#Note: This is talking just about Dark Era as I have not read The Day I Picked Up Dazai

[gghostwriter]

You’re the Risk, I’ll Take it

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer followed advice and the one time he didn't (or as I'd like to better explain it, the three times Spencer fails to flirt and the one time it worked)

Warning: fluff! Just fluff!

A/n: I wanted to write something cute this time with Season 1 Spencer in mind--one of the best eras if you ask me. Hopefully I did him justice in this. The idea of this cute baby boy trying to flirt is too precious honestly. Also, if a guy did the last act for me, I'd fold like a lawn chair, yep. Risk by Gracie Abrams was on repeat while I was writing this and no proof reading was done. Let me know what you think!

Main masterlist

The first move Spencer tried was advised by Derek Morgan, the renowned ladies man

“Kid, admit it. You like her,” Morgan pestered him with a slight smile on his face. 

Spencer scoffed, trying to throw him off from the truth but monumentally failing. “S-she’s my closest friend. We joined the team at the same time, of course I feel most comfortable with her,” he noted his companion’s eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word. “Plus, she likes hearing what I say even if it has no relation to the case. She asks me questions and genuinely remembers.”

Now it was Morgan’s turn to scoff. “You could be talking about Star Trek and it’s physics mistakes and she’ll still hang on to every word you say.” 

“Actually, there aren’t that many scientific errors in Star Trek. Especially considering—”

“Reid.” 

“Right,” he nodded once, trying to push away the urge to continue further. “That still doesn’t mean I like her.” 

Morgan tapped the wheel twice before turning to face his partner. “Then answer me this. How do you feel when she walks through the office doors?” 

“Happy, I get the same feeling when I see you or Elle come in too,” he found his fingers very interesting then. Like they held the key to unlocking the mysteries of Dark Matter and the answer to the controversial scientific theory ‘Do parallel universe exist?’. He wasn’t telling the whole truth—didn’t want to because how could he, a man of science, explain the other bodily reactions he has when you walk in a room. How he hears his heart stutter in his chest with just a glimpse of you—the first time it happened, he thought nothing of it, but by the third, he considered making an appointment with a specialist for possible heart arrhythmia. How he sees the room brighten when you smile in his direction—perhaps light sensitivity, and how he feels his body heat up when you utter the words ‘Good morning, Spence.’—possibly hot flashes. Self diagnosis that he ruled out once he found you to be the common denominator. That left him with a riddle, a personal conundrum he lost countless of sleep over trying to solve.

“That’s a lie, Reid. You can’t be that happy to see me. You never blush like a tomato when I enter the room. For Greenaway, I could see it but for me, nu-uh,” he argued back. “Okay, what about when she’s not there, what do you feel then?” 

“Sad, similar to how I’d react with you and Elle,” he blurted out another half truth. Another surface level answer that doesn’t fully cover how lost he feels without your comforting presence beside him, how gloomy any room he enters in without you in it, and how incomplete his days were without hearing your voice. 

Morgan snickered. “Lies, you have to learn how to lie better to fool an FBI profiler, Reid. You don’t think I—the team, notice that you’re quieter when she isn’t on the case with us?”

“Wait. Wait, the whole team?” His voice goes up an octave. You were part of the team, did that mean you knew of the effect you had on him too? “D-Does everyone have the same idea as you do? Everyone?” 

“Not everyone, kid. Your secret is still safe,” He smiled wide like a cat that caught the canary. “So it’s true then, you like her.” 

Spencer knew there was no escape from trap, he was just glad that his secret still remained classified from the other party involved. His shoulders sagged as he nodded to confirm Morgan’s findings.

“So what’s your play then?”

His head whipped to face his companion so fast he felt his meticulously styled hair escape the confines of his ears. “Play? There’s no play. Nothing. I’m not going to do anything and this conversation stays between us.” 

“Oh c’mon lover boy, you have to do something,” Morgan challenged. “Y’know she likes you back, right?” 

“No she doesn’t! I mean, why would she?” Spencer rambled on, unable to comprehend what Morgan was saying. “She’s her—beautiful, smart, and cool. Every case we get, there’s at least one police officer hitting on her. And I’m me—I talk too much and get awkward in every situation. The exact opposite!”

“Reid, don’t sell yourself short. She likes you, trust me on this.” He paused, listening to the update on the intercom before continuing on. “So here’s what you’re going to do. Compliment her outfit, girls appreciate that. Easy enough, don’t you think?”

Spencer really didn’t think so after all he had the tendency to go off on a tangent whenever he talks to you but he agrees nonetheless. If Morgan believes he could do it then he couldn’t mess it up, right?

———

Wrong. It was wrong to take Morgan’s advice. Never mind he can recall everything he has ever read, never mind he has an IQ of 187. What good were his talents if he, Dr. Spencer Reid, couldn’t string the proper sentences along?

It started when you walked into the office wearing this light yellow blouse that made you more radiant than he thought possible. It was as if the a ray of sun had graced the bullpen and stunned his mind into silence, rendering him tongue-tied. All his monologues and hypothesis bouncing around his overactive brain fell away and the only thing he could think of was how pretty you look.

Morgan cleared his throat, bringing him back to the living. Spencer averted his awestruck gaze and busied himself with an imaginary lint on his red sweater. 

“Hey Y/N, did anything good this weekend?” Morgan asked as you settled into your desk adjacent to his.

You shrugged nonchalantly and teased back. “I bet it wasn’t good as yours, Morgan. Picked anyone up last Friday or are your charms no longer working?”

“Huh, i see where this is going. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of bed today.”

Morgan chanced a peek at Spencer and internally groaned. How you didn’t notice the kid’s crush on you was beyond him—all the staring and blushing he does when you’re near was a dead giveaway.

“Reid. Reid,” Morgan called out.

He closed his mouth and gulped. “Hm, what?” 

Morgan pointedly stared at him and titled his head towards your direction. A movement lost to you as you noted Elle leaving Gideon’s office.

Spencer opened his mouth to catch your attention but before he could even utter your name, Elle intervened. “Question for you, the foot path killer. Why’d he stutter?”

You swiveled to face her, not having caught Spencer’s intent to speak to you. The unit chief then called them in for a case—an arson case in a university campus. His shoulders drooped as they rushed to the jet afterwards with no chance of small talk. 

When there was a lull in the plane—case discussion finished, he steeled his already apprehensive nerves and took the chance, quickly wishing he hadn’t.

“S-so, your shirt’s yellow,” he stated out loud like it was some sort of revelation. 

“Yes,” you drawled out, unsure as to where he was going with this. “That’s right, Spencer.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and continued on. “Did you know that airplanes tend to avoid the color yellow as it causes dizziness and nausea? A number of studies have shown those exact results and that’s why it’s almost never used in interiors of various forms of transportation and rarely use in advertising. It’s like how the red is the most common color used by restaurants as it psychologically makes the viewer hungry.”

You looked down on your top. Yellow was one of your favorites and you specifically chose this as Penelope said and you quote, it looks good on you, brings out your eyes. Boy genius would probably react to it too so naively you splurged on it. But this—this wasn’t the response you were hoping for. “Spence, are you saying my shirt is making you feel nauseous?”

He blushed and stammered out a strong refusal. “What, no! No! I—I meant to say—you, you look nice.”

You giggled under your breath, finding his long-winded route to giving you a compliment cute. “Nice nice or airsickness nice?” 

“Nice! Just nice!” He defended on, his voice cracking at the end. He caught Morgan’s wide eyed gaze then as if he couldn’t believe what train wreck he just witnessed. 

Cheeks heating up further, Spencer slouched in his seat and busied himself with the files wishing that he could build a memory eraser so he could wipe the events from his and the team’s minds or better yet, a time machine to redo the whole thing all over again.

The second move Spencer tried was advised by Elle Greenaway, the new recruit

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” He questioned during one of their cases in San Diego. It bothered him since the start of the case. How Morgan had teased him about his incapability of asking out the opposite sex. Never mind that you defended him right back, that’s a lie, it made him feel special that you did but the joke was still true. A cold stone truth. 

Elle laughed, flipping her phone repeatedly on the table while waiting for the unsub to take the bait. “I don’t know how you know half the stuff you know, but I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think that’s why I can’t get a date?” He asked as he fiddled with the unfinished Rubik’s cube in his hands.

“Have you ever asked her out?”

There was no need to ask who Elle was referring to, everyone knew of his innocent—well maybe not so innocent at times specifically during his state of dreaming—crush for the second youngest member of the team. He shifted his eyes to focus a few tables before his—at you, sitting beside JJ. “No."

“That’s why you can’t get a date.” 

One of the precincts phone then rang, it was the unsub, causing him to table that conversation in his vast memory. 

———

There’s an English saying that states ‘the second time is the charm’ and Spencer was hoping there were some truth to the idiom even with no scientific explanation to back it up. 

A few cases after San Diego, he got an opening that he was unexpectedly looking for. The team was on their way back from a case in Virginia. It was late and the profilers were all tucked in their little corners of the jet decompressing while you and Spencer were huddled on the sofa quietly discussing Doctor Who. 

“How could you say your favorite is the Ninth Doctor when you haven’t even seen the older episodes?” He rambled, clearly he would have to do something about your limited knowledge in the great universe of Doctor Who. He’d like to explain it all, 695 episodes of the classic era to you. He’d take any topic really just to have your interest.

You stared into his hazel speckled eyes and smiled, amused by his reaction. “It’s a bit hard to catch up on a show that’s been around since the 70s. Plus, it’s a challenge to look for copies.” 

“Actually, the show started in the 60s—1963, to be exact,” he clarified. “Garcia has copies we could borrow and watch together. If that’s—” he cleared his throat and clenched his fists closed, feeling his nails dig into his palms. “—that’s alright with you. If—if not, there’s a convention happening this weekend. I have an extra ticket, if you want to come with—only if you’re not busy, I mean.”

“And risk you spoiling every episode to me? I’d rather watch it alone, if you don’t mind.”

That dragged his optimism to a crash as if a twenty ton weight landed on his chest, rendering him immovable. Of course you were going to say no. There was no proof that you’d reciprocate his interests—he inwardly cursed himself for believing otherwise.

“But, I’d like to go with you to the convention,” you said and silently added as your date to yourself, shifting in your seat with a blush blooming on your cheeks at the thought. “Always wanted to go to one. If you’re fine with me not being in a costume. I think it’ll be too late to find one, don’t you think?”

Just like that, the weight on his chest lifted, making him feel weightless with glee. A wide smile grew on his face, threatening to burst his cheeks as he shook his head. “That’s alright! But you—you can always dress up as Rose!”

You titled your head to the side. “Rose?” 

“You know, the Ninth Doctor’s companion?”

“I know who she is, Spence. I just thought you didn’t watch the revived series?”

He softly scoffed. “I never said that! I watched it too, mainly to compare it to the classics but I’ve seen it.”

You leaned in, wanting to ask about his opinion on it. “Well, what do you think? I happen to be part of the minority who think the actor who reprised the role did alright.”

He liked seeing you like this. It made him feel like a puppy who had his owner’s undivided attention. All wide eyed and interested in his conjectures as to why the actor was alright himself but the problems were his short stint—making people vilify him over that decision—and the material some of the writers came up with. He appreciated you nodding along and supplying your own thoughts on the subject. It warmed his heart that here was a beautiful, smart, and cool person—way out of his league, he might add—giving her precious time away to discuss a nerdy sci-fi show that he could not rant and rave to about to anyone on the team, except for Penelope, and she’s rarely on the field with them. 

Your show of interest made him feel seen. Not as an agent with 3 PHDs, not as a genius with 187 IQ, but rather as a person with a right to express himself and occupy space. He wasn’t Agent Spencer Reid with you nor Dr. Spencer Reid, he was just Spencer who likes to watch Doctor Who and read literature in their original language. 

The third move Spencer did was proposed by Penelope Garcia, the spirited tech analyst 

“What do you mean you took her to a convention? For a date?” Penelope squeaked out, unable to comprehend the logic behind the genius’ actions.

“She said she always wanted to go,” Spencer stated as the elevator stopped on the fourth floor. He had fun over the weekend. Going around booths with you, listening to invited guest panels talk about the behind the scenes, explaining the reference every costume that you’ve pointed out, and just basking in your presence beyond cases. It was a memory he had replayed over and over after it had ended. It occupied his whole mind, and that’s saying a lot, causing him to do nothing and sit in his leather sofa and smile like a lunatic during the rest of the weekend.

“Well yeah, but that’s not date material! A date is supposed to be intimate—you and I go to conventions together, do you count that as a date?” 

“What? No! No, of course not!” 

“Exactly, boy wonder. Then what makes you think she’ll count that as a date?” She countered back as she entered her office with Spencer in tow. 

Silence. Oh.

Penelope sighed, having read the despair painting his face. “Did you at least dress up as the Ninth Doctor?”

“What? No. No, I went as the Fourth Doctor. I even hand-knitted the scarf myself.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before repeating what she just heard. “You didn’t dress up as her Doctor?”

“No,” he paused, unsure where she was going with this. “Should I had?”

“Yes! Yes, you should have!” Penelope slapped his arm out of frustration. “Why didn’t you call me once she said yes? We could have talked game plan or strategy or at least have gotten you a leather jacket to match her choice of companion.”

“Oh, I messed up then, didn’t I?” He slumped despondently on the office chair. “You—you don’t think she thought of it as a date at all?”

She played with her feathered pen, trying to find a way to salvage it for Spencer. “Did you take her out to dinner after?”

He shook his head, finally realizing his mistake.

“Oh Spencer,” she approached gently. “I can scoop for details with Y/N later on and report back to you?”

He shook his head. It didn’t feel right to have Penelope betray your trust and go behind your back over a mistake that he made. You were a honest person and you deserved to be treated with respect and reverence even though all he wanted now was peer into your viewpoint of the date—not date—and figure out once and for all if you saw him as anything beyond a co-worker and a friend. 

“Hm, I think I might just a solution,” Penelope blurted out of the blue. 

He looked up with a sliver of hope blooming in his chest. Maybe third time’s the charm. Besides, Penelope was the colleague you spent most of your time out with. You once mentioned that you considered her your best friend, besides from him of course. 

“You can bake her a batch of cookies! No one can say no to that,” she excitedly explained, believing it to be full proof—except for the fact that he doesn’t know how to bake. He wants to ask you out on a date but not to the expense of burning his whole apartment building down. 

“I can’t—I can’t bake, Garcia,” he squeaked out. “Did you know that 44% of all reported home fires are caused by cooking and baking. Those fires have resulted in an average of 470 civilian deaths and 4,150 civilian—”

She interrupted. “I’ll give you my recipe and detailed instructions to follow. That’ll make it easy peasy for you, boy genius.”

“C-can’t I just buy from her favorite bakery instead?”

“No can do, Doctor. Her favorite cookies just so happen to be my creation. She told me so herself.”

“Well, can’t I just ask you to make it for me? I’ll buy the ingredients!”

“Nope,” she dragged out her refusal. “Think of it as an act of service to her. Plus don’t you think it’s highly romantic when she finds out that you baked them yourself?” She swooned just thinking about it.

“Romantic? It won’t be romantic when I burn my apartment down, Garcia.”

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll supervise if you want. This weekend, granted if we’re free. But you—” she pointed her feathered pen at him. “—better be prepared and I’m just supervising, okay? I’m not baking it myself.”

He sighed. At least having Garcia around would make it easier.

———-

It did not in fact make it easier. Spencer burnt two batches before six pieces were considered edible. Garcia couldn’t understand, hell, he also couldn’t. Baking was precise and from his scientific viewpoint, it was a lot like chemistry. He loved science and anything academic, so how is it that he failed miserably, twice, when it came to baking? 

He shook his head as he entered the office. The first one—he stole a glance at Hotch’s office and saw movement—correction, the second one arriving early. Sometimes he wondered if the unit chief ever goes home, first in and last out.

He settled in his seat before promptly fidgeting from anticipation. Statistically speaking, you arrive earlier than Morgan or Elle which gave him enough time to gift the paper bag of cookies sitting hidden in his satchel without bringing attention to and embarrassing himself. He’d like to have little to no audience if he ever does mess it up for the third time. 

He brought out the cookies, afraid they’ll get crushed between his hardbound books, and placed them on your desk before standing to wash his clammy hands and make coffee. Counter intuitive of him to do as he was already a bundle of nerves and by drinking caffeine he was doubling that but maybe the smell would calm him before shooting up his energy by drinking.

As he exited the mens room, Penelope stepped out of the elevator and squealed. “Is she here? Is she? Did I miss it?”

He shook his head vigorously, trying to silence her excited glees. “No, she’s not here yet. She’ll—” he looked at his watch and ran the numbers. “—be here soon. I’m about to brew coffee. Do you want some?” He opened the door for both of them to enter the bullpen.

“Ick, no thanks,” Penelope said, scrunching her nose at the thought of drinking even a sip before scurrying away to her cave. “I’d rather not ruin my taste buds on bad coffee.”

He laughed and turned towards the kitchenette. With the coffee brewing, he drummed his fingers on the counter and mentally rehearsed what he would say to you. If he practiced, there’s less chance of messing it up like the first time, right? In his state of concentration, he missed you entering the office in all of your beautiful glory.

“Ooh cookies!” you exclaimed as you opened the unknown package on your table.

Spencer abruptly turned, hitting his side on the corners as he did. His eyes widened as he registered you holding the unsigned paper bag of treats on your desk. 

“They must be from Penny,” You continued on, oblivious to his presence and the devastation your remark caused him. Of course, he’d find another way to mess it up. You glanced around and your smile widened as you took in his handsome presence. “Oh hey Spence! Look, Penny made me cookies!” You tip-toed out of excitement. 

He smiled at your enthusiasm for something as simple as treats in the morning. The giggle you gave out as you entered the kitchenette was enough for him to slightly care less for the truth. He loved bringing out the happiness in you. It was like his own personal sunshine shining down on him, soaking him with vitamin D and boosting his overall sense of wellbeing. “Do you want coffee with that? It’s still hot,” he offered. 

You tapped the side of your hips with his as a sign of good will. “Thanks, Spence! This is turning out to be a great day, don’t you think?”

He watched as you busied yourself with putting cream and sugar in your of cup and sighed wistfully. “I think so too.”

And the last move Spencer did was recommended by no one but himself, the awkward 187 genius

With all three acts not delivering, he promised to try one last time without any outside interference besides from yours in his memory. You always did tell him to be himself in any situation, no matter how much he stumbled through any awkward situation—always there giving him a pat on the back for encouragement. 

Over the weekend, he spent his time reading two of your favorite books—which didn’t take much but he did read them again and again, regardless of his eidetic memory, trying to understand why these specific books were your comfort. Always pushed within the confines of your go bag, dog-eared and brown from age. He wanted to know how they’ve become an extension of you and how it had shaped you to the woman he has fallen in love with. 

He found himself hunched over his dining table, underlining sentences that made him think of you, scribbling away on the margins (and sometimes on post its too), and tabbing the written pages with a variety of colors that each represent an emotion. The act in it of itself made him feel closer to you than he thought possible. Lines in the books that made him think, ah so this was what formed your kind spirit. This is why your empathy knew no bounds. And this is why your beauty is inside and out.  

Spencer laid down to rest, anxious for the next day, Monday, to come. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest but his mind oddly calm as if it had a precognition that everything would turn out just right.

———

You arrived earlier than he did, throwing him off balance. 

“Hey Spence!” You greeted with a smile. “I got you a croissant and some coffee from that shop near my place.”

He blushed and stammered out a thank you. You were wearing a deep purple blouse that matched the scarf around his neck—the birthday gift you’ve given. He was no believer of the mystics but he took all of these as a sign from the stars. There was no way he would mess this up now.

“I—I got you something too,” he looked inside his satchel, hands shaking from it all. Gods, he wished this would go well or else, he might just die from embarrassment. “It’s nothing much but—I read your two favorite books and just—I wanted to discuss it with you,” he brought out the tabbed copies and presented them to you. “These are for you. I know you have copies of your own but I-I put my own notes on which lines reminded me of you.”

Your face turned red at the notion behind it all. Here was the BAU genius, the certified lover of the classics and the academia, the man who had your affections since day one, reading two contemporary literatures just for him to present you a gift like no other. You reached out and hugged the precious copies to your chest. 

“Thank you, no one’s ever done this for me before,” you breathed out, falling deeper into attraction with the perfection in front of you. “ Hey Spence, I may sound delusional asking this and you can say no if you want to but—” you visibly gulped, unaware of the audience nearby. “—would you like to have dinner with me? I make a mean lasagna.”

He turned red and vigorously nodded. “Y-Yes. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

You giggled, sounding like wind chimes to his ears. He did too, giggle I mean, from the triumph of finally knowing that his feelings were willingly reciprocated.

“Finally, you love birds!” Morgan shouted as he swung his arm around Spencer. “Didn’t know how much we could take from this pretty boy—” pointing at him “asking for advice and you—” pointing at you “—pretty girl is as dense as a rock. Tell me again how’d you end up as profiler with those observation skills.” 

A hand whacked him at the back. “Way to ruin the moment, Morgan.” Elle chided before turning to Spencer with a smile. “See told you, you could get a date.”

[vroomvroomwee]

Aziraphale's vest

I'd like to take a second and talk about his vest because I think it's a really good metaphor for Aziraphale's internal feelings.

At first glance it's obvious the vest is quite old. Really old in fact if you note the way it's practically disintegrating.

And it got me thinking a bit. The way the white practically bleeds from the edges of the neck, shoulders and buttons, going further and further, one day if he's persistent enough to wear it, it might even take over the entire vest. You could say that that, somehow, mirrors Heavens influence over Aziraphale. Slowly, slowly, biding their time, until it has completely ridden him of any colour. Until it has completely washed him of his identity, of his originality, of his character.

Take a look at his clothing when he's up in Heaven.

Completely and utterly white. Every piece of clothing he's wearing is pure and untarnished white. Upon entering Heaven, against his own accord, it has stripped him of his uniqueness, of anything that might distinguish him from any other angel who blindly follows orders and who's sole purpose is to do Heavens bidding.

Now, he could miracle the white patches on the vest away easily. But he doesn't want to.

The thing is. He likes the imperfect. He likes partaking in human activities and pleasures, like food, music, etc. Likes to indulge himself in earthly things Heaven would label as sinful or "sullying." And as someone who bas been on the receiving end of Heavens ridicule and passive aggression for millenia, as someone who for centuries has been told that he's underperforming and needs to do better, as someone who is all too aware of his own impurity by the standards an angel should hold and of the quite frankly unholy behaviour in performing immoral temptations and directly going against Heavens orders no more than a few times throughout the eras, it's no wonder he finds comfort in the imperfect.

He keeps the deteriorating edges because they are a perfect representation of his own internal feelings and image. After all, there's no rule that says he can't. And a big kudos to the costume department, for the patches perfectly encapsulate his religious trauma. Without it, he would probably be a very different person. He wouldn't be the same Aziraphale we know and love. The same way he likes being old-fashioned with his clothes and how that is a part of who he is, his trauma is a part of him as well, along with Heavens influence that has shaped him into who he is today, whether he likes it or not.

Every part of the vest illustrates Aziraphale's character and internal feelings, which brings me to another point I want to draw attention to, and that is the BACK of the vest.

It's DARK. And I don't think I'm mistaken when I say that most of us didn't expect it to look like that from behind. We all just assumed that it would be the same beige colour as the front, which is in tune with the rest of his attire. After all, seeing him wearing a dozen different outfits all throughout history, all of them some shade of white, it was the logical conclusion.

But no.

It's not white. It's a dark, slightly viridian or a dark blue colour. "Dark blue suggests a more mysterious depth or ominous quality. Power and authority: Dark blue signifies power and responsibility. "

Not what we would have expected that colour at all. Similarly to how one wouldn't expect an angel to perform temptations or be gluttonous, or envious, or slothful, or hedonistic. Not at first glance anyway.

Not unless you look carefully.

Not unless you know him.

The coat almost acts like a cover. The light over the dark. Almost as if it's trying to hide something. The only times we see Aziraphale not wearing the coat is in his bookshop. Which is logical, of course. You wouldn't wear a coat indoors, obviously. Except he DOES. He wears the coat when he and Crowley are drunk, he wears it when he's reading Agnes Nutter, he wears it when Gabriel and Sandalphon pop in, he wears it when he's talking to the Metatron, he wears it when he's listening to Shostakovich, he even wears it at the Ritz where it would be custom to take off your coat while dining. And it's worth noting that during the events happening (at least in the first season), the season is summer. Which would make it quite ridiculous to be wearing so many layers everywhere you go and therefore risk boiling. But he still wears the coat.

The only times he doesn't wear it is in the first episode after the sushi, when he's all ALONE, and in season 2 at the bookshop when Crowley comes back and in 1941.

