#Michael corleone smut

[melis-writes]

The Other Woman [Michael Corleone x Reader Multichapter, 18+ Smut] Chapter 5 – A Part of The Family.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 4 / Chapter Masterlist / Fanfic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

"Michael cares about you, don't forget that." / "Forget Kay. This has nothing to do with her."

With the Las Vegas gala approaching, you can neither get your mind off of spending the formal evening with the Corleone's nor do you hear the end of it at the Lake Tahoe compound. Growing closer with both Anthony and Mary who've begun to open up to you and enjoy your teaching, your career as the Corleone household's governess thrives and is noticed by Michael and Kay for different reasons altogether. Kay has slowly begun to doubt her parenting skills from observing you whereas Michael is no longer waiting for you to give in but making his first move. In the meanwhile, what you've learned about the Corleone family only further convinces you Michael may be living in Vito Corleone's legacy, but is nothing like the bloodthirsty mafiosi that killed your brothers. Patience between the sexual frustration mounting between you two will take you both to Las Vegas, but Michael intention isn't to be the center of attention at a gala his family his hosting–it's to make you his.

[WARNINGS]: Sexual themes & mentions.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: Another chapter is finally here and an important one marking the end of this "slow burn" between Michael and Marina. 🤭💓 Michael won't stop to get at what he wants and he's no longer waiting for Marina to give in because he knows she can't in front of everyone and peering eyes, of course. 😳 Next chapter and onwards will be scandalous and promiscuous Michael's waited until the Las Vegas gala and he's going to make his first move, if it wasn't obvious in this chapter! 😈

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

“I know you’re not used to these sorts of things,” Michael’s tone of voice is low and soothing, his words velvety as he speaks them so close to the side of your neck that you can feel his soft breath on you.

Your heart thunders in your chest from arousal and excitement coursing through you as you linger by the doorway of Michael’s office; refusing to step out and away from this man for as long as you possibly can.

“You will be,” Michael continues, taking a step closer to you and standing directly behind you, “as you get to understand my family name and the hospitality the Corleones offer.”

“Yes, sir,” you breathe back, barely audibly as the scent of Michael’s cologne hits you again.

Michael gazes at your back before letting his eyes wander admiringly over your figure, the curve of your hips and the shape of your thighs clinging against your pencil skirt. “Stay by me throughout the evening and you’ll be fine—if it comes to that.”

You give a small nod, slowly turning around to face Michael as you speak to him. “As long as I’m not disturbing your evening.”

You cannot push away the idea of possibly being a burden to the Corleones on such a special evening and social gathering, seeming as if you constantly need to be watched lest you somehow act out of line or do something wrong in front of hundreds of wealthy investors and businessmen.

“Nonsense,” Michael affirms, looking you in the eyes. “You’re not a burden, you’re my governess. You’re my guest.”

You surprise yourself with how you’re able to step out of Michael’s office without stumbling over your own two feet after having that conversation come to an end.

The tips of your ears and your cheeks sting, burning with blush as all you can think is how Michael’s planning to have this evening be tailored to you and your comfort up to the point where he’s picked out your gown for the evening.

As you make your way out of the Corleone estate and back to your living quarters, you remind yourself that even if you think Kay knows Michael’s done such a thing, you’ll keep everything and anything that happens between you and Michael all to yourself.

‘Everything should be fine.’

 You don’t think Kay would mind too much but then again as you think it over, the idea of having your husband pick out an evening dress for another woman stirs a bit of jealousy inside of you that you don’t think Kay is immune to herself.

Maybe Kay would look too deep into it; perhaps Kay knows her husband isn’t the type of man to just “pick” out a dress for someone and since Kay knows Michael like the back of her hand and you don’t, the possibilities are endless.

Kay’s mind may first go to Michael being generous and picking out a dress for you simply because you forgot to choose, or he chose a random one simply for the sake of saving time for the order, but if it comes to overthinking Michael’s picked out an evening dress for you because he thought about what color adorns your skin and body perfectly and what he’d like to see you in… It would mean trouble.

There’s nothing going on between you and Michael that you’re entirely aware of for the time being, but even having the slightest bit of a crush on a man like Michael Corleone must absolutely not be given away or told to anyone.

If you let your fantasies and the beat of your heart delude you into assuming something more with Michael, you may find yourself outed to people for trying to flirt and be with a married man who seems all too unattainable to you even if he was a bachelor.

Nobody can know how you feel about Michael; not now, and not ever. You know your heart would be better off if he doesn’t catch onto how you feel either.

~

All throughout the week, the only thing mentioned back and forth again with excitement and anticipation is the upcoming gala in Las Vegas this Saturday.

Whether you hear it giddily from Kay or Connie whose been carefully curating the perfect outfit for the evening makes no difference; there’s a thrill sparking inside you when you think of attending your first black tie event with the Corleone family that more often than not blends in with the amount of nervousness you feel about it too.

“That’s what I’m saying!” You overhear Kay excitedly exclaiming to Sandra over in the kitchen. “The family has come so far. I’m honestly so proud of Michael, he does so much for us. All that’s mentioned in Reno and Las Vegas in the business is our family name, you know that? It’s incredible how we’ll we’ve done.”

Something tells you however that Michael hasn’t and most likely won’t be giving Kay all of the details about his or the family’s business but if it’s one thing you’ve learned, it’s just how powerful and influential the Corleone family truly is.

‘Michael Corleone is a hell of a businessman and a good one at that…’

The topic of the Las Vegas gala is all the more unavoidable the closer you are to Kay which is consistent throughout the day as you teach the children, quietly mark homework, and take a break while going through some paperwork.

Sandra, Connie, and Theresa both share the excitement and anticipation for the gala, but none come near the unmatched enthusiasm of Kay.

Of course, Kay’s experience is just as incomparable as her excitement for the gala as being Mrs. Corleone has its benefits and luxuries others won’t share or come close to having

Michael and Kay Corleone together are the hosts of the gala and all eyes and ears will be on them throughout the night above all.

“Hopefully we’ll manage to enjoy a good dinner together,” you hear Kay sigh, “I just know the minute Michael arrives, all of his business partners will do anything to get a word in with him first. They won’t want to leave him alone.”

You find yourself blushing at the mention of Michael’s name, no longer catching yourself or mentally scolding yourself for it.

You wish you can be the one holding Michael’s attention consistently throughout the evening as if it was up to you, you would want him all to yourself for the remainder of the event regardless of whose desperate to talk business matters with Michael.

As Kay’s conversation with Sandra fades off onto another subject, you brush the topic out of your mind and continue focusing on your lesson planning for the day.

You ensure you’ve double-checked your planner so there’s enough time in tomorrow’s lesson for enough repetition and homework check, but also sufficient time to introduce a new unit without all of it being overbearing in one lesson.

‘A final little test for Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for piano should wrap up this unit before we learn another piece…’ Distracted, you haven’t realized that the estate has gone completely quiet except for a faint giggle coming from Kay.

Blinking, you sit up straight on the couch in the living room—expecting Kay or Sandra to walk in only to see Michael enter a split second later.

Your face flushes a shade of scarlet instantly from the blush stinging your cheeks, watching as Michael himself remains distracted by adjusting his gold watch over his wrist.

‘God…’ Your muscles tense up from arousal as you eye Michael eagerly, letting a swarm of butterflies rush over you at the sight of him.

Michael’s dressed in a wine-red dress shirt with the first three buttons undone, no tie, black dress trousers, matching leather belt, and white socks.

If you’d missed the sight of him for a few seconds longer, you’d have already picked up on his heavenly sandalwood and musk cologne filling the living room only adding to your sexual tension when you see a peek of Michael’s chest hair from his dress shirt.

Michael’s hair appears slightly damp as if he’s showered recently but a light layer of gel shines through his black locks, neatly slicked back and parted from the middle.

It’s obvious Michael has no intention to be dressed for business and professionalism right here and now, but his appearance is still sharp, and cleans up very well.

Just as Michael finishes clasping his watch over his wrist, he makes direct eye contact with you.

Your heart races in your chest as you give him a shy smile back; hoping to yourself out of embarrassment Michael didn’t notice you gawking at him the entire time before he looked over at you.

Only the thought of what it would be like to be held in Michael’s arms, nuzzle his neck to pick up that scent of cologne so close to you before beginning to kiss his warm skin and lead down to his collarbones takes precedence over your mind.

You can’t stop yourself from fantasizing about the man right in front of you, thinking, ‘God, what I would do to…’ You picture yourself unbuttoning down the rest of Michael’s shirt to kiss and lick up his chest; gladly getting down on your knees right away to undo his belt.

Only a brief moment passes as Michael begins to button up his dress shirt at the sight of you for the sake of being professional and not coming off as sloppy although Michael himself would prefer to show you more as well.

Michael gives you an acknowledging nod back to your smile before he exits from the living room, but the scent of his cologne remains as if his presence is still in here and so does the lingering feeling in your heart.

You can practically feel your heart aching and the sensation growing heavier and heavier upon each confrontation and conversation; you can no longer stop yourself from feverishly desiring this man nor do you want to.

‘Stop, Marina. Just stop… You’re doing this to yourself.’

You squeeze your eyes shut, desperately trying to block out any thought and mention of Michael Corleone from your head for just one minute.

‘I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I did this to myself.’

~

[ 1 Day Before The Las Vegas Gala ]

Having wrapped up your last lesson before the Las Vegas gala, you spent the last bit of your day doing homework review with all your students to start with a new learning unit next week for everyone.

In the morning, you reviewed math and history worksheets with the Hagens and Sandra’s children, then had a private review session with Anthony as requested by his parents before now doing the same with Mary to end your day.

In the Corleone estate’s study room, you and Mary sit side by side at the center study desk, overviewing a math worksheet from earlier this week.

With the evening air setting in and light rain out, you can see the glisten of the compound’s security lights slowly rotating around the estates outside and enjoy the soft sounds of rain surrounding the estate.

“Anthony says it’s easy,” Mary pouts at the worksheet in front of her, looking at the multiplication homework.

“Maybe it’s easy for him, but not for everyone and that’s okay,” you give Mary a reassuring smile. “We all learn differently, don’t we?”

 “Hmm…” Mary peeks up at you, feeling somewhat relieved. “All the homework is easy for you, right Miss Marina?”

“You think it is?” A playful grin forms over your lips.

“Maybe,” Mary giggles, shrugging her shoulders. “Because you teach math really well.”

Unbeknownst to both of you, Kay made her way down the hallway and towards the study room just a few moments prior to pop her head in and take a peek as to how the homework review is going, only to remain in front of the ajar study door and out of sight instead.

Kay thinks to herself that she’ll enter the study room at the perfect moment and chime in on the topic of homework to see Mary’s progress face to face but without interrupting your review and explanations to Mary.

“Why thank you,” you give Mary a beaming smile, “I try my best, but believe it or not, I wasn’t very good at math when I was growing up.”

“Really?” Mary’s eyes widen in disbelief, “no way! How?”

Kay smiles, gazing at her daughter between the crack of the door as she continues listening in on the conversation, clasping her hands together in front of her.

“See,” you chuckle, “when it comes to a subject like math, once you know what you’re doing step by step, all the answers start to come to you and they begin to make sense. That’s why when we do multiplication homework like this,” you hold up the worksheet in your hands, “we like to see and write down all of the steps we took to get the answers for these numbers, right?”

“Right,” Mary nods, looking back at the worksheet.

“So it’s all about understanding and learning the steps first. Then you got it,” you set the worksheet back down on the desk, “and you already did so well on this, Mary. I’m proud of you. Even for the questions you got wrong here,” you gesture to the paper, “you tried, you put in the work and all your steps. That’s why we go through them now, right? So we can see where we made our mistakes and how we can correct them.”

“Yeah,” Mary giggles to herself. “It… It was fun!”

“Oh yeah?” Your eyes light up, “it was, wasn’t it? Maybe not so much the whole homework part, but—” both of you burst out laughing in unison. “But the learning was probably the most fun!”

“Learning with you, Miss Marina,” Mary adds, nodding happily.

Kay feels nothing but joy in her heart to see that sparkle in Mary’s eyes speaking for her enthusiasm and how she’s genuinely improving in her math lessons with you then and there.

“I’m very happy to hear that,” you can’t help the growing smile on your lips. “Actually, maybe you’re the first student to say that homework might be a little fun too!”

It’s when Mary exclaims, “Miss Marina is the best!” and gleefully leans in to give you a hug that the proud and joyful smile on Kay’s face begins to fade.

Kay moves her hand away from the study door, watching as you hug Mary back and say, “and you’re the best student!”

It’s not that Kay’s unable to show her own daughter affection or receive any in return—of course, Mary hugs her mother—but it’s the snuggling and the bubbly attitude of Mary’s she consistently keeps up with you and is more than comfortable in your presence is something Kay has had difficulty keeping up with her own children.

Feeling a sharp pain tugging at her and hating herself for letting a wholesome moment between student and governess hit this close to her own struggles, Kay bites down on the corner of her lip before turning back on her heel and walking away.

Mary and you haven’t noticed a thing, and it’ll only be another five minutes until the homework review is officially wrapped up and Mary skips off back to her room to get ready for bed.

As you begin to organize and tidy up the rest of your paperwork remaining on the desk, you hear a soft knock at the door and recognize that rhythm of knocking can only come from one person—Tom Hagen.

“Evening, Marina,” you hear Tom’s voice just a moment after. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” you look back towards the door, greeting Tom with a smile as he walks into the study and quietly shuts the door behind him.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Tom says sheepishly, noticing the pile of paperwork over your desk.

“Definitely not,” you let out a soft laugh, pushing the paperwork in front of you toward the corner of the desk.

“Finishing up for the night?” Tom chuckles.

“Something like that,” you turn in your chair to face Tom.

“How do you feel about tomorrow afternoon?” Tom asks, shifting the conversation over to the Las Vegas gala as you expected him to.

Both of you exchange an understanding glance, knowing the conversation would come to this.

“Well…” You open your mouth to answer before pausing and remaining quiet for a moment as you ponder what to say back to Tom. “I can say I feel strongly towards it.”

“Mm,” Tom nods, smiling at the floor. “I thought so, which doesn’t sound like a bad thing coming from you. It is your first time traveling to and attending a gala, isn’t it?”

“It is,” you confirm. “I’m a little anxious about it but excited. You know, I’m sure that same excuse has been made a million times over, so,” you laugh quietly to yourself. “I don’t know.”

“Sure, but that’s normal,” Tom replies back. “It’s a formal gala and this one only takes place every few years, especially on the anniversary date for the Corleone family business in Reno and Las Vegas.”

“Did Michael send you?” You give Tom a small smile, thinking this may just be last-minute reassurance on Michael’s behalf since you don’t expect him to come into the study to talk with you one on one at this hour.

