#the godfather imagine
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Give Me Shelter, The Night Is Dark (Vampire!Michael Corleone x Reader)
Summary: Local superstition and a reclusive man offer you refuge when your parents grievously misstep in Sicily, putting your life in danger in more ways than one.
Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This incredibly self-indulgent gothic romance-esque idea came to me while I was half-asleep, and the time period is intentionally vague, but it’s not a modern setting (here's a little aesthetic tag for this fic). Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 4.6k
Warnings: Major canon divergence. Canon-typical violence. Emotional manipulation. Vampirism, including non-consensual blood drinking and compulsion (in the context of it being an ability vampires possess and can use on humans). Sexually explicit content involving elements of bloodplay. Do not interact if you’re under 18.
You couldn’t remember what had brought your family to the village of Corleone, only that your father had promised you and your mother an extravagant Sicilian vacation. Three days of beachside paradise in Mondello, eating fresh seafood cooked to perfection and entertaining the antics of handsome men with scars that stood out like bolts of lightning against their tanned skin were hardly enough to sate your voracious appetite for the weeks of bliss you were promised.
Despite your attempts at bargaining to stay in Palermo on your own, your mother refused, insisting she’d be better off throwing you into shark-infested waters than alone with the men who came calling to your hotel. Some days of travel through the breathtaking Sicilian countryside later, you and your parents arrived in Corleone, a village that appeared all but frozen in time, as if decades had passed it by with no one any the wiser.
To your dismay, you found the selection of eligible men to spend your time with far more limited than in Palermo. The working young men were too tired from their labor in the fields or their trades to engage in foolish antics with a vacationing foreigner. The rest were mafiosi, as you gathered from the veiled comments and numerous euphemisms the older villagers used.
These elderly became your companions during your stay in Corleone, talking wildly with their weathered hands over coffee or wine. Filomena, a woman of nearly eighty years and fluent in English, lived in the house next to the one your family was renting. Her husband Gianni only left the house if absolutely necessary, and she considered him a burdensome hermit. Each morning, she fetched you to accompany her into town. Some days, you’d do little else than sit outside of a cafe on the sleepy main street, eating and drinking and gossiping.
Your Sicilian improved immensely in the near month you kept up with their chatter. Those women always had their ears to the ground, as far as knowing more about your father’s business in Corleone than you did. The vacation he promised you was little more than a gesture of confidence toward Don Manusco, a man notoriously difficult to meet directly with. That your father achieved this naturally generated interest in the village, as no one knew of him. When pressed for more information about your own family’s line of work, you answered what you knew, that your father invested, mostly in stocks, but occasionally in new business ventures.
You were privy to little else, much to the disappointment of your companions, who moved onto other topics of discussion. One woman’s son sought work in Milan and within three months of getting hired at a factory, married a Northerner, much to her displeasure. In contrast, Filomena’s daughter was cloistered elsewhere in the countryside, preparing to take her vows and become a nun.
Their superstitions, however, intrigued you most of all. A curse and blessing existed for nearly every conceivable situation. The most striking tale they spun regarded an abandoned villa about a mile past the rental house. Foreboding and hostile, its faded facade peeking out from thorny vines, it was once the envy of the village. At one point in time, though no one could agree quite when, the Don of another family lived there. He took in a strange young man, reclusive yet polite, wandering the countryside with two armed shepherds as bodyguards. He married a local girl, but the marriage ended tragically soon after the wedding. In a sudden blaze of fire and betrayal, she was killed. The strange man vanished not long after, and anyone associated with the villa—including the old Don Tomassino—were soon found dead or had disappeared altogether. Thus, no one dared approach it for fear of the curse surely cast upon the place.
Some of the gruesome murders in the vicinity of the villa could have been attributed to the tradition of violence Don Manusco carried on following Don Tomassino’s death. It didn’t explain the livestock dying of unusual causes, an older woman interjected. Even the land surrounding it was cursed, and the local shepherds knew better than to let their flocks graze nearby, explaining the abnormally tall grass and overgrown foliage that surrounded the villa.
Yet another woman claimed to have seen a demon or ghost in the form of a man wandering the villa’s grounds at night. Of course, she didn’t get close enough to take a good look, instead uttering Hail Marys as she ran into the local church to take refuge until her husband found her some time later.
Your mind drifted to the villa sometimes, this forbidden and mysterious monument to grief and superstition that seemed to cast a longer shadow over the village than the mafiosos who ran it. Like Don Manusco, who your parents were joining for dinner one evening, and Filomena insisted you join her and Gianni instead of eating alone.
The scent of stewing summer tomatoes with garlic and mouth-watering spices invited you inside the house, its windows open for hopes of cool breezes moving through. Gianni offered you wine and a simple antipasto spread of cheese and oranges to snack on while Filomena cooked dinner. Despite his reclusiveness, he somehow knew that your father’s dinner with Don Manusco involved more business than a friendly visit, the final chance for your father to seal what he hoped would be a lucrative deal with the mafia boss.
Two hours later, you sat across from Filomena at the small wooden table in their kitchen, filling your plate with the delicious meal she prepared. You ate silence while Filomena spoke, bickering with Gianni every now and then. As the sun set over Corleone, unease crept over you, though you chose to attribute it to the heat of the day and eating too quickly.
Until a commotion erupted up the street, almost deafening as it approached, finally arriving outside of Filomena’s house. Frantic Sicilian shouting mingled with rapid pounding on the front door startled you into dropping your fork. Filomena and Gianni shared a worried glance before both getting up from the table to answer.
Wailing.
Screaming.
Arguing.
All you found yourself able to do was sit in confused silence. When they returned to the kitchen with a few other locals, panic truly set in.
“You have to leave!” Filomena cried, pulling you out of your seat by your arm.
“What’s going on?” you asked.
“Your father’s a fool–”
Gianni shook his head. “A dead fool–”
“Your father should have never brought you here if he were going to try to cheat Don Manusco!” an older woman said.
Another cursed. “Selfish bastard!”
“Go! As far from here as you can!” Filomena implored.
A hard push toward the back door was the extent of the help you’d receive from the villagers of Corleone.
Blood pounded in your ears, your heart beating in time with your feet against the uneven dirt path that nearly tripped you up in your desperate rush to the rental home. You opened the door, scrambling upstairs in a frantic half-crawl to reach your room.
You shoved clothes and essentials into a bag, hardly paying attention to what exactly you were packing, just knowing you couldn’t flee empty-handed and hope to rely on the goodwill of strangers.
In the kitchen, you grabbed what you could from the pantry and shoved everything into a wicker basket. With just that and your suitcase in hand, you clumsily ran across the uneven countryside roads, hoping to find somewhere to take shelter for the night. Every rustle of leaves and animal cry sent chills across your skin. Just when you felt hopeless for a place to hide, you saw the abandoned villa's high walls, overgrown with vines and bramble in the distance. Superstition be damned, it was better than dying at the hands of a mafioso.
The iron gate was closed, but not locked. You held your breath as you opened it, sending out silent thanks to the universe that it didn’t release some otherworldly screech and announce your presence. Hardly visible in the dead of night, the villa peeked out from beneath the plants that had overtaken it. Even from a distance, it appeared as if the building were hollowed out somehow. It remained your best bet.
Superstition offered you refuge, as masculine voices drifted above the villa’s high walls, the structure still sturdy despite the general state of disrepair.
“Should we go in?”
“You sound as much of a fool as that old man. That place is cursed. Even if she were in there, she'd be dead anyway.”
Their heavy, rushed footsteps against the rocky terrain fell silent after a few moments. You sighed in relief, allowing yourself to relax just the slightest bit. Until you glanced back at the villa again, a new sense of dread making your stomach turn at the prospect of having to go inside the place. While you didn’t believe all of the rumors you’d been told over the previous few weeks, being in its presence unsettled you.
Then again, feeling unsettled in an abandoned villa was preferable to whatever would happen if Don Manusco’s men got his hands on you.
After a moment of hesitation, you approached the shadowy building, hoping your luck wouldn’t run out when you got inside.
To your surprise, the interior wasn’t as poorly maintained as the exterior. The furniture betrayed the wealth of whoever lived there previously, though they’d seen better days. Dark wood scuffed or splintered. Dull fabrics that must have been rich violets or crimson upon their initial purchase.
You walked into the living room, freezing upon seeing lit candles around. Someone was living there after all.
“Hello? Is anyone–” you gasped upon seeing a man standing on the other side of the living room, partially obscured by shadows.
Even in the cover of darkness, his features rendered you speechless as he approached. Handsome seemed too pedestrian of a word to describe him. His raven hair fell across his forehead with a deceptive boyishness. Brown eyes, almost black as the night itself bore into your own. His skin wasn’t nearly as tan as the villagers you’d met, but you supposed someone who lived in such a place was wealthy enough to not have to partake in the grueling manual labor typical of the area, the strong Sicilian sun giving its residents a healthy glow which he lacked.
“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.
“The men who were outside before—I think they’re going to kill me,” you said, panic overtaking your senses as his face remained unmoved by your explanation. “Please, I didn’t know anyone lived here.”
“Why do they want to kill you?”
“I think my father tried to cheat Don Manusco. I don’t know all of the details, but if they don’t want to kill me, then they’ll probably—“ Your voice caught in your throat.
“You can stay.”
“I’ll leave tomorrow and find a way to get back to Palermo.”
He shook his head. “You have a vendetta out against you now. Getting back to Palermo so soon will be nearly impossible, especially if Manusco has allies there.” He watched in unreadable silence as hopelessness ate away at your resolve. “You can stay,” he finally repeated. “Don’t leave the villa. Not during the day, and especially not at night. You’ll be safe.”
“Thank you. I owe you my life.” You offered him your name, as a courtesy and as collateral. More valuable than anything else you carried with you, he could use it to betray you for his own gain whenever he wished. You prayed it wouldn’t come to that.
“Michael Corleone,” he said.
“Like the village.”
He smiled the slightest bit, his dark eyes shining an almost betraying crimson in the moonlight. Ethereal. That was the right word for him. “Yes, like the village.”
Your host led you upstairs, helping you with your meager belongings despite your insistence you could handle your small suitcase and a basket of food, which you left on the console table in the foyer. The villa had certainly seen better days, its plaster walls cracked, crumbling in some places. You would’ve used caution going up the stairs if Michael hadn’t been so confident as he ascended them.