And there's something oh so personal about that.

I don't think it's a coincidence that the darker part is specifically the back of the vest. There's always been this natural human instinct to protect yourself by never ever turning your back on a foe. And I don't think this is a conscious effort on Aziraphale's part, but rather genius writing, directing and costume design, and anyone who's watched and read Good Omens knows that almost nothing is coincidental.

Note this is probably the first time Aziraphale has called Crowley his friend, seeing how uncertain and doubtful he was to even say the word in this scene and how quick he was to deny their friendship in the Shakespeare scene. And the camera immediately cuts from Crowley to Aziraphale, who is turned away, whose back is turned to Crowley oh so casually without a care in the world. Just before he calls him his friend. His back is turned, and so is the dark part of his vest.

The dark part he only shows in his bookshop, when he's alone and there's no one there. The part that he now only shows to Crowley as well. Crowley who knows him so well and who's been with him through everything. "I won't tell anyone if you won't." And "you said trust me""and you did". Just this small motion of Aziraphale depicts exactly how much trust he has in Crowley not only that he'll keep him safe and protected but to accept him just as he is, to not judge him, to not demean him for his imperfections as an angel. Practically mirroring Crowley's self-protection mechanism that is reflected in his motions to hide his eyes with his sunglasses (there's a wonderful meta on this by @simply-brightly-zee here )

And it might just be clothing, or it might just be genius symbolism, but note how self-aware Aziraphale is of his looks when Gabriel pops up.

The desire to impress is almost unconscious in this scene, and how does he go about doing it? By making sure he looks presentable. Presentable, despite the white patches and the vest that is falling apart, he doesn't even realise it. Therefore, it's clear Aziraphale puts thought into his clothes, whether consciously or unconsciously.

I personally dont think any of this (the coat, the patches, the way he turns his back, when, where and around who he's most comfortable) is a deliberate and intentional act on Aziraphales part but rather creative brilliance from the directors and producers. So him being shown to expose the back of the vest only in scenes with Crowley (and the one in s2 infront of an amnesiac Gabriel with the intelligence and awareness of a squirrel) is a master move on the costume department's part. The symbolusm being so small and imperceptible, but holding so much meaning. This small metaphor shows how much Aziraphale trusts Crowley and how comfortable he is around him. Crowley who knows about Aziraphale's transgressions, sins, unholy behaviours, lack of interest and dedication to his job, and overall "incompetence" as Aziraphale might put it and how he's "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing". Crowley, who will accept him and love him no matter what. Not despite those things, but because of those things.

They have found their "own side".

Edit: Not that important, but I just want to mention how, despite being tattered and falling apart, the vest is still in perfectly good condition. No matter the white seeping in and draining its colour, the vest doesn't have a single seam torn, not a button lost, perfect as the day it was bought. No matter what it's been put through, it's still kicking, whether by miracle or sheer willpower. Very much like the person wearing it.

[inthe-dark-tonight]

i'd rather die than give you control

boston era!joel x fem!reader

summary: you fuck up on a supply run, joel decides to teach you a lesson.

word count: 5.2k

warnings: E (18+ mdni!!!) porn w/o plot, joel is MEAN, light angst, dom/sub dynamics, little bit of brat tamer!joel, established “relationship”, oral (f & m receiving), face fucking, unsafe p in v, creampie, slight dacryphilia, light spanking, this has some dark themes so if that’s not your thing pls don’t read & let’s pretend that fucking on an abandoned couch on top of an old sleeping bag isn’t unsanitary okay???

notes: this idea came to me while listening to the song head like a hole by nine inch nails so it’s veryyyyyy slightly inspired by that, i’m honestly very nervous to post this but!!! here we go. thank you so much @javiscigarette for encouraging me to keep going with this and also beta reading for me i literally love you to pieces, and also a huge thank you to @ilovepedro for beta reading pieces of this for me as well MWAH <333

Joel hasn’t spoken to you since you got to the safe house hours ago. He’s not usually one to talk about how he’s feeling when he’s angry or upset, but lately you’ve been wishing he would. Wishing he would say more, do more after all the time you’ve known each other. But you know the moments you have together are nothing more to him than the need for both of you to take out your frustrations. You can’t help but still crave those intimate moments though. If you can even call them that. 

You’re in your sleeping bag on the couch and Joel is on the floor. Most times you two will sleep next to eachother while on a supply run, especially if there’s a bed, and always after he fucks you. When back in the qz, it's a little more complicated.

You roll over onto your side to face him, the moonlight casting just enough light into the room to see that he’s laying on top of his sleeping bag with his back to you. A quiet sigh leaves your lips as you watch his body move with each inhale and exhale. You won’t be able to sleep unless you talk to him. 

You sit up, contemplating for a second if this is a good idea before unzipping your bag and standing up from the couch. It feels like your heart is about to beat out of your chest as you slowly walk towards him, a knot forming in your stomach as you get closer. He hasn’t moved so you’re assuming you haven’t woken him up as you kneel beside him on the floor. You stare at him for a moment before speaking, eyes trailing over where his flannel is stretched over his broad shoulders. 

“Joel.” you whisper. He doesn’t even flinch. “Are you awake?” Your voice is still hushed. 

You reach your hand out to touch his bicep but freeze before making contact, afraid of what his reaction may be. Your hand finally rests on his arm, shaking him lightly. Now you can see that his eyes are open, but he still hasn’t turned to look at you. 

“Please talk to me…” you bite at your lower lip waiting for a response. 

A lump starts to grow in your throat as your mind replays the events of earlier that day. He was angry at you for not listening, there was no doubt about it, but you want nothing more than for him to talk to you now. 

“I’m sorry, what do I have to do for you to forgive me?” Your voice cracks slightly, trying to hold back your emotions as you speak.

Your chest starts to feel tight, the pain of him not saying a word is too much. You can handle him being angry with you, he sure as hell has been before, but if that means not talking to you at all you’re not sure how much you can take.

You take a deep breath and remove your hand from his arm before moving to lay down behind him. His body is radiating warmth as you lay only a few inches from him. Slowly you start to snake your arm around his torso, chest flush against his warm back. He still doesn’t say a word as you lay your cheek against him and start to rub your thumb back and forth over his soft, flannel covered stomach. 

“Joel.” You feel like tears could spill from your eyes any second now, hoping he’ll say something. Anything. 

You slowly move your hand lower, not worrying about what the consequences might be. All you want now is some sort of reaction from him, anything to show that he’s listening. Anything to get him to look at you. Your hand continues to move lower down to the waist of his jeans, just wanting to feel him. 

Suddenly, before you can even process, you feel his large calloused hand quickly wrap around your wrist. His head snaps towards you as he props himself up on his elbow, glaring down at where you lay. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He sounds pissed, maybe even more than earlier. He just stares back at you, your eyes wide in surprise. 

“I- I just-” you stutter, struggling to find words. 

“This isn’t how it works. Did you forget?” His jaw ticks as he lets go of your wrist, shoving it back towards you. 

He fully sits up now looking straight ahead and you shrink back into yourself, tears welling in your eyes, afraid of what he might say next. 

“I decide when and if this happens.” He’s breathing heavily. “You should know that by now.” 

“I know I-“ he cuts you off before you can finish your thought. 

“You obviously don’t.”

You swallow back the sob threatening to leave your throat. 

“Go sit on the couch.” his head falls to look at his lap as you scramble to stand up.

You don't dare to look back at him as you quietly walk back over to the couch. You take a seat in the middle with your hands on your lap as you wait for his next move. This is how the game usually goes. 

He shakes his head slightly before looking towards you, a darkness behind his eyes. “So now you want to listen?” 

He slowly gets up from his spot on the ground and turns towards you, standing there for a moment with his hands on his hips. His eyes are glued to the floor as he stands there for a moment thinking, but you can sense the anger behind them. As he looks up, walking towards you and stopping right in front of where you're sitting, you feel your chest start to tighten even more. You just stare down at your hands in your lap waiting for him to speak.

“Look at me.” His voice is low. 

Your head snaps up without hesitation to look into his eyes.

“Lay back, keep your hands above your head.” His accent sounds thicker than usual, voice gravely as he speaks. 

You do as he says, leaning back into the couch and raising your hands to grab the back of the couch. As you do so, Joel kneels down in front of you on the floor causing your legs to naturally part for him. He takes a deep breath before wrapping his arms under your knees, hands gripping your jean clad thighs before pulling you forward so your ass is at the edge of the couch causing you to let out a small yelp.

He keeps one of his hands on your thigh, the other moving to hover over your covered core. As he rests his large hand over your covered sex, warmth spreads through your lower stomach from the contact. He looks up at you through his lashes, dark eyes burning into yours. You feel a jolt of arousal through your core. 

His thumb grazes over the seam of your jeans, immediately finding your already sensitive clit. He knows you, knows your body even fully clothed, and that fact turns you on more. He lightly applies pressure with his thumb, rubbing in circles over your jeans. The sensation of the seam rubbing against you and the pressure of his thumb causes a moan to slip from your lips. 

“Joel…” he removes his hand from your clothed core, moving up towards the waist of your jeans. 

His rough calloused hand moves under the hem of your shirt, brushing lightly against the soft skin of your stomach. You shudder at the feeling, goosebumps covering your skin as you buck your hips up towards him. 

“Stay still for me.” He glances up at you again, it’s a warning, and your chest flutters. 

The anticipation is killing you. He moves both hands to unbutton your jeans, slowly sliding them down and off of you, leaving them in a pile at your feet. His eyes immediately lock onto the wet spot growing on your panties and a smug smile forms on his face.

“Already so fuckin’ wet, haven't even touched ya yet.” he hums, leaning in closer to your core.

He wraps one arm under your leg again, the other grabbing your waist to keep you from squirming. His nose rubs against the wet spot on your cotton panties and you bite the inside of your cheek, holding back a moan as you lightly clench your thighs around his head. Joel looks up at you again, the sight of him between your thighs so heavenly. You want nothing more than to reach out and bury your hands into his graying curls.

“Gonna listen and stay still for me baby?” His voice sends a vibration through your core as he tightens his grip on you. You struggle to keep still, nodding your head in response.

“Good, wouldn't wanna have to stop.” He's teasing you. 

He slides his hand from your hip down to hook a finger onto your underwear, tugging them down as he lifts your waist off the cushion. You suck in a breath as the cool air hits your soaked core. Joel doesn't waste any time, his hands are immediately back on you, fingers slotting through your glistening folds. He watches intently as his fingers easily slide up and down, covered in your slick. His face moves closer to you, warm breath fanning over your sensitive skin before replacing his fingers with his tongue. 

The feeling of his warm tongue darting out over your clit causes you to let out a moan. His tongue runs small circles around your nub, teasing you slowly before he licks through your folds. As he removes his mouth from you, you let out a gasp at the loss, but he quickly makes up for it by inserting two fingers into your cunt. 

“Oh god.” your head falls back on to the cushion, eyes squeezed shut and fingers gripping the edge of the couch harder.  

His pace starts to quicken, fingers curling to hit that spongy spot inside of you just right. He’s focused on his motions, mesmerized by the way his fingers disappear into your tight hole. His thumb starts to swirl in circles against your swollen clit and a soft whine escapes your mouth. 

“That feel good?” You don’t have the strength to answer. 

His free hand finds its way under your shirt to meet with your breast, fingers tweaking with your hardened nipple. Your eyes shoot back open, looking down at where he’s between your legs. His mouth is slightly parted as he watches you, watches your reaction to his movements and the way he’s touching you. You clench around his fingers, trying to hold back the urge to reach out and touch him. Trying to keep yourself still. The coil in your stomach is going to snap any second and he knows it. 

“Wanna come, baby?” He asks sweetly, so soft. 

“Please Joel, please.” You’re practically begging. 

He removes his hand from your breast and swings your leg over his shoulder, quickening his pace. His hand rests on your thigh lightly squeezing as he urges you on. He applies pressure with his 

“Close.” It’s all you can get out. 

The coil in your stomach is about to snap, Joel still isn’t slowing his pace, fingers hitting all the right places. He feels you clench around him one last time, and then suddenly you feel him pull away, the loss of his fingers causing your hips to buck forward. You let out a gasp as he abruptly drops your leg from his shoulder and stands up. 

Your eyes shoot open. “What the fuck?” You’re trying to catch your breath. 

“Did you really think I was going to let you come? After the stunt you pulled earlier?” He shakes his head, a sly look on his face as he watches you. 

Your mind flashes back to the supply run earlier that day as you clench your thighs together, hands dropping to your sides grasping at the couch cushions. A tingling sensation travels through your body, mind hazy from overstimulation. You stare up at him trying to process what’s just happened, jaw slack as your eyes start to well with tears. Joel’s hand lifts to your cheek, gently brushing his thumb against your soft skin. He drops his hand and adjusts himself, turning away from you and walking back towards his spot on the floor. 

He’s never been this mean before. Never denied you an orgasm, and the feeling is overwhelming. You knew he was mad about earlier, but you didn’t anticipate him being this mad.

Earlier on the supply run you just kept fucking up. Being too loud, careless, forgetful, you name it. The two of you were sent to check out an old strip mall that had surely been raided at some point before, but not by the two of you. He had warned you that this could be an area with raiders or infected lurking nearby and that you needed to be extra cautious, but you took it lightly, after all this wasn’t your first supply run. You had ran into trouble with clickers before and handled it well, but never raiders. 

Of course when the two of you got there, you realized you forgot your gun. It was only you and Joel this time around, no Tess, so the fact that you forgot your gun of all things wasn’t great. That was the first thing to set him off.  

“Really? How the hell do you forget your gun?” 

“I don’t know, must’ve left it on the table.” You shrug. 

He sighs. “Hope your knife skills have gotten better.” 

“Sorry…” You mumble. 

He turns away and you follow him to find a way inside. 

Once the two of you started looking around the place, you found yourself tripping and bumping into things more than usual. Bumping into a shelf, knocking an old jar over while weaving in and out of isles. Joel would shoot you an annoyed look every time which only made you more on edge. 

When you got to what must’ve been an old hardware store, Joel had found a few salvageable things and the two of you started to dig around to fill your packs.  

“Alright let’s get out of here.”  He let out a low grunt as he stood up, lifting his pack over his shoulder. 

You glanced up at him before standing up, as you stood straight up slinging your pack over your shoulder your bag hit a metal rack behind you causing it to nearly fall over. Joel reached his hand out quickly, stopping it from falling. 

“Damnit.” He said between gritted teeth. “You need to be quieter I’m not fuckin’ around.” He gave you a stern look. 

“Quieter?” You gave him a playful look. “What, LIKE THIS?” You yelled out, giggling afterwards.

Normally he loved when you were like this, a little disobedient so he could put you back in your place later that night. Show you how to behave. But right now he wasn’t having it. 

There was the sound of branches snapping outside and Joel immediately looked up, wide eyes locking on the nearest entrance. In an instant he was grabbing you, spinning you so your back was against his chest and covering your mouth with his large hand. His other arm was snaked around the front of you, holding you close. 

“Fuck.” He whispered into your ear as he pulled the both of you into another room to hide. “You really had to do this right now?” 

The coil in your stomach is still tightly wound, and now you’re pissed. You’ll just do it yourself then. 

Your hand finds its way to your puffy tender clit, running your fingers over it as you slowly start to move through your slick folds. Joel still has his back to you as he stands over where his sleeping bag lays on the floor, hands on his waist. Your fingers find their way back to your swollen clit, lightly rubbing circles. Your eyes rake over his form, his broad shoulders and the way his flannel is rolled up exposing his forearms. You bite your cheek, trying to stay as quiet as possible. As you apply more pressure, a soft moan escapes your mouth causing Joel to turn back around. 

His eyes immediately fall to where your fingers are picking up speed between your legs and his eyes grow dark, hand flexing by his side as he watches you. You don’t stop. His eyes meet with yours and your mouth falls open, pace never faltering. 

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” His brows pinch together forming a crease as he waits for a response. 

You can see his chest starting to heave as you look at him through heavy lidded eyes. Now you’ve done it, you think to yourself. 

He slowly walks back over to you, stopping in front of you, staring down at the way your fingers move so smoothly over your soaked core. He reaches his hand out to lightly grab your jaw, tilting your head up towards him. You let out a yelp as your eyes meet his, growing darker by the second. 

“Hm?” His jaw is clenched as he squeezes yours lightly before he speaks through gritted teeth. “Answer me.”

“No.” You croak out, stopping your motions and reaching to pull your underwear back up. 

“Well, don't stop now.” Your brows knit together in confusion. “Since you want to come so badly around nothing instead of my cock, keep going.” you let out a small gasp. 

“Rather have you.” You say breathlessly.

A smug smile forms on his face as he removes his hand from your jaw and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Hm, not what it looks like.” He’s teasing you now, wanting you to beg. And you will. He knows you will.

“Joel…” You whisper, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “It’s been too long.” 

“Should’ve thought about that earlier,” He huffs. “when you were touchin’ yourself, when you were acting up on the supply run.” 

“I know, I wasn’t thinking.” You start to sit up straight, scrambling for the right words. “I said I was sorry, just need you.” It comes out just above a whisper. 

Your eyes dart to the growing bulge in his pants then back to his eyes. He’s standing right at the edge of the couch between your parted legs and you can feel heat radiating off him, drawing you in closer. He shifts his weight and his hands fall back to his sides as he contemplates what to do next. 

“Prove it.” 

You stare up at him with wide eyes, dumbstruck. “Wha-“

“If you need my cock so badly, prove it.” His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he subtly juts his hips forward. 

Your bottom lip disappears between your teeth as you soak up his last words. Without your eyes leaving his, you reach up slowly to rest your hand over where his cock is straining against his dark jeans. He takes a deep breath through his nose as you start to gently apply pressure. You inch your hands up to the hem of his jeans and swiftly undo his belt, unbutton them and pulling the zipper down in one motion before tugging them off his waist so they’re resting around his thighs. The sight of his thick cock only restrained by his cotton underwear causes you to let out a small gasp. 

You look back up at Joel for reassurance and he nods, expression never faltering. Your hands rest on his lower abdomen right above the hem of his boxers, running over the sparse hairs leading down past his boxers. As you hook his fingers into the fabric, pulling them down, his fully hardened cock springs out causing your mouth to salivate at the sight. 

Without thought, your hand immediately wraps around the thick base of his cock causing him to let out a low groan. You lightly squeeze, teasing him as you lean in closer. Your tongue darts out from between your lips to lick at the precum leaking from his silky smooth tip and he sucks in a breath. 

“Jesus.” his hand moves to rest on the back of your neck, the other caressing your cheek.

You look up at him through your lashes, tongue still on his tip as you flash him a daunting smile. You release his cock from your grip and run your tongue from the base of his tip, along the bottom of his length back to his tip before sucking him back into your mouth. The salty taste of his precum still on your taste buds as you swirl your tongue in circles and take the rest of him into your mouth in one go. Tears start to rim your eyes as the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. 

“Good girl.” Joel praises you as he wipes away the tears starting to form at the edge of your eyes. 

Your head moves back releasing his cock from your lips with a popping sound before bringing your lips back to rest on his tip. His grip on the back of your neck starts to tighten as he begins to lightly thrust his hips forward. You slowly open your mouth, giving him access and wrapping your lips around his warm cock again. Both your hands grip onto his thighs, holding yourself still as he slowly thrusts forward again. He lets out a low groan as your mouth encloses around his thick member and your motions stop, allowing him to take control. 

“God damn baby.” Joel huffs as he begins to pull back. 

His hand caresses the back of your head guiding you as you open up wider and your nose buries into the sparse curls at the base of his cock. The tip of his cock prods at the back of your throat and you swallow trying to get some sort of relief. He holds your head there for a moment, relishing in the warm, wet feeling of your mouth wrapped around him before pulling back. Your cheeks hollow, sucking harder and he stops before the tip of his cock leaves your mouth.

As he pulls out, you watch the string of saliva connecting to the tip of his flushed cock break before he pulls you back in, swollen lips immediately parting for him once more. 

“Look at me while I fuck your throat.” His hands move to your jaw, tilting your head as far as it can go until your eyes land on his.  

You can feel tears rimming your eyes again as you dig your nails into the warm flesh of his thighs, the back of your throat is already raw. His thumbs caress your cheeks before he roughly fucks into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat once again and your eyes squeeze shut allowing the tears brewing in your eyes to finally spill over. 

“You can take it.” He continues the thrust into your mouth as he speaks. 

You open your eyes and look back at him, he tilts his head to the side as he looks down at you, and mocking pout on his face. His pace doesn’t falter, the only sound in the room is his deep voice and the filthy wet sound of his thick cock relentlessly fucking your throat. 

“This the only way I can get you to be quiet, huh? Gotta have my cock stuffed down your throat for you to shut the fuck up?” The last word comes out just as he thrusts his hips, large calloused hands nearly digging into your cheek as he lets out a low grunt.

His words cause you to let out a low moan around his cock as he hits the back of your throat one last time, and you feel him tense. His head falls back, a deep growl leaving his throat before his eyes snap back to you.

He pulls his cock out of your mouth, and before you can even focus he’s pulling you up from the couch and spinning you to lay on your stomach. You flop down, holding yourself up on your forearms as he pulls your underwear the rest of the way down, and you swear you can hear the fabric lightly tearing before he discards them somewhere on the floor. Next he grabs the hem of your long sleeve, pulling it up over your bare tits. You frantically pull it over your head and off before throwing it somewhere. He quickly pulls you up so that you’re on your knees and grabs your wrists, pinning your arms behind your back as your cheek buries into the couch cushion. 

“This what you were hoping for?” he nearly grunts as he holds your wrists in place with one hand, positioning himself over you. “Hm?” you can hear his breathing as he leans down closer to your face. 

You can’t speak, a low moan leaves your lips, but that's not enough of an answer for him. He lands a small smack on your ass and your body jolts from the contact.

“Answer me.” he says through gritted teeth. You feel him lay some of his weight against your back now and his still fully hard cock presses into you. He leans down close to your face and you feel his lips touch your ear as he speaks. 

“This what you were hoping for when you were acting up earlier?” His deep voice sends a shiver through your body, igniting the heat blooming in your core. 

You feel his weight shift as he pulls away from your face. “Hoping I would teach you a lesson?” His hand wraps around his cock, guiding it towards your tight hole, already soaked in anticipation. 

Your hips push back into him and you attempt to open your legs wider, making room for him to guide himself to your entrance, and without a second thought he thrusts into you. He places one hand on your hip holding you up, as the other keeps your arms pinned behind you. It’s fast and rough, and you can hear the sound of skin on skin as his hips snap forward, thrusting into you with all his force, taking out his anger from earlier on your cunt. This is how it always goes. You piss him off to get what you want, then he fucks you senseless until all his anger and frustration is gone, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

A small moan escapes your lips as he grips you tighter, pumping his large cock in and out of you hard enough to jolt your body forward with each thrust. You can hear him grunting above you, pace never faltering. 

“Take me so well,” he huffs. “this tight little cunt is all mine. Made for me.” His voice is deep with lust as he speaks, and it sends a burning heat through your core as a moan escapes you. 

He moves his hand from your hip, snaking his arm around your torso and grabbing onto your left tit as he pulls you back against him. He has your arms still pinned behind you as you arch your back and your upper body meets his chest. Your head falls back over his shoulder, eyes falling shut. 

“Say it.” He speaks against your cheek, lips ever so lightly grazing your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yours.” You choke out. 

He releases your wrists and wraps his arm around your waist, your arms rest over his, gripping his forearms where his flannel is rolled up as he continues to fuck into you. You turn your face to look up at him, and you find him looking down, his eyes fixated on the way he’s pumping in and out of you. Mesmerized by the sound, the way you take him so well and the way his hips snap against your ass with every thrust. Your chest flutters and the coil in your stomach that’s been building is ready to snap any minute. 

“‘M close.” It’s barely audible, his eyes snap away from where your body’s meet to look into yours.

“Think you deserve to come this time?” His mouth is slightly parted, eyes flickering to your lips and back as you nod your head. 

“Yes, please Joel.” You breathlessly beg. 

“Did you learn your lesson?” One of his hands creeps towards your sensitive clit, your hand still gripping his forearm. “You be quiet when I tell you to, and you don’t touch yourself unless I,” he grunts as he thrusts into you. “say so.” The last part is said through gritted teeth, punctuated with a hard thrust and the sound of his hips snapping against you. 

His fingers meet your clit and he applies pressure, rubbing in tight fast circles. Your head falls back and he nips at your neck, teeth just barely brushing your skin as his tongue sets your skin. 

“Say it.” His warm breath fans against your skin. 

“I’m quiet when you tell me,” his lips latch on to your skin, lightly sucking as you gasp and your hips jut forward. He uses the hand on your mound to pull you back into him. “and I don’t touch myself. Unless you say.” 