Only a split second later do you feel embarrassment wash over you, wondering why you just asked Tom that.

“No?” Tom blinks in confusion, “I thought I’d come to check in on you.”

“Don’t think me ungrateful, Tom,” you giggle, “I get it. I really appreciate it. I just thought Michael may have sent you because he’s essentially said the same to me.”

“Of course he did,” an amused grin forms over Tom’s lips. “Which is why he’d want me to tell you that if you do have any questions or concerns, Michael would want you to voice it to him directly, not to me or even through me.”

“That makes sense,” you blush, glancing away.

‘If it’s an excuse to see and talk to Michael, I’ll take it…’

“Michael as I can already guess,” Tom rolls his eyes before laughing to himself, “wants you to feel as comfortable and welcome at the gala as you do here. Still think he’s intimidating?”

You glance back at Tom and the two of you stare at each other for a moment before you both burst out laughing.

“No?” you say through your laughter, covering your mouth.

“I know, I know,” Tom holds his hands up in surrender. “I hate to word it that way, but I just had to ask. I know Michael can be when he wants to.”

“Maybe so,” you lean back in your seat, “but I don’t really see it. I’m getting to know Michael better and understanding the kind of man he is as I am with the rest of the family.”

“Good,” a look of relief crosses Tom’s expression. “Then that’s all you need, hmm? We take very good care of our own, Marina. You don’t have to take my word for it,” Tom puts his hands into the pockets of his trousers, smiling at you. “And Michael cares about you, don’t forget that.”

~

“Michael cares about you, don’t forget that.”

Tom’s words linger with you long after he’s retired for the evening, and only then do they sink in and you find yourself begging your heart not to overthink it again.

Relaxing your muscles against your seat, you let out a soft breath and gaze around the study room, feeling accomplished to have finished your work for the day, planned next week’s lessons upon your return from the gala, and have all of your paperwork in order.

You’ve had a productive day at the very least, leaving you only to think about how tomorrow will be.

You know Esther went to bed early tonight, exhausted from keeping up with the children and you don’t blame her, but it leaves you without anyone to confide in tonight.

You’re still in the Corleone manor’s study after all but until the pouring rain begins to still or at least return to a drizzle, you doubt you can make it across the compound and back to your room without risk of catching a cold and being completely soaked.

‘No rush…’ You nibble on your bottom lip, pushing thoughts of the Las Vegas gala aside to think about tomorrow when it truly matters.

Brushing a curtain of your hair behind your ear, you stretch out your arms and let out a soft grunt as you rise up from your seat—deciding to indulge in a novel for a bit as you wait for the rain to settle down.

You move towards the bookshelves, stopping in your tracks for a moment to look at the sheer amount of bookshelves and selections remaining before you.

There are well over a dozen bookshelves on both sides of the study, placed for ample room so several people can pick and choose from one bookshelf at a time and so the study neither appears looking overcrowded or empty.

On each bookshelf remains small gold engraved labels stating what genre of books are on what shelf, particularly the books labeled under “history” further specifying years leading to language guides, fiction novels, first edition classics, non-fiction, and much more.

You blink at the selection, pleasantly taken back from so many choices that you almost feel overwhelmed at the thought of picking one novel when you could very well spend an endless amount of time in this study if you wanted to.

You walk over to one of the history-labeled bookshelves neatly organized with pressed newspapers, file folders, and leather-covered books next to well-preserved documents when you notice a label on the top shelf reading “FAMILY”.

You pause, wondering if this is a private section and if you should even be touching t in the first place.

Your eyes continue to wander over newspapers and documents on the top shelf as you gently pick through them with your finger so as not to cinch or damage any of the paper.

Starting at the very left side of the top shelf, common sense tells you that if there’s anything on this shelf—let alone in this study—that you’re not allowed to access or see, it wouldn’t be here.

The first few newspaper articles you touch over mention “CRIME FAMILY” with names of mafia families you’ve heard of and those you haven’t.

The names “Barzini” and “Tattaglia” stand out to you first and foremost, with the articles always mentioning the phrases “criminal underworld”, “boss”, or “big shot” to describe what you assume to be top-ranking mafiosi or the Dons of the crime families themselves.

Many of the newspapers you come across are dating chronologically from the start of the 1930s to all throughout the 1940s, consistently mentioning crime, the FBI, cases gone cold, or how the police are trailing them but it’s not until you get to 1946 that shock suddenly hits you.

You pull out a newspaper article with the front page reading: "VITO CORLEONE FEARED MURDERED: POLICE HUNT GUNMEN".

On the left side of the front page is a black and white portrait of Don Vito Corleone—Michael’s late father and on the right side, a photograph of the police and paramedics carrying a grievously wounded Vito in a stretcher.

‘Oh my God.’ You quickly set that article aside to read before finding another following it also dated in 1946 reading “POLICE CAPTAIN LINKED WITH DRUG RACKETS” next to a third article reading “POLICE HUNT COP KILLER”.

Setting those two aside with the article about Vito Corleone, the next article dated in 1947 you take out reads “THIRD MONTH OF GANGLAND VIOLENCE”.

‘There’s a pattern here…’ Moving towards the end of the shelf, you notice the coloring of the newspapers change—lighter and newer than the old articles you picked out.

Picking out the most recent newspaper placed last on the shelf, you find a blush hitting your cheeks immediately and almost dropping the article from your hands at the sight of a large black and white portrait of Michael himself on the front page; “MICHAEL CORLEONE: BUSINESSMAN THROUGH CORLEONE LEGACY”.

Gazing at the photograph of Michael, your heart rate begins to race in your chest once more—accompanied by a dizzying wave of butterflies.

Taking that last newspaper with the others you picked out, you look out towards the window and continue to hear the thundering rain.

The study door remains closed as Tom left it and you can’t hear any approaching footsteps, but then again you aren’t doing something you shouldn’t be, even if it may be embarrassing to explain to someone why you’re reading all of these old articles.

Funny enough, the recent article of Michael dated a month back would make the most sense, but not the others in your hands that you’re curious to read and learn more about.

“I mafiosi non sono tuoi amici. Ti useranno e poi ti uccideranno.” (Don’t trust Mafiosi as we did. Mafiosi are not your friends; they’ll use you and then they will kill you.)

You remember your mother and father’s warning words to you after the deaths of your brothers as you take the newspaper articles back to your desk to read.

These articles are nothing but mafia territory and an explanation of it; you know very well who Don Vito Corleone was and the legacy behind the Corleone family, after all.

Taking a seat and leaning your arms down on the desk, you begin to read the article “VITO CORLEONE FEARED MURDERED: POLICE HUNT GUNMEN”.

The article reads that Vito Corleone was found shot five times in the chest at close range while he was out with his son Fredo Corleone at a local fruit market.

It’s mentioned that Vito fell to his suspected demise in front of witnesses and passersby near the fruit stand who fled in terror.

Fredo Corleone—Vito’s son and on scene—was reported to be terrified beyond words; in a state of shock, sobbing and helplessly wailing over what he believed to be his father’s corpse.

Fredo was found by the police covered in his father’s blood and pleading with the paramedics and police officers to help.

You clasp a hand over your mouth, disheartened by what you’re reading.

Fredo is Michael’s older brother and you’re bound to meet him tomorrow as well—hearing from Kay that Fredo’s been in Hollywood for the past two months with his wife, famous actress Deanna Dunn who will also attend the Las Vegas gala.

‘This must be Fredo…’ Flipping the page, you see a somewhat blurry photograph of Fredo sobbing on the sidewalk with his face in his hands as Vito Corleone is taken away in a stretcher by paramedics.

The rest of the article continues to describe Vito as a “hot shot underworld gangster”, although such terms aren’t unheard of to you, especially growing up in Hell’s Kitchen.

The suspected gunmen are being investigated—the article states—and Fredo was also hospitalized due to his state of shock.

Lastly, before the article comes to an end, it mentions Vito Corleone is reported to be in critical condition and it’s not certain if he will make it or not.

The newspaper ends by saying this may be the start of violence as you or anyone else reading this article could have figured out since it’s all too common for full-blown mob wars to start when someone chooses to target a Don.

‘That’s a complete declaration of war, but were the police truly investigating?’ You assume that Vito must have had the police on his payroll for that to even take place.

‘And what about “POLICE HUNT COP KILLER”?’ At first glance of the front pages, you don’t recognize any correlation from the two newspapers but from their placement alone on the bookshelf, you know they must be related somehow.

As you read through both—comparing and contrasting dates and events noted in the articles as you go—you realize the dates of each article are just a week apart.

“POLICE CAPTAIN LINKED WITH DRUG RACKETS” was almost stuffed between “POLICE HUNT COP KILLER” on the shelf and revealed all of these events occurred within a week of each other.

The articles tell you that at a small, family-owned, Italian-American restaurant called Louis Restaurant, police Captain Mark McClusky was killed.

The article details that McClusky was shot once in the neck and then in the forehead at very close range and that he had been with a businessman named Virgil Sollozzo who was dining with him.

Sollozzo was also killed alongside McClusky; shot twice in the head which is suspected to be immediately after McClusky and both perished together at the dining table.

“My God,” you mumble to yourself, blinking at the headlines.

Naturally, it makes sense to you that one of the Corleone men—most likely a buttonman considering the stakes and killings done in a public restaurant—must have done this.

‘Does it have anything to do with Vito Corleone being shot? It must be. It has to be for revenge.’

When your eyes gloss over the next newspaper article reading “POLICE CAPTAIN LINKED WITH DRUG RACKETS” immediately tells you this police Captain McClusky himself was directly involved with the mafia and the dates can only further reveal it must have been either for Barzini or Tattaglia.

Those are the only two mafia families you’ve heard of that have corrupted themselves with smuggling and selling narcotics and you can already guess what a wide-scale scandal this headline must have created.

It makes all the more sense why a man like McClusky and Sollozzo would both be killed, especially together.

If it’s one thing you know about the mafia, it’s that they will not kill an innocent person deliberately; considering the mafia family at hand upholds Sicilian mafioso traditions and customs.

Mafia families have no room to appear anything less than decent and proper, lest they risk exposing their own corruption and members to law enforcement and the public eye.

With two shots in the head a piece—just like how your brothers were gunned down—you know Sollozzo wasn’t collateral damage; he was a target just as much as McClusky was.

Picking up the article titled “MICHAEL CORLEONE: BUSINESSMAN THROUGH CORLEONE LEGACY”, you sigh in relief to see the article has nothing to do with the others you’ve read.

Dated just a month ago, the up close and personal portrait of Michael on the front page has your heart racing and begging for you to stop gazing upon it again and again.

Turning the page, you immediately begin to read the article that explains to you how Michael Corleone, son of underworld bigshot Vito Corleone is a successful businessman on his own terms and by his own hard work and gain.

Vito Corleone himself may have been infamous but was also a respected man, and aside from generational wealth, Michael further gained a positive and lucrative reputation and opportunity for the Corleone family following Vito’s death.

Unlike Vito, the newspaper states Michael does not involve himself in bookmaking, racketeering, or other forms of crime found brewing n the mafia’s hand but invests in businesses, stocks, casinos, hotels, and resorts.

The article also names that the most successful and booming hotel resorts owned by the Corleones are the biggest ones in Reno and Las Vegas and that the Corleone family plans to continue expanding.

Michael’s stated to be very successful in all of the best ways possible building off of his father’s legacy, and is also noted to be a multi-millionaire who married his college sweetheart—a woman named Kay Adams Corleone—in 1951.

With the mere mention of “college sweetheart” alone, you find yourself frowning without even being aware of it—once again feeling a sting of jealousy hit you.

Reading past the part that says Michael and Kay have two children with each other, you’re just about to set the newspaper down and organize all of them to put them back on the shelf when you notice you left one article aside without touching it.

The last newspaper you set out has a bold headline reading “THIRD MONTH OF GANGLAND VIOLENCE” and when you pick it up, it details that over three months of violence ensued between the Corleones, Tattaglias, and Barzinis but even the newspaper has worded such “conflict” in a crafty way so as not to state it explicitly.

This article appears to be the next one chronologically dated after “POLICE CAPTAIN LINKED WITH DRUG RACKETS” and stresses that a bloody mafia war has cost the families in lives and millions with no sign of stopping or being sidetracked.

It’s only when you reach the very end of the article do your eyes widen in shock as you clasp a hand over your mouth.

The last bit states the eldest son of Vito Corleone and his protegee—Santino Corleone—was assassinated by what is suspected to be the Barzini family.

“Jesus…” You remember Tom briefly mentioning Santino, his, Fredo’s, and Michael’s eldest brother but from the looks of the article, it’s very apparent to you that Santino was a full-on mafioso and completely involved in all activities of the family.

You know you should have no pity in your heart for the death of any mafioso, but you can’t help yourself but feel empathy for Santino Corleone’s death even though you’ll never meet him or understand the man he was behind his criminal activities.

‘He was a Corleone too, after all.’

Finally setting down all of the newspapers before you in a neat pile, you take a deep breath and rub your sore eyes.

Your gaze meets up with the locked door of the study once more as you mentally remind yourself that you’re not doing anything “wrong” or “snooping” but that what you just did actually benefit you in learning more about the Corleone family on your own terms.

Everything you’ve just read may have explained the bloody mafia history behind the Corleone family name amidst others, but nothing shows you Michael is or was ever involved.

The article revolving around Michael practically sings of his praises, saying Michael is a young, witty, and cunning businessman who holds the reigns of the Corleone family and leads it to success.

Yet again, you have no second thoughts about Michael, no doubts in your heart about his integrity or honesty and you believe and trust in Michael to be a good person.

You want him to be and you trust him to be, just the way you trust Michael to show you that side of him to you tomorrow.

~

[ Next Morning ]

With the excitement ringing through the compound coming from the Corleone women up early to have bodyguards and chauffeurs begin packing their bags, you momentarily went into a panic thinking you must have slept into the afternoon.

Recognizing it Sandra, Connie, and Kay’s anticipation put them in a rush to get packed and ready, the first thing you do in the morning after refreshing in the bathroom and pulling on a simple shirtwaist dress is putting your one piece of luggage outside and next to Kay’s three to be loaded into one of the cars.

By the time you’re out to set your luggage down, Kay and the others are back in shouting hairstyle and makeup suggestions back and forth to each other to get it all done before the afternoon.

You smile to yourself, turning around and squinting your eyes up at the warm sun soaking over your skin. You know you won’t be spending half as much time getting glammed up for a plane ride to Vegas and that you’ve got ample time in your day to get ready.

Just as you’re about to turn back on your heel and head back to your living quarters to properly begin to get ready you hear Michael’s velvety voice calling for you from behind.

