#al pacino fanfic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

melis-writes · 9 months ago

Text

Blood Money (Tony Montana x Reader Multichapter, 18+ Smut) Chapter 3 – An Eye For An Eye.

Chapter 2 / Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

“Your new boyfriend is in Miami." / “I’m here for Tony Montana.”

Tony's fiery gaze burned into the back of your mind but your name etched on his heart from the very moment he knew who you were. Keeping you on his mind like prayer, Tony wastes no time in attempting to squeeze himself out of every interrogation at the Cuban migrant camp he and Manny are detained in. Like a power move claiming he knows you, Tony's beckoning you to meet him once more in your hometown with bold claims striking the attention of your father–one of the most notorious, wealthy businessmen of Miami–with one claim being that of love.

[WARNINGS]: None!

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: Oh my goodness, a LONG time coming and the chapter update is finally here at last!! 😭💀 I'm thrilled to update this fic again and share it with the Tony girlies! Battling writer's block and life getting super busy was a chore but I. AM. BACK and writing! And yet I must break everyone's heart again by saying this update of Blood Money officially marks my temporary hiatus of Al fics outside of The Godfather universe. 💔 I will now solely be working on my Godfather fanfics until I'm finished so I have ample time and opportunity to write more consistently and update fics even more often than I ever have. I'm definitely not abandoning this fic and I will finish it someday soon! For now, let's dive back into Tony and Celeste's story!! 🥺🤞🏻

With a taste for success and dollar bills, Tony Montana’s drug empire grew in vast wealth, power and influence by your side as the kingpin’s lover. From sharing an intimate history in Cuba, you and Manny Ribera were the only ones to believe and support Tony from rags to riches. Embroiled in the same lifestyle and sharing enemies, you and Tony come to build your empire and world together with the threat of it collapsing from the inside. As partnership turns to betrayal and thrill to danger, you find yourself in-between ultimatums and sacrifices for the man you love.

'I'm always in the right, man. Always am.' The shit-eating grin over Tony's face spreads equal amounts of tension and frustration throughout the interrogation room; keeping the officers on edge for word back from your family knowing Tony could potentially be a protected individual under the Navarro family while thinking at the very same time that Tony could be bullshitting everyone just to waste their time.

Tony sits all too comfortably in front of the officers with his arms crossed, all the more amused watching them huff quietly to themselves and glower back at Tony every few minutes.

"So--" Tony attempts to start a lively conversation on his behalf.

"You shut the fuck up, Montana," the first cop points his finger at Tony. "Don't say a fuckin' word."

"We're not playing with you," the second cop scowls.

"Alright, man. Alright," Tony shrugs his shoulders loosely, "sheesh. I keep quiet when people talk on the phone, like Mama taught me, okay?"

Letting out another shaky sigh of irritation, the officers exchange a glance amongst one another, knowing well enough that if they've bothered the Navarro family for no good reason, it'll result in a guaranteed suspension without pay and likely following up with getting fired.

Then again, there's always the possibility that it could be Tony finding himself in hot water with the Navarros due to his cockiness and stupidity, and if that means having Tony out of the refugee camp and no longer able to be a nuisance, then it'll be both a best case scenario and a relief for the officers involved. Still, it's all too much to consider at once.

"Tell the supervisor," the first cop mumbles, "he needs to know what's going on."

"Will do," the other sighs, taking a seat back at his desk to grab out his notepad.

Ignoring Tony outright, the first cop moves his stool over to the telephone by the desk and sits next to it before beginning to dial the Navarro family reception line.

'By heart?' Tony's eyes flicker with interest, noticing how the officer has your family's number memorized by heart—rendering him surprised and amused at the same time.

'So they know her,' Tony thinks to himself. 'She not a nobody. She a somebody. I got her name on the line for me. Just for me.'

This means more to Tony than you can already know, even if all you'll ever do is show up to spit on his face and blame him for wasting your time. The satisfaction alone is everything for him.

Both officers continue to ignore Tony and avoid making any sort of eye contact with him; murmuring ushered words to one another and pressing through more numbers on the telephone as it rings.

Only mere moments after does Tony notice how tense the officer on the telephone gets by the way his muscles jerk up in response to the telephone being answered by a monotone-voiced, middle-aged man speaking out.

"Navarro residence."

The very individual answering the phone would be your father's advisor and right-hand man, Gabriel.

"Cuban Detention Center, Officer Frank speaking," the cop says politely, clearing his throat. "May we please speak to Mr. Navarro?"

There's a short pause on the other end of the line. "Do you have a request or appointment booked in advance?"

"No," Officer Frank answers quietly. "Um, ahem—this is in relation to immigration and detention. There's a gentleman here claiming he was requested by name from a potential--" Frank scowls over at Tony. "Sponsor."

Gabriel's tone of voice grows considerably agitated. "I trust you have a good reason for wishing to bother Mr. Navarro. You will not hear it from me."

"Greatly appreciated," Officer Frank awkwardly replies as Gabriel begins to transfer the call to your father's personal telephone.

Fully aware of the telephone conversation ongoing with Gabriel, your father—Darren Navarro--is two stories up in his penthouse—still in his Versace morning robe, smoking a Cuban cigar.

His first words to Officer Frank once the line transfer is, "You better have a good reason for reaching my personal number, Frank."

"Oh yes sir, o-of course," Frank stammers. "I apologize, sir. I didn't mean to interrupt your day, but this is urgent."

"So you say so," your father is unmoved by the sudden sense of urgency. "I suppose it is coming from the immigration and refugee department. I've sponsored nobody, so what is all of this?"

Officer Frank's skin drains of color as he nervously exchanges a glance with his colleague, glumly shaking his head. "Um, sir, there was a mention of your daughter's name by a Cuban migrant."

Your father raises a brow, leaning back on his velvet chaise. Your last trip to Cuba and mentions of "Tony Montana" and "Manny Ribera" easily come to Darren's mind.

"Interesting," Darren muses. "And what is this individual's name?"

"Tony Montana," Tony speaks up loud and clear, grinning. "And with my best friend, Manny Ribera."

"Shut the fuck up!" The second cop hisses, almost jumping out from behind his desk to hit Tony.

Darren's all very well aware Tony is in the same room and must know who he is by now, having heard everything.

"Uh huh," your father chuckles. "I see."

"Sorry, sir. I'm so sorry," Frank scoffs, swallowing hard.

"Stop your whining," Darren rolls his eyes. "I heard the man loud and clear. This is no request for me but for my daughter then."

"The migrant claims to know Celeste Navarro personally, sir." Frank clears his throat.

"Yes, he does. That much is true," your father nods.

"May we speak to Celeste, sir?"

"No need," Darren brushes off the request, glancing towards his bedroom door. "Celeste will soon be on her way to greet both gentlemen personally.

"This man--" Frank begins, but is abruptly cut off and corrected by your father.

"Men," your father clarifies, refusing to exclude Manny. "There are two of them after all, so Celeste will see both. She knows both of them, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," Darren blows out the smoke from his cigar around him, resting his cigar between his fingers as he admires the afternoon light glistening over his gold rings and jewelry. "Treat these men well. I'm aware of the reputation your detention center has and its demands. 'Gentle' is not in your vocabulary so be respectful. These are friends of the Navarro family and I expect them to be treated as such."

"Yes, sir..." Mortified, the officers stare in shock at a smirking Tony before your father hangs up on them.

Giving a drawn-out sigh, you roll your eyes in annoyance at the back cover of the gossip magazine you’ve been reading; already questioning why you bother with the tabloids just to entertain you.

Flipping back to the front cover of a bikini model on Miami beach, you rest your chin over your fist, wearing a flowing, pastel pink satin nightgown—laying on your stomach and dangling your feet, attempting to beat boredom.

Frank Sinatra’s “All By Myself” plays softly on your white and gold decorated record player, a compliment to the similar colors lavishly decorated over your bedroom.

Practically the size of a house’s first floor, your bedroom itself spans 1,500 square feet and is fit for a princess, covered in various shades of pink with a glimmering diamond chandelier above you.

The very king-size bed you lounge upon is adorned with a bubble-gum pink cashmere and quilt duvet and six silk encased pillows, a polar bear throw in the center of your bedroom upon the marble floors striking attention to the wall fixtures and architecture of the bedroom taking inspiration from the Palace of Versailles.

You furrow your brows in annoyance at the magazine in your hands, only to have your thought suddenly interrupted by the sound of your father knocking on your door.

You peek up in interest, brushing a curtain of your hair back. “Come in.”

“Hi, darling,” your father enters your room with a warm smile—holding a glass of iced rum in one hand and concealing something in his fist with the other. “Didn’t think I’d be giving you good news so quick, eh?”

Chuckling, your father opens his fist and lightly tosses your car keys over to you.

Reaching your arm out, you snatch the car keys mid-air—staring at your father in confusion. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Your new boyfriend is in Miami,” your father says with a laugh. “Immigration services at the Cuban refugee camp called me just earlier.”

“Huh,” you blink, rubbing your temple as your memory recollects, hitting you all at once.

“I never say goodbye either. I say you’re gonna remember these faces—my face.”

‘Tony Montana.’ Your face flushes red as you clear your throat, glancing up at your father. “They called you?”

“Mhmm,” your father nods, taking a small sip from his drink. “Quick to it, I’ll give them that. I don’t think that Tony of yours has been there for very long from the sounds of it. They wanted to reach you, actually.”

“Makes sense of course,” you slide aside your magazine, sitting up in bed. “Great…”

“What do you think?” Your father raises a brow.

“I’m not thinking of anything,” you give your head a shake.

“No? You sure you don’t owe this Tony and his friend a favor or two?”

“I don’t owe anyone anything,” you roll your eyes out of frustration. “But for Tony,” you clutch your car keys, “if he wants to see me, I’ll go see him. I’ll see him, but I don’t know what I can do for him.”

“Is this really someone worth wriggling out of months worth of paperwork and getting into the front of the line? ‘Cause I’ll let you decide that,” your father shrugs.

Getting off of your bed, you eye your purse from across the bedroom. “I think I’ve already made my decision.”

“I’m sure you made the right one,” your father turns back on his heel.

“Is Tony waiting for me right now?” You head over to your walk-in closet.

“He is,” your father confirms, placing his hand over your doorknob to close the door behind him. “And I think you’re the only person he wants to see right now.”

‘Tony Montana…’ You let out a soft sigh, leaning your head back against your car’s headrest. ‘Again and so soon.’ With great effort, you push aside the fluttering feeling in your heart every time Tony’s name and face cross your mind; clearing your throat and putting your Armani sunglasses on.

Starting up your Mercedes-Benz 380SL Convertible and pulling out of your estate’s parking lot carefully, you focus on nothing but getting directly to immigration services—able to collect your thoughts.

Letting the warm summer breeze flow through your hair as you step on the gas, determined to know just why Tony’s got your name mixed up with the law.

You may not have taken the rugged, cocky stranger very seriously back in Cuba but you’d be lying to yourself right now if you said you weren’t a little intimidated by Tony’s timing.

‘Didn’t think my name would cross your lips so soon either… Full of surprises.’

Tony knows he can sit and wait in the interrogation room for an eternity to come so as long as it’s promised you’ll show up—riding off on the idea of seeing you again like a lingering high.

Driving through the streets of Miami, you tap your French tip manicure against your steering wheel patiently through every red light.

Your eyes flicker over beach-bound tourists making their way over the crosswalks, noting the impatient drivers on the other side of the intersection honking at each other and tossing cigarettes out the window; the scent of body odor and beer not far from the beach itself.

Giving your head a shake, you scrunch your nose in disgust and drive off—not far from reaching the secluded immigration center from downtown.

You arrive a little over ten minutes later, driving into the clearance section with the rest of the other drivers waiting their turn to speak with an officer at the booth and be admitted.

Resting your arm on the windowpane of your car, you peek your head out of the window just enough for your face to be seen, and just as you expected, you’re recognized by an officer at a booth opposite from you almost instantaneously.

‘Uh huh.’ Noticing the officer blocking the path of the upcoming car who was next in line, you slowly drive up as he gestures for you to follow.

“How is that fucking fair?!” You hear a honk and shout of irritation from the other driver, simply ignoring him and continuing to cautiously drive up.

“Blow it out your ass, buddy,” the officer rolls his eyes.

Parking your car, you glance up at the officer who only gives you a brief nod and lets you through without a single word; just one of the many perks of being the daughter of one of Miami’s most notorious businessmen.

“Alright,” you mutter under your breath as you approach the guarded parking lot, seeing another officer heading directly your way. ‘Let’s see what this is really all about.’

