#doesn't look like he's about to start now

[cakypa120]

Billy can see who the descendants of past Champions are. This opened up a new world for him.

Past Champion: Billy! My great-great(×10)-granddaughter is there!

Billy turns his head and sees a little old lady crossing the street.

Past Champion: Go help her!

Billy helps her home while listening to stories about her grandchildren. Past Champion chirps happily while the others grumble.

Then Billy joins the League. He holds back a surprised yelp when he sees the aura around Barry, Victor, and freaking Bruce Wayne!! The Champions scream like little girls when they see their descendant defeat a villain.

Bruce's Grandfather: Look at my grandson! He took them all!!

Barry's Grandfather: No, look at my grandson! He's faster than anyone!

Victor's Grandfather: I know my grandson is better than all of you idiots.

Bruce's Grandfather: Now I know who he takes after.

And it's constant. Day and night, the Champions in Billy's head tell him about their grandchildren. Billy is honestly tired of it. Moreover, the Champions' memories have slowly penetrated his memory, so he sometimes begins to confuse the past with the present.

Marvel: *looks very closely at the puzzle that will open a portal to the world of chocolate bunnies*

Batman: Are you going to look at this for long?

Marvel: *waves it off* Borkut, daddy's busy, go play with your brothers.

Batman: *blinks in shock and looks at Captain* But...

Marvel: Dad's working, I promise to take you to Aunt Hestia tomorrow. Let me work, son.

Batman: *steps aside*

Marvel: *nods in satisfaction*

Also, the memories bring up emotions that Billy can't hide.

Marvel: *looks out the window at Earth with a sad expression*

Superman: Marvel? Is everything okay?

Marvel: *has a memory in his head of when one of the past Champions was married to a very powerful sorceress. They often flew around the Earth. The wife looked very beautiful in the rays of the sun*

Marvel: I think I miss my wife.

Clark doesn't know how to react to this statement. Did Marvel have a wife? Was he married? Clark didn't know what to say to Marvel at that moment, so he just stood there in silent support.

Billy ended up becoming more of a parental figure to some of the heroes.

One day, Zatanna walks into the Watchtower and sees Marvel.

Zatanna: G-g-grandpa?!

Marvel: Zatanna! *hugs her and starts spinning her* Grandpa missed you! Oh my god! You have your grandma's eyes!

The League was on the sidelines, picking up their jaws.

[sturnioz]

fratboy!chris uses shy!readers tummy to sort out his edibles and package them, but when one thing leads to another...

based off this ask.

you're lying still as you possibly can, your body pliant beneath chris' touch as your gaze stays fixed on his hands, watching as he sorts the colourful edible gummies scattered across your tummy, acting like some sort of human countertop.

one by one, he groups them by colour—reds with reds, greens with greens, oranges with oranges, and so forth—before carefully sealing them into small plastic bags only for him to start the process all over again.

earlier, you had been far too energetic for chris to deal with; something about today just put a spring in your step, leaving you happy and buzzing as you bounced around the room—feet thumping against the floor and words tumbling from your lips in an endless stream until chris snapped, forcing you to remain still and quiet in promise of a treat later.

it worked.

you had laid down and stilled instantly.

those sweet, strawberry-flavoured lollipops that you love so much—the ones that he refuses to tell you where he gets them from—was enough to keep you obedient for the time being, but now, you're beginning to get a little fussy.

"stay," he warns you as you shift slightly, causing a few gummies to roll out of place. you let out a huff, but his eyes snap to yours, narrowing. "watch it."

"i don't want to do this anymore," you murmur, your lips pushing into a pout, yet despite your words, you don't actually move—apart from your eyes which flit back down to the gummies scattered across your tummy. "what flavour are the red ones?"

"raspberry." he answers flatly, not looking up from his task.

"why not strawberry?"

"'cos they're raspberry."

you pause for a moment before asking another, "what flavour are the green ones?"

"watermelon." he says, not missing a beat.

"why not apple? greens are usually—"

"bun." he hisses at you through clenched teeth, glaring at you.

the warning in his voice makes you press your lips together into a tight line, silencing yourself on instinct. you're left in the quietness of the room again, the only sound heard is the faint rustling of the bags that chris fills and moves to the side.

you can feel yourself getting antsy again, and before long, you're lightly wiggling your foot and toes, trying to shake off that stuck, heaving feeling of staying still for so long.

chris doesn't speak, but he notices, and he shuffles forward, his waist pressing down against your foot to pin it in place. the weight is firm, and it stops you immediately, but the pout on your face deepens—your brows knitting together as you peer down at him again.

the question slips out before you even realise it, "what flavour are the yellow ones?"

"lemon." his tone is flat again, like the answer should've been completely obvious, but you don't take the hint of the annoyance in his tone.

"do you think they make banana ones?"

"probably."

"i like bananas."

"i know."

for a moment, you're quiet again, now staring up at the ceiling. usually, you're fine with quietness, you didn't mind it every now and then. but for whatever reason, this time you didn't like it—it was strange.

was it because he was doing something, admittingly so, intimate? of course he wouldn't see it that way, he never will. to you it felt intimate—having to lay here, completely still, letting him use a part of your body to 'help' him do something.

well, it wasn't exactly to 'help' him—you were just irritating him with your energy, he wanted you to calm down. it should make you a little upset, but the thought of the treat he promised to give you after all this is completed makes you feel a lot better, a smile finding its way across your face.

however, the smile falters when you feel something wet and warm graze across your tummy, and your attention shoots down, the muscles in your core tensing as you watch chris mouth at the leftover gummies—his tongue flicking across your skin in his path.

"w-what are you—"

"shh." he interrupts you, hovering over another gummy before taking it into his mouth, his warm breath causing goosebumps to rise.

you squirm beneath him, your own breathing quickening as his lips brush against your navel, using his tongue to lick at a stray gummy resting over your belly button—chewing it slowly as he makes his way further down.

without warning, as usual, chris shoves his face between your thighs, his nose pressing against your underwear and you gasp, a strangled noise following as his tongue darts out, licking a slow path along the already damp fabric of your panties.

your hands fidget at your sides, fingers twisting in the bedsheets, your broken whimpers filling the room as he hooks his fingers beneath the band, pulling your soaked panties—all thanks to his tongue—to the side to expose your puffy pussy to the cool air, causing you to shiver.

he dives in, mouth attaching to your slick folds, tongue working its familiar magic over your clit, his arms curling around your thighs to keep you still for him to feast. your hips jerk involuntarily, uncontrollably noises seeping past your lips as your head falls back.

you're lost in the sensation already, tummy sucking in with large gasps of air, your spine arching off the bed as your toes curl in your socks—thighs trembling beneath his hold as you squirm again, unable to control the movement of your body as his tongue dips in and out of you, slurping you up so loudly that you throw your arm over your face to cover it.

"don't hide from me, bun," he speaks against your pussy, the vibrations making a whimper fall from your lips. "y'know i don't like that shit. watch me."

divider credits. @issysh3ll

© STURNIOZ

[superhoeva]

the thought of walsh and abbott both getting possessive over reader at work and the both of them competing while double domming reader after they're all off is driving me insane

(i think you've opened pandora's box...)

When your name tumbles from their lips at the same time, all you can do is freeze.

“C’mere for a sec, kid. Got a good one for ya.” Jack is the first to start again, B-lining for where you stand at a monitor, ten seconds-post finishing a chart for your latest patient. “Guy in 18 has a–”

“Actually, I need you with me. Single GS incoming, six minutes out,” Walsh appears on the other side of your shoulders, clenching her hand together to keep her from grabbing your arm like she so desperately desires.

Pursing your lips, you keep your eyes on the screen. You end up kicking yourself in the inside when you can’t find anything to make it look like you’re busy.

“Well, sorry, Dr. Walsh but she’s coming with me,” Jack declares, making sure to soften his face with a quick smile when he nods his head at you to follow. “Gotta reattach the tip of an index finger, want you gloved up so I can talk you through the suture–”

“Too bad. I need her with me in Trauma. Have Parker do it, she could handle that with her eyes closed. Easy.”

“Parker’s busy, and this is a good learning opportunity for the kid. Or have you forgotten we’re a teaching hospital, Dr. Walsh?”

“She can learn just as much from a GSW as she can from a replantation.”

“You sure about that one?”

“Hey,” you breathe out, moving to step in between where the two are starting to unconsciously tug toward one another. You even throw a little frown at them but it probably looks like more of a pout because you hate when they get like this–and you know they know you hate it when they get like this. “Really, you guys? Right here?”

A handful of thick seconds pass. Finally–

“...come on.”

“...let’s move.”

Huffing, you drop your arms and toss an annoyed glare at the ceiling. “Fuck me.”

“Fuck me…” you whisper out, flinching when Emery circles a drenched tongue around your clit at a whine-indcucing pace. You squirm against Jack’s front, who doesn't stop the sloppy kisses he pressing just below your ear when he tightens his grip around you. “Ah.”

“Thought y-you all we’re supposed to be–shit–making up f-for earlier,” you whimper, “not this.”

“Should’ve had me go first. Would’a let you come on my tongue at least three times by now, doll.”

“Oh, I think you spent your fair share of time down here yesterday afternoon,” Emery smacks along your slit, hand squeezing at the plush of your thighs as she sends a cutting look past you toward Jack. He meets the sharp gaze, sending a just-as-piercing leer while his teeth move to nibble at your jaw. “Could still taste her when you kissed me before work. You should fucking shave, by the way.”

Just as Jack hurries to rebut, Emery sucks at you clit with enough force to wail a moan from you loud enough to cover Abbot’s rasp. He rolls his eyes at the two of you even though his cock jumps at the sound and the sight.

“Can someone please just fuck me?”

A little of the tension melts, Jack and Emery sharing a small quirk of the lips.

Dragging her lips up your body, Walsh hangs over you and Jack in a close hover. She bends a little, sharing a long snog with Jack before pulling away and turning to you.

“We’re sorry, baby,” she coos, cupping your cheeks and bending to kiss your lips. You feel Jack breathing deep behind you as her tongue swipes across yours. Giving you one last peck, she pulls away with a quick wink that only you can see before helping Jack shift you against him. “Got her?”

“Yeah. You set, hun?”

A genuine smile ghosts across Emery’s mouth, and she stares at you and Jack. Chest warming, she hums out an easy mhm. 

“You?”

Jack grins at Emery, pecking a kiss to your shoulder just before lacing his fingers with the woman at your front. “Never better, baby.”

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯����

[clownsuu]

Getting back into your Mob!Au for Welcome Home, but I forgot everyone's rolls in the mob! Can we get a refresher of the gang's responsibilities? I know Wally is the boss, Howdy runs the bar, Frank is financial manager, and Dusty protects the vault... but past that, I'm lost!

o h m a n its been a while since I worked, or even thought about these goobers lore wise JJHFGKSFF-- like holy moly I even forgot how to draw em (so take a test doodle lmAo)

cw bug/swarm silhouettes

But what from I remember, here's a list of their respected jobs (in order of Rank)

(for the main cast for now) (there may or may not be anything missing, or added/updated)

Wally: Obviously their most "enthusiastic" Boss. He doesn't do too much besides approve/reject orders, enforce rules, and be a casual reminder that, you are indeed, here forever*. Owns several brands ranging WILDLY (from cigs, to ovens, to baby diapers etc etc. Seemingly random, totally not a fire hazard)

Barnaby: Wally's Left-hand bodyguard. The boss isnt quite the greatest when it comes to discussions with potential clients/neighbors, so Barnaby is usually the one who does all the sweet talking for him. Usually the one who recommends "party" plans.

Howdy: Wally's Right-hand bodyguard. Due to his silent nature, he's purely there to be commanded however the boss sees fit. When not on duty as a guard, he's tending the company building's bar (open to the public on ground floor) and refilling stock.

Frank: Oh goodie look who ranked up! HEAVILY overworked however. He alone deals with all of the most boring of tasks, which include (but not limited to): Keeping every single paper file organized and up to date, calling in appointments for the boss and sometimes the family members, running errands, quality inspection in case they need to call in for second or even third party quality inspection, make online orders, make physical orders, update the decorative flora, plan events, put "party" plans into motion or reject due to budget, also cancel said planned events due to Sally, make sure the nursery is stocked and full, refill not bar exclusive fridges, haggling, getting rid of evidence, planting fake evidence, and so so so so so so so so much more! an alcoholic, and not-too recently started smoking.

Poppy: The only nurse who's available 24/7. Due to her severe insistent and persistent paranoia and anxiety, her workload has been reduced considerably (and shoved onto Frank.) On weekends, on her own accord, she likes to make everyone breakfast and serve it at the bar before everyone wakes up. Usually Howdy is awake as well and helps her whenever available.

Julie: Secondary nurse and "private" assassin. Specializes in poisons/antidotes, and organized crimes. Despite being a nurse, she's rarely doing nurse work, and instead can be found constantly reworking formulas, creating mind altering substances, and hunting for someone who's perhaps willing to be her guineapig to do test trials on (nobody ever is). Sometimes takes pity on Frank and helps him with their work. Sometimes.

Sally: "Public" assassin and a complete menace. Incredibly sloppy with her work and not completely reliable with making sure someone is dead unless she's allowed explosives (She's blacklisted from ever doing so again.) Developed a love for the next best thing: tasers. Mainly used to trash enemy bases and send a message that the mob doesn't take too kindly to their recent behaviors. Basically a physical embodiment of (and nicknamed) "Cease and Desist".

[skyrigel]

Simon sees no reason why there is a vibrator hiding in one of the cabinets - he has fucked you deep and raw, all through the night and arched through the begining of dawn where you weren't even awake.

Sometimes your knees around your head, sometimes his hands digging in your flesh, sometimes his lips swallowing you completely while his cock fills your inside with hot dripping cum, sometimes when he holds you in his chokehold and breeds your bareback, sometimes tenderly in his arms, in all ways.

Why would you even need this?

He eats you out like his life depends on it, on his knees face buried deep in your cunt, sucking on your clit and lapsing in your hot juices.

What irks him more is the hiding state in which he finds your pink vibrator.

Doesn't he makes you feel so good?

It unnerves him, which is why Simon doesn't cater to your ushered moans, begging him to fuck you. "plea...si-" you wiggle back your naked ass, while pressed flat on the desk. "fuck me, nyea-" arching at his touch.

His sadist finger trailing down your naked spine, cum marked by your orgasm of earlier. His fingertips wetting against your dripping pussy oh fuck, you're so hot - and he sucks in one sharp breath, you are so intoxicating, his doll.