“Good morning, Marina,” you hear Michael speak as you stop in your tracks and suddenly you feel almost bare and hardly semi-presentable before him.

‘Oh my God.’ With instant reaction, your muscles clench from arousal in the presence of Michael—eagerly gazing at the new tailored, three-piece, black and silk Italian suit he’s wearing; black silk tie and gold cufflinks.

Michael’s hair is gelled back and parted through the middle neatly; not a single hair loose nor a wrinkle in his suit with all the awareness you’re not able to get your eyes off of him even if you wanted to.

“I hope you slept well,” Michael’s eyes meet yours as you turn around to face him; briefly admiring your natural beauty under the glowing rays of the sun.

‘This man… I swear.’

“Michael,” you breathe back, smiling at him. “As well as I could. I hope you have as well.”

Michael gives you a nod before gesturing his hand towards a bodyguard approaching from the other end of the compound, pointing towards your luggage in specific—not Kay’s or Connie’s.

“Thank you,” you whisper to the bodyguard who gives you an acknowledging glance before taking your luggage to pack next.

“It doesn’t hurt to be proactive and pack for this afternoon, however,” Michael glances back towards his and Kay’s estate. “Rest assured we’re still leaving at our planned time; no sooner, no later.”

“Right,” you chuckle. “I was just going to head back and get ready my—”

“ANTHONY! Anthony!” You hear Kay cry out from the estate in a hurry. “Sweetheart, don’t forget your tie! It’s not put on right! Come here, please.”

“Well,” Tom’s voice chimes in as he exits from the Corleone estate. “At this rate, we’ll all be ready by the afternoon. Hi, Marina.”

“Hi, Tom,” you give him a small wave, “are two cars taking us?”

“That’s right,” Michael nods.

“We might actually be back in three if…” Tom cringes, giving a short shrug. “If Fredo is bringing Deanna back to stay with us for a bit.”

Although you can tell Tom is more than just mildly irritated by the idea, you see Michael’s expression hardens at his suggestion but he doesn’t react further.

“Not something you look forward to?” You break the momentary silence falling in between you three.

“Uh,” Tom scratches the back of his neck, “I suppose not. Miss Dunn can be a handful and well, so can Fredo sometimes. You’ll see.”

Michael takes a step closer towards you before you three look back up towards the Corleone estate to see the front door burst open and Anthony snickering, rushing out with a loose tie over his neck and a helpless Kay following after him.

“Anthony, seriously!” Kay huffs, “Anthony, this isn’t funny! Get back here!”

‘Ah, Anthony…’

You notice as Tom grins and gestures towards Anthony. “Kid’s full of energy, what can you do? I’ll get him for you, Kay.”

“Thank you, Tom,” Kay sighs in relief, looking back over at Michael who redirected his gaze to yours almost immediately.

“Marina?”

“Yes?” The scarlet blush over your cheeks deepens.

“Walk with me,” he gestures, turning his back on Kay and the estate.

Nodding, you walk up closer to Michael and remain by his side as he leads you away from his estate and further back toward your living quarters, barely having acknowledged Kay in the midst of all that.

Kay blinks in confusion, watching Michael and you walk away together but from the exhaustion of keeping up with Anthony and hearing Mary calling back to her whining a bow fell out of her hair, Kay can’t keep her thoughts straight and think much else of it.

Michael doesn’t need to pull you away or talk to you privately, he simply prefers to.

“You’ve packed everything you need?” He finally asks you once you’re both away from anyone else’s hearing distance.

“Mhmm, everything’s good to go,” you reply back.

“There will be something else when you arrive at your hotel suite in Vegas,”  Michael tells you.

“Something else…?” Your eyes begin to widen with curiosity.

“You’ll see when you get there,” Michael makes direct eye contact with you. “Kay tells me you have everything you two ordered…”

‘Ordered. You were the one who picked out that dress for me…’

“It’ll be ready in your suite as well when you arrive.” Michael finishes his sentence. “That’s all.”

‘What?’

“Right,” you nod back—the smile on your lips growing. “And thank you again for that, Michael. I can’t thank you enough.”

“You can thank me by wearing it,” Michael replies—surprising you with his response instead of saying “You don’t need to” or something similar when he hears you thanking him again and again. “I want to see you in it tonight.”

“Of course…” From Michael’s words alone, the arousal pumping through you feels as if your pussy has a heartbeat of its own despite your mind begging you not to take Michael’s words the way your body craves to.

“Is there anything else I can do to make your experience more comfortable?” Michael asks, putting his hands in the pockets of his trousers as you begin to approach your living quarters.

“I’m sure there’s a million more questions I’d like to ask but none of them come to mind,” you admit, sheepishly. “Knowing me.”

“Then as I’ve requested, stay close with me tonight,” Michael comes to a stop, facing you. “And then I’ll know.”

“I…” Blushing furiously, you give your head a small shake. “I know we talked about this and—”

“We did,” Michael reaffirms. “But I’m no longer suggesting it or offering it to you. I’m asking you to do it.”

“Wouldn’t Mrs. Corleon—”

“Forget Kay,” Michael interrupts, looking sternly into your eyes. “This has nothing to do with her. I want you there with me tonight, understood?” With your heart beginning to pound in your chest, you hardly have a moment to reply back to Michael before he adds, lowering his tone to a soft, ushered one, “Knowing you, I don’t know where else you’d want to be.”

[giowritess]

WORKS IN PROGRESS

fortnight

benny miller x f!reader | on-going mini series | fake dating; fluff; smut

weaker

michael corleone x f!reader || smut

FUTURE

will miller x f!reader || smut; reader is the younger sister of will’s best friend; age gap

rick flag x f!reader || smut; sorta enemies to lovers, flag is her superior and reader is a brat

jake ‘hangman’ seresin x f!reader ‘starboy’ || maybe im gonna continue this one im not sure; smut; reader is jake’s former enemy with benefits and they can’t stand each other

bucky barnes x f!reader || smut, requested

i would LOVE to get any requests for any of these characters:

javier pena

will and benny miller

michael corleone

aaron hotchner

rick flag

bucky barnes

andy barber

[tragedygroupie]

hi ya’ll! i normally write smut on ao3 but i wanted to come on here to get some prompts! right now i write shiv roy smut AND robert de niro character smut, but that’s subject to change.

i will write smut about:

Robert De Niro Characters:

Travis Bickle (Taxi Driver)

Jimmy Conway (Goodfellas)

Vito Corleone (The Godfather Part Two)

Neil McCauley (Heat)

Sam ‘Ace’ Rothstein (Casino)

Louis Gara (Jackie Brown)

Max Cady (Cape Fear)

John ‘Johnny Boy’ Civello (Mean Streets)

Lorenzo Anello (A Bronx Tale)

Father Bobby (Sleepers)

Jack Walsh (Midnight Run)

Jimmy Doyle (New York, New York)

Jon Rubin (Hi, Mom!)

Monroe Stahr (The Last Tycoon)

Succession:

Shiv Roy

Kendall Roy

Al Pacino Characters:

Michael Corleone (The Godfather)

Tony Montana (Scarface)

Vincent Hanna (Heat)

Frank Serpico (Serpico)

Carlito Brigante (Carlito’s Way)

Bobby (The Panic in Needle Park)

Johnny (Frankie and Johnny)

Bobby Deefield

Yellowjackets:

-Old! Nat

some notes about the smut i write:

-i pretty much exclusively write smut with a submissive reader

-most of my smut is in first person

-will not write scat, piss, or noncon.

i’m sure there’s more but that’s all i can think of right now! please please please send in asks, because i miss writing❤️❤️

[fallenstar193]

Secret’s of the Night

Micheal Corleone x Female Reader

Synopsis: Running a criminal organization is a great task to handle. Who’s to say Micheal doesn’t deserve some kind of distraction? Luckily for him a certain maid would handle that task easily.

After his father's death, after losing half his family due to the mafia war, Michael's sweeter side was slowly but surely dying. It was no wonder why Kay was no longer dazzled by her husband, why their relationship was slowly but surely breaking apart.

The fact that Michael seemed to be entirely into the business now, determined to grow more and more powerful every passing day, didn't help either.

And so, as Y/N drew a distance between Michael and her, Michael's attention was drawn to someone else altogether.

Y/N.

The gorgeous young maid had started working for his family about a year before, and from the get-go, Michael had been dazzled by her gorgeous smile, her sensual body, and those big eyes, always so filled with a sort of cheeky allure.

There was no question Y/N was somewhat of a troublemaker. She enjoyed teasing her boss even before they began their affair, and the skirts seemed to get shorter and shorter as time went by. The way she swayed her hips whenever she caught him staring had Michael aching for the stunning maid even though his wife and young children were usually in the house.

Their first kiss had been a moment Michael would never be able to get off his mind. Her lips were so soft, so sweet, so inviting, and she allowed him to wrap his arms around her lithe body, pulling her close against his chest.

There was something so sexy about Michael to Y/N. Perhaps it was the power and confidence he exuded. Perhaps it was the dichotomy of his personality: How brutal and sweet he could be at the same time.

She found him intoxicating, and though in the beginning their affair had simply been motivated by lust, in time, something else grew between them. Something deep and intense, something that threatened to burn them alive.

As Michael's life became harder and harder outside his home, attempting to make dealings with other Families and the Vatican itself, as his relationship with his wife got worse and worse, his affair only seemed to grow stronger, his encounters with Y/N more frequent.

He could hardly keep his hands off her whenever she cleaned the room he was in. And Y/N didn't make it any easier for him! Not with the way she swayed her hips from side to side so enticingly, winking his way, licking her lips, and oh, how she touched him, how she kissed him, inviting him to push her much further than Kay would ever allow him to.

The little vixen seemed to grow deeply aroused whenever she could tease him, whenever she could mess with his head. Showing off her ass or giving him a smothering look while others were around but not looking her way became all too common. This meant Michael was almost painfully aroused during important meetings or even while drinking with his associates and friends.

"Do you need me to clean your desk, Michael?" Y/N purr as she stepped into his office when the young Don was attempting to focus on the Corleone family's dealings.

He'd look up at her, trying his best to control his urges, his impulses. Sometimes he failed at once, and his arms were soon around her gorgeous body, pulling Y/N onto his lap as his hands rolled up and down those incredible curves.

Others, he'd shake his head, grinning longingly at the teasing young woman.

"I can't, Y/N. I'm too busy,"

But she never listened to reason. Y/N enjoyed messing with her boss too much, and even more so, being punished for disobeying. So she'd go on cleaning anyways, making sure to bend over so he could either stare at her round, firm ass or at her alluring cleavage.

Her tits were a work of art, Michael could not deny it, and her buttocks were round, firm, and apple-shaped. Everything about Y/N seemed to scream sex, and she ached to be dominated by the powerful Don every single day.

Perhaps that was one of the main reasons she kept on working for Michael. As his lover, she could have received a handsome allowance and an apartment in the city, one he could come in and fuck her whenever he felt like it. But doing that would mean he'd only go to her when he was aching for a good fuck. Y/N needed to see Michael every waking moment and make sure she remained in the front of his mind.

Men like him could easily find new lovers, and then what? She wasn't after his money; she wanted him, all of him.

Y/N knew Michael was unlikely to leave Kay, and she was fine being the other woman, but she'd be damned if she had to compete with other lovers for his attention!

In the end, her teasing ways and sensual flirtation always managed to entice Michael, even if it earned her a spanking for being such a naughty, seductive little vixen.

And to Y/N, that was what she'd call a win-win situation. She loved it when Michael was a bit rough on her when he showed his dominant side and made sure she understood what her place was.

Since they were at his home whenever they fucked, whenever he spanked and disciplined her, Y/N had to learn to muffle her moans, her gasps, her whimpers.

It would not do for his wife to walk in on them. Of course, it was unlikely, given that a bodyguard or two were always out in the hallway, but if Y/N got loud enough, Kay would know something was amiss. The woman had learned to turn a blind eye to her husband's dealings, but she wasn't stupid either, and she was quickly getting tired of playing dumb.

Though Y/N wanted Michael to be with her, to admit his love for her in front of the entire world, she didn't want to ruin his life either, and she certainly didn't want him to lose his children, Mary and Anthony.

So, for the time being, she was quiet whenever they were alone together. The only one who could hear her muffled, quivering moans was her lover, and she knew how much he enjoyed them.

As their hidden relationship turned more and more passionate, more intoxicating, Y/N grew bolder and bolder as well.

"Take the bottle of whiskey and four glasses into the boss's office," One of Michael's underlings ordered Y/N late one night. Kay was gone for the week, having argued with her husband yet again. She had taken their two children along with her.

Things were more than slightly tense between them. Though few people in the family knew about it, Michael had confided on his lover as they cuddled together in bed, in one of the house's many guestrooms.

"I thought Kay had suffered a miscarriage. I was heartbroken for both of us, but it was nothing of the sort, Y/N," He said with frustration. He was clearly angry, disappointed, and hurt, and though Y/N usually teased and poked him sensually, that time she just listened quietly, tenderly rolling her fingers over his chest, trying to comfort him. No matter how much she loved taunting him, she loved Michael all the more.

"That's not what happened?" She asked, frowning quietly as he shook his head.

"No, not at all. Last night she told me the truth. She had an abortion! She told me she didn't want to bring another child of mine into this world, not with how badly I've messed up, not after everything I've done! How could she have killed one of my babies!"

Y/N held Michael tenderly in her arms, soothing his broken heart, and cementing their relationship even further. Though they were lovers, having an affair behind his family's back, there was something real growing between them both, and it couldn't be denied any longer.

That had been almost a week ago, and Y/N knew it was high time to tease her lover once more, push him to be as passionate as she loved him being.

So when she stepped into the office, where a few of Michael's associates were discussing business, she served every last one of them, except for her boss.

"What do we say when we want something to drink?" She whispered teasingly, winking his way as she leaned forward, revealing her sensual cleavage to him in front of all those men.

"Y/N, not not." He grunted, glaring her way, but she wasn't intimidated.

"What's the magic word, then? The sooner you say it, the sooner you get your drink," She cooed hotly, and his glare was so dangerous most other people in the house would have immediately freaked out, but Y/N knew him better than that. He appreciated loyalty, and Y/N was loyal to a fault. He wouldn't hurt someone -not more than needed anyway- just because they were a bit bratty or impertinent. And they both knew what kind of game she was playing.

"Out, all of you," He grunted, standing up and forcing her to take a step back so he could get on his feet. "I need to have a talk with Y/N, alone."

The other four men nodded gravely and stepped out onto the corridor, closing the door behind them.

"You impertinent little vixen," He grunted, and though there was anger in those dark eyes of him, what she saw in his gaze was arousal and the desire to teach her one of the lessons she enjoyed so much.

Michael grabbed Y/N by her long, silky hair, tugging at it just hard enough to make her moan and whimper out loud at the same time.

