#gothicwidow

“It’s not that you look different. I just don’t think Aoife will like it.” The y/h/c young woman mumbled, sneaking up behind the man to wrap her arms around his torso. The mention of the little girl caused Anthony to let out a throaty chuckle. He’d never envisioned himself as a father at this point in his life, and yet he wouldn’t trade it for the world. Aoife was the definition of an oops baby. An accident, a very happy accident but an accident none the less.

“I don’t think it’s Aoife that will miss it” the man hummed, running the back of his hand against his wife’s bare arm. Shaving foam evident on his palm.

“I don’t know what you mean?” Y/N responded, eyebrows furrowed catching Anthony’s eyes in the mirror as she tilted her head in mock confusion. Her chin almost dislodged from its place in the man’s shoulder as he moved forward to dip his hands in the Luke warm water in the sink, before quickly drying them once it became evident his wife was not going to be a silent witness.

Turning swiftly to trap the y/h woman between his arms, the dark haired man’s boyish grin returned. “I think it’s Mammy that’s going to miss it and she just won’t admit it.” He whispered. His head ducking down, voice low and gravelly. The heat from his words brushing against Y/N’s y/s/c neck. His lips placing chase kisses to the exposed skin in front of him. It felt like a game. Every calculated peck hunting down a deliciously breathy gasp, one he could always draw out of her in their most intimate moments. Anthony wanted to hear Y/N’s breath hitch because of his actions. He wanted to feel her grip at his forearms, to witness her trying to anchor herself before she got lost in a wave of pleasure. He revelled in the ability to silence her with affection.

Trying to suppress the shiver, Y/N let out a shaky breath. All she could smell was Anthony. His cologne clinging to his pale skin was so apparent, so intoxicating. The scent was indescribable and yet at the same time so distinguishably Anthony.

“I mean it took you two months to grow it… is it so evil of me to say I’d miss it just a little?”

“Not evil at all love.” The Belfast born man replied lazily, his walnut eyes darkening slightly as he drank in her figure.

She wasn’t wearing anything particularly arousing. Just a tight navy blue tank top, grey joggers his wife had no doubt stolen from him at some point and mismatched ankle socks. It was a domestic sight, Y/N smelled like black opium and the new midnight lily laundry pods she had bought. Her y/h/c locks lay messily tamed at the back of her head, small silver Claddagh hoops she wore religiously occasionally glinting in the synthetic bathroom light.

He wouldn’t have her any other way. Well that was a small white lie he told himself. Right now he wouldn’t be opposed to bending her over the bathroom countertop and drawing out all of those sweet moans she’d make as she reached her peak and came.

He was borderline distracted now. He could already see her crying out below him, hips blooming with ghostly remnants of his grip. He would take his time no doubt, whilst proclaiming his deep yearning for her ardently.

Aoife was away at her Nanas, so for the first time in a while Anthony could actually indulge in his silly little daydream. He could let his inner teenage boy take over and relive the history of passionately fumbling with Y/N’s clothes as he’d done for the first time years ago. Relive the exact moment he knew she was the one as he rediscovered every inch of her body.

Licking his lip, a small smile yet again finding home on his sharp features. “All I ask is that you be honest with me.” He continued teasingly, pulling away yet again to get lost in observing the woman’s face. Before bringing his pale hands to rest on Y/N’s cheeks, dipping down to capture the woman’s lips in a breathtakingly deep kiss. “Maybe we should take it for one last ride before it goes for good huh?” The actor suggested quietly.

He didn’t look scary like this, he didn’t look like someone who could put a bullet in you with just a dismissive blink of his eyes. In this moment he was just a man, a mere mortal. He was simply just a man in love. Love was a funny feeling, this one wasn’t born out of societal pressures and expectations. Nor was it born out of  a need to keep up the performance he and Carmela had fallen into. He loved or had loved his wife at some point, and at some point it had turned into mild admiration, then it devolved into toleration. He was a family man. He loved his children of course he did, even if they drove him fucking crazy at times. But this love was different,  it was intoxicating. And it had hit the infamous Tony Soprano like a ton of bricks. It was a feeling that left his cheeks feeling warm, his heart feeling full and his eyes sparkling. 

