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coneyislandbabey · 1 year

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my mariposa -> w. rojas

WARNINGS: sappiest shit in the world, new dad warren and secondary godfather eddie

SYNOPSIS: just a little domestic snapshot of you and warren as new parents. A follow up to this fic. word count: 1,324

You awoke to peace and quiet. Sleep left you in degrees, until you were laying on your back in bed watching the bright morning sunlight stream through the open window and onto your quilt with a quiet kind of content. For a few blissful moments, you just soaked up the sun and slowly warmed up to the morning.

And then you sat bolt right up in bed.

The quiet was too good to be true, too unnatural, considering you were in possession of a two month old baby, and one that seemed to really enjoy crying, at that. You threw the blankets off your legs and stood up, stumbling your way to the door to go to the room next door, which used to be Warren’s until he officially moved into yours (as if he wasn’t already spending most nights in your bed) and was now your daughter, Mariposa’s nursery.

When you reached the nursery’s doorway, you paused. Warren was standing in front of the crib, your tiny daughter held in front of him as he gently bounced her, softly singing the lyrics to The Rolling Stones’ She’s A Rainbow. Her eyes– perfect carbon copies of Warren’s own warm brown ones– were wide open, staring up at him, and he was staring down at her just as enraptured. You leaned against the doorframe taking in the scene, feeling your heart swell with so much affection you thought it would well and truly burst.

As Warren finished singing to her, he shifted slightly and caught sight of you in the doorway.

“Mornin’, mama,” he said softly, grinning over at you. You padded across the room and pulled his face down into a kiss before leaning your head on his shoulder, both of you looking down at your baby girl.

“Morning you two,” you responded, reaching down to brush a finger against one of Mari’s chubby cheeks. “When did you get up, baby?”

“Oh, maybe twenty minutes ago,” Warren shrugged. “I came in here and this one was already awake, laying there just looking around. She’s so curious, isn’t that right mi reina?”

Mariposa gurgled in response, and Warren nodded seriously as if she just imparted upon him some sage wisdom. He shifted her until she was laying against his chest, nuzzled safely in both of his arms. It was his favorite way to hold her; he said it was the best way to feel her breathing and her heartbeat and, of course, that there was no place safer for his little girl than right there in his arms.

“What do you want for breakfast?” you asked.

“I’ll have whatever you’re craving,” Warren responded. You nodded, kissing his cheek and then the baby’s before meandering your way down to the first floor of the house.

On your way down the stairs, you could already hear somebody, or several somebodies, clanking around in the kitchen. When you reached the room, you saw Eddie at the stove, flipping pancakes, and Karen sitting at the table, staring into a glass of orange juice and looking like she was still mostly asleep.

“Good morning,” you chirped, “d’you need any help, Ed?”

“Oh, morning!” Eddie said, turning around to you. “Where is she?”

“I’m assuming you mean the star of the show?” Warren asked, coming into the kitchen behind you with Mariposa.

“Yes! (y/n), watch the pancakes,” Eddie demanded, departing immediately from the stove with his hands out towards the baby. “Come to your godfather, Posie.”

Warren handed Mariposa over to Eddie, who held her in the same protective position that her father did, as you took over the job of flipping pancakes. Warren made his way through the kitchen towards you, coming to stand behind you and snake his arms around your waist, resting his chin in the crook of your neck.

“Hey, lady,” he said quietly into your ear.

“I swear we just did this upstairs,” you remarked, amused with your fiancè.

“Yeah, but I was holding Mari so I didn’t get to hold you,” he protested, tightening his arms around you to emphasize his point.

“You’re gonna make me burn the pancakes, Rojas,” you said, struggling to maneuver the pancakes from the pan and onto the serving plate that Eddie had put out.

“I’m okay with burned pancakes, Rojas,” he retorted, and you could feel his cheek lift into a grin against your skin. With the last of the pancakes on the plate, you turned in Warren’s arms, slinging our own around his neck.

“You’re very needy,” you said, leaning in to kiss him.

“You love me for it.”

You hummed. “Yes, I do. I think you’re cute when you’re needy.”

“Oh yeah?” Warren asked, brow arched. “Guess I better start following you around more often.”

“I don’t think it’s even actually possible for you to follow me around more than you already do. Now go sit so you can eat.”

“Yes ma’am,” Warren nodded, backing up to take a seat at the table. You took the pancakes and the syrup over to the table and set them in the middle of your three bandmates.

“Okay, Ed, you want me to take her now so you can eat?” you asked, hand on your best friend’s shoulder. He looked up at you, scandalized.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head. “I can eat and hold a baby at the same time, thank you.”

You laughed, shaking your head at him. “Okay, if you insist. Then I’ll sit and enjoy a meal that I can eat with both hands free, in that case.” You moved around the table and took a seat next to Warren, who had already fixed a plate for you.

“So, I was thinking,” Warren said, turning to you. “We have a free day, so I thought we could take Mari down to the beach? Camila gave us that picnic blanket, we could pack lunch and stay out for the day.”

Camila had gifted the two of you the large orange picnic blanket the other day, saying she’d taken Julia out for the day to the flea market, and when she saw it, she immediately thought of you. You didn’t expect Warren to get as excited about it as he did, and he’d been planning for the three of you to get out and use it the next free day you had.

Really, you thought it was incredibly sweet. All those months ago when you had first told him you were pregnant, he had promised to be there for you whatever you wanted to do, and you had never doubted that. But as your pregnancy progressed, you found yourself worrying more and more about whether or not he would take to the dad life. If he would want to take to it. You wouldn’t have blamed him if he didn’t; you found yourself scared that you wouldn’t take to motherhood all the time, so it only made sense to you that he was probably having the same fears. And, well, you knew it just as well as anybody else that fathers had a much easier get-out-of-jail-free card when it came to checking out of parenting.

But that hadn’t happened. Warren had fallen in love with Mariposa the minute you told him about her, that much was clear. He talked your ear off every single night about all of the things he was excited to do when the baby came. And when she was born, that love was only solidified tenfold. He held her for the first time, and you’d never seen anyone look so in love with anything before in your life. That love only seemed to grow every single day he spent with her. You marveled all the time at how lucky you were, to have gotten yourself into this situation with a man like Warren.

“That sounds perfect,” you told him, “We can dress Mariposa in that teeny tiny bathing suit Graham bought for her!”

taglist: @eonnyx

#daisy jones and the six #djats #eddie roundtree #eddie loving #warren rhodes #warren rhodes x reader #warren rojas #warren rojas x reader #graham dunne #karen sirko #karen karen #billy dunne #camila dunne #daisy jones

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

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dad!Steve Harrington x fem!reader [880 words]

Steve knew how tired you were due to the fact that you didn’t stir when Margot cried out at two am.

Steve was woken by the soft wail, the sounds of his daughter snuffling and he groaned at the early morning hour, the blue shadows and the nip of the colder air outside of the duvet. He fumbled on the bedside table for his glasses, not daring to turn on a light for fear of disturbing you and he managed to press a quick kiss to your bare shoulder before his feet hit the carpet.

His little girl was in a puddle of rumpled sheets in her bed, looking tinier than normal now she was out of her crib. Steve cooed softly as he stepped into her room, the glow of her night light making the room soft shades of lilac and aquamarine, tiny whales and clouds spinning gently around the ceiling.

“Oh, baby,” Steve hushed, “s’wrong, huh?”

Margot looked up at him with a wobbly bottom lip, eyes doe like and damp, the same colour as yours and it made Steve melt. Her curly hair was a little wild from where she’d slept and her baby-grow was a rosy pink that matched her flushed face.

“Bad,” she mumbled tiredly, tiny hands swiping at her pudgy cheeks before she lifted them to her dad, asking to be held.

At two and a half years old, Margot was able to convey most emotions through words without tears and tantrums - on a good day, that is. But with learning how to sleep without being squished between Steve and you, and the late hour, your baby struggled to say more than a few words between sniffling.

“Bad?” Steve repeated softly, kneeling down to gather his little girl to his chest, “did you have a bad dream, honey?”

Margot nodded, pouting even when she pressed her face to Steve’s neck, cheeks damp and warm to the touch. She clung to her dad's shirt, one hand hooked to the collar and the other grabbing a little roughly at his hair, a source of comfort for her since she’d been a tiny thing.

“Monsters,” she whispered clumsily, voice thick with tears, “under my bed.”

“Ohh, no, baby,” Steve held her a little tighter, a big hand cradling the back of her head as he stood up and walked slowly around the room. “No, no, see? No monsters here.”

Margot whined anyway, pressing closer to her dad and she mumbled nonsense when Steve tried to show her the lights and shapes that spun slowly around the walls. Half an hour later and Steve was still pacing, his eyes heavy and tired as Margot babbled to herself, her head on his shoulder and her chubby hands clapping together, slapping at Steve’s neck and pulling at his hair.

“Margot, c’mon honey, aren’t you tired?” Steve groaned, rubbing his nose to his daughter's cheek. “You fall asleep when your mommy does this, this is favouritism, you little gremlin.”

Unfortunately, all that Margot took from that was:

“Mommy?”

Steve closed his eyes, groaning and silently cursing himself for being so stupid. He smoothed a hand over the little girl's back and tried bouncing her gently once more, a soft up and down rock against his chest.

“Mommy.”

Steve sighed and smiled, unable to help it when Margot pulled back from the cradle of his arms, small hands grabbing and squishing at his cheeks, her own showing off two tiny dimples when she smiled toothily.

She prodded at him like play dough, fingers clumsily pulling at his bottom lip and Steve huffed out a quiet laugh, pretending to bite at his daughter's little fingers.

“You wanna see mommy, huh?

Margot hummed and nodded happily, pressing a kiss to the boy’s nose that was more gums and drool than lips. But Steve grinned all the same, chest aching at the affection.

So, quiet as he could, Steve walked the dark hallway back to your shared bedroom, hushing Margot softly as she squealed at the shape of you under the quilt. The mattress dipped and you mumbled sleepily as Steve slipped back into his side of the bed, your feet seeking him out even half asleep, cold toes pressed to his shins.

Margot grumbled and did her best to wiggle out of her dad's arms, ignoring his quiet protests as she pulled her little body on top of yours, baby-grow covered feet pushed to your tummy as she mumbled ‘wake up, mommy,’ over and over.

