lamely. “I’ve gotta be better. No two ways about it.”

“I know you will be,” you replied, a genuine softness in your voice that Chris picked up on immediately. “You’ll make it right.”

Chris sat up at that, unsure if he’d imagined the veiled message behind your words, whether it was merely a trick of the mind or if there truly was so much more that you were saying.

“I hope so,” he managed after a breath or two. “I mean, I’m trying.”

“I know.”

Chris exhaled at that, his free hand coming up to rub his face. He was exhausted and he wasn’t sure he had the energy to play this perceived game of emotional chess with you. He figured he’d cut right to the chase.

“Why are you really calling, Pickle?” he asked, voice rough. “You just… ghosted me.”

“I know,” you replied quietly. “I’m sorry, Chris. I… I don’t know why I did that.”

“I meant it, y’know. I’m happy for you, I’m happy to see you finding happiness and someone who is good to you.” The sniffle on the other end of the line was barely inaudible and had you said something, anything, Chris would have missed it. “Pickle?”

“I’m sorry,” you breathed out, fighting hard to suppress the waver in your voice and taking a few breaths to compose yourself. “I should let you go to bed. You must be exhausted.”

“I’m alright,” Chris assured, not prepared to let this drop so easily. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing-”

“Please,” he cut you off firmly. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Lie to me,” he gritted. “Don’t lie to me.”

The silence through the phone was deafening and were it not for your tiny exhale on the other end of the line, Chris would have thought you’d gone completely. He wasn’t about to let this lie. You’d been the one to call him, after all and that meant something. It had to mean something.

“I just,” you started, after what felt like an eternity of silence and choosing your next words carefully. “It just didn’t work out between Sam and I.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

There was another pause.

“I’m sorry,” Chris said quietly after a moment.

“It’s… It’s just the way it goes sometimes.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

Chris paused for a few breaths, caught between wanting to push further and not wanting to seem intrusive. It wasn’t really any of his business why it didn’t work out between you and Sam, not really and yet he knew there was more to it. More that you weren’t saying for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of but felt like he needed to know.

“What happened?” he asked eventually.

“We didn’t work out.”

“So you said,” Chris replied sceptically. “Okay, let me rephrase my question. Why didn’t you work out?”

You cursed him internally, both in knowing that he wasn’t about to let you deflect and because the nature of his question meant that you were really going to have to think about the way you would answer him.

“Because,” you started on the exhale of a breath, unsure even as the word came out of your mouth where you were going to go with this. What could you say? Tell Chris that you weren’t over him? That you called time on things with Sam because he simply wasn’t Chris? Sure, it was the truth, but it wasn’t something you were certain you were ready to share, not least because you knew you weren’t ready for the consequences of that, whatever they happened to be. “Because it just didn’t feel right with him. I don’t know how else to say it other than that.”

Chris knew that he wasn’t going to get anything more out of you and he wasn’t going to rock the boat by pressing the issue further and so, with reluctance, he dropped it.

“Well, if it doesn’t feel right then it doesn’t feel right,” he replied simply. “You can’t force that kind of thing.”

“No,” you agreed. “No, you can’t.”

There was a brief silence that descended between you, filled with all the words neither of you could say and weighted with feelings that you weren’t ready to openly express.

“I am sorry, though,” Chris said finally. “Truly.”

“Yeah,” you replied hoarsely. “Me too.” You hesitated a moment more before wishing Chris goodnight. “You really should get some rest.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he acknowledged, the hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m goin’.”

“Goodnight, Christopher.”

“G’night, Pickle,” he replied softly. “And please don’t be a stranger.”

You smiled at that, for the first time in days.

“I won’t. I promise.”

The next few weeks for Chris passed in what could only be described as a complete blur. The schedule somehow seemed more unforgiving than usual and Chris was desperately looking forward to the All Star Break where he could pause and finally catch his breath. He’d made no firm plans which, while not like him, he was content with. He’d toyed with the idea of booking a vacation somewhere warm, where he could bask in the feeling of the sun on his skin and sand between his toes, but the thought of travelling seemed like too much effort, even if St Barts was lovely at that time of the year. Perhaps he’d venture as far as Rowayton and blow the cobwebs away with fresh sea air, or perhaps he would stay in Manhattan and get lost in a good book. The latter sounded mighty tempting, especially as it had been a while since he’d spent a day wandering the city, going from bookstore to bookstore with plenty of coffee stops in between.

There might have been something else keeping him in the city, although Chris would never admit to it. He didn’t want to be that guy, the one waiting on you. He also didn’t want to just let you back in so easily. You’d ghosted him once, you could do it again. But even so, the frequency of texts seemed to increase with each day that passed and soon he found himself calling you on the way back from practice or on drives home from the airport, just as you called him on your commute home or while you were cooking dinner. It was nice, Chris thought. Nice to have you back in his life and nice to have something that could very easily fit the definition of friendship, especially after everything that had happened. Those calls soon became FaceTimes and before long it was a normal occurrence for Chris to catch up with you that way before turning in for the night.

It was the final away trip before the All Star break and he’d found himself in a hotel room in Pittsburgh. It was getting on for 9:30 and while some of the younger guys had taken themselves out into the city for drinks after dinner, Chris had been content to come back to the room, take as hot a bath as he could stand and catch an earlyish night. His book was already on the nightstand and he’d not long changed into a pair of loose cotton pyjama pants. He settled himself on the bed, propped up with every pillow at his disposal, and called you.

