#and has much much more of a reputation as a behind the scenes woman

[felicitywilds]

uhh??????? UHHHHHH????????

left is sapphria's art from COC, and right is the Fellowship's insignia from a piece of art by @nanaluvbug

[arcane-vagabond]

Fool's Fare: Chapter Thirteen

Fool's Fare: Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Content Warning: Flashback Chapter, Cursing, I played around with mythology in this one, Myths, Curses, Magic, Deals, Mentions of death, Mentions of suicide, Smoking pipes (Tobacco), Regret, Angst, some fluff. I think that's everything, but please let me know if I've missed something!

Word Count: 4.6k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

Smoke wafted towards the ceiling, disappearing into the air before the soft tendrils could reach the wooden rafters. The glow of the embers illuminated Tom’s face as he sucked the tobacco smoke into his lungs, the burn a familiar comfort to him after so many years. Blue eyes scanned the crowded room, men gulping down mouthfuls of ale as women sauntered around the room looking for their bed fellow of the night. Laughter broke out on the far side of the room, cheers following it as the last hand of cards was revealed.

These too were familiar to him.

“Don’t suppose the information we were given was wrong,” Beau muttered beside him. Tom’s eyes drifted over to him, studying the quartermaster. Tom wasn’t sure he altogether liked Beau very much, but he trusted the man, and in this life, trust was worth its weight in gold. While Tom knew the quartermaster was loyal, he also knew that Beau’s interest aligned with his own.

“He’ll be here,” he replied, shifting in his chair to lean back, feet propping up on the table. A pretty, young woman strolled casually over to him, fixing him with a sultry gaze and a confident smile. Tom waved her off, earning a pout, but he paid her no mind. He was on a mission tonight, waiting for a man he knew would show his face sooner rather than later.

Pete Mitchell was a right bastard as far as Tom was concerned—the newly appointed captain of the Maverick had earned himself quite the reputation even before earning the mantle from his predecessor.

Tales of the new captain capturing and sinking enemy ships had made their way to every port along the coasts, whispers twisting tales until no one knew what was true and what was falsehood. What had remained consistent, however, was the fact that the young captain had been going around boasting about how no man could best him, not even Davy Jones himself.

Tom wouldn’t stand for that.

The door to the pub opened with a sharp crack to the wall behind it, a smirking young man with fine features, dark hair, and blazing, blue eyes roving over the scene before him.

“That’s him,” Beau whispered, and Tom let out a low grunt in acknowledgement, watching the young man strut into the room like he owned the place. Tom’s jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth, feeling his own irritation rolling off of him in waves. The lad seemed to sense him because his gaze turned to fix on the older man, a brow arching curiously. Slowly, Pete walked over to him, confidence shining from every pore as a lazy smirk curled on his lips. He didn’t wait to be invited to sit, he simply did—the chair knocking against the stone floor as he plopped down in the seat. The man who followed him, much taller than the captain and mustache adorning his upper lip, peered around anxiously before fixing his eyes on Tom and Beau. Tom surmised that he must be Pete’s quartermaster, Nick Bradshaw.

Tom turned his attention back to Pete as the younger man’s smirk became a full-blown grin.

“Evenin’, pops,” he greeted, nodding at him from across the table. Tom felt the vein in his forehead pulse with irritation, leaning back in his chair with a creak and another drag from his pipe. Tom studied the young man before him, noting how at ease he seemed to be despite the dangerous aura that rolled off of Tom in waves. Men twice this boy’s age cowered in his presence, and yet here he was—grinning like a cheshire cat.

It pissed him off.

“You know,” Pete drawled, leaning back to mirror the older captain, “it’s considered polite to answer back.”

Tom snorted, bringing the pipe away from his mouth and staring down the young captain.

“Pleasantries fly out the window once I hear of some upstart going around boasting about how none can best him—even Davy Jones himself.”

“I haven’t even seen you on the seas, old timer,” Pete grinned. “You think I’d beat you like all the others?”

“I think I’d sink your ship in ten seconds flat without even raising my voice,” Tom spat, earning a wary side-eye from his quartermaster.

“Tom here doesn’t exactly appreciate people invoking his name needlessly,” Beau supplied, shifting in his seat as waves of anger rolled off the captain. “Especially when it’s spoken in boast of oneself.”

Pete’s brow arched as his quartermaster’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Nick spoke, leaning forward to look over his own captain’s shoulder. “We don’t even know your name.”

Tom hummed, tapping his fingers on the top of the table. “I think you do.”

A moment of silence passed between the four men, the rowdy crowd around them continuing on in their revelry as if nothing were amiss. It was Pete who broke the silence first.

“You’re supposed to be a myth,” he murmured, all trace of mirth gone from his face. “A legend.”

“Any sailor worth his salt knows not to invoke names of power,” Tom retorted. “Names themselves have power. You shouldn’t speak the name of anything whose wrath you don’t want to earn.”

“And is that what I’ve done?” Challenged Pete, squaring his shoulders as Nick gave him an exasperated look. “Have I incurred the wrath of Davy Jones?”

Tom considered him for a moment. The gall of this man was something Tom hadn’t seen in decades, and he found that he quite liked the challenge the young captain was issuing him. He tried to remember the last time someone had done so so openly and brazenly.

“You’ve certainly incurred the annoyance of Tom,” he replied finally, not missing the sharp look Beau shot his way. Pete frowned in confusion.

“Tom?”

“That’s my name,” he replied with a shrug, inhaling from his pipe as he watched the younger man process his words.

“I thought you were Davy Jones?” Pete asked finally, lips pursed as his guard was up.

“Davy Jones is more of a…moniker,” Tom supplied, closing his eyes as he basked in the warmth of the tobacco in his lungs. “Has a better ring to it than Thomas, wouldn’t you say?”

The young captain stared at him in disbelief before letting out a humorless chuckle.

“You aren’t at all what I was expecting,” Pete mused, and Tom snorted.

“You weren’t expecting much,” he countered. “You didn’t even think I was real until a few moments ago.”

The two men talked well into the night, and Tom had grown a sort of strange fondness for the plucky captain. You’d never get him to admit that he felt somewhat impressed by the stories Pete told him of the several ships he had managed to capture, but he was sure Pete caught the way his eyes alighted with intrigue. As dawn broke above the horizon, the sky painted in a hushed blue and warm pink, the captains bid farewell to each other, Tom warning the young captain one more time to not invoke his name lest there be consequences.

Years passed, and in that time, Tom and his crew had taken many treasures from doomed ships, the begging of crews falling on deaf ears. The captain of the Flying Dutchman having long lost feeling in his heart for the plight of others. No, in this world there was only take, his endless life proof of that.

His crew was not dead, not in any way that may truly matter. Rather, they sat in limbo thanks to a god long thought dead—a goddess that Tom had betrayed.

Thetis had been beautiful, strong, and perhaps the most coveted woman in antiquity at one time. Tom, who had gone by a name he had long forgotten at that time, had wooed the goddess, and perhaps at one time he would have said he even loved her. Together, they had seven sons, but only one would grow to be a man, the others lost to mortality. Thetis had been driven mad with grief, and Tom had closed himself off completely.

Perhaps it was a mixture of pride and the folly of his youth that had led him to betray her. The now faded memories of sailing with a band of his brothers had filled his mind then, and Tom had decidedly wanted more. He knew his wife held great magic in her hands, and he had begged her to use it to secure him power over the seas. Of course, she had been reluctant at first, warning him of the dangers that came from such a request, but Tom had been insistent. The first moment he held the star in his hand, he knew he had doomed himself.

He had left shortly after, leaving his wife heartbroken and his son in the care of a trusted friend. His wife had bestowed power to him, and Tom was ever the fool to think that it had been anything other than her final act of revenge.

He and his crew were doomed to limbo, to wander the seas forever craving more from those who were unfortunate to cross their paths. Time passed around them, and it wasn’t long until Tom learned of his son’s tragic fate, mourning him as best he could despite the never-ending greed that gripped his heart. Time marched forever forward, and soon Tom took on new name after new name until one day he realized he had no memory of who he once was.

The star had been lost to him, having lost it in a gamble or having misplaced it at some point—he wasn’t sure. He wanted it back though, but no matter how hard he tried, the star remained lost to him. The magic cursed to him by his estranged wife, however, made him slave to the whims of the ocean, his name crossing into legend then myth. He took up the moniker of Davy Jones, a name that now struck fear into the heart of every sailor that sailed the seven seas.

All except one.

It was a dreary day when Tom felt the call. Mist clung to his skin as the ship moved forward in the dark waves, an eery silence surrounding him when he felt the call of his name.

It had taken a while for him to notice the first time it happened. His name a beacon on the waves for those sentenced to death on the ocean’s surface. But, soon he realized the call that stirred deep within him. Where the call came, treasure awaited.

Tom signaled to the helmsman to change course, the ship creaking in protest against the crashing waves. Still, the ship spurred on at an unnatural pace, and it wasn’t long before Tom realized he had been summoned to the shore off of southern Massachusetts. He frowned at the location, choosing to go ashore himself and leave his crew behind until he could determine what was happening.

Tom secured the lifeboat up onto the shore, confident that it was far enough inland that the tide wouldn’t pull it back out should he take long. The sand shifted beneath his feet as he walked along the shore, the summons guiding him to where he needed to go. The sun was drifting towards the skyline, the sparse clouds above streaming past up above as his eyes scanned the beach for what he was looking for. It wasn’t long before he came upon a familiar figure sitting amongst the rocks.

Pete was older than Tom had last seen him, only three years having passed since the last time they had seen each other—ten since the first time they had met. Strands of grey started to spot against Pete’s temples, lines littering his face to give him a more distinguished look. He looked up as Tom approached, smiling in way of greeting as the old, sea captain came to a stop beside him, dropping down next to him with a grunt. Tom pulled out his pipe, striking a match and puffing on the old, wooden piece as he let out a sigh.

“Been a while since I seen you,” he offered up after a moment’s silence. Pete nodded with a hum, turning his attention back to the sea.

“It has,” Pete agreed.

“Didn’t exactly part on the best of terms last time,” Tom continued.

“No,” Pete acquiesced. “We didn’t.”

“I don’t have the power to bring the dead back, Pete,” the older man reminded him. “The magic doesn’t work that way.”

“So you said,” Pete muttered, and Tom let out another sigh.

“I’d bring Nick back if I could,” he frowned, shoulders stiff. “You know that.”

Nick’s death had been a terrible accident—a stray bullet lodging into his heart during the heat of battle. Pete had taken it hard, locking himself away to mourn the loss of his most trusted friend. Nick had been a good man, though he had his secrets. Pete had mentioned that Nick had a wife and child tucked somewhere secret that he’d visit from time to time. Not even Pete knew where Nick would run off to during those times.

“I do,” Pete agreed. The two sat in silence for a few moments more before Tom rolled his shoulders, inhaling the tobacco smoke once more.

“So why’ve you brought me out here, then?” Tom prodded.

“Do you remember that girl I told you about?”

Tom paused. He did remember Pete mentioning a girl he’d been spending time with. “Penny, right?” He asked.

Pete nodded, a small smile creeping on his face at the mention of her name. Tom vaguely recalled seeing the girl on one of his last visits with Pete, a pretty thing with a fire that matched the young captain’s. Tom was surprised that she had managed to stick around.

“What about her?” Tom asked, peering over at the other captain.

“We’re married now.”

Tom started at that. He wasn’t sure he’d ever peg Pete as the marrying type, but he supposed he wasn’t one to talk.

“Married,” he echoed with a low hum.

“Two years now. Three in April,” Pete grinned.

“You called me out here to tell me that you’re married?” Tom snorted, the embers of his pipe glowing in the fading light as he inhaled once more.

“Actually,” Pete started, “I’m here to ask a favor.”

“A favor,” Tom echoed once more, this time with a frown. Pete knew there was a price to Tom’s favors—it was the way the magic worked.

“Penny and I have been trying for a family,” Pete explained, “but we haven’t had any luck. I see the way she tries to seem like it doesn’t bother her, but I also see the way she looks after the kids in the village. I want to give her everything I can, Tom. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t try everything?”

“You know there’ll be a price,” Tom warned him, casting a look his way. “There’s always a price to pay for these things.”

“Whatever it is,” Pete murmured, “I’ll pay it.”

“Why?” Tom retorted. “Why would you even risk it?”

Pete smiled at him, a soft look in his ocean blue eyes. “I love her, Tom.”

“Love is for fools,” Tom scoffed.

“Love is the price we pay to feel something in this world, Tom,” Maverick said, looking at his friend knowingly. Tom snorted, shaking his head.

“Fool’s fare then,” Tom relented. Pete’s head tilted back as he laughed.

“Call it what you like,” he chortled, “but the facts remain. Now are you going to help me or not?”

Tom considered him for a moment. What Pete was asking was no small task, but perhaps…

“Tell me,” he spoke. “What do you picture your life being?”

Pete thought for a moment.

“Penny wants a child regardless, but I think I want a son that I can pass my legacy onto. A son to teach the ways of sailing and ride on the waves together,” he paused. “Yes, a son.”

Tom hummed with a nod. He could work with that. He could manipulate the magic in that one, small way.

“The price for a life is a life in return,” he warned. “To gain your son, you forfeit your life after seven years.”

Pete hummed, rubbing at his chin as he considered the price. Tom waited, wondering if his friend would forfeit his own life to make this woman happy. Pete wasn’t a particularly selfish man, but he had a zest for life that was rare in Tom’s experience. People like Pete lived for the love of life, and the thought of willingly forfeiting that should seem like an impossible decision to the young captain.

“I’ll do it.”

Tom blinked, momentarily letting his mask of impassiveness slip to show his surprise at Pete’s decision. He recovered quickly, clearing his throat as he shifted.

“Alright,” he conceded. “If you’re sure about this.”

Pete nodded. “I am.”

Tom felt the magic swirl within him, building as he readied to make the deal. Slowly, he extended his hand, settling on the wording of the spell.

“To gain a child,” he said slowly, “you forfeit your life.”

Pete nodded, grasping his outstretched hand. “I get my son, Penny get’s a child, and you gain a soul.”

Tom frowned. Magic was specific, it was precise. He wasn’t sure if Pete’s added words would affect the spell, but he was sure that he had enough control to alter that one piece.

The magic settled around them, a low hum that rang in Tom’s ears as he let go of Pete’s hand. He took a long drag from his pipe, holding the burning smoke in his lungs before blowing out long and slow.

“So, tell me,” Pete grinned. “What treasures have you found since I last saw you?”

Years passed, and Tom’s plan worked. Soon after his deal with Pete, he received the news that his friend would become a father, and nine months later he received word that Pete’s daughter had been born, a healthy, happy child according to Pete. It was a couple of years later when he first met the little girl.

Tom had never seen his friend look so happy, smiling and bouncing the toddler on his hips as he cooed at her, earning small giggles that made the young captain grin even wider.

“She may not be my son,” Pete told him, holding the little girl close as she dozed off against his shoulder, tiny thumb popped into her mouth, “but she’s my little guppy.”

Tom would have gagged if it weren’t so sweet. He thought back to his long dead son, how small the boy had been in his own arms, and warmth stirred in his chest.

“I’m happy it worked out,” he replied.

“I know you finagled the magic,” Pete told him. “No son means no forfeiture of my life, right?”

“That’s the idea,” Tom admitted. “You’ll live a long, happy life with your family.”

It was two years later that Pete brought a young boy named Bradley into his home, dubbing the boy Rooster.

“He reminds me of Nick,” Pete told Tom one day. “Looks just like him. So much so, that sometimes I wonder if Bradley really is-”

“Don’t,” Tom interrupted, placing a hand on Pete’s shoulder. “Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t torture yourself with possibilities. Just focus on what you have now.”

Pete had smiled and nodded, content with the old captain’s words. Several more years passed, and the two children grew up as Pete grew older. Six years after Pete Mitchell had brought the boy into his home, he sealed his fate.

“Bradley’s grown strong,” he told Tom, pride evident in his voice. “He’s almost ready to take his first job. And, Guppy’s growing up so fast. She takes after her mother, I think.”

Tom snorted, but didn’t voice his opinion that Guppy took after her father rather than her mother—her stubbornness and talent for mischief qualities she inherited directly from the man who sat next to him.

“A son and a daughter,” Pete sighed. “I couldn’t be more proud to have them.”

It was like time stopped moving for a moment, magic stirred in the air like waves against rocks in the surf, crashing into Tom so hard, it knocked the air from his lungs. He started at Pete in horror, terror coursing through his veins for the first time in eons.

“What did you say?” His voice sounded small, even to his ears. “Do you know what you’ve just done?”

“I do,” Pete nodded, unfazed by the magic that now counted down the moments he had left to walk the earth. “And I’ll say it again. Bradley is my son, Tom. I won’t deny him that part in my life to save myself time.”

Tom continued to stare at him. Had he misjudged his friend so badly as to think that this boy would not hold such a place in his heart? Pete was different from the young man he had met over two decades before. Where he had been an inferno in his youth, scorching anyone or anything that got in his way, now he was the steady fire found in the hearth—a beacon to those around him.

“Seven years,” Tom murmured, hanging his head. “You have seven years.”

“Don’t feel bad, Tom,” Pete said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You did for me what you could, and you didn’t have to do that much. You allowed me more years with my family than our deal allowed, and for that I’m grateful. More than you can imagine.”

Tom shook his head, letting out a growl of frustration at his friend’s apparent lack of self preservation. Pete shot him a sympathetic smile.

“Guess the magic got its way in the end, huh?” Pete chuckled, though there was no humor in his tone.

Tom said nothing, and the two sat in silence long after the sun had dipped below the horizon.

Tom ran into Pete several times during those years, either on the sea during their adventures, or when he’d pop into the local tavern. During that time, Tom himself had fallen in love for the first time in ages. She was a pretty, young thing with chestnut waves that rolled down her back and eyes to match. Laughter that filled Tom’s heart with a mixture of warmth and longing, and how he wished she’d pay him more mind.

Kate was her name, and Tom was in love. He watched from afar as she chased after some local boy. Tom wished it was him that she yearned for, but he would love her from afar.

No good would come from entangling himself in her life.

He watched after her for years, content to be her silent protector. In between his moments of quiet pining for her, he’d visit Pete, cognizant of the fact that his friend’s time was quickly running out.

“Have you told them?” He asked one day, Pete looking up from the map he had been studying. Pete grimaced, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t want them to lose sleep over the inevitable. When I go, it will be a sudden, tragic accident. They’ll grieve, but they won’t torture themselves with the notion that they could have done anything to prevent it.”

Tom nodded, fidgeting with his pipe as a moment passed.

“I think I know what you meant about love now,” he admitted. Pete’s brow arched, the twinge of a smile evident on his lips.

“Don’t give me that look,” Tom groused, scowling at the younger man. “I’m only telling you because you’ll be dead soon enough, anyway.”

Pete threw his head back in laughter, Tom slowly joining in after a moment.

“Never one to beat around the bush, aye?” Pete chuckled, wiping a tear from his eyes as aftershocks of laughter rattled through him.

“Never,” Tom agreed with a grin.

That had been the last time Tom saw Pete. The magic had pulled tight at his chest, poised like a string before snapping, and Tom was left with a breathless, empty feeling. The tears came unbidden, a sob choking up out of him as he hunched his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt sorrow like this, the last time he had allowed himself to feel close to anyone. Now he remembered why he was cold, why he gave himself to the ocean beneath him.

He would not make that mistake again.

As if to hammer home the lesson, news of Kate’s death reached him only days after. She had confessed her love to that same, stupid boy she had been chasing, and the boy had denied her affections. In her despair, she had thrown herself into the sea, drowning beneath the surface of the waves.

Tom was livid. How dare that boy take such a thing as love for granted. It was no matter, Tom would be the one to teach him a lesson.

And a lesson he had certainly bestowed. The boy had begged for mercy, but there was none to be found in Tom’s empty, aching heart. He thought of his friend who had given up everything in the name of love, something the boy before him had spit on as far as Tom was concerned. And so he had cursed the boy with the very curse that had been bestowed upon him lifetimes ago.

If more is what the boy wanted, it was more he would seek.

Tom had turned his back on the boy, the cries for mercy blending in with the wind as he disappeared into the shadows of night.

He saw the boy six years later during a visit to see you and Bradley, the blond having the swagger of any young captain, and his demeanor almost reminded him of another captain from so long ago.

Almost.

Tom hated him. Hated the very sight of him, and he was sure it was written all over his face as he scowled at him. Of course, the boy had no idea that he was talking to the very man that had cursed him so many years before. Tom made it a point to not let his civilian form slip to reveal the cursed soul that lay beneath. The night he had cursed the young man, he had let his control slip, revealing the skeleton of the man he truly was.

He knew better than to raise his voice in opposition to the idea that Bradley join this man’s crew. Much like the man who raised him, Bradley was more inclined to do the thing you told him not to do—a trait that Tom had found most annoying in Pete. However, he watched you trail after your brother, desperation clouding your judgement, and Tom shook his head in pity. He could try to speak up, but that would risk his exposure. Besides, there was no guarantee Bradley would listen to him, let alone believe him. He watched helplessly as Bradley signed his life away, signed away his future.

Tom could not meddle in the affairs of common folk, not without a price anyway. Stopping Bradley would have meant paying a terrible price, one that Tom would have no control over. Cursing under his breath, he watched as you stormed out of the tavern, tears streaming down your face. A wave of sadness washed over him, and he hung his head lower, squeezing his eyes shut against the realization that you truly would lose everyone you held dear in your life. All because of him. He had played a part in creating your family, and now he was the reason you would lose everyone completely. You’d be alone, just like him.

“I’m so sorry, Guppy.”

A/N: I'm so excited to share this one with you guys. This chapter has been swirling around in my head basically since the inception of the fic. I loved getting to explore the backstory of Tom and his origins as well as his friendship with Maverick. Did you pick up on the mythology? Can you guess Tom's true name? Only one more chapter to go and then we have our epilogue!

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do taglists, so if you would like to be notified on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications! You can find me and my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

[wiz-writes]

In Out of the Yinshan, you play as a spy sent to infiltrate a well-known Manor in order to recover a legendary sword.

Yet the mission turns out to be more than you bargained for as you find yourself walking on thin ice and questioning your loyalties, all the while an invisible hand keeps pulling the strings from behind the scenes.

Genre: wuxia, romance, mystery

Rating: 15 for some dark themes

Last update: 9 May 2024

Play as a man or woman.

Customise your appearance and shape your new persona.

Train and improve your skills to reach new heights of power.

Build friendships or start a romance with one of four characters.

Navigate your new life as a guard of a noble, explore the Manor and uncover its secrets.

Be mindful of both your words and actions to avoid suspicion and keep your head a little longer.

Let yourself be swayed by a desire for freedom; or remain steadfast and loyal to those who made you.

You are one of the Yinshan Society - a tool sharpened to perfection to be then used by your Elders as they see fit.

Your life is not your own, that much you know. However, that changes nothing about where your loyalties lie. For you, Yinshan has always been a light in the darkness.

So when your new mission brings you to the famous Hua Manor in search of a legendary sword, you take on the challenge of becoming someone else - someone you never had the chance to be.

You quickly adapt to the Manor's ways, training and fulfilling your duties while keeping a low profile as you begin your investigation. But the mysterious incidents that follow your arrival have everyone, including you, on edge.

Your past has taught you not to trust anyone, yet the more time you spend in the Manor and get to know its residents, the more your conviction starts to waver.

Is Yinshan truly all that your life amounts to?

DEMO

COG Forum || KO-FI

THE PRODIGY

Su Feixia (F)

The only child of the Su family, Su Feixia is considered to be both smart and beautiful. She excels in literature and music, and she has more than proven to be capable of taking over her parents' business. Yet despite her privileged upbringing, she continues to be humble and kind.

You are her guard, accompanying the young lady to the Hua Manor.

THE GUARDIAN

Wei Qing (M)

One of the residents of the Manor, Wei Qing is a high-ranking guard that has lived there for a few years, steadily climbing the ranks through training and hard work. He puts his duty above all else, which has earned him respect, as well as a rather fearsome reputation.

He is your superior in the Manor, overseeing your training.

THE HEIRESS

Hua Lingyun (F)

The oldest of three children of the Hua family and their only daughter, Hua Lingyun spends most of her days training with weaponry and running from her responsibilities. She is to become the head of the family, which is something she's having trouble coming to terms with as she enjoys having her freedom.

She takes care of the Manor guests this year, in place of her sick father.

THE TEACHER

Xu Yuan (M)

A bit of an enigma for most of the people living in the Manor, Xu Yuan is a master swordsman of few words. Nobody seems to know much about him, except that he's been staying in the Manor for a while and that he appears to be a good friend of Master Hua. However, his cold and distant personality manages to keep his many admirers at arm's length.

He is in charge of your weapon training.

[misscammiedawn]

Plurality on the Disc

CW: Fatphobia, euthanasia

One thing you can always say about Pratchett was that he did not believe in prejudice. The man saw the world through a lens of satire and yet in all things he attempted to see the humanity in all things and tried to bleed that compassion into the world he created, especially with the modernization of the central city, Ankh Morpork.

Pratchett's works as early as the 90s were showing positive trans representation in Cheery Littlebottom, a dwarf who opts to present femme within a culture that treats displays of gender other than the "default", without acknowledging the inherent bias that the "default" gender presentation within Dwarf culture is masculine. It seems Pratchett was able to display "Male or Political" as a fallacy long before toxic gamer culture.

Sensing that the audience may have found this too subtle he went on to write Monstrous Regiment in 2003, a story about a group of women who take up arms, disguise their gender and live as men to fight in a war. As many things on the Disc it was written with fantasy and satire in mind and yet was incredibly detailed in historical accuracy. As trans-folx continuously remind: "We have always been here"

Today's topic, though, is on plurality. Typically in Media, Myself and I essays we focus on depictions of DID with an emphasis on psychopathology. Pathology and mental illness do not really factor into the fantasy world of Discworld. One need only look at the "Sideflashes" depicted in Monstrous Regiment, those being moments where a vampire character has traumatic hallucinations of the Vietnam War of our world, to know that Pratchett is more interested in satirizing the genre mediums he is working within rather than depicting accurate portraits of real mental illness.

That said, in one of his final books, Thud! Pratchett did have a character with two distinct personalities who could withhold information from one another say "It's supposed to be an illness, but all I can say is, we've gotten along well."

Pratchett always leads with compassion and in all of his work he does his research. Though he never wrote much about the supposed illness mentioned in Thud!, he has written plural characters and we're going to focus on one right now.

The books in question are Maskerade (1995) and Carpe Jugulum (2003). These books heavily feature the characters Agnes Nitt and Perdita X Dream.

The first of the two stories is a parody of The Phantom of the Opera with a heavy emphasis on the real life stress and drama behind the scenes of any stage performance. A must read for any theatre kid who wishes to see 'the show must go on' taken to ludicrous extremes.

Agnes is a young witch who has talent as a singer. So much so that she is able to sing in harmony with herself. She decides to move to the big city and join the opera house in hopes of turning her talents to become a star.

