#al pacino x reader

[stvolanis]

Hello! I love your writing!

Could I ask for a Tony shot where he is being intimate with the reader and it's her first time and he is very sweet and gentle? Would love to see that side of him. Ty!❤️

Hi anon! Thank you sm for this request, i love writing about Tony<3

Soft Lovin’

(one shot)

PAIRINGS: Tony Montana x Virgin!Reader

WARNINGS: foul language, harassment in the workplace, killing (not graphic), Tony is kind of manipulative? Idk how to explain it I’m sorry😭

NSFW WARNINGS: Virgin!Reader, soft Dom!Tony, making out, groping, fingering, heavy praise, cream pie, oral (f receiving), light overstimulation, possessive Tony

sorry if I missed anything! This also isn’t proofread

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

It was a long, fast night at one of the hottest casinos/clubs in Miami, Florida.

You’d just started working as a bartender, just barely turning 21 and in need of a paying job. A friend of yours, Angelina recommended it to you. She said it was a easy way to make money. Just smile, make the drinks, and serve them. But you wish she would’ve told you about the following stares of all of the men in the room.

They followed you everywhere you went, all over your body, shamelessly roaming. It felt as though they’d pounce at any second they could. It was a policy that the men here couldn’t touch you unless you verbally consented to it, but you don’t think they really cared about that rule all that much.

An arm snaked around your waist, and you froze in horror as a man, with breath that smelled of pure tequila, whispered in your ear. “Y-you shhouldd come home wi-with me!” He slurred as his friends chuckled behind him. You felt tears like your eyes as you shoved him away from you. “What the hell is your problem?!” You yelled at him, but he didn’t take that well.

His brows furrowed with clear distaste. “Woooah, baby, no needdd to be a bitch.” He growled out, his breath smelled gawd awful and it made your stomach churn. His arm felt grimy when it was wrapped around you, and now that you look at him, he looked like a crackhead.

His face had scabs all over it, along with scratches that you could tell were from him clawing at his own skin. He had teeth missing, and the ones he had left were different shades of yellow, brown and black. His skin was greasy, as was his overgrown mullet that looked damn near matted on the top. He was thin as twigs, and you could visibly see his bones anywhere you looked over him.

He was the most revolting creature you’d ever seen. He was a dirty, smelly man, and now you felt all dirty and smelly.

“Leave me the fuck alone.” You bit out. Suddenly, the man reached out and grabbed your arm in a painful grip that was sure to bruise, and you yelped out as you tried to push him away from you. “Stop fightingg against me y-you whore!” He choked out.

You’re waterline formed fresh tears that began to spill over, then all the sudden, you were ripped away from him and into the arms of another, more warm person.

You peered up at the man slightly; he was short, but still taller than you were. His hair was a dark brown, a chocolate color and short. It was kinda messy, and you wanted to run your fingers through it to try to fix it. You took notice of the scar that ran along his eye. It was beautiful. Something that was surely a painful experience, yet it looked so pretty on him.

He was ruggedly handsome. A little rough around the edges, sure, but he was one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen. His hands were thick and calloused, and on his fingers laid beautiful rings that were probably worth more than your life.

You thought that he was foreign, and when he spoke, it seemed you must’ve been right. “Fuck are ya’ doin, huh, man?” He huffed out to the crack head bothering you. “You fuckin’ with a lady jus’ tryna’ do her job? Eh?” He growled out as he lightly pushed you aside, going chest to chest with the other man who was slightly taller than him.

“Woah, Tony, i-I don’t want no trouble, man!” He replied, his hands flying up in surrender as he almost tripped over his own two feet walking backwards, trying to create distance between him and the short, angry man. “Turn around and don’t look over here.” He told you, sparing you a glance.

You did as told, as he seemed to be your savior, but you couldn’t ignore the loud, blaring sound of a gun shot ringing through the air.

You covered your ears and flinched as you let out a yelp. The ringing in your ears hurt, and your breathing became uneven as you felt hands gently remove your hands from your ears. “You’re alright, baby.” Tony muttered softly in your ear.

He had been eyeing you all night, and truthfully, he was no better than any of the men here when it came to the staring. But, the thing that separated him from them, was that he would never come onto a woman who didn’t want him.

You were a small, dainty little thing. He had no idea what you were doing in a place as filthy as this. Even when he was watching her from afar, he could see her little body trembling. The way her hands would tighten when she passed by men. The snarls women sent her. She flinched at every little thing.

When he had grabbed you from away from that man, your scent flooded his senses. You smelled of lily’s and vanilla, and a hint of whisky. He was sure the whiskey part came from when he’d seen you spill it all over yourself earlier on accident after nearly tripping over your own two feet. He thought it was cute, though.

You reminded him of a deer. So pretty, and fragile. Curious or everything you shouldn’t be. Flinching at the littlest things. Even when he faintly heard you speak earlier, your voice was so soft spoken and sounded like velvet on his ears.

His little Bambi.

So when he was ‘casually’ at the bar ordering a drink and he noticed that man harassing you, obviously he’d see this as his chance to come and swoop you off of your feet. He had this all planned out, you falling into his arms right where he wanted you.

And now as he stood behind you, your back to his chest in ragged breaths with lingering gun smoke in the air and the sound of people screaming and running, he knew he had you where he wanted you.

“You’re alright, Bambi.” He muttered sweetly into your ear. Your head whipped around, and he felt his heart thud in his chest as you met face to face with him. Your eyes glimmered under the club lights, but the tears in them made your doe eyes all the more beautiful to him.

“W-what..what did you do? What happened?” You asked, your trembling voice barely above a whisper. Almost as if you were afraid that if you talked to loud, something else would happen. “Nothin’, don’t worry ‘bout it. All that matters is that your safe now.” He replied.

“I-I need to go.” You muttered as you pushed yourself away from him. You were slipping away from him, and he didn’t like the idea of that very much. This resulted in him grabbing your hand softly. “I—let me make sure you get home safe, yeah? C’mon.” He told you.

You hesitated for a moment. A strange, foreign man who just killed someone for harassing you wants to make sure you get home safe. Sounds promising. “Okay.” You sighed as you walked out of the front door and out into the parking lot, the man following closely behind.

He led you to his car, opening the door for you to make sure you got in properly before getting in himself. “can you at least tell me what your name is?” You huffed out as you put on your seatbelt. He chuckled as he glanced at you, starting the vehicle. “Antonio Montana.” He told you after a moment. “But people jus’ call me Tony.” He added.

He had a dorky kind of smile when he said it, and it made a smile of your own form. “I’m—“ you started, but you didn’t get the chance to finish. “I know who you are, baby.” He said.

Your face bloomed red. “You’re not from here, are you?” You suddenly asked. He smiled. “I’m from Cuba.” He said. It made sense now, his accent was thick, and it made your legs squeeze together, which he didn’t fail to notice. “Oh.” Was all you said with a nod of understanding.

“Whddya doin’ in that place, anyway?” He asked. You sighed as you pushed your hair back from your face. “Needed the money. A friend said it would be easy.” You frowned. Tony clicked his tongue. “Need new friends.” He said with a chuckle.

“I—will you be my friend, Tony?” You asked. You didn’t really know why you asked, but he saved you tonight; and it would be nice to have more friends. “No.” He said, and your mouth hung agape. Guess not then.

“Wha—why?” You stuttered out with furrowed brows as your body shifted to better look at him. He inhaled sharply before his eyes pierced into yours. “Can’t be friends with someone I wanna fuck, baby.” He said, his voice deep. It sounded like he was restraining himself from saying more.

Your mouth hung open and your cheeks reddened. “I’ve—I don’t—“ you stuttered, embarrassment consuming you. The car halted sharply at large gates as his head snapped to you. “You’re a virgin.” He said, matter of factly.

You nodded as you broke eye contact with him. You heard him whisper a breathless ‘fuck’, but it slipped passed your mind as the large gates opened, and as you drove forward, a large mansion revealed itself.

You were lower-middle class, just barely scraping by. Never in your life did you ever think that a random foreign man who just so happened to be one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen would kill someone for you, tell you he wants to have sex with you, and then proceed to take you to his mansion.

“Holy shit.” You muttered. You were gawking like a peasant, but you didn’t care. The closer you got to the house, the bigger it got. It was unnecessarily big, but the men stationed outside with guns didn’t go unnoticed to your prying eyes.

“What in the hell do you do, Tony?” You asked as he stopped the car in front of the house. He stepped out and opened your door for you, his hand gently holding yours to stable you. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He said.

And you weren’t gonna question him any further than that.

He lead you into his large home, and you were struck. Everything was red with hints of gold, and straight forward stood a large globe with the words ‘the world is yours’ on it. He led you up the stairs with a gentle hand to your back, directing you where to go.

You turned left and he stopped you at a large white door. “You can stay in here, take a shower n shit, I’ll be the next room over.” He said as he waved his hand around to the door next to yours. “Okay, thank you, Tony.” You smiled, to which he returned before walking to his room.

You entered the room, and surprisingly, it was different shades of purple. The walls were a dark purple with gold trim, and it looked beautiful. There was a large bed with lilac and dark purple bedding that had flowers engraved on it with lace trims. There was another door across the room, and when you opened it, it revealed a large bathroom with a gold trimmed tub that was built into the ground—almost like a jacuzzi.

It was glorious, you’d never seen a bathroom of all places look this extravagant.

You stripped from your clothes that clung to your body as your turned on the water, switching it to warm. As you stepped in, it felt warm against your skin; just what you needed after the bullshit you encountered today.

Suddenly, the door opened, making you gasp and cover yourself with your hands. In walked Tony with a knowing smirk on his face. “Sorry, baby, forgot to mention we share a bathroom.” He chucked out as he began to undress himself. “You don’t mind, do you?” He asked as you eyed him.

His body was toned and fit. Hair covered his chest and arms thick, and the gold chain that hung on his neck made you gulp. You couldn’t control yourself as your eyes looked further down, and your mouth slightly hung agape as you took in the sight before you.

His v-line was deep and his happy trail made your thighs squeeze together. He was uncut, his pink tip barely peeking through his skin. He was girthy, very girthy. The length was intimidating, and you felt like his cock was staring at you.

You absentmindedly shook your head. Your mind was spinning, and you were unsure if the feelings you felt were feelings you should have about a man you’d just met. He chuckled to himself at your reaction as he lowered himself into the tub across from you.

And for some reason, you felt yourself move your arms away from your body to stop hiding yourself from him. Tony felt himself get hard under the water from the sight of you before him.

Your body glistened with water, and the soft ripples of your skin made his jaw clench—but what really got him, was your perky nipples just barely peeking through the water. Hard, and he wished to know just how sensitive they were. Your neck was beautiful, bare. He wanted to wrap his hands around it and ruin your life, but he knew he couldn’t; not yet, at least.

“C’mere, Bambi.” He said. You hesitated for a second before making a move towards him. He gently grabbed your arm and positioned you onto his lap. You could feel his cock beneath you, hard and prominent. It rested against your cunt that clenched around nothing. “Tony..” you whispered breathlessly.

“You gon’ let me make you feel good, baby? Hm?” He muttered against your lips. The way you shook your head unbelievably fast was embarrassing, but god, did it turn the man on.

His lips met yours in a heated kiss. His lips were rough and just a little chapped against yours, but you didn’t care. His tongue prodded against your mouth, and your tongues tangled together. He sucked your tongue into his mouth, and everything about the interaction you were having right now was sloppy.

It was a mess, the way the mix of your saliva stringed onto the both of your tongues when you pulled away, just to dive right back in and continue. Your lips were swollen and red, puffy from Tony sinking his teeth down onto them in his haste of kissing.

His hands roamed your body, from groping your sensitive breasts to down your waist before resting on your plump ass. “Not gon’ fuck you here.” He said, breathlessly against your lips as he pulled the both of you up and into his bedroom.

He laid you softly onto the bed, moving your wet hair from your face. He stared at your for a moment. “Stay here. With me.” He demanded. “I’ll take care of you.” He said as his fingers traveled down, prodding at your entrance.

“Yes, anything, just please—“ you whimpered out as he slowly entered a finger into your sopping cunt. “Shh, I know.” He said as his finger began to enter you at a steady pace.

“More, please!” You told him. He clicked his tongue. “So needy. Gotta make sure you’re ready to take my cock, Bambi. Don’ wanna hurtcha.” He cooed out, holding your free hand in his, squeezing reassuringly.

You bit down onto your lip as he added in a second finger, beginning to speed up his pace. “You ever touch yourself? Hm?” He asked breathlessly as he watched the way you squeezed down onto his fingers. You nodded your head. “Cant make myself cum.” You whimpered out, your face blooming red.

He laughed mockingly. “Que hermosa.” He said. You didn’t know what that meant, but it made your stomach clench in an unfamiliar way. “Tony! I feel weird!” You gasped out, attempting to shove his hands away.