He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing at each of the doors along the hallway. After a few moments, he seemed to settle on one, leading you to a dark bedroom, full of odd shadows that made you pause. It seemed otherwise better taken care of than the rest of the villa you’d seen up to that point.
“It’s just me here. I’m afraid I’m not the best homemaker,” he half-joked in response to your hesitation to enter the room.
“No, I’m sorry. It’s nice. I can’t thank you enough, Michael.”
He nodded. “I have insomnia, so you’ll see more of me at night than during the day. The cellar stays locked, but you can have the run of the place otherwise.”
You bid each other good night.
When he shut the bedroom door behind you, you collapsed onto the bed and cried into your pillow, both from heartbreak and exhaustion, until you fell asleep.
The following morning, you awoke to fresh bug bites on your arm–inflamed and itchy, though perfectly in line with each other, oddly enough. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and you supposed you’d rather deal with mosquito bites than whatever Don Manusco and his soldiers had in mind for you.
True to his word, Michael was nowhere to be found when you went downstairs to eat a breakfast of bread and hard salami. Again, not ideal, but you’d make do with what you brought with you. For the rest of the day, you explored the villa, acquainting yourself with your new albeit temporary home.
You found yourself with little to do to pass the time. Venturing out onto the surrounding grounds of the villa was hardly an option, most of it so overgrown you couldn’t take a proper walk. There were a few books in the house, but often you found your mind drifting to your parents, what their fate looked like and what could await you if Don Manusco found out where you were hiding. By the time you’d finally see Michael around in the evenings, you’d force yourself to stay up as long as you could to be in his company. Soon, your schedule nearly matched his nocturnal one.
Over the following weeks, you got to know Michael. At times, you couldn’t help but stare at him, but sometimes it felt as though you couldn’t do much else if you tried. He was a gracious host for how you imposed on him, showing concern for the bug bites you tried to hide from him. A good thing he noticed, as he brought you a cup of tea, a deep maroon color that he explained was a natural remedy from the village for the discomfort you were experiencing. A common occurrence that you’d been fortunate enough to avoid since arriving in Corleone.
“You’re not from around here either,” you said one night. “I can tell from your accent.”
“I’m from New York, but my father was born here,” he explained. “My last name is a mistake from when he immigrated.”
“Do you miss it?”
He was silent for some time, lost in thought before answering with a soft, “Terribly.”
“But you can’t go back.”
“No, I’m very sick. I wouldn’t survive the trip.”
“I’m sorry,” you said, your curiosity getting the better of you when you asked, “What do you have?”
“What I have is incredibly rare, there’s no word for it. Sunlight puts me in excruciating pain, and my appetite is abnormal.”
“How long have you been sick for?”
“Years. More than you’d believe.”
“You know, everyone in the village thinks this place is cursed. If you just talked to them, then they’d understand what was going on and maybe be able to help.”
“I can’t be around people. It’s not safe for them.”
“I don’t understand,” you said. “Are you contagious?”
He hesitated. “Not how you’d think.”
“No matter what you have, it’s not good to be alone,” you argued.
“You’re here now.”
“Only until it’s safe for me to go to Palermo and leave Sicily.”
He shook his head. “You won’t be able to leave. Not when a man like Don Manusco has a vendetta out against you,” he said, his intense gaze boring into you. Your chest grew tighter as he spoke. “This villa is the only place you’ll ever be safe.”
“Michael, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just know what he did to your parents…he and men like him have done to many others on this island, too.” Your silence perturbed him. He grabbed your shoulders, squeezing them gently, though his eyes seemed to blaze with fury. “I’m keeping you safe here, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” you whispered, your voice nearly catching in your throat.
“Then what’s there to be afraid of?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s right, as long as you stay here.”
“I can’t stay forever.”
He hummed dismissively, not bothering to acknowledge your statement. You soon excused yourself to go to sleep, a sudden uneasiness settling in your stomach.
You awoke late into the afternoon the following day, judging by the amber sunlight that streamed through the broken shutters. Still, your limbs felt heavy, and your head pounded as if you’d hardly slept at all. A quick glance at your arm revealed twin bug bites on your wrist again, this time darker than the previous ones, leaving your skin tender to the touch.
Dizziness turned the room over when you sat up from the bed, and you nearly considered going back to sleep, if it weren’t for the hunger that ached in your bones.
You ventured down into the kitchen, relieved to find a pot of tea sitting out. You didn’t even bother reheating it, though the consistency was odd, thicker in its room temperature state. The texture didn’t deter you, as the more you drank, the better you felt, your dizziness and aches gone as the tea overflowed from the corners of your mouth and dripped down your chin, insatiable until there was nothing left. Wiping off your face, you went back up to your room and fell back asleep.
A knock on the door woke you up in the pitch black some hours later. You lit the candle on your bedside table before getting up to answer. You knew it was Michael, concerned about why you hadn’t joined him yet.
Just as you got up to answer, he opened the door, letting himself into your room–except it wasn’t your room. It was his, and you supposed he could enter whenever he wanted.
Frozen in place by his gaze alone, you stood still and silent as he approached, demeanor darker and more intense as his presence filled the room, as if his essence somehow intermixed with each breath you took. A citrusy sweetness with a bloodcurdling undercurrent of violence filled your lungs. Despite this, you felt no fear, but rather anticipation when he finally reached out and caressed your cheek, his hand freezing against your warm skin.
“Michael,” you whispered.
“Don’t fight me, sweetheart.”
And you couldn’t. Not even if you tried. His eyes took in your face with a softness that betrayed his fondness for you. His lips pressed against yours, a chaste kiss to start, but it proved to be insufficient for him, as he claimed your mouth with the fervor of a man long starved for affection. His desire for you tangible as you kissed him back, allowing his hands to roam your body above your nightgown until his fingers brushed your thighs, pushing the hem up to your hips.
He laid you back on the bed, ridding you of your panties and slipping his fingers between your folds. “Tell me how it feels,” he said, his lips against your skin. “Tell me everything.”
Before then, you would have died rather than admit it to him, but at his urging, the dam broke. Of course your thoughts of him weren’t always innocent. Some nights, when you were sure he was elsewhere, you touched yourself to the thought of him. The confession slipped from your mouth so quickly that shame couldn’t catch you, not when Michael pushed his fingers inside you, the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit, denying you any sensation but absolute pleasure.
“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you,” he whispered, pressing desperate kisses into your neck. “You have no idea how hard it’s been for me not to–”
Your whine interrupted his train of thought, and a knife-sharp pain jolted through you when he sunk his teeth into your throat, breaking the fragile skin. His fingers curled inside you, a moan clawing its way out of you as you came, ecstasy pulsing through your limbs in waves that threatened to drown you in it. Spots clouded your vision and breath evaded you, the poignant scent of copper mixed with your sex made your head spin.
“Michael, I–” You passed out, though you awoke later, curled up next to him, your body sore and more fatigued than ever. You winced when you tried to move your head, a dull ache coming from your neck. “What did you do?” you mumbled.
“Sweetheart?”
“To my neck.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, petting your hair. “I got carried away. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”
“Me either,” you admitted.
He smiled, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. From then on, he was ravenous, and like a woman possessed, you gave in to him every time. Nights with him blurred together as thoughts of escaping Sicily and the danger that waited for you outside of the villa walls were almost nonexistent.
Some time later, though you’d largely stopped keeping track of the days by then, you realized your food supply was running low. Michael would go out at night and get some for you if you asked, though he never revealed where exactly he went. Still unsure of your safety from Don Manusco, you figured the farm up the road would be a good place to swipe some fruit from the orchard and anything else they might have lying around and not exactly miss.
The sun felt especially harsh when you went outside. Each step brought about unimaginable fatigue that made your bones ache. You hardly made it halfway to the farm before you had to rest beneath a large tree’s shade to rest your tired limbs and eyes.
“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?”
You jolted awake, surrounded by a handful of elderly villagers from around the countryside. You recognized at least one of the older women as one of your old cafe companions in Corleone.
“I’m fine.”
The woman in question squinted at you. “Where do I know you from?”
“We’ve never met before,” you said, voice tight with panic. “I have to go. Goodbye.” You forced yourself up, using what little strength you had to return to the villa, ignoring their calls for you to wait. Exhaustion swept over you by the time you made it inside, promptly collapsing in the foyer. They had recognized you, and surely they had seen you retreat into the villa and were on their way to let Don Manusco know of your whereabouts. They’d be foolish not to with the price on your head.
Michael was nowhere to be found, and you worried that by the time you finally saw him that night, it’d be too late to tell him what transpired. Tears rolled down your cheeks as fear and guilt crept up on you. Your carelessness had put Michael in danger, too.
With no way of knowing how long it’d be until word got back to Manusco, you considered the layout of the villa, which you knew like the back of your hand, and the best place to hide if he or his men intruded in search of you.
In hindsight, the kitchen cupboard was a more obvious choice for a hiding spot, but it was the most your fatigued brain could come up with while you were panicked.
Your instincts had been right, though. The inevitable intrusion did come.
The voices that echoed through the foyer were the same ones from the night you first arrived in the villa. You kept a hand over your mouth, the other with an iron grip around the kitchen knife.
“Come on, Don Manusco isn’t angry with you. He just wants to talk,” one of the men called out.
“It’s a misunderstanding,” the other added. “He knows you didn’t have anything to do with your father’s schemes.”
You couldn’t take a chance on whether or not they were telling the truth.
Footsteps approached, growing louder with each passing second. You readied yourself for attack, until you heard a blood-curdling scream rip through the night and you dropped the knife in shock.
With all of the foolishness of your father, you opened the cupboard door. Blood pooled around the man’s head, a look of terror etched into his face, betraying his final thoughts. Your gaze lifted, and you stumbled backward, unable to comprehend the gruesome sight before you. If you hadn’t been watching Michael with your own eyes, you would have assumed an animal attack was responsible for the carnage at your feet. What more, after the initial shock wore off, an almost physical pull drew you to the spilled blood.
The villagers had been right. It wasn’t mere superstition, but reality, one more horrific than any of them could have fathomed. The unexplained murders, the livestock deaths, all by his hand. His illness a fabrication to conceal the true nature of his being, something unnatural that existed in the worlds between life and death with a hunger to match. He’d been feeding from you for weeks, allowing you to carry on believing lies. Of course you felt awful, constantly fatigued. You could only hazard a guess as to what was really in the tea you’d been drinking like a fiend.