Agnes is a prim and proper young witch, raised to think and act a certain way. The problem is, of course, she wants to act in ways unbecoming of who she is perceived as. So growing up when she misbehaved and acted outside of these rigid expectations she would compartmentalize all of her behaviors into Perdita X Dream, "the thin woman trying to get out"

She'd caught herself saying 'poot!' and 'dang!' when she wanted to swear, and using pink writing paper. She'd got a reputation for being calm and capable in a crisis. Next thing she knew she'd be making shortbread and apple pies as good as her mother's, and then there'd be no hope for her. So she'd introduced Perdita. She'd heard somewhere that inside every fat woman was a thin woman trying to get out[3] so she'd named her Perdita. She was a good repository for all those thoughts that Agnes couldn't think on account of her wonderful personality. Perdita would use black writing paper if she could get away with it, and would be beautifully pale instead of embarrassingly flushed. Perdita wanted to be an interestingly lost soul in plumcoloured lipstick. Just occasionally, though, Agnes thought Perdita was as dumb as she was.

It is not uncommon for those with dissociative disorders to have these idealized personas that take on lives of their own. Though the Fae beauty known as Dawn is a name and identity that I have forged through decades of actualizing, my humble roots will always be the performance of what we thought a strong and capable woman would look and sound like. The fact we borrowed the blueprints is neither here nor there.

In moving to the city of Ankh, Agnes decides that she is free of those who have told her what to do and able to live as she has always desired. She adopts the name Perdita as her own and signs up to sing.

After moving in to the opera house she becomes entangled in the plot of Phantom of the Opera. The central story of the book is a retelling of PotO but with the Disc's patented absurdity added on and Agnes being used as a perspective character. At a point Christine, the only woman capable of exclaiming a whisper, switches rooms with Agnes because she is keeps hearing voices while she's trying to sleep. That night the voice from behind the mirror calls out into the darkness, thinking it is speaking to Christine, and speaks to Agnes instead.

There is makes it very clear as to why Agnes cannot be the central figure of the book.

Agnes pulled the bedclothes up higher. 'In the middle of the night?!' 'Night is nothing to me. I belong to the night. And I can help you.' It was a pleasant voice. It seemed to be coming from the mirror. 'Help me to do what?!' 'Don't you want to be the best singer in the opera?' 'Oh, Perdita is a lot better than me!!' There was silence for a moment, and then the voice said: 'But while I cannot teach her to look and move like you, I can teach you to sing like her.' Agnes stared into the darkness, shock and humiliation rising from her like steam.

Fatphobia is real and is on The Disc, I am sad to say.

But it is after this incident that Agnes begins to recognize the prejudice that has been levied at her the entire book and the prim and proper Agnes politely thinks calm and pleasant thoughts when she is insulted, it is Perdita who thinks rude words.

This gets worse as the plot goes on and the managers cast Christine as the lead and have Agnes sing the lead from the chorus.

The humiliation and compartmentalized resentment continues on and...

What she was about to do was wrong. Very wrong. And all her life she'd done things that were right. Go on, said Perdita. In fact, she probably wouldn't even do it. But there was no harm in just asking where there was a herbal shop, so she asked. And there was no harm in going in, so she went in. And it certainly wasn't against any kind of law to buy the ingredients she bought. After all, she might get a headache later on, or be unable to sleep. And it would mean nothing at all to take them back to her room and tuck them under the mattress. That's right, said Perdita.

Passive Influence is a term used for when a part/alter pushes for action while another part is fronting in the system.

In this example Perdita is steering Agnes to perform actions that are not congruent with her nature and her beliefs. Agnes is not capable of plotting revenge against someone and enacting a scheme and so even while performing the actions she is rationalizing to herself that she is not actually doing anything untoward because it is not in her nature to do such a thing.

The traits exist but they do not belong to Agnes and at this point she has not yet realized that the Perdita identity that she has formed is capable of asserting her own will.

The formation of a dissociative disorder typically occurs when a child is in a situation of constant trauma and need to adapt contradicting realities in order to function. Most common of which is the contradiction of needing protection, nurture and safety from the caregivers who provide terror and pain. To function within that framework a young mind will compartmentalize experiences in order to maintain a reality where both these truths are compatible.

Agnes, in part due to the prejudice she faces for her weight, has to have a wonderful personality. Her acceptance within society requires her to act the part and be a kind and sweet girl with a wonderful personality. Always be the best version of herself in spite of her looks because without that wonderful personality she will only be regarded as a large woman and will be discarded.

So she puts away all the thoughts that run contrary to that narrative. Anything that doesn't fit in the Nice Girl persona.

Aren't you just tired of putting up with it, though? Don't you want to go apeshit?

If you were someone like Agnes Nitt, wouldn't you long to be someone as dark and mysterious as Perdita X Dream?

As the book goes on Perdita continues thinking things from behind Agnes' eyes and the narrative begins describing their differing perspectives. The schism growing wider and wider throughout the story.

At the start of the book, when Perdita began becoming more prominent, the prose would say "Perdita thought a rude word" then, as in the passive influence section, "Perdita said" is included in the text. Later still Agnes and Perdita converse within the prose.

The candle burned with a greenish-blue edge to the flame. Somewhere, said Perdita, there was the secret room. If there wasn't a huge and glittering secret cavern, what on earth was life for? There had to be a secret room. A room, full of. . . giant candles, and enormous stalagmites. . . But it certainly isn't here, said Agnes.

The further on the story goes the more comfortable both character and author are in sharing the back and forth between Nitt and Dream.

If Maskerade was the introduction to the concept then Carpe Jugulum (2003) is where Agnes Nitt and Perdita X Dream's shared mind and body become central figures in the story and are allowed to explore themselves a little more. In the previous story Perdita is treated as where Agnes puts all of her unseemly actions and desires.

In Carpe Jugulum it is treated very emphatically as a dissociative disorder where two parts of the same mind share control over the same body.

She simply sang in harmony with herself. Unless she concentrated it was happening more and more these days. Perdita had rather a reedy voice, but she insisted on joining in. Those who are inclined to casual cruelty say that inside a fat girl is a thin girl and a lot of chocolate. Agnes’s thin girl was Perdita. She wasn’t sure how she’d acquired the invisible passenger. Her mother had told her that when she was small she’d been in the habit of blaming accidents and mysteries, such as the disappearance of a bowl of cream or the breaking of a prized jug, on “the other little girl.”

The tone is set early on with Pratchett working to codify that which already existed by including Agnes putting the pieces together as an adult based on what others had told her she did as a child, something all too common with those with dissociative disorders.

The pair are living in harmony for the most part, Perdita enjoys getting to sing with Agnes and is fiercely defensive of her host. She does not enjoy it when people are mean to Agnes. It is why she focused much of Maskerade on scowling at Christine. Though Perdita herself seems to enjoy bullying Agnes, as she does delight in cruelly calling her a lump.

The story this time is about a group of Modern Sexy Vampires moving in to the witches' town and deciding to take over. Much of the book's satire is a comparison of the Anne Rice and World of Darkness ethos on vampire lore and comparing it to the more gothic and classic depictions such as Nosferatu and Bram Stoker's Dracula.

As well as the complete and utter violation that is "treating people like things".

The story also introduces Mightily Oats (who Perdita will squee about having a cool ponytail), a parody of the catholic vampire slayer trope. He, himself, has a "rifted personality" like Agnes and Perdita due to his adherence to the contradicting commandments and beliefs held within the religious texts of his faith, Om.

Unfortunately, Perdita's alliance with Agnes is harmed when the vampires move in and Perdita finds herself largely attracted to them. Perdita is the very essence of a scene kid, after all, she'd listen to Evanescence if they existed on The Disc. Throughout the early phase of the vampire plot Perdita finds herself internally shaking Agnes and screaming petulantly at her that she is fumbling the ball so hard when faced with them.

Ask him his name! Perdita yelled. No, that’d be forward of me, Agnes thought. Perdita screamed, You were built forward, you stupid lump—

I am certain many reading this will empathize. I certainly do.

But all too quickly the plot of the vampires is revealed and they begin using their vampire hypnosis to control the town. All while Perdita is screaming rebellion and demanding they be given garlic enemas.

Perdita is unimpacted by the mind control. What's worse is that the vampires can read minds and can tell there's something odd about Agnes but not quite what.

Ur…” She stopped it turning into a giggle. “Not really. Not very well…” Didn’t you listen to what they were saying? They’re vampires! “Shut up,” she said aloud. “I beg your pardon?” said Vlad, looking puzzled. “And they’re…well, they’re not a very good orchestra…” Didn’t you pay any attention to what they were saying at all, you useless lump? “They’re a very bad orchestra,” said Vlad. “Well, the King only bought the instruments last month and basically they’re trying to learn together—” Chop his head off! Give him a garlic enema! “Are you all right? You really know there are no vampires here, don’t you…” He’s controlling you! Perdita screamed. They’re… affecting people! “I’m a bit… faint from all the excitement,” Agnes mumbled. “I think I’ll go home.” Some instinct at bone-marrow level made her add, “I’ll ask Nanny to go with me.” Vlad gave her an odd look, as if she wasn’t reacting in quite the right way. Then he smiled. Agnes noticed that he had very white teeth. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Miss Nitt,” he said. “There’s something so… inner about you.” That’s me! That’s me! He can’t work me out! Now let’s both get out of here! yelled Perdita.

Up until now Perdita has been a very internal experience for plurality, itself a rarity within fiction. Perdita never fronts in the entirety of Maskerade. She is a sharp and judgmental voice in the back of Agnes' head and shaped much like her repressed desires.

After escaping the clutches of vampire mind control and escaping from the dangerous circumstance Perdita yanks control of the body and outs herself to fellow witch Nanny Ogg, leading to the first time either Nitt or Dream have had to describe their situation to someone outside the body.

“It’s all right,” said Agnes. “It’s me again, Agnes Nitt, but…She’s here but… I’m sort of holding on. Yes! Yes! All right! All right, just shut up, will y— Look, it’s my body, you’re just a figment of my imagina—Okay! Okay! Perhaps it’s not quite so clear c—Let me just talk to Nanny, will you?” “Which one are you now?” said Nanny Ogg. “I’m still Agnes, of course.” She rolled her eyes up. “All right! I’m Agnes currently being advised by Perdita, who is also me. In a way. And I’m not too fat, thank you so very much!” “How many of you are there in there?” said Nanny. “What do you mean, ‘room for ten’?” shouted Agnes. “Shut up! Listen, Perdita says there were vampires at the party. The Magpyr family, she says. She can’t understand how we acted. They were putting a kind of…’fluence over everyone. Including me, which is why she was able to break thr—Yes, all right, I’m telling it, thank you!” “Why not her, then?” said Nanny. “Because she’s got a mind of her own! […] Nanny rubbed her chin, torn between the vampiric revelation and prurient curiosity about Perdita. “How does Perdita work, then?” she said. Agnes sighed. “Look, you know the part of you that wants to do all the things you don’t dare do, and thinks the thoughts you don’t dare think?” Nanny’s face stayed blank. Agnes floundered. “Like…maybe…rip off all your clothes and run naked in the rain?” she hazarded. “Oh yes. Right,” said Nanny. “Well…I suppose Perdita is that part of me.” “Really? I’ve always been that part of me,” said Nanny. “The important thing is to remember where you left your clothes.”

This is the compassion in Pratchett's writing I'd mentioned. In this story Perdita is revealed to be part of Agnes and though Nanny Ogg is confused and a little ignorant of the whole affair, going as far as to yell "is she treating you alright in there?" into Perdita's ear, she is caring and understanding. In Maskerade Nanny was the one person in Lancre who accepted Agnes changing her name to Perdita, reasoning that "people ought to call themselves what they want."

In approaching the abnormal circumstance with compassion in the fiction it helps those reading get a broader and better understanding of how to be kind and treat those impacted in real life.

Also, as a side note, Agnes yelling at Nanny while "currently advised by Perdita" may not be an overt piece of representation but there is a concept called Blending within plurality. It's not mentioned in textbooks I've read but is often discussed in support communities. At times when two parts are co-conscious in front their traits will become a little blended.

In a way parts of a dissociative system are simply a way of storing traits necessary to function but dividing them to prevent emotional harm and damage or to maintain a form of continuity of self. To give an example we were ejected by our caregivers and internalized it as our own fault for being undesirable so part of us cannot fathom doing anything which would make us disposable and unlikable but our circumstances required becoming cold and focused for survival and so the sweet kind and lovable empathy driven part and the cold and angry survival part are kept in separate boxes. Likewise we have trauma related to eroticism but there is still an attraction to such material within us and so in order to function I handle that aspect of our life and shelter the others from being impacted. At first due to heavy dissociation and denial and these days due to practice in therapy allowing us to let parts "opt out" and retreat inwards when they do not want to be involved in what is happening with the body.

In a way blended parts are closer to what a person would be like if they were singlet, though blurring does not often involve the entire system if there are more than 2 parts.

And though I say 'closer', I do not mean entirely as typically when blended people are in an activated state. In the above case where Perdita and Nanny had triggered Agnes' frustrations about her weight being bullied, she was unable to control the emotion of her reaction.

We refer to such days when we are blended and incapable of controlling our emotional reactions as "thin skinned days". They were more common prior to diagnosis.

As the story continues the pair need to see-saw their consciousness to avoid vampire mind control and we are treated to moments of Agnes being the "invisible passenger" in the situation, going as far to show her ability to focus attention on reading is not as sharp as Agnes'. Something I can assure you is quite true within parts of a dissociative system. Goodness knows Cammie would never have the patience to do the reading and typing necessary for these essays.

The story continues on and though there are moments of casual misunderstanding which are a par for the course in such tales, such as Nanny telling Perdita to "give Agnes her body back, you know it's hers really--" before knocking her out to ensure Agnes has control. They throw out lines like:

“Yes, that’s Agnes,” she said, standing back. “Her face goes sharper when it’s the other one. See? I told you she’d be the one that came back. She’s got more practice.”

And let me say, when someone knows you and loves you enough to recognize a part by the way they wear their face alone, it's something. I am simply incapable of reading a moment like that and not breaking into a smile and thinking of the many times our long distance love has tried to explain how she can just tell without a word when we have switched.

But as always. Pratchett leads with compassion. Where Nanny Ogg says that she thinks people should be called what they want to be called in Maskerade, regarding Agnes' wish to be called Perdita (not Perditax), it is Granny Weatherwax the beating heart and soul of the Discworld who says it best

Ah...one mind, split in half. There were more Agneses in the world than Agnes dreamed of, Granny told herself. All the girl had done was to give the thing a name, and once you give the thing a name you give it life...

Once you give a thing a name, you give it life.

That is compassion. To not fully understand something and how it forms and how it presents, but to respect it all the same. To know it has a form and should be treated as real because by virtue of being named it is real.

That is what so much of Pratchett's work is focused on. The humanity of seeing others as they wish to be and respecting them. It's such a low bar to clear in our world and yet sometimes it really does need to be emphasized.

Typically when Granny says something it's from the perspective of age and wisdom. It may not always be without bias but it is with a weight of knowledge and respect.

The final book in the series contents with Sir Pratchett's knowledge of his own death. He knew for years. He even did a documentary on medical aid in dying. He poured it all into depicting a tale that includes Granny's death.

The works of Terry Pratchett have long been a companion in our life. We've been reading them our entire life. To this day we have refused to read beyond Granny's death scene in Shepherd's Crown. We broke down crying when we saw the "I ATE'NT DEAD" call back. We couldn't pick up the book again after that.

It's too difficult to think that one of the voices that taught us morality is gone from this world. Our tag for Discworld is GNU Terry Pratchett. As long as the name is spoken he is never really gone.

As long as Shepherds Crown still has pages yet unread, the book series isn't really over.

-

For more of my essays on positive DID representation in media, please check out my Media, Myself and I tag.

[melis-writes]

The Other Woman [Michael Corleone x Reader Multichapter, 18+ Smut] Chapter 6 – Star-crossed.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 5 / Chapter Masterlist / Fanfic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

"They’re the Corleones. Their name, reputation, image? Yeah, they make that shine at those galas, and they do it well—let me tell you that.” / “This is my gala, my hotel. It belongs to me, and now… so do you.”

Invited to your first, formal social outing with the Corleones, you travel to Las Vegas with the family--meeting Fredo, Deanna and experiencing the luxuries of one of the many resort-casinos the Corleones own. It's at the banquet that you come across unwanted guests, somehow tied to the Corleone family and very much your own that bring a terrifying revelation to you, now questioning how the Corleone family you know could have criminal ties. Under Michael's protection and reassurance, you find that to not be your only surprise for tonight, claimed by your darkest fantasy, Michael's neediness and his demand to have you all to himself tonight behind his family's back for the first time.

[WARNINGS]: Loss of virginity, oral sex, vaginal sex, heavy touching/fondling, cheating/affairs.

[CHAPTER REQUESTS]: Michael getting jealous of Marina / Michael and Marina share an intimate moment gazing into each other's eyes @nomorekerkanymor / Soft Michael putting jewelry on Marina / Michael calling Marina pet names / A man puts moves on Marina before Michael confesses his desires to her and Michael gives Marina a subtle, possessive claiming lecture in his office.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The 6th chapter of The Other Woman is FINALLY here!! 🙂‍↕️😋 After such a long hiatus which was the result of an everchanging, busy life schedule and a lot of writer's block, I promised and I delivered! 44 pages or 18.6k words and the delicious, hot and heavy, scandalous first sex scene to top it all of finally in here to break the ice and that sexual tension I built up between Michael and Marina for so long. 🥵 Beyond thrilled to share this chapter with you guys as things are definitely changing in The Other Woman and going to get even more dramatic and smut filled!

Hired by the Corleone family as a governess, you relocate to the Lake Tahoe family compound, looking forward to your future in Nevada until you meet your employer—Michael Corleone. Your future is then ensnared only in lust and forbidden love for Michael since the beginning, and you find yourself yearning for a married man you can never have. Desire and passion clash with one another as Michael takes you to be his mistress—only having an exclusive sexual relationship with you while his sex life with Kay dies out. Knowing from the beginning you’ll never truly be with Michael and that your place in his life is worlds apart from Kay’s as the other woman, the love you have for him consumes you until it threatens to burn out everything you’ve ever had with Michael.

Lake Tahoe Compound.

Standing just shy of the morning sunlight shining through the bedroom window, Michael Corleone’s eyes are fixated out on the compound as his fingers work to tie a silk, black tie; having changed into his Diupiani grey, silk suit after breakfast with everyone in the courtyard of his and Kay’s estate.

The remainder of this Friday morning will be dedicated to everyone preparing for the gala in Las Vegas tonight until the return to Lake Tahoe on Saturday afternoon.

Michael has no particular feelings about the gala; only that he anticipates nothing but business and the opportunity against his will to see many of his business colleagues get intoxicated and handsy with cocktail waitresses as Michael and Tom run their numbers and strictly remain on topics of work and business.

The gala is nothing but another obligation to Michael, and as one of the most influential men in Nevada, he has very few excuses to make for an absence.

Michael knows he might be more or less inclined to enjoy the evening so long as you and Kay do, but your presence there alone will keep things interesting enough for Michael. Perhaps seeing you—someone not obligated to bore themselves to death with fluffy, wealth-induced talks at galas—but there to enjoy the luxuries the evening has to offer will impact Michael’s perspective.

Nonetheless, the Corleone family—let alone Michael himself—has much to be proud of at the gala, as it’s been hosted in the very casino resort that used to belong to Moe Greene. Used to.

It remains the first casino resort Michael directly invested and sought ownership over and has been under Corleone control for seven years, thriving and flourishing as one of the biggest sources of revenue from hospitality to the Corleone family.

You’ve yet to truly see all the wealth and influence the Corleone family maintains, but it benefits you by giving you peace of mind as you know they aren’t blatant criminals like the mafia families you’ve previously worked for.

Part of Michael’s only true entertainment tonight at the gala may just be watching how your eyes light up when you enter the casino resort. Michael will have impressed you immensely just by that already and without even lifting his finger—something you’ll come to understand Michael Corleone does very often.

Just as you’ll be in Michael’s presence and line of sight at the gala tonight, you’re in his view now. Michael gazes at you from his bedroom window; his curtains pulled back just enough to gaze outside but guard his privacy and hide that his eyes are now fixated only on you.

Michael’s compound bodyguards and some buttonmen gather by the gazebo not far from you, smoking cigarettes over quiet conversation. Tom is over by the docks, teaching his son Frank how to play fetch with their dog, and yet from all the action occurring from his line of view, you’re all that Michael gazes upon.

You’re by the Corleone estate’s front lawn with little Mary, carrying a wicker basket filled with a variety of wilted or crushed flowers—caused by Tom’s dog by accident. You agreed to help Mary collect them to clean up the garden after breakfast, happily tagging along together with a basket almost filled to the brim with old flowers.

“Almost full,” you chuckle, giving the basket a little shake.

“Do you think we could keep them?” Mary peeks at you, smiling innocently at the basket of flowers in your hand. “We don’t have to throw them away, right?”

“No, of course not,” you reply with a smile, extending out the basket to Mary for a better look. “We can still keep them.”

“Hmm,” a frown crosses over Mary’s lips as she looks inside the basket to see the crushed petals mixing in with other wilted flowers.

“We can still make do,” you offer, “have you ever made jewelry with dried flower petals?”

“You can do that?” Mary’s eyes light up with sudden excitement, causing you to laugh.

“If we have all the tools we need, we can both do it together,” you nod at her, “lots to do with these pretty flowers, even if they’re wilted or crushed. See—” you gently scoop up some of the flowers with your hand, rubbing your thumb over the dried out petals. “They’re not so bad. We can even press them between books or make crafts with them—no worries at all.”

“Wow,” Mary giggles, giving a little excited jump. “Okay! I have more—”

Before Mary can continue, you both hear Esther’s voice calling out from the other end of the Corleone estate. “Mary! Your mother would like to see you!”

“Oh!” Mary turns around to the sound of Esther’s voice before glancing back at you.

“Go on,” you beckon, smiling warmly at her. “Gala today, maybe it’s packing time?”

“I think so,” Mary lets out a quiet giggle. “Okay, I’ll be back soon, Miss Marina! We need to keep those flowers safe!”

“I definitely will, you can trust me!” You wave her off, holding the basket close to your chest.

Nodding, Mary happily skips off back towards the other end of the estate, leaving you alone in Michael’s line of vision.

Observing your interaction with his daughter, Michael’s eyes now trail down your body from head to toe; focused on your lavender shirtwaist dress and black Mary-Jane shoes.

He watches as you take a half-crushed red rose from your flower basket and take in the scent of the flower still lingering and strong.

You glance up momentarily to see Tom’s dog sprinting at full speed after Frank—laughter erupting from over by the docs as you run your fingers through the damaged petals of the rose.

The softness of the petals strikes a brief thought eagerly wandering into your mind from last night’s session with yourself as to the thought of Michael’s hands running over your skin instead; treating you as delicately as you treat the petals—admiring you.

You picture Michael gently tilting your chin to face him, tracing the shape of your lips with his finger before caressing your cheek.

Michael’s free hand would run down from your collarbone to your hardened nipple before he’d rub it between his thumb, watching your eyes for a reaction and listening to a soft whimper exhale from you.

Still caressing over your jawline, Michael would lower his hand down to your inner thighs, scouring them and feeling your soft, warm skin against his hand.

You know Michael would much rather have you alone in his office; your one thigh propped up over his shoulder and his fingers toying with your wet slit more than anything else.

Michael hears Kay’s footsteps beginning to approach the bedroom but he doesn’t divert his attention off of you until he hears Kay’s voice speaking to him.

“The children are almost ready to go,” Kay exhales, seemingly out of breath but in a rather cheerful mood.

Michael tightens his tie, nodding and turning around to face his wife. “How do you feel?” He slowly begins to approach her from behind as Kay sets an empty piece of luggage on the corner of their bed.

“Almost exhausted, almost.” Kay lets out a deep breath as Michael embraces her from behind.

“Almost,” Michael repeats.

“Mm,” Kay begins to blush at her husband’s touch, placing her hands over the top of Michael’s on her little baby bump. “But still excited more than anything. How on earth did you convince Connie to come along with us?” She glances over her shoulder back at Michael.

“You’d have a harder time convincing Mama more than Connie now,” Michael replies.

“Oh, true,” Kay lets out a soft laugh as Michael pecks a kiss over her cheek.

“Looking forward to it?” He asks.

“I definitely am,” Kay beams back, “and Marina’s coming along too. It’ll be something new for everyone and especially for her to look forward to.”

“Mhmm,” Michael’s eyes find the window again, noticing you beginning to walk off back to your lodgings and out of his sight.

“And speaking of,” Kay pushes a curtain of her hair behind her ear. “It was really sweet of you to invite Marina to the gala with us.”

Michael doesn’t reply back, only giving the side of Kay’s neck a gentle kiss before pulling away.

“I think she’ll slowly start getting used to them,” Kay continues.

This implies to Michael that Kay expects you to accompany the rest of the family to every social gathering and gala that you can possibly come to going forward, and Michael thinks the exact same thing.

“She might even have fun,” Kay chuckles, beginning to open up her luggage. “That poor girl.”

Michael furrows his brows, not on par with Kay’s comment.

“She’s not helpless,” he comments, moving towards his night table to grab his glass of water. “She simply isn’t used to it.”

“You’re right,” Kay nods, rethinking her words. “And you think so?”

Michael nods back, raising his water glass to his lips. “You can take tonight to get to know her better as well.

“You’re right about that,” Kay turns to face her husband, watching Michael take a long sip of his water. “We’ll see.”

 Stepping back into the estate lodgings you share with Esther, you let out a soft breath and take in the peace and quiet from inside, knowing of course Esther is all too busy running around to get the children ready for the gala before she can come in and get herself ready to go too.

Having always been a proactive packer, you already have all your belongings and everything together in your luggage and start packing from the moment you were told you’d be joining the Corleones at the gala.

You’ve been adding more or taking out things as you need, but now all that’s left is to haul your luggage back outside to let Michael’s men take care of putting it in the trunk of a secure car with the rest of everyone else’s belongings.

Heading upstairs to your bedroom, you grab your suitcase placed in the corner of your room and carefully move it from leaning against the wall; using the handle to avoid the bulky heaviness as you begin to take it out into the hallway.

Just before you leave your bedroom, you take a final glance back and towards your closet door that remains ajar; more than halfway filled now with dresses, blouses, skirts, and undergarments. It wasn’t like that when you first moved into the Lake Tahoe compound and brings a sense of ease and deep appreciation for your living situation now.

Before, you must have owned about ten outfits in total with three pairs of shoes, but the paycheques the Corleone family writes for you have been nothing less than generous, and you’ve gained the financial freedom for the first time in your life to be able to buy yourself something nice without worrying about making ends meet or being racked with guilt for spoiling yourself.

‘Something to get used to,’ you smile to yourself before continuing to head downstairs to the front door. ‘All of this…’

Getting used to things also means getting used to galas and the most lavish social gatherings you know a family as prestigious and influential as the Corleones would get invited to, but you don’t know for sure if you are or aren’t an enthusiast or social butterfly if you’ve never attended one before.

For your sake, you hope that you open up more to these events and learn from them—truly be a part of the Corleone family, coming off inconspicuous as nobody would truly know the real reason why you’d want to accompany them all the time.

“Miss Alighieri,” you hear a familiar, male voice as soon as you step out of your residence’s door with your luggage in hand.

Almost startled and caught off guard, you pinpoint the voice to be one of Michael’s men—peeking up in surprise.

You look up to see Ritchie Nobilio, only remembering his first name not so much through small talk or minor interactions with him yourself but through other men referring to him as such.

You’ve personally seen Ritchie come and go through all parts of the compound as far as your eye can see, and you know he’s responsible for keeping Corleone family employees like you and Esther safe and secure on and around the compound.

