#WHO let me put blood on my name on her playlist

[inkbybambi]

⚜️ pornstar!ghost who's so, so in love with you —

words: 3.8k tags: smut, creampie, pet names (good girl, love, darling, etc), throat holding, no use of y/n, fem!reader, ghost and reader are so in love with each other, biting/marking, mentions of sex work. notes: inspired by @ghosts-cyphera 's pornstar!ghost. thank you so, so much for creating him and for letting me bite him and chew him like a squeaky toy. please read the original here and give it lots of love! here is the playlist i made while writing — a mixture of soft and sweet and filthy and everything in between. minors dni, my blog is 18+.

in the muffled quiet of the bathroom, you take a deep breath. your heart beats in time with the rhythmic thumping of the bass that reverberates throughout the flat. that same steady beat of edm songs has been on repeat since you arrived at the party, and your blood hums with the vibrations. you love parties; the drinks, the snacks, the absolute unhinged bullshit that can only be achieved by those in front and behind the camera.

you’re surprised there hasn’t been a noise complaint.

you slip from the bathroom, perhaps just a little tipsy, the warmth of the drinks and the atmosphere thread through your blood like fire, the colored flashing lights casting everything in a multi-colored glow. you move through the crowd to find the one person who means more than the entire world and —

he’s sitting on the couch, pretending to listen to one of the newer talents; she’s a touch too close, fingers reaching out to graze his forearm. he doesn’t even blink twice before he’s pulling his arm away, pretending to adjust his watch as his eyes sweep the room.

as soon as his gaze lands on you, he straightens up, leaning forward in anticipation. the other girl looks put off but neither of you pay her any mind as you make your way to him, crawling onto the couch where he’s (been) waiting for you.

you nestle into his side, taking the red, plastic cup you trusted him with when you went to the bathroom. you take a small sip.

“this isn’t my drink,” you tell him.

“you’re right.”

you pout at him, eyes glittering with the lights.

he looks at you expectedly, pointedly looking at the cup and giving you that look. the one he gives you whenever he wants you to do something, and you always listen.

you wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out at him, before dutifully drinking the water that he’s so graciously filled your cup with instead of whatever fruity and far-too-strong cocktail the host had conjured up. he snorts, rolling his eyes fondly as he slings an arm across the back of the couch.

when half the cup is gone, you look back at him, doe-eyes big and glassy, the need for praise and approval simmering under the surface. even in the low light of the room, you see how his eyes soften as he takes you in. his hand comes up to cup your face, cradling it. you close your eyes, nuzzling into his palm as you enjoy the moment of calm. as his thumb gently wipes under your eye, your eyes flutter back open to focus on him, and he tilts his head as he assesses you.

this moment is just for you two. even in a room full of people, you’re unable to focus on anything but him.

he glances at his wrist to check his watch — the one you gave him for his birthday last year and the one that’s been on his wrist ever since, not even taking it off to film unless absolutely necessary.

(and if he got you a bracelet that matched his watch as close as possible for your birthday? neither of you mention it, but you know.)

ghost’s never been one for social niceties —preferring to keep to himself — and you know you haven’t been here too terribly long, only one drink deep, but both of you have a rare day off together and he’d rather be alone with you for as long as possible than at this last minute thrown together “party” by a few colleagues.

he leans in close to graze his covered mouth against your jaw — he never takes off the skull mask, except when he’s alone with you.

("it's part of my charm," he claims, grin stretching across his lips, getting ready for his first shoot of the day. you bite back an amused smile, sitting in front of him and fussing until he sits still so you can paint on his eye black.)

“i think it’s time i took you home, princess.”

and christ, his voice.

it's well known you’re closer than most, so it’s not terribly surprising when you arrive and leave together and generally stick to each other like glue.

you press your lips right against the sensitive skin behind his ear, brushing against the fabric, voice masked by the music but still keeping it low enough so only he hears.

“then take me home, simon.”

his eyes flash dangerously, taking your cup and abandoning it on the coffee table. his large hand dwarfs your own as he drags you off the couch.

you didn’t say hello to anyone in particular when you arrived and you don’t stop to let anyone know you're leaving. you’re too focused on his thumb running across the ridge of your knuckles, the way he laces your fingers together, how you two fit so well together.

if there was a red string tied to your pinky, you know it would lead you right to him.

the ride back to your flat is spent with his hand on your thigh, hot and possessive like a brand.

there's something different about tonight. ghost's touch lingers, as if he doesn't want to be without you for even a second, and you're drawn to him like a moth to flame, helpless to do anything but get as close as you can, hoping you won't burn and turn to ash.

you know exactly where the night is leading when he pulls you to your bedroom, the soft glow of your bedside lamp casting everything in a halo of warm, dim light.

ghost turns to you, hands on your hips, pulling you closer. you fingers tease the edge of his mask, hooking under the familiar fabric and starting to drag up. you pause as his lips come to view, watching him carefully.

glassy eyes meet yours and you forget to breathe for a moment. you want to capture the warmth swirling in his eyes, keep it close on the days that are dark and dreary, on the days that only he makes better.

you pull the rest of the covering off, his hair slightly ruffled, haloed by the light.

a delicate smile graces your lips, reaching a hand up to run your fingers along his jaw — a motion so familiar, a motion repeated in front of cameras and bright lights and others watching. he's sharp lines and features carved from marble but he's so soft, a comfort you can't name when you're with him.

he looks like an angel, heaven-sent.

"whatcha you thinkin', pretty girl?" he asks, voice low, accent thick, capturing your wandering fingers and pressing a kiss to your inner wrist, right beneath your bracelet.

you don't say anything, continuing to admire him, biting your lip. you're afraid to speak. afraid to give a name to these emotions that have settled into your bones and blood, seared into you.

for now, you keep those words locked in your heart, protected by ribs and flesh and walls that he so carefully picks apart with his teeth and tongue and fingers.

you shake your head instead of answering him, a gentle smile gracing your lips, threading your fingers through his hair. it's fluffy and a bit on the long side. he showered as soon as he was off work. he never wants others lingering on his skin.

you tip up on your toes enough to capture his lips with yours, biting at his bottom lip.

he presses you up against the wall, mouth hot and wet on yours. he licks deep into your mouth, fingers lacing in your hair. you grip the front of his shirt, mewling into his mouth as he kisses you like he'll never get to again.

some of your lipstick is smeared on his lips when he pulls away, eyes black. you shiver under his stare.

you press a tantalizing kiss to his jaw, teeth nipping.

"want to film it?" a mischievous smile paints your lips, hands raking lower to hook into the hem of his shirt.

both you and ghost have quite a collection of videos and pictures of you two, hidden behind locked albums and passwords. it's a testament of trust — one that's been carefully built and protected, tucked away where only you two know.

"not this time," he replies, voice soft, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. he cups your jaw gently, wiping away smudged mascara. "this is just for you n' me."

you swallow thickly, choking down words threatening to spill from you. the temptation to say something lingers on your tongue, pressing behind your teeth, daring you to take a bite.

the kiss you press to his lips is far softer than anything, heat just below the surface.

ghost doesn't make a habit of kissing those he's filming with. a bite or two, something more vicious and rough — but with you? sometimes he'll kiss you like you're glass, afraid of marring you, breaking you. other times, it's all heat and liquid fire, consuming you and all you think about for days after.

he'd wake up every day kissing you if he could.

your clothes are a mess on the floor, not that you particularly care right now.

not with the way ghost is pressing his weight down on you so deliciously, hot and heavy, devouring you. he cages you between his thick forearms, barely giving you room to breathe, biting and nipping and licking deep into your mouth until your lips are shiny and swollen, pupils blown so wide, they're practically black.

"wish i could be the only one to see you like this," he pants against the hinge of your jaw, dragging teeth and tongue down your body.

the urge to bite and bruise and mark clouds his mind, wanting nothing more than to bury his teeth into the supple flesh of your thigh, until the imprint of his teeth lasts for days.

surprisingly soft hands part your thighs, baring your glistening desire to his burning gaze.

but that's not what he's looking at.

he's unable to look away from the temporary tattoo that's fading on your skin. it's been washed away from your time on set — spit and water and release coating your skin — but it's unmistakable.

a ghost.

"what's this?" he asks, thumb stroking over the faded lines of the tattoo, breathless.

you rise up on your elbows, desire thick through your veins. you don't have to look to know what he's asking about. but you look anyways, mesmerized by his thumb grazing over your skin.

"the girls and i had some on set," you begin, voice soft. "we were filming in a bath so we figured why not, y'know?"

he looks up from between your legs, predatory and possessive.

you lick your bottom lip, feeling bold.

"thought it might be cute to have you with me," you say, a whispered confession.

ghost looks like he's repenting for his sins, kneeling between you legs. you thread your fingers through his hair, arching your hips up, failing to bite back the whine rising in your throat, needing him impossibly closer.

“oh, love.” his voice is rough, wrecked, dragging his lips over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, teasing right along the edge of where the ghost fades. “let’s give you something a little more permanent, hm?”

he shouldn’t — he really shouldn’t — but the urge, the need to mark you is overwhelming. it overrides every other rational thought.

he sees the way others look at you. he'll watch your videos — out of curiosity and not jealousy, he tells himself — and see the way your co-stars have this star-struck, pussydrunk look about them. he never brings himself to finish watching the videos.

his teeth sink into your skin, a sharp shock of electricity and want flooding your senses. your nails dig into his scalp, hissing out a breath between your teeth. his teeth are deep, and you can't find yourself to care. arousal leaks from your cunt, begging to be touched and filled and claimed.

ghost eventually withdraws his teeth. you sink down into the mattress, tension seeping from your body. the sting of the mark he left becomes a focal point of your attention, body buzzing and thrumming with arousal as ghost licks thick stripes to soothe the deep impression, admiring his work .

"laswell's gonna kill you," you mumble, moving to cradle the back of his head, trying to pull him up.

he goes willingly.

his eyes sparkle, a cocky smirk painted on his lips as he drags them from your cheek to your lips, indulging in a slow kiss, tongue pushing in your mouth and licking along the edges of your teeth, grazing the roof of your mouth.

"good thing i don't care what laswell thinks," he says against your lips when he pulls away, continuing the path of his kisses down your jaw to your throat, pressing delicate kisses to your pulse.

his cock lays against your hip, thick and pulsing and dripping pre-cum. you lace your legs up around his waist, heels of your feet resting delicately at his sides.

one arm cages you in while he uses his other hand to push your hair back from your face, lips tracing a path from your forehead down your temple, right above your ear.

"and me?" you ask against his jaw, wrapping around your arms around broad shoulders, enticing him to lay more of his weight down on you.

"and you what, sweet thing?" his reply comes so quick, so fluid, like he was waiting for you to ask.

"do you care what i think?"

he presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek before pulling back to look at you in a way only he can. you've seen — felt — the stares of your coworkers when you're filming.

it never compares to how ghost — simon — looks at you. like you were made only for him (and maybe you were, you think, from time to time); like you were the moon and he was so desperately trying to be the stars to be close to you; like his every breath began and ended with you.

he doesn't answer you with words. he's never been a man of many words, anyway.

he cups your jaw so softly, thumb brushing along your cheek. his eyes are so bright, his touch is always so gentle.

you can't remember life before he came into it, a blur of memories and moments lost to time. all you know now is that you can't — won't — go through life without him by your side, so deeply entwined in your blood and bones and soul.

his mouth is warm and tender against yours, and it's so easy to lose yourself to the comfort and the haven he has become. he kisses you like his life depends on it, like he'll stop breathing if he lets you go.

his fingers skim along your sides, down your spine and to your hip, tilting you up against him until your ass is resting against his thighs, cock hot and heavy and leaking right above your clit.

he carefully guides himself down your cunt, slipping himself between your folds, gathering your slick, before notching the fat head at your entrance and you ache.

he's so big — bigger than any of your coworkers, anyone you've slept with outside work — but he pushes himself so easily into your soaking pussy, walls fluttering around each inch that sinks into you. you feel so fucking full of him, the stretch a pleasant burn that ignites in your belly, lighting up your nerves like a wildfire.

always a little delirious when he pushes into you, consumed by the tight, wet heat of your cunt, he pants against your cheek, cradling you against his chest.

you fold yourself into him, legs hitching higher, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. you lick at the sweat clinging to his skin, cologne sticking to your tongue.

without any words, he knows when you're ready. you always need a moment to adjust to his size, feeling the deep, steadying breaths you take. he pulls out slowly, carefully, until the tip rests at your entrance, before snapping his hips back against yours. his lips fall to the column of your throat, feeling each moan he pulls from you, each whimper and whine.

you love the way he fucks you for work. it doesn’t feel like it’s work, not with him, never with him. you try not to dream too much about being able to keep him all for yourself.

this feels different. this is different. deep, slow thrusts, lingering kisses, noses brushing, breathing in each other.

your name sounds like a prayer on his lips, as he takes your fingers to kiss them before lacing them together, pressing your joined hands above you on the pillow.

your vision is hazy, clouded over with pleasure, barely able to keep your eyes open with each deep, steady thrust, his cock kissing the tip of your cervix.

"look at me, sweetheart," he begs, accent slurred and thick, eyes so dark and inviting. you want to lose yourself entirely to him.

maybe you already have.

"you don't even know what you do to me," he whispers against your lips, keeping his confession sacred between you. your breath stutters in your throat, unable to choke down the thoughts drowning you, a tear slipping down the side of your cheek.

he chases it with his lips, placing softer kisses to your eyelids, and then above your brow, moving down your nose to the bow of your lips. your nails dig into his sides, trying to convey each muddled thought through your touch, marking and marring him and staking your claim.

a sharp inhale follows a deeper thrust, choking out his name as pleasure floods your veins like venom, overtaking you.

"there?" he breathes, nails digging into your hip to keep you steady. voice lost, all you do is nod and mewl, pressing your breasts up against his chest, always needing him closer.

"yeah, baby, i know," he says, almost laughing, arm lacing around your waist to press you flush against him, his other hand tangling in the sheets beside your head.

with anyone else, you'd roll your eyes and scoff at the arrogance. but with ghost? you're so pliant and loose in his grip, letting him do whatever he wants with you, so submissive and obedient, only for him.

"oh, you've needed this ever since we got to the party, hm?" his teeth graze your neck, down to your collar, right above the curve of your breast. "bet you would've let me fuck you in the bathroom, hm? let my cum leak out of you for everyone to see, let them know that you're mine?"

his thrusts are sharper, meaner. it's everything you want, eyes rolling in the back of your head as the pleasure burns hotter and hotter, the precipice of release right there. the sound of your cunt drawing him in deeper with each smack of his hips against yours fills the room, each moan accented with your pussy gushing around him, his cock coated in your desire.

"gonna be my good girl and cum for me?" his voice is so rough, a hand around your throat forcing you to look at him, mouth open as you pant out each breath, unable to think of anything but his name.

unable to think of anything but your first name with his last, a contract with your names, a band around your finger.

you can only whine out a yes, please, fuck please, want to cum for you. the fingers around your throat tighten, the edges of your vision seeping black.

a sharp bite to your shoulder is the catalyst for your orgasm. thighs shaking, a moan of his name weak in your throat, your cum coating the tantalizing line of hair from his bellybutton to his cock, dripping down your thighs.

"fuckin' hell," he growls against your skin, snapping his hips hard, grazing your clit twice, three times, before you feel his spend paint your insides. thick, hot spurts of his cum pulse from his cock, drawing out your own orgasm and making your brain static with pleasure.

a mixture of his cum and yours spill out from the edges of where he's buried inside you. his cock pulses a few more times as he comes down from his high, skin slick with sweat that's rapidly cooling.

he presses his entire weight down onto you, burying his face into your neck as your nose buries into his hair. sex and release and the last dregs of your perfume permeate the air.

you card your fingers gently through his hair, a comfortable silence lingering as you both fight to catch your breath. he needs a haircut, fingers tangling in the length. maybe he'll let you give him one tomorrow.

his body sinks deeper into yours, his breath even and steady to the point where you think he might've fallen asleep inside you. you're not about to wake him.

“have you ever thought about leaving?” you ask, hesitant, letting your question linger in the air.

“the industry?” comes his reply a moment  later.

you hum in acknowledgement.

he takes another moment more to think, before his answer comes, muffled against your throat. “sometimes, yeah."

“if i left, would you leave with me?”

his reply comes not even a second later, without any hesitation.

“my love, i go where you go."

you're glad he's tucked into your neck, arms wrapping around him protectively, possessively, throat clicking as you swallow. more tears slip down your cheeks, burning a path down your cheeks and settling in his hair. your eyes close as the emotions threaten to burst from your chest, a weak attempt to maintain your composure.

you can only hold back so much.

“do you believe in soulmates?” you ask, significantly softer. you only ask when you're confident your voice won't betray you. the crack gives you away.

ghost is silent, inhaling the scent of sex and sweat and you.

"'m not sure," he replies. he sounds worried, unsure. your heart beats painfully.

he's scared you're going to leave.

you'll never leave him.

“maybe they’re not in this world," you say, fingers tracing along his shoulders and down his spine. "maybe in another, another life, another place."

he shivers under your gentle touch.

"i think you’re mine," you say, heart beating and aching and tearing at the seams; so, so scared of your confession. "i can’t imagine going through this life without you.”

his voice, so much stronger, more confident and brazen and sure comes after a heartbeat.

“good thing you’ll never have to, darling.”

#ink by bambi #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley/reader #simon riley/you #ghost/reader #ghost/you #simon riley smut #modern warfare smut #simon riley imagine #modern warfare imagine

[sourholland]

Guilty as Sin

CHAPTER ONE ; azriel x fem!reader

summary: the lost princess of the dawn court finds herself brazenly escaping her own personal living hell. seeking refuge, as well as peace to plot in the city of velaris—she meets azriel shadowsinger and through the throws of disdain and discomfort they are forced to work side by side, intertwined through their shared scars.

a/n: ok so this first chapter is literally all exposition and world building within this world, i’m so sorry :( i promise that it will very much so pick up. this series is mainly about me exploring different aspects of my writing, i’ve never written a long series before. my longest is 50k and each chapter was about 2k words so this is something i feel really proud to put out, even if it is just the first chapter. if you’d like to be tagged please let me know!! this fic isn’t necessarily inspired by, but is a lot like taylor swift’s new song “guilty as sin?”. feedback always appreciated:)

warnings: strong language, mentions of trauma regarding men, heavy themes of ptsd and suicidal thoughts

spotify playlist (unfinished)

wc: 5.4k

Run.

The word cut through your mind, slicing through each and every thought you possessed as you gazed downwards at your bloodied hands. There was so much blood. Hot, thick blood ran down your forearms, coating your face and the inside of your mouth. Your stomach lurched, however by the grace of the Gods, you fled.

In over fifty years, you had not left this camp. Since you were just a girl, at twelve years old, you had resided within the hidden stone of the warrior camp. Now you had no choice but to utter a quick prayer to the Mother and run fast and furiously forward without looking back. Only the knife you had just used remained sheathed at your hip as you felt the ground beneath your boot-clad feet. There was a cloak pulled around you, it covered your face well and kept you concealed. 

What was that saying, you thought silently to yourself in between painful dry heaves. ‘Feet don’t fail me now.’

It was nightfall and you ran tirelessly through the forest you had been warned to never brave on your own. As a child, your mother had warned that you must not meet what lurks after dark. She told you that not even those beasts would mind slaying the Princess of the Dawn Court. To them, the title was useless and your blood was just the same. Blood. You reeked of those warriors' blood and sweat and desperation. It was clad to your skin like a layer of oil or grime, the taste of iron making you spit. 

A part of you wondered if you would die out in this forest, no idea where you were or what place Cousin Thesan had brought you so many decades ago. Stopping to lean against a tree, you panted and let the silent tears flow at once. Where were you? For all you knew, he had dropped you within the Continents and only used very good wards to keep the camp hidden. Why had you let them take you? What hadn’t you fought harder against Thesan’s word as Amarantha began exercising power among Prythian.

You had no answer, but only began to run once again. There was no choice, unless you planned to slit your own throat and simply give up. No. You are a warrior, you are a fighter and nothing would keep you from finding your cousin and demanding answers for his crimes. That’s what his actions were to you, criminal and inhumane and you would not be surprised if in the end–you adorned his blood on your hands as well. 

“Who dares enter this part of my forest?” A voice drawled from nowhere in particular, causing you to flinch and raise the dagger shakily in defense. “What is your name, girl?”

The voice came from the trees, you swore to yourself. It came in whisps and wind, the blackness of the forest making it impossible for you to determine where exactly the source was. If there was a source. It omitted what you swore was a chuckle, an unfamiliar sound to you for so long. Sweat collected at the nape of your neck and temples, hair stuck down to your forehead and your skin blazed as you continued to rotate in full circles with your dagger pointed at nothing.

“Y/N, Princess of Dawn and Bringer of Light. What is your business in dwelling here? This is no place for a young Fae girl. Especially one so sweet as yourself, and you wear the blood of ten men. It is as if you hope to die tonight,” the voice whispered, a hot, invisible breath on your neck. “Do you hope to die tonight?”

“No,” you finally spoke into the abyss. “I hope to locate my homelands, I am in search of the High Lord of the Dawn Court. Show yourself.”

The voice ignored your demand, “leave this forest, Princess. For the ones hunting you are far worse than those warriors you slaughtered miles back.”

The stiff cloth of your dress began to itch beneath your robes and you stood taller than before as the voice surrounded you. Perhaps you would die tonight, at least you would have gone out thrashing and fighting until your final breath. There was a mild ache behind your brow and the night sky showed no signs of daybreak.

“And why have you refrained from killing me?” You finally asked, shifting back and forth and contemplating whether or not to begin running again. 

“I possess no body. I am nothing but the wind and the trees and the breeze against your skin,” it hummed, cynically. “Cross the river up ahead and veer left, the path will lead you out of the forest and into the countryside where at least you will not be hunted for sport and strewn up and cut open for the creatures that dwell here to eat you alive.”

A cold chill ran up your spine and left your fingers to form fists.The spirit-like being was gone as fast as it had stumbled upon you. How did you know, you wondered idly for a moment. Its presence was absent, the air feeling more desolate and empty than it had moments before. It could very well be a trick, a way to lure you into its very trap and do exactly as it said.

You continued on to the river and went left, just as the being had told you to, as it had cooed into the shell of your ear. It was only about a mile later and you were coming into a dark clearing where animals lay sleeping along large acres of land. There were cows and sheeps first, then you saw pens of pigs and chicken coops further. Looking back, you saw how truly terrifying the forest was in comparison to the moonlit field.There were a set of yellow eyes staring out at you, but as soon as you blinked they were gone as if they were never there to begin with. While you knew you would never know, you threw a prayer up to the Mother regardless and hoped that the breeze-like thing that had most likely saved your life was at peace.

There was very little you could do besides walk along the outskirts of the land and hope to find some inclination of where to locate your court. Your court. The Dawn Court was filled with your people, people who had not seen you in five decades. The memories of your childhood were like knives in your gut, twisting and turning until finally you expelled them from your mind and breathed in deeply. The trek was long and you walked all through the night with no direction of where to go or what to do with yourself. There were not exactly any signs pointing you towards your home, or once home. Now you had no home, the camp was much more like a prison than a home to you. 

“Are you lost?” A little Fae girl spoke, taking in your appearance as she found you still walking along the countryside that next morning. She did not appear to be scared, however she was very young and held a basket of wildflowers in her hand.

“Yes,” you almost cried at the sight of her, another human and a female at that. It had been fifty three years since you had encountered someone of the same sex. “Where am I?”

“I live just beyond that hill. You are in the Dawn Court,” she said wearily, pointing over and beyond the hill that sat a few hundred yards away. “Should I fetch my father to help you?”

“No,” you said, knowing well what you had done the night prior and how you appeared. “I am looking to get to the Dawn Court Palace, do you know where I might be able to find it?”

The girl, no more than nine, looked over you once again and it was as if she was assessing your soul. She drew her lips into a fine line and set the basket down to begin spouting off some directions. You nodded, taking in all of them with careful consideration and noting that the spirit had led you onto the right track for some odd reason. Once the girl had finished, she merely bowed her head and turned back towards her house. 

.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.

The Palace was nothing like you had remembered it. It was so much brighter and broader than you recalled within the narrow escape of your child-mind. The Dawn Court Palace gleamed under the beaming sun that had been burning your skin for hours as you followed the little girl’s instructions. 

It was so vast and yet it seemed to call out to you, there was a long way to get to even one of the many stairs leading up to the Palace and so many guards standing tall at every entrance you could see. There was no way in, you thought. Not when you look as you do. Would any of these men even know who you are, you wondered. 

“Who goes there?” A loud voice bellowed, bringing you away from your thoughts.

Who says who goes there, you thought. Prick.

Well it looks like Cousin Thesan spared no expense in making sure no one went in unnoticed, you rolled your eyes internally and spun on your heels to meet the look of the brooding male who wielded his weapon against you. He did not recognize you, as you had expected. His eyebrow had a long scar going through it and he held a blade in his hand, waiting for an explanation.

“Stand down!” You matched his tone, standing tall while the male practically laughed in your face.

“You are lucky that I have not already gutted you for crossing into our territory–”

The sound of you swallowing hard could be heard from even where he stood. You planted your feet and let all of those lessons on looking the part of royalty run over you. The guard was cut off by your sharp and fierce voice, “I am Y/N, Princess of Dawn! Stand down or don’t. I can’t say that I really care either way, but you very well might when I cut out your tongue and feed it back down your throat.”

The man went rigid for a moment and he took in a sharp breath. He seemed to be assessing you, his eyes scanned your frame while his weapon remained as it was. A part of you wondered if he thought you were bluffing, however the dried blood seemed to tell him everything he needed to know. He maintained his authoritative stance, only drawing back to call over some of his men. He whispered something into one male’s ear and his face went blanche. He looked over you with such careful consideration and shock, his eyes wide open and doe-like from where you stood.

“You claim to be the Lost Princess?” He finally spoke, tilting his head to the side to expose a long, fleshy scar across his neck.

“Well the last that I checked–I am the only Princess of the Dawn Court, however I am most certainly not lost, sir. I do wish to speak to my cousin, though,” you requested, earnestly. “As soon as possible.”

The Lost Fucking Princess. Who even comes up with this bullshit?

One of the males who adorned guard-like clothing brought you into the Palace wearily. He did not lay a hand on you, but motioned you to walk in front of him as if you posed some sort of threat. Perhaps you did, killing Thesan had crossed your mind once or twice. The idea of watching him writhe excited you quite a bit. The thought nearly brought a smile to your lips, only managing to suppress it when you began climbing the steps.

.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.

The male brought you to a throne room, sunlight dancing along the walls and spilling onto the floors. Everything was so magnificent, the aura of the room was nothing short of golden. Blood boiled within you as you recalled all of the years you had wasted away to nothing, hidden in that rotting, despicable camp where all you ate was leftover meat scraps and watered-down soup for over fifty years. 

Thesan sat at the forefront of the room, he wore a crown and spoke to the male at his right in a hushed whisper. It was almost as if he did not know you were here, like he was uninformed of your arrival in his court. When the male who brought you in nearly tripped over his feet to murmur into Thesan’s ear, you had your answer. Your cousin’s eyes snapped towards you in an instant, he rose to his feet immediately and you swore you could feel the blood pumping in your ears. With a hot face and white knuckles, you barreled towards him with the intent to kill.

“You promised me! You promised me!” Your magic rippled across the room as you shouted, pure rage causing the ground to shake. “You left me there to rot like vermin! How could you?”

With tunnel vision, the two men who had been holding you back were nearly invisible as the ground continued to shake violently. Thesan was silent, his eyes were wide with genuine revelation and disbelief. Thrashing and clawing and screaming was all you could do. He had taken years from you, good years that had been ripped away and stolen from you as a child.

“You’re nothing but a fucking liar, Thesan. We share blood! I am your family and you threw me out to the wolves. I was twelve years old and you abandoned me. I trusted you with my life. My life!” you cried and flinched at the guards’ hands. “Get your fucking hands off of me!”

The two men who held you were sent flying backwards by an invisible force, your magic had been provoked and was now rippling off of you in waves. Thesan approached with his hands out, he still had not spoken a word. With a wave, he cleared the room and it was only the two of you left standing.

“Y/N,” he said in a soft hush. “Please just allow me to explain–”

“Explain? Explain how you brought me to your sick fucking camp when I was a girl and lied to everyone under the guise of my protection? Explain how after three months, your letters and visits stopped? Oh, perhaps you plan to explain how you left me to live with ten cursed warriors for over five decades and I have to find out six days ago that Amarantha was defeated by a human girl years ago as I still sat by idly waiting for my dear Cousin Thesan to retrieve me from my own personal living hell?” The words were like knives, piercing Thesan one after another as you resisted the urge to rip out his throat. “Explain, go ahead.”