“S’okay, baby, just let go.” He said as he kissed down your stomach to your pussy that seemed to be talking to him everytime his fingers fucked into you. He sucked your throbbing bud into his mouth harshly, and the feeling in your stomach snapped as you released your juices all over his face with a loud moan.

He shook his head against your pussy, your clit still in his mouth, and you damn near screamed. He released your aching bud with a smug smile. He lifted himself up, throwing your legs over his shoulder as he lined himself to your entrance.

“Wait—Tony-“ you muttered, and he halted his movements. “What’s wrong, Bambi?” He asked softly. You bit down onto your lip. “M’scared.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled. Not a mean, cocky smile; but a sweet one. “S’okay, I’ll be gentle.” He said as he kissed your forehead, down to your cute little nose, then both of your cheeks, all the way down to your chin before he finally planted a kiss to your soft lips. You felt your heart literally explode.

His tip entered you slowly, before you knew it he was half way in and the stretch was painful. You both hissed, but for different reasons. You were tight around his cock, clamping down on him with a force, nearly making it hard to move. Meanwhile, it felt like he was tearing you apart on his cock.

Your nails dug into his back as you clung onto him, your little sniffles and whimpers not going unnoticed to Tony as he kissed your shoulder. “Doin’ so good, baby. Takin’ my cock good.” He said through clenched teeth.

He was finally all the way in you, and Tony wanted to move badly, but he refrained in fear of hurting you. Tears rolled down your face, and Tony kissed them away while whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

“Y-you can move.” You whispered, and Tony wasted no time in slowly pulling out before gently entering you again. The pain was quickly replaced with a pleasure you’d never felt before. “Oh my god—“ you gasped out as he entered you again, a little more harsh this time.

He filled you to the hilt, and you felt as though his tip was hitting your cervix as he rutted in you. “Amazing fuckin’ pussy, shit.” He groaned out as he began pounding into you.

Your moans grew uncontrollably and your breast bounced with every thrust his hips delivered to you and you felt like you were on cloud nine. You were so full, and you couldn’t get enough of his cock.

He was completely pussy drunk and the both of you couldn’t even form coherent words. Your gummy walls were warm and sucked him in so nicely. He never wanted to leave, and he was dreading the moment he was going to have to pull out of you. Your cunt felt like it was made for him, molding perfectly just to suit him and only him.

He was going to make sure he was the only person you were ever going to fuck again. He was going to ruin you for any other man, and make sure the whole world knew that you were gonna be his woman and his alone. He was the king, and he needed his queen. And when he seen you in that lousy club, he knew you were the one.

Nice, beautiful, soft and obedient.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, along with both of your moans, and your pleading. “Love this fuckin’ pussy, s’all mine, yeah?” He said as his forehead rested against yours.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he slammed into you harder. “Ffuckkk, yes, yes, Tony, all yours!” You slurred out. He chuckled. “My good girl.” He moaned out as his hips drilled into yours at an inhumane pace.

“M’a good girl. M’your good girl.” You babbled out, not even realizing what you were saying as you nodded your head feverishly. “Gonna fill this pussy. Make you mine.” He groaned out as his thrusts became sloppy.

You felt yourself cum again, releasing your juices once again all over his lower abdomen. The way you were moaning and twitching under him, overstimulated, triggered his own release as he spurred his cum into your sloppy pussy; painting your walls white. But he didn’t stop, and his cock continued to fuck into you.

Your cunt was milking him and he wasn’t complaining. You were an uncontrollable, moaning mess under him. Your pussy was sensitive and sore by the time he finally pulled out of you, his body thumping next to you as you both laid breathlessly.

His arms pulled you into him, and being in his arms, legs tangling together, made you feel like all of this was so right. So perfect. He was so perfect.

You’d never be able to get enough of him after this, and Tony knew he was done for. The both of you craved each other more than anything you’d ever craved.

You fell asleep in his arms that night, the last thing you felt was Tony press a kiss to your temple and the world around you went dim.

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

don’t be shy, ask to be a part of the tag list and request things!!

tag list: @elvisalltheway101 @epthedream69 @claire-elvisgirl @elvisrealgf @littlehoneyposts

[amiadeadpoet]

and when they're exhausted, that’s the end for my fucking nurse complex (not a good thing, trust me)

anyway, i have a long list if you're not satisfied.

[doja365]

When I need more updates for __x reader:

[a-boca-do-inferno]

beija minha boca até me matar (tony montana x reader) [request]

summary: Tony is stressed and you are tired.

warnings: angst, swearing, abuse and sort of fluff.

words: 0.8k

notes: this is small and very anemic plot wise, so im sorry for that. loosely based on doce vampiro by rita lee.

Sometimes you wondered if your love would stop enduring at some point. If no matter how much you wanted to be with him, someday your body and soul would finally give in to the exhaustion, because that’s how you felt. Exhausted. God, what time was it? It felt so long since you’ve last rested. Insomnia was a big thing these days with all the chaos around you, the gang fights, the power struggles; you understood nothing of it, but at times you wish you did. Maybe you’d be able to help Tony in the slightest, offer him some comfort. And you tried, oh, did you try. But it was just to no avail.

He was as restless as you, although he tried to disguise it as his customary anger towards the world. You could sense it whenever he was close, when his hand would tremble just a little as he gulped down a glass of whisky in one go. When the crease between his brows would become only a little bit more noticeable. When he’d only swear once, as though not even those silly words were enough to somehow soothe him anymore. You did your best to try and give him some solace, but while your kisses pleased his face, his arms would fall coldly frigid at his sides. He wasn’t in the moment, and that was so uncharacteristic of him.  

You felt helpless at those times, often choosing to leave him in his office and go to your bed, crying in silence until the sun was up again. He would spend his nights away from your room, causing you to entertain thoughts maybe about you actually being the problem, not his issues in the drug business. You never dared touch anything other than alcohol and that was perhaps something that lingered in the back of his mind, still. Would he think you’d eventually turn on him, sell him out to the police? Sometimes he’d call you “good Samaritan”, because in his own words, “you’re too clean, too good, too uptight. What the fuck are you doing with me?”, and wasn’t that the million-dollar question?  

What the fuck, indeed? 

“You rely too much on people, Manny. That’s your fucking mistake”, comes his loud, deep voice from the corridor. You close your eyes in contempt, not really wanting to listen to one of his lectures again. God bless Manny for being able to do it more than you. “I say, fuck people. I can do anything by myself.” 

“Because it’s been working so well so far”, you let it slip out, causing him to give you a death glare. Tony didn’t scare you easily, contrary to popular belief, but he could become quite scary when he felt like it. This was one of those times. 

He huffs, walking towards you slowly, “what did you just say, princess? You think you can disrespect me in my own fucking house, drinking my own fucking whisky that I bought? Is that it?”

He’s agitated, and you unconsciously flinch when he sits beside you, like a lion cornering its prey. You can’t help but shake your head, looking away from his hard eyes. “You know I don’t like when you talk to me like that”, you say softly, albeit your words carry weight to them. You don’t say them to him very often, surprisingly, but when you do… He better watch his reply. Tony knows that.

So, he does. “Mi amor”, he coos immediately, his frown fading in a second when he seems to come to his senses. You are practically crawling on the couch, in fetal position, guarding yourself from his touch, and he notices this. Tony extends his rough hand and rubs your thigh gently, nuzzling your neck, trying to make you more at ease in his presence. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m fucking stupid, I’m a fucking jerk. I’m sorry”, he speaks quietly, but firmly, his deep voice vibrating on your skin.

Then, there comes your answer. No matter how many times he let stress get the best of him, and no matter how many of his motivations you simply did not understand: Tony was Tony, your Tony, and he would always be. So, you let yourself be wrapped in his big arms once more in silence, simply enjoying his warmth. He felt like home and he was home, as inhabitable as he could become at given times. It was like loving a vampire. Having your life be sucked out of you everyday, yet always craving for more. A delicious poison.

And somehow, all exhaustion dissipated when he got closer to you, serving like a long nap after a tough day. It seemed like you were the complement to one another. Maybe that was the reason you were still here, after all.

Enduring.

[catcherblocks]

HES SO CUTE PLS

[chicaboom-chic]

More Than Business- Michael Corleone x Reader

PROMPT: The reader is from a different crime family and she thinks he’s only marrying her for connections but he actually loves her.

Thank you @21witnokidz for the prompt.

WARNINGS: None, other than pretty shitty writing. (My cousin and I wrote this when we were drunk. Seriously guys this story is disjointed and weird. Sorry)

WORD COUNT: 3967 

There’s a moment where it hits you again; there it is that feeling of unease and formidable tension. It resurfaces in the silence, as you stare at Michael from across the room. You’re in his father’s office with him, he had whisked you away from the hectic party for a moment alone, a moment of brief intimacy. 

It was ironic the party was being thrown for the both of you but between the questions from the nosy aunts, cousins, and uncles, you and Michael had barely seen each other. And now even with your absence the party still raged on outside. Lively chatter and laughter could be heard from behind the office door, it was accompanied by the slow strum of a guitar and the sweet serenade of Italian songs.

Michael’s family and your family had congregated at the Corleone house. They had come toghether for a celebration of great measure, an engagement party; your engagement. Michael had proposed to you three months ago but had only announced your engagement two weeks ago. So naturally, a party had been thrown. Nearly everyone who knew your family and the Corleone family had turned up.

Don Corleone's house was littered with family, friends, politicians, and those alike, all of whose faces were twisted into smiles of great elation. In the parlor, the women sat, forming a small mother’s club where they caught up on gossip and talked about their children.

 Outside by the courtyard, the men congregated laughing as they took swigs of alcohol, downing drinks that they would definitely feel in the morning. And the kids were everywhere, they absolutely swarmed the place; you could only imagine what the rest of the Corleone house looked like.

It was a day of great joy… it was supposed to be. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to smile or even share the same level of excitement everybody had. It was your engagement party but you had never felt more restless and miserable.

Since the party had commenced a feeling of worry had been toiling in your stomach, which expanded the already deep chasm of doubt, that had managed to grow in size over the passing weeks.

What had started out as a silly afterthought, had now become a horrifying idea.

Is Michael using me?

In the last few months, a slew of thoughts had slipped their way into your subconscious, thoughts that made you question the intentions Michael had for asking for your hand in marriage.

Is Michael using me?

You shot a glance at Michael from your seat, retreating from your thoughts temporarily. He was by his father’s cabinet pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He noticed your prying gaze and met your eyes, he smiled at you warmly.

You smiled back, however, the smile didn’t reach your eyes. Instead, when you looked at Michael a pang of sadness hit you.

You fought the urge to frown as you thought back to the hushed business conversation Michael frequently had with your father after you had gotten engaged, you remembered the look of appraisal in his father, Vito’s, eyes when you were introduced to him as Michael’s fiancee. You remembered how surprised Tom looked when he registered your last name.

It had been right in front of you, all the signs were glaringly red.

Oh, God!

You tore your eyes away from Michael and looked down at your lap. In your lap sat your hands which you fiddled with uncontrollably.

How could I be so stupid? You thought bitterly. It all makes sense now.

Being the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in new york sometimes meant that men took interest in you for the wrong reasons. You also weren’t privy to your father’s business, which often attracted certain types of men.

You knew the ins and outs of your father’s business, the connections he had; connections that a family like Corleone’s would need.

Connections that Michael might need.

No, this can't be. 

You swallowed the lump that had been forming in your throat, biting down on your trembling lip to stop the whimper escaping from your lip.

It can’t be…

It was a sickening thought really, that perhaps Michal wanted you for what you could offer and not who you were. Maybe the love between the both of you was synthetic on his part; a mere ruse to obtain financial and business opportunities.

That in itself was bad enough, however, the sting of being used didn’t hurt as much as the sting of not being loved. In your mind, if Michael did love you and was using you, you could tolerate it to some level because at least he loved you. But whether he loved was a question that hung in the air, like a foul stench.

Did Michael love you?

Did he not?

It was painful to think about. You never considered that you would have to think about Michael this way. When you began dating Michael, the idea had never crossed your mind. 

Michael had just back from the war and had ended a relationship with a school teacher by the name of Kay, at the time you didn’t know he belonged to the Corleone family, he was very distant about his family.

After dating for a small amount of time you had found yourself utterly taken with him, practically obsessed. He was everything you longed for in a man. He was kind, gentle, and compassionate, he was also highly attractive which helped greatly. When he asked you to marry him you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

Now looking back on it maybe you shouldn’t have been so hasty.

If I had known I was to be a trading piece I would have-

“Y/n, what’s wrong? You’ve been really quiet.” Michael asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had been lingering between the two of you. His voice drew you from your thoughts and you looked up.

He was leering at you from his behind the desk, his face was a mixture of concern and curiosity. By now he had noticed the unease plastered on your face as well as the detachment you had from him. You had been silent for too long.