You wished you could scream at yourself for your naivete, as if he’d help you out of the kindness of his heart and not expect something in return. Your willful ignorance of his odd behavior in exchange for refuge in the one place where you’d be safe from who you thought were the only men who wanted to harm you. But he saved you from Don Manusco and his men. He kept you alive. He could gain little from drawing out your death for so long. Unless…your eyes widened, and you looked at him in horror.
Michael spoke your name softly. “Do you understand now?”
“You–You’ve been making me like you.”
“I should have done it sooner. It’s the best way to keep you safe.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would you have believed me?”
“I guess not.”
He cupped your face in his hands, “Things won’t be that different. We’ll be together. No one will be able to hurt you.”
“How–How much longer until I’m–”
“As soon as tonight, if you’ll let me.” Sensing your hesitation, he pressed a bloody kiss to your forehead. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You trust me, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the urge to trust him, to commit to an eternity of all-consuming, reclusive violence with him. “I want to be with you. I want to be like you.”
His hands drifted down to your neck, his fingers digging into your pulse as he leaned in, his teeth grazing the half-healed wound he’d inflicted all those nights before. “I knew you’d make the right choice.”
#the godfather#michael corleone#michael corleone x reader#the godfather x reader#michael corleone imagine#michael corleone fanfic#the godfather imagine#the godfather fanfic
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i’ve been losing you (michael corleone x reader) [request]
summary: Michael is used to a lot of things. Losing’s not one of them.
warnings: angst
words: 1.0k
notes: loosely based on ive been losing you by aha, and yes i kno i kno. another songfic lol enjoy.
This was long overdue.
They were meant to be in each other’s path, but not for long. She knew that. No matter how well they got along in the old days, rejoicing in that youthful love full of energy and innocence, there would always come the time when their personalities eventually clashed too much to make it work. His reckless and cold mind could never comport her sensitive and careful one for long. Gosh, how many dinner arguments had to happen to spoil the mood for her to just accept it already?
There was nothing left to do with Michael Corleone. He ran an empire, yet was clueless on how to keep the woman he loved close. And a king who can’t love a queen is simply no such thing.
(y/n) takes a deep breath and raises her fist to knock on the door, but as soon as she tries to do so, it opens on its own, revealing a somewhat disturbed Michael. He has a serious, almost mad look on his face, although his entire countenance manages to be cordial. She smiles faintly as he lets her in, closing the door behind her gracefully.
The girl walked into his office and couldn’t help but notice how tidy everything was. Nothing out of place, not a single speck of dust on any furniture. Sometimes she wished at least something was there; it’d make the place feel less...
Michael’s.
“Nothing”, she said, looking away when he seemed to disapprove of her blatant lie. (y/n) added, “there is nothing wrong, we just... We need to talk.”
“You said you were staying at you mother’s”, he begins, hiding his hand in the front pockets of his pants. “What happened?”, his tone is stern, as ever, and she can’t help but contain a sigh. (y/n) clasped her hands over her stomach, feeling a little cool. She wasn’t exactly there for some hugging and cuddling, after all, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Noticing the shift in her behaviour, Michael murmurs, “(y/n)…”, and the girl turns to face him. He wore a white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His brown hair was brushed back, no unruly strands fell to the sides. He was so handsome and put together. How in the world did they even end up together in the first place? Michael’s eyes were a little concerned when he demanded, coming closer to her, “tell me what’s the matter.”
“About what?”, he gestures with one hand. “You’re making me worried”, she let out another deep sigh. This was going to be harder than she thought. Michael took an impatient step forward and gave her a questioning glance, lowering his eyes to her restless fingers. “Well?”
“I can’t do… this anymore”, she couldn’t face him, counting the scratches of the floorboards under her feet. “Us.”
There is a long silence before Michael speaks again. “(y/n)...”, he starts, closing the distance between them while gently taking her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. He placed a lingering kiss on her knuckles and she instantly flinched at the gesture, taking her hand back. He gave her a pained look. “What’s going on, darling?”
“Michael, please...”, she whispered, trying her best to maintain her composure. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”
“You’re leaving me?”, he rips the band-aid, and it sounds somehow even more painful when she hears it out loud. “Is that it?”, Michael insists, and she desperately looks for the emotions on his face only to find none.
This. This was what she couldn’t take anymore.
“I am”, (y/n)’s voice is final, as the lump on her throat takes a step back to give way for her assertiveness. That decision was made already, she merely wanted to let him know. “I know I’m hurting you, but you too know damn well there is no “us” anymore, Michael. There is only the family business, and I came to terms with it at last. I finally understood I can’t be part of this.”
“So, is that it?”, he repeats, but it’s clear he’s not looking for an answer. “You just wake up one day and decide to throw our family, our children, our love away? You just leave when it gets hard?”, he menacingly takes one more step closer, with almond eyes forcefully staring at the girl. “Is that it?!”, then it comes; the scream.
And the sound is so otherworldly coming from Michael’s mouth, (y/n) has to reassure herself of her surroundings for a moment, to truly know if this is reality. Then, after the silence, there is only his look of despair towards her. She knows him well enough to understand he is distressed but won’t allow himself to engage any further in that subject for now. He is too emotional about this. Perhaps that was why Michael kept away from her more and more every day. The Don wouldn’t have his heart dictating his actions, in business or in love, and the two were helplessly intertwined when it came to his life.
“I’m leaving”, she murmurs, holding her own body protectively. “You can visit the children whenever you want, we will be staying at my mother’s for the time being”, they exchange a piercing look. (y/n) avoids his eyes. “I love you, Michael, I truly do. But we both deserve better.”
“This isn’t over, (y/n)”, it’s all Michael lets out, while turning his back to light up a cigarette. He blows away the smoke and nods once, pointing to the door. “Go.”
She obeys him, because it’s so much easier to do so than to keep fighting. Before (y/n) leaves, she can’t help but think he would make her life a living hell. A shiver goes up her spine as the door shuts behind her. Michael Corleone may not be fit for a king, but he wasn’t a losing man either. She was painfully aware of that.
“God help us all”, she mumbles to herself, walking away from the Corleone mansion for the last time.
Or so she hoped.
#the godfather#michael corleone#al pacino#the godfather x reader#michael corleone x reader#al pacino x reader#the godfather imagine#michael corleone imagine
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More Than Business- Michael Corleone x Reader
PROMPT: The reader is from a different crime family and she thinks he’s only marrying her for connections but he actually loves her.
Thank you @21witnokidz for the prompt.
WARNINGS: None, other than pretty shitty writing. (My cousin and I wrote this when we were drunk. Seriously guys this story is disjointed and weird. Sorry)
WORD COUNT: 3967
There’s a moment where it hits you again; there it is that feeling of unease and formidable tension. It resurfaces in the silence, as you stare at Michael from across the room. You’re in his father’s office with him, he had whisked you away from the hectic party for a moment alone, a moment of brief intimacy.
It was ironic the party was being thrown for the both of you but between the questions from the nosy aunts, cousins, and uncles, you and Michael had barely seen each other. And now even with your absence the party still raged on outside. Lively chatter and laughter could be heard from behind the office door, it was accompanied by the slow strum of a guitar and the sweet serenade of Italian songs.
Michael’s family and your family had congregated at the Corleone house. They had come toghether for a celebration of great measure, an engagement party; your engagement. Michael had proposed to you three months ago but had only announced your engagement two weeks ago. So naturally, a party had been thrown. Nearly everyone who knew your family and the Corleone family had turned up.
Don Corleone's house was littered with family, friends, politicians, and those alike, all of whose faces were twisted into smiles of great elation. In the parlor, the women sat, forming a small mother’s club where they caught up on gossip and talked about their children.
Outside by the courtyard, the men congregated laughing as they took swigs of alcohol, downing drinks that they would definitely feel in the morning. And the kids were everywhere, they absolutely swarmed the place; you could only imagine what the rest of the Corleone house looked like.
It was a day of great joy… it was supposed to be. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to smile or even share the same level of excitement everybody had. It was your engagement party but you had never felt more restless and miserable.
Since the party had commenced a feeling of worry had been toiling in your stomach, which expanded the already deep chasm of doubt, that had managed to grow in size over the passing weeks.
What had started out as a silly afterthought, had now become a horrifying idea.
Is Michael using me?
In the last few months, a slew of thoughts had slipped their way into your subconscious, thoughts that made you question the intentions Michael had for asking for your hand in marriage.
Is Michael using me?
You shot a glance at Michael from your seat, retreating from your thoughts temporarily. He was by his father’s cabinet pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He noticed your prying gaze and met your eyes, he smiled at you warmly.
You smiled back, however, the smile didn’t reach your eyes. Instead, when you looked at Michael a pang of sadness hit you.
You fought the urge to frown as you thought back to the hushed business conversation Michael frequently had with your father after you had gotten engaged, you remembered the look of appraisal in his father, Vito’s, eyes when you were introduced to him as Michael’s fiancee. You remembered how surprised Tom looked when he registered your last name.
It had been right in front of you, all the signs were glaringly red.
Oh, God!
You tore your eyes away from Michael and looked down at your lap. In your lap sat your hands which you fiddled with uncontrollably.
How could I be so stupid? You thought bitterly. It all makes sense now.
Being the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in new york sometimes meant that men took interest in you for the wrong reasons. You also weren’t privy to your father’s business, which often attracted certain types of men.
You knew the ins and outs of your father’s business, the connections he had; connections that a family like Corleone’s would need.
Connections that Michael might need.
No, this can't be.
You swallowed the lump that had been forming in your throat, biting down on your trembling lip to stop the whimper escaping from your lip.
It can’t be…
It was a sickening thought really, that perhaps Michal wanted you for what you could offer and not who you were. Maybe the love between the both of you was synthetic on his part; a mere ruse to obtain financial and business opportunities.
That in itself was bad enough, however, the sting of being used didn’t hurt as much as the sting of not being loved. In your mind, if Michael did love you and was using you, you could tolerate it to some level because at least he loved you. But whether he loved was a question that hung in the air, like a foul stench.
Did Michael love you?
Did he not?
It was painful to think about. You never considered that you would have to think about Michael this way. When you began dating Michael, the idea had never crossed your mind.