"feelin' good, aye?" Simon rubs two fingers along your sore, puffy lips. He has been it for a long time, hours, he guesses, already has made you cum with four fingers piston fucking you relentlessly until your toes curled which were hanging above the floor.

Your knees are weak and you don't know about the vibrator he has with him. “please...mmm, simon.” you whine.

Simon's palm fall flat on your ass with a loud yelp, before resting back on the small of your back keeping you flat against his office desk, the only thing supporting you.

Your own fingers curled at the edge holding for dear life. "Si...baby..ah, ah" again his one deft digit slips inside your warm folds.

You pout, overwhelmed, "I N-need yo..your dick."

Simon smirks and pulls out his sticky wet finger, marveling at it, ofcourse lovie, but he has plans for now, and with a smug look in his eyes he hisses, painfully hard and oh, how easy it would be to fuck you like this, dripping, hot, and begging for him.

But Simon's not an easy man, is he?

He pressures you further against the desk before you start wiggling, "Just there lovie." he smiles, and goes on to put blunt round head of the vibrator against your clit.

Before you could know, because ofcourse your walls know what Simon's cock like, how he feels inside and over you, "Thats no-"

Simon starts the vibrator on its highest setting, buzzing against your sore pussy.

"-Si...nyeah..oh god, oh fuck, fuck," your mouth is incoherent, back at the powerful sensation pulsing inside you.

He doesn't even have to see what setting his thumb is on, your ass doing erratic movements tells well enough. "mmm, what ya' want lovie?" he massages along your clit, the pink ball glossing with your coating.

"mmph...oh fuck, oh fuck m-me baby." you mumble, fucked out of your head.

Anything for his love.

Masterlist

[procrastinatingfeminist]

Yeah this is this one thing i feel ambivalent about. On one hand a well known actor (any celebrity not grandfathered into their money and privilege, actually, actors ain't that speshful) has the reach and the audience that very few people in the world can command. Look how many people Taylor Swift compelled to register to vote, just with a few compassionate tweets. Look on the other spectrum of the example, of how many vicious, despicable misogynists has JKR managed to instrumentalize in ostrasizing an Olympic athlete, just because of her greed and because the only thing keeping her relevant anymore is tearing into women so deviate from the western white beauty standard. So, obviously, Pedro does have a lot of power that he can wield. And he often did it, for good cause, when he spoke out about being an ally to trans people, and probably other things too.

On the other hand, his job is being an actor, not the UN ambassador. An actor is, when you get down to it, only a person, who is encumbered by their own limited intelligence, their biases, their beliefs, their cultural upbringing. Why do we constantly harass them to demonstrate model behaviours, to have the right answers about god, and universe, and everything? It is not fair to them. It becomes even more ridiculous when grown ass men and women start asking barely grown up child actors for answers that they should have already intuited themselves, for fucks sake, if they weren't so morally and intellectually bankrupt!!! You don't need Daniel Radcliffe saying to you that bullying is bad or the Seamus, Dean and Neville actors declaring that being homophobic is actually kinda cringe. Pierce Morgan isn't going to be suddenly converted by their quotes, and if this old ass fuck still haven't haven't learned by now how harmful his beliefs are, no amount of badgering a celebrity into voicing their opinion is going to change that, because it is no longer about lack of knowledge, but about lack of moral integrity. Actors aren't superior human beings just because they are famous. They have a pretty specific skill set, and thats it. Some are smart, some are geniuses, but some are also actually pretty dumb, and some are vile. There are plenty actors who happily voted leopard party, before they discovered that their faces are not immune from being eaten.

And on the other other hand, the situation today is not what it was eight years ago, six years ago. US is becoming a full blown fascist state with no checks and balances. Last election period you could still go "lets agree to disagree" without facing career-ending - god, i would actually go so far as to say life-ending - consequences, because the plurality of opinions was still practiced. Now? If someone famous like Pedro fucking Pascal, someone who Disney corporation is invested in backing, because he is the face of one of their best known Star Wars franchises, feels unsafe to offer a public opinion? This is pure, unadelterated fascism. There is no quibbing about it. His career is tied to Hollywood. I bet he already thought about quietly disappearing to Denmark for a few years and starring in a couple of indie european movies - it's not like he hurts for money - but no country in Europe has big enough movie making market to be a long-term solution. And if Trump guts the movie industry with his tariffs as he spouted off, it won't even be an option, because once you go, you are out. And that kind of suffocating, gut-heaving existential fear changes a person. I thankfully remember it only with a distant haziness that comes from living your childhood in such a regime, and it still keeps me up in cold sweat from time to time, and he seems to have a similar experience, but what does it say about our timeline that this feeling is increasingly becoming familiar like it is here to stay, like an unwanted roommate that doesn't pay rent and mooches off your groceries, but you also cannot evict?

Pedro Pascal EDDINGTON - Press Conference - Cannes 2025

[wooyngz]

road head with sylus??????

because he’s absolutely bricked up watching you take out those pursuing you. he loves when you're dominant, he loves when you take control.

“keep your eyes on the road, sylus” you say, leaning over and unbuttoning his pants. he lets out a quiet grunt when you work his underwear and pants down enough for his hard cock to spring out.

“kitten…” he says, his tone is a warning one but a bead of precum is about to drip down his shaft so you know he's not serious.

“what's got you so worked up?” you ask, leaning down to lick at the head of his cock, cleaning up the precum. he moans low in his throat at the action, and then you're letting a string of spit fall from your mouth, onto the tip of his cock. you use that as lubricant to slowly stroke him, “you're so hard for me.”

he doesn't answer, he doesn't have time before you're taking him in your mouth, loosening your throat and swallowing him down. his foot involuntarily presses harder in the gas, sending the car jolting forward briefly before he gathers himself.

“haah, fuck, kitten,” he says, leaving one hand on the steering wheel and placing his other on the back of your head. “just like that.”

you hum around him, your mouth too full to say anything. the vibration of the noise makes his cock twitch.

when you think he's able to handle not crashing the car, you start to bob your head up and down in a painfully slow motion, savoring the heavy feeling of him on your tongue, the heady flavor of him.

the car is filled with the sound of your slurping. you're being messy, but neither of you really seem to mind it. his hand tightens his grip on your head, slightly pushing and pulling you forward just how he likes it.

“uuhh, that's good, you're so good-”

the sound of a bullet flying through the car rings out. you thought you took care of everyone but there’s one straggler. he curses under his breath, his hand leaving your head so that he can grab his gun, “don't stop,” he says, though you had no intention of stopping to begin with.

you take him further down your throat as he points his gun out the window, firing a single shot that must hit its mark because there's the sound a screeching tires and a loud crash shortly after he shoots.

you're just about soaked through your panties at this point, the entire situation turning you on to no end. you start to moan around him as you suck him off, you can't help it. it's getting you off to get him off.

“nngh, i’m close, fuck, don't stop,” he says, his hand returning to the back of your head, his fingers lacing through your hair.

you move with a renewed purpose, wanting nothing more than for him to cum now. it doesn't take long either, not with how worked up he is. you feel the tell-tale signs that he's right on the edge just as he starts to throb in your mouth.

he cums hard, his hips jutting up slightly, his cock hitting the back of your throat before he’s filling your mouth with his cum. you moan again, swallowing what he has to offer as best as you can, some leaking out and dripping down his shaft.

you take him out of your mouth and lick up what you missed, gently cleaning him up before tucking him back into his pants. when you sit back up he's looking at you in awe, his eyes flicking to the road every now and again.

you make a show of wiping your mouth before giving him a smile and returning to your seat like nothing even happened.

he's going to fuck you until you're seeing stars when you return home.

[rottingpink]

little house in the woods | jason todd

masterlist | taglist

cw: shy! reader, threats, angry jason, fingering, cum eating, smut, unprotected sex, corruption kink, pussy eating, feral jason, not beta'd MDNI

synopsis: You're a sweet recluse who allows her home to be Jason's safe house. What happens when he starts to get too close to her?

The screen door creaks open late one evening. Jason Todd steps inside your little kitchen like it's a habit, almost as though he's lived here all his life. In truth, you'd only known Jason for about two months now since he came stumbling to your doorstep one stormy evening. Things seemed to pass in a blur since then.

Jason's shoulders are tense beneath the fabric of his jacket, bruised from the constant fights he participates in. His jaw is sore and his knuckles are split from punching again. He's already in one of his moods.

He kicks off his boots by the door without looking, the way he always does, listening to the familiar sound of dirty soles thunking against the wood floor. Then, he heads straight to the sink like he's on autopilot, having memorized the layout of your house like it's his own. He doesn't even need to look down to where the fluffy hand towels are as he dries his hands.

There's a plate of dinner waiting on the table that's still hot and steaming, and you're standing near the counter, looking at him like he didn't just come home covered in bruises and blood. You're smiling in the cutesy, innocent way you always do. The way that boils Jason's blood in both a bad, and really good way.

"Hi, Jay," you say, your voice smooth like honey as you look up at him with big, sparkly eyes, like he's just your husband coming home late from work.

Jason swears under his breath and marches through the kitchen, hovering around you for a moment, before muttering a gruff "Hello." in return, slumping down into his usual seat at the dinner table, looking down at tonight's dinner.

The plate's got roast chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, and a pile of vegetables on the side. It's very balanced. It looks like food you'd see in a magazine with a recipe underneath. You cooked. Again. Like you do every night.

"Thought you might be hungry," you say, cheeks all pink from the stove's heat, or maybe just from looking at him. You get so bashful when he stares. "You want me to get you a knife or anything else?"

"No. S' fine." he grumbles, picking up a fork to start stabbing at his vegetables. You nod, still smiling all cute as you take out a jug of lemonade for him and pour him a class without asking, setting it down beside his plate, right before leaning down to press the softest, most innocent kiss to his cheek. Right near the cut on his jaw, his sweet spot. "Glad you're home safe."

Jason goes still at the feeling, a little grunt leaving him involuntarily. The second your lips brush over him, it's as though every muscle in his body tenses. His eyes flick to you, but you're already walking away, humming to yourself like you didn't screw him over with that little gesture.

What the hell are you doing, letting a guy like him into your house? Letting him sleep in the extra bedroom you cleaned just for him and eat off your table without asking for compensation? What kind of sweet, naive girl lets a man with knives and guns in his duffel bag and scars up his back and shoulders stay in her house like he's not dangerous?

"You shouldn't do that," he grumbles as you have your back turned to him, a deep scowl on his face. You blink, turning back toward him, confusion soft in your eyes. "Do what?"

"You know what I mean. The kissin'. The..." his voice gets tight, jaw ticking, "...the 'Jay' with your little giggle. Don't."

"Don't act like we're friends?' you ask, so innocently, head tilted in a way that makes him want to pounce on you. "We are friends."

Jason clenches his jaw. His fingers curl around the fork, knuckles white. "You should be more wary, is all" he mutters, frowning as you respond with a little huff and a playful eye roll, going over to check on the pies you made for dessert that are cooling on a rack.

He stares at the curves of your body, gaze panning from your hips, down to your thighs, and back up to your ass, plump in the cute little nightgown you're wearing, with the hem riding up your thighs enough to show your panties if you bent over. He can't take his eyes off of you, not for a second. He's looking at you to figure out how someone like you could possibly be real, let alone a part of his life. You feed him. You made him a safe house with gingham curtains and a soft bed and dinner waiting on the table every night without fail.

He's coiled so tight it feels like his skin doesn't fit right, seeing you flutter around the kitchen like everything's fine, apron tied snugly around your waist. You turn and meet his gaze again as he continues.

"Why aren't you scared of me?" Jason mutters all gruff, pushing back his chair and standing. His eyes are all dark and stormy. "You let a guy like me in your house. You give me food, a bed, clothes. You let me walk around your kitchen like I belong here." He steps forward slowly. "You don't even lock your fucking door."

Your throat bobs as you swallow, but your expression doesn't change. That soft, quiet sweetness still on your face like you've never even heard a threat before.

"I don't have to lock it because the only person who comes around here is you, and I know you."

Jason's frown deepens, and he crowds your space, hissing at you coldly. "You don't know shit about me." He stares down at you, jaw clenched, breathing through his nose. He keeps coming closer and closer to you, all while you don't even realize what you're doing to him, standing there in your cozy little kitchen, smelling like a dessert.

His body pushes you back into the counter, his jaw is clenched and lips twisted in a snarl. You open your mouth, but he cuts you off, his voice rising. "You let me in here. You open your house up to someone like me and think I'm not gonna hurt you? You think I'm just gonna be your lil' prince charming?"

He shoves his hand against the counter beside you, trapping you in place. His face is inches from yours, but this time, you don't see the same tired, frustrated guy you've been taking care of. This time, all you see is the threat, the dangerous man who doesn't think you should have trusted him at all.

"I could strangle you, you know," he says all soft. His hand shoots out, quick and brutal, grabbing your neck just below your chin. "You think I wouldn't do it? You think I wouldn't snap your neck like a twig if I wanted to?"

Your pulse spikes. His grip isn't tight enough to suffocate you, enough to make your heart pound harder. "Or what if I wanted to cut you?" His thumb presses into the soft skin of your neck, a reminder of how fragile you really are in his hands. "What if I wanted to steal everything in your house and leave you with nothing?"

You look up at him, whimpering softly at the feeling of his huge hand wrapping around your throat. Your smaller one grabs at his wrist, staring up at him with big, glassy brown eyes. "J-jason..."

"What if I wanted to tear off one of those flimsy lil' dresses you wear around me and fuck you?" He lets out a low mumble, tipping your head up and rubbing his thumb over your lower lip. "You think they're cute, huh? You think I don't notice the way you dress like 'm not gonna want to tear you apart?"

Your breath hitches, and for a second, you can't find your words. He's crowding you now, pinning you to the counter so you have no way out. His thumb pushes harder on your lower lip.

You stare at him, your face flushed. Your chest is rising fast now, like you're trying to keep calm, like your body's betraying you even if your voice hasn't cracked yet. You're not saying anything, but your fear's loud enough without words.

Jason's still holding onto your throat, the heel of his hand digging into your pressure point while his thumb smushes against your soft lips. His chest heaves with each breath, his face twisted up even though deep down, he's thoroughly enjoying himself. He relishes in the slight tremble your body gives and the way you look up at him like you're starting to realize he's not savable.

He leans down to your level. "You scared now, sweetheart?" he mutters. You try to speak, but it catches in your throat. He can feel it under his hand, that flutter in your pulse. "Yeah," he breathes. "That's what I thought."

He tilts his head, leaning down to slot his mouth over your cheek, mocking the little kisses you always give him when he's home. He moans against your skin, starting to press sloppy kisses down to your jaw. He's done holding back, finally indulging in the terrible, heinous thoughts he's had about you since you let him into your home.

