#;;Like the Month of May (Sonny)

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON ⟢ mini boyfriend

x FEM!reader ⟢ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: rafe doens't realise your mini boyfriend is actually your sonny angel

WORD COUNT: 1802

GENRE: fluff

CONTENT WARNING: /

‘he may bring you happiness’

it was your anniversary, and rafe had been surprisingly sweet about it all day. he’d planned dinner at your favorite restaurant, bought you flowers that were still sitting pretty on your desk, and was now lying on your bed while you got ready in the bathroom.

the sound of the shower running filled the room, steam creeping out from under the bathroom door. rafe had been patient for a while, scrolling aimlessly on his phone, but your phone buzzing on the nightstand kept pulling his attention.

he ignored it the first few times. he knew you got a lot of notifications, and most of the time, they weren’t urgent. but after the fifth buzz in under two minutes, he couldn’t resist anymore.

“what the hell is so important?” he muttered, reaching for your phone.

he unlocked it quickly—he knew your passcode, and you never cared if he used it. the messages were from sarah, which made him pause. his sister wasn’t exactly someone he thought would be texting you on your anniversary.

he clicked the notification, and the messages popped up.

rafe froze, staring at the screen. “mini boyfriend?” he said out loud, his jaw tightening. what the hell was sarah talking about? who was she talking about?

his mind immediately went to the worst. sure, you were dating him, but rafe knew how people saw you—sweet, funny, way too good for a guy like him. he didn’t think you’d cheat, but this? it didn’t sound great.

he tapped the screen, about to scroll up, when he heard the water shut off in the bathroom. panicking, he put the phone back down where he found it.

rafe flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to pretend like he hadn’t just seen that. but the words mini boyfriend kept replaying in his mind, eating away at him.

meanwhile, your screen was still lighting up with messages.

dinner was perfect. well, almost. the table was beautiful, the food was amazing, and rafe looked so good in the crisp white button-up you loved. but something about him felt… off. he wasn’t being cold—actually, he was softer than usual. maybe too soft.

he pulled out your chair for you, asked if your wine was okay twice, and kept checking in on you in a way that felt less like boyfriend-y attentiveness and more like guilt.

you tried to shake it off. maybe he was just nervous—it was your anniversary, after all.

but when the waiter cleared the dessert plates and you leaned closer to tease him about stealing your crème brûlée, he barely cracked a smile.

“babe,” you said softly, resting your hand over his. “what’s wrong?”

he blinked at you, as if caught off guard, and quickly shook his head. “nothing. nothing’s wrong,” he said, but his knee bounced under the table, and he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“rafe,” you pressed, squeezing his hand. “are you sure?”

“yeah,” he said quickly, then ran a hand through his hair. “just—here.”

before you could say anything else, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small turquoise box, the iconic white ribbon tied perfectly around it.

your breath caught in your throat. “rafe…”

“it’s not a big deal,” he said quickly, sliding the box across the table to you. “i mean, if you don’t like it, i can get you something else. something better. more expensive.”

your hands were shaking as you picked it up, untying the ribbon with a mix of nerves and excitement. the second you opened the box and saw the delicate tiffany & co. bracelet inside, your heart stopped.

it was the bracelet. the one you’d shown him months ago in passing, not thinking for a second that he’d actually remember.

“rafe,” you whispered, your voice cracking as tears welled up in your eyes.

“what?” he asked, watching you carefully. “is it okay? i didn’t know if you still liked it or—”

“are you kidding?” you interrupted, looking up at him with watery eyes. “i love it. i’ve wanted this forever.”

for the first time all night, he let out a small laugh, his shoulders relaxing. “yeah?”

you nodded quickly, slipping the bracelet onto your wrist and holding it up to admire it. “it’s perfect.”

he smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“rafe, baby, what’s wrong?” you asked, lowering your hand to hold his.

he hesitated, staring down at the table for a moment before finally shaking his head. “nothing. as long as you’re happy, i’m good.”

but you could tell there was more to it. and as much as you wanted to press him, you didn’t. not yet. because tonight wasn’t about whatever was going on in his head. tonight was about the two of you.

rafe’s grip on the steering wheel was loose, his eyes fixed on the road as you leaned back in the passenger seat, admiring your bracelet under the glow of the streetlights.

“can we stop by john b’s real quick?” you asked, breaking the silence.

he glanced at you, a little confused. “why?”

“i just need to pick something up,” you said vaguely, trying not to give anything away.

his jaw tightened for a split second—he still wasn’t entirely sure what sarah’s texts earlier had been about, and hearing john b’s name wasn’t exactly helping—but he nodded. “yeah, okay.”

the drive was quiet, the tension in the car lingering just under the surface. when you finally pulled into the chateau’s driveway, you hopped out before rafe even had a chance to kill the engine.

“i’ll be quick!” you called over your shoulder, disappearing inside.

quick turned into ten minutes. then fifteen.

rafe leaned back in the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers on the wheel as he waited.

inside, you were crouched on the floor of sarah’s room, your excitement bubbling over as she showed you her latest unboxings.

“i got the cow one!” she squealed, holding up the tiny figurine.

“oh my god,” you laughed, carefully holding the one you’d just picked up. it was perfect—exactly what you’d been hoping for. you turned it over in your hands, smiling at the idea of giving it to rafe. he always rolled his eyes whenever you gushed about how fun they were, but you knew he secretly loved the way you lit up when you talked about them.

you couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

“okay, i really have to go,” you said, stuffing the tiny box into your bag and standing up.

sarah smiled. “have fun giving that one to him.”

you waved at her, laughing as you left.

back in the car, rafe glanced at you as you climbed into the passenger seat. “what took you so long?”

“sorry,” you said, trying to sound casual as you shoved your bag under your seat. “sarah was just showing me something.”

he raised an eyebrow but didn’t push it. instead, he pulled out of the driveway, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“you good now?” he asked, glancing at you.

“yep,” you said, trying to hide your excitement as you thought about the little surprise waiting for him.

back at tannyhill, you practically pulled rafe inside by the hand, practically buzzing with excitement. he trailed behind you, still a little lost in his own thoughts, but he followed because, well, that’s just how it always was between you two.

“okay,” you said, leading him to the couch and gently nudging him to sit down. “sit down. i’ve got a surprise for you.”

he raised an eyebrow. “a surprise? for me?”

“yes, for you,” you said, grinning as you reached into your bag and pulled out the tiny, wrapped box. “since, you’ve been giving to give me a lot of things, this one’s for you.”

rafe shifted, looking a little hesitant. “babe, i told you. you don’t have to give me anything. you shouldn't waste your money on me. you’re the one i’m supposed to spoil.”

you rolled your eyes, holding the little box behind your back. “it’s not expensive, i promise.”

he gave you a skeptical look. “if you say so.”

“now close your eyes,” you urged, a little giddy.

he sighed dramatically but complied, his eyelids falling shut as he settled back into the couch. “this better not be another trick,” he muttered.

“it’s not a trick, i swear,” you said, trying not to giggle. you handed him the little box, gently placing it in his hands.

“okay, open them,” you said softly.

rafe blinked down at the box in his hands, looking genuinely confused. “what is this?” he asked, turning it over a couple of times.

“just open it,” you said, eyes sparkling with excitement.

with a slight frown, he ripped off the wrapping paper, revealing a familiar-looking box. his eyes flickered up to meet yours, confusion still clear on his face. “isn’t this what you have all over your room?”

you grinned widely. “yep! and now, you have your very first mini boyfriend.”

rafe’s expression softened, his confusion shifting into a look of relief, then amusement. “wait, hold on. my mini boyfriend?”

“yep!” you beamed. “remember how you always said you didn’t get why I liked them so much? now you can try it for yourself. i thought you’d enjoy it.”

rafe blinked at the box, then at you. the whole situation seemed to settle into his brain, and a small laugh escaped him.

the entire time he thought you’d been seeing someone on the side.

“exactly,” you said, practically glowing with excitement. “isn’t he cute?”

he stared at the little box for a moment, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he carefully opened it. the tiny figurine—a pig—sat there, innocently smiling up at him.

“oh… it’s a pig?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “you really mean mini boyfriend, huh?”

“yep,” you laughed, leaning into him. “a very cute mini boyfriend.”

rafe shook his head, still chuckling softly. “i thought for sure it was some guy or something. i wasn’t expecting… this.”

you beamed up at him, the look of joy in your eyes uncontainable. “see? it’s fun, right? i knew you’d like it.”

rafe leaned back, still holding the figurine, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he pulled you closer. “honestly, this is kinda… adorable. you’re ridiculous, but i get it now.”

“i told you,” you teased. “it’s just fun. and now you have your very own mini boyfriend.”

rafe chuckled softly, kissing the top of your head. “you’re lucky i’m crazy about you, or i’d say this whole mini boyfriend thing is weird.”

you smiled up at him, glad to see the look of genuine happiness in his eyes as he inspected his tiny pig figurine. despite the weirdness, he was enjoying it. and that made everything worth it.

“why can you see his d-”

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

[Not] Guilty Part 2

Part 1 

A few people expressed interest in this becoming a series. I had a storyline for it when I made the first ‘chapter’. I do warn you guys though I will probably be slow to post. I have a hard time when I feel like I have to write the next chapter of something. Not to mention I am currently packing (and procrastinating packing by writing) to move from Michigan to Tennessee for my new post-grad job!  

This is not a spoiler because I hinted heavily (told you really) at it at the end of the first chapter, but I did want to warn everyone- this has the ACCIDENTAL PREGNANCY TROPE. For those of you who do not like those stories, you have been warned. The case is mentioned in this story but is not its main focus, but what will become of the reader and Sonny’s relationship. (I may change the name because it implies otherwise.)  

Warnings- mentions of sex abuse, physical abuse, prison violence, suicide and accidental pregnancy trope (just in case you missed it ^)

Thank you for reading that really long author's note <3

The breakup should be harder on you. It was the longest relationship you had been in. The nervousness you had felt when you had crept up to the six-month marker and the kiss of death to every relationship you had ever had. It had come in like a lion, with you causing fights waiting for the inevitable, and out like a lamb when Sonny realized what the problem was. He had maturely communicated that he had no intent in letting you go. It had been smooth sailing for the most part after that. The relief you had felt when it all just seemed to work out. You guys were just a few weeks away from the year mark.  

The end was as abrupt as your cousin Randy’s arrest. The betrayal of Sonny going after him without any regard to you. Then the attempted railroading from him to you of Randy’s guilt. The whole thing had left you cold and numb.  

You knew Dominick Carisi was a good lawyer and now he could be the one to put Randy away for life. On a charge you were sure he didn’t commit. You hadn’t seen him much since the day you refused to let him into your apartment. You only saw him during court proceedings or meetings with him and Randy’s defense lawyer. Not that he hadn’t tried. He had called, texted, and stopped by your apartment frequently during the first few weeks. You were sure he thought that you were just overacting and that you would come to see the light of your cousin’s misdoings. Process and then accept what was going on. The only difference was you knew deep in your soul that your cousin wasn’t guilty. You wouldn't let anyone railroad you into thinking anything differently.  

Not even a man you loved. 

You had been actively avoiding him and any emotion that he provoked. You tried to ignore that you were a hot mess. The stress and emotional strain caused constant fatigue and churning in your stomach which had a tendency to make you sick. You had been trying to take care of everything for the case and still work overtime to continue paying your bills and for Randy’s pricy lawyer. You had even tried to get the money to bail Randy out, but Sonny had asked for an outrageous bond that even combined your working-class family couldn’t afford. You had tried to make up for it by putting money in his commissary and visiting once a week. Randy assured you he was okay, but it didn’t help make you feel better. Especially, when you saw the black eye and cut lip on your last visit.  

Today was court and it was Randy’s turn to testify. You sat there in support of him and tried not to wince or shift uncomfortably as years of family secrets were let loose in open court. It was to help show Randy’s character the lawyer had explained. It was smart but you didn’t have to like listening to it.  

Randy testified to his mental health issues. His bipolar that left him manic and on top of the world one day and then so depressed he couldn’t get out of bed the next. He went on to talk about the sexual and physical abuse he had received at the hands of his own father. How he had used substance to numb himself. He was in tears when he talked about how he could never hurt someone like he had been hurt. He would rather put a bullet in his head.  

He had tried to skirt around the question about his uncle. But when he was pressed, he talked about how he had witnessed the brutal murder of his father at his uncle's hands when he had found out and then watched his uncle be arrested and put in prison. How he had been put on multiple 72-hour psych holds in the years following. Listening to it all was hard and made you want to curl up in a corner and sob. It was heartbreaking to listen to. Randy looked and sounded believable- like a victim himself who deserved empathy.  

Sonny turned in his seat to look at you. You were only able to maintain eye contact for only a few seconds. It had been long enough to see the understanding in his eyes. The almost audible clicking of all the puzzle pieces of your life that you dodged around or refused to talk about when you were together were finally coming together for him. You could also see the frustration at you not being honest with him and him being blindsided in open court. 

When recess was called until Monday you had to keep yourself from running out of the courthouse and instead force yourself to walk at a normal pace. You couldn’t face any of the SVU detectives that you were once close to. You hear your name called and your body freezes without your permission. A Staten Island accent thickened with emotion. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You can’t even turn back to look at him. You feel exhausted as you say. “You didn’t want to listen.” 

≪ °❈° ≫ 

You return to court four days later, and there is something strange brewing in the courtroom. You can feel it in the air. You can see it. There is no jury and the courtroom is empty. The rest happens in a blur. ADA Dominick Carisi stands up and tells the judge they had found further evidence over the weekend and they wanted to drop all charges, except for possession. They offered a deal on time served. You felt the tears rush down your face in disbelief. 

You find yourself in the hallway and a hand touches your shoulder from behind. You turn around to see Olivia Benson. “For what it is worth, I’m sorry.” Her face is sincere but all you could hear in your mind was the echoing of her words to you of his guilt and how it was normal to be in denial. It could take a while for your mind to be able to comprehend that someone you know, and love is capable of such malicious intent. “For all the trouble and for all this has cost you.” Even in your haze, you knew she wasn’t talking about the money you had put into Randy’s defense. “With his DNA in her apartment and on that blunt we really thought-” 

“Sharing weed with a woman doesn’t mean you're going to rape and kill her.” Your words are bitter and distant even to your own ears. 

“Of course not,” Olivia paused gathering her thoughts. 

“What happened? What did you guys find?”  

“Well, we went back over the timeline. We had a hard time believing Randy because when we interviewed him, he didn’t even know where he had been for most of the night.” You knew he had been hopped up on some pretty strong stuff that night. “Do you know the cemetery a couple of blocks from where we arrested him?” You felt like a bolt of lightning had struck through you. You did in fact know it. It was where his older brother had been buried after he committed suicide at twenty. “There was a security camera there that had been installed because of some teenager destroying headstones. It shows Randy there hours before Mary Moore’s death to hours after it. He slept there all night actually.” 

You huff out a laugh. Thomas was Randy’s older brother by almost ten years. He, out of the three sons, had taken the worst of the abuse from their father. He had protected Randy and the youngest David until the moment he had ended it all, but it seemed even death couldn’t stop him from protecting his younger brother. 

You see Randy getting released, a bag of belongings in his hand and you start to head over to him completely forgetting that you had been in a conversation with the detective. You are only reminded when you hear her voice raise slightly as she says, “You know, Carisi is the one that started looking back at the timeline. He is the reason this case was dropped.” You freeze feeling something twist in your stomach. An emotion that you don’t want to deal with in this happy moment. 

“It doesn’t change anything.”  

You stride to Randy’s side and hug. You weren’t allowed to touch him when you were visiting him in lockup. He clings to you burying his face into your neck and you can feel the hot tears against your neck. “Thank you. Thank you so much for never giving up on me.” You hug him tighter feeling your own tears roll down your cheeks.  

≪ °❈° ≫ 

You were sitting back at the apartment curled up on the couch wrapped in a blanket as Randy was spending an ungodly amount of time in the bathroom. You smiled to yourself, just happy that he was home. Even if he was back to crashing on your couch. He joined on the couch, hair still wet from his shower. He leaned back into the cushions with a sigh. The two of you sat in silence processing all that had happened in the last four months.  

“I found a rehab program when I was locked up. It focuses on people with mental health issues like my bipolar. I called and they said they had a spot open for me. Someone ran out. Good luck, huh?” You laugh shaking your head.  

“Good to know you still have your positivity streak.” You lay back feeling absolutely exhausted. You had been having a fatigue that just wouldn’t go away. “I think it's a good idea though. It would be good for you to get that settled. Your being off and on your meds hasn't been helping. I just want you to be happy, and have a real chance at the life you deserve.”  

“Yeah, I know. I hope you know I appreciate everything you have done for me. Everything that you have had to sacrifice.” You say his name, but he cuts you off, “No, really Chickadee. All these years, you didn’t have to do any of it. Without you, I would have been dead or locked up three times over by now.” You reach out and start running your finger through his hair. “It’ll probably be good for you to have to space anyways.” 

“I don’t mind you sleeping on my couch.” You assure him. 

“I know, but with you being pregnant and all. I’m sure you-” 

“I’m sorry about me being what?” Randy doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Oh, come on Chickadee. I know you were trying not to make a big deal out of it because of everything that was going on but-” You shake your head at him, laughing. 

“Randy, I’m not pregnant.” The finality in your voice makes him turn his position to face you more fully. He quirks an eyebrow at you. 

“Are you sure about that?” His tone is one of disbelief as he eyes your form. You smack his shoulder saying his name loudly. “Well, I would check into that, anyhow. You know with the fatigue, upset stomach, morning sickness, and with how big those things have gotten.” He gestures to your breast with a wave of his hand.  

You look down at them and feel your mind starting to spiral as you try to think of the last time you had a period. You bite your thumb as you realize it was before the case had started. While it wasn’t uncommon for you to skip when you were stressed out, that was a considerable amount of time. “Alright, I’m kicking you out of my bed. I haven’t had a good night's sleep in almost four months.” Randy didn’t seem to notice your mind spinning. He thought that you were still just messing around with him. He had no idea the can of worms he had just opened in your head. 

You stood up numbly as he started making the couch his makeshift bed. Then flopping onto it with a content sigh. You say nothing as you go to grab your purse and head toward the drug store a block over.   

[sematarygirls]

Girl I really love everything you conjured up for Sonny, I ate it up big time,it feeds my delusion lol. Mine wasn't as dark or anything, just fluff but can you do like love at first sight Sonny? Like he was always buying this coffee at some foodtruck and he thought it was the usual owner but then it's you who were handling customers. Thankss

꒰ sure thing! i love writing fluff about my babygirl (also tysm!! i'm so glad you like my work; it means sm to me) ꒱

  ／ sonny carisi was a creature of habit. realistically, he knew that having a consistent routine wasn't the safest, but it was just so easy to fall into that comfort and stability of always knowing where he was going to go and what he was going to do, especially with a job as unpredictable as his.

he enjoyed the familiarity of his daily schedule—the knowing exactly how his morning would go from beginning to end. it provided some semblance of control in his otherwise hectic life.

he had done this dance half a million times over the last few months. he would stop by his favorite coffee cart on his way to work, order his usual coffee, and engage in some polite small talk with the owner as he waited. he had fallen into that habit, his autopilot driving him.

he mindlessly stepped into line, pulling out his phone and scrolling through various random apps before his phone buzzed, a text popping up at the top of his screen. he was so engrossed in his device, not paying much attention to the world around him save for moving up everytime someone stepped away from the short line on the street.

when it was finally his turn, and he looked up from his phone, brows furrowed in concentration as he pondered the text that benson had just sent him, it was like his autopilot immediately switched off. he didn't know what to do.

he stared at you, his order dying in his throat as his furrowed brows raised in surprise. he was completely caught off guard, not only by the fact that you weren't who he expected, but also the fact that you were single-handedly the most attractive person he'd ever laid eyes on.

"what can i get you?" you asked, flashing him a bright smile that seemed to knock him out of his temporary daze.

"uh, right, sorry," he said awkwardly, slightly shaking his head as if to clear his mind fog, his brain finally catching up with his mouth. "can i just get a large coffee with three creams and four sugars?"

"sure thing!" you chirped, immediately grabbing a cup and getting started on his coffee.

he cleared his throat, looking around at anything and everything that wasn't you. he stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling a slight heat rise to his cheeks. he was acting like a teenage boy with a crush, and it made him feel utterly silly.

it wasn't surprising that the owner would have hired a new new employee to help out after so long working by himself. in fact, sonny was sure that he may have even mentioned combing through job applications a few times during their morning small talks, but it had never registered that he may have to get used to seeing a new face—and certaintly not that it would be one like yours.

"that'll be $4.57," your voice sounded, making his attention snap back to you. you were still regarding him with that same bright, genuine look that made his heart skip a beat.

"right, yeah," he said, flustered as he grabbed his wallet from his pocket. usually, he had his money at the ready. it was always $4.57, and he always paid with a five dollar bill, telling the owner to keep the change, but you had disrupted his routine, his autopilot, which threw everything he knew out the window. "uh, keep the change," he smiled, handing you the money as you handed him the coffee.