"Take off your clothes right now, I want to teach you a lesson," He grunted, tugging even harder for just an instant before he let go of her, and took a seat, staring demandingly her way.

She smiled seductively his way as she slowly but surely allowed the maid uniform to slide down onto the floor. Underneath she was wearing a sensual lingerie set, black and semi-sheer, one of the numbers he had gifted her over the past few months.

Her nipples were already hard enough to be noticeable through the silky fabric. His dark gaze rolled down her body, taking in her curves, enjoying the way she caressed her own skin with long, limber fingers.

Y/N wiggled her breasts sensually, as she unhooked the bra from the front instead of the back. A sexy little detail he adored.

"Stop smiling like a little brat, this is a punishment," He hissed, though the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips told Y/N otherwise.

As he stared openly at her sexy little striptease, the bra fell heavily on the ground, joining the maid uniform. Her nipples were pink, small, and wonderfully erect, and he ached to stretch out his hand and pinch one of those perfect little buttons.

And finally, Abigail leaned down, bending at her hips instead of at her knees, making her position even more sensual and enticing. She threw the panties his way, licking her lips tantalizingly as he grabbed them and beckoning her to move closer.

She swayed her hips toward him, moving them from side to side hotly, and when she was within reach, Michael grabbed her by the hips hard. His free hand rolled down her naked, sensual body, enjoying every last inch.

Her tits were firm and round, and they rested hotly against the palm of his hands as he squeezed one and then the other. She tilted her head back, moaning and panting as he pinched her nipples hard and rough, the mixture of pain and pleasure taking over her mind.

"Oh, Michael!" She hissed, and that was when he pushed her forward, prompting the beautiful Y/N to fall onto his lap.

She yelped, gasping as she was forced to bend over, her firm ass sticking up into the air.

"You're going to get punished for your naughty attitude, you impertinent girl," He grunted hard. "You're such a disobeying little slut, aren't you?"

She nodded, wiggling her ass for him to smack already. She loved it when he spanked her, over and over again, until her ass was red and sore.

"Count every last spank until I say it's over, Y/N," He ordered, and she nodded at once.

"One!" She squealed, as his hand hissed loomingly through the air and finally landed on her firm ass, making it wiggle gently. He didn't give her any time to recover, and instead, his hand kept on crashing against her skin over and over, making it look so red within only a few moments! As he continued to spank her over and over again, she counted out loud: "Two, three, four, five! Ohhhh, six, six!"

Minutes slipped by, and he kept on swatting her ass time and time again. Her round, firm ass got increasingly red and sore, her entire body quivering with a mix of arousal and humiliation.

She loved submitting to him, crawling onto his lap and letting him spank her over and over again until she was quivering all over, aching to be fucked.

He rubbed her ass when he got to twenty, and hotly asked her:

"Have you learned your lesson?"

She nodded, somewhere between whimpering and moaning as she replied:

"Yes, yes, I've been such a bad girl." She purred, looking at him over her shoulder, her skin as flushed as her ass was red.

Michael tugged at her long hair, pulling her back onto her feet, caressing her ass tenderly as he did so.

"You're forgiven, you little brat," He teased her warmly. "Tell me the truth, did you enjoy it?"

"I did, you know I did!" She replied, and he wrapped his arms around her with the dominance and determination that characterized Michael.

They kissed passionately, her naked body pressed against him, his hands rolling down her skin hotly.

"I need to fuck you tonight," He grunted against her lips, making Y/N smile at once! "Get on your knees and show me how badly you want to feel me inside you!"

Without hesitating, Y/N dropped onto her knees, unzipping his pants and hooking out his cock with such eagerness that her fingers trembled slightly.

And as quickly as she got it out, her lips were on it. Peppering his girth with kisses, rolling her tongue over his cock. She made it nice and slick with her drool before opening the mouth wide and letting it slide deep inside her.

As Y/N wrapped her lips tightly around his shaft, she began bobbing her head up and down his shaft, taking in every last inch hotly.

She loved the way it was so erect, its scent so musky. It throbbed wonderfully against her tongue and lips.

He placed his hand on the back of her head and guided Y/N to move faster, fucking her face roughly as the need to use her mouth as some kind of suction force.

He went deeper and deeper inside her mouth until his bulbous head reached and slid down her throat. She gagged once or twice but managed to take him in.

Y/N’s tongue rolled all over his girth, coating it with her drool, tasting his precum.

When he was a moment away from cumming hard, Michael thrust away from her greedy mouth and whipped off a drop of precum from the corner of her mouth.

Michael guided her toward the table only a few feet away from where she had been kneeling only a moment before. Helping her bend over so that her tits were pressed against the smooth wooden surface.

She wiggled her sexy, round ass up in the air, and he didn't waste a single instant, plunging deep inside her soaked cunt, fucking her like his life depended on it.

Their bodies rocked back and forth in perfect unison, as she rolled her hips back every time he thrust into her. Her breasts rubbed against the desk over and over again, stimulating Y/N even further.

She had to bite her lip to avoid a series of loud, passionate moans from filling the room. Though Michael's wife wasn't in the house, they didn't want his whole staff and underlings to know exactly what was going on in there.

The two lovers made love for what felt like an eternity until his thrusts became rougher and faster until they were driven to the edge. It was then that she embraced her orgasm, her cuny clenching powerfully around his cock, and prompting Michael to join the explosion of pleasure.

As Y/N climaxed hard, her pussy squeezed his cock even further, the massages having his own orgasm grow fierce, so much so that his entire body was quivering by the time it reached its peak.

Michael filled Y/N with his seed, his cock throbbing hard inside her before they exhaustedly collapsed onto the desk. He peppered her neck with tiny, soft kisses before helping her get back onto her feet.

"Since Kay's not here tonight, why don't you come upstairs and sleep with me? I want to wrap my arms around you and fall asleep to your sweet scent?" He suggested, and Y/N immediately agreed. The two whisking away in slumber for the rest of the night.

But though Michael expected Kay to return in the following weeks, she never did. They exchanged calls, and the relationship grew colder and colder until the inevitable divorce proceedings started.

It was then, with the ink still wet from his separation, that Michael finally decided he could not live without Y/N in his life.

"I have something to ask you," He whispered one night, just before bed. By then, Y/N had been sleeping with him in his marital bed for over three months, and they were happier than ever before.

Y/N gasped as she saw the powerful Don get down on one knee for her, pulling out a tiny box containing a massive diamond ring.

"Y/N, my love... will you marry me?" He whispered, and she couldn't help but squeal as she jumped into his arms, kissing him like she had never kissed him before.

"Yes, yes, yes! A million times yes!" The former maid squealed happily, feeling her heart beating so fast in her chest she was certain the whole neighborhood could hear it drumming away. "I love you, Michael, nothing in the world would make me happier!"

"I love you too, Y/N" He whispered, placing the ring on her finger, before standing up. His arms were tightly wrapped around her, and he picked up his new fiancee bridal-style, carrying her to their bed, ready to make love to the love of his life.

[areaderinlove]

kinktober

alr yall ik i have some requests that i still didn’t make but i want to participate as much as i can in kinktober even though october is going to be shit cause i have reset exams but anyways give me your request and lemme tell you ill do my best 

[martyarchive]

sometimes for fun i try reading those character x y/n fics that are in every main tag ever and they are always consistently extremely bad. like not once has one been even remotely readable and they’re always like 36386483k words long. who is writing them i don’t understand and who these are supposed to appeal to because they’re always insane

[nothingenoughao3]

Fic of the Week, Week 4

Un Fremito Arcano (8440 words) by street-howitzer Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: The Godfather (1972 1974 1990) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Michael Corleone/Tom Hagen, Sonny Corleone/Tom Hagen Characters: Michael Corleone (The Godfather), Vito Corleone, Tom Hagen, Sonny Corleone Additional Tags: Character Study, Michael Corleone Sure Does Have Something Wrong With Him, Grief/Mourning, Men Crying, Swearing, Smoking, Alexithymia, Pseudo-Incest, Love Triangles, Unrequited Love, Closeted Character, Slurs, Accidental Voyeurism, Anal, Come Marking Summary: Michael returns from Sicily with unfinished emotional business.

[chaosfae-writes]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞

summary: sometimes love can only be felt from afar.

warnings: angst, one-sided pining, minor invasion of privacy, voyeurism, smut, possessive Michael.

pairing: Michael Corleone x poc!reader

a/n: For @melis-writes for inspiring me to write for the Godfather, this is for you babes! <3 the reader is half-poc, half Silcian, this is a little ooc from canon because I’m a woman of color, please let me just live my Michael Corleone dreams in peace. The word g*psy is mentioned, I don’t condone the slur, it’s used from an actual quote from The Godfather.

do not repost my works.

The pitter patters of little feet dash.

Small giggles echo throughout the Tahoe home, accompanied by heavier steps following behind.

Playful monster growls, fingers curled into makeshift claws, hunching over — Fredo runs after his three-year-old nephew, Sebastian.

Not too far from the boy, in case he needs to catch the child who is still learning how to walk.

The waddling toddler bounces on his little feet, arms in mid-air, instinctively running to the shared master bedroom of his parents. Cautious feet turn the corner of the hallway, akin to a penguin, Sebastian wobbles through the bedroom door.

“Sebastian, I’m going to get ya’!” Faux menacing growls causing the little one to squeal, as he crawls under the bed, not stifling his laughs all too well.

Chubby little fingers covering his mouth, his little gummy smile.

Fredo tries to tame his voice as his other little nephew, Vincenzo, is napping in his crib. An atomic bomb can fall from the sky and the infant would still be in his deep sleep.

Fredo follows the path his little nephew ran, slipping through the ajar open bedroom door, humming to himself mischievously, tapping his chin as if he’s deep in thought.

“Now where can little Sebastian be?” Childish giggles can be heard from underneath the bed.

“Oh where, oh where can Sebastian be?” Fredo dramatically announces, his arms extend wide as a theatrical jester.

Fredo walks to the closet, pretending to finally catch the little Coreleone, with an ‘ah ha!’, opening the closet doors wide open. Fredo’s hums with an impressed flair.

“Hmm, not in the closet.” Fredo twirls around at his feet, and stops mid-way, making sure his feet are seen at the hem of the quilt, by Sebastian, in the dead center of the bed.

Fredo hums again thoughtfully, tapping the toe of his shoe against the flooring — Fredo kneels down hastily, lifting the hem of the bed sheet.

“There you are!”

Sebastian squeals loudly, trying to worm away, but Fredo catches him with ease, playfully dragging him out from under the bed by his chubby little legs; but under Fredo’s nose, a clamor of an object is tousled.

It doesn’t register with his mind — he’s too enamored with Sebastian’s babbling.

As Fredo tickles his nephew, his mind wanders off into a train of thought. His finger ceases with the ticklish assault, a weight of self-deprecation settles upon his crown.

Fredo pauses for a moment, staring at his happily gurgling nephew —- a spitting image of his father, Michael’s twin in the flesh, jet black hair that curls at his ears, those wide rich brown eyes, and olive skin.

The mannerisms, and the precious furrowed brow, whenever Sebastian is deep in thought.

In his arms, Fredo holds his future successor, his reign was casted further below the familial tree, among the awaiting heirs when the boys were conceived.

Now another heir is to be born in six months, a third child you carry. The family hopes for another boy — the three sons, three little Michaels.

Sebastian grabs Fredo’s nose, bringing him back to reality. Fredo chuckles, kissing Sebastian’s forehead. Just as he fully brings his nephew up to his chest, something scatters by Fredo’s feet.

A black leather bound journal scattered across the flooring, finally catching Fredo’s eye. Cradling his nephew against his chest, he debates if he should even dare.

Curiously, he leans the balls of his feet, cautiously his hand hovers over it — debating if he should pry it open.

But the intrusiveness that weighs on his shoulders is becoming heavier and heavier until it cracks his spine. Snatching the journal from the floor, Fredo tucks it under his armpit, as he guides little Sebastian by the hand to his room for a nap.

-

August, 1957

Michael is returning home, and my soul can rest once more. The idea of letting Michael travel unsettles me, the hunger of our enemies is always ready in the shadows.

I’m terrified of losing him, that somehow an enemy manages to kill Michael. What would I do without him? A life without him would be nothing but grief —- the black veiled widow crouching in the farthest church’s pew, weeping for her lost love.

I refuse to become that; I will fight alongside my husband, even if he’s foaming at the mouth, raving that I shouldn’t put myself in harm’s way. To just be his lover, and the mother of his children —- his heirs to his throne.

No —- when I spoke my vows, it’s for better or worse. I grew up in this lifestyle — the family must stick together, and regardless of the misconception of the don being a lone wolf, he is not.

My Michael isn’t alone —- he has me.

But some nights, dark thoughts clutter my mind, moments of confusion, and despair —- what if Michael doesn’t need me as much as I need him? Michael isn’t invincible, he’s only human — what will become of my children and I?

Go back to Italy? My sons are far too young, barely walking —- would we even live in Tahoe still?

To lose Michael, is like losing a piece of me —- I wouldn’t know who I am.

Who am I?

How would I protect my children? Flee back to Italy? Hide away in my father’s villa home?

Fredo pauses, crouching over in his seat, alone in his guest room, neck deep in your personal entries. His fingertip tracing the loops of your elegant cursive, kissing the pages; kissing the dried tear droplets, and the smeared lipstick stains.

Inhaling the scent of your soft sun kissed perfume and woven stitched leather.

He can feel the ache of your lonely childhood, from the early entries of your proposed marriage that was once crafted by his father and yours, to loving Michael and how God arranged the fate in a peculiar fashion.

Fredo can recall the wedding — a spectacular Roman Catholic wedding, your bridal dress silky and long. How the lace veil fell upon your cherub face.

He nearly threw up, if he could he would’ve snatched you off the altar and drove off — never looking back.

To the worries of your marriage through each entry, Michael’s possessive nature, or maybe he won’t survive the next day; your poems entrance him.

It only makes his heart yearn for you more.

I would protect you.

-

The kids are down for a nap, little Vincenzo arose earlier, Fredo fed him a prepared bottle of milk you put away before leaving, played with the infant for a few hours, and then the little one slept again.

As Fredo sits alone, your journal is still in his grasp, reading, savoring every written word — faint gravel can be heard from outside.

Fredo’s head turns, through the transparent curtain, he can see the slick black vehicle coming towards the home.

In a sprint, Fredo closes your journal, putting it back in its original resting spot underneath the bed, and dashing down the stairs in a haste.

Fredo halt’s at a mirror in the hallway, his open palms slicking back his silky hair, and shuffling his shirt back in place — to look his best.

The car parks in the driveway. Fredo watches through the kitchen window, hiding behind the curtain. Peering shyly as if he dares to unveil himself more behind the curtain, he would be caught.

