Who Created Papa Smurf In The Smurfs?

***Explicit 18+*** "I've missed the warmth of your pussy, the feel of it. God Ginevra, you're so fucking perfect." I rasped and tightened my grip on her. I began rocking her against me ever so gently with parted lips. Her tight pussy very often gripping unto my dick, taking me hostage with each rock against me and a loud scream finally escaped from the back of my throat. *** The game of chess is one love cannot salvage. When the king and the queen come out to play, they have no other goal set before them if not going at each other's throat for the kill until a winner emerges. This is the game of the mafia, the game that'd never allow Love exist between two rivals. They want to love and care for each other but don't know how- all they've known all their lives is loyalty to their famiglia and name. What would happen when the only option becomes death?

When I was seven, my constant vomiting got so bad that my mother took me to court and accused me of being born dangerous. If the charge stuck, I would be stripped of my family ties and sent straight to prison. Everyone said my mother was overreacting. "He's just a kid. Kids get sick. As his mother, you should be more understanding." But the moment the evidence was shown, the room went dead quiet. My mother had drunk herself into a stomach bleed just to land a contract, and the second she got home, I threw up all over it. The deal was voided, and she lost her job on the spot. On my sister, Ophelia Sowle's, birthday, I threw up all over her cake right in front of all her classmates. After that, she was shunned by everyone at school. She spiraled into depression and even slashed her wrists. It didn't matter where I was, at the dinner table or under the covers. I could start vomiting at any moment. My mother and Ophelia had to clean me up more than 30 times a day. It wore them down to the breaking point. What infuriated them the most was that every time I finished throwing up, I would look at them and laugh, as if I was mocking them. The judge brought the gavel down and declared me guilty of being born bad. Ophelia's eyes turned red as she cried, saying she couldn't bear to lose me. I didn't cry or fight it. I accepted the verdict. But I requested that the judge watch my memories first. The judge looked stunned. "Memory extraction means drilling into your brain. The pain is unbearable. Are you sure?" I nodded without hesitation. But Ophelia suddenly panicked. "I don't agree!"

"Dump her somewhere. I don’t have all day.” One moment, I am a test subject. The next, I’m thrown into a world of secrets, lies, and a family I don’t remember. Three brothers, the nightmares and the truth clawing its way back. I’m not normal. I was never meant to be and when two rival wolves claim me as their mate, everything spirals out of control because I’m not just caught in a war. I’m the reason it’s about to start.

Stephen was getting hit by a shoe in the morning by his mother and his father shouting at him "When were you planning to tell us that you are engaged to this girl" "I told you I don't even know her, I met her yesterday while was on my way to work" "Excuse me you propose to me when I saved you from drowning 13 years ago," said Antonia "What?!? When did you drown?!?" said Eliza, Stephen's mother "look woman you got the wrong person," said Stephen frustratedly "Aren't you Stephen Brown?" "Yes" "And your 22 years old and your birthdate is March 16, am I right?" "Yes" "And you went to Vermont primary school in Vermont" "Yes" "Well, I don't think I got the wrong person, you are my fiancé" ‘Who is this girl? where did she come from? how did she know all these informations about me? and it seems like she knows even more than that. Why is this happening to me? It's too dang early for this’ thought Stephen

On the night Uriah Parker married another woman, Irina Charlton trashed the home they had shared for eight years.

I've been married to my Mafia Boss husband for 15 years. When we first got married, he couldn't even afford a ring, but I didn't care; I loved him. I hid my identity. I secretly used my family's influence to help him build his empire from scratch, and I even bore him two children. His adopted sister always mocked me, calling me an old-fashioned housewife and saying I wasn't good enough for him. To avoid embarrassing him, I always endured it. Until our 15th anniversary, because both me and his adopted sister wore red dresses, he told me to stay in the kitchen: "Sofia's right. That red doesn't suit you. Don't come out until the banquet actually ends. Stay in the kitchen. I don't need the Dons from New York seeing you and getting the wrong impression." I was completely heartbroken and didn't argue anymore. I dialed a number I hadn't made in 15 years: "Principessa?" "It's me," I said, my voice steady. "Tell those old fossils on the Council... Isabella Corleone is coming home."