Taking off your sunglasses, you make eye contact with the officer who furrows his brows at you in confusion; more than likely wondering how you got in so quickly and just who you are to be taking priority over anyone else.

“And who might you be?” The officer asks smugly.

“I think you know who I am,” you reply back coyly. “I’m here for Tony Montana.”

As smug and prideful as he can be, Tony slouches in his seat with his arms crossed and completely relaxed as if he’s the one arranging the interrogation rather than being interrogated.

As apparent as the officers make it seem to Tony how thoroughly pissed, exhausted, and anxious they are dealing with him, Tony reflects it with his nonchalant attitude on purpose.

“You think you’re taking some sort of vacation, Montana?” Officer Frank scowls.

“Sure, man,” Tony shrugs his shoulders loosely. “I think my vacation is on the way.”

Ignoring the immigration officer who escorts you inside the facility as some mock bodyguard, you make your way towards the entrance of the interrogation offices where the officer gestured you to, making note of the maximum-security gates and barbed wire high walls.

Giving a small huff of annoyance and adjusting your hair, you approach a narrow hallway inside the next building and set your sunglasses on your head.

“This way, please,” the officer guiding you murmurs and politely steps in front of you.

Unphased and hardly listening, you follow the officer until you both reach an interrogation door marked “11B”.

You maintain your distance from both the officer and the door as the officer leans over and quickly knocks on the door not to ask to come in but to signal his entrance.

A wide, playful grin spreads over Tony’s face as he turns his head back to face the door—absolutely thrilled to see it about to open in front of him.

Fear simmers back into the officers the moment they spot a feminine silhouette behind the tinted glass of the door, instantly remembering now more than ever that their jobs are on the line.

Pushing open the door, the officer guiding you inside steps in first and out of your way—clearing his throat to speak out, “Miss Celeste Navarro is here, sir.”

‘Celeste Navarro…’ Seeing you before him once more, Tony’s pupils widen as a strong surge of attraction hits him—coursing through his veins.

Tony’s muscles tighten and he feels the heat of arousal trickling inside of him as he locks eyes with you, stunned and utterly admiring every inch of your figure.

Attempting to look at you with more humility than defeat or nervousness, the officers are put off by your very presence and can say or do nothing as you cross your arms; expectant and domineering before everyone else.

You’re the only spot of color in the otherwise dull room filled with grey uniforms and sweaty men; dressed in an Armani, pastel pink, cropped tweed blazer, a matching mini skirt, a white chiffon Calvin Klein blouse with a bow at your collar and four-inch glossy nude pumps.

“There she is, she’s the one,” Tony smirks at you—breaking the momentary silence in the room.

“Ahem,” Officer Frank clears his throat, beginning to sit upright in his seat. “You know this man, miss?”

“Do I?” You raise a brow, unamused. “It feels like I’ve known him my whole life.”

“Yes, baby,” Tony mutters to himself inaudibly. ‘Come to me. You’re here now.’

“Miss Navarro,” the other officer begins to speak up awkwardly, “apologies if this is an intrusive question however this man claims to know you and—”

”And she’s my fiancée, as I was telling you. Okay, man?” Tony interrupts, rolling his eyes. “Can I have some privacy with my fiancée, man?”

‘Fiancee? What the hell is he talking about?’ Struck into shock by Tony’s words, you hold your posture and expression, but you know where Tony’s coming from and just why he’s deciding to play this game with you now.

“Yes, so what?” You snap back, noticing the playful twinkle in Tony’s eyes. “It’s true, he is my fiancée.”

‘Tony… I hope you know what you’re doing. I swear… Now is not the time to put on a show.’

The officers stare at each other in utter discomfort, remaining silent.

“But I don’t recall that being anyone’s business except mine,” you narrow your eyes at them, taking a step forward to Tony.

Tony takes your soft hand in his, caressing his thumb over the back of your hand softly. “See?”

“Well,” Officer Frank swallows hard, “if that’s the case—”

Your eyes snap open in shock as Tony leans up in his seat, suddenly cupping both of your cheeks and immediately pulling you into a crushing, deep kiss.

‘Oh!’ Your lips collide over his and your eyes flutter shut in response, feeling the warmth of his tongue teasing the tip of yours in loving passion without a care—ensnared in the moment of having you as his fiancée with no intentions of letting go.

#scarface #scarface 1983 #al pacino #tony montana #tony montana x reader #tony montana x reader smut #tony montana x oc #tony montana smut #scarface x reader #scarface x reader smut #blood money fic #blood money fanfic

160 notes · View notes

chicoca · 10 months ago

Text

Did you know that i have your heart in the garden?

Chapter one: amore mio aiutami /ao3

song: amore mio aiutami–piero piccioni

Warnings: Use of a degrading word

Words: 5.5k

Nina De Rosa -Daughter of Don Tommasino De Rosa and Valentina Parisi. Little sister of Simone, Florentino, and Calogero. -Born December 27, 1925 in Corleone, Sicily. You are an artist moderately recognized in Sicily. Since you were a child your poems and paintings have been praised by your family. Your mother, a writer with an anonymous signature, has instilled art in you. Being the only daughter of the Don, you have been spoiled and supported in all your passions. You meet Michael (Michele) Corleone in the winter of 1946. He is welcomed and protected by your father after murdering two men in The United States.

Read masterlist for summary and playlist <3

The little snowflakes danced in the air in front of his eyes. His tensed body, his hand still feeling heavy, and the pain in his face kept him fatigued. The travel had made his mind a nest of noise. The sound of the wind, the sea, the voices, and the constant click clack. For a moment he thought he lost himself there. That’s how he felt after everything. So rushed, in the darkness of his boarding, only a man with a scar on his right cheek kept him company. His name was Emmanuele, a Don Tommasino’s capo, the man in charge of taking him to Sicily. They didn’t talk much, only what was necessary until they reached the small private airport run by “The Families”.

Similar to New York. Sicily was controlled by four main families; Quintana from Corleone; Indelicato from Palermo; Pentangeli from Partinico; and De Rosa from Bagheria–Corleone. Three of them were close to the Corleone family, mainly due to the alliances made by Vito. However, with Don Tommasino De Rosa the friendship was much deeper. Vito, a man of great values, always maintained his devotion to his friend, who helped him in his revenge and gave him and his family shelter in his homeland.

Michael must have been five years old when he met you for the first time. He wouldn’t remember you. You were just a baby in your mother’s arms, recently baptized. With your pompous dress and your blessed head, they named you goddaughter of Vito. At the celebration the children played, the adults drank and chatted pleasantly, and Michael remained silent near his father. You were close, you babbled charming your aunts, and you squeezed your godfather’s finger in your fist causing him to smile.

It was the only time you crossed paths, like two complete strangers who never thought about each other again. Until that winter, when Michael’s life began to change in a way he thought he could escape. Ambitions were left behind, because Sicily received him with the cold filling his entire body. The only thing he could think about was home, about returning, even though he knew it would be impossible. Now in solitude he refrained from letting himself be carried away by fatal thoughts. He concentrated on being rational, on getting to Don Tommasino’s house and finally resting a little bit.

Emmanuele took him in a car along uphill roads, entering a city of ancient architecture that immediately caught his attention. So different from his home, it caused a knot in his chest that he ignored in the face of the wonderful views. Snow covered the cobbled roofs of the houses, it made a small path on the side of the street covering the grass. Going uphill, Emmanuele told him that they would enter through the forest where Don Tommasino’s house was located in a wide rural villa. Michael stuck his head out the window admiring the cold green vegetation. He could see the small booths with armed men. They continued until they reached a guarded gate, upon recognizing Emmanuele the men opened it, revealing a big house. Michael didn’t show how amazed he was by the place. With a large garden that disappeared into a stone path at the back, the house was in the center of a captivating nature.

They got out of the car, where some soldiers approached to take out the little luggage that Michael was able to bring with him. Sally had little time to gather a couple of shirts, a pair of pants, and a belt. Still, he was grateful to have his coat in the face of the weather he encountered. He could feel the humidity of the plants sticking to his skin along with the snow that fell lightly on his hair. Fortunately he didn’t have to wait too long for the front door to open, inviting a homely warmth that he followed behind Emmanuele.

Inside a captivating melody sounds like a warm welcome that calmed his body a little. The entrance had a large room with a fountain in the center and a large staircase that leads to the second floor. Behind it a window looked out onto the back garden where he could see a table and a couple of people. From the hallway to the left, where the music was coming from, a man with a cane appears who smiles openly at him, extending his arm to wrap him in a side hug. Michael could feel the light squeeze of his hand against his back, feeling his weight fall gently on him. With two pats he separated to grab his shoulder.

“Michele! You have grown so much, boy. Let me look at that face… I’ll call Taza, you need to treat that” He gestured, moving his open palm pointing at his face. Emmanuele at his side just looked at them “I’m very sorry about your father. I wish him my best blessings. He will recover soon” Michael smiled at his words.

“Don Tommasino, I thank you very much for receiving me… Molto grato (I’m very thankful)”.

Don Tommasino hugged him by the shoulders, leaning lightly on him, and made him walk to the back to exit through a door that led to a terrace. There the wide views showed part of the city from above, although everything was covered by vegetation.

“I appreciate your words Michele. Because of the great friendship that I share with your father I give you shelter… Una casa (A house) You will be protected, Michele. I have sworn to your family that” Michael sat in one of the chairs, under the roof unlike the soldiers that guarded the place. Don Tommasino sat next to him “I like winter, you will like this place in the cold”.

Michael only thought about the summer and how at that moment he would be home again. He already missed everything. He felt the tingle of a sadness that penetrated his soul. At the same time, fatigue did not allow him to feel anything other than an emptiness. As if he was incapable of feeling.

“Mi piace l’estate (I like summer)” He said.

“Amerai l’estate. Anche se immagino che speri di tornare per allora (You will love summer, although I suppose you hope to return by then)” Michael nodded, sighing lightly.

“My italian… Il mio italiano non è cosí buono (My italian isn’t so good)” Don Tommasino laughed a little and patted him on the knee.

“Don’t worry about it, they will understand you. But you could practice it” Michael nodded again.

“Michele I recommend you use another name here” Said Don Tommasino

“I could use Andolini, my father’s enemies don’t know his last name”.

“Maybe it’s risky, but it works. We have a lot of Andolinis here” Don Tommasino assured

Suddenly, he noticed three men approaching from the side of the house. Don Tommasino quickly stood up to receive them. Two of them were armed with luparas and were wearing light jackets. Something unsuitable for the cold, thought Michael.

“Benvenuto Michele (Welcome Michael) I’m Armando Fusco, consigliere of Don Tommasino, a pleasure” The man shook his hand in greeting and continued to introduce the two men who accompanied him “These are Fabrizio and Calo, your bodyguards assigned from Emmanuel. They are loyal to the family, so feel comfortable” Emmanuel at his side nodded before his men.

Fabrizio smiled broadly at him and squeezed his hand in a cheerful greeting.

“America, America… Quanto è bello lì, eh? (How nice it’s there, eh?)” Calo, next to him, laughed at his friend and sat in front of Michael. Getting a little snow on his head, he didn’t seem to care.

“Vuole essere portato in America, è il suo sogno (He wants to be taken to America, it’s his dream)” Calo said towards Michael.

“These men have the job of protecting you. Don’t hesitate to ask them anything” Don Tommasino said, leaning on his cane, Michael could notice how one of his legs was tilting loosely “Now let’s eat something. Armando, please tell Calogero that I want to see him” With that, Michael got up to follow him into the house.

Following his pace, since Don Tommasino walked slowly, Michael held his hands behind his back and admired the place again. Noticing his observant gaze, Don Tommasino spoke.

“They shot me in the legs, kid” He pointed his cane at his shin “I saw you look at me, it causes curiosity… Always observant, Michele. You were like that too when you came here years ago, remember?” Michael nodded, matching his steps. They were walking towards the hallway where the music was still playing “You were very little, always near your father”.

His thoughts inevitably turned to his father, still having the image of his body in the hospital bed. He felt that if he concentrated enough he could feel the skin of his father’s forehead under his palm, in the caress he granted him when he promised to take care of him. He can still see the small tear that ran down his cheek when he had to leave him. The wave of sudden worry filled him for a second, barely letting him breathe. Without contact, he only had his own hopes as consolation.

“Amore mio, amore mio. Il… boy, Michele, è già arrivato? (My love, my love. Has the boy… arrived yet?)” A feminine voice called from the kitchen, where the aroma distracted Michael enough to notice his hunger.

