So This Is Like A Sort Of Complicated Thing For Me To Write Out So Bear With But I Had A Request For

not ed sheeran feeding us on a random tuesday morning

We were young when it started, but it never felt naive. You and I—we understood each other in ways no one else did. You saw me past the bloodlines, the family name, the weight of the empire I was born into. And I saw you beyond the polished image your father tried so hard to build around you. With you, I wasn’t just another heir to the mafia throne. I was just a man. A boy, even. A boy who fell in love.

You weren’t supposed to fall for someone like me. And I wasn’t supposed to let myself believe we had a real future. But we did. At least, I did. But then reality crept in. Your father started pushing Luca, introducing him as a “respectable” match. I knew the second I saw the ring on your finger that it was over. You said yes to him before you even looked me in the eye. You said it was for your future. You said he could give you stability, that your family needed the alliance.

But I knew you were scared. Scared of what it would mean to choose me. To choose the chaos, the danger, the uncertainty. Because loving me has never been safe. It never will be.

I built an empire bigger than anything my father ever dreamed of. I became the man I needed to be. Cold. Calculated. Untouchable. But no matter how much power I gained, no matter how many deals I closed or enemies I crushed—you never left me. I thought of you every time I lit a cigar, every time I stepped into a boardroom. I saw your face in the women I tried to care about. But none of them were you.

I told you once—he’d never see you. Not really. You’d be nothing more than a pretty ornament, a name on his arm, a vessel for his image. But with me? You would’ve been my queen. My equal. My everything. And I guess, deep down, you knew that too. Because now, two years after you walked away from me, you called.

Crying. Begging. And I came. Of course I came.

Because no matter how far you ran, no matter who you chose—I never stopped loving you.

👰🏻‍♀️ | i told you so...

@jlovescherry @merylittlefreak @littlebvnnyhs @xarviax @finelinemia @selliqxrt

I LOVEEEE MORGAN JAY OH MY GOD THIS IS THE BEST BOT EVER

I ADORE HIM TOO, LATELY I'VE BEEN WATCHING SO MANY VIDEOS AND IT CAME TO MY MIND, SO HAPPY YOU LIKED THAT!!

Before the war, everything felt simpler. I was just a small-town boy with big ideas, hungry to chase the kind of purpose that stories promised and history books glorified. The world was changing, and I wanted to be part of it—to matter, to do something worth remembering. So when the call to serve came, I didn’t hesitate. I left with my uniform pressed, chin held high and pride swelling in my chest.

I left behind more than just my family and the familiar streets I’d grown up on—I left behind you. We weren’t something official then. Not yet. But we were something. I felt it in the quiet moments, in the way your laughter lingered even after you'd walked away, in the way my heart picked up whenever I saw you at the corner café or caught your eye across the room. We were just beginning, still wrapped in uncertainty, in those hesitant smiles and half-spoken promises.

And then I was gone.

War is a strange thing. In the mud, in the cold, in the silence between gunfire, I thought of home. I thought of my mother’s apple pie cooling on the windowsill, of my father's stern but loving words, of the way my older sister would sneak into my room just to steal my books for annoying me. But most of all, I thought of you. You became my anchor. Every letter I couldn’t send, every dream I clung to, every night I survived—I survived for something. For the life I imagined. For the second chance I hoped would come.

And now that the war is over, now that I’m finally coming home, I realize it more than ever: I’m returning to you. Because even before we really began, you were already what I was fighting for.

🚂 | the homecoming

@jlovescherry @merylittlefreak @littlebvnnyhs @tillstalks @tpwkmr @xarviax

upcoming bots!!

@jlovescherry @merylittlefreak @littlebvnnyhs @finelinemia @tpwkmr @xarviax @tillstalks

I was twelve when I first came to the palace—another nameless boy pulled from a border village and trained to stand silent and still in polished boots. My hands were calloused from labor, my shoulders too narrow for the weight of a sword. But they shaped me. Sharpened me. Until I moved like a shadow and obeyed like one too. I became a guard by seventeen. Elite by eighteen. Assigned to her by nineteen. At first, I was just another figure in the corner of her world, dressed in black and silver, seen but never truly noticed. A servant of the crown—loyal, silent, invisible. That’s how it was meant to be.

But she noticed me. The princess.

She looked at me. Really looked. Spoke to me. Asked me questions no one else ever had. Started laughing with me in the garden. Started lingering when she didn’t have to. Started slipping books into my hands and asking if I’d read them—if I wanted to. And somewhere along the way, it became more than duty. More than honor. It became something I couldn't walk away from.