"thank you so much," you beamed, taking the five dollar bill from him. your fingers brushed his in a way that sent a jolt of electicity through him. he wondered for a moment if you felt it too before pushing those thoughts away. he was being silly. "have a fantastic day!"

"you too," he nodded at you before turning and heading down the street. he held the steaming cup in his hand, the warmth a forgotten comfort as his mind kept drifting back to you during his commute to work.

you had this energy that intoxicated him. realistically, he knew he was probably reading too much into it. you probably acted the same around all the customers, just being polite, but that irrational part of him chimed in and proposed the idea that it was all for him which had his stomach doing flips.

he finally made it to work, his mind still plagued by thoughts of you as he headed into the squad room where fin and amanda were sat at their desks. he sat at his desk, placing the, now significantly cooler, coffee cup down.

"our boy carisi's got game," fin's voice broke him from his thoughts after a beat of silence. his brows furrowed as he looked up, a confused expression on his face.

he followed his coworker's gaze to the coffee cup, and that's when he finally saw it—the words 'call me' accompanied by a little smiley face and a number written in sharpie.

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Over your head

It's been a while and most of this is personal to my life. Just needed to little Nick loving.

Warnings: None, just fluffy Nick.

WC: 736.

Enjoy x

You should have said no, but you couldn’t now, everything was in place and you knew it have to be like ripping a band aid off, but you were nervous. When Liv came to you and told you that SVU was going to be getting the funds to have an in-house forensic science lab and suggested that you go and get your degree so you could be the head of the lab, it took you nearly 3 days to decide. Life had not been kind recently and you were in your era of second guessing yourself with everything you had been through and what was still to come in your personal life. Your divorce was finally coming to the final stages of being settled and you had just got the kids in a routine as a single mom, and now you were nothing but crazy taking on a full-time degree study as well as working. It was lucky you lived with your mum and the kids went to the same school as Amanda's girls, so between her and Sonny, when you needed it, they said they had it all under control.

As you walked into the huge lecture hall, you found a seat as far up the back as possible and you sat down, sitting your bag on the seat next to you. You had a little giggle as your eyes scanned around the room at all these “Young kids” doing a course as heavy as this, thinking about everything you had seen after 12 years of SVU.

You were looking down at your phone to a message Amanda had messaged you about her plans with all the kids that afternoon after school when you heard a familiar voice and instantly all your worries melted away, your eyes slowly scanned up and surprisingly your eyes met and you blushed as he gave you quick wink and continued talking,

“Good morning, everyone, I’ am Nick Amaro your professor for the next 12 months. I’ am here to answer any questions you may have. All I ask is no phones during my class, unless an extreme emergency” Nick looked at you with a smirk and you giggled to yourself dropping you phone back into your bag.

If that is what you had to listen too for 1 hour every day for the next year, you would be glad to do it. Listening to Nick talking about all his lab skills and referring to his SVU days and cases he had worked on with you and how it led him to this path, made you feel warm and fuzzy. You hadn’t seen him since the night he told you he was moving to LA, your life was already a mess from the break up and he held you on floor as you sobbed at the fact that you were losing your best friend. You had kept in contact, he calling and facetiming the kids as often as he could but you never would have thought in a million years that he would be back in New York teaching.

You watched as all the other students filed out and then you stood up walking out of the aisle you  were sitting on and you walked down the stairs. Just as you were almost at the bottom, Nick walked from around his desk and made his way towards the stairs, stopping at the bottom step not stepping up. You stopped on the bottom step, looking down at Nick, not taking them off his as you sat your bag down on the chair next to you. It was like a magnet pulled you together, your arms going around his neck and his around you middle,

“I’ve missed you sweetheart” Nick kissed the cheek he could reach.

You lent back, your arms going from around his neck and your hands went straight to his beaded cheeks, his moving to your hips, the feel of his facial hair smooth on your hands,

“You have no idea how much I have missed you. How long are you back for?”

“At the moment 3 years” he squeezed your hips “But I’ am hoping I won’t need to leave again”

“Have something important to stay for Professor?” You grinned.

“Yes actually” he paused for a moment looking down at your lips and then looking back up at your eyes “I ‘am looking at her”

Tags: @beccabarba @ben-c-group-therapy @alwaysachorusgirl @jemmakates

[a-boca-do-inferno]

broken (sonny corleone x reader) [request]

summary: “Fuck off.” Sonny waves his hand dismissively, his expression contorted in sheer contempt. “Ya always had champagne taste over a beer budget, sweetheart.”

warnings: angst, cheating (some tom hagen x reader implied just because), swearing (like, a lot), domestic/verbal abuse somewhat, mentions of murder (ya know...usual corleone stuff) and fluff-ish

words: 2.2k

notes: howdy! who asked for some angst??? gosh you guys dont know how much i love writing this type of stuff...please send more angst requests i beg you anyways hope you like it :D xx.

Silence.

It is all he can give you at this moment; after years of marriage, years of your devotion toward him. Unwavering. Unyielding. He had thrown it all away for a cheap settlement, two gladly open legs for the young lady who knew of his money and power. Forgotten immediately, there you stood, facing their unmade bed, smelling of sex and false promises you just knew Santino made her every night they spent together. Whilst you stayed home alone, surrounded by the coldness of tall walls and the crushing weight of his absence. You nearly let out a bitter chuckle, how stupid could you have been, right?

Oh, how they warned you. Everyone! Your friends, your parents, even your dear grandfather, despite the old man being deeply aware he was the one who would always benefit the most from the transaction that was your engagement to Sonny. Because that’s what it was, you had to face it now. Your love had been nothing but another heartless mafia deal to Santino, quite like the relationship your husband himself maintained with the poor girl in front of you, pathetically stumbling to get her clothes scattered on the floor as you eyed her motionless. There was not an ounce of animosity in your bones at this point. You simply did not have it in you to feel anything but pity at her state. Poor girl. Her reputation would be ruined, and for what? She was so young and helpless, almost like you had been once, albeit with the enormous difference that you would not have fucked a married man if he was made of gold. 

“What’s your name?” You order, though gently, still frozen in your spot watching her avoid your eyes at any cost.

“Maria”, she mumbles, adjusting her corset.

“Italian.” You reckon out loud, not really surprised. Having spent such a long time being scrutinised by every pure blood Sicilian who’s ever come into contact with the Corleone family somehow—as ironic as it may seem—prevented you from any type of disappointment at the notion of Santino silently damning you for your half breed background, too. So much so, he’d been searching for compensation elsewhere, on some random broad’s lap. But hey, she was Italian! “How long?” You manage to ask, your voice starting to strain. At the subtle hesitancy from her, you snap, your scream ripping through your throat before you can stop it, “how fucking long?!”

“One year”, comes the coy answer while the young woman shrinks in the corner of the room, her dark orbs filled with tears.

“One year.” You nod, finally letting out that incredulous laugh you had been holding back ever since you spotted the guards standing outside the apartment. That’s when you notice it. Her features weren’t so unfamiliar. Shaking your head softly, you murmur, “you’re the one who brought me the bouquet at my wedding, yes?”

She winces. “(y/n), I’m…”

“You’re a sad, sad excuse of a person.” You hiss, not allowing her to finish the false apology. That was confirmation enough. “I’m the one who feels sorry for you, because you’ll never have what I had, though I only had it for a few months.” Taking one step closer, you spit, looking down at her dishevelled self. “A family.”

You stormed off her bedroom without another word, only to find Santino leaning over the countertop of the kitchen, smoking a cigarette casually. His face spoke of some displeasure at the situation, albeit not nearly as much as you would have expected from him. He was known for making a spectacle out of everything, after all; but you guessed just not when it concerned his own ass. You took a deep breath and grabbed the purse you’d thrown at the brown sofa, spinning to give him one last glare. You had nothing to say to him, not really. Your suspicions about his cheating sprees at night had begun probably long before your husband would have decided to act on it. 

Tom helped you with following Sonny after the kids were asleep, staying with you in the car whilst you both waited for him to leave his—at the time alleged, because you could be fair—mistress’ building. And although the circumstances were less than appropriate or pleasant, you found yourself growing closer to your brother-in-law in the course of your private investigations. You now regretted not fucking Hagen just out of spite for the man staring back at you with disdain, yet your own morals would’ve never let you do such a thing, doesn’t matter if Santino had been sleeping with your own mother. You were not like him and no amount of hurt in the world could ever make you do something as cruel and as vile as this. You refused to sink to his level. 

“I’m taking the boys with me.” You blurt out, causing Sonny to raise his brows and snap out of his grumpy trance at last, lunging at you angrily. You flinch and hold up the pepper spray he’d bought you on another occasion, when you two had to visit a gritty part of town for his business. “Not another step or I’ll fucking blind you.”

“You’re not leaving me, ya hear?!” He growls, grabbing you by the shoulders, uncaring for your warnings. “They’re my kids too! You don’t have the right!”

“The law says differently.” Your tone remains controlled, contrasting with your trembling form under his touch. Your adrenaline must’ve been through the roof by now, and you were blinking rapidly to try and hold your angry tears inside your eyelids. “My grandfather made sure I would be protected in any case, especially if I wanted a divorce for adultery. Guess he was a visionary.” You scoff, hardening your jaw when Santino shrieks and pushes you against the wall. 

“That son of a bitch.” He hisses, pinning you with one arm over your neck. You struggle to breathe, coughing and fighting for air, but your husband’s not having it, pushing you even harder. “You’re not gonna do this to me, (y/n), or you’re fucking dead.”

“And so are you, or do you think my family will let you live?!” You shout, hoarsely, as you gasp for oxygen. He shoots daggers at you and then lets go begrudgingly, your body sliding down the flowery wallpaper while you regain your composure. “I’m sure you… don’t wanna leave the kids orphans either. From either side or both of them.” You finish, pulling the collar of your dress lightly to breathe better.

“You fucking whore.” He grunts, his hand going through his hair in a clear act of desperation. “You’re gonna pay for this.”

“I’m sure I will.” You sigh, your tone dry and full of resentment. Standing back up, you walk over to him, lowering your voice to a fairly vulnerable whisper, “I love you and you did this to me. Believe me, I wanna kill you too, but I have to think of my children first.”

You can swear you see a flicker of remorse passing through Santino’s orbs, but it is as feeble as it is ephemeral. “You wanna act all holy and mighty now, but ya know this was never real, doll. It’s all about money.”

“I always knew that’s all it was for you.” You nod, closing your eyes for a brief second. “I never fooled myself into believing you ever loved me like Vito or Carmela do.” You narrow your gaze faintly, wanting him to know this, as it is probably the last time you’ll speak with him directly. “I’m aware I was but a fun little adventure once, just like Maria is now, and then I became a chore. Something you had to come home to, boring, tiresome. ‘Naggy wifey’, ain’t that how you refer to me to your brothers?” You mock his thick New York accent, frowning deeper. Your talks with Tom often involved some gossip about how Sonny spoke of you behind your back, unknowing that his own brother disapproved of what he said. Well, you just felt like airing all the Corleone family’s dirty laundry tonight. It was as good a time as any.

“Ya been fucking Tom or something?” Santino snickers, however there’s no humour whatsoever in his demeanour. Only awkwardness and embarrassment, somewhat. Such a stark contrast to the man you came to love. He was never smaller in your eyes. 

“That’s what you deserve.” You turn your face away from him, holding your purse firmly against your chest. “But, no. He was the one who asked me about some jewellery you bought me, because the accountant needed to write it down. I’m not sure if he already knew and wanted me to know too or what, but I’m grateful for his character either way. Perks of not being a Corleone.” You snarl at the end, fully aware your words only served to sting his ego further. 

You were right. 

“You know what? That’s what I could never stand about you, your fucking arrogance.” 

“You really wanna pin this on me now, huh? C’mon, Santino, let it all out!” You raise your voice, clapping your hands dramatically. “Now it’s your time to tell me how you always felt so beneath me because you can’t read a fucking drug label without falling asleep or asking for Tom’s help, yet you still wanna be kingshit when Vito dies.”

“Shut the fuck up”, Sonny barks, pointing at your chest. “You wanna be so high and mighty when your parents practically sold you to me? Fuck off.” He waves his hand dismissively, his expression contorted in contempt. “Ya always had champagne taste over a beer budget, sweetheart. If it wasn’t for my family, that prick you call grandaddy woulda gone bankrupt.”

“You wanna act like you care about that now when all you ever wanted was to fuck me and get done with it, no matter the price you had to pay.” You shoot back even before he can close his mouth, crossing your arms defiantly. “And then you get caught cheating and wanna say it’s my fault, because what? I didn’t give you enough attention? You wanted me to baby you and tell you’re the smartest guy in the room when you’re a joke even to your own family?”

“Shut up.”

“Just think what Mikey is thinking of you now...”

“I said, shut the fuck up!” Santino grabs you by the shoulders again, pushing you to sit down on the couch. The noise is loud enough for Maria to burst out of the bedroom, fearful of what he might do. He tells her off with a deep growl and she cowers back inside, leaving you two alone. You try to get up only to be harshly pushed down by his body straddling yours, trapping you completely. You kick and scream under his assault, but Sonny takes your wrists aggressively with one hand, while his other holds your chin in place, squeezing your cheeks with all his force. “Look at me.” You have no choice but to oblige, hot tears streaming down your flushed features. “I’m sorry.” He says through gritted teeth, his own eyes glossy, his sharp inhales telling of the almost inhuman struggle to keep his emotions in check. “I’m sorry, ya hear me?! I fucking love you too.”

Your whole body shook violently, your soft sobs mixing in with his. You said nothing in response, what else could you say? Wouldn’t it be so much easier if it was just a matter of words on divorce papers, your signing and his to make it official and tangible? Yet it wasn’t. There were two sleeping little boys waiting for you both to come home, blissfully unaware of the fact their parents were pulling each other apart at the seams whilst a young girl cried silently in her secluded spot in the next room, drowning in her own remorse and regret. Right now there were mere broken pieces of whoever you three ever came to be one day, and some part of you—masochist, foolish, selfish—wanted to cling to Santino’s anguished confession of his love to you so badly, it hurt. Could it really be too late for him, for you, for your family together?

“Let’s go home.” You whimper after a moment, similar to a scared animal caught in the headlights. 

Sonny’s grip on your chin had long softened as he sobbed uncontrollably on your neck, soaking up your dress with warm tears. You snaked an arm around his waist and sighed, listening to his ragged breathing gradually calm down. Soon you were surrounded by quietness, just like you had been earlier when facing the two of them on that same brown sofa, half naked. The image remained branded into your brain, although less unfamiliar now than a few moments ago. You figured that’s what people meant when they said trust can never go back to its normal state once it’s broken. The cracks are always there, no matter the amount of glue you try to put on them or how unshakeable they may look after the repairs. 

Silence. 

“Yeah.” Santino coos, wiping his face sheepishly, unable to meet your desolate gaze. “Let’s go home.”

Silence.

[art-by-jas]

"Goodnight." (AO3)

Summary: Meeting Bella.

Sonny carefully guides you up the icy steps to your apartment, ensuring you don't slip. Though you've become more mobile since your recent accident, he still worries about your well-being.

After helping you settle in, Sonny pauses to look at you. A thought has been nagging at his mind, something he's been considering bringing up. As you rest on the couch, seemingly lost in thought, he senses this may be a good moment to broach the subject.

Sitting down beside you, Sonny speaks up tentatively. "Hey, can I talk to you about something?"

You glance up at him, puzzled by the hesitation in his voice. "Sure, what is it?" you reply, fully focusing on him and adjusting your position to face him directly on the couch.

Sonny takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "So, I've been meaning to ask you something," he begins, his eyes meeting yours. He pauses momentarily, carefully considering his words. "I was wondering if you'd like to join me in visiting my sister, Bella, later today. She just told me she's pregnant and wants to show me the baby stuff she just bought." Sonny finishes with a hopeful grin.

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise, but a warm smile spreads across your face. "Of course, I'd love to!" you respond, a hint of excitement in your voice. "Wow, a new niece or nephew. I'm truly happy for you."

You reach out and gently pat Sonny's leg, trying to reassure him. "It'll be great to meet your sister. I'm sure we'll get along well."

Sonny's shoulders instantly relax upon hearing your response, and relief washes over him. He hadn't realized just how nervous he'd been about asking you. He reaches out and takes your hand in his, his expression soft and sincere.

"I'm really glad," he says, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "Bella is going to be thrilled to meet you."

Your heart flutters as his gentle touch sends a warm sensation spreading through your chest. "When are you heading over?" you ask, intertwining your fingers with his.

Sonny glances at his watch. "I'm supposed to go in a few," he replies, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand.

Sonny's mind drifts back to the near-kiss in the hallway a few months ago. He's thought about it ever since, wondering what could have happened if he hadn't stopped himself. Turning to face you, Sonny says, "Hey, I was thinking - why don't we do something special tonight? Like a date night?"

Your heart skips a beat at Sonny's unexpected proposal of a date night. The thought of spending quality time with him outside of the usual daily routine makes your stomach flutter with anticipation. A soft smile graces your lips as you look at him. "I'd love to," you reply, the excitement clear in your voice. "What did you have in mind?"

Sonny grins, pleased that you're on board. "I was thinking we could go out for dinner at this Italian place I know. The food and wine are both great. Sound good to you?" 

The mention of Italian fare has your mouth watering already. "Italian sounds perfect," you reply, smiling back at him. After getting ready, you and Sonny head out to his car. The drive to his sister's apartment is filled with conversation about what to expect from the evening. Sonny keeps glancing at you, occasionally reaching out to squeeze your hand.

Finally, he pulls up outside Bella's apartment and parks the car. "Here we are," he says, shutting off the engine.

Sonny knocks on the door, and a few moments later, Bella opens it with a wide smile. "Hey, Sonny!" she greets, pulling him into a warm embrace.

Sonny returns his sister's hug, a smile spreading across his face. "Hey, Bella," he replies, stepping back but keeping an arm around her shoulders. He then turns towards you, his eyes sparkling.

"Bella, I want you to meet someone," Sonny says, gently guiding you to face his sister.

Bella's eyes flick up and down as she examines you, flickering with curiosity and a hint of excitement. "So, this is the special someone Sonny's been telling me all about, huh?" she says.

A blush creeps up your cheeks as you're introduced to Sonny's sister. You hadn't realized he had been talking about you to her, a sweet thought that makes your heart flutter.

You offer Bella a nervous but excited smile. "Nice to meet you," you say, extending your hand.

Bella grasps your hand in a firm, warm shake. "It's nice to finally put a face to the name," she replies, her gaze shifting back to Sonny. "She's even prettier in person."

Sonny grins, his eyes shining with pride and affection. "Told ya," he says, giving Bella a knowing look.

Bella rolls her eyes playfully at Sonny, then turns her attention back to you. "Come on in, both of you," she says, stepping aside to let you enter the apartment.

As you step into the apartment, you're immediately greeted by a cozy ambiance. Bella leads you into the living room, where a large, plush teddy bear sits proudly on the couch.

"Isn't it just the cutest?" Bella chuckles, gesturing to the oversized stuffed animal. Sonny shakes his head in amused agreement, and you can't help but grin at the sight of the adorably over-stuffed bear.

"It was such a steal on sale," Bella continues. She then turns to you and points towards a door further into the apartment. "We're going to set up the crib and changing table in there - it'll make a lovely little nursery."

You nod, picturing the cozy space. "That sounds perfect," you reply, glancing at Sonny. 

"What do you think?" Bella looks at Sonny.

“I can’t believe my little sister’s having a baby. That's what I think," he says, “you still haven't told Mom, yet?"

The man who enters the living room is Tommy, Bella's fiancé. He gestures to his outfit and asks, "Hey, babe. How does this look?"

Sonny's expression hardens as he sees Tommy, who avoids Sonny's gaze. The atmosphere becomes tense, and you know there is some history between them. "Sonny, what are you doing here?" Tommy asks.

"It's great to see you too, Tommy," Sonny replies dryly.

"He's here to help us move all the crap out of the baby's room," Bella interjects. "Also, Sonny brought someone special." She turns to you, and you can feel all eyes on you as you're intro

The man who enters the living room is Tommy, Bella's fiancé. He gestures to his outfit and asks, "Hey, babe. How does this look?"

Sonny's expression hardens as he sees Tommy, who avoids Sonny's gaze. The atmosphere becomes tense, and you know there is some history between them. "Sonny, what are you doing here?" Tommy asks.

"It's great to see you too, Tommy," Sonny replies dryly.

"He's here to help us move all the crap out of the baby's room," Bella interjects. "Also, Sonny brought someone special." She turns to you, and you can feel all eyes on you as you're introduced as Sonny's 'special someone.' A mixture of nervousness and excitement swells in your chest.

You offer a small, polite smile, glancing at Sonny before turning back to Bella and Tommy. "I have to go see my parole officer, remember?" Tommy reminds Bella.

"Hey, how's that going?" Sonny asks.

"Great," Bella answers. "Tommy just got a promotion at work. They gave him his own moving team."

You give him a thumbs up. "Nice work."

"Well, make sure you tell your P.O.," Sonny tells Tommy. "A raise, promotion, that's brownie points right there."

Tommy scoffs, his expression darkening a bit. "Brownie points? Yeah, right."

Sonny ignores Tommy's pessimism and continues, "Seriously, tell your P.O. That's the kind of stuff they wanna hear. Shows you're on the straight and narrow."