Michael had just back from the war and had ended a relationship with a school teacher by the name of Kay, at the time you didn’t know he belonged to the Corleone family, he was very distant about his family.
After dating for a small amount of time you had found yourself utterly taken with him, practically obsessed. He was everything you longed for in a man. He was kind, gentle, and compassionate, he was also highly attractive which helped greatly. When he asked you to marry him you didn’t hesitate to say yes.
Now looking back on it maybe you shouldn’t have been so hasty.
If I had known I was to be a trading piece I would have-
“Y/n, what’s wrong? You’ve been really quiet.” Michael asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had been lingering between the two of you. His voice drew you from your thoughts and you looked up.
He was leering at you from his behind the desk, his face was a mixture of concern and curiosity. By now he had noticed the unease plastered on your face as well as the detachment you had from him. You had been silent for too long.
You looked at him, questioning whether it was wise to lie. Michael was rather receptive when it came to your emotions, he could notice the subtle changes in your mood. He would easily know if you were lying.
“Oh, it’s nothing, Michael.” You said as you shook your head. You opted to lie, knowing he wouldn’t press the matter further unless you gave him a reason to.
You straightened your shoulders and gave him your most convincing smile. “I’m just tired that’s all.” You chalked it down to fatigue, a plausible excuse, after all, today you had been very busy.
Michael nodded, and his eyes dropped from you momentarily. He placed his glass of scotch down on the desk and unloosened his tie. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” He asked. As he did so, he released an exasperated sigh.
Your eyes dropped from him, and you looked up to the ceiling. “Ummm, yes.”
No, Michael, I’m not. Are you marrying me for my family’s connections?
The thought fired past the many ones just like it in your head. But you merely ignored it. You sighed and looked away from the ceiling, looking back at Michael.
“How about you?” You said, trying to squash any feelings of doubt.
“Yes, though I didn’t get to talk with a lot of people as I was wrapped up in some things.” Michael walked away from the desk and sat on a chair at the other end of the room.
“However, I actually did manage to talk to your aunts though, rather they found me. We had some interesting conversations.” Michael laughed as he thought back to how your aunts had grilled him about whether big noses are a sign of good endowment in Italian culture.
“The women in your family are quite some characters!”
Michael’s voice filled the room as he continued to talk, he was more talkative than usual. He went on about the party. But his words were met with no replies, you weren’t really listening, you just nodded absent-mindedly at his comments. The bombardment of thoughts had already made it hard for you to hear.
Does he love me?
He says it all the time, but now I’m not sure.
But what else did I expect?
Of course, he’s marrying me for my father’s connections, do you think a girl like me would ever have a chance with a man like Michael if I didn’t have something to offer?
Your thoughts were spiteful and bitter, they pricked at you like a needle. They hurt you greatly but you couldn’t help but conjure them. You couldn’t help but believe they were true.
Your doubts continued as did Michael’s chatter, however unbeknownst to you, he had stopped talking a while ago. He had noticed that you were engorged by silence, this was the second time you had become unresponsive.
“Have you eaten?” Michael asked.
The question went over your head, you were too trapped in your thoughts.
“Y/n?” Michael’s voice suddenly peaked, having to have raised his voice for you to hear.
You jolted suddenly. “Pardon?” You met his gaze again.
“Did you eat? You said you were tired.” Michael was frowning now; it was a frown of concern.
You swallow hard. The room has suddenly become unbearably small as if it’s shrinking. You begin to feel unpleasantly warm.
I’m making a scene. Oh my god. He’s going to notice.
“I umm, I-. Look, Michael. I think I’m going to go home.” You avert your eyes from him after making your request.
You cringe the moment the request slips out of your mouth. It’s crazy, you know it is, it’s your engagement party, leaving would not only seem strange but raise more questions than you care to answer. But you just wanted to go home.
The environment of the party was suffocating, it was suffocating to be around Michael.
“Leave?” Michael questions. You don’t have to look up to know there's a look of confusion on his face, his tone says it all.
“I know it’s a bit early, but I really want to go home.” You say truthfully. “If that's fine with you, that is.” You add in a small whisper.
“No, no it’s fine.” Michael's face softens. “If you feel tired you should go home.” He sounds understanding, and its comforts you slightly.
“I’ll think of an excuse for your absence, but first let me get someone to drive you home, I would do it myself but we both can’t go missing.”
“What are you going to do by yourself?” You ask curiously as you rise from your chair preparing to leave. You feel partially guilty that you’re leaving Michael here alone, but you know it’s for the best until these feelings subside. You wonder if time apart will clear your head.
“I still have some people to talk to.” Michael stands up from his chair, he stretches before fixing his tie. Then he walks over to you, offering you his hand to help you up.
You smiled at him warmly and took his hand, uprooting yourself up from the chair. When you stood up he planted a small kiss on your cheek. It made your smile widen. It was your first genuine smile of the night.
You then looked at Michael, properly this time, taking in the features of his face. There were lines under his eyes, and his hair was a little ruffled. He was tired, very tired, and yet the smile on his face remained when he was around you, a smile of complete adoration.
Surely a man who was using you wouldn’t look at you that way? Could he?
With that thought, you felt guilty. Perhaps you were overreacting, after all these thoughts had come from nowhere, how could you judge Michael purely based on thoughts?
Maybe I am overreacting?
Michael cleared his throat. “Besides I still have things to talk to your father about that are business related.”
Upon hearing that the warmness of Michael’s previous gesture faded away, and the smile dropped from your face. You let go of Michael’s hand immediately. The thoughts came crashing in again at the mention of business and your father.
“You speak to my father a lot these days.” You said with a hint of irritation. The past feelings of sadness were replaced with those of slight anger.
Michael hadn’t seemed to notice the sudden change in your tone. “I have to.” He shrugged. “We have a lot of business to discuss.” He tried to reach for your hand to hold it again. But you kept them firmly to your side.
Your brows furrowed into a glare. “Business, business, hmm.” You snapped. “It’s all my father and you ever talk about!” The last sentence was particularly icy.
This time Michael caught onto the increase of snark in your voice. He looked at you carefully, he was quiet as he assessed the sudden coldness emitting from you before choosing to speak again.
“I suppose so? Your family and mine are working together now, so it only makes sense…” Michael was sure to tread carefully with his words.
“And you know, after we get married it will only continue,” He added.
Your eyes widened immediately, and your mouth fell open.
Oh no.
Michael’s words were practically an omission. In your mind, this was the nail in the coffin. The wave of sadness that hit you was immeasurable. Your worst fears had been confirmed. Michael was only marrying for your connections, he didn’t love you, and he never had.
You didn’t feel the tears streaming down your face until the second one reached your chin. “So you don’t love me?” Your voice cracked.
“What?” The question caught Michael off guard, and so did the tears. He blinked. “Y/n?” This is something he clearly hadn’t anticipated.
You drew a quivering breath, clearing the air that had been trapped in the back of your throat, once it was released everything slipped out.
“How could I be so stupid?” You sobbed.
“I knew that this marriage was beneficial to your family, you have so much to benefit from this, but I never thought you would-!” You were crying at an abnormally loud level. Tears were streaming down your face as you got choked up on your words.
All the while Michael was in a state of shock. He froze momentarily, this fluctuation in emotions had been so random.
“I know what my father does for a living, I’m not stupid, I know his connections are desirable to many people, including you.” Your voice lowered suddenly. The sudden rush of hysteria you had was wearing off, now you were just filled with dejection, complete and utter dejection.
“I know you don’t feel the same I do.” You sniffed quietly. “How could you?”
“After all, I'm just a business venture, a contract… And yet.” You shook your head, stifling a laugh. “I still love you, even if I know you don’t love me.”
It was ironic, funny, almost tragic. You knew Michael wasn’t marrying you out of love or sincerity but you could never stop loving him.
You laughed again. “What am I even saying?” You felt as if you had been rambling incoherently, spewing utter nonsense for what felt like forever, but once you had started you couldn’t stop.
“I’m so sorry.” You whispered. You slumped back into the chair, burying your face into your hands.
Michael had been silent for most of your tirade, dropped to his knees beside you. The realization had hit him. The silence, the melancholy, the distance you had been putting between the both of you, and the reason behind it were all so clear now.
She thinks that I'm marrying her for her connections.
He shook his head and exhaled. “Y/n.” He put his hand on your thigh, caressing it slowly. “I’m disappointed to hear that.” He said sadly.
“I’m sorry.” You sniffed.
“No, no, no.” Michael pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand. “I’m not disappointed in you.”
The disappointment Michael felt was not aimed at you but at himself. A deep shame wallowed in his chest after hearing your confession. He was ashamed that you felt that way, ashamed that he made you feel that way, and ashamed that he had failed to notice.
She thinks of herself as a business venture. Michael swallowed bitterly. His heart ran cold. His guts tangled into a knot. He felt sick. Michael’s mouth went dry as he analyzed you silently. A minute passed before he finally said something.
“Y/n will you please look at me.” He asked softly.
You shook your head, refusing to honor his request. You didn’t move an inch. You were too afraid to look up, deathly afraid to look at his face and whatever expression he had on. You wish he would just leave you to sob in the confines of his father’s office but you could still feel his presence by your chair and you knew he wasn’t going anywhere.
Michael sighed. He removed his hand from your thigh and placed it on your cheek. You shivered at his touch, but you still refused to look up.
“Do you really believe that I'm marrying you because of your father’s business connections?” Michael’s voice was at a whisper now.
“That’s why you’ve been so distant lately hmm?” He began to caress circles on your cheek. “You believe that I’m doing this strictly for business purposes.”
“And do you really believe that I don’t love you?” He said bitterly.
You cringed, slouching into your chair even more, you wished you could sink into the chaie and disappear. He sounded angry. You began to worry that this would lead to an argument, perhaps it hadn’t been the best to break down at this very moment.
But the next words from Michae’s mouth weren’t ones of anger in fact they sounded quite regretful.
“I’m sorry.” He said. “I’m really sorry.” There was great despair in his voice.
“I’ve made you feel as if you are nothing more than a trading piece.” Michael exhaled. He couldn’t remember a specific time or day he had behaved in a manner that made you feel less than, but he clearly had, and it had made you so insecure that you felt as if he didn’t love you.
“Y/n,” He said firmly. He knew he had to rectify the situation, he couldn’t have you believing that he didn’t love you. “My family business is important, but so are you.”
