#i love one (1) blood-soaked daughter

[kradogsrats]

tomorrow the sun will rise

and you will not

[kedsandtubesocks]

seasons of you (year 1 - spring)

Farmer!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: it’s your very first spring living in the valley & you’re very sure Joel Miller already wants you leave

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, stardew valley AU, reader is a new farmer & has a family but no physical description, mentions of unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but Joel is older & in his 50’s) very light use of gendered language, handyman & farmer!Joel, grumpy!Joel, wound tending & blood imagery, discussion of family loss with light navigation of grief, Ellie being Joel’s daughter, secret softie!Joel, alcohol consumption mention, use of nickname, budding romance

word count: 5.4k

a/n: our first ‘Joel’ fic for our stardew AU series! Here’s to starting this new aventure with y’all! I couldn’t have the strength to post this without @swiftispunk @lowlights @ahauntedcowboy @burntheedges @perotovar you angels don’t know how much I appreciate y’all and am so grateful for you babes…and to you, if you read this - I’m so thankful for you too ♡

No one in Pelican Town hates you more than Joel Miller does. George, the crabby older elderly man in town, might be a close second, but Joel has him beat by miles.

For someone so incredibly handsome, almost beautiful in a rugged wilderness way with his misty mountain gray hair and sharp lovely nose, his glare could wither your entire family farm’s field.

“He’s just an ass sometimes.” Your Dad had told you with a sigh over the phone. “Been that way even when your gramps was around.”

At first you didn’t want to fully admit it but yeah, Joel is a prickly cactus of a man.

He owns a farm further down the path from yours. You love walking by it when you take the long way home and getting to spot all the sheep roaming around his fields. He’s also the town’s handyman.

“A jack of all trades, more like it.” Pierre, the main store owner, snickered that to you while Joel was in the store fixing a light fixture.

After that Joel helped you set up your first fencing gate. Then he fixed your sink. And then your water heater.

It’s been a lot and you know it. You feel guilty at how bad you can’t seem to get a hang of this new life yet. Your grandpa did it, thrived even. You can too, or you hope you can.

Until Joel glares at you like you’re a bug ready to squash, then you feel incredibly small.

Once you physically and accidentally ran into him walking out of the blacksmith’s shop when he was heading in. You sputtered out an apology, but without a single word Joel walked past you as if you weren’t even worth his time.

One night you went to the town’s saloon hoping to maybe mingle and get to know everyone better. But simply seeing him sitting inside made you turn on your heels and scramble out.

From that point on you’ve been avoiding him.

But now unfortunately, a few paces away from Joel Miller’s farm, your hand bleeds out a bit aggressively.

“Shit.” You hiss, slipping off your backpack to search for your mini first aid kit.

Yesterday you stubbornly tried fixing your fence and accidentally scrapped your hand pretty bad against the wood. Earlier you believed you wrapped it good enough but now the blood soaking through the bandaid mocks you.

“You alright?!”

The sharp accented drawl rings out loud in the early morning and fear collides into you.

Of course Joel hadn’t left for the morning.

You yell back that you’re fine but scramble frantic now trying to find the damn first aid kit.

“Is that blood?” Joel snaps, sounding closer, as his boots rush against the dirt.

“No, I spilled paint.” You grumble to yourself annoyed.

“M’old but I fuckin’ heard that.” Damn.

He’s much closer now, so close his shadow falls over you but you refuse to look at him.

“What happened!?” He barks confused.

Sighing, you give up hope on finding the poor elusive first aid kit.

“Just cut my hand, that's all. It isn’t deep. I’m fine.” You reassure him.

Joel sighs angrily.

“Come on.”

Now you turn and discover his soil eyes stare at you with such a steeled intensity you almost want to scurry away.

“Fixin’ this up inside.” He doesn’t even ask or let you leave. With one yank Joel Miller pulls you towards his farmhouse.

“I’m fine.” You snap back.

“What? Just wanna let it bleed ‘n get everywhere?” An edge in Joel’s voice silences you.

Any argument you wanted to hiss out immediately floats away the moment you cross the threshold into his house. Your eyes go wide. You never once thought you’d ever see the inside of Joel Miller’s place.

It’s larger than your grandpa's.

Joel deposits you into his kitchen. The lingering smell of breakfast, possibly oatmeal with its warm cinnamon notes, hangs in the air. Yet you feel like a caught feral cat that doesn’t know how to react being inside a house for the first time.

So you let your eyes wander.

Beautiful wood cupboards line the walls. A fridge is covered with various papers held up by sweet colorful cartoonish magnets you never would’ve expected from him. A worn cozy, well loved, couch peeks out from the slight view of the living room you spot being inside the kitchen.

Joel’s house seems knitted together by a rustic weathered comfort. Yet, there’s a hollowness to the house, like it’s waiting for more spirit to fill the halls. You can’t pinpoint or describe the stillness here in this place, but you sense it.

After rustling around a drawer, Joel yanks out a rather impressive medical kit. Largely bulky and intimidating, like him, it’s no surprise a handyman and farmer has such a first aid kit.

“How’d it happen?” Joel asks gruff and quiet as he rummages around the bag.

You tell him and his seasoned face scrunches up frustrated.

“Why didn’t ya call and have me go fix it?”

You thought about that. But you couldn’t handle the thought of asking him to help again, to deal with his frustrated sighs and gruff annoyance. He barely said a word to you last weekend when he went to check your sink again.

“Don’t need you to fix everything.” You tell him composed while Joel pulls out various things to wrap your wound.

“Besides, I can fix things on my own.” You add firm.

“Not all the time.” He replies.

You stay quiet and watch his hands, large and callous, gingerly dab away all the crimson from your cut.

He’s never been this close to you. You catch the faintest smell of wood and of something clean crisp, his laundry detergent maybe. It threatens to fog your senses knowing he smells this lovely.

“Y’dont ask for help and shit like this happens.”

Your face hardens at Joel’s words. You even childishly want to yank away your hand and storm off.

“Look I get it, you barely tolerate me and think I can’t do shit. I know I’m still new, but this was an accident. It happens.” Your words come out harsher than you intended, sharpened scythes that cut through the room, and Joel freezes.

“I don’t think that.” He replies clear as a spring blue sky.

You want to bark a laugh of disbelief, but instead you simply stay silent.

Joel sighs, keeping his eyes on the medic tape he readies.

“And I… tolerate you.” He sputters like he’s trying to muster the words out.

A moment passes. Then Joel sighs, ancient and heavy.

“Don’t mind me. M’just some grumpy old fuck-”

“Hey you’re not old. You’re just grumpy.” You interrupt trying to ease the mood and your heart jumps hearing him snort.

“M’old.” He clarifies. He is older, older than you, and that fact creates a strange flutter in your chest you don’t want to explore just yet.

“And…don’t want ya feelin’ like shit.” He continues with a curt softness.

You never knew his voice could sound this layered, so tough but tender.

“Just tryin’ to look out for ya like your gramps asked me too.”

There’s a strange apology shaded in his words but you manage to catch it. A rush of emotions drown you in their current.

“You were close with my grandpa.” You comment with a curious question lingering below the surface.

“Yeah,” Joel answers low now tenderly moving to wrap your hand. “His ol’ ass used to keep me in place.”

You smirk fondly. That sounds like your gramps.

“Miss seein’ him walk by this place and hearin’ him complain that he likes the sheep more than me.”

Joel’s fond and aching voice digs its hooks into your soul. You miss gramps too, so much.

“Used to fish a lot together out by the lake.” He adds.

This is the most Joel Miller has ever spoken to you and you worry the sun might fall out of the sky soon.

“I bet he out fished you.” You tease soft.

Joel snorts. “Damn right he did.”

You can almost picture it clearly, your gramps and Joel laughing together, having a friendship.

“He’d be proud of ya.” Joel mutters but his words chime clear.

Your attention flickers to Joel. He keeps his focus steady on your hand. However his words crystallize deep in your heart and you blink away tears. You ever expected Joel Miller to almost make you cry like this.

“Thanks…means a lot.” You truthfully tell him while you swallow back the heartache and love threatening to spill over.

“He’d also say you’re a fuckin’ stubborn thing for not askin’ for help.”

You snort at that.

“Well you knew the old guy, it runs in the family.” You reply.

Joel chuckles.

It’s small - like the faint flash of seeing a cardinal in the trees. But you heard it, his amusement, and it’s lovely for a man quietly layered as him.

“Alright, all fixed up.”

The wrap is tight, secure, and speaks of his many times previously doing this before.

“Thank you Joel, appreciate it.” You do.

“Can't be a handyman if I can’t fix up people sometimes.” He shrugs but there’s a deadpan charm to his words you’re slowly catching now.

“Doctor and a handyman, no wonder the town keeps you around.” So you dryly joke back.

This moment isn’t much. Yet it feels like gaining a good step in the direction of something right and solid.

Gathering your things, you decide to head out. Even though curiosity claws at you to take in a few more moments being inside Joel Miller’s home, you have seeds to buy.

“Where ya headin’’ to?” Joel asks.

“Pierre’s.” You huff. “Need more parsnips.”

He hums a noise of acknowledgment.

Back outside the mid morning sun’s warmth soaks you in its gaze. Maybe you could fish for a bit before you head to the store. After all, the weather is so nice.

“Hey.” Joel barks out and before heading back on the road, you turn to him.

He’s a sight on his porch. You think of the typical romance movies of the handsome farmer trying to woo the newcomer in town and how right now he puts them all to shame.

Hands crossed over his chest, his broad shoulders seem like mountains against the doorway, so striking and large taking up the entire focus.

“Don’t hesitate to call y’hear? Don’t fuckin’ care what it is or what it’s for, call me.” Joel’s face is hardened and serious, reflecting the unwavering tone in his voice.

Something heated crawls up your throat and makes you dizzy. You blame it on the blood loss.

“Besides, s’what neighbors are for, right?” He adds a bit awkwardly.

It hits you. He’s the closest homestead to you. You are neighbors with him.

“Alright will do, promise.” You nod and mean your words.

“Thanks again neighbor.” Those words tingle on your lips.

Joel nods and with that you head out.

You’re on such a strange high you simply float straight to the pier and fish. It’s comforting being among the crashing waves, the sea breeze, and the wonderful weather. You also think of your gramps and Joel here.

But by the time the sky starts to turn into a ripe tangerine you realize in horror you forget to buy more seeds.

You almost scream in anguish when you find Pierre’s doors locked. Accepting momentary defeat, you head home.

When you reach your porch, there against the steps a bundle of parsnip seeds and a small pack of bandaids sit waiting for you.

- ☼ -

Your hope to quietly enjoy the egg festival, your true first event here in the valley, is diminished when Mayor Lewis practically drags you into the egg hunt saying it’s a rite of passage.

His deadly polite politician smile said there was no way you could worm your way out of participating. So you simply start the hunt thinking of the strawberry seeds you can’t wait to plant once this is over.

You’re not overly competitive, but these eggs are getting harder to find. You want to finish at least with some dignity.

Besides the area around Stardrop Saloon you scan every inch like a hawk. Someone coughs, clearing their throat, and it catches your attention.

Under the shade of the building, nursing a cold drink, Joel slightly turns towards you.

Now instead of a hawk you feel like a surprised field mouse caught in his gaze.

Without saying anything Joel flickers his eyes a couple of times towards the corner of the building. Is he giving you a hint?

Heading to the spot his eyes vaguely guided you to, you discover a colorful egg.

You almost want to keep it as proof this happened. Joel helped you.

By the time the egg hunt ends everyone already seems to be packing up and the mysterious Mr. Miller has vanished from the commotion.

Abigail wins the egg hunt and you aren’t even upset. In fact you walk home feeling like a champion.

The next morning on the help wanted and errands bulletin board in town you spot Joel’s name. Below it is a request asking for a small pack of wood.

You readily answer it and drop off the bundle eagerly, a way to help pay him back for everything.

The pretty decent payment he gives you is nice but the crooked soft hint of a grin on his face when you arrive to deliver the request is worth iridium.

A few days after that he mails you a recipe. The letter is so simply Joel - a straightforward recipe then a scribbled JM below it. You hang the letter up proudly on your fridge.

Spring blooms more and more before your eyes.

You decide to take advantage of it by foraging for the day.

“Where y’heading?”

You’ve been taking the long way to the forest these past few weeks in hopes of seeing him again. Now that you’re not actively avoiding him, you discover, small town or not, Joel is a surprisingly busy man.

When you catch glimpses of him, instead of glares being thrown your way, Joel Miller simply nods acknowledging you. Comforting as it is to know he doesn’t outright detest, you don’t like how much you hope to run into him more.

Now he’s here sliding on his backpack while moving to lock his gate.

“Just heading to the forest, gonna forage and walk around for the day.” You answer him.

“Works out, hafta head that way myself.” Joel explains falling into step besides you.

Alone with Joel Miller once again.

The small talk comes - asking each other how your days have been, anything new or interesting happening. The heat is starting to pick up announcing summer’s close arrival. Thankfully it’s still not unbearably hot as you and him fully enter the woods.

Cindersap forest is tranquil. A beautiful glimmering evergreen haven you enjoy simply strolling through. You never thought you’d ever be here with Joel.

“No new crops coming in?”

“Nothing exciting.” You shrug. “I’m more upset that I didn't plant any tulips this season.”

“Those your favorite?” Joel asks, surprisingly curious.

“Not mine, my gramps.” Your memories of the farm might be hazy, but you always remembered fresh tulips in the kitchen.

“They’re for the fairies.” Gramps would tell you with a wink.

You were bummed after realizing Pierre had flower seeds and it was too late to see them bloom in your kitchen.

“Damn,” Joel sighs. “Ain't your fault. Pierre’s an ass and hides all the good shit, flower seeds included.”

You’re almost positive Pierre doesn’t do that, but you burst out laughing.

A giddy twinkling glee consumes you and fills you buoyant. He’s trying to comfort you in his own Joel way. And it’s dangerous how fast you’re growing to enjoy the company of this grumpy cactus of a man.

You move to snag a few dandelions and wild horseradishes. You make a face at one that smells a bit ripe and decide to leave it for the forest.

“You can eat those y’know.” Joel comments.

“Yeah so I’ve heard.” You tried your first ever daffodil this month. “A wild horseradish might be a bit too much right now though, but who knows. Maybe one day I’ll try ‘em.”

“My kid used to eat these all the damn time. Never took a likin’ to ‘em myself.” Joel grumbles kicking the disposed horseradish.

Kid.

“You have a kid?” You ask curiously.

Joel blinks to you and there’s a gleam in his earth eyes of something reserved slowly revealing itself.

“Uh… yeah. A daughter. Ellie.”

A daughter. He’s a dad.

It fits him in a way that you never would have expected.

“She doesn’t live here?” You ask but then quickly apologize for pressing the subject. Joel waves you off, casual and unbothered.

“She did, just graduated highschool this year. Wanted to do the whole college deal. She lives out west now.”

So he’s an empty nester.

Delicately, wanting to know more about him and his daughter, you ask about her.

Joel inhales deep then exhales slowly, as if an immovable weight on his shoulders rattles deep to his bones.

“She’s a headache, my Ellie.” Fondness trickles out of Joel a steady stream.

“Stubborn, damn near impossible to argue with cause she’s so fuckin’ smart. Got a good heart. Good head on her shoulders too, wants to be an astronaut.”

“An astronaut?! That’s incredible!” You exclaim in brilliant excitement.

Like the proud dad he is, adoration tugs at Joel’s lips.

“Yeah, been wantin’ to be one for years. That’s why she’s going to school.”

“She sounds incredible, Joel. You must be proud.” You earnestly tell him.

“I am…” His voice is thick, and you don’t miss the way his eyes gloss over distant and misty.

You decide not to press the subject any further. He instead does it for you.

“She loved livin’ here until the damn flower festival rolled around. Then she’d swear up ‘n down about how much she hated this town and was gonna leave the second she could.”

The flower festival is just days away. The town swirls in a controlled chaos for its arrival.

You laugh warm. “I’m guessing she’s not a fan of dancing.”

“Takes after me.” Joel nods.

“Ahh…so guess that means you’re not asking anyone to dance this year.” You comment lightly and Joel snorts.

“Ain’t danced with anyone in a very long time.”

A wistful ace now twists your heart thinking of Joel alone in his home, alone watching the others in town pair off.

“You gonna ask anyone?” Joel turns the question around to you and you almost choke on an inhale.

Not wanting to get flustered or react wildly you focus on the wild springs among the lush forest.

“Uh no. Don’t think anyone wants to dance with the newbie in town. Which is fine.” You answer.

