#my depiction of him changes every time i draw him but it’s fine!

[galenti]

pls listen to malevolent

[runawrites-blog]

Pegging Isn't New For Me, Friendo (Deadpool x Reader)

Summary: Pegging Wade always turns him into a whiney brat. (Gender-Neutral Reader) Word Count: 1,232 Warnings: SMUT (Minors Do Not Interact). Explicit Sexual Content. Pegging. Strap-Ons. No Y/N. No Pronounds For Reader but Reader uses a Strap-On to fuck Wade. A/N: I was inspired by that one line in the new Deadpool movie (see gif) but this doesn't contain any spoilers for the movie. Again, there are no pronouns used for Reader but if I messed up and used any tell me and I will change it. But again, Reader uses a Strap-On to fuck Wade, despite no depictions of the Reader's genitals. Crossposted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58280992

---

“Just put it in.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Pegging isn’t new for me, Babe.”

“I know but I still don’t want to hurt you. Let me prepare you for it.”

“I will heal just fine, come on!”

“I know you will but I still don’t want you to be hurt.” You said sternly, cocking an eyebrow up as Wade clicked his tongue petulantly. “Don’t be a fucking brat, Hon. You act like this every time we do this.”

“Because you always take hours to put your silicone dick inside of me.”

Wade complained but when you scissored the fingers you already had inside of him his complaints tempered off into a surprised moan. You gave him an affectionate smirk, pushing them in a little deeper and angling them in search of his prostate. It took you a moment but you knew you’d found it when at a particularly sharp thrust of your fingers Wade all but arched off the bed, gripping the sheets, mouth falling open in a silent moan.

“Did that finally shut you up, Hon?”

“Sewing-- Sewing my mouth shut in 2009 wasn’t even enough to-- to permanently shut me up.” He chuckled breathlessly, grinding down against your lubed-up fingers. “I don’t think you’ll have any more luck.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“Maybe it would help if you-- Fuck, if you finally showed that strapon inside of me.” He complained, squirming as you kept up your ministrations and fingered him slowly. “You know I’m not too proud to beg, either. Please, please fuck me. I need it!”

Rolling your eyes affectionately you leaned down to kiss him, drawing a surprised moan from him as he leaned up into the contact, biting down on your lip as you shoved a fourth lubed-up finger inside of him. You scissored them gently, relishing in the way Wade moaned against your lips, writhing underneath you and his head falling to the side to bury against the crook of his arm.

“Please, please put it in!” He panted out, arching off the bed when you once again hit his prostate. “I know you want to help the writer hit-- hit their word count but-- but this is torture!”

Rolling your eyes at his rambling you leaned down and kissed him, shutting him up for a few seconds as you angled your fingers to his prostate again. That got a moan out of him and when he arched off the bed once more, he looked at you pleadingly.

“Put it in, Babe. I’m ready. I need it.”

“Alright. Lie back and relax for me, Hon.” You instructed, stroking your free hand down his chest as you pulled the other one from inside of him, watching as he whined at the loss before forcing himself to relax. “Good boy, Wade.”

His high keening moan was music to your ears and you smiled softly as you secured your strap on around your waist, clipping it shut in the back before grabbing the bottle of lube and squirting a generous amount of it onto the dildo. Wade was watching you with bated breath, mouth agape and tongue poking out to lick his lips.

“Hold your left leg up for me, Honey.”

Wade scrambled to oblige, hooking his hand underneath his left knee and lifting it up to give you better access to his hole, his fingers digging into the flesh of his thigh. Gingerly, so as not to hurt him, you started sliding the strap-on inside of him and Wade’s mouth fell open, breathless gasps leaving his body until you bottomed out. He breathed a sigh of relief, nails digging into his thigh.

“Finally!”

“Impatient.” You joked softly, taking his free hand and bringing it to your mouth to kiss his knuckles. “Ready for me to move, Honey?”

“Fuck, yes!”

Smiling at his eagerness you began to move, starting off slow but quickly picking up your pace as Wade started begging you to do so. And when you hit his prostate again, this time with the strap-on and not your fingers, the filthy keening noise he made sent a shiver of lust down your spine. From there on, you kept aiming for that spot, quickly turning Wade into a moaning, drooling mess beneath you, babbling pleas for you to keep going. Even in this state, he couldn’t stop running his mouth and it made you smile a little.

When you saw that his leg was slipping from his grip you grabbed his ankle and hoisted his leg over your shoulder in one swift motion, making Wade’s eyes grow wide as he watched you. But his eyes didn’t stay on your face for too long because this position allowed for a whole new angle at which you could fuck into him, at which you could hit his prostate over and over again.

“Keep your leg there for me, Wade. Can you do that for me, Honey?”

“Yes, yes, yes. ‘Can do that.” He rambled on, nails forming crescent moons into his skin as he kept his leg over your shoulder with a little help of your hand on his ankle. “‘Can to that for you!”

“Good boy.”

“Fuck, so close, please. Please, keep going!”

“Can you come just from me fucking your ass?” You crooned, leaning forward to get closer to his face and give him a small smile. “Without touching your pretty dick? Can you do that?”

“Yes, yes, I can!”

You leaned back again, still smiling as you picked up your speed and fucked into him in earnest, every thrust aiming at his prostate and your hand clamping around the ankle of his leg that was still over your shoulder. Wade was moaning obscenely underneath you, back arching off the bed and his free hand grabbing onto the sheets. You could tell he was close, dick leaking pre-cum and his moans becoming more erratic.

“Come for me, Honey. Be a good boy for me, Wade.”

Your words, combined his a particularly well-angled thrust into his prostate sent him over the edge and he shouted out your name as he came, ribbons of white shooting over his exposed stomach as his hole clenched around your strap-on. His back arched so much it was hard for you to even fuck him through his orgasm but you managed, intent on drawing out his pleasure for as long as possible.

But when his moans turned into overstimulated whines you slowed your movements, bringing your hands down to gently stroke his hips as you pulled out of him. Wade whined at the loss but quieted down soon enough, letting his leg drop onto the bed and watching through half-lidded eyes as you lay down next to him. Gently, you began to stroke his chest, smiling down at him.

“Are you alright there? You’re very quiet.”

“Just got to catch my breath so I can keep on yapping.” Wade joked, turning onto his side, so he could rest his head on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m not written that much out of character. Give me a minute and I’ll be right back to talking your ear off.”

“Can’t wait.” You joked and wrapped your arms around him. “Do you need anything right now? Water or something to eat? A bath maybe?”

“All sound nice but later.”

“What do you need right now?”

“Hold me for a second.”

“That, I can do.”

[mononijikayu]

and love is a kaleidoscope — gojo satoru.

“I don’t need more than that. Even if it isn't enough, I’ll tell you it's enough.” he said softly, his eyes searching your face as if trying to memorize every detail. “I just… I miss you.” The words hung in the air between you, heavy and loaded with the things you both weren’t saying. You wanted to tell him you missed him too, that you hated the distance between you, but the missions, the constant fight—it had become a wall between you, one that you didn’t know how to tear down. “I miss you too.” you finally admitted, your voice small and tired. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

WARNING/S: pre-hidden inventory arc, post hidden inventory arc, domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 8.5k words.

NOTE: i feel like every time i ponder if genmei (you) is bisexual or pansexual, i go in the drawing board and think that really doesn't matter. yuki and you go way back, you had something to do with how she managed to get away with not being consumed by tengen. and you were yuki's first love, i supposed. but that's a story for another time. satoru by this point feels like his connection with you matters the most, because he feels secured about his relationship with suguru. but of course, you wonder because there's a difference with how he needs to converse with you vs just going purely with what suguru says. but i suppose that's just how obvious it was, their fracturing relationships. anyway, i hope you enjoy this little treat!!! I love you all <3

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u s and t h e m

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YOU HAD JUST GOTTEN THE NEWS ON YOUR WAY BACK. The dimly lit infirmary of Tokyo Jujutsu High buzzed with the faint sounds of healing techniques being employed and the distant murmurs of the staff tending to the injured.

The air was heavy with the scent of antiseptics, but it was the sight before you that truly made your heart race—a scene you had dreaded since the moment you heard about the mission. Ieiri Shoko looked at you in the face, with a weary look. You had never seen that look in her eyes before. Your eyes scanned the room and your breath was blown out of you.

Gojo Satoru lay on one of the beds, his usually vibrant expression now dulled by pain. His left arm was heavily bandaged, blood seeping through the cloth, while deep cuts marred his torso. Geto Suguru, just a few feet away, appeared equally battered, his face bruised and swollen, eyes closed as if he were trying to shut out the world around him.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and a wave of panic washed over you. “Satoru–kun! Suguru–kun!” You rushed to their side, your hands trembling as you reached for them. Satoru’s gaze flickered to yours, a flicker of reassurance in his eyes, but it was overshadowed by the pain etched across his features. Suguru’s lips curled slightly in a weak smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey, we’re fine… just a little banged up.” Satoru managed, his voice hoarse, but it did little to assuage your fear. You heard that he was stabbed in the throat and that concerned you the most. You could see the blood dried soaking the bandages and the shadows under their eyes. Panic turned into a cold grip around your heart.

“No, you’re not!” You barely managed to keep your voice steady as you felt your chest tighten. “You’re injured! You shouldn’t have gone on that mission at all….This should have been my mission, I told them so….” 

“Gen–senpai, we’re….we’re alright.” Suguru whispered, but you can tell that he wasn’t alright. Everything about him was out of place, shaken and beaten. Exhausted. Broken. “Really.”

“You…you don’t have to lie to me, Suguru–kun.”

Your eyes darted around the room, taking in the chaos, the frantic pace of the other healer staff in the room as they worked to clear out the equipment. You turned back to Yaga–sensei, who stood nearby, his expression stoic, but the concern in his eyes mirrored your own. The more you looked at him, the angrier you got. If he had decided to fight against the decision by the higher ups, by Tengen–sama, then maybe….just maybe — he wouldn’t have that look on his face. 

“I’m willing to take the next few months of missions for them.” you blurted out, your determination taking Yaga by surprise. Your exhausted eyes lowered.  “They can’t go back out there like this. It’s too dangerous. I can handle it; I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Yaga looked at you for a long moment, the weight of your words hanging in the air. “You know the risks of this to you. You’re already doing so much….” he said finally, his voice low and serious. “Principal Gakuganji would be displeased—”

Your eyes looked up and narrowed. “So? He’s always displeased with me and my so-called insolence anyway. Let him get angry.”

“Genmei, if you were serious—”

“I am. I never joke around about things like this. You know that too well.” you insisted, crossing your arms defiantly. “I won’t let them put themselves in danger again while they’re like this. They need to rest and recover.”

As Shoko continued to work on Satoru and another worked on Suguru, you sat down beside them, taking one of Satoru’s hands in yours, squeezing it tightly. “Just hold on, okay? You’ll be alright.”

Satoru’s eyes softened as he gazed at you, and for a moment, the pain seemed to fade away, replaced by the warmth of your presence. “You really worry too much, Gen–senpai.” he said, a small, teasing smirk trying to break through despite the pain. “But I appreciate it.”

Suguru shifted slightly, his eyes fluttering open. “You’re taking the missions?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with concern. “You shouldn’t have to carry that burden alone, Gen–senpai. That’s not something that you should concern yourself about.”

“I can handle it, Suguru–kun.” you replied firmly, forcing a smile despite the tears threatening to spill over. “You both need to heal. I’ll make sure everything is taken care of while you rest.”

Satoru and Suguru exchanged a glance, an unspoken conversation passing between them. Then Satoru looked back at you, his expression serious. “Promise me you’ll be careful, okay? You can’t push yourself too hard either, Gen–senpai.”

“I promise.” you replied, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you both safe.”

As the medical staff and Shoko continued their work, you stayed by their sides, your heart swelling with a mix of fear and determination. You mouthed a thank you to Shoko, who nodded at you. She didn’t want to talk about it, not yet. But maybe soon. Not everything had to be continued in words. And so silence remained.

YOU WERE GOOD AT NOTICING THINGS. And yet, you didn’t notice this before it was too late. It was subtle at first, so faint that you almost didn’t notice it. The way Satoru would flinch, ever so slightly, when your hand brushed against his.

How Suguru's usually calm and confident demeanor would flicker off with hesitation whenever an argument arose. He would immediately snap and tell you to drop it off. It was small enough to ignore in the beginning, but as the days turned into weeks, the changes became impossible to overlook.

You couldn’t find yourself to come and visit them today, even if you were on campus. As you sat at the edge of your staff room, you sighed as you smoked out your French cigarettes. You had just gotten back from a mission and now you couldn’t fall asleep.

You shrugged as you kept staring at the soft glow of the setting sun filtering through the window, the weight of the growing distance between you, Satoru, and Suguru pressing down on your chest like a vice. They were right there, just within reach, but they felt so far away.

Satoru had always been the one who reached out, pulling you into his orbit with his magnetic energy. He was the one who would tug you close without a second thought, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders, his touch playful and comforting. But now… now he barely touched you at all.

You remembered the last time you tried to hold his hand. It was a small gesture, one born out of habit more than anything, but the moment your fingers brushed against his, you felt him pull away. He tried to cover it up, laughing it off with a joke that was too sharp, too brittle. But you saw the flicker of discomfort in his eyes.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care about you or how you feel. You knew he did. But something had changed. Something inside him recoiled from physical contact, and no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, it was impossible not to feel the sting of rejection.

Suguru, on the other hand, had always been your anchor, the one who brought calm to the storm. When things went wrong, he was the one who would sit with you, listen to you, face the problem head-on. But now, whenever there was even the slightest hint of conflict, he would retreat, closing himself off from you in ways that were so unlike him.

The last argument you had was over something small—an errand left undone, a moment of miscommunication—but instead of addressing it, Suguru had simply walked away. No discussion, no confrontation. Just silence. And it hurt more than the argument ever could have.

Ieiri Shoko pushes the door to your room open without knocking, her usual nonchalance on full display as she steps inside. The familiar smell of tobacco clings to her, the faint scent of cigarette smoke tracing behind her like a signature. She waves at you, smiling.

"Hey." she greets, tossing a small box of cigarettes on your desk. "Can I have one?"

You glance at her, then at the cigarettes. A brief hesitation flickers through your mind before you shake your head. "Shoko, I can't give you one."

She snickers, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she takes a seat on the edge of your bed. "Yeah? Like you didn't start smoking at my age." She pulls one out for herself, lighting it expertly and inhaling deeply.

You sigh, realizing she’s got you there. The years have passed, but that particular truth hasn't changed. "Fine, fine. Just one." you mutter, reaching over for a cigarette. "But don’t act all smug about it."

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, the soft crackle of burning tobacco the only sound for a moment. You take a slow drag, letting the smoke swirl lazily in the air between you. You wonder why Shoko was already up — but you knew better than to ask. She probably hasn't slept yet either. Knowing her, she’s studying up for her RCT with some of the other healer focused sorcerers. You sighed. You were in no position to tell her to go back to sleep.

"So... how’s Geto doing?" Shoko asks after a while, her tone casual but with an undertone of concern.

You exhale, watching the smoke dissipate into the air as your thoughts drift to him. "He’s... managing. It’s not easy, but we’re working through it. I think he's finding his balance again, little by little. There are still tough days. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we don’t. If we do, sometimes he snaps. But no more than usual, I suppose.”

Shoko nods, taking another drag from her cigarette. "Yeah. That makes sense. And Gojo?"

"Satoru–kun…" You pause, unsure of how to summarize the mess of emotions tied to his name. "He’s still overseas, doing his thing. Same old Gojo, honestly. But there's something... I don’t know. I worry about him sometimes."

She blows out a slow stream of smoke, eyes narrowing slightly as she considers your words. "Gojo’s always been hard to read when it comes to his own well-being. He hides it well. Guess that’s why we’re all stuck worrying about him."

"Yeah, I suppose so." you agree softly, feeling a pang of concern settle in your chest. "It's like he carries everything but never really shares the weight."

Shoko chuckles lightly, her cigarette burning low as she stubs it out. "Guess we all have our ways of dealing don’t we? But at least we’ve got each other."

You nod, flicking the ash from your cigarette into the tray. "Yeah... we do."

At least that’s what you hoped.

The more they withdrew, the more you found yourself pulling away, too. It wasn’t what you wanted. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to reach out, to grab hold of them, to bridge the gap that was forming between you. But each time you tried, it felt like you were met with walls that neither of them were willing to break down.

You found yourself spending more time alone, avoiding the spaces where the three of you used to be so comfortable together. The living room, once filled with easy laughter and teasing banter, felt too cold, too empty.

The kitchen, where Satoru used to steal snacks from your plate, now felt like a place of quiet avoidance. Even your bedroom, the sanctuary where you’d all shared late-night talks and quiet moments, seemed foreign now.

And they didn’t seem to notice the way your distance mirrored theirs.

Satoru still cracked his usual jokes, but there was an edge to them that hadn’t been there before. He seemed more focused on keeping up appearances, hiding behind his sarcasm and grin, as if pretending that nothing had changed would make it true. Suguru, too, was quieter, more withdrawn. When you tried to talk to him, really talk to him, his responses were vague, his eyes distant, as if he wasn’t entirely present in the conversation.

It broke something inside you.

You wanted to ask them what was happening. Why Satoru couldn’t stand to be touched anymore, why Suguru avoided confrontation like it was a plague. But every time you opened your mouth to ask, the words got stuck in your throat. You were afraid of what the answer might be. Afraid that acknowledging the growing rift between you would make it real in a way that was irreversible.

So, you stayed silent. You put on a smile when they were around, forced laughter where it didn’t quite fit, and pretended that the distance didn’t hurt as much as it did.

But late at night, when you were alone in bed and the silence was deafening, you couldn’t stop the ache in your chest from spreading. The realization that you were becoming a stranger to the two people you loved most in the world was suffocating, and no matter how hard you tried to hold on, they were slipping away from you.

You knew you couldn’t keep pretending forever. Something had to give. But until then, all you could do was watch the space between you grow wider, feeling more alone with each passing day.

YOU RARELY DRINK NOWADAYS. Not because you can’t, but because you had too many vices already. And it worried your mother a lot, how the alcohol had changed you as a person. You would not give up the cigarette, not yet. But giving up the drink was easy. But there were days where it was hard to keep that promise. 

Today was one of these days.

The air was cold and still, the kind of night where even the wind held its breath. The Mikoto family tomb stood silently under the pale light of the moon, a forgotten place tucked away in a corner of Kyoto, where old memories and ancient grudges rested. 

You staggered through the entrance, the alcohol heavy in your veins, numbing everything except the ache in your chest. Your breath hitched as you made your way deeper into the tomb, past the grand marble slabs of ancestors long gone, until you reached the place where the weight of your heart seemed heaviest.

Fushiguro Toji.

His name was etched onto the stone beside your father’s, a simple marker for a man who had lived his life in defiance of everything. Of the Zenins, of fate, and of you. The bottle of sake in your hand swayed dangerously as you stopped in front of his grave. The cold stone of the tomb pressed into your back as you collapsed in front of it, your fingers trembling as you poured some of the drink over his grave, a bitter offering.

“You…” your voice cracked, the alcohol giving it a sharp edge. “Why did you have to do the things you did?”

Your chest tightened as you stared at the name on the stone, blurred by your drunken haze, by the tears that you didn’t even realize were already streaming down your face. “You could’ve come to us! You should’ve come to us, Toji. You didn’t have to… you didn’t have to ruin everything.”

Anger boiled in your veins, mixing with the hurt, with the deep sense of betrayal that had festered inside you for so long. Toji had been family, in some strange, fractured way. You looked up to him in your youth. He was the brother you never had. You missed him, you longed for him. He was a missing piece of your family. And yet he decided that he didn’t want to have that. 

He could have sought refuge, he could have swallowed his pride, but instead, he had walked a path of destruction, dragging everything and everyone down with him.

“Why didn’t you come to us?” you demanded, your voice rising as you clenched the bottle tighter. “You knew the Zenins were trash. Us who left, we were all we had! You knew! My father—he would have helped you. He would have protected you, taken you in. You….you were like a son to him. You knew that! We could have given you a real home, a place where you didn’t have to keep fighting… but no. You had to—” Your words broke off into a sob, your breath ragged as the weight of your pain crushed your chest.

You leaned forward, your forehead resting against the cold stone of his grave. The anger was still there, burning beneath the surface, but now, all you could feel was the deep, aching sense of loss. “Why did you choose pride over everything else? Why, Toji–niisama? Was it really worth it? All the blood, all the pain…”

The tears fell freely now, soaking into the ground beneath you. You had carried this hurt for so long, this question that you had never been able to ask him in life. Why couldn’t he have trusted you, trusted your family? Why had he chosen the hard path, the one that left him broken and alone, when he could have had something better?

You slammed the bottle against the stone, your frustration bubbling over. “Damn it, you fool!” you cried, the sound echoing through the tomb. “You could have had a family! You could have been safe. Your…your kid would have been fine with you and us!”

But he hadn’t. And now, he lay here, next to your father, in a cold, silent grave, while you were left standing in the wreckage of the life he had refused.

The alcohol had stripped away your composure, leaving nothing but the raw hurt, the years of wondering what could have been, if only he had been able to put aside that stubborn, destructive pride. Your voice was quieter now, trembling. 

“Why couldn’t you let go of your pride? Why couldn’t you come to us?”

The tomb was silent, offering no answers, no closure. Only the stillness of the dead.

You wiped the tears from your face with the back of your hand, but it didn’t matter. They just kept falling, spilling out all the hurt, the anger, the love that had been twisted into something unrecognizable over the years. Toji’s grave remained still, his choices set in stone, and you were left there, alone with the weight of it all.

“I could have saved you, nii–sama.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “We could have saved you.”

But it was too late. The man who had stood tall and unbreakable in his pride was now buried, his name carved into the stone, the answers to your questions buried with him.

TSUKUMO YUKI’S OVERABUNDANCE OF MESSAGES WERE QUITE TOO MUCH. But the more you ignore her, the more’s going to go and continue her cheeky messaging. So the moment she sent you her location, you went there as you finished your mission. You can file the report tomorrow, you supposed.

The pulsating rhythm of the music hit you like a physical force the moment you stepped into the nightclub, lights flashing in dizzying colors, shadows shifting in every corner of the packed space. The beat was loud, relentless, but it did nothing to shake the exhaustion that clung to you like a second skin.

After three months of endless missions, your body had moved beyond exhaustion into a state of numbness. Sleep was a distant memory, buried under the weight of six missions a day, the faces of cursed spirits, and the suffocating silence that followed each exorcism.

You stumbled toward the bar, the world blurring slightly around the edges. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was the fatigue, or maybe it was the overwhelming feeling of being completely, utterly alone despite the crowd. The bartender shot you a glance, but you waved them off, searching for the one familiar face you were here for.

Tsukumo Yuki.

It didn’t take long to spot her—leaning casually against the bar, her golden hair catching the light as she turned her gaze toward you. She raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as you approached. But behind her usual teasing expression, you could see something else—concern, perhaps, or something heavier that she wasn’t showing.

“You look like hell, Mei-chi.” Yuki remarked, her voice cutting through the noise as you finally collapsed onto the stool next to her. She grinned. “I thought you would dress up for me.”

She’s called you Mei–chi for a long time, maybe longer than you could remember. Kaiko kept telling her off about it. But you just let her be. She called you her ‘light’ after all. She ordered you both drinks without asking, sliding one toward you. You ignored it for now, instead fixing her with a tired look.

“I just came from a mission, Yuki.” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “Or five. I don’t even know anymore.” The words came out slurred with fatigue. “I can’t dress up for you, sorry.”

“Yeah, I heard, you know?” she said, her smirk softening into something more serious. She leaned closer, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “That’s why I’m here.”

You frowned, blinking at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I’m worried about you. Well, I always worry about you, Mei-chi.” Yuki said simply, her bright pinkish–doe eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I’ve been hearing things—how you’ve been taking on six missions a day, running yourself ragged all over Japan. You haven’t slept properly in months, have you?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Yuki, seriously, this is—”

She cut you off with a shake of her head. “I’m not here to lecture you, Mei-chi. I just wanted to see you. That’s enough to halt my research for a bit. You’re more than enough reason, always.”

The weight of her words hit you harder than expected. You had always known Yuki to be focused, obsessed even, with her goals and research. But to hear that she had paused all of it just to check on you—it made something tighten in your chest. You purse your lips into a flat line, your eyes not leaving her own.

“I’m fine, Yuki.” you said, but even to your own ears, the words sounded hollow. You took a long swig of the drink she had ordered for you, the alcohol burning its way down your throat. The lie lingered in the air between you, and Yuki didn’t bother trying to hide the disbelief in her eyes.

“Are you? Or are you just going to lie to me again through your teeth?” she asked quietly, her hand still resting on your arm, warm and steady against your skin. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re anything but fine.”

Her words cracked something open inside you. The exhaustion, the relentless pressure you had been putting on yourself, the weight of every curse exorcized, every mission completed—all of it felt like it was crashing down on you at once. And now, here she was, this person who always seemed so untouchable, so above the chaos, sitting next to you and telling you that she cared.

“Why do you care so much?” you asked, your voice hoarse as you looked up at her, meeting her gaze head-on. The alcohol was starting to hit, your mind fuzzier, but her presence was clear, grounded, like a tether in the storm of your exhaustion.

“Because I care about you the most.” Yuki replied, with no hesitation in her voice. The sincerity in her words made your chest tighten, your throat constrict with emotions you weren’t ready to face. Her hand slid from your arm to your hand, squeezing it gently. “But don’t you know that already? Or do you need a reminder?”

You stared at her, the noise of the club fading into the background as her words hung between you. You wanted to say something, but no words came. Instead, you took another long drink, the alcohol dulling the sharp edges of everything inside you. It was easier that way, easier to drown it all out, to let the numbness spread.

Yuki stayed by your side, patient, her eyes never leaving you. She didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you. Instead, she was just… there. And for the first time in months, you allowed yourself to lean into that presence, to let someone else carry a bit of the weight you’d been holding onto.

“I appreciate it. You should know that.” you muttered, your voice barely audible over the music. “I really do.”

Yuki smiled softly, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I know.”

Drink after drink, you let yourself sink deeper into the warmth of the alcohol, into the comfort of her presence. You weren’t sure when it happened, but at some point, the distance between you two vanished. The lines blurred, and before you knew it, your lips were on hers.

It was soft at first, tentative, as if you were both testing the waters, but then something broke open between you, a flood of pent-up emotions, exhaustion, and longing. The kiss deepened, and suddenly, the world around you ceased to exist.

You didn’t remember how you got back to the hotel. Everything was a blur of heat and tangled limbs, of whispered names and shared breaths. It was a desperate need to forget, to feel, to lose yourself in something—someone that wasn’t the constant burden of your responsibilities.

When you woke the next morning, the early light creeping through the window, you found yourself in bed beside Yuki, her golden hair spread across the pillow. For a moment, you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, the weight of last night sinking in.

You hadn’t planned for this. You hadn’t expected it. But somehow, in the quiet hours of the night, you had found something you hadn’t realized you were looking for.

Yuki stirred beside you, her eyes fluttering open as she turned to look at you. There was no regret in her gaze, only quiet understanding.

“Morning.” she murmured, her voice still soft with sleep.

“Morning.” you replied, your voice rough but steadier than it had been in a long time.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to breathe.

WHEN YUKI LEFT, YOUR LIFE RETURNED TO ITS DAILY PATTERN. The quiet of your apartment in Kyoto was a rare luxury, a silence you had grown unaccustomed to after months of constant missions.

It was one of those rare days off, but even then, you couldn’t relax. Your mind was still racing, still thinking ahead to the next mission, the next cursed spirit that needed to be exorcized. The dim light filtering through the curtains gave the space a muted, almost serene feel, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside you.

The soft knock at the door startled you, breaking the quiet. You sighed, already knowing who it was before you even opened the door. When you did, there he stood—Satoru Gojo, leaning casually against the doorframe, his signature smirk in place, but his cerulean eyes told a different story, something more subdued, something that softened his usual bravado.

“Hey.” Satoru greeted, his tone lighter than his eyes. “I’m glad to finally see you.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorway, your eyes narrowing slightly. “You should go home, Satoru–kun.” you said quietly, your voice devoid of its usual warmth. “I’m sure you have better things to do.”

He tilted his head, not moving from where he stood. “I could go home, that’s true.” he admitted, shrugging. “But I wanted to see you. I’m staying here, just so I can spend time with you.” He stepped inside without waiting for permission, his presence instantly filling the space as if he belonged there.

You sighed again, closing the door behind him. “You only have a few minutes, then.” you said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I have to leave. There’s another mission soon.”

Satoru’s expression faltered, but only for a moment before he plastered on another playful grin. “A few minutes, huh? Well, I’ll take what I can get.”

He wandered around your apartment as if inspecting it. It changed the last time since he visited. But you were quite certain that he knew that already. He just doesn’t care about it now.His gaze kept drifting back to you, his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, but you could sense the tension just beneath the surface.

You sat down on the couch, folding your arms over your chest, trying to put some distance between you. “You know I’m not in the mood for this, Satoru–kun.” you muttered, not meeting his gaze. “You should be resting, not chasing after me.”

“Maybe I don’t want to rest, Gen–senpai.” he said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge gone. He took a seat beside you, not too close, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. “Maybe I just want to see you. It’s been… a while.”

Your heart clenched at his words. He wasn’t wrong. It had been a while since you had seen each other, since you had shared any real time together. You had both been buried in missions, in responsibilities that seemed never-ending. And now, even when you had a sliver of time, you were already thinking about leaving again.

“Satoru–kun…..” you began, your voice wavering, “I don’t have time for this. For us. At least right now. You know that.”

He didn’t respond right away, just stared at you, his usual cockiness replaced by something softer, something more vulnerable. “I know you’ve been busy.” he said slowly, looking you in the eyes deeper. “And I know I’ve been… distant. But I’m here now.”

You swallowed hard, your resolve starting to crack under his gaze. His eyes, usually so bright and full of life, seemed a little dimmer now, weighed down by the same exhaustion you felt. You wanted to tell him to leave, to walk away and forget about whatever this was, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, you looked away, your hands tightening into fists in your lap. “A few minutes. Just….a little bit more, okay?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru reached out, his hand brushing lightly against yours, a touch so fleeting it almost wasn’t there. But it was enough to make you freeze, to make you feel the ache in your chest that you had been trying so hard to ignore. He didn’t push, didn’t try to hold on. He just let his hand linger for a second before pulling back.

“I don’t need more than that. Even if it isn't enough, I’ll tell you it's enough.” he said softly, his eyes searching your face as if trying to memorize every detail. “I just… I miss you.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and loaded with the things you both weren’t saying. You wanted to tell him you missed him too, that you hated the distance between you, but the missions, the constant fight—it had become a wall between you, one that you didn’t know how to tear down.

“I miss you too.” you finally admitted, your voice small and tired. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

Satoru’s smile was sad, a rare expression on his usually carefree face. “I know it doesn’t. But for now… can stay here for a little more? Even if it’s only for a few minutes.”

You didn’t respond, but you didn’t push him away either. The two of you stared at each other in silence, the sound of the ticking clock the only thing filling the space between you. The weight of your responsibilities still loomed large, but for a brief moment, in the quiet of your apartment, you allowed yourself to forget.

Just for a few minutes.

The soft clink of your lighter echoed in the quiet room, breaking the stillness as you lit a cigarette and took a slow drag. The smoke curled lazily into the air, swirling around you in a haze as you moved around, packing some essentials into a worn duffel bag. The apartment felt heavier these days, the walls somehow closer, as if the weight of everything that had happened had pressed in on you both.

Satoru was back. He was healed, physically at least, but something in him had changed. He had grown quieter, more serious. The once carefree, arrogant smirk that used to greet you was replaced by a grim focus. His obsession with Jujutsu had deepened, consuming him in a way that was hard to watch.

He stood by the window, his back to you, his posture tense. His gaze was distant, fixed on some point far beyond the cityscape, lost in thoughts you couldn’t reach. It had been like this for weeks now— Gojo Satoru in the same room but feeling a thousand miles away.

You took another drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs before slowly exhaling. The bitter taste grounded you, kept you awake, kept you from getting lost in the same fog that had swallowed him.

“I don’t like seeing you smoke, Gen–senpai.” Satoru’s voice cut through the silence, soft but firm. He hadn’t moved, still staring out at the city, but you could feel the weight of his words. “It’s bad for you.”

You glanced over at him, your eyes narrowing slightly. “It keeps me up…..you know that.” you muttered, flicking the ash off into the tray beside you. You didn’t want to get into this—not now. Not after everything.

He finally turned to face you, his pale blue eyes catching the dim light filtering through the curtains. His glasses sat perched on his nose, shielding his gaze, but you knew he was watching you closely. “Just do coffee jelly, like you used to.”

You smiled at him softly. “It’s not enough, Satoru–kun.”

In a few quick strides, Satoru closed the distance between you. His fingers wrapped gently around the cigarette in your hand, not pulling it away, just holding it there, his touch light but firm. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, and you glanced up at him, meeting his gaze.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Satoru removed his glasses, setting them aside. His bright blue  eyes were clear now, piercing, full of a raw emotion he had been hiding behind his usual aloofness. 

“I’m sorry.” he said, his voice quieter than before, but more real, more vulnerable. “I’m sorry I ignored you. That won’t happen again.”

You stared at him for a long moment, the tension between you heavy and thick, the smell of smoke still hanging in the air. His apology hung there, an unspoken plea behind it. It wasn’t just about the cigarette. It was about the distance, the silence, the way he had shut you out.

You sighed, long and heavy, and without a word, you crushed the cigarette into the ashtray. The glowing ember dimmed and died out as you turned away from him, continuing to pack your things.

“I just needed time.” Satoru continued, his voice soft but insistent. “I’m trying to figure everything out, but I know I pushed you away. I shouldn’t have.”

You paused, your hands stilling over the bag, but you didn’t turn to face him. “You’ve changed.” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re different now. Obsessed.”

“I know, I know.” he admitted, his voice steady but lined with exhaustion. “I have to be. Jujutsu… it’s all I have left to keep this world in check. If I’m not strong enough, who else will be?”

You closed your eyes, taking a breath to calm the swirl of frustration in your chest. “You don’t have to do it alone, Satoru–kun.”

“I know that too.” His voice softened, and you could hear him moving closer, his presence a warm but overwhelming force behind you. “But I don’t want to lose anyone else. Not Suguru….Not you. Especially not you.”

His words cracked something inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you turned to face him, your eyes locking onto his. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with everything you weren’t saying.

Satoru’s gaze softened, and without hesitation, he stepped closer, closing the remaining distance between you. His hand brushed against your arm, a touch that was meant to be reassuring, grounding, but instead, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I won’t ignore you again, don’t worry.” he repeated, his voice a low promise. “I can’t afford to.”

You sighed, letting the tension drain from your shoulders. “Just… don’t lose yourself, Satoru–kun.”

He nodded, his expression still serious but with a flicker of his old self breaking through. “I’ll try.”

For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to believe him. Just for now, just for this moment. You couldn’t predict what would happen next, but for now, at least, he was here. With you.