“I care about you.”
“I really do.”
He cares about me? You sniffed.
The level of sincerity was enough to lull you out of your state, but not enough to entirely draw you out. You weren’t fully convinced. He cared about you but did he love you? Did he love you as you loved him? Or was he lying merely to appease you?
Michael was a gentleman but being a businessman also meant he knew how to lie, and lie very well. You only hoped the latter was true. It had to be for your sake.
“You care about me?” You said slowly. Your face rose from your hands, you let out one final sniff, and exhaled, hoping to gain a bit of courage. “But do you love me?” You questioned. You had to know for sure.
“When we get married could you bring yourself to love me? And don’t lie to me.”
You felt your chest tighten as you looked at Michael who was still kneeling on the floor beside you. Your eyes met his, Michael’s eyes locked deeply into yours and you felt small under his gaze but you dared not to look away. Your breath hitched. You had never experienced a heart attack but you were sure this is what it felt like as you awaited his answer.
Michael examined you properly now as you sat up, you were still slightly hunched over in the chair and your hair was down, now ruffled and messy, it covered the right side of your face. Your eyes were puffy and red. The dim lighting of the room cast a shadow across you, heightening the expression of anticipation on your face and the look of worry, as well as dread.
Then Michael finally spoke. “Y/n, I don’t have to bring myself to love you, because I already do, connections be damned.”
“I’ve loved you for so long, even before I asked your father for your hand in marriage.” Michael took your hands from your lap and bought them up to his lips. He planted a small kiss on them.
You looked at Michael as your hands sat stalely in his. Michael held his breath as he watched you look into his eyes, he prayed that you would what you were looking for, what had always been there.
At that moment there was a mutual silence between the two of you. You searched Michael’s eyes for any hint of deceit or duplicity, you prowled for any signs that indicated he was lying, but you couldn’t find it.
In his eyes lay nothing but awe and adoration for you. The look on his face was one of passion and honesty. This wasn’t the face of a man who was lying, this was the face of a man who loved you.
"You really do care for me?' You said quietly. The way the words rolled off your tongue sounded as if you were trying to speak a foreign language. You sounded as if you still couldn’t believe it.
"I do." Michael nodded. "And, once again, I’m sorry that I made you doubt my feelings for you.” He apologized again.
“You want to marry me?” You perked up a little, the warmth was returning to your chest, and your heart rate had begun to still. “You really want to marry me?” You asked again as you squeezed Michael’s hand.
Michael smiled. “Do you think I am the kind of man who would make a commitment to a woman for the rest of my life if I didn’t feel anything for her?” He brushed the hair out of your face and placed it behind your ear.
“Y/n, my feelings for you extend past any business venture,” Michael stated as he leaned and kissed your forehead.
You couldn’t help but crack a small.
Michael loved you.
Michael loved you!
“Can you say that again?” You requested gingerly.
Michael stopped kneeling on the floor and stood up. “Say what?” He questioned, looking down at you.
“That you love me? Please?”
The verbal declaration of Michael’s love for you had washed away all your doubts and lingering worries. Hearing him say three simple words left you feeling euphoric, it felt exhilarating. You wanted to hear him say it again.
“I love you.” Said, Michael. “I’ll say it a thousand more times if you wish.” He smiled.
You nodded. “Yes, do it again.”
“I love you,”
“I love you,”
“I love you.”
Each time he said it, a different wave of joy hit you. You wiped what was left of the tears from your eyes and stood up. You leaned into Michael, burying your face into his chest. Michael wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly.
You felt safe in his arms, you felt happy, you felt loved. The feeling lasted all through the night, even when the both of you returned to the party and people asked why your eyes were so red. You didn’t really care though, Michael loved you, that’s all that mattered.
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This story was an ungodly level of long and cringe.
Anyways hope you enjoyed it.
#michael corleone x reader#michael corleone x oc#michael corleone imagine#the godfather#the godfather imagine#the godfather fanfic#the godfather x reader#al pacino#al pacino x reader#al Pacino imagine
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SANTINO LOVES YOU ♡ drabble + headcanons
sonny corleone x reader
Sonny was a frequent at the corner market your step father owned, collecting dues for paid protection and most of all, pestering you.
Please leave comments if you enjoyed!
Your eyes lifted from your book of poetry to the suspicious grocery patron as he stashed a blood orange into his pockets, holding a finger to his lips.
Shh.
The curly haired gangster maintained a subtle grin, pestering you further. That was enough. You stood from the cushiony saddle you rested upon and stomped furiously in Sonny's direction.
"Give it to me," You demanded with an extended hand.
"What? This?" The orange fell from his pocket and rested between his fingers. "You want this?"
Before you could snatch it back, he held the piece of fruit over your head like a cruel older brother.
"Oh, I don't think you're getting this back, sweet pea."
You maintained your dignity by refusing the jump for it, and instead took a different approach.
Your fingers crawled the length of Sonny's strong sides and lept to tickle Sonny's armpits while he still had his hand in the air.
He doubled over in laughter as you wrestled him for the orange. Soon the two of you were entwined in a fit of raucous laughter and giggles. A hastle that seemed nowhere near 89 cents.
"Quit it!"
"Sonny!"
Your step father's gut entered the room before he did. "Ay, Sonny."
The tackling immediately stopped, and the two of you brushed yourselves off, inching away from each other.
Finally Sonny broke the silence.
"Dunno why you bother paying my father; looks like she's got you covered," he shrugged with a grin.
---
headcanons
Your flirtatious affairs eventually turned into actual dates with Sonny knocking on your father's window with his jacket hung over his shoulder
"I'd like to see your daughter."
Within a few months you were one of the family.
You weren't completely oblivious to the family business, often pressing your ear to the door until Sonny caught you and shook you silly.
"C'mon what's'a matter with you?"
"But I can help!"
He rushes you away before explaining the situation: that it was unprecedented for women to be involved in the internal affairs of the Corleone family business.
Several months later after giving much thought to it, he began advocating for you're inclusion in the "family meetings" with full faith in your judgement
"She's a smart cookie, and she knows the trade well, her father owns a Bodega in Queens. They've got intel."
Vito took a liking to you as a young respectable woman, who wasn't afraid to put Sonny in his place.
Your conversations with him were pleasant and you loved hearing his stories about life back in the old country.
Needless to say, he was on board with this change.
A woman (non-italian at that) participating in male discussions was unprecedented. You challenged those norms and Sonny thought that was one of the sexiest things about you
"She may not have italian blood, but she has a strong italian heart, and thats good enough for me. Any questions?"
Any time clemenza tries to interrupt
"Woah, woah, woah- let 'er fucking finish first ya fuckin' jackass."
The two of you making fun of Carlo's flashy clothing at family dinners, which were almost weekly
"Would ya take a look at that fuckin' idiot. Cant believe hes marrying my sister," Sonny's hot breath whispered in your ear.
The two of you would be left in damn near tears of laughter.
"What's so funny?" Carlo would ask cluelessly.
Playing Gin rummy with the fellas and beating them almost every time.
Clemenza dropping his cards in disbelief
"That's my girl," Sonny smiles. "C'mere baby," as he smooches your forehead and cheeks.
With Sonny, every day was a beautiful miracle of joy, but when your father died a pit of sadness darkened your heart and your entire world went black.
He dried your tears with his hard thumb, looking down at you somberly
"Just let it out, honey. I'm here for ya. You're not alone, baby I'll never leave your side."
Looking up at him, hands entwined and sniffling a gentle smile
"It feels like my hands were meant to be held in yours, Sonny. I love you."
"I love you too, pumpkin."
Burying your nose into his chest and inhaling the musky fragrance of his Italian cologne and Cuban cigars.
'Poor butterfly by Sarah Vaughan playing softly on vinyl
Swaying with him to the music as he holds you closer to him. So close you could feel his heart beat to the rhythm
His lips caressing yours with loving tenderness
Monthly vacation to Sicily
Hanging over the edge of the balcony, allowing the straps of your satin nightgown to slip and fall from your shoulders
tipsy with old wine
He trails behind you, snaking a cool hand up your spine and holding your neck
Turning to face him and smiling like a mischievous child, tugging at his gold chain
"I want you to kiss me Sonny. Kiss me till I'm sick of it."
PLEASE COMMENT IF YOU ENJOYED :)
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Hiding in Sicily with Michael Corleone
#michael corleone#the godfather#michael corleone x reader#michael corleone imagine#the godfather imagine#the godfather x reader#al pacino#al pacino imagine#al pacino x reader#moodboard
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Fields of Gold.
pairing: Michael Corleone x Fem. Reader
word count: 1,290
warnings: implied nudity
summary: On a quiet morning during your holiday in Sicily, you wake to the ethereal beauty of the landscape before you and to your beloved Michael.
notes: I don’t know why I wrote this other than I love the scenery of Michael’s trip to Sicily and wanted to capture it within writing as best as I could. I hope this is decent, as I’ve never written for Michael Corleone before and probably will never do so again. I’ve had this knocking around in my drafts since May and decided it was high time I finished it up and posted. Enjoy.
The expansive Sicilian countryside stretched far and wide across your field of vision no matter which direction you faced. During the late summer months, dawn came early and, as the first slivers of sunlight began to peek beyond the sprawling horizon and warmed the skin of your face, you awoke to the realization that it must already be morning. At the first light of daybreak, your day had begun to take shape and the fading darkness was replaced with the swirling wisps of sunrise; pinks, oranges and bright yellows that reflected off the clouds and cast their glow onto the landscape below, bathing the fields and rolling hills in gold.
As time passed, the sun continued to climb higher into the clear sky, dispelling the darkness from the land below as day blended into night before your eyes. You watched the day take shape before you though the open windows on the far side of the room. The view did nothing less than take your breath away, as it always did each morning you rose to find yourself still in the same place and with the same thought still in your head: this must be what it felt like to wake among the clouds of heaven, surrounded by light and a sense that everything was good.
The scenery called to you, so enraptured with the beauty of the natural world were you that you sat up in bed and gazed out the open windows as the rest of Sicily began to follow your lead into the waking world. Everything the light touched felt within your grasp, at your fingertips that you brushed across every blade of grass and tree leaf like it were made of fine China that demanded your utmost care and gentle attention. This was the only world in which you knew what sunlight smelt like, though to put it into words was a different story. In fleeting, fanciful dreams, you imagined sunlight to smell like the pungent lemon groves of Italia, but here it smelled of heat and clean, open air after a good, hardy rain.