There are lovely and gorgeous people in town. Some have caught your eye. However, you didn’t feel brave or interested enough to ask anyone to dance. And no one seemed intended to ask for your hand in the dance, and you find you’re not too upset about that.

Joel hums low, a sign you’re catching on means he’s listening without having to reply much.

“Hopin’ someone will ask ya to dance?” That question takes you by surprise.

You shrug not wanting to fully answer the question either.

Someone suddenly calls out to Joel from behind. At the edge of the forest leading back into town stands Maria, the town’s legal counsel and assistant mayor.

“Caught playing hooky, busted.” You snicker and Joel scoffs.

Maria yells out Joel’s name again.

“Can you come back to town and help us with something? Thought you’d be at home seeing how it’s your day off today. I’ve been trying to call ya but nothing went through.” She yells.

The service here in the forest was awful compared to the town, a hard lesson you’ve learned quickly.

But you also don’t miss Maria’s comment.

Joel had today off. Yet he decided to stay a bit with you. That thought has teeth and you can’t stop their bite from sinking into your heart.

Joel groans but doesn't hesitate to head towards where the assistant mayor stands. Maria of course spots you and a wonderful grin lights up lovely her face.

“It’s good to see you.” She calls out.

“You too!” You reply back thankful your voice is level.

Joel glances over his shoulder to catch your eye.

“Good luck foragin’. Don’t eat any weird shit.”

You sputter out a squawk at his casual comment.

“Next time I see you, I’m giving you a wild horseradish!” You playfully snap the ridiculous reply before you can even stop yourself, but Joel thankfully rolls his eyes unbothered.

Maria’s eyes however flicker curiously between you and Joel. Too many emotions heat up your skin now. So bidding Joel and Maria a quick goodbye you stomp back into the forest to continue foraging.

Now along in the woods, your thoughts still think of Joel. The bag of parsnip seeds, the bandages, and the recipe, come to mind. You never once discussed any of it with him or him with you. It’s something you keep locked in your heart, just like today will be.

Soon the day melts into early twilight. You snag a couple of dandelions and a few other forageables before deciding to head home.

Joel’s farm house looms quietly still with no lights. You can’t bring yourself to open the gate to his farm and walk up to the house.

So instead you place a few dandelions along with a nice fresh large wild horseradish on top of the mailbox by his gate then head home.

Even when you unwind for the night, you mind still feels like it’s snagged on Joel Miller, still there with him foraging in the forest.

- ☼ -

The flower dance, as strange of a custom as it is, is rather ethereal. So many vivid floral arrangements decorate the space with dynamic colors and the air even smells fresh.

The flower dance honors the legacy of celebrating the final days of spring. But it also is a celebration of love blooming.

“It has roots dating back to fertility rituals.” Demetrius, ever the town scientist, told you while you were chatting with him and his wife.

He was right of course. The flower dance is the opportunity for someone to extend a hand of romantic feelings towards another. Those who hope to participate in the couples dance, or possibly win the crown of Flower Queen, are dressed in glorious attire. Soft light fabrics and flowers woven into crowns create a scene conjured out of a fairy’s kingdom.

Compared to the others in lovely attire with flowers in their hair, you didn’t even dress up or change out of your messy dirt covered jeans. And the only flowers in your hair are actually twigs and leaves from cleaning up more of your property.

With no need to worry about someone asking you to dance, you instead simply enjoy the various foods prepared for the occasion.

“Be careful, the salsa actually has a pretty good kick.” You’re about to go in for a second helping when a gentle accented voice floats out to you.

Besides you is a man with the kindest eyes you’ve seen. Faintly you recognize his face and can recall seeing him around town.

“Tommy Miller.” He reintroduces himself seeing your slight hesitation and your eyes go big.

“Oh, Maria’s husband!” You fully remember her introducing him to you. But now something else clicks.

He’s Joel’s brother.

“Yup.” He grins proud at his wife’s mention.

You apologize profusely for not remembering him sooner and with a kind understanding smile Tommy reassures you it’s fine.

“Been a busy first month for ya, I get it. You’re a tough cookie handlin’ it all.”

Even though his twang mirrors his brother’s, Tommy already radiates a much different energy than Joel. He’s warm in a way that reminds you of a soft summer day welcoming everyone with his vibrant energy.

You thank him earnestly. “The town’s been good to me.”

A part of you wants to add Joel has been good to you. Weeks ago, you would’ve laughed at just the idea of Joel Miller showing you an emotion other than annoyance. But now you and him seem to slowly be warming up to each other.

“Don’t go stealin’ all the good stuff, y’little shit.” Joel arrives with a gruff grumble of a voice and quickly nudges Tommy.

Yet his eyes remained glued on you.

You also seem to notice how striking Joel looks in the crisp light jean button up shirt he wears.

“Speak of the devil… was just about to ask our new farmer here if ya haven’t scared her away yet.” Tommy jokes.

Joel’s face flickers with a scowl fighting to form but he keeps himself surprisingly composed.

Guilt sinks in your gut. You know he’s hard to read and you even feel bad for thinking he’s mean. Because you’re learning fast Joel is earnest in his own way.

“Nah,” you tell Tommy, answering for yourself and Joel almost. “His sheep are actually scarier than he is.”

Tommy busts out laughing and you grin. Your eyes flicker to Joel but see he isn’t grinning. Instead Joel’s handsome aged face stares at you guarded and you can’t read the emotions shimmering in his eyes.

Shit.

You might have overstepped and upset him. So to physically stop yourself from saying anything else you take a bite out of the delicious cornbread on your plate, wave a weak goodbye to the Miller brothers, and scurry away.

Now alone under the shadow of one of the lovely cherry trees, you’re aware of how new you still are, a fresh bud still trying to foster roots in this new ground. You wonder how your gramps dealt with this every year.

Soon enough, the music starts and Mayor Lewis claps excited ready to begin the dance.

At least this will be over soon.

The couples slowly sway to the soft melody then rustling arrives at your side. Gently your eyes turn to the source and you almost collapse seeing Joel move in besides you.

His eyes though stay on the couples dancing among the blooms.

“Could’ve at least picked better music to dance to.” He mumbles bored.

Your lips press hard trying not to smile ridiculous and wide.

“Could you imagine if someone played the wrong song?” You whisper back. “Like, some heavy metal rock song suddenly started screaming out?”

Joel snorts, masks it with a few coughs, but you did it. You made him laugh.

Golden soaked triumph fills you and it feels like the first morning you woke up and found a sprout peeking up from the dark tilled soil.

He’s a complex man and you’re barely even scratching the surface of him. But it’s a tender start you want to continue kindling.

For all the commotion and production given to the festival, the dance only lasts a few moments. It’s over thankfully fast.

“Bit anticlimactic.” You mutter under your breath.

“Yeah it’s dumb.” Joel deadpans.

Your lips fight from letting out a laugh.

Everyone claps joyously at the couples concluding their dance. You wonder, even as silly as this is, if one day maybe you’ll dance with flowers in your hair. But you don’t give that thought too much attention. Just imaging yourself next spring already seems so far away.

“Headin’ home?” Joel asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You hum, narrowing your eyes at the gorgeous meadow.

“I’m kind of tempted to maybe see if I can steal some of the leftovers but yeah, I’m heading back.” You reply.

“Tell me which food you’re eyein’ and I’ll grab it. No one will tell me no.” He offers and you laugh.

“Tempting as that is, I’m just gonna go home.” You wish Joel a warm good night.

He continues walking alongside you.

Your heart jumps until you realize he lives in the same direction. The chatter from the festival still lingers in the air even while you walk further away from the meadow.

“How do you deal with that every year?” You ask with a sigh.

“Alcohol.” Joel dully answers and you snicker at his reply.

“Maybe one day you’ll be dancin’ out there.” Joel comments like he’s trying to continue the small talk. But the suggestion makes you skin itch for a reason you can’t pinpoint.

You only reply with a simple ‘maybe’ and a shrug.

“I’d pay a hundred bucks to see you dance though.” You joke, but also quickly imagine Joel a picture of softness with a flower behind his ear resting beautifully among his silver curls and it makes your knees weak.

Joel however rolls his eyes.

“Next year we’ll just sneak in and take over the music. See what happens.” You offer.

“Now that sounds like a plan.” Joel agrees gruffly.

It sounds like a promise.

You bid him good night until his eyebrows crinkle so classily grumpy Joel.

“Whadya doin’? Ain’t lettin’ ya walk home alone, sprout. Now come on.”

He continues walking as if nothing while your mind tries to recover being tilted on its axis for a bit.

Joel is walking you home.

And he called you sprout.

You want to cradle this new nickname so tenderly in your hands.

Joel quietly asks about your plans for the upcoming season, almost as if he’s trying to keep you focused.

To settle your flutter heart, you manage to ramble about the new incoming seeds you’ve heard about. You talk about your hopes of going to the beach more, not just to fish but to simply enjoy the ocean.

Among all that discussion, in a blink you’re back at your farm.

Instead of Joel rushing home, he lingers.

He checks your porch almost like he’s making sure the thing still stands.

“Hope one day to see that dang greenhouse up ‘n runnin.” He points to the broken greenhouse and you can’t help but sigh at the sight. You hope so too.

Then Joel moves to stand next to you on the land.

It feels different seeing him here.

Just a few weeks ago he was shouting every profanity known to man trying to fix your ancient water heater. He also glared at you the entire time.

Now he stands next to you suggesting on what to grow for the upcoming season.

“You could plant the tomatoes over on this side, give ‘em more shade to grow.”

Joel already reminds you of a back alley cat, one that hisses and refuses to let others near until he decides when to warm up to others. And, like a fresh new sprout, you want to soak up this warmth of him up.

“Also… Don’t forget to plant flowers.” He adds with a soft grumble.

“I won’t.” You grin impressed he remembered.

When you bid him goodnight and thank him again, you almost want to promise you’ll stop by with coffee tomorrow morning.

However that feels too much, like you might make the wrong move and spook him. But you do want to know if he makes it home okay. You can’t even bring yourself to ask him for his phone number.

So you watch Joel leave until your thoughts move fast and you blurt them out.

“Wait how will I know you made it back?”

Joel suddenly stops then glances back to you.

A very soft twinkle comes over his face and he gives you a crooked grin. It colors him with such a boyish expression. This new face of Joel feels sacred, special, and it steals your breath away.

“Hang outside for a bit. I’ll give ya sign, don’t worry.” He nods then melts into the darkness.

You stay frozen on the spot, not wanting to miss whatever it is. You wait, hoping he makes it back safe. Then out from the darkness, far down the path, you see it.

A light from Joel’s house blazes alive.

Then it flickers on and off, like someone flipping the switch a few times. The movement of it against the darkness even feels like a wave of some sorts.

You wish so badly to wave back.

Reassured that he’s home, you head back feeling as light as a feather.

Stepping onto your porch, something catches your eye.

Resting on the main railing barrier are a batch of tulips that were not there when you left.

Your heart jumps into your throat. You didn’t even see Joel place them there.

Delicately placed, the tulips so brilliantly colored sit warm and bright for you - the most beautiful end to your spring.

Though, in your heart, these blooms feel like something closer to a beginning.

[angelribbon]

DONT YOU LOVE ME ANYWAY?

tw: slapping, slight breeding kink, smut, dark!luke, corruption kink, daughter of aphrodite!reader

a/n: from your #1 yappist

There was something sacred about it-how he would desecrate-ruin you. Bruises littered your inner thighs, neck, anywhere he could find to mark you. Own you.

And he did.

There was some thrill in it for him, that you'd allow him to fuck with you like this, turn you into something as depraved and corrupt as him. Watching the guilt settle in your eyes when he finishes fucking you, mock disappointment crafting his words.

"should cover those up, yeah?, cant have everyone knowing what a cock dumb slut you are now, can we?"

People began to notice it, slowly. The way your face would burn with embarrassment turning into shame when they pointed out the hickeys. The fact that you were luke's toy to fuck and use as he pleases. And it was, until it became because even after he betrayed you, its his name that falls from your lips when you cum on your fingers.

You shouldve known better. Maybe checked the borders harder, more than twice-brought more weapons. Anything, that would take you back from being here. The metal presses against your throat, sending shocks of fear through you as he tilts your head up, back pressed against the rough bark of the tree.

Clarisse and the others had left camp for some special mission, chiron called it, leaving you and the other year rounders. It was calm for the first few weeks, until it wasnt.

Monsters started attacking more frequently, breaking the borders which you couldve sworn you thought could never happen. And there was only one culprit. The same one that had his head between your thighs-just weeks earlier and now a knife under your chin.

"isnt it past curfew sweetheart?" he asks tilting his head as he smiles "should report you for that"

Like the fucker cares.

Your eyes scan your surroundings, looking for atleast a dagger, seeing most of your weapons discarded too far from arms reach. He sees you, of course, eyes darkening in irritation.

"None of that yeah? just want to talk-"

Something in you clicks, anger that causes you to almost bite at him. "now you want to talk? you fucking left me luke!, no note, not even a simple goodbye-i had to hear about this from annabeth, a-and you want to speak to me with a sword at my throat?!"

He shifts, eyes moving to unreadable, as he backs up only slightly.

"There wasnt enough time-couldnt get you roped up in this shit and risk somethin' happening to you, you wouldnt have understood-"

His words fall on deaf ears, not caring-trusting-what he says anymore. You're quick to move, acknowledging that his sword is now at his side, completely out of the way. The first fist hits and you cant tell when the second one reaches. He lets you hit him, takes it until it actually begins to hurt, grapping your wrists as you attempt to fight his grip. He discards his sword on the ground, moving his other hand to keep you still. "Stop before you hurt yourself" he says sternly, backing you right up against the tree. Theres tears on your face now, he cant tell if they're from sadness or anger, choosing the latter pains him less.

"Just calm the fuck down"

Its the same tone he would use with you before, whenever you'd ask him to stay with you after he'd fuck you for hours on end. Producing the same result, tears brimming along your waterline until his tone changes. "I'm sorry okay? just dont-dont-fuck- stop crying, cant take it when you do that to me"

Your lip stops trembling, soaked eyes looking up at him as his hand cradles your chin. Its silent, none of you knowing what to say anymore and even though, you know better, you kiss him. Your lips are soft against his at first, but when luke gets over his shock? he's all teeth and blood. Violent and angry and so so desperate. Your brains in a fuzz, a high from the way hes kissing you. Maybe you've spent too long alone since he left, maybe you should've moved on. But whatever it is that leads you to do something like this, you're to fucked out of your brain to care.

Fuck elysium, he's got his own little heaven right here, in the way you sculpt your lips into his, letting him find solace in you after everything. His hand reaches to the curve of your waist pulling you into him, as he begs you to let him go further. To fuck out his frustrations onto you once again. He's sick for even asking, and you? you're just as bad for agreeing.

He practically rips of your skirt, ruining the pretty lace hem, muffling your protests with his lips. "I'll but you ten, okay a whole fuckin' set after-"

A promise you know he's not going to keep, but for now, you let him have it. His hand trails over your panties, pressing the damp spot he sees there. "That desperate huh? been waitin' for me princess?"

Somewhere in your stupor, your lips form into a pout.

"Dont be silly"

His lips form into a smirk at that, slapping your clit from your tone as you yelp. "Yeah? you've just been whoring yourself out since ive been gone?-looks like i needa remind her who she belong to hm?"

Another slap connects at your silence.

"Y-yes-fuck-please-n-need it so bad-" you babble out mindlessly, pushing your hips up into his hand-a desperate attempt to get some friction. He chuckles at your neediness, like his cock isnt leaking through his pants right now. He pulls your panties to your knees, fingers teasing at your hole, gathering your slick before he's sliding both inside of you. The sound you make is pathetic, giving him exactly what he wants, to see you pliant and indigent for him again. He's not slow or careful, instead fucking you with his fingers like hes almost enamored with the motion.

"L-luke-!" you whine, when you feel his other finger pinch your clit, the stimulation making your body jolt in pleasure. "I know, baby, I know-'s really abandoned her didnt i? dont even know how much ive missed this pretty pussy"

His words are so sweet, an illusion for how fucked up this all is. He continues to pump his fingers into you, feeling how you tighten up around him as his hand goes back to circle your clit. Your hips buck up into his hand, letting him use it as motivation to move faster. Head falling back, feeling the familiar tightening in your stomach as whimpers emit from you, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Your brain goes white when you cum, thighs trembling as you clamp down on his hand. He pulls out of you, watching the wetness that drips down your thighs.

"theres my girl"

He's quick to pull out his cock, all angry and red, precum dripping along his veins. He rubs his cock along your thighs, shivering at the feeling. He's slow at first, easing himself in, until he fully enters you, a wheeze coming from him.

shitshitshitshitshit-shit-" his thighs quiver, jaw clenching from holding himself back. "g-gotta relax for me, mami-fuck-"

He buries his head into your neck, gritting his teeth as his hands tighten on your hips. It take everything in him not to just rut into you right there.

