#ao3 fic requests

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫

Pairing: Jackson!Joel x F!reader

Word count: 4110

Summary: Joel’s knees don’t work like they used to. So, he much rather sit back, relax, and have your entire ass and pussy in his face.

Warnings: PORN-NO-PLOT. Assplay, old!Joel, light degradation, sixty-nine, oral F!receiving & M!receiving, old man Joel and his weak knees. Power-play? If you squint. He’s 61 but I’m gettin’ him to SIXTY-NINE! Lazy aftercare scene. One singular spank.

A/N: This is a repost! If you think you saw this before you probably have. I just couldn’t let something I spent 1 sleepless night on go to waste. Anyway, this song fucks harder than Joel.

Slut.

It was on the tip of his tongue as your fingertips traced around the waistband of his boxers. His soft stomach just barely aproning over the elastic. 

Fourth time this week you had him in his room, half naked after dry swallowing one of those small, baby blue pills to get his dick up. First time doing it midday, sun shining in from his bedroom windows, curtains wide open. Shamelessly, he liked it– the thrill he got from the thin chance of someone seeing the real reason you’ve been walking with a limp, a certain shake in your knees all week. 

“Quit teasin’, Sweets. He’s all ready.”

You weren’t blind, just patient. He should be glad your own hormones weren’t constantly leading your mind. Unlike his. Though, spotting the writhe beneath the fabric, that dark spot blooming against the grey cotton. You’d be mad if you didn’t feel the sight, like a punch straight to the ovaries. 

‘May I?”

Joel almost laughed, you were never keen on formalities. It sounded unnatural. 

A nod was all you were given, eyes meeting his which were currently kept guarded by the lenses of those red framed bifocals. 

You leaned in, brushing soft, careful lips over the strain in his briefs, over the curve of seven-and-a-half inches compacted into a forced bow against the fabric. You knew what was to come once the fabric was down to his thighs, a sinful slap against the thick of his belly. Though, that being said; your index still trembled as she went in, curving around his waistband and–

THUMP.

Chest first into the tempur-pedic. 

Your jaw slacked as you felt the wind knocked out of you, briefly. Like the time you fell off your bed back first when you were six. Though this time, instead of a cry it was a moan. Deep from your gut. 

You weren’t as exhibitionistic as Mr. Miller, here. The thought of someone hearing– particularly someone you know. A face you have to see and god forbid greet every day, that’s what made your cheeks red. Your nose pressed down into his duvet, a heady smell of unwashed sex and every-day musk radiating through every stitch. Hoping to Christ the heavy comforter would be able to muffle the pornography shrilling out from your throat. Unlike Joel, shame weighed heavy on your conscience, especially when he was making you whimper just from broad hands with a firm touch, which was currently following the wave of your hip. Thumbs pressing into the gives between the bones, making you–

“Fffffffffffu–huccccckkk.” 

In other words, your tummy hurt. 

Your hips tilted out, his hands palmed your ass through your underwear– white, lace. It boggles his mind to even think where the fuck you found them. Tugging them down to the backs of your knees. It was all he needed.

Joel Miller knew he had you cryin’ every time he did this. Thrusts harmonizing with creaky hips that weren’t shy of sounding like they needed a fucking oil change. You’ve gotten used to it. Began counting them to see how many audible snaps of Miller’s pelvis will it take to cum this time? 

“‘Gonna take care of you today, sweetpea.” He murmurs. 

It was always more- how do you put it, mutual? If it wasn’t the headboard slamming, cervix kissing sex it’d be you on your knees, cheeks stuffed full’a cock after Joel’s been out all day. Thick cum riding the slippery slope down your throat. It wasn’t that Joel hadn’t ate you out before, made you into a proper meal. Though, there was a genuine excuse: this man’s sixty-one year old knees couldn't be put under stress. 

And lucky for you, you liked the taste of spend and the smell of musk as your face buried into his pubes. You liked the sore jaw, shaky knees. You liked doing it in his study, looking up to find fogged lenses of his bifocals. Resting your head on his thigh with a bitten cheek before placing the final kiss to his belly. 

It was fun. Made your pelvis boil and your head fog. As a real man’s cock should.

Broad hands now held around your thighs, one loosened, giving the back of your leg, the soft spot directly under your ass-cheek a lovely pat-pat-pat. 

His tall finger delved forward to the back of your folds, right at your entrance where he can feel the leak that had sprung by his touch. You hummed, wriggling your hips back into the touch. 

“Mm, m’ready, Joel.” 

“Mm-mm” He shook his head. “Need’s some more o’me.” 

Tsk-ing at your advance. You weren’t in the mood for his relentless teasing. Feeling, touching, carving heat into every inch. Though, even so it was hard not to enjoy. You breathed into the plushness of blankets, scooting yourself an inch- two inches further back. Your ass pressing against the palm of his hand. 

“So wet here.” He rubbed that finger through your labia, that build up of slick and arousal coating age-spotted skin. You pouted.

“Need’ya wet–” He paused, trailing a slick digit between your cheeks, tapping it against that foreign spot, the tight, clenched ‘o’ of muscle. “-Here.” 

You sucked in a breath, a sharp one. Fingers, on instinct, curling around the comforter. Not in your wildest fucking fantasies. –Well, yeah, but not the one you thought would come true– Miller’s finger pressed against a pure hole for the first time since you’ve started fucking. You almost forgot it was an option. You almost forgot old fuckers like Joel got off on that shit. 

This shit.

“S’been a while.” Joel drawled, the pad of his finger tracing a circle around the live rim. Nerves finally picking up on the vulgarity. You whined.

He couldn’t believe you whined. A moan, a cry, a chant of his name from panting lips from deep within your heaving chest– but a whine. Like a puppy begging for a treat. 

“You like that?”

He applied the smallest bit of pressure, just enough for your ass to draw a kiss to his fingertip. Joel grinned, mean.

“Barely fuckin’ touched you, babygirl.” 

Your stomach sunk, cunt throbbed and swelled with no finger, nothing to relieve all that tension. All before his middle finger– the same one slicked and lubed with juice bubbling from your pussy into your lips, now pressed in, just enough to invade that virgin ring. Your back arched, you wanted to scream. Gnawing on the rolled foldover of the duvet. 

Your legs twitched and your hips bared down. It was too tight, It didn’t even compare to your cunt, even before Joel- an unpopped cherry, freshly chewed fingernails and a dream. The dream of you making yourself cum on your own fingers. Spoiler alert: sitting there, pumping fingers two inches in, stopping because you’re too scared to go deeper isn’t the way to get off. Especially not with stress in your belly and the constant thought of “Holy fuck, I can’t wait for the real thing.” Looped and singing through your mind. 

Now you had the real thing. In-and-out and successful every time. Joel did that. 

And Joel was doing this too–

A more violent breed of butterflies fluttered in your tummy. Joel felt your hole pulse around nothing. Nothing more than a pressing fingertip in which he slowly pulled away. You whimpered. 

“Dirty girl, huh?” He drew. “Should’a told me you liked this sooner. Would’a been glad to play with ‘er.” 

Oh, fuck him.

The problem was he would’ve, you shouldn’t be surprised, honest. His body curved over your own, the bare, firmness of his chest pressed up against your back. Skin-on-skin, tummy slouched heavy to your lower back, rocking against your lumbar. 

The sudden weight and comfort of your old man made your body relax, slightly, less tense. Though, those eyes were still wide, pupils shaky, jaw slacked against the bed. You hissed this time as you felt it again. This time, a dry, thick thumb.

An assumption that the slick dragged from your pussy to your ass would be enough, it was dumb. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Tsk.

“No, that won’t do, Pretty.” He tapped against the knot, “‘Less she’s plannin’ on easing up, ‘ere.” 

“Joel.” You heaved. 

“‘Less she wants my tongue.” 

If a single finger wasn’t pure sin already, this was. 

He started to slink his body down, broad palms massaging their way down from your ribs, to the inward curve of your waist, hips. Thighs. All the while his body traveled with, nose drawing a line down the divot of your spine. His thorny, greying beard prickled down sensitive skin. 

Then, a weighty kiss was planted against your lower back. His pouty bottom lip reaching your tailbone all before his knees hit the ground.

Too. Fucking. Hard.

“MotherFUCKER–!”

Not only had the feeling shot into his lower back but once his shins joined the hardwood there was a painfully rhythmic snap, crackle and pop that came from his joints. 

It was his body’s kind reminder, he was far from twenty-one. 

“Jesus Christ, Joel.” 

You had breathed, body still in tremors though for a split second you had been transported outside of your haze to check on your old man. Head straining over your shoulder only to see the top of his grey curls peaking over your ass– at least, from your point-of-view.

“Not a word, Kiddo.” He couldn’t help but grumble, turning quickly into a drawn groan as he strained to stand back up. One foot back flat onto the floor, then, slowly came the next. He fisted the mattress, stabilizing himself as he got back on stiff legs. 

He was so fucked.

Your chest would swell against the covers, before releasing a breath. Still involuntarily twitching, shuddering every time you heard an uneven breath, a grunt as he stood. You felt your insides convulse. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” There was a subtle pause, chewing on your bottom lip before–

“old man.” 

He blinked. 

And in a sigh, he shifted close once again. One hand would raise as if to wave before landing a heavy hit to your ass.

“Fu– fuck!”

Once was enough.

“Jo–el–!” 

 Especially after hearing you squeal as you did. His name falling between the cracks of your wail.

“What’d I tell you.” He’d tut. Palming the reddening skin, tingling as it flushed. “Stings, don’t it?”

Instinctively, your back arched into it. The burn was fucking nice. The calloused palms of his hands almost apologetically soothing over the blushing area of flesh. You don’t cry, you moan, deep and hearty like you fucking mean it. 

“Move. On the bed, Pumpkin. You’re drippin’.” 

Dripping would be an understatement. 

Though, obeying Joel’s words, you find yourself hiking a knee over the side of a bed. Then the other, elbows being your way of travel as you heeded on all fours. You were sickeningly willing. Always and forever, for your old man. 

Once you made it to the middle of the queen you allowed your body to rest up on your shins. Keeping an as-picture-perfect-as-you-could posture. Curving your spine, sitting, perched like a cat, silently waiting for her treat. 

Joel, meanwhile; tugged down his boxers, letting them rest around his thighs, heavy balls hanging over the hem. Cock standing against his tummy. A river of cloudy obscenity dribbling from his slit. His brows would pinch together with each step, lips pursing as he let himself drop into his bed. The comfortable cradle where his body lays every night– the slight imprint his body has left in the mattress from five years of settling in that same spot routinely. One-thousand, eight-hundred and twenty-six days. 

His thighs would spread ever-so-slightly, almost to coax you. When he realized you were waiting for a vocal command, he allowed his head to fall against his pillow. Worn with musk- smelled dry. If, that made any sense. 

“Still wanna taste you.” He stated. 

There was a beat.

“Sure you’d just fuckin’ love to do the same f’me.” 

He was right. In fact, he’s never been more correct in the full sixty-one years his presence has graced this putrid earth. And fuck him for that. 

A grounding breeze gently pushed through the window that Joel had opened earlier- a slit. Barely that. The mattress would give against the palms of your hands as you crawled over to him. Almost out of instinct going to straddle over his thighs, but then, rectified yourself quickly. 

Your hands would cup over his shins to get the right pose on him. You feel a familiar, warm palming against the back of your thighs. Feeling, examining. Pathing a calloused digit from the pit of your knee up to the fattiest part of your thighs. Right underneath your buttcheek. 

“Don’t be shy.” He presses. 

And you’d reiterate, once again. Fuck him.

He was lucky enough you chose to spend your days and nights adulterating with him. Wasting time that could easily be spent meaning something. Though, who could be bothered with productivity at times like these. Especially as with every orgasm the weight of the world seems to ease up as well. 

A better mood, a better day. Though, more strenuous for Joel’s joints. Shame. 

You arched back, hips up as you pushed the plush of your ass against his face, his facial hair ticklish against the pillowy skin. Your stomach fell. Your breasts squished against his lower belly, hands finding purchase on the meat of his thighs, breath coming out in slow, balancing puffs. 

The tip of your nose pressed against the grey, wiry curls that laid a crown of thorns around his base. Nostrils flaring as you inhaled the heady– fuckin’ dizzying smell that came within. 

Your parted lips would ghost over the thick vein that ran along the underside of his shaft. The tip of your tongue cautiously laid flat against his cock. Slowly, running up, tasting the salt of his skin. In return, Joel’s teeth nipped at your ass cheek. His own tongue began seeking the taste of you, slacking his jaw the slightest, sinking between your crack once delved past his lips, lapping a stripe from the pink-ish pucker his finger had prodded earlier, down to where you needed him the most. 

One single lick. 

One single lick and your hips involuntarily pushed back into the warmth of his mouth. The wetness of his tongue. It all felt so–

“GOOD–!” 

A loud shrill of that pretty word was consequence of Joel’s tongue flicking against your overly sensitive, all around deprived folds, and a solid thumbing against your rim. You thought he’d be done with her by now. 

One problem: his window. Still open a crack, though we all know a crack is enough. Well, how do we know? Maybe last week, you were walking down the road to get to Miller’s to drop off supplies he had asked for. The window cracked, noises that’d you’d think to only hear coming from a hormonal sixteen year old boy’s bedroom as he jerks off to an old Playboy. 

“Sh–shut up, baby.” He’d murmur, vibrations of his softened voice tickling at your cunt. “Don’t wanna be the talk of the town, now do we?” 

Good point. Great point. Because of course, you definitely would love for that to happen. 

You wanted to sob.

One of his hands slithered down to your stomach, rubbing over the flesh as he pulled you back some.

“Now, why don’cha try stuffin’ those pretty cheeks so there ain’t a worry ‘bout no outburst.” 

A weak ‘mhm’ hummed through the air as you pushed lower, instead of palms the sides of your forearms were keeping you up. The warm light of the afternoon casting a glow onto his head, you savored this sight, taking a moment to wet your lips once more before you’d strike. 

The heaviness of his dick lugged forward against your lips, a kiss was pressed gently, all-too lovingly against his tip before you opened your mouth, flattened your tongue and glided him inside warm, comforting walls. It was just the head at first, suckling sweetly upon the flushed cap of his girth– tentative and teasing, though, his hips rutted up, forcing himself back another inch. 