Thesan could not believe his eyes, nor the venom spewing from your lips. He surveyed your too-thin figure and cold eyes, how they had changed so much since he had last seen you as a small girl. Everything you said was true, to some degree. He could not deny any of it, however he had not realized how the camp had treated you. He had not banished you, but relocated you for reasons of his own before Amarantha could rise to full power. When Thesan caught word of what had begun under the mountain, he made rash decisions and sacrifices that he was not proud of and would have to live with for the rest of his immortal life.

“Y/N, I did send you away for your protection. Do you believe that my brother would have let me live if I sent his only child away to live in squalor while we all reside in a palace? I sent you away because my people were being ripped from their homes and your mere existence puts a target on your back,” he said, steadily. “A Princess, the sole heir to the Dawn Court. It is unheard of. When my brother’s mate–your mother–birthed a girl, our people were ecstatic. As years passed and Amarantha began her show of power, everyone grew antsy for my heir. I tried, I remain trying to produce an heir to this court.”

You shook your head, hot tears running down your dirt-crusted cheeks. “Not good enough,” your voice cracked.

“Please, just hear my words,” he begged you. “When you were twelve years old, I assumed tensions were at their height and our people grew restless. Amarantha had begun slaughtering innocent Fae across Prythian and with no heir, whispers surfaced of the Princess of the Dawn Court. A female heir, one who reeked of power at that. Males who would never kneel before a female began to place bounties on your head, terrified that I would be slayed and there would be no one but you to resume my place.”

Thesan breathed deep, but continued. “I told my brother that the safest option would be to make you disappear. We would claim that you were hunted by Amarantha’s loyal subjects, nowhere to be found. I gathered some of my strongest men who had committed wrongdoings within my court and banished them to the camp where they would be tied until I liberated you.”

“You locked me away with criminals!” You seethed, already knowing but surprised at his willingness to utter the words freely. “How do you think your filthy, touch-starved, vile men acted once I had first bled?”

“This is where I have committed wrong,” he whispered. “It was only supposed to be a year, maybe two while I gained footing and figured out a way to take back what Amarantha had stolen from me. Three months after I sent you away, she captured the entirety of this court. Every court, save for Spring, went Under the Mountain. You were concealed, hidden so well by my wards, that she never even bothered to go looking for you. She believed that her own subjects had killed and discarded you. That was the extent at which things had gotten, she merely trusted the death of the Princess of the Dawn Court was another insignificant casualty to her reign. Everyone believed you to be dead. My letters stopped because I was trapped, my power basically nothing compared to what it once was.”

The truth washed over you slowly, blinking away tears but staying put and shaking your head at him. It was still not good enough, it would never be good enough. For fifty-three years you had known nothing but scraps and gangly men and the dirt underneath your bleeding fingernails. 

“It has been years since Amarantha was defeated,” you gritted out. “Defeated by a human girl–”

“Feyre Cursebreaker, High Lady of the Night Court and human no longer. Myself and the other High Lords used our power to bring her back from death as High Fae,” he told you. “I know you will never forgive me for not retrieving you immediately, however we entered a gruesome war against Hybern and have only just begun to recover and rehabilitate. It is no excuse, I know this. I hoped by now that I would have an heir, nothing has changed in regards to how your existence might be received by this court.”

He had left you there while everyone rejoiced in their freedoms, fought on the frontlines of battle, and then even still once we had won. Nothing but pure, unadulterated rage consumed you and yet all you could muster up was a pathetic noise straight from your throat. He had done all of this because he simply was not capable of bearing a child and assumed that you’re suffering was all the more worth it if he could fuck his way to the ideal future High Lord of Dawn. All men are the same, you thought with a sickness churning within you.

“You are a sick excuse for a man,” was all you spat. “Where are my parents?”

“Dead,” he lowered his head. “They died swiftly, soon after we arrived Under the Mountain.”

The gift that just keeps on giving, you thought whilst holding back a near sob. He gazed upon you with pity, finally taking you in wholly. The blood. There was so much blood and he could tell from the scent that it did not belong solely to you.

“What of the men at the camp?” 

“Dead,” you replied, just as he had. “I cannot say they went swiftly, as I slaughtered them all.”

The images of blood spewing and spilled flashed across the forefront of your mind, the way that some of them went quick and others went begging for a semblance of mercy. You looked down at your palms, flexing your fingers and feeling the energy throughout your entire body. It pulsed at the tips of your fingers, throbbed in the heels of your feet, and thrummed at the backs of your eyes. Over the years, there had been no one to teach you to manage it so more often than not it consumed you whole. 

You could kill him, you let the idea wash over you. Or at least you could try. In his home with all of his warriors, it would prove difficult. He was the High Lord, your High Lord–no, death was too swift and simple. You would need time to plan out your next steps, you pondered whilst maintaining a stone cold facade. You would have to play your cards right, he would deal with you based on how you acted as you stood before him. Truthfully, the idea of living with him puts you on the brink of physical sickness. You would rather die than be forced to stay under the same roof, lips curling slightly with disgust as he gave you another look filled with shame and guilt.

“I will not stay here,” was all you spat at him. “Not here, not in this court with you, I wish to be sent elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere? Do you understand what will come of your sudden return to our lands?” Thesan’s eyes were fixed on you, his voice near hoarse. “Y/N, I know that–”

“I will not stay here. I ask this one thing of you. I will not spread word of your pathetic sterileness, nor my title to the Dawn Court if you will simply offer me this one thing. Do you not owe it to me?” 

While the immense grief and pain in your voice was authentic, you made sure to create the illusion of your complete and utter wreckage. Mustering up tears, you had to get out of this place. There was no possibility of your survival if not, not even at the hands of these so-called people out for your blood–but at the hands of yourself. Every bit of you was exhausted, conveying complete and utter devastation into your eyes as he debated your request. 

Do you not owe it to me?

Thesan rubbed violently at the bridge of his nose and nodded to himself, he squeezed his eyes shut and for a moment you remembered the admiration you once felt for him. Admiration turned into blazing resentment and rage that had nearly created an earthquake. He wouldn’t force you to reside here under him, would he?

“I will do my best at making other… arrangements,” said Thesan after a few moments of tense silence. “I make no promises, as we may very well be approaching the brink of another war, however in the meantime you should wash up.” 

A breath of relief escaped you, “what of the guards who know who I am? I told them.”

“I should like to call in a favor from Rhysand,” he murmured, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.

“Leave me, please” you said to the servants gently, thanking them for the filled tub and fresh gown that was laid out for you within the spare bedroom and adjacent bathing room.

Everything was so prim and proper and doused in sunlight, it made you nostalgic for a life that once was. The water was steaming, layers of blood and grime covering you as you sunk down into the tub. The magic of the tub was forced to refresh itself almost as soon as you sat, growing murky immediately as you began to scrub your skin raw. 

Would it be easier to drown yourself, you breathed a shallow breath. No, someone was posted outside of the bedroom door listening in. A guard, most likely. He would hear, putting an end to your pathetic excuse of a suicide attempt and then Thesan would never let you leave. Or maybe he would, perhaps your untimely death was just what he hoped for in order to rid himself of the problems you presented him with.

Getting clean felt impossible, even with the tub enchanted to replace its filthy water. Your hair was oily and your skin remained covered in a film of grease. It took over an hour just for you to feel somewhat clean. At the camp, there had thankfully been a tub with running water and an enchantment of certain supplies so you never went without. Food, however, was hunted for you and everyone else. As the only female, every night you received what was left on the bone of whatever animal they had slaughtered in the nearby woods, eating last time and time again. 

One of the servants came in to help you dress in the gown custom to the Dawn Court, it fell to your ankles and glistened with what you could have sworn was pure sunlight. The tall woman braided your hair back and applied rogue to your cheeks and an oil to your lips. As you gazed into the mirror before you, you could hardly recognize yourself for the first time in five decades. There was something so regal about you, a light cascading off of you like an aura of gold. Thesan possessed the same coloring, the light pouring out from him in bouts of power. 

The woman knew who you were, you could tell that much from the way her eyes danced across your reflection. She said nothing, though. You thanked her, smiling softly as if she had not just seen you covered in days old blood and filth. The Lost Princess, you recalled what the male had referred to you as outside. She has no idea what to think of you, it seems. Maybe that was for the best, perhaps you were better as the shadow of a girl who once was but no longer existed. Instead, some sort of killer prowled beneath your now eternally crimson stained skin. 

“The High Lord has called for you,” the woman said softly, pulling you from your thoughts and causing your eyes to drift to meet her gaze in the reflection of the mirror. 

Once you had begun your trek back to the same room as earlier, the sun had begun to fall and the sky was painted endless shades of pink and orange. There was so much open space, all of the windows gaping to allow for as much sunlight as possible during the daytime. You had never felt so exhausted, eyes burning from the lack of sleep you had acquired on your journey and the use of power earlier on in the day. 

When you entered the room, Thesan was in conversation with a man that you could only assume was Rhysand. He was attractive in an almost inconceivable way, like one of the Gods. None of the males at the camp had resembled anything like him, no one in the Dawn Court resembled anything like him. Lucky High Lady, you thought mindlessly. Rhysand seemed to chuckle at nothing, turning to meet your gaze.

“Princess,” he greeted you with the friendly upturning of his lips. “Welcome back from the dead is in order, I suppose. I’m Rhys.”

“Funny,” you huffed a stiff laugh at him and extended a hand for him to grasp. Power ricocheted off of Rhysand in a way that caused your stomach to flip. “Y/N.”

His eyes simmered with something like pity mixed with amusement, he was not blind to the fact that you still had not looked Thesan in his eyes. Rhysand had been steadfast in arriving at the Dawn Court, his solemn look told you that he had been briefed on some of what was going on. How much, though? What had Thesan deemed important enough to share and what was determined as insignificant. Clearly as you had been cast away as insignificant, he could not be trusted to relay information.

“Rhysand has consulted with his High Lady and they have agreed to offer you a place to stay in the Night Court for as long as you should require it,” Thesan informed you. 

“At what cost?” 

“No cost,” Rhysand assured you at once. “Thesan has… told me of your circumstances–”

“What circumstances?” You demanded, cutting him off. “What did he tell you?”

There was a tense silence as you grew flustered and aggravated by your cousin. Thesan knew nothing of your circumstances, he knew absolutely nothing of what you had endured. Rhysand had strangely given you a look of understanding, it was as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. Like he had been inside of your mind, reliving the experiences with you.

“He told me of your power, he told me you have yet to learn how to wield it as well. He says that he senses you may have inherited more than just his healing gifts, but that the nature of your identity is sensitive. I admit that I do have to agree with him in concealing your return, Princess–for now, at least,” Rhyand only looked to you, his words carefully chosen so as not to upset you. “I have a house in Velaris, the city where I live, it houses three people as of late. My two brothers, Azriel and Cassian, and my mate’s sister Nesta. You would stay there, it is secluded enough that you will have as much privacy as you desire. I spoke with my healer Madja, she has agreed to allow you to work under her in an apprenticeship of sorts. She’s one of the best, not just in Velaris but anywhere in Prythian. I feel you both may be able to benefit from each other, her experience and your magic. My cousin Mor has offered to train with you once she arrives home from Vallahan on business, until then one of my brothers–”

You cut him off again, “Training? I do not wish to offend you, but why should I need your family to train me?”

“Y/N,” he began, assessing how honest he should be. “You have no muscle built up whatsoever and considering the fact that you have no hold on your own power–I suspect that your ‘training’ consists of the intent to kill and luck. In Velaris you would learn to fight and hopefully hone some of that power.”

It was this or nothing, you knew that. Either you would remain in the Dawn Court, or you would go with Rhysand and figure it out from there. Thesan’s face was now unreadable as you looked between both of the High Lords. 

“All the while I hide away so that no one knows my true identity?”

“No,” Rhysand responded. “You have matured, when you left this court you were only a girl. No one in Velaris will question you once I dim some of that power coming off of you. My inner circle knows your true identity, however to everyone else you will be ordinary High Fae. This is partially why you’ll work under Madja.”

Nodding slowly, you consider your options or lack thereof. Rhysand seemed genuine enough, you thought to yourself and could have swore he smiled slightly. Giving Thesan a once over, you met those violet eyes and nodded slowly.

“Alright, I’ll go to Velaris.” 

#azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel #acotar #acotar x reader

[thewriterg]

𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐲

pairing(s); dallas winston x gn!reader, mention of curtis gang

summary; Dallas Winston was in simple terms the love of your life but you refused to put up with anything less of what you deserved and he figured it out quick enough for him to fix it —flufftober day; 2–

word count; 600+

request; dallas winston x reader who does NOT put up with his bullshit💀🙏🏽 she will teach that mf a lesson if he tries to mouth off to her too🗣️ — @jokersscarrd

warning(s); mention of arguing, reader rather be caught dead then kissing dallys ass, fluff, kisses, and language

playlist; My love mine all mine by Mitski

A/n;—GIFs; @omegaponyboycurtis— killing two birds with one stone with a request

The crisp air of Tulsa flew against the current of your body the color changing leaves crunched under you boots holding yourself under the worn leather jacket that wasn’t yours taking in a breath of humidity before taking a seat on the bench the worn wools groaning at your weight you’d admit that your body temperature was cooler than your nerves were

it was a fact that Dallas Winston was the burner to your simmering pot

You huffed roughly into the cool air fog following after your breath you pulled a smoke from the box that came from the inside breast pocket of the jacket that smelled of smoke, pine, and the fading of stale beer

You took the lighter from the pocket of your jeans letting your thumb roll over the striker wheel just for it to not give a lick of a spark causing you to ‘curse real good at it’ as Ponyboy would say

“Need a light Y/l/n?” You whipped your head around to the location of the voice your blood simmering like the apple filling before being put in a pie crust

You were up from your seated position on the bench walking away from the juvenile listening to his leaf crunching steps behind you calling out your name in a obnoxious, disruptive, way that he knew you hated

Suddenly his hold was on your wrist in a firm grip and your palm stung against his pale cheek a faint making already appearing as the slapping noise carried through the winds with an echo that you couldn’t quite feel sorry for

“Now listen to me Dallas, I’d rather drop dead than kiss your feet and shake like a leaf at drop of your name. I’m not Buck, or Ponyboy, or Slyvia, or any punk to beat on you savy?” You hissed the words dripping like venom from your tongue and teeth and after a brief moment of Dally visibly fighting his pride and his attraction to you in the current moment he’d finally kissed his teeth a small smirk forming against his lips

“You got it doll” The hood put his hands up in mock surrender as you rolled your eyes his arms slithering around your waist to pull you into his front where you were inches apart no avail for personal space

“You f’give me babe?” You could picture the smirk on his sharp face as he leaned his head into your neck nibbling against your skin while in response you just hummed in return

“Yeah, you mouth off to me again and I’ll do more than give you a slap” You threatened no room for a joke in your voice as the brunette finally lifted from your jugular wrapping an arm around your shoulder protectively forcing you to a few steps before you started walking on your own

That day you walked through the park and took the long way home and the stinging against Dally’s cheek that you would’ve been dead for if it wasn’t you was something he’d remember you by

©2023 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

#🦇𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑;𝐆 #dally winston #dallas winston #dally winston x reader #dallas winston x reader #the outsiders #the outsiders smut #the outsiders imagine #the outsiders dally #spooktober #flufftober #angstober #kinktober #gn!reader #fem!reader #male!reader #fluff #romance #i love you #thewriterg #2023

[cherubispunk]

UP IN YOUR ARMS (CHAPTER ONE) -Noir!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: The Canary Club. Illicit. Underground. Dangerous too. But nowhere near as dangerous the affair you and Joel start there.

a note from Lucy: chapter one! I'm digging my own grave here. thats all im saying. i promise it is focused on joel and the reader later in the chapter. im just setting the scene for differnt relationships in the series.

playlist

wc: 6969 (haha lol) Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! 1940s!au, no outbreak, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his 40s), smut. p in v sex, oral - f receiving, oral through panties, choking, groping, sexism, mentions of racism, touch starved joel, me being back on my bullshit, drinking, ,smoking, throwing fists because men are stoopid and cant talk things out, cheating on the readers part, but joel knows this and still fucks her like the horny bastad he is. *sigh*, use of pet names such as doll, cursing, ww2 references, an unhealthy relationship between reader and joel, mentions of blood, let me know if ive missed any warning out that should be tagged. 6969 words of unedited bullshit because im piss drunk and cant for the life of me edit.

series m.list | m.list

The jazz band was one of the finest groups in the city. ‘Only the finest for The Canary Club’, as Johnny had put it. 

Johnny Boy Finnick. 

Now he was a man. Played sports in college, muscular, strong arms that pinned you to the wall or mattress or table. Hands that shuffled playing cards with ease and had you screaming far after the night was over. Deep blue eyes and blonde hair that never fell out of place from its slicked back style. Not even after he had crushed someone's jaw under the weight of his pummeling, bloodlusting fist.  

Johnny made a name for himself bootlegging liquor, too young to fight in the first world war. Took over as The Boss of Boston. It’s how he got his name. Johnny Boy. Fresh faced but the heart of a ragged old man. Lost it all after the second world war, gained it back not long after. A killer with a bone deep yearning for blood, money, violence, and you. 

He sat in his pressed suit, legs parted as he leaned over to display his full flush to the table, flashing a killer smile when he collected the money off his right hand man and three more of his boys. You smiled from the bar, beads of your dress twinkling in the low light of the speakeasy, ready to waltz over with another old fashioned and drape yourself in his lap.

“Thanks, Henry.” You smiled at your oldest friend, taking the drink he had placed down in front of you on the bar. Henry was your age, 25. A boy from Hartford, Connecticut, grew up in Kansas, then moved here looking for work in a big city. Honest, hardworking. Sweeter than cherry pie. And his little brother Sam was just the cutest pip you'd ever seen. 

“No problem, Doll.” He teased, which deserved a roll of the eyes from you. 

“How many times have I asked you not to call me that?”

“This would make it…” he glanced up for a second, as if calculating within his mind, “one too many times to count.”

“Funny.” You gave him a quick bitter smile. All in good fun, clearly, for he took no offence. He just shot you a smile, running a clean rag over the bartop, collecting two glasses and wiping the rings of condensation they left upon maplewood. 

“Your man looks thirsty. Might wanna take him his drink now. Before he gets the wrong idea about me talking to ya.” You sighed, craning your head slightly to look back at Johnny who scanned the place with a scowl. It made your skin crawl the thought of his temper snapping again. Despite it, you left Henry with a playful wink his way before swanning back over, placing Johnny’s drink in front of him and a vermillon kiss to his cheek. 

Johnny sneered at the affection, wiping your lipstick stain from his cheek. All the confidence you had fell to the floor and shattered miserably. Liquid courage sloshed on the cured wood floor.

“Fuck’s sake, Doll. What you do that for?” He demanded of you, the disgust in his cruel cerulean eyes sending a chilling, agonising jolt down your spine. 

“Sorry, Johnny.” You shied away, folded your hands together, eyes on the floor.

“Ain't you gotta powder your nose or something? Go on. Piss off.” 

He was right. You’d be on soon. Drenched in the spotlight. Under the scrutinising, side cramping glare of everyone's eye. You could do with the quiet. So you shuffled off to your dressing room without a word more, holding back tears with your breath. 

In the mirror, you mourned the girl you were. Mourned the life you had before it all turned upside down. Mourned the man you fell in love with. And the monster you had no choice but to stay with. 

—

Joel was fuming. If you touched his skin you'd reel back with a scorched yelp because his blood ran hot, fast and thick under his flesh. Trust Tommy to catch himself in the web of underground crime. Always a joiner. Always a deserter too when things got heated. And who was left to untangle him from its intricate, venom snared weave? Joel ‘Gubbins’ Miller. He might as well have ‘mother to my brother’ branded on his forehead. Because that's what he was now. 

The war ended four years ago and ever since Tommy had been searching for his purpose. Preached about it round the dinner table in their grimy, mildew inhabited apartment like a preacher would his sermon. And every time it set Joel’s teeth on edge. Because he knew what came after the downfall. The pickup. 

Now, however, Joel was determined to nip this lunacy in the bud. Tear it up from the soil by the new roots. 

The Canary Club was one of the few remaining speakeasies around in Boston. To a cop it was practically a ghost of an establishment. Might as well not be there. But to a man like Joel, whose brother never stopped babbling on about the next best thing he had cooking for himself, it was as easy as pie.  

A shroud of cloud hung just above Boston’s looming buildings, teaming with the early moon to create a murky gloom over the dim city’s sin. It seemed to fill the hollow, smoggy air as they cast dark, taut shadows over the slick, grimy roads. The sky threatened rain for the third day in a row. A place that reeked of underground crime, drug rings and watered down, once bootlegged alcohol, laced with what one can only assume to be illegal too. All of that was washed down with the constant sour smell of new rain upon dirty tarmac. A city plagued and tarnished by its own rejects.The promise of work bought them in. But the lifestyle spat them back out. Chewed up and ruined by their own humanising hope.

He and his brother came in search of work. They were getting nowhere down south in Texas. On the dole and barely able to afford a loaf of bread between the two of them. Even their own mother hardly recognised her boys after the war. Said they were empty shells of men. Husks of the boys she raised. Killers. 

The woman was a pacifist at heart. And it was a trait that Joel not only saw as weak, but typical of women. Or that's what his father had socialised him into thinking. He didn't know where his father’s ideals ended and his started. As the days went by he saw more of the violence his father harboured in himself. Grimaced at the lug in the looking glass. 

Joel was no pacifist. But he didn't storm through the doors either. No gun was in hand ready to send people screaming bloody murder. That was stupid. A mistake that he knew could wind him up on the concrete in the flooded gulley with a bullet in his head where blood and water could finally mix. Instead he stole in quietly in the ambience of playing cards and a Jazz band, ordered himself a drink, and sat at the far corner of the bar where it was dimly lit. Just enough for him to see his drink and the room, but his face still remained shadowed. 

While he sipped in ponder, he took the chance to people watch. Scan the patrons for any uncanny resemblance of dear Tommy. But nothing. He seemed distracted by the careful and steady hand that polished glass after glass, though each of them were spotless before touching the rag. 

A pointless task. Some may say sisyphean. But the boy doing so knew when eyes were on him. It was a very rare occurrence if not related to his race. People of any darker colour were ogled often in these parts despite it being more accepted within the north of America. There was still divide and segregation. However, this new patron wasn't looking for Henry’s skin colour, rather contemplating how on earth a boy such as him had ended up in such a place. What connection he had to the gang. Was he like Tommy? Roped in at the side of the side of the road and choking on his remaining pride. Or in a sticky financial situation? All these questions seemed to circle like the rag in the crystal glass Henry held. 

“What’s your name, kid?” Joel asked him with an ex-smoker's voice, brow dark in the shadow. The boy looked up, eyes youthful, but they'd seen things no man should have to. 

“Henry.” He said after a beat, quick to refill Joel’s glass when it was empty besides a drop circled thin and amber in the bottom. “Yours?” Joel lifted his head, taking a sip before placing his glass back on the bartop in furrowed brow contemplation. 

“Joel.” He leaned forward on his forearms, haunched over the bar, before looking around again. “Whatcha doin’ here, Henry?” 

Henry laughed slightly, looking down at his feet before back in Joel's eyes. And what he was met with was the hollow ache of a man scarred by war. Henry’s face fell flat. 

“Working.” 

“No…I mean in Boston.”

Henry cleared his throat at the sudden, and even brash way Joel approached his question. So much that it took him a second to frown and then reply. 

“Came from Kansas. Hard for a black kid to find honest work there. Especially with a family to look out for.” His words were solemn and reflected a truth Joel knew all too well growing up down south. Even if he never lived it in his own white skin.

“You look a little young to have a kid.” 

“I don’t. I got a brother.” Joel nodded as he listened, waiting for him to go on. Which he did after a beat of silence. “Bright kid. Bright future too. He’s deaf though. Got a lot stacked against him in this world. Mom can't bring in enough to fund education for ‘im. So I stepped up.”

“No Daddy?” Joel asked and Henry shook his head. “How’d you end up here then?”

“A girl.” The look Joel gave Henry was sceptical. But the young boy was soon to put a stop to it all. “Not a girlfriend. Just a girl. We grew up in the same building. She moved up north for a life and I followed a few months later. She met a guy. A wealthy guy. And she wrote to me often of how swell Boston had been for her.”

Joel wasn't the questioning type. Neither one to beat around the bush. But Henry intrigued him. Reminded him a lot of Sarah. The challenge she had faced with the colour of her skin that he, as a white man, would never understand. He felt a guilt about it every day that flared up in the dark of night before his eyes closed for restless and futile sleep. “And this guy?”

“Him.” Henry nodded subtly over to the table of men playing cards. Poker. A game Joel knew well in the frontline and in Egypt where he fought. Him and a few others often huddled together in their own game. Nothing but the last pair of intact socks to bet on, or a single cigarette to get them through the night. Joel quit smoking the moment he got back. Knew it was something that made him unpredictable and jittery in the best of situations. “Johnny Boy Finnick. A big name in these parts.” 

Joel followed Henry’s gaze, but his attention was snagged by the unmistakable head of dark curled hair facing away from him. He knew his brother anywhere and his blood began to boil as he threw back his second drink and slammed the empty glass on the bartop. 

“Hey, man-” Henry tried, shoulders straining as he stood to attention. Joel didn't pay him any mind. Merely wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before his bar stool sharied upon the varnished wood floor. He cared not for the noise. Only the feeling he would get once his closed fist met the bone on the bridge of Tommy’s nose. 

Trumpets flailed to a stop and drums failed mid blow. The room fell silent after a chorus of gasps. 

He loved his brother. Deeply. So much it caused a chasm of a rib cracking hole in his chest every time Tommy slipped up. But he saw red now it all caught up behind his lids that blinked once. That split second of not seeing and before he had a chance to second guess, he was gripping the back of tommy;s collar and wrenching him up to his feet to deliver a shiner to the face. 

Tommy staggered back, and everyone at his table stood up with the intention to harm. Yet no one but the brawling brothers fought. As he gained his footing again, he also gained his senses, recognising Joel anywhere. 

“Joel, what the fu-” He was hardly able to finish before another shooting pain split his bottom lip open and Tommy’s mouth was filled with the taste of his own bitter blood. Blood he and Joel shared and were now shedding in a futile fight of nothing but testosterone. That was enough to send the same foul blow to his kin. Joel winced, knowing the crescent of a bruise that would bloom on his cheekbone overnight. One of Tommy’s many rings sliced his skin. He felt warmth in crimson dribble from a fresh flesh wound. 

“Hey!” One loud and bellowing voice that had the power to command a whole unit of men boomed out before neither Joel or Tommy had the chance to throw another fist. It was for the better. Any more and Joel’s knuckles would have bruised purple. A colour of shame. 

It was Johnny. And his face was stoic as he stared each brother down with a burning gaze that had even Joel’s hairs stood on end at the nape of his neck. Like an army stood to attention before the first charge. Except he didn't move. Joel knew now where he stood in the food chain of this speakeasy. And it was right at the very bottom. “You!” He pointed at Tommy. Go clean yourself up.” And Tommy went as pale as a funeral sheet before nodding meekly. His face melted from shock to shame in the blink of Joel’s very eye before he grumbled something under his breath and passed Joel with a sharp clip to his shoulder. 

It's his turn now. 

At this point you'd come out to see what the commotion was for. The walls, while thick upstairs in the printer's press, were thin in the basement. And you;d heard silence and the spit of a man as his blood splattered with spit on the floor in the doorway. 

“The fuck do you think you’re doin throwin’ fists in my god damned club for?!” He roared. And Joel had to take the duration of both inhale and exhale to get his lips and tongue to work. But the scowl on his face said it all. “Huh?!” Jonny’s nostrils flared like a spanish thoroughbred bulls’. 

“That’s my brother you got workin’ for ya. I ain't havin’ him in some shady drug ring you got goin in. I aint!” 

Jonnly was no stupid man. Hr was smart. Quick minded and knew a man with balls. But Joel also knew very little. So this one time, he took the approach of calmness, and used his usual lying tongue for truth. Any other time it would she forked like Lucifer's serpent form. But now he was a man of coolness. “Right.” Johnny nodded at him, his tone was one that could soothe a ravenous bear. But with an edge as sharp as a knife. So sharp it could slice skin in one swift swoop. “Sit down.” He commanded calmly. “Let’s get you a drink.” 

With a wave of his hand a cha was pulled out. Two heavy handed brutes shoving Joel down into a chair, an old fashioned presented to him by Henry in front of him on the maplewood table. Then Johnny addressed the room gently. Set its patrons at ease. The music played its jazzy, jolly tune once more. People spoke again.And Johnny took his seat opposite Joel. 

“Look here…” The gangster waited for Joel to give him his name. Which he did. “Joel, I appreciate a strong swing as much as the next guy. But I don't appreciate it in my establishment.” Joel nodded in understanding. His temper ashamed him. How it ran hot under his skin. Fizzled white when provoked until he saw red in rage and swung. Never blindly though. He wasn't a loose cannon like the  broken soldier stereotype enforced. Just a fractured man. 