So you did, smiling even half asleep, ‘cause your baby gave you the same treatment she gave her dad, small hands pushing at your cheeks so she could grace you with clumsy, open mouth kisses.

“Oh, thank you baby,” you whispered between a yawn, humming contentedly when Steve leaned over to push his fingers through your hair fondly. “We havin’ a sleepover, huh?”

“We had a bad dream,” Steve whispered in response, grunting when Margot jumped from your arms onto his chest, enticing a small ‘oof,’ which only made her laugh.

“I see we’re better now,” you grinned.

“Little gremlin,” Steve said fondly, bundling Margot between you both until she curled a tiny fist into his shirt sleeve and rubbed her thumb over the cotton, yawning against your cheek.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #dad!steve harrington #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfiction

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jungle-angel · 1 year

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When You Wish Upon A Star (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: You and Bob share a sweet moment with your newborn son on a warm summer night

Tagging: @sylviebell @nobody7102

It was a warm night, warmer than it had been in a while, so warm in fact that you and Bob could sit out on the porch and not worry about having to get up at some horrendously early hour the next morning. You could sleep in as late as you wanted since school had finally let out and your students were on a rather long vacation. You would even have Bob all to yourself since there was hardly any ranch work to be done, the only little bit being taken on by the hands and Bob’s father and grandfather.

You and Bob could hardly take your eyes off the precious little baby boy that lay asleep in his swing, being gently rocked back and forth until he was so deep in sleep, he might as well stay asleep the whole night. A few coos came from the newborn as he suckled away on his pacifier, stretching his little arms and legs before going back to sleep.

“You think he’ll wake soon?” you whispered.

“Not unless he’s hungry,” Bob answered. “I swear he could suck down a bottle like it’s going out of style.”

You laughed a little as you and Bob both watched the newborn nestled in his swing. You were lucky the dogs had taken to the barn for the night, your two Dalmatians just having had a litter while Bob’s Rottweiler had been seeing the female next door. If any of the three had been in the house, they’d constantly be sniffing Auggie, licking his face or not wanting to go out after guarding the crib all night long.

Auggie suddenly began to stir, his coos turning to quiet little cries that were sure to get more intense. A squeaky little cry suddenly made Bob more alert, his gentle hand reaching to gently rub and scratch Auggie’s little tummy. Bob’s hushed voice began to calm Auggie almost instantly, his voice suddenly changing as his words turned into a song you both knew well from childhood.

“ When you wish upon a star Makes no difference who you are Anything your heart desires Will come to you

If your heart is in your dream No request is too extreme When you wish upon a star As dreamers do

Fate is kind She brings to those who love The sweet fulfillment of Their secret longing

Like a bolt out of the blue Fate steps in and sees you through When you wish upon a star Your dreams come true”

Both your voices had soon put Auggie back to sleep, but looking up at the stars hanging over your home, you and Bob thought it best to turn in for the night. You brought Auggie back into the house and up to his nursery. Bob tucked him right in, under his little blue baby quilt that was sure to keep out the cold from the air conditioning while his little blue and grey elephant lovie was snuggled under his arms.

“Sleep tight my little love,” Bob whispered, kissing Auggie’s forehead and tucking him in again.

Bob turned on the little wooden music box on the dresser before you two crawled into the bed on the other side of the nursery. The music box softly played “When You Wish Upon A Star” as you two snuggled into each other, happy and content as ever.

“Goodnight sweetheart,” Bob whispered, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“Goodnight Bob,” you whispered back. “I’ll see you when he wakes in two hours.”

Bob giggled a little before you two drifted off into sleep, the song pulling you under its deep and blissful spell, until the next morning when the sun broke through the window and the hot haze of summer came once again.

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #dagger squad #dagger squad shortfics

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maesfics · 1 month

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YOU WON'T LOOSE ME — d.w

pairing ; dina woodward x fem!reader

↬ warnings ; established relationship, angst, visions. lmk if I forgot anything.

↬ ㅤㅤword count ; 1.2k

↬ synopsis ; 𝑖𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ a nightmare about losing Dina awakens you, leading to a night of comfort and reassurance with Dina and their son, JJ.

↬ requested ; “can I please request for Dina? I thought about reader waking up because of a nightmare and hugging Dina while crying bc she’s afraid of losing her. Hope that makes sense„

a/n ; i hope i didn't go to left with this for you. thank you for requesting nd your support ! <3

if you want to request it's open! | inbox |

Silence envelops the night, deep, broken only by the occasional whisper of wind against the fragile windowpanes of your makeshift home. As shadows dance across the room, cast by the moon's dim light, sleep, which once cradled you gently, now betrays you. A nightmare, vivid and terrifying, seize your mind—a relentless vision of losing Dina, your anchor in this chaotic, infected world.

Heart pounding, you jolt awake, a silent scream caught in your throat as remnants of dread cling stubbornly to your consciousness. Beside you, under the small pool of moonlight filtering through the thin curtains, lies JJ, your son. His tiny chest rises and falls with a rhythmic peace that starkly contrasts the turmoil inside you. For a moment, you watch his serene face, finding a fleeting solace before the urge to confirm Dina's safety overwhelms you.

Assuming JJ is safe and needs to see Dina, you slip quietly from the bed and tread softly across the creaking wooden floor. Each step feels like an eternity as you make your way to the living area, where the echoes of your nightmare linger, a stark reminder of the fragility of this life you've built.

As you enter the living room, the sight that greets you steadies your racing heart. Dina, wrapped in an old quilt, sits in an armchair that's seen better days. The moon casts her in a halo of soft light as she gently rocks back and forth, taking JJ into her arms to nurse him back to sleep after he must have stirred. Her presence, a beacon in the lingering shadows, draws you in.

She looks up, her eyes meeting yours, and in them, you find the warmth and understanding that first drew you to her. Without needing to speak, she extends an arm, inviting you into their small circle of light. You kneel beside her, resting your head against her knee, and as her hand finds your hair, stroking softly, the last vestiges of your nightmare begin to dissipate.

"You okay?" she whispers, her voice a soothing balm.

You nod, not trusting your voice, content to be near her, to see her and JJ together—safe.

Once JJ's eyelids flutter closed, securing him back in dreamland, Dina gently places him in his crib and turns her attention back to you. "Tea?" she offers, and you follow her to the kitchen, grateful for the normalcy of the gesture.

As the kettle whistles softly, you find the courage to voice the fears that your nightmare stoked. "I keep seeing these... these visions of losing you, Dina. Every time I close my eyes, it feels like I might never see you again."

She takes your hands in hers, her touch warm and reassuring. "Hey, look at me," she urges gently. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. We're in this together, okay? All of us."

Her words, simple yet profound, ease the tightness in your chest. Inspired by a sudden urge to feel the early morning air, to watch the world awaken, you suggest, "Let's watch the sunrise. It's been a while since we did that."

Bundling JJ up, you step outside together, the pre-dawn chill brisk against your skin. You settle on the old bench by the side of your home, Dina sitting close, JJ nestled between you. The eastern sky slowly shifts its colors from night's deep blue to dawn's soft blush.

Here, with the day breaking before you, you talk about everything and nothing—whispered dreams for the future, the simple joys of the day-to-day. Each word weaves a more substantial thread in the fabric of your family.

As the sun ascends, casting its first golden rays through the trees, you feel a warmth that isn't just from the sunlight but from the love and certainty that you, Dina, and JJ share. This moment, this morning renews your hope and determination.

You head back inside, the light of the new day filling your home, casting long shadows across the floor that dance with the gentle rhythm of your movements. Watching Dina play with JJ, his laughter and music fill the room, and you feel a profound sense of peace.

Each day is a gift, a new beginning, a promise made under the whisper of the dawn sky—that no matter what, you will face it together.

As you sit together, sipping the warm tea that Dina has prepared, the silence between you stretches, comfortable yet filled with the weight of unspoken worries.

Dina's gaze is thoughtful and reflective as she watches the steam curl from her cup. "Do you remember the day we found this place?" she asks, breaking the silence. Her question pulls you back to a timeless burdened by the immediacy of survival, a day filled with rare hope.

You nod, the memory surfacing amidst the fog of your anxieties. "I remember. You said it was perfect because the sunlight hit the porch just right." The recollection brings a faint smile to your face, one that Dina mirrors as she reaches across the table to squeeze your hand.

"Exactly. And because it felt like a place where we could make a real home," she adds, her voice dropping to a whisper. "A place for JJ to grow up, where we could be a family. I meant it then, and I still do. No nightmare, no fear will take that away from us."

Her words, filled with determination and love, help lift the heaviness from your heart. The two of you talk through the night, revisiting memories of how you've built your life together, the challenges you've overcome, and the dreams you still nurture.

It's a reminder of the strength you draw from each other, fueling your resolve to face whatever comes.

As the first light of dawn begins to seep through the windows, painting the world in hues of gold and amber, you wrap a blanket around your shoulders and step outside. The air is fresh, the promise of a new day palpable. Dina joins you.

JJ is now awake and curious in her arms. Together, you walk to the edge of the property, where the open sky stretches wide and unobstructed.

The sunrise is breathtaking, a spectacle of colors that bleed across the horizon, blending into one another. You watch, mesmerized, as the world awakens.

Birds chirp in the distance, their songs a soundtrack to the sun's ascent. JJ babbles happily in Dina's arms, pointing at the sky with chubby fingers.

"This—this right here—is why we keep fighting, right?" Dina says, her voice was soft and emotional. "For moments like this, for him."

You nod, your heart swelling with love and renewed purpose. "For all of us," you affirm, feeling the weight of your nightmares lessen in the rising sun's light. "We have so much to live for and protect."

You spend the morning outside, embracing the day together as a family. Dina teaches JJ how to say "sun" and "sky," her laughter mingling with his excited squeals. You capture these moments in your mind, a mental album of all the reasons why you fight and why you survive.

As the day emerges, you return inside, energized by the morning's beauty and clarity. Once a mere shelter, the house feels more like a home with each passing day, filled with the sounds and sights of your small family thriving against the odds.

In these moments, the nightmares that haunt your sleep seem distant, their hold on you weakened by the love and life that fill your days. You know they may return, as they often do in this harsh world, but you also know you have everything you need to face them—as long as you have Dina and JJ by your side.