Caught admiring from afar, the way a man shouldn’t for a married woman.

One of Michael’s guards quickly opens the back door, holding your hand securely as your other palm is protectively around your bump.

As you try to gather more than one bag, the guard helps hold brown bags of groceries into the home; away from your grasp.

Fredo quickly dashes to the kitchen, opening the back door, hands frantic. His chest becomes excited to see your bubbly smile, as the driver trails behind you with both arms occupied.

The door swings open, Fredo boldly stands there, trying to compose his composure; a titter of a surprised giggle escapes your lips.

“Hi, Fredo.” Such a warm greeting.

Fredo quickly takes the brown bag from you, guiding you into the kitchen — even helping you take off your trench coat. The guard is not too far behind — ever so observant, ever so quiet.

“Thank you for watching the boys.”

Apologies for taking so long at the market slips from your lips, but Fredo doesn’t mind at all — just idly staring at your mouth. Fredo mumbles that it’s okay, he enjoyed his time with the boys. Shiny dark brown hair, brushed smoothly as the end of your hair is coiled into bouncy curls, soft pink painted lips, and your maternity dress hugging your body snug.

You always said in moments of frustration on some days, often calling yourself a parade float, hormones to blame, but to Fredo, you were perfect.

A motherly glow.

“No worries, we were playing all afternoon.”

Fredo joins you in putting away the groceries, a pleasant silence falls that doesn’t need to be filled with chatter. It’s comfortable. Your own personal bodyguard takes his place in the foyer, after you shush him off, telling him it’s okay to relax, and take a break.

Washing and putting away vegetables, along with cartons of milk, wrapped up meats and fish, canned juice, and fruits in the fridge; boxes of pasta are put away in the cabinets.

It’s comfortable — domestic, even.

Dusting your hands against each other, idly watching Fredo stack up the last of the boxed goods, a tender smile curls at your mouth.

“Would you like to join me for lunch?” You spoke sweetly, Fredo turned his face over his shoulder, with a toothy grin.

“I would love to.”

-

The sun has settled beyond the horizon, and the night has come to full bloom. Dinner has been served, the kids played around with Fredo, and yourself — as much as you could, with a swollen bump.

Played house games, and watched television with popcorn. The boys were bathed, swathed and loved till it was bedtime.

You sit in the master bedroom, cradling your bump, as you prepare to dress down to more comfortable sleep gown for the night.

Humming to yourself, digging inside your drawer for your silk nightie.

Faintly the front door opens and closes, it echoes dully against the stretched lavish home; you pause with baited breath. Hands frozen, as you await. Hushed chatter downstairs, you can make out the guard’s voice and his.

Dull footfalls crawl up the stairs, as you slowly turn your body away from the dresser. Out of an anxious habit, your hands caress your swelled bump, a shaky smile forms at your mouth. The sounds of feet come closer from the hallway — to a stop to the bedroom door.

A breath hitches at your throat, as the door knob slowly turns. A subtle creek of the opening door, as if time slowed down to a stand-still. Your ears heat up in anticipation.

He’s home.

Michael stands at the door, his hands in his pockets; under his watchful eyes, a tender smile curls. His cold eyes now soften, his shoulders relax.

Every fiber of your body yearns for him, and it makes your heart warm that Michael only shows his true self — in quiet moments, when the world disappears, Michael expresses his affections, comfort and vulnerability.

Only to you and his babies.

Michael walks to you, quietly, his eyes roaming your body, the changes of motherhood has bestowed you a glow, and more plumpness to the flesh of your curves. Your breasts swelled with milk for his children, your hips wider, thighs are more detectable.

Shyly you take small footsteps to him, both of you relishing the sacred shared space — finally, he’s back home.

His hands gently touch your cheeks, as if you were a precious jewel, his eyes are kinder, as he stares at you.

A soft kiss on your forehead, feathery to the touch, earning a hitched gasp in your throat; another to your cheek, his intoxicating breath fanning your touch starved skin.

And finally his plump pink lips hover just hairs over your mouth, his tongue daring to peek through the cages of his teeth — you’re desperate, a pant as you flick his parted mouth with yours.

Tantalizing, teasing one another, eyes never wavering from each other — relishing in radiating body heat.

Your fingers softly trace the bridge of his Roman nose, trailing to his cupid bow, to his pink full lips, Michael’s lips kiss gently. His eyes never waver from yours, his hands fondle your thighs, gliding upward the terrain of your waist, caressing the stretched skin of your ample bump.

The unspoken silence falls softly, now just inches apart from each other; as Michael’s fingertips graze your cheek, the warmth pacifies you, as he engulfs your jaw with his open palm.

His fingers glide the slope of your neck, caressing the nape of your neck, by his tender grip pulls you into a kiss. It’s passionate — desperate even, your arms wrap around his neck.

Michael’s arm wraps around your waist gently, not too firm to crush your growing belly — open mouth kisses, his warm wet tongue licks against yours, moaning into each other’s mouths. Your fingers roving messily in his inky black hair, soft tufts, and pulls.

Michael can feel your pulse under his thumb, thumping with a rush. The pang of lust hits your clit, as Michael suckles your bottom lip.

“I need you,” you whisper between kisses, “I need to feel you.” Whining, as your nails scratch his scalp — a deep low growl emits from Michael, “My sweet wife, I’ve neglected you for too long.” He spoke upon your wanting mouth.

His lips graze gently against your lips, hovering as his warm breath engulfs, sending tingles through the atoms of your flesh. The kisses are becoming erratic, more sloppy, as Michael’s teeth trail with open wet kisses, to the juncture of your jaw.

Nibbling and suckling, the curve of your neck, as your mound ignites hotly. Two bodies melting into each other, becoming one once more.

-

It’s late.

Fredo sits in isolated silence, with a glass of whiskey held by the tips of his fingers. Staring into the window view, memorized by the rippling night waters of Lake Tahoe.

Fredo often goes to bed with you on his mind, the only comfort that eases him amidst the chaos of his. When he needs to remind himself of the silver lining of living, he doesn’t get on his knees like his mother with a rosary woven between her fingers, head bowing in prayer — he thinks of your face.

But he should get on his knees, for God blessing a pathetic man as himself, that God let him know you, to have you in his family — even though you were married to Michael.

Instead of marrying a good woman like you, Fredo surrounded himself with easy women, bad partners who left bad taste in the mouths of his family.

American women with big breasts and big mouths to match, and thirsty livers. From getting two waitresses at a time to being married to a washed up broad who cheated on him, to then seeking hollow affections from showgirls, blur of alcohol bottles, bare breasts, and emptying himself inside their wombs with his seed — strings of raw fun nights to only end with the cold shoulder, and doctor Jules Segal’s speciality.

Often looked down upon for his reckless appetites, but making up for the slack of strength with charm, and burdened with insignificant family business deals, a tactic his father did to keep his middle child preoccupied for years.

Ridiculed for being the weakest link of three sons, the runt of the litter; for the lack of his father’s approval the more he weaned on his mother’s tit.

But it always begins at the mothers, this cycle of self-abuse, letting women inflict him; it always starts with the mothers.

His mother had this running joke, ‘You don’t belong to me. You were left on the doorstep by gypsies.’

A caricature of a man.

So easily dominated by women he places on a pedestal, only moments of tiresome rage does he assert himself — but it wasn’t enough to heal that fractured ego, and masculinity.

Starving people will eat the love they think they deserve — Fredo is starved, yet ill at the core.

Coddled by his own baby brother, from the outsider’s eye, it would seem that Michael was the older sibling, and Fredo being the youngest — a pang of spite strikes Fredo everytime. For years, when he’s alone, Fredo would stare at the ceiling, and ask God what is his purpose?

Was his existence just a spite towards his father? To be the stepping stool for his brothers?

Tears sheen his eyes, blinking back as droplets kiss his lashes, sniffling as he sits in his desolated state — you never pitied him. Always a shoulder for him to cry on, moments of conversations, your light humor on life is always refreshing.

You never spoke to him in a condescending manner, only spoke warmly to him. Your melodic voice trances him, fantasizing in his mind as he touches himself late at night.

Instinctive motherly doting, you’ve helped Fredo even in his most disgusting moments. Helped him sober up when he was a drunken mess, conversed with him on anything, never running out of interests.

Imagining you riding on top of him, legs split apart his torso, your warm cunt wound tight, clenching him for dear life — your delicate hands resting upon his chest, as his fingers dig into your bare cheeks, guiding your hips. Your sepia skin glistening with a sheen of dew.

Fredo scoffs, covering his hot face in shame, breathing heavily. He slams the glass on the table side desk, his chest heaving, as his length grows hard and wanton in his unbuckled pants. Wringing his chin by the fingers, he mentally berates himself for thinking such filthy thoughts of his sister-in-law.

These past few days have been a dream for him, while Michael was away in New York conducting business, Fredo and yourself were here with Sebastian, and Vincenzo.

Just the four of you, eating dinner together, boat riding round the lake, playing games around the house, late night conversations — being a family.

Playing house with a woman wedded to his brother, but he couldn’t help but delve into a fantasy of himself being your husband. That the wedding ring resting on your marital finger was the one he picked out for you, that this is your shared cabin home together, and Sebastain was his son.

A fantasy detached from reality to pacify him.

It made him think of his own son, wondering what has become of him, who’s taking care of him —- what would life have been if he had taken in his only child. Fredo knows he wouldn’t be able to take care of a kid, he’s only ever the uncle, never father material.

He can’t even take care of himself.

The swirling eels of envy crawl in his guts, hissing at Michael —- Michael is the don of the family, Michael got the beautiful perfect wife, the perfect children, the perfect home with a lake to match; and what does Fredo have?

A washed-up ex-wife, a string of meaningless affairs, self-depreciation, and a tainted reputation all under his belt.

A forgotten son — just as his lost heir, lost to the world.

Fredo shuts his eyes, his nose scrunches, as his eyes are wound tight, wrinkling in despair. Stinging droplets of tears cascade down his cheeks.

-

Skin against skin, limbs woven as one, sheets ruffle under thrusting hips; Michael’s huskily moans in your ear, making your thigh quiver.

His cheek against yours, his tongue finds its home once again in the crock of neck, as your hand is sloped around his waist, holding onto his tailbone, fingertips digging into his waist — guiding him harder inside you.

Your wet cunt sloshes, your ass jiggling against his pelvis, his cock deep to the hilt, as you’re split in half for him. Your leg is looped over his thigh, Michael ravishing you, as his arm is protectively over your belly.

Michael’s teeth nibble at the shell of your ear, whispering praises hotly, as your eyes roll to the back of your skull. Nearly squeaking when Michael’s thrust his wet cock at your g-spot — splitting your velvety mound, his balls softly hitting your swollen clit.

Soft growls emit from Michael’s throat, he needed this — needed your body for so long. Michael’s husky and warm breath hisses in your ear. Michael’s warm tongue licks the slope of your throat, suckling a wet open kiss, as his hips thrust without mercy — as if he was trying to impregnate you once more.

“You’re so beautiful like this, wet, and moaning just for me.” Michael’s whispers, “My little wife,” his fingers caress and stroke against your soaked cunt, his fingers scratching at the sensitive skin. “Mewling like a kitten, she’s purring just for me.”

“I’m going to cum–” You nearly shrill, as your gasps for air blow softly against the wisps of messy hair, scattered and tousled from Michael pulling on it earlier.

It’s painful yet so good, to feel his cock pistoning inside you; Michael snarling as he nears emptying his balls inside of you.

“Cum on my cock, let me feel you soak me.”

Airy moans, and gasps echo within the lavish bedroom, silk sheets wrinkled, and mangled as two bodies melt together — as a lone eye peeks through the cracked bedroom door.

Hiding away, peeking through the crack of the bedroom door, a lone teary eye watches one — Fredo nearly vomits, swallowing the bile down harshly.

It’s wrong to stare, but he can’t help but yearn to be in Michael’s position. Hearing your mewling is a symphony to his ears, his skin shivers.

His fingers itching to hold you — he looks away, silently stepping away, how disgusted he is of himself. Waves of shame fall upon him.

-

It’s been three days since Michael has returned home — and Fredo can’t stand it. As if his teeth gnawed on the thick tension of jealousy.

An itch of hurt swells in him, feeling abandoned by you, as you tend to Michael. Fredo knows deep down he can’t feel this resentment toward his brother, Michael is your husband, you haven’t seen him in so long.

As a loving wife, it’s within your right to be dutiful.

It drives him mad.

Fredo’s in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink, accompanying his glass is a pastry you bought from the market the other day.

Busy buzzing in his mind — too deep his thoughts — his brow etched in a frown, he didn’t hear a creak in the flooring, or timid steps nearing the kitchen. Slender fingers slither against his torso, tickling him in surprise, Fredo nearly yelps; a melodic giggle brings his heart back down.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” You chuckle, you awh at Fredo’s frizzled state, he resembles a spooked cat with spiky fur that aligns its arched spine. Fredo smiles, shaking his head, trying to restrain himself from your intoxicating touch.

“It’s okay.” Fredo hums, his cheeks a bit warm now. “Just getting a snack,” a glass of whiskey and a pastry —- the ideal late night snack.

“What are you doing up?” Fredo’s palms hold onto your forearms, “You should be in bed.” Fredo towers over you, as you lean against him comfortably, you breathe a chuckle.

“You and Michael are such mother hens,” you extend your chin at Fredo, playfully pouting at him, slightly stepping on your toes. “I’m alright, the baby hasn’t slowed me down just yet.”

Fredo admires the dim glow of the kitchen light gleaming on your brown skin — it shines with no blemishes, as his eyes lower to trace your heart-shaped lips.

Is this what a sin feels like? Deliciously, intoxicating, how Fredo wants to taste you right on the kitchen counter — shower your baby bump with kisses, suckle your heavy breasts into the cave of his mouth.

He’s burning up inside. You gingerly lay your head on his chest, hugging him, Fredo softly kisses your forehead, “Well, someone has to take care of you. Watch you like a hawk.” You hug Fredo in a bear embrace, you haven’t been able to spend time with him, or have a simple conversation.

For the past few days, your mind has been preoccupied with taking care of the children, and tending to Michael; or when you do see Fredo, he’s in Michael’s office — the both of them locked away discussing business that you weren’t privy to.

You adore Fredo, the sweetest brother you’ve had, you never had a brother — you always wished to have one as protective and caring as he is.

You mutter under your breath, as you hug Fredo “Well I’ve missed my hawk.” Fredo’s arms swallows you in his embrace, his cheek now resting on your dome.

You notice there's scattered playing cards on the dining room table, “What are you playing?” You point to the cards, and Fredo’s head moves from your head.