Your hand wrapped around the base, squeezing him with no real mercy behind the pressure. It was his fault for being this size, your fingers couldn’t even fully meet on the underside. And you’d say it a third time for good measure: fuck. Him. 

Fourth, fuck him for being so big. And fifth, fuck him for tasting like a drink of heaven every time. 

Miller’s mouth hadn’t fell short either, curling his tongue between the swell of your folds, still, impossibly soaked. Never-been-kissed sorta wetness.

 Or, a kiss to a secretive place after you promised your parents no man will ever touch you before two ‘I do’s

Your hips rocked back against his face as he gave you the stimulation that made your knees kick, stomach tense. Walls clench, empty without the fleshy muscle of his tongue. You whined, you missed it. You were all achy for it– he knew that. 

He was the one fuckin’ feeling that. 

A searing kiss captured your cunt, upper lip soft against the tender bridge of skin between your pussy and your ass. The tip of his tongue flicked against your entrance just like it would your mouth, same way he’d turn a soft kiss into an invasion. His tongue delved as far as he could reach, two, just barely teetering three inches. 

You’d moan again, it’d be louder if it weren’t for the fact his cock was stuffing against your left cheek. The tip of your own tongue traced around a bulging vein. For a breather– you were drowning, after all– you’d pull back with an obscene ‘pop!’. Breathe. Watch the long, sticky string of precum connect from his head to your swollen lips, admiring how it’d glisten in the sunlight like the prettiest of silk. Then, slowly bare your mouth back onto his needy, old dick. 

There was a violent twitch against the hollow of your tongue, another moan into your hole. Your arms were shaking as you supported your weight, feeling his thighs twitch beneath your elbows. Though, it still didn’t seem like enough. Every grunt, breathless hum into the mound of swell he was eating like a five-star meal should tell you just how pleasurable it really was. 

You wanted more. 

So, you’d give him ‘more’. 

You remembered what had stuck from your friends ramblings of what-they-don’t-teach-in-sex-Ed. Relax your throat, ease up. Breathe through your fucking nose most of all. 

Joel had been too distracted to notice the feeling of his cock sheathing further into your mouth, stretching your lips into a wide gape. Up until he felt a spasm of your throat, a sickly squelch from the back of your throat before he felt the tightness. How your belly stopped rising and falling– for the time being, you couldn’t breathe.

“Motherfuck– Oh–!” He had to fall back, his nose still inhaling the sweet scent of slick as he let out that throaty, deep moan. 

“Ssssssssss–lut” He hissed.

You swear you paused for a moment, movement haltering. 

Slut? 

Looks like it had finally found a way past his lips. 

And fuck, was it delicious.

You hummed around the length, eyes squeezed as the watery build up that had been pricking your eye finally slipped down your cheekbone, past the flush of your face. Cruelly, your gentle touching fingertips tapped against his balls, they were full, undeniably warm. You traced a fingernail up the seam–

He was supposed to be the cruel one.  

“Stop.”

A single command muffled into your pussy, burying his face further into you. It was killin’ him and it was sure as hell killing you. 

“Focus.” His thumb moved between your slit, tapping firm against your clit before speaking yet again:

“Focus. Focus on my cock, Honey. He’s needin’ you.” 

His voice almost sounded pained. He was right there. ‘Few more bobs of your head, almost wishing he could just reach and tug your hair, shove your head down til’ you got your throat filled, voice breaking once he’s done from his head kissing against your voice box.

He was horrible. That should be a well known fact by now. 

It was all growing stronger now, the feelings– all that god-sent, mutual stimulation making thighs twitch and knees kick. Joel’s tongue swirled your opening, thumb rolling back and forth, up and down ‘stead of round and round over your erect clit. Back arched like a cat in heat. 

Body returning to tremors. Neither of you could deny the inevitable. 

You felt that now too familiar feeling in the low of your stomach. Every shift of his thumb against the bud making you spin, those butterflies bit now. Or, maybe they had tiny cowboy hats and lassos to tie your insides up into a tight knot. 

Your tongue laid one last desperate lick flat along his inches, allllllllll the way up to his head where your lips settled for the last few sucks. Now, he was just rambling. All fingers. Mouth slick with juices, beard glistening with that clear, slightly bubbly substance:

“Gonna cum for daddy again? Fuckin’ greedy little girl, slobberin’, makin’ a mess’a me.” 

Babbling.

“I feel it,” He began. “Feel you pulsin’. Body’s begging for it, baby. Let ‘er go.”

Toes bent, eyes squeezed as you felt that numbing beat throughout your cunt, legs, even arms going that ticklish kind of numb. Things went quiet for a moment.

Then, you released a profane wail against his cock. Eyes squeezing as you POPPED! Yourself off the length, watching it flop back, standing straight as your hips fell down onto his chest, the warmth of the muscle soothing your crying cunt as you road it out. The soft skin felt like a warm kiss to soothe that ache that made you sweat. 

His hands gripped your waist, adjusting and sliding your body down to his thick middle, watching your hips grind from behind, lower back arch. Your heart painfully hammered against your ribs as you desperately tried to catch all the oxygen lost within the last twenty-five minutes, dwindling throughout the heavy air in the room. 

“Thas’ it. Good girl.” He cooed. “Ride ‘er out.”

Sixth, fuck him for soft praise afterwards. 

The hand attached to his person moved to his pulsating cock, gripping it firm right in the middle as he tilted it back, sliding his fist up and down the slick skin. Rubbing his thumb angrily through the split. 

His tummy heaved beneath your recovering cunt. Still weak, still shaky. You swore your eyes had only been closed for a minute until you heard him– 

“FUCK.” 

Until you felt him. 

Warmth painting your belly white, dripping down your navel, down to the sweet, pretty skin of your pussy. Your hand ran down to smear it, rubbing his spend into your skin like it was healing. Like it was something sacred. Fuck this, to you, it was. 

You could always count on the patter of the shower to drown out any thoughts of regret. Not that you had many, anyway.

The warm water cascaded down your bodies. Relaxing aching muscles, comforting on your buzzing body. Joel’s hands softly but greedily palming your tits before slipping down to your stomach, feeling over the spot where his semen had laid just thirty-minutes ago. 

“Could’a had you ride me.” He murmured. “Would’a looked prettier in you.” 

He nipped against your earlobe, inhaling the scent of freshly shampooed hair. 

It was more than foolish to think about children whatsoever in the state of this godforsaken earth. You weren’t even sure you were cut out to be a mother anyway– it wasn’t on your mind much. Unless Joel was behind you liked this, muttering sweet daydreams about it against the side of your neck. 

“Oh, stop it.” You’d giggle, impishly. 

God help him. Thinking with his dick ninety-nine percent of the time. 

“Besides, don’t you think you’re a little too young for kids, Miller?” 

You’d jab, in return he’d lay a much more gentle tap to your ass with his palm, a silent fuck you. His first, as of today. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve had enough of you today, y’know that?”

His touch was tooth-rottingly sweet. Kissing down your neck, nibbling down your shoulder. Each freckle worshipped individually. The thick of his gut was smooth against your back, he was so close. All it was– him, you,

and the memory of the foul pop of his legs as he kneeled. Fucking yikes, Miller.

[syzygyofeureka]

[bunnwich]

Rituals☁️(Leona x Reader)

Leona is low on spoons after the Tamashina-Mina tournament and needs some attention. Also what better way for him to sneakily court his favorite creature?

Curated from my 200k+ words Leona x Yuu fic

Characters: Leona Kingscholar x Yuu!Reader (GN. No physical description for Yuu. Yuu knows massage therapy.)

Words: 3k, 3rd person

Notes: I saw a meme the other day about how: “Liberalism leaves people’s bodies when mental health starts to affect someone’s hygiene” and I thought of how the fandom used to treat Leona. Also, I really wanted to make the “he uses you as a pillow” cliche not icky. 

Tagging: @comingyourlugubriousness @nammanarin @twst-the-night-away @twstinginthewind @ephemii @the-monday-witch @anevilbunnyinthehat @stagefullofsilly @theshipthatneversetsail @patrioticarcreactor @ice-cweam-sod4 @beaniz @the-nightingales-song @efsstash @cyn-write @porcelain-animatronic @lowcallyfruity @bestmannequin2018 @h0rr0r-10ver-69

-

It was baffling enough of a request that Leona Kingscholar invited Yuu to his home, but even more so was the thing he asked of them now.

“What? Am I your servant now, too?”

“No, course not.” He seemed deeply offended at this implication, nostrils flaring in indignance while his ears flopped backward against his hair. “I’m…askin’ you.” His ears flipped back up as he took a step closer, awaiting their response.

“Wait. You're serious…?” Yuu asked with a crinkle of their nose.

“Please…?” The word was barely audible, the man’s green-eyed stare never breaking from theirs. “If you’d be so kind…” He smirked, putting on an air, propping a hand on his hip. It was a warm day at the palace and he donned a pair of loose linen pants and a matching cream-colored tank top, all embroidered with gold.

Yuu swayed their head back and forth while they considered the idea, unimpressed by the sudden “princely” act. What was he up to? They gazed down at the object in their hand as if it held the answer. Well, it wasn’t often that they heard that word from Leona Kingscholar. “Fine, okay.” 

Was it really such a big deal, brushing his hair?

–

The hammock below the two of them swayed with both their weights as they sat face to face, each teetering on each edge of the colorful canvas. Late afternoon light filtered through the stained glass over all the greenery of the palace gardens, gilding everything it touched. 

Sighing, Yuu made another move, leaning forward to grab another section of the dark waves from the man’s shoulder. They hadn’t even ended up using the brush much so far. The only thing it had been good for was hitting the man when he talked back. 

“Well, the good news is…I got most of it.”

On their way here, Yuu grabbed their bag, bringing it with them to the gardens. Luckily, they kept a few favorites with them at all times. A small vial of rosehip oil; that would work. It could be used for both skin and hair in a pinch. Removing the dropper from the bottle they dripped some more into their palms, rubbing them together before applying it to the end of the man’s loose curls.

“Stinks.”

Yuu couldn’t help but roll their eyes at him. “It’s just rose. It’s nothing compared to that eye-watering cologne you bathe in every day. They sighed, working it through his thick tresses in the silence, pulling it all through to the ends of each section. “...I shouldn’t really be brushing it when it’s all tangled like this, you know.”

“Tch, I know that,” He said indignantly, his lips pressing into a small pout, eyes downcast to watch them work. “Everyone just assumes my hair is like my brother’s…”

They pressed their lips together. “Hmph. Then do it yourself, next time, huh? ” Letting out a huff, they released the bushel of soft curls, the dark curtain falling over Leona's neck. His hair honestly wasn’t as bad as he had made it seem. It just needed some moisture and careful detangling.

“Naw, why would I…when you’re already doing it for me.” The man reclined forward, propping his elbow on the canvas. “Mmm.” He watched them move on to the next section, meticulously separating the frizz and smoothing it over with the oil. Releasing a small sound in his throat,  he stared up at them with lethargic eyes, seemingly in a trance. 

Yuu shook their head at his comment, knowing that secretly he was just eating up the attention.  Keeping their eyes down on their work, they were careful not to pull too hard on his strands.

Leona muttered something as his lids fell completely closed, the end of his tail tapping on the edge of the hammock by their knee. A steady drumbeat.

They took their time with the rest, with only the noise of a few birds calling and Leona’s occasional sigh or grumble. It wasn’t long before, their lids lulled down too. It was relaxing in a way, quietly detangling someone’s hair.

Every once and a while their eyes flitted to the man’s face, catching the little twitch of the corner of his lips. After Yuu was done the detangling, they pulled two equal parts of the bottom sections forward, trying their best to get them even. They stuck their tongue out while they focused, before braiding them as neatly as they could manage, in the way he normally wore them. 

“There, you look more like yourself...” Yuu shrugged when they were done, tugging on one of the braids, and making sure the man wasn’t actually asleep.  “Better?” They crossed their arms, raising a brow over at him.

“Yeah.” The man opened his eyes slightly, the edge of his mouth falling into a crooked, but satisfied smile. “You did good.” His voice crackled just like the way a warm fire would. Like the bonfires at Savanclaw. He may have been sincere, but everything Leona said was always dipped in just a little bit of patronization.

Yuu palmed him on the forehead, pushing his face away slightly before letting their fingers drift up to his scalp, moving some of the hair out of his face.

“Hm?” He questioned, shifting slightly, turning his head to look up at what they were doing.

“Are you uh- still having those headaches?” They began to work their finger into his crown, between his twitching ears, pressing gently down on a few familiar pressure points. “I have to tell you, I’m the best.”

“I always have a headache when you're around.”  He sat up erect, suddenly seeming full of energy, grabbing their calves and yanking them closer to him, practically into his lap. He kept going until the backs of their legs were hooked over his thighs. He chuckled in delight at their bewildered deer-in-headlights reaction. 

Yuu froze at his boldness, pressing their lips together into a pout as they stared up at him with blinking eyes. 

“Don’t be all shy, now. Prove it. I think I got a big one coming on.” He purred at them.

Still playing, hm? “Hmph.” They huffed out a breath at his shenanigans.

Leona didn’t let them get far though, keeping his lock around their ankles, leaning over to study their reaction. “Feel free to say no.” He released them, holding his hands up innocently. “...If you’re not up to the task that is.” A bit of his white fangs gleamed as his sneer widened, leering at them through his dark lashes.

“You-” Yuu stuttered, resigning themselves. They were falling for it. This is what Leona was best at: pushing others into “proving themselves” by gently prodding them from their comfort zone.

“Fine.” Saying nothing more, they only lifted their hands to evaluate him once more, taking in a breath before tracing their fingers down the sides of his muscular neck. 

Ah, the man seemed a bit surprised to see them agree, but he quickly masked it with another smug smile as he lifted his jaw to accommodate them.

Leona’s skin was much warmer than theirs and surprisingly smooth, his excited pulse fluttering under their fingers. “Hm. You are tense.” They muttered aloud, pressing their thumb into one of the hard muscles there. “That hurt?”

“Ack, what do you think? Beast…” He hissed, his ears lowering slightly, grabbing their wrist to stop them.