“Good girl.” His fingers pick up speed, you nearly let out a scream as a white hot pleasure pulses through your body. 

Joel keeps moving his fingers over your clit and one of your hands flies up to bury in his hair. You lightly tug, causing him to grunt, as your body starts to feel limp. His hand wraps back around your torso, holding you up against him as he continues to fuck you, panting into your neck. He thrusts into you two, three more times and you feel his pace falter then still as he releases his load with a low moan. 

He gently falls forward onto the couch, still holding onto you as he gently lays atop of you. You can feel his warm body pressed against your back, chest rapidly rising and falling as he catches his breath. You catch a quick glimpse of him, eyes closed, lips parted and damp curls lightly sticking to his forehead. His cheeks are slightly flushed and he looks divine. 

He stays inside you for another moment before lifting off of you. You hear the couch creek as he gets up, then you hear his zipper and belt as he adjusts his pants before walking back over to his spot on the floor. You don’t move, laying there with your eyes closed as you catch your breath. After a minute or two you start to sit up, looking over at where he’s laying with his back to you again. You grab your discarded shift from the floor and slip it back on before searching for your underwear, picking up your jeans along the way.

 After a few minutes you give up and slip your jeans back on, whatever. You look down at your sleeping bag spread open on the couch, then back at Joel. It might be a bad idea, but you walk over to where he’s laying and lay behind him again, wrapping your arm around his torso and pressing yourself against his warm, broad back. You let out a sigh and he doesn’t move, and as you start to drift asleep, you feel his arm rest on top of yours. 

thanks for reading, any feedback is appreciated & my asks are open to chat <3

tagging some moots: @northernbluess @gracieheartsspedro @joelsversion @isitmeulookin4 @tieronecrush @daydreamingmiller @hearteyesforjoel @demonjoel @merz-8 🤍

[ghostboneswrites2]

Could you maybe write something about Daryl with a reader who’s similar to him and has also experienced physical abuse from their father and they just comfort each other and bond over their scars please

Reminders

Note: My laptop cord broke so forgive any formatting errors :( I toyed with a. Few ideas for this but settled on prison era Daryl with non established relationship fem reader. Def some chemistry, but nothing established. Enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of past abuse, light profanity

        Daryl squinted in the sun as he chewed on a freshly picked tomato from the garden. The prison yard was busy, buzzing with activity as people focused on their tasks and socialized amongst themselves. He watched them, studied them. It was new territory for him to feel so important yet so alienated at the same time. Sure, the alienation was mostly his own doing, as he wasn’t much of a social butterfly. He considered himself to be more of a moth, fluttering around on his own in the dark, avoiding the sun. Still, with so many people relying on him and admiring him, it felt unnatural to just walk up to somebody and chat about mundane things as if the world were still turning at its normal pace.

        Then, his eyes found you. He never knew what to make of you. You were new — even fresher than the ex-Wooburians. He was the one who found you alone in the forest, yet he had never had a full conversation with you. You were timid and rough on the exterior, never keeping eye contact with anyone unless the sole purpose was intimidation. They almost didn’t let you stick around. It wasn’t until you had a one-on-one with Hershel, where he found you were not all bad, that he talked the rest of the council into keeping you around.

        You proved yourself pretty useful, too. You knew a thing or two about gardening crops, you were good with knives and guns, and you were fast. You were never afraid to do what needed to be done, even if it put your own life at risk. You were sent on a lot of runs for that purpose. With people like you and Daryl out on those runs, casualties were few if any. You were both natural protectors.

         Some of the kids had taking a liking to you, namely Carl and Mika. You liked them, too, if for different reasons. Carl was strong, and he had an understanding for the world and it’s workings. He impressed you. Mika was sweet, and even if she seemed to sweet for the world, you knew there was a part of her that had potential. She was sure to figure things out, maybe even kick some serious ass one day.

        All that aside, Daryl couldn’t read you. Or, maybe he could, and that was the problem. He wasn’t willing to accept how similar the two of you may have been. Hell, he had barely accepted that maybe, somewhere inside him, he was as good as any of these people chattering around him. 

        “Stare any harder and you’ll melt a hole through her head.” Carol’s voice pulled his gaze away from you. He glared at her.

        “Wha’d’ya mean?” 

        “Oh, come on. You’ve been watching her every move this morning.” She nudged her shoulder against his. “Why don’t you just go talk to her?”

       “Hm.” He grunted with a shrug. “Ain’t like that.”

       “Why not? She’s cute.” Carol persisted. “She’s like you, but pretty. You’d get along.” She teased.

        “Pfft.” He tutted. “She ain’t like me.” 

        “Whatever.” She chuckled. 

        Days would go by where he’d watch you from a distance in between his own tasks. It wasn’t that you didn’t notice or feel his eyes dancing over your skin. It was just that you didn’t know how to react or respond. Daryl wasn’t an ugly man by any stretch of the imagination, and unlike him, you could read him all too well because there was something about him that you recognized in yourself and you were willing to accept that similarity. 

        You snuck your glances in, too. You’d watch from the corner of your eye as his hands gripped the steering wheel on a run, or you’d allow your vision to follow him as he stalked through the gates and into the trees to hunt. You often wondered if he really cared to hunt or if he just wanted to get away. Probably both.

        All in all, it was a sad case of two idiots who couldn’t see past their own insecurities and fears far enough to make a move. And it stayed that way, longer than it should have. 

        One night, when the air was particularly hot and thick with humidity, and he got tired of flipping around on his cot trying to find a cool spot on the sheet, Daryl went outside for a smoke. The prison was fast asleep, save for him, and apparently you. He was about halfway through his cigarette when he noticed a small orange light on the other side of the yard. It would move up and down every so often. He quickly realized it was the cherry of another cigarette. 

        He couldn’t make out who it was in the darkness, nor could he think of anyone else he’d ever seen smoking. So, he strolled across the grounds and decided to make himself known, so that the other smoker could be known to him. Somehow he was shocked to know it was you.

        “Hey.” Your soft voice said casually, not offering even a glance in his direction. You were leaning one shoulder against the chain link fence, watching the quiet forest on the other side.

        “Didn’t know ya smoked.” He commented, gluing his eyes to the tree line as well.

        “Found the ones I like on our last run. Had to grab ‘em.” You shrugged, taking a long drag and enjoying the cooling menthol as it coated your throat.

        “Which ones?” He asked. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

        Instead of telling him, you just held up the pack. 

        “Didn’t take ya for the menthol type.” He mumbled. You sent a quick glance his way.

        “What kind would you take me for, then?” You wondered. 

        “Mm-mm.” He shrugged. “Marlboros. The gold pack.” 

         “Ew.” You chuckled. “I’m a Camel Crush girl, through and through. You?” 

        “Don’t matter.” He admitted. “Just the strong ones.” 

        You nodded and hummed and allowed the silence to creep in. You two stood that way for a few minutes, the only sounds being the noises of puffing and exhaling over a symphony of crickets and night critters. 

        “Why Crush?” He finally asked. “Why not just menthol?”

        “I like having choices.” You said simply. 

        A slight breeze picked up and chilled your sweaty skin. You wore nothing but a tank and shorts, given the boiling temperatures inside. You ran a hand over your arm to combat the chill. His eyes instinctively flickered to the movement and focused on your hand first, then the flesh beneath. Where he expected to find smooth skin, he instead found a rough terrain of keloid scars. 

        He had never noticed them before because your sleeves always covered them.

        “What happened?” He asked. 

        “What?” You looked over to him and realized he was looking at your arms. Your hand impulsively moved and covered the ugly reminders of your past. “Oh. Nothing good.” You said vaguely.

        “Mm.” He nodded, wondering if it was the same kind of bad things that left him with his own scars. 

        “Shit.” You mumbled, realizing that small gust of wind blew the cherry off your cigarette. “Got a light? I used my last match for this.” 

        Wordlessly, he dug in his pocket and handed you his zippo. You lit your cigarette back up and passed his lighter back. More silence followed before he broke it again. 

        “Was it your mom or your dad?” He bravely questioned. 

        Your eyes darted to him harshly, but they softened. You considering not answering him, but decided there wasn’t much of a reason not to.

        “Neither. It was my step dad.” You confessed.

         “My dad was a dick too.” He related.

         “Mine wasn’t. His replacement was.” You sighed.

        “Mm. Merle — my brother — usually just ran away.”

         “From what?”

         “My dad.” He said quietly. 

         “Was your dad like my step-dad?” You asked.

         “Mm.” He nodded. 

         “What was his poison?”

          “Whiskey.” 

        “Oh. Mine liked meth.” You admitted. “Must be a stepdad thing.”

        “Nah.” He shook his head. “Just an asshole thing.” 

        “Sounds right.” You huffed a fry laugh. “Your daddy mark you up like me?”

        “Why?” 

        “How else would you know someone else did this to me?”

        “Oh.” He nodded. “Yeah.”

        “I’m sorry to hear it.” You sympathized the best you could.

        “Don’t matter. It’s in the past.”

        “Yeah, I tell myself that, too, but… It’s hard to leave the past where it belongs when you’re covered in reminders. Tryin’ to hide ‘em all the damn time.” 

        “Yeah.” He agreed. “Maybe they’re just there to remind us we survived.”

        You held onto his sentiments, toying with the phrase, spinning it around in your mind and locking it into memory.

         “One way to put it, I suppose.” 

        “It’s the only way to put it. Only way to move on.” He argued. You took the last drag off your smoke before tossing it. Your eyes caught his and stayed there for some time before you offered a soft smile. 

         “See ya around, Dixon.”

[kaitropoli]

"The Silent Voice"

By Gerald Edward Moira

Oil Painting, c. 1892-93

Private Collection.

Just found this painting, and I had to post it because it's so gorgeous. Look at that BLUE!!!!!! UGHAAHHHHH.

There's a lot going on in this painting, but I'm somewhat busy atm, so I will be reblogging sometime tonight or tomorrow further information on this painting.

Other than that, it's popularly believed Moira was inspired by the poem "The Two Voices" by Alfred Tennyson. Tennyson says that he wrote the piece while dealing with depression after a friend passed, which is then brought into the poem, noting thoughts of suicide.

Moira's title echoes,

"Thereto the silent voice replied; / ‘Self-blinded are you by your pride: / Look up thro’ night: the world is wide."

(Tennyson, lines 22-24).

The poem was definitely controversial, and responses to it varied. How are you going to respond to a Victorian suicide poem? I'm not a poem freak--I know nothing about them, despite making my own (especially in my emo days)--but from what I read, I thought it was good. But I also live in an era of TikTok poems, so what would I know💀 N E Wayz, it did seem to spark inspiration, as we can see a young woman out in what appears to be a night-ridden forest, her dress matching the sky, as an apparition (the silent voice) whispers into her ear, holding her wrist.

I don't believe the apparition to be a demon because if we're following the lines of the poem, it wouldn't make much sense. If the voice were saying the quotes, they'd be talking her off the ledge. Her eyes are speaking realization--recognizing her pride (suicide is sometimes seen as a selfish act... been down this road before, so don't misinterpret what I'm saying: you're taking your own life because you're sad, but you don't realize that sadness will be inflicted on those around you. It's about being the stronger person and helping to take care of yourself and your loved ones after losing someone, which is more so the context present in the poem itself... or the afterthought of it because we're given a repeated line saying that there's one way out (suicide)). They say pride is rooted in selfishness, and basing that reasoning, which a lot of religious folks have, the lady is being told there's more to life, more to come. The night sky, though dark, still has light that shines (okay, I made up this part, but who says I can't make it sentimental? This is my damn interpretation on it👹👅).

[stardust-kenobi]

Borrowed Potion

Remus Lupin x F!Reader x Sirius Black

Summary: After a long day, Remus suggests using the veritaserum he borrowed from Severus in a game of truth or dare with you and Sirius. You aren't able to hide your feelings any longer after just a few drops of the potion.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: SMUT, piv sex, mfm threesome, fingering, oral, drinking, tipsy sex, friends to lovers, platonic wolfstar

A/N: I’m a golden trio era gal for Sirius and Remus (older men are my weakness) but details are left vague enough to be read as mauraders era if that’s ur cup o’tea (no mention of age, etc). Also this is Remus x F!Reader x Sirius but no Wolfstar (sorry). Enjoy!

P.S -- happy holidays! <3

Read on AO3

You’d barged into Sirius’ apartment like you owned the place. Remus sat in the living room, his eyes locked onto you the moment the door swung open, seemingly startled but happy to see you. Sirius was leaning against the kitchen counter, a pleased smirk plastered on his face at the sight of you.

“It’s been an awful fucking day” you groaned, a frown falling upon your lips, heading straight to the fridge to grab a drink.

“Hello to you, too” Sirius raised his brows at your sudden entrance. Despite his apparent tone, he was amused, not annoyed.

“Sorry…thanks for the spare key. Normally you know I would’ve called ahead but I just came straight here from work” You countered.

“It’s no trouble, darling. That’s why I gave you the key in the first place” Sirius approached you, setting down his drink and wrapping you into a friendly hug, “I’ll make you a drink, what would you like?”

Sirius smelled of oak and musk, which you held on to as you pulled apart from the embrace.

“Surprise me” you smiled back to him, “Hi, Remus” You smirked shyly, turning to look at his sweet face.

“Hello, Y/N” He began, offering a warm smile, “y’alright?”

“I’m fine. Just need to decompress” You sigh, slumping into the couch cushion beside him. It felt normal and right as you rested your head against his shoulder. His scent differed from Sirius. It was masculine, still, but with hints of sandalwood and linen, you admired the aroma with your head buried in his sweater.

Sirius came to the couch, handing you a glass filled with a strong drink. As you grabbed the glass, Sirius' reassuring smile made you feel warm and fuzzy.

Remus and Sirius were your dearest and closest friends and you loved them so much. But although the friendly nature of your relationship was clear, you couldn’t help but become mesmerized over their good looks any time you were near them. The way they took care of you and the way they talked to you would make any woman buckle at the knees.

You told yourself they probably didn’t feel the same way about you, although this was more of a delusion than anything, considering you frequently noticed their wandering eyes. You couldn’t deny that when you’re alone at night and your wandering fingers find their way to your clit, it’s Remus and Sirius you thought about. It’s the fantasy of them fucking you senseless that dances in your head even right at this moment as you rest next to Remus.

They’d never actually touched you or even made a move on you before, though. They took you in when you became friends many months ago, during a low point in your life, and took care of you. They always took such great care of you.

“So what we were you guys up to before I barged in?” You pondered, shaking the image from your head.

“Just a few drinks, nothing interesting” Remus shrugged while holding his attention to you for a few seconds longer than he should have.

You sulked a bit, which Sirius took note of.

“What the matter?” He pondered, his furrowed brows indicating his attempt to read you.

“Can we do something fun?” You asked insistently.

“Like what?” Sirius responded curiously.

“Dunno…Anything” You shrugged your shoulders in almost a juvenile way.

“I’ve got an idea” Remus smirked.

Remus pulled a small dark green vial from his coat pocket that held a clear liquid. There were maybe only a few drops that lingered in the bottom of the container.

“And what might that be, Remus?” You cocked your head when you asked, a curious little grin creeping onto your face.

“This little number…” Remus paused as he handed it to you, “is veritaserum. Courtesy of Severus Snape”

You gasped and snatched the vial of truth-telling liquid from Remus.

“No way he gave this to you” You shook your head in disbelief.

“I may have borrowed it without his knowledge” He chuckled.

“Oh sure, you ‘borrowed’ it” You teased, nudging him with your arm playfully.

“Well, he was likely trying to discard it, but I found it and…you only need a few drops for someone to start spilling their secrets” He reminded you. “So, how about a good old-fashioned round of truth or dare?” Remus suggested with a heavy emphasis on the 'truth' part.

“But you just said there’s only enough serum for like...one person” You realized, frowning a bit.

“Well, you wanted to do something fun. How about you drink it?” Sirius suggested, "besides..that small amount won't last long anyways, so, what have you got to lose?"

You bit your lip, knowing the consequences of what could happen. You were practically in love with both men, and it was bound to come out if you were under the effects of the veritaserum.

You didn’t let yourself think about it much longer before throwing it back and letting the spare drops trickle down your throat. Perhaps this would be a...good opportunity.

It was instant. Such an overwhelming urge came over you to tell them things you wouldn’t dare think of sharing before. Thankfully, you were able to hold it back by slapping a hand to your mouth. It felt like being drunk, but the effects lived solely in your mind, leaving your body sober.

Sirius threw back his drink carelessly, and Remus followed suit. You looked at their empty glasses and decided you better catch up. If you’re going to spill your soul, you might as well be actually tipsy. The liquor burned down the sides of your throat, as you swallowed quickly and covering your mouth once more.

“This should be fun” Sirius chuckled as he leaned back in the couch on the opposite end of the room.

“Alright darling, truth or dare?” Remus began.

“Truth” You quickly blurted before returning your hand to your mouth to control your potential outbursts.

“Tell us one thing you’ve never told anyone else”

“Mm hm mm hmm” you mumbled through your hand. Oh god, you thought. The words you tried to push out were shocking.

“Without your hand” Remus laughed, pulling your hand from your lips. His fingertips were delicate against the skin of your palm.

“I touch myself thinking about both of you” You blurted quickly. Your cheeks burned cherry red.

You could’ve heard a pin drop with the silence that followed.

“That was not what I was expecting to hear” Sirius began sadistically chuckling, his gaze dancing between you and Remus.

"Oh my god I cannot believe I just said that" You gasped. "This is so not fair" You scoffed playfully and threw your head back.

Things were going just as it always went when the three of you drank. Veritaserum or not, a little bit of alcohol in your system and you always talked about sex. And lots of it. It always created such indescribable tension between all three of you, and you had to admit, it lit a fire in you.

Usually you'd exchange stories of your sexual experiences, and you couldn't help but notice they were always overly-eager to hear about yours.

"Do tell us more, dear. We would love to hear it" Remus's cheeks grew red as he looked over to you curiously. Although he sat beside you, his figure felt as though it towered over you.

"I fantasize about it...a lot" You continued, swallowing your nerves. It felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders, even considering how embarrassed you were.

“Well…Pads…that is interesting isn’t it?”

“Certainly is” Sirius, being the sly man that he is, cared very little to dance around his desires any longer, “Have you ever had a threesome?” He smirked, sipping his refilled whisky once more.

“No, but I'd love for you to both fuck me at the same time” You expressed casually, as if this was normal conversation to be had with your friends.

Your eyes grew wider and you blushed, reacting to your own words as if someone else had spoken them. But no, it was just you and your deepest desires coming to light.

You barely hid your devious smile as it disappeared behind the cover of your hand once more. The only threesome you’d ever wanted was with the two men staring at you like you were their next meal.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a wordless message to one another, using the subtlety of nods and raised brows to understand what they were going to do next.

Remus gently rested his palm on your knee before leaning over to plant a soft kiss upon your neck. You breathed out delicately into a small moan. You locked eyes with Sirius across the room, who devoured you with his gaze while he shifted in his seat on the sofa.

Remus worked away at trailing kisses up your jaw and onto your open lips. You moaned softly into him as you brought your hands up to his face, pulling him into you.

The small amount of liquor you drank danced in your veins, making you warm and fuzzy with desire. That mixed with the serum to give you the confidence you needed to act on your fantasies, now that you were given the opportunity.

You allowed Remus to explore you with his hands, which first landed from your collarbones down to your breasts. He was gentle, at first, before giving them a firm squeeze. His lips left yours, inching down your neck once more. Remus' hands found the bottom hem of your top. You eagerly assisted, letting him pull it above your head.

Sirius had remained quiet until that moment. You could hear the deep breath that he sucked in with the view of your bra that came into view. It was evident that he was dying to get his hands on you, but took just as much pleasure in watching Remus get you hot and bothered only a few feet away from him.

"Is this what you want, Y/N?" Sirius purred, watching as Remus laid you down on the couch before hovering above you. You snapped your attention to him, catching sight of his devious smirk.

"More than anything" You whimpered.

Kisses continued to be planted across your bare skin. As Remus hovered above you, you could feel the bulge that pressed firmly against the cloth of his pants brushing against your leg. You moved your leg to rub against it. Remus's brows furrowed in response as he looked deep into your eyes. His hand quickly found its way between your legs, applying pressure to your aching nerves.

God…Oh, god how did you end up here? Only moments ago you were casually spending time with your best friends, and now here you were...your mind in a daze of ecstasy and excitement.

Sirius stood to his feet, slowly walking over to the other sofa where you lay. Remus looked up at him and nodded, as if they had some sort of way to communicate telepathically. Sirius knelt beside you, caressing your face.

"Let's move this to the bedroom, yeah?" Sirius suggested, lifting you into his arms as all three of you moved into the next room.

After he placed you in the middle of the bed, Remus removed your pants. Your matching bra and panties came in handy today. The black lace accentuated every curve just perfectly, making their mouths water at the sight.

“Oh my darling, look at you” Remus’ voice trembled despite his best efforts to compose himself in the moment. They both hovered over you on their knees. It was deliciously overwhelming.

“Such a pretty little thing aren’t you?” Sirius smirked before gritting his teeth, his frustration building so much inside him.

“P-please” You whimpered pathetically.

“What is it? Tell us what you want” Remus teased at a whisper, pressing his lips dangerously close to your ear. Chills shot down your body. He began rubbing you again through the fabric of your panties.

“Both of you” You muttered, your body involuntarily rolling against the gentle touch of their fingertips exploring every inch of your skin.

Sirius and Remus didn’t anticipate the night ending like this. It all happened so fast. They’d wanted you so badly, for so long. All it took was a few drops of veritaserum and a dangerous game of truth or dare to put you in their grasp.

Only in your dreams had you seen this. Both of them hungry for you and only you. Their full attention all on you.

Thank Merlin for liquor and a careless Professor Snape, you thought. The liquid courage you knew you needed to finally act on your urges was aiding your actions and your every thought. You were sober enough to make your decision, but just enough careless to not hold back. The fuzziness that made your mind float felt so right.

So here you were, being ravaged by the hands and mouths of the most breath-taking men as they worshiped your still partially-clothed body.

“Hold her, Moony” Sirius instructed.

You were at their mercy. Whatever they decided to do with you was their call. You’d let them do whatever they wanted. Anything.

Remus shifted himself beneath you, laying against the headboard, holding you with your back pressed into his chest. The bed in Sirius’s flat was soft and inviting.

Sirius moved to the edge of the bed, bringing his mouth to your aching heat.

“Let’s get these out of the way, yeah?” He pulled at the delicate fabric, moving your panties to the side, instead of removing them, “they just look so good on you, baby”.

The cool air blew over the wetness already glistened on your pussy. Sirius groaned lowly with hunger for what was laid out in front of him.

A strangled whimper fell from your lips as Sirius pressed his tongue against your throbbing clit. Remus began kissing at your ear before trailing pecks down the side of your neck. You’d never been so turned on. This sort of attention was like nothing you’d ever experienced.

Remus hands worked to pull down your bra gently, revealing your breasts.

“You are so perfect” Remus whispered to you admirably. You looked back to him and pressed your lips upon his, shooting sparks between you two. Moans slipped into Remus’ mouth as Sirius inserted two fingers inside of you to heighten your pleasure.

“Is he making you feel good, love?” Remus purred in your ear as you pulled away from his lips to watch Sirius. His tongue worked fervently at your clit.

“Uh-huh” you desperately breathed.

“You’ve got to taste her, she’s a dream” Sirius groaned as his face revealed your slickness coating his mouth.

Remus reached from behind you, bringing his delicate fingers to your wet and swollen bud. He rubbed you gently and you curled your hips up into his touch.

He quickly pulled it away, bringing his fingers to his mouth, tasting your arousal.

“You do taste sweet” he praised, placing his finger in your own mouth to allow you to taste yourself, “here”.

“Shall you do the honors, Moony?” Sirius nodded, moving himself off the bed for a moment.

“Ready for me to fuck you, darling?” Remus whispered softly, pulling your hair away from your neck to plant gentle pecks along your shoulder.

You nodded in approval. They both worked quickly and eagerly to remove their clothes. You unhooked and removed your bra, freeing your breasts. At the same time, Remus pulled your panties off your body and swapped places with Sirius, positioning himself between your legs. Sirius rested on his knees next to your face on the bed.

Sirius stroked himself softly while he watched Remus line himself up with your entrance.

"You okay?" Remus asked, his gentle smile warming your heart as he checked on you before he pressed the tip of his cock right between your legs.

"Yes...please fuck me" You begged him desperately, earning even more of a precious grin on his expression.

"You sound so sweet when you beg, darling" Sirius purred, hooking his finger beneath your chin to bring your lips to his. He devoured you, slipping his tongue over your lips. Your brought your hand to wrap firmly around his cock, replacing his own hand.