Tommy throws on his jacket and kisses Bella. "I want to get there early so I can leave early," he says.

"We got a doctor's appointment this afternoon. Our first sonogram," Bella announces.

Sonny scoffs at Bella's use of the word "our." The scoff escapes his lips before he can stop himself. There's a hint of disapproval in his gaze as he looks at Tommy.

"Did Bella tell you I popped the question? She's going to make an honest man out of me," Tommy says, a wide smile spreading across Bella's face as she looks smitten.

Sonny replies casually, "That's great, Tommy," his eyes darting back to Bella, taking in her joyful expression. She's over the moon about the engagement and the upcoming wedding.

Sonny pulls Bella into a warm, tight embrace. The genuine happiness shining in his eyes is evident as he steps back and looks at her. "You deserve all the happiness in the world," he tells her, his voice tinged with pride and protectiveness.

With Tommy gone, Bella asks if Sonny still wants to help move things. Sonny nods and rolls up his sleeves. "Yeah, of course. Let's get to it." He glances over at you, silently inviting you to join in. Eager to spend more time with Sonny, you smile.

As the three of you work together, you make steady progress in clearing the space. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Sonny's gaze flickering towards you, a gentle smile playing on his lips. Continuing your work, you catch Sonny stealing frequent glances in your direction, his eyes meeting yours at times. Whenever your gazes lock, a warm sensation washes over you, causing your cheeks to flush ever so slightly.

As you move a piece of furniture, Sonny steps a little closer, his arm grazing against yours. The touch is subtle yet intentional, sending a shiver down your spine. You try to focus on the task at hand, but it's increasingly difficult to ignore how Sonny's touch makes your heart skip a beat.

The more Sonny steals glances, the more flustered you feel. Thankfully, Bella seems completely oblivious to the charged moment between you and Sonny, engrossed in rearranging the baby's room.

He moves closer again, his shoulder brushing against yours as he reaches for something nearby. The room suddenly feels warmer, and you can feel a flush creeping up your neck.

You try to ignore how his appearance is affecting you, but it's no use. The sight of Sonny's toned forearms and the way his hands grip things is enough to make your knees feel weak. Focusing on the task at hand becomes increasingly difficult.

Sensing the growing tension, Sonny glances over at you with a sly smirk. He knows exactly what he's doing and seems to revel in the effect he has on you.

"Everything okay?" he asks innocently, his voice slightly lower and a bit huskier than usual. The innocent question coupled with his sultry tone sends a shiver down your spine. You're caught off guard, your mind racing a million miles a minute. 

"Y-yeah," you stutter, trying to keep a calm, nonchalant demeanor. "Everything's fine."

“You guys hungry?” The question snaps both you and Sonny out of your moment, and you both turn toward Bella.

"Sure," Sonny replies with a casual shrug. He glances quickly at you, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"Yeah, that sounds great," you reply, your voice still slightly shaky.

With that, Bella departs to prepare a meal, leaving you and Sonny alone for a brief period. The air still crackles with tension as Sonny turns to you, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

By the time Bella finishes cooking, you and Sonny have completed moving items out of the baby's nursery, leaving the room significantly clearer.

Bella pops her head in, announcing that lunch is ready. "Great timing!" she exclaims, impressed by the progress you've made.

Your stomach rumbles as the tantalizing aroma of Bella's cooking wafts over. The physical labor has left you ravenous, and the thought of a meal sounds heavenly.

"Smells amazing," Sonny remarks, stretching his arms overhead. The motion causes his shirt to ride up, briefly exposing a toned slice of his abdomen. Involuntarily, your gaze fixes on the exposed skin, your mouth going slightly dry. You quickly divert your eyes, trying to act casual, but the image of that toned skin is now seared into your mind.

Sonny doesn't miss the way you looked at him, and a satisfied smirk spreads across his face. He knows the effect he's having on you, and he's relishing every moment of it.

"Let's eat," he says casually, leading the way out of the room and into the dining area.

Over a casual lunch, you engage in lighthearted conversation with Bella. She peppers you with questions, eager to learn more about you. Sonny occasionally chimes in as well. With each inquiry, you find yourself warming up to Bella's friendly, welcoming demeanor, which makes it easy to open up to her. You can sense her genuine happiness to have you there, and her warm smiles put you at ease.

As dinner wraps up and you help clear the dishes, Bella brings up the subject of her upcoming wedding. "You're definitely invited," she insists, her face brightening with a smile. "It's going to be small, just close family and friends."

Her invitation touches your heart. You're honored that she's including you in this special event. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," you reply warmly, your smile mirroring hers.

"Good," she says, satisfied. She pauses, her expression thoughtful. "I know just who you can sit by too." She glances meaningfully at Sonny, a playful gleam in her eyes. Sonny catches the look and rolls his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. He's clearly trying to feign annoyance, but the twinkle in his eyes betrays his amusement.

As lunchtime draws to a close, a feeling of excitement washes over you. You can hardly wait for the date with Sonny later. The prospect of spending more time with him, just the two of you, fills your heart with a mix of anticipation and butterflies.

By the time afternoon fades into early evening, Sonny informs you that he has law classes for a few hours. He assures you he'll pick you up right afterward, and you feel a thrill at the prospect. The idea of having some solo time to prepare for your date excites you. With anticipation coursing through you, you begin mentally planning your outfit.

To pass the time until Sonny returns, you keep yourself occupied. First, you tidy up your apartment, straightening and organizing. Afterward, you tackle your closet, sorting through clothes and purging anything old or unworn. After cleaning up, you decide to watch an episode of your favorite TV show, sinking into the couch and letting the distraction soothe your anticipation. Once the episode ends, you vacuum the living room to keep yourself occupied.

With an hour until Sonny's arrival, you know it's time to start getting ready. Excitement buzzing under your skin, you head to your bedroom and browse your closet for the perfect outfit. Considering different options, you settle on an ensemble that makes you feel confident and comfortable, a smile spreading across your face at the thought of Sonny's reaction.

You head to the bathroom to freshen up, just as your phone buzzes with a new text. Your heart skips a beat when you see Sonny's name on the screen, telling you he was on the other side of your door.

You take a deep breath and reach for the doorknob, slowly turning it. The door opens to reveal Sonny on the other side. Your heart rate quickens slightly, anticipation and excitement mixing together. Sonny is dressed casually in jeans and a nice button-down shirt, a charming smile on his face.

"Hey," he says, his voice low and smooth. His gaze drifts over you, taking in your appearance. A look of appreciation passes over his face. "You look beautiful."

You feel a flutter of pleasure in your chest at his words. "Thanks," you reply, a smile on your face.

He grins, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. "Not too shabby, huh? Ready to go?" He steps back slightly, giving you room to step out of your apartment. You lock the door behind you, and his hand gently touches the small of your back as he leads you towards the elevator. A small electrical charge runs through you at his casual touch, sending a thrill up your spine.

You follow him into the elevator, butterflies fluttering in your stomach with anticipation. "How was class?" you ask, looking up at him.

Sonny glances down, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Class was fine," he says. "Just the usual law lectures and discussions." He leans back against the elevator wall, crossing his arms. "But I was a bit distracted today," he adds, a suggestive note in his tone.

Your heart skips a beat as Sonny mentions his distraction. You raise an eyebrow, playing along. "Oh? What could possibly have distracted you?" you ask, a playful smile on your lips.

Sonny's smile widens, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Oh, you know," he replies casually, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "There's this girl who's been on my mind quite a bit." He glances down at you again, his gaze lingering on yours. "She's been making it very difficult for me to concentrate on my studies," he admits, his voice low and seductive.

Your cheeks flush as he mentions the mysterious girl. Part of you knows he's talking about you, but there's a small part that relishes this playful cat-and-mouse game.

You remark lightly, "She sounds like a real handful. Must be pretty special if she has you so distracted."

Sonny agrees, the corners of his lips twitching as if holding back a smile. "She is. Very special." He pushes away from the elevator wall, stepping closer until the gap between you diminishes. In a sultry murmur, he continues, "She's smart, funny, beautiful. I can't seem to get her out of my head." Your heart thumps a little harder in your chest at his near confession.

You take a small step closer as well, meeting his gaze. A coy smile plays on your lips. "Sounds like you've got it pretty bad for this girl," you say, your voice just a touch breathless.

As the elevator doors open to reveal an older woman walking in, you and Sonny quickly step apart, putting a respectable distance between you. The moment of intimacy is broken, but you can still feel the lingering electricity in the air. The older woman politely smiles at you and Sonny, oblivious to the flirtatious exchange that just occurred. She presses the button for her floor as you and Sonny slide get into his car. During the relatively short drive, you and Sonny steal glances at each other, the tension between you almost palpable. He pulls up in front of a charming restaurant. As you both step out into the cool evening air that wraps around you like a blanket. Glancing up, you take in the warm lighting and cozy atmosphere radiating from the restaurant. You approach the entrance, Sonny offers you his arm, a small gesture that quickens your pulse. You accept, resting your hand lightly on his elbow, and let him lead you through the door.

The interior of the restaurant is dimly lit, small glowing lights decorating each table. Soft music plays in the background, creating a relaxing, romantic ambiance. A hostess greets you both and leads you to a secluded table towards the back of the restaurant, away from the main dining area.

Sonny pulls out your chair, his hand lingering briefly at the small of your back before he takes his own seat across from you. The gentle gesture sends a flutter through your stomach.

"This place is nice," you say softly, glancing around at the dim lighting, soft music, and cozy atmosphere that contribute to the intimate setting.

"Thought you might like it," Sonny replies, his tone casual but with a hint of satisfaction. "I wanted to take you somewhere special."

He picks up his menu, scanning it briefly before setting it down again. "You can get anything you want. My treat." Your heart warms at his thoughtful gesture. You flip open the menu, perusing the selection of dishes in front of you. 

"Everything looks so good," you remark, your eyes skimming over the tempting options. "I might have a bit of a hard time deciding."

Sonny grins and sets down his own menu. "Take your time," he says. "There's no rush. And hey, if you can't decide, we can always share a few dishes."

The idea of sharing a few dishes sounds tempting. "That could be fun," you reply, a smile forming on your lips. "We could get a bit of everything and just sample it all."

Sonny chuckles, the sound low. "Exactly," he replies, his gaze not leaving yours. "And there are a few things I wouldn't mind sharing with you, doll." You feel your cheeks heat up at his suggestive tone. You duck your head, trying to hide your flustered expression, but you have a feeling from Sonny's smirk that he knows exactly the effect he's having on you.

"You're so easy to rile up," he teases, the corner of his mouth twitching, amused. "I'm gonna have a lot of fun with that tonight." Your cheeks burn as a flush creeps across your face. You try to appear nonchalant, but your body betrays you, your heart fluttering in your chest.

"You're enjoying this way too much," you protest, but a hint of laughter escapes your lips.

"I am enjoying it," he admits, unrepentant. "What can I say? You're cute when you're flustered."

He leans back in his chair, a smug expression on his face. "I like knowing I can have that effect on you."

You rack your brain for a witty comeback, but all you can manage is a muttered, "You're insufferable."

Despite your best efforts, a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips, betraying your true feelings.

"And you love it," he says with a cocky grin, his confidence evident. "Let's be honest - you love it when I call you 'doll'." He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, and you can see the mischief sparking in his eyes. You shift in your seat, suddenly aware of how close he is. The idea of him not even having to touch you to get you worked up makes your stomach flutter with anticipation.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. "You're pretty sure of yourself, huh?" you ask, your voice a little breathier than you'd like.

"Damn right I am," he says, his voice low and slightly rougher than before. His eyes rake over you, taking in every detail. "And judging by the way your cheeks are flushed and how you're squirming in your seat right now, I'd say I have every reason to feel that way."

You feel a shiver run down your spine as his eyes wander over you. You try to find some sort of retort, something snarky or clever to say, but you're at a loss for words. The intense look he's giving you is making it impossible to think straight.

Sonny breaks his gaze away from you, giving his attention to the waiter.

"We'll have the bruschetta to start," he says, glancing over at you. "You good with that?"

You nod in agreement, still, flustered from the intense moment you just shared. "Yeah, that sounds good," you manage to say, your voice still shaky. Sonny turns back to the waiter and places the rest of the order, his tone casual as he chatters with the waiter. You try to regain your composure, taking slow, steady breaths to calm your racing heart. But every time you glance up at Sonny, the sly smirk on his lips tells you he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

"Great," Sonny replies. The two of you give your orders to the waiter, and after the waiter leaves, Sonny returns his gaze to you. the look in his eyes is still intense, but there's a hint of tenderness there now too. "So, how's the coffee shop been lately?" he asks, his tone shifting to a more friendly, casual manner.

Sonny listens attentively as you talk about the coffee shop, his expression softened, the intensity from earlier gone. A warm smile crosses his face as you mention Alex.

"Sounds like things are going well," he observes. "Alex sounds like a great guy. I'm glad you've got someone like that helping you out."

Sonny leans back in his chair, his demeanor relaxed as he discusses his job. "Work's been busy as usual," he says, a hint of weariness in his voice. "My colleagues are a bunch of characters. They make the days interesting, to say the least."

Sonny pauses, then meets your eyes as he poses a question that's been on his mind. "If you don't mind me asking," he says tentatively, "why did you agree to come out with me tonight?"

You hesitate before responding. "Well, there are a few reasons, I guess. But mostly, it's because... I like you, Sonny. I've always liked you, even when I didn't realize it."

Sonny's expression softens at your confession. He looks at you with a warm, almost tender gaze. "I like you too, doll," he says, his voice quieter than before. "I've liked you for a long time. I just... wasn't sure if you felt the same way."

Your heart skips a beat as he confesses his feelings. You swallow nervously before replying, "I felt the same way too. I've been trying to play it cool. But it's hard when you're around. You make me feel..." You trail off, unable to find the words.

Sonny's lips curve into a soft smile at your admission. He reaches across the table, gently covering your hand with his. The touch sends a jolt of electricity up your arm.

"I know what you mean," he says, his deep, velvety voice sending a shiver down your spine. "You make me feel a lot of things too."

The aroma of the freshly arrived bruschetta momentarily distracts you from Sonny. The food looks and smells so delicious, you can hardly wait to take a bite.

The waiter leaves, and silence once again settles over the table. You pick up a piece of bruschetta, lift it to your mouth and taking a bite. The flavors explode on your tongue, and you close your eyes, savoring the taste.

As you open your eyes, you catch Sonny watching you intently, his face alight with pure adoration. "You like it?" he asks, gesturing to the bruschetta, a small grin playing on his lips.

You nod and wipe a bit of tomato sauce from the corner of your mouth with your finger. "It's delicious," you say, smiling back at him. Sonny's grin widens, his eyes never leaving your face as you lick the sauce off your finger. Your evident enjoyment of the food seems to please him immensely.

Conversation flows easily as you both continue eating, the earlier intensity replaced by a more relaxed, comfortable atmosphere. You find yourself laughing and chatting freely with Sonny, the initial nerves and tension now forgotten.

As the plates are cleared, you and Sonny continue chatting, the conversation flowing naturally between you. A comfortable silence falls for a few moments, both of you simply savoring each other's presence.

Finally, Sonny breaks the silence. "So, what's the craziest thing that's ever happened at the coffee shop?" he asks, a twinkle in his eye.

You pause, racking your brain for the many strange incidents that have occurred over the years. "Well," you begin, "there was a woman who stumbled into our kitchen, clearly under the influence. She just walked around the back like she owned the place. Alex wasn't there, and it was just Kade and I. We hid in the office, but our dumbasses forgot to shut the door, and she strolled right in and asked to take a selfie with us."

Sonny chuckles, clearly amused by the chaos of the situation, though a hint of concern flickers in his eyes. "That's crazy," he says. "What did you do when she walked in on you?"

"We let her wander around the back, not wanting to intervene. Luckily, the third shift was starting and Martha arrived just in time. I told her a lady was smoking in the back, and boy, you'd be glad you never see Martha mad or yelling. The lady took off out of there in a hurry."Sonny laughs at the image of the frightened woman fleeing from an angry Martha, shaking his head with an amused smile. "Damn," he says, impressed. "Sounds like Martha's not someone you want to mess with."

"She really isn't," you reply, chuckling at the memory. "She's a sweet lady unless you provoke her, and her scream could shatter glass."

Sonny grins, clearly entertained by your description of Martha. "I'll be sure to stay on her good side," he says, a hint of playful jest in his voice. He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, his proximity causing your heart to skip a beat.

Sonny notices you've been stealing glances at his hands, a smile tugging at his lips. "You can't seem to take your eyes off my hands," he points out casually, his voice laced with teasing curiosity.

Feeling a flush rise to your cheeks at being caught, you try to play it off casually. "Oh, I didn't realize I was," you say, clearing your throat slightly. "I was just... admiring them, I guess.”

Sonny's voice is low and slightly amused as he teases, "You're definitely staring." He turns his hands over, flexing his fingers. "Why do you keep looking at my hands, hmm? You like them or something?"

You bite your lip, realizing there's no point in denying it. Meeting his gaze, you admit softly, "Maybe. You have nice hands."

Sonny grins, clearly pleased by your admission. "Do I, now?" he asks, playing along. "What exactly do you like about them?"

Your eyes drawn to the veins running down his strong, lean forearms, you consider his question for a moment. "They're... strong," you say, your voice betraying your growing desire. "And... well, they look like they could do some interesting things."

Sonny's grin widens at your statement, his eyes darkening with a subtle hint of desire. "Interesting things, huh?" he repeats, his voice dropping an octave as he moves his hand.

closer to you across the table, his index finger tracing a slow, teasing pattern on the back of your hand.

The sensation of his touch sends shivers down your spine, your eyes fixed on his finger as it moves lazily across your skin. "Yeah," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "You know, like... holding things, fixing things, that kind of stuff."

Sonny chuckles at your response, amused by your attempt to conceal your true thoughts. He places his hand over yours, his palm pressing against yours, his fingers intertwining with yours. "Just holding things, doll?" he asks, his deep, sultry voice sending a shiver through you.

Your breath catches at his touch, the contact sparking electricity through your body. "Among other things," you murmur, unable to tear your gaze from his intense eyes.

Sonny insists on paying the bill and leaving a tip for the waiter. As you exit the restaurant, the cold winter air nips at your skin, and Sonny offers you his coat. You gratefully accept, slipping it on and relishing in his warmth and subtle scent.

After the drive back, you linger in the hallway between your apartments, reluctant to say goodnight to Sonny just yet. The evening has been unexpectedly exciting, and you're not ready for it to end.

Sonny steps closer, his body only inches from yours, his warm breath on your face. He watches you intently, a sly smile on his lips. "You remember a few weeks ago?" he asks, his voice low. "Right here, just before those kids came through."

You nod, your heart suddenly racing. The memory of his near-kiss still fresh, you can practically feel the tension in the air. "Yeah," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sonny lifts his hand, his thumb tracing the contour of your cheek. His touch sends ripples of desire through you. "I've been thinking about that moment ever since," he admits, his voice hushed. "And I've been kicking myself for not kissing you." Your breath catches in your throat at his confession, your skin burning beneath his touch, your heart pounding loudly.

Sonny moves closer, his body now touching yours. His hand shifts to your waist, pulling you in. "I want to fix it now," he murmurs, his gaze flicking down to your lips.

Responding automatically, you lean into him, your hands reaching up to touch his chest. "Then fix it," you breathe, eyes locked with his, filled with desire and anticipation.

Sonny doesn't need to be told twice. He cups your face in both his hands, his fingers sliding into your hair, and he kisses you. Really kisses you. It's a kiss that begins slow but grows more heated, his lips moving against yours with a mix of tenderness and passion. You melt into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him even closer. The world around you seems to fade away, and it's just the two of you in this moment, connected through this kiss. Sonny's hands wander down your body, pulling you even closer to him, his body molding against yours. The kiss is like nothing you've ever experienced before; it's as if he's pouring every ounce of passion and feeling he has into this moment, trying to make up for the time you've lost.

Sonny's grip on you doesn't loosen as you pull away to catch your breath, his breathing just as ragged as your own. He rests his forehead against yours, his thumb tracing lazy patterns on the small of your back.

"Wow," he breathes, his voice heavy with desire.

"Goodnight, Sonny. Thank you for an amazing night and that out of this world kiss."

Sonny is reluctant to let you go, his hand lingering on the small of your back as his body remains pressed close to yours. "Anytime, doll," he murmurs in his deep, gravelly voice. "I had a great night too." He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, before finally releasing you. "Goodnight."

You step back, immediately feeling the loss of his warmth, but also a sense of giddy excitement that this night actually happened. Giving him one last smile, you turn and slip inside your apartment. Sonny watches you go, his gaze lingering as you disappear. For a moment, he stands there, his fingers absentmindedly touching his lips, a content smile on his face.

Masterlist

[bullet-prooflove]

Jujube: Sonny Quinn x Reader

Tagging: @switchbladeclub @kind-wolf @@mariashane @floydsglasses  @firecountryqueen666 @caffeinatedwoman @@kmc1989 @sca3a @jeysbae @hufflepuffgirl @hgs-11 @meera10 @f1babe98 @angelnyx finiteuniverse13

Sonny calls you his jujube. It starts as something to make you blush because the first time he’d said it, he’d had his head between your legs and was licking up the mess he’d just made of you.