You groaned as you climbed into bed, your body aching in a way that it hadn’t for a very long time, although you supposed that’s what you got for leaving it so long to go back to the gym. The bath you’d taken had worked wonders for your muscles, that is, until it was time for you to get out and then it was as if your legs had completely forgotten how to do the whole standing thing. You’d made something akin to a nest with your pillows and scatter cushions, with your book and herbal tea sitting on the nightstand ready and waiting for you. Your phone vibrated beside the mug and you couldn’t help the smile on your face at the sight of Chris’ name on the screen, his call unexpected but welcome all the same.

You were still wearing your smile as you answered, Chris’ face soft and sleepy on your screen.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, Pickle,” he said, voice a little tired. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I mean, I think I’ve broken my legs but that’s what I get for going to the gym.”

Chris laughed softly at that, a little smirk on his face as he spoke.

“You think they’re sore now, just you wait ‘til the morning.”

“Ugh, don’t,” you groaned. “The lift is out at work too so I’ve got like two flights of stairs to go up.”

“Yikes.”

“Eh, serves me right. How’re you anyway? How’s Pittsburgh?”

“I’m good,” Chris replied with a gentle smile. “Pittsburgh is cold. The guys went out for a beer after dinner but I came back, got a bath and figured I’d get a chapter in before turnin’ in for the night.”

“You old man,” you teased. “You shoulda got yourself out.”

“Nah,” Chris shook his head. “Just didn’t feel up to it tonight, besides, it means I get to catch up with you.”

You couldn’t help the flush in your cheeks at that and you hoped that Chris couldn’t read the bashful little smile that played on your lips. Your eyes flitted to Chris’ bare chest, somehow only just noticing that he was sans shirt and the heat in face seemed to burn hotter as your thighs pressed together of their own volition

“I wish I could say I had more news for you but I lead a very boring life,” you said, trying to keep your eyes fixed firmly on Chris’ face in the hopes that it would restore some kind of order to your body.

“How’s your mom?”

“She’s good,” you replied, swallowing thickly. “She’s uh taken up knitting so there’s just yarn everywhere.”

“Yeah?” Chris smiled. “She taking any requests? I could use a hat.”

“Not planning on shaving your head again are you?”

“You saw that?” Chris grinned.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Yeah, I did.”

A weighted silence fell between you both, not uncomfortable but tinged with a sadness at the reference to your years apart. You winced internally at it, wishing you could take back your words. Chris spoke first, his voice soft and laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Well, I promise I’ve no plans to shave my head.”

“Good,” you replied, voice almost a whisper. “I mean, you can do what you want. It’s your head.”

Chris laughed then and it seemed to cut through the weird tension that had started to form, causing you to exhale a breath of relief. You smiled back at him.

“I’ll ask mom if she can make you a hat,” you added.

“I appreciate that, thank you.”

“Don’t come crying to me when she knits you some sort of beret.”

“Bold of you to assume that I didn’t want a beret,” he grinned. “I’m a very cultured guy.”

“Eating everything at a world buffet doesn’t make you a cultured guy, Chris,” you teased.

“Uhhhh, yes it does.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the silly little expression on Chris’ face and it was easy to let yourself get lost in how familiar this all felt. You’d always talk like this. Before you lived together you’d talk on the phone for hours in bed, Chris staying on the line with you until you’d fallen asleep because you refused to hang up, insisting that you weren’t tired. You wondered if he’d still stay on the line with you if you asked him to. You wouldn’t, of course, but you’d like to think he would.

“So what are your plans for next week?” you asked. “It’s the break, right? You jetting off somewhere exotic?”

“Nah,” Chris shook his head. “I thought about going away somewhere but I think I’m just gonna chill at home.”

“Sometimes that’s what you need,” you agreed.

“Yeah,” Chris nodded. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a good poke around a book store so I think I’ll take myself over to the Upper West Side and see what I can find.”

“That sounds like a really good plan, Chris,” you smiled. “It seems like the season’s been a rough one so far, I think it’ll do you good to recharge at home. Do the things you enjoy, y’know?”

“Would you um…”

Chris paused and you couldn’t help but notice the conflicted expression that had settled on his brow.

“Yeah?”

Chris exhaled.

“Would you like to maybe meet up for coffee sometime next week?”

“In Manhattan?” you asked, hoping you didn’t sound too taken aback.

“Or Hartford,” Chris rushed. “I could come to you. I mean, you’ll be working and I’ve got the time to spare so…”

“I could take some time off that I’m owed,” you offered.

“I- really?” Chris replied, a little stunned that you’d not rebuffed him.

“Yeah, then we’re not having to rush for me to get back to work” you nodded. “I mean, it’s been a minute since I’ve driven into New York so god knows how that’ll go.”

“I’ll come to Hartford,” Chris suggested. “It’ll be quieter anyways.”

“You sure? I don’t wanna put you out.”

“You’re not,” he assured. “I’m offering. New York traffic is bad enough, but when you’re not used to it it’s even worse. I’ll come to you, no trouble at all.”

“Okay,” you conceded. “Okay, yeah. That’d be great.”

“I’ll reach out when I’m back in the city and we can sort something out?”

“Yeah that sounds perfect, Chris,” you smiled softly.