#dina woodward #dina imagine #dina woodward imagine #dina woodward smut #dina woodward x reader #the last of us smut #tlou #smut #dina woodward fluff #dina #the last of us #the last of us 2 #dina woodward reader smut #dina woodward x reader fluff #maesfics

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chaosfae-writes · 2 years

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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞

summary: sometimes love can only be felt from afar.

warnings: angst, one-sided pining, minor invasion of privacy, voyeurism, smut, possessive Michael.

pairing: Michael Corleone x poc!reader

a/n: For @melis-writes for inspiring me to write for the Godfather, this is for you babes! <3 the reader is half-poc, half Silcian, this is a little ooc from canon because I’m a woman of color, please let me just live my Michael Corleone dreams in peace. The word g*psy is mentioned, I don’t condone the slur, it’s used from an actual quote from The Godfather.

do not repost my works.

The pitter patters of little feet dash.

Small giggles echo throughout the Tahoe home, accompanied by heavier steps following behind.

Playful monster growls, fingers curled into makeshift claws, hunching over — Fredo runs after his three-year-old nephew, Sebastian.

Not too far from the boy, in case he needs to catch the child who is still learning how to walk.

The waddling toddler bounces on his little feet, arms in mid-air, instinctively running to the shared master bedroom of his parents. Cautious feet turn the corner of the hallway, akin to a penguin, Sebastian wobbles through the bedroom door.

“Sebastian, I’m going to get ya’!” Faux menacing growls causing the little one to squeal, as he crawls under the bed, not stifling his laughs all too well.

Chubby little fingers covering his mouth, his little gummy smile.

Fredo tries to tame his voice as his other little nephew, Vincenzo, is napping in his crib. An atomic bomb can fall from the sky and the infant would still be in his deep sleep.

Fredo follows the path his little nephew ran, slipping through the ajar open bedroom door, humming to himself mischievously, tapping his chin as if he’s deep in thought.

“Now where can little Sebastian be?” Childish giggles can be heard from underneath the bed.

“Oh where, oh where can Sebastian be?” Fredo dramatically announces, his arms extend wide as a theatrical jester.

Fredo walks to the closet, pretending to finally catch the little Coreleone, with an ‘ah ha!’, opening the closet doors wide open. Fredo’s hums with an impressed flair.

“Hmm, not in the closet.” Fredo twirls around at his feet, and stops mid-way, making sure his feet are seen at the hem of the quilt, by Sebastian, in the dead center of the bed.

Fredo hums again thoughtfully, tapping the toe of his shoe against the flooring — Fredo kneels down hastily, lifting the hem of the bed sheet.

“There you are!”

Sebastian squeals loudly, trying to worm away, but Fredo catches him with ease, playfully dragging him out from under the bed by his chubby little legs; but under Fredo’s nose, a clamor of an object is tousled.

It doesn’t register with his mind — he’s too enamored with Sebastian’s babbling.

As Fredo tickles his nephew, his mind wanders off into a train of thought. His finger ceases with the ticklish assault, a weight of self-deprecation settles upon his crown.

Fredo pauses for a moment, staring at his happily gurgling nephew —- a spitting image of his father, Michael’s twin in the flesh, jet black hair that curls at his ears, those wide rich brown eyes, and olive skin.

The mannerisms, and the precious furrowed brow, whenever Sebastian is deep in thought.

In his arms, Fredo holds his future successor, his reign was casted further below the familial tree, among the awaiting heirs when the boys were conceived.

Now another heir is to be born in six months, a third child you carry. The family hopes for another boy — the three sons, three little Michaels.

Sebastian grabs Fredo’s nose, bringing him back to reality. Fredo chuckles, kissing Sebastian’s forehead. Just as he fully brings his nephew up to his chest, something scatters by Fredo’s feet.

A black leather bound journal scattered across the flooring, finally catching Fredo’s eye. Cradling his nephew against his chest, he debates if he should even dare.

Curiously, he leans the balls of his feet, cautiously his hand hovers over it — debating if he should pry it open.

But the intrusiveness that weighs on his shoulders is becoming heavier and heavier until it cracks his spine. Snatching the journal from the floor, Fredo tucks it under his armpit, as he guides little Sebastian by the hand to his room for a nap.

August, 1957

Michael is returning home, and my soul can rest once more. The idea of letting Michael travel unsettles me, the hunger of our enemies is always ready in the shadows.

I’m terrified of losing him, that somehow an enemy manages to kill Michael. What would I do without him? A life without him would be nothing but grief —- the black veiled widow crouching in the farthest church’s pew, weeping for her lost love.

I refuse to become that; I will fight alongside my husband, even if he’s foaming at the mouth, raving that I shouldn’t put myself in harm’s way. To just be his lover, and the mother of his children —- his heirs to his throne.

No —- when I spoke my vows, it’s for better or worse. I grew up in this lifestyle — the family must stick together, and regardless of the misconception of the don being a lone wolf, he is not.

My Michael isn’t alone —- he has me.

But some nights, dark thoughts clutter my mind, moments of confusion, and despair —- what if Michael doesn’t need me as much as I need him? Michael isn’t invincible, he’s only human — what will become of my children and I?

Go back to Italy? My sons are far too young, barely walking —- would we even live in Tahoe still?

To lose Michael, is like losing a piece of me —- I wouldn’t know who I am.

Who am I?

How would I protect my children? Flee back to Italy? Hide away in my father’s villa home?

Fredo pauses, crouching over in his seat, alone in his guest room, neck deep in your personal entries. His fingertip tracing the loops of your elegant cursive, kissing the pages; kissing the dried tear droplets, and the smeared lipstick stains.

Inhaling the scent of your soft sun kissed perfume and woven stitched leather.

He can feel the ache of your lonely childhood, from the early entries of your proposed marriage that was once crafted by his father and yours, to loving Michael and how God arranged the fate in a peculiar fashion.

Fredo can recall the wedding — a spectacular Roman Catholic wedding, your bridal dress silky and long. How the lace veil fell upon your cherub face.

He nearly threw up, if he could he would’ve snatched you off the altar and drove off — never looking back.

To the worries of your marriage through each entry, Michael’s possessive nature, or maybe he won’t survive the next day; your poems entrance him.

It only makes his heart yearn for you more.

I would protect you.

The kids are down for a nap, little Vincenzo arose earlier, Fredo fed him a prepared bottle of milk you put away before leaving, played with the infant for a few hours, and then the little one slept again.

As Fredo sits alone, your journal is still in his grasp, reading, savoring every written word — faint gravel can be heard from outside.

Fredo’s head turns, through the transparent curtain, he can see the slick black vehicle coming towards the home.

In a sprint, Fredo closes your journal, putting it back in its original resting spot underneath the bed, and dashing down the stairs in a haste.

Fredo halt’s at a mirror in the hallway, his open palms slicking back his silky hair, and shuffling his shirt back in place — to look his best.

The car parks in the driveway. Fredo watches through the kitchen window, hiding behind the curtain. Peering shyly as if he dares to unveil himself more behind the curtain, he would be caught.

Caught admiring from afar, the way a man shouldn’t for a married woman.

One of Michael’s guards quickly opens the back door, holding your hand securely as your other palm is protectively around your bump.

As you try to gather more than one bag, the guard helps hold brown bags of groceries into the home; away from your grasp.

Fredo quickly dashes to the kitchen, opening the back door, hands frantic. His chest becomes excited to see your bubbly smile, as the driver trails behind you with both arms occupied.

The door swings open, Fredo boldly stands there, trying to compose his composure; a titter of a surprised giggle escapes your lips.

“Hi, Fredo.” Such a warm greeting.

Fredo quickly takes the brown bag from you, guiding you into the kitchen — even helping you take off your trench coat. The guard is not too far behind — ever so observant, ever so quiet.

“Thank you for watching the boys.”

Apologies for taking so long at the market slips from your lips, but Fredo doesn’t mind at all — just idly staring at your mouth. Fredo mumbles that it’s okay, he enjoyed his time with the boys. Shiny dark brown hair, brushed smoothly as the end of your hair is coiled into bouncy curls, soft pink painted lips, and your maternity dress hugging your body snug.

You always said in moments of frustration on some days, often calling yourself a parade float, hormones to blame, but to Fredo, you were perfect.

A motherly glow.

“No worries, we were playing all afternoon.”

Fredo joins you in putting away the groceries, a pleasant silence falls that doesn’t need to be filled with chatter. It’s comfortable. Your own personal bodyguard takes his place in the foyer, after you shush him off, telling him it’s okay to relax, and take a break.

Washing and putting away vegetables, along with cartons of milk, wrapped up meats and fish, canned juice, and fruits in the fridge; boxes of pasta are put away in the cabinets.

It’s comfortable — domestic, even.

Dusting your hands against each other, idly watching Fredo stack up the last of the boxed goods, a tender smile curls at your mouth.

“Would you like to join me for lunch?” You spoke sweetly, Fredo turned his face over his shoulder, with a toothy grin.

“I would love to.”

The sun has settled beyond the horizon, and the night has come to full bloom. Dinner has been served, the kids played around with Fredo, and yourself — as much as you could, with a swollen bump.

Played house games, and watched television with popcorn. The boys were bathed, swathed and loved till it was bedtime.

You sit in the master bedroom, cradling your bump, as you prepare to dress down to more comfortable sleep gown for the night.

Humming to yourself, digging inside your drawer for your silk nightie.

Faintly the front door opens and closes, it echoes dully against the stretched lavish home; you pause with baited breath. Hands frozen, as you await. Hushed chatter downstairs, you can make out the guard’s voice and his.

Dull footfalls crawl up the stairs, as you slowly turn your body away from the dresser. Out of an anxious habit, your hands caress your swelled bump, a shaky smile forms at your mouth. The sounds of feet come closer from the hallway — to a stop to the bedroom door.

A breath hitches at your throat, as the door knob slowly turns. A subtle creek of the opening door, as if time slowed down to a stand-still. Your ears heat up in anticipation.

He’s home.

Michael stands at the door, his hands in his pockets; under his watchful eyes, a tender smile curls. His cold eyes now soften, his shoulders relax.

Every fiber of your body yearns for him, and it makes your heart warm that Michael only shows his true self — in quiet moments, when the world disappears, Michael expresses his affections, comfort and vulnerability.

Only to you and his babies.

Michael walks to you, quietly, his eyes roaming your body, the changes of motherhood has bestowed you a glow, and more plumpness to the flesh of your curves. Your breasts swelled with milk for his children, your hips wider, thighs are more detectable.