“I was just playing some solitaire, just to pass the time.”

“I love solitaire!”

“Would you like to play a game?” Fredo has a toothy smile, ready to snatch any chance to spend some time with you.

Your hands mindlessly rub your belly, humming, “I think I might be a boring player.” You chuckle, tucking your chin to your chest, scrunching your lips in embarrassment.

“Rummy is the only card game I know.” You say, shyly rubbing your belly, worried that your limited knowledge is boring for Fredo, knowing that he must have had more fun over the years at Vegas, but it doesn’t dim Fredo’s excitement.

“No, no, I love rummy!” He stammers, a toothy smile stretches on his face, holding the box of cards against his chest.

You tuck your chin, shyly nodding, “Okay, but I will warn you, I have a pretty good hand.” You tease, easing yourself into the seat, your hands protectively cupping your bump.

-

Four rounds in, and it’s finally a stand-still.

In your palm, you hold four variations of sevens, one jack of diamonds, a queen of diamonds and a ten of hearts. Just one more card, and you can win.

But so can he.

Playful eyes squint over your hand, as Fredo tries to play off a stoic poker face — purposely letting the stoic mask slip, with a dramatic pursed pout that successfully earns giggles from you.

He has a consistent string of club cards: 1234, along with a queen of hearts, a jack of hearts, a lone eight of spades.

Fredo suspects you have the card he needs, he’s trying to brainstorm a plan to get you to drop it to the pile of discarded cards.

Fredo hums, making the choice to pick up a card and drop the eight. With a swift pluck of the card, Fredo discards his spades, and picks up a nine of diamonds.

Your competitive side is itching, the tip of your polished nail taps against the back of your assorted cards. You have no choice but to pick up as well.

You pick up from the pile, and see a random 2 of spades. You huff, and put it down on the pile. Fredo’s brows furrowed in concentration, he doesn’t need the damn diamonds — what else can he do? Put the diamonds down, and pick up another.

Victory melts on your tongue with delight, chest alit — as Fredo’s diamonds finally touched the discarded pile, it was game over. With a swift pick up of the diamonds, replacing the ten of hearts. “I win!” You squeal, showcasing your full hand of cards.

Fredo guffaws playfully, “Rookie’s luck.”

-

The living room is quiet, and warm.

Sliver of moonlight gleamed through the ceiling high window, a flourish illuminated the lavish home decor.

The scattered playing cards are resting on the dining table, as Fredo and yourself are just resting on the couch. Just small talk, shoulder to shoulder, both comfortably on the cushions.

Fredo can feel your inviting body heat, it hugs him with that reassuring comfort that makes his body tingle. Adjusting himself so he can sink into you.

“Did you think of any names for the baby yet?”

You hum low, as your manicured fingers fiddle, “If it’s a boy, his name will be Anthony,” your head falls on the crock of Fredo’s shoulder, a shiver crawls up his spine at the contact, without any thought, lays his head on yours.

Your breath hitches excitedly, “But if it’s a girl, her name will be Rosalia.” Without any thought, your head caresses sweetly against Fredo’s shoulder, enjoying the shared warmth.

“Like the saint.”

You whisper a dreamy ‘yeah’ under your breath, you love your boys more than life itself, but you would be so happy to have a little girl too. The boys are their father’s twins, will the baby be your twin this time?

The boys are already spoiled and have their father wrapped around their little fingers, now imagine a daughter — poor Michael won’t survive it.

You take Fredo’s hand and cradle it against you, “Another baby to love, another baby for Michael to spoil.” Fredo’s fingers curl around the slopes of your fingers, not daring to let go.

A pregnant pause of comfort falls.

A heat surges through him, he can’t stop himself — an urge that feels so good, but so wrong.

Slowly, Fredo pulls your hand closer to himself — it’s a blur, a compulsive need that overrides his mind.

Wispy kisses on your knuckles, Fredo doesn’t think, just let his heart overcome any logical thinking —- a stunned silence falls.

He can feel you becoming stiff, not from disgust, just surprised, Fredo can hear your breathing picking up.

“Fredo?”

You don’t pull away your hand, worried that it would hurt his feelings. You stare into the darkness, as your skin flushes with an overwhelming heat at the cheeks.

“I love you.” It spills from his lips in a flurry, a hurried whisper.

“I love you,” He repeats. Fredo’s warm palms cradle your face, as you sniffle back tears, murmuring his name under your breath.

Fredo’s lips kiss your palm feverishly, murmuring against the knuckles. Closing your eyes, as your lashes become wet with droplets. Pleading with him to stop now, before it’s too late.

Fredo moves his body, his warm clammy hands grasp at the nape of your neck.

“I wish that you were my wife.” He kisses the tip of your nose, as fat tears cascade down his cheeks. Breathing in harsh breaths, caressing your face with his.

His beard tickles your skin, delicately your fingers grasp his hands, the pad of your thumbs stroking. “Fredo, please—” you don’t know what you’re pleading for; for him to stop, for him to say it’s just a joke.

Opening your eyes, gazing at his wet sheen eyes, and you see it’s no joke. “I hated my father for so long, for arranging Michael to marry you.” Fredo’s fingers thread further to the nape of your neck, pulling you into him.

“No, don’t say that,” your fingertips softly pat his mouth, “Don’t hate your father.” Fredo shakes his head, kissing nimbly on your fingers, more hurried, as if he couldn’t give enough kisses, as if you’ll slip away.

“Fredo, no —- I can’t, I’m sorry.” You choke back a sob, weakly trying to escape his hold. Trying to wiggle your face away, throat burning from restrained tears.

“I suffered for so long, seeing you and Michael together.” Fredo’s hush voice fans against your face, not daring to let you go. He won’t stop now, he’s in too deep.

“Why couldn’t I have you?”

He wants you to love him, to see the mess he is and still love him, that he’s worthy of love. For once, he can be the first choice.

Yearning — no, what he feels is much more destructive.

“Fredo, I love you — I do.” You suck in your lips, wet breathing, “But, I love you like a brother.” Fredo crumbles, forehead to forehead, your arms wrap around him in a hug, he holds onto you as if he never wants to let go.

“Please love me.” He mumbles, all you can do is speak his name in a loving manner, as he cries in the crook of your shoulder. Caressing his scalp, but what startles you is Fredo’s small wet kisses on your skin.

The most logical thing for a wedded woman is to push him off, but you can’t bring yourself to do so. He’s fragile, and too kind for any aggressive response — you know he means well, he’s a good man.

His thoughts are murky, desperate — to create any plan for you to see that you belong with him. He’s not thinking straight, he’s a broken man.

“He still thinks of Apollonia, he never stopped loving her.” Fredo spoke in a rushed tone, his skin cringing at the mention of Michael’s late wife, knowing it will sting you.

A pin can drop in the dead silence.

He can feel your body prickle, your breathing gets heavier, crumble underneath him, breaking apart like a duck egg, now just clinging onto Fredo as a life-line.

Shivering in his arms, he pulls you closer, as you practically sit in his lap now. In his arms, encasing you lovingly, as you nearly wept in his shoulder. Fredo’s fingers stroke the swollen stretched skin of your belly.

A call for your name beckons in the dark.

Michael’s voice breaks through the silence, his disembodied voice looming at the top of the stairs, calling out your name. The upstairs light turns on, giving a shadowed honey-dew.

Quickly, you wipe away your tears by trembling fingers, composing yourself, subtly clearing your tight throat, “I’m down here, Michael. Just talking with Fredo.”

Michael stayed quiet for a moment.

“Okay, it’s getting late — come to bed soon.” All you can say is ‘okay, darling’, you fix yourself, as well as fixing Fredo’s disheveled clothes, wiping away his tears.

Without any word, you stand up, even in the darkness you can see the gleam of Fredo’s tears. Stroking his bearded cheek, you lean down, kissing Fredo’s forehead, “Get some sleep.”

Leaving Fredo to himself, as you slowly trek upstairs, he can tell you’re beyond frazzled — what can he expect when he confessed his love to you so suddenly.

Fredo goes to bed alone that night but sleep never comes to him.

[venus-haze]

Writer Tag

Thank you so much for tagging me @frstcorinthians🖤

Just a "proceed with caution" on the fics I've linked on this list. Plenty of detailed warnings!

How many works do you have on AO3? 42

What's your total AO3 word count? 178k

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

3 out of 5 are Homelander fics🤭

My Destruction Is an Hour Late (my first Homelander fic🥲)

She's Out To Please, She Pouts Her Best (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Bruised Fruit (Michael Corleone x OC, an honor that it’s even on this list)

Got No Reason To Run (Homelander x Reader)

Baby Let's Play House (Homelander x Reader)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Always! I appreciate every single one so much!

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? Definitely Sinnerman, I need to write more for Midnight Mass. There's so much potential there.

What’s the fic you've written with the happiest ending? I think Eat Your Heart Out...

Do you write crossovers? No, I haven't.

Have you ever received hate on a fic? No, which is shocking considering what I write about.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? The kind that usually requires a lot of trigger warnings.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, I couldn't with my schedule.

What's your all-time favorite ship? I absolutely love the way Minxie @cherubgore writes Vincent/Paige! Rarepair forever🖤

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? None I can think of. I mostly write standalone fics, and I know I'm gonna finish Bruised Fruit at some point. Usually my WIPs change over time so they might not look the same as when I started, but they end up getting posted eventually.

What are your writing strengths? I don't know…I've been told I'm good at bringing the reader into a fic, so I guess building settings and scenes, which makes sense considering I write mostly readerfics and the immersion aspect is the backbone of that.

What are your writing weaknesses? My writing is more straightforward and doesn't use a lot of poetic style, which is something I wish I were better at. I don't think I write individual sentences that "wow" a reader, you know?

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I do not trust Google Translate and will not walk around with egg on my face. I just use italics to indicate speaking in another language, on the off occasion that's included in my fics. Or like with Bruised Fruit, Gloria doesn't speak Italian, so part of portraying that involves her asking people what they said and hoping they're telling the truth or trying to figure out based on her interpretation of their tone and body language.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? The Outsiders! I was so upset about the ending that I wrote many fics on Quizilla where Johnny and Dally lived.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to? I'd like to write something for Justified, but I need to rewatch again.

What's your favorite fic you've written? That's so tough...maybe Howl.

No pressure tags: @cherubgore @zaras-really-dreamless @shoshiwrites @blurredcolour @blindmagdalena @sehtoast @flaggermuser @zepskies (please make a new post, don't reblog)

[congratzams]

– ✧ 𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖌𝖆𝖓𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖐𝖊: the godfather

𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖞 𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖊𝖔𝖓𝖊

𝖋𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖊𝖗 ❪ no warnings ❫ ∟ things sonny corleone would say

𝖑𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓 𝖕𝖎𝖊 ❪ smut ❫ ∟ nsfw alphabet ∟ sonny fucking you dumb

𝖈𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖘 ❪ drabbles etc ❫ ∟ undercover

𝖒𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖊𝖑 𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖊𝖔𝖓𝖊

𝖋𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖊𝖗 ❪ no warnings ❫ ∟ singing to michael after a rough day ∟ things michael corleone would say ∟ soulmate!au: reading each other’s minds ∟ meeting the corleone family

𝖑𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓 𝖕𝖎𝖊 ❪ smut ❫ ∟ feeling insecure about your body ∟ makeup sex ∟ breeding kink

𝖈𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖘 ❪ drabbles etc ❫ ∟ tba.

𝖙𝖔𝖒 𝖍𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖓

𝖋𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖊𝖗 ❪ no warnings ❫ ∟ secretly dating tom and your brother sonny finding out ∟ things tom hagen would say

𝖑𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓 𝖕𝖎𝖊 ❪ smut ❫ ∟ blowjob (drabble)

𝖈𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖘 ❪ drabbles etc ❫ ∟ tba.

𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖉𝖔 𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖊𝖔𝖓𝖊

𝖋𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖊𝖗 ❪ no warnings ❫ ∟ tba.

𝖑𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓 𝖕𝖎𝖊 ❪ smut ❫ ∟ mean big brother fredo

𝖈𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖘 ❪ drabbles etc ❫ ∟ tba.

[lostloveletters]

Reader-insert fics for The Godfather. You can also find these fics on my AO3.

I do not take fic requests.

Do not interact if you’re under 18, a terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

MICHAEL

Give Me Shelter, The Night Is Dark - Michael Corleone x Reader (Vampire AU, smut, female reader)

SONNY

One of Those Nights - Sonny Corleone x Reader (Smut, female reader)

[melis-writes]

Victoria touching herself for Michael to watch. 😳

😳 😳 How many of us girlies can sit still while doing that in front of Michael Corleone…

‘God…’ With your head slightly tilted back and lost within self indulgence, your eyes remain half open while soft, hot breaths escaping your lips with each moan.

Michael’s plush, full lips wrap around the end his half-finished cigarette as he keeps his eyes scouring over your body in both entertainment and amusement; arousal pulsating over his body.

Kneeling on the center of the bed with your legs spread as wide as you can keep them, your fingers toy over your dewy clit—spreading your wetness over the folds of your pussy again and again.

Michael’s lustful gaze over you only intensifies your arousal pumping through you, rushing warmth to your skin as your breathing begins to hitch on and off.

Michael’s half shrugged off overcoat loosely hands over his shoulders and arms as he sits upon the armchair in the corner of the bedroom, facing you.

Michael’s tie is almost completely loosened; five of the buttons on his dress shirt undone to reveal a peek of his chest hair, his leather belt on the floor with one hand resting over his thigh while he smokes with the other in what one may describe as almost elegant yet cautious.

Not once does Michael take his eyes off of you or your actions, and while he watches you tease and please yourself, you feel his eyes directly locked with yours but over every inch of your body at the same time.

Michael notices the way your tongue wets your lips, how you squeeze your eyes shut when you edge off your growing orgasm and how the muscles in your body strain towards the rush of pleasure constantly hitting you.

“Perfect,” he whispers out, watching you slick two fingers inside of your pussy in and out in perfect rhythm; the sloppy sounds of your arousal’s lubrication being nothing but music to his ears.

“M-Michael,” you breathe, bucking your hips out of reaction as you feel more of your wetness begin to trickle inbetween your thighs.

“Good girl,” Michael comments back—speaking in a soft, ushered tone as he watches your thighs begin to quiver again. “Hold yourself back for me, again.”

You give a small, shaky nod as you continue to rub over your throbbing clit with your thumb; your fingers practically sliding over your pussy from how wet you’ve grown.

“You…” You moan softly, squeezing your eyes shut for a brief second, “love watching me do this to myself, d-don’t you?”

Michael’s gaze hardens over you at your question as he gives you a slow, stern nod—blowing smoke out towards you. “Are you talking back to me?”

“N-no, Don Corleone,” you whine, slowly beginning to add a third finger in.