There was a pause then, you both somehow managing to hold each other’s gaze through the screen. That warmth that had been in your face earlier had migrated to your chest and you couldn’t help but think how soft he looked propped up in bed. You were glad when Chris spoke again, his words stopping your thoughts from pushing the boundaries of appropriateness and straying into a territory you were trying your best to stay away from.

“I’ll let you get some rest. You look exhausted.”

“Gee, thanks,” you chuckled.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” you smiled softly. “You get some rest too.”

Chris wished you goodnight and ended the call, leaving you laid in bed with your heart racing as your mind wandered to all the coffee dates with Chris that had come before and you began to wonder just what this all was and how it would feel to see him again.

#my writing #it's all coming back to me fic #chris kreider fic #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl writing #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction

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sakurakamanata · 6 months

Text

Before saying goodbye to Liar! Uncover the Truth…

This game has always been dear to me (as much as My Last First Kiss does! even now) but sadly not every game we love has a happy ending. The closure of JP Liar was foreboding, yet the announcement still hits just as hard!

I have been playing again since the announcement. Although I’ve branched my otome tastes a little more, this game is still charming, not afraid to bring out all the crazies and fun, and still have in store plenty of heart-fluttering moments!

(And so much personality in the localization; I miss that a lot nowadays T_T)

Although a bit of content of JP Liar has been ported to Koi100+, they were nowhere near everything. The gameplay definitely hits different as well due to format limitations. And of course my hope is that Liar! will make its way to Love365 as well, but nothing has been confirmed and time is running out.

And you know how I will always and forever miss Gossip Girl Party.

Did you know they deleted the PV off their channel? I didn’t! And I’m still furious >:(

So I was able to find many other Liar! fans and we’re trying our best to archive everything that we can! The progress have been great, but we definitely still miss some content, namely data files, event routes and false accusations. We also talk a bunch about Liar! as we go through all the good old memories of the game (honestly I forgot how chaotic these guys were lmao)

If you’re interested in helping us with missing Liar! content, or just wanna have some meltdowns together while we play the game for one last time, feel free to join the Discord server!

It’s been a long time I’ve been active in the community and it’d be nice if Liar! fans all around can hold a funeral together have some fun again! Reblogs are much appreciated, and if you know a Liar! fan community elsewhere, feel free to share this post and let me know about it!

Thanks for reading, and much hope that she will come back and kick some more ass someday in Love365 :)

#liar! uncover the truth #liar! office deception #liar! scheming socialites #otome #otome game #otome romance

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my-shields-are-down · 2 years

Note

Chenford + you pushed me away Tim

Listening to Madonna from my junior high years and came up with this. Enjoy! ++++++

Los Angeles was burning up with temps hovering around 105 in the shade. California’s perpetual sunshine was alive – causing the concrete jungle to sweat and scorch anything that dared touch it.

Tim was standing atop a police SUV yelling directions via megaphone to the police academy senior class to create multiple car wash lanes for their annual charity event. He loved overseeing the annual event and yes, bossing future boots around.

Once everything was set up and running smoothly, Tim hopped down and headed to his station’s lane to check on their progress.

As he approached, his attention was pulled in the opposite direction by the sizzle of fire hose water hitting the pavement causing a veil of steam to rise from the street. His breath caught in his throat as he saw Lucy and Bailey walking towards him through the veil – both wearing string bikinis in Rams colors – Lucy in sunshine yellow and Bailey in royal blue and very short torn up jean shorts with flip flops. Lucy and Bailey were laughing and spinning in the water mist unaware of the fantasy they were bringing to life for the male population in attendance.

As they broke apart, Lucy turned and walked right up to him and scratched her nails along his stomach as she strutted past, saying only, “Bradford” with a nod to him. His breath caught in his chest as her touch sent electricity through his limbs and all blood rushed south, rendering him speechless. Their relationship still not fully mended after their under-cover operation and her attending the DEA’s covert operations academy.

They were finally on speaking terms – but nowhere near as close as they once were. Her fingers sliding along his abs was the first time she had touched him since before they found her now ex-boyfriend bleeding in her apartment. He saw fireworks, the sky opened, angels sung, and all those cheesy rom-com “moments” flashed before his eyes as it was finally confirmed for him -that she was it for him. He was so insanely in love with her.

Angela bumped into him and handed him a soapy sponge telling him he could soap up cars while gawking at pretty girls and pushed him towards the front of the lane. He ended up standing next to Lucy and soaping the front of the cars as they turned towards them. He had to force himself to ignore her, for when he caught glimpses of her in his peripheral vision he’d freeze, mesmerized by the soapy water sliding into her cleavage and see the strings on her bikini stretch across her strong back and torso and every so often her hooded eyes staring lustfully back at him – but he was sure he was imagining those, projecting his want and need to reflect back to him in her glance.

At one point, their gazes locked and Lucy began to shoot seductive hunger energy in his direction, he almost missed the speeding car barreling through the crowd in their direction. Tim grabbed Lucy by the waist and leapt out of the destructive path.

They landed in a puddle and Tim cushioned Lucy’s fall by making sure she landed on top of him. While they heard screams and the loud crash of metal on metal, Lucy looked up at Tim and said almost reverently, “You pushed me away, Tim! Why?” Tim wasn’t sure if she was asking about before or now, but it didn’t matter because his answer was the same regardless. “Because I love you, Lucy. I am IN love with you Lucy and I will always protect you above anything and anyone else. I’m forever yours.” Realizing she was going to have to move soon, Lucy crawled up Tim and kissed him, then saying, “thank God. I’m in love with you too. I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.”