Shyly you take small footsteps to him, both of you relishing the sacred shared space — finally, he’s back home.

His hands gently touch your cheeks, as if you were a precious jewel, his eyes are kinder, as he stares at you.

A soft kiss on your forehead, feathery to the touch, earning a hitched gasp in your throat; another to your cheek, his intoxicating breath fanning your touch starved skin.

And finally his plump pink lips hover just hairs over your mouth, his tongue daring to peek through the cages of his teeth — you’re desperate, a pant as you flick his parted mouth with yours.

Tantalizing, teasing one another, eyes never wavering from each other — relishing in radiating body heat.

Your fingers softly trace the bridge of his Roman nose, trailing to his cupid bow, to his pink full lips, Michael’s lips kiss gently. His eyes never waver from yours, his hands fondle your thighs, gliding upward the terrain of your waist, caressing the stretched skin of your ample bump.

The unspoken silence falls softly, now just inches apart from each other; as Michael’s fingertips graze your cheek, the warmth pacifies you, as he engulfs your jaw with his open palm.

His fingers glide the slope of your neck, caressing the nape of your neck, by his tender grip pulls you into a kiss. It’s passionate — desperate even, your arms wrap around his neck.

Michael’s arm wraps around your waist gently, not too firm to crush your growing belly — open mouth kisses, his warm wet tongue licks against yours, moaning into each other’s mouths. Your fingers roving messily in his inky black hair, soft tufts, and pulls.

Michael can feel your pulse under his thumb, thumping with a rush. The pang of lust hits your clit, as Michael suckles your bottom lip.

“I need you,” you whisper between kisses, “I need to feel you.” Whining, as your nails scratch his scalp — a deep low growl emits from Michael, “My sweet wife, I’ve neglected you for too long.” He spoke upon your wanting mouth.

His lips graze gently against your lips, hovering as his warm breath engulfs, sending tingles through the atoms of your flesh. The kisses are becoming erratic, more sloppy, as Michael’s teeth trail with open wet kisses, to the juncture of your jaw.

Nibbling and suckling, the curve of your neck, as your mound ignites hotly. Two bodies melting into each other, becoming one once more.

It’s late.

Fredo sits in isolated silence, with a glass of whiskey held by the tips of his fingers. Staring into the window view, memorized by the rippling night waters of Lake Tahoe.

Fredo often goes to bed with you on his mind, the only comfort that eases him amidst the chaos of his. When he needs to remind himself of the silver lining of living, he doesn’t get on his knees like his mother with a rosary woven between her fingers, head bowing in prayer — he thinks of your face.

But he should get on his knees, for God blessing a pathetic man as himself, that God let him know you, to have you in his family — even though you were married to Michael.

Instead of marrying a good woman like you, Fredo surrounded himself with easy women, bad partners who left bad taste in the mouths of his family.

American women with big breasts and big mouths to match, and thirsty livers. From getting two waitresses at a time to being married to a washed up broad who cheated on him, to then seeking hollow affections from showgirls, blur of alcohol bottles, bare breasts, and emptying himself inside their wombs with his seed — strings of raw fun nights to only end with the cold shoulder, and doctor Jules Segal’s speciality.

Often looked down upon for his reckless appetites, but making up for the slack of strength with charm, and burdened with insignificant family business deals, a tactic his father did to keep his middle child preoccupied for years.

Ridiculed for being the weakest link of three sons, the runt of the litter; for the lack of his father’s approval the more he weaned on his mother’s tit.

But it always begins at the mothers, this cycle of self-abuse, letting women inflict him; it always starts with the mothers.

His mother had this running joke, ‘You don’t belong to me. You were left on the doorstep by gypsies.’

A caricature of a man.

So easily dominated by women he places on a pedestal, only moments of tiresome rage does he assert himself — but it wasn’t enough to heal that fractured ego, and masculinity.

Starving people will eat the love they think they deserve — Fredo is starved, yet ill at the core.

Coddled by his own baby brother, from the outsider’s eye, it would seem that Michael was the older sibling, and Fredo being the youngest — a pang of spite strikes Fredo everytime. For years, when he’s alone, Fredo would stare at the ceiling, and ask God what is his purpose?

Was his existence just a spite towards his father? To be the stepping stool for his brothers?

Tears sheen his eyes, blinking back as droplets kiss his lashes, sniffling as he sits in his desolated state — you never pitied him. Always a shoulder for him to cry on, moments of conversations, your light humor on life is always refreshing.

You never spoke to him in a condescending manner, only spoke warmly to him. Your melodic voice trances him, fantasizing in his mind as he touches himself late at night.

Instinctive motherly doting, you’ve helped Fredo even in his most disgusting moments. Helped him sober up when he was a drunken mess, conversed with him on anything, never running out of interests.

Imagining you riding on top of him, legs split apart his torso, your warm cunt wound tight, clenching him for dear life — your delicate hands resting upon his chest, as his fingers dig into your bare cheeks, guiding your hips. Your sepia skin glistening with a sheen of dew.

Fredo scoffs, covering his hot face in shame, breathing heavily. He slams the glass on the table side desk, his chest heaving, as his length grows hard and wanton in his unbuckled pants. Wringing his chin by the fingers, he mentally berates himself for thinking such filthy thoughts of his sister-in-law.

These past few days have been a dream for him, while Michael was away in New York conducting business, Fredo and yourself were here with Sebastian, and Vincenzo.

Just the four of you, eating dinner together, boat riding round the lake, playing games around the house, late night conversations — being a family.

Playing house with a woman wedded to his brother, but he couldn’t help but delve into a fantasy of himself being your husband. That the wedding ring resting on your marital finger was the one he picked out for you, that this is your shared cabin home together, and Sebastain was his son.

A fantasy detached from reality to pacify him.

It made him think of his own son, wondering what has become of him, who’s taking care of him —- what would life have been if he had taken in his only child. Fredo knows he wouldn’t be able to take care of a kid, he’s only ever the uncle, never father material.

He can’t even take care of himself.

The swirling eels of envy crawl in his guts, hissing at Michael —- Michael is the don of the family, Michael got the beautiful perfect wife, the perfect children, the perfect home with a lake to match; and what does Fredo have?

A washed-up ex-wife, a string of meaningless affairs, self-depreciation, and a tainted reputation all under his belt.

A forgotten son — just as his lost heir, lost to the world.

Fredo shuts his eyes, his nose scrunches, as his eyes are wound tight, wrinkling in despair. Stinging droplets of tears cascade down his cheeks.

Skin against skin, limbs woven as one, sheets ruffle under thrusting hips; Michael’s huskily moans in your ear, making your thigh quiver.

His cheek against yours, his tongue finds its home once again in the crock of neck, as your hand is sloped around his waist, holding onto his tailbone, fingertips digging into his waist — guiding him harder inside you.

Your wet cunt sloshes, your ass jiggling against his pelvis, his cock deep to the hilt, as you’re split in half for him. Your leg is looped over his thigh, Michael ravishing you, as his arm is protectively over your belly.

Michael’s teeth nibble at the shell of your ear, whispering praises hotly, as your eyes roll to the back of your skull. Nearly squeaking when Michael’s thrust his wet cock at your g-spot — splitting your velvety mound, his balls softly hitting your swollen clit.

Soft growls emit from Michael’s throat, he needed this — needed your body for so long. Michael’s husky and warm breath hisses in your ear. Michael’s warm tongue licks the slope of your throat, suckling a wet open kiss, as his hips thrust without mercy — as if he was trying to impregnate you once more.

“You’re so beautiful like this, wet, and moaning just for me.” Michael’s whispers, “My little wife,” his fingers caress and stroke against your soaked cunt, his fingers scratching at the sensitive skin. “Mewling like a kitten, she’s purring just for me.”

“I’m going to cum–” You nearly shrill, as your gasps for air blow softly against the wisps of messy hair, scattered and tousled from Michael pulling on it earlier.

It’s painful yet so good, to feel his cock pistoning inside you; Michael snarling as he nears emptying his balls inside of you.

“Cum on my cock, let me feel you soak me.”

Airy moans, and gasps echo within the lavish bedroom, silk sheets wrinkled, and mangled as two bodies melt together — as a lone eye peeks through the cracked bedroom door.

Hiding away, peeking through the crack of the bedroom door, a lone teary eye watches one — Fredo nearly vomits, swallowing the bile down harshly.

It’s wrong to stare, but he can’t help but yearn to be in Michael’s position. Hearing your mewling is a symphony to his ears, his skin shivers.

His fingers itching to hold you — he looks away, silently stepping away, how disgusted he is of himself. Waves of shame fall upon him.

It’s been three days since Michael has returned home — and Fredo can’t stand it. As if his teeth gnawed on the thick tension of jealousy.

An itch of hurt swells in him, feeling abandoned by you, as you tend to Michael. Fredo knows deep down he can’t feel this resentment toward his brother, Michael is your husband, you haven’t seen him in so long.

As a loving wife, it’s within your right to be dutiful.

It drives him mad.

Fredo’s in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink, accompanying his glass is a pastry you bought from the market the other day.

Busy buzzing in his mind — too deep his thoughts — his brow etched in a frown, he didn’t hear a creak in the flooring, or timid steps nearing the kitchen. Slender fingers slither against his torso, tickling him in surprise, Fredo nearly yelps; a melodic giggle brings his heart back down.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” You chuckle, you awh at Fredo’s frizzled state, he resembles a spooked cat with spiky fur that aligns its arched spine. Fredo smiles, shaking his head, trying to restrain himself from your intoxicating touch.

“It’s okay.” Fredo hums, his cheeks a bit warm now. “Just getting a snack,” a glass of whiskey and a pastry —- the ideal late night snack.

“What are you doing up?” Fredo’s palms hold onto your forearms, “You should be in bed.” Fredo towers over you, as you lean against him comfortably, you breathe a chuckle.

“You and Michael are such mother hens,” you extend your chin at Fredo, playfully pouting at him, slightly stepping on your toes. “I’m alright, the baby hasn’t slowed me down just yet.”

Fredo admires the dim glow of the kitchen light gleaming on your brown skin — it shines with no blemishes, as his eyes lower to trace your heart-shaped lips.

Is this what a sin feels like? Deliciously, intoxicating, how Fredo wants to taste you right on the kitchen counter — shower your baby bump with kisses, suckle your heavy breasts into the cave of his mouth.