Inside, the warm lighting opened the way to a large kitchen with a dining room included. At least ten people were able to sit comfortably at the table. All made of varnished wood. The kitchen had a lot of furniture and a counter that gave views outside. The woman, Don Tommasino’s wife, Michael assumed, approached, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Michele, my wife Valentina” Don Tommasino presented, making a gesture so that they would greet each other. Michael accepted the small hug and the kiss on the cheek. Suddenly she looked at him with concern.

“I’m sorry, Michele. Being raised in America, you won’t be used to it” She said in a slow english that Michael patiently understood.

“My father has raised me close to our culture. Siamo italiani, non pensare di offendermi (We are italians, don’t think it offends me)” Michael said quickly, the woman nodded.

“I have lunch ready. Meat well cooked the way my husband likes it. Take a seat, Michele… Our sons will be arriving soon, Tomy” Valentina moved to the kitchen to start preparing.

Don Tommasino sat at the head of the table and motioned for Michael to sit nearby, to his left. Michael sat comfortably, crossing one of his legs and leaning back.

“Where is Nina? She won’t have lunch with us?” Don Tommasino asked, thinking you would be in the house by now.

“She’s in town with Carolina, they’re buying shoes” Valentina responded with a shrug as she tossed the salad on the counter “She will probably eat with her” She said in english, as a courtesy so that Michael would understand.

“When she arrives let me know. I want to talk to her”.

Michael didn’t pay much attention to the conversation. He got lost in the food’s aroma and in his numb body. The only thing that brought him out of his little state was the voice of people approaching. In front of him three men, one in a police uniform and two in civilian clothes, entered, greeting the couple effusively.

“Mama! Che profumo delizioso (Mom! What a delicious aroma)” “Delizioso, ho fome, Mama! (Delicious, I’m hungry, Mom!)” “Papa, come va il freddo con quella gamba? (Dad, how’s the cold with that leg?)”

The men greeted their mother with a kiss, hugging her affectionately. One of them, the older, came up to greet his father and then looked at Michael shaking his hand.

“Simone De Rosa… You the guy from La America?” Michael nodded “Good, good, I know some english so don’t worry”.

“Parlo anche un po’ italiano (I speak a little italian)” Michael responded, aware of the other men approaching to greet him. Behind them Valentina brought the dishes.

“I’m Florencio. How was the arrival, eh?” Said the shorter one of them. The uniformed man also presented himself “Calogero” He said, shaking Michael’s hand after his brother.

“These are my boys, Michele. My daughter isn’t here, unfortunately, you will meet her later”.

“That girl Nina, tsk, tsk, tsk” Simone clicked his tongue “She’s been so busy these days. I’ve barely seen her” He complained while receiving his plate. Michael also received his, noticing how the brothers quickly began to eat.

“You have to understand her. With everything she has to do, we will see her very little” Said Valentina while sitting to the right of his husband.

“Your sister is doing something that none of you would do” Don Tommasino said as he poured the wine. Michael asked for just a little.

“We can’t do it, we are men” Said Calogero causing a disapproving look from his mother.

“We will not talk about your sister at the table. What she does she will discuss it with your father. Enjoy your food, you were hungry” She said, indicating with her fork.

“Well… Michele, tell us about America” Florencio seemed interested in Simone’s request.

“Better ask him something specific, boy” Said Don Tommasino while drinking his wine. Michael observed them with attention while eating.

“Come sono le donne? (How are the women?)” Asked Calogero causing laughter among his brothers “Scommetto che sono piccoli, magri, come nei film (I bet they are small, skinny, like in the pictures)” “Belli, sono belli! (Beautiful, they are beautiful!)” The brothers seemed to talk to each other without addressing Michael.

“Non potrei dirtelo (I couldn’t tell you)” That caught their attention, Michael continued eating.

“Non può? Cosa non può? è un finocchio? (Can’t? What can’t? Is he a faggot?)” Calogero said jokingly to Simone. However, his brother looked at him seriously and then looked at his father.

Michael didn’t feel offended about it. Understanding the man’s mentality he simply wiped himself with a napkin in silence. Don Tommasino, on the other hand, felt deep shame at his son’s behavior. Valentina blushed with the same shame and looked at her husband expectantly.

“Excuse my son, Michele. He is usually rude, something that embarrasses me. Please ignore his words… Calogero, we’ll talk later” With a passive tone of voice but with a hard gaze he continued to reprimand his son.

“Don’t worry. I have a brother just the same… I don’t have any comments about women, because it’s not an interesting conversation for me. They will be beautiful, for sure, as there will be many in other places” His monotone tone and expressionless look didn’t give Calogero room to make another comment.

Florencio, accustomed to his brother’s slips, drank wine and after swallowing he spoke.

“Old Frankie, how is he? Still under Clemenza I must assume” Michael tilted his head in interest.

“Yeah. Frankie, Frankie. We are good friends of Vincenzo. It has been a long time since we heard from him in La America” Simone said, taking the salad to serve himself in big portions.

“Yes, he continues under Clemenza, dedicated to the family” Don Tommasino clinked his glass with Michael’s and then raised it.

“For the family and the dedication… I want to make something clear to you three. Michele is my protégé, he is under our care until he can return safely to America. I know you know but I’ll repeat myself. I want total discretion, only those close to us can be aware of his presence. No one else will be told his name or anything about what is happening in New York” The brothers nodded at their father’s words.

“What about Quintana?” Asked Florencio.

“What about them?” Asked Don Tommasino.

“Our bond isn’t strong yet. The war is over but the tension continues. If they find out about Michele they can use it against us” Simone replied.

“They aren’t friends of the Corleones. They never wanted to establish any ties” Calogero added.

“Don’t worry about them. They won’t be a problem. Leandro as underboss will have the privilege of stopping anything. He knows what’s best for him” Don Tommasino said as he finished his plate “Now let’s give Michele some space. Love, can you ask Emilda to take him to his room? I need to go to my office, Calogero come with me”.

Don Tommasino slowly left the dining room accompanied by his son. His two eldest sons got up and said they would go outside. Valentina called Emilda and picked up the plates while Michael wiped his nose with a napkin.

Emilda appeared and kindly took him to the second floor where his room was, at the end of the hallway with a perfect view of the stream and the garden. His luggage was already on his bed, and after thanking Emilda he closed the door.

Finally alone. The first thing he did was take off his coat, leaving him in his dress shirt and trousers. Having the need to bathe, he went to the bathroom connected to the room. There was a long bathtub, long enough for him to lie down without any problems. He slowly took off his clothes, leaving himself completely naked. Waiting for the tub to fill with water, he went to look in the mirror where he noticed his paleness and deep circles under his eyes. But what caught the attention was his injury.

His skin was covered in a purple hue. The swelling on his jaw had gone down a little but it was still painful. In the night he felt it more, the pressure on his head when lying down made the pain intense. It provoked a rage that dissipated quickly when he remembered that McClusky was dead. A feeling of resentment that was only calmed by his committed revenge. He almost thinks about his father but stops as he presses his fingers against his broken jaw. He didn’t like how he looked even though he had seen several men who arrived in Sicily had injuries

The pain was a sensation already learned, almost purifying. The war hadn’t made him a stronger or wiser man. Sharing with men who died at his side didn’t make him more sensitive. It was fear that still disturbs his mind when he remembers the pain. And it isn’t a physical pain, it’s a pain of the soul, as if his heart were going to shrink until it disappeared. It was fear that made him learn. And now, with the latent pain on his face, he could only ask God that nothing would happen to his family. He would pray for it until he returns, he knows it when he sees that his injury would take too long to abandon him.

Noticing that the tub is already full, he slowly gets into it, covering his body in the warm water. He immediately feels his muscles relax against the surface, almost feeling like he’s sinking. Letting himself go, he takes a deep breath to submerge his head under water. Stretching his legs and using force with his hands to keep him from floating, he stays down holding his breath. It’s almost cathartic.

He holds on until he can’t take it anymore, getting out of the water quickly, overflowing the tub and wetting the floor. He runs his hands over his face without noticing that he is crying. He sinks again, and repeats that over and over again until his body becomes limp. Then he just looks at the ceiling without thinking about anything, letting everything happen until he almost falls asleep in the cold water. If it wasn’t for the soft touch of the door he would have fallen asleep lying there.

“Signor, Don Tommasino vorrebbe parlarle (Mr. Don Tommasino would like to speak to you)” Emilda’s voice wakes him up enough to sit in the tub.

“Andrò presto Emilda, grazie mille (I’ll go soon Emilda, thank you very much)” He heard her footsteps go away, he waited until he felt the silence to get up.

He couldn’t feel the passage of time, or even register his body temperature. The only thing he did was dry off and change into the few clothes he brought, and went downstairs to go to Don Tommasino’s office.

The office was very different compared to his father’s office. Where it was dark there, here was a large window that showed trees in the background. There was Emmanuele, Armando Fusco, Simone, Florencio, Calogero and other man Michael hadn't meet yet.

“I hope you had a good rest Michele. Come in, sit down” He closed the door behind him and sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Behind Don Tommasino was the unknown man, staring at him with such intensity that Michael couldn’t help but look back at him “Andrea smettila di disturbare Michele (Andre stop bothering Michael)... Don’t mind him. He just arrived and he’s very paranoid. Perfect for the job, eh?” The men laughed and Michael could tell that there wasn’t tension in the room. That made him feel more comfortable.

“You liked your room, Michele?” Don Tommasino asked. Michael nodded.

“Anisette?” asked Armando while pouring the cloudy liquid in small glasses. Michael accepted the glass and drank it along with everyone else.

“Well Michael, I called you because I want to tell you what a couple of things will be like here. We usually go to different areas of Sicily, meetings and things like that to maintain ties. Most of the time you will stay in the house with Fabrizio and Calo, but you can also go out to Palermo, once a week, you just have to not be identifiable. When I’m not here my men will be. Also my wife and daughter are always here too. The family visits us sometimes so you can meet them, if you don’t mind” Michael interrupted.

“Of course not” That made him smile.

“You are a good boy, Michele. Now let’s go out, it wasn’t that serious if you thought it was” Michael denied with his head while getting up.

“Hey! Papa! Are you in your office?” A female voice could be heard from outside, your voice.

“My beloved Nina, let’s go out so I can talk to her” He said as he walked with his cane towards the door. Michael could hear how you greeted each other in the hallway, your voices slowly drifting away behind the door.

Inside the men finished their drinks and got up to leave. Andrea, right hand of Don Tommasino and one of the capos, shook his hand in a firm squeeze that was intended to intimidate him. Michael appreciated the gesture, assuming that Don Tommasino’s safety was the man’s priority, he thought that this loyalty would be useful in the future.

When he left the office he noticed that the brothers De Rosa were still talking while they walked to the garden. Behind him Andrea told him to follow them because Don Tommasino loved sitting on his terrace, even if it was cold. As he moved forward he could hear your melodious voice, and like a song, he felt almost trapped in the curiosity of knowing what you were saying.

“... No, no papa, guarda. Oggi sono arrivati gli inviti, dobbiamo mandarli domani. Mi sto organizzando benissimo, credimi. Fidati e basta, andrà tutto bene (... No, no dad, look. The invitations arrived today, we have to send them tomorrow. I’m organizing this very well, believe me. You just trust me, it will be fine)”.

“Ma la mia vita, non sarà presto? (But, my life, won’t it be soon?)”.

“Ay papa, sta andando tutto bene, non preoccuparti (Ah dad, everything is going well, don’t worry)”.

“Sì papa, la ragazza sa quello che fa (Yes dad, the girl knows what she’s doing)”.

As he approached he noticed your back. Your figure covered by a long dark coat. He could only appreciate your dark hair and the movement of your hands. In front of you Don Tommasino looked at you attentively, with his eyebrows furrowed despite your words. Your brothers around you also listened but only Simone gave his opinion. Before Michael could make any gesture to indicate his presence, Andrea spoke.

“Signorina De Rosa, buon pomeriggio (Miss De Rosa, good afternoon)” That made you turn around.

If somebody asked Michael how silence is caused, he would have to answer that the body can only be immobilized with an overwhelming emotion. He could feel it in the impact of your eyes. But what a beautiful view that Sicilian winter brought. With cheeks flushed from the cold and eyelashes with little snowflakes. He didn’t know if it was just because you were beautiful or he had definitely gotten lost in your gaze. The tired body already forgotten was left behind the beating heart that deafened him.

Michael found himself standing with his heart beating faster than normal. He felt dazed and the blood boiled in his body. He could intensely perceive everything. He felt like he was in another world. He was struck by lightning. Don Tommasino, looking straight at Michael, could notice it, but he remained silent. The well-known lightning attack.

