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dreamwritesimagines · 3 months

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The Eye of the Hurricane [25] - Steps

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Some plans require patience.

Word Count: 2500

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

Attending couples therapy while there was an unofficial war in the city was quite strange but then again, this whole marriage was strange.

“Before we end our session,” Dr. Raynor said. “How are the intimacy journals going?”

You and Bucky exchanged glances before you both turned to her.

“They’re going well,” you said. “Mine is more detailed than Bucky’s, I also created a whole system to make it easier for you to read, would you like to read it now?”

“Not yet,” she said. “I think I’ll wait for you two to feel more comfortable with writing it down for a while. When you said a system…?”

“She gives it stars,” Bucky said helpfully and you nodded.

“I also got like, a color system,” you added. “I categorized it by each color like, how I feel, how I think he feels, how did we communicate before, during and after—”

“I can’t believe we didn’t consider your teacher fantasy,” Bucky muttered and your jaw dropped.

“I do not have a teacher fantasy!”

“Then why are you trying to get an A in therapy?”

“I’m glad you brought it up Bucky,” Dr. Raynor said and you gasped.

“But I don’t have a teacher fantasy!”

“No not that,” Dr Raynor said. “We said you would try a fantasy within the week. Did you?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“How was it?”

“I think I’ll let Bucky describe it,” you said, shooting him a look and his eyes widened.

“Charm!”

“What?” you said. “Think of it as revenge for that teacher student thing. Go on, tell her.”

You and Bucky had decided on what you would tell her before the session but judging by the look on his face, Bucky had assumed you would be the one who would do the talking about that. You tried to bite down your smirk and cleared your throat, motioning at Dr. Raynor.

“Go on.”

“We uh…” Bucky cleared his throat. “Yeah, we tried a fantasy.”

“Which was?”

“We did the public thing.”

“Public thing,” she repeated and Bucky sat up straighter.

“Had sex in the back alley of the club,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and you nodded, smiling at her.

“The thrill of getting caught,” Dr. Raynor commented. “How was it?”

“Charm?”

“She asked you, not me,” you said, still smiling and Bucky cleared his throat again.

“Yeah it was great.”

“And Y/N?”

“I gave it five stars,” you said. “And used my purple glittery pen while describing it on the journal.”

“Your guess is as good as mine about what the purple glittery pen means,” Bucky told her and you heaved a sigh.

“Afterwards on the other hand,” you said. “Yellow pen, three stars.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky said, running a hand over his face and Dr. Raynor frowned slightly.

“Why is that?”

“I happen to think aftercare is important. Bucky disagrees.”

“I don’t—that’s a lie,” Bucky pointed out. “Charm, to repeat, I cannot give you pillowtalk in the back alley of a club.”

“See?” you motioned at him while keeping your eyes on Dr. Raynor. “Three stars.”

Dr. Raynor smiled at you before checking her watch.

“We’ll continue next week,” she said. “Keep writing on the journals.”

You nodded and stood up from the couch, Bucky doing the same.

“Have a nice day Dr. Raynor,” you told her and walked out of the office with Bucky following you. When you stepped outside, he let out a breath.

“Well that was something,” he said, checking his phone and you grinned.

“See? Told you she’d buy it.”

“Did you have to give me three stars?”

“It wasn’t for your hypothetical performance,” you reminded him. “And you said it yourself you’re not a pillowtalk guy.”

“Yeah that whole thing is bullshit.”

You arched a brow.

“I feel sorry for every girlfriend you’ve ever had,” you said. “Lunch?”

He shot you an apologetic smile.

“I have a meeting,” he said. “What with the attacks lately, can’t be too careful.”

“Ah,” you said and waved a hand in the air. “Sure, yeah. I’ll see you at dinner then?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll drop you off. Home or Becca’s place?”

“Becca is busy, I’ll just walk around for a bit,” you said and he hummed, then motioned at the bodyguards waiting by the car. You rolled your eyes at him.

“Seriously?”

“Yes seriously,” he told you. “Told you, can’t be too careful.”

You groaned. “I hate you so much right now.”

He let out a chuckle, then pressed a kiss on top of your head.

“See you at home princess,” he said and walked to the car to get in. You offered the bodyguards a small smile and started walking, fishing your phone out of your pocket in the meantime.

It rang only twice before Sarah picked up.

“You do realize that you calling me every two hours is a bit of an overkill?” she asked and you grinned.

“I’m worried about you, sue me.”

“Y/N…”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay!” you defended yourself. “I mean, after that night.”

“Everything is fine,” she assured you. “I’m alright. Besides, Sam is already pulling that overprotective bullshit, please don’t start as well.”

“Fine, fine…” you grumbled. “But you are being careful?”

“I will hang up on you.”

“No!” you protested, making her laugh.

“How was therapy?”

“It was alright,” you muttered. “Went as expected. Do you think I have a teacher fantasy?”

Sarah hummed. “Nah, you just have a praise kink.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, your jaw dropping. “Sarah!”

“What, you asked!”

“I do not have—”

“Please, it's very obvious,” she said and you let out a breath.

“Unbelievable,” you said. “I was going to ask you out for lunch but…”

“Does the lunch include me telling you what a good girl you’ve been?”

“I will hang up on you right now,” you said, making her laugh.

“Can’t do lunch, I’m busy,” she said. “Things are insane at the hospital lately, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you said. “I guess if no one is meeting me for lunch, I have no choice but spend a bunch of money on bunch of clothes.”

“That’s the spirit,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yep, be careful!” you told her and hung up, then turned to the bodyguards to let them know you would be going shopping but out of the corner of your eye, you saw a familiar black car pulling over. The bodyguards stepped closer to you but you heaved a sigh when your gaze fell on the plate of the car.

“It’s fine, it’s my dad’s men,” you told them as two men stepped out of the car.

“Ma’am.”

“Luke,” you said. “Brian. Long time no see.”

“Your father would like to talk to you,” Luke said and you pulled your brows together.

“My father is aware of the fact that phones exist, no?”

They didn’t reply and you threw your head back, then motioned at your bodyguards.

“Come along then,” you told them, approaching the car. “We’re paying a visit to my dear father.”

Of course you knew your father wouldn’t approve of you going to the Wilson territory right after it got attacked but even you had to admit, you hadn’t expected him to send his men to pick you up to take you to the company. As you walked into the familiar skyscraper, you could feel the nervousness spreading over you but you frowned to yourself, rolling your shoulders back.

The days of you doing anything and everything for his approval was behind you.

After taking the elevator, you walked past the waiting room and your father’s assistant smiled at you.

“He’s been expecting you.”

“Lovely,” you said and knocked on the door.

“Come in!”

You opened the door and stepped inside.

“Father,” you said. “Your phone is broken or something?”

“Or something,” he said sternly, giving you a reprimanding look from where he was sitting behind his desk. “Sit down please?”

You bit inside your cheek, then made your way to plop down on the seat across from his desk.

“Nice to see you too,” you muttered and he let out a breath.

“Y/N, what do you think you’re doing?”

“You mean other than getting picked up off the street by your people?” you asked. “I was shopping.”

“No, the other night,” he said. “I hear Bucky took you to the Wilson territory after the attack.”

“Bucky didn’t have to take me anywhere considering I’m not a goddamn pet,” you said tersely and he shot you a glare.

“Y/N.”

“And I’m a grown woman, father,” you reminded him. “I don’t have to explain to you where I go or when.”

“You’re my daughter,” he reminded you back. “My daughter who seems to love walking into danger.”

“It wasn’t dangerous.”

“I don’t know what Bucky has shared with you so far about these attacks but—”

“He shared more with me than you did,” you couldn’t help but point out. “HYDRA was the one who attacked the Wilson territory just like other territories.”

He ran a hand over his face.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “The city is very dangerous lately even without you rushing to places under attack. What if something happened on the way there? What if they weren’t done with the attacks? What if there was an ambush?”

“What am I supposed to do?” you asked back. “Stay at home?”

“You’re supposed to stay safe,” he insisted and you crossed your arms, leaning back.

“I am safe.”

“Are you though?” he asked you. “Because that right there was reckless. Your aunt agrees.”

“Of course she does,” you murmured and he drummed his fingertips on the desk.

“I’m worried about you,” he said. “So does she. So does Ian.”

“Ian doesn’t give two fucks about me much like his mother,” you said, making him run a hand over his face.

“Language.”

You licked your lips, not even commenting on it and he let out a breath.

“Do you still carry a gun?”

“Of course I do,” you said. “What am I, an amateur? Ian is the one who is too cocky to carry a gun, everyone knows—did you seriously call me here just so that you could reprimand me?”

“I called you here because I wanted to see you,” he said. “Can you blame me? You’ve been angry at me for a while now, we barely had the chance to talk just the two of us.”

You rolled your eyes, averting your gaze. “I’m not angry.”

“Aren’t you?”

You swallowed the bitterness at the back of your throat.

“You’re the boss of the family,” you forced yourself to say. “Who you pick as your heir is up to you.”

“I’ve never wanted the business to get between us,” he insisted. “You know that. Family is forever, business is just business.”

No.

Not really.

That wasn’t what you heard growing up, at least. Family and business were inseparable, everyone in this line of work knew it.

You pursed your lips together and shrugged your shoulders.

“I know,” you lied through your teeth and a silence fell upon you before you stole a look at him. “And…are you being safe? What with these attacks and everything?”

He smiled at you softly and waved a hand in the air.

“Always am.”

Worry churned your insides as you nibbled on your lip, your eyes darting over his face.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise,” he assured you and took a deep breath. “I’m not dying before you and Bucky give me a grandchild.”

A small laugh escaped from your lips and you shook your head slightly.

“I thought you said that’d make you look old?”

“I could be a young grandfather,” he pointed out. “I’ll hire a stylist and all that nonsense. Perhaps get a tattoo as well, or dye my hair.”

“Dye your hair to—”

“Sir,” the assistant knocked on the door. “Your one o’clock is here.”

You looked over your shoulder, then pushed yourself off the seat.

“That’s my cue to leave,” you said. “By the way, is auntie back because she had another breakup?”

He rolled his eyes.

“You didn’t hear it from me,” he said. “But apparently they had quite the fallout.”

“Meaning?”

“She burned his car before coming back here.”

“Figures,” you said after a beat. “Well, I gotta get back to shopping. I’ll see you later then?”

“Please do,” he said. “And pick up my calls so that I won’t have to send people after you, hm?”

“I’ll think about it!” you said, and walked out of his office to go to the elevator with the bodyguards following you.

Judging by the personal bodyguards patrolling the hallway, Bucky was already home by the time you returned home. You smiled at Hannah as you made your way through the hallway, then opened the door, peeking your head in.

“Buck?”

“Hey babe!” he called out, no doubt for the bodyguards to hear as well and you bit back a smile, then stepped in and closed the door behind you.

“Hey,” you said, “You’re home early?”

“Yeah, one of the meetings got cancelled,” he said as you stepped into the kitchen, then gasped at the brand name on the takeout paper bag.

“Yay!”

He chuckled and came closer to kiss you on the head, making your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, your favorite.”

“Did you also get the—”

“Chocolate souffle from the same place, yes,” he said. “In the fridge.”

You grinned at him. “Five stars.”

“Yeah keep that in mind,” he said, grinning back before pulling your seat. You let out a laugh and fixed yourself in an exaggerated manner before sitting down and pulling the bag to yourself, then took out the box.

“I really don’t think it’s as good as you claim it is,” Bucky pointed out and you glared at him as you grabbed your fork.

“You take that back about my sweet and sour duck.”

Alpine jumped on the counter and you clicked your tongue.

“Alpine, no it’s bad for you.”

“You know you don’t have to explain that to her every single time we eat, right?” Bucky asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

“It’d be rude,” you said as you put Alpine back on the floor. “So, how was the meeting?”

“It was good,” he said. "Talked to Sam.”

“How is he?”

“Pretty pissed off,” he said. “Can’t blame him.”

“Me neither,” you muttered and he nodded.

“And now we know what shipment your father put Ian in charge of.”

Your head shot up. “What?”

A lazy smile pulled at Bucky’s lips.

“And it’s coming next week,” he said. “The perfect time for him to prove himself, or…”

“Or fuck it up,” you finished his sentence and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Or that.”

You bit inside your cheek, your heart pacing in your throat.

“Bucky,” you said. “It’s going to be dangerous.”

“Mm hm.”

“I mean it,” you insisted. “Are you sure about this?”

He tilted his head, that mischievous light still playing in his blue eyes.

“I’ll do whatever you want me to, Charm,” he said. “You know that already.”

You could feel the happy fluttering in your stomach and you let yourself smile back at him, then took a deep breath.

“Alright,” you said. “Let’s show the city who the real heir should be then.”

Chapter 26

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vivwritesfics · 9 months

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No Need To Ask

Chapter Twenty - Playing Happy Families

The Norris' were a notorious crime family in the UK. One of many. With Norris, the head of the family, running operations with his son, Lando, they work to keep Y/N Norris, Norris' daughter protected. Life in a crime family wasn't something they wanted for her.

But with tension with one of the Spanish crime families rise, Norris and his now deceased wife come up with only one plan, offer their daughter to the Sainz's or risk an all out war.

2.2K words

Series Masterlist

“Please, Carlos, I didn’t kill your father,” said Oscar. He still cowered behind Y/N, still used her to protect him from the wrath of her husband.

Coward, thought Carlos as he stared at him, his expression filled with fury.

Oscar was scared. Of course he was. He was merely a mouse facing down a lion. “What were you doing in my house, then?” Carlos asked, once again attempting to pull his wife closer. But Y/N stayed where she was. She wasn’t budging.

“I was doing work for Mark!”

“What sort of work?” Now, don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t entertaining this idea of Oscar on a mission for Webber. He couldn’t have been, not when everybody (including Webber) was compromised.

Oscar opened and closed his mouth several times. He couldn’t speak, not when he was oh so afraid. “Carlos, let him speak,” Y/N said, finally taking a step closer to her husband. She placed her hand on his chest and Carlos visibly deflated. For the first time in their marriage, Y/N felt like she had power.

When he did, Y/N turned to Oscar. “Go ahead.”

Oscar sucked in a deep breath. “Mark had me out renewing contracts for the weapons trade.”

“Why? Why did he send you in person?”

“Because I needed a distraction.”

“From?” Carlos’s questions came in quick succession.

Y/N looked between the two of them. It was like a game of tennis, the two of going back and forth.

But then Oscar looked straight at Y/N. It was clear, to Carlos, at least. And it infuriated him. He would have stood up, threatened Oscar with his fist, but Y/N still had a hold of him. And he didn’t want to do anything to upset his wife, his love.

“I believe him,” she said as she cupped his cheek. “I really don’t think he’d do anything to hurt us.”

But Carlos couldn’t accept that, not with the footage he had seen. He knew what his wife was saying, that Oscar wouldn’t have broken into their house or threaten them in any way while she was there. That Oscar cared for her too much.

Carlos let out a sigh. “Hand over any weapons you have,” he said and Oscar lifted up his suit jacket, revealing that he had no weapons on him. An uneasy feeling bubbled up in his stomach. In the video he had watched, Carlos had clearly seen a gun in Oscars hands.

“Why did I see you on my security footage?”

Oscar shut his eyes. He knew this was coming, and he knew Carlos wasn’t going to believe anything he had to say, but he said it anyway. “I watched the guys that broke into your house drive away. If I wasn’t on my own, I would have tried to stop them, but I had to get into the house, had to make sure Y/N was okay.” He struggled to look Carlos in the eye. “I saw Sainz on the ground and I had to check he was okay. Because, if someone can get to a head of family, then none of us are safe.”

Suddenly, Carlos fell against the wall. “Carlos!” Y/N gasped as he held onto her, pulling her with him. He looked at his wife, his pretty little wife. The woman that had been by his side through all of it. Not once had she complained as he kept her in this little cabin.

He reached towards her, pushing her hair away from her face. “Mi amor,” he said as he breathed out. “He died trying to protect us.”

Y/N threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him. Her head was against his chest as Carlos held her tight, more for himself than her.

It seemed, for just a moment, Carlos had forgotten that Oscar was there with them. Holding the back of Y/N’s head, he stared at the Australian man across from them. “I will tell Webber that I have you. We’ll decide what to do with you after that,” he said and let go of his wife, walking over to the laptop on the desk.

“I’ll make something to eat,” Y/N said and walked into the kitchen. Oscar followed her.

“You can take a shower, if you’d like to,” she offered as she turned on the stove, Oscar sitting at the table behind her.

He shook his head. “Later,” he said and shrugged off his suit jacket. “I… is Carlos going to kill me?”

Without meaning to, Y/N snorted. She let a laugh and shook her head. “No, Osc. I won’t let him,” she said as she filled the pot with pasta. Too much for three people, but Oscar had said he hadn’t eaten in a while. He was bound to be hungry.

“What happened between you and Carlos?” He asked and she turned towards him, confusion written on her face. “Last time I saw you, you hated him.”

Oh, that was right. She had, hadn’t she? She had hated him. God, that felt like so long ago, now. She couldn’t imagine hating him now. “I don’t know,” she answered as she began cutting up chicken and adding it to a pan. “Being trapped alone with someone really changes things,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, Oscar. I don’t love him, but I could. I think I’m falling for him.”

“If you’re happy, then I’m happy for you,” said Oscar, incredibly mature of a twenty-two-year-old.

From the doorway, Carlos cleared his throat. Y/N and Oscar both snapped their attention towards him, waiting for him to speak. “I have informed Webber that you have made it to my safehouse,” he said as he leaned against the doorframe. “We have come to an agreement that if you anything goes wrong, Webber will dispose of your family.”

Oscar gulped. “What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t threaten my wife in any way, and you’ll be fine,” he said and walked back towards the laptop.

“See, you’ll be fine,” said Y/N as she plated everything up.

***

Their already odd situation seemed to be even weirder, now. At first, Carlos wanted to force Oscar to sleep on the floor, treating him like a disease-ridden dog.

But Y/N didn’t allow that. She got whatever cushions and pillows she could and set up a makeshift bed on the kitchen floor for Oscar. She had given him a blanket and made sure he had something to drink before she and Carlos went to bed.

For the first week, Carlos insisted on locking the door through to the kitchen. He still didn’t completely trust Oscar, no matter what Y/N had said and no matter the threat that was looming over him. He kept his gun under his pillow, ready to stride whenever necessary.

But, as time went on, Carlos began trusting him more and more. He listened as Oscar and Y/N sat together in the kitchen, chatting around the kitchen table. He watched how Oscar was with his wife, sweet and caring but not in a way that would have him concerned.

It was like they were playing happy families, the boys getting along for the sake of Y/N.

After two and a half weeks, Carlos had to make a supply run. They’d managed to ration out the food for as long as possible, but they were running low, extremely low.

“Does anybody need anything?” He asked as he walked into the kitchen, looking between the two of them.

Y/N looked at Oscar. She stood from the kitchen table and walked over to her husband, wrapping her arms around his neck and standing on her tiptoes as she whispered something in his ear.

Carlos let out a gasp. He couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around her and spinning her around. He couldn’t stop himself from kissing her, closing his eyes as she leaned into him. “I’ll get some,” she said and kissed her again.

“Just don’t get your hopes up,” Y/N replied as she walked him towards the door of the cabin.

“I won’t,” Carlos said and kissed her again before he left.

After what she had told him, things were beginning to make sense for Carlos. His wife had woken up in the early hours of every morning to throw up. Carlos was concerned, but she was always feeling better as the day went on, telling him that it was just nerves.

It was hard not to get his hopes up, but this was what Carlos had wanted since he was twenty. It was a long time coming; the timing couldn’t have been more right. But it was also terrible, terrible timing.

He knew what he had to do, knew he had to get her back into the safety of their house as quickly as possible. But, was the house really safe anymore?

The footage of the people that had broken into their home had circulated through the chat forum that had the other heads of families. They’d learnt it was the same group of people that had attacked them. They’d all taken the same thing: paperwork. Details of deals and crimes that they had committed. Their trading routes and what they traded, the money they made. Details of people in other families or people they were going to have killed.

If the authorities, those more powerful than the people the heads of family paid off, got a hold of that paperwork, they were fucked, royally, royally fucked. But Carlos couldn’t think about that right now. He was going to be a dad!

Maybe, he was maybe going to be a dad. He couldn’t let himself get his hopes up.

In the town, Carlos bought what food they would need. He wasn’t concentrating much as he grabbed what they needed. His fathers house still needed to be checked, but Carlos imagined the scene there would have been much the same as his house.

They needed to move, to find somewhere new to live. Somewhere with a lot more security, somewhere nobody would find them. Somewhere they could raise a child.

Carlos grabbed a three boxes of pregnancy tests. He got a proper pillow for Oscar and headed home.

It was strange, being outside of the cabin. Carlos had never felt so naked, so unprotected before. He didn’t feel vulnerable, per say. Not like somebody was watching him as he made his way back to the cabin.

When he walked in, Y/N greeted him immediately, jumping up from the kitchen table to run into his arms. “Did you get it?” She asked and Carlos nodded his head. He reached into the bag and pulled out three boxes of pregnancy tests. He placed them in her arms and watched as she ran into the bathroom.

In just a few minutes, he’d find out whether he was a father or not. Carlos busied himself with putting away the things he had gotten from the shops. He gave Oscar the pillow he had bought for him and waited in the kitchen for Y/N to emerge from the bathroom.

Carlos and Oscar hadn’t talked without Y/N there, not since the night of their wedding. “So,” Carlos started as he looked at the younger man.

“So,” Oscar replied, patting his thighs. The clothes he was wearing belonged to Carlos, but there wasn’t anything else for him to wear.

“When this is all over, would you go back to Norris or Webber?” Carlos asked as he got himself something to drink.

Oscar shrugged his shoulders. “Webber, I guess. He’s my boss, so, unless he sends me somewhere else, I’ll be with him,” he said, now scratching at his legs. He looked at Carlos, properly looking into his eyes. “I really am sorry about your father,” he said, and Carlos swallowed the lump in his throat. “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

Nodding his head, Carlos took a sip of his drink. Before he could reply with anything, Y/N ran into the room, at least three pregnancy tests in her hands. She held them up to Carlos, her expression not giving anything away.