Y/N L/N was an out-of-towner who’d made New Jersey her home. Tony can’t remember when she first appeared on his radar, and frankly he couldn’t give less of a fuck. And just like Dr Melfi, Tony couldn’t help but find himself attempting to schmooze the younger woman. Somewhere along the way it changed. Y/N didn’t seem to be falling for it. 

He still didn’t like talking about his feelings, especially not outside of the four walls he shared with his psychiatrist, he had a reputation to uphold after all. Nevertheless since he’d laid eyes on her, his body had called out to hers like a talisman.

Y/N wanted to move away, distract herself, maybe protect herself emotionally from the Native New Jerseyan's confession. As if busying her hands would cancel out the words he spoke null and void. Instead the Y/H/C woman sighed heavily, attempting to collect herself. Choosing instead to focus on placing the blush tone roses accompanied by eucalyptus and baby’s breath in a large vase. 

They clearly weren’t gas station florals purchased on a whim. Her heart wanted to blossom at that, but Y/N was wary. Guys like Tony often thought flowers were a tool, a trade off to get you to give it up. As if some petals and stems equaled a quick roll in the sheets, where pleasure only had one companion and it wasn’t her. 

“If you want a whore Tony, go get one. Nobody’s stopping you.” Her tone remained even, despite her heart accelerating. Not because she was scared, something deep down told her Tony was being truthful. More truthful than he would have ever been at confession, that is if he ever went. No her heart sped up revelling in how he hung on her every word, her every movement just trying to read her expression. 

She had that control over him, and she would keep it until her last breath. She had a talent at being unreadable to Tony at times. Only letting him in when she knew it was safe, when she knew it benefited her. 

Looking up, her y/e/c irises ran over Tony’s slightly hunched figure. His stance crooked, lightly resting on the bar stool, big body slightly digging into the kitchen island. At a quick glance you could almost say it was a sign of domestication.  “I’m not a Goomah Tony, I’m the wife” 

The man frowned, as if mulling the y/h/c young woman’s statement over and over in his head. Letting it seep into every fiber of his being. His body shifted, straightening up, almost recoiling. His eyebrows pinched, his eyes turning stormy, his hand shooting out to find a home on her face. Instead of the well versed dream of a post-hazed blissful caress, his callous fingers pinch at her chin. Digging in until the blood below her cheeks disappeared momentarily, leaving behind a ghostly pale hue. 

For a split second Y/N thought she saw Tony’s eyes widen in surprise at his own actions. Before they returned to the usual standoffish numbness he traditionally donned when he was in business mode. The feeling like she was staring down the barrel of a loaded gun flooded Y/N’s senses. A gun she could tell would kill her, placing a permanent goodbye kiss right between her eyes. Or maybe a gun that would backfire ferociously, whipping back like a tongue lashing from the devil himself. One that left Tony fucking Soprano gone in an instant. 

“I’m not a whore, I deserve respect“ Y/N choked out stiffly, Tony’s fingers still yet to loosen their grip. The cold metal of his wedding ring doing nothing to dull the building ache attaching itself to her jaw. Y/N found it almost laughable at the possibility of Tony’s first mark on her being a bruise from her being too mouthy, too opinionated rather than the hickey she’d had no doubt he’d dreamed about giving her on a plethora of occasions. Tony seemed the type to try and have a cold shower, whilst jerking off like a needy teenage boy daydreaming about marking her up. Her previously neatly styled hair had fallen from the sudden ambush that led to Tony towering over her, breathing deep and uneven. Strands of Y/H/C tickled at the back of his hand still anchored in place. Like a python squeezing their victim right to the very bitter end. 

This was a metaphorical dick measuring contest, a battle of wills to see who would break first. Surprisingly, the great Tony Soprano would be the first to draw back. His arm falling limply and  silently to his side.

A creature of habit, Tony’s inner monologue called out to him to call her names. Call her a cunt for talking to him like that. To grab her, spin her around so violently she got disorientated, and then press her into the island until the marble counter top left a bruise so deep he wondered if it imprinted on her spine. To take what he wanted, to take her body like a tax owed, incurred just by the sheer act of disrespecting him. But he couldn’t bring himself to. Couldn’t bring himself to demean her like that. She was a jewel, a treasure, a deliciously illegal Cuban Cigar, something to be treated delicately and judiciously. His fingers' previous position clenching at her face immediately forgotten. 

