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valeskafics · 1 year

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National Targaryens Family Vacation: Chapter Thirteen (Jace, Aegon, Aemond x Reader)

A/N (IMPORTANT): OKAY SO HELAENA MAKES YOU GUYS HAVE A SEANCE IN THIS BUT BUT BUT if that kinda stuff makes you uncomfortable I have put a gif before the ghosty shit starts and after it ends so you can just scroll past it!! Aegon girls... enjoy!!!! (also please tell me some of y'all have seen ouija and remember how cute Olivia cooke was in it hehe)

Summary: Back at the hotel, Helaena suggests a "fun" little game.

Word Count: 3,008

Inspiration Credit: @tinfairies

TW: profanity, innuendo, suggestive material, ghosts/seance/Ouija board, kissing someone while drunk (ABSOLUTELY NOTHING FURTHER), mentions of throwing up while drunk

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them.

Tag List (comment if you wish to be added/removed): @chevelledahuman @smileykiddie08 @ticci-isaack @zephyrinethedruid @julessworldd @bytchis-world @fallingleaves678 @svftsunflower @dearsnow @naomishief-blog @zverea @softlyshifting @tinykryptonitewerewolf @jbaby2 @babyblue-chaos @bat-revival @illuzold @regulusblackismycomfortcharacter @multiharlow @scratchietella @crownofdecit @ladystardvsts @m1ndbrand @rainbow-unicorn-pony @pockeymcmockey @princessmiaelicia @givemeeverything @justanotherkpopstanlol @momochiiiiiiii @mmmimilan @polireader @xcharlottemikaelsonx @psycheflame @haven-is-happy @wonder-harley @elle4404 @vilia8 @candypurplebutterfly @dankfarrikdin

So maybe going on yet another water ride after the sun had already gone down was a bad idea. No, it definitely was.

When you board Pirates of the Caribbean, you are so happy to get seated in the first row. You sit between Aegon and Helaena, waving at the diners at the Blue Bayou Restaurant that overlooks the beginning of the ride. Aemond comments to all of you that the water smells disgusting and that all this stagnant water probably attracts mosquitos. You pass through the beginning of the ride without anything much happening, but when the talking skull comes, giving his spiel about “what lies ahead”, Aegon turns to you.

“This is a drop, isn’t it?” he winces.

“Yup!” Luke grins from behind the two of you, making you both groan.

You, Aegon, and Helaena get the brunt of the water, being in the front row. It splashes all over your face, completely soaking the three of you, despite you leaning in toward Aegon to shield your face and Helaena leaning in toward you. No, that did not help at all. The ride is still fun, though, and you all love the animatronics, especially the dog with the jail cell key, recognizing that they copied him in the first Pirates movie (Luke reminds you, of course, that the movie is based on the attraction, and not the other way around).

When the six of you return to the hotel, you are all shivering and dripping all over the floor. If this wasn’t specifically a theme park hotel, you’re sure you all would’ve been kicked out by now. The front desk staff definitely aren’t huge fans of you, judging by the looks on their faces. There’s a group of six guys who seem to be around Aegon’s age, sitting on the lobby sofas you yourselves were sprawled across yesterday. Out of the corner of your eye, you see one of them nudge their friends as you pass next to them.

One lets out a wolf whistle, “Damn, ladies, if you ever wanna ditch these little boys and get with a real man, come hang out with us instead of these losers.”

Helaena’s face turns red with embarrassment and annoyance. The boys look like they’re ready to slap a bitch.

“Real men,” you pause, turning to your friends and gesturing to Luke, Jace, Aegon, and Aemond, “Hm. I see one, two, three, four here,” you turn back to the six strangers and tap your chin as if in deep thought before smirking, “And zero here. If you see any more, please do let me know.”

You’re pretty sure if your friends laughed any harder, they would be on the floor wheezing. The douchebag who had hit on you and Helaena’s jaw is practically on the ground while his friends look just as offended. You all walk to the elevator, piling in, still shivering, and you give him the finger as the door closes.

“Thanks for sticking up for us, Y/N,” Luke smiles, hugging you.

“He was a punk ass bitch, someone needed to put him in his place,” you ruffle Luke’s hair, “And you guys are men, fuck him. He probably has, like, a micro penis because all of his dick was put into his personality.”

This earns a fresh bout of laughter from your friends as the door opens to let Luke out on his floor. You all tell him you’ll see him downstairs at breakfast around 7:30 again. He waves to all of you and runs off to, no doubt, tell Baela, Rhaena, Joff, and Daeron about what just went on downstairs.

You all get to your room and sink down onto the couch. You let out a loud yawn, making Aegon start protesting.

“No, no yawning! We’re on vacation, we have to do something fun again!” Aegon insists.

Helaena laughs at her brother, “Okay, what do you suggest we do?”

“Spin the bottle?” Jace suggests, glancing over at you.

You scoff, “I’m literally the only person here you guys aren’t related to, so no, we aren’t doing that.”

“Let’s have a seance,” Helaena’s eyes widen with excitement, “Please? You guys, it would be so fun.”

You and Aemond are about to agree when Jace and Aegon scream, “NO!”

“Oh, come on,” Aemond chuckles, “Don’t tell me you two idiots actually believe in ghosts.”

“After that fuckin’ ride today?” Aegon’s eyebrows are nearly in his hairline, considering how high he has them raised, “Yes. Yes, we fuckin’ do!”

“Okay,” Helaena shrugs, “You guys can be a couple of little bitches, the three of us will just do it.”

She pulls a Ouija board out of the little bag she left in the living area, which fascinates you and Aemond.

“Wait, don’t you need four people for that?” Jace asks, “To cover all the sides or whatever?”

“I think that was just in the movie,” Aemond comments.

“The movie with the hot chick that looks just like your mom?” you ask, earning an elbow to the chest from Helaena, “Damn, sorry!”

“Ugh, let’s just do this,” Aegon relents, “But if I get killed by a ghost, you best believe I’m coming back to haunt the shit out of you three,” he turns to Jace, slapping his back, “Not you, though, bro.”

“Aw, thanks, Aegon. I won’t haunt you either.”

You, Aemond, and Helaena look at each other and roll your eyes, Helaena speaking, “Okay, ladies, grab a chair and sit around the table.”

She pulls out a candle from her bag, (why she even had it on her, you don’t know) and dims the rest of the lights in the room. You all sit in a circle, staring at the board. You sit between Aegon and Jace. How lucky, you get to sit between the two little babies. Helaena tells you all to join hands. Aegon giggles to himself, grabbing your hand.

“At least I get something out of this,” he grins.

You could slap him. Jace extends his hand to you as well and you take it. Their hands are both clammy, which almost makes you feel bad for them. Until they squeeze a little too hard out of fear and you have to scold them that they’re going to break your phalanges.

Helaena makes you all chant three times, “As friends we gather, hearts are true, spirits near, we call to you.”

“Oh, this is definitely the chant from the movie with the hot chick who looks like Alicent-“

“Shut up, Y/N!” Helaena has to hold back a laugh, “Okay, now place your two index fingers on the planchette.”

“The plan what?” Jace blanches, “The plastic thingy?”

“Yes, you imbecile, the plastic thingy, do you know what the fuck a context clue is?” Aemond slaps the back of Jace’s head, making him let out a low whine of pain.

You and Aegon glance at each other and bite back a laugh, placing your fingers next to each others. He pokes your finger with his, making you poke him back.

“Poke,” he whispers, making you laugh out a little too loudly, annoying Helaena.

She makes you circle the planchette around the board three times.

“Why is everything in three’s?” Aegon asks.

You shrug, “Lucky number?”

“Is there someone in here with us?” Helaena calls out.

Silence. No movement on the board.

“Oh, well, didn’t work,” Jace says, “Time to stop.”

“No, you have to say ‘spirits, spirits, give us a sign’ three times,” Helaena states.

“Three again? Come on-“

“Shut up Aegon!”

You look between the two oldest Targaryens and can barely hold in your laughter. Aegon is pouting and Helaena looks like she could just about murder him. Maybe it’s his ghost you’ll be talking to. You listen to her instructions and do the chant. She tells you to ask if there’s a spirit in the room. You look at her dubiously and ask if there’s a spirit in the room. The planchette moves to yes because obviously someone got bored and moved it. Jace and Aegon start screaming. That narrows it down. It was Helaena or Aemond.

“Oh my God, ask it something,” Helaena squeals, “Something only one of us would know the answer to!”

Okay, she’s too genuinely excited. It was definitely Aemond who moved it.

“How big is my penis?” Aegon says.

You look at him, unimpressed, “Really?”

Whichever person in your group is pushing the planchette, moves it slowly across the numbers, all the way to…

“Zero?” Aegon gapes, “Aw, hell no, ghost, that’s not right!”

The rest of you cackle at him, almost hysterically.

“What is your name?” Jace asks, speaking very slow and very loud.

“He’s dead, Jace, we don’t know if he’s hard of hearing,” Helaena rolls her eyes, “Speak normally or you’ll offend our guest.”

“Sorry.”

The planchette moves to spell B O B.

“Bob?” you repeat, “The fuck kind of white ass name for a ghost is that?”

“Someone ask it something interesting,” Aegon whines.

You shrug, “Okay,” you pause, “Bob, does the person I like, like me back?”

The planchette stays still. Your friends all look at you.

“You like someone?” Jace questions frantically, “Who?”

“The ghost knows who!” you retort, “You don’t need to know!”

The planchette still doesn’t move, making you sigh.

“Is the person that Y/N likes in this room?” Helaena asks, making the boys whip their heads to her.

You keep your head down and decide to push the planchette yourself, all the way to…

“YES?!” all of them scream, staring at you.

You shrug, “I guess, if the ghost says so.”

Helaena is about to ask the ghost another question when you hear a creaking sound, before the door to your room slams open, making all of you scream bloody murder and grab each other, falling into a five person huddle. The intruder also screams, turning on the light.

You see Daemon standing there, looking at all of you, “I just wanted to get something from your bloody minibar!”

The five of you are entangled on the floor, you lying on your back on top of Jace, Aemond and Aegon sprawled across you and Helaena on top of them. You all manage to remove yourselves from the weird five-headed monster you’ve morphed into. You let out a deep sigh.

“That was scary!” Jace says, leaning against the door, screaming when it slams shut due to the pressure he was putting on it.

The rest of you roll your eyes and say goodnight to Daemon as he leaves. He points a finger at Jace, not saying a word, walking out the door. You all remember the events of this evening’s dinner and start giggling as Jace walks back towards you.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, Mr. Pornhub Plus,” you snicker, making the Targaryen siblings descend into full blown laughter, Jace’s face turning red.

“It’s Luke!” Jace insists, “He made me cover for him!”

“Yeah, sweet, innocent puppy dog Luke is subscribed to Redtube Premium,” you roll your eyes, “It’s okay, Jace, baby, we all watch porn.”

“Some more than others, apparently, Little Miss ‘It’s Free on Twitter’,” Aegon wheezes out between laughs.

You slap him on the backside of the head, “Boy, if you don’t shut that mouth of yours, I will.”

“Ooh, I like the sound of that.”

“Oh gross!” “Get a room!” “Perv!”

Jace, Aemond, and Helaena’s voices ring out, while you feel yourself getting slightly excited by that teasing look Aegon has on his stupid, smug, overly attractive face. You shake your head at him before announcing that you’re going to go take a shower again to wash the theme park water off of you. That stuff cannot possibly be good for your skin and Aemond has put it in your head that it smells weird. As you say goodnight to everyone and turn to leave for the bathroom, Aegon, still sitting on the floor, grabs your hand. You turn to look at him.

“Can I join you?” he wags his eyebrows, making you smack him again.

You go and take a quick shower, but by the time you get out and put on the shirt Aemond had loaned you yesterday, Helaena is sprawled across your bed, knocked out. You try to get in, but in her unconscious state, she refuses to give an inch. You laugh at her, tucking her under the covers, considering her leg is hanging all the way out. You go out to see if Aemond is still awake. Apparently, your little seance has tired him out. He’s lying diagonally across the bed, sleeping like a baby. You can’t bring yourself to wake him up, he looks like an angel. You move his hair out of his face and kiss his forehead, getting up to go to the next room. If someone isn’t awake in here, you are shit out of luck and will end up sleeping on the floor.

Luckily, both Aegon and Jace are awake, watching some telenovela, with subtitles.

“That’s her biological mom,” Jace gapes at the screen.

“And she slept with, technically, her brother,” Aegon looks completely horrified, “Dude, that’s so fuckin’ gross!”

You stare at them both in amusement.

Jace notices you first, “Oh, hey, Y/N! What’s up?”

“Uh, hi. Hel and Aemond are kinda not in the mood for a bunk buddy right now,” you grin wryly, “Any chance either of you have room for ya homie?”

Jace opens his mouth to respond (and probably offer you to sleep on his bed), but Aegon is already up, dragging you to his side, “Yep, I got you, Princess!”

Jace pouts slightly as you smile at the blond, “Thanks, Aeg, I really didn’t want to sleep on the floor, you’re a lifesaver, for real.”

He bows, gesturing at the bed with a flourish, “My lady.”

You laugh, getting in and asking what you’ve missed in their telenovela. They eagerly fill you in anytime a character pops up on the screen. It’s extremely entertaining, more so than anything else you’ve watched recently. Eventually, the sound of Jace’s snores overpower the sound of Maria Luisa’s evil mother-in-law murdering her sister, making you and Aegon giggle to each other and turn the television off. You face each other - your back is towards the wall and his is towards Jace.

“So.”

You two look at each other for a minute and start giggling again.

“Jace snores so loud,” Aegon whispers secretively, making you snort out a laugh, “It’s like sleeping with a hibernating bear.”

“Your sister talks and gives me creepy premonitions in her sleep,” you whisper back, “I’d totally forgotten.”

Aegon laughs silently, lowering his head and covering his mouth, “She was telling me something about dragons and spools of thread in her sleep once. Freaked me the fuck out, her eyes were, like, wide open.”

You nod, “Yeah, she has a tendency to do that.”

He smiles at you, wrapping his arms around your waist, “Aemond’s right. You are like a body pillow.”

“Oh, thanks,” you scoff, “Just what anyone wants to hear when they’re in bed with a cute guy.”

He grins up at you, “Oh, so you think I’m cute?”

You stutter, “W-well, objectively speaking, you’re a g-good looking guy, you know.”

He nuzzles his head into your the crook of your shoulder, “I think you’re cute too,” he whispers against your skin, “I always have.”

You pull back and meet his eyes, “Always?”

He nods, flipping his hair out of his eyes, “Yeah. Ever since, God, what were we, 7 and 9?”

Your eyes widen, “Are you serious?”

He nods, “Yeah. I mean, all the partying and all the girls, it’s always just been a way to forget about you,” you open your mouth to ask him a question, “And, um, you remember that party? After the USC vs UCLA rivalry game last November?”

You nod slowly.

“You got super drunk and threw up, you remember that right?”

You wince at the reminder, “Yeah, thank you for that. I really needed that mental flashback.”

He laughs softly, “Well, after I took you back to your dorm and you drunkenly brushed your teeth and stuff,” he gulps slightly, “You kissed me.”

You knit your eyebrows together in confusion, having no recollection of what he’s talking about, “I did?”

He nods, before assuring you, “I didn’t kiss you back, obviously. You were drunk off your ass. But,” he sighs, “It just sucked because I’ve wanted to kiss you pretty much my entire life. And the one time I get to do it, you don’t even fuckin’ remember it.”

You look at him, still surprised, “Aegon, I-“

“Sorry,” he shakes his head, turning around, “That was too much to lay on you. I shouldn’t have said anything. That was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You sigh and cuddle up to him, spooning him from behind, “It’s not stupid.”

“Why are you spooning me, Y/N?” Aegon’s voice is muffled, he seems to have buried his head in his pillow to hide from you, “I’m bigger. I should be the big spoon.”

You shake your head, running a hand through his hair, “I like this.”

And you know he likes it too, his fragile masculinity just won’t let him admit it. He groans slightly as your nails brush over his scalp. It’s not a sexual moment, though. It’s just… Intimate. Comfortable.

“You can spoon me,” he mumbles, “Being the little spoon is nice too, I guess. Kinda feels like you’re protecting me.”

You laugh, kissing his shoulder as you nuzzle into him, “All of you boys are always trying to protect me, but I’m just as capable of looking out for you, you know?”

He sighs to himself, already half asleep, “Mmm. I know. G’night, Y/N. Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams, Aeg.”

He drifts off with a dreamy smile on his face to the feeling of you running your hand through his hair.

He wishes this moment could last forever.