Carlos took one of the pregnancy tests from her hands. Two little lines sat on the stick. With a shaking hand, he took another stick, this one also having two little lines. He grabbed a hold of the last one, also having two little lines.

He said nothing as he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up. “We’re having a baby!” Y/N cheered as she wrapped her legs around Carlos’s waist. “We’re actually having a baby.” She was quieter this time, resting her forehead against his.

Carlos kissed her. It was long and slow and passionate. He refused to pull away until his lungs were crying out for air. “We’re having a baby,” he echoed as he walked out of the kitchen, kicking the door shut behind him. “We’re actually having a baby.”

He was so fucking happy.

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keys-hellscape-1020 · 2 months

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Heyy I saw ur post asking for asks and I absolutely love ur writing + I’ve had such bad Tim brainrot so I was wondering if you could write smt abt Tim just like gradually moving into the readers home and sort of like coparenting the readers cat

Tysm if you chose to write this 🙏🏽🙏🏽

A/N: Yes I can absolutely write this for you nonny! I hope you don’t mind too much but i changed the cat to a dog because I am HORRIBLY allergic to cats and if I have to suffer my readers also must. In actuality tho I just have spent very little time around them over the years and have no clue how to realistically write owning a cat.

Tim Drake x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Reader is described as wearing makeup, canon typical injuries (Tim gets hurt on patrol), reader is described as taking care of Tim’s injuries, reader has a period, reader gets sick from her period, brief description of throwing up, reader has very painful cramps, reader takes typical cramp relieving medication (ibuprofen)

————

You thanked who ever was up there that Tim and your dog got along the first time you introduced them. You hadn’t planned on doing it today, but Tim had arrived early and you weren’t going to make him wait outside simply because your dog might be territorial.

You stand nervously by Tim’s side as he reaches his hand down for your German Shepherd, Ares, to sniff carefully. He takes a few moments after smelling Tim to eye him warily before letting out a dramatic huff and retreating to his spot on the sofa to stare Tim down.

You give Tim a chaste kiss on the cheek in relief before retreating to your bedroom to finish getting ready, “Make yourself at home Tim, I’ll be ready in just a few minutes!” You call over your shoulder as you close your door.

After you had finished your makeup and threw your wallet and a few other necessities into your bag in a rush you exit your room and just before you can call out to Tim to let him know that you’re now ready you see him seated on the opposite side of the couch from Ares.

Well, maybe saying they got along was a bit of a lie. They weren’t truly getting along so much as Ares wasn’t trying to fight Tim, and was even letting him sit near him. A miracle for your reactive dog.

“Tim?” You call out gently, not wanting to break the moment too harshly. At the sound of your voice Ares gets up and runs to your side like you were returning from war. You lean down to scratch in-between his ears as Tim approaches you much more calmly, a gentle smile on his face.

“You look amazing babe.” He mummers softly, leaning forward to kiss you gently, Ares whining in contempt at your attention being stolen.

“You ready to go?” You prompt gently, at Tim’s nod you take his hand and lead him toward the door, Ares right on your heels, whining like you were committing a most horrible crime.

As you exit your apartment and nudge Ares’ snout inside from where he was trying to follow you, you’re taken aback when suddenly Tim reaches forward and gently pats Ares on the top of the head, mumbling a soft “I’ll bring her back soon buddy.”

To your shock Ares doesn’t seem to mind the gesture, and as you finally get your front door closed and move to leave your apartment building your mind keeps drifting back to the sweet interaction with one thought repeatedly popping up in your mind, “Is it to early to be thinking about marriage?”

————

You love Tim, it’s something that you had realized early on in your relationship, but you swear he’s going to send you to an early grave with the amount of stress he puts you through. Almost every night for the last two weeks he’d shown up on your fire escape battered and bruised beyond recognition. The first time he’d done it you had to put Ares in his crate and throw a blanket over it, scared he was going to try and attack Tim with how he was growling and putting his haunches up.

By tonight however he’s grown used to the nightly intrusions, as he contents himself with watching you patch Tim up from his spot on the couch. You’re standing between Tim’s spread legs as he sits on the couch in front of you, running your hands up and down his bare arms carefully, checking for any other injuries he might’ve not told you about but mainly reassuring yourself that he’s here, and he’s okay. This is the worst shape he’s ever come to you in and you have to be sure that you haven’t missed anything.

Seemingly reading your mind he softly mutters, “I’m not going anywhere.” His hands find your hips as you stand between his spread legs. You vaguely realize that he’s gazing up at you like you’d hung the stars in the sky. “I promise.” He whispers, leaning forward to bury his face in your stomach.

You run your fingers through his hair, trying your best to detangle it from his night of crime fighting. “You know I’ll always be here for you.” You begin, “But you have got to take better care of yourself.” You can’t help but gaze at the canvas of his ribs, pale skin mottled with shades of blue and black. His arms are covered in cuts, a number of which you had to stitch up. You hated how steady your hands were getting with that damned needle.

He lets out an ambiguous groan and tightens his hold on your hips, when he speaks you can barely hear him from where his mouth is pressed against your shirt. “‘M sorry.” He mummers.

You let out a sigh and tip your head back to stare at your ceiling as you tangle your hands in his hair. “You don’t need to be sorry.” You sigh softly. “Just careful.”

After a moment you gently pull him to stand and begin guiding him to your bedroom with a hand on his back, which he lets you do wordlessly. You move to your bed and begin gently pushing him to sit.

He lets you push him, offering no resistance as he turns himself to lean against your pillows, poorly concealing a wince as his stitches pull and scrape against the bed. You watch him with a concerned furrow in your brow. “One second.” You mummer, side-stepping Ares, who had silently followed you into your bedroom.

You move to your dresser and pull out a change of clothes for him. He had started to keep clothes at your apartment after several instances of him spending the night as Red Robin and not having any civvies on hand for the next morning.

Tim lets out a grunt of displeasure when he sees you have one of his t-shorts and a pair of shorts in hand. “What? You don’t like me in just my boxers?” He says with a smirk of his face that has no right being that attractive when you can’t do anything about it.

You let out a groan and throw them on top of your dresser reluctantly as you go to sit next to his reclined body. “I just don’t want you to get cold.” You mummer, leaning forward to gently kiss his cheek.

“I’m not that fragile.” He says with a soft laugh, leaning into your touch eagerly.

You lay down next to him and drape your arm across his chest, being careful to avoid his injuries as he gingerly wraps one of his arms around your shoulders. “You’re not doing any work tomorrow night or the next.” You say bluntly as you gaze at his injuries, a firm look on his face.

Tim sighs and gets a vaguely guilty look on his face. “Babe I would if I could but Bruce-“

You sit up just enough to give him a firm glare, one that he knows better than to argue with. “If Bruce gives you shit for not going out and risking your life while seriously injured I’m kicking his fucking ass.” You practically growl, leaning forward slightly to get your point across.

Tim rolls his eyes and lets out a grating sigh as you lay back down against him. “I’d pay money to see you fight Bruce.” He mumbles tiredly.

“If he tries to make you go out tomorrow you’re getting your wish.” You say. The moment is cut-off however when Ares jumps up on your bed and curls over your feet, and much to your shock, Tim’s as well. When you turn to give him a surprised smile he is already dead asleep.

————

You can’t believe yourself, honestly you can’t. How the hell did you manage to get sick right before Tim was supposed to get back from his mission? You let out a soft whine as you finish puking your guts up and double check that the toilet flushes properly. You lean back slightly and attempt to orient yourself. You get your period every week and yet still you haven’t managed to master the art of not letting it beat your ass.

You look over at Ares’ soft whine, he’s seated himself at the bathroom door and is watching you carefully to make sure you’re okay. He only abandons his post at the sound of the window opening, loud barks and whines making his excitement clear to anyone who knows him. You curse yourself quietly as you force yourself to stand and grab your toothbrush from its spot next to Tim’s, quickly plopping a generous amount of toothpaste on it and shoving it in your mouth. You hope Ares distracts Tim long enough for you to attempt to hide the evidence of your monthly illness.

You quicken your movement at the sound of Tim calling your name. Spitting out your toothpaste and quickly rinsing out your mouth at the sound of him approaching. As he peers around the doorframe to gaze at you lift your arms and smother him in a hug which he eagerly returns. “I missed your pretty boy.” You say blearily as you run your hands over his shoulders and down his back, checking him over for injuries.

He lets out a soft, tired laugh against your neck at the nickname, his muscles slowly but surely relaxing at the feeling of you finally with him again. You squeeze him around his middle gently, being mindful of any potential injuries as Ares lets out a whine at being ignored and swats Tim’s armor covered leg with his paw. Tim huffs out a laugh and pulls back from you, crouching down to Ares’ height and letting him lick his face where his domino mask was a moment prior.

You watch the scene affectionately when suddenly you feel a drop in your stomach, you rub your hand over your uterus to try and ignore the feeling but a moment later you’re gripping the sink in pain and letting out a low groan. Tim stands up quickly, his hands finding your shoulders and straightening you up just enough for him to look you over.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” He asks you quickly. You move the hand you were gripping the sink with to wave him off dismissively only to be shown that was a stupid idea when your cramps double in intensity and you nearly fall to the ground in pain, only held up by Tim desperately grabbing you by the armpits and lifting you into a bridal hold.

He moves you so quickly you barely have time to register what’s happening before he is lowering you down on your bed, running a hand over your forehead soothingly to clear any hairs that were sticking due to sweat. “Have you taken any medicine for it yet?” He asks in a soothing mummer.

When you give him a confused glance through the pain he offers you an explanation despite the slight pink now tinting his cheeks. “You were due for your period, and you were brushing your teeth when I arrived which indicates you threw up which is typical for you on the first day of your period. Plus you sent Ares to come greet me instead of doing so yourself.” At the sound of his name Ares invites himself onto your bed, lying over your legs and resting his head over your uterus defensively. You and Tim both instinctively move to scratch in-between his ears.

“So uh-“ Tim clears his throat. “Should I go get you some ibuprofen?” He asks meekly.

You grab his hand a place a reassuring kiss to the back of it. “Would you please baby?” You soothe.

Tim gives you a firm nod and moves to do so, Ares lets out a soft whine when Tim leaves the room but doesn’t move from his spot on you. Tim returns a moment later, a bottle of ibuprofen in one hand and a glass of water in his other. He sets both on your nightstand before carefully counting out your desired amount of ibuprofen, handing it to you, and carefully tipping a mouthful of water into your mouth once you go to swallow them.

“Thank you.” You say as you attempt to relax against your bed. “You’re the best.”

“I know.” Tim quips, smirking at you as you roll your eyes playfully, he leans forward to press a kiss to the center of your forehead. He lingers a moment before pulling back to look at you, at the lack of eye-contact he hesitates a moment before asking, “What’s wrong baby? Are you in pain?”

You shift uncomfortably for a moment, causing Ares to grumble, before muttering out, “I’m sorry you have to take care of me.”

Tim balks at your words and grabs both of your hands securely, shuffling closer from where he was sitting by your reclined form to press your forms together gingerly. “Don’t say that baby,” he soothes “I’ll always take care of you.”

You shake your head softly, trying to suppress the tears you feel coming to your eyes. “Wanted to take care of you.” You mutter, avoiding his concerned look, “I was so excited for you to get back.”

Tim holds your face and gently wipes away your tears with his thumbs. “You always take care of me baby, it’s the least I can do to take care of you once in a while.” He all but whispers, pressing your foreheads together.

Suddenly Ares is also attempting to press his face against yours, nosing his way in front of Tim’s and licking your face eagerly, causing you to giggle and Tim to let out an offended sound at his spot being stolen.

“See?” Tim says after a moment of Ares’ enthused licking. “Even Ares wants to take care of you.”

You shake your head with a soft sigh as Ares finally calms down, moving to protect your feet and let Tim take over soothing you once more. “My boys.” You mutter gently, giving Tim an affectionate look.

“All yours.” Tim confirms, moving forward to press a soft kiss against your lips. “Always.”

#key writing #Sorry nonny I don’t really know if did your request justice #I was just having fun past a certain point mb 😭#tim x reader #tim drake x reader #tim drake #tim drake wayne #tim drake x you #red robin x reader #red robin x you #red robin #I honestly don’t really like this but whatever

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enaelyork · 5 months

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Can we get a Cooper Howard x female reader fic where reader is in an abusive marriage and he helps her leave (by any means necessary)? Need him to get violent and defensive over me -swoon- and of course they end up together?

Thank you in advance!!

Hi my dear !

That's a good idea, i try to make something =) Let's go.

Pre-war/ Divorced Cooper/ Cooper x f!reader.

Warning : Abusive mariage/ violences/ injuries.

Ask for Cooper Howard is OPEN

- I'm divorced.

What luck.

She looked around, as if arguing with him was a crime punishable by death. There was nothing wrong with that, though: Cooper had been her friend throughout her adolescence and they had lost touch until this filming. What a strange coincidence that fate decided to put him on her path again.

Him, so charming and luminous while she had decided to join the darkness.

- I don't know if you can call that luck.

She jumps. Damn, had she said those words out loud? Red comes to her face as she completely drinks her glass of champagne, pouring out apologies.

- It's not. No. I didn't mean such a thing. Really, I'm sorry. And don't think I'm unhappy with my husband, it's just that.

- You are here.

His voice made his blood run cold. A bit like every time she emerged behind his back. He was a shadow always lurking behind her, even when she couldn't see him. A shadow that terrified her. Had he seen it? Had he seen the mask of terror settle on her face? Had he noticed everything she tried to hide behind her long-sleeved dress in the middle of summer? He understood, by discovering this man, what was going on in his life.

- Oh, you're good, Travis. She said, trying to hide the hint of panic that distorted her voice. I guess you remember Cooper. We went to high school together and I now work with him on set.

His silence was worse than a sentence. He looked at Cooper with an undisguised desire to drag you away from him. But as usual, Travis, your perfect little husband, knew how to play his role perfectly in public.

- Y/N told me so much about you. I've seen your films, you know? I find you brilliant.

He had grabbed her hand and she had guessed the grimace that her husband was trying to hide. Cooper, for his part, had a glint in his eyes that she didn't know existed, a glint resembling anger. - Likewise, Travis. She is full of praise for you. It was totally false.

He had just discovered her husband's identity and the only thing he could have seen during the early stages of filming was how important it was for her to finish on time. How important it was that we didn't see her smiling in any public photos, or even her own shadow. How important it was that she was invisible.

- I think Y/N and I are going home, right, darling? She nodded automatically: it was the only thing she was allowed to do when he gave her an order and her hand gripped his arm so tightly that a grimace of pain tied her mouth.

- We hadn't finished our discussion.

No one around them suspected what was going on, there, in the middle of the large gala hall in which the producer had decided to give a reception. It was going to turn into a fiasco, soon, if they continued to stare at each other like two animals ready to devour each other.

- It's finished. Darling. We're going back.

She wanted to protest. Telling him that she wanted to stay with Cooper and continue to be herself. Simply live. But she didn't have the strength, at no time had she had the courage to say no, to take her things and leave. Which made her, in his eyes, more worthless than she had ever been. Her eyes met Cooper's, and she hoped she wasn't too pathetic when her husband's impulse pulled her away from him. But his gaze, the one that looked at her at that precise moment, will probably haunt her for the rest of her life.

What a terrible irony.

--------------------------------

They never spoke about it again.

Cooper had tried, between two scenes, at every pause, to discuss the incident with her, but Y/N kept dodging the question. She knew that if she were to confess the horror to him, she would never be strong again. And then it was Cooper. How would he view her if he learned how ruined her life was? How would he look at her, compassion or, worse, pity?

No, that was out of the question. You were hitting on him, you little whore. The violence of his words and gestures still resonated within her several weeks before.

The suffering was so firmly anchored in her that she had done everything possible to avoid being found wanting: walking along the walls of the film set like a ghost, she did not linger after the day and returned directly to the House. But that wasn't enough anymore.

Travis became more demanding of her every day, more possessive too, going so far as to control his own appearance.

- I wish you would resign. He dropped this bombshell over breakfast, a few months after filming began.

- Sorry ?

Without looking up from his newspaper, his feet resting on the table and ignoring the pancakes she had just prepared for him, he continued his cruel sentence.

- You heard what I just said. I was nice to you by letting you work for my friend Jim, but you screwed it up again. You are not capable of doing what I ask you. You're not capable of anything, in fact.

- You can't ask me that, Travis, please. I like my job. I'm sorry, just tell me what to do.

Without her expecting it, the newspaper flew towards her, slapping her face violently. A cry of surprise, immediately muffled by the violence with which he grabbed her arm.

- You see, that’s the problem with you. You are so stupid that you don't even understand when you exceed the limits. If you had listened to my demands from the start you wouldn't be here. So tonight, you better quit that job. Did you understand ?

She had nodded, hoping that this way he would finally let go, that her blood would be able to circulate in her arm again. But he threw it back with such violence that her body hit the kitchen shelf, knocking down a few cups which shattered on the floor.

- And put it away! Always making a mess.

It wasn't long after he left that tears flooded her eyes.

---------------------------------------------------------

Nothing had gone as planned that day.

After tidying up the kitchen, cleaning the sores that dotted her skin, Y/N had arrived on set late. A delay that had not escaped Cooper and his suspicious gaze. He shouldn't have known anything. However, while she was trying to flee, he followed her in the corridor leading to her dressing room, trying to call her in vain.

Don't turn around. Don't turn around.

But when he blocked the door to her den, preventing her from taking refuge there, Cooper not only discovered her distress. He saw her eyes red with tears, her hands bruised and, worst of all, fear flooding her irises.

- It's him ?

Y/n's lips began to tremble like never before, not even her legs were still able to keep her upright. So, without her having time to understand what was happening to her, her body abandoned her. Her mind tried to live in denial but nothing else in her could reject the evidence.

It was destroyed. Yet her legs never touched the ground, her body did not shrivel against the wall. Because the warmth of Cooper's arms enveloped her in a feeling she hadn't known in a long time.

Sweetness.

So she forgot everything. The fear, anguish and guilt she felt at being in such a situation. She forgot the pain that ached her arm and shoulders and, instinctively, she hugged him, hoping that this way he would keep her alive.

- You have to leave, Y/N.

Filming had been suspended today and Jim had believed Cooper's lies about feeling unwell. However, she did not return home, remaining locked in this lodge as in a bastion.

Leave ? The idea had already crossed his mind. It would have been so simple if she didn't depend on Travis for a whole bunch of things. Being an actress was not an easy job and the income was irregular at such a stage of her career. So she rejected the idea, shaking her head vehemently.

-I can not do that.

- Of course yes. You can. Just gather your things and go.

- How ? Eh ? Do you think he won't stop me? Really, it's impossible.

Cooper had no intention of stopping there. She knew it. But what could he understand about her life? He who had a happy marriage and whose divorce had gone smoothly? She knew that he was on good terms with his ex-wife for the well-being of his daughter, that this divorce had gone smoothly because they had realized that they no longer aspired to same thing. Barb had been an exemplary wife, their marriage had been based on mutual trust and they had separated on good terms.

So what could he understand about her life? Why did he seem so heavily affected by his situation?

-I will help you.

She raised her head. Had she really heard what he had just suggested to her? A nervous laugh escaped her lips before she stared at his determined expression. Was he serious?

-You go pack your bags and I'll come pick you up.

- To go where ? I have nowhere to go, Coop! My friends don't talk to me anymore and you saw the way he reacted when we...

Her words died in her mouth, realizing that she had called him by his nickname for the first time and that she hadn't completely rejected the idea.

- I can talk to Barb about it. She has friends in the region who will certainly be delighted to host you. He paused, visibly hesitant to finish his sentence.

-There is room at my house.

- At your house ?

There was nothing in her stomach but butterflies trying to escape. Had he really just asked her to live with him? It took her breath away, so much so that she had to blink several times to make sure she was awake.

- You would have your privacy, obviously. But it’s a base not too far from work until you can find a place of your own.

She had grabbed his hands without realizing it, as if to hold on to a rampart before falling into the void. Cooper had just offered to live with him, and the idea brought a little warmth to her completely bruised heart.

- He's not going to like this idea at all.

- But it's the only option for you to get out of this, Y/N. I don't know how you feel about this man, but for your own well-being you need to leave.

She didn't know it. What she did know, however, was the effect Cooper had on her life. It wasn't just savior syndrome. Since seeing him again on that set, something inside her had cracked, a shell that she had tried to erect to prevent herself from loving anyone, including herself.

- It's OK. She finally gave in.

The smile Cooper gave her then would stay in her mind for a long time.

- Should I contact Barb?

- No. It's with you that I want to live.

Realizing too late the fervor of her words, she put her hands over her mouth to prevent her from saying something even worse.

- If you agree, of course...I...I don't want to impose myself. Oh, god, I'm so sorry.

- You no longer have to apologize for being yourself, Y/N. It's all over now.

His hands were still in hers and Y/N wondered why he didn’t take them out as soon as he had the chance. Sitting face to face, they looked at each other in a strange silence, charged with a gentle and soothing tension. A deep relief came over her at that precise moment.

She was going to leave. Leave with Cooper. And she could no longer hold back her tears.

------------------------------------

- Did you do what I asked you?

- Of course.

No.

She hadn't done any of that. She had neither resigned nor decided to cut ties with anyone. Instead, she came home in the afternoon to pack a suitcase and wait. Wait for the right moment. Travis had a charity event that night. A gala to which he had not invited her. Pretending that she had no place there. So much the better.

This was the perfect opportunity to put the plan into action. This evening, Travis showed no attention towards her. Yet that was what he did when he had obtained satisfaction: a tender gesture, a chaste kiss on her cheek.

He just brushed his fingertips against her shoulder, a movement that sent a jolt of terror through her.

-Don't wait for me to eat, I'll be back very late.