There was also the detection of citrus, laden on the moisture-heavy breeze that blew lazily in through the open window and billowed the stark white curtains which hung elegantly and with purpose from the rod. The bowl of oranges you’d picked the day before rested on the windowsill and you inhaled the aromatic tartness of the overripe fruit.
Golden light surrounded you. The rose-colored walls were honeyed with the rich glow the morning sunshine cast upon them, as was your bare skin that peeked beyond the rich linens that shielded your modesty. Your body felt as if it were wrapped up in silk and there was the strong possibility that it was, but your mind did not travel there.
You wouldn’t have believed it before having seen it with your own eyes, but now you couldn’t deny what was true: the ethereal beauty of the Sicilian landscape was far beyond your capabilities of understanding. All you knew for sure was what was and was not; your fluttering heartbeat and the warm body sleeping peacefully next to you were the only things which defined reality for you. If it were not for that, at least, it was most certain you were no longer among the realm of the living.
How serene it was to watch the sun rise with not a care in the world to where else you could have been for the moment. You wouldn’t have traded it for all the gold in the world. You longed to begin every day in this same fashion, to join the waking world by watching dawn break and the city slowly come alive.
Your favorite time of day was this, though no matter how beautiful or how much you wished you’d had someone to share it with, you wouldn’t dare to awaken your slumbering lover. Unbeknownst to him, the rising sun had relieved the moon of its dutiful guard as night bled into day and the warm rays bathed him in their regal majesty.
You watched him reverently, his chest rising and falling intermittently with every intake of breath and expulsion of air from his lungs. The white silk sheets pooled against his waist, an almost perfectly aligned extension of his body, highlighted by the alabaster of his skin. His nude form was impeccably chiseled; a replica of a clothing-less model in the likeness of any ancient Roman sculpture.
The sable blackness of his hair, devoid of any such styling or gel, fanned out against the plush pillow beneath his head. He had let it grow out a bit for the duration of your holiday and you reveled in the thickness of it and the silken feel of it rippling through your fingers like ink in water.
Michael, the youngest of the Corleone siblings, had a certain undeniably boyish look to him even as a grown man. You appreciated both his appearance and the man underneath, spellbound by him despite his quiet, soft-spoken nature. This was subject to change, of course, but Michael was a force to be reckoned with; he did not need to shout or lose his temper to convey how he felt and what was most important to him. That was one of the most compelling things about the man, you felt, because Michael was a serious man that even moreserious men felt a heavy respect for.
Michael had grown into a bright and handsome young man, and of all the Corleone siblings, he most closely resembled his father in both intelligence and personality. Even though he was young, Michael’s experiences with the world were those of a man beyond his years and you knew he preferred the quiet, decidedly liking it better that way, but there was something calling him; it was in his blood. At first, he had run from it, though soon had he changed course and that brought him closer to what he ultimately knew was laid out for him long before he left for Sicily.
Your musings halted and your dreamland-haze disintegrated like sandcastles washed out by the tide as you heard a soft grunt come from him and he shifted towards you, reaching arms seeking your warm body in the large bed. You sank into the bed linens, encased within his strong arms and the sheets warmed by your shared body heat.
You laid perfectly still in his embrace and closed your eyes, the imaginings of what it would be like to lay so stilland for so long until ivy tendrils crawled across your body and flowers bloomed upon your skin. You envisioned the petals kissing your flesh, a rapt understanding now crossing your visage of why you spent so much time trying to put that feeling into words. You had never needed to before, but recognition rippled through your mind like it was a pebble having been tossed into a great pool: you were in love.
You felt as though you hadn’t moved in years; Michael made you come alive and tore away the constraints on your soul like clearing ivy off a sculpture in a neglected garden, hidden for so long its existence had been forgotten until such a lucky one had come along and revealed its beauty to the world once more.
When Michael finally opened his eyes, he did not open them to the ethereal beauty of the Sicilian landscape that so called to him, but to you. His dark, impassive eyes transformed into an inviting amber in the sunlight and he cupped your cheeks within his large hands and pressed his lips to yours in a silent ‘good morning’.
Dawn was here and so was your Michael.
#the godfather x reader#the godfather imagine#the godfather part ii#the godfather#michael corleone x you#michael corleone fanfic#michael corleone imagine#michael corleone x reader#michael corleone#al pacino#biblio :: 📖
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HCs Fredo Corleone comforting his s/o after a bad day
Request: Whenever you're free, could I possibly get an imagine (or HCs whichever you're comfy with) of Fredo comforting his s/o after she has a bad day? Thanks, love. 💙 -Lulu
oh! he is one sweet angel, because he knows what it is like to have a really bad day
after you would come home from work, Fredo is still away because, you know, family business
so you went straight to your bedroom, and sit on the edge of bed
you felt so horrible and tired that you didn't have energy to change your clothes, go to shower or eat
you were just sitting there when you heard the sound of opening and closing doors which meant that Fredo just came home
"I'm home, love!" he called but no answer came, which was weird, because he knew you were already home and you always answer
after he checked all the rooms, he went straight to your shared room, where he finally found you in very poor state
he jumped to you and pulled you in hug— needless to say Fredo already knew that something was wrong
"Bad day, huh? Don't worry. I'm here."
you wrapped your arms around his neck and the hug was tightened
"You gonna tell me now, or later. I'm perfectly fine with both." he gave you a kiss into your hair and you weakly smiled
"The boss acted like a total douchebag today. Not only today. He's always so rude to me. I think I've had enough. I can't stand it anymore." with tears already formed in your eyes you said and sobbed quietly into your boyfriend's shoulder
"Ah sweetheart. I'm so sorry. You should have told me...We would figure it out together. Well, we still can, you know." he started rubbing your back
you could swear you almost purred, because it felt so good
"Did you eat?"
"Too tired to eat."
"We will start with something light and I'm pretty sure you won't turn me down when I say I'm making tonight's dinner."
you giggled— Fredo knew his ways to your heart
then you finally looked at him you saw his worried eyes full of love
"I like that idea. Thank you.."
he softly kissed you and suddenly the world got brighter
"It's just a bad day. You are gonna be fine. I'm here for you."
#the godfather#the godfather x reader#the godfather imagine#fredo corleone imagine#fredo corleone x reader#corleone#fredo corleone#john cazale#headcanons#fredo corleone headcanons
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Danny finds out hes a clone/ adopted, and instead of processing that like a normal person he decides, "Well its not like they can find me so imma mess with my bio parent(s) while venting my frustrations. Two birds with one stone."
Hence (hero or villian of your choice) begins receiving letters via untraceable magic of him telling them he's thier clone/son and just telling them about his day/past adventures.
Unfortunately most of his adventures are horrifying and the person is desperately scrambling to find thier dumb (possibly undead) child and rescue them.
It probably doesn't help that Danny only signs his name as Phantom and is careful not to give clues to his location.
#dp x dc#fanfiction prompts#danny phantom#danny fenton#prompts#dc#danny phantom x dc#dc x dp au#this should be fun#danny casually writing about skulker wanting to skin him alive and mount him on the wall like a deer head#and about his creepy godfather who has a secret torture dungeon to *break him* if he were to ever get custody#imagine a rogue tearfully coming to batman#doesnt even need to be a gotham baddie
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Snape fandom. I have something to say.
I just realized we don't get enough of alive au severus and Scorpius!
EVERYONE! SEVERUS IS LITERALLY DRACO'S GODFATHER AND FATHER FIGURE!!
ARE YOU GONNA TELL ME SCORPIUS WOULDN'T ADORE SEVERUS (he's alive. He's not dead) AND CALL HIM GRANDPA?!
We 👏need 👏this 👏content.
We need the fanart, we need the headcanons, we need EVERYTHING.
#harry potter#severus snape#harry potter fandom#random idea#hp fandom#hp hcs#hp headcanon#hp#harry potter hc#harry potter imagine#hp imagine#harry potter ideas#scorpius#scorpius malfoy#harry potter headcanon#godfather severus snape#severus godfather#severussnape#severitus#severus#snape fandom#godfather! snape#pro snape#snape#severus would love scorpius
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“I’ve been living off rats mostly. Can’t steal too much food from
Hogsmeade; I’d draw attention to myself.”
He grinned up at Harry, but Harry returned the grin only
reluctantly.
“What’re you doing here, Sirius?” he said.
“Fulfilling my duty as godfather,” said Sirius.
never forget
#“Poor old Snuffles#He must really like you Harry#Imagine having to live off rats.”#sirius black#harry potter#good godfather sirius black#wanna say something about r but i shant
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One of Those Nights (Sonny Corleone x Reader)
Summary: You’re Sonny and Sandra’s go-to babysitter, and when Sandra’s out of town for the weekend, Sonny needs all the help he can get.
Note: College-aged female reader, but no other descriptors are used. I listened to Donna Summer while writing this lol. Anyway, my first Godfather reader-insert fic! Do not interact if you're under 18, a terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 1.8k
Warnings: Implied age gap, power imbalance, cheating. Sexually explicit content involving unprotected sex and Sonny's canonically huge cock. A little bit of praise kink. Do not interact if you're under 18.
Your eyes fluttered open from your half-asleep stupor at the sound of the front door’s locks clicking. Sitting up on the couch, you quickly smoothed out your blouse and skirt. You just barely made it into the kitchen when Sonny got in.
“Sorry I’m back so late. I wanted to be home to put the kids to bed—“
You shook your head, smiling. “It’s fine, Mr. Corleone. Frank and the twins are already asleep. There’s some sausage with peppers and onions in the icebox if you haven’t eaten. I can heat it up quick on the stove for you.”
“Jesus, you’re already doin’ us a favor staying the weekend while Sandra’s outta town,” he said, shedding his tie and undoing the first few buttons of his shirt. “And how many times do I gotta tell you, you can call me Sonny.” He playfully pinched your cheek. “I’m not that old yet, am I?”
“No,” you giggled. “Sorry, Sonny.”
The kitchen's layout was almost second-nature to you at that point, having done plenty of cooking for Sonny and Sandra's sweet kids when you babysat them. You grabbed a frying pan, setting it on the stovetop and pouring in a few drops of olive oil before turning on the flame. By the time you got the plate you saved for Sonny out of the refrigerator, the oil was sizzling, and the scent of sweet peppers and onions filled the kitchen again when you’d scraped the contents of the plate into the pan.