Minus Jace’s loud snores, obviously. Earplugs are definitely a necessity.

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melis-writes · 1 year

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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

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thatdesklamp · 6 months

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Hi! I saw your post around here where you mentioned Ali Hazelwood, and I've been devouring her stories lately. Since I trust your judgment more than my own (that A level in literature really shows), I was wondering if you could recommend other stories you might have enjoyed? They don't have to be in a STEM setting, nor necessarily romances (although those are very welcome). Thank you so much <3

Hello! Yes of course!!

For books that remind me of ‘One Day’ (and therefore encapsulate the vibe I was going for in this fic). Heavy on themes of intimate relationships between two people, nostalgia, time and growing up.

‘This Time Tomorrow’ by Emma Straub: gorgeous insight into getting older and a push for change, explores the relationship between a father and daughter beautifully

‘Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow’ by Gabrielle Zevin: masterful characters and structure. Two friends work as video game designers. The publisher’s tagline is brilliant: ‘It’s not a romance, but it is about love.’

‘Amy & Isabelle’ by Elizabeth Strout: one of those books I know I’ll appreciate even more when I get older. Mother and daughter relationship: if you resonated by Greta Gerwig’s ‘Ladybird’, you’ll love this one.

‘The Time Traveller’s Wife’ by Audrey Niffenegger: It’s famous for a reason. The most original love story I’ve ever read and with such genius and tender plotting that demands rereading.

‘Normal People’ by Sally Rooney: melancholic and bittersweet (aka it was the ‘One Day’ that I didn’t like quite as much as ‘One Day’ but also guys it’s a good book c’mon let’s be fr here)

Romances I’ve enjoyed (these are probably very popular but there are so many shite ones that I’ll vouch for these):

Ali Hazelwood books. I am so adamant that this woman is an absolute legend and her books only get better. Loved her most recent (‘Love, Theoretically’), it’s too fun.

‘Book Lovers’ by Emily Henry. Emily Henry loml.

‘Love and Other Words’ by Christina Lauren: ICONIC friends-to-lovers

For STEM-y books I enjoyed, I liked:

‘Lessons in Chemistry’ by Bonnie Garmus: the main character is absolutely brilliant and I’m the world’s most devout feminist so of course I devoured this book. (Although constantly calling table salt NaCl did annoy me juuust a little. Yes salt is primarily composed of sodium chloride but it’s not purified so calling it NaCl is just a bit silly)

‘The Code Breaker’ by Walter Isaacson: non-fiction (gasp!) but I find CRISPR so interesting. Biography about Jennifer Doudna, the Nobel Prize winner who essentially transformed the world of genetic engineering.

Miscellaneous books I’ve enjoyed:

‘Tender is the Flesh’ by Agustina Bazterrica: chilling dystopia, excellent narration from perspective character, so disgusting and gory

‘Fingersmith’ by Sarah Waters: not usually a fan of historical fiction but Sarah Waters is the loml, brilliant plotting, crime fiction

‘Vladimir’ by Julia May Jones: devoured it in a day. Dark and sensual, with such a sharply-characterised perspective character.

‘The Charioteer’ by Mary Renault: one of the first books to write an unapologetically positive portrayal of homosexuality. Essential reading for any lgbt+ person who likes reading, imo: stands on the same level as ‘Giovanni’s Room’ or… literally any Sarah Waters novel. I read it for background research on a far-off WW2 fic I want to write but ended up loving it. Really sweet.

Huzzah I hope this is up to scratch <3

#book rec from me

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yanderelmk · 11 months

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✨Content Update✨

CW: Mentioning some of the heavier themes It's been such a crazy month! I never expected for this blog to grow as much as it did, and I could not be more grateful to everyone who reads my content! If you've peeked at my inbox count, you would have seen that I get a lot, and I do mean a lot of requests. Even now I think I'm sitting at a pretty 20 or 21. Since I'm the only writer for this blog, I sat down with my head mod today to talk things over regarding the blog (over Burger King nuggets and chicken fries which buss expeditiously). That said, whenever I do try to work through these requests, I find myself struggling to answer asks and such that require longer answers, especially ones with extremely heavy subject material (some of which being reader suicide, severe and sometimes in-depth reader abuse from parents/bullies/friends, and very gruesome injuries). These type of requests make up a majority of my asks. I want to clarify that no judgement is held to people who send in these asks! I only want to point out that as one writer it is very difficult for me to write to such heavy subject material, especially with the asks being very detailed and involving multiple characters, heavy lore points happening, and other such details.

I understand that my account is one for yanderes specifically, but I'm just one gal, it gets difficult getting so many asks at once that are all heavy writing-wise and content-wise. I don't know if my lower rate of posts was noticed, but I definitely could feel my writing juices beginning to struggle. For the sake of my mental health and preventing burn-out, I think I'm going to keep to more shorter-form content for my Tumblr requests. Any heavier or longer material will still be written, but only through my commissions. I'll still do Ask The Yanderes, match-making, head-canons, and such. I will just answer with mostly dribbles and drabbles rather than a post so long I have to chop it into multiple parts or heavily edit it to fit Tumblr's word limit. Again, I want to be clear, I do not blame anyone nor do I find disgust in the people who sent in these asks. It's not anyone's fault. This is just for the sake of me not running myself into the ground! I'll likely be going through my inbox to clear some things out (I get a lot of repeat requests as well, that makes up like 1/3rd of my content with another 1/3rd being the heavier long-form stuff), and we'll see how things look from there. I want to thank you all again for reading and reblogging, you guys truly motivate me to try to keep making good content for all of you! Love you guys! (/p)

#lmk #lmk yandere #yandere lmk #melody chatter #content update

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declanowo · 6 months

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31 Days of Horror - Day 12 - Martyrs

12/10/23

I begin most mornings at the moment by spinning the wheel to see which film I will watch - I like to know when I should start the film, for example, if I land on a three hour long movie, I won’t start it at midnight. Today when I first landed on Martyrs, I respun the wheel. After everything I had heard about this film, I felt that it wasn’t the best day to watch it, as before I had a family dinner out which I knew would leave me exhausted, therefore, something easier and lighter would be far nicer.

After landing on another film I wanted to watch, Blood Rage, which was exactly the type of movie I was hoping for, I thought about the free time I had today as a result of looking after my friend's cat, who is bound to my bedroom, and therefore, I am too. After sitting on it for a while, I decided to watch both! And I am glad I did :)

Martyrs is a French film directed by Pascal Laugier. The plot is ever changing as it unfolds, and has been hailed as one of the scariest horror movies ever. I see that perspective, although it feels like a weird and impossible thing to award a film. I believe I have also seen Sinister called the scariest movie ever during a long survey, which I bring up because of how different these films are! I’m curious whether people find Sinister scary solely for the jumpscares, which are amazing, or also the plot too? I think it is primarily the jumpscares, which mirrors Martyrs, which I think people find so scary because of how visceral and gross the gore is. It paired nicely with Blood Rage, which has super fun and bloody kills, whereas this film has very bloody and disgusting kills. I find the way a film can frame kills super interesting, based on how the effects are done, how long it lingers etc… Usually, slashers have creative deaths where you don’t linger on the action, they aren’t drawn out or too gross to imagine, but they’re fun to watch, and can still make you wince. There is not a single death in Martyrs that is fun.

I want to start by discussing the way the films acts work - they are incredibly divisive amongst the reviews I have read, and weirdly enough that is the most common criticism, as opposed to the fiendish gore that Saw is often criticised for! Anyway, the film's acts feel unpredictable as far as where the story goes, but I would argue the film never loses its tone, nor its purpose! The first act is a home invasion style film, where we follow a family that appears sweet and innocent as their house is broken into, and they are subsequently killed. For starters, this is such a fun juxtaposition to the grim cold open, showing our protagonist as a child, escaping from the abusive group we learn more about later in the movie. We go from that gritty exposition, to a timeskip which shows us a happy family, to a sudden series of murders. Watching the parents die, you begin to understand their innocence may not be whole, yet as we watch Lucie kill the families two children, the sequence is long, uncomfortable and deeply dark, yet unlike a film such as Cannibal Holocaust, which I will say I haven’t seen, this doesn’t feel like gore for gores sake. It was born in the New Extremity era of filmmaking, which was especially popular in France, and that shines through. My bottom line is that the gore doesn’t feel unnecessary here, it’s uncomfortable, but it is purposeful.

Quickly, I will mention that while many people liken this film to being a part of the New Extremity Wave of films, it lacks many key features of these films. The most glaring, is the absence of any sexual violence or messaging, the former I was relieved to find out, and only watched the film after researching if there was any. Ultimately, the film does retain some features from this wave, such as having a female lead, as well as centering around women as a whole, alongside the theme of spectatorship. Okay so after writing all this, I read an article that says the director in fact denounces the likening of the film to the wave of filmmaking, but I will leave it in as a result of the constant comparisons. He instead discussed this film being about a world that rotted a long time ago, which I think is a perfect explanation of the film.

Returning to the first act, we also are introduced to our protagonist, Anna, played by Morjana Alaoui. Both our leads (for this act) are excellent, showing a contrasting conflict as they deal with revenge, and who they want to be. Their relationship is also deeply interesting to me, given how little we see of it. As of yet, I haven’t been able to decide whether they are friends or lovers, Lucie is dismissive of their kiss early on, while a later phone call from Anna’s mother indicates that they are together. Either Way, I think they work well off of eachother, and have very interesting differing views.

My final thoughts on this act are left with the visions Lucie has, which are grotesque and excellent, some real fun imagery of the corpse that follows her around, attempting to kill her, and I didn’t find Anna’s dismissal of this lifelong plague Lucie has had to live with to be too bad, although thinking about it more kind of bugs me - like why not just believe she is seeing this?!

In the second act, we follow the two as they inhabit the house over night, and as Lucie deals with the vision returning. I really enjoy this section of the film, just watching them live while disputing what is best to do. Sure, it feels somewhat strange as to how lax they are about not leaving the house, but I don’t mind too much! The attempted clean up and realisation that the matriarch of the family is still alive is terrifying, as she sees a glimmer of hope, before Lucie snuffs out her life. Truly, it is dark, and the film offers no more signs of hope for anyone, as Lucie wrestles with her demon, until eventually, we watch her slit her own throat.

Despite how dark this film is, I never felt bad while watching it, which a film like Human Centipede did make me feel. Once again, intent is the key point for me! Martyrs is exposing you to a dark and twisted world, and while we don’t yet understand quite what the meaning of all this is, it does have one. In contrast, The Human Centipede seeks only to shock you, it is designed to make you feel uncomfortable, and nothing more, which isn’t my kind of film at all!

The third act follows the reveal of the torturous group, but not before one of the most spine curdling sequences! Inside the house, we find a basement, where a person is being kept. Their body is withered, but the more frightening aspect is that she has a metal clasp nailed into her eyes. Gross. After this, the group’s goal is revealed, their scale is vast and all the more terrifying! Having the film open up more works nicely in its favour, the horror is amplified when we understand that they are attempting to create a Martyr, a person who can see beyond death through torture. Knowing that they started over fifteen years ago, makes this even more chilling as we are left imagining how many people have been placed into this system.

For me, the three act structure works perfectly, each one offers us something new and different, yet they all flow together perfectly. I think of it similarly to 28 Days Later, where we switch locations and tones three distinct times, which aids in the character's development, and the scale of the scenario.

Before moving onto a more general overview, I want to mention the ending, which delivers on everything I had hoped it would. The montage of Anna growing stronger, repeating the words of Lucie in her head is deeply moving and powerful; the eventual conclusion to the film is hideously dark, and I love it.

Martyrs is a weird film, it’s one that isn’t created to make you happy or fulfil you - some of the time I was clueless as to what I was being told, yet it was sharing something, and I like it for that.

After watching the film I went to my family dinner, the tables surrounding us were filled to the brim with old people! All I could think about while I was there was the ending to the movie, as all the elderly people await their martyr that will never deliver her vision. I already know this one will latch onto me, in the short time since watching it, I can already feel its effects shiver down my spine.

7/10

#halloween #horror #horror movies #creative writing #literature #reviews #review #martyrs #2000s

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bookoformon · 2 months

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4 Nephi 1, Part 8. "The Non-Believers."

Persons who reject the Prime Commandment and the contents are called Lamanites, "sons of ignorant fathers", Lemuelites, "circumcised", and Ishmaelites, "above the rest." These are persons who profess knowledge of the scriptures but tell the world and themselves they are just a little bit better than that and do not need to follow them or follow them in quite the same manner as the rest of the human race.

The formula Christ gave us does not work if only a portion of the population wants to be nurturing, kind, generous, and faithful to the rest.

All of our problems, especially in America are evergreen because we teach alternatives to the Gospels. They are not the same as the Epistles which are not valid. The Epistles speak of the sin of Eve and we now know there is no such thing. Saul of Tarsus did not mention Holy Communion, he did not mention the Sermon on the Mount, he analyzed not one of the Parables, did not discuss Shabbat, nor did he delve into the Commandments, criticize or emphasize keeping Kosher, he knew not a thing about being Jewish, he knew nothing about Jesus, he was a cock in a frock.

The teaching of so much waywardness to the Gospels through emphasis and highways and byways around their central themes is the cause of so much trouble in this world.

38 And it came to pass that they who rejected the gospel were called Lamanites, and Lemuelites, and Ishmaelites; and they did not dwindle in unbelief, but they did wilfully rebel against the gospel of Christ; and they did teach their children that they should not believe, even as their fathers, from the beginning, did dwindle.

39 And it was because of the wickedness and abomination of their fathers, even as it was in the beginning. And they were taught to hate the children of God, even as the Lamanites were taught to hate the children of Nephi from the beginning.

40 And it came to pass that two hundred and forty and four years had passed away, and thus were the affairs of the people. And the more wicked part of the people did wax strong, and became exceedingly more numerous than were the people of God.

41 And they did still continue to build up churches unto themselves, and adorn them with all manner of precious things. And thus did two hundred and fifty years pass away, and also two hundred and sixty years.

42 And it came to pass that the wicked part of the people began again to build up the secret oaths and combinations of Gadianton "hiders of the truth".

43 And also the people who were called the people of Nephi began to be proud in their hearts, because of their exceeding riches, and become vain like unto their brethren, the Lamanites.

44 And from this time the disciples began to sorrow for the sins of the world.

Above are listed are the causes f what is called apostasy, a deliberate swerve off the path to salvation laid down by Christ in the Gospels. The Book of Mormons says apostasy is sponsored by a special secret club of persons with superiority ideas about themselves called Gandianton, which means "to cover up" also "against exposing the truth".

The Republicans are the Gandianton, a vile disgusting clutch of rotten eggs that do not understand or travel the path of Christ in any way. They have to be disbanded, and the world needs to reorganize around the principals it knows are correct, proper, legal, and appropriate for the deadly circumstances facing humanity, most of which are their designs.

As the passage above says, they are building up churches and making secret oaths, meaning they harbor hatred for humanity and are misusing policy vehicles to enforce their hate. This is illegal and must be addressed.

The Values in Gematria are found in 40 and 41.

v. 40: Two hundred forty four years had passed. The Value in Gematria is 11913, יאטאג‎ , yatag, "I will divide gatherings...."

v. 41: Two hundred fifty and two hundred sixty years had passed. The Value in Gematria is 13247, yagbadez, "young people with foul mouths filled with idle talk."

The noun בד III (bad III), which may in fact again be the same one used specifically, describes speech that is notably separate from common human discourse: idle talk (Job 11:3, Isaiah 16:6) or empty talkers (Isaiah 44:25, Jeremiah 50:36). Note that the familiar Greek word ιδιωτης (idiotes) expresses a similar idea and literally means "in a category of their own".

The verb בדא (bada') may have nothing to do with the previous (as scholars assume) but it may also be a continuation of the concept expressed in בד III (bad III). It means to connive (Nehemiah 6:8) or vainly invent (1 Kings 12:33), and is used these mere two times.

God wants us to pare away persons that are causing the world to waver on the subject of legalized Grace. All these worry about eggs abortions and trips to the toilet are not of God. There are hundreds of millions of homeless persons and millions are sleeping in trenches or marching in formation in order to join them.

This is not a sane way to conduct life on this world and it has to be reworked. Again, it has to be rethought, rebuilt, and industrialized fo the sake of the welfare of humanity instead of its destruction.

If you are reading this, write or call your Congressman, Senator, or local government officials and insist the world's leadership do what is required to excise the evil from our lives and put the world back on course, in the manner all of us know God has prescribed for us.

Once the Republicans and their friend, Vladimir Putin are dead or gone, the survivors need to be steadfast in the manner of the teachings found in those Four Books.