His hands roam under your dress, hiking it up to squeeze the plush globes of your ass, all while you moan softly, eyes fluttering shut.

He kisses up the side of your throat and up to your ear, huffing low inside so you hear every bit of how hot he is for you. "Lemme show you what bad men do to pretty girls who play house with 'em."

His grip on your throat stays steady, firm but not cruel. His other hand drags up the back of your thigh, slow like he's savoring it, slipping beneath the hem of your nightgown until his rough fingers find bare skin. His breathing is ragged now, lips pressed to the curve of your neck like he's trying to inhale you.

"You smell s'sweet," he growls, nose brushing the soft skin beneath your jaw. "Always smell so fuckin' sweet."

He's spreading you apart before your brain can comprehend it, lifting you up with his free hand to guide you up onto the counter, manhandling you like you weigh nothing. Slotting his body between your legs, he looks down at your pretty cotton panties. Just as adorable as you, all lacy and pastel like you didn't have a clue what they'd do to him.

Jason huffs a breath through his nose, low and unsteady, staring at the soaked little patch in the middle. "Fuck," he mutters, dragging his thumb over the wet spot slowly and teasingly. "Look at this. You want me like this." His hand grips your thigh to keep you open, his gaze locked on your panties as he takes two fingers and pushes them up against your panties so he can trace your plump little pussy through the fabric, firm enough to make you twitch.

You jolt, grabbing onto his shoulder while your tummy flips. "Mmh... i-its good... b-but 'm sensitive..." you warn softly, trying to fight against his grip ever so slightly, but he keeps you spread for him with his firm hand. Your breath catches when he starts tugging your panties to the side, baring the warm air of the kitchen onto your even warmer hole.

His hand grips your hip, anchoring you in place while he teases your entrance with the pads of his fingers, just barely pressing in. You let out a strangled little sound, back arching as he slowly presses a finger inside you with a low groan. Your body clenches around him and it makes him twitch, a guttural sound leaving his chest. "Fuck, you're tight," he mutters, nose nuzzling yours. "So fuckin' warm. This pussy's been waiting for me, hasn't she?" You nod helplessly, eyes wide, lips parted as he pumps his finger inside you slow and filthy. He watches you fall apart for him, cheeks flushed and pretty little moans leaving your mouth with every curl of his finger.

His thick digit curls just right inside you, slow and deep, while his thumb rubs circles around your clit, not too quick, just firm and steady like he's testing how fast he can get you to fall apart. You whimper again, your hips rolling into his hand without thinking.

He watches the little faces you make while you're in heat like this, as well as the way your body reacts to his touch. His eyes are locked on the place where his finger disappears inside you with that delicious squelch, and once you're relaxed, he slides in a second to fill you up even more. You jerk, nightgown bunching up more at your waist as he shoves his fingers deep inside you, wanting to see how tight you can squeeze around them.

"Damn," he mumbles, "You're squeezin' the fuck outta me." His free hand grabs your thigh harder when you flinch back, nails digging just a little into your flesh to keep you still and wide open for him. He leans in, breathing heavy against your cheek as he grinds the heel of his palm against your clit while his fingers keep stroking inside you, that slow, steady rhythm that's driving you crazy because it's just enough to have you trembling, but not enough to tip you over.

You whine out a soft "Jay," all desperate and teary eyed, your grip on his shoulders tightening as your legs start to shake. You don't even realize you're grinding down onto his hand until he growls, "Yeah… that's it. Use your words. You need it that bad, don't you?"

He keeps his face close to yours, eyes flicking between your mouth and your eyes, watching how dazed you look already, lips all swollen and wet from how much you've been panting. "Feels 's good! M-more..." You whine, your body starting to move on its own, hips rolling into his hand, trying to chase the pressure that's curling in your gut.

Jason doesn't let up. He just keeps fucking you with his fingers, deep and slow, his thumb pressed firm to your clit, working you in tight little circles until your legs are twitching and your mouth is open like you're gasping for air.

"You're already gonna cum, huh?" he murmurs, voice low and thick. "Already cryin' on my fingers like a needy little thing." You nod, head falling back against the cabinet behind you, your breath coming in short, desperate little bursts. " 'M gonna...Jay, I...I'm gonna..."

"Come, then," he orders, eyes locked on yours. "Cum on my fingers like a good girl. Show me how sweet this fuckin' pussy is."

You shatter around him body locking up tight before it all melts down at once, your orgasm crashing over you so hard you can't even stay upright without holding onto him. Your whole body trembles and he watches it all, jaw clenched, eyes dark and blown wide with how fucked he is for you.

He keeps his fingers inside you even after, not pulling out until you're twitching too much to take it, and even then, he pulls back slow, glancing down at the mess he made of you. He brings his fingers to his mouth without even thinking, licking them clean while he keeps his eyes on your face.

Then he leans in, mumbling in your ear. "You made a mess on my hand,"

Jason's gaze drops down to the tent in his jeans, thick and straining against the zipper, and he lets out a breath that sounds more like a growl.

"Take my cock out," he says roughly, eyes never leaving yours. Your fingers tremble a little as they reach for his belt, heart hammering in your chest while you work it loose, the clink of the buckle loud in the quiet kitchen. Jason's eyes are burning into your face the whole time, watching the way you fumble a little, the way your lips part and your breathing gets uneven while you tug his belt free, then pop open the button on his jeans.

You slide the zipper down slow, hands shaking just the tiniest bit, but you don't stop.

He helps you just enough to shove his jeans down his hips, groaning softly when you reach into his briefs and wrap your fingers around him. He's thick and hot and already leaking against your palm, and the second you touch him, his whole body stiffens.

"Jesus," he mumbles, chest rising and falling hard. You glance up at him through your lashes, a little dazed and shy, but your hand stays wrapped around him as you stroke him once, then twice, making his head fall forward, forehead bumping into yours while he groans.

He looks into your eyes, his voice all rough and shaking with how close he is to snapping. "You're gonna do it, alright? Not me." he says, jaw clenched. "You're gonna show me how dirty you are, and take me in your hand, and you're gonna line me up with that sweet little pussy like this was your fuckin' idea."

You nod even though you're buzzing and feel your body burning, and he watches you slowly wrap your hand snugly around his cock, his face close to yours as you guide him between your legs.

"Yeah," he mumbles, watching your face. "Just like that." You whimper when the head of his cock bumps against your entrance, slick and warm, and Jason moans low in his throat at the feel of you, the head of him just barely pushing inside.

Your fingers tremble as you line the head of him up with your entrance, glancing up at him as you press him against your folds. "It's so hard," you whisper, all breathless. "Your cock..."

"I know," He responds, watching you continue to guide him, soaked folds parting around the flushed head, barely nudging it in just enough for both of you to feel that first slide. " 's... fuck... c-cause I want you s'bad." He hunches over you a little, mouth hanging open as you finally line him up just right. His tip catches on your soaked entrance and he groans deeply, forehead pressing to yours again like he's trying to stay tethered to something.

He pants, grinding the head against you, not pushing in all the way yet, smearing your wetness all over the flared head of his cock while your thighs twitch around his hips. You make a tiny noise, all high and breathy, and he grins against your cheek. His nose brushes your temple while he shifts his hips just enough for his tip to nudge inside, slow and heavy. "Fuck... there we go, sweetness. 'S suckin me in now."

He grabs your thigh with his free hand, pushing it up until your knee's hooked over his forearm, giving him more room, more access, more of you. He doesn't push all the way in yet, just slides in a few inches, slow and aching, just enough to make your mouth drop open and your nails bite into his shoulders.

"Keep lookin' at me," he hisses. "Don't you dare look away. You let me in, shit... now you're gonna watch what I do to you."

Your eyes flutter open again, all teary and glassy and overwhelmed, and he groans and thrusts in deeper, hips jerking forward like he can't help it anymore, burying himself with a low, breathless curse. Both hands grab your thighs to hold you wide open while his cock sinks alllll the way inside, thick and throbbing inside you.

He sinks in all the way, slow but deliberate, forcing your body to stretch and take every thick inch, and the second he bottoms out, he stays there, buried deep inside you, breathing hard through his nose like he's trying to stay composed, but he's not even close. His hands grip your thighs so tight it makes your skin dimple, holding you still like he's afraid you'll run, like he knows you're not ready for how far he's about to take this.

"Fuck, it's good," he mutters, voice wrecked as he stares down at where you're joined. "Look at that. Fuckin' swallowed me whole, didn't you?" He gives a rough roll of his hips, just enough to make you jerk and gasp under him. "Tight little pussy- already squeezin' like she wants to keep me."

Your head tips back as a choked little moan slips out, your hands clinging to his shoulders now, nails dragging across his back without thinking. He groans, fucking into you harder now, faster. Your body jerks with the impact of his rough thrust, and he moans, loud and low against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before he bites down like an animal.

He keeps fucking into you with rapid, punishing thrusts, his body bracketed over yours, your legs forced wide apart so he can get deeper. You moan loudly, not bothering to hold back on being responsive. You're slicing into his back with your nails, mewling and panting his name harshly.

He growls at the pleasure pain you give him, rutting into you harder, like the sound of his name like that flipped some switch in him. "Say it again," he pants. "Say my fuckin' name."

You do, a little louder this time, all breathless and shaking. "Jason, mmh! please!"

"Fuck," he bites, his whole body shuddering as he pounds into you now, hips snapping forward again and again. "You're gonna let me ruin you, huh? That what you want, sweet girl? Gonna let me fuck the good right outta you?" You nod, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, not even sure if it's from how good it feels or how deep he's inside you, but it makes him groan, deep and ragged, like he's never seen anything more perfect.

His voice is nothing but a harsh whisper now. "I ever catch you lettin' another man in this house, I swear to god-"

You cut him off with a soft little moan, too blissed out to process the threat, and Jason grunts, cock pulsing inside of you as he scrapes against your gummy inner walls. You let out a loud, high whine, clenching tight around him, and he curses under his breath, leaning forward to kiss you rough and messy, dragging his tongue across your bottom lip.

The taste of you is too much for him, and he groans loudly, grabbing onto the back of your head so he can fully suck your tongue into his mouth and buck into you faster, like a dog in a rut. "Gonna cum f'you, sweetness." He grunts, tearing out of you suddenly.

You whine at the loss of the full feeling inside your belly. and he grabs onto your plush thighs again, squeezing his throbbing, flushed cock and pumping it a few times before splurting all over your pussy. You pant, heart pounding in your chest.

He cums load after load on you, before dropping onto his knees and stuffing his face into your cunt, needing you to cum for him too. He doesn't want to wait for your sensitivity or that coil to fade away, and so he thrusts his tongue deep inside your sopping hole, eating out your cunt like it's the only dessert he needs.

You scream, ecstasy washing over you so suddenly that you can't even warn him when you cum into his hot mouth, watching him eagerly drink it all up and tongue fucking you through your orgasm.

He groans at your taste once again, unable to get over how sweet you taste. He stands and scoops some of the cum off his thighs and pushes his fingers lightly to your mouth. "Open f'me, sweetness." He mutters, watching you oblige with a dazed look in your eyes. He feels his cock twitch to life once more at the sight of you tasting him and looking into his eyes like he's just ruined you, which he has. Your hair is a mess and your lips are swollen, and your lower half is soaked with his cum.

"That's my sweet girl."

[thekoalapastriesbakery]

LOSS OF MY LIFE

formula one x horror actor!reader

request: I'm hoping this is thw right way to ask for requests but we live and learn ig. Anyway what about how the drivers would react to reader being in some sort of horror film and they end up dying?

summary: your boyfriend reacts to your death in a movie.

warnings: mild descriptions of death and gore, swearing, i think that's it?

contains: charles leclerc, gabriel bortoleto, + ollie bearman

word count: 552

charles leclerc:

he had been so incredibly excited to see your movie. you had warned him several dozen times that it was a horror movie and not a tame one. he didn't listen, of course, and decided it was a better idea to watch it when he was alone. at night. in a hotel room he was not familiar with.

… needless to say, you weren't exactly surprised when you woke up to your phone ringing. even less surprising was hearing charles sniffling and begging you to get a flight out because he's just seen you die a very gruesome death in the movie and now he desperately needs cuddles. he's definitely got a collection of stuffed animals he uses when he needs comfort but you're not available, and his favourite is a floppy bunny. charles is holding onto that bunny like his life depends on it after watching your movie.

you end up having to call one of the other drivers and ask them to keep him company until you get there. when you do, expect to be within arm's reach of your boyfriend at all times.

gabriel bortoleto:

he's actually kind of offended that the writers had the audacity to kill you off. the second he realizes what's about to happen he'll start angrily ranting about "how dare they!!" and all that.

then he sees you covered in the (fake) blood and you're so clearly pissed off even though you're dying and he just … slowly … trails off … until he's just staring at the screen. he doesn't even respond when you poke his arm to see if he's okay. all that's going through his head is holy fuck you look hot when you're angry and covered in blood—

it takes you a little while to realise what's actually going on, and you gotta just kinda keep poking and teasing him until he breaks out of it. let's just say if you wanna go all out for halloween there … gabi's definitely on board.

ollie bearman:

i actually think he really likes horror movies even though they give him nightmares? ollie loves them and finds them so interesting and even though he's so tense the whole time he just … he loves them! so when he finds out that you're gonna be in a horror movie?

he is so excited.

ollie makes a whole night of it. he'll order food from your favourite restaurant, set up a lil blanket fort for the two of you, make sure you know that he'll be extra jumpy that night, and then get your movie set up on his laptop. he can't watch horror movies on big screen because the detail makes it too scary for him. so you'll just have to get used to watching things on a laptop screen, sorry.

finally he gets to cuddle up to you and he's so excited to watch your movie!! he gets most of the way through before your character gets killed off and ollie … he just shuts his computer immediately.

the whole rest of the night is just spent assuring your boyfriend that you're fine, you're not upset about your character's ending, and also that yes, all of the actual horror bits in the movie were fake. then—and only then—will he start talking about the actual quality of the movie and praising your acting.

©thekoalapastriesbakery :: please do not copy or rewrite my work on any platform !!

author's note: please note that i am a wimp who can't watch horror for the life of me 😅

comments + reblogs appreciated!

taglist: @raizelchrysanderoctavius @crispysoup318 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @ncrsbrg @spoonfulofmilo @justaf1girl @widow-cevans

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Start A New

Fandom: The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x F!Reader

Summary: In a tragic car accident, Jack loses his wife, who was your best friend, and you lose your husband, the father of your child. Now both of you navigate life together and co-parenting your daughter, Evelyn, while also trying to figure out your feelings for each other.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who loved the first part! Now here's that happy ending you all wanted...