The quiet stretched between you like a chasm, uncomfortably familiar in the way it pressed on the spaces that once held laughter and ease. Satoru stood there, looking at you with a mix of uncertainty and something else you couldn’t quite place. The tension, though subtle, hung heavily in the air.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if the answer could break whatever fragile connection remained between you.

You looked at him for a long moment before shaking your head. “No, I’m not mad.”

His gaze softened, but you could see the hint of relief flicker in his eyes. He always feared the worst in moments like this, despite the bravado he carried like armor. “Good,” he breathed, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“But….” you continued, your tone steady but carrying the weight of unspoken expectations, “I just hoped for more from you.”

Satoru didn’t flinch at your words, but his face hardened just a fraction. He stood there, absorbing what you said, before giving you a slight nod. “I know.” he said quietly. There was no argument, no defense, just a simple acknowledgment.

You sighed, looking down at the floor, the quiet filling the room once again. You weren’t angry, not really. Just… disappointed. You had always seen Satoru as something more, something larger than life, someone who could shoulder the weight of the world and still be the person you needed him to be. But the cracks were showing, and they were starting to feel too deep to ignore.

“I just…” You trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. Your mind wandered to Suguru, to the growing distance you had sensed between him and Satoru. Something was off. You didn’t know what exactly, but you felt it. And it made you feel like you were on the outside, unable to help either of them.

“Have you talked to Suguru?” you asked suddenly, your voice sharper than you intended. “Asked if he’s really fine?”

Satoru’s expression shifted, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Suguru’s fine, you know that.” he said, his tone dismissive, as if the question itself was unnecessary. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

You frowned, your stomach twisting at his nonchalance. “Are you sure?” you asked quietly, searching his face for any sign that he might understand what you were getting at. But Satoru just shrugged, his easy confidence never wavering.

“I’ve seen him. He’s fine.” he repeated, this time with more certainty. “Just exhausted, you know? He’s back to his missions.”

But you weren’t convinced. Something in Geto Suguru had been different lately, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was the way he avoided certain conversations, or how his smiles didn’t reach his eyes anymore. Whatever it was, you knew it wasn’t as simple as Satoru made it out to be.

You looked at Satoru, feeling the weight of the silence between you again. You weren’t sure what to say. How could you explain what you felt without sounding like you were imagining things? And yet, the growing distance between all of you gnawed at your gut like an ever-present ache.

Instead of pushing further, you just sighed and shook your head. “I hope you’re right.”

Satoru watched you for a moment longer, his eyes searching your face as if trying to figure out what you weren’t saying. But he didn’t push, didn’t press you for more.

You looked at Satoru, feeling the weight of the silence between you again. You weren’t sure what to say. How could you explain what you felt without sounding like you were imagining things? And yet, the growing distance between all of you gnawed at your gut like an ever-present ache.

For a moment, the tension between you and Satoru lingered, a thin thread that neither of you seemed willing to cut. He stood there, quiet but expectant, as if waiting for you to say something to fill the silence. You glanced at him, then back down at your bag, your hands absentmindedly fidgeting with the zipper. 

Everything about this, it was like a kaleidoscope. A pandemonium of colors, colors you see and don’t want to see all at once. It was just that way, you supposed. Your world, it is more colorful with all these colors in it. And slowly, you were just waiting, Waiting to find out more. To see more. To reach for it.

“Maybe you should ask Suguru if he wants to come eat with us sometime. Shoko too. I heard….her RCT teacher is brutal with work. We can relax together.” you said softly, breaking the silence. The thought had been nagging at you for a while now, ever since you’d heard the rumors—both of them skipping meals, barely taking care of themselves. “I’ve heard neither of you are eating much lately. You and Suguru.”

Satoru’s expression shifted, a small frown creasing his brow. He didn’t deny it, didn’t argue, just let your words hang there for a moment before giving a slight nod. “Suguru’s… he’s been busy.” he murmured, his voice distant, as if there was more to the story than he was willing to admit.

“Busy or not, tell him to come. I can cook and….” you continued. “you both need to eat. My day off is tomorrow, so I’ll cook zaru soba.” You glanced at him, gauging his reaction before adding with a small, lazy smile, “And I’ll bake cookies too.”

Satoru’s frown eased, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, you saw a hint of the old Satoru—the one who’d light up at the mention of food, especially if you were the one cooking. He loosened up, his posture relaxing slightly as the corners of his mouth lifted into a small, genuine smile.

“I missed you/” he admitted, his voice soft but sincere. There was a vulnerability in his words that made your heart ache. He had always been good at hiding behind jokes and bravado, but in moments like this, the cracks showed, and you could see the real Satoru underneath.

You sighed, the sound heavy but not without warmth. A lazy smile tugged at your lips as you reached for the cigarette you’d left in the ashtray. You put it between your lips, not lighting it this time, just holding it there as you looked at him.

“I missed you too, Satoru.” you said, your voice quiet but filled with an honesty you hadn’t allowed yourself to express until now.

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes softening as the tension between you both seemed to dissolve, if only for now. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was filled with something else, something familiar and comforting.

Satoru stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours as he reached for the lighter you had set aside. For a brief moment, his fingers lingered on yours, a small gesture that spoke louder than words. You didn’t pull away.

“We’ll talk to Suguru. Shoko’s pretty easy to convince.” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “And… I’d like that. The soba and the cookies.”

You smiled around the unlit cigarette, feeling the weight on your chest lift, just a little. “Good.”

As you grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, the familiar weight of another mission ahead pressed on you. You glanced at Satoru, who was still lingering by the door, watching your every move. There was something in his eyes—playful, yes, but tinged with something deeper, something almost like reluctance to let you go.

“You heading out already?” he asked, his tone casual, but you could hear the disappointment beneath it.

“Yeah…The sooner I finish, the faster I can go home. I can buy the ingredients for tomorrow in the morning too.” you replied, adjusting the strap of your bag. 

Satoru shifted from one foot to the other, hesitating for just a moment before blurting out, “I’ll tag along.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “No, you won’t.”

But Satoru, in typical fashion, wasn’t ready to take no for an answer. He pouted dramatically, crossing his arms as if you had just denied him his favorite treat. 

“Why not? I wanna come. I’ll even take pictures and send them to Suguru and Shoko.” he added with a childish grin, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Gonna make them jealous.”

You shook your head, exasperated. “You’re insufferable, you know that?” You tried to hide the amused smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth, but you knew Satoru could see through it.

“Insufferable? Me?!” he gasped theatrically, placing a hand over his heart as if wounded. “I just missed you,” he whined, his voice taking on that exaggerated, almost comically tearful tone that he often used when he didn’t get his way. “Is that so wrong?”

You rolled your eyes, sighing as you made your way toward the door. “You’re such a child, Satoru–kun.”

“And you love it!” he called after you, his grin widening. He trotted after you like an eager puppy, his energy somehow never fading, even after everything the two of you had been through.

You stopped at the doorway, turning to look at him one more time. He stood there, still pouting, but there was something about the way he looked at you—something vulnerable beneath all that playfulness. You sighed, shaking your head as you smiled lazily.

“Go home, Satoru–kun.” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that betrayed your words.

But even as you stepped out the door, you could hear him calling after you, still determined, still wanting to be near you, as if afraid to let you slip away again. And despite everything, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that no matter how much you resisted, Satoru would always find a way to stay close.

epilogue

It was one of those rare weekday afternoons when the world seemed to slow down, a precious day off for Satoru that he intended to make special.

While you were out picking up Megumi and Tsumiki from school, he had taken it upon himself to surprise you by cleaning your office. With Satoshi strapped snugly in a baby carrier on his chest, Satoru moved about the space, a little clumsily, as he picked up stray papers and tidied up the scattered toys that somehow always found their way there.

As he cleaned, he noticed a drawer slightly ajar and, out of curiosity, pulled it open. Inside lay a treasure trove of memories—old photographs that instantly transported him back in time. He reached for a stack, and as he did, Satoshi, fascinated by the colors and shapes of the pictures, began reaching for them with tiny, eager hands.

“Hey, little guy, not so fast!” Satoru chuckled, stumbling slightly as Satoshi’s excitement threw him off balance. In his haste to keep the baby from pulling the pictures out of his hands, he ended up dropping a few, and they scattered across the floor.

One photo landed face-up, capturing a younger version of you, Suguru, and Shoko, all grinning wide and carefree, the sunlight casting a golden hue over the moment. Another showed a laughing Kaiko and Namie, arms thrown around your shoulders. Satoru felt a warmth spread through him as he admired the faces of your past, each picture telling a story of friendship and laughter.

As he knelt down to gather them, he couldn’t help but smile at the nostalgia. “How nostalgic youth is, hm?” he mused aloud, glancing at Satoshi, who cooed in response, as if he understood the sentiment. “Glad you agree, little dawn.”

Just then, the sound of the front door creaking open signaled Megumi and Tsumiki’s return. They came bounding in, backpacks slung over their shoulders, chatting excitedly about their day. When they spotted Satoru on the floor surrounded by pictures, they exchanged curious glances.

“What are those?” Tsumiki asked, peering over at the scattered photos.

You entered just in time to hear her question, a smile blooming on your face as you knelt beside Satoru. “These are some old pictures!” you explained, picking one up to show them. “This is me with some of my friends.” You pointed at the smiling faces in the photo, watching as your children leaned in closer to get a better look. “Then me and Satoru with everyone we love.”

Megumi studied the picture intently. “You all look so young then,” he remarked, a hint of surprise in his voice. “And happy.”

“Yeah, we were.” you said, your voice warm with fond memories. “We had some good times back then.”

As you sorted through the photos,  Gojo Satoru couldn’t help but beam with pride, watching you share your past with the kids. You pointed out Kaiko and Namie in another picture, explaining who they were and how you had all met. The joy in your voice was infectious, and he felt a swell of happiness just being there, part of this moment.

“Wow, you were cool back then, too!” Tsumiki teased, giggling as she spotted a particularly silly pose you’d struck in one of the photos.

Satoru joined in on the laughter, his heart swelling with love for the life you had built together. “I’d say you’ve only gotten cooler.” he said, giving you a playful nudge. “And to think I get to be here for all of it.”

Megumi snickered. “You’re still as lame as back then.”

“HUH!? Megumi! You think of your dad as lame!? LAME!? Darling! Our son thinks I’m lame!”

You laughed. “But….Isn’t that the truth, Satoru?”

“That’s not true at all!” Your husband decried, pouting heavily in response. “I can’t believe it, even you?”

“You make it easy for me to think that way, dear.”

“Now that’s just flat out rude!”

“Gen–san, where was this?” Tsumiki excitedly asked. “Isn’t this a theme park?”

“Ohhhh, that’s the first time we brought Satoru to Parque España! Satoru, didn’t you cry at how you got to ride the Pyrenees?”

“It was terrifying, you knew that!” He blushed, recalling the memory.

Megumi blinked and then grinned. “Gen–san, tell us more!”

“Okay, okay~”

“Darling, don’t tell the kids about my uncool moments!”

With the excitement turning to you telling stories about the pictures, Your son Satoshi wanted to go eat some snacks — so Satoru went to the kitchen with him. Satoshi was gurgling happily in the carrier, Satoru felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. 

Moments like this, no matter how rare or brief, just surrounded by family, reminiscing about the past, and sharing laughter—were everything he could have ever wanted. In the warmth of your smiles and the joy of your children, he found a sense of belonging that filled his heart to the brim.

“Life is pretty great, don’t you think?” he said softly, catching Satoshi’s eye and sharing a smile that spoke volumes. Satoshi giggled. “Hm, I’m glad you think so too, little dawn. We’ll have more and more!”

[merbear25]

Hey hi! Can you do romantic hcs with prussia, France and Belarus x reader who likes to draw them and does it all the time. Thanks! ^v^

Oh my goodness, what a cute idea for you to send in! I loved considering how they’d feel. I hope you enjoy what I’ve written for you.💜💜

CW: SFW, gn!reader, fluff, headcanons/scenarios

When you like drawing them (Prussia, France, Belarus)

Prussia

Of course, you would want to draw him! He had such dazzling features, so he’d be more than happy to strike a few poses for you.

He was far from shy and bashful so would be sure that you caught his good side (all of his sides were his good side).

It would go without saying that whatever you drew, whether or not it was of him, would be showered with compliments. He admired your artistic abilities. On the days you were overly critical of your art, he’d be there pointing out specific things he adored about each work of yours.

Even though he had a loud personality, the drawings you did of him when he wasn’t paying attention and simply doing mundane things got the strongest reaction out of him. This reaction was quiet in comparison to the others but was felt the most deeply.

He could understand why you’d want to draw him in a pose or doing something iconic, but seeing how much care you put into capturing his quieter moments made his heart skip a beat.

Such things were deemed as unimportant to him—not worth capturing, especially when the method was talent based. Why you thought the opposite was a mystery, and yet he was thankful for it.

France

You flattered him, honestly. He would ask if you had any specific ideas in mind so as to help pose if need be. Any props you needed him to hold to get the proportions just right would gladly be modeled with.

He did his best not to sneak peaks because he’d rather it be a surprise. Needless to say, he was nothing short of amazed with whatever the final version was—the artist was near and dear to him, meaning each work was cherished by him regardless what it was of.

There were plenty of moments he looked over at you, admiring the way you furrowed your brow in concentration. Some of the motions you made while thinking through the positions got him chuckling.

When you asked what was so funny, he waved it off by saying a random thought had crossed his mind.

There were no favorites of his. He enjoyed every style you drew in. Sure, he had a preference towards the softer and cuter depictions of himself and the other things you drew, but that never meant he saw the darker choices you made as less than extraordinary.

He enjoyed art and drew from time to time, so he’d offer to set time aside to do it together—forming a stronger bond was the overall goal.

Belarus

She wouldn’t enjoy it at first. Her insecurities would come through, ruining the precious bonding potential it held. The main reason for the cold shoulder it signaled was her not fully understanding why you wanted to.

You showed her some cute doodles you did of her, and that was what changed her mind. She came around, albeit slowly, but eventually learned to appreciate it for what it was—a sign of your adoration for her.

She’d want to sit next to you and watch the process unfold. However, she was horribly awkward about it. When you looked up at her coming over to you, she chickened out, blaming you for making her feel weird about it.

You didn’t think much of this behavior. It was just her way of attempting to reach out, so you ignored it and showed her the drawings once having finished.

The more open you were with showing your works, the more comfortable she got to the idea of you drawing her. Deep down, she enjoyed how you portrayed her—there was a beauty and delicacy in the strokes you made.

When she felt enough at ease, you had some stern-faced company looking over your shoulder as you drew. That was fine though. She was simply mesmerized by your technique and wished to observe it was all.

[proxythe]

Any headcanons for the sees members?

Also plus piercing/ lgbt hcs as well 🫣

yessuh let me think … u gotta stay with me here bc i’m so bad at just thinking of regular headcanons

- im ngl ive been big into aki being a glasses wearer lately … like he seriously needs them but never wears them. just stubborn and blind as hell

- this is a popular one but i feel like i haven’t said it in a while: minato & kotone being twins. they obviously look nothing alike canonically but i try to give them very similar features when i draw them (like their nose and mouth) as well as a little beauty mark by their lip

- i love aigis wearing kotone’s clothes. i usually draw this represented by aigis wearing pink to imply its not her own clothes (cuz we all know she normally loves a blue outfit) but i think it’s super cute to imagine. oh & in general i like to give aigis a lot of baggy casual clothes instead of her usual dresses and whatnot. i just like to picture all of sees fashion senses rubbing off on her in different ways

- yukari is scared of ghosts but not horror movies, while junpei doesn’t believe in ghosts but horror movies scare him. im not sure at all if horror is ever brought up honestly i can’t remember but i always thought it would be funny that yukari is so jumpy about ghosts but she’s unimpressed with horror movies, while junpei teases her about ghosts but then a horror movie will have him up scared for a week. trust, he stays denying it scared him

to not make this long as hell, i’ll stop there and get to the rest of ur ask… cutting it bc i always feel like a long ass post will look so cluttered

for my lgbt hcs i kinda fluctuate but its fine:

minato/kotone: bisexual … basically canon for kotone, but i see it for minato as well. i’m pretty open to any kotone gender hc, i personally never thought about it for her. minato tho i think i mainly enjoy nonbinary or transfem minato 😭 but it still is the same that im pretty open to any gender hcs for him as well

yukari: lesbian. immediate answer. i’ve brought this up before feels like forever ago but i am a transmasc yukari enjoyer. it sucks because when i thought about it the first time i remember i had a really big explanation for it that had me hype as hell but now i can’t remember and i just passively enjoy it LOL

junpei: he’s all over the place. i think the cishet ally junpei is really funny just bc it makes me laugh when the whole lgbt friend group just has the one straight guy BUT i also enjoy junmina in every sense so i think i dabble in a little bisexual junpei sometimes …

fuuka: she kinda just gives me unlabeled vibes in sexuality. i had an initial sexuality hc for her but junfuuka started growing on me so i changed it in my head … but i really really love trans girl fuuka i think it’s one of my fav hcs for her <3

akihiko: i feel like i view him gay but i also refer to him as bisexual when i think it’s funny LMFAOOO one thing i keep consistent is that i think he’s trans. basically canon to me. i know the boobs and gorgeous face combo throw some people off but i never imagined he’d want to cut them off so i don’t depict that

mitsuru: lesbian & trans woman. i think oomfs have made transmasc mitsuru grow on me too but i personally mainly view her as a trans woman. also basically canon to me. it’s another one that just comes so naturally that i forget it’s not true

shinji: i don’t imagine he would really care about labels. i think he’d fall in line with being a guy, he/him, whatever but like deep down i don’t think he’d really give af. same with sexuality. he likes who he likes i don’t think he’d make a big deal of it. his gender and sexuality is summed up to “i got bigger things to worry about than this”

LMFAOOO sorry long ass section but for piercings i think it’ll be shorter STAY WITH ME!!!!!!! tbh i think most would just be a normal ass ear piercing so i’m sorry in advance …

- first off… i can see yukari and mitsuru with regular ear piercings. yukari maybe a cunty belly button piercing but i think only like post canon/p4au yukari would get it tbh

- mitsuru with a nose piercing maybe … i honestly can’t imagine mitsuru would ever have many besides the regular ear ones but i can see her with like a stud… i feel like it’s one of those piercings a person would never realize she had unless they looked really close at her face. it’s on her emo bang side so it gets covered

- i can actually imagine junpei with some normal ass ear piercings. but that’s as far as he’d go bc i think the piercing gun/needle would make him cry a lil bit

- kotone seems like she’d do ears as well 😭 if im leaning into a Way more emo minato then i can actually see him with a few like ears/lips/etc. but regular him i don’t think he’d do any … im so sorry omg

- i draw/imagine shinji without any but ive seen people depict him with a tongue piercing before. i lowkey fw it. it’s hidden so i think he’d like something like that … otherwise i can’t imagine him with much

i’m sorry from the bottom of my heart for the lackluster piercing hcs bc i also enjoy piercings a lot visually but realistically i felt like sees wouldn’t really do much 😭😭 they’re too boring !!!

anyways this was long as hell but super fun so thank you for asking !!! i love going to my mind place

[firecooking]

Here me out, in the tugs fandom there are 3 depictions of captain zero

1. Shitty mustache ( looks like it's pencil drawn)

2. Mustache that curls into a zero ( it curling to represent how he's the antagonist and also it resembles a 0 )

3. No mustache ( because he's either terrible at facial hair or artist just didn't draw him with one)

In your au is there an inside joke that zero can't grow proper facial hair?

I have been a conosuier of human Captain Zero's for years, and that theory does hold water!

I think the only Zero I can think of until a few that cropped up around this year with a beard that was drawn more than once is Dan-the-countdowner's over on deviant art. God speed Dan you where like the only guy drawing human Captains for years.

Also, your asks are always on deck in my ask box when I have a few minutes of free time, please don't think I'm ignoring them, sometimes it takes me a while to formulate my answers. Also I don't often do drawing requests, but I make an exception for my TUGS au's!

Anyways, on to my au! There will be a detailed explanation under the read more but tldr:

When Zero was a younger man he always kept himself clean shaven, after his time in he army he attempts to grow a mustache, which was universally hated and every one regarded as a bad move. Post War 1918-pre Zip 1920 is lovingly known as the rat years in the photo albums that reside around Zero Marine Bigg City.

Before the Great War Captain Zero clean shaved every morning, brushed out, cared for, and styled his hair, and generally looked put together and intentional despite living with rather wild, wavy, longer hair. I picture him around a 2b/2c if he makes an attempt to care for it but when he's not doing anything particular its just a frizzy/fluffy 2a, he has pretty fine hair so it's never consistent unless Zero makes the effort. His hair keeping short also makes it less wavy than it might be if he let it grow out.

He'll never admit it but he never really liked looking anyone in the eyes as a young man, and he still doesn't like it. His long bangs covering his face made him feel more calm and helped hide the fact he was avoiding eye contact.

When he signed up for the draft, Star had made a few passing comments about his hair, but Zero never thought anything of it. He's always remembered Star had had longer hair, and the Army wasn't that different to the navy, right?

After he was drafted and was in training, one of the first things that happened was his hair was trimmed back to fit in his helmet better and his daily grooming routine was reprimanded as a waste of time for a medic. He was told to change it or lives would be lost. So change it he did. This change consisted of not doing his hair routine save for 'basic maintenance' [ie, none] as needed, and only shaving one or twice a week, his facial hair never did grow very fast and was rather sparse anyways.

When he got back from the war, he vowed to grow his hair back out, but he was a different man returning home.

With his new found free time in the mornings meant he could always find time for tea and some breakfast. Making for a slightly less 'tired bitch of a captain' according to his three tugboats [data gathered from eaves dropping on their nightly poker games]. With his shaving routine fully altered and him no longer being picky about being clean shaven, he decided to try out facial hair, his father always maintained a beard, so why couldn't he? Genetics were on his side! He often forgets he's adopted.

It never did grow in fast, or very full. Even with Zorran's best efforts to help, Zero never really had more than a slightly bushy mess. And his hair never really got back to it's same length/health after the war, he always blamed it on the fact it was cut back, and not the fact he was a depressed mess after Europe who had stopped grooming almost entirely for years.

When Zip was due to be christened, Zero finally went down to a barbers shop to get himself cleaned up for the photographs at the urging of his tugboats and mother.

The barber took one look at him and told him the mustache needed to go and that his hair was initially damaged from lack of care during the war and then exacerbated by lack of care after. Zero on a whim let the man do what he felt was right, it was a new decade after all.

Zero's up cut was initially very low maintenance for him and he quite preferred it that way. Zero didn't keep up steam with his hair care the same way he did before the war, but he could manage to brush it in the morning to keep it from getting as bad as it had been.

Once Zasha comes into his life and he realized she has much curlier hair than he ever did [a mix of 3 b/c], he starts to pick hair maintenance back up as he learns how to take care of her hair. He's gotta be a role model and a good father after all. He still never gets back to how he was before the war, but at least his hair is healthy instead of oily, frizzy, and out of place.

More importantly he's taking regular showers and grooming again. His tugs count both of those things as a win.

He never figures out why he was less particular about the way he looks after the war. He was living a life of crime before the war. In the army he never injured a soul or took a life, unlike his days collecting debts as an 'accountant.'

He doesn't see how the war to end all wars could have changed him.

[38sr]

If you’re still doing the animation q, what makes a portfolio stand out/what should someone do for a portfolio to best interest people? I always get mixed reviews, some people say having a personal art style is key, others say I should’ve have one, etc.

No worries at all! I’ve actually already did an IndustryQ about what I believe makes a solid portfolio and you can find that here! But you do bring up a very good question about personal art style. Even when I was a student the debate about whether or not it’s good to have a specific style was always an on-going topic. So before we begin, everything I will write below from my personal experience and opinion. Nothing I say is the absolute and something you have to follow, it’s always important to do what’s best for you and your voice as an artist.

And with that, let’s answer your question! Should I strive to have a distinct personal art style?

If I may be honest and candid, I don’t believe young artists should be stressed and worried about having a personal art style.

This is coming from someone who has been publicly ridiculed multiple times for drawing in an anime style all throughout my schooling. And even when I changed my style to something more cartoony or more realistic, I was still told the same thing. That was very much from my personal experience and I hope that has never happened to you ‘cause it’s very damaging to an artist’s growth. But if you’re wondering why I don’t think style should be stressed about, it’s because of an experience I had in college.

In college, I had a life drawing class with a very old man (he was like 70 when I was student). This man is the epitome of “fine art is the only true art that exists and I hate commercial arts.” You can imagine how I felt about him every class when he disregards anything that’s not “high art”. One day, when having a homework critique, a student raised his hand and asked the age-old question, “How do I develop a style?”

And he just scoffed at the student and replied, “You’re too young to even think about style. Learn how to execute first.”

That was seriously his answer. And it made me so mad. Not only was it dismissive and plain rude, but in the moment it felt like he didn’t even give the slightest solution to the student’s problem.

The semester continued and one day during break I was looking through some the art books in the classroom (it was the teacher’s personal collection). I always picked the Impressionist art books (Manet, Degas, Lautrec) and I think at some point the teacher noticed me doing that. So, he walked over to me, peered at the book in my hand and suggested I should look at a different artist (I believe it was a Baroque artist). And I just said, “Mm, I don’t really like that.”

“Why not?” He asked.

“I don’t know…I think I like how these guys depict the human body better.” I said with a shrug. We sat in a silence for a moment and when I looked at my teacher, he was smiling. And that shocked me ‘cause he doesn’t smile very often. After that he just walks off saying, “Then you should learn how and why they draw the human body the way they do.”

In the moment, I didn’t realize that he’d given me a hint about what he meant to the other student days prior. It didn’t take me until after college to realize what he was trying to say (and I still think was rude in delivery) was that style is a result of analyzing, deconstructing, reconstructing, experimenting and executing many different foundation techniques.

There are so many different types of styles in the world and it can be easy to feel like, “I have to draw like this if I wanna get job or be popular! If I don’t no one will notice me! How do I stand out?” I’ve had my fair share of those thoughts during my school days. But after college, I realized I was so focused on the end result (the style) that I wasn’t taking the time to understand the how and why they were able to execute art in that particular way (the analyzing, deconstruction, reconstruction). And since learning that lesson way back in college, how I view art styles is drastically now. From realistic, to graphic, to anime, to cartoony, I can look at a style and break down how that artist executed it in that way.

And the coolest thing about it, is that you can acquire multiple styles if you have exceptional foundational skills! It’s kind of like switching out a weapon for a specific type of enemy in a game. You don’t have to lose the style, you can just add it to your inventory and use it again when it’s needed again.

That’s why I don’t think younger artists should be so stressed and worried about developing a style. An artist’s style is a result of them spending years of learning, breaking down, experimenting, executing so many different methods of the core fundamentals and it’s ever changing. I know I say it in almost every IndustryQ but I cannot stress enough how vital it is to learn those foundation skills. It makes you a versatile artist. The reason why I can go from Rugrats to Spiderman to Bleach and adapt super quickly is because of my foundation skills. I learned how to analyze, break down, and reconstruct the art. Once I understand how the foundation rules work in the realm of a specific production, I can execute it in that style (also called on-model) of that show.

Now can you not be hired because you draw in a particular style? Yes, but you can also get hired for drawing in a particular style. How do you think design leads, directors and such get picked? Often times it’s because they have a personal style that aligns with a production’s particular sensibilities. There isn’t like…a real right or wrong when it comes to style because it always different and depends on the production. As long as you present solid drawing skills, you can be taught to draw in style of the production. So instead of worrying about having a personal style, I would implore you to hone your foundation skills while also studying/breaking down your favorite artists’ styles and try to understand what methods are they using to executing art in that specific way. You don’t have to have only one style, you can allow yourself to have an arsenal of them.

Of course, I can’t force you to listen to what I say nor do I expect you to take everything I write here wholeheartedly. All of this is from my personal experience and growth as an artist from school to now working in TV animation and even then I’m still developing my own “style”. I don’t know what that style is or what the outcome will be (just like how you, Anon, might not know what that will be for you). But if anything, don’t worry too much about having a style ‘cause as long as you have solid drawing skills you can adapt to any style.

I hope that answered your question!

[7ban-sama]

Could you rank the covers please?

haiiiiiiii, wakaru 👏 ikimashou

let's start with least favorites and work our way up, how 'bout.

starting with... this.

i could not care less-!!! it's kinda funny. nothing about the pose or colors or anything makes me feel much. i think mitsuba's school mystery outfit is busted lol, he feels like he has a bunch of stuff glued onto him. a bit too busy and silly for me to take seriously. his bones... his, eyeballs and little mirrors. feathers kinda like, bits n pieces stuck in his hair. i know you didn't choose to look like this mitsuba but it doesn't change the fact that i'm not into it... sorry.

it probably doesn't help that every time i'm reading PP i'm like god. get these clowns out of here-!! they're interrupting the DRAMA... feel like i'm asleep for their parts of this arc. so for them to get a cover is like sigh, whatever. it ruins the flow of all the amane focused ones lol... i wish i lived in the world where every PP volume had amane and nene on it. [thinks...] i would even sooner let shijima-san take one cover tho, if it had to be interrupted. just not this. -_-

next up...

i don't like kou. kinda repulsed by his pelvis zone here. big ugly guy huge forearms. i think i look cool in this image and the bg being black / there being a lot of gold present makes it more visually appealing than the previous cover. but only by so much.

i think it's kinda funny i have fangies and crazy swirly eyes. does it have to do with what vol 4 is... about? [pause...] hm... whose to say lol. it's funny, regardless.

this is.... neutral territory. i don't feel much about it. i'd say toilet trio illusts in general are very, snzz, i sleep. they can only be so interesting... it's sorta like seeing 'stock art' of a series, the things that go on t-shirts and cut-outs. Here are the characters. yep... nothing wrong with that, but nothing to be felt, past a point. esp when everyone is just big smiles or something, facing the audience. this doesn't really convey who they are as individuals, or their dynamic, even.

a part of me almost wishes someday there wouldn't be a need for depictions like this. i'd prefer seeing these 3 in a more grounded scene, if anything. [shitty amane voice] anyways.

now here's a few that are like. nothing felt. but i don't hate them. but it's like Lol.... there's genuinely nothing to be said. hearts nene is the cutest one here? let's go with that.

*amused huff* an image like this, i get the impression that i'm not the target demographic (genuine fujoshi...) so it's pretty logical it doesn't make me feel much. not the drawing's fault, really.

also, when akane is all bishie'd out in clock keeper mode, i can't feel anything about that. but he's not as ugly as kou to me. just wearing a funny outfit ig. meanwhile, hanako looks like a crazy whore. to a degree where it's funny? this is my mental image for what it's like when i suck off my brother. in this way, it has value.

the actual composition, colors used etc. is fine. neutral.

i kinda have a funny relationship with vol 1's cover. in 2020, when the anime released, people were posting gifs etc. of the OP (you know what part of the OP.) the only other thing i saw from the series, aside from that gif, was vol 1's cover. organically, my response to seeing these things in concert, was: "uhh, no thanks lol���" dismissing the series as, perhaps, a bit too shota-yaoi-gnarsty for someone like me… i look at too much porn on pixiv also, so i'm sort of... literate. when it comes to... shotacons. and this is the sort of image pings... a certain flavor... makes me go... "hmm… no… i don't need toilet-fuck-prisoner-skank-ghost-shota, thank you..." (not a value judgment. i'm just more of an oneeshota guy. normal heterosexuality swag.)

anyways, it's purely incidental that this was all i had seen. along with tons of your run of the mill "tsukasa tormenting amane" fanarts... it gave me such a particular impression of the series.

that being said, i never found this cover bad looking or anything. in fact, the style was pretty appealing-? (the style doesn't have to be bad for you to go, that's not my genre of porno ww) now that i've actually read it and love the series, i can say that vol 1 almost has this classic stink to it. it's just so effective. it's not wrong to look at this and think: shotacon bait manga. it absolutely is, lol. & i suppose my first instincts still weren't wrong. again, i'm not the target demographic.

now this is. a bit closer to being For Me. i am now within the target demographic. but it also kinda makes me angry 💔... like i'm being bullied, a bit. you know some images are a bit too gormlessly horny... like, even for me. oooh. nene-chan's being fed this cake. mmm, open up... frosting all over us.. her ankles bound, her pussy barely not visible. and this, mysterious inexplicable knife stabbing a mini heart. it's all like. [stoically] Ok...

you hand this to a 13 yo bird though, i think he'd be spellbound. ohhhhh. what is this...? so colorful... and if he opened the volume and saw that little alice in wonderland illust of nene between the twins + nene's teaparty outfit... he'd be like mrghhh.... *sucks up gravy*

same goes for vol 2's cover.

you hand this to teen bird, it's pure catnip. though i prefer it to the last one, due to the more... noncon lean. and ofc, just being hananene...~

the way nene is posed, the rope, the frills of her uniform, her crying. hanako looking like some scary vampire captor, about to whisk her away. flanked by the knife and scissors... ohhh. what's going to happen to her...? ⬅ i'm already checking this out of the library before this thought can fully crystalize.

it's not quite as lush or impressive as some of aida-sensei's other illusts though. i think her earliest art is most charming in the manga panels themselves. illusts like this, the bodies feel a little too evened out, to me. not so strong colors. mind you, still nice looking. and again with nene's pussy so nearly visible. Well thanks.

vol 3 is always like... *smiles weakly* mmmm. aida-sensei... i accept who you are. i do... i know you kinda can't help it, in some ways. but it's a shame this isn't more... IC... on tsuchigomori's end. i think this image skews a lot of the perception of tsuchigomori's rship with amane, which i dislike, because their rship in canon is... amusing. and tsuchigomori is a weak loser. but i understand what people typically want out of teacher/student. i leave the humble fujo be.

that aside, i'm a fan of everything else. dusky colors, moody expressions. tsukasa's hands reaching out and cupping amane's face. yes... lovely. it was a fun era, when alluding to tsukasa was best done through hands reaching out. something from the past, coming to haunt. i like amane's hat being off... the glass triangles used to show memories, the ropes, the tsubaki. we love imagery, guys.

these next few are like, "i love my wife" (ignores other person.)

i like tsukasa here. a girlie that goes, nyarrrr! fun and minxy, ever the delight to see. all the pinks and reds, the rosy color of the 'seal' kanji... hi sweetie. *blows a kiss* good luck doing your job.

i really like nene in this outfit. i suppose it finally makes you go "oh" about how she has pale hair and red eyes / and how this suits the typical miko white/reds. i'm actually glad we got to see it in a cover. she's all decked out... ornate... frills, draping fabric, big bow. flanked by flowrse and bells. fancy girlie.

i'm more aligned to shoujo manga and such, actually, so an image like kinda lights up the same part of my brain. a feeling like, "i know it well"... girls posed like dolls, together. classic.

you know me, idgaf about kou. but this girl is distinctly gorgeous. i love greyyyy as a background, and how she's composed of pallid colors. her tights feel so stark black. and then the soft yellow and orange in the flowers... ooh. she's really incredible. if it was a nene-only cover, this would be probably one of my absolute favorites. for severance, too, the vibes are flawless. dreary, drained.. enervated feeling girl. she's delicate. love love love.

we're entering a notable jump in favoritism. ⬆ all these prior covers had things like, details i was indifferent towards, or entire characters i wished weren't there/found neutral. ⬇ these next ones are closer to, 'i wouldn't change this, i like who is here'

auhhh... hakusumi... we're so lucky to have a cover dedicated to them. one of my favorite volumes, too, in terms of literal events. i like this pose and the contrast of their expressions... sumire's eyes always feel like they're purposefully kinda, intense and creepy. i think hakubo is appropriately passive... below... but pawing up at her. i really love sumire's hand splayed on his chest too~ kya. vivid purbles... touches of greem... quite nice.