As a result of centuries of misconception, we have become far too accustomed to what amounts to a mediocre battle between good and evil. People like Tony Perkins, Mitch McConnell, Donald Trump, etc. they are very good at being rotten and foul of heart and we have decided to accept it and integrate it into our lives because we think their faith is inalienable from what is right or wrong. Like the Book of Mormon says, it's as if they are lighter than air and float above these things like a polluting gas that is dissolved in the atmosphere and it is easier just to breathe it in.

The Gospels are specific about this: the last, like the Ukrainians, come first. Hatred of the Jews and also of Muslims and gays, this is not showing love to one's neighbors it is venom. The whispering of sinister little comments to children by Mormon parents to their little ones is setting up a stumbling block and their parents are going to hell for it. We've all seen them do it.

The pedophile porn ring Mitt Romney, John Coe and Karl Rove say that is pay to play here in DC, just as Jared Kushner said on real live tv, is an alarm bell the persons responsible should not be allowed near any kind of seat of power or wealth. And that Russian Prayer Breakfast fellow- surely he told the Russian Brass Donald Trump contributed to John Coe's pedophile porn stack and is using that to broker support for Russia during a time it is critical there is national unity in opposition to its behavior.

Also, Donald Trump and the Family Research Council cheated in the 2016 election there is proof in a major motion picture, that means there is evidence under separate cover somewhere and it needs to be unearthed and used against him. There are rampant and flagrant civil rights violations taking place across America, we just told the Russians to have a hey day and the Ukrainians and Israel to talk to the hand. No one has taken up the scepter or the sword against any of it.

We are succuming to a methodological approach towards politics that is diseased. Aggressive politicians and passive populations do not mix. There is right, there is wrong, ethical and unethical, legal and illegal and the evidence we cannot seem to tell the difference is mounting.

All Joe Biden has to do is summon the press, present the evidence and explain decisively, the Republican Party has committed too many crimes and treasons and shall no longer be a part of American politics and explain why. The position(s) at this point are unassailable and enviable for a president facing a difficult election year.

Then, he needs to unleash the armed forces on the Russians and give us and them a chance at a peace on earth none of us have ever thought would actually come to pass. No more idle talk, get it done.

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s-the-seething-songbird-2 · 6 months

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Logs for Thomas, Part 2: #3

Song currently stuck in my head: "Call Me Master" by Blood on the Dance Floor

So, I want to get this explanation out of the way because I don't want to give the impression that there's some hidden agenda on my end:

I know that, in the past, we've used song recommendations as a way to secretly relay to one another how we're feeling in general or about each other. Me adding what song is stuck in my head in each of these logs is not me attempting to do that again. I'm not sure I've ever mentioned this to you, but I always have a song stuck in my head. All the time. Every second of every day. I thought this was normal and that everyone experienced this, but recently, I've learned that it isn't. Only a small portion of people experience this, and no one knows why. So, documenting it here is reliable a way for me to gather more data on a steady timeline and see if I can figure it out. (Also, it means there's a fun "theme" to these, and maybe you'll find some new bangers on here (or something cringy to laugh at when you're bored).)

So, to answer your question, no, the act of me referencing this song has nothing to do with what happened between us, nor is it intended to be any kind of "secret message". If you struggle with obsessive thoughts in the way that I do, PLEASE don't drive yourself crazy trying to read into it. Yes, I still care about you immensely, and yes, the time we had together all those years ago was very meaningful to me, but I'm not trying to "win" you back.

Also, unrelated, but Dahvie Vanity (the main singer of BOTDF) is a fucking creep, and I hope he goes to jail. I do not like that this song is the one my brain decided to play because it reminds me of all of the disgusting shit that guy did and how he STILL hasn't been served justice (thanks, Chris Hansen, for making it even harder for the detectives to do their job /s). If you know anything about him, you probably hate him, too. You get it.

Anyway, with that out of the way, there's something really important that I wanted to bring to your attention: my mood swings are INTENSE. That log about being in Nondescript Holiday Store(TM) was written when I was in a really bad one. That song triggered the f u c k out of me, and I wasn't handling it well.

Everything that I wrote in that log was true, but I don't typically feel it as strongly as I do when I'm in one of Those Moods, if that makes sense. I do miss you, I do wish you were back, and you, Shay, Jack, and I could all be friends again. But I really am living my best life, and all things considered, I have moved on. You know, as moved on as I can be because apparently I can't let anything go and it's really embarrassing.

My boyfriend wants me to hang out with him before bed, which is something he and I typically do around this time, so I'm signing off, but please keep what I said in mind.

G'night!

- S

#logs for thomas #10/10/23

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rachelillustrates · 2 years

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Orctober 2022, four

(Art above featuring an Orc OC in the nature of “Lord of the Rings,” named Runav – more on her later this month – and Ka’thagg, of my comic “Tock the Gnome.”)

Okay, officially soapbox time.

I recently finished (what’s available of) Helena Markos’ “Splint.” Which – full disclosure – I needed partly as a balm over the fact that I finally got to the creation of the Orcs in “The Silmarillion.” Knowing that was coming, having that book-knowledge of what was done, was NOTHING like reading the way it was described. My heart.

(Again, for context, here’s my post from yesterday.)

As I mentioned already, it disgusts me that even people who are aware of and acknowledge that horror, that tragedy, come to a full stop there.

They acknowledge the pain of what happened, that according to that account the Orcs themselves hate Melkor for what was done to them in their creation, but then they still write the Orcs off as a lost cause. They don’t stop and think about the trauma, the history, the building of a life and culture in spite of a) what was done to them, and b) the kind of life they were forced to live under Melkor and then under Sauron.

They are still beings.

They are still souls.

They still became a people and still exist as a people after the Eye fell.

That deserves a look. That deserves compassion.

Not to mention the Great-God of the world, Eru’s, reaction to ALL the Evils done by Melkor (and every other villain in the story) – “…no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me, nor can any alter the music in my despite. For he that attempteth thus shall prove but my instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined.” (From The Silmarillion, page 17, “Ainulindalë – The Music of the Ainur.”)

From what harm and control Melkor sought in all he did, the Spirit of the Universe brought forth new and unexpected beauty.** Why can’t that include the Orcs, as they might become, in wholeness growing through that pain and trauma, in whoever they are after the fall of Sauron?

Especially, if we take them out of the context of Tolkien’s works and look at where they’ve been included and adapted in other Story, other media, with what Orc enthusiasts are doing with them, now?

…..that said, go read “Splint,” whydontcha? And I must recommend my comic “Tock the Gnome,” as well as Ami Mercury’s “Orc Girl,” and of course Christine Larsen’s “Orcs!” and the Orcs of “World of Warcraft” for a fuller look on what Orcs are, and the respect they freaking deserve, thank you very much. Not to mention, once again, how well they’re being handled in “Rings of Power!”

(And that, by no means, is any kind of comprehensive list of Orc-positive works. If you have any other recommendations, please drop a comment!)

** I am borrowing that phrasing from the guys at the Prancing Pony Podcast, who would certainly disagree with me on a LOT of things, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s perfect phrasing and I’m gonna use it.

Bonus art and stories ~ Shop and Commissions 💚

#orctober #orctober2022 #orc #orcs #lord of the rings #tolkien #rings of power #tock the gnome #indie comics #bonus art #drawing challenge #ooh shiny

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informaticn · 3 years

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this is just a general note stating that bl.ack wi.dow ( 2004 ) strictly does not apply to this interpretation. from it’s characterization to the events portrayed to it’s alteration of natalia’s history, i take almost nothing from it into consideration & what little is applied i’ve altered so heavily as to not really be the same points anymore anyways.

specifically, in regards to the following :

the overall events. since the events themselves are so deeply rooted in the changes to natalia’s history & the very specific characterization of her in this run that i’m not applying, i exclude them entirely. none of these things happened, you can toss them completely into the trash where this whole thing belongs in the first place. if you could set it aflame while doing that, i would appreciate it greatly.

her widow’s bites. natalia does not & has never viewed her gauntlets as shackles or a burden to her, nor are they so poorly made as to break down all the time. her gauntlets are an important part of her reclaiming her identity as the bl.ack wi.dow, something that she has spent years making her own beyond soviet control over her abilities, & she is not so incompetent as to make & use something so unreliable & dangerous.

the letter. i don’t know where this comes from, but natalia never received a secret message code from the soviets to return from deep cover ; it doesn’t fit anywhere within her timeline. outside of a brief attempt while she was undercover for shield, the soviets made no contact with her after her defection to regain her loyalties.

red room origins. i’ll go more into actual detail on this in another post, but since this run is where this backstory originates, i’m going make a note of this here : natalia was not raised in the red room. she was raised by the soldier ivan petrovich bezukhov, who took her into his care when she was a child, & later joined the red room in her adulthood.

alex sterelny / grigor ivanovich pchelintsov. this ties in partially with her history within the red room, but i’m splitting them bc they cover slightly different aspects ; natalia doesn’t know either of these men. i could rewrite them into the red room properly, but i’m not gonna give this run the respect of a callback. they were not involved in her brainwashing within the red room, nor does natalia remember either of them as a ballet teacher due to false memories. she had a real ballet teacher, she was an actual ballerina, & neither of them had anything to do with it.

biochemical enhancements. something else i’ll go into greater detail on in a separate post, but while i do use this as the bare bones for natalia’s longevity, i discard more than i take from this, so outside of using the most basic concept of it, i don’t apply it, especially not as it’s applied to her narrative in this run.

pheromonal cologne. just a quick note on this one bc if i think about it too long i’ll get angry & y’all will never hear the end of it : no.

natalia’s defection. mostly same as above, but since i have slightly more of a capacity to think about it, nick had absolutely nothing to do with natalia’s defection. she defects to the aven.gers strictly through her own choosing to do so, & does not meet nick until later. if pressed, i would say he would not have been aware of her existence at all until her first appearance in america, but i’ll leave that up to actual nick writers, within reason. he still had nothing to do with her defection regardless, however.

#i didn't really go into a few things here bc they arc semi significantly into other runs #& i'll make specific posts on them at some point when i recover from this #nor did i mention any of it's more disgusting themes #( there's too many to even bother naming & all of them just make me Really Angry & no one needs to see that rn )#since they're not relevant specifically to characterization or history #anyways i hated having to reread this run to make this post but #i've been meaning to write this out bc this run is the base #on which they've built much of natalia's backstory in modern times #& not only do i not pull from that backstory but much of it also just doesn't fucking belong in general #MOVING ON & AWAY FROM THIS NOW #ooc / shit posting from marble's basement.#psa / read the avengers charter thoroughly.#long

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manjiroscum · 2 years

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jawbreaker

Character/s: shark hybrid!Rindou Haitani

Warnings: f!reader, hybrid au, curse words, sexual themes, non-con cunnilingus, non-con somnophilia, biting (rindou has sharp teeth), blood, rindou injured reader once, reader almost drowned, mentions of experimentation, rindou has a big dick, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, and hints of fluff. Minors do not interact.

Note: commissioned by bby mari @marism 🥺💖 hope you like it!

Synopsis: The ocean is not only territory for big fish and predators alike.

✃WC: 4.1k

Studying marine animals in a tiny submarine was what you had in mind back when you were still a child, gushing about exploring the open seas. The thought of finding a rare species or maybe remnants of a megalodon was quite appealing to younger you, daydreaming of it one day while flicking through numerous picture books of whales and colorful fishes. But reality was often... disappointing, for lack of a better word.

A tiny submarine? All the foundation could give was a small sailboat you had to make do while out on the sea for six months. Studying interesting fishes or perhaps diving to study humpback whale behavior? Yeah, right... Your equipment wasn’t adequate for those nor your funds were. College has mostly eaten away your savings and the last thing you wanted was to end up homeless.

Still, you tried to find the joy in the boring long hours of scribbling data of common fish, waiting for something interesting that could happen in the tiny sailboat you had. Yet boredom was the hardest to get rid of, especially when you were all on your own.

Until life decided to give you a companion far more intriguing than any marine animal you ever came across with.

“Rindou, please don’t touch that.”

Looking up from the bucket that contained chum, Rindou’s purple eyes stared at you from where he sat cross-legged. The shirt you bought for him is too huge for his built, left shoulder bare for the world to see. At least it wasn’t his distracting abs on display. Now that you called for him, his attention was not on the disgusting contents of the bucket. You just wished he would be slightly guilty whenever he plopped right onto your lap as if that was where he truly belonged. Making himself comfortable there and urging you to pay him some attention, when you were supposed to be focusing on work.

“Rin, you know I’m supposed to be typing.”

“I know,” he simply mumbled, not leaving your lap. Instead, he leaned back against you. Though his weight was slightly crushing you, you did not have the heart to push him off or tell him to move. It wasn't like this at first between you two. Months of going back and forth, trying to understand each other were a bit grueling. Sometimes making you want to give up on the rare shark hybrid sitting contently on your lap while fighting the urge to poke a hole through your laptop screen with his sharp nails.

Meeting Rindou was quite memorable, for horrific reasons. A quick dip into the cool waters was your reward for yourself after finishing all the paperwork you had. Convincing yourself that this was all part of the research, you put on your bright blue bikini and exited the cabin where there was hardly any legroom. Maybe you’ll chance upon the cute turtles you saw the other day, was what you had in mind.

I mean, what could go wrong?

However, those turtles were not around that day—nor did they have the strength or the behavior to suddenly pull you under. Much less take a nibble on your thigh that was now bleeding, coloring the water near you crimson as you screamed bloody murder at the pain shooting up your nerves. Fear and shock were more likely playing a major factor as you thrashed around, wondering what the hell bit you. The instant image that materialized in your mind was a shark.

Yet, what greeted you was a man—no, scratch that, it wasn't human despite those legs it had instead of fins. Because there was no way this thing was while breathing underwater and staring at your horrified face with those almost dead-like violet eyes. He even had a dorsal fin on his back, lines that appeared to be gills on each of his sides just below his armpits. Even his skin was close to having that blue-ish color, hair reaching his shoulders vibrant in its hues of pink and purple. And fuck, those sharp teeth!

What the fuck?

Normally, a person bitten by a shark would’ve boarded the boat and called for help. However, as soon as you swam back to the sailboat, inspecting your wound that turned out only to be surface wounds considering the creature’s teeth didn't chomp off a part of your thigh, you remained there. Eyeing the strange thing every two seconds while disinfecting the bite marks and wrapping bandages around it. It hurt like a bitch to be bitten, but you were deeply relieved that it wasn’t a real shark. The thought of going back to the port and leaving whatever it was out there nagged at the back of your mind. That was until it spoke.

“That doctor was right. Humans don’t taste fuckin’ good.”

“W-what?” Anger bubbled up in your system when the creature’s words settled in your head. “You fucking bit me for that? To see if humans tasted good—what the fuck?!”

Everything was history from there on. He would often come up to the sailboat to bother you despite telling him to go away the moment the sun came up, leaving almost immediately when sunset arrived. Instead of letting you focus on your research about fishes around the area and the marine life there, the creature was often up to no good. From tasting your coffee to spilling it across your notes, you wished you could punch him in the face for all the trouble he has caused. This was how your relationship with the odd hybrid began and frankly, you didn’t like him at first. Rude, somewhat obnoxious, and cynical—that is what you’d describe him.

He wasn’t like the puppy boys or cat girls at all—far more... feral and relied on his savage side, is what he does. It was like having a shark for a pet, except it had two legs and a foul mouth. Whether that was an upgrade or not, you couldn’t tell.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave?” you hissed at the creature, holding back the urge to fling your wooden chair at him after minutes of listening to the tip of his nails being dragged and scratched on the side of the boat, irritating your ears and scaring any fishes away while you were typing on your phone. “The ocean is big—big enough for you to get lost in. Don’t you have better things to do than annoy me?”

“Nope.” He grinned quite smugly that you were sure you would’ve ripped his lips off if you weren’t keen on finishing up your work today before your head exploded out of exasperation. “It has been weeks since I saw a human being and you’re the first one to ever talk to me instead of leaving or dying out of fright.”

“Trust me, if it weren't for this job, I would've left the moment you bit me—which I haven’t forgiven you for.”

“I only did it for a taste test.”

“Fuck you.”

Rindou was his name. You wondered who gave such a nuisance a name, yet at the mention of a doctor, you didn’t have to figure it out. Hybrids were common to everyone and their grandma. The market for them rising over the years that companies around the world are often experimenting legally or not to make the next big thing. Just staring at this shark hybrid was a testimony to that. And when Rindou told you that he escaped the facility with his brother to see the world, you confirmed those suspicions.

“So... there’s two of you?”