Just then, an overwhelming sensation of fullness came over you as Remus buried himself fully inside you. You gasped, breaking away from Sirius' lips.

"Fuck" You whined. Watching where your bodies connected so beautifully. His lustful expression made it appear as though he was in heaven, holding himself fully sheathed inside you.

Sirius pulled your face to look back at him while Remus began thrusting steadily.

"Look at me while he fucks you, baby" Sirius insisted, whimpering softly while you stroked him.

"You take me so well" Remus moaned between each passionate thrust.

You wrapped your lips around Sirius' cock, lowering all the way down and taking him completely. Tears welled in your eyes as his length pressed the back of your throat.

"Ah, fuck, baby, that's it" He praised while gripping the back of your head. Before you could pull back, Sirius began fucking your face.

The way they handled your body as you were fucked from both ends showed the built up tension they were unleashing upon you.

As Remus fucked you hard, his hips slapping firmly against yours, Sirius cupped one of your breasts into his hand, gently caressing your nipple. The other hand traveled slowly down to your aching clit that begged to be touched again.

The curling of Remus' hips brushed your most sensitive spot. Along with the motions on your clit pushed you near the edge.

The tightening coil in your lower belly was begging to burst open, and with just two more glides of Remus' thrusts, it washed over you so suddenly. You moaned loudly, pulling off of Sirius to properly breathe as your body was overtaken by euphoria.

"Oh my god" You cried out, feeling your shaking legs tremble beneath Remus. He slowed to allow you a moment to catch your breath.

"You're making me jealous, Moony. I think its my turn, yeah?" Sirius teased.

"You gonna let Pads have your pussy, too?" Remus smirked, gently pulling his length from you. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness and nodded your head, "You dirty girl" he teased.

Sirius motioned for you to turn around. You obeyed, getting on your hands and knees and arching your back for his ease of access. You needed to be filled again...you needed it so desperately.

He wasted no time as he quickly got behind you, slamming his full length into your aching cunt. You choked on your moan, feeling so wonderfully overwhelmed by it.

"Oh, Y/N" Sirius breathed out, letting the euphoric feeling of being inside you overcome him.

Remus allowed you to adjust to Sirius before placing the tip of his cock, still wet with your arousal, on your swollen lips.

"If your mouth is even half as good as your cunt, I won't last much longer darling" Remus said softly before you took him entirely onto your tongue.

"Yeah, that's our good girl...letting us fuck you like this" Sirius praised you as his thrusts became brutal and quick. You could tell from their sounds of pleasure the motion of their hips that they were both close to their release.

"You both fuck me so good" You whimpered pathetically, taking a breath and pulling away from Remus.

"Your ours. All ours" Sirius groaned, his tone was possessive and rough.

Sirius was ruthless the pacing of his thrusts. He fucked you like he missed you. Like he'd waited forever to feel you.

"Suck my cock, darling" Remus instructed, guiding your mouth back to his length, "Yes, that's it" He threw his head back, enamored with the pleasure you brought him.

Remus and Sirius were in a continuous state of euphoria. Neither of them thought they'd ever have you like this. They'd dreamed of it, but never thought it would ever be real.

They both found perfect rhythm, fucking your pussy and your mouth at the same pace.

"Come for him, Y/N...come on his cock like you did for me" Remus encouraged you.

"I can feel her, she's close" Sirius gripped your hips, using them as leverage to deepen the swing of his hips, causing your ass to slap against his thighs repeatedly.

It was all too much, in the best possible way. Their praises did so much to push you over the edge.

As your second release built within you, your body grew tense, which they both noticed. It tightened up inside you, threatening to let loose any second. All it took was one final thrust from both ends to unravel the tension.

Your orgasm overtook every fiber of your being, radiating further than your first. A mess of profanities and whimpering filled the room as stars danced in your eyes.

"Good girl" Sirius praised you, slowing his thrusts while he allowed you to ride through your high.

Both men must've exchanged an unspoken message to one another once again, because they both pulled their lengths from you at the same time, leaving you terribly empty. You whined in disappointment.

"Lay down" Remus instructed. You did as he asked, laying down on your back. They both sat back and stared you down.

"You said you touch yourself thinking about us" Sirius began, "Show us…show us how you do it"

Your heart began beating even faster. How erotic it felt to pleasure yourself while they watched. They stoked themselves, admiring you so carefully.

You smirked, parting your legs and bringing your fingers in between your trembling thighs.

Slowly, you rubbed circles on your clit, hesitating at first to look them in their eyes. Even though they'd just fucked you senseless, something felt so much more intimate about this and you felt almost...nervous, but...you loved it. Their moaning indicated their edging nearer the release they craved.

You rubbed yourself faster now, finally finding the confidence to look them in the eyes, shooting your gaze back and forth between them. They looked at you as if you were the only woman in the whole world. You wondered how many times this very fantasy had danced through their imaginations. Finally having the opportunity to admire their impressive sizes, you were so turned on by the way they pleasured themselves while enjoying the sight of you.

"That's our girl...keep going" Remus begged.

You shut your eyes and threw your head back, feeling your third orgasm approaching quickly.

“Oh yes, just like that” Sirius encouraged you, enamored with the way you worked your fingers on your clit and bucked into your own touch.

Once again, that familiar tingling made itself known at your core. Your whimpering moans grew louder as you picked up the pace and focused on your pleasure.

"Gonna c- fuck...gonna come on you baby" Sirius growled.

You spilled over the edge, letting your orgasm pulse through your veins and overtake you. Just then, as your pleasurable cries fell from your lips, both Remus and Sirius' motions faltered in their weakness as they came on you, their release coating your tits and stomach.

"Fuuuuck" Remus cried out, followed by Sirius' intense moans of approval as you all three came together. It was the most erotic experience you'd ever felt

You chest rose and fell with your heavy breathing, trying to catch your breath as you floated down gracefully.

Sirius and Remus did the same, falling to either side of you on the bed. There were several moments of blissful silence, allowing you all come down in peace.

"Y'alright, Y/N?" Remus spoke softly, pulling a stray strand of hair from your cheek.

"Never ever been better" You chuckled.

Sirius grabbed a towel and wiped your body clean of their release before cuddling back up next to you and Remus.

"I do hope your bad day is a little bit better now, dear" Sirius teased.

"That was certainly long overdue wasn't it?" You sighed.

"Shall we thank Severus next time we see him?" Sirius proposed.

"I don't think that's a good idea" Remus laughed sweetly before you all three fell asleep together.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Things Learned and Unlearned Ch. 11

Series Summary: Y/N has spent her life trying to outrun her mother's reputation. When she meets the rich and successful playboy, Dean Winchester, how quickly can he get her to stop running?

Pairings/Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N, Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester, Lucy Winchester (OC)

Warnings: Each chapter will have it's own warnings, but there will be smut, seduction, virgin!reader, playboy!dean, Edwardian era BS attitudes surrounding sex and women. (Technically it's set in 1900 and the Edwardian era started in 1901, but you get it.) Angst, Fluff, all the good stuff that regularly pops up in my series. 😁

Chapter Warnings: Blowjob, oral (f. receiving), sort of dirty talk, praise!kink if you squint.

Word Count: 4,418

A/N: Here's Ch. 11. I so appreciate all the love and support you're all giving this series. Hope you enjoy the latest installment. ❤️

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Y/N had a very hard time falling asleep that night. The bed was too big, the room was too dark, and there were strange noises around the room that she never even noticed when she was wrapped up in Dean's arms. 

She missed him. And the more she missed him, the guiltier she felt for hurting him. She knew, of course, that he would never force himself on her. That wasn't what she'd meant, but she saw now, that was exactly how it sounded to Dean. 

But she'd been genuinely curious and very worried about the expectations that went along with being a mistress. She knew if she said no, Dean wouldn't ignore her wishes and just attack her. But she'd wondered if there was a limit on how often she could refuse before she got tossed aside. 

Not that she imagined she'd be saying no or turning him down very often…or ever. All the man had to do was kiss her, or touch her lightly and she was gone. But all of the unknowns of this life he was asking her to commit to, still terrified her.

She hated the uncertainty of it all. When it was only the two of them, there were no uncertainties, everything was perfect. But they couldn't simply exist outside the world they lived in.

And the reality was that the world they lived in wouldn't bat an eyelash at Dean for keeping a mistress, but as his mistress, her entire world and place within it would be forever changed and she couldn't ever go back.

She simply had to decide if a finite amount of time spent with Dean was worth infinite ostracism from society. What would she do when Dean was done with her? Would she simply move into someone else's bed? Would she sell off her beautiful Tiffany's bracelet so she could go without a new protector for a little longer?

Her questions and their fearful answers kept her tossing and turning all night. In the morning, a soft knock at her hotel door pulled her easily from her restless slumber. 

She wrapped her dressing gown around her and opened the door a crack. Outside a young maid bobbed a curtsy and handed her a sealed envelope. 

“Just arrived for you, ma’am.”

Y/N took it, and called the maid back as she turned to leave.

“Could I please have a cup of coffee with scones and jam?”

She knew she wasn't going to be able to sleep anymore, so she might as well start her day. The maid nodded and hurried on her way.

The letter had obviously been hand delivered, since there was no return address or postage stamp on it. But she recognized Jessica's writing on the envelope.

Y/N sat in the green chair and tore it open.

Y/N smiled softly as she read the letter and then quickly scrawled a note, accepting the invitation, at the bottom of the page.

She put the letter in a fresh envelope with Jessica's name on the front, and gave it back to the maid when she came with her breakfast.

"Can you have a messenger take this back to 1511 Riverside?"

"Yes Ma'am." The maid said with another quick curtsy and a friendly smile.

After breakfast, Y/N bathed, and dressed in a simple day gown that she didn't need help to get into, and sat down to read. But her mind was far too distracted to concentrate on it.

She thought about going for a walk through the gardens, but it was a particularly frigid day and the idea didn't really appeal to her. 

So, for most of the day she stayed bundled up in the green chair, with a book that she paid no attention to, open in her lap.

Darkness came early, the winter sun setting before the evening had truly even begun. Y/N lit one small lamp, leaving the room dimly lit. Lord knew, she didn't need the light to read.

A delicious supper arrived and she picked at it, somehow both hungry and slightly nauseous at the same time. 

Finally, not long after the clock struck eight, Y/N decided to simply go to bed and possibly make up for the terrible sleep she'd had the night before. 

However, as she was about to stand up, a knock at the garden doors startled her. 

Dean stood on the other side of the doors as the wind and snow swirled around him. Y/N went to the door hesitantly at first, but then hurried the last few feet, wanting to let him in out of the cold.

She opened the door and waved him in. A gust of wind and snow followed him into the room and Y/N shivered. Dean closed and locked the doors behind him. Then he pulled the thick, heavy, velvet curtains across the doors to better keep out the cold.

"Freezing out there tonight." He said as he stomped his boots and shook his head lightly, knocking loose a few more fistfuls of snow. 

When he was finished, silence enveloped them and the tension expanded between them. Finally Dean waved to the unread book Y/N still held in her hands.

“Didn't mean to interrupt you.”

Y/N shook her head and walked back to the chair, setting down the book before perching on the edge of the seat 

“No, I wasn't really reading.”

More silence stretched between them, making Y/N wring her hands in her lap. Eventually she couldn't take it and the words just burst out of her as she looked up at him. 

“I'm so sorry, Dean. I never meant to make it seem like I thought you were some kind of monster.”

Dean shook his head, a few more snowflakes falling to the ground as he strode to the chair and dropped down onto his haunches.

“No Y/N, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gotten so angry. I just…” He trailed off, looking to the side and then at the floor. “I need you to tell me something honestly.”

Dean's voice sounded  unusual - strained and tight. Y/N nodded. “Of course.”

He looked back at her, his eyes level with hers. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, before letting the words tumble slowly out of his mouth.

“Have there ever been times-” He dropped his gaze again, staring at her lap. “Have you ever…said y-yes, when you meant-”

“No.” Y/N said firmly, shaking her head. She cupped Dean's cheek and raised his gaze back to hers. She felt her heart clutch at the look of fear that he tried to keep out of his expression.

“God no, Dean. Never.” She felt tears gather at the look of profound relief that spread over his features. Had he spent the whole night and day worried and guilty he'd done something wrong?

She leaned forward and pressed a petal soft kiss to his lips and then rested her forehead against his. 

“I will always want you.” She said quietly. “It never stops actually. It's slightly inconvenient.” 

Dean exhaled a chuckle. “Tell me about it, sweetheart.” 

She was happy to hear his voice closer to normal and she kissed him again briefly, before rising from the chair and moving past him. 

She shook her head. “It's just…those women last night, they…”

She turned back to face him where he still crouched by the chair. “They were all talking about their lives and they made everything seem so…” 

She took a deep breath, searching for the word. “Transactional.” She finished, her shoulders slumping as her breath rushed out. 

Dean nodded slowly as he rose to his full height and walked towards her, pausing with barely two feet between them.

“Well,” he said quietly, “I suppose the truth is that, a lot of the time…it can be sort of, transactional.” He shrugged gently. Y/N nodded and looked at the floor.

Dean stepped even closer and raised her chin with his fingertips. “But that's not what I want with you.” He said, his voice adamant.

He sighed softly and his face was earnest as he spoke. 

“Look, I buy you things, and spoil you a little because…” He shrugged. “Because you deserve to be spoiled. You deserve beautiful things.” 

He let his knuckles trail down her cheek. “And I can give them to you, which makes me happy.” 

He cupped her cheeks in both hands and stared directly, and fiercely, into her eyes, taking in a deep breath. “But you don't have to…” He exhaled slowly. “You don't have to earn them. Do you understand?”

Y/N nodded and felt her heart ease slightly. But she bit her lip; something was still worrying her.

“I need you to tell me something honestly.” She said, echoing his earlier words.

“Of course.” He said, echoing hers with a slight smile.

Y/N began wringing her hands again, not sure how to word her question.

“Doesn’t it ever bother you that…I mean does it annoy you that you can't…or, I mean, that I won't…let you…bed me properly?”

Dean's eyes widened and then his expression settled into a frown. He opened his mouth to answer and then shut it again. 

He was quiet for a moment before stepping closer and taking hold of Y/N's hands in his to stop her squeezing and rubbing them over and over.

“Look,” he said, his voice low and deep, “I'm not gonna lie and act as though I don't wanna…” 

His nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath. “...don't wanna take possession of all of you, every inch of you. Or pretend like I don't wanna bury myself so deep inside you that I forget my own name.” 

His voice was rough now and his eyes blazed with heat, making Y/N's core clench and her body ache a little. 

“But,” he exhaled roughly. “I understand. I realize that…no decisions have been made about your future. And you don't want to commit to such a permanent action when this may be a temporary situation.”

Y/N was immensely grateful for the way he understood her. She never would have been able to say it so concisely.

He continued with a smile. “So, I can wait. There's no rush, and I'm perfectly happy with what we have here and now.” 

Without warning, he yanked her flush against him and she gasped as he breathed against her lips.

“Speaking of the here and now, are we finished this here fight now?”

She chuckled breathlessly as he tilted his head so he was almost kissing her, holding back slightly, waiting for her answer.

She nodded quickly. “Yes, god yes.”

That was all he needed to hear for him to crash his lips down on hers and simply inhale her. His fingers bit into her hips as he tried to press her even tighter against him.

She pushed his heavy coat off his shoulders, sending his suit coat with it. Grasping frantically, she was tugging on the buttons of his waistcoat and then his shirt, desperate to feel his taut skin and firm muscles under her fingers. 

Dean pulled away with an annoyed growl to unlace his boots and kick them off. The task was made more difficult by Y/N's refusal to stop running her hands over his shoulders and back while he crouched in front of her. 

Finally his boots were off and he stood up quickly, driving Y/N backwards, till he could slam her against the wall.

“Sorry.” He said gruffly, but Y/N shook her head. 

“Doesn't matter.”

She pulled at his hair as he bent his head to suck bruises into her neck.  He pushed open the sides of her dressing gown and cupped her breasts through the thin silk nightgown underneath, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples.

“Dean!” She shouted as he tugged on one roughly.

He pushed off her dressing gown completely and then pulled the straps of her nightgown down over her shoulders, so that it slipped down her body and settled at her hips. He dipped his head and nipped at her breast, making her gasp before he smoothed over the spot with his wide tongue, and the gasp turned into a moan.

Dean’s voice was harsh as he spoke against her skin. “Goddamn, I missed you last night. Did you miss me?”

Y/N did her best to answer but it mostly came out as a whimper when he pushed her nightgown up between her legs, pressing against her soft mound, and warming the silk under his hand.

He chuckled darkly. “Yeah, I think you missed me.”

He pressed the material of the gown more tightly against her, rubbing at that overly sensitive button through the silk. The incredible feeling of the material, so soft and wet, as Dean rubbed it against her, quickly had her standing on tiptoe, grabbing at Dean’s shoulders for balance. Dean took away his hand but quickly slid his knee between her legs and pushed it hard against her aching core 

She knew what she was doing this time, and quickly began riding his thick thigh, rubbing back and forth on it, occasionally lifting herself an inch or two and shuddering at the impact when she pushed herself back down against the hard ridge of muscle in his leg. 

Dean raised the pooled silk at her waist and lifted it off over her head, tossing it aside. As she rode him, he trailed his fingers across every inch of her flushed skin. 

Finally he slipped his middle finger into her slick, swirling the rough pad of his fingertip against that magic button only a handful of times before she was exploding, shaking with her release. He held her against the wall for a long time, kissing her, licking and nipping at different parts of her naked body. 

He eventually eased back slightly when she could stand on her own, tilting his head forward to kiss the tip of her nose. 

As her heart fluttered at the sweet gesture, a thought entered Y/N’s mind and it wouldn’t leave. Dean’s head was dipped slightly, kissing the tops of her breasts. She ran her fingers through his hair and then spoke softly into the silky aftermath surrounding them.

“Dean, would you explain something to me?”

Dean murmured against her breast, making a sound in the affirmative.

“Could you explain…I think I know, but I’m not sure…” Her hesitation brought Dean’s gaze up to hers, and he arched an eyebrow. “Um…what exactly does it mean if I say I want to ‘get on my knees for you’?”

Dean’s eyes were nearly obliterated by his black pupils spreading over his mossy green irises. His breathing was slightly shallow as he spoke.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Last night some of the women were talking about being ‘on their knees’. Some of them seemed to like it, some of them didn't, so I thought I’d ask what it means.”

Dean’s jaw ticked and his whole body was hard. She could feel the telltale evidence of his desire as it pressed through his pants and into her thigh.

“What do you think it means?” Dean asked, his voice rough.

Y/N felt herself blush. “Well, I’m not sure, but it seemed like a way to pleasure you.”

Dean nodded. “Yes, it’s,” he cleared his throat, “it’s referring to you being on your knees in front of me, so I can…” He seemed to struggle for a minute, swallowing several times. Finally he cupped her cheek, and ran his thumb heavily over her lips.

“I’d use your mouth instead of your body, for pleasure. I would…push in and out of your mouth instead of…” He cupped his hand between her legs. “Instead of here. 

He licked his lips. “We’ve already done something similar before, I mean you’ve put your lips around me, and that was…incredible.” He shook his head. “But this would be a little more intense.”

Y/N nodded. “And it gives you pleasure? Can it make a baby?”

Dean shook his head and then clarified. “I mean, yes it would give me immense pleasure, and no, you can’t make a baby that way.”

Y/N bit her lip. “Then I want to do it. Would you help me? Tell me what you want, what I should do?”

Dean closed his eyes. “Yes, I can tell you. But,” he opened his eyes again quickly and smoothed his hands over the curve of her hips. “Y/N you don’t have to do it. I don’t want you to think, just because you heard those other women talking, that it’s something that’s…expected of you.”

Y/N shook her head. “No, Dean I want to…” She kissed him softly and spoke against his lips. “Don't you enjoy giving me pleasure? With your mouth?”

Dean groaned roughly. “Yeah.” He croaked, his eyes closed.

“Then let me do the same.”

She pulled back from him a little and he opened his eyes again to stare deeply into her for a moment. Finally he backed away, nodding slowly. When he was a few feet away from her, he crooked his finger at her.

“Come here, and get down on your knees.”

Y/N felt a slight shiver race through her body as she stepped forward. She knelt slowly in front of him; the plush wool rug was soft under her knees.

Dean reached out to trail his fingertips down her jaw. Again he rubbed his thumb across her lips, softer this time. He dropped his hand and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth before continuing his instructions.

“Open your mouth.”

Y/N dropped her jaw into a small O, but Dean shook his head. “No, wider.”

She stretched her mouth open wide and Dean nodded. “Stick out your tongue.”

Y/N felt a little odd, but she did it, and the look in Dean’s eye was worth it. His body, towering above her, was hard and thick with rigid muscle and he looked primitive, like something wild and untamed. 

He stepped closer and reached out his arm. “I’m going to show you what to do using my fingers first.” 

He took two thick fingers and laid them against her tongue. She tasted the saltiness of his skin and began drooling. Dean pushed his fingers in and out a few times. Then he pressed them far back in her throat and she gagged a little. 

Dean pulled them out quickly. “Are you alright?” 

Y/N nodded and wiped away the drool on her chin. “I'm fine. Keep teaching.” She said with a mischievous smile. 

Dean's eyes glowed with approval as he continued.

“This time, I want you to lick my fingers, roll your tongue around the tips of them, and suck on them, lightly at first, then harder as you pull off.”

She nodded, understanding immediately, thinking of all the times Dean had done exactly that to her little bundle of nerves - sucking softly and then tighter and tighter until the pleasure spiked in her blood and she exploded into a million pieces.

God, I want to give that to him. She thought as she closed her lips around his fingers again.

She did as he directed and as she pulled off of his fingers with a pop, she could feel the way heat and wet pooled between her thighs. Pleasuring Dean was making her desperate for more of him.

Dean nodded at her, his eyes nearly black. “That's good. Very good.” He whispered.

He licked his lips, his eyes hooded as he looked down at her.

“Take off my belt.”

Y/N reached up and opened the buckle before sliding the long, supple piece of leather from around his waist. She touched the button on his pants and looked up at him, a question in her gaze.

“Yeah, take them off, underwear too.”

Y/N slid his clothes down over his hips and thick thighs, releasing his rock hard shaft to slap loudly against his lower stomach.

Her mouth began watering as she leaned forward to take him between her lips. She flicked her tongue over his tip, since she always loved it when Dean used his tongue like that on her. 

It seemed to work for him too, because he groaned and bit into his bottom lip. She stretched her lips around his girth and slid down his length reveling in the harsh groan that seemed torn from Dean's throat.

His shaft was much wider and thicker than his fingers had been and her lips fit very tightly around him. She moved slowly up and down on him as she got into the feel and rhythm of it. 

Dean tangled his fist in her hair as he coaxed her to take him a little deeper and then a little deeper still. 

His voice was a harsh rasp. “Drop your jaw, sweetheart, I think you can take a little more.”

He hit the back of her throat and made her gag again, but as he tried to pull back, she pushed further, taking the last inch of him down her throat. 

She pressed her nose against the springy hair at the base of his shaft for a moment before pulling off of him with a gasp. She coughed a couple of times, but then sank back down on him again. 

“Y/N,” Dean ground out through gritted teeth. “look at me. I want to see your beautiful face while you take every inch of me down your throat.”

She looked up at him and felt more pleasure sing through her veins at the look of absolute, aching need on his face. She bobbed up and down on him faster and faster. He was hitting the back of her throat over and over, but she didn't gag again. 

He rubbed his thumb across her cheekbone, and shook his head, his voice barely more than a growl. “You're so goddamn beautiful, sweetheart. So perfect.” 

He thrust into her mouth hard and fast three times. Then he pushed on her shoulders. 

“I'm almost there, Y/N.”

He pulled out of her mouth but she wanted to feel him explode against her the way she exploded against him. 

So she sank back onto him just as his hips jerked forward. Suddenly she felt warm liquid shoot out of his shaft, filling her mouth. She swallowed quickly, but a lot of it still spilled out of her mouth and down over her breasts. 

Watching Dean shuddering above her, his face fixed in an expression of pleasure so intense it almost looked like pain, she slipped her hand down to rub against that aching bundle of nerves, trying to relieve the intense throbbing that watching his pleasure had caused.

Finally Dean's breathing began to return to normal and he groaned again as he looked down at her, covered in his seed.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N. You're a vision like this. The most beautiful creature I've ever known.” 

He saw her hand between her legs and the way she bit her lip as she chased her climax and his expression softened. 

“It's alright, baby.” He said, pulling her hand away and helping her to her feet. “I'll take care of you.” 

He led her into the bathroom and began to run a bath. While the tub filled, he wet a cloth and wiped away the remnants of him from her skin. 