For you, the first time was a blast of warmth. Because of the open door and his presence, the light that illuminated his bruised face reflected a unique shine in his eyes. And what eyes! A deep brown that caught you like a careless prey. You’ve never seen eyes like those. So full of a story that you wanted to discover, an innate need to know everything that captivates you.

The silence was broken when you noticed that he brought his hand to his nose. Due to the blow, his sinuses were damaged. You knew that because your brother suffered the same thing due to a fight. Taking a handkerchief out of your coat, you approached him and offered it to him. A pale pink fabric with delicate embroidery that carries your perfume. Michael looked at the handkerchief and slowly accepted it, pressing it to his nose, immediately feeling the sweet aroma.

“Ciao Andrea. Sei Michele? Da New York? (Hi Andrea. Are you Michael? From New York?)” You asked, taking a step back, slightly losing the feeling of his closeness.

“Yes Nina, he’s Michael. Michael, my daughter Nina” Don Tommasino said, in the background your brothers talked.

“Buon pomeriggio, Nina… Grazie per il fazzoletto, io… I will return it to you after washing it (Good afternoon, Nina… Thanks for the handkerchief, I…)” Michael spoke english not knowing how to continue in italian. You smiled and with a gesture you denied.

“Don’t worry. I have more” You replied, he didn’t push it.

Still in awe of his eyes, you couldn’t help but take in everything, as if he were going to unexpectedly leave your sight. Michael wasn’t far behind, even with your handkerchief pressing against his nose, more because of your perfume than his rhinorrhoea, he looked at your face trying to engrave it in his memory.

“Well, I hope you like poetry Michele… Nina keep him company, Armando has a couple of things to discuss with me” Said Don Tommasino as he saw how his consigliere waved his hand from inside the house.

For a man with a cane he moves around quite a bit, Michael thought. Now with a bit of confusion in his eyes, he took a seat waiting for you to do the same. You, instead, watched your father walk until he disappeared on the way to his office. With your brothers talking to a couple of your father’s workers, you noticed that Michael was waiting for you. With a little shyness you sat in front of him, and remembered your father’s words.

“What about poetry?” He asked you.

“Oh! I’m a poet and a classical literature teacher. He’s quite proud of it, that’s all” Michael noticed how you squeezed your hands and rubbed them.

“Poet, how interesting. How do you write it?” You didn’t know if he was really interested in talking about it, but like any other enthusiastic person, when you had the chance to talk about what you love the most, you couldn’t contain yourself.

“I couldn’t explain it. It's just. Mmm… It flows from me, you know? You don’t have something like that?” You asked.

“Something like that?” He took a moment before continuing “I don’t think so, what emanates from me doesn’t cause any art” That intrigued you.

“And what emanates from you?” If he could answer honestly he would. But he saw a very pure curiosity in your eyes.

“Some things” He said, looking away from you to admire the garden. The snow was no longer falling, however, the place was still covered in white.

“You are quite a mysterious man, don’t you think?” You said with a smile that almost caused him to imitate you, but he remained expressionless.

“I don’t think so. You are an artist, though…” You looked at him inquisitively “You are more likely to share your thoughts”.

“That 's true. I have always been a transparent woman”.

“Just like your brother” He said, looking at Calogero.

“Oh, you already met him, eh? Don’t mind him, he’s always had a sharp tongue, always getting in trouble” You pointed at Michael’s jaw “Someone broke his jaw one time, for insulting a Quintana”.

“What did he say to deserve that?” He asked, leaning against the chair, looking comfortable in his clothes.

“He said some things about Don Quintana’s daughter, may she rest in peace. It was very unpleasant. My mother slapped him when he arrived” Michael nodded. Your brother looked like the kind of man who made those mistakes.

“Is he a lieutenant?” You quickly denied at his question.

“He is a carabiniere. He likes to be one, he always wears his uniform” You both looked at him from a distance. Calogero was adjusting his sleeves while laughing at something Florencio said “Are you a lieutenant?” Michael looked at you again.

“I’m a marine” You raised your eyebrows at his response.

“You went to war? For America?” You asked, resting your chin in your knuckles. Michael lowered his head a little.

“Yes”.

“Your father supported that?” You noticed how his gaze intensified.

“No, he didn’t like the idea very much. But he couldn’t do anything against it, not at first” You wanted to ask him more, so you didn’t stop. Now feeling more comfortable you relaxed your posture.

“He did though” You assumed “You have medals?”.

“Yes, I have some” His calm voice contrasted with your animated one.

From the outside it seemed that only you were paying attention. But Michael, from his passivity, was completely focused on you.

“Did you leave them in America? I’ve never seen one. Why do you have them?” You almost thought he was getting bored of your questions, but he smiled as if he remembered something good.

“Extreme bravery beyond the call of duty” The tingle of remembered adrenaline kept his smile on his face.

“So that emanates from you… Are you an altruist?” Michael thought deeply about your question, before he could answer you talked again “I know what you did in New York”.

“Do you? And what does that answer to you?” He asked, wanting to know what you would say.

“I think you are… Many men kill in the name of their Don, even sons kill for their parents. But one thing is to kill and another thing is to accept what death entails. You are here, very far from home. And when I look at you I know that this isn’t what you would want. That’s why I think you are” Michael took your words in and nodded slowly, he didn’t think the same.

“And you’re perceptive, I guess” That made you smirk a little.

“I usually observe everything, it helps with writing”.

“What else helps you?”.

“I have a place, a special one. It's outside, passing that fence, see?” You pointed where the stream disappeared between the trees “There I write and read, I go when it’s not so cold”.

“Why that place?” It encouraged you that he asked you so many questions.

“It’s beautiful, it’s like it’s from another world. Sometimes, when the sun goes down, the leaves create some rays that reflect in the water. When I look at that I get inspired” You brought your hands to your chest, squeezing your palms. Oh you wished it were summer.

“I-...” Michael was suddenly interrupted by a voice calling your name. He could notice your eyes changed in the way your eyelids moved.

Recognizing that voice you stood up awaiting his presence. From the side your brother Simone appeared with a tall man in a fitted and expensive suit. Michael saw how he approached you, taking your hand to give it a soft kiss.

“Michele, this is Leandro Quintana, my fiance” The only thing Michael could notice was how you didn’t look him in the eyes again.

CHAPTER TWO

#al pacino #michael corleone fanfic #michael corleone au #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone #the godfather au #the godfather

80 notes · View notes

iriashouse · 3 months ago

Text

my roman empire of 2024 is Moth to Flame, like however i always end up re-reading it or looking at the highlights or screenshots i have from the first time i read it @melis-writes

#fanfic #the godfather #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone #ao3 fanfic #sonny corleone #al pacino

23 notes · View notes

lostloveletters · 1 year ago

Text

Bruised Fruit Masterlist

Summary: Gloria falls like overripe fruit from a wilting tree branch, and Michael Corleone intends to devour her amidst the rot and decay that's long since taken root in his family, intent on dooming her with him for a chance at another heir.

Warnings: Canon divergence, sexually explicit content, canon typical violence, canon major character death, infidelity, period typical attitudes, misogyny, negative discussions of abortion, Catholicism, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) related to WWII, breeding kink, angst, emotional manipulation, unhealthy coping mechanisms [This will be expanded as more chapters are added]

Takes place Part II onward. No Kay hate.

Note: I stopped cross-posting the full chapters to Tumblr around chapter 9, since Tumblr isn't the best place to host longer fics. The best way to read this series is on AO3!

AO3 link | Gloria's Intro Post | Fic inspo tag | Fic artwork commissions

Chapters

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Misc fics

Vague Concern (pre-relationship, anonymous phone sex)

To Fools Like You (pre-Bruised Fruit, infidelity, masochism)

Spellbound (Kinktober prompt fill - Dub-Con, witch AU)

#michael corleone x oc #michael corleone #the godfather #the godfather part ii #michael corleone fanfic #the godfather fanfic #michael corleone x ofc #al pacino #bruised fruit masterlist #bruised fruit fic

86 notes · View notes

gaspanicwrites · 4 months ago

Text

‘Just another no account fatality’ by gaspanic on ao3

Pairing: Travis Bickle/Arthur Kirkland

Fandom(s): Taxi Driver (1976), …And Justice for All (1979)

Rating: Explicit

Words: 6.1K

Summary:

In the aftermath of the Fleming trial, Arthur Kirkland is suspended from the practice of law and bumps into a former client.

Happy June 29th!

Got hooked onto 70s Al Pacino and Robert De Niro and it led to this… Might be a crack pairing but the fic ain’t so give it a go if you’re interested!

girlies pls understand 70s al pacino has got me by the metaphorical balls im in so deep this is a whole PHASE

#al pacino #robert de niro #and justice for all #taxi driver #travis bickle #arthur kirkland #ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #martin scorsese #norman jewison #1970s #writeblr

12 notes · View notes

zokas-11 · 4 months ago

Text

#al pacino #the godfather #actor #fanart #fanfic #movies

8 notes · View notes

serpiic0 · 8 months ago

Text

Vincent Hanna x Neil McCauley [Fanfic]

(Please don’t take this seriously 🙏 )

Vincent sat on their motel bed, quietly pondering to himself. Neil laid in bed next to him with the provided blanket up to his v-line. He stared intently at him as the moons slight light dimmed into their room.

“I don’t know if we can keep doin’ this, Neil.” Vincent looked back at him with an uncertain expression.

“What are you talking about, Vincent?”

“I’m talking about us,” He raised his voice a little before quieting down and sighed. Vincent finished climbing onto the bed, silently sat next to Neil. “How are we going to keep doing this and not say anything else?” Vincent would take Neil’s hand and let his thumb slowly caress over it.

Neil could only sigh and look down onto his lap with a small bit of guilt. “You know how difficult things can get.” He’d mumble but loud enough to hear. “I’ve got things to do and so do you.” Neil looked up at Vincent and continued to stare into his eyes.

“I know..” Vincent would look out the windows that were covered by the blinds. “I just want us to establish something, even if it means we have to keep it between us.” He’d look at Neil with a pleading face.

Nobody else had seen that side of Vincent besides Justine before they’d divorce. Neil had no words but his eyes. He’d lay on Vincent’s shoulder before sighing loudly.

“One day.”

#al pacino #robert de niro #heat 1995 #vincent hanna #neil mccauley #satire #not an actual fanfic #im so bored #dont hunt me down

10 notes · View notes

rebewatson · 2 years ago

Text

#goncharov meme #goncharov ice pick joe #goncharov 1973 #goncharov #martin scorsese goncharov #martin scorsese #meme #ice pick joe #joseph ice pick joe morelli #john cazale #the greatest mafia movie ever made #god meme #mario ambrosini #al pacino #fanfic #fanfiction

144 notes · View notes

chicaboom-chic · 7 months ago

Note

Can j request an al pacino imagine?

Hey, yeah. 🗣️🗣️🗣️Sorry it took so long to reply. Quick rule though: No scat, no Non Con

Side note: Any one can request an imagine

#al pacino x reader #al pacino movies #al pacino fanfic

3 notes · View notes

lvrface · 2 years ago

Text

‘𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐧’ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

+ summary. Noelle Duckstein is a burlesque performer at the ‘Babylon Club’ where Tony Montana is soon to become a regular. What happens when rich city girl meets up and coming drug lord?

+ genre. angst, smut, strangers to lovers, toxic love, destined lovers.

warnings. unhealthy dynamics, drug use, alcohol use, vulgar language, sexual content, sexism, racism, etc.

────────────────────

chapters.

extras.

#scarface #Tony Montana #al pacino #antonio montana #fanfic #fanfiction #manny ribera #elvira

22 notes · View notes

bbeboppp · 4 months ago

Text

Not a hope in hell | Part IV

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗙𝗢𝗨𝗥; Stone on the Road

A/N: Sorry I update slowly. Also I'm gonna try include some angst because I haven't yet.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

❝ Don't say you need me when, you leave and you leave again ❞ Pretty When you Cry, Lana del Rey

✧

THIRD PERSON'S POV:

December 12th, 1971. 03:44 AM

Bobby hadn't shown up to work for a few days. He hadn't been seen home either, or by anyone in Café Verde.

Another soul, lost to the streets. That was the main image he portrayed. Nobody in the half-way house knew him by his name, and they wouldn't care to either. He didn't try socialise with any of them, if they fell back into the life they might pull him back too. Bobby didn't think he'd be tempted so easily, and didn't think he'd go back to his old ways in his own. At least if someone he knew walked past him & they got chatting, he could blame them.

Maybe it was loneliness that drove him so far from the right road. He was getting less casual with the waitress from across the road, but the more he thought about that blooming relationship the more he felt as if he was going to turn into a burden for her, like a tumour or a parasite. Bobby wasn't a ridiculously prideful character, but he was a shameful one.