You looked at him, questioning whether it was wise to lie. Michael was rather receptive when it came to your emotions, he could notice the subtle changes in your mood. He would easily know if you were lying.

“Oh, it’s nothing, Michael.” You said as you shook your head. You opted to lie, knowing he wouldn’t press the matter further unless you gave him a reason to.

You straightened your shoulders and gave him your most convincing smile. “I’m just tired that’s all.” You chalked it down to fatigue, a plausible excuse, after all, today you had been very busy.

Michael nodded, and his eyes dropped from you momentarily. He placed his glass of scotch down on the desk and unloosened his tie. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” He asked. As he did so, he released an exasperated sigh.

Your eyes dropped from him, and you looked up to the ceiling. “Ummm, yes.”

No, Michael, I’m not. Are you marrying me for my family’s connections?

The thought fired past the many ones just like it in your head. But you merely ignored it. You sighed and looked away from the ceiling, looking back at Michael.

“How about you?” You said, trying to squash any feelings of doubt.

“Yes, though I didn’t get to talk with a lot of people as I was wrapped up in some things.” Michael walked away from the desk and sat on a chair at the other end of the room.

“However, I actually did manage to talk to your aunts though, rather they found me. We had some interesting conversations.” Michael laughed as he thought back to how your aunts had grilled him about whether big noses are a sign of good endowment in Italian culture.

“The women in your family are quite some characters!”

Michael’s voice filled the room as he continued to talk, he was more talkative than usual. He went on about the party. But his words were met with no replies, you weren’t really listening, you just nodded absent-mindedly at his comments. The bombardment of thoughts had already made it hard for you to hear.

Does he love me?

He says it all the time, but now I’m not sure.

But what else did I expect?

Of course, he’s marrying me for my father’s connections, do you think a girl like me would ever have a chance with a man like Michael if I didn’t have something to offer?

Your thoughts were spiteful and bitter, they pricked at you like a needle. They hurt you greatly but you couldn’t help but conjure them. You couldn’t help but believe they were true.

Your doubts continued as did  Michael’s chatter, however unbeknownst to you, he had stopped talking a while ago. He had noticed that you were engorged by silence, this was the second time you had become unresponsive.

“Have you eaten?” Michael asked. 

The question went over your head, you were too trapped in your thoughts.

“Y/n?” Michael’s voice suddenly peaked, having to have raised his voice for you to hear.

You jolted suddenly. “Pardon?” You met his gaze again.

“Did you eat? You said you were tired.” Michael was frowning now; it was a frown of concern.

You swallow hard. The room has suddenly become unbearably small as if it’s shrinking. You begin to feel unpleasantly warm.

I’m making a scene. Oh my god. He’s going to notice.

“I umm, I-. Look, Michael. I think I’m going to go home.” You avert your eyes from him after making your request.

You cringe the moment the request slips out of your mouth. It’s crazy, you know it is, it’s your engagement party, leaving would not only seem strange but raise more questions than you care to answer. But you just wanted to go home. 

The environment of the party was suffocating, it was suffocating to be around Michael.

“Leave?” Michael questions. You don’t have to look up to know there's a look of confusion on his face, his tone says it all.

“I know it’s a bit early, but I really want to go home.” You say truthfully. “If that's fine with you, that is.” You add in a small whisper.

“No, no it’s fine.” Michael's face softens. “If you feel tired you should go home.” He sounds understanding, and its comforts you slightly.

“I’ll think of an excuse for your absence, but first let me get someone to drive you home, I would do it myself but we both can’t go missing.”

“What are you going to do by yourself?” You ask curiously as you rise from your chair preparing to leave. You feel partially guilty that you’re leaving Michael here alone, but you know it’s for the best until these feelings subside. You wonder if time apart will clear your head.

“I still have some people to talk to.” Michael stands up from his chair, he stretches before fixing his tie. Then he walks over to you, offering you his hand to help you up.

You smiled at him warmly and took his hand, uprooting yourself up from the chair. When you stood up he planted a small kiss on your cheek. It made your smile widen. It was your first genuine smile of the night.

You then looked at Michael, properly this time, taking in the features of his face. There were lines under his eyes, and his hair was a little ruffled. He was tired, very tired, and yet the smile on his face remained when he was around you, a smile of complete adoration. 

Surely a man who was using you wouldn’t look at you that way? Could he?

With that thought, you felt guilty. Perhaps you were overreacting, after all these thoughts had come from nowhere, how could you judge Michael purely based on thoughts?

Maybe I am overreacting?

Michael cleared his throat. “Besides I still have things to talk to your father about that are business related.” 

Upon hearing that the warmness of Michael’s previous gesture faded away, and the smile dropped from your face. You let go of Michael’s hand immediately. The thoughts came crashing in again at the mention of business and your father.

“You speak to my father a lot these days.” You said with a hint of irritation. The past feelings of sadness were replaced with those of slight anger. 

Michael hadn’t seemed to notice the sudden change in your tone. “I have to.” He shrugged. “We have a lot of business to discuss.” He tried to reach for your hand to hold it again. But you kept them firmly to your side.

Your brows furrowed into a glare. “Business, business, hmm.” You snapped. “It’s all my father and you ever talk about!” The last sentence was particularly icy.

This time Michael caught onto the increase of snark in your voice. He looked at you carefully, he was quiet as he assessed the sudden coldness emitting from you before choosing to speak again.

“I suppose so? Your family and mine are working together now, so it only makes sense…” Michael was sure to tread carefully with his words.

“And you know, after we get married it will only continue,” He added. 

Your eyes widened immediately, and your mouth fell open.

Oh no.

Michael’s words were practically an omission. In your mind, this was the nail in the coffin. The wave of sadness that hit you was immeasurable. Your worst fears had been confirmed. Michael was only marrying for your connections, he didn’t love you, and he never had. 

You didn’t feel the tears streaming down your face until the second one reached your chin. “So you don’t love me?” Your voice cracked.

“What?” The question caught Michael off guard, and so did the tears. He blinked. “Y/n?” This is something he clearly hadn’t anticipated.

You drew a quivering breath, clearing the air that had been trapped in the back of your throat, once it was released everything slipped out.

“How could I be so stupid?” You sobbed.

“I knew that this marriage was beneficial to your family, you have so much to benefit from this, but I never thought you would-!” You were crying at an abnormally loud level. Tears were streaming down your face as you got choked up on your words.

All the while Michael was in a state of shock. He froze momentarily, this fluctuation in emotions had been so random.

“I know what my father does for a living, I’m not stupid, I know his connections are desirable to many people, including you.” Your voice lowered suddenly. The sudden rush of hysteria you had was wearing off, now you were just filled with dejection, complete and utter dejection.

“I know you don’t feel the same I do.” You sniffed quietly. “How could you?”

“After all, I'm just a business venture, a contract… And yet.” You shook your head, stifling a laugh. “I still love you, even if I know you don’t love me.”

It was ironic, funny, almost tragic. You knew Michael wasn’t marrying you out of love or sincerity but you could never stop loving him.

You laughed again. “What am I even saying?” You felt as if you had been rambling incoherently, spewing utter nonsense for what felt like forever, but once you had started you couldn’t stop.

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered. You slumped back into the chair, burying your face into your hands.

Michael had been silent for most of your tirade, dropped to his knees beside you. The realization had hit him. The silence, the melancholy, the distance you had been putting between the both of you, and the reason behind it were all so clear now.

She thinks that I'm marrying her for her connections. 

He shook his head and exhaled. “Y/n.” He put his hand on your thigh, caressing it slowly. “I’m disappointed to hear that.” He said sadly.

“I’m sorry.” You sniffed.

“No, no, no.” Michael pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand. “I’m not disappointed in you.”

The disappointment Michael felt was not aimed at you but at himself. A deep shame wallowed in his chest after hearing your confession. He was ashamed that you felt that way, ashamed that he made you feel that way, and ashamed that he had failed to notice.

She thinks of herself as a business venture. Michael swallowed bitterly. His heart ran cold. His guts tangled into a knot. He felt sick. Michael’s mouth went dry as he analyzed you silently. A minute passed before he finally said something.

“Y/n will you please look at me.” He asked softly.

You shook your head, refusing to honor his request. You didn’t move an inch. You were too afraid to look up, deathly afraid to look at his face and whatever expression he had on. You wish he would just leave you to sob in the confines of his father’s office but you could still feel his presence by your chair and you knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

Michael sighed. He removed his hand from your thigh and placed it on your cheek. You shivered at his touch, but you still refused to look up.

“Do you really believe that I'm marrying you because of your father’s business connections?” Michael’s voice was at a whisper now.

“That’s why you’ve been so distant lately hmm?” He began to caress circles on your cheek. “You believe that I’m doing this strictly for business purposes.”

“And do you really believe that I don’t love you?” He said bitterly.

You cringed, slouching into your chair even more, you wished you could sink into the chaie and disappear. He sounded angry. You began to worry that this would lead to an argument, perhaps it hadn’t been the best to break down at this very moment.

But the next words from Michae’s mouth weren’t ones of anger in fact they sounded quite regretful.

“I’m sorry.” He said. “I’m really sorry.” There was great despair in his voice. 

“I’ve made you feel as if you are nothing more than a trading piece.” Michael exhaled. He couldn’t remember a specific time or day he had behaved in a manner that made you feel less than, but he clearly had, and it had made you so insecure that you felt as if he didn’t love you.

“Y/n,” He said firmly. He knew he had to rectify the situation, he couldn’t have you believing that he didn’t love you. “My family business is important, but so are you.”

“I care about you.”

“I really do.”

He cares about me? You sniffed. 

The level of sincerity was enough to lull you out of your state, but not enough to entirely draw you out. You weren’t fully convinced. He cared about you but did he love you? Did he love you as you loved him? Or was he lying merely to appease you? 

Michael was a gentleman but being a businessman also meant he knew how to lie, and lie very well. You only hoped the latter was true. It had to be for your sake.

“You care about me?” You said slowly. Your face rose from your hands, you let out one final sniff, and exhaled, hoping to gain a bit of courage. “But do you love me?” You questioned. You had to know for sure.

“When we get married could you bring yourself to love me? And don’t lie to me.”

You felt your chest tighten as you looked at Michael who was still kneeling on the floor beside you. Your eyes met his, Michael’s eyes locked deeply into yours and you felt small under his gaze but you dared not to look away. Your breath hitched. You had never experienced a heart attack but you were sure this is what it felt like as you awaited his answer.

Michael examined you properly now as you sat up, you were still slightly hunched over in the chair and your hair was down, now ruffled and messy, it covered the right side of your face. Your eyes were puffy and red. The dim lighting of the room cast a shadow across you, heightening the expression of anticipation on your face and the look of worry, as well as dread.

Then Michael finally spoke. “Y/n, I don’t have to bring myself to love you, because I already do, connections be damned.”

“I’ve loved you for so long, even before I asked  your father for your hand in marriage.” Michael took your hands from your lap and bought them up to his lips. He planted a small kiss on them.

You looked at Michael as your hands sat stalely in his. Michael held his breath as he watched you look into his eyes, he prayed that you would what you were looking for, what had always been there.

At that moment there was a mutual silence between the two of you. You searched Michael’s eyes for any hint of deceit or duplicity, you prowled for any signs that indicated he was lying, but you couldn’t find it. 

In his eyes lay nothing but awe and adoration for you. The look on his face was one of passion and honesty. This wasn’t the face of a man who was lying, this was the face of a man who loved you.

"You really do care for me?' You said quietly. The way the words rolled off your tongue sounded as if you were trying to speak a foreign language. You sounded as if you still couldn’t believe it.

"I do." Michael nodded. "And, once again, I’m sorry that I made you doubt my feelings for you.” He apologized again.

“You want to marry me?” You perked up a little, the warmth was returning to your chest, and your heart rate had begun to still. “You really want to marry me?” You asked again as you squeezed Michael’s hand.

Michael smiled. “Do you think I am the kind of man who would make a commitment to a woman for the rest of my life if I didn’t feel anything for her?” He brushed the hair out of your face and placed it behind your ear.

“Y/n, my feelings for you extend past any business venture,” Michael stated as he leaned and kissed your forehead.

You couldn’t help but crack a small.

Michael loved you.

Michael loved you!

“Can you say that again?” You requested gingerly.

Michael stopped kneeling on the floor and stood up. “Say what?” He questioned, looking down at you.

“That you love me? Please?”

The verbal declaration of Michael’s love for you had washed away all your doubts and lingering worries. Hearing him say three simple words left you feeling euphoric, it felt exhilarating. You wanted to hear him say it again.

“I love you.” Said, Michael. “I’ll say it a thousand more times if you wish.” He smiled.

You nodded. “Yes, do it again.”

“I love you,”

“I love you,”

“I love you.”