Undeserving (aka Part 1) | The Pitt Masterlist

Jack tried to get some rest. He really tried, but he kept going over his argument with you. Did you really not see how much he loves you and Evie? Do you really not know how heartbroken he'd be if you left?

He sighs and checks the time on his bedside. It's almost noon and Evie usually takes a nap around this time. It might be a good time for him to talk to you again so Evie doesn't see if things get heated.

He kicks off his blankets and drags himself out of bed. He exits his room and heads to the kitchen. You're there again, looking at your laptop. He hopes you're not looking at apartments again, but it's likely.

"Can we talk?"

"You should be sleeping."

"I can't. My mind is going all over the place," he takes up the empty chair beside you. He glances at your screen and, sure enough, you were looking at apartments.

He rests his arms on the dining table, "Please, don't leave," he says in a broken, pleading tone.

You fully face him, "Jack, I love you. I really do, but...I feel bad. You were my Anna's husband. She was my best friend. The one she was supposed to grow old with. I feel guilty that she's not here, that you and her never got to have kids and grow old together. I feel bad for practically replacing her."

"You're not-"

You hold your hand out, "Let me get everything out...please."

He nods, "Okay."

You take a deep breath, "I feel guilty for being here when she couldn't be. I also feel guilty for loving you when it should be Andrew here helping me raise Evie. I feel guilty for taking up your space, your time. I-I feel like I don't deserve you. You're such a good, loving, caring man and I shouldn't be taking over your life the way that I've been these past few years.

"That's why I want to move out. But also, my therapist think it'd be good for us to live separately. We've become too dependent on each other because we lost our partners in the same accident. We need space in order for us to have a healthy relationship. And I really hope you understand that."

He gulps and nods, "I get it...but fuck, sweetheart. You and Evie are the first and last thing I think about when I wake up and go to sleep. I'm gonna be honest, it's gonna fucking suck not having you two around all the time."

You reach out and place your hand on top of his, "Again, this isn't happening any time soon. I still have to find a place."

"Have you looked at places nearby?"

You nod, "Yeah. I don't wanna be too far from you."

That brings a small smile to Jack's face, "That's something at least," he murmurs. He leans in and presses his lips to your head, "I love you so much, sweetheart." He turns his hand up and laces his fingers with you.

"I love you too," you whisper. You lean back to look at him, "We'll get through it." you cup his face with your free hand, your thumb grazing over his five o'clock shadow, "We've gotten through worse."

He chuckles and shakes his head, "Yeah...we have."

_____________________________

In the upcoming months, you continued to apartment hunt. Jack would accompany you to provide input. You looked at various apartment complexes within two to five miles away from Jack's home.

You eventually found a place just three blocks away from him and much closer to the park the three of you frequented.

Leaving Jack was hard, but you knew it would be good for you two. Evie took it hard, obviously. She didn't want to leave her Uncle Jack Jack and her cries brought tears to your own eyes.

Jack held Evelyn close as he explained everything, "You'll still see me, honey. I'm not going anywhere. We'll still go to the park together and have family time. I'm not leaving you, baby. I promise," he holds her tighter and you see tears welling up in his eyes as Evelyn sobs, "I promise, Evie. I'll always be here for you and mommy."

When move in day came, Jack helped you as much as he could. When he was at work, some of the day shift nurses and doctors came to help you.

Robby grunted as he set a box down, "So...I heard you two confessed your love."

You rolled your eyes, "Yes. We did."

"You know, usually when people love each other like you do, they move in together. Not move out."

"We need the space and more independence. We did everything backwards, Robby." You explained as you begin to unbox the box he brought in.

"I know. But don't tell Abbot I told you this, but he's been really anxious about this. He doesn't know what he's going to do without you girls."

"We'll figure it out eventually. We've spent a majority of these past few years always at each other's sides and we weren't even officially together. It's going to be a big change, but we can get through it. After everything we've gone through, especially Jack, I think we'll make it out okay."

The doctor nodded, "I hope so 'cause now his bitchin' is even more sad and depressing."

You giggled and shoved his shoulder, "Get back to work, doc."

He salutes you, "Yes, ma'am!"

_________________________

Three months living in the apartment with just you and Evelyn was a rough start. Evie was constantly asking for her Uncle Jack Jack and you had to explain that you couldn't go to his house every single day.

Eventually, she got used to it being just you and her. Some nights did feel lonelier than ever. You had to fight yourself on not inviting Jack all the time. But so far, he'd been coming over once a week and you've been going to his the same as well.

It was an adjustment for sure, but you three of you eventually used to it.

Any downtime he had during his shifts, Jack would call you, wanting to hear your voice or see Evie via video chat. You thought things would be tense for a long time between you and he. But, thankfully, it was only tense for the first month and you two fell back into how things were before. You'd joke around, share about your days, but now it's coupled with some flirtatious banter.

It was weird in the beginning, hearing him flirt with you and you flirt back. But now it's second nature with you two. Your flirtatious banter would be silly or cute or downright sinful, but only when Evie wasn't around.

Jack: what're you wearing?

You snort when you read his text. You text him back:

You: aren't you supposed to be working?

Jack: was thinking about you and I'm on my lunch....so what're you wearing?

You take a selfie of you wearing one of his old Army shirts and reply to him with that.

Your phone suddenly starts ringing and you laugh, answering it, "There's no way I'm having phone sex with you while you're at work."

"Well can I come over after my shift and we can have real sex?"

You clasp your hand over your mouth to muffle your laugh. You look beside you to see Evie still passed out after you two started watching a movie.

"Won't you be exhausted?"

"I'm wound up today and sex is a great relaxer." You can hear the smirk in his tone.

"Yeah? Says who?"

"Me, I'm a doctor, remember?"

"Last time I checked, you're a doctor in medicine. Not sexology."

He hums, "Fine. You caught me...I just miss you."

You soften your voice, "I miss you too. I miss you a lot but...this time apart has been good for me."

"I know, but don't get too comfortable. Once your lease is up, you're moving back here. Got that?"

You chuckle, "Are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure. I want us to be whole again. It's so fucking quiet in the house now. Fuck, the other day, I had Bluey playing in the background just so it feels like you two are around still."

That tugs on your heartstrings, "Jack-"

"Shit. I gotta go. They need extra help and we're already down a doctor. I gotta go sweetheart and I'll talk to you later, okay? I love you."

"I love you too, Jack. Bye." He ends the call and you lay back in bed. You bury your face into his shirt, wishing it smelled like him again.

_____________________________

It felt like deja vu. You're at the park, sitting on the picnic blanket with Dana like you had all those months ago. Jack and Evie are playing on the playground like they always are.

Dana, feeling the same sense as you goes, "Funny to be here with you guys again but now you and Jack are together. Separate, but also together."

You nod, "I know. Weird, right?"

"That was a rough patch you guys went through, but look at you now. You two have gone through a lot and keep overcoming it. Shows how strong the two of you are," Dana lifts her bottle of water as if giving you a cheers and sips from it.

You smile at the older woman, "Thanks. None of what the both of us have gone through was easy, but we did it together. Loving him is easy. I still feel sad and guilty sometimes. For Anna. For Andrew."

"They would've wanted you two to be happy," Dana says with confidence.

"I know, still doesn't mean I don't feel bad about it sometimes." You sigh, "Therapy has helped a lot though."

"That's good, honey. Really good."

"Sweetheart!" you look up and see Jack looking your way, "You want ice cream?"

"Rainbow pop please!" You glance at Dana, "You wany anything?"

"I'm good."

"Just one for me, baby!"

"Got it!" he gives you a thumbs up and guides Evie to the ice cream truck.

Dana wistfully sighs, "You guys are so fucking cute. I really am happy you two are together."

"Thanks, Dana. I am too."

______________________________

Three Years Later

Evie was at a sleepover at her friend's apartment in the same complex. So that meant you and Jack had the place to yourselves since Jack was off that day.

After a few rounds of sex, you two were just cuddling in your bed. Your head is resting on his chest, his arm wrapped around you and tracing lines along your back.

You two were laying in a blissful silence when Jack slid out of bed, "Where you going?"

"I wanna grab something from my pants," he grabs his jeans from the floor and found what he was looking for in his pocket.

He sits back in bed and presents you with a tiny box. You immediately sit up and look at him with wide eyes, "Jack..."

"Sweetheart, you already know how much I love you. There aren't really words that I can say that you haven't heard before. I love you and Evie so much. We've gone through hell and back. Our lives have been intertwined since that night. I didn't expect to fall in love with you, but I did. I didn't expect to love Evie as much as I do.

"I love the life we've built together, even though the start of it was unconventional and, frankly, extremely traumatizing-"

You snort, "What a way to propose, baby."

"Well I didn't necessarily say the words yet, did I?"

He opens the box to reveal a gorgeous ring. The cut was perfect and it was a ring you definitely see yourself wearing forever, "Y/N, will you marry me?"

"Of fucking course I will," you press your lips to his and you feel him smiling into the kiss, "I love you," you mumble against his lips.

He breaks the kiss, grinning, "I love you too," he takes the ring out of the box and slips it onto your finger.

You look at how it sits on your finger. You didn't think you'd be wearing another wedding ring again, yet here you are.

You giggle and Jack looks at you, "What's so funny?"

"I can't believe you proposed with your dick out and made a comment about our shared trauma."

He shrugs, "Well isn't our entire relationship built on unconventional and traumatic events?"

You roll your eyes and climb onto Jack's lap, "Shut up and make love to your fiancee."

He smiles wide, "No need to tell me twice."

_____________________

"DID HE DO IT?! DID HE ASK YOU TO MARRY HIM?!" Evie asks as into the apartment after her sleepover. Jack follows her inside, chuckling.

You hold up your left hand, "He did, baby!"

"YAY!" Evie wraps her arms around you and then gasps. She turns to Jack, "Can I call you dad now?!"

Jack looks at you. You two have talked about it before. You're okay with Evie calling Jack her dad. He practically is.

He softly smiles at the six year old, "Yeah, honey. You can call me dad." Evie launches herself at Jack and he catches her. He hugs her tight.

It's funny. You and Jack thought you were undeserving of each other, but turns out, you were just what the other needed this whole time.

[stylesispunk]

Blind faith | part ix

Priest!Joel Miller x dancer!reader

masterlist| previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: six months of distance doesn't count when everything else seems to fade away when your eyes are locked again across the room.

wc:8k.

warnings: age gap (joel is in his late 40s, reader in her last 20s) angst, forbidden love (perhaps not so so much now), mentions of politics, mentions of exile, mentions of an injury, fluff.

a/n: Don't hate me. I know it felt rushed. I literally rewrite the whole thing. Next chapter there will be more things to say. I hope you enhoy it AND please share your thoughts with me. Thank you babies.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

There was intimacy in never speaking again. A brain and a heart that held onto memories, silence and the reminiscence of the sidelines of a face that had imprinted in your soul.

Missing you was the point of all. That was an act of love. A pure one. That was the realest proof that he had to show to you, mostly to himself for now. That meant he had loved you. Past and present, at this very same moment. It meant there was room in his body for you. Still waiting and still holding all the love he couldn't wait to show you, to give you and to share with you.

After all he had found the sacred oasis in your lips.

You were the religion he was devoted to.

You were the one.

You would always be the one.

Coming back home sliced joel's heart in two.

It had taken an entire month to recover from that wound on his knee, to being discharged from the hospital. He was finally able to leave that place, a building that still got traces of you carved on the walls he was passing by while Carmen pushed the wheelchair with him on it, whose silence was sharp enough to bleed. He felt ridiculous, broken, but mostly broken because after getting used to you there wasn’t a coming back from it. You meant a before and after in a life, the kind of power that only some magical people hold. Of course, you were one of them, the one who had made him face his own fears and sins while making him aware of himself of a person deserving of magic.

Now that you were gone, the light that had returned back to his life after twenty years had blown off.

“Where did she leave to?” He asked, making Carmen stop the wheelchair just before the hospital’s front doors, her grip tightening on the handles. She didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, shoulders stiff, as if whatever she was about to say physically hurt to give voice to.

Then, quietly, “She left, father. That’s enough.”

He didn’t have to ask who. The word hit him square in the chest like a hammer.

“Where?” he rasped; his throat dry.

Carmen sighed and Joel’s heart stuttered, his stomach dropping out from under him.

“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked for the first time. “She didn’t say. Just… told Billy not to look for her. Said she needed space. Time. Said she needed to remember who she was before everything happened before him. And before you.”

Joel’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt. That last part gutted him more than he wanted to admit.

He should’ve known it would come to this. Should’ve known there was only so much a person could take before they started running.

Carmen crouched down beside him, her eyes sharp and wet. “I should hate you, Joel. Part of me does. But I know what she saw in you. And maybe one day you’ll pull your head out of your ass and be the man I know she still believe you are. God knows you owe her that much.”

Joel didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because the truth was, the part of him you’d woken, the good, the hopeful, the goddamn human part, was still clawing its way out of the wreckage.

The sun was just starting to dip when they reached the square. The town had gathered like it was some goddamn festival — banners hung from balconies, old folks holding candles, kids waving tiny flags. Joel could hear music in the distance, a band he recognized from the church playing something somber, something meant to sound grateful and mournful at the same time.

Carmen stiffened behind him. Joel’s stomach turned.

He hadn’t asked for this.

The Cardinal was waiting near the fountain, in his pristine robes, a self-satisfied smile plastered on his face like this was his victory too. People from town clapped as Joel was wheeled into view, a slow, building applause that made his skin crawl. The same faces who used to cross the street to avoid you. The same ones who whispered behind their hands when you passed, who called you cursed, dangerous, a troublemaker for daring to breathe close to him.

And now here they were, raising candles to him.

To a man who hadn't saved a goddamn thing. To a man who had almost got you killed.

Joel’s hands curled into fists on the armrests of the chair, his throat burning.

The Cardinal stepped forward, making some sanctimonious speech about sacrifice, about bravery, about divine justice. Joel barely heard it over the rush of blood in his ears.

Until he said your name.

“—and we give thanks for the soul of that young woman who stood in defiance of wickedness, whose trials remind us of the righteous path—”

Joel’s temper snapped clean in two.

“Shut the fuck up!” he barked, the words tearing from him like a wound breaking open. The crowd recoiled as if struck.

Carmen’s hands grabbed at his shoulders, trying to steady him, but Joel pushed himself up on his good leg, pain lighting through him like fire. He didn’t care. He needed to stand.

