#made them think of that and perhaps what are they trying to get us to consider and think about and perhaps change’

[agentpeggycarterrogers]

Peggy nodded. “ I know that’s not the basis of our love, and no, darling, I wouldn’t love you any less or think less of you if things were different, but that also doesn’t mean I’m not happy with the way things turned out. I truly didn’t expect to be your first - or for you to be mine - especially after years apart and we had no way of knowing this would happen. I’m also not disappointed either because I’d rather learn with you, with love. I just…I didn’t trust or love anyone the way I love you. I am also honored that I’m the one for you, the only one you want that way. I still think that’s extremely special.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think of any of this as morality. I don’t care about looking pure; I’ve only ever cared about being seen as equal. Yes, I am aware of how men look at me, and I’ve had to use that to my advantage. Sometimes it’s been a strength, sometimes that’s all they see me as. A curvy body, a pretty face. I’m underestimated for it. They think that because I look this way, I can’t be intelligent or strong. That’s what I resent. I also don’t want people questioning how I got somewhere, or to imply I got ahead because I used my body or because I loved you, mourned you, or because I was your girl - apparently we weren’t as subtle as we thought. People knew we loved each other. It was also suggested that I slept with Howard to get where I was, or that I was protecting him. I want people to see me for my abilities, my intelligence, my work - not because of a translation that occurred. But no, it’s not about purity. Perhaps I rebel more because of my ambition and frustration to be equal - but no, not because of morality or virtue. Even though I do try to be moral, but just out of goodness and nobility, not because I want to be seen as pure and virtuous.”

She smiled for a minute. “There were kisses during my spy work - to get information. Then Howard developed a new lipstick that would knock a man unconscious if they kissed me. It was just enough time to incapacitate them and get them into custody; it doesn’t last long. He called it Sweet Dreams. Now I’m actually curious if it would work on you. I still have some. I wonder if the serum would counteract it.” She laughed. “We could try it at home - on the couch, if you want to experiment.” 

Peggy shook her head. “Oh, I don’t think of sex as just a physical act. There’s more to it. That’s why I waited until I was sure I trusted and loved someone. I didn’t want to be that vulnerable, that open, that exposed unless I knew I was certain. Even though there may have been attraction - to Fred, to Jason, to Daniel - you are the only one I was certain about. I still believe we’re so compatible in bed because of our love, openness, and trust. Sure, your knowledge and your senses come into play, but there has to be connection and love too. We love each other and want to give each other the most love and most pleasure we can.” 

Then she nodded. “I don’t judge anyone for the choices they make, even if I wouldn’t make the same choices. That’s not like me. Perhaps I used to, before I got world experience. But now, my choices are my own, how I view sex and love are based on what I feel, and I know not everyone feels that same or experiences the same. Like Howard. I could never do what he does, but I still respect and care for him, even though his habits have gotten him into trouble many times. But that’s not my place. Or sex workers, or spy women who do more than me.” 

Peggy leaned in closer too. “Then shall I use your name more, my love? Steve,” she asked. She made sure she sounded breathless when she said his name. “Or do things like darling, my love, Mr. Rogers, do the trick as well?”

Peggy laughed. “I have to agree. Altars and stained glass, beautiful as they can be, start to look the same after a while. I feel like a castle would be a nice change. I understand that the history is important in the church, but we don’t need to see every one.”

@steven-g-rogers

Steve took a breath as he gathered his thoughts.  She’d said a lot and there was a lot to pick through.  “While I agree I love how we’re discovering this together, just because it’s a fun dynamic, I wouldn’t say that it is any better or worse than if things had been different.  I didn’t expect you had never been with another man either before we met or since I was gone.  If you’d needed to teach me some things, that would have been just as fun for me, Peg.  Why I love you has nothing to do with how much sex you’ve had.  In fact; I’d say most of the traits of why I love you would be more likely to be seen with a woman who did have casual sex because most of them are about behaving as they see fit regardless of what the word says and since the world currently says women need to stay ‘pure’ that would likely be a thing to rebel against too.” 

He shrugged.  “I would hope that if I’d gone to the future and been lost and trying to find connection in the world as it becomes, and that had led to sex with one or multiple partners, that wouldn’t have led to your disappointment.  I wouldn’t have been disappointed in you if you’d been with Fred, or anyone else, or everyone else.  I know women in spy work often use their bodies to get the information they want, and while I hate that men are so stupid and fickle that that would work, I don’t fault the women for doing it.  Or sex workers for their job either.  Because it’s just a physical act.  Me playing tennis with someone else wouldn’t make the first time we play tennis together more special.  It’d just make me more confident when we play it.”

He sighed and shook his head.  “I hope that I’m making sense.  Because I don’t judge anyone based on how much sex they did or didn’t have before.  Or why they did it.  I personally never did it out of a moral virtue, Peggy.  I did it because I have no sexual desire outside of you.  I don’t think about it.  I don’t lust after people.  Except for you, it is the same as playing tennis for me.  The same way some men aren’t attracted to women but other men.  I’m not attracted to women or other men.  Just you.  If that one thing was different, if I was attracted to anyone else, then yes, I might have had sex with them.” 

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.  “As for the other things about marriage, yes, you’re right.  Many people don’t have that connection.  And there is a weird consensus that women don’t enjoy sex and therefore it’s their wifely duty.  That’s - sexism.  As simple as that.  Women don’t have the same work opportunities so they marry for stability.  I can understand that. It’s sad, but I understand it.  And men - men don’t try to understand their wives bodies because they get away with not having to.  They tread their wives like property because - that’s how the world tells them it is.  It’s disgusting and I hate it.  But - I would say you and I connect in the bedroom the way we do, not because of our love, but because I have heightened senses, and because I went to the future and learned a lot about sex from the way my friends spoke and I understand that you can and should enjoy it.  I also - mostly enjoy your enjoyment, if you get my meaning.”  He dropped his voice low, leaning over the table.  “Nothing turns me on more than you moaning my name, Peggy Rogers.” 

He nodded.  “A castle would be good.  We’ve seen a lot of churches on this trip.  I’ve never spent so much time in church as I have since stepping foot in Europe with you,” he joked.

@agentpeggycarterrogers

[i-dont-exist-r]

The Tower Pt. 2

Poly!Marauders x ravenclaw!reader

CW: Angst, bad prank idea, alcohol use, really shitty teenage male behaviour by James n Sirius, miscommunication, ooc Lily n gang, they do a bad prank but also try to talk sense into the boys.

A/N: This got me for a second! I got lost in what I wanted to do but I think I got it figured out 🤫 I am a professional Sirius criticizer and Remus lover. sorry. Thank you for all the support and I hope you guys enjoy this!

James never meant for things to get this bad. Sure he knew they weren’t spending as much time with you as they could, but recently everything had come to a boil. Sirius had run away from his home, showing up on James’s doorstep sopping wet at 2 in the morning. The broken boy had pleaded with James to not tell the other two about that night, so it weighed only on their minds. James had reluctantly agreed, not liking keeping a secret from his partners but desperate to stop the stream of tears coming from Sirius's eyes. Remus has always had a lot on his plate, from his furry problem to his now enhanced workload, he was spread thin. And the cherry on top? James was surprised to come back to school to the new title of Gryffindor Quidditch team captain. He was extremely grateful for the opportunity, and he was going to do his best to uphold the highest standard possible for the team, but it was starting to get overwhelming. And it was only 2 months into the year. Free time was hard to find for James currently and he wished he had more time to see you. If only he could work with the boys to figure out a schedule, but even seeing them lately seems like a rare commodity. 

His eyes shot open as he realized he was drifting off, abruptly sitting up to stop himself from dozing further. He let out a soft grunt as he stood up, looking up to see if any of the other boys needed some inspiration to wake up. Sirius’s curtains were tightly drawn shut, blocking out any light filtering in through the dorm’s windows. He had gone to bed angry and snappy, firing at anyone who dared to talk with them. He had just sat with Sirius and held him until he fell asleep, sating the small tantrums  with kisses and waited until he heard snores to let go. Those same soft snores escaped out from behind the curtains, betraying any hardness Sirius was trying to display last night. James was worried his attitude would carry on to this morning, so he didn’t take the risk of waking him up directly. Instead he went to the bathroom and made an absolute ruckus of getting ready. ‘Accidently’ knocking over soap bottles, finding a way to ‘bump’ the showerhead so it falls and clatters absurdly loudly against the shower wall. By the time he comes out of the bathroom, fully clothed after knocking a few other things about, Sirius has the curtains fully open and is glaring at him. 

“‘morning” He huffs, not dropping the glare at all. James matches his glare playfully for a second before switching to a genuine smile. He stalked towards Sirius and placed a large, loud kiss on his forehead.

“Good morning sleepyhead” Sirius’s glare still does not drop, but it takes on a more playful tone. Sirius takes even more time to get ready, and by the time they reach the common room, the bells for the end of the first set of classes had rung, and they were trying to beat the bells for the start of the second. Dodging ghosts and other students on their way to class, they rushed through shortcuts and used odd passages to end up in the dungeons slightly early. Conversation had been flowing the whole way, Sirius being in a significantly better mood, and it had shifted to new, fun ideas.

“We should do another prank” Sirius suggested, buzzing with the possibility. James had laughed and had to dodge a confused first year before hesitantly agreeing and saying,

“We haven’t done one in eons” he paused again and his face contorted to one of confusion, or perhaps apprehension “But I am quidditch captain and do not want to get in trouble, and we should really dedicate any extra time we have to lovie. I feel like I haven’t talked to her in forever.”

“We talked last potions class and we see each other at every meal” Sirius said, waving his hand like he was dismissing you. “We are all busy with our own stuff, I know, but I want to do something fun together” he analyzed James' face before adding on “Plus darling has never taken place in a prank before it might be fun. And I do miss her a-” 

“Let’s ask Moony before we start going on and planning things.” James interrupted him, as the words left James's mouth the bell for the second class started to ring. They scamper towards the door decorated with scraggly art of cauldrons and potion bottles Slughorn no doubtedly drew himself. They are instantly thrown into a busy class full of potion explosions and curses. James felt your eyes burning a hole in the side of his head during the lesson, but he just couldn’t look at you. You had been looking at them ever since you walked in a minute late. If he looked away there was a good chance the potion was going to explode. Sirius kept an eye on you from his peripherals, but never put his full attention on you. Things continue like this all class, everytime you look at them they try their hardest not to look back. James’s leg twitches through the entire class. They pack up their bags in record time and race out of the classroom to meet up with Remus and plan their prank. 

______________________________________________________________

“No, I’m not pranking dovey.” Remus deadpans. Taking in the boy’s appearances, obviously low on sleep and morals.

“C’mon you don’t even want to see what her reaction would be?” Sirius peers at him curiously, trying to persuade him.

“No, I like living. I like reading. If we do this she is gonna burn all my books and then me.” he states with a little exasperation in his tone.

“Hey, being dramatic is my job!” Sirius fires back jokingly, “We just want to spend more time with her.”

“Then you can do it another way than pranking her. What was your idea anyway?” Remus asks, ashamed at the boy’s current trains of thought. The books in his hands were heavy and he was getting sicker earlier than intended. His patience was already pretty low and all he really wanted to do was see his dovie. 

“Well we didn’t really think of one yet.” James said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.

“Code for you wanted me to think of one” Remus grimaced and shook his head. “I’m only doing it if you two think of it” the two boys groaned and complained but the tall boy stayed firm and dismissed them so he could go and return the books to the library, and hopefully make it to the hall before lunch ended so he could finally have some relief.

Remus had also missed breakfast, but for a different reason than the other boys. He had stayed up all night studying, falling asleep in the early morning hours only to wake up a few hours later. He had arrived at the dorm long after Sirius had been put to bed and left before they woke up, even before the sun had fully awoken. His first trip of the day was down to the library, hoping to finish a transfiguration essay before it was due at the end of the day. He very much to his disappointment had to skip out on breakfast, and seeing you, to write the essay. He swears to make it up to you after this week’s tests and assignments are over, but until then he needs to make studying his number one priority. He takes dutiful notes during his insanely boring classes with thoughts of you and the boys the entire time. He rushes through his transfiguration essay, probably going to get a lower grade than he expects, but all he wants to do is make it to lunch before it is over. When he was on his way to the great hall, he ran into a pouting Sirius. 

“What is the issue now?” Remus said, cornering the drama queen so he would actually talk. 

“We thought of a prank for darling but I don’t like it now and it's already too late to take it back.” Sirius spit the words out like holding them in was painful. He paused and looked behind him where Remus assumed James was still hidden around the corner. “James has started it already.” 

“What? What did you idiots do? Why did you not inform me before you started? Where is she?” More questions filled Remus’s head, but he couldn’t find the space in his brain to articulate them. His head spun as Sirius shifted nervously and jerked his head towards the same corner. 

“She was eating, but she might have left.” Sirius stopped abruptly. Like he was going to say more before deciding it wasn’t needed.

“Why might she have left, pads . . .” Remus seethed, getting closer to the boy’s face. Wanting to draw out the truth from him. Sirius sighed and told him everything going down in the hall. 

______________________________________________________________

James didn’t mean to play into it so much, he really didn’t but he just loves the bit. See, he thought that if he just played hard to get and made you super jealous then you would try to spend more time with them and seek them out instead of them always having to find you. Sirius, being just as low on sleep and sense, thought his train of thought made complete sense. They didn’t even think to go back and check with Remus because this plan was so foolproof what could go wrong!

When he stopped Lily, he had quietly prayed she would play along and not just dismiss him. When she actually greeted him softly and with a small smile he was shocked and it took him a second to remember what he was going to say. Looking at her now, he can’t remember what made him so infatuated with her in their first few years here. Remembering he was trying to initiate a conversation, he tried to go over a few small talk topics. How are you; did you get the notes for charms this morning; do you want to take part in a prank, things like that. He stepped closer and tried to find what he found so captivating about her in the first place. He moved his eyes down her hair, cascading down her shoulders, but all he could think about was how your hair moved in the gentle breeze during dates in Hogsmeade. Her eyes were shining like emeralds as she looked up at him, but your eyes felt like home and a warm cup of tea and he wanted to stay there forever. Behind her he could see you at the table, looking like your lungs were wrenched from your body. A sharp beat of pain went through his heart and he couldn’t hold the lie any longer. He wanted to reach out to you and apologize and say it was all a joke here and now. But he didn’t.

“Goodbye Lily.” He said, interrupting her sentence, then turned on his heel and walked away quickly. Murmurs erupted in the hall after him, and Lily’s voice called out after him. The only thing he heard however was your cries during the nights where it seemed all he could do was hold you as you fell apart. How you cried that you were afraid you would never be enough, never be her. All he saw was your tear-streaked face looking up at him, so focused on you he almost ran into a large, tall figure. He rushed out apologies as he looked up, into his furious boyfriend's face. 

“What were you thinking?” Remus hissed out at him, seething. James was convinced he was so hopping mad he was going to transform there and then, ignoring the moon cycles. “Kitchens, now” 

______________________________________________________________

They had just gotten back from the kitchens, mulling the lunch debacle over tea and some much deserved food for Remus, when they ran into Lily and company in the common room. 

“Hey Jamie!” She said, a tad excited, before moving over on the couch and tapping the spot beside her. “Come sit.” James laughed lightly, slightly unsettled, before sitting next to her with a little bit of distance. The other sofa opposite of them was covered in books, inkwells, and a frightfully towering stack of sweets. In Lily’s lap were the charms notes from this morning, and a few more sweets beside her. Mary was sitting on the arm of the couch next to Lily, leaning over her shoulder to look at the notes. Sirius sat on James’s other side, which left Remus to sit on the armchair next to the couch, where Marlene was sitting on the arm of the chair closest to the pile of sweets. “So about the prank you wanna do” Lily starts.

“Oh, yeah.” And James explains the thoughts behind his and Sirius's dumb idea. It was a Friday so, ever the alcoholic group, a bottle of firewhisky was brought down. Naturally they kept it stashed under the table behind a stack of books, unseen from the door (and most other angles). Lily nodded along and asked questions with a confused look on her face.

“So why not just talk to her?” She asks, unwrapping a toffee. The charm notes have been abandoned and moved to the stack of books on the other couch. James thinks for a second before taking a sip of the firewhisky. He apprehensively opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it quickly. Sirius decides to take the lead on this one,

“It’s not that simple, we can talk all day about this to her but she won’t change her actions. She’s shy, she doesn’t like attention.” Remus grunts at that, almost in disapproval but when everyone looks to him for clarity he shrugs and crosses his legs like he didn’t do anything. “She doesn’t like causing attention.” he mended before continuing, “We just want to see if she has a different side to her when she is jealous.” James decided he had found enough words to interrupt Sirius and continue on his own tangent.