#askandrea #chenford fic #chenford fanfic #chenford #tim bradford #lucy chen #car wash fantasy #you must be my lucky star #I'm the luckiest by far #also on ao3 #check out valhalla_torment

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topaz-mutiny · 1 year

Text

Folks seem to be interested in my random and extremely sporadic word vomit (and my tempo is unlikely to change - it may be I even just go silent for a couple months) so I’d thought I’d gather some of my guessworks for the upcoming Season 3 of Vox Machina.

Having seen the campaign already and knowing what points they need to hit gives me some ideas on what might happen.

The first thing to note is that what will happen likely depends pretty strongly on if the Chroma Conclave arc extends into Season 4 or not. If CC ends in Season 3, thats one dragon dead every 4 episodes. Which doesn’t sound bad until you account for everything that happens in between - 3 more people need vestiges, potential plane-hopping, downtime scenes, romance scenes, villain scenes, character progression scenes (like the Twins finding out it was Thordak that killed their mom). Is a lot. But it could be done - a lot would probably need to get cut or condensed.

So, with that in mind, here’s what I think is going to get cut and changed if the Conclave ends in S3:

Kynan Leore is cut entirely. Vax already has plenty of storypoints on his plate, adding in Syndrome isn’t too necessary especially since Ripley can just hire anybody she wants. There’s also not been any buildup to it, and while it could happen entirely in S3, that would be time better served to the other members of Vox.

Hotis is cut entirely. Again, Vax has already had a lot happen and while Hotis’ conclusion didn’t happen until after the Conclave, what we’ve seen of Hotis seemed to just purely be an easter egg for fans of the actual-play. So this also would mean Vox Machina Does Not Go To Hell. Percy may make a deal with a devil somewhere else.

City of Brass might be cut. We’ve just seen two major moments of Scanlan (jumping from a height with Mythcarver in order to save his friends and getting a devastating hit (from Hotis’ attempted assassination), and Awakening Mythcarver by standing his ground and not running away (killing blow on a devil in the City of Brass)) so the only really important thing left there is the Plate of the Dawnmartyr, which could be moved. I can see the City of Brass staying but being greatly changed, especially if the Conclave extends into S4.

Keyleth’s Earth Aramente will be shown. This is something that happened pre-stream and during a timeskip, so no one but Matt and Marisha really have had details on this before. But the show has indicated that Keyleth still needs to go to Terra for her Aramente, so it seems like it will be shown here and she will gain her Keyteor Earth Elemental form here. Possibly could also be combined with getting the Spire of Conflux, depending on what happens with Vorugal.

Vorugal is a big heaping question mark. I have doubts they will ever show Draconia (and the ravine tree was used as their entry to Vasselheim), and a straight assault on Whitestone seems unlikely (what with the magic barrier and Raishan’s alleged help), so it’s really up in the air as to where they’ll be taking his fight (beyond being near a forest for that Anything Can Happen In the Woods scene post-battle, if it maintains its place in the timeline (it might move, honestly, as it seems too quick to have All Them Ripley Scenes in the first 3-4 episodes and then kill Vorugal since he’s definitely the second dragon that will be taken down)). Possibly the dragon fight I’m most interested in since it’s such an unknown.

Ripley might have more vestiges. For the sake of condensing things, Ripley could not only start stealing Cabal’s Ruin and Whisper, but the Plate of the Dawnmartyr as well and maybe even the Spire of Conflux. She seems WAY more involved in the show than in the streams and we’ve gotten to see her perspective fairly frequently. Having more than 1 or 2 vestiges (some part of me thinks Whisper might be cut since Show Vax is fast enough that teleporting on a knife hit seems redundant, plus it would work better having 1 vestige per character) on hand would also make her and her crew an even more interesting and dangerous Mirror Match for the party. It will also help lead the show party into discovering she’s involved, discovering she’s making guns, and letting Percy feel like shit for multiple episodes.

I do expect the Thordak and Raishan fights to go pretty much like they did on stream (barring the deaths, which all but one will be removed). Speaking of deaths...

While I really, really, REALLY want it to happen, it is still possible Percy’s Glintshore death will be replaced with something equally dire, like Orthax kidnapping his soul or something and torturing him a little, and after Orthax is gone his soul is separated from his body and is contemplating going with the Matron of Ravens until Someone calls his soul back to his body.

Unlike by brother, I still think Scanlan’s FIX HIM death is still going to happen. They’ve really been focusing on giving Scanlan a five-star treatment during the show (which, not gonna lie, I’m a little annoyed at), and that death and his team’s prank cements his decision to leave Vox Machina. It would also be a great point to allow Pike to perform her first resurrection rite, based off of how she saw Kashaw perform one, and set up for how Vax’s upcoming death is a death Pike cannot fix.

And then they might do something to set up the Whispered One / return of That Bitch arc, but I’m not sure what it could be. A villain scene, perhaps.

So, that’s it for my thoughts on the major plot beats.

#critical role #tlovm #tlovm spoilers #legend of vox machina #the legend of vox machina #yes I know it seems like I changed a lot but so has the show so far #vox machina

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malk1ns · 2 years

Text

you can find the fic tropes mashup game here! i am still taking prompts, btw—either from this list or of anything else! just don’t be shocked if it takes me months to get to them 😂

love these prompts together 🥰

75. Bed Sharing

97. Sleep Intimacy

As soon as Zhenya sees the hit, he slips out of the press box and makes his way down to the locker room.