“Don’t you dare speak her name,” Joel growled, glaring at them, at all of them. “You people don’t get to say good things. You don’t get to light your pretty candles and call her brave like you didn’t spit on her when she walked these streets.”

The silence was suffocating, thick and brittle. He knew you would be laughing at how ridiculous this show was.

Joel pointed a trembling, furious finger at the townspeople. “Where were you when she was being taking away by that man? Where were you when she was being hunted? When you all watched it let it happen ‘cause it was easier than standing up for her?”

Someone started to speak, some mealy-mouthed excuse, but Joel cut them down with a look sharp enough to kill.

“You treated her like she was a curse. Like she didn’t have the right to be here. And now you want to act like she was a saint? You don’t get to rewrite her story now because she had always been braver than all of you together.”

His voice broke on the last word, grief clawing up his throat.

Carmen watching silently behind him, how he was acting like this.

Joel looked at the Cardinal last. That smug, holy bastard in his spotless robes.

“And you,” Joel hissed. “I told you I didn’t want any of this. I want to lay in bed.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Couldn’t.

Joel turned, leaning heavy on the wheelchair, his leg screaming in protest.

The square stayed deathly quiet. People completed stunned at the priest outburst.

So, Carmen pushed the wheelchair in stunned silence for a few steps before she stopped up to him, one hand hovering near his neck like she wasn’t sure if he wanted her there. Joel didn’t say a word, his jaw clenched so tight it ached, eyes fixed ahead as he looked at the same streets that still smelled like you.

The same streets where you used to walk beside him, hands stuffed in your pockets, while the both of you were falling in love with each other without knowing. The cobblestones still remembered the echo of your laugh. He could swear it.

“I can’t—” he croaked, his voice hoarse.

Carmen reached for him then, careful, her face drawn and pale. “Father.”

“Stop calling me father” he blurted out, “I should’ve gotten to her,” he said, the words spilling out, raw and broken. “I should’ve…”

“Joel, she made her choice.” Carmen said softly, though her own throat bobbed with a swallowed sob. “And for now, she needs this time. This space. She lost her family and she needs to grieve them.”

He shook his head, tears stinging his eyes.  They stood there in the half-dark, the town’s false mourning echoing far behind them.

“Where is she now?” he asked quietly, not looking up as if Carmen previous answer at the hospital had changed.

Carmen took a breath. “I don’t know.”

It felt like the world tilted under his feet.

“Is she coming back?” Joel whispered.

Carmen nodded, her face crumpling. “Perhaps she will.”

Joel let out a shaky breath that sounded like a sob. Then another. The weight in his chest cracked open wide enough for a flicker of light.

He straightened up, his jaw set. “Okay.”

Six months passed by in a blurry.

Six goddamn months.

The smoke curled between your fingers, the cigarette half-burnt, staining the cold night air like a secret you didn’t want to carry anymore. London’s skyline stretched ahead of you, jagged and glittering, the sounds of late-night traffic humming somewhere below. You exhaled, slow and careful, like you could bleed the ache from your chest with the smoke. It didn’t work. It never did.

You hadn’t never smoked in your life. You never hadn’t had the need to. The smell made you want to vomit but now in these quiet hours when the world slipped into shadows and you were left alone with your thoughts, it felt like the only thing tethering you to your skin. The cigarette, the chipped mug of tea cradled in your other hand. both anchored back to something you hadn’t dared name.

You were teaching now. Little girls with crooked teeth and scraped knees who dreamed of being swans and princesses and stars. You taught them to move, to stretch their arms toward light, to find grace in the mess of themselves. It made you happy. It made you whole, sometimes. But the night came and you found yourself alone in the dark, dark became merciless.

Because no matter how far you ran, no matter how much ocean you put between you and that town, you couldn’t outrun yourself.

You couldn’t outrun Joel.

The worst part wasn’t even that you missed him. It was the way you missed him. On how your body remembered him without permission, the rough scrape of his beard when he laughed too hard, the solid weight of his palm between your shoulder blades, on your face, or the particular way his voice could drop low enough to make your bones ache.

And it was always the nights that did you in. When you left the light on, though you told yourself it was for no reason. When you made a cup of tea you barely drank, because some ridiculous, fragile part of you still associated that warmth with the safety of sitting on his couch, both of you too stubborn to acknowledge you loved each other back then.

The loneliness wasn’t the loud kind. It was soft, a persistent tug under your ribs, tightening your heart. A name in your throat you didn’t want to say out loud because it would make his absence real.

You tapped the ash from your cigarette, watching the ember spark against the wind. Somewhere behind you, your tiny flat remained cluttered with ballet shoes and notebooks filled with old poems. You hadn’t called Carmen. Hadn’t written. Part of you couldn’t stand the idea of being spoken to gently, of being told it was okay when it wasn’t.

In moments like these, reality hit you. The truth behind the pain and tears sliding down your heart. That no matter how many miles you put between yourself and that blood-soaked town, no matter how hard you tried to build a new version of yourself out of the broken pieces — there would never be a home to arrive to again. No more warm hugs from your mother, no more breakfast on Sunday mornings. You had even start to forget the sound of the voice of your brother and the smell of your father’s perfume lingering. 

Every time you woke up gasping from dreams where they were still alive, still waiting for you. Every time a memory snuck up uninvited. Every time you let yourself want things you weren’t allowed to have anymore.

That was the thing about surviving through the grief, it was quieter than anyone told you it would be. A long, thin ache that settled in your bones and never left. You could dance, you could teach, you could fill your lungs with thousands of cigarettes, and it would still be there. The missing. The longing. The what if.

And then there was Joel.

Another ache you carried differently. Because he wasn’t dead. He was somewhere out there, still breathing, still moving through a world you weren’t part of anymore. And you hated how you loved him. Hated how you left him. Hated how every damn cup of tea you made tasted like a memory you hadn’t asked for.

You looked down at the cigarette burning to the filter and cursed softly under your breath. You hadn’t meant to pick up the habit. But then, you hadn’t meant to fall in love with a man like Joel Miller either.

Some things just happened to you. Like grief. Like love.

Your fingers brushed the delicate chain around your neck, a tiny, tarnished silver cross, its edges worn down from years of wear. It was his. You’d stolen from him, when his voice in your ear was the only thing that kept you sane, when he forgot who he was supposed to be and let you be something else entirely. You hadn’t planned to take it. It had been lying on his nightstand, glinting in the low light, days after he’d broken his vows and made love to you like a man starved for something clean, something holy.

You’d slipped it into your pocket before he noticed and it had been in your belongings ever since, so it stayed with you, pressing cool and small against your skin like a wound that would never heal right.

You closed your hand around it now, feeling its shape against your palm, sharp and familiar. The kind of ache you knew how to carry. You tilted your head back toward the night sky.

“I miss you; you damn priest.” you whispered. Just for yourself. For the ghost of him that curled around your ribs and made it impossible to sleep without the lights on.

In two more days, you’d be on a flight back to California.

Back to the courtroom. Back to face Gabriel.

The arraignment would be held in four days and you’d have to stand there and look him in the eyes, the man who destroyed everything you loved, and you didn’t know if you had it in you.

You didn’t know if your voice would hold. If your knees wouldn’t buckle. If you wouldn’t scream.

But you had to do it. Because there was no one else left to. Because your brother’s blood was still fresh in your dreams. And you would have to walk into that courtroom with this cross around your neck, and your mother’s courage in your veins, and try to survive it one more time.

Maybe after that, you’d find a way to go home.

The months passing by weren’t less hurtful for Joel. During this time, he had lived like a man buried beneath the weight of his own skin. The wound in his leg had healed enough to let him walk without the crutch, though the ache was permanent now, a dull, throbbing reminder of what it cost to protect something precious.

You.

And for six months, he let himself pretend. Pretend the town mattered. Pretend the walls of the church were still sacred to him. Pretend he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night reaching for a ghost.

There was a woman, too. Single, mid-thirties, arrived with a tiny daughter no taller than Joel’s knee. Her name was Ana, soft-spoken and kind, with eyes too tired for someone her age. Life had gutted her the way it guttled so many here, and Joel, well, he didn’t feel attraction to her. Not even close. But her little daughter, Lucía, she was trouble.

She clung to his leg when he passed by in the market, her sticky fingers finding his calloused ones. She called him father and demanded he braid her hair. And it was stupid, ridiculous, because every time she smiled up at him with those wide brown eyes, he thought about Sarah, the daughter he never got to see growing, whose Joel Miller lived like a man buried beneath the weight of his own skin. The wound in his leg had healed enough to let him walk without the crutch, though the ache was permanent now, a dull, throbbing reminder of what it cost to protect something precious.

And for six months, he let himself pretend. Pretend the town mattered. Pretend the walls of the church were still sacred to him. Pretend he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night reaching for a ghost.

There was a woman, too. Single, mid-thirties, arrived with a tiny daughter no taller than Joel’s knee. Her name was Ana, soft-spoken and kind, with eyes too tired for someone her age. Life had gutted her the way it guttled so many here, and Joel didn’t feel attracted to her. Not even close. But her little girl, Lucía, she was trouble.

She clung to his leg when he passed by in the market, her sticky fingers finding his calloused ones. She called him “Father” and demanded he braid her hair. And it was stupid, ridiculous, because every time she smiled up at him with those wide brown eyes, he thought about Sarah, the daughter he never got to see growing, whose tiny laugh he only heard in dreams.

He let Lucía climb into his lap some afternoons, read her passages from children’s books left behind at the church. And for a little while, Joel told himself this was enough. This was penance. This was life. He could end his life doing this.

But you haunted him.

Every night.

In every dream.

In every flicker of candlelight against stained glass.

Your face, your voice, the weight of you in his arms. The scent of your hair on his pillow. The heat of your skin beneath his hands, the rasp of your voice in the dark and in the light.

Like sunshine and moonlight.

It was like your name was carved into the most wounded places of his already cracked heart. The pass of time hasn’t done its worked on healing the shred tapestry. He had picked up the pieces that once feel and he continued a life without even try to reconciliate with its past, with what had happened to him, with the loss.

He had found refuge into religion, he stepped inside of that world blinded by the things he hadn’t found the strength to face, not back then, not even now.

He has just spent life the pain hanging from his limbs while he had recited words to heal others while people believed in him, blindly.

And one night, after the dream came again, you standing in that field outside of town, barefoot, eyes shining in the moonlight as you said Joel, you can’t stay here, he woke up drenched in sweat, his chest tight like something was caving in. The cross you stole, the one he hadn't been able to find, felt like it was burning a hole in his heart.

At dawn, before anyone else had stirred, Joel made his way to the rectory. The Cardinal was already there, sipping his tea like the sanctimonious bastard he always was. The bastard who let people suffer. Who never lifted a goddamn finger.

Joel didn’t knock. Didn’t wait to be invited.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Joel said, his voice rough as gravel. “I’m quitting. The cloth. The church. All of it.”

The Cardinal barely looked up. “You’re angry, Joel. You’ve been grieving.”

“This ain’t grief,” Joel snapped. “This is clarity. I never belonged here. You knew it. I knew it. I stayed ‘cause I thought maybe… maybe God could still see me. But she—” Joel’s throat worked around the words. “She saw me when no one else did. And I failed her. I let you, and this town, and this place, tear her apart.”

The Cardinal sighed, setting his cup down with a clink. “She was dangerous, Joel. You know what she carried.”

“She carried more courage than any person in this town ever did,” Joel growled. “More than you, more than me.”

Silence settled like a blade between them. Joel’s hands trembled.

“I dream about her,” he whispered. “I dream about what I should’ve done. About how I should’ve left with her, should’ve burned this place down behind us. And I can’t… I can’t wear this collar another day knowing I let her walk out there alone.”

The Cardinal’s expression twisted with something Joel couldn’t name, pity? Disgust? Resignation?

“I spent days and weeks asking myself if the feelings I had for her were wrong. That this beating in my heart each time I saw her was a figment of terrible intentions but it felt right, why?”

“Because love is also religion, Joel.”

And with that, Joel turned, stepping out into the rising light of morning. The town was quiet, save for the soft cooing of doves and the distant, far-off clatter of a cart’s wheels. Joel breathed it in like a man tasting air for the first time.

The words hung in the air like incense smoke — heavy, sweet, and suffocating.

Joel’s shoulders stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as he turned halfway back toward the Cardinal. The old man’s face was worn, more lined than it used to be, the weight of his own sins settling into the folds of his skin.

“I spent days,” Joel rasped, his voice breaking around the edges, “weeks, asking myself if the feelings I had for her were wrong. If the beating in my chest every time she walked into a room was some kind of sickness, a figment of terrible intentions.”

His eyes burned, throat tight.“But it felt right,” he whispered. “Why?”

The Cardinal, for once, didn’t look smug. Didn’t look righteous. He just sighed, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

“Because love is also religion, Joel.”

Joel felt it, like a stone to the chest, knocking the breath out of him.

The Cardinal kept going, his voice low and steady. “It’s devotion. It’s sacrifice. It’s believing in something you can’t always see, can’t always explain. It asks for your faith. It demands you kneel to it. And it makes sinners of us all.”

Joel looked down at his hands, his battered, calloused hands that had held you like a prayer.

“I’m not a sinner for loving her” he stated.

“No, you aren’t.”

“You told me she was dangerous,” Joel murmured.

“She was,” the Cardinal admitted. “Dangerous in the way the first fire was dangerous to man. In the way storms are dangerous to ships. She was a force that didn’t belong in cages or chapels. She was meant to be loved fiercely or not at all.”

Joel closed his eyes, the ache blooming in his chest so sharp it nearly toppled him.

“I loved her,” he confessed, raw and bloodied. “And I let her leave.”

The Cardinal’s expression softened. “Then find her.”

Without another word, Joel turned, the weight of the collar around his neck unbearable now. His hands reached up, unclasping it, and he left it on the table like a final, silent offering.

Then he stepped out into the breaking dawn, his heart pounding like a war drum, and he started walking.

Weeks bled into months the way they always did, quiet, without asking permission.

Joel bought a small apartment just outside of town. Nothing fancy. A two-room place with creaky floors and old curtains that smelled like dust and old rain. The kind of place you’d probably roll your eyes at, saying it needed color, or flowers on the damn windowsill.

But it was his.

The first thing he had owned as a normal, ordinary man.

And if the day ever came, if by some twist of fate, you came back from wherever you’d gone. It would be enough. There’d be a light left on. A door that wouldn’t lock itself. A place for you to land.