He didn't know what time it was. Bobby was lying on the floor, in a cold apartment room. He had just woken up, and was covered in a cold sweat, as if he was fevered. As he came to his senses, his heartbeat steadied, and he wiped the sweat from his upper lip. He had passed out on the floor, and his inner arm veins were cut by track marks, viciously fresh. To his left, on a mold infested mattress someone too was passed out, being hugged by another, also gone. Their mouths were open, then limbs limp and their clothes smelling of god knows what. The walls were falling to bits, and there was murmuring coming from another room.

Bobby sat up, rubbing his eyes. He must've been passed out for a while, he didn't remember it being dark when he conked out; although he didn't remember anything at all about when he lost consciousness.

This was it, as if he'd never gone to jail, or tried turn his life around, he was back here. The warm embrace of heroin was the only embrace he'd ever really felt, and this was where he stooped to to be held by it.

He looked at the two passed out on the bed beside him. They were sleeping peacefully, holding each other loosely. He wondered where Kitty was, if she was in this apartment complex or another nearby. This was close to Chico's turf, if she was anywhere she'd be around here. He got her into this world, and then disappeared. The complete opposite of a saving grace, he wondered if he even deserved a second chance after that scenario.

Bobby stood up, feeling dizzy, he needed water. Stumbling around the semi-familiar apartment, he found his way to the kitchen and lowered his head to drink water straight from the tap. It was probably contaminated or some shit; this was New York; but he couldn't care less.

As he wiped the excess water from his lips, Bobby looked around for the door. He wanted to leave. Post-high clarity, he decided the people who let him lie on the floor unconscious weren't the best to be around. They never had been, and they never will be.

The hallway was colder, and so was the stairway down. It was as if the further he got from his source of a high the colder t he world around him got.

As he stepped out onto the street, a cold chill bit him. It was night time, and would be so easy to slip back inside and go back up to the room and shoot up again, to warm himself in the cold December night.

Something kept him pushing, and he shut the door behind him, stepping down the steps of the complex onto the street. He stumbled a little, and shivered dramatically as he was met with the elements of the open street.

A dog barking, old ladies sitting on low balconies gossiping, hustlers, solicitors, begging hands, footprints in the snow, rumbling engines from vehicles on the roads, the smell of hash as he turned the corner and the general smell of well; rubbish. All of Bobby's senses were being attacked as he walked down the street. His nostrils stung from the cold winter air & the smells creeping up from the sewer, his eyes stung in the cold too, and he blinked hard to stop them from going blurry.

Cold. It crept in, seeping into his bones, it stung his nose and eyes, and made him purse his lips so they wouldn't crack in the low temperatures. He thought of somewhere to go.

The half-way house took him forty minutes to reach. By then, his hands had frozen and he was balling them up in his fists as he slinked up the steps stiffly. The door didn't budge; he huffed under his breath, remembering their strict rule of all doors locked after the 1am curfew, to try prevent suspicious activities and relapses.

So now what, he couldn't go home, not that the half-way shitbox was home anyway. That's what it was, a shitbox.

Leaning against the railing, Bobby looked out onto the street, seeing Café Verde closed. He remembered y/n again, her shy smile and twinkling eyes.

05:16 AM

Y/N'S/3RD PERSON POV: (because I fucking switched halfway through oops).

My buzzer rang. I didn't hear it the first time, the second or the third. By the fourth time, I had just groggily awoken.

I looked through my open bedroom door into my hallway, looking at the phone on the wall as a little light beside it flashed. I wasn't expecting visitor's, and definitely not at- what time was it?

The clock on my bedside table read 5 AM. What a joke, must just be someone coming home late drunk trying to get in who forgot their keys. It rang again, impatiently. Something in me was compelled to answer it, like a gut feeling. Heaving out of bed, I walked into the hallway, picking up the phone connecting to the buzzer.

"Hello?"

"Y/n..?" A familiar accent answered back.

"Yeah."

"I uhh.." I heard shuffling on the other line, as if he was coming up with an excuse on the spot.

"I was out with friends, we were out in bars and pubs n' all til late, I'm far from home n' I was just wonderi-"

"You wanna come in?"

A silence was held, a quiet buzz on the line was all that told y/n they were still connected.

"If you're not busy or.. Anything, y'know."

Y/n laughed under her breath. She was busy sleeping, but she'd usually get up in another hour or so anyways so she was up for good now.

"5FA, be quiet going up the stairs, the elevator is getting repairs done."

"See you." Bobby put down the phone, & I pressed the button to open the door to the building.

Four minutes later, an exhausted man showed up at my door. He was in clothes that.. smelled, and his hair looked roughed up. He looked drained in general.

"I haven't seen you in a while, what happened?" I breathed, stepping aside from the open door to let him in.

Bobby's face twisted into one of guilt and awkwardness. He winced, inhaling as he thought up of another excuse.

"Family emergency. Rather not get into details."

Y/n bit her lip, looking down as she thought. She didn't want to be nosy, but who get's back from a family event looking like they haven't showered or slept for a year?

"If you wanna freshen up, the bathrooms down the hall on the left." She offered, pointing vaguely.

"Thanks, really." In the dim lighting of the apartment, his brown eyes seemed so soft, they looked into hers as he displayed signs of pure appreciation.

"I'll get you a towel." She said, walking back to her room to look through her drawers for one. Knowing he didn't have a second change on him, Y/n opened up the very bottom drawer. Everything she despised but couldn't bring herself to throw out or something similar was all piled up inside; to same some, her ex's clothes.

She picked out an off-white vest & pair of dark jeans. They smelled of the man's cologne, even though they'd been through the wash several times.

She stacked the folded clothing on top of a towel and handed it to Bobby who was standing in front of the shower, trying to figure out the nozzle heads.

"Turn that clockwise to turn the water on, turn that one anti-clockwise to turn up the pressure, and that one clockwise to change the temperature."

"I didn't pick up any of that." Bobby casually spoke, twisting the nozzles for himself; he didn't do well with spoken instructions.

"Just- whatever. Come out whenever you're done." Y/n sighed, leaving.

"What did you think I was gonna do when I was done, stay in here til I starved?" Bobby humoured, but got no reaction from Y/n.

She didn't feel so appreciated, and slightly resented Bobby for being so casually able to waltz in her home after basically ghosting her for the best part of a week. She wanted an explanation, for him to leave the bathroom and burst into a monologue, perfectly explaining everything.

When Bobby left the room, it was visible a little bit of life had come back into him. His skin looked cleaner, his hair no longer greasy. And that god awful smell, almost eradicated.

"Thanks for the spare pair of clothes, they your old man's?" He asked casually, dumping his worn clothes in the corner of the room.

"Uh, yeah." Y/n shrugged. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, sleep pecking at her head. Something the girl struggled with was getting to sleep early enough to wake up early enough. Her mother used to say she was nocturnal, always staying up late and not emerging from her room til it hit around 2pm. The only proven method she'd found of getting early sleep was either to completely exhaust herself during the day or do one all nighter, making the next night easy to sleep.

"I can't thank you enough, I really needed a pitstop." He yawned, leaning his hip on the side of the bed frame.

Y/n's face crumpled up. That's what she was? A pitstop? A pitstop between what and what? She wanted to be angry, but was too full of sadness.

"That's what I am? A pitstop?" Her voice wobbled, she looked at Bobby with teary eyes, feeling a little hurt.

"Oh, no. No, no I didn't mean it like that y'know baby." He lowered the tone of his voice, tilting his head as he bent lower to get his face level to hers as she sat on the edge of the bed.

"I was just jokin', sorry, I don't take much of anythin' seriously, not th-"

"You don't even take me seriously? After-" Maybe it was laughable that she was asking a man who'd known her for less than a week if he was serious, but the wave of sadness washing over her brain brought the question to the surface.

Bobby kissed her lips. Her eyes widened, before she closed them too and melted into the kiss. He had hold either side of Y/n's face, holding it softly, not wanting to leave any bruises on her soft skin. He tasted like cigarettes and smelt of them too. Even though he was wearing totally different clothes, the smell must've been etched onto his skin like a tattoo. Their lips stayed connected for a long moment, before he pulled away.

"I don't take much of anythin' seriously, not that i don't appreciate you doing this for me." He finished his sentence he was cut off from.

Y/n looked at him, her eyes wide, lips slightly apart.

"Fuck, sorry." Bobby began to inch away before Y/n wrapped her arms around his neck, almost throwing herself at him as they kissed again. Bobby smiled into the kiss, holding onto the curves of her hips.

Y/n began to root through his freshly washed hair with her hands. It had only been towel dried, and was still damp. She massaged the back of his skull, which made a low groan roll from the back of Bobby's throat, one neither of them really predicted. He gripped her hips tighter, tilting his head as he kissed her deeper.

Standing at the bottom end of Y/n's bed, Y/n was slowly backed down onto the soft blanket lying on top of the mattress. Bobby's elbows rested either side of her torso as he massaged her hips & thighs. Y/n was ecstatic. She hadn't been caressed in a long while, and every time Bobby exhaled warm breath onto her face or felt his cold hands touching her warm skin her heart skipped a beat.

Y/n's hands travelled from his hair to his chest, her fingers guiding themselves over his collarbones and muscles, she almost giggled like a school girl looking at a poster of her boy-band celebrity crush as she felt his lean build. They travelled lower, but as soon as one reached Bobby's belt a hand reached down to stop it.

They parted lips, both slightly more out of breath than before, she looking into his eyes, perplexed. He looked back at hers, almost confused why he stopped himself.

"Not like this." He whispered softly, letting go of her hand and stroking her cheek as he propped himself up with the other arm.

Y/n's brows furrowed. She hadn't been intimate in months, maybe even close to a year, and this is what she gets? Edged? Teased?

"Please." She whispered into his ear, taking his jaw tenderly in both her hands, cupping it as she rubbed circles with her thumbs.

"No, I don't want to rush things." Bobby placed a hand over her, inadvertently turning her on when she felt how much bigger his hand was.

"But I do." She whined, sliding her hand out from under his to squeeze his hand. Bobby huffed a laugh, then frowned a little when he still felt her squeezing his hand, not letting go as she stared up at his face hovering above her. He clenched his jaw, biting his tongue to stop himself talking. He stared back at her, contemplating if sex this early on in their relationship would ruin it.

Still holding onto his hand, Y/n released her grasp a little. "But if you don't want to, I get it." She eased, still massaging one side of his face with her free hand. Bobby tilted his head, pushing into the massage as he closed his eyes, enjoying it.

"I don't want to ruin anything, I really do adore you, I don't want you to think this is all I want." He spoke gently, opening his eyes to become half-lidded ones. When he looked down at Y/n and met her too half-lidded eyes, he was contemplating again.

"Don't tease me just by coming this far." She whispered dangerously, creating extreme tension with the eye contact the two were holding. She looked up at him through her lashes, blinking slowly as her chest heaved with every breath, entrancing Bobby.

His dimples showed up as a smirk slid onto his features. She was good, almost too good. Bobby freed his hand from Y/n's, and took it to kiss her fingers caringly.

"Alright then."

Bobby lowered his face to her neck, pecking it with kisses. She arched her back instinctively as she put her arms around his neck once again. She tilted her head to the side so half of it was resting on a pillow. She melted into the soft bed underneath them, breathing deeply into her lungs as she took in every sip of pleasure. Bobby's hands travelled to her shoulders, plucking at the string vest resting on them. She reached down to the brim of her night shirt, pulling it over her head, revealing the whole of her upper torso. One thing Y/n forgot about sex was how vulnerable it made you feel, especially when you became undressed before your partner.

Thankfully Bobby was quick to follow, pulling his vest he had only just put on over his head as well. The skin to skin contact between their chests felt so good, it was simply exciting. Bobby's lips moving from her neck to her collarbone and the area above it, where he began sucking the skin.

The more sounds Y/n made, the hungrier Bobby became. He too had forgotten what kinds of audios can make a man mad, and the two progressed further, turning each other on step by step.

After a couple minutes of foreplay, Y/n lowered her hand down again, to his jeans. This time he didn't stop her. She could feel something poking against her leg, and her heart beat faster as she unbuckled his belt with one hand, then unbuttoned the top button. Bobby pulled his jeans down, then his boxers. He propped himself up on the opposite arm, giving the other one a break as he used that arm to place a hand on the low of her back. He used to other to pull down her pajama pants, which came off without much of a struggle.

Pausing, the two locked eyes again.

"You still sure?" Bobby breathed, now resting his free arm on the side of her hip.