At the idea of having not just one, but two annoying shark hybrids on earth made you crinkle your nose. One was already enough to have around, thank you very much.

Rindou nodded quietly, although he didn't seem happy with you asking and your interest in his sibling. The furrowing of his eyebrows was the telltale sign, making you even more curious as to why he felt that way. However, you didn't pry any further, for there was no point in doing so. At the end of the day, once your task here was done, you could be assigned somewhere else, moving further north where it gets colder. The possibility of becoming attached to Rindou when you were going to travel a lot had you gnawing on your bottom lip. This was merely a chance encounter. If you were to leave soon, there was no way he'd follow, right? After all, he did escape from whoever created him and certainly values his freedom not to get tied to another human again. Yeah, you mustn't get used to his temporary company. Rindou would definitely drop you any time soon and move on to the next entertaining item he could lay his eyes on.

Oh, how wrong you were to think that.

Three months since meeting the hybrid, Rindou has gotten far more comfortable around you. And surprisingly, you did too. Not that there were no differences to settle—there were plenty. It is quite amazing you and he has bonded together and formed a camaraderie despite those differences.

“You’ve certainly made yourself at home.” Eyes never leaving your laptop’s screen, you continued to type away your daily journal, logging everything that has occurred became a habit due to the nature of your job. Even if Rindou was around to pester you or somehow make you smile in the silliest of ways he could do, you still had to put bread on the table. “Don’t you wanna find your brother? Maybe explore the seas with him?”

“Still tryin’ to get rid of me, huh?” Rindou snickered, curling himself against your chest. You tried not to pay any heed to his head laying on your breasts, his muscles flexing, or how his ass was slightly grinding against your clothed pussy. There was no way you’d entertain that damning thought lurking in the back of your head, taunting you whenever the hybrid came back either naked or trudging around the sailboat in only the sweats you got him from your brief visit on the mainland. “I’ve gotten far too used to seeing your face to question your presence in these waters. Least you could do is let me stay here.”

“As I said, I’m here for work. Not playtime or whatever it is that's in that head of yours.” Mumbling, your brows creased at your sentences not making any sense because of how distracting he is. “And this boat is made for one passenger. One.”

“Your boss must be shitty not to provide you with a bigger boat.”

Silence once again envelops the tiny vessel, save for the sound of the boat rocking, the wind blowing on the sails, and the keyboard clicking. One would think his passive gaze on the laptop hinted at him being interested in the gadget when his eyes were elsewhere—your reflection. He’d never admit it aloud, not even to you, as to why he was still here. Indeed, the ocean was an enormous place and Rindou has yet to explore everything. But he’ll curse at himself for letting you go.

Ran may have been an obnoxious brother who frequently teased him at every chance he got, the older hybrid was frustratingly wise when he wanted to be. And when he and Ran managed to run free, the first thing his brother wanted to do was explore and find a mate.

“Rin, if you remain sulky and rude, the ladies won’t like you. How are you supposed to get through the mating season if you end up all alone, huh?”

Stupid Ran, of course he wouldn't end up alone. Now that he’s got you, Rindou wouldn't have to worry about jerking himself off until his palms bled for the entire mating season. You were physically appealing to him, loving the way your eyes sparkled whenever he made an unintentional joke or your hips that were a clear image of you capable of having children bumping into him when you were in a hurry to get out of the cabin. If he didn't know any better, Rindou could say he has found the perfect mate to spend his life with.

He may have won against Ran—who sadly isn’t around to bear witness—for the first time.

The remaining problem is, you didn’t know that was one of his reasons as to why he hasn’t left you alone. Thinking he was out here to snack on you whenever you weren’t looking or to annoy you until you leave. Poor Rindou didn’t know what to say or do at your harmless accusations. But he’ll rather die than beg you, knees on the ground and all, to become his mate. Rindou hoped you would make the first move in realization he was all you ever needed. Still, time was of the essence and summer was almost here.

He has to act fast before you become attached to someone else, having him inevitably spend more lonely nights in the water with no one to warm him up.

Finding the opportunity to get you alone wasn’t the hard part, thankfully. Rindou was all you had out here in the ocean. Yet, he had to compete with your work and other papers for your undivided attention. Then, there were those impromptu visits to the mainland, finding no sign of your vessel. Numerous times had Rindou thought you were gone for good until he spotted your sailboat about to head back to the same area that evening. He even began to assume were onto him, knowing his ulterior motives. Rindou was sure he’ll end up with a splitting headache if he has to come up with multiple excuses as to why he was cornering you before he could get to kiss you silly for putting him through such turmoil. Completely unaware and oblivious of your problems.

“Rin, c-could you sit on the bed instead?” Shuddering at his sharp fingernails drawing mindless patterns on your thigh, Rindou slightly flinched at your words, scared he must’ve hurt you or caused you to become uneasy. He was about to turn and apologize when he smelled it—something sweet wafting near your legs, in between your quivering thighs. The noticeable way you averted your gaze when he questioned your behavior was all he needed to know that you were on the same page as he is, albeit in denial. “What? Why are you lookin’ at me like that?”

Rindou couldn't help but grin.

One day, while the sun’s rays were blocked by the cloudy skies, the chance was finally brought to him in the form of finding you fast asleep on the wooden foldable sun lounger you had. A notebook splayed open on your lap with its pen on the ground, having fallen there when your eyes shut tight to have a little indulgent nap. Rindou was nowhere to be found all day so you decided to take the rare hours of peace and write to the point it made you feel lethargic. Leading up to this moment of him finding you all vulnerable.

Hours of staying underwater with his thinning patience have definitely paid him off.

Boarding your sailboat through the stern with all the silence he could muster, Rindou approached your sleeping form. The sound of water dripping on the wooden floorboards failed to rouse you. Lilac pupils darkened at the sight of your hardened nipples seen through your dress due to the cool passing winds. How could he stop licking his lips that were itching to wrap around your areola? Or his cock twitching in broad daylight at the thought of being able to kiss you finally?

For a split second, Rindou didn’t know what to do with his newfound opportunity, slightly overwhelmed. Bending down, his eyes failed to read the scribbling you did, containing notes of dolphins, and sharks that then came to the topic of the hybrid now in front of you lifting the hem of your dress’ skirt. Notebook now askew on the ground next to the pen, Rindou felt his dry mouth water while slowly sliding down the thin material of your underwear. Pupils coming up to check on your face to see if he awakened you. Luckily for him, you never budged. Rindou soon came face to face with your warm pussy folds.

He couldn't believe you’ve been keeping such a pretty little thing from him. How could he miss this?

Similar to a parched man who discovered water in an oasis, Rindou dipped his head into your pussy, hands gripping the plush of your thighs and pushing them apart. His tongue was on fire, he presumed, unable to stop licking and tasting your juices. A low groan rumbled in his throat that had you shifting in your seat. But Rindou didn't care. He didn't care if you suddenly woke up to see him in between your legs or if you’d scream at him to go away. Because he would rather stay there in between your legs where he believes he belonged.

Your essence was sweet on his tongue, urging him to lick you more and see if he could have you gushing on his face. Aiming for it to coat every inch of his skin and permanently tattoo your taste on his lips and mouth.

Such boldness in him immediately dissipated when you whimpered. The effects of his tongue giving kitten licks on your clit had you squirming, eyelids fluttering open to see what was happening. All that greeted you was air and the sound of water splashing. Rubbing the sleep off of your half-lidded eyes, you stood up to inspect what made the noise.

Wait a minute, did your panty seem… loose and damp?

“Rindou? You’re back.” Stifling a yawn, you propped yourself against the railings. Rindou merely waved, wading to the stern once again, acting like he didn't stuff his face in between your legs seconds ago. He could still taste you in his mouth, tongue licking his front teeth while he climbed. Upon seeing your relaxed expression, his cheeks flared up at the image of your cute pussy now engraved in his mind.

He can’t do this—not after he had a taste of you. He should’ve known this would happen, him wanting more. How could he not crave for it? He’d be out of his mind if he’ll just give up what was so close.

Moving away, you tried not to stare as Rindou’s naked body rose from the water. Wet feet padding to the cabin to grab the clothes you gave him and a towel. Once you heard the door shut, you then turned to pick up your pen and notebook. Some of the ink had been smudged by what seemed to be saltwater, which was confusing.

How did this end up getting wet?

Emerging from the cabin with sweats on, Rindou had a towel around his shoulder. Putting away your notes, you tried hard not to stare at his taut muscles or his broad back.

“Where have you been? I was worried you were hurt or something.”

“Around.”

Nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders, he brushed past you to sit near the ship’s bow. Rindou’s fingers were quivering, the urge to just grab you and kiss you right there while you rambled about your research was stronger than ever. If he were to kiss you now, would you welcome him as a mate?

Countless 'what if's raced through his mind, yet one prevailed. The feeling of your throbbing clit, slick pussy folds, and the welcoming heat dizzying and clouding his rationality. The savage voice inside his mind screamed for him to take, take, take.

What if he visits your cabin tonight to taste you again?

Night fell on the ocean, the calm waves slightly rocking the vessel and you to sleep. The papers on your desk are neatly stacked on top of one another for once. The night lamp you placed on the nightstand cast a soft glow around the cabin whereas the moon and stars illuminated the darkness outside. Slumbering form blissfully oblivious at Rindou standing outside the door, hand on the knob.

For the first time since knowing you, he stayed until the sun set. He never lingered long when the day was over, afraid he’d snap if he saw you under a soft atmosphere. Guard down, letting exhaustion influence most of your actions—Rindou knew if he saw you in those shorts and silky tops you had tucked away in the cabinet, ignoring your protests and commands not to touch your stuff, he was sure to crumble.

So when he entered your room, carefully shutting the door behind him, to see you swimming in the blankets, merely wearing a top—no shorts or underwear, it took everything in Rindou to fight back a groan. Feeling like he has walked into a spider’s web, the hybrid approached you with small steps.

Shit, did you always sleep like this?

Wandering hands cooler than the ocean’s kiss caressed your thighs, making their way up to the smooth curves of your hips. Rindou’s lips inches away from your stomach, hoping to press a kiss there and possibly mark his way up—

“Rin…dou?”

Fire seared his hand the moment your hand wrapped around his wrist, shooting up in alarm at what he was about to do. Smoldering amethyst hues staring at your surprised eyes that were assessing the situation. Silence sat in the space between you two, simply staring at one another. You didn’t know who was the first to pull or push—your arms wrapping around his neck while Rindou’s mouth found yours. Lips and tongue in a fervid dance, unlocking the gates where passion has been building up, overflowing into every action. His fingers gently and carefully rub your opening, slick dripping out with each circle drawn on your clit.

“Rin—inside, p-please. Need you, fuck. Need you and more.”

Rindou wasn’t so sure what to say or how to explain his actions, words lost while his huge cock split your slick pussy. Ready to meet every request you threw at him. All you had to ask, aiming to please. So when you wanted him to fuck you, he’ll ask how hard.

Gummy walls trying their best to clench around the thick and long girth slowly but surely bottoming out. A whimper slipped past your lips, a lone tear dampening your cheek while anchoring yourself. Once he was buried deep inside your wet cunt that hugged his throbbing shaft, you were sure you could be sore in the morning. Yet you didn’t care. Months of merely gawking at Rindou, hoping to create some distance so you won’t end up making yourself look like a fool seemed too long ago. Moans mixing with his pants and grunts, whining at his nails digging into your hips while he pistoned his hips against yours.

“Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good, princess. Should’ve taken this pussy and claimed it mine months ago,” Rindou hissed, brows furrowed in concentration, drinking each and every change of your expression sunkissed with ecstasy at the way his cock’s tip reached your cervix without challenge. Your tits bouncing harshly at every thrust, hypnotizing to stare at. The carnal desire to fuck you until the mating season comes and ends poisoning his mind. To claim, breed and own you. “You like that? Like how my cock is filling you up? This could be yours, baby. All yours if you become my mate. Will you let me? Please say you will.”

Full, you felt so full to a point you were sobbing on his neck, nodding at his statement and begging him to go slower in between whines. Mouth in an ‘o’ shape at the stinging pain his teeth caused when he bit you on the shoulder, marking you as his. That was all it took for you to cum, nails digging into his forearm while keening, back arching, and vision turning white. Rindou winced at the abrupt squeeze, causing him to blow his load into your warm pussy and painting every muscle white with his seed.

In the midst of calming your pounding heart, you grabbed a compact mirror to examine the bite mark Rindou gave you that was slightly bleeding. It wasn’t ugly, but it sure would be unpleasant to flaunt around. Turning your gaze at the hybrid who was now your lover, you frowned.

“Did you really have to do this?”

He shrugged. “It’s in my instincts, baby.”

“Let me bite you then, and let’s see if you like it.” Teeth digging into his shoulder, you narrowed your eyes at him playfully to which Rindou chuckled at your attempt to inflict pain. Hand patting your head.

“I don't feel a thing, princess. Although, I won’t object to having that mouth around my cock.”

#❣️pat.coms #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev smut #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #rindou haitani #rindou smut #tw.hybrid au #tw.hybrids #tw.blood #tw.breeding #tw.unprotected sex #tw.biting #tw.noncon #tw.somnophilia

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snailsgoingdowntown · 3 years

Note

Hello there! May i request a yandere Zhingli, Childe, Kaeya, and Diluc hc where their fem!s/o finally succumb to their love and loving them back? Thanks!

Hello there! Sorry, these are like…months late…I hope you’ll enjoy them –

I honestly don’t believe that Stockholm syndrome is genuine love but rather a way to cope with one’s situation, if that makes sense.

Characters: Zhongli, Childe, Diluc, Kaeya

Fem! reader

Warnings: General yandere themes, implied/mentioned abduction, implied dub-con, implied Blackmail, Stockholm syndrome

Disclaimer: I do not condone the actions and behaviors that take place in this piece of fiction. None of this should be considered normal or even romantic as it is very dangerous and very toxic.

Wordcount: 1865K

Unedited, we die like Rex Lapis.

Zhongli:

· Zhongli would be…cautious, at first. Then again, each one of these men would be if I’m being honest here. Extremely cautious, keeping an eye out for any tricks you may have up your sleeve. He’s aware that you might pretend to love him once again – if you ever did to begin with – to get him to lower his guard. It won’t work, not even with those love-stricken eyes of yours. He’ll wait for a week or two, before his guard is lowered in the slightest. And once that he confirms that yes, your ‘love’ for him is ‘genuine’ and not a mere act – he would be over the moon. All of his hard work finally paid off, at last! It’s a cause for celebration!

· Although do keep in mind that Zhongli is not human…and thus, does not understand human emotions very well. He understands them much better than Xiao does though, so there’s that…

· As a result of that, he won’t understand nor know that your newfound ‘love’ for him is just a psychological response…a coping mechanism to deal with your situation. He doesn’t know that nor will he ever, most likely. In his mind, your love is genuine and is the result of all his hard work. The last part is true, in a sense, but it’s not exactly the result he wanted, but it’s close enough. He won’t question how or why his methods worked when he himself was unsure if they would, but does he need to in the first place? He got what he wanted – your love.

· As per usual, Zhongli will still treat you with the utmost gentleness he can muster – and it just increases when you finally succumb to him. He’s always been gentle, yes, but this is…different. He’s more open to you as well, not fearing that you will use this to your advantage like you would in the past. It’s all sunshine and rainbows with the former Geo Archon, the male getting drunk off of you and not regretting (much) of what he had to do in the past. Because his actions that took place in the past is what brough him here today, taking in your scent as he hugs you from behind, with no resistance from you. It’s calming.

· He likes waking up to the sight of your sleeping face, so gentle and sweet it makes his heart swell. In the past your back would always be towards him and you barely slept a wink if you two shared a bed. It’s a welcoming change, allowing him to see you in such a state. You smile at him now, you kiss him on the cheek, you go in to hug him on your own, no disgust hidden in your voice or eyes. It makes him feel…loved. Something he wants to feel with you. And now, he has it. He has all your love and affection, and he would be dammed if he lost it.

Childe:

· Very pleased. Unlike Zhongli…well, everyone else is aware of the fact that your love cannot be described as genuine, he is aware of why your view of him changed. Why you were much more welcoming, clinging onto him as you sing praise. It’s adorable to him, that little sadist. He will dearly miss the little fights you would put up, the reasons for punishment you would open up without meaning to. And as such, he is slightly…not disappointed per say, but a bit bored, at first. But with boredom comes acceptance, and with acceptance comes pleasure…pleasure because now he can be the loving partner he always wanted to be.