“Oh, hi—” You’re surprised to see just how quick but gentle Ritchie snags your luggage out of your hands.

“Don’t trouble yourself with that,” Ritchie flashes you a charming smile. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” you smile back, adjusting your posture.

“No problem,” gripping your luggage, Ritchie begins to head down the porch with you following behind him. “Almost ready to go?”

“I suppose so,” you glance back at your residence’s shut front door.

“First time?” Ritchie looks at you, waiting for you to catch up with him.

You follow Ritchie side by side at an appropriate distance, continuing to head down to the center of the compound with him.

“Ya know,” Ritchie continues, “with fancy galas and all that.”

“First time,” you nod, “have you ever been to one?”

“Me?” Ritchie chuckles, “Sure being security outside and taking a little peek inside sometimes counts. I don’t think it’s my thing. I like what I do—don’t get me wrong—but that’s a little bit too much. There’s a good reason why though.”

“Yeah?” You raise a brow, your curiosity rising. “Why is that?”

“They’re the Corleones,” Ritchie shrugs his shoulder, “their name, reputation, image? Yeah, they make that shine at those galas, and they do it well—let me tell you that.”

As you continue your conversation with Ritchie down to the main estates of the compound, Michael and Kay step out of their estate with Anthony and Mary scuttling by their side.

Michael directs Rocco as to which vehicle will store their luggage, and Kay gently reminds the children to be on their best behavior and use their indoor voices when speaking at the gala and on the way there.

“Keep it secure,” Michael tells Rocco sternly.

“Will do, Don Corleone,” Rocco locks up the back trunk of the Cadillac.

Kay smoothens out her dress, smiling at Michael whose eyes suddenly find you and Ritchie as the two of you begin to approach closer.

Momentarily stunned again, you’re flustered by a powerful urging attraction to Michael and desperately attempt to ignore it and remain polite while listening to what Ritchie has to say.

“If you don’t know how to dance, you’ll learn right quick,” Ritchie lets out a laugh, unaware as to how sternly Michael’s watching the two of you interacting with each other.

“I’m in for a treat then,” you giggle, diverting your attention back to Ritchie.

“You’ll wow them, no worries,” Ritchie gives you a playful wink—only surging a strike of jealousy through Michael.

“Think we’ll head to the airport in half an hour or so?” Kay asks Michael, but neither his gaze nor body language changes.

“Longer,” Michael replies, keeping his eye on you.

“Like this, maybe?” Ritchie spins around with your luggage in hand, showing off a few silly and uncoordinated dance moves that make you burst out in laughter. “Maybe this is all I picked up, but I could do a good waltz maybe!”

“Maybe?” Laughing, you genuinely find Ritchie’s actions before you hilarious.

It’s nice for you to be able to grow comfortable with Michael’s men who are responsible for employee safety and security, seeing them as much more friendly and easygoing than you originally thought.

In the moment, you’re too distracted by Ritchie to glance back at Michael, but he most definitely is not.

“See—like that!” Ritchie gently takes your hand, twirling you around with him.

With the sound of the other vehicles slowly pulling in from outside of the compound and Tom’s children screeching around chasing each other in a game of tag just across, Kay can’t hear nor does she look over in your line of sight with Ritchie like Michael does.

“Longer?” Kay asks Michael, confused.

Michael nods back, staying put but refusing to call out your name or Ritchie’s for the time being; after all, Kay’s standing right next to him.

“I have other matters to attend to before we leave,” Michael continues.

All Michael wants right now is your immediate attention, and he intends to have it one way or another.

“Oh, okay…” Kay blinks, unable to make sense of Michael’s contradiction for the travel time. “What for?”

“Just business, Kay.”

“Yep, yep,” Ritchie grins at you as he begins to pack away your luggage in the next Cadillac. “Now we got all your stuff packed in and you got to see me embarrass myself with my dancing. Pretty solid, isn’t it?”

“Right,” you giggle back, “well, thank you for that.”

“Of course,” Ritchie nods back happily. “I won’t be tagging along this time, but I still hope you, Esther, and the others enjoy yourselves in Las Vegas.”

It’s then that Michael suddenly moves from where he stands with Kay, almost as if he’s going towards his Cadillac but as you look up to the sound of footsteps growing near, your eyes widen to see that it looks like Michael’s moving directly towards you.

Your heart immediately begins to race in your chest—a hot, rosy blush spreading over your cheeks as Michael gets closer to you, but he moves to simply walk by your side instead of approaching you directly.

You gaze back at Michael with uncertainty and expectation as if he’ll speak to you, but you remain reluctant to greet him or say anything—only standing there in a blushing panic.

Michael neither stops to speak with you nor does he completely walk past without a word, but you hear him speak to you in a stern yet calm voice just as he walks by, saying, “See me in my office.”

At a loss for words, you blink and turn around to watch Michael head toward his estate without another word or glance in your direction.

Blushing furiously, you pull a curtain of your hair behind your ear and look around to see everyone preoccupied with packing and speaking with Rocco as to which vehicles will transport who to have witnessed your brief interaction with Michael.

You know you’ll all be heading out soon to the airport and you waste no time walking towards the main estate, believing whatever it is that Michael needs to speak to you about, it must be urgent; perhaps a last-minute talk about what to expect at the gala before you go.

‘Seeing Michael again…’  You obediently follow into the main estate with no hesitation, noting how utterly quiet it’s become except for the grandfather clock in the foyer.

You move towards Michael’s office, only able to hear very faint footsteps coming from inside before it goes completely silent, only reminding you once again just how soundproof it truly is in Michael’s office.

You place your hand over the doorknob of Michael’s office door and gently twist, entering the office quietly and shutting the door behind you right away.

Michael remains across from you in the office, standing in front of his desk by the coffee table—sipping a glass of water.

Michael’s eyes immediately find yours as he lowers his glass of water; expectation rising in his gaze.

“You asked to see me?” Already flustered and embarrassed, you speak out in a soft tone.

Michael says nothing, continuing to stare at you, watching how your rosy cheeks intensify with blush. His eyes flicker to the detailing of your shirtwaist dress over your chest before he meets your eyes again, “have a seat.”

Nodding, you take a seat in the same leather armchair you sat in when you met Michael formally for the first time; all the memories begin to trickle back into your mind again.

You discreetly clench your legs and sit politely, hands clasped on your lap as you watch Michael set his glass of water down on his office table; his Italian silk suit jacket hugging every muscle and shape of his figure with each movement he makes—turning you on more than you want to admit.

“How do you feel?” Michael suddenly asks you, catching you off guard.

You blink, watching as Michael turns to face you—resting both of his hands on the edges of his office table.

You think to yourself the question he just asked must be about how you feel about the gala, not you personally.

Blushing at Michael’s direct gaze and attention over you, you give a small nod. “I’m excited for the gala. A little nervous, but excited and grateful to be attending.”

“Good,” Michael reaches one hand over to the far corner of his office desk—his eyes still over yours—as he reaches for his cigarette pack, taking one cigarette out of it.

You swallow hard, watching Michael’s slim fingers wrap around the cigarette as he pulls it out of the pack. You know you’ve had far too many nights where you’ve fallen asleep after fingering yourself from one orgasm to the next—imagining those same slim fingers pumping in and out of you until your juices flowed down your thighs.

Michael takes his lighter out from his suit’s front breast pocket before speaking further with you. “I trust you find the security at the compound satisfactory.”

“Um, yes.”

Michael raises his cigarette to his lips before pausing, seemingly unimpressed by your answer. “I’m not interviewing you, Marina. I’m only asking.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, watching Michael slip his cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “Right, sorry.”

“You seemed much more carefree outside,” Michael lights his cigarette, staring back at you. “Nobilio is treating you kindly?”

“Oh, yes,” you answer, “yes, he is. It’s nice of him. I think he interacts with Esther and—”

“That’s his job,” Michael takes a long first drag out of his cigarette. “He’s known for that.” Michael blows out the smoke of his cigarette away from you, slowly beginning to walk behind your seat.

You freeze, taking in the scent of Michael’s cologne mixing in with the cigarette smoke as Michael places one hand on the back of your seat—mere inches from your shoulder. “But you can see how I find that highly inappropriate, don’t you?”

“On his behalf?” You ask, quietly.

Michael moves his hand back, coming around to sit in the leather armchair directly across from you. “You think it would be inappropriate on your behalf?” He answers your question with another question. “It’s simply inappropriate. It’s not acceptable.”

‘Is he…?’ Stunned, you can’t quite figure out why Michael feels so strongly about your interaction with Ritchie outside, but you do remember how vocal and even silly both you and Ritchie must have been acting out in the middle of the compound and that it might just have come off the wrong way.

You’re in no position at the moment to assume it might just be jealousy on Michael’s behalf.

You nod at Michael slowly with a frown. “I’m sorry.”

Michael’s gaze softens as he takes his cigarette out of his mouth. “You don’t have to apologize to me, Marina.” He rises from his seat, beginning to approach you directly.

Your breath hitches as you look up at Michael and force yourself to maintain eye contact despite having your face leveled only a few inches away from his crotch.

“I don’t want to repeat myself,” Michael continues, his tone of voice soft and husky but affirmative in how he lectures you. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“I don’t want you near Nobilio. I don’t want you near any of those men like that,” Michael states. “You are my governess, not their friend and you will remain by my side when I ask you to.”

“I…” Blushing furiously and unable to avoid the feverish tension building between the both of you, you nod back almost too willingly. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

‘What?’ Your eyes widen at his response, face flushing scarlet as you’re too shocked to even react to his words but Michael wastes no time in dismissing you, already having turned around and making his way over to the office door.

“Get yourself ready for the gala. We’re leaving now.”

It isn’t the first time nor will it be the last time you’ll exit from Michael’s office with a wet patch growing in your panties and a quiver running down your thighs—begging for Michael’s touch.

What that man does to you is beyond anything you can think of and all your rationality flies out the window in his presence alone.

He just had you here in his office moments ago, subtlety lecturing you as if you were his and his only, and all you did was agree readily. Yes, just like that.

You’ve no desire to be close to or interact personally with Ritchie Nobilio again if that’s what Michael wants, and yet you picked up on the sound in the tone of Michael’s voice and that look in his hazel eyes that were filled with a kind of concern and care—not out of worry for your safety but for something else.

‘To be close to him…’

Stunned and getting more and more aroused, you force yourself back into reality; getting ready to leave with the others as you remain quiet amongst the family.

With everything packed and all vehicles secured, lining up near the gates of the compound, you’re seated in the Cadillac with Esther only, seeing Sandra, her kids, and Mama Corleone in another and Tom, Theresa, and their children in another, leaving Michael, Kay, Mary and Anthony in their vehicle—the most protected.

The rest of Michael’s men and bodyguards drive close, following behind and leading ahead as all of the vehicles exit the compound.

You glance out the back windshield of the car, watching as the compound’s gates close shut; Michael’s men immediately secure the perimeters and keep watch until your vehicles drive away from their line of vision.

You have to admit, it helps not to be around Michael’s immediate presence, but you’re still too disenchanted to take anything else in.

All your mind runs through are thoughts of being next to Michael again; his dark eyes burning into you—calling you “good girl”. Did you just imagine that?

It’s not like you can make small talk with Esther now in the car to get Michael off your mind, seeing how Esther’s peacefully dozed off to catch up on her sleep after chasing the children around all morning.

Like a curse and a blessing at the same time, you have more than enough time to let your lewd thoughts of Michael get to you before you reach his commissioned private jet at the airport.

You take a deep breath and redirect your attention to gazing out of the car window, watching the scenery of Lake Tahoe rush past you.

One way or another, you’re excited to attend this gala even if all you’re doing is teasing yourself with thoughts of Michael. It’s an excuse for you to be by his side like he wants you to, like a good girl.

~

Just as you expected throughout the car ride to the Corleone family’s private jet at the airport, you’re far from the public eye in the airport and near twice as much security; barely catching more than a glance of him as Michael is the first to board his jet.

Rocco speaks to the pilot just by the entrance to the private jet and Al Neri follows the Corleone family close from behind, ensuring Kay, Mary, and Anthony board safely in front of him.

Michael’s buttonmen begin to load the private jet with everyone’s luggage and belongings from the trunks of the Cadillacs—including yours before you’re even aware of it—as you realize you’re standing next to Esther in silence, distracted by everything and everyone around you at this moment.

Esther gives you a small smile, aware of how pleasantly taken back you are from the scenery of Michael’s private jet alone from your wide eyes dazzling from surprise, let alone at the fact you’ve come to realize Michael owns a private jet.

‘Of course he does.’ You blink, noticing Esther gently nudging you.

“Come on, honey,” Esther gestures to you to line up with her to begin to enter the jet.

Snapping back to reality, you smile and nod back at Esther as you follow in behind her quietly.

‘What does Michael Corleone not have?’ You find yourself wondering yet again as you step into the private jet; a much bigger, more luxurious, and spacious layout than you could have imagined it’d be.

Three flight attendants stand before you, smiling and politely welcoming you and Esther on board, but you can already tell just by the way they look at you and their formal body language that they know you’re new and can expect to see you board more often; it’s almost flattering.

“This way, please,” one of the flight attendants gestures to the right as you notice the two-way split; the left side contains a more private, luxurious side you assume is for Michael and Kay.

Following through the right side, you spot Tom, Theresa, and their children seated in their luxurious reclining seats; a lush burgundy carpet underneath them and throughout the private jet, soft air conditioning blowing throughout and curtains to draw back over each seating section for privacy.

“Wow,” you find yourself murmuring under your breath as your eyes find two seats reserved with Esther and your name over a small embossed card.

Esther chuckles at your reaction, taking her seat next to you. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? I can never quite get used to it all.”

“I’m right there with you,” you blink, shifting comfortably in your seat.

“Personally,” Esther begins, folding her name card in half, “I don’t think Mr. Corleone would have us travel any other way. Only private.”

“Always?” You do the same with your name card, putting it into your purse.

“Without a doubt,” Esther nods, buckling herself in. “Believe me, I don’t think the Corleones believe in straying away from the lap of luxury.”

You glance down at your seatbelt, remembering how to put it on securely from how Tom showed you during your flight to Nevada.

“That’s what it’s all about,” Esther’s eyes meet with yours as you rest your back against your seat.

You give her a warm smile back, letting the words linger in the back of your mind. ‘That’s what all of this is about…’

~~~

The private jet takes off smoothly no sooner than ten minutes later, leaving you with some thoughtful time to relax and take in the peace and quiet; all the world of a difference from being on a public flight.

It’s another twenty minutes before it’s announced that the private jet has reached an altitude of 30,000 feet; the rest of your hour and thirty-minute flight awaiting to pass as a light meal service begins.

“I’m almost excited for you in a way,” Esther giggles, redirecting your attention from the dining carts the flight attendants begin to push through. “The first time truly experiencing the extent of Corleone hospitality is something else, I’ll tell you that.”

“Oh, gosh,” you feel flustered with the swift, luxury service in front of you within minutes, thanking the flight attendant who begins to pour Esther and you a glass of French champagne and set a porcelain platter of a small selection of desserts. 

“Ooh, thank you so much,” Esther gleefully pulls her plate closer.

“Thank you,” your eyes widen at the colorful little macarons placed on your platter next to a piece of pistachio cannoli and a slice of tiramisu.

“The gala is going to be everything,” Esther whispers to you with heavy emphasis, raising her champagne glass. “How about that?”

“I’ll drink to that then,” you laugh with her, clinking your glass with Esther’s.

“Cheers, honey,” Esther takes a small sip of her champagne.

You and Esther make for soft conversation throughout the flight over champagne and sweets; topics ranging from your interest in education, Esther’s childhood, working with children and everything in between as an hour and a half passes by easily.

There’s no rush to eye for your luggage or rise from your seat when the private jet lands, as it’s smooth and gradual without any rush or gate to reach.

Now more than anything, you want to know and experience exactly all that Esther’s been telling you about when it comes to social gatherings, galas, and celebrations with the Corleones, and something tells you Michael intends to prove the fullest extent of his family’s hospitality to you time and time again.

~~~

Any nerves or uneasiness you had about all of what Las Vegas has to offer you for this gala has gradually eased off of you completely, and all you can do is thank Esther for it and all that she’s told you to expect and the reassurance she’s given you to also relax and enjoy yourself at these kinds of events.

You return the smile Esther gives you as both of you begin to exit the private jet; you can’t help but realize just how close the two of you have already gotten and will continue to get.

You like Esther, you enjoy the conversations you have with her even if it’s small talk and you love how her presence is easygoing and carefree.

Esther’s gentle and patient and there’s no doubt in your mind she’s a phenomenal nanny to the Corleones and has been for many years.

You follow Esther and the others to where Michael’s bodyguards stand by and gesture to several parked, black Cadillacs for the final drive to the gala.

As your eyes dart around to the other vehicles, you swear to yourself for a moment there you can make out Michael’s silhouette in the back seat of one of the vehicles, but Kay and the children are nowhere to be seen.

“When it comes to traveling—” Esther speaks up,  getting into one of the assigned vehicles with you, “if Mr. and Mrs. Corleone wish to bring the children along, I’m always there. Wherever the children are, they’re my first priority. You may think the same, but—” Esther shifts in her seat, clicking on her seatbelt as the vehicle doors shut and you get inside with her. “Your situation is a little different?”

“How so?” You ask, a little flustered.

“You’re a teacher, it’s different,” Esther gives your hand a gentle pat. “Mr. and Mrs. Corleone may want to spend more time with you regularly to understand the progress of their children’s education and behavior. They rarely ask me for much about that, but I don’t think that’ll be the case with you. I think Mrs. Corleone will want to spend a lot of time with you in general.”

“Oh, I see,” you nod back, pushing away the gnawing feeling inside of you that you’d much rather prefer merely standing in Michael’s presence all the time instead of spending one-on-one time with Kay.

‘I shouldn’t be thinking like this in the first place.’ You mentally scold yourself.

“Either way,” Esther interrupts your train of thought, “all is fine, isn’t it? Who would give up the opportunity to travel so often like this? I know I would take more of it if I could.”

All this can possibly mean for you is seeing Michael more, being with Michael more, and spending time with him you wouldn’t get as much or as easily on the Lake Tahoe compound like that—especially alone.

It’s only a brief twenty-minute ride from the airport to the gala and already leaves you mesmerized as you can hardly get your eyes off of the passing, dazzling streets of Las Vegas and everything it has to offer.

You’re only momentarily distracted once it comes to your attention that half of the vehicles take a separate route, leaving the rest of you; a reaction which Esther easily picks up on as you notice Sandra, Tom, and Theresa, and Michael and Kay take an alternative route.

“Security measures, you know?”

“Oh, always?” You glance back at Esther.

“Mostly,” she nods back at you. “It’s almost solely reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Corleone. Only their bodyguard knows what routes they’ll be taking.”

‘Interesting…’

Regardless of the alternative route taken, all of the Corleone family vehicles arrive at the guarded, private entrance of the gala only mere seconds apart from one another.

The front of the Tropigala’s grandiose nature stands out before you as you notice how heavily guarded and gated the VIP entrance is, making it more than apparent it’s only an entrance for the Corleone family alone.

The Tropigala itself is unlike any size building you’ve ever seen before back in New York; simply massive and boasts over thirty acres of space with over 130,000 square feet.

The Tropigala is not merely just a four-star resort but boasts a vast casino as a part of its well-known amenities and with the sun setting on the Vegas horizon, the flashing and flickering lights of the casino and resort shine together—coming at a sparkle from every angle.

The twinkling lights reflect back in your eyes as your vehicles come to a slow halt towards the private entrance, and you can just make out Michael’s vehicle at the front—surrounded by more security coming towards it than anyone else.

As your vehicle parks, the doors are opened for you and Esther by a bodyguard who gives you two a small, polite smile but otherwise remains quiet.

You mumble a soft “thank you” as you step out first, followed by Esther as Michael’s men move to take out the luggage from each vehicle’s trunk next.

You hear familiar giggling ahead only to look up and see Mary gazing up in sheer wonder at the size of the Tropigala, holding Kay’s hand.

Anthony cracks a smile, remaining quiet next to his family and your eyes are far too quick to dart up to Michael who stands next to Kay, adjusting his silk tie and speaking with a few bodyguards near him.

Your view of Michael remains to be only from behind for now, but it’s more than enough for you. Once again, you feel a strike of arousal rush through you—pulling you into a haze of distraction.

It isn’t until Michael begins to turn around moments later that you realize he’s asking, “Where is Marina?”

Blushing furiously at the sound of Michael saying your name, you glance back up at him and notice an immediate look of satisfaction settling in his hazel eyes.

“Come here,” he gestures to you to stand by his side.

Doing what you’re told, your eyes peek at Kay who appears distracted with Anthony and Mary; having kneeled down to their height and calmly explaining to them what rules and behaviors she expects at the gala.

Michael gestures to his bodyguard without taking his eyes off of you; the bodyguard immediately takes your side protectively.

“Miss Aligheri,” the bodyguard speaks to you directly. “Per Mr. Corleone’s request, your room has been changed. I am to escort you inside with the others.”

“Oh?” You glance back at Michael for confirmation but see his attention with his other bodyguards. “Oh, alright.” Stunned, you don’t feel the need to ask the how and whys of a room change at this hour.

The bodyguard remains by your side but turns to face the front of the entrance as the doors begin to slowly open.

Once you, Esther, and the others begin to move in, you notice Michael remaining back for just a few moments longer until you move just slightly past him.

“Don’t leave your room until I tell you to.”

Your eyes snap open in surprise as arousal courses through your muscles; you force yourself to avoid Michael’s gaze and only give him a nod back in response.

‘Oh my God.’

Once you sense Michael’s presence moving further toward the entrance of the Tropigala, you quickly look in his direction.

Just as Michael, the children, and Kay are about to be the first ones to enter the Tropigala, you see the look of glee spread over Kay’s face; her eyes fawning at Michael with excitement.

Upon first entrance, Kay leans up towards Michael on the tips of her toes, gently tilts Michael’s face with one hand, and kisses his lips passionately.

In the split second, you witness the deep kiss between Kay and Michael, a deep strike of jealousy rushes through your chest and intensifies through queasiness in the pit of your stomach.

You immediately turn your head away in response, feeling the tips of your ears and the back of your neck prickle with jealousy.

‘Okay…’ Letting out a soft, shaky breath, you continue to follow the bodyguard into the private lobby of the Tropigala as he escorts you and your luggage to your newly assigned suite.

‘Don’t leave the room until I tell you to…’ Dazed and in a mix of confusion and jealousy, you only take a glance behind you to see other bodyguards leading the rest of the family through different turns down the private lobby and other elevators.

“All on the same floor,” you hear Tom say to Theresa as they enter the same elevator with you and another bodyguard, relieving you.

‘It makes sense,’ you think to yourself, returning the polite smile Tom and Theresa give you.

You can’t spot Michael, Kay, or the children around you but with how your emotions have suddenly spiked up and feel jumbled in your chest, it’s for the best you try not to find them right now.

Three grand elevators fit to carry fifteen people comfortably take everyone up into the private suites of the Tropigala and once you all reach the same floor, you can hear soft chatter coming from the others; lost in conversation about the scheduling of events at the gala or some form of entertainment.

“There’ll be more than enough time to get ready,” you hear Sandra say to Theresa. “I’m not stepping foot downstairs until I have both my hair and makeup done—no chance.”

“Right,” Tom chuckles back. “I trust Theresa with it.”

“Room 20M, miss,” the bodyguard speaks out to you, gesturing down another hallway.

Nodding, you follow the bodyguard down an isolated hallway, realizing that the others have gone down the same corridor on the opposite side of the building.

There isn’t so much as another glance or comment towards your path of direction, and it causes you further confusion as you and the bodyguard near the end of the hallway see only one suite door.

“What is this?” You ask, blinking.

The bodyguard pauses for a moment, glancing at you. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he was unaware nobody had given you any specifics on the room aside from the fact it’s been changed last second.

“This is a presidential suite, miss,” the bodyguard answers. “Mr. Corleone had it arranged for you.”

‘Oh.’  Your heart skips a beat in your chest. ‘Of course…he…did.’

“I trust you will find luxurious and ample space,” the bodyguard continues, approaching the suite door and reaching into his suit pocket for the keys.

“Compared to the others?” You ask, watching the bodyguard begin to unlock the door.

“Second to Mr. and Mrs. Corleone’s.”

The bodyguard twists the doorknob and wedges his foot inside the ajar door before turning to hand you the key.

Taking it from his hands, you peek into the suite as the bodyguard keeps the door held wide for you to enter first as he takes your bags in after you.

For the sake of keeping yourself presentable near the bodyguard, you hold in every reaction you have inside of you towards the inside of what appears to be nothing short of a mansion within; much bigger than the entirety of your family home back in New York.

Marble floors lead throughout the suite with silver and gold renaissance-inspired fixtures complete with a full kitchen, three bedrooms down the hallway, and a master bedroom boasting the size of a living room to your right.

As you enter the suite, you notice the master bedroom’s French doors are both wide open, revealing a king-sized bed with a luxurious, baroque pattern duvet and six pillows propped up.

The glistening evening lights from around the Tropigala and the surrounding Las Vegas area twinkle through the balcony, giving a gorgeous view of the vicinity of the resort.

The décor throughout the suite has a vintage flair of the 1930s with fur rugs over the marble floors and a grand fireplace in both the main living space and the master bedroom.

Just as you turn around towards the door to thank your bodyguard for placing your luggage inside, you notice he’s already gone.

You let out a soft sigh of relief, shutting and locking the door behind you.

Feeling a sense of relaxation finally hit you after the trip, you move past your luggage and begin walking towards the kitchen.

On the countertop remains a large gift basket wrapped in clear plastic, revealing a bottle of white wine, champagne, and other various chocolates, sweets, and chocolate-covered fruits with a small letter affixed to the front of the gift basket reading “Marina” in cursive.

Blushing, you gently take the letter off of the gift basket and run your fingers over your handwritten name in the middle, admiring the neat and smooth cursive letters.

Opening the envelope, you take out a small piece of paper tucked inside that reads:

‘I intend to give you what you deserve and what you’ve wanted.

 I imagine the suite is to your liking.

 Welcome to the family, Marina.

-          Michael Corleone.’

As you hold the letter in your hands, re-reading it over again, you let out a soft gasp to hear the click of the door to your suite opening.

Presuming the bodyguard returned and is checking up on you, you move out of the kitchen and clutch the letter in your hands as you look over by the front door.

‘Michael.’

In an instant, your heart begins to thunder in your chest from attraction and arousal surging through you all at once—caught in utter surprise by his presence.

“Good evening, Marina,” Michael approaches, noticing the letter in your hand. “Are you satisfied with everything?”

You’re so flustered in the heat of the moment that you can barely find the words to speak back out to him, stunned and trying to take in the fact that Michael is with you alone in your suite.

‘Does anyone else know of this? Would I even want to tell?’

“It’s incredible,” you finally breathe out. “It’s more than anything I could have ever imagined, but—”

“But?” Michael interrupts, standing only a mere few inches from you with expectation in his eyes as if there’s a right or wrong answer to this.

“What have I done to deserve this?”  You ask, breathless.

“I don’t want you to ask me that question again,” Michael says, rigidly. “Don’t,” he continues, “ask questions to which you know the answers. You’re smarter than that.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply back obediently, taking yourself by surprise by your own response.

Michael appears content with your reaction. “Your parents raised a very intelligent, respectable, and ambitious woman. One would not have to get to know you very well to understand that, but I see the others you were around provided you nothing. You don’t need to deserve anything with me, Marina. You will simply have them.”