Mario beats him there, but only just—he’s running his hand through his hair when Zhenya rounds the corner and almost smacks into him.

“No, Geno,” Mario says, holding his hand up when Zhenya immediately opens his mouth to protest. “You know they won’t let you near him until they can confirm he’s…safe.”

Zhenya presses his lips together. “He’s not do anything,” he says, trying to keep his voice level. “You know. That’s not…”

Mario sighs. “I know. I agree. But that kid’s an omega. It’s league policy. If anyone found out I let you in there after he just practically threw an omega into the boards, there’d be a riot. The game’s basically over, Geno. Just go home. I’m sure this will get resolved quickly.”

—

It’s not resolved quickly.

Zhenya wakes up the next day to the alert—Sid’s been put on mandatory rest for one game. The statement’s language is coy, but by now Zhenya can read between the lines, even though PR spin may as well be yet another foreign language; someone with the League determined that Sid’s experiencing breakthrough rut, and he’s too dangerous to be on the ice.

Bullshit.

Anybody who’s been on the team for a season with Sidney Crosby knows what he looks like, how he acts, when he’s careening towards rut. Zhenya’s been around for sixteen years. That wasn’t Sid mistiming his pills and manhandling the first omega that got in his way.

Zhenya goes to the rink for his workout and meeting with the medical staff. Everyone’s happy with how he’s progressing, making noises about him maybe being ready by Christmas, but the team’s doing ok, and Zhenya’s determined to not rush this—he doesn’t want to think he’s ready and end up hurting himself again.

The gym session feels a little lonely, a little quiet without Sid constantly yapping in his ear, critiquing his form and gossiping about players from other teams. Zhenya tries not to think about it. He’ll have to get used to finishing his rehab alone.

After he’s done for the day and showered, he mooches around the player’s lounge for a while hoping to pick up on some gossip about Sid, but nobody seems to quite know what’s going on. Kris tracks Zhenya down as soon as he’s out of the PK’s video review session, but neither of them quite know what to say. It’s obviously shit, and they both know it.

Kris shrugs after a few minutes of pointless, but cathartic, bitching about the refs and the league and how Bettman’s had it out for Sid from day one, how they’ve been just waiting for anything they could call a slip-up to put him on the shelf. “And you know he’s driving himself crazy, stuck at home,” Kris says leadingly, eyeing Zhenya.

Zhenya sighs. “I know, I’m already go today. Mario says last night I can’t see him, but…”

Kris rolls his eyes. “Stupid. He’s not going to hurt you, even if we’re wrong and they’re right.”

Zhenya preens a little. “No, of course I’m best for Sid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kris says, knocking their shoulders together. “Go, then. I’ll settle the boys down, you tend to the captain. Make sure he’s not clawing his way through the walls.”

—

Zhenya thinks about texting that he’s coming over, but he figures Sid would try to talk him out of it, so he just drives straight there after practice, punching in the gate code and parking haphazardly in Sid’s driveway without announcing himself.

He eyes the Nova Scotia flag fluttering over the front door fondly while he fumbles through his keyring for Sid’s spare, then lets himself in. At least Sid hasn’t turned the flag upside down.

“Sid,” Zhenya calls, kicking his shoes off to the side. “Sid, you have food? So hungry, they’re not have anything good for lunch today.”

The house is quiet for a minute, and then Sid comes thundering down the stairs. He looks frantic, wild-eyed with messy hair. “Geno?” he says, half a question, his voice breathy.

“Hi, Sid,” Zhenya says, a little bemused. Sid rarely looks so disheveled even when he first wakes up—Zhenya privately hates him for it just a little—but right now he’s flushed and messy, a little dazed and unfocused as he steps—way too close, their chests are practically brushing.

Zhenya takes a step back. Sid follows.

“Did you say you were hungry?” Sid asks, tilting his head up, eyes darting back and forth. “I can—I made lunch earlier, way too much of it, I don’t know why I—anyway, there’s a ton leftover, if you want? Or, if you don’t want pasta, I could make you chicken, or those omelets you like, or—” He’s talking faster and faster, tripping over his words, leaning forward like he wants to press his whole body against Zhenya’s.

Zhenya grabs his upper arms, holding him steady, and it’s a good thing, because Sid sways alarmingly just as he does so, nostrils flaring like he’s trying to get more air. “Sid, calm down, whatever you make is fine. You’re not look so good, you go lie down and I’ll—”

“No!” Sid bursts out, looking just as startled as Zhenya feels by the volume. “No, I’m fine. You—go into the living room, I’ll heat it up for you, okay? It’s better if—I need you to just let me.” He pulls free from Zhenya’s grip and runs a hand through his hair.

Zhenya wants to protest, because something about Sid is not fine, but Sid looks so jittery, like he’s half a second away from physically handling Zhenya into the living room (Zhenya does not think about that), so he nods and makes his way to the living room, sitting in his usual corner of Sid’s outrageously comfortable couch and looking around.

Everything looks the same—no sign that Sid’s been pacing and fussing with his things like he did during his concussion, and nothing banged up or broken like you’d expect from an alpha in rut who didn’t have an omega to spend himself into.

sid fine, he texts Kris. we right, league doctor so stupid.