· It’s almost adorable, how he turns into such an attention seeking puppy who wants nothing but your affection and attention. He was like this before his true colors were shown, of course, but now he does not need to resort to…unethical methods. But he still has a bit of a sadist streak, so he will still hurt you, in one way or another. But it rarely happens now, since you turned into such a good girl – and good girls only deserve the best of the best, no? He rewards you for your good behavior, petting your head as you sit on his lap, giving you the attention he always wanted to give but was denied. That won’t happen anymore though. Right?

· Childe spoils you now. He spoils you so much, you almost forget how he treated you in the past…and you excuse it. It took him by surprise when you excused his actions in the past, blaming yourself. “I was the one who acted up…,” you would say as you cuddle with the harbinger. Now, Childe does indeed, know right from wrong. He is very aware that his actions in the past – and present – are not morally correct or accepted by most. But here’s the thing: he doesn’t care. For the most part, anyway. It depends.

· No matter what though, he is happy to receive your love and attention…even if he had to break you for it. But having an obedient, loving partner is better than having a brat, in his mind. While it might take away some of the fun, you never annoy him anymore. And he is allowed to do as please…not that consent really mattered to him in the first place…not after the first few times you denied him in the past. But that’s what it is; the past. Nothing he can do to changed it.

· Does Childe feel guilt? No. He does not. He’s a little sadist who tries to play nice in the beginning but turns to nasty methods once he doesn’t get what he wants – in this case, that is you. But he has you now, and one day, he’ll be able to start his own little family. And you are nothing short but excited when he brings it up now. Childe is merely a love-sicken puppy who craves for your attention and affection, and now, you are the same as him in that regard.

Diluc:

· Diluc will probably fall into ease the most when you first show sings of ‘love’…if you didn’t play a trick on him in the past, that is. And for the sake of some angst he deserves, let’s say yes, you did pretend to love him once in the past after he took and locked you away. That ruined him – it broke his trust in you, and now, as you succumb to him, he thinks this is another one of your polys. He can’t settle into it so soon, and he will be the most cautious one out of the four. Because while you broke down his walls, you were also the one who made them stronger – and you were in the right for that. Even he will admit it, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

· It’s only natural he would question your sudden change in behavior. Last time he checked, you said you would never be able to love him as the way he is now; controlling and restrictive, and overprotective. And now you’re announcing your love for him, clinging onto him like a second skin, saying he’s in the right, upset whenever he has to leave, and peppering his face in kisses? Either you are trying to trick him again, or he died. Because in no rational situation would you succumb to him like this… maybe you’re drunk, somehow.

· It takes weeks for him to decide that yes, you are ‘genuine’ in your actions, but his guard does not lower immediately. Diluc still has his doubts but that does not stop him from enjoying your affection towards him. And when he finally accepts that yes, this is not a trick, he comes to realize that you’re not in a right state of mind. It tears him apart from the inside, he hates the fact that he’s enjoying it, but he can’t stop enjoying it - it’s everything he’s ever wanted from you. And now you’re giving it to him freely. There is nothing to mask on your end, looking up at him with eyes full of adoration – something he missed seeing.

· Now, like all the other men (except Zhongli), he knows that this isn’t…normal. He knows it, and fuck, it’s eating him up. He knows he should not want this version of you over the one who resisted him because this isn’t you – you’re not in the right state of mind. He knows this and he hates himself for it, but being able you so close like this, being able to love you without you giving him any lip – it’s wonderful. He loves it. And Diluc, despite this guilt, is never going to give it up. Because it’s what he always wanted from you, and now that he has it, why should he give it – you – up?

Kaeya:

· He would be smug about it. Smug and pleased, welcoming you into his arms as you succumb to him. And only to him, wearing your heart on your sleeve as you give away your life to the man who destroyed it. That’s what even makes him even more…prideful; he destroyed everything so you could only have one thing – him. And like a sheep lost to the wolves, you got eaten all up by him. He mentally coos at how adorable you are now, begging for his attention, wanting his kisses and wanted to shower him in love.

· Kaeya will accept your love, be it genuine or not. He’s heard of cases like these, he’s seen one once, a while back. He just never expected for it to happen to you. He’s not upset about it by any means, preferring the affectionate you over the you who tried to run away at any given chance. He wants to feel loved too, you know. And now he will be able to get what he wants without anything standing in his way – including your own feelings and disgust of him.

· Guilt? What guilt? Kaeya doesn’t feel guilt (Yes, he does, but not in this situation. If you read the webtoon and character story, then you know what I mean. High-key think he doesn’t even like his vison); whatever makes the ends meet. And his plans to get you fell into place, but this was just something extra sweet; he never planned on making you fall in love with him once his true colors were shown, but to make you his. And in a sick twisted way, he got both.

· He still teases you and mocks you, but for different reasons now. And like the good girl you are, you happily nod your head along, agreeing with him. He mocks you for doing the one thing you said you would never do; succumb to him. He teases you with kisses, missing your lips on purpose to make you pout and pinches your cheeks gently. There’s a gentleness you’ve never seen in him before, and it’s hard to believe this is the same man who ruined your life. Who ruined you. Yet here you are, becoming his perfect little girlfriend.

· Kaeya ruined you and he does not regret it in the slightest.

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saphirered · 3 years

Note

We've all seen fics where Caleb's SO dies and gets resurrected, and we seen Caleb accidentally hurting his SO, but what about Caleb accidentially killing his SO? Maybe Reader got burned by one of his fire attacks? The revival's successful, but damn, the angst.

Angst was requested and angst you shall receive. I hope this is to your liking. 😘

Trigger warning for death and grief themes.

Caleb sits on his knees, head bowed, whispering pleas in Zemnian to the gods, the world, to you, your cold hand encased between his own, occasionally pressing a kiss to it in the hopes you’d just wake up. But you’re not going to wake up. Not in the way you would in the morning when you’ve had a particularly late night and Caleb has to drag you out of bed, you being stubborn or pretending to still be asleep so you maybe could convince him to join you for a little more. Not in the way after you got knocked out in a fight, when you sit up and rub your eyes with a grunt like usual. Nothing within his capabilities will wake you up.

So here Caleb sits, begging for it to be a nightmare, some sick and twisted tricks played on his mind but there’s no denying this is real and this is the truth. You’re dead. You’re dead and it’s his fault. You ended up as collateral damage in his reckless attempt to kill the creature. You got stuck in the crossfire of that. He hadn’t realised you were doing so bad already, you even sent him a wink right before when he asked if you were okay. Why did you? Why didn’t you just tell him you weren’t? Why did you lie? Not lie, omitted the truth.

He knew exactly why you did it but that doesn’t make it any easier. You’d known the other’s weren’t doing great and barely holding on already. You were severely outmatched and couldn’t get away from the creature. Not without it chasing after you and running you in an even more perilous situation. Anything Caleb could do would affect anyone close to the creature. With Yasha having dragged Beau out of the fray you were the only one left to hold it at bay while the clerics worked on patching them up, Fjord and Veth offering them cover. You were the final line of defence. At the end of the day you had to keep the clerics alive.

Caleb took a calculated risk. A fireball to send the creature dropping into the ruined depths of Aeor. He had tried to keep you out of the range but wouldn’t have been able to strike the creature without putting you at risk. The spell worked and the creature got hit with full force. It was your attack right before the fireball struck that had send it stumbling, then with the blast, it lost its footing and stumbled off the edge.

But you too, dropped. and when you did, the creature’s tail lashed out, grabbing onto your body, dragging you with it. The creature had hit the platform below in its fall and the impact had made it release you, saving you from the full drop. Caleb had rushed to the edge, fear, pain, anger and guilt riddling his mind thinking he had truly lost you but there you were, bloodied, bruised, broken and burned. Because of him. All because of him. How could he have been so stupid and reckless. When he brought your body back to the others, he wasn’t quick enough. You’d already faded into the cold embrace of the Raven Queen and the clerics had expended their last resources.

So that leaves Caleb here, sitting at your side a day after you died, body preserved by the graces of Caduceus and the Wildmother. The clerics set up their ritual, working around him and you as the others help where they can. Beau and Veth had tried to console him, tell him it wasn’t his fault and if he hadn’t they might all have been dead right now. He appreciates his friends trying but it’s of no use. He already made up his mind and it’s not going to change anything. You died because of him. He murdered you and how is that any different than his actions in the past? How does that make him any different than the lives he’s taken in the clutches of his former mentor? Is there truly no redemption for him? You’d slap him for even thinking that way.

“Mr. Caleb? Why don’t you try talking to them? Persuasion has worked in the past to coax someone back.” Caduceus places a hand on the wizard’s shoulder but it barely registers. Yet the firbolg knows they did not fall upon deaf ears when the whispers stop for just a moment.

“I-. I do not think they’d want to hear from their murderer.” Speaking the words make them so much more painful. By the looks of it, Beau is ready to unleash in a degrading rant about how wrong Caleb is, breaking him apart only build him back up but she’s held at bay by Yasha. This is not the time and place. Caduceus doesn’t claim to know what Caleb’s going through, nor may he be the brightest mind here but he understands and can empathise.

“I know no matter what I say it won’t change your feelings so instead I will offer you this. You owe it to them to try. Not for what happened here but for the countless times they’ve been there for you, have had your back, and for the unconditional love they’ve given you. You owe them to try.” The wizard looks up over his shoulder to the firbolg, pain in his eyes, and the trails of silent tears that have long since run out. Caduceus is right. He owes it to you to save you and right now it is within his power to try. If he doesn’t, if he fails he’ll have condemned you to this fate. If he succeeds with this part, he’ll be able to look into your eyes again. You may never forgive him but he hopes to see you smile, hear your voice even if just once more.

Caleb nods looking back at you, bringing your limp fingers up to his lips and pressing them against your knuckles. He takes in a deep breath and tries to find the right words as Caduceus steps back. What are the right words? He cannot afford to fuck this up. He cannot afford to fail. He must succeed. He must.

“I know I might be the last person you want to hear right now. I want you to know I’m sorry-“ Caleb’s voice cracks as he feels the eyes of the others on him. He brushes some of your hair away from your forehead, running his thumb across your cheek.

“I don’t-uh. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I can do this. You’re always here for me during difficult times. You’d put your hand on my cheek and tell me ‘If anyone can do it it’s you, Caleb Widogast. You could move mountains if you set your will to it. Now stop being stubborn before I slap some sense in you.’ but now you’re not here to tell me that. You’ve shown me there’s a world beyond the walls I put up, that there is a light at the end of that tunnel, but now I cannot help but feel the world has grown dull, the walls are caving in, and that light is fading.”

“I have no right, no right to ask you this, but I need you to save my world one more time. So please, I beg of you. Do not leave me to brave this world without you.” The weight of his heart heavy on his conscious. Caleb feels a pressure causing a ringing in his ears. He’s so focussed on you, he cannot take his eyes off you. Not even when the others do their part in the ritual. He realises this pressure is coming from the effects of the spell to bring you back. He holds his breath, not daring to take in oxygen if only to savour the moment, hoping it will not pass, that for just a little longer he can hold on to the hope you’re coming back instead of having that hope crushed by a potential failure.

The pressure fades but nothing happens. Nothing changes. It’s silent as everyone waits for something, anything to happen. That moment alone feels like an eternity of suspense. Caleb finds himself whispering prayers and pleas in Zemnian again, your hand clasped between his own as he squeezes his eyes shut tightly to live through the memories of you, preserve them for the rest of his life just in case because he refuses to forget even a single one of them. He’s so consumed in his own mind he doesn’t notice warmth returning to your fingers. He doesn’t notice your chest beginning to rise and fall. Caleb’s pleas continue.

“Would you mind translating that? I think my brain got a bit scrambled.” Caleb freezes and his eyes open. Your eyes are closed but your brow is furrowed. Furrowed in discomfort. Not sleeping and not void of your usual expressions. Colour has returned to your limbs and face and no longer dulled. Caleb falls silent in disbelief, frozen in place and mind blank.

“Caleb?” You speak his name, peaking through one eye to see the wizard in his disheveled state. You sit up, grunting in pain. Apparently being brought back from the dead isn’t kind on your physical form, not even mentioning the exhaustion weighing on your mind. You could sleep for a couple of hours… or days… or weeks… You could do with a break really. All of you could. You nudge Caleb’s head up by his chin allowing your fingers to slide onto his cheek.

“Blink twice if you need me to get Beauregard to slap you back into reality.” You muster a smile as you brush your thumb over his cheekbone. Caleb doesn’t understand how you’re not recoiling in disgust or lashing back in anger. He doesn’t understand how you can look at him with love and kindness.

“I’m so sorry. Please-“ Caleb goes off in a spur of apologies, begging for your forgiveness.

“Caleb, I love you but you really need to stop. This is a problem for another day.”

“You died. I killed you. How can you even look at me like you do?”

“So what? I died. I’m here now. I got better. Now preferably I’d like to not die again, some things are beyond our control. And if you need some kind of reassurance; Veth killed Cad that one time and he doesn’t hate her.” Veth yells a ‘hey’ in defence while you earn a chuckle from the firbolg. You know Caleb isn’t just going to take your word for it and you’re also not going to make anyone buy you’re totally okay with just dying and being brought back to life because you’re not but you also know that you can’t blame Caleb for being a factor in what happened when you yourself were aware of the risks of the situation you were in. You made your own bet and it didn’t pay off but all your friends are still alive and well, Caleb’s still alive and well and that alone makes it worth the risk you took.

“You have no idea how much I love you.” Caleb breathes as he pulls you into his arms with a gentleness as if you’re made of porcelain, or will fade out of existence if he holds on too tightly.

“I think I have a pretty good estimate but we can compare notes later if you’d prefer.” You pull back enough to look at Caleb’s face, brush aside some of the red strands and softly place your lips on his. It’s not a heated kiss but one filled with emotion and a desperation no less. Neither of you thought you’d get to be in each other’s arms again but here you are despite everything. Maybe your work here isn’t done yet. You still got some asses to kick.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #caleb x reader #caleb widogast x reader #critical role #mighty nein

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chemicalpink · 3 years

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Lonely Hearts Club ♡ BTS OT7

Pairing: female reader x OT7

Warning: smut. polyamory. kinda voyeurism (? like- how else are you supposed to make an 8 people intercourse work.

A/N: this has a very poor representation of polyamory ok. It actually contains everything that is not how polyamory works, but it’s in favour of the theme. This is my last work for the Electra Heart Series

Summary: January to December, do you wanna be a member? In this Lonely Hearts Club, do you want to be with somebody like us?

Genre: smut

Word Count: 4.5k

“Where are you going Kookie?” Taehyung called from his spot cuddled on Jimin’s side without really tearing his eyes from the screen as they both watched some movie on the couch, a usual Friday night.

Jungkook paused for half a second as he made sure he had everything in his pocket before heading to the door “Out”

“Out where?” Jungkook groaned loudly at the questioning, as if it were nothing common within their relationship, determined to extend the silence in the room long enough to be comfortably dismissed from the conversation.

“Out with that girl he has yet to come clean to” Yoongi mentioned as he made his way to the living room, bag of chips in hand and stuffing a few inside his mouth as he did “which by the way, I’ve told him a thousand times before, it’s not decent to keep on leading her on”

“I’m not” the youngest murmured under his breath, which earned him a pointed look from Yoongi, followed by the TV pausing and both of the other men to turn their attention to him “I’m not leading her on”

A hand was placed on his right shoulder from behind, making him startle, wide doe eyes in full display as Seokjin voiced his input in the situation “You’re going out with a girl that we all know likes you while being a relationship, Jungkookie” Seokjin made the most overdramatic pout “I’d say that’s leading her on, plus, placing us second”

Jungkook let out a heavy sigh, already knowing he was about to be very late to the date “You guys all said you were okay with me dating out of the circle”

“You know we’re messing with you, come on, you’ll be late for your date” he’d have to thank Namjoon for always coming to the rescue when Seokjin was being a little bit too much.

If someone was to tell him he would end up in a polyamorous relationship he would have laughed in their face. If someone was to tell him that he would end up in a polyamorous relationship with the six older men he was forced to share his college unit with, he would have crumbled apart right there and then, it was no secret whatsoever that he had the biggest crush on the six of them the moment he first saw them, call it gay panicking or whatever.

And you see, things were going smooth, at least as smooth as they could be when 7 people are dating each other, minus the stares when they went out in public, the questioning of their not so close friends and the constant battle royale when it came down to sleeping arrangements, it was smooth. Until you came along. Sure, after eight months of him joining the polycule, and people unable to think outside their monogamous mindset, a fair number of guys and girls had approached him, which was always meant to go in either of two possible ways:

First, and best, case scenario, they were only interested in a fling, a one night stand that ultimately turns into a somewhat friendly distanced greeting when on campus, it was a thing between the seven men after all, being able to casually date outside the circle and understanding that the strongest emotional bond was with their boyfriends at home, although… Jungkook was the one doing it most often, Jimin following him casually in indulging in the pleasure of casual sex from time to time.