Each time he said it, a different wave of joy hit you. You wiped what was left of the tears from your eyes and stood up. You leaned into Michael, burying your face into his chest. Michael wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly.

You felt safe in his arms, you felt happy, you felt loved. The feeling lasted all through the night, even when the both of you returned to the party and people asked why your eyes were so red. You didn’t really care though, Michael loved you, that’s all that mattered.

----------------

This story was an ungodly level of long and cringe.

Anyways hope you enjoyed it.

[chaosfae-writes]

us fr fr @melis-writes

[melis-writes]

Eyes like Stars [Bobby Axel x Reader Multi-chapter, 18+ Smut] Chapter 19 - The Secrets We Keep.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 18 [AO3] / [Tumblr] / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+ explicit smut, multi-chapter read.

"What did he want?! Did you fuck him? Did you?!” / “I WAS GONNA MARRY YOU! I WAS GONNA MARRY A WHORE! A whore!”

Everything you've done up to this point was for Bobby and Bobby alone. What else would your intentions be for if it wasn't to hold onto and save everything the two of you have for one another? Bobby's set in his ways but the idea of losing you to the same fate Helen chose for herself is too much to bear. To see it is one thing, experience it--another, but just how much love can you claim if the one you adore is now the one hurting you?

[WARNINGS]: Mentions & themes of drug addiction and selling / Domestic abuse / Physical abuse / Verbal abuse / Depictions & themes of injury and blood.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The Eyes Like Stars girlies can EAT!! 🥺🙏🏻 And especially so since I will be putting this fic on a temporary hiatus as I focus more on finishing up/writing my Godfather fics first. I'm definitely not abandoning this fic and I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea that I am! With so my fics in my rotation and life changes, I'm struggling between balancing all of them and burning out/hitting writer's block. I will definitely return to this fic once I've completed my others and then we will go on with Emily and Bobby's story! For now, enjoy this (temporary) last chapter before the hiatus kicks in. I would also like to clarify for the sensitive nature of this chapter that I do not condone or romanticize abuse in any sort of way. This chapter also doesn't glorify it or anything like that.

Bobby’s release from prison marks the end of his and Helen’s relationship and you find yourself spending more time with Bobby and taking care of him after everything he’s been through. Working and living in Manhattan as a college drop-out, you distance yourself from Helen who Bobby and you take solace with one another in hopes to get out of the toxic lifestyle of drug use—promising each other to start a new life with one another and get clean. Falling in love with Bobby, you experience a mutual, passionate and loving relationship with its own highs and lows that promises to bloom into something more serious but also can threaten to collapse. As Bobby’s new girlfriend, your relationship hangs on a thread with old skeletons coming back into Bobby’s life, relapses, and a new panic on the horizon that threatens to undo it all.

Bobby knows Upper West Side Manhattan like the back of his hand; better than the majority of Manhattan-born residents through every street, turn, and block.

Give him a street and Bobby could tell you every corner store, the names of apartment buildings, if he knows anyone who lives there, who is shooting up, who is selling, and where the narcs are like it’s common sense.

“Bobby Axel” is a name every dealer, junkie, and narco alike knows on the street; word going around and connections made just like everybody else.

Bobby knows every detail of his home like it’s his duty, and it’s given him the advantage of sneaking away from the unwary or police at the perfect time with the layout of the city engrained in the back of his mind.

Bobby can never see himself doing anything else, anywhere else. Upper West Side Manhattan is his home. Needle Park is his home; it always has been, it always will be.

Being from New York City yourself but having memorized the same streets you, Bobby, and your friends are in day after day, everything you know and think you know of Upper West Side Manhattan pales in comparison to what Bobby knows.

Just as you think you’re taking the regular route back home from work, Bobby keeps his distance far behind you—blending into the crowd and particularly remaining next to the other outcasts and junkies dressed in navy jeans and a baggy hoodie like him.

You walk straight towards your apartment as you always have; not a single convenience store or grocery surrounds you upon the path you’re taking and Bobby can’t help but analyze your environment carefully; thinking if you took a different turn, you may bump into him in the next few minutes.

You don’t, and on purpose, Bobby lets you get home far before he does. So as long as you don’t know he’s coming and that Bobby wants to talk to you, he can approach you with time and circumstance on Bobby’s side. 

Bobby takes the “scenic” route home, letting himself linger around the streets with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and the hood up, covering his head.

Trash litters the sidewalks with torn newspaper pages flying about, wrapping over flickering lampposts; the scents of cigarettes, garbage, and body odor lingering around the corners of each street Bobby passes by accompany him with the cool fall air and dimly lit, grimy blocks twisting and leading to your apartment.

It’s been years since Bobby’s memorized the crumbling streets before him, every old building and every hot spot that normally distracts and cools Bobby down when he’s pissed or stressed to shit but nothing gets through to him now.

Bobby can’t walk off his anger this time and he knows it. Bobby’s only able to remind himself why he’s going home—with the belief you’ve been lying to him this entire time.

Lying to him about the true nature of your work relationship with Sykes; every complaint you made, every time you called in sick just to avoid seeing him, and all that you explained to Bobby—what else would it all be for?

‘It makes sense.’ Bobby grits his teeth, keeping his eyes on the street as he continues briskly walking down the block.

Bobby’s judgment is immediately clouded with his irritation and anger; the idea of your encounter that he saw firsthand can’t be thought of as anything else but some sort of affair. 

Why else would that smug son of a bitch have that look on his face watching you leave, let alone stand there adjusting his jeans after another secret get-together the two of you had? 

Unbeknownst of Bobby’s eyes on both you and Sykes, you know the truth of what happened and how you still feel against your supervisor; bitter, mostly indifferent, and annoyed, but when it comes to shooting and selling, everyone’s needs are all the same. Everyone’s the same.

Thinking nothing of it and unsurprised by Bobby’s absence back at your apartment, you step in and set your purse and keys down before locking the front door.

Letting out a sigh of relief, you rub your temple gingerly before slipping off your shoes and shrugging off your jacket.

The only thing on your mind at the moment is relaxation—time to yourself and nothing more; that is all shared with Bobby once he gets back home from what you subconsciously assume is selling or out with Chico, Irene, and the others.

You open your purse and carefully take out the wad of cash from Sykes you quickly stuffed inside before setting it on the coffee table in the living room.

Pulling your hair up into a loose ponytail, you head towards your bedroom and undress; opting for a comfy pair of sweatpants and a black spaghetti-strap tank top. 

Feeling at ease in the comfort of your own home with no need to pretend to be inconspicuous or watch for a narco on the side of the street, you step into the bathroom momentarily to freshen up.

Glancing up in the mirror, you blink at your reflection and realize how you’ve been wearing nothing but exhaustion over your expression—and all too well at that.

Sighing softly, you turn on the tap to lukewarm water before adjusting it to get hotter—grabbing a bar of soap and beginning to scrub at your hands to wash them off and give them a good rinse.

You pause for a moment, staring at the running water as you swallow hard. You can’t help but feel you’re expecting something—anticipating something you’ve forgotten.

Attempting to shake off the queasy feeling brewing in your stomach, you purposefully avoid looking towards your arms and adjust the water to an almost ice-cold temperature.

Splashing your face off to awaken yourself a bit, you then close the tap and dry off your hands and face with a towel before walking back into the living room.

Your eyes land on the wad of cash placed upon the center of the coffee table once more as you begin to approach it; plopping down on the couch and reaching over for the money.

‘Eighty dollars.’ You can still practically hear Sykes’ voice in your head; seeping with the same desperation as someone whose used it more than once, but hasn’t fallen into an addiction just yet.

Your fingers flip through the twenty dollar bills in your hands again and again as you find yourself zoning in and out, barely focused on what you’re doing, to begin with.

You frown, staring at the fading number twenty imprinted on one of the dollar bills before you graze your thumb over it.

You know more than anything you don’t need this money, but Bobby does. 

‘All of this is for Bobby,’ you think to yourself, sitting up to set down the cash neatly on the coffee table. ‘It’s not for me. I don’t need this… I don’t need any of this. This is all for him.’

 Just as you set down the neatly stacked wad of cash down upon the coffee table in front of you again, you almost knock it over and send it flying from the impact of how hard you flinch at the sound of the front door abruptly unlocking and flying open.

Blinking in surprise, you look up to see Bobby entering your apartment and letting the door slam behind him.

Without so much as a smile, a “hello” or even that soft look in Bobby’s eyes you’ve gotten used to seeing when he comes home to you, all you can pick up is the anger, irritation, and bitterness scowling over Bobby’s expression.

‘Bobby?’ The unforgiving look in Bobby’s eyes replaces any look of love he once ever gave you; his body language demanding and expectant as if you demanded Bobby to approach you as such.

In a split second, Bobby’s eyes dart down to the money in front of you before cruelty mixes with the anger in his eyes and he sends his apartment keys flying onto the dining table across the room.

“Bobby—” You flinch again pressing your back against the couch.

“Yeah,” Bobby raises his voice over you sharply, cutting you off. “Counting that good money Sykes gave you? Made sure every dollar was accounted for?”

Stunned and at a loss for words, your reaction merely gives Bobby a green light to continue as he grits his teeth, approaching you in the living room.

“Did that son of a bitch pay you before or after you sucked his cock?”

“What?!” You flinch again as Bobby kicks the stack of money off of the coffee table, sending it flying to various spots in the living room. 

“Answer my fucking questions!” Bobby shouts at you, facing you directly. “What did you do to him, huh? What did he want?! Did you fuck him? Did you?!”

“Bobby, I—”

“You stupid fucking whore!” Bobby seethes, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tilting your head back instantaneously to slap you across the face.

“Ah!” Yelping out loudly in pain, the force of Bobby’s slap with him letting go of your hair was harsh enough to cause you to flail off the couch face down—hitting the side of your body against the armrest. 

“Bobby! What are you—" You hiccup, bursting out sobbing from fear, pain, and confusion hitting you all at once.

Without even realizing it, you’re holding up your arms—still quivering—up to your face to shield you from impact, shakily looking up at your boyfriend.

Bobby breathes heavily, taking a step back from you; his eyes bloodshot and glistening with tears of frustration and anger as both of you take in what just occurred.

‘Bobby…’ Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach as shock and guilt rack over you in a wave of nausea and numbness throughout your body.

‘Baby…’ Bobby hit you. 

Your boyfriend—the one who cried in your arms night after night, the one you couldn’t bear to see in pain, suffering from his withdrawals or illness from being unable to feed and take care of himself properly; Bobby who you washed away all the pain and sadness off of his body, kissed the scratches over his stomach and would do anything for, hit you over something that never even happened.

Bobby doesn’t wait for another response from you nor is his intention to give you an explanation for his sudden outburst; he’s hellbent on releasing his anger first.

“Don’t act surprised with me,” Bobby hisses, beginning to raise his tone. “You whore! You—”

Seeing as you flinch again by being called a “whore”, Bobby lunges towards you again in response and grabs both of your arms as you scream out and attempt to thrash away.

“YOU FUCKING WHORE!” Bobby hauls you up by your arms and throws you back down on the couch. “WHORE! You were heading straight back home my ass!”

“Bobby—” You cry out in pain, “BOBBY!’

Blow after blow only worsens and grows harsher with each hit over your arms and wrists before Bobby begins to aim his fists toward your head; grabbing a fistful of your hair.

Screeching out, you struggle against Bobby’s overpowering grip but manage to clutch his wrists—digging your nails into Bobby’s wrists and prying them off of you with every ounce of strength you have left in you.

“BOBBY, STOP!” You hiccup again throughout your sobs, pushing him away from you. “Stop it, STOP! Please, stop!” 

“Stop what?!” Bobby scowls, “you didn’t stop fucking lying to me so tell me why I should stop now!”

“Bobby—” Your lip trembles as you notice his gaze fall to the dollar bills scattered over the living room floor.

Bobby nods to himself slowly, eyeing every dollar bill he can see before staring back up at you; ready to lunge at you once more. “He paid you eighty dollars?”

“Bobby—” You sniffle, your bottom lip trembling as you grip the fabric of the couch tightly.

“My girlfriend’s pussy is only worth eighty dollars?” Bobby narrows his eyes, “you cheap, used fucking whore!”

“STOP IT! STOP!” Screaming out at him, you scramble up and off the couch to rush towards the bathroom. “I didn’t! I didn’t do anything, I—”

“Come here, you fucking slut!” Bobby immediately begins to follow after you, reaching out to grab you again.

“I didn’t—no! NO! STOP IT, BOBBY!” Wailing, you barely make it to the bathroom before Bobby sends you flying to the floor with a rough shove like a ragdoll. 