“When we do something she doesn’t like she comes up to us, tells us what we did, why it hurt her and what she needs from us. We haven’t had any sight of something happening where she can’t control what she wants to say in the moment.” Marlene sighs and looks at Mary exasperated. James continues, “I just wish she was more-” he moved his hands around like he was trying to keep occupied while finding the right set of words. “Open. With us.” he settled and nodded while everyone else looked at him questioningly. “While still being her witty and sarcastic self, but she just feels rough and direct when she has a problem or is arguing wit-” James was rambling like he had a bit more to say but he was interrupted by a gruff voice that hasn’t spoken since you were brought up. 

“Because she doesn’t want to be arguing.” Remus opposed. “She knows she will say the wrong stuff so she just stops arguing. And starts stating things.”

“She always says ‘wrong stuff’ but what does that really mean?”

“Things she can't take back, James” Remus huffs, approaching a boil at the whole situation. “She knows how she works, we should trust her on that. We can only do so much besides love her and support her.” He uncrosses his legs and leans back into the chair. 

 Mary claps her hands and stands up, “Let’s get off this topic and onto the prank!” she says, almost yelling to get over the tension building in the room. “So you all really want to do this? Because a bird just signalled that she is coming up the tower.” The ‘bird’ was a wildlife painting that sent a raven soaring through all the paintings in the common room. The group scrambled to find the nearest lap to them. Lily stood up to allow James to sit where she was, and she draped herself over his lap. Her back laid against the arm of the couch and her legs balled up on the other side of his legs. Sirius sat next to them with Mary perched awkwardly on top of his lap. 

“Well you look comfortable.” Lily chortled and lightly kicked Mary on the thigh, earning a sigh and protests from the victimized girls. “I’m usually the one getting sat on, I don’t know how to do this.” She defends herself and tries to relax into Sirius as much as possible. Remus hadn’t even allowed Marlene into his lap at first, pushing her away. They compromised on her draping her arm over his shoulder and him letting her put her legs over his while still sitting on the arm. Right after they had settled the painting swung open, revealing you and a delicious looking tray of biscuits. 

Immediate dread washed over the room and Marlene immediately took her hands and legs away, not being able to keep up the act. Sirius immediately understood how badly he fucked up when he saw your face. Disbelief, mixed with heartbreak and a weird sense of relief. Like you were waiting for this to happen but thought it was only reserved for your worst nightmares. He shoved Mary off his lap so hard she almost fell into the stack of sweets on the other couch. James stared in shock at you, as you stared back trying to take in the scene. They could see the cogs turning in your head, the rage building behind your eyes. Remus was the first to stand, inching towards you silently. A glare from you quickly stopped him in his tracks, and stopped Sirius from even getting up to join him. Lily, not catching on to the shift, acted dumb and said,

“You aren’t supposed to be here” James turned to Lily in shock before turning back around to face you. Your hands were gripping the tray so hard James could see them turning white.

“And you aren’t supposed to be on my boyfriend’s lap” He flinched at your tone. Bitey, as expected, but it had a hint of betrayal. While you weren’t close with Lily, there had definitely been a sort of trust that had built over the years. Fragile trust, as it had just broken into a million different pieces. As had your trust with them, they all felt it shatter with that sentence. He just registered that Lily was in fact still on his lap. 

“Let’s not go there love” He tried, standing up quickly, making Lily fall with a yelp. He made a mental note to apologize to her later, and continued towards you. Ignoring the glares that had previously stopped the other two, he stopped out of the range of your arms. 

“I have been there since you two ran from me after potions, now is a very different thing.” You spat at him. He could feel the venom in your words infect his heart. They really didn’t mean to run from you after, honestly they didn’t hear you. He watched as you put the tray down on the nearest table, balancing it on the books littering the surface. Marlene takes a few steps towards you while you are distracted, hoping to salve something.

“It’s really not what it looks like -” She starts to explain but you harshly interrupt her, standing stick straight and holding your wand at your side. 

“If you get any closer to me im going to hex you through that fucking window.” You raised your arm holding the wand towards the window that had an unobstructed path out to a deadly drop. Everybody stopped moving at the new tone they had never heard come out of your mouth. For a moment they stopped breathing, not knowing what else you were going to do. Quickly catching onto this tension you briskly walked out of the room, ignoring the desperate calls coming from the boys behind you.

____________________________________________________________

A/N: MUAHAHA ITS A 3 PARTER. I gotcha. Nah this part got away with me and before I knew it it was 1k words longer than the other part lol. No promises part 3 won't take just as long or longer but it will come eventually, thank you for reading!

Taglist: @riotrose8 @queenanababy @lemonylover

[calmcoldevening]

Is it possible for you to write about a fem Y/n with Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, & Hannibal Lecter where Y/n is eating paltbröd that she made out of a bucket of blood she was supposed to get rid off. She dosen’t even explain to them when they question why the bread is in that color. She let's them figure it out, it dosen’t even taste like blood either. It's surprisingly sweet because of the honey she put in.

Paltbröd

Bubba Sawyer

• Bubba genuinely thinks that it's just some kind of new, cute bread that's been dyed with some kind of berry or vegetable. Or did you buy some new flour? He'll eat anything off your hands.

• He likes it. The unusual taste of some strange ingredient combined with the sweet honey makes Bubba swallow it all without a second thought. He admires your cooking skills.

• When you finally tell him what the bread is made of, he's surprised. Bubba genuinely thought that you had gotten rid of the blood, as Drayton said. But you got rid of it in such an unusual way, Bubba is delighted!

• He smiles like a child and hugs you, trying to tell you in this way that he really liked your bread, no matter if it was made from blood, flour, or meat. Plus, he's a cannibal, so he really doesn't care.

• For the next week, he follows you around like a cute puppy, asking you to make this delicious bread again. He'll get you as much blood as you need, just please!

Thomas Hewitt

• He just sits there looking at the bread. He tries it. He likes it. After all, Thomas has always eaten whatever is given to him. This is the first bread he has had in a long time. He is grateful.

• At the evening meal together, it is Hoyt who guesses what the bread is made of. He is impressed by your skill. "God has sent us an angel so that we will no longer go hungry!"

• Hoyt is pleased, Luda, although she is impressed by your resourcefulness, looks at the bread with suspicion. Blood? Really? Thomas dutifully eats another piece that you give him with that smile. He really likes it.

• Eventually, Hoyt tells Thomas to collect the blood more carefully, because they now have a craftswoman in the house who can make blood bread. Thomas is proud of your talent and pats you on the head.

• Over time, you started making a lot of this bread and gave some to Thomas. Now this big boy finally has a full stomach, and he's overjoyed.

Hannibal Lecter

• Hannibal gracefully cuts a piece and puts it in his mouth. His taste buds are sensitive enough to detect the unusual ingredient. Blood, how cute. Hannibal smiles slyly as he takes another bite.

• As a cannibal, he truly appreciates your dish. He admires your ingenuity and culinary skills, although he is slightly annoyed that you did not follow his instructions and remove the blood. However, it is a minor inconvenience.

• "Bravo, my dear. Amazing resourcefulness and ability to use all available ingredients... Perhaps next time you could try a different honey? And I will personally make sure to find a more... presentable donor."

• Hannibal is interested in the recipe and all the details of the proportions of each ingredient. As a brilliant chef, he plans to join your bloody art in the future.

• Next time, you will be cooking in a rather intimate setting. Soft music in the background, red wine in the glasses, and his chest against your back as he helps you gently mix all the ingredients.

--------

One day I'm gonna taste it...

Ps: Hoyt and Hannibal are your fans now, luv!!

[mokulule]

"Cohabiting Half Demons?" It's more likely than you think - Part 2

Part 1 | Masterpost

Fandom: Devil May Cry Ship: none, this is all brotherly feels with a dash of Nero Summary: It's post DMC5, and things are good. Vergil's relationship with Nero is still up in the air, but six months in Hell and two months of cohabitation with Dante has gotten them pretty used to each other. There's literally no issue between them, except all of Dante's friends seem to think there is.

The next morning finds Vergil waking up halfway on top of his brother. He blinks groggily, taking in their state: the dirt, the dried blood, the smell. He doesn’t even have time to be grateful he woke up first, because it is revolting. He scrunches his nose and promptly pushes Dante out of the bed.

He lands with an oof and a “hey!” Vergil ignores as he gets out of the bed heading for the bathroom and the hot shower that will infinitely improve his mood. If he steps on Dante that’s the idiots own fault for not dodging.

Vergil, unlike Dante, often use his demonic power to clean up himself and repair his clothing. He’s not entirely sure if Dante is unable to or if he just prefers his human made clothing despite its fragility. One thing he does agree on though is the indulgence of an actual shower.

He allows his mind to wander as the heat seeps into his body. His mind feels clearer today, and he’s able to take a step back to wonder what exactly set him off yesterday. It can’t have been the stabbing itself. Vergil had already stabbed Dante several times during their fight. Dante had stabbed him. It’s not like either of them were tired enough to actually die from that.

It could not have been the blood either, though he remembers clearly how terrible and horrifying it smelled to him in the moment.

In the end he’s left with the fact that it was Dante himself who impaled himself on Yamato. Vergil had not intended to actually stab Dante then, it was a feint. It took away his choice.

On the heel of that realization follows another: He would not be able to deal with killing his brother on accident.

Vergil stares at the tiles until Dante’s old water heater gives up and the water goes cold.

He turns off the water, dries off, and wills his clothing back into existence. He unbuttons and re-buttons his coat, refusing to acknowledge why it feels necessary.

When Vergil goes up to his room it turns out the reason Dante wasn’t hammering on the door for his turn is that he fell back asleep on the floor. He takes a moment in the doorway, listening to his brother’s soft snores and observing the utter careless way he sleeps, limbs going every which way and his center mass open to attack.

He shakes his head and kicks Dante’s leg out of the way.

“Shower,” Vergil demands in response to Dante’s protests, as he starts pulling his bedding off. “If you lay there much longer I will also have to wash the floors.”

“Meanie,” Dante pouts, but does get up with a theatrical sigh. He knocks his shoulder against Vergil’s as he passes him on the way out of the room - not demonstratively or in order to pick a fight, but definitely on purpose. Vergil stands for a moment to ponder what purpose it could have then, before giving up on trying to understand Dante’s actions.

He enters the bathroom to find Dante considering himself in the mirror rubbing his scruffy chin.

“About time for a shave?” Dante asks as Vergil passes behind him. Vergil rolls his eyes, he doesn’t understand why his brother bothers growing it if he’s gonna shave it off anyways.

He has half a moment of worry he’ll find a forgotten wash in the washing machine moldy after they’d been gone for - according to Mary Arkham - three days. Thankfully it’s empty, his lips draw down as he remembers it’s likely because Dante was on a job for two days before their spar and that leads into the reason why he needed the spar in the first place.

Dante’s so called friends.

He shoves the bedding into the machine, perhaps a bit more violently than strictly necessary and ignores Dante’s lifted eyebrow in the mirror. He measures the detergent carefully and starts the machine on the program with the highest temperature. The blue color might fade some, but it’s cotton, it can handle it.

That done, he leaves Dante to his nonsense and goes to put coffee on. The shower starts by the time he opens up the fridge to consider if there’s anything edible in there after their absence.

The eggs are still good. Dante has by now six days old pizza in there - he probably still considers it edible-

“VERGIL!” Dante shrieks as the shower evidently suddenly runs out of what little hot water the heater had managed to create since Vergil’s shower.

Vergil smirks as if he did it on purpose, closes the fridge and turns back around to meet Dante who comes thundering around the corner dripping wet and buck naked. He stops in the doorway.

“You asshole!”

Vergil tilts his chin in challenge and only just manages to teleport out of the way of the incoming brother. Dante finally catches up with him on the way up the stairs after a round in the office and only because they’re trying not to trash the place. They collide and tumble down the stairs in a flurry of pulling, pushing, punching and kicking limbs.

Vergil lands on his back with an oof as Dante’s elbow pushes into his stomach. He promptly pushes Dante’s face away from over his, because his hair is dripping cold water.

“Put some clothes on you heathen!”“I would if I could have finished my shower!”

Vergil kicks him off and Dante responds by grabbing and pulling his leg so hard his head slams into the floor.

This is the moment Nero walks in the door.

Dante is naked and wet, sitting on the floor with Vergil’s right foot pulled up above his head. Vergil, thankfully fully clothed, is momentarily stunned from the impact to his head and his upper body is lying limply on the floor. Unfortunately they both freeze at Nero’s entrance and therefore the stupid pose is kept longer.

Nero stares at them with wide eyes, as if he were the one caught unaware.

“When Lady told me you had been fighting this is not what I expected.”

Dante promptly bursts out laughing and finally lets go of Vergil’s foot. Vergil sits up with a frown.

“Did you drive through the night to get here?” Vergil asks flatly. Of course Arkham had called Nero when her own attempt at convincing Dante of Vergil’s villainy had failed. She wouldn’t want Dante alone with him, so she had turned to Nero. Nero flinches at his tone, and Vergil immediately regrets it, but he can’t take it back and Nero pushes through, face hardening into stubborness. Still, Vergil can see the bags under his eyes from here.

“The coffee should be done by now, unless you’d rather sleep?” Vergil tries to make his voice do something other than flat and angry as he gets to his feet and straightens his rumpled coat - he’s afraid he still falls short.

“Don’t mind the mother hen.” Dante is suddenly across the room slapping Nero on the back. “It’s good to see you.”

Nero yelps in surprise and lets loose a whole string of curses directed at Dante and then his state of undress. Vergil raises an eyebrow, if Nero can lose sight of an over 6 feet naked man enough for said man to sneak up on him, perhaps it says more about his awareness of his surroundings than Dante’s inclination towards stealth.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll finish my shower. You’d be lucky to look this good in your forties, kid.”

Nero joins them for breakfast.

Vergil tries his hand at making French toast to use the very dry, but not moldy, bread he finds and to stretch the eggs, of course they don’t have cinnamon - an oversight to be rectified - but they do have sugar.

It’s an odd experience having Nero there. Vergil keeps catching him looking at him with this sort of dazed wide-eyed look, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing and then he looks down in embarrassment whenever Vergil catches him. Dante’s smirk is very punchable, but this is all the food they have that is not week old pizza or wrinkly vegetables so Vergil cannot allow himself to be too distracted.

He does kick him though.

The toast is nearly done when he catches Nero looking again. He sighs.

“It is not difficult. I am merely following the recipe and this one is very simple.” Even Dante could do it if he had any inclination towards cooking.

“No, it’s not-“ Nero protests, his ears going curiously red. “I just-” he looks down at the small second hand table Dante had dragged in from somewhere a month ago, follows a scuff mark with a finger. “I just never thought I’d get to experience this, is all.”

This. Them having breakfast together. As a family.

Vergil is stunned. He doesn’t know what to say, just stands there and watches Nero refuse to look at either of them.

“Uh, Verge, I think they’re done,” Dante interjects and suddenly the burnt smell registers in his nose as well.

He spins around and removes them from the pan. He tilts them with the spatula and studies them critically. Thankfully they aren’t ruined, he finally decides, just a bit blackened on one side and mainly near the edges. Still better than pizza.

He transfers the four pieces of French toast to a plate, sprinkles them in sugar and brings it to the table. They don’t actually have more than two chairs, so Vergil snatches a piece and leans back against the counter. Dante is quick to take two, which prompts Nero out of his embarrassment at the threat there might not be food left if he dawdles.

“Hey, why do you get two!” He protests much to Dante’s delight as he grabs the last piece.

“Well,” Dante leans back casually in his chair so it balances on two legs, taking a bite out of his toast, chewing and swallowing it before continuing much to Nero’s annoyance, “this was clearly supposed to be our breakfast-“ he indicates himself and Vergil with dramatic flourish, “just be glad your old man is willing to share his part with you.”

Vergil rolls his eyes. It was four because that’s what was room for in the pan, but far be it for him to ruin Dante’s fun. Predictably Nero does not take that lying down. Vergil lets the sounds of their bickering wash over him, Nero’s point is something about hospitality. Dante counters with him being bigger. Nero tells him to watch his cholesterol being an old man and all.

And then it’s just background noise, it should be obnoxious, yet somehow he finds himself smiling slightly.

He eats his own French toast contemplating the flavors and textures. Crunchy, sweet and buttery outside giving way to a softer inside, just a bit of acrid bitternes from the burnt parts - the lack of cinnamon really is a loss, but this is alright. Like most his experiments at cooking, certainly more interesting to his senses than merely absorbing the demonic power of his slayed enemies.

He finishes off and brushes the leftover sugar grains off of his hands over the sink. Then, with a small bit of power he wills himself over to Dante, plucks the second piece of French toast out of his hand and hands it to Nero. Both gape at him for one glorious moment, before Nero crows in victory.

“Betrayed by my own brother,” Dante laments with heartfelt sorrow looking up at Vergil, but he cannot hide the way the crinkles at his eyes give away his fight not to smile. Dante clearly always meant to surrender the toast to Nero in the end or he would have eaten it already, Vergil merely expedited things.

Vergil swipes the back of his brother’s head, not as hard as he could have done, but only because he serves an excellent distraction. Considering their previous low record of interaction, Vergil doesn’t even want to contemplate how this would have gone without his presence.