He’s burning up inside. You gingerly lay your head on his chest, hugging him, Fredo softly kisses your forehead, “Well, someone has to take care of you. Watch you like a hawk.” You hug Fredo in a bear embrace, you haven’t been able to spend time with him, or have a simple conversation.

For the past few days, your mind has been preoccupied with taking care of the children, and tending to Michael; or when you do see Fredo, he’s in Michael’s office — the both of them locked away discussing business that you weren’t privy to.

You adore Fredo, the sweetest brother you’ve had, you never had a brother — you always wished to have one as protective and caring as he is.

You mutter under your breath, as you hug Fredo “Well I’ve missed my hawk.” Fredo’s arms swallows you in his embrace, his cheek now resting on your dome.

You notice there's scattered playing cards on the dining room table, “What are you playing?” You point to the cards, and Fredo’s head moves from your head.

“I was just playing some solitaire, just to pass the time.”

“I love solitaire!”

“Would you like to play a game?” Fredo has a toothy smile, ready to snatch any chance to spend some time with you.

Your hands mindlessly rub your belly, humming, “I think I might be a boring player.” You chuckle, tucking your chin to your chest, scrunching your lips in embarrassment.

“Rummy is the only card game I know.” You say, shyly rubbing your belly, worried that your limited knowledge is boring for Fredo, knowing that he must have had more fun over the years at Vegas, but it doesn’t dim Fredo’s excitement.

“No, no, I love rummy!” He stammers, a toothy smile stretches on his face, holding the box of cards against his chest.

You tuck your chin, shyly nodding, “Okay, but I will warn you, I have a pretty good hand.” You tease, easing yourself into the seat, your hands protectively cupping your bump.

Four rounds in, and it’s finally a stand-still.

In your palm, you hold four variations of sevens, one jack of diamonds, a queen of diamonds and a ten of hearts. Just one more card, and you can win.

But so can he.

Playful eyes squint over your hand, as Fredo tries to play off a stoic poker face — purposely letting the stoic mask slip, with a dramatic pursed pout that successfully earns giggles from you.

He has a consistent string of club cards: 1234, along with a queen of hearts, a jack of hearts, a lone eight of spades.

Fredo suspects you have the card he needs, he’s trying to brainstorm a plan to get you to drop it to the pile of discarded cards.

Fredo hums, making the choice to pick up a card and drop the eight. With a swift pluck of the card, Fredo discards his spades, and picks up a nine of diamonds.

Your competitive side is itching, the tip of your polished nail taps against the back of your assorted cards. You have no choice but to pick up as well.

You pick up from the pile, and see a random 2 of spades. You huff, and put it down on the pile. Fredo’s brows furrowed in concentration, he doesn’t need the damn diamonds — what else can he do? Put the diamonds down, and pick up another.

Victory melts on your tongue with delight, chest alit — as Fredo’s diamonds finally touched the discarded pile, it was game over. With a swift pick up of the diamonds, replacing the ten of hearts. “I win!” You squeal, showcasing your full hand of cards.

Fredo guffaws playfully, “Rookie’s luck.”

The living room is quiet, and warm.

Sliver of moonlight gleamed through the ceiling high window, a flourish illuminated the lavish home decor.

The scattered playing cards are resting on the dining table, as Fredo and yourself are just resting on the couch. Just small talk, shoulder to shoulder, both comfortably on the cushions.

Fredo can feel your inviting body heat, it hugs him with that reassuring comfort that makes his body tingle. Adjusting himself so he can sink into you.

“Did you think of any names for the baby yet?”

You hum low, as your manicured fingers fiddle, “If it’s a boy, his name will be Anthony,” your head falls on the crock of Fredo’s shoulder, a shiver crawls up his spine at the contact, without any thought, lays his head on yours.

Your breath hitches excitedly, “But if it’s a girl, her name will be Rosalia.” Without any thought, your head caresses sweetly against Fredo’s shoulder, enjoying the shared warmth.

“Like the saint.”

You whisper a dreamy ‘yeah’ under your breath, you love your boys more than life itself, but you would be so happy to have a little girl too. The boys are their father’s twins, will the baby be your twin this time?

The boys are already spoiled and have their father wrapped around their little fingers, now imagine a daughter — poor Michael won’t survive it.

You take Fredo’s hand and cradle it against you, “Another baby to love, another baby for Michael to spoil.” Fredo’s fingers curl around the slopes of your fingers, not daring to let go.

A pregnant pause of comfort falls.

A heat surges through him, he can’t stop himself — an urge that feels so good, but so wrong.

Slowly, Fredo pulls your hand closer to himself — it’s a blur, a compulsive need that overrides his mind.

Wispy kisses on your knuckles, Fredo doesn’t think, just let his heart overcome any logical thinking —- a stunned silence falls.

He can feel you becoming stiff, not from disgust, just surprised, Fredo can hear your breathing picking up.

“Fredo?”

You don’t pull away your hand, worried that it would hurt his feelings. You stare into the darkness, as your skin flushes with an overwhelming heat at the cheeks.

“I love you.” It spills from his lips in a flurry, a hurried whisper.

“I love you,” He repeats. Fredo’s warm palms cradle your face, as you sniffle back tears, murmuring his name under your breath.

Fredo’s lips kiss your palm feverishly, murmuring against the knuckles. Closing your eyes, as your lashes become wet with droplets. Pleading with him to stop now, before it’s too late.

Fredo moves his body, his warm clammy hands grasp at the nape of your neck.

“I wish that you were my wife.” He kisses the tip of your nose, as fat tears cascade down his cheeks. Breathing in harsh breaths, caressing your face with his.

His beard tickles your skin, delicately your fingers grasp his hands, the pad of your thumbs stroking. “Fredo, please—” you don’t know what you’re pleading for; for him to stop, for him to say it’s just a joke.

Opening your eyes, gazing at his wet sheen eyes, and you see it’s no joke. “I hated my father for so long, for arranging Michael to marry you.” Fredo’s fingers thread further to the nape of your neck, pulling you into him.

“No, don’t say that,” your fingertips softly pat his mouth, “Don’t hate your father.” Fredo shakes his head, kissing nimbly on your fingers, more hurried, as if he couldn’t give enough kisses, as if you’ll slip away.

“Fredo, no —- I can’t, I’m sorry.” You choke back a sob, weakly trying to escape his hold. Trying to wiggle your face away, throat burning from restrained tears.

“I suffered for so long, seeing you and Michael together.” Fredo’s hush voice fans against your face, not daring to let you go. He won’t stop now, he’s in too deep.

“Why couldn’t I have you?”

He wants you to love him, to see the mess he is and still love him, that he’s worthy of love. For once, he can be the first choice.

Yearning — no, what he feels is much more destructive.

“Fredo, I love you — I do.” You suck in your lips, wet breathing, “But, I love you like a brother.” Fredo crumbles, forehead to forehead, your arms wrap around him in a hug, he holds onto you as if he never wants to let go.

“Please love me.” He mumbles, all you can do is speak his name in a loving manner, as he cries in the crook of your shoulder. Caressing his scalp, but what startles you is Fredo’s small wet kisses on your skin.

The most logical thing for a wedded woman is to push him off, but you can’t bring yourself to do so. He’s fragile, and too kind for any aggressive response — you know he means well, he’s a good man.

His thoughts are murky, desperate — to create any plan for you to see that you belong with him. He’s not thinking straight, he’s a broken man.

“He still thinks of Apollonia, he never stopped loving her.” Fredo spoke in a rushed tone, his skin cringing at the mention of Michael’s late wife, knowing it will sting you.

A pin can drop in the dead silence.

He can feel your body prickle, your breathing gets heavier, crumble underneath him, breaking apart like a duck egg, now just clinging onto Fredo as a life-line.

Shivering in his arms, he pulls you closer, as you practically sit in his lap now. In his arms, encasing you lovingly, as you nearly wept in his shoulder. Fredo’s fingers stroke the swollen stretched skin of your belly.

A call for your name beckons in the dark.

Michael’s voice breaks through the silence, his disembodied voice looming at the top of the stairs, calling out your name. The upstairs light turns on, giving a shadowed honey-dew.

Quickly, you wipe away your tears by trembling fingers, composing yourself, subtly clearing your tight throat, “I’m down here, Michael. Just talking with Fredo.”

Michael stayed quiet for a moment.

“Okay, it’s getting late — come to bed soon.” All you can say is ‘okay, darling’, you fix yourself, as well as fixing Fredo’s disheveled clothes, wiping away his tears.

Without any word, you stand up, even in the darkness you can see the gleam of Fredo’s tears. Stroking his bearded cheek, you lean down, kissing Fredo’s forehead, “Get some sleep.”

Leaving Fredo to himself, as you slowly trek upstairs, he can tell you’re beyond frazzled — what can he expect when he confessed his love to you so suddenly.

Fredo goes to bed alone that night but sleep never comes to him.

#chaosfae-writes #michael corleone x reader #fredo corleone #godfather fanfic

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theladyofbloodshed · 1 year

Note

Nesta and Eris with their baby a short snippet please I beg 🙏

You've twisted my arm...

Eris’s fingers gripped her wrist tightly. For once, his hands were clammy. Beside her, Nesta heard the rapid thud-thud of his heart.

‘Oh, thank the Mother,’ he exclaimed. He let out a shaky exhale.

‘What is the matter with you?’

Their son slept soundly in his crib with soft light seeping through the thin curtain. Firo was curled up on the rug beside it, keeping guard. Gently, Eris pulled the door closed.

‘I came to check on him but I couldn’t see his chest moving. I thought he wasn’t breathing.’

Nesta pushed a tuft of hair away from his face. ‘And instead of checking, you called me and watched from here instead?’

Eris blinked.

‘My love, I think you need to nap too.’ Before Eris could raise a complaint, Nesta pressed her finger to his lips. ‘Orla is over the moon with him. He is growing well, eating well, sleeping well. Everything is fine. His father is going to injure himself soon if he does not sleep.’

His forehead rested against her own as his eyes shuttered closed. ‘I don’t want to miss a moment. I have this fear that it is all too good to be true. That you or our son will be snatched from me because I don’t deserve this joy.’