“I SAID COME HERE!” His sudden amount of strength against you who can barely breathe through your tears would take you by surprise if you weren’t the one Bobby was releasing his frustrations out on.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” You shriek, landing on your side with a thud—almost knocking over the coffee table. “Stop it!” You shakily brace yourself for impact, holding your arms up to your face, pleading, “Please stop! PLEASE! L-let me talk to you—”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!” Bobby screams back down at you, pointing, “I saw you walking out of the fucking side exit of your corporate shit hole, used and bought like the fucking whore you are! Can’t even face the front street so other people don’t pick up on it, huh?!”

“Bobby—” You flinch, wounded by his words.

“And for what?!” Bobby throws his hands up in the air, “for eighty dollars? You and that fucking asshole you kept telling me about? You think I’m fucking stupid, Emily? Huh—” Bobby hovers over top of you, leaning down to squeeze your face harshly as you continue crying out. “Huh? HUH!? You think I’m fucking stupid?!”

“B-Bobby!” You sputter, hiccupping. “How—”

“How do I know?!” Bobby scoffs, abruptly letting go of your face. “I followed you, you stupid bitch! I followed you because I knew you were fucking lying!”

“NO! I wasn’t—”

“You had someplace to be and I knew it from how you were checking that stupid fucking watch constantly—“ Bobby points to the shattered watch barely holding together over your wrist from the impact of his blows. “You fucking lied to me! You said you were gonna grab some shit from the store before coming back home, huh?! YOU WERE WITH ANOTHER MAN!”

“NO, I WASN’T! I wasn’t, Bobby! I wasn’t!” Your throat burns from screaming back at him in desperation. “I sold him shit, that’s all he wanted! I sold him what he fucking needed so he would get off my ass about it! I didn’t touch him and he didn’t touch me, I swear to you! I swear!”

Bobby ignores you, rolling his eyes; only a clear indication of the lack of a foundation of trust between the two of you.

“Listen to me,” Bobby hisses, pointing at his eyes with his hands trembling from mounting anger. “I would rather gouge my own eyes out than ever see you with someone else. Is that what I have to do? Hmm?” His eyes sting with tears. “Is that what you want me to do? Scratch my own fucking eyes out? I’ll do—”

“NO, STOP IT!” You let out a shriek at the top of your lungs before immediately trying to scramble up to your feet.

“Then my girlfriend’s a fucking whore!” Bobby lunges back at you but trips over the lamp cord, causing it to fall over and shatter to pieces on the floor—buying you a few seconds of precious time to race to the bedroom.

“And I was gonna marry you!” Bobby gives up the chase as you slam the door behind you, pressing your back against it with all of your might to keep it shut. 

“YOU KNOW THAT?!” Bobby follows to the bedroom, screaming at the closed door in front of him. “I WAS GONNA MARRY YOU! I WAS GONNA MARRY A WHORE! A whore!”

Barely able to stand on your own feet and shivering out of control, you sob loudly as you rest your head against the door.

Sneering, Bobby turns back and grabs your keys off the counter before taking off from the suite entirely—purposefully letting the door slam behind him. 

‘Oh my God…’ You crumble to your knees; your eyes tender and aching from sobbing but unable to stop yourself from letting your emotions consume you entirely.

With too much to process and take in, all you can do is helplessly look at the scratches and light gashes over your body from everything Bobby’s done to you.

Promised bruises and fresh blood dripping from your nose; everything stings yet feels hazy and warm to the touch.

Tilting your head back slowly, you attempt to take in a deep breath but every sense of calmness has departed you upon the first blow Bobby delivered. 

All you can do is cry in pain that both your heart and mind feel. All you can do is let it eat you alive now. All you do is lay on the floor by the door and drown in your own tears. 

Bobby walked out on you after all and as he did, he thought about nothing but what his relationship with you has come to now.

Bobby’s true possessive nature got the better of him, and he knows he can’t handle it at its fullest either—not after everything he went through with Helen prostituting herself.

If anything, Bobby’s made it clear to you that he desires and craves you and only you to the extent that just the thought of having to share you or seeing you with someone else makes him want to kill himself. 

Still, even though he’s out on the streets with nothing but a bruised ego, his hatred, his anger, and his broken pride, the only thing he can think of is that you may just have been telling nothing but the truth.

[rosesloveletters]

Flame in the Dark.

pairing: John Milton x Fem. Reader

word count: 6,019

warnings: language, smut, irreverent use of religion/religious terminology (come on, he’s Satan, what am I supposed to do?)

summary: This was why you came to him, after all, because he could give you things that no one else could. // Just because you had difficulty coming to terms with an unattached sexual encounter did not mean that he did and he was showing you the way…

author’s note: whew! I didn’t thought this would ever see the light of day, but I’m pleased to finally have something to post for my readers. I haven’t written smut in almost two years, so please be kind. I’ve been dying to write for John Milton since I saw the Devil’s Advocate last summer and I’ve finally done it! Enjoy!

edited.

gif credit: miss-kt on tumblr

She is more precious than jewels, and nothing you desire can compare with her. Long life is in her right hand; in her left hand are riches and honor. Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. She is a tree of life to those who lay hold of her; those who hold her fast are called happy. Proverbs 3:15-18.

There were only two separate sounds which reached your ears that you could discern amid the other thoughts vying in strict competition for the same recognition inside your mind: your gentle breathing and the crackling fireplace, which had cast the otherwise dimly lit room in an otherworldly orange glow. The space itself was cold and so you had taken up residency on the hearth beside the roaring blaze. Your gaze was trained on the flickering flames as they waltzed to an inaudible ballad, the delicate way in which they moved was a beautiful contrast to its highly destructive nature. You were mesmerized by it; your dilated pupils reflected their dance and the amber color illuminated your face in the dark. You had stepped into a realm of nonexistence and the cold air made your lungs ache. You ignored it, but the way your body shuddered betrayed you. The fire was warm; You were stood so close that you might as well be kindling, combustible under the intensity of the heat which radiated from the burning flames, yet the shivers that traveled down your spine never ceased. Perhaps your physical form had not acclimated itself to the change in temperature or it was the result of something far more sinister.

It was the sort of feeling that manifested from desire, of watching or of being watched, and being forced to remain impassive. The minor irritation turned frustratingly urgent, desperate were you to scratch that itch, to placate the tide rising within you and return to calmer waters. To suppress it any longer put one’s fragile psyche under far too much distress and discomfort.

It was where temptation met physicality, when seeing was no longer satisfaction. The only thing that was enough to satiate the fire burning on the inside was to act on it. The need made you shudder; nothing short of being burned alive would be enough to save your soul this time.

You could sense him watching from across the room. A carefully trained ear could pick up the nearly imperceptible clinking of ice cubes inside a glass as it was being raised to a pair of smirking lips. You didn’t need to turn around to know for certain that his eyes were on you. He sized you up from across the room while he fixed himself a drink, observing you whilst sipping casually.

It was slightly unnerving when he didn’t talk; you were used to his eloquence, but mostly the lack thereof. It was his irreverence that turned you on and when he did not speak it always meant the same thing: now was the time for action and impulse. He would talk, when he was ready; John Milton loved to talk, never at a loss for what to say.

It appeared he always knew what you were thinking and these instances seemed to play out at the direction of your inner monologue each time the pair of you came together; if one thing was for certain, it was that sex with John Milton was always a passionate, carnal affair.

If you were comfortable, he carried out acts at the height of human depravity; you were safe to explore that side with him.

He wore arrogance like armor that made him invincible, but this was more than what it seemed. This was self-indulgence at its finest and you were enamored by the endless possibilities which had been presented to you over the course of your employment at Milton, Chadwick and Waters.

This law firm was far from ordinary and you had sensed it on your first day, so why were you here? The atmosphere was impersonal yet the walls around you seemed to breathe; you had come here far too often to be offput by it.

God rest your soul, there was some compulsivity which had driven you to repeat the same mistakes and that was your heaven. Walking through those doors and into the office that belonged to the head of the firm was comparable to coming home to your Lord and revisiting the church after a lengthy sabbatical. Even if you were not religious by any means, there was a reason your mind went there. Stained glass windows in your mind opened onto the city and purified your thoughts but even that would not be enough to cause you to repent.

The part of you that belonged to him called you and tempted you further and further from the light. It was dark here, sans the fire burning in the gloom; Milton’s face was illuminated, yet there was a darkness within him no light cast upon his physical form would diminish.

“Come, now,” Milton’s voice in your ear made you turn and look at him, only to find him still standing behind his desk though you could have sworn it sounded like he was directly at your back. You suppressed a shiver as he regarded you and his eyes seemed to smirk, “have a drink with me.”

His dark eyes glittered in the light of the fire and he smiled in your direction, but there was a malicious edge to it which warned ominously ‘tread carefully.’

You ignored his request, “Why do I keep coming here, Mr. Milton?”

The head of the firm barked a sharp laugh like how he was prone to do and you forced yourself not to jump at the sudden sound, “I asked you to, dear,” he answered, conveniently sidestepping the response he had to know you sought, “You are welcome to go home after hours if you want, in fact, it’s strongly encouraged!”

Then, as an afterthought, “And please, call me John.”

He had asked you, hadn’t he? That was right; he had caught you in the hall earlier in the day and, when one thing led to another, he invited you to his office after working hours to have a drink with him. You knew how it happened, just not why. What purpose had you for coming here?

The repetitiveness played to your senses and yet you did not know what drew you here, “John,” you corrected yourself as you addressed him by name; the weight of it on your tongue felt heavy and tasted metallic like blood, “I know you invited me. I just don’t know why I’m standing here in front of you when I could be on my way home.”

He poured the liquid into a crystal glass without taking his eyes off you, “it’s tricky,” he said, “do you want to be here or would you like to go home?”

You couldn’t tell if he was being patronizing or not as you approached his desk and reached for the glass he offered you, “I would say that I wouldn’t be here unless I wanted to be,” you started, “but sometimes I feel like I have no control over my own actions. That might seem strange to you.”

“Not strange at all,” he reassured you as he sank down into the chair behind his desk, eyes never straying from their subtle assessment of you, “‘No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind’. You make your own decisions, darling, but I can’t say I’m not pleased that you decided to spend the evening with me after all.”

‘I only set the stage. You pull your own strings.’

It was not the first time you had done this. Temptation led you here, into your own personal garden of Eden where the serpent laid in wait to pour its poison into your ear. It was your choice to make, yet each time you entered John’s office did you forfeit your free will. That was not the case, because you could leave at any time; you were holding yourself captive and the God’s honest truth was that you loved that feeling.

The smirk on John’s face grew as you gulped down the alcohol he had poured for you and you winced imperceptibly as the liquid scorched a path of fire down your throat; suffering felt religious when done right and you craved it every time you came to him.

Milton regarded you appreciatively as you perched on the edge of his desk. He was thrilled that you were so trusting the first time you had come to him and that he was the only one with permission to fuck you. You had not explicitly said those words to him, but heaven help the poorest of poor souls who might try, because hell sure wouldn’t.

He let those thoughts steep in his mind as he mulled over the connotations; you kept coming here because you wantedhim to fuck you, but nothing of such great magnitude was ever that simple.  

“I’m glad I did too,” you answered him, “I was almost afraid I wouldn’t have the nerve to set foot in here again.”

“Why is that?” he asked the question like he was interested in the answer.

“Well…” you ventured, “after the last time, I-”

“Nonsense!” John waved away your insecurities like they were no more than a cloud of bothersome smoke wreathed around his head, “You’ve got to let go of that vacillation. Do you want to know what I think?”

You knew that he was going to tell you without even having to ask or venture a guess, so you remained silent for his explanation.

“You enjoyed yourself the last time. Didn’t you?” Milton asked, “always knew you were going to come back because you just couldn’t get far enough away from that ache you get in your core when I put you over my desk and worship you better than any one of God’s precious children does in church on Easter Sunday.”

This was no religious experience; John Milton was a crisis of your faith and without him would you have remained devout to that same hollow existence, devoid of pleasures many sought after only to deny themselves of and condemn those who did not. You had not thought of it that way before. Something about this man was strangely religious even if the deeds he engaged in were anything but.

Milton’s gaze never wavered or strayed far from yours as he got to his feet and parted your legs which were previously pressed together on the sturdy desk made of polished wood; your core throbbed at his words as you had begun to ache with need at the turn of the conversation. He was right: that feeling his words gave went straight to the place between your legs and there was nothing you could do to stop it from happening. It was no secret that your boss held power over your body and the reactions he drew from it both unnerved and excited you.

Milton placed one hand on either of your shoulders and with your knees apart, he stood between your parted legs, “you can leave, if you want,” he leaned close to whisper hotly in your ear, “but you and I both know you don’t really want to do that.”

His fingertips played with the hem of your skirt, tantalizingly dancing between fabric and flesh as he caressed you reverently. The dress code at the law firm dictated your appearance and attire; it was no secret as to why.

“How do you know what I want?”