For your sake, he tries to be slow, be patient as he thrusts into you at an antagonizing, gentle pace. You mumble something under your breath, begging him to go faster, to ruin you again, to break you. And he remembers that really? he was never a patient man.

His hips snap into yours, his movement prompted from that primal need to fill you with him to the hilt. Its disgusting, lewd-almost pornographic sounds that come from you as his curls stick to his forehead from sweat. He fucks you like an rabid animal, harsh, violent and angry-he doesnt understand whats wrong with him-why he needs it so bad. To feel you clench around him, scream out his name as if everythings normal again, as if he's human again. He presses against your stomach, causing a mixture of a moan and a sob to come from you, as he moves against you faster-harder.

He's on cloud nine when you clamp down on him. Hips stuttering, choked out whimpers falling from him as he buries his face back into your neck to try and stifle his sounds. Stars dance across your vision, and you swear you're drowning-mouth formed in a permanent 'o' shape, thighs trembling as you sink deeper. Crash after crash of ecstasy hits you-coming in relentless hard waves that make you see white. Your speech is slurred, rambling about how you love him so much-need him so much, begging him not to leave you again.

And thats what pushes him over the edge. He knows hes gonna leave you again, abandon you like the piece of shit he is, but the reprieve he has is too good to deny. He cums with a fucking sob, your name echoing from him like a solemn prayer, not even recognizing the fact that he just came inside of you as he holds you to him.

He cleans you up, carrying you back to the aphrodite cabin. Lucky for him, its empty. Most of the year rounders being in his old cabin. Laying you down on the bed, as your eyelids flutter, he sits on the side of your sheets, watching your face until you fall asleep.

And whether its guilt or regret, this time he stays and holds you until he disappears in the morning.

[alavestineneas]

i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, daddy and sister issues, bald men chapter 1 - chapter 2 word count: 6,5K

author's note: hi beautiful people! this chapter may be classified as a prologue (yes, I am aware of its size, sorry, lol), but it is still integral to the story. we love evil people, especially evil bald people, in this house, so have fun and don't forget to wash your hands before reading! also, if you see things that are not canon, just know that me and the books are two parallel lines and we do not cross. feel free to point out grammar mistakes, though - english is not my first. love you!

Kaitain, 10176 AG

The violent streaks of light fight with the heavy cloth of drapes to find their way into the small, stifling chambers. The time was slowly crawling towards noon in the heavy summer heat, and the woman lying on the heavily decorated sheets was battling to get a breath in. Whether because of the annoying star, or the poisoning waiting, the patterns of sweat stained her tired face with esculent ornaments. Her lips, formed into a thin line, gleamed with small spots of dried crimson.

''Where is the messenger?'' The woman's voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes glued to the dancing light filtering through the window. ''The girl is strong; I can't hold her for much longer.''

The black figure on the chair in the corner slightly shifted at words. She was veiled, despite the heat—like a black hole, she seemed to suck the little air left. ''Forbearance,'' her raspy voice cuts through the room. ''The child makes you impatient. Control yourself.''

''I've waited, and waited long enough,'' the woman snapped, her frustration evident in her trembling hands. ''A few more minutes and all that is left of her will be a corpse.''

''Be quiet, Echidna. The child will live. If not, she was never meant to be part of our world in the first place.''

The woman clenched her jaw in a wave of pain and nodded. The girl ought to see the light of this planet today. Deep in her thoughts, she almost missed the rushed steps behind the door.

One of the Emperor's guards burst into the room, his eyes almost frantic. ''Lady Anirul has graced the Imperium with a daughter.''

Echidna smiled in relief, but her expression quickly changed as a beast-like cry pierced the air. The child was coming, with little care for the damage it caused to her aching womb. She tore the tissue down to the individual cells, gnawing her way with fists and elbows, moving the bones aside with brute force. Soon, her own cries were answered by much louder ones, as the head of the girl showed itself, covered in a thick layer of almost black blood. Just for a moment, the woman wished it would not steal another breath from the room, but she sharply composed herself. With a final push, the child left her body forever, leaving it a raw wound.

The small creature shrieked when the black figure approached, and slender, wrinkled arms took it from the warmth of rufous-red liquid. Echidna watched as the figure carried the girl away, resting her hurting body against the soaked pillows. She fulfilled her duty; she granted Bene   Gesserit the daughter they wanted. She is bleeding under a beautiful sun; she is holding the ghost of her child in her arms—the real one was never hers anyway. Echidna knows the Emperor will not come. From now on, it is just her and her never-passing pain. Thus, Kaitain, home to the Corrino dynasty, was warmed by the light of a new sun—Princess Irulan, an heiress to the Imperium—and chilled by the shadow of her sister, born a few minutes later.

-

The calmness of the gardens was disturbed only by the soft strokes of brushes against a thick canvas. YN sighed, her eyes still fixed on the tree nearby, its young branches swaying with the wind. Her body ached from stillness, the tension in her neck from holding her head slightly bowed spreading down to her small back. They posed for a portrait of what seemed like an eternity to a child, and was almost it to an adult who dared to inquire; the painter, while satisfied with the draft, looked at the group of young girls almost in fear—no normal child of that age would be unmoving for three hours. And yet, they were.

YN felt one of her sisters shift even through the thick fabric of her silver dress. Small Chalice turned, her cheeks red from the heat or tiredness, her lips forming a pout—the child was tired, sleepingly rubbing her eyes. YN thought for a moment, debating if the punishment would be worth it, or if her sisters could wait just a little bit more until the man with colours would end the session for today. She noticed how Irulan's face was starting to droop, her eyes fluttering closed and opening just a second later. Their youngest, Wensicia, was already asleep in Irulan's arms; her golden hair spread across her and YN's laps as a beautiful cover, shining under the faint sun.

''I am tired, Master Chen. We should end the painting for today,'' YN finally spoke; her voice was almost a whisper. She did not know whether it was not to awaken her sister or out of fear of the Emperor's anger; it did not matter. The man nodded and left, taking his canvases with him, leaving only a few drafts behind. Then, the sisters were left alone in the garden.

''Thank you,'' Irulan said softly, placing her head on YN's shoulder.

YN only nodded. Her eyes found the paper not so far away, her gaze studying the strokes of the pencil with interest. Wensicia, a beautiful girl of two, was smiling brightly, holding an olive branch in her chubby hands, her small feet peeking under the hem of her white dress. Small Chalice was at the opposite end of her, her curly hair surrounding her head like a halo as she leaned forward, holding a small dove inside her palms. Then, sitting at the bench, surrounded by lush greenery and bushes, they. Irulan and the Other.

YN was placed just a step away from her older sister, her head turned away from the gaze of the viewer. The delicate folds of her silver dress carefully cascaded down, creating an air of mist around them. Her hands were empty; she did not know if the artist hadn't decided with each object to grace her with, or left them hollow intently. She looked like a shadow—a ghost, maybe; her eyes were escaping the viewer as if hiding a secret.

Irulan was different. She was a sun-kissed creature, her head facing straight ahead. Her eyes, as if inviting for a challenge, were made from duty, steel. With a burning star on her regal forehead, crowning the streaks of golden hair, Irulan was water and air, dulcet and ever-bending; her figure held the place and her pose was distinct and commanding.

YN looked at the girl beside her, who was now quiet nearby. Irualn was wise, the wisest of the sisters; her eyes were all-seeing, her heart all-knowing. She was created in the shape of a mother since they could walk, and the small ones bathed in her light, drinking her till the last drop —like flowers following the warm embrace of the sun. The only one who could not enjoy the love was her, the Other. The other sister, the other half. For they have been too close in age, too similar to let each other pretend the burden was not a heavy one to bear.

When Irulan was natural in her all-caring shape, YN had to claw her way to the only role left—the father. An unbent tree, a silent soldier—she was not born to fit as one, but wishing for a different order of things was almost blasphemy. That's how it always was with them—out of two, one was the protector, the other - the protected. "Husband," Irulan humorously called her often. She smiled, and, for a moment, the wave of resentment in YN's soul calmed. She never called her wife in return: Irulan was too whole to be one, too proud to be moulded into. She stood alone, on a higher pedestal than all of them, closest to the Emperor, whom the Other was to call father, and closest to the Truth. No, Irulan was God.

God does not know how to love someone who is not his servant, because there is no one who would refuse to serve him; it is the only way. God guides, despite all one's protests. God gives, and God takes. God demands; Irulan demands—silent obedience without a need to explain or answer. That, she takes from their father. So, the Other takes a blade into her hand without compassion for her dead wishes and learns to wield it in God's name. She is the one little ones turn to when the world is too wicked for their fragile souls when the creatures under their beds lose all of their human form and turn violent. She takes their sins and bears the punishments, for they are not deserving of such cruelty. YN thinks not of her own guilt—what difference would one scourage make to one who counts in centuries? And when the sun shone, and God smiled, the Other almost forgot of the bruises she carried.

-

The first time he saw her, it was not supposed to happen at all. Feyd-Rautha just closed the door to Maester's chambers with such force that it shook against lean walls; the grumble echoed in the long corridors of Giedi Prime's fortness. The ache in his body was muted, but still present; the torn flesh inside his heart howled and clawed, slicing the ribcage in half. He would've screamed, or perhaps beat his hands bloody against the concrete until the dull pain turned into something as sharp as his knife's blade. Maybe he would've drowned himself in a small water bowl by his nightstand and done anything to escape the shame and humiliation that consumed him from within. But instead, Feyd-Rautha stood still, his jaw clenched tight and his breathing shallow. One day, it will pass. One day, he will see the world choke on its own spit.

That's when he noticed a small, shadow-like figure at the end of the hallway staring at him. A girl, not older than him, was in a dress so foreign to him that it hurt his eyes. The daughter of the Emperor, he guessed. One of many—only then would the golden stitching on her sleeve would make sense.

''What are you doing here?'' he barked, caring little for the common courtesy. Of course, she was a guest almost as prized as her father, but she was in his territory and dared to look at him for long enough without averting her eyes. Long enough to notice the bruising on his pale skin and a swelness surrounding his lips. Long enough to hear him cry.

''I was walking with my mother, but then I turned into the wrong hall,'' she shrugged. ''Will you be kind enough to show me the way out? Or should I find it myself?"

Feyd-Rautha ignored her question. What a weird creature she was—with cascades of hair and eyes that seemed to see too much. ''It is dangerous to walk these halls without guard, Princess.'' It is dangerous to be here, alone with him and the weapon strapped to his hip, but he did not add it.

''There is no use of guards if the one who wishes to kill you is their master.'' The girl took a step forward, pointing to the weapon at his side. "I am not afraid."

Feyd-Rautha laughed. It came out more as howling than human sounds, the abrupt nature of it ringing with high notes, tip-toeing down to hysterical; it sounded creaky, like his throat was not made for such sounds; yet here he was, laughing. ''Come,'' he gestured to her, his hand moving quickly, like ordering a slave around. ''I will show you why you should be.''

So, they walked. Inside the grandiose chambers and small rooms, filled with ancient artefacts or the newest technology Harkonnens came up with; inside the green lavish garden inside the dim castle and the training grounds, Feyd-Rautha showed every place that was built to display the greatness of his house and bestone fear inside both guests and people inhibiting it. He wanted to see the horror in the girl's eyes, to make her eyes water and her frame flee. Instead, he listened to her steady breathing just a step behind him, her curious questioning satisfying another need he did not know his heart possessed: reverence.

He was the youngest member of the ruling line, the smallest stone in the castle of power his uncle had built. His title meant nothing within these walls; he was too small in comparison to the Baron and his authority. Feyd-Rautha was feared, despite only being nine; he was the shadow in the corner that grew longer as the sun set, the whispered name that sent shivers down spines. But here, in the hallway he led the girl into, he turned out to be something else.

''Stunning,'' the girl whispered beside him.

Weapons. The walls, from the floor to the high ceilings, were covered in ritual and fighting blades. The pride of house Harkonnen, the tree of their dynasty, black, silver, golden, and steel knives, swords, and daggers gleamed in the dim light. Feyd-Rautha smiled, revealing a row of sharp teeth. "Welcome to our burial ground."

They stopped near every one, his voice briefly covering the story of each blade and his owner; barons that came before him; fighters and rules that defined their legacy. Some still have blood on them—the highest honour; some look almost virgin. The small signs underneath them tell the names of people who wielded these weapons, their stories forever immortalised in the cold metal. ''Each Harkonnen ruler is crafted a blade of his own, the one he is to honour in battle.''

The girl nodded, her fingers tracing the shape of the last blade carefully. Her palms danced around the sharp edge, taking in the ancient symbols she had no chance of knowing. ''Will you have to kill Baron Vladimir in order to have one, like he did with his father before?''

Feyd-Rautha paused. Of course, he has thought about it before. The idea he repeated like a mantra in his head for all of his short life, the belief that spread burning flames down his spine. The words left his mouth for the first time but felt almost natural against his cracked lips. ''I dream of the day I have the chance to.''

The pair of foreign eyes that stared back at him held a glint of intrigue that quickly changed with a flash of acknowledgement. Feyd-Rautha held the gaze; not a single thing about it was hard. Still, he was the first to turn away; the burning sensation of being  seen  made him want to tear his flesh apart. ''Let me escort you to your rooms, Princess. The walls grow colder as the evening approaches.''

-

The weather on the planet leaves too few guards out of their breath, Irulan notes. The striking sun burns through the rounded windows of man-built walls, the frankly depressing landscape of huge boxes constructed with little intent for anything else but utilitarianism. She must not fear, while those lands will also be under her power with time, but the dreadful atmosphere of the lonely planet makes her skin break out in hives.

She believes the people here are more terrifying. White, hairless creatures with eyes as dark as the sun above them speak with just nods and courseys, paying little to no attention to the world around them, save for the concrete floors.  ''Tell them to set themselves on fire, and they will,''  Irulan recalls Baron Vladimir telling her father over the banquet. She believed it to be a simple boast at first, but now, after a few days in the strange world, the words make greater sense.

Perhaps, the harsh weather made people here hardened. Perhaps, such cruelty is necessary for survival. What terrorised her more was her sister—the one who now silently reads nearby, her long dress carelessly spread on the floor. Irulan would never allow her dress to wrinkle before the concluding dinner, but she is not Irulan. Despite them being demisisters, they shared fewer similarities than one could guess. Two lambs, as many in court would call them—the white and black ones. They knew one another better than anything else; where one went, the other followed. Where Irulan failed, her sister succeeded. What was allowed for her sister, was fobility towards Irulan. No one was embedded in their small circle; no one could get close enough to understand the bond they shared—together, they were whole.

Yet as they grew older, the bond seemed to thin. The path to the mind of her sister was more often closed to her now, her thoughts veiled by the silence rooted deep into her veins. Irulan knows they are just growing up, trying to find their path in the unknown. But she is scared; what would be of her without her sister? What use would the river have without fish to fill it?

''I shall go,'' her sister says, closing the book. ''The dinner starts soon, and I wanted to return the book before it.''

''Is it the one Na-Baron recommended?'' Irulan voices. Truth be told, she would never touch anything that Baron or his family possessed, even more recommended, but her sister seemed to enjoy the ancient text.

''It is. Rather interesting are the traditions of these people. Did you know their slaves have no tongues?''

Irulan feels sick to her stomach; the thought of having slaves brings the small bits of her recent meal to her very present tongue. ''Can I come with you?'' she asks, instead of answering. Irulan does not want to leave the faint safety of her rooms, but even more, she does not want to be left alone. She feels vulnerable—she is not of power here, despite being the embodiment of it in all of the other corners of the Imperium.

''You know I walk without guards.''

Irulan knows. While she is not able as much as bathe without the presence of someone with fighting knowledge, the rules do not seem to apply to her younger sister; she can move freely, as she wishes. Was it because she carried a thin blade with her and knew how to use it, or because of the lack of care from their father? Irulan was not sure. What she was sure of, was that no woman of twelve should leave her sister alone in the halls of Harkonnens' fort.

''It is just to the reading room and back, is it not?''

''Yes,'' her sister nods.  ''I'll take you,''  it means.

So, they walk. Fortunately, the guards usually waiting outside are nowhere to be found, and they manage to slip away unnoticed. Irulan holds the hand of her sister tightly, with each noise from the outside digging her nails deeper into her soft palm. Her sister says nothing; she steps calmly into the labyrinth of corridors, navigating them without much evident trouble. Soon, they find themselves in front of a huge black door, incarnated with words Irulan hold no knowledge of.