They probably wouldn’t even have made it to breakfast.

The thought sours his previously good mood. Dante’s gaze immediately sharpens in his direction, but he waves him off with a glance towards Nero. Thankfully, he takes the hint and lets Vergil leave with no comment.

He goes to the roof, instinctively turning his head towards the wind, sifting through the scents that reach him, but he can only while away the time for so long identifying the marks humanity and their activities leave on the air. There’s nothing demonic but them in the area, but even if his and Dante’s presence wasn’t enough of a deterrent, Vergil wouldn’t have expected demons this time of day.

He summons Yamato to his hand, and starts going through the forms that feel more like him than participating in something like breakfast with his family. Yamato sings, but she is slightly discordant, reflecting his lack of focus. Frustrated, Vergil halts. He slides her back in the sheath in a way that should be satisfying, but just feels like resignation.

He feels… Tapping a finger restlessly against the tsuba, he contemplates and finally lands on:

Inadequate.

He can barely get through a conversation with Nero, while Dante just breezes through, defusing any sort of tension or awkwardness as easy as he plows through low level demons. Dante has it all together in the human world.

He’s got his business, his friends, Nero, who despite all the bluster clearly looks up to him.

And Vergil has… none of that. If Vergil had taken Dante’s hand back then, would he have gone back to Fortuna at some point?

He sighs, there’s no point in contemplating. The faceless woman in his torn memories, who must be Nero’s mother, is tied to some fondness, but who’s really to say if that would be enough to have brought him back there. There’s too much blank space to really judge what he would have done.

The present is all that matters and he will continue walking forward.

By the time he returns downstairs, Nero and Dante have moved to the main office and made plans for a hunt in few days. Dante invites him to join, but Nero looks so nervous and tense at the prospect, that he turns them down.

Nero’s shoulders slump in relief, but the glance Vergil catches of his face is also… disappointed? Vergil isn’t really sure he’s reading Nero’s face right, it certainly doesn’t make much sense.

Nero eventually takes a nap, occupying the couch and therefore Vergil’s regular spot, and Vergil knows if he stays down here he will continue watching Nero and contemplating. Something he’s sure the boy will not appreciate. So he goes for a walk, far away from so-called civilization, hoping to clear his mind.

By the time he returns Nero has left.

Oo o oO

The fifth time it happens is the final drop.

It comes in the form of a young blonde woman blazing into the shop heavily laden with cleaning supplies already chewing a non-present Dante out before the doors have even started closing.

How dare he miss her birthday party and then disappear for months! How dare he not call her when he got back! He’s been back for three months and she only just learned from Morrison, the shop has got to be a disaster and she knows she didn’t come around much in the time up to her birthday party, but that’s no excuse-

She and her rant stops in place as she actually notices her surroundings. The air leaves her like a popped balloon and the buckets clatter as her shoulders lowers suddenly from where they were almost touching her ears. Instead she looks a little lost as she looks around.

Her eyes rest momentarily on Dante’s empty chair before they move over to Vergil on the couch. Her brows draw down in suspicion and her tone is flat and demanding when she asks:

“Who are you?”Vergil raises a brow at her impertinence.

“It’s common to introduce oneself before demanding it of others.”

She huffs, glaring, but then straightens to her not so impressive full height.

“I am Patty Lowell,” she says with all the confidence of someone expecting her name to be recognized, and maybe she is some local celebrity, it’s not like Vergil would know. The only thing notable about her name is her surname, but it is probably a coincidence it is the same as Alan Lowell, ancient sorcerer and alchemist rumored to have been able to control demons.

“Vergil,” he replies simply and because he can tell she is gearing up for another rant, probably due to his lack of disclosure of a last name, he clarifies, “I am Dante’s brother.”

That makes her pulls up short for a moment before she crosses her arms with a huff.

“He never mentioned a brother.”

Vergil’s breath stills. His hands clench around his notebook in lieu of Yamato and he has to resist moving his hand to his chest to prod at that strange ache left behind. Why does it feel almost like he just got stabbed? Could she be a magic user after all? No he’s confident he would have noticed magic.

She moves all the way up to him, and leans slightly down to get level with his face. She is certainly not afraid, there’s not even a hint of it in her scent, which is fully human, but if she has magic he wouldn’t know until she used it. And even if she has magic she is still apparently one of Dante’s acquaintances and he wouldn’t appreciate Vergil eviscerating her, probably.

Finally she leans back up with a decisive, “I guess you do look alike.”

Vergil doesn’t know what possesses him to continue the conversation, but he feels he has to elaborate.

“We’re twins.”

“Not that alike,” she returns blithely, thoughtless to the storm suddenly raging inside Vergil.

Because she is right.

“Though I suppose not all twins are identical-“ her words turn to fuzz.

They used to be each other’s mirror. Even more than a decade after their separation, but now, that’s not the case. Vergil had noticed, belatedly, once he’d properly seen himself in a reflective surface for the first time since his revival, but he hadn’t given it thought. Then, he’d never thought he’d get it thrown in his face that they didn’t look enough alike to be twins. He cannot even begin to untangle the feelings raging in his chest.

Dante is his twin. It is a truth so fundamental-

“Hey are you listening to me?!”

Vergil rears back at the sudden loud shrill voice in his face forcing him back in the here and now. She glares at him.

“What?” He snaps, only barely keeping the growl out of his voice, because he doesn’t know how much she knows.

“You’re as bad as Dante, jeez,” she complains, “I asked you, where is Dante?”

“On a job.”

“Well I know that’s a lie, Morrison would have told me if he was on a job.”

“He’s with Nero.” Currently Vergil is starting to regret turning down the offer to join, but he’s felt out of sorts since the other day.

“Who’s Nero?”

Vergil is baffled she doesn’t know.

“He’s-“ my son, it should be easy to say, but Vergil isn’t sure he has the right, “his nephew.”

“Whaaaaat? Dante has a nephew? A brother and a nephew, next you will tell me it was Dante himself who cleaned the shop,” she laughs at what she obviously means like a joke, like the idea of Dante cleaning is the most ridiculous thing she can think of.

She reads the answer in his stare. Her shock would be comical at any other time. But this is the fifth time this has happened.

“No way,” her voice changes to awe as she looks around again, then she focuses back on Vergil with disturbing intensity, getting up in his face again, “how’d you make him do it? You have to tell me!”

Vergil has had enough and teleports across the room to the stairs and then again to reach the top. Out the corner of the eye he sees the girl spin around in confusion before he walks down the hallway out of sight.

She calls after him, but he doesn’t hear the words.

He stops in the doorway to his room.

When they first came back Vergil had barely had time to look around before Dante had this room cleared out and set up for him. It was simple; a bed, a desk with a chair, a bookshelf, the blue bedding that had made it so obvious this was Vergil’s space.

His left hand clenches where it rests on the doorjamb. He resists digging claws into the wood.

“Wow, you must be some slave driver to get Dante to clean. Not that I’m really surprised.”

Vergil hadn’t stopped to consider or really think about it, but Dante had lived alone for a very long time. He was used to taking care of himself, lazing about and doing things whenever he felt like them and not when it was dictated by a demanding brother.

“Dante has a lot of friends who’d hate to see him burned out on an impossible quest to please his long lost brother.”

Vergil had taken his welcome for granted, he had just fallen into living here with his brother. They still had a score to settle after all, there was really nowhere else to go - it had all seemed so simple and straightforward. He hadn’t stopped to consider what kind of effect he’d have on Dante’s life.

Dante had never said anything about taking on more jobs now - when Vergil was V he’d assumed the state of the shop was due to a dry spell in jobs - but the way Dante’s friends always expect to be able to find him in the office, the way they are surprised at him being on a job, he clearly is. He is supporting the both of them. Vergil has been prioritizing his research because it is important, but perhaps he should have pitched in on more hunts. It had just seemed incredibly redundant for the both of them to go.

Vergil has become accustomed to this life, to this feeling of belonging. He feels… safe here. There’s very few beings who are a match to him now, and none that are a match to him and Dante together. It has given him breathing room, a chance to settle back into his skin, but of course it was on borrowed time.

Dante will never ask him to leave, he knows that, no matter how much he interferes in his preferred lifestyle, he is too softhearted for that.

Vergil will have to be the one to leave.

Oo o oO

Dante is worried, that much is obvious, he keeps looking at Vergil when he doesn’t think Vergil will notice, but doesn’t say anything. Vergil doesn’t think he’s acting different, or not that different.

He has stopped… nagging.

The shop is silent. Vergil didn’t realize how many of their conversations actually started because he remarked somehow on Dante’s behavior. But now that he doesn’t it’s all too clear how much he’s picked on him.

There’s an empty beer can on Dante’s desk, it has been there for two days now. It is a test, a provocation. It is not multiplying the way it would if Dante had actually stopped cleaning up after himself. The dregs inside stink, but Vergil has resolved himself to this and he is nothing if not stubborn once he’s set on a path.

Dante walks around him, guarded as if he’s waiting for him to snap or outright attack him. It feels like distrust.

Dante used to so easily invade his space, and now that he doesn’t Vergil feels a growing restlessness, an itch in his skin where Dante used to lean against him so often. Vergil hopes Dante gets used to Vergil’s lack of nitpicking soon and starts acting normal, but so far the gulf between them only seems to grow larger as the days pass.

Vergil cannot focus in the shop anymore with Dante there, so he’s taken to go to the library. It has proven to be a very valuable resource for the more permanent solution to his goal of not interfering in Dante’s life. A librarian has shown him how to work a computer and use this resource called the internet to find apartment listings.

Technology has moved on in leaps and bounds since Vergil was last around to see it, something he’d barely realized the way Dante’s office is like a time pocket. He will admit that humanity has ingenuity on their side, though it only compensates so much for their overall weakness.

Getting an apartment is harder these days. He cannot just threaten some landlord for an apartment in return for their life - or he could, but it is not really suitable for the type of semi-permanent residence he is looking for. And he wants to do this right, not really for moral reasons, but to prove he can. So he has acquired paperwork for his identity - and in the process actually acquired the land the ruins of the house is on. It’s not really worth anything at this point, nobody but demon hunters is interested in Red Grave right now.

It makes him wonder about Dante’s identity situation, because while he’s using his name, he clearly never got himself declared as one of the missing children of the house fire or the land would have already been claimed.

He had considered for a moment to just live at the house, but had immediately discarded it, it felt… revolting to consider, like a hand squeezing his throat and he needed to throw up. It was an entirely baffling and overblown reaction, but he simply couldn’t imagine staying there for any amount of time without being sick to his stomach.

So he was looking for an apartment.

To have an apartment he needed income. The most obvious choice was demon hunting - it was easy and would still leave him time for his research. He couldn’t stay in Babel though, this was Dante’s hunting ground - this was one area he didn’t want to compete with Dante. Fortuna was out for similar reasons. Both Dante and Nero covered large areas and occasionally traveled quite far for jobs.

He would have to be across the continent not to interfere, so that was mainly where he was looking. Geographical distance meant little to Vergil, he would never be further than two cuts of Yamato away from a spar with Dante, but he’d be able to pick up jobs that didn’t compete with his family this way. It would be perfect.

Maybe Dante will even let him use the Devil May Cry name, Nero does, and it feels somewhat fitting, though if Dante objects, Vergil will just have to start from scratch. It isn’t an issue, he will be sure to make a name for himself soon enough.

An announcement comes over the speaker system that the library is closing in ten minutes. Vergil hits print on the listings he’s decided are worthwhile to check out further, and goes to collect them.

He walks home somewhat lost in his thoughts, which is probably why some unfortunate imbecile decides he is a suitable victim for mugging. It doesn’t take more than an unimpressed glare to make the unkempt man move aside with terrified apologies. Pitiful, this is what Dante gets for making his home at the end of a street called 66 Slum Avenue.

Though with Vergil’s newly acquired knowledge of realty and rent pricing, he can appreciate the fact that the rent is probably dirt cheap, and it’s not like petty human crime is an actual threat to them.

The shop envelopes him with the comforting scent of home. Vergil frowns, as he closes the doors behind himself, struck by how he will miss their overlaid scents and the way the slight differences still fit together seamlessly. It will take a while for a new place to feel like his, and it will never be like this.

Vergil’s eyes are drawn to Dante, who is not in his favored chair, but rather taking a nap on the couch, head mushed into the plush, and drooling a bit - right in Vergil’s spot. His brow twitches in annoyance. The sour scent has also increased and Vergil is forced to acknowledge there are now two beer cans on Dante’s desk.

He itches to tip his brother onto the floor and growl at him to remove the stinking cans. He could pick up the couch entirely, pick a fight. Cut right through this stupid tension with Yamato. His teeth gnashes together and he longs to-

Abruptly, he is reminded how their last fight ended. It feels like a cold bucket of water dousing his fire. He sighs, and moves up the stairs. He can read the listings at his desk.

Oo o oO

He asks Morrison for a job. The experience would have been wholly uncomfortable with the barely veiled hostility on both sides, except for Morrison’s surprised face when his offer of paying him in cash for a fee, was rebuked. He had clearly not expected Vergil to have a bank account.

So Vergil had left, grimly satisfied, to deal with some infestation in a nearby town. The fact that it turned out to be some sort of insurance scam rather than actual demons, didn’t change the fact that Vergil got paid. There had been a moment where the client tried to argue that no demons had actually been killed, but fortunately Vergil’s glare worked just as well on that guy as the would-be mugger.

Knowing Dante he would have been disappointed at the lack of demons and just left. It makes Vergil wonder if Morrison suspected the job wasn’t legit and that’s why he’d given it to Vergil.

In any case, Vergil has had enough of dealing with sniveling humans for the day and decides not to confront the dealer with the suspicion.

He is considering cooking something when he walks into the Devil May Cry via portal, only to stop dead at the strange atmosphere. The portal closes behind him, as Vergil takes in the space and the strange darkness. He breathes in, and nearly chokes on the heavy scent of alcohol. He turns around seeking Dante and of course finds him at the center of it all.

He is slumped at his desk. There are five empty liquor bottles on the desk. Frowning Vergil strides towards him, while he’s of course seen Dante’s well stocked bar, he’s never actually seen him drink anything but the cheap beer he favors. Depending on how fast he’s drunk them, five bottles of hard liquor would be a lot even for their metabolism. His boot hits something, that rolls into something else with a clink. He looks down and mentally corrects his tally to seven with a deepening frown.

Seven becomes seven and a half, when he notes the half empty bottle hanging from a nearly limp hand. Had the idiot been trying to knock himself out?

He grabs the bottle and sets it on the desk before Dante’s fingers decide to give up entirely. Vergil does not need that spilling all over the floor.

He shakes at Dante’s shoulder to no avail.

“Dante!” He finally snaps.

Dante flings himself upright but it’s only for a moment before he slumps again.

“V’rge,” he slurrs, “was’n shur yu’we comm’ back.”

“What?” Vergil demands flatly still trying to parse the utter nonsense out of his brother’s mouth.

Half leaning on one arm and looking half a blink away from passing right back out Dante sorted through the empty bottles with a clattering cacophony of tilting over bottles that made Vergil flinch.

“A-ha!” Dante announced when he found the half-empty bottle. “Botm’s up.”

Too deeply disturbed, it was a moment before Vergil ripped the bottle out of Dante’s attempt at downing it and adding to his intoxication. Dante blinks in confusion at Vergil as whisky dripped down his face from where it spilled.

“V’rge, yur here?”

“Of course I am here, you imbecile!”

“Wer’ya even gun tell’mh?”

“Tell you what?” Vergil asks as he hauls Dante to his feet with an arm over his shoulder. His eyes falls on the now crumbled and stained printout of apartment listings. Oh, he’d probably seen it sticking out of Vergil’s notebook left on the coffee table. A ball of disquiet grows in his gut.

There’s also disappointment Vergil admits to himself, as he drags his near unresponsive brother up the stairs. He couldn’t even wait until Vergil had moved properly to pull out the celebratory drinks. There’s also worry, because this doesn’t seem safe, any manner of creature could have come in to attack Dante when he was like this.

Still, Dante has survived this long on his own, he’s gotta know his own limits. It’s not Vergil’s place to comment how he lives his life.

Finally he can dump his brother in his unmade bed. At least it makes it easy to pull up the blanket over him. He pauses for a moment, looking around. The mess in here seems somehow worse than usual, he didn’t even know it was possible.

Shaking his head he makes to leave, but a hand gripping his coat holds him back.

“Dn’t go.”

Vergil turns his head to meet Dante’s now open eyes, they’re red-rimmed and glistening from inebriation. Vergil shakes his head in exasperation and pulls his coat free.

“I am not sharing your bed when you stink like this.”

Vergil tells himself it’s perfectly reasonable, but the way Dante’s face crumbles as he leaves the room haunts him, and he’s not entirely sure how to parse the storm of conflicted feelings in his chest.