He wants to wait for a reply, but the sound of dishes clattering announces Sid’s arrival, so he puts his phone in do not disturb and sets it on the coffee table.

Sid rounds the edge of the couch, balancing two plates and a mug. “I heated up the pasta I made, and then I remembered I had some of that tea you brought left still, so I made that—I hope I did it right, you’ll have to tell me if I messed it up, I can make more—and then there was still some ice cream cake from the Halloween party, and I remembered you liked it a lot, so I—you did like it, right?” He looks at Zhenya anxiously, chewing on his lip.

Zhenya reaches and carefully extracts the mug from where it’s threatening to slip out of Sid’s grip. “Yes,” he says cautiously, taking a sip—it‘s perfect. “I do like, but you like too, is why you steal whole extra cake after party, so you should—”

“You should have it, then,” Sid says in a rush, setting both plates on the coffee table and dragging it closer so Zhenya can reach. “I mean, you probably won’t want all of it now.“ He pauses, looking doubtful. “Do you?”

Zhenya has to laugh. “No, can’t have whole cake for lunch, trainers get mad, say I’m too fat for skate. Thank you, Sid.” Sid’s apparently made that cheesy pasta that Zhenya loves more than almost any food in the world that isn’t his mama’s cooking; Sid rarely makes it, claiming that neither of them need that much cholesterol at their age, so Zhenya’s not sure what prompted him to make it today, and in such vast quantities, but he won’t complain.

He digs in happily, trying to ignore Sid’s eyes on his face as he chews.

“I’m glad you came over,” Sid says, when Zhenya’s pushing the empty plate away and eyeing the piece of cake. Sid had cut him a truly enormous slice. “I’ve—I wanted to call you last night, but Mario said that I couldn’t, not after the league decided I—well, it’s stupid, they’re wrong, that’s not what’s happening, but I didn’t want to…scare you, or anything.”

Zhenya reaches for the tea and takes a drink. “Not scare,” he replies. “Just worry a little. Don’t usually do that, like, get so angry on ice. What’s happening?” He watches Sid out of the corner of his eye, noting how tightly Sid’s gripping his own leg.

Sid’s silence feels significant. “It’s…I’m sure it will pass,” he finally says unconvincingly. “Hey, eat your cake before it melts.”

After Zhenya’s done, and vaguely regretting the cake for how full he feels, Sid won’t let him help clean up. Then, he forces blankets on Zhenya until Zhenya feels practically swaddled on his end of the couch.

It’s when Sid hands over the remote and insists that Zhenya pick what they watch that suspicion starts to build.

He’s seen teammates act like this before. Kris had been borderline intolerable right after Alex was born, his fussy caretaking spilling out onto the team, too.

But that’s impossible. Zhenya would surely notice if…

He flinches. It’s something he doesn’t let himself think about, hasn’t for years. He’s not going to start now just because Sid is acting a little strange.

“Are you okay?” Sid asks immediately, scooting closer on the couch. When Zhenya looks at him, his eyes are bright and focused. “Are you cold?”

“No, Sid,” Zhenya groans, tilting his head back so he doesn’t have to look at Sid’s face, so utterly honed in on him. It’s too much. “Am so warm, like, it’s so many blankets. Makes me sleepy.”

Sid doesn’t reply; Zhenya can feel him fussing with the edge of one of the blankets, tugging it out towards himself and then tucking it back closer to Zhenya’s body. “You can nap,” he finally says, voice soft. “Neither of us have anywhere to be.”

Zhenya wants to protest. He should leave, before whatever mood Sid is in pushes him into saying or doing something he shouldn’t. But he had a lot to eat, and Sid’s couch is really comfortable…maybe he’ll just close his eyes for a little.

—

He wakes to a hand splayed over his belly, rubbing gently, and a hot body plastered up against his back.

Sid had somehow gotten them both stretched out on the couch without waking Zhenya up, and now he’s spooning up against him, nose tucked into the crook of Zhenya’s neck.

Zhenya thinks he might be dreaming still, one of the soft warm dreams he has whenever he approaches heat that always leave him achingly lonely when he wakes, but Sid’s breath is damp on his skin, and one of his arms is tingling and numb. He keeps his eyes firmly closed just in case, though.

Sid’s hand moves up a little, resting over his chest. “You’re awake, aren’t you?” he says softly, pressing down over Zhenya’s heart. “I can feel—I could tell when you woke up.”

“Mmm,” Zhenya says, pressing back a little against Sid’s solid body. “Sid, you—what’s happen?” His heart rate picks up, and he can tell when Sid notices, because Sid sighs against his neck and cradles him closer, resuming the soothing petting motions.

“I’m sorry,” he says, tangling their legs together. “I didn’t—I thought that if I spent this stupid game rest away from you, I could stop it, but I think it’s too late.”

“Stop what, Sid?” Zhenya asks, arching his back a little. Sid’s hand feels so good on him, and his mouth is right over Zhenya’s neck, and he’s been scenting Zhenya, the whole room smells of it, of them, and Zhenya can feel himself start to get wet in response.

Sid notices that, too, if his sharp intake of breath is any indication. “It’s…” He swallows, loud in Zhenya’s ear, like his mouth is watering. Zhenya bites on his own tongue to keep from whimpering. “It’s a bond. I think it started while we were doing rehab. Seeing you hurt, trying to help you, all the time we spent while the team was practicing and traveling…I didn’t mean it, but it started. And then I started to play again, but you weren’t there, and that kid was being such a brat, he was saying all this stuff he had no right to say to me, and—” He cuts himself off, spreading his fingers over Zhenya’s chest. “I’m not in rut.”