I like these all about the same amount. I look cool in them. Which is nice, because this arc is mostly about me.

i'm simple... i enjoy the duality of amane and hanako. i think PP does a good job at playing with this divide in living self / current ghost self, what it means to have been this. what is the authentic self? what does he really feel? it's even more convoluted when you have hanako functionally RP'ing as his past self.

i like how hanako has more of a severity to him, in these side-by-sides. amane is supposed to be the one who is just a normal boy, 'before tragedy', so he's all smiles. but isn't it funny, with how nene sees past amane as miserable and current hanako as cheery, smiley smiley...? he's a complicated guy, isn't he.

i'm a fan of the colors of vol 9. excitable telescope boy. then, the kinda, paint-splotch feeling details at the ends of his legs, fun allusion to the painting-in-progress world. for vol 11's original cover, i like the stark white bg for hanako. his expression... it's one of those expressions that makes me think aida-sensei is a wizard. how is she doing that...? he looks crazy... but it's so subtle. he also kinda feels like he's about to bite his lip? this + the fingers threaded over rope... a lot. his companion amane meanwhile just feels crazy in a different way, as a result.

handsome coolness abound. ty sensei.

hehehe. 20 is just so ffffffffun! tsukasa giving major "the puppet master that cursed your dick" energy. dark eyes and lidded gaze... seeing the ropes threading around his fingertips is just so fun. they're often off-screen, or blooming from within characters, so i like to see them so decidedly coming from tsukasa. he's orchestrating so much, it's so appropriate, isn't it-!? we owe a lot to him.

i was looking forward to sakura finally getting a feature on a cover. her listless expression and limp body works well with this all. contrast with tsukasa seated somewhat to the side, flanking her. it's cute that these are the colors that mean "spring!" in japan. and aida-sensei has put out so many spring-themed illusts featuring pinks and greens this year. so festive.

it all comes to roost then, in this cover. touches of green in tsukasa's spooky corpse fingertips. the pink all around is giving Femininity, as much as it's giving... sickness... feverishness... i like how sakura's uniform and tsukasa's hakama are a similar shade. pleats and frills... yes yes. i suppose this cover is doing more for me, in the "two pretty girls posed together like dolls" department. it's more on the unhinged side. love love.

these two... they make me stunned by aida-sensei's ability to make an image is simply so... beautiful? fills me with such yearning. i wish i could make something half this good, ahaha. i must drink in these images...

they showcase some softer feeling amanes. crazy boys in prev volumes are fun, but they're not really playing off of the right energy, to me. (not at their full potential yet...?) meanwhile, covers like these, i think the execution is perfect. here's the boy... your title boy. i'm forced to understand why my wife finds me to be handsome, ig.

the illust for the pilot release feels so sweet. like aidairo themselves are fond of their initial pitch still. to include aspects of his old design (like, no thick trim on the gakuran) within aida's more modern style is very cool. translucent... ghostie boy. you know him well. all the flowers frame him nicely.

for the far shore/severance situation, it's quite fascinating to see amane like this. amidst all the madness... i think it's a good follow up to the red house also. this... is the guy we're trying to get back to. the paper lantern he's holding is such a simple yet wonderful detail also. idk... he's really a japanese ghost. he really on "the other side"... in a procession, with the other spirits. and i love the abstract bits of buildings and vehicles floating about, representing the far shore. the sunset orange clouds and bright blue sky... sugoi.

this one makes me feel so simple. sometimes, you just have wife emotions. (i have 4 yo tsu as my bg on tumblr & my pc...💞) i love you BAY-BEEE!!! you're so special to me!! kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss.

this to me is almost like, the blessed version of "this reeks of a shotacon" lolll... cuz now we're at an age range/size that i'm like YEAH!! OOUEHH!!! FUN!!!!!!! BOLD! INTERESTING!! SHOW ME MORE!? i love to see TOYS and DOLLIES, yeahhh! a toy piano!! a robot!! lil cars!! bouncy ball!!! rocky horse! YES!! IT'S ALL THE THINGS!!

center stage, we have tsukasa preciously holding his teddybear. the ripped seams and overflowing stuffing... his lil suspenders and shorts. the thick, vibrant red socks! weewoo. i would say it's a perfectly executed piece. straightforward. welcome to the toy room! it's bright and colorful and a little ominous... don't you want to know more about this lil guy-!? don't you just wanna scoop him into your arms. yes, of course you do!! come on in...

this is probably my absolute favorite volume also... it's so concentrated... i just love this arc sf much. 9.9 the volume sleeve illusts + contents page are perfect. this random illust of hanako that the volume opens up with is very sick & twisted, he scares me. but i also love it very much. and then the first pages are tsukasa asking to play. 10/10... love the whole package. this cover is like a ribbon on top of it all.

[scuffs shoe... gets small.] [hides under my hat.]

... 💦 ... .. .. .... ..... 💦💦 ... ... ............... ..

girlfriend. emotions. (these are somehow different than wife emotions.) she's... resplendent... i don't deserve her... idk, it's hard. to talk about this one, gomen, if this comes out awkwardly.

but it's... just. really pretty. after the whole PP, hurts to look at. the biiiig moon in the sky. dreamy lil stars. the red of her eyes... and for nene to be threading both her hands over his, while red rope binds them together... wonderful. i like how the ropes perfectly kiss with 'red string of fate'... also this all gives me OT3 feels. (tsukasa often symbolized by the moon...) overall, does a great job at conveying the climax of this many-volume arc.

it's a lovely image. and the odd angle to amane's face is inspiring for me, also. i wanna be able to properly represent the huuuge eyes and lil muzzles that the characters in JSHK have. they feel like my little ponies... i must learn how to capture this...

[getting even smaller. ragged.] [sighhhhing forlornly, leaning out a window.] it's my favorite cover. but also, it's my favorite inner sleeve illust... so i must include it. hopefully, you'll understand me, as you see them side-by-side.

the cover, though... it's got it all, i guess. intimacy. atmosphere. expressions are loaded. the hand to yashiro's face... her nape visible. the stars, the lights, the summer night vibe, due to tanabta. yashiro decorated in tsubaki, in her beautiful yukata. the big fanciful bow obi. the air feels thick, humid. gorgeous... wouldn't change a thing.

i love all that tanabta encapsulates. ooh. it's the peak of it all... we're star-crossed lovers, aren't we. reaching through streams of time to meet one another. the indulgence of the age gap... nene onee-san... choosing to meet her again, over dreaming of the future. that's how it always works, right...? love always supersedes any vague wishing of a, career, or w/e... flimsy, in comparison. [i use my severe tone and lots of eye contact to convey that this alludes to the choice to die with tsukasa vs grow up and be an astronaut.]

in the chapter itself, we see that hanako vaguely has some... feeling... memory... of nene's forehead kiss. and i think that's conveyed in the cover, too~ it feels like he can't resist a pull. memories... a long-existing crush, incubating...~ how long has this girl been haunting you...

woof, the romance that oozes from it all... it makes me feel so soooo simple. i like that aidairo can be so... earnest? about it all? we're tying key romantic events with our main couple, to THE romantic festival.. yayaya... yes.... thank you...

all this. all this! and knowing the yugi are running around, eating cotton candy, playing with sparklers, late into the night... we really can have it all, can't we?

[starshower1215]

I am so in love with every part of this post? You broke it down so well, you put into words the things we noticed but couldn't identify. That was so cool.

I had my doubts for the style change, but now I fully prefer MAPPA's style. I have always viewed AOT as a bit different from other anime (it's not like other anime 😱) because it is meant to be portrayed much more realistically, or rather, it takes itself more seriously. MAPPA's art brings this out a bit more. The most noticeable thing, as is often mentioned, is the body proportions. I love the way in which they draw their bodies. My children have muscles, and now they're eating well, of course I want to see them a bit chubbier and not as though they'll blow over with one gust of wind (I'm sorry).

I also just love, as a personal opinion, that they aren't so thin. Yes, it is anime, it's fine to be drawn in those styles, I just like this more. WIT made them just so ethereal. I want to poke it. I really love the changes they made in Levi and Hange, and now that it's been mentioned, Mikasa and Annie, too. First of all, Levi is [to Isayama's dismay] considered the most attractive character by majority. A lot of people say he's ugly now, but I love him.

Just look at that man, from his chubby face to the wider width of his hips. He looks older and he looks his very short height. This man is so stressed, let all the things that he has overcome etch make themselves known on his forty year old face. Just imagine that the character people find most attractive has the softest face, looks (and is, but appearance) insanely tiny, and oh, he has huge eyebags. Justice for Levi's horrible eyebags, he doesn't even change clothes or lay down to sleep.

Then Hange is more gender neutral, as they were in the manga (he's also absolutely beautiful, but that is irrelevant). It seems obvious to anyone who looks in the WIT style that Hange is [biologically] female, but MAPPA made them look a bit more neutral. I just also want to add one more time that she is so cool and awesome, she's my child. I'm also glad that the studio change came when Hange broke (Sorry, Hange). It really depicted her struggle. I would have been a bit sad if her struggle as the commander were glimmery and beautiful (though, if it had, I suppose I would not have known any different).

Similarly, Mikasa and Annie do not shimmer anymore, and I love that. They need some space to express emotions without being beautiful. It was almost like social media. My children do not have to glimmer all the time, let them be unerringly real and let them ugly cry (they all desperately need to ugly cry).

Anyway, this entire rant presents a very clear bias, but I'm not an avid anime watcher. I'm not so used to the way that anime portrays their characters, so MAPPA was more my speed and it means more to me emotionally.

MAPPA didn’t make the characters ugly, it’s Wit that made everyone too beautiful - Let me explain!

By far, one of the biggest complaints thrown around when season 4 part 1 of Attack on Titan first aired was how MAPPA made all the characters—especially the female characters—ugly. There’s some merit to that complaint, but not in the way most people were coming at it

Not sure if it’d been said before, but I think the only reason MAPPA’s aot looks “ugly” is because Wit went out of their way to make every too beautiful—unnaturally so

I have a case to make here and will be going over it one element at a time

Colors

Let’s first look at how each studio picks their colors. This is the most apparent in the flashback shots were MAPPA basically reanimated whole scenes in their style

Both studios use three basic “shades” for every same-color surface

For Wit that’s the base color, a darker variation for shading, and then a highlight, used generously on the characters’ hair and faces (sometimes they add a darker shade, but not often)

MAPPA uses a base color, a darker tone for shading, but they also add cross hatching to emphasize the even darker areas, usually around the eyes and under the neck

MAPPA also very rarely use highlights—only in cases where there’s bright light to actually reflects off of the high points of a character’s face and hair

The same can also be seen in the color choices. Wit’s color palette is overall brighter. They almost never go with true black tones for things and texture that are meant to be black

Characters like Mikasa and Levi, who’re meant to have black hair, they’re given either dark gray or a shade of dark brown that looks black compared to everything around it

MAPPA’s color choices are darker, more somber, this includes the hair colors

Another example is Armin and Annie’s hair colors. In seasons 1-3, the colors are so bright they could almost be considered yellow hair, but MAPPA tones it down, giving them more “natural” blond tones

This is applied all over, from clothes to backgrounds

Proportions

To keep things on the less complicated end, I’m dividng art styles on a scale from “realistic proportions” to “chibi” with the first being closer to the sizing and variation of a human body and the latter focusing on bigger heads and bigger eyes compared to everything else

MAPPA’s style, despite still being solidly Anime, is significantly more realistic leaning than Wit’s, which is more “cute”

Starting with the faces, Wit’s faces are less angular and more rounded. They’ve also given the characters bigger and brighter eyes, along with smaller noses and mouths—especially when the character isn’t talking

Meanwhile, MAPPA has a more realistic approach to facial proportions, therefor, less cute

When it comes to body proportions, it’s harder to compare all the main cast members

There's a 4-year time skip so I'll be sticking to adult characters for obvious reasons

The difference in proportions is immediately obvious. Not only are their shoulders wider compared to their heads, but their limbs are also fuller, when Wit kept them lanky. Their arms, legs, and waists feel like they have more weight to them in MAPPA’s style compared to Wit

(I would've done Annie but I couldn't find official full body art from MAPPA)

Effortlessly Gorgeous

It’s perfectly normal to have attractive anime/manga protagonists. They attract a wider audience and they’ll sell more merch if they’re pretty, handsome, or sexy

I think the main problem with Wit is that the characters are made to always look beautiful. Even at their worse: fighting titans, getting thrown off and rolling on dirt, almost dying- doesn’t matter, they’re always made to look gorgeous with glistening hair that's never out of place

This is most apparent in the characters aot presents as being the most beautiful: Mikasa and Annie

In the middle of battle, their hair always falls back neatly into place. They can have dirt or blood on them but never too much. Not to mention, the lip gloss shimmer that almost every young female character in the anime has

MAPPA…

not so much.

This is partially thanks to the cross hatching they use in shading, gives the character’s expressions a more raw appearance rather than elegantly crafted like some Hollywood film

It's not really just a matter of different art styles, it's a bunch of factors coming together that makes something less "cute" and more grown up looking

How do the styles compare to the manga?

It’s really hard to give a straight answer since Isayama’s style changes drastically over the source of 139 chapters

I’d say Wit was able to take more creative liberties with character designs and the style of the artwork simply because Isayama’s style itself wasn’t as developed/refined during the first few dozen chapters

While it’s hard to say about the colors since the manga is in black and white, any colored covers we do get are more muted, even compared to MAPPA. As for shading, Isayama goes strong on cross hatching and I think MAPPA does him justice in that regard

So when people throw a tantrum online that MAPPA made Annie and Mikasa ugly, then, yeah, sure ugly as in less polished and less baby-like, but only compared to Wit

The manga is generally more gruesome in its portryal and Wit, I feel, leaned too much into the style of the late 2000s early 2010s

[wonderfuldeath]

.o| Seasonal Calendar |o.

Bra

• July 15 •

Warnings : Fluff, spicy, sexual, graphic depictions

Please, consider supporting me on Ko-Fi ! ♥

It was completely stupid, Jimin kept telling himself as he looked at himself in the mirror, running his hands against his own body, moving right, then left.

He'd set foot in the luxury boutique again, because in the end, the experience had been better for both of them, so Jimin had wanted to please Yoongi, of course. The rapper was currently away in America for a long week, agreeing to help another fellow rapper, so Jimin had a lot of time to waste. Perhaps a little too much, now that he thought about it, in front of that mirror. He pulled up the nightie a little, checking to see if it fit properly, stroking the fabric, fine and soft under his fingers, pleasant.

“Don't you have it in black?

- Yes, I'll get it for you.

- And the set in green, please.

- Good.”

The saleswoman from last time wasn't there today, and in the end he found it just the same, pinching his lower lip, he looked at himself one last time. Today there was a male sales assistant, a slightly taller man, Korean in type. His pale blond hair and scowl suggested that he didn't like his job, but Jimin didn't complain, at least he could rely on him without having to really talk, especially in this situation, preferring his more professional look to that of the former saleswoman, and that reassured him a little, he didn't really want some crazy woman to say that he'd tried on nighties and sexy lingerie in a luxury boutique.

“I also brought it in gray, just in case.

- Thanks.”

The tall blond nods, setting the pieces down in the fitting room, then waiting for a new request, or else a new request from Jimin. He passes on the new pieces, convincing himself that he's doing it for a good cause; he knows Yoongi will appreciate the gesture, but he wasn't sure he'd go through with the plan. Jimin must have taken too long, since the salesman came back to him, stepping through the curtain of the fitting room to give him his usual glare.

“This one's really ugly. The curves, the color. No, really, I won't sell you this one and I understand your dismay. Let me find you something more… that will make you look better.

- Are you sure? I mean… This one looks good…

- No, I won't be a great designer if I let you wear this mop. I'm going to have to write myself a memo so I never listen to the ideas of these worthless people again.”

The big hands move against his side, and he shudders, surprised to be touched without really being asked, looking through the mirror at the salesman's now somewhat unpleasant presence. But he doesn't do anything sexual, he just looks at the garment, from every angle, without thinking too much about his hand movements before simply nodding, as if confirming an opinion. With no further words - he's obviously not much of a talker, besides looking at everything wickedly - Jimin doesn't quite know what to do. Before the curtain draws again, the room has changed completely, the nightie is more worked, black satin, obviously hand-stitched lace, red. Jimin remains silent, as the man looks at the nightie and Jimin before nodding positively, posing not far away for him to try on, with two other colors and finally making his choice, going to the checkout, having also picked up a pair of black frilly handcuffs, causing the salesman to arch an eyebrow but just give a thin smile.

“- I hope you won't tell my husband about me in the fitting room.

- … I can't promise anything.

- Too bad for me.”

The two of them grinned at each other, before a redhead emerged from the back of the store, a pile of clothes between his fingers, a stern look on his face, and the blond's smile disappeared in the laughter that took Jimin as he reached the entrance to the store, arriving at his car trying not to continue laughing, a little sorry for the trouble he'd potentially gotten into. Yoongi was due home later that evening, so Jimin had everything ready, cocktails, candles, and of course the outfit he'd bought earlier in the week, the nightie, the underwear. He throws the handcuffs on the bed, before slowly starting to panic, Jimin starts to turn like a lion in a cage, and if Yoongi hates this idea, maybe he was lying, doing it to please him. Anxiety mounts slowly, as he runs a hand through his hair, trying not to tremble, taking light breaths, trying to calm down, trying to get into the same state of mind as at the concerts. Finally, the sound of the door opening startled him, and he turned a little too quickly to look at his lover, tugging at the fabric of the nightie, trying to pull on it, as if that would make it less stupid or longer, Yoongi paused in his advance, his eyebrow raised dubiously, so Jimin lost himself in excuses.

“I don't know what came over me, forget what you saw, I'm going to change and we can have dinner.

- Who asked you to change? Don't I have the right to be surprised?

- It's not that, I just expected… another reaction. Like in the movies, you know?”

Yoongi tries not to laugh, as he slowly comes, grabbing Jimin's hips with great pride, coming to kiss him in a more than passionate way, making him moan. Yoongi didn't wait long to push him onto the bed, a shiver of excitement running down his spine as he looked Jimin up and down. He was adorable with his little red cheeks, his eyes a little lost, the way he ran his hands over Yoongi's arms. He didn't mind wrinkling them, he didn't mind taking off his own clothes, or Jimin's either. His wrists are swiftly passed over his head, and they toy with each other in search of dominance, while Jimin is restricted to the bed, making him moan softly. He doesn't need Yoongi to come and spread his thighs to do it, sensuously moving his hips against his husband's already heaving desire. A light sigh passes their lips, as Yoongi quickly removes his jeans and underwear, coming to caress Jimin's hips, letting them grip the lace.

“- You really are resourceful.”

A simple moan passes his lips, as Yoongi has already tasted the flavor of their reunion, his body reacts quickly, and he pulls on his wrists, seeking more contact, feeling Yoongi's lips sucking at the fabric. The poor lace panties don't last long, and the rapper becomes more voracious, finally taking them between his lips, his sucking noises echoing Jimin's deep moans.

“- Y-Yoongi wait… Wait… Please…”

The older man looks up, breathless, at his lover, thighs spread, searching for an air he can no longer find, then Yoongi stops, kisses his belly, caresses his thighs, comes to kiss him to reassure him. He rubs their noses together, waiting for Jimin to regain a steady breath, before he comes to support the exchange again, the older man grunts as he comes to prepare him, sensing how tight Jimin was going to be for the big romp, but he remains attentive, gentle, waiting for him to be completely inside, before coming to possess him. Gentle at first, Yoongi has a hard time not consummating gently, a week without seeing each other, Jimin's voice carrying like an adorable melody in his ears, he can't help but be violent, creating bruises on Jimin's thighs, he'll apologize for the marks later, he promises himself, but right now, he feels like going wild. When the euphoria subsides, both are breathing hard, and Yoongi can't help but continue his hip play even though he's already freed himself. Both kiss lovingly, caressing each other, before Yoongi withdraws, he doesn't get dressed again, finding the bathroom to run a hot bath, with lemon and meringue-scented bubble bath, he grabs clothes, clean towels, before coming to untie Jimin, who lets herself be a princess to join the bathtub. While Jimin relaxes, Yoongi changes the sheets, opens the windows and looks at the dinner his lover has planned for the evening. Jimin's two muscular arms, wrapped in a towel, grab him, and Yoongi shivers.

“- We can order if you like.

- No, the maki looks delicious. I can't wait to try it.”

[melis-writes]

Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader series, 18+ Smut] Oneshot – Omertà.

Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

Oneshot based in 1956, during the attempted assassination on Michael and Victoria Corleone.

"You’re delusional living in your head with all these fantasies of Victoria." / "She answered all of my questions about you with one word, you know that? Omertà."

With bullets flying over you and Michael during an attempt on your lives, the worst night of your life takes a turn for the worst as Michael's long time enemy and rival–Alphonse Ricci–forcefully has you kidnapped and held for more than just a ransom as his backup plan. Under pressure and suspicion of who betrayed the two of you, every move Michael makes in tracking your location down and bringing you back home safely is critical. With enough blackmail to ruin your life and career, Alphonse demands answers and isn't a patient man, using threats, intimidation tactics and sadism to get you to talk. Time is running out with your life on the line as you realize just what Alphonse's grand plans are for not just your future, but that of your entire family's.

[WARNINGS]: Heavy & explicit violence / Gunfire & firearm use / Depictions & themes of kidnapping/hostage situation / Ransoming / Graphic depictions of assault & battery / Character deaths / Graphic depictions of injuries & blood / Sexual harassment [groping/kissing] / Sedative usage / Sexual assault [groping, kissing] / Knife wounds / Biting / Explicit depictions of death.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The highly anticipated, next oneshot is finally here!! 😅 Thank you to the anon who requested this action packed oneshot! I hope I've done it justice with 100+ pages of thrilling content from start to finish for you guys! 👀 We see Michael in action, angst, hurt/comfort, a sneak peek of Connie and Leonardo's marriage, more quality time spent with the twins, how Michael handles the stress and pressure of Victoria's ransom and a short lived, but full out mob war too. There's a lot to tackle in this oneshot! 🙏🏻 Because of its explicit/graphic manner, please don't forget to read the warnings above! ❤

1949. Your name is Victoria Ferrari, and you’re the only daughter of one of the most powerful mafia families in New York—the Ferrari’s. When the Ferrari family began to gain heavy influence and power, it struck a power imbalance with the Corleone’s. To bind the families together as one in an offering of peace, friendship and business, you are to be married to their youngest son, Michael Corleone. As you ensnare yourself in the life of a mob wife by Michael’s side, what you don’t know is his old ties with Kay Adams, your best friend from Dartmouth, and that he returned from Sicily a widower. A ruthless mob boss to be, you unravel Michael’s dark past and the brutality that has changed his personality. You find yourself adapting to your new life, betrayed by those you love most, and in high profile to Ferrari and Corleone family enemies. Falling deeply in love with Michael, you enter a life and marriage filled with secrets and darkness. Bearing his children, supporting his crime empire and following him into the shadows, you’re unable to deny your passion and desire to the new Don. When it comes to Michael Corleone, you are but a moth to a flame.

[ Night of the attempted assassination at Lake Tahoe, 1956 ]

“Victoria!” Connie shouts out at you—her voice shaky with tears as she hugs her two sons close to her. “Where the hell are you going?! Sure as hell not out there—”

“Connie, it’s fine!” You shake your head, pulling open the French doors to exit the drawing room. “This isn’t the first goddamn time bullets have flown over my head before!”

“Are you insane?!” Connie hisses at you, “you know it’s not safe! Are you trying to get yourself killed after what Michael told us?!”

“Just stay put and with mama!” You point at Connie, then back at your mother weakly laying on the couch with Sandra by her side—ensuring her fresh bandages are on tight enough to stop the bleeding. “I need to find my brothers and Michael.”

“You’re insane, I swear!” Connie calls out behind you as you’re quick to storm out of the room and towards the study at the opposite end of the central family estate where your mother was hit.

“If Michael finds out—VICTORIA!” You can still hear Connie yelling out your name behind you but ultimately ignore her, knowing you’ve never been and never will be cowering back and waiting for others to finish the job.

Barefoot and keeping your steps slow and silent, you keep your eyes focused on all sides of your surroundings. 

You continue to move towards the other side of the compound by getting closer to the study, realizing just how eerily quiet it’s grown on this side of the estate then suddenly being able to see the walls surrounding the study up ahead blown off in small chunks and riddled with bullet holes.

Moving through the study, you press your back against any solid wall you approach to avoid being detected out of the shattered windows now flashing over with lights from security outside.

Like a shadow, you slip out the back door of the central family estate—slipping on a pair of your kitten heels you left outside—and move towards you and Michael’s estate—just towards the front of your bedroom window where the first shots were fired.

Keeping yourself hidden in the shadows and away from any source of light, you can already make out three heavily armed guards of Michael’s lingering both inside and outside of your bedroom, checking around for any further evidence and safety compromises.

‘What the hell?’ You furrow your brows, knowing that the two bullets you fired off didn’t just go into the air and disappear, let alone reflect off of the walls of the estate, a tree, or anything similar. You heard it hit someone, not something.

Continuing to stay out of sight of Michael’s men, you take another look at the shattered windows of your bedroom from a different angle, stepping back.

You can hear Al Neri, Rocco, and their men yelling overheard, guard dogs barking and the footsteps of security roaming hastily all over the compound which easily masks out any sound you could make.

‘If I had shot more towards the right, then I would have to stand here…’ You move back further, estimating the spot you assumed your bullet must have got to before your eyes land on a small pool of blood not far from where you remain.

‘My bullet didn’t fail me.’ A slight sense of relief washes over you as you begin to carefully track the little droplets of blood that lead a pathway outward to the drains.

It already strikes you that the drains are a perfect hiding spot as they’re almost always ignored by just about everyone except for the compound’s weekly cleaning services and after sundown from a lack of any light source natural or artificial, it remains almost pitch black inside and surrounding the outside.

‘I must have hit his lower body. His side, or perhaps his thigh?’ Normally as you’d assume, if someone got immediate medical attention or at least didn’t run around and move frantically, they wouldn’t bleed this much but clearly the assassins were in an obvious rush towards the drains and nowhere else.

You’re just about to follow the rest of the blood trail when you hear two sets of unfamiliar footsteps beginning to rush towards you.

Having spotted you the moment you made your way towards the blood trail, lurking in the shadows and analyzing your every step, Alphonse Ricci’s assassins hastily approach you to ambush you from behind.

Let into the compound from an inside betrayal of the family—a thought already in Michael’s mind but without certainty to pin the blame on Frank Pentangelli, Hyman Roth, Johnny Ola, or all three—you barely have any time to react to the sudden attack, just as planned.

Overpowered by the two men grabbing you from both sides knowing that if you were out here vulnerable and alone outside, it’d be the only chance they’d get. 

Had Michael been in your exact position without men and away from any source of light, he would have been shot dead on sight, as per the men’s orders said.

While remaining in the darkness to avoid a lecture from Michael’s men or Michael himself that you’d never hear the end of, now the assassins grabbing you from behind by your neck and clasping a leather gloved hand over your mouth to stifle your screams are now used to their advantage instead.

Before you can fire the pistol you’ve already been able to grab out from the pocket of your nightgown, the guard who now grips your throat roughly pistol whips you over the side of the head with his own gun.

As a direct order from Alphonse wanting to have you subdued and taken quietly if all else fails—which it has—the assassins don’t have the intention to hurt you badly or leave a mark, but that’d have to wait until you’d stir from consciousness.

In that split second where the pistol is just about to collide with your temple, you’ve surprised both the assassins and yourself in a way by aimlessly firing your pistol straight into the stomach of the other assassin standing in front of you.

Hit at such a close range that the barrel of your pistol burns into the stomach of the assassin while you stumble back and crumple into the arms of the other, passing out. 

The last thing you remember seeing is a dark figure in a three-piece, full black suit and a fedora tilted over his head to mask half of his facial features—the same man you’re not entirely aware you just shot.

Immense pressure and sharp feeling hit your forehead before you almost instantly lose consciousness before everything goes pitch black. 

A trickle of blood drips down your temple and you’re knocked out cold before you can hear the second assassin you shot writhe in pain—forcing himself to stay quiet almost enough to bite his own tongue off.

“Shit!” The first assassin hisses, holding your limp body tightly in his arms. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Little bitch shot me,” the second assassin grunts, immediately applying pressure to his gunshot wound.

“Fuck, look—we’ll get that taken care of as soon as we can get the fuck out of here.” The first assassin gestures back with his thumb. “The faster you do this with me, the sooner it’s all over. Man the fuck up, for now, we’ve got a job to do.”

“You wouldn’t even be able to walk if it was you, asshole.” The second assassin mutters in pain, following the first assassin scooping you up bridal style in his arms.

The assassins continue making their way through every inch of darkness and shadow they can find on the compound before carrying you into the sewer exit. 

The betrayer had of course told the men whether it was deliberate or not that the sewers and the drains were not only an ideal hiding spot nobody cared much about, but it’s also filthy from top to bottom.

Alphonse strictly ordered there not to be a speck of dirt or any unnecessary injury done to you if it could be helped and even then, there’d be absolute hell to pay for orders not followed down to every letter.

The assassin carrying you remembers being yelled at well, but also thinking about the rest of his pay and making sure while he walks into the drains with the second assassin limping behind him that he’d rather be covered in mud, guck, and shit for a million dollars than get a tiny drop even on the trim of your silk nightgown.

“Fuck,” the second assassin grunts, slowly down and barely being able to pull himself into the drains. “This fucking hurts. Do you have to move so goddamn fast?”

“You’re fucking slowing me down, man, that’s what you’re doing.” The first assassin narrows his eyes. “I’m getting the fuck out of here with her one way or another, you know how this works.”

“F-fuck you.” Giving up entirely from the weakness the second assassin feels hitting every inch of his body from blood loss, the man trips down into the sewer and rolls onto his back.

The first assassin barely looks back over his shoulder at his partner in crime, continuing to carry you through the sewers and out back the way he came—knowing Rocco won’t be there to stop him from getting you into a car and out of Lake Tahoe.

Rushing towards the drains if anything had made the blood loss worse over a mere few minutes, the second assassin had that sense of hope in thinking he’d just make it is now replaced with the prospect of death which would normally strike fear in his heart as he lays in murky, filth filled waters. 

Assassinations were easy jobs for experienced mobsters—buttonmen, capos, or otherwise—but the concept of near-guaranteed death was practically branded on their foreheads when they were told they’d be paid a million dollars each by Alphonse Ricci for assassinating you and Michael Corleone. 

The second assassin knew he’d either die a miserably painful albeit short death or go home a rich man and as the first assassin quickly pulls open the car door out back in the forest and secures you next to him in the back seat, all the first assassin can think of is how and when his corpse is going to be discovered.

“What happened back there? You got her?!” The driver clutches onto the steering wheel tightly, looking to the backseat.

“Yeah.” The second assassin pants, out of breath as he carefully lays you down on the leather seats. “Just Victoria Corleone, her husband’s not dead—he’s not even hurt.”

The driver immediately starts up the car, looking around him frantically. “Shit, shit, shit, where’s—” 

“He’s probably fuckin’ dead, just drive!” The second assassin shouts, referring to his partner assassin now bleeding to death in the sewers. “He barely got through the goddamn drains with me, now he’s drowning in shit.”

‘Nevada license plate…’ One of Al Neri’s men hunched over by the bushes sees the license plate of the car that’s driving you away just by the last moment—too far to shoot at the tires from but still left with crucial information.

What the buttonman doesn’t know from the time he was able to slip out towards the back of the woods when he made out the shape of a vehicle is that Michael Corleone’s wife is being kidnapped and taken inside of it.

“If there’s a mark on her, the boss is gonna fucking kill you.” The driver warns, picking up speed through the dirt pathway leading out of Lake Tahoe. “You knocked her out, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” The assassin rolls his eyes, glancing at the dried-up blood on your temple. “I had to pistolwhip her, I had no other choice.”

“Was that before or after Jimmy randomly fucking died in the sewers?” The driver scowls, making eye contact from the rear-view mirror. 

“Yeah, he got randomly fucking shot straight in the stomach by this bitch!” The assassin exclaims. “Had that tiny fucking pistol in her hands before we could see it.”

“The boss told us.” The driver attempts to calm his shaky breathing, driving faster. “She’s fucking dangerous and you need to treat her as such. We need to keep her incapacitated until we get back—no fucking exceptions.”

“I made sure she dropped that fucking pistol of hers back there, she’s not gonna pull that shit on us again.” The assassin reaffirms.

“It doesn’t fucking matter, man.” The driver shakes his head. “Armed or not, Victoria Corleone will scratch your fucking eyes out with her own nails if she gets the opportunity to. Do you seriously not know what the fuck we just did? Who we’re fucking with?”

“Yeah, I know what we just did.” The assassin attempts to relax his tense muscles against the leather car seats. “We became fucking millionaires, that’s what. So the job got a little dirty, better someone else kiss the dirt than me. Look at her now,” he gestures to your body. “Sleeping peacefully, still breathing, just fine.”

“Wipe that blood off her forehead at least.” The driver sighs. “I’m not gonna think about that money until I know I’m still alive by the time we get back to the boss.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Ruin your own fun.” The assassin reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a handkerchief and gently dabbing it over your temple to wipe as much blood off as he can. “We got in, we got the broad, we’re out. Now when we get back, have a fucking drink to calm your nerves, and then start counting your share of the bread. You’ll feel better, trust me.”

Connie, Sandra, and Esther remain in the drawing room as Michael asked, comforting the children and frequently checking on your mother who attempts to relax against the couch in a position that won’t press on her gunshot wound.

It’s only ten minutes later that everyone inside the compound’s estates begins to realize the noise of Michael’s men and guard dogs outside has started to grow quiet and is now replaced with the faint sirens of an ambulance approaching and Michael’s footsteps.

Connie tucks her boys in on the couches nearest to her with any blankets she can find in the drawing room, sitting on the carpet next to them and attempting to calm down.

While Esther and Ludovica seem relieved to hear the ambulance approaching the estate, Connie’s anxiety only grows further neither seeing nor hearing any sign of you since you rushed off.

Connie sniffles and wipes her tears off onto her blouse, watching as Ludovica is carefully laid onto a stretcher and taken out of the drawing room with Esther and a security guard following behind.