Michael’s eyes wander over the gift basket on the kitchen counter before back at you. “Perhaps you’re not quite fully comfortable with the hospitality and luxuries the Corleone family has to offer because you still believe you need to deserve these things. There is no such thing,” he locks eyes with you. “You won’t be deprived of or limited of anything.”

“I see,” you reply back quietly.

“And yet you’ve seen nothing.”

“Nothing?”  You blink back in shock.

“Come with me,” Michael gestures, beginning to make his way toward the master bedroom.

The idea of entering a private bedroom alone with Michael makes your knees quiver from arousal as you trail after him.

‘Just…. Follow. Don’t think, just follow him like he asked you to.’

From the angle that you saw the master bedroom wide open, you noticed nothing but the size of the bed and the spaciousness that awaited you.

Upon entering the room for the first time with Michael, your eyes fall upon the stunning, satin scarlet gown Michael had picked out for you, neatly laid out on the edge of the bed.

“This is…” You gasp, approaching the edge of the bed. “Absolutely beautiful, it’s…” You lean over and run your hands over the soft fabric before standing upright—completely frozen in a spot as you feel Michael’s chest against your back.

“Stay still, darling,” Michael murmurs, breathing against your neck.

‘Oh, God.’ Doing as he says, you squeeze your eyes shut and feel Michael brush a curtain of your hair aside from one side of your neck to the other, clasping a piece of jewelry to your neck.

It carries some weight, and as you open your eyes to see you notice it dangling in between your breasts; glistening diamonds, adorning your neck. You can already picture how you’ll look with the red gown on you after.

Michael clasps the necklace on you perfectly; his hands gentle, smooth, and soft against your hot, glowing skin.

You know by now you’d be nothing but a fool to assume Michael can’t clearly tell just how aroused you are by how warm your skin has gotten in reaction to his touch.

“There,” Michael says, pulling his hands away. “Your earrings are on your vanity table.”

You slowly turn around, not to move towards the vanity table to get the earrings or look at them, but rather to gaze up at Michael.

Both of you look directly into each other's eyes as you mouth out a breathless, “Thank you.”

Michael returns your thanks with a nod, continuing to gaze into your eyes with silence; no words, and no expectations.

His gaze devours yours, speaking more than words, upon each other the way two lovers would admire one another in silence.

“I want to be the first to see you downstairs at the gala when you arrive,” Michael breaks the silence.

You nod back, unable to speak.

“You’re beautiful,” Michael states, watching as your eyes widen from the compliment; your rosy cheeks flushing again with blush. “And I’m certain I won’t be the only one who thinks so tonight.”

‘I…’

Speechless, you watch as Michael takes a step back, beginning to move towards the doors of the master bedroom.

Every muscle in your body aches and craves for Michael more than ever; you wish so badly to yourself that he wouldn’t have to leave so that you two could just spend a moment longer alone, even though he has to.

‘I miss him already but he’s still here.’