Sonny was quiet behind you, save for him tapping his freshly lit cigarette against the porcelain ashtray on the kitchen table. You knew the sound well. His gaze burned through your back to your rapidly beating heart as you became increasingly aware that you were alone with him, the man who you lusted after in quiet guilt, because he was married and you were his children’s babysitter, for Christsake.
After a few minutes, the sausage with peppers and onions appeared thoroughly reheated, and you transferred the meal back onto the plate. You grabbed a nearby loaf of crusty bread, cutting a piece for him and placing it with the rest of the food.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” Sonny said, grabbing the plate from the counter.
“Anytime.”
You returned to the living room, tuning the radio to the station that was broadcasting Lights Out, a late night horror show that always sucked you in no matter how hard you tried to remind yourself it was only a radio story. At least it’d get your mind off of Sonny, out of the gutter–or into a different one at least. You sat on the couch, fidgeting with your hands as you let yourself get lost in the host’s voice as he told the latest tale of terror.
You nearly screamed when Sonny appeared in the living room with his plate of food and asked, “You listen to this garbage?”
“It usually scares me into staying awake.”
He snickered to himself, taking the spot on the couch next to you. “For what?”
“My roommates and I play it in the dorm during finals to keep us up when coffee doesn’t cut it.”
“How’s college goin’ anyway? Straight As, right?”
“I made the dean’s list last semester.”
He shook his head. “Smart and beautiful, whatever lucky guy ends up with you is gonna have his hands full.” He glanced at your chest, his eyes lingering on your breasts for a moment before going back to his food. “Your cooking might be a little better than San’s. Don’t tell her I said that.”
You smiled, keening at his compliment. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“You didn’t have to stay up for me, you know.”
“I know, but I wanted to.”
“Why’s that?”
You faltered. “I just wanted to see you.”
He smiled, amused by your answer. “You’re sweet. Gonna give me a toothache if you keep that up.”
“Is that so bad?”
Sonny shook his head as he set his plate down on the coffee table. “‘Course not.” He got up to turn the radio off, the sound of his voice engulfing you in a warm haze, “Don’t get a chance to be alone with you enough.” He placed his hand on your knee when he sat back down, rubbing his thumb against your stocking-clad leg, the feeling frustratingly electric as the thin fabric was all that lay between the skin-on-skin contact you craved from him.
Your lips parted, trying to conjure up a response, but only managing a shaky breath and a weak nod of agreement.
“We don’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna do, doll,” he whispered, his voice low.
“I want you, Sonny,” you assured him.
He kissed you with a passion you swore only existed in movies, not the hesitant or sloppy handling you’d experienced from past boyfriends, but the certainty of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. Heat rushed over your skin at the confirmation that he wanted you, his hands on your body, sliding up your skirt as he grabbed your ass, pulling you closer to him so that you were practically straddling his lap. You steadied yourself on his biceps, giving them a squeeze, letting yourself feel him, acknowledge your desire for him that had been latent until then.
You moaned into his mouth, his tongue capturing the sound, claiming your expression of desire as his. And who else would it be for? You’d always found him handsome and charismatic, always were a bit too curious about what was behind each vaguely flirtatious comment or sly wink he’d send your way when no one else was looking.
“Sonny, where–where should we–”
“We can do it out here, but you gotta be quiet. You can do that for me, right?”
You nodded eagerly.
Hunger glistened in his dark eyes as he smiled wolfishly. “Attagirl.”
A whimper escaped your lips at his praise, the way he made you feel naked with just his gaze. You unbuttoned your blouse, letting it slip from your arms and tossing it aside onto the floor. Sonny pulled you onto his lap, burying his face in the crook of your neck while he kneaded your breasts through your bra. Soon, that wasn’t enough, and he pulled them from the cups, his hands on your soft skin as he squeezed. His thumbs brushed over your nipples. You gasped. You wanted his hands on you like that all the time, had imagined–secretly hoped, even–that he’d do it one day while you were in the kitchen or in the narrow hallway to the bedrooms, that he’d grope you, kiss you, do something to make you stop feeling so crazy about him. In that moment you realized getting what you wished for only made you want him more.
His lips burned deliciously against your skin, and you groaned at the gentle bites he left on your neck and shoulders. You rocked your hips against his, feeling his hard cock straining through his pants, desperate for more friction against your pussy.
“You feel that? You feel what you do to me?” he murmured against your tender skin.
“I need you,” you whined. “Please, Sonny.”
“Alright, doll. Lay back for me, alright?”
You did as he asked, shifting off of his lap to lie back on the couch. You watched intently, hungrily, as he unbuckled his belt, pulling his cock free from his pants, slowly pumping his length in his hand. You nearly choked. Sandra had made jokes about Sonny’s size before, ones that made your face heat up in embarrassment at her talking so crudely about him, but you’d always thought she was exaggerating.
“Oh my god,” you breathed, silently wondering if he could even fit inside you, an almost morbid curiosity only further fueling your desire.
A tender concern spread across his face as he searched yours for any sign of hesitation. “You sure you’re alright with this?”
You nodded. “I’ve wanted you in a bad way for so long.”
“How bad?” he asked, his voice husky and low.
Your lips nearly touched his as you whispered your answer. “Shameful.”
He kissed you again, this time with an intensity that nearly knocked the wind out of you. His fingers dug into the waistband of your panties and stockings, pulling them down so you could kick them off, ending up with one leg hanging off of the couch, exposing your wet pussy for him. You buried your fingers into his hair, the kiss desperate and wanton, your mouth open for him in a soft gasp as his pushed his tip inside you.
It wasn’t enough, the primal part of your brain screamed. You needed more. Digging your nails into his scalp, you lifted your hips, taking more of him in you.
“Don’t hold back, Sonny. I can take it,” you said.
He licked his lips, staring at you for a split second before determining you meant what you said. He filled you, your pussy clenching around his cock as he thrust into you, finding a rhythm that would’ve been painful if you weren’t already wet for him.
“Y’know, I used to get off thinkin’ about this,” he grunted, “bending you over the kitchen counter or up against the bathroom door.”
“Sonny–I–”
“You know how long I’ve wanted you? Now I’ve got my pretty college girl coming apart for me.”
“Oh my god–fuck–Sonny–” Your heart was pounding in your ears, eyes struggling to stay open as his thrusts became deeper, more erratic. He was close, his cock twitching inside you, hitting that spot you’d only ever reached with your fingers before. No faking it, no having to do the heavy lifting yourself.
He had to put his hand over your mouth when it hit you, white hot pleasure bursting in your brain, pulsing through your pussy as you grabbed at him, digging your fingers into his arms to ground yourself, feeling as though you’d lose control of your body otherwise. Your moans were muffled, incoherent nonsense as he fucked you through your climax to reach his. With another hard thrust, he came inside you. Overwhelmed by the sensation, your hips bucked and your pussy clenched hard around him, milking his cock as he came.
“Look at you, takin’ it all–fuck–” Sonny hissed out through gritted teeth, trying to maintain what little self-control he had as to not make too much noise. “So fuckin’ good for me–”
You whined at that, your overstimulated, fucked-out brain going into overdrive. You wanted to be good for him. You were good for him.
You weren’t sure when it got so still, so quiet, but the only sound in the room was your and Sonny’s heavy breathing. He pulled out of you, your pussy feeling achingly empty. You looked at the ceiling, mildly aware of Sonny staring at you.
“How're you feeling? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked.
“I’ll be lucky if I can walk tomorrow,” you said breathlessly. “But that was great. Really I–I don’t know what else to say.”
He caressed your cheek, bringing your attention back to him. “I’m gonna get you a towel, alright, sweetheart?”
You nodded, smiling a bit when he kissed your forehead before disappearing down the hall to the bathroom. And there were still two whole days left before Sandra got back. You smiled wider.
#sonny corleone x reader#sonny corleone#the godfather#the godfather x reader#the godfather imagine#the godfather fanfic#sonny corleone imagine#sonny corleone fanfic
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eu te amo agora (sonny corleone x reader)
summary: Love truly didn’t make sense. (y/n) would know.
warnings: angst, cheating, light fluff
words: 1.0k
notes: yes, another songfic. it rocks what can i do. based on agora by alice caymmi.
Don’t wait for him to come back. There are fifty holes on his skin and no life in his eyes.
(y/n) prefers to tell herself every day Santino’s gone because the thought of his death is somewhat more bearable than his willing distance. And he was in the wrong! Yet, she was the one who hurt the most. (y/n) couldn’t look at him. Now he had a family of his own, and it was criminal the way his orbs shone with love towards his children. The worst part was she had no place in his life, not anymore. That meant having no right to feel betrayed by how happy he looked. She was now but a memory, forgotten in the back of his mind.
“Sauce?”, inquires Carmela, causing the girl to blink at her. She had been in her own head most of the time, it seemed. The food looked delicious, though, and so she beamed back at the woman in silence. But Carmela was no fool. She knew (y/n) ever since she was a baby. “What’s on your mind, my dear?”
A sigh escapes her lips. “I’ve been working a lot, that’s all.”
“Yeah?”, Carmela hums and chuckles softly, serving (y/n)’s plate. “It sounds like your heart has been working quite a lot, too. If you don’t mind me saying.”
(y/n) snorts. She really knew her like no one else. “It doesn’t matter now.”
Carmela was aware of her and Sonny’s brief affair before he got married. She was a very attentive woman, especially towards her children. And instead of judging either of them, she kept to herself and subtly tried to amend things between her son and the girl. (y/n) was like family, after all, and it would help no one to feed any animosity at home. It was so hard, however, to pretend like nothing was ever happening when her heart broke into a thousand pieces every time Santino and his wife exchanged normal couple affection.
“Oh, but it does”, Carmela murmurs, still with her voice as light as a feather. She gives Sonny a look from across the room. He’s talking to Tom about sports, gesticulating and laughing out loud. His presence is intoxicating. (y/n) feels sick. “Look at him. He’s a better actor than you.”
She almost chokes on her drink, but puts herself together quickly. “What?”, she scoffs, completely incredulous. Sure, Carmela knew about it and (y/n) knew she knew about it, but the comment was bold even for her. His mother had never been so direct. Still a bit stunned, the girl adds, “you’re seeing things, Carmela.”