Then he turned her so she faced the tub and pressed his big hand against the middle of her back, bending her over to rest her hands on the side of the tub.

She felt his fingers slip between her folds to find her button and circle it lightly. But then he lowered himself down and sank his mouth into her her from behind. 

Within seconds she was screaming out another climax as Dean held her tight against his mouth. As it receded, she slumped over the side of the tub, her hands and hair dangling in the water.

Dean made quick work of shutting off the taps, tying her hair back out of her face and then helping her step into the tub on her wobbly legs.

He settled her back against his chest and washed her completely with slow, soft strokes. When he was finished, they soaked in the warm water for a little longer, until Y/N felt like she was boneless and floating. 

Dean finally stepped out as the water cooled, and then bent slightly so Y/N could reach up and wrap her arms around his neck, letting him lift her from the tub. As he carried her to the vanity seat to dry her, she shook her head.

“You know, you indulge me a little too much. I'm going to get far too used to being spoiled and pampered.”

Dean grinned at her and then caught her lips in a warm, slow kiss. “Good.” He said, dipping his head to place soft kisses below her jaw. “That's exactly what I want. You should expect indulgence and pampering.”

He finished drying her and braided her still damp hair; he didn't bother dressing either of them again and simply laid Y/N down naked against the cool sheets. He warmed her up as he climbed in beside her and pulled her close. 

They were quiet for a little while, and Y/N was close to drifting off when Dean pressed his lips to her temple and spoke softly. 

“Thank you for tonight, sweetheart. It was incredible; you are incredible.”

Y/N pulled back slightly, looking up at him, so he'd kiss her. He took the hint and his lips pressed against hers only briefly, just a fleeting brush of his lips, but as she looked up into his soft, mossy green eyes, Y/N knew beyond a doubt, something that she'd suspected for a long time.

This man is the love of my life.

The thought made her stomach clench and her heart hurt as Jessica's voice came back to her, the warning ringing in her ears. 

"I just want you to know the truth of the situation, so you don't go into this time with Dean holding on to some kind romantic notion. He is who he is and you can't change that.”

Y/N felt her aching heart sink a little further as she laid back down on Dean's chest, one question plaguing her.

What am I supposed to do now?

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

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[cheynovak]

Divine 

Michael/Dean Winchester x F/Reader Y/N   

Warnings:mentioning of emotional damage, slight sexual tension, ...  

Side note: English isn’t my first language.  

-- 

*Does not follow The SPN storyline * 

-- 

Dean made the mistake of letting Michael take over his body. While Michael made plans on destroying the humanity he met up with different monster leaders, a few of whom he meets up in a jazz bar he started to appreciate or was it the waitress, Y/N.  

A spark of curiosity hit him when he the young spiritual woman crossed his path. Realising he might have more in common with humans than he wants.  

-- 

Michael set foot in the dark lit bar downtown, marching to the same spot he had been claiming almost every day this week. He didn’t need to scan the area to know she was here. The soft smell of her parfum lingered in the air, mixed with the smell of alcohol.  

Michael noticed how a lot of women in this era smelled fruity and flowery, to him it smells cheap, but not her, no she had a scent that smelled like old money, deep and warm, almost...divine. 

He folded his coat neatly over the back of the chair next to him, the flat cap on top of his coat. Before he could turn around a glass of scotch appeared on the table in front of him. He saw how her nails were perfect as usual, slightly longer and a deep red colour, elegant.  

“The usual I presumed?” She said with a steady and sweet voice.  

His lips twitched almost into a smile. Slowly Michael looked up to the young woman next to him. Her lips were coated in the red lipstick that matched her nails. He noticed she wore that lipstick almost every night.  

Michael’s brow lifted while he looked at her.  

He saw how her lips turned into a soft smile. “I noticed you’re becoming a regular on my shift. If this is not what you wanted tonight, please let me know, sir.” Oh, he liked the respect she gave him. “This will be fine.” she nodded before turning on her heels.  

While his fingers moved the glass to his mouth, taking a slow sip, he couldn’t keep himself from glancing over to her. Seeing how she walked around with a flair, he could almost compliment his father on his creation. 

Almost a shame she too would soon be gone.  

After a few hours Y/N noticed him still sitting alone, the bar ran empty as she walked over to him.  

”Can I get you anything else, Sir?” She saw the look on his face, how it shifted from irritated to calm and well put together. “No, I think I might leave.”  

“They didn’t show up, did they?” She didn’t want to cross the boundaries, but she was too curious not to ask. Wanting to know a bit more about the handsome stranger walking into her bar every day for the last week.  

His eyes frowned, “The business partners, you meet here every day.” she added. Micheal realised she had been keeping an eye on him just like he had on her. “No...” he started “But why don’t you join me?”  

Y/N’s eyes widen, she looked around the bar, the place was empty, except from one customer at the bar who was talking to the bartender. She glided elegant on to the chair in front of Michael, “why not...” she lingered a little on the last word, wondering what his name was.  

And almost like he could read her mind he said “Michael.” she nodded slow, looking into his eyes. “Y/N” His eyes broke the connection and glided down over her. Stopping at her necklace. “You’re religious?”  

Her fingers instinctively reached for the small golden cross on her neck. “Well, I guess I am.” Michael’s eyes lock on hers again. “I hear doubt.” She smiled nervous “I believe... in god and... heaven and hell.” she thought for a second.  

“But?” he pushed. “I don’t believe in blindly following what people think is gods will.” Her breath hitched when Michael’s brow lifted again, his beautiful eyes scanning her body again. The weight of his eyes makes her feeling warm and blush.   

“How about Angels?” he asked casual. She smiled, “please don’t tell a cheesy pick-up line going to follow.”  

“Don’t worry, I know you are no angel.”  

Even though she hated the “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, or heaven is missing an angel” lines. But his brutal answer did sting. “Jesus, thanks.” she sighs soft. Just as she wanted to lift her off her seat he continued.  

“But there is something... graceful about you.”  

A short silence fell upon them before she broke it. “How about you Michael, do you have fate?” This was the first time she noticed him smiling. He looked away when he answered. “My father made it impossible not to.”  

“I get it.” - “I doubt that” he answered sharp.  

 

“My father was a preacher.” She said, “A self-proclaimed man of God’s word. As a kid I called him a storyteller.” Michael’s lips curled into another soft smile. Fuck she burned up when he did that. “I guess our father are more alike than I thought.” 

“Anyway, I should leave you to it.” She said after a short silence between them. Just as she lifted herself of her chair Michael did the same. His hand wrapped around her arm. Even though it was a normal gesture she could feel the strength in his muscles.  

“Have you ever visited the old church on the edge of the city?“ he asked.  

Her eyes met his, only now realising how tall he is. “No, I haven’t it is supposed to be sold to an old art collector, many years ago. It’s private property now. Or that was what my dad said.” Michael nodded, “ I know the man who bought it.”  

“Let me take you.” he said stretching his arm out to guide her to the door. He saw how Y/N doubted. “I promise it is worth your time.” While she looked at the door her thoughts slipped past her mouth. “You know that’s what serial killers say.”  

There it was again, the grin on his perfect face. “I’m not planning on killing anyone tonight. “she could feel his eyes lingering on her. “Specially not you.”  

Once outside he put his hat back on, looking how she raised her hand.  

Y/N called for a taxi, which quickly stopped. Michael opened the door for her. “What a gentleman” she winked. The ride there was silent, filled with nerves and maybe even a little fear.  

The taxi dropped them off at the gate near the old church, the premisses seemed abandon but there was a soft light coming through the glass stained windows.  

Michael opened the large doors like he owned the place. “Who is there? Show yourself!” An old man yelled holding a riffle in his hand. “Joseph, it’s me old friend.” Y/N could see how the old man who seemed nearly blind was trying to figure who he was talking to.  

And then it hit him.  

“M-Michael?” he whispered “Oh good lord... You came back!” The man rushed towards the entrance. “I kept everything like you wanted sir! No one came in, everything is still in place! I told you it would be a good idea to keep me! I-I listened to every word you said, sir.”  

Y/N didn’t pay much attention to what the old man was saying.  

Her eyes roamed the inside, eyes trailing the paintings on the walls and ceilings, the stories that were told on the windows, the marble statues that were displayed. “Amazing.” she said while breathing out softly.  

“Leave us be Joseph.” Michael ordered the old man when he saw Y/N walking up to a painting hidden behind a curtain. Her perfect manicured hand pulled the fabric aside. Revealing a painting of Michael as an angel.  

Y/N felt the warmth of Michael’s body behind her. “Michael” she started mesmerised by the beauty of the painting. “What is this place.” her head turned to him, but her eyes lingered a second longer on the art before looking at him.  

“Call it a private collection.” He noticed how she really took in his features before looking back at the painting and again back at him. To distract her he decided to test her on her knowledge. “What do you know about archangels?”  

She answered on autopilot, she blurred out everything she had been told on Sunday school. 

Michael noticed the warm feeling he got when she started to talk, even though all she said was what humans learned in church.  

Michael could feel the warmth radiate from her skin, he wondered how soft her flesh would feel under his strong hands. “I often wondered...” she walked closer to his painting, breaking his thoughts. “Why god made humans while he already made angels.”  

“I mean...” she turned back to Michael. “When I got older, I noticed the similarity in angels and humans. Did that disappoint me, he just made more useless angels in human forms.” - “Explain yourself” Michael’s voice echoed in the empty church.  

“Well, take my family for example. I’m the oldest of 4 daughters. My dad used to be in church everyday, leaving me to take care of my little sisters. And whenever they did something they shouldn't it was my mistake.”  

“In a way I presume that god and his angels are just another fucked up family. I feel for Michael, the way he carried the weight of the family on his shoulders, while every last one of them took all he did for granted.”  

“You’re the oldest?” he asked taking a step closer.” hm-hm.”  

“No mother? Just a father?” she nodded in response to his question.  

 

“Let me guess, you did anything to please him, your father? But when the youngest fell out of line you were to one to blame, he needed you to get them back and punish them or their behaviour.” His voice sounded very close.  

Y/N looked beside her, seeing how Michael bended a little forward so his lips where near her ear.  

“Y-yes, how did you know...” the words came trembling out of her mouth, goose bumps covered her spine. Y/N turned fully around to look at Michael. He didn’t take a step back, their faces almost touched.  

Michael’s eyes looked back and forward between her glistering eyes and her soft red lips. Starting to understand why many of their angels where seduced to having intercourse with a human.  

Y/N’s eyes wander back into the old church, not idea of the thoughts roaming his mind “Joseph doesn’t own this place, does he?”  

 

“No.” Michael’s voice was stern, trying to get a grip. “How long have you known him? “ She added, trying to break the electric feeling rushing through her veins.  

“Few years.” He saw how the wheels in her head were spinning.  

“You know, Michael this place was sold over ten decades ago... So, when you said you know the owner you were referring to...” Her eyes locked back on to his perfect green pearls. “Me.” Her eyebrow flicked up before she started to laugh.  

“Nice try, but serious.” her smile faded.  

Just when she thought he couldn’t get any closer to her, he did. Her head tilted back. “You know... you and I are much alike.” the back of his hand caressed her cheek. “You really get me, Y/N. I never thought a human being would see through the stories that have been told since the beginning.” 

“Human being, beginning, what?” she repeated. He didn’t answer her. “I never thought I would be so invested in a human’s life. But you... you trigger something in me.”  

Y/N tried to take a step back, every warning sign inside her went off. Nerves where jumping, she wanted to get as far away from him as she could. But when she planned on taking the step she felt his free hand on the back of her neck.  

“It’s such a shame there is no inch of grace floating inside your veins.” Y/N’s breath hitched. “M-Michael, you’re scaring... what do you mean, who are you?”  

 

“I am, Michael.”  

Y/N’s brows frowned and then she followed his glance over to the painting behind her. “Wha... No.” she turned back and all she could see was the beautiful white blueish glow coming from his eyes.  

And although she knew it was best to run for her life, the revelation in front of her nailed her to the ground. As Michael took a step back the walls behind him covered with a black shadow portraying wings.  

Y/N breathed heavy, unable to tear her gaze of him while he walked slowly back to her. His hand took its place back on her cheek while his eyes looked at her slightly parted lips. Her hand hold onto his side. 

Trying to understand all that happened, she felt scared yet excited, a rush she couldn't quiet explain. When Michael bowed closer to her, she didn’t move.  

And right before he closed the gap between them, placing his angelic lips on hers, he whispered:

“Oh help me father, for I am about to sin.”  

--

Let me know what you think, like, share or comment <3

If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

Taglist: -> If you want to be added let me know what you like to read!

@suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @jackles010378 @yvonneeeee

[eowynstwin]

Do you have any recommendations for longer cod fics with plot?

Yeah, plenty!

A few from @391780 (and their ao3) (if you decide to explore their other fics PLEASE read the tags first, early writes some very dark work that may not suit you):

The Arrangement

The ad reads "Looking for a woman (25-45) to enter a discreet and unusual arrangement, with monetary compensation. Must fill out application and send photo.", and for some reason that you can't even fathom yourself, you apply. AKA John Price, who knows better than anyone what a liability having a spouse or partner is, decides that the only way he's going to find a beautiful soft woman to put up with his absurd schedule and dangerous job is to simply hire them.

the space in between

a shortcut through a construction site at night leads you to a run-in with john price, leader of the local crime family. (or, mafia Price romance with a desk jockey who didn't sign up to be a crime boss' obsession or sole confidant)

Into Your Veins

Ghost is a vampire during a zombie apocalypse, sent on a mission from Price to recruit you to join the little gated community of survivors that he's rounding up. You're a survivor who just wants to be left in peace to tend your garden and occasionally clear out your moat and booby traps of the undead. Neither of you gets what you'd planned on.

Then we have milk0 on ao3

Incompetent People

You share a group chat with your team and you sometimes wish you didn’t. (or, a very fun fic that started as a group chat piece and has evolved into a poly 141 romance. Otherwise known as my favorite fucking trope ever. The reader character has such a fun voice, I adore this fic.)

Next of course is @ceilidho (emphemeron on ao3) (same deal as with early—read their tags if you explore more of their fic, they also write darker work)

take me home, country road

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au

Following up with @alittleposhtoad (smoggyfogbottom on ao3)

"it's gonna get me by the end of the night"

A year after the attack on the Urzikstan embassy, Stacy Davidson struggles to move on. Whumptober Prompt: No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.” Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?” Note: I picked Gaz x OC because this ship doesn't exist on ao3, and I wasn't sure how to classify it for searching purposes. Stacy has a minor role in the game!

oh bury me not on the lone prairie

You are a doctor on the frontier, recently widowed and left to fend for yourself. You cope by keeping a strict routine, one that is threatened by the arrival of four strangers one hazy summer night. (141 western AU)

a handsome stranger on a cold autumn day

You work at a small-town library doing the same thing day in and day out, until a handsome captain approaches your desk.

rounding out this list is @lunarvicar who is on hiatus but still fully worth reading. (you can find them here on ao3)

exit row

ghost is that hot guy at the airport you wish you could talk to. good thing your seats are next to each other on the plane and you can fantasize alllll you want. (or, you hook up with Ghost in an airport and meet, months later, after you join the 141. he is not happy about it. or is he?)

to the flame

Moth has barely escaped her first captors, but tumbles headfirst into the care of the 141. She has to decide whether to trust them and their prickly leader, Captain Price - who also happens to be the sexiest motherfucker she's ever met.

a stranger at the table

tudor era AU. John Price is an old friend of your new husband's, come to help on the farm for a season. Your vows are tested in ways you could never have imagined.

All of these I've listed are multichapter fics, but every single author's one-shots are just as good. I highly recommend reading those too!

Now I'm just going to list a few writers who you really should just take the time to go through their masterlists, because you can't go wrong with anything they write.

@yeyinde

@peachesofteal

@moondirti

@charliemwrites (dark fiction, be aware)

@ohbo-ohno (also dark fiction)

honorary mention of @guyfieriii who has removed most of her cod fiction from tumblr due to a frankly disgusting amount of harassment, but I'm sure if you ask her very very nicely she'll send you where you need to go. (seriously. be nice. or you'll see me in your bedroom holding a knife at midnight)

P.S. if you're reading this, and i've expressed love for your work in the past, but you are not on this list, it is NOT intentional exclusion. It is my absolutely horrible memory. I love you and please link your own work if you'd like!

[spade-riddles]

So Karlie has an interview for Elle magazine that I have conflicted feelings about. On the one hand, she ends it talking about the importance of heirloom pieces. Saying her husband bought her a Cartier watch for their wedding and one day she hopes to pass it on to their daughter, if she's lucky enough to have one. It would be stupid to pretend a potential surface reading of this isn't that she plans to stick it out in the lavender marriage with Jerk through a third child. I really don't want this to be the case, but I feel like they've teased us with the hope of it finally being over before, by going dark for weeks, only to suddenly show up again packing on the PR PDA. So . . . who knows. I've been burned too many times before not to be suspicious.

BUT.

If I'm being optimistic. An alternate reading is that the "husband" Karlie is referring to here is actually her wife. We've talked before about the symbolism of Cartier jewelry for these two, and the idea of Taylor gifting Karlie a Cartier watch on the day of her lavender "wedding" fits. Remember the "love locked down" locket during the Tayvin era? We speculated that was to represent Kaylor holding steadfast to each other during the lockdown of the Tayvin contract. Something they could draw strength from. Locket imagery then showed up in Taylor's lyrics, when talking about a secret love.

It makes sense to me that Taylor would repeat this and give Karlie a gift to hold onto during another tough time of romantic lockdown. And watches, clocks, etc have been a recurring theme in Taylor's lyrics since the lavender marriage, just like the locket was before. ("Our old spot by the gold clock" is an example that stands out especially. About a secret meeting place, with someone Taylor fears she keeps letting down. We never could quite figure that one out.) Taylor has also quite literally been wearing watches as jewelry for the TTPD era.

The way Karlie talks about this watch, I'm picturing a gold pocket watch, like in the Bejeweled music video. Fits for an heirloom, and would explain why we've never seen it. It would also explain why the gold compact mirrors keep recurring as imagery - maybe they're stand-ins for a look alike gold watch!

Also of note is that Karlie says she wants to pass this down to her daughter. It reads almost like it was a slip of the tongue? Like she then corrects herself by saying "I have two sons" and "maybe one day". I don't know. I just thought that moment was a little strange. You're pretty much the only blogger I know still on the train of "they had a daughter" and while I respect everyone's opinions on this and have no particular investment in it myself either way (they have kids and they're happy, that's all I need to know), it did seem like . . . in a certain light, you could read it as confirmation of this blog's theory. If we DO get news of a split soon, and this hypothetical third child with Jerk becomes impossible, then that's definitely the light I'll be reading those comments in. A little nod to the truth.

I guess only time will tell.

Thank you for this thorough review. I like your clock analysis. I read the article last night and had this exact same feeling about the daughter comment:

“It reads almost like it was a slip of the tongue? Like she then corrects herself by saying "I have two sons" and "maybe one day". I don't know. I just thought that moment was a little strange.”

Also, while it does imply she is still stunting, we do not know when the interview took place. I have no idea how long it takes from interview to articles published in those magazines. So trying to stay optimistic like you are.

Link to article

[meamiya]

LESSON 1: BLOWJOBS with MIYA ATSUMU

synopsis♱ ‣ Best friend Atsumu gets the proposition of a lifetime. To accept or to not accept. 

cw♱ ‣ nsfw, gn!reader, blowjob (m!receiving), ball sucking, handjob, inexperienced reader and atsumu

word count♱ ‣ 2.3k words

author’s note♱ ‣ Hopefully this makes up for the crimes I have committed against ‘tsumi in the past. I love him so I have to give him a hard time of course. Enjoy!

♱ explicit content! minors do not interact ♱

“I have a proposition for you.”

The words leave your lips before you can draw them back in. This was definitely not one of your best ideas, but you’d already begun, and you weren’t about to give up just yet.

Atsumu pauses his endless swiping and glances up from his phone, giving you his full attention. “’m listening.” 

Atsumu has been your best friend since childhood. He’d been there when you’d started your awkward training bra phase and you’d been there for his horrid bowl cut era that had lasted a total of one hour. There was nothing that you two couldn’t talk about or do together, and you were about to test the boundaries of that statement.

“Can I give you a blowjob?”

Years of listening to podcasts and reading novels describing the intricacies of doing the deed had led you to this moment, where you wanted to test out the knowledge you’d acquired before going out into the real world. And since you were both single and bored, what better test subject than your best friend.

Atsumu’s expression had turned from curious to completely dumbfounded in the matter of seconds and you began worrying that he may refuse your proposal. Although, who could blame him? It’s not every day that your best friend proposes to suck you off.  

Your cheeks burn crimson as you rush to explain yourself. “I’ve never done it before, and I can’t think of anyone I trust more than you to give me some pointers. I mean you’ve had so many girlfriends over the years that you’d definitely know a thing or two. Or ten.” You joke, hoping to lighten the mood even the slightest bit.

No response.

Your rambling continues. “It will be completely platonic. It’s just that I have all this theoretical knowledge on how to do it and I want to see if it will actually work out before I make a fool of myself.”

As the seconds tick by your hands grow clammy and regret burns in your gut but you refuse to back down now. Maybe a little push would do the trick.

“I could always ask Osamu.”

“No! No!” You’ve finally broken through his dumbstruck expression and his exclamation gives you some form of hope. “Not that scrub. I’ll do it! I was just shocked for a second.” His expression quickly turns sheepish. “But I doubt I’d be of any help though.”

It was your turn to don the quizzical expression. “Why?”

With averted eyes and rosy cheeks, he scratches the back of his neck. “Well… Because I don’t have as much experience as ya think I do in that field. Actually…To be honest, I have no experience in that field.”

Blind shock passes through you, and you immediately look at him in disbelief. “No way. You’ve had so many girlfriends before. You can’t tell me that you’ve never gotten so much as a blowjob before.”

“Said it was degrading to them and I didn’t want to force anything. ‘sides, none of them lasted long anyway.” He admits embarrassedly.

To be fair, the main reason you’d chosen to ask Atsumu was because you had the notion that his past trysts would arm him with some helpful tips. It was definitely not because every time his shirt would rise an inch, displaying his deep v-line and a glimpse of his abs, your mouth would water just imagining your tongue licking from his happy trail to a place you could only envision in the darkness of your room when your fingers managed to drift into the wetness between your legs.

And now, with your best friend blushing like the virgin he was and his consent to your proposal, you were practically ready to pounce him.

You try but fail to hide your smirk as your crawl on hands and knees from where you had been sitting on the bed to where he rests against the headboard. “Guess today is your lucky day then, Mr Miya.”

As you approach him his eyes dart from side to side, never making eye contact with yours, his cheeks still tinted pink, and hands curled into the bedsheets at his side. You slowly make your way between his outstretch legs and place your hands gently on his thighs, feeling them tense in response.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to ‘tsumu.” You appease, gently running your palms over his sweatpants absentmindedly.

“No, I want to. Just nervous ‘s all.” He mutters.

You smile brightly at him as he finally makes eye contact with you, albeit reluctantly. “All you have to do is lay back and tell me if it feels good or not. Easy!”

You hear him scoff but your focus is now on removing his sweatpants. With Atsumu’s assistance they make their way to your bedroom floor in a matter of seconds and your eyes are immediately drawn to the half hard appendage resting between his juicy thighs, only covered by the material of his underwear. Drool pools in your mouth and you can’t wait to put it to use.

With as much self-control as you can muster, you try to recall what you had learned before diving in headfirst, literally.

Anticipation is key. Always keep them on their toes.

Your palms find their way to Atsumu’s thighs once again and run over the smooth muscle, squeezing gently as you travel higher. You hear a sharp intake and the change in his breathing to quick shallow breaths only motivates you further.

Deciding to take the plunge, you remove his shirt to reveal his prominent abdominals before you connect your lips softly to the very hairline you had been fanaticising about. A barely audible groan rumbles in his chest and you can barely contain your excitement. Your kisses travel lower until you finally reach the waistband of his boxers, and his breathing audibly quickens. You teasingly trace your fingertips the slightest bit under the waistband as you make eye-contact with your best friend, his pupils blown, and eyes focused intently on your movements.

Slowly, you ease his boxers down his long legs before tossing it to the floor alongside his sweats, never breaking eye contact. Unable to take the suspense any longer, your eyes travel down the length of his torso to his naked lower half.

And there lies something you had only even imagined in your dreams, his fully hard cock lying against his stomach leaking droplets of precum, with enough girth and length to leave your throat and jaw aching for days to come. You had never wanted to put something in your mouth more than in this moment.

The tip and the underside of the penis is the most sensitive. Pay it the attention it deserves.