And silence returned almost immediately, freeing his heart from the vice that was compressing it. It didn't take long for her to contact Cooper, take down the suitcase she had hidden in the attic and come back down to the forecourt.

When she finally saw the car appear, a wind of relief chased away the fear that still held her back.

Then she froze.

Terrorized.

It wasn't Cooper's car.

He had come back. He had forgotten something and came back to get it.

- What are you doing here ? His voice was laced with a rage she had never seen before. A destructive, petrifying rage.

- I…Travis…

- What are you doing here with this damn suitcase?

The kick sent the latter flying to the other side of the sidewalk. Usually, Travis didn't show any aggression towards her in public, but this time, discovering her outside with a suitcase in her hand had got the better of his legendary self-control.

-Did you want to leave? Did you want to do this dirty trick to me, little whore?

She was screaming. She hoped that someone would come out of these nice little tidy houses to get her out of there. But nothing. Not a single neighbor wanted to get involved in this carnage and she was going to pay dearly for it.

He pushed her violently, causing her to fall onto the lawn in their garden. The pain pierced her back so violently that it took her breath away, but when his hand grabbed her hair, she screamed so loudly that her voice hoarse.

- Shut your mouth ! Shut your fucking mouth! Piece of…

Travis didn't have time to finish his sentence. Something had stopped him.

A violent shock that had just hit his jaw, forcing him to release his grip on her hair.

-Cooper!

- Get in the car. Hurry up.

She wanted to cry, to stand there and watch Travis wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth. But the fear that still animated her gave her the impetus to flee without looking at what was happening before her eyes.

Cooper had arrived and he had just hit Travis with such force that he could barely keep his balance.

- I'm going to find you, bitch! he exclaimed towards her. But Cooper's hand grabbed him so tightly by the collar that he couldn't take another step.

- You're not going to do anything at all, because if you try to approach her again, I can't guarantee you that I'll settle for a punch.

He violently pushed Travis away, letting him fall to the ground before turning around. At that moment, Y/N became aware of her husband's weakness. He had been merciless with her because she was fragile, that was the only reason he had fun with her.

And it was over.

#fallout tv #fallout show #fallout prime #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #prewar #ask

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ssailormoonn · 7 days

Text

❛ NEW START ❜

PostWar!Uchiha Sasuke X Fem!Reader

WC; 1.6k+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW;

⋆·˚ ༘ *𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 :: (filled request) hi again!! im the one who requested for the domestic sasuke fic! so for the domestic fic i was thinking either marriage domestic fic or a post-war fic like hospital visits or catching up?? 💗 - ANON

m.list | naruto/boruto m.list | uchiha m.list

You and Sasuke were kids, perhaps six or seven, fooling around the training grounds that bordered the Uchiha compound. Both of you were panting and panting it out after playing tag for a couple of hours or so, on occasion with Itachi showing up to give you both something to drink. Every match you did, Sasuke won them all. Always faster, always a step in front of you, but you never minded that. It was fun being around him, catching the rare smiles and hearing the carefree laughs. You plopped yourself down in the grass, small chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Sasuke sat beside you, his face flushed from running, but his expression calm as always. The two of you stared up at the sky, watching as the first stars started to appear. "I'm going to be the strongest shinobi," Sasuke told you with confident delicacy, as if he had decided upon it long ago. You nodded, smiling softly. "I'll be strong too… and I'll always be with you." Sasuke looked at you, his dark eyes gleaming with a rare softness. "Always?" he repeated. You nodded again this time more determinate. "Always." Then out of nowhere, you blurted, "When we grow up, we are going to get married." Sasuke blinked, clearly taken aback. "Married?" he repeated as if to wrap his head around such a concept, not truly knowing of the meaning, but he liked the notion, being with you all of the time! "Yeah," you replied though you have absolutely no idea what marriage entails. You just knew that you wanted to remain by his side, whatever it took. "That way, we'll always be together, whatever happens." Sasuke was quiet a moment longer, before giving you the barest of smiles, one that was over so fast if you had blinked, you would have missed it. "Alright," he said low enough so that his voice was barely audible above a whisper. "We're getting married." By that time, you didn't realise it, but that harmless promise promised became something you would cling to for so many years later. The only thing that brought you to believe that Sasuke will come back to the village was that he kept his promise, to be with you for all time, to marry you.

Years went by, and that innocent childhood promise was dulled when Sasuke never came back, but then, the war happened. The war had torn so much apart, but Sasuke did come back. It had leapt in your chest when you first heard Sasuke had been brought back, injured but alive. Running to the hospital, the hope of seeing him overwhelmed your sense of caution. But getting there, he'd been asleep, unconscious from the toll the battle had taken from his body. You look at his left arm, which was now gone. What an idiot. His face was pale, his dark hair fanned out on the pillow, his arm bandaged heavily. A sight of him like that vulnerable, worn down made your heart ache. You stood at the edge of his bed, unsure what to say, your hand reaching out and stopping just shy of touching him. "I'm here, Sasuke," you whispered, even though you knew he couldn't hear you. "I never stopped waiting for you." There wasn't an answer, just the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. You watched him for what felt like hours, hoping maybe, just maybe, he would wake up and you could tell him everything

He didn't.

The next time you see him, the situation is quite interesting, you had asked Kakashi were Sasuke was as he wasn't in the hospital and you were told he was... elsewhere. Sasuke has been taken into custody by the Interrogation and Torture Division due to his crimes.

They were dealing with his fate, and though they had villagers both within his support, against him, and everywhere in between, you know it wasn't going to go easy on him. You wished to see him, and with some reluctance, they allowed you to have a small visitation with him. Down the corridors of highly guarded cells, they took you, stopping at the one that housed Sasuke.

There was that loud creaking of the opening door, and there he sat, hands bound in chakra-suppressing restraints, his head turned away from the door, he could feel it was you, it was obvious even if his eyes and arm were bound. "Sasuke." Your voice was weak, almost quivering, as you took a step closer toward him. At first, he said nothing, hi head was angled to the ground, not waiting to face you. Then softly, almost to himself inaudibly, he added, "I'm so sorry." It took you a moment to process the words coming from his lips, as Sasuke rarely, if ever, apologized, let alone something huge as what he had pulled. You swallowed, kneeling down in front of him as your hand reached out to touch his despite the restraints. "Sasuke..." you started, your voice on the verge of breaking. "I am," he cut in, his voice now grating but still with that edge of emotion. "I need to apologize. For everything. For leaving, for hurting you, for what I've done… You could read in his posture, the weight of what he was doing and what he had done, he had hurt you so much, that he tried to kill you three times. It wasn't about the war, nor the village, literally everything, every decision he made that further distanced him from the promise you made as children. "I don't care about anything else," you said, steadiness, with the well of tears brimming in your eyes. "I care about you. You came back, Sasuke. That's all that matters." "I don't deserve it," he muttered incoherently. "That's not for you to decide," you said, your hand clenching hard around his. "We were supposed to be together, remember? No matter what. You can't just decide you don't deserve that." Then Sasuke exhaled the softest of sighs, his head bowing slightly. "I'm sorry," he said again, yet it sounded different this time, less for his guilt, more for what he had lost, for what he yet could keep.

You reached up and carefully lifted his chin so he'd look up at you, though his eyes were covered, at least his face was angled towards your own now. "I'm not going anywhere," you whispered, your thumb brushing against his cheek. "We'll figure this out. Together."

Sasukes head fell to your shoulder. "Thank you," he whispered so quietly you would have missed it if there was sound in the room.

when you two are married >.<

The sun peeks through the thin curtains of your shared bedroom. You stir slightly, your body wrapped up in the cocoon of blankets and tangled up in Sasuke. You turn your head slightly, your eyes barely open, to see him beside you. His face is relaxed in sleep, the furrow in his brow smoothed out. Sasuke peaceful, unruffled-in the home you've built together. You'd never imagined living like this, not back then, not when things were still so tenuous. His breathing evens out into a rhythm and you spend several more minutes doing nothing except staring at him. He is forever unreachable, even when he is right beside you, yet here with just the two of you, it's not quite so much the case. With you, Sasuke can be himself. You reach out, your fingertips brushing against his cheek gently, and he stirs. His eyes flicker open, revealing those eyes you've grown so accustomed to-only now, of course, with that new rinnegan you're still getting used to. For a moment, he looks disoriented-like he doesn't remember where he is-but then his gaze reaches yours and mellows out. A giggle almost slipped past your lips at the sigh as he was so cute. "Morning," you whisper, barely heard. He grunts in return-the sort of sound that makes one smile. So like him. After all this time, together, he still manages to remain the same in small ways. Sasuke isn't a morning person, at least, not when words are involved. You prop yourself up on your elbow, the blankets pooling around your waist as you lean down to press a soft kiss to his lips. Are you hungry?" you ask, your fingers brushing through his dark hair, still slightly tousled from sleep. He grunts again, but you can see the ghost of a smile tugging on one corner of his lips. "I'll make something," you say softly, though a part of you wants to stay in bed with him a little while longer. Before you can pull away, Sasuke's fingers wrap around your wrist in a light but firm grasp. "Stay," he mutters, his tone husky with residual sleep. You can't help but smile at the uncharacteristic plea as you settle back into the bed beside him, tucking your body close to his as he pulls you near. His arm wraps around your waist as his forehead presses against yours and the two of you are still, tangled up in one another. The silence between you is comfortable; neither of you has to say anything. Sasuke's hand moves in a languid pattern up and down your back. "I was thinking." you start off softly, breaking the silence, "perhaps we could go visit Naruto and Hinata later. It's been some time since we've seen them." Sasuke is silent for several moments, his body showing only the barest hint of tension at mention of his old comrade. Things have eased some since the war was over, but there is still a distance between them-something faint and lingering and awkward, which neither of them can quite chase away. "Maybe," he says at last, his voice low and small, not unkind. You smile, knowing that's as close to a yes as you're going to get. Progress, you tell yourself silently as you feel a surge of gratitude that Sasuke's at least willing to make the effort. It's more than you could've hoped for a few years ago. His hand resting on your back stops moving, and he shifts slightly, his lips coming into contact with your forehead. "I'll go," he says softly, which takes you a bit by surprise. You lean back just a bit to look up at him, the ghost of a teasing smile tugging at your lips. "Is this Sasuke Uchiha actually agreeing to willingly spend time with Naruto? He rolls his eyes at the teasing, but the barest hint of a smile tugs at his lips. "Don't push it," he mutters, the words devoid of any real bite. You chuckle softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Sasuke doesn't respond to your laugh, but the way his hand tightens around your waist says enough.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | naruto/boruto m.list | uchiha m.list

taglist :: @enouche @lovelyandproblematic

@sugu-love @why-are-you-still-awake

#sasuke x reader #sasuke x you #naruto x reader #naruto x you #sasuke uchiha x reader #sasuke fluff #naruto fluff

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flowersandbigteeth · 2 years

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Meeting your alien husband

General Plot: You've been sold to aliens so you are taking the bus to meet your new husband, only you are attacked and a kind alien steps in to help.

A/N: this is a longish multi part one that I'm editing and posting as I edit it. I've been wanting to do some yandere vs. yandere so that's kinda what this is, lol

Kherae alien x female reader with glasses

💕 SFW MASTERPOST 💕

Word Count: 4K

W: kidnapping, forced marriage, sfw alien fluff, yandere vs. yandere

Prince Levell grasped Elaine’s thin wrist, drawing her towards him.

“You are the jewel of this court, my love, I’ll never let you go,” his tenor whispered in her ear.

Your heart fluttered. You were almost finished with The Prince and the Dawn and it was even better than the prequel, The Thief and the Dusk.

The villain, the first prince from the previous novel, having lost the object of his desire to the dashing hero, finally gets his happy ending with a blind hermit who softens his cold heart. Your eyes prickled with tears.

Their love story…the way she changed the prince from a cold tyrant to a sensitive, benevolent ruler and brings happiness to the kingdom was incredibly romantic. You sighed, sniffling a little. If only such romances were real. Instead, you were trapped in a tragedy.

The bus you were riding came to a stop and you hopped up to get off. You took a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other. You were on your way to greet your fate.

You had been sold to the Kherae, the aliens that had descended on Earth and saved humans from the horrible Golt. There had been a long and brutal war, but finally it seemed as if The Golt had retreated and the galaxy was safe-er. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. When the Kherae discovered human females could breed with them, they promised humanity they only wanted voluntary relationships...mates, they said. They would not take.

Maybe that was true for 98% of the handsome aliens, but there was a rotten apple in every bunch and you were about to meet one of them. Your father owed some nasty people a lot of money and they’d facilitated your sale to the corrupt Kherae archduke to clear the debt.

You could have run away, disappeared and started a new life somewhere else. You didn’t owe your father anything, but you had a soft heart and you loved him. He’d built his business as a single dad with his blood, sweat, and tears. When organized crime moved into the neighborhood he wasn’t immune to their influence. Your father wasn’t a bad man and you wouldn’t let him lose everything he built or his life over mistakes he couldn’t have avoided. That’s why despite his protests, you were turning yourself in to your future husband.

You steadied your breath as with each step your future came closer.

A shriek escaped your lips as large hands latched onto your arms. You looked around to find you were surrounded by three or four human men.

“This the one?” one of them said.

“Yeah, (Y/C) hair, glasses, this is her,” another said.

You struggled and tried to break free but they were thugs and there were more of them than you. You tried to scream for help, but a large hand clamped over your mouth and your glasses flew off of your face.You heard the glass crunch under someone’s foot. Your world had gone blurry. You were basically blind without them.

Disoriented and terrified you kicked and scratched, but it was no use, the group was dragging you towards an alleyway.

Suddenly there was a THUNK and the hands holding you released. Around you blurry figures moved and you could hear bone breaking, but you couldn’t process what was happening and just stood there clutching the hem of your skirt. Before long it was quiet and a large purple blur approached you.

You held out your hands, trying to orient yourself and met firm forearms.

“Are you okay, miss?” a deep voice asked in Kherae. The translator you all had installed since the Kherae came to integrate worked out his words for you. His large fingers twined with yours to steady you.

“I’m fine. I just can’t see without my glasses,” you said, clinging to his strong fingers, “do you see them anywhere?”

You heard the tinkle of glass.

“I don’t think you will be able to use these,” he said and you knew your precious lifeline was destroyed.

“Where are you going? I can help you get there,” he offered.

You gave him a wan smile.

“That’s really kind, but I couldn’t trouble you,” you said.

He chuckled.

“You aren’t going to make it very far on your own, let me help. Where are you going?”

“The Zovith building,” you explained. You were headed to the building owned by your future husband, a brand new glass and steel monstrosity in the middle of downtown.

He halted.

“Why are you going there?” he asked.

The words tumbled out of your mouth before you thought better of it.

“I’m going to meet my future husband,” you explained.

“You look frightened,” he commented.

“I committed to this and I want to make a good impression but I can’t go back home to get new glasses. I’m already late and if I don’t show up there are consequences.”

He paused for a moment.

“Then let’s get you there quickly,” he said and swept you up in his arms.

You shouted in surprise, but he took off at a jog down the street. When you arrived he gently set you in a chair in the waiting room.

“I’ll let someone know you’ve arrived. Just wait here,” he said.

Your heart pounded in your chest. Almost being kidnapped had started the beat and now you panted as you waited for your fate. It was even worse because you couldn’t see anything. You wouldn’t even know what your husband looked like.

–

“I don’t want to marry a filthy human,” Idreod’s brother sneered for the thirtieth time.

Idreod ordered him to marry so that their family name would continue on. He had no interest in a wife, but if Dessin wanted to keep his monthly stipend he’d demanded that he would seed his family an heir. A wife seemed like a lot of trouble to him that could easily be delegated to a lesser, Dessin. He wouldn’t have their name be associated with a slew of bastard children, either. He would have a proper wife and represent the Zovith family well.

Unfortunately for him, Dessin had a thing for Elians and had no interest in children. He planned on falling in love with a pleasure worker and pulling her out of destitution to earn her love. Elians weren’t biologically compatible with Kherae, so they would never bear children, but he didn’t care. It was a foolish plan, but at least he had romantic dreams.

Up until that day Idreod’s plan for him was to buy him a wife, force them to marry, and take their child as his heir to hand down the Zovith duchy. He wasn’t a kind or benevolent Kherae. He made demands and his lessers followed them.

Dessin did nothing but throw money away at pleasure houses, he could take on the small responsibility of fucking a human to pay for his good fortune to be born his brother. He’d never have to worry over the child. Idreod would continue to pay his stipend and raise it in his image. He and his wife could spend his money and take as many lovers as they liked as long as they were discreet. That was the cost of doing business.

When the Kherae females had been extinguished all hope had been lost for a future for his family, but now that he’d learned that humans were universal breeders, the legacy he’d built could live on. The Zovith would become a dynasty. That was his vision. Human females could have two handfuls of children. He would herald in a prosperous generation.

“Fine,” Idreod said, “you don’t have to marry her.”

“What?” Dessin asked, looking at him, “what game are you playing at? I’m not donating my sperm if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

He walked across his office to a drink tray one of the maids had provided and took a sip of some nutty alcohol. He poured some for his brother and handed him a glass, winking at him.

“No game. I’m releasing you from your duty,” he said, smiling.

He was in a good mood. That day had been productive. He’d almost made an egregious mistake marrying the beautiful woman he’d met on the street off to his idiot brother. He could already see his kits running around with his black horns and your (Y/EC) eyes.

Dessin took a step towards him.

“So you’re cutting me off then,” he said in a low voice.

Idreod chuckled to himself. Of course he would be worried about that. Dessin couldn’t do anything for himself. If he were on his own, he’d already be living on the street. He relied on Idreod for everything. Fortunately, as the only other surviving member of the Zovith family, his brother indulged him. Someone should enjoy the wealth he accumulated and he had enough to last lifetimes.

“Don’t panic. I’m not cutting you off. I’ve just had a change of heart. I’ve decided to take a wife after all,” he explained.

He snorted.

“You? Goddess, poor woman,” he chortled.

“Well you can express your sympathy yourself when you meet her,” he hit a button on the tablet on his desk, “Airies, bring up Miss (Y/LN).”

Dessin grinned.

“This I’ve got to see,” he laughed, taking a seat in one of the plush chairs in his brother’s office, “what hideous shrew were you trying to stick me with?”

A few minutes later Idreod’s secretary, Airies led the woman who would be his wife, you, in by the hand.

You still couldn’t see and you were a bit unsteady on your feet, like a doe taking its first steps. You’d dressed for the occasion, wearing a chaste navy dress. You wore sensible, low navy heels. Idreod appreciated that you were demure. You’d make a perfect wife to an archduke. In front of you, you could only make out the brown of the office walls and a tall purple blob in front of you.

“Um, hello,” you said, waving vaguely in the blob’s direction, “I was told to come here to meet my husband.”

There was a thunk as a glass hit the table. A blob, who happened to be Dessin, rose from his chair and you looked at him startled, narrowing your eyes as you tried to focus.

“You have to forgive me,” you said, “my glasses were broken in an attack on the way here. I can’t really see anything. I’m legally blind without them.”

“That’s all right, beautiful,” Dessin said, taking your hand. Idreod glared at him, unsure what game he was playing. Was he trying to goad him?

He led you to the chair he’d just risen from.

“Take a seat, I wouldn’t want my precious fiance to hurt herself stumbling around,” he went on, “you had a difficult time, please rest.”

“You’re my husband?” you asked quietly, shaking a little.

“No, he is not.” Idreod snapped, crossing the room and yanking Dessin away from you.

“My brother is playing a little joke on you,” he said, “I am your fiance.”

“Now wait a minute,” Dessin said, putting his hand on your shoulder, “I think I pushed my future wife away too easily. Now that I see her-”

“No.” he bit out, “she is mine.”

“But you promised her to me! Now I’m agreeing to it and you’re changing your mind. I’ll do it, okay? It’s fine!”

“Absolutely not, if you are going to keep playing this game, get out,” he boomed.

“I want her!” Dessin shouted like a petulant child.

“That’s a shame, because. She. Is. Mine.” Idreod replied, slowly so he would understand. Dessin didn’t dare defy his brother. His whole life hung on his whims.

You trembled openly in front of them and you couldn’t see it but Dessin glared, before storming out and slamming the door behind him.

Your husband didn’t seem quite as nice as the male he had driven off. Of course, you would have that sort of luck. If only he could be more like that Kherae on the street who saved me. I didn’t even get a chance to thank him.

“We’ll get you new glasses tomorrow,” he said curtly.

“I didn’t bring anything with me, I wasn’t sure if I would be allowed to go home for my things,” you said, “they just told me to show up here.”

“We will buy you new things,” he assured you.

So no, then.

He walked across the room, back to his desk and pressed a button on the tablet pad.

“Airies, bring tea for Miss (Y/LN),” he said in a clipped tone.

A minute later the shorter Kherae came in with a tray of tea, which he set down in front of you. You fumbled around the tray with your hands for the cup.

You heard a chair scrape the floor and the blob was in front of you.

“Here,” he said, his large fingers gingerly guiding you to the cup. They were a bit familiar, but you were too nervous to worry about it.

You drew the tea to your lips and took a shaky sip. The warm water and jasmine scent was a blessing. You felt like you were walking a tightrope. You could feel the heat of his body near you and just barely caught the scent of familiar cologne. Maybe you had smelled it in a shop before. What will he do with me? The teacup hit the saucer with a rattle. He rose and retreated across the room, back to his desk.

“Our wedding will be in a month,” he said, getting right to the point.

No, “let’s get to know each other.” Just, “We’re getting married.”

“It will be a large event because of my status as archduke, so I will need to prepare you. It’s likely the king will attend and you cannot offend him,” he stated crisply.

He’s quite arrogant.

“Sure,” you said, looking at your shoes, “I’ll do my best.”

“You will be perfect because I will prepare you,” he said.

Great.

You tried not to groan in front of him. He didn’t seem like a male who tolerated attitude.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, still looking at your feet.

“You can ask me anything,” he said, which surprised you.

“Will you be gentle with me? You know…when it’s the first time…?”