"Yes." Y/n whispered, her knees resting either side of Bobby's legs.

"You sure?" He spoke quietly, staring at Y/n's face as she closed her eyes.

"Mhmph."

"You sure sure?"

"God stop messing around Bobby." Y/n's eyes flew open, a scolding expression on her face. He had on an arrogant smile, and giggling at himself a little under his breath.

As he went in, Y/n's chest lifted as she inhaled, drawing in a sharp oh. He carefully held the small of her back and the side of her hip, staring at her face as he looked to see what kind of faces she'd make. "You're beautiful." He breathed, staring at her whole underneath him.

"Mmmnnggghh, nhh, tthhankss." She arched her back higher, intertwining her own legs with his. Bobby moved both of his hands to her hips, holding them to make it easier to move in and out for him. Her legs were now wrapped around his hips, locking him into the position.

Bobby exhaled a small laugh from his nose, dimples popping up as he smiled at her. Her hair was all over, some rogue strands throwing themselves over her face. His smile slowly faded, as he began focusing on his rhythm & pace. He'd grip her hips tighter as he went in & out. It was now that he realised he'd had to pull out soon. He grinned softly at the thought that they were just so entranced by each other neither thought of protection; too impatient and excited.

Y/n was in a world of her own, she'd flutter her eyes open & shut, occasionally planting kissed on Bobby when his head dipped low enough for that to happen.

"Bobby," Y/n gasped, holding one hand on his shoulder, the other pressing against his pec. "I'm close."

He smiled with satisfaction, seeing Y/n a squirming, aroused mess below him, "Me too, baby," he'd lean down to kiss her on her forehead, and she felt his lips curled into a smile against her skin. Between each syllable they spoke to each other they panted; all they could get out between each gasp for air was a syllable anyway, anymore and they'd exhaust themselves.

Finally, with a pleasure filled moan, Y/n arched her back one last time, feeling a whole body reaction. Bobby was close behind, quickly pulling out.

He collapsed onto Y/n, the two heaving to catch their breath in the otherwise silent room. Bobby's head rested in between Y/n's breasts, pecking them with kisses, his hands letting go of her hips; one slinking herself her back to hold her body to him while the other reaching up to rub her shoulder & all along the upper bit of her arm.

She'd kiss the crown of his head, one arm resting on his back as the other cradled his jaw, her fingers running up & down his jaw & cheek in a gentle caress. Y/n moved her hand after a while to hug Bobby around his neck.

Lying there with Bobby on her chest, Y/n matched the rhythm of her breathing to his. They lay there in silence, Bobby's eyes closed with Y/n's half-lidded. With one delicate finger, she traced the outline of the muscles on his back, then his shoulder blades, then moving down his arm, to his elbow. In the dim, very early morning light, Y/n could almost make out the track marks on the inside of his arm. He pulled his arm tighter to his side, obstructing her view.

God, please don't ruin this moment.

Now Y/n knew. She already had her doubts about this whole family emergency, but now she knew. Bobby was an addict, likely to heroin, the biggest thing in New York City right now. Instead of gasping, grabbing his arm to inspect it, shouting, or any other sort of confrontation, she wrapped both arms around him, bringing him in with a tight hug as she inhaled the smell of his hair. Even his hair smelt faintly of cigarettes. She closed her eyes in his embrace, as Bobby opened his.

He wasn't sure if she had seen his track marks or not, and wasn't sure what the close embrace was for. He blindly hugged her back, why wouldn't he.

Bobby closed his eyes again, now snaking both his arms underneath the dip in her back, clinging onto Y/n as he fell into what the best rest of his life was. He had been tired for all five of the days he went missing, and now was his chance to rest.

Maybe he deserved it, finally resting against a woman's skin in a clean, safe home. It was the quietest apartment he'd ever been in. Not that the complex was high-end, but it must've been filled with retired folk & mutes for a silence this strong to linger.

On the other hand, Y/n was contemplating whether or not she should ask Bobby about his arms. It was clear the five day disappearance must've been a relapse, she knew he came from the half-way house across the street. It didn't bother her though, and she wanted Bobby to know that. As long as he'd love her and stay clean he could come back and lay here with her.

"Bobby..?" The silence was broken by Y/n's soft voice.

He didn't respond, Y/n assumed at first he had fallen asleep, but then groggily, a "Hm?" grumbled against her bare chest skin.

She bit her lip, stroking his hair with a hand distractingly as she thought of how to word what she wanted to say.

"I love you." She began,

"I love you too." Bobby sleepily pressed a kiss against her breast, snuggling up closer to her.

"And I love you for you. As in, who you are." She continued, pausing to see if he had anything more to say. His brain activity paused, then continued as he realised that she did indeed see his track marks.

"I don't care about your past, or your dark moments, I think you're a really lovely guy." She faintly whispered close to his ear. Bobby stared straight ahead, at the wall, his eyes guarded, his thoughts inside unguessable. "I love you." She repeated.

The room was silent. Y/n bit her lip again, wondering if she should have ever bothered talking to him. Maybe he didn't want to talk at all, she was just bothering the man that wanted something casual, and didn't want to change for love. Then, she felt wet on her chest. She frowned a little, before realising what it was. Bobby was crying. Then, it all came crashing down, his body began shivering, his breaths staggering as he tried control them, more tears falling down on her skin.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something back. What was there to explain? No I promise I'm not a junkie baby those 5 days I disappeared were nothing? It all happened so fast, the last thing he expected was to be crying into the arms of a stranger.

Y/n kissed the top of his head again, reassuringly caressing his scalp & holding his back too.

He buried his face in her, balling up his a hand then using the bottom of his palm to push away the tears. He went to do it again, but y/n's caressing soothed his too much, like a baby being given a pacifier, he fell back down onto her chest again, letting the air dry his tears instead of angrily pushing them away.

With one arm still around the dip in her back, he used to other one to reach up and hold Y/n's arm which was resting around his neck, as if to say don't stop holding me.

Y/n's struggled a little, but managed to pull the bedsheets crumpled up at the side over her & the now sleeping man on her chest. She held him close like he was a delicate china plate that would chip and crack if she ever let go.

Bobby fell into a deep sleep. The embrace he was in was nothing he ever felt before. It was warmer than heroin, something he never wanted to lose. Maybe that was a dramatic statement to think or feel, but he was hooked.

END OF CHAPTER

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Word count: 4.3k

#al pacino #new york #pacino #70s #the panic in needle park #the panic in needle park fic #al pacino fic #al pacino fanfic #angst with a happy ending

1 note · View note

melis-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Moth to Flame (Part II) [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 42 – Matrimony.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 41 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

“You’re a Corleone woman now, after all." / “You’re my bride. You deserve that and all the more, do you understand?”

You married Michael Corleone in the summer of 1949, binding the allyship of your two families together but sealing your matrimony with love, bliss and trust. Falling in love, compatibility, love languages and a change in your lifestyle met you in an instant, and being Mrs. Michael Corleone altered your life forever. You can still remember how you fell for him and every bit of affection and intimacy shared from the beginning. You remember; you remember it all, and as you look into the past to compare it to your present and expect for your future, you realize nothing remains changed.

[WARNINGS]: Mentions of virginity/loss of virginity, nudity, sexual themes & depictions, heavy touching & kissing, fingering, mentions of pregnancy & planning for children, sex.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The first in-between chapter of Moth to Flame: Part II is finally here!! 😫🙏🏻 I'm sooo sorry for such a delay in posting this chapter, but life has been extremely hectic and busy. 😭 The Vichael girlies are going to adore this chapter is all I'm going to say! We delve into Victoria and Michael's marriage from the very beginning! 🤭❤️‍🔥 This is filled with romance, fluff and domestic wholesomeness. How Victoria and Michael fell in love to how their lives changed as husband and wife and more is all included. I wanted this to be very romantic and sensual before we dive back into the action of current day Moth to Flame! 😳

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.

Bouquets of pink and white roses, white silk, lilac adornments, angel food cake, the lace finishing over your wedding gown, and the taste of Michael’s lips over yours; you married Michael Corleone in the summer of 1949.

Planning for your wedding was one of the few and only times in your life when you felt you had a million things going through your mind at once.

After weeks of careful planning, the hardest part—the wedding itself—came in bliss and resonated perfectly with everything you had in mind for your perfect wedding day.

The colors you chose for your wedding ranged from an equal hint of décor in baby pink, lilac, and beige, whereas peonies, lilacs, and dahlias were your flowers of choice.

Silk tablecloth, handcrafted Italian furniture imported from Sicily, seven-tier angel food cake, seven varieties of cannoli from pistachio to limoncello, over a hundred bottles of wine—Grilo, Inzolia and Grecanico just to name a few—aged at least ten years, French champagne, little pastries of sorbets and mini cheesecakes served throughout and freshly squeezed juice from the fruit from the Corleone garden itself were just some of the highlights of your wedding day.

Even your wedding gown itself had been custom designed and tailored with the finest Italian silks and fabrics, following a lengthy session of perfecting your hair, makeup, and manicure with your mother, Mama Corleone, Connie, and Sandra down to rehearing how you would walk down the aisle to which sets of jewelry with diamonds and pearls suited you best.

Everything was planned and executed to perfection—to say the least. Scarcely were there moments throughout the planning period where the wedding wasn’t mentioned in one way or another; it was the only topic on your mind for days to come.

Consummation of your marriage was expected next from all through tradition and customs, but it wasn’t a concept you and Michael personally believed in.

Although you were a virgin before you met Michael, he most certainly was not. After his brief marriage with Apollonia, the concept of no intimacy until marriage let alone time spent together or some form of physical affection before marriage was seen and strictly enforced as heavily taboo in Sicily only reminded him of how backward he believed the concept to be, as did you.

Of course, you and Michael were both anticipating and thinking about the intimacy you’d share with one another after your wedding celebration, but not immediately after. That would be eagerly waiting for the both of you at the end of the night.

With the wedding cake having been cut, final drinks served and last dances shared, both of your families collected together all of the bridal gifts, thanked and said goodbyes to every guest they could get to while the wedding staff began to clean up.

Michael and you stood for more photographs by and with guests, thanking them for attending as well before you both made off with security to the vehicle that would take you to your first estate.

You’d both arrive at your new estate by the time security did a full sweep and search of the Corleone manor and all festivities had officially come to an end.

Before you and Michael would settle down for the remainder of the day after the wedding, you both went to meet with your families and new in-laws.

Tomorrow morning there’d be the wedding reception to look forward to after all, but there was more than enough for both you and Michael to think about and do before then.

Upon stepping out of your chauffeur’s vehicle at your new estate’s grounds, the first thing your eyes found were those of your bodyguards surrounding your new estate.

Noting the heavy yet inconspicuous security around, it was only a split second longer before you blinked and a warm smile crossed over your lips in reaction to Michael standing by your side; his hand laced with yours as you both began to make your way inside the estate.

Just a few feet from the front door you could already hear the cheerful voices and banter of your parents and in-laws in the foyer; you couldn’t help but feel your exhilarated mood amplify with excitement once more.

“Victoria! Michael! Sweetheart!” Your mother beamed, extending her arms out as she skipped over to the both of you.

Hugged, congratulated a dozen more times, and kissed by your parents and new-in-laws, happy tears are shed once again for you and Michael as a newlywed couple.

“Promettimi che mi chiamerai se ti serve qualcosa!” (Promise me you'll call if you need anything!) Carmela gently squeezed your shoulder after pulling away from a hug, smiling at you.

“Home sweet home,” your mother cooed, bewildered by the grandiose luxury your new estate has to offer just by standing in the foyer alone. “How wonderful.”

“We’re looking forward to that wedding reception,” your father grinned, redirecting his gaze to Michael. “It’ll be an honor to dine in the newlyweds’ home.”

“It’s an honor to host,” Michael agreed, giving a small, quick smile. “I look forward to it, Don Ferrari.”

“Mm,” Vito nodded, approaching both you and Michael. “And the bridal gifts… I had them arranged to be placed in your guest room. Humble gifts as they may be from our family friends, but they’re close to overflowing.”

“A problem I’d actually like to deal with,” you giggled back. “Thank you, father.”

Naturally, the gifts you received from attending friends, family, and guests aren’t exclusive to gifts newlyweds would benefit from, but a wide variety of items ranging from cash bills to jewelry almost as if the givers were trying to appease you and Michael directly.

Without even having to look inside all of the bridal purses and open each individual gift, you already assumed to yourself there are thousands of dollars worth of gifts there alone waiting for you and Michael that may very well take days to completely open.