“You’re a soldier aint ya?” “Was.” Joel said gruffly. Curtly and he brewed a stare across from Johnny.

“Oh, nah.” Johnny shook his head, swirling his drink in the crystal glass, “Once a brother in arms, always a brother in arms. The war sticks with ya. You’re a soldier.” “Fine. Yeah, I'm a soldier.” 

“I know the war. I served like you. Left a boy and came back a shell of a man. Now look at me.” Joel took a moment to calculate his motive here. Johnny’s arms stretched wide with a smirk of pure pride as he gestured to the heart of his Boston crime empire. “I got money. I got birds.” He held up his glass to Joel, “I got liquor.” then leaned forward and spoke in a grave tone, "What you got?” 

Joel swallowed harshly, unable to answer because he had nothing in reality. 

“You got a job?” He shook his head, exhaling through his nose. “No.”

“Figured. Hard finding work when all the women are competent enough to do it themselves. Fight for your country. End up on the streets. You don't die a hero like you thought you would. No one knows your name.” He scoffed, holding fingers up in air quotes around competent. It left a bitter taste of disgust in Joel’s mouth as the father of a daughter. Curled the edges of his tongue distastefully. Made him kiss his teeth to hold back the insult. “Well, people know my name.” Johnny paused again, the air grew thick between them and smouldered on their shoulders. He was squinting at Joel opposite him, sizing him up. Joel was rugged. A strong build and most likely a strong character too. Something Johnny could always do with having in abundance. And so when the devil's own smirk curled at his lip, Joel felt a question brewing at the very tip of his tongue. One that would change his life for better or worse. Regardless of it he declined or accepted. “And they could know yours too.”

Joel didn't want to admit it for the sake of his crumbling pride, but the man had it all. Even a good five years his junior, the man made a living for himself. Picked himself up from the dirt and used bloodshed and bodies for the foundations. 

“I could use a guy like you–”

“No.” Joel put his offer down flat before it had the chance to meet the air. 

“Hear me out.” He said calmly, and held up a hand, “A roof over your head. A steady income. A little extra dough in ya pocket?” Johnny rubbed his thumb and index finger together in the older man's face. An action to which Joel’s nostrils flared. It was embarrassing to even mull over. “Come on,” Johnny smirked. “Give it a go.” 

The southerner’s lips pursed, as if he was thinking it over. Which he was. But to what lengths would he go? Sure, Joel was conditioned in a short few months to kill. He was good at it. Mowed down men on the frontline like clockwork. And his trigger finger twitched at the thought of holding that power once more. But that didn't mean he was a man without morals. The men’s blood he;d coat his hands in had families. They were someone's son. Probably someone's husband or father. Joel knew the hollow ache loss left. The imprint of a shadow it left. The chasm ripped in your chest. Loss felt like an agonising, deep, helpless pit. But here was Johnny, throwing him a rope 

“You know, you’re right. This ain't the time to talk this over.” Johnny held his hands up and leaned back in his seat before they clapped back in his lap. Now you were at Johnny’s side once more. But the figure of Joel in his chair had something jumping in your bones. Tongue curling to taste his very words.  “Dollface here will patch you up.” 

You raised a brow, giving the two of them a dirty look. “Excuse me? Do I look like a nurse?” You shut up when Johnny glared. Swallowed your pride, and sighed inwardly. You both hated and loved the power he held over you. As much as you despised it at times, Johnny had your being wrapped around his finger like a puppeteer holds his strings. And tightly. You felt his tug at the strain in your limbs. 

“And you come back here tomorrow. We’ll talk in my office over a drink and a cigar. A good fucking drink.” 

—

Joel swallowed harshly when he saw you. Eyes, wide and decorated by dark mascara lashes, white liner on lower waterlines, face of a doll like Johnny’s nickname for you suggested. The red lipstick you had re-applied moments prior was glossy, inviting him to stumble over velvet words he would hear you speak. Lean closer so the blood red could graze the shell of his ear while you would whisper a dirty joke at him. 

He followed as you led him down a corridor off to the other side of the bar. Your dress seemed fit for hypnotising him into your bidding. Surely you were a siren who climbed the strats of a pier of the east coast and arrived here. Something about the beauty you wielded was not the everyday sort. It was the type you see women bend over backwards to achieve even a glimmer of for their man who came back after work. He could see himself now. Loosening his tie, hanging up his coat and hat. Leaving his briefcase and sanity at the door to see you in a pinafore and pin curls. Pretty gingham dress. He’d sit at the table and either be presented by you or a meal for his satiation. He’d prefer to devour the sweetness between your legs. 

Your hand in front of his face had his attention now. Fingers snapping. Nails manicured and painted the same shade as your lipstick. 

“Hey, you listening?” You asked, face set into displeasure. Joel straightened as he cleared his throat.

“What?” His tone was gruff and he mirrored your expression to you. His southern accent catching you off guard, but is intriguing. 

“I said sit down.” 

Joel looked over at the chair set at a vanity mirror you gestured to with an extended arm. The second time he had been asked to be seated. The second time he obeyed. 

You took your time to wet a washcloth in the small basin in the corner with warm water. Took the bottle of whiskey you stashed last week from the bottom of a rickety chest of drawers. Joel watched you in the mirror, eyes narrowed a fraction to make sure you were of no threat to him. He knew he could take you easily. In more ways than one. The power imbalance had his length twitching in his trousers. 

Your hands weren't gentle as you sat on the vanity between his legs. You took his stubbled chin in your grasp and jerked his head up into the light, tilting it to take a closer look at the gash. 

“Stay still.” You said curtly, holding the rag to the opening of the bottle and wetting it. You then pressed it over the pad of your finger. The initial touch made his teeth bare at you and a hiss to escape his mouth. His large wrist enclosing around yours to make you stop. “I said,” And you yanked your wrist from his hold, “stay still.” 

He did as he was told again. Silence setting his between the odd hiss from him and twitch of muscle under weathered skin. The crows feet at the side of his eyes were old. He clearly had lost his smile to something in the past. But you didn't ask, only wondered as you wiped the dried blood clean from his wound. “Fuckin grown man and you cant take a little sting of a cut.” You mumbled under your breath to yourself in amusement. Followed by a small huff of dry laugh.

“Maybe if you weren't digging your fingers into a fresh bruise I wouldn’t be wincin’.” You shot him a look and let go.

“All done.” And you held up your hands for good measure. 

“What are you doing here anyway?” You asked, tossing the rag aside and crossing your arms. He reached for the whiskey and took a large gulp, pursing his lips at the slow burn in the back of his throat. 

“None of your business.” 

“What’s your name?”

“You know my name.” He stated lowly. He was right. But you found a sick satisfaction in having any man you liked bend to your will. Answer any question you so pleased to hear the answer to. 

His bones groaned as he stood up from the chair. Your coat draped over the back of it fell to the floor and you swiftly got up to swipe it from the floor and hand it on the hook on the back of the door before pressing your back to it and facing him. Blocking his exit.  “Move.”

“Tell me your name.” You crossed your arms, jutting your chin up at him. 

“Don’t make me move you, princess.”

“Tell me your name.” 

Joel bit his tongue, the vein in his neck starting to pulse visibly under his skin that once again went hot. 

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Because I’m nosy.” You smiled, sarcastic and saccharine. “And i want to know the name i’ll be moaning tonight as i touch myself under the covers.” 

“Fuckin-” His jaw ticked, nostrils flared in his disdain. You kept your smile as he pinched the bridge of his nose with a small guttural noise from the back of his throat. A headache was starting to coil behind the strain of his eyes. “Joel.” And he looked back up at you. It still wasn't enough “Miller.” Your smile was genuine this time, just as sweet. You uncrossed your arms, standing up straight from the door to hold out your hand and give him your name in return. He rolled his eyes, reaching for the handle and swerving you. He pulled the door but you used your body weight to slam it shut with your back again. A loud slam and a creak of protest from its hinges.

“Where are you from, Joel?” 

“Is this a game to you, girl?” Joel growled. 

“Yes.” The smile you had was sly. Foxy. A  single finger ran down his chest and dared to slip just under his shirt’s collar. “I like games.”

“You don't wanna do that.” He warned, dark eyes burning you up inside from your very core. It was the look of a man’s lust that had been left untouched, unloved for quite some time now. It strained at his morality. But who were you to give up the warning and keen hand of a man who so desperately needed a release to the coiling tension of his shoulders. You saw it. Felt it in the rhythmic yet chaotic hammer of his heart against his ribs. As if it were trying with all its might not to break his own bones clean in two and lurch from its enclosure of flesh and bone. 

“And why not?” This was a devils game of chess. Careful calculated words from loose tongues and taking each other's moves in as you exhaled a counter. And oy had him three moves from checkmate. His king weak in defence, your advances stronger  by each word that fell into his eras from your red painted, enticing lips. He could feel his limbs being string up for you to pull at like a puppeteer in an advanced level of her craft. But he was no kind man. His words were even less forgiving than his disposition. 

“Because I aint a kind man. Haven't been for a long while. And I know types of things a man like me would wanna do to a pretty girl like you.” 

“I doubt it would be anything new.” You cooed, watching your finger as it traced a line lower over his buttons,  stopping at the top of his belt buckle and just shy of teasing at the growing bulge in his trousers. 

The tension between you was thicker than molasses. And it seeped through the cracks of his better judgement to the part of him that hungered for touch. That was ravenous for a single one of your fingers. 

“I don't think Johnny would like that.” 

“And I didnt like the way he spoke to me earlier.” You pouted. The way a child would when dined a sweet treat before dinnertime. 

“That aint a good reason to start an affair with me. Because when i get my grubby hands on ya there ain't no going back, doll.” 

His words were enticing you more. To have a man obsessing over your body. Your curves. Your voice singing his name as he fucked you dirtier than anyone into anything. Joel was that man now. He knew it in the very marrow of your bones that you were trouble. His new little minx. So it was no surprise when his lips crushed yours under the full weight of his sexual frustration. 

It was needy. Heated. A clashing of tongues and teeth as he pressed you with his entire simmering being into the wood of the door. His bulge grinding desperately into your thich that parted his legs. 

His tongue swiped your lower lip before drawing it back between his teeth for him to suckle on until it tingled deliciously. He was jealous with his touches. Groping your hips as the sating of your dress that crumpled to the floor. It revealed sweet sweet skin. Skin Joel wasted no time in delving in for the first damning lick. A pleasure to every sense. Sight, taste, touch, smell, sound. 

Heavy breaths were exhaled into the dewy skin of your clavicle, tongue languidly sliding over the high points of your collarbones and enclosing in a sharp suck over the skin just above your right breast. It sent a chorus of heavenly sinful, light and airy monas from your mouth and floated into his ears. His lips were chapped and weathered in contrast to the silk smooth of your skin. It was delightful. 

He went lower, got to his knees as he drank up the sense of a woman's skin for the first time in years. This was the taste of true damnation. He was past the opening of hell's gates and somehow found heaven in the parting of your thighs down the newly trodden path of your navel. 

He pressed his open mouth to your clothed cunt, tasted the seeping slick you gave him on his tongue and gluttonously inhaled your musk right at the apex of your thighs. Your fingers tangled into the curls of his messy, wind wrecked hair. Keening your hips up to press into the curve of his aquiline nose, and riding the burning in the pit of your belly starting to grow. Your head fell back against the door. Your mouth unhinged and letting out moan after sigh after mewl of his name. His face buried between the meat of your thighs as his hands gripped your asscheeks and spread them so he could push his face deeper between your folds. Your underwear drenched and ruined from your wetness and his spit while he tongued your hole through the flimsy lace. 

You pulled him back, smirked at the wreck he was with his lips sticky and shiny in the light of your dressing room. To then pull him up to your lips so you could curl your tongue into his mouth and taste yourself on him. It’s where the taste belonged. Among notes of whiskey and chewing tobacco and drugstore gum. 

His large hands pawed at your hips once more, listing you so your legs could wrap obediently round his waist. That's how it worked now. He wanted, you gave. And willingly like the sounds that fell into his motu like sweet, freshly harvested honey. Ut had the feel of money. Powerful and green like spring leaves. But with the warning of rotting when summer meets its tragic and fatal end. It was like trying to cross a canyon with a broken limb. Near impossible. The last sip of a drink that would ensure drunken and slurred movements. It took even the nest of a man his entirety to deny you, But deep down, Joel was a weak man. Strong in body, maybe mind too. But weak in soul. And he gave in with the cashing of your back against the vanity mirror. 

He had his faults. He knew that. And you did too. It had you wondering how a man like Joel loves. Did he change for his chosen lover? Or was he just as rough a callus as he was with everyone else. Would he destroy and ache and leave you wondering when your body would be at his whim next and how he would bend it to his will. Or would he let you lean into his embrace as he kissed down the column of your throat to the holy entitled epiphany between your thighs. The glisten of your hot cunt aching to be touched by anything. His everything. 

So you reached for his belt. So you undid it along with his buttons to touch his heated skin, To feel the blood flow beneath as the strain of each of his muscles. You ran a hand across his chest and he let his head fall back as a woman touched him for the first time as a man of war. A veteran.

He felt like he had been cast in gold by the sun for the first time in his life. Shed his skin for a new layer reserved just for you. As if he was thanking whatever resided up there for you. He was no believer in god, but, Jesus Christ, he was starting to believe in some form of higher power. You were proof that there was a blessing for him to steal away from the world. It was in your sound. Your taste. Your touch. It beckoned him the way your finger did, curling into the collar of his shirt to clash your lips with his and let. He had no autonomy over the moan that fell into his mouth where it festered at the back of his throat and was swallowed with a desperate and heady inhale. 

You trod roads into his skin with your touch. Ones he knew he would follow later that night in an erotomaniac’s pleasure. And you finally pulled his length free from his trousers. Your underwear was soon to follow and your slick aided the way he managed to sink so smoothly into your sopping heat. A squeeze he would commit to memory and savour like the taste of fresh and ripe fruit. Because you were. Fresh and youthful in age. Ready to be devoured to the core as a gleaning red apple would be. The very same one that even took in the garden of eden. Temptation. Fruit flesh to signify sin. 

He took his first bite out of you with a satisfying crunch. And keep devouring until there was nothing left but the remnants of your birth, ready to be resurrected, grown again in the form of a new tree. 

He stilled once he bottomed out, letting himself bask in the moment. The first time he was nestled deeply in the walls of your cunt. He heard your quiet whimpers for him to move. Felt the way your pert nipples brushed his sweat slicked skin. It was a ghost of a memory the last time he felt this. The heat of someone in the throes of intimacy. And it was all over him. It was the very air he wes starved of. The past was all paled in comparison because of the way your hips bucked pathetically to feel his thrust inside you. To get him going. No one had needed him this rawly, this undignifying before. 

A single hand clamped over your mouth, stilling your movements. He felt the tickle of your exhale against the pinky finger. 

“Stay still…” He commended with a swallowed down groan when you clenched around him, ironically repeating your words from earlier.

You looked at him. The glazed over, far away look in his eyes. His voice low and laden in a gravelly tone that came from the very back of his throat. You pulled him forward to lick it out again with your tongue when his hand fell to your throat. It gave a warning squeeze. And you once again canted your hips in protest. 

This time he moved. And it was like poetry as it hit that toe curling spot inside you. Made your eyes close in blissful ignorance of what this would do to you. YOu slick drooling from your cunt onto his shaft until it shined at his very base and dripped down his heavy balls. 

His hand squeezed your throat tighter. Had you yelling for him in a suppressed squeal. His other hand clamped around your mouth for you to moan into. Your words of praise lost on his ears, listened to by his palm instead. Every devil was fuelling this act of infidelity. This act of carnal sin you both needed. Ut unwound your bones, but had the coil in your belly cramping with each swift buck of his hips. 

You met his swift thrusts in a desperate attempt to be of use to him. Finding it hard to breathe, yet alone Your cunt spasmed delectably. Searching for a new feeling. A feeling primal and dirty as the streets of Boston. Your eyes rolled back in your head as your legs trembled while he went on, giving you something you would remember from this day forward, A sentence of being binded to him.

You were in the arms of the devil himself. St his ,ercy. Nsd nothing felt more thrilling than the pleasure that rolled at a landslide's power and pace down your spine into your core. 

Another squeeze round your throat. Another unhinged moan into his hand. He snarled, baring his teeth at you before pressing his face into the crook of your neck and biting down. Your eyes closed and painted a picture of stars. You were close to seeing angels by now and the deep ache of pleasure grappled your flesh and had goosebumps flicking up to attention over your flesh.

His chest heaved with each curl of his hips. Your exhales heavier by the second while you moaned his name like a mantra to his hand. His teeth imprinted on your back like a randhishing. A mark of the sin that was witnessed by the two of you that day. Your voice was shrill. A repeated ‘Joel! Joel! Joel!’

“Fuck, yeah, sing f’me doll. Sing f’me. Let em know who’s doin’ this to you.” He panted in vain. “Tell me.” “Feels so good–”

“Again.” He demanded. 

“Feels so good! Too good!” 

And it was. He had you burning white hot at the end of an illicit teather. You gripped his back with talons of hellbirds. Clawing at his shirt clad back. The wings of hi shoulderbales. The snake length of his spine. 

“That’s it. Tell ‘em. Tell me! Tell me in making you feel fuckin’ good.” 

“You are. Harder Joel.” His pace was like poetry. Ripped you in tow and had you displayed to him. One knee was hooked over his hunched shoulder, spine curled as his forehead pressed to yours. `The new angle had you singing like a songbird. High and melodic in tune.  Your kitten heel slipping off and clattering to the floor without a second thought. The head of his cock nipped your cervix. The lewd wet sounds of your pussy smothering him in your slick and your shared moans filled the room. Everything of you was his now. You couldn't even think of giving this up to Johnny. Yes, he fucked you dirty. But Joel fucked you like it was his sole purppose of living. Like it was what gave him life. 

You fell. You fell as soon as you hit your climax with a mewling moan that ended Joel right there and then. Coming together with heavy breaths and shaking, trembling chests. His release inside of you, strings of his come smearing you in him. Marking you for later. Well and truly ruined for any other warm body that dared to slip into your sheets. 

But falling was not the problem. Only when you hit the ground is what causes all the grief. And the look you shared once the gold haze of afterglow faded was what confirmed this. 

What have you done? How would you live without this?

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x #the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel tlou #lu’s little bookshelf #joel the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel x reader #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel x reader smut #joel miller tlou #up in your arms #1940sgangster!joel #noir!joel

[the-bear-and-his-sunbird]

After ten years of not writing fanfiction, Baldurs Gate 3 has me in a chokehold. Inspired by one of the songs Halsins VA Dave Johnson put into his Halsin playlist, i made this. If you want the full experience listen to "I want to be your only pet" by Bombay Bicycle Club.

The whole playlist ist gold to be honest, so if you haven't do check that out.

The Tav is based on my Character Òrfhlaith (say it like Orla) who started as a Sorcerer/Bard and respecc. into Sorcerer/Paladin. For the sake of the story, the Tav is not named and only described with she/her pronouns and the title songbird.

English is not my first language, so if you find any spelling errors or grammatical mistakes, please do point it out.

I Want to be your only pet (I want to let go and forget)

Paring: Halsin x female!Tav (Halsin POV)

Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Yearning.

If you prefer Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55315462

Warnings: Mentions of past Trauma, sight violence, explicit description of blood, hinted panic attack, explicit sexual thoughts. Minord DNI!

Description:

“My Bear, my bear. My sweet, sweet Bear. I will protect you. I will see you safe. You have nothing to fear as long as you are with me. And if I cannot promise you anything, I promise you this: You are safe with me.”

Little snippets of Halsin learning to let down his guard around Tav and his every growing yearning through Act I- III.

After the group freed him from the Goblin Camp, which was honestly a miracle in itself, they went on to save the Grove. Halin still could not believe it. After all the moments worrying, hoping, praying he would find a way to ward off all harm, it was done. The Grove was preserved and on the way to begin anew, whilst the Tieflings were on their way to Baldurs Gate. Not that he would call it safe in any way. Even if he wished them a happier ending, he feared for their lives on the road to the city. Halsin prayed that Sylvanus would watch over the group of refugees. Especially whenever he thought about them having to pass through the shadow cursed lands on their own.

When they finished saying their goodbyes, Halsin asked permission to stay at camp. In his heart he knew that they would need his help to pass through the shadow curse. After all, he had seen it put into place, living with its weight for over a hundred years. If his knowledge could help them towards their goal, he would be glad for it.

Their way would be long and traveling with them would mean leaving the grove behind but for all that it was worth he was relieved to give up the title of Archdruid; it had clung to his shoulders long enough. If he was being honest, he never was really good at it. Sure enough, he understood enough of politics and leadership to keep everything running, but it teared at him. Every nag and every whisper a shred of himself fell away. People like Nettie made it bearable, but he knew that due to his position there was a distance between them that could not be bridged. So he quietly yearned for nature's sweet caress again, when he would run out in the early morning hours his paws on the soft, wet ground, looking for berries and honey. Hunting at night. Unburdened from the limitations, being Archdruid gave him. No, he was not sad at all, to let all that go. and Francesca would lead the Druids to a new beginning. Remind them of the true intentions they should strive for.

The first days in camp were truly magical, though so very different than the hundred years before: Being able to enjoy the sunbeams on his face, the crisp air of morning, knowing that no one would ask him to lead the way. No one to depend on his judgment and whisper about his decisions in the hidden corners, when they thought he would not hear them. The people in camp gave him space to go after his day, not wanting his leadership nor needing it. They shared their meals with him and though some eyed him suspiciously, no one bothered him. Mostly he was left to ponder over the shadow curse and the illithid infection.

Though she came to him every now and then. Halsin could tell that she was the leader of their, rather chaotic, crew. When she spoke, they listened. Some rather … reluctantly at the beginning. But nevertheless, they accepted her plans and did what they could to support each other on the road. And she was patient with them in return. At least more patient than most of the people he knew. Even when she had to end the quarrels between them seemingly every other night, she only used harsh words in situations deserving of them.

That did not mean that she was above frustrations: One time, after a particularly bad fight between Gale and Astarion (the rogue accused the brown haired man of having stolen a copy of one of his books to eat it, telling him to use his own damn library for dinner) where they nearly set the campground on fire, she had set them straight sternly, her brow furrowing, using a surprising colorful vocabulary.

Halsin admired her vigor to go on, no matter how bad her group returned at night. Often she would go to every person in camp chatting for a few moments, her face still swollen and bloody. Most of the time, she would swiftly discard her armor and put on some (relatively) clean clothes, yet sometimes she only undid the heaviest part of her armor, chucking it away carelessly, as she went on to greet the first person. She asked them about their day, offering them counsel if needed. Every time she also appeared at his side at the end of her round. Her eyes shining with a warmth that he could only describe with a warm summer's evening.

He came to like the routine. The few first nights she would ask about his comfort and share a few kind words with him. Later, when they neared the shadow cursed lands, she requested advice trying to find the best route. While he explained she listened intently, nodding while he was mapping the ways and when he finished, she thanked him for his words before she left. It was nice. Not having to answer for every decision that was made, but his words being heard and acknowledged. It made him feel warm.

After that she returned to her usual routine. Asking him about his well being with a soothing voice, smiling at him like the fresh morning sun. One particular evening, after she left, Halsin could not help but keep thinking about the way she leaned her head when she was listening. Or how her eyes focused when she was mulling over ideas.

He found her attractive, he did not need to deny it. But the way his attention seemed to stick to her, like a fly on a honeypot, made him uneasy. There was a time and place for such thoughts and he did not believe the current situation to be one of those. So he stuffed the thoughts of her laugh and her eyes far away and carried on.

Halsin heard her sing, one time at camp. Wyll was sharing a story about the fine dances back in Baldurs Gate and bards that could induce you with whatever feeling they pleased, with just a few strokes of their instruments. The Warlock recalled the way one particularly skilled bard sang a ballad full of yearning and heartache, that he never heard again. Halsin heard her surprised exclamation, telling the horned man excitedly that she knew that song by heart. Wyll had politely asked her to sing it for them, only if she did not mind. And she did not mind at all.

Her voice sounded a bit coarse at the beginning (there were not many occasions to sing anymore) but soon her voice unfolded like a flower petal in bloom. Halsin could have sworn to Sylvanus, her voice sounded like a songbird, both sweet and rich. Soon she was weaving a net with each syllable, entangling the listeners with her honey voice. Turning his head he could see entranced eyes, some humming along softly and tapping their feet. A gentle breeze passed through them as the song ended. Gentle quiet settled over camp. For a moment everyone seemed to be lost in their own thoughts before Karlach asked for another song, excitement barely contained. With a glint in her eyes, the songbird began to sing a folkish song. One that was easier to follow and more well known, stomping along to the beat. And soon enough a few of them joined in. All in all it went on to be a surprisingly jolly evening. From his spot on a thick branch, Halsin watched them sing and dance around, grabbing onto the unwilling campmates pulling them along, much to their pretended dismay.

She had suddenly stood before him then. Hand outstretched, eyes shining like the sun itself had made its home there. With his heart pounding in his chest, Halsin stared up to her.

“Will you be joining us?” She asked in a melodic tone. He wished for nothing more than to keep her voice around for the rest of the night.

It would have only taken him a word. One word and he could have joined their merry dancing, their laughter. But he did not dare to. Not with the memory of the Shadow Curse hanging on his shoulders, whispering every single failure he could count into his ear. Not with Thaniel lost, not with the unspoken promise of saving him or die trying. With a heart so heavy it could drag him right into the ground, Halsin shook his head. “Another time. But thank you for your invitation. It is greatly appreciated.” Her smile faltered. He could have sworn to see a flicker of concern in her eyes. With a pang of regret the Druid tried to say something soothing- He did not mean to steal the sun from her eyes.

As he was trying to find his words, she smiled again. “All is well, my friend. You take your rest and tomorrow we will see to the Shadow Curse.”

Her eyes laid intently on him, unfaltering. He could swear he saw a different kind of fire there. “We will see it broken and Thaniel freed once again. I swear." The way she said it filled Halsin with hope. She seemed so sure of it.

Before he could say anything in response, someone from the group (he could swear it was Shadowheart, rare laughter spilling from her lips) was pulling her away from him again. He watched her pick up her laughter full of sunshine again, holding the hand of the young cleric. Under the sea of stars she radiated light and warmth, turning in a circle, stumbling over her feet and catching herself, before holding onto someone elses hand. Halsin wondered how it would feel to catch her, to make her laugh and bring the light into her eyes. Holding her close to his chest as he traced the rivers of starlight on her skin. To bite her tender skin, taste her, devour her. Halsin inhaled sharply, willing the golden sparks on his skin away. He reminded himself that such were no thoughts to have. Now was not the time to relax and to come undone. Not before he had freed Thaniel and lifted the Shadow curse. This was his duty before everything else. She would help him. That was a small relief in the suffocating fear that had nested itself in his heart so very long ago.

With a sigh he looked at the wood he was chipping away at. He had to be alone for a moment. Grabbing his utensils, he stood up, swiftly waving goodnight towards the group as his feet carried him back to his bedroll. Staring up towards the stars, he wondered if he should carve a dancing bird.

After they saved Thaniel and killed Ketheric Thorm the land bloomed once more, roots emerging from the earth tasting the sun's kiss once again.There were no words in the world that could describe how he felt then. Everything he worked for, all that he wished for over 100 years, came to life. Just like that. The land that had clawed at them mere hours ago, now flourished in the light of the sun, reaching for it like they were drowning. Halsin felt like the weight on his shoulders had lifted a bit. Years of feeling like there was not enough air, now seemed to ease, as every inhale came a little easier to him. For a moment he let himself rest and gazed at the scenery around him, when a high pitched yelp ripped him out of his thoughts.

Startled, he turned towards the sound: Karlach had gathered everyone in reach of her in her arms, squeezing them tight to her chest. His Songbird laughed as she was swept up in the embrace of the tiefling woman, laughing freely. He cherished the starry eyed look she had, as she looked back on the land, her chest swelling with pride. There was seldom a moment when she looked so full of wonder, so carefree.While she smiled often before the others, when no one looked, her eyes turned grim, as a heaviness Halsin recognized all too well took hold of them. Shoulders sagging as if the burden of the world sat on her shoulders. It was a relief to see her unburdened, even if only for a moment.

When his gaze lingered on her face a second too long, their eyes met and time seemed to still, nothing existing besides them for a moment. Then she shot the elf a questioning look. Shame bloomed in his chest, as Halsin had realized he got caught staring like a fool and then kept looking at her still. Suddenly he wished to make himself as small as a mouse. But to his surprise she merely reached over to him and pulled him into the hug

“You are officially one of us now.” She said sneaking her free arm around his chest, squeezing him towards her. At least he thought it was her arm.

“Next time join us earlier.” So she must have thought his stare stemmed from lacking inclusion in the group. Halsin hoped, she would not find out the real reason he had been staring.