Inside, the chamber is massive; it forms a beautiful, round circle with ceilings so high that the air in it is always chilly. Rows of books and manuscripts fill the shelves out of oxidant, contrasting starkly with the white wall. The black circle table of cold stone is filled with replicas and ancient artefacts, each emitting a soft glow.

Who knew the small, desert planet held such treasures inside? Irulan forgets about her sister entirely—the texts call to her, golden lettering shining under the light. Irulan follows the names on the covers: legends, myths, histories, and art overviews. Some even contained gardening and soil research; Baron likely held those for a good laugh.

Irulan travels deeper and deeper until the voice of her sister addressing the only library keeper almost disappears, consumed by tall bookcases. The section she finds herself in is solely dedicated to martial arts; where, if not here, would the hundreds of books on such a topic be stored? Some of them are used; the spines are slightly older; others look brand new.

Irulan is brought to her senses only when she notices a black figure moving in the corner of her vision. She puts the book back and Listens. Just like the Sisters taught her, her inner ear picks up the faint voice of her sister, and the moving of two sandaled feet—the slave handling the books. She feels something else, too. A presence familiar enough to recognise but not enough to name.

''We have to go,'' she says, grabbing her sister by the shoulder and pressing. ''We will be late,'' she explains to the slave. Not that it would question the whims of the princess.

''Why?'' her sister turns to her, confused. ''I was looking at some other books. Weren't you also?''

''Please,'' Irulan whispers. ''We spent enough time here as it is.''

Just as her sister was about to answer, the atmosphere shifted. The air, sitting in its calmness, heavied. The silent before slave turned on its feet, its eyes burning holes in Irulan's body. It lurches towards them, opening its obsidian mouth to show the blackened void inside—indeed, it possesses no tongue.

Irulan freezes. The void seems to suck her in, the sharp mouth growing wider as its owner approaches her body. The fear paralyses her, planting her otherwise quick feet deep into the ground. Now, her training as Bene Gesserit should awaken—she should oppose, or at the very least dodge, the attack. But the black mouth continues to draw her in, clouding her thoughts with terror.

The body beside her shifts; her sister is quick. With one strong thrust, she pushes Irulan aside. '' Hide ,'' the voice within her head commands, and Irulan has no force to object to the technique. She crawls under the heavy stone, frantically looking for something—anything—to protect herself with.

Despite the long skirts, her sister moves like Adam's wine; she bends and turns, and strikes the man far taller than her, but he seems determined on the idea of killing her. Her sister grunts under the heavy hits; one sits in her abdomen, and another lands on her knees. The slave's nails leave a trace on her skin, rough enough to pierce the young dermis.

Eventually, her sister grows tired; the slave pushes her to the ground, pressing his slender body on top and closing its white, almost translucent hands on her throat. Irulan clasps the found sharp cutting instrument to her chest, desperately trying to calm the wave of fear forming there.  ''I must not fear. Fear is a mind killer,''  she whispers again and again.

She watches as her sister's hand slips under her clothes and emerges an illicit, slender blade—it shines under the light just as lettering did on the books a minute ago. To Irulan, it feels like a year's hundred. ''No!'' she wants to shout as her sister raises the steel and preys it into the eye of the slave, but the words are unable to leave her throat. Like a waterfall, crimson covers her sister's face, staining her light grey dress in hot circles.

The slave falls on his back, his hands leaving their place on her sister's neck.

''Enough, please! Sister, stop!'' Irulan cries, crawling out of her hiding spot but daring not to get closer.

Her sister doesn't hear; she lurches towards the man in a slick puddle and takes his life quickly, cutting his throat in one swift motion. The blood from his arteria leaves the body in pulsations; they spatter everywhere, some drops going as far as touching the shelves.

The silence settles in the chamber once again; only the sound of weakly flowing blood disturbs the stillness. Her sister does not shed a tear; she meticulously cleans the blade with the slave's white cloth and slips it back into the folds of her gown.

''What have you done?'' Irulan whispers. Her hands tremble; the sight before her crawls into the deepest corners of her mind and tears everything there down. How can one kill so easily? How can one be so cold and calculating, as if it were nothing more than a daily chore? How could that one be her sister, the one she shared a life with?

''I protected.'' Her sister's voice is hoarse, but firm. There is no remorse in her tone, only weariness. ''What have you  done?'' She turns to face her. Her hair, carefully braided by servants for dinner, is undone; the wet strands of it grip her face like a vice, framing the unseeing eyes.

Like that, she looks like a woman mad. Irulan backs into the safety of the doors, feeling her fear turn into something much greater. ''Do not come near me,'' she commands. Just as the heavy doors close behind her, she sets off running.

-

YN waits until the footsteps of her sister are no longer heard, and only then does she come out of the reading room. She pays the body on the ground little attention; no one would bet an eye on the death of a useless creature like that. It did not intend to kill; rather, someone made it do it. Who, in their right mind, would try to harm the heir of the Emperor? How would they know that Irulan would follow her there?

Irulan. The one who watched as the Other almost gave her life for hers, the one who had the nerve to be repulsed by the blood on her hands—the blood she spilt protecting her. What do you do when you are not allowed to be angry at God? Why does God shame one for the will she herself inflicted on one to bestone? YN would ask the sun, but it hid behind the walls of the fort. She would ask, but no one would answer.

So, she does what she is meant to do—finds her way into the large dining hall, where everyone, of course, is starting to gather. The Emperor would be dissatisfied to find her not there on time; she has no time to fix her appearance. In light of the slight possibility of shaming their House with her muddled hairstyle or suffering yet another punishment for being even late, she chooses the first option.

The guards let her in without saying a word. YNr watches as the shield slides open, revealing a full hall. Rows and rows of tables, filled with foods one would imagine never would have made their way to the Giedi Prime, and laughter not so usual for a harsh realm.

''Princess...'' the servant starts, announcing her arrival, but she shushes him with a slight wave of her palm. She does not notice the crimson liquid staining it.

The Other makes her way to her seat calmly, careless of the way people around her stumble and twist their faces in shock. The only eyes that watch her without fear at the Emperor's table are those of Lady Echidna. Her face betrays no emotion at all—hidden by her veiled black cloth, it only slightly moves when the YN passes her seat.

She holds the angry gaze of the Emperor calmly. He will demand an answer, of course if Irulan has not whispered the truth into his aged ears already. Her sister probably would do no such thing; in that, she would admit to disobeying the orders bestowed upon her. YN is puzzled at the attention directed towards her humble figure—the first thing a Bene Gessarite in training learns is not to be repulsed by the anatomy of her body. Why be grossed out by the liquid coursing through her veins—the liquid she carries all her life? Why be scared of death, when it is always at your doorstep? In the sway of her thoughts, the Other also seems not to perceive the pair of icy blue eyes glued to her figure as she finds her seat and takes her place.

-

"The boy follows you around like a dog." The mother's tone stands not in judgment but rather simply states the truth.

Lady Echidna is not veiled now; her heavy hair is still tightly braided out of her face. Just a small black ribbon highlights her status as one of the Emperor's senior concubines, a position most would bear with honour. To her, it was yet another stain on her earthly body—the body she could not call her to possess. The black sun of Giedi Prime is finally long behind them; nothing but a few light orbs floating around illuminate the chamber, yet her intense gaze seems to pierce right through the girl that sits across her.

"I know, mother. His steps are heavy; his thoughts are even heavier; they follow me much more often."

The woman's fingers stop working on an intricate needlework for a moment, before continuing as it was. "You are to call me Sister, girl," she speaks, her voice low.

YN drags her teeth across her tongue, feeling the anger flow through the veins in her body. She wishes to be far away from this small chamber, to run and never face the woman's eyes again. "The girl has a name, Sister. Or do you fear to voice it?"

Lady Echidna places the cloth on the table beside her gracefully, as if paying no attention to the words spoken. But YN can sense can feel the resentment that burns inside her mother's stomach, spreading its molecules to her throat. "A name holds meaning; for a person to have a name, one must first be of character and substance. You are none."

YN bit the soft flesh inside her mouth; it tasted bitter. It was better if her mother shouted, if she hit her if she did anything to prove YN is still here in her eyes, that she was not just a void the woman spoke her riddles into. Maybe then the pain inside her would have a meaning, would have a reason better than just childish hurt. "Did I not have a beating heart when I left your womb, Sister? Did you not hear it loud and clear? What kind of proof is needed more of me?"

"My daughter died that day, screaming. You took her place. So do not bother me with your foolish talks anymore, for we both know they just waste the air we breathe. Am I heard?"

She was. The tears dried on YN's face before having the chance to spill, and she turned to her studies. Once more, a feeling of ever-lasting cold surrounded her shoulders. The never-leaving vision in her mind appeared once again—her mother's quick steps as she walked away in another corridor of Giedi Prime's fort, her head straight ahead as YN pleaded not to leave her alone, her legs glued to the command spoken. It was a blessing that the boy found her earlier than his uncle.

-

Time has passed since the first time YN's eyes saw the black sun of the foreign planet so far from hers. The Other trained, restlessly, in the tongues of ancient warriors and the most prominent whisperers, slowly earning the right to bear Knowledge in her crown-empty head. She had much yet to learn, but the prospect did not frighten her; with every passing day, she felt power building in her hands and soul. Patience, the greatest virtue of all. She was alone now, without her half of a sister; alone, in her solitude, the heavy bearings seemed not as heavy—she had no one to enlighten about her battles. Still, God was on her mind; YN felt her presence near, her watchful eyes guiding her. Like the tight, dampened cloth on her bruised knuckles, her sister was stuck to her open wound of a soul.

Irulan has grown. Her complexion changed; she no longer looked like a bright-faced girl who left her sister alone in Harkonnen's library; the plump cheeks were gone, and so was fear. At the Other stared a sole statue of power she bloomed into. Silver collars, light blue waves of fabric—the cut is, as always, straight. The Other eyed her up and down, taking in each detail of the painting-like sight. Irulan did the same—a slight disgust at the Other's simple tunic and pants, creased from the sparring. Irulan did not need to be broken in order to be a Sister in the Bene Gesserit; they wanted her Corrino first, and a servant second. The Other, however, held no such value—a child carried not by the lawful wife, a second, a spare. So, there would be no bone in her body left untouched by the lessons, no string in her soul unharmed by the knowledge. They crushed her cartilage in grey sand and forced her to swallow the bitter truths of their ways. Yet, God remains undisturbed—stoic. Eternal.

''Will you not eat again?'' Irulan musses, putting another piece of dish in her mouth.

The Other would take it as a cruel joke from anyone else, but not from God. She shakes her head instead. ''I am forbidden.''

Irulan hums. It was not the first time YN would be disciplined this way; the cycle of punishment and forgiveness was all too familiar to her. The room is silent; there is no one but the two of them. She could offer to eat, and no one would know she did, but Irulan won't offer. The Other does not expect her to; pity is not something a sister can possess.

''How are your lessons going? A fresh knowledge, perhaps?''

YN nods. If she opens her mouth now, her voice will betray her. She could cry all she wanted in the presence of a sister, but it is not appropriate for a thirteen-year-old to behave this way in front of God. The Other is reminded of that with an absence of bruises on Irulan's skin; her hands were never cut by the sharp blades, and her mouth was never starved. ''Why was I summoned from training?'' She asked, directing her eyes to the figure in front of her.

''I am here as a messenger from the Emperor.''

YN's eyes narrowed. ''And what does our dear Emperor desire to tell me now?'' She wishes not to hear anything he has to say; the Other is perfectly content here, amongst her Sisters. Here, she is of cost.

''Recently, Baron Vladimir turned to our House for guidance. He and na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen felt misled by the House Artreidis, and their promise of a bride that did not come. Our father has graciously offered to negotiate the conflict and pay the needed price for the Baron's cooperation.''

''Of course, he did. With all of our might, we are still afraid of the savages that made Arrakis their home. With what advice, may I ask, did the Emperor provide the Baron?''

Irulan's lips turn into a straight line, with the small wrinkle on her forehead appearing. Something that she carried with her through childhood. Something that still reminded of home. ''With the proposal of a woman of our House to na-Baron Feyd-Rautha.''

''A gift? Irulan, I am so sorry.''

Sure, the bridge between them was long forgotten, growing with tall grass and wildflowers, but the weight of their shared history still lingered in the air. Irulan was still her sister, no matter how many times the Other tried to tell herself otherwise. And no woman sane would consider giving her sister to the inhumane brutes that were Harkonnens—the people even Bene Gessarit wished to observe from afar; the people so ruthless mothers told stories about them to their small offspring in an attempt to instil fear and obedience.

Irulan does not answer. She hides her gaze, her eyes following the wooden panels of the quarters.

''What is it, sister?  Speak .''

''The offer Emperor found the most fitting would be of your hand, not mine.''

The Other exhales. As if a heavy stone were put on her chest, she fights to bring much-needed oxygen to her bloodstream. She almost feels the erythrocytes scatter from her face into her neck, hidden by the cloth, and gather there in an attempt to regrow their might. Her throat twists and closes, its muscles compressing until not even an ounce of air can get in. All of her organs, from heart to stomach, made their presence known; one by one, they tensed and burned, forcing the otherwise relaxed hands to grip them.

It was supposed to be Irulan. The first one to marry is the oldest sister; the title high enough to satisfy the ambitious Harkonnes would be hers, no less. Yet, here she stands, not even looking at the one taking her place as she sentences her to an ultimate death. No matter how much power the Corrino name held, on Giedi Prime, she would consider herself fortunate enough if she were to meet her end quickly.

''Why, Irulan? Have I not been a loyal servant to you all those years? Have I not followed every order without question? ''

Irulan is unmoved in her position. ''We can not risk the Harkonnen blood getting on the throne, you know it.''

''You mean we can not risk you? We are not eight anymore, dear Irulan; you can speak truthfully now. Do you really think the Emperor will treasure you more if you say nothing now? We are no sons, Irulan; we are sisters, you and I. Please, spare me this fate.''

''Yes,'' the girl lifts her eyes, taking a step closer. ''We are no sons; you knew that one day we would marry for the peace of the Imperium. Why do you shout now?''

''Married, yes, but not murdered for the sake of the fucking old man who could not hold his promise. They are monsters, Irulan, spilling innocent blood for the fun of it. I beg of you, sister, show me the mercy I know you are capable of.''

''You are worried about blood? What could one more splash of blood mean to you? You have been no sister for a long time; I order you, as an heir of the Emperor and as the messenger of his will here, to comply. Do not make it harder than it has to be.''

The Other smiled—she would not grant the pleasure of tears. ''Very well, then. Someone needs to go first. I'll go; I'll be first, at least here. Tell the Emperor that I will comply with any of his wishes, whether it be to throw me to the sharks or to feed me to the sandworms. As a confirmation of my undying loyalty, you may show him this:''

She slaps her. She slaps her not like a warrior, not like the trained assassin she was raised to be; she slaps her like a sister, bitterly, harshly. For the first time in her short life, YN raises a hand on something she deems holy—the God's shocked face brings a sense of satisfaction to the Other's veins, even if the same blood courses through them. She turns on her heels and walks away, leaving the forsaken room behind. Leaving God behind.

[sketchguk]

part time lover (moodboard)

➳ pairing: investigative journalist!jeongguk x daycare teacher!reader. alternatively, spy!jeongguk x assassin!reader

➳ genre: smut, fluff, angst, fake marriage au, dad au, spy x family au

➵ word count: 465 (teaser) / 30.8k

➳ summary: there is no crime more perfect than marrying jeon jeongguk. your relationship is nothing more than a ruse - while your friends pester you for being perpetually single, jeongguk desperately needs a wife to complete the pristine image of a family, fooling his way through the parent interview at the nation’s most prestigious private school.

only time will tell how deep your lies will run as you find home in one another’s minds. because untangled in the moonlight, he is but a spy, exposing a secret world of corruption, and you, an assassin, ridding the streets of danger one hit at a time. 

➳ warnings: themes of parenthood, raising a child, reader and jk are both orphans, reader has a past where she struggled with financially supporting her family, eldest daughter trauma, reader is insecure, fears of abandonment, mentions of violence and m*rder (but not explicit), mention of weapons (guns, knives, grenades, poison),  jk has a bruise from boxing, descriptions of an explosion, blood is drawn twice (via kitchen knife and shrapnel from aforementioned explosion), (1) mention of weight loss, jk changes his appearance in an attempt to fit in, mention of a minor car crash, social drinking, scars (surgical/knife, bullet wounds), characters are liars for the sake of the plot, side characters are misogynists (satire), food descriptions, pet names (hers: angel, good girl, princess his: love). 