The question made him smirk as though he were enjoying some private little joke with himself before he answered, “the same way I know what every person wants. We all want what’s been forbidden from us, to taste what our palates can’t handle only to prove that we can,” with one hand, he reached to cup your cheek, “you can. This can be whatever you want it to. Don’t pressure yourself to come up with a reason for it when you don’t need one.”

The dance you did with John was one of elegant footwork and aligned movements. A casual hookup for sins of the flesh, but it did not matter. You came to him all the same, for all the reasons you did not need or want; sex for the sake of sex…what a concept.

You were the one who closed the gap between your bodies, bringing your lips to John’s as you felt his smirk widen and his hand slid up the length of your thigh. The warm hand stopped at your panties and as you kissed, it began to explore. He made an appreciative noise as his fingers probed further; the barrier between your core and Milton’s fingers was already wet with your desire and that pleased him.

Suddenly, both of his hands were under your skirt, slowly stripping you of your thin undergarment and you broke the kiss to watch him do so. You let him slide your cotton panties down your legs until they fell to the office floor and he grinned at you wolfishly. You wanted to be furious that someone should have this much control over your body, but your brain translated fury into passion and that fueled the hellfire within you that succumbed to temptation so easily.

John’s fingers were back and that warm hand worked its magic on your clit, teasing your precious bud of nerves until it pearled under his skilled ministrations. Your body responded to his touch in a way almost inhuman. You let your boss forwardly grope you and fondle your most sensitive area as he teased you into submission.

You arched your back, fingers clenching the arm of his pristine suit and he chuckled devilishly at your reaction, “well, that was easy,” he commented with a breathy laugh, “don’t hold back, honey. That must feel good. Well, better than just ‘good’, I’d say. I’ve been around the block a time or two if you know what I mean.”

Your thighs quivered and it took severe perseverance not to spread them apart further in eager appreciation and with the demand for more, faster. Milton’s fingertip circled your clit as he played with the notion of perhaps giving you what you so desired.

Not until the length of his fingers sunk inside you did you cry out in bliss. Your sharp cries were music to his ears; whatever he had to do to hear more of them, he would gladly oblige.

John preferred to have sex in the pitch black. The fact that you couldn't rely on your eyes and had to use touch and sound rather than visualize what was happening interested him and kept him engaged. The only light in the room was from the fire and even the flickering flames were not enough to brighten his side of the room at such a distance.

John was all about pleasure. He truly would worship you because that was what kept you coming back to him. He loved the noises you made when he kissed his way down your stomach and how your body reacted to his warm lips, raising goosebumps on your skin. He delighted in your quiet moans of pleasure and the way your breathing changed with every pinch and knead of his hands.

Even if you couldn't see him, he could see you.

Milton scissored the two fingers he had within your warm wetness. If he was shocked by how wet you were from the penetration, he did not mention it. He had seen it all, but even so, he took none of it for granted.

You were near to collapsing onto his desk from the effort of remaining upright while he fingered you, “John…” you moaned his name breathily, “oh…oh, God…”

Milton scoffed as he doubled down, pressing his thumb hard against your clit and making you shriek with pleasure, “God… That’s who you’re thinking about right now, God? My hand is between your legs and you’re thinking about God? Because, last time I checked, He’s not going to get down off His throne in heaven to give you any relief. Don’t say His name again. I don’t see Him here.”

In this state you were uncertain of the truth behind his words and you did not care to know. His vehement request would not be ignored, but the only thing you needed now was John’s touch, his hands, his mouth, him.

“John!” You gasped, repeating his name like a sacred prayer and this seemed to satisfy him. John spread you apart, pulled daringly at your seams until you unraveled for him. He had learned what excited you and what made you incoherent with a fervent ache. He learned to interpret all those barely perceptible changes in your voice and the inflection of your moans and he knew precisely what he needed to do to give you orgasm.

But you were not coming yet.

John extracted his fingers from your warmth and you whimpered from how sensitive you were. A force beyond your control seemed to draw your eyes to his visage as he lifted his hand to his lips and crudely licked his fingers clean of your juices.

Unable to remain steady in your sitting position any longer, you allowed yourself a reprieve and fell back upon his desk. You laid spread for him like an alter sacrifice that John would use to further break the laws of God.

He helped himself to your body, a simple flick of the wrist and he had removed your blouse. With only your bra to cover your chest, you arched your back enticingly and reached for him, “John, touch me…” you gasped, wanting to run your hands through his hair and rip him apart like he was doing to you. You wanted to drive him insane with arousal; you wanted him hungry for you.

Milton swiftly removed your bra and exposed your tits. He squeezed and kneaded the soft mounds of flesh on your chest and pinched your nipples between his dexterous fingers. The stimulation made you squirm and squeal, feeling a flood of juices gush from your center as your pussy throbbed with renewed vigor.

You pushed your breasts further into his hands and your mouth fell open when he finally engulfed one hard nipple in his mouth, comparable to how he had done with your clit. His thumb gently caressed and rubbed the other nipple until you had tears streaming down your face, “John!” you screamed his name and suddenly was he taken aback by how loud you were being for him …he loved it.

He knew all too well how sensitive your breasts were; teasing both of your nipples to hardness was too easy.

Milton moved quickly from your breasts and, without giving you more than a moment or two to recover, he dropped to his knees, pulled you closer by your hips and swiped his tongue over your clit.

You squealed and twisted in his grip, but his hands kept you pinned against the desk. You were not getting away from him.

His tongue probed your glistening folds and penetrated your pussy to taste directly from the source. The longer he lapped at your fruit, the closer to release you became and he knew it; you were ripe and ready to be devoured.

“Oh, John!” you cried, “Please! Please, please…”

He loved when you begged with delirious rapture, delighting in the knowledge that you were ready to burst but couldn’t quite get there until he relented. You were close to tears, bound in raw and excruciating arousal and ready to cum at any second.

Making you cum was the most erotic reward of them all.

You could be tricky but he never had to work too hard to get you off. You were not used to such gratifying sex. The tricks Milton used were unfair, to say the least, but as his tongue currently plunged into you, you did not really give a damn. This was why you came to him, after all, because he could give you things that no one else could.

Perhaps it would change when he got you acclimated to having sex with him on a regular basis, but for now, your desires were being fulfilled the way you wanted and you were going to soak up every solitary second.

Even though you were very different people, when you came together like this, you fit like two centerpieces of a puzzle, even if Milton’s edges were jagged.

“John!” your sharp cry of his name came as a warning, “Fuck! I’m going to cum! Please…please!!”

He loved teasing you, driving you to the very edge only to leave you teetering on the precipice of that sweet release until you sobbed for it but he never pushed you over until he was ready for you to take that final plunge.

He loved to keep you guessing what his next move might be; you would whimper in despair when you were about to come, only for him to ease off you and grin in the dark when you groaned his name in frustration.

This time when he did, he made amends by gently kissing your inner thighs, aware of how sensitive the skin was there and he laughed at how your pussy was clenching around nothing, “aren’t you something?” he mused as he took in the sight of you laid there, his for the taking, “you must like what you’re receiving, since you don’t seem to be in any hurry to head for the door.”

You weren’t leaving until you got what you came for. You had known what you wanted from the moment John invited you here and it was foolish to deny yourself acknowledgement of that. He must’ve known, otherwise why else were you here? You were involved in a complicated relationship with the head of this law firm but, as he had said before, it did not have to be.

Just because you had difficulty coming to terms with an unattached sexual encounter did not mean that he did and he was showing you the way…

“John, please…” you whined, “I need you to fuck me.”

Nothing turned him on as much as your delectable moans and pleas. He wanted to touch and taste you for all of eternity.

John ceased his assault on your body and he peered down at you with satisfaction for your readiness for him, “alright, alright. I’ve had my fun, but you also seemed to like it,” he laughed as this time he used words to tease you, “but let’s get down to business, shall we?”

You hauled yourself into a sitting position once more and pulled John closer to you by his tie. Your hungry insistence made him laugh as he unbuckled his belt, “take it easy, darling” he cooed and patted your hair, “we’re going to get to the good stuff. It’s coming, don’t you worry.”

The air was cold inside of this room, but the passion John had ignited within you burned your skin. You were not usually this desperate; whatever it was that had taken hold of you here was relentless and even if you chose to fight against it would have been to no avail. There were unseen forces working against you and the choices you made led you deeper into this cycle of moral and physical degradation. You did not care how needy you seemed. If Milton had wished it, you would have been on your knees, and not in prayer, in a heartbeat.

Milton kissed you feverishly and almost as if he had heard your thoughts, he said, “there will be a time for that, but for now, your pleasure is mine.”

Under normal circumstances, that would have frightened you, but in your current state there was the possibility that you had unintentionally said your thoughts out loud. You were not in control of yourself, driven to carnality by the incessant urging of your boss and the things he was doing to your body and to your mind.

He unzipped his pants and you gasped as you hung onto him, giving in to desire as you kissed his jaw and neck. You wanted to kiss across every inch of that man’s body and if he really could read your thoughts then he knew that already, so half the work was done for you.

He had prepared you well and it was time to deliver; there was no time like the present.

“Lay down for me, darling,” he crooned, tilting his head and pressed a kiss to your temple.

You did as you were told, allowing him to help you lower yourself back onto his desk. His hands were warm on your skin and his touch was gentle; with your skirt rucked up and your top missing, you looked like a renaissance painting and John Milton was the artist.

John could have had any casual partner he wanted, but what interested him was not merely sex but the corruption. He wanted you, body and soul, to belong to him.

He never would have thought you capable of the level of intensity at which you fucked. He had never fucked so lasciviously and brutal with anyone like you and he had had more sex in this lifetime than he would have willingly admitted to you just yet. It was animalistic and licentious, loud and sweaty and at times he believed he had gone too far and was being too rough. But you were up for almost anything if it was with him.

It could have been soft and delicate, gentle and sweet in a way he rarely experienced. You could have spent hours together, cuddling, making love and kissing passionately, exploring each other’s bodies with rapt curiosity. It was moments like these, when Milton’s cock bore into you and you cried out for more of him, that he realized he could have taken all he wanted from you and you would have given it up without a fight. Humans were weak, he reasoned, at least their resolve was. That was the beauty of it: you were a pawn in his unending chess game with God, locked in a battle he could not win but would never stop trying. This made it worth every failure.

You, squirming beneath him as he gripped the backs of your thighs to hold you in position while he fucked you mercilessly. Every moan, gasp and call of his name stroked the ego of this vain fallen angel. You knew not what you did, how could you be to blame, but that was not the way things worked; Milton was using you for his own gain and you wanted him to destroy you.

You rolled your hips against his, but the brutal rhythm he maintained was far too much for you to keep up with. You panted with the exertion and John’s evil grin manifested in your view, “you alright, sweetheart?” he asked like you were merely having a conversation instead of your pussy being pounded relentlessly on your boss’s desk, “nothing you can’t handle, isn’t that right?”

You tried to respond but your vocal cords would not work beyond moans of pleasure and the occasional soft cry; you were so damn close.

John suddenly smacked your thigh and you screamed, “fuck!”

Seemingly pleased with your reaction, he chuckled as he thrust into you harder than before. You had never been fucked so thoroughly before and in the haze did you recognize your good judgement and how good it felt to finally let it all go. You had come here for a reason and this was it. John was your reprieve from the rest of the world, a righteous testament against what so many stood for and he would break down those same walls within you. He was proud of what he did; if not for his hands in many different pies within the law firm he joint-owned, this was the reason he came to work every day.

You needed redemption for your sins, but you did bad things for the sake these good times.

“John…” your breathy moan had his attention in an instant, though his pace never slowed. The expression on your face alerted him to your impending release and he bucked into you harder, angling himself within you to reach your sweetest spots and maximize your pleasure.

He stayed inside of you as you came. In the moment before you climaxed, he reached between your legs and massaged your clit through the intense release of pent-up tension. You screamed his name to the gods as the waves of your orgasm washed over you, radiating upwards through your body from your convulsing center.

Your pussy always clenched so tightly around him and sometimes you even squirted. It had happened previously when you masturbated alone, only once or twice, so it always came as a nice surprise at the end. You never thought another person would ever make you feel this good; something about John Milton simply was not human.

The mess that you had been reduced to was pleasing to the head of the firm and he was satisfied to let you lie there as he pounded into you, chasing his own release that he so thoroughly deserved after your own had overtaken you at his behest.

You were limp beneath him, hardly registering what was happening, only that this onslaught on your senses was welcome; you knew you would have a difficult time walking after John was finished with you.

Milton lost himself in your fall from grace and he had no regrets for what he had done here.

Hellbent, the reckless one.

He came inside you with a growl, pumping you full of his seed as it mixed with your own cum until the stickiness spilled from within you. Your overstimulated pussy twitched and your legs quivered as John let go of you. Before you regained your composure enough to sit up, though you were still rather shaky, John had cleaned off, zipped himself up and was buckling his belt again before he attended to you.