That evening the group celebrated once again. It was rather modest, as the weeks before had depleted their ressources greatly. Still, the relief after surviving moonrise tower seemed to give them new energy. Now the whole group seemed to buzz with excitement for the next chapter to come. As they drank and talked, Halsin could feel himself relax more than he had in years before- His Pipe pressed between lips, letting out a puff of fragrant smoke and watching it swirl into the bright night sky, whittling tools in hand again, chipping away at it slowly. The ground under him was soft and warm, bustling with life, ready to begin anew.

He chuckled as the songbird watched her in an armwrestling competition with Karlach, Wyll and Lae’zel on the side, discussing their forms, throwing in a bit of advice every now and then. Even if she was strong, Karlach bested the songbird easily, apologizing the whole time. Halsin could swear he saw a coin switch hands in the background. Whoever did not bet on Karlach was foolish, that woman would best everyone in camp, including himself. As Gale and Astarion started to bicker again, the songbird stood up and shooed them to do “something useful for once” with a grin. She loved them, he could see it clear as day. Seeing her made his chest uncomfortably tight.

Later that evening she came to him, out of breath, sweat glistening on her skin. She had been playing with the dog and the owlbear again. Eunning away with Scratches' ball before getting tackled, when she did not manage to run fast enough. She pointed her finger to the spot next to him.

“Is this seat taken?” She inquired, her skin flushed and eyes twinkling.

He smiled. “ No. If you want to rest here for a while, you are more than welcome.” The elf shifted to the side, allowing her to sit down next to him. She quickly made herself comfortable on the floor and crossed her legs. Her gaze shifted to his hands, holding his piece of wood.

“Can you teach me how to whittle? Every time I see you, I wonder how you do it and … I thought that this night is as good as any to ask you. If that’s not too much to ask” her voice seemed to waver at the end.

Was she nervous? Halsin wondered if he was intimating her somehow. Before he spoke he softened his tone on instinct.

“I don’t know if there is much to say about it. Most people tend to perceive it as boring, anyway. But nevertheless I’d be honored to show you, if you really want to.”

She shrugged. “Well most people can stuff it.” A huff escaped her lips when she saw the surprised look Halsin gave her.

“You do well to know what you like: They cannot take that away from you. No matter how much they sneer about it, this is yours. And besides: whittling is a hobby as good as any other.” He contemplated her words for a moment.

“Sometimes I think people look at me and think my feelings can’t be hurt” Halsin stilled for a moment “Thank you for your words. I appreciate them greatly.” She shot him a smile as the elf picked up his utensils again. While he was showing her what to use and how to begin, she listened attentively, asking for clarification a few times. When she leaned over, he could feel her warm breath on his skin. Hastily he cleared his throat and went on to explain.

“For me the vision of what I’ll carve comes when I’m already in the process. But for the first time, it would be a smart choice to already have an idea in mind.” He handed her a piece of wood, which she started turning in her hands over and over again, contemplating. Holding up his own work so he could show her.

“You could start with a spoon if you’d to begin very simple. Or if you would rather enjoy something artistic I could show you a fox or a bi-”

“A Bear.” Taken aback, Halsin looked over to her. She did not falter, as she continued. “It is you who is showing me how to do it, no? I met you as a bear the very first time. And …” She hesitated. “You do inspire me, you know? So, I would like to do a bear.”

By Silvanus, the bear would like to do you , he thought. Alone the notion that she was inspired by him of all people. Did she even know how extraordinary she was? But that was a thought he would keep to himself. So instead he said: “A Bear it is then.”

He showed her the outlines of the piece and what she would have to expect, while she was whittling. Soon they both worked in silence, elbows touching every now and then. Halsin sneaked a glance at her face: She made her focused face again, eyes solely on the wood in her hand, crouching over it, trying to find the best position for her blade. The tall elf chuckled and looked at his work again. His wooden bird came along just fine. The upper side of the outstretched wings was already apparent with its head thrown towards the sky, beak open as if right in the middle of a song. He wondered if he should carve the legs to be standing solidly on the ground or rather ready to set to the sky, when Galel came to them, asking for support on “urgent matters”.

“Thank you for your time.” came her voice from next to him. She gently brushed the shavings from her legs before standing up. “Will keep showing me how to whittle? I had a lot of fun,” her eyes held a cheeky twinkle “even if some people will call me boring now.”

With a short laugh he responded: “Well I hope you do well to know that you can be boring with me anytime.”

“Well. Until we meet here again, to be boring together.” She cackled and waved him goodbye, walking alongside the talking wizard. As Halsin watched her leave, he wondered why his chest was so tight again.

Sighing, he gathered the wood chips on one pile, cradling the rough wood between his big hands before discarding it.

It was not that he wanted to harbor her for himself. Far from it. She was a beacon of light in these dark times, one that everyone was sure to enjoy having around. And she seemed to like the company of her friends so much. But still his heart betrayed him. He would have loved to sit alone with her a moment longer, her light breathing next to him and their skin touching gently. Maybe she would lean over again, so he could smell her hair. In the short moments when the wind blew just right, her smell carried over to him: fire and berries. He wondered how she managed to smell like that. Maybe he would have asked her about it. Maye she she would have accidentally brushed his hand and he would have gathered his courage, reaching for it, holding it tight. A shudder ran through him. Maybe it was better that she left. He wondered how much longer desire in him would have stayed silent, when it wanted nothing more than to hear her breath coming quicker, tasting the sweetness of her skin, telling him that she needed him like a song- He shushed himself, swatting at his thoughts like they were flies. He picked up the wood she left for the next time. Weighing it in his hands, he looked at it. A Bear she wanted to whittle. He chuckled sadly. As if she had not been whittling away at his guard for such a long time.

Whilst on their way to Baldurs Gate, she came to his tent every evening and they calmly whittled away. Most of the time, both of them sat in silence. But sometimes they would share a few words, talking about their interests and stories, sharing comfort in their presence. One quit evening, when the others were gathering some supplies on the road, leaving the camp in a state of unusual calm, she opened up to him about her insecurities. Telling him about her experience as the group leader, comparing it to her wildly different life before.

In the spur of the moment Halsin asked her if she wanted to go back after this was all done. The whittling stopped, while her brow furrowed. For a second he was afraid that he overstepped. Was ist too personal? Did it bring up troubling memories for her?

But she laid her hand on his arm and found his gaze. “Actually I prefer it now. Even in these dire times.,” in her eyes a sudden bitterness pooled. ”I got all of you now, after all. That is more than I had before.” As her gaze shifted towards her workpiece again, Halsin noticed her hand lingering on his skin before pulling away to adjust her grip on the wood. The spot on his skin her hand had rested upon, felt empty now. He turned his head towards his own project again, not wanting to inquiry any further.

It was peaceful for a few days. So peaceful that he nearly forgot all the horrors that the world entails. Soon they reached Rivington. Their excitement for the city had already turned to anxiety as they reached the city gates, being denied entry as all the refugees were. For Halsin this Situation was unbearable. Seeing all these people in little makeshift tents, sleeping on the cold hard floor, having barely enough food to feed all the children. hated the city for its uncaring nature. Seeing all of the city's misdeeds he wondered if they felt any shame at all. All this time he held himself to such high standards, as he tried again and again to be deserving of the title as Archdruid. The leaders of this city could leave a legion to starve right before the city gates and be praised for it.

Since they took Yenna into their camp, he tried his best to keep his composure. The young girl was already scared enough and did not need to see the adults around her losing their nerves too. So he tried his very best to appear calm and collected, while a storm raged under his skin, growing stronger every day. One hungry face at a time.

The final breaking point approached in front of the circus gates. Halsin had seen the posters advertising the circus time and time again. A clown they all seemed to be excited for. Telling him about the jokes he would tell and all the attractions that could be seen. He did not truly understand the concept of that yet but he was willing to try, if the group decided to visit.

But in a cruel twist of fate, it seemed they did not need to go to the circus but rather it came to them. When it started to dawn, his group decided to pack up for the night, making their way down the roads of Rivington. A rather big crowd had formed cheering a sturdy human man on as he cracked his whip, forcing the animals to dance on small stands, as a middle aged woman played a fast song on a wooden flute. His blood ran hot through his veins as anger seemed to swallow him whole. He could feel the bear in him stir, ready to attack and tear the flesh of this disgusting person's bones. The noise around him made him nauseous. Halsin didn’t know why the fighting started. One moment he was thinking about ripping and screaming and the other he saw his songbird emerge from the crowd, weapon in hand, fighting a cloaked figure. Jumping forth as fur emerged from his skin, he did not care who started it at all. He was glad for the fight.

After the battle was won, Halisin stayed as a bear, wishing for the comfort this shape brought him. His strong body shifting on his paws, every smell more intense but also his mind quieted a little. Everything seemed more manageable like this. But now even as a bear his heart pounded and his breathing did not seem to slow. As Halsin stood still, he noticed that his body was shaking like leafs in the wind, the memories of long bygone times whispering in his mind, demanding to be seen, no matter how much he seemed to push them away. He growled and made his way back to camp with the others. He needed to be away from everything for a while. No one should see him losing control like that.

He did not care what looks he became as he nearly ran through camp, ignoring his name being shouted. There were only his feet, pounding on the ground, coming quicker with every moment until he was sprinting into the first spot of trees he could see, not stopping until his feet reached water. The Lake. Exhaling he pressed his snout into the water only coming up for air when he felt like his lungs were about to explode. He did not want to be alone like this. But also he could not go back, have them ask questions about why. Especially when he did not seem to know either.

A thump behind him alerted him prompting his muscles to tense on instinct. He sprung around, jaws open to expose his sharp teeth. She stopped in her tracks, carefully holding up her hands.

“Halsin? Do you need help? Are you hurt?” Her voice was gentle but Halsin detected an urgency behind it. Looking for a reaction, she slowly stepped close to him, kneeling down an arms length away, her right hand outstretched towards him and stilled. Uncertain his eyes flickered between her and the trees. The light had already vanished, casting her silhouette in blue and gray hues, as she silently waited for him to breach the distance. He realized that she was leaving him the choice: To either come to her or run away if he felt the need.

Desperation clawed at him. Why did he even hold back? What was it good for in the end? She was here now, offering comfort. He would be a fool to deny her. So he took the last step towards her and laid his face into her hand. A sigh escaped her lips, that he could only describe as relieved. Soon enough her fingers started carefully stroking him. Minutes passed, his breathing coming slightly slower than before, his mind gradually clearing from the fog of panic he was lost in.

“Oh my sweet friend.” she whispered, her steady voice not much about a whisper. Her right hand was still on the side of his face, gently caressing him. He did not want to bear the burden anymore, to shoulder it all alone. All the memories of hardship and loss, the memory of himself sitting behind cold and rotting Goblinbars and, before that, behind a closed bedroom door, his eyes tracing the pattern of the carvings on the door time and time again until they burned themselves behind his closed eyes.

It broke him when he saw the eyes of the animals. He knew the look all too well.Some of them had no hope of escaping anymore. Those who did looked like they paid greatly for their resistance: Time and time again under the cruelty of their so called masters. One day even those who held on the longest would give in. They would become the broken puppets the Circus desired. Their fur dulled, their scales spotty. Dancing to some people's badly played lute. Carving patterns into the iron rods. He could have sworn that they would carve and carve like he did-

Halin shuddered and pulled his fangs back. If he would not be in his bear form already, it surely would have been broken free by now. He could taste the blood in his mouth, could free it dripping down on the cold forest floor. Halsin wanted to pull back. He did not want her to see him like this, afraid and grappling for control. He felt his trembling in the trees around them.

When her other hand appeared on his head, he finally looked up. His eyes adjusted in the dark to really look at her. After the fight, she had thrown the upper half of her armor away and traded it for a dirty shirt which by now had been stained with no small amount of blood. With her arms outstretched towards him, he was able to see the smears and stains that appeared blue and purple on her skin and hair. Blood both from her own wounds and those inflicted on others were running over her skin like a river delta. Even though she smelled like blood and sweat and leather, the wind carried the faintest whiff of berries- It startled him. After all this her hair still smelled like herself. It was absurd.

Halsin wondered if he began imagining things. Nevertheless, his tension eased a bit as he allowed himself to step an inch closer, nostrils flared. She smelled lovely, more now than ever.

“Let me help you. My gentle bear, let me heal your wounds.” She whispered again, her hands stroking his fur, beckoning him closer.

My Bear, she had said. If his mind had been clearer, he would have asked her about it. But right now Halsin gave in and pressed his head even harder into her hands. He did not want to think anymore. He wanted to relax into her warm touch and forget.

She pulled him close, guiding his head onto her lap, as she sat on the stained earth below them. Halsin let himself fall to the floor, his strained limbs protesting. The Bear groaned as he adjusted himself to laying on the floor, without bothering his wounds too much. As soon as he stilled, one of her hands started to caress his neck, the other gently touching his snout. It had stopped dripping blood, but he tasted it still on his tongue. He winced again, wishing to wash the foul smell of these people away.

"Shhh." She hummed “ It’s alright. You’re alright. Let me take care of you.” Her hands suddenly stilled. “Can you show me where you are hurt?”

In my heart he wanted to say. But the bear was not able to speak and he was glad for it, his treacherous thoughts would not reach her ear. Instead he forced himself to turn himself on his side, so she could see his stomach. His already dark fur was clumped with strands of blood and dirt, in the night it seemed to be almost black. When he had pushed himself on his hindlegs to strike at his opponents, his soft underpart was exposed just long enough to strike him.

In the darkness she reached over, her hand already glowing. Bowing her head onto his, her forehead silently connecting with him, she whispered sweet nothings into his ear. Halsin felt her magic on his body as it encouraged flesh to mend and skin to heal. To him her energy felt like hope in new beginnings. Like the soaring of wings. It felt like being home again. Almost felt like the relief he felt after they saved Thaniel. She truly was his sun, with the way her entire being seemed to emit warm light, his beacon that guided him through the darkest of times. Everywhere she went, it felt summer had begun anew.

Only moments passed until his body was healed, but her hands stayed on his fur long after it. Several minutes went by in silence, with only their breathing filling the space between them. After a while she groaned and repositioned her leg, wincing. Guilt exploded in his chest as he looked up, slightly pulling away from her, reading her expression. She gave him a tired smile, bloodied lips stretching to reveal her dimples. Halsin realized how exhausted she really looked, not only from the battle but rather carrying the weariness of all the weeks in her eyes. And still she went to care for him, before all others.

Halsin wanted nothing more than to keep her to himself, to shield her from all her sorrows and to be held by her in return: To find comfort in each other. The desire to hold her tight seemed to burn through his chest, gnawing his way up until he felt like he could choke. Who was he to ask anything of her? He tried pulling away from her completely, but her hand on his back tightened

“Don’t go away. Please. I don’t want… “ She trailed off. Halsin saw a flicker of anxiety on her face. “Stay, please. Just for a moment.”

She let go, stretching her arms out wide in front of him. An Invitation. Halsin noticed that her eyes held the same request, like the day she asked him to dance and like so many nights before It would only take him so little to accept. He forced himself to push his worry down, as the Bear pushed his head into her hand. In an instant she pulled him close into her chest, pressing her face into his fur. The bear inhaled sharply as her arms tightened around him in a silent plea. It felt like she tried to wrap her entire body around him. Carefully he lifted one of his blood-soaked paws and wrapped himself around her, gently pulling her into his chest. Now she nearly laid on him, her body rising and falling quickly with his ragged breath. It still was very fast.

As if reading his thoughts she murmured: “Breathe with me.” Pushing himself back on his hind legs, he pulled her even further onto him, which earned him a soft laugh from her, and rested his head carefully on her back, observing her steady breathing. Trying to detect a pattern, he started to exhale and inhale in rhythm with her, his heart slowing down little by little. Relief washed over him, gentle but strong, like an ocean wave that came upon the shore. A part of him wondered if she knew how much this calmed him, breathing together as the gentle night breeze carried it away.

Hasin felt her hand begin to draw patterns on his chest, trying to untangle the knots in his fur whenever her fingers catched a particularly bad one and finally closed his eyes. Nothing could coax him away from this moment, having her in his arms, her warmth seeping into his fur, holding a light within him that kept his sorrows at bay. If the world would have ended in this moment, he would not care for it.

After what felt like hours of peaceful silence, he felt her stir again. She hesitated for a moment but then turned her mouth towards his ear and spoke.

“My Bear, my bear. My sweet, sweet Bear. I will protect you. I will see you safe. You have nothing to fear as long as you are with me. And if I cannot promise you anything, I promise you this: You are safe with me.”

Halsin felt like his heart wanted to explode in his chest. Warmth began spreading in his body, sending a pleasant feeling into his exhausted body. My bear. The first time he heard the word could have been a mistake on his part, born of wishful thinking and the blood flowing from his wounds. But she said it again. And again. My bear. Oh to be hers indeed.

Halsin wished her to hold him like this every night, have her close, let her stroke his hair and tell him that there is nothing to worry about, like a prayer that only he could hear. To have her say that he is safe with her again and again until he started believing it again. And he would swear to her that she is safe with him, promising it with every breath, kissing it into her skin. He would be pulling her in his arms softly as either elf or bear. Holding her and letting himself be held. Feeling her body against his, shielding her from harm. Halsin desperately wanted to worship her every inch, calling her all the wondrous things he could think of.

Showing her how much he needed her in any way possible, hearing her scream his name into the night, her moans just as beautiful as her songs. He longed to leave his mark upon her skin, to show everyone how desired she was, for nature had made her so very beautiful, inside and out. If she did not know by then that she was like the sweetest honey to him, he would make sure she knew every day and night.

He scolded himself for being selfish. But her words, the way she called him mine; he wondered if there was any possibility she could return his feelings after all. That she felt the same way he did, when she gazed at him. Why else would she call him my bear? But uncertainty rang loudly in his ears. What would he do, if he was wrong about it? She called the others my friend and some even sweetheart. What if he misunderstood her intentions and she left him, disgusted by his brazen words? No, disgusted by him.

Then he would never be able to look at himself again. Only imagining that she could sneer at him and turn away hurt him beyond comprehension.

Tonight he could not muster the strength. Too sweet was her embrace, too comforting her words. And he was so tired of pretending he possessed strength that had left him years ago.

Nestling even further into her skin, he savored every second. He just wanted to breathe in her scent and pretend that his feelings were returned. Pretend that he was wanted the same way like he wanted her. Pretend that there were better days to come for him, where he could be himself with her. Building a safehouse for everyone who needed it so that no one would ever fear for their lives again. He imagined never carrying so much weight again. But those were far away dreams. No, tonight Halsin could not shoulder the dark shroud of reality. Instead he vowed to ask her about it, to finally ask her if she felt the same. Tomorrow.

If he only knew, how much she yearned to do the same.

#bg3 #halsin #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate halsin #baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #halsin x tav #halsin silverbough #halsin fanfiction #tav #honestly i had issues with my Tav at the beginning but she grew on me so quickly #The song options for her camp ballad are either Dream a little Dream of me or Down by the River #Still unsure #Maybe ill write a fic about that too but with her name and more fleshed out backstory

[floralcavern]

All right I’m finally doing this.

Name’s Flora. I’m a gray-desinoromantic heteroflexible girl. This is my side blog. I write fanfics on there.

I’m 17 years old. I’m in a ton of fandoms, my main ones being The Song of Achilles, Percy Jackson, The Owl House, Wings of Fire, many different Webtoons, TBHK, and many others. I’m Catholic, so don’t talk shit about my religion to me, I’m so tired of it. From that one country where people eat way too unhealthy and likes freedom 👍 I am the embodiment of stressed and depressed, but well dressed. I really like writing and world building. If you wanna check out some of the stuff I’ve written, sort through the tags on my blog by putting in ‘Writers on Tumblr’ Here’s my Spotify account if you wanna check out my 200+ playlists:

I’m an Israel supporter and pro-Zionism. Sooo.. ya. I don’t give a shit what you think about me. But please know that this does not mean I do not care for the citizens of Palestine. The real threat is Hamas.

My opinion on the IDF (because it’s a lot more complex than you think)

HOLY SHIT PLEASE SEE THIS

Do you really know what it is you’re chanting?

Important

Important 2

Important 3 (extremely fucking important)

Important 4

Important 5

Important 6

Important 7

Important 8

Important 9

You guessed it. Important 10

Important 11

Important 12

Oh wow! Important 13!

Heartbreaking.

News on the hostages

Hamas doesn’t welcome Christians

Your antisemitism does hurt people

Fuck Hamas

ZIONISM. IS. SEXY.

They have security for a reason

Fuck UNRWA

Hamas’s war crimes

Al Jazeera is not credible

LET HER COOK

So much misinformation

Antizionism is antisemitism

Hostages

The side of everything that no one sees online

Your movement is turning into a death cult

Have it make sense

This is no where close to genocide

Israel has tried peace over and over again

But-But Israel hates Muslims!

I fucking swear, if I see one more person say the hostages were treated well, I will scream

I’m afraid ignorance is contagious

“The hostages said they were treated in well!” You are gullible as hell..

Wanna see some of the earliest ‘Anti-Zionists’?

Y’all can support the existence of Palestine without being racist toward Israelis

This is war, not genocide. Also, Hamas are liars

Get your savior complex out of here and learn to hold people accountable

Free the hostages, holy crap.. (t/w for blood)

Confuse them in their own bullshit!

Ignorance.. ignorance everywhere

You’re actually harming your own cause

The casualty numbers are FAKE

It’s the appropriation of Jewish history for me

Oh wow. Al Jazeera. Lying? Who would’ve thought?

Hamas aren’t freedom fighters

Actually extremely interesting

This literally is a war, no matter how much you deny it

Wait until they learn they’re reciting KKK and Nazi propaganda

Hamas do. Not. Care. For the Palestinians

Experts, people who have studied this shit for years, agree that this is not a genocide

Palestinian origins

The reason Palestine hates Israel and Jews (surprise, surprise, it’s because of Hamas)

Palestinians are taught to hate Jews

Wait until you learn that those “Palestinian hostages” are prisoners who were arrested for horrendous crimes (t/w for description of torture)

Charities:

Free the hostages

Uyghur Muslims in China

#About me #Zionist #pro israel #aromantic #heteroflexible #TSOA #the song of achilles #Catholic #The owl House #TOH #PJO #wings of fire #WoF #Writers on Tumblr #Webtoon #Tbhk #toilet bound Hanako kun

[jungwonie-bae]

*ੈ✩.a love story between us . ♪。·

Sunghoon x fem!reader , reader is working in high school, reader is referred as she

genre- fluff, love at first sight trope, strangers to lovers

word count- 4.1k 【4,113 words】

warnings- (this is not really a warning, but the season is winter) I’m so sorry, but more grammatical errors 😭 mentions of le sserafim’s yunjin , kissing, bold sunghoon, jealousy? , a little blood, cuddling? And not proofread‼️ And this is just a random ass fic sorry… and it doesn’t relate a lot to the first part, it’s just how they fall in love. Lots of grammar errors, I didn’t care to check over sorry。this was so rushed 😣

a/n- this is finally done!!! I’ve been so busy since school has started 😢 and sorry for the short chapters.. you can imagine the rest yourselves 😘

oh- and the title used to be “my coffee boy” but it’s not related to coffee in any way so I changed it.

.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

7:02 am.

Today was the weekend, and the cafe was quiet. You’ve already cleaned and wiped all the tables, and started the coffee machines. Today was going to be another busy day. The cafe always opens at 7:30 sharp, so you had enough time to grab the new stack of cups, and get the register ready.

your only coworker, beomgyu, always came a bit late, but got to work right away. The bell rings as he walks in, and the two of you greet one another.

As you put on your apron, you scroll on your phone to play a calming playlist on Spotify. Beomgyu puts his apron on, and opens the window for the early morning breeze to flow through.

As the bell chimes, your boss walks in. He greets the both of you, and walks into his office. You run to the door, and turn the sign, the red ink “closed” written, was now turned into “open.”

You then go back into your place as the cashier. A few minutes later, your regular customers come in.

they are quick to go, ordering and paying quickly as well.

A bit later, a group of 3 guys walk in, chatting with one another happily. While they are ordering drinks, you feel someone’s gaze as you get their orders down. You look up, and- you feel like you’ve just seen the prettiest person in your life. Time seems to slow down.

you stare at him for a few seconds, before snapping out of it to tell beomgyu their orders. Turning back to them, (the person who is ordering for the group,) you almost forgot their name.

“and what’s your name?” You ask politely.

“sunghoon, s-u-n-g-h-o-o-n,” he says, the last part of the sentence a bit mumbled. You nod, and type his name down to print onto the sticker on the cup.

you smile at him, “your order is going to be ready in a few minutes. Is this a to go, or are you staying in?”

he looks over at his friends, and they all say their staying. You nod, and they go sit down. You smile to yourself, and hurriedly make their drinks. You put a little extra love into sunghoon’s, and cap it.

beomgyu finishes the other half of the drinks. “Order for sunghoon!” You shout. He comes up to you, and grabs the drinks quickly. While he brings it over to his table, his friends tease him about something. He smiles at their antics.

Heeseung whispers, “someone has a little crush. Let’s come back here tomorrow~” Jake nods at him, and grins. Sunghoon doesn’t notice the two.

meanwhile, you were busy hoping he will come back.

.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

The next day, you see the familiar face once again. But today, he was alone. The name you learned from him yesterday, sunghoon, was pretty awkward trying to order his drink.

you can see he is shy, because he’s hiding his face into his scarf. Cute, you think. His order is a to-go, much to your disappointment. You make his drink as you and beomgyu switch places, now beomgyu being the cashier.

you call out sunghoons name, but this time, you write your number onto his cup. You draw a little smiley face next to your digits, and smile to yourself. I hope he texts me, you smile.

—

as sunghoon grabs his cup, he smiles at you, but stops in his tracks on his way out. She wrote her number. Wait.. she wrote her number!?! He stops himself from squealing since he was already grinning like an idiot. He was definitely going to text you later.

He hurried home to his dorm, and immediately told his friends. “See, I knew she was into you!” Jake playfully punched sunghoons arm, while wrapping his other around his shoulders.

sunghoon grins, but his smile drops soon after. “But.. how do I start the conversation..? I don’t have any experience in this..”

Jake slowly turns his head and looks at the sulking male beside him. “Are you for real..?” Sunghoon nods. “Dude! You’re an absolute loser for this! How have you not had any girlfriends with that face of yours?!?”

Sunghoon doesn’t know what to do. Will jake help him?

Sunghoon paces as jakes eyes follow him around. “I want to talk to her so bad, but I don’t know how to start a conversation. This might even be my first relationship!”

Jake rolls his eyes at sunghoon’s statement. He takes sunghoon’s cellphone and typed out your number. Sunghoon looks over at the bright screen.

Jake was texting you for him. “Are you sure about this..?” Sunghoon questions. Jake nods, eyes still glued to the little screen. “I’ve done this multiple times anyway. It works on every chick I’ve gotten.” Jake smirks.

Sunghoon decides to trust his best friend on this one, and hoping for the best. He thought you were really cute, and wanted to have something more with you. He wondered if you would ever feel the same.

—

Later, Jake shows sunghoon the texts. Jake started the conversation lightly, and you responded maybe 3-5 minutes later. He had asked when your shift was over, so you and sunghoon could meet up.

sunghoon was more than excited when you made a plan on his free day and a suitable time. He stressed on what to wear. It was a dinner date- not just a dinner- but a dinner in a fancy restaurant.

What if he underdressed? What if he made a wrong impression on you? What if he would scare you away? He’s only seen you about 8-10 times, yet he’s so worried.

you on the other hand, is just as worried as him. You had been to the restaurant and you had made the reservation, but you still didn’t know what to wear.

The hang out- date- was in 2 days. You video call your best friend, yunjin.

“I’m going on a date in 2 days with this really pretty boy and I don’t know what to wea-”

“okay, okay, slow down. I just picked up!” Yunjin exclaims. You sigh.

“In 2 days, im going on a date with a guy I really like. I have no idea what to wear.”

Yunjin nods. “I’ll be coming over in just a minute. Hold on.” She then hangs up on you. You were so nervous.

a few minutes later, knocking is heard from your front door. You run towards the sound and open the door. Yunjin lets herself in, and goes straight to your room. She rummages through your closet a little before huffing, and turning to you. You didn’t notice the big bag she had brung with her.

“We’ll have to try on a few different things.” Yunjin sighs. She unzips her bag, and pulls out a few pieces of clothing. She then lays them out on your bed for you to see, but one had already caught your eye.

It was a black long- sleeved square neck dress, and it was perfect for the occasion. “Can I try this one on?” You asked yunjin, while pointing your index finger to your desired article of clothing. She nods, “of course! Take your time. No rush girl.” She smiles supportingly. “Call me in if you need help.” She says.

you nod, and walk to the bathroom in your room. After you put the dress on, you look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. The dress hugs your body perfectly, at the right parts. You feel amazing, and pretty.

as you walk out of the bathroom, Yunjin cheers you on. “Oh my gosh. You look absolutely stunning. You’re definitely wearing this.” You blush at her compliments, and thank her.

“this is my first date… I don’t know how to make a good impression…” you sulk at your sudden realization, with your head down, almost like when a puppy is wronged.