There was a pause.

“We’ll speak more about bedroom matters when we are better acquainted. I have no interest in taking a stranger between my sheets,” he said and you felt silly for saying anything.

Your new husband surprised you again. You assumed he would be cold when it came to passion, but he seemed a bit sentimental.

“What should I call you?” you asked, trying to change the subject quickly.

“Idreod, you will be my wife so you may call me by my first name,” he said.

“I’m (Y/N),” you offered.

He paused.

“I know.”

“Oh.”

There was a bit of an awkward pause.

“Um…so what do you do for fun?” you asked the first thing that popped into your mind.

“Fun?” he asked in a chilly tenor.

“Right, you probably don’t-” you trailed off and blushed.

“I’ve never done anything in my life for fun,” he said blandly.

“Of course not,” you agreed.

“I do like training…” he offered, sounding suspiciously shy.

“Do you think I could train with you?” you asked.

There was silence.

“Why would you want to do that?” he asked, “you’ll hold me back. You are nowhere near my skill level.”

You blushed.

“You’re right. That was stupid of me…I just thought…”

You paused.

“You thought…? Don’t leave sentences unfinished. It’s a sign of poor will.”

You gulped.

“I just wanted to get to know you better since you’re going to be my husband and all,” you said the words all in one rushed breath.

“Ah, that’s wise. You’re quite clever. You should know what pleases me. I will compose a document of my likes and dislikes and have Airies pass it to you when it’s complete. You can study it,” he said.

You blinked.

“Um…okay, then,” you mumbled. That wasn’t exactly what you’d meant.

“Do you have any aptitude for mathematics?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?” you asked, unsure where this was going.

“You are a Zovith now. Starting today I will need to train you to be my replacement as head of the family in the case of my untimely death. As you saw, my brother is an idiot. If you are remotely competent, I’ll need to show the basics of running the estate.

“You came here, unsure of what to expect on your own two feet, so I know you have enough spine for it. Of course, your main role here is mother to my heirs, but it is always a good idea to prepare contingencies and I am very thorough.”

Your mouth hung open. You weren't sure if you were being complimented or insulted. Were you a broodmare or future head of the family?

“I worked in finance,” you said, “I can handle a bit of business arithmetic.”

“Hmph,” he said to himself, “she can’t be worse than Dessin.”

“Allright,” he went on, “tomorrow I will bring your father to the estate and you will begin working with me on it.”

“My father?” you gasped. You were sure you’d never see him again. A bit of the ice in your heart melted in relief.

His tone got stern.

“Yes, (Y/N), I am an archduke. I can’t be associated with street level criminals. Your father will be brought here and given some frivolous role to disconnect him from organized crime. It can’t get out that he sold you to me, so it must appear that we are in some way associated. He can be vice president of a vineyard or something. I’m told we have some in our portfolio.”

You stood up, annoyed.

“But my father built his business from the ground up!” you snapped, “you can’t just yank him away from it. That was the whole point of all this!”

“Being father of the archduchess of Akhet is a far more important role than some silly laundry shop!” he barked back.

“You don’t know anything about what’s important,” you griped.

“I will educate you on that,” he said firmly.

You huffed, but you couldn’t even see him to give him a proper stink eye.

“I think we’ve all had enough excitement for today,” he said, sounding a bit tired, “I’ll have Airies take you to your room.”

You took a deep breath, trying to gather control over my emotions.

The shorter blob that was Airies came a moment later and escorted you out, by the hand.

“Please excuse the archduke, my lady. I can see he’s upset you,” Aries said as your heels clicked on the marble floor, “he’s never been in the company of a female for more than a paid hour. We’ve all gotten used to his prickly attitude, but it must be shocking to someone new.”

You snickered a little and pressed your lips together to try and hide it, but you could hear the smile in Airies’ voice.

He led you to a room and helped you find the bed.

“I’ll have the optometrist come see you in the morning and we will have your prescription prepared,” he said, handing you a soft, folded negligee. He guided your hands over to a small tablet screen. His fingers were much more soft and narrow than the archduke’s.

“Press one of these buttons if you would like a maid to come help you,” he said.

He paused at the door.

“If you don’t mind me saying this, my lady, it’s been a long time since we Kherae have had someone fair and soft to care for, please take full advantage of that. If you want anything at all, you only need to ask.”

You nodded and thanked him and he left you to change into your nightgown. You wished you could have seen it properly, because it was very soft and cozy. You were just tucking yourself into the covers when there was a knock at the door.

“Hello?” you asked, “come in…”

The door wasn’t locked. You wondered if it was a maid. Instead a purple figure filled the doorway. It wasn’t Airies, because he was shorter, but it wasn’t quite as tall as the duke.

“It’s me Dessin,” the archduke’s brother said, “we didn’t have a chance to be properly introduced.”

You blushed.

“It’s a little strange for you to come so late,” you said, a little frightened.

He chuckled.

“I have no ill intentions. I just wanted to say something to you privately without my brother around,” he said, “since you will be my sister soon, there are things you should know about him.”

“Oh?” you asked, “well then say it quickly. I was just going to sleep.”

“It’s just that…I want you to know I’m on your side (Y/N). My brother is a monster. He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t know anything about love or passion, he just wants another pawn to play with. If you need help or a confidant…just know you can rely on me,” he said.

You chewed your lip. You weren’t sure what to make of that, but there is one thing you needed help with.

“Well there is one thing. You probably know everyone in the building, right?”

“Yes, of course,” he said.

“When I was attacked today, I was saved by a kind Kherae. I didn’t have my glasses on so I couldn’t see him and I was frightened so I hardly remember anything about him. Do you think you could ask around? I’d like to thank him personally.”

There was a pause.

“Oh…(Y/N). You don’t recognize me?” he asked.

You blinked, confused.

“You?”

You could have sworn your protector had been taller, but you’d been frightened, you may have inflated his assets.

“Yes, I was the one who found you today,” he said, “and I brought you back here.”

That didn’t sound quite right, but who would lie about something like that? You must have just remembered him incorrectly.

“Oh, silly me. I must have really been frightened,” you said and wobbled across the room to him. You leaned up on your tiptoes and kissed him on his cheek. He didn’t smell quite right either, but you brushed it off. Perhaps he’d had a shower.

“Really, Thank you,” you said, “I think I’ll head to bed now, if you don’t mind.”

Dessin was silent for a moment before he cleared his throat.

“Right,” he said, “well…goodnight (Y/N). Remember what I said. If you need me, I’m here.”When you were under the covers, you sighed. What luck did you have that the brother of your soon to be husband was the nice one? What would your life be like if he had been the one to win the fight over you earlier? This was a tragedy of course, not a romance, you reminded yourself as you fell asleep.

#alien fluff #sfw alien fluff #monster fluff #sfw monster fluff #exophelia #x reader #monster x reader #alien oc #alien x reader #yandere male #yandere fluff #yandere x reader

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humanitys-strongest-bamf · 1 month

Text

Black Tea & Pastries Part 2 | #LeviMonth2024 Fluff Oneshot

✧ word count ➼ ~1.6k ✧ notes ➼ canonverse, post-war!levi x barista!reader, fem!reader, alcohol mention, part 2 to this 😌 ✧ comments ➼ levi month entry for august 22! i fell in love with these two goofs so i made a part 2 hehe ✧ join my levi month taglist here!

{{ August 19 (Post-War: Marriage) | August 24 (Crime + Secret Relationship Part 1) }} Masterlist

Seeing Levi at the cafe every day was something that you had grown to expect. You'd come in for your shift, he'd pop in during the afternoon—sometimes the morning if he wasn't too busy—you'd give him his black tea and pastry, chat a bit, and then he'd walk you home after your shift. It was a pattern that you easily settled into.

You'd occasionally catch him strolling outside your apartment since you lived on the same street, but he was usually with Gabi and Falco and on his way to help out with the post-Rumbling restoration efforts. You had made multiple notes to yourself to chat with him outside of your home when the opportunity arose, but it never had. At least you could look forward to seeing him at the cafe.

That was precisely why you felt just a hint of concern arising within you when you realized that it almost closing time and you had yet to see Levi pop in. He visited late sometimes, but never this late. Now that you thought about it, you didn't really see him come out of his apartment earlier in the day either.

You thought it was silly, but you went ahead and made his favorite black tea and grabbed the day's pastry special for him. You knew that you shouldn't be giving your customers special treatment, especially since you had already stopped charging him for his orders, but you had this pleasant feeling arise within you ever since you first saw him and it had only grown stronger within the past few weeks of hanging out with him.

With everyone else, you had to pretend. Your Marleyan friends were a bit wary of your heritage as an Eldian, customers couldn't be bothered to learn your name, and your boss was focused much more on performance than your actual well-being. Yet, around Levi, you felt like you could be yourself.

You were walking home, clutching the pastry bag in one hand, and holding the to-go cup in another, praying that the tea wouldn't be cold by the time you arrived. A part of you was even getting nervous.

What if he judged the fact that you brought his order specifically to his apartment? What if he thought you were being weird? A part of you was even tempted to change your mind entirely and go home with the snacks and keep it for yourself just to avoid having this interaction.

Still, you bit your lip and took a deep breath, stepping up to his door.

You were just about to knock when the door opened. Levi had heard you step up.

You blinked at him in surprise for a split second, startled by the fact that he already knew you were here before you could practice the script in your head as to why you had brought him his order.

"Hi."

You quickly shoved the tea and pastry bag at him before he could respond.

"…I brought you tea-"

You paused, internally cringing upon realizing the time of day.

"-despite it being the evening…"

The black tea had a considerable amount of caffeine in it, so there wouldn't really be a reason for him to want it this late into the evening.

Levi gently took the cup and pastry from you, noting that the beverage was still warm despite being brought out into the cold.

"It's okay, I don't really sleep anyway."

A slight wave of relief washed over you. You kicked your feet at the ground, awkwardly shuffling around and not knowing what to say, but not wanting to leave either. You did miss him today, after all.

"…would you like to come in?" he questioned, finally breaking the silence. "It's a bit chilly, and I have the stove running."

The sudden and unexpected question momentarily made you freeze. "You inviting me over for dinner?"

You felt him pause, getting caught a bit off-guard himself.

"…or is this to follow-up on our 'outside of the cafe' conversations?" You looked back up to him, watching the small smirk form on his lips.

"Perhaps," he muttered without specifying which question he was referring to.

Levi always had a unique ability to calm down your nerves without even intentionally trying to. As soon as you made eye contact with him, you felt your anxiety dissipate into excitement.

"Let me drop off my stuff at home, and I'll hop back over," you agreed with a small smile and nod.

Levi acknowledged your request with a small nod of his own.

“Door’s unlocked. Just pop back in so you don’t end up dragging my ass away from the stove again.”

You gave him a bashful smile in an attempt to hide how flustered his comment made you, before quickly turning to head towards your apartment, trying to slow down your pace to contain your excitement.

As you set your stuff down once you got inside, you noticed the bottle of wine that had been collecting dust on your counter. You had saved it up from when a bad date blew you off, and the idea of going through it now with Levi seemed oddly fitting.

After changing out of your barista uniform and into something more comfortable—a casual and loose-fitting sundress and sandals—you grabbed onto the bottle, wiping off any collected lint from the surface, finding yourself unable to contain the smile on your face upon thinking of spending the evening with him.

It only took you about ten minutes before you were heading back, hesitantly opening the door to his place. You were suddenly hit with a waft of the stew he was making, one that seemed hearty and filled with a spicy aroma that indicated that cooking was one of the few hobbies he had picked up since retiring after the war.

You slowly stepped inside, waving at him once he noticed you. His eyes ran down your figure, and you immediately felt your face heating up from his sustained attention.

“I didn’t want to just be in my work uniform,” you mumbled quietly. “Did I overdo it?”

“Not at all,” he reassured, giving a slight shake of his head. “Come in.”

You looked around the living room as you took off your shoes, noticing that the furniture was in the process of getting moved around. It didn’t take you long to deduce that he was renovating, and that it likely explained his absence from the cafe today.

It wasn’t anything too fancy—just the installation of a windowsill garden—but it required him to move furniture around, which was significantly more difficult since he was living alone, with his knee acting up a bit today that resulted in it being a bit more painful moving around compared to usual.

“Pardon the mess,” he muttered, motioning towards the mini-garden that you had noticed. “Was trying to get this set up, but this damned couch was in the way.”

Levi usually hated messes, but it couldn’t be helped for now. He had to pick and choose his battles, and he chose to prioritize preparing food for the week instead of reorganizing furniture that he’d ultimately have to move again anyway.

The garden itself was roughly half-way done. It needed some clean-up and the furniture needed to be put back, but it looked like he got most of the hard work done today. You took a look at it and made a mental note to maybe help him clean up and finish up the garden tomorrow since you had the day off.

You looked back up at him as he gestured over towards the table. Your eyebrows slightly furrowed into a concerned frown when you noticed that his limp was a bit more obvious than usual—he was having a bad knee day.

You set the wine bottle down onto the table and, instead of taking a seat, joined him in the kitchen to help him out.

He was indeed making a stew. It was easy to store, and would be a cozy meal given the fact that it was beginning to get chilly outside.

Levi didn’t complain, and in fact welcomed your presence in the kitchen with him, allowing you space to portion out the stew for the two of you to bring over to the table before he began scooping the rest into a spare container to store for later.

It was a small kitchen, and you had to dance around each other as you walked back and forth, but working together with him felt effortless, and gave the both of you a nice experience in domestic life that you hadn’t been able to ever have before.

You felt your cheeks heating up again upon thinking about any possible future occurrences of this with him. You certainly wouldn’t mind.

“…I brought some wine, if you were interested,” you announced as you brought two wine glasses over to the table and popping open the bottle.

Seeing his nod, you filled your glasses before taking a seat with him to enjoy your impromptu dinner.

You had enjoyed your evening walks home with him from the cafe, and had gotten concerned when he failed to show up today, but you certainly didn’t mind if the result was spending the evening with him in his residence, sharing a warm meal, and chatting without the constraints of the time spent walking home.

#: @shayewrites @littlerequiem @mostlilo @humanitys-strongest-brat @dustbuniesworld @levisrations @ebechnasheim @moonchild-angel @jayteacups @bipolargatto @samackermaan @deepzombieyouth @levkuna @levisfavoriteteashop @ackermanswifee @ae-chidori @2dsimpomg @anti-cupid

#levimonth24 #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi heichou x reader #captain levi x reader #levi fluff #levi #levi ackerman #levi heichou #captain levi #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin #snk

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eternal-echoes · 4 months

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The poll

I don't think it's just that; I think more and more people are realizing that every child deserves a mother and a father and legalizing gay marriage deliberately deprives a kid of one of them. Orphans and children of single parents always long for their missing parents.

While there are unfortunate circumstances like death of a parent or divorcing an abusive spouse that makes it inevitable, ultimately since children are made through the biological union of a man and woman, their spiritual relationship with them should be preserved.

Since we're not just a material being, we're also of both body and soul. Not Cartesian dualism but Hylomorphism where the union of body and soul makes one nature.

The only two ways a gay couple can have a baby is either through surrogacy and/or adoption. Along with its ethical concerns with buying a baby, a gay couple taking a newly born baby from his/her mother is depriving that child with the much needed bonding time with the mother (i.e. breastfeeding, cuddling, etc). It's illegal to sell a puppy within 8 weeks of birth because it would be too cruel to separate it from its mother,* then how much more devastating would it be when it comes to a human child? And a child's need for a mother doesn't stop when he/she no longer needs to be breastfed, the mother is essential for the child's emotional maturity as well.

Here is a video of Ryan T. Anderson back in 2014. I'll highlight some important points but the whole video is really good.

youtube

Marriage exists to unite a man and a woman as husband and wife to then be equipped to be mother and father to any children that that union produces. It's based on the biological fact that men and women are distinct and complementary, it's based on the anthropological truth that reproduction requires a man and a woman, it's based on the social reality that children deserve a mother and a father. ... Marriage is the institution that different cultures and societies, across time and place, developed to maximize the likelihood that that man commits to that woman, and then the two of them take responsibility to raise that child. Part of this is based on the reality: there's no such thing as parenting in the abstract; there's mothering and there's fathering. Men and women bring different gifts to the parenting enterprise. Rutgers sociologist professor David Popenoe writes, "The burden of social science evidence supports the idea that gender differentiating parenting is important for human development and the contribution of fathers to childrearing is unique and irreplaceable." He then concludes, "we should disavow the notion that mommies can make good daddies, just as we should disavow the popular notion that daddies can make good mommies. The two sexes are different to the core and each is necessary, culturally and biologically for the optimal development of a human being." ... The impact of marriage. So why does marriage matter for public policy? Perhaps there's no better way to analyze this than looking to our own president, President Barrack Obama: "We know the statistics that children who grow up without a father are five times more likely to live in poverty and commit crime, nine times more likely to drop out of schools, and 20 times more likely to end up in prison. They're more likely to have behavioral problems or run away from home, or become teenage parents themselves. And the foundation of our community are weaker because of it." ... President Obama sums it up very well: what we've seen in the past 50 years since the War on Poverty began, is that the family has collapsed. At one point in America virtually every child was given the gift of a married mother and father, those numbers right now: it's more than 50% of Hispanics children are born outside of wedlock, more than 70% of African Americans are born outside of wedlock. And the consequences for those children are really serious. The State's interest in marriage is not that it cares about my love life, or your love life, or anyone's love life just for the sake of romance. The State's interest in marriage is ensuring that those kids have fathers who are involved in their lives. ... If the biggest social problem we face right now in the United States is absentee dads, how will we insist that fathers are essential when the law redefines marriage to make fathers optional? ... Think about the social consequences if that's the direction the slippery slope in which marriage redefinition would go. For every additional sexual partner I have, and for the shorter lived those relationships are, the greater the chances that I create children with multiple women, without commitment with either to those mothers or to those kids. It increases the likelihood of creating fragmented families and then big government will step in to pick up the pieces with a host of welfare programs that truly drain the economic prospects of all of our states. ... So for all those reasons this is why the State and all states have an interest in preserving the definition of marriage as a union, permanent and exclusive of a man and a woman.

Also an article supporting some of Ryan T. Anderson's points:

It’s worse to be raised by a single mother, even if you’re not poor.

The reason for this is that fathers tend to be the disciplinarian in the family. They provide the moral framework in his children's lives.

Reminder that even though the Catholic Church does not support gay marriage, it doesn't mean that she hates gay people. There is a ministry called Courage International where people with same-sex attractions are encourage to live chaste and holy lives.

*Original wording taken from here.

#gay marriage #parenting #text #lgbt #ryan t. anderson

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tornedheart · 2 years

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War Trophy — Yandere Aemond Targaryen

GIF by @aemondtargaryensrider

Warnings: unhealthy relationships, war crimes, implied dub-con, forced marriage, pregnancy mentions, isolation.

Bringing you as a hostage wife from Harrenhal feels like an awesome idea from Aemond, a pity you may have different feeling in this matter.

Aemond had told you that it could could have been a rocky first meeting, but war was never fair so it was only a question of both of you to pardon each other and move on.

He didn't seem to notice the blatant difference between he storming Harrenhal with a dragon and burning everything to the ground to her simply trying to run away from it.

And then being dragged in the same dragon to King's Landing because the man had felt a connection with you, it was almost like love at first sight, he told you once, when you were intertwined in bed, his fingers drying the tears that stained her face.

It didn't matter to him that he killed your family, destroyed your house and stole you. It didn't matter how you had cried in the wedding, the option to refuse was never present.

There are the never ending whispers, some which you are sure the speakers aren't even bothering to try to not be heard, most of them blaming you for seducing a prince.

Aemond can conjure a multitude of nicknames, they should be so sweet, almost all of them make your stomach turn. Little trophy seems to be his favorite, you can guess that the memories it brings to him must be different from yours.

It must not be the one of seeing death walk directly towards you — drenched in blood and smelling death — only for him to throw you onto his shoulders and march towards that fire breathing beast. Not the lingering touches and the paralyzing fear that stroke your body, and not the pit that opened on your stomach when his mouth approached your ear and the talk started.

He seems to bask in delight in the fact that you are unable to approach anyone at court, not with the stares full of disdain and the way most of the ladies shunt away when seeing you walk in their direction.

Aemond knows he has a marvelous way to ward off the loneliness, he tells one night, how maybe a children or two (or three, or four, or…, but he thinks saying this so soon may be a bit pressuring) could keep you company. His hand hovers in your stomach for a bit, he tells how he may had already put the babe in you.

You know no maester will ever give you moon tea again.

Masterlist

#yandere aemond targaryen x reader #yandere house of the dragon #yandere aemond targaryen #yandere hotd #yandere asoiaf #dark aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #dark aemond targaryen x reader

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scribbleseas · 8 months

Text

in love & in war: the one where he meets you

Description: Join Ciel, the Earl of Phantomhive, as he embarks on one of the most difficult challenges of his professional life: getting you to fall in love with him in order to become the next chairman of TransAtlantica— your father’s vast shipping empire.

Warnings: The reader’s opinions are a bit old-fashioned, and they don’t reflect my own! Besides that, I’m sure there will be some explicit content down the line, but honestly, this story is much more romcom than our usually scheduled programming. It’s just a silly palette cleanser in season for Valentine’s Day.

Author’s Note: Hi! You guys expressed that you guys like more frequent posts, and I’ve reached a bit of a roadblock on my main Ciel fic right now. I thought I would write up a quick beginning to a potential drabble series! If you guys are interested in this premise, let me know! It’s fun to write such chill stakes content for once lol. Also, this isn’t based off a particular request! I’m still playing with my ideas from those, and at this point, I can confidently say you guys are getting either a one shot or a 1-3 part series based on one. Thank you all for submitting, and feel free to keep them coming.

Happy Reading!

- Dan

⇐ PREVIOUS DRABBLE | NEXT DRABBLE ⇒

MASTERLIST

In Conference

Late May, 1895

Your life was nowhere near as easy as it seemed.