“I know that,” Zhenya says, a little affronted. “I see, like, two hundred times before.” Sid’s hard, Zhenya can feel it when he shifts. He wiggles in Sid’s hold.

“Stop,” Sid groans out, his grip going solid on Zhenya’s torso. His voice is halfway to an alpha growl, and it makes Zhenya want to bare his neck and spread his legs. “God, G, you can’t—I can feel that, I can feel when you’re thinking—we need to talk about this. I didn’t mean to do it, and if you want we can break it before it gets to you, but…” He opens his mouth over Zhenya’s neck, just a little, and this time Zhenya doesn’t hold back the sound he makes. “Is this—do you actually want this, or is this just—”

“Stupid,” Zhenya mutters, thrashing in Sid’s grip, trying to turn so they’re face-to-face. Sid holds him firm, though, and Zhenya shivers in his grip, finally going limp, docile like his instincts are screaming at him too. “Is not just…instinct, react. It’s…I’m never say, never think about because it’s crazy, you know, you’re never want this before but…well, I think about sometimes.”

Sid’s tongue on his neck is a slow wet drag. “When is sometimes?”

Zhenya tilts his head as far to the side as he can. His teeth itch, and his mouth is watering too. “Like, I have heat-dream sometime, it's always you,” he gets out, gasping when Sid rewards him by sneaking his hand up his shirt, skin-on-skin. “And, sometimes when I’m awake, even if I’m…I think, it’s better if it’s you.”

Sid slides his hand over Zhenya’s chest, thumbing at his nipple until he squirms. “Me too,” he says softly. “I’d bring someone home and close my eyes and picture you.” He bites at the base of Zhenya’s neck, just a tease, not enough to leave a mark of any kind, but Zhenya wants, and the scrape of teeth is enough to trip him over into begging.

“Shhh, baby,” Sid hushes him, petting soothingly down his torso, down and down until he can slip his hand into Zhenya’s sweatpants. “I’ll take care of you. Let me?”

“Yes, anything, please,” Zhenya gasps, as Sid’s hand closes around his dick and his teeth close around the nape of his neck.

—————————

this, and all my other prompt fills (and a few other snippets!) are here on ao3 :)

#my fic #my writing #sidgeno #hockey rpf #a/b/o #drabble challenge

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just-horrible-things · 2 years

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Timeline: early chewtoy, before Riven really starts torturing her on the regular AU: Chewtoy - Micromanagement, pt1 [Next]

Henry Crows – warlock, thief and suspected gangster – talked a big game before Ariadne got him on the table. But when he folds he folds like a wet paper towel. All it takes is a bit of drowning.

She doesn’t know the instant he breaks, of course. It happens at some point under the water, while he can’t hope to form words through the choking and the panic. That’s the way with waterboarding.

It’s Ari’s call to make, watching the progress of his desperate, animal terror. When she judges that he’s blubbering hard enough and has inhaled about as much water as she’ll allow, she cuts the tie that pins his neck to the table.

He tries to sit up but she ignores it, reaching across him to unlock one handcuff, then the other. An easy shove is enough to roll his spasming, gasping body off the edge of the table.

He hits the floor in an ungainly tangle of limbs.

Ari gives him time to cough and retch up water. It’s best if he gets as much out of his lungs as he can. He makes wet, rasping sounds, juddering and moaning as he heaves up mouthful after mouthful onto the floor. Eventually he lets himself flop miserably back onto his side, still coughing.

Ariadne takes that as her cue.

The warlock moans a hoarse, fearful sound when she moves. She walks unhurriedly round the table, and stops with her boots near his head. “-- don’t –” he croaks between coughs and sobs. “--no more, stop–” “All you have to do is answer my questions.” Calm surety now. He doesn’t need more anger. “Okay –” he sobs “-- okay, what –” cough, hack, cough “-- what d’you want –?”

It takes patience to get answers out of him. He can barely breathe, and if Ariadne so much as twitches in his direction, the fear sets him hacking and wheezing too hard to speak.

She is patient.

In the end he tells her pretty much his entire life story. A miserable existence riddled with bad choices. With a little probing and a few mild threats, he gives her some names and addresses to follow up. Some fellow magic users who use their powers for crime and violence. His landlord, who knew he was a warlock and said nothing. His drug dealer.

But he swears up and down that he’s not part of any gang or organization. He begs Ari to believe him, and apologizes tearfully for not cooperating from the start. “I just wanted to –” cough, snivel, cough “-- look tough. I don’t know –” cough “-- anything else, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

His fear, crying at her feet, gives Ari a familiar, guilty rush of warm feelings.

“If you are lying to me,” she tells him softly, “I hope you know there’s a lot worse in store than a little water.” “I’m not lying,” he blubbers, “I swear I’m not.”

She gets him a hand towel, and a cup of clean water – which he flinches from – to rinse his mouth.

“If you’re telling the truth,” she says, “then I won’t hurt you again.” That twisted part of her is disappointed that he doesn’t thank her for the mercy. He just sobs into the towel she gave him.

But her gut tells her he’s being honest, so she won’t let herself be cruel. Cruelty is counterproductive, once they’re cooperating.