“Satisfied?” he asked as he grabbed your undergarments off the floor for you.

You nodded and your head felt like it was full of cotton.

John took the handkerchief out of his breast pocket and used it to carefully wipe up your mess before he slid your panties back on enough for you to shimmy yourself back into them, then he placed your bra straps onto your shoulders, one on each arm and directed you to turn as much as you could for him so that he could latch it closed.

If he wanted you to keep coming back to him, he would have to work for it and the challenge always made it worthwhile to him.

You were straightening out your skirt as best you could while still seated when John offered your shirt to you and let you put it on yourself.

Now, he turned his attention away from you and strode across the room to the fire.

Dressed and still in desperate need, of what you knew not, you gingerly eased yourself off your boss’s desk and turned to look for him.

He was standing by the blazing fire, the flames reflecting in his dark eyes and, unbeknown to you, even though he was not looking in your direction you were still very much within his sight.

He seemed distracted by something and you were curious to know what it was.

You approached him quietly and stood at his side by the fire. Your pussy throbbed deliciously every second or two and you could feel Milton’s cum leaking from you.

He smiled at you, placing his hands on either of your shoulders and squeezing lightly like a person offering encouragement after experiencing something immensely difficult, “I don’t want to send you on your way just like that, sweetheart,” Milton kissed your cheek almost tenderly, grinning at you like a devil, “no, you deserve so much more than that.”

You leaned into him, legs bent slightly; your mind settled on the press of his lips against your skin and the sound of his voice, not on how you were going to get away from him for the night.

“Something tells me you have more to offer than what we just did over there,” he gestured back to his desk, followed by a sharp, biting laugh.

You felt yourself nodding then, unbidden, but it felt so good.

“Atta girl! I’m proud of you.”

The praise he was giving you made you blush and his hands had fallen from your shoulders to your sides as he rubbed your now fully clothed body. He dragged you against him by your hips and you felt that he was already hard again, promising fulfillment in more ways than one. His stamina was something out of fiction and it did not make sense, or perhaps it did and you were too far gone to understand.

“But you know, it is getting late,” he countered his own invitation for you to stay for more, “if you’re too tired, you can head home now. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being forced to stay here.”

If this was a test, your answer depended on it and, without thinking it through, you answered him, “I’m not tired. I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me.”

Milton was pleased with your answer, but the only tell was in his eyes. He sighed deeply as he released you and went to sit down in one of the chairs before the fire, regarding you in the dark as though you were an exhibit that was on display for him.

“’The tongue also is a fire,” he began cryptically; quoting scripture was something Milton did often, “a world of evil among the parts of the body.’”

You were unsure of how to respond, except that you did not understand his interpretation or what reason he had for bringing it up now.

“It’s funny how ridiculous it is,” the curve of his lips was sinful as he spoke and you could not pull your eyes away from him, “that the tongue we use to eat and for addressing our fellow man is intrinsically wrong for doing so, but I suppose there’s some truth hidden there.”

You were curious what John meant by that and why he even cared. The tension in the room was thick and cloying and you were drawn in by John’s charisma and charm as he spoke to you.

You sank to your knees in front of him, listening carefully as he continued, “it depends how you use it.”

He reached out and cupped your cheek the same way he had done earlier, with the utmost care and reverence for your delicate features. He wanted your attention now and he needn’t try hard to get it.

His thumb pressed down on your bottom lip and you opened your mouth slightly at his direction.

“Do you use your tongue for evil, darling?” he asked.

You looked at him and in that moment you swore the man looking back at you was seeing into your very soul.

With shaking hands did you give him your answer, reaching for his belt as you began to unbuckle him; better to show him with your actions than to tell him in words.

Instinct was there to guide you as your boss smirked at you, his face cast in orange firelight while you prepared to give back what you had so graciously received from him.

The air shifted and a sinister blackness settled over the room as Milton’s tongue flickered across his bottom lip, mimicking that of a serpent.

John Milton was baptized in sins you could not mention and it would be a tragedy just to commune with the likes of him; from hence, you prayed every night for the opportunity to do it all over again.

[kse22chili]

Fedeltà

Now what truly makes me curious is what’s behind those beautiful brown eyes…

It is really hard for me to understand his intentions. Sometimes he’s cold and crude with me but there are also times when he is calm, soft and he even initiates affection towards me. Because of this, exactly I am dubious of his actions.

As in, do you love me or do you not love me?

I don’t want to continue living like this anymore; loving you while I’m trying to understand what’s worth doing and what not. I’m in a conflicting position with insecurities that I never had before but finally you had the urge to make me have them. It’s outrageous to think that I love you but at the same time I hate you. And I’m not particularly talking about that kind of hate that engulfs your very being and claims your soul, plaguing it with negative faith. No, I’m talking about that moment where one’s behaviour is so beautifully wrong, making you infatuated to it in a way that brings you to respectfully hate that person. But make no mistake, dear readers, hating that person doesn’t mean that I’m not burning with a raging fire within my heart and mind, roasting those little rational thoughts that have been remaining in my tiny skull, instead I am suffering in misery while stopping this hate towards this person, because it’s paradoxically sweet of him to have that demeanour with me.

I’m the one to blame. Because I never ceased to live without him in my routine. As in I dived into his lifestyles and matched my own rhythms to his, sacrificing my freedom and empowerment. Isn’t this such a cruel world?

Perfect cruel rational world. That seeks to confine us into narrow roles and expectations, and we defy those limitations. At least that’s what a normal person seeks to proceeding.

Instead, I am doing the opposite. Aren’t I ashamed of my own actions and ambitions? I seek to have a love life and I search for it in every single corner of the streets I walk through. But, I’m absolutely not embarrassed of my intentions, I am exhausted of all the limitations imposed upon me by an outdated script of delusional MEN of an old fashioned world. Now, I come from a quite antique century too, but I never seek to follow these outdated “laws”…

But he is the man of his times, the one that lives in danger and commands his inferiors, putting them to submission and protecting his dear ones.

I am one of his dear ones. His first priority. He has proven it to me. Several times. And I’m not talking about something that happened some years ago… No, I’m talking about two days ago;

We were seated in the back seats of our car, the driver could not particularly listen to our conversation, but we were having a small quarrel about something that had no means to whatsoever… But he was getting angry, not at me but he had been bothered by several affairs that day and he had no patience whatsoever to deal with tiny little stupid issues that I created in the moment just because I wanted a bit of his attention…

He raised his voice at me. He had never done it before.

And at that moment, I turned my head and looked out of the window. He stopped his sentence. And stopped talking.

When we arrived home, I waited for him to open my door and I got out the car. With my head raised, I was headed to the door. He followed behind me. Stayed behind me. Never dared to say something to me.

Once inside our room, I closed the door and only said one word “Out”.

The next morning I woke up, did my usual routine and headed to my kitchen to have breakfast. I saw that he had already prepared breakfast for me. And then, he had went to meet his men.

After that I had gone out for a stroll in my garden.

I had thought I had been all alone. But there was a presence behind me. That person put their hand to my mouth and blocked my arms, locking them behind my back. I didn’t fight.

My husband came. Out of nowhere. He was there. And he shot that other man in the middle of his forehead.

Unbothered, I turned around and got back to clean my hands in the bathroom. He comes behind me too. He cleans his hands after me and he dries them.

I feel his hard and big arms gripping my waist and hugging me to himself. And I melted in his sculpted body. I turned my head to his head and softly pecked him to his lips…

You see? How could I ever hate him? He is my sweet, perfect, dangerous Salvatore.

My only boss and my husband.

[stvolanis]

Could I request some tony montana with a reader who has a Degration kink please. 👉👈

of course!! I added a little more to spice it up, hope you don’t mind love<3

LOVE GAMES

(requested)

PAIRINGS: Tony Montana x reader

WARNINGS: there’s not much plot!

NSFW WARNINGS: Dom!Mean!Tony,brat taming, heavy degradation (whore, slut, bitch), hair pulling, p in v sex, spitting, slapping, oral (m receiving), choking, making out, pet names, humiliation (licking cum from the floor??)

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

Tony Montana was pissed. Seething kind of pissed.

The entire time he was in his meeting, trying to merge and alliance with one of the most notorious mafias in order to get more money to take care of your ass (as if you needed any more), Is when you’d decided to start acting like a spoiled brat.

Tony had sat you on his lap, as he always does when in meetings, because he thought you knew to behave. Apparently not, because you had started whining in his ear about how he ‘wasn’t giving you any attention anymore’.

Tony ignored you and told you to hush while the other men were speaking, and that seemed to have pissed you off, which resulted in you discreetly trying to hump yourself against his thigh.

He whispered a harsh “sitcha little ass still” and with a huff, you’d gotten off of his slap and dramatically stormed out of the room. To say you’d embarrassed Tony was an understatement.

You’d chosen the worst time to start acting out, and now here you were, bent over with Tony standing over you, a vein bulging from how angry he was with you for pulling such a stunt.

The flimsy black dress you were wearing earlier is discarded somewhere on the floor of your shared master bedroom, and you were in your red laced panties and matching bra set, the one Tony had bought you for Valentine’s Day.

In a quick instant, Tony ripped your panties off with no remorse, and you let out a loud gasp. “Tony!” You yelled out. He landed a harsh smack on your left ass cheek. “Shut the fuck up.” He hissed with clenched teeth.

Your pussy was dripping with your slick, but the slap made you flinch forward. You weren’t used to how rough Tony was being. Usually, your lover was slow and sweet, and took his time making you feel good, but the man behind you seemed like a completely different person.

And you weren’t complaining one bit.

If anything, you wanted this outcome. You plotted it. You craved it. Yes, you loved that Tony was a sweet man in bed, but sometimes you just wanted to be put in your place by him. You wanted him to manhandle you and use you solely for his pleasure.

You heard shuffling behind you and the sound of Tony’s expensive belt fall to the ground. His cock was around 7.5 inches, maybe even 8 and uncut with a slight curve to the left. His cock is thick and trimmed evenly. It was heavy as he slapped it on your weeping pussy a few times with a grunt.

Suddenly, he breached your entrance. The sting was painful, as Tony would usually prep you before just shoving it in. You gasped as you felt him fill you with his meaty girth, balls deep before slowing pulling out and slamming back in.

“Tony, oh my god! Please—“ you screamed out as your eyes began to water from the impact. “No, this is what the fuck you wanted, right?” He chuckled out as he began to pound into you, his hands tightly secured on your hips, surely to bruise in the morning.

“Comin’ onto me like a fuckin’ dirty whore. You wanna act like a dumb slut then I’ll treat you like one.” He said. His Cuban accent was thick in every word he spoke, and it made you all the more wetter. Your juices could be heard loudly every time his cock rammed into you.

“Fuckk, your cunt is suckin’ me in, greedy little bitch.” He breathed out as he threw his head back with a moan. Tony was always a vocal man, and it was one of your favorite things about him. He wasn’t ashamed to show how good he was feeling like most lousy men were, but then again, no other man was Tony Montana.

“Tell me you’re fuckin’ sorry, whore!” He spit out as his hand reach up, tightly wrapping itself in your hair and pulling your head back painfully. Your eyes met Tony’s darkened one’s, and his cock twitched at the sight of your tears, mascara running down your face.

“‘M sorry, Tony! Shittt, ‘m so so sorry, baby.” You slurred, mind blank and completely drunk on your husbands piercing cock. “You gonna learn how to be a good girl f’me after this, huh? Or am I gonna have to use this little pussy till you do?” He asked.

You couldn’t respond, your mind felt fuzzy as you felt your orgasm approaching. Your mouth hung agape, the only sound coming out was loud ‘ahs’ coming out each time his cock touched that one spot that made you see stars. Your stomach tightened and your hands gripped the satin sheets below you, bracing yourself for the world-shattering orgasm you were about to have.

“Fucked you dumb, haven’t it? Little bitch.” He gritted through clenched teeth. Your gummy walls were squeezing him in a vice grip, and each time he pulled out, your pussy felt like it was sucking him right back in. He knew you were about to cum, he could tell in the way your walls clenched down on him harder, almost painfully, making him hiss as he landed another smack to your ass cheek with his free hand.

“Tony, ‘m gonna cum!” You gasped out. He didn’t respond, only inhumanly speeding up his pace of ruining your poor pussy. You felt his heavy balls slap against your needy clit with every single hard thrust he delivered, and that was your breaking point as you squirted all over him.

Your moans were loud and uncontrollable, and surely the whole mansion could hear you as he fucked you with no mercy through your orgasm, chasing for his own.

You were beyond sensitive, and his pace wasn’t stopping. The only sign you had that he was becoming closer to his release was his deepening moans and his thrusts getting a little more sloppier till finally, his hips stilled.

He filled you with his cum to the brim, thrusting a few more times just to make sure he emptied his balls completely into your needy pussy. “Jus’ needed my cock in you to fuckin’ act right, yeah, you dumb slut?” He mocked, feigning pity as he pulled out of you.