“You taste as sweet as a jujube.” He’d mumbled against your thigh before he’d devoured you all over again.

It had stuck after that because there’d been a fifteen minute debate about what a jujube actually was.

He thinks about that when he’s trapped inside of the torpedo tube on the edge of drowning. The water’s lapping over his face, saturating his beard, stinging his eyes. His neck aches as he tries to keep his head up but his nose bumps against the smooth metal because there’s nowhere else to go. He’s going to die in here and you will never know how he feels.

This thing between the two of you it may have started off as casual, something to keep him occupied between deployments but it’s quickly become more than that. It’s sunshine and happiness and all the good things in life, everything he’d been lacking until he met you.

“Clay.” He says over the comms system as the water splashes over his forehead. “Clay buddy, I need you to do something for me.”

“You want me to sing the Longhorns fight song?” Clay responds, his voice a welcome sound over the radio. “Because I  gotta say it sounds much better with your accent.”

“Nah man, you’d just ruin it anyway.” Sonny smiles despite his predicament. “It’s about my Jujube, I need you to tell her…”

He trails off then because the emotion in his chest, it’s too much. He closes his eyes and he remembers the morning before his deployment, the two of you together in his sheets, your fingertips chasing over his tattoos as he held you close.

If he had known that was the last time…

“Tell Jujube I loved her, that what we had, it meant the world to me.”

“Sonny…” Clay chides and Sonny can hear the anguish in his  voice.

“It’s important to me.” Sonny tells him, his voice breaking just a little. “It’s important that she knows that she’s more, that she’s always been more.”

There’s silence for a moment as the radio crackles and Sonny knows what that means. If Clay agrees they’re both acknowledging what’s about to happen, that they’re not going to get Sonny out of the tube, that he’s going to die.  

“I’ll tell her.” Clay says quietly. “I promise you brother, I will.”

Sonny drowns after that. He stays dead for three minutes before they bring him back into the world choking and spluttering, coughing up his own lungs.

On the plane ride home he’s a little antsy, his knee jingles and his fingertips tap out a tune on his thigh. He plugs his headphones into his ears and he listens to your playlist, the one with all the songs  that remind him of the key moments from your relationship.

First kiss, first date, first time.

He clings to each of those memories until he gets his feet back on the tarmac. It’s everything he can do to get his ass to the carpark outside of base where he knows you’ll be waiting for him.

When he sees you standing there alongside your beat up Chevy, something inside of him just settles. You’re wearing that pretty summer dress he likes, the one he’s ruined you in multiple times and a pair of worn cowboy boots.

You’re in his arms in a matter of seconds and Sonny, he does not want to let you go. Back in that tube, he didn’t think he was going to get to experience this again so he holds onto you as tightly as he can, his lips brushing over your forehead, your nose and finally your mouth.

When he kisses you it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds after months of rain. All of that darkness, that fear that’s plagued him it evaporates and there’s just you, always you.

“You are everything to me.” He says fiercely as he cradles your face between his hands. “Absolutely everything.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[doll-elvis]

I’ve seen these photos of Priscilla on Pinterest and she looks so upset, do you know if there’s any back story behind these photos

hello and thank you very much for sending in this ask ꨄ︎!!

I’ve always been too distracted by that absolute unit of strawberry-blonde hair on Priscilla’s head to notice her expression but after closer observation I think you’re completely right in your assessment of her mood- sis was looking like she would rather be anywhere else 😭

after a quick google search and finding out that these photos were taken in April (sometime after the 23rd) of 1966, her expression started to make all the more sense

and not only is the date important for the context of these photos, but that unit of hair could also be very important

just a quick disclaimer: since Priscilla herself hasn’t spoken on these photos anything I say below is merely my own speculation as to why she may have looked upset on that day

To begin, according to Peter Guralnick's "Careless Love”, Elvis had just finished filming for his 22nd picture Spinout, in California, when he returned to Memphis with Priscilla on April 23rd. And so by knowing that they were photographed together in the meditation garden sometime in April, it’s safe to assume it was likely after the 23rd as they were in California for the weeks before

The film Spinout is relevant in this as 1. His costar was Shelley Fabares who he had a crush on 2. One of Elvis’ and Priscilla’s biggest arguments occurred during the filming of Spinout while they were in California and the cause of their argument was reason number one… Shelley Fabares

Both the Memphis Mafia and Shelley herself have confirmed that the relationship never went beyond anything platonic as she was faithful to her partner but nonetheless Elvis and her spent a lot of time together and formed a close bond

Naturally, Priscilla became suspicious that an affair was taking place and so she expressed to Elvis that she wanted to meet Shelley which then led to the first time that he had ever threatened get rid of her ⬇️

(read from left to right + click photos to see full text)

excerpt is from “Elvis and Me” by Priscilla Presley

(I believe this argument will appear in the upcoming film as Jacob Elordi says the line “I don’t have a goddamn thing to hide” in the recently released trailer)

No exact day was given for when this argument took place, it could have been the first week of filming or it could have been the last, but I would imagine having Elvis tell you to get all your things and leave would cause a lasting sort of sadness and have you questioning just how important you were to him even after going back to Memphis/Graceland

And this kind of thing actually happened a few times while they were together. Sonny West once said that Elvis’ greatest defense was offense meaning that if you were to approach him about something i.e Priscilla approaching him about his infidelities, Elvis’ response would be to turn the tables and put the pressure on you i.e telling Priscilla that he wanted her gone ⬇️

excerpt is from “Elvis: What Happened?” By Sonny and Red West, along with Dave Hebler

Another instance ⬇️

excerpt is from “Elvis and the Memphis Mafia” by Alanna Nash

Tbh as much as I love Elvis this is why I do hold a lot of sympathy for the friends and women in his life (even the ones I don’t personally like) because he tended to give ultimatums as a way to get what he wanted

“If you don’t like this, then leave… if you don’t want to do this, then leave…” and he did that because he knew most people would choose to stay

Now, the significance of that unit of strawberry blonde hair is purely speculative, but I'm wondering whether Priscilla started dyeing her hair that color to resemble Ann Margret as Elvis was quite melancholic over the fact that Ann and her boyfriend Roger Smith were spending so much time together during that time, infact, they were engaged just 2 months later in June of 1966

The affair between Ann Margret and Elvis lasted only a year after they met while filming Viva Las Vegas, so it doesn't make much sense that Priscilla would start dying her hair strawberry-blonde 3 years later (although she did try to emulate Ann in 1963) but it could be possible, and knowing that Elvis was still thinking about Ann Margret in April of 1966 would definitely be enough to make her upset at the time

What do y’all think?

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

More Precious Than Rubies: Part 4a

This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.

WC: 4229

TW: SVU-typical talk of rape and sexual assault cases; idiots in love.

AN: The prompt was "Everything will fall into place."

The day had started great.  Barba had a grand jury return an indictment on a difficult test case, and the week only looked to get better as it progressed.

He left the courthouse and paused at the top of the steps.  He squinted against the bright May sunshine, slid his sunglasses on, and took in the scene around him.  There was something about the springtime that lifted the relative drear of his life.  The trees in Thomas Payne Park were in bloom, a gentle wind was curving through the columns of the courthouse.  Spring was a season of possibilities.

He started down the steps when he felt someone come up behind him.  He heard a familiar voice call out, without social niceties or preamble, “we need to talk about the Forni case.”

He turned in time to see you fall in step beside him.  He glanced you over as you both descended the steps and paused at the bottom to face each other. 

Your usual pencil skirts usually hit precisely at the knee, but the navy blue one you wore now hit an inch or two higher, showing off your shapely legs.  He was glad for his sunglasses hiding his eyes, but you smirked at him anyway.

“Nothing to talk about, counselor,” he replied.  “We couldn’t reach a deal, so I’ll see you in court.”

Your smirk transformed into a wide grin.  You reached into your satchel and pulled out a folded paper that you handed to him.  He went to take it, and you held it for a beat, making him tug it out of your grasp as you smiled at him. 

“Ah, but you won’t see me in court,” you said.  “I got Forni shifted to family court.  I’ll be seeing a one Ms. Pippa Cox instead.”

Barba opened the paper and scanned it in disbelief.  “How…what…?” he sputtered.

If your smile got any wider, it’d split your face in half.  “Turns out Judge Barth is open to certain studies that show how racial disparities affect minority communities when it comes to underaged people being tried as adults.  She agreed that the case belonged in family court.  I’m off to see Cox now to talk about a reasonable deal that serves justice without vengeance.”

He crumpled the paper in his fist and glared at you, and you only gave him a light laugh.  You waved your hands in front of him like you were doing a magic trick.  “Poof, there goes your case,” you declared.  “The Amazing Girl Wonder does it again.”

You walked away, and he watched you go, trying to ignore the way your skirt strained a bit around your ass and how your legs looked in your heels.  He gritted his teeth and felt a migraine start up in his left temple.  McCoy was going to hate this, and Liv would probably have something smart to say too.

-----

He heard that you and Cox hammered out a deal that got Anthony Forni into a juvenile treatment facility.  Less than a month into him serving his sentence, certain crimes committed against him came to light, and SVU was put on the case.

You had been right:  Anthony’s uncle had been molesting him since he was a young child, and the more SVU dug into the old man, the more victims they found.  Before long, Barba had a strong case with multiple victims and incontrovertible evidence.  It was a slam dunk, and the jury was only out for a bit before they came back with a guilty verdict.

You sat in the gallery during the sentencing.  Anthony was there to give a victim impact statement, and when it was all over, Barba caught your eye.  You did that usual irritating head tilt of yours, but you nodded at him too.  And then you smiled.

-----

May turned to June, and Barba didn’t have another case against you for the entire month.  It should have been a relief – just his usual slate of cases without quite so much aggravation – but it didn’t mean he didn’t think about you.  Just the opposite, in fact.

Barba prided himself on having a good read on people based on first impressions, and that went double with his fellow lawyers.  He knew, for example, within five minutes of meeting Buchanan that the man was a money-grubber without a shred of moral integrity.  He knew that his fellow ADAs were a mixed bag:  Callier was competent but treated the job like a job without much passion for justice, and O’Dwyer punted off any case that he couldn’t twist into a headline or a law review article. 

Barba had similarly judged you, but you kept surprising him.  He was constantly revising his impression of you. 

First, he thought you were just some barely functional law lackey and had landed in public defense because it was all that was available to you.  When you proved yourself as competent, he revised his opinion of you.

Then he assumed that you were one of those lawyers who used public defense to vault into a lucrative career of criminal defense.  That’s what Buchanan had done, after all.  But after a while, Barba heard through the gossipy channels of his lawyer networks that you’d been offered positions with a few different firms and had turned them down.  Revision number two.

He was currently settled on thinking that you really were some sort of do-gooder, revise-the-system sort of advocate.  He saw the way your eyes shined when Anthony Forni finally got justice.  There was no faking that sort of genuine feeling. 

He wondered where your zeal for justice came from.  He knew his fair share of bleeding-hearts in his career, but you were specifically driven – you didn’t have the vague, do-gooder, we’re all one people sort of passion.  You were laser-focused on specific issues.  Something had made you that way.  He wondered what it was.

He almost felt bad – public defenders either burned out quickly or became embittered.  As much as you were a thorn in his side, he would readily admit that you were a good lawyer with a sharp intellect for the law that belied how green you really were.  He’d hate to see you in ten years (or five, or two), that sparkle in your eye and that annoyingly defiant head tilt gone. 

But Barba was irritated by the fact that you were taking up so much space in his head.  And it didn’t get any better.

In fact, it got worse.  Barba went out with the squad one night to celebrate a hard-won case, and he had too much to drink.  Your name had come up over the course of the evening – Fin complaining about you, remarking that he hated hearing your heels clicking down the hallway when SVU caught a new case with a public defender.  From there, Barba couldn’t shake the image of you at the sentencing of Forni’s uncle, when you nodded and then smiled at him.  Too many scotches in, and he couldn’t shake the image.

Liv had to load him into a taxi, and he stumbled home to his empty apartment.  He only got himself half undressed before he collapsed into bed, and the combination of too much alcohol and a well-fought win and you on the brain left him feeling…well, amorous. 

Barba rarely ever bothered to take care of himself, but in the spirit of celebration, he did – and as much as he fought it, he kept picturing you.  His mind, soaked in booze, spun though a series of improbable scenarios:  in his office, in the courtroom, in the SVU interrogation room. 

His mind finally settled on a cliched stuck-elevator scenario that he’d be embarrassed by in the morning, but in the meantime…he pictured the two of you trapped in an elevator (power outage, it’d take hours to fix), you panicking (you were claustrophobic), him comforting.  He imagined you doing that infuriating head-tilt you did, but in his mind, you tilted your face to his, pleading with him to distract you. 

From there, the scenario deteriorated, and he brought himself to climax with you on his mind, and then he rolled over and slept the sated sleep of the near-dead.  He didn’t wake up until late morning, but it was a Saturday and he didn’t have anywhere to be.

In the light of morning, he cleaned himself up soberly, his head throbbing and a twist of Catholic guilt at masturbating in the first place.  He vowed to stop thinking about you.

-----

It was easier said than done. 

Barba found himself collecting interactions with you like a magpie collection shiny baubles and lining his nest with them. 

There were the usual meetings to review possible plea deals when you had one of his cases.  He probably should feel ashamed to have thought about you that drunken night after the bar, but he was always able to meet your gaze levelly without hesitation.  When a plea couldn’t be reached, there was the usual trials.  You usually lost, but it was never a complete loss – you always managed to get more serious charges dropped or found ‘not guilty,’ and you managed to get a lot of your clients more lenient, alternative sentencing. 

But there were other interactions too.

There was the time he saw you across the street of the courthouse.  You were waiting for the light, and you turned your face to the sunlight and closed your eyes for a second.  He saw you take a deep breath and smile at the stolen moment of serenity in what he assumed was a life as busy as his.

There was the time in the courthouse elevator, when he stepped on at one floor and you joined him on the next.  You nodded at him and then turned your back to him, and he watched you and prayed for a non-fatal elevator disaster to strike.  But god’s attention was clearly elsewhere because the elevator deposited both of you on the ground floor, and you strode away without a backwards glance.

There was the time he saw you running in Riverside Park.  You were obviously doing some workout – sprinting for a distance on the trail, then walking back to your starting point while frowning at a giant watch on your wrist.  Then repeating it, over and over.  He had been out for a rare Sunday afternoon walk, tired of being cramped in his office all weekend, and he had stood and watched you from a distance until he was certain someone would call the cops on him for publicly leering at women in the park.

There was the time at the wine bar when he was just settling in his seat as you were paying and leaving.  When you noticed him, you smiled and repeated the magic-trick gesture that you’d done with the Forni case.  Then you left, and Barba found out the next morning that you’d yanked another case out from under his nose.

There was the conference on sexual crimes and cyberspace, and Barba only noticed you during a break before the keynote.  You stood at the refreshments table and frowned at the offerings of stale bagels and burnt coffee, and he watched you sigh heavily before you speared a few slices of cantaloupe.  He walked over to stand beside you, and he pretended to get a coffee.

“Counselor,” he said in greeting.  “Learning about the new crimes you’ll have to defend?”

He watched you turn to face him, and he watched you look him up and down.  He was glad to have worn one of his better suits, but he still wondered what you thought of him.  Your mouth twisted into one of your half smiles, but that could mean literally anything with you.

“I have to stay one step ahead of the D.A.’s office,” you admitted.  “They have some really tough lawyers over there.”  You paused a beat, then added, “O’Dwyer is one of the best, honestly.”

Then you snorted at the look on his face and walked away with your plate of fruit, leaving Barba flustered with his cup of awful coffee.

********

You loved your job.  You lost more than you won, but that was the life of a public defender, and you managed to divert a fair share of non-violent and first-time offenders into alternative sentencing arrangements.

The best was when you scored a hit against ADA Barba.  You were cordial with the other ADAs – Callier, O’Dwyer, Niles – but Barba was linked to SVU and pompous to boot.  You wondered if he learned how to smirk at Harvard, or if it was a natural talent.

You didn’t know how he was with other defense lawyers, but he seemed to enjoy arguing with you.  You’d been offended by the “girl wonder” comment, but then you leaned into it, tossing it back in his face when you beat him.  You loved the way his handsome face got stony, how his green eyes turned stormy when you bested him. 

The best was when he clenched his jaw so hard that you could hear his molars straining under the pressure.  You made a deal with yourself:  if you got him to crack a tooth in frustration, you’d take a long weekend and go to the Catskills for a mini-vacation. 

And if he never did, at least you could enjoy needling him.  You loved throwing him off his game.  Barba was just another politically-minded ADA, taking certain cases so that he could claim the “tough on crime” tag when he made his eventual run at a judgeship. 

Still, he seemed okay as a person.  You may even vote for him, if he ran for an elected position.  Maybe turn up to one of his campaign events just to stare at him and wait for him to blink first.  Or imply that one of his coworkers was better than him, like you did when you ran into him at a conference.  The look on his face, somewhere between surprise and offense, had been hilarious.

Your life had a comforting rhythm.  You worked.  You went home.  You ate lunch too often at Salvadoreño, probably keeping them afloat with your addiction to their pupusas.  You took up a half-marathon training plan to justify your daily lunch calorie count.  You hung out with your friends when you had free time, and you just contributed to an ongoing text string when you didn’t have time.  Your friends were mostly lawyers too, and no one had time for anything other than work.

Work was a convenient excuse for your appalling lack of love life.  After Sonny, you refused to date for a while.  Once the heartache faded a bit, you went on a few first dates that were like slow-motion train wrecks.  The Wall Street guy who spent the evening on his phone.  The Bronx ADA who lambasted your job.  The corporate lawyer who talked about himself the entire evening and then parted ways with you on the street afterwards after telling you that you weren’t his type, physically.

You only saw Sonny sometimes at work.  It could have been easy to fall back into bad habits, but he kept his distance from you and only exchanged the smallest of small talk.  Every so often, you caught him looking at you with a woebegone look on his face, but more often than not, he was joined at the hip to Amanda.  Leaning on her desk with his lanky legs stretched out in front of him.  Sitting in interrogation with her.  Bringing her a ginger ale from the breakroom.  Trotting after her like a puppy when a new case came in.

Almost two years later, and it still nettled to see it.

You were in the 16th precinct to talk with a new client who was going to be arraigned the next day.  It was a Barba case, and you each did your usual snark-filled banter across the interrogation table.  His eyes got their usual glint in them that made you question, as usual, if he was turned on by arguing.  Then your client was led out in handcuffs, and you assured him that you’d be there in the morning for his arraignment.

When you went to leave the room, Barba opened the door for you and then fell in step with you.  He was saying something about the case, making a final bid for some deal, but you barely heard him.  As you walked through the precinct bullpen, your eyes drifted to Sonny and Amanda standing by the big-screen in the corner. 

And you saw, clearly, that Amanda was pregnant.

It was like a punch in the gut, pulling all the wind from you.  Your eyes went from her swelling stomach to Sonny’s face – who was looking directly at you with his bright blue eyes.  The expression on his face was unreadable, and you turned away and walked as quickly as you could to the elevator.  Barba matched your speed and kept up with you, but he had fallen silent.  He watched you jam the ‘down’ button furiously, then joined you when the elevator doors slid open.  He watched you jam the ‘door shut’ button just as angrily.  You heard Sonny call your name from the hallway, and you hit the button and kept hitting it until you felt a tentative hand on your wrist.

“It’s shut,” said Barba softly.  “You can stop.”

You couldn’t look at him.  Your vision was blurry with tears as you stared at the elevator panel.  You hadn’t meant to start crying – it felt like an involuntary reflex, seeing Amanda pregnant and Sonny solicitous with her.  How long had he waited before he started sleeping with her after you broke up with him?  Had he already been sleeping with her?  Your mind stretched back to all the broken dates and the times he stood you up to be with her….

And of course, the one single time you got emotional at work, it had to be in front of your harshest competitor.  You could envision a long stretch ahead of you where Barba mocked you for crying every time you tried to hash out a plea deal. 

But he didn’t say anything right now.  He removed his hand from your wrist and reached into his suit jacket.  He pulled out a handkerchief – an actual cloth handkerchief, like some member of the landed gentry in a period piece, for fuck’s sake – and handed it to you without a word.  You took it but just stared at it; it was a blindingly snowy white, and it felt like a bridge too far to wipe your tear-stained face on it, especially with his embroidered initials staring back at you. 

When the elevator deposited you on the ground floor, Barba put his hand on your upper back lightly and steered you towards the ladies room, plucking his handkerchief from your hand and pushing you inside the bathroom. 

He didn’t follow, thank god.  You stood at the mirror and braced yourself against the sink.  You took deep breaths.  You pushed aside the mental image of Amanda and Sonny together.  Not just pushed – you shoved it into a box, taped it shut, and tossed it into a dark corner of your mind with the rest of the awful life experiences that you compartmentalized.  You were pretty good at it – you had lots of experience, after all.

You waited a long moment, just staring at your own reflection.  You felt like an idiot.  Of course Sonny would end up with Amanda.  And regardless of when it happened, it didn’t matter anymore.  You weren’t together. 