“Yes, Don Giuseppe will follow shortly…” Connie hears one of Michael’s buttonmen murmur but is unable to pinpoint who he’s notifying.

Sandra wipes the stray tears out of the corners of her eyes, sitting on the very edge of the couch Ludovica was laying on and remaining quiet.

Just before Connie can speak out to her, she hears another pair of footsteps growing closer and easily recognizes they belong to Michael, but Connie doesn’t hear yours following his.

The doorknob to the drawing room twists and Michael pushes open the door, stepping inside with some sort of expectation over his expression before it grows stone cold almost instantly.

Sandra immediately darts her gaze down, avoiding looking at Michael entirely as if she has something to be guilty for, but with the way Michael’s already realized you’re not in the drawing room as you were told to be, he now locks his eyes with Connie directly.

“Michael,” Connie whimpers, raising up her hand to him.

“Where is she, Connie?” Michael asks once, calmly. “Where’s Victoria?”

“I don’t know.” Connie swallows hard. “Michael, please.”

“Connie.” Michael’s tone of voice grows sterner. “I’m not going to ask you again. Give me a straight answer, now.”

“She said something about finding you and your brothers!” Connie bursts out into sobs again. “That’s all I know, I swear!”

“And you just let her leave?!” Michael glares, raising his voice so sharply that it causes Sandra to flinch. “What did I tell you?”

“I know, I know!” Connie protests, shaking her head. “I told her not to go, I tried to stop her but she wouldn’t have any of it! She just up and left!”

“And the two of you just sat here.” Michael points his finger back and forth at a sniffling Sandra and crying Connie. “Waited for her to come back the entire time, yes?”

“What else could we have done, Michael?” Sandra speaks out in a shaky tone. “Go out there and look for her while it’s dangerous?”

“We had no choice but to wait for her.” Connie’s voice cracks. “I’ve been dying just sitting here and waiting.”

“Don’t wait.” Michael loosens his tie, letting out a loud sigh. “She’s gone.”

“What?” Both Sandra and Connie say at the same time with wide eyes. 

“Gone, she’s gone,” Michael says through gritted teeth. “My men and I combed the entire compound in and out—she’s GONE.”

“But Al and Rocco—” Connie begins.

Michael interrupts his sister. “What do you think Neri and Rocco were doing the past ten minutes? There isn’t a trace of her here unless one of you isn’t admitting to something?”

“Don’t be r-ridiculous.” Connie whimpers through her tears. “All she said was that she was going to find you and h-her brothers. Why would she leave the compound?”

“Rocco’s outside the compound searching the entire vicinity with his men and the dogs for anything—bodies included.” Michael glares at Connie and Sandra. “At this point, both of you can consider your sister-in-law missing.”

“Stop!” Sandra cries out, “you’re not implying—”

“Victoria DID NOT disappear into thin air, Sandra!” Michael yells at her, seething with anger. “Either she was taken out of the compound or went out of herself and is dead, do you understand me? If this is such a hard reality for either of you to grasp, start blaming yourselves as to why you didn’t stop her or call out for one of my men too.”

“She’s not dead, she can’t be!” Connie sobs louder as her sons peek out from under their blankets fearfully—having never seen their Uncle Michael this visibly pissed and stressed in their lives.

“I don’t want to tell my children we found their mother’s body outside of the compound.” Michael hisses, pulling open the door again. “And believe me, if I do, I’m willing to blame some of the people in this room.” 

Outside by the blood trail belonging to one of the first assassins you shot, Al Neri crouches down to carefully examine the blood over the cobblestone path with a flashlight.

In his other hand, Neri clutches a tattered piece of silk cloth belonging to your nightgown, half stained with a muddy footprint from the men who overpowered you. 

Unable to see any blood or otherwise on the nightgown but not entirely sure who the blood trail belongs to, Neri stands back and gestures to one of his men around him. “Stay here, keep the lights on the blood trail and keep the area clean. I’m going to get the Don.”

“When you don’t do as I say, Connie,” Michael pulls open the door, scowling at her, “when you blame everybody but yourself for your own actions or lack thereof, you disappoint me.” 

Before Michael can continue, he turns his head towards the corridor where Al Neri quickly rushes in, calling out for Michael’s attention. “Don Corleone!”

“What is it?” Michael’s facial expression immediately relaxes. “Tell me you have some good news for once tonight.”

“I don’t know what to call it, sir.” Al Neri comes up to Michael, holding up the ripped piece of your nightgown. “I found a piece of Mrs. Corleone’s nightgown torn off from a struggle.”

“Let me see that.” Michael snatches the piece of cloth from Neri’s hand, looking at it closely in the palm of his hand. “This was torn right off.”

“Yes, sir.” Neri nods, “there’s some mud and a bit of a footprint on it too. Looks like it was stepped on and ripped like that.”

“So there was a struggle,” Michael murmurs, quick to close the door of the drawing room behind him so neither Sandra nor Connie gets to hear. “Just what the hell happened?”

“That’s not all.” Neri hesitates to make direct eye contact with Michael. “Not too far from it we also found a small pool of blood, sir.”

“Show me.” Colour drains out of Michael’s face as he follows Al Neri back outside of the central family estate and over to the blood trail not far from your bedroom. 

“Just here, sir.” Neri points to where his men keep their flashlights aimed towards every drop of blood, no matter how small. “This section of the compound avoids any kind of light almost immediately, yet we found both the piece of Mrs. Corleone’s nightgown and the blood here.”

Michael crouches down towards the large splatter of dried blood, staring down at it directly. “This can’t be Victoria’s blood.”

“No sir, as it gets much heavier after this point onward.” Al Neri gestures with his finger towards the corner of the estate. 

Michael exchanges a glance with Neri, standing back up and immediately making haste to follow the rest of the blood trail leading to the drains. 

“This kind of splatter,” Michael mutters under his breath, “it shows someone was shot at close range. It’s messy.”

“I agree.” Neri leads Michael and the rest of his men further. “It’s messy and shows signs that whoever was shot is bleeding out and could not make it far.”

Michael presses his lips down into a firm line, thinking to himself it’s either your body that gave out somewhere hidden on the compound and this is actually your blood, or it’ll be the only time Michael feels relief tonight.

Neri knows this is the only thought on Michael’s mind following his boss’ silence, and he purposefully avoids any kind of eye contact or talking until they all approach the sewers.

“It stops right inside, sir.” Rocco’s voice calls out as he jumps into the small murky puddle leading into the drains. “Whoever got in bled out very quickly and didn’t make it far.”

Neri takes a step inside the sewers as Michael waits outside surrounded by the rest of the men, and it’s only a few moments later that the sounds of a body being dragged back towards the entrance can be heard.

Michael can’t ignore the relief his heart feels to see Neri and Rocco pulling out a man badly shot in the stomach and barely conscious instead of your body of all things.

“Sir.” Rocco looks up at Michael. “This man is still alive and has a pulse.”

“Finally caught one of the assassins, did you?” Michael mumbles—disappointment heavy in his voice. “Congratulations. Fish him out.” 

Careful not to manhandle the assassin too much from the state of his heavy wounds, Neri and Rocco take him out of the drains and onto the grass surrounding it—forcing the assassin to sit up.

“Ohhh, God…” The assassin groans out in pain, still insistent on clutching onto his stomach like it’ll spare his life. 

“Out of state,” Michael notes, knowing this is no regular buttonman from Nevada.

“C-can’t even die a peaceful death, can I?” The assassin lazily tilts his head back to look up at Michael.

“Laying in shit and mud within the sewers is as peaceful of a death as it gets for a rat like you.” Michael pulls out his pistol from his suit pocket, aiming it directly at the bullet wound on the assassin’s stomach. “I can make it much quicker for you. You will tell me your name and who you work for.”

“I’m dyin’, Don Corleone.” The assassin lets out a hacking, bloody cough. “Does i-it really look like I’m in the position to answer your questions?”

“Answer him, now.” Rocco kicks the assassin in the side, causing him to howl out in pain.

“You can still talk, that’s obvious.” Michael cocks his pistol. “Don’t think this can be the end of you that easily. I can get that wound of yours patched up and then slowly torture you by pulling out the stitches myself. So start. Talking.”

“You’ll find o-out soon enough.” The assassin chuckles weakly. “Oh, you’re everything they s-said you were, Don Corleone. Threats and all… Can’t you see this is a-all a game?” 

Drenched in the rancid scent of the sewers and completely soaked in mud, the assassin's clothes drip with waste matter as Rocco and Neri pull him up to his feet now.

“Taking my wife is some kind of game to you?” Michael furrows his brows.

“A-ah, that wasn’t me.” The assassin shakes his head. “T-that was my partner, of course. How am I gonna…gonna take out the pretty lady when she did this to me?” He gestures to the bullet lodged into his stomach. “T-that wife of yours sure is somethin’… Sure doesn’t go down without a fight but… Lookin’ at me now, I’d say she doesn’t go down without a murder.”

“If you don’t want that bullet pulled out of you right now you’re going to start confessing.” Neri threatens. “Tell us what your boss planned.”

“We were supposed to kill you.” The assassin smirks up at Michael. “But we always had a Plan B, as you can see… Take the wife if all else fails, you know? Hell of an aim that wife of yours has huh? Killing two of us.”

“I’ll take this body count off her hands.” Michael fires his pistol twice straight into the heart of the assassin as Neri and Rocco let the body drop out of their hands and to the ground.

“Sir?” Neri looks up at Michael expectantly for his next order. 

“This isn’t a Plan B.” Michael holds his pistol up, examining it. “This was supposed to happen to begin with. They took Victoria.” He lowers his gun down to his side. “And unless I’m dead wrong, they have her alive and they want her alive.”

“Who?” Tom’s voice breaks out as he approaches Michael and his men, out of breath.

“Alphonse Ricci, who else?” Michael’s voice drips with venom just mentioning the name. “Get rid of the bodies—all of them. I want this place cleaned up, spotless as if nothing happened. You two—” he points at Neri and Rocco. “I want your men to search and investigate every inch of the entire compound and its surroundings. Seal up the estates with security at all times. And one more thing.” Michael specifically stares into Rocco’s eyes. “Keep an eye on your own men, just in case.”

Michael knows there’s a traitor within the compound, and he’s never going to shy away from settling for the idea that there may be more than one.

~

Having the dried-up blood on your temple from being pistol-whipped unconscious is the only courtesy Alphonse’s assassins give you for tonight.

While you’re still out cold and laying in the back seat, the assassin sitting next to you takes his time properly and tightly restraining your ankles together and your wrists behind your back.

None of Alphonse’s men are risking any further surprises or movements from you tonight.

Far off from Lake Tahoe now, the destination of the car is still within Nevada and the driver’s able to relax knowing for certain he’s not being followed from any side.

Thirty minutes further into the drive within the night and the pitter-patter of rain beginning to surround the car becomes full out, pouring rain.

Soft, quiet jazz music plays in the car for some peace of mind; the roads remain slick and muddy from all the rain and making a mess over the car from how fast the speed limit allows on the highway.

“She ain’t awake yet, is she?” The driver looks up into the rear-view mirror.

“No, thank God.” The assassin mutters, taking off his fedora and setting it on his lap. “I got her all tied up at last, though.” 

“Good.” The driver sighs in relief. “Make sure whatever you tied on her is tight, so she doesn’t surprise us like fucking Houdini.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” The assassin chuckles, glancing down at his fedora before back at your body; his eyes begin to widen in realization at your belly. “Shit.”

“What?” The driver’s tone of voice grows alarmed. “What is it?”

The assassin pauses for a moment, placing his hand against your small—yet noticeable when looking up close—baby bump. “Shit.”

“WHAT?” The driver repeats, practically yelling. “Don’t freak me out up here man, tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“She’s pregnant.” The assassin shakes his head. “Fucking shit.”

“What?!” The driver exclaims out in surprise. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Yeah, man.” The assassin nods, pulling his hand back. “Uhhh, not far along from what I know with my lady but Corleone is definitely pregnant.”

“Did she fall when you—”

“I don’t know, man!” The assassin’s voice tightens from panic. “It all happened so fucking fast, I don’t remember! She fell right into my arms, she couldn’t have hit the ground or anything.”

“Goddamn it.” The driver hisses under his breath. “Have some fucking integrity with yourself. Pregnant or not, that’s still a woman and this is nothing but a surprise.”

“Yeah, I know.” The assassin mumbles, rubbing his face glumly. “Last thing we need is something to happen to that baby.”

“That’s Michael Corleone’s baby.” The driver clarifies. “That means more than one thing, for the boss too. She’s even more valuable now to us than you think. The boss said no harm should come to her at all unless necessary when restraining her.”

“Listen, man.” The assassin sighs loudly, getting fed up with the constant back and forth lecturing. “I KNOW. I know that.”

“Then let me remind you again, because it’s your ass on the line, not mine!” The driver narrows his eyes in the rear-view mirror. “My job is just to drive.”

“Uh-huh.” The assassin rolls his eyes. “Well, lucky you then. I guess we can’t all drive away from certain death and torture, away from dozens of security cards and Michael Corleone’s multi-million dollar home.”

“Listen, pal, I know I’m not that lucky, but that braindead brother-in-law of this broad got us in and he got us out.” The driver points out, “you wanna thank someone for being alive? Thank him. As I said, I’m just doing my job. I got a family to feed at home and we all have a part to play.”

“Don’t we all?” The assassin mutters out a rhetorical question. “My job is basically done. She ain’t hit too hard either and I cleaned up that blood. But she’s gonna catch a cold if we get her out of the car like this.”

“I have my trenchcoat up here in the front seat.” The driver gestures with his hand. “You can wrap that around her. Keep her warm at least.”

“That’ll do.” The assassin leans up, grabbing the trenchcoat off the front passenger seat. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night after all. I wouldn’t have expected her to be fully and warmly clothed in bed.” The assassin places the driver’s trenchcoat over top of you like a blanket. “She looks fine now.”

“As I said, man, we’ll let the boss decide that. Are there any visible marks on her forehead?” The driver asks, concerned.

“Well,” the assassin leans over to you for a closer look. “It’s not swollen or anything but there’s definitely a small gash.”

“Fuck’s sakes.” The driver sighs quietly to himself. “We could both get killed for this. Just keep it clean until we get there if you can. It’ll have to do for now. We’re taking two people to the boss now, not just one.”

~

Michael Corleone is the type of man who has both the patience, money and time to not only have his estate’s compound and the vicinity searched, but all of Lake Tahoe. 

Nothing differs from the fact he got his mother-in-law an ambulance with a private doctor and Doctor Katherine for familiarity by Ludovica’s side, and repairs were done to the bedroom windows and walls at 3AM by private contractors.

While Leonardo remains inside the central family estate comforting a crying Connie and her two sons, Giuseppe, Vito, Matteo, and Alessio remain in the boathouse with their men increasing security and fully searching every dead body for clues.

Getting away from the thundering rain, Michael remains in the living room with Tom and Sonny, sipping whiskey on the rocks quietly and is on his third cigarette out of stress. 

Tonight, nobody leaves or enters the compound except for the contractors who’ve been searched so thoroughly that Michael could pull out a list of their ancestry if he wanted to.

Everyone in your family and Michael’s is now aware you’ve been kidnapped. Your brother Matteo remains silent as he had been when he heard the news, while Alessio refuses to hide how distressed he’s felt throughout the night.

Giuseppe and Vito remain calm, but the distant and glum look on their faces shows that they too are concerned and deep in thought.

Everybody knows this kidnapping isn’t to kill or do something for the show. Everyone also knows Alphonse and his men will never get away with this, and those personal emotions must not be allowed to interfere in what must be done.

Such is true of Michael whose facial expression and body language have been unreadable to all except Connie this night. While he hides his emotions well as always, the anger swelling inside of Michael is immense.

As Michael finishes his third cigarette in silence, it’s then that Lorenzo walks into the living room—his hair still glistening wet from coming out of the boathouse and getting caught in the rain.

Nothing about Lorenzo reads ‘friendly’ or in the mood for conversation with the way he angrily approaches Michael and Tom by the fireplace, interrupting their silence. “Which one of your men do we have to kill for causing all of this, Corleone?”

“Hello to you too, Lorenzo.” Sonny rolls his eyes at the sudden show of attitude.

Michael looks up from his ashtray as if he hasn’t noticed Lorenzo coming in at all, and for Lorenzo’s sake, Michael chooses to ignore his tone of voice against him too. “If there was a quick fix to this situation such as putting a bullet between someone’s eyes, it would have happened already.”

“There’s never a quick fix with you, is there?” Lorenzo maintains his dance from where Tom and Michael sit.

“You can whine all you want, but it’s not going to change what happened tonight,” Michael says firmly as if he’s completely unbothered by tonight’s events.

“We’re not going to get anywhere if we don’t start from one place at a time.” Tom points out but is directing his words to Lorenzo. “We know who did this, but we still don’t know how or why.”

“Yeah, how the hell did they even get into the compound?” Sonny crosses his arms.

“It’s not an outside job, but those who’ve come inside physically have already been dealt with,” Michael replies plainly.

The room grows quiet as Lorenzo runs a hand through his hair. He silences himself from being about to speak out as the sound of Leonardo trying to hush a sobbing Connie comes out from the drawing room.

“Ignore her.” Michael puts out his shortened cigarette. “She’s just hysterical.”

“You know you can’t pin the blame on Constanzia for my sister’s own independence. Victoria would never make a stupid or selfish decision, even if her life was on the line.” Lorenzo narrows his eyes at Michael.

Michael pulls out a cigarette from his pack and doesn’t bother to look up at Lorenzo nor answer him until he’s lit it and put the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “You really aren’t in any position to talk about my sister when yours is missing.”

“That’s your wife too, might I remind you.” Lorenzo scowls. 

“Believe me, I know.” Michael locks a cold gaze with Lorenzo. “I know. My pregnant wife was kidnapped. MY wife. An attempt was taken on my life, her life, and my children’s lives. Now your mother is injured and my wife is missing. This has more to do with me and my family than it ever has anything to do with you.”

“Lorenzo,” Tom clears his throat awkwardly, wishing to avoid another verbal confrontation between Michael and Lorenzo here and now. “What we really need to worry about now is if Victoria’s being taken out of state or not. We can narrow down our options and get this done and over with.”

“Do any of you think she’s being taken out of state?” Sonny scoffs.

“Not a chance,” Michael answers Sonny. “We have airports and the surrounding borders on high alert.”

“Everybody in Nevada knows Alphonse is in Nevada then. He wasn’t lurking around Las Vegas for no reason.” Sonny mutters under his breath in annoyance. “If he’s smart, he’ll keep Victoria there.”

“Exactly.” Tom sighs, relaxing in his seat. 

“The goal has never been to take her far away, if anything Alphonse has done in the past has told us something.” Michael takes a short drag out of his cigarette. 

“That rat is just doing what he can.” Lorenzo grits his teeth, attempting to calm himself down. “Anything he can just because he has the ability to do so.”

“That’s what happens when you’re a man with no real power.” Sonny snaps his finger. “And I swear if they harmed Vic—”

“There’ll be hell to pay regardless,” Michael adds, speaking in a calm and low voice. “His men were stupid enough to talk before they were killed. There’ll be a ransom as they hold Victoria hostage, no doubt.”

“Then Ricci is really as stupid as they say he is if he wants money.” Lorenzo turns his attention to the set of drinks on the coffee table. “He’s drowning in his family’s wealth as is.”

“It’s never been about money.” Michael continues smoking his cigarette. “It can’t ever be that easy for him.”

“This is all some kind of sick game to him.” Tom frowns. “Kidnapping a pregnant woman.”

“The people who orchestrated this assassination and kidnapping have no idea we know as much as we do, and I intend to keep it that way.” Michael sets his gold lighter upward on the table before him. “Death is not going to be the release they think it is. They want us chasing them down in cars and infiltrating every hideout they have for information.”

“Yeah, they’ll expect it any minute now.” Sonny agrees.

“Well?” Lorenzo raises his brows, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. 

“We’ll wait.” Michael brushes him off.

“Excuse me?” Lorenzo holds his glass up, staring at Michael in disbelief. 

“As I’ve said before, we’ll wait.” Michael gives Lorenzo a nasty glare. “We’re not about to give them what they want like an instant reaction or there’ll be more unnecessary bloodshed and civilians involved.”

“Mike’s right.” Tom nods glumly. “There’ll be a whole shootout, damage to the city, and no proposition.” 

“So what? You’re going to wait for Ricci and his rats to give you a call with a ransom, then act?” It couldn’t possibly be more of a mirror opposite than what Lorenzo would personally do.

“I don’t play into anybody’s hands,” Michael states clearly. “Nobody is getting in or out of this compound tonight, including you. Nobody goes after Victoria tonight.”

~

[ 3:30 AM ]

With everyone else finally asleep in the estate, only Michael, Sonny, and Tom remain awake at this hour as if they’re expecting further news. 

In reality, nobody’s truly getting any real rest after tonight and Michael certainly isn’t going to be one to lie to himself that sleep will resolve the thoughts buzzing in and out of his mind, still keeping him alert and wide awake.

Tom examines the documents he’s taken from the study that he and Michael’s informants had gathered about Alphonse and the Ricci family over the past seven years—specifically looking for any criminal charges on his men and the fact you prosecuted his brother back in 1949. 

Tom can’t stop himself from looking up at how crowded and littered Michael’s ashtray has become, let alone the fact Michael had a small glass of whiskey tonight to calm his nerves too.

Others may not notice or even care, but Tom knows this is the pinnacle of Michael being under stress even though he handles it well. 

Sonny on the other hand couldn’t be any more different from Michael himself. Sonny can’t help but showcase all of his emotions, no matter how severe they are like Lorenzo—hence why Sollozzo referred to Sonny’s anger as his “famous temper” which may as well be infamous.

Had Sonny or Vito still been Don—Sonny may as well have been ripping Michael apart for refusing to act on getting his wife back right away, and Sonny may have run off after you himself.

Still, Sonny knows better than to argue with Michael or act against him, so he keeps his grumbles and opinions to himself only. 

Sonny has to remind himself as he’s done so several times before that you’re just his sister-in-law, not his wife, nor will you ever be and he needs to care about you appropriately.

“Mikey…” Tom begins with a soft sigh, looking up at his brother. “You should really consider getting some rest now. It’s almost 4AM.” 

“I’m aware of what time it is, thank you, Tom,” Michael murmurs through his cigarette.

“It’s not like anyone’s getting a wink of real sleep tonight.” Sonny stretches out his arms with a grunt.

“True, but what will sleep deprivation offer us tomorrow morning?” Tom frowns.

“We can only speak for ourselves,” Michael speaks up again. “You tell me what we learned tonight, what both of you think, and only then will I consider sleep.”

“Fair enough.” Tom clears his throat, taking another look down at the documents before him. “Well, we know Alphonse Ricci is behind this whole thing but he hasn’t personally left a calling card or any kind of physical evidence proving this. No ransom either.”

“It’s too early for that.” Michael taps off the ashes from the tip of his cigarette. “For all we know, he doesn’t have Victoria where he wants her just yet.”

“True.” Sonny checks the time on his wristwatch. “Probably still on the way to God knows where the bastard wants her taken to.”

“Hopefully, Victoria’s alive,” Sonny mumbles to himself.

“What about the twins, though?” Sonny asks. “I’m curious what you told them about all this, Mike.”

“They know that Doctor Katherine is at the hospital with their grandmother and so is Victoria. Isn’t that right?” Michael shoots both of his brothers a look, expecting them to keep up with the story should the twins ask.

“Yeah.” Sonny scratches the back of his head. “Of course.”

Tom nods, knowing obviously the twins can’t be told their mother is (potentially) hurt and kidnapped and nothing must hint at that in any way. “My question is why would someone like Alphonse want to transport a corpse to him? Err—” Tom’s quick to clear his throat, noticing the poisonous look in Michael’s eyes at the concept of you being killed by Alphonse’s men. “Ahem, what I mean to say is that it wouldn’t make any sense to hurt Victoria for Alphonse.”

“True.” Sonny tugs on his curls, nodding. “That stupid bastard always has had a bone to pick with the Ferrari’s—always will, always has. Don Ferrari’s men brutalized a lot of his own back in the day or so I hear; made a damn fool out of his father at times.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.” Michael could care less about how Alphonse feels. “A man who doesn’t respect himself will never have the empathy to respect others.”

Tom shuffles the documents over the coffee table around, taking a look at a different one detailing Alphonse’s family history. “And either Alphonse knows Victoria’s pregnant already or he’s going to find out… If he has a ransom of any kind, he could double it just for that.”

“The fuck?” Sonny furrows his brows in frustration. “Why the hell does that matter to him? It’s not like they took her with the baby in her damn arms.”

“Because it means Alphonse has taken two people, not just one,” Tom answers with a frown.

A scowl twists over Michael’s expression. “If the baby or Victoria is harmed in any way, I’ll make Don Ferrari’s supposed brutalization look like child’s play with what I’ll have done to Alphonse’s entire family.”

“Damn right.” Sonny chuckles quietly. “Just like how I would. It’s the right thing to do when it comes to that fucker.”

“I get that,” Tom lets out a shaky sigh, “but maybe that’s what he wants us to do. Maybe he’s hoping we panic and overreact.”

“It’s not an overreaction, Tom.” Michael clarifies. “It would be done much after Alphonse’s own death. He will not be alive to see it.”

“You’re right, Mikey.” Tom rakes a hand through his hair. “I uhh—I hate to say this but after looking at all the facts, I don’t see how this is any different from any other business negotiation but Alphonse has taken your wife from you. That makes it personal now, Mike. So that means personal actions and personal emotions come into play with things like this. We can’t afford to treat it as business.”

“I can and I will.” Michael reaffirms. “Let the ransom come to me and I’ll decide further.”

“If there is any.” Sonny points out. “Alphonse might just be doing this for fuck all.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Tom plops back down in his seat with a loud sigh. “He isn’t beyond doing things just because he can.”

“It’s because he doesn’t follow any code of honor.” Michael rests his chin over his fist, putting out his cigarette. “There’s a reason why civilians aren’t killed or involved, for one. If he has any common sense, then he’ll know if he hurts Victoria or does something stupid, all the crime families would turn on him and not just because they fear Don Ferrari. If they let it go by them that Victoria’s harmed or killed, all of our names would be smeared. Any one of us would have to kill Alphonse unless we want another full-out war and headlines that the government needs to crack down on ‘the mafia’ again.”

“Yes, it would also mean we’d lose considerable strength with the police force and they’d have to turn on all of us for an investigation that may come from the FBI. It gets very, very messy.” Tom rubs his temple tenderly, growing increasingly stressed.

“That’s really not a fuckin’ option for us at this point.” Sonny throws his hands up in frustration. “I doubt Alphonse would dig his own grave like that—“

“He already has.” Michael remains calm and unphased. “He just happens to have one foot in it already.”

“He’s definitely working with someone else.” Tom avoids looking down at the documents again. “Mikey, there’s just no way Alphonse has that kind of power or muscle to pull off something like this by himself—let alone that attempted assassination. It’s not like the old days anymore.”

“I assumed that much,” Michael replies plainly. 

“I thought those old fucks Barzini and Tattaglia knew better than to join up with him again.” Sonny scoffs.

“They’ve never known better.” Michael moves his cigarette pack closer to him over the coffee table. “We will not underestimate them either way. Someone else is involved and I know it.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Sonny turns to face Michael.

“We’ll wait.” Michael gives the same answer as earlier tonight. “We’ll wait for a ransom or whatever comes further just as Alphonse will await a reaction. If he’s expecting me to go ballistic, however, then he proves yet again he doesn’t know me at all.”

“And as for Victoria?” Tom asks quietly.

“Do you not know who Victoria is at this point, Tom?” Michael sighs, looking up at his brother. “She’s not one to overreact, to begin with. I want to protect her and bring my wife back home safely, but when she’s there and we’re here still figuring out her location, I know she can handle herself—and she must. Every move we make is critical and this could cause her and the baby harm if anyone steps out of line. I won’t abide failure.”

“Yeah, Tom.” Sonny relaxes in his chair, patting the armrests. “She’s a Corleone wife, after all, ya know? Much higher status than before. She’s a part of the two most powerful mafia families in this country and their business. So she provides as many opportunities to Alphonse as Mike’s death would if everything went in his favor tonight.”

“They know exactly who Victoria Ferrari Corleone is.” Michael nods slowly. “Victoria is much more valuable alive rather than dead, unlike me. I want my wife back, Tom.” Michael looks up at his brother before redirecting his gaze to Sonny. “I want her and our baby she’s carrying back unharmed and safe at any cost. Any cost. I’ll personally make sure I do this, and I want my brothers by my side when it’s done because there’s just going to be more bloodshed now. Are you with me?”

“Yeah, Mike.” Sonny sits up. “I am.”

“Yes, me too.” Tom nods. “Anything you need Mikey, we’re here.”

~

Still well within Nevada, your destination straight to Alphonse isn’t in Las Vegas, Reno, or rather anywhere most people have even heard of, but a near ghost town called Silver City—forty minutes away from Lake Tahoe.

Alphonse himself can’t be seen anywhere near Reno or Las Vegas, let alone take you there now with Michael’s men on the lookout, crawling by the borders of the state too meaning California was never an option.

Alphonse is smart in the sense that he knows nobody will think twice about taking you to a sleepy little town and even then, it’ll be all the more entertaining for Alphonse to see you try and get to this empty wasteland before figuring out where exactly you are or what to do.

The rain stretches out the drive longer as expected, but as Michael was still talking to his brothers at around 3:30 AM, you arrived in Silver City by the same time. 

Depending on where and how you look at it, Silver City can resemble nothing but a near ghost town and nothing else, an abandoned junkyard within a half-empty desert or beautiful in its own way.

Where you’re taken to in specific is nowhere near the rest of the scarce population in Silver City, but an isolated, old ranch-style manor—Alphonse Ricci’s only welcome place to hide in Nevada.

As the car approaches the manor, Alphonse’s men who maintain positioned strategically around the property shine their flashlights over the car immediately—causing the driver to brake abruptly to shield his eyes.

“It’s us, come on! Get that shit out of my eyes.” The driver sticks his middle finger up to the door.

“Yeah, yeah, asshole.” One of the guards calls out from the distance as the flashlights are only lowered to illuminate the path up to the manor which would otherwise be ensnared in complete darkness. 

“Hurry up and get in here already.” Another guard speaks out. “Took your sweet ass time.”

The assassin in the back of the car with you rolls his eyes, thinking it’s not worth his time to even bother saying anything back.

He scoops you up into his arms carefully, still with the driver’s trenchcoat wrapped around you to keep you dry and warm before taking you out of the car. “We’re here now, aren’t we?”

“There was a damn storm if it wasn’t obvious.” The driver shuts the car door behind him as he steps out.

“Doesn’t matter.” A deep voice cuts in as one of Alphonse’s capos pushes steps out onto the porch. “As long as you weren’t followed and Victoria Corleone is unharmed.”

“She put up a hell of a fucking fight, I’ll tell you that.” The assassin grits his teeth, holding you tightly. 

“Seriously?” The capo raises his brows in disbelief and disappointment. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ joking.”

“Yeah, why?” The assassin scowls, “you don’t see Jimmy with me, do you? What do you think she did to him, invite him over for tea?”

The guards with the flashlights by the front of the porch quietly exchange a glance with one another before the capo asks another question. “What exactly happened?”

“She fucking shot him last second, motherfucker bled out in the goddamn sewers before we could even get out.” The assassin huffs, glaring at your limp body. 

The capo rolls his eyes, beginning to hear his men snickering in the back. “So at about 2AM, Victoria Corleone in nothing but a nightgown and a pair of heels killed one of you?” Before the assassin can come up with an answer to the rhetorical question, a wad of spit flies in his face.

“Fuck you!” You weakly pry open your eyes, struggling in the assassin’s arms.

“Oh, whoa!” The assassin grunts, “there she is—what perfect timing.”

“Good morning, sunshine.” The capo chuckles, motioning for his men to sit down as he can tell your wrists and ankles are bound so tightly you’ll be incapable of doing anything but flopping around like a fish. “She’s not as helpless as she may want you to think. Get her to stand up, I’ll let her walk.”

“Careful so she doesn’t dislocate your jaw with a kick.” The assassin mutters, forcing you down as the driver assists him.

“Don’t worry about me, kid.” The capo takes out a switchblade from his suit pocket, showing it to you first with a wry grin over his lips before cutting the ropes around your ankles with ease. “She knows when she’s outnumbered, isn’t that right? Ah, let me take a good look at her.” The capo rises back up to his feet, looking at you with the driver’s trenchcoat wrapped around your shoulders loosely. “Mhmm.” The capo tilts your chin up but is only met with a scowl from you. “You know,” he begins, “you can spit on my face all you want but it’s only gonna make your stay here a lot more uncomfortable.”

“Is that a threat?” You hiss.

“Yes.” The capo seems more irritated with the gash on your temple than your comments. 

“You’re a bad liar.” You grunt, refusing to stay still.

“Yeah?” The capo raises both of his brows, pushing you inside the estate. “And how would you know?”

“If any one of you wanted to hurt me, you would have already.” You narrow your eyes, stepping inside the estate by force. 

“You’re very smart, Corleone.” The capo chuckles to himself. “You definitely live up to that mythic reputation of yours, because a ‘smart man’ would have never come to underestimate a mafiosa like you. Now, WALK.” He gives you another forceful push. 

“I’m walking.” You say through gritted teeth before purposefully jerking your ankle to the side—a risk to break your ankle but only doing so to dig the tip of your heel into the carpet and break it off entirely. “Ow, fuck!”

“For fuck’s sakes, someone take those fucking shoes off of her.” The capo rolls his eyes, pulling you back by the binds on your wrist.

Pretending you neither care nor notice you left a mark on the rug, you stand still as Alphonse’s men throw off your kitten heels quickly.

“Take her inside.” The capo points at a closed-door around the corner of the estate. “The boss has waited for her long enough.”

You look up ahead of you, having already used up much of the energy and strength you had since you awoke. 

Now, drowsiness and weakness hit you from all sides as you remember just how hard you were hit in the head as you’re dragged into the room.

Alphonse’s men leading and pushing you further into the estate control all of your movements so you can’t even jerk your muscles if you wanted to.

From the moment you enter, you’re able to make out a well-furnished, large office room as your surroundings. Across from you is a fireplace crackling with a warm glow and the faint scent of fresh, burning wood.

A large, crimson patterned Persian rug adorns the maple floors and the wallpaper is in an old Victorian style.

The only painting on the wall is a large portrait of Niccolo Machiavelli directly behind the office table, but small sets of black and white photographs of the Ricci crime family dating back to the 1800s are scattered around on the office desk, on the ledge of the fireplace and on the coffee table to the right of the room. 

It’s more than apparent to you that Alphonse has been running his operations here for quite some time. You can’t just call it a hideout or a dump—this may as well be home. 

Just as you begin to process what kind of room you’re in, you’re left to stand in the center while Alphonse’s men take their seats by two leather armchairs near the fireplace like you aren’t in the room, to begin with.

You watch them light up cigars out of a gold-plated case, relaxing as Alphonse now enters the room as well from another door concealed within the wallpaper.