He decides to clean up the mess on Dante’s desk despite his resolve not to, there’s only so much he can take and he needs the scent of alcohol out of his nose. Dante can drink to his heart’s content, as soon as Vergil has moved out, but for now it has to go.

He finds himself intermittently glancing upwards towards his little brother’s dimmed presence. He just doesn’t understand. Why does anyone enjoy having their senses dulled?

In the end he showers and goes to bed. He spends too much time staring at the ceiling getting no closer to sorting his emotions.

Oo o oO

It’s evening again by the time Dante deigns to leave his bed. Vergil looks up from his notes, when Dante stops at the bottom of the stairs. He is unkempt and scruffy, and the reek of alcohol still clings to his person, despite it being long gone from his system.

“When are you leaving?”

“Once I’ve found a suitable apartment. I have plans to see some of them in person in the coming days.”

“They are all on the other side of the continent?”

“Yes,” Vergil replies simply, and he cannot for the life of him figure out why that bothers Dante, because it’s so logical, unless- Vergil’s voice turns dark:

“Why? Do you feel like you need to keep an eye on me?”

“I don’t know Verge,” Dante snaps, taking a few angry steps forward, gesticulating with each point, “every time I lose track of you for a few years, you come back with a freaking apocalypse! Do I need to keep an eye on you?!”

His eyes land tellingly on Vergil’s notebook. Vergil bristles and he stands up.

“Why don’t you just come out and say it?” Ask what’s in the notebook, Vergil dares him.

Dante glares back and it’s all wrong. Usually they would be at each other’s throat. They would be one step away from violence, but they’re not. This is not something clashing blades can break through, and it terrifies Vergil as he suddenly sees how far the distance between them has gotten.

Even at their worst, they have always had the will to fight each other and now they don’t even have that.

Vergil flees.

-

Yeah... so this happened. I made myself cry a bit when I wrote the scene where Dante is drunk. I am really hoping the right mood comes across.

Also I hope you enjoyed them being absolute children around each other in the beginning.

I'd love to hear your thoughts?

[bunny-claws]

tarot tips for beginners

so you just decided that you want to read tarot, and perhaps invest in your very first deck. here are some tips that i found useful when I was just starting out! 

(updated version)

some uses for tarot cards:

divination

spirit communication

deity communication

spellwork

choosing a deck:

there are so many decks to choose from - a lot of folks choose the deck that they energetically vibe with the most, but like, that doesn't happen for everyone! when i initially made this post 7 years ago, i spoke about initially choosing a tarot deck because it had minimalistic artwork and clearly labeled text, which was extremely helpful for me. some decks even have keywords or meanings listed on them, which is pretty cool.

that being said, i do think it's worth it to get your first deck from a brick and mortar store - that way you can see all the different varieties, art styles, etc.

another thing to consider is size: there’s a “standard” size for tarot cards - some authors stick to playing card size, and some make theirs quite large. i have small hands, so the larger sized cards are somewhat uncomfortable for me to use and shuffle. i would keep that in mind for sure.

i would also suggest that if your first deck doesn’t come with its own guidebook to invest in one, just to have for reference.

tips:

cleanse your deck before you use it for the first time - this helps get rid of any lingering energy that it may have picked up over time. you can do maintenance cleansing whenever you want, maybe between readings?

charge your deck! perhaps try a selenite plate or slab - selenite has both cleansing and charging properties, so you can set your deck on top and let it do its thing. alternately, put the deck in the middle of a crystal grid; pass it through incense smoke; make a dry herb bath; etc. however you normally cleanse and charge things.

draw a card a day for personal readings, and record your findings in a journal - this can help you learn the meanings of the cards, bond with your new deck, and provide an opportunity for introspection and reflection.

not into journaling or writing? create an excel or word document to record your personal experiences and findings. this can also be useful for jotting down card meanings (ctrl + f is a lot easier than digging through a book imo).

practice readings with people you are comfortable with. this can help you decipher card meanings and practice reading intuitively.

come up with personal associations for the cards that relate to your every day life. for example, the death card popping up in a reading can be startling at first, but more often than not, it relates to rebirth or transformation. the same applies for cards that signify fertility or birth - this may simply allude to new beginnings. what do you think the cards are trying to tell you?

you might not wanna overwhelm yourself with lengthy spreads like the celtic cross - maybe stick with short spreads that only involve a few cards and work your way up to bigger ones.

readings do not decide your fate. they are meant to be used as a tool for guidance, not to be taken for fact.

you can use tarot cards to represent intentions during spellwork or meditation.

common myths about tarot:

you must receive your tarot deck as a gift

you must keep your tarot deck in a [black] silk bag

you must be a witch or psychic to read tarot

you shouldn’t read tarot while you’re pregnant

don’t let others touch or look at your tarot cards

tarot cards are inherently evil

tarot cards are “the devil’s work”

you can’t read tarot for yourself

the cards are to be taken literally (where death means death, etc.)

reversed cards are always bad

© 2025 bunny-claws

[jynxdrawsthings]

Angst Theory for how TEAPS MIGHT END

[I am VERYYYY tired so if this isn't good, blame it on that lol]

(There are 8,798 characters idk how many other things lol, but this isnt a SUPER super long one on my end at least, but hey, lmk if perhaps you think something similar? Also, if you get the reference.....no you dont.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

one day, while the celestial family were busy with their family game night, a rough set of knocks came to the door, BANG. BANG. BANG. It made them pause, who the hell is here at 12 am, let alone tonight of all nights, with the harsh storm outside, wind whirling like that of a scream, the wind strong, harsh, yet here was someone knocking...

When Sun got up, flicking the lights on above the door and staircase that leads up to the rooms, outside stood the 11'10 bot, his angry orange eyes blazing as he stares down at Sun through the door.

"Can i come in or what, it's freezing out here." He speaks in his gravely voice, though it didn't sound as harsh as it normally does, it seemed almost struggle like.

"Uhm. Sure?? I guess..? When did you-" Sun is cut off by Eclipse, who kneels down a bit, before stepping inside, and took off his jacket, and without skipping a beat tossed it at Cosmos.

"Take it." Is all he said, as he then opens his arm panel, checking something seemingly, as he then curses under his breath.

"How..Moon, how long does our dimensions times take to catch up."

"Like..to catch up to the person that went to a different one?" He raised a brow.

"Yes, clearly." He rolls his eyes.

"I..can only assume maybe an hour, if not the minimum could be five minu-"

"I can work with that..I've got plenty of time to do this." He says, making his way towards Cosmos, before he grabs him, and lifts him up, before he takes him outside to the back porch and down the steps.

"whoa whoa whoa, hold on here man, you know i don't trust your ass enough to be alone with you!" Cosmos says before pausing as he sees Eclipse look at him with such a tired look, it causes everything in his head to freeze.

"Eclipse..?" He asks slowly.

"Look..I..god i fucking hate this bullshit.." He sighs.

"The dimension im in now is dying, Afton won, he's basically doing what Ruin did but...failing, hurting the world around instead of everything else. I wanted to..come and..talk to you.."

"Okay...what's that got to do with coming HERE, to bother me with this info??"

"The dimension is dying, dumbass"

"Well, yeah but you'll be fine so why the hell are you-"

"LUNAR!" He yells, snapping, but instead of anger, he sounded..almost fearful. And that's not impossible, but for him, nothing makes him afraid, at least, not like this. This was 100% genuine godamn fear.

Cosmos jumps, before glaring.

"Cosm-" He starts trying to correct Eclipse.

"Lunar, i will and have always known you AS Lunar, my BROTHER, not an ASTRAL, my FUCKING BROTHER.." He looks away, not being able to look at him without wanting to throw up and it's not even because of Cosmos it's just because he can't take looking at someone he hurt so badly over something so petty, and now here he is, about to apologize without truly knowing how this would end.

"Fine. What's so wrong you needed me to be alone with someone like you, huh?"

He sighs, before he quietly talks, for the first time showing alot of emotion, even if it was just being quiet and calmer, it's alot for him, well, Eclipse has never been the type to be but he takes a deep breath, before talking, to try.

"Look...i know you hate me, i don't blame you, you have every right to, but damnit, just give me a chance to talk, without you like...using your powers or whatever on me..ugh this is so stupid, im so bad at this shit..ugh..okay..." He sighs again and runs a slightly shaking hand through his slightly bent and dented rays, before speaking again, "I'm sorry..and yes i know, 'wow all this way for two words?', yes i know...but give me a break, im tired, im hurting, and Afton hunting us down was stressing me out to all hell..not to mention i had my kids i had to protect..and to be honest, you were still in my thoughts, i wanted to protect you to, but god i couldn't get myself to face you, after everything, after all of my pride, i tried so hard to keep hold of, i lost it all anyways, so im not trying to...hide it anymore i guess, it' not like i have much longer anyways either, so..i wanted to get something off my chest, and that is that i have always loved you Lunar, i might not have shown it but godamnit i loved my brother anyways, even if i was to proud to say shit, but right now i am, and im so fucking sorry, and im angry with myself it took this..to be the reason i tell you, but i am dying Lunar, and to be honest, i'm not afraid of it..i used to be, for my children...for my friends, but my friends are dying, WE are dying, i cant exist here in this dimension with you either, i cant because i gave that position up for Solar to live, that's no excuse for hurting you, and i have lived with that burden forever, im not even the first fucking ME, im the fourth iteration of myself, im not even fully ME at this point, but every time i came back, it felt worse and worse when i thought about how i treated you...it just....i dot know, it's just, i have no real way to express just how fucking sorry i am, about every fucking thing I've ever done, to this family, to anyone else, hell, i got people killed, i killed, for no fucking reason, and yet here i am, expecting you to even slightly understand, how know how to feel, but i just-"

"Eclipse, shut the fuck up and come down here for a second." Cosmos' says lowly.

Eclipse hesitates before he sighs, and kneels down.

Cosmo reached up, and hugged Eclipse tightly, staring at the ground as he feels the bot tense up and freeze.

"w..why are you?-"

"Jus' shut up and..hug me for a bit.." He says quietly as he feels Eclipse starting to shake, before it starts to become worse, and he collapses onto his knees, before he tightly hugs him, his four arms trembling with small spasms, making Cosmo hold tighter.

"You'll..be okay Eclipse, you wont die..i..i wont allow that to happen, i promise---i---i promise Eclipse, i promise i won-"

"L..Lunar...im not...gonna...heh be lasting, much longer.."

"No, you will.." He says sitting back before bringing Eclipse, to the living room, before looking at the family.

"Moon, how can we keep what happened to Solar, from happening to Eclipse. Dont ask why i need to know, just tell me."

"Cosmos' it's not that easy..im still not even sure how Eclipse did it in the first place to be honest.."

Eclipse didn't know what to say, he couldn't just tell them that he's dying, what would they do anyways, to be honest he thinks they'd be nothing but happier to have him gone, so he infact doesn't say how to help him, even though he knows how to, or at least..thinks so, he stays silent, even with it wasn't until Eclipse felt Monty and Molten trying to hold him up, that he even realized his legs had given out on him.

"What's going on, Eclipse.." Monty mumbles, glancing at Terra, who seems frozen in place, i mean...that's her best friend, afterall..

Eclipse, felt every ounce, of his body giving up so fast, he could only manage a weak chuckle.

"This how you felt, Solar?" He asks in a hushed, weak whisper, oil dripping from his mouth.

Solars' brows furrowed as he muttered a curse under his breath, before he sighs, and helps them lay Eclipse onto his back, as his left optic glitches lightly.

"What do...what do we do?" Sun asks quietly.

"We do the one thing we're even remotely good at.."

"And that is..?" Sun asks quietly

"Being a family.." He says, lowly, but not harshly.

They all glanced at each other, they knew what he meant, sadly...

Cosmos kind of roughly dropped to his knees next to Solar, and Eclipse, before he grabbed hold of Eclipses hand, and held onto it tightly as he teared up.

"Dumb bastard.." He says with barely restrained sadness.

Eclipse only let out a weak, glitching chuckle.

"I always made you out to be.." He breathes wheezily, "...more of a nuisance, than you actually were...you were always making light of every situation...and it inspired an anger in me i couldn't ignore....but you were never making light of anything...YOU WERE light...and everywhere you went, you shined....and i couldn't stand it...because i couldn't understand it....i lived in the darkness for so long.....and now, I have to go back there, without....."

With a slow breath, he lets out a small chuckle as his body begins to dust rapidly, giving a gentle smile to Cosmos' as a few tears fall down his black and dark orange face.

"YOU."

With that, Eclipses' body dusts, leaving behind a golden locket that glistened lightly from the overhead light of the living room, leaving the family heart broken, whether they wanted to believe it or not, they still cared for him, and Terra broke down, along with Cosmos', while Sun felt a weight lift, but it wasn't the good kind, tearing up as he stares at the locket, the same one Cosmo gave him.....so he did keep it, from...

All.

Those.

Years.

Ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Is this bad? Probably but oh well, I just wanted to get it out lol, this took me all night cause i kept pausing due to pain in my rib[s]/stomach/legs/wrists/...yikes, but anyways..i think this might be the way the EAPS ends?? idk maybe im just wanting Eclipse to finally be safely in peace lmao)

(i could've messed up my typing or grammar, jus don't mind it lol)

[robo-dino-puppy]

horizontober 2023 | 22: weave

[deathsmallcaps]

Replying to tags but then I ran out of room and I think i was if not cooking then at least microwaving

#dude when I was in 6th grade I read #the veldt #and at the time it disgusted and genuinely scared me because I was #just so surprised that people - children! - could be raised to be so heartless #idk if I read it for the first time as a 23 year old it would scare me so much #but goddamn

#I think we're both people who are *at least* good at literacy but we're both a little too STEMmy #to look at it the way some English teachers want us to? #like they want people to go from 'damn that's fucked up → what themes are the authors trying to explore here → what about the world #made them think of that and perhaps what are they trying to get us to consider and think about and perhaps change' #obviously not all writing is a fable with a moral at the end #but a lot of good writing has some sort of central belief that it wants the reader to consider

#(I struggle in creating that with my fiction ugh and I think a lot of booktok books do too and it bugs me that we have that connection)

#but anyway #I think you and I'd first reactions are like #’that's horrible → how can we prevent that specific problem from occurring again' #like take the lottery. my (and maybe your?) first reaction is like 'that's horrible → they should ban the lottery' #but the English teacher is going to want us to think 'oh gee okay so this is a commentary on traditions. why would this tradition be started #/necessary? does the lottery reflect the overall morals and sensibilities of the overall society (aka fond of the death penalty etc). #what sort of tradition might this mirror today? connecting to historical events and the fact that the person stoned and the author were #women. aka the gender commonly stoned for witchcraft in New England #do you think that's related?' etc etc etc wrapped in metaphors and shit. and tbh that's how I learned a lot of my religious and political #philosophy as well as history. I really like Thomas swift's 'a modest proposal' (satire) for that reason.

but that was NOT my initial #thought process for English class. I had to be heavily trained into thinking that way and often my first instinct is to not engage with the #metaphor an just go straight to the logic/sensible answer. blah blah blah. I really respect lit and history teachers as a profession but boy #do I not want to teach it because I would be so slack on writing the kinds of questions that would get the kids to engage with the meta. #once I got a piece I got it but it was a struggle every damn time. because I had to get over my feelings of well why didn't they just not #do that'

the biggest one I can think of is 'song of Solomon' by Toni Morrison. I think my senior AP English teacher wanted us to really #consider authors and characters of color (he was white but it was 2018-2019 aka Trump era) so he taught us othello and TM. othello is a #little easier to understand because iago is just being a little bitch about a Black foreigner getting a promotion and a hot wife and no longer being able to convince himself that he was better than Othello

But TM’s main character Milkman? Unlikeable, spoiled little shit who doesn’t give a damn that he’s the 1 percent of his marginalized community and he’s frittering his privileges away so hard that it literally induces suicidal and murderous tendencies into the people around him. Among other things.

It took me foreverrrrrr to engage with the text beyond GOD I HATE THIS GUY but once I was able to examine his psychology and the mean flip side of ‘if you want to fly, you have to get rid of earthly attachments’, which he does at the end of the story.

Was it a chore? Absolutely. But have I ever forgotten the story or the literary tools it gave me? No.

Maybe I’m just speaking for myself in this longass response - you and I usually talk animals and men not books 😅 - but yeah every English class is full of these annoying stories that are meant to rattle one’s brain and I REALLY avoid rattling lmao. Tbqh again I respect lot classes but I’m glad they’re over lmao

But anyways I listened to Levar Burton’s podcast ‘Levar Burton Reads’ from start to finish, and he once read (as a three parter) Toni Morrison’s Recitatif. It’s the story of two girls, one Black one white, who grew up around and with and against each other during the mid 1900s.

I didn’t know what the story was getting at, aside from the surface ideas of the American Civil Rights Movement and privilege and stuff. But LB usually asked questions or briefly mentioned the author’s main idea at the end. And when he did? HOLY FUCK.