What did matter was keeping your composure, especially in front of people like the entire SVU squad and ADA Barba.

When you exited the bathroom, the latter was standing outside, waiting for you.  But if you expected him to smirk or gloat at your sudden show of emotion, you would be wrong.  He just stood there, sharp in his black three-piece suit, with a look of concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and he didn’t sound like he was teasing, so you nodded at him.

“You look like you need a drink,” he continued, and he gestured for you to walk with him.  You did.

“It’s only 11:30 in the morning,” you replied with a watery laugh, and he held the door for you as you both left the building.

“Lunch then,” he said.  He took your elbow and steered you out to the street.  “And a glass of wine wouldn’t hurt.”  You opened your mouth to protest but he cut you off and led you towards a little Italian place on the corner.  “You’d be surprised how much smaller problems seem on a full stomach and a bit of pinot.”

You followed him mutely into the tiny restaurant, to the tiny table jammed against a wall.  You ordered a Caesar salad and allowed him to order you a glass of pinot, and he placed his order too.  When the waiter dropped off your drinks and left, you braced yourself for whatever snarky comments Barba had planned.

You were wrong again.  He didn’t even mention your dramatic scene at the 16th.  He asked how you liked being a public defender, then segued to talking about lawyers you both knew.  It turned out that you had a lot of mutual acquaintances – the law community of New York City and its surrounding environs was shockingly small.

When your food came, the conversation shifted to your individual experiences at law school.  It turned out that you were both scholarship kids and knew the divide it could cause with your fellow classmates.  You were both editors of your respective law reviews too.

“Though Harvard Law has a little more brand recognition,” you admitted with a small smile, and Barba only shrugged modestly and asked what topics you had written about.

It felt weird that it wasn’t weird, sitting across from your toughest opponent, eating lunch and chatting about things casually instead of bickering about plea arrangements.  And, to his credit, you had barely thought about Sonny and Amanda since you sat down to eat.  You’d have to revise your opinion of him as a pompous type.  Maybe a person could be pompous and nice.

The waiter bussed your empty dishes and dropped the check, which Barba took without comment and paid.  When you tried to protest, he made a snarky comment about your paltry salary as a public defender, so you glared at him.

You both stood to leave, and you each paused on the sidewalk in awkward silence.  You finally spoke up to thank him, and you hoped he knew it wasn’t just for the salad and wine.

He cleared his throat.  “It’s probably not what you’re thinking it is,” he said.  “But I know what you’re going through.”  He sighed, paused, then added, “everything will fall into place.”

You dropped your head and looked at your feet on the sidewalk.  “I don’t want your pity, Barba.”

He swung his briefcase to nudge it against your own satchel, making you look up at him.  “If you think for one second I’m going to go easy on you, Fordham Law, you have another thing coming,” he said with a smirk.  “No pity.  And no mercy either.”

“Bring it, Harvard Law,” you replied with a grateful smile.  His smirk turned into a smile in return, and he parted ways with you – he walked to the left, and you walked to the right.

-----

You kept the Sonny and Amanda situation carefully compartmentalized over the next month.  Sonny tried to talk to you once in the precinct, but you carefully kept the discussion focused on the new suspect you were representing.  He eventually stopped trying, and you had a way of unfocusing your gaze when it drifted over your ex-boyfriend and Amanda.

Work was busy, you ran a lot with your training group, and any time your mind drifted to those thoughts, you shoved them away by focusing on other things.

Barba, for example.  Still pompous, and not granting you an inch, as promised.  He was still your toughest ADA:  Callier was always open to reasonable deals, O’Dwyer ducked most of the cases you handled…but Barba always had fight in him.  You could put the best deal on the table and he’d still argue with you about it, layering in platitudes about the law and justice while accusing you of being a softy.

You argued at SVU, you argued in court.  You each got pulled into chambers and argued your points there.  Judge Hawkins, herself a champion smirker, watched the two of you bicker for a full five minutes before she interjected and told you to get a room.  Barba sputtered in shock, which allowed you to get your final point in without interruption, but Hawkins split the difference and only threw out half the evidence you were trying to get expunged.  It was still better than nothing.

You still glared at each other during court, but there was no real weight behind it.  He started calling you “Fordham Law” all the time, which was miles better than “Girl Wonder.”  In return, you started shaking his hand after trials concluded, even the ones where he won. 

And if you felt anything when his warm hand enveloped yours, you compartmentalized that too.

[t00muchheart]

Okay so we know that Dean was at Sonny’s for two months in the Spring of 1995—it was either March-April or April-May, because the wrestling trophy was April 1995. I think it’s safe to assume the latter, because we know that, while Dean was at Sonny’s, Sam was with Bobby & John was hunting, and that William Harvelle died on May 16th 1995 while on a hunt with John. It seems likely that it was after this hunt that John picked up Sam and then went to get Dean, too, which leads us to the third thing that happened in 1995 (or, I suppose, sometime before January 23, 1996): the hunt Dean told Gordon about from when he was 16.

That scene (In 2x03 (Bloodlust)) is SO interesting to me because even outside of the context of later seasons, the wording and acting are both super interesting: Dean is clearly telling a story and playing it up a bit, but the words themselves aren’t overtly positive; instead, they emphasize that Dean is set apart from normal kids—“seeing things they’ll never even know. Never even dream of.” Gordon is smiling as he listens, grinning as he states that Dean “embraced the life” but Dean’s face is serious & contemplative as he agrees. The acting on both sides makes it abundantly clear that the two have different understandings of “embracing” the life: when Gordon says it, there’s an aspect of enjoyment that isn’t there when Dean is talking about it.

In context, though, and particularly in context of 9x07 (Bad Boys), Dean’s story is even more compelling: by Dean’s own account, he was 16 when this hunt happened, so either he went on this hunt between January and April (or possibly March, depending on when he was at Sonny’s)—before Sonny’s—or, more likely, sometime after he left Sonny’s. If we assume it was after—at most eight months after Dean tasted normalcy and John lost Bill Harvelle—Dean’s words gain another layer, especially the line “I’m sixteen years old. Kids my age are worried about pimples, prom dates…” because, as we know, Dean spent part of his time at Sonny’s getting to know & flirting with Robin, and was going to go to the dance the same night he ended up leaving, only deciding to go when he saw Sam in the Impala with John & knew he couldn’t leave him alone. In light of that, it’s clear that this line is not Dean looking down on the normal life, it’s Dean giving up on something he once wanted, coming to terms with his life as best he can.

In summary: John left Sam and Dean alone, and Dean got caught stealing food for them to eat. Dean went to a home and Sam went to Bobby’s and John went on a hunt and lost a friend. John picked up his boys and kept hunting, bringing Dean with him (putting him in danger, as he well knew considering what had just happened with Bill) while leaving Sam in the car (neglecting him). Dean stood in front of a fire as a body burned and watched as the dreams he’d let himself have for a short time burnt up with it, and even years later, recalling the scene fondly, couldn’t quite manage to sound like he was happy about the idea of letting them go to embrace the life.

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — blind spot.

JANUARY 11, 1986

The key turns in the front door, the winter chill rushing into the house. A moment later, the hall light turns on.

“Mom? You awake?” 

Sylvia smiles at the sound of her son’s voice, putting down her crochet things on the end table.  

“We’re in here, Georgie!” 

Carefully, she stands, easing her grandson’s head off her lap and tucking a pillow underneath. She’s pretty sure the kid must’ve been an acrobat in another life; there’s no way he’d be able to sleep all twisted up like a pretzel otherwise. She readjusts the blanket she’d put over him, smoothing down his hair, before meeting her son and daughter-in-law halfway.

“Well, how was the party?” she asks, leaning up against the breakfast bar as George and Lorraine hang up their coats. “You two crazy kids have fun hobnobbin’ with the head honchos at Simon & Schuster?” 

“It was nice, Mom, thanks,” George answers, way too dismissively for a party he’d been talking about for weeks, full of editors and publishers and everything he’d always dreamed of, “but–”

“How was Marty?” Lorraine interrupts, urgently.

Here we go. Finally, some answers.

“Lorrie, honey, you know Artie and I always love bein’ with the kids,” Sylvia begins, and she meant it, even though Artie had called it a night about three hours ago and was now snoring loud enough to shake the walls, “but seventeen goin’ on eighteen’s a little old for a babysitter, don’t you think?” 

“Oh, we’ve just been so worried about him, Sylvia,” Lorraine pleads, eyes wide. “We… we didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave him alone.” 

“For the last few months,” George elaborates, wrapping an arm around his wife and holding her close, “he hasn’t been himself. He doesn’t sleep, he’s been having nightmares… he’s been having memory problems, too, and I know he’s a teenager, but sometimes he’ll get in his own head and it’s like… he’s not even here, like he goes somewhere else instead.”

“He’ll get so confused,” Lorraine agrees, “and-and he used to love thunderstorms but now he’s just so afraid of them and... other things… sometimes it even feels like he's afraid of us…” She bites her lip and buries herself into George. 

It breaks Sylvia’s heart to see them like this; in mourning for the boy who’s alive and breathing and fast asleep on the couch. Just a few hours ago her and Marty were singing along to the radio while making dinner and laughing until they cried trying to play games on his Nintendo while eating Lucky Charms by the bowlful.

“We must’ve missed something,” George murmurs, “something must’ve happened to him and we missed it somehow.”

“We’ve just been so busy,” Lorraine laments, “too busy. I-I thought it was the stress… with college applications and everything changing… but even Jennifer and Doctor Brown don’t know what’s wrong.”  

Sylvia isn’t quite sure she buys that. 

She may not know a lot of things, but she does know that Carl Sagan from 1931 certainly doesn’t look like that nice young man on PBS from a couple years back but did look a whole lot like that whiz kid Emmett and even more like her grandson’s best friend, that nice Doctor Brown, that Emmett grew up to be. 

She also knows that Sonny Crockett (who is pretty much all they talked about at dinner tonight) is from one of Marty’s favorite shows, not that kid from 1931 with her grandson’s sweet blue eyes and a fake mustache.

She even remembers George begging her and Artie to help him get all dolled up for some dance at the last minute and talking all about how he wasn’t going with a date but he was going to meet up with his new friend Marty there.

Not to mention the date on that Bubble Bobble game of his is two years from now.

When you grow up around liars and cheats, you get to be really good at noticing things. 

“So how was he tonight?” George asks again. “Really?”

“Georgie, sweetheart, he was fine,” Sylvia emphasizes. “We had a great time. As for the other stuff… Remember what you were like when you were his age? I sure do. Any time your dad and I got near ya we’d have to promise we weren’t tryin’ to look in your journals. Even if we were just givin’ you a hug!”

They crack a smile at this, George at least having the decency to look sheepish.

“Whatever’s going on with Marty,” she continues, “he’ll tell ya when he’s good and ready. And remember: you’re great parents. He loves you. He’d do anything for you. Just be there for him until then and let him know that you love him too. No matter what.”

Sylvia looks over her shoulder at her sleeping grandson, a fond smile and a mischievous look in her eye.

We got a lot to talk about, kiddo. I’m ready when you are.

[savi0rr]

WELCOME TO MY BLOG.ᐟ

– till death us part

『••✎••』

『••✎••』

「INTRO」

sometimes I disappear then I come back for a month then I leave again kinda like my dad but yk

『••✎••』

「RULES」

Everyone is welcome, no matter what age you are. Just be sure not to be a weirdo trying to tickle my pickle.

『••✎••』

「WHAT I'LL WRITE FOR」

Fluff

Angst

Romance

Platonic

Head cannons

Comfort

Borderline NSFW 

╰┈➤ Leading up to NSFW yk…

Age Gap (depending on the character)

Aftercare

(overall I’ll write anything)

『••✎••』

「WHAT I WON'T WRITE FOR」

SA

Abuse

Incest

NSFW

『••✎••』

「FANDOM'S I'LL WRITE FOR」

Black Butler

Saiki K.

Ramshackle

Sonny Boy

HxH

Genshin Impact

Ouran High School Host Club

Komi Can’t Communicate

Angels Of Death

Attack On Titan

Camp Camp

Angels of Death

Class of 09

Arcane

『••✎••』

「OTHER」

Feel free to send me a message if you have any questions. It may take a few hours or a day to respond, but I’ll get to it.

If you have a fandom you don't see much hype about or any fanfics, feel free to tell me about it! I’ll be happy to look into it and write for it.

『••✎••』

「REQUESTS ARE OPEN!」

last updated: 1/2

small note: sometimes I disappear and I don’t post anything for like….a month so don’t get to attached to me wink wink

wattpad: savi00rr

[daddydoddsjr]

Wow, you are on a roll! May I request #2 “I’ve never done this before…” - “Well, neither have I.” with Sonny Carisi? Thank you <3

i think i’m finally beating my writers block lol

Inexperienced Smut Prompts #2 - “I’ve never done this before…” - “Well, neither have I.”

college!AU, reader and Sonny are in their early 20s

-

“I’ve never done this before…” You finally said, breaking the silence between you and Sonny.

The two of you had only been dating for a few months. He had come over to your dorm to hang out, which led to a make out session on your bed. Both of your shirts were on the floor, and he had begun to undo your pants when you stopped him.

“Well, neither have I,” He finally responded, “We don’t have to do anything else.”

“I want to, it’s just… I’m just nervous.”

“Me too.”

“I really like you, though.. I think we should. It feels right, even if we’re nervous.”

Sonny smiled a little at your words, leaning in and kissing you, which you eagerly reciprocated. He gently laid you on your back on the bed, moving to sit on his knees between your legs.

“You’re really sure?” He asked, looking down at you.

“Yes,” You responded, and he began to unzip your pants.

[melis-writes]

Moth to Flame (Part II) [Michael Corleone x Reader Series, 18+ Smut] Chapter 41 – The Calm Before the Storm.

Read on AO3 / Read Chapter 40 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

"Sonny’s excuse is that you let him and it’s disgusting. I don’t know how you deal with it." / “He questioned your actions and integrity, but I did not."

Your return back home to Lake Tahoe isn't marked without grudges, resent and guilt from others that you may have already set aside. What was once seeing as attention seeking, insignificant behavior threatens to create a rift between marriage but the truth is yet to be revealed. You want nothing more than to move on with your life, away from your mother and Fredo's death and any possibility increased tensions from rivalling mafia families but from what you believed was done for everybody's good has already sealed your fate.

[WARNINGS]: Mentions & themes of prostitution / Strip teasing / Heavy fluff / Touching & kissing / Nipple play & teasing.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: A new chapter of Moth to Flame is finally here!! 😭❤️ I can't believe it's been about ~2 months since I last updated?! Since I'm focused on fic uploads/writing only at the moment, I'm looking forward to a lot more frequent and back to back updates for you guys. 🥴 Better late than never! Michael and Victoria's story continues, or should I say in this chapter that also means Sonny and Sandra's? 👀 Drama, drama, drama...! It was definitely coming, and now it's going to build into something spiralling completely out of control. We need to focus on baby Vincent and the twins' cuteness above all. 😂😍

1956. Your name is Victoria Ferrari Corleone, and you’re the wife of the most powerful mobster in North America–Michael Corleone. A lifestyle of crime and secrecy is all you've known and ever wanted to know, complimenting the cruelty of Michael Corleone's influence in the United States. With your enemies fallen before you and all loose ends tied up, you continue your life and marriage with the Corleone family while refusing to look back on your past. Yet it's the skeletons in your closet that a shine a light on revealing you're a true mafiosa. Ensnared in the shadows just as much as Michael is, you find yourself betrayed by the unexpected with all of your secrets ready to spill–especially ones you've hidden from Michael. With more than one pair of eyes watching your every move, you find yourself trapped amidst potential scandals and a familiar, lovesick secret admirer adamant on removing Michael out of the picture to have you all to himself. Like a moth to a flame, you've reached the point of no return and the light that breaks down the darkness threatens to take you next.

[ Lake Tahoe Compound, 7:00 AM ]

From the moment you came to rest your head upon your pillow and snuggle up in your own bed next to your husband at home, every thought, concern, and memory of what occurred in Las Vegas has left not only yours but Michael’s mind as well.

From a well-deserved good night’s sleep in pure relaxation, Michael and you have awoken shortly before seven in the morning to start your day and spend it with the family—taking a break from traveling and business.

“Okay, baby,” you run your hands through your hair gently to smoothen it down, moving towards the shower. “I’m going to wake up the children and get them ready for breakfast.”

Michael pulls back the shower curtain to peek his head out; his soaked hair sticking to his temples and droplets of water dribbling down from his lips and chin. “Alright, darling.”

You blush, leaning over and pecking a kiss over Michael’s wet lips. “I’ll see you downstairs in a minute.”

Just from leaning over towards the hot shower, Michael’s having, you can already feel the warm steam from the running water mixing in with the heavenly scent of Michael’s body surrounding you with that kiss.

Michael prefers to shower first thing in the morning on his days off whereas if he has business to tend to or places to be, he’ll do so at the end of his day like you.

It may be a day off for both of you, but the same doesn’t apply to the twins who have half a day’s worth of tutoring and studying awaiting them.

As you walk out of your bedroom and down the hallway, you step into the nursery room to check on baby Vincent first thing.

As you and Esther have left it, the nursery door remains open so you can both easily hear Vincent’s crying or stirring from his sleep.

Taking a quick look in, you see baby Vincent still curled up in his crib sleeping soundly; bringing a smile to your lips.

Moving a bit further down the hallway, you quietly open the door to Niccolo and Verona’s bedrooms side by side with one another before stepping into each one and gently nudging the children’s shoulders before giving them a kiss on the cheek.

“Niccolo, Verona, good morning. It’s time to wake up, you two!”

“Mmmmm…” Verona squirms in her bed, stretching out her arms. “I’m…awake.”

“Sleepy,” Niccolo groans back from his room, sitting up in his bed. “It’s morning already?”

“It is,” you chuckle, stepping back out into the hallway. “Good morning to both of you.”

“Where’s daddy?” Verona pulls herself out of bed, rubbing her eyes.

“He’s showering right now but will join us for breakfast soon,” you gesture to the two as they put on their slippers. “Come on, honey. Let’s get you two washed up and ready to start the day. I think your little brother is…” You squint your eyes, peeking into the nursery room again. “Still asleep.”

“Vincent is very sleepy,” Verona giggles, skipping to the estate’s second bathroom with her brother.

“I say that too and then the next moment, he’s suddenly awake and staring at us,” you laugh to yourself, following the twins.

“Minty fresh,” Verona picks up her toothbrush with Niccolo, smearing a modest amount of toothpaste over it before handing it to her brother and staying by the sink.

“Mhmm,” you pick up Verona’s hairbrush, standing behind her. “And how would you like your hair styled today, sweetie? Any ideas?”

“I really like the pigtails we did last week, mama,” Verona beams, beginning to brush her teeth. “With the red ribbons!”

“Ooh, of course,” you step back to open one of the bathroom cabinets, taking two silky, red ribbon ties and slipping them over your wrist. “Pigtails for today it is.”

“Mama, are you gonna tell us about your trip?” Niccolo asks curiously, wetting his toothbrush.

“Ya, like—” Verona covers her toothpaste-filled mouth, “if it’s really fun flying on an airplane!”

“I never thought about it that way,” you smile at the two, styling through Verona’s hair. “Honestly, I haven’t really been thinking of the trip. It wasn’t anything for fun, after all, otherwise, we would have taken you too.”

“Yeah,” Niccolo agrees, looking at himself in the mirror as he begins to brush his teeth. “Daddy had work.”

“And I always get sleepy and tired on plane rides, even if where we’re going isn’t too far away,” you admit sheepishly, tying up one ponytail over Verona’s hair.

“Mama gets too cozy,” Verona laughs, “I would too! Las Vegas is close to home, right mama?”

“It is,” you nod back, “so it wasn’t too bad to travel there. Your father and I just wanted to get home as soon as we could.”

“Why, mama?” Verona continues asking.

You pause for a moment, continuing to brush through her hair. “Because it was dull and boring, all for work and business for your daddy. We had to get it done though, but I won’t say I had fun.”

“That’s fair, mama,” Niccolo agrees. “Maybe it’ll be fun if we come.”

“Maybe,” you tie up the second pigtail over Verona’s hair. “You guys want to go on a vacation soon?”

“Soon, yes!” Verona exclaims, moving to rinse out her mouth by the sink.

“We absolutely will,” you take out a tin of hair gel from the cabinet, moving to style and brush through Niccolo’s hair next. “Your daddy and I were thinking of it. I can’t remember the last time we took you guys to Sicily, you know. You were both just little babies.”

“Yes, please!” Verona giggles through rinsing her mouth. 

“I wanna go too,” Niccolo chimes in, “Grandma and Grandpa always talk about Sicily.”

“You won’t have to wait too long then,” you plant a kiss over Niccolo’s head before combing through his hair. “Your daddy wants to go just as much as we all do, and maybe you guys can remind him today too, hmm?”

“I will for sure,” Verona turns off the tap, grabbing a face towel. “I wanna go and visit!”

“Me too,” Niccolo slowly moves towards the sink so you can continue styling the gel carefully through his hair while he rinses his mouth out. “We all go with Daddy!”