His cum spilled out of your pussy, warm and sticky as you felt it drip down your thighs. Your body felt weak, and your legs were shaking as he helped you to your feet, cum still running down your thighs.

His hand met your neck as he gripped tightly, almost blocking your air ways as his lips smashed into yours. He groaned into the kiss while you whimpered, not bothering to fight for dominance, because a man like Tony Montana would always win.

Your tongues tangled and danced with each other before he harshly bit onto your bottom lip, drawing blood and then releasing it. “Suck your filthy whore juices off of my cock, baby.” He muttered against your lips. “Okay, Tony.” You whispered as you instantly dropped to your knees before the man.

The man standing over you bunched up your hair into a makeshift ponytail in a tight grip. Peering up at him through your lashes, Tony could see how ruined you were. All for him. And he loved it. He loved the sight of you submissive and on your knees for him, ready to take anything and everything he gives you.

You stuck your tongue out, and Tony slapped his cock onto your tongue a few times. “Dirty girl, hm? Only time y’go quiet ‘s when you got my cock in your slutty mouth.” He gritted out as you sucked his tip, releasing it with a ‘pop’.

You licked down his cock, lapping up your juices with kitten licks. Tony groaned as he watched you take him back into your mouth. You struggled to take him, but the last thing you wanted was to disappoint Tony, so you gagged as you forced yourself to take him further.

Your quivering hands reached to stroke what you couldn’t fit into your mouth. “No hands, honey.” He taunted with a smirk. God, he was so pretty. So ruggedly handsome it sent you into a frenzy each time your glossy eyes locked with his. Your hands released his cock reluctantly.

You didn’t have time to react before you felt his cock brutally shoved down your throat. “Fuck, yeah, baby, just like that. Knew this whore mouth was good f’somethin’ besides complainin’” he moaned out as he threw his head back.

You gurgled and gagged around his cock, which was as deep as it could go down your throat. Your nose buried in his trimmed pubic hair, his scent thick with musk, a manly scent. Your senses were overwhelmed in him.

He held you there for a moment, his cum spurting down your throat, nearly choking you. Your hands gripped at his thighs, signaling for a breath of air, to which Tony obliged.

You released his cock with a gasp. His cum clogged your air way, which resulted in you spitting it onto the ground. “Ungrateful slut.” Tony growled out. “M sorry, Tony.” You whimpered out as his hand tangled into your hand again, craning your neck up to look at him.

“Lick it up.” Was all he said. Your mouth hung agape. “B-but the floor s’nasty!” You pleaded out with a frown. Yet, Tony didn’t miss the way your thighs clenched and rubbed together, or the way your cheeks flushed and you bit your lip. “Don’t fuckin’ make me repeat myself.” He said with furrowed brows.

You nodded, hesitantly leaning down, eye level with the floor. Your tongue met the cold floor, but was welcomed with his warm, salty cum. You lapped it up from the floor, some of it sticking to your chin. Tony merely chuckled as he watched you with beady eyes.

“Good girl.” He muttered out as he put his pants back on, fastening his belt. He helped you to your feet again, gripping your cheeks together to open your mouth to see his cum. “Swallow.” He stated, to which to did.

He hummed in approval. “Y’gonna be good now,?” He asked. You nodded, tired and worn out. “S’my girl alright? Y’wanna take a bath with me, honey?” He asked as he gently kissed your cheek and moved the hair matted to your forehead from sweat.

“Please, Tony.” You muttered as you leaned into him, finally feeling his warm arms wrap around you, and you finally felt content.

“Alright, baby, c’mon.” He said gently, a huge contrast to the way he was just speaking to you.

Being in his warm embrace was the last thing you could remember as he lead you to the bathroom, everything going black from exhaustion.

You faintly heard Tony mutter an “I love you”.

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

don’t be shy, ask to be a part of the tag list and request things!!

tag list: @elvisalltheway101 @epthedream69 @claire-elvisgirl @elvisrealgf

[a-boca-do-inferno]

i’ve been losing you (michael corleone x reader) [request]

summary: Michael is used to a lot of things. Losing’s not one of them.

warnings: angst

words: 1.0k

notes: loosely based on ive been losing you by aha, and yes i kno i kno. another songfic lol enjoy.

This was long overdue. 

They were meant to be in each other’s path, but not for long. She knew that. No matter how well they got along in the old days, rejoicing in that youthful love full of energy and innocence, there would always come the time when their personalities eventually clashed too much to make it work. His reckless and cold mind could never comport her sensitive and careful one for long. Gosh, how many dinner arguments had to happen to spoil the mood for her to just accept it already?  

There was nothing left to do with Michael Corleone. He ran an empire, yet was clueless on how to keep the woman he loved close. And a king who can’t love a queen is simply no such thing.  

(y/n) takes a deep breath and raises her fist to knock on the door, but as soon as she tries to do so, it opens on its own, revealing a somewhat disturbed Michael. He has a serious, almost mad look on his face, although his entire countenance manages to be cordial. She smiles faintly as he lets her in, closing the door behind her gracefully.  

The girl walked into his office and couldn’t help but notice how tidy everything was. Nothing out of place, not a single speck of dust on any furniture. Sometimes she wished at least something was there; it’d make the place feel less...  

Michael’s.  

“You said you were staying at you mother’s”, he begins, hiding his hand in the front pockets of his pants. “What happened?”, his tone is stern, as ever, and she can’t help but contain a sigh. (y/n) clasped her hands over her stomach, feeling a little cool. She wasn’t exactly there for some hugging and cuddling, after all, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Noticing the shift in her behaviour, Michael murmurs, “(y/n)…”, and the girl turns to face him. He wore a white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His brown hair was brushed back, no unruly strands fell to the sides. He was so handsome and put together. How in the world did they even end up together in the first place? Michael’s eyes were a little concerned when he demanded, coming closer to her, “tell me what’s the matter.” 

“Nothing”, she said, looking away when he seemed to disapprove of her blatant lie. (y/n) added, “there is nothing wrong, we just... We need to talk.” 

“About what?”, he gestures with one hand. “You’re making me worried”, she let out another deep sigh. This was going to be harder than she thought. Michael took an impatient step forward and gave her a questioning glance, lowering his eyes to her restless fingers. “Well?” 

“I can’t do… this anymore”, she couldn’t face him, counting the scratches of the floorboards under her feet. “Us.” 

There is a long silence before Michael speaks again. “(y/n)...”, he starts, closing the distance between them while gently taking her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. He placed a lingering kiss on her knuckles and she instantly flinched at the gesture, taking her hand back. He gave her a pained look. “What’s going on, darling?” 

“Michael, please...”, she whispered, trying her best to maintain her composure. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is.” 

“You’re leaving me?”, he rips the band-aid, and it sounds somehow even more painful when she hears it out loud. “Is that it?”, Michael insists, and she desperately looks for the emotions on his face only to find none.  

This. This was what she couldn’t take anymore. 

“I am”, (y/n)’s voice is final, as the lump on her throat takes a step back to give way for her assertiveness. That decision was made already, she merely wanted to let him know. “I know I’m hurting you, but you too know damn well there is no “us” anymore, Michael.  There is only the family business, and I came to terms with it at last. I finally understood I can’t be part of this.” 

“So, is that it?”, he repeats, but it’s clear he’s not looking for an answer. “You just wake up one day and decide to throw our family, our children, our love away? You just leave when it gets hard?”, he menacingly takes one more step closer, with almond eyes forcefully staring at the girl. “Is that it?!”, then it comes; the scream.  

And the sound is so otherworldly coming from Michael’s mouth, (y/n) has to reassure herself of her surroundings for a moment, to truly know if this is reality. Then, after the silence, there is only his look of despair towards her. She knows him well enough to understand he is distressed but won’t allow himself to engage any further in that subject for now. He is too emotional about this. Perhaps that was why Michael kept away from her more and more every day. The Don wouldn’t have his heart dictating his actions, in business or in love, and the two were helplessly intertwined when it came to his life.  

“I’m leaving”, she murmurs, holding her own body protectively. “You can visit the children whenever you want, we will be staying at my mother’s for the time being”, they exchange a piercing look. (y/n) avoids his eyes. “I love you, Michael, I truly do. But we both deserve better.” 

“This isn’t over, (y/n)”, it’s all Michael lets out, while turning his back to light up a cigarette. He blows away the smoke and nods once, pointing to the door. “Go.” 

She obeys him, because it’s so much easier to do so than to keep fighting. Before (y/n) leaves, she can’t help but think he would make her life a living hell. A shiver goes up her spine as the door shuts behind her. Michael Corleone may not be fit for a king, but he wasn’t a losing man either. She was painfully aware of that.  

“God help us all”, she mumbles to herself, walking away from the Corleone mansion for the last time. 

Or so she hoped. 

[chelestials]

nothing is more humbling when you’re watching an edit of your favorite actor and then the screen goes black and you see yourself on your screen basically thirsting over them

[chicaboom-chic]

I swear it's always the unemployed Tumblr users with the best Al Pacino fics😁💀 Their stories are the closest thing to Heaven that we'll ever get. And if they're not unemployed then English isn't their first language. I don't make the rules😢

[melis-writes]

Arthur Kirkland fluff please? Maybe he just got home from work and wants to cuddle with the reader.

Arthur Kirkland fluff prompt coming right up!! I love him so much, your honor. 🥺❤️ Now I just have to cuddle with him. 🥰

This Moment.

Arthur lets a long, drawn-out sigh, pushing open the front door and stepping inside his apartment.

Mentally exhausted and worn out from a full day of trial only for the jury to begin arguing with one another and the judge to storm out, Arthur’s already tired tomorrow from knowing how much paperwork and overtime he’ll have to do.

Arthur’s tie has loosened and hangs crooked over his chest, one of his dress shirt buttons has popped off and he neither has the will or energy to pretend like he’s not slouching.

Warmth crosses over Arthur’s expression when he looks up to see the lights in the living room are dim and low; a sign you’re already snuggled up in bed but not yet asleep.

Shrugging off his messenger bag and slipping out of his dress shoes, Arthur makes his way towards the bedroom—finding the door ajar and only a lamp on to illuminate the room.

Snuggled up under the covers with your back against a propped up pillow and a mug of hot chocolate in your hands, your eyes brighten at the sight of Arthur by the door.

“Hi, baby,” Arthur greets you, raking a hand through his hair. "Finally back."

“Hi,” your cheeks flare up with blush, “I didn’t hear you come in. That late, huh?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Arthur mumbles, approaching the bed. “I didn’t know I’d be staying that late either. You’d be surprised what Judge Francis can do when he’s in a shitty mood.”

“How did it all go?” You frown, sitting up in bed and kicking off the covers. “I mean, I know the preliminary trial as a mess and all, but…”

“The jury didn’t started arguing amidst one another and throwing punches is all I’ll say,” Arthur sets his suit jacket over the armchair in the corner of the room with his tie. “The prosecutor riled them up but who does Judge Francis blame, me? Ugh,” Arthur groans, plopping down on the bed. “It was a mess.”

“But you’d never find yourself doing anything else,” you give Arthur a reassuring smile, caressing his face.

“Exactly,” Arthur cracks a smile, pecking a kiss over your lips. “And that’s how you know I’ll never change, so as long as everything else doesn’t.”

“You’re a good man, Arthur,” your hands move down to Arthur’s shoulders, tenderly massaging over them. “You are. You’re also just too hard on yourself and refuse to see it. Then again,” you roll your eyes, “dealing with Judge Francis isn’t a walk in the park.”

“It was better when you still worked in the D.A.’s office,” Arthur relaxes his muscles, beginning to unbutton down his dress shirt. “At least I had something to look forward to.”

“But you still come home to me,” you let out a soft laugh as you pull the duvet covers over Arthur too. "Come here. Mm, I've missed you."

“I need you to come to me,” Arthur murmurs, nuzzling your neck. “I miss you all the time.”

“I’ll make up for it,” blushing, you both embrace one another over the plush duvet and layers of cozy blankets upon the bed—laying in each other’s arms in peace.

“I want nothing more,” Arthur speaks softly, lacing a hand with you. “If I could get away with it, the only thing I’d do is just lay here.”

“Yeah?” You let out a soft laugh, planting a sweet kiss over Arthur’s cheek. “I think I’d prefer that too. Keep the moment going forever.”

“You’re the only comfort I know,” Arthur rubs his eyes, exhaustion speaking through his tone of voice. “That’s why.”

“You’re a good man, Arthur Kirkland,” you whisper against his forehead before kissing it, stroking your hands through Arthur’s silky, black hair softly. “And I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Arthur’s eyes meet with yours—a smile growing over his lips.

[iriashouse]

marriage is scary, what if he’s not Michael Corleone in Sicily with the bruise and his black suit bringing me a gold necklace???????????