“ don’t worry girl, I’ve got your back. Let’s practice being confident, okay?” She reassures you. You look up at her and nod. Yunjin was always trusted in these type of things. That’s why she had so many friends.

—

you and sunghoon have been texting non stop since you had given him your number. Sunghoon told you that his friend Jake had started the conversation because he was scared, and you laughed at that.

Every day, day through night, you both texted each other. You were both around the same ages, and had very common interests with each other. Almost like soulmates.

tomorrow was the date, and you both had planned everything out. You hoped it went exactly like planned, or else you would be doomed. It would’ve been really awkward if you had nothing to talk about.

you hung the dress up by your closet, and went to sleep- not before texting sunghoon goodnight, and a see you tomorrow! 🤍

you close your eyes and drifts off the dreamland. The exciting day awaits before you.

—date day—

You woke up to your loud alarm ringing. You quickly turn it off and slowly open you eyes, your surroundings filling you. You get out of bed and stretch, and then go get ready. You smile giddily, remembering the events that would happen today.

As you put moisturizer on, you receive a notification. You grab your phone quickly, opening the app the notification came from. It was a text from sunghoon.

sunghoon: I’m excited for today ;)

sunghoon: I can’t wait to see you

you: 😊😊😊

you: me tooo

you blush at his texts and squeal. You get butterflies in your stomach.

The date is toward nighttime, so you have a lot of time to get ready. You put on your outfit, and do your makeup.

He was the one who had insisted on meeting up, so you grab your things and head out the door.

.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

once you make it to the restaurant, he hasn’t arrived yet. So you wait at the front.

soon, a sleek black car pulls into the parking lot, and out comes the infamous sunghoon. You inaudibly gasp. He was dress in all black and his hair was done. Heat crawls up your face.

you pretend to be busy on your phone, so it wouldn’t seem as if you’ve been staring at him this whole time. His eyes search for you, and once they find you, he smiles. His eyes crinkle up and his dimple shows. He barely knows you, yet he’s smiling so big every time he sees you.

He walks over to you slowly. You look up from your phone, and smile at him. He stares at you intently. You rip your gaze away from him first.

you are so pretty today that he really couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“hi,” he starts awkwardly. You nod your head and reciprocate his words.

“should we head inside now?” You ask. He snaps out of his daze, and goes in after you.

at the table, you start the conversation. It’s a bit awkward at first, but the two of you warm up to one another quickly. He talks about his hobbies, you talk about yours. But what you found most interesting, was that he was a ice skater. People had called him “the ice prince.”

it matched him so well, based on his personality and face. You listen to every word he said, because his voice was so addicting. You could listen to it forever.

time went by so fast, that’s it was already nighttime. You both had finished eating, and sunghoon paid for the bill. You insisted on paying or maybe splitting the bill, but he denied all of your requests.

The two you you decide to go on a late night walk together to spend more quality time. He held your hand, and even gave you his jacket to wear. He didn’t know where this boldness came from, but he just went along with it. You were so flustered with his actions.

he talked about literally everything to keep the conversation going. You talked about how life is stressful, to exciting, to all sorts of emotions.

when you arrived at a park, he sat you down. He crouched down in front you and took off your heels, then took off his shoes. “It must hurt, right?” He said softly. He looked up at you so enchantingly, that you almost got lost in his eyes.

You nod. Your lips fail to hide the smile that was trying to burst through. Sunghoon smiles too. “thanks hoon.” He blushes at the nickname, and picks up your shoes. He hold your hand again. A comfortable silence fills the air.

“I’ll walk you home.” The male next to you says. You smile at him and nod your head. The night passes so fast, you were pretty much disappointed.

he stands in front of you at your porch and holds both your hands in his. “Today was fun for me.” He confesses.

“ me too.” You agree. “Can we do this again?” He asks. He swings your arms side by side. Another date?

“of course! Just tell me when.” You smile politely at him. Silence fills the air once again. You make eye contact with him. Very slowly, you see him leaning in.

once he’s at a nose to nose length, he mumbles a small, may I? You nod almost immediately, and his lips crash onto yours. your lips mold so perfectly with his that he feels like he’s dreaming. You wrap your arms around his neck, and his automatically go around your waist. The two of you make out for a few seconds before pulling away for a breath of air.

“you’re my first kiss.” He shyly says. You’re shocked. “what? No way that possible. Me too!” You exclaim.

he smiles at you and kisses you once more. You kiss back quickly. When you pull away again, he pulls you into his embrace. “Thank you for this night.” He mumbles into your neck.

he kisses you one more time before you go into your home; not before returning your shoes. Then he shouts, “ Call me! And I’ll see you tomorrow!”

you blow a kiss at him, and walk inside your home. Tomorrow? What’s happening tomorrow? You’ll just wait and see.

—

Sunghoon is a blushing mess. He walks himself back to his car giddily. He’s still smiling on the way home too. He can’t wait to tell his friends.

when he enters his apartment, he shouts for his friends to come over. “So, how did it goo..?” Jake asks. Sunghoon looks over at him slowly. “It was amazing.”

Jake and heeseung high five Sunghoon. “Nice man!” The night is soon filled with laughter and loud talking.

“and then we kissed.” Sunghoon squeals. Heeseung gasps and hit sunghoon. “Dude when did you get the confidence?!?” sunghoon rubs his arm where heeseung had hit him.

“maybe it just comes up when I’m with her.” Sunghoon shrugs. The trio squeals together. “I’m gonna sleep so good tonight.” Sunghoon sighs.

You on the other hand, is calling and telling Yunjin about everything that happened.

“he kissed me! Can you believe that?!?” You exclaim happily. Yunjin gasps. “Girl, you are so lucky.” You nod.

“he said he was gonna see me tomorrow though.”

“he probably has something planned then!” Yunjin exclaims. “That’s so exciting. I’ll help you pick out your outfit. I’ll see you tomorrow too then?”

“yes of course!” You nod. The both of you, you and sunghoon, both ramble about everything that had happened today to your friends.

.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

The next day, you wake up from an incoming call. You pick up tiredly.

“hello..?” You groggily say. “Oh I’m sorry did I wake you?” A familiar voice speaks.

you sit up immediately and look at the caller id. It was sunghoon. You clear your throat, “oh of course not! I was just doing something.” You lie. You cringe at yourself for waking up so late.

“oh, then can I pick you up later?” He asks out of the blue. You freeze. Is this what he meant by “see you tomorrow?” Oh gosh. You do want to see him again though. “Oh- oh yeah of course. I’ll go get ready then.” You try to sound as neutral as possible, but inside you were screaming.

sunghoon hums, then ends the call first. You hurriedly pick an outfit, brush your teeth, and fix your hair. You pick a pair of baggy jeans, and a cute brown puffer. You run to the kitchen the make toast.

A few minutes later, a knock is heard from your front door. You wipe the excess crumbs off of your mouth and walk slowly to the door. You look through the peep hole- and it’s sunghoon. You smile as you swing the door open.

he pulls you into his embrace and you immediately hug him back. “Hey pretty.” He smirks. You blush and look down. A hand comes to your chin and lifts your head back up.

“aren’t you gonna greet your handsome boyfriend?” He teases. Boyfriend!? Your flustered at the nickname he gave himself. “h-hi sunghoon.” You stutter. Your face is red and you are so so so embarrassed. “Come on, let’s go.” Sunghoon says. He knows that you were flustered by him, and he smiles to himself.

“Where are we going today?” You ask. Sunghoon smiles. “You’ll see when we get there. It’s a surprise.”

.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

“an ice rink?!?” You exclaim. You look at sunghoon excitedly. “Yeah, you seemed most interested in the topic of ice skating when we were talking yesterday.” You nod.

“you sure are an observant person.” You mumble. Sunghoon leads you the the skates after paying to go in. You choose your sizes, and sit down on the benches.

“here, let me help you.” Sunghoon crouches down in front of you, and ties your laces. Heat crawls up your face once again. Sunghoon looks up at you and steals a quick peck.

“hey! I wasn’t ready for that!” You whine, slapping his arm playfully. He smirks down at you.

you both walk into the rink and then you suddenly confess, “I’m not good at ice skating.” Sunghoon smiles at you, “good. Then I’ll teach you.”

he hold your hands and starts off slowly, while you wobble about trying to keep your balance. You apologize for gripping his arms so tight.

—

later on, you had gotten the hang of gliding around. But when you were trying to catch up to sunghoon, someone had bumped into you. You fall of your butt, and you hiss in pain. You look up at the person who had bumped into you.

“oh my gosh, are you okay? I’m so sorry, I wasnt controlling my speed.” A rather handsome man says. “Im fine, don’t worry about it.” You smile.

sunghoon grit his teeth and skates over to you. He helps you up and asks worriedly, “ are you hurt anywhere?!?” And you just respond with “I’m okay”s and “I’m fine”s. Sunghoon glares at the male that had bumped into you. He was still standing there, feeling guilty of his mistake. Once he saw sunghoons glare, he quickly skated away.

Sunghoon turns back to you and looks you up and down for any cuts or bruises. until he looks at your hand. There’s a cut there with a drop of blood streaming down. His eye widen, and he quickly pulls you out of the rink.

he grabs his bag and grabs his first aid kit. You find him so cute that he was worried over a small cut that you didn’t even notice at all. You giggle to yourself at his actions. He looks up from your now bandaged finger with furrowed eyebrows, confused.

“why are you laughing?” He mumbles. “Your just so cute.” You giggle once again. Sunghoon smiles at that, and kisses your injured finger. “Now it’s all better.” He smiles.

“thank you hoon.” He blushed at the nickname you gave him once again. You peck his cheek in thanks. Now the both of you are blushing messes.

.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

you invite sunghoon over to your house for dinner. He gives you little kisses every now and then while you cook, and back hugs you. You’re very grateful to finally have a boyfriend.

Once the food is ready, sunghoon helps set up the table. He pulls out your chair for you, and you sit down. He smiles at you from across the table.

after your dinner, he insists on washing the dishes. The two of you decide to watch a movie after, to spend more time together.

The night is filled with small talks and giggles from one another.

—

the next morning, you wake up with sunghoon next to you. His arms are tightly wrapped around your waist, his legs tangled with yours, and you are face to face with him. You inaudibly gasp, remembering the events prior.

he had taken a shower at your place, and slept over. He had borrowed a few of your oversized things that you didn’t wear at all. You think, nothing sexual had happened. You turn your head back to sunghoons, and take this chance to admire his sleeping features.

His eyes suddenly flutter open, and once he takes notes of his surroundings, he smiles. He stares back at you. “What are you looking at?” He groggily says. You giggle and hide your face into his neck.

“I gotta head to the grocery shop soon.” You mumble into his ear. He hums. “Then I’ll come with you.” you nod at his answer and then try to pry his arms off of your waist. He only hugs you tighter. “Just 5 more minutes?” He asks. You can’t say no to his cute doe eyes and his little pout.

5 minutes turns into 10, then turns into 25. You groan, and finally push his warm body off of you. Cool air hits your body, and you shiver. You run to the bathroom to get ready. While putting on an outfit, you process everything that has happened. You giggle to yourself.

you walk back into your room, and kiss sunghoons forehead. “I’ll make breakfast.” You whisper.

Sunghoon smiles to himself, and snuggles into your pillow, whiffing in your soft scent.

—

A bit later, sunghoon rises out of your bed. He walks to the kitchen to find you, but you weren’t there. Worried thoughts filled his head, until he heard your voice behind him. “Why are you just standing there? Go brush your teeth.” You slightly scold. He turns around at your voice, and runs up to you.

“I thought something happened to you.” He mumbles, while giving you a big bear hug. You smile to yourself. “Go get changed too, we’re gonna go shopping later.” You pat his back. He lifts his head from your shoulder, gives you a peck. and goes to the bathroom. you grimace at the morning breath, and head into your room to pick some clothes out for him.

Once you both finish eating, you grab your car keys. “Let’s go.” You say. Sunghoon takes hyoid keys from you. “I’m the one driving. You’re my passenger princess.” He winks.

You smile at him, and go out the door.

.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

At the grocery store, sunghoon follows you around like a lost puppy. The cart screeches to a stop. You turn to face him. “You should go buy something.” You say. He stops in his tracks in front of you. He grumbles, and then falls into your embrace.

you wrap your arms around him to catch him. Was he tired? You pat his back a few times. “Let’s go home soon hmm?” you whisper. You feel him nod in your shoulder. You smile and pull away from him.

“I’ll just need a few things more and we’ll go home.” You hurry to get your items, and check out. Sunghoon chooses a few of his favorite snacks, and you both drive back to your place.

once you come home, you sit onto the couch. Sunghoon folllows your actions, and lies onto your lap. You play with his hair, and he sighs in contentment at your touch.

He soon falls asleep on your lap. You smile, and grab your phone to take a picture. After a few snaps, you go to sleep right after him, laying on the couch arm. He slightly wakes up at your movements, and crawls on top of you to lie on your chest. Your hand goes back up to his hair unconciously.

the two of you float into dreamland. You could not want anything more than this.

#enhypen sunghoon #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen #enha #sunghoon #sunghoon scenarios #enhypen x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon fanfic #enhypen fanfic #enhypen jake #enhypen heeseung #heeseung #sunghoon fluff #park sunghoon #sunghoon x yn #sunghoon x reader

[areyoudreaminof]

Leave Out a Cup For Me: An Amren Playlist

The Inner Circle is complete and I have finally conquered the tiny ancient one.

This was without a doubt the hardest playlist to make. Amren is tough for me, she's sort of a strange enigma. She's our look into the greater Fae world and beyond, she's a shrewd second-in-command and brilliant. But, like the cosmic entity she is, she can be cruel and condescending. So, that leaves me with the question; what does Amren sound like? For me, she sounds like a lot of gothic synths and Americana. I expect this playlist to be as divisive as her character. Either way, I hope you enjoy it! Meet me behind the cut!

Listen Here!

Apply-Glasser

If the walls were too thin You would break in If the walls were too thin You would break right in

Out in the thunder Opens my eyes wide There is sound in my mind Keeps me up all night

Fresh Blood-Eels

Whatever trepidation you may feel In your heart, you know it's not real In a moment of clarity Summon an act of charity

You gotta pull me out of this mud Sweet baby, I need fresh blood

Same Old Energy-Kiki Rockwell

It's your own damn fault, boy, you handed us the broom Four hundred years ago, sayin' "You know what to do" Yes sir, we do, beep beep, comin' through Close your damn mouth, my man, I told you we flew

Rise up, oh, flame, come join the game They started a frenzy, but we’ll take the blame A bare chested dame who goes by no name Their arsenal's empty, all they got is shame

Hot Gum-SOFIA ISELLA

Your teeth are on fire, do you notice? No Your mouth is burning, do you notice? No Your hair burns, my hair burns Your skin burns, my skin burns Do you feel anything? No If I tell you what I’m thinking promise, you won’t tell yourself If you tell me what you’re thinking, I swear I won’t tell myself He’s on the ground, he’s on his knees, he’s a believer He’s on the ground, he didn’t listen to the preacher

Lose Your Soul-Dead Man's Bones

I get up in the morning To the beat of the drum I get up to this feeling Keeps me on the run I get up in the morning Put my dreams away I get up, I get up, I get up again

Devil's Resting Place-Laura Marling

When you ask to drink of me I think out on the case Look down to my aloe cup and take myself a taste Bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze If you must drink of me, take of me what you please I am loathe to say it's the devil's taste I've been with the devil in the devil's resting place

Bad Ritual-Timber Timbre

There's a hat on the bed,the clock has stopped ticking And nothing remotely romantic has been said Let's not pass on the steps, let's take the season very easy Let's take pills, saltwater, let's keep looking ahead It's a bad, bad ritual But it calms me down

In the Dark-Cathedrals

I can see you fall apart You turn away and fade out of sight But I hear you call in the night Let it go, let me hold you this time Lying in the hollows of your heart I see you lying awake in your ride I’ll be a spark in the sky When you want it, I’ll be on the other side

Deep Green-Marika Hackman

Just because I love your skin Doesn't mean I'll jump in The water's clean and warm and green I'm not allowed to swim I'm scared of getting in

Pyre-Son Lux

We're wresting now from our own hands a future Regret the flower of watered seed Are we the ghosts that swarm about us? We can begin

Thanatos-Soap & Skin

Ages of delirium Curse of my oblivion I swell without a scar To the end of time A shell without a star At the end of time

I am not a woman, I'm a god-Halsey

I am not a woman, I'm a god I am not a martyr, I'm a problem I am not a legend, I'm a fraud So keep your heart 'cause I already got one

TAGLIST: @aldbooks @bookofmirth @brieq @bagelfyre @c-e-d-dreamer @cursebrkr @darling-archeron @damedechance @gwyns @gimme-mor @harrysringss @highqueenmorrigan @talons-and-teeth @kataravimes-of-the-shire @krem-does-stuff @krem-has-a-mess @kingofsummer93 @lidiacervos @lucienarcheron @octobers-veryown @ofduskanddreams @panicatthenightcourt @queercontrarian @reverie-tales @asnowfern @spell-cleavers @separatist-apologist @wilde-knight @thesistersarcheron @thelovelymadone @the-lonelybarricade @ultadverb @vulpes-fennec @velidewrites @vanserrass @yazthebookish @mossytrashcan @bennylavasbuns @tuzna-pesma-snova @andrigyn @thecrispypotatochip @elvhendis @fieldofdaisiies @xtaketwox @popjunkie42-blog

#Spotify #amren #acotar playlist project #music

[thefairylights]

Starting off Kinktober 2023 @vampirefest with a playlist! Sexy songs for sexy prompts of many types. No set ship so we vibe with every pairing. Whatever feels right, is right. ❤️🖤❤️

No more sunlight. The moon awaits us. ⚰️

Now, on to your knees to click that link, my companion heart.

31 tracks for 31 days.

one: mack loren/if i didn’t know better

I take my time and study your face

Thinking of a different place for it to be while you keep

One hand on my waist, you grip my thigh

Heart starts to race

Like you could taste what I'm tryna hide

two: zolita/holy

I can fight but the devil wins

And I will fall like a saint who sins

Forgive me Father, I am weak

And it's not forgiveness that I seek

three: the marias/hush

Don't think you've made it under my skin

Could never get in

Forget about it

Don't talk so much

Your tongue is burning up

I've had enough

four: elley duhe/middle of the night

These burning flames, these crashing waves

Wash over me like a hurricane

I'll captivate, you're hypnotized

Feel powerful, but it's me again

Come, lay me down

'Cause I know this

'Cause I know this sound

five: saint mesa/lion

You burn everything you see

Gold are your fingers

Leaving traces everywhere you go

Diamonds in your skin

My blood flows

six: chloe adams/dirty thoughts

I'm frustrated

Do you really look good naked

And I know that it ain't that holy

But Lord I need this one night only

The more that I push 'em away

The more that you're stuck in my brain

The more I mentally undress

I confess

seven: king mala/she calls me daddy

She's a little bit psycho

But she follows

When I call in the middle of the night

She's got you wrapped around her finger

You try to linger

But she's already on her way to mine

eight: hey violet/unholy

Say your name while our tongues are tied

Getting shivers all down my spine

We're in bed, we're embedded in my mind

nine: hozier/eat your young

I'm starving, darling

Let me put my lips to something

Let me wrap my teeth around the world

Start carving, darling

I wanna smell the dinner cooking

I wanna feel the edges start to burn

ten: chandler leighton/when you say my name

Does it scare you

That I already know what you're into?

You can say less, I bet I can guess

That'll you say whatever to get me undressed

Double dare you, tell me two lies

Don't need no truths

'Cause I can see right through you

You're no good at pretend

I'm using your tricks that you use with your friends

eleven: dezi/sinner

Lead us not into temptation

Your touch is feeling like salvation

If you're down for misbehaving

If you're liking this sensation

Pin me on your wall like an icon

And I pray that you leave the lights on

twelve: banks/fuck with myself

You're in the corner waiting for my love

I put two walls behind you just to lean on

Kinda need 'em 'cause I stood you up

'Cause I fuck with myself more than anybody else

thirteen: dove cameron/breakfast

I'm sick, yeah, I'm sick

And honestly, I'm getting high off it

Do you wanna see a magic trick?

'Cause you don't know what you don't know

But I know

fourteen: lana del rey/freak

Flames so hot that they turn blue

Palms reflecting in your eyes, like an endless summer

That's the way I feel for you

If time stood still I'd take this moment

Make it last forever

fifteen: ari abdul/taste

I'm begging you, untie this noose

Want your hands 'round my neck

I'm begging you, come be my muse

You're all that I have left

sixteen: ag/terrible thing

Oh honey, you're so cold

I lose my self-control

seventeen: jesse joe stark/fire of love

Your kiss rips through the shadows

Lipstick poisons this black rose

Haunted and torn from the heavens

You pull the petals from my mouth

They fall and tenderly black out

Baby, it's been so lonely

eighteen: zaryah/deep dive

Deep dive into my lips

Heat of your breath takes me into your abyss

Hold tight, I'll fulfil every need

Head up, you got me down on my knees

nineteen: lana del rey/gods & monsters

In the land of Gods and Monsters

I was an angel looking to get fucked hard

twenty: darren hayes/insatiable

Breathe in breathe out, there is no sound

We move together up and down

We levitate our bodies soar

Our feet don't even touch the floor

twenty-one: melanie martinez/high school sweethearts

If you can't handle a heart like mine

Don't waste your time with me

If you're not down to bleed, no, oh

If you can't handle the choking, the biting

The loving, the smothering

'Til you can't handle it no more, no more

Go home

twenty-two: ramsey/daddy

Baby, you're divine, I leave my body

Suckin' on your tongue, gold teeth, come find love

twenty-three: massive attack/paradise circus

Love is like a sin, my love

For the ones that feel it the most

Look at her with her eyes like a flame

She will love you like a fly will never love you again

twenty-four: aeseaes/desire

I'm an old

Desire

Sleeping in your skin

I'll take you over

And let you hide

And let you hide

twenty-five: natalia kills/problem

Sweat, dripping down your chest

Thinking 'bout your tattooed knuckles

On my thigh boy boy boy

Cold shower... you got no power to control

How I make you my toy toy toy

My hips rocking

As we keep lip locking

Got the neighbors screaming

Even louder louder

twenty-six: the pretty reckless/going to hell

Gettin' heavy with the devil, you can hear the wedding bells

twenty-seven: meg myers/desire

Baby, I wanna fuck you

I wanna feel you in my bones

Boy, I'm gonna love you

I'm gonna tear into your soul

twenty-eight: soap&skin/me and the devil

And I said hello Satan, ah

I believe it is time to go

Me and the devil walkin' side by side

twenty-nine: chymes/gity

You can trust in me, no, you don't have to hide

Have anything you want, just tell me what you like

Bring out the devil in you, it can't hide

I feel the fire trapped inside

thirty: banks/gimme

At the rock bottom baby crawl, crawl

I let you lick it from the ground, ground

'Cause I've been drippin' for your love, love

You can call me that bitch

thirty-one: nine inch nails/closer

I wanna fuck you like an animal

I wanna feel you from the inside

I wanna fuck you like an animal

My whole existence is flawed

You get me closer to God

You just have to nod your beautiful head and say yes 🩸🩸🩸

#vfkinktober23 #vfkinktober2023 #vfkinktober #interview with the vampire #the vampire chronicles #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #the vampire Armand #daniel molloy #Loustat #loumand #Devil’s minion #lesmand #iwtv #amc iwtv

[wanderingblindly]

WanderingBlindly Fanfic Masterlist:

Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen

Excess (3.4k words, oneshot)

“You bite me,” He’s smiling now, like Max’s silence is as good as an oath. “And I’ll bite back. Deal?” Max’s eyes flick to the battleground on Charles’s body. “And this usually works for you?” Without hesitation, Charles brings his blade to his own hand. He slices across his index finger, letting the blood slowly pool, before holding it under Max’s nose like a taunt. “I’m too good to pass up.”

Choking on Greatness (2.9k words, oneshot)

“I don’t think you’re born a winner, no.” Max whispers against his lips, breath like a hint of warmth. “You make yourself into one, or you quit.” Can I?

Beggin' (1.7k words, oneshot)

“You are… gambling?” Charles slurred, tilting his head at Max’s proposal. “Loser gets on his knees.” Max said, looking down at Charles in a way that he hoped screamed ‘and I know it’ll be you’'. Or: Max and Charles make a drunken bet after Abu Dhabi 2021. One year, one realization, and one title later, Max isn’t where he thought he’d be.

I Know Your Name (But Not Who You Are) (7.6k words, oneshot)

If it’s been a decade since Max touched him, he fears it’s been longer since he’s seen him smile — their last weeks stained with downturned lips. Glassy eyes. “Cheers, then. To freedom.” “To finding you again.”

Cheating at Bingo and Other Christmas Traditions (12.4k words, oneshot)

"You know, there’s a very nice, very handsome young man in my neighborhood –” She starts back up, flagging down their waiter for another glass of wine. “Absolutely not,” He cuts her off with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Next topic.” “So you’re too good for him, is that it?” She sounds defensive, but her tone still has a mocking edge to it – emphasized by the quirk of her brows. Hardly holding back a groan, Charles tries to think of a way out of this. She’s like a cat, batting at him until he gives up, rolls over, and plays dead. “That’s not – I’m just busy, and it’s –” Or: Hallmark style fluff featuring an irritated Charles, a well-meaning Max, and the grandma that just wants them to kiss

Second Time's the Charm (7.3k words, oneshot)

“Remember when you said you’d set me up with someone? A few months ago, at George’s wedding?” Charles’s voice is still pinched, as if his throat is trying to suffocate him and put him out of his misery. “Maybe you could do that? If the offer is still standing.” Simultaneously: “How did you know you liked guys?” Max’s tone is flat, as it usually is when he tries to come off as entirely disinterested, but Lando knows his tricks. He shoots upright, looking down at Max with wide eyes before exclaiming, arguably, one of the worst possible responses: “Oh my god, Max, are you fucking gay?” Or: Charles and Max don't know how to date; Alex and Lando try their best to make it happen.

Eighteenth Summer (Do You Wish We'd Fall In Love?) (4.9k words, oneshot)

Max wanted to burn it into his memory, engrave bits and pieces of it into each of his senses. The way the blue sky reflected off of Charles’s massive sunglasses, the smell of the hot asphalt mixing with Charles’s cologne, the nearly hysterical sound of their laughter as their playlist finally shuffled to Mr. Brightside; everything felt so precious. So fleeting. Moments memorialized on the 101 northbound, flying out of their open windows and away from his greedy fingers.

All the Stars We Cannot See (9.8k words, oneshot)

Sitting on his roof, bathed in wintery silence, Max prayed to be rescued. To whom, he wasn’t sure. Maybe the force that branded his wrist, the universal power that decided who to tie him with forever. Perfectly. Something like fate. Max prayed to fate, then. “Am I interrupting something?” The man’s accent was French, his tone unusually assertive for a question of intrusion. “It’s not my roof,” Max shrugged, hopping back onto the ledge.

Rules of Engagement (7.2k words, oneshot)

“Take me with you then!” Max felt his eyes go wide, his jaw literally dropping at the suggestion. “Tell them I’m like. Say I’m your fiancé, mate.” The heat had melted Charles’s brain, Max decided, staring at him blankly. “No.” He deadpanned. “Mate it’s genius! You won’t have to do anything, just stand there. Let me handle it. Them. The women.”

Milk and Love (1.85k words, oneshot)

There’s someone else in his empty apartment, his presence both doubling and fading overnight. It’s next to him on the floor, an identical hand grazing his fingertips as it lays beside him – a perfect mirror. It’s in his kitchen, looking at the food his trainer brought him the night before. It’s in his bed at night, putting no weight on the mattress but forcing unimaginable pressure on his mind, in his eyes. Faster than him, quieter than him, beside him. Inside him. He can’t escape it, he realizes as he lays on the floor. It lives where he lives. 

Middle Child Syndrome (I've Been in Love with You for Ages) (3.6k words, 2/2 chapters)

After all, Charles being a middle child always made a lot of sense to Max. Max’s unwillingness to deny Charles anything always made a little less sense to Max. Standing on the third place podium beneath the Monegasque flag made a lot less sense to Max. The fact that he wasn’t mad about it, a warm sense of acquiescence spurred by Charles’s smile, made it all click. He was in love with Charles Leclerc, and he always had been. Or: A small collection of memories leading up to a realization on the podium of Baku 2023.

#masterpost #lestappen #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #middle child syndrome #milk and love #rules of engagement #all the stars we cannot see #eighteenth summer #second time’s the charm #Cheating at Bingo and Other Christmas Traditions #i know your name (but not who you are) #Beggin' #Choking on Greatness #Excess

[melis-writes]

Moth to Flame (Part II) [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 40 – Legacies.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 39 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

"I promised her if she ever provoked my family again, I would help her bandmates search for her body." / “You’re a Corleone and you will behave like a Corleone."