Perhaps, the average onlooker might see you and presume that the expensive jewels wrapped around your neck and your fingers were the most burdensome aspect of your privileged life. Or perhaps they might have thought it would be the pinch from your stately heels or the strain from a brilliant, yet strategic, permanent smile.

Your business smile. Your future-Countess-of-Richmond smile.

But they couldn’t have been more wrong.

This very moment was exact proof of that— you were in the midst of your world collapsing. The abject shock rattling through your mind was akin to a nightmare. Your eyebrows pulled together in a contentious pout, the horrified look you used to get away with your most childish crimes from your parents.

“Marriage? Simply not.” You begged, alreadying feeling your will to fight waver under your father’s tired stare, your mother’s pained grin. “I’m only—”

“Of perfect age to begin looking for a potential partner. 22 is well past ready, I would say,” your mother answered for you.

“I would be— but—” you sputtered like a fish out of water only to inhale deeply through your nose. You needed to collect yourself. Negotiate thoughtfully and logically. That was the only way to get yourself out of this.

“Speak with intent, Y/n,” your father interjected boredly, retraining his attention on the business reports he was reading. He fixed his glasses, pushing them further up the bridge of his nose.

Speak with intent. You knew those words well. They were your solace, the lighthouse in the storm that came with childhood temperament. Your father, no matter the cause of your distress, would answer: Speak with intent.

“Right,” you cleared your throat apologetically, glancing down at your hands as they sat clasped in your lap. “Sincerest apologies, sir.”

Your father hummed, eyebrows jumping a fraction of a centimeter. He picked up his pen and scribbled his signature at the bottom of the report. Your mother’s hand fell on the nape of his neck to make him turn his gaze back up at you. He hesitated before doing so, waiting to click a stamp onto the signed report.

“I do not wish to marry,” you enunciated your words carefully, confidently. “At least, not yet,” you added, now catching your father’s attention for the blunder. “I’ve yet to meet someone I love,” you felt your face redden, a desire to run back to your room threatening to overtake your fortitude. You were only so strong under your father, the Earl of Richmond’s deliberation stare. It struck fear into the other side of conference tables, lecture halls, and courtrooms. And now, across his desk at his only daughter.

Before your father could remind you that love wasn’t the most important aspect of a successful marriage, your mother interjected gently.

“What about the Duke of Clarence’s son, Antonio? He seemed to like you,” she prompted. Wrongly. You’d danced with Antonio at the Summer Solstice gala that the Pembroke family threw annually. The man opted to use the waltz’s entirety to brag about his family’s Italian vineyards and his love for agriculture. And, of course, his admiration for your father’s entrepreneurial genius. His shipping empire, TransAtlantica, had just successfully fortified shipping systems in all of the states; a step forward from simply cycling through all major ports along the east coast.

“He doesn’t love me,” you complained, “he loves TransAtlantica. He’d much prefer to marry our family corporation!” Antonio was suitable. He was decent, but that’s all he truly was to you. It’s all he ever could be.

You met your mother’s eyes pleadingly, and she pursed her lips, fully knowing the next words out of your mouth. You had a deal. From a young age, you knew the Richmond family, the Y/l/n line, respected contracts more than all else. Since you turned 17, you had one signed by all three parties and dated.

Your mother sucked in a breath through her teeth. “I remember the deal,” she said, taking a moment to consider her own words. The corners of her lips twitched as if she was attempting to hide her amusement with you. She understood— her own father, your grandfather, was just as militant, stiff with professionalism. Promises were negotiations with terms, signatures, and stamps. There were no arguments this way. “Dearest,” she addressed your father, the hand that was on the back jumping to his shoulder, “you do as well.”

“Do you?” You challenged, indignantly crossing your arms. “I request you restate the terms, mother.”

“If we are to pressure you into marriage before you feel ready, you must consent to the courting party,” your father took the liberty of answering gruffly. He squared his shoulders, regarding you purposefully— equal parts exhaustion and respect for your endurance. He cultivated it, after all. It was a fire that burned in your family for generations, as sacred as a temple flame.

“Yes,” you affirmed, “and so, I must choose the man I wish to be with.”

“With respect to your titles— no one below your station. And he must be chosen by the end of this courtship season,” your father added, negotiating. He tilted his head, analyzing your next move.

You knew of the first term since you were a child. You even remembered the exact day you learned them. You were a young girl, a little younger than seven. A young commoner boy had attempted to hand you a rose. Your maid at the time had scolded him for standing in the way of a noble family, since he had stepped out in front of you. It was a discernible moment, truly.

As for your father’s second term… you were unconvinced such a thing could be done.

“The end of the courtship season is in four months,” you replied, frowning. You were sure you met most eligible men in your social class. How were you to form a genuine connection in such little time? Even if you couldn’t find love per se, you still wanted to find someone you were compatible with.

“If we reach that deadline and you find no one, we can talk about it,” your mother answered. “And, you must allow me and your aunt to fix you on outings with suitors we like.

“Fine. Only if Daphne joins me,” you replied, knowing fully well that you weren’t allowed anywhere without your handmaiden present.

. . .

Next week

Your mother was sure not to waste any time in beginning to schedule supervised outings with a different well-educated and ennobled man that was within the appropriate age constraints. You’ve never had such a boring week, brutally torn away from the studies you adored so much.

“—And we’ve got another vacation home down in Tuscany, I think,” the Viscount Lineford’s son concluded, taking a peremptory drink out of his tea. He was dressed crisply in beige trousers that rolled up past his ankle and low leather shoes. His sterling watch sparkled in the spring sun.

You fought a building yawn that tempted the back of your throat, determined to hide your exhaustion with the man. It was a good effort, but you certainly weren’t impressed.

“That must be incredible,” you answered absently. “It must be such a lovely foreign getaway for the Lineford family,” you grinned diplomatically, blind to the horror that twisted his — you didn’t care to remember his name, unfortunately — face.

“Foreign? Excuse me Lady Y/n, but my family traces far back into Italian culture that we are practically Roman…” he started, only for you to interject.

“Will you just excuse me, please?” You struggled to keep the desperation out of your face, calmly searching for your supervisor. She was meant to be sitting at a table nearby, merely ensuring that your outing remained within polite societal constraints. More importantly, Daphne served as your escape when your potential suitors proved most unbearable. All you needed to do was subtly tilt your fan to your left ear and the woman would always scramble over to you with an excuse to steer you out of any scenario you found distasteful.

Such as this one.

Daphne never normally left your side, a realization that allowed worry to creep into your tone. “I’m unsure where my maid went, and I would like to fetch her,” you replied, standing and shouldering your small day bag over your shoulder.

“I’m sorry?” He asked, chuckling with bitter disbelief at your rudeness. Ladies were supposed to be demure and polite. You were impatient and honest, a product of an Earl knowing that his daughter was the object of his legacy. Your father trained you as he would a son, and your tutors followed in suit. “Surely you’re joking; this is the middle of our tea.”

Her pocketbook and her sweater weren’t even sitting on the chair she had been occupying, causing you to blink at the empty table in disbelief.

“No, I’m not. I think something might be wrong,” you shouldered past the man, stepping between other individuals sitting at the common tables in the park.

“Fine, you aren’t worth it anyway!” He called at your back, but the words hardly registered with you.

The area was rather common for courting pairs to visit in the early spring. However, it could also be populated with…criminals. “Excuse me,” you mumbled, quickly walking down the paved pathway through the greenery to the main sidewalk, the London pavement heavy with pedestrians. The streets were perhaps more crowded with carriages and sweating horses.

You couldn’t be alone in the city! As a woman of your stature, it simply wasn’t done. Never. Ever. It was an affront to your teachings, and it was unsafe. You needed your friend, not some stranger.

“Where is she?” You mumbled, rapidly attempting to discern every face that passed you. Surely it wouldn’t be long until someone recognized you— you were one of the most photographed families in the country. In fact, you were fortunate no one had offered your location to the press while you were on this outing. You never would have heard the last of it.

Some took hold of your handbag and darted off, using your distractedness to his advantage. He ran to the end of the block and crossed the street, weaving through pedestrians once the crossing guard allowed your side to walk over. If your hand hadn’t been tightly clutching the strap as you walked, you never would have noticed.

You did your best to pick up your speed and chase him, yelling out.

You cried out, glancing down at your long springtime dress. Your short heels were nowhere near efficient enough for you to make a chase out of the robbery, nor should have needed to! Even still, you lunged into the street — without looking.

In fact, if you had committed to your step, you would’ve been flattened by an oncoming carriage, given that the crossing guard had ordered pedestrians to stop passing moments prior. The only reason why you didn’t make the life-ruining step seemed to be… a tall young man with a serious face and staggering presence. He only had one exposed blue eye, the other was concealed by a black eyepatch. His grip tightened around your arm, pulling you intimately into his chest.

You breathed heavily, tearing yourself out of his arms. A flair of irritation caused you to glare at him as you righted your stance and smooth your dress. However, he did save you from a potentially life ending situation. His immediate insurance of your safety was more meaningful than a misaligned gown that you fixed in seconds.

In fact, the moment truly was a bit theatrical. The man was handsome enough to make you smile with uncertainty, your irritation melting. “Thank you for that,” you said, relieved that the sidewalk seemed to clear, the crowd dispersing from the main street. “I could have been killed.”

“That would have been quite a shame,” he replied, locking eyes with you. The man made a thin attempt at returning your smile. He was enchanting, regal… your heart skipped a beat, considerably flustered.

…Until he spoke again, completely distorting the immediate magnetic lure you felt from his sharp features: “Rather careless of you, my Lady. You ought to be smarter than that.”

You frowned. “In case you failed to notice, that man stole my handbag and essentially disappeared,” you snapped impatiently. It had your identification, emergency notes in case you needed to purchase something, the current novel you were fixated on…how were you meant to return to the estate now?

“You weren’t catching him, I don’t think,” he noted astutely, watching you as you stepped past him to go in the direction you came from. Perhaps Daphne circled back to the park in search of you. You absolutely needed to find her.

“Thank you for your help. Good day,” you answered brusquely, continuing to walk. However, he remained in stride with you, still unabashedly smug. It quickly absolved you of any former gratefulness you had toward the man for pulling you away from oncoming traffic. Perhaps it might have hurt less to have collided with a horse and a carriage over the velocity and mass of this random man’s ego.

“What, don’t tell me you going to go chase him,” He said patronizingly, a sardonic pull infecting what you thought was initially a careful smile. No, the man was just another arrogant bastard, it seemed. “In those shoes, especially,” He perused, causing you to stop once more and regard him.

“I am a noble woman, you will not speak to me in such a manner no matter what line of—“ you caught the sapphire family and silver crest rings around two of his fingers — “mediocre destitution you come from!” You jabbed purposefully, undeserving of his rudeness and his condescension, no matter what title he occupied in your class. You were the partial inheritor of TransAtlantia; you trained to run the company to some degree since you could speak. Few could step to you.

“I believe I said good day, kind sir,” you added poisonously, daring him to continue to test you before speeding back towards the park. You needed Daphne, you needed an officer…anyone besides this pompous— you ended the thought before you could further infect yourself with such unladylike curses.

It really wasn’t so easy being the daughter of an Earl.

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

“I’ve planned things so Lady Y/n’s maid is off helping a little girl find her mother; I separated the two by distracting the girl with a kitten. Y/n will panic without her maid being within her immediate reach, drawing her out to the street. I will cause her to put herself in harm’s way by distracting her at the corner of 89th Street and Arthur. Be ready by the street post. I’ve made the new paralegal late to his case, he will have instructed his butler to drive quick. You will need to pull her away from the street. If you miss, things may end rather…unfortunately for the young woman,” Ciel Phantomhive’s butler, Sebastian Michealis, outlined.

Sebastian was Ciel’s head butler, his head chef, head landscaper, tailor, tutor… but most importantly, the Earl of Phantomhive’s contracted demon. The supernatural being was at his disposal and his bidding; his new role being the most interesting one of all: matchmaker. He fabricated a scene for Ciel to meet Y/n Y/l/n, and ideally, make her love him.

It was simple, really. Ciel needed a wife; Y/n’s family needed a competent businessman to run that prosperous giant of a shipping enterprise; and most importantly, the woman seemed to be rather competent. The only danger to his strategy was, of course, Y/n’s foul storybook idealism, apparently. Ciel knew Y/n was highly educated and well graced in ettiquiete, but she seemed intent on finding some happily ever after of sorts.

She wanted a husband— a bloody love match. No— she needed an actor to convince her that she was worth marrying beyond the incredible status she represented. There was no asset greater than a title and an economic monarchy to inherit, and securing such a prize meant that Ciel needed to woo her.

“My Lord, you must be considerate, but not too kind. Though you should also refrain from acting too smugly or the lady may take offense,” his butler had offered some horrifically embarrassing — and incredibly unhelpful — acting lessons for him to express the particular warmth Lady Y/n seemed to be looking for.

Love. A feeling Ciel hadn’t known in around nine years. Arguably, it could’ve been more. And yet, in order to stop being solicited by desperate mothers and unlikely candidates, he was securing his bride.

According to Ciel’s butler, that meant he needed to create a memorable foundation in the woman’s mind, an introduction that would leave her curious, impassioned. Wanting more. Something to make him stand out amongst the other faceless, classless mouth breathers who would be vying for TransAtlantica, now that word of her search for a suitor was widespread.

The company and Y/n’s hand were all one in the same courtship, and Ciel was sure the was going to win both.

The Earl of Phantomhive was never one to lose. He’d be remiss to start now.

#anime fanfiction #black butler fanfic #historical fiction #ciel phantomhive x reader #ciel x reader #sebastian michaelis #black butler

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cherryheairt · 24 days

Note

"Eager for a niece or nephew already?" Daenys asked, corners of her mouth lifting. One day, she hoped for many nieces and nephews to surround herself with if she truly did end up a spinster. If so, she was comforted with the fact that she had only brothers, thus would have all their wives be moved to Dragonstone or the Red Keep to allow everyone to be close together.

"Indeed. It's been a while since Winterfell's keep has been graced with younglings."

Daenys almost snorted at the strange name for children but kept it to herself in hopes of not offending him. Northerners and their strange vocabulary. "I quite agree, it is rather quiet in the Great Keep."

Is it too soon to say that I hope the little footsteps and giggles that fill the walls of Winterfell are Daenys' babies with Cregan? Despite his initial mistrust and reservations, Cregan begins to fall in love with the princess so subtly that he doesn't even seem to realise it. It's one thing to worry about the daughter of the heir to the throne being well cared for and safe while she's under your responsibility in your house, but it's quite another to comb her hair and teach her how to hunt and fight. I mean Cregan first turned away when the princess washed her hair, but then braided it (I say that at that moment the idea occurred to him and he was grateful to have had an annoying sister in childhood). Apparently Cregan was jealous that Seamus had saved her before him. Cregan has taught her to hunt and fight because he cares about her. Cregan has deliberately looked at her legs, plus he sleeps next to her (I say that when they slept Cregan felt the softness of the princess's hair and thought again to braid it just to touch it freely, besides looking at her freely). Now Cregan is very worried about what Seamus is going to do to her now that he has taken her away from him.

The same goes for the princess, she seemed very worried because she thought she always ruins things when she talks to Cregan (because of the death talk). Plus she was too worried that if she hadn't got the Targaryen genes he might never have paid attention to her and would have mistaken her for any lady from any other House. It is no accident that she thought that when she previously compared Cregan to a prince. It seems a subtle hint of romantic feelings on her part.

Was it casual when you braided my hair and asked how I want my funeral rites to be????

Yes! I'm glad you noticed the transition between him respectfully looking away and then offering to DO her hair for her when he noticed how much she hated doing it every morning.

Neither of them even seem to notice, but theyre both being consumed entirely by the thought of the other, even imagining life before them is a distant memory by now.

Little Dragon-Wolf 'pups' or 'hatchlings' are what I think they might call their kids. I was just thinking of making a drabble about wolf pack behavior and comparing that to their future dynamics 😌

She has spent her adolescence thinking her only interactions with kids will be with her nieces and nephews, not her own children. She's in for a world of surprise there.

Imagine the thoughts that Daenys has running through her mind currently, and when she was alone with him in the woods once again. This giant beast of a man looking at you spitefully, telling you that you only need to be alive and nothing else. Cregan knows the mind of a man and has sent countless to the Wall for their crimes against women. Alone for hours on dragonback, where not even your dragon, who is seen as a God to the smallfolk, can help you.

I think the Starks are quite like royalty in their own way. They govern and dictate themselves. They are entirely ignored by the Crown until they need fighters for wars that don't involve the North one bit.

Unfortunately, even after marriage Cregan would not officially be called a Prince. Like Ser Laenor and Lady Laena who married the Prince and Princess and never changed titles.

Also, that makes me wonder about the canon events in the book. If everyone but Aegon and Viserys is gone, Daenys would be the heir as the eldest child of Rhaenyras. After their eventual marriage, would Cregan leave Winterfell to be King Consort, or would they be doomed to live the rest of their lives apart spare from occasional visits to the other. It's a tempting angsty end, one that Daenys would probably not be able to cope with alone.

I hope everyone is content with how the romance is progressing, I feel as if it is fast-paced but I know I can't wait forever for the romance aspect lol

#cregan stark x reader #hotd fanfic #cregan stark x oc #cregan x reader #dragondreamer #cregan stark

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wangxianficfinder · 7 months

Text

In the mood for...

March 7th

~*~

1. There's been many fics where wwx takes his revenge, or fights for himself and his place and there are people to support him in it. ITMF fics where someone takes revenge for wwx / fights for wwx. Showing a lover love for him / brother or sister's love for him / mother's or parental figure's love for him.

And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 139k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together)

~*~

2. ITMF:

A) War general wwx and/or lwj

B) W ar veterans wwx and/or lwj

2A)

the wei to the kingdom (is through the prince's heart) by Bird_of_Dreams (T, 4k, wangxian, Historical AU, royal family, Tournaments, Mutual Pining, WWX levels of obliviousness) features WY as a general but the war is over and doesn't feature in the story

🔒 Crossing Paths by Ilona22 (M, 21k, wangxian, shapeshifter au, graphic depictions of violence, war between sects, war crimes, not JC friendly, happy ending) both generals fighting in a war

The Silver Thread General by Itszero (E, 70k, wangxian, Imperial China, No Powers, General WWX, Older WWX, Younger LWJ, Age Difference, Bottom LWJ, Forced Marriage, Protective WWX, POV LWJ, Childhood Friends, WWX is a Wēn, He was raised by them, WangXian Centric) wwx is a general but this isn't a fighting in war story

rebuttable presumption by sarah-yyy (WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Hurt LWJ, Enemies to Lovers)

2B)

Recovery by Unforth (G, 27k, WangXian, Modern AU, Rabbit Breeder LWJ, Veteran LWJ, Veteran WWX, PTSD, therapy animals, Therapy Rabbits, LWJ is an Asshole Sometimes, Doctor WQ, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Former Prisoner of War WWX, LXC is a Good Brother, Gray Asexual LWJ, Anxiety Disorder)

~*~

3. A) Hello, I'm looking for wwx centric and xz centric (this part in a YZ post ~Mod L) fics. Anything that has them as the main focus works. I'd prefer if their relationship with someone else is not main focus of the fic, rather, it's more about them as an individual???

B) Any fics where wwx leaves/runs away after everything instead of dying. Just want to see him making a life on his own, discovering himself, healing, etc. Modern aus are fine too.

Have a good day! @kthvcult

3A)

🔒 in this corner of the world by akahua (G, 4k, wangxian, Kind of angsty, Cooking, Chinese Food, Inspired by Little Forest, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Comfort Food, Sichuan Cuisine, Spicy Food, Hunan Cuisine, Suzhou Cuisine, Soup, Lotus Root and Pork Rib Soup for the Soul, Modern Setting) also fits 3B

3B)

something left to save by androids_fighting93 (E, 57k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, No Bloodbath of Nightless City, JYL Lives, Not Everyone Dies AU, Hurt/Comfort, single dad WWX, Sick Character, Golden Core Reveal, the lightest d/s dynamic if you squint, handjobs, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Dynamics) Does it count as alone if he takes A-Yuan with him?

Crazy, Rich Cultivators by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 13k, wangxian, Modern Cultivation, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, POV LWJ, īthis started as a crazy rich asians au but quickly got away from me, light moments of angst but mostly shenanigans)

Something Warm and Safe by Winxhelina (T, 13k, wangxian, JYL & WWX, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Warm, Friendship/Love, Love, much softer than it seems, Not Everyone Dies AU, Canon Divergence)

~*~

4. Hi!! thank u guys so much for all your effort! i was hoping that in the next in the mood for (though i’d love a comp with this vibe) could i get a fic where wwx is genuinely loved by the juniors/has a good dynamic with them? I was thinking something close to what’s written in the “hills and rivers” series (and every single one where they will throw down to defend him no questions asked). Thank you! @thwispsings

Joy In the Midst of These Things series by Glitterbombshell (T, 53k, wangxian, post-canon, hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, teacher WWX, trauma & recovery)

Proximity To Knowledge by ChilianXianzi (T, 7k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Married Wangxian, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Teacher WWX, Inventor WWX, And his research assistant Lan ducklings, LQR is not a good educator, the kids are alright, WWX did online learning before it was cool)

bespoke by cafecliche (G, 3k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Fluff, basically I worked in both politics and event-planning and this is what happened, LSZ is a very good boy, which is specifically a tag for the fic but also just true in general)

~*~

5. In the next available itmf post, could you/the community rec any fics where wwx is involved with activism? particularly if the fic highlights the hard and sometimes dangerous sides of the work. (I have vague memories of a few where it was LWJ who was involved, but I'm particularly interested in wwx for this request.) @balleyboley

like, comment, share & subscribe by detectorist (T, 22k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, YouTube, Social Media, Flirting, Humour, Banter, Getting Together, First Kiss, Texting, so much texting, Youtubers For Social Justice, The Gang Gets Political, Competitive Flirting Via The Medium Of Youtube, it’s about the yearning, YouTube Rivals To Lovers) I'm not sure if this is what request 5 has in mind but these modern AUs have some element of WY being an activist

These Things Stay the Same by notevenyou (E, 30k, wangxian, Modern, Kid Fic, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Injury, Natural Disasters, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Accidents)

Keep Track of Losing Days by giraffeter (T, 74k, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Case Fic, Police, Missing Persons, Getting Together, Flashbacks, Detective LWJ, antifa WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, First Meetings, Seattle, Mutual Pining, nonfatal car accident, mafia wens, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers)

Heat It Up! with Wei Ying by justpeace (T, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, coworkers to dating, Getting Together, Chinese Food, racism that largely happens offscreen, workplace racism, toxic workplace environment, Workplace Relationship, food as a metaphor for racism, Humor, Happy Ending, Angst and Humor, food as a metaphor for flirting, References to Drugs, Alcohol, Asian-American Character)

~*~

6. Hi ! This is an I’m in the mood for: I’m looking for a really good long and passionate Friends to lovers🩷 @red-spacekitten

See all this and more for just ten dollars a month! Series by ScarlettStorm (E, 382k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, Getting Together, Pining, Porn, like in the writing and also as a plot point, onlyfans au, repressed lwj, sex worker wwx, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, hornt™, mental health, therapy is good actually, Nonbinary NHS, Gender Exploration, Hurt/Comfort, past trauma, genderfluid wwx)

~*~

7. hello! for the next in a mood for could i please get fics that have a similar vibe to “lynchpin” by shanastoryteller when it comes to yunmeg bros relationship, please??