Michael lowers his cigarette, putting it out upon the crystal ashtray next to him; noticing how your actions begin to slow down from an inevitable orgasm attempting to push through.

“Don’t,” Michael speaks out, gesturing for you to come to him.

“I was—” You pant quietly, moving your hands away.

“You’re not going to let yourself cum,” Michael states, interrupting you. “Come here.”

Blushing furiously, you slowly get off the bed and begin to get down on your knees; careful with your thighs shaking again before you look up at Michael obediently.

“You’re doing so well,” Michael purrs, reaching towards the fly of his dress trousers. “Come here. You won’t come without me this time.”

[giowritess]

gonna try to write more on my michael corleone fic today!! I’m also thinking of writing two versions of it, one darker than the other with some suicidal themes. still not sure tho

[ddesfleurs]

It hurts to love you, but I still love you.

chapter 4

summary: Michael always made a point of surprising Grace, he liked to see her with a smile on her face, especially when he was responsible for the smile. She was worth gold and he knew he didn't deserve her.

warnings: cheat, angst, anger, melancholy, light smut, mention of sex, fluff

notes: well this took some extra time because my college classes have started again and i'm super busy with everything but here we are. a new chapter of this story. I'm curious to hear your thoughts on this chapter, especially the ending. Good reading!!

Michael was outside his home by the large lake that surrounded part of the property he owned in Nevada. He watched the horizon in front of him as the snowflakes fell around him like little icy tears that didn't bother because they had already become a part of him. Michael looked at that lake and remembered another time when he had been with her, also in a lake, it seemed to him that it had been many lifetimes ago. He couldn't help it, his thoughts kept straying from the now, the real and the concrete, and fixed like weeds on the memories of the time he spent with Grace.

Michael Corleone was never a man of great superstitions, he didn't believe in bad luck, and he always thought he was capable of getting anything he wanted, but he found himself powerless trying to find out where Grace was. And, appealing to beliefs he never believed in, he considered that his life had fallen into a spiral, a succession of disgraces and misfortunes began to befall him, one after another, after she had left without saying a word to him.

First the woman of his life, the woman he loved even though he had never told her, simply vanished from the map as if by magic. It just seemed impossible to find Grace as even her friends didn't seem to know for sure where she was. It just seemed impossible to find Grace as even her friends didn't seem to know for sure where she was. Michael had gone to speak to each of them personally, and none of the girls had given him satisfactory answers, especially Carolyn, one of Grace's best friends, who made a point of spewing half a dozen curses at him and telling him once again how much he had ruined Grace's life. In the end, Michael found that Carolyn had no idea of ​​her friend's whereabouts, she had received a letter in the mail that had so many stamps that it seemed to have traveled all over the country. The letter contained more words than the note left for Michael, but it didn't say anything that might indicate where she was, and it didn't even leave a return address so they could write back.

Michael had tried everything, made a point of going to San Francisco to talk to Grace's aunt in person, Maureen slammed the door in his face as soon as she knew who he was. She told him to go to hell and that if he wanted to, she said that he could send one of his goons to shoot bullets at her, but that she had the right to refuse to talk to a certain tipe guy. The next day it was Tom who managed to talk to the woman, Grace's aunt, who was infinitely nicer to Tom, said she didn't know her niece's whereabouts, that she had left her house and didn't know where the girl had gone. . Michael knew immediately that it was a lie, Grace wouldn't disappear into the world without her aunt knowing where she went. Once again Michael was left with no options, he couldn't torture Grace's aunt to get the information he wanted, that he did in business, with men, never with women and certainly not with the aunt of someone who was infinitely dear to him.

He returned to Nevada without any concrete answer about Grace's whereabouts, his men and the private detectives he had hired would only give him one answer: they didn't know where the woman had gone and they couldn't find any trace of her, it seemed there was vanished into thin air and it seemed to Michael that after she left everything in his life started to go wrong. First, complications arose in certain negotiations during Anthony's First Communion celebration. A party that looked more like an associates party because it was so full of men who wanted to do business with him. The whole thing was a beautiful spectacle, Michael was not comfortable with all these people, many were plotting behind his back, but things were as they were and he knew that such parties were necessary to maintain the appearance and sense of unity in their midst job. What followed was a complete disaster, the same night Michael was attacked, there was a shooting that almost killed him and Kay. A shootout inside your property. This property was heavily guarded and guarded. Michael had to deal with the inconvenience this caused his family and the prospect that in addition to having an enemy who wanted him dead to the point of planning an attempt on his life, there was a traitor among his family and trusted men.

Michael traveled to try to find out who were the people who were involved in that horrendous shooting that nearly took his and Kay's lives. During the trip, which he hated every minute of it, as Michael didn't want to leave the United States, he felt lonely and empty without hearing from Grace for so long and the possibility that his wife and children would be in danger, since apparently someone wanted him dead enough to plan a shootout on his property. On the trip to Cuba, Michael discovered that Hyman Roth wanted him dead and that the family traitor had been Fredo, his own brother. It broke Michael's heart. His own brother betrayed him. His stupid, silly, unnecessary brother, whom he loved so much, betrayed him and nearly caused his death. He felt mixed feelings about the discovery that it was Fredo, anger, sadness, grief, Michael knew what he had to do, the decision was already made and Fredo's fate was sealed the moment Michael discovered the truth but first he had to deal with Hyman Roth and his men. The entire scheme to eliminate Roth had proved more difficult than Michael and his men had expected and so he found himself drawn into a web of confusion caused by Roth who wanted to harm him at all costs.

Upon returning from the trip, Michael found out through Tom about the latest events and it was through this conversation that he discovered that Kay had lost the baby she was expecting. That baby Michael so desperately wanted and hoped would be a boy, that baby he didn't know about yet but had been the catalyst for the abrupt break in his relationship with Grace, that baby was gone. Michael felt angry with himself, after all it had been his fault, everything that had happened had been his fault. He tried to protect his family and his business, he tried to keep and protect those he loved, but he was losing everything. He felt that he was holding a handful of sand and that more and more sand was falling from his hands so that he couldn't stop it, it dripped through his fingers, Michael tried to hold more than was reasonable and so he lost everything.

After that, his relationship with Kay was never the same. They hadn't been well for a long time and after the shooting and the loss of the baby everything got worse. To complete the series of misfortunes that had befallen Michael, it didn't take long to discover that Hyman Roth had set up a scheme to frame him for being part of the mafia and for illegal practices, which they all did. Roth wanted to destroy Michael now that he knew the man wanted him dead. Michael found himself dragged into a trial set up by Roth who was now aware that Michael knew he planned to kill him. The trial weeks had been exhausting, but Michael, with the help of his brother and brilliant attorney Tom Hagen, managed to get out of the Roth-orchestrated trial unscathed. No charges were brought forward so Michael's association with any of the crimes he was prosecuted for has not been proven.

After leaving the courtroom free and cleared of all charges, Michael thought that maybe now he could find some peace and live peacefully. Planned to fly tonight with Kay, Anthony, and Mary back home, Michael thought that maybe there was still a chance, that maybe it was a sign that he should work to change and improve his relationship with Kay, Grace was gone and, allowing himself he dreamed of an impossible future, Michael thought maybe this was his chance to get his marriage back together and get their lives back to the way they were. But he was wrong.

Still at the hotel where they were staying, shortly after the trial ended, Kay went to his room to tell him that she would not return to Nevada, that she would leave and take the children with her, that she planned to file for a divorce, that she no longer wanted to be Michael's wife. Kay's statements set off a horrible argument that could be heard throughout the hallway. Initially Michael shouted that he would not allow Kay to take their children, then tried to persuade her that he would change and that it would be better for her. He told her that he knew she blamed him for the loss of the baby and everything else that had happened but that in time she would feel different about their marriage and that they could have another child.

At that moment Michael had the hardest revelation of his life, Kay revealed to him that she had had an abortion. The loss of the baby had been intentional, Kay said she no longer wanted to bring Michael's child into the world, a child who would live the same life as all of them. After what she said, it all happened in a very quick sequence. One minute Michael was there holding the upholstery of the chair as he listened to Kay reveal to him that she had abortion their child and the next he slapped her across the face. Michael yelled that she wasn't going to take his kids away and that she should leave alone because he didn't want to see her anymore and he didn't want her anywhere near his children. In that moment Michael saw Kay's expression change from shocked to sly, her eyes hardened and in that moment he knew there was more, she was going to say something more, the moment of truth had arrived for them.

"What else did you do?"

"Why are you so mad, Michael? Is it because of what I did, what Hyman Roth did, or because that whore you kept walked away?"

"What?"

"You thought I was too stupid to notice, didn't you? Kay the blind wife who would never notice her husband had a mistress. Do you think I didn't notice the changes in your behavior? sudden good mood, the sudden interest in books, plays, and movies from genres you were never interested in! Do you think I couldn't smell her and the perfume she wore when you came home and thought I'd already was sleeping take the opportunity to lie down silently next to me?"

Michael was dismayed, having never even imagined the possibility of Kay knowing about Grace. Kay was not one to keep things, she usually got into conflict with Michael but not on this subject, on this subject she decided not to say anything to him, Michael was now starting to wonder why.

"If you already knew everything all this time, why didn't you say anything? It's not like you to be silent."

"What good would it do me to confront you? I wouldn't gain anything from it, just your look of guilt and disgusting pity."

"How did you find out about her?"

"Now that doesn't matter anymore. I must admit she's quite pretty and vain, I understand what you saw in her."

"Did you see her?" Michael said as he gave Kay a look that gave her the shivers. "What did you do, Kay? What did you do to Grace?"

"Oh no big deal Michael. I just told your lover that I was pregnant again and told her you would never leave me for her. We talked for a while and I must admit the poor girl seemed pretty shaken by the news. You don't change, do you? You thought you could have a relationship with her by lying and deceiving her. I did that poor thing a favor who can now be happy away from you and your evil!"

Michael gave Kay a wild look, his body trembling even more than before, he felt hate. Hatred for that woman he once believed he loved. Hatred that she aborted his child. Hatred that she made the woman he loved go away.

"How long did you think this illusion would last, this make-believe you were creating together with that whore. You thought you could live a parallel life with her, didn't you? A life where you are not you, a life in which you Don't be a sordid criminal who makes everyone around you wish they hadn't had the bad luck to cross your path." Kay gave him a tired look. "I couldn't. I couldn't stand knowing that you were having an affair with another woman and that you were happy with her while making me and our children unhappy. The way you smiled before you went to see her and your behavior after you came backnhome... it destroyed me, Michael, because you were never like that to me. I was pregnant with our third child in my belly and it still wasn't enough for you. I wasn't enough but that girl you got god know where it seemed to be."

Michael looked at Kay with a mixture of sadness, anger, anguish, relief, and above all regret. He regretted letting this story get this far and regretted that things had gotten to this point. Michael looked at the woman in front of him as he pinched the bridge of his nose, they were over, a long time ago, a lot longer than he could have imagined.

"Kay, I strongly suggest you pack your things and leave. Tom will be in touch about the divorce and we'll decide about the kids."

"Is that all, Don Corleone?" She said making fun of the way he was giving orders. Michael didn't bother to answer, turned his back and went to the other room, he needed to be alone.

Back in the present Michael contemplated recent events in retrospect, his life had become one big mess since Grace had left and now he finally knew the reason for her abrupt departure. Grace had found out about Kay's pregnancy and decided to put a stop to the whole thing. Of course, Michael knew that the pregnancy and the fact that he had hidden it from her weren't the only reasons that made her leave, these events acted as a catalyst for everything that would follow. Michael knew that Grace wanted a family, husband and children, and yet he insisted on continuing his relationship with her even though he knew he could never give her the full happiness she deserved. Now Michael was alone, he had lost the woman he loved because he was cowardly enough not to openly admit his feelings and take action about it.

He remembered a very sweet and contemplative moment between the two of them that had taken place the year before. Grace's birthday was approaching and Michael had been bothering her for a few weeks asking what she wanted as a birthday present and each time she replied that she didn't want anything and that she already had everything she wanted. This time they were having breakfast at the little restaurant that was next to their apartment, the day was clear and the blue sky was shining outside. They ate a leisurely meal and looked like a happy couple to everyone who could see them there together. Michael admired her calm, gentle features and manner.

"What do you want for your birthday?" he asked as he poked the scrambled eggs onto his plate with his fork.

"Again? I already told you I don't want anything."

"Yeah but you say that now, you'll feel different when your birthday comes around and we don't do anything or you don't get any presents."

She laughed softly, appreciating his concern for pleasing her on her birthday.

"I already have everything I need. More than I need."

"Come on, at least say something you want. It could be anything, I'll give it to you."

Grace looked at him with intense eyes and with a playful voice replied:

"You."

"I?"

"Yes. What I want for my birthday is you."

Michael chuckled at the simplicity of her request and leaned across the table to give Grace a soft kiss on the lips. She was incredible and worth so much more than he would ever get the chance to be.

"Well, this request is going to be a little difficult to fulfill because of an important detail: you already have me."

Grace said nothing, continued the meal with a soft smile on her lips.

"I'm going to fill our apartment with gifts and you're going to wish you had ordered something specific when you had to gather all the packages and clean up the mess." Michael spoke as if he were a threat but he was smiling and his face was light. Grace looked at him and narrowed her eyes, then burst into laughter in the middle of the restaurant with all the people watching them. They seemed to love each other very much.

"Michael." It was Tom's voice that came across the snow-covered lawn. He looked a little anxious as Michael looked at him waiting for him to say what he had to say. "Let's go to the boathouse. It's freezing here."

"So? What do you want to talk about?" Michael asked as soon as he and Tom were settled.

"Michael, information has come up about something I think you're still interested in."

"What's this about, Tom?"

"It's about Grace."

Michael immediately leaned over and looked at Tom with full attention.

"What about her?"

"It's been a few weeks since our men have been watching that friend of Grace's named Carolyn and a week ago she traveled to New York. Grace was there. It took a while for us to identify her, she is being very careful and doesn't go much out from the place where she is staying but yesterday our private investigator sent us these pictures." Tom took a brown paper from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Michael. "It's her Michael, it can't be anyone else."

"Was she in New York this whole time?" Said Michael as he looked one by one through the photos Tom had given him. Michael's heart raced, there was no denying it, it was Grace in those pictures.

"No, I don't think so. She seems to be visiting." Tom spoke, looking cautiously at Michael. "Have more."

"What?"

"She... one of our men saw her with a baby in her arms." Tom said as he showed Michael one last photo, it was night and the photo was blurry. "The baby looks like a newborn."

"Are you telling me that Grace had a child?"

"I don't know, Michael, but that's what it looks like. If you want I can go over there and talk to her to find out if the baby is yours."