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas and with a steady eagerness to rid the Corleone family of Fredo's legacy a year after his death, neither you nor Michael have any regrets. Provoking you means provoking both the Corleone and Ferrari families and you've merely added Rita Duvall's timely death as another skeleton in your closet. Leaving legacies behind but not the past, Michael reminds Sonny who the head of the family is and where his trust is misplaced in his older brother. There is no longer any room for mistakes in the Corleone family, but bloodsheds and secret are welcome.

[WARNINGS]: Mentions and depictions of death, violence & blood / Oral sex / Heavy smut -> unprotected sex, creampie / Mentions and themes of sex & nudity.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The next chapter is here and ready to explore the cunning side of Mrs. Victoria Corleone. 🥴 Since Part II is action, angst, smut and fluff packed, I'm making a habit of keeping chapters short (but not too short!) to explore one theme/plot at a time. ❤️ We get to see the before, after, and everything in between! Ahem and yes, that includes some quality time spent with Michael on that plush, king sized hotel bed... 😌 We can ignore the atrocities for the smut. 😂💀

1956. Your name is Victoria Ferrari Corleone, and you’re the wife of the most powerful mobster in North America–Michael Corleone. A lifestyle of crime and secrecy is all you've known and ever wanted to know, complimenting the cruelty of Michael Corleone's influence in the United States. With your enemies fallen before you and all loose ends tied up, you continue your life and marriage with the Corleone family while refusing to look back on your past. Yet it's the skeletons in your closet that a shine a light on revealing you're a true mafiosa. Ensnared in the shadows just as much as Michael is, you find yourself betrayed by the unexpected with all of your secrets ready to spill–especially ones you've hidden from Michael. With more than one pair of eyes watching your every move, you find yourself trapped amidst potential scandals and a familiar, lovesick secret admirer adamant on removing Michael out of the picture to have you all to himself. Like a moth to a flame, you've reached the point of no return and the light that breaks down the darkness threatens to take you next.

Despite being almost notorious for her slyness, attitude, and promiscuous talk, Rita never imagined like some of her coworkers did that her mouth would ever lead her to any serious trouble, let alone her death.

With the split-second feel of a cold, razor-sharp blade against her throat, every passing moment from the very minute thick, crimson blood began to spew from Rita’s neck that reminded her she was alive despite being on the verge of inevitable death, were just gifts you gave her. 

Every breath Rita took to brag about planning to blackmail you was another gift you gave her’ provoked and already sealed Rita’s fate in the back of your mind.

Rita was hopeless from the beginning but helpless as soon as her body hit the ground. Holding her hand to her neck, Rita knew it wouldn’t help her or prevent her death which came just a minute after bleeding out to death on the floor.

The last voice and words Rita heard were yours, and you were also the last person she’d ever see again. 

You stare down at Rita with disappointment and disgust over your expression, remaining still. For a moment, you neither move nor take your eyes off Rita’s motionless body, ensuring to yourself that she’s actually dead.

“You should thank me, sweetheart,” you murmur down to Rita’s corpse. “Had I not put you out of your misery just now, a mafiosi would have. This befits you.” You glance at the blade in your hand, still firmly holding it but carefully so that your fingers are over the top of the fabric of your coat so as not to leave any prints behind.

With one swift movement, you flick the blade toward Rita’s face—watching the last bits of blood dripping from the blade splatter over her face.  

Just on time as you planned, you hear a soft knock come from the door behind you.

“Come in,” you answer casually, expecting someone.

The door slowly and quietly opens, revealing your bodyguard Ritchie who slips in and is quick to shut the door behind him immediately. “Mrs. Corleone.” Ritchie clasps his gloved hands in front of him, waiting for further orders.

Of course, your bodyguard naturally followed you since you left the hotel, but your orders were for Ritchie to take an alternative route so he could keep an eye on you but not be seen by anyone else or come too close to raise suspicion. 

Ritchie didn’t need to ask questions or assume your motives; he’s a made mafioso and has accompanied Clemenza as a bodyguard in the past—seeing him enter buildings silently and leave a corpse behind one too many times.

Ritchie’s job now remains the same; he’s to protect you, support you and conceal you regardless of the circumstances.

“She’s dead,” you point out, taking a step back from Rita’s body.

Ritchie’s eyes gaze over Rita’s slit throat and her dead eyes wide open, frozen in time. He simply gives a nod, understanding. “Would you like me to make it look like an accident or suicide?”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” you carefully hand Ritchie the blade between your fingers. “I made Miss Duvall a promise once,” you glance back at Rita’s body over your shoulder—first at her face, then her abdomen. “I promised her if she ever provoked my family again, I would help her bandmates search for her body and I intend to keep my word.” You gesture to Rita’s corpse, “she loved the company of the Tattaglias and Barzinis for years now. Word of a prostitute like her winding up dead doesn’t make the news, especially one who prefers to seduce married mafiosi. We’ll give her the Barzini and Tattaglia treatment she loved so much. You know how they liked to send their messages, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Corleone,” Ritchie nods.

“Good,” you brush off your hands on your jacket. “The swamp will handle the rest.”

A common tactic used to depose bodies by many mafiosi families such as the Barzinis but particularly the Tattaglias sends a clear enough message to those willing to search for the “missing” unlucky individual. 

Thrown into the swamp to let the alligators and nature destroy and decay evidence away, full remains are almost never found, and the ones that are become extremely difficult to identify or link to the actual killer. 

The thick, muddy, and murky waters of the swamp do away with washing off the skin and evidence on it if there is any, and only mafiosi acquainted with the body disposal tactic know the clear message it gives. 

Nobody can possibly trace Rita’s murder back to you under these circumstances, let alone pin the murder on you, the Ferraris, or the Corleones who have rarely ever used such a tactic.

Rita’s bandmates and the police can search wherever they believe Rita often visits and is found, but searching at the bottom of a muddy swamp will never come to mind, let alone to fruition. 

‘I warned you, Rita Duvall.’ As if it has any importance, to begin with, March 4th, 1956 marks the death of Vegas showgirl, prostitute, and singer Rita Duvall by your hands.

“I’ll make it back to the hotel on my own,” you move to exit without another glance back or word said.

There’s no need to repeat or clarify instructions to Ritchie, let alone tell him to be quiet and discreet. 

More than merely competent as both a bodyguard and mafioso himself, Ritchie stares down at the body of Rita as you exit out of her room, envisioning how he’ll stuff her body into a garbage bag first. 

Calm, collected, and relaxed, you make your way down the hallway of the brothel toward the exit as if you own it.

You can’t possibly care less about who or what is around you, let alone if anyone else is here to see you.

Even when you pass by the same prostitute you saw and asked where Rita was when you got to the brothel, you come to notice she’s resting against the wall smoking a half-burnt cigarette while nodding off on some high with her eyes closed.

Smoothening out your jacket, you walk out of the brothel’s back entrance and continue towards the hotel as if nothing had happened.

In the meantime, Ritchie opens up a garbage bag and sets it by Rita’s feet before he begins to pull at her thighs and drag her towards the garbage bag.

Shoving Rita’s body inside the garbage bag in a fetus-like position without any care of broken bones or how the shape appears over the bag, Ritchie proceeds to triple wrap Rita in two more black garbage bags to prevent any smell or blood leaking from it.

As you make it to the hotel’s entrance, Ritchie’s already hauling Rita’s body out the side entrance—conveniently remaining completely secluded.

The car Ritchie brought over is parked just a few feet from the side entrance and with a fake license plate so as not to be traced.

Ritchie opens up the trunk of his vehicle and tosses Rita’s body into it before locking up the trunk and getting into his car.

Going past reception in the hotel and taking the elevator, you unbutton your jacket and hum quietly to yourself, thinking now it won’t be long until Michael returns and that you’ve returned to the hotel suite before he has without a doubt.

As you unlock the door to your suite and take a step inside, you can practically feel the sense of relaxation wash over you again.

With your mind on nothing but getting cozy and waiting for Michael to return for the night, you shut the door behind you and notice nothing out of the ordinary in the suite and certainly no signs of Michael’s return yet.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a tray placed over the top of one of the dressers by the door holding a bottle of chilled champagne in a bucket of ice, and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries with a card that reads “for room service over it”.

A pleased smile breaks out on your lips as you pop one of the chocolate-covered strawberries in your mouth, welcoming the taste of sweet milk chocolate over your tongue. 

Hanging up your jacket on the coat rack and taking off your shoes, you certainly don’t have any intention of telling Michael what you did, let alone that you left the suite room. 

Picking up the tray and setting it over the nightstand instead, you strip back into your silky nightgown and let out a deep sigh of relief, getting ready to truly enjoy your night.

You move towards the television, adjusting it to put on a film for background noise when you peek your head up to hear the suite door opening. 

Michael steps into the suite, spotting you first thing and causing you to blush instantly.

“Hi, baby,” you greet, rising to your feet.

“Hello, darling,” Michael shuts and locks the suite door behind him. “Did I keep you waiting too long?”

“Just a little,” you tease, turning down the television volume and beginning to approach your husband. “How was everything? All in order?”

“Fine,” Michael lets out a sigh of annoyance, taking off his shoes. “As I mentioned before, we could have dealt with this much earlier but at least now all the paperwork is in order. Neither of us will need to waste any more time here than we already have.”

“Mmhmm,” you wrap your arms lovingly around your husband’s shoulders. “Thankfully too. I think we’re both homesick as is from all of this but you didn’t leave here so tense, baby.” You begin to tenderly massage Michael’s shoulder muscles.

“I suppose not, darling,” Michael pecks your lips sweetly as you step behind him, taking his suit jacket off. 

“You intended on relaxing after your shower, right baby? You can do so,” you gesture to the tray of champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries. “Courtesy of room service.”

“I appreciate it, sweetheart,” Michael loosens his tie, pulling it over his head. “Even if somebody’s dying, I’m not dealing with anything Fredo caused further this evening.”

“Fair,” you smile back, kneeling on the bed.

Approaching the nightstand, Michael eyes the bottle of champagne, then looks back at you as you sit on the bed expectantly.

“Join me?” You offer.

Michael moves over to caress your face lovingly, admiring your smile and using his free hand to unbutton his dress shirt. “Absolutely. Give me a moment here, baby.”

Just as Michael pulls back and turns around to hang up his clothes, you sit cross-legged on the center of the bed and eagerly watch your husband begin to undress before you.

Just the sight of Michael’s back and shoulder muscles creasing as he pulls off his dress shirt is more than enough to pump arousal through you.

Shirtless and only in a pair of black trousers, Michael runs a hand through his hair and grabs a hanger for his dress shirt, but you don’t waste any time waiting for Michael to turn back to you either.

You slip down the straps of your nightgown and let the fabric fall off your shoulders, exposing your breasts as you patiently wait for Michael.

“So,” Michael speaks up, about to ask how you spent your time or if you’re comfortable and enjoying the hotel, but the moment he turns around, Michael meets your passionate gaze and an inviting scene before him.

“So?” You ask, softening your tone down to a whisper.

Michael’s gaze lingers over you, moving down to your breasts and noticing the teasing, insistent look in your eyes and provocative body language emanating from you. 

“I missed you,” you lick your lips, pressing your breasts together. “Can you blame me?”

“Not at all,” Michael murmurs, tugging off his leather belt. “You were looking forward to this, weren’t you?”

“Were you?” You smirk, leaning up and letting the nightgown slip further down your chest as your breasts jiggle from the movement.

Michael’s eyes still remain over you, unable to get enough of the seductive, sexy sight of your teasing let alone how your breasts are still plump and swollen with breast milk—having gone up two more cup sizes since you had the twins.

“You know I was,” Michael lets his belt fall to the floor as he leans over you on the bed, placing his hands over your nightgown loosely remaining by your hips.

“Good,” you breathe before an erotic silence befalls the two of you.

Michael tugs off your nightgown and slips it off your thighs, tossing it over the bedpost.

Completely naked underneath without even a pair of panties, you eagerly spread your legs in front of Michael and let your hands rest over the duvet.

Keeping his eyes locked on yours, Michael moves down closer towards you and cups your inner thighs—massaging them before letting his hands wander further between your legs.

“Eat,” you whisper out, tugging on Michael’s silky, dark hair. 

“As you wish, darling.” Michael’s hands immediately come down to cup your ass before he leans in, positioning his face between your legs. 

Resting your ankles over Michael’s shoulders, you let out a tiny whimper feeling his breath directly over your clit and his lips only a few centimeters away from your pussy.

Michael’s eyes meet yours once more before he pulls you down closer to his face by your thighs, squeezing your ass and burying his face into your pussy in an instant.

“M-Michael, ohhhh…!” You let out a soft whine, eagerly spreading your legs open as wide as you possibly can.

Breathy whimpers escape your lips as you watch the tip of Michael’s Roman nose trailing up and down your clit at an agonizingly slow pace—causing you to buck your hips towards Michael’s face in response.

Michael’s hands cup over your ass harshly, squeezing it now and again as he continues burying his tongue between the folds of your pussy while focusing on your clit.

“Ooh! OH!” Your moans grow louder as you feel Michael’s tongue parting open your pussy lips.

Enthralled in a wave of intense pleasure constantly washing back and forth over you, you roll your eyes back and curl your toes as you feel Michael’s hot, warm tongue licking up your clit.

“Oh my G-God, Michael… Michael…” It’s as if Michael’s memorized every sweet, weak spot in your body and he’s eager to please, keeping up a perfect and steady pace to build your orgasm.

Sloppily eating your pussy, the sounds alone cause your knees to tingle in numbness and you can no longer keep quiet even if you tried.

Strands of Michael’s hair begin to cling to his forehead as he only presses his tongue down further over your clit, making sure to greedily lick up the wetness trickling out of you.

“Yes, yes, yes!” You squeal, tugging on Michael’s silky hair and pushing his face further between your legs. “L-like that, like that! Just like that, mm!”

Michael doesn’t relent and the sensation of an intense orgasm deeply building in your gut begins to grow—threatening to release every time Michael’s nose or stubble grazes against your clit again.

“Eat, eat it, yeah, baby, yeah…” Your breath hitches as you watch Michael through lazy eyes, seeing him lap up your clit and angle his chin upwards.

Michael keeps the same pressure and rhythm over your clit as you struggle to force back and edge out your orgasm, but you can only hold out for so long before your body gives in.

Moving one hand down, Michael’s quick to tug off his trousers with his briefs—no longer able to ignore his own insistent arousal as droplets of precum ooze down his shaft.

“Oh my God, yes! Mmm, p-please, please, please!” You groan, writhing over the bed as you feel Michael slowly begin to slick a finger inside of your pussy before curling it.

Michael purposefully begins to grind his face against your clit, keeping you pinned down on the bed with his other hand moving up from your ass and to your hips to keep you in place.

With each time Michael thrusts his finger out of your pussy, more juices trickle out and Michael helps himself by licking up the mess and letting his tongue dart into your entrance. 

“Mmm…” You can hear Michael quietly hum against your pussy, spitting directly over your clit and smearing it around with his tongue.

Moan after moan, you feel your pussy beginning to contract as you grind your hips up over Michael’s mouth just to feel the rhythm of his tongue drooling and suckling over your clit again.

Michael’s ability to build your orgasm up with ease and shows no signs of stopping—paying complete attention to your clit with his lips and tongue. 

Every nerve of your clit feels satisfied and stimulated, only causing your thighs to shake uncontrollably over and over again as your orgasm reaches its tipping point. 

Your knuckles strain white from how tightly you clench at the bedsheets and Michael’s all the most amused seeing how desperate you are to cum in his mouth and give in already. 

“Ohhhh! B-baby! I’m cumming! I’m—Ah!” You throw your head back, letting out a shriek as your orgasm releases through you—rocking a feeling of ecstasy over your body.

Your clit pulsates in response as the heavenly orgasm buzzes through you, taking over all your senses from head to toe momentarily as your muscles tense up. 

Toes curled and thighs quivering around Michael’s head, you force yourself to clasp a hand over your mouth and muffle out your moans.

Michael keeps his mouth pressed against your pussy, gazing up at you with nothing but lust darkening in his eyes.

Catching your breath, you hardly have the energy to sit up on the bed; panting and clutching onto the bedsheets for strength after such an incredible orgasm. 

Michael grazes his finger in between your inner thighs and pussy lips before licking over your cum and wetness off of it—refusing to take his eyes off of you.

“M-Michael… My God,” you breathe out, attempting to sit up as your thighs quiver like jelly over Michael’s shoulders. 

Stroking his cock almost completely lubricated in his own precum, Michael locks eyes with you and kneels on the bed—embracing your body against his. “Come here, baby.”

“Oh, please—” 

Wrapping your thighs around Michael again, your lips crush over his in a needy, hungry kiss as your husband’s hands roam over your tender, supple breasts.

“I w-want you so bad—so much—” you breathe in between the feverish kisses you two share.

Michael gives your ass a light smack before rubbing over it, whispering against your lips as he speaks. “I want to make love to you, darling.”

“Yes, yes, please—” blushing furiously, you nod insistently before kissing Michael’s lips again—letting him lay you back down on the bed. 

“Mm—” Michael breaks the wet kiss, hovering over top of you and nuzzling your neck as both of his hands move down your hips. “Turn around for me, baby.”

Licking your lips to taste Michael again, you do as he says and flip around on your stomach—arching your back to get into a doggy-style position.

“’ Atta girl,” Michael’s voice is low and husky as he speaks to you, squeezing your ass and positioning himself in between your legs.

Resting the side of your face over a pillow, you breathe softly as you gaze up to Michael who taps his cock against your ass before spreading it open slowly.

The soft whimpers that continue to come out of you do nothing but arouse Michael further as he slicks his shaft up and down between your ass before swiftly pushing his hips in and penetrating your pussy.

“Ooh—” Michael hisses, entering your tight, soaked heat.

“Ahhh yes, yes…!” You push your hips back against Michael’s, wanting to take every inch of his thick cock inside of you already.

“I’m gonna make my night here worthwhile with you, baby,” Michael whispers over your shoulder blade before kissing over it—letting his warm lips linger over your skin. “I’m gonna make you feel so good and I—” Michael tilts your chin up, leaving a wet kiss on the side of your neck, “want to hear you say my name again and again.”

“Oh God, please,” you whine out in response, laying flat down on your stomach with Michael’s cock buried into your pussy. “Please baby, please…”

“Victoria, mm—” With a low grunt, Michael bucks his hips towards you—his hot skin pressing against yours with each thrust. 

You clench the pillow you rest your face upon, letting out moan after moan as Michael’s body meets yours again and again.

Michael pushes back a curtain of your hair away from your neck, leaning in and moaning over your shoulder. “I want you…so badly…”

“Take me—more, more—” You arch your back against Michael’s chest, letting every pleasurable sensation he brings you rush over your body.

Soft and breathy moans from the both of you fill the room coupled with the sound of skin slapping against skin from each deep thrust.

Hearing Michael’s velvety voice moaning out over your shoulder only amplifies your arousal further, bringing a tingling weakness to your knees.

“M-Michael, Michael,” your bottom lip trembles from the buildup of another orgasm approaching you.

“Louder…” Michael grips your throat with one firm hand, tilting your chin up to continue leaving a trail of wet, harshening kisses over your neck.

The slightest touch from Michael, his every moan, the way he teases you and his dirty talk have you submitting to him already—craving and desiring more of this man.

“You feel how wet you are for me, baby?” Michael’s free hand roams down your side, caressing up your back. “You feel so fucking good.”

“O-oh my—God—” you whine out, again and again, in between the sounds of your pussy sloppily gushing back against Michael’s cock with each thrust. 

“Music to my ears,” Michael breathes over the nape of your neck, sliding his hand underneath your chest to squeeze at your breasts.

“Oh, baby—you’re gonna make me cum again. Again—” You muffle out your moan against the pillow, squirming underneath Michael.

“Already, baby?” Michael chuckles breathily against your back, watching as you grip the bedpost with all your strength. “I want you to cum with me… Be a good girl and hold it in.”

“You t-tease,” your voice quivers as you feel Michael’s hands squeezing over your breasts; his fingers moving up to toy with your nipples.

“You want me to tease you? Is that it?” Michael places his arms underneath yours, gripping one hand over the bedpost with you. 

“N-no—oh! Ohhh, right there!” You gasp out, angling and pushing your hips back toward Michael’s. 

“Fuck,” you hear Michael mutter under his breath, inhaling sharply. “You’re clenching against me—so fucking tight.”

“MICHAEL!” You shriek, feeling his hips slamming against your ass. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes…” Michael groans against your skin, smacking your ass again. “Found your sweet spot—”

“I’m gonna cum—you’re gonna make me—” You gasp out as Michael pulls out of you entirely only to fully thrust back in.

“You deserve it, don’t you?” Michael grips his hands over your hips, pushing his cock in and out of you as slowly as he can.

All that comes out of your mouth is another filthy moan—unable to form a coherent sentence with Michael purposefully coming close to your G-Spot but avoiding it at an angle that hits a completely different sweet spot inside of you.

The scent of sex fills the room and you feel almost intoxicated by the pace of Michael’s deep thrusting, feeling as if he’s rearranging your insides.

Your eyes tear up from pleasure as you keep your back arched and ass up, almost in a trance from how you repeatedly begin to feel the same way you would with your orgasm about to release, but without climax.

“Give into me, baby,” Michael pants, ensuring his hips fully meet yours and you take in every inch of him again and again. “You love it—you fucking love it… Shit—” Michael’s cock abruptly slicks out of you.

“In—in—” You whine, reaching your hand back towards Michael. “Fuck me—”

“Impatient.” A smirk crosses Michael’s lips as he angles his cock back into your pussy, entering you again and seeing how your thighs shake like jelly from the impact. 

“Don’t stop!” You squeeze your eyes shut, squeezing the metal bars of the bedpost with all your might. “Oh God, don’t stop! Fuck—fuck!”

“You feel how close you are, baby?” Michael leans back down, resting his chest against your back. “Edging yourself, holding back… All I have to do is—”

“Mm!” Your eyes snap open as you gasp out through a half-scream, half-moan to feel Michael hit your G-Spot, instantly unraveling your second orgasm.

“Ahhh, perfect, baby. Cum for me,” Michael’s eyes flutter shut as he inhales sharply, letting his own climax unwind inside of you.

Attempting to steady your breathing, you let the mind-numbing orgasm flow through you and only intensify the sensation of Michael’s hot cum spurting inside of you.

Michael keeps his cock inside of you, refusing to spill a single drop as you turn your head weakly to make eye contact with him—still in Michael’s grasp.

“I love it when you cum on my cock like that,” Michael leans down to steal a wet, full-mouthed kiss from you.

You kiss back hungrily, still feeling your body trembling from the heightened sensitivity of your orgasm. “G-God…”

“Look at you, baby,” Michael slowly pulls his cock out of you, watching your pussy convulse and begin to ooze out his sticky cum.

“Oh my God,” you reach your hand back underneath you, spreading open your pussy lips. “Feels so full.”

Michael lets his cum drip down and smear onto his shaft before he thrusts right back into your pussy again, lacing both hands with yours tightly.

“Ah—” Your eyes widen in surprise as you make eye contact with Michael, unable to hold back neither your excitement nor arousal for how badly you crave him for a third round to fuck you into bliss again.

“Tonight’s just about you and I,” Michael kisses alongside the outline of your jawline, “and I intend to please you until you can’t take it anymore. How do you want me, baby? Tell me.”

“Make love to me,” you whisper back, gently nibbling over Michael’s bottom lip and pulling it towards you.

“I love you,” Michael speaks against your lips, gently turning you over and raising your legs over his shoulders. 

You moan back into his mouth as all eight inches of Michael’s cock fill you up again—eager to satisfy all your sinful fantasies again.

~

[ August 1949 ]

If it’s one thing you always come to remember when you think and reminisce of when you and Michael first got married, it’s the shyness you had with your budding romance coupled with the thrill of being just married.

Michael and you married in August of 1949 after only being engaged for a few weeks.

Although the concept of a Ferrari marrying a Corleone was mutually agreed upon by your father and Vito Corleone, both men knew it highly depended on compatibility, attraction, and love which all had to be mutually met on both you and Michael’s end.

Had you never married Michael for whatever reason—whether he and you simply couldn’t get along or outright refused, the Ferraris and Corleones would still be allies, but there’d be nothing in-between to guarantee that for long.

Of course, the two families may be allies with no hostility or competition in business for many years to come—perhaps even for a lifetime—but there’d still be suspicion and some lack of trust without guarantees of any kind.

 In many ways, the Ferraris and Corleones killed two birds with one stone when it came to your marriage to Michael.

Now both families would be intertwined, related to one another, and closer than ever on a personal bond whereas it was almost strictly business beforehand, with the exception of Vito and Giuseppe Ferrari’s personal friendship from Sicily.

Your marriage to Michael practically guarantees no civil fallout between the families and completely destroys the concept of a war between the Ferraris and Corleones—both have a son and daughter as well as the family they’ll make at stake and family always comes first.

In truth, you didn’t know much about the Corleones before you personally meet them at the Corleone Estate in the summer of 1949.

You had briefly heard of Santino Corleone only on grounds that he would be heir to Don Corleone as his eldest son, and of course, it was also impossible to ignore Sonny’s bravado once the news that Don Tattaglia’s son had been assassinated on Sonny’s orders as payback for targeting Vito.

You had also heard the Corleone family’s consigliere was not Sicilian or Italian, to begin with, but these were all things you merely heard through discussion and conversation once.

You didn’t have the slightest idea that Don Corleone had more children, let alone Connie—a daughter or that their youngest son was at Dartmouth around the same time as you and enlisted in the Second World War.

All you could confirm for yourself was that the Corleones were a big family, came from Corleone where you and your brothers except for Dante were born, and that your father personally knew Vito Corleone before either of them was Don of their families.

It’s true that your family would prefer you to marry into another mafiosi family, or at least a wealthy Sicilian family with a reputation because of your status, and you—unlike Michael—weren’t eager to do the opposite.

Whereas Michael began his relationship with an American woman, Kay Adams, you believed it was in your best interest to marry a mafioso because you knew you’d never escape your life and background as a mafiosa yourself, nor did you want to. 

You believed it would be unfair to pull someone else—Italian, Sicilian, or otherwise—into such a lifestyle without having them end up dead, ratting to the feds, or becoming a pompous, power-obsessed asshole like Carlo Rizzi.

Because the stakes were so high for you as the only Ferrari daughter when it came to marriage prospects, it only dulled your outlook on relationships further.

Your education was the highest priority, and you didn’t feel “lonely” with your family, friends, and colleagues by your side.

You simply weren’t seeking a relationship or long-term commitment during such a crucial part of your life where your studies meant everything and took up most of your time.

However, that didn’t mean you didn’t have love interests or flings here and there. The only difference was that you strayed away or confirmed to stay friends when you felt you were getting too close or towards commitment. 

Maybe the men you worked with and attended law school with wished they could go on a date with you or get to know you further, but you knew you were doing them a favor.

Anyone who got too close to a mafiosi without being one themselves would always get burned. You knew this then too.

The only time you ever came close to a full-fledged relationship was with a young man named Salvatore Romano whom you attended law school with.

You knew you wanted to be a criminal prosecutor whereas Salvatore was determined to become a criminal attorney. 

From the similarity of being criminal lawyers but the difference in prosecution and defense, the two of you got along very well and spent many late nights studying for exams and motivating one another to pass the Bar.

From looks alone yes, you couldn’t deny that Salvatore was attractive and his kind demeanor sparked your interest, but you knew you had no interest in a relationship and that applied to any man you met during university.

You didn’t mean to get as close to Salvatore as you did, but the two of you found each other constantly spending time with one another naturally—without the expectation of a relationship to begin with.

You could tell Salvatore was attracted and interested in you in every way possible, and he never made unwanted advances towards you or made you uncomfortable.

Perhaps what you had with Salvatore throughout most of law school was almost a relationship without the official title, but it could never come close to comparing with your relationship and love towards Michael even in the slightest.

One of the last few times you heard about the Corleone family being mentioned—especially Michael as the subject matter—was when you were already a full-fledged lawyer working at the city courthouse. 

It was impossible to ignore. Your father and brothers were discussing the fact that “Don Corleone’s youngest son” who was a “civilian” and surprisingly to you uninvolved in the “family business” killed a police captain and Virgil Solozzo. 

Your father knew and did business with Solozzo, and was already preparing to get into the narcotic trade with Solozzo, but the news didn’t spark his temper or any sense of betrayal—it sparked his interest especially because Michael was the one who killed both men.

Nonetheless, for weeks on end, all your father and brothers discussed was the narcotics smuggling trade, distribution, hold on the docks, and taking over where Solozzo ended.

The mention tensions began to rise up shortly after, as Vito wasn’t sure how the Ferraris would act now that Michael had killed one of their business partners and that the matter was over narcotics.

None of the other families let alone during the meetings at the Commission could dare utter any protest towards what Giuseppe was doing.

The Ferraris were simply too powerful and too influential with the police and judges in their pockets for anyone to judge or challenge their role in the narcotics trade. There was no room for competition either.