🔒 to arrive late is better than not to arrive at all by Moominmammashandbag (M, 35k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, JYL & WWX & JC, JC & LWJ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Soulmates, Chronic Illness, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Hanahaki Disease, but as a curse, LWJ says fuck, Feelings Realization, obsession with interior design, JGY is bad, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Family Angst, sibling angst, LXC says fuck, He's very stressed, soft, Wedding, LQR was in love once too, Motion Sickness, sect politics, Marriage Proposal, YZY had reason to be angry, JFM feels guilty and so he should, Madam Lan was imprisoned for no reason)

~*~

8. haai! for the next in a mood for could i please request fics where jin guangyao feels the weight of comeuppance? like actually has to deal with the consequences of his actions instead of just dying outright. thank uuu UwU

~*~

9. Hello I hope you are wellI would like to ask you if you could help me find fanfic where Lan Wangji is the one who travels back in time to fix everything or where Lan Wangji Furuto travels to the world of Mo Dao Zu Shi, the genre could be Wangxian or Xianwang Could you please do me a big favor and thank you, I love your work. @alfithia

A Matter of Time series by mrcformoso (E, 84k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, graphic depictions of violence, underage, LWJ pov, JC pov, dark LWJ, manipulation, grooming, teen body adult mind for LWJ, happy ending for wangxian, problematic consensual underage sex, blood & violence, insane LWJ, manic LWJ) Not so much LWJ time travel fix everything more LWJ time travel break things in a different way that benefits WWX

the cycle of regret by KouriArashi (T, 14k, WangXian, Groundhog Day, Fix-It, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Canon) LWJ time loop

A Narrow Bridge by FrameofMind, Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle) (E, 700k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, slow burn, getting together, first time, pining, pining while fucking, burial mounds settlement days, angst w happy ending)

The Wild Geese’s Tomb by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (T, 66k, wangxian, time travel fix-it)

I Have Arranged to Tie You to Me by xxxMiaHikarixxx (G, 51k, WIP, WangXian, Lan protective team, Time Travel, Past, LWJ oriented, Arranged Marriage, Boys In Love, Soulmates, Fix-It, Jiang siblings, not jiang parents friendly, Soft LWJ, Protective LWJ, Genius WWX)

The Dreams of Youth by sami (E, 86k, wangxian, time travel, fix-it, family, not lan sect friendly, canon typical violence & gore, childhood friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, mothers who live, some people live/not everyone dies)

~*~

10. Itmf lwj protects wwx’s virtue… “only I can look at him” vibes; jealous, protective, and chivalrous lwj.

A Baby Dragon's Guide To Seducing Your Huli Jing by sweetlolixo (M, 102k, wangxian, fantasy au, dragon LWJ, fox WWX, younger LWJ, older WWX, fluff, humor, happy ending) if the person doesn't mind AUs, then A Baby Dragon's Guide To Seducing Your Huli Jing is the penultimate story for protecting Wei Ying's virtue.

~*~

11. ITMF war fics. Like actual real war. Not like how people potray sun shot campaign, but war like WW1 WW2. If it could be modern , I would love it. But canon era will work too. Thankyou.

~*~

12. this is for itmf!

does anyone know any good Xicheng fics?

(I've already read Audience of One by WinterDreams !!)

~*~

13. hiii thank you so much for all the work that u do! ive been reading every recs for a week now >< that said, do u have any fics where wangxian are kids and are being there most adorable selves? i've been in the mood for baby wangxian and fluff lately. Thanks again!!

🔒 If You are with Me | End Racism in OTW by Starkalways1 (G, 5k, wangxian, Babyji and Babyxian story)

藍色的花，紅色的蘭 {Lan se de hua, hongse de lan} by Admiranda, AshayaTReldai (M, 45k, WangXian, Orphan WWX, Childhood Friends to Lovers, wwx raised in the lan clan, softer lqr, Good Uncle LQR, Good lan clan, Good Older Sibling LXC)

🔒 Hope series by RoseThorne (M, 59k, wangxian, WIP, Transmigration, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Crying, Music, Nosebleed, Fear, Recovery, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, Flirting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent YZY, Referenced Sexual Slavery, Blood and Gore, Monsters, Sexual Tension, betrothal, Arranged Marriage, Adoption, POV Third Person, POV Alternating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Good Parent LQR, Clairvoyance, Butterfly Effect, Kid Fic, Epistolary, Food, Secrets, Resentful Energy, Cultivation Sect Politics, Character Death, Resentment, Anger, Explosions, Yīn Iron, Grief/Mourning, POV WWX)

~*~

14. Itmf war fics. Relationship or marriage in between war?

Not That Great a Sacrifice by Winglesss (E, 37k, wangxian, historical fantasy au, arranged marriage, marriage of convenience, elemental magic, pining, UST, forbidden love, miscommunication, weddings, fluff & humor, light angst w/ happy ending)

tie a knife with a ribbon by iliacquer (E, 5k, wangxian, Dubious Consent, Bottom LWJ, YLLZ WWX, D/s, Rimming, Frottage, a lot of smut, a sprinkling of plot for flavour, war prize LWJ)

Conquering the Emperor by catbrainedschemes (E, 21k, wangxian, Historical AU, Imperial China, Emperor WWX, General LWJ, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Historically Inaccurate, Misunderstandings, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Light Angst, Non-Graphic Violence, Getting Together, Sexual Tension, Some Plot, Slow Burn, Happy Ending)

what price is duty, what cost is love by thunderwear (G, 18k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, WWX was never adopted by the Jiang Sect, War Prize, YLLZ WWX, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, First Time, Falling In Love, eventual dramatic confessions, Eventual Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending)

~*~

15. thanks for the hard work admins! any fics where lwj falls in love with wwx at first sight? thanksss❤️

smoke gets in your eyes by orphan_account (T, <1k, wangxian, WIP, F/F, Modern, Chef WWX) very short but very cute crush forming, wlw wangxian

~*~

16. Itmf good madam yu fics.

A) she's always been good.

B) she grows good as fic progresses.

C) she's like - "yeah that is a nuisance gremlin, but you see that's MY nuisance gremlin " - for wwx @constellationdks

16B)

🔒❤️ the thing with feathers by RoseThorne (G, 43k,wangxian, Transmigration, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Fear, Recovery, Sharing a Bed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent YZY, Referenced Sexual Slavery, Blood and Gore, Sexual Tension, Arranged Marriage, Grief, Adoption, POV Third Person, POV Alternating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Good Parent LQR, Clairvoyance, Butterfly Effect)

16C)

我的皇后是農民 | sowing seeds in the cold palace by sweetlolixo (E, 78k, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Imperial Consort WWX, Farmer WWX, Only WWX Could Have an Empress to Farmer Pipeline, Angst, Romance, Wingman LJY, Wife-chasing-LWJ, LWJ will grovel to the ends of the earth to make it up to WWX don’t worry, Arranged Marriage, Best Boy A-Yuan, not LWJ friendly)

🧡 Heaven Has No Rage by flipfloppandas (M, 51k, WWX & YZY, JFM/YZY, implied wangxian, WWX/WC, WWX/others, rape/non-con, modern, hurt/comfort, protective YZY, good parent YZY, hospitals, medical procedures, vomiting, trauma) It’s a moderne AU I liked it a lot it’s a YZY pov but it is very hard to read (READ THE TAGS)

~*~

17. Hi! 🤗

Looking for the other fic, make me want to read more fics about WWX having his own sect. I really think WWX would be a great sect leader. So this is an ask for ITMF. ☺️ Thanks again for everything! 💕 @wangxiansgirl

I think there is a yiling Wei sect compilation on this blog!

🔒 a star called sun by thelastdboy (E, 120k, wangxian, SL/XXC, JC & JYL & WWX, JYL & LWJ, WWX & WN & WQ, JYL/JZX, Canon Divergence after Xuanwu Cave, Fall of Lotus Pier, But worse!, Power Imbalance, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Everyone Dies AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Major Character Injury, Loss of Limbs, Chronic Illness, Seizures, WWX's Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Wēn Remnants Live, Wēn Remnants Deserve Better, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute LWJ, Service Animals, Crows)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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vivwritesfics · 9 months

Text

No Need To Ask

Chapter Twenty-Four - Taken

But with tension with one of the Spanish crime families rise, Norris and his now deceased wife come up with only one plan, offer their daughter to the Sainz's or risk an all out war.

1.7K words

Series Masterlist

Lando Norris did exactly what he said he was going to do. Now that there were no threats held over them, he flew to the Netherlands. Only two of his men were with him as he used his private jet to pick up his sister.

His knee bounced as the jet landed in the Verstappen hangar. Lando had called ahead, told Verstappen what was going on. Verstappen was more than happy to oblige. (Verstappen was a very cold and calculating man. He didn't much care that Y/N was in his house and left Max to deal with her. She was more a bother than anything else to him and he was more than happy to get rid of her).

Max wasn't happy with Y/N leaving the Verstappen stronghold. In her he'd developed a friendship, and she had been something of a perfect (platonic) companion. Happy to spend time with him while he did his thing and she did her own thing.

They watched movies together, just happy to spend time around each other. It made the time that Carlos was away pass quickly and distracted her from missing him terribly.

But she did still miss him terribly.

Max stood beside Y/N, several of his fathers men surrounding them as Lando's jet touched down in front of them. "I'm gonna try and get into contact with Carlos, tell him where you've gone," He called over the sound of Lando's jet.

"Just don't make him worried!" Y/N called, Lando walking off of the jet. "I don't want him panicking while he's busy!"

Max nodded his head as Lando strode over, round sunglasses covering his eyes. "Let's go," he said the moment he reached his sister, grasping a hold of her arm. Behind his sunglasses his eyes glanced down, looking towards the bump that wasn't there yet.

But she didn't let him pull her away. Y/N stepped away from her brother and launched herself at Max, wrapping her arms around him. "Thank you," she whispered and kissed his cheek.

Lando gave Max a nod and grabbed a hold of his sister once again. He gently pulled her away, pulling her back towards the jet. This time she went with him, walking up the steps and climbing into the jet.

Before she knew it, they were in the air, leaving the Netherlands and getting further away from the country she now called home.

***

For twelve weeks Carlos was stuck in Spain, missing his pretty little wife. He had no pictures of her, nothing to remind him of her. In those twelve weeks, Carlos had never felt so lonely.

Was this how she felt during the start of their marriage? Regret filled him when he thought about it.

He wanted her home. Now.

But he couldn't. Carlos couldn't have her home until he knew the house was completely safe.

The first thing finished was the door, the one that needed a retina scan to get in. It was incredibly expensive, but Carlos would spend all of the money in the world to keep Y/N safe.

New cameras, new gates and new alarm systems had been installed. Carlos got rid of his at home golf course, filling in the holes and flattening out the banks.

Instead of the golf course, he had a play area installed. A little slide, a sand box, swings, and more. Carlos was also having a small slide installed in the pool. He was going to give their little one everything.

As the walls were built around the house, Carlos emptied out his room opposite his own. Well, it wasn't his room anymore. It was theirs, his and Y/N's. Anyway, he emptied out the room opposite, which was once a guest bedroom, and painted the walls.

Pink or blue were the colours he spent way too long debating over. But he didn't go with either colour, instead painting the walls a nice, olive green.

It was just the base. What Carlos wanted more than anything for their baby's bedroom was a mural of animals. A collection of jungle animals in trees, painted on the walls, or badgers and foxes prancing around in sweaters (but Carlos was leaning more towards the jungle animals).

His laptop was full of open tabs of baby things. A crib, a mobile to hang above the bed, a wardrobe (one pink and princess themed, one cream, ready for the couple to decorate it). He'd picked out giraffe rug to go with the potential jungle mural, and a collection of books, some in English and some in Spanish.

Carlos hated that he was doing it without Y/N, but it made him miss her just a little bit less, getting the room ready for baby Valentina or baby Oscar.

He ordered the crib, but everything else he'd do with Y/N. As Carlos sat on the floor of the baby's room, he smiled to himself. He couldn't wait to have the two of them home.

***

Oscar stepped out of the car, looking at the familiar house. It was fortified now, with high walls and two gates before you got to the main house. But it wasn't quite finished yet, the Spanish mansion looking like a construction site.

On Carlos's command, Oscar had been allowed through. Carlos opened the door, allowing him in, and Oscar ran up to the office.

But Carlos wasn't in the office. He was opposite and over one, in the room that was for the baby.

Oscar gently knocked on the door before allowing himself in. The door had been painted cream, a different colour to the rest of the doors in the house, with a space left for a name.

"Hey," said Oscar as he looked down at Carlos, constructing the crib. "Where did you send her?"

Carlos placed the piece of crib he was constructing to one side and let out a sigh. "I sent her to the Verstappens," he said and leaned back on his palms. "I sent her somewhere she would be safe, and Norris decided he wanted to bring her back to England."

Oscar glared at the floor. "Well, at least she's with family now," he said, trying to justify it as he leaned against the wall.

"Just one more week and I will bring her home," Carlos said and looked up at Oscar.

Oscar pulled off his suit jacket and got to work. He helped Carlos set up the crib and hung the mobile above it. The two of them worked together to put together the book case. "I was going to wait for Y/N to do all of this," said Carlos as they screwed the bookshelf into the wall, preventing it from ever toppling over.

"Sorry," Oscar said somewhat sheepishly as he pulled his suit jacket back over his shoulders. "But this was fun. Have you guys thought of names?"

Carlos only smirked.

***

The Norris house wasn't well fortified. It wasn't fortified at all. But Lando didn't have anybody he loved and wanted to protect, so he didn't do anything to make the house more secure.

There were a few extra cameras and a few alarms on the doors. But that was it.

And then Lando brought Y/N home. He brought his sister back to her house, a place she hadn't been to since their fathers funeral. So much had changed since then. She was carrying a child now, actually in love with the man she had been forced to marry.

Even though the Norris house wasn't well fortified, Y/N couldn't stop herself from feeling safe. This was her childhood home, where she had grown up.

Once again, just as they had at the start of this story, Y/N and Lando sat in the library, playing a game of chess. She was winning, as she always did.

Normality was nice. But, as nice as it was, Y/N missed her husband.

"Your chess game has gone down hill," said Lando as she took his queen. Yes she was winning, but it had taken a lot longer than Lando expected.

Y/N looked at her brother through her lashes. She hadn't played chess for the entire time that they had been in the safehouse. She knew she'd lost her touch, but she was still winning. Her time in this house was going to be spent playing chess.

Lando tried to spend as much time with her as he could. Who knew when Carlos was going to come and get her, to take his sister away from him again?

Y/N had been in the Norris house for four weeks before she started showing. Just a small bump, she didn't need to start wearing stretchy clothing just yet.

"Have you thought of names?" Asked Lando as they ate breakfast together after four weeks of living together again.

Y/N swallowed her breakfast. "Briefly, yeah. We talked about it just before he flew back to Spain," she said, leaning her head against her hand.

"If it's a boy would you name it after dad?"

Y/N looked at her brother. She hadn't even considered naming the child after her father. Guilt settled in her stomach as she realised she considered Oscar as the namesake before she thought about her father. But no, she wanted to name the baby after Oscar and that she was going to do (if it was a boy).

Time worked in a funny way. She had spent ten weeks back in her childhood home, twelve weeks in total away from her husband. Y/N didn't know it, but this was the day he was coming back to her, returning her to the home he had now made safe for them.

But she'd never find that out.

Like I said, the Norris house wasn't well fortified. Lando had only been targeted once and that was it, he didn't think he needed to fortify it more. Maybe it was his age, or his lack of experience as a head of family.

They broke into the house in the early hours of the morning. Those that had been on watch were tired after hours protecting the house.

It was easy for them to climb in through Y/N's bedroom window, knock her out before she knew what had happened, and take her away.

Taglist (CLOSED): @multi-universe21 @formulas-bitch @gills-lounge @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @carlossainzwho @f1lov3r @samaib11 @charli123456789 @queenofmanydreams @ironmaiden1313 @vellicora @glitterf1 @80sloverry @lightdragonrayne @moonayu @bellsalabanccini @topguncultleader @handsupforamiracle @cmleitora @jenniferrvsesi @barcelonaloverf1life @sbella13 @nicolettecallednikki @darleneslane @thehufflepuffavenger1 @champagneproblems17 @aespie @yukheizcigarettes @rewmuslupin @hollie911 @ashy-kit @ririgy @stqrgir1 @zaynzierulez @minkyungseokie @rafaaoli @carolinesainz @ashies-ln4op81aa22 @measimp @mizelophsun11 @eviethetheatrefreak @andydrysdalerogers @formulaal @graciewrote @biancathecool @evans-dejong @sparklyperfectionstranger @venusesworld @goldenharrysworld @cassie0sstuff @gracielukey @watermelonworries @celesteblack08 @shobaes @chonkybonky

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melis-writes · 1 year

Text

Mafia Wife [Sonny Corleone x Reader Multichapter, 18+ Smut] Chapter 1 – La Famiglia Giordano.

Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist.

18+, explicit smut read.

“You wanted to name our first-born daughter Gabriella.” / “You’re Gabriella, aren’t you?”

“The underboss’s wife”; that’s who you are, and the whispers of enemies, family and colleagues alike know it too. You’re no stranger to the underworld of crime surrounding you including the one run by the Corleone family’s underboss; Santino Corleone. The streets run red with blood and brutality under Santino’s influence but it’s Santino who feels hit by the thunderbolt at the very sight of you—pushing away his womanizing and notorious unfaithfulness. You unexpectedly find yourself in a position of power balancing your marriage with the fate of the Corleone’s family’s future whether it be through Santino’s infamous brutality or the love he finds amidst the man he claims to be.

[WARNINGS]: Mentions of violence & death / Alcohol use / Pregnancy / Childbirth.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The very first chapter of my Sonny Corleone x Reader fic is FINALLY here!! 🥰✨ Thank you guys SO much for all of the endless support and love this fic received when it was just an idea and barely typed out! I'm so glad to finally have it up. By far the most exhausting and longest part of the fic process is planning a brand new one for me, and I had definitely been much busier than usual when planning out/writing this fic which is why it took so long to write. I had to give something for the Santino girlies as I'm one myself!! 👀❤️ Please read ALL of the tags on this fic on AO3 before diving into the chapters as it'll give you a good understanding as to what the entire fic and chapters will be like. This goes for ALL fics I write! The tags are there for a reason. This fic is also 18+ only, just like all of my other works forever and always. This is meant for adults to read only. ✋🏻

Chapter 1: La Famiglia Giordano.

[ Barzini Family Estate, 1948 ]

“Nobody wants another war,” Don Barzini states, watching the ice soaking in his glass of whiskey. “Nobody wanted another war; isn’t that how it always goes?”

Don Tattaglia gives his head a shake, relaxing in the leather armchair he sits across from Barzini. “We have Sollozzo to thank for all of that.”

Having an otherwise civil discussion between two closely allied business partners and old friends, the bond Don Barzini and Don Tattaglia’s family share has been stronger than ever since Sollozzo.

Despite successfully allying together against the Corleones throughout the Five Families War and coming together for talk over business, neither Barzini nor Tattaglia can ignore the air of tension that’s formed between them now.

Barzini can easily tell Tattaglia is unnerved as he sips his whiskey again, savoring the smokey notes of the liquid over his tongue while noticing how Tattaglia is nearly chugging back his drink.

“You’re tense,” Barzini comments, somewhat surprised by Tattaglia’s behavior. “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind or not?”

“How can I not be?” Tattaglia swallows down his drink.

“You’re looking at all of this the wrong way, my friend,” Barzini gives a reassuring smile. “You’re on the winning side. The Godfather has no leverage over either of our families or—”

“Vito Corleone isn’t my concern,” Tattaglia interrupts.

“Hmm,” Barzini pauses, taking a sip of his drink again. “Then that’s a first.”

“It’s his son,” Tattaglia adds.

“Which one?” Barzini rolls his eyes. “They’re all equally useless in their own ways.”

Tattalia opens his mouth to answer before pausing for a moment; a look of absolute defeat crosses his expression, forming into regret, then helplessness. “Does the name ‘Gabriella’ ring a bell to you?”

Barzini raises a curious brow. “Maybe. Should it? Does The Godfather have another daughter we don’t know about?”

“He has a daughter-in-law,” Tattaglia answers, “Gabriella Corleone. She’s the daughter of Francesco Giordano.”

Barzini tenses for a moment, no longer focusing on his whiskey. “I… I see.”

“You know Gabriella then?” Tattagia asks back.