➳ publish date: saturday, october 14th 8pm EST

➳ a/n: thank you for all the love you've shown on the teaser. i really didn't expect so much support >.< i hope you're all as excited as i am though !! once again, this is part of the “industry baby” collab! please look forward to all of the other fics in the masterpost 💛

smut warnings below the cut!

➳ smut warnings: virgin reader, sexual tension, body worship, nipple play, marking, oral (f receiving), fingering, hair pulling, unprotected sex, jk has a big dick, praising, stomach bulge, spitting, use of the word slut, marriage kink(?) he loves his wife so much, reader wants to be bred, cumshot

“You can touch me if you want,” he offers. 

You’re not as confident as Jeongguk, but oh, how you wish you were. 

“Do you want to?” He senses your hesitation, yet you nod your head, affirming.

“I do,” you bite the inside of your cheek. “I want to touch you- feel you.” 

Jeongguk wraps his fingers around your wrists, bringing your hands to rest on his broad shoulders. They’re muscular beneath your touch. You curse yourself for letting your mind wander and for letting your panties soak with arousal ー neither of which you can control. 

Somehow, you resist the urge to look down at his physique. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to the elbows, revealing his strong forearms, adorned by the dark tattoos that coil up his muscles. Your gaze darts across his features, struggling to focus on the starlight in his eyes. You switch between the edge of his jaw, the dip of his neck, and the plump of his lips. 

“My eyes are up here, angel.” The corner of his mouth draws into a smile ー so bright and devastatingly beautiful. He hooks a gentle hand beneath your chin, guiding you to meet his stare. “Tell me what you’re thinking about. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” 

Your voice is soft, just barely above a whisper. It’s nearly inaudible. “Thinking about what it would be like to kiss you.” 

The innocence of your words makes Jeongguk blush. He’s never been the type to be so easily affected. After all, he’s the bold one in the relationship ー confident, decisive, dominant. But you make him weak in the knees.

“You don’t have to ask permission to kiss me.” Jeongguk inches closer, considerate hands squeezing around your waist. “You’re my wife.” 

Why does the thought of belonging to Jeongguk make your heart stutter? You’re certain that this is nothing but pretend, yet the only thing that makes you believe this could be real is the soothing circles that Jeongguk draws onto your skin. He’s present. He’s willing. His lips are right there, right in front of you. You could take the leap of faith and close the distance, leaning forward to kiss him. 

So you do. 

.

.

.

Your eyes are half lidded as you murmur a quiet confession, “I want to kiss you again.” Normally, you wouldn’t dare to be so bold, but you feel drunk on his taste.

“You can do whatever you want to me.” Jeongguk draws you closer, dragging your core onto the apex of his thighs, thick and sturdy. “I like anything that you like. Kissing you. Holding you. Just looking at you,” he shrugs. “And if it wasn’t obvious enough… I like you.” 

Jeon Jeongguk makes you absolutely breathless. “Ar- are we still pretending?”

check it out here!

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Rift - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: E (18+ only, explicit smut)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: dream/nightmare sequences, mentions of spouse death and hypothetical child death (in the dream sequence), angst, references to smut, m/m/m/f dynamics

Summary: Each Marcus deals with conflicting emotions after spending the night together.

A/N: WHOOPS, who let all the angst in here???? Sorry about that!

Masterlist | Chapter 6 | Next chapter>>

(Moreno)

Marcus Moreno is about to die. Alien tentacles ooze toward him out of a strange crack in the world itself, moving with terrifying speed. He can choose to draw his swords and ready himself, or to shove the people beside him away and out of danger, but not both. He’s somehow both controlling his body and observing the scene from the outside as he turns to see a pretty young woman with fierce eyes, a man dressed in Roman armor, and the FBI Agent he admires so much that it hurts. They all look at him with fear in their eyes as he lets out a strangled yell and throws them out of harm’s way with all of his strength. They land on the pavement several feet away, but it’s not far enough. The tentacles engulf them, and Marcus cries out in anguish as he draws his swords, slashing and hacking frantically, spilling thick, black blood everywhere as he tries to reach his loved ones.

He throws off the last of the writhing black mess, but somehow, the three people he had thought had been there before have changed. Now, only two bodies lie broken and bloodied on the pavement–one much smaller than the other. When he sees the eyes of his late wife staring unseeingly up at the sky, he drops to his knees with a guttural scream of grief and pain. He can’t bring himself to look at the second body, knowing exactly what he’ll see when he does. 

No, he whispers as tears fall down his cheeks. No, no, no, no–

He shoots up in bed, gasping for air. He’s soaked in sweat and shaking uncontrollably, heart still pounding in his chest from the remnants of the dream. It’s only when something shifts behind him, a broad, bare chest turning and facing the other direction does he remember he’s not alone. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes his movements hadn’t woken anyone else. Carefully, he scoots down the bed, avoiding several pairs of legs, and retrieves his phone from the pocket of his discarded pants before retreating to the living room. 

Hey, he taps out a message. How’s college life?

He stands in the middle of the room, staring down at the bright screen and feeling rather awkward in his nudity, not really expecting a response at this time of night but wishing with every atom in his body for one anyway. 

He’s about to give up and try to force himself back to sleep when three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen.

M: Who’s asking, leader of the Heroics or my papá?

Marcus snorts softly.

Do I receive a different response depending on my answer?

M: 1. I am studying at the library, or 2. It’s dollar beer night at Lotus.

He smiles. 

I choose option 1, obviously.

M: The real question is what are YOU doing up so late? 

Couldn’t sleep. Just felt the need to check in on you. Everything okay?

M: Everything’s fine. Are YOU okay? You haven’t sent me Worried Dad texts in the middle of the night in a while.

Marcus begins tapping out a response, deletes it, starts again, and deletes that too. He sighs, glancing warily back at the bedroom. I’m afraid to let anyone else into my life, he wants to tell her. You’re my only success story, and I worry every day that I’m going to lose you, too. 

It’s too much to lay on his twenty-one year-old daughter, so he turns it into a joke instead.

I’m short on my Dad quota and wanted to make sure the Dad Boss doesn’t fire me.

M: You’re weird.

Ever heard the saying ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?’

The message is left unread for several minutes, and he imagines that her friends are all goading her to get off her phone and rejoin the fun. Good. He does all the worrying for both of them, so that she can remain carefree. He smiles softly and taps out one last text.

Have a good night, bug. Call me sometime. xo 

He locks his phone and holds it at his side, but remains standing in the same place, mulling over his thoughts. 

He hadn’t been exaggerating earlier when he said it had been a long time since he’d had… well, anyone really. The last time he’d had sex was during a disastrous no-strings-attached hookup after one of his coworkers convinced him to download some app and set up a profile. That was… shit, it had to be almost two years ago now. He hadn’t realized it had been quite that long. 

The last time he had a relationship was more of a trick question. He dated a few people on and off, once Missy had been able to mostly fend for herself at home, but they never lasted long or ever became serious. None of them had even met his daughter. The real answer to ‘when was your last relationship’ was ‘not since his wife died.’

It wasn’t just that no one could compare to her. It was that he couldn’t allow them the opportunity to even try. The closer people are to him, the more danger he puts them in. 

But ever since a certain FBI Agent waltzed into his office and asked so earnestly for his help, he found himself wanting to let someone in for the first time in a very long while. 

And now, to his great surprise and bewilderment, he has not just one more person he cares about, but three. Can he let himself get closer again? Can he afford to?

He looks at the book left open on the coffee table. At first he thinks there must be something wrong with his eyes, because the words all look like gibberish, but then he realizes the book is in Latin. Oh. Somehow he had forgotten that Marcus Acacius did not actually belong here. He can’t tell if the thought troubles him or relieves him–knowing that one less person will be in danger because of him.

The Heroic debates sleeping on the couch for a few moments, but the remnants of the dream still trickle unpleasantly through his bloodstream, and he doesn’t want to be alone. Carefully, he pads back into the bedroom and crawls back into the still-empty space that he had vacated. 

He lies awake for a long time, listening to the sound of breathing.

(Pike)

Marcus stirs, cracking open his eyes to see the first rays of daylight reflecting on the wall opposite your bedroom window. He rolls onto his back, being careful not to wake you as he turns over. Moreno is snoring softly beside him, looking peaceful. This is the only time he hasn’t seen worry lines etched on the man’s forehead, and he wonders about the burden of one man trying to protect the entire world. 

The Roman is already awake, piercing brown eyes meeting his with a mischievous twinkle. Marcus nods to him in greeting and gives him a small, crooked smile. The other man reaches over the Hero to run the tip of his index finger down the length of Marcus’s arm, and he shivers softly. 

“Early riser,” he comments in a whisper. 

“I have always risen with the sun.”

“Makes both of us,” Marcus grins. 

“And decidedly not our hostess.”

They both laugh quietly, not wanting to wake the other occupants of the bed. 

“Coffee?” he asks the Roman. 

“I would love some.”

Marcus helps himself to your kitchen, knowing exactly where you keep your coffee grounds and filters. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt so at home in someone else’s space; he’s spent more time here over the past several weeks than he’s spent at his own apartment, and from the beginning he had secretly preened over the excuse to get to know you better.

At first, your temporary houseguest had been a slightly befuddling distraction–his distinctive presence ensured that he looked completely out of place in every environment, and his constant refrain of “Quid est, quid est, quid est” was equal parts endearing and frustrating. Marcus didn’t often feel like a small man, but he couldn’t deny that the way the General’s broad shoulders seemed to fill every room had him feeling some kind of way about it. 

It’s a fascination, he had told himself so many times. A temporary infatuation that’s distracting you from the woman of your dreams. 

When the translators were introduced, and the Roman’s sharp wit and mischievous sense of humor could be understood for the first time, the pull became even stronger. It didn’t help that the man seemed to be a shameless flirt with everyone–himself, you, and when Moreno began spending the odd evening here, him too. 

Even so, the events of the previous night had been so far beyond his imagination that he can hardly make sense of it. Marcus has always been a serial monogamist, hopping from one way-too-serious relationship to another and hoping against all odds that the next one wouldn’t end in disaster. He’s never been able to do anything that could remotely be considered casual.

He had no concept of what last night had meant. 

He pours the coffee into two mugs–dumping a fair amount of cream and sugar in one, and far less in his own–and hands one to Acacius. 

“You are pensive this morning,” he remarks, his voice still carrying a light rasp from sleep.

“Just thinking.”

“You and the Hero both strike me as men who are inclined to think themselves into an early grave.”

Marcus snorts. “That might be true.” Might be. Everyone he’s ever known has called him an over-thinker. “You're a great tactician when it comes to war,” he challenges the man. “Surely you appreciate the benefits of analysis.”

“There is analyzing a situation, and then there is helpfully standing in place wondering what action you are going to take while the enemy completely surrounds you.”

Marcus pauses, coffee cup halfway to his lips, and really looks at the man beside him, leaning casually against the kitchen counter. He tries to imagine him in the armor he had been wearing that first night, bruised and bloodied, leading the armies of Rome with a fierce battle cry. “I don't often find myself surrounded by an army.”

“The enemy can be many things. There is a word for this, no?”

“A metaphor?”

“Mmm,” he grunts in assent. “When is an army not really an army?”

Marcus smiles to himself, setting the mug down on the counter and staring into the middle distance. “So, what do you think my enemy is?”

The General looks him up and down. “The things that you carry with you.”

His eyes snap to Acacius in shock and surprise. The man is discerning–alarmingly so, at times. Marcus’s breath catches in his throat when he responds thickly, “What is it that you think I’m carrying?”

“This is not for me to know,” the man remarks casually, raising one eyebrow. “Unless you are wanting to tell me something?”

“What are you two chattering about?” your soft voice cuts through their conversation. Marcus turns to see you padding toward them wearing only a shirt and looking satisfyingly mussed. 

“A soldier that carries the weight of his past failure into the next battle will surely lose,” the General says cryptically. 

You stare at the two of them blankly. “Yeah, I’m gonna need some coffee if you’re going to be talking like that.” You look at Marcus shyly. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” 

Marcus doesn’t know what to do. Does he kiss you? Is that rude? He wants to reach for you, to take you into his arms, but the two other men have him at a loss–how does one act after group sex? He has no blueprint for this situation.

“How lucky we are to have such a beautiful woman in front of us, still looking so well-fucked from our attentions last night.” The other man croons, moving closer to Marcus and nosing the shell of his ear. 

Feeling emboldened by the other man’s candor, he extends his arm to you, and you immediately fill the space perfectly, your head resting against his bare chest. Marcus presses a soft kiss to your forehead. With the General at his back, he feels completely surrounded by warmth–and wonders, despite himself, if he might be lucky enough to hold onto this feeling. The only thing better would be…

“Our other Marcus still asleep?” he jokes.

“The Hero was awake for some time in the night,” Acacius comments. 

Ah. That explains it. “We’ll let him sleep, then.”

“Or,” you say with a sultry smile, “or we could all three of us go back and… wake him up.”

(Acacius)

Marcus Acacius likes this more than anything else. More than any of the hedonistic acts that had come before, more than the thrill of building sexual tension between partners, is this: 

The utter decadence of sweaty, sated bodies, limbs tangled together… delicious. 

The hero lies boneless, half-sprawled over him. A man who has been pushed into a position of strength all his life, he finally appears free of all those expectations here. The General has always been able to read people, but it hardly took any effort at all to see that Marcus Moreno desperately craved the ability to let go. His breath shudders slightly on the exhale, and the other man curled around him makes a soft noise of inquiry.

“Feel okay?”

“Mmhmm,” the hero mumbles, not opening his eyes, and Acacius smiles.

The Agent, on the other hand, is much like himself, in that he seems to be just as comfortable in a position of power as he is in submission. Marcus hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off the man as he guided the hero through his first time receiving–gentle, but firm, one hand wrapped around the man’s cock and the other grasping his shoulder for leverage, his fingers always reaching possessively for his neck. Marcus Pike does not simply take a lover, the General concluded, he desires to own them.

It was that obvious possessiveness that had kept Marcus from insisting the Agent share with the others the night previous, allowing him to be the sole proprietor of your pleasure–but the way the man had shuddered at the sight of his beloved with his own thick cock down your throat gave him less qualms about the matter today.

And if that resulted in Marcus delighting in the hot, wet clutch of your cunt for himself, that was simply a fringe benefit, was it not? Oh, you were a sweet one, and it was easy to see why Pike was completely enraptured. You whimpered so beautifully when he broke you open for the first time, squirming around his cock with a little wrinkle of discomfort on your forehead. When the Agent reached down to palm your cheek and soothe you through it, you greedily sucked his thumb into your mouth and bit down gently, eliciting a soft groan from the man. 

Marcus eventually flipped you on your stomach to take you fast and hard, mirroring the intensity of the two men beside you. You were delirious, drunk on your own pleasure, but still had the presence of mind to reach out and stroke the cheek of the Hero, who was moaning into the pillow next to you. You smiled softly, seeing the other man’s overwhelmed expression, and moved yourself closer to him. The two of you were still tangled together when you reached the point of ecstasy.

You’re curled into Marcus’s chest now, your soft breaths disturbing the smattering of hair and your warm body leaving his own glistening with sweat. You beside him, the Hero sprawled bonelessly on top of him, and the Agent with his arm draped over top, his fingers brushing against the top of his pubic bone–and Marcus Acacius feels utterly at peace. 

[naomikozura]

Love of My Life Prologue

HeianEra!TrueForm! Ryomen Sukuna x Sorcerer!Fem!Reader

A/N: This story will contain a lot of heavy dark themes, warnings will be posted with each part accordingly. This is NOT SFW, so be prepared for dark themes in the realm of murder, abuse, generational trauma, abusive parents, etc. again warnings will be posted accordingly. MDNI 18+ ONLY. Continue at own Risk!!

Warnings: Mentions of murder, death, loss of control, mentions of a massacre, gruesome scene, lack of empathy, death of an entire family. (If I missed any lmk!)

WC: 1K

Series Masterlist

Part 1

Throughout time there have always been stories of the King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna and his reign over the jujutsu world during the Heian Era. The infamous jujutsu sorcerer has been historically known as the most powerful sorcerer of all, he was selfish, cold-hearted, lacked human empathy and morality, his sadistic tendencies causing the erasure of hundreds if not thousands of people throughout the Heian Era, as well as the jujustu sorcerers who dared to fight him. 

During the Golden Age of Jujutsu, four prominent families rose to solidify themselves to build the structure around the practice of jujutsu and learning to control cursed energy. The families consisted of the Gojo Clan, the Zenin Clan, the Kamo Clan, and the late L/n Clan. 