You turn your head to see Alphonse Ricci facing you directly—locking eyes in a deadly gaze as a sardonic smirk forms on his lips. “The beautiful Victoria Ferarri; I’m so glad you could make it all this way to come to see me.”

Alphonse only takes a few steps towards you from where he entered, and suddenly you feel two pairs of rough hands on you dragging you by your shoulders up to him directly.

Alphonse notices the pissed expression on your face and the drowsiness in your eyes, cupping your face gently. “Was it a rough ride coming here, darling? Or was it the time?” Alphonse raises his right arm to show you his glistening, gold wristwatch—the exact same 18k model Michael wears.

Your eyes widen in realization, giving Alphonse his first anticipated response of the evening.

“Ooh, that’s got you awake, isn’t it?” He grins. “But I’m far from being a rude host. I can see when my guests are tired. Maybe we should have that heart-to-heart talk I’ve been waiting years for later—when you’re settled in.”

You pull your eyes away from Alphonse’s watch as he lowers his wrist, saying to him, “fuck you.”

Alphonse rolls his eyes and lets out a soft sigh before shrugging his shoulders. “I expected you to say as much. Sweet dreams then, honey.”

He raises his fist, striking you harshly over the gash on your forehead which instantly knocks you out again; this time making sure you fall helplessly into his arms.

Once again, everything surrounding you has become pitch black as you fade into unconsciousness. 

~

The longest night of Michael’s life passes by agonizingly slow with Michael laying in a half-empty bed, forcing his eyes shut and “sleeping”. His security and men remain on high alert now instructed to do so 24/7 in alternating shifts, knowing there’ll be no peace at the Lake Tahoe compound for as long as you’re absent from it.

Speaking of your absence, it’s what’s killing Michael on the inside. It doesn’t matter how many times Michael tosses and turns in the bed—he hates to turn around and see your side empty and cold, but at the same time wants to do so with some silly hope inside of him that you’ll be there.

Michael feels more bitter and frustrated now left alone with his personal thoughts in the bedroom he always shared with you. 

To make matters worse, Michael can still smell your perfume and favorite body wash lingering on the sheets and your pillow.

Instead of trying to forget or get his mind off of you, Michael forces himself to face the direction of your side of the bed before squeezing his eyes shut.

‘I promise I’m going to get you back here safe and sound, Victoria. This’ll all be over soon, and everyone who has a part to play will pay with their lives for what they’ve done.’

Running on barely three hours of sleep, Michael is up first thing at 6AM with the rest of the family except the children who remain guarded inside, sleeping soundly.

Breakfast is brief and quiet, filled with tension as everyone knows today’s going to be about business and nothing else—especially as Giuseppe and Michael await a ransom.

Around 6AM, you too stir in your sleep as if your body’s attempting to wake you, but you can also hear hushed whispering around you. 

For all you know, you think you’re still tied up and presumably laying on the Persian rug from where you must have fallen from that blow to your head, but you’re wrong.

Your wrists were untied and your body can tell it’s laying over a soft mattress of some unknown bed.

The reddened marks over your wrists and ankles begin to bruise overnight, so tender and sore to the touch that it could cause you to cry if someone touched them. 

Still incapacitated and heavily drowsy, your vision is too blurry to see anything around you and you can’t pry your eyelids open to save your life.

You do feel a trickle of some liquid running down the side of your face; your gash hit by Alphonse on purpose, now darkened and mottled.

In reality, you’re completely unaware you’re laying next to Alphonse in his bed, tucked under warm blankets and over black, silky sheets.

Alphonse lays next to you half-naked, smoking a cigarette and leaning his back up against a propped-up pillow; a heavenly sight to you when it’s Michael in this position.

“Awake already, huh?” His eyes dart over to your exposed back from your nightgown, and when Alphonse notices your body twitching as if you’d awaken, he holds his cigarette between his lips and reaches for your binds on the end table next to him.

You whimper, feeling a stinging pain from your wrists being tied up behind you again but Alphonse keeps his movements as gentle and slow as possible not to hurt you.

“Sorry sweetheart, this is just for your own safety for a little while longer.” As soon as your wrists are secured to Alphonse’s liking, an injection follows next. 

You have no idea what’s happening to you when you feel the prick of a syringe poke into your arm, but it instantly drugs you into deep sleep again.

“I don’t want you awake just yet, kitten.” Alphonse brushes your hair behind your neck, slowly pulling out the syringe and noticing your body going limp. “After I’ve had a talk with that pathetic excuse of a husband of yours, it’ll just be me and you. You’ll see.”

~

Just as expected, putting everyone on edge but relieving them at the same time, the telephone on Michael’s office desk begins to ring.

Sitting around Michael’s office are Tom, Sonny, Giuseppe, Leonardo, Lorenzo, and Vito—all exchanging expectant glances with one another as there’s no guessing who's making the phone call this early in the morning.

Michael’s expression remains cold and unreadable, and as he picks up the telephone and holds it up to his ear, Michael doesn’t even bother saying ‘hello’. “Alphonse.”

“Good morning, Michael.” Alphonse’s tone of voice is more amused than anything now that he finally has leverage over Michael. “I see you’re smart enough to figure out the rest here.”

“Cut the theatrics and bullshit.” As stern as Michael’s tone of voice grows, he holds back his anger and any indication of the frustration and stress mounting on him from last night. “I knew it was you.” 

“So you did.” Alphonse chuckles. “That was the easy part, congratulations. Though if you didn’t assume it was me, I’d be questioning your judgment. What a rough night it must have been for you, Don Corleone.”

“On the contrary, I’d say the same for you.” Michael grips the telephone against his ear so harshly his knuckles turn white. “All of your men and the assassins you sent are dead, rotting away in the sewers of my estate.”

“Ah, yes.” Alphonse doesn’t seem the slightest bit phased by the death of his own men. “All except for the one who took your precious wife to me, right? You’re not gonna include him?”

“Doesn’t make a difference, does it?” Michael's eyes glare down at the burning tip of his cigarette; his voice completely drained of emotion. “I’ll kill him too and he’ll join the body count with you soon enough.”

“Bold.” Alphonse grazes his tongue over his front teeth. “I’ll believe it when I see a bullet lodged in the back of his head with my own two eyes. For now, he has a promotion, a big payday, and is enjoying his breakfast next to me. Speaking of, how does Victoria like her coffee? Oh, or does she prefer tea?”

“Don’t fucking touch her or do anything to my wife, do you understand?” Michael narrows his eyes. “Even you know you don’t need to touch her.”

“Victoria’s a sensitive topic, isn’t she? And all I asked was about tea or coffee. You’re killing my fun here, Michael. Touching her is half the fun. I don’t just have her here with me because I can, I have her by my side because I wanted to marry her, and do business with her and her family. That hasn’t changed. I have history with Victoria, hence why I’m actually eager to catch up with her here, but don’t worry—I’ll give her princess treatment. Victoria will be as safe and as sound, as she can be with me, provided she doesn’t do anything stupid. Then of course I can’t guarantee I won’t get a little rough with her.”

“You’re a sick man, Alphonse. You’re delusional living in your head with all these fantasies of Victoria.” Michael grits his teeth.

“Please.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, looking over at you bound over the middle of his Persian rug on your stomach. “I have your wife bound like I’m putting her on a spitfire laying on my favorite Persian rug. It’s a nice view I can get used to—and I will. I have the fireplace on too, to keep her nice and warm considering she’s still in that dainty, sexy nightgown of hers. And I see you managed to knock her up again, huh? You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I owe you no such justification or insight on my private life with my wife. I would have thought by now you could come up with more elaborate, believable lies. You can stop with the bullshit, I know you hurt her.”

“Well,” Alphonse drags on his words, “it’s not like she’d go to sleep if I asked her nicely too, so maybe I had to do a little something. You know I don’t like hurting women—especially pregnant women. Were you two planning on having another little Corleone or was this a surprise?”

“I know what game you’re playing.” Michael continues to speak in a monotone, calm voice. “You don’t need me to remind you again that when I find you, I’ll put you down like a dog. If you’re half the man you claim to be, you’ll know better than to hurt her or our baby.”

“I’ll take good care of her, bigshot.” Alphonse props his feet up on his desk. “Don’t stress yourself out so much, army boy. From now on, I’ll do you a favor. Whenever I want her to be asleep and unaware, I’ll drug her. You know I won’t lay my hands on her in that state. Actually, I’d prefer to see if she could fight me equally.” He laughs to himself, “I know she’s got a hell of an aim with a gun but unarmed, even my best men are afraid she’ll scratch their eyes out.”

“And you expect me to believe a word you say?” Michael exchanges a look with your father. “You’re nothing but a liar.”

“I’m a lot of things.” Alphonse shrugs his shoulders. “I’m a man of taste too. You know…” He grins, quick to change the conversation. “Your wife looks good in that nightgown of hers, did I mention that already? It barely covers her ass or those thighs too. Tell me—what should I do to her next, Michael? Should I cut her? Make her cry? Or should I make her moan?”

“If you’re expecting some sort of reaction for me, prepare to be gravely disappointed,” Michael tells him. 

“Awww.” Alphonse frowns. “I was hoping I’d get some kind of reaction. I’m telling the truth as I know it and see it. I don’t care if you believe me or not. Also, thank you to your little friend for letting my men into your compound so easily. It’s quite unfortunate you’re still alive but I’m starting to think this backup plan of ours is worth much, much more than your miserable life. Look at you, you’re eating right out of my hand.”

“Enjoying your fifteen minutes of fame, I see.” Michael rolls his eyes. “Revel in it, Alphonse. I guarantee you it will be brief; numbered like the days of your life.”

“All bark and no bite.” Alphonse brushes off Michael’s threats. “Why not just do this the easy way? You want your wife back and money isn’t a problem. I see a solution! I want twenty million dollars sent to me in cash.”

“You’re not getting anything, Alphonse, and I will have my wife back.” Venom drips from Michael’s words. “Try again.”

“You must be really stupid then.” Irritation crosses Alphonse’s tone of voice. “Why wouldn’t you just give up the cash if you want your broad back so badly?”

“I know you too well, that’s why.” Michael answers. “You have no intention of giving Victoria up. You made this personal.”

Out of anger, Lorenzo can no longer hold back his tongue. “You know what you’re doing is against the honor code of the mafia. All seven families will come for you and hunt you down.”

“Ooh, I even got the attention of one of the Ferrari brothers! This must be my lucky day. Sorry—Lorenzo, isn’t it? As much as I admire your handiwork, I was hoping to hear from your father instead. I bet he’s there with you now, isn’t he, Michael? In that case.” Alphonse clears his throat, raising his voice louder over the telephone. “It would have been avoidable, Don Ferrari, if you even bothered to give me the time of day. Now that I have your daughter you care about me? I always knew I’d get to you one way or another. Good thing this is between me and Michael and that I like Victoria’s company. Do you all want to kill me so badly? Come and get me, wise guy. Twenty million by 3AM tomorrow night, Corleone. Make it worth my while by coming tonight and I’ll see if I can lower the offer to twelve. Time’s ticking.”

“Or else what?” Michael scoffs. “You think we’re all quaking from your idle talk? Nothing but threats from a schoolyard bully.”

“Or else?!” Alphonse repeats, increasingly growing frustrated. “Or else you can face the fact I won’t provide any mercy to that knocked-up wife of yours. I’m not fucking around, Corleone!” With that, Alphonse slams the telephone down, hanging up. 

In truth, Alphonse has no intention to kill or harm you and your baby. Regardless of being a sorry excuse of a mafioso—let alone a decent man—Alphonse’s feelings for you are still there and felt strongly.

Even if Michael isn’t reacting the way Alphonse is expecting him to, there’s no doubt that there must be some sort of hatred boiling in Michael’s heart deep down—especially after this telephone call.

If in some sort of way Alphonse can get Michael emotional, then it’ll provide the perfect opportunity to catch Michael off guard and subsequently have him killed.

As a result of that scenario, Alphonse would want and have you all to himself as his wife in return for sparing your family after killing the most powerful mobster on the continent. One way or another, he’d win like that.

Alphonse’s intention behind his every word and action is to kill Michael and only to kill Michael—it’s never truly been all about you, but at the same time, you’re still very dear and personal to Alphonse too.

You overheard some of the conversation while unconscious but you’re unable to make sense of much from the drugged-up state you’re in.

Alphonse on the other hand giving away he’s taken you somewhere in Nevada and expecting a ransom is done on purpose to get this over with as soon as possible, and by that he means finally killing Michael.

Unlike you, Michael is a lot more deadly alive than he is dead no matter his brothers or his men who won’t be able to lift a finger after Alphonse has Don Ferrari’s options narrowed down with you by his side. 

Besides, Alphonse has had countless days and endless hours pondering just how he was going to orchestrate the attempted assassination on both of your lives, and if all else failed, he was going to make it a living hell with you as the example.

Alphonse hasn’t even bothered to have the phone call made to Michael from elsewhere; he no longer cares if his location can be traced or not because Silver City is no short car ride even in Michael’s best Cadillacs.

Alphonse has the advantage all around. He expects Michael at every moment and his men are prepared for his arrival anytime.

With the location of Alphonse’s estate in Silver City, there isn’t a single square mile Michael and his men can properly conceal themselves out in the middle of nowhere.

Having been in Silver City now for years, Alphonse has eyes and ears everywhere now and knows the place like the back of his hand.

There are no trees let alone any buildings anywhere near his estate to conceal any kind of ambush—let alone support it.

Even if Alphonse details all of this to you himself, it’ll never change your mind about Michael. You have the utmost confidence and trust in your husband that’ll never change—in a ghost town or not.

With the time limit of 3AM either tonight or tomorrow night depending on when Michael makes his move, Alphonse wants to spend as much time with you as possible.

After putting down the phone, Alphonse takes a deep breath and calms his nerves; his huffs of frustration turning into soft chuckles of amusement. 

There’s a power to be felt in Alphonse’s veins from being able to get Lorenzo Ferrari’s attention over the telephone, at the very least. 

‘Bingo.’ Alphonse knows your family is going to be eating out of his hand soon enough.

Taking his feet off his office desk, Alphonse rises from his seat and smoothens out his suit jacket.

As the capo nods and begins to exit the room, Alphonse slowly paces around before approaching you—still noticing how weak you are under the influence of what would otherwise be normally used to knock a patient out for a short surgery.

“It should have always been like this.” Alphonse murmurs, clasping his hands behind him/

‘I wanted her from the very beginning.’ Alphonse approaches you, kneeling down and caressing the side of your face—noticing you don’t stir.

‘Still a little heavy. This’ll last in her system for a little while longer.”

Alphonse eyes the reddened gash over your forehead. “You’re going to be the grand prize here, aren’t you? Although I wish you’d just make your own way to me. Hope you didn’t miss me too much, beautiful.” He runs his hands through your soft hair. 

Alphonse is still wildly attracted to you; his feelings had never changed from when he first asked your father for your hand in 1948. 

Now that Michael knows Alphonse had you sleep next to him in his bed for the night, Alphonse expects it’ll drive him off the rails if it hasn’t already—whether Michael wants to show it or not. 

Alphonse pulls his hand away from your hair, still concerned with the gash on your forehead, but never regretting his own actions. 

“Get someone to look after that gash on her forehead and clean it up,” Alphonse orders one of his capos in the room without raising his eyes off of you. “Then I want her back here, fully tied. I have some questions for Victoria Ferrari when she awakens from her beauty nap.”

~

Your father and brothers began to immediately track down the call from the moment Michael put down his telephone; remaining occupied with finding a location or at least a close proximity to wherever you may be.

Michael’s outside of the estate and by the docks to his yacht with Tom, Sonny, Neri, and Rocco by his side; silent as they listen to their Don.

“You two are my best men and assassins.” Michael eyes both Neri and Rocco. “I don’t need to remind you of that, however, if anything, last night was a grand disappointment for both of you. It was nothing but failure. If you make any of the same mistakes, get sloppy or let yourself go, then you’ll die with Alphonse’s men. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes, Don Corleone.” Rocco and Neri say back.

“Don Ferrari and his sons are close to tracking down a location. At the very least we’ll have that by today.” Michael directs his words to his brothers.

“It sounds remote.” Tom sighs quietly, crossing his arms. “No way Alphonse could be hiding out in a big city or populous town around here.”

“That’s almost for certain.” Michael agrees. “We will have the advantage of ground if he’s isolated somewhere. Nevada is filled with ghost towns, there’s no end to them.”

“Yeah, but that’s the problem.” Sonny frowns. “We can’t be seen at all if he’s out in the middle of ass nowhere.”

“What do you think?” Michael raises a brow at Rocco, most of Michael’s disappointment and suspicion still lingering towards Rocco from last night.

“Difficult, but not impossible.” Rocco answers.

“Getting close and using the element of surprise will aid us well,” Neri adds. “It’ll cause just enough confusion for our men to get in.”

“Good,” Michael says. “Then we’ll also bring in our snipers from afar. None of our cars or men can be seen.”

“How will we know where to hold out ground?” Tom asks.

“It doesn’t matter, Tom,” Michael tells him sternly. “If we have to go in shooting still on the road, then so be it. Whether the vicinity is completely barren or not doesn’t concern me in the slightest. It’ll be done, I’ll be there to see it.”

Regardless of who this could have happened to, it’s almost completely unheard of to have the family’s Don present during guaranteed bloodshed and violence; the glances Tom and Sonny exchange with one another saying it all.

Michael’s brothers both know this can and will be dangerous for everyone involved, but especially Michael’s since he’s the prime target. Still, Michael’s word and decision are final—it can’t be argued with by anyone.

“Right after an attempt was taken on your life, Mike?” Sonny scratches the back of his neck. “Are you sure?”

“We both know Alphonse is truly after me, not the money. Even if I were to do something as ridiculous as deliver him twelve to twenty million dollars in cash, that provides us no guarantee of Victoria’s life and safety. He won’t stop there either.” Michael narrows his eyes, looking towards the dock. “Even if he did let Victoria go, we’d have thrown money at the problem. Then we shouldn’t be surprised when a knife lands on our backs or more bullets fly over our heads upon his next move. If I don’t go—” Michael’s eyes meet his brothers again. “Alphonse will kill Victoria and take the money. I’m not having my wife’s corpse dragged out of whatever hole he’s hiding in. If Alphonse wants me, then he’ll have me—but not in the way he thinks. We won’t bring any money. He’ll know why we’re there.”

“I agree, sr.” Rocco points towards the parking area towards the outside of the compound. “We’ll take our best vehicles and scatter so we won’t be pinpointed together and we won’t be heard coming at the same time either. We’ll have to go at night though to get as close to some sort of stealth.”

“You know what you have to do.” Michael nods in approval. “Handle it with Neri. Once we’re inside, everything will come to a quick end. I will personally kill Alphonse, is that understood? None of you will incapacitate him unless absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, Don Corleone.” Neri and Rocco respond back.

Michael, Sonny, and Tom’s heads turn to hear the door of the boathouse being pushed open; Lorenzo and Leonardo stepping out towards Michael and his brothers.

“Well?” Michael asks rather impatiently to the two.

“Silver City.” Leonardo looks up at Michael, shaking his head. “Alphonse has taken Victoria to Silver City. We know exactly where they are now.”

“A damn near ghost town just forty minutes from here,” Lorenzo mutters under his breath. “Just perfect. I expected as much.”

In reality, Alphonse expects Michael and his men to show up as soon as possible—no need to wait until tonight because Alphonse wants Michael to underestimate him. 

Michael may have mentioned bringing his best snipers, but Alphonse already has his own positioned on the roof to ensure the best protection possible.

“Corleone and company will be here soon,” Alphonse smirks, smoking a cigar. “Instead of shooting out bedroom windows this time, we can have a lot more fun lodging bullets into each and every one of Corleone’s men—after him, of course,” Alphonse speaks loud and clear for not only all his surrounding men to hear, but you too—still tied up and laying on his Persian rug. “I’ll kill Corleone myself, otherwise where’s the fun in all of this?” He shoots a cautionary look at his men. “Disarmed at most by any one of you but not maimed, if I’m making myself clear. He deserves to be put down like a dog and I’m going to be the one to do it to him.”

Eyes squeezed shut but fully in consciousness, you can’t help but let out a giggle at Alphonse’s ridiculous comment.

Alphonse’s men exchange glances with one another before giving their boss a nod and exiting his office room—leaving just you and Alphonse alone in it.

Alphonse turns on his heel to face you laying upon the carpet, raising a brow. “I see Mrs. Ferrari-Corleone is awake now.” He speaks to you in a mocking and taunting tone as he walks over to where you lay.

Still, in pain from your throbbing gash which stings every time you move and raise your head, you can only tilt your head up slightly from the carpet—still letting out soft giggles.

“Is something amusing, sweetheart?” Alphonse stops right before you, looking down. “Or do you just enjoy being tied up like this?”

“You’re so fucking stupid.” You breathe out, surprising Alphonse with your words. “Put him down like a dog? Please.” You let out another laugh.

“I’m glad you find this funny, considering the little predicament you’re in.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, crouching down to you.

“Oh, cut the bullshit.” You glare at him, “I’ve been in worse situations.”

“Is that so?” Alphonse grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging it roughly and causing you to yelp out in pain. “I could have assumed that much, knowing you’re a Ferrari daughter and a Corleone wife, but how many times can you say you’ve been in such ‘situations’ pregnant?”

Instead of answering, you simply giggle again, smiling up at Alphonse but only meeting a scowl from him.

“I’ll have you know I’m a patient man,” Alphonse warns you, letting go of your hair. “But even I have a limit.”

“I don’t give a shit who you are or what you are.” You mutter back. “You’re a f-fucking failure to me.”

“Even though I have you here?” Alphonse scoffs. “You can downplay it all you want if that comforts you, darling.”

“If you weren’t a coward, you wouldn’t have tied me up, to begin with.” You grit your teeth.

“Believe me, baby,” Alphonse runs a hand through your hair as you struggle to pull away from him. “I’ve thought about doing that actually, but I don’t want to get into a scrap with you. I have a habit of breaking a lot more bones than I initially plan to. Instead, I’d rather see you tied up like this in that sexy nightgown of yours.” Alphonse gestures to your back where your wrists and ankles are bound together with rope. 

“Pervert.” You grunt out. “You’re sick.”

“Oh yeah?” Alphonse chuckles. “Then you slept rather soundly in this pervert’s bed last night. You know you could have just woken up and run off, right?” Alphonse’s taunts are nothing but an attempt to make you feel as he’d now describe like a ‘helpless whore’.

You rest your head back against the carpet—generally exhausted from trying to strain your muscles against the ropes. “I’m not stupid enough to do things that’ll get me killed. You know, considering I was unconscious due to a head wound or maybe being fucking drugged by something. Can’t exactly get up and leave when you want to.”

“Smart girl.” Alphonse stands upright, grinning at you. “You already knew what kind of state you were in, huh?”

“Do your worst.” You glower. 

“Maybe I will.” Alphonse snaps back. “You’re in no position to be talking to me like this.”

“Michael will do anything to you that you’ve already done to me,” you breathe out, “and trust me—he knows how to make it hurt a lot more.”

“Oh yeah?” Alphonse crosses his arms. “That’s nice, sweetheart. I guess we’ll have to see in about an hour or so what that pretty boy husband of yours is capable of truly doing. I have the upper hand here—I have all the men. This time he can’t attack and blow up this entire estate; not unless he wants to scrape off the ashes of his dead, pregnant wife for a second time.”

“So confident.” You mumble, “much more than the average street rat.”

Instantly pissed from the insult, Alphonse crouches back down and grabs your face roughly, forcing you to face him. “I didn’t fucking bring you here to insult me, Victoria. I can make you stop talking.”

“Do it.” Your breath hitches. “You could, but you won’t because you love hearing me talk.”

Right then and there, Alphonse’s expression warms into a smirk. “Yeah? Now you’re telling me the obvious, baby.”

“I’m not your fucking baby.” You form a quick wad of saliva in your mouth before spitting over Alphonse’s face.

“Fuck’s sakes!” Alphonse grunts, flinching and immediately raising his hand up to slap you but stopping himself.

“What’s the matter?” You taunt, having not moved a muscle. “Can't do it?”

Alphonse looks into your eyes, still noticing there are definitely the effects of the drug he injected you with still inside you. “Don’t push me, Ferrari. I still have a lot to talk to you about after I kill your husband.”

“My last name is Corleone.” You correct as Alphonse lets go of your face and move away from you. “As I s-said—do your worst. I’ll still be lying here laughing when you fail.”

“Ha,” Alphonse says sarcastically, reaching back for his cigar upon his desk. “You know you can say whatever you want now, honey. I do love a good conversation before we have to get down to business. And like you mentioned, maybe I do like the sound of your voice a little more than I should, and I certainly do love everything else about you.” Alphonse’s eyes greedily dart to the way your ass and thighs look bound up with rope. 

“Yeah, I bet you do.” You scowl against the carpet. “Considering this is as close to a woman you’ve ever gotten in our entire life.”

“Have quite the smart mouth, I see.” Alphonse comments, checking the time on his gold wristwatch.

“Fuck you.” You tilt your head away from him, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Tsk, tsk. Be patient, darling, you’ll be able to do so soon enough.” Alphonse shakes his head at you, leaning back to relax in his seat.

He wonders to himself if true fear will actually hit you once the boldness of the drugs is out of your system and Michael’s actually dead. Then Alphonse knows you’ll talk and do anything to save your baby’s life and your own.

~

Michael watches the sun begin to set beneath the lake, melting into the hue of the orange and pink sky from the boathouse otherwise crawling with security like the rest of the compound and surrounding lake.

Day or night—security is tripled as if there’s an active threat as Michael’s insistent on finding an invulnerability within the compound itself and signs of betrayal.

While getting you back home safe and sound is Michael’s only goal and intention, it’ll mean nothing if there’s a way it can repeated at your own home again.

Michael’s seeing nothing but red just thinking about how this was done at his own home with you as one of the targets, and he hasn’t let the fact that there’s a traitor on the inside—whether it’s one of his own men or family—evade him either.

Michael can be a patient, calm and understanding man, but he despises it when his control is compromised. 

Michael never came to believe he or any of his homes have vulnerabilities, but it’s not like he considers you collateral damage either.

While Alphonse believes all of this will provide him with the perfect opportunity to kill Michael and ruin the Corleone family name with it, Michael knows this will be the first major blood spill of an entire crime family and the worst since he had all of his enemies killed on his honeymoon with you in Sicily.

As a result, every action Michael takes will send shockwaves throughout the country to the other crime families, and consequences—if any—will be felt later, but devastatingly.

Now as Michael remains still with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the security boat roaming over the lake, his mind is on the twins who are with the governess and doing their daily studies for the day.

Niccolo and Verona are both still under the impression that their mother is by their grandmother’s side at the hospital and will be back soon; a promise Michael personally made to them.

Michael’s thoughts are momentarily interrupted by a knock on the door of the boathouse. He neither reacts nor moves a muscle, already expecting Sonny, Tom, your father, and your older brothers. “Come in.”

While Tom leads the way into the boathouse first, opening the door, he politely stands back and allows Giuseppe to enter first, then himself alongside everyone else.

No greetings are given nor is another word spoken; several pairs of footsteps can only be heard inside from the men as the door shuts behind them by one of Michael’s guards.

Visibly stressed and with no intention to hide it, Lorenzo’s been smoking a cigarette since before entering the compound. His only worry is about you as his sister—Lorenzo couldn’t give a fuck personally about Alphonse Ricci or any of his antics.

Lorenzo for one would like to strangle Alphonse to death himself, but he knows he has no power or influence whatsoever while in Lake Tahoe—let alone in this situation because of Michael.

All the men in the boathouse including Michael know very well that kidnapping a “civilian”—otherwise known as someone who is not involved in business—has led to devastating consequences for the mafia in general regardless of family or location and perpetrators have ended up regretting it in heinous ways. 

Whether the other crime families speak out about what’s to come or verbally support Michael’s movements against Alphonse matters very little to everyone in the room; they’ll all come to thank Michael and be grateful in the end for putting the nuisance of Alphonse Ricci out of his misery.

Michael only turns back to face Giuseppe, shaking his father-in-law’s hand as Giuseppe enters. 

Calm, cool, and reserved like Michael is, Giuseppe’s eyes still show he’s bitter and emotionally exhausted due to this whole sordid affair; a look Michael knows and feels well too.

As the men take their seats over the leather couches across from one another, Al Neri moves towards the bar quietly to prepare drinks.

Michael turns around to face his brothers and brothers-in-law only when he hears them sitting down comfortably. Michael’s the last to join them, taking his seat on the last remaining armchair in the midst of both couches.

“Don Ferrari,” Michael speaks softly, wanting to hear from him first.

“Michael.” Giuseppe clears his throat. “Simply put, my boys and I know what we need to do and how to do it.” Giuseppe’s attention redirects to his sons one by one. “Lorenzo will go in unseen after the initial ambush. Matteo has prepared the vehicles for all of our men, and Alessio’s snipers will take care of the rest from far. I’ll have my own men surround the place with yours on the lookout both inside and outside.”

Your brothers glance up at Michael for confirmation as Al Neri sets down a tray of iced whiskey for everyone on the coffee table. 

“It’s best if we act as soon as possible—tonight before this ‘time limit’ Alphonse has given us,” Leonardo speaks up.

“We won’t,” Michael replies flatly, taking a drink off the tray.

Annoyance instantly twists over Lorenzo’s facial expression whereas Matteo and Alessio exchange glances with one another. Michael is just aware of how your father eyes Lorenzo to calm his temper, whereas Tom and Sonny haven’t spoken a single word until now.

“Mike,” Sonny raises his brows at Michael, perhaps the only one able to ask him such a question due to being his eldest brother, “are you crazy? We’ve got the muscle, the location, and the men—”

“We won’t go,” Michael repeats firmly, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Not yet.”

Lorenzo puts out his cigarette, refusing to look at Michael. “And your reasoning behind that is?”

“Alphonse wants us there, and he wants us now,” Michael explains, holding his drink above his lap. “I’m not going to eat out of his hand and give him the benefit of the doubt.” Lorenzo’s opinions in general are unimportant enough to Michael that Michael’s barely ever bothered to even face him when speaking. 

Giuseppe remains silent and patient, only wishing to listen to Michael as the rest of your brothers take their drinks just as quietly.

“We’ll go on my word or we won’t go at all,” Michael adds.

“Surely you don’t need me to remind you that my sister’s life is on the line, Don Corleone.” Matteo frowns, heavily disapproving of Michael’s plan.

“No, I don’t need you to,” Michael says back casually.

Tom clears his throat and shifts in his seat uncomfortably. “Um, respectfully, Matteo, we have no reason to believe Victoria’s life is actually on the line.”

Lorenzo practically scowls at Tom’s words as Alessio adds his opinion. “She’s being used as leverage.”

“Correct.” Michael nods.

“I hate to think of it, but…” Sonny shakes his head. “If Victoria was going to be used as collateral damage to that fucker Alphonse, he would have most likely hurt her and we would have found out one way or another—on the phone or not. He would want us to know that.”

“So what, the best course of action is to just wait until that happens?” Lorenzo scoffs. 

“Who said that?” Leonardo frowns at his brother, nudging him. “Come on.”

“What if Alphonse sends us her fucking ear or a vial or her blood? Make her scream over the phone? Some macabre shit Alphonse has always been into?” Lorenzo continues, narrowing his eyes. “We need some sort of gruesome proof my sister is being tortured in order to act?”

“Idle threats will be made. That’s the least to be expected from a man like Alphonse.” Giuseppe sighs deeply, “And perhaps they’ll be made so believable they would spring any man into action immediately, but that is where none of us will make that mistake.” Giuseppe specifically eyes Lorenzo as he continues to speak. “Alphonse would not have done this if he feared Michael. He does not, and he doesn’t care about his own men dying at the hands of Michael either. He’s selfish. While the may suit him personally as a Don, it would be his own undoing if he had a shred of credibility to his family name.”

“Father’s right.” Leonardo agrees. “Alphonse resents Michael. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume that’s all he’s consistently done over the past few years anyway. He wants to get a personal reaction out of Michael beyond what he’s seen already.”

Giuseppe raises his drink up to his lips. “He wants to see how Michael will react, nothing more. This is all some amusing little game to him.” He takes a small sip of his whiskey, savoring the taste on his tongue. “The real reason why Alphonse hasn’t tortured Victoria or done anything ‘gruesome’, is because of me. Our family. He fears me out of his fear and ‘respect’ that Alphonse claims to have for me despite kidnapping my daughter and more than likely hurting her in the process. I never had to say a word, I never had to raise a finger.” Giuseppe sets down his drink—his expression darkening. “Alphonse is showing me he feels this way about me because this is business with me but personal with Michael. Victoria’s his wife, but she’s my daughter. This is the truth.” Giuseppe gestures down at the table with his finger. “Alphonse has a lot on the line—a lot he can lose and he knows this. Right now, all he’s done is place himself in a limbo of instability. He can lose everything or I can guarantee his wins. He’s gambling with the life of my daughter but he shows how to make the cogs in his little machine work, otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

The room remains silent except for the clinking of whiskey glasses and cigarettes being lit as everyone continues listening to Giuseppe. “Alphonse bought Barzini and Tattaglia’s respect with money and luxury he never worked for. His father bought him the very red carpet he trampled his own dirt on years later. But after he fell out with two of the most powerful Dons at the time and with the Corleone’s shift of power, Alphonse lost everything. Right now, what he’s regained he can lose again. It’s nothing but money and his life. For as long as Victoria is Michael’s wife, Alphonse cannot lose her either. He can’t lose what he’s never had.”

“All he did was grow up the eldest son to a mobster who actually made his bones in New York and Sicily.” Matteo rolls his eyes. “His father was a real man—that I could respect.”

“But being born the son of a Don doesn’t make you a mafioso.” Giuseppe relaxes against his seat. “There’s nothing credible to show Alphonse has even made his bones. When and how did it happen? Questions I don’t personally care about.” He holds up his hand, shaking his head. “Alphonse thinks he’s in our world and that he’s one of us, but he’s never seen it. He’s never tasted what it’s like to be a mafioso. People mistake Alphonse regularly for a buttonman a con, a spoiled son of a dead man so he’s desperate to fit into a world that never had the mold for someone like him, to begin with. He behaves foolishly and erratically yet at the same time you cannot blame him because he never entered our world, to begin with. He doesn’t respect or abide by our code because he doesn’t know the code. The only thing I can give Alphonse credit for is that he’s a goddamn phoenix. He rises from his own pitiful ashes no matter how bad the last downfall was. I know men who would have killed themselves after that humiliating stunt with Barzini and Tattaglia. He carries on, however. He knows I can change his life, and bring him into my world. Only I can do that alone.”

“So then if Alphonse takes Michael out of the picture…” Sonny begins, “then I guess he’d really have ‘made his bones’.”

“That’d make him a true gangster to be feared, yes,” Giuseppe replies. “Unlike Alphonse, I have a choice. I don’t grant out mobster titles or redemption—this isn’t charity work. I’ve seen types like him before all my life, albeit much quieter and bigger failures. I’ve dealt with them all the same. I prefer they disappear. This all goes back to Michael’s plan.”