If you ever decide to listen to it (I’ve never gotten my hands to a print copy so idk if they usually have some sort of author’s note at the end to ask the reader this question)(I love LB’s voice he’s a pleasure to listen to if you listen to Recitatif) please @ me and tell me if it also blew your mind and made you consider how you viewed the POV character of the story.

Because it blew my mind and made me really consider why I assumed things about the pov character. Im not going to say anything further because I feel like I’m spoiling the point but yeah.

Anyways again this could be just me but I’ve always had trouble moving on from the straight solution mindset. When I was 12 I was in a model UN and I was told to write a report about Togo and its healthcare issues. I took this to mean that I had to research the common issues there (such as unclean water and mosquito bite diseases) and then come up with solutions.

It was incredibly embarrassing to do all that and then hear every other group explain their countries healthcare issues and WHY (historically, monetarily, etc) their countries struggled with such things. And my ass went up there and talked about affordable mosquito deterrent changes to water sources and cheap water cleaning services.

I didn’t realize it then but like. It perfectly exemplified my lack of instinct to subtextually interact with instructions and prompts.

And the thing is. May the universe bless and boost the fucking lit teachers out there because my poor students are entering math class with lit skills 6 grades under where they should be and are genuinely unable to interact with straightforward STEM instructions. My college had every ed major take a ‘teaching literacy’ class and sure I passed but the thing is. I’m not really the person that’s supposed to catch these kids on that subject. I’m supposed to be a secondary math teacher. So a lot of the advice in that class simply wasn’t applicable and I wish it was!!! I’d be happy to help in that subject but also I WAS TRAINED TO BE A MATH TEACHER. AND MOST LITERACY AND LANGUAGE DIFFICULTY COURSES ARE NOT DESIGNED WITH STEM IN MIND. (Which is why I want to learn enough Spanish that I can teach kids learning English math as well because that’s an area that doesn’t get a lot of crossover and a lot of kids fall through).

Well this turned into a ramble goodnight lmao. I’d say this was a decently microwaved thought track lol

[business-as-usual-bats]

Idk if anyone else remembers, but Batman canonically carries around Bat-cookies according to the Batman/Scooby-Doo crossover.

I LOVE to think Batman carries them around as snacks for Robin. I love it even more to think he uses said cookies to bribe Robin into good behavior in a similar fashion to Scooby Snacks.

Little Dick Grayson: I don't wanna go to some stupid Gala! U can't make me!

Bruce, in desperation: would u do it for a bat-cookie?

Dick: woah! Bat-shaped! Cool!

Bruce: andddd you can have another one after the party

Dick, mouth full of cookie: okay :)

Bruce, internally: thank fuck a parenting hack that works

Batman: stop! Don't kill him!

Red Hood: and why do I give a fuck what you-

Batman: would u spare his life for a Bat-cookie?

Red Hood:

Red Hood: I'm not a kid anymore-

Batman: they're fresh, look, still warm

Red Hood: ...

Red Hood: this works ONCE. This ONE time. Gimme that damn cookie.

Batman: of course

Red Hood: Fuck I've missed these what the hell does Alfred put in em

Bruce: go to sleep, Tim

Tim: I'm almost done-

Bruce: go to sleep now and you can have a bat-cookie

Tim: a what?

Bruce: a bat-cookie. See? Here, first taste is free. Try it.

Tim: bribery? Really?

Bruce: positive reinforcement

Tim: giving me treats like I'm some kind of dog?

Bruce: try it and then we'll debate the ethics

Tim [eats cookie]:

Tim:

Tim: okay

Bruce: Okay?

Tim: if I promise to sleep a full 8 hours I want two more and a glass of milk

Bruce: u drive a hard bargain but I accept

Dick: aw, c'mon, Damian. One picture. For me, to remember your first day of high school. Do it for a bat-cookie?

Damian: -tt- I've heard of these so-called "bat-cookies" Insulting. I am not a child. I refuse to participate in such an asinine tradition.

Dick: shame. Alfred made animal-friendly ones so you can share with Ace and Batcow. I guess they don't get any treats either, then

Damian: well

Damian: since it would please you so very much, I will overlook this patronizing lapse in judgment

Damian [tries one bite of cookie]:

Damian:

Damian: given Batcows higher food intake requirements, I will require at least a dozen.

Damian [takes another bite]: perhaps two dozen

Duke: you agree I did a good job today?

Bruce: yes? I suppose. Earlier, when you stopped that-

Duke: shut it. Don't care. Cookie me.

Bruce: excuse me?

Duke: I know about the cookies, old man. You've been holding out on me. The cat's out of the bag. I did a good job, I get a cookie. That's how it works, right?

Bruce: uh well

Bruce: that was a long time ago

Bruce: i had to discontinue that method after-

Duke: are you saying I'm not a valid member of this family because I was never Robin?

Bruce: of course you are! But I don't have any on me-

Duke: don't. Lie. To. Me.

Bruce: Okay! Okay. You're right, I'm sorry. Here, take it. Just... do me a favor, and don't go announcing to the whole cave you got-

Duke: YES. MY FIRST BAT-COOKIE! SCORE!

Every batmember in the vicinity: BAT-COOKIES ARE BACK????

Bruce: NO! stay back! Stay back you animals! Alfred! Alfred! It's happening again-

Alfred, sighing: I'll preheat the oven, sir

[nezuscribe]

hmmm thinking about being in love with gojo satoru ever since you were children.

so undeniably and uncouthly in love with him that it was a wonder he never found out. that nobody really found out, for that matter.

you met on the playground, after you fell off the monkey bars and he helped pick you up. it’s been you, him and the little boy he introduced a few days later, geto, since then.

you love the way he smiles, the way his lips crinkle up in a sort of smug pout whenever somebody has the honor of making him laugh. you love the way he brings you food even when you don’t ask for it, love the way he makes you giggle by telling stupid stories. you’re in love with his eyes and pink cheeks. you love everything about him and everything you don’t know about him.

which is why it makes it so much harder when you find out he’s in love with somebody else.

you introduced your trio to a friend you made in college your freshman year, suki. she was in your political ideologies class and you really found yourself liking her and thought the guys would like her too.

if only you knew how much.

you knew it from the moment gojo saw her that he fell head over heels. you couldn’t blame him, suki was the epitome of perfection. she was so smart and kind, and her beauty was one that made heads turn. you weren’t jealous of her, never, but a longing and angst filled your chest when you realized that the boy you’d been in love with for fourteen years was never really yours.

so as college continued and your group continued to expand, you decided to put it on hold. it really would’ve been fine, you would’ve been fine if not for a simple drunken error one night.

you found yourself giggling with suki, explaining to her all about your childhood crush on one of the boys and she drunkenly giggled back saying how much she finds them utterly annoying.

to your horror, gojo overheard, but perhaps even worse misconstrued your words entirely.

he pulled you aside after that, a plan already devised as he hushed you and your clammy palms down.

“i heard what you said to suki,” he explained hurriedly, your eyes wide as saucers as he continued quickly, “you’ve got a thing for geto, right?”

you swallow.

a friend. he thinks the friend you’re in love with is geto.

you look at him, but he takes that as a silent agreement.

“you know i want suki, i know you want geto. i have a brilliant idea that will help us both out.” his smile is radiant, you wish it wasn’t.

“…what?” your mouth is so dry you feel like if a match were tricked on your tongue it would start a fire.

“we pretend we’re dating!” gojo exclaimed like it was the most obvious thing.

you felt your heart drop.

“we make them so jealous of us that they try to get what we have,” his blue eyes were shimmering with joy while yours were shinning with tears, “and when they do, we’ll split apart and reap the soils!”

you blink.

“deal?” he asks, face brimming with an expression you’d never seen before. you try not to let his hold on your arms sway your judgement, or his idea tempt you into anything you know you’d regret, but there’s no use.

you’ve never been good at controlling your heart from influencing your brain.

you nod slowly, licking your chapped lips.

“deal.”

[apatheticsunday]

Manifesting Destiny

AKA "Danny knows about Bruce Wayne's little adoption habit, so he actively fights back by making digs at the older man's age. He doesn't realize he essentially adopted himself by calling Bruce 'grandpa'!" prompt idea!!

Okay, so 19-year-old Jazz moves to Gotham because Arkham has an psychiatrist internship that guarantees a job after graduation from Gotham-U. She takes a 12-13 year old Danny with because the "ghost attacks" (i.e., her parents are getting very obsessed with dissecting Phantom and it's genuinely worrying) are getting worse. Now Danny's in Gotham Prep... along with Damian Wayne.

They do not get along.

Damian stabs Danny with a pencil, Danny bites Damian so hard that he needs stitches, and the detentions only increase their bloodthirst because, "He started it!!" It comes to a head when Damian shoves Danny down the stairs (he wasn't really meaning to, he just pushed too hard), and Danny goes down hard. As in not-getting-back-up kind of hard. And Damian realizes he just killed a civilian. He's running through contingency plans, trying to figure out whether he can hide the body or if he should confess to Father, when the Fenton boy's broken neck... becomes un-broken?? And he sits up??

So, 13-year-old Damian makes a logical decision. Daniel Fenton is clearly his Arch Nemesis. He's undeniably a meta (perhaps with super-healing abilities?) so he can withstand Damian's too-enthusiastic violence. And Danny's like, this fucker just killed me. I'm going to beat his ass. Except Damian has a really high pain tolerance and is literally the heir to the League of Assassins. Long story short, Damian and Danny have "play dates" where they spend the entire time trying to kill/beat each other up. Jazz is just happy that Danny seems to have made a friend.

Bruce, on the other hand, takes one look at a scrawny, black-haired, blue-eyed kid who clearly has some childhood trauma, and mentally becomes Bat Dad. He tried to approach the subject once. Bruce carefully, tentatively asked, "Do you have a place to stay, son? We have plenty of rooms." To which Danny replied, "I'm not your son, I have a dad!! Why don't you go sit down before you break a hip, grandpa!!" (Tim choked on his tea, Damian nearly climbed across the table to strangle Danny, and Dick - who doesn't even live at the manor, he was just dropping off a case from Bludhaven PD - laughed so hard he cried.)

Except... Danny keeps coming over to the Wayne Manor (since Damian refuses to 'spar' at Jazz's one bedroom apartment, as it lacks a personal gymnasium). And Bruce is still kind, no matter how many times Danny makes fun of him for wearing bifocals or turtlenecks, or when he just straight up calls Bruce an old man. Plus, Damian's kind of mellowed out, too. He's teaching Danny actual sparring techniques, hand-to-hand combat, and explains different types of weapons/how to use them. Alfred brings the boys snacks. Occasionally Dick and Jason will visit for dinner, ruffling the boy's hair and joking about something or another. He's even introduced to Steph, Cass, and Barbara.

It dawns on Danny one evening, when Alfred is readying the car to take him back to his and Jazz's apartment. Bruce is scraping leftovers into a plastic container for Jazz to re-heat when he gets home and Danny's debating quietly with Damian about whether octopi are smarter than Superman. (Damian says yes, octopi are definitely smarter; he's seen Superman mutter to himself "lefty loosey, righty tighty" when trying to unscrew a water bottle cap.)

Then Bruce is handing Danny the leftovers, and Danny distractedly gives Bruce a side-hug, saying, "Thanks, grandpa."

Totally unironically. Danny's internal monologue is just what the fuck did I just say as Bruce slips him a $20 ("For a treat on the way home.") and escorts him to the front door. He thinks about it as Alfred drives him home. Thinks about it when he and Jazz curl up to watch a movie that night. Danny belatedly realizes that he's been unintentionally thinking of Bruce "Serial Adopter" Wayne as his grandfather??? For months now?? How could this happen??

Back at the Wayne Manor, Bruce is still in the kitchen, listening to Damian continue to debate Superman's intelligence while Tim scrolls on his work tablet. He'll probably take the kids, including the newest edition to the family, to the zoo this weekend.

[murderofravens]

DUSK TILL DAWN

pairing: hwang inho/young-il/frontman x fem reader.

part: 1/3 [finished]

warnings: age gap (reader is 20, inho is in his late 40s) slowburn. oral fixation. thigh riding. plot with porn. yearning. sexual tension. canon compliant. slight infantilization. no y/n used.

summary: he promised that you will make it out alive. he will make sure of it, no matter what it takes.

word count: 6.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST | KOFI

please ignore any mistakes.

as you wipe the blood from your face, the reality of your situation sets in. you never thought you'd get used to the smell of blood— much less the sight of it. or the texture. and now you're covered in it. the white of your uniform splattered with crimson, the metallic smell of it almost overwhelming. in a situation like the one you're in, you can only laugh. the mere sight of blood used to make you feel faint; make you want to throw up because you're squeamish. now you're covered in it from head to toe.

it's not yours. it's of the people they shot dead during the second game.

you barely remember how you made it out alive. the second one was all thanks to your team— thanos and nam-gyu were the closest to your age, and teaming up with them worked in your favour. your age and gender was a liability to the others, but they were kind enough to take you in. or perhaps they were thinking with their dicks. would it really matter either way?

but with the way they act, you're not sure if you want to continue being in a team with them. especially since thanos keeps trying to woo you with his poor rapping skills. they're way too loud and reckless for you, and you're scared they might get you killed. they're not willing to give up the game anytime soon, either.

then there's the first game— you're alive, because of 456. that crazy man who supposedly had played the games before. if it wasn't for him pulling you behind his back, you would've left the premises in a cardboard box. especially because you fucking sneezed as soon as the doll turned back.

since then, you've decided you don't want to play this game anymore. 456 has been desperately trying to change the other's mind— but they're greedy and insistent. you pressed the cross for his sake, and for the others, and for yourself. hell, you can live in debt, but what use is that money if you die trying? you're not that much of a hard worker. you value your life above anything else.

you walk over to their team— 456, and his two loud team members. another man is sitting there— player 001. the one who ruined your chance of going home on the first vote. he seems ordinary, but you know of him because you saw him beat the shit out of thanos. that was another reason you decided to abandon that team— you could not be seen with a bully, or a loser. as you approach him, you give him a slight nod of acknowledgement, which he returns. you turn your attention to 456, and thank him profusely for what he did for you. he's kind, you'll give him that. you like kind people.

"if you don't mind me asking—" a voice interrupts, and you look over your shoulder. it's player 001. he looks at you curiously. "how old are you?"

"old enough." you retort cheekily. he doesn't look amused as he cocks his head to the side.

"i'm curious as to why a little kid like you would compromise herself for money."

that shuts you up. you're offended, to say the least. who is he to call you a little kid? the entire team also looks on, seemingly baffled. the question makes sense. you're sure you're the youngest out of all players. and people can tell because you look it too. you don't really know how to respond, so you just look on with a frown, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"forgive me—" he lets out an awkward chuckle, "i didn't mean it the wrong way. i'm just worried."

you give him an uneasy smile, rubbing the back of your neck. the others go back to their conversations, and you shrug. he shoots a glance towards gi-hun before sitting back down and shifting slightly, as if making room for you. you take a seat beside him. there's silence before he glances at the symbol on your jacket— the cross.

"i'm sorry." he says with a small smile, looking straight ahead, "you wanted to go home but you had to continue because of me. i put a kid in danger."

"i'm not a kid," you huff softly, straightening up, "i'm twenty. but yeah, you should be sorry."

you give him a small smile to ensure he knows that the last line is lighthearted. he seems to understand and returns it.

"dont worry about it," you sigh, fiddling with the zip of your jacket, "im sure you had your reasons. just like i have mine for coming here."

"and your parents?" he asks. he's so polite, it warms your heart. polite and soft spoken. and visibly tough. probably some officer, you think, judging by his skills you previously saw.

"that's what i need the money for." you sigh, leaning back against the bunker. "i need enough money to establish myself. continue my studies. bring my mom and my sister to come live with me. settle off my father's debts because he's a coward who decided to pass down his sins onto his daughter."

he raises his eyebrows, and you take a sharp breath. there's a moment of silence between you two— you think for a moment, and feel your eyes get slightly glassy. you're not going to cry in front of a stranger. you put on a brave face. "if i die here, my mother—"

he stares at you silently, before putting a comforting hand on your shoulder, interrupting your cursed sentence. "you'll make it out alive."

the doors open, and the staff comes in again. they reveal the number of players left, showcase the money that each person would get, and then the voting starts again.

this time, player 001 doesn't disappoint you. he goes first, and clicks on the cross. the hope it gives you eventually shatters as more and more players begin to vote in favour of continuing the game. you see 456 get increasingly agitated as he begins to make his way towards the front of the crowd. before he can speak, he's interrupted.

001's voice rings out loud and authoritative, and worried. he reprimands the voters in favour, calls them out on their selfishness.

"we'll all die if we keep playing!" he chastises the crowd urgently. "you have to survive first, or there won't be a next step—"

"there's no next step for us!" he's interrupted by player 100. a stout old man who had been at odds against 456 since the start— you remember him having 10 billion won in debt. it makes you snicker. he eggs on the crowd. "with that money, we won't be able to pay our debts. we need to play one more game, then the money will increase to 240 million. with that we can pay atleast a little of our debts! isn't that right!?"