Yuu smirked, most people didn’t expect that kind of strength from them…until they gave them a chance to prove it. “Sheesh, sorry you big baby. I was just askin’.” They rolled their eyes and swatted his nosy hand away. This allowed them to focus again, laying their palms on both of his broad shoulders. 

They could see it clearly now, his shoulders were rounded forward, and his left side was higher–signaling to them he probably held more tension there.

The man was studying them again, one grumpy eye barely open. 

Yuu chuckled, no one expects how much it hurts. Though as much as they enjoyed hurting the man, they went in softer this time, gently kneading his shoulders and neck, before they bothered to poke him anymore. As they worked closer to his jaw, they became enveloped in his signature smell. Traces of cinnamon, hints of orange, and star anise lingered on their fingertips as they explored his exposed skin, taking care to not pull on the golden necklace that hung from his neck.

“How…did you know?” Leona asked through a groan.

 They had hit the right spot.

“The way you walk, for one. You know, with your head forward. For royalty…your posture is terrible, you know. You heard Vil. Anyways, I can just tell by feeling most of the time.” Yuu added, continuing to work on the tightest areas first.

“Tch, you’re one to talk,” He said through his groans, brown ears flopping to the sides as he began to relax into their skilled touch. “...I recall us both getting reamed by Schoenheit at those practices.”

“Hey, I’m not the one on trial here. You asked for my expert opinion.” They continued, reaching around to the back of the man’s neck to rub circles in the base of his skull, moving up into his thick hair.

Leona made a rumbling noise in his chest at this, letting his head nod forward until he went completely limp in their hands. Somewhere, between the ticks of both their breaths, he had slumped his whole weight on them. A whole lion in their lap.

“Mmm.” He nuzzled his forehead against Yuu's shoulder, moving his hand from their calf up onto their arm, running a finger across the loose thread of their sleeve.

Yuu tensed, the man’s warm breath tickling their neck. It felt a little surreal to think such a powerful mage lay against them now like an oversized house cat. It was sort of an honor that he felt so relaxed around them. Sort of. 

They shook their head, trying not to giggle, and straightened their back to accommodate the new weight. Yuu kept on working as if nothing had changed, ignoring the fluttering in their guts that his soft breaths over their cheeks stirred. 

After they finished with his scalp, they worked back down to his shoulders, grabbing both of them and twisting them to one side, signaling wordlessly for the man to turn around for them. The hammock squeaked as he rearranged himself and Yuu pulled his head down into the center of their lap.  

Some people they had worked on, like Jack, could never fully relax for them, no matter how many times they reminded him to. However, the oxymoron of man before them seemed to have no problem flopping over like a sleepy kitten, ready to be petted. 

Going by cat behavior, he had shown them his belly, a small sliver peeking from the edge of his top. Now, with a completely malleable lion in their lap, Yuu couldn’t help but smile. He was totally at their mercy, moving whichever way they pulled him.

Their fingers made their way up and down his neck shoulders and even a bit of his chest, respecting the barrier of his tunic's low neckline.

Every once in a while, Leona’s lips tumbled open with a deep rumbling sigh of relief, pressing himself in their touch with each stroke, seeming to crave more and more. Their face grew hot, some part of this felt…too intimate. No, no. It was just a massage, but the man’s touch-starved reactions were becoming harder and harder to ignore.

 It was only when Yuu’s fingers reached up to his jaw did Leona open his eyes once more.

As their fingertips settled on the sides of his face, his shoulders went stiff under their care, Leona’s pulse ramping up for the first time during the massage.  His jaw tightened as they brought their fingers up to the temples of his grimacing face, trying to soothe him. 

He couldn’t be nervous now, could he?

“You…hold a lot of tension in your face too,”  They said calmly, urging his head to the right side, “Especially your…jaw.” They moved down to press their thumb into his cheek, easily finding the small, rigid muscle on the left side of his face.

The man grunted, “Easy.” 

Yuu shook their head again and eased up some. “...Just breathe.” They sighed, rolling their eyes as they massaged his jaw. “That right there is probably a big culprit of your headaches, you know.”

“Hmm,” He replied thoughtfully, his face softening some at their more gentle method. 

Their fingers worked each side of his face some more, then trailed slowly up his nose, rubbing circles across his sinuses. When they made their way up to his “third eye” area they rubbed extra hard to make a point, trying to get him to relax once more. “Sorry, just trying smooth out that permanent wrinkle you got there…”

Leona scoffed, dipping his head back into their touch, and closing his eyes shut again. “Tch, yeah well, every time I come home to visit it ages me five years, so...” He chuckled.

Yuu let out a light chuckle too, taking the strokes they made on the man’s cheeks upward and into his hairline, brushing against his scar a few times.

Leona’s forehead creased, an uncommon expression gracing his usually stern or sarcastic face. His broad nose curled in discomfort and they could see his eyes flicker anxiously under his lids. He was even holding his breath.

“Hey…Just breathe I told you!” They repeated with another soft laugh. “It helps with circulation.”

“Mmph.” The man said nothing and grunted at them before exhaling loudly. They would have thought they were doing something painful to him by his expressions.

Yuu tilted their head, realizing exactly what this was all about. They cupped their palms around his cheeks before dragging the stroke up, one of their fingertips running over the edge of his scar again to test the theory. 

The skin was dryer there and slightly raised. It created extra pull whenever they went over it. But, besides that…it was no different than any other part of his face. The Leona Kingscholar couldn’t be self-conscious, could he? No one ever really commented on it, and it surely did nothing but, to quote Rook: add to his “handsome and rugged charisma.”

But, the more they thought about it, they could understand why he was so dodgy about it. A memory like that, couldn’t have been pleasant.

The more times Yuu went over it they sensed a strange pull of energy from the area, like deep space. They were sure it was something the man had buried deep, so he could convince himself that he didn’t remember what actually happened anymore. 

Can’t remember every little scratch, he said once. How many people knew the real truth, they wondered. Or if there were any legends behind it in the palace.

“You don’t have ta’ touch it.” The man blurted out, trying to keep a straight face. His lips pressed together hard before he feigned a usual smug grin. “Though, I know that you’re a professional and all.”

“Wha-” Yuu almost wanted to roll their eyes at him for how dramatic he was being but, they didn’t. 

 “And- Why…would it bother me?” They asked casually, continuing the face massage as normal.

“Hmph.” Leona let out a huff, one side of his mouth arching upwards into a small smile. “I…see.” When he opened his eyes again, they were shiny, reflecting the tree tops around them. “Not many people have uh-”

 “Feel better?” Yuu lifted their hands from his face as they finished, saving him from the awkwardness of elaborating further. They had seen plenty enough to know how relieved he was at their response. That was enough.

“Mmhm.” He answered, clearing his throat before sitting up to face them again, the whole hammock groaning in response.  “....Thank ya.” He muttered, reaching behind to rub the back of his neck. “Much looser now-”

Leona sighed, eyebrows curving up over his eyes. Then, all at once his gaze snapped up to them, taking them in from head to toe. In one smooth movement, he let his body settle down against theirs, his strong shoulder pressing against them. 

Yuu’s heart hammered against his, mirroring the same fervid beat. No, this was more than just hair brushing. They hadn’t considered the implications until this moment, those of beastmen courtship and personal hygiene that they had read about. The concepts were often interlinked. Sacred.

A hug? No, he was just still just staring at them now, inches away, like a cat ready to pounce. The usual slits of his eyes were dark pools of space, reflecting back their own baffled expression. 

Yuu swallowed. They were so gridlocked by his intense stare, it was hard to speak or even breathe with him pressing them so firmly to the canvas hammock. He seemed at odds with something, his worn gaze downcast. “W-What…what’s wrong, Leona?” They whispered through an unsteady chuckle, managing to keep their head.

“Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.” He whispered, letting his weight sink further into them. There was a peaceful smile on his face as he reached up to grab a section of their hair from behind their ear, twisting it between his fingertips, tail flopping behind him lazily.

It felt like they were being chosen for something.

“Wha-” Their eyes widened, it took them a whole 30 seconds to realize the man was braiding the pieces together, calm and methodical, like when he was arranging his pieces on a chess board. Part of the plan. It was obvious Leona knew how to braid hair but it was…surreal to behold it.

When he was done the corner of his mouth turned up more, creasing a dimple into his cheek. His eyes fixated on the sight of his results, he was so…proud of his work.

Yuu didn’t even have time to speak before he turned his head away, lying his cheek on one side of their shoulder once more. He had done it so casually as if he had done it a hundred times before and would do it a hundred times more.

They understand why he did it, the two of them were…a matching set now.

He chose them. Their heart squeezed as the man draped his arms around their waist, locking them in place once more as something shifted between them.

 Leona’s cocky air had all but dissipated. “...Is this okay with ya?” He muttered so softly they almost missed it. He was asking permission, asking if they would accept him.

“Oh um…Y-yes.” They let their arms fall around his back, tugging on the end of his curls as they held him. Yes, he was getting way too comfortable, but it was their fault for allowing it, right? Yuu laid their head on his, letting him know for sure that: yes, it was okay.

“Hey, I know you're not falling asleep right now.” They grumbled playfully, tugging on his hair and furrowing their brow. Meanwhile, they curled their legs around his torso like a koala as he held them tight, making sure there was no space between them.

They knew it was all a lost cause. He had set the board how he wanted. He would not let them go again, and they didn’t want him to.

“Shh,” Leona mumbled into their shirt, inhaling deeply. “ You’ve been real workin’ lately hard, right? Rest wit’ me.”

“But I-” Yuu yawned, their eyes watering some as they did. The action had forced their eyes shut. The breeze also was not helping, rocking them both gently inside the hammock.  “Fine. But just for a little while.” They breathed out, their own shoulders finally relaxing. Yuu’s head slumped over to gently bob against Leona’s. 

“You win…this time.”

The man only chuckled at their admission of defeat, a warm note buzzing against their chest. 

The last thing they saw was the colored glass of the greenhouse, filtering in pink light through the serrated leaves of the palm trees.

Leona’s sighs of contentment traveled through their body, as his warm fingers kneaded into their back. 

--

[pedroshotwifey]

Do you think you could write a nervous Joel fic... like he's older and a single dad and hasn't dated in a REALLY REALLY long time...but he's still really sweet, maybe he has to stop and eat reader cos he's about to cum too soon or something 🤷‍♀️😭

Hey, babe!! So I hope this is what you were hoping for! It's super tender and I did end up listening to Hozier for a good portion of it, so do with that information what you will 😅

Also, I kind of did something a bit different and wrote it more from Joel's perspective, but it's still in 2nd person (pronouns = you)! Pls lmk how you feel about it ❤

Pairing: Older Joel Miller x afab!reader

Tags/warnings: Age gap (not specified), piv sex, oral sex (f), vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, established relationship, (almost) premature ejaculation, accidental love confessions 🤭, self deprecating Joel™, big dick Joel™, kissing, stuff I'm probably forgetting

W/C: 1.9k

Summary: Your and Joel's first time together turns into so much more.

What Matters

“Are you sure, baby?” 

Joel watches as your eyes flick up to him, only kindness and patience in them. Even as you smile warmly and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him to you, he still has a sense of cautiousness in his movements. You’ve probably lost track of how many times he’s asked you if you’re sure. 

“Yes, Joel, I’m sure,” you laugh breathily. 

You’re both lying in his bed, completely bare. There’s a soft summer breeze coming in through the window and rustling the sheer curtains. The sun’s going down, but just barely, causing a perfect golden hue to coat the room. He can’t help but think that you look even more gorgeous than usual in this lighting.

Joel tries to ignore the nervousness in his stomach as he softly kisses your jaw and nuzzles up to you. He’s not stupid, he knows that you know he’s just trying to waste time, but you let him. You’re so fucking sweet like that. Always making him feel so wanted and appreciated. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be with you in this way, but that he’s worried he won’t be perfect for you. He wants to be able to show you affection in the same way that you show him. 

But what if he can’t?

You’re younger, after all, and he’s not been with a woman in so long. Maybe not since Sarah’s mom. If that’s the case, it’s been about fifteen, sixteen years. Point in case, you’re probably used to boys who can last longer and can make you come every time. What if he can’t? What if it’s been so long now, that he only lasts a couple of minutes? 

It terrifies him, the prospect that you may be disappointed in his performance. What if you decide to leave him because he’s not enough to get you off? No, he realizes, you would never do that. You’re so good, so thoughtful and generous and patient. You’d wait for him, help him get back to the point where he used to be. 

But that’s not what he wants. He wants to be good for you now. 

“Joel?” 

His name falling from your lips has his head raising back up. You look into his eyes with a desperation that he simply can’t ignore. 

“Please,” you whisper before planting a feather-light kiss to his lips. He nods slowly before he can think about it. 

“Alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” 

And he does, he knows it. He just hopes he can do it right. 

You’re already prepped. He spent probably half an hour fingering you to orgasm even though you had begged for the real thing each time you fell apart on his hand. It’s another thing he was worried about—being so big. Joel’s not a super cocky man by any means, but he is aware of his…attributes. 

He watches you carefully as he grasps his cock and guides it to your slippery entrance. Your eyes flutter shut as he pushes in, giving you about an inch each time he thrusts. His jaw goes slack once he’s about halfway in. You’re so fucking warm and wet and inviting. He keeps going, trying to keep his breathy whines at bay. He’s again reminded of just how long it’s been since he’s felt something other than the palm of his hand around himself. 

“Shit, baby,” he breathes as he bottoms out. He closes his eyes in concentration and lets his head hang next to yours. He already feels like he might blow his load at any second. You bring a hand up to cup his head and thread his curls through your fingers, holding him close. His breathing is heavy when he lifts himself back up to look into your eyes. 

His heart seems to skip a beat when he sees the adoration you’re looking at him with. It kills him every time. And no matter how many times you tell him that he deserves all your affection, he knows he’ll still find a lingering doubt in the back of his mind. There’s a reason the two of you have only been “together” for about four months even though you’ve been shamelessly flirting for about a year. 

It was just too good to be true. For such a sweet, gentle thing like you to want a rough old man like him. He was never the one to initiate anything, but he knows you’ve been aware that he had his sore eyes set on you since you met. How could he not? He’s never met anyone so kind and considerate. It was impossible to deny you of him any longer when it was one of the only things you’ve ever wanted for yourself. 