Gently grasping the twitching member, you settle on your knees between his thighs and place wet kisses to his tip and down the length of his shaft.

“Fuck.” Atsumu groans quietly upon contact as his head droops to rest on his left shoulder.

Lubrication is important and your mouth produces it for free.

Gathering all the spit that had accumulated in your mouth, you hover just above the head of his cock and let it slowly drip down from your tongue to his tip, watching as it trails down his length to your fist at the base.

“Fuck, that was hot.” Atsumu comments and the praise goes straight to your wet pussy.

“I’m glad. Any other words of wisdom you’d like to share?” you joke as your hand begins to coat his length in your spit with each upward motion, squeezing slightly as you reach the tip.

You momentarily lose his attention as his body focuses solely on the pleasure your right hand is bringing him, soft pants leaving his mouth and his abs clenching with each stroke.

“Atsumu?” you try to grab his attention, slowing your movements until his hazy eyes focus on yours.

It takes him a second before he finally responds to your previous question. “Other than for you get on with it, I have nothing to say.”

Glad to see that his sarcasm is still intact, you happily grant his request.

Start off slow and make sure that you are enjoying the process as much as your partner is.

Your tongue flattens as you lick the underside of his shaft, from base to tip, before engulfing the head into your warm and awaiting mouth, applying a bit of suction before sliding it out with a pop. The saltiness of his precum is something you easily get used to, and you find yourself savouring the heady taste.

Atsumu’s back arches as he feels the heat of your mouth envelop him before it disappears all to soon for his liking. His moan resonates through the room and his fists grasp that much tighter on the bedsheets, sweat beading on his chest.

Before Atsumu even has time to catch his breath, your mouth descends once again, and this time you’re able to take more of his length. The combination of your twirling tongue and suctions drives him wild while the incessant rotations of your hand at his base have his head tossing side to side and his eyes rolling back.

With each bob of your head, you’re able to take more of him, but gagging on your best friend’s dick was not in the cards for today, regardless of how badly you wanted him to fuck your throat until you couldn’t speak a word. You decide to take a more throat-friendly approach, one you were the most curious about.

The balls are your friends and not to be feared. Don’t neglect them.

Using your free hand, you trail it up his rigid thigh and carefully cup his balls into your palm, massaging them softly.

The action catches Atsumu off guard and causes his body to jerk unexpectantly, thrusting his cock a bit too close to your throat. You unconsciously retract and gather some much-needed oxygen into your lungs, breathing deeply.

Atsumu immediately reaches for you, eyes wide and frantic. “Shit! ‘m sorry. It felt good I promise. I was just shocked.”

“I’m fine ‘tsumu. I was just shocked as well. Now let me get back to what I was doing.” You push at his chest with a smirk until he’s lying against the headboard once again, returning your focus back to his still hard cock and ignoring his worried glances.

Your right hand continues its strokes while you attend to the heavy sacks dangling between his legs once again. This time, instead of your hand, you place teasing licks and kisses along each sack and Atsumu sighs in pleasure, sinking further into the mattress.

“Feel good, ‘tsumu?” you ask.

“Mmm.” He moans in return, concern long gone.

Satisfied with his response, you drag an experimental lick from his perineum to his balls before taking one into your mouth while your free hand fondles the other. Atsumu’s moans sound heavenly to your ears and only spear you on to drag more out of him. You switch to the other side so that neither go unattended before your attention is drawn to the twitching of his cock.

Wanting to feel each twitch on your tongue, your lips find their way around his length once again, spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth and mixing with his precum that leaks in droves now. Atsumu voices your thoughts.

“Fuck! Fuck! ’m gonna come soon. Ya better pull off.” His fingers tangle in your hair but he makes no attempt to move you.

Reluctantly, you slide off his dick with a pop in order to ask, “Do you wanna come in my mouth, ‘tsumu?”

Due to his unfocused gaze and unrestrained groans, his unfiltered response doesn’t surprise you. “Yes! Please let me come in your mouth!”

With renewed vigour, you swallow his cock once again, using both hands now to focus on the never-ending length that you are too inexperienced to take whole. The wet sounds and groans that resonate around you have only added to the tingling between your legs and clenching your thighs does little to quench the pleasurable burn.

You receive three warnings, Atsumu’s hands tightening the grasp they have on your hair, the relentless throbbing of his cock and a breathless “Comin’!” before the taste of hot and salty cum fills your tastebuds and throat.

You try to swallow as much as you can before the need for air kicks in, the rest coating your fingers and Atsumu’s cock. Since you didn’t want to waste a drop, you lock eyes with Atsumu’s half-lidded ones while cleaning up the remainder of his cum from your body and his, licking your lips and drawing one last unabashed groan from him.

“So, how was it?” you ask cheerfully, in direct contrast to your best friends drained state, both physically and mentally.

“Ain’t no way that was ya first time doing that. My legs feel like jelly.” He admits breathlessly.

His reaction brings a smile to your face, and you’d be damned if you let this end all too quickly. “So, same time tomorrow?” you ask.

The look on Atsumu’s face coupled by his naked state is almost comical. “Wait, what?”

“Well, I haven’t been able to test out all that I’d learned. Did you think this was a one-time thing?” you ask innocently, an obvious ploy but one he falls for, nonetheless.

And when two days, turns to three days, turns to 4 years, and you’re able to wake up next to your best friend every morning, you’re glad you had the balls to go after his balls.

[bandaged-writer]

𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙙𝙖𝙮

things they do with/for you after a rough day feat. dazai, kunikida, ranpo, odasaku + fyodor

genre. fluff, comfort

warnings. alcohol consumption, mentions of past suicide attempts (dazai duh), mentions of murder/death in a card game

note. i started reading the dark era novel and i snorted when dazai called ango a lucky dog

— dazai osamu

When you come back with distance in your eyes, Dazai takes you out to a bar that only he seems to know.

The lights hang low above the two of you, the scent of smoke in the air, but it doesn't bother either of you. Dazai is used to it and you're so caught up in the story about how he tried to commit suicide with a block of tofu.

"Let me guess. You ate it when you failed, didn't you?" You laughed.

Dazai nodded. "At least it was tasty. You should try it sometime."

Drinks are poured, flirting words are exchanged and giggles fill the small bubble around the two of you. Like two teenagers that are painfully in love, on-lookers would likely phrase the unfolding scene.

How could trivial troubles still bother you when your cheeks are warm with alcohol, lips occupied by Dazai's soft ones and his calloused hand on the nape of your neck? He kisses you slowly, affectionately, with a passion that only a man like he could ever do, like he is afraid of losing you.

"Dazai. I want to spend the night with you."

"Love.. We live together."

And maybe it is time to go home when liquor makes you forget about the home you share.

— kunikida doppo

Unbeknownst to you, Kunikida has an entire notebook filled with information about you and how to cheer you up, how to handle your feelings in healthy and ideal manners.

He makes you a cup of tea with exactly one and a half spoons of honey, letting it cool down to a pleasant temperature that wouldn't burn your tongue. Next up is a plate of lasagna. Under any other circumstances, Kunikida would berate you on how unhealthy it is to stuff your worries into such a dish, but he lets it slide.

On his shoulder, you rest your head and bask in the silence that is your home, your partner, your everything.

"Do you wish to talk about what happened?" He asks.

You know Kunikida carries the wisdom of an old sage upon his shoulders and his advice never misses the mark. If anything, his words hit a bit too close to home. That is how well he learned to read you, you suppose.

"I just wanna be right here for a moment." You mumble and snuggle into the strong arms of your lover who holds you as tight as you like it for as long as you like it.

Kunikida respects your decision and presses a lovely kiss to the top of your head. A silent promise that he is there for you in case you change your mind.

— ranpo edogawa

Ranpo is ready: various sweets on the couch table, two cans of soda and his ears wide open for the gossip you have brought home.

"No, he did not!" Gasps Ranpo.

"He totally did! Who would've thought he'd be stupid enough to hop into bed with the secretary?" You shake your head and crack open a can of soda while Ranpo chews on a couple of bonbons.

Perhaps, Ranpo doesn't realize that his willingness to listen to your rants helps to blow away the stress of your work, but you don't mind. He is an amazing gossip boyfriend and the only person who knows all about the work-lore.

When your head eventually lands on Ranpo's lap, he finds himself running his hands through your hair. Each strand gets tangled up between his limbs, but he's skilled enough to undo each and every worry in your pretty, little head.

"See! I told you they were stupid, but you refused to listen!" He pouts like he's seriously hurt by the way you skillfully ignored his prediction.

Playfully rolling your eyes, you press a sugary kiss to his lips and smile at the detective. "Better?"

"..Better. You're lucky I love you."

"Alright, then let's bet on how this drama continues."

— oda sakunosuke

In his car, Odasaku has one arm resting along your shoulders and a cigarette hanging from his lips. The smoke clings to his lungs like the frown does to your face; quite a sorry sight for such an important part of his life and yet, these things happen every once in a while.

"It's quite nice here," you muse.

An old house, surrounded by green hills and the occasional neighbor. The salty breeze passes through the open window of Oda's car, plays with your hair and almost sniffs out his cigarette. Perhaps, he should quit.

"It is." Odasaku is a man of few words and when he speaks, he is almost painfully straightforward, but that is what draws you to him: brutal honesty.

Mindlessly, you rest your head on Odasaku's shoulder. Your mind wanders from the troubles at work to the future. Hopefully, in the near future. "Wouldn't it be nice to live here with the kids?"

You could already see it. The orphans could play in the house's backyard all day and sleep in their own rooms and enjoy a proper roof above their head. Odasaku would have his own room, a single window facing the sea, where he could write his novel about life, death and the time in-between.

Odasaku could see it, too. You and the kids greeting him when he comes home from work, a peck on his lips and the kids shyly looking away at the display of affection.

The ghost of a smile lingers on his lips. "You think it'd be a good idea?"

"Of course. I could go to work and you could be my house husband," you tease.

Oh, so you think about spending your life with him as someone who no longer kills.

As your husband.

— fyodor dostoyevsky

A piece of classical music hums in the background and a thick blanket protects you from the cold temperatures that winter offers every year. Fyodor is right next to you, contemplating his next words carefully as his eyes linger on the card in front of him.

"I'm sorry to say, love, but you used to be sharper," he says with a faux disappointed sigh and turns the card around. "The client was bitten by a poisonous spider and died. But your guesses weren't too bad."

Your mouth falls agape. "No! I was so close, too! I really thought a snake strangled him.."

After a rough day, Fyodor thought it was..silly to play this little card game in which the death of a person is described and the other player has to guess why they died. It ranged from accidents to murder and to Fyodor's surprise, it is quite entertaining.

Not because the game scratches his brain just right (as you would phrase it), but because of the fun sparkling in your eyes.

"Admit it, you memorized every card way before we could play. There's no other way you could've guessed all these cases!" You wave a stack of cards in front of Fyodor's face in complete disbelief, yet you know how incredibly intelligent the man is.

Of course, this game isn't much of a challenge for him.

" Don't be upset. At least, you managed to solve five out of fifteen cases so far."

"..Are you teasing me right now?"

Fyodor chuckles. "Am I?"

[b-imbou]

honey baby (SPOILED!)

Ran Haitani x f!reader | Rin Haitani x f!reader

Genre: smut & angst Notes: christening my new blog with a new series! I got inspired while listening to Kali Uchis’ TO FEEL ALIVE EP. The series is set in the 80s but the era isn’t really a huge part of the story. And it’s also set in Italy! There will be some dark content but all warnings will be added accordingly. Happy reading! Warnings: cheating, oral sex, possessiveness, masturbation. Words: 11.7k

Another gift from your daddy.

You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. You’ve been working under Mitsuya since you moved to The Amalfi Coast three years ago. But who paid for your travel costs and air fare? Papà. Who continues to subsidise your living expenses? Papà does. Suya often teases you, calls you spoiled. You are. Always have been, and you think you always will be.

Papà shouldn’t mind.

What use is being rich if he can’t give his baby girl anything she wants?

Papà wouldn’t mind.

What else would drive him to work so hard but providing for his favourite daughter?

Papà doesn’t mind.                    

His favourite daughter is his only daughter, after all.

He was willing, albeit a little hesitant, to allow his pride and joy to fly across the globe and set up a new life for herself overseas. You have daily phone calls with him. More often than not, the conversation is nothing of importance. Simply asking and telling how your days are. He visits, sometimes. One of the reasons he was prepared to allow you to move to Italy was that he had a valid reason to visit. He’s able to spend some time with his treasure and tend to one of his many businesses while he’s in the country. It makes him feel powerful. To be in the presence of men under his employ and offer a more hands on approach.

Your papà writes letters, though those are more cryptic. He relies on you from time to time to keep him informed on his businesses while he doesn’t have a physical presence in Italy.

“Diamond earrings, tch. You are spoilt.” Mitsuya smirks. “Spin for me, baby. Don’t be shy.” he instructs his client standing on a pedestal before him. He isn’t sure why he hired you considering you don’t do much actual work. But at least you’re good company and a good model for his clothes.

Your papà loves Mitsuya. He checks in with him whenever comes to Italy. He’d quite like it if you married a man like Mitsuya. No, not like him. Him. Just him. But whenever your father brings it up you can both barely conceal your amusement. You’re friends. Just friends.

“Aren’t they to die for?” you muse, sighing dreamily as you admire yourself and the twinkling jewels in the mirror in front of you.

You’re sitting crossed legged on a stool by the cash register, a pen in one hand and your chin resting in the other. The sound of your pen scribbling on the alabaster sheet of paper before you is positively deafening. Mitsuya is trying to keep his composure in front of his client; but she’s smiling as she notes the growing annoyance on your boss’ face. There is a clothes pin between his teeth that he’s clenching for more reasons than one. Resting on the balls of his feet as he works on the pure white wedding dress in front of him.

“Is that your papà you’re writing to?” he asks begrudgingly. You shake your head, not looking at him as you smile down at your whimsical writing, remembering to dot the I’s in your letter with hearts instead. He loves that.

“Careful, bella. People will talk if you keep secrets about men. They’ll think you’re sleeping with un mafioso.” the woman getting her wedding dress adjusted tells you in whispers. It piques your interest as well as the attention of Mitsuya, who scoffs a little before resuming his work.

“No way, signorina, her papà would have her taken back to the states if that were true. And… just, look at her. She’s a pain in my ass but she’s a good girl. Too good to get mixed up with a mafia man.” he explains with purpose, a small laugh punctuating the final few words of his sentence.

You look up from your letter, plump lips pulling into a rosy, red smile as an expression of truth. It’s enough for Mitsuya and the bride-to-be to leave you to your own devices. Finishing off the final words of your letter before kissing a crimson mark into the paper. You spray it with your favourite perfume before sealing it away like a it’s government secrets into a secure envelope. And you’re just such a romantic. You tie it all together with some string and secure a loose, dainty flower from the floral display sitting atop the checkout counter to it all. You write amore mio in the bottom right corner in small and gentle letters that you hope he’ll be able to read.

“Scusi, mi scusi, Mitsuya—”

“Si?”

“Can I go for a break, per favore?” you question. He shakes his head before instantly grinning as his eyes find yours.

“Whenever you come into work, your whole shift is a break!” he reminds you. It makes your cheeks warm and an evident bashfulness arises from within and paints your whole exterior. “Go, go away. Only if you buy oranges for me. I’m craving citrus.”

“Si! Thank you, Suya.” you beam at him, picking up two wicker baskets from beneath the counter and walking by him and the client before exiting into the sweltering sun.

You take your time, as you often do, walking slowly as to let the sunshine melt into your supple skin. It always makes you feel like you’re going to live forever, living this life. Taking it easy on the Italian Coast and doing as you please.

It suits you just fine.

There are familiar faces on your journey to the market; faces that can’t help but light up as they notice yours. Exchanges of ‘Ciao’ and ‘Ciao bella’ are swapped between you and each person you can’t help but greet upon seeing them. There’s no mistaking it, not from anyone.

You’re in love.

Like your father, everyone expects you and Mitsuya to be a perfect match. Though it couldn’t be further from the truth. Admittedly, when you had met Mitsuya on arrival to Italy, there was no denying an attraction between the two of you. You slept together, once… twice… five times, deciding you get along better as friends and more than happy to keep it that way. Your father would be broken to discover you aren’t as innocent as he believes you to be, but he doesn’t need to know. He’s halfway across the world, so whatever you get up to is more or less going to be taken to the grave with you.

“Ciao!” you greet the fruit grocer as you look carefully around the market. He smiles when he notices you. It isn’t lost on you that he has a crush on you, he has from the minute he set his sights on you, but your heart belongs to another.

“C-Ciao, bella. Can- um, can I help you with—?”

“Suya wants his citrus fix, Hakkai. Would you be able to fill this basket with oranges for me, please?” you politely ask, a soothing sounding tone emanating from your lips. He nods, gratefully. You’re so kind to him. Not because you want to lead him on, you’re just a kind, sweet soul. And Hakkai, bless him, he’s so shy. No matter how lovely you are to him, he doesn’t seem able to acquire any newfound confidence to talk to you. If anything, you think it might have made him worse.

“Yeah, o-of course. And, the, uh— o-other basket?” he manages to stumble out his sentence as he looks down at the wicker currently housing your love letter. You pick it up, holding the beautifully scented correspondence betwixt dainty little fingers. It’s brought closer to your chest, your heart. You smile shyly as you hope he doesn’t interrogate you over it.

“It’s a gift. So, I’ll let you fill it and make it look nice for me.” you tell him. He nods, stepping out from behind the counter with Mitsuya’s basket first.

He doesn’t normally do this. Fill the baskets of customers for them. But you didn’t know that when you first visited him for a basket of peaches all of those years ago. And, really, how could he say no to a pretty little thing like you?

Neither of you speak as he works, so you merely observe. You wish he had even a modicum of social skill. Mitsuya claims he’s real talkative when they spend time together, but how can that be true? Trying to converse with Hakkai is like trying to pull teeth from the gaping maw of a great white. Watching him do something so regular, so normal and mundane, is making you feel somewhat like a perverse voyeur.

You’re saved, thankfully, when an elderly woman who you’re familiar with greets you. She takes a seat on a nearby bench, and you feel inclined to join her. You talk for a little while as you keep allowing your vision to alternate between her and Hakkai.

“Are those diamonds in your ears, bella?” she queries, reaching her hand up to feel and caress your earlobes. You don’t mind, though. The apples in your cheeks swelling tenfold with pride as you consider all of the compliments you’ve received on them today.

“Si,” you grin, tucking your hair behind your ears for her to study them both properly. They’re glittering even more in the sunlight. Enough to blind anyone who looked directly at them if they weren’t careful.

“A gift from that wonderful papà of yours?” she wonders. Your lips pout but quickly form a smile, eyes twinkling with mischief as you hold her gaze and consider your answer.

“From my daddy,” you tell her. She clutches her heart and exhales yearningly at your response. Her eyebrows become a slight more angular as she uses her free hand to take yours.

“He is a good man, that papà of yours. If only I were thirty years younger.” she tells you, it makes you giggle. Your papà is a handsome man, and happily married to your mother. You don’t blame the elderly woman for having a crush. He’s ridiculously charming and well-to-do. He dresses smart and oozes confidence, earning the respect of any and all he comes into contact with. “Your grocery boy is waiting,” she points. Your head swivels to face him and he awkwardly waves when you notice him standing beside two baskets filled to the brim with fruit.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I need to pay for those. It was nice catching up with you.” you smile, waving goodbye as you walk over to Hakkai. “How much do I owe you?” you ask him.

“I-It’s fine. I’ll let Mitsuya know next time I see him…” he tells you, rubbing the back of his neck stiffly, unable to keep eye contact with you more than a few seconds. You ask him if he’s sure, and he insists. “Yeah, uh, he can take it out of your pay cheque or something, right? It’s okay, really. What’s a few Lira, anyway?”

You walk around the stall to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. It’s walking a fine line between platonic and romantic, easily leaving room for the affection to be misconstrued by the poor boy. To you, it was nothing but an act of gratitude. You smile at him, waving a delicate goodbye as you continue your expedition, with no idea you were being watched the whole time.

It’s impossible to keep a low profile in such a tight-knit community. Though in this area of town it would be difficult to explain to anyone why you’re on this particular doorstep. Your heart beats quicker and quicker as you stand and wait. A young couple noticing you and gasping. They call to you, ‘Bella! It isn’t safe, here, come away from there and come with us!” with a prominent begging tone behind the panicked words.

You smile, easily, shaking away their offer with an almost flapping hand gesture. It’s all you can do to assure them that you’re fine, as well as speaking the words. And, of course, they’re too terrified to argue your naivety and risk sticking around a second longer.

The door swings open aggressively, with such a ferocious violence to make your dress billow around you as it follows the bracing breeze created from the wooden entrance.

“Amore mio, I’ve told you time and time again not to come here. Haven’t I?” and there he is. The objection or your affection. The recipient of your fruit basket and the romantically written letter you wrote all for him.

“I know, ‘m sorry. I wanted to see you, Ran! Wanted to say thank—”

“Come in before anyone sees you, come.” he demands, ushering you inside. Just as he’s about to close the door behind you both, a large palm flattens against it and pushes it open wider. “Rindou.” your lover responds to the brazen sound of his brother’s heavy hand connecting with the splintering wood. He comes inside as well, a usual intense glare on the younger sibling’s face as he walks by you.

Ran looks at you from the corner of his eyes, intending to focus more on his less than savoury roommates whilst in your presence. He looks at you properly, however, when you subtly clear your throat. He watches you raise the wicker basket you got for him with the love letter on top. He points to a console table for you to set it down on, and you look between him and the tabletop before sighing gently.

“Actually, Ran, they’re um—”

“Don’t tell us you brought two baskets of fruit and you’re hoarding them both for Haitani?” Sanzu questions you. Your gaze drops to the ground, he isn’t the leader, but somehow Sanzu has managed to solidify himself as the scariest member of the group.

“Leave her alone, Bastardo. My sweet bambina didn’t do anything wrong.” Ran interjects, pulling your body into his side, towering above you as his hand rubs roughly up and down your arm.

“Tch,” Rindou scoffs, leaning against a wall and garnering the attention of yourself and the other three men in the room. “Your little signorina put her lips on the grocer.” he announces, making you realise he had been hot on your trail likely since you left Mitsuya’s boutique.

“Scusi? Are you fucking kidding me?” Ran’s voice booms throughout the room, prompting Rindou and Sanzu to smirk at each other while Takeomi opts to retreat to the balcony for a cigarette instead. “You’re fucking the market grocery boy, is that a joke?”

“N-No! Not at all. Rindou, you’re making it sound awful. I was saying thank you, s’all. He picked all of the fruit for me and told me I could pay later!” you defend yourself to each man in the room despite having no reason to. You didn’t do anything wrong. You carry yourself with confidence over to the coffee table in front of Sanzu, placing the fruit basket and removing your letter to Ran from the top. “Help yourselves. This basket is for my boss.” you inform them as you walk back to Ran. He’s visibly irritated and his compassionate embrace has become rigid and uninterested.

Rindou swaggers from the hallway to the couch and rifles through the fruit basket. He picks up a juicy looking red apple, throwing it in the air once and catching it quickly as he brings it to his lips. Teeth emerge and a satisfying crunch pierces the skin, apple juice drooling ever so slightly down his chin.

“That basket was for you… and so is this,” you speak gently to Ran as you hold your letter out to him. You want so badly for him to take it, but he does nought but stare. “Can we go to your room?” you wonder, meekly, hoping he’ll soften as he normally does when you make yourself sound a might smaller.

“I told you not to come here. I’ve told you, so many times.” he replies. You gulp, carefully, nodding at your wrongdoing and outright defiance. His brother and Sanzu are looking over as they continue to eat the fruit you brought. Rindou has even put his glasses on. They smirk each time you look over, their presence is making every word you want to say evaporate from your tongue.

“Please?” you request, looking at him with pleading eyes. He nods, casually, lacing his fingers with yours after taking your love letter in his free hand.

You’re guided up the stairs and into his bedroom. The creamy curtains waving loosely from the outdoor breeze coming into the elder Haitani’s sanctuary. The sun is pouring through the open balcony door and kissing each and every object in his room with a grazing warmth. The Amalfi Coast air often consists of a lemon and jasmine flowers laced with the smell of the salty sea. Ran’s room was no different with only the addition of his natural scent intertwined with the hickory and sandalwood cologne he’s so fond of and his signature cigars.

He loosens his tie and kicks off his shoes, not even bothering to deign you worthy of his gaze just yet. Your heart tears in two when you watch him toss your carefully crafted letter onto the bed like it’s nothing. He lights a cigar with a silver lighter kept in the inner breast pocket of his blazer, walking out onto the balcony to smoke. You can only hope the fresh air and tepid breeze will offer him some perspective and clarity on what has transpired.