She was Y/N, and whether she liked it or not she was his. He wouldn’t give her up, she was like the air that he needed to breathe now. 

The car journey back had been full of wandering hands in the dark, had he thought he was being subtle? Tony pawed at her like it was his right, so doped up he didn’t care about the murderous silence that filled the vehicle. Tony only cared about himself.

“You're so beautiful.” Tony groaned through the dark, his eyes wide as he drank in the figure of the woman in front of him. “Always been so beautiful, so perfect, so submissive, so willing.” he continued, stepping forward to run a tanned hand up the y/s/c woman's arm. She was close enough he could smell her. A rich, spicy ambery scent which had begun to drive him wild. “You’d never leave your Tony would you? Not like that bitch” Tony trailed off in disgust at the thought of the blonde woman he’d risked it all for. He couldn’t even stomach saying her name after tonight.

Tony’s words stumbled through the moonlight “Te amo cariño”, his staggered speech began to leak through, evidence of his alcohol intake over the evening. “You don’t love me, you just want someone to be a Mother to your future children.” The Cuban hummed, his hand stopping in its tracks, replacing the soft gentle brushing with an almost vice-like grip. It would probably cause a bruise, but Y/N paid no mind to it now. Instead all she could focus on was the feeling of his wedding ring, the small circle of gold burnt into her. She wanted to scream, to put as much distance between them as possible. She wanted to escape, but she couldn’t show weakness. Tony would enjoy that too much. He was a little sick like that, he liked knowing he had grown from a mob like errand boy to the big man. Somehow Y/N managed to put a whisker of distance between them. Just enough to not feel his soul crushing her. Just enough to regain some semblance of control.

The cold silence returned and with it the course of the evening had been decided. It was her fate, there was no escaping it. He wouldn’t let her.

“You wanna fuck me huh?” the y/h/c woman asked, biting back a mocking laugh, part of her wanted to believe she would have put up more of a fight. But Y/N was tired, so tired of acting like everything was alright. Tonight had just been one monumental fuck up after another. Her usually meticulous makeup was starting to fade along with her tolerance for niceties. Taking a step forward the y/h woman tilted her head, her y/e/c orbs flickering over the man standing before her. He was probably coked out of his mind, that was when he was always at his cruelest. He wouldn’t attack her physically, Y/N was quite sure of that. But the way he leered over her made one thing perfectly clear, she was at his mercy and tonight she was the prey he would mentally stalk like a viper preparing to strike.

Whether it was brave or stupid was yet to be established, but still Y/N took a step forwards. She could feel his breath on her face. “You want to fuck me Tony?” Y/N asked again, her voice sticky and sickly sweet. “You wanna get me all breathless and shaking under you?” she continued, little small pornographic like gasps accompanying her question. The question was rhetorical and he knew that, but still watching his adams apple bop as he gulped greedily at the image she was painting revealed his true intention. Tonight Antonio Montana the once penniless immigrant was going to prove he could get anything he wanted, regardless of the price of the sin.

“Well, here have at it! It’s all yours Tony.” the woman scoffed, the strands of Y/H/C that escaped her previously elegant French twist framing her face so perfectly she looked angelic. Turning on her heel Y/N glided to the grandiose kitchen island. Slowly leaning forward until she stretched across the Italian marble counter top. Shivering slightly as her breasts pressed into the cold stone, before swiftly lifting her dress. The dark green silk revealing her delicious y/s/c legs.

Liked by y/nHamilton, nicolashamilton, and 513,581 others

Lewishamilton Racing has always been a part of me, from my first remote control car, my dad tinkering in the shed putting together second hand parts just so I could race to fighting for my eighth World Title. Formula One has given me a platform to share my voice, bring awareness to the injustices & be a part of something worthy of the history books.But nothing will ever beat the feeling of walking my little girl home from ballet class, having tea parties, mornings where the only sound that fills our home is love and laughter. But most importantly allowing me to being the Father & Husband I’ve always dreamed of being.