“You okay?” Your honeyed voice reaches his ears—or his good ear, rather—and he smiles at you. 

“‘Course, baby. Jus’ gotta give me a second, alright?” He can feel his cheeks getting a bit rosy at the confession. “It’s been a minute.” 

You nod, still no hesitation or any sign of regret. God, what did he do to deserve you? 

Once he collects himself, he pulls out just barely, and a groan tumbles from his mouth to mingle with your soft moan. He’s already starting to sweat from the effort of not coming too soon as he starts to push into you at a slow but rhythmic pace. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and tuck your head into his chest as you whimper with his thrusts. 

“You feel so good,” you whine. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, so d’ you. “Like goddamn heaven.” And you do; overwhelmingly so.

He cradles your head and lowers the two of you even more to deepen his thrusts. He knows he’s found your spot when your breath catches and you start to tighten around him every time he pumps his hips. Unfortunately, this makes it a lot harder for him to keep his composure. 

“H-honey, I have to pull out,” he grits out. He’s so embarrassed, it hasn’t even been five minutes. He won’t last long enough for you to come before him.

But you just nod into him, even though you must be devastated by the loss of your orgasm. “It’s okay, Joel,” you breathily assure him. 

He pulls out and squeezes the base of his cock, out of breath. He doesn’t meet your gaze as he starts to apologize.

“I’m sorry, baby, I—” 

“Joel,” You stop him by carefully grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at you. “It’s okay.” You nod, waiting for him to do the same before you continue. “Take as much time as you need. I love you no matter what. This does not determine—” 

You both realize what you said at the same time. Joel’s eyes widen and his chest feels like it caved into itself. Your lips stay still, parted in the middle of your sentence. Joel doesn’t realize tears have gathered in his eyes until his vision starts to blur and a smile spreads across his face. 

You love him. You said it. And he believes you. 

“I love you too, baby,” he whispers and lets his forehead rest against yours. “So damn much.” Fuck his age and whoever might see a problem with you being together. He wants this, and you want this, and that’s all that matters. 

Then you’re both laughing shakily, pressing kisses to each other’s lips. He only stops to start trailing them down your body instead, watching you writhe as his mustache tickles your bare skin. 

“Joel, p-please,” you beg quietly. Joel just huffs a small laugh through his nose as he lays himself between your legs, ignoring his protesting knees as he admires the entirety of you laying out just for him. You look fucking beautiful covered in a thin sheen of sweat atop his sheets, needy and panting all for him. 

He doesn’t waste too much time before putting his mouth on your sweet pussy, his tongue dragging up your slit to flick at your clit. Joel moans at your taste, sending vibrations racing toward your swollen bud. Your hips buck as your hands fly to grasp at his hair, tugging lightly and making his eyes roll back. 

He feasts on you like his life depends on it, worshiping you with all he has. He takes turns in running his tongue up you, fucking you with it the best he can, and suckling on your clit. He looks like a damn mess as he does so, his eyes not leaving your cunt unless he’s watching your face contort with pleasure. When you make eye contact with him, he knows he must look fucked out and desperate just based on the way you groan and lay your head back. 

It doesn’t take much for you to get to the edge, and it takes even less for him to push you over. You let out sharp, whiny sounds as he sucks on your clit and slips a couple of fingers inside of you to grip on to. Your entire body goes tense, and Joel has to resist the urge to smirk against you as you shake with the force of your orgasm. 

By the time you’re coming down, he’s back over you and slipping his tongue inside your mouth to share your taste. You moan into the kiss and pull him closer as he once again glides his tip into your cunt. Just as he had hoped, the distraction calmed him down enough to hopefully give him some more time. 

You both melt into each other as he bottoms out, the tip of his swollen cock hitting your cervix and making your thighs squeeze his torso. He starts at a faster pace than last time, too deep in his lust-filled haze to even try to slow down now. 

You pull away from his mouth to start leaving love bites on his neck, making his cock twitch inside of you with each pinch. He can feel you smile against his skin, and knows that you’ve found his secret. He does like a little pain with his pleasure. You keep going, sucking and biting marks before licking soothingly over them and moving to the next spot. You taste him like you’re addicted, like you could never possibly get enough.

It still doesn’t take him as long as he would like to before he starts to feel his balls drawing up and his thighs start to shake. His head goes foggy as he tries to hold on for you, but it’s too fucking much. He can’t hold it off when you feel so good around him. It’s like torture to stave off his orgasm when he’s thrusting into your soft heat. 

“Where d’ you want me, honey?” Joel asks you, his voice strained. 

“Inside,” you whisper against his neck without a second thought.

And it throws him over. He groans your name as his body stutters and his balls empty, coating your walls with his milky spend. It seems to go on forever. Each time he thinks he’s almost done, there’s another spurt and another wave of pleasure that tugs him deeper into euphoria. 

When it does end, he lets himself half-collapse on top of you. You embrace him with welcoming arms and the two of you catch your breath together in the now dark bedroom. He only pulls out once sleep threatens to take the both of you. A shower, snack, and a glass of water later, you both snuggle up together and fall asleep with content smiles and full hearts. 

*****

Want to read more requests or submit your own? Try this link!

[frownyalfred]

“This fic would be better if—” babe this isn��t your high school English class and my fic isn’t assigned reading. it’s something a stranger wrote on the internet without an explicit request for constructive criticism or suggestions for improvement. you are not grading my smut fic on a rubric (I hope).

if you cannot consume writing without needing to criticize it, that’s a you problem. stop leaving me these kinds of comments — and if you DO: for god’s sake, please make sure you’re actually objectively correct about the criticism you’re leaving.

[cannedbananabread]

Nobody Does it Better- Bruno Bucciarati x Reader

Word Count: 12.1k - I need psychiatric help

CW: smut (of course), kinda rough sex, some violence, mafia treachery, religious symbolism (presented in the context of art)

Can also be read on ao3 (probably easier given how long this is)

A/N: From an ao3 request for capo Bruno paired with a fellow capo reader. Keep in mind that I have never been to Italy so any information about the setting comes from google and my brain lol. Also, while I'm pretty sure the design on Bruno's chest is supposed to be a lacy undershirt in the manga, it definitely looks like a tattoo in the anime and I think it's a bit more scandalous if it's a tattoo, so it's a tattoo here. Regardless, I hope you enjoy, I'm hoping to get through more requests sooooon!! Hopefully not quite so long as this one oops!

Rising to the rank of capo in Passione was no small feat, but you had done so in just a handful of years. Your home life had been one of dissonance and so it wasn’t any wonder that you had gone the unfortunate way of many of your peers, scrounging for survival in the streets.   Starving and alone, you were entirely out of options that night several years ago when a plucky little boy around your age had found you, sick and shivering in a filthy, damp alleyway.  

Delirious from fever, you were met with the impression that an angel had fallen to earth and rescued you from ruin, but reality had not been quite as kind.  The boy offered you solace in the dusky hotel where he resided and saw to it that you were fed and taken care of.  In the morning, with your lucidity having returned to you, it was quite apparent that the boy who had come to your rescue was a member of Passione and the very thought left you reproachful of even his most genuine assistance.  

The extent of the power Passione had over Italy could not be overestimated. You knew that the shadow of that treacherous organization extended far beyond the edges of the little city you called home. You had known better than to involve yourself with something so unsavory; however hard up you were, you were not going to trade your life away just to end up the beast of burden to a faceless, unknowable entity who viewed you more as a number than a human. 

The boy who had acted as your savior approached you with a stoic expression that made him appear far wiser than his meager years would’ve suggested but you only glared back at him with contempt burning in your eyes. You knew a debt to Passione was not one you could easily be free of, so before you even properly met the boy, you loathed him with all the fire in your soul.  He tentatively handed you a glass of water which you accepted, only to promptly splash in his face. “Puttana, what did you do that for?” 

“I know what you are,” you spat, rage bubbling in your chest until you reached your fatal boiling point, “goddamn mafioso, the world would be a better place without the likes of you in it.  Whatever you brought me here for, I won’t do it!”

“You would be dead in the gutter if I hadn’t helped you stronza!”

“Bruno…” a deep, almost metallic-sounding voice bellowed, reverberating off the walls of the hotel room, “what did I tell you about bringing another ruffian into my home?” 

“Polpo, sir, I—”

“Oh, a girl, Bruno, you dog you.” 

“It’s not like that!” The boy shouted in vehement protest before shrinking back in fear of impending punishment for having spoken out of turn, “and besides, she was just leaving.” 

You nodded silently to affirm his claim and made a quick, darting movement to escape. Polpo’s reputation preceded him; he was a cruel and cold capo who seized what he wanted through whatever means necessary and wherever he went, he was undoubtedly treated like a king but in practice, he was more akin to a tyrant.  In the far recesses of your heart, you felt a pang of guilt for the boy; a mafioso he may be, but he had still come to your rescue without the hope of selfish gain. You bowed humbly to show your gratitude for the sanctuary you had been provided the night before, hoping the gesture would be enough to placate some of the man’s ire towards his subordinate, then you made another hasty attempt to make your exit, but your arm was caught in the capo’s massive, swollen hand.  “And where is it that you are so eager to run off to, it’s clear that such a sickly thing has no home waiting for her, why not join me?  It’s a generous offer, you would have food, shelter, and above all else, my protection, all I ask is that you pass one simple test.” 

His booming voice struck something deeply within you, as though he had tapped into the very wiring of your brain and pulled something loose. Before him, you felt entirely powerless and it required all of your strength just to remain on your feet as he forced you to look into the black depths of his soulless eyes.  “A-and if I were to refuse?” You stuttered, unable to hide the irresolution that quaked your entire frame. 

“Hmm?  Well, in that case, I suppose you would be of no use to me,” he said, forcing aloofness as he glanced over his fingernails.  “Quite a shame too, I can’t say things tend to bode well for those who cross me.”

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach as he uttered such a thinly veiled threat, you were foolish to even tenuously believe that he would let you walk free without the demand of some kind of restitution, in the face of him, you were left utterly bereft of words, so shaken that you couldn’t see beyond the immediate terror that drowned out any of your better senses.

“Think it over, someone like you could be quite an asset to this organization.” 

“S-someone like me?” You asked and a dim hope arose that he might look favorably upon you and that you might find your freedom yet.

“Yes, someone that no one would ever come looking for, someone with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Someone expendable.”

There it was, your worst fears laid out before you as if by the wave of a hand, you had been stripped of all your resolve, forced to relinquish the last vestiges of personhood you had clung to so fiercely. “What do I have to do?”

A wicked sneer crawled across the corpulent man’s face and though you could not see what happened next, the ominous aura caused every inch of your skin to prickle with goosebumps and the acute sensation that followed was enough to make your body go limp. After that, the next thing you were able to recall was waking up in a warm bed feeling rather worse for wear, but the pin on your bedside table let you know that your initiation into Passione had been a success.  

And so swore fealty to Passione, from then on your future was set in stone, you would not know any other life that wasn’t one of carnage and bloodshed. After a while, it became normal, more than that, you began to revel in it. What had once been stomach-churning acts of violence soon left you aglow with pride, you ruthlessly pursued anything you wanted, no sacrifice was too great, “all for the good of the organization,” you said as you rose effortlessly through the ranks, paying little heed to those you had stepped on to reach for higher and heights. Was it any wonder that you’d become a capo in only a few short years?  Certainly not, and you were as respected by your subordinates as you were feared and in truth, any of you considered even your darkest of deeds to be worth the price now that you lived a life of luxury.

As the years passed, any thoughts of the boy that had come to your rescue had receded to only a dim recollection your mind could only laboriously conjure up, though your connection to him was not one you could so easily forget and every time you heard his name in passing, you were catapulted back in time, struck by a vision of tan skin, dark hair, and deep blue sunken eyes that looked upon you with violent contempt.   

Bruno Bucciarati; you had not seen him in years and perhaps that was for the best, he had not been shy about his acrimonious feelings towards you and even though there was a part of you, deep in the reservoir of your cold, cold heart that still looked favorably upon him, you did not think the possibility of amends would be worth the risk of altercation.

But then, on a perfectly common day at the end of March, came the instructions for your latest assignment, direct from the hands of Percilo himself. You had been requested to undertake a special mission with the newly appointed capo with one clear goal in mind: eliminate the leader of the hitman team, Risotto Nero. So you were left with no other choice but to follow the orders that had been handed down to you, you could never violate a direct order from the Boss and live to tell about it. Armed with the knowledge that Bruno would be less than enthused by your presence, you arranged your travel plans and made a reservation under a false name at that little restaurant Bruno was so terribly fond of and planned to enter unannounced before he had a chance to deny you entry.

Seated at one of the quaint tables, you observed as a group of well-dressed civilians was led to their reserved table nearby which provided you with the perfect opportunity to ask the maitre-d’ if he could send for Bucciarati.  While he complied graciously and assured you that he was in, instead of Bucciarati, a trio of vibrantly dressed, obstreperous youths emerged from the back of the restaurant and crowded your table. 

“Are you the one who’s been asking for—” the blond dressed in a green suit asked before being interrupted by one of his friends.

“Who are you and why do you want to see Bucciarati?” 

“Narancia, cool it, that’s not the way you talk to a guest.  You gotta ask nicely and if they don’t comply, then, well, we have other means.” The third man said as he glanced at the purple handle of a pistol that stuck out of his waistband. 

“Are you threatening me?” You asked, feigning an affectation of coyness as you looked up innocently from your menu. 

“A threat?  No, no, I like to think of this as more of a suggestion if anything.” 

“And if I choose not to take your suggestion?” 

“Well, you don’t have to, but I can’t say I’d be so eager to throw my life away,” he said with a shrug, letting his fingers over just over the handle, baiting you to continue your defiance. 

“Aw, you think you could kill me? That’s adorable. Where did Bruno pick you up?” You simpered, folding your hands together in an offhand gesture to emphasize the meaninglessness of his threats.

“Listen, lady, just tell us what you want with Bucciarati, we’re not gonna fight you if we don’t have to,” he said at last, planting his hands firmly on the table, having given up any pretense towards a gunfight in the middle of the restaurant. 

“I will only talk to Bruno, not whatever help he’s pulled together.”

“And what makes you think we’ll let you?”

“Oh, you will,” you said, standing up with a crazed look in your eye, ready to fight if necessary, but you reined in your temper just enough to keep the upper hand, “after all, he and I are old friends.”