Second, and the hardest scenario due to him having the softest heart (if having Hoseok cutting ties with his potential partners in more than one occasion is anything to go by) is when after the first scenario, people keep trying to get in touch with him, not that there’s anything wrong with it but he wasn’t interested, plus, when he went as far as explaining the whole polyamory situation, people would dismiss it as an non-existent relationship or worse yet, there was a guy that went as far as telling him that all he needed was to be ‘dicked down good enough’ for him to stop being polyamorous; Yoongi had gone and had a friendly talk with the dude when Jungkook went home that night crying (he might have sent the guy to ER but there’s really no way to know)

So really, third case scenario was way out of control for him, said scenario being you. Never asking anything too invasive, hooked up a few times and even made him breakfast one of them which ended up with Jungkook bolting right out of your apartment, thinking that was it and he’d never see you again but boy was he wrong, you had texted him after to make sure he was okay, had the most amazing round of make up sex (could it even be called that when you two didn’t even fight? and it was all just him being a moron?).

So here’s the thing, maybe his heart started picking up when he saw you, maybe he started feeling butterflies when you two made out on your couch, maybe the blurred line between being a casual hook up and falling for you had become no line at all, and soon enough his hyungs started pestering him that he shouldn’t play with your feelings. God how much easier would it be if you were a student at his campus, with the amount of talk about the ‘7 best looking guys being in a polyamorous relationship’ really would have done the trick, so that he could stop the inner fear of losing you that came with owning it up and telling you he was indeed not just bisexual, but in an eight month relationship with 6 guys.

So far, Namjoon had had the most serious talk with him ever since he was invited to join the relationship, then came Yoongi constantly bickering with him as a passive agressive way to get him to come clean, Hoseok aggressively cuddling him while whispering borderline nasty and teasing things to him while Seokjin, Taehyung and Jimin had made it their job to try and gatekeep him from you before any date with the theatrics of non existent jealousy. Deep down he knew it was wrong, so wrong of him to keep such a vital piece of information from you, then again, he couldn’t bear the feeling of seeing you being disgusted for his love choices, polyamory was one hell of a misunderstood topic, often overseen as being greedy and unable to choose. Which was a blatant lie. He had made a choice eight months ago, and it pained him to even think that if the time came, he would have to stand by it. He would choose the six of them all over again. No doubts in his mind he would choose them over you if it came to be like that.

What if he had spent a week bawling his eyes out at night after a date with you and quality time at home, people should mind their own business. And the men he loved the most in the world were proving to be deserving of his love yet again. He had cried one last time after thinking just how much they were meaning to go out of their way to keep Jungkook happy. They had kept him in their best interests when they decided that maybe, prior further consideration and a serious talk involving you and Jungkook, maybe an eight addition wouldn’t be so bad.

“God I can’t believe we are not only condoning this behaviour but now we are endorsing it” Seokjin mentioned in one of his many overdramatic tones as he and Namjoon placed some delicious looking dishes out in their small backyard where they had all dressed up the place when little Jungkookie announced he was bringing you over.

Namjoon was quick to attempt to calm his boyfriend down while placing a small kiss on his lips “You’re overthinking”

“Oh, I’m overthinking? How about Mr Jeon Jungkook who apparently can neither keep it in his pants nor grow a pair and tell someone that they are polyamorous, huh?” Namjoon really had to try his hardest not to burst out laughing at the way Seokjin’s words seemed to blend in together as they came out of his mouth in a flow that resembled a rap song “Don’t you try and gaslight me, Namjoon, I’ll have you know, psychology was my major before it was yours”

“Doctor Kim has a beautiful ring to it”

Seokjin did not stop a whole minute to stop placing everything out on the table as he kept on bickering with the younger “Don’t try to woo me Kim Namjoon, I know you only like the ring of it because we share the last name”

Jimin walked out the exact moment they were blasting fiery heart eyes at each other, nothing out of the ordinary in their dynamic, “Seokjin-hyung, Namjoon-hyung, I think she’s here” the youngest of the three lend a hand for the whole table to be set in record time, already hearing an additional female voice that didn’t use to be there before coming from inside “I don’t think Taehyung’s on board with all...this”

“What do you mean he’s not on board, we talked about it before!” if there was the slightest bit of panic in Namjoon’s eyes, he was one hell of an actor to have it covered up as soon as he sensed Seokjin stiff on his side and the whole room began to feel stuffy even when being outside.

“Tae says he’s not coming down for dinner” Hoseok announced as he popped his head outside “Y/N is talking in the living room with Kookie and Yoongi, she seems nice” before disappearing inside the house.

“I fucking told you all of this would come to bite us in the ass Joonie, eight people is one person too many” may Seokjin’s inability to read eye expressions be damned when Namjoon and Jimin tried to get him to keep his voice down before any more damage was caused.

A mop of black hair popped up from inside just the way Hoseok had done before, startling the three men outside when Jungkook spoke “Hey, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, totally” Jimin tried to fake a smile which ended up being the fakest smile he had ever put on his face, making the youngest squint his eyes at the three of them in a questioning manner, a few seconds away from dismissing it, Seokjin broke

“Taehyung is not taking part”

“What do you mean Taehyung is not taking part?” Jungkook’s eyes widened almost comically but anyone could see the anxiety and panic rising in them, Namjoon ever the peacemaker in the relationship intervening

“Tae says he’s backing down, but I’ll have a talk with him and-”

“I’ll do it” Jungkook shook his head as he took off back inside to the opposite side from which he came from; even with the whole uncertainty of the situation, it was sure not to head the right way it should have.

“That sounds lovely, I can just imagine” you said as Namjoon, who had just introduced himself, finished a random story about all seven of them “So.. you all live here together then?”

“Oh yeah, inseparable bond and what not” Seokjin, the oldest of the seven smiled somewhat uncomfortably at you, avoiding any type of direct contact. At first it really seemed to have taken the right turn, chatting with Yoongi and Hoseok after Jungkook left to see if anything else was needed before dinner, but then things started to shift, an unknown but uncomfortable silence filling the room every now and then, the way Jimin couldn’t stop fidgeting in his seat and Seokjin made little to no effort to not show just how uncomfortable he was. Jungkook had mentioned earlier that his housemates could be somewhat weird, without mentioning exactly how, but from the looks of it, it had something to do with dating within themselves.

“Hey, do you mind if I use your restroom?”

“Ah sure, upstairs, first door to the left” Yoongi answered with a tight lip smile on his face, everyone’s eyes discreetly following you in silence until your figure couldn’t be seen, probably out of earshot as murmurs took over the living room.

Not that you really needed to use the toilet but it would be nice to splash some cold water in your face if you wanted to even try and survive the rest of the night, but as you reached the end of the stairs, a room across what seemed to be the bathroom caught your attention, snuffling noises coming from the inside, and you really should stick to your own business, but how much weirder could the night go? apparently, exponentially weirder.

You reached the door that was conveniently slightly open, allowing you to take a peek inside, a guy sitting beside Jungkook on the bed as he rubbed circles in the small of his back at the same time as he whispered things to his ear and you felt a pang in your chest, not really believing the whole sexual tension inside the room, perhaps your mind playing with you; up until the guy clearly nibbled Jungkook’s ear, a breathy moan escaping from his lips, your brain shortcircuiting between not understanding what was going on and finding it extremely hot.

“Tae no, you know I’m going out with Y/N” Jungkook said as the other guy moved around, seemingly placing a hand to his crotch in a playful manner, as far as the smirk in his face but obstruction of bodies allowed you to see from the door.

The guy’s eyes quickly turned to Jungkook in the biggest puppy stare you had ever seen, low voice above a whisper “Having someone around never stopped you before”

“Please”

A heavier moan escaped from Jungkook’s mouth, hands immediately locking the guy around him as he straddled his hips on the bed “Do you not love us anymore?”

Whether it was whatever that was going on inside between the two of them, or the mention of love, that made you forget your compromising position, getting the feeling that you should stop watching and panicky closed the door, making your presence known, the world may never know, but there were thousands of thoughts running in your mind. Sure, Jungkook had never put a label on your relationship, and from time to time you had believed that perhaps there was something beautiful there, now coming to think of it, maybe his heart had always been occupied, as all those friends of yours that knew him from somewhere had once said to you, how it was the weirdest thing out there watching 7 great looking guys hanging out as if they were on a date, the unusual way they carried around each other. Not that it was bad, but i crushed your heart to know that you would never fit in, as much as you kicked it off with Jungkook and the sex was amazing, the dynamic between them seemed to put you as just a plaything for the youngest of them all.

“Y/N? Jungkookie wants to have a talk with you” you didn’t even noticed the shift of your surrounding, knowing Jungkook, how he most probably bolted right out of the room when they heard the door close forcefully, too absorbed in your thoughts, still too absorbed in your thoughts as Hoseok led you back down, sitting you down a few feet away from where Jungkook was seated, the TV playing a random programme in the back “You two do your stuff, we’ll be outside, feel free to join, okay?”

The TV Show echoed in the dark, it seemed like it had been hours since you joined Jungkook in his living room, wanting nothing more than cross the door and never see him again, but he was a great kid, you knew just how much he would blame himself over what were your insecurities and inability to speak up on the matter, on never questioning what game you two were playing, sleeping around, going on dates but not getting involved. Until he was the first one to speak up.

“I am in a polyamorous relationship, Y/N” he heaved a sigh, as if the world was lifting from his shoulders “Have been for the last eight months”

Your heart sped up, the words unable to leave your lips, all tangled up on your brain “You should have told me before” you turned your face to where he was at the same time as he did the same “I would have understood”

“I don’t want to leave you”

“I know” which, you did know, time and time again he had made it clear that there was so much more to your relationship, although Jungkook wouldn’t express it out loud “I would love to have you… if there’s a way”

Jungkook’s doe eyes seemed to shine brighter at your words, although you could see tears forming in them “I don’t understand why would you want to be with someone like me”

“Jeon Jungkook” you scooted yourself to be closer to him, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder “Some people are so full of love they can give a way to a lot of people, I understand that” his eyes lighted up at your words, the tiniest bit of hope in them

A hand was placed on your shoulder, softly grabbing the exposed skin, making you turn your head to see Hoseok, shadows playing on his face as he smirked down at you “Plus, love will never be forever, might as well have seven plans ahead, right Y/N?”

You could feel a lump in your throat at that, images of what you had witnessed inside the bedroom with Jungkook and his friend still fresh in your mind, clearing your throat you hesitated “Uhm.. I really don’t know how to feel about all this Hoseok” but as soon as the words left your mouth you could see the rest of the boys joining the living room, as if you were some kind of prey you were after, the only source of light coming from the fairy lights in the backyard, illuminating them as they approached, hiding their true intentions in their eyes at the same time as their faces became darker, heart thumping inside your ribcage

“Oh come on, Y/N I saw you looking at Jungkookie and I outside our bedroom” Taehyung mentioned, which made you flush, fortunately going unnoticed by the lack of light, although he chuckled as he once again straddled Jungkook inches beside you, an all-too familiar image of the both of them as he grinded hard down on Jungkook’s crotch, earning him a groan from the youngest “Seemed to me you were enjoying it a bit too much”

A firm hand underneath your chin turned you to face upwards by the slightest, a face that took you seconds to recognise as Yoongi’s too close to yours, grazing his lips with yours before he tutted and added a “Good girls are meant to share their toys Y/N” for good measure.

“Jungkookie here practically gave you up before asking you to join us” Jimin added as he took a sit beside you, body clinging to Yoongi who was still too close to you

“I just-” you turned your face to Jungkook, who was currently busy with his mouth all over Taehyung and Hoseok, both on each side of him as they seemed to get an equal amount of attention from the youngest, your lower abdomen firing up at the image and the prospect of you taking part in the dynamic “I guess it doesn’t really sound so bad”

“Even Seokjin is willing to give you a taste” spoke Namjoon as he walked into the area with Seokjin just inches behind him, nodding his head when you locked eyes with the eldest “But I bet you’ll be Yoongi-hyung’s favourite”

“It’s your turn to call the shots, Y/N”

Instead of a response, you pull on Jimin’s shirt until he leans onto you, capturing you lips in his in a kiss that seems to last just seconds before he is placing you on top of him, allowing Yoongi to take you previous spot, caressing you side so when you lean back to catch a breath, his mouth is on yours stealing your breath away; out of the corner of your eye you watch as Hoseok has his hand inside Jungkook’s pants “Sharing is caring, Yoongi” you remind him as he tries to have a second go, Jimin’s laughter underneath you hitting the right places as he frictions his front side up to you, earning a soft moan from your lips, which only turns to a second one when you feel two wet mouths on each side of your jaw, gently nibbling on the skin before they stopped to kiss right in front of you, tongues catching, groans escaping from each of Seokjin and Namjoon throat before they turned to look at you and retrieved to their original spot to entertain themselves.

“As much as I’d love to take her, I think it’s best if we let Jungkook welcome her into our dynamic” a soft laugh falls from Jimin’s lips as you quietly gasp when he places you on the couch, an awaiting Jungkook on your side, the blond man taking his turn with Yoongi a few inches away.

Jungkook’s eyes seem dazed, and he quickly finds your mouth, just the way he did all those times before, except that now it was somewhat different from them, in a room full of people, his boyfriends, yours soon to be; as he absentmindedly tongues your bottom lip to deepen the kiss, a single hand slides underneath the fabric of your shirt as the other grips around your thigh, slowly working its way to where you could already feel your panties dampening. Fingers dancing familiarly over your nipples, “God I don’t know what I’d have done if you said no to this”, you barely register his words so you just nod in agreement, desperately wanting him to touch you where you needed the most. Warm fingers find your folds, stroking them slowly, squelching sounds that somehow don't seem to phase the way the rest of the group keeps on having their tongues deep down on someone elses throat, changing partners everytime you look up. The tips of his fingers find your entrance, slowly working a pace in and out, pairing it with wet kissed to your exposed neck as you try and hold on to his shirt for dear life “You’re so wet already”

His fingers pick up speed, barely curling into that soft spot inside you. Hips lifting slightly as your head lulls back against his shoulder, peaking both Jimin and Yoongi’s interest from beside you, a clear interest in the action if the way their pants seem to grow tighter by the second “Hey baby, is Jungkookie making you feel good?” voice raspy, dark, but soft lips on your own as the youngest kept his pace with his fingers, stretching you open on the couch.

“She sounds so sweet I can’t wait to taste her” Yoongi adds as his hand reaches out inside Jimin’s pants, starting to stroke his member to life. And that’s when you see it. Namjoon and Seokjin, ever so reserved, in their own little world, sitting across from all the action, hands on each other’s bulge, not daring to look away from you. And it somehow stirs you in all the right places, mind set already on giving them the best show ever.

Hands cup your breasts from behind you, softly massaging them, feather like kisses on the back of your neck as your shirt is lifted, bra forgotten and your tits are free for everyone in the room to watch and enjoy, a voice behind you, owner of the hands pinching your nipples whispering in your ear “I’m willing to forgive you interrupting quality time with Kookie”

You feel a pinching in your clit joining Jungkook’s fingers pistoning into you, making you reach your orgasm in record time in a broken mess of calling out Jungkook’s name. Hoseok’s instantly reaching for the waistband of your panties to pull them down “Well I’d say, dinner’s served,Yoongi-hyung” before said man is leaning forward, Yoongi’s hands exchanging Jimin’s cock for your knees – holding your legs open. Yoongi’s tongue takes a bold lick over your slit before he’s diving in, lips attaching to your clit as the tip of his tongue flicks against it. Hoseok’s chin is rested on your shoulder,ocassionaly opening up your outer lips to allow the elder a deeper access to your cunt, watching Yoongi’s tongue fuck into you. You could feel Taehyung’s thick length pressed into your lower back, the slow lift of his hips dragging it against you. Soft groans from the friction falling from his lips, mixing with the husky moans that echo from around the room as everyone watched Yoongi intently. Your eyes find Seokjin and Namjoon across the room, both of whom have since pulled their cocks from behind their pants, glistening tips on full display as their large hands stroke over the base of each other, their hips moving to match the movement of their hands.

The tongue between your legs moves swiftly, pushing past your folds and slipping into your entrance, lapping up the juices from your past orgasm as Hoseok leans down to share a wet kiss with him, then Jungkook, the three of them tasting you on their tongues. As Yoongi returns to his spot between your legs, he moans against your core like the taste of you is the most delicious thing to ever hit his tongue, the sound sending vibrations through your body that has your cunt tingling, not far from your next release. “Aah- Yoongi” you gasp, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair, pushing his face further between your legs.