“Not personally, but her name was spoken often in my household. Was,” Barzini emphasizes.

Tattaglia sighs softly, giving his head a shake.

“Emilio wanted to marry her,” Barzini continues, mentioning his eldest son. “He spoke of Gabriella fondly and often, but she refused him and his advances. Now you’re telling me she’s part of the Corleone family?”

“Francesco did well hiding the news from us for the most part,” Tattaglia points out. “Everyone else must have known.”

“No, no,” Barzini shakes his head, refusing. “I don’t think of it in that way. Francesco is a dear friend. He doesn’t ‘hide’ things. He values the privacy he can give his family.”

“If you want to put it that way,” Tattaglia mumbles. “It’s none of our business, is it? She married Santino Corleone, the underboss.”

Barzini freezes in his seat, attempting to calm himself down internally as Tattaglia immediately picks up on Barzini’s shocked expression.

Tattaglia nods grimly, “do you know what you’ve done?”

“Don’t,” Barzini mutters softly, holding up his free hand.

“She’s pregnant,” Tattaglia adds. “Do you even care? Do you know what’s going to happen now? To your investments? Your wealth? Your bank accounts with Giordano?”

Barzini suddenly lets go of his whiskey glass, watching as the glass shatters to pieces over the floor and the alcohol spills free onto the wood.

Barzini covers his face with shame, feeling a knot of heavy emotions cause him to feel nauseous almost instantly with unimaginable guilt.

A heavy silence sits in the air between the two men for a minute as they ponder, having nothing else to say to each other.

“I will apologize to Gabriella,” Barzini finally speaks, raising his head out of his hands.

“You can’t,” Tattaglia frowns. “You can’t do anything anymore.”

[ 1921 ]

“Gabriella… Little Gabriella.” You’re the first-born daughter in your family to four older brothers, and the eldest to your twin sister, born just forty minutes apart.

Although your mother went into labor knowing she’d welcome two children instead of one on June 19th, 1921, nothing could surpass the joy your mother and father felt when you were born.

Just as your four eldest brothers had been born, your mother gave birth to you and your twin sister Bella at home, surrounded by two Italian-American nurses from the community who had helped your mother through her previous deliveries.

Your parents weren’t sure what to expect when your mother realized she was pregnant with her fifth child since the last four children she gave birth to were all boys.

“Will it be another boy this time?” Your father chuckled and placed his hand over the top of your mother’s seven-month-old baby bump. “Perhaps two boys?”

“Oh, please,” your mother let out a laugh, “we have more than enough boys. I would love a daughter this time around. One boy and one girl, or twin girls even.”

“What a dream that would be,” your father grinned. “It seems like we’ve had all the luck in the world for having sons. No matter,” he leaned over, kissing your mother’s baby bump gently. “Boy or girl loved all the same. Spoiled like his or her other siblings. Only two this time…” He pulled away, looking up at your mother. “I can’t wait to meet them, darling.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” your mother blushed and laced both of her hands with your father’s. “Two more additions to the family. You know what I said when we first married? About baby names?”

“I do, mhmm,” your father nodded. “You wanted to name our first-born daughter Gabriella.”

“I do,” your mother smiled warmly. “I still do.”

“Of course. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. I still remember,” he gave your mother’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I hope this time we get to meet little Gabriella.”

“I hope so too, my love.”

Even before you were born, you were loved. The idea of you was loved, your name was loved, and everything and anything you could be from birth to adulthood to old age was loved.

Nothing compared to how overwhelmed with joy your mother felt when she smiled up weakly at you, tears in her eyes from excruciating contractions hitting her again and again to see and hear one of the nurses declare, “it’s a girl!”

Before your mother went back into labor to give birth to your twin sister forty minutes later, she held you in her arms and cooed to you through her tears of happiness. “Gabriella… Gabriella...”

She kissed your cheeks wet with tears as your father let you hold his finger with your tiny hand, looking down upon you with so much love and happiness.

You were born into this world loved and welcomed just as your siblings were, and just as you would always be.

Your twin sister and you were born to the Giordano family; a family that came from money which was no secret nor meant to be one.

Your father, Francesco Giordano, better known as “Frankie” by his friends and business partners, was born in Sicily, but your grandparents had already been living in and had immigrated to New York.

Your father came from a lengthy family history of educated individuals; spanning seven generations of university graduates and had graduated from Columbia University himself in 1912.

Your mother, Rosa nee De Luca, who was born in Long Island, New York to Sicilian parents, had met your father in that same year.

Having many connections or even just one to a crime family served to be the best for anyone’s interests, even those who didn’t want to get “involved” indirectly or directly, and then there are always individuals who wouldn’t mind the close ties with the mafia so as long as they stray from direct intervention or get too close, could always reap the benefits of work connections by having powerful friends in powerful places.

Your father and his family practiced the same mantra as many others; don’t get too close to the mafia to avoid getting burned, by maintaining a healthy business relationship and community friendliness.

Since the days of your great-grandfather, your father inherited the ownership of several small banks that his family had started; serving the local community and operating for middle-class families with day-to-day funds, support for home ownership, and loans.

The success of your father’s family business in banking was steady and promising, working out very well to attract a clientele of all kinds from the Italian-American community in particular.

Your father built his business connections where your grandfather left off but also started new ones with the Italian community in the neighborhood and area as well as being involved with all of the crime families himself, but with some more than others.

Everyone, including the mafia, knows Frankie Giordano to be an honest businessman who makes a living to feed his family. Your father also happens to be smart and witty about it too.

Frankie Giordano built a name for himself without feeding off of his father’s legacy and thus deepened the trust and bond the Giordano family already had with the mafia when it came to loans and money laundering.

One could say your father always went to the bank laughing, and the mafia made sure of that for the excellent service rendered by the Giordano banks.

Your father also knew that his future wife—your mother—would benefit greatly from that, and thus so would all of his and her children.

Your father had no intention of keeping the truth and ties of his business affairs from you, your twin sister Bella, or any of your brothers for that matter. He would only wait to tell you all in due time when you’d be mature enough to understand and process it.

Even if in the future and all grown up none of you were remotely interested in the booming world of business and finance, you’d at least benefit immensely from inheritance and the steady flow of wealth and investments.

Your father’s closest business partners were that of the Corleone and Tattaglia families, although the Barzini’s were getting close enough to join the list too.

Your family is protected from conflicting interests and possible hostilities between rival families because your father’s business is legal, public and there’s mutual respect and understanding of what your family’s banks provide with respect grandfathered in.

Despite Frankie Giordano’s wealth and success, your father was never the type of man to flaunt or brag—just maintaining his work ethic with dedication like none other; traits you would indeed inherit from him.

In many ways, your father would see a lot of himself in you as you grew older, such as the fact you too could see light at the end of every tunnel and that you also valued family and morals over money and power.

Such traits and beliefs made your father a true family man under times of turmoil and stress, and it also helped you understand the world around you better.

Your father married your mother, Rosa, in 1914 after almost two years of courtship with no intention to push or rush their relationship for the sake of tying the knot quickly.

Your mother comes from a family of wealthy socialites who built upon their wealth by investing and simply being connected to the right people.

Your parents met each other through a social outing when your mother’s family became all the more interested in investing in Giordano family banks.

“It’s one thing to believe in something such as love at first sight. Love can be so fickle, but when it happens to you, it changes you completely,” your mother had once told you.

The wit and cunning your mother showed growing up as a young woman were learned from family members around her and would no doubt pass on to you as well.

Through your mother, you also discovered your passion and love for art and botany, whereas your twin sister Bella felt the same and was more connected to architecture, nature, and the outdoors.

When your parents settled down and planned to have a family of their own, your brothers, you, and your sister would come from and be born into a family of love and respect that could never be unbound.

You knew from a very young age early on that your parents loved each other very much, and although all couples disagree and have their fights, you still can’t recall a single moment where you heard your parents raise their voices at each other in front of you, let alone fight or argue in front of you and your siblings either.

Growing up, all you knew is you loved and wished for the same peace and calm love your parents shared.

You don’t want to be “madly” in love; you want a peaceful and understanding love—the kind your mother and father share with each other with the kind of expectations they lived through and passed onto you.

Everything you’ve learned about love was through your parents, and it set your heart’s wants and needs as a young woman.

Your mother, who is not easily impressed by just anything, had taught you to be the same and explore your options with all things when you were a teenager.

“What pleases the eye once may not do so the second time. The world is filled with options. Your heart will know what’s best for you.”

While your mother was eighteen years old when she married your father, she gave birth to your eldest brother—Luca—in 1915.

Right up until your mother’s maternity leave, she was a private art teacher in New York City who specialized in teaching about painting; classical, renaissance, religious, and abstract.

Your mother would not return back to teaching part-time until 1936 when your sister Bella and you were about fifteen years old and the family could easily sustain and take care of itself throughout the day.

Your mother also preferred to teach part-time instead of full-time before she began to have children because she preferred to spend most of her time with the grandchildren she welcomed over the years.

Coming up to 1939, you and your sister were eligible bachelorettes in your family alongside one bachelor brother—Giani—but it would be you, the most eligible bachelorette considering your circumstances and your sister’s traveling abroad that would not only bring you upon him—Santino Corleone—but the Corleone family and their history with the Giordano’s in due time.

[ 1920, Hell’s Kitchen, New York ]

“There will never be come a day—” Francesco says, sketching out the outline of a small olive branch over a scrap piece of paper in front of him, “where they outlaw this, my friend. Never. The olive? They could not,” your father admires his sketch, darkening the two olives he drew hanging on the branch. “The olive provides too much—it does too much. You buy it from Vito Corleone—Genco Olive Oil—” he smiles up at Vito who returns the warm expression, popping a black olive in his mouth from the small platter in front of them.

“And you use it in your cooking,” your father continues, taking an olive and putting it in his mouth. “It’s too versatile, too much of a need for the average family to outlaw.”

“I can’t see any Italian family without a bottle in their home,” Vito chuckles quietly.

“Exactly,” your father points out, reaching into the drawer beneath him for a moment.

Vito glances over curiously, watching as Francesco pulls out a concealed bottle of unopened Jack Daniel’s whiskey before setting it on the front counter in front of him.

“You don’t have to worry about the repercussions of buying a bottle or whole barrel of olive oil. This though,” your father taps the back of his fingernails against the bottle of alcohol. “Is a crime. This bottle here.”

Vito raises a curious brow; amusement twinkling in his eyes as to how nonchalantly your father pulled out a bottle of unopened whiskey.

“My father’s favorite drink served on ice. Bought and sold everywhere, now it’s illegal,” Francesco chuckles, shaking his head. “Now, buying and selling alcohol is illegal. Just like that.”

“They could never expect to stop everyone from doing so,” Vito chimes in.

“Exactly, my friend,” your father begins to open up the bottle, grabbing two small glasses from the cupboard beneath the front counter at which he and Vito sit. “They never can, but they know they never could. I don’t know how much longer this silliness will last, but,” Francesco begins to pour Vito and himself a glass of whiskey, “there’s plenty more of where this came from. No questions asked, no eyebrows raised.”

A curious look crosses Vito’s eyes as he takes his glass of whiskey before glancing down at it. Naturally, he immediately begins to wonder how many bottles Francesco has, where he got them from, how he got them, and where they’ll go.

“You are the most resourceful friend I know,” Vito comments, “do I need to ask?”

“You can,” your father replies, knowing, of course, Vito’s curiosity is only normal and expected, “if we can come to an agreement first, my friend.”

Your father was the first man to lend Vito Corleone money; give him his first full loan just by knowing his full name and without any interest.

Your father gave Vito a chance—one of his first chances—without even knowing it, and through such a chance came one lucrative business opportunity after another.

If your father and Vito were involved in something, then it meant there was plenty of money to be made under the table without asking questions and with no risk of getting caught.

Whether your father and Vito formally acknowledged it or not, they were a duo of sorts.

Your father trusted Vito while knowing Vito was indeed settling the roots of his one crime family just as the other mafia families in New York were.

Your father didn’t care about Vito’s involvement in crime or anything of the sort; your father was and is a banker by trade and name, and money always talked.

With prohibition starting in 1920 with a surplus of alcohol to be smuggled from your father’s contacts in Canada, there was nothing but profit to be made from the business for however long prohibition would last.

Securing and solidifying a strong friendship already, the prohibition era would make both your family and Vito’s very wealthy from the moment Vito smiled and shook your father’s hand in agreement, knowing all the same.

That was hardly the beginning of the Giordano and Corleone family’s friendship and ties with one another.

That same year, Vito Corleone would kill Don Fanucci.

Despite the concept being thought of by everyone who had the misfortune to know Fanucci, many didn’t believe Fanucci would be outright killed.

It was merely something men fantasized about to set themselves free of the financial obligations Fanucci put forward and fears they would be killed, extorted, go missing, or worse.

Taking Fanucci out was a fantasy, nobody could do it except for Vito Corleone.

If it was anyone your father had faith in to stand up to a brutish man like Fanucci, it was Vito Corleone, but your father also didn’t expect Vito to murder Fanucci the way he did and so soon.

On that fateful day, your father was closing up his main bank’s branch for the day; having put up the “closed” sign on the front door and lowered the blinds more than halfway down.

He had not yet locked the front door since he was up at the front anyway, and your father would be able to see anyone coming to approach the bank’s entrance before they could even think of trying the door.

At that time, your father was counting some of the spare change in one of the last drawers quietly, noting that it was 5:30 PM and rush hour had fully kicked in.

Humming quietly to himself, Francesco put the spare change in his pocket before closing up the cash register and locking it with his key.

Only for a moment did your father look up to see the faint figure of a passerby without paying too much attention to it.

In a few moments from now, Francesco would lock up the bank and head home; your mother was expecting him with a hot meal on the table and she was pregnant with you and your twin sister Bella at the time.

In a good mood and having enjoyed his work day, your father slowly began to stop humming upon hearing footsteps from that same figure grow closer to the bank’s front door.

Your father knew it wasn’t someone out strolling or wandering, but rather approaching the bank directly and standing in front of the door.

Your father kept his hand over his pistol carefully concealed underneath an old polishing rag on the front counter while watching the figure’s movements by the door.

It was then that Francesco noticed who the figure was, seeing no cause for panic or alarm.

It was Peter Clemenza, and he was revealing himself to your father to avoid a bullet in between the eyes at this hour.

Clemenza lifted up the “closed” sign in front of the door and peeked his head in; urgency in his eyes and beckoning with his hands to be let in.

Your father moved his hand away from the pistol and gestured for Clemenza to enter since the door wasn’t locked.

Sighing in relief, Clemenza quickly entered and shut the door behind him instantly, wasting no time.

Your father could easily tell Clemenza was alarmed but didn’t have a look on his face that spelled it was his problem.

Before your father could barely blink or open his mouth to ask Clemenza what was going on, Clemenza immediately stated, “Fanucci is dead.”

Your father stared back at him in shock, pausing for a moment to take everything in. “What? Dead?”

“Dead,” Clemenza confirms, locking the bank door and taking off his fedora. “I came over here as fast as I could to tell you.”

“Who else knows?” Francesco asked quietly.

“Roth, Genco, and Tessio so far,” Clemenza answered, catching his breath. “This is gonna send fuckin’ shockwaves throughout the neighborhood.”

“My God,” your father muttered under his breath, smoothening out the sides of his slicked-back hair. “And Vito? Does Vito know yet?”

Clemenza chuckles, shaking his head. “Who do you think did it, Frankie? Vito killed Fanucci. Shot that son of a bitch right in his own apartment. Don’t worry—“ He holds up a hand, “Vito handled everything.”

“Does he need anything?” Your father offered, stepping out from behind the front counter.

“Yeah, but I have a feeling you already know what,” Clemenza shrugged his shoulders. “That bastard Fanucci took half of our dime each and every time. He still dealt with your bank, right?”

“He has an account here,” Francesco nodded.

“Good,” Clemenza put his fedora back on, adjusting it. “Because everything in Fanucci’s account needs to all go to Vito now.”

It was true that Fanucci’s death, it now meant his money and assets held at the Giordano banks had to go somewhere, and your father couldn’t agree more to it going straight to Vito.

Fanucci had been stingy and extra hard on Vito over anyone, despite Vito being understanding and gentle to counter each and every time.

Still, Fanucci took hundreds of dollars worth of cuts from Vito’s pay every single time and still threatened to have him killed at the same time.

Francesco had no pity whatsoever towards Fanucci or his family, and if Vito was going to be the one taking back the money Fanucci stole from him and everyone else, then your father would agree to let it happen.

After all, Francesco knew Vito Corleone wasn’t the kind of man to take all that money and spend it on himself.

Vito proved your father’s beliefs about the security of Fanucci’s money and assets being transferred to Vito’s accounts when he saw for himself how Vito spread the money back into the Italian-American community and only taking the exact fair share that he kept track of since Fanucci began taking it.

Afterward, Francesco closed down Fanucci’s account at his bank and erased all existence and history of it, so if the police came around to ask questions, there wouldn’t be a single answer available.

Having Fanucci killed wasn’t something your father expected to happen in 1920—not while prohibition was still ongoing—and by Vito Corleone’s hand, nonetheless.

At the time, the only exciting news for Francesco Giordano was that he was expecting his wife to give birth to twin babies in the upcoming year.

In 1921, you and your twin sister Gabriella were born.

Your family did not live in stress due to any direct involvement in mafia affairs or had any fears to worry about what the mafia and those associated with its lifestyle of crime were doing.

Nothing stopped your family from continuing to live out their lives as normal, peaceful, and lawful with the police and government as many see fit despite what your father had known, seen, and been involved with in the past year.

Your father promised himself that he would never do or say anything to jeopardize the safety and happiness of his family nor put his family in any situation where they would live in fear and become potential targets to anyone or anything.

After all, your father had been expecting the birth of you and your baby sister—experiencing fatherhood all over again and surprisingly to two daughters this time.

Nothing else needed to get in the way of Francesco Giordano when he was welcoming two little babies to his family. Nothing to stress out his wife either and Francesco made certain of this.

It was on June 19th, 1921 that your mother, Rosa, went into labor in the comfort of her own home for six hours to give birth to you and your twin sister.

The same nurses who helped your mother give birth to your brothers were at your mother’s side again as your father also sat with her and held your mother’s hand for comfort—wiping the sweat off of her forehead and making soft conversation.

Everyone involved kept Rosa as comfortable as they best could, remaining vigilant in observation and getting Rosa anything she may need.

“Ti amo,” (I love you) your father whispered in your mother’s ear. “Sei una donna forte e ce la farai.” (You’re a strong woman and you’re going to get through this.)

Your mother’s strength thick and thin always had your father in awe, and your father never left your mother’s side throughout the six hours of tedious and agonizing labor.

Neither of your parents will ever forget the overwhelming joy and excitement they felt hearing the nurse announce, “it’s a girl!” for the first time as your mother gave birth to you.

Your mother smiled throughout her tears as she reached out to hold you and your father teared up too, seeing that he now had a baby daughter.

Sobbing from nothing but happiness and relief, your mother held your tiny self in her arms for a few moments before her body would prepare again to give birth to your twin sister Bella in the next forty minutes.

“Gabriella, Gabriella…” Your father cooed softly, attempting to soothe you as you cried out in your mother’s arms. “Welcome to the world, my beautiful girl.”

If it was a shock to have a daughter after giving birth to so many little boys, the ultimate surprise was your parents realizing that they were having two daughters.

So many happy tears and laughter were shared in that room, relief washing over everyone and the exhaustion of labor beginning to kick in.

Your family welcomed you and your twin sister Bella to the world in 1921, and your mother and father held both you and Bella in their arms, whispering promises that they would love and protect you both no matter what; that they’d do anything to give you and your siblings a good life.

Your eldest brother, Luca, who was five years old at the time was ecstatic, as were four-year-old Romeo, Casio, and little Giani to welcome two baby sisters.

Truly, it was one of the happiest moments of your mother and father’s lives.

In 1922 as you and Bella were just little babies growing up, one thing had become all the more apparent to all men who lived in Long Island—particularly the Italian community and the one in Hell’s Kitchen too.

Crime families at this time had bonded and grown stronger with all the more influence now. They were too powerful to be considered Fanucci wannabees as they could no longer be reckoned with alone.

Such power and influence amidst crime families brought business and organization, but that also meant rampant crime and fear even if it was not always noticeable.

One had to be careful dealing with crime families for whatever reasons since rivalry, although relatively uncommon at the time did exist and caused enough trouble.

Your father was only allied with and close friends with Vito and the Corleone family at the time, so no rivalry concerned him.

“Let me know if you need anything else, my friend,” Francesco said, patting Vito’s shoulder. “I can find a way to get funds to you in Sicily in less than two days if needed.”

“I will be fine, Frankie. Thank you,” Vito chuckled and smiled at your father. “I’m very grateful and appreciative for all the help you’ve provided my family and me.”

“You know I can say the same to you,” Francesco nodded back. “I’m too used to seeing you down these neighborhoods. You’ll be missed, Vito Corleone, but this trip is just what you need, isn’t it? For family and for peace.”

“Exactly,” Vito reaffirmed, “I won’t put it off longer than I need to. Don Ciccio is a withered old man now but he doesn’t deserve to die from something so merciful such as old age.”

“I agree,” Francesco replied. “He is a vile and sick man obsessed with power. He always has been. Maybe once he’s finally out of the picture, the rest of us can peacefully return to Sicily for a family trip as we wish to.”

“Many have said the same to me before,” Vito frowned. “I doubt Ciccio will remember me, but that is exactly what I will use to my advantage. It didn’t have to be this way, but…” Vito stroked his chin, “I lost my entire family to that foul man.”

“You don’t need to justify it to me or anyone else, Vito,” Francesco shook his head. “His death is in your hands now. You know I would come to aid you if I could. Either way, I support you.”

“I know you would, my friend, which is why we must part ways for now,” warmth flickered in Vito’s eyes. I can’t do this to you; you just had your little girls and they need their father with them more than ever.”