“Doubt it,” the blond cut in, matching his tone to yours, “Bucciarati told us about the kinds of friends he had before and none of them are welcome here.” 

“Well, that’s quite a shame then, because—” you began, but were cut off by a familiar voice slicing through the ensuing quarrel.

“What is going on out here? Mista, Narancia, Fugo, when I sent you to see who was asking for me, I explicitly told you to do so without disturbing the other guests!” Bucciarati shouted, a pair of other men flanking him as they entered the scene, the man to his left had silver hair and wore a long, dark coat, and to his right was a young blond with his hair tied back into a braid, dressed in a lurid pink suit.

“My, my, Bruno Bucciarati, as I live and breathe,” you said, a sly, coquettish titter to your voice as you collected yourself, he was certainly just as handsome as you remembered him, “can’t say I thought I’d ever see the day where they’d let you make capo, the Boss must really be desperate after what happened to ole Polpo.”

“You… I thought you knew better than to ever show your face around me again,” he sneered, several vulgar interjections from his colorful subordinates followed his declaration.  

“Now, now, is that any way to treat a lady?” You asked, abandoning the table entirely and sauntering over to where he stood with the letter in hand.  “And besides, I’m here because of my orders alone and these have been handed down from the top, if you care to have a look.”

He snatched the paper from your hand and read it over carefully. It was legit. Only a select few had ever been chosen directly by the Boss himself, but all were rewarded handsomely in both monetary compensation and under the banner of greater trust. As much Bruno did not want to tangle himself with any of the unsavory business you often dealt with, that added trust alone could prove essential to the long-term goals he and his newfound friend were aiming towards, “one last mission and then we go back to being strangers. I mean it, I don’t ever want to hear from you again, are we clear?”

“Crystal.” 

The details were dealt with accordingly and you returned to your hotel to bide your time until your departure the following day. Meanwhile, Bucciarati discussed the matter in depth with his team, though all the while, a flurry of unwelcome emotions stewed relentlessly through his mind, as vivid and intolerable as the last time he laid eyes on you.

“Bucciarati, I think you should seriously reconsider accepting this mission, something about it seems strange,” Giorno said as he looked over the fragment of the letter you left in their care.

“You can’t be serious, stronzo! Bucciarati can’t just ignore a direct order from the Boss!” Abbacchio exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table with such ferocity it caused the dishes to rattle in their places. 

“Listen, Giorno, I know you’re new here, but the Boss doesn’t hand out missions like this to just anyone,” Fugo said, more calmly than his cohort, but still in vehement opposition to anything that may create conflict between them and the Boss. And rightfully so, it would be a foolish endeavor to even think one stood a chance against such a fearsome adversary.  

“Yes, they’re right Giorno, disagreeable as they are, orders are orders and I am determined to see this through.” 

Giorno sighed and mulled over the arrangement before drawing his own conclusion and covertly hiding something in Bucciarati’s pocket. “Giorno, what is—”

“Take it for luck. It’s… insurance.” Bucciarati did not need to ask questions to understand where Giorno’s intentions lay, but he could not afford to disclose any further information and jeopardize the safety of his team.

“Come Bucciarati, the instructions say to meet at Napoli Centrale, I’ll drive you.” 

“That won’t be necessary Fugo, I promised my old friend that I would meet her at her hotel.” 

“Is it wise to disobey orders like that?” 

“Perhaps not wise, but I doubt any harm will come of it. The Boss must be well aware of our history or else he would not have specifically paired us to work together.” 

“Well, alright, you would know best, just promise that you’ll be safe… for all of us, we need you as our leader.”

“Thank you, Fugo, I will make it back from this, you have my word,” Bruno declared, his resolve was evident in the deep tone of his voice. One more mission, that’s all it would be. He would earn the Boss’s trust and then you would be out of his life for good.

It was early the next morning when there came three rapid knocks on the door of your hotel room and with all the swiftness of a cat, you glided to the door and pulled the chain through the lock so that you could open the door just enough to make sure your visitor had been invited.  “So you came after all, Bruno, but really, how could you stay away?” You purred as you undid the chain and bade him inside with far greater amiability than he was likely to offer you. 

“You know very well that I had no choice in the matter,” he spat, trying desperately to avoid eye contact with you… those damn eyes of yours, like sparkling jewels, they always hypnotized him. 

“Come now Bruno, that hurts my feelings, and after all the things we’ve been through together, it’s quite a shame, I remember when you used to be so terribly fond of me.” You purred, dragging your index finger tediously down his exposed chest. 

With an abruptness that startled you out of your cavalier disposition, he harshly gripped your wrist to stop the salacious pursuit of your hand. “You know very well that any fondness I once had for you died a long time ago.” 

“Are you quite certain about that? I saw the way you were looking at me at the restaurant, I think there’s a part of you that still wants me like you did all those years ago.” 

His brows furrowed together and, with the same suddenness with which he had grabbed your wrist, he pushed it away and took several steps away from you. 

“Aw, Bruno, haven’t you realized that you shouldn't show your hand so early?” You snickered, drifting slowly over to him, your hips swaying with each purposeful step.

“Well, it’s not as though you ever made it a challenge.”  He snapped, unamused by your performance.

“If that’s the case, then how come you were never able to seal the deal? We both know how desperately you wanted to.” 

“It is very like you to think more highly of yourself than you deserve, but you must be misremembering.” 

“Oh, am I misremembering the compromising position that Polpo caught us in that Easter?”

“That was before Milan.” 

“Don’t tell me you aren’t even the least bit curious about what would have happened if Polpo hadn’t come back early,” you said, pressing your chin to his shoulder and whispering softly into his ear.

“Hmm,” he mused carefully, drawing back from you and finally securing a seat in one of the finely quilted chairs, “even back then you tasted like a liar.”  If looks could kill, you would have been dead, face down on the floor after the way he looked at you, full of hate, ire, and a deep desire for vengeance.  And yet even for all the malice in his stare, it tickled you to know you still affected him so strongly.  Had he truly cut you from his life with the same knife you had used to stab him in the back, he would not have been driven to such brutish, adolescent insults.  

You smoothed out the skirt of your dress and sat in the chair opposite from him, quickly, but not without a degree of ceremony, you unfolded the remaining pages of the letter and spread them out in order upon the coffee table, “I suppose we should get down to business then, shall we?”

He made no reply but began to sift through the separate papers to familiarize himself with the administered task.  A look of confusion sprung across his face when he reached the final sheet, “this can’t be all you were given.”

“For now, yeah, the rest of the mission will be waiting in an envelope behind The Birth of Venus then we just go from there.” 

“You act like it’s that simple, thousands of people go to the Uffizi Gallery every single day!”

“And we will be among them, just leave everything up to me, I have a plan.” 

“I will certainly not trust you with my life, not after last time, you will tell me exactly what you have devised and then we can decide what the best course of action is as a team.” 

“A team? Well, in that case, perhaps I can accept those conditions.” You simpered, crossing one leg over the other, knowing full well it offered him a titillating view of your upper thigh.  “Truth be told, Risotto and I were once… friends. I have some apprehensions about targeting him and his team, especially after what happened to Sorbetto and Gelato.” 

“This is precisely why they tell you not to mix business with pleasure, though I was certain you’d learned that lesson a long time ago.” 

“Hm, I don’t recall you being the jealous type, Bruno, perhaps you have changed.” 

“And unfortunately for us both, it appears that you have not.”

That cut a bit deeper than his previous affronts and you felt a bit of your playfulness recede, “I’m merely saying that while Risotto was an irrevocable fool for believing he stood a chance against the Boss, I think his motives are understandable, after what happened to Sorbetto and Gelato, but they should have known better than to go poking around into the Boss’s identity.”

Bruno sat pensively as he considered the circumstances, “far be it from me to question the Boss’s absolute authority, but isn’t it a bit odd that he sent us to do a hitman’s job, that really isn’t either of our specialties.”

“Well, La Squadra was in charge of assassinations, I’m not sure he could get any one of them to defect from their leader. I suppose he trusts us more at any rate.” 

“I’m sure he has plenty of other skilled assassins that would be better suited for the job than us if this job is really so important.”

“Well, you can consider it your initiation.  Prove your loyalty now that you’re a capo.”

“Then why you?”

“Because of my relationship to Risotto of course.  Listen, I know you aren’t fond of me, at least not anymore, but you know there isn’t a better person you could have been paired with for this mission.  I know Risotto like the back of my hand, I’m wise to his tricks, I know how he thinks, and I’ve seen his Stand. I know all of his strengths and weaknesses, like it or not, you need me for this.”

“Fine then, but my previous request still stands, once this is over, you and I are strangers once again.” 

“I agreed before, didn’t I?” You asked, resting your head on your folded hand to eye his movements more keenly.  The stern, unwavering look on his face remained, as such you were forced to resort to far more efficacious means to restore the upper hand you so desired.  

Without a word, you moved across the room with the same rhythmic sway of your hips that always seemed to catch Bruno’s eye and situated yourself before the only mirror your hotel room offered. 

“What on earth are you doing?” He asked, aghast as he watched your dress flutter to the ground and pool around your feet.

“Don’t act as though it’s something you haven’t seen before,” you groaned, rummaging through the mess of your suitcase for the necessary garment until, at last,  you found what you needed, an expensive sundress covered in a vibrant pattern of flowers and citrus fruits. 

“And your previous attire was unsuitable?” He asked, that unflappable aplomb had been utterly laid to waste once he got a glimpse of your body.

“Naturally, we will be going to Florence, what better way to blend in than as tourists? Every member of La Squadra is a thoroughly trained assassin, this way we can hide amongst the throngs of couples on holiday and they will be none the wiser,” you explained as you stepped into the dress. “Now then, zip me up?” 

“I never imagined you’d be capable of appearing so docile,” he mused, tugging the zipper up the length of your spine to where the hem of your dress sat between your shoulder blades. 

“Don’t look so smug, I brought something for you to wear as well,” you said and handed him a tidy garment bag.

“You can’t expect me to wear this…” he said, recoiling as he unzipped the bag and caught sight of its sickeningly pastel colored contents.

“I do indeed, and as sexy as that suit is on you, we are aiming to be as inconspicuous as possible, so get changed, I promise you’ll look just as dashing in this little costume I’ve picked for you. Now hop to it.” 

With disguises set and travel plans arranged, you boarded the train for Florence. The journey was long, several hours at least, but the journey across the Italian landscape was beautiful. Perhaps, had it not been for your addled mind, you would have been able to enjoy it more. Instead, you leaned your head against the window in your private car and watched as Bruno slept in the seat beside you. The tan suit and pale blue shirt suited him perfectly, in fact to any unknowing passerby, the two of you could have easily been mistaken for a young couple on a scenic ride through the countryside. 

Baring that thought in mind, you felt nothing but contempt for the dismal shell of a life you had been living. Briefly, you wondered what might have been if young Bruno had been your savior all those years ago, but you couldn’t see past the immediate severity of what you had been rescued from. Even so, you never wanted this, but for all your dangerous desires, all the money and power you had amassed in so young a life, you knew that you could never be anything else but what you had already become. You were a murderer and no matter how you tried to couch it in the insistence of necessity, that it was a matter of your life or theirs, that they were no better than you, but no matter how you dressed it up, a murderer you would always be. Even if by some stroke of luck you managed to escape the grasp of Passione, you could never escape all you had done. Years of miserable deeds and back alley deals; it would all have to be paid for in time.

You gazed upon Bruno’s gentle face, his soft features and the glow of his tan skin always seemed somehow angelic especially in the warm light of the late morning sun, even when you had been young you’d always been struck by his appearance, he was beautiful and even beyond on that, you found him admirable, he was loyal and disciplined and merciful, all of the things you were not and it drew you to him like a moth to a flame. You wondered if he ever felt the same, dissatisfied, downcast, and disillusioned. You could recall all the nights you’d spent looking into his eyes as though you’d been twins, cut from the same cloth and doomed to the same forsaken end, but now you were not so sure. In spite of your unfathomable success, Bruno had eclipsed you somewhere in the years between. He had built a life for himself, one surrounded by friends who truly cared for him, seeing that ragtag group he’d assembled at his restaurant, you knew that he had found something that you had never been able to and you were then rendered certain that you could never again be equals. It was an appalling realization to face while stuck within the cramped walls of a train car when all you could do was stew in your dismay. Whatever you were to become, you could never be all that you wanted.  

Florence, known as the birthplace of the Renaissance, has been home to many notable figures including authors Niccolo Machiavelli and Dante Alighieri as well as Renaissance masters such as Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and Sandro Botticelli. In part due to the extensive commissions made by the eminent Medici family, it has been a thriving centre for history, art, and culture ever since.  Many of the world’s seminal works of Italian art remain today in the many museums and chapels that line the streets, but none more recognizable than the great duomo of Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, which prominently holds its place in the skyline, ever looming over the city like the crown marking a bygone dynasty. 

And still, the city teems with life, attracting tourists from all walks of life, and that is precisely how you found yourself when the train rolled into the station on that bright afternoon. 

Staying at one of the many charming little hotels, you unpacked your things and set up a makeshift base of operations where Bruno made you tediously go over the plans you had set ad nauseam; he wanted to hear every detail laid out for him in the exact order you intended for the umpteenth time, “again,” he said, the velvety timbre of his voice that you normally would have found dangerously alluring only grated on your nerves. 

“We are going to the Uffizi Gallery as tourists, we will arrive just after one, when it should be the most crowded that way we can blend in seamlessly, then we will nonchalantly peruse the museum for several minutes so we don’t raise suspicion, finally, on my mark, you are going to position yourself at The Birth of Venus while I go across the hall and trip the security system, once the guards have rushed over to me, you grab the envelope and use your stand to make a swift exit.  We reconvene here to figure out what needs to be done next, got it?” 

“I am still finding it rather difficult to believe that you would willingly put yourself in the position to get caught, that is not how I remember you operating,” he said, though his words had been unabashedly smug, his tone was thoughtful as if he were sincerely trying to piece together the path your life had taken since you parted ways.

“Well, I just know that you are far better suited to retrieve the envelope than I am, plus, as pretty as you are, I’m sure I can do a better job of seducing the guards if need be.” 

“And if the guard is a woman?” 