“He’ll be downstairs in just a minute,” you glance out towards the hallway, “let’s both get you dressed so we can meet Daddy downstairs.”

~

Turning off the water, Michael pulls back the shower curtain and gives out a deep breath—letting the hot steam of the shower surround him as he squeezes out the excess water from his hair.

Michael rakes a hand through his wet hair, slicking it away from his face before he steps out of the shower and reaches to grab a body towel.

Wrapping the towel around his waist securely, Michael takes a separate towel to ruffle through his hair as he approaches the foggy sink.

Wiping his hand over the mirror to clear it, Michael notices a bit of his stubble is growing through and opens the cabinet behind the bathroom mirror to grab his razor and a tube of shaving cream.

Standing in front of the sink, Michael begins to modestly lather shaving cream over his cheeks and jawline, faintly being able to hear the sound of you and the children heading downstairs for breakfast.

Carefully yet in swift, quick motions, Michael shaves without a single nick or cut over his skin; rinsing off his face before applying a cooling aftershave balm.

Michael continues to press the towel down through his hair thoroughly to soak up as much moisture as he can before he combs through it neatly and reaches for his tin of hair gel.

Barely being able to tell that his hair is still damp, Michael begins to thoroughly apply the gel and slick his hair back from the middle; keeping it neat without a single strand loose and out of place.

Michael then makes his way into the bedroom, drying himself off with his towel before picking out a pair of grey briefs, a white dress shirt you ironed for Michael the other day with a pair of black slacks, a matching waistcoat, white socks, and a tie. 

Setting aside his suit jacket, Michael doesn't intend to wear it in the comfort of his own home knowing he won't have business or guests to entertain today—no exceptions regardless of how "urgent" others may consider it to be, but Michael's also never been lazy or sloppy when it comes to his choice of attire no matter the occasion or time.

Spraying cologne over his neck and collarbone, Michael walks out of the bedroom and shuts the door behind him, looking forward to spending the entirety of his day with his family and only his family; perhaps limited in interaction with Sonny for now as Michael's internal annoyance and irritation still cool.

Michael especially wishes to spend the vast majority of his time with you and the children more than anything else; missing his children but also knowing he didn't get to spend much quality time with you in Las Vegas either, aside from last-minute lovemaking in the evening.

Michael first approaches Vincent's nursery before heading downstairs, seeing the crib is empty but the sounds of his baby son babbling downstairs from the kitchen.

The scent of Michael's cologne comes down before you even sense your husband's presence or see him; in the kitchen with baby Vincent sitting in his baby seat close to you and by the dining table with his older siblings.

Verona and Niccolo sit across from each other and surround Vincent, smiling and distracting their little baby brother with a handful of toys as you get to preparing breakfast.

"He's so tiny," Verona giggles to herself, handing Vincent a toy he dropped. "Teeny tiny!"

Vincent smiles up at his siblings aimlessly, very receptive to laughter and positive voices surrounding him. 

"He is a tiny little guy, isn't he?" You chuckle, dressed in a burgundy shirtwaist dress with a pair of house flats on; standing by the stove and preparing breakfast.

While you've just picked up on Michael's cologne signaling he's nearby, Michael's taken in the scent of breakfast being cooked while coming down to the kitchen.

In a pan, you sautee together chopped pieces of bacon, Italian sausage crumble, grated mozzarella and cheddar, green pepper, mushrooms, and small broccoli florets.

You reach into the egg carton next to you on the counter, setting three eggs aside. 

Michael leans against the doorway, taking in the delicious scent of the meat and vegetables being sauteed and feeling the warm spring breeze coming from the back door flow into the kitchen.

Distracted, you crack three eggs into the frittata you're making, disposing of the eggshells in the little trashcan next to you and giving your hands a quick rinse in the sink.

Michael gazes at you with intrigue, watching you quickly your wrist moves to whisk in the eggs quickly into the frittata and reach for a carton of cream from the refrigerator.

Michael's eyes admire the way your hips move, how your dress adorns your body, and every inch of you in nothing but pure adoration.

Already having noticed their father from afar standing by quietly, the twins giggle amongst each other in reaction; very clearly aware as to how their father is lovingly appreciating their mother behind her back.

"Good morning," you hear Michael's velvety voice call out from behind; causing your heart to race just like that.

"Good morning, Daddy!" The twins chime in together.

"Aaa," Vincent shakes his rattling toy aimlessly, unsure why the sudden upbeat enthusiasm is coming from his siblings but just happy to join in on it.

"Good morning, darling," you turn around blushing, seeing a small smile over Michael's lips.

"Aaa!" Vincent raises his voice in excitement, waving around his toy.

"I think he says good morning too, Daddy," Niccolo laughs.

"I believe so," Michael walks into the kitchen, leaning down to scoop up three-month-old Vincent in his arms. "Hello, little man. He's awake early."

"He is," you agree, carefully putting the pan into the preheated oven. "He's being so good this morning despite waking so early, though. Not a fuss made, just babbling little conversations to himself and his siblings."

"He likes to talk," Verona points out, waving at her baby brother in Michael's arms.

Vincent aimlessly stares at Michael, sticking out his little tongue before bumping his head against Michael's temple lightly. "Aa...."

"But how old will Vincent be when he can talk to us, Daddy?" Niccolo asks, sitting upright.

"Almost two years old, I'd say," Michael replies, rubbing Vincent's back in lazy circles gently.

"What?!" Verona gasps.

"Two years?!" Niccolo lets out a deep sigh, "That's gonna take forever!"

"Well, what did you think, honey?" You let out a laugh, setting out jars of homemade grape, strawberry, and raspberry jam from the cabinet.

"Sooner?" Niccolo shrugs his shoulders sheepishly, "Maybe it takes one year!"

"Far too soon," Michael shakes his head as you take out three little bowls to put equal varieties of jam in. "Even the two of you weren't talking in a year. Just a few words here and there."

"Really?" Verona's eyes widen with intrigue.

"Really," you smile back at her, "and you both will get to see Vincent grow up right in front of your eyes so you'll understand."

Niccolo looks up to see baby Vincent clutching his tiny grip over the fabric of Michael's waistcoat, distracted by the texture against his skin.

You set out the selections of jam over the dining table, moving back to the stove. "If it's one thing you all share like your baby brother, it's that none of you could stop grabbing and touching daddy's tie or clothes."

"But Daddy wears Italian silk suits, right?" Verona speaks up.

"That I do," Michael answers, walking towards the back door with Vincent to get some fresh air; amused by Vincent's distraction towards his waistcoat.

"So it's very soft!" Verona exclaims.

"Oh, ya," Niccolo adds, "and very fancy."

"Very," you laugh with them, "Vincent is the master of fancy fabrics."

“He knows he likes his suits,” Michael cracks a rare joke, carefully stepping out into the courtyard as Vincent excitedly rattles his toy in his free hand.

You move the mixing bowl containing ricotta pancake batter over to the stove, adding a small amount to the hot pan and watching it spread into shape. “Almost ready for breakfast!”

“Can I help, mama?” Verona hops off her seat.

“Sure, darling,” you gesture to one of the kitchen cupboards. “We have some biscotti in there. Could you please take some out and set them out on the plate here? We can have some with jam this morning.”

“Okay!” Verona nods, doing as she’s told. “Tasty jam. I help Mama.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” you smile down at her, glancing up momentarily to see Michael slowly pacing around the courtyard with Vincent in his arms.

Vincent snuggles onto his father’s shoulder, chewing on his rattle toy while peeking around the sight of nature around him.

“We’re almost done here…” Distracted, you flip the pancake over carefully and keep the sizes of the others at a consistent size and thickness.

You glance at the other pan of food still steaming hot on the other side of the stove—Italian sausage and eggs—taking note of everything to get ready.

“Smells so good, mama,” Niccolo looks over to the stove giddily, eyeing the homemade marinara sauce smothered amid the Italian sausage and poached eggs. “My favorite!” 

“A favorite of daddy’s too,” you add, beginning to set the silverware and plates out on the dining table.

Niccolo gets up from his seat, helping his sister reach into the cupboard and taking as many cups as he can with him towards the dining table to help out.

“Perfect, thank you two,” you rub Niccolo and Verona’s shoulders—looking towards the backdoor. “I’ll get Daddy and Vincent in otherwise they’ll be out there forever.”

The twins giggle amongst each other as you step out into the courtyard, taking in a breath of the fresh spring air to see your husband walking around the center of the backyard and kissing Vincent’s cheek.

“Hi, baby,” unable to wipe the growing smile off of your face, you approach both of them.

“Hello, darling,” Michael turns around to face you as you lean up, pecking a sweet kiss over your husband’s lips. 

Michael kisses back, gazing at you. “Is breakfast ready?”

“Mhmm, it is,” you gently squish Vincent’s chubby cheek, gesturing for them to follow inside. “Everything’s ready and we’re waiting for you two to come join us! I wonder if this little man is hungry.”

“I think so, considering how he’s been chewing on every toy I give him,” Michael chuckles quietly, taking your hand with his free one before following you back inside the estate.

~ 

Sitting by herself in her family estate across a small distance from yours, Sandra rests her cheek upon her fist and gives out a glum sigh to herself. The day has practically just started; just the morning after you, Michael, and Sonny’s arrival back home from Las Vegas.

Naturally, Sandra understands how exhausted her husband may be from travel. Sonny’s always felt worn out one way or another with long road trips and plane rides, regardless of how far or close his destination is.

Jet lag has never done any good for Sonny who prefers to rest it off by sleeping in much more than he may normally do when given the chance instead of taking naps throughout the day, and a shot or two of whiskey here and there never hurt to keep his mind sharp throughout it.

No different than any other time, Sonny slumped into bed last night tired and with a pounding headache. The only thing he did before falling asleep just a moment after taking a shot of whiskey and mumbling, “I’m exhausted,” to Sandra.

When it comes to Sonny, Sandra’s more than aware that’s her husband’s normal behavior hence why she didn’t question it.

Come to think of it with Sandra’s mind on nothing else but what a lonely morning she woke up to, she’s come to realize Sonny was rather dismissive and even a little cold towards her.

Still, knowing how much of a grumpy, sarcastic mood Sonny can get in when he’s tired and hungry, Sandra lets it be as it is.

She neither minds waking up alone nor having Sonny sleep in especially after travel, but having the children go off to the governess first thing in the morning and have breakfast by herself after being alone for a few days, the loneliness and lack of companionship hits Sandra hard.

It was after Sandra finished breakfast and began cleaning up that Sonny woke up abruptly and couldn’t fall back asleep.

Instead of letting Sandra know or greeting his wife, Sonny took a hot shower which Sandra overheard then fixed himself a drink of gin and tonic for breakfast which came off as somewhat odd to Sandra.

Sandra’s already guessing something is up with Sonny since it seems as if he’s practically avoiding her but she can’t make any sense of it.

Rising from her seat on the couch, Sandra frowns and looks around the quiet, empty house—wishing she could at least spend some time with Sonny and ask him how his trip went. After all, Sandra knows everyone else is spending time with their families and enjoying breakfast together right now except her.

Feeling left out and alone, suspicion slowly begins to grow over Sandra who begins to approach Sonny’s study, knowing he’s in there from the ruffling sound of newspapers and Sonny setting down his drink.

From the ajar door, Sandra sees her husband sitting over a leather armchair with his ankle crossed over and resting on his leg—reading through a newspaper.

“Sonny?” Sandra places her hand over the door, peeking in with concern over her expression.

Sonny purposefully takes a few extra seconds to react, looking up at Sandra with boredom and slight irritation. “Huh? Yeah, what is it?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to check up on you,” Sandra replies, frowning. “You missed breakfast.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sonny grunts, stretching out his arms. “I was tired.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Nah, I had something to eat already,” Sonny says, returning his attention back to the newspaper in his hands.

Sandra remains quiet, standing by the door for a moment; she knows Sonny has nothing else to say to her nor does he even want to carry a conversation with Sandra right now, but she can’t understand why Sonny’s acting the way he is now.

“What?” Sonny asks after a moment, growing more tense.

“Nothing,” Sandra murmurs, turning around and shutting the office door behind her.

Heading into the foyer, Sandra puts her Mary-Janes on and exits the estate. She makes her way to what used to be Fredo and Deanna’s shared estate, now belonging to Connie and Leo.

Knowing the only one she can confide in over her brother’s behavior that isn’t spending time with family or is occupied this morning is Connie, Sandra hopes to herself that her sister-in-law can ease her overthinking and offer some advice.

If it’s anyone who knows Sonny and his antics well and on a much different level than a brother would, it’s Sonny’s own sister—Connie. Besides, Sandra doesn’t at all feel up to bothering anyone else like you or Theresa whose shy, reserved, and put off by Sonny’s behavior to begin with.

Deanna on the other hand is in Hollywood shooting a film with Johnny Fontane, but her relationship with Sonny is just as limited as Theresa’s.

‘Then again..’ Sandra glances over in the direction of your estate. ‘There’s Victoria.’

Immediately, Sandra’s mind goes back to the events of what occurred in New York whether she wants to remember it or not; seeing Sonny with blood gushing out of his nose, swelling, and puffiness reaching his eyes all bleeding and bruised when Michael confronted him about why he made a move on you.

Like the others, Sandra was also under the impression Sonny went to New York to check on you and the twins. Everyone assumed Sonny would also bring news to Tom or Michael, but only those two and Sonny knew what was really going on and why you left for New York in the first place.

Sonny never told Sandra why you were in New York to begin with as everyone knew how personal the reason was and would prefer to forget it all entirely.

While Sandra doesn’t know the whole story of the whys and hows of New York, she does know that Michael refused to speak with Sonny for an entire month let alone have him remotely near you because Sonny kissed you and attempted to seduce you in New York.

Sandra unfortunately knows she’ll never not be jealous when thinking of everything that happened, but it’s toned down over time and her emotions don’t get as strong over remembering it either.

Sandra also knows you didn’t kiss Sonny back or pull a move on him. She figures as she’s heard from you and your reaction that you must’ve been nothing but shocked and disgusted; Sonny’s your brother-in-law after all and you would never do that to Sandra, let alone ever to Michael.

At that point, time was the only remedy for everything that had happened. You felt somewhat alienated from Sonny as a result for a little while and Sandra witnessed that herself.

Still, despite apologizing to you and hearing your side of the story, Sandra can never truly live down her guilt and shame of how she embarrassed herself by talking down to you at your mother’s funeral.

Sandra swallows her remaining, stinging jealousy down but not her pride. She doesn’t want to talk to you at all regarding Sonny; it’ll do nothing but rouse her imagination the wrong way about her husband.

Instead, Sandra continues to go up to Sandra’s estate with the hopes that her sister-in-law can offer her advice and lift her spirits or at the very least that Connie can tell her anything she knows about the trip to Las Vegas.

Of course, Sandra plans to speak with you later in the afternoon and hear more about how you are and how the trip went, but Sandra’s concern right now doesn’t have anything to do with the actual traveling or Las Vegas; Sandra’s only concern is Santino.

~

It’s not unusual for the gateways, doors, and balconies of individual estates on the Lake Tahoe compound to be left open during the day although high security is guaranteed twenty-four hours a day throughout the entire week. 

It only signifies that your family isn’t busy, away from the compound, or seeking privacy, and is welcome to anyone popping by, hence why Connie’s estate door is left wide open this morning. 

Sandra also knows Leo is currently away in New York at the moment, traveling back and forth from the state to Nevada with and for Connie when time and business permits. 

From the moment Sandra enters Connie’s estate, Connie and Mama Corleone in the kitchen already pick up on the sound of someone’s kitten heels clacking against the mahogany floorboards and she guesses it’s either Sandra or Theresa purely based on shoe choice. 

In the kitchen, Connie prepares a pot of black tea, chatting away with Carmela about her next planned trip to New York with Leonardo just as Sandra enters the kitchen—smiling sheepishly and hugging her own arms. 

“Hi, honey,” Mama Corleone’s eyes light up at the sight of Sandra.   

“Hey, Sandra,” Connie greets, turning to face her sister-in-law. “Good morning.” 

“Morning,” Sandra says back, glancing around the kitchen uneasily. “Done breakfast so soon?” 

“Oh, we just finished up a few moments ago. Did you?” Mama Corleone peeks at her. 

“Mm,” Sandra nods, “I had a short one. I just sent off the kids to their studies and that’s that,” she lets out a soft sigh, realizing that if she remains here and talks like this that it invites Mama Corleone to stay and listen too. 

Naturally, Sandra has no issue with Mama Corleone consoling her or giving her advice but at this point, Sandra’s far too embarrassed to talk to her mother-in-law about Sonny again and again. 

“Actually, um, I was wondering if I could talk to you, Connie?” 

“Of course,” Connie agrees, exchanging a glance with Mama Corleone. 

“I’ll see you girls at lunch then,” completely understanding, Carmela smiles at her girls before she begins to make her way out of the kitchen. “Take care!” 

“Bye mama,” Sandra calls back out before facing Connie once more and seeing the concern growing over her sister-in-law’s face. 

“There’s that look in your eyes again,” Connie points out, taking out another tea cup. “Let me get you something to drink first, honey. Go on, have a seat. I already know.” 

“Thank you,” Sandra murmurs, closing the kitchen door behind her before taking a seat at the dining table. 

Connie pours two cups of steaming, black tea and takes a tiny bowl holding sugar cubes and small stirring spoons over to the dining table, sitting across from her sister-in-law. “I could tell just by the way you walked in here that something had to be wrong.” 

“I wish I could prove you wrong,” Sandra says glumly, “never been the greatest at hiding my annoyances, have I? Thank you,” Sandra pulls her teacup over the table to herself with two sugar cubes. 

“You and me both,” Connie chuckles, letting out a deep breath. “What is it? What’s troubling you? Go on, I want all the details.” 

“I didn’t wanna make it a big deal because I don’t know what’s going on,” Sandra begins, staring at her tea. 

“You always say that,” Connie points out, raising her brows. 

“I know,” Sandra whines quietly. “But it’s Sonny.” 

“What about him? Or do I even need to ask?” Connie rolls her eyes, “what’s he gone off to do this time?” 

Sandra blinks, unable to come up with an immediate response. “It’s his trip. Sonny came back from Vegas with Michael and Victoria…” 

“Mhmm,” Connie nods, listening. 

“He was exhausted when he got home, so he wanted to go to bed right away which is fine—” Sandra shakes her head, “he had a drink before, didn’t talk to me or the children whatsoever, and just went straight to bed.” 

“Huh,” Connie notes, “exhausted, then?” 

“Yeah, he was,” Sandra answers. 

“I didn’t see him as ‘exhausted’,” Connie stares back at her. “That’s a bit of an overstatement now isn’t it?” 

“You saw him last night?” Sandra raises a brow, knowing all Sonny did was barge right into the estate the minute he grabbed his luggage from the car and wasted no time in doing so. 

“Yeah, Sonny barged in here all annoyed and asking for whiskey. I’d say he was more grouchy than ‘exhausted’. He definitely had more than enough energy to march in here like that.” 

“That’s not what I saw or heard,” anxiety begins to spike up in Sandra. “I mean… Sonny told me he was tired and going to bed—I didn’t get another word out of him after that. He finished his drink and went to sleep—whatever. Slept in for two more hours this morning and it’s like he missed breakfast on purpose because I swear to you, just as I finished cleaning up and sent off the kids to the governess, he awoke. Sonny didn’t say a word to me, didn’t come in to eat anything. He just made himself a gin and tonic—I don’t get it. He’s being so cold to me, this isn’t normal. He’s completely disinterested in anything I have to say. It’s like every time I try to approach him, I annoy him.” 

Connie takes a sip of her tea, pursing her lips. “Victoria didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell me what, Connie?” The tip of Sandra’s ears and the nape of her neck prickle hot with brimming anxiety. “I haven’t spoken to her since before she left. I thought I would after lunch today.” 

“I saw Victoria briefly before she went in last night,” Connie tells her, “just made some small talk—asked her how the trip went and if she needed anything because if anyone was exhausted, it was her. I may as well tell you,” Connie shrugs her shoulders, “though I’m not sure if it’ll surprise you or be something you haven’t heard before.” 

“Why?” Sandra’s throat tightens as she mixes her sugar cubes inside her tea. 

“I mean, they went to Las Vegas, Sandra,” Connie licks over her lips, “Sonny wasn’t exactly there for ‘business’.” 

“I see,” Sandra mumbles to herself, looking far more distraught than Connie expects. 

“Okay, you let him off the hook too much, honey,” Connie sighs, shaking her head. “He just goes left, right, and center and he’s been doing that since we were teenagers. Sonny’s excuse is that you let him and it’s disgusting. I don’t know how you deal with it.” 

“I never really let him do ‘anything’,” Sandra rakes a hand through her hair, letting out a shaky sigh. “Sonny can barely control himself. It’s how he is, how he always was. You know our marriage didn’t change him and neither did having kids. His dick has a mind of its own.” 

“Yeugh,” Connie fake gags, brushing off the comment. “I know, trust me.” 

“But what does Victoria have to do with this?” Sandra holds back the growing emotion in the back of her throat. 

“It’s not that, Sandra, relax,” Connie lets out a soft laugh, “relax! She’s just as mad as you, honestly. Victoria was scolding Sonny the whole trip. She won’t talk to him, she said. He must have pissed her off real good this time.” 