The pregnancy had been a surprise. Fae cycles were so rare that Nesta was nearly four months gone before they had realised. Eris had turned into an overbearing mother hen at home and a militant high lord in court. If Nesta had a bad night’s sleep, he’d buy them an entirely new bed complete with quilt and pillows. At any signs of dissent within the court, it was plucked out like weeds. He wanted his son to inherit a court that was paradise.

When their son had arrived four weeks prior, Eris could barely leave his side. He wanted to be involved with every moment – every feed, burping, changing, bathing, napping. Even now, when he was sleeping, Nesta would find Eris gazing with utter awe from the doorway. But it did mean that Eris was running on very little sleep and was beginning to slip up.

‘Rest. When Saban wakes, we can sit a while beside the sea. Get some fresh air.’

Worry tugged at his mouth. ‘Are you sure it’s safe? The sea is so large and-’

Oh, her husband liked to fuss.

‘We won’t send him off to the ocean. He is fine. Must I fetch Orla to dose you with a sedative?’

***

This could not be his life. Eris Vanserra did not deserve such an incredible wife or darling baby boy. He hardly believed it was his life. It had been a difficult path, but Eris would go through those five hundred years of tyranny, the double-life where masks always had to be worn, again and again if it meant he got here.

Every time he looked at his son – at the tiny nails, perfect, little ears, delicate crop of blonde hair – a lump rose up in his throat and he wanted to sob. His son had brought a brighter smile to his mother’s face than he’d seen in centuries. Even Eris could barely stop smiling. Each time he glanced at Nesta, however brief, a new wave of love threatened to overpower him.

Nesta had taken it all with the same lack of nonsense that she approached everything. When her waters had broken in the middle of the night, she had already sent a servant to fetch Orla before calmly waking Eris with a soft kiss on the forehead. He had been the flapper. He’d called for Orla so many times during the pregnancy that both females asked if he was the one carrying the child.

Niamh would never let him live it down that he had fainted during the birth and gashed open the back of his head. Still, he had managed to come to and watch his son be brought into the world then promptly fainted again afterwards.

News of the babe was passed to the Night Court only after Saban had arrived. Koschei and Briallyn’s movements were unknown still. They weren’t sure how Cassian could react either. Nesta did not withdraw from court, but Autumn had changed for the better. News of the next heir did not leak from the borders at all. Her sisters had missed the entire pregnancy, but Nesta hadn't been particularly bothered. Some of the Night Court were expected soon – informally – to meet their nephew, and there were murmurings that Elin might also accompany the high lord and lady. For the time being, Saban had been thoroughly spoilt by his unofficial blood. Emerie and Gwyn had been whisked to Autumn shortly after his birth although Niamh refused to hold him, saying babies didn’t agree with her. Orla had wept when they announced the name. She had lost her Saban in the war, Eris his best friend, but thanks to Orla, they had everything. Orla had brought him and Nesta closer, helped Nesta heal, saved the high lord line of the Night Court, and always kept them fed. It was the least they could do. They owed her everything.

Wind blew strands of Nesta’s hair as she smiled down at their son. They were lucky to have a very easy baby. Saban’s day had already fallen into a rhythm of nap, eat, burp, repeat. He cried little, was happy to go to anybody, and was only waking once in the night for a feed.

‘I cannot believe we made him,’ mused Eris.

She arched a brow. ‘I did most of the making. I did all the hard work.’

‘I did the fun part.’

‘What, the passing out? Twice? While I pushed your son out?’

Eris tutted then scooped Saban out of her arms and onto his shoulder. ‘A testament to the strength of females. I’m in awe of your ability. You can be high lady – I’ll be your consort. Use me as you wish.’

‘Too much paperwork for me.’

His hand settled on Saban’s back, rubbing gently to bring up his wind. ‘I wish he’d stay this small forever.’

‘How many are we having?’

With those soft eyes and rare, unguarded smile on Nesta’s face, he’d have asked her for another child there and then.

‘We should stop here. The eldest child is always the best one.’ Eris gave a dip of his chin.

Nesta touched a hand to her chest. ‘Clearly.’ She smiled again, watching Saban yawn. A tiring life he had. ‘I wanted daughters until I met you then some madness claimed me and I wanted a miniature version of you.’

‘You poor thing,’ he tittered. ‘I would like a daughter who will side with me in an argument against you. I already know Saban will take after me and be a mama’s boy. I need somebody on my side or I’m outnumbered.’

‘What will we be arguing about?’

‘You will allow the smokehounds on the bed and Saban will help you despite my refusals, but our daughter will come and tell her papa and agree that mama and Saban don’t listen to the rules.’

Nesta couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Oh, you have it all worked out.’

‘I always do, my love.’

#neris

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gumballavocadoharry · 1 year

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Baby Susan; Jack Chambers

Jack and Alice looked in awe at the sweet baby bundle tucked away in her crib. The flamingo crocheted quilt, hugged her tight enough for security. "Alice, isn't amazing how we created something so beautiful?" Alice laid her head on Jack's shoulder.

"Yeah.....look at her little nose," As if on cue, Susan's diaphanous nose twitched like a little bunny. "She has your eyes Alice, and your hair and smile." Alice giggled, while continuing her gaze at her baby girl.

"She has your nose." Jack beamed in pride as seeing that when Susan was born, she looked like a copy of Alice. Despite the colossal jubilation Jack felt at Susan's birth, his mind did bellyache at the fact of Susan only favoring him to a microscopic degree. When he pictured his new offspring, she would have light brown hair with enriching green eyes like her mother and deep dimples like him. She would be a gentle and ladylike soul like Alice, but a stubborn jack rabbit like himself.

But nonetheless, Susan was more than anything he could've dreamed of. She was perfect in everyway. He soft pale skin, her mushy cheeks that he splattered in kisses every moment he got and her benign little cries that she echoed throughout the house for a diaper change or a bottle.

Her personality was already shaping itself. She was a quiet baby, with only a little to say, Susan was a miss independent as she focused her baby brain on doing things herself. She was also obedient; determined to mind the do's and don'ts of her parents. She would stare into their eyes, almost as if asking for approval for an okay to squawk out a cry or to grab something that seemed edgy for her.

Jack and Alice too their positions into their own bed, after reading a goodnight story and kissing the 2 month old baby goodnight. Jack watched from the bed as Alice fixed herself up for bed; her gentle smooth hands rubbing her sheeny face and neck. She stared at herself in the mirror with such modesty yet insufferable pride at the same time.

Alice sat legs crossed while applying her night serum. Her black lingerie layed perfectly around the curves of her body. She finished up before inviting herself next to Jack in the bed. Alice's head hit the pillow before Jack had the chance to ask her if she wanted to indulge in the book the two had started together. But Alice's snores told something different. Jack had to face it, she was home most of the day with Susan and it was a daunting task in itself to care for such a little susceptible infant. I guess it's just me. Jack thought before turning the page of the chapter he already finished.

Soon it turned dusk midnight, Jack asleep with the book page cornered and set aside on the nightstand, spooning Alice as the young couple were snoozing away in the mildly heated pale yellow room, tucked away in azure pixelated covers. That was until a baby's shriek wrested them alive.

Alice dashed into Susan's bedroom; rollers in her hair bouncing along with the lavender robe she covered herself in. Jack laid in bed still; hand going over the empty indention of where Alice's body was.

"Shhh, my butterfly...there, there." Alice cooed through the monitor. Jack was soothed by Alice's sweet song like voice, gently rocking his baby back to sleep. "You just wanted someone to hold you? Well, mommy's here baby....she'll always be there." Jack didn't even recon the smile that had incoherently spread across his face. Alice had said the last part with the gentle voice she always uses. But the feeling of deep admiration and devotion for her baby lingered in her tone which uprooted Jack from his warm spot in the bed, and into Susan's bedroom, where he was greeted by a nursing Susan and a sleepy wife.

Jack was awestruck by the site. The tiny baby was suckling for milk and her sapped mother, laid back in the pale green rocking chair the couple had taken the liberty to make. Mostly Jack. Being the do-it-yourself type of guy, Jack constructed the chair as a present for Alice, like a thank you for carrying the baby. Jack carefully took Susan after she was done with her midnight snack and placed her into the crib.

He then adjusted Alice's top part and carried her into the shared bed they had. "Goodnight my princess," Jack placed a sweet kiss to Alice's cheek. "I love you."

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #dadrry #dad!harry #jack chambers daughter #jack chambers imagine #jack chambers #alice chambers #baby susan #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfictions #harry x reader #harry styles dwd

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bevanne46 · 4 days

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Little Fox Baby Quilt Cute little Fox with squares of Blue and Green, Blue with White Dots Gross Grain Ribbon Edging, Soft Green Fleece Backing. Approx. 34”W x 42”L Find this quilt here: https://www.tedooo.com/product/6584ec85f255e25c4964b555

#crafts #gifts #decor #sewing #quilting #briar rose quilts #bedding #shopping #fox #baby #green #blue #stripes #dots #fleece #crib #blanket #tedooo

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tranceindia123 · 17 days

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CRIB MATTRESS PROTECTORS PROVIDE A CRADLE OF COMFORT

Your most valued possession finds refuge in the nursery, full of love and excitement. Every component in this small area has been carefully selected to create a loving atmosphere that promotes your child's well-being. At Trance Home Linen, we think that a child's comfort and safety can be enhanced by even the most seemingly insignificant need. Let us introduce you to the crib mattress protector, cotton terry waterproof crib mattress protector (pack of 2) which is essential to protecting your baby's fragile sleeping environment. A crib mattress protector is the cornerstone of a secure and cozy sleeping space. Our fine baby crib mattress protectors are made from materials that breathe naturally, guaranteeing maximum ventilation all night long. Breathability is crucial because it helps your baby sleep soundly by enabling them to properly regulate their body temperature.