Each family held cultural and political significance during this time, being of the few jujutsu bloodlines that held the power of special techniques and abilities, each family strong in their own right. The connections between the four families were strong and solidified, a mutual respect and understanding shared endlessly. 

During the early years leading to the Heian Era, each family had produced heirs to take over the family legacy and continue it through generations. Each heir growing and mastering their powers and continuing the bloodline through their children, and those children after them. In the years during the Heian Era, four new heirs were born within the same timeframe. 3 boys and one girl. The Gojo, Zen’in, and Kamo clans were all full of content and celebration, announcing the birth of their sons while the L/n clan remained quiet as the young mother held her baby. 

The leader of the L/n clan refused to be put in a position of weakness, solidifying his resolve in making his daughter the heir to the clan and training her to be a strong jujutsu sorcerer. As the young girl grew, she became stronger, learning to manage her cursed energy and learning her special technique better known as the Eye of Aurora. 

The Eye of Aurora was specialized throughout the L/n clan, a technique that helped manipulate and rearrange the atoms within cursed energy, and could rip it apart from the inside out and completely stripping cursed energy users to dissipate into nothing. The L/n had controlled it well enough to use it for the better of the realm, but in order to keep within the Four Families, they needed to ensure the next holder would be trained and taken under control. 

The last time an untrained inheritor gained the Eye of Aurora they had completely decimated and ripped through one of the nearby towns killing over a thousand people in the overwhelming rush of power. The scene had seemed almost out of a wicked fable. Bodies ripped to shreds, decapitated corpses, and blood soaking the soil that the surrounding plants started to die, every stone covered in the thick carnage. It was one of the most tumultuous trials in jujutsu history, leading to the immediate execution of the L/n member. 

The L/n head took his task seriously in training his daughter. As she became more skilled, she became more beautiful, becoming coveted between the families and having their sons ask for her hand in marriage. The young L/n daughter found herself in the middle of three courtships, each one a beneficial relationship to gain for her and her family. 

Those ties would never be solidified. 

Ryomen Sukuna had heard of the young gifted daughter of the L/n clan, barging into their territory and forcing the L/n leader into an ultimatum. Give his daughter to him in marriage or suffer being eradicated from the jujutsu world entirely. The L/n wife cried and begged for Sukuna to leave them, causing an uproar and resulted in her death as Sukuna used his cursed energy against her. L/n had no choice but to do what would be safe for his ancestral name and gave his daughter to the King of Curses, casting her into a pit of despair. 

Sukuna forced the young L/n to marry him, leaving her family in ruin as he quickly used her to gain her power, stripping her entirely from her special technique. He murdered her, many knowing her demise would be at his hand since the King of Curses could never bring himself to empathize or care deeply for another being. Once he’d killed her, he returned to the L/n House and destroyed the entire family, erasing every last one from the four families of the jujutsu world for good. He left no trace of their inherited special abilities and ended the blood line for good. The L/n leader begged for mercy in his final moments before Sukuna ultimately ended his life. 

This has been known as the Burning of Aurora. 

This tale has been used as a vital part of jujutsu history, but what the history writers don’t know is the truth of what happened. 

This tale has blurred the lines of truth and myth, the overdramatized rendition was made to completely take away from who the powerful sorcerer was before he went completely hellbent and destroyed everything and everyone in his path. 

Thousands of years ago during the Heian Era, there was a short moment in time before the King of Curses turned into a monstrosity. A moment where he showed what little humanity he had for none other than the only daughter of the L/n Clan. 

Although the old tale recounts that she was forced into marriage before her cruel death, the truth of his union with her is far more humane and full of an endless amount of admiration and contentment. 

This was the last shred of humanity Ryomen Sukuna had before turning into a black soulless sorcerer. 

A/N:

This is a new mini series i’m doing, I hope you guys enjoy! This will probably post a lot slower since I am working on my Jason ToddxReader series , Playing With Fire. But it will be uploaded and completed!! I think total there will be 4-5 parts w prologue included!

Hope you enjoy and can’t wait to hear your feedback!

[skythighs]

Calista's Dream: Blood on my Blade

Hi, I'm back with another one. Once again, I don't own the pictures. I just used them for a vibe 😌

Word count:2.5k

Warnings: she cuts herself intentionally in this chapter but not because she wants to. Also, my future chapters will have adult content, so be aware that this is for 18+

Chapter 1

10195 AG

It was an unusually sunny day on Caladan and I wasted no time escaping from my mother. She’s planning the arrival of my betrothed who is due to arrive within a week from today. She’s coordinating flowers to match my dress and wine to compliment the chosen meat that will be served at the feast following the nuptials. Meanwhile I couldn’t care less about any of it. I didn’t have a choice in the matter so why should I be bothered in planning for it. He will arrive in Caladan an entire month before the wedding so that he can court me properly according to my fathers wishes. I was not opposed to the idea of courting, but it all seemed useless now. The Emperor ordered this arrangement; neither Feyd Rautha or myself would have chosen each other if that weren’t the case. Our houses were rivals, I dare not say enemies for fear of upsetting my father. He would no longer accept that term when referring to the family I would be marrying into. 

My dark hair blew in a strong gust of wind as I looked out at the vast body of water ahead of me. I would be leaving my home in just over a month and I had come to terms with it. I’ve been saying goodbye for now in my own way. It was not a final farewell for I knew in my soul I would die on Caladan, because I am an Atreides. I lay flat on my back in the damp green grass soaking in the beautiful sunlight, knowing I’ll soon be an inhabitant of Giedi Prime with its black sun. While deep in thought I notice Gurney running towards me looking upset. I sit up so he can find me easier in the tall grass.

“Gurney, what's the matter?”

“Little Duchess, your parents sent me to find you. They are here.”

“They?”

“The Harkonnens, my lady.They’ve come a week early, no doubt to catch us by surprise.”

“Feyd Rautha is here, on Caladan right now?”

The very idea struck me and I felt myself break out into a nervous sweat. I wasn’t prepared. I had more time to- to wrap my mind around his arrival. He wasn’t supposed to be here today. 

“Lady Jessica is in your chambers, you must hurry Little Duchess. She wants you to change and prepare yourself for a formal introduction.”

With that I’m off, sprinting across the tall grass in order to prepare quickly for the unexpected guest. Gurney's laugh in my wake is confirmation that my back is covered in wet grass stains. My mother will have to work magic to get me ready quickly. 

“Where have you been?” exclaimed Lady Jessica.

“You’re covered in grass Calista!”

“I’m sorry. They weren’t supposed to be here so soon.”

We remain silent while stripping the stained gown and damp underclothes. A maid pulled out an elaborate emerald green gown with matching jewelry and hair pieces. 

“Your father has already received our guest in the great hall. He is entertaining him there while they wait for us. The kitchen has already begun preparing a feast. Be calm, all is well.”

Jessica could sense the nervous energy from her daughter and it made her feel all the more high strung given the circumstance. 

“Do not show fear to him, Cali. For if you do he will crave more of it.”

“I know, mother. I’m just surprised, is all. I thought I had more time.”

Castle Caladan was warm and cozy even though it was large and spread out. There was a warmth deep within the stone of those walls that can not be manufactured. It was the warmth of home, of love and familial bonds, a feeling that came after the birth of Calista and had lingered for some twenty years now.

When my mother and I stepped into the great hall silence fell upon the Duke and Na Baron who sat across from each other at the great table. There was a tension in the air no doubt from the early intrusion made by the Harkonnen. It seemed the Na Baron traveled with nothing less than a small armada. A show of force perhaps from Baron Vladimir himself. One wall had Atreides soldiers lined up and the opposite was the same for the Harkonnnen. This felt less like an introduction between a couple whose pending nuptials were mere days away and more like a meeting before a battle. A last ditch effort to broker peace before the inevitable war followed.

My father and our early guest rise to their feet as I make my way into the room. My emerald dress swishes with each step I take, I ensure my shoulders are back and my head is held high. I would not be shaken by him. The great room is bathed in sunlight as the sun still shines brightly outside and for a moment I wish I was still just a girl laying in damp grass.

“Na Baron Feyd Rauth, may I present to you my daughter and Heir Calista Atreides.” my father places his hand on the small of my back as I stand beside him.

I reach my hand out to the Na Baron and feel his warm lips graze my knuckles as he bows briefly before me.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you my lady.” 

Once he speaks I realize his teeth are painted obsidian black and I almost cringe.

His predatory eyes watched every twitch of my face muscles, every slight movement of my lips as I welcomed him to Caladan. His eyes remind me of the birds of prey. He watches calmly and intently taking in the lilt of my voice. More than this his own voice was so wholly unique it caused a slight shiver to travel up my spine. He was so pale white the sun shining into this very room could damage his skin. He wore black armor similar to the Harkonnen armada standing around the room. I take him in from head to toe and have to crane my neck to look up at him. I had always been small and now as a grown woman of nearly twenty I stood an entire head shorter than him at least.

He seems pleased by the fact I have to look up at him to see his eyes and he offers me a wolfish grin.

My mother interjects with “We have prepared a feast for this evening once you have rested from your travels Na Baron. Calista will show you to your chambers now.”

My mother gives me a pointed look that only mothers have mastered.

“Of course follow me.”

With that I'm off leading him down winding corridors a few short paces ahead of him as he shortens his steps to stay just behind me and out of sight. For the sake of being polite I decided to try and make conversation with him.

“We weren’t expecting you so soon Na Baron, is there a reason you moved up our scheduled timeline?”

 I attempt to turn my head slightly just to catch him in my line of sight, but he intentionally evades my attempt.

“I didn’t want to wait any longer.” His gravelly voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Quick and to the point. I halt my steps and face him head on as he smirks down at me. My reaction amuses him it seems.

“Are you saying you arrived here early because you couldn’t wait one more week to see me?”

He takes a large step towards me, making my breath catch in my chest.

“You’ve been mine for the last six years. I’ve waited long enough to see you with my own eyes, those pretty little portraits didn’t do you justice.”

He reaches his large powder white hand up and catches a strand of my long ebony hair. He rubs my silken hair between his fingers as he stares into my eyes without blinking. 

“You even smell pretty, Lady Atreides.”

He wantonly sniffs the strand of hair in his grasp. Making me shudder in disgust, and some other ambiguous feeling. I attempt to separate myself from him but he won’t budge, he continues to stare me down with his near dead eyes.

“Let me show you to your chambers Na Baron, you must be exhausted.”

I refuse to show him an ounce of fear remembering my mothers words. Besides he was on my home planet, I need not fear anything on Caladan. 

He smiles at me showing his black teeth much to my unease but he releases my hair and we continue our trek in silence.

As we reach his chambers I bid him farewell until the feast that is and take my leave quickly. The hairs on the back of my neck tell me he watches from the doorway as I make my departure. He watches me until I am completely out of his sight as I turn out of the guest wing entirely. Only then does the gooseflesh on my skin settle down.

Back in my own chambers my mother meets me in the corridor.

“Did you show fear?” She asks seriously. She was gripping her own navy gown tightly between her fingers.

“No.”

I grasp her worrying hand on her gown.

“B-but I think I amused him somehow. He said-”

Using the Atreides battle language she motions they will continue this conversation in her chamber with the door closed.

Once inside my chamber we secure the door and settle onto my chaise lounge chair together. 

“He told me he showed up here early simply because he was tired of waiting to see me.”

Lady Jessica tensed up slightly, alarming Cali.

“What? What is it?”

“He is eager to wed you it seems. I was hoping he would be indifferent, for your sake my Cali.”

Realization dawned on me the moment my mother voiced her concern. He was eager, he was looking forward to- to having me as his wife.

The evening came quickly and after changing into a fresh gown per my mothers request I was heading into the great hall for the welcome feast. My new gown was light blue and white lace with matching jewels of course. I wore my hair entirely up to avoid another incident with the Na Baron touching my hair without permission. I hoped to convey a message to him. A message that said, I don't belong to you. Not yet at least.

 Once I entered the great hall I noticed my father was seated at the head of the table this time with Feyd Rautha at his left hand side with an empty seat beside him closest to her father. My mother sat regally on his right hand side taking stock of our Harkonnen guests around the table.

When the men noticed me they both stood and went to pull out my chair in unison. Feyd Rautha insisted as I was his betrothed and my father sat awkwardly, not used to his daughter being the center of another man's attention.

“Thank you Na Baron.”

I say politely as I take my seat. He then moves his chair a couple inches closer to my own than it was before. Not very subtle at all I think. He retakes his seat and quickly calls for my goblet to be filled with wine. Well isn't he attentive? I wonder if I can expect the same level of care once we are on Giedi Prime. Is he just luring me into a false sense of safety before revealing his true self? Try as I might I can’t seem to get a good read on him and it bothers me and puts me on edge.

He didn't speak much at dinner until it was time for speeches and thanks to be granted to the hosting house.

He stood from his seat beside me and raised his goblet of fine Caladan wine.

“I would like to take a moment to thank Duke Leto Atreides for being so hospitable to me although I arrived before our agreed timeline. However, having seen my bride in all her glory I should have come sooner.”

Many Harkonnen men bellow out joyous laughter at that and agree with whoops and cheers.

I look between them uneasily feeling like a prized trophy already.

“I would like to present my lady with a gift.”

A meek Harkonnen servant appeared with a finely decorated box that could only hold valuable jewels. He took the box from the servant and faced me. I took a short sip of wine to cover my nerves and received the box with a smile.

I opened the box and barely contained my shocked gasp. It was indeed not fine jewels, but a bloodied dagger. Not a clean dagger but a bloody one, even the handle was covered in blood.

“I- it’s lovely. Thank you.” I give him the best smile I can muster.

“It’s a Harkonnen tradition as I’m sure you know.”

His dead eyes seemed to come alive with some unknown emotion.

“Of course. I just didn’t realize the blade was meant to be...used.” 

I gesture for my gift to be brought forward so that I can offer it to him.

He opens the box and inspects the blade thoroughly. 

“A fine piece of art.”

“I do apologize since it’s missing blood.”

He looked at me and tilted his head as he looked me up and over taking note of the neckline of my gown.

“Certainly you can remedy that, My lady.”

He hands me the blade with an expectant look.

“I don’t understand, Na Baron-”

“-Your blood would do most nicely.”

There is a chill that freezes my blood to the bone. He sits once again in his chair that is still too close to mine. 

“I’m not sure what you mean.” 

I look at him as if he’s grown a second head. While my father watches the interaction closely, waiting for the slightest misstep on Feyd's part so he can call in our soldiers to defend the future Dutchess. My mothers warning plays in my head and I know what I have to do.

I take the pristine blade and grab the hilt, slowly and precisely I drag the blade against my palm covering it in my very own blood.

Once again his eyes are lit with some unknown emotion. All I know is they don't seem so dead when he looks at me that way, and I feel myself blush. He takes my offer staring at it in what I can only describe as reverence as he places it carefully in its rightful place. The same meek servant steps forward and removes the gift from the hall.

[humanpurposes]

I Have Always Been A Storm, Part 1

Read the full chapter on AO3 // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Floris Baratheon

In the year 128AC, Floris Baratheon weds Aemond Taragryen, a daughter and a son both driven to duty, now bound to each other when the realm is on the brink of war. Floris is enamoured by the Prince, but love is something she can only hope will bloom once her vows have been said before the eyes of the Seven- AU where Aemond and Floris marry before the Dance of the Dragons.

Warnings: 18+, smut, pregnancy, arranged marriage, canon divergence, angst, possibly quite a lot of angst, hurt/comfort

A/n: Surprise!! It's the Florismond fic no one asked for :) Planning on this being a 3 part mini series.

“A terrible coincidence,” my husband says.

Head bowed, he kneels before me where I sit on the end of our bed. Thunder and lightning rage beyond the windows but he has brought the storm inside with him. The rainwater that has drenched his hair and his riding leathers soak through my nightgown. I keep my jaw tight and my teeth pressed together to stop myself from shivering.

He has discarded his gloves to hold my hands in his, leaving a trail of kisses and tears on my skin. He circles the pad of his thumb over my fingertips, over the callouses left by my years of devotion to the harp. His hands are calloused too, from his sword, from the reins on Vhagar’s saddle.

He lifts his chin to look at me. I scarcely recognise him. My husband is a proud young man, always poised, never loud, often cold and stoic, gentle around the right people, his mother, his sister, me.

His single eye is glistening and glassy, the blue of his iris vibrant despite his distress. His breaths are laboured, his lips parted. I see nothing but hopelessness in him, but even like this, I wonder if the gods will ever manage to create a person quite so beautiful as Aemond Targaryen.

I slip a hand out of his grasp and, as gently as I can, pull on the eyepatch that covers the left side of his face. He lets me do it, as he has done many times before. A burst of lighting catches in the uneven edges of his sapphire eye. The twisted flesh that frames it is red, I wonder if it is hurting him.