“So as long as they get to see their godfather soon again,” your father grinned. “Rosa is expecting you and Carmela all ready for dinner. Mrs. Corleone is expecting now too, is she not?”

“Indeed,” Vito beamed. “And we are taking little Michael to Sicily for this time on this trip.”

At that time, Carmela Corleone was pregnant with her first and only daughter, Constanzia.

“Ah, little Michael,” your father’s eyes lit up. “No naughtiness from the little man, I hope?”

“He’s a good, quiet young man,” Vito let out a soft laugh. “This trip will give him more stories to listen to about Sicily since he won’t remember it when he’s older.”

“Of course,” your father smiled, “just keep that fiery Santino by your side.”

“Carmela says the same,” Vito pointed out. “Don’t worry, I will. He’s a good boy too, I promise, although he could benefit from learning more manners.”

“Can’t we all?” Laughing, the two men shared a farewell hug.

“Be careful and be well, Vito,” your father cautioned. “Enemies may still be lurking in Sicily, looking for you, especially if you seek revenge.”

“It’ll be as if I wasn’t even there.”

[ 1939, Present Day ]

The first to welcome their first children into the Corleone family with Carmela and Vito Corleone excited to welcome a grandchild are Tom and Theresa Hagen; expecting their first baby early next year.

It’s no surprise that at first all eyes were on Santino—the eldest son of the Corleone family—to settle down and start a family first instead of Tom or anyone else, despite Tom being the same age—twenty three.

The only difference between the two men in terms of settling down to have a family was that Tom is in love with an investing in his love life and marriage with Theresa, an American woman, whereas Sonny hardly knows what “settling down” means.

It’s only in Sonny’s best interest to switch from one woman to another, a one nightstand again and again with no care as to how others may see Sonny to be very promiscuous with no shame or intent to stop sleeping around to even think about marrying someone.

Celebrating the baby shower for Tom and Theresa planned today, the nature of the event to both Tom and Theresa is private and intimate, hence their invitations only being sent out to the closest friends of the Corleone family.

Only the Giordano’s, Barzini’s and Cuneo’s are invited today with the vast majority of the women helping with the cooking back inside and the men upstairs in Don Corleone’s office.

Despite the family history with the Giordano’s, this is the first time you’re attending a Corleone family event and the very first time you’ll be visiting the Corleone estate.

Your father and brothers have visited the Corleone’s numerous times previously and know them better than any other business partner or friend, but neither you nor Bella have had the opportunity to yourselves.

Bella is more than halfway through her first semester at the Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna however, leaving you to be the only woman of the family next to your mother.

With the baby shower celebrations ongoing this afternoon in the courtyard of the Corleone estate to enjoy the fresh spring air and sun, men seeing Vito Corleone inside present Don Corleone with gifts meant for the expecting couple out of respect first.

Connie carefully balances one gift box over another by a table reserved just for baby shower gifts, making sure the presents don’t topple over one another from solely the sheer number of how many there are.

Arriving just five minutes after your father and brother, your chauffer passes clearance at the main gates of the Corleone estate before slowly beginning to park inside.

Your father and brothers have joined Barzini and Cuneo’s sons upstairs in Vito’s office where Sonny, Tom and Fredo also remain, but Michael—the youngest son of the Corleone family—is away at Dartmouth College for study.

Once the topic at hand ends in Vito’s office, Tom will come back out to the courtyard to thank and meet all the guests at the baby shower himself.

The rest of the men are not expected to in order to keep a low profile and spend as much time discussing business with Don Corleone as possible.

The only Corleone family member you know personally is Carmella and you’ve enjoyed every bit of time you’ve gotten to spend with her in the past when Carmela came to visit and bake desserts with you and your mother from time to time.

You know you’ll be meeting Theresa—the one expecting—and Connie Corleone as well for the first time.

“Benvenuti, miei cari!” (Welcome, my darlings!) Carmela happily blurts as she rushes down to the gates to greet you and your mother the moment you two step out of the vehicle.

“Carmela!” Your mother beams, pulling her into a warm hug. “Come stai dolcezza? È da parecchio tempo!” (How are you, honey? It’s been so long!)

“Yes, it has!” Carmela lets out a soft laugh before she cups your cheeks gently. “È passato tanto tempo perché guarda Gabriella! Adesso è diventata una bellissima giovane donna!” (It has been so long because look at Gabriella! She's all grown up now into a beautiful young woman!)

“Hi, Mama Corleone,” you giggle back, giving her a hug. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“And you as well, honey—mwah,” Carmela kisses both of your cheeks again, “she’s grown up to be such a beauty, hasn’t she?”

“Very much so,” your mother happily agrees. “And I’m excited for her to meet your girls!”

“As am I!” Carmela gestures excitedly, “come on in, ladies. All the men are already inside seeing Vito, I doubt they’ll even bother to come step out but in any case—that doesn’t matter. We’re all very excited for Theresa expecting her little one soon!”

“How far along is she?” You ask, walking into the Corleone estate grounds with your mother and Carmela.

“She’s about seven months pregnant now,” Carmela answers. “I can’t wait to introduce you to her. I know all you lovely ladies will get along just fine!”

Before you can say anything else, you step into the Corleone estate’s courtyard with Carmela and your mother to be hit with awe from the beauty of the estate surrounding you.

A gazebo stands in the further end of the courtyard with the manor itself built in a classic American style but with small details to Italian architecture.

The courtyard in which you stand in is surrounded by a blossoming garden, spotless and filled with ample enough space to host over four hundred people comfortably.

“So beautiful,” you murmur in surprise; momentarily turning back to see your chauffer placing the carefully wrapped giftboxes filled with the presents your mother and you chose for the baby shower by the table with the other gifts.

For your baby shower gift to Tom and Theresa, you picked out an abundance of cotton diapers, two bibs, three different pacifiers and a baby mat.

As your mother and Mama Corleone are lost in conversation, you look up to see a heavily pregnant woman—Theresa—rise up from her seat at her table with her hand over her baby bump.

Petite frame, blonde with bright eyes and American, Theresa’s eyes land on you as another woman approaches her by her side—a Sicilian—who looks like a striking combination of Carmela and Vito combined.

You assume this must be Connie—the only daughter of the Corleone family that your mother and Mama Corleone lead you up to now for introductions.

“Here is our lovely Theresa!” Carmela gestures to the pregnant young woman. “Seven months in with her little one already. Theresa, this is the daughter of my best friend, Gabriella. Her family is from Sicily too.”

“Hello,” Theresa shyly reaches out her hand to you. “It’s nice to meet you, Gabriella.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Theresa,” you give her a polite smile, shaking her hand back. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you!” Theresa’s eyes light up.

“And this is my daughter, Connie,” Carmela introduces Connie to you next, and you immediately notice Connie is much less shyer than her sister-in-law Theresa with a sparkle of excitement in her eyes from being introduced to you.

“Hi Gabriella,” Connie grins, “are you the only daughter in your family too?”

“Not exactly,” you let out a laugh, “I have a twin sister but she’s studying abroad.”

“Ah, lucky you! I’m the only sister,” Connie gives your hand a warm squeeze.

“I know what it’s like to grow up with many brothers around you, trust me,” you giggle back, knowing from what your mother told you that the Corleone’s are almost just as big of a family as yours and with many sons.

“Tell me about it,” Connie holds back her laughter and it immediately strikes you that Connie appears to be type of woman you can easily get along with and make the best of friends with her.

Just as warm, loving and trusting as Connie seems, you also can’t push past or ignore how you pick up an explainable kind of yearning sadness behind Connie’s eyes too.

Just as you’re thinking, Connie’s yearning to make a friend with someone like you and knowing she can easily be able to do so considering how close your families are; both of you around the same age and with familiar backgrounds.

Back inside Don Corleone’s office, greetings, congratulations and humble gift giving to Vito Corleone for Tom and Theresa’s baby shower has come to an end as Tom smiles to himself and keeps the stack of guests in the corner of Vito’s office and takes his seat again near his father.

A glass of richly aged bourbon is served for all of the men and Vito’s office door remains slightly ajar to help keep the air from getting stuffy from cigarette smoke.

“But the war,” Sonny begins, unamused, “it doesn’t mean too much for us, anyway.”

“Not at all,” your father says, shaking his head. “It’s a shame with all the bloodshed going on in Europe right now, but our interests remain the same and our assets here are protected.”

“We expect a prosperous new decade of us nonetheless,” Don Barzini adds.

“As do I,” Vito agrees. “One can only be concerned so much as to what strangers abroad are doing or how they risk their lives. We must work together so there’s no war between our families and only peace.”

“I have to say,” Tom speaks up, “to have no rivalry despite working with our families and their investments is impressive, Mr. Giordano.”

“I appreciate your praise, Tom,” Francesco gives Tom a polite smile. “In this line of work, I had to be a salesman and businessman. I hope our families can continue to be civil and work with one another. I know my wife enjoys the company of our family get-togethers and it would also be good for Gabriella as well, considering her sister is in Austria.”

“Ah, how is she?” Vito’s eyes light up in interest. “Enjoying her time abroad?”

“Indeed,” your father nods happily, “Bella is taking a varieties of courses on subjects in the arts, especially music and literature It’s good for her to broaden her horizons but I miss her, and I think Gabriella does too, of course.”

“Ah, very understandable,” Don Cuneo nods.

‘Gabriella?’ Sonny blinks, thinking to himself. ‘Who is she?’

“Michael is the same,” Vito gives his shoulders a shrug. “He is at Dartmouth now and I am proud of him for entering study in political science.”

“He doesn’t wish to follow in your footsteps, Vito?” Don Barzini smirks.

“He wants no involvement whatsoever,” Vito shakes his head. “Which is more than fine with me. Michael seeks a career in politics. I say sometimes American politics can be so foolish, but Michael can also be stubborn when he wants to. Nonetheless,” Vito places his hands down upon his desk, “I’m very proud of him.”

“Indecisive, perhaps?” Your father suggests.

“Nah,” Sonny interrupts, scoffing. “Michael wants to do everything and anything.”

“He is the youngest after all,” Tom chuckles quietly. “Then my sister Connie who is the youngest child of the family.”

“Ah, the lovely Connie,” Francesco smiles warmly, “of course. Michael is a bachelor, then?”

“All my sons are, except Tom,” Vito answers, somewhat unhappy about his answer. “Perhaps that will change, won’t it, Fredo?” Vito gives Fredo a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“Sure, Pop,” Fredo says back sheepishly.

“And Santino’s a different story,” Vito continues, gesturing to his eldest son.

“I dunno,” Sonny chuckles to himself, shrugging his shoulders. “Marriage isn’t really something on my mind just yet, you know.”

“Would you like to marry in the future, though?” Don Cuneo asks him.

“I do,” Sonny nods, “have some kids, a family—settle down, yeah. Why not? I just don’t think I got any opportunity to now but I’m not the kind of man who would push it all away.”

Vito nods, staring back down at his drink in hopes the conversation about Sonny being a bachelorette will change in the next few moments, for the sake of the Corleone family’s dignity.

Vito knows everyone else in the room is just as away of Sonny’s promiscuous behaviour and lifestyle as he is, after all.

Out in the courtyard with the ladies and you, most of the conversation continues with your mother, Theresa and Carmela, all giddy about Theresa’s pregnancy.

“Congratulations again, honey,” your mother tells Theresa, “how has it been for you so far? An easy pregnancy, I hope.”

“A little difficult, honestly,” Theresa admits, sheepishly. “It’s improving though.”

“It will for baby number two as well,” Carmela chimes in.

You turn back to Connie and smile, inviting a conversation of your own that she starts.

“Welcome, Gabriella,” Connie says to you, “it’s honestly nice to put a name to a face at last. Mama has told me a bit about you and your sister but we surprisingly never had the chance to meet.”

“I know,” you pout, “I wish we could have met one another much sooner. My twin sister is in Austria right now, actually, so she has no chance at all yet. You know, touring Western Europe when she feels up to an adventure. I’m not so lucky or adventurous though,” you laugh.

“Neither am I,” Connie admits, “it’s refreshing to meet someone like you. What’s Bella in Austria for?”

“Art school,” you reply, smoothening out your shirtwaist dress. “Art has always been a passion for Bella, mostly music, literature and art history.”

“Must run in the family then,” Connie beams at you, “mama told me both you and your mother are artists too.”

Flattered, you nod eagerly with a smile. “We’d like to say so! It runs within the ladies of the family. I adore fine art like sculpture and art history, but personally, it’s not my passion.”

“Applied arts then, maybe?” Connie offers, growing further interested in the conversation at hand.

“Something like that,” you ponder for a moment, “I prefer painting, like mama. I’ve always loved doing so.”

“Wow,” Connie murmurs to herself, “do you have any inspirations for making art?”

“Maybe not the answer you’re looking for—” you chuckle sheepishly, “but I’d honestly have to say emotions inspire me, and my environment. Even the weather—small things like that. Artists like Van Gogh and Monet also inspire me.”

“That’s amazing,” Connie brushes back a curtain of her dark hair behind her ear. “Mama had actually been telling me earlier about the private art school your mother teaches at and…I was honestly thinking about enrolling to get a feel for myself but I wasn’t entirely too sure.”

“Definitely go for it,” you can scarcely hide the enthusiasm in your tone. “Mama would be more than happy to guide you along the way too. I still attend when I have the time and you could too for passion or for credentials. There’s something for everyone.”

“Absolutely,” your mother chimes into the conversation. “I would love to show you around the school as well, Constanzia. Someday, Gabriella will have to show you her paintings.”

“I would like that very much,” Connie smiles back politely. “I can tell she’s very talented.”

“Thank you,” you blush.

“She’s a nurse by trade, did you know that?” Mama Corleone adds, causing both Theresa and Connie’s eyes to widen in surprise.

“I am,” you admit, noticing how proud your mother looks next to you. “Practice and passion versus hobbies and passion.”

“Wow,” Theresa breathes, “that’s wonderful. How do you like nursing, Gabriella?”

“So far, so good,” you giggle quietly. “I’m fairly new to the practice but I’ve been tending to some injured soldiers lately. It’s practical, and I’m excited to see where the career takes me.”

“A nurse at a baby shower, how nice!” Theresa gushes.

With business conversation endlessly continuing in Vito’s office, Sonny remains to be the only one itching to get out of his seat and at least take cigarette break from the stuffy talk he has no need to contribute too.

Then again, Sonny’s more obligated to listen and consider every word coming out of Vito’s mouth wisely due to being his father’s successor and having to expect the same business talks directed towards him someday.

“You can tell Luca,” Vito gestures to Sonny, grabbing his attention. “Give him a call and let him know, since he won’t listen to Tom anyway.”

Chuckles fill the room as Sonny gives a nod, sighing in relief under his breath and beginning to rise from his seat.

You’ve just stepped into the Corleone manor for a quick bathroom break after getting some much needed directions from Connie on how to navigate the estate; unable to stop yourself from gazing and admiring the furniture and fixtures of the stunning foyer.

Remembering Connie’s words on reaching the first bathroom, you begin to head down the hallway when you momentarily stop in your tracks to sneeze.

Covering your nose, you sneeze quietly and sniffle—instantly feeling a momentary sharp prickle in your nostrils.

Blinking, you continue walking forward—albeit slowly—due to being distracted by the small throbbing pain beginning to start in your nose.

“Ugh…” You rub your nose tenderly, eyes widening in surprise to see droplets of blood over your fingers.

A split second passes before you sneeze again, realizing the culprit is the stuffy and somewhat dust filled air in the hallway getting to you.

It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve experienced something similar, but it annoys you to no avail nonetheless.

You cover your nose and continue heading towards where you assume the nearest bathroom is, being careful so as not to spill any blood on the mahogany floorboards or onto your dress.

“Found it yet?!” You hear Connie’s voice echo down from the foyer as she peaks her head inside the estate.

“Yes, don’t worry!” You let out a half muffled call back, spotting the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

“Alright, I’ll wait for you back outside!” Connie shouts, shutting the front door behind her.

The “yes, don’t worry!” you proclaimed out catches Sonny’s interest instantly; the sound of an unfamiliar, yet sweet voice he’s never heard before.

Stunned, Sonny’s unable to focus on anything else and drowns out the chatter and noise from Vito’s office before he exits out into the hallway and shuts the door of Vito’s office behind him.

You sneeze again, whimpering out of annoyance as you feel blood beginning to trickle from your nose.

Following every sound you make, Sonny furrows his brows and walks downstairs and towards the hallway cautiously—both hands in the pockets of his dress trousers.

Only a split second later does Sonny spot you; an unfamiliar woman with your back facing him, wearing a burgundy swing dress with white kitten heels, your hair curled over your shoulders and more peculiarly, how you clutch your hand over your nose.

“Are you alright?” Sonny speaks out to you, coming closer to step into your line of view.

You blink, assuming one of the Corleone family’s bodyguards or security must have heard you sneezing and walking around the manor by now, but when you turn around you can tell just by the posture and amused expression over the stranger’s face that he’s neither.

Sonny and you don’t know one another nor have you seen each other before. You’re not even aware of what the Corleone men’s names are besides Tom and Vito, and you just learned Tom’s today through Theresa.

Blush instantly hits your cheeks as you feel your skin warm at the sight of Sonny. This man is tall with a slim but lean, fit build; sharp shoulders giving Sonny a firm build, his hair in brunette curls and his jawline chiselled with a smirk over his face.

There’s an air of confidence over Sonny and you can already tell with just a glance that he’s someone important.

You assume just by Sonny’s body language across from you that aggressiveness isn’t unheard of from him, but he seems intrigued and even friendly towards you.

“Oh, fine, thank you,” you answer back, still covering your nose. “I didn’t imagine it to be so stuffy down here.”

Sonny chuckles, stepping closer to you before taking one hand out of his pocket to gesture around to the walls. “The walls in this place are older than you and be combined. Don’t mind that.”

You gaze up at Sonny, unable to stop yourself from blushing as he gets closer to you.

You lower your hand away from your face without even realizing it, revealing your bloody nose to Sonny.

Sonny barely reacts to the sight of blood over your face but the look upon his face that he gives you doesn’t appear the way one would gaze at a stranger or someone they’ve met for the first time; the look in Sonny’s eyes may as well tell him he’s known you his whole life.

Sonny wants to ask you if he’s seen you somewhere or if the two of you know each other from some time ago, but something urges him to keep quiet, knowing the answer must be no.

Sonny’s muscles tense from a rush of arousal hitting him at the sight of you, already wildly attracted to you with no intention of denying it.

“Here,” Sonny reaches into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a neatly folded, silk handkerchief before handing it to you. “Don’t let it bleed all over you now.”

You hesitate for a moment, not at Sonny’s kindness but the expensive cloth he’s just handed you to wipe your nose with.

A warm, playful smile crosses Sonny’s lips as he reads through your hesitancy. “You’re Gabriella, aren’t you?”

Sonny knows better. An unfamiliar woman in his house with Mr. Giordano visiting? He’s already beginning to figure you out. Luckily, he didn’t assume you’re Bella.

“I am,” blushing, you answer a little out of breath and take the silk handkerchief from Sonny. “Thank you so much…” Your voice trails off as you realize you don’t know this man’s name.

“Santino Corleone,” Sonny introduces himself t you. “But everyone calls me Sonny.”

‘So he IS a Corleone…’

“Sonny,” you repeat, feeling your cheeks stinging with blush. “Thank you.”

Sonny grins, extending out a hand to shake yours as you wipe your nose with your free one. “It’s nice to meet you at last, Miss Giordano.”

As you shake Sonny’s hand back, you feel the same current of arousal rushing through him go through you.

“We haven’t met before, have we?” Sonny finally asks, unable to shake off the belief that he’s more than just familiar with you.

“This would be the first time,” you shake your head, “it’s nice to meet you as well. I’ve yet to meet your whole family yet, but,” you smile shyly, “thank you for having us to celebrate Tom and Theresa.”

“Thanks for coming,” Sonny smirks, “you’ve probably met Theresa already but Tom will be out in a moment and then you can see him too.”

You don’t notice Sonny’s eager eyes gazing up and down at your figure a split second after.

“Were you looking for someone or something?” Sonny asks you.

“Just the bathroom,” you admit, sheepishly. “I…” Your nose has fortunately stopped bleeding, but you look at the silk handkerchief in your hand to see the crimson mess staining through it.

“Don’t worry about it, darling,” Sonny scoffs; he couldn’t care less about the damn handkerchief.

“If you insist,” you begin to carefully fold the handkerchief in the palm of your hand. “It’s just about the whole reason why I came in.”

“Fair enough,” Sonny forces his eyes off of yours, gesturing further down the hallway. “Unless the whole baby shower is waiting for you to get back, I’ll help you out here. Give you a tour of the estate and every bathroom you can find in here.”

“Oh, Mr—” you correct yourself immediately, “Sonny—I would like that very much but I don’t want to interrupt what you’re doing for something like that—”

“Believe me, I insist,” Sonny interrupts, smiling at you. “Guests come first. It’s really no problem. Let me give you a proper tour around here.”

“Alright then,” you accept, smiling back at him. “If it’s no trouble with you, I’d love to.”

“Alright then, Miss Gabriella,” Sonny moves next to you, leading the way out of the hall. “Stay close to me, alright?”

Blushing furiously, you nod back at Sonny who looks over at you behind his shoulder. “I’m with you.”

There’s no doubt about it; had you refused to go along with Santino and returned back to the baby shower or simply didn’t choose to communicate or see Sonny again after today, of course your life would be different. Either way, it would have changed.

What would you know now in this fleeting moment that couldn’t possibly mean anything else to you, trusting in this influential man son to a powerful Don that you just met, feeling as if he’s suddenly wanted to treat you as someone else in his home other than a guest?

If anyone asked years from now, you would tell them the truth. Yes, you would follow Santino Corleone to the ends of the earth, to hell if you had to and beyond that to meet him in whatever life awaited you next.

This is just the beginning of what destiny has spelled out for you side to side with a man like Santino Corleone.

But for now, you follow Sonny in hopes you’ll get to know this kind stranger and the Corleone family better, because your heart is bound to give in sooner rather than later.

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