"Have you lost your mind? If Grace had a child it's obvious the child is mine who else would it be?!" Michael spoke as he got up from his chair. "Make the necessary arrangements, I'm going to New York tomorrow morning."

[a-boca-do-inferno]

creativity (michael corleone x reader)

summary: If somebody had ever told you that you’d be sharing rent with Michael Corleone, you’d probably laughed in their face.

warnings: mutual pining, angst, fluff, swearing, light smut

words: 3.0k

notes: the college au nobody asked for lol (i dont kno shit abt college in the us so sorry for any inaccuracies!) i did this instead of studying for my test btw and it's all over the place bc i cant gather my thoughts correctly around this man. good luck lmao

You undressed and stepped under the cold water, letting out a deep breath as it made contact with your skin. You closed your eyes for a brief second, taking in the pleasant sensation of your muscles relaxing. Turning off the shower, you reached over to grab your shampoo from the shelf, finding nothing there except Michael’s. You sighed annoyed, only now remembering your stuff was still packed, including all your cosmetics. This past week was just so busy, you hadn’t even found the time yet to put things in place at your new home. 

If somebody had told you four years ago that you’d be sharing rent with Michael Corleone of all people, you’d probably laughed in their face; but it was true. You’ve been friends ever since high school and when he found out you were getting into the same college, Michael offered for you to go live with him, rather than go to a student residence with strangers. You barely knew New York and you really weren’t looking forward to moving from the house you lived your whole life, let alone with a bunch of unknown people, so you naturally accepted his kindness.  

His initial idea was for you to stay there rent free, of course, but you wouldn’t have it; he could have all the money in the world, still you’d like to pay for your own expenses. Contrary to popular belief, you weren’t taking advantage of him in any way. You simply knew Michael for quite some time and he was arguably your best friend, you loved him, so you honestly didn’t see an issue with it. Plus, it wouldn’t have made sense to turn down his offer when you were very aware of how much you’d struggle to live alone in a new city or even fit in with a student residence. So, only wins. 

Well... Mostly.  

He was still a man and you were still a woman, so the rumours weren’t really that surprising to you, personally; the world was old and sexist, after all. The gossip concerning the two of you already existed even when you simply hung out with each other, the ever-lasting “will they, won’t they?” type of thing. You did your best to brush it all off nonetheless, for the sake of your friendship. Michael was attractive, yes, and maybe you had a tiny crush on him ever since your junior year, yes, still you knew better than to entertain such stupid speculations. He had Kay Adams anyway, his on and off fling for as long as you’d known him, so hearsay about you both would always be but this, hearsay.  

You wrapped yourself up in a towel and tiptoed out the bathroom to keep the floor from getting wet, heading towards the open suitcase next to your bed. You leaned forward to get your shampoo when a cold, heavy hand fell on your shoulder. You turned sharply in shock and the towel pathetically slipped from your body, exposing your breast for a millisecond. Your cheeks were boiling hot. 

You hugged your body protectively, shaking your head. “Jesus”, you muttered in agony, staring at your roommate as if he were a ghost.  

“Sorry, I was just kidding”, he replied sheepishly, a soft smile on his lips, brown hair covering his forehead slightly.  

“It’s fine, Michael”, you gestured dismissively, picking up the shampoo you didn’t even realize had flown out of your hands. “I thought you’d be back at night.” 

“We finished early.” He shrugged, throwing himself on the bed unceremoniously. You couldn’t help but blush a little, although it was technically his bed. He didn’t really have to be ceremonious about it, you mused to yourself, but you still felt somewhat uneasy. Before moving in, your interactions revolved around studies and maybe some books you liked in common. Now, domestic things like this happened and it just made your brain stop working for a moment. Michael lets out a sigh, causing you to snap out of it, “so, how are you liking my place?”, he offers you a tiny smile, and that makes you think he was probably aware of your bashfulness.  

It almost looked as though he rejoiced in it. 

“Hm, it’s really nice, what can I say?” You shifted your weight from one foot to another, a little embarrassed that you were still only in your towel. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to finish my shower. I just came to get this.” You held up the object for him to see. 

“Okay.” Michael conceded, without looking at you.  

You went back to the bathroom and locked the door, leaning against it for a second. In what universe would you find yourself in such a ridiculous situation? Dropping the towel in front of... Please. His deep gaze inspecting your every move wasn’t exactly helping either, you had to admit, but it was something you quickly realized you had to be getting used to. Although, he didn’t even seem very interested in you and your towel antics by the end of the conversation.  

God, that man was a riddle. 

To say Michael Corleone was a bit unusual over all was an understatement, but those last few days you’d be living with him, he was acting especially cryptic. His behaviour fluctuated between warm and distant, as if he’d instantly regret opening up to you in the slightest, and it got you really curious about what was going on in his mind. You were a lot alike personality wise, that’s why you’d been friends for so long, yet you couldn’t quite grasp his constant changes of mood as of lately.  

Was it maybe something with Kay, or his family? You didn’t ask because you didn’t want to be noisy, if he wanted your opinion or for you to be a part of it, he’d tell you, but you worried nonetheless. Sometimes, despite knowing Michael since he was just a boy, he was like a foreigner to you. Maybe moving in with him was no different than living with random strangers at all, at the end. What an irony. 

You shook your head, leaving those thoughts. Turning on the shower again, you finally washed your hair. Staring at your reflection, you grimaced a little, noticing the tired look in your eyes; and you hadn’t even started college yet. You put on your underwear you swiftly took when Michael had startled you. Wrapped up in the towel, you opened the door again, finding your roommate in the exact spot you left him ten minutes ago. You felt your cheeks burn slightly again while you simply pretended he wasn’t there and walked over to your bag sitting next to him, pulling out a pair of pyjamas.  

“Do you want me to leave?”, came the low question, unheard of and unexpected, in a tone of voice so indecipherable you thought his inquiring was maybe in another language.  

You repressed a sigh, feeling slightly annoyed at his enigmatic demeanour. It had been a long day and you were just tired. “Hm?”, you simply asked back, looking at him sideways as you sat with your back towards him.  

“For you to get...”  

He was interrupted by you standing up and pulling your pants up your body, with a new found confidence that took even you by surprise. You heard a clearing of the throat and suppressed a smile, staring back at him with defying eyes. If he wanted to play games, you’d happily indulge a little.

“Are you afraid of me?”, you joked, picking up your t-shirt and putting it on before he could say anything.  

Michael only shrugged, watching your movements with some attention. “No.” He kept looking at you without blinking and you took it as a challenge. So, he thought he would intimidate you now? Well, he was very wrong! “Are you?” 

“Do I look scared?”, you smirked, arching an eyebrow. The silence you received in response made you let out a low laugh. “That’s what I thought.” 

“What?”  

“Nothing.” You lied, still a bit amused by the whole situation. You could feel his gaze burning down your back, causing you to bite your lip nervously. You had no idea what you were doing at this point, but you wouldn’t stop now. You weren’t a coward. Walking back to the bed, you closed your bag slowly, placing it on the floor. You mimicked his position and lay beside him, lacing your fingers over your stomach. You exchanged a long gaze and Michael smiled slightly, shaking his head. You frowned in confusion, although there was still a faint smirk on your face. “What is it?” 

“Nothing.” He also lied, so badly the smile only grew on his features. Michael looked away from his hands, at which he was staring from the beginning.  

You couldn’t help but snort. “Who’s afraid now?”, you mumbled softly, making him glare back at you instantly.  

“What did you say?” 

“You heard.” 

“No, I didn’t.” 

This was dangerous. You knew it, he knew it; yet somehow, neither of you seemed to care. You were stepping over several boundaries now, and your heart hammered in your chest, but you felt more alive than ever. More electric than ever. Michael wasn’t easy to read, not like you, so you could only hope he felt the same way. He hadn’t mentioned Kay in months, had he? The thoughts were almost bursting out of your mind. 

You closed your eyes, trying to pull yourself together. “I said...”, you supported your face on your left hand, elbowing the bed to lie on your side. You leaned into him and recited, now smiling openly, “who’s afraid now?” 

“You are.” He replies sharply, defiantly, assertively, making you raise your eyebrows again in surprise. Michael then continues, finally turning to give you his full attention, “you only want to play games. That doesn’t sound courageous to me.” 

“You have got to be kidding me, Michael”, you laugh in disbelief, feeling a bit indignant at his words. “You’re literally the one acting all uptight and closed off ever since we moved in, then all of a sudden you come into my bed, all smiling and sweet, clearly making me embarrassed on purpose. And I’m the one playing games?!” 

“Is that what you think?” You opened your mouth to retort, but he didn’t let you. Michael pointed his index finger in your direction, declaring triumphantly as if he’d been waiting his whole life for that moment, “you only described yourself.” 

“What?”, you scoff, looking at him like he’d grown a second head. 

“It’s true”, he deadpans, getting up to sit next to you on the edge of the bed. “You started avoiding me, as if I’m going to jump your bones because we’re living together”, his statement is quite blunt, but you can hear some amusement in his tone. 

“Michael!”, you raised your voice, growing impatient. “You know that’s not true, living together doesn’t change anything between us. It doesn’t make any difference.” 

“It does.” 

“Why?!” You challenge him again, the lump in your throat struggling to get out. Another silence fell over you and shame seemed to come back like an avalanche in your chest. Your eyes watered before you could notice and you turned away from him, feeling stupid for crying at such a meaningless argument. A hand touched your arm lightly and you dodged it, angrily wiping the tears from your cheek. “Why, Michael?!”, you choked at last, swallowing the bitter taste in your mouth.  

You stared at Michael as if he were some kind of light at the end of the tunnel, the pot full of water in the middle of the desert. The response you got was only more silence, and that made you suddenly regret the whole rent-sharing antics with him even more. You got up at once and started to pack your things furiously, only to be stopped by two long hands holding your wrists gently.  

You felt a body hug you from behind next and the tears came back to attack you like a waterfall, making you turn around to return the embrace properly. You hid your face against his chest and tried to stop the sobs, but they were somewhat inevitable now. You suppressed that crying for perhaps four years, ever since you’d met him. You were, right then and there, a fool; a helpless child collapsing in the arms of a poor bastard who was not to blame for anything, plausibly. His arms were, however, the closest you’d ever felt at home. And that it was Michael, the person you loved the most outside your own family, was no surprise to you at all.  

“Why are you crying, (y/n)?”, Michael inquires softly, naturally, with his chin pressed to your head. 

“I don’t know”, you lied for the umpteenth time. Michael stroked your hair before pulling away, just enough for you to exchange another long look. He then wiped off your tears with his thumb and your insides were erupting with every touch. You licked your lips and took a deep breath, forcing a smile. “Thanks for the hug. I think I needed it.” 

He looks at you disapprovingly. “(y/n)...” 

“What?”, you clasped your hands on his chest, tugging slightly at his brown jacket. His hands on your waist pulled you closer and your heart skipped a beat. You let out a nervous laugh, lifting your face to look him in the eye. “You shouldn’t have rejected me years ago, you know?”, you let out in a shy whisper, overwhelmed by a sudden sense of honesty. 

“I know.” He replied quickly, you had barely finished your sentence.  

“I mean...”, you pondered, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I think you made the right decision, actually. I was basically a tadpole four years ago.”  

“A tadpole?”, he laughed, looking slightly confused.  

You nodded, absorbed, the tightness in your chest slowly loosening. “Yep. Now I’m a tadpole in my teens, you could say.” 

“You’re deflecting”, he points out, making you tense up again.  

Only then did you realize you were still holding each other. “Have you ever liked me?”, you abruptly ask, visibly taking him aback. 

“If I ever liked you or if I ever wanted to be with you?”, he questions back and you shrug, but Michael shakes his head. “It’s not the same thing.” 

“Then answer both.” You offered, your ragged breathing already perfectly audible for him now. “Be honest.” 

“Hm...” He looked to the side, thinking about his answer. You felt your heart in your throat when it finally came, catching you off guard, “yes, to both.” 

“What?”, you tried to free yourself from his arms, but he didn’t let you.  

“It’s true”, he begins, appearing to choose his words carefully. “But I’ve always put my career before everything, so I let it go and lived my life. There was also Kay and we had something going on for some time, it didn’t seem fair to put you through all of that. Ultimately, being your friend was ever enough for me.” 

“You did the right thing.” You nodded, smiling sheepishly. “I felt ashamed of being rejected, of course, but now I can see it was for the best. We were too young. Too stupid. Probably would’ve gotten expelled for getting freaky in the hallways at school someday.” 

“My thoughts, precisely”, he joked and you both laughed. “And I actually didn’t even think about ’getting freaky’. Maybe just kissing...” 

“What a lack of creativity”, you muttered mischievously, caught in between a feeling of nervousness and comfort still in his arms. “But if you only wanted to kiss me, you didn’t have to bring me to live with you. You should’ve just asked.” 

“I combined business with pleasure”, he smirked and you chuckled, your cheeks burning in anticipation and shyness. Michael then cleared his throat, drawing your attention to look at him once more. “And since the opportunity has arisen, may I kiss you?” 

“You may.”  

He approached you without batting an eye, decisive and accurate as you knew him to be in all his decisions. He brought your lips to his and you fit together like a human puzzle. Michael guided your virgin movements as best he could, invading your mouth with a tongue visibly more experienced than you cared to admit, and it tasted like home and mint at the same time.  

The fabric of his jacket rubbed against your pyjamas as he turned to pull you over to the bed, bringing your body down on top of his shamelessly. You sighed against his caresses and straddled him, inebriated, need taking over your every cell as your intimacies met briefly under your clothes.  

“I have no idea how long it was for this kiss to have happened”, you murmured between wet pecks, smoothing his thin strands as a form of affection.  

“Longer than it should”, his thick voice vibrated in your neck, making you shiver from head to toe. “But it happened in the end, that’s all that matters.” 

“I agree”, you ran your finger down his face, drawing imaginary lines all over his pores. “I never thought I’d touch that cute little face one day.” 

“You don’t give yourself enough credit”, he murmured, shaking his head slightly as his hair fell more onto his forehead. You nodded and he covered your hand in his, pulling it down to place a kiss on it. “I, however, always knew I’d get to have you. It was only a matter of time”, you blush at his directness. 

“You really are a ladies’ man, Mr. Corleone”, you humoured and he rolled his eyes, pulling you in for another deep kiss. Your body shuddered at the feel of his hands stroking your back, hovering dangerously close to the hem of your pants. You touched his chin lightly and whispered, a little embarrassed, “what are you looking for down there, huh?” 

“I’m only being creative”, he dropped a kiss to your cheek, and you couldn’t help but laugh heartily. 

[areaderinlove]

requests

someone please give me any character to write for smut fluff angst anything i really need to keep my mind off thinking about my upcoming igcse results a month is left and i’m kind of tense