“Because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself?” Sandra suggests. 

“When it comes to Rita Duvall, definitely,” Connie rolls her eyes with a scoff. 

“Rita,” Sandra repeats. “Rita? Are you serious?” 

“Mhmm,” Connie appears somewhat amused towards Sandra’s irritated reaction upon the mention of Rita Duvall’s name. “Now that’s two negative reactions whenever that woman’s name is mentioned. I guess you know a bit about our favorite dancer and mistress extraordinaire outside Victoria’s personal grudge towards her?” 

“Do I?” Sandra scowls, “I’ve had my fair share of tugging Sonny’s ear about that whore.” 

“Yeah?” 

Sandra takes in a deep breath, only growing much more irate. “She’s a good-for-nothing whore. Everything she does is for attention and on purpose. She and Sonny—they… The fucking chemistry they have—” Sandra’s eyes begin to tear up as her voice shakes. “How could I not fucking hate her? I can’t stand her or her whorish antics, tricks, and shows—whatever the hell she does. She’s nothing but eye candy, a pleaser and Sonny loves it. She’s exactly what he wants, you know?” 

“Sandra—” 

“Sonny won’t fuck an honest woman the way he loves to fuck his whores,” Sandra’s eyes pool with tears, “She’d look me in the eye and do my husband if she could, but that’s not exclusive, right? It’s not that hard to have Sonny head over heels for you, it’s just impossible for me and I’m his wife. It wasn’t impossible for Victoria.” 

“Hey,” Connie interrupts sharply, placing her hands over the top of Sandra’s. “Honey, it’s okay. It’s alright. No, I get what you mean completely but Victoria doesn’t have Sonny wrapped around her finger. Don’t say that.” 

“H-how am I supposed to know?” Sandra breaks down in tears, weeping. “Everyone can have my husband but me! So I don’t have a choice, Connie. I have to suspect everyone and I hate her. I hate Rita and I hate anyone like her!” 

~ 

[ 6 Months Earlier: Las Vegas, Nevada ]

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to welcome the night of your life where filthy sin and heavenly lust collide; where lines of love and arousal blur to please you! This is a night to remember and accept splendor and entertainment with the one and only, Miss Rita Duvall!” 

The glistening silver curtains encrusted in crystals flutter about over the stage, reflecting over the polished, white marble stage to reveal Rita behind—slowly spinning in a life-size bird cage made of solid gold, decorated in the same dazzling crystals and diamonds. 

Wearing silk, red gloves with diamonds adorning her fingers, Rita’s strawberry blonde hair is curled over her shoulders—bringing attention to the sparkling ruby necklace upon her collarbone, the smokey makeup over her eyes, and cherry red lipstick matching the fiery, scarlet shade of red she wears in a sleeveless bodysuit decorated with the same precious gems and rubies. 

Much like a Vegas showgirl’s classic bodysuit, Rita stands out as the star of the show with a mock peacock tail affixed to the back of her costume; real feathers dipped in crimson dye with matching six-inch stilettos over her feet. 

Background dancers dressed similarly to Rita but without distracting away from having her become the center of attention and swirl about the stage, dancing, and grouping together to slide and push the birdcage towards the middle of the stage. 

Gasps from the crowd mesmerized in awe come from around the room, erupting in cheer and applause which Sonny joins; seated in the second row at the very front of the stage with Michael and Leonardo. 

Close enough to practically smell Rita’s perfume, Sonny’s eyes are fixated on her as Rita blows out kisses to the crowd, swaying her hips over the cushioned seat inside the life-size birdcage. 

Michael ignores anything and everything to do with the show entirely, effectively blocking it out while focusing on his dinner and keeping an eye on the time to anticipate when all of this nonsense will be over and his business partner will come to meet him. 

Amongst all of their family, colleagues, and business partners, Michael and Leonardo remain to be the odd ones out with no interest in erotic shows, brothels, or mistresses for their own reasons; Michael’s being quite self-explanatory knowing him. 

Leonardo on the other hand has always been indifferent to it; it’s not so much that he minds such entertainment and opportunities, but he chooses to have nothing to do with them. 

In the middle of a show like this where it’s hard to ignore what’s going on—let alone the performers themselves—Leonardo can appreciate that it’s a form of entertainment enjoyed by many, and that’s all he’ll take it as without making it personal. 

While Michael can hide his dislike and annoyance for anything without effort, Leonardo can’t hold back from having his expression show exactly how he feels. Since Leonardo initiated a relationship with Connie—now his fiancé—he feels all the more disinterested and uncomfortable. 

Performers, dancers, prostitutes, and showgirls like Rita and Rita herself are a hot commodity amongst rich businessmen, politicians, and influential men seeking entertainment and companionship so there’s never a gap in bookings and demand. 

‘It’s not her entertainment skills or whoring that’s her “talent” either. She’s ‘talented’, alright, but in ways you wouldn’t imagine.’ 

Aroused by how little he’s seen already, Sonny eyes Rita’s plump thighs—admiring how the color red matches her vigor and passion on stage. 

Rita grinds her hips, dancing sensually around the bars of the birdcage slowly to show off every inch of her body. 

‘There’s a million Rita Duvalls. Give any cocktail waitress or Vegas showgirl a big enough gig and she’ll do what she does best, but Rita wants more. Nothing is ever enough for her.’ 

Sonny whistles under his breath, momentarily capturing Michael’s attention who looks up at the stage for only a split second to see Rita look in their direction and lick up one of the bars. 

Unphased, Michael immediately looks away once more with zero intention of even glancing up for a moment to the stage again whereas Sonny can hardly hold back his throbbing erection. 

‘I don’t know if she has issues of her own or if she’s a narcissist who gets high off all the attention, but Rita wouldn’t look anyone in the eye who can’t give her what she wants. She can only entertain for so long until she catches the eye of somebody who finds her the most irresistible of the night.’ 

Michael is no stranger to such forms of entertainment. Half the time Michael travels for business or is meeting with his business partners at any time, some sort of similar entertainment is almost always provided. 

Usually, however, the nature of the entertainment isn’t solely erotic or anything like this, let alone with a face Michael recognizes. 

Michael’s aware tonight’s show harbors on pure erotica, but later on in the evening, he’s also bound to discover it’s a sex show later on. 

Sonny wouldn’t miss this level of entertainment for the world, always preferring to mix pleasure with business and never considering himself as dull as his younger brother. 

Michael can and will purposefully miss any shows of obscenity and promiscuity. Nothing gets to him not just because Michael’s interest in such entertainment is low, but rather that it’s nonexistent. 

Michael’s business colleagues would die in the face of boredom if they did business the way Michael did; long meetings face-to-face in silence for hours with nothing but relevant talk. 

‘Rita has the first pick of the best venues. Rita won’t perform somewhere she knows money won’t roll in. Businessmen, investors, politicians—think of the wealthiest, most influential men. That’s why she’s there.’ 

Pleasure in business is seen as a casual thing by most mafiosi; some even talk business at brothels rather than anywhere else. 

None of it particularly bothers Michael to a personal extent, but he can certainly count on his fingers how many mafiosi he knows that don’t indulge in such entertainment: himself, Vito—his father—and Leonardo, his brother-in-law. 

‘Rita knows her audience. Married, usually middle-aged men with a wife and kids at home… Talking about what an honest woman can’t give him.’ 

Rita is all flair and style—what she’s known for better than anyone else in Las Vegas. Using all of her stage props and background effects to dance and sing at the same time, she puts on a show to remember for tonight. 

Interacting with the crowd is just another act Rita intends on doing tonight, something that immediately spiked your dislike for her when Rita first tried it with Michael at a family event with children present; despite being an adult performer, Rita knew what she signed up for and willingly crossed those boundaries after all. 

‘She’s far from being honest and she knows it. She uses these men for arm candy, influence, reputation, and above all—sex and money. They make for the best kind of blackmail. She’s made that obvious enough.’ 

Rita doesn’t have any boundaries and she doesn’t feel the need to either. Rita offers what she does and has a “take it or leave it policy”, asking if everyone else loves it, why don’t you? 

Michael checks the time on his watch again as Rita parts away from the birdcage and begins to dance to the tune of a sultry, slow sogn upon the stage; making sure the feathers on her bodysuit bounce and shake with every move. 

It’s then and there that Michael notices just how absolutely fixated Sonny is on Rita, mindlessly staring at her. 

Michael doesn’t need to look up to Rita to see why, but his brother’s blatant arousal and unprofessionalism are beginning to irritate Michael; all Sonny’s been doing the entirety of the trip is paying attention to nothing but women. “Let me know when you decide to attend business for business one of these days.” 

“Relax, Mikey,” Sonny chuckles, looking away from Rita for the first time since the show started. “I’m enjoying the show, she’s performing, I don’t wanna let it go to waste. I don’t get you two.” 

Leonardo looks up from his plate, biting into a piece of steak. “Why’s that?” 

“Well, never mind, I guess,” Sonny grins, “I’m not saying anything towards you. You’re engaged to my sister.” 

‘She’s no performer, dancer, entertainer, or whatever the fuck she calls herself. We all know what she is. I wasn’t born yesterday. Rita’s a blackmailing whore.’ 

Eyeing Sonny from the table as she performs, Sonny’s lustful and interested gaze on her hasn’t gone unnoticed with all that admiring. 

It helps all the more that Sonny’s seated so close to the stage and with Michael Corleone whom Rita knows is impossible to get a shred of attention or interest from but Rita’s satisfied with luring in one Corleone brother before she aspires to go back to back with another. 

The only positive purpose doing business in such venues, clubs, and brothels serves most mafiosi besides personal pleasure is the fact that if there’s unwanted or hostile presence of police and FBI not on a mafioso’s payroll, it’s much easier to be able to appear as a couple of businessmen chatting and having drinks while enjoying a show than appearing suspicious. 

None can hear nor suspect any illicit business is being discussed or ongoing from music, singing, and distractions after all. 

Michael still refuses to pay any attention to Rita’s show during her second act even when his business partners arrive; consisting of her emerging from an amethyst and diamond-studded, lifesize clam large enough to comfortably fit three people in. 

Completely and utterly in awe as if he’s in a trance, Sonny and the rest of the invited businessmen are thoroughly entertained and their enjoyment and need for entertainment is just a necessary, lesser evil Michael comes to accept. 

If such needs to occur for business to come along smoothly without issue, then Michael has no issues with it although he finds it all negatively distracting. 

Slow jazz music builds up to its climax as Rita fully emerges from the clamshell, causing business discussions at the table to be briefly interrupted as a result. 

Leonardo and Michael look over to see Rita no longer dressed in her peacock-inspired bodysuit but only in a pair of bra and panties made from a lightweight chain and decorated in pearls and diamonds. 

Rita extends out her arms to the tune of the jazz music, throwing her hair back and stepping out the clam barefoot. 

Just as Michael’s about to divert his gaze once more and remind his business partners what the task at hand is, Rita places her hand over her bra and pulls it off with ease—causing the pearls and diamonds to spring loose and around her on the stage. 

‘She’ll curl up in the arms of any rich, powerful man who can give her a night to remember, spoil her and pay for the new diamonds you see on her ears.’ 

More hoots, whistling and cheers can be heard from the crowd and from Sonny himself as Rita remains completely topless; her breasts springing free as she pulls the matching panties down her legs—bending over. 

“Goddamn,” Sonny chuckles to himself, taking in the view. 

Michael sighs quietly to himself, understanding this is now a full-on sex show rather than the other forms of performances and entertainment he’s had the misery of having to attend yet he isn’t surprised. 

‘When she doesn’t want to let go of her arm candy, she’ll just resort to blackmail. Easy to do to politicians who can’t keep their eyes or hands to themselves, to begin with. It’ll give her the big payday she’s looking for and everyone moves on. She craves it just as much she craves the attention.’ 

Michael lights another cigarette, figuring whenever Rita’s done with her jaw-dropping antics, everyone can get back to business even if that means it looks like Michael will have to wait longer. 

Rita’s third and final act of the night consists of the curtains drawing back once more to reveal her sitting naked inside a massive, human-sized cocktail glass that matches the gems of the clam from her second act. 

Rita lets the pink-colored water inside the cocktail glass soak over her skin as Rita rests her arms on the rim of the cocktail glass. 

Rita then raises up her thigh, letting the pink water drip off as she begins to massage and caress the liquid over her body. 

‘She’ll never have to worry about blackmailing Sonny… If she was to, that would mean he’d want to stay away from her for good, right? Right?’ 

[ Present Day, Lake Tahoe Compound ]

Connie frowns, clasping a hand over her mouth as she stares at Sandra. 

“Say something, please,” Sandra croaks—her throat tightening. 

“Sandra, I’m so, so sorry—Sandra! Sandra!” Connie gasps as Sandra bolts from the dining table, almost spilling her tea. 

“SONNY! SONNY!” Sandra shrieks, storming out of Connie and Leo’s estate. 

“Sandra, wait! Oh my God!” Connie jumps up from her seat, rushing after her sister-in-law. “Sandra, no!” 

All Connie can think of is that while Sandra’s emotions, reactions, and outbursts are completely normal and to be expected, she’s guaranteed Vito and Carmela’s involvement in this now by shouting it for everyone to hear on the compound. 

~ 

Back in your estate shortly after finishing up breakfast with your family, you hold baby Vincent in your arms—indulging in conversation with the nanny, Esther as the twins begin their morning lessons with the governess. 

“Oh, it’s definitely been a while,” you chuckle. “My family visits Sicily regularly, but that’s a given for all the business they do. I think I had more than enough opportunity after we moved to New York, but my studies and work always got in the way.” 

“Would that mean you haven’t been there for five years now? Oh my,” Esther’s eyes widen. 

“Mhmm,” you admit sheepishly, kissing Vincent’s cheek. “Not since the twins were just little babies. Funny enough we’ve been to Rome, Venice, and Florence since but not back to the homeland since. That’ll change very soon.” 

“Looking forward to a good trip for you and the family then, Mrs. Corleone,” Esther beams, “all that time gone by still surprises me. The twins were so tiny, just like this little guy!” 

Before she can say anymore, Esther glances over her shoulder to see Michael stepping out of the estate to approach you; the morning sun glistening over his skin as he keeps both hands in his pockets. 

Understanding the need for privacy, Esther gives both of you a polite smile and a small nod before entering back into the estate to leave you two alone. 

“Hello, darling,” Michael greets you by wrapping an arm around your waist. 

“Hi, baby,” you blush, “I’m thinking we could spend the rest of our morning out on the yacht together maybe with a cold drink and—” 

“SANTINO! SANTINO!” You’re interrupted by the alarming sound of Sandra shrieking around the compound. 

Michael and you exchange a concerned look with one another before rushing out to the front of the estate where Sandra’s continuous scream-sobbing is coming from. 

Sonny’s the first to his wife wailing, throwing down his newspaper and springing out of his seat from surprise. 

“Sandra?!” You call out as Michael keeps a protective arm around you. “Oh—Connie!” You spot your sister-in-law running over, distraught and confused. “Connie! What’s going on—” 

Connie stops in her tracks to see Sandra rush out from behind her estate to inside, only gone for a split second before the three of you watch her screaming insults and curse words in a mix of English and Italian before shoving Sonny outside. 

“Fucking stop! Stop it, alright?!” Sonny grunts, stumbling out of the estate. “What the fuck are you doing?!” 

“GET OUT, GET OUT!” Sandra screams, pointing away from the compound. “GET THE FUCK OUT!” 

“Lower your fucking voice!” Sonny shouts over top over her, brushing off his wrinkled tank top. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Huh?!” 

Before you can say anything, Michael—who remains completely calm next to you—raises his free hand up to silence you, giving you a reassuring look but also signaling he won’t give involved in the middle of this and doesn’t want you to either. 

Sobbing and practically shaking, Sandra opens her mouth again to cry out but is immediately silenced by Sonny. “What the fuck are you yelling for, woman?! What’s wrong with you?!” 

“What’s going on?” Michael interrupts, speaking up. 

The three of you including Connie begin to slowly approach as you also notice Tom and Theresa slowly doing so from their estate after hearing everything. 

With security and guards on alert, Al Neri and Rocco slowly begin to make their way over whereas Esther rushes into the central family compound to ensure the children don’t hear or step out, but it’s only going to be a matter of time until Vito and Carmela do. 

Vincent stares around aimlessly, confused by all the yelling and overlapping loud voices around him but seemingly disinterested and unaffected by it as he plays with a few strands of your hair. 

“Even if your father’s life depended on it, you wouldn’t be able to stop fucking whoring!” Sandra shrieks, “every time you go ‘on business’ all you do is whore around! That’s all you’ve been doing for years, isn’t it?! Go ahead, tell everyone, Sonny! And remind Michael and Victoria too!” 

Connie remains silent, biting her lip. All of this hits too close to home, reminding her of how many times she was in Sandra’s place herself when she was still married to Carlo. 

Connie didn’t want anyone silencing what she had to say to Carlo then, so she refuses to attempt to silence Sandra now. 

“You—” Sonny begins, but Sandra cuts him off. 

“Don’t you want everyone to know what you did in Las Vegas?! Go ahead and tell the children while we’re at it!” 

“Sandra,” Michael speaks calmly, shaking his head. 

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Sandra hiccups, facing Michael as Sonny sighs loudly. “It's true when we first got married—” Sandra points an accusing finger at Sonny. “And true before! But Michael, you’re not going to lie to me, are you? What did Sonny do in Vegas? I want you to tell me.” 

“My brother is an adult capable of making his own decisions and thinking for himself,” Michael replies, “I’m not his babysitter. We had business in Las Vegas, yes, but what Sonny did before, during, and after is not my concern nor do I or Victoria witness it.” 

“Thank you!” Sonny scoffs, beginning to turn away before Sandra yanks on his arm and pulls him back. 

“I don’t fucking think so!” Sandra scowls. “I’ll decide that and you’re NOT going to walk away from me, Santino! You can barely control yourself as is and I’ve had ENOUGH!” 

“YOU HEARD HIM!” Sonny yells back, pointing at Michael. 

“Sonny, don’t yell!” Connie frowns, growing uneasy. 

Sonny’s eyes soften momentarily as he looks over at his sister. “I was only there for business.” 

“Victoria,” Sandra narrows her eyes at you. “What did you see? Tell me.” 

You snuggle Vincent to your chest, sighing softly. “Sandra, this isn’t—” 

“Oh no, no.” Sandra glares at you, “you’re not going to tell me how to react, right? If your husband was known to whore around for years, would you really remain quiet? That passive?” 

“Stop,” you stare back at her, unamused. “That’s not what this is.” 

“THEN TELL ME WHAT IT IS!” Sandra screams, causing Connie to flinch. 

“Lower your voice when you speak to Victoria,” Michael warns, hearing the faint footsteps of Vito and Carmela beginning to step out from the central family compound. 

“Tell me, tell me! TELL ME!” Sandra sobs, hiccupping. 

Sonny shakes his head, locking eyes with you; his expression still somewhat hurt from your last encounter with him in Las Vegas.   

“All of New York knows the truth but not me, his own wife!” Sandra points to her chest, “I deserve to know the truth! Tell me!” 

“You do,” Michael agrees, somewhat calming Sandra. “Yes, you do.” 

“Constanzia,” Carmela calls out gently, approaching her and gesturing her away. “Come here, sweetheart. Come, let’s go.” 

You stay put, watching as Vito approaches with a grave look of disappointment on his face—watching his daughter-in-law weep. 

“Papa,” Sandra hiccups, shaking her head. “What have I done? What did I do? Was I a bad wife to deserve this?” 

Sonny bites his lip, embarrassed in the presence of his father and barely able to look Vito in the eye. 

“No, you were not,” Vito answers, scowling at his son. “And Santino does not think so either, does he?” 

“Pop—” 

“Silence!” Vito interrupts. “You’ve caused our family enough embarrassment, you make your wife cry and you speak back to me? Have you no shame, Santino? You treat the mother of your children—your life partner—this way with such disrespect in front of your family?” Vito shakes a scolding finger at Sonny. “I will speak to you alone, Santino, so you don’t embarrass yourself in front of the family any longer, but you owe answers and apologies to your wife.” 

“I want to hear it from Michael,” Sandra sniffles. 

Vito looks over at the both of you, noticing the frowns on your faces. 

“Him or Victoria,” Sandra hiccups again, “they were both in Las Vegas with Sonny. They know. Victoria, tell Papa.” 

You nod, refusing to hold back for Sonny’s sake. “Papa, I didn’t see or hear anything—that’s the truth—but Sonny told me himself he went to spend time with a woman.” 

“Rita, right?” Sandra attempts to catch her breath. 

Michael raises a brow, seriously beginning to wonder how everyone knows Rita Duvall in this family. 

“Aaaaaa…” Vincent snuggles your chest, surprising you by how calm he remains throughout so much shouting being exchanged. 

“Rita, seriously?” Michael stares at Sonny, no longer able to hold back his own disappointment. 

 You press your lips down together, remaining silent and attempting to appear indifferent to the name mentioned. If Sandra knows of Rita, then she already knows about everything else and if her pain lies with Sonny’s affair with Rita, then you can only think of Sandra who’d be happy to hear someone put Rita Duvall out of her misery a few days ago.