Your families deliberately didn’t stay for long to give you and Michael as much privacy as possible today, and you and Michael were more than happy to see them out with waves and smiles before settling down for the rest of the day.

“It’s not over for them,” Michael commented by the gates of the estate, loosening his tie.

“No, it isn’t,” you let out a light laugh, smoothening down your wedding gown. “Not until after the wedding reception, at least.”

Michael chuckled—a rare first time he’s in a somewhat lighthearted mood for the entirety of the day. “Do you need anything, darling?”

“No,” you blushed, gesturing down to your dress. “Only to get this lovely gown off of me in one piece and my makeup at last.”

Just a split second later, you both heard a sharp whistle come towards the gates of the estate which prompted you and Michael’s attention immediately.

“Hey, Mikey!” Sonny hollered from the gates, leaning against his car and waving at both of you. “No invitations for Tom, Fredo, and I to see the new place, eh? Come on down!”

“I’ll be right with you,” Michael glanced back at you.

You nodded understandingly, relieved you’ll at least get the time to quickly undress and take off your makeup before finally getting to spend some time alone with Michael, and you’re more than happy to have Michael bond with his brothers before retiring for the rest of the day with you too.

The endless amounts of gifts and stuffed bridal purses crossed your mind once more as you entered the estate, imagining you and Michael would more than likely have to get Tom to secure any precious assets or cash bills while the other items remain secure.

You carefully slipped out of your wedding gown and let the lacy, tulle fabric pool at your feet as you grabbed a white, silk nightgown to step into; careful not to let any of your makeup smear against the fabric.

You’re not one to wear a full face of makeup on any regular day, but outings, special events, and evenings—especially your wedding—remain exceptions each time you enjoyed getting dolled up, but your daily beauty routine only consisted of your normal skincare steps, light eye makeup, a bit of eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick.

Upon Michael’s return inside the estate and to the bedroom to undress and unwind, it was his first time gazing upon your face without any makeup as you cautiously stored your nightgown away in an empty closet.

You hadn’t even noticed Michael’s eyes on you at first but picked up on his presence immediately; right then and there, Michael had found himself admiring your beauty and looks, stunned by your natural appearance.

“More congratulations?” You smiled shyly, turning around to face your new husband.

“Something like that,” Michael answered, tossing his tie onto the edge of the bed. “Nothing we both haven’t heard enough of.”

You held back your laughter, “then I hope you don’t mind I retired my glamor for the night already.”

“Not at all,” a ghost of a smile crossed Michael’s lips as he slowly began to approach you. “I’m sure the bridal gifts have nothing but your name on them, after all. I don’t think I need to go and see for myself.”

“Oh, please,” you felt a blush stinging your cheeks as you gazed up at Michael.

“You look beautiful,” Michael murmured, tilting your chin up to face him. “You know that?”

Your skin gave a healthy glow under the evening light as Michael admired every inch of you from the shape of your cheekbones to the color of your eyes, the curve of your lips, and your body language towards him filled with desire.

You expected then and there for Michael to lean in and kiss you, and he did, but gently upon your forehead as he let his warm lips linger over your skin.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment and embraced your husband, taking in the scent of his heavenly cologne as your heart began to race in your chest against his.

“You should expect all of this, you know,” Michael spoke to you in an ushered voice. “You’re a Corleone woman now, after all. Those gifts want nothing more than to appease and impress you, I’ll make sure of it myself.”

Michael’s intention is to spoil you to no avail and not only with material gifts but your every request; the luxurious lifestyle you can expect to live with him as Michael’s wife and the future mother of his children holds you on a separate pedestal next to being Don Ferarri’s wife, and Michael will continue to keep it that way.

The very gifts with your name engraved upon them awaiting you consisted of everything from cosmetics, luxurious perfumes, oils, and creams, full sets of dazzling jewelry set with diamonds and precious stones, congratulatory letters, towel sets followed by pacifiers, bibs, baby bottles, and cloth diapers that made you blush as you unwrapped them—knowing all would be expecting the news of your first pregnancy next.

An amused look crossed Michael’s eye as he wrapped his arms around you seeing you open the final present for today a set of two pacifiers, he saw a look of excitement over your own expression but also blush spreading over your cheeks as the two of you made eye contact once again, knowing the rest of the night began to the both of you.

The first home you and Michael owned together and settled in was a grand estate in Long Island but outside of the Corleone mall unlike Connie and Carlo’s home and that of Sonny and Sandra’s that were inside the gated family community.

Still, your new home was not far from Michael’s family or yours, and you could make the commute in twenty minutes.

The plot of land in which your new estate would be built was purchased immediately on the day of your engagement ceremony with construction where your father and Vito had given the green light for construction to begin the day of.

Normally for the size of your estate, it would have taken a good construction crew six months with daily work, but the home was completely finished in just one. Bringing in extra of the best workers and paying a premium always worked well in the end.

Your grand estate stood at just slightly over five thousand square feet with state-of-the-art architecture, taking inspiration from Modern American design to Italian fixtures and marble imported from Rome.

Your estate was two stories, finished with an attic consisting of a master bedroom with a walk-in closet designed to be almost the size of a small bedroom for you and Michael, a study that was half a private library, two guest rooms downstairs, a nursery upstairs, a wine room in the basement, full front and back yard, three other extra bedrooms, an office for Michael and four bathrooms.

A mid-sized swimming pool was built in the backyard where your home’s carefully curated and trimmed garden surrounded the sides and fences protected your family’s privacy so one could neither look into the estate grounds nor out of it.

Twenty-four-hour surveillance was always to be expected with varying bodyguards and a careful selection of specific windows—such as the ones in Michael’s office—were selected and built to be soundproof.

Your bathtub had 24k gold claw-finished, quartz countertops as well as in the kitchen, marble floors, a foyer in the front of the estate fit with a French handcrafted chandelier, a private exit to the gardens and plenty of storage with a full laundry room at the end of the hallway downstairs.

Crown fixtures adorned the kitchen and a wide spiral staircase decorated with a blood-red carpet led upstairs to where one of two hidden emergency exits only you and Michael knew how to activate could be found.

The price of your home came to a grand total of $250,000 and was exactly where you and Michael wanted to be; exactly where the two of you planned to start your family and raise your children.

Michael and you had both grown up in Long Island; meaning nothing short of symbolic with the feel of home settling into your first house in New York together.

You and Michael only had a brief discussion about where your first home could be since the two of you came to an agreement so quickly to choose Long Island to stay in.

At the time, thoughts of buying another home elsewhere or even moving in the future were not on your mind although Michael had begun to think of Nevada and a villa in Sicily almost immediately on; the latter being a familiar and mutually agreed upon idea to you.

Of course, both you and Michael’s family knew just as well as the both of you why you didn’t have a honeymoon after your wedding, and there were no questions asked or teasing to be made.

Going on a honeymoon with Michael after your wedding was in your mind just as much as your wedding was, but the same could not be said for Michael who was much too preoccupied with the danger and threat of another family war, especially with hostility coming from the Ricci family.

Going outside of New York—let alone going to Sicily—would paint a clear, red target over both your and Michael’s backs and especially create vulnerability within the Corleone family considering Vito was semi-retired at the time.

It didn’t matter if you and Michael decided to visit Rome, Venice, or anywhere else in Italy just for the sake of visiting home but staying away from Sicily; the mafia families including the Ricci’s still had power stretching there legitimately.

Naturally, both you and Michael yearned to take a true honeymoon trip to Sicily and Sicily only. Even with the rest of the world as a choice to visit, you would have rather continued to postpone your honeymoon until you could safely visit Sicily again without having to worry about anything but how to spend quality time with your husband.

You’d very well have your honeymoon with Michael a little after your first anniversary together, somewhat defeating the purpose of a true honeymoon but with the threat of your lives and your family on the line, it was all very worth it with a legitimate reason to delay.

In Michael’s second marriage now come hell or high water he would never risk a slight chance of you being anywhere where there’s a notion of danger, even if you begged him to.

“Well,” you bit your lip, shrugging your shoulders. “I’m a little disappointed, but I understand.”

“I know, darling,” Michael raised his water glass to his lips, taking a sip. “I feel no different than you do.”

You brushed your fingers against the fabric of the window’s curtains and glanced over to Michael again. “They’ll know, won’t they?”

Michael’s eyes met with yours almost instantly; his expression appeared grim knowing you referred to the Ricci family, but with the Barzinis and Tattaglias to worry about as well.

“As they do,” Michael replied and set his glass down. “Does it bother you?”

“Not exactly,” you shook your head and faced the window—blushing as you felt Michael’s presence approach you from behind. “But it’s been on my mind again and again these past few weeks. I can’t shake it off.”

“And on mine,” Michael lovingly embraced you from behind and lightly pressed his chest against your back. “As much as I would like to degrade them to such, they’re not animal enough to disgrace a wedding, even without an invite.”

“They should know better,” you murmured under your breath.

“And they more than likely do,” Michael nodded and moved his hands down to your hips to tenderly caress them. “None of those men deserve further justifications, but above all, they’re curious about you, and just who you are.”

You placed your hands over Michael’s and gave them a soft squeeze as you remained quiet.

“If it’s about safety—” Michael began.

“I feel safe with you,” you told him as you turned around.

Michael’s eyes locked onto yours as he gave you a small nod; you swore to yourself for a moment that you could see a glimmer of a brief smile over his plush lips.

“I do,” you continued, “always. And as you can guess…” You blushed sheepishly, “I was thinking about our honeymoon too, and we can’t even go.”

“We will soon enough,” Michael rubbed up and down your arms gingerly. “When we are able to and when we can. You know it’s not something I want to put aside to forget or neglect.”

“I know, baby,” you smiled back shyly. “I believe you.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Michael lowered his tone of voice and pressed a warm kiss over your forehead. “I promise I will. None of what our family is going through now will last. I personally guarantee it,” as Michael moved back from the kiss, he tilted your chin up to gaze directly into his eyes. “You’re my bride. You deserve that and all the more, do you understand?”

Blushing furiously and feeling a wave of butterflies rush to the pit of your stomach, you nodded at Michael before leaning up to give his lips a sweet kiss.

“I’ll wait until you say we can go,” you whispered against his lips as you wrapped an arm around Michael’s shoulders.

“Until then,” Michael murmured and closed off the distance between both of your bodies, ensnaring you in a deep kiss once more.

Michael’s changed lifestyle to a mafioso and your continued one as a mafiosa would never change. You both married one another knowing what your lives are and would continue to be, but also remaining unaltered.

You’re a lawyer, after all, and a skilled prosecutor with a name made for herself—reputation and all—in New York. Your career is more than something you see to corrupt and use for your “family business”, but is also a passion; something you want to continue doing until you feel ready to retire.

Michael was always impressed as to how you were able to find a passionate career that also benefited both sides of the family business.

Through being a lawyer, you also bonded well with Tom and had another fellow lawyer as a brother-in-law to bond with.

Regardless of whether you and Michael choose to have one child a fear down the line or four back to back, Michael has no intention of interfering in your career or keeping you from it; the same can be said for any of your other passions and hobbies.

You already know your maternity leave from work and raising an infant will take priority in your life which will result in a break from work, but you’ve accepted it and will make it happen.

Perhaps if you weren’t a mafiosa yourself from a powerful crime family, you would have fit the bill as a mafioso’s housewife better but Michael recognizes your true talents and abilities just as well as you know yourself.

Now married, you attend trials and continue with your cases at most three times a week. After all, you’ve always been careful in choosing which cases to get involved in while maintaining a flexible schedule for yourself.

You built a reputation with your prowess this far without Michael and his family’s influence, which begs the question of what Michael’s lifestyle has become after marrying you.

Michael is always working, even when he’s not. More than ever, Michael spends time with his father and brothers. Even when Michael is alone in his own office, he’s talking over the phone to his men or family and constantly keeping himself preoccupied until he’s with you.

Michael’s unwavering dedication to the family business, his loyalty, and his work ethic don’t bother you. As a matter of fact, it’s everything you expected from Michael and saw coming before you married him.

What you love about Michael’s work with the family business is that he can separate it and he will separate it very well from his personal life.

Michael does not mention anything related to his work when he’s with you regardless of how casual the circumstances or if your own curiosity arises since your family is also almost always involved.

You know then and only in those scenarios would you ask Michael a question if you had one and your family could not answer; you know your boundaries and where the line remains when asking Michael about his work.

To Michael, any mention of what he does and what he is outside of work is nothing but severely unpleasant and he would rather avoid it altogether; something you respect and agree with.

At dinner one evening, you saw Michael’s tension settled within him as he ate—sitting across from you in silence.