“So,” Matteo clears his throat, folding his hands on his lap. “If Victoria isn’t some sort of ‘collateral damage’ to Alphonse, then mother was certainly a target.”

“Shut up.” Alessio nudges Matteo harshly. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Michael raises a brow, his curiosity growing. “I’m interested in what made you think that.”

“She was shot and now she’s in the hospital getting a poisoned bullet out of her body,” Matteo says sarcastically. “I think that’s quite obvious.”

“Your mother wasn’t targeted.” Al Neri suddenly speaks up by the bar. 

Heads turn towards Al Neri who first glances at Michael, seeing approval to speak further through his eyes.

“Excuse me?” Matteo scowls. “I don’t recall anyone asking for your opinion here.”

“I’m the one who secured the study.” Al Neri continues, ignoring Matteo outright. “I found out just how your mother got shot, so I believe I have more than enough authority to speak on the matter. Your mother wasn’t targeted in the least bit, Matteo. She was the collateral damage.”

Lorenzo appears just as offended as Matteo, but both give Al Neri silence as their response.

“Is that what you really think?” Lorenzo licks off the whiskey from his lips.

“It’s what I know.” Neri reaffirms, taking a step out of the bar. “I saw and picked up the fragments of the bullets scattered in the study.” Neri specifically emphasizes the plural of ‘bullet’. “They were all shot out in a panic of trying to shoot Don Corleone and Mrs. Corleone because the assassination attempt was fixated all on the first floor. Mrs. Ferrari simply happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was never a target, and the bullet never directly hit her. It skimmed her side and left a fragment.”

“Yes, all of that is correct.” Giuseppe glumly agrees. “It’s tragic, but it’s separate from what’s happened with Victoria. Believe me,” he shoots a look at Matteo. “Those who were involved with your mother’s injury will pay dearly regardless. For now, we can only hope she heals and recovers well with the best doctors in Nevada looking after her. Now, if you would excuse us.” Giuseppe gestures for his sons to leave the boathouse. 

Matteo puts his arm over Lorenzo’s shoulder as they rise from their seats, making their way out of the boathouse in silence. No further words are spoken until the door shuts yet again.

“Michael,” Giuseppe faces his son-in-law. “You’re a smart, young man. I trust you as my son-in-law and as my favorite business partner. I always have. I know you won’t ever let any harm come to my daughter and you don’t trust that viper’s words when it comes to her either.”

“I knew you’d seen it my way, Don Ferrari.” Michael forces a small smile at his father-in-law. “This is no longer just about Victoria, but our baby too. It’s two people we’re protecting; my wife and the future of this family. So we’ll wait.”

~

[ Afternoon Hours ]

Time, silence, and lack of inaction all speak for themselves. The afternoon is halfway over and Alphonse is more than aware he’s heard nothing from Michael or his men whatsoever, let alone have him rush into Silver City to come to get you. 

Michael’s not coming for you. Nobody is, no matter what you keep assuming.

Your lack of appetite doesn’t surprise Alphonse who offered you numerous gourmet meals periodically throughout the day, but you’ve accepted water as the only kindness from him.

Still, while you weren’t thinking about hunger for yourself, you were for your baby. As disgusting as it was to basically have Alphonse literally spoon-feeding you, at least it was a brief moment in time where Alphonse wasn’t irritating you with the sound of his voice.

You’re still relatively unharmed except for a bloody gash upon your forehead which only appears more prominent and fresh looking after it's cleaned; something that only pisses Alphonse off further with his men.

After leaving you bound up on the carpet to enjoy lunch with his men, Alphonse enters his office room with a refreshed look on his face—stretching out his arms. 

Appearing very relaxed and content, Alphonse turns his attention to you upon the rug almost instantly. “Hello again, darling. Hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

“Leave me alone.” You grumble, forcing yourself not to move as much as possible from how heavily the ropes dig into the bruised rings around your wrists and ankles.

“Ah, come on, sweetheart.” Alphonse pushes an armchair over to where you lay, sitting down on it and folding one knee above the other. “Mm, that’s much better. You know, last night could have been so much more fun if your husband just showed his face.”

“Fuck you.” You scowl up at Alphonse.

“Nice to see you too, baby.” Alphonse chuckles. “Relax. Everything’s going to be all over soon.”

“If by ‘all over’ you mean with your death, then by all means I await it.” You rest your cheek against the Persian rug. “Otherwise I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Alphonse gazes down at you, fake pouting. “Don Corleone was supposed to be on his way to rescue you and ‘exact revenge on me. How tragic.” He bursts out into laughter, “yeah, for him it is at least. It’s a no man’s land here, baby. All desert. Empty. No trees or anything for miles and miles, and I know this place like the back of my hand.” Alphonse points at the back of his hand, giving it a pat. 

“Of course you do.” You roll your eyes back at him. “I can tell this place is a forgotten wasteland without even having to look outside, so who would be surprised you’re here?”

“Please.” Alphonse scoffs. “I could say I’m not surprised by your attitude either but it’s fine, I’ll let it slide because you’re going to become a widow tonight.”

“Funny joke.” You speak against the carpet. “Too bad it’ll never happen.”

Alphonse gives you a wink, smiling warmly. “I like your optimism, baby. It’s going to turn me on a little bit breaking your heart tonight.”

‘And if this disgusting bastard’s plans actually worked out? Then what…?’ You think to yourself, staring up at him. ‘He’s so confident.’

“Word will spread like wildfire that your husband is dead, first of all.” Alphonse pats the armrest of his seat. “That’s going to be a hell of an afterparty we, unfortunately, don’t have too much time for. Your father will want to see me negotiate business that’ll now be completely unavoidable to him, so,” Alphonse pushes his seat back, crouching down in front of you. “You won’t have to worry about a thing, baby. I’m going to take very good care of you.” He brushes back a curtain of your hair behind your ear. “Just like how I would have if you married me back then. It’s okay, though.” Alphonse gently rests his index finger against your lips to silence you. “We all make stupid decisions, but at least you won’t regret this one. For starters, never will your life be in danger ever again.”

You jerk your head away from Alphonse, sneering. “My life is in fucking danger right now because of you, asshole.”

Alphonse laughs, shaking his head. “Aww, baby. What danger? You lying on the ground on my favorite Persian rug is called ‘being in danger’? You and that little baby growing inside of you are just fine, protected by all my best men. If I know you well—and I do—” Alphonse leans in closer to your face, “you like danger. And that was all last night.”

“What are you going to do then, huh?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Oh, nothing.” Alphonse shrugs his shoulders carelessly. “Just that first you’ll marry me and I know your father will be supportive—if not extremely eager to do so. Then I’ll adopt those twins of yours from the goodness of my heart and erase that Corleone name off of you three. It’ll take some time but the twins will call me their father soon enough.”

You force yourself not to headbutt Alphonse directly in the face, almost shaking with anger now. “That’ll never happen, you sick fuck.”

Alphonse rolls his eyes, pulling back. “Where’s your optimism now, darling? You’d rather I put a bullet in you and Michael’s heads and let your children become orphans?”

“Yes!” You snap back.

Alphonse stifles back a laugh, grinning at you with wild amusement. He cups your face forcefully before directly kissing your gash—causing you to cry out and pull your head back. “You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, Victoria, but with a big bump like that on your head, I know you can’t think clearly. It’s okay.” 

Alphonse nudges your head back down to the carpet. “It’ll all make sense to you in a few days. This is pretty big, I understand, and as for that baby of yours…” Alphonse slides his hand underneath your stomach, forcing you to flip onto your back. “Uh huh…”

You tense up from the sudden movements but for the sake of your baby’s safety and health, you don’t bother to fight or move back; your lack of response is noticed and approved by Alphonse.

“He or she will grow up knowing I’m their father, but the next time you get pregnant, it’ll be our child.” Alphonse smiles, admiring your tiny baby bump. “And well, we’ll have a few more too. One big happy family, as they say.”

“You’re a sick fucking bastard!” You snap out, squirming back down onto your stomach. “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole even if my life depended on it.”

“It just might if you keep talking like this.” The smile fades off of Alphonse’s face as he nudges your gash harshly.

“Ahhh!” You cry out in pain, trying to pull your head away from him. 

“Be nice to me, Victoria.” Alphonse’s voice begins to grow low and demanding. “I won’t have to hurt your feelings and break every bone in your body if you’re nice to me. Now.” Alphonse pulls back to sit back on his armchair. “We have much to talk about, you and I, and you’re going to give me the answers I want, right?”

“And if I don’t?” You grit your teeth, still squirming in pain from your throbbing head. 

Alphonse sighs loudly, crossing his arms. “Baby, you already know what’s going to happen to you yet you ask me to repeat it. You like hearing my voice, huh?”

“Nothing about you is clear or certain.” You shudder over the carpet. “Considering your repeat history of failures.”

“Yeah?” Alphonse raises both of his brows. “I guess I don’t mind repeating myself to you about what I’m going to do if you don’t talk. Let me put it this way, sweetheart.” Alphonse pulls out a switchblade from his outer suit pocket before kneeling back down in front of you, aiming it for your face.

You neither flinch nor react when the blade snaps out and almost brushes up against your face—impressing Alphonse tenfold. “Uh-huh, I see. Father taught you not to be afraid of knives either, huh? Well, how about like this, then?” He points the switchblade to your baby bump, causing you to flinch.

“Bingo,” Alphonse smirks, moving the switchblade back up to your face. “Now, you start talking and giving me answers, and in return, I won’t make you cry and carve up your baby or that pretty face of yours. Shall we get started?”

As you feel the side of the cold, sharp blade pressing up against your cheek, true fear hits you from the possibility of Alphonse quite literally harming your baby and killing you in the process with his sick mutilation teasing. 

‘Where are you, Michael?’ A single tear rolls down your cheek out of fear as you swallow hard. ‘Where are you, my love?’ But what you don’t know is that Michael isn’t coming for you.

~

Seeking comfort and solace from last night in the garden with her husband, all Connie can do is bring herself to tears again and again—unable to stop herself from crying.

Connie sits on the rattan garden bench she’d always share with you while the two of you tended to the garden, now next to her husband Leonardo comforting her.

Leo holds Connie in his arms, rubbing up and down her arms to comfort his wife but letting her release her emotions and cry out without stopping her.

Tears spill down Connie’s cheeks as she clutches onto Leo for comfort, feeling his warm lips kissing her forehead. “It’s alright, darling. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“B-but it’s my fault.” Connie hiccups, still unable to live with her guilt. “It’s—”

“Nobody’s fault, baby.” Lorenzo gazes at Connie’s red, splotchy face from sobbing as he shakes his head. “Absolutely none of this is your fault. We’re going to get through this together, and Victoria’s going to be back safe and sound before any of us even know it.”

“But I-I should have tried harder to keep her there!” Connie cries out, unable to push out the blame on herself after Michael practically embedded it in her with his shouting.

“Baby, baby.” Leo cups Connie’s face gently, looking into her eyes. “Listen, sweetheart. I know my sister well and when Victoria has something on her mind, nobody can stop her. Not me, not you, and not even Michael no matter what we’d be inclined to believe. Nobody’s words would hold her back.”

Connie sniffles, pausing for a moment as tears roll down her cheeks. “Sounds like Victoria, alright… She’s a f-fighter.”

“She is.” Leo agrees.

“I just hope…” Connie lets out a weak sigh, “I just hope Victoria’s fighting now and that she’s okay.”

“Believe me, honey,” Leo wipes off a stray tear from Connie’s cheek with his thumb. “If anyone’s fighting, it’s her. Victoria’s going to be okay and all of this will be over soon. I know how you feel—I’m much too impatient myself and I can’t stop thinking about it, but we’re going to get Victoria back. No exceptions.”

“Y-yeah but Leo,” Connie hiccups, “Victoria’s pregnant too.”

“I know, but so are you.” Leo places his hand over Connie’s month-old, small baby bump. “And I hate to have you and our little baby too stressed. I want to comfort you both.” He leans down, kissing the bump.

Connie smiles weakly at her husband, lacing a hand on Leo for reassurance. “Theresa was saying the same thing all morning.”

“How’s she taking it, baby?” Leo leans back up, holding Connie’s hand.

“Not well either.” Connie shakes her head, clearing her throat. “You know… That Sollozzo guy took Tom back in 1946? Theresa…she thought she would never see Tom again. And well, you know what happened to Sollozzo after.”

“Same thing is coming for Alphonse and is men,” Leo murmurs, planting a soft kiss over both of Connie’s hands. “Trust me.”

“That relieves me, strangely enough,” Connie admits glumly. “I really don’t want to be a part of whatever Michael’s doing, ever, and I didn’t want the same with papa either. But maybe I’m too harsh on Michael.”

“What do you mean exactly?” Leo continues gently rubbing over Connie’s baby bump.

“Sometimes I think of Michael as insufferable.” Connie shrugs her shoulders, glancing down at her baby bump. “Because of the man he’s become but I think he’s just trying to be strong for all of us, you know? It’s not easy. And now… Michael’s pregnant wife is kidnapped and as much as I don’t want to think about it, they probably hurt her, Leo. I know she wouldn’t just let anyone lay a finger on h-her without putting up a fight.”

“Exactly, I know.” Leo nods, frowning. 

“I’m just worried for Michael.” Connie’s eyes meet up with Leo’s. “I-I don’t know what all of this will do to him. He’s… He’s always so cold and serious, so stern. Nothing gets past him, he refuses to be any other way. Now, this is getting too personal. I don’t think it matters if Victoria’s alive or not at the moment, Michael’s never going to recover from this. His humanity’s never going to recover from this.” Connie’s voice begins to shake as her throat tightens. “Because t-that’ll be three women in Michael’s love life that are dead or hurt in some sort of way because of him.”

~

[ Lake Tahoe Estate Docks, Early Evening Hours ]

With a perfect view of his yacht docked by the boathouse and the beautiful, glistening lake before him, Michael watches as the last of the sunlight begins to melt into the sky from his patio table.

Since Verona had an accident where she slipped off the deck in the past, Michael’s made sure now that both the docks and the edge of the lake are properly secured for safety.

Michael remains alone, drinking a cup of black coffee as best as he can “enjoy” it—only doing so to push aside how physically and mentally exhausted he’s been for the past two days.

Michael hasn’t diverted his gaze from the lake since he’s sat down, raising his coffee cup to his lips then back down again and again—completely unhappy and numb of any emotion.

Verona steps outside of the central family estate—just having finished her one-on-one studies with the governess. 

The sight of her father just across by the docks, dressed in a three-piece navy suit is one Verona will always be able to happily spot.

While Michael doesn’t notice Verona’s presence out on the estate grounds, Verona excitedly makes her way over to her father and calls out for him. “Daddy, hiiiii!”

Michael turns his head at the sound of his daughter’s voice, noticing Verona waving at him as she skips up to the docks. 

Michael waves back at Verona, watching now as she slows down her pace as she approaches the docks and begins to walk the rest of the way over to her father—remembering the little accident she had there before.

“Hi, daddy.” Verona greets Michael again, happily standing by the table.

“Hi, darling.” A faint smile forms over the corners of Michael’s mouth as he sets down his coffee cup. “How were your studies?”

“Good, goooooood.” Verona tightens the silk ribbons in her hair. “I just finished!”

“Done for the rest of the day?” Michael rests the side of his face against his fist; his elbow propped up against the armrest of his seat.

“Yeah.” Verona lets out a soft sigh, still smiling at her father. “I miss mama. I wish I could see her for my break time.”

“Me too, honey. Me too. But she’s with a great doctor and your grandmother right now.” Michael lies.

It’s not that Michael hates lying, but he prefers not to do so to his children unless necessary. He’s so used to lying at this point that he doesn’t feel anything towards it anymore—it doesn’t even feel wrong.

Verona nods back at her father, completely understanding. “I bet there’s a lot of great doctors just like Doctor Katherine there.”

“Without a doubt.” Michael straightens his posture over his seat, gesturing to his lap. “Come here.”

Giggling, Verona eagerly gets up on Michael’s lap as he wraps a protective arm around his daughter—seeing how interested Verona grows in Michael’s coffee cup upon the table. “Ooooh, daddy is drinking that coffee stuff again.”

Michael chuckles quietly. “Yes, but there’s no need to wonder about the taste.”

“Why not?” Verona asks curiously. “Is it not that…aaaah, ‘decaf’, no anti-sleepy time coffee?”

“Not this time.” Michael shakes his head. 

“Why, daddy?” A frown immediately breaks over Verona’s face. “That stuff in coffee is bad for you, and this too!” She points at Michael’s cigarette pack on the edge of the table. “All very, very bad!”

“True, you’re very right. My apologies.” Michael pushes aside the cigarette pack, gesturing to the coffee. “What about my coffee? Can I still have it?”

“Hmm…” Verona ponders the question as Michael takes another sip of his coffee, looking at her for approval. “Daddy works too hard and looks kinda sleepy.” Verona giggles, facing her father. “Today you can have some of that coffee stuff.”

“Thank you for your concern.” Michael hides his smile behind his coffee cup, taking another sip. 

“I wanna make sure everyone’s happy and healthy.” Verona snuggles up to Michael’s chest, hugging her father. “Allll the time.”

Michael puts his empty coffee cup down, kissing Verona’s forehead. “Looks like we definitely have a future doctor here, don’t we?”

“Maybe one day.” Verona gives her father a beaming smile. “Would you support me, daddy?”

“Of course, I would. Your mother and I will always support both you and your brother without a doubt.” Michael tells her.

Verona giggles to herself and hugs Michael again. “Daddy, I have a secret to tell you.”

Michael can sense the eagerness in his daughter’s tone of voice. “Hmm? What is it?”

“I’ll tell you.” Verona whispers, leaning up, but before Michael can wait to hear her say anything in his ear, Verona smooches her father’s cheek instead. “There. A kiss for daddy.”

A rare, full smile crosses Michael’s lips as he looks back at Verona. At the very least, Michael knows his children are still safe and happy, and he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t think Verona’s optimism—whom she very clearly got from you—isn’t giving him a semblance of hope. 

“I love you lots, daddy.” Verona hugs Michael’s arm, resting her head against it. “Lots and lots!”

“I love you too, honey,” Michael tells her as he tilts his chair to fully face the view of the lake with Verona.

“Lots and lots?” Verona’s eyes wander over the beautiful, glistening waters of Lake Tahoe before her.

“Lots and lots.” Michael nods, relaxing his muscles against his seat and watching the flow of the lake.

Verona enjoys the view next to her father for a few moments; feeling a warm breeze flowing through her hair and giving a sense of pure relaxation to the two of them who can’t possibly feel its full effects considering the circumstances at hand.

The gentle grasp Verona has while hugging Michael’s army begins to grow shaky a few minutes later, and six-year-old Verona can’t stop her eyes from tearing up while thinking about just how much she misses you, and how she’s worried for the health of her grandmother too.

Without having to look down and see her tears, Michael can already sense his daughter growing upset in his arms. 

He neither blames her nor does he call it out, knowing Verona’s feelings are valid and if anything, he’d prefer her to cry and express her sadness than keep it all inside like Michael does personally.

Michael strokes Verona’s hair gently, soothing her until her tears come to a stop. Being in her father’s presence and looking out onto the calming view, Verona feels safe, protected, and comforted by Michael—watching the day slowly come to an end.

While Michael can think of nothing but you, especially from Verona’s resemblance to you, his heart remains firm in decision that he’s not going to come to get you just yet, nor has he sent out the men for tonight. He will continue to wait for as long as he feels necessary. 

~

[ Silver City, Alphonse Ricci’s Manor]

Aware of the time himself, Alphonse cuts to the chase by revealing one of his main intentions and priorities for kidnapping you in the first place; questions he demands answers to that only you can give.

“Hell of a mafia wife, aren’t you?” Alphonse chuckles to himself, once again sitting before you and admiring the way his switchblade looks up against your skin.

You shudder from the touch of the cold metal over your cheek, not in fear for yourself but only for your baby.

You think to yourself that a sick fuck like Alphonse will no doubt only try to scare and threaten you with his switchblade, but then hit your actual vulnerability—your unborn baby inside of you or at least around it; a fear tactic your father taught you.

Had you not been pregnant, Alphonse may have just already stabbed you in your back or somewhere you’re neither expecting nor able to protect from how you’re tightly bound.

You know these types of intimidation tactics well—basic mobster wannabee actions that are mostly talk and the rest hope. 

You already know that if a real, powerful Don actually wanted answers out of you, you would have already been severely hurt by now and how is another question of gruesomeness you don’t want to think about right now.

“Is that supposed to be a question or what?” You force yourself not to roll your eyes back.

“It’s a good thing that your pretty little mouth is moving so I don’t have to do things the hard way,” Alphonse replies with a smile. 

“I thought this was the hard way.” You eye the blade held against your cheek.

“You flatter me, honey.” Alphonse smirks wryly, “but I’ve gotten a little too used to teasing you with my favorite blade, and since you’re being such a good girl and cooperating…” He pulls back the switchblade.

“Don’t call me a ‘good girl’ or any of that shit.” You narrow your eyes.

“Maybe I won’t as long as you can keep that attitude to yourself.” Alphonse cautions you. “Now, you know how this works. You answer my questions and—”

“Yeah, yeah.” You grunt out, “save your speech. I know what you want.”

“Do you?” Alphonse raises his brows. “Must have been waiting then, huh?”

“The element of surprise really isn’t your advantage here.” You scowl.

“Ah, that’s funny.” Alphonse stretches out his arms with a grunt. “The last time I checked, you were taken here in the blink of an eye before you could suspect anything. Seems like a hell of a surprise if you ask me.”

“Sure, if we think about the technicalities.” You tilt your head up to look at Alphonse. “But everyone knows you did it, so where’s the fun in that? Was your intent really to get caught so quickly? Or did you think we’d blame another mobster?”

Alphonse sighs dramatically. “I’m going to be the one asking the questions, darling. This is about you, not me.”

You roll your eyes at Alphonse’s response out of irritation, but he notices immediately. “You know I can make things a lot worse for you right here, right now.”

“I find it amusing that you think you have the power to ruin my life.” You snap back. 

“Oh, don’t I?” Alphonse points at his chest. “I’m a walking blackmail machine, baby.”

“Great.” You reply, “then you must know just about everything on anyone, huh?”

“That’s right.” Alphonse grins.

“That’s a fantastic way to get yourself killed.” You tell him. “What mobster would want someone like you alive?”

“I’ll tell you exactly why.” Alphonse tosses his switchblade up in the air, catching it back upright before pointing it between your eyes. “Because the Barzinis and Tattaglias gave up on me a long time ago thanks to your fucking husband. What he doesn’t know however is that he actually did me a favor. Let’s hope all that power hasn’t gotten into Michael’s head because the crime families fear him more than they admire him. Nobody’s going to rush to Michael’s rescue if something happens to him. Everyone will be sitting tight and watching just as they’re all going to do so tonight. Nobody’s going to kill me, Victoria.” Frustration grows in Alphonse’s voice. I have the upper hand here, otherwise, you’d be dead already.”

“Oh yeah?” You raise your head up shakily, revealing your gash between peeks of your hair. “Why the hell am I not dead yet?”

“Honey, if you have a death wish, that’s your own personal problem.” Alphonse tosses his switchblade up in the air, catching it upright. “If I want to kill you, I’ll do it my way; fast or slow, and not when you request it. You’re more useful to me alive than dead right now but I have been known to change my mind.”

“Not a generous man, are you?” You say back sarcastically.

“I’m many things.” Alphonse gazes at you. “And you can get to know me all you want right here, right now.”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” You spit out.

“No, you don’t.” Alphonse smiles sardonically at you. “And the more you learn about me, sweetheart, the less I need to learn about you because I know exactly who you are. You’re not just a mafia wife, you’re a whole lot more than you give away.”

“You don’t even know where to begin to figure me out.” You say through gritted teeth.

“You’d be surprised as to how much I know about you.” Alphonse leans in closer, lowering his tone to a husky whisper. “I’ve had pictures of you all over my walls since 1949.”

“You’re sick,” you hiss, trying to pull away from him.

“You call it sick and depraved, I call it admiration.” Alphonse reaffirms. “You’re a beautiful woman, you know that? You haven’t even aged a bit. I know you take care of yourself very well, even after two kids and now on your third… Yeah.” With his free hand, Alphonse tilts your face to the side, but his eyes land on your baby bump instead. 

You pretend you don’t notice Alphonse’s steady gaze, fearing you’ll only give him the reaction he’s looking for to harm your baby in any kind of way. 

“You have that motherly glow,” Alphonse murmurs quietly. “Barely pregnant, but it’s there.” He pulls back his hand. “We’ll see it again when you carry my child. That’s when you’ll be the most beautiful, you know. As beautiful as any cold-blooded killer can be.” Alphonse’s eyes flash with amusement. “That’s what you are, isn’t it?”

“Couldn’t I ask you the same question?” You breathe out.

“Maybe.” Alphonse shrugs his shoulders carelessly. “I can call myself a lot of things but you’re too cocky to admit you’re a murderer. You’re not just a killer, but you’re a corrupt lawyer. You negotiate in deals men don’t expect you to be in and then you get them all killed. You make damn good blood money and you move all the chess pieces around without anyone suspecting a thing. Nobody can do or say anything about you. I’ve already figured how well you play this role of supportive wife and dedicated lawyer, but you’re a true gangster.”

You keep your eyes locked on Alphonse, neither confirming nor denying the truth.

“It runs in your blood.” Alphonse rises up to his feet, clutching his switchblade and moving behind you.

You remain as perfectly still as you can and shiver yet again to feel the cold metal of Alphonse’s blade pressed up against one of your veins on your wrist. 

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Alphonse asks, running his hands over your skin.

“I’m nothing like you.” You wince, feeling your gash beginning to throb once again. 

“Oh, of course, you aren’t.” Alphonse lets out a laugh, walking back over to face you directly. “I’m not the one with Ferrari blood running through my veins now, am I? Our children will be lucky in that regard since they will. All I’m saying is that your little secret is out, Victoria. I’ve seen you in the pictures.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” You swallow hard, trying to ignore how badly the ropes tied around your wrists and ankles practically burn into your bruises.

“Like hell I don’t.” Alphonse scoffs, sitting on the carpet right in front of you. “The photographs speak for themselves, honey. I’ve seen them. You’re all dolled up next to that Corleone, then hidden just as Don Ferrari’s daughter, or so they say. You’re seen one day, then never again the next. I call bullshit on that. I recognize you like the back of my hand.”

“And what the hell are you going to gain for it?” You raise your voice, thoroughly sick and tired of hearing his.

“Everything. I have all the facts and information to not only bring your career to a fucking end but to imprison you for life. You’d never see your children again and you can give birth in a cold, shitty prison for all I care. Better yet, be put in the worst prison Nevada has to offer, like the shit hole you locked my brother up in.”

You burst out laughing, unable to take any of Alphonse’s words seriously. “Your brother was a dirty fucking street rat. He was messy, he got caught and I prosecuted him. It was nothing personal, you entitled piece of shit. Is his incompetence my fault?”

“Better wipe that fucking smirk off your face before I do,” Alphonse warns you, holding out his switchblade.

“Poor little boy.” You pout, mocking him. “You keep flaunting around that tiny shaving razor to threaten me but won’t MAN THE FUCK UP AND USE IT!”

In one swift movement, Alphonse pulls his hand back and slaps you across the face—causing you to squirm onto your side with a grunt.

“I can hurt you in a lot of other ways before giving you a painful death if you don’t do what I tell you to fucking do!” Alphonse shouts.

You crack a smile, laughing weakly. “Oh, you’ll have to do a lot more than that, I’m afraid. Did you really just bring me here to reminisce about the successes of my life and the failure of yours?”

“No, you know what you’re fucking here for!” Seething with anger, Alphonse is in no further mood for games.

“Yeah, yeah,” you force yourself back onto your stomach. “Fucking enlighten me then so we can get this over with.”

“I want to know about the Tropigala.” Anger flashes in Alphonse’s eyes as he slows down his speech, making sure you hear every word carefully. “I want to know who made the deal, who signed it, and why that hotel was taken from me without a single word even though my family’s name was all over it. I want to know who paid off the license, where the money went, EVERYTHING! I want to know the shareholders name by name.”

You remain quiet for a moment, unphased by Alphonse entirely. Your eyes dart back down to the carpet out of disinterest as you simply say, “omertà.”

Alphonse raises both of his brows at you, repeating, “omertà? You think this is some kind of fucking joke?”

“Omertà,” you repeat, louder.

Omertà is the cold silence amongst Mafiosi; a code of honor. No questions or information of any kind about the family business is ever uttered, no cooperation with outsiders, authorities, or men like Alphonse for that matter. 

Nothing is given but silence, and you will never give Alphonse the answers about what Michael did with the Tropigala even if it means your death. 

You swore the code of silence to yourself and your family when you made your bones as a mafiosa and you understood it far before you were even involved in the family business.

“You know about Michael’s deal, Victoria.” Alphonse scowls down at you. 

“Maybe.” You smile up at Alphonse innocently. “But that’s really none of your business, is it?”

“Won’t talk, huh?” Alphonse eyes the reddened mark growing over your cheek from where he slapped you. “Maybe that Corleone slaps you so much in bed you actually enjoy it. I’ll have to try something else.”

“’Cause, you’re a wife beater?” You scoff. “All that talk about marrying me and putting a baby in me but all you want to do is bruise and hurt me. How’s that going to look in any publicity photographs?”

Alphonse blinks at you in confusion, shaking his head. “You’re the one making me do this.”

“I’m doing no such thing.” You gesture down to the carpet with your chin. “I’m laying here on your favorite Persian rug. I’m exhausted, starving, my body aches all over and you’ve bruised and hurt me. I’ve been like this since you brought me here, so tell me what I’ve honestly done to you from down here that’s intimidated you so much?”

Alphonse lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. He gazes at you momentarily, noticing your expression has softened from bitter to exhausted once again. 

“All really good questions.” Alphonse reaches out his hand towards you, caressing your face gently. “I have the time to answer them, you know. No point in trying to make this quick, and you know why?” A smile breaks out on Alphonse’s face before he bursts out in laughter, startling you a little. “Because!” He throws his hands up in the air, “that husband of yours isn’t coming here for you after all! My men have this place cornered and he’s still nowhere to be found, baby. Don’t you know what time it is?”

“What?” You shudder out, feeling dread beginning to trickle inside you from realizing Alphonse is right.

“I’ve given him a deadline and he didn’t even bother to show yesterday.” Alphonse pats his gold wristwatch. “No sign of him today either on his last day, so Michael is most certainly not coming to get you, honey. So, what do you say?” Alphonse snaps his finger, gesturing to one of his capos.

The man who mocked you at the front door and shoved you in here in the first place rises from his seat by the fireplace, pulling the telephone off of Alphonse’s office desk and over to him.

“Let’s give Don Corleone a courtesy call, shall we?” Alphonse takes the telephone from him, setting it down. “He forgot to pick up his own wife!” Still laughing, Alphonse begins to dial the number. “Maybe I’ll even let you talk to him.” Alphonse winks at you. “We’ll give him a call to remember.”

~

[ Lake Tahoe Estate Docks, Evening Hours ]

“Soooo many fishies in the water, daddy!” Verona points towards the lake, spotting the silhouette of a lake trout not far from the docks. “Look!”

“That’s right.” Michael looks over into the water with his daughter sitting on his lap. “Now you know why your uncles don’t go anywhere else to fish.”

“There’s no need.” Verona giggles. “Not with this many fishies! What kinds are in there, daddy?”

“Well, lake trouts for sure, like that one right there.” Michael points out one of the fish. “But there are also rainbow trouts and brown trouts—”

“Rainbow trouts?!” Verona gasps, her eyes beaming with excitement. “Are they really colorful like that, daddy?”

“Not exactly.” Michael chuckles, “but up close you can definitely discern them from other trouts.”

“Wowie.” Verona claps her little hands together. “Uncle Fredo always goes fishing here on the docks, daddy. He says it’s his lucky spot.”

“Mhmm.” Michael relaxes back in his seat, taking a deep breath. “Do you have any interest in fishing, sweetheart?”

“Hmm.” Verona ponders the question, shrugging her shoulders. “Maaaaaybe. I like watching Uncle Fredo teach Niccolo because he really likes fishing, but the fishing stick thingys they use look so heavy!”

“It’ll be easier to get a hold of them once you two both grow older,” Michael tells her. “They’re very durable.”

“For the best of the best fishing trips!” Verona exclaims. “Maybe when I’m done my swimming lessons I’ll go fishing with them.”

“That sounds like a plan, darling.” Michael’s eyes wander to one of the boats his security pace along the lake, still on the lookout for any potentially suspicious activity.

“Do you fish, daddy?” Verona peeks back at her father.

“No.” Michael shakes his head, “I don’t really have an interest in it.”

“But daddy, you like seafood, right?” Verona pokes Michael’s arm.

“I do.” Michael gives Verona a faint smile. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Verona nods, “fishies can be very tasty. I bet those fishies there are tasty.” She points again at a different fish disappearing into the depths of the lake.

Just as Michael redirects his attention back to the lake with Verona, he already hears a pair of very familiar footsteps behind him, and an instant annoyance settles into Michael. “Considering everything, Santino, could you not leave me to a moment of peace with my daughter?”

Verona’s eyes widen, surprised Michael heard Sonny approaching them in the first place. As she turns around, she immediately smiles at her uncle. “Hi, Uncle Sonny!”

“Hey, kiddo.” Sonny forces a warm smile at Verona before raking a hand through his curls. 

Michael can already tell Sonny’s very stressed by his body language alone, and can already guess what the premise of this conversation is going to be about. 

“Sorry, Mike.” Sonny clears his throat. “But A—” Sonny cuts himself off, knowing he can’t be giving away any detail of what’s really happening to Verona or any of the children for that matter. “Uh, Mr. Ricci is on the phone and he says it's urgent.”

Michael doesn’t budge, still keeping his gaze over the lake. “Alright. I’ll be there. Keep him on the line.” Only then does Michael glance over at Verona. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Daddy’s got some business to attend to again.”

“It’s okay,” Verona says, completely understanding as she hops off of Michael’s lap. “I can go wait inside, daddy. Maybe you can teach me to play chess again?”

“Absolutely.” Michael leans over, kissing his daughter’s forehead. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay, daddy. See you inside!” Verona happily rushes back off towards the estate as one of the security guards follows her at an appropriate distance just for the sake of safety.

While Sonny’s already halfway back towards the boathouse, Michael follows behind calmly with both hands in the pockets of his dress trousers.

There isn’t the least bit of concern or visible stress over either Michael’s facial expression or his body language; rather he appears more numb and unhappy than anything else as he follows Sonny back inside the boathouse.

From the moment Michael enters, he sees Tom across from him in the room holding up the telephone to his ear appearing unnerved and in a state of distress.

Even as Michael makes eye contact with his brother, Tom isn’t relieved in the slightest but looks all the tenser and burdened. 

“Look,” Tom gives out a sigh, “he’s here. You can talk to him now.” Tom holds out the telephone to Michael, almost desperate to let go of it.