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mudgazing · 5 months

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TF141 HOME DECOR HC'S

Ghost:

(I like to think that Soap and Ghost are roomies, so they compromise on a lot of their flats’ decor)

His bedroom though? Dark colors for the win

Charcoal gray sheets and comforter

Considered painting the walls gray but decided

Wanted skeleton sheets as a joke (not), but couldn’t find one to fit his bed so he settled with a decorative throw

100% has a window that he only opens to peek at whatever bullshit’s going on in the street

Both of them have a display cabinet they share

Simon’s side is full of his fave knives and “chest candy” (medals) neatly lined up

Soap:

Johnny’s side of the display cabinet has old campaign polaroids and some silly little souvenirs

Light blue walls and tartan sheets for sure

Messy organized, but it works

Definitely has a clothes chair and to-do lists tacked onto a corkboard

Simon can’t wrap his head around his method of organization. Stopped asking questions a loooong time ago

Stacks of used and unused sketchbooks on the nightstand

Has a minifridge so he can get a ‘nip in the night’

Ghost jokes about swaddling him like a baby and giving him liquor to nurse on (no pun intended)

Has a photo of Graves he throws darts at as stress relief. He’s good, but not as good as Ghost so there are a couple tiny dents on the walls

Gaz:

The award for coziest bachelor pad goes to …

Flat smells GOOD. Like that gentle, fresh laundry smell

Type of guy who has a spreadsheet tracking all of the furniture he wants to buy off FB marketplace (Price put him on)

Sad that he can never own plants since he’s away often

Has a few things mostly for ‘easy maintenance’ (out of sight, out of mind)

Makes sure these few things look and feel high quality. Won’t settle for less

Blue sheets with tiny mid blue stripes

Ghost and Soap don’t understand why he owns art but agree it looks neat

Definitely has a balcony with a small chair specifically for smoking and thinking

Only things he has on his nightstand are a lamp, metal cigarette holder and matching ashtray Price gifted him

Price:

This man has a house … and that house is his baby

Especially the front yard. Do NOT fuck with his front yard

Subconsciously anti-lawn and has a beautiful low maintenance garden

Has beef with his neighbors (cause of said garden). Shoots the shit about them with Gaz on his front porch

Shed for all his handy shit. If Gaz picks up some furniture for his crib he will turn it into ‘father-son bonding time’

The interior? Rustic and neutral, with modern touches ... nice n' warm

Mid century modern enthusiast. Fell down that rabbit hole once he joined Pinterest and never came back out. This man has probably had Pinterest since it's inception -- his username is probably his first and last name XD

Burgundy comforter vibes. One of those soft, smooth quilted ones.

His office’s desk is his prized possession. It's one of the fancy wooden ones with the mini built-in drawers on top. Keeps his best cigars along with stationary there

Photos of his boys (sons) of course

Definitely has a bankers’ lamp

#cod #cod headcanons #captain john price #john soap mactavish #soap cod #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #call of duty modern warfare #this has been steaming in the drafts 🔥

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i-am-bitterly-jittery · 2 days

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Stranger Danger

Word count: 820

Rating: Gen

Pairings: none

Warnings: childhood anxiety disorder

~~~START~~~

Patton loved moments like these. Thomas was six months old, being held in his mother’s arms, safe and warm. There was some sort of party going on, but all Thomas — and by extension, Patton — cared about was that his mom was holding him, and they were outside on a beautiful not-yet-cold October night (maybe it didn’t ever get cold in Florida! Patton didn’t know).

Thomas was six months old, but Patton himself was a little older, a little bit more mature — as an embodiment of Thomas’s emotions — than say Logic, who was a baby himself. Patton was a toddler, maybe about three (Patton didn’t know), but he could walk and talk and in general knew what made Thomas happy. Patton slept on a big-boy bed with cat and dog print sheets and a big patchwork quilt, while Logic, Creativity, and Self-Preservation all slept in cribs labeled with their names.

Patton wore a pair of overalls covered in embroidered flowers over a blue and gray striped sweater. Logic was swaddled in a navy-blue blanket and almost always seemed to be sleeping, he was the smallest of the babies. Creativity was closer to Thomas’s age and was always crawling around in a green and red patterned onesie. Self-Preservation was the oldest of the babies and almost seemed on the edge of talking, but not quite yet — he was very good at knowing when Thomas was hungry, or sleepy, or needed to be changed.

It was a little lonely for Patton at the moment, the babies not being able to talk and all, but he had Thomas, and he loved Thomas so much.

And Thomas’s mom! Patton loved Thomas’s mom! She was holding Thomas, and everything was good!

Until…

A woman came over, she almost seemed familiar, but she had weird ears on the top of her head, and black lines coming out from her nose; Patton had never seen her before. She and Thomas’s mom talked for a moment and then Thomas’s mom was…

“WE DON'T KNOW HER!”

Patton jumped as another boy appeared next to him. This boy might be even older than Patton himself. He was wearing an oversized purple and purple striped hoodie that’s sleeves fell well past his hands — or at least, they would if he didn’t currently have one pushed up so he could chew on his fingernails as he and Patton both watched the strange woman get closer and closer.

“So?” Patton asked, bewildered. Truthfully, he had been concerned about that as well, but this new boy seemed even more concerned.

“So she’s a stranger!” The boy yelled. “She shouldn’t be holding Thomas! Mommy should be holding Thomas! We don’t want her to hold Thomas!”

Patton felt tears spring to his eyes as the boy’s words rang true. He didn’t want a stranger, he wanted Thomas’s mom.

Thomas began to cry.

“Tommy!” Mom cooed, standing over Thomas in the other woman’s arms. “It’s just Aunt Patty. You know Aunt Patty.”

“That doesn’t look like Aunt Patty!”

As Thomas began to wail harder, Patton began to cry too. In his crib, Logic opened his eyes.

“He probably doesn’t recognize me in my costume,” the woman said. “It’s ok, Tommy, it’s just Halloween.”

“What does that even mean!?” Thomas, Patton, and this new boy were all crying.

Distantly, it occurred to Patton that Self-Preservation was not crying, but rather, observing them calmly from his crib while trying to push the hood of his snake onesie out of his eyes. Self-Preservation usually cried when Thomas cried, Self-Preservation usually pushed Thomas to cry. Patton didn’t usually cry when Self-Preservation cried.

Not this time. This time it was solely driven by this new boy, and Patton was feeling every bit of it.

“It’s okay, Tommy,” mom said as she pulled Thomas back into her arms and began to rock him from side to side. This seemed to soothe the new boy, and as his tears ebbed, so did Thomas’s.

“That was close,” the boy said, much more quietly than he’d spoken earlier.

“Yeah,” Patton agreed as he wiped the remaining tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. He wasn’t sure what they’d been close to, but he was sure the other boy must be right. He was older, after all.

“I’m tired,” the boy said, barely above a whisper, as he walked over to a new big-boy bed that was now next to Patton’s and crawled under the several soft-looking blankets that covered it.

The nameplate at the foot of his bed said “Anxiety” in purple. Patton wondered what “Anxiety” meant as Thomas’s mom continued to coo at Thomas. The other woman cooed at Thomas too, but in the safety of his mom’s arms, it didn't matter quite so much that they didn’t know her.

Self-Preservation waited almost five minutes before letting out an ear-splitting wail to let Thomas’s mom, and everyone else, know that Thomas was hungry.

~~~END~~~

I kinda wanted to do the opening scene from Inside Out, but a little bit older cuz I feel like any Sides that existed when Thomas was born were tiny baby.

According to my mom, as soon as I turned six months old I would not let strangers hold me and I thought that that would be a good time for Virgil to just pop into existence.

General taglist:

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple @arsonic-knight @misunderstood-shadowling

#sanders sides #ts sanders sides #patton sanders #virgil sanders #character thomas #thomas sanders #thursday writes #my writing #sanders sides fanfiction

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sweaterkittensahoy · 17 days

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prompt: someone needs to make an honest man out of bucky and get him pregnant. up to you who it is.

[I don't usually write mpreg, but this idea hit like a brick]

Bucky wakes from an unintended nap when something scrapes across the living room floor. He grunts and tries to sit up.

"Don't look!" Jack says, almost directly behind Bucky.

Bucky twists his head to try and see anyway, but all he can get in his line of sight is Jack's left leg. He's wearing his oldest slacks, and there's saw dust in the cuff. He's been working on whatever he's up to in the back shed again, Bucky realizes. Jack had asked him not to come back there until he was done with something special. A surprise for Bucky. It'd been easier than usual to agree and actually keep his promise. He's seven months pregnant and he's so wiped by the end of the day, he's lucky he has the energy to fall into bed at night.

"What is it?" Bucky asks.

"You'll see. I promise," Jack replies. He darts over and kisses Bucky on the top of the head, then holds out his hand. "Close your eyes for a second, will you?"

Bucky closes his eyes, then sighs in relief when Jack helps him sit up. He slumps against the couch, both hands going to his belly. "I swear this kid gains a pound every time I take a nap."

"We'll have the first full-grown infant in the hospital nursery," Jack says. He kisses Bucky, then slides his hands over Bucky's on his stomach. He rubs his thumbs down low by Bucky's pelvis where Bucky swears it hasn't stopped aching since the kid first started showing.

"Ugh, thank you," Bucky groans. He tries to open his eyes, but Jack kisses each of his lids. "How long do I keep my eyes closed?"

"Just another minute," Jack says. "I just want to set it up right."

"Set it up?" Bucky replies. "Did you finally cave and get that stereo you've been eying so hard?"

"I wouldn't do that without checking with you, first," Jack says. "You know that."

Bucky does, but it's nice to hear. He's always liked the tiny bits of domestic life no one ever thinks to talk about. Like agreeing to big purchases as a team. Since his pregnancy started, they've become an odd little emotional touchstone, a reminder from Jack that he's valued and loved. "Suppose we do already have a record player," he says. "But what if the sound's better?"

"We'll go in and see if they'll let us try it," Jack says, and his voice is a little far away and echoing slightly. Bucky knows without opening his eyes that he's in the nursery.

He listens to Jack walk back towards him and only opens his eyes when Jack's hand touches his arm. "Got your surprise all ready?"

"Sure, do," Jack replies. He holds out his hands and hauls Bucky to his feet, dragging a palm over Bucky's bump as he turns him towards the nursery. "Easy," he says as Bucky takes a step, then sways.

"Fucking center of gravity," Bucky mutters. Jack chuckles and busses a kiss on his cheek, then leads him down the hall to the nursery.

Inside, there's the crib and the changing table they'd picked out last month. The walls are mint green, and there's a stuffed unicorn on the dresser--an early gift from Buck--next to a pair of yellow baby booties and a full layette, ready for when the baby comes home from the hospital.

And in the corner by the window that looks over their backyard, there's a rocker that wasn't there before. Modern-style with a cushioned back and seat done up in blue fabric stamped with little white frogs. The same fabric as the sheets in the crib, and the two back up sets in the closet, and a little quilt tucked away until the baby's first winter.