He filled the place slowly. A record player he found at the flea market. A secondhand bookshelf with two shelves of battered paperbacks you would’ve picked apart for how predictable their plots were. A coffee cup with a chipped handle he couldn’t throw away. And one night, when the ache in his chest wouldn’t let him sleep, he found himself buying a set of tea cups too.

Just in case.

He’d wake up some mornings and swear he could hear your laugh in the kitchen. Could almost catch the ghost of your voice calling him an old fool. But the place would be empty, save for the old cat from next door who’d taken to visiting him in the evenings.

Joel kept working odd jobs. Carpentry. Fixing fences. Keeping to himself.

The town had changed, in small ways. People didn’t look at him like a holy man anymore. They looked at him like a man who’d chosen to bleed for someone they’d once spat at. And it suited him better. He didn’t want their prayers. He didn’t need their forgiveness. He just needed yours.

Some nights he’d sit on the terrace, watching the sky turn dark and wonder where you were. If you were looking the same moon at the same time, if you still took your tea with too much sugar. If you still hummed that same old song under your breath when you thought no one was listening.

If you missed him. If you’d come back.

And every night before turning in, Joel left the porch light on. Because some part of him still believed you’d find your way home. Because he had no god to pray to anymore.

Only you.

The courthouse smelled like old paper and stale air. Joel sat there, the collar of his shirt tight around his neck even without the old priest’s garb. He wasn’t a priest anymore. Hadn’t been for months. But the weight of that past life still clung to his bones like a phantom limb.

Carmen sat beside him, her hand occasionally brushing his in silent comfort, though neither of them said much. Billy was next to them back straight, jaw tight.

Gabriel sat across the room, in that cold, stiff chair reserved for the accused. His hands cuffed, his face pale but still wearing that same arrogant, hollow expression. He looked like a man already halfway to hell, and Joel, for all his rage and grief, didn’t even feel satisfaction at the sight. Only exhaustion.

The trial had been long. Testimonies. Evidence. And Joel had gotten up there, hands trembling but voice steady, and told them what needed telling. He spoke of the things he’d seen. The things he’d failed to stop. The night he’d seen Gabriel take you away, and how he’d waited too long to follow. How he would carry that until his bones turned to dust.

When he stepped down from the stand, he scanned the courtroom. Some small, stupid, stubborn part of him hoping you’d be there, in the back row or leaning against a wall like you used to, arms crossed, daring the world to challenge you.

But you weren’t.

And he felt it then. That flicker of light threatening to go out.

Carmen squeezed his shoulder, and he almost told her it was fine. That he was fine. That maybe it was better this way, you free, gone, breathing new air somewhere far from this cursed town and its rotting memories.

Then the door opened.

It was a small thing. A shift of air, the creak of old hinges.

But his heart stuttered.

And there you were.

Your hair a little shorter, pulled back with a careless tie. A soft coat wrapped around you, face thinner but eyes still sharp, carrying the kind of storm that made men tremble. A tiny silver cross on a chain around your neck, his cross. And for a moment, he forgot how to properly breathe.

You walked toward the stand; your steps steady even if the ghost of the past clung to you like a second skin. You didn’t look at anyone, not yet.

But Joel was already standing.

Carmen grabbed his wrist, whispering a “Joel,” under her breath, but he barely registered it. The world had narrowed down to you, to the line of your shoulders, the way you held yourself like a woman built of grief and defiance, the kind of person saints would have bowed to if they’d had any sense.

The judge’s voice cut through the thick, oppressive air like a blade.

“Miss… would you please state your name for the court?”

Your voice came, soft but steady, like the echo of a storm long passed but not forgotten.

You said your name, the name some people had tried to strip from you, the one they’d dragged through the dirt and the back alleys of town. But here it still was, on your tongue, yours.

The judge nodded, then leaned slightly forward, his expression carefully neutral, like a man who’d heard every horror the world could offer but still needed to pretend it surprised him.

“Can you tell this court about this man?”

The room seemed to tighten around you, the walls pressing in closer, the cheap wooden benches groaning under the weight of held breath.

You turned your head, slowly, to look at Gabriel.

And God, there was so much in that look. Mostly fury and hurt.

A raw, bone-deep ache for the girl you’d been before his shadow had ever darkened your doorstep. He sat there, his face pale and drawn but his eyes still void of anything human. As if he thought you wouldn’t speak. As if he thought after everything, he still had that power over you.

But you didn’t look away. Not until you were finished.

And then, like instinct, like the world shifting into place, your gaze flickered past the benches, to the figure standing halfway in the shadows, two rows behind Gabriel. Carmen and Billy, but then,

Joel.

And in the hurricane of rage and grief, your eyes softened. For a moment, the weight of the courtroom, the stares, the memories clawing at your skin — they fell away.

It was just him.

And the man who had once carried your body through those church doors like you weighed nothing. The man who’d fought God and his own sins for you.

The man who, despite everything, looked at you now like you were still the same light he'd lost and kept chasing.

Your lips parted, a breath hitching in your throat.

And Joel — his jaw clenched, his throat working around a swallowed word, a tear glinting in the corner of his eye he didn’t bother to hide this time.

The judge spoke again, but for a second neither of you moved. The room still existed, the trial still waited, but the world had shrunk to the space between your eyes and his.

And without meaning to, your fingers brushed the tiny silver cross at your neck, his cross.

Then you nodded.

And you spoke.  Not to Gabriel. Not for the townsfolk. But for the girl you used to be.

And for the man standing in the second row, who’d never stopped hoping you’d come back.

It was late. The kind of night where the streets held that strange, restless hush, not quite silence, but the quiet of a town too old to sleep easy.

Joel carried a paper bag against his chest, the sharp scent of oranges and a bottle of whiskey bleeding through the paper. Carmen had begged him to get some food in the house, something decent, but he knew he’d probably just let it go bad on the counter again.

He was cutting through the square when he saw you.

You were sitting on the old stone bench near the fountain, the same one you’d sat on as a girl, tossing coins into the water, wishing for things you wouldn’t name out loud. Your back was to him, head tipped toward the night sky, a cigarette burning between your fingers like a tiny, defiant star.

For a moment he thought it was another dream. God knew he’d had enough of those in the past six months. Versions of you in every form, laughing, bleeding, ghosting past him without a word.

But then you shifted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Real. Solid. Breathing.

Joel felt the breath knock out of his lungs. Time didn’t slow; it collapsed entirely, folding in on itself. The ache in his chest, the wound he’d carried every single second of those six months, cracked wide open.

There was the woman of his heart.

The one be belonged to, in body and soul.

You.

"Hey"

“Hey,” you said, soft and almost shy, like it hadn’t been six long, brutal months, like you hadn’t crossed an ocean trying to outrun the ghost of him and the pieces of yourself you left behind.

Joel’s throat worked around a sound he couldn’t name. His hands trembled at his sides. You. Standing right there. That voice he’d heard in his sleep, in his worst nights, in the empty spaces between his ribs.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, taking a step forward, then another, like if he stopped now, he might never get to see you again. “Is it… is it really you?”

You gave him a watery smile, your chin trembling. “Yeah,” you whispered.

And just like that, his world made sense again.

It was his whole goddamn world standing in front of him, across the street in the middle of the rain, hair shorter than he remembered, face thinner, a leather jacket slung over your shoulder but it was his.

And that smile.

That goddamn crooked, stubborn, radiant smile that had sent him to heaven a thousand times and dragged him through hell just the same.

You sat back down by the font; the evening air cool against your skin. The cigarette between your fingers was more for the ritual than the craving, a bad habit you’d picked up again these past months when the nights got too long and the memories too loud.

Joel just stood there for a second, staring at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real or some cruel trick of his mind. The same face. The same eyes. That half-smile you used to give him when you caught him staring.

And then, of all the goddamn things he could have told you, he shook his head a little, let out a breath, and said, “Smokin’s bad.”

You laughed. Actually laughed, the sound catching even you by surprise. It was small and rough around the edges but so real it made Joel’s eyes sting.

“Still giving me lectures?” you teased, glancing up at him.

He shrugged, a crooked, helpless grin tugging at his mouth. “Some things don’t change.”

Joel’s gaze dropped, and that’s when he noticed the worn canvas bag sitting by your feet. Faded patches sewn into the side,

"Where are you staying?" He asked.

"I don't know really. Carmen got a boyfriend and I really don't want to intrude at her house. Besides I don’t really don't trust strangers at all either."

"You can stay with me" he said

 "That's bold of you to say" you said.

Joel huffed a soft, almost shy laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… guess six months apart didn’t fix my habit of wanting you near.”

You raised an eyebrow, that familiar little smirk ghosting your lips. “Still bold, father.”

“I mean it,” he said, quieter now, eyes steady on yours. “No pressure, no strings. Just… a place you know you’re safe. And it’s not a stranger’s place. It’s mine.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything. The cigarette between your fingers burned down to the filter, and you flicked it away, your chest tight in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. The kind of tight that came from hearing the one person you swore you wouldn’t need again offering you a soft landing anyway.

“Okay,” you said softly. “But I get the couch.”

He smiled, crooked and boyish, like the years and the blood and the pain hadn’t touched him for a second. “We’ll argue about that later.”

It felt like the night he met you, sleeping on the bench inside the church. When he was still a priest, when he had no idea how much he would get to love you

Yeah, it felt just like that.

The way the world had gone quiet around them, the way time shrank to a moment that only the two of you existed inside. Joel felt it in his bones, in the marrow of every terrible, aching thing he'd carried since the night he first found you curled up on that cold church bench, eyes swollen from sleep.

Back then, he'd been a man of vows and quiet prayers, and you’d been a storm he hadn’t seen coming. Fragile in ways you hated to admit, strong in ways you didn’t even realize. And he’d fallen. God, how he fell.

Looking at you now, a bit more bruised by life, but still carrying that wild fire in your eyes, it felt like no time had passed at all. That same tether still pulled at him, snapping tight around his heart.

“Same look on your face,” you murmured, catching him staring. “Like you’re about to try and save me again.”

Joel’s throat worked as he tried to swallow the knot there. “Didn’t do too good a job last time.”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the bench. “You loved me. That was more than anybody else ever did.”

And it was the truth. As jagged and complicated and doomed as it had been, it was love. Raw, messy, aching love.

“And who said I don’t love you still?” Joel said quietly, not bothering to dress it up, not this time. The words sat between you like a fragile, half-healed scar.

You turned your head then, eyes meeting his, and it was all there, written plain across his face. That same broken, stubborn, endlessly loyal kind of love you used to drown in.

Your lips parted, a shaky breath leaving you, but before you could speak, Joel’s voice cut in, low and rough like gravel.

The world tilted, or maybe it was just your heart lurching in your chest. Six months of oceans, of silence, of trying to bury pieces of him deep enough that you could breathe again — and here he was, saying it like it hadn’t been a day.

Your throat tightened. “Joel…”

“I don’t care if it’s reckless,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t care if you’re leaving tomorrow or if you still hate me for what happened. I’ve spent every damn night wishing it was different, wishing’ I could’ve gotten to you sooner, wishing I’d never let you walk away.”

You swallowed hard, your whole-body trembling under the weight of everything you’d buried.

And just like that, the years, the pain, the distance, none of it mattered. It was always going to be you and Joel.

You tore your gaze away, the weight of it too much, like staring straight into the sun after months of night.

Only him.

Only the ache of a heart you’d tried to cauterize and failed.

Your voice, when it came, was hoarse, frayed at the edges like old lace. You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

“Where’s your place then, Father?”

And the title hung in the air like a goddamn curse, bitter on your tongue.

You weren’t even sure if it was meant to wound him, or if it was just the only armor you had left.

Joel flinched like you’d struck him.

For a second, neither of you breathed.

Then, in a voice low enough that it was meant for you and no one else, Joel said,

“I haven’t been a father to anyone in a long time.”

And you finally lifted your gaze, because you had to.

What you found wasn’t a priest. Wasn’t the man in a collar who’d carried you out of that place.

Wasn’t even the broken man you’d left six months ago.

It was him.

“I bought a place,” he told you, as you grab your things following him.

You followed him as muscle memory, like you’d done it a thousand times before. The world outside was gray and swollen with clouds, the air thick with the kind of storm that felt personal. Neither of you spoke in the car, didn’t need to. It was the kind of silence where words would’ve only made the ache worse.

When he pushed open the door to the apartment, you stepped in behind him, and it felt like stepping into another life you might’ve lived.

It was small, yeah. Walls a soft, worn kind of white. A couch that had seen better days. A battered bookshelf half-full. A record player. No crosses. No saints. No confessions.

Just Joel.

You ran your hand along the edge of the table by the door, the tips of your fingers brushing over a cup of cold coffee, a photograph turned face down.

Your throat was too tight to speak, so you didn’t.

Joel shifted beside you, watching you like a man bracing for impact.

“You don’t like it?” he asked quietly.

Your lips parted, a soundless breath leaving you.

You let your gaze travel the room again, a small plant struggling for life on the windowsill.

And you shook your head, voice rough as gravel. “It looks very you, father.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, and for a second you saw it, that flicker of fear and hope warring in his chest.

You were both terrible at this.

Joel swallowed thickly, his gaze dropping for a moment, like the weight of you standing there, saying father in that voice was something sharp he was trying not to bleed over.

“I—uh…” he cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck like he always did when he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “You want a cup of tea?”

You gave a half-smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes but tried to, and nodded once. “Yeah… yeah, alright.”

And without waiting for him, your feet moved, like they already knew this place, even if you’d never been here before. The narrow hallway, the scuffed floorboards, the old records stacked by the table. You walked through the open glass door leading to the terrace, the cool air brushing against your skin, the city stretched out in bruised shades of blue and gray.

The world felt quieter out here.

You rested your hands on the rusting railing, the way the town lights blinked like distant, dying stars. It was so him, a place caught between wanting to be forgotten and quietly hoping someone would notice.

Joel watched you from the doorway for a beat before disappearing into the tiny kitchen, the sound of a kettle filling the silence. He didn’t ask what you were thinking. Didn’t need to.

And standing there, you hated how easily your heart mapped itself back to him.

How your bones still remembered the shape of his name.

He came back a few minutes later, two chipped mugs in hand. You took one, your fingers brushing his. It was ridiculous how something so small could still feel like a wound reopening.

“I didn’t think you’d come back to this town,” he said quietly.

You looked out at the city. “Neither did I.”

And you both drank to that.

The tea scalded your tongue, but you welcomed the sting. Better than the ache swelling in your chest, the one you hadn’t asked for, hadn’t invited back in. You stared out at the dark wash of the sky, the cold air biting at your skin, and you thought about how much you wanted him close.