“I put that boy into this world, honey”, she says smugly, then gives her a knowing smile. “And there’s no need to be shy around me, I’d take you over his wife any day.”
(y/n) couldn’t help but snicker, causing a few eyes to land on her, including Santino’s. She wasn’t one to draw attention to herself, after all. Her cheeks burned and she turned to Carmela, ignoring the surprise on Sonny’s face to see her actually do something while in his house. His orbs on her figure felt like hot stones coming in contact with her skin. He wasn’t a discreet man, and she cursed silently for that fact. The next thing she knew, someone had taken a seat at her side.
(y/n) couldn’t bring herself to turn and face him, and then came his voice, deep and full of playfulness. “Don’t be rude now, doll.”
Damn him. She gives Carmela a look as if asking for help to deal with the situation, but the woman quietly gets up and leaves them alone at the table. Despite loving her like a mother, (y/n) hated her guts at that very moment. She had no choice but to turn towards Santino, who waited for her with a loose smile on his perfect features. Their eyes meet and for a split second, it’s like the very first time they met at that small family gathering for Connie’s graduation. Except it wasn’t, it never would be, not with his children playing in the backyard while his wife cooked with Carmela in the kitchen behind them.
“Santino”, she gives him a small but polite nod.
He raises his brows, amused by her response. “So formal.”
“Stop, Sonny”, (y/n) begs in a whisper, looking down at the table as she tries to recompose herself. But Sonny, ever the rebel, grabs her chin between his index and thumb delicately, making her stare back at him. She feels her face on fire again. “Sonny.”
“Every time I see you, you’re more beautiful than before, I swear to God”, he blurts out, his eyes unblinking and intense. Her knees are weak and she’s relieved to be seated right now. His words go like daggers through her heart. And he knows it. There’s pain in his voice, too. “You know I want you, doll. I always will.”
“I hate you”, she grits her teeth, holding his gaze with anger. Her eyes are filled with tears, but they don’t fall. Not anymore. “So much.”
He smiles slightly, but it’s a sad smile. Bitter. “I wish it could’ve been different. I really do.”
“It doesn’t matter now”, she repeats, yet it sounds more and more like she’s trying to convince herself.
Santino touches her hair hesitantly, probably sensing she’s gonna back away. She doesn’t. (y/n) doesn’t have it in her anymore to run away from him. He coos, his husky voice sending shivers down her spine, “it does, because I know I love you now.”
(y/n) doesn’t have a chance to process his words when Carmela comes back with his wife, both of them carrying trays. They set them on the table and everyone takes a seat. She didn’t even see when Sonny let go of her hair and turned forward, serving himself and teasing Tom about something. They laugh like nothing happened, which technically, it didn’t. Not to them. But her heartbeat felt like that of a captive bird’s. She ate quietly, Santino’s confession eating up her insides similar to acid. Love truly didn’t make sense.
(y/n) would know.
#the godfather#sonny corleone#james caan#the godfather x reader#sonny corleone x reader#the godfather imagine#sonny corleone imagine
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Can you do a corleone family favourite movie headcanon?
This is so random😭 but I got you. (I didn't take this very seriously. I'm sorry)
Vito Corleone: His old ass unironically really enjoys this movie. His grandkids probably made him watch it, and he immediately liked the story and the music.
Carmela Corleone: Likes the story and the music and is a sucker for romantic movies. She's also a fan of Meryl Streep (has watched all her movies).
Sonny Corleone: Fucking loves this movie! (Has seen all three movies) Forces everybody he knows to watch it. His goofy ass is also the type to watch the movie once and think boxing is easy.
Tom Hagen: Tom likes to watch this movie in his free time. (cries every time)
Connie: Her marriage is in shambles so likes to watch a movie that resembles her life (but make it a musical💀) Also really likes dramatic shit.
Fredo: Lives vicariously through the characters. The movie helps him escape the sad reality of being the family's disappointment.
Michael: Michael's goofy ass watches this movie alone in his room with the lights turned off.
#the god father#the godfather imagine#the godfather fanfic#the godfather part ii#the godfather part 2#corleone family#michael corleone#vito corleone#fredo corleone#sonny corleone#connie corleone#tom hagen#al pacino movies#al pacino#this is stupid im sorry
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fully believe sirius hated the nickname Siri for a number of reasons starting with ‘it sounds ridiculous’ and ending with ‘Reg used to call him that when they were kids’ and that’s why James always went for Si instead.
except, except no one accounted for tiny bite sized harry james potter wrapping his entire hand around Sirius’ pinky, going ‘Siwi, Siwi, Siwi, pway?’ and stealing his entire heart and soul in one fell swoop.
why was he ever even opposed to it anyway?
#sirius black#harry potter#good godfather sirius black#harry is and always will be the exception t everything in sirius’ life#just as his father is and was before him#except harry is his CHILD so he gets more leeway#practically all the leeway in the world#sirius is so obsessed w his kid he will put up with anything#including previously considered cringy names#because his godson calling him siri? sweeter than the most melodious song in the world#no one else is allowed still of course but for harry? there never was a restriction in the first place#hahaha also imagining harry growing up and calling him siri in front of someone who knew sirius in school#and finding out he’s actually hated the nickname all the time#and being like ???? why would u ????#(kudos if he finds out about the w reg association and becomes horrified)#and sirius is just. so unbothered.#like yah so?#and harry just doesn’t get it#‘harry you’re my baby of course u can call me what u want’#harry is ofc promptly embarrassed but managed to get out a ‘even if i say ur ancient?’#sirius immediately jinxes his hair purple#but the matter is considered resolved#harry never takes it for granted again tho#pen’s notes
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Wine-colored days warmed by the sun
Deep velvet nights when we are one.
"Speak Softly Love" by Andy Williams - Love theme from "The Godfather" (1972)
Imagine if you were the wife of Michael Corleone
#the godfather#michael corleone#imagine#y/n#michael corleone x reader#x reader#aesthetic#dark feminine aesthetic#al pacino#feminine aesthetic#dark feminine energy#dark femininity#dark femme#dark femenine#fem reader#wife reader#mob wife aesthetic#mob wives
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An unpopular hinny opinion?
You know what's funny? I have like fifty different takes I could give you, but I'm going to go with something that's been living rent free in my head since I wrote Harry and Ginny's reunion.
.
I believe in the first months after the war, Harry wouldn't be particularly fond of Ginny's friendship with Neville, I believe he would be jealous (not because he would actually have anything to worry about of course). I don't think it's something that would ever become a problem, but if during those months someone had asked Harry if he wanted to hex Neville, he would've waited a second before saying "no".
But this opinion of mine is based on what?
Neville, like Luna, has always been closer to Ginny than Harry, this is not a mystery. I've always found very telling for example how in OotP, Neville and Luna get involved in the Ministry business because of Ginny, in contrast, Ron and Hermione get involved because of Harry. Harry goes because of Sirius, and Ginny underlines how she wants to go because of Sirius. It's a very significant moment that defines the dynamics we'll see again in DH.
Neville's closeness to Ginny is also remarked by Ginny being the one reminding James to say "hi" to Neville in the epilogue.
The thing is though: while Neville and Ginny are friends, they aren't close enough in the first six books to justify Neville being Albus' godfather. So, of course, the experience that would explain Neville being appointed that role is Neville and Ginny's year leading the rebellion at Hogwarts (also in the perspective that an epilogue should be justified by the previously told story). This means that Harry left Ginny and Neville's relationship before the hunt as a good friendship and came back to a much closer bond. From Harry's perspective, it's a bit like it happened in a second. In a way, to him, it's unjustified, and therefore on some level menacing.
Now, this is the premise, but there are other elements.
Neville had already been once a potential love interest for Ginny: when they went to the Yule Ball together. A date for Ginny that was carefully chosen by the author to not trigger any reviling feelings for Ginny in Harry. Neville at the time was someone Harry considered a loser, in no way a potential threat. And yet even back then, Harry's first worry, after he started dancing, was making sure Ginny was having a terrible time with Neville (lol). [I'm not saying Harry was in love with Ginny, but the first two books already establish a subconscious attraction towards Ginny]
After the war though, Neville is a war hero, and someone Harry has already recognised as valuable.
Plus, the idea that Neville was smart enough to ask Ginny to be his date goes to touch one of Harry's great regrets: not having noticed Ginny earlier.
With this am I saying that Harry doubts Ginny's love for him? No.
But the immediate post-war period is a very emotionally fragile one.
The simple fact that Neville and Ginny were involved in a dangerous situation together at Hogwarts is already potentially quite annoying to Harry. Not only is Harry used to being involved in anything dangerous that happens at Hogwarts, and not being part of this one thing would increase a sense of exclusion, but once Harry makes his peace with how in danger Ginny was during the war, the fact that Neville was there to protect her and he wasn't would annoy the hell out of him (he would also be grateful to Neville but that comes later). Harry's one priority in life is Ginny's safety and it's also a way in which he channels his love for her. I know it's a bit of a toxic male take, but I do think realistically Harry would live Neville's ability to be there for Ginny as a sort of "invasion of territory", protecting Ginny is his thing, during the war, it was the only way he had left to love her. The breakup is after all Harry's way of brainwashing himself into thinking that will keep Ginny safe.
Again, Harry would be aware that Ginny doesn't have romantic feelings for Neville, but sometimes a bit of jealousy can't be helped. Harry is possessive of Ginny, not in a toxic way, but let's put it this way: he's definitely on the spectrum's opposite side of a person who would want an open relationship.
I'm also quite sure that Ginny being someone any breathing creature drools after doesn't help to convince Harry Neville does not have feelings for her.
To summarise, the factors that would feed into Harry's jealousy would be a sense of inadequacy and a sense of exclusion from Ginny's life that he already displays in the sixth book. What originally started to trigger Harry's feelings for Ginny was the annoyance of not being a constant part of her life and the worry she was choosing someone else over him after years of subconsciously taking for granted she would never do that (any possible love interest of Ginny is never shown in a good romantic dynamic with Ginny until Dean, until Harry can be jealous because the story is ready for him to be).
#Imagine if#Harry chose to name his son after Snape because Ginny wanted Neville to be the godfather and Snape hated Neville#lol#ginny weasley#harry potter#harry x ginny#hinny
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