“You gonna cum all over my tongue, huh?” his movements intensify, nose pressed against your clit, rubbing it precisely as it makes you fall apart in a rush of desperate pleas before he removes himself from his position, chin covered in your juices to which you can’t help but moan at the sight of as he licks his lips in delight. His lips capture yours once he’s on your eye level, hand set on the back of your head to keep you still, mouth instantly flooded with your taste, pulling away with fiery eyes and a smirk. “Joon was right, you’re gonna be my favourite”

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thephantomessoftheopera · 3 years

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Notes on Gaston Leroux‘s „The Phantom of the Opera“ - Chapter 27: „End of the Ghost‘s Love Story“

Artwork by @flaviamarquesart

<< Previous chapter

“End of the Ghost’s Love Story” is the most powerful chapter in the novel, because it reveals the full extent of Erik’s love for Christine. It is also the one that makes the story truly extraordinary, because it redeems his character and lifts him above the level of a gothic villain, who is usually defeated and punished in the end. This is why he is generally considered a “Byronic Hero” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Byronic_hero). The Byronic hero is a complex, often tragic form of romantic anti-hero who is generally more villain than traditional hero, but who has at least one redeeming quality (usually connected to love) which makes him a sympathetic figure despite his flaws and/or crimes. The character type was created by the English poet Lord Byron in his works such as “The Corsair” and “Don Juan”, and became extremely popular in the 19th century. Except for his looks, Erik fits that classic character type in almost all other aspects (highly intelligent, tortured, violent, ruthless, manipulative and driven by an all-consuming passion).

The chapter’s title also makes it clear that the whole thing is a love story at its core - everything in the novel happened because Erik fell in love with Christine. It is, and has always been, the story of Erik’s love - he is the one character we follow up until the end.

The final chapter is narrated by Leroux again, but it draws on what the Persian supposedly told him when he went to visit him in his flat in the rue de Rivoli. When the Persian wakes up after losing consciousness in the water, he and Raoul are resting in the Louis-Philippe room, and Erik and Christine are taking care of them. Raoul has already woken up before the Persian, and is now asleep again.

The room itself astounds the Persian in how ordinary and old-fashioned it looks, and how much it contrasts with Erik’s general appearance (remember that the Persian had never been in Erik’s house before). Erik explains to him that the furniture once belonged to his mother, which explains why the style is so different from his bedroom, which is decidedly more „Erik“. The Persian also wonders why Christine, who is moving silently through the room and then sitting down beside the fireplace, ignores both Raoul and himself when tries to call her. The Persian believes that Christine is reading “The Imitation of Christ”, which is significant and which I will come back to a little later. The “opposites” theme is also present in this scene again, describing Erik’s figure as black and a demon, and Christine’s as white and an angel. The Persian finally falls asleep again.

When he wakes for the second time, Erik has already delivered him back to his flat according to the promise he made to “his wife”. The Persian immediately sends to find out what happened to Raoul, and learns that Raoul has disappeared and that Philippe’s body has been found on the shore of the lake under the opera house. The Persian has no doubt that Philippe was drowned by Erik (or “the siren”), and decides to denounce him to the police. However, his testimony is ridiculed, and he - like Raoul - is taken for a lunatic. The Persian then decides to write everything down and later hands his manuscript to Leroux (which is what we’ve been reading in these last chapters).

When he has finished writing his account down, Erik comes to visit him. He is clearly unwell and described as weak, leaning against the wall and “pale as a sheet”. The Persian accuses him of murdering Philippe and wants to know what happened to Raoul and Christine, whether they are dead or alive. Erik denies murdering Philippe, but the Persian doesn’t believe him. We don’t really know the truth though, so the “murder mystery” has no definite resolution and turns into more of a side note.

Erik tells the Persian that he is about to “die of love” for Christine. As I’ve mentioned before, I believe that the most likely physical cause of his death would really be the gunshot that Raoul fired at him, and a possible infection following that injury which would lead to his precarious state of health as seen in this chapter. This could metaphorically also be described as “dying of love” (because he wouldn’t have caught that bullet if he hadn’t been in love).

After turning the scorpion, Christine begged him to save Raoul, and she had already offered before to accept his proposal if he gave her the key to the torture chamber, but Erik did not care then, because he did not believe her. But when she swears to him that she will become his “living wife”, it‘s different as he finally sees in her eyes what he has been hoping to see - Christine’s genuine commitment. She means to go through with her promise and is accepting him as her husband at that moment - and this is why her commitment is powerful enough to break through to him.

According to their agreement, Erik takes the Persian aboveground, but since Raoul probably wouldn’t agree to leave, Erik drugs him and locks him up in the dungeon beneath the fifth cellar. Then he returns to Christine, who stands calmly waiting for him. Erik suddenly feels “shyer than a little child” as he approaches Christine, but she does not back away from him. He tenderly kisses her forehead and is overwhelmed with how good it feels to kiss her, as no woman has ever allowed him to, not even his mother. Christine even leans into his touch a little, and remains close to him after the kiss, „as if it were perfectly natural“.

Fear and disgust are very powerful, primal emotions, but Christine‘s feelings for Erik are strong enough to overcome both. Considering that no one, not even the Persian, was able to even look at Erik’s face without horror, I feel that Christine must have cared very deeply for him, as she allows his kiss without fear and without recoiling from him at all, even after everything he has put her through.

He falls at her feet and starts crying of happiness, and seeing his tears, Christine starts to cry as well. Erik tears off his mask so that he won’t lose any of her tears on his skin, and still Christine shows no sign of horror or disgust. And she doesn’t only allow him to touch her, but she also touches him of her own free will and takes his hand, saying “poor, unhappy Erik”. I feel that this is the moment when the full expanse of his life’s tragedy truly hits her. She is not only the first woman, but the first person in his entire life to treat him with tenderness and acceptance.

Gratitude and love for her overwhelm him and make him realize that he has forced her choice. He puts the gold wedding ring into her hand, setting her free and telling her that he knows she loves Raoul and that she is free to go and marry him whenever she pleases. He „calmly cuts his heart to pieces“ and puts her happiness before his own in this final expression of true love and sacrifice. For as damaged as he was, the ending proves that Erik truly loved Christine because his love is ultimately selfless. There is also no bitterness in his feelings towards Christine after she leaves - he has always loved her, and still continues to love her. He still feels protective of her: “I’d better not hear that anyone has touched a single hair on her head!” Christine gave him “all the happiness in the world”, and he is grateful to her for this gift. His love for her redeems him as a character and proves to be his moral compass - before, he considered himself “outside the human race” and therefore not bound by common moral values.

In the previous chapter, Christine is shown reading what the Persian believes to be “The Imitation of Christ”. I don’t think that is a coincidence, and I also believe that the name “Christine” was perhaps even chosen for her on purpose (she was originally named Pauline, according to Leroux’s manuscript). Christine becomes a “Christ figure” here in two ways: through her sacrifice, she saves the lives of Raoul, the Persian and everyone in the Opera. But she also offers acceptance and love to a sinner, an outcast who has been shunned by society - and this is an extremely powerful gesture. She possessed the strength necessary to see Erik as a human being, and that is what sets her apart from everyone else. Her love here transcends the realm of romantic love and becomes almost divine - all-encompassing, forgiving, healing.

Christine may superficially fit the traditional image of a “damsel in distress”, but the would-be hero who was coming to rescue her didn’t get very far, nor could he do anything to save her. The only hero who saved Christine was Christine herself - and she also saved everyone else: Raoul, the Persian, everyone in the Opera, and Erik. Both Christine and Erik show incredible bravery in this chapter: Christine‘s bravery shows in her truly accepting Erik as a man and in saving Raoul, and Erik‘s bravery consists in letting her go, relinquishing his one chance in his life of having everything he has ever dreamed of.

Erik then goes to free Raoul and brings him to Christine, where Raoul and Christine kiss. Christine swears to Erik that she will come back to bury him with the ring, and then she finally kisses him before they leave.

Seeing Erik weeping and overcome with emotion, the Persian no longer doubts him. Erik tells the Persian that when he feels he is close to dying, he will send the letters that Christine had left with him and a few of her personal objects to him, and that this would be the cue for the Persian to put an obituary notice in the newspaper so that Christine and Raoul would know. Interestingly, that entire arrangement hinged on Erik himself announcing his death without anyone confirming it, because he could only mail things to the Persian if he was still alive. This leaves a lot of blank space for the reader’s imagination, because who knows if he really died…? The Persian, at least, never saw him again, but announced three weeks later that “Erik is dead”.

Next chapter >>

#phantom of the opera #lerouxreadingguide #leroux erik #leroux phantom #gaston leroux #le fantôme de l'opéra #erik in love #erik x christine #give erik a hug #the ghost‘s love story #the phantom #the phantom of the opera #erik the phantom #christine daae #byronic hero #gothic romance #classic literature #the persian #raoul shoots erik

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januaryembrs · 3 years

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CLIPPED WINGS | 5

CHPT 5. DANCE OF THE SWANS.

Laszlo Kreizler x female!reader series [SEASON ONE ONLY]

description: you begin discussing the case with the other members of your team, and a night at the opera has Laszlo considering you as more than a murderer. length: 5k+

main masterlist clipped wings masterlist

ꜝ Trigger warnings for this chapter only ꜝ this chapter is rated MATURE/17+ as it will include mentions of m*nor prostitiuion - canon to ‘the alienist’, hints of parental emotional ab*use, themes of s*xually suggestive comments made to reader by older men, gore, description of de*d bodies, reader is a m*rderer (motives explained), foul language, death, murder etc, hints of PTSD like thoughts but nothing explicit, Please only read if you’re comfortable with the mature/gory/explicit themes present in Alienist, which is rated 17+.

PLEASE NOTE. as I will be following the original dialogue/attitudes present in 'The Alienist', there will be outdated, racially charged language such as 'N*gro' and 'Indian' (when reffering to Native Americans). Please note, that while I use this language in the dialogue already spoken by the characters, I will try to avoid having my original dialogue include it, and will censor it appropriately. This language/attitude does not represent my personal attitudes, however, I feel it's only right to stick to the script in the Alienist in order to make it historically authentic. Those attitudes were rampant at the time this was set, and to ignore that or pretend they weren't would be insensitive and erasing harm done to those communities. I hope you all understand - stars ✨

Stephen Howard used to say that you and Sara had been sculpted by the lord above from the same lump of clay. The two of you practically brought life to the phrase ‘as thick as thieves’ and the Sara you knew as a girl was not the perfect dame she was today. The Sara you knew roughhoused as much as any boy your age did, scraped her knees from days spent climbing trees, the faint scars on your own shins said as much. The hours spent scrubbing the dirt from your white frocks before your father could see the damage the great outdoors had done to them. The time burned stood in the Howard’s scullery in little more than your underdress with Sara and her housemaid as the suds splashed all over the counter, praying that the mud came out in time for you to return home. Your father hated mess.

The tension was tangible, lacing the air in a heavy veneer the moment your eyes fell on Sara when you returned to Laszlo’s home. The way she straightened from her perch on Laszlo’s sofa, her lips pressing together in concealed disgust told you she felt the same. Had you been a stranger, perhaps the way her blush-painted mouth has twitched would have gone unnoticed, or even brushed off as little more than a habit. But you knew Sara better than you knew yourself, and that convulse had been her way of preventing her true thoughts from leaving her mouth the moment she’d seen you.

It was odd to even associate the feeling of friction with your best friend of twenty-five years, you both seemed to have always moved in tandem with one another like a flow of a stream or the strands of hair in a french braid; interweaving so effortlessly with no pull or drag to one another. But what she had done; what you both knew she had done, had turned your synchronous ripple into two mere droplets of water either side of the vast Pacific Ocean.

There was only one person you’d ever told of your crimes before you were arrested, one person you’d confided in of your sins. Only one person who knew where to find the evidence; and that was Sara Howard.

The Sara Howard who had become a secretary for the New York Police Department shortly after your arrest. Sara Howard who knew where to look for the bodies, and the weapons, and the bloodied clothes.

Sara Howard, your best friend; who had sold you out for a job.

You said nothing to her but simply shared a look. It was strange how you could still read her thoughts just from staring at her bluebell eyes and what once was an exchange of concealed information read loud and clear to be a silent clash.

She looked at you as if to say, “You disgust me,” while you glared back with the noiseless response of:

“Traitor,”

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Said another voice, snapping you out of your stare at the blonde woman. Your head turned to meet a tall man occupying himself with a glass stein and an expensive-looking bottle of Brandy on Laszlo’s dark wood sideboard. You smiled at him, waiting for him to make the introduction as was good form that had been ingrained into you by etiquette and elocution tutors over the years, “I’m John Moore. I work for the New York Times,”

He held out a hand to you, which you grasped gently and shook, “I’m Y/N L/N. I’m helping with the Santorelli case,” You said politely, flashing him another smile but you saw the hesitance in his eye.

You saw the way he briefly looked you up and down, not a trace of lust in his eye but instead apprehension. The unease of your next move, of your friendly persona, and it didn’t take you much effort to piece together that he knew of your past. Sara had likely told him judging by the stiff silence you had walked into.

“I have high hopes Miss L/N will be of great use to us now she has replevied her position at Paresis Hall,” Laszlo spoke up, moving into the room behind you to stand near the grand piano that had captured your eye when you’d seen in that morning before breakfast. “Miss Howard, have you found anything of use for the newest boy murdered?”

Her lip twitched once more as you took a seat on the same sofa as her, putting as much distance between the two of you as the chair would allow. “His name was Diego Saez. He was a Spanish immigrant who worked at the brothel on the outskirts of downtown, Madam Lovelace’s. His injuries were identical to Georgio’s; eyes cut out with undoubtable precision, organs extracted, superficial wounds on the skin. It all matches to our killer,” Sara rambled, producing the files from her purse and handing them to Laszlo. “But there’s more,”

Laszlo opened the Manila portfolio and frowned at its contents. Curiosity won you immediately and you rose from your seat to stand next to the man, peering over his shoulder.

The man felt your breath fan over his neck but paid no mind as his and your eyes flickered over the pictures greedily. Two deep, vermillion holes lay in the child’s skull, a torn pink petticoat being all that remained of his clothes. There were bruises dotted haphazardly over his arms alone suggesting he put up a fight with his killer, but that could be investigated later, Laszlo thought.

“What else is there, Miss Howard?” Laszlo asked, after handing you the folder to continue looking through yourself. He ignored the way your hand felt so warm as it brushed against his own, and turned to meet Sara’s eager gaze.

“There were other murdered boys,” She said, fervently. He sighed, nodding to her understandingly as his fears were confirmed.

“As I suspected at the morgue,” He responded, thinking back to where his investigation had led him yesterday not moments before he had met Sara to speak to you in the penitentiary, “Who were they?”

You flicked through the folder, ears wide open to Sara’s findings though you were intrigued to find a pattern or development in the murder. Surely there would be some tell-tale cue to this man’s objective in his methods, you knew you had your own grievances to settle when you had mauled those men’s bodies in such a similar way. But you were sure your motives would not be the same as your own, there was no way your Georgio would act so beastly as those men had, hell would sooner freeze over. Those men deserved everything they got, but your Georgio didn’t, and you didn’t need to know the other three murdered boys to guess that they didn’t either.

“The N*gro boy’s identity was unknown. The other boy was named Aaron Morton.” Sara reported, her hands crossed in her lap to stop them from fidgeting restlessly. You guessed, if you knew Sara, she felt some people-pleasing kind of excitement that she had found those files, that she had found something of use to the case that could prove she was every bit of use to them as a man. And you couldn’t fault her, because you were exactly the same, as you always had been - a fact which only irritated you all the more.

“I found a brief mention of him in the Herald about a month ago,” John spoke up, picking up what seemed to be a leather-bound journal to refer to his findings, “He worked in a brothel called Shang Draper’s. He was killed like the Santorelli boy and his body hidden on the Brooklyn Bridge,”

“It says here Diego was found on top of a shipping container by the Navy Yard,” You mused, continuing to read his file idly as your peers spoke. “Our killer could have a job involving him in the East River perhaps?”

Laszlo looked at you, your face buried in the paper with avid interest, and nodded. “A good perception, Miss L/N. It is imperative we examine them to see if there is a connection,”

“Impossible,” Sara spoke up, which had you and the two other men looking at her with confusion. “The N*gro morgue on Bleecker burns the remains of anyone left unclaimed,”

“And I could find no find no family, which means Aaron Morton was probably buried in Potter’s Field,” John added, having now taken a seat on a grand armchair opposite Sara.