She doesn’t feel the need to lock his wrists together to return him to his cell. There’s no fight left in him. In fact she has to support him with an arm under his shoulders since his legs are shaking too badly to walk on his own.

She lets him keep the towel. He’s clinging to it like a lifeline.

Back in the guard room she writes up her report, playing back the recording to be sure she gets the names and addresses right. There isn’t any need to listen all the way to the end. The last minute is just begging. But she lets it run.

She ends her report with her conclusion that he seems honest, and a recommendation of release if his leads check out.

Then, remembering the way Riven scolded her for leniency last time, she reluctantly amends it to a recommendation of release or disposal.

It won’t make a difference to Crows’ fate. Riven will read it the same way whatever she puts down. He doesn’t give a shit what she recommends, besides chewing her out for getting it wrong.

It still leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

The next day, she is annoyed and mildly surprised to find that Crows is still on her list.

She doesn’t think much of it. Riven is always sloppy with his admin, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s completely failed to read her reports. She shoots him a perfunctory email, and gets on with her day in the assumption that it’s an error.

Riven catches her in the hall after lunch. She tries to shrug off his hand, but his grip just tightens on her shoulder. “I didn’t make a mistake,” he says. “201 didn’t tell you shit, so you’re not done with him.” “He doesn’t know shit,” Ariadne retorts. “Listen yourself, if you have so much time to waste second-guessing my work. He’s a dud.”

Riven’s fingers dig in. “Watch your tone,” he warns her sharply. Ari tries to shrug him off again, but she bites back her vitriol and nods her head. “Sir,” she acknowledges. “When did you get so gullible? The little shit is lying to you. So go back and ask him again.” “Yes sir,” she agrees, breathing through her nose.

Crows hits the back of his cell when she opens it up. “You said,” he protests, still hoarse from yesterday. “You said you wouldn’t if I talked to you!” “No pain if you do as you’re told,” Ariadne agrees. She narrows her eyes, a calculated gesture of suspicion that she doesn’t really feel. “If you’re being honest, you have nothing to be afraid of. Now c’mon. Out.”

He shakes his head, frightened, and refuses to move until she takes the baton off her belt and steps towards him. Then he jumps to do as he’s told – still scowling furiously.

She keeps her word, for today at least. Rapid fire questions until Crows is tripping over his words, but no pain. The warlock remains sullen and his answers are terse, but they match yesterday’s. Ari can find no evidence of lies.

With any luck Investigations will get round to checking out his leads some time this year, and they’ll confirm that he’s telling at least a little truth. It’s unlikely to happen soon enough to get Riven off her back.

Sure enough, he comes around to bother her while she’s writing up a different report.

He calls her by name and makes her stand up to speak to him before he’ll tell her what he wants. Once she’s on her feet he demands, “What’s gotten into you?” “What now, sir?” “You were soft on 201. I told you to interrogate him, not sit him down with a mug of cocoa and a cookie.” “201 again.” Ari only barely doesn’t roll her eyes. “When did he piss in your cornflakes? You don’t give a shit about that lowlife, what’s this really about?” “I want to know why you give a shit about him. Don’t tell me you’re turning sympathizer.”

“Please,” Ariadne scoffs. “Why would I give a shit? I just think torturing him is a waste of our time, it’s not gonna get any different answers. He doesn’t know a damn thing worth asking.” “And I think you’re wrong. Am I, or am I not your supervisor?” “Sir, if you think –” “I asked you a question, Ariadne.”

She takes a deep breath, and does not let it out as a profound sigh.

“Yes, sir,” she answers, sarcasm dripping from her words. “You are my supervisor, sir.” “Am I, or am I not more experienced than you?” By what, three years? Four at most? “Yes sir, you are more experienced, sir.” “So why, exactly, do you think that you know better than me?” “Because he’s my assignment, and I was in the room with him? Sir.”

He grabs her lapels, then, and yanks her forwards. Ariadne doesn’t flinch, but her gaze slides down and away from Riven’s snarl.

She gets away with a lot of backchat, but maybe she’s crossed a line.

“I am giving you a direct order,” Riven growls, “and I expect you to follow it, not to argue with me. I don’t care what you think. I want to see 201 bloody before five. No more slacking!”

That does it. Something snaps like a wire in Ariadne’s chest, a sudden rush of heat and anger. She shoves Riven off her, bringing an arm down over his hand to knock his grip from her shirt.

“Stop fucking micromanaging me,” she hisses. “Just fuck off and let me do my fucking job!”

Instead of answering her violence with violence, Riven steps back. His glare is cold, and Ariadne swallows. “I’m sorry, sir, I lost my temper, I shouldn’t have –”

Riven silences her with a sharp gesture. “You shouldn’t,” he agrees. Ariadne’s cheeks smart as if he had slapped her. “I will let you do your job,” he sneers, “once you have proved to me that you can be trusted not to fuck it up. Is that going to be a problem?” “No, sir.”

“I want to see 201 bloody before five. And when you are done with him, you will report to me for discipline.” Ariadne grits her teeth and glowers at the floor and nods. She’s as angry with herself as she is with Riven. She knows better than to raise a hand to a superior. “Do you understand me, Ariadne?” “Yes, sir.” “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” She drags her eyes up to do as she’s told. “Yes, sir,” she repeats sullenly. “Good, then I’ll see you at five. You’re dismissed.”

[Next]

#my writing #riven #chewtoy!ariadne #au: chewtoy

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