“Ha! You act as though that would make a difference.” 

“Your modesty has been dearly missed,” he said, rolling his eyes, though there was playfulness in his chides that had not been there the afternoon before.

“You know as well as anyone that my claims are not without merit.”

He let out a discontented sigh before he could manage a response, certainly, there was an inkling of truth, but did you always have to tout your wiles so audaciously? “ I was young and dumb then, I would not fall for your same tricks again.” 

“Who said my tricks are the same? I have refined my craft since last we met, you could be falling for me as we speak, you might not even know it.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.” He muttered before rising to his feet and tossing the sheets of paper containing your instructions onto the fire, “there, now that that’s done, we had better be off.” 

So you walked, arm I’m arm through the piazza and made your way up the steps of the gallery where you seamlessly wove into the colorful menagerie of attendees that dispersed through the halls. Falling into an old routine, you walked up to a painting across the room and looked up at it with a thoughtful expression, “The Annunciation by Leonardo da Vinci,” you said, leaning closer to trace the intricate details of the diaphanous veil with you eyes, “imagine being so skilled that you can paint something sheer and gauzy like that.” 

Bruno gave a little nod and followed the line of your gaze, “hm, I’ve never had the opportunity to see this one in person, quite impressive, far different from The Last Supper.”

“Now that’s one I’ve never seen in person.”

“That’s because you absconded Milan before we had the chance,” he said with that same grave intonation that he always summoned when he made reference to your duplicity. 

“Not here,” you whispered tersely, giving his upper arm an emphatic squeeze, “here we are civilians and it’s imperative that we remain so. Now, let’s go.” 

You left brusquely and escaped around the corner, forcing him to quicken his pace to follow after you.  You continued through the bustling halls of the museum in silence, a jarring difference from the myriad of conversations from the other patrons that echoed liltingly through your ears as you wandered into each of the different rooms, passing the target of your mission several times and taking careful stock of the artwork that lined the accompanying walls. 

“Don’t you think you’re taking your role as a tourist a bit too seriously?” He asked before glancing inconspicuously around the room.

“Hey, I paid for these tickets, I’m going to get my money’s worth and see the art!  Won’t you indulge me a little bit, it’s not often I get to do things like this.”

“Well—”

“And think of it this way, if we do a sweep of the entire place, we can be sure no one from La Squadra is lying in wait for us.” 

“Well, in that case, I suppose we can waste a few more minutes. Come along now,” he said, there was something suave about his voice as his strong hand found the small of your back as he effortlessly jockeyed you through the crowd. You felt your mind relinquish long-held apprehensions under the gentle force of his palm. So easy it was to let him take control, to let him handle you as though you were his own. Contentedly you accepted this subtle comfort as you soaked in the remaining minutes of quiet bliss.

“Hm, you know, I always preferred Primavera to The Birth of Venus.” You mused, staring up at the painting, your eyes flitted between the various allegorical figures 

“Oh, is that so?”

“Definitely, the colors, the dresses, the setting, there’s something very idyllic about it; pleasant and  dreamy, something that makes me feel like there’s still beauty in the world,” you quickly ceased your wistful longings, realizing you had spoken far too honestly than the moment called for, you quickly tried to divert the conversation elsewhere, “did you know the orange grove was meant to symbolize the Medici family?”

“That’s very interesting, I had no idea you were so well-versed in art.”

“Well, maybe you don’t know as much about me as you’d like to think you do.”

“Maybe so,” he murmured, twining his fingers with yours leading you to the stairs. 

And so you meandered through the various rooms, hand in hadn’t while you prattled on about art and for one brief moment, you felt as though your life was normal, you felt, through all the depths of your desperation, that maybe, if your mission went well, that you could take whatever funds you acquired and run as far away from Italy as you were able, start over and never look back. Build the life you wanted from the rubble yours had crumbled into.

“You know, sometimes I feel like that,” Bruno said as you both looked at Caravaggio’s The Sacrifice of Isaac.

“Abraham or Isaac?” 

The question went unanswered and you both stood in silence, staring at the scene brought to life by dramatically staged lighting that was so characteristic of Caravaggio’s works, feeling the moments tick away like grains of sand in an hourglass. “Now then, I believe it’s time for us to take our positions.” Bruno declared before taking his leave of you.  It was a curious feeling, the way that his hand slipped from yours, the way the touch of his fingers lingered in the moments after as you walked in the opposite direction, ultimately landing yourself face to face with another recognizable painting.  Judith Slaying Holofernes.  Gentileschi’s gruesome and dynamic depiction left you to ponder how deep your resolution ran. If it came to it, could you ever posit yourself as Judith? It concerned you even further to realize that you did not know if you could.

Without any other time to think, you made your way across the room where The Birth of Venus housed and with Bruno already in place, you positioned yourself far enough away from him so that when the alarms went off, he could secure the envelope unnoticed.  It was a simple task, some may say foolproof, all you had to do was reach across the threshold of the protective railing… all the world around you appeared to move in slow motion, all except for your racing heart, hammering hard against the walls of your chest.  It was such an easy task, you had done far worse and yet, you hesitated. Quaking in your resolve, you made a move to look back at Bruno but before you could turn your head, someone knocked into you and sent you careening past the protective bar. 

All at once, the alarm sounded, piercing the reticence of the serene gallery and then every guard in the vicinity was upon you.  A swarm of quick steps and terse exchanges could be heard throughout the whole room as civilians began to gather around you to catch a glimpse of the commotion. Out of the corner of your eye, as you were assisted to your feet and escorted away via museum security, you were certain you saw Bruno quickly disappearing beyond the farthest wall, from there, you were able to breathe easy. 

Bruno had made it back to the hotel with ease, your little spectacle had proved more than sufficient for him to make off with the next set of instructions unnoticed. So by the time you were released by security and made the journey back to the hotel, Bruno had already thoroughly read through the instructions and drawn several conclusions of his own.  As you sheepishly slinked through the door, you found him seated in one of the comfortable chairs with his elbows resting lackadaisically against his knees. 

“So it seems they let you go free without much trouble,” he drawled, straightening his posture and crossing one leg over the other. 

“I told you that I can be very persuasive, did I not?” You said, muster greater confidence than you actually felt. He looked back at you without speaking, as if he were trying to reduce the veracity of your claims hidden in your shaky inflection. “So… what’s the next step, I assume you’ve read it without me.” 

“I have and… here, see for yourself,” he shoved the folded sheets in your direction and watched keenly as you read through them.

“The duomo, huh?  Can’t say I expected the likes of Risotto to be holed up in an ancient Cathedral, but I guess I can give him points for style,” you said, trying to disregard any apprehensions with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. 

“That is precisely what I thought… a very peculiar location for a safe house.”

“Regardless, I suppose we should devise a plan, it’ll be dark soon.”

“Listen to me, you said yourself that Risotto is a skilled assassin, why would he choose to hide himself in the most recognizable building in the entire city?”

“As you said, he’s incredibly skilled, he doesn’t need to be discreet.”

“That sounds ridiculous, even by your standards!”

“Everything else worked out, didn’t it?  You’re just going to have to trust me.”

“I will not blindly trust you, I’m telling you that there is something wrong with this entire mission.”

“That isn’t for us to decide, we shut up and we do our jobs, that’s all!”

“No, you aren’t understanding, don’t you think it’s a little odd that we spent the entire afternoon in public and not a single member of La Squadra came after us?”

“Yes, but—”

“You feel it too, I know you do.  Just think for a moment, you have always been shrewd, you know that something here isn’t right!” He shouted, his hands grabbed harshly to your shoulders, holding you in place, so close to him that you could feel the heat radiating off of his impassioned frame. 

“No!  No, I won’t even consider it.  We have to do this, this is what we do, this is what we signed up for when we became mafiosi. We have to see the mission through, we don’t have a choice!” You screamed, violently breaking yourself free of his restraint.

“You’re wrong, we always have a choice, we can walk away from this.”

“You’re far too naive, Bruno, you can’t possibly believe that, if we don’t go through with this, the full wrath of Passione will be after us, we wouldn’t even make it out of Italy before they had us killed or worse...” 

“Why must you always be so damn stubborn?”

“Why must you always act like you know better than I do?”

“Because I do,” he said, a coolness to his voice that left you both standing frozen in place as if noncommittal in the face of what you both knew would follow.

Propelled by some invisible force far beyond the realm of your control, your lips crashed against each other, gnashing brutally in a battle for dominance that neither of you would concede so readily. 

With ease not suggested by his lithe figure, he lifted you off the ground and pinned you securely against the nearest wall with such force that it caused the decorative print to rattle against the plaster. As if on command, your legs wrapped around his slender waist to draw him closer. With sufficient stability acquired, his hands were able to roam up your thighs, enough to hike your dress up past your hips. Your skin prickled with goosebumps under the urgency of his touches and a breathy whine caught in your throat and came out as a feeble squeak which in turn, only heightened his desire and the thin lace of your panties did not help matters either, “look at you…” he murmured, his cool façade hardly concealed the ardor that had stirred his disposition. Pulling your panties to the side, his fingers were able to explore between your folds, “you’re so wet,” 

“What’re you gonna do about it?” You purred, back arching against the wall when you felt his fingers slipping into you. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” he said, pupils blown wide as saucers as he glared at you with a menacing, hungry look. Your plush walls clenched around his fingers, fuck, the way he looked at you, like he hated you, like he needed you, as if you were the only person in the world that could quell the raging fire within him— it was as though several years of unmet desires had unfolded right in front of you. 

Not a sound of protest was made towards his brazen declaration and it took no more than an instant for him to throw you onto the tiny hotel bed.  Before he could climb on top of you, you managed to shimmy out of your dress and toss the garishly colored fabric to the floor so that you were left in nothing but your lingerie as you lay back on the velvety comforter and watched as Bruno quickly undressed at the foot of the bed. Each discarded layer revealed more of his brilliant, tan skin, ever so lightly flushed from the ardent rush of your previous actions

Once his shirt had been cast away your eyes were able to trace the intricate line work of his tattoo down his chest to where it culminated in the outline of a heart just above his navel. The precarious position urged your eyes to wander lower as his hands moved pants to undo the button of his pants. The newfound freedom offered you an excellent view of his cock, which stood erect, firmly pressed to his abdomen. You sat up on your knees with hands folded between your legs and mouth slightly agape as you tried your best to comprehend the perfection that stood before you, there was something elegantly baroque in the man that stood before you, like a mixture of gold and marble, his statuesque frame, his svelte waist, the tantalizing taper of his long, curved cock.  You traced the fine slope until you reached the pinnacle of his flared, swollen head which eagerly dripped glossy pearls of precum as he held firmly to the base of his shaft. 

“On your back,” he commanded, then, before you even had a chance to comply, he climbed over you and pinned you flush against the mattress. You let out a shrill gasp of surprise when you felt his hard length rubbing against your aching sex, the thin, damp fabric of your panties was the only impedance between your two bodies. 

Harsh and indelicate, he lifted your back to unclasp your bra, without much care or effort the scanty garment was tossed away and Bruno seized the opportunity to quickly explore the newly exposed skin.  His teeth rasped against the swell of your breasts, leaving behind a pattern of oblong crimson marks. “Bruno,” you moaned, craning your neck back before hurriedly biting your lip to stop the indecent squeals as his lips close around your nipple, god, he hadn’t even fucked you yet, how could he have managed to unravel you so fast? 

Without warning, the sensation stopped and you were left panting nearly delirious from even such paltry stimulation. Through your heavy-lidded gaze, you watched as Bruno repositioned himself at the foot of the bed, from where you lay, you could easily guess his next play and that assurance was enough to restore a bit of your confidence, “How long have you been dreaming about this moment?” You taunted, doing your best to maintain a semblance of control as he fluidly pulled you to the edge of the bed by your ankle. 

“Were you not just moaning my name a minute ago?” He scolded, roughly pulling your legs apart and immediately hooking a finger under the lace band of your panties and rolling the sullied fabric down your legs. You gave a soft, approving mewl at the feeling of his warm breath against your cunt. In spite of your lewd appearance, there was something undeniably pretty about having you there in the position he had so many times imagined you in.

“Just fucking do it already!” You growled, teeth clenched to maintain an illusion of aplomb, but the frenzied look in your eyes betrayed you egregiously. 

“Typical. Something doesn’t go your way so you behave like a brat, is that how you expect to be rewarded?” He teased, his mouth hovering millimeters above your throbbing pussy, so tantalizingly close, but never close enough to give in to the pleasure you wanted. 

“For fuck’s sake, will you stop talking?”

“So demanding,” he purred, licking one long, arduous stripe along the entire length of your sex.

“Fuck,” you breathed, the meager sensation was enough to send a chill down your spine and leave you all but begging for more. He had intended to carry on teasing you for far longer, but the moment your honeyed taste filled his mouth, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to deny himself any longer. 

He abandoned the façade of bravado in one heedless action and began frantically lashing his tongue over your cunt, drinking in the heavenly juices that poured for you all too freely with each of his reckless ministrations. The wet sounds that emanated from you were nothing short of vulgar as his skilled tongue easily parted your folds and dipped into your dripping cunt just enough to make you squirm in place, but her certainly wasn’t done with you. Once he had thoroughly enjoyed your taste, he quickly turned all of his attention to your neglected clit. The sensitive bud was hot and tender with need and even a perfunctory flick of his tongue is enough to send a jolt of electricity surging through you that only intensified when he began fervently lapping at your clit, drawing hasty, swirling patterns that made your head spin and your vision bleary. Shit, you should not have been as sensitive as you were, not that soon, but if he continued like that, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to last much longer. 

“Tell me Bruno, do I still taste like a liar?” You asked through a slew of uninhibited groans that certainly made the question feel less mordant than you had intended it to be.

“A horrid, filthy, little liar,” he sneered, his lips forming the words against your needy cunt, even for all the malice he spoke, it only served to arouse your further, causing your hips to roll listlessly into his face, “an awful little liar.” 

“Bruno… fuck!” You moaned, knitting your fingers into his silky black hair and tugging with such vehemence that you dislodged one of his hair clips.

He let out an inadvertent groan, either brought on by your taste alone or the strength of your grip on his hair, but that too only further drove you towards your inevitable peak.  His tongue continued its relentless pursuit, maintaining the same diligent rhythm that had already rendered you delirious and you were no longer able to stifle any of the sultry moans that spilled from you, “Bruno, I’m— fuck, so close!” 