"you're going to die trying!" you snap, making your way to the front of the crowd. you glare at player 100, at all his little supporters cheering at the back. "your greed is going to get you killed. how can you be so confident to say that you'll survive the next game? what if you die?"

"you shut up, young lady!" he hisses, mouth scrunching bitterly. "is that how you speak to your elders? your brain is too small to comprehend real life problems. we can't continue with our lives with that little money!"

"continue your lives?" a laugh bubbles out of your throat. "look at that greying head of yours, you barely have a life ahead of you! why don't you let us live ours?!"

that seems to have ticked him off, because he quite literally turns red as he takes a threatening step towards you.

"what did you just say?"

"i said—" you step forward, shooting him a challenging glare, "you're too old to be playing children's games. vote wisely and let us go home."

he lets out a snarl before trying to lunge at you, but you're pulled back as player 001 steps between the two of you. like a wall. he looks at the old man, eyes cold, his voice low. "that's enough."

since the incident with thanos, nobody has really tried anything with 001. it's obvious enough they're intimidated by him, and they don't want to be on the receiving end of his wrath. 100 doesn't either, with the way he collects himself and steps back, embarrassed. you look over 001's shoulder, make eye contact with the old man and shoot him a taunting smile. you know it's childish, but you've resented him from the start.

before the old man can say anything, player 001 drags you to the side where you can't argue with people anymore. and the voting continues.

"you can't talk to people like this," he says lowly, gaze focused on the crowd. staring at something that you can't figure out. "you never know what they might do."

you huff bitterly. you know what he means.

"i don't care. i fucking hate bullies."

"potty mouth." he chastises, but theres a smirk on his face. he's teasing. you chuckle.

"remember you need to get out of here alive." he repeats, looking at you with an intensity that is almost terrifying. "you can't do that if you keep this up."

"jeez, okay dad." you joke, rolling your eyes. your words make him smile lightly.

"thanks for having my back there." you tell him sincerely. he looks at you for a bit before nodding in acknowledgement.

the voting ends, and they announce that the games will continue tomorrow. it makes your heart drop.

that night, you feel uneasy when you try to sleep. your clothes stick to your skin, and the side of your face keeps itching. with an irritated grumble, you get off the bunker and walk over to your new friend's side. you squint your eyes before looking for 001— and when you find him, you gently shake him.

"are you sleeping?" you whisper.

he opens his eyes, wincing slightly before sitting up. his voice is hushed as he responds, "not anymore. what is it?"

you bite your lower lip nervously before reluctantly asking, "will you go to the restroom with me? i'm kinda scared to go alone."

he blinks at you, confused. you continue out of sheer desperation.

"those guards just stare weirdly with their weird little masks and it makes me nervous." you hope your voice doesn't shake as you speak. "last time one of them kept knocking on the door while i was in the washroom and it just— scared the shit out of me. and my face is itching and i really need to go. please?"

he listens patiently. for a moment you think he'd decline but he just sighs and nods, and you cheer just a little as he steps out and follows you to the door. you bang on it, loudly telling the guards that you need to go. one of them opens the sliding window, and then immediately opens the door. it makes you feel strange, because usually it takes a lot more effort to convince them. either way, you're grateful.

you know your better option would've been to take one of the girls with you, but the sad fact is you haven't had the chance to get friendly with any of the female players yet. and for some reason, player 001 makes you feel a sense of safety and security that is almost strange— you feel at ease around him.

"i'll be in the men's room," he tells you, and you nod. he shoots a glance to the guard standing outside the women's restroom before walking away. you quickly go inside, and the first thing you do is splash water on your face.

you quickly clean the blood off your skin, holding back the urge to cry. you scrub at your cheeks till you're sure you can scratch the itch away for good. your nails dig a little too deep, and a little blood oozes out of the scratches on the side of your face. you clean that too, and then try to scrub the splatters of blood off your t-shirt. it's white, and you have no soap— so the stains remain. a faint reminder. you take your time, and anticipate the knocking— but it never comes.

you look in the mirror, at your tired face and sunken eyes, before giving yourself a nod and stepping out. 001 is waiting for you outside, looking to the side. he gives you an odd look as you step out, before walking alongside you.

"are you alright?" he asks gently, concerned. kind as ever.

you look at him again, give him a nod. "thank you."

when you two reach the room, he returns the smile with one of his own.

as you make your way to the bunker, he grabs your shoulder, "why don't you start sleeping on our side?" he says quietly, "join the team. there's a bed near mine. you won't feel so scared that way."

you blink, trying to see his face in the darkness. the offer is enticing— and most of all, it warms your heart.

"really?" you ask hopefully.

"really." he says kindly.

you follow him to the bunker, and he covers the railing with his hand to avoid you getting hurt as you bend down to get into the bed. he looks at the slightly wet patches on your shirt— blinks before getting a bedsheet and putting it over you. "get some sleep. we got a game to play tomorrow."

you smile softly at him. as he turns to get into his own bed, you grab his hand. it's warm against yours— big and rough. you don't allow your mind to drift that way. it's not right. he looks at you, gaze questioning.

"thanks again," you say softly, "it means a lot to me."

he leans down a little to ruffle your hair before going back to his bed and laying down. you close your eyes and drift to sleep— unaware that he stays up, thinking.

breakfast is boring— bread and milk. you sit on the bed, scowling. player 456 is surprised as he sees you there, before you two share understanding smiles. you bow a little and he bows back before going along with his friend. 001 comes to sit by you then, munching on his own breakfast.

"i miss home," you mumble, "how am i supposed to survive on just this? it's not even chocolate milk."

001 laughs, "don't worry, you can have whatever you want once you get out of here."

"will i?"

he looks at you, raising his eyebrows. you take his silence as a cue to continue, "im scared i'll die in here."

he looks down, before shifting to be closer to you. "you made it this far, didn't you?"

you look at him, voice getting shaky. "and what if i dont make it till the end? what if i die here and my family thinks i abandoned them? i don't want to die. i haven't even lived my life yet."

his expression is hard to read. "you'll make it out of here alive," he tells you with conviction, "ill make sure of it."

your lips wobble as you stare at him, and he smiles before poking you in the nose. "finish your food. you need the energy for the next game. we'll make it out alive, then we'll try to get the voters on our side and go home. sound good?"

you snort, rolling your eyes before nodding. "sounds good."

he gives you his bread then, tells you to eat more. when you protest, he sends a warning glare your way— the one with a quirked eyebrow and a knowing gaze. you roll your eyes, and happily eat it.

you were hungry. perhaps he can tell things like that. you're just grateful.

today, you decided to be a little rebellious. when you first joined the games, you used to spend a long time in the bathrooms— analyzing, looking for a way out. during that time, you'd discovered that one of the screws in the ceiling vent was loose. you hadn't really bothered checking it before, but since it's daytime and you have some time before the next game, you decide to explore.

your hairclip works— the screws were not tightly fixed, so it unscrewed easily. you'd contemplated checking it out last night, but you didn't want to take any risks, especially since player 001 was with you. so now whatever you do, the responsibility will be yours.

when the bathroom gets empty and all the women leave, you pull it down and try climbing up. it's moments like these that you can pride yourself on your agility— work that usually required two people, you could do alone. with one leg on the flush and the other on the top of the cubicle, you climbed up, scratching the side of your arm slightly before finally getting in the vents. you groaned to yourself, and then started crawling inside. there were two ways to go— you chose the left one. you looked down, trying to understand the layout of the place where you were practically held hostage. you keep crawling, making sure not to make too much noise before finally seeing a place through the gaps that you hadn't seen before— you carefully remove the screws and pull it apart.

the place looks empty. the walls are all sorts of pink and green. you put your head down and look both ways, seeing a door at the end of the hallway. carefully, you climb down and lower yourself to the ground with a thump. your shoulder hurts a little. you stand up, and aim for the door. as soon as you begin walking, you hear footsteps. it's as if someone splashed cold water on you— you realize the grave mistake you just made. guards walk here with guns, and you made the impulsive decision to explore a dangerous place like this by yourself?

you look around, running towards the other end of the hallway. the footsteps get louder, and as you look over your shoulder, something grabs you. out of reflex, you go to scream, but a hand clamps down on your mouth, and your back collides with a hard chest.

"shh, it's me." the voice hisses. your wide eyes look up, scared, before realizing who it is.

player 001.

your chest heaves as you break out into a sweat, a tear rolling down your cheek. he keeps you in a tight hold, looking to the side, your breath dampening his hand. the footsteps suddenly become faint, as if walking away. your breaths sync together, and after a moment, he relaxes.

he takes his hand off your mouth before harshly twisting you to face him. his voice is hushed but angry, "what were you thinking?!"

"what are you doing here?" you whisper shakily at the same time.

"everyone was back in the room except you. i came to find you!" he chides, eyes hard. he shakes you slightly, "do you really plan to get killed like this? is this how you want to die? can you go one moment without being a reckless brat—"

his words make you want to cower in on yourself.

"i wanted to find a way out." you try to sound assertive, but your voice betrays you. your words come out panicked, "I wanted to help and— fuck— i got you in trouble too— you shouldn't have come looking for me! fuck— how are we gonna make it out of here?"

he sighs, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at you tiredly. "the game is about to start. we'll mix in with the crowd when they leave, i doubt they'll notice."

"are you sure it'll work?" you ask. you hear a faint announcement. the game is about to start.

he looks up at the speakers, alert. he grabs you tightly and drags you away with an air of confidence. "let's go."

you don't encounter any guards on the way back. it's strange, but you figure it's because they're all preparing for the next game. player 001's plan worked, because you two mixed in with the crowd, and the guards didn't notice. one of them turned back to look at you, and you panted, staring back at him. your heart raced, but you felt the presence of 001 next to you, and you felt at ease again. the guard looked away.

"i told you to stop being reckless." he says quietly, looking at 456 and 390, before looking back at you. your legs hurt from climbing so many stairs. "what would you have done if they found you?"

you swallow the lump in your throat, staring up at him intensely, eyes glassy. he saved your life. "i guess you stopped that from happening."

he clenches his jaw, his gaze flickering up and down your face before looking away. "i won't always be there to save you."

you look away, heart dropping. "thank you, 001."

"call me young-il."

you look up at him, blinking back tears, quirking an eyebrow as you two walk. "only if you allow me to add 'sir' at the end of it."

he chuckles, eyes crinkling. he has such a nice laugh. "why's that? respect?"

you nod, giving a little bow. "respect is very important in my culture as well. so thank you for saving my life, young-il sir."

he grins a little and pats your head. you thank him again, and decide you like him enough. so you tell him your name.

he tests it on his tongue, and you quite like the way he says it.

the next game had to be the most terrifying so far.

it was called mingle, and you had to run to the rooms in groups according to the number announced. things like these were where you got scared— where you had to group with people. in dangerous situations, you know people usually only look out for two types of people— themselves, and the ones dearest to them.

you were not dear to anyone here. you really should've interacted with more people.

the platform rotates, before the number is announced. six. your eyes widen and you frantically look around, but young-il is faster. he grabs you and drags you to the room with the rest of the team. you pant as the 30 seconds pass, and then look out the window in the door to see how many people were left— quite a few. your eyes widen as the red guards move forward with their guns raised.

young-il leaps forward and covers your eyes with his hand before pulling you into himself as the gunshots ring out— you flinch and shudder at every single one, breathing sharp and your entire frame trembling violently. when there is silence and the doors open, you look up. young-il gently lets go of you, looking around. he's panting too, and you look at him with the most crushed look on your face before he meets your gaze. he can tell what you want to know— why would you do that?

"you shouldn't have to see all this." he says quietly, adjusting his jacket and putting a little distance between you two. 456 pats your shoulder and makes sure people are okay before moving out. you just look at young-il for a while, but he simply looks around, seemingly lost in thought. as if fighting a war within himself. you wish you knew how to reassure him like he did with you, but you realize you barely know anything about him.

the entire floor is painted with blood. the sight makes you want to vomit. you walk carefully, but your foot slips in someone's blood and you begin to fall over. 456 catches you. "are you alright?"

instinctively, your gaze tries to find young-il but he's standing away. his head is lowered.

"yes, thank you." you give 456 a smile, before assuming your place on the platform again.

you play a few more rounds. you're lucky enough to have someone to team with each time— young-il and 456 don't let go of you even once. but then the voice runs out again, and they announce the number 3. this time, 456 is dragged along with the old woman and her son. you look around frantically, and meet young-il's panicked gaze with your own. you begin to run towards him, but two people grab you and drag you towards one of the rooms.

thanos and nam-gyu. you shriek at them, clawing at their arms and trying to run back out. what if young-il doesn't make it? what if something bad happens?

this time, you have no one to cover your eyes or ears. thanos and nam-gyu talk shit within themselves, and you look outside the little window, flinching with every gunshot ringing out, trying to pinpoint if it's young-il's body falling to the ground. you can't help the light sob erupting from your throat, and thanos chooses the wrong moment to come bother you.

"watcha looking for, señorita?" he laughs, poking your side, "is it your old man? did he finally—"

you turn to him and punch him in the face. he falls back and groans dramatically, rubbing the blood running down his nose. nam-gyu rushes to his rescue, giggling. they're both high as a kite. the doors open, and you rush out before they can bother you further.

you look around. 456 is with the rest of the team, but you can't find young-il. frantically, you look towards the dead bodies, heart pounding against your chest and head throbbing. suddenly, there's cheers from your team, and you look up to see young-il walking over with a bright grin on his face.

you don't know what compelled you to do it. you were acting on your emotions— overwhelmed by the relief you felt on the sight of his face. before you can even stop, you're dashing towards him and crashing into his body, wrapping your arms tightly around him.

he's shocked, that much is obvious by the way he tenses slightly. but then he returns the hug, wrapping his arms around you and placing one hand on your head, gently patting. "i told you we'd make it."

you choke on a soft sob, nodding, burying your head further into his chest, as if ready to climb inside him, "i thought you—"

he shushes you softly, voice gentle as he runs a hand through your hair. you can feel his heart racing against his chest too. you wonder if it's for the same reasons as you. "i'm okay."

you wish the game ended there. but there was one more round to go. as you rotated on the platform— the moment you were dreading finally happened as young-il predicted it. the number announced was two.

you were ready to die there. things seemed to happen in slow motion— 456 took his best friend 390, 149 was dragged by her son. you didn't get the chance to see who took who next, because young-il had grabbed your hand and was dragging you towards one of the rooms. there were only fifty rooms— the first one you two got to was taken. he dragged you to another with a mere ten seconds left.

you sighed in relief as you got in, before seeing another man was already there. he was shaking in fear, and you jumped at the harshness of young-il's voice when he ordered him to get out. when the other player refused, young-il lunged at him and put him in a headlock.

your eyes widened and you stepped forward, panic stricken but he looked right at you and called your name, "close your eyes!"

you flinched. you looked at the man, then at young-il, before squeezing your eyes shut. you slid to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest as soon as you heard a 'crack' before opening your eyes.

the player was dead. young-il cracked his neck.

the timer finished at that exact moment, and young-il crawled over to you before pulling you into his chest. the gunshots rang out, and you flinched, sobbing.

young-il killed someone.

"i had to do it," he whispered against your hair, holding your head against his chest, "we both have to make it out alive. i had to do it. you know that right?"

you wanted to believe him, you really did. but in that moment, you felt scared of him for the first time.

the doors opened, and the game finished.

while you wanted to revel in your victory, the incident during mingle had rattled you to your core. the others checked up on you, especially 388 and 456. young-il maintained some distance. you could feel like he thought it's what you wanted. but you could really use his comfort. you just don't know how to talk to him again without being nervous. you force yourself to relive your previous interactions with him— he's still the same young-il who has saved you and comforted you countless times.

he did what he had to do to ensure your survival. that wasn't something you could hold against him. not when both of your lives were on the line.

the voting this time was just as challenging. you made your way to the front of the crowd, praying that they'd choose wisely this time. you need to go home.

one of the players in the old man's team showed you the finger before clicking the 'o' button. the action made your eye twitch, and you grit your teeth before straightening up to attack that guy and scratch his face off, but a hand to your chest held you back.

if looks could kill, young-il's glare could've sent that guy home in a body bag. as the votes in favour of continuing the game increased, you pushed his hand off you and addressed the crowd, "have you all lost your fucking minds?!"

their chitter chatter stopped and they looked at you. you clench your jaw, "after losing so many people out there you still want to play? what the fuck is wrong with you people? are human lives that invaluable to you?"

player 100 steps forward, insufferable as always. "don't you see how much money we're getting for each person? it could settle our debt! we can't give up after how far we've come."

"you're gonna die!" you snap, pointing at him, "you could take this money and go home and be happy instead of risking your life for something that is not assured to you! why won't you listen?! i want to go home!"

the others in favour of terminating the game start chanting with you, a string of 'i want to go home' echoing across the room.

player 100 glares, urging his own team to chant against you. he looks towards young-il, yells something along the lines of, "look after your fucking kid!" before the barell of a gun presses against the back of your head. the whole room freezes, and so do you.