“Take all the time you need,” Michael says, his back facing you. “But I’d rather not wait long.”

~~~

The next twenty minutes pass by like a haze as if you’re in a dream-like state as you begin to get ready for the night at your first gala.

The satin, red gown fits you like a glove; hugging every inch and curve of your body but flattering your skin with the soft, satin fabric.

The dress falls off your shoulders and gives a subtle but sexy peek of cleavage, not to mention drawing much more attention to your collarbones now that there’s a diamond necklace adorning it.

The five-inch black stilettos placed next to the foot of your bed are going to make a ravishing touch to show whenever you take a seat.

You spray a bit of perfume around your collarbones, the back of your neck, writs, and a little over your back as you finish up your look by letting your hair flow freely; slight loose curls finished up with some hair spray and product to hold it in place.

Wearing the matching diamond earrings from Michael, a matching bold, red lipstick, and a small, winged eyeliner with a subtle blended touch of smoky eyeshadow in the corner of your eye with two coats of mascara later, you’re finally ready.

You grab your sequin studded purse and sling it over your shoulder, tucking your suite keys inside before you exit.

Locking the door behind you, you take a peek around the hallway leading to the elevator and can't hear or spot anyone else nearby.

You take the elevator down to the main floor to a private foyer leading into the front banquet hall of the gala.

You can already hear the bustle and cheerful voices of chatter and music coming from the main hall and wonder where you’ll find the Corleones; no doubt at some visibly marked VIP tables.

From the moment you step out of the elevator, you face two sets of spiral staircases that twist around one another and lead up to the suite floors with Michael waiting in between them, gazing directly at you.

It seems Michael was momentarily distracted right up until the elevator doors opened, and a mesmerized look crossed his eyes at the sight of you; his eyes admiring your figure up to the diamonds over your neck and the pout of your lips.

“Miss Alighieri,” Michael greets you as you take a few steps out of the elevator.

“Michael,” you blush, moving forward.

“Come sit down, come sit!” You can faintly hear Kay’s voice coming from the banquet hall, scolding Mary from afar.

Michael ignores his wife’s voice, admiring your beauty before him. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you blush furiously at the second time he’s given you the same compliment in less than an hour.

“Come with me,” Michael gestures to the banquet hall, leading you in alongside him to the main gala area.

Bright lights and several shining chandeliers dangle from high ceilings all above, a live orchestra up front on a gilded stage playing a lively tune with violin and piano while a few couples dance with one another.

Waiters and waitresses buzz to and through each table carrying a tray on each hand, serving champagne and hors d’ouvres.

Hundreds of dollars worth of wine is uncorked and champagne is popped and poured, including a fountain of champagne towards the center of the banquet hall where onlooking guests giddily await their turn for a glass.

As you continue to follow Michael through, you notice the section in which you two walk through is reserved and separated by velvet rope and bodyguards—leading you to the back of the banquet hall which remains quieter but with a perfect view of the entire gala’s events just up ahead.

A mouthwatering scent of smoky meats and stewed vegetables hits you as you see the waiters and waitresses for dinner service begin to move dishes to private tables, leaving a buffet table towards the further sides of the banquet for guests as well.

There’s no lack of options for meals and for the first time in your life, you’re in front of more than three kinds of dishes and refreshments.

The tables at the gala are at an appropriate distance from one another for the sake of navigation and walking space but to reduce eavesdropping and prying eyes, completely reserved and without a single empty seat yet arranged in such an orderly fashion that the banquet hall doesn’t look overcrowded.

Suits and ties, gowns and dresses flow everywhere, mixing into the scents of expensive colognes and perfumes all around.

As you reach the reserved tables for the Corleone family, you notice there’s a total of five grouped around each other and reinforced security inconspicuously making their rounds nearby.

You notice Al Neri and Rocco on opposite sides, watching intently, and assume Michael’s other men must have gone incognito.

“Marina!” Kay’s eyes light up as she peeks up from her seat, sitting next to Connie.

You blush from the sudden attention over you, waving back at Michael but you see Kay’s reaction doesn’t even phase Michael.

“Oh my… Wow,” Kay’s eyes grow wide at the sight of your dress, eyeing you head to toe.

“Hi, Kay,” you smile back.

“Hey, Marina,” Connie gives you a confident smile, sipping her cosmopolitan cocktail. “You look oh so gorgeous, you know that? So beautiful, honey,” she gestures out by extending her hand—all the diamond jewelry and rings over it sparkling underneath the chandelier light, “that red is everything on you.”

“Thank you, ladies,” you beam back, “you all look so gorgeous tonight too.”

“Says you,” Connie winks back as you take a seat at the reserved seat with your name on it, just across from her and Kay.

Your eyes land on Kay’s dress, peeking at the details. Kay wears a midi-length, long-sleeved, lace evergreen dress next to Connie in a stunning, sequined, mermaid gown in a deep marine color.

While Kay keeps her statement piece, and pearl accessories minimal, Connie on the other hand is covered from head to toe in various diamonds—glistening at every angle and despite the flashy look, the only diamonds Kay’s eyes are on are the ones around your own neck.

For a moment, you can see in Kay’s eyes that she’s hyper-focused on your diamond necklace, going from surprise to appearing somewhat mildly glum as you get comfortable in your seat.

Michael takes his seat next to you, keeping both you and Kay by his side as you look over to the table across; Sandra and Mama Corleone smiling and giving you greeting waves.

“Any minute now,” Connie eyes the waitstaff coyly.

“The event hasn’t started yet?” You ask, noticing how distracted Kay becomes while watching her children at the table with the others and Esther remains.

“The evening has hardly started yet, darling, Once we get our menus and refreshments, we can call this a property party,” Connie’s eyes flash to Michael’s momentarily.

“You’ll stay around?” Sandra calls out to you from the other table.

“I believe I will,” you smile back at her politely.

“This is new for you, isn’t it?” Sandra giggle.

“It is—” You begin before Michael cuts you off.

“Marina knows her place,” he states—causing a flare-up of blush over your cheeks.

Sandra nods, the mood of playfulness washing off of her expression from Michael’s response.

“Oh, finally,” Connie scoffs, noticing special waitstaff dressed in full black begin to approach the Corleone family tables who begin to place menus in front of everyone upon the table.

You make split-second eye contact with Michael before you return your attention to the menu with your name embellished on it in front of you, blushing deeply.

The waitstaff serves the French champagne mentioned at the top of the menu in every glass, rotating around the table and as you focus on the sparkling liquid being poured into your cup, you notice you can still feel Michael’s eyes over you.

Your eyes trail down to the menu, beginning to read the listed refreshments first. Alongside the French champagne you begin to drink, there are options of port, sherry, and white Bordeaux.

Appetizers include foie gras cured duck breast and rhubarb, lobster roasted carrots with buttermilk puree, and scallops with charred leek onion broth and pink purslane.

The entrees include Sicilian rabbit finished with a sweet and sour sauce topped with Sicilian sardines, truffle roasted duck, guinea fowl with licorice braised leeks morels and rosemary sous vide lamb.

You can hardly believe your eyes at the numerous options of some of the most luxurious dishes you’ve ever read; half of these kinds of meals you’re completely unfamiliar with but seem like the Corleones eat every single day.

The dessert menu lists a mango cremeux Douglas-fir and yogurt sorbet with white cookie dough, peanut caramelized banana sorbet with banana cake, and dark chocolate with smoked hazelnut praline topped off with salted milk ice cream.

“I’m taking my time with this,” Connie relishes the first sip of her French champagne.

“You’re telling me,” Sandra comments back from her table.

“Everything looks so amazing,” you murmur to yourself, looking around to see how everyone is engrossed in the menu’s contents.

You notice nobody’s eyes are on you and it brings you a small measure of comfort, especially to the Corleone family’s knowledge that you’ve never seen or experienced anything like this before.

This may be completely new to you, but nobody is exactly treating you like you’re a stray dog now adopted and living in the lap of luxury.

It helps alleviate the embarrassment you still slightly feel, especially with all the newfound attention and luxury over you on a daily basis, let alone directly from Michael.

As you glance over to your side, you notice a pause taking a sip from his French champagne as Al Neri approaches him, leaning over to whisper something only audible to Michael in his ear for a mere moment.

Michael neither nods nor reacts, only giving Al Neri an approving look before he begins to rise from his seat.

Despite Michael already getting up, you notice everyone else at the table and the surrounding ones pay no attention to Michael leaving, so you try to do the same.

As Michael walks off with Al Neri towards the midst of the banquet hall, you assume to yourself this is probably the expectation others have placed upon Michael to do nothing but socialize with him and network.

‘How much closer does he want to be with me tonight like this?’

“Long night,” Sandra sighs at her table, almost completely finished with her first glass of French champagne already.

“You don’t have to worry,” Connie says to you as she watches Kay get up from her seat as well to meet with a couple by the champagne fountain gleefully, leaving you alone with Connie and Sandra's company.

“It could have been worse for you,” Connie speaks out to Sandra.

‘I have no idea what that means.’ You stare back at Connie in confusion before noticing the sad look crossing over Sandra’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” Sandra shrugs her shoulders. “I miss it.”

“You miss it?” You speak up, suddenly becoming too curious not to be a part of the conversation now.

“Sonny,” Sandra gives you a longing, melancholy smile.

You’ve heard the name before, more so as Santino whom you know to be Sandra’s late husband.

“You should have told Marina,” Connie sips her champagne smugly.

“It hasn’t been easy, you know,” Sandra shoots Connie a glare before turning to face you, the same sadness returning back to the pool in her eyes. “Sonny would have loved these sorts of things—getting involved in meeting new people.”

“A little too much,” Connie comments.

“Right, I know,” Sandra rolls her eyes. “But anyway, it’s true. Eyes everywhere. I felt like I had to police him to behave.”

“He was the party-going type?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Connie chuckles. “You want to see the partygoing type? Talk about charisma and enthusiasm, just look at my brother.”

Connie gestures behind her towards the champagne fountain where you spot Fredo wearing a two-piece beige suit and bowtie, sunglasses on despite being indoors and beaming proudly next to a blonde bombshell next to him who runs her hands through her flirtatiously with a show-winning grin—dressed in a dainty, mini mauve dress that threatens to spill down her chest.

Fredo and the woman next to him speak with four people who seem wildly interested in whatever they’re saying; Fredo enthusiastically cracks jokes, laughs, and talks wildly with his hands.

“That’s my brother, Fredo,” Connie clarifies. “He’ll want to meet you soon.”

“I look forward to it,” you’re stunned, unable to truly make sense of how different all of the Corleone brothers are from one another.

Never would you have guessed someone like Fredo would be the stern and cunning Michael Corleone’s brother of all things.

“I wonder if you would have liked Sonny,” Sandra looks up at you. “You’re a real pretty girl.”

Connie clears her throat loudly, looking around the banquet hall to spot any waitstaff nearby.

“Washroom,” Sandra turns her head away and mumbles to herself to be excused, getting up from her seat just as more waitstaff begin to approach.

‘What’s that supposed to mean? What?’ Thoroughly confused, you sit patiently and quietly in your seat despite all the awkwardness that just ensues throughout that conversation.

Kay and Michael begin to return to their seats as the waitstaff begins to serve the appetizers, all coming back together.

One of the waitstaff pours you three different glasses of wine, all off of the selections on the menu in front of you in six ounces each as the other waitstaff due to each and every one of you at all the Corleone family tables.

Three porcelain plates are set out in front of everyone with a perfectly small portion of each of the appetizers to try.

Once the waitstaff departs, the conversation starts small and soft at the table, mostly about family plans, the trip here, and the Corleone family estate in New York.

Michael rarely comments or speaks up, but notice how intently he listens and the eye contact he makes with whoever is speaking at the table; conversations far removed from what you know and can relate to, but even as you smile and comment, you feel included in the conversations and your comments valued.

At any given moment when you realize Kay’s eyes are not on you or anyone else speaking, you see how blatantly obvious she makes her admiration towards Michael.

‘I’m no better,’ you remind yourself as you attempt to stifle any feelings of rising jealousy.

“Where’s Fredo, by the way?” Tom asks, turning around in his seat and eyeing around the banquet hall.

Michael appears unamused as Mama Corleone chuckles, “You’re looking for him already?”

“Well,” Tom starts out with a laugh, “I wanted to know because Fredo hasn’t met Marina formally yet.”

“That’s fair,” Kay points out, “but I think he’s been chatting it up with some guests for the past hour now.”

“He’ll come around,” Connie comments. “He always does.”

“We have time until dinner is served,” Michael speaks up.

“Besides,” Connie continues, looking over at you as she begins to rise from her seat. “My brother Fredo and his wife Deanna know all about you.”

“Deanna Dunn, the movie star,” Tom clarifies.

You notice out of the corner of your eye that Sandra makes her way back to her seat, doing so quietly so as not to interrupt the ongoing conversation or draw attention to herself.

“Introductions are in order tonight,” Kay gleefully adds, beginning to get up from her seat as she gestures to you. “Come, Marina! We’ll introduce you to Fredo.”

“Kay,” Michael stares at her; his tone smooth and soft but demanding and disapproving all at once.

An expression of sudden hurt crosses Kay’s eyes as Michael begins to stand up. “Allow me.”

“Okay,” Kay says barely audibly, sitting back down in her seat.

All it takes is a further expectant glance from Michael over to you for you to find yourself standing next to him a moment after, accompanying him to meet Fredo.

Kay gives you an awkward smile before turning her attention back over to the banquet hall to spot Fredo and Deanna.

You follow Michael across the banquet hall with Al Neri cautiously accompanying from behind as Michael leads you towards a young man in his 30s, with receding hairline neatly slicked back and combed dark, chestnut brown hair, a mustache and what you first noticed about him that took you by surprise—aviator sunglasses on inside the banquet hall.

Fredo’s dressed in a toned-down yellow, single-breasted blazer jacket over a silky, black dress shirt with his collar worn open to tuck in a knotted, silk paisley scarf.

Dressed much more vibrant than the rest of his brothers, Fredo’s trousers are a checkered beige with gold and black patterns and a pair of white, leather loafers on his feet.

“Yeah! You wouldn’t believe it!” Fredo laughs, speaking to a guest.

You’re pleasantly surprised to come across a Corleone brother so full of life; Fredo showcasing to you before a formal introduction that he’s a man of extreme charisma.

You can tell Fredo has a charming demeanor and a contagious smile; talking with his hands and using vivid language makes him seem like the life of the party in a refreshing way to you, but is also a huge shock to think about the fact that Fredo is Michael’s biological older brother.

Michael’s not as phased as you or the guests who listen to Fredo’s invigorating story, but the woman wrapped around Fredo’s arm certainly is.

‘That must be Deanna.’ Fredo’s wife curls up to his arm with one hand and the other on her hip; a bold smirk over her face as she reaches her free hand up to ruffle her tousled, voluminous hairdo.

Fredo already appears the very opposite of Michael in your eyes despite you never having spoken a word to him.

It’s then and there that as you and Michael approach closely and come to a standstill Fredo’s eyes fall over the two of you and light up in glee; not just to see his brother but at the sight of you—a new face, accompanying him.

“Miiiikey!” Fredo exclaims, practically throwing his wife off of his arm who scowls back at Fredo momentarily but as soon as she catches your gaze over hers, Deanna gives you a fake, polite smile.

Fredo wraps his arms around Michael to bring him in for a hug. You see Michael hesitate for a brief second due to the awkward nature of the hug, but he pats his brother’s back gently after giving him a short hug and pulling away.

“Fredo,” Michael gestures to you. “This is our new governess, Marina Aligheri.”

“Marina Alighieri!” Fredo repeats your name in an upbeat tone, extending out his hand for you to shake. “Nice to meet ya, I’m Fredo Corleone.”

“Nice to meet you too, Fredo,” you beam, shaking his hand back.

“I run all the entertainment when it comes to our family’s hotels and resorts. The social aspect, ya know.”

Michael still appears unphased, watching your interaction with Fredo as if he’s monitoring how your formal introduction to his brother is going.

“Very nice!”

“I look forward to seeing you around,” Fredo gives you a playful wink.

“Likewise.”

“And here—” Fredo spins around to scoop Deanna’s arm around him once more. “Is my beautiful wife Deanna Dunn Corleone!”

Deanna giggles, tousling her hair again and appearing relieved and flattered that she’s finally getting her round of introductions. “Hi darling, how do you do?”

“Nice to meet you, Deanna,” you shake her hand.

“Deanna’s a movie star,” Fredo chuckles, “in all of the newest pictures you can find in Hollywood. She’s working on a new film with Johnny Fontane, you know?”

“Oh?” Your eyes light in surprise at that name, an actor you’re very familiar with on the big screen.

“I’m assuming you know of him?” Michael glances at you.

“Yes, of course,” you giggle back, “he’s very famous back in New York.”

“First his music and now his movies,” Fredo chuckles, “I betcha didn’t know that Johnny was the godchild of my father.”

“It’s true,” Michael nods in confirmation.

“Johnny comes around a lot to our resorts to perform too, him and all his friends in the music and movie business. Especially now that he and Deanna are shooting a picture together, so you’ll get a chance to meet Johnny for yourself too.”

“That does sound exciting. I would love that.”

“We can make it happen,” Michael states before abruptly changing the conversation. “The table is expecting the two of you to join us.”

“Ah, we know, Mikey.” Fredo brushes Michael off, “We’ll get there, no worries, okay?” He pats Michael’s shoulder reassuringly, “Deanna and I just wanna make a few more rounds to say hello and then we’ll all join you and everyone at the table for dinner.”

Michael locks eyes with Fredo expectantly before leading you onward. “Come, Marina.”

“Where to—” You notice Michael gently leads you by his side further throughout the crowd of the banquet and farther away from the Corleone family dining tables.

“Just follow me,” Michael lowers his voice, giving you the queue to remain quiet and do as he says.

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you do as Michael says and walk by his side at the same pace quietly.

You keep your eyes towards the midst of the banquet hall all while avoiding making eye contact with any guests or blatantly looking around.

Inconspicuous and simply passing through, you notice how hyper-focused Michael is looking into the crowd; his eyes darting back and forth until they land somewhere amongst the crowd and harden—firm and lacking any emotion.

Michael’s expression turns ice cold in mere moments, striking anxiety within you as a result.

‘What? What is it that he’s looking at?’ You desperately try to find what Michael’s gaze focuses upon amidst the crowd to no avail.

“Marina,” Michael’s eyes fill with concern as he looks back at you.

“Yes?” You breathe out, feeling your heart beginning to pound in your chest.

‘Something is wrong. Very, very wrong.’ The anxiety and tension from this situation alone make your muscles stiffen with fear.

Michael’s voice is cautious but soft as if to soothe you as he speaks. “Look up right in front of you.”

Just as you turn around to do so, your eyes lock on two Italian men in the corner of the banquet hall holding glasses of champagne and speaking quietly to one another around a decorative fountain.

“Are they familiar?” You feel Michael’s breath over your neck from how protectively close he moves over to you.

Your heart sinks into the bottom of your stomach as you stare at the two men; a rush of deep, twisting anxiety coursing through you as you swallow hard.

‘I know who they are.’

You know who you’re looking at, but unable to put names to faces to these buttonmen, the same buttonmen who worked for the Barzini family; the same men that were sent to kill your brothers for the debt they owed that fateful night.

‘Oh…’

Simple assassins, nothing more. Men are hired to do dirty work, have basic skills, and collect debts. Completely business, nothing personal, but two killers that killed a piece of your family nonetheless enjoying themselves at a Corleone-hosted family event.

”Marina,” Michael says your name again, beckoning you back to reality.

As you face Michael once more, your eyes stink with tears as you blink. Nothing but horror and shock register through you.

‘Does it make sense to have mobsters at an event like this? From that family? Why? How does Michael know of any of this?’ A thousand questions buzz through your mind as you find the answers to them all in Michael’s eyes.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Michael squeezes both of your wrists reassuringly.

“I…” You let out a soft, disoriented breath—feeling dazed from the jumble of emotions suffocating you.

“It’s those men, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer back. “But h-how do you know?”

Michael doesn’t answer you, shifting his attention back to the men, but you insist.

“How do you know, Michael?” You touch his arm, pulling Michael’s attention back to you.

“How could I not know?” Michael stares back at you.

When it comes to you, there’s little to nothing Michael doesn’t already know, and for a man like him to know, he must have run a background search on you and your entire family. Would that include the deaths of your brothers by mobsters? Would anyone be able to hide something like that from Michael Corleone?

“You’re certain, aren’t you?” Michael asks.

“Y-yes,” you answer, your voice shaking. “I remember them too well. That’s them.”

“Stay close to me,” Michael murmurs, wrapping an arm around your back and pulling you to the opposite side of the crowd.

Dazed and confused but electrified by Michael’s warm touch against your skin, the two of you move back to the Corleone family tables.

With such a protective touch over you, any sense of anxiety melts off your body as Michael ensures nobody bumps into you from the crowd or touches you.

Once the Corleone family tables are back in sight, Michael lets go of you as if nothing happened—expecting you to take your seat back at the table.

“Dinner must go on,” Michael tells you, “but after this, you need to talk to me about—”

“What’s there to say?” You breathe out. “They found their way here, didn’t think?”

“You think they’ll leave here alive?” Michael stares back at you. “Go, Marina. Sit down at the table and worry about dinner and nothing else. Do I make myself clear?”

You feel as if you’re in a trance as you make your way back to the tables, trying to focus on the present with everyone around you—having returned without Michael.

The serving of the main course meal gives you time to get yourself together and distract the others through dinner-related conversation, some stories being told about family travels, and the like around you.

You smile, pay attention, and listen, but don’t have much to say as the continuous feeling of anxiety and fear gnaws inside of you, reminding you through every painful moment that your brothers’ killers are attending this very gala.

Despite the rush of emotions over you, there’s a sense of safety with the Corleones you can’t deny. The ongoing conversations feel natural and like you’re at home and a part of them—not to mention the mouthwatering scents of the main dishes being served, fond culinary dishes from the old country.

The aroma of the Sicilian rabbit being served is heavenly, smothered in a sweet and sour sauce next to the savory truffle roasted duck and richly cooked guinea fowl and braised leeks, dashed with a touch of rosemary.

Paired with the white Bordeaux, you’ve now only begun to realize just how hungry you’ve become with these luxurious dishes placed in front of you.

You savor the taste of the delicious, well-cooked meats on your tongue with the creaminess of the braised leeks down to the tenderness of the roasted duck.

Only a few moments after dinner is served does Michael return to the table and take his seat next to you, already engrossed in the conversation his family is having but only returning one-worded, dry replies and paying more attention to Kay speaking more than anyone else.

‘Relax, just relax,’ you tell yourself, focusing on the meal. You can blame nobody but yourself for how you feel, even though Michael’s still given you a sliver of comfort and protection.

You try not to frown or make your emotions obvious over your expression, but you hyperfocus on your meal consistently throughout dinner until you hear Kay’s voice call out your name.

You look up and smile at Kay politely, but it’s far too late to let the distraction and mellowness in your eyes go unnoticed.

“Are you alright, darling?”

“I’m fine,” you muster up an answer, but you can tell Kay won’t simply accept that and leave it as is. “Just feeling really tired and I’m not sure where it’s coming from.”

There’s no world that exists where you can simply tell Kay your anxiety is getting the better of you right here and right now because your brothers’ murderers are here enjoying the gala too and may just now have been placed on a hit list of some kind by Michael.

‘This is all becoming too much.’

“Oh honey, don’t strain yourself too much,” Kay pouts. “Sometimes the exhaustion of the trip hits you later on, I know how it can feel. It’s a lot to handle—all the noise and the flight,” she lets out a soft sigh. “How’s your dinner?”

“It’s incredible to say the last,” you let out a breathy laugh. “I really don’t want to let it go to waste.”

“And you don’t have to,” she replies. “We can have it brought up to your room fresh and warm, but I’m going to feel awful just sitting here and seeing you in discomfort, waiting on an inevitable headache.”

“Right,” you nod weakly, “I may have to excuse myself, I’m sorry.”

“Oh please don’t ever apologize for that!” Kay shakes her head, “it’s completely alright, Marina. The night is still young, and we have an afterparty too. You should rest up and take care of yourself until then. We can have your meal brought up to you and you can have a bit of peace and quiet away from all this noise.”

“Thank you,” you say in relief, slowly beginning to rise out of your seat.

Michael watches you get up from the corner of his eye, having listened to your conversation with Kay but remains unmoved otherwise.

“Of course,” Kay turns around to gesture a waiter to make their way over, pointing at your plates.

‘There’s nothing but death.’ You avoid looking towards the opposite end of the banquet; the faces of the two buttonmen so clearly engraved in the back of your mind.

‘I can’t be here with them. I just can’t.’ Taking a deep breath, you manage to calm yourself down as you get further away from the bustle and excitement of your gala and back up the elevator to your suite.

The further you get, the more at ease you feel and you know if you can just take a bit to yourself alone, you can manage and still make it down for the afterparty but right now you absolutely don’t want to focus on any part of the banquet and let your anxiety escalate.

‘At least Michael knows. At least he cares, or at least I want him to…’

After stepping out of the elevator, you’re quick to get back into your suite and quietly shut the door behind you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting out a sigh of relief as you take in the silence within the suite, the light scent of vanilla and lavender air freshener wafting around you, and the promise of a comfortable, luxurious suite room to rest in.

‘I’ll relax for a bit, it’s all I need right now.’ Setting down your clutch and slipping off your heels, you let your feet take in the comfort of walking over the faux fur rug before you begin to unclasp your earrings and take off your necklace.

Heading into the bedroom, you carefully set down your jewelry in the very box Michael gave them to you in upon the vanity table, knowing you’ll put them back on when you head back down for the afterparty.

You turn around to gaze at yourself in the full-body mirror diagonally facing your bed, stepping forward towards it and debating whether you should take off your dress as you run your hands over the satiny fabric.

You smile shyly at yourself, admiring the gorgeous, scarlet fabric and how it makes you feel both comfortable and beautiful, and you aren’t even the one to pick it out for yourself.

‘He picked it out for me.’ Blushing yet again over Michael, you move towards the closet and open it, pulling out a spare hanger from a dozen.

You’re careful to slowly strip out of your dress without stepping on it or wrinkling the fabric, hanging it up in plain sight inside the closet.

Only in your white lacy panties without a bra, do you take your nightgown out of your luggage and slip into it—letting the soft fabric wrap around you snug.

Walking barefoot out towards the kitchen, you glance at the refrigerator and wonder if you could find some wine before the rest of your food service gets here; perhaps something less expensive and luxurious but sweeter as you pass the time in your suite.

Just as you approach the refrigerator and reach out your hand to open it, you freeze. The sound of your hotel room being unlocked rings in your ears and you begin to listen intently.

Your heart skips a beat for just a moment as urgent questions rush through your mind; did one of Michael’s men mistake you for being at the party and are just making rounds to check for security? Does someone else have access to your suite that you don’t know about? Surely the room service would knock instead of intrude like this so suddenly?

Unable to react, your eyes land on the door and all you can notice is that whoever is opening the door is doing so quietly and with care without making a scene; almost too careful and eerie, the way an experienced thief would want to enter.

It’s only Michael Corleone.

Your heart flutters from the sudden but more than welcome surprise as a rush of butterflies swarms in your gut. Your blood rushes to your face, causing your cheeks to blush intensely.

As you see Michael walk in, you grip the handle of the fridge tightly in the reaction without opening it, seeing Michael’s eyes directly on you as if he wants to meet you in the kitchen right here and now.

You don’t even know what to say; frozen on the spot from a rush of emotions hitting you all at once—delight, pleasant surprise, is it so wrong to say? Is it wrong to think maybe this is all you could want?

‘Why here? Why now?’

“I didn’t anticipate you’d retire from the evening so soon,” Michael speaks in a low, velvety voice—enough to make you weak in the knees just like that.

Flustered, you attempt to speak back. “Only to catch my breath. I wouldn’t want to miss the rest of it.”

Michael refuses to take his eyes off of you as he slips his dress shoes off by the door. “So you plan on returning for the evening.”

Suddenly you feel naked before Michael’s eyes as he approaches you, already so vulnerable in nothing but your nightgown and panties.

The tips of your ears burn hot with blush as you find yourself all the more flustered, but you can’t tell if Michael’s noticed or paying attention to how you’re dressed since his eyes are locked with yours.

“I want to,” you say, breathily.

“Are you enjoying yourself here?” Michael stands only a few feet away from you in the kitchen now as you let go of the refrigerator’s handle.

“I’ve never experienced anything like this,” you shake your head.

‘Am I overthinking it all?’

“It’s breathtaking, but it’s all so new. I hope you don’t mistake me for being ungrateful to be here.”

“Not at all,” Michael replies dryly, “but I know why you’re here.”

‘What?’ It’s no secret to Michael from how rosy your cheeks are down to your body language reacting out of an arousal you’re desperate to hide.

You’re not so shy alone with him now; each and every muscle in your body desires Michael and is filled with passion.

The only thing that distracts Michael is how you tense up your shoulders from arousal, causing one strap of your nightgown to slip off of your shoulder.

You glance at the strap that threatens to slip off well past your arm, feeling practically naked before Michael and pulsating with warmth over your body from heightening arousal.

The sexual tension between the two of you standing in front of each other in silence builds to an uncontrollable level inside of you, building a delicious throbbing sensation inside of you.

You don’t know whether to beg Michael to take you on your knees here and now over the kitchen counter or feel embarrassed at what just happened beyond your control.

Michael takes a single step forward towards you and raises his hand towards the strap of your nightgown.

You assume for a split second he’ll only move the strap back up to your shoulder, but you feel the fabric of your panties beginning to cling to clit from the wetness pooling over it.

Michael keeps his eyes on you as he pulls the strap of your nightgown further with one little tug, causing it to slip off your chest almost entirely as your breasts spring free.

An inaudible “oh” escapes your lips as Michael moves his hand back down to your wrist, gently grabbing it and speaking to you in a demanding and firm yet soft voice. “Go to the bedroom, Marina.”

The fiery passion that courses through your entire body in a wave of heat is unexplainable—simply foreign to anything you’ve ever felt towards a man and only just on the physical level.

The arousal pent up inside of you tingles in your stomach, spreading up to your chest. Every inch of your body feels hot to the touch, your eyes solely focused on Michael and Michael only.

You feel as if your heart could burst out of your chest in this very moment, pulled to this man like a moth to a flame with an urge to let everything go—risk it all just to have his body pressed up against yours for a single moment.

It’s a gnawing hunger inside of you to crave Michael, seeing nothing but the idea and fantasy of having him all to yourself even if it could be just for one night.

All of you want all of Michael, completely and utterly insatiable. No other person or feeling could come close to taking you away from what you feel you’re about to have with this man.

Picturing Michael’s firm, big hands over your breasts is enough to send you into a state of ecstasy, let alone how he could pleasure you further and make love to you tonight if he wanted to.

The coolness in the suit brushes up against your exposed skin, hardening your nipples further than they already were from arousal.

“Go on,” Michael’s voice is lowered to a whisper as he gestures towards the bedroom.

Like clockwork, you do as Michael says without hesitation—feeling light on your feet as you make your way over to the bedroom.

You sense and hear Michael following behind at a close distance which makes your knees buckle a little as if they could give in from weakness at any moment now.

Each step you take only crinkles and pulls your nightgown down off of your body further, threatening to spill further down your hips.

When you enter the bedroom and move towards the king-sized bed, you hear Michael shut the bedroom door behind the both of you quietly.

You’re only able to take a few more steps closer to the foot of the bed before Michael grabs your wrist again, gently turning you around to face him.

Blushing furiously and dazed in spot, you watch as Michael raises his hand towards your chest, pausing for a moment.

Michael locks eyes with you as he asks, “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, almost pleading for him to.

Michael places his hand over the fabric of your falling nightgown, so close to your breasts; his touch feeling electric and hot to the touch, everything you’ve ever wanted to relish in.

“Michael—”

“Take this off,” Michael beckons to your wrinkled nightgown.

‘He wants me to undress in front of him.’

Nodding shyly, you pull the nightgown down and off of you with ease, letting it slide down your thighs and pool to your feet on the ground.

Michael’s eyes beckon further as he speaks, eyeing your panties. “Strip.”

‘God…’

You slip your fingers into the band of your lace panties, almost trembling with excitement and arousal sparking through you as you pull them down your thighs and off of your ankles.

“Come here,” Michael beckons with his finger, wanting you fully naked up close and all to himself.

As you step towards him, Michael’s quick to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you closer to his body.

The fabric of Michael’s dress shirt rubs against your nipples as he tilts your chin up to face him. “How long have you wanted this?”

Your breath hitches as you attempt to respond, feeling Michael’s hand squeezing your right breast. Your eyes can’t help but watch him do so as Michael rubs your nipple in between his fingers.

“Tell me,” he presses; the look in his eyes a mix of desire and possessiveness.

‘How can I tell him I’ve craved him since I first laid eyes on him?’

Michael already knows well enough. He admires how close you come to telling him the truth, but he wants to pleasure it out of you first.

“You are my governess. I hired you to work for my family,” he speaks, letting both of his hands roam over your breasts gently. “This is my gala, my hotel. It belongs to me, and now… so do you.”

Taking his free hand, Michael traces your bottom lip with his finger slowly. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be mine?”

To belong to Michael Corleone, to be desired in such a way that he possesses you as his… Nothing could excite and thrill you more; than the lure of everything he says.

Here is a man of power and wealth, Michael Corleone. A man who not only likes having control over everything in his life but ensures he does, and for those surrounding him as well. How can you ever be an exception?

“Always,” you answer back—no shame, nothing left to hold back.

You were his before he stepped into this hotel room before you undressed in front of him, and before he touched you.