Your hips sputter out, indecorously writhing to a hectic rhythm that made it difficult for him to maintain the consistent pace he had devised, but the sweet sounds of your pleasure were more than enough reinforcement for him to forge ahead. One hand spread across your pelvis in an attempt to quell your incessant thrashing.  The restraint only caused the pressure to build until it became unsustainable, heat rushed to your core and the sensation you’d only tenuously been staving off snapped within you, leaving you awash with the brilliant glow of orgasm. 

Satisfaction dripped off Bruno’s face as he cleaned your excess arousal off his lips, leering up at you, content to take in the vision of your panting form, only brought to such an agreeable state through his efforts. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so submissive,” he said as he pulled himself on top of you, the swollen top of his cock prodding shallowly into your entrance. 

“Sh-shut up,” you whimpered, damn near docile as he sunk into you.  Given how amply prepared you were, it only took one effortless glide for him to be fully buried within you. You let out a shaky whine against his neck when he bottomed out, a response he couldn’t help but feel was incongruously cute compared to your typically ruthless demeanor. 

It was not long before he had established a steady rhythm. He had not allowed you any time to recover from your previous release and the sensation of him savagely fucking you quickly thrust you into overstimulation. In such a state, all you could do was scream out his name between an array of curses, all of which only urged him to continue more brutally, the strength of his grip was nearly bruising as he held your hips in place to keep you from wildly bucking beneath him. He pounded into you with such ferocity that it caused the headboard to clatter against the plaster wall. Your back arched, meeting him mid-thrust to pull him back down, your tight walls sucking him in so luxuriously that he could help but let out a choky moan into the crook of your neck. Fucking you, claiming you, ruining you, reality had eclipsed anything he had ever imagined when he would violently fuck his hand to the thought of you. The silky mewls and shrill screams you made each time he drove into you rendered him certain that your neighbors and very likely every patron on the entire floor knew how much you were enjoying his cock. 

Overstimulated to the point of babbling, each thrust added a new sensation you were certain you could not handle. Lost in a haze of bliss, the line between pleasure and pain had blurred beyond comprehension and you were not sure if you couldn’t cum anymore or if you simply hadn’t stopped cumming. 

Your nails scratched viciously into his back, leaving behind jagged claw marks that would last more than just the evening and serve as a reminder of the amorous affair. Bruno let out a hiss and dug his teeth into the supple skin of your shoulder. 

In a quick, ungainly action, he pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness caused you to let out a dejected whine for want of further stimulation, but he only knelt above you, frantically stroking the tip of his cock until he’d decorated your abdomen with sticky ribbons of cum then collapsed on the bed beside you, both more fucked out than either of you could remember. 

The afterglow hung heavy in the air, lingering silently between you as reality flowed back in along with the unsettling feeling of irresolution. After you’d cleaned up the mess that had been left, You returned to the bed and covered your body with the blanket to placate the meekness that left you dithering over what needed to be said. From the window, you could see the outline of the great duomo, only faintly illuminated against the darkened sky, its imposing shadow loomed ominously over the streets, as though it were itself some great beast that would swallow you up if you dared tread further. 

But before you could voice any apprehension, Bruno had left the bed and begun dressing, “well then, shouldn’t you be getting ready?” Something in the way he spoke seemed to banish all doubt from your mind, or at least enough to restore your confidence. 

“Oh, I thought you were determined to abandon the mission?”

“I have my concerns, but you were right, we need to see this through to the end, whatever that may be.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you’ve finally admitted who’s really in charge here.” You simpered, padding over to him with a characteristically feline strut.

Bruno caught you mid-step and drew your body firmly against his chest so that he was able to whisper directly into your ear, “oh cara mia, we both know it certainly wasn’t you,” he said, drawing out his words far more seductively than you could handle at present and punctuating the sentiment by nipping along your earlobe, “now, don’t dawdle, we have business to attend to.”

It had been far easier to access the duomo than you would have thought, even so late into the night you would have imagined a perpetual presence of security to make sure ne’er do wells, such as yourselves, did not get up to any chicanery on the premises, but that was not the case. It merely required the picking of a cheap lock on one if the auxiliary entrances and you were in. 

The air hung every in the dark halls, but even so, there was something reverent about the hallowed halls of the imposing structure. A feeling of peril caused your stomach to churn violently, it wasn’t merely the sanctity of the space that filled you with an acute sense of danger, but the sudden realization that you were not alone in the darkened chamber.  You made a quick motion to turn and alert Bruno, but before you could make a sound, a large hand was clamped over your mouth and you felt your strength give out under whatever force had apprehended you 

When next you awoke, you found yourself in a windowless room, tied with your back to Bruno in metal chairs that had been affixed to the ground with heavy bolts to ensure no means of escape.  “Bruno…” you whispered meekly, hardly able to muster the resolve to speak in such a dismal position, “Bruno, are you alright?” 

“I believe so… but I’m afraid that… from the start… this whole mission was a setup.” 

“I know, I— fuck, I should’ve listened, I just didn’t want to believe that…”

“Oh, isn’t that precious, our little saboteurs are awake,” an unfamiliar voice broke through the emptiness of the room and an odd-looking man dressed in a long white coat with emerald green hair that appeared almost harlequin alongside his makeup emerged from the darkness, flanked by his even stranger looking companion who walked threateningly on all fours. 

“So, I take it the Boss sent you to get rid of us,” Bruno said, managing a far more assertive tone than you would have been able to muster.

“You could say that… you see, Passione is like a living organism, all the parts must function together to keep it alive, and much like our bodies have an immune system as a failsafe to fight off any unwanted pathogens, so must our little organization. You may consider me as such.” The green-haired man mused, partly to you, partly to his associate who looked upon him with awe as he spoke, as though his words contained some kind of sacred divination. “That’s why I’ve brought you here, to test a little invention of mine… you know, when here in Florence, I can’t help but recall Leonardo, he was more than just an artist, like me, he also dabbled in many inventions himself. I was always struck by his proclivity towards water, the water wheel, hydraulics… perhaps he would find some of my research… fascinating,” he gave another wicked grin, eyes dancing with delight at the thought of his malevolent intentions.

“What are you getting at?” Bruno demanded, breaking the man free from his wistful daydreams. 

“All in due time,” he said, never wavering from that malicious grin that made your heart go cold with fear.

“You know, they say drowning is one of the most painful ways to die, I must say, I’m very excited to see for myself,” he declared boldly and burst into an uncontrollable fit of cackles and anticipatory groans, “Secco! Is the camera set up yet?”

The man sat up on his hind legs and gave a series of garbled hoops and excited cries as he thrashed to and fro in wild, ungainly gestures.

“Good boy, Secco, good boy! Now how about a treat?” He groped for something in his pocket as his strange companion eagerly lashed his long, serpentine tongue around his mouth, then darted with expert precision after what had been tossed his way.  So nimble, he almost defied gravity as he snatched the sugar cubes out of the air and began to gnaw on them like a rabid animal. 

“You’re sick,” you spat, brows furrowed with disgust and indignation.

A dreadful, malignant smirk settled across the green-haired man’s face as he knelt down to your level.  A skilled hand dragged across your cheek, unexpectedly tender as he caressed your smooth skin, “is that what you think?” He asked, baring his teeth as he roughly grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him, “on the contrary, dear girl, I am free. The same cannot be said for a weak little traitor such as yourself.”

You clamped your eyes shut, frantically shaking your head to dislodge his grip but to no avail, all of your efforts only earned you a forceful slap across your face that caused your cheek to burn, swollen and red from his violence. “You know, It’s useless to struggle, but then again, it’s so deliciously fun to watch you try!”

“Why not just use your Stand to kill us?”

“Oh you pretty little thing, that’s the best part! I don’t have to.” 

You swallowed thickly, unable to summon any kind of response, before a man as cruel and sadistic as he, you were utterly helpless. 

“And Bucciarati, I can see the gears turning in that head if yours, ‘once they leave, I’ll use my Stand to get us out of this,’ and while I admit that your Stand in particular is a bit of a nuisance, I would strongly advise against taking such a measure, you see, even with whatever evasive maneuvers you may attempt, we have ways assuring you do not get far.” 

The quadrupedal man let out a series of gleeful howls as if to affirm his companion’s threats. 

“Now, what will happen?  Hmm, decisions, decisions. Will you lie down and die like the good dogs you are? Ah, or maybe perhaps you will pull one another down like crabs in a bucket.  Or maybe one of the lovers will make a desperate attempt to save the other.  Hmm… which will it be? I can’t endeavor to say.”

“Have you been watching us…?” 

“Oh, my dear girl, our eyes haven’t left you since you departed from Napoli, any secrets you might’ve thought you had… well, rest assured that I have them very well kept,” he said, falling into a menacing laugh as he patted the handheld camera. 

“Fucking sicko,” you snapped, indignantly writhing in your bindings in a futile attempt to free yourself. 

“Aw, poor little puppy, all bark and no bite,” Cioccolata sneered, eyes darting for you over to Bruno, “She’s in love with you, you know?”

Violently, you bit your lip, how could you even begin to formulate a response? “Oh, by the looks of it I guess you didn’t know, well, it’s no matter.” He said, crossing the room and pulling a heavy lever. The loud, mechanical noise of machinery engaging could be heard through the ancient stone, “I look forward to the show, please do remember to smile for the camera.”

With that, both he and his companion took their leave through the only exit, a heavily barred metal door that you knew you wouldn’t have a chance of breaking through. And then you heard it, faint at first, but the distinct sound of running water caught your attention, open pipes on either side of the room flowed freely, splashing violently against the floor, faster and faster with each second that passed and only then did you fully understand the meaning of your captor’s threats. There were no exits, no windows, no vents, nothing to let the water out, you were trapped and the flow of the water only seemed to quicken as the flood reached your feet.

“Is this really how it all ends?” You asked, a vehement lamentation to no one in particular as you struggled restlessly in your bindings. 

“It should be a few hours before it’s over our heads, maybe we can think of something in that time.” 

“No, don’t you see that it’s hopeless, they must’ve had this planned for weeks, the only way out is through that door and they’re on the other side.  They’re going to kill us one way or another… we lost.” You sank into silence and let the sound of the water drown out your other senses. It was sick indeed to force you to sit and contemplate your death for hours before it arrived, even sicker to derive some twisted satisfaction from it all. You were bested and there was nothing for you to do but wait for death to come and hope for your sake that it would come swiftly. 

“He called you a traitor… what did you do?” Bruno asked, breaking the silence as the water crept up past your knees. 

“How should I know, he’s obviously fucking crazy, he called you one too and I know for a fact that Bruno Bucciarati, Polpo’s finest little soldier, would never betray the big bad Boss.”

Bruno sat silent for a long time, he hadn’t planned on telling you the extent of his perfidy, but if you both were going to die anyway, it would be almost an act of confession. “He wasn’t lying…”

“Bruno… you didn’t…”

“Not me, Giorno.”

“ That little blond with the baby face? No, I can’t believe that.”

“I don’t know how he did it, but he did.  He went to see Polpo in prison and the next I heard, the man was dead.  I believe he intended to use my newfound privileges as capo to help me unmask the Boss, I guess it is all for nought now.” 

“Why Bruno, you knew that would be a death sentence… why?”

“Because I’m sick and tired of seeing people… of seeing kids end up on the street, addicted to drugs… the same goddamn drugs the Boss sells, the same goddamn drugs my father was killed for and for what? Money, power? As if the Boss doesn’t already have more than enough of either.  Those are people, good people, my people and they’re suffering and they’re dying and it’s my fault because I answer to the same power that signs their death warrants. I have to do something, I have to make things better, it’s my responsibility.”

“Bruno, you know that’s a damn pipe dream, you know you can’t take on the Boss!”

“I knew the risk when I took it, but I believe in Giorno, if there’s anyone out there that can usurp the Boss, it’s Giorno Giovanna!”

“How can you have such faith in someone you just met?” 

“Because I have seen what he’s capable of, I’ve witnessed his brilliant determination, I believe that he will accomplish all he sets out to do, with or without me.”

You pondered his words carefully, had the sentiment not been so foolish, it would have been touching, but regardless, you felt it was too late for secrets as you felt the water rise past your abdomen. 

“I’m the one who told Sorbetto and Gelato where they could find information about the Boss’s identity, I’m the reason they were killed.”

“That’s rich after all waxing on about the folly it would be to take him on. Tell me, how did you even come by such privileged information?”

“Last summer, I met a man on the French Riviera who told me that he knew the Boss’s identity, somehow he fought him and survived and… he wanted me to help him take out the Boss, I turned him down, told him no one could withstand the full force of Passione’s wrath. I guess I was right.”

“But you had no problem selling that information to Sorbetto and Gelato,” he said callously, adding insult to injury.

“Listen, what they do is their business, not mine, I have to look out for myself above anyone else.”

“Just as you always have,” he spat, vitriol spilling off his tongue with each pointed word, like a poisoned dagger to the heart.

“I… I didn’t want it to end like this… I thought… I thought if there was anyone who stood a chance against Diavolo, it would have been La Squadra. I only told them how they could get in contact with my informant, that was all.  I thought they’d concoct a better plan, I thought maybe Risotto…”

“Diavolo… so that’s his name, huh? I guess it doesn’t matter now, poetic really, that I finally learn his identity, but I’m going to die before it can be of any use.” 

Conversation ceased as you both fell silent, the soft hiss of the water filling the room was the only sound that could be heard, endlessly jeering at your helplessness.  You glanced around the room in the hope that you could locate some weak point that could serve as an exit, but your search proved fruitless, and with the water already up to your chest, there seemed no other possibility than to accept your dismal defeat, certain that from wherever he watched, your captor took sadistic satisfaction in your inevitable surrender. 

“Bruno…” you said, at last breaking the silence, though your voice was stifled and words had been muddled by your tears, “Bruno, it was my fault… in Milan, it was all my fault.  It was a stupid risk to take and I almost got us both killed and then… and then I left you with the mess.  I— Bruno, I’m so sorry, it was such a selfish thing to do, do you think you could ever forgive me?” 

“If we make it out of here alive, you may consider yourself forgiven.” 

