fugato



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  1. Rec *

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    Connor stroked at Hudson’s skin through the lace neckline of his cami. “I want you to make out with François. Just a little. As a treat, for me.” 

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    07 Feb 2026

  2. Rec *

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    It had been a very weird day, but Shane wasn’t going to jerk off about it a second time.

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    01 Feb 2026

  3. Rec 69

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    So turned out that old Vito had had a goomar, an orientale woman no less. The Don had met her before the Great War when he’d been trying to sell extra virgin olive oil to the mom-and-pop eateries between Fifth and Sixth Ave in Koreatown. (Clemenza himself had nothing against a nice bowl of tteokbokki, looked like pasta, tasted nothing like it; sprinkle summathat scallion on top, now there was a meal.) Not only that, but they’d had a son (baptized, at least, sia lodato Gesù Cristo). And, what was more, the Don wanted him brought inside. Brought inside for what, exactly, he wouldn’t say: the Don was so tight-lipped it was amazing a cigar could even get in there. And Clemenza was to mentor the boy. Hudson, his name was. “Like the river?” Tessio had asked, bewildered; Clemenza had shrugged. Who the fuck knew. Good river, the Hudson. Had kept many of Clemenza’s bodies hidden over the years.

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    Hudson Corleone's rise to capo dei capi, the most powerful crime boss in all of New York, as seen through Peter Clemenza's eyes.  

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    28 Jan 2026

  4. Rec *

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    Now, he stares at the rivulets of water peeling down Ilya’s neck and chest, and he’s awed at being allowed to touch it all. When the world turned ugly and ice was no longer the safest place for Shane’s thoughts, there would always be this.

    Ilya Rozanov, his own personal blue.

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    24 Jan 2026

  5. Rec *

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    Shane opens his eyes and tears spill onto his pillow and into Ilya’s hand. He has that apologetic stare again. He says, “Love you.”

    “Nothing in the world could make me stop loving you,” Ilya says. “Do you understand?”

    With hesitation, his eyes darting around, Shane breathes out, “I understand.”

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    24 Jan 2026