“Look,” you smile, slowly approaching and yet again tucking your hair behind your ears to flaunt your diamonds. “They’re beautiful. That’s why I came, daddy. Wanted to say thank you for my new earrings.” you tell him, truthfully. He smiles lazily, flicking some ash over the railing before taking another drag.

“You’re beautiful, baby. My pretty girl, they suit you.” he replies. You’re holding his hand again now, he recognises you’ll want his full attention and quickly stubs out his cigar, hoping to salvage it later. You pull him anxiously back into his room and to sit on the edge of the bed beside you. Your body rotates so that you can better face him. His legs spread a little as he rests on his elbows on the plush mattress beneath you both. “Well?”

“Well? Well… what, daddy?” you question. He obnoxiously sucks his teeth and shakes his head so quickly and minimally you would have missed it had you blinked. “I don’t understand—”

“Course you don’t. Pretty little head’s just filled with daddy, si? How good to you I am and how much you love me.” he declares. You nod, agreeing, despite it not being the whole truth. He likes to dumb you down, but you know it isn’t true. You’re more agreeable and mean more to him when he sees you as a little clueless and with no purpose in life outside of him. You don’t mind, though. You love him, after all. “I buy diamonds for my love, and all I get is a thank you? I think you can do better for me, baby,” he insists, his fingers reach up to tuck a fallen loose strand back behind your ear and lets his fingers trail and trace your jawline. His hand settles as his finger and thumb pinch the soft flesh of your chin and force you gently to better face him.

“Of course not, daddy. The fruit was s’posed to be all yours. And I wrote you… this,” you explain as your fingertips pad around on the bed searching for the letter you worked so hard on. You smile when you feel it, picking it up and practically shoving it in his face. “Please read it, daddy. You’ll like it, I’m sure!” you encourage him. He takes it from your hand again and inspects it like an art critic. His features soften and he can’t help but simper at the sight of your precious penmanship writing amore mio for him so microscopic he almost missed it.

“I’m sure I’ll love it, bella.” he nods concurring with you and recognising the lengths you’ve gone to with your little craft project. “But these are diamonds, bambina.” he reminds you. You nod, giving him your full attention as he talks. His fingers sensually caress your right earlobe as he inspects the jewels worth more than your life dangling from them.

“I love you, daddy. I wrote such nice things for you; I love you and I’m so grateful for the diamonds.” you express. His fingers begin to wander again, now playing softly with your hair, allowing his digits to smooth over the top of your locks as if you were his pet. His good girl. You suppose that’s exactly what you are. “Is it, my body? Do you want to make love to me, daddy?”

“In a sense, si.” he smiles. “Your body is of greater value than any diamond. I’m not in the mood to make love, baby. You’re meant to be thanking me, not the other way around.” he reminds you.

“My… would you like my mouth?” you suggest. He nods, finally, you got it right.

“Yes, my love. Your head is what is wearing the earrings, so you’ll thank me by sucking my cock. Let daddy fuck your face, mm?” he suggests.

Instantly, you’re nodding; you slip down from the bed and onto the uncomfortable tile beneath. He leans towards his plump pillows, picking one up and helping you place it beneath your knees. You watch him with a wanton dazzle in your eye as he takes his time undoing his belt. It makes him smirk, watching you wait so patiently and adoringly for him to pull his cock out.

It springs free, and your jaw lowers hastily; the expression not going unnoticed by Ran. His breath is heavy when he allows his cock to spring free. You’re hesitant to make a move without his say so, ever the obedient good girl. You wiggle on your knees, looking pensively between his dreamy lilac irises and his pink blushing cock. Only when you hold your stare with his, and flutter your long lashes at him, he nods his head at you. Go ahead, the gesture implies.

Oral sex with Ran Haitani is as much of a pleasure for you as it is for him. It’s a romantic, teasing dance in which you vow to make him feel good and that he trusts you to do as you’re promising. You take your time slowly rubbing his shaft and caressing his sack with the pads of your fingers, and even this simple beginning is enough to rob him of an almost imperceptible moan. They take hold, spread fingers guiding his tip into your mouth before slowly wrapping your plush lips around him.

And you’re cheeky, it’s something he loves about you.

You’re unable to refrain from teasing him to start, only encasing your lips around the tip before pulling off of him and pouting. Looking up at him like a sultry little harlot; the pout displayed on your face is to tell him that you miss it. You miss his cock as if you aren’t the one who pulled away. And you do it over… and over… and over… making out with his swollen cockhead each time.

With every painful neglectful pull from him, you return, taking more of his length into your mouth. He’s big. The biggest cock you’ve ever had, not that the number of those is particularly substantial. You’ve never been able to take the entirety of Ran inside of your mouth. And he’s never made you feel bad for it. You suck his cock like you were the person who invented it, so full of love and fervorous desire.

Your eyes flutter shut as you take him, getting lost in your own little perfect world that no one but you and he occupy. The sound of you sucking his veiny manhood fills the room with an obscene suctioning. With each suck you enact, tiny lustrous moans escape you. Ran makes a noise not too dissimilar from a gasp when he sees a lewd spit string attach his leaky tip to your puffy lips. He allows himself to groan in appreciation when you drool around him, your saliva drooping and connecting with the floor beneath you.

He looks down at you with a heavenly stare when you eventually open your eyes again, only doing so because you wanted to see how he’d react to you willingly taking his throbbing erection deeper into your welcoming mouth, tumescent lips protruding around him.

“Baby, heh, your diamonds are swinging while you suck my daddy cock.” he laughs lightly. You pull away completely while looking up at him, a wide smile overtaking your face. You had felt their movement but didn’t think Ran would have commented on it. It’s only fair they give him as much of a show as you are, given the small fortune he spent on them. The two of you share a laugh before you return to him.

You house him perfectly in your mouth, sucking him in completely. And he’s got such a messy cock, now. What, with you licking and laving all over him the way you are. The sticky sound of blowjob lips making a sodden state of his drippy, aching length is deafening. You begin to kitten lick at his weeping slit, looking up at him with lust-filled lidded eyes.

The corner of your mouth leaks, garnering his attention. A sinful mixture of your spit and his pre glinting in the sunlight flooding the room. It’s enough to earn another moan from him, making you want to work harder. You suck his cock at an ever so slightly increased pace while moaning around him, the noise gratifying him into throwing his head back.

Your mouth opens wide for him enough to look down and see your tongue, using it to lick the underside of his tip. Drool spills from your lips and onto the ground again in the process, holding your mouth open a bout too long. Lazy, loving eyes close once again as you continue, truly beginning to lose yourself in the moment.

Your head turns so that you can run your cute, desperate tongue along the left side of his cock to the base. Slowly… slowly… slowly… and then it returns back to the tip at the same painstaking pace.

“Such a little tease, bambina… Good girl,” he praises, smirking at the way your thighs squeeze at the compliment. You receive him past your lips once again, moaning around him. “Good girl, good fucking girl. You look so pretty like this, baby.”

You begin to suck, mewling with each and every bob of your head. Your diamond earrings move in tandem, an item so respectable and grandiose now laced with such salacious connotations for him. Whenever you move your head and they follow suit, he’ll remember that you’re his good little cocksucker.

And you are good.

He wouldn’t have hung onto you otherwise. He wouldn’t be buying you diamonds and defending you to his roommates if you weren’t a perfect cock whore. Despite only being able to take a little more than half of him, you’re still so damn good. You never fail to make him cum, never fail to make him feel good.

Your cheeks hollow around his tip, keeping there for a moment more than necessary as you bat your eyelashes at him. Like your mouth isn’t stuffed open wide with his heavy, cherry tip. And then you pull away with a dramatic pop. Ran can’t help but moan at the sound. You come back to him with your jaw hanging low and tongue pressed into the underside of his tip yet again. A copious amount of drool pours from you, enough to make a dripping sound when it connects with the floor tiling. He grunts at each sound you make. Every drop of salvia and string of spit that you create because you’re losing yourself to worship him. His cock, his pleasure, just him. You lick the tip tenderly, puckering your lips around the head to physically kiss it.

You love it.

You love his cock and everything it can do for you.

He still doesn’t pressure you to take anymore of him that you can handle into your mouth, somehow moaning more. Enjoying it more and more with each guzzle and sucking sound you produce and every romantic gaze you offer him.

Ran’s hand reaches down to cradle your head. His fingers run through your hair as you consume him, you’re almost too distracted to notice his hand is on you. The angle of your head alternates a few times to better satisfy him. Your spit slicken cavern is perfect for him. Every suck is composing a boisterous amount of noise. And Ran can’t help but moan loudly, loud enough to make pride bloom in your beating heart. And he’s moaning because he has done this to you. His cock has turned you into a slobbering, slippery mess. He almost can’t stop himself from moaning, carrying on when he sees you quicken the tempo once again. You angle your head just enough that he can see your cheek bulge with his delicate desire.

His free hand reaches down to hold himself from the base. Your mouth immediately opens to form a large ‘O’ shape. He guides his cock around your lips as if he’s applying a lipstick the shade of precum to them. More drool waterfalls out from your swelled lips while his large veiny hand guides himself from tracing around your top lip to smearing across your tongue again and again.

You murmur a mewl in anticipation. Entirely desperate to be stuffed with his cock and thank him in the way he desires for his oh so generous gift. He pushes his cock straight into your mouth and pulls it out just as suddenly, leaving you almost begging desperately for more. He repeats it, leering as you begin to lean forward to chase his cock for another taste rather than be teased a second more. You sink halfway onto him, but he slips his cock out again and urges you to follow.

“Daddy…” you moan, so whiny and needy for him as you follow after all. His broad palm holds your head in a very guiding manner, helping you find your way back to him. He wants his cock to return to its rightful place in your mouth. Your cheeks hollow again, sucking rapidly and pulling away to make the loudest squelching suctioning sounds you can, the pair of you can’t help but moan at the eroticism of it all.

You don’t pull away anymore, sucking and sucking as best you can. He sees how hard you’re working, how badly you want him to cum. But you’re being removed from him carefully.

Ran knew before you did that you weren’t breathing properly; you gasp as if you’re lungs are physically clawing to drag oxygen back to them. The loss of Ran’s cock is a crushing loss, you know he doesn’t care for whining, but you can’t help yourself. But you cease when you’re returned to him, thanking him by taking a little more of his length than you had previously.

Ran moans in sympathetic appreciation, hand lingering to brush your face, hold your chin, feel your throat.

His cock slides out of your mouth and rests on your cheek. He holds you assertively by your chin and leads you back to where he needs you; and you’re looking up at him as though Ran Haitani is everything. He holds you carefully, helping you along in what you’re more than capable of doing yourself. But you don’t mind. Why would you mind extra attention from daddy when he’s being so sweet? More slickness is formed inside of your drenched cavity, making his light thrusts sound even more scandalous.

“So wet, baby. Sounds like I’m fucking your little pussy.”

You moan for him and his naughty love language, head lolling from the feeling of contentment. Neither of you can help the raucous desperation you’re emitting into the afternoon air. His hips thrust a slight more urgently, fucking himself gently into your mouth. He moans passionately as he cums inside of your mouth. His cock visibly pulsing and twitching as he deposits his cum onto your tongue.

Your own volume lowers and slows, as does your performance. And for a moment, you still. Looking up at your daddy with a shimmering stare. His cock still pulsating in your mouth, his sack emptying all it has to offer to you. He holds your chin in his hand as though it were made of glass.

“Keep going, bella.” he commands.

Your head bobs and your earrings shake, allowing your lovers cum to dribble out of your mouth as you follow orders. A low, breathy ‘Ohhhh’ falls from him when he bears witness to it. His fingers travel from your chin to the side of your face, and then lets go completely.

Your mouth widens, allowing him to see all of his cum settled on your tongue. He’s sucked into you again, moving your head along him fast enough for him to force his cum to pour out of you. He watches on in amazement as you kiss the sides of his sensitive tip, coating it in cum. Two thick strings of cum ooze and connect to him, too heavy to remain and falling to the ground.

Spit and sperm bubble at the corner of your mouth as you lick and slobber all over him. You kiss down the left side of his cock, taking your time to show love to his cock with gentle affection. You smother the base in soft pecks, tickling him only enough to warrant a heavier breath and his abdomen to clench. He watches as you opt to carefully move to his cullions, lapping and gargling them into your mouth, all while holding eye contact with Ran.

“Doing so good, bambina.”

A strained moan exists you as you lick, cum dripping from your chin and attaching to his sack and keeps the two of you linked as you alternate between giving your attention to his cock and balls.

A long, heavy string of cum dangles from his cock. You gather it on your tongue from the bottom and bring it back to his length, massaging it over his cock. He holds the base again as well as your chin, wanting to be sucked a little more.

But if you’re a tease, daddy is worse.

He removes his length from you at a slight angle, echoing a bawdy pop as it leaves you.  Ran smears his messy cock around your open mouth again, cum permeating your tongue and spilling from your mouth yet again. You keep your eyes closed as you feel him move his cock around your face. Your tongue begins to swirl, your only hope of searching for him with your eyes shut.

Ran pushes past your lips again, giving you the opportunity to suck. But, for once, you’re the one to remove yourself. It comes with a shocked, almost amused, gasp. You’re realising how much cum is cascading from you both. He holds his hand out to cradle your cheek, your head tilting to the left to meet his hold.

More cum gushes out of your mouth once you suckle on his tip. A thick, white creamy string of cum dangles from your chin. You resume making out with his heavy tip and hear your daddy chuckle above you.

You’ve dribbled some cum onto one of his fingers.

You move your attention from his cockhead to his fingers, wanting to get your daddy’s fingers nice and clean. He leers as you take them into your mouth, only his middle and ring fingers. Every inch of your daddy is so perfect, even his fingers between your lips is enough to make you moan.

“Messy girl,” he states. He had noticed another dollop of cum drooping from your chin. He takes his fingers from your mouth and scoops it up, fingering it back into you. “Such a good little sucker. Thaaaaat’s it. Nearly done baby, back to my cock now.”

He steers your face with the pads of his fingers back to his aching tip. You hum around him, making an even bigger mess of the two of you. You suck him as loud as you can knowing how it makes him leak and flutter when you do. You’re winding down, now. Hollowing your cheeks one final time to offer him one last lascivious pop, bobbing your head a handful of times before you calm.

You kiss his tip like it’s so heavenly delicate. A few feeble pecks before coming off entirely. The two of you an unseemly mess, completely covered in spit and cum.

“Thank you, bambina, you did so well for me.” he informs you, reaching into his pockets, eager to attempt to reignite the flame of his cigar.

You help yourself up, dusting off the pillow you’d been using to protect your knees before returning it where it belongs. It upset you to see he was more enraptured by his Cubans than your letter. He, once again, had cast it aside in favour of pursuing his own enjoyment. There’s a difficulty in understanding why he wouldn’t want to read a love letter you poured your soul into. You pick it up, carefully, holding it sweetly between your fingers without making eye contact.

He side eyes you, watching you without seeming to care about what you’re doing. And that is when you decide to leave his side; walking to the balcony to stare out at the view instead. There is a temptation brewing fiercely inside of you.

You want to throw the letter.

You do, but not really. There are tears in your eyes being fought back with a vengeance as you hope to God they won’t spill over. What’s the point of hanging onto it? He doesn’t care about it, not enough to read it. He’s happy enough with an afternoon delight of mind-blowing head. He doesn’t care about love.

Blood frosts in your veins as you feel his presence behind you, looming over you as you know he does with so many of his other victims. He’s paralysing you. You’re unsure how your daddy, who you know to be sweet and gentle, is able to instil you with so much fear without doing anything.

He walks closer to you, his arm brushing yours as he stands by your side. You observe him take a few final drags of his cigar before tossing it over the balcony. There’s a snicker from him when you yelp as he snatches the letter from your hand.

“Did I upset you, sweetheart?” he asks. You gulp shallowly, unable to respond as you watch him take a better look at your letter. “Ah… ‘amore mio’, hm? Did daddy make you sad for not reading your letter?”

You nod, a little dumbstruck. He holds your chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting your head down to kiss your forehead. His left leg raises to rest on his right thigh while standing, pulling a knife from his garter belt attached to his sock. He slices the rope you tied around the envelope, making sure the flowers didn’t fall to the ground. Instead of discarding them, he tucked the flower stalks behind your ear and admired how your face seemed to blush in the evening sun.

He takes the letter from the envelope and brings it to his face, smelling your floral perfume infused into the paper. Ran unfolds it, but before he reads, his head sags. It’s as if he is disappointed in you.

“I don’t want you to see that fruit grocer again.” his statement coming across more as a subtle command. You mange to prevent yourself from scoffing, knowing it will only pour gasoline onto the flames.

“He’s my friend. He’s best friends with my boss, Ran.” you remind him. And at that, he does scoff. “I’m sorry I overstepped, today. It was just a friendly kiss! But there’s no way I can avoid him.”

“Your papa is a very rich man. As am I. You don’t need some little job when we can give you anything you want.”

“My papa would skin you if he knew we were screwing, remember. I like my job… I’m sorry, Ran. But I promise I’ll… I’ll make sure to keep things more respectable between Hakkai and I.”

Ran’s eyes roll gradually up into his head before returning to normal. He doesn’t offer a response, instead unfolding the letter to read what you have written for him. It’s a slow read, taking his time to read each and every word you’ve written. He smiles a lot as he does, making you fill to the brim with pride.

“Hm… ‘I’d do anything for you’, interesting.” he quotes. You keep quiet, not wanting to be reprimanded because what you had written was a lie. He finishes the letter and folds it back up, tucking it away nicely into the envelope. His hand holds the crown of your head before he bends down to kiss your forehead once more. He keeps eye level with you, not letting your head go as he decides to speak. “I don’t want you to see him, my love. Don’t good girls do anything their daddies ask?”

“I’m… sorry. It’s just, this isn’t something that’s possible.”

He nods, accepting your words. The letter is tucked into the inner breast pocket of his blazer for safe keeping. And then, before you can register, his hand is holding yours.

He’s guiding you out of the room.

“W—”

“You have to go. Clean yourself in the bathroom and then go home.” he instructs. You can’t say a word before he’s shutting you out. Literally. He doesn’t slam the door in your face, but he may as well have.

And now you are crying, running across the hall to lock yourself in the bathroom and shield the sound of your tears by running the taps on full blast. You look at yourself, eyes red raw and stinging from tears. And you can’t help but feel used. You’ve been used like a whore and tossed aside. It doesn’t take long for you to wash your face and tidy up your appearance.

The flower he’d placed behind your ear has fallen into the sink. You wish you never came here. You wish you never gave him that God damn letter or any of your time. In that moment, a temporary flash of red blinds your vision. You douse the flowers with water from the taps on the highest setting until they’re being swallowed by the plug hole, never to be seen again.

It doesn’t make you feel the least bit better.

You lightly dab your face with a towel and then decide to take your leave. When you leave the bathroom, you spy Mitsuya’s basket of oranges outside of Ran’s bedroom door. You huff, picking it up and trudging down the stairs.

“Ahhh, is the mob princess going home?” Rindou laughs at your expense, earning approval in sniggers from Haruchiyo and Takeomi.

“Yes, I’m leaving. Try not to follow me this time.” you bite back. Instantly you duck as Sanzu picks up a plum from your gift basket and throws it like a baseball at your head. A mirror shatters behind you, the reflective glass smashing by your feet.

“Watch your fucking mouth, princess. Just because your papa is in charge don’t go thinking you’re untouchable. We know how to clip people without leaving a trace.” he eerily reminds you.

“I’ve told my papa should anything to happen to me that you be the first person he suspects. He doesn’t like you, y’know?” you inform him. His teeth grit at you as he growls like a beast.

The commotion summoned Ran from his bedroom, who rushes to your side when he sees the broken mirror at your feet.

“Bastardo. Fucking dick. How many times have I told you to leave her alone?” Ran snipes at him. He only has himself to blame, of course the rest of his roommates were going to be crueller to you without him there. “Rindou, walk my baby home.” Ran insists. His request is denied in the form of his sibling flipping him off.

“I can walk home by myself, I walked here by myself.”

“See,” Rin speaks without looking at either of you.

“No, you walked here with Rin keeping an eye on you. So, my bratty bambina and little shit brother, do as you’re fucking told for once in your lives.” the two of you find yourselves ducking again as Rindou decides to hurl a peach at you both. More of the mirror breaks and rains around you. “AH! Dickhead!” Ran yells when he stands back up. He rushes over to his little brother and punches him in the face.

“Fuck sake.” Takeomi grunts.

Rindou punches him right back, both of their chests heaving with rage. Lavender eyes engage in a staring contest that has more at stake than just competitive loss. Ran grabs his brother by the shirt, pulling him up and throwing him to the ground. You shake your head, turning on your heel to leave so that you don’t have to witness anymore of this sheer nonsense.

“Ah, fuck!” you shout, realising you’ve been pelted with fruit on your bicep. Sanzu. You make eye contact with him, menacingly shaking his head at you. Warning you. Forbidding you from leaving the building without permission.

You watch for a few minutes as the Haitani brother’s continue to fight each other. They’ve broken the coffee table due to Rin pushing his big brother so violently he fell into it. Ran took a cheap shot, kicking Rin in the balls, forcing him to collapse to the ground. The two continuing to punch and kick the shit out of each other in the debris.

“Just fucking take her home!” Ran yells, punching his brother’s cheek.

“She’s your bitch, why don’t you?!” Rin responds, returning the same punch to Ran’s opposite cheek.

“Because I asked you, fucking little shit. And she’s not a bitch! Don’t fucking call her that!” he angrily replies. He wraps his hands around Rin’s neck and applies enough pressure to have him kicking and gasping, his whole face becoming as red as a cherry.

“Fine—! S-Stop, I’ll do it—!” Rin manages to choke out.

He lays in the broken remenants of the coffee table for a while as Ran falls backwards to sit against the couch. Both of them fighting for air, chests expanding dramatically with every inhale. After some time, Ran stands to his feet and offers his brother a hand up. They smirk at each other before Takeomi and Sanzu stand beside them. The other brother’s slapping them upside the head to put an end to the dramatics.

Rindou pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and then he looks at you. Both brother’s approach, Ran kisses you on the lips one last time before bidding you farewell. He retreats to his room and leaves you to the devices of his roommates.

“Be a good girl!” he calls to you, shutting his door with a soft click.

Rin smacks your ass and guides you out of the door.

Looking at Rindou Haitani from behind makes you feel unusual. The inverted black and blonde hairstyle that he and his brother share is enough to make you believe you might be looking at the elder sibling, like you’re intoxicated and out of your own head. There’s two of him. An ever so slightly shorter Ran is walking ahead of you. Hands in his pockets and effortless swagger in his steps. Cigarette smoke lightly twists and spirals into the evening air, spinning until it ultimately dies in the breeze. You hear a noise spill from him. A grunt or a ‘hm?’ quiet enough to be a trick of the mind. But you know you heard it when he turns around. Round glasses helping you remember he isn’t your lover, not even close.

He's the younger brother that loathes you.

He grabs the fat of your upper arm flesh, pulling you closer to him. Rindou bends over so that he’s eye level with you. It’s another disparity from the Haitani that you fell for. The Haitani that you love with everything that you have. When Ran bends down to talk to you, to look intently into your eyes, it’s loving. He’s a good daddy, he cares about you, he worships you. He wants to protect and adore you, making you feel small and oh so cute makes you love him even more.

Rin, however, is intimidating. He isn’t scary in the way that Sanzu is, but he still manages to send a chill down your spine. There’s lingering undertone of mania hiding behind his dull, heavy eyes. He always looks so tired, but the smile is what gives him away. Lumbering eyelids can’t hide what a garish smile presents.

Anger. Insanity. Impatience.

“Walk ahead of me or beside me. Not behind.” he instructs. You scoff, picking up the pace as you decide you’d rather drop dead than walk by his side. It prevents you from seeing the way his face sours as his eyes roll at your petulance. “Am I so bad?” he wonders, knowing the answer that is already bulging from each and every braincell you possess.

You ignore him, instead. You’re a smart girl – smarter than anyone gives you any credit for. Why would you say something that could antagonise him when you can keep schtum and get back home without being bothered?

“Rindou, go home.” you tell him.

“Hah?” it isn’t enough to stop him in his tracks, but he certainly slows. He looks down and notices the way your hand is holding the basket full of oranges for your boss. Trembling fists as you take a tighter grip of the handle. “Are ya that scared of me?”

“’m not scared.” you protest.

“Oh?” he snickers. “Then why are you shaking like a fuckin’ leaf, piccola?” the volume of his amusement raises as you stop walking. Your shoulders drop and you can barely stifle the sigh that you want to exhale.

“I’m not scared of you, Rindou. It’s chilly tonight, s’all.” you fib.