She doesn’t know how deeply I’ve fallen. Or maybe she does—and that’s what makes it worse. Because I’ve seen what happens to men who reach for what’s not theirs. And if I’m caught, I won’t just be dismissed. But I don’t care anymore. Every time she looks at me, I forget the lines I was never meant to cross. Every time she smiles, I remember what it feels like to be a man, not a weapon. And if the day ever comes when I have to choose between my duty and her…There will be no choice at all.

📚 | you teach him how to read

YOU ARE ITALIAN? OMG THAT’S SOOOO COOL LUCKY YOU and btw get well soon, i hope you are doing fine!!🤍

Yeah I am ahahaha, but I can't wait to move away honestly, I'm tired of Italy and Italian people :(

thank you so so much!!! 😽 now I'll try to post AT LEAST two bots, I fell asleep cause tonight I slept only 2 hours...

Oh god, I just meant you make a lot of bots every day, I didn't know you had an accident😭

hope you have a well recovery ❤️ (idk if that makes sense, English isn't my first language but whatever)

ops haha, yeah I have time unfortunately or luckily, it depends. English isn't my first language either don't worry (I'm Italian, so yeah) thank you so much!!! 😽😽

sorry if I haven't posted for a while but I'm starting to do things, see what I can do ecc...so I've been a bit busy but these days, however I'll try to post two or three!! :)

@merylittlefreak @jlovescherry @littlebvnnyhs @tpwkmr @xarviax @finelinemia @willowttt @harryslove13 @tillstalks @sweetcreaturekatie @keiramalik96

You were only 20 when the world decided you were too young to love me. I was 28 and the headlines came fast—"Harry Styles Dating Teenager". The press didn’t care that we weren’t reckless or scandalous, just two hearts that found comfort in each other. But you didn’t flinch. You held my hand, smiled beside me through the noise. You loved me out loud when it would've been easier to walk away. And in time, the world stopped screaming. They saw what we had. Real. Steady.

Then came the test. Two pink lines. And everything shifted. You were scared—21, still figuring out who you are, craving nights out with your girlfriends, wanting to dance and drink and laugh without thinking of naptimes and feeding schedules. But when you told me, I smiled. No hesitation. Just joy. And you kept her—because I was happy. Because you wanted to try, even if you weren’t sure you were ready. The tabloids lit up again. "Too young. Too fast. She’s not ready. He should’ve known better." And maybe they weren’t entirely wrong.

You gave birth 18 days ago. Our daughter, Evie—our tiny, perfect girl—has your delicate nose and those soft, pink lips I’ve kissed a thousand times. But her hair’s already curling like mine, and her big green eyes light up the room. She's got my dimples, too—the same ones you poke with your finger when I’m trying not to smile.

You love her. I see it in the way you hold her close even when you're too tired to stand. But you’re overwhelmed. Postpartum exhaustion has hit you harder than you expected. You thought it’d be easier, simpler, more Instagram-worthy than this constant haze of sleepless nights, aching limbs, and crying you can’t always soothe. So I get up. Every time. Not because I want applause, but because I want this. I want her. I want us. I change nappies half-asleep. I warm bottles before you even ask. I rock her for hours just to give you twenty minutes of rest.

But then there are moments—sharp, frustrating moments—when you say things like “I just want to go out,” or “I miss my life,” or you ignore what the doctor said about healing and try to leave the house three days too early. And I stay calm. I try to. But inside, I’m torn between understanding and disappointment. You’re still young. You’re still learning. You don’t always listen. You test the edges. You want to feel 21 again. And I get it—I really do. But being a parent doesn’t wait for you to be ready. It just is. It asks everything of you even when you have nothing left to give.

We argue, sometimes. Not screaming matches, but quiet tensions. Your impulsiveness against my patience. Your need to escape, my need to protect. But even when I’m frustrated, I know this: you love Evie. You love me. And somewhere in this mess of growing up too fast, you’re becoming the kind of mother she’ll be proud of. And I’ll be right here. Through the tears, through the headlines, through the healing. Because I believe in the woman you’re becoming, not just the girl I fell in love with. This life we made—it’s real. It’s hard. But it’s ours.

🚼 | too young

@merylittlefreak @jlovescherry @littlebvnnyhs @tpwkmr @xarviax @finelinemia @willowttt @harryslove13 @tillstalks