"disruptions against a democratic vote will not be excused." the robotic voice calls out. for a second you think this is it. you look at young-il. if you die here, you'd prefer the man who saved your life to be the last person you see. he glares at the guard, his jaw clenching. the guard lowers the gun and steps back and you let out a breath of relief.

you immediately saunter over to him, gritting your teeth. the vote is a tie— and they announce the next voting to be held tomorrow.

456 says there's about to be a fight. the rest of the team got busy setting up a barricade— and you didn't get the chance to talk to your player. you knew his concern though, when he made sure to especially hide your side of the bed with two mattresses.

you play with the hem of your shirt as you sit in your bed by your lonesome. your food sits by you, untouched. you dont feel like eating. the weight on the bed shifts, and young-il appears into view.

"you're not eating."

you swallow the lump in your throat. "i don't feel like it."

he contemplates, eyes lowered before he looks at you again. "im sorry you had to witness that. I don't want you to be scared of me."

you want to cry. "im not." you whisper, "you.. you had to do what you had to do. to save us."

he blinks, nodding.

"back there, i thought that was it. it's over." you chuckle bitterly. "but you saved me again. you acted on impulse. i could never resent you for it."

your eyes are bloodshot as you look at him again. fat tears roll down your cheeks, and he frowns. he sighs before leaning closer, brushing the tears away. "why are you crying?"

"i wouldn't have survived this far if it wasn't for you." you whisper, voice cracking. "promise me you wouldn't abandon me. promise me you won't die."

his gaze softens. he's silent for a bit, his hand coming to rest on your knee, "i promise."

you sniffle, wiping your tears away. a small smile appears on your face, "i punched thanos."

"thanos?" he frowns, confused before raising his eyebrows in recognition, "ah, the loud kid with the purple hair?"

you nod proudly. "he said something like 'did 001 finally die?' so i punched him."

he laughs heartily— face scrunching cutely, eyes crinkling. he shakes his head fondly before ruffling your hair again. "attagirl."

it makes you blush slightly and you smile, looking down at your lap. he grabs your dinner— the roll sitting next to you and unwraps it, taking out a piece before holding it out, "eat."

you snort before leaning forward and taking a bite. he looks at you for a while with that faraway look in his eyes, before wordlessly continuing to feed you the rest. the words go unsaid. 'what are we doing? why are we so comfortable with each other?'

some sauce sticks to the corner of your mouth. he raises his hand to hold your chin, his thumb gently wiping it off. your breath hitches.

neither of you protest when his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, gaze focused on it like he's hypnotized. he's thinking, mindlessly feeling the plush texture of it.

you've always been impulsive. especially in situations where you shouldn't be. it happens so naturally— how your lips part just slightly. and maybe he's impulsive too, because his thumb slips inside, and his breath hitches as soon as your lips wrap around his thumb.

his gaze raises to meet yours— and you blink almost dazedly. his thumb presses down on your tongue, and he calls out your name in the softest voice.

"i'm too old for you." he whispers, shaking his head in disapproval.

your eyes flutter, and you lean forward, grabbing hold of his wrist. he pulls his thumb out, and you almost whine in protest. to your utter delight, he replaces it with two of his fingers, and your eyes almost roll back as you crawl forward till you're situated on his lap, mouth stuffed with his index and middle finger. you suck on them enthusiastically. they're long and thick and perfect and you don't want them out of your mouth ever again. it elicits a soft moan out of him— and if you could put that sound on repeat for the rest of your life, you'd be happy.

he pulls his fingers out and grabs the back of your head, pulling you close till your foreheads press together. you try to lean forward, to capture his lips with your own. he chuckles slightly, eyes closed, playfully rubbing his nose against yours. you whine.

"so impatient." he whispers, and then his lips are colliding with yours. it would be embarrassing if someone were to catch you two like this— more so for him than for you. thankfully, the others are busy strategizing for the night, and are not looking for either of you.

you moan softly and he bites down on your bottom lip, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth. it's desperate and reckless and so full of spit— it makes you whimper into his mouth and he pulls you further into himself, as if telling you to shut up. his experience is obvious in the way he kisses, and you follow his lead. unknowingly, your hips start gently grinding against his thigh, and he lets out a soft hiss. he pulls away slightly, strings of saliva connecting your mouths. he licks it away.

"come on, sweetheart," he whispers, one hand coming down to help your hips grind against his thigh, "make yourself feel good— that's it, that's my good girl."

you moan softly, and his free hand clamps your mouth shut. he speeds his movement, clenching and unclenching the muscle of his thigh, guiding your hips to move faster against his lap. it's been so long since you've masturbated— and this is unarguably the hottest situation you've ever been in, with the hottest man you've ever seen. so you're already close. you cry out into his hand, your voice muffled. he understands what you mean and lets you move on your own speed then, pulling your head into the crook of his neck as he whispers soft words of praise into your ear.

the moment he calls you his good girl again, you cum. he muffles the sound with his hand, squeezing his eyes shut before he looks at you intensely. you collapse against him, slightly sweaty, your hands holding onto his shoulders as you cling to him. he runs his hand through your hair, breathing sharply. it's a small moment of bliss in the hell you've found yourself in.

soon, the lights go out, and dread settles in your stomach once you feel his body tensing. player 388 pulls one of the mattresses back slightly, hisses a quick "get under the bed!"

and the next game begins.

A/N: this was incredibly fun to write. i love writing him a little soft and fatherly, so deal with it. i might write a part 2 for this, if anyone wants that. this idea has been in my head for a while. i love him so, so much. this fic is my baby and i truly hope you guys like reading it as much as i liked writing it.

tags! @carolinevoight @lovers-roq @wildtigerlili @menabuser16 @deadlyobsessivfennec @watasinekoru @hanakokunzz @cowuies

[thinkingofausername]

some things from mouthwashing that i think need more attention:

UPDATED (again 😂) because I've been corrected on some things

jimmy, as co-captain, was unfortunately needed and couldn't be disposed of

pony express should carry the brunt of the blame - sending people into space and THEN telling them they're fired; not installing locks in the sleeping quarters; etc.

anya said "i have to believe our worst moments don't define us", implying she forgave curly, at least to an extent

every moment seen through jimmy's eyes could and should be questioned. he's an unreliable narrator

jimmy wanted curly to take the blame. he wanted the crew to blame him. the game wanted us to blame him for the crash (until the reveal)

curly got burned because he faced the explosion head-on; trying to fix things

anya died first; she did it with the last remaining painkillers which could've been used for curly; she even did it in front of him

jimmy shamed and attacked curly during the birthday scene and curly didn't react; implying their relationship was never smooth and truly friendly

it was never explicitly shown what anya said to curly. perhaps she never specified jimmy raped her. curly was shocked when she said she was pregnant, he didn't connect it with anything

anya telling jimmy she was pregnant is what made him crash the ship

it's implied anya told swansea about jimmy and he did nothing. he only attacked jimmy a while later, as revenge for daisuke

it's possible curly was only ever visited by jimmy, aside from anya

jimmy crashed the ship 147/365 days into the trip (they've got 7.2 months to go); the same day anya told him she's pregnant. assuming she found out a bit before that, and she could've found out within a month, by the time they got off the ship she would've been around 8 months pregnant - she would NOT have given birth on the ship

swansea had been 15 years sober

curly most likely wouldn't survive the cryopod. entirely skinless and then frozen? hell

curly was the only one to have clearance for the sweetener

curly very pointedly looks at jimmy ALL the time after the crash

after curly's conversation with jimmy (the "feet in cement" one), right before jimmy crashed the ship, the screen goes black and there's heavy breathing, implying curly was left panicking

jimmy gives curly medicine 3 times - first, with anya relatively nearby, a fairly normal intervention; second, with no one nearby, where jimmy assaults curly; third, alone again, he doesn't assault curly but he still cries, he's permanently scared of jimmy

curly was already struggling with insomnia before the crash

while anya was locked in medical, jimmy told daisuke she might do something to curly

anya said the mouthwash couldn't be used as disinfectant and jimmy still did it

jimmy drugged swansea; he convinced daisuke to go in the vent by saying swansea would be proud of him

curly and anya and jimmy all talk of "handling things"

jimmy says curly receives praise all the time; implying he was a good captain (he was also the only one to get exceptional references)

swansea had a wife and kids; daisuke mentions his mother, the creators of the game said curly loved spending time with friends and family. they had people waiting for them

jimmy said cartoon horses excite him and anya's baby is presented as a horse

[patchwork-crow-writes]

I was discussing the new Deltarune chapters with a friend yesterday, and in the wake of Chapter 4 and some of the foreshadowing surrounding Asgore, something struck us about him.

Asgore comes across as a goof, a complete wreck of a man who gives away his flowers instead of selling them, to the point where the Mayor Carol is apparently threatening to kick him out. His constant attempts to woo his former wife Toriel are as doomed as they are cringeworthy. He comes across as an all-around loser who can't get his act together, neither for love nor for money, who has to resort to eating free pickles from Sans, the man who we now know is cavorting with Toriel.

...and yet.

Asgore was the chief of police, before he was apparently forced to step down in disgrace (the details of which are unclear to us due to Kris's avoidance of the topic) - this is a role that would require a great deal of competence and expertise, not to mention strength and dedication. It's mentioned that Undyne, his successor, struggles to fill his boots in the position, which suggests that he was respected in his role, and supposedly did a satisfactory job in it.

Now, in Chapter 4, we see Asgore emerge from the bushes after church to try and gift Toriel yet another bouquet. She, of course, beats a hasty retreat, whereupon he gives Kris a single rose (remember this - this will be important later).

Then, at the Holiday Residence, while clambering through the air vents as the SOUL, we can find Asgore in the bathroom, apparently employed by Carol as a housekeeper, at which point he'll talk about settling something "once and for all" and that he's "got to look again". We can find him again in Carol's bedroom, mentioning something about showing Toriel "what really happened" and that she'll "have to believe me" that he was "just trying to protect everyone."

It's clear that Asgore is using his access to the Holiday household in order to find some sort of evidence that will shed light on an unspecified event... which we would assume to be Dess's disappearance, the event that would have seemingly resulted in his dismissal from the force. All of this to say that Asgore is not quite the complete failure of a person he's made out to be in prior chapters - he's looking for something, and he has a plan to set some kind of record straight and make it so that his family can be happy again.

Right, and what does any of this have to do with Kris, exactly? Why is the giving of a single rose to his child significant? Well, the short answer is - I think that Asgore knows, or has figured out, that Kris is being manipulated and coerced by Carol. It's not much of a stretch to assume this - Kris is his child who he loves dearly, enough to bearhug them when we first meet him in Chapter 1, and he could have deduced that something was amiss with them through his skills as a former police chief. But he wouldn't be able to act directly to help them, seeing how Carol has such a tight leash on the both of them. So they'd have to communicate in secret.

In code.

Look again at the screenshot at the top of this post. Look at how Asgore is winking, and how he says "Our secret." We didn't think about it before, because we just assumed Asgore was being his usual hopelessly Divorced self... but stop now and consider how ridiculous this premise is. It's NO secret whatsoever that Asgore gives his flowers away, and many of them to Toriel. On top of that, there's a decent chance he KNOWS she won't even look at them, even if Kris DID give them to her. Because they were never meant for Toriel in the first place.

Asgore is giving flowers to Kris as a coded form of communication - something that I expect he'd have good knowledge of as, again, a former chief of police. And it's not unreasonable, again, to assume that perhaps Kris might have picked up on some of this, growing up with their adoptive father being in the force. And Carol would have great difficulty detecting the code in the first place, because that's just what bumbling old Asgore does - he gives flowers away to EVERYBODY. And even if she thought something was up, surely he's not sending coded messages to everyone in Hometown, right? Of course not - they're chaff, noise to obscure the fact that he is communicating with Kris right under her nose.

We can skip the bouquet in chapter 1, but we cannot skip the rose in chapter 4. Whatever message he meant to impart to Kris, they WILL have picked up on it, and it's something that may become significant in Chapter 5, which is heavily implied to take place in Asgore's flower shop.

Has Asgore had us all fooled this entire time?

[differenteagletragedy]

Simon, while having a solid amount of sexual experience, has just never really done the whole relationship thing. He knows what he's like at work, he knows what he's like with friends, he knows what he's like in bed, but Boyfriend Simon? No clue who that guy is.

So when he falls hard enough for you to actually be convinced to give it a try, he just assumes he'll wear the pants in the relationship. He always wears the pants, so why would it be any different in this context? Not like a Whole Thing, like he's not picturing a lifestyle in which he's the big dominant man and you're submissive, obedient ... it's more like he just pictures himself taking care of things.

You picture it differently. And he is shocked by how much he loves your take on things.

"Simon, go wash your face and I'll put some moisturizer on you, you're getting a little dry." "We're having what you want for dinner tonight and I don't want to hear another word about it." "Just sit down and rest for a minute, I can handle it."

There are all these little things that you say and do -- little ways that show that you care, and that you think about him -- that all add up to something much bigger. It all makes him realize that maybe Boyfriend Simon is someone who can rest. Perhaps he doesn't need to be constantly, relentlessly in charge and on alert. Maybe this way, he can be cared for.

Of course, the feeling translates to the bedroom too. With his previous hookups, he'd always taken the lead. Strong hands putting his partner where he wanted them to go. Never too rough, never too demanding, but focused on his own pleasure, just like he always assumed the other person was focused on theirs.

Not on your watch.

He felt like he was being torn in two the first time you knelt before him and put your hands on his belt buckle, intention clear. It was like he was being split between the Simon he knew better, the one who might have greedily pulled down his jeans, tipped open your lips with a thumb on your chin and slid deep inside your hot mouth until tears rolled down your cheeks, and the Simon you'd somehow pulled out of him. The one who was too in love to imagine using you like that.

He told you as much that night. He stilled your hand over his belt with his own, his voice sounding strangled as he murmured, "Don't have to do that, love."

"Of course I don't have to," you'd told him. "I want to."

And you did. You unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans then put your soft, warm hands on his hips, just under his shirt, and pushed his pants down, along with his boxers. You took his cock in your hand first, using slow, languid strokes, then gazed up at him.

“Is this ok?”

He began realizing, when you took him into your mouth only after he said yes, that this wasn’t him using you. It was clear in the little muffled whimpers you made as you pulled him close enough for his tip to hit the back of your throat and in the way your free hand gripped his thigh, like you were the one who needed grounding — you were enjoying this too. This was just another way for you to care for him.

Now, after days and weeks and months have passed of breaking down and rebuilding, learning and growing with you into something he never knew he could be, he trusts you. He values your judgment, he believes you what you tell him. If you think he needs to rest, he will. If you lead him, he'll follow.

Whatever you want, whatever you need, whether you let it be known with words or glances or your hands on him, guiding him, steady and sure ... now, Simon listens.

[pearlessance]

I'll Crawl Home To Her

summary: all the ways joel miller loves his pretty, little wife. and all the ways she loves him right back.

pairing: husband!joel miller x wife!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, traditional gender roles, pussy eating, vaginal sex, semi-public, exhibitionism kinda, dom/sub undertones, car sex, biting, dirty talk, joel is a certified munch, feminine reader, a whole bunch of tooth-rotting fluff

wc: 4.1k

note: something soft and sweet, tysm for reading, let me know what you think! <3

[masterlist] [read on AO3!]

Being Joel Miller's wife was, in short, marital bliss.

He loved taking care of you, and it showed in everything he did.

Joel always woke up earlier than you. On days he had to work, his alarm would rouse you just enough that you’d roll over to his side of the bed the moment he vacated it, soaking up his warmth and his scent, snuggling into his pillow. He’d kiss your forehead and tuck you in tight, and you’d fall asleep seconds after he whispered, “Have a good day, baby girl. Love you.”

And once you did finally roll out of bed, sunlight leaking in through the kitchen blinds, you’d find a fresh pot of coffee and your favorite mug sitting on the counter.

He worked long hours, but you could never fault him for it. He was doing it even in his old age to grant you the freedom to do any and everything you desired. Supporting you in all your endeavors no matter how fleeting.

When you’d picked up the hobby of gardening, Joel had taken you to three different greenhouses in one weekend and helped you till a section of the backyard to plant your seeds. And later that week, he’d come home with the back of his truck full of pretty white bricks to outline your garden with.

You’d mentioned once with your hands covered in suds how the dishes were your least favorite chore. You hated how they piled up so quickly, hated leaving them in the sink, how they felt never-ending.

“I can do the dishes, darlin’,” he’d said. “Just leave them for me an’ I’ll do ‘em after work every day.”

You loved him for the offer but refused. He already spoiled you enough as it is. You couldn’t imagine watching him standing at the sink every day after working for ten hours. “Are you crazy? No, I’d never let you do that.”