Of course you’re scared of him. You know how much he hates you and would prefer you to be tossed over the edge of the docks with cinderblocks bound to your feet. Wouldn’t anyone be scared if they were you? To be loathed by every single member of the most prolific gang in The Amalfi Coast save for one, you wouldn’t wish that on your worst enemy.

“Bullshit. It’s boiling, one of the hottest nights we’ve had so far.” he laughs, as though your lie was so outrageously stupid. You suppose it was. “’m not gonna hurt ya. Your fuckin’ daddy scares the shit out of me. Think he’d rip my insides out of me while I’m still breathin’ and feed them to his dogs.” he smiles, it’s not quite a joke as the possibility is very real. But he knows he won’t hurt you, so that particular fate is not one he’ll ever meet.

He catches up to you, his hand settling in the small of your back as he attempts to push you further along on your journey. Your steps follow his, walking in tandem with him as he escorts you home. The smoke from his cigarette wafts in your face; a scent that has given you a pavlovian response to think of Ran whenever it invades your senses. An inhale that you had intended to be discreet becomes obnoxious as you allow the gorgeous, cancerous scent fill your airways. He hears a familiar sound. The sound he coaxes from many a woman when he has the time and the funds for one of life’s simple pleasures. Though he doesn’t think he’s ever heard it so softly. A meek, wanton moan as you imagine your lover. The things you have done and will do with Ran Haitani. All while he smells of burning tobacco and covers your body in nicotine kisses.

Rin smiles.

You’re quite cute, aren’t you?

He stays at the bottom of the stairs, observing each step you take up to your own house. You don’t want him here anymore. You don’t want him to watch you or to wait around while you let your guard down in the safety of your own home. But he isn’t leaving. He’s staring as you put the front door key inside the keyhole. He doesn’t stop when you lower the handle and open the door.

What is he waiting for?

“Did you need something, Rin?”

“Go inside and lock the door.”

You can’t help but smile. It’s a soft smile, though. Your features filled with warmth from the pink and orange sky and the fading yellow sun. The apples of your cheeks are swelling as you try to stave off your little smile turning into a fully-fledged grin. It’s sweet, really, that Rin is being so protective. You know it isn’t for your benefit, it’s for his brother.

He knows his brother is sweet on you. He knows how crushed he’d be should anything happen to you. So, by default, your safety is a high priority of Rin’s, too. Although… it probably helps that your father would have them all killed if they let anything happen to you.

“Get home safe. Goodnight, Rin.” you speak. His brows furrow, like you spoke a foreign language he’d never have any hope of understanding.

“Huh?” he sounds, the perplexity that he’s experiencing bleeding into his voice. “What did you say?”

“I— goodnight, Rin?”

“Before that.”

“Um… oh! Get home safe?” you wonder, what could be so perplexing about such a simple sentence?

“Ah, no one’s ever said that to me before.” he chuckles. “You really give a shit about me and my safety? Or are ya just sayin’ it?”

“Rin…” you exhale. “I love your brother, a horrendous amount, actually. He loves you… of course I give a shit about you. Contrary to what you might think, I actually like you. All of you Bonten boys, even though you don’t much care for me.”

He drops his cigarette to the ground and extinguishes it with the bottom of his shoe. When he looks up from the squished cigarette, there is a look in his lilac irises that you’ve never seen before. Empathy, maybe. A little bit of sorrow might be in there too, his gaze boring into your own and seemingly unable to break away. It’s intense, neither of you finding any words to say. His eyes fixated onto yours as the uncomfortable silence floods the atmosphere around you.

Rindou is the one to turn away first. His eyes squinting and teeth gritting for a split second before his lazily cool and calm exterior returns to him once more. He tilts his head in the direction of your front door, a silent instruction for you to head on inside.

“Go on.” he speaks, so mildly, the sentence could almost be drowned in a sea of the crickets singing their night-time chorus. “I’ll get home safe… goodnight.” he smirks.

“I’ll be seeing you… g’night, Rin.”

Your heart pounded a million beats per second when you closed the door behind you. You hadn’t expected Mitsuya to be awake. He’s lying on the couch, his back against the armrest with a glass of merlot on the tiled floor beneath. One of his knees is almost at his chest, his sketchbook resting against it as he sketches away calmly. His glasses seated at the end of his nose make him look so wise. You’ve never known anyone so relaxed and at peace when truly in their element.

“Sorry I—” you stop yourself, unable to continue when he looks up at you with such a positive warmth diffusing from him. He isn’t mad, he’s never mad at you. But still, you know you owe your boss an apology. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back to work, and I’m home so late. But… I have your oranges.” you inform him, bringing the basket to him and leaving it beside his glass of wine.

“It’s fine, bella. Grazie.” he thanks you, peeling one of the many oranges you’ve gifted him with. As he places an orange segment into his mouth, he turns his sketchbook and shows it to you.

“Oh, Suya… This is beautiful.” you smile, astounded by the stunning and complex design. He nods, the gesture filled with gratitude and appreciation. “Now I see why you’re in such a good mood! Is this going to be a new dress you fill the boutique with?”

“Nope,” he shakes his head, swallowing the orange piece in his mouth. “The most glamorous woman I’ve ever seen came by the boutique not long after you left. She told me she wants a one-of-a-kind dress for her wedding day, and that money is no object.” he beams, utterly ecstatic over the prospect of what this one client could do for his boutique.

He sits properly on the sofa and allows you to come and sit beside him as the breaks down his vision for the extravagant wedding gown. It’s so nice to see him like this, so truly fulfilled by what makes him happiest in life. You rest your head on his shoulder as he carries on talking, though your focus begins to waver.

Flurries of blonde and black hair invade your memories. It wouldn’t worry you, normally. What could be so bad about thinking heart-fluttering thoughts about Ran Haitani? But that’s just it. You can’t bring black on blonde on black to the forefront of your mind. Instead, the opposite. Blonde on black on blonde. Why? Why? Why can’t you get his lethargic lids out of your mind? His violet vision studying you like a he had seen a mythical creature in the very flesh. His hands gripping into your arm, violent skin so much softer than you would ever have thought. No one ever telling him to get home safe, so filled with anger and pain the very statement bewildered him.

Oh, he wants to be adored.

You’re fucking his brother, though. Aren’t you meant to be in love with his brother? So, then, pray tell, why are you thinking of Rindou as opposed to the one you’re actually screwing?

“She’s coming tomorrow.”

How did you manage to fabricate such a tall tale about a monster like Rin Haitani? He is a monster. But, you suppose, every member of Bonten falls under that illustrious title. Each and every member has blood on their hands. They are all cruel, cold, calculating. But for whatever reason, Ran softened for you. He let you in and allowed himself to love you and to love you in turn.

So stop fucking thinking about his brother.

“She said her fiancé is some hot-shot businessman.”

Overthinking such a simple thought will lead to your undoing, the death of your rationale. For once, just this once, you have seen a man you loathe in a different light. A man who puts the fear of God into you, in a way you never thought you would. He isn’t anything. He isn’t anyone, to you. He is only, and will be nothing more than the brother of Ran Haitani. He is not a man you should be fantasising about. Imagining what your children would look like and how you’d feel in his arms. Whether he’d kiss your body as softly as Ran or comfort you just as sweetly. Would he appreciate your love letters and thoughtful gestures more than Ran had, today?

“I think she’s marrying a mafioso, but that’s just me.” Mitsuya continues, unaware that you haven’t listened to a word he’s said since you sat down. “You hear me?”

“Hm?”

“Why don’t you go to bed? You look like you’ve had a hard day. I want you working extra hard tomorrow since you ran off today.” he informs you light heartedly. You stand up, and then bend down so that you can give each other a kiss on the cheek before you retreat to your bedroom. You knew he’d be spending another few hours lying on the sofa and sketching his design to absolute perfection.

You suppose you should be sick of the sight of Mitsuya. Considering you live with him and work with him, you’re barely out of each other’s way. But, alas, it doesn’t bother you at all. He’s the kindest person you’ve ever known and you’re happy to be sharing so much of your life with him and have him do the same. Of course, your papa would have happily funded a place for you to live alone if that had been what you wanted. But living with Mitsuya makes you feel safe. You can’t imagine coming home to a dark house and no one to keep you company. His mere presence makes you feel that much more secure.

And knowing that there is no chemistry between you makes you feel that much safer. It means that everything he does for your benefit isn’t disguising any ulterior motives. Why would he try and seduce you when you’ve already slept with one another? He just cares about you. It’s really that simple.

And that is why you have no qualms about sleeping in your room naked. Rindou was right, after all. The heat is sweltering. Fuck. Rindou. You’re cursing yourself for letting him penetrate your thoughts again.

It isn’t this deep. It shouldn’t be this deep. It’s not as if you have a crush on him. It’s not like you even like him, really. A slither of a somewhat vulnerable hidden layer in the younger Haitani has you positively reeling.

You can’t deny what’s beginning to occur at the apex of your thighs. The slippery slickness that Ran can summon from nought but a look in your direction. He can make you wriggle and squirm in no time at all. But Ran isn’t here. He’s barely even on your mind.

You can’t touch yourself and think about Rin.

You can’t.

But you are. Thinking about how he’d manhandle you and make your naked body his plaything. His fingers deep in your pussy while his lips latch around one of your breasts, causing you to cream more juicy goodness for him to use to his advantage. All while whispering obscenities to you, specific language that your papa would put a bullet between his eyes for using in reference to his baby girl.

It's intoxicating.

Picturing your fingers weaving between lustrous locks as you attempt to stable yourself and just be with him. Experience him. Have him douse his cock in your slippery offering before pushing deep inside until you feel positively full.

The sex would be so dirty.

So filthy.

And you cum. You cum and you keep on cumming as you cover your mouth with your free hand, knowing you’ll scream out in overflowing ecstasy and chanting a mantra you absolutely shouldn’t be. And that, you know for a fact, because it’s the only thing repeating in your mind like a broken record.

Rin.

Rin.

Oh… Rindou!

“Rin…” you huff, desperate to fondle your own breast as you ride out the last remnants of your high. The fat of your thighs are so silky, completely sodden with your arousal. Your chest swells as your breath does all it can to recover to its natural rhythm. Your bliss surges through your body, aftershocks plaguing you as you continue to lightly tickle your clit.

When you finish playing with yourself, you assume a comfier sleeping position. Eyes feeling as heavy as Rin’s often appear now that you’ve made yourself orgasm, a sure-fire way to propel you into a paradisical slumber. You’re exhausted. Your mind is drained. And yet, your internal monologue can’t help but bully you.

How can you live with yourself? How will you sleep at night? Your poor boyfriend… You basically cheated! And you’re such a bitch. Of all of the people in the world, you touched yourself over his fucking brother.

You just came thinking about Rindou Haitani.

“Fuck,” you mutter.

You wake up late, unsurprisingly. Mitsuya has already left for work, the area he’d been working in last night now completely spotless. He’s so neat and tidy, just a generally wonderful housemate. There’s no trace of him, you wouldn’t have even known he was there if you hadn’t seen him for yourself.

The day is warm, as most are, prompting you to wear another little dress. It’s light and airy. White is your usual colour to wear, knowing it’s the best colour to wear in the searing sun. You leave your hair down and only apply a little bit of mascara. You’re late enough without doing a full face of makeup. Mitsuya is kind and understanding, but you’re sure even he will have his limits. You doubt he’d be pleased to see your face painted to perfection when you were meant to start work two hours ago.

He greets you warmly when you venture inside. The basket of oranges you got for him is placed on the corner of your desk, he and the woman he is chatting with each enjoying one each. Both of them are laughing and smiling, you can only imagine what is so funny.

“Bella, this is Signorina Gianna. The client I’m creating a unique design for.” he smiles, taking her hand in his as a sign of gratitude. She holds her free hand to her chest and returns his smile almost bashfully. She’s beautiful. One of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen. You wonder if she might be a famous model, perhaps that is how she can afford to treat money like it’s nothing at all.

“I’ve heard wonderful things about your dresses, Mitsuya. I trust you to create something beautiful for me.” she tells him. She’s making a good decision, you think. No one knows how to capture the beauty of a woman through the artistry of clothes better than Mitsuya does. You can feel the love, preparation and adoration he pours into each and every inch of the clothing he makes. “My fiancé wants me to be the happiest I can be so he assured me that money wouldn’t be a problem on any scale.”

“That’s so exciting,” you tell her, taking an orange and sitting at the cash register to continue conversing with the pair in front of you. “tell me about him!” you insist, earning a chuckle from her.

“Tsk. Behave yourself, don’t be so rude.”

“Haha! It’s fine,” she assures him. “He’s so beautiful. Very work oriented, he owns his own business. We’ve been together for five years. I started thinking he’d never propose, but, here I am! He said he’s ready to commit to me properly and… he wants to start a family with me.” she grins from ear to ear. It’s obvious how in love with him she is. The happiness of others rubs off on you so easily. Especially when it comes to romance, you’re such a romantic.

“Ah! So respectable, wanting to make you his wife before having children. I like that.” you tell her. She nods, agreeing.

“It’s very important to both of us that we don’t have children out of wedlock. And I know the babies we have will be gorgeous, like their papa! Would you like to see him?” she asks you, earnestly. You can’t say that you aren’t intrigued, hopping off your stool and standing by her side. She begins raking through her bag as she searches for a photo of him. “This is us a year ago in Venice!” she explains.

“He looks familiar… is he from here?” Mitsuya questions.

Their conversation turns to white noise. He looks familiar. He looks really fucking familiar. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. You can’t decipher whether you’re boiling or freezing. Your body suddenly perspiring at an alarming rate while an inexplainable chill in the air has you breaking out in goosebumps and shivering as if you’re in the North Pole.

“So beautiful…” you mumble. The look on their faces tells you that you’ve fallen a few conversations behind. The bride-to-be doesn’t know what to say, and Mitsuya isn’t sure how to recover the discussion they were having. Your eyes are dripping wet, sorrowful crystals inhabiting your lash line. “I need to… go.”

“You just got here!” Mitsuya almost yells at you.

“J-Just for a minute… I don’t— I feel sick.” you caution him. An eyeroll that is so quintessentially him is offered to you. But of course, it is always followed by some sincere kindness. A quick nod and tilt of his head in the direction of the door.

You don’t walk, but it’s not quite a run either. Not until you’re outside and out of their line of sight. A hand flies to your stomach as you try and keep your sickness inside. You’re fighting a losing battle, though. Knowing there’s nothing you can do to prevent the rising wave intensely rolling through you. You create a makeshift ponytail with your hair, realising you’re powerless to stop it. It’s humiliating. Vomiting right outside of your place of work. Where so many people recognise you. Know you. A man offering you a napkin and a woman handing you a bottle of water.

“’m fine, really. Grazie.”

You’re far from fine.

What a familiar fucking head of hair her future husband possesses. What an interesting style that you just so happen to recognise. It’s such a coincidence that her fiancé has dyed blonde and black hair. There are only two people you know in Italy with hair that colour. That style. And, fuck. Why has this happened to you? Of all the people in the world. Of all of the boutiques in the world, why did she have to come to this one?

But, more importantly…

Why is Ran Haitani fucking you if he’s marrying someone else?

© b-imbou 2022

please reblog and maybe leave a comment if u enjoyed this!!

[bluemooniegif]

Sorry if you have already talked about this but do you think Dazai’s bandages are to cover sh scars or something like that or something else like a traumatic injury. I have always assumed it was sh but my friend pointed out that he has said repeatedly he doesn’t like pain. Idk but thoughts would be appreciated :)

I have definitely talked about this before, but I forgot where or when, so let's go for round two!

CW for Dazai-typical suicide & self harm mentions

The fact that Dazai's bandages are such an obvious part of his character design, yet are rarely discussed, is absolutely intentional. As far as I remember, they're never even mentioned in the anime (except for moments such as when Chuuya calls him a walking waste of bandages), so it makes a lot of sense for everyone to be curious about what lies underneath.

Most people's minds go directly to self-harm scars, because duh, Osamu Dazai is the poster boy for mental illness. But then we think, wait... he doesn't like pain? He bitches and moans about it so much, in fact, that it casts a lot of doubt over the idea, and we end up back at square one.

Could it be because of No Longer Human? So he doesn't accidentally touch someone and activate his ability? This is honestly one of my favourite headcanons ever, and very plausible, considering that we don't actually know all that much about how NLH works... like why is it that Dazai can't control when it activates, for example? Everyone else can activate and subdue theirs, so it's got to have something to do with the fact that NLH is an anti-ability.

ANYWAY. Despite all this, there is actually an explanation of what he's hiding under there! It exists within the first few pages of Dark Era, but wasn't included in the anime adaptation. It's such an offhanded, throwaway thing, I don't blame people for missing it (side note: I wanna take the opportunity to remind you that Dark Era is mostly written from Oda's perspective!)

So yes, this is solid proof that there are scars he's hiding under there, but the question then becomes how he got them. We get a few examples on the following page:

Now, this is so ridiculous it's funny, and teetering on the edge of impracticality. If you've read No Longer Human, you'll immediately recognise this as clowning- Dazai is purposefully acting this way to detract from the seriousness of the situation. While yes, he's talking about serious injuries, and even admits to trying to kill himself, he does it in such a way that you just want to laugh.

So can we take these claims seriously? Is Dazai telling the full truth? There's no way for us to know, at this stage. But here are our options:

He is telling the truth, nothing more or less

He's partially telling the truth: owning up to the injuries, but not exactly how he got them

He's lying about the injuries and how he got them

Honestly, I think we can write off the third option, because the way Oda talks about his scars in the beginning makes me think he's perhaps seen some of them before. This makes sense when we consider The Day I Picked Up Dazai, in particular.

There's also something to be said about the nature of Dazai's job; I think it'd be remis of me not to mention it when Oda does. How much is he actually expected to put himself in harm's way? How much unnecessary danger does he put himself in- how much of this is actually self-harm? We may never know, but it's interesting to think about!

[nyx108stars]

A dark Regulus Headcanon I’ll contribute to the Jegulus/ Marauders Era fanon

I’m sure this isn’t an original hc so I’m really just pushing an agenda 😂 If you know any fics where this happens or other blogs have talked about this, let me know!

The most Noble and Ancient House of Black is its own warning!

I was actually thinking about tattoo placement when I thought of this headcanon 💀 I’ve been meaning to get one, anyway! I was thinking about tattoos and then saw one of the many Regulus edits with that opening Dune scene of Paul waking up, and by extension some The King scenes. Later on, I was thinking about HP, as one does, and the Hermione scene where Bellatrix carved ‘mudblood’ into her arm and the Choices dialogue “Do you really think that if she didn’t have a spare you would’ve gotten off that easy?!”. And thought. Hey, what if? What if when Sirus ran away, Regulus took one single step after him with this look of longing to leave with him? And Wallberg saw it and, for an added layer of effed up, Imperiod Regulus or drags him away and takes a cursed k**fe, because you know Grimmauld Place just has objects like that laying around, and craves ‘Toujours Pur’ along his ribs as a sick, twisted brand. The k**fe’s curse is that it leaves the wound looking and feeling perpetually open even if it feels like a raised scar to an outsiders touch and doesn’t bl**d once it’s “healed”

Note

The iemprio mentioned was inspired by the fic just lovers (like we were supposed to be) by the incredible bizarrestars! And I’m sure there are hundreds of other fics where Wallberg imperios Sirius and Regulus but bizarrestars was my first encounter with this headcanon

A timeline for myself that I’ll also share

The timeline’s really screwy, I’m operating with Regulus’ birthday in December, and fanon consensus he’s a year younger than Sirius, so for example, he turns 15 in his fourth year over winter break, I’ve seen Dec 23 tossed around fanon, Regulus being James’ Pan or Bi awakening returning from Easter Holiday on the Hogwarts express, typical Jegulus ensues. Sirius (16, fifth year) runs away the upcoming summer. Jegulus lasts until the end of Easter Holiday the following year, which is when Regulus becomes a Death Eater and drops out of Hogwarts. James gets, like, 6 months, give or take? to recover from their “breakup” , you know Jegulus, before Jilly starts dating, and even then, it’s not like they date right away, so yeah

I don’t know why but I prefer Regulus being 11 turning 12 when he goes to Hogwarts rather than him being 10 turning 11, idk way 🤷🏻‍♀️

The original, accelerated, and more tragic, admittedly still screwy, timeline idea I had for the Toujours Pur scar was. James’ pan or bi awakening happens during the new school year, the marauders' sixth year, Regulus’ fifth, still on the Hogwarts express. Sirius runs away during winter holiday, you can flip a coin whether it’s at the start of the holiday or a little before Regulus’s birthday, the scar happens. Regulus becomes a Death Eater over Easter, Jegulus “breakup”. I admittedly like this timeline more… but then I found out Sirius’ birthday is in November which would’ve made him 17 if he ran away during winter holiday. The whole point of this timeline is to not keep Jegulus apart for too long after the Toujours Pur scar, as the scar is a direct consequence of Sirius running away infected on Regulus. If James isn’t an already established safe corner for Regulus then Jegulus doesn’t happen because Regulus has sat in isolation and psychological ab**e with a physical and psychologically traumatic reminder to separate himself from Sirius and James for 2 months. And sure! I can still make them happen even with that criteria, teenage hormones can perpetuate a 6 month fling despite trauma right?! 💀 I mean I’ve read fics with that timeline, hell! I’ve read fics where it’s a 3 month fling!

Thanks for getting to the bottom! Hope I ruined your day! Bye!

[ectonurites]

Now that we’re halfway through it what are your thoughts on Kon’s solo?

I've been enjoying it! I think it's been fun so far—I do think that letting Kon have a story where he's out on his own just doing a classic little adventure like this rather than... something super tethered to the greater DCU/its continuity messes is refreshing after the last few years he's had.

Like I definitely don't want him isolated from all his friends in space forever or anything like that, but I think him getting to do this on his own right now is cool. I think the thing Porter seems to be going for with Kon 'chasing after the glory days'/trying to find some shred of his old life to cling onto (even if it's just a space imitation of it) is definitely interesting and like... makes enough sense to me for him and where he's at after The Everything.

I just gave this 'how Kon has changed across the eras' post of mine from a while back (fall 2021, so written shortly after the whole Suicide Squad Match Ordeal™) a re-read and something I was talking about at the end was how after all the experiences he's had he has looped back around to embracing aspects of his old self (that he'd been pushing away for a long time because of 2000's-era Trauma And Angst) and I think this current book is definitely like, playing with that.

What I was talking about in that post ended mostly after YJ 2019 though—his state of mind at that point being more or less 'okay I'm back now let's goooooo!!!!!' before The Horrors of realizing he came back to a world that really had moved on without him for years really set in. Like, he knew about that by the end of YJ 2019, but I think he needed to sit on it for a bit and see it firsthand... also even though I know the book was a mess and not well received, I think we should still acknowledge Dark Crisis: Young Justice—where he got a firsthand taste of the olden 90's 'I hadn't died yet, I hadn't disappeared yet, I hadn't been replaced yet' days in Mickey's dream world. After experiencing that and getting some reality checks from the rest of the team, he knows he can't seriously just go back, you can't go back to the past like that... but...

The new understanding of himself he'd achieved just before/while stuck on Gemworld—where we saw he was making active choices about who he's gonna be based on what he wants rather than Clark-based expectations or anyone else's input, and where he was rolling with the changes and circumstances that had been thrown at him—has been thrown SERIOUSLY out of whack!

So rather than it being that 'he's returning to aspects of who he used to be while incorporating the experience and maturity he's gained along the way over the years' situation from YJ 2019, it's started warping into 'he's regressing back to the safety of being the Metropolis Kid/his 90's era self just out in space this time so TECHNICALLY it's DIFFERENT'. Which I think is an interesting approach! And him acting completely and totally in denial of that being what he's doing (even though it's clear he knows damn well it is) is also totally in line with classic Kon—thinking back to the Young Justice (1998) #7 camping trip LMAO.

But like, the thing is, Superboy: The Man of Tomorrow #1 started with an editor's note clarifying it takes place before Action Comics #1051 which began the new family-focused era of the book... that Kon is very obviously present for.

So we already know he's gonna figure out that there is a place for him back on earth and that he doesn't need to completely regress and try to relive his past somewhere else, he can just be himself and carve out his own path at home and have a place within the family. We're not stuck guessing about what Kon's fate is gonna be after the fact—instead, this book gets to focus on this journey he's going through and we're along for the ride to see how he's gonna finally reach that conclusion! Which is fun!

Anyways, that was a lot of word dumping—Kon just gets me going man, you know he always does—but in conclusion: I'm enjoying the book overall, it has definitely kept me as a Kon fan engaged, and I'm looking forward to seeing where it goes!

+ as much as ideologically I am opposed to DC Round Robin, I'm definitely (at this point anyways) glad that this book got to exist.