When your father came home from the Commission meeting as tensions were cooling off between the Barzinis and Tattaglias versus the Corleones, the Corleone family was guaranteed by your family that if the Barzinis or Tattaglias struck again or tried to team up on the Corleones, the Ferraris would directly intervene and happily cause all the necessary bloodshed.

“You ever visit Don Corleone for a cup of coffee outside business, Pop?” Alessio set down his newspaper after reading the old article about Solozzo and McClusky’s death. 

Giuseppe chuckled, putting down his cigar. “I think about it every now and then. Hard to do when all eyes are on both of you, waiting to make a move.”

“That’s all they can do,” Lorenzo took a drag from his cigarette. “Watch and stare. Barzini and Tattaglia know they can’t make a move on you or Don Corleone now.”

“Perhaps not,” Giuseppe smiled back at his son. “But Don Corleone has other troubles to deal with, ones we cannot get involved in.”

“Such as?” You spoke up, curious about the subject matter.

“Such as the fact if Don Corleone’s son Michael shows his face too soon, he could raise the FBI’s suspicions and get arrested for Solozzo and McClusky’s death. Don Corleone must maintain his son’s innocence.”

“How will he do that if not through the courts?” You furrowed your brows, knowing of course even though the vast majority of judges were on your father’s payroll, even they couldn’t get involved in Corleone business to defend Michael.

“Well, he already has,” your father nodded. “Don Corleone has sent his son to Sicily, an exile of sorts if you’ll call it that. Once tensions have cooled down here, I’m sure he’ll come to reunite with his family. For now, this is the best course of action.”

“Sounds grim enough,” Leonardo commented. “Shame, hmm? Victoria could have defended Don Corleone’s kid pretty well in court if she wasn’t the one prosecuting them all behind bars.”

“Ha, ha.” You let out a fake, forced laugh. “You flatter me, Leo.”

Michael’s feat with Solozzo and McClusky greatly impressed your father and such an impression withstood the test of time.

Although your father didn’t share it with you or any of your brothers, he became aware after a year or so from Michael’s return from Sicily that he was now getting directly involved in “family business” affairs. 

From all looks of it, Giuseppe saw Michael officially as a “made man” in the mafia and he was exactly the kind of man Giuseppe would let his daughter marry.

That was before anyone ever heard from Don Corleone himself that he was no longer considering Sonny to be his successor as Don instead, but Michael.

When you and Michael married in August of 1949, Michael was not yet Don, but still preparing for his role of successor under his father. 

It couldn’t have been a more perfect time for Michael to do so. As just the son of a Don but not the Don himself, Michael had much more free time on his hands outside of active business and naturally, since your wedding, Vito wanted his son to spend as much time with his new bride at home as possible.

It wasn’t just Vito’s wish, but Michael’s too. Michael’s not the kind of man to ever feel the need to appease anyone or do something because he’s “obliged to”. Michael wanted to.

Michael wanted to get to know everything and anything about you that he could over time, through conversations and quality time spent together.

Michael knew he’d never be able to do it all in one day, but he didn’t ever have the need or intentions to rush his relationship with you.

Michael spent any and all of his free time with you. It didn’t just have to be during dates, sex, or conversations even, as your presence was enough for him.

For the first time in Michael’s life as a changed and hardened man involved in the family business, he felt comfort from his lover’s presence.

Michael never felt questioned, untrusted, or feared by you, but rather respected and loved unconditionally.

There was and is simply no need for Michael to change himself in any way or lie to get to you. You both loved and accepted one another as you were and are to this day.

Time passes by like nothing when the two of you spend a day together, even if it’s nothing more than an ordinary day at home.

You and Michael quickly discovered early on in your marriage how compatible the two of you were just from the endless hours you could both spend talking to one another about anything.

Even over five years on in your marriage, one thing that never changed and never will is the yearning the two of you have for one another—just to see and be with each other.

Emotional chemistry and compatibility aside, your physical chemistry with Michael was nothing but fiery passion.

Just as craving one another never changed, neither did the lust and arousal you two have for each other. 

The immensely passionate attraction you both mutually have for each other manifested easily into lust and sex four to five times a week for the next three months straight.

All the two of you wanted to do was ravish one another again and again, night after night—simply unable to get enough.

“Off,” Michael murmured against the side of your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses leading up to your jawline.

“Michael,” blushing furiously, you couldn’t help but let out a little moan to the pleasurable sensations racking over your body at once; Michael’s one hand up your satin nightgown, pulling at the waistband of your panties and the other cupping a breast while slowly grazing his thumbs over your hardened nipple.

If Michael had business and work with his father for the day, you’d eagerly wait for him on the bed naked or in lingerie, sometimes in the late of night underneath the duvet with nothing on, or you’d strip down and give Michael a little show in person first.

The intimacy, love, bond, trust, and respect you two gave one another unconditionally and without doubt or hesitation was one only shared by you and Michael—it could never be given and shared with another soul. It eternally belongs to you and him.

Just the way Michael believed and still believes in his very core that his eyes are for you and you’re only for him, the mere concept of another man lusting and desiring you does nothing but make Michael’s blood boil in jealousy.

Both you and Michael are well aware as to just who the two of you are, especially in the public eye, so while common sense tells you two that attraction to either one of you from anyone else is normal, it’s a fatal sin in Michael’s world to see another man making his attraction directly obvious to you.

Despite who he is, Michael’s not exempt from having the classical Italian male jealousy clicking in, only unlike his brothers Sonny and Fredo, Michael never let jealousy control him or his actions.

Michael may raise a brow or ask you where you’re going in a little black dress, but he’s never been one to lecture or deny you over your clothing or where you’re headed. Michael trusts you completely and you trust him. It’s as simple as that.

You glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the bedroom, noting that you’d have approximately thirty minutes to make the commute to the courthouse for work today after getting dressed.

Although you sensed Michael’s presence just by the sound and familiarity of his footsteps down the corridor, you were distracted by zipping up the back of your dress.

Pushing open the ajar bedroom door, Michael’s eyes immediately landed on the sight of you still dressing—your back completely exposed with a peek of your panties as you attempted to get the zipper up from your lower waist.

As you glanced up in the mirror in front of you, you noticed Michael’s reflection as he began to approach you from behind.

Blushing, you paused your movements and kept your hand on the zipper of your dress as Michael’s eyes greedily darted up and down your figure.

“What time do you have to be at work?” Michael asked, his voice soft and velvety.

“At twelve—” You let out a soft gasp as you quickly realized when Michael placed his hands over yours that he wasn’t about to help out with the zipper of your dress.

Instead, Michael tugged the dress off of your waist completely and grabbed your hips immediately after, pulling you towards the bed.

“Michael!” You squealed and clutched onto your husband’s embrace.

“I’ll drive you there myself,” Michael’s hands squeezed over your ass as he pinned you down on the bed gently. “The world can wait a little longer.”

Your sex life with Michael since the very beginning but especially during the first few months of your marriage was nothing short of incredible.

More often than not, you and Michael went over three rounds in one night and met with toe-curling, eye-rolling, intense orgasms, and screams filling the bedroom. 

Sexual intimacy aside, the love and passion you share with Michael never ends there. 

The warmth, love, and safety you feel holding hands with your lover, going on walks together, appreciating every detail of one another like how Michael’s smile forms, the sound of your laughter to the silent intimacy of cuddling with one another on the couch while enjoying a film.

Everything from embracing Michael and feeling at home to ironing his dress shirts and still picking up on the scent of Michael’s cologne from his clothes was and is love and intimacy to the both of you.

Never leaving the “honeymoon phase” as others call it, all of your friends and family have been easily able to tell time and time again how the two of you genuinely love, respect, and care for one another.

“These two are meant for each other,” Carmela whispered to Vito as she watched her son kiss the back of your hand, leading you further down the fruit orchard in Corleone. 

In the very beginning, you may have felt just a little embarrassed to be so shy around and with Michael, but in truth, you can’t blame yourself.

A man as smolderingly attractive as Michael Corleone giving you butterflies, making your heart skip a beat, skin heat up and blood rush had to make any woman shy.

Engrossed in a casual business discussion at lunch held in the courtyard of you and Michael’s New York estate, you were the only one who could pull Michael’s attention off of anything.

Still in the middle of discussions, Michael’s world came to a pause when he spotted you just by the garden—holding babbling little baby Niccolò in your arms as you made your way inside the estate.

You were always all Michael could want. He could never not be in love with you. He could never get his eyes off of you. Michael would never want to.

~

[ + 2 Hours, 11:04 PM ]

The dim glow of the lamp on Michael’s night table and the television playing a film across from the bed illuminate the suite as you snuggle up in Michael’s warm embrace.

A tender ache pulsates between your legs, leaving a reminder of the two rounds of steamy lovemaking from half an hour ago.

Michael wraps one arm around your waist as you curl up to his side with your hand over Michael’s bare chest; the two of you are still naked under the duvet.

The television’s volume is turned down low mostly to serve as background noise while the two of you enjoy the rest of your evening before bed.

Fighting off a wave of deep, inviting sleep, you’re the most comfortable you can be in your lover’s embrace under the soft, plush duvet and blankets.

Whether you have business to tend to as soon as you land or not, plane rides always tire you out one way or another, and more often than not, you find yourself utterly exhausted at the end of the day.

Tonight’s as comfortable as you can possibly be in your husband’s arms, knowing when the two of you return back home to Lake Tahoe tomorrow you’ll truly feel cozy and rest with your family by your side.

Barely able to focus on the film from sleepiness, you gaze at the television with lazy eyes—trailing little circles over Michael’s chest with your fingertip.

Michael rests his back against two pillows, sitting up in bed and smoking a cigarette with his free hand; his hair is a sexy, tousled mess with most of his attention over you.

Michael gently rubs up and down your hips, only soothing you further towards falling asleep.

Feeling Michael’s soft, supple skin and his chest hair between your fingers, you slow the tracing movements over his chest as you shut your eyes just to rest them for a moment, but find yourself falling asleep already.

Noticing first, Michael leans down towards you and plants a gentle kiss over your forehead in the hopes it won’t stir you from sleep.

“Mm..” Keeping your eyes closed, you lean up after feeling the kiss and peck a kiss over Michael’s lips in return.

“Falling asleep already, sweetheart?” Michael whispers to you quietly.

“Am…not,” you murmur, snuggling as close as you can to Michael’s chest. “I didn’t even know I was this…exhausted.”

Michael takes a drag of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke away from your direction. “Are you comfortable, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you nod slowly against Michael’s chest. “Very, very…”

“Sleep well, baby,” Michael gently strokes your hair. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” is the last thing you mumble out before dozing off into deep sleep.

~

In the morning, Michael and you both awaken at 6AM and have no further intentions of spending any more time at the hotel let alone Las Vegas than either of you need to.

Despite familiarity in Las Vegas and the luxuries the hotel provides, neither you nor Michael feel at home and are scarcely happy to be here in the first place thanks to Fredo.

Ritchie and Al Neri carry out you, Michael, and Sonny’s luggage to the car the moment you and Michael exit the hotel, choosing to skip breakfast here and dine on the private jet back home instead.

The eye contact Ritchie makes with you first thing in the morning confirms everything’s fine and taken care of, just as expected.

“Seriously though, Mike? What—this was your idea, wasn’t it?” Sonny grumbles, looking at the banana in his hand—the only thing he was able to grab from the hotel for breakfast. “We could have grabbed a plate to go, at least.”

“You’ll be fine,” Michael ignores Sonny’s antics as the car begins to take off. “We were here for business and our business is concluded. Las Vegas doesn’t need our presence anymore.”

“I agree,” you cover your mouth as you yawn. 

“Right,” Sonny rolls his eyes, beginning to peel his banana.

Despite it being a normal morning of sorts, neither you nor Michael comes to notice right away that Sonny specifically refuses to glance in your direction or even speak with you since he stepped out of the hotel and the same applies on board the private jet.

All you can focus on and think of for now is getting home safe and sound, seeing the children and baby Vincent again while knowing you never have to look back at Vegas and the legacy it left for your family again.

With a wool throw over you, you spend the majority of the flight snuggled up on the couch-shaped seat on the private plane next to Michael, sleeping away.

Sitting just next to you, Michael sips his black coffee while reading through a newspaper to relax through the flight.

Naturally, with no witty remarks being heard from Sonny or much of anything from him at all, Michael notes to himself that Sonny’s being unusually quiet and keeping to himself this morning.

Quietly scarfing down his breakfast, Sonny sits opposite the two of you as he did when flying into Vegas, but appears all the more impatient to get home than you and Michael combined.

Seeming like all the Vegas flair is off of Sonny now, Michael refuses to question it simply because he doesn’t care. 

It’s only when Michael’s occupied reading an article that Sonny glances up just once throughout the entire flight to gaze upon you sleeping soundly.

“You should be ashamed of yourself. You’re a deadbeat husband. You’re simply not able to see the bigger picture. Do better, Sonny. Your wife and children are counting on you for it.”

Sonny lets out a quiet, drawn-out sigh to himself, still feeling bitter about the slap but it’s more of a bruise on his ego than anything else.

Perhaps if it was Sandra, Connie, or even his own mother lecturing him on morality, promiscuity, and marriage, it’d just go in one ear and out the other for Sonny.

Sonny would never listen let alone care; after all, he’s heard the same scolding from his family since he was a teenager and it has even less importance to Sonny now despite being married with children because his sex life with Sandra is practically non-existent.

“You’re a disappointment for trying to justify that alone.”

Still, those words coming from you because you care about Sonny’s family and Sandra’s feelings were heard by Sonny who never expected anything like that from you of all people.

“Why do you even care so much?”

Because of that alone, Sonny can’t get your words out of his head from last night but whether he’d actually listen and change what seems now to be in his nature is another matter altogether.

Turning his head away, Sonny chooses to push aside those thoughts and indulge himself in a glass of whiskey, bidding Las Vegas goodbye for now.

~

[ Lake Tahoe Compound ]

“Almost there…” Snuggling onto Michael’s arm, you peek out the car window and already feel soothed at the sight of Lake Tahoe up ahead; being on the familiar path home.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you this eager to get back home before,” Michael comments, gazing down at you. “Can’t say I blame you either, darling.”

“Nuh-uh, don’t think of me as ungrateful,” you giggle quietly, lacing your hand with Michael’s. “I know how rare it is for us to go on a business trip together. I loved every moment I got to spend with you and you only. I like to think of it that way.”

“As will I,” a faint smile grows over Michael’s lips. “Aside from our investments and hotels, Vegas offers nothing for us.”

Both you and Michael practically expect some sort of response from Sonny who sits in the front passenger seat of the car by now, but he remains silent.

“I agree,” you nod back. “And you know, of course…” You can’t help but smile at the thought, “even just being away for a little while doesn’t matter. I miss our babies so much.”

“As do I, although I have enough reason to believe Esther will be the happiest to see you,” Michael points out.

You burst out laughing, nodding back. “Well, let’s hope Vincent wasn’t too fussy while we were away.”

“We’ll have to see about that,” Michael raises your hand up to his lips, kissing them softly.

Blushing, you smile up at your husband and already feel your heart and spirit at ease, approaching the gates of your home.

Michael’s security spots the two black Cadillacs you all arrive in, confirming the license plate and vehicle make to themselves before beginning to pull open the grand gates leading into the compound.

The chauffeurs slow the vehicles, driving carefully inside the compound and towards the estates to drop you three off first.

From the moment the cars come to a stop and you all begin to step out, Sonny smoothens out his waistcoat and lets out a huff—wasting no time in popping open the trunk of the car to grab out his belongings.

Ritchie frowns, taking a step back from the trunk as Sonny grabs his luggage for himself and walks off down the opposite way to his estate with Sandra and the children without another word.

Michael steps out of the vehicle first, taking your hand and helping you get out after him before he wraps an arm around your waist.

The two of you neither notice Sonny’s absence nor question it; turning around to face your estate just up ahead greeted by the twins standing next to the babysitter Esther holding baby Vincent in her arms—all waving at you two.

“Oh my goodness, my babies!” You beam, giddily rushing up to greet your family as Michael follows you.

“Mama! Daddy!” Verona jumps up and down, rushing to approach you with Niccolo.

“Welcome back, mama! Daddy!” Niccolo grins happily.

“Hi, honey!” You lean down to kiss both Verona and Niccolo’s cheeks. “Mwah, mwah—gosh, I missed the two of you.”

“Behaved, I hope?” Michael rubs both Niccolo and Verona’s back as they hug him next.

“Of course!” Verona claps her hands together.

“Always, daddy,” Niccolo giggles, giving his father a big hug.

“Ehhhh…” Vincent stirs, squirming a bit in Esther’s arms but the moment Esther snaps her finger and points at you to grab his attention, Vincent calms down.

“Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Corleone,” Esther greets you and Michael with Vincent in her arms. “See, little buddy? I told you they’d be back today.”

“Mio bambino!” (My baby!) You gently scoop up Vincent from Esther’s arms, hugging him. “Hi, baby. Hi, little guy!”

“Gahhhhh…” Vincent’s eyes are wide and in awe of the two of you as he reaches his tiny little hand towards Michael.

“Hello, we’re back,” Michael lets Vincent grab his thumb. “How much trouble did you give Esther?”

“Oh, think nothing of it, please,” Esther chuckles before letting out a sigh of relief.

You cover your mouth to hold back your laughter, shaking your head. “So that means a lot. Not to worry though, little man. Mama and daddy are back, yeah?” You kiss both of Vincent’s little hands. “We’re back, yes we are.”

“How’s my boy, hmm?” Michael gives his baby son a kiss on the cheek. “He’s quiet now, definitely missed his mother.”

“Not just me, don’t you see the way he’s looking at you?” You giggle as Vincent hugs your chest, staring up at his father curiously.

“I know that look, he’ll be after my tie soon,” Michael gives his black, silk tie a little tug, seeing how Vincent’s eyes immediately light up.

“Come on, you two!” You gesture to the twins, “let’s get inside!”

“Your mother and I are exhausted from the trip, so let’s use our indoor voices, yes?” Michael heads inside with you and the twins.

“Okay!” The twins lower their voices to a whisper.

“I don’t think I have time to be exhausted,” you laugh softly, carrying Vincent inside. “Little Vincent here has all my attention.” You glance back at Michael who stops by the corridor near his office. “Niccolo, Verona, with me, please. Daddy’s got a little bit of business to tend to before he joins us for supper. Is grandma cooking?”

“Mhmm,” Verona skips down the hallway next to you with her hands behind her back. “Grandma and Auntie Sandra are!”

“Don’t take too long, daddy,” Vincent looks back at his father. “We missed you.”

“I won’t, buddy,” Michael reassures, nodding. “Get ready for supper with your mother, alright? I’ll be back soon.”

Completely ignoring Sandra’s presence inside his estate as she unpacks Sonny’s belongings, Sonny makes his way towards you and Michael’s estate as soon as he’s no longer able to hear you and the children’s voices.

Sonny grumbles quietly to himself, walking across to your estate with his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers and an unavoidable irritated expression upon his face.

Knowing Michael will be in his office first thing, Sonny refuses to let the matter from Vegas wait any longer and goes to seize the opportunity to speak with his brother in private.

You and the twins enter the nursery upstairs together to give Vincent a change of clothes for supper and to see if he’s hungry enough to be breastfed, leaving the hallway and living room of your estate completely empty.

As if it’s his own home, Sonny walks into the estate and directly makes his way towards Michael’s office—picking up on the sound of Tom handling paperwork for Michael in the study and making sure he’s unseen to avoid any further conversation.

The door to Michael’s office remains half open and rather than standing in front of the door, Al Neri leans against the wall just across from it.

Sonny and Neri make brief eye contact as Neri gives him an acknowledging nod and Sonny enters Michael’s office.

Neri shuts the door behind Sonny for the sake of privacy and to signal to Michael that he has a “guest” here to see him.

Michael remains standing by one of the half-opened windows of his office, smoking a cigarette and gazing outside.

Upon hearing the sound of his office door shut, all Michael does is glance over his shoulder to look upon who entered; seeing Sonny but not the least bit surprised, curious or even caring his older brother is here and visibly frustrated.

“You know, that wife of yours has just as much of a good right hook as you do,” Sonny comments, approaching Michael.

“I’m not surprised,” Michael turns his head back to look out the window again. “Did you underestimate her all this time?”

“More like I didn’t expect her,” Sonny stares at Michael, growing all the more irritated that his brother barely pays attention to him and won’t even look him in the eye while talking despite the conversation being about you.

“Is there a problem, Santino?” Michael blows smoke out towards the window, completely relaxed and calm in his demeanor. “If so,” Michael slowly turns his head to face Sonny directly, “be forward and state your point.”

“You shouldn’t have brought Victoria to Vegas with us,” Sonny states firmly.

Michael flicks the ashes of his cigarette out the window. “And who are you to tell me that I should or shouldn’t take my wife somewhere?”

“I’m your older brother,” Sonny affirms, standing his ground.

“That has no meaning to me,” Michael replies plainly. “I certainly hope you aren’t assuming I brought Victoria along because you’re under the belief I may think you’re incompetent.”

“No, I’m not,” Sonny scoffs, looking around Michael’s office. “You know me. I’m not fuckin’ stupid to go around thinking that. I don’t think Victoria had any business being there. That was between you, me, Fredo, and Tom. It would have made more sense if you brought your own damn consigliere along.” 

“Sonny,” Michael takes a long drag of his cigarette, “I know you’re not concerned for Victoria’s safety just as I know you don’t care if she is or isn’t involved with Fredo’s brothels.”

“I’m saying this for your own good,” Sonny narrows his eyes. “You brought Victoria to a place that clearly bothers her—makes her uncomfortable. You know she didn’t wanna be there.”

“Neither did I,” Michael points out. “But we did what was necessary. I didn’t make Victoria ‘go’ anywhere.” Michael looks Sonny in the eye, “she came along with me of her own free will.”

“You wanted her there,” Sonny rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. 

“Of course, I wanted her with me. She’s my wife,” Michael blows out another puff of smoke. “I intend to take my wife with me anywhere that I possibly can. She’s no stranger to this business, Sonny. You know that much.”

“Why didn’t you bring Tom then?” Sonny furrows his brows.

“Because when I’m away from the compound, Tom is the Don,” Michael tells him. “He’s in charge of my home and family. That’s his place.”

“Right, right,” Sonny grumbles to himself. “Uh-huh.”

“Don’t ask me to justify my reasons as to why I do what I do, Santino,” Michael maintains a calm, quiet tone as he speaks. “I don’t have to explain anything to you whatsoever. You were overjoyed being in Vegas yourself if I recall correctly. Don’t stall me for whatever you’re holding back. We both know this behavior is unlike you.”

“For fuck’s sake, Mike,” Sonny grits his teeth, “you brought your wife right up in the domain of a woman she hates. Don’t you get that?”

“Victoria doesn’t hate anyone,” Michael rests his cigarette between the corner of his lips. 

It’s the truth. You’d never care that much let alone put such energy into hating someone—especially someone like Rita Duvall. 

“Really?” Sonny stares at Michael in disbelief. “Is that why Victoria lectured me on and on about one of the girls working there? Gave me the whole ‘be a faithful husband and quit sleeping around’ talk, all that ‘I’m so disappointed in you’ bullshit. That was uncalled for, huh?”

“Was it?” Michael raises a brow. “Do you hear yourself? It appears she hasn’t said anything wrong to you.”

“I don’t like being told what to do,” Sonny grimaces. “I’m a grown fucking man—”

“And yet I can hear the guilt in your voice loud and clear,” Michael leans off the wall, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. “What Victoria may have said to you in Las Vegas is something your own mother has been telling you for years. Father too.”

“You’re gonna lecture and scold me too now, huh?” Sonny glares at Michael—his frustration mounting. 

“If you’re saying Victoria stepped out of her place, you’re wrong,” Michael stands in front of Sonny, gazing at him. 

“Slapping me wasn’t wrong, huh? Are you fucking kidding me?” Sonny hisses.

“Calm yourself,” Michael replies, unphased. “I would consider my next words carefully if I was you. I’m only getting the impression that you’re here to tell me you’ve grown upset because Victoria told you to behave. Don’t you think I would guess by now that you must have done something to upset her if she hit you, Santino?”

“She didn’t tell you, huh?” Sonny lets out a deep huff. “Of course, she didn’t.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Michael points out. “Because I know you deserved it.”

Sonny’s eyes widen in surprise as he makes eye contact with his brother, stunned.

“This is a tumultuous time for our family, Santino, in case you needed reminding. Fredo’s legacy hasn’t left a good reputation on our family name as of late and despite Victoria, Tom, and I working to rid ourselves of it, you’re enjoying Fredo’s mistakes, his indulgences—the embarrassment he’s caused us for years. What does that say about not only you but the Corleone family as well? If you were anyone else, I could care less, but you’re a nobody.” Michael takes a step closer toward Sonny, putting out his cigarette on the ashtray next to him without diverting his attention from Sonny. “You’re a Corleone and you will behave like a Corleone. If you can’t control your sexual tendencies, you will relieve yourself in private, not public with women who know your name and reputation and you certainly will not do so in the shadow of Fredo’s legacy. You will stop embarrassing me and this family immediately.”

“Think you forgot what I just told you, Mike,” Sonny’s expression twists into a scowl, “I didn’t come here to be fucking lectured. You’re not Pop, you’re not my third fucking parent.”

“I didn’t send you to New York to seduce my wife either, did I?” Michael snaps back.

Immediately growing quiet, Sonny’s tone and expression cool as a tedious silence fills the office.

Michael nods slowly at Sonny, seeing he’s clearly gotten the point. “You thought I would forget so easily, did you?”

“Mike—”

“Just as you knew better them, you know better now, don’t you?” Michael closes off the space between him and Sonny, staring directly into his brother’s eyes with a venomous glare. “I remember, Sonny. I haven’t forgotten anything.”

“Mike, seriously,” Sonny mumbles to himself, raking a hand through his curls. “That was a whole year ago and we talked about this. Everyone’s over—”

“I’m not,” Michael cuts in sharply. “I’m not ‘over it’, Santino. You don’t speak for me just as you don’t speak for Victoria over anything. When it came to Fredo, I didn’t trust him in business but I trusted him personally. Then you saw what he did to our family, didn’t you? Victoria’s mother is dead because of Fredo, but you? I don’t trust you personally. I trust you with business and your role in the family but after going to take an advance on my wife instead of checking in on her well-being and security with my children, you broke every bit of trust I ever had for you. You knew that Sonny,” Michael lowers his tone to a whisper—only heard between him and Sonny. “I don’t like when you mention Victoria and I don’t like when you talk about Victoria. You lost your right to do that from that very moment on. I don’t want you near my wife alone, I don’t want you to console her or give her advice for anything. For your sake, stay away from every woman but the one you’ve married, and stop embarrassing this family. Do you understand me?”

Sonny stares back at Michael for a moment, pressing his lips down firmly. 

Seeing as Michael doesn’t back down and the “tough guy” act he sees from Sonny has zero effect on him whatsoever, Sonny refuses to talk back.

Instead, Sonny takes a step back, turns away, and exits Michael’s office calmly without another word.

The door shuts quietly behind Sonny as Michael adjusts his tie, staring back at the door as if he can see through it—still hearing every footstep Sonny takes down the hallway and out of his estate.

Michael neither needs a reply nor confirmation from Sonny. This is his first and last warning. If Sonny didn’t know before, he knows now and Michael’s cruel streak of refusing to forgive or forget is officially at its peak.

~

Pushing everything else aside, Michael’s only focus and commitment is to his family tonight and he can’t possibly care less about Sonny’s woes towards you or anything that occurred in Las Vegas.

The first thing Michael sees when he steps into the dining room is you—his wife, and his children helping set the table as you keep little baby Vincent entertained in your arms.

“Aaaaa…” Vincent cooes, extending his little hand towards Michael.

“Hi, honey,” a beaming smile forms over your lips as you wave too. 

Mama Corleone looks up at her son and smiles warmly, helping set the table with Verona while Tom and Niccolo’s voices can be heard back in the kitchen, laughing over a joke.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Michael places a hand over your waist before kissing you sweetly, then planting a little kiss over Vincent’s chubby cheek.

That sense of relaxation, serenity, and familiarity surrounds the two of you well—home safe and sound without care to look or think back.

Tensions have relieved themselves of you for other reasons too, of course. 

You didn’t kill Rita Duvall out of pettiness, hate, mere jealousy, or even because you simply could. 

Until Rita and you were face to face with one another again, you hardly remembered her existence; it’s not as if the thought of her kept you up or frustrated you any other time. 

Perhaps it was because Rita knew you refused to pay any mind to her or her antics coupled with her own jealousy and envy of your lifestyle, marriage, influence, and wealth that did nothing but motivate her to become a splinter under your skin.

Even if you walked into Rita’s room and saw her and Sonny having sex right then and there, you wouldn’t have done or said anything, but Rita’s lies about pregnancy would directly provoke the family and create scandal.