How badly you wanted to reach for his hand, for his voice, for the steady ache of his presence against the chaos of your heart.

But you still remembered that night.

The sharp edge of his vows breaking between your fingers. The quiet desperation in your voice, pleading him to help you. And the way everything ended that night.

And it was a cruel thing, how love and pain made a home in the same place inside you.

Joel cleared his throat behind you, and when he spoke, his voice was careful, like he wasn’t sure it would hold.

“I bought this place just outside town…” You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“…because I kept hoping you’d come back,” he continued. “That one day you would wander your way here. Or maybe you’d need a place, and you wouldn’t know where else to go. And you’d find this. Find me.”

You closed your eyes, your grip tightening around the mug.

“I quit,” he said. “My faith. The collar. The lies I kept telling myself about what I could and couldn’t have.” His words cracked like splintered wood, rough and aching. “I couldn’t carry it anymore, darlin’. Not when my heart was somewhere else.”

Your breath hitched.

“Because I chose you. And I—I know I can’t fix what’s broke in you. Wouldn’t ask to. But if you let me… I’ll water the cracked places. I’ll wait for flowers to grow there, no matter how long it takes. I ain’t leavin’. Not this time.”

You turned to him then, and he looked like a man stripped bare.

“Aren’t you a priest anymore?” you asked.

He gave a rough, breathless laugh, one that sounded more like a sigh dragged over old wounds. Joel ran a hand through his hair, his eyes never leaving yours, and in them, you saw every sleepless night, every silent prayer that wasn’t meant for God.

“No,” he said, voice low, steady. “Ain’t been for a while now.”

The words hung between you like the last fragile thread of something you’d both tried to kill and couldn’t.

“I ain’t a priest, and I ain’t a saint,” he added, a crooked, pained half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m just a man who fell in love with you when he wasn’t supposed to. And I’ve been carryin’ that with me like a goddamn cross ever since.”

Your throat felt tight, and you swallowed against it. Some part of you had needed to hear it.

The same part that was terrified it would only hurt more.

“Do you still believe in God, Joel?” you asked, because you didn’t know what else to do with the ache between you.

His gaze softened then, something breaking loose in him, and he shook his head slowly. “I believe in you.”

You didn’t think. Didn’t weigh the years or the bruises left on your heart. Didn’t count the nights spent trying to forget the shape of his voice in your ear.

You set the cup of tea down on the little table by the terrace door, the steam curling up like a ghost between you. And you crossed the space.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t even blink, as if the air itself had turned thick, and he was too afraid to breathe it in.

Your hand came up, fingers brushing his jaw, rough stubble beneath your palm, and you swore you felt him shudder.

You didn’t wait for a sign, didn’t ask permission.

You just kissed him.

It wasn’t soft, wasn’t hesitant. It was every lonely night, every unsent letter, every goddamn “what if” you’d swallowed for months.

It was grief and longing and the unbearable sweetness of something you’d thought you’d never taste again.

And Joel made a sound, something between a sob and a sigh, and kissed you back like he was a drowning man, and you were air.

His hands found your waist, desperate and careful at the same time, like he didn’t know whether to pull you closer or fall to his knees.

Tags < 3 @jasminedragoon @mandaloriankait @jellybeanxc @spencercmlover @lilac-boo @disco-fairy75 @correapunk @existentialdreadofhumanity @secretcheesecakenacho @laliceee @exzidss @missladym1981

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[flofaiiry]

thinking about jack having a Long day at work and he's pissed and he's tired and he's frustrated and he's just had enough, then coming home to his beautiful gf (you!!) who is just ready to listen to everything he has to say and let him rant abt his day but jack has had enough of talking for the day and really just needs to take his frustration out on something (or someone teehee), and lucky for him ur ready to do that for him too!! the door swings open a little too forcefully & u look up from wherever u are in the house, the way he dropped the keys on the table harder than usual, the way he huffed as he takes of his boots.. you can easily tell he's had a bad day. "what happened, baby?" you ask, as he makes his way over to u. he quickly grabs your waist and pulls you into him, crashing his lips against yours and knocking the air out of your chest. you hum into his mouth & drape your arms over his shoulders, pulling away from the kiss for a second. "is everything ok?" you start, "don't wanna talk about it." he snaps. not annoyed, not at you at least, just definitive. his lips are back on yours before you can say anything else. he drops his hands from your hips to the backs of your thighs, easily picking you up. your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom, he drops u down onto the bed & starts to crawl over u. you kiss for a while like that, jack hovering above you. he starts to move his mouth from yours, down your jaw to your neck, but you stop him before he can get any farther. he's confused at first, when you pull his head from the crook of your neck and kiss him again: slower, softer. but he gets it when you whisper, "let me," against his lips and he has to stop himself from groaning too loudly when you roll him off of you and then climb on top of him, straddling his waist and kissing your way down his neck now. you grind down into him, the pressure not helping the wetness growing between your legs & the ever-hardening cock between his. jack tilts his head back into the pillow, "mmh, don't tease, baby, please not tonight." you smile, placing one last kiss to his neck before murmuring a soft, "sorry," against his skin.

you pull away and move down his body, hands going to his belt & undoing the buckle. you pull his scrub pants and boxers down in one motion, not trying to waste anymore time in giving jack what he wants. you pump your hand up and down his length a few times before wrapping your lips around him and easing him into your mouth. a slow, strangled sigh leaves him at the feeling. he takes your hair into a bunch in his hands, not pushing your head down, just holding you there- anchoring. you slowly start to bob your head, he cracks his eyes open to ogle at the way he disappears into your mouth. "fuck," he breathes, his noises only egging you on, making you speed up your rhythm and take him deeper into your mouth. jack feels the back of your throat just once and it has him seeing stars. he never lasts long when he's pent up like this, and you know it. you take the last inch or two of him that doesn't fit in your mouth and wrap your hand around it, matching the pace you've set on the rest of him. when the pace of his grunts speeds up and his breaths start hitching in his throat, you know he's close. you keep your rhythm, only faltering once or twice when you accidentally take him too deep. jack sucks in a breath, tugging at your hair the tiniest bit, "fuuuck, baby, just like that- 'm almost there." his breathing turns ragged and before you know it his legs are shaking just barely enough for you to notice and he's coming down your throat. you don't slow down, not at first, head still bobbing up and down his cock while he's practically quaking beneath you, grunts and curses falling mercilessly from his lips. you pull yourself off of him once his orgasm has subsided and swallow down his cum. his chest is still heaving, breathing strained, but he still finds it in him to smirk at you wiping the saliva from the corner of your mouth. "what'd i do to deserve you, huh?" you shrug, standing up off of him. jack takes your hand and pulls you towards him, other hand pulling you down to kiss you. his lips are slow against yours, like he's thanking you. you find your spot in bed next to him & rest your head on his chest. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, "love you," he mumbles into your hair. "i know."

[enavstars]

(Naruto has specifically also called him "mom" multiple times)

Headcanons time!

After the war Obito is perfectly fine (like in canon as we all know, I'm not delusional at all obviously) and also Sasuke goes out to travel the world.

Obito is kept under house arrest at Kakashi’s for a few years until he's finally set completely free and so immediately marries Kakashi.

On the other hand, Kakashi suggests to Sasuke to stay at his house too whenever he comes back to visit the village since he doesn't have a place anymore (until he starts dating Naruto later). At first everything is awkward because Sasuke and Obito have a complicated relationship (with, you know, the massacre and all) and Kakashi also has other quiet intentions.

Kakashi actually hopes to use this opportunity to apologize to Sasuke for how he treated him. I mean, as much as I love them, Kakashi did treat Sasuke unfairly because he projected himself a little too much onto the boy, and now he just doesn't know how to approach the subject because of his poor social skills. When he finally apologizes, Sasuke does not get his point, getting confused because he believes that the fact that he cared is enough (I mean the boy doesn't really know how a healthy relationship with an (older) adult should look like). But Kakashi doesn't like that answer, so he gently explains how just that is simply not enough. This leads Sasuke to finally reflect on his life and decide to move forward, accepting Kakashi's apology.

Afterwards Kakashi talks to him about what can he do as a Hokage to honor the Uchiha clan (I'm still pissed that they tried to brush off a genocide so I'm fixing it). In the end they settle for a memorial and firing (and hopefully imprisoning) the other two council elders that supported it all.

Meanwhile, Sasuke and Obito's relationship also develops. Sasuke doesn't forgive Obito, and at the same time Obito is working on his own guilt and atonement, so evidently they don’t get along at first. Eventually, when Kakashi truly becomes one of Sasuke's most precious people/bonds, he starts tolerating Obito because he understands he's important to Kakashi. As time goes on Sasuke and Obito slowly manage to cool off their relationship and find some common grounds with everything they’ve been through. Together they eventually reflect on it, little by little, from the many tragedies that stained their lives to the manipulation they have both suffered; by the result of Konoha’s rotten system in one way or another. Although they have much to work on, especially with Obito, how he tried to pull Sasuke’s strings, and his part in the Uchiha massacre, Sasuke chooses to not give in to his hatred. He understands Obito in the end, and is able to move on. And on his part, Obito does make an effort to treat him much better than he used to.

In fact, one way he tries to make up for his mistakes is by telling Sasuke about the Uchiha clan's history and traditions, the stuff that Sasuke could never know before because he was too young, as he thinks that their legacy should be passed down to someone who truthfully honors the clan with their full chest.

Basically Sasuke deserves love so I gave him a father figure (Kakashi), because every other adult has treated him terribly and he desperately needs one. And Obito is now his annoying/weird uncle/stepfather.

I will of course make more comics because they're also very chaotic, being three people in a single house and yet amounting to:

- two war criminals, Uchiha

- two married men

- two moon-coded traumatized people

(worthy of an unhinged Venn Diagram)

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Babysitting Little Nero With Dante

Dante X FemReader

Rating: T+

Warnings: Suggestive themes, steam, cuteness overload, fluff

Word Count: 2.4k

(A/N:) Finally got time to write today! Life has been so busy that it has been hard to sit down and write. But I made time today cause this needed to see the light of day! It's been swimming around my brain for like two weeks now and it was just too cute not to write! I'm still on my DMC/Dante kick! So enjoy this imagine that turned into this monster! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Naps in his chair at his desk were special to Dante. His office was his home and it was the place he could be himself more than anywhere else. So when jobs were few and far between you could find him in the Devil May Cry office napping, playing pool, or jamming to his favorite tunes. At this very moment with his feet kicked up and a magazine covering his face, Dante was sleeping his life away. Well he was until the phone started ringing startling him from sleep. Dante sat up with a snort, the magazine falling to the floor before he reached for the handset and rubbing at his sleep filled eye.

"Devil may cry," he mumbled with a yawn.

"Caught you napping didn't I," you teased from the other end. "What kind of business you running Dante."

"Babe," Dante yawned again, "I thought you were still here with me. Why are you calling?"

"Can't a girl go out on the town and have some fun while her lazy husband sleeps his life away," you giggled.

"You could have woken me up if you wanted to go somewhere," Dante replied.

"It's okay. You do have a tough job and you looked so cute sleeping in your chair I couldn't bear to wake you up. But I called you to tell you that I'm bringing home a surprise."

"Strawberry ice cream?"

You had to laugh at Dante's hopeful tone and you hated to disappoint him, "No not ice cream and not pizza either."

Dante deflated in his chair and pout pulling at his lips as he continued to press the receiver to his ear. "Then what's the point of you coming home?"

"Okay now that was just rude," you scolded. "No I wanted to let you know that I have a guest coming back with me. So I need you to put all your pointy and shooty things away. It's too dangerous leaving them in reach of our guest. So if you would be a dear, anything that can kill or maim needs to be put away. I won't be long so I'll see you in a little bit Dante."

"Babe wait," Dante scrambled to get you to answer him. "What are you...."

The other line went dead and Dante was left with the dial tone buzzing in his ear. He set the handset back in the cradle and rubbed a hand down his face. Everyone thought that he was the spontaneous one (which he was) but you had your moments, leaving Dante stunned. He rose to go do as you ask but he couldn't help but run around in circles trying to figure out what you had cooked up while he had been sleeping. Removing Rebellion from it's spot on the wall and strapping Ebony and Ivory to his back Dante set them in the bedroom before going back for the Sparda sword. He was just closing the bedroom door when he heard the office door open.

"Dante I'm home," you called as you removed your coat.

Dante couldn't help but feel a little nervous as he rounded the corner and what he saw was the last thing he ever expected. You were bent over trying to help Nero out of his coat, the little boy pouting a little bit as he took in the drabby surroundings.

"So this is the surprise," Dante asked as he stood before you before turning his gaze down to his brother's son.

"Surprise," you took Nero's hand and pressed a kiss to Dante's cheek. "Vergil called while you were asleep. I answered and he asked for help watching Nero. I agreed immediately cause Vergil sounded like he was in a little distress."

"You mean to tell me that my brother doesn't have a babysitter for his only spawn?"

You glared and Dante knew immediately that he messed up, "Excuse me? He is our nephew and I know how you feel about your brother but think for one second if we needed help with any of your kids would Vergil help."

"No," Dante retorted, "and I wouldn't ask him in the first place!"

You sighed tightening your grip on Nero's little hand. His blue eyes going back and forth as you and Dante argued.

"It's okay Nero your uncle loves you. He's just stupid," you yelled behind your shoulder and Dante replied by sticking his tongue out at you. Which you returned the gesture but you added a disappointed glare to the mix. Dante stood there for a moment interlacing his fingers together behind his head as he contemplated what just happened. Guilt began to gnaw at him as he thought back to the confused look Nero had given him. Sure Dante's relationship with Vergil was rocky at best but he shouldn't compare the kid to his father. Dante sighed and rubbed at this neck before walking where you had disappeared with Nero.

He hadn't seen Nero in awhile and Dante knew that in this moment of life was crucial for them to have a good bond later. And he didn't want to make you mad either and he could tell that you had been disappointed in him when he had said such things. So he knew that he had to do the right thing and that was apologize to both you and Nero. Stepping through the kitchen Dante noticed that you had made an improvised booster seat out of old phone books for Nero at the small kitchen table. You sat right beside him as you had laid out different coloring books, crayons, cards, and board games for you both to play. Nero focused intently on his coloring page before you asked him for a particular crayon only for him to give you one that you didn't ask for.

"Nero this isn't purple," you spoke gently not wanting to upset the boy. "This is blue."

"I know," Nero replied. "I think it would look better colored in blue."

You laughed and shook your head at the Sparda genes making themselves known, "Fair enough."

Dante cleared his throat causing two sets of eyes to stare in his direction. He scuffed his boot on the floor, "I'm sorry for the way I acted. Can I color too?"