"Jack--" Bucky swallows hard. "How--"

"You pointed it out in the Sears Catalog," Jack says. "I know that one had striped cushions, but I thought you'd like that it matched."

"Jack," Bucky whispers, and he feels tears fall, so he wipes his face, and Jack hugs him carefully around his middle and kisses his temple. "It's wonderful," Bucky says. He walks over to the rocker and pushes it with one finger. It sways forward and back in a smooth rhythm. Up close, Bucky realizes it's made of teak, polished to a high shine. He runs his palm over an armrest, astounded at how smooth it feels.

"Will you sit in it?" Jack asks, sounding bashful. "I've been wanting to see that."

Bucky meets his gaze and feels floored. He tells Jack he loves him every day, several times a day, but Jack's not as effusive. Never has been. But this. A rocking chair. For their baby. Made with his own two hands. Because Bucky pointed it out in a catalog. "How do you even know how to do this?" he asks.

"Dad taught me," Jack replies. "It's not much harder than a table or a nightstand."

Bucky scoffs. Jack built their coffee table and nightstands and they're beautiful too, but not like this. Not lovingly recreated from a photo. "You're too much," he says, then lowers himself into the chair. He sighs in pleasure as he settles into the cushions. They're thick, and angle on the back of the rocker takes some of the weight off his belly. "Oh, I might live here until this kid shows up," he says.

Jack hums a happy sound and walks over. He crouches next to the chair, taking Bucky's hand and lifting it so he can kiss his knuckles. "I'll make a pallet right here on the floor if you want," he says. "Get you anything you want."

Bucky smiles at Jack and pulls both their hands over his belly. "I'm doing all right with what I've got," he says. "Best I've ever done, really."

Jack spreads his fingers wide on Bucky's belly and looks at him with that sweet, shy smile he has. "Yeah, me, too," he agrees, and Bucky smiles right back at him, as bright and open as ever. He can't wait to find out which smile this kid in him is gonna end up with.

#jackbucky #mpreg #masters of the air #jack kidd #bucky egan

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emmy-dekarios-bg3 · 2 months

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Heart of the Weave - A Baldurs Gate fanfiction

CHAPTER 15

Nobody tells you how quickly time flies by when you’re a parent. Jenevelle is already three months old, and she’s been nothing short of a miracle in our lives. She’s still so small yet so full of life; full of smiles and laughter throughout the days, and hardly cries. Gale and I finally have her transitioned to her room in her crib now, which was so hard – not for her, but for me. Having her in the bassinet by our bed gave me a sense of comfort, knowing I could easily check up on her and make sure she’s breathing. On another note, I’m grateful for our friends, but especially since she’s been born. Karlach will come and babysit once or twice a month while Gale and I go out and have a night to ourselves, which has been so nice. At first, it was an adjustment leaving her for the first time, but I’m glad we are able to get a break every once in a while.

The morning sun rises, and I notice Gale isn’t in bed with me. He does like to wake up rather early and enjoy the dawn, drinking his warm coffee and watching the sun rise. That’s when he has his best ideas for research. I get out of bed and notice Gale on the balcony, where he’s holding Jenevelle and they’re both enjoying the outside world.

“Ah, there’s my love,” Gale says, smiling as I sit down next to him. He leans in for a kiss as the morning sunlight pours over our skin. “Good morning. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, of course not. I was just ready to get up and start my day. I’m glad you are both having a quiet morning.” He gently bounces Jenevelle in his arm and takes a sip of his morning coffee with the other.

“Indeed. I’m just happy you got to sleep in some. I got so much done this morning. I had some sort of…morning epiphany that caused me to wake up and get a jumpstart on the day. I did some of my studies, made breakfast for us, which is sitting on the kitchen table by the way, and I got Jenevelle up, dressed, and fed…” As he continues to speak, I can’t help but admire him. “...and I just wanted to make your morning a little easier since I don’t teach today.” His brown eyes shimmer, transitioning into a tint of golden honey as the sun shines upon his face at a perfect angle.

“I appreciate you and how considerate you are. I truly love you more than words can define,” I tell him as I stretch my body, releasing all tensions held within me. He smiles, trying to fight that cute chuckle he always does.

“Thank you. That means the world to me. I love you too.” As we sit here enjoying the peace, the gentle breeze of Waterdeep air brushes the messy hair out of my face. As I look down at the town square below us, I see there’s a festival going on with various vendors and some bards playing some tunes for a large crowd. I actually notice Shadowheart, believe it or not, and it’s as if she’s looking for something in particular. She’s probably doing some shopping. I’m thinking about going down and buying Jenevelle a crochet owlbear or maybe a quilted blanket.

“Are you thinking about the festival?” Gale asks, studying my face.

“Erm, no…”

“You want to go, don’t you?” I laugh lightly, but then hide it with a fake cough. Is it silly for a grown woman to want to go to a fun festival?

“Can we?” He smiles and hands the baby over to me as he stands up from his seat.

“Of course. Let me go get dressed and we can head out. I’m going to avoid a robe this time, just in case some of my students are there. As much as I enjoy discussing the physics of magic and teaching others how to perform it correctly, I’d rather spend my time with my family enjoying the beauty of Waterdeep and its festivities.”

While Gale goes inside to get ready, I continue to observe the happy crowds from above; people casually dancing to the music, live entertainment of a comedic orc doing stand up, and of course delicious food. Mmmm. I can smell funnel cakes from up here.

We head down to the fun market area for the festival and notice various shops and vendors on every corner throughout the square. So many children are running around playing, eating, and having fun. I almost can’t wait until Jenevelle is walking and can enjoy fun events like this, playing with other children. For now, I have her wrapped in the baby carrier attached to my body, curled up and comfortable as we stroll the calming streets of Waterdeep.

“What a perfect day for such a festival. I clearly don’t get out enough, I feel like I haven’t seen any signs anywhere,” I say, observing the exciting area around us. I do notice a few clowns around us, which immediately brings flashbacks of Dribbles the Clown back at Baldur’s Gate, except we killed him and he was actually a shapeshifter. Long story short, he and several other shapeshifters were sent by Orin to murder me. Now that I look back on it, I feel honored to be such a threat to her.

“Oh, I have a slight inkling this was all planned last minute,” Gale says, chuckling. “Nonetheless, it’s fun to get out and enjoy this time together.”

We grab food and sit down at the music event, where three high elf bards are performing some new music I haven’t heard of before, but they’re pretty good! As we’re watching the concert, I hear my name nearby by a familiar voice – Shadowheart, perhaps? I turn around and notice her approaching us, and she sits down next to me. She has a bag full of items she bought from the various shops and vendors.

“Shadowheart?”

“I know I live like, two blocks down from you, but I saw you two walking and wanted to…give the baby a gift. But then I lost you when I spotted you both at the festival. I didn’t want to interrupt any future plans you might have later, so I figured I’d come by now.” She hands me an adorable pink owlbear plush from her bag, which is almost as big as Jenevelle herself. “The pink owlbear was the last one left. Since I don’t have children yet, I figured I’d spoil your little one while I still can.” I smile, taking the owlbear plush from her.

“Wow, this…is so kind. Thank you.”

“You want children, Shadowheart?” Gale asks. “Man, I wish I knew that earlier. We’d have asked you to babysit if you ever wanted to get the feel of parenthood.”

“I… I do. Now that our adventures are in the past, I’m in a comfortable position where I know I could be a mother. I would adopt, however.”

“A very kind and selfless choice.” I don’t know why but it surprises me that she wants to be a mother. I never got that vibe from her, but I do recall her saying right before fighting the elder brain that she ‘wants to have children once this is all over.’

“Definitely come by when you can. If you’re free tomorrow, maybe you can come by and we can have some tea or coffee while Gale is teaching?” She smiles with pure delight, as if she’s excited to hang out with me for the first time in a few weeks. I don’t know why we don’t get together more often.

“I’d like that. I’ll see you tomorrow then. I better go grab Astarion before he commits some heinous acts in the middle of the square.”

Gale and I shop around, getting new handmade clothes for Jenevelle and various fruits, vegetables, and other ingredients so I can bake a yummy dessert. Baking is one of my specialties, after all. After soaking in the sun partaking in a lovely little family venture, we head home due to Jenevelle getting fussy. However, we get home to put her down for a nap and she is screaming inconsolably. What we thought was her being tired is actually fear; something is causing her to feel sudden fear.

After about thirty minutes of her lying on my bare chest, she calms down and falls asleep. This was unusual behavior for her, especially since she hardly cries, but I’m glad she’s doing alright now.

“My head is throbbing from the screaming. I can’t imagine how she was feeling. I do hope she’s okay,” Gale says, carefully eyeing our sleeping baby as she sleeps in her crib.

“Me too. Maybe she’s just exhausted? Teething? Growing pains?” We watch her sleep peacefully in her crib for a moment, then head down to the living area to relax for about an hour or two. We plop down on the violet velvet sofa next to each other, curled up in a cuddling position. I’m worried about Jenevelle, but I’m sure I’m just being paranoid.

“You might be right about her possibly having pains of some sort, but part of me believes something else is going on. Maybe she saw something that frightened her. Poor baby,” Gale says, followed with a sigh. “I hate feeling daunting like this, but that must be part of being a parent, hm?” He kisses the side of my head for a couple seconds straight, one of the various affections I adore. “I love you. I think we’re doing pretty well as new parents.” I look up at him with my dark brown eyes, staring directly into his as we snuggle closely.

“I love you too. So much. And I couldn’t agree more.”

My love for him gets stronger by the minute every day. It seems like just yesterday I was pulling him out of a portal within a rock and we had an awkward introduction. Look where that unusual encounter got us!

I suddenly remember that Karlach is supposed to come over tonight to watch Jenevelle while Gale and I attend our monthly date night.

“Oh damn, I forgot we were going out tonight. My mom brain sure shows its true colors now,” I mention.

“Do you want to cancel?”

“No, no, it’s okay. Jenevelle will adore seeing aunty Karlach.” I really try not to cancel our date nights since we don’t have them too often; however, Gale’s mom is coming down in two weeks so we may get another one then. She’s been dying to hold and babysit our little girl.

“Good. I look forward to our evening together.”

I smile as I watch the glowing sun set from our living room window, thinking how blessed I truly am. Life is finally perfect again.

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