You sighed audibly. The missing bodies and a likely lack of comprehensive post-mortem from the police would make this all the more harder, or likely slower to piece together the killer’s patterns, like assembling a puzzle with all of the edges missing. There was no clear starting point, just small pieces that seemed to slot into place with little meaning of the bigger picture at play.

“But that’s not all of it,” Your gaze returned to Sara’s that was focused on the way Laszlo paced mid-thought, the lapel of his blazer clutched in his fingertips as a quirk of his anxiety. “The files of both boys were kept hidden. I found them only by chance, there could well be others,”

Lie. You saw it in her face she hadn’t found them ‘by chance’ and, knowing Sara’s curious ways, she had likely gone searching for the files herself. But you were too engrossed in thought to take her up on it, nor did you think it would be received kindly judging by the tension between you, so you stayed silent.

You ran a hand over your mouth worriedly, closing the folder and resting it on the piano behind you gently. This case could be much bigger than you’d first thought, and run much deeper in society than simply a killer with a bloodthirsty taste for young boys. The police were hiding information, even from their own judging by the fact Sara hadn’t had access to the files, but why? What were the New York police keeping under wraps that would warrant protecting the city from a possible insidious creature on the hunt for children?

“This information is invaluable, Miss Howard,” Laszlo said, after a moment of you all considering the new revelation that had been brought to light. “Thank you. Is Roosevelt aware of what you’ve done?”

“No,” She replied and the message was clear in her tone. It was to stay that way.

Laszlo pulled his ivory pocket watch out of his top pocket and checked the two obsidian hands that ticked to show it was barely two pm. “Have you plans tonight?” He asked, tucking it back into his jacket with care.

“Yes,” Sara said regretfully, looking up at the Doctor with intrigued blue eyes watching his every move.

“If I have a carriage sent ‘round at nine o’clock, can your plans be altered?” He pursued, and you wondered what his plans had to do with the case if they did at all. You highly doubted Laszlo would be so rude to his other guests as to discuss a more intimate meeting for him and Sara alone, and nothing about their behaviour until now pointed to anything more than colleagues.

“Is that a request or a command, Doctor?” Sara mused him and you saw her genuinely smile. He chuckled softly, more of a breath than anything.

“As you like it, Miss Howard,” He replied gently. Perhaps you were wrong. The way they engaged each other so effortlessly seemed more than you’d first seen, and your stomach turned at the idea that you were living with the man of Sara’s supposed interest.

You could see why he would be Sara’s type. Intelligent far beyond the buffoons she worked with, kind, practical, fair. But you were a realistic woman, you knew you could still be wrong.

A loud shatter snapped you out of your thoughts, the sound automatically making you jump from the years of glasses and mugs being smashed in the midst of your father’s rage. You hated how even in moments you hadn’t got him and his terrible ways on your mind, he was still there in the crevices of your memory, lurking like the boogeyman in the dark, waiting for the tiniest of prompts to jump out and take over once more.

He may be a dead man, but he was still very much alive in your mind. And that was something you couldn’t kill for all the effort in the world.

Your head turned to the point of the sound to see Mary looking guiltily at the Doctor and a very broken china cup on the floor in front of her. She dropped to her knees immediately to begin cleaning the mess and you moved to help her, feeling it only right after she had been so kind to you with your split lip.

“Let me,” You said, following her to the floor and gently grasping the shard of ceramic between your fingers into your flat palm. “Don’t worry. I was the worst for dropping glasses at the bar,” You said lightly, hoping to draw a laugh from her or at least ease the guilt she felt for breaking Laszlo’s property. You saw her half-smile, as though her thoughts were elsewhere and you thought little of it. You knew you would feel at fault were you to have smashed something of your host’s.

You worked silently after that until each and every minuscule piece of shattered china was collected and carefully passed to Mary’s awaiting hands to dispose of.

“Thank you, Mary,” Laszlo said politely, as the two of you rose to your feet, and you shot her a small, reassuring smile. Doctor Kreizler didn’t seem the type to get upset over such menial inconveniences as a broken cup, yet some part of her seemed so troubled. You simply guessed it was her shy nature as she nodded her head politely, and scurried out of the room quickly to clean her mess. You turned back to the other three people in the room, only to see Laszlo watching you carefully already, seemingly having observed your interaction with his housemaid meticulously. “What else can you tell us about Santorelli, Miss L/N?”

You thought for a moment for the best words to describe Georgio. You knew him well, better than his own father in fact though that wasn’t a hard competition to meet, but you knew there was something in him that not many other boys had. “Georgio was… different.” You paused, taking a melancholy sigh as you felt everyone’s eyes on you as you spoke, “None of the boys at Paresis Hall enjoy their job, but it’s the best source of income to keep them fed so they just stick to it with no hesitation. But Georgio, he was emotional. He would cry all the time and the fact he was so small didn’t help either. I think he preferred to be Gloria than Georgio, at least then he wasn’t judged for behaving so femininely as he did.”

The three were silent as you’d finished, Laszlo turning swiftly on his heel to look out the window in thought.

“Was he beaten?” He asked, and John scoffed before you could reply.

“What boy isn’t in that godforsaken part of the city?” He asked rhetorically, standing from his seat to rest by the mantle and warm himself by the slowly dying fire that had kept the room at an even temperature in the cold New York midwinter.

“Yes,” You answered, though you knew John was right. The majority of the boys at Paresis Hall were turned from their homes for one reason or another, and the majority had arrived with bruises and a skittish demeanor you were familiar with. “Mr. Santorelli is well known for his unsavory drinking habits and the awful temper that comes along with it. He liked to pick on Georgio because he was the smallest of his sons he could get his hands on. Said he’s seen ten-year-old girls with more of a masculine body than Georgio, call him slurs and such.”

“Slurs?” Laszlo questioned.

You nodded, “Georgio’s gentle, feminine nature meant his father and some of the other boys suspected he was gay,”

“And did you?” The doctor pushed, turning to meet your eyes from the other side of the room. You shrugged, lips twitching with uncertainty.

“I’m not sure, possibly. But he was just a young boy, it was too early to be certain who he truly was inclined towards sexually at least. He hated his job, though, I know that much. Whether that was the clients or the act itself, I was never assured,” You gulped thickly. Laszlo saw your eyes glaze over as if you had inwardly left the room and your conversation and indulged into your own thoughts and memories as you spoke, and he guessed you were thinking of dear Georgio. “But he was just a boy. He was just a desperate, little boy,”

The room went silent at your words as if the gravity of them had sunk in to everyone. It was easy for them until now to treat the case as bodies and evidence, musings and possibilities, but the reality that you had spelled out for them was that Georgio was a living being with his own hard life, his own quirks and likes and dislikes. He was a boy you knew, a boy you daresay loved as your family, and his loss was much, much more than simply a body in a file.

“Two more boys murdered. He needs to feed his hunger like an addict.” Laszlo thought out loud, his eyes flicking to John’s figure that nursed his second glass of brandy, “He can’t go very long without killing again,”

The room went silent once more, and not much more was said until Sara returned to the Police Station fifteen minutes later, with John following shortly behind her to have lunch with some client he was portraying within the week. Your attention remained on the file as Laszlo paced, his own thoughts too loud for you to get a word in, so you resided to your own reading.

“We can assume his next victim will be another boy working in one of these establishments. My guess is he has little relationship with the victims before knowing them given he has struck multiple brothels over the weeks,” The man theorised, pouring himself the tiniest drop of brandy to sip at, unlike John’s greedy gulps of the liquor. “Still, there is little we can prove with hard facts until we look at the evidence. As of yet, all we can do is deduce. Which is where the Isaacson’s are needed,”

“I’ll see if any of the boys know of any sailors or Navy men that frequent Paresis Hall, if the marine Yard is a possible link,” You speculated, closing the folder when you processed what he said, “The Isaacsons? Are they friends of yours?”

“Moreso acquaintances. They are detectives in the up-and-coming field known as Forensic Sciences, whereby they use biological evidence left at a crime scene to reveal the culprit,” He explained, taking a small taste of his drink and turning to face you on the sofa. You nodded your head intrigued, trying not to divulge just how fascinating that sounded and how much more you wished to discuss their job as he opened his mouth to speak again. “But first, I have something more pressing to ask. How do you feel about the Opera?”

You’d spent many a night at the asylum praying to whatever God was listening that you could have your old life back. The life of freedom of independence, of nice jewels and dresses. The colours, pure and vibrant, the very thought of them drowning out the soulless grey. But the part of life you wished to see again was the theatre. The dancing, singing, the costumes, the lights, the acting, the way strangers could make you laugh or cry as much as a dear friend.

You knew you had to look divine attending the opera after a year of waiting on bated breath to hear those fine symphonies once more.

Donned in a cardinal red dress, you sat in between Laszlo and John in the box seat your host had kindly treated you both to. Your attire was truly something to behold, being the most expensive item in your wardrobe that had been unearthed for such a lavish occasion, that teased just enough of your breasts to have both men purposely prolonging their gaze on your face to avoid being caught staring at your appendages. But you didn’t mind, the action was in fact but a huge confidence boost after a year of such drab clothes and no effort made to make you look attractive. Neither men were being leering about your desirable appearance, unlike the men your father used to bring to your home, but instead made an effort to be respectable about their lusting gaze, as true gentlemen should.

You had a feeling you’d enjoy John’s company if he was as polite as he seemed. Neither of them were anything like the men you’d come across before, and the thought alone made you feel safe sitting between the two of them.

But your thoughts weren’t on the men you sat with, but instead focused entirely on the people on the stage. A portly man in some sort of court jester’s outfit took centre stage, with some of the other characters providing a background harmony for his building solo. You felt your hands clench with excitement as the music picked up pace, the violin coming out in short, sharp notes as the tension built for his upcoming notes. Music always had a way of enchanting you to your very core, something your father hated. Truthfully, you knew the soft sounds just reminded him too much of your mother and her absence, but all kinds of music were strictly forbidden in your house after her passing. Which was why you loved it at Paresis Hall, where the boys would sing until their throats hurt, and the record players were turned to the highest volume.

A woman took over the middle of the stage, her luscious blonde locks bouncing as she moved forward in her high heels, powder blue dress swaying on top of her wide crinoline.

You saw out the corner of your eye Laszlo leaned forward to collect his ivory opera glasses, bringing them up to his face. But instead of inspecting the stage like you thought he would, he turned to the back wall of the theatre and his eyebrows pulled into a frown behind the optics.

“Who’s that sitting with Roosevelt?” He asked, though you briefly turned your head to see his point of interest. Your eyes squinted in the general direction he was looking, only to realise you couldn’t see all that much with the distance between you, and the low ambient lighting of the room. You could make out no more than a man with a greying beard and receding hair, and a miserable-looking commissioner.

You smiled smally, knowing how that man hated your guts for being the criminal that slipped through his fingers on an off chance.

“You mean to tell me you don't recognize the mayor of New York City?” John replied, which made you raise your eyebrows. You turned your attention back to the stage as the men talked, your heart rate spiking as you saw the actor’s breathing even out before she opened her mouth to sing.

“That’s Mayor Strong?” Laszlo asked though he lowered his voice when he saw you lean forward in your seat, fingers clutching the edge of the armrests tightly in anticipation. You seemed to be enjoying this much more than he’d expected. “My god he’s aged.”

She began singing in a practiced, melodiously lilted soprano, enrapturing your attention with an almost instant snare. The sheer volume and power of her voice shook through your seat, piercing your skin and caressing your very core with admiration. You couldn’t believe such a sound could come from a human, let alone a dainty woman like herself. If sirens existed, you were sure this one had crawled from the docks and onto the stage before you to draw every person in with her symphonious shriek.

Your breath held as she hit a higher note and you could feel Laszlo’s eyes on the way your lips parted in a tiny gasp, but you couldn’t care less. Her voice, her face was all you could focus on after the days spent in silence with your own thoughts.

“His family grows by the day,” John muttered as he peered through his own lorgnette at another box seat. You held in a huff at his talking in fear of looking rude, though the comment caught your curiosity and you looked over to where he was gazing. Your eyes screwed up in an effort to see through the dark lighting once moe, and it was then you felt John press his glasses into the palm of your hand for you to take a look yourself.

“Who are you talking about?” You whispered, scanning each box seat for anything out of the ordinary that would warrant such a judgemental tone.

“Second box from the right, first floor up. J.P Morgan.” John replied and you followed his directions to see a man with a sour-looking face surrounded by three ravishing women. “Every beautiful young lady he’s seen with he claims to be his niece,”

You kissed your teeth and grimaces as you saw him lean in to say something to the petite, blonde he was sitting with, not missing the way his eyes trailed her chest and the way her breasts perked out of her corset sensually.

“I’d hate to be part of his family,” You joked quietly, handing the glasses to Laszlo for his own inspection. You sat back in your chair, the comment leaving a bitter taste at the reminder it brought of your father’s friends. They weren’t your uncles, the pitiful excuse Morgan seemed to be using to cover his perversions, but the way he gawked at the woman even more youthful than yourself brought a bombardment of memories at the men that had done such things to you, said explicitly how they felt about a bewitching broad like yourself, the tenting of their trousers only furthering their claims.

You shook your head to brush the thoughts of their drunk voices, the whiskey coating their vulgar words, their hands caressing your face in false gentility. You huffed, pushing the men from your mind.

They couldn’t hurt you anymore, you reminded yourself. Not when you’d sent them to hell with your own two hands.

“Poor Roosevelt,” Laszlo mumbled, handing the lorgnettes back to John with a sigh, “He dislikes the opera as much as you do,”

“Doubtful,” John replied and you chuckled breathily, though your attention was soon grabbed once more as the court jester overtook the spotlight and seemed to be preparing for his own solo.

Anyone who disliked the opera wouldn’t know entertainment if it slapped them in the face, you thought to yourself.

No sooner had the jester’s solo reached its midpoint, the hair on your arms rising at the sheer volume and stable pitch the actor seemed to display, you heard a faint snore from your right and turned to see John slouched forward in his seat, eyes closed delicately. You snickered impolitely, grabbing Laszlo’s arm that was tucked into his side to grab his attention.

He jumped slightly, but you figured you had pulled him out of a daze at the talented man on stage and nodded your head to John to divert his attention. Your eyes wandered back to the man you held gently, watching as his eyes flicked to where you gestured and rolled his eyes amusedly.

“I fear John doesn’t see many ways to spend his nights as appealing other than in the private company of a woman,” He muttered to you as you let go of his wrist, giggling slightly at his words.

“I don’t understand how. Just look at them, they're enchanting.” You breathed, leaning forward in your seat as a few more women joined the actor on stage, their gowns as breathtaking as the first.

“Do you go to the opera much or is this your first time?” Laszlo dared to ask through your enthralled gaze on the stage, watching as your eyes took the performance in with a greedy glimmer, before wandering back to the way his honey, brown orbs watched you with a gentle interest you had yet to become accustomed to. He was always watching you, observing you like that, you had been quick to notice. He didn’t gawk necessarily, simply enjoyed your existence before him. It made the hair on your neck rise in abashment, but a good kind.

“I have been before, yes. My mother loved to take me when I was younger, my father never held much interest though so it stopped once she’d passed,” Your voice took on a sadness which was understandable considering your confession. Laszlo thought you were going to stop there, knowing your history of shutting down subjects hat struck too close of a nerve when he noticed your lips turn into a smile at a thought, and you seemed to let the melancholy melt from your features, “Mr. Howard used to take us to the ballet, though. My favourite was always Swan Lake,”

“I’ve heard Tchaikovsky’s renditions are phenomenal,” The man replied, which had your brows raising to your hairline, looking at him with wide eyes.

“You’re informed on Tchaikovsky?” You asked, to which he permitted you a simple nod.

“I’m somewhat of a virtuoso with piano in particular,” He said, his demeanour changing to puff out with bridled pride, as though he was kindly boastful of his talent.

“You’ll have to play for me sometime,” You said smiling graciously, imagining him sitting at the grand piano that had been playing on your mind since that very morning when you’d seen it. You sighed blissfully, turning your attention back to the stage. “To see the Swans dancing again the way they did. The opera is glorious, but their choreography is a sight to behold,”

Laszlo said nothing, simply looking at the way your eyes wandered over the various singers on the stage, a wistful glaze over them as though you were back in the auditorium with the Howards, watching the dancers pirouette and pliate with the delicacy of a real swan.

Surely it couldn’t hurt to look into the next performance of Tchaikovsky’s wonder, could it? You would see the swans dance again, Laszlo promised himself as you sat in silence for the final act.

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