I asked him once, why he was so reluctant to display this part of himself, why he wanted to hide it from me when we were first married.

His reply was always that he did not wish to frighten me.

What reason would I have to fear a scar? I’ve seen plenty of blood in my life, hunts, tourneys, accidents in the training yard. I see my own blood every moon. How could I fear my own husband?

He’s stuttering, sobbing, choking on his words. “I didn’t– I– I tried to stop her– but I was so– I just wanted him to…”

Heat rises behind my eyes. My skin is cold, my limbs frozen, but the shock is starting to wear off. I cannot listen to any more or I will surely break. 

I hush him, curling my whole body over his head. If he sees my face he will think I fear him, he will think I am horrified by him. I run a hand over his damp hair and he rests his face against the swell of my stomach.

Before he left, only a matter of days ago, after he had kissed my lips sore and stolen all the air from my lungs, he had come down to his knees to kiss my belly. By Maester Orwlye’s estimation, I only have a month left of my term. By tradition, I should be in confinement, but Aemond had ordered against it. He could not bear the thought of being apart from me, and I him. He has his own books and correspondences with Maesters across the continent. In Dorne, expectant mothers are encouraged to exercise as much as they can, to breathe fresh air and feel the sun on their skin. This would be best for our child, Aemond decided, rather than keeping me a dark bedchamber with only midwives and septas for company. 

Queen Alicent had said from the start that Aemond would make for a devoted husband, that he has always been a man of duty.

An awful sense of dread runs through my blood.

I should be glad that he has returned to me, and I am, I am .

“I wanted the boy to fear me. I did not imagine that I might…”

What can I say to him? What can I do to ease his suffering when I cannot stand the feeling of his body so close to mine? 

I am bound to him, through vows, through witnesses. I have given him my body and he has given me his. I carry his blood in my womb, my child as much as it is his. Most irreversibly of all, my heart is twined with his. I love him, and yet...

When he places a palm against my stomach, over the space where our babe grows, all I can think is that this is the hand of a kinslayer. Whatever fate the gods have for him now is my fate also. If he has cursed himself, then I too am cursed.

Full chapter on AO3

Tags (commented to be added)

Series taglist:

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @theoneeyedprince @targaryenrealnessdarling @jamespotterismydaddy @tsujifreya @blackswxnn

[melis-writes]

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.

[anodeorain]

Secretly in love. Part 1.

Alcina Dimitrescu x Y/N.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI :)

Tags: blood, fluff, slow burning

Notes: There will be a part two hopefully soon enough x

pentru Dumnezeu - for God’s sake. Please let me know, if i translated it wrong!

“No, no, draga mea!”

I cried out, running toward your barely breathing body. Lycans circled around you, biting on your flesh, tearing you apart alive. She could see blood spraying around from your throat as you chocked, not being able to fight against lycans anymore.

I pulled out my claws, making them go through one of lycans huge bodies, throwing it aside. Other monsters started retreating, leaving your now lifeless body. I kneeled down, tears running down my cheeks as I cup your face in my gloved hands, leaning down to press my forehead against your chest.

“Y/N, pentru Dumnezeu, please, stay alive!”

I screamed, shutting my eyes closed as I let tears cover my face.

“Mother!”

I raised my head to look around. It was Bela for sure. No, no! Not my daughters walking out! It’s too cold for them! I picked up your body, holding you close to my chest. Your blood soaked through my white dress but I couldn’t care less about it now. There’s not a single chance I could leave you here to be torn to pieces by those disgusting monsters.

“Mother!”

I turned around, Bela’s voice got closer.

“Mother, wake up!”

Bela shouted.

“Mother! Please!”

Alcina jumps on the bed. Her breath is heavy and she looks around before she sees all three daughters sitting by her side, absolutely terrified. Bela immediately wraps her arms around mother’s neck, tearing up a bit. Lady Dimitrescu wraps her big arm around daughter’s waist, pulling her close as she tries to calm down.

“Mother, what happened? I can hear your heartbeat from over here.”

Cassandra asks and Daniela crawls closer to her Mother. She places her hand on Alcina’s arm, gently caressing it. Cassandra still sits aside, but Alcina can see fear in her golden eyes.

Alcina is still silent. She presses her cheek against Bela’s head, her eyes closed. She feels tears rolling down her pale cheeks. She takes a deep breath as she looks around the chamber. She can hardly focus her vision so she closes her eyes again and lets herself rest against Bela’s body.

It takes her few minutes before Alcina pulls away and smiles slightly at her daughters. She brushes her hair behind her ears and wraps a blanket around her chest to make herself more comfortable.

“Thanks, daughters. You may leave now.”

“Are you sure, mother?”

Daniela asks quietly as she looks at her mother worriedly.

“Yes. I feel… better.”

She can’t be weak for too long in front of her daughters. She’s their mother after all and she’s the one who needs to comfort them when they feel bad.

Alcina nods with a soft smile upon her lips. Daughters turn into three swarms of flies, leaving the room to let their mother get some privacy.

Alcina isn’t used to nightmares. She hasn’t have them since Miranda experimented on her. It was the first time in a while and it scared her to death.

It’s been about six months now since Alcina got a new maid, Y/N, from Miranda. Five and a half, to be exact. Just another experiment that went wrong. Alcina almost immediately felt herself falling in love with you.

Those feelings were terrifying for her for the first few months. She’s been hiding them for so long that almost forgot what it felt like. After your appearance she felt her heart warming up again.

She gets up, walking to her vanity to grab a morning cigarette. She’s wearing a long black nightgown that hangs on thin straps on her shoulders. Alcina lights up a cigarette, looks at her own reflection in the mirror and sighs. Seems like wrinkles got more visible or it was just a subdued lighting? Her eyes are red from crying through the nightmare.

It takes her an hour to get read. Lady Dimitrescu did her make up as usual, put her wine-colored lipstick on before walking downstairs. She holds a cigarette in a long elegant holder as she looks around. Alcina puts her imperturbable mask on. There’s no need to show maids and daughters her true emotions.

The main maid greets Lady Dimitrescu in the Dinning Room as soon as she walks in. Olga, the main maid, puts the plates and a bottle of wine on the table before Alcina’s chair and bows down before stepping away. Lady Dimitrescu quietly sits at the table, nodding.

“Thank you, Olga. Is everything alright? You seem worried.”

Alcina asks in a soft tone.

Olga sighs before she speaks.

“My Lady, we ran out of timber this morning. I decided to send Y/N to get some-“

“No. There’s no need to send Y/N.”

“My Lady, but why?”

“I’ve… got work for her. She’s not going out and it’s not negotiable.”

“But-

“Be a dear, Olga, let her know. And send someone else to get some woods. Elena would do just fine.”

Lady Dimitrescu says as she raises an eyebrow. She pours some wine in her goblet, swirling it around before taking a sip. Olga bows down again.

“Will do, My Lady.”

Olga says.

“You’re dismissed now.”

*****

“My Lady, you called?”

“Oh, it’s you, Y/N. Come in.”

Lady Dimitrescu gives you a slight nod, not looking away from her diary. She keeps writing something down as you look around. You’ve never been in her chambers before and actually it looks quite impressive. Every thing in the room is carefully placed on it’s own spot which is a rare thing in the castle since there are three sisters. The size of the bed amused you. It isn’t just a regular sized bed for sure. Lady Dimitrescu is a very tall person, the tallest you’ve ever seen in your life.

Alcina lights up her cigarette, holds it between her pale fingers as she places the pen into the ink bottle and closes her diary, leaving it on top the vanity. She then finally looks at you, smiling slightly. Lady Dimitrescu gets up to walk closer to you. For your surprise, she kneels down in front of you and places her forefinger under your chin, making you look into her golden eyes.

“What did you want me to do, My Lady?”

You ask nervously as she glares at you.

Lady Dimitrescu let’s out a soft chuckle which made your heart beats faster. You look at her pure white teeth framed in wine-colored lips. You feel your palms start to get sweat. The countess looks magnificent when she laughs. Her smile lines also look pretty.

You are terrified by Lady Dimitrescu but you can’t deny the fact that she’s gorgeous. The way she walks, the way she speaks. Everything about her make your heart skip a beat.

“I want you to take a day off and spend it with me, Y/N. Mind joining for a wine private party?”

She asks as she gets up, running her big hand through your hair. You shiver, gasping quietly as you look up at her. Lady Dimitrescu smiles at you, her gloved finger trails down your cheek to your neck as she stares into your eyes. You swallow so hard that she hears it and bursts into laugh.

“My, are you scared of me, little one?”

Alcina teases, her voice changes into husky low tone as she lifts your chin up with her thumb, making you look into her eyes. You shake your head, your mouth is slightly opened.

“N-No, My Lady. It’s just… so unexpected. But how about Elena? I need to help her and-“

“Elena is doing her job. There’s no need of you to join her.”

Alcina cuts you off and turns around to walk to her vanity for another cigarette. She can’t risk your life. She lights it up and sits on the chair, frowning as she puffs her cigarette. You stay there, in the middle of Lady Dimitrescu’s chamber, in complete silence that none of you want to break. You can see Alcina’s nostrils flare as she exhales the smoke through them. She pours some wine in her goblet, sighing.

Alcina is nervous around you and it’s too obvious. You’ve noticed before that Lady Dimitrescu always looks for you around the hall when other maids do their job and then pretends like she is just checking on everyone’s job. Her face expression is always calm but her voice is cold as she speaks sternly to other maids. Except you.

“My Lady, what’s the exact reason you called me here?”

You ask as you keep glaring at Alcina. She stays quiet for few more seconds before she turns around to you on her chair. She shows “come closer” gesture with her forefinger and you step toward her. She keeps looking at you with her golden sparkling eyes, tiny smile appears upon the corner of her lips. You make another step to her and now you can reach her gloved hand.

“Closer, Draga Mea. I don’t bite.”


 Lady Dimitrescu murmurs as she keeps her eyes on you.

‘Yes you do!’

You think to yourself but makes another few steps to her. She smirks, gently taking your wrist in her hand and pulls you closer on her so you can sit on her lap. You gasp to her sudden move. Alcina places her hand around your shoulder and finally takes her huge hat off, placing it aside. You’ve never seen her like this before. Her black curls lay upon her forehead and you reach your hand to her face but she slightly pulls away.

“May I?”

You ask and Alcina closes her eyes but nods. She is nervous and probably even terrified by your actions. But still she accepts it. You reach your hand to her forehead and gently brushed her hair off her face. She sighs before slowly opening her eyes to look at you. You give her a soft smile and she gives you one in return.

“My Lady?”

You ask quietly.

“Yes?”

“Why can’t I go with Elena?”

Lady Dimitrescu frowns and looks away as soon as she hears the question. She sighs, taking her goblet to take a sip of her wine and places it back on the vanity before she speaks.

“The reason is you’re new and you don’t know the outside environment, Y/N. It’s dangerous there.”

Alcina says sternly, avoiding eye contact with you.

“I’m afraid there’s no way I will let you go out there anytime soon.”

She continues.

You nod slightly, a smile appears across your lips. Does she care about you? You gently place your small hand on Alcina’s cheek, making your countess shiver. She looks down at you, her eyes sparkle as she is about to cry. After those terrible nightmares she wouldn’t let you out. Lady Dimitrescu wraps her arm around your waist, carefully pulling you closer to her chest as she looks up, holding back her tears. Her chin rests in the top of your head. You stay quiet for a while before Alcina cleans her throat. Her face is now cold and emotionless as always. She puts her hat back on her head and speaks.

“Now take your goblet, finish it and then clean the mess in the bathroom. As soon as you finish your job you may leave.”

“What about the private part-“

You ask but Alcina cuts you off once again.

“Enough talking, Y/N.”

You let out a soft chuckle and nod.

“Yes, My Lady.”

[ficsofabotchedmind]

A day in the life: Larissa’s personal hell

This is an “I think I’m in hell” one-shot. 😁

I think I’m in hell 1 2 3 4

Summary, eheheheheh…no ☺️

Warnings, some: Rabbits blood, talks of knives, torture, poor Larissa is in for it but so is Wednesday, mother daughter dynamics between both Larissa & Wednesday AND Enid & Larissa AND Wednesday & Morticia.

———————————————————————————

Larissa started her day like any other, she woke up and lay in bed for a few minutes contemplating humanity and how utterly fucked it was, she got up and had a good stretch, padded into her kitchen to put on a pot of coffee, fixed breakfast, ate said breakfast and drank said coffee, and went to shower and dress. 

Once finished Larissa would exit the apartment that was off to the side of her office and that is where normalcy ended. As Larissa opened the door the next thing she knew, something that was warm, wet, and smelled like copper fell on top of her.  

Larissa couldn’t even scream; she was absolutely paralyzed. Looking down, Larissa saw red. Not metaphorical red, but literal red. She also saw the remains of a balloon, a white balloon.  

Raising her arm and inhaling, she knew exactly what it was. Blood, someone had filled a white balloon full of blood, snuck into her office, and rigged a mechanism to trigger so as soon as she opened the door, splat. 

No, not just someone, Wednesday Friday Addams. Once Larissa got her hands on that child, there will be hell to pay, but in this moment all Larissa could think was, “Fuck me, this is going to be impossible to get out! The whole bloody dress is ruined!” 

So, in that moment, Larissa decided to make a statement. She exited her office and made her way to Ophelia Hall, all the way there her stilettos made a splat sound as they hit the floor. 

Enid could hear the noise all the way from the room she shared with Wednesday, along with a sharp heel connecting with the floor as harsh and angry steps were taken. All poor Enid could think was, “What did Wednesday do now?” And with that, she let a whine. 

Larissa, trekking down the hall and nearing the dorm, met Morticia. Morticia gaped at the tall, blonde, and furious goddess in front of her. Morticia was not thinking pure thoughts at all, her eyes roaming Larissa’s blood-soaked form, tongue peeking out to wet her bottom lip.  

Biting her lip and smirking, she peered at Larissa through her lashes in obvious arousal, “My, my, my, don’t you look ravishing.” 

Larissa, torn between snorting at the raven-haired beauty’s obvious arousal and fuming over the fact a fucking expensive dress was now trash, hummed. 

“Morticia,” Larissa spoke, “I love you and I would do anything for you and to you, but not now. I’m off to kill that spawn of yours.” 

Morticia couldn’t help but let out an undignified snort, but she quickly composed herself and had the decency to look sheepish. 

“My darling Sequoia, there are better ways to get under Wednesdays skin.” Morticia said through a soft smile. 

“Oh?” questioned Larissa.

“Issa, I give you full permission to punish Wednesday, as a parental figure, any way you see fit.” Morticia saw the smirk crawling its way up the blood soaked-beauty’s face. 

Larissa, feeling her lips curl up into a grinch like smirk, said, “You’re giving me permission to use parental figure status with Wednesday? I can punish her? Ground her? Ultimately, what you’re saying is, I’m another mother for Wednesday and have full access to all parts of the role? And as much as the spawn irritates me sometimes, I wouldn’t harm a hair on her head and I would protect her with my life, again.” 

“Yes, all of that. You have my full permission to treat her as your own, when giving trouble and when in need of protection." Morticia said with a soft smile.

Larissa's face turned soft, she gently stepped forward and gave Morticia a dizzying kiss before saying, "Good, now after I'm done, I will call you all to my office but first, I want to make Wednesday skeptical." 

All Morticia could do was let a dreamy smile drift across her face, lick her lips, and nod. 

With that, Larissa trailed down the hall with a firm smirk etched onto her face and once arrived at the door, she dropped the smirk and knocked, “Girls, may I come in?” 

Wednesday, still not looking up from her typewriter, smirked, “Of course.” 

The door opened and in stepped Larissa Weems covered from head to toe, in what smelled like to Enid, rabbit blood. 

“I would greatly appreciate it if the both of you would come to my office in an hour,” looking towards Enid, “and before you panic my little ray of sunshine, you are not in trouble.” With that, Larissa left with a soft close of the door.

All Wednesday could think was, "Oh fuck." 

*An hour later* 

Larissa sat smiling at her desk while the two girls sat across from her, "Do you know why I called you in here, girls?" 

Enid, while side-eying her girlfriend, said, "Yes, I think I do." 

Larissa smiled and looked towards Morticia, "Morticia, would you be so kind as to tell Wednesday what you said to me? And Enid, I want you to witness this.”

Larissa turned back to the girls, looked directly at Wednesday and smirked as Morticia spoke.  

After a few minutes of explanation, Wednesday's jaw hung open. This is one of the only times Morticia has seen her daughter like this, she knew what was about to happen and it wouldn't be good, so she said a silent prayer for her girlfriend. 