You looked back towards Nero, "What do you think? Should we let Uncle Dante join in on all the fun?"

Nero seemed to contemplate the choice before he nodded in agreement. Dante pulled up a chair sitting on the other side of Nero at the table. You ripped out a sheet in the coloring book you were working in and handed it to Dante before tossing him a box of crayons.

"Best coloring gets to pick the movie tonight," you challenged and Nero came alive. His focus intensified and you winked to Dante who chuckled.

"So Nero," Dante finally spoke after a few seconds had passed. "How old are you now?"

"Six," Nero replied not looking up from his coloring.

"Wow! Big man huh? Do you like playing cards?"

Nero shrugged.

"Know how to play poker," Dante asked next.

"Dante," you scolded.

"What?! I was just asking," Dante pouted and you sighed.

Nero won the coloring contest so tonight he could pick out the movie you all would watch. Then you, Nero, and Dante played a few rounds of Go Fish with the deck of cards you had bought. But it was becoming apparent that the Sparda men were starting to become restless. While Nero had Vergil's DNA you could tell that he had some Dante as they both had a lot of energy to burn. A trip to the park was the perfect solution for both boys you had apparently volunteered to babysit.

"Nero would you like to go to the park," you asked after you had tidied up the mess you all had made of the kitchen table.

"I wanna go to the park," Dante shouted peeking back into the kitchen.

You laughed, "I was asking Nero. But I will take your vote under consideration."

"Yes," Nero answered nodding his head excitedly.

"To the park then," you announced before trying to keep both Nero and Dante from running out the front door.

Walking the streets of Redgrave made you wary as you weren't ignorant of the things that lived in it's shadows. You held onto Nero's hand tightly while Dante held the other hand. With Nero between you both, you wanted to keep him safe and secure. You knew how the demons felt about Sparda just from the times you had seen Dante fight against them. With Nero just being a child he was innocent and helpless against the creatures of evil. Dante seemed to sense your thoughts as he had Ebony and Ivory strapped under his coat and his blue gaze held yours. He nodded in agreement that nothing would harm either of you. But you didn't want to think about anything horrifying happening as you wanted to focus on Nero having a good time with both you and Dante.

The park wasn't overly crowded at this time of day and it made you feel better because with less bustle you could keep a better eye on Nero. It made you feel better too that Dante was on the playground with Nero. Going down the slide and helping his nephew with the monkey bars. You laughed at all the antics especially when Dante launched himself off the swings only to not stick the landing as his boots had slipped in the loose rocks. His pride more wounded than his rear, Dante sulked back to sit beside you on the bench.

"Did baby get a boo boo," you cooed ruffling his long silver hair.

"Just my pride," Dante answered. "You can kiss my boo boos better though at a later time and in private." He smirked causing your cheeks to flush.

"Naughty boy," you retorted before going back to keeping an eye on Nero.

"Hey Nero when we're done we'll go for pizza and ice cream," Dante shouted causing you to shake your head at his nephew's enthusiastic celebration. There was definitely some Dante floating around in Nero's DNA.

"And earlier you didn't wany any part of taking care of him," you glared.

"I'm looking at this with the grandparents' philosophy," Dante answered haughtily.

"And what is that philosophy oh wise Dante?"

"Load 'em up with sugar and send 'em back home," Dante grinned.

"No wonder Vergil barely tolerates you. You're not his grandpa Dante, you're Nero's uncle," you glanced away for one second to shoot at glare at your husband.

"Yeah I am," he nodded. "his one and only. Congratulations kid! Besides it's the ultimate form of telling my brother screw you than a sugar overloaded kid that refuses to go to sleep."

You shook your head, completely exasperated with your husband.

A couple play filled hours later and Nero was completely tuckered out. Dante went and got pizza and ice cream to go while you carried Nero back home. His soft breathing stirring your hair as he cuddled into the side of your neck. Your heart melted as you stroked his silver hair. So much like his father and uncle but still so different. You couldn't help but wonder what having a child with Dante would be like. He never seemed interested though. You couldn't help but wonder if the incident that had happened in his childhood had to do with it. You figured it was the main reason, but you never pushed Dante and you respected his wishes. He did the same for you as well, that's why your marriage worked so well.

Back at the Devil May Cry office, you laid Nero on the couch as you waited for Dante to get home with the food. You set up an area so Nero could eat at the coffee table in front of the TV and there would be enough room for the pizza boxes and drinks. Dante strolled in a few minutes later and you took the tubs of ice cream and showed him where to put everything else. Once he sat them down he knelt beside the sleeping Nero and starting to try to get him to wake up.

"Hey buddy," Dante shook him gently. "Foods here. It's time for you to pick a movie."

Nero stirred and you made your way back into the room with them. Nero chose Monsters Inc. and as Dante started the movie, you made Nero's plate and poured him some soda. Before the movie was over the food had been annihilated and Nero was once again passed out on the couch, though this time sporting a stylish strawberry ice cream mustache. While Dante switched off the TV you took a wet rag and cleaned Nero's face. Just as you were finishing up a knock came from the front door.

"Gotta be Verg," Dante walked to the door. "He's the only one that would knock."

Vergil was standing on the other side of the door and he looked more weary than when you had saw him earlier when you picked up Nero from him.

"Thank you for watching him," Vergil nodded at you, completely ignoring his brother.

"What? No hello kiss for your little brother," Dante teased.

"Dante," you scolded. "Don't torture your brother." You turned to Vergil after scooping Nero in your arms. "It was no trouble I enjoy having Nero around. Dante does too though he probably won't admit it."

Dante rolled his eyes while you passed the sleeping Nero to his father. Vergil nodded before he started to leave.

"Wait," Dante's voice stopped his twin cold. Dante took in his sleeping nephew's form before kissing his little forehead. "Be good kid."

With a nod from Vergil, Dante shut the door after Vergil had left. He seemed to deflate before yawning and stretching.

"Well that was fun," he bounced back quickly.

"You exhaust me," you groaned. "I'm going to bed."

Dante chased after you, scooping you up and causing you to yell.

"You promised me that you would make my boo boos feel better," Dante wiggled his brows.

"Not in a million years Sparda spawn," you pinched his cheeks before Dante deposited you onto the bed. He slammed the door shut and pounced causing you to squeal.

You squished his cheeks while forcing him away from your sensitive neck, "I love you."

Dante grinned, "I love you too. Let's take care of the little Vergil spawn more often."

"Nero," you corrected though you couldn't help but giggle. "And yes lets."

[kittsuneriyu]

For a while I really wanted to make my own designs for a "role swap" AU.

The idea is that characters change roles, not in between, they change sides but still have their own unique quirks to hunt or survive.

007n7 basically goes insane after losing both Noli and c00lkidd, turning back into his old hacker persona, he decides to make his sorrow into everyone's problem. 007n7's actions are way more destructive and reckless, with nothing else to lose, why should he fear getting hurt or punished? This mentality is what pushes him further into keep living to make hell break lose.

Elliot is still a worker on Builder Brother's Pizza's, the best as always. But sometimes you never felt like making some jerk pay for his actions? That's Elliot's mindset, using his freetime to hunt down anyone that dared to mistreat him or other employees. Having a twisted kind of satisfaction on making "justice" with his own hands. Of course, he would never let it affect the Pizzaria's service.

Chance is a thrill seeker, to achive it he always took the most risky choices. It lead him into involving himself with some shady people. Now working as some hitman, Chance uses this title to coerce his targets into gambling with him in change of their mercy. But somehow Chance always wins either way.

The rest of the survivors aren't as elaborated as those three.

Noob is just some generic killer, the kind that looks like an average person but later shows themselves as some maniac.

Guest 1337 as stated on the drawing works like Fliqpy, genuinely feeling guilty for hurting someone, his flight or fight reaction really blinds him when something triggers him.

Two Time achived a very high connection with the spawn after a bunch of sacrifice's. One life in change of a extra one, this allows them to insta-heal a deadly injury an keep going, of course it doesn't comes without consequences. Each scar and rebirth disfigure's Two Time's form further and further.

Builderman alongside Telamon started an iron fist moderation, punishing and banning anyone that broke rules or defied their ideals.

Builderman didn't changed much design wise, glasses to only focus on their ideals, headsets to not hear their pleas or opinions and a hardhat to protection of course.

Telamon never gave up on his hatred, some still spilled over his creation but most of it still with him.

Dusekkar never agreed with this nonsense, and the two Admins didn't took it lightly, now Duse doesn't mind that much, afterall he doesn't have a thinkng mind at all anymore.

Taph would do anything for builderman, so they hopped along with the two Admin's, Taph happened to mess up a few times but now that they got the message they're not going to fail Builderman anymore.

And of course we have our survivors.

"Poor kidd there's something about us people never really liked." Not sure about what happened to c00lkidd for him to disappear. Up to you I guess.

1x a vessel for the admin's experiment, nothing but that. And when falling purposeless they felt anger, a powerful need for revenge. 1x and 2x never happened to become sepparated entities.

John Doe a mere moderator, only wanting to ensure that robloxia's problems were solved, too good for his own sake. This was his ruin.

Noli since the start aspired that one day he would reach out the starts, but now that he has them in hands theres no one left to share their glimmer with.

Guest 666 was just some rebel, a trouble maker as people say. Unable to properly speak without an account, but also unnable to be properly punished. Not sure how his relation with Noob could go.

Azure was, alongside his partner, one out of the most faithful ones of their cult. This feat led him and Two Time into a huge sacrificial rabbit hole. After being killed Azure turned his back to anything related to spawn or cults in general.

[nadvs]

hii i love LOVE love power play! can i ask a blurb where rafe's pissy again so he's a bit hostile to reader but this time she doesn't take his shit? she's kind but this time she wants to reiterate that he can vent but she's not a punching bag

thank you!! ong the man has zero emotional regulation skills 😭 most of the time, she doesn’t take it personally and just makes a joke about him being a brat, but when he crosses a line, she doesn’t play around. blurb set in the power play au.

Rafe presses down on the horn yet again, earning another sigh from you.

This is not how today was supposed to go. He’s already been in the car for three hours just to get to you, and five minutes after picking you up, you hit standstill traffic on the freeway on the way to a place you said is your favorite spot for lunch.

This is the second time he’s seeing you this summer, only a few months of officially dating behind you.

You’d greeted each other affectionately, but his mood turned sour the moment you hit traffic. He honks again, glaring at the bumper of the car ahead of you.

“I don’t think that does anything,” you say lightheartedly.

“How is nobody moving?” he mutters.

“I’ll check when it’s supposed to ease up,” you offer, picking up your phone to open a traffic map. “Yikes. We have two exits to go.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Rafe groans. He wants the purge the stress he’s been under. This is only making it worse.

“Is that all you’ve had today?” you ask, pointing to the empty shaker bottle in the cupholder.

He nods tersely and you decide against making a joke about him being hangry.

He rakes a hand through his hair. He tried hard today. He wanted to look good for you, but his clothes are damp and wrinkled against his skin, and when he looks in the rearview mirror, he can see the fatigue in his eyes.

You clasp your hands together, determined to bring up the mood.

“How was the gym this morning?” you ask. Now that he’s fully healed from his injury, he’s just gotten back into training.

“I’m not even close to hitting what I used to,” he answers, disappointment laced in his tone.

You wince. That wasn’t the right question. He takes his conditioning seriously, and you obviously just reminded him of how much work he has ahead of him.

“We could work out together one day,” you say.

“Sure,” he scoffs, already grown to despise the distance between you. “When?”

You suck your teeth, your patience starting to wear thin at his harsh tone.

“Whenever you’re in a better mood,” you mumble under your breath.

Rafe shakes his head to himself. The last thing he needs is your judgement.

“I’ve been driving for so goddamn long,” he mutters.

“I know,” you empathize, “but we’re finally together again and we’ll be eating lunch soon and we don’t have to be miserable the whole ride there.”

“You think I want to be miserable?” he says with a sarcastic scoff.

“I didn’t say that.”

Rafe bites his tongue from muttering that you’re saying a lot. He only stares forward, trying to remind himself of how shitty he feels when he loses it on you.

You smooth down your pants, the silence biting at you.

“So, we should just not talk until we get there?” you ask. He shrugs in response.

You scowl. Frustration bubbles up inside you. You know your boyfriend well, familiar with how anger is his fallback, and you usually can take it in stride.

But this is too much. It hurts that he’d rather give into his temper than just enjoy being with you.

“You’re being mean,” you say quietly.

“I’m just tired,” he mutters.

“How do you think it makes me feel when you’re like this, especially after we haven’t each other in so long?” you say. “I thought you…”

You trail off into silence, trying to cool yourself down.

“Thought I what?” he mutters.

You swallow hard. You knew going into this relationship that even though you typically think on the bright side, you hold a pessimism about romance that you can’t shake. It rears its ugly head any time you feel like Rafe doesn’t care as much as he says he does.

“I thought you missed me,” you reply.

Rafe grips the steering wheel and says, “I do.”

“So, why make me your punching bag?”

His brows pull together, irritation pricking at him.

“That’s how you feel?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” you reply, on edge.

Rafe’s heart twists in his chest. Underneath the frustration, it hurts that you don’t see that he’s making an effort.

“I try to be better about it,” he says. “I’m always trying.”

You look out the window as he eases on the break, following the slow moving traffic.

“It’s not fair that I have to do this for you every time,” you mumble.

“Do what?”

“Tiptoe around you and talk you through your own emotions,” you say. “Is it that hard to say, I’m tired and hungry and none of that is your fault and I’m sorry I’m taking my bad mood out on you?”

Rafe meets your eyes, guilt seeping into him, cutting overwhelmingly worse than his anger is.

“I am sorry,” he says.

It cracks through your frustration. You have a weak spot for him, you always have, and you can tell by how quick he always is to apologize that he has one for you, too.

“And?” you say.

“I don’t think any of this is on you,” Rafe says. “I just want us to have a good day, alright? You deserve a nice date. Not this.”

You not, a soft smile on your face. He can be rigid and grumpy, but this is why he stole your heart; the softness underneath, the pressure he puts on himself to be lovable, the way that even when he’s annoyed, you can tell that he treasures you.

“Okay,” you say. “We can listen to some music to pass the time.”

“I want to listen to you.”

“You listen to me every night on the phone,” you remind him.

“And?” Rafe replies, echoing your tone.

You roll your eyes and chuckle. He puts his warm, heavy hand on your thigh, making your skin tingle with endearment.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “I know I got shit I gotta work on, okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply.

You put your hand on top of his, hope blooming in your chest, louder than the doubt.