Like every perfect fantasy you could ever have, it all plays out before you and you refuse to hold back in the heat of the moment.

“You are mine now, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper.

‘I am. I’m yours.’

“Get on the bed for me, sweetheart.”

Nodding shakily out of arousal, you crawl onto the bed on all fours—sitting in the middle of it completely naked.

Shivering, you look up to see Michael approach the bed, beginning to loosen his tie. “I want you on your hands on your knees.”

You do as Michael says, turning over to get your hands on your knees—arching your back, and feeling completely exposed to Michael.

You hear the soft drop of Michael’s tie falling to the floor and his suit jacket being hung over your vanity table’s chair before he kneels on the bed behind you.

“Michael,” you whimper out, feeling him so close to your body.

“Shhhh…” Michael whispers from behind, gripping your hips with both hands.

Your breath hitches as you squeeze your legs together out of arousal; completely naked and exposed for Michael with your ass and pussy in his face as both your hands clutch the duvet.

Michael’s hands are firm and needy but soft, holding onto you with possession as he speaks, “I’ll take good care of you.”

Michael begins to run his hands up and down your lower back slowly, tracing lazy circles.

A shiver goes down your spine as you give a small nod back, squeezing your eyes shut and simply relishing in the moment.

All the more erotic to you as you can’t see what Michael’s doing but Michael’s touch over your supple skin causes a passionate fire to course through you.

Michael’s eyes momentarily flicker down to your pussy as he sees a glistening wetness forming between your lips. Michael begins to move closer, tenderly yet lightly massaging your back.

“I want you to be honest with me, Marina…” Michael slowly pulls his hands back.

“Y-yes?”

Michael unbuckles his belt, tossing it to the floor, and unbuttons his trousers. “Are you a virgin?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly.

A brief silence falls in between the two of you and a sense of nervousness almost hits you off guard as you wonder if this is a good or bad thing on Michael’s behalf, but his next question catches you entirely off guard.

“You still haven’t answered my previous question. How long have you wanted this?” You feel Michael begin to mount you from behind, roaming one hand underneath you and down your chest to squeeze a breast while his other hand spreads your upper inner thigh. “Tell me.”

“I—” You let out a shuddering moan at the sensation of Michael’s thumb beginning to ever so slowly toy over your clit, now parting over your pussy lips and slightly beginning to spread you open.

“Be a good girl and tell me,” Michael leaves a hot, lingering kiss over your right shoulder.

Your legs quiver against Michael’s body as you say, “Forever.”

“Mm…” More than just content by your answer, it confirms everything Michael’s already thought about you.

Michael rubs your ass cheeks, giving them a light slap as he lets his erection spring free from his trousers. “I’m going to be good to you.”

‘Oh God, yes, please. Please…’

Michael suddenly grabs both of your thighs firmly, pinning you down flat on your stomach before gently flipping you on your back to face him.

Pushing away stray strands of your hair away from your face, Michael comes face to face with you, only wearing his half-buttoned, loose white dress shirt—stroking his cock in one hand while his eyes are locked on you.

The sight of seeing how fully erect Michael is before you makes your pussy throb from arousal; none of this is supposed to happen but the two of you have completely given into each other’s lust.

It’s the first time for Michael to feel such a powerful arousal take over him, barely having done anything at all with anybody.

Gazing down at Michael’s tip, you watch as his cock glistens with droplets of precum forming at the tip and beginning to ooze down his cock’s head.

Two veins run down Michael’s thick shaft circumcised and bragging just about eight inches.

Michael watches as you admire his body before you, noticing how the peak of chest hair from his half-unbuttoned shirt stands out to you; how smooth his milky, soft skin looks down to the muscles in his arms tensing from his rolled-up sleeves. Such a close-up of Michael’s toned, slim body…

“Let go and let me,” Michael murmurs, running his hands up and down your thighs.

Painfully aroused more than anything, Michael’s doing nothing but building up your arousal to the brim before he does anything else with you; especially concerned with your comfort and eager to get you as wet as possible first.

“You look incredible, you know that?” Michael begins to slowly spread your thighs open.

You blush furiously, momentarily turning your head away.

“Close your eyes,” he breathes, “and let me feel you.”

Doing as he says, Michael wastes no time in moving down between your thighs and placing your ankles over his shoulders.

Only with ever so slightly open eyes, hazed and dazed from the incoming pleasure do you watch Michael begin to tease and please you.

Michael leaves gentle, wet kisses up from your legs to your upper thighs but the closer he gets to your pussy, the longer he begins to drag out his kisses.

Dangerously close, Michael’s kisses grow heavier before he begins to sloppily suckle over the skin in the crease of your inner thighs.

A shaky moan escapes your lips as Michael truly lowers himself in, parting open your pussy lips with his fingers.

Michael’s slim fingers slick over your wet clit, up and down in tantalizing motions. It takes everything in you not to squirm from the pleasure over Michael’s shoulders, let alone vocalizing just exactly what this man is doing to you.

Michael changes his patterns, beginning to add two fingers to slick and rub in circles as he continues to kiss around your upper thighs.

You can feel your wetness doubling, trickling out of your pussy as you’re unable to take your eyes off of the erotic sight of Michael now grazing his tongue over your inner thighs.

Letting out little breathy moans, you gaze down at Michael with half-open eyes, gyrating your hips over his fingers as he continues to circle your clit painfully slow.

“I’m…” You moan softly, “I’m yours—ooh, I’m yours.”

Michael slowly begins to curl his index finger, snaking it inside of you. You whimper out of reaction, squealing as Michael adds a second finger and dips it in and out of you before momentarily popping them in his mouth to taste your sweetness.

Flustered and embarrassed, your eyes snap shut in response to Michael moving upward—tilting your chin with his free hand as his soft lips crush over yours.

Michael’s kiss grows needy and deep, joining his tongue with yours as you feel your clit almost swollen with arousal at his touch.

Stimulated so much, you feel an orgasm beginning to build from all the teasing and nothing more; rolling your eyes back in pleasure and picturing yourself bouncing over Michael’s cock.

As Michael lets go of tilting your chin, he pumps his cock at the same pace he fingers you in, readying himself for your orgasm knowing he hasn’t even scratched the surface of what he plans to do to you tonight.

Waves of pleasure hit you as filthy moans escape your mouth; melting around Michael’s dominance and giving in to him completely.

Through parted lips, Michael grunts; a look of yearning flickering in his hazel eyes that causes your shyness to spike up as the two of you make eye contact again.

Michael fully spreads your legs around his waist, pressing his hands down on both sides of the bed around you as he moves his head down and plans a sloppy kiss right over your pussy lips.

Wanting to sink into the bed out of shyness, the sight of Michael’s smoldering gaze between your legs is too much for you to handle all at once.

Taking your reactions as a green light, Michael darts his tongue up and down your clit, letting his bottom lip and mouth rest on the entirety of your pussy as he begins to eat you out.

“Oh—my God!” You cry out, watching as Michael slobbers over your pussy and slowly laps up your wetness with his tongue.

The sensation of Michael’s hot mouth over your pussy with his stubble brushing up against your clit is heavenly as he Michael keeps up a quickened pace, grinding his tongue against your clit.

You almost see stars from a delicious orgasm quickly building inside of you as Michael’s face is completely pressed into your sex.

Michael smirks at your juices beginning to trickle down your ass and thighs, pulling back just moments before you can reach an orgasm.

Whimpering out of breath, you watch as Michael kneels back up on the bed against your body.

Michael’s cock twitches against your pussy and your body desperately wants to cry out for him to fuck you; your wetness already beginning to ooze down and coat Michael’s shaft.

Michael’s eyes search yours for an answer, and you give him a shy nod of approval; forcing yourself not to fall apart at his touch.

“You taste so good, you know that? So sweet…” Michael begins to position his cock at your entrance, letting the length of his shaft slide up and down your slit.

“Oh G-God…” Your hips writhe against Michael’s in utter arousal.

“Tell me you want me,” Michael presses his forehead against yours, breathing deeply.

The sensation of Michael beginning to slowly enter you drives every sensitive, weak spot inside of you insane.

“I-I want you. I want you—" Your eyes flutter shut in response as you relax your muscles, desperately wanting every inch of Michael’s cock to fill you.

You feel your insides clench in erotic response to Michael’s perfect, naked body before you—feeling the shaft of his cock press over your soaked mound.

Just the touch of Michael’s tip against your clit alone sends fire crawling through your skin as you begin to wrap your thighs around his waist and bury your face into Michael’s shoulder.

“Good girl.”

You take in the heavenly scent of Michael’s cologne and his clean, supple skin as he keeps you pinned down in the perfect, folded missionary position.

Michael thrusts in ever so slowly and as you begin to feel an inch of him enter you, a slight burning sensation mixes in with a momentary sharp mix of pleasure and pain as you dig your nails into his shoulders.

“Oooh—”

“Baby, that’s not even half of me,” Michael whispers against your skin.

The feelings subside almost instantly with how wet and aroused you are and you feel your clit throbbing against Michael.

“Mm!” You feel all eight inches of Michael thrust inside you; his waistline coming into contact with yours as his cock fills you completely.

Hearing the wetness of your pussy begin to slosh against each thrust from Michael’s cock, you cry out in pleasure and frustration, “M-Michael! Oh!”

Michael’s quick to beckon the orgasm he refused to let you have earlier, feeling how your knees quiver against him as a sensation of numbness from your orgasm growing dangerously threatens to release.

‘In and out… In and out…’

Michael grips your waist with both hands, fucking you at a deep but slow pace to let his cock brush up against your G-spot while keeping a steady rhythm inside of you.

Legs wrapped obediently around Michael, you cry out as you watch Michael’s clock slide in and out of you again with ease.

“P-please, please—” Begging for release, you feel your pussy contracting against Michael’s member, your words half-slurred from the intense sensations racking over your body.

It’s then that Michael slows his thrusts to excruciatingly slow but teasing deeply, tilting his hips into you as he watches you squirm against his cock.

“Cum for me, baby.”

Cumming in an explosive orgasm, you clasp a hand over your mouth to muffle out your screams of delight.

“That’s right….” Michael places his hand over yours, gently prying it off your mouth. “Don’t be shy, I want to hear you. I want to hear how good I make you feel.”

“Y-yes sir—” You feel Michael’s hips quicken his pace, fucking you steadily once again as the moans that spill out of your mouth are louder and louder with each thrust. “O-Oh! Yes!”

Your legs shake against Michael’s shoulder blades; your arousal is only fueled further by hearing Michael’s breathy grunts and groans in between thrusts.

Michael thrusts upwards and steals another moan from you as you roll your hips back at him, desperately begging for each and every thrust.

The scent of sex fills the bedroom as Michael pumps in and out of your pussy, obsessed with just the way you remain obediently sprawled and submissive before him on the bed—taking in all of him.

Michael brings you to loud uncontrollable moans as he builds his orgasm with your next one, watching as your toes curl in response.

A sense of numbness tingles through your knees as your orgasm releases out of you in an instant, making you moan out in complete ecstasy.

Letting your climax unwind, you feel the warmth of your orgasm rack over your body from all sides as you cum over Michael’s cock.

Enthralled by every inch of you, you gaze out of half-open eyes to see Michael’s scouring over yours hungrily, filled with a deep, delicious desire unraveling out of him as his body trembles.

Your cries of pleasure echo throughout the suite room as Michael’s breathing deepens. He jerks his hips inside of you a final time before spilling his seed deep inside your pussy.

Your thighs quiver like jelly as you attempt to catch your breath, clenching your legs around Michael’s waist.

Michael’s once slicked back, neat dark hair now remains a messy, tousled mess sticking to his forehead from sweat; his eyes appearing as dark as onyx from the lighting as his body hovers over yours.

“Mm!” You whimper as Michael begins to slowly pull out of you, leaving you as dazed as ever from pleasure.

“They’re expecting me,” Michael murmurs to you as he reaches for his belt and dress pants.

“Y-yes…” You breathe out.

“And you,” his eyes flicker back to yours for a moment as Michael begins to get dressed before you. “I expect you at the banquet hall, but I won’t hold it against you.”

Licking your lips, you clench at the bedsheets to regain your balance and sit up. “What do you mean…?”

“If you can walk,” Michael gives your thighs a playful smack.

Blushing furiously, you avoid his gaze. “I…”

“You will speak of this to no one,” Michael’s tone suddenly grows stern as he smoothens out his dress shirt, beginning to button it back up. “And pretend each and every time that we’ve never spent this time together.”

“Every time?” You repeat, eyes widening.

“You are mine, aren’t you?” Michael tightens his tie over his collar.

“Yes,” you admit a little too gleefully.

“Then I will have you again and again if you’re willing to have me,” Michael slows down his movements, fixated on your response.

You nod back at him shyly, grabbing at the duvet to cover your dignity.

“I’m going to enjoy our arrangement, Marina.” Michael finishes dressing himself, running his hands through his hair to tame it back neatly. “Only as much as you.”

“W-when…” You stammer, still catching your breath. “When will I see you again? Have you?”

“Have me?” Michael raises a brow, a ghost of a smirk over the corners of his lips. “You already have me, Marina. I will let you know.”

[sapphire-writes]

Playing with Fire (part 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader x Aegon II Targaryen

summary: Your wedding approaches along with the bedding ceremony and wedding night. Your husband has a delicious surprise prepared.

warnings: 18+ nsfw, explicit spicy scenes (p in v, all the bases being covered, oral, fingering), do not interact if you don't want spice

word count: 3.7k

note: thanks for being patient, I hope this gives you all the spicy feels!

read more of my work here! 💚

“I cannot believe this day has come,” your mother says, with tears in her eyes as she smoothes the gown you wear. 

It is beautiful, a creamy ivory color made of silks that cling to every curve of your body, the skirts cascading towards the floor.

“Now, my darling,” your mother says, clasping her hands in yours, “there are responsibilities you need to attend to tonight.”

The bedding ceremony. When the lords and ladies who attend the feast tear at the bride and groom, ripping the silks from their bodies like paper from a package. Gooseflesh appears as you think about it.

“The marriage bed is nothing to be afraid of,” your mother assures you, eyes kind and warm. 

You feel conflicted with the different stories you have heard from other ladies losing their maidenheads. 

“Prince Aegon shall be kind to you,” your mother says, stroking your cheek.

Will he? Aegon is many things, but kind you are not sure is one of them. In fact, Aemond had told you as much. 

The wedding ceremony itself is a blur, a whirlwind of silks and smiles as you are carted to the castle sept and presented before Aegon. You feel as though you are in a dream as he places the cloak of House Targaryen on your back. 

Now you suppose you are a dragon as well.

Aegon smiles at you and kisses you sweetly as a prince should when your vows are spoken. His eyes are lustful, his smile predatory. Now he has you in his jaws, your neck stuck between his teeth. The feeling both terrifies and excites you. 

“Congratulations, my lady,” Aemond says, giving you a soft smile later at the feast. 

Your heart flutters hearing his voice. Aemond was rather stoic during the ceremony, keeping off to the side alongside his sister Helaena. You had tried speaking to him after your engagement was announced, but there never seemed to be time. Aemond was an evasive creature, hard to catch like one of Helaena’s butterflies. 

“Aemond,” you breathe him in, “many thanks, my prince.”

You stand beside him in silence for a moment as the feast continues around you. Aemond places his hands behind his back as you take a sip from your cup.

“I must admit, I did not expect to be chosen,” you tell him, warm from the wine. 

“You are an excellent choice,” Aemond insists, causing you to blush. 

“You are too kind, my prince,” you tell him, “your flattery shall go to my head.”

“I should hope so,” Aemond says, causing you to look at him. 

He notices your empty cup, before wrapping his fingers around it, expelling it from your grip. His fingers leave a tingling sensation behind on your own. 

“You are a delightful woman, you should be understanding of that,” he continues, giving the cup to a servant who passes by. 

You bashfully glance toward the floor. Aemond was a kind man, something you felt ashamed to admit you never thought of before meeting him. The tales of the cold prince fluttered throughout the ladies of court just as much as Aegon’s lecherous reputation.

“Are you nervous about your wedding night?” Aemond asks, and you feel yourself blush. 

“Would you believe me if I said no?” you ask and he chuckles.

“You needn’t be afraid, my lady,” Aemond assures you. 

There is a look in his violet eye, as though he is sure of the words he speaks. Without a shadow of a doubt in his mind that he speaks the truth. You wet your lips, looking toward the head table. Aegon is seated, a goblet of wine dangling from his fingers. He has just finished speaking with his mother when his gaze falls on you and Aemond.

Aegon’s eyes are half-lidded, and a lazy smile appears on his face revealing his teeth. A dragon lapping its jaws. His eyes flicker from you to Aemond, before he raises his goblet, as though toasting you both. You can feel your face drain of color. 

You do hope you have not upset him. 

“I suppose I should attend to my husband,” you tell Aemond, who nods in agreement. His gaze flickers about your face, as though attempting to read your thoughts. 

Aegon stands when you reach him, arm lacing around your waist.

“What says, my brother?” Aegon murmurs, placing a kiss below your ear causing you to shiver.

“He wished to share his congratulations,” you inform him, as his hand reaches to stroke your cheek, maneuvering himself so he can continue to kiss your neck.

Something you’ve begun to learn about Aegon is that it is never just one kiss, a trail of them follows. 

“Mhmm,” Aegon seems pleased by your answer, continuing his adoration of your neck, down to your collarbone. 

You feel the color returning to your face, and spot Aemond watching from across the room. So very strange, you think to yourself, to always be passed between the stares of the dragon princes. 

Later that night, the door closes behind Aegon, clicking shut.

Aegon circles you; he is a predator finally cornering his prey. His eyes hungrily indulge in your form that shows through your sheer shift. Your gown had been removed long ago, as lords prepared you for the bedding. 

A chaotic moment it was, to feel tens of hands on you, pulling and tearing at the fabrics of your gowns, pulling the ornaments from your hair. Aegon was stripped as well, Cassandra Baratheon had pushed herself to the front helping herself to tear at the laces of his breeches. 

Your skin feels hot under Aegon’s gaze now as you stand so bare before him, as though his eyes produce dragonfire searing your flesh. 

You wonder if you’ll ever stop feeling this burning for him. 

Aegon walks over to you, only wearing a loose white shirt. He reaches for a cup that lies on the table, taking a quick sip, before holding it out to you. 

You take it from him, mirroring his actions. 

“Are you nervous?” he asks, voice rough with desire. He is clearly holding himself back from ravishing you on the stone floor. 

You feel your cheeks grow warm. This is it, this is truly happening. You find yourself nodding, eyes cast toward the floor. You wish you were not so shy, so embarrassed under his gaze. You know his experience, and you wonder what he expects of you. 

Aegon clicks his tongue, placing a finger underneath your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

“There is no need to be,” he assures you, giving you a comforting grin. 

You cannot help but smile back, there is something about Aegon that does that. He melts the fear from your body like freshly fallen snow. He cups your cheek with his hand, bringing your mouth to his. 

The kiss is passionate, he slices your lips open with his tongue before plunging it into your mouth. The feeling of his tongue in your mouth sends a sharp feeling of desire trickling down your navel to the place beneath your small clothes. Aegon’s hands are very busy, the one that guides your face trails down to hold your waist, pressing you against him while the other cups your bottom. 

All the while he is walking you backward, toward the bed. He is very skilled; you cannot help but notice how easy it is for him to guide you, to touch and squeeze you in places that have you gasping against his mouth. 

“Do not be afraid,” Aegon murmurs, “I prepared this evening with only your utmost pleasure in mind.”

As he says this, his fingers find their way underneath your shift, touching you through your small clothes. He lets out a moan at the wetness he finds there, before pushing his fingers past the barrier, stroking them through your silky folds.

You let out a dramatic whine, cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the lewd sound. Aegon merely takes this as encouragement, teasing at your entrance with his finger. 

“I have to get you ready,” he tells you, through his kisses, before pushing a finger into your constricting, wet heat. 

He curls the digit within you, pressing his thumb against the sensitive bud that lies at the top of your folds, causing you to writhe against him at the newfound bliss.

“That’s it,” he says, drinking in your mewls and moans, before slipping a second finger inside of you. 

“Aegon, oh,” you moan against his mouth as he continues to fuck you with his fingers, slowly working you open. He sinks his teeth into your lower lip and something peaks inside of you, causing pleasure to roll across your skin, down your spine, all the way to your toes. 

Your legs wobble, as Aegon leads you toward the bed, tearing your shift over your head, leaving you naked before him. His eyes trail down your figure, truly devouring you as though a man famished. A smile breaks out across his face.

“Lay back, my love,” he instructs, removing the remainder of his clothes as you obey him. 

He climbs on top of you, kissing you again, lips trailing down your neck, over the swell of your breasts. He lavishes the peaks of your breasts with attention, tongue swirling around your nipples. You can feel his cock nudging at your entrance and take a breath. 

“It’s alright,” he tells you, kissing the tip of your nose, “I’m right here with you, bite on me if you need.”

You nod as he begins to push into you, the stretch causing you to gasp. It is much more than his fingers, and you find yourself taking him up on his offer, sinking your teeth into his shoulder.

Aegon whines at this, hips slapping against you. The pain ebbs at that moment, a wave of pleasure rolling through you. 

You make love like that for quite some time, Aegon finding his release, emptying his seed deep within your womb. But he is not a man easily satisfied. Nearly moments after his release, his cock hardens, and he turns you around on your hands and knees to take you as though he is more beast than man. 

You do not mind, the new position sends moans pouring from your mouth as he plows you into the feathered pillows. 

There is a sharp knock on the door, causing your head to snap up. You turn slightly to look behind you at Aegon, panic flashing across your face. His smile is wide as he continues to drill into you so hard your arms shake trying to hold yourself up.

“Enter!” Aegon calls.

“Aegon!” you desperately call, earning a sharp slap on your backside. 

What the seven hells is he doing?

The door is heard opening, and footsteps in the antechamber. Your heart pounds in your chest, but you can’t stop whimpering as Aegon’s cock splits you in two. 

“Come in, come in,” Aegon says, fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts harder, faster. 

Your eyes are wide as you hold up your lolling head, prepared to meet the eyes of some knight who shall surely be utterly horrified at the sight of Prince Aegon ruining his new bride in this animalistic position. 

You instead see Aemond Targaryen.

Shame courses through you, and you feel as though your entire body has ignited in flames. You meet his eye but quickly look away, letting your elbows fall into the feather mattress. Aegon’s strokes slow, but do not stop. 

“Brother,” he says, rather formally, “was there something you needed?”

Aemond is staring at you, watching as you try to hide your face, your body from him. 

“My lady,” Aemond addresses you directly. Always a polite man. Seven hells. 

You do not answer, fingers clutching the sheets of the bed. Perhaps Aegon can fuck you so hard into the mattress you shall disappear altogether. Aegon has different plans. He tangles a hand in your hair, lifting your head, and forcing you to look at Aemond. 

“My brother addressed you, dearest,” Aegon says, “do not be rude.”

A whimper leaves your lips.

“My prince,” you someone managed to say, as Aegon has begun to increase the rhythm of his strokes. 

Aemond nods, slowly walking closer to the bed. You do not know where to look, you wish he would not approach you. Surely whatever he needed could be attained at a different time. 

“Tell me, my lady,” Aegon asks, “do you think me unobservant?”

His fingers dig into your waist, as he snaps forward. Your head is spinning from the pleasure, the embarrassment, the excitement, and the confusion. Surely you are dreaming. 

“What?” you ask, voice a strangled moan. 

“I see the way you look at him,” Aegon says, a matter of factly, “much like how you look at me.”

Aemond is right in front of you now, watching as Aegon plunges himself into you. Your breath comes in pants, sure that Aegon is displeased, that he means to punish you in some way.

“Do you like how my brother fucks you?” Aemond asks, bringing a hand under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

The question stuns you. Tears spring from the corner of your eyes.

“Yes!” you cry out and Aemond hums at your response. 

“I told you Aegon was not usually kind,” Aemond said, letting his thumb stroke over your bottom lip; a shiver rolls through you.  

“She likes it, brother,” Aegon says, snapping his hips against you. 

“I do,” you moan in agreement, as Aegon’s cock massages a spot within you that makes your vision blur and your thighs tremble. 

“That’s it,” Aegon says, bringing his hand towards the apex of your thighs, using your slick arousal to fondle the precious pearl that lies hidden there. 

You release a moan, a tangled mess of both their names. 

“Hear that brother?” Aemond teases, “even with you inside of her she calls for me.”

Aegon yanks you up by your hair, a deliciously painful sensation on your scalp as he drags you flush against him. He remains nestled inside of you, as his lips find your ear. 

“Do you like him better?” Aegon taunts, placing a wet kiss on your neck. You can feel his smile; he is teasing you, taunting you. 

“No..” you moan, “I want…I-”

How can you possibly tell them what you want? What you desire?

“What dear wife?” Aegon says, lazily thrusting up into you, “tell me what you desire and I shall make it so.”

You whimper against him, as he holds your hips guiding them up and down on his thick shaft. 

“I want you both,” you murmur, an embarrassed whisper. 

The brothers are silent for a moment, the sound of soft, wet slapping the only noise in the room despite the small whimpers that leave your mouth. 

“You heard her,” Aegon says, causing your eyes to snap open.

“Say it again,” Aemond demands, still standing at the foot of the bed, watching you intently. 

“I want you both,” you repeat, more confidently this time.  

“Greedy, greedy wife,” Aegon purrs, as his hand curls around your breast. 

He lifts you from his cock, twisting you onto your back before re-entering you, placing one of your legs on his shoulder so he can thrust into you deeper. Your head hangs from the side of the bed, as he pounds into you. 

“What am I to do with such a greedy, lustful wife?” he taunts, placing a kiss on your breast, and stretching your hamstring until the burn is almost unbearable. 

You wonder if this is what it shall be like to be married to a Targaryen, always a constant state of burning. 

“Brother?” he calls, never relenting his strokes, “help me with my wife, will you?”

Aemond moves to the side of the bed, and within an instance, his breeches fall revealing his cock. It is not as thick as Aegon’s though it still has a girth that makes your eyes widen. 

“Get him ready,” Aegon tells you when you do nothing but gawk at Aemond’s cock that stands erect in front of you.

“How?” you ask, unsure of the next steps. 

“With your mouth,” Aegon directs, “get him nice and ready and I’ll let him fuck you kindly.”

A thrill runs through you at the thought and Aemond steps forward. You unhook your jaw and let him slide his hot length through your parted lips. 

Aemond’s pace is different than Aegon’s, as though he is holding back from fucking your throat relentlessly. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat causing you to gag. 

Aegon moans at that. 

“Do that again,” he says, lifting your leg off his shoulder to hold it in the air. 

Aemond rolls his hips forward gently, causing you to gag again. Aegon groans at the noise. 

“Fuck that’s a pretty sound,” Aegon moans, rolling his hips in such a way that makes your toes curl with pleasure.

“Seven hells,” Aemond hisses when you hollow your cheeks, and experiment with moving your tongue. 

Aemond brings his hands to your breasts, tweaking and pinching your pebbled nipples.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Aegon says, “I knew the moment I saw her I had to have her.”

“As did I,” Aemond says, causing you to whimper around his cock. 

You feel so unbelievably full from both ends, unaware that it was possible to feel this amount of pleasure. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes, as you feel Aegon’s thumb begin to circle the sensitive pearl at the apex of your thighs. 

You feel your thighs begin to tremble, as Aegon continues his attention. Your moans and gags grow louder around Aemond’s cock, the room filling with wet sounds. The pleasure builds and you find your release, cunt clenching around Aegon’s cock. He makes a breathless noise as he feels you tighten around him.

“Seven hells,” Aegon moans, before unsheathing himself from you, “what a good girl you are.”

You cannot answer, due to Aemond’s cock in your mouth and your hazy brain coming down from your orgasm. Aegon chuckles. 

“Go on then,” he says to Aemond, “be sweet to her.”

Aegon climbs off the bed, positioning himself in a chair, and fisting his still-hard cock. Aemond removes his cock from your mouth, a trail of spit connecting you to the tip. Aegon bites his lip at the sight. 

Aemond maneuvers you on the bed, gently cradling your head until it rests on a pillow. His touch is different from Aegon’s, not as rough, not as hasty. You look at your husband, his eyes are dark with lust. 

“What about you?” you ask, voice shaky. He grins at your words, head tilting backward.

“I know,” he purrs, “I’m being awfully generous, and on my wedding night as well.”

He pumps his cock again using the slick from your cunt, his flushed tip weeping precum. 

“You are my wife,” Aegon says, as though reminding you.

You turn your head toward Aemond, who now hovers above you. 

“May I kiss you?” he asks, eye flickering to your lips.

What an odd question to ask when his cock has already been in your mouth. 

“Yes,” you breathe, and Aemond leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss. 

You can feel his thighs brush against yours, his heavy cock nudging your legs apart. He reaches a hand down, barely having to try with how wet you are, sliding inside your tight warm heat with ease. 

You moan against his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck, holding him close to you. Aemond is different, he feels different inside of you. He slowly rolls his hips against you, a gentle, even pace that has you clutching the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Aemond moves his mouth to your neck, kissing the hot flesh. Your head turns to the side, watching Aegon tug himself at the sight of Aemond fucking you. His mouth hangs open, lips curling into a smirk. Aemond’s head is buried in the other side of your neck, his pants music to your ears. 

You drop a hand from Aemond’s shoulders, reaching toward Aegon. He rises from the chair almost instantly and you wrap your hand around his neck. He covers your mouth in a hot kiss, laying beside you. Aemond lifts himself up, before unsheathing himself from you, laying on the other side. 

You turn to face Aegon, as Aemond lifts your leg, to continue to fuck you as you lay on your side. Your mouth falls open at a new angle, the tightness allows your cunt to swallow Aemond’s cock. 

Aegon kisses you, his hand reaching between your legs. A desperate moan is swallowed by your husband, and you reach your hand to stroke him as well. 

“That's it,” he says against your mouth. Aemond bites into your shoulder.

“Gods,” you breathe a pathetic whine that causes both men to chuckle.

“Close,” Aegon murmurs, “this is how a queen should be treated. Do you agree?”

You nod desperately.

“You are a dream,” Aegon purrs, “a delectable dream.” 

You cry out as your second orgasm washes over you, you feel Aemond find his release as well, spilling his hot seed inside of you. 

Aegon continues rubbing you until you’re pushing against him, pleading with him to release you. He does not, only rolls you off Aemond’s softening cock and onto his, having you straddle him. Aegon pulls you down, not allowing you to ride him (that shall be for another occasion). Instead, he holds you flat against his chest, beginning to jackhammer up into you, chasing his release.

You become a babbling mess, clenched so tightly when Aegon finds his release, your cunt milking him for all he is worth. You droop off of Aegon, falling in the space between the brothers, shaking from the pleasure you received, their mingled releases spilling from your entrance. 

You feel Aemond place a gentle kiss on your shoulder, as Aegon moves a strand of hair from your brow.

“I am afraid some of my reputation, holds water,” Aegon admits, fingers trailing down your chest. 

You hum, unable to form words.

“But I am not a selfish lover,” Aegon continues, “you are my wife, and I shan’t deny what brings you pleasure.”

You can feel Aemond growing hard again, as his cock presses against your backside. Aegon’s hand cups your breast, squeezing it softly. 

“Is that alright?” Aegon asks, though his amused expression seems to already know the answer.

You flutter your lashes at him, leaning into Aemond, before answering with a tired smile and a nod. 

It was to be a long night, shared between the dragon princes. 

note: I couldn't pick and I wanted both SUE ME 😤😩🥵

taglist: @afro-hispwriter, @aemondsb1tch, @twobluejeans, @s0urmarvel, @fan-goddess, @the-phantom-of-arda, @cicaspair418, @loxbbg, @arraxthatsonjah, @missbeeentertainment, @maximizedrhythms, @xdeath-soulx , @wrendermeuseless, @hiatuswhore, @sho1407, @minttea07, @arkainea, @elissanatok, @alitaar, @bellaisasleep, @itsleniiilosers, @cassiopeia-black-brenda, @bogwaterswamp, @applepie02, @youngestxhearts, @aurabluestar, @watersquirtpewpewboomm, @w3ird11, @minttea07, @hopebaker, @banana-man0, @m1ndbrand @itsleniiilosers, @for-fuck-sake-im-alive, @duckworthbean, @lunamadhatter99, @mss-nthng, @heavenly1927,@jamespotterismydaddy, @f4ll-for-you, @yentroucnagol, @crazylokonugget, @ugh-my-back, @sweetniasblog @herfantasyworldd, @here-for--the-fun, @zoleea-exultant, @howdoichangemynameto, @wasntpriscilla, @avadakadabra93, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @i-killed-ramsey

[bucca2]

angel of small death (könig x reader)

the new recruit gets on könig's nerves.

3rd person, König's pov, she/her pronouns for reader, rivals to lovers, romance, slow burn, König does not trust pretty women who act interested in him, reader is determined to jump this man's bones

1k words

tw: none really, just swearing and König gets a boner at the end

besties I don't even know what this is. I was listening to angel of small death and the codeine scene by hozier and went "yeah we all love when König is creepy and stalkery and insistent towards the object of his obsession affections, but what if his love interest was the one pursuing him". enjoy this lil tidbit before shrike ch3! I'll probably write more about these two, it's a fun dynamic.

König knows how to read people.

It was a survival instinct. Reading into every micro-expression, every intonation in a voice, every shift of the shoulders. As a child, it served him well predicting what torment his bullies planned to inflict on him. As a soldier, he knew how to read his coworkers and establish that he was not to be fucked with. He had a reputation, and he was proud of it. Perhaps it was a little isolating, being the giant boogeyman of the base, but loneliness was not new to him. He knew how to deal with loneliness.

He doesn’t know how to deal with her.

The new recruit flutters onto base entirely unlike a soldier of her caliber. Flutters is really the only way to describe her, regardless of the way she moves physically. She’s the definition of a social butterfly—whether her candor is genuine, or a mask to hide a deep well of insecurity and anxiety is anybody’s guess. But there’s a grace to the way she manages to endear herself to nearly everyone, regardless of the friend groups and casual cliques the soldiers have formed.

Except König.

Oh, bite him. What was he supposed to think when she full body slammed into him coming around the corner, and then looked up at him with that mischievous glimmer in her eye?

“Whoa, you are one huge motherfucker!” she says, the profanity slipping out of her without hesitation. If she were any other woman, perhaps some nice little civilian lady, her wide smile and twinkling eyes would have turned him to mush. But instead, it puts him on his guard. The boys who bullied him as a child hurt him with their fists. The girls cloaked their insults with honey, with cloying little chirps about his size before crushing what little self-confidence his height afforded him. Just some awkward lanky giant who takes up too much space.

He glares down at her, eyes boring into her from behind the hood. “Watch where you’re going, recruit.” He stalks off down the hallway, but not before he hears her tut and exclaim “what crawled up his ass?” to the coworker she was walking with.