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georgerussell63 I swear she’s grown each time I see her

y/nhamilton Don’t let Lew hear you say that George… Apparently he’s not ready for her to grow up

| lewishamilton and you are? 👀

sebastianvettel Our children are our future, we should cherish all the moments we have with them no matter how irrelevant they seem

emotionalf1damage not seb being deep af in the comments

Hamiltonhugs221 Sylvie is so adorable i actually love her

Liked by nicolashamilton, mercedesamgf1 and 286,715 others

y/nhamilton lets play a game of spot the difference

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Mercedesamgf1 Only a Hamilton could look so 🔥

| y/nhamilton She learnt from the best

hamiltonisgoat how does a literal child look better than me

User3083 Sylvie is serving straight looks sorry not sorry

Liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63 and 63,466 others

y/nhamilton I ask Lewis to fix a lightbulb a week ago and it’s all “Yeah Baby I gotch you, it’s on my list.” Baby Hamilton pouts for 0.5 seconds and it’s automatically “Daddy will fix it right now!”

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Cullen_angela The Hamilton pout will get you

| y/nhamilton tell me about it Angie 🙄

georgerussell63 want me to fix your lightbulb y/n/n?

mercedesmad3234 George Russells the kind of guy to offer to do his teammates diy

russellgeorge2018 ik that trend is like so dead but he literally is… george russells the kind of guy to say “just call me a professional’ after accomplishing the most simple task

nicolashamilton it’s ok y/n that superpower skipped me so you’re not the only one

| y/nhamilton You little liar Nicky that's so not true at all

Shuffling closer to the silent man Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on Mick’s forehead. He had no obvious signs of a  temperature but they couldn’t risk him deteriorating overnight especially with Mick proving the non-believers wrong by competing so well. Team Deutschland’s prowess had reassured Mick that he was good at racing. It was clear to the young couple that the German was still struggling with the loss of his Formula One seat, the position of reserve Driver for Mercedes doing nothing to stop the rumors that Mick was abusing his Father’s status in the racing community. Some people still thought Mick owed his entire career to sharing a last name with the legendary Michael Schumacher. The fact the young Driver had won races and championships on his own sheer ability seemingly irrelevant. 

“No temperature, but you sound like you're coming down with something.” the y/h/c woman agreed, shooting the driver a pitiful smile. Groaning in response Mick grumbled burrowing his head against the pillow, it was just his luck. “Right hot shower to try and help steam clear your sinuses, drink some water and I know you hate it but Tiger balm.” Y/N listed quickly hoping her authoritative tone would get Mick to ignore the last suggestion. Getting up to search one of the suitcases for the incriminating herbal balm, Y/N paused sensing the German was yet to move. “What?” the y/h/c young woman asked, turning back to face the man. He still looked slightly peaky, but this time a dopey smile was sat on his face. 

“You're turning into a race mum” the German Driver exclaimed in admiration, watching his girlfriend who’d returned to the task in hand. Mick couldn’t help but love when Y/N was protective of him, even if it was over something as simple as him getting sick. She’d accepted the hectic racing lifestyle and all the things that came with it, he could never thank her enough for that. 

“What?! No I’m not?” the y/s/c girl mumbled defensively, walking back towards the bed, placing the pot of tiger balm on the bedside table distracting herself from Mick’s denby orbs. “You so are Schatz. Look at you all concerned over my health.” Mick replied in a teasing sing-song tone. “All this concern over little old me.” the German added a throaty chuckle erupting from his chest. Scoffing Y/N pulled a face “What do you mean over “little old you.” You're nothing special Schumacher. I thought I'd go and check on some of the other drivers this evening… who knows maybe Felipe’s coming down with a cold too… after all the temperature difference between here and Brazil….” the girl trailed off taking a sharp breath. “He didn't even have a snow jacket until the other day the poor guy.” Y/N added in faux serious.  

“No… I’m not sharing.” the German explained playing along, gently wrapping his pale arms around the girls waist before falling back against the headboard dragging Y/N with him who squealed aloud in surprise. “Spoil sport!” Y/N mumbled, placing a kiss just below the Driver’s ear, it being the only piece of skin accessible in her comfortable position tucked under his chin. “Still need to try and clear those sinuses though Micky.” the y/h/c girl added her mind still on the mission of trying to not let the youngest Schumacher get sick , gently removing herself from the German’s comforting hold.