Michael sighed quietly and took a sip of his red wine before his eyes met yours; seeing curiosity spark in your expression.

“Ready to settle down, baby?” You asked with a soft smile.

“Something like that,” Michael nodded, continuing to eat his risotto.

“Everything alright with your father?” You asked and rose up from your seat to begin cleaning up.

“He’s fine,” Michael’s answers were dry and to the point on purpose. “We’re working on it.”

“Alright,” you gathered a pile of empty plates, brushing off crumbs upon the tablecloth next to Michael.

Only a split second later did you look back up at Michael and catch his eye—almost feeling embarrassed for asking but you neither see annoyance nor discomfort in Michael’s expression.

You understood Michael didn’t want to talk about this with you and you didn’t push it. You also knew last night he didn’t come home from his father’s estate until 2 AM, and you had no intention of bothering him about it now.

You’ve always had more than enough to do for yourself and for the home regardless of how long Michael worked in or out of the manor.

You’d have your own day to worry about; cleaning up after breakfast, prepping for lunch, tidying up the house, laundry if required, getting any other daily errands done, focusing on a bit of your own work projects, then relaxing with a good book or in front of the television with a glass of wine.

You could step out into the garden for some fresh air, pull weeds, water the lawn, go for a walk or a dip in the pool; you balance your work and life well and you’ve never felt neglected or lost without a sense of purpose.

The compatibility between you and Michael is like none other and the two of you have always recognized this; there is no lack of transparency or intimacy, and there is no elephant in the room blocking the two of you from bonding with one another.

You and Michael could and always will make it work.

When it came down to planning to start a family with each other, having children was brought up immediately between Michael and you; a crucial concept and the second step into a married life with one another.

Of course, the brief conversation that only consisted of asking one another if you wanted children when you and Michael had first met did not count as a real and insightful conversation, it did strike you that Michael was a mature and serious man, ready for fatherhood and expecting to start a family in the very near future.

Michael would not have minded waiting a year or two before having children, but he would personally not wish to delay it any further past that.

To Michael, it was as if he had an urgency of some kind to start a family but there was no reasoning behind it or pressure coming from anyone. Still, you came to appreciate how much Michael anticipated entering parenthood with you, regardless of his reasons.

Perhaps you did sense Michael’s urgency when he first met you and asked if you wanted to have children in the future, but you simply had brushed it off for all that it was—a simple question.

You were twenty-five years old when you met Michael, and you were the second youngest sibling in your family and the only daughter.

With your little brother Dante being fifteen years younger than you, you practically raised him alongside your brothers and because you came from an equally large extended family, you loved children for as long as you could remember.

Just as you and your brothers had grown up, you knew the importance of proper parenting and how love would mold a child’s life forever.

Michael believed children were the products of their parents’ discipline, love, and behavior, saying, “If adults can bring out the worst in each other, they can do the same for children”.

Michael himself was twenty-nine when he met you and neither of you had objections of any kind to starting a family immediately after getting married.

Coming from the families and reputations you both grew up in and had, things such as time and money would simply not be an issue for you and Michael.

It was more of a matter of readiness and active parenting heavily required from both of you equally, not just yours as the mother.

You also knew Michael would be a stricter parent than you, but this did not imply anything harsh or along the lines of cruelty whatsoever.

Michael is not the type of man to ever raise a hand against a child or even raise his voice; calm, and collected, and with thorough explanation comes discipline and understanding. Michael knows how a child’s mind copes and works.

You are most definitely not the kind of parent to yell, threaten, let alone glare at children to have them respect or tolerate your fear let alone beat a child.

Neither Michael nor you ever faced such things growing up, but you both saw your fair share growing up with other children at school and in the neighborhood who did not have the same childhood as you two did.

Any type of abuse or psychological manipulation was a severe hard line; it was something you and Michael would never subject any child to, ever.

From being the only big sister to your little brother Dante, you knew there were a million ways around teaching and disciplining children without being physically, psychologically, or verbally abusive—even to children who have behavior issues.

You and Michael had been stressing to yourselves subconsciously the need to be nothing but good, loving parents teaching your future children manners and discipline early on without fear of repercussions or pain, but simply just to learn and understand.

Just a week ago you walked down the aisle and faced your lover—for the last time only as a lover before becoming Michael’s wife, wedded as Mrs. Corleone.

Now as you gazed at yourself in the mirror, the role of Michael Corleone’s wife had already truly embedded in you; seeing your husband clasping a new diamond necklace around your neck gently.

You blushed as you caught Michael’s eye in the mirror, placing a hand over your necklace carefully.

Michael admired the glistening diamonds over your neck; his eyes adoring the very shape of your collarbones before he leaned toward your shoulder and planted a soft kiss over it.

With a bit of arousal having flared up in you, you shivered from Michael’s warm touch as he let his hands linger around the back of your neck before he placed them on your hips.

“Mm,” your eyes fluttered shut as you took in the brief moment, feeling Michael’s breath over the side of your neck.

Michael’s hands slowly made their way over to your stomach where he rubbed tenderly, watching as your body language submitted to how good he was already making you feel.

“Are you late?” Michael murmured over your shoulder.

Butterflies churned in your stomach and blush stung your cheeks at the very question. “I think it’s still too soon to tell, baby.”

“Mm,” Michael nodded and began to massage your sides.

“Why do you ask?” You slowly opened your eyes and spoke to him in a soft, ushered tone. “Do you suspect I am?”

“Perhaps,” Michael answered, “I want to be the first to know.”

You cracked a shy smile, “and you will be without a doubt.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Michael took your hands in his, turning you around to face him directly before he pulled you into his embrace. “Although you never did tell me how many you wanted.”

“I can tell you now,” you rested your head over Michael’s chest and nodded. “Four little ones… That would be something.”

“Mhmm,” Michael kissed the top of your head. “A topic better suited for the future after we have our first.”

“Boy or girl?” You grinned and looked up at your husband.

“Doesn’t matter,” Michael told you. “But ultimately a son somewhere down the line to succeed our family.”

‘Of course.’ You knew it must have been the same with Michael’s father as it was with yours; one son at the very least to carry the family’s legacy under his name. ‘Understandable.’

“If you’re not…” Michael’s hands touched your hips again; his eyes beckoning to you. “Then we can try again.”

“And again?” You teased back, giggling. “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” Michael murmured and pulled your hips into his.

“As many times as we need to, hmm?” Your breath hitched as you bit down on your lip.

“As many times as you want to,” Michael corrected before he sealed a kiss over your lips.

The intimacy and love continuing to blossom between you and Michael unfolded in feverish desire and yearning. Like the beginning of an eternal and dangerous addiction, neither of you could get enough of the other.

Michael knew your love language was physical affection and words of affirmation just as you knew he was spending quality time with you and touching.

Michael couldn’t care less for material gifts and preferred experiences above all, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t care, enjoy, or appreciate either.

“Ah…” A breathy moan escaped your lips as your hand clutched over Michael’s back; feeling his firm, flexing muscle as Michael remained leaning down and hovering over your naked body.

Between the sounds of Michael’s lips leaving a trail of hot kisses over your neck, you heard his breathing hitching as his throbbing erection pressed against your stomach.

Barely a week into your marriage and filled to the brim with insatiable love and desire, Michael was unable to get enough of his new bride and her beauty.

“Ohhh…”

Inhaling deeply, Michael took in your scent as he nuzzled your neck; now glowing pink with the love marks he left behind as you had let your free hand roam through Michael’s tousled hair.

“Look at me,” Michael whispered against your lips as he grazed his thumb over your mouth, parting your bottom lip. “Look at me when I make love to you.”

‘Oh God, yes…’

The first three months of marriage may as well have been a fever dream for both of you.

Of course, none would be surprised at the sudden stamina the new bride and groom have for one another although some teasing and a dirty joke here and there would be in order, but if it wasn’t a night out or quality time spent with the family, Michael and you were doing nothing else but getting lost in one another again and again.

You’d lay in bed naked with the blankets barely covering yourself as you’d watch Michael strip down right in front of you before approaching you on the bed, and Michael enjoyed every second of undressing you himself with his own hands; the way the curves of your hips and fullness of your thighs felt against his hand as your skin was hot to the touch, brimming with passion and your body begging for pleasure was nothing short of ecstasy to Michael.

With your bodies intertwined with one another, you could practically feel Michael’s heart racing against yours; nothing but toe-curling, eye-rolling, intense orgasms, and memorizing every part of each other’s bodies filled your evenings for days to come.

You woke an urge tailored to your pleasure inside of Michael he could not ignore. Even after a night of ecstasy, if you approached him half-naked in the living room and begged Michael to fuck you again, he wouldn’t say no.

You straddled Michael’s lap and let your lace panties slip off your ankles as you felt the smooth, Italian silk fabric of Michael’s suit brush against your bare skin.

On his lap, you let out a whimpering moan as you pressed your hips against his and ran your hands up Michael’s half-unbuttoned dress shirt; his chest hair brushing past your fingers as you clutched onto his shoulders.

Michael leaned his back against his seat comfortably; his hands ran from your calves to your upper thighs before he cupped your ass and gave it a greedy squeeze.

Michael’s eyes expectantly looked at you. “You play the innocent, sweet role well…”

“Mm—” You whimpered as you pressed your lips against Michael’s neck from him giving your ass another harsh squeeze.

“But I see right through it,” Michael whispered to you—his tone low and husky.

“I…” You breathed shakily against Michael’s skin before planting a deep kiss over it; your free hand roamed through his black, silky hair.

You heard a barely audible, soft moan escape Michael’s lips which only intensified the feverish arousal coursing through your veins as you continued to hungrily kiss up and around Michael’s neck.

Michael wrapped one arm around your waist and kept his hand over your ass; his eyes half remained half-opened as he let you get lost within him, taking and getting everything you want.

Your kisses grew wet, hot, and sloppy around Michael’s jawline as you moaned through them yourself; severely aroused to the point where you thought your wetness pooling over the fabric of your panties was soaking through Michael’s trousers.

“Mine…” You cupped Michael’s cheek and turned his face to look him in the eye directly. “All mine…”

“Yours,” Michael said back before his lips sealed over yours in a crushing, needy kiss.

Your pussy throbbed from arousal over Michael’s knee; it practically had a heartbeat of its own from how horny you were feeling towards your husband—so much so that it was almost criminal.

“Look at you,” As Michael pulled away from the kiss, he gripped your throat with his free hand and let his thumb trace the outline of your bottom lip. “Can’t get your hands off of me.”

“You’re mine,” you panted back and took Michael by pleasant surprise as you licked his thumb. “

“That’s right, baby,” Michael murmured before pulling you back to him by your throat to give you another wet, rough kiss over the mouth.

As you fully straddled Michael’s lap and began to slowly grind your hips, gyrating them against Michael’s pulsating erection, Michael let his hands slip up through your skirt and play with the band of your panties.

Lost in insistent, passionate kisses, Michael pulled at your panties only to let it snap back against your skin as you were distracted between his lips.

Michael let his fingers go further, parting your dewy pussy lips to spread your wetness with one hand while squeezing your breast and massaging your nipple with his fingers on the other.

Aside from such fiery, mutual infatuation and lust, there was more; there was and always will be more.

The love between you and Michael blossomed so naturally that it could never feel forced like it was some sort of obligation that had to be fulfilled.

In public, despite the two of you being not so fond of blatant displays of affection, held hands or had Michael wrap an arm over your waist in casual but adoring affection you craved and yearned for always.

Just one touch from Michael—let alone his presence—was more than enough for you. It did nothing but thrill you all the more knowing this man is yours and you’re his; you’ll have all of Michael whenever you want and however you want.

Distance makes your heart grow fonder when Michael’s away on his business trips or doesn’t come home for a night. You’ve never felt insecurity, unsafe, or any sort of lingering sadness about Michael’s consistent absences to begin with.

Even at the end of a long night with little time to yourselves to follow another eventful one, you’d have just the same satisfaction in Michael’s embrace without the sexual intimacy.

Some of your most loving, romantic nights with Michael were the two of you skin-to-skin on the rooftop, naked and exchanging soft kisses as Michael smoked a cigarette.

Saying, “Yes, I do” and signing your marriage papers, your legal name became Victoria Ferrari Corleone; a unique love and lover to Michael in the sense that Michael could never treat you the way he treated Apollonia or Kay, but exponentially more protective, loving, and open to you in all aspects.

Your compatibility with Michael only resulted in him being all the more open with you; not feeling obligated to because you’ll get upset or ask, but because Michael wishes to—because he wants to.

There’s simply no entitlement; only love and caring. You could not describe your marriage to Michael Corleone in any other way.

#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

222 notes · View notes