Michael walks up to Tom and takes the telephone from him, holding it against his chest to silence any outgoing sound first. Michael doesn’t say a word to Tom but looks at his brother with expectant eyes that read: ‘is Victoria alright?’ 

Tom understands the look in Michael’s eyes, but he shakes his head and mouths back, “this is getting worse.”

Michael raises the telephone up to his ear, remaining silent a moment longer before finally speaking out. “This must be the only social interaction you’ve had all day. Why are you still calling me?”

Alphonse bursts out laughing on the other end of the phone, completely relaxed and even overjoyed in a way. “Did business get in the way, Don Corleone? You forgot to come get your precious wife.”

“I’m glad you find this amusing,” Michael says back sarcastically. “Who said I ‘forgot’ to do anything?”

“So are you aren’t coming then?” Alphonse’s irritating laughter comes to an end as he angles the telephone over his ear in such a way that you can also hear everything being said on both sides. 

“You’re a dead man either way.” Michael reminds him. “And you’re not getting anything you want. The sooner you accept this, the easier it’ll be for you.”

“Rather confident for a man who can’t reach me.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, speaking in a taunting tone. 

“You’re not untouchable, Alphonse,” Michael replies calmly, unphased. “You went through all this trouble to reach the line just to tell me you miss my presence after all.”

“Oh, please.” Alphonse snorts, sitting cross-legged on the Persian rug. “I’m just getting bored is all. You hear this, Corleone?” Alphonse flicks open his switchblade again, grazing the tip over the wooden floors next to him. “I know all sorts of ways to get your attention, and that’s a lot more than anyone else can say.”

“You thought wrong,” Michael replies, listening as keenly as he can to make out any sign of your presence next to Alphonse.

“Well then, let’s see when you come out of your little lair and face me like a real man. Since you’re taking your precious time, I might just have to show you how much fun I can have with your pretty life wife laying on the ground here next to me. She’s in that sexy nightgown, might I add—it flatters my switchblade.”

“Petty threats still aren’t beyond you, I see.” Michael rolls his eyes, still unmoved as he expected you to still be secured with Alphonse.

“I’m a man of my word and I’d hate to look like I’m all bark and no bite—unlike you—so I thought I’d give you a call and prove how serious I am.” Alphonse lets his switchblade drop from his hand and onto the floor. “When I have you dead, your wife will be widowed and then with the great Don Ferrari’s blessing, I’ll marry her right away so she doesn’t have to spend one day grieving over your sorry ass.”

Tom rubs his temples gingerly, lowering his gaze as Sonny stares down at the ground, listening to the phone call as if they’re both still recovering from something else they heard on the telephone before Michael arrived.

“But for that to happen,” Alphonse continues, “I need you to actually be here so I can kill you. I’m not a fan of damaging my favorite things, Corleone, but unfortunately, my future wife here has a pretty nasty gash on her forehead, and this is all your fault of course. If you had just died last night, she wouldn’t have to be roughed up.”

Michael narrows his eyes, beginning to glare down at the telephone. “You were the one who made the choice to hurt her, Alphonse. Nobody else made that decision for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just collateral damage.” Alphonse brushes Michael off. “You know she put up a hell of a fight, so getting her here was like wrestling a goddamn grizzly bear with your own hands. That’s what I’ve been saying to her too, you’re a hell of a mafia wife, aren’t you baby?” Alphonse roughly grips your face, giving it a shake.

You cry out in pain from how violently Alphonse shakes your face, applying pressure to your cheekbones and jaw on purpose just to hurt you. 

Your voice immediately alerts Michael and gets his blood boiling from anger in a split second; Michael’s knuckles turn white from how harshly he grips the telephone. “Don’t fucking touch her, Alphonse. I hate repeating myself.”

“What’s that? Hmm? Huh?” Alphonse lets go of you, continuing to taunt Michael. “I don’t think I heard you, Corleone. I don’t think Michael heard you say goodbye to him loud enough either, darling. Use your words.”

“Fuck you!” You spit out to Alphonse.

“Ah, there she is.” Alphonse sighs deeply. 

“You’re never going to get away with this, you bastard!” You shriek at him.

“Mhmm, you’re talking, baby, but you’re not saying what I want you to say.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, picking up his switchblade again and pressing the tip of it against your gash.

“Ah!” You wince, bursting into tears from the stinging pain as blood begins to spill from your gash once again. 

“Yeah, don’t like that, do you?” Alphonse grips your face so tightly as he continues to poke the tip of his switchblade over your gash that even if you tried to jerk your head back or move away, you’d end up having your entire forehead deeply cut into.

On the verge of frustration and pure rage, Michael begins to see nothing but red—speaking through gritted teeth. “Stop. It.”

“Should I?” Alphonse chuckles. “Yeah, maybe I should. She’s bleeding all over my favorite Persian rug.” Alphonse lets go of your face but not before slamming it down on the rug to hit your gash once again.

You burst into tears from the pain but force your body to remain steady on the carpet to lessen the pain.

Tom takes in deep quiet breaths, knowing that Michael’s not going to be able to hang up or brush aside anything Alphonse is saying or doing now over the telephone as he’s practically torturing you.

“Ah, I do applaud you on one thing though, Michael.” Alphonse sets his bloodied switchblade down. “Regardless of how all of this is going to go, you’ve benefitted my future so much. My future wife here definitely doesn’t talk; she doesn’t give away anything. A Ferrari alright… She answered all of my questions about you with one word, you know that? Omertà.”

‘Omertà.’ The word buzzes in Michael’s mind as a familiar one.

“She still won’t budge,” Alphonse mutters. “Giuseppe taught all his children not to talk, huh? I’ll have to ask my future father-in-law more about it. It fascinates me. Unfortunate for Victoria though, considering she’s still your wife at the moment. I’m going to have to rough her up real bad since she won’t talk, Michael. But don’t worry.” He adds in quickly, “she’ll heal from everything in my arms. I always kiss and mend after I hurt.”

“You’ve nothing but an agonizing, slow death waiting for you and every one of your little hired mercenaries, Alphonse. Never forget this.” Michael hisses. 

“Is that so? In any case, don’t try anything smart now, Corleone. Stay on the line, won’t you? Unless you want me to really hurt her, that is.” Alphonse sets the telephone down facing upward so Michael can hear both you and Alphonse clearly.

“Listen closely now.” Alphonse crawls behind you, hovering over top of you; his knees around both sides of your body. “I’m going to make her purr like a kitten.”

Michael slams his fist down against the table with such force that the telephone almost shakes off it completely. “What the fuck are you doing to her, Alphonse?!”

“Listen closely and you���ll know.” Alphonse chuckles, still hearing you whimper quietly in pain. “Once more chance, baby.” Alphonse hikes your nightgown up towards your ass, letting his gold-adorned hands roam down your inner thighs. “Answer me. Who sold the Tropigala to Michael Corleone? Tell us both, darling. Michael’s listening.”

“Omertà.” You groan out. 

Michael presses his lips down together, seething with anger and barely able to keep still anymore.

“Still nothing?” Alphonse squeezes your thighs. “That’s a shame. You’re lucky you’re so beautiful, more so than in those photographs. The camera doesn’t capture your real beauty. You better tell me if that Corleone ever even bothered to treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” He leans down, giving each of your thighs a warm kiss. “With everything you’ve done and with who you are, you deserve to eat on diamond plates.” Alphonse continues to let his hands wander around your legs and thighs. “Dinner parties, meeting politicians. You’ve got all of Nevada eating out of your hand and New York kissing your feet. I don’t have to tell you Corleone doesn’t deserve someone like you. Now…” Alphonse rests his hands over your ass. “Tell me, was it Senator Geary who sold Michael the license to the Tropigala? Who was behind that deal? Tell me.”

Instead of bothering to answer anyone, you jerk your leg back up swiftly and kick Alphonse directly in the face; the heel of your foot colliding over the bridge of his nose.

“FUCKING BITCH!” Alphonse grunts, clutching his bleeding nose.

Sonny grips into the leather armrest of his seat so hard that his fingernails almost rip through it entirely.

Tom gasps a “oh my God” to himself and immediately looks towards the door of the boathouse—needing some air.

“YOU NEED TO LEARN YOUR FUCKING PLACE WITH ME!” With blood still dripping down his nose, Alphonse pins both of your legs back down and leans right over, biting as hard as he can into your thigh.

You let out a howling scream of pain—feeling your lungs burn and blood dripping out of the bite wound from Alphonse’s teeth breaking your skin. 

Alphonse’s breath hitches as he pulls back, wiping a mixture of his and your blood off of his mouth—tasting your blood off of his teeth. 

“MICHAEL!!” You shriek again, clutching weakly onto the fibers of the Persian rug as your thigh twitches from the pain. 

Just as Alphonse leans over to speak onto the phone once again, Michael grabs the telephone—his hands shaking violently with anger as he throws it across the room and lets it smash to pieces against the wall.

“We’ve got to fucking go.” Sonny springs up to his feet, out of breath from his own anger. 

“Get up!” Michael gestures to Tom, Neri, and Rocco. “Completely disregard our previous plan, there’s going to be no snipers, no speaking in. Alphonse is fucking torturing her. We’re going to Silver City now and we’re going to kill every single one of them on sight, instantly. DO I MAKE MYSELF PERFECTLY CLEAR?!”

 ~

Leaving you whimpering on the floor, Alphonse scowls down at you as he moves off your back. “I’ve been real nice and considerate with you, darling. I could have let your fucking throat dry up or hooked you to the wall like a piece of meat.” Alphonse rises to his feet shakily. “I let you sleep in my bed comfortably and I didn’t knock the sense out of you every time I had the chance, did I? But you…” Alphonse snarls, rubbing the bridge of his nose cautiously. “You weren’t considerate at all. I can make your life a miserable fucking hell in here, darling, and the fact I have to keep reminding you tells me a lot.”

“Go fuck yourself.” You grunt out against the carpet. “You don’t even have the ability to make my life a ‘miserable fucking hell’. You already live in one.”

“Good thing I’m going to share it with you then.” Alphonse glances at the smeared blood over his hand. “You did this all to yourself, you know.”

“Yeah, and you deserve everything that’s come crashing down upon you since your father was put down like a pest.” You hiss. “Ever heard me cry out for mercy here?”

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Alphonse grit his teeth, pointing an accusing finger at you. “Don’t you ever talk about my father like that again.”

“Your father was a fucking miserable little weasel obsessed with money and whores.” You raise your head up, glaring at Alphonse. “Your family stood out from the others since your father’s time and I see you’ve changed nothing.”

“You’re not the least bit intimidating to me, I hope you know that even though you try to fucking piss me off.” Alphonse scowls down at you.

“Funny.” You let out a weak chuckle. “Your men shit themselves in my presence, why don’t you talk about that?”

“That’s because these men respect you.” Alphonse gestures back to his capos who have otherwise been practically invisible in the room from silence and their backs turned to you. “One day you’ll respect them because they’ll be protecting you with their lives.”

“How worthwhile is that protection if I can take them all down by myself?” You scoff.

“Is that why you cried like a little slut when I put you in your place?” Alphonse kneels in front of you. “Hmm?”

“Please.” You ignore Alphonse’s eye contact with you. “I’ve felt worse pain, but it didn’t mean I enjoyed having your nasty mouth on me.”

“Felt worse pain, huh?” Alphonse watches your thigh still trembling and trickling with blood from his deep bite mark. “Made your bones like crazy, but you and that baby inside of you are going to go out real sad if you don’t start talking.”

“You can do whatever you want to me.” You breathe out, “but you leave my baby the hell alone.”

“You think you’re special because Michael came in you?” Alphonse rolls his eyes, sighing loudly. “I’ll be doing that to you tenfold myself. That ‘baby’ inside of you—it’s like what? Not even the size of a grain of rice yet? If anything ‘happens’ to it, it’ll be your fault. But it won’t be much of a loss at this point anyway, you can always try again.”

“You know there’s one thing about all of this that I’m really going to enjoy.” You let out a deep breath, trying to avoid the vicious pain in your thigh. 

“What part?” Alphonse rests his back against the leg of his armchair. “The part where you marry me or I impregnate you?”

You ball up a wad of spit in your mouth before letting it land on the Persian rug. “It’ll be part where you die. I’m no sadist but I think I’m going to enjoy watching it happen.”

“Long time coming, huh?” Alphonse leers at you.

“You have no idea.” You grunt. 

Ignoring your comment, Alphonse reaches into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, taking out the handkerchief and wiping your forehead with it without taking extra care around your gash.

You grit your teeth in pain and silence yourself, taking it as Alphonse smiles at the blood stain over his handkerchief when he pulls it back. “There, there, pretty baby. I’d think you’d come to be exhausted from talking like this all day, hmm?” Alphonse trails his thumb over your bottom lip; admiration replacing the otherwise pissed look in his eyes. “Beautiful lips… Hate to see them shaking like this in pain.” 

You remain completely still, fearing that if you attempt to move out of the way or try anything against Alphonse again, this time he won’t hesitate to hurt your baby directly even if it doesn’t look like it.

In reality, you could practically vomit over Alphonse’s face from how nauseous and disgusted you feel from him even laying a hand on you, but you force it all back.

Acting as if you’ve given in to him, you remain quiet and calm which only pleases Alphonse further.

“Easy, baby.” Alphonse tilts your head up with both hands gently, causing you to whimper. “You know, I’ve always wanted to do this to you.” Alphonse leans in; his nose tracing around your jawline and neck as he inhales the faint scent of sweet, floral perfume over you.

From the way Alphonse has your body raised against his, pressure is applied to your legs and the bite mark over your thigh practically feels as if it’s on fire.

You hold in the pain but cannot manage to stay completely silent. Alphonse hears your soft whimpers and takes them as a sign of weakness before pressing his forehead against yours.

Without saying a word, Alphonse inches closer and closer to your lips, and all the “don’t do this!” screaming in your head stops nothing as his lips collide with yours.

You squeeze your eyes shut in disgust so as not to look directly at him as Alphonse gives you a full-mouth kiss. You don’t return it nor do you part your lips against his, simply remaining completely still and hoping for the kiss to come to a quick end.

“God,” Alphonse murmurs softly as he pulls away from you. “That love bite will heal, baby. I want to almost forgive you just from that kiss alone. Does Michael make good use of that mouth, I wonder.”

Tears sting your eyes as you stare down at the carpet, knowing it’ll be no use to tell him to let you go or do anything else.

“You’re very beautiful, Victoria.” Alphonse strokes your hair gently, noticing your glassy eyes filled with tears. “Even when you cry. You’ve always had that Ferrari fire in you, but it’s unfortunate it got you hurt today. It’ll raise the Ricci family to newfound heights, and on a personal scale…” Alphonse caresses your face with the back of his hand. “I can’t wait to start a family with you and sleep next to you every night.”

It's that comment that sends you over the tipping edge, and you can no longer hold back the disturbed look on your face.

“What?” Alphonse chuckles. “Don’t act so surprised, darling. Isn’t that what happened to your sister-in-law?”

“W-what?” You say weakly.

“Constanzia Corleone,” Alphonse tells you. “Married one street rat mobster wannabee, right? That Carlo Rizzi or whatever his name is. That didn’t work out, so what did she do? Well, I hear she was a very, very smart girl to go and marry a man like Leonardo Ferrari. One doesn’t work out so onto the next, real mobster it is. She secured her future with a very powerful man whose also fathering her sons, right?”

“D-don’t talk about Connie.” You narrow your eyes at him. “Never talk about my sister.”

“Relax, baby.” Alphonse gives you a playful grin, “my eyes are only for you, but you know what I’m talking about. If anything happens to that brother Lorenzo of yours—who I’ve no doubt will finally meet with me today—then Leonardo will become the Don. What’s going to be the difference between you and Constanzia then? She’ll be the wife of the second most powerful mobster on the continent, after me.”

Before either of you can speak further, you notice Alphonse’s eyes instantly widen in shock, and in a split second, he pins his body down to the floor.

Immediately after, a hail of dozens and dozens of bullets making the attempt on your life look like child’s play begins to hail through the mirror—hitting every corner, every angle, every wall and shattering the windows to smithereens.

 There isn’t even time for Alphonse’s capos to respond as their bodies can barely drop to the floor with constant gunfire riddling holes through them.

“That motherfucker finally came, huh?!” Alphonse keeps himself flat on the floor. 

You burst out in hysterical laughter, no longer able to control yourself or hold back. You know Michael and his men are here and that this has all come to an end; it couldn’t possibly be more amusing than how it already is to you right now.

“Go to hell, go to hell!” You say through your laughter as Alphonse pulls you up into his arms, attempting to protect you.

All you can hear are the sounds of men hollering outside, bodies falling, and screams of pain accompanied by consistent, rapid fire. 

“I’m taking you with me, darling.” Alphonse’s eyes glance up to the ceiling as he keeps you up against him, hearing the sound of a heavy thump before watching the body of his sniper falling right off the roof. “SHIT!”

In truth, Alphonse’s men have grown lazy and sloppy after realizing Michael neither came yesterday night nor at the time Alphonse expected him to today either. 

As a result, a vast majority of his men drop dead from being unprepared, unable to shield themselves from the bullets fired against them.

Alphonse grunts, struggling to pull out his pistol from the inner pocket of his suit. “They know what they’re shooting at, huh?” Alphonse yanks a fistful of your hair, pulling you up onto his lap and pressing the barrel of his gun up to your temple. “Then they won’t get to you or me now.”

“Do your worst if you can.” You breathe out, grinning at the window.

It wasn’t hard for your father to have all the roads leading to Silver City cleared and kept that way an entire day before, sending assassins in the best cars available with no exceptions.

Your brothers went sent off to Silver City with Michael and your father’s best men, but Lake Tahoe isn’t left unprotected either. 

Giuseppe himself stayed back with his capos, Alessio, Tom, Fredo, and tight security both in and around the estate complex including every pathway and road leading up to it. 

Neri and Rocco have personally accompanied Michael who drove himself, surrounded by the cars of his security on every side of the road for protection should Michael approach any vehicles of Alphonse’s men or have bullets littered over his trail.

Neri sits in the back seat with Rocco next to him, fully armed. Ritchie Nobilio is in the front passenger seat by Michael, aiming out the window with two pistols in both hands—ready for anything.

Michael is armed to the teeth himself, calm but ready to kill. Everyone knows blood will be spilled today, marking a new mob war between the Corleone and Ferrari families versus the Ricci’s. 

Michael will not rest until he personally kills Alphonse and confirms his death and he will only consider you safe when he sees you unharmed in person unless it absolutely can’t be helped; the last resort Michael has made sure all of his and your father’s men are very well aware of.

The vehicles surrounding Michael’s that drove up front shot off the snipers with silencers and any of Alphonse’s men scattered around the vicinity of Silver City, so neither Michael nor any of his and your father’s men were even heard approaching Alphonse’s Estate as nobody was alive to raise the alarm beforehand.

Neri was the one who took out Alphonse’s sniper and one of Michael’s men easily took his spot, blending into his surroundings.

Michael and Giuseppe’s men parked their vehicles on every side of Alphonse’s manor to surround his men completely, relentlessly shooting and circling around. 

Although taken by surprise, Alphonse’s men snap back into action and prepare to shoot back—taking as much cover around the manor as they can find.

Michael’s vehicle is hidden behind a blockade of others, and he easily steps out without being seen and crouches against the car next to Ritchie.

Both Michael and Ritchie glance up towards the roof of the manor, seeing Matteo perched up top and taking out the remaining men outside the front. After firing another shot, Matteo signals the area is clear for Michael and Ritchie to enter.

If you knew it was your brother hiding up on the roof and picking off Alphonse’s men like mosquitos in the vicinity, you’d neither be impressed nor surprised. 

Matteo was always skilled with firearms, and he was the one who taught you all about accuracy, aim, and bullets all those years back.

Lorenzo and Sonny remain with their men towards the back of the estate, back to back, and move towards the garden as stealthily as possible while taking out Alphonse’s men.

“Fucking bastards.” Sonny hisses, firing a bullet into another guard’s chest and watching him topple into the swimming pool—seeping blood into it.

“That’s the last of them.” Lorenzo huffs, moving towards the entrance of the garden and reloading his pistol. “I like your fire, Corleone. They never had it coming.”

“These assholes don’t stand a chance with us, brother.” Sonny gives Lorenzo’s shoulder a pat as both men press their backs up against the entrance door. “Ready to give ‘em hell?”

“Never been more ready in my fucking life.” Aiming his pistol toward the door, Lorenzo kicks it down and doesn’t hesitate to fire a few rounds in immediately.

“What’s wrong now, huh?” You breathe out, noticing the storm of bullets has come to an end, leaving no intact door or the protection of windows. “Nothing to protect you anymore.”

“Nice sudden, but will be short-lived confidence, Victoria.” Alphonse keeps his pistol on you, firmly holding you in his arms. “I’m a lot smarter than you think. If they want to come here and corner me, they’ll have to do so knowing your life is now on the line too, darling. I can shoot out your brains and redecorate my Persian rug with another shade of red whenever I want.”

‘Michael… Michael, where are you?’ You let out a shaky breath, keeping your gaze to the windows in case one of Michael’s men or Michael himself spot you and know your exact location within the estate.

Rocco moves to defend around the back where Lorenzo and Sonny’s men begin to rush in after them, and Neri remains close to Michael at all times.

Michael stands by a pile of bodies by the front door, examining the blown-out windows around him but keeping his back away from it just in case.

From where Michael and Neri stand, both of them can clearly hear shouting and gunshots coming from the side entrances and almost exclusively upstairs.

It’s never once eluded Michael that one of the men he’s brought here to protect him and subsequently secure you back home may be the very traitor who helped Alphonse orchestrate the attempt on his life in the first place, hence why Michael couldn’t care less now if either Neri or Rocco dies tonight.

‘This is life or death.’ Michael thinks to himself, keeping completely still as he can hear one of Alphonse’s men now rushing towards the door he’s standing by.

As soon as the front door pulls back, Michael takes a lunging step back and fires his pistol directly into the head of the assassin.

Brain matter and blood splatter over the shattered pieces of the windows, other dead bodies, the front door, and Neri; narrowly missing Michael with the mess but still staining his navy suit with droplets of blood all over.

Michael exchanges a glance with Neri before nodding at him, beginning to move inside the estate and take cover underneath the closest staircase. 

Neri shakes his head, seeing the other set of stairs on the opposite side of the room leading up to the same place upstairs; dozens and dozens of rooms. “There’s too many to infiltrate all at once, Don Corleone.”

Michael holds his index finger up against his lips, ushering for Neri to remain quiet. “Listen.”

The two remain silent for a moment, listening so keenly that Michael would be expecting to hear bugs crawling in the corners of the estate at this point.

Sounds of a struggle and gunfire only come from some of the rooms upstairs and downstairs, but others remain completely quiet.

“Soundproof,” Neri whispers, figuring it out.

“Exactly,” Michael whispers back.

“Our men can go into each room, but we can’t,” Neri tells Michael. “Mrs. Corleone could be in any one of these rooms.”

Michael’s eyes dart from the doors upstairs over to a piece of something he spots over the carpet on the other side of the foyer. 

Michael stealthily moves to the other side of the room, noticing what looks to be a snapped-off piece of a high heel. 

Crouching down, Michael points out the piece to Neri, watching his eyes widen. 

Michael reaches his hand down to pick up the broken piece of your heel, but not before analyzing the way it’s scraped and dragged over the carpet—pointing to a specific direction down the hallway.

“Victoria’s high heel.” Michael holds up the piece in his hand. “Make no mistake about it.”

“And the mark.” Neri murmurs, following it on the carpet. “This was done on purpose.”

“Victoria left us a little message.” Michael’s eyes fixate on one of the soundproof rooms the marks lead to. “Unless I’m dead wrong—” Michael cocks his pistol, pointing it towards the door. “Someone in specific is armed to the teeth in that room.”

“The angling of the room, Don Corleone.” Neri reminds Michael. “From where our men shot, that was one of the first rooms to be cleared with initial fire.”

“Regardless,” Michael glances back at him. “Going into that room without knowing what exactly we’re facing is suicide.”

“Wait for my signal, sir. I can confirm it from the outside since the windows are completely shot through.” Neri says, beginning to move back.

“Fire a warning round if it’s just that fucking rat in there. Two if it’s fully armed.” Michael orders, beginning to make his way to the door as Neri exits out front.

Neri army crawls over the trail of dead bodies by the porch, remaining out of sight from any of the rooms and windows regardless of whether there’s sound coming from it or not.

Neri’s able to raise his head just a little bit towards the window pane to make out you being forcefully held in the corner of the room in Alphonse’s arms with a gun pressed up to your head.

Although Alphonse remains highly alert and still alarmed, he manages to keep calm with you as the bargaining chip for his life. 

Neri also notices both of Alphonse’s capos have bled out to death; the cause being quick shots to the heart with the other holes in their bodies as décor from Michael’s men. 

Neri angles his gun towards the inside of the room and holds his breath, firing the one shot to the corpse of one of the capos right by Alphonse.

“There you are, fucker!” Alphonse grunts, firing his pistol three times in the direction of Al Neri.

Narrowly missing, Neri still fakes out a loud cry of pain and throws his body down with a thud onto the other corpses beneath him as a tactic to show Alphonse he’s dead, but in reality, Neri will be waiting there to kill Alphonse himself if anything happens to Michael.

You wince from feeling the heat of Alphonse’s gun firing close to your face, but Alphonse had surprisingly shielded your ear closest to the pistol just before he fired.

As soon as Michael hears a single gunshot, he kicks open the door and aims his pistol directly at Alphonse’s head.

Alphonse is quick to aim his gun right back to your forehead, bursting out in laughter—bordering near insane. “Welcome, Don Corleone! We missed you.”

Your eyes widen in shock at the sight of Michael standing in front of you; his suit dripping with fresh blood. 

Your semi-relieved, partly stunned expression is immediately noticed by Alphonse. “Ooh, finally the reunion we’ve all been waiting for, huh? Missed this pretty little thing?” Alphonse pulls harshly on a fistful of your hair, causing you to wince in pain.

Michael makes eye contact with you only for a split second, but it’s all that takes for you to tell that behind those cold, emotionless eyes of his that Michael’s more than just relieved to see you. 

Alphonse or anyone else for that matter making you cry would be more than enough reason for Michael to kill everyone here, but he’s also noticed your tear-filled eyes and the bloody gash over your forehead with just one, brief look.

“Let her go and face like a man, coward.” Michael places his finger over the trigger of his pistol.

“No, I don’t think so and you won’t persuade me otherwise. I have leverage, can’t you see?” Alphonse gives your face a rough shake. “I had a lot of fun with this pretty wife of yours, but you already know that.”

“You talk too much.” Michael takes a step closer, keeping his gun aimed directly between Alphonse’s eyes.

“I’m already loaded and ready.” Alphonse runs the pistol over your head and through your hair. “And I’ll kill her faster than you can put me out, I guarantee you that.”

“I could have made your death much quicker if you did what I said.” Michael scowls.

“Ha.” Alphonse snorts. “I could say the same for you but here you are, blood on your new suit and no ransom money. I should just kill Victoria because I can—take her to hell with me. Look, seen this yet?” Alphonse pushes the hair out of your face aside, revealing your gash clearly to Michael. 

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You grunt out.

“I played with her a little too hard and made a bit of a mess, but don’t worry,” Alphonse smirks sardonically. “I kissed it better, see?” He lets his free hand roam up your bare thigh, revealing a peek of your panties in the process to show Michael the bite mark. 

“I’m going to enjoy putting you down like a dog just like I did to your own men.” Michael keeps himself calm and steady despite the pure rage he’s never felt before growing inside of him like a wildfire unchecked.

“You don’t even know who you’re talking to!” Alphonse spits out. “I could kill this pregnant bitch and still find a way to take the rest of your family down with you.”

“What I find more amusing is that you expected me to believe you’d give all of your sickest fantasies up for twelve to twenty million dollars?”

Alphonse laughs again out of breath, continuing to hold onto your hair. “You know me so well, Don Corleone. I want Victoria so fucking bad you have no idea. So,” Alphonse aims his pistol back at Michael’s head. “Maybe I should kill you instead, then fuck her in front of your corpse to celebrate!”

You scream and attempt to jerk around in Alphonse’s arms, but it’s much too late. He squeezes his finger around the trigger and fires his pistol…only to hear it click empty. 

“What the fuck?!” Alphonse tries firing again and again, but the pistol still clicks empty.

Out of fear, Alphonse’s face drains of color as his hands tremble and the pistol falls to the floor. “You were lucky!”

“I don’t believe in luck.” Michael fires his gun at one of Alphonse’s kneecaps, causing him to let out a blood-curdling scream and let go of you.

Even with a completely shattered kneecap, Alphonse attempts to crawl towards the fireplace after practically throwing you off of him.

Michael quickly pulls you up to your feet by your arm, exchanging a glance with you that shows his relief again, but this time mixed with his own fear that Michael was under the belief he could have lost you.

You can’t even begin to fathom the relief you feel in your heart seeing Michael again, and although there’s never been any doubt in your mind that you wouldn’t, you feel as if with everything you’ve gone through these past two days without Michael’s love and safety is enough to cause you to faint on the spot.

The split second of horror you felt breaking your heart the moment Alphonse attempted to fire his pistol is now replaced with a horrible wave of anxiety as you could have just possibly witnessed your husband’s own death in front of your very eyes.

Without a word spoken to one another, Michael’s quick to throw off the ropes from your wrists—not struggling the least bit with the ties and refusing to take his full attention off of Alphonse now clutching his bleeding knee and attempting to move towards the fireplace to grab the fire poker.

“I had unfinished business with you, Alphonse. Face me when I fucking talking to you.” Michael turns to Alphonse once again, this time shooting his other kneecap and causing Alphonse to scream out and burn his hand in the process. 

With your hand binds off, you quickly work the ropes off of your ankles—gritting your teeth and taking in sharp breaths from how badly bruised both your wrists and ankles are; sickening shades of mottled violet.

“E-even if I was going to die from the start, it was all worth it.” Alphonse pants out, unable to move any farther from his broken kneecaps. “J-just to… Just to get you like this is worth my life any day.” He weakly points up at the pistol in Michael’s hands. “And whose the coward now? Facing an unarmed man with a gun. W-where’s your honor, you dog?”

“What the fuck would you know about honor?!” Michael shouts, his voice resonating throughout the room in bitter anger. “Man to man is the way you want it? That’s never been a problem with me.” 

Michael tosses his firearm towards you and you quickly reach your hand up to catch it mid-air, clutching it to your chest and still trying to catch your breath.

As you weakly move towards the smashed window before you, you still aim the pistol steadily in case of any further threats or danger.

“Then who would I be if I denied you the opportunity to have your bones broken with my bare hands?” Michael speaks through gritted teeth, pulling Alphonse up to his feet by his shirt.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Neri pretending to play dead on top of the bodies of Alphonse’s men, and you sigh out in relief seeing he’s personally fine.

“Y-yeah, you’re nothing to me but another fucking army punk.” Alphonse coughs, sneering at Michael.

You can’t nor would you ever distract or stop Michael now, but you know you’re not going to remain in this God-forsaken room any longer like a helpless hostage still. 

“Bold words from someone who will never walk, let alone see the light of day again. You were going to kill me and marry my wife? Shame I wouldn’t be able to come to the wedding, right?!” Michael snaps back sarcastically. 

Before you can even turn back on your heel to look back at Alphonse and Michael, one of Alphonse’s injured assassins makes a break towards the porch but not before you aim and shoot directly at his throat.

“Nice shot.” Neri grunts, leaning up against the house wall.

“T-thanks.” You say back shakily. “No excuse.”

“I’m going to kill you just for thinking about her, you know that?” Michael snatches the fire poker out of Alphonse’s loose grip, raising the pointed edge up to his throat.

Alphonse can barely breathe from the pressure Michael holds over his body, only needing him to make one wrong move to squirm free and kill himself in the process if Michael doesn’t plunge the fire poker into Alphonse’s throat already.

Although Michael doesn’t pay direct attention to it, you, him and Neri are aware gunshots have grown completely silent in the house.

“Jesus fuck!” You hear Sonny’s voice as he and Lorenzo burst into the office room. “There he is! Mike’s got the bastard at last, huh?”

“Victoria!” Lorenzo’s eyes widen when he spots you by the window and his eyes only continue to grow in worry at the sight of your injuries.

“I’m fine, Lorenzo. Really.” You swallow hard, showing Lorenzo the pistol in your hand.

Your brother scowls at Alphonse practically being crushed under Michael’s hands before he runs up to you but hesitates to embrace or touch you. “God, you’ve no fucking idea how glad I am to see you alive and well.”

“Need privacy, Mike?” Sonny smirks at the sight of Alphonse whimpering and wincing under Michael’s grasp.

Michael doesn’t take his eyes off of Alphonse for a second, drawing blood from his throat by continuing to push the tip of the fire poker up into Alphonse’s neck—listening to him grunt out in pain. “Watch me do this and you’re not going to smile for a long time.”

“There isn’t a thing this motherfucker doesn’t deserve and we’ve made this place a house of corpses.” Sonny signals out the doorway for his men to start following out. “By all means, do what you need to do. I’m going out to bring the car over.”

“Make it quick, Mike.” Lorenzo forces himself to stay back, wanting nothing more than to tear Alphonse to shreds with his bare hands if he had the chance to. “Then we’re blowing this shit hole to pieces. We’re leaving nothing behind.”

All Michael demands back is, “take Victoria out. I don’t want her seeing this.”

“Victoria,” Lorenzo gently takes your arm, wrapping it over his shoulder to support your weight and help you get out of the manor considering how deep the bruises are welted over your ankles and with your thigh still quivering from the bitemark it sustained.

You clutch onto your brother like your life depends on it, utterly and completely exhausted but still holding onto your pistol and insistent to get the hell out of here.

“Nobody will bother to even utter your name because they’ll remember what I did here.” Michael watches as Alphonse’s blood begins to drip down the fire poker. “I hate repeating myself, but I’ll never tire of repeating how much I’ve enjoyed taking every single one of you out like flies.”

“Y-you would have never even gotten here if it wasn’t for me.” Alphonse smiles weakly. “I’ll f-face my death like a man if it’s coming to me. Who turned y-you into a bloodthirsty sadist? I did. You’ll have to thank m-me sometime—tell your kids sometime.”

“Give Luca Brasi my best in hell for me.” Michael grunts, gripping the fire poker as tightly as he can in his hand and impaling Alphonse through the eye with it, killing him instantly.

Out of the manor and having seen nothing but heard enough, you almost collapse of exhaustion by the front porch before Lorenzo scoops you up into his arms carefully.

Alphonse’s body drops to a thud as Michael lets go, only pushing the fire poker further through his head. 

Alphonse’s corpse remains sprawled out on the floor by the fireplace—his suit jacket wrinkled and turned over revealing a small photograph tucked within the inner pocket.

Michael leans down to quickly take it out of his pocket, examining the photograph to see it’s a recent one taken of you at the Tropigala last month.