Rita may want money and attention from Sonny seeing she can’t get it one way or another from Michael, and that simply could not happen.

Sonny’s frustration towards you may as well be ill-placed. After all, you did him and his marriage as well as the entire family a favor by silencing Rita’s loud mouth once and for all.  

Emotions such as sudden anger in the heat of things or spiking jealousy are beyond a woman like you; just another two things you’ve learned and been taught to tame and ignore as a mafiosa.

Still, as a mafiosa and the wife of a Don, anyone provoking you directly provokes both sides of your family too. 

Whether Rita Duvall knew better or did not doesn’t concern you whatsoever. All you know when it comes to Rita Duvall is that she deserved everything that she got; no remorse or mercy in your heart whatsoever when it comes to doing what is necessary for the family.

Michael thought and felt exactly the same when he put a bullet in Sollozzo and McClusky’s heads too.

#the godfather #al pacino #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone fanfic #godfather au #michael corleone smut #michael corleone x reader smut #michael corleone #the godfather x reader #godfather x reader #alfredo james pacino #the godfather part ii #moth to flame fic #moth to flame fanfic

[farfromrealitypls]

Summary: You were supposed to leave obx for a few days when you get a call from Rose…

Warnings: angst, Ward being an asshole

I hate the way you make her feel

My eyes were focused on the road. It was raining and the trees swayed in the wind, it totally matched the vibe of the playlist I was listening too. A mix of Lana del Rey, Hozier and the neighbourhood. Living near the beach in the obx, I was used to it being warm and sunny, so that made me appreciate those rainy, cozy days even more.

I had to leave obx for a few days and drive out to the mainland, to look at a real estate my dad couldn’t look at, because he was dealing with some work stuff in Europe and my mom went with him. My parents were travelling a lot in general, so I was home alone a lot. I didn’t mind.

I gotta say, I feel very proud that my dad is trusting me and my „business knowledge“ enough to make a choice whether he should buy it or not. Plus I loved getting out and spending time on the mainland from time to time. Only thing bothering me, I left Rafe behind.

People viewed him as cold and heartless. When in reality he was highly emotional and mostly just overwhelmed. He never had an outlet for his feelings which lead him to keeping it all inside. I became the only person he trusted and believe me when I say, that came a long way…He can still be an absolute asshole and I’d lie if I said I never thought about breaking up because I thought I couldn’t handle it anymore. It can be draining and scary, but the times he’s just himself, are outweighing all the pain. I wouldn’t leave him. I could never.

Anyway. I offered multiple times that he could come with me, but when I did he always said that „it’s fine“ and that he „didn’t wanna bother me“. Which was stupid to say because I would’ve loved to have him with me and spend time with him on the mainland. And since I couldn’t figure out if that’s actually how he felt, or if that was just his way of getting out of going with me, I let it go. The last thing I wanna do is put pressure on him. That usually ends bad.

Meanwhile at the Cameron house:

„Rafe please calm down“ Rose said. „Calm down? How the fuck could I calm down if he is ruining the only good thing for me?!“ Rafe punched the wall and Rose flinched.

„What in the world is going on?“ Ward joined the mess. Wanting to know why the hell his son is freaking out.

„Ward go upstairs honey I-„

„Nah he should hear this“ Rafe snapped back and made a step towards his dad. His blood was boiling and he had to take a deep breath.

„let him hear that he is ruining my godamn life!!!“ his voice echoed through the whole house

„Rafe what is the deal?“ Ward asked. Not really because he cared about his sons feelings, more because he thought his behaviour was ridiculous.

Rafe smiled sarcastically and felt his anger overcome him. A certain insanity rushed over him and his whole body went into fight mode.

„WHAT THE DEAL IS“? he punched a vase off the shelf and Rose coverd her ears. „What the hell Rafe!“, Ward yelled and grabbed Rafe by his shoulders. That’s when Rafe shoved his dad in defense and Wards back hit the wall.

„What the fuck do you think you’re doing“ he brought out through gritted teeth, feeling the anger hit him too. He walked back up towards Rafe. Rafe started to tense up and felt tears welding up in his eyes.

„I fucking hate the way you make her feel! The way you look at her like she’s worth nothing! You are so fucking arrogant!“

„This is about that goddamn y/l/n girl again isn’t it?“ Ward said your name in such sarcastic manner that Rafe had the urge to hit him just then.

„you mean the one person that never fucking treats me like shit? The one person that actually listens to what I say and THE ONE FUCKING PERSON WHO IS ACTUALLY TRYING TO HELP ME?!“ Rafe absolutely lost it at that point. All he saw was red.

„The one person that is ruining your life Rafe!“ Ward snapped back.

Rafe threw the first punch at his father, but Ward blocked it.

„Rafe!“ Rose screamed, shocked and terrified. Ward grabbed his sons wrist, so hard that it will leave bruises.

Rose’s eyes widened, all of this scared her, that’s when she left the room, grabbed her phone and called the girl who she thinks is the best that ever happend to Rafe. Other than Ward she knew y/n was good for him. She believed other than a therapist, y/n was the only one who could help Rafe.

„Come on. Pick up“ she mumbled to herself, her hand was shaking.

I was jamming to „Doin‘ time“ by Lana del Rey when my phone started buzzing and I saw „Rose C“ pop up on my screen.

„wtf“ i thought to myself and picked up. „Hey Rose“

„Y/N I’m so sorry to bother you and I know you’re on a trip but I didn’t know what to do. Rafe is freaking out and I’m scared. Him and Ward are fighting and I don’t know what to do. It’s something about you and the way Ward acts towards you I suppose. I don’t even know“

You felt your heart drop. You hated the fact that you weren’t there right now. You knew how fragil Rafe is and that any small inconvenience can lead to him going to Barry’s and getting absolutely shit faced on coke. That’s how he started to cope with his bottled up emotions. He did so well the past months, he can’t relapse right now.

„Alright I’m turning around. Please don’t let him leave the house. Try to keep him there. He can’t go to Barry’s. Please Rose…“

„Alright. Are you sure you can just come back?“

„I’ll be there in a few Rose“ I cut her off. „Thank you…“

Rose hung up and you turned your car around. The truth is, Rafe is right. Ward didn’t like you very much. And you honestly didn’t know why. You figured it’s because you hang around at the cut a lot and you were friends with the pouges. Even tho you live on figure eight he doesn’t seem to accept you. And he probably thinks you’re the reason Sarah is now dating John b, but he completely ignores the fact that Rafe has been clean for almost 5 months now, that he stopped getting into trouble and if he does, you’re always the one getting him out of it. You tried to shove the thought of Rafe relapsing to the back of your head and just drove back as fast as you could.

Meanwhile Rose went back to Rafe and Ward. Rafe was sitting on the floor, leaning against a wall, head buried in his hands, mumbling something to himself. Ward was just standing there in the doorframe m, hands on his hips, breathing heavy. The room was a mess, pictures were ripped off the wall, vases are shattered and chairs are fallen over. Rose stood next to Ward and he looked at her. She put one hand on his shoulder.

„I called her.“

„Called who Rose?“

„Y/n“

„Why on earth would you call her?“

„Because she can get to him!“

„Don’t tell me I can’t get to my own son“

„look at him Ward!“ she pointed at Rafe.„Oh please, he just needs to man-„

„Man up?“ suddenly Rafe got up.

„Yeah fuck that“ his expression was emty. He tried to go past Rose and Ward who were standing in the doorframe.

„Where are you going“ Ward asked. „Barry’s“

Roses heart started racing. She remembered what y/n said.

„But-„ she was trying to find the right words.

„Let’s just all eat something okay? I can cook something you-„

Rafe scoffed.

„Rose get the fuck out of my way“ he made a step towards her.

That’s when the noise of the front door shutting filled the silence. All heads whipped around when y/n appeared.

„y/n?“ Rafe whispered to himself and his expression softened. You rushed towards him and Rose and Ward stepped aside. You pulled him in for a hug and he immediately relaxed in your arms and you could feel his tears hitting your arm. He dropped down to his knees and you went with him. Now sitting on the floor you just held him, waiting for him to just calm down. You softly ran your fingers through his hair and placed kisses on top of his head. He was holding onto you like you would disappear if he doesn’t. Then his grip loosened and he looked at you, his eyes are red and his cheeks glistened with his tears.

„Shouldn’t you be on the mainland already?“ he sniffled.

You wiped away his tears with your hands.

„Don’t worry about that. Do you wanna talk or should we just leave?“ you whispered.

„Let’s just get out of here“ he was quick to answer.

„Alright. I still have to go out on the mainland tho. But can you come with me? I don’t really wanna go alone.“

„Yeah of course“ he nodded enthusiastically.

„Let’s go upstairs and grab a few clothes then?“ you suggested.

He nodded, got up and took your hand. He was quick to be the tough guy again. That’s when he felt the safest. Feelings off. He hated being vulnerable and you knew it bothered him that Rose and Ward saw him like that. You really wanted to know what was going on and what made him freak out. You just now noticed how messed up the room was. You also didn’t notice that Rose and Ward were still standing there. You followed Rafe past them. Rafe then let go of your hand.

„I’ll be quick“ he kissed your cheeck and went upstairs.

As soon as he was out of sight, Rose grabbed you and pulled you into a hug. „Thank you so much. God. Thank you“

„No problem“ you hugged her back.

„We‘ll be out on the mainland for like a week. If that’s ok?“

„yeah yeah! Of course! He needs to get out. Clear his head and whatever“, Rose answered before Ward had a chance to.

You could feel him staring at you the whole time. You tried to ignore it but he was literally burning holes into you.

You looked at him and gave him a half hearted smile. That’s when he put his hand out to shake yours. You shook it hesitantly.

“Thank you y/n“

You couldn’t quite figure out his facial expression. But you took the opportunity of him being emotional, hoping that what you say will actually be heard.

„I really love your son sir and I’m really trying to help“

Still holding your hand in that handshake. “you really do. Don’t you?“ Ward said.

Was that a soft smile? You nodded and he nodded back as he was saying “I just realised that too. You’re actually a good kid“

Ward let go of your hand when he heard Rafe coming down the stairs again. „Alright let’s go“ Rafe mumbled holding a small duffel bag in his hand.

Without looking at Ward or Rose he walked out the house. With a quick smile and a „bye“ you quickly followed.

Rafe threw his bag on the backseat and open the passenger door and waited for you to get in. Rafe almost always drove if it was just you two, even if it was your car. You didn’t mind .You got in and Rafe got into the drivers seat. You left the key in. Rafe buckled up and you looked at him still wondering what happened. But you’re not gonna pressure him to tell you about it.

When he’s ready he will. You were just happy that he was here with you. And not at Barry’s snorting coke. He avoided looking at you since you guys left and just chewed on his bottom lip and stared at his hands. He felt your gaze on him and he turned his head, meeting your eyes. He couldn’t help himself but smile. You smiled back, that’s when he reached out to cup your face and placed a gentle kiss on your lips.

„You’re literally saving my life over and over again. You know that?”

„Well you have quite some time now to figure out how to make it up to me” you said jokingly, winking at him and a shit eating grin appeared on his face.

“Yes ma’am” he chuckled and turned the motor on.

He put his hand on your thigh and started driving. You smiled to yourself because you knew exactly how he’s gonna make it up to you.

A/n: There is just something about „fixing a broken boy“ that gets to me every single time. I hope you enjoy that just as much as I do. <3

#rafe cameron #rafe x y/n #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe obx #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe fanfiction #rafe angst #obx #obx2 #obx netflix #obx imagine #obx fic

[kaaaaaaarf]

🎃trick or treat🍭

TREAT! 🎃

I have had a wolfstar girldads idea in my head for months. I have a playlist and everything, but only have some short snippits written. Their daughter's name is Odette (or Odie for short) and she's three. Her big brother is Teddy, who is fifteen. Snip:

Remus looks exhausted. He has deep purple bags under his eyes and can barely keep his eyes open. He's leaning against the doorway like it's the only thing keeping him upright (frankly, he's never been more attractive, but that's not the point). "She wants to watch Paw Patrol, Sirius. She literally wont let me put anything else on for her, I have tried." Sirius scoffs. "Oh, no. No. ACAB! We aren't letting our only daughter get brainwashed by the establishment." Remus rolls his eyes. "Well if you can get her to watch literally anything else, go for it." "Odie. Why dont we watch Bluey? You love Bluey!"

Odette for her part stomps her feet and clutches her old, tattered baby blanket to her chest. "NO BOUEY!!!! PAW PATOLE, DADDY." "Little bird, we've talked before about the police, yeah? How they are blood suckers who steal money from the pockets of the working class and use institutionalized racism to marginalize our neighbours and members of the community?" Odie raises her arms high and Remus looks on with fond amusement. "YEAH! POPO NONO!" Sirius smiles at her encouragingly. "Thats right! Popo nono. So were not gonna watch Paw Patrol because they are trying to brainwash you into thinking that police are nice and cute and pillars of the community. So, with all that being said. I'm gonna put on Peppa Pig, she's the only pig we can trust." Odette throws herself onto the couch and starts pounding her small fists, sounding impossibly sad. "NONONO. PAW PATOLE. Mahshull Odie's fwiend." Remus looks smug as hell. "Well Sirius, at least she got your flare for the dramatics."

ask box trick-or-treat (fic writer edition)

#fic: a solid soul and the blood i bleed #wolfstar #wolfstar girldads #lune tag #ask me

[lost-walmartbag]

Marjorine x reader pt 7

Playlist

Warning: Transphobia, swearing, deadnaming

Background: Marj comes out to her parents which does not go over well.

Status: Ongoing

Previous part

Next part

Out

Seeing how close you were getting to Kenny made Marjorine's blood boil. It shouldn't...god why did it? Oh yeah because she was stupidly in love with you but basically told you no. Why can't she just be normal? She's been awkwardly avoiding you for days now. Hoping that she could speedrun the whole healing process.

She needed to do this and needed to do it fast. So she did something she didn't think she would. As her parents were downstairs watching tv Marjorine walked downstairs in a dress. Her hands were shaking and she could feel her heartbeat in her throat.

She wanted to run upstairs but the thought of you losing interest in the time it would take her to figure this out scared her more than her parents. She took a deep breath and walked in front of the tv and faced her parents.

"Butters get out of the way." Her mother said with a frown.

"Why are you in that dress. Take it off." Her father said crossing his arms.

"I-I...." She started feeling her confidence drop. She took a deep breath and looked up at them. "I'm a girl. No more Butters. No more Leopald. I want to go by Marjorine."

Her parents stared at her for a second trying to process what she had just said. Her mother stood up and walked over to her. Marjorine looked at her and within a second she felt a sharp sting on her cheek. She touched her cheek and looked at her mother as her eyes filled with tears.

"Get out."

"B-but"

"Get. Out." Her mother repeated.

Marjorine wanted to say so much but at that moment nothing came out. She looked back at her father who sat on the couch looking down at his lap holding his head in his hands.

"D..dad?"

"You heard your mother Leopald." Her father muttered.

She stared at them hoping they would break and say they were sorry or that it was all some sick joke. She knew they hated her....that she wasn't the child they would have wanted but this? Why? Why didn't she see this coming?

She quickly rushed out of the house taking nothing with her. She didn't know where she was going. She just knew she couldn't be there for much longer.

You were home sitting on the floor with Kenny doing your science homework. He was always better at this than you were.

"What the fuck even is gravity?" You said with a groan throwing down your textbook and falling back, laying on the floor

"Sometimes you say things that make you sound so stupid it's actually crazy," Kenny said with a chuckle as he flipped through pages in his own textbook.

"Yeah well this one girl said we don't even need it."

"And you shouldn't be getting your information from mentally ill people online and stick to just asking me for help."

"Yay, so I get to choose between mentally ill people online or mentally ill people in real life."

"I would respond but the voices in my head are telling me not to," Kenny said making you laugh softly.

Suddenly the peaceful environment was cut off by Kenny's phone going off. He pulled his phone out of his pocket seeing Kyle's name pop up. He answered and held the phone to his ear.

"Hey dude what's up?" Kenny said into the phone as he kept his focus on his book.

Within a few seconds, you noticed Kenny dropping his book and his face going pale. You sat up and looked at him confused.

"O-ok dude slow down I- let me put you on speaker," Kenny said taking the phone away from his ear and putting it on speaker. "O-ok repeat what you said."

"It's Marj! Her mom just called mine freaking out saying that something happened and that Marj was hurt and that they couldn't save them or some shit she wouldn't tell us what happened and now they aren't returning our calls and.."

The minute the words cut through the air you felt as if all time had stopped. You sat there as the blood flowing through your veins ran cold. You could hear Kenny and Kyle still talking but it sounded so muffled in comparison to the ringing in your ears.

Dead? That can't be possible you just saw her yesterday. You texted her not even a few hours ago. She can't be. She couldn't be dead.

Kenny gently shook your shoulder trying to bring you back into reality but you couldn't focus on anything but the thoughts clouding your head.

When did you end up at the park? God, it's fucking freezing. Why was it always snowing here? Why are your feet and legs so cold. You looked down seeing your legs and feet turn red as the cold snow burned your skin. You looked behind you seeing your own footsteps in the snow. God you wish this mental breakdown happened when you were wearing something other than shorts.

You dropped down to your knees not paying any mind to the stinging on your skin. Dead. She's dead. Were the only things you heard in your mind as you looked out at the pond reflecting the moonlight on the frozen layer of ice.

You started crying which quickly turned into sobbing which then turned into screaming as you pounded your fist on the ground. You hadn't known her for long but....dead? She was so bright so happy so....beautiful. What happened? Why? Why weren't you there? To tell her you cared to tell her you loved her.

You felt a large hand on your shoulder and looked up seeing Kenny. He was horribly out of breath and holding your shoes.

"Kenny I..."

"I know. I loved her too." He whispered putting down your shoes.

"I don't understand." You choked out through sobs.

"Me either...Look Kyle's on his way so he can tell us everything he knows but it doesn't seem like...." Kenny started before looking off to the other side of the lake.

You followed his gaze seeing a tall figure across the frozen lake. They had short blond hair and a yellow dress. You know that dress. You made that dress.

"That's my dress! That's her dress!" You yelled rising to your feet and running towards the figure.

"Y/N wait!" Kenny yelled but it was in vain as you ran across the icy lake. You stumbled and fell down a few times but that wasn't stopping you.

Marjorine looked up seeing your figure running towards her. How did you know she was here? How did you know she needed you right now? Fuck that didn't matter not now. She was just as stupid as you were at that moment because she rose to her own feet and ran towards you.

"Marj!"

"Y/N!"

You both yelled out after each other. Once you two were close enough you grabbed hold of one another. You both sobbed into each other's shoulders. Nothing else mattered. Nothing. She was alive. That's all that mattered.

"Y/N! Get off the ice!" Kenny yelled.

You pulled away from Marjorine and your eyes widened as you heard ice beneath you and Marjorine begin to crack. You grabbed her hand and started running off the ice with her.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck why did I think this was a good idea?" You said in a panic as you both tried to make your way off the ice before it gave out.

Just as you two were in arms reach from Kenny the ice gave out causing both you and Marjorine to fall through the ice.

A/N: So so so sorry this didn't come out when scheduled I didn't want to release it before I was done writing it and I didn't want to rush. I just want to say. You all are valid and I'm sorry if you don't feel accepted by those in your life. You deserve so much love and to feel comfortable in your own skin. And if no one else shows you that love just know I feel that love for you. Thank you for reading and I love you all 🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵

#south park x reader #south park #fanfic #south park x you #x reader #kyle broflovski #kenny mccormick #butters x reader #butters leopold stotch #south park butters #sp marjorine #south park marjorine

[cherubispunk]

UP IN YOUR ARMS (PROLOGUE) -Noir!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the begining of it all tasted like whiskey and ciggeretes. But smelled of the interrogation room.

a note from Lucy: Helllooooo my lovely Joel Miller enthusiasts! i'm here again, and so are you, with yet another joel au series. this time with a historical twist. wiil it be completely historically accurate? probably not? are we here anyway because its joel fucking miller? yes. yes we are. fair warning, some dark contant will be in later chapters, so if that isnt your cup of rosey lea, feel free to scroll away. if it is, then sit back, relax, enjoy a dry martini and some blues or jazz music on vinyl, and lets have a wild time. Also, a huge thank you is due to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for convicting me to post this. Love you cherub! xxx

playlist

wc: 912 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! 1940s!au, no outbreak, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Joel is in his 40s), allusions to Smut, smoking, use of pet names such as doll, cursing, being arrested, interrogation scene, references to violence, ww2 references, probably an unhealthy relationship between reader and joel, mentions of blood, let me know if ive missed any warning out that should be tagged.

series m.list | m.list

“Okay,” Detective Granger sighs opposite you, “Let’s try this again.”

Your knee bounces rapidly under the chrome metal table. If it weren't screwed to the floor it would surely rattle with your antsy movement. Your eyes fall to your lap, the dress you wore tattered with a mix of blood, dust and the smell of Joel’s aftershave. A smell you wish you had with his physicality.

“Please state your name for the record.” He asks. Again. From the moment they put you in cuffs, shoved you in the back of a cop car, and brought you up to the station, you had not uttered a word. Maybe you were scared, or maybe it was the principle of the fact. But the idea that Joel was a few rooms over – not at arm's length – it made you yearn for his touch. To be under the rough pads of his fingertips once more. Weather it be in a grimy motel room, or even the fucking Canary Club back in the cesspool of Boston. 

But you sighed, knowing you aren't going home anytime soon without giving them something. Joel told you to spin it. Tell them the truth with the twist he promised would work. Leave you unscathed. 

So you tell them your name. And then your occupation once they ask for that too; “Singer.” 

The detective looks at his co-worker, raising his brow. He nods back at him, believing you. If only you could unleash the insults that curl and cinder at the tip of your tongue. 

“Okay,” Granger tips his head to the side in acknowledgement of the fact your answers are the truth. What leverage would you have to lie if the very thing you are about to spill is an ever so slight twisting of the truth?

You watch with unblinking eyes as he places a black and white picture upon the table, between you and his now folded hands, “Care to tell us who this is?” 

It’s Joel. You knew they knew that. They just need to confirm their suspicion for the record. For the jury. The court. Your impending trial. So you take a second to study it, hold back a smile at the very sight of his broad shoulders, his tarnishes, creased dress shirt that clings to him like a second skin you wish to ravish him off. Even in the stale air of an interrogation room, through the captured image of a blurred mugshot, he makes the fire in your loins kickstart. Memories of joyrides, money, sex, motel sheets and speakeasy rendezvous. 

You give them a nod, sitting back in your seat.

“Who is he?”

“It’s Joel Miller. ‘Says it right there.” You tap the mugshot with your index finger to prove a point, kissing your teeth with a smug smile. “Or can you pig’s not read?” Venom spills from your words like maroon wine from a shattered glass. 

Detective Granger bites his tongue, leaning forward over the table, hands grasping the lip of it as he stands up, knuckles bleached white under his own grip. 

“Don’t think I ain’t above sending you to a cell with a shiner to your pretty lil’ nose, Doll.” He glared. It didn't seep any deeper than skin though. Didn’t rattle your bones that way Joel’s voice would when he called you a pretty ditzy thing that one time. If he were here the detective's teeth would be splattered across the tile of the floor for saying that. Daring to call you what he did, turning it into something that made your lip curl in disgust. 

“Oh, I'm sorry, Mr, Detective.” You pouted, tilting your head at him, doe eyed, sarcastic innocence wrapped around your tongue’s words.

His fist descended down upon the table with a slam, making you flinch. Much to your own dismay. “Just answer the damn question!” 

“Was he your boyfriend?” 

“No.”

Joel was no mere boyfriend. 

He was your lover. Your life. Your glue that mended cracks seen by no other. The man that undressed you and wrapped you up in his warmth. His Texan drawl. Unravelled you between your thighs. Made you lust for anything he did. He was air in your lungs, the smell of cedarwood and musk. Metallic blood on your collarbone and gravel under a cars worn in tires. He was the leather of your car seat. The Egyptian cotton of your sheets. 

But this was where the lie began…

“He was my jailor.” 

Detective Granger’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at you, your eyes finding him behind the wisp of your lashes. The glassy shine of a tear slipping from your waterline. He furrowed his brow, his thin lips pressing into a thin line below his bushy moustache that curled at the ends. The nostrils of his bulbous nose flared and his jaw ticked under the clenching of his teeth. Once more, you looked into your lap at your folded hands.

He sighed once more, adjusting his grey suit trousers to sit down, holding his tie to his beer belly as he did so. “Can you tell us what happened? Leading up to the crime?” His voice was softer and he winced at the sound of your sniff. How you were so timid all of a sudden like a deer in headlights. 

You nodded, swallowing your own saliva, the walls of your oesophagus grating together like coarse sandpaper. And then you spoke. “I met him when I was living in Boston.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x #the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel tlou #lu’s little bookshelf #joel the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel x reader #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel x reader smut #joel miller tlou #up in your arms #1940sgangster!joel #noir!joel

[fritextramole]

a hidden gem, my own goldmine

part 1 of a Vanessa Abrams playlist - best heard in order

tracklist and quotes under the cut

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised ~ Gil Scott-Heron

The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal The revolution will not get rid of the nubs The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner Because the revolution will not be televised, brother

Chain Gang ~ Sam Cooke

Can't you hear them singing I'm going home one of these days

The Rebel Girl ~ Hazel Dickens

There are blue blood queens and princesses Who have charms made of diamonds and pearl But the only and thoroughbred lady Is the Rebel Girl

The Mesopotamians ~ They Might Be Giants

In Mesopotamia (No one's ever seen us) The kingdom where we secretly reign (And no one's ever heard of our band) The land where we invisibly rule As the Mesopotamians

Myriad Harbour ~ The New Pornographers

(Ah, who cares, you always end up in the city) Stranded at Bleecker and Broadway Looking for something to do

Which Side Are You On? ~ Work O’ The Weavers

Which side are you on, boys? Which side are you on?

Thus Always To Tyrants ~ The Oh Hellos

Over hill, over dale, through the valley and vale Do not weep, do not wail, I am coming home to you Every tomb, every sea, spit the bones from your teeth Let the ransomed be free as the revel meets the day Let the valleys awake, let them rattle and shake

Twenty Five Miles ~ Edwin Starr

Now I'll be so glad to see my baby And hold her in my arms one more time, huh Now when I kiss her lips, I turn a back over flip And I forget about these feet of mine I got to keep on walking, hey

THE FRIEND SPACE ~ Ryan Woods

I really hope I don’t throw it away But you couldn’t imagine the way I feel And now I can’t see why You wouldn’t wanna be my baby I got all you need

Comin’ Down ~ Jackie Shane

What's wrong with me? I said it's a simple fact I don't believe you're ever comin' back

Even The Losers ~ Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

Well, it was nearly summer we sat on your roof Yeah, we smoked cigarettes and we stared at the moon And I showed you stars you never could see Babe, it couldn't have been that easy to forget about me

Sylvias Mother ~ The Refreshments

Sylvia's mother says Sylvia's packin' She's gonna be leavin' today Sylvia's mother says Sylvia is marrying A fella down Galveston way

Hot & Heavy ~ Lucy Dacus

When I went away it was the only option Couldn't trust myself to proceed with caution The most that I could give to you is nothing at all The best that I could offer was to miss your calls

I Can’t Stand the Rain ~ Ann Peebles

I know you got some sweet memory But like the wind, ah, you ain't got nothing to say

Radio, Radio ~ Elvis Costello & The Attractions

They say you better listen to the voice of reason But they don't give you any choice 'cause they think that it's treason So you had better do as you are told You better listen to the radio I wanna bite the hand that feeds me

Stairway to Heaven ~ Led Zeppelin

There's a lady who's sure All that glitters is gold And she's buying a stairway to heaven When she gets there she knows If the stores are all closed With a word she can get what she came for

Solidarity Forever ~ Pete Seeger, The Song Swappers

We can break their haughty power, gain our freedom when we learn That the union makes us strong

American Idiot ~ Green Day

Welcome to a new kind of tension All across the alien nation Where everything isn't meant to be okay In television dreams of tomorrow

9 to 5 ~ Dolly Parton

There's a better life And you think about it, don't you? It's a rich man's game No matter what they call it And you spend your life Putting money in his wallet

Stop! In The Name Of Love ~ The Supremes

I watch you walk down the street Knowing your other love you'll meet But this time before you run to her Leaving me alone and hurt (Think it over) After I've been good to you

5AM ~ Amber Run

We run into a dark room And we spasm to the sounds Of a copy of Morrissey Or the blues of the Deep South

Val Kilmer ~ Bowling For Soup

So when you walk down that red carpet I hope you trip and fall I hope someone squirts you with a water gun A super soaker filled with pee

There’s A Ghost In My House ~ R. Dean Taylor

I can't hide (Ghost in my house) From the ghost of your love that's inside You're still such a part of me (Ghost in my house) Still so deep in the heart of me (Ghost in my house)

#gg #ggplaylists #vanessa abrams #gossip girl #source: senamarais