You mustered a feeble sound of thanks through your sobs but any intelligent words had been long abandoned. 

The water had risen to your neck, it would not take much longer for you to be swallowed up, perhaps Bruno could last a few extra minutes but what did it matter in the end?  Your thoughts grew fuzzy from the great strain it was to keep your head above water. It wouldn’t be long, only a minute more and your head would be underwater.

It was then, at the moment when you were sure all hope had been dashed, when you had resigned yourself to the inevitability of your death, that a muffled clamor rose beyond the thick stone walls of your would-be tomb. 

“How’s it going Narancia, we have to find Bucciarati and fast!”

“W-what’s going on?” You mumbled, struggling to make sense of the noises in your listless state.

“Got it! There should be two people in the next room!” 

“Giorno! He must’ve been tracking us this whole time.” The thought had not occurred to Bucciarati until just then, but he had wisely held onto Giorno’s parting gift throughout the entire mission.  It seemed like it had brought good luck after all. 

“Stand aside, leave the rest to me,” the sound of crumbling masonry echoed loud across the receding water and the light that filtered in when the wall had been breached seemed almost blinding to your eyes.  There, standing framed in a golden mandorla of new dawn light, was Giorno Giovanna, regal and determined as the dust settled around him, “Bucciarati, are you alright?”

What happened next was a blur, but someone pulled you from the water as Giorno gave Bruno a complete rundown of the situation, how Giorno had been able to track your location with the ladybug his Stand had imbued with life, how they had managed to kill the two men that held you captive, and their tentative plan to proceed now that they had fully defied the Boss.  Of course, Bruno was all too eager to inform Giorno of all you had told him, the Boss’s identity, your secret informant, the inevitable defection of La Squadra. With everything looked at together, it was as though each piece of the puzzle had fallen perfectly into place and Giorno rejoiced in the miracle of timing. 

It did not take long for a plan to be devised and with the added strength of La Squadra and the help of one eager Frenchman, it was only a matter of time before Diavolo was defeated and Giorno assumed his rightful position as the head of Passione. 

“Tell me,” he said one average day only a few months after all had been said and done, “what is it that you truly want?”

“I want out of this life for good,” you answered readily, it was the truth after all.

“Is that all?” He asked, the drawl of his voice as sweet and commanding as it always was. 

“Well, I suppose… I’d like to go to Milan,” you said, a curious diffidence had arisen in your voice as you stated your request.

“Then so it shall be,” he said with the gentlest of smiles that made him appear more like an angel than any man you’d ever seen before. 

And as he ordained it, so it was. 

“Well, is it everything you thought it would be?” Bruno asked, his hand in yours as you stood before The Last Supper.

“No— I mean yes… it’s marvelous, it’s incomprehensible… thank you for taking me.” 

He gave a salacious purr as he kissed the back of your hand, “I couldn’t think of anyone better to accompany me.” 

“It’s a little nostalgic being back here, don’t you think?”

“Well amore mio, for what it’s worth,” he began, moving his arm around your waist as you exited the church and began the walk back to that little hotel you stayed in what felt like a lifetime ago, “I have always loved Milan.” 

[wolfstarlibrarian]

I understand people come from lots of different POVs on this topic, and some don’t know fandom etiquette, so without posting any particular asks, let me just say…

This blog does not share copies of deleted fics.

And if you do have a copy of a fic that is deleted, please please please please respect the author’s wishes and don’t share the fic. Anywhere. Ever.

Some authors take down their fics because they want to publish them with different names, and if a publisher checks for previous publication of their work and it comes up with a match…they’ve just lost a book deal.

Some authors take down their fics because they no longer agree with the ideologies in their old fics.

Some authors take down their fics because because they no longer want their works in a fandom of an author they’ve grown to hate.

Some authors take down their fics so AI can’t scrub them.

Some authors take down their fics because they’re embarrassed by them now, because the AO3 notifications remind them of a different time in their lives they want to forget, or just because they want to.

An author sharing a fic is a gift. They are not content creators or even artists that can gain commission off their fics. Their only compensation is respect (comments, not reposting fics, etc).

Please don’t share deleted fics.

[softestqueeen]

✧*̥˚ spencer reid fic recs part 4*̥˚✧

a/n: haven't done one of these in a while, so here you go!

✨favs

part 1 I part 2 I part 3 I part 4 I my criminal minds masterlist

✧*̥˚ smut *̥˚✧

heardcover hearts by @missarchive

nsfw alphabet by @minswriting

late night swim by @dr-spencer-reids-queen

late night confessions by @springtyme

in the blink of a lense by @alsofoundinpeas (literally the coolest blogname)

cherry stems by @luveline

cum in pants by @minswriting

@ entersandman by @misserabella ✨ @ entersandman 2

with the lights off by @darkmatilda

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me) by @vatelixx

my little vampire by @badathumanemotions

angel by @incognit0slut

on camera by -//-

over the edge by @foxy-eva

✧*̥˚ fluff*̥˚✧

girls night by @miedei

sobriquet by @siriuslylantsov

wedding day by @luveline

cupids chokehold by @martiniblues

realisations by @justawhitebloodcell01

seen with who? by @ladigube

intimidation by @multifandom-exe

✧*̥˚ angst/hurt/comfort*̥˚✧

i have more than enough by @parfaitblogs

sunday mornings by @sp6ncers

in eternal lines by @notlongtolove

orange by @spxfav

clingy by @ddejavvu

waiting for the day to end by @godsfavdarling

warm ebrace by @foxy-eva ✨

bambi by @nereidprinc3ss

water under the bridge by @reidmarieprentiss

a/n: if you want you fic removed, dm me!

[waltenmedia]

the severe lack of thagyu fics is driving me crazy 💔💔 please please share some of your fic ideas or headcannons i am determined to write about them right now

[beemoon17]

Desperate for a proper LONG Harry Potter fanfic where Sirius and Harry’s relationship isn’t devalued, treated as second rate to Harry’s relationship with some other random adult, and Sirius isn’t treated as some immature child who doesn’t really care about or know Harry. This is my only requirement, it can be about anything, although I do prefer non straight central relationships if there is romance. I’d also be interested in shorter or mid length fics focused on Sirius and Harry’s relationship.

NOT romantic Harry and Sirius PLEASE!

[aithusiel]

Does anyone have any Hannibal fic recs where Will just goes absolutely apeshit on Jack, Alana, etc. when they find out he was right about Hannibal (Season 2 ish)? Maybe semi-dark Will where's he's just like "No, I tried to tell you before. You didn't listen. You're on your own."

Jack and Alana's disbelief (in show and in fics) is so frustrating and I'm shocked that I haven't found a fic where Will just explodes on them yet. I need cathartic anger I'm begging you.

[pedroshotwifey]

Hello

My drabble ask is infidelity 🫣 with Joel.. but readers current bf is really toxic and doesn't treat her well and she's planning on leaving him anyway and Joel says that he doesn't want to share and that he wants to be with her 🥺

Oh I can't tell you how excited I was for this 😈 I might have to make another infidelity fic bc holy shit 👀 (obviously I don't condone this behavior irl, but ooo is it hot in fic)

*****

“Oh shit,” Joel grunts. “Little wider for me, baby, you’re too fuckin’ tight. Poor lil pussy ain’t been gettin’ fucked right.” 

Your face heats at his words, but you obey, whimpering as you help him spread your legs further apart, your muscles aching in a delicious way paired with his cock dragging in and out of your slick cunt. Your back arches, your head getting thrown back onto your pillow as he hits something devastatingly deep inside of you. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you whine, pussy fluttering around him. You feel like all your senses have been cut off, your sole focus on the way he’s stretching you out for him. 

“Tha’s right, baby, call my name. Sounds better than that fuckin’ boy you think’s so good for ya. You know he can’t make you feel like this. His dick’s probably as shriveled as his damn brain.”

You hate the way your pussy clenches upon hearing Joel talk shit about your boyfriend. It’s wrong—god, it’s so wrong—but it feels so fucking good. You know he can hear the way you fake coming around Liam’s cock most nights, knows the difference between the way you moan Joel’s name so gutterally and the way you have to say your boyfriend’s like it’s an obligation—a chore. 

It took him a few weeks to get you into his bed. A few weeks of him comforting you after fights and tantrums from your boyfriend. A few weeks of you trying to hold back your lustful gaze from your much older next door neighbor. A few weeks of you ignoring how he looked at you the same way. 

It took your boyfriend hitting you for you to finally listen to what Joel was telling you, what you knew was true. 

Joel was there waiting at his door when he saw Liam leave the apartment. It’s a good thing he didn’t see what happened before, because he probably would have killed him. You slept with him that night not only to distract him from your freshly blackened eye, but also because you came to that realization. 

Joel would do things for you that your boyfriend would never even consider. It wasn’t until he split you open on his cock for the first time, gave you four orgasms, then fed you, showered you, and held you tenderly until you fell asleep, that you understood that’s what you deserve. What Joel kept insisting you deserve. 

You deserve the way he’s making you drool right now, using your legs as leverage to pummel into you at an ungodly pace. You deserve the way you both fall apart at the same time, clinging to each other and moaning and licking into each other’s mouths like you’re trying to consume each other. You deserve the way Joel showers you in dirty praise as you pant and catch your breath after coming for a third time. 

And Joel deserves the way you’re going to go back to your apartment and pack your shit tonight.

****

More drabbles here

[nowimjustastranger]

Hello and welcome! I recently got back into the Gravity Falls fandom and so I created a blog to unleash the sheer amount of feelings that I have about this show!

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[z-eel]

to all my marauders fic writers, i beg of you send me a link of your pride and joy. your baby, your favorite child.

i want to read new fics, especially if they're wips. some of my most favorite fic atm are wip and i wanna feel that high again.

[arson-the-ace]

I'm begging on my knees for codependent/toxic Jayvik fic recs, PLEASE

[softestqueeen]

hiii ! im a sucker for the early stages of crushing, so i was wondering if i could request a hotch fic where it's chilly out, and you forget to bring a jacket so hotch offers his suit coat to you and it's just so warm and it smells so good that you end up blurting out how much you like the way he smells and how much you appreciate him. aH idk i hope this made sense 😭 ty!! 🫶

a/n: omg anon, i'm literally OBSESSED with this!! i hope you like it <3 warnings: none, pure fluff, almost 1k words (damn)

Most people would say Nebraska is a lovely place to be. Breathtaking views, mostly nice folks and no 100-degree weather like Quantico, Virginia. But you had to disagree.

The team has been called in for a sensitive case regarding four missing children. So, the team immediately grabbed their go-bags and hopped on the jet.

Now having settled at the police station, you realised – you had forgotten to pack a jacket. The one essential for this kind of weather was currently hanging on a rack in your flat. After you had gotten blood on it at the last case, you cleaned it and hung it up so you could pack it again. Damnit, you thought to yourself, you thought you had packed it. Now you would have to try to stay somewhat warm and not catch hypothermia, while also staying sharp so you could get the children in time. Great.

You prayed that Hotch would group you with Reid, so you could stay at the station and work the geographical profile. But with your luck, of course you were chosen to check out the abduction sites – which were all not just in the middle of nowhere, but also in the open aka the cold – with no one less than the unit chief himself.

After hyping yourself up a bit, you were convinced you could do it. The car ride was nice, the heating making it enjoyable, but the moment you stepped into the cold you knew you couldn’t do it. As much as you tried to keep your teeth from clattering and your whole body from shivering, sometimes you could hear your teeth or see your hands shaking when you took them away from the warm comfort of your body.

You hoped Hotch wouldn’t notice it, but who where you fooling? He probably knew you forgot your jacket before you even noticed.

“Why aren’t you wearing a jacket, agent? It’s freezing. Did you forget it in the car?” to everybody else it sounded like everything else he said, stoic, emotionless but after working with him for quite some time you could make out the genuine worry in his voice.

Immediately trying to reassure him you said, “Oh, I think I forgot it at the station, but it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” The moment the lie left your mouth, you both could hear that that wasn’t the truth.

Of course, Aaron had already noticed your missing jacket in the jet while everybody was wrapping themselves in their thickest winter clothing, you obliviously kept reading your book.

He didn’t have to think much before shrugging off his coat and offering it to you, already holding it in the perfect way for you to just slip into it. Ever the gentleman.

“Oh, that’s really nice of you, but that’s not necessary, really,” you hoped that he would blame your reddening cheeks on the cold and not his boyfriend like behaviour. You don’t know why you were this flustered, you were sure he would do the same thing for Emily or even Reid.

“Please take it, you’ve been shivering since we arrived, and I don’t want to lose one of my best agents because of hypothermia. It really is no problem.”

He wiggled the coat a little bit and you were actually too cold to resist the promise of a nice and warm coat. Stepping forward you let your arms slip into the warm fabric before closing one of the buttons in the front.

It was easy to tell that it was way too big, but it was so warm also smelled just like Hotch’s cologne.

“Thank you, but you really didn’t have to, Hotch. I don’t want you to freeze now,” you told him in an almost scolding voice.

“I’ll live. Shall we get back to the scenes, see if there’s anything we’ve missed?” after humming in agreement the two of you fell into your usual rhythm again.

There was one problem – now that the cold wasn’t distracting you, it was his scent that lingered on the coat. And it was not just his cologne but also something that was just undeniably him. Masculine, raw and absolutely to die for.

You knew you couldn’t keep your feelings for the unit chief a secret for long. After confiding to the BAU-girls at a get together in the local bar, the rest seemed to catch on rather quickly too. The only person that was still completely oblivious was Hotchner himself. What would shock you, was that he also had feelings for you, but just genuinely didn’t think that you would like him as a friend or even a romantic partner. And you were also very oblivious to the looks he gave you and how often he smiled around you.

Suddenly his voice brought you back to reality “Is everything all right? Are you still cold? Do you want to go to the station?” Still lost in your own though you answer “Oh no, it’s all right. Your jacket smells nice by the way,” without really realising that you had just said that out loud you add more conscious now, “I think we did what we could here. We should head back to the others.”

Immediately after saying it you turn around and walk back to the car, leaving a baffled and slightly blushing Aaron Hotchner behind. In that moment he was very glad that you didn’t see him.

But now he knew, he definitely had to find a way to tell you how he feels, or else you are going to be the death of him.

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueen

requests open!

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