The photograph shows you sitting on the edge of a grand piano, wearing a draped, short white dress that hangs off your shoulders, giving a peek of sexy cleavage and flattering your figure.

You had one matching white stiletto loosely dangling off your right foot and barefoot on the left; your hair styled in loose curls, soft smokey makeup over your eyes, and scarlet lipstick.

Michael glances back at Alphonse’s body in disgust, although not the least bit surprised he’d be holding a photograph of someone else’s wife in his pocket.

Michael keeps the photograph for himself, tucking it into the pocket of his dress trousers and walking out of Alphonse’s Silver City manor like he just came out of a dull business meeting—not a massacre leaving over fifty people dead.

“Daddy, daddy!” Michael can already hear the voices of his children ringing out in his head, desperate to return home and reunite with his family safely. “Daddy’s my hero!” 

“Where are you going, daddy?” Michael remembers Niccolo asking as he was just about to drive off to Silver City. “Are you going to get mama?”

“I love you, daddy, be safe! Drive super safe!”

The peace and serenity Michael finds in remembering his children’s voices and the memories you and he have made with them is interrupted as Michael can’t get the sickening sound of Alphonse’s hysterical laughter chiming in his head like a broken record.

Michael’s distressing thoughts and remorseless bitterness only fade off his expression once he sees you safely laying in the back seat of his Cadillac; your thigh carefully propped off the seat so as not to touch the bite wound. 

“Michael!” You cry, extending out your hand as he approaches the vehicle you’re in.

Michael notices Al Neri is sitting in the driver’s seat next to Ritchie, starting up the car and waiting for him to get in.

Michael pulls open the door and gets inside swiftly; the car takes off amidst the others as soon as Michael shuts the door behind him.

“She’s gonna blow, boss.” Ritchie glances back, opens the window of the vehicle, and gestures with his hand once you’re all at a safe distance to detonate the dynamite set up inside.

Michael cups both hands over your ears tightly as explosions go off in the estate, swallowing it up in raging flames. 

You can’t hear Michael speak to you, but you can read off his lips that he says, “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

Michael holds you tightly in his arms, careful not to touch any of your bruises or the otherwise horrific-looking bitemark over your thigh—just relieved to have the love of his life back in his arms relatively safe and sound.

Not once did you think about your own life and safety while held ransom with Alphonse. Your mind always went back to the children and the unborn baby inside of you—even Michael, but never yourself for one moment.

The very thought of having to live without Michael or your children for one kills you and as much as you want to stop thinking about it, you know the idea won’t stop haunting you until you’re out of this Godforsaken ghost town.

As Michael holds you in his loving and protective embrace, you can’t help but burst out sobbing in his arms. 

“Easy, baby. It’s all over now.” Michael murmurs, slowly pulling back and examining the gash over your forehead before placing one hand over your baby bump. “My God.”

You whimper, feeling your knees grow weak from exhaustion as your thigh continues to tremble from the insisting, stinging pain around the bitemark.

“Jesus Christ, he’s a fucking animal,” Michael mutters under his breath as he notices just how badly Alphonse bit you. “How bad does it hurt baby? We’re going to get you medical attention immediately at home.”

“It’s…” You hiccup, trying to stop yourself from crying. “Not the worst thing in the w-world, believe me.”

“Whole place is on fire.” Al Neri glances at the rear-view mirror, noticing the bellowing smoke trailing behind them back at the estate.

“Let it burn.” Michael scowls, his expression only softening when he gazes back at you. “Baby, you have to tell me what happened in there—not now, but I have to know.”

“Nothing.” You sniffle, looking up at your husband and clutching onto his arms for balance. “Nothing happened.”

“What?” Michael furrows his brows in confusion. “What do you mean nothing—”

“Omertà.” Your voice quivers. 

Al Neri and Ritchie stare at each other for a moment, remaining quiet after hearing you utter the word.

“Omertà,” Michael repeats softly. 

“I’ll never talk.” You wipe the tears off your eyes with the sleeve of your nightgown. “And I never did, even if it would k-kill me.”

~

Once you arrived back at the Lake Tahoe compound surrounded by dozens of guards and security both in and out of cars, you had no intention of upcoming any of the lies Michael had told the twins other than you were at the hospital with your mother who is still recovering.

The fresh, throbbing gash on your forehead, the deep aching bruises over both your wrists and ankles let alone the deep teeth marks over your badly bruised thigh would never live up to some sort of fantasy-based tale about what “happened” in a hospital.

You’d be upfront with the twins, telling them you and Michael “got rid of all the bad guys” and you got hurt in the process, but that it was nothing serious and you’d heal over time.

You didn’t want the twins to worry about you and just the thought of seeing their little eyes water up as they cry seeing their mother injured would be enough to break your heart for two lifetimes.

You’d have to convince the twins just like how you convinced yourself that you're fine, and all gashes, bruises, and injuries of any kind heal with time and care—something you desperately need.

When Michael scooped you up into his arms gently to bring you inside the compound, you refused to be anywhere else or with anyone else but your husband.

Since you also didn’t want anyone at home to see you before getting medical treatment, your arrival was kept a secret from everyone except your father.

Michael took you inside the boathouse—a pinnacle of privacy—and brought Doctor Katherine in to clean and tend to your wounds. It was a relief to hear from Doctor Katherine after a full examination that your baby was fine too.

You were given some painkillers to help subside the pain from your head; the gash on your temple was now bandaged along with your thigh. 

You felt fine, mostly numb with achy muscles just grateful to be free of those tight bounds after being forced to lay down tied up like an animal being brought to slaughter.

It was the bitemark over your thigh that hurt the most because you thought Alphonse was going to tear a chunk of your flesh off of you from how hard he was biting. 

The gash being poked open with a switchblade was agonizing enough, but the feeling of having someone’s entire mouth over your thigh biting in with full force is a different type of pain you never want to feel again.

As soon as Doctor Katherine left the boathouse to give you and Michael some privacy, your husband pulled you up on his lap gently where you cried in his arms until you physically couldn’t anymore.

Michael knew what you needed then wasn’t reassurances, but his presence and him alone. He remained quiet, he gently caressed your skin, gave you little kisses, and let you sob your heart out.

“Michael,” you croaked out as you wiped the last bit of tears from your eyes. “You know I could have l-lost you today.”

“Baby, do you hear yourself?” Michael frowned at you. “We could have lost you. Don’t think about me—”

“How couldn’t I?!” You hiccupped, your eyes glassy and filling with tears again. “All I could think of was you and our babies! Our babies…” You put a shaky hand over your baby bump. “Forget me, but not our family—not you.” You narrowed your eyes at Michael and cupped his face weakly. “You scared me half to death back there! Michael, he had a gun held up to your face! How could you approach him like that?!”

“He didn’t have any bullets left in his gun—” Michael began to tell you before you interrupted him.

“But what if he did?!” You burst into tears yet again. “He would have killed you—WHAT IF?!”

“Baby, listen to me.” Michael placed both hands over your shoulders firmly. “I already thought of all that before I came in there to find you. The first thing I looked at was the pistol in his hands—Al and I listened to him firing shots. I would have never approached Alphonse the same way if I knew he even had one more round in that pistol.”

“S-still.” You shook your head and hugged your husband tightly. “I w-was so scared, I don’t even want to think about it. I-I had to at that moment and I just—I can’t. I can’t!” Sobs rack through your sore and aching body. “I was so scared that I would lose you and our babies.”

“I know, baby. I know.” Michael embraced you tightly and comforted you. “I’m here with you and our children. Everything’s going to be alright. That is never going to happen to you ever again.”

Your tears soaked into Michael’s dress shirt and as much as you believed everything he told you and how Michael and Michael alone could relieve your heart of any pain and suffering, you still could not get past the fear of losing your husband forever.

“I-I don’t know what I would do without you. Never being able to see you again, or seeing you d-dead.” You dug your fingernails into Michael’s suit jacket and raised your head up to face Michael. “Never scare me like that again, never! I don’t care what’s h-happening, never do that to me.”

“Never again, darling.” Michael cupped your cheeks and gave your lips a gentle kiss as he felt you whimper against him. “I promise you this. Just the way you want it to be. You know I love you too much to ever think about a day where I can’t be with you anymore, Victoria. Do you know how I felt since you were gone?” Michael’s eyes darted over yours. “I’ve had no peace, not a single moment’s rest and I lied to our own children to protect us but I promised myself I’d get you back and I have you now back with us, safe. I made that bastard pay for what he not only did to you but to all of us.”

“A-always the hero.” You sniffled and weakly smiled at your husband. “I-I knew you’d come. I never doubted you, my love. E-everything you do has a purpose, that’s why I love you, Michael. That’s why I trust you with my life.”

“And I trust you with mine.” Michael lowered his tone to a whisper and spoke softly to you. “I love you and only you so much, Victoria. That is never going to change. Anyday, anytime, I would take a bullet for you and our children gladly. I would die for you, never forget this. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you and our children. The rest of the world can burn for all I care, but they will not have you.”

“I love you, I love you.” You whimpered out weakly and kissed Michael’s lips. “C-can you please just hold me? Everything hurts and… And I just want to be held.”

“Yes, baby, of course.” Michael rubbed up and down your arms, letting you snuggle onto his chest. “For as long as you want, you can lay here in my arms.”

‘This is the life I’ve chosen, the life I’ve lived and continue to live with no regrets, no remorse.’

The last of your silent tears escaped your eyes as you felt the strength, love, and trust in your husband’s embrace; one of the only moments of peace you’ve felt since you returned home knowing everything is finally over now.

‘This has always been about life or death.’

You’re safe, you’re loved, and you’re back home with your children. You’re right where you want to be and nowhere else and you wouldn’t want it differently. 

‘Omertà.’ 

[totaleclipse573]

Okay FINE my brain did the Starline au thing it likes to do (not that great, but I had to do something once the idea came to mind)

———————————

Well this was…strange. To say the least. 

When Eclipse found that little notebook hidden underneath his own mattress, he expected it to be blank. For some reason. The idea of messing around and checking to see if anything was in there seemed sort of wrong to him. In a sense that it held something he really wouldn’t like.

Something compelled him anyway. Maybe it was just the fact that it was from before.

He was still curious about what he was like. If he was that much different now. It certainly felt like it, what with the way everyone was acting lately.

After looking around for any sign of others nearby at the moment, he opened it to a random page, closer to the middle of the entire notebook. Everything was written in big, messy letters, seemingly with a red marker. He wasn’t all that good at writing and spelling…could barely read his own nonsense for a second.

The top of the page simply had “VENGANCE PLAN” with zigzag lines around it, and was very messily underlined. The points written down? The first one was to “EAT ROUGES MAKEUP” (with eat being underlined.) The second, “EAT SHADOWS COFE BEANS” (eat was, yet again, underlined.) And the third…”EAT SOMETHING OF OMEGAS.” (Same as the first two.) How creative.

What caught his attention the most was all of the little drawings around the page. The ones of each person beside their point, others seemingly depicting parts of this ‘master plan,’ and some just being. Entirely unrelated, as far as he knew. What was that blue hedgehog even on here for?

The worst part was, they were all poorly drawn stick figures. What an artist he was. 

…No, that wasn’t the worst part. Why was there so much…SHADOW in this thing?

He started flipping back pages, and almost every one had at least one mention of Shadow in it. Something he did that day that made Eclipse mad at him, or think too much about him, or even just laugh at him. Something Eclipse was planning to do to him. Something he learned about Shadow that he would most definitely use to his advantage later and needed to be taken note of. Something about how he wished he knew how they could be brothers, like Sonic and Tails are. He had so much to say just. About. Shadow.

He wanted to scribble all over it. Tear it out. Crumple it up and pretend he was never there.

He didn’t even care!

He never cared!

Shadow never cared about me….

Eclipse closed it and shoved it away. It made him feel frustrated and angry and upset and hurt and betrayed and overwhelmed and afraid and…

…This was what it was like, wasn’t it.

He used to like having Shadow around. 

Before someone got into his head and changed everything about him.

He wasn’t scared of Shadow, nor did he hate him. Not entirely, anyway. He couldn’t. Not before all this happened. 

Supposedly, they had somewhat of a bond. It’s why he came to…rescue him. Even if that bond was complex then, and shattered now, it was there. That’s why there was so much of him. But he didn’t know if he could get that back.

He couldn’t get his old self back. Not ever. Did that mean everything else was gone too? The only thing Eclipse could ever feel now when he even caught sight of Shadow was a fear greater than anything else he had ever felt in his life. It didn’t feel like there was any way out of that. This was just…him now.

He didn’t do anything for a while. Just sat there, lost in his own thoughts, as he usually did nowadays.

He grabbed the notebook back with his tail. 

A few pages after the one he had originally landed on, there was something about him going to train with Shadow again. And how it would probably be fun, if Shadow wasn’t such a party pooper this time, with the smaller extra note of “he ALWAYS is” and a little doodle of himself, tongue sticking out.

Everything else was blank after that. 

Things would never be like that again. No matter how hard he tried. He had already messed everything up. It was all his fault and now he couldn’t reverse anything.

Shadow hates me.

I hate Shadow the Hedgehog.

If everything seemed to point to those things not being true…

Then why wouldn’t they stop replaying in his head anyway…?

Eclipse has a little notebook where he just writes random things in huge letters + silly doodles sometimes. I refuse to believe this isn't true. You can't make me. Grabs a marker and just does that in his free time. He writes his vengeance plans in there and right next to them there's stick figure doodles of that person please listen.

[mokutone]

Don't worry about it. That's fine, but I really love how you draw Sakura, like her skin tone makes me happy ngl. Idk why, but I just really love it.

Quick question, what made you change her skin tone? Is it a headcanon or did you think it looked cool? Same with Naruto too. (Anyway, I hope you have a great day or night!)

Ah, interesting question—I have a lot to say on this actually, so I'll put it under a cut!

I mean, to be honest I've probably darkened the skin tones of most of the characters in Naruto in my paintings of them.

Part of this is intentional! In shippuden, a lot of the characters are depicted with skin which is almost an eggshell off-white color, (which u can see in sakura and sasuke here)

and even tho i'm white + pretty pale myself, i just...don't really see skin of that hue or tone in my daily life, except in specific indoor lighting conditions which aren't usually present in naruto.

Like, Sakura's skin tone here is very nearly the same as the whites of her eyes! Because of this, I kind of assume that this is an aesthetic exaggeration of the anime, and so take it with a grain of salt in the same way I do their anime hair-spikes. I don't look at this and assume that Naruto has like, little pyramids of hair all over his head, I just assume it's the exaggerated implication that his hair stands up easily and is a little messy.

So, yeah, since Naruto in general, and especially my comics and illustrations, takes place out in the sunlight and not in environments lit like that (aside from like, orochimaru's lab, lol)—

—I generally lean towards more sun-warmed colors, lots of browns, oranges, pinks, yellows and reds go into my mixing. I sometimes paint them with sunburned cheeks too—if just to imply theyre out n about in these warm fire country days, enjoying the sunlight while they have it.

The only person I keep that kind of eggshell white color for is Sai, because they straight up gave him like. #FFFFFF skin.

which feels like a direct commentary on his lack of exposure to sunlight (to borrow Yamato's metaphor for leaving Root) as well as tying him thematically to his jutsu, with like ink black hair and paper white skin, or something. Since that aesthetic decision is directly tied to his character, I don't mess with it that much.

Similarly, there are some characters who are depicted as having slightly darker skin in general in naruto, like Iruka Sensei, or Naruto himself, and so when I paint them, I try to keep their skin colors slightly darker than I might paint the others, to stay in line with the information I've been given.

that said—that's all the intentional stuff! A lot of the reason that my drawings have the skin colors that they do is because of unintentional factors. For example, none of the skin tones I ever use have been "straight from the tube" so to say. I'm always mixing them, which includes a margin of error and change with something like watercolor, because I'm unable to colorpick the same way that I might if I were drawing digitally.

In fact, even if I wrote down an Exact Mixture of how to make the skin color I want (Usually for Yamato's, for example, I usually three drops of green, one drop of brown, two drops of ochre, and two drops of different kinds of red) i would STILL get a lot of variety in the actual paint.

This is because, as I work, the water colors will dry out, and as they dry out, the colors will get more intense as the water-to-pigment ratio changes. I can add water back into the mix, but there's no guarantee that the amount of water I add will be the same amount of water I started with, for example, in this comic i painted both kakashi and tenzō's skin with the same pool of paint, but kakashi's ended up much darker because I painted his when the pool was more dry!

so...basically, there's no way to make sure I get the exact same color mixture every time, unless I only ever use freshly mixed paint, which is not something I have the patience or the money to constantly be doing hahaha, (and tbh, even then, if i use some drops that are larger than they were last time, or smaller than they were last time, that will affect the color—as will getting paint from a bottle I haven't shaken up thoroughly enough, which might give me more pigment! It's a very fiddly process)

you can actually see a lot of variety in skin tones just in sakura

I'm trying my best, but the inconsistency of watercolor is something I do struggle with, honestly. like, you can see a lot of variety not just in the way her skin color came out (some of these just look...straight up pink 😖), but also the color of her hair, the color of her eyes...etc etc.

I'm trying my best, but the inconsistency of watercolor is something I do struggle with, honestly. the amount of times ive had to grab the paper towel, sponge it all up and start again...it's a wonderful medium but it's an exercise in frustration certainly

[tennessoui]

50 but its Obi-Wan tired and stressed going through a messy divorce who mets ray of sunshine Anakin ❤

This is basically the Prologue to the story of how Homeowner Obi-Wan Adopts Two Children and A Husband Without Realizing It

50. Going Through a Divorce (Divorced!Obi-Wan)

Buy a house, they had said. You have a wife. You should have a house, they had said. The market is in your favor right now, they had said. This area is nice. Good for kids if that’s something you’re thinking about. Buy a house.

No one ever told Obi-Wan what to do if your wife divorces you and moves out, but the house is legally in your name and the weight of the mortgage is slowly killing you because while you’re a great English professor, you don’t exactly get paid a commission for how many kids decide to take your class after looking at your chili pepper score on Rate My Professor.

Obi-Wan sits in his study with the windows shut and the door closed. It’s the only room in the house that doesn’t feel like something’s glaringly missing. Every other place held at least a few of Satine’s possessions, and if he leaves the shelter of this one final safe haven, he knows himself well enough to know that he’ll prod at all those little absences the way a tongue ghosts over the pit left by a lost tooth.

But this study has always been his, and it still feels like it now. And while the house is, arguably, also still his and has always been, it feels too big now. Too empty.

He is not enough for the house either, it seems.

Obi-Wan snorts at the thought and pours himself a drink. He’s getting maudlin in his old age. Sentimental. What he should be doing is thinking of the logistics going forward, although he knows few. How To Get Divorced was never something they taught in schools, nor something he had thought to be in his future.

How To Pick Up The Pieces of Your Shattered Heart had been a tough lesson to learn a year ago when his wife--ex-wife now--had broached the topic of separation. Separation, as if that wasn’t simply a long-drawn out end. She hadn’t taken that criticism lightly, nor should she have. Their ensuing fight had only ended when she had gasped wetly through her tears and told him, “See? Who are we anymore? I don’t want to fight anymore, Obi.”

To which Obi-Wan had said, of course, “Don’t call me that.” and Satine had left without another word. Given enough time to reflect upon her argument, he did find the logic in it. They’d married young and then changed in ways that couldn’t click together. Obi-Wan would have been fine with continuing to try to force them to work, but Satine had never been one to hate herself in that way.

The papers had come on a rainy day in October. The love had stayed on, unwelcome and bitter and agonizing in turn, well into April. Now it’s autumn again, and Obi-Wan has a house that’s too big for just him and no wife or partner or lover to fill its gaps.

There’s a loud ping of his phone that brings him out of his thoughts. It’s a message from Quinlan, just a link. Obi-Wan almost doesn’t click it, not in the mood for a funny video or in-depth but frightfully out-of-touch opinion on a recent movie. Then Quinlan texts again. I know you like your blondes fiery is all he says, and now Obi-Wan has to know.

He touches the link and it takes him to a posting on a website dedicated to finding roommates. The text loads slowly, probably because there’s a lot of it.

IN NEED OF ROOMMATE ASAP the title screams. Reflexively, Obi-Wan checks the time-stamp, but this was posted only a day ago. His heart warms at the idea of Quinlan checking this website trying to solve Obi-Wan’s problem of the mortgage for him.

Then he keeps reading.

Hi, I’m Anakin, 26, it reads. Working in tech right now--should make any sort of income required. Recently and unexpectedly kicked out of my place. Parent of two toddlers, but they’re angels (separately)! They are past the point of drawing on walls and they are potty-trained. Would be willing to put down a pet deposit but no pets, just the twins. Being evicted in the next five days so desperately need place. Twins’ mom could take twins while I move out and then move in but she can’t have them longer than a couple of weeks because of her job.

Also full disclosure, I have to move out because I “assaulted” my landlord! He was being a creep about my friend and touched her without her consent. I’m not actually a violent person and will not hit you! Just if you call my landlord for a tenant reference, he won’t be nice. He’ll be very, very biased.

Before twins can move in, I will need to run a background check on you as well just to make sure you’re not a creep (creeps DNI)

Let me know if you’re interested!

(Please give me a chance.)

There’s a couple of pictures at the bottom, just after the man’s phone number and email. One depicts a smiling, attractive man, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans with a young child on each hip. The next is a close-up of the kids in fancy clothing, probably to prove that they’re not messy. The girl is scowling at the camera while the boy is crying though, so the overall effect is ruined. Still, Obi-Wan finds iit endearing. The last picture is Anakin’s mugshot, the man in question looking decidedly which makes Obi-Wan snort. He appreciates the level of honesty and loyalty Anakin’s clearly showing.

But this is a lot.

Obi-Wan hasn’t started to look into the option of finding a roommate to lessen the burden of his mortgage payments. And to jump straight to a man with a violent past and his two small children?

His house would be absolute chaos. He and Satine had always kept an orderly space, one that featured long bouts of quietly enjoying the other’s company from opposite ends of the living room, but there would be no quiet with two children and what he’s positive is a very lively man.

But hadn’t he just been thinking that the house was too silent now? Too empty? It would be--

Well. It wouldn’t feel like his and Satine’s house anymore. It would be unrecognizable.

Somehow he’s jotting down the number before he even realizes what he’s doing. And then he’s putting it into his phone. And then it’s ringing.

“Hello?” A distinctly masculine voice says on the other side. Obi-Wan clears his throat, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“Hi, hello yes. I’m calling about the ad you posted online yesterday?”

“What about it?” Anakin asks slowly, sounding suspicious. Obi-Wan has to fight to roll his eyes. If he hadn’t already committed himself to following through on the worst idea he’s had in years, he’d hang up at the other man’s clear distrust. He wants to berate him that this is not how you sell yourself to potential homeowners, but that isn’t his place.

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he says instead. “And I fear I may be your only hope.”

[drazzilder]

A Hellish Encounter

By Drazzilder

Chapter 12: Love

This chapter is rated 18+/NSFW

Depictions of M/M sex, oral sex, and anal sex

You couldn’t get home soon enough as the two of you could barely keep your hands off each other. Enji even ran 3 red lights in order to get home faster. The sun just set as you pull up in the driveway. Enji was so excited/nervous that he struggled get to key in the lock. Once the door closed, you were all over one another. He slammed you against a wall as he pressed his whole body on you. The cologne he is wearing is driving you insane as it mixes with his natural sent. You were getting weak at the knees from the onslaught of his body and lips. Before, you always took things slow, but now you are practically eating each other as your lips collide. Not an inch of space was between the both of you as you continue kissing. Your one hand grabs his lower back as the other runs through his hair. He has a forceful grip around your chest as you kiss for what feels like forever.

After some time, you break the kiss and look him right on the eyes, those turquoise eyes of his making your heart flutter. In the heat the moment you say: “I love you, Enji.” The words you spoke broke his concentration on you.

“That was out of nowhere.”

“Well, I mean it, I don’t think I have ever fallen in love with someone like this before. I mean with Adam, I did like him, and loved him as a friend but I see you and I growing old together, sharing laughs and sorrows. I know it’s all of a sudden but I really do love you. I’m sorry if it’s too soon for you.”

“Well, I don’t know if I am ready to say it yet but I’m glad you said it.”

“I hope I didn’t ruin the mood but I felt like I had to say something.”

“You didn’t ruin anything….” he says as he begins kissing you again, this time taking it slower. Each kiss on your face deliberate and gentle. You can’t help but moan as he is driving you wild, bucking and writhing in his arms as your body wants more.  He starts to lead to towards the bedroom as you are entangled with one another. After managing to find the door, he slams it open and you quickly find yourself on the bed. Looking up, the big man himself starts stripping at the end of the bed as you watch with baited breath. He takes his time, letting you savor the moment. The shirt is the first thing to come off, button by button, revealing that magnificent upper body of his. The pants come down next, as he turns around so you get the full view. You have to stop yourself from grabbing that delicious ass of his. You have seen him in his underwear practically every night but things are a little bit different now. There is a nice outline forming on his boxer briefs. He winks at you as he slowly lowers his underwear with both thumbs in the waistband. That’s when you see what you have been waiting for. Everything about Enji was big, but my god, that cock of his was something else: close to 9 inches long and 2 inches wide. You hold your breath as you gaze upon Enji’s full body.

“You like what you see, boy?”

“Oh, yes. I’m ready.”

“You’re what?”

“God Enji, fuck me already.”

“Good, but your clothes are in the way. Take them off.” he growls

You strip down as quickly as you can, not wanting to slow the momentum. It’s difficult to get your pants off with your ragging erection but you manage. When you get to your underwear, you’re at the bed of the bed when end Enji stops you.

“Before we go any further, I want you to know I never want to hurt you. If anything gets too much, I want you to stop me. The safe word is ‘butternut’. You feel even the littlest bit uncomfortable, stop me. Ok?”

“I don’t think I will need it but it makes me feel safe, thank you.”

“Good, now get ready!”

He grabs the waistband of your underwear and rips them off of you in one swift motion. He smiles at what he sees. You’re not as big as him, but 6 inches is nothing to scoff at. Your both start embracing each other again, but this time you start grinding against this thigh, aching for relief. He notices this and pushes you down on the bed.

“I see someone is eager, how about I help you out a bit.”

He grabs your dick with one hand and begins pumping up and down slowly. You’re not small yourself but his massive hand practically covers the whole thing. You eventually start moving your hips in motion with his hand you’re getting close. He releases and you’re staring at him again.

“Don’t get too eager, we are just getting started.”

He flips you over and moves over to the nightstand, pulling out a bottle of lube. He gently squeezes a generous amount in his left hand and begins to warm is up with his quirk. With a smirk, he begins making circles around your rim, toying with you. Even though you have mentally prepared yourself, your body still tenses up when he starts to enter you with his index finger.

“For someone who has sex before, you’re awfully tight. It’s going to take at least 3 fingers to make sure your loose enough.”

“It’s been over 4 years since I got any, and you know an awful amount about anal sex for being a first timer.”

“Well, I do my research.” He says as he shifts his hand.

“Mmhmm……oh……ENJI!”

While you two were talking, he has been busy trying to find your buttons. Poking and prodding until he found the spots to drive you wild. Judging by the moans coming from you, he was having no trouble finding them. He then quickly takes his finger out only to be replaced by 2. This time he is taking it slower as you start shaking just enough for him to notice. He leans forward and gives your shoulder a few hot kisses. “Relax, I’ve got you.” He says as he pulls you up on all fours, his hot breath tickling your neck. The shaking subsides long enough for Enji to get his third finger. This time you breathing almost stops but he continues to kiss your back and run his hand through your hair, making sure you’re ok. After a few minutes, he pulls his hand away from your backside and you instinctively back up toward him, wanting more.

“Glad to see your eager again. Get ready.”

His voice almost sounding like a rumble as he puts lube on his shaft. He uses both hands to spread your backside wide. Then he uses hand for bracing, one hand for aiming as he puts his tip at your back door. You stop breathing in anticipation and you know Enji has the biggest grin on his face right now. Slowly, he starts to push himself into you and you moan before not breathing again. He steadies himself to wait for you to relax. This action goes for a few minutes, pushing forward and waiting for you to adjust to his size, always making sure you are ok. The entire time he uses his quirk to massage your backside with his hands, keeping you grounded. Finally, when he is fully in, he leans forwards to give you a kiss on the back of your neck. The action moving him inside of you just the right way to rub against your prostate.

“OH MY GOD!” You scream, but you use all of your will power to hold it in.

“It looks like I found a good spot, are you ok?”

“I….I’ll be fine, just don’t move too much.” You say with heavy breathing. He stays on top of you for a minute or so then slow gets back up. He starts to slowly pull out then he quickly pushes himself back in. You raise your head back in ecstasy as he keeps thrusting in and out. The initial pain starts to turn to pleasure as your moans grow louder with each thrust. His skin starts to warm up as he starts to move faster and faster. The room is filled with the sounds of grunts, moans and skin slapping against each other. Steam starts coming off of his skin as he loses control. You try to match his pace but you’re starting to lose feeling in your legs again. He switches to both hands around your waste to support you.

“Little flame, in or out?”

“In!” you manage to say between your moans.

Not a second later Enji releases inside of you. It’s hot and you feel it filling your insides with every pump of his cock. It continues for what feels like forever but then starts to slow down till nothing is left. That’s when he falls on top of you. You can’t hold his motionless body up and you both land on the bed.

“Enji, you’re crushing me….”

“Sorry, I got so selfish. I didn’t hear you finish.”

“It’s ok.” you say still panting.

“I won’t be happy till you do, now turn over.”

“You’re going to have to do it for me, I lost feeling in in my legs.”

“What?! Are you ok? Why didn’t you say to stop?”

“I’m fine, it was just too good and you know I get weak at the knees when your around me.”

“That’s good to hear.” He says as he rolls you over, positioning your legs so he can see your dick more clearly. With one fell swoop, he takes your whole shaft into his mouth and begins sucking. You’re just long enough to feel the back of his throat as he uses his tongue to great success. His mouth was so hot that it almost feels like you’re on fire but it eventually turns to pleasure. You would have thought he has given head before but you don’t dare ask, you just want him to keep going. He then starts to move his head up and down as uses his lips to create more suction. Every once and a while he lifts fully off with a ‘pop’ sound as he releases your tip. He quickly then goes back all the way down. It doesn’t take long till your feeling hot inside and your about ready to burst.

“Enji, I….I can’t hold it…..” you say through gritted teeth.

All he can do is grunt with your member in his mouth but you understood. You release everything into Enji’s throat as he quickly swallows everything. Once you’re done, he lifts up and crawls on the bed next to you. He wraps those big arms of his around you and kisses your face.

“How is my little flame?”

“That…. that was amazing.”

“I know” he says with a boasting smile “it was great for me too.”

“Uh, Enji, we might have a problem.”

“Hmm?” He tilts his head.

“You finished in me first and I have been on my backside….”

He raises an eyebrow in confusion until he realizes what happened. “Let’s clean up, and I’ll change the sheets.”

He draws a bath and comes back to carry you into the bathroom. Your legs are still numb from everything but you don’t care, you love it when he is carrying you. He manages to get you both in the large tub, him against the back of the tub with you in front of him. He slowly starts to scrub your skin, as if he could hurt you: so gentle and kind with his motions. You two soak in the warm water as you bask in each other’s presence. You rest your head on his chest as he rubs your head. You sit in the bath for a while as you two relax.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes Enji.”

“I think am now ready to say it.”

“Hmm?” You respond now are looking at him.

“I love you, (Y/N).”

“Really? Why now?”

“I have never felt this way about anyone and I keep going back to how you described love, then I keep going back to thinking about you. You are the only person who has ever wanted to know who I am and to help me as a person. I never would have thought I could have had this feeling of love before. I always thought I was full of hate and anger.”

“I’m glad you finally said it and I know you’re full of so much love and happiness, we just need to find it, together. Oh, and Enji.”

“Yes?”

“I love you too.”

You two kiss a few times before it is time to get ready for bed. Enji quickly changes the sheets as you sit on a chair in the room. He places you in bed and quickly gets under the covers. Even though you’re both still naked at this point, Enji is producing enough heat to keep you both warm.

“You know I’m so glad I helped at the crossing incident.”

“You should be, you saved everyone.”

“Plus, I meet you.” You say giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Oh, yea.” As he blushes.

Next Chapter

[cigaretteparfum]

ch.1

oh lord i forgot how much this man is so me-coded.

OH SHIT YEA THEY CHANGED THIS SCENE IN THE ANIME. instead of takemichi scratching the car himself it was just some kids who then blamed him.

i HATED that, honestly. i get that they were striving to depict him as pathetic as possible but that also removed what little agency/rebellion he still had in him. this showed that yea he's a coward (though tbf what kind of freak wouldn't run after keying someone's car and get caught lol) but he's not completely beaten down yet. also makes his resilience despite his many failures later on FAR more engaging imo.

LOOK AT MY CHILDREN. THEY'RE SO STUPID AND SO PATHETIC AND SOOOO LAME.

also sorry for harping on wakui's drawing again but literally look at this chapter 1 takemitchy!! dude's got his style nailed down and then whatever happened on ch278 ... happened. like. 😭😭

this man will literally wreck his entire skeletal structure and internal organs at least a dozen times and died at least twice btw.

damn, bro. yeah.

MY DAUGHTEEEEEERRRRRRR. don't think about how he's at this point about 12 years older ssshh it's fine there is no problematic age gap in ba sing se i mean tokyorev. ALSO i scrolled for like half an hour trying to unearth saying shit on twitter like the mizo middle 5 being children mine (which includes takemitchy) AND hinata as well but since takemitchy/hinata are endgame i was like "we're keeping it in the family like the royalties!!" but i swear that's on a forgotten side account so i just give up. 😭

already knowing the ending i CANT LOOK AT HANDSHAKES IN THIS STORY THE SAME EVER AGAIN.

FUCK YOU WAKUI.

aaaand that, kids, how one of the most atrocious trashfire published in the last 5 years began.

just kiding but barely!! oh lord, rereading the first chapter again after so long still gives me chills, even with all the interruptions (running to tumblr for commentary, that hour spent scrolling through twitter, etc). i cannot stress enough how much, back when i was a tokyorev hardcore stan, this journey of takemitchy to save the one (1) girlfriend he had all the way back in junior high was gripping, full of excitement, rich and colourful of characters, and even when shit happens and you know they might get reset with the next time leap, there was a genuine tension because this dude can't do shit right. and not for lack of trying or even capabilities either!

the first several arcs of tokyorev was, as i remember them, could be argued not only a study of character (predomenantly takemitchy's) but also a reflection of how much people's lives were tangled with one another. and not in the last chapter's wacky "oh we've all met and crossed paths before" way, no -- it was a story of butterfly effect in people. so after the first few times, once you got the hang of the story's flow, with every success takemitchy gain in the past, you get both excited and terrified to see how it translates into the future. like!!! this was my shit exactly for that reason!

well now am excited to go through with my reread (familiar, already knows it's good up to the point i dropped it yesteryear) and terrified (oh god the final arc is coming). so there's that i guess. 😭

bismillah wish me luck gaes. 🙏