“Don’t bother me none,” he insisted. “S’only fair, considerin’ how good dinner is every night.”

The compliment made you flush, but still, you stood firm. Even when he’d come up behind you with a dish towel in hand, ready to take your place. You’d slapped his hands away. “Joel, no. Let me. Please.”

“Alright, fine,” he said, setting the towel on the counter. His hands found a new way to occupy themselves, though. Slipping beneath your skirt, squeezing at the softness of your thighs. “But at least let me get my desert.”

He’d had you bent over the countertop that night with your panties around your knees. He’d hummed his I love you’s against your spit-soaked clit in the middle of the kitchen and you’d felt like the most spoiled girl in the world. 

Even more so when he’d come home from work early the next day. He and Tommy walked through the front door with a brand new dishwasher in tow and spent all night assembling it.

Once, you’d been late coming back from the grocery store. Janet, the older woman who lived two houses down from you and Joel, had been berating the cashier for not accepting an expired coupon.

Confrontation had never been your strong suit, but it felt less like conflict and more like second nature to step in and defend a teenage girl just trying to do her job. You attempted to reason with Janet, explaining that it wasn’t the cashier's fault, that the use of her coupon perhaps just wasn’t meant to be. You’d even offered to pay for her entire shopping haul if it meant a break for the young girl. 

Of course, this wasn’t what Janet had wanted to hear, and she instead turned her anger on you. Your cheeks had warmed in embarrassment as she yelled your name aloud for all the other customers to hear, telling you to ‘keep your nose where it belonged.’ 

The whole interaction had frazzled you. But more than that, it had made you late. And while being screamed at so publically had certainly thrown you off kilter, the straw that broke the camel’s back was seeing Joel’s truck in the driveway when you got home. 

He had mentioned once how much he loved having someone to come home to. Had explained how seeing you standing there with a smile on your face waiting for him on the front porch every day made the long hours and unbearable heat worth it. But because of Janet, you weren’t there. 

Joel, your Joel—who always takes care of you, who would do anything for you, who puts your happiness above his own, the most selfless man you’ve ever known—had come home to an empty house. Worked twelve hours beneath the Texas sun to come home to absolute silence.

It didn’t matter that you’d left a note on the kitchen table, you’d meant to get back before he could ever read it.

The tears had come quickly. The embarrassment, the frustration, the anger you felt on that young girl’s behalf, came rushing to the surface all at once.

He’d left the door unlocked for you, like usual, and the moment you stepped inside you could hear the familiar, heavy sound of his boots on the wooden floor. “Hey, sweetheart. How was your—?”

Before he could ask any questions you’d flung yourself into his arms, needing comfort, needing to show him how much you loved him. To prove to him that you weren’t home but you wanted to be, more than anything. “I’m so sorry,” was all you managed to choke out. 

Joel, who valued your safety above all else, immediately stiffened yet pulled you closer, wrapping his big arms around your shoulders, his warm hand splayed across the small of your back. “Hey, hey—shh, what happened? Talk to me, sweet girl. C’mon.” 

He cradled your face in his palm, holding you gently as if you were the most precious thing because, to him, you are. He wiped your tears away with the rough pad of his thumb and listened as you explained, “I—I wasn’t here waiting for you! I’m sorry—I…I tried to come home as fast—as fast as I could but—!”

“S’okay, baby. I know you’ll always come home to me, alright? I’m not mad. Could never be mad at you, y’know that.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, to the arch of your brow, to the bridge of your nose. He rubbed soothing circles into your skin until your tears slowed and your breaths found their normal cadence once again. And then, because he knows you, he asked, “What really happened?”

And you tell him. Every detail. And Joel stands there, holding you, listening with bated breath. 

When you finish, he pulls his shoulders back with a newfound objective. “M’gonna go talk to Lee,” he said.

Janet’s husband was a good man, you knew. Similar to Joel in the way of being a nurturing sort of husband. A hard-working man with never a bad thing to say about anyone. “You don’t have to,” you tell Joel. “What she did was wrong but I’d rather she takes it out on me than a kid at their first job.”

He shakes his head. “Can’t just let it go,” he said. “She disrespected my wife. Not the kinda thing I can turn the other cheek to.” 

“Joel—don’t…don’t—” You weren’t sure what you were asking. His insistence didn’t surprise you in the least, but you didn’t want to start anything that would disrupt the peace the two of you’d spent so much time cultivating.

He seems to understand you despite your lack of vocal explanation. “Just gonna have a word with him, sweetheart. That’s all.”

Before he walked out the door, he asked very specifically for the Mediterranean chicken dish you’d made for him last week. Which was strange only because he never asked for anything specific; he simply asked you to cook whatever you felt like, and insisted that somehow you knew his cravings better than he himself did. 

It wasn’t until fifteen minutes later, as you put the chicken in the oven that you realized he’d done it to distract you, to take your mind off the situation at hand while he went and handled it. Helping you without even being in the same room.

When he came home, Joel answered all of your questions at the dinner table and said that he and Lee had shared a beer and talked it over. Warned you to expect an apology the next time you and Janet crossed paths. 

And sure enough, that weekend there was a knock on the front door. 

Joel stood behind you, a looming, protective presence at your back. A safety net as your neighbor apologized for her actions and offered a plate of chocolate chip cookies as amends.

You forgave her, of course. Even invited her in so the two of you could talk about it over a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade on the back porch. She compliments you on the roses growing in your garden and you clip a couple off to send her home with.

Problem solved. Amends made. 

All because of Joel. 

Your closest friends even teased you about it from time to time, making jokes about how spoiled you are, and about how much he cares for you.

When you’re out having a girls' night with the three of them, you share laughs and chips and salsa and have one too many glasses of wine. They all discuss sharing an Uber, but you interject to say, “No worries. Joel will make sure we get home safe.”

And they tease you about that, too, telling you, “You’ve got that big man wrapped tight around your little finger.”

But you’re not wrong, and you suppose your friends aren’t, either. Because he shows up at the diner ten minutes after you send him a text message, and deals with four drunk young women with such grace it’s almost astonishing. Even pulls a soft, secret smile as he listens to the group of you giggle together at something that’s probably not nearly as funny to him.

You asked him about it later, about that gentle amusement he wore, and he explained simply, “What makes you happy makes me happy, darlin.’” 

And you understand exactly what he means. Understand how your happiness, your frustrations, your love is mirrored perfectly in his heart. Because you feel it, too.

It’s why whenever he says he’s craving something, whether it’s fast food or some elaborate dish, you’ll always find a way to get it onto his dinner plate that night. It’s why you make an extra stop during grocery shopping to get that local ground coffee he likes. 

He’d said once how much he loves the way pale blue looks against your skin, and every time you shop for clothes you find yourself gravitating towards the shade. 

You do his laundry and put a towel in the dryer every time he steps in the shower so it’s warm when he gets out. You teach him about skincare and he sits dutifully in bed every Sunday night with a face mask on and a pore strip on his nose. You schedule his doctor and dentist appointments and have never once been successful at fighting off your wide grin as you tell the receptionist on the phone that you’re his wife and they refer to you as Mrs. Miller for the remainder of the call.

Give and take, push and pull—the two of you fit seamlessly together. You take care of him, and he takes care of you, and whatever was left each day you figured out together.

So, when you make your way to the kitchen one early morning to see his lunch still in the fridge, untouched, and his coffee mug in the sink and not the dishwasher, you know something must have gone awry. Something to disrupt his morning routine.

You find your phone only to read a text message he’d left you at six this morning. 

Good morning, sweet girl. Slept through my alarm, might have to stay over today to finish. Love you.

Joel’s an independent man, you know. Perfectly capable of taking care of himself. And you know he’ll likely buy lunch for himself and Tommy, likely some gas station pizza and a soda. But you don’t like the idea of him needing to do that. Don’t like the idea of him eating anything you don’t make for him just the way he likes.

So, you spend the morning getting all dolled up. You wear that pale blue sundress he likes. You curl your hair, coat your lashes in mascara, and spray that expensive, vanilla-scented perfume he got you for your birthday last year. 

And then you grab his lunch from the fridge and make your way to the construction site. You find Joel’s truck easily and park beside it. You’re not sure why, but being here makes your heart race. 

You’ve met the majority of the guys on his crew, and they all know who you are. Countless times you’ve forced Joel to bring in containers full of cookies and pastries you’d bake the night before to share. He’s even brought a couple of them home for dinner before, and invited their wives and kids to fill your home with a little extra love and laughter for the evening.

But for some reason, this feels…different. Like you’re encroaching on their territory, invading space that doesn’t belong to you.

They’re working inside some big structure that has only the framing and roof finished, wooden beams allotting space for each room. You can hear them shouting at each other and the sound of hammers striking nails into place. Somewhere a little further into the building, there’s the mechanical whirring of a drill, but you see no face you recognize.

One of the younger-looking men up in the rafters notices you first. “Well, hello there pretty little lady. Did you need some help?”

You open your mouth to speak, to ask where you might find Joel or even Tommy. But then—

“Dean, you look at my wife like that again and it’ll be the last time you have eyes to look at anyone.” Joel rests his hand on the small of your back as he saddles up to your side. You turn to face him, and can’t help your smirk upon discovering the intimidating scowl on his face that he directs to Dean. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry about that, Mrs. Miller.”

“It’s alright, Dean. You didn’t know,” you insist. But Joel narrows his eyes even further and doesn’t stop until you playfully hit his bicep. “It’s fine.”

His expression softens considerably when he looks at you, deep frown turning into a warm smile instead. “Hey, baby girl.” Joel pulls you close, pressing his lips to yours, kissing you softly. Nothing out of the ordinary for him, nothing you don’t expect. But what you don’t expect is for his hand on the small of your back to sink lower, grabbing a lewd fist full of your ass.

The surprise has your lips parting, but Joel only takes it to his advantage, tongue slipping between them to glide smoothly against yours.

When he finally pulls away your face is flushed and he wears that satisfied smirk like armor. He glances up at Dean, whose ears are now red-hot even though he tries very hard to pretend like he’s busy. “I’m taking a twenty. Be back in a bit.”

He takes your hand in his and leads you back outside, and once he opens the passenger door of your truck he’s quick to put his hands on your hips and lift you to help you inside. 

You expect him to close the door and round the front of the truck to get in behind the wheel, but he doesn’t. Before you’re even able to turn and tuck your legs inside, he’s pushing you back against the leather seats and sliding his calloused hands up your thighs beneath your dress. “Joel,” you say, but you don’t attempt to stop him. 

The passenger door’s propped open, just enough to shield him from view as he stands behind it. “You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your panties. He tugs them down and peppers open-mouthed kisses across the exposed skin of your chest, teeth nipping at your cleavage. But then he’s biting you—hard, and pressure pools low in your belly as his tongue flicks over the hurt to soothe. “Always take such good care of me. Had such a rough morning but seein’ you changes it all around.”

You’re giggling uncontrollably, overwhelmed by his sudden need, basking beneath the warmth of his praise. Your hands find his hair, tugging lightly at the ends. “We shouldn’t,” you say. “Someone will see. You’re crazy, old man, do you know that?”

“Yeah, crazy for you.” Normally you’d scold him some more, accuse him of being the absolute cheesiest man that you’ve ever met. But you don’t have the chance before he’s pushing your knees apart and pressing those hot, wet kisses to the inside of your thighs. “Can front all you want, but I’m not dumb, baby. Think you got all dressed up and came all this way for nothing? Nuh-uh.”

This hadn’t been your intention in the slightest, but now that you’re here, and his head’s between your thighs… “I just brought your lunch!” 

Joel smirks. “Fuckin’ right you did.”

You have to cover your mouth to quiet your laughter. “But…seriously. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Starving, sweetheart,” he says. “Now spread your legs.”

You do. Of course you do. 

And Joel makes quick work of you, wasting not a second before his tongue slides through your wet heat with expert precision. He hooks his arms around your thighs and drags you to the end of the leather seat, pressing his face against you. Your clit pulses with need and he takes care of that ache for you, too. Sucking it into his mouth, lapping at you with the flat of his tongue, ratcheting your pleasure to an almost unbearable place.

It doesn’t take long before your back is arching off the leather, hands tugging desperately at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. You’re whimpering his name and he’s letting out these deep, throaty groans that have your toes curling in your high-top sneakers.

In just a couple minutes he has you right there—right on the edge, so close to your orgasm you can taste it, and then he pulls away. You’re whining immediately, desperate whimpers falling for your lips. 

“Shh. S’alright, baby girl. I’m comin',’” Joel tells you. And then you watch through bleary, tear-filled eyes as he undoes his tool belt and sets it on the floor of his truck. 

The clink of his belt buckle reverberates through your ears, and you whimper again but before you can start begging he’s got his cock in his hand and he’s pressing the big, heavy tip into you. “Oh my God,” you cry, breath stuck in your lungs. 

It feels so good—he always does. He says, “C’mere, baby,” before gripping the front of your dress and pulling you up towards him. He hooks your legs around his hips and sinks into you slow, real slow. Gives you time to adjust to the size of him, time for your pussy to make room for it. He kisses you hard, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see the men on his team working thirty feet away. 

Your heart races in your chest and you think about warning him again that this might be a bad idea, but then he’s sinking his cock alllll the way into you, pushing against that sweet spot inside, and everything else fades into nothing. 

There’s nothing but Joel—your gentle, safe, loving husband, who always takes care of you and always will.

He pulls out slowly, moaning low, and then slams back into you. Again and again and again. He sets such a punishing pace that your eyes roll back and you have to sink your nails into his shoulders just to ground yourself, his gray cotton t-shirt soft and familiar beneath your fingertips. “Fuck, fuck, Joel.”

“Pretty pussy’s squeezin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby,” he says. “Know just what to give her. Know just what she needs.”

You can feel your slick coating the inside of your thighs, your orgasm creeping right back up your spine as if it’d never faded in the first place. He squeezes your thighs hard enough to bruise but it only brings you higher, gets you closer. Your clit pulses and you swear you can feel his cock throbbing inside you in tandem, a perfect man made just for you.

His hips slam into you, bringing you closer and closer and closer, until finally— “Joel, Joel, I—oh my god, shit—!”

“Ohh, sweet girl…you gonna cum for me? Hm? Feels that good? Needed it that bad, didn’t you,” he says, and it’s not a question because he just knows.

“Yes, yes, please—Joel, I’m gonna—!”

He takes a hand and grips the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at him. “I know, baby, s’alright. Give it to me. Yeah, that’s it. There you go.”

Your orgasm hits you hard, makeup smearing as your eyes water. Every nerve ending flares on end, euphoria washing over you and pulling your senses taut. “Cum with me, cum with me, oh god.”

He fucks you through it, and it only takes a couple more meaningful strokes before his hips are stuttering. Joel presses his forehead to yours and kisses you gently, spilling inside you with his cock pressed into you as deep as he can get. He cums with you and the words that leave his mouth as he reaches the summit give you goosebumps. “Love you, sweet girl. Love you so fuckin’ much.”

When he finally comes down, Joel’s panting breaths are in perfect sync with yours. He kisses your cheeks, your nose, your forehead. And when you start giggling he breaks out that soft, gentle smile and it turns your insides to mush.

You wince as he slowly pulls out of you and stuffs himself back into his jeans, pulling on the leather of his belt and fastening it back into place.

“Still have a couple minutes before you have to get back,” you say, cheeks warming as he helps you slide your panties back up your legs. “You really should eat something. Like, actual food. Sustenance.”

“Oh, I’m plenty satisfied,” he jokes. But when you unzip his cooler and sift through it, pulling out the turkey, tomato, and cheese sandwich you’d made him last night, he takes it from you with greedy hands. 

He eats quickly and you watch him in awe, unbelieving that he’s real, and much less that you’d somehow convinced him to love you. A perfect man, all your own, so beautiful and kind and selfless. You don’t think anyone’s loved anymore more than you love Joel.

Playfully, he taps the tip of your nose as he wolfs down the last bite of his sandwich. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

“Just you,” is your answer.

“Me?”

“About how much I love you.”

His smile widens and he reaches his hand out, cradling your face, running his thumb along your cheekbone. “I don’t deserve you, sweetheart.”

You press your face into his hand, bottom lip jutting out. A part of you wants to beg him to come home early, to use a sick day, and hold you for hours. But instead, you kiss the palm of his hand and jump out of the truck, gravel crunching beneath your feet. “You should probably get back. Don’t want you staying any later than you have to.”

Joel lets out a heavy sigh but nods his head in agreement. He closes the door of his truck and opens the door to your car instead. “Get home safe, alright? I’ll try and get this done as soon as I can. You want me to pick something up after for dinner? Kinda cravin’ pizza.”

“Let me know when you’re leaving the site and I’ll call and put in an order for pickup. Get one for Tommy too so he can take it with him. Wanna make sure he eats. Sound good?”

He kisses you hard and nods. “Sounds real good. See you at home, baby girl.”

“I’ll be waiting on the porch,” you promise.

Like you always are. Like you always will be.