Wednesday collected herself and situated her glare on Weems, "What have you done? What have you DONE? Mother, what is the meaning of this? Is this some kind of cruel joke?" 

Morticia sighed while Larissa did nothing to help, all she could do was sit there smirking.  

Morticia carefully approached her-their daughter and spoke, "Wednesday, Larissa is now a permanent part of our lives so you will have to get used to Larissa having a say in your life, and that includes taking on the role of another parental figure." 

Wednesday's eyes darted between the two women; she was so angry you could practically see steam coming from her ears. 

Larissa dropped her smirk, she could see that Wednesday was becoming more strung by the second, "Wednesday, while I admit I take great pleasure in this, it's for two reasons. #1: I can keep you safe and #2: It means that I can make sure you know what you did was wrong and punish you accordingly. I will not abuse this...too much but I will make sure you know that I love you as if you were my flesh and blood." 

Wednesday took a minute to process what was said and then spoke, "Who's to say I'm not of your flesh and blood? Mother is so in love with you she could have had Grandmama do a spell because even I admit, I am much like you." 

Larissa knew this was an olive branch and took it, she chuckled and said, "I wouldn't put it past your mother." 

At that Morticia gave both, a smirking Wednesday, a chuckling Larissa, and a giggling Enid, a look. 

Enid deflated at the release of tension and her claws, once again, were sheathed, "I am not going to lie, I thought this would end in disaster. Oh! Mom, is that why we were called in?" 

Larissa smirked once again, "Partly but I also want to dish out punishment! Wednesday, you are grounded!" 

Before Larissa could finish Wednesday shouted, "What?" 

Larissa, used to Wednesday's habits by now, said, "Yes, you are grounded, you ruined a very expensive dress, a carpet, and got rabbit blood along the walls and door. Oh, and partially in my apartment. So that means, no knives, no bombs, no hunting, no investigating, and NO TORTURING PUGSLEY!" 

Wednesday's eyes widened and she gritted her teeth but got an idea at the last moment and smirked, "Fine, anything else, FATHER or would you prefer MOMMY?" 

Larissa gritted her teeth but before she could say anything Wednesday spoke again, “I have to go back to our dorm room now, I’m grounded. Enid, did you still want to have lunch with your mother?” 

Enid, not knowing what to do to calm the situation, said, “Yeah, yeah.” While all she could think in a whiny voice was, “Wednesday, don’t get in more trouble, please.” 

Wednesday gave Enid a gentle kiss and walked out but as she stepped out of the door but still in Larissa's line of sight, she smirked and made a 'you're dead' motion. 

Larissa knew Wednesday wasn't actually going to kill her...or was she... 

Larissa groaned and put her head in her hands, "Fuck, I'm officially in hell." 

Morticia chuckled at Larissa and gently rubbed her shoulders while Enid spoke up, "Don't worry, Mom! Wednesday won't actually hurt you...physically." 

Larissa whimpered, groaned, and let her head land with a thud on her desk. Both Morticia and Enid winced at the sound and looked towards one another, and a silent look was shared, "She's in for it." 

[smutinlove]

You were my light (Part 2)

Carl Grimes x Reader

Warnings: A bit angsty, tiny bit of fighting, arguing, carl being a jackass, panic attack, description of panic attack

☽ Author's note☾ Yay! Part 2 is here bitches! And surprisingly it didn't take ten years lmao. Omg. So like this is very depressing. Read at your own risk. Take a damn look at the warnings. ESPECIALLY THE ONES IN ITALICS. DO NOT STEAL, COPY, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs, likes, and comments are very much appreciated!

Part 1

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

Summary - The daughter of the now dead Negan Smith is walking in the woods. She thought she was alone. But she wasn't.

❝ The jokes weren't funny, I took the money My friends from home don't know what to say I looked around in a blood-soaked gown And I saw something they can't take away ❞

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

You hated that motherless son of a bitch. He was so annoying, smug, and just an asshole in general. Which made you want to kill Carl even more.

Every day, at six in the morning, he'd storm inside your prison and throw a plate of expired food at you, punch you in the face, and then lock you inside. Every. Fucking. Day.

Oh, and that was just the beginning, sometimes he'd feed you dog food.

You were sitting in the same chair, but this time there was a table in front of you. Cause, "Carl is so... nice." You heard the door unlock, expecting it to be Carl.

You said, "Come to feed me more dog food, Carl?" You laughed.

But you were surprisingly wrong. It was a man who looked a lot like Carl. And you most definitely knew this man. "Rick?" You questioned.

"He's been feeding you dog food?!" He asked furiously. You nodded.

He let out a breathy laugh. "I told him not to do that."

"So, you're Negan's daughter. I remember you. I remember that day."

'Negan's daughter.' God, it hurt so fucking bad. Everyone called you 'Negan's daughter.' Of course, sure, the Alexandrians probably didn't even know who you were, but it was the fact that most of your father's minions called you 'The boss' daughter' or 'Negan's daughter.'

"Yeah, I remember you too, Rick. I saw it. How scared you all were. And when my dad killed that Chinaman and that red-headed fool, I felt nothing. So, if that's what you wanna talk about, then done." You said bitterly.

Rick stared at you with a blank expression before moving closer to you. "He's Korean! And his name was Glenn, Glenn Rhee. And that red-headed fool's name was Abraham Ford! And YOU don't get to talk about them like that," he yelled.

He crossed his arms and leaned back against a dirty wall.

"We'll let you stay here. In Alexandria. Just listen to us. Answer what we want you to." You frowned. "Why should I? Huh?"

"You won't survive another minute out there. Carl saved you! We saved you," he shouted. "No! He kidnapped me. He didn't save me at all. And neither did you."

You sighed, "So stop. Just stop, Rick Grimes. You're not helping. I don't wanna stay in this garbage community. It's repulsing!"

"Tell me if you change your mind. Until then, we won't let you out. Not today, not tomorrow."

"How about the day after tomorrow?"

He chuckled but didn't speak any further. He left, locking the door after.

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

You were getting bored of staring at the same grey walls. "Fuck!" You shouted.

You grabbed your chair and threw it at the wall, which did not make a difference as the chair instead broke.

You laughed and threw your head back. Of course, it had to break.

And now your back was against the cold floor, you brought your knees up to your chest. "Happy, happy, happy..." You whispered to yourself.

"Daddy loves you, Y/N."

"No, no. Stop..." You cried out.

Blood, sweat, tears, starve.

Jokes, money, friends, gone. Dead.

Around, soaked gown, cry, scream.

You're on your own, kid.

You always have been.

Face it. Face it. Tell them. Tell them you're—

"Stop! No. Stop, I can't—" You're heart was racing, and sweat dripped down your forehead, maybe you were dying, you were too young, your hands were trembling, "No, no—" You couldn't breathe, it only meant one thing.

"No! Stop, no. No! Stop it!" You screamed over and over.

"Daddy loves you, Y/N."

"No, you don't!" You yelled repeatedly.

You blinked rapidly, but you felt like giving in. Sleep, die. Sleep, die. Sleep, die.

You heard the door open, or maybe it was your imagination. Yeah, that's it. Right? Nothing more. Nothing less. Nothing special.

You were a fucked up little girl.

≿━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

"She's waking up! Doc," You tried sitting up, but someone stopped you. "Hey, take it easy, sweetheart."

What even happened? I don't know...

What?

You looked around the room. You were in a rather uncomfortable bed. The walls were painted a disgusting shade of green.

"No," you groaned. Your eyes were met with another. A singular blue eye. Fuck, it's him. "Damnit, it's—"

"—Me. Surprised, Y/N?" He chuckled.

≿━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

So, you had a panic attack. It was not much of a surprise to you, but it was to Carl. "Wow, I knew you were fucked up in the head, but panic attacks too?"

You felt a bit ashamed. So much was done for you, and you didn't even deserve all this 'protection and care.' "Just cause you're a total mess doesn't mean I immediately care about you. I hate you." He confessed. You smiled.

"Why are you smiling?" He asked curiously.

You grabbed the glass vase. It was to your right. You jammed it in Carl's arm, making him scream in pain and fall back. "You fucking bitch!"

...

Part 3?

[belit0]

Hey I love your blog!!!💘💘 💘 if you're still taking requests.. could you write about Madara having lots of kids 😅, I once read a headcanon that he would have five kids and I can't get it out of my head 😭😭💘💘💘

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE!! Of course, I'm still taking requests, feel free to send as many as you want!

I'm so happy you're enjoying my little Uchiha spot💕🤗🤗💫

YES MADARA BEING A FATHER IS ONE OF MY FAV THINGS IN THE WORLD

- Madara with 5 children is A REALITY. Internally he tries to resurrect the image of family he had before getting dragged to war as a child, and give his kids a life not tainted by blood and death.

- He decides to have a family once peace is a fact, no other way around it. When he understands his children will not be in danger of being killed as soon as they set foot outside the clan, the time is right.

- 4 boys and 1 girl.

- First pregnancy comes with a son. The eldest remains an only child for about two years, and the Uchiha spoils him for being his first. The boy goes with dad everywhere, attends all the meetings with Hashirama, and they spend a lot of time in the garden looking at the flowers.

- Second pregnancy comes in a pair. The twins destroy family harmony but inaugurate a new dynamic. Madara can't pamper all three of them at the same time, so their uncle Izuna, mostly, takes care of these two. They spend more time with their father's brother than anything else, following him around and even helping him with his practical jokes on Tobirama. When Madara catches them red-handed, he scolds all three of them equally, as if Izuna were his son as well.

- By the fourth, the first three brothers are a few years older, so they help with his upbringing. Madara follows him closely and personally trains him like the rest of his sons. He and his father love to enjoy a cup of tea on rainy afternoons, while the other children play in the mud. This one being much calmer than the rest of his family, the Uchiha finds with his fourth son a connection of peace and harmony. He soon becomes his right-hand man.

- The fifth changes gender and is the first female in the family. She quickly becomes Daddy's princess and gains all of his undivided attention. The fourth child gets jealous, but Uncle Izuna helps to calm the waters, distracting the other siblings while Dad takes it upon himself to shower his newborn with love.

- Soon, all her older siblings are extremely protective of her, with a total of six personal bodyguards if you add dad, her uncle, and the rest of the children. She grows up away from war and fighting, as the princess of the clan, protected by all the men in her life.

A small scene of love, family, and happiness!

Madara accepts the cup of tea his fourth son hands him, filled to the brim with hot liquid. The boy is becoming more and more skilled at preparing the drink, and this makes him deeply proud. They share a relaxed chat while his daughter, at his back, braids his hair, filling it with flowers Uncle Izuna picked for her from his garden.

Outside a deluge is falling, from which the three of them are sheltered inside their home. Madara watches the water fall as the twins fight with Izuna in the rain. The two managed to convince the younger Uchiha to train them personally, and he did not make it easy for them. Under the terrible weather, they move back and forth, soaking wet and giggling as Madara hides his own smile in the hot drink.

His eldest son concentrates in a corner of the room, reading a book written by Madara himself. It recounts the history of the clan, the wars fought, and all the leaders of the clan, all the way back to the founder, Indra. The Uchiha is comforted to know all his offspring have passion and joy, focus, and determination to achieve things. That they will grow up as children, just as they should be, and not surrounded by death and destruction.

Somehow, the image he finds himself part of reminds him of his childhood. Those moments of false peace before his father dragged him and his brothers onto the battlefield, losing three of them along the way. He knows his own siblings would enjoy family life as much as he does today, and that he would watch them play and tease his kids just as Izuna does.

[newtabfics]

Twisted. Ganondorf x Zonai Princess Fic. Chapter 5(FINALE): At His Side

Summary: Ganondorf notices the way the princess shies away from him and enacts a plan to manipulate her. Little does he know, Zonai are much more animalistic than the stories lead him to believe. You can't fight your instinct when it comes to your mate. Triggers for manipulation on ganondorf's part. Hypnosis/Mind Control magic. Murder. blood. But more, oh so more importantly...We do be fucking Ganondorf so like...snoo-snoo ;)

Part 1

The sand swirled in the desert and began to cover Gerudo Town in its storm. Strange formations–nests–began to form outside the city, letting the dead fall down like maggots into the sand. Gidbos slowly began to swarm the street, provoking every woman into action as panic filled the streets.

Vai fled with the daughters. The warriors bled and fought. The princess of Hyrule could only watch as the sand bit into her skin.

She should've been horrified, she knew. Hylia's beautiful sky was blood red and the dead were stalking through the streets, killing one-by-one at the living. Yet, she could only stare in anticipation when a lone figure crossed through the northern gate.

Y/N's body shuddered in excitement at the realization that his scent somehow made his way to her. Her mate walked among the dead, eyes locked onto hers. His new form was something that sent everyone running. 

Anyone who dared to near him was grabbed by his malicious power and subdued, only to be finished by the Gibdos that staggered over to the crippled warrior.

She could only wait on that balcony, unable to leave the room because of that same power that overcame the warriors who dared to challenge him as he approached the palace, unaware of who he was.

He soon stood before her in this new form. Y/N could only stare in wonder before taking in the stone embedded in his forehead. She would be a fool to not recognize the secret stone gifted to her mother by her father.

"You killed her," she whispered as the scent of her mother's blood finally reached through her.

"I did," He said simply as he approached. "Does it fill you with hate?' he asked this almost tenderly, as though he needed her answer. His finger trailed gently over her cheek, burning his malice into her flesh.

Yet, she couldn't feel it. She could only close her eyes in comfort as she leaned into his touch, nuzzling into his palm.

"Anger, yes," She hummed. "But not hate. I…I think–"

"You needn't think of anything else," He commanded, sending a thrill through her body. "I will conquer your kingdom. I will ascend as the new god of this realm. You will be my bride, my wife. My prize."

Y/N couldn't help the unfiltered joy that radiated from her as his magic began to infect her, searing into her flesh happily as she stepped closer to him.

"My power is already beginning to change you and will continue to. You will be mine alone, bound to me. Can you truly say you do not hate me?" The demon asked, studying the half-Hylian as her arms wrapped around his waist.

Y/N, a slave to her body and his magic, simply smiled as her eyes slowly became a deep shade of red.

"I love you, my mate," she said happily. "I waited for you like a good wife, didn't I? My king looks glorious." She eyed him hungrily as she licked her lips. "A new form for me to worship. Can I be your first devoted follower?"

"I will claim you then," He snarled, shoving her to the bed. "Such a good princess. You waited as I commanded." His smirk grew wide when she quickly went to her hands and knees, presenting herself to him. He eyed the way her folds already seemed soaked, enamored by his presence. "You are my bride."

"Yes, my king," She whined as she let herself sink further into her madness of him. "I beg of you to use your bride, please."

As he pushed into her body, spreading her open on his cock, his magic twisted violently around her. The Gloom infected and consumed as it changed her. Ganondorf relished in every moan she let out as he thrust into her, watching her body shift.

Her hair began to nearly match his own, almost like a bastardized version of branding on her spirit. He smirked when she rocked against him eagerly, her skin burning with his power.

Ganondorf turned her on his cock, moaning at the sight. No longer was she the sweet, timid princess the kingdom so dearly loved, but instead a demon of his own making, a succubus in her own right.

He grinned and let out a victorious laugh as he buried himself into her, thrusting violently into her hole. He groaned as she planted her feet firmly on the edge of the bed, giving her the stability to properly meet his thrusts. Her wails of pleasure drowned out the terror mounting outside as the Blood Moon bore a heavy blanket over the country.

The demon relished in the way she orgasmed in response to his assault, eyes rolling back. Her body practically transformed into a beautiful debauchery of her former self, damning her to him for all eternity.

Y/N could only throw her hands over her head to grip the sheets as her back arched up, meeting his thrusts into her with a smile. His cock throbbed inside her, recognizing the gesture.

Though she fully anticipated he'd bury himself into her again, she found herself pitifully empty and thrown to her knees on the ground. The tip shoved against her lips and she opened her mouth to him as her fingers slid down.

Ganondorf smirked as he gripped her hair, stroking himself with his hand as he watched her look up at him needily with lust as she touched herself. She was sucking greedily for his seed and he was all the more happy to oblige.

His load pumped three shots into her mouth before pulling back, pumping the next several loads onto her face and bare chest.

The Demon King watched his bridge swallow his seed, sealing her to him as the gloom began to form a malicious form of armor over her frame, as though pathetically attempting to match him.

With his seed drying into her skin, he took her out to Hyrule. There, he watched her slaughter Hylian after Hylian with malicious pride in his bride.

All she could think, as she speared the guards who once protected her as they approached the palace, was how happy she was to be with her mate.