The conversation changing to speak of a woman whom you killed recently is no doubt an interesting one between family.

“Jesus,” Sonny sighs, looking away in defeat. 

“Go inside, I’ll speak with you separately,” Vito gestures Sonny away. “Everyone, please give them some privacy. Let us all return to what we were doing, your mother and I will deal with this.” 

Michael gives Sonny one last look before gently leading you away and back towards your estate. “Come on, darling.” 

“YOU WERE WHORING AROUND IN VEGAS WHILE I WAS WAITING FOR YOU AND TAKING CARE OF OUR FAMILY!” Is the last thing you hear Sandra scream to Sonny right then and there before you and Michael enter your estate. 

~

With every step you take until you and Michael are back into the estate with the door shut, you can hear Sandra’s sobbing, Sonny’s disgruntled comments, and Vito’s scolding. 

“C’mon, c’mon, go inside. Get inside, and we’ll talk. Come on, that’s enough. Stop crying.”

“Aa!” Vincent squirms in your arms, only now beginning to grow restless.

“Ah, I’m right here. Right here,” you gently bop the tip of Vincent’s little nose, “hi, baby. Hiiii, look at Mama.”

“Gaaaaahhhh…” Vincent blinks in confusion, beginning to calm down as you give both of his cheeks a kiss.

Michael glances out towards the window, knowing Sandra is sobbing and inconsolable whereas Vito feels disrespected and embarrassed on behalf of the family.

“There, there,” you wiggle a piece of your hair to Vincent, noticing his interest immediately grow. “Mama’s hair is that interesting, hmm? I’m flattered. You’ll grab on daddy’s tie too, right?”

Vincent blathers quietly, holding a few strands of your hair in a loose grip as you turn to face Michael who locks the front door, gazing back at you.

“I…” You take in a deep breath, patting Vincent’s back. “It’s past his nap time. I should put him to bed.”

“Very well,” Michael nods, slipping both hands into the pockets of his trousers. “We need to talk after.”

Strange, cold tension fills the space between you and Michael momentarily towards the matter with Sandra; a lot to consider on Michael’s behalf whereas memories of New York with Sonny come rushing back to you—leaving a mellow taste in both of your mouths

“I know,” you say back, turning around and approaching the staircase. 

“I want you in my office afterward,” Michael watches as you carefully go up the steps.

“I’m tired, Michael,” you say back; whether it’s of today or what just occurred in front of half of the family, you leave it up to Michael to infer.

“I know. I am too.”

You feel the tension in your body begin to ease up as you make your way upstairs with little Vincent in your arms, already noticing how your son snuggles you in a state of sleepiness.

“Let’s get you all cozy and in your bed,” you whisper softly to Vincent, approaching the nursery. “You’re falling asleep on me already. Oh,” you can’t help but smile at how Vincent’s curled up to your chest, peacefully beginning to doze off.

You carefully set Vincent in his crib, tucking him in and minding what position he’s laying in without waking him.

“I need to learn from you, honestly,” you joke, speaking in a very ushered tone as you watch Vincent sleep. “Just look at you…” You sigh in relief, ���growing so fast. Three months have gone like that already… I love you, little guy. Mama loves you so much.” 

You make sure to keep the nursery door open for Esther to check in on Vincent if you’re unable to throughout the day and also to hear any crying.

It’s not that you dread returning downstairs to get to Michael’s office or feel anxious about having a talk with him about all that just occurred with Sandra and Sonny, but rather that you feel so burned out from it all that the last thing you want is to be put in the middle—especially if it means Sandra and Sonny’s marriage will be permanently impacted.

None of this is fair to Sandra, but it’s not fair to you either. Then again, you know more about what happened than you’ll ever let on, and Michael knows this too. 

Back in his office, Michael organizes paperwork over his desk—not so much distracted but waiting for you.

You step into Michael’s office, pulling off your hair tie to let your bun unravel free over your shoulders before smoothening it out. 

You don’t even bother to look up at Michael right away who has his hands in his pockets, walking around his desk to approach you now.

Michael can tell you’re not avoiding looking at him directly out of guilt or anxiety, but that you’re tense and a little shaken up from that dramatic encounter with Sandra and Sonny.

Michael approaches you directly, placing both hands over your arms gently. “Relax, darling. You’re very tense.”

Sighing softly, you look up at your husband and frown.

Michael rubs up and down your arms tenderly, gazing into your eyes with nothing but genuine trust.

“Sandra…” You begin.

“I know,” Michael speaks to you in a soothing, calm voice. “There’s nothing we can do about the matter. It must be left between them.”

“And Papa?”

“Pop is disappointed,” Michael nods grimly. “He’ll have his say”

“I’m glad,” you say with a sigh, wrapping your arms around Michael’s shoulders. “Sandra deserves that much at least.”

Michael and you are more than well aware of how Connie didn’t have that kind of treatment from Vito who outright refused to get involved in her and Connie’s abusive marriage.

“I can presume whatever Santino did was as bad as Sandra claimed,” Michael mentions.

“Yes, it was,” you nod back, “Sonny’s lucky. Even with Pop talking to him who I trust will knock some sense into him, he’s still lucky.”

“Hmm,” Michael embraces you, planting a kiss over the side of your neck. 

“If it was my father…” You grimace, “no. He would be in deep shit. Any of my brothers would.”

“That is to be expected,” Michael agrees. “He came and spoke with me shortly after we settled in.”

You blush, gently pressing your forehead against Michael’s. “Sonny did?”

“Yes,” Michael answers, “he came in bitter, entitled, and demanding answers. All he spoke of was you.”

“Great,” you mumble under your breath. “He doesn’t understand what I did was for his own good.”

“I agree,” Michael says, but in reality, he has no idea exactly what you mean. “He questioned your actions and integrity, but I did not. I don’t. As Pop said, we can’t afford a scandal on Sonny’s behalf after Fredo. Deanna is in Hollywood and has held nothing back to journalists about Fredo and his promiscuity throughout their marriage.”

“Figures,” you rub your temple gingerly, “it’s the last thing we need after all of this.

“And the baby,” Michael kisses your forehead. “I’m more concerned about you and our family than anything else. I refuse to make Sonny’s behavior our problem.”

“I know, baby,” you nod glumly. “I didn’t want Pop and everyone to hear all of that but it was inevitable.”

“Perhaps it was for the best,” Michael offers. “The rest is up to them personally, however… You never told me you hit Sonny.”

“He deserved it,” you look up into Michael’s eyes. “Then and there, he deserved it.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“You didn’t expect that though, did you?” You ask.

“I understood why,” Michael replies. “You’re not a bitter and malicious person, Victoria, and you certainly weren’t in Las Vegas.”

“I know how he is,” you say back, practically still able to hear Rita’s whiny voice mocking you over her supposed pregnancy.

“And that brother-in-law of yours? His seed is inside me, so? You know what happens next, don’t you?”

You refuse to mention anything about Rita’s pregnancy to Michael for your own reasons.

“Sonny’s still my brother, and I care about him,” you state. “But he has more to deal with when it comes to his marriage. And as to what I did…” You shake your head, “he just needs to get over it.”

“He will,” Michael takes your hand, leading you towards one of the sofas in the office. “It doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.”

“I understand, baby,” you sit next to Michael on the leather sofa, curling up to his side. “I just want my little peace and quiet with you and the babies.”

“Is Vincent asleep?” Michael wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his body.

“Mhmm,” you nod, “fell asleep right away. Wasted no time.”

“I wish we could have said the same for the twins when they were growing up,” Michael chuckles quietly. 

“Same here,” you giggle back. “At least they did when they were newborns.”

“A different story altogether,” Michael adds. “Mm, how do you feel?”

“About?” You feel his hand rubbing up and down your back gingerly. 

“Everything, or just about.”

“I’m alright,” you smile back at your husband. “And I know things will be better. I’m not going to let the last few days dictate to me how I should keep feeling.”

“I’m prepared to put the world to a stop if I need to for you, Victoria,” Michael’s hands begin to massage up and around your shoulders. “You only gave birth a few months ago. I want you to relax.”

“I’ll catch up eventually,” you relax in Michael’s embrace. “With this little one.”

“We missed having a baby around,” Michael kisses the top of your head. “The twins… They’ve grown up already.”

“Very fast,” the blush over your cheeks deepens as Michael kisses both of your hands. 

“I’m proud of them and you,” Michael whispers against your forehead before kissing it.

“I love you so much,” you blush back.

“I love you too,” Michael gives your hands a soft squeeze. “You’re an amazing mother, I want you to know that.”

Your heart skips a beat as you feel Michael’s hand beginning to caress down your chest; his movements growing slower and more tender. 

“And an amazing woman,” Michael nuzzles your neck as you find your fingers clutching onto the fabric of Michael’s dress shirt.

“Michael,” you whisper, tilting your head back to feel the warmth of Michael’s lips planting hot kisses over your neck—inhaling in the scent of your floral perfume.

A shiver goes down your spine from arousal as you feel Michael’s nose brush against your skin. “I want to have another child with you…”

“Already,” your breath hitches as you press your body against Michael’s.

“Whenever you feel ready,” Michael’s hands begin to inch up your blouse.

“Considerate,” you tease back—a whimper escaping your lips from Michael’s hands cupping your breasts.

“Your needs come first, baby,” Michael rubs his fingers over your tender nipples—already hardened from arousal. “I can still please you until it’s over.”

You know Michael’s referring to your period which you got in the middle of the night. “Yes, you can…” You writhe in Michael’s lap. “I… I didn’t lock the door.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Michael begins to inch your blouse up. “I want you here right now.”

“Oh, please,” you buck your hips up in arousal, watching as Michael licks his fingertips and continues massaging your nipples.

“You. Are. Mine.” Michael says between kisses over your breasts. “Only mine.”

“Yes,” your eyes flutter shut as Michael slips your blouse up and off over your head.

From where you both lay on the sofa in Michael’s office, you can see your reflections in a small mirror on the other side of the room; watching the way Michael teases and pleases your body.

“Come here, baby,” Michael’s tongue flickers over your breasts as he massages one and suckles over the other.

You moan loudly, tugging over his hair and feeling his hot tongue over your nipple.

Rolling your eyes back from pleasure, you feel you could cum from this alone—feeling just as horny on your period and willing to take all the alone time you can with Michael, right here and right now.

~

Within the same week, Fredo’s infamous brothel in Las Vegas is officially sold and shut down with the new buyer’s intention to tear the entire building and structure down and build anew.

All is well for the Corleone family who anticipated such for a long time coming; now with no need to worry about the physical reminders of Fredo’s legacy and being involved in the prostitution business by affiliation.

The news of the Corleone family now having no official ties whatsoever to any form of prostitution pleases Don Tattaglia who still seeks to have a monopoly over brothels under his family business; something Michael is more than fine with.

It’s not for another five days until the brothel’s managers realize they aren’t able to contact Rita Duvall in any form—has accounted for all the other women who worked at the brothel to move employment to an unaffiliated, new brothel.  

Rita neither answers her telephone nor writes back. Her neighbors cannot remember the last time they saw her enter her apartment which remains eerily silent.

For the sake of formality and to avoid trouble with the law, the brothel managers file an official missing persons case on behalf of Rita, but from the unamused twinkle in the constable’s eyes at the police station, it was easily understood this investigation wouldn’t be taken seriously or as a priority over a missing prostitute.

It isn’t the first time showgirls, dancers, cocktail waitresses, and prostitutes have gone missing before but especially those who are known by the mafia or have curled up to him are almost always expected to go missing eventually.

It’s either a matter of knowing too much, overhearing something, or being under the suspicion one might snitch or get smart-mouthed towards the mafia which causes mistresses to go missing for good.

Rita isn’t the type to run off for dramatics or disappear for a while nor did the news of the brothel shutting down upset her to do so, but neither the police nor the brothel’s managers expect to find Rita ever again.

Still, it would be something to find Rita’s body at the very least and confirm what happened to her once and for all. Rita’s death would have to be covered up by the police and lied about on every report if it was done by the mafia in which one would truly know if it was done by the hands of a made man or a common killer.

Because the death of many others like Rita is common, there’s no special amount of sympathy felt by anyone on her behalf. Only journalists care about these kinds of cases when it benefits their articles and reports.

At this point in time, it’s been a little while since someone like Rita was reported missing or found dead—leaving a gap in time.

Only once a week passes with no information on Rita, nobody able to contact her, and nothing to pinpoint where she may have gone, what may have happened to her or anything in-between does Luciana’s interest begin to spike up.

Luciana already reported on the brothel shutting down, but it didn’t garner as much attention in the media as she thought.

Although she mentioned Fredo’s name in her article which meant the Corleone family by default and expected some sort of public attention towards it knowing how notorious Fredo’s brothels were when he was actively involved and running them, it appeared that the public was tired of the same old story spun in different ways.

Not only does Rita’s disappearance intrigue Luciana, but the fact that the police, her colleagues, and her employers also stopped caring about her almost immediately beckons for a new report.

Without being explicit or defaming, Luciana’s always been reporting on the drama caused by the mafia and every indulgence they have, especially when it comes to debauchery and luxurious lifestyles.

Since mafiosi are seen as wealthy businessmen outside of the underworld of crime, nothing impacts their reputation, family, or payroll so none come to mind but sometimes even appreciate the light of the media on them. The only exception to this has always been the Tattaglia family.

Tattaglia is the only mafiosi—let alone Don—who considers prostitution a lucrative and important business and because such a business is illegal, Tattaglia pats the city police’s pockets well to keep them in their place and their mouths shut.

Despite suspecting or knowing a fair share herself, Luciana doesn’t care. She takes a neutral stance on everything so as long as it doesn’t impact her directly. Some may even call her selfish for how she couldn’t care less what comes of her colleagues; it’s just one less journalist to compete with.

Luciana also couldn’t care less about the hows and whys of what the crime families do. She’s a reporter and a journalist—all she likes to do is get to the bottom of a good story and deliver.

Luciana remains to be the only journalist at her media outlet that cares about “whore gossip” and “drama scandals” to the point where she’s built her career and reputation on it.

After all, Luciana can be considered a nosy, gossipy person, and growing up she was the first to hear, spread and confirm rumors throughout her high school days that never really faded away when she became an adult.

And despite only speaking with Rita once to be bribed out of reporting a news story on her, Luciana doesn’t consider herself to know Rita personally. All Luciana figures are that Rita, a very popular prostitute and showgirl on stage and behind curtains but not so much in her personal life has gone missing and it’s going to make a hell of a headline.

Luciana’s aware Rita’s always spent her fair share of time with the Barzinis and Tattaglias, so regardless of how Luciana words her headline or chooses to write up a story, it’ll shine the wrong light on the two mafia families which could easily get Luciana and all of her colleagues killed.

Now that their “star girl” Rita Duvall is officially missing, the last thing Luciana will want is any heat on her without implying Rita’s possibly murdered.

For now, Luciana decides to write up an article that’ll only make it look like Rita’s a bad girl gone rogue until Luciana can dig up and discover enough information on what really happened to write up something proper.

‘Without a Trace: Star Showgirl and Performer Rita Duvall Missing?’ Luciana stares at her typewriter, amused by the witty headline she came up with.

It’s only a matter of time until Rita shows up with a bolstered reputation as if she was starting her second act or with a ruined reputation because she disappeared and none cared to find out why. 

It’s that, or the third option; that Rita Duvall is dead.

[wings-of-flying]

malenia used to love jayson

enough to oggle at him in class when he wasn't looking. enough for her friends to tease her about it. enough to serve him discounted drinks whenever he visited the tavern. enough to blush and beam uncontrollably when he asked her out. enough to accept

enough to let him show her around featherbrooke, as if she'd never seen it before. enough to sneak him into her room, because goodness knows they could never meet at his house. enough to hold him close and dream of never letting go

enough to not be scared when she discovered she was pregnant so young. enough to celebrate it together. enough to accept when he proposed not long after

enough to let his mother plan the wedding. enough to carry a bouquet of red roses down the aisle, not lilies like she'd wanted. enough to take his last name

enough to start going by may, though her nickname had been lena for years. enough to wear her hair up, not free like she'd always preferred. enough to wear the family crest

enough to name her daughter ava, not eva after her own mother. enough to let her mother-in-law make all the decisions about the baby. enough to live with the ferins for a while, and leave the tavern behind

enough to fake happiness when jayson was appointed vice-admiral. enough to miss him when he went away. enough to seek solace in his brother, the only other ferin she could connect with. enough to bear the loneliness and take advantage of the rare time they could find together

enough to foolishly hope he'd return permanently when she fell pregnant again. enough to lash out when he said he couldn't. enough to apologise afterwards, as if she had been in the wrong

enough to name the baby after jayson's father, who'd been nothing but unkind to her. enough to stick to the family's stupid traditions

enough to pretend to miss his family when she returned to the tavern. enough to let them visit, though she wished she'd never see them again. enough to let them tell her how to raise her own children

enough to pretend she didn't see how jayson treated his girls when he stayed for a few weeks. enough to just be glad he was there, unlike her own father. enough to ignore how he was turning into his parents

enough to subscribe to the navy propaganda. enough to ban pirates from her tavern. enough to allow drey to be disowned. enough to leave his many letters unanswered, though she secretly read every one and envied his freedom

enough to let her daughters join navy training, once they were old enough. enough to celebrate ava rising through the ranks. enough to encourage jay to do the same, once she finished her training

enough to pretend she believed the story about ava's death. enough to not say a word. enough to still support her husband (but, quietly, she lifted the ban on pirates)

enough to mourn with him. enough to relish in holding him close again - it had been so long. enough to beg him once more to stay. enough to ask him to come home to her, to leave the navy and his family behind. enough to weep when he refused. enough that she couldn't bear to watch him leave again

but months passed, and she realised she hadn't missed him once. hadn't even thought of him. had never written, except to answer his letters

then jay left. she claimed it was to find who'd killed her sister, to go undercover as a pirate to seek revenge. may bit back the response that she'd have better luck doing that by joining the navy as planned

a few months passed and jay's letters stopped. all she heard of her daughter was from wanted posters

then jayson told her of what had happened in the BLOCK. she still loved him enough to pretend to be horrified

but then he vanished again and she was on her own with her thoughts. and there were many of them

she realised she didn't love vice-admiral jayson ferin. she loved the young boy she'd known once, who'd gone by sonny because it separated him from his father. the boy who let his hair grow long and watched in awe as she braided it for him. but that boy was gone, replaced by a replica of his parents. and she didn't love who he'd become

so she started wearing her hair down again, stopped going by may. she started smiling again, laughing even. took control of her own life. played by her rules

she started using her maiden name, so of the past she barely remembered it

she stopped loving jayson. she stopped being a ferin. she was malenia. she was free

[sweet-triple-t]

intro post ☝️

Hi guys

my name is sonny

do NAWT be weird i am in fact a freshman in high school

i hate my art and i hate my chemical romance (they stole all my money and kidnapped my family)

ermmmmmmm yeah thats about it send asks or requests idk

under the cut is just a bunch of interests besides the obvious singular one

bands: fall out boy, afi, misfits, the academy is, bad brains, black flag, new found glory, green day, alesana, a static lullaby, cap'n jazz, pencey prep, taking back sunday, leathermouth, alkaline trio, aiden, descendents, no really, blink-182, senses fail, saosin, pierce the veil, thursday, panic! at the disco, a verbal equinox, sarah and the safe word, death in december, tacocat, bikini kill, the julie ruin, xray spex, pretty faces, the distillers, belle and sebastian, l.e.s stitches, jack off jill, bev rage and the drinks, road to bremen, and bratmobile

my favorite albums are i brought you my bullets you brought me your love, three cheers for sweet revenge, the black parade, hesitant alien, take this to your grave, a fever you cant sweat out, a flair for the dramatic, analphabetapolothology, heartbreak in stereo, almost here, sing the sorrow, the emptiness, and the ringmaster is pleased to introduce, a beautiful tragedy, saosin self titled, and lost time

movies n stuff: reanimator, rhps, ten inch hero, frankenhooker, cabaret, juno, the outsiders, saw, scream, the lost boys, the perks of being a wallflower, speak, scott pilgrim, 10 things i hate about you, suspiria, the phantom of the opera, labyrinth, moulin rouge, ride the cyclone, may, smithereens, house of wax, dude where’s my car, videodrome, mysterious skin, john tucker must die, hard candy, the tracey fragments, hairspray, whip it, sixteen candles, blue velvet, the sisterhood of the traveling pants, i saw the tv glow, hamilton, drop dead fred, smiley face, slc punk, igby goes down, ghost world, tank girl, MEMOIR OF A SNAIL, we are the best, carrie, but im a cheerleader, and tons of jake gyllenhaal and paul dano movies (prisoners and okja🤤🤤peak)

some youtubers i watch are flamingo, kubz scouts, coryxkenshin, sinjin drowning, dnp, good mythical morning, and markiplier (like twice a year now but i’ve loved watching him all my life)

my fav shows are shameless, the umbrella academy, that ‘70s show, the big bang theory, and young sheldon (sheldon cooper they’ll never make me hate u)

i also have a guitar and play it like every fortnight but i think i’d be better on drums

edit: i havent played it in months

ok dats it