He doesn’t want to know anything about her. He’s not interested, he tells himself, in learning about who she is. But he learns anyway, from hearing snippets of conversation around the base.

She’s on the young side for their line of work, but she’s good. She’s a dead-on shot with a gun, and a whiz with throwing knives. Her specialty, of course, is sniping. König bends the metal fork he’s eating with in his fist when he hears this particular tidbit. Of course, she has the job he wanted when he first joined special forces. Of course she would be outstanding in the one thing he wasn’t allowed to do.

He tries to avoid her—it irritates him, how goddamn pleasant she is. Friendly, outgoing, warm. All adjectives that nobody would apply to him. He was hoping his cold initial reception would keep her away, but she seems almost determined to pop up wherever he finds himself. If he’s eating with the others, she’s nearby, perched on a table and making everyone near her laugh. If he’s at target practice, she’s there, shooting bullets through the same hole punched in the target almost every time. (He has to admit, that does impress him. He knows enough to recognize a master at work.) If he’s getting coffee to stave off his sleepiness, she’s at the coffee maker, engaged in conversation that annoys him with its peppiness.

He somehow makes it a whole week without having something resembling a proper conversation with her, and he was liking it just fine that way. Alas, there’s a mission briefing, and now she’s walking up to him beaming, hand outstretched.

“Hey, big guy! We haven’t been properly introduced yet, have we?” König looks down at her hand, then back to her face.

“König.” He watches with a nasty bit of smugness as her smile falters for a moment and she drops her hand.

“König, huh? German for king.” It happens so fast, he can barely register what’s happening. She steps closer to him, her voice lowering a whole octave. “Impressive callsign for an impressive man.”

The room suddenly shrinks, and the low chatter of the others filing into the room and exchanging pleasantries fades away. She’s close, so close to him that if he weren’t wearing a mask, he’s sure she would feel his breath. She runs a single fingernail across his torso, right over his pecs, and an involuntary shudder runs through him.

“The name’s Monarch.” He watches, frozen like a marble statue, as she looks up at him through her lashes. It’s undeniably sensual, but there’s the faintest touch of venom in her teasing tone. Her eyes are still as bright as always, but there’s a sharpness to them. He’s only seen this look on her in one situation: the split second between her letting out her breath and her pulling the trigger on a sniper rifle at the range. It’s calm. Collected. The deadly gaze of a confident predator before she blows a target’s head off. He wonders if she’s imagining his head exploding right now.

For the first time in a long time, he feels vulnerable, laid bare in this perplexing and irritating woman’s gaze. Monarch. He’d snort if he wasn’t trapped like a mosquito in amber. Of course she’d have a callsign like that. He’d thought her a butterfly this whole time: fluttery and pretty, but ultimately harmless to him personally.

Now, he feels like he’s staring down a checkmate.

“I look forward to working with you,” she purrs.

In an instant, the moment is gone. Whatever bubble she had encapsulated him in pops, and the mess of overlapping conversations and shuffling feet surges into his senses, like someone pressing the fast forward button. He blinks, and she’s already moved away, bouncy and energetic as she greets another coworker. He’s never been so confused in his entire life.

He sits down before anyone can notice his throbbing hard erection.

if you want a visual on what I was imagining when Monarch touches his pecs, it's exactly what Black Cat does in this video (time stamped)

yes, I did at some point have the thought "this would make a really good plot with Ghost" but I think Ghost's thing is that he's stoic and keeps people at a distance because he doesn't want to get close to someone and put them at risk. with König he doesn't trust people who are sweet and kind to people all the time because he has trusted people who were kind to him before, and they took advantage of him. alas, this König did not have a Thorn in his life. but Monarch is a thorn in his side!

also. monarch. butterfly. monarch as in king. my brain is so huge (I have impressed myself by coming up with the most surface level metaphors)

I'm not overly pleased with how short this is, but I was trying to capture the attitude of these two characters, so it's kind of like establishing a certain mood. I have PLANS for Monarch though. she's a freaky little lady.

as usual, please send me your feedback, brainrot, literally anything you have to say about these two I want to hear!! I mean this so sincerely. they live in my head rent-free. (also if you want to be tagged drop a reply)

one last thing before I go: I love troubled birds so much. you can't convince me that the one in the moodboard (moodboards are so hard to make, wtf? I have renewed respect for authors who make moodboards as their fic images) and this one are so Königcore

[ateez-himari]

PRAY : HIDDEN FOOTAGE

A more private aspect of the relationship between the industry's producing sibling duo as camera follows them behind the scenes.

June 26, 2024 (6:30PM)

CONTENT WARNING: This article contains mentions of parental loss following a car collision, discussions of mental health, allusions to suicidal tendencies and talk of an unhealthy childhood. Please read at your own discretion.

To celebrate the one year anniversary of an emotional collaboration that also served as the very first solo release of a talented vocalist, BANGTANTV in partnership with KQ ENTERTAINMENT uploaded a two part documentary showcasing the process behind the single 'Pray' by Agust D and Himari. Throughout the years people have come to build these siblings an untouchable reputation through the title 'Hands of Midas', in reference to their incredible musical genius, so it was only natural for netizens to be interested in their work behind the scenes. However, it seems as though they received much more than they had bargained for when heartbreaking stories of the past were recalled by the artists to explain the mindset of each track.

In order to help viewers understand why the pair resemble each other in such a striking manner despite being linked legally rather than through blood, a short rundown of their history was given in the first few minutes. Prior to the tragic accident both families were very close friends and due to this bond the rapper has been in his younger sister's life since her birth, later playing a huge role in raising her following the adoption. While their parents were not detached from their lives, they did work a lot, and with the eldest living his own life it was left to the remaining brothers to take care of her. The girl's biological sibling however was dealing with a lot of physical as well as mental difficulties at the time, which meant that he was in no state to carry out such a huge responsibility.

'I was left with a lot of injuries from the accident so I couldn't move much at the time, and the grief put me in a really dark situation. Because she was still very young she couldn't deal with it properly and was always happy instead...so I couldn't find a way to approach her to take care of her.' Hanzo said in an interview with Cosmopolitan Korea

This paved the way into the conversation that took place while each wrote their respective verses in the side track 'Snooze', and here is what we now know. The middle brother took ever chance available to come home to her, yet these moments were unfortunately few and far between, leaving the family's youngest with no other option than to grow up quickly in order to adjust to an independent lifestyle in the midst of grief. In the refrain along with the first verse Agust D talks about acknowledging life's hardships, some originating from the music industry, all the while reassuring whoever is listening that it is alright to show weakness and lean on somebody.

'They're [the lyrics] what I would have wanted to tell you back then but looking at them makes me realize how much I missed.' Yoongi admitted. 'I regret it a lot you know, seeing that the more I came home, the quicker you seemed to grow up. You saw a lot of things because of me, all of them I wish to take back.'

The last piece of this statement was lightly touched upon in later footage, revealing that the young woman was made to take care of her brother rather often due to him being stuck in a very dark place at the time, leaving him too mentally distant to raise her, with certain anecdotes suggesting she might have been witness to events that were traumatizing for a mere child. While no speculations will be made on this very delicate matter, it is clear that something much deeper has bonded these siblings together, as the man who very rarely cries on camera could be seen tearing up holding his sister.

'When I listened to The Last, I remember throwing up afterwards.' Himari recalled. 'The emotions were just too much and I think it was my body's way of dealing with them, since I never truly got closure. I was terrified back then, having to pull you out this often, but I don't blame you for it. If anything I feel relieved that someone was there at the time, even if it had to be me.'

With the discussion that followed being extremely personal we have decided not to summarize it, so for those who wish to listen, it can be found at the 25 minute mark in the first part of the documentary which can be found on BANGTANTV. We advise viewers to watch at their own discretion as it contains mentions of attempted suicide and deep childhood trauma, as well as heavy mental distress. What can be said in short however is that we now understand why the maknae tends to act childishly, as there was never truly a time in the two year period preceding training that she had the opportunity to live as one.

While devastating aspects of their past were unraveled, most pieces of footage filmed on personal cameras managed to heal viewers' hearts as they showed their healed relationship, from playing around while creating to going out to cafes or PC bangs. Multiple instances of the young woman falling asleep on the couch in her brother's studio have been reposted on social media, as it led to the rapper caring for her as one would a child, demonstrating the amount of attentiveness he holds towards her.

'I raised her, so there's something more in how I see her.' He said in episode 20 of Suchwita [with Taemin] 'It's not a parental link or anything...but it feels like it sometimes.'

This nearly fatherly care for his sister was demonstrated through an anecdote in which her difficulties navigating the music industry with a near deaf ear were talked about, leading viewers to learn that due to the family's low financial status they were unable to afford a hearing aid for their youngest, seeing as they already had to pay the hospital fees. The girl being fully aware of their predicament had never mentioned need for it, yet Yoongi rapidly caught on to the struggles this new impairment brought into her daily life, such as extreme fatigue along with splitting headaches and so he set aside money following every paycheck earned during his delivery job.

'The song that fits us the most...' Himari pondered over the question asked in a solo segment. 'Maybe Mockingbird by Eminem, my brother used to play it a lot at home. There's a lot of regrets in the song, a lot of promises about protection and sacrifices just to make her [his daughter] life better. It was the same with us in a sense...I guess a good example is that back then he needed money but he saved so much just to buy me a hearing aid.'

That is not to say the youngest does not care for her brother to the same extent, as she would reassure the older artist by holding his hands when he talked about something especially painful, even wiping fallen tears whilst talking about how great a man he is. Food ordered for him would very quickly fill the studio and although claiming to have eaten well, the rapper finished every single dish, even accepting the soft pink blankets draped over him when producing sessions lasted into late at night. While not providing the same way as he had during their childhood, the vocalist shows her care through small actions that prove the amount of attention truly on him at all times.

Their heavy history is easily discernable from the way these artists embrace one another, as there never seems to have been a singular loose hug, never a moment where they did not treasure the simple fact of each other's presence. Although the rapper usually rejects skinship in front of cameras, he could be seen seeking it out throughout the documentary, always asking for a small kiss on the cheek whenever the youngest arrived or left. Sharp eyed netizens also noticed how the senior fidgeted with his rings when listening to the vulnerable lyrics written by his sister, while she on the other hand tended to zone out as if attempting to repress certain emotions.

Peace can be found through these pieces of media as the siblings have stated that despite these setbacks they have managed to find their own balance, and are now going about life with fresh scars rather than carrying old wounds. Strangely enough, having these many instances of them laughing with one another, both fandoms noticed that their smiles are practically identical which had led to sweet speculations about fate meaning for them to be one another's healing.

National Soccer Team Captain, Min Hanzo, made several appearances

With the relationship between the vocalist and her biological brother being kept away from the spotlight, it has left many wondering about whether they were truly close or if something was brewing behind closed doors that neither wished to address. This worry was however rapidly dismissed, as several videos of them inserted throughout this documentary reassured fans that the siblings' bond is even stronger than they had claimed it to be. While every single piece of footage was heart warming enough to spark conversations it was not what caught the attention of sharp eyed netizens, but rather a singular clip filmed by the rapper in which they could be seen playing basketball.

The reason behind the influx of speculative threads on the X platform was the fact that their scars from the accident seemed to complete one another's, as where the idol was marked on the right, her brother's much more prominent ones were on the left. The most popular hypothesis is that the older man would have allegedly pulled Himari into his chest in order to protect her from the impact, which seems rather convincing due to the fact that the difference in their injuries' visibility suggests he had suffered the brunt of the impact. Amateur detectives on social media also recalled that the soccer player had made a few references to the aftermath of this tragedy in the past, in which he recalls being impaired to the point of barely being able to move for days while his sister seemed to be relatively healthier.

Making History

While life has not favored these artists in their younger years, their current standing at the top of the industry reflects the diligence in the siblings' work ethic as several pieces of history have been written through their groups despite the incredible amount of challenges they were made to overcome. The senior idols are well recognized for having paved the way for future generations while their juniors are slowly catching up to their achievements, having become the first male group to perform at Coachella and the first k-pop act to grace the stage of Mawazine, the second biggest music festival.

'At times, staying in this career was terrifying.' Himari had said rather hesitantly. 'On more than one occasion I felt like it was the end, like the exhaustion was genuinely going to kill me the second I closed my eyes. So much went on behind the scenes, we would go from one schedule to another without rest and using oxygen masks to avoid fainting became common.'

Much more weight than simply performing rests on their shoulders as both hold the position of producer, alongside several members, which demands that they constantly create new melodies in the midst of their already overwhelming schedules. Their skills have no grounds to be questioned as other well renowned idols have turned to them for their own releases, the most blatant examples being soloist IU with Yoongi and SHINee member Taemin with Himari.

Closing Statement

This documentary was heart wrenching to say the least yet placed much more meaning on the single's tracks with clear connections to dark aspects of their past now being unlocked to the public, serving as a form of closure for these siblings as well. They have truly shown that trauma does not make up the entirety of an individual as both are now known for their intoxicating happiness, giving the audience a valuable lesson about mental health and healing.

REMINDER to keep streaming Golden Hour Part : 1 by ATEEZ and support Jimin's upcoming comeback 'Muse' releasing on July 19 at 1PM (KST) along with 'Type 1' photobook by V releasing on July 9.

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A/N; Please keep in mind that while Yoongi has talked about mental health in the past, this is not an accurate representation of what he has lived as this is purely a work of fiction!

[a-boca-do-inferno]

when i look at you (al pacino x reader) [request]

summary: Al finds himself at a crossroads on set.

warnings: fluff, bit of angst

words: 1.0k

notes: hello guys! yes, im alive and well. just a clarification: i write for characters only, but i wrote this one thing specifically for a request that has been sitting in my inbox for a long time. at this moment requests are closed, but once they open again, it's for characters only!!! no real people. enjoy xx

NEW YORK CITY

1975

Amid the towering skyscrapers and labyrinthine streets, the movie set hummed with activity. Al was shooting his latest film and the director, Jack, a man known for his often stress-inducing standards and fiery temperament, stood at the helm. The set was abuzz with anticipation and nerves, but your figure was the only thing he could see. You had been a constant presence on set up until that point and such a vision, full of grace and quiet strength, never failed to catch his attention. 

Al was well aware you grew up in the world of cinema, your father’s passion seeping into your very being, however Jack was fiercely protective, ensuring you stayed away from the darker sides of the industry. And it was quite clear you loved your father dearly, yet longed for a taste of the freedom you saw in the actors and crew around you. The lingering gaze you directed at Al himself could attest to that; he’s seen that look on a woman’s face before. 

The longing for more.

Al first noticed you during a scene where he was meant to display raw emotion. He glanced over and saw you, half-hidden behind the camera, your attention locked onto him, watching intently. There’s just something in your globes—admiration, curiosity, who knows?—that struck him. For a moment, he almost broke character. It was on that day he decided he had enough. 

Al approached you on the lunch break, trying to keep his tone casual. “Hey.”

You looked up, a hint of surprise in your expression. “Hey! Uh… I’ve seen all your movies, Mr. Pacino. You’re incredible.”

He chuckled. “Just Al is fine, and thank you.” He displayed a playful bow. “I’ve seen you around a lot. You work on the set?”

You shook your head. “Not really. I just like being here, watching everything come together. It’s… magic.”

Your conversation was cut short by Jack’s booming voice calling Al back to the set. As he walked away, he glanced back and saw you still looking at him, your glance filled with that something he couldn’t quite place again.

Over the next few weeks, your interactions became more frequent, always under the radar. You would steal moments between takes, sharing stories and laughter, your connection growing stronger. Al found himself drawn to your intelligence and warmth, a stark contrast to the often superficial nature of Hollywood. And you, in turn, were captivated by his intensity and passion. He treated you as an equal, valuing your opinions and thoughts, which wasn’t a dynamic you were used to. 

It wasn’t long before these stolen moments began to feel like the most important parts of your day. Still, the shadow of Jack’s disapproval hung over you both. He would never approve of his daughter being involved with one of his actors, and especially not someone with Al’s reputation involving women. 

One evening, after a long day of shooting, Al found you alone on the rooftop of the building where they were filming that day. “Hey”, he said softly, joining you at the edge. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You smiled, though it seemed tight. “Just thinking about how much I love this city. And how much I hate keeping secrets.”

Al sighed, reaching out to take your hand. “I wish things were different.”

You turned to face him, your eyes searching his. “What if they didn’t have to be? What if we… just told him?”

“He’d be furious”, Al replied matter-of-factly. “He might even fire me. I can’t risk that, not with everything riding on this film.”

You squeezed his palm. “I can’t keep pretending we’re just friends, Al. It’s tearing me apart.”

Al pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll figure something out, I promise.”

Your embrace was interrupted by the sound of the rooftop door opening. You sprang apart just as Jack appeared, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What are you two doing up here?” He demanded.

“Just talking”, Al said quickly. ���Needed some fresh air.”

Jack’s gaze shifted between you, doubt flickering in his features. “(y/n), it’s late. You should head home.” 

You only nodded, giving Al a fleeting, pained look before going with your father inside. The days that followed were filled with tension. You continued to see Al in secret, your moments together a mix of stolen kisses and whispered confessions. The fear of being discovered loomed over you, but so did the hope that one day, you wouldn’t have to hide.

One afternoon, as the crew was setting up for a particularly challenging scene, Jack pulled Al aside. “We need to talk.” Al’s heart pounded as he followed Jack to a quieter area of the set. He turned to the younger man, his face unreadable. “I know something’s going on between you and my daughter”, he stated bluntly.

Al’s breath caught in his throat. “Jack…”

“I’m not a fool, Al. I see the way you look at her. And she’s been different lately. Happier.”

Al swallowed hard, choosing his words carefully. “I care about her, Jack. I really do.”

Jack’s eyes softened, albeit but a fraction. “She’s my world, Al. I’ve protected her from everything this industry can throw at her. If you hurt her, I don’t know what I...”

“I won’t”, Al stated quickly, in a single breath. “I love her.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. Jack studied him for a long moment before sighing quietly. “I believe you” he sighed at last. “But if you’re serious about this, you need to do it right. No more sneaking around. Be honest with her. And with me.”

Al felt a wave of relief wash over him. “Thank you. I promise I’ll make her happy.”

Jack nodded briefly, then clapped a hand on Al’s shoulder. “Alright, let’s get back to work. And later, we’re all going to dinner together. That’s your second job interview.”

Al laughed in a mix of amusement and nervousness before leaving his side to try and find you. And there you were, the same vision he came to admire everyday on set; except now his eyes were the ones sparkling with something different. No more longing, though. 

Only love. 

[prettyrealm]

taylor swift & travis kelce dynamic reading

this reading is a paid commision, thank you so much for trusting in me! <3 celebrity commissions • personal commissions

overall:

honestly, this dynamic is giving PR-adjacent, it doesn’t feel like it’s technically solely PR but that at the same time, the media and their reputations are basically the sole reason for being together (and they likely do a lot of things for the media too, maybe even calling the paparazzi on themselves and stuff similar to that). both of them (taylor especially) entered this relationship with the media and optics in mind. taylor felt she needed an image boost (almost in a desperate way, she really wanted people to see the good in her and liked this opportunity). taylor and travis are not happy together at all. they take this “relationship” day by day and it feels painful, not painful as in gaslighting or infidelity, but painful as in the feeling you get when you wake up in the morning and you know you have to clock into your terrible job in less than an hour and you don’t know how many more weeks you can realistically handle it. they’re both just waiting for this to be over but for some reason don’t think they can leave yet. they feel drained and both feel they could be doing better things with their time. at first, they thought this would be easy but now they’re just terribly bored. they have nothing to talk about or (anything fun) to do together, they have zero of the same interests and find it hard to even hold basic conversations with the other person. not only do they not have anything to talk about, they can actually leave the conversations they do have feeling pretty bad at times, travis has a way of accidentally triggering taylor (and he may even tease her at times which she doesn’t appreciate, though she also seems to not say anything about it either). she has a long term plan with this relationship though, so she’s okay with dealing with temporary discomfort if it’ll make her future brighter. while they both entered this relationship with image in mind, taylor was more calculated about it and travis saw more actual potential in it (and still sometimes thinks so), when it ends it’s likely that taylor won’t be hurt at all, but travis may feel a bit slighted. zero romantic feelings here. they are definitely not each others soulmate, that’s for sure.

how travis kelce sees taylor swift:

travis sees taylor as the greatest pop star in the world right now, and he has a hard time seeing past her image (blonde all american girl, songwriter that writes about her exes) and viewing her as an actual person. i think he only ever really sees two sides of her, pop-star taylor and business woman taylor. so when he isn’t stuck on her image, he just sees a strong, powerful (but bossy) woman (who’s friendly enough and good at networking). he thinks she’s a true business woman and really gets to see the extent of how business-oriented and career driven she is behind the scenes (he can tell she has a lot of knowledge here and knows what she’s doing). travis definitely wants the relationship to keep going more than she does because he knows she’s the most famous and powerful person out right now (he sees how much money her name moves), he likes being tied to someone so famous.

how taylor swift sees travis kelce:

taylor sees as on the same page as her when it comes to their overall goals (for ex. it’s not like she calls the paparazzi on them unbeknownst to him, he knows exactly what’s going on). overall however, she thinks he’s super stupid. she’s had problems explaining things to him because he just doesn’t understand it and she doesn’t get why. she thinks he’s super immature and literally acts like a teenage boy, which is super unattractive to her - this is not her type of guy at all. she thinks he’s weird and the things he thinks are funny are bizarre and strange to her (it’s like someone belly laughing at a comedy movie you think is extremely corny and bad). she’s shocked that someone can even be this way, he leaves her baffled often. she also worries about him saying the wrong thing to other people in case it reflects badly on her (since she thinks he isn’t a smart or tactful speaker). she’s often shocked at how relationship-y and coupley he tries to act with her at times and she thinks it really crosses the line (for ex. if they do call the paparazzi on themselves he might really play up the affection or something and she’s like, “ok you know you don’t need to be doing that much”). but this can also even happen behind the scenes, which confuses taylor even more, for ex. say they’re at an event and she’s talking to another guy, later he’ll be like, “so who was that guy?” and she’s like “??? why are you even asking me that when you know what this is? are you really trying to act jealous right now?”. he frustrates her often.

[e-dubbc11]

Hi! 🙋🏻‍♀️

Reading “Always Her Hero” again got me thinking…exactly what traits do Dylan & Billy share?

“And your son, Dylan, well, let’s just say he’s more like you in ways you hoped he would have been more like his mother.”

Hello my dear friend!

First of all, this gif? Swoon! Fun fact…I found and purchased those sunglasses from that scene. Took me awhile to find them but I won!

Thank you for sending in this ask, for always supporting my writing and loving this little family as much as you do.

I hope you like what I did here ♥️

Be Like You

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Billy Russo x F! Reader, Anna Raven, and Teenager Dylan

Warnings: a couple of swear words? Maybe? Teenage angst, and fluff

Word Count: 2.1K-ish

Summary: Lately, Dylan has been moody, quiet, and acting…well, like his father. You and Billy would like to know what’s wrong but like Billy, you hate to push so it’s best to tread lightly. He just needs a bit of a talking to. Part of the Sweetest Pain Series. I’ll leave the link to the Masterlist HERE

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

“Your brother is growing up to be really cute, Anna.” Sofie said with raised eyebrows and biting down on her lower lip.

Little Raven’s friends, Sofie and Hannah, were home for Christmas break. You, Anna, and Billy survived Little Raven being away for her first year of college and now she was home until January.

Behind the kitchen door, you were eavesdropping on Anna and her friends while they were watching a movie. They had just watched Dylan go upstairs to his room and commented on how handsome he was becoming.

Physically, Dylan looked just like Billy. He had the wild dark brown hair, the ink like eyes and that smile, that perfect and irresistible Russo smile that was hard to say “no” to. Even when he was little, he knew when to use that smile.

Pictures from Billy’s childhood were non-existent until he joined the service and then he had his picture taken after he graduated from boot camp.

Comparing side by side pictures of Dylan and his father, they could be twins and even though they were slightly older, Anna’s friends had noticed Dylan was growing up to be very handsome.

“Ew, gross you guys, that’s my brother!” Said Anna.

“Yeah but he’s REALLY cute!” Hannah exclaimed.

You didn’t notice that Billy had crept up behind you, the man was extremely light on his feet and without warning, he grabbed you by the waist and whispered in your ear.

“What are we doin’?” He asked.

You nearly jumped out of your skin but tried to stay as quiet as possible.

“OH MY GOD!! BILLY!! You scared the shit outta me!” You whisper yelled at him.

“What else is new? I scare you all the time, sweet girl.” He said with a wide smile.

You glared at him playfully and said, “You are freakishly light on your feet, that is not normal, lieutenant.”

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry, my love. But what are we doing?” Billy asked again.

“Little Raven’s friends have a crush on Dylan.” You said softly and in a concerned tone.

“You say like that’s a bad thing, baby.” Said Billy. “He’s a good lookin’ kid, like his father.”

You rolled your eyes and tried not to smile. Billy wasn’t wrong but Dylan was starting to exhibit behaviors like his father used to before you walked into his life and into his tattoo shop.

You didn’t find out until after he started tattooing you that he stopped his playboy ways like going out with different women all the time, and flirting with every woman that walked into his shop.

Billy could have any woman he wanted. He was charming, handsome, and his smile made you weak in the knees. And his son was following in his footsteps, he had girls at his school falling all over him and he would take a different girl out every week.

“Billy I don’t want him having that kind of reputation. No girl likes that, baby.” You said.

“I should talk to him, huh?” Asked Billy. “I guess I never really cared what kind of reputation I had at 16 either.”

Your husband looked unsure of how to handle the situation and almost angry at himself for possibly passing on certain personality traits to his son. Anna Raven was guilty of it too but Dylan could be quite moody at times, he would shut down and not want to talk about what’s bothering him or tell you if anything was wrong, and he was growing up to be a very handsome young man, to which he was hyper aware of.

And now that you were thinking about it, Dylan started to exhibit this type of behavior more so after Billy felt comfortable enough to tell both of his children about the way he grew up. They were old enough now where they could handle the truth.

Snaking your arms around his neck, you pulled Billy’s forehead to yours then gently pressed your lips to his. You wanted to reassure him that you were raising two great kids, one of them just needed a little extra guidance than the other right now.

“Baby, I think Dylan needs a little bit of a behavioral adjustment. I know how long It took you to finally open up to me, to tell me if anything is bothering you, learn that attachments weren’t a weakness. Hell, it took you over 6 years to tell me that you had feelings for me! I know it’s still difficult sometimes but I don’t want the same thing for Dylan.” You said.

You continued.

“It started pretty much right after you told the kids about your mom and growing up in a group home. We know how Anna felt about it by the tears streaming down her face when you were finished talking but Dylan…he didn’t say much.” You said softly.

Billy kissed your forehead and said, “I’m gonna go talk to him.”

He walked out of the kitchen and headed toward the stairs, Anna and her friends said hello and went back to watching their movie.

You waited a minute before following Billy up the stairs, mostly because you were concerned about Dylan but also you were incredibly nosey.

Before you reached the top of the stairs, you heard Billy knock on Dylan’s door.

“Dylan? Can I come in?” Asked Billy.

Dylan replied, “Yeah…sure.”

You crept up to Dylan’s door, Billy left it cracked, maybe he did it on purpose because he knew you were nosey and you wanted to hear what was being said but maybe not. Through the small opening in the door, you could see Billy sitting in Dylan’s desk chair and your son was sitting on the floor with a video game controller in his hand.

They were sitting side by side as you gazed fondly at father and son, they looked so much alike. Dylan was just a younger version of Billy and you thought Dylan could play a younger version of Billy in a movie.

“Whatcha playin?” Billy asked.

Dylan furiously pushed a couple of the buttons on the controller before answering his father.

“Street Fighter II. I’m trying to get better so I can beat Mom.” Replied Dylan.

Billy chuckled, “You’re never going to beat your mother at that game. Before she got pregnant with Anna, I took everyone out to celebrate her birthday at a bar where they had old video games. Your mother beat every person that challenged her in that game. She didn’t even lose a round, let alone a match.” He said.

Biting down on your thumb, you stopped yourself from laughing but your body was shaking uncontrollably. You remembered that night like it was yesterday and how drunk you got on the tequila shots Frank was feeding you.

“Oh I’m gonna beat her, one of these days, Dad. Bet on it.” Said Dylan.

Billy leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together.

“That’s the right attitude to have, buddy.” Billy said.

“But that’s not why you came in here, is it, Dad.” Dylan said, shaking his head slightly and narrowing his eyes.

“No, it’s not.” Billy said, followed by a short pause. “I came in here to ask you if something is bothering you or if you wanted to talk about anything. Lately, you’ve been walkin’ around here in a mood, not sayin’ a whole lot.”

Still playing his game and staring at the television, Dylan’s mouth downturned and he shook his head back and forth. He finally said, “Nope, I’m fine.”

In a concerned tone, Billy said, “You know you can come to mom and me if you’re havin’ a hard time.”

Nonchalantly and not even phased, Dylan said, “Yeah Dad, I know.”

Your son was just like his father and didn’t want to be pushed into talking when he wasn’t ready. You learned early on in your relationship with Billy not to push too hard if he wasn’t ready to talk about something. It would only push him further away so you let him do it on his own terms like gently approaching a scared animal so they wouldn’t run away.

Billy understood that his son didn’t want to talk at the moment so he got up to leave. As he started to walk toward the door, Dylan stopped him in his tracks.

His expression saddened but then his cheeks flushed with anger as you heard Dylan ask his father, “She never came back for you, did she, Dad.”

Dylan’s tone was somber and he tried to hold back the hitch in his voice but he couldn’t help it. Those words broke your heart all over again, thinking about how Billy’s mother just abandoned him like she did, and left him to grow up in a cold and cruel environment of a group home.

Has Dylan just been holding that inside this whole time since Billy told him the story? He was just alone thinking about how Billy didn’t grow up with a family, that he had to do everything alone, and how she should have been there to protect him.

Billy turned to face his son and replied, “No Dylan, she didn’t.”

“I’m sorry, Dad. I know Mom gets on my case sometimes about wanting to talk about what’s bothering me but I’d hate to think about it if she just left and I didn’t have her anymore. So I’m sorry you never had that.” Said Dylan.

“It’s ok, buddy. And I don’t know if your mother will ever know how much she’s helped me. She’s always been so patient with me and she’s made me a better person so I can be a good father to you and your sister.” Said Billy.

His words brought tears to your eyes.

“I’ll try to be better about talking to you guys if something’s bothering me.” Dylan said with a slight smile.

Billy returned the smile, the smile that was just like his.

Billy replied, “Don’t be like me. I learned the hard way, it’s not good to keep stuff inside.”

As he started to walk toward the door again, Dylan said, “Dad?”

Billy stopped, “Yeah bud?” He asked.

“It’s not so bad being like you.” Dylan said, his lips curled up to reveal that million-dollar smile.

Not knowing how to react, Billy stood there speechless while your heart swelled at your son’s heartfelt words to his father.

With a slight hitch in his voice, Billy replied, “Thanks buddy.” He paused to compose himself and then said, “Oh and Mom said take it easy with the playboy attitude. You’re a good lookin’ kid but you don’t have to go around breakin’ girls’ hearts all over school, you got it?”

“Sure Dad.” Said Dylan.

“You can do that when you get to college.” Billy said with a sly smile.

That’s when you charged into the room.

“BILLY RUSSO!!” You shouted.

“HA! I knew you were listening, baby.” Billy laughed while you glared at him. “Ok, ok…We’re serious, Dylan. Pull up a little bit, yeah? You have plenty of time for that but I will say when you finally find that person you’re meant to be with…it is so much better.”

Billy snaked an arm around your waist, pulled you in close to him and kissed your temple. The two of you fit perfectly together, like his body was molded exactly to fit yours.

Dylan rolled his eyes a little, both of your kids were always just slightly embarrassed when you and Billy would show any affection for each other.

You gave Billy a kiss on the cheek, you caught the faint scent of green soap and laundry detergent on his shirt and the bristles of his beard tickled your lips.

“Alright Dylan, keep practicin’ that game, maybe someday you’ll be able to beat me.” You said as you and Billy started to leave the room.

“What if I challenge you to a match right now?” Dylan asked coyly.

Billy replied, “Oh you really shouldn’t have done that, son. Look, your mother’s eyes are actually glowing!”

Reaching out for the controller, you could feel the excitement in your stomach as you sat down to play video games with your son. He might be 16, but he’ll always be your baby boy.

“I’m not gonna take it easy on you, Dylan.” You said.

“I don’t want you to, Mom. I wanna beat you fair and square.” Said Dylan.

Billy had a proud look on his face. He knew that Dylan would always try his hardest and always try to make himself better in whatever he decides to do…just like his father does.

For not having a model to work from at being a parent, Billy was a pretty fantastic dad. From day one, he wanted his children to know that he would always be there for them for whatever they needed and make sure they knew how loved they were. It wasn’t always easy but Billy finally had the family that he had always wanted.

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @fakehappy27 @snowkestrel @music-indie-tv @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @fictional-hooman @celestialend @nutmeg17 @k-marzolf @vaguekayla @rosaleenablack @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @aoi-targaryen @rachlovesactors @qu1etwolf

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @ittybxttykxttytxtty @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @mrsbillyrusso @colereads

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[white-poppie]

𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬𝐭𝐚!𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐞

Character: Mafia!Sakusa x Civillian!Reader (Based on the poll) Genre: Mafia AU, Yandere Warnings: blood WC: 0.5k+ Writer:@white-poppie

~ Synopsis: "When Sakusa meets a kind and fearless stranger with similar taste, he can't help but fulfil their rather vicious desires."

~ Note: This is very rushed! My exams are starting soon and I wanted to gift something to you guys before I vanish *poof*

Sakusa was a level-headed man. Smart, cunning and sometimes even manipulative if he might. It wasn't a choice, it was a necessity in the profession he was in.

But right now he was submerged in the twilight zone of obsession and desire. Since he met you, he hasn’t been himself.

Sakura Kiyoomi, the leader of the Japanese Yakuza faction called ‘The Black Jackals’ has a history of distaste for humans in general. He is just slightly concerned about his hygiene and health. As a child, he suffered from a weak immune system. Therefore, as he grew older and the responsibility of the gang came upon his shoulders, he had to be even more cautious about getting sick.

He first saw you at a museum he was visiting. He liked to see his crime scene before committing the crime. He was casually looking at the pieces until one of them caught his eye. A fierce-looking woman in a black dress stood on a medieval balcony looking towards the sky. Her eyes were red and distant and her beauty was so enthralling, one could almost ignore the blood on her figure.

It was spellbinding, the way he automatically moved closer to the frame, until his chest came into contact with something soft. He looked down to see a person, brows scrunched up in distaste, but with a very unkind smile on their face.

"Apologies," he said gruffly and you were taken aback by how melodic his voice sounded unlike his clothes, which looked like he had walked straight out of a 12-year-old girl's fantasy.

"It's fine," you sighed, "you may have to be the second one mesmerized by Madame Hien's beauty."

He tilted his head in question.

"The painting," you replied. "It's called 'Madame Hien'."

He looked back up at the painting. Such exquisite artwork, surely anyone would be enamoured by it, but why were only the two of you there?

"You said the second one. What is that supposed to mean?"

You smiled and looked ahead. "Madame Hien has a reputation for being cursed." You crossed your elbows and looked back at him.

He piped, "aren't you scared?"

"What is there to be scared of? Its a painting, art is supposed to make the comfortable uncomfortable. The artist wanted to make it famous by spreading this rumour however unlike other 'haunted paintings', luck didn't side this one. It didn't become famous."

A deep laugh reverberated through his chest. "such a shame, a masterpiece like this in a secluded corner of a tiny museum owned by the government."

You chuckled at his words, "You talk like an anti-communist during the world wars."

He crossed his hands behind his back, "It's a shame really, this painting deserves so much more than this."

You sighed longingly, "sometimes I wish it had a better place to exist."

You look at her black dress, "wish someone would be kind enough to steal it from this godforsaken place."

He smirked and looked towards you, "for an ideal citizen , you talk really dark."

You smiled and answered, "perhaps, law is there to break anyways."

"So hypothetically if I ever plan on doing something illegal, can I count you in?"

"A hundred percent!" you laughed and fished for your business car, "feel free to call me if you ever want to do something illegal."

Sakusa was hesitant to feel another human's touch, but he agreed, "got you."

You looked at your watch in a hurry, "oh no I have a meeting in an hour!"

Quickly you started heading towards the gate, before stopping dead in your tracks, "wait I never asked your name."

He hesitated as he stared at the floor quietly. "Kiyoomi." He said without mentioning his family name.

You flashed him a smile, "Y/N L/N."

BREAKING NEWS: 'Minor painting in the city museum was stolen. The painting titled, 'Madame Hein' which was infamous for cursing those who saw it, has been stolen. The bizarre fact os that the CCTV footage of the entire day of the museum has been erased completely. The thief left the following message graffitied on the museum wall where the painting used to be.

"It's in a better place now, stranger. See you soon." -- K

⤷‧₊˚ HAIKYU!! (ハイキュー!!) 

🥀 BYI/DNI ♡⌇ Request Rules 𓏸 🗝️ ₊﹒《 Join my Taglist •

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[blueepink07]

This scene in Umbilical is very interesting to me...

The people who are next to Yuno have facial expressions.

In Milgram the characters with a well defined face are usually important for the prisoners or for the story.

Good examples are Haruka's mother, whose face appears in the second MV, while his victim still doesn't have a face. Fuuta's supposedly friends at the arcade, Rei -> important storywise, being the victim + a possible affection Muu had for her (implied), Shidou's family (the patients don't have faces), Mahiru's boyfriend, Hanako - Kazui's wife and victim, Kotoko - the man who she steps on his stomach (victim).

So why Yuno, in the only sequence where there are people shown, actually remembers their facial expressions?

Well, I think this scene is more a representation of the society.

If we look closely, we notice a young woman, a middle-age man, a student like Yuno, a younger boy, probably in primary school, an older man.

Basically, people from all ages.

Despite that Yuno tells Es that she doesn't want to change her ways, she had to become a people pleaser. After all, why would she need to put up different facades for every client or person she is with? Why so much effort, that she is even matching clothes to fit the vibe with who she is with? Of course, she made all this with a purpose in mind, to find warmth! In Milgram, she stopped putting up a facade, because this place doesn't represent a place of interest for her anymore.

Ultimately, despite having a purpose in mind, she became, along the way, a people pleaser.

As I stated in my older analysis, Yuno is not fond of society. Because of people who like to humiliate and talk behind their peers who act different or have other perceptions, Yuno has to hide her work and her true self. For a long time, I have been thinking why Yuno makes so much effort, if she, in reality, doesn't care that much about herself...

"Yuno: Haha, we both lie, don't we? The difference is the reason for lying. Kazui-san, you lie to protect yourself, because you're important to yourself. For me, no one is particularly important. That includes myself as well."

Well, in Japan, reputation is very important! If Yuno, will show her true name and self, she might be putting her family in danger, along the way. And she will never want that, because she cares a lot about her family!

"What do you think about your family?"

If Yuno, because of a mistake, would tell her true identity, her family reputation might be at stake. Something that she will never want to happen.

That's why Yuno cares about what these people think and deems them important. She needs to be sure that her facade of a simple high schooler is perfect! To not act out of ordinary, follow the flow, be the same as everyone, so the society will accept her!

Moreover, it's important to state that these people are coloured in a lighter shade of lavender, they are not colourful as other Milgram side characters who don't have faces.

Lavender can express a feeling of dullness, it's lethargic. It could represent Yuno's views about society, how she feels like everyone is the same: judging others for their own self-esteem and pride.

This colour is also a colder one, showing Yuno's loneliness and the lack of warmth she receives from other people. This actually reminds me of a certain dialogue!

"Yuno: That’s right. You know those people who just wanna convince themselves, so they intrude in other people’s affairs even though it’s not their place—I despise them. That’s what I was saying. They only do that to make themselves feel better, don’t they? Those people don’t actually end up doing anything.

Es: Yuno…

Yuno: No matter how many chilling memories I had to go through, those people never gave me any warmth. [sigh] Hehe, I ended up going off-topic there! Um, what did I wanna say again?"

~"chilling memories" ~

The lyrics that are accompaning these visuals are stating that Yuno is feeling some kind of discomfort (her pregnancy). She can't smile anymore, more genuinely.

"I feel a little weird I’m still not used to feeling this way

I can’t get you out of my head, it’s a secret, ok?

Why are you here? You annoy me a little

I can’t smile well anymore, it’s because of you"

Her smile here looks a bit forced. Her eyes don't share the same happiness as her mouth, showing that her expression is not genuine.

Despite Yuno appearing calm about her pregnancy, she was actually a bit afraid and needed help! However, all she could see was a sea of purple, people, all the same, who would have just shamed her for her decisions and wouldn't help...

Bonus

In Teardrop, the only human we see, other than Yuno, is one of her clients. Well, see, it's an exaggeration, since he is represented by his hand which has colour. Yuno remembers him as his hand who gave her warmth, at some point in time. A cute rabbit, a sweet drink and a nice memory!

[tessarionbestgirl]

The topic of "Whitewashed" Green and Blacks my honest opinion.

This something that I have been thinking since watch the show, and it have been a topic discussed from both sides that I saw in the fandom.

But there is majority difference is how is done on TB and TG.

For exemple Alicent is a complete different character from the books. She is less a stereotype evil stepmom and more like a protagonist of Dostoevsky story. And we see in the show part of her book characterization showing up. Still I feel like her character is way more complex and add to the over all tragic aspect of the big narrative. And even her more controversial moment, like the infamous last scene with Viserys, it fits her character from what we see before, to have confirmation bias moment so she could do what she already deeply wished, because is part of Alicent characterization even though some aspects is contrived and I don't took away from people that found out that scene dumb. And that goes in a similar fashion to Aemond, it have base on things they already have stablish way before.

"The idea that we control dragons is an illusion " - Visery

" A dragon is not a slave". - Daenerys Targaryen

But when comes to TB whitewash it doesn't add to story and sometimes is even contradictory what they even stablish before. The most clearly exemple of this is Daemon and Rhaenyra.

The first episode of the show we have Daemon giving Rhaenyra neckless what is a nod to part of the book that heavy implied the grooming aspect of their relationship. And is very important aspect for understand his political motivations behind his actions, arguably some even could say he himself play a part on creating the family feud. It doesn't mean he doesn't have feelings for her. But in the show? Is very romantized and underplayed and is contradictory.

Daemon took her to the brothel, took her hat off exactly for everyone to see her white hair, he wanted to expose her. And then He left her there, because it was supposed the moment of " I spared you" that Daemon talks to Rhaenyra on the beach years later. Whatever it doesn't work, because at this point he already got what he wanted. Ruined her reputation so they could married. But we as the audience should see this redeeming quality.

Whatever this is small compared to Rhaenyra that in the process of making her more sympathetic and "Not like other girls" they make her incredible dumb and inconsistent.

House of the Dragon has a lot time jumps, and in between young and old transition for Young Alicent to Old Alicent is well done and make sense for her character. But Rhaenyra? Well is so hard to connect her young self and old self.

What we know about Young Rhaenyra?

She likes to ride on her dragon.

She is bold and reckless. She has "the blood of the dragon".

She have been part of the small council for a time.

She doesn't want kids.

And she even says to Alicent, she can't think of anything worse than be trap in castle giving birth to children.

And what is the first scene of old Rhaenyra? She is giving birth. There is some sad irony here if was made on porpoise. But a lot of what she was, isn't a thing anymore. A lot of her characteristics are wash out.

Alicent ask to bring her baby to her. And Rhaenyra, as political move decides to go there and take her own child. It shows how much power in a small time Alicent gain over.

What is not something she already had so much in the book. Even so, in the book is Alicent that suggested a marriage between Helaena and Jace. Because at this point in the history, Rhaenyra still holds the power.

But in the show. Even despite Rhaenyra being part of the small council longer and the legitimate heiress. She lost political power agaist Alicent.

And that has nothing to do with Rhaenyra being a woman, because Alicent as well is one, and even someone that has way less cards on the game. That is all because of the incredible bad choices she done.

First she decided to bear children outside a marital union. Generating bastards that according to the law, this is treason and only for that her and her children would be kill. And you could say she doesn't have that much choice since her husband won't sleep with her and she need to produce an heir for her lineage to continue and because of the prophecy.

Whatever how she goes on about this is what genuinely sink her down in a level of delusional. Because instead of going to summer Islands and have a baby with black man, and the only difference would be a black hair, and so what would be more on pair with the level of book suspicions about the legitimacy, she decides to try to have white children and wants to pass them off as the children of a biracial man. 😭

And she does that in front of everyone. And then she decides to leave in the worse possible moment. Doing so the greens took over.

And that is the funniest part about the Dance in the show. Because the greens, they don't create the situations that lead them to power. But actually they just explore the incompetence of the TB.

Whatever at same time we supposed to feel bad of Rhaenyra because she bled out and her humiliated herself when she started to lactation in the small council ( even though is logical because this medieval times, people don't care about this, even game of thrones we have a woman breastfeeding a boy Infront everyone).

All her acts from now on is done exclusively out desperation so the audience feel bad for her. We supposedly to see her a victim of bad propaganda and that is why her fans like her. I think this tweet make a good exemple of what I mean and how her fans see her:

Rhaenyra that once was bald and reckless act out of despair. She fake her husband death because she needs to marry Daemon because otherwise she feels powerless and lost. She begs for her father's support after being away from him for years. And then different from the books when she her sons are promised to Varyans since their childhood, she suggested a marriage out desperation.

Because that way her acts feel less part of responsibility, even though she was the one that got herself in this position.

Whatever there is a part of her character that continued since her young age. When her and Daemon stop and saw people making fun of her, she showed a lack of interest on what the small folk think of her. And in the same episode she seduce Cole to go to bad with her, even know this could cost his life. And when adult she kill a man without thinking. She doesn't care for the people she should reign over if that enters in the middle of her self interests.

She doesn't want war, and supposedly care about the prophecy, but put almost no effort to it when clashes with her own interests.

[shannendoherty-fans]

November 5 to 11 - TV Guide

Shannen Speaks Out

‘Was she a party animal? Is she temperamental? How does she feel about her former 90210 castmates? Shannen Doherty, who stars this week in a TV-movie bio of Margaret Mitchell, answers those questions and more in a lively interview with columnist Liz Smith.

Shannen Doherty: "I'm not a Wild Girl".

Interviewed by Liz Smith. Photographs by Albert Shanchez.

Has she turned over a new leaf—or was her high-living reputation exaggerated in the first place? Heres her side

So, what's a quiet, intelligent, conservative girl doing in the wicked world of show biz? And yes, I am talking about the queen of the vizens, Shannen Doherty. Miss Doherty, 23 and an actress since the age of 10, met with me recently, to promote her NBC movie, “The Margaret Mitchell Story,” and to dispel/explain her tumultuous off-screen image. I knew nothing of Shannen other than her work on “Beverly Hills, 90210,” and her rumored antics via the tabloid press—temperamental on the set, tempestuous in her personal life; a prickly, press-wary young woman. I was warned: Proceed with caution.

Imagine my surprise when I encountered Shannen in the flesh—tiny, very casually dressed, no makeup, hair unruly. She arrived at our appointed spot early, and alone. No press rep, no bodyguard, no escort—not even sunglasses! We spoke for quite awhile, and she answered questions with what appeared to be an impressively realistic view of her own—and others’—shortcomings. She clearly wants to put her past behind her, start anew. That past includes two broken engagements; a brief, sensationally publicized marriage to actor Ashley Hamilton; a reputation as a party girl; and her controversial departure from the show that made her a household name. So here's Shannen, in her own words. Judge for yourself. Personally, I liked her. And I think you would, too—away from the drumbeat of the media.

LIZ SMITH: So, Shannen, tell me about “The Margaret Mitchell Story.” Would it be too absurd to ask if you've read Gone with the Wind?

SHANNEN DOHERTY: No, it wouldn't. I did not read Gone with the Wind, although I've seen the movie, and I read every book on Margaret Mitchell.

LS: Now that we've met, I think you would have made an exciting Scarlett O'Hara. She was a young brunette with beautiful eyes. Did playing in the sequel ever occur to you? Did they ask you?

SD: They didn't ask me. And I probably wouldn't have done it, simply because it's a classic and it would be hard to repeat that without getting completely killed. And I had a much better option, which was Margaret Mitchell. Margaret Mitchell was Scarlett O'Hara.

LS: What appealed to you about her?

SD: She had so many facets to her personality. An outcast, people said awful things about her, but also complex—very, very weak, yet so strong. She was weak in her opinion of herself. She always questioned her ability.

LS: Do you feel that way?

SD: I feel that way constantly. That's something I go through every single day. You know—"Am I good enough to act?”

LS: Let's talk about your earlier character, Brenda, on Beverly Hills, 90210. You know that it's in syndicated reruns now. “The Brenda Years.”

SD: Yes—I'm dying. It was, like, four years ago when we first started. I look so different! Before I discovered tweezers!

LS: There was a feeling, as the show went on, that your character became nasty. Did you or the scriptwriters collaborate on any changes?

SD: No. It was just sort of handed to me. All of a sudden this girl from Minnesota just turned into this Beverly Hills—

LS: Bitch?

SD: Yeah. In one sense it was good, because she was a bit more realistic than the other characters. Look, everybody has a nasty side— this little side that can get very mean. Or very wrapped up in a lifestyle. Especially when they're young. And my character experienced all that.

LS: You had an emotional scene with Tori Spelling in your final show. Her character, a virgin, is upset because her boyfriend slept with another girl.

SD: Tori was such a good friend and we were always so close, working through every problem. So the scene was very real for us because we had both been there, crying, saying, “Why are we hurt?” You know, over guys—over anything.

LS: Are you and Tori still friends?

SD: You know, we don't call each other and hang out like we used to. It's hard. Her father [Aaron Spelling] was my boss, and the whole situation wasn't conducive to our friendship.

LS: Do you have any regrets, then, about leaving the show?

SD: No.

LS: Would you ever return if they asked?

SD: No.

LS: Did: you jump, or were you pushed? SD: I would say it was a mutual thing,

LS: They were fed up with you? You were fed up with them? SD: The truth of it was that you had two egos—the Spelling company and Fox. And I think the things they wanted from me— to talk to them about my personal life, to come to an agreement—I wasn't willing to give. If I'd been willing to give them those things, I would still be on 90210.

LS: In a recent magazine that featured the new 90210, not only was your name on the cover, but you were mentioned everywhere inside. You're historical, darling.

SD: That must be very hard for [the cast] now. …And I'm sure they're all looking and saying, “Well, she’s gone. Now it’s our turn to get out there and shine and get what we deserve.” And they all deserve it. [But] I'm sure the more the press says Brenda, Brenda, Brenda, the more agitated they're going to get.

LS: You think it's self-defeating?

SD: Very. It's like, if you're happy I'm gone, then stop commenting on me. Stop saying things about me…it's petty and childish. I wish them all well. And there are some of that cast that I'm still close to and adore, [but] I don’t need to make any comments. It's in my past.

LS: Do you think of yourself as the temperamental, tempestuous person you've been portrayed as?

SD: No. I really don't. What's interesting is that none of my friends—those who truly know me, my parents, my boyfriend—see me as being temperamental. Because you have to push, push, and push for me to get upset. But, looking back on it now, there was definitely a more diplomatic way for me to handle what I was going through. But I was young…

LS: You've had a lot of notoriety.

SD: The notoriety…all of a sudden being written up in the newspapers—it was like, wow, what's going on? It was confusing, because I don't think you should do things in your personal life differently because you're a role model. But the character should, because younger kids watching the show are impressionable. And I began to complain quite a bit about the show straying away, turning into a soap opera.

At the same time, the flip side of me, the personal side, was enjoying being young. For the first time. I'd been working since I was 10, never really went out and partied. Suddenly you get a hit show and some money, and I just wanted to live life. But they didn’t let me be young. They just turned it into—

LS: That you were wild.

SD: That I was a party animal and I was a wild girl and I'm not. How can I be? I'm from the South. [laughter] You know. I'm a Southern Baptist. I can't be that wild. …I have a conservative point of view. I mean, I'm a Republican.

LS: How do you feel about having started so young? Do you think it's harmful for a child to be thrown into the business?

SD: I think in a lot of ways it was good for me. I learned a lot, fast. And I wasn't pushed by my parents, either. It was my choice. It was something I wanted to do.

LS: You pushed your parents!

SD: I pushed my parents. And they're not very supportive of this business. They're supportive of me, but not this business, because they've seen what it has done. It has hurt me in a lot of ways—hurt my feelings and hurt theirs.

LS: Are you close to them?

SD: Very. I see them almost every day. They're there for me. My dad is an off-shore banker and one of my best friends. My older brother is also a good friend. They are very supportive, very loving.

LS: Yet if you had a child, would you want him or her to go into show biz?

SD: No.

LS: Let's talk some more about the press and your “reputation.” Do you feel you've been misunderstood a lot?

SD: Absolutely. But, like I said, I can’t blame it all on them. I have to take partial blame. You know? I have to. And all I can basically say is, “I'm sorry.” I might have messed up a bit. Certainly nothing I ever did warranted their taking it to the extreme they did.

LS: What if you had been a guy on the show? Would it have happened?

SD: None of this would have happened. I'm a woman, and I'm strong and they said, “Great, we have a new bitch. So let's go after her.” There's not one cast member of 90210 who didn’t throw a tantrum or two themselves.

LS: OK, now I have to ask these tabloid-type questions, because we'd be remiss in our duty if we didn't. What about the reported bad checks you wrote?

SD: Years ago. I have no financial problems now. I have good people working with me. It's time to stop rehashing and move on.

LS: What about reports that you've beaten up past boyfriends, like Judd Nelson?

SD: That's just stupidity on anybody's part. How can anyone look at me—all of 92 pounds—and think I'm beating up some 180-pound guy? A complete and utter lie.

LS: So you never tried to run down a photographer in your Porsche?

SD: No.

LS: What about the explicit scenes you did in “Blindfold,” the USA TV-movie. Did you have second thoughts about those?

SD: First of all, half that stuff wasn't me. It was a body double. And in most of those scenes, my voice was looped in by somebody else. And I didn't know about it until I saw the movie!

LS: And the Playboy photos?

SD: Playboy asked me to pose, for alot of money. And I just didn’t want to. And then a photographer came along—I adore him, Michel Comte—and says he’s doing this safe-sex book for AIDS and asked me to participate. So I do these photos, and all of a sudden they come out in Playboy! I thought they were meant for a book.

LS: There are a couple of more questions the editors insisted we ask: Given the reports of your wild times, is there any history of violence or drinking in your family? Have you ever had any problem with drinking or drugs?

SD: Violence or drinking? Why—because the editors like believing what everybody else believes? I really don't care what they say. I care about what [my new directors and castmates] say. They matter. If they can walk away saying, “She was professional, she showed up on time, she gave 150 percent’—that is what matters to me.

LS: It seemed to me, in covering the story of your marriage, that you and Ashley Hamilton were very much in love. Why couldn't you make it work?

SD: I did love Ashley, but we separated after five months. It was me jumping into something very, very fast before I knew someone. I think it was more of—I needed to feel loved. And I loved him, because I think his heart was very, very good. However, there were things about him that I didn't find out until we were married. Things I couldn't overlook. And it was one of the most unhealthy relationships I've ever been in.

LS: Really.

SD: I wish him well, and I hope he gets past all his problems. But I couldn't be there to… tried. I tried to help him. But I wasn't willing to let myself be destroyed by another person. It was time for me to start taking control of my life. Stop being a victim—of men, the press, my own ideals about marriage. I mean, my parents have been married 28 years!

LS: So you have high expectations?

SD: Very high expectations. I have serious relationships. Unlike the past, the love I have now—{director] Rob Weiss—is my best friend, a teacher. I respect him. And we don't go out much. We prefer to sit home, cook dinner together, write together.

LS: Shannen, you've been great. I was influenced by your tabloid image as a wild, party girl. And I thought if you didn’t like some of the questions, you might storm out or knock me flat.

SD: I'm just a nice, Southern Baptist, Republican girl!

[cainache]

more butcher than man ♱ rockstar!eddie munson (reader goes by cady brocks, it’s her middle & last name!)

He'd known you weren't that bright the second he met you at that party in the hills six months ago. And no, he doesn't mean bright in the way you think. You’re smart, so damn smart. He means bright in just the way that you are. You're not a very happy girl.

Anyone who knew your insides could tell. If they’d taken the time to slice you open and personally talk with your organs, they’d know. You repulse at just about everything you do, and it makes him kind of sad. But he doesn't know how to tell you that—tell you that you’re the best and he kind of cares about you. No, he does care about you crazy, he just doesn’t know it yet. It’s so out of character for him, being serious with one girl.

He’s not going to tell you. He definitely won't. He has a reputation to uphold.

He's big bad Eddie fucking Munson.

He's been around the scene since he was twenty two—clawing his way out of Indiana with two guys he called his best friends, he's almost twenty seven now and has just about seen it all and more. At this point, it's like Corroded Coffin is never going to die.

He hopes they won't.

There's five of them now. Gareth, he's grown out his baby face, finally, has gotten ridiculously taller and more lean. Jeff, the tallest of them all, which hadn't been the case back home, his jaw as sharp as butcher knives. And Eddie, he’s everything and everywhere. He’s as quick as those butcher knives. Eddie likes to joke that all the drugs they did made them grow up all big and bad. They’re fucking rockstars.

The ones who didn't come from home, Tatum and Brooks. They're cool guys. Tatum's everyone's fuckin’ heartthrob, him and Eddie's names are always clashing in magazines at who's better with the ladies and occasionally guys. But it's Eddie, only because Tatum's got a chick who's been a soft secret for the last year and a half. They wonder, the media, what Tate's been doing recently. Why he’s been so silent with his night rendezvous that just randomly stopped. He doesn't give a minded fuck, he's keen on making sure the world doesn't dig its nails into Stella. She's a real sweet girl, Eddie knows, she's almost too sweet for Tate. Brooks is a different story, he's as loose as they come. He doesn't pick fights, he plays his music—get his job done, does the drugs, has the girls, and still manages to be at sound check early. Eddie doesn't understand how he does it. Really.

Crystal wishes he'd take some notes from Brooks.

Crystal's a dear. Corroded Coffin's all too dedicated manager, a woman who couldn't have kids and somehow ended up with five too old son's. Eddie loves her, she reminds him of his own before she passed.

But all of that’s besides the point. Right now is about you and how you’re a ticking time bomb he’s been trying to disengage for months now. He likes to think he’s made some progress.

Brooks thinks he’s stupid as fuck for getting caught up in a girl like you. But Eddie’s stop listening to Brooks around year two. So…

You play the guitar in a girl band called Bitten Lace. The names a bit much for you, but you didn’t have a say in it. It’s a four women show, one that makes you feel queasy and really silly. This was a stupid high school thing you guys did for some extra cash to get out of high school and into college; Boston wasn’t fun. But at one particular, silly, wedding—an all too rich man from New York was there and he liked what he saw.

You weren’t ready to pick up and leave, your little sister was six and your mother worked too much at the hospital—and your college essay was almost done. But Mave, a too powerful lead singer was persistent, full of guilt trips and gaslighting. Cady, c���mon! We’d be nothing without you! Don’t do this to us, we need you. With two pleading girls behind her, Trixie and Adina, what were you supposed to do.

You left home, with them.

You weren’t even sure if they really would’ve needed you to get by as a band, but your manger, Summer Lovewell, has said otherwise. You’re good at what you do, even if it’s not what you wanted to do.

It’s why Eddie notices you so quickly the night of that party. Everyone looked more than pleased to be there. Sex on walls and couches and unknown beds. Drugs on skin. Music in ears. It was his scene, his favorite fucking scene.

But staring at you on the balcony by yourself with a sparkling water down by your small kitten heels made his chest feel kind of funny.

Why were you alone?

Of course he knew who you were. You were younger than him and the media loves younger things. You, twenty two and new to fame. Cady fuckin’ Brocks! Beautiful and a little too soft by the media’s words and digs, they were awfully mean to you.

Bitten Lace had popped up like a firework and repeated sending colors to the sky. You guys were fuckin’ good. You were fuckin’ good.

He doesn’t remember what he said to you that night, too coked out. Sometimes, when he simply observes you—he wishes he had been sober that night. He wishes he remembered talking to you. He’s not even really sure how it escalated from there, but now, your like this all too big scarlet secret he’s trying his very hardest to keep away from flashing cameras and attention seeking tabloids.

He knows you, but he wants to know you better.

“Eds. Do you think I look silly in this?” Your voice is soft and your sitting on the hotel floor of Eddie’s room. He’s on tour, again, in Chicago—Bitten Lace happens to be here for press on a new world hit single.

He’s just gotten off of a show, shirtless, jeans a little too big in the waist, black socks, smudge makeup, and a bit of a smell.

He can’t find the wipes to get the glitter and black liner off his face. He’s still a mess. “Silly in what?” He asks with a mumble as he goes through another black book bag. Unlike his band mates, he doesn’t fuck with suitcases. He travels the world with three Jansport book bags that have kissed hell and back about six times. You tease him for them.

“In this..?” Like he’s supposed to know what you’re talking about, he doesn’t even know what you’re looking at—but he let’s you talk. He can’t find the damn wipes— “I don’t know, I didn’t like the shorts. They’re too tiny and the top was even smaller. Like I get it, we have an image, but the image only seems to look decent on Mave. I don’t have strong muscles in my stomach like that.” He hasn’t looked back at you but he gets what you’re talking about now.

He pauses with his bag and looks at you from over his shoulder. Your peering down at Blitz Magazine, Bitten Lace making the cover and a pretty thick section in the pages. The photoshoot for that had been agonizing. Mave’s judging looks to get your shit together and stop tweaking and Adina’s complaining was enough to have you crying in the shower after you’d gotten back to your small apartment. Trixie is much kinder and actually a friend. She’d been pretty silent throughout the whole thing, saying her thank you’s and giving her kind smiles when she needed to. You had tried to follow that method, but it hadn’t stuck.

You guys are big now, a year and a half in and Mave would kill someone if you guys started to slip in relevance. You’re tired and this isn’t what you signed up for in the slightest. But you don’t complain, you send your mother too much or your money, one might think, so she can work less and you call your little sister way too much. It’s really all you can do from here, where ever that is at the time. You don’t get a lot of free time to head back to Boston every now and then and see them. Eddie knows it bothers you. Unlike you, he hates going home and hasn’t been in four years. Hawkins does not need him. Plus, Wayne just likes to chat on the phone. Letters are cool too.

Eddie’s forgotten about the wipes now. His eyes on you as your fingers drag over the photos of the magazine. He hadn’t even been aware you were going to be in it, you hadn’t told him, of course you hadn’t. Brooks had, smacking the article into his chest after the show an hour ago—check out your chick, Munson. Goddamn. It had been moments before you arrived. He hadn’t even been able to look at it yet or give Brooks shit for his foxy words and tone.

He’s standing before you and looking down at the page, he spots you instantly. You are in tiny clothing. You’ve got white and tan cowboy boots on, small-small denim shorts that are tight in the waist and loose around your thighs. There’s a silver chain around your left thigh with a heart charm, it’s cute, Eddie thinks. Your shirt is indeed even tinier than the shorts, tight to your skin and flattering. It’s knitted and triangle shaped around your breast. It’s a nice tank top. You’ve got jewelry everywhere, much more than he’s ever seen you wear. Your hairs blown out and looks lighter—has your hair gotten lighter? He hasn’t seen you in almost two months, this shoot was almost a month ago.. His eyes drag to your hair now, pulled back in a very loose ponytail, you’ve got strands falling and framing your face. Your hair does look lighter. He wonders why you hadn’t brought it up? He kind of wants to kiss you.

“You look killer,” he says softly. He means it.

Your eyes flicker up to his, your chin now aimed up at him. You look so clean. Your lips are parted. “Seriously?”

Eddie smiles and sticks his hand out for you, you take it instantly as he yanks you up too aggressively. You slouch into his chest a little as he leans down to snatch up the magazine. He has a hand still on your arm and the other is holding up the pages. “I think the outfit is fuckin’ cool.” And he’s not just saying that too make you feel better, he really does means it. You look good and it’s all flattering, despite how you see yourself.

“Are you yanking my hair?” Eddie rolls his eyes at your weird phrases and drops the magazine on his made bed. “No. I am not yanking your hair. You look hot, killer.”

Your rolling your eyes now, shoving away from him as your cheeks go all red. He beams like a schoolboy at your sweet reaction.

You’re a slice of heaven.

You slouch into his bed, the sheets creasing under you. Your face is lined with his waist now. You lean forward and let your head meet his bare lower abdomen. It flexes for a second before a hand of his gently cups the crown of your head. “The wipes are by your first bag, by the way. You’ve missed them twice now.”

Eddie scoffs and laugh a little mean, he messes your hair. It is lighter. They’ve add more highlights to you. “You’re so mean.” He says as he pulls away from you to get the wipes, sticking out from under his first bag.

You smile and slide back onto his bed. “I’ll make it up to you and take off the glitter for you, rockstar.”

Eddie smiles, it’s faint and he’s glad you